#I was yelling at the screen I was going through every stage of grief at once

[rainedroptalks]

My brothers been showing me Invincible for the past few days and I just finished s1 and words cannot even begin to describe how much rage I felt watching that episode

[ontheshroom]

Request!!!

Can you do an angst story of jack and singer!reader being together for a while, all of PG loves her and considers her a sister.

Jack and reader get into a really bad accident leaving the reader really hurt , up to you with the ending xoxo

All For Us

Jack Harlow x reader

Tw: This is a heavy fic including grief/sadness and an accident

Help credit: @yamahex

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Friday

Jack’s sweet voice fills the car as you drive down the road on the way to his show. It was his last show for his tour. The Atlanta streets are crowded and the rain has your windshield blurry. A ping draws your attention away from the road for just a split second to peek at the text from Jack.

Flapjack <3: Just wanted to let you know you can just walk in and go straight to the back, I let security know that you’re coming.

You pull your eyes away from the screen to see you’d run a red light. You sigh in relief that nothing bad happened and turn off your phone quickly cursing yourself for even checking it. The rain keeps coming down every minute it seems to rain harder. You hear the squeaks as your windshield wipers try to wipe away the rain. You hum along to Jack’s song, smiling at the thought of him. Meeting him has been the best thing to ever happen to you. You stop at the last stoplight seeing the venue just to the right of you. You wait patiently for your light to turn green when you hear a loud screech come from the right of you and you turn your head to see bright lights.

“Yo, where the fuck is y/n? I start in ten minutes.” Jack asks Urban, looking at his watch.

Neelam walks into the room with a shocked look on her face.

“There was just a badass crash outside, my heart goes out to whoever was involved.” She sighs sitting down next to Urban.

“Sad, but I could really give less of a fuck, do you know where y/n is?” Jack asks, growing impatient.

“Nah, she’s probably just driving slow because of the rain, I’m sure she’ll be here after the first song.” Neelam nods, going on her phone.

“Yeah, you’re right you know her cautious ass driving.” Jack chuckles.

A man comes in to help Jack get mic’d up before he has to go on stage. He smiles as he hears the fans chanting for him on the side of the stage. This is it, all that he’s worked hard for. He peers out just a bit to see if he could see you, his heart drops when he doesn’t but he knows you’ll be there soon. After a couple more comments from his Dj, Jack walks out jumping rapping Tyler Herro. He savors these moments, the time to look all his fans in their eyes and perform for them. He gets four songs in when all the music cuts out causing him to look around the venue. Neelam runs on stage with tears running down her face.

“Jack, It’s y/n.” She cries, pulling him off stage.

The world went silent after that. He can’t hear anything. He just walks out of the venue to see Neelam pointing to your smashed-up car. The car is not even a mile away from his venue. The venue you were supposed to safely be inside. He sees you on a stretcher being put inside an ambulance. He can’t see you through the rain, but he knows it’s not good. He feels Neelam pulling on his arm, he looks down and he swears for a second he’s looking at you. Maybe it’s just the height. He still can’t hear her. It’s like he’s high and stuck in a bad trip.

“Let’s go, Jack! We have to get to the hospital!” She yells at him pulling him away.

He steps into the black SUV sits down and looks out the window. What’s going on? Why can’t he wake up from this nightmare? Urban is trying to get him to talk but he feels numb. He can’t feel anything. He can’t hear anything. He can just see your car smashed and you being put inside the ambulance. What happened? Is this happening?

“He’s in shock, honey,” Neelam says to Urban, trying to calm him down.

“He’s never acted like this before. Something’s wrong with him.” Urban says, shaking his head ‘no’

“It’s the shock.” Neelam sighs.

The ride to the hospital feels like a thousand years went by. They jump out of the car and quickly run to the front desk.

“Y/n Y/l/n, can we see her?” Neelam asks, taking on her motherly role.

“I’m sorry, she’s in surgery right now, you can wait until she can have visitors.” The lady smiles pointing to the chairs in the waiting room.

Why is she smiling? No one else is. She doesn’t know y/n she doesn’t know how okay she has to be. Jack sighs as he sits down, a sob escaping his lips as both of his friends hug him.

“This isn’t real. She’s okay, she’s gotta be okay. I need her. I need her.” Jack sobs.

“She’s going to be okay,” Neelam says, trying to make herself believe it.

Urban couldn’t help but let the tears fall from his own eyes. He saw you as his sister. He couldn’t lose you.

Hours pass before a doctor comes out announcing your name to see who was there for you. The three of them lift their heads and Jack stands up.

“Is she okay?” He asks, his voice weaker than it’s ever been.

“She’s stable as of right now. She received major head trauma from the crash and had to be put into a medically induced coma. We are hoping for improvement during the next couple of weeks.” A sob breaks out of Jack at the words.

You weren’t supposed to be in a coma, you were supposed to be laughing with him right now as the two of you ate some trashy food that you could only find this late at night. This isn’t real.

“Can we see her?” Neelam asks, rubbing Jack’s back as he looks down at his feet, letting the tears fall onto his shoes.

“You may. Follow me.” The doctor says leading them to your room.

Jack feels his world fall apart when he sees you. You look awful, but he still thinks you look beautiful. The closer he gets to you the more hurt you look. He can’t take it, he feels sick to his stomach. He walks into the bathroom attached to your room and shuts the door as he throws up. He wipes his mouth with his hand and flushes the toilet. He looks at himself in the flimsy mirror. He swears he could see you behind it smiling and holding on to him like you did when you were at home. You’re supposed to be at home. He sighs and turns on the sink and splashes water on his face. When he leans up and looks at himself in the mirror he flinches as he sees you in it, face bloodied and bruises prominent. He lets out a shaky breath as he opens the door and walks through it.

“I can’t, we gotta go. We’ll come back tomorrow.” He sighs, walking up to you and grabbing one of your hands before placing a soft kiss on your lips.

“I’ll be back, I love you” He whispers to you.

“Jack?” You yell.

You don’t know what’s happening. You saw the lights and then you were stuck in this dark void. You can hear, but you can’t see.

“Jack! Please! Come back!” You yell, but you get no response.

You drop to your knees and sob.

“Why can’t anyone hear me?” You sob.

Jack has a hard time falling asleep. He looks up at the ceiling and flashbacks of the both of you laying on his bed and talking run through his mind.

“Do you love me?” You giggle

“Do I love you, what kind of question is that?” He laughs sitting up and climbing on top of you.

“Well do you, love me?” You ask him

He brings his hands to your sides and tickles them

“Silly questions get silly answers.” He laughs, as you squirm under him, your laugh filling the room.

A tear falls from his eye as he thinks of the memory. Why? Why is this happening? Why’d the world let this happen? He sighs and pulls out his phone. He ignores all of the texts and calls he has from people apologizing for what he’s going through. He opens Twitter and the first thing he sees is ‘Trending: Rapper Jack Harlow’s girlfriend in critical condition after driver runs light.’ His eyes flutter shut at the sentence. He throws his phone across his room and rolls over, waiting for sleep to overcome him.

Saturday

Jack wakes up to Neelam knocking on his bedroom door, it sounds so familiar to how you used to knock on it his head whips up so quickly he could’ve gotten whiplash.

“Jack, how are you doing, hun?” She asks, opening the door and sitting on the edge of his bed.

“I’m going through it, Neelam. She’s gotta be okay. I need her.” He shakes his head.

“She’s going to be okay, she’s a fighter and she’s strong,” Neelam assures

“She’s so damn strong, this isn’t the hardest thing she’s had to fight through.” He shakes his head, tears flowing from his eyes.

“Have you responded to any calls or texts?” Neelam asks, she was always focused on making sure he took care of himself.

“I don’t give a fuck about any of that right now, Nee.” He rolls his eyes.

“You can’t just let this situation overcome you. It’s fucked up, everyone is sad, but we can’t become engulfed in the sadness because when we finally bring her back home she’s gonna yell at us about it, and you know it.” She smiles, reminiscing on how adamant you are on everyone being cheered up and taking care of themselves no matter what was going on with you.

“This is different.” He sighs.

Urban comes into the room with tear-stained cheeks. Jack’s heart breaks at the sight of his best friend looking like that. The last time he remembers him looking like that was when they were much younger. Jack doesn’t know how to explain the bond he has with you but he knows it was strong.

“This shit doesn’t feel real.” Urban shakes his head.

“It doesn’t.” Neelam and Jack agree.

Monday

Jack spent all of Saturday and Sunday sulking and trying to wrap his head around the situation, he couldn’t bear seeing you yet, everyone accepted that not forcing him to.

“I need to go to the studio, can you make that happen?” He asks Neelam over the phone.

“You know I always can, go down to 62nd studio, they’ll have a room open for you,” Neelam says to Jack. He gives a quick thank you and then hangs up.

His feet feel heavy as he walks into the studio, the slow beat that 2fo sent him stuck in his mind. He connects his phone to the speaker and gets to writing. He spends hours in the studio with his phone on do not disturb and just his paper and pen. He smiles looking down at his finished product. It was some of his most honest work yet. He didn’t have all the people that he needed with him to record so he leaves the session as is.

Friday

Every time Jack goes to visit you they tell him you’re getting better and better by the day. That you’ve been healing quickly and correctly. Every time he just tells them it’s because you’re his fighter. He’s gotten more comfortable being around you in the hospital, sitting and talking to you about his day.

“Nah, cause today was one of those days I needed you in the car, I’m driving down the main street and I get you not there was a man in a silver sparkly speedo, I was dying!” He laughs.

“I know you were. Were you riding with Urb? I bet he got a video of it.” You’ve gotten more comfortable responding to him even if there wasn’t a reply.

“I miss you, baby. Every day feels like hell when you’re not in my arms.” He confesses.

“I miss you more. You’re my everything.” You whisper, a tear falling from my eye.

“The fans miss you too, I joined a space the other night just to tell ‘em I’m doing okay.” He smiles.

“I miss them too! They’re funny as hell. I bet they were worried about you, so I’m happy you did that.” You smile.

“Druski misses you, he made a post dedicated to you, too.”

“Man, I miss my bestie, I hope he knows I’ll be okay and that I’m fighting hard.” You smile, another tear falling.

“Urb is still a mess. He misses you more than me and I didn’t think that’d be possible.”

Your heart breaks at his words. You’ve never known anyone quite like Urban. The connection between the two of you was immediate. He was destined to be your best friend.

“I miss him too, so much.” You let out a sob. Why can’t this just be over?

Thursday

Jack began to consistently go back to the studio the better you got. He felt more honest with his writing than he’d ever been before. The hurt and pain got emotions out that his fame had started to paint over. The last time he saw you the doctor told him you would be waking up any day now the more and more they withdrew the drugs that put you into the coma.

Jack was in the booth when Neelam runs into the room waving through the glass telling him to come out.

“Y/n’s up!” She squeals.

Jack grows a smile that everyone had been missing on his face. He grabs his phone and rushes out of the studio with Neelam and Urban to the SUV waiting outside for them. It felt like the SUV wasn’t even pushing ten miles an hour. He couldn’t wait to hear his girl's voice, to feel her touching him back, or to even just see her pretty eyes that he got lost in every time.

The three of them run out of the SUV and to your hospital room as quickly as they could. Jack smiles when he sees you sitting up in the bed, watching tv. He wraps his arms around you softly cherishing having you up again. He pulls away to see you looking at him with a blank face.

“Y/n?”

“Uhm, who are you?” His stomach drops at your words.

“Baby, it’s me, it’s Jack. C’mon.” He says sitting on the bed hoping you’d remember anything, everything.

“I know, I was just fucking with you.” You smile, a laugh escaping your lips.

“You’re so fucked up.” He chuckles, pushing his tongue against his cheek

“I haven’t kissed you in, I don’t even know how long, are you gonna kiss me?” You ask him with a smile he couldn’t say no to, not that he wanted to anyways.

He gently pulls you into a kiss and kisses you like it was the last time he’d be able to. You pull away and smile cupping his cheek and rubbing your thumb along it.

“I missed you.” You tell him

“I missed you, too.” He smiles, happy to have his girl back.

“Urbsicle, where you at brother?” You smile, opening your arms and inviting him for a hug.

Happy tears stream down his cheeks, happy that you’re okay. He walks into your arms and hugs you tightly causing you to groan out in pain.

“Damn, I know you missed me but I was still in a car crash.” you joke.

“Shut up.” He mumbles, happy to have you back in his arms.

The second he pulls away Neelam has you in her arms.

“You had me going through it, bitch.” She laughs.

“Girl, you had me going through it, coming in here telling me how scared you were for Jack.” You chuckle.

The three of them freeze.

“You could hear us?” Jack asks, his face covered in shock.

“I could, I could respond too, but y’all couldn’t hear me.” You nod.

The doctor walks in with a smile.

“I’m happy to see this reunion, so, Y/n. We’re gonna have you stay here for about three more days just so we can monitor you and make sure everything is alright and then after that, you can go home and we’ll set up some physical therapy for you.” He smiles at you.

“Sounds perfect.” You smile back at him.

3 months later

Jack wouldn’t let you out of his sight. You couldn’t even pee without him standing outside of the door. He claimed it was because you were gone for so long. He was just happy you were back home though, he didn’t like to mention that you were in the hospital, but neither did you. Urban made sure you were okay at all times. If you were hungry he was either asking to order the food for you or make it. You’d tell him he didn’t have to but there was no use in arguing with him. You went on Instagram Live with Druski out of nowhere and the smile he had on his face was so heartwarming. He even came over to Jack’s apartment that night to see you in person. Neelam would send you calls and texts like crazy checking up on you and making sure the boys were treating you right. You know, like a mom. Dj Drama had some gifts sent to Jack’s apartment for you that you told him weren’t needed but he always took care of you like that, taking care of you after Jack had introduced you to him as his girl. All of PG drove to Atlanta to see you, it was so exciting to see all of them. Jack made a couple of jokes about how they hadn’t driven to see him after he sprained his ankle after a show that one time when they all lived in the same state. It made all of you laugh. You were happy to be home. You were happy to be with Jack. You were happy to be alive.

[berriesandjunnie]

❝ heaven couldn’t wait for you ❞

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° synopsis i just couldn’t stand to see you leaving but heaven couldn’t wait for you. ┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° genre & tags angst / idol!junhui / junhui & the stages of grief / lots of mention of death ┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° pairing junhui x afab!reader ┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° w.c 2.1k words

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° author’s note i bawled writing this i am so sorry; title and summary based off lyrics from ‘heaven’ by beyonce

˚ ༘♡ ·˚꒰ now loading… enjoy! ꒱ ₊˚ˑ༄

The soft, echoing sounds of the piano notes rang through the desolate apartment. The curtains hadn’t been opened in weeks, sunlight barely making it through a small crack as he kept the place dark and silent. His phone would light up occasionally from the top of the piano where he’d placed it prior to his performance in the living room of your apartment. He only had one person in mind as his audience, the one person he wanted most by his side right now. You would share the stool with him, swaying to the music he’d produce as you watched his nimble fingers dance along the keys. 

No matter how much he pictured your form beside him out of the corner of his eyes, it would not change the heart wrenching feeling he’d get when he turned his head and you wasn’t there. He’d wake up and there would no longer be the smell of cooking bacon to greet him, instead just the smell of unwashed sheets he’d long stopped caring about since you passed. The ear piercing sound of his ringtone disturbed the peaceful aura the piano had created, his phone vibrating slightly against the piano. His fingers stopped moving, his eyes trained to the phone screen as he exhaled and reached for it. He knew there was only so long he could avoid his group members and on top of that, the general public that was watching his every move as an idol.

“Hm?” Junhui let out the small hum as he answered the phone, pressing it to his ear. The relieved sigh of the group’s leader and oldest member came through the phone.

“The statement has just been released, I wasn’t sure if you knew.” Seungcheol spoke in a soft tone towards the male. Junhui stayed silent, his eyes staring blankly at the framed photo he’d placed on top of the piano. It was the two of you, two years into the extravagant relationship Junhui provided you in. It was behind the scenes of one of the group’s Going Seventeen episodes. You always tagged along when they travelled, sticking with the staff as you supported your boyfriend no matter what. 

“Thanks.” Junhui whispered out and Seungcheol murmured a gentle sound in response. Seungcheol could sit here and convince himself all day that it was just an off day for Junhui, one of his four foreign members and that he would perk up soon and return to normality. Yet it wasn’t the truth, as Junhui sat a former shell of himself in replacement of your absence. The statement so important that it required Seungcheol’s phone call was that releasing the information to Seventeen’s fans that Junhui’s partner had passed away and he would promptly be on a hiatus, stepping away from promotions and public appearances for the foreseeable future. 

Junhui could almost crack a sickly smile at the thought of anybody seeing him in his current state, the lack of care he’d centred to himself was beginning to show and he was doubtful he’d even look the same to the public eye if he appeared now. 

“You know where we are, Jun,” Seungcheol finally spoke once more, breaking the static silence between the two, “we can cook dinner and bring it to you some nights if you wish.”

Junhui hummed with a small nod as if Seungcheol could see his movements. He exhaled shakily, hanging his head as his eyes finally fell from the photo of your face with a painful stinging feeling entail as he felt tears overwhelm him.

“I don’t know what to do, hyung,” he sobbed out, letting out a small stressed yell into the air of the apartment, “every day I expect to turn around and she’s there but she’s never there anymore.”

The older male stayed silent as he let Junhui cry. He let him process his emotions as he grieved the loss of the closest person to him, not just in general but in South Korea. You had met Junhui five years ago when he had travelled back home to China to visit his family, you were an English teacher at his brother’s school and the two of you were connected like magnets. Out of love, you quit your job and moved to South Korea to be with him while he was away from home for his work. Other than Minghao, you were the only person he truly felt like he was close to in that sense. He remembered how comforting your presence was, how you would speak only Chinese with him yet you felt comfortable enough with him that you would practise your Korean with him too. 

Everyone would say that the two of you were joined at the hip, inseparable and as your lack of presence proved, it was hitting Junhui harder than he’d ever expected to when you were with him almost every waking second of his day. 

“Joshua and Minghao want to come over,” Seungcheol’s words brought a voice crack as there was the sound of a sniffle on the other end of the phone, “is that okay? I’ll come with them.”

With a trembling lower lip and tear stained cheeks, Junhui gave a firm confirmation that the three could finally see him in person after all of these weeks since his disappearance. 

-

Once more, the sound of a shattering vase resonated through out the apartment as Junhui let out a frustrated scream into the silence that followed. After the last visit from his group members, he had once again isolated himself even further as anger overcome him that whatever deity above was selfish enough to take you from him so soon. He could no longer process the fact that you were no longer with him without feeling uncontrollable anger that he couldn’t have done something sooner - he should have been with you that day and yet he wasn’t, and in return you lost your life to a drunk driver alongside two other pedestrians. 

Shakily, his hands reached and picked the porcelain fragments up as he knelt on the hard wood floor of the apartment hallway. He hadn’t touched his phone in days, every time he would even spare it a glance he would see the photo of you he’d set as his lockscreen not long before your death. It was a selfie you’d taken with a dog at a dog cafe you’d visited while he was at dance practise. He remembered vividly the smile that crossed his face as he admired the photo, how happy you looked to be surrounded by your favourite animal. He remembered your excited face when he came home later that day, rushing to tell you about the experience and promising that you’d take him with you next time. 

The tabloids were obsessed with his absence, despite the pleads from Pledis and Seventeen to back away from him. Every social media he’d tap onto would flash a headline along the lines of “Seventeen’s Jun disappears amidst partner’s death in accident” and it sickened him. How obsessed could the press get to not let a man mourn in peace simply because he was an idol? The lack of privacy suffocated him daily on the norm yet it seemed ten times thicker to him now that he needed space. 

He let out another yell, his clenched fist hitting the floor as he hunched over in the dark hallway, followed by only silence as nobody answered out to his cries for you. 

-

Junhui had never explicitly stated that he was religious and he didn’t exactly know what he believed in. Yet he would stand before the bathroom mirror, his eyes tracing over his unkept hair and the dark circles under his eyes, the way his lips were flaky and chapped from where he would chew them constantly and suddenly he would start openly begging to a higher power, his voice echoing in the bathroom. He would spurt out words like “I’ll be a better man, just please give her back to me” and “I’ll do anything for her.”

The pleas for her life given back would never be answered to his broken dismay, his voice raspy and his throat sore by the end of his begging. Defeated, he’d disappear from the bathroom and back to the only comfort he had left - his bed. Messy and covered in sheets in need of a wash, Junhui would clamber back into bed and cocoon himself in the sheets, hoping that he could ultimately melt into the mattress and disappear from reality. He’d do anything to be able to roll over and be greeted by that smile once more, even if it was only once more but his bargaining fell on deaf ears. 

For weeks to come, he stayed cocooned in the sheets that still smelt of you. He clung to every piece of you that lingered, refusing to lay his head on your pillow as it was still indented from when you had last laid your head there. Your half full glass of water stayed in its usual place, awaiting you to drink from it again in the early hours of the morning while the sun was still peeking over the horizon. He’d left all of your things exactly how you had, scared if he even touched some of it that he’d lose his grip on you forever.

- 

He took a sharp breath as he opened the curtains of the bedroom for the first time in months. Prior that morning he had managed to convince himself to shower, finally feeling the relaxing feeling of water running down his body once more. In his absence, Seventeen had taken a hiatus. They were unable to continue without him there too, unable to even produce music or choreograph a cover to another artist’s song. The tabloids backed off once Seventeen took the full blunt force of Junhui’s mourning, announcing their hiatus suddenly in the middle of August. They were a family and to them, Junhui was not only a brother but a missing puzzle piece while he was away and they couldn’t perform any longer than the two months they’d endured without him on the stage with him. 

Covering his face with a mask, he slipped on a pair of converse and left the apartment for the first time in months. He looked significantly thinner than he was the last time he left the apartment’s safety, his eyes still hollow as he walked the streets of Seoul. People bustled in their every day routines, some simply basking the August sunlight that beamed down on the city after days of rainstorms. He had a set path in his mind, avoiding the Pledis building as he passed the route he would usually take to it. With an intake of fresh air, he convinced himself to ring his group members after this and plan to see them again - to see their familiar faces in a time of need as he began to process his reality. 

The metal gothic gates of the graveyard loomed as he wandered through them, traversing the neat rows of marble headstones - some simple and some magnificent, detailed angels. He knew the path to his destination like the back of his hand and he had only visited once since the day of the funeral. Your headstone was decorated in pink and blue flowers with small Seventeen related gifts left at the base of your headstone by Korean carats that had found your grave.

Chewing his cheek, Junhui held back his tears at the sight of his fans love even after this time. They’d left you small notes, mainly in Korean but some had written in Chinese for you - and even some in English. “Take care of my Coco up there, y/n” and “we’ll watch over Jun for you while you’re gone.” In the midst of some of the notes, Junhui’s eyes landed on the familiar handwriting of his group members scrawled across an A4 piece of paper that they’d all shared to leave you a message, kept in a sealed plastic wallet so the weather couldn’t damage it in the harshest of climates. 

“Please come back to us, y/n.” Minghao’s handwriting read in Chinese whereas Wonwoo had left a sympathetic promise to the deceased, “we’ll never forget you.”

His teary eyes pulled away from the masses of notes left for you to the top of your headstone, where Seventeen had requested a replica of their ring at the time to be pressed into the marble in glass so that you were with Seventeen, always.

“Heaven couldn’t wait for you, my love,” the man whispered in his native language as he stroked the marble headstone, engraved with your name, “wait for me, please.”

[writersmorgue]

Something Immortal

word count - 3k

warnings: suicide attempt, drug use, addiction, cursing, teenagers being gross

pairing: model!Todoroki x canon!Bakugo

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Holy shit guys he posted!!" Mina squeals, vaulting herself over the couch to reach the rest of the Bakusquad sitting on the common room carpet. An old original copy of Monopoly splayed out in the center of their group.

"Ooh, show us! Show us!" Kaminari leans forward, swiping half of the properties off the board in the process.

Sero groans, "Dude you do this every time!!"

The blond pouts, "Hey it's your fault I was losing."

Kirishima just chuckles, picking up his dog piece from jail and throwing it into the box.

"Your smart people game can wait," Mina tugs on Sero's ponytail, "He hasn't posted in weeks."

"Oh my god he's so fucking hot," Kaminari's knee-jerk reaction is whispered as soon as he sees the post.

Todoroki Shouto, one of Japan- and America's- most well-known models. The teenager, who happens to be their age, regularly models for magazines like Vogue, Joker, and Elle. The teenager who has starred in countless American and Japanese short and independent films. The teenager who just so happens to be the son of the number one hero, Endeavor.

No one knows his quirk, but it just adds to the mystery. Some people theorize he's quirkless, but others think he's got a crazy dangerous quirk, which is why he's a model instead of an aspiring hero. Not like he's not perfect for the job, with his gorgeous bi-colored hair and heterochromatic eyes. The scar on his left side somehow only adds to his beauty. It doesn't matter what your sexuality is, you simp for Todoroki Shouto.

But that's the obvious, now this photo- this photo.

"It's ethereal, I've never seen him look so serene before."

"He's an actual angel."

"How is he only eighteen?!"

Mina nods as Sero, Kaminari, and Kirishima go through the seven stages of grief just looking at the photo.

Kirishima's eyes dart to Todoroki's username... which is just Shouto. In fact, the Todoroki name isn't mentioned once on his account, a fact that has hundreds of conspiracy theories on its own.

"Hey Meens, can we stalk him real quick? I wanna see who he's following."

She grins, "Well anything for you, munchkin."

Sero snorts. Their couple nicknames never fail to amuse anyone within hearing range.

"Ugh gross," Kaminari gags as Mina giggles, swiping off of the picture (which already has over 600,000) and onto his main page.

It's simple, plain yet elegant in the way only a PR manager could manage.

The bio is a link to his most recent shoot with some magazine that Kirishima doesn't recognize, the profile picture is a rare shot of him smiling, a blue checkmark, and a follower count of over four million.

His following count, however, is the shocker.

"He only follows fourteen people?" Sero whispers, clicking on the number.

"Huh," Mina turns the phone slightly so she can see, "Who is he following?"

"Let's see," Sero squints, eyes scrolling down the list, "Hawks... his siblings... Mirko... some American models... his agency's profile... and- wait, isn't that Bakugo?"

"HAH?" Mina yells, whipping the phone around and clicking on the profile.

Sure enough, a slew of photos shows up on her screen, all of their resident blond pomeranian glaring at the camera in various locations.

"He- WHAT?? It must be a glitch!" Mina scrambles frantically, eyes darting across the screen.

"Uh, yeah," Kirishima chuckles, "a glitch."

Mina scrolls up numerous times as if refreshing the page will help.

"I mean what other explanation can you think of?! It's not like Thee Todoroki Shouto would know our Bakugou, they're totally in different leagues." Mina sounds absolutely scandalized, causing Sero to laugh.

"I don't know, Meens, the proof is right there. We should ask him about it!"

"And what- DIE?" Kaminari reasons.

Sero nods, "Fair point."

"Pussies." Mina stands, planting her manicured hands on the edge of the couch, "I'll ask him myself."

-

"I REFUSE." A fourteen-year-old Shouto screams at his father.

"what do you mean you refuse? Shouto she's a lovely girl, and you need to procreate while you're still young if you're not going to become a hero like I want. You get one or the other." Todoroki Enji grabs his youngest child by the arm to lead him out of the kitchen, but Shouto jerks out of his grip. "Wh- SHOUTO."

"I'm going to live with Fuyumi. She'll take care of me." He holds his ground, shaking his father off when he tries once again to physically lead him out of the room.

"OH?" Enji bellows a laugh, "And how do you expect she'll find the money to take you in? Raising a teenager is expensive, you know, and she's only a simple school teacher."

"She's not a simple anything. And I- I'll find a way. We'll be fine. I already talked to several agencies."

"...agencies?"

-

"Wait, Mina!!" Kaminari calls after the girl, but she's a woman on a mission and there's no stopping her.

They arrive at Bakugo's door in a heap, Kaminari clawing at Mina while she knocks calmly. Kirishima and Sero stand to watch because they have no idea what else to do. (They're just as nervous as Kaminari but they're more afraid of Mina if they're being honest.)

A crash comes from inside the room, but soon their resident angry boy is slamming open his door and glaring at them. The normalcy is comforting.

"Do you fuckers realize what fucking time it is?"

"Yes~" Mina coos sweetly, "I know old men need their sleep but it's only 8:30 and we have a question."

He sighs aggressively and stretches his arms behind his back, cracking his shoulders and then his neck, Kaminari whimpers in fear.

"Alright, what do you want pinky?"

She's practically vibrating with excitement at this point.

"Why is Todoroki Shouto following you on Instagram?"

Bakugo seems to mull over this for a moment, and then he just shrugs.

Mina nods like this answers any part of her question, "That's what I thought, funny glitch. He's pretty hot though, right?"

The rest of the group nods emphatically.

Bakugo scratches his leg with his other heel, "He's not ugly, I guess."

Mina waves her arms around in Bakugo's general direction, "See!!? Even the straight guy agrees!!"

"No one was disagreeing with you, Mina." Sero snickers.

Bakugo grunts, then promptly slams the door in their faces.

"Well I guess that was more than he'd usually do at this time, we're lucky we didn't get exploded." Kirishima muses.

Kaminari nods, shuddering at the thought.

"Welp! That answers our question!" Although it really didn't, no one was about to argue with Mina, "Anyway I'm going to bed."

"Say hi to your vibe for me!" Sero whispers after her.

She waves as she marches away, humming to herself.

-

Shouto stares at the street below.

He wonders if he'd die falling from a height like this. He hopes he doesn't hit anyone.

Slowly, he removes his expensive sneakers, dropping them on the modelling agency's roof beside him. It's breezy tonight, and Shouto, freshly sixteen, has nothing to live for anymore. So he won't.

Stepping carefully over the guardrail, not sure why since he's about to jump. Maybe part of him is still afraid.

Whatever he can get over it.

His thin frame wobbles in the wind, and he breathes deeply, too focused on relaxing to notice the roof door opening, and hurried steps coming up behind him.

A warm hand grabs him, almost startling him off the side of the building.

The interruption heaves heavy breaths in his ear as they both topple down onto the concrete floor.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" Oh, it's Bakugo.

The only child of his manager, Mitsuki Bakugo, who happens to be a nosy little shit who can't stay out of other people's business.

"Get OFF" Shouto shoves him, frantically scrambling toward the railing again. He needs this.

"NO! Todoroki get the fuck back-"

"It's SHOUTO." blood spurts onto his gray sweater and he realizes with muted horror that he just elbowed his employer's son in the nose.

"Fuck I'm so sorry, are you okay?" He bends down, removing his trashed pullover, and holds it to his friend's nose.

Bakugo snorts, "Sorry- Shouto I mean." He winces when Shouto presses harder into his face, "I'll forgive you if you don't jump."

Shouto sighs, "You know why I was going to."

Bakugo visibly calms at the use of past tense, the outburst must have snapped him out of it.

"Your mom, right?" Shouto tenses.

"Yeah I- he barred me from ever seeing her again and I- I don't know what to do." He shudders and pulls his pills from his pants pocket.

He wonders what his mom would say if she found out her baby was addicted to drugs.

Bakugou frowns but lets his friend take the pill, not sure what to say.

"Fucking piece of shit. Is that even legal?"

"Legally the number two hero can do whatever the fuck he wants. We live in a flawed world, Bakugo.

"I- Shouto."

"Hmm?" Shouto collapses onto the ground, crunching the pill and sighing as he feels the effects start to take almost immediately.

"I care- I care about you, okay? So please let me help you. Let me get you help."

A tear slips down to Shouto's ear without his permission, he wipes it away as quickly as it came.

"I don't know, Bakugo. You haven't exactly seemed to like me in the past. Even though I like to think we're friends I know you don't feel the same." He frowns, admiring the shine of wetness on his palm in the moonlight.

Bakugo grumbles, "Don't fuckin' tell me what I do and don't feel. I really fuckin' care about you even though I'm an ass about it, okay? I'm not good with emotions so don't expect much from me. But I do want you to be happy and I don't think the uh- the pills are helping."

The blond holds out a hand and reluctantly Shouto slaps the container into it.

"Fine," he mumbles, "you're uh- not as bad as I thought."

Bakugo snorts, "You're just as bad as I thought, but I like you anyway."

Against his will, Shouto finds himself blushing, thankful that it's mostly hidden in the dark.

"C'mon," Bakugo gestures to his own chest, "I know you could use one."

Shouto whimpers as he curls himself into the blond's strong frame. He's built a lot of muscle since starting at UA this year.

A strong hand rubs along his back and Shouto finds he can't hold back his tears any longer as the shock starts to set in.

Fuck he almost just killed himself.

"Thanks, Bakugo."

"I almost just watched you die, you can call me Katsuki."

"Thanks, Katsuki."

"No problem, Shouto."

-

The Bakusquad once again finds themselves playing a game on the common room floor, this time Sorry, much to Sero's chagrin.

"Sorry!" Kirishima grins cheekily as he kicks Sero's piece back to his home base.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuck you guys-" He groans, flopping back onto the loveseat behind him, only to get an eyeful of Bakugo Katsuki's ass, "Oh hey Bakugou!"

"Wh- OI TAPE FACE WATCH WHERE THE HELL YOU'RE LOOKING-"

Sero snickers, patting Bakugou on the hip, "Sorry dude, it was literally right there."

Small explosions popped from Bakugo's hands as he growled down at Sero.

"Aw come on blasty he's just playing and WHERE are you going dressed like that???!!!"

Bakugo blushes and tugs his light blue blazer down farther.

"I have a date." He mutters, tugging his sleeves.

“Sorry,” Kaminari laughs, “I think I misheard you. Sounded like you said ‘I have a date.’”

Bakugo rolls his eyes, “Because I do, dipshit.” He sighs, checking his -expensive-looking- watch, “Just watch the independent film awards when they’re on. I think it’s like four hours from now that it starts.”

“Whyyyy would you have anything to do with that?” Kirishima groans, very lost.

“Shut the fuck up.” Bakugo grunts, digging his phone out of his pocket when it vibrates and checking something before humming and striding towards the front door.

He looks unusually elegant, hair slicked back probably as well as Bakugo’s hair can be, shirt tucked in, a few rings on his fingers, barely visible and yet beautifully drawn eyeliner. He’s… pretty.

The three remaining members of the Bakusquad, as well as the rest of the common room, sit there in awe as he shoves a permission slip in Iida’s blubbering face.

“I- Wh- Bakugo is this from Aizawa? You cannot just leave!!”

“Fuck off glasses, I have his fuckin’ blessing or whatever.”

“Bakugo!”

The blond shoots a middle finger off behind him and slams the door shut, leaving a stunned common room in his wake.

“Uh, well, that happened.” Jirou drones blandly from her place on the couch with Momo.

“Awards show watch party, anyone?!” Uraraka grins, standing, “I’ll get the mochi!!”

“I’ll make tea,” Momo stands as well, dusting off her perfectly clean jeans. Jirou groans at the loss of her girlfriend’s warmth and flops over on the couch.

“This is stupid, he probably got invited by some pro hero and he’s just going to yell at the paparazzi if he’s even gonna be there.” She pouts.

“Well,” Sero grins, “anyone wanna play Monopoly while we wait?”

Kaminari throws the Sorry board at his head.

-

“Alright, is everyone ready!!? The red carpet is about to start!!” Hagakure squeals, even though the entirety of class 3-A (minus Bakugo) is there.

“So… what exactly are we watching this for?” Shinsou scratches the back of his neck.

“Bakugo’s going to be in it apparently, the study group earlier saw him in the common room wearing a suit.” Ojiro answers.

“Not just a suit!!” Mina holds her hands out as if to deliver groundbreaking news, “A fancy suit.”

“Aren’t all suits fancy?”

“Shut up.”

“OOH LOOK there’s Arai Itō and Chiba Yoshida!! Aww, they’re so cute!” Uraraka swoons, clasping her hands together.

“I wonder when Kacchan is gonna come out, these things can take a while.”

“I honestly don’t even care, I heard Todoroki Shouto is nominated for an award this year!! Do you remember that really sad short film he was in about having an overdose? Gosh, I hope he wins.” Hagakure’s hair bow vibrates excitedly.

“THERE HE IS THERE HE IS!!!!!” She points at the bottom of the screen where a man in a pale blue dress has stepped out of a limo and onto the carpet, a heeled foot gracefully raising him to his full 6’2”.

“Holy shit he’s gorgeous.” Sero breathes, the reporters on screen basically saying the same thing.

Shouto reaches behind him and holds out a hand for the second person stepping out of the limo, broad shoulders, a shorter stature than Shouto especially with the heels, spiky blond hair, piercing red eyes-

…

“HOLY SHIT IS THAT BAKUGOU??”

The aerial camera pans down toward the blond, showing off his suit- which matches Shouto’s dress perfectly- and his, what appears to be professionally done hair.

“Holy shit does he have an undercut now!!?? We just saw him a few hours ago!” Mina screeches.

Momo shrugs, “They do that sort of thing for celebrities.” She sips her tea, unphased.

“Okay okay, we’re all ignoring the most important part. Kacchan is Todoroki’s date.” Izuku frantically waves his arms around.

“I didn’t know they knew each other,” Tokoyami muses.

“What the fuck is happening?” Sero asks no one in particular.

“Wait everyone SHUT UP they’re announcing awards!!!! Todoroki might win one! We can ask Bakugo about this when he gets back. Surely there’s an interesting story.” Uraraka chimes in, handing out mochi and popcorn.

The tv’s voice is muffled under the muttering of several class 3-A members, but Mina turns it up as the male announcer reads the winners of the award Todoroki is nominated for.

“AAAAAAAAND THE WINNER FOR BEST ACTOR IN A DRAMA SHORT ISSSSSSSSS…

TODOROKI SHOUTO!!! For his work in The End of Me and the incredible performance that shocked-”

Cheers ring through the dorms, popcorn goes flying, and Mina frantically shushes everyone as Shouto makes his way gracefully onto the stage. He accepts the award from the previous winner, bowing elegantly and stepping up to the mic.

“Hello everyone,��� He begins, shooting a shy smile directly into the camera. It has always perplexed his fans how nervous he can be in real life compared to in his photoshoots. “This is a really important award to me, not only am I incredibly grateful to the panel for gracing this title upon me, but as of yesterday,” He smiles at the ground, taking a deep breath, “I’m two years clean.”

Shocked gasps ricochet through the award hall as well as through the crowd gathered around the tv.

“He did drugs, kero?” Tsu whispers.

“Mon dieux,” Aoyama shakes his head, pressing a hand to his chest, “how brave.”

Shouto clears his breath and continues, “In fact, that wasn’t the worst of it at the time, and I’m incredibly grateful to all who have supported me through my career. You keep me sane, and you keep me going. But especially, I’d like to thank my sister, brother, and my wonderful boyfriend-”

He holds an arm out to someone in the audience, and the camera pans to none other than Bakugou Katsuki, “who quite literally saved my life, and helped me drive myself back on track. I love you Katsuki, and you continue to improve my life every second that you’re in it.”

Most of 3-A are in tears at this point, and as Bakugo half-heartedly scowls into the camera, they can tell his eyes are shining too.

Shouto glances back at the camera as if directing his words to someone in particular.

“Thank you.”

And then he’s walking back down to his seat as the audience provides him with a standing ovation.

“THEY’RE DATING,” Mina sobs, shaking Kirishima’s shoulders as he sits, staring slack-jawed at the television.

“Yeah, yeah they are.”

-

Katsuki does NOT wipe tears from his eyes as he helps Shouto sit back down in his seat, but his boyfriend definitely does. His mascara, thankfully waterproof, still holds strong.

Shouto shoots him a watery smile, rubbing his arm as he pulls the blond into a hug.

“Happy two years, Katsuki.”

[barbenheimer-core]

AUDERE EST FACERE !

하나. chanel : part four — 3k words

Wangja crossed the street with a bag of two steaming bowls of ramyeon and red ginseng, speeding up his pace to prevent the noodles from getting too soggy while he walked the path over to his shop where he had left Ahyeong at, sighing as he thought about the new addition to the cast.

When he had walked into his store last night, he was not expecting a stage to commence immediately upon entering the lounge.

Thank the writer (this was the first and last time he was going to say that) that their conversation and actions had already been written out, or else the shop owner would've been gawking at the new girl for the entirety of the stage.

He had been immensely startled back then; it was unusual for him to not know the timing and plot of every stage because he always made sure to check the comic that permanently resided in a small, hidden corner of his shop every single day.

But when he had browsed the comic as soon as Ahyeong had left, he had been bewildered at the sudden shift in the book's contents.

The cast page had been altered to feature four main characters instead of the original trio, and as he had turned the pages, he had noticed the new stages being inked with interactions that had never been present as of before.

To think that an already complicated web of troubling relationships had not been enough for the writer, they had proceeded to add a love square to the mix.

Wangja grimaced at his creator's choices in life. They had definitely been influenced by someone to do so if it had been so last minute.

But one thing was for sure; out of all the stories that the writer had put him in, this was by far the most interesting.

"Ahyeong-ah! I'm back!" he yelled into the air as he stepped in, his voice echoing in the shop.

The silence was his only response.

Confused, he stepped through the streamers that decorated the lounge's archway, eyes searching for the girl while he set the food down on the coffee table next to the abandoned copy of Shiver.

"Ahyeong, are you here-"

He stopped abruptly, gaze finding the peach cover of True Beauty toppled upside down on the floor in front of a shelf he swore no one would notice.

With dread in his mind, he picked it up, turning it around, only to be faced by the drawn version of the person he was looking for.

Oh no. She'd seen it.

If Gilyeong had to describe his sister at that moment, he would've said she looked like she'd risen from a grave in a zombie apocalypse movie.

She looked dead. Alive, yes, but dead.

Like someone had told her whole life was a lie.

When Ahyeong had arrived back home from wherever she had dashed off to during the morning, she had looked like she'd gone through the five stages of grief, questioned the meaning of life, and ran a marathon through the streets of Seoul by how hard she was breathing.

He had almost asked her if she was okay, but that would've come off as him being "concerned for his dear sister," as Eunjung had so uselessly put it, and he hated proving people right. And besides, Ahyeong was clearly not okay.

"Oye, grinch," he called out across the table after seeing her actions.

She looked as if she hadn't even heard him. No annoyed flinch, no irritated twitching of her eyebrow; no reaction at all. Just her mindlessly trying to eat soup with chopsticks.

Eunjung looked at her with an extreme amount of concern.

Gilyeong almost puked at the feeling of worry in his gut.

Ahyeong was functioning on auto-pilot, her consciousness having taken a backseat as the only thing that moved her was sheer muscle memory.

She couldn't even remember how she had come back to her house, however, the stinging in her legs informed her of how she had deserted the shop and ran all the way back home, much to Driver Kwon's horror.

Her head felt empty.

Being in a comic? As a bully? That had to be the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard, or read, about herself.

It did not make sense. She was quite literally a model student, with a record as clean as glass. Being reduced to the likes of a bully? Impossible.

And then the derealisation came in.

This probably wasn't real after all. Maybe it was just one big practical joke blown out of proportion.

Yeah, that was it, she concluded as she finally became aware of her surroundings, dropping the chopsticks in her hands with a confused look and picking up a spoon to continue eating her soup, unaware of the small breath of relief from across the table.

That weird paralysis thing hadn't happened since the other day anyway, so she was probably going to be okay.

TURN.

What a fucking lie, you're kidding—

The doors to the house banged open, harshly knocking against the walls and startling the occupants of the dining room.

Song Hwayoung came inside the house, immediately making Eunjung receive her in a hurry and assist her with taking off her coat and setting her a pair of slippers.

Ahyeong was panicking. Why now? The universe was being unnecessarily cruel. Her body felt like a rock, cemented into the ground. The air got colder, the lights felt different, brighter somehow, as if someone was shining a spotlight down on her family, as if a grim situation was about to ensue.

Ahyeong almost got up to greet her mother, but sat back down after seeing the subtle shake of Gilyeong's head, who hastily looked down at his empty plate after Hwayoung came to sit at the head of the table.

Her mother looked like she had been trying to bottle up her anger the whole day, and the cap was finally about to burst.

Ahyeong felt unsettled at the sudden change in demeanor. Her mother had never gotten this furious before, ever. She attempted to stand, but she was glued to her seat and could only watch as Hwayoung glared daggers at Gilyeong.

She threw a stack of papers in front of Gilyeong, who shrunk into his seat when he saw its contents.

"What is this?" Hwayoung inquired, trying her best to appear calm.

The young boy mumbled a reply in a voice so small that it was barely audible.

Hwayoung flared her nostrils, "Say it louder!"

Both siblings flinched at the volume. "My report card," the youngest said shakily.

Why was her mum flipping over a simple report card? It's not like grades mattered—

"Even I know that it's a fucking report card. What I want to know is why your grades dropped to C's and D's and why the hell you're failing in math?"

Ahyeong's eyes widened, either involuntarily or of her own free will, she didn't know. Hwayoung cursing at her brother and raging over his academic report? That was quite literally the opposite of how her mother was. Hwayoung was supposed to be the sweetest person she'd ever known, understanding and supportive through every endeavor.

For a moment she considered if her mother had been replaced by a clone of a crueler version of her. With the bullshit that was happening to her right now, the theory did not even feel that far-fetched.

At Gilyeong's silence, Hwayoung scoffed, "All of this was happening and you didn't even bother telling me? I was in a phone call with your friend's mother who told me her son had scored first place but when she mentioned how you weren't even in the top ten do you know how humiliated I felt?"

She stood up abruptly, throwing her chair back, which was immediately caught by Eunjung, and scowled at the boy, not a single trace of warmth in her eyes that her daughter was familiar with, "What an embarrassment to the Song name. At least your sister fares better than you."

With that, she stalked away, heels clicking against the marble floors as she retreated to her room.

TURN .

Ahyeong got up as soon as she could control her movements, rushing over to Gilyeong whose eyes had become red and puffy as he sniffled.

She pulled him in between her arms, and he shook uncontrollably, Eunjung watching the ordeal with downtrodden eyes, wishing she could help.

This was far beyond what she thought would happen. No, that woman could not have been their mother.

As she put her brother to sleep that night, she came to a solution.

Stepping into the elevator to reach Cloud9 Officetel's terrace the next day, her resolve strengthened.

This nightmare was ending, one way or the other.

Jugyeong was quite possibly living the worst nightmare she'd ever had.

The world was too cruel. Beauty was only on the inside, they said. What a horrible lie.

She had been humiliated beyond measure. All she tried to do was convey her honest feelings to quite possibly the only person who had ever been genuinely kind to her. She would've been fine if Wang Hyunbin had simply rejected her and decided to stay as friends. But for him and Semi to destroy her pride and self-worth like that? Because of how she looked?

She felt her eyes burning with warm tears before they cascaded down her cheeks, the cold wind at the top of the building harshly biting at her skin and rattling her bones.

She shivered.

Cold, it was too cold. What a day to die.

Jugyeong's hands hovered over her phone's screen as she stared at her mother's contact. Would her family even mourn her? Good riddance, they would probably think.

But she had to tell someone, and even if her mother was harsh with her words, she still loved her. She had to tell her the reason why she was about to jump off of a building.

Just as her finger leaned down to press the call button, the door to the rooftop opened, and Jugyeong jumped in shock, turning around to see who had come in.

She did a double-take.

Was God personally consenting to her taking her own life? Because she was pretty sure he had sent down an angel to escort her soul into heaven.

Her glasses had been abandoned on the bench she'd been sitting on from when she had been trying to wipe her tears, so she couldn't really see the person properly, but even with bad eyesight, the stranger looked almost ethereal.

They were dressed in a black dress and heels, as if they had gone to a funeral, or were planning to go to one.

They stopped upon seeing Jugyeong's disheveled self.

Was God finally being kind to her in her final moments?

Mind in a haze and not thinking straight, Jugyeong broke down yet again.

Ahyeong was startled at the girl crying in front of her. She didn't think there was going to be someone else up there other than herself.

When she looked closer at the girl who was sobbing uncontrollably in front of her, she noticed who it was, immediately taking a few steps back on instinct.

Moon Gayoung? Why was she in a school uniform— oh.

You've got to be kidding me.

What luck she had, walking right into the girl this world literally revolved around.

She felt something pulling away at her in the back of her mind, sending warning bells down her spine, saying she wasn't supposed to be there. But why?

Ahyeong's heart almost burst out of her ribcage when Jugyeong threw herself at her, clutching almost painfully at her waist and sobbing into her dress.

She froze at the sudden contact, arms awkwardly hovering over the girl's shoulders.

Jugyeong had probably not recognized her yet, because there was no way she was hugging her future tormentor just like that.

"Th-thank y-y-you for c-coming," the girl said between choked breaths, "F-for being- for being here in my—" she struggled to say the words, "—my final moments."

Ahyeong stilled at that.

By the time her words had registered, she already knew what was happening.

This was the scene from the drama, she remembered, when Jugyeong had tried to kill herself because of the incident at school.

How ironic. Ahyeong almost laughed at her situation, they were here for the same fate for almost the same reason. Both didn't like the world that they lived in.

But for the Song girl, this was a test, really. A theory she came up with in the dead of the night.

The sensation of falling, that knee-jerk reaction, and the feeling of finally waking up from your dream. That was what she was hoping for. She wasn't here to die, she was here to go back to living her own life.

But the girl who clung to her was dead set on ending things, and frankly, that was a dreadful thought.

Ahyeong had no intention of leaving her as she was, be this a fictional world or not, Im Jugyeong was a human being who deserved a lot more than she got.

"Were you going to jump?"

Jugyeong's thoughts came to a halt as the Angel asked a question, the oddly familiar lilt of her voice bringing a strange mix of foreboding and warmth in her gut.

Still shaking, she only nodded against her shoulder.

"Why?"

"Because-" she sniffled, tightening her arms around them, "because everyone hates me," her voice faded at the end, and her wobbly knees gave in, making her sink into the hard floor and dragging the person along with her.

This time, the Angel wrapped her arms around her, rubbing soothing circles into her back.

"Jugyeong, things may seem horrible for you at the moment, and you have every right to be upset over what was said and done, but it is impossible to know answers to such questions when you're so overwhelmed."

The words cut through her haziness, her cries slowly stopping as what they said registered in Jugyeong's mind.

"You don't really want to die, do you?"

It felt weird, being told such things by a stranger.

Maybe deep down she had already known, but her despair had overtaken her senses and disregarded her common sense.

"Why were you really about to call your mother?"

Because she was hoping someone would stop her. To make sure someone really did care about her despite appearances.

The Angel patted her back, and slowly pulled away, only to firmly place their hands on Jugyeong's shoulders.

"Your family's waiting."

She didn't need to be told twice.

Maybe God was kinder than she thought.

It was getting dark now.

The cold evening air nipped at her skin as Ahyeong stood on the edge, heels digging into the concrete as she gazed down below.

What a hypocrite she was, telling all those things to Jugyeong.

She'd sent her home with a taxi after their ordeal, and Jugyeong had not even looked at her once through the whole thing.

She didn't know why.

The road was buzzing with activity, cars zooming past on asphalt, people walking home on the footpaths, vendors selling seasonal goods by the side.

It seemed to be a normal day.

She wondered how the rest of their day would go if her body suddenly flopped down there.

Gooseflesh rose on her arms. All of this was too real.

She slapped herself, the stinging spreading through her numb skin and making her wince in pain.

What was she doing? Was she really about to jump off a building just to test a theory out?

What if it failed? The pain in her cheek would pale in comparison to what would happen should she fall.

And the people waiting for her back home, thinking she was off paying her respects to an old friend. Gilyeong and Eunjung would be destroyed.

Ahyeong stepped back. No, she couldn't do this. She wasn't planning on dying today. Or anytime soon really.

She'd just have to get used to living here—

TURN.

Song Ahyeong stepped closer to the edge of the building, awaiting her doom.

What the fuck!? She didn't want to die, shit, shit, shit—

The LED screen behind her lit up in hues of pink and purple, colorful shadows falling on her dress that did nothing against the frigid wind.

Jung Seyeon's face graced the billboard in the distance, an ode from the people to celebrate the day he was born, and an apology for being the reason he died.

One more step and she would fall. No, no, one more step and she'd fall—

Ahyeong leaned forward closing her eyes for the last time.

NO!

And so, she fell backward.

Wait, backward?

TURN.

Ahyeong barely registered the iron grip on her wrist before it was tugged hard, her stiletto losing its balance and twisting her foot at an unnatural angle.

She widened her eyes as her vision blurred, surroundings moving too fast, and braced herself for the impact on the rough concrete.

It never came.

Instead, she fell on the person who had taken the liberty of pulling her back, and subsequently saving her. Groaning, she raised her head, squinting against the bright light of the advertisement.

"What a relief," Suho breathed out.

The ColorBeauty commercial cast the glow of its neon colors over their faces, and as the faint melody of Seyeon's voice filled the silence in the air, Song Ahyeong knew that somehow, she had fucked up.

masterlist

© 2021 Alfia Sheikh, All Rights Reserved

[imtheflash]

Gone- Part two of heartbeat

It has been two months. Since the accident you haven't found the courage in yourself to visit her. Her side of the bed lays the same, edge of the covers curled down slightly because according to her "it looks nicer" and a few knickknacks spread over her side table. The stub of the concert you went to on her birthday last year. A strip of pictures of you too when you nudged her into a picture booth at the carnival. A stack of notes that you both wrote each other. Her socks are still on the floor from the night before the mission. Her pillow still fluffed.

You haven't cried yet. According to Steve's whispered conversations with Tony it means your still in stage one of grief. Denial.

That's not true though. Your girlfriend isn't dead so what are you grieving? She's in the med-bay laying on the same cot. In a coma not gone. What's done is done though so you quit moping around your shared room and go down to the shared floor to see the mission board.

Frowning you tap Steve's shoulder.

"Why am I not on any of these missions?"

He hesitated before answering.

"Look, I know you wanna go distract yourself but this isn't healthy. You need to go see her. This isn't right"

You scoff before looking up at him. "This isn't right. My girlfriend is in a coma. To hell with what's right or wrong here and who, says I haven't gone and seen her huh?"

"I do." Tony speaks up from where he was sitting watching you argue back and forth together. "Your name has never been checked on the sign in sheet on the med-bay. On the last two missions you went and stitched up your injuries yourself and, avoided going into the med-bay even when there was a chance that you could see Peter's next invention." Wanda looks up at you too. "I agree with Tony. You haven't been down here for anything besides the mission board. You turned down every offer to watch a movie or to even cry. I get this is affecting you but you need to stop losing yourself in missions. It isn't safe"

You threw your hands up "I don't need to go see her. I know what she looks like or have you forgot that I was with her when her heart flat lined. Or when she lost so much blood that the first thing they did was get a bag of it and replace it every 20 minutes because it was that bad. Or I forgot did you see her basically say "HEY guess what I'm okay with dying for now really its fine" with the last breath she had? Have you ever thought that the reason I haven't gone to see her is because she is going to look the same as when she died and I can't stand it. That I can't let myself cry because I know as soon as I start start I don't know if I'll ever be able to STOP because I know she's gone. And all I've got left is her voice in my head" Your voice breaks in between each sentence and you begin to cry, for the first time in those few months you finally let yourself feel everything while you sink to the ground. Steve wraps you in a hug and Wanda gets up to join. Soon enough your wrapped in the midst of everybody, warmth and comfort flowing through them and trying to console you.

You end up pushing back from their hug in an attempt to pull yourself together a couple minutes later.

"I'll go visit her later" You don't think that they believe you but Tony nods and speaks for what seems like all of them.

"Of course. We'll be here if you need us"

You make the lengthy trip back to your room and decide to change into something comforting. The black hoodie that Natasha used to live in when she was upset pierces through your mind. You see it laying on a chair still wrinkled from the last time she wore it. You get an idea and instead of wearing that you choose something simple.

As you hesitate instead of going down to the med-bay immediately your eyes land on a picture framed on the wall. You were kissing her cheek and her cheeks were red. It was a couple months after you had started dating. It effectively reassures your decision as you bring the sweatshirt with you. You take the elevator down to the med-bay praying for nobody else to hit the buttons between floors. You write your name on the sign out list outside her room and walk in.

She looks better than...then. Her arms a static by her side and the heartbeat monitor is beating readily. You don't say anything to her yet, simply walking over to the attendant and asking if its okay to move her around yet, pitching your idea with a hopeful look in your eyes. When she nods you take that as cue to walk over to her.

She looks so.. peaceful. Ethereal almost. The smudged dirt had been moved from her face. Red hair lay out on her right shoulder and a cast on her left ankle. Two bandages were on her right arm and you're sure that if you lifted her shirt you would find more, all stab wounds and scratches leading to blood loss..

You nod at the nurse in the room waiting for them to leave before you step over to her leaning her forward and putting the sweatshirt behind her. Satisfied with the placement you lean her back and weave her arms through the sleeves. You step over to her leaning her forward and putting the sweatshirt behind her. Satisfied with the placement you lean her back and weave her arms through the sleeves. Satisfied with your work you lean back and appreciate that she looks a little bit more.. human. You take a seat next to her.

"Hey Nat. Uh you probably can't hear me. But um. You lived. Your still alive. Sorry for not visiting. I um. I don't know what to tell you. I've been doing okay. I was in a mission and I got stabbed carelessly a week ago but that's it." You hold her hand, waiting for a twitch or a shudder like it says in all the story books. A lover holds the other and magically wakes up.

"I could really use you around." Your voice shudders in between words. "Things haven't been the same. I miss you. Things are crazy."

You lift her hand up and press a kiss to the back of it. "Come back to me please. Come back like you always promised you would." You press one final kiss to her forehead and get up and leave waiting waiting WAITING for her voice to call out and tell you that she's here and alive and okay.

It never does.

You exit the Med-bay slightly nauseous and feeling worse than when you came. You wish it were like all the books you read. All the romcoms you watched with her.

"I still don't understand why we're watching this again." Natasha comments. It was some romcom that she wasn't that interested in. Instead of watching it she was watching you. Smiling when you smiled giggling when you yelled out commentary. "are you even watching it?" you ask her for the 4th time when she got caught looking at you.

"I am I promise." She brings your hand up to her lips a habit she had.

Not risking getting caught again she looks at the screen.

"Wait so she's just gonna wake up? That's like 2 gallons of ketchup blood she lost and she's just gonna wake up because he asked her too?" she yells outraged. You giggle at her expression loving the playful side of Natasha you got to witness. At least give her something to wake up too? The nurse is hotter then he is goddamn it and doctors should be offended, they didn't need to do anything it was his voice that woke her up!"

"Hey!" you pout "What about me"

"I never said you weren't hot" She protests when you move from where your cuddled into your side. You pretend to be mad and stay on the end of the couch until out of nowhere she plops down ontop of you, peppering your face and neck with kisses "I" kiss "love" kiss "only" kiss "you" kiss "Capice?" Kiss.

"Capice!" You giggle trying to squirm away from where she was attacking you with kisses. You end up creating a schedule of visiting her every other day. Soon enough that turns into every other week. You never stop though until your sent on a month long mission. It dawns on you then that just because your world stopped moving, everyone else's never did.

You take one last glance around the room, memorizing every detail before walking to the quinjet. Hopefully, something would change when you came back.

[wastelandcth]

best years - cth

summary: dovey and calum go through a rough patch, leading dovey to believe she gave up her best years. 

author’s notes: hello everyone...this is angst and part one out of two. good luck! inspired by this tik tok. 

warnings: angst and sad overall

masterlist || request || more doves

I’ve got a million reasons to hesitate and baby a million more are added every day.

Dovey had always been there for Calum. She'd been there through the drama that came along with being in a well-known band. She'd been there through the highs and the lows, through the rumors and controversies. Dovey had stuck through everything and every day it seemed like more and more came into light, like the man she had fallen in love with became a stranger. Suddenly, Calum was no longer her best friend who would tell her everything, he was the stranger in her bed who hardly was around. 

The fight hadn't been intentional. Most of the time, the Doves would talk anything out. Whether it be a disagreement over something small like where the pillows on the couch should go or whether it was something big like how their lives would be affected by the latest album release. This time, it was different, stubbornness and yells meant that Dovey found herself in a lonely bed while Calum locked himself away in his office. And with only a few days left before Calum left for tour with no plan on when or if Dovey would join him, the Doves went to sleep in different beds. 

It had started when he'd left for tour. Usually, Dovey would drive him to the airport and stay until the band's flight was called and she had given him one last hug until they were reunited again. This time, Calum had suggested saying their goodbyes at home that it would be the best since there would probably be a lot of fans at the airport. Although she wasn't too please with their break from tradition, Dovey found herself hugging him on their doorstep, whispering a soft I love you before the man she loved stepped into the car that had been waiting. 

The next time Dovey realized something had changed, she had been on facetime with him. He'd seemed distant, his eyes drifting off from the screen and his interest in whatever conversation he and Dovey were having being torn away at some joke Michael had told. Dovey thought he might've noticed something was off when she had hung up on the call, hoping he'd call her back and she could claim it was an accident, but her phone never rang again that night. It felt like the harder Dovey tried to connect with the man who was an ocean away living his dream, the more she realized exactly how disconnected they were becoming. 

I spent so much of me on you I forgot who I became.

The longer that Calum was away on tour, the more Dovey found herself. Days that would've been spent alone in a foreign city while Calum was in a radio gig were now spent with friends in the city she'd learn to call home. Mornings, where she’d usually wake up in a cramped bunk next to a grumpy Calum, were spent taking Duke on a hike and clearing her head. 

One day after she'd gotten home from the grocery store, a pang in her heart threatened to ruin the good mood she'd been in when she saw Luke's partner post a picture of them all in front of some monument miles away. But with a shake of the head and a double-tap on the screen, Dovey put some music on and danced the tears away. It wasn't until later that night when her mind was awake that she clicked on the picture again, finding those brown eyes she'd fallen in love with two years ago staring back at her. She could tell something was different, that the smile he had on didn't reach his eyes and his eyes didn't shine like they normally did when he was having the time of his life. But things were different now, and Dovey wasn't going to let her life revolve around him as she did before. If he wanted to talk to her as much as she wanted to talk to him, he would've called. He had her number and for some unknown reason, had decided to not use it. 

Finally found a reason to walk away. 

The final straw had been a picture. Dovey had been used to seeing fan meetings on her social media, smiling fans grateful to have been able to meet Calum and talk to him for even just a second. But the second a video of him had started circling around the internet and made its way onto her screen, Dovey had just about had enough of the stupid shit Calum had been putting her through the last two months. She understood being too busy for at least a phone call or text. Touring was hard work and Calum was known for pushing himself to the limit. She understood wanting space from one another that maybe this tour was something Calum needed to do on his own in order to clear his mind and think about what their relationship meant to him. But the one thing Dovey wouldn't stand by his side when he was the one that had been telling people she was the one who hadn't wanted to join him. She wasn't going to stand by his side while he told his bandmates and the rest of the world that she hadn't wanted to join him because she was being dramatic. If Calum wanted drama, Dovey could be dramatic. 

The house that I built you made it a mess. 

Dovey had been out of their house, the house that had been filled with memories of them and their love, for about two weeks now. Duke had joined her in the passenger seat of her car that sunny afternoon when she had stuffed all her belongings into the back seat and rode off out of the city. Her parent’s house that brought along the comfort and warmth she had been craving for months was a few hours away and far enough away that any reminders of Calum could be put aside. The small town she had left all those years ago brought her peace and gave her the space she needed from whatever waited for her back in LA, if anything even did wait for her. 

Her mother had met her in the driveway, a tight embrace and promises of better times made Dovey's heavy heart lighten up as she saw her childhood home still pretty much the same as the day she had left it. The living room still had candles everywhere and the tv was playing the same movie channel her mother loved to watch on her days off from work. The kitchen was still stocked with snacks and fruits that seemed too real to be fake. And the backyard was still a playground for any and every dog Dovey had brought home, even Duke who had settled on laying in a sunspot to nap. 

Her bedroom had brought on a new set of challenges, the posters on the walls and the albums on the shelves brought tears to her eyes as she saw those brown eyes looking back at her. He'd be back in their house soon. Dovey wondered how he'd react to find himself in an empty house. What he would think of when he saw the letter she had left him on the kitchen counter since at that point any attempt to call or text him was met with radio silence. He'd probably try to call her at that point, she hoped, but only to see where Duke was or he'd get Ashton to do it for him. Dovey wasn't too sure about anything when it came to Calum anymore. She wasn't sure if he would even care that she had left the gold band on the counter next to the letter or that she had left her keys to the house in the little ceramic tray they had painted on one of their dates so many months ago. 

I’m left with broken pieces can't help how I ran out of tears.

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since the tour had ended and Dovey hadn't heard from any of them. She hadn't heard from Calum since before she'd left the house almost a month ago and she hadn't even gotten a text message from Luke, who would update her on what had been going on during the tour. It was been one week since Dovey had run out of tears. One week since she had decided that leaving was the best option and that she had made the right choice. 

It had been a week since she realized just how much of herself she'd given away to Calum only to have nothing left for herself. It took her two weeks to realize that if he had wanted to talk to her, he would. If he had wanted to see her or even Duke for that matter, he would've driven to where she was. So when her tears were dry and the pain in her chest was nothing more than a dull pressure whenever she thought about him, she began to fix whatever broken pieces she could. 

It began when she packed away all the old posters that hung on her wall, the smile on every single one leaving her breathless like it always would when she saw it in person. The sparkle in his eyes bringing fresh tears to hers, tears that she would blink away and continue on with taking him out of her life. By the time her childhood bedroom was nothing more than the furniture and bare walls, Dovey felt lighter than she had in months. It didn't last long. As sleep called her name and her eyes closed, Dovey was brought back from whatever dream she was about to enter when the buzzing noise went off next to her head.

I'm sorry. 

I lost all my best years just missing my best years. past love burned out like a cigarette im free now baby all I regret are my best years. 

Sitting in the living room, watching back old family movies and nursing the drink in her cup, Dovey couldn't help but feel like an idiot. She'd given Calum the best years of her life. Gave him all the good times and shared the most wonderful moments with him all for him to leave her with silence and no explanations. She'd gone through the stages of grief, had tried to make her new life without his work, and then he had shoved his way back in with no warnings in the middle of the night. 

The text message hadn't been the only thing Calum had sent, no matter how hard Dovey had wanted it to be. He'd sent her a voice note, a five-minute ramble where his accent had gotten too thick for Dovey to try and decipher what he was saying through the tears and sniffling. He'd apologized for the silence, apologized for the lies, and even apologized for forcing the silence he'd caused from the rest of the band. But Dovey wasn't going to just let him into her life so easily, she wasn't going to let him in after the months of silence and heartbreak. She'd lost all her best years and she needed to find herself again before she could ever consider letting Calum have more of the best of her. 

taglist:  @hoodhoran​ @finelliine @moonlightcriess​ @dinosaursandsocks @mxgyver​ @calpops​ @karajaynetoday​ @notlukehemmo​ @calumrose​ @devilatmydoor​ @lyss-xo​ @lowkeyflop

[marciego]

Okay... top 5 SL moments this far and your top 5 Sl characters (this far)

let's go!!!

SL moments (not really in order)

eres in 01x38 i will NEVER recover from this is was such a cute and wholesome moment and they were just having so much fun, like it's genuinely one of the only soy luna moments i've rewatched quite a few times? man i love lumon

a bit hypocritical from someone who can't stand matteo i'll admit that, but profugos in 01x26, overall that open was so fun and i had so much fun this episode, but this performance is one of my favorite from the whole season, literally the only time matteo was being bi and it didn't make me go through the five stages of grief because i couldn't angrily call him cishet and idk it was just a very fun moment, i also think it was hilarious how the gayer matteo was acting the more eager luna was to get between him and simon like yes girl don't let the bitch hit on your man. also really a fan of the french translation of the lyrics specifically changing for this performance to acknowledge matteo was singing to simon and not to a girl lmao

that moment right after lumon's first kiss where simon asked her out on a date and immediately started running without waiting for her yelling "the last there pays!!!" and she ran after him complaining it wasn't fair like HELL YEAH that's the best friends to lovers content i was looking for!!!!

the roller band doing something nice for ramiro even tho he refused to give them that producer's number and that leading to ramiro genuinely reflecting on his behaviour like hell yeah!!!! ramiro had always showed he responded to encouragment and gentle explanations way better than harsh criticism and like seeing him actually, genuinely, trying to fix his mistakes because people were kind to him and that made him realize what he did was wrong? girl i was SO here for it, i was so happy!!!!!

i wouldn't say it's like. a favorite moment but gaston asking ramiro out stuck with me the whole season and i'm still WAITING to see them interact more so i'll answer that one

also as bonus one, not really a fav either but i was quite fond of gaston and nina's photography class moments

EDIT: forget gaston and ramiro or gaston and nina, i remembered an actual moment i loved with all my heart!!!! i don't remember when but at some point luna and simon danced together (maybe during the daniela arc?) and it was SUCH a wholesome moment, it really showed their love for each other and i was sitting there like UGH i love them so much!!!!

SL characters, not much has changed here but!

5. ambar but girl i feel so bad for this but i almost replaced her with sharon 😭😭 LIKE in the end i didn't do it because i don't love sharon more than ambar but i find her to be such a compelling character? i think she's a good character but yeah in the end it would have felt wrong not to put ambar here, because she's just as interesting and i know she'll only keep getting better so i'm very!! and ESPECIALLY because it's ambar i would never have put sharon before her 😭

4. simon!!! best boy for real, he's such a good soul and i love him a lot <3

3. luna <3 honestly i hesitated a lot to put her second because the more episodes i'm watching the more she's growing on me, like i've always loved her but!!! she's so good!!! i love her!!! she's my baby girl and i want her to be happy!!! i think she's a good mc and i'm glad it's her story i'm following

2. delfi, lately the focus hasn't really been on her you know, which is also why i hesitated to put her third, but when i remember some of her scenes earlier in the season i get all !! she's just such an interesting character and i love her so much

1. ramiro <333 idk he just makes me so happy? like every time he's on screen i get :] and he's truly the only one making me feel that way in the show, i think i truly need more ramiro content if i want to get to the end of this show without losing my sanity because he just improves every scene he's in

[bonjour-rainycity]

The Long Way Around ~ Chapter 4

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/623116614605357056/the-long-way-around-chapter-3

Pairing: Jasper x Reader

Word count: 2092

Warnings: None

Y/n’s POV

The next three weeks pass in a now predictable sequence. I spend the majority of my time getting to know my new roommates, for lack of a better word. Esme, who is quickly becoming my favorite, does whatever I want with me. We read books, watch movies, go for runs in the woods. The doctor, Carlisle, isn’t home very often. He and Edward spend a lot of time in town making sure the Cullens are not suspect in my disappearance. They decided it would be best to continue ‘business as usual’ to avoid suspicion, but also so they don’t have to give up the advantageous location in the woods and risk moving with me. Bella tends to keep to herself, though she does occasionally join Esme and I in our book club. Alice and Arthur are quite friendly, and I enjoy spending time with them, even if Alice does treat me like a Barbie doll. I swear, I’ve never owned more clothes in my life! Rosalie is slowly warming up to me. She’s not rude, exactly, but I can tell my presence is hard on her. Her husband, Emmett, is a whole lot of fun. He invites me for races and arm wrestling matches which, obviously, I win. I suspect that won’t continue forever, though. Once my newborn strength fades, he will likely be the strongest in the house. 

Then, of course, there’s my shadow. Jasper doesn't say much, but he is a constant presence. I can tell he doesn’t trust me. The minute I get frustrated or upset he invades my personal space and uses his ability to calm me down. I do resent it slightly, but I understand the need. It’s as he says: I’m dangerous. It amuses me though to know that, as Jasper has taken the task upon himself to never leave my side, he has to do everything I do. So he watches sappy movies with Esme and I, he sits quietly while Emmett and I play board games, he sulks in the corner while I ask Alice endless questions about her psychic ability, and, of course, he hunts with me about four times a week. 

My bloodlust is insatiable. This newfound life and the thirst that accompanies it keeps me in a near constant state of pain. My throat burns badly, and, even when I am drinking animal blood, the burn remains. I have a feeling that, at this stage of life, not even human blood would satisfy my thirst. 

At the thought of human blood, a delicacy so far denied to me, venom pools in my mouth. From across the room, Jasper shifts uncomfortably, feeling my desire. I imagine it must be harder for him than the others, because he not only has to fight his own bloodlust, but everyone else’s. 

He eyes me evenly. “Do you want to hunt?”

“I’m fine,” I lie. We just went yesterday, and I feel like a burden asking people to go with me constantly. I usually have an entourage of three minimum when I hunt, and I can tell it interrupts the daily flow of things. 

Jasper’s eyes don’t leave mine. “Taking you hunting isn’t a burden. Trust me, we would much rather go with you twenty times a day than have you get too thirsty and lose control.” 

I purse my lips at his uncanny ability to know what I’m thinking. I know his emotional radar detector must help, but seriously, sometimes he rivals Edward. 

“It would probably be a good idea,” I acquiesce. “I’ll go see if anyone else wants to go.” I push myself off the kitchen floor-I had been busy reading through one of Esme’s architecture journals-and walk into the living room where Emmett, Rosalie, Carlisle, Esme, and Arthur are gathered around the TV. 

“Hey does anyone wanna-” My words die as I register the news anchor’s words. 

“The search continues for local Y/n, Y/l/n, who was reported missing over three weeks ago.”

It feels like the breath has been knocked out of me. I grip the back of the couch, grief ripping through me. Five vampires turn their wary gazes at me.

“Turn it off.” Jasper’s command comes from behind my shoulder. 

“No,” I breathe, deeply hurt but desperate to know what my friends and family could be seeing.

The anchor continues. “Authorities say they have a man in custody who confessed to stabbing the woman, though claims he can’t remember what he did with the body. Witnesses to the crime seem to suffer the same memory loss. Police have refused to offer further comments, though locals speculate a conspiracy or the presence of illegal drugs. While the two witnesses to the crime, Kaitlyn Myers and Blake Hannigan, have faced backlash surrounding their involvement in the case, police have cleared them as suspects at this time.”

The couch snaps under my grip. I take two quick steps back, shocked by what I just heard and the jarring display of my physical power. 

“Oh, sweetie.” Esme is in front of me instantly, reaching out to envelop me in a hug. Before I can even blink, Jasper is standing between us, acting as a barrier to Esme. 

Hurt pierces through my gut. He only sees me as a threat.

“I’m not going to hurt Esme, Jasper. Back off!” I wish my words didn’t waver. 

His voice is hard when he responds. “You don’t know what you’ll do. Newborns are governed by their emotions more than anyone else. I’m not taking any risks.”

“Well how about getting to know me instead of just generalizing?” I throw my hands up, properly yelling now. “I’m sick of feeling like I’m a prisoner with you. Everyone else is giving me a chance, so why can’t you?” I spit the words out, my hurt growing by the second. 

“We’re hoping it’s all a terrible dream, that we’ll wake up soon and everything will be alright.” 

They hadn’t turned off the TV. On the screen is a video of my parents. Hearing my mom’s tearful voice is like a kick to the stomach. I sink to the floor, gasping for air I don’t need. 

“I just want our little girl to come home.” Mom’s voice breaks, and she stares into the camera. It’s like she’s staring right at me. 

“Jasper, it’s alright, really. I appreciate your concern very much but I promise, it’s alright.” Esme’s soft voice vaguely reaches me through my sobs. 

A pair of arms-Esme’s, likely-envelopes me, but I barely take notice. I only feel the pain. It’s so much worse than the burn in my throat. It almost has me wishing for the fiery torture I felt while becoming a vampire. But wishing very seldom equates to reality, so I’m left to allow the gaping hole in my chest to consume me.

I don’t know how long we stay like that, only that it’s dark when I finally regain control of myself. Esme never left my side, and even Rosalie had come to join us at some point. She says nothing, only rests her head on my shoulder and holds my hand. 

Jasper is noticeably absent. 

“I think I scared him off,” I mumble, guilty. 

“He’ll recover,” Rosalie replies, sounding unconcerned. 

“He’s coming from the right place,” Esme assures. “Jasper is a very passionate person who gives his all in everything. This is no different. I think he sees keeping you and us safe as a chance to redeem himself for his past indiscretions, though those are long-ago forgiven. He’s trying to keep you from making the same mistakes he did.” 

I look at the floor, mulling Esme’s words over. I don’t really know what to say to that.

Thankfully, Rosalie saves me from having to craft a response. “Do you still want to hunt? I can go with you.” 

I smile and shake my head, exhausted from the recent emotional turmoil. “No, it’s okay. I think I’ll just go to bed.” I say the word lightly, knowing I’ll probably just spend the next eight hours reading or something to keep my mind busy. 

I stand, intending to exit the room. On the way out I see the poor couch, broken in two. I grimace. “Sorry about the couch.”

Esme smiles sweetly, waving it off. “Don’t worry about it. It just gives me an excuse to go shopping.” 

I give her a quick hug, grateful for her endless kindness and patience. 

Once upstairs in the room Alice and Esme courteously set up for me, I flop on the bed, grabbing the nearest book. I do my best to let my mind go blank and focus only on the words in front of me. About two hours into this exercise, I hear a soft knock on the door. 

Jasper stands in the frame, looking repentant. “I’m sorry. You were right. I haven’t tried to know you. But I’ve got some time now if you’re free.” It’s then that I realize he means to do this now. Not wanting to smile because I really am still upset with him, I bite it back. 

I decide to play coy instead. “I suppose I could clear my schedule. Though, a little more groveling might help…”

He smiles softly, almost hesitantly. With exaggerated movements, he gets on his knees and clasps his hands together in an excellent show of desperation. “Please do me the magnificent honor...of telling me your favorite color.” 

Now I can’t help but crack a smile. “You may approach, peasant, but remember that my good grace can easily change.” I pat the foot of my bed, and he sits, facing me. “It’s green. Like trees and moss and emeralds.” 

“What’s your favorite thing about this new life?”

“The running. I had asthma as a human but now I can run for as long as I want and be completely fine.” 

He nods, filing the information away. “If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?”

I answer without hesitation. “London. The culture, the history, the accents.” He chuckles, teasingly exasperated. “I bet it’s amazing.” 

He smiles, a faraway look in his eyes. “Oh it’s great. I was there back in the ‘90s...I bet it hasn’t changed too much though.” He grins. “Maybe in a couple of years we’ll all be able to take a trip.”

I look down at my fingers. “Maybe a few more years than a ‘couple’. I can’t even think of human blood without…” Venom floods my mouth. I offer a humorless chuckle. “See?”

Jasper shakes his head emphatically. “No, you’re really doing good.” I try to protest, but he shakes it off. “I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true. You are doing remarkably well for three weeks in.” 

I sigh, ready to tease him a bit. “Well I couldn’t do so well without my shadow micromanaging my every move.” 

He smiles sheepishly and looks at his lap. “I’m sorry I seem a bit…,” he sighs deeply, “intense. I will try to ease off.”

I grin, pulling my knees up to my chest. “Thank you. I’ll try to be a little less emotionally hectic. It’s gotta be hard on you.” 

Too quickly, he shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. You’re going through a lot, it’s okay.” 

I chuckle, feeling much lighter now, either thanks to his ability or the natural resolution of tension between us, I don’t know. “Yeah well I could stay away from the movies that make me feel all the things.” Now he grins, raising his eyebrows. “Next time we’ll try something bland, like High Noon.”

“Hey now.” Jasper raises a hand, a comically disbelieving look on his face. “High Noon is a masterpiece, don’t knock it.” 

I grin broadly, smacking him on the shoulder with a pillow. “I knew you were a Western guy! Gosh, that’s gotta be like, what, forty percent of your personality?”

He rolls his eyes good-naturedly, taking the pillow from me. “Mhm, somewhere around there.” 

I like this Jasper, I decide firmly. This new, witty, freer Jasper is so much more fun to be around. I could stand to have this Jasper follow me around all day. 

As if he has come to the same agreement, that Jasper stays at the foot of my bed well past the time the sun rises, talking and joking. We get to know each other. 

And, for a while, I forget about how sad I am and the near constant burning in the back of my throat.

A/n Thanks for reading! I’m having so much fun with this story and I’m glad you guys are enjoying it, too! Please let me know what you thought of this chapter and if you would like to be added to the tag list!

xx, 

Bjr

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/623283543296049154/the-long-way-around-chapter-5

Tag list: @puer-de-infinitate @charliestuff @hindustani-diaspora @one-thread-can-save-a-life

[mostlymovieswithmax]

Movies I watched in September

I skipped a month again. But not to worry. This is a wrap-up of all the movies I watched in the month of September (2021). I think I maintained a steady ratio throughout but perhaps there’s not as much on the list this time because I wanted to get on with other things, be that work-wise or just trying to get out to the beach as much as possible and make the most of the last dregs of summertime. I went swimming in the sea a lot! But I also got to catch the new James Wan movie, Malignant (twice!) as well as the new James Bond, No Time To Die. Not to mention a couple of classics! My hope again with this list is to introduce people to new movies that they may otherwise not have seen or perhaps have never have heard of. These short reviews are my own subjective opinions on each individual movie. I’m thinking maybe a more informal approach to movie criticism can help include others who are just passing through. So here is every film I watched from the 1st to the 30th of September.

Fanny and Alexander (1982) - 8/10

Coming from Ingmar Bergman, I was surprised to see just how warm this was. I’m a big fan of the Swedish director and while this isn’t my favourite from him (perhaps due to it needing a second watch, or the fact I watched it in three chunks because it’s about three hours long and I overestimated how much time I had in the day) it’s still an interesting departure from what I’ve come to expect from him. Fanny and Alexander is a dreamy Christmassy movie that presents an overarching theme of love, spending a large portion of its runtime just hanging out with this big family on Christmas and showing how close they are. I would love to watch this again at some point in December and see how my opinion shifts but for now, while it could meandre in places, I can’t deny how unique a movie it is.

Another Round (2021) - 10/10

I had seen Thomas Vinterberg’s latest film before this point but this was the first time I got to see it in a cinema. Luckily for me my local independent cinema was showing it one night and while they had a few technical hiccups with setting everything up, the movie itself was still fantastic. Following a handful of school teachers who experiment with whether they can maintain a certain level of blood alcohol throughout the day, Another Round demonstrates a sense of unease and sadness throughout an otherwise comedic tone. These emotions are balanced perfectly, boosting an already intriguing concept that examines our relationship with alcohol from every angle.

Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings (2021) - 4/10

Straight after Another Round, I made my way to the chain cinema to meet up with friends to see the new Marvel movie. At this point, having had my second dose of the Covid vaccine that morning, I was starting to feel the effects and I was not doing well. But I watched the movie anyway, all the while wanting to be in bed. Shang-Chi was massively underwhelming and I’d go as far as to say it was even incompetent. Truth be told,  I like the Marvel Cinematic Universe but from the get-go I already wasn’t hyped for this movie and I was expecting it to be about mediocre but what I got was something a lot worse. I won’t rehash what I’ve already said on this film so if you want to hear me rant about it a bit then I would recommend checking out episode 47 of my podcast, The Sunday Movie Marathon.

Your Name. (2016) - 6/10

Ultimately this was a fun little romance movie but I can’t say I understand why people adore it, nor do I understand why it needed to be animated. For what it’s worth, I found it cute and entertaining but nothing much jumped out to me.

Phil Wang: Philly Philly Wang Wang (2021) - 7/10

I’m always stumped on what to say about stand-up shows. It was good! I enjoyed Phil Wang talking about different things in a funny way and it got some laughs out of me. Admittedly I’m writing this a couple of weeks after watching it but it’s certainly a decent way to spend an hour if you’re looking for something light and fun.

The Lego Batman Movie (2017) - 6/10

I remember seeing this in the cinema with two of my friends and the theatre wasn’t exactly packed but those that were there were either children or parents. But I like The Lego Batman Movie! Clearly this was made by fans of the character as it’s packed with a lot of details and references from old comic runs but as someone who has never read the comics or seen those older movies, it still managed to be entertaining and while I won’t say it’s quite as good as The Lego Movie, the animation is still top notch and the voice actors are certainly giving it their all, especially Will Arnett as the titular character. It’s just a bit of fun!

Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991) - 10/10

A friend of mine told me to go to the screening of Terminator 2 at my local because they themselves weren’t able to attend. The first Terminator movie is a real gem and one of the most 80’s-type movies I’ve ever seen. I was excited to watch T2, remembering next to nothing about what I watched of it when I was a child. So it was just me in this screening, with one person in a row in front of me, and one other person behind me. If I had it my way, I would have been the only person there because this is honestly one of the best movies I’ve ever seen and it was very hard not to yell out every time something incredible happened, especially when it’s so action-packed and basically goes all out at every opportunity to deliver some of the most jaw-dropping effects or choreography. Truly there is never a dull moment and I was grinning like a lunatic the entire time. This film rocks!

Mirror (1975) - 7/10

Andrei Tarkovsky is one of my favourite directors and the new Criterion release of his film, Mirror, had been on my shelf for a while. My friend and fellow podcast co-host, Chris, was also interested in watching this movie so we decided we’d give it a watch and review it on the podcast. But this is such a weirdly structured film that the entire way through, neither of us knew what on earth was happening. What we got from the experience is reflected in the episode we made and I would love to watch this again at some point, hopefully with more context and a better understanding of what I’m in for. But in the meantime, you can hear the discussion on episode 46 of the podcast.

The Night House (2021) - 6/10

The Night House is David Bruckner’s follow-up to his previous movie, The Ritual and while I’ll say I prefer The Ritual, this is still a decent watch, just don’t go in expecting horror. More of my thoughts can be found in episode 46 of the podcast.

The Ritual (2017) - 7/10

After watching The Night House, I decided to go back to the director’s previous film, The Ritual and I got a lot more out of it this time around. Themes of guilt and grief permeate the movie and the result is this weird and unnerving film about a group of guys who go hiking in Sweden after the death of one of their friends and encounter dark forces beyond their comprehension. It can be drawn out at times and probably could have been boosted with a better script but there are so many interesting and strange ideas presented that culminate in a haunting third act that it’s worth watching just to see what on earth they’re being hunted by.

Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975) - 10/10

Straight after recording an episode about our favourite movies on the podcast, I returned to one of my all-time favourites. Holy Grail is such a fantastically funny movie with so many memorable lines and moments that it’s become a staple in the comedy genre. Setting it in Arthurian England is a surefire way to make sure it stands the test of time, making use of the budget in a way that heightens the comedy, for example: not being able to get horses and so resorting to having a man banging two coconut halves together as they skip through the grassy terrain. It’s the writing that really takes centre stage here; the guys from Monty Python were/are geniuses. A couple more points were made on my podcast so please do listen to that to hear more: Episode 46 of The Sunday Movie Marathon

Malignant (2021) - 7/10

The new James Wan movie was bonkers! I saw this one twice in quick succession without hesitation. To find out why I love it so much, listen to episode 47 of the podcast.

A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) - 8/10

We got a marathon of the first three Nightmare on Elm Street movies on the podcast so we watched them in quick succession within a day. This first movie is a true masterpiece of its time. For more insight, listen to episode 47 of the podcast.

A Nightmare on Elm Street Part 2: Freddy’s Revenge (1985) - 2/10

Quite an embarrassing departure from the genius and fun of the original. Elm Street 2 is not only technically unfulfilling but a wholly unentertaining movie to boot. More thoughts in episode 47 of the podcast.

A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors (1987) - 3/10

While only a few hairs better than its predecessor, Elm Street 3 is still a mere shadow of the original. All in all, these second and third instalments in the franchise have put me off watching any of the others. More thoughts in episode 47 of the podcast.

Her (2013) - 10/10

Her is at once a beautiful love story between a man and an AI, and a scarily accurate look at how technology is expanding and moving forward. It uses warm colours and smooth camera work to create something that feels homely and safe, juxtaposing the often cold and dark feeling of science-fiction films to tell an intrinsically human story. What would it be like to go through this and what are the hurdles that need to be overcome? Her is a masterpiece of filmmaking and it left me emotionally exhausted in all the right ways.

Alien (1979) - 10/10

First time I’ve seen Alien in the cinema (as I was too busy not being born yet to see it on an initial release) and it was amazing! This is cosmic horror at its best. With all the eerie sound design, slow and deliberate camera movement, and outstanding effects, there’s no wonder as to why this is considered one of the greats and seeing it on the big screen was enthralling.

Aliens (1986) - 8/10

I had never seen Aliens before so the opportunity to see it for the first time in a cinema was one I could not pass up, especially since I was able to see it straight after the first. This is more of an action movie than the first one and as that, it was really something to see. While I don’t think it quite measures up to the original, James Cameron does bring a style to it that makes it something completely different while still feeling in line with its predecessor. A problem I’ve found as time goes on is that I don’t find myself thinking much about Aliens whatsoever and that’s probably down to its characters who generally I found quite weak. I’m already not big on standard action flicks and this is a clear cut above those but it does still fall victim to the trappings. That being said, I would in no way call this bad or even mediocre because it was a lot fun and being able to see it in the cinema is an experience I’m very grateful for.

Gunpowder Milkshake (2021) - 6/10

Gunpowder Milkshake is trying very hard to be John Wick and although it never really manages it, there is still fun to be had with its action (because really that’s all this movie has to offer). There’s a very creative scene in which Karen Gillan has to fight some goons in a hospital with a gun taped to one hand and a scalpel taped to the other, with the caveat being that her arms don’t work. Despite that and a good enough performance from Gillan, the rest is very goofy, with a villain about as intriguing as an advert for life insurance and a story that to say the least, leaves much to be desired.

I Lost My Body (2019) - 10/10

Another one for the podcast, I Lost My Body is a glorious cerebral animated piece that hits every nerve in my body. Listen to episode 48 for more.

Alice In Wonderland (1951) - 10/10

Perhaps the best early Disney movie in my humble opinion. Alice In Wonderland is complete insanity, doing things simply for the sake of it in a beguiling dreamlike take on Lewis Carroll’s classic book. Listen to episode 48 of The Sunday Movie Marathon for more.

WALL-E (2008) - 9/10

WALL-E is one of Pixar’s best. It is a cautionary tale of where the world is headed wrapped in a sweet story about going to the ends of the solar system in order to help those you love. I do however have one big problem with this movie and you can find out more in episode 48 of the podcast.

Killing Them Softly (2012) - 6/10

A lot about America’s economy at the time, Killing Them Softly goes about showing the lengths people will go to for money and yes it is generally solid with a fantastic speech by Brad Pitt to cap it off, but it cannot avoid meandering scenes of listless dialogue that neither engage me nor make me care about the characters it presents.

The Dirties (2013) - 6/10

Funny! The Dirties is a mockumentary about two guys making a movie about bullies in their school. While often it was generally chugging along and making me laugh, it tended to err on the side of plain as regards its presentation. A lot of scenes happen for the sake of it and in a movie that’s around an hour and twenty, it’s amazing I still managed to dip out in the latter half. More thoughts in episode 49 of the podcast.

Telstar: The Joe Meek Story (2009) - 3/10

Ah, I really hated this. I don’t even want to talk about it anymore. Just listen to episode 49 of the podcast to hear what I had to say.

Blade Runner 2049 (2017) - 10/10

This is my favourite movie! I got to talk about it on my podcast! Listen to episode 49 of The Sunday Movie Marathon to hear what I have to say!

No Time To Die (2021) - 8/10

Best Bond movie? Perhaps. I’ve not seen every Bond movie but of the ones I have seen (which does include all of Daniel Craig’s run), this is as good as it gets. Despite a near three hour runtime, No Time To Die felt as though it wasted very little. I’ve always complained that I could never follow the plot to these movies because often I simply didn’t care about it; for me it’s more about the action and seeing Daniel Craig be James Bond. No Time To Die does not escape some of the general tropes that often don’t leave me thinking I’ve watched something masterful but what I will say in its favour is that it’s fucking fun! Don’t expect to love it if you already dislike these movies because generally it stays in the same vein as the others before it, but for Bond fans it’s something totally enjoyable. Captivating cinematography, biting fight choreography and action set-pieces, a core struggle for James who actually goes through relatable hardships his time round, coping with being part of a family and trying to keep them safe.

I was happy to see a bit more attention paid to female characters this go round; in a franchise that often glamorizes Bond’s sexual promiscuity and ability to woo any woman he likes, it was much more refreshing to see that he often did need help from a lot of badass, well written female characters.

No Time To Die has been waiting to be released for a long time now and now it’s actually out, I’m pleased it’s not hot garbage. In fact, quite the opposite is true. The final swan song for Craig’s fifteen-year tenure as one of cinema’s most recognisable heroes outdoes all that came before it. Bravo.

[falling-fineline]

Thin White Lies/Lines

Summary: Luke's mind was unwell, it told Luke lies, these empty sounds and endless stories that filled his mind until all he heard were lies, lies, thin white lies.

Warnings: self-harm, alcohol, marijuana

:readmore:

Luke hasn’t stopped drinking ever since he got the text from her, in which she ended their relationship abruptly. The message had read:

“It’s not you, it’s me. I moved out when you were gone on tour. Have a good life, babe! Xx”

Just getting home from tour, suitcase in hand, a breakup text was the last thing he thought he’d get when he caught up on his messages on the car ride back to his own place.

He had entered his house, now empty of any life. Just like the text message had said, everything of hers was gone from every room.

A familiar numbness settled over Luke as he dropped his suitcase by the door. His footsteps echoes against the tiled floor as he padded over to the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a hefty shot of tequila, downing 3 shots as if he was drinking water. The evening sun began to set, light shining through the kitchen curtains as he mixed himself another larger drink and carried it out onto the deck in the backyard. Walking past the microwave, the red digital numbers read 7:12pm. Saturday.

Now 2:23pm, Tuesday, Luke spent the last 3 days alternating between hefting drink after drink into his system and smoking a joint whenever he remembered in his drunken haze that he actually has some beside him.

The news had gone around of Luke’s breakup the day after the text. Luke’s phone had been blowing up with worried texts from Calum, Ashton and Michael, among others. Luke had shut his phone off on Sunday morning, tired of pretending to be ok.

Luke can vaguely tell that he’s going through the stages of grief. The denial was easy to move on from, the text message from her had been final.

The anger hit him like a pale of ice-cold water was unexpectedly poured over his head. The ugly heat burrowed deep into his mind poured from up above, down his neck, across his broad shoulders and manifested itself in tension all throughout his body from head to toe. The anger soaked into his clothes until he stank with it. The anger manifested itself as Luke’s old bad coping mechanism: cutting.

Luke had stumbled up the stairs, making the short trek from the kitchen to his washroom though his wobbly legs almost gave up half way up.

In his drunken state, he shouldn’t be mixing substances. But that’s what he goes to do, reaching for the half empty bottle of ibuprofen to hopefully stop the pounding in his temples. He swallows it dry, only washing it down with a handful of tap water when he begins to cough from the dry pill dragging down his throat. The pain wakes him up a bit.

In the bathroom, Luke takes a pair of scissors from the drawer and goes in search of a razor. He finds a new one in its packaging in the next drawer down. After successfully disassembling the thin metal blades from the razor, he hold it up to his face for close examination. Eyes fixated on the shiny blade, it takes him a while for his eyes to refocus on the background. It was then that he realized he was now staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. Luke didn’t recognize himself. He looked small, thin, clad in his acid wash Rolling Stones t-shirt and his briefs. The same clothes he wore when he landed in LA a few days ago. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes. He grew some facial hair in his wake. His hair greasy with dirt and smoke. He was a sight alright.

The bargaining stage began when Luke sat on the edge of his bathtub, his left leg hiked up on the toilet seat across from him, a thin razor blade in his right hand.

Luke's mind was unwell, it told Luke lies, these empty sounds and endless stories that filled his mind until all he heard were lies, lies, thin white lies.

The voices sounded just like him. But they said things that he wouldn’t usually say. The voices told him he was worthless, unlovable, unwanted. The voices sang songs about how lonely Luke felt, the words rattling around in his mind, making him go mad.

Luke moved the cotton material of his briefs up his left leg, revealing pale skin that had faded scars scattered in a somewhat orderly fashion. One, five, ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Twenty-five. Thirty. Red beads of blood began to flow out, like some twisted game of dominos, out from each cut one by one. One after the other. Until they all bleed red.  Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit. He cut deeper than he thought he would. It was as if he was entranced by the blade, the cold slide of the razor against breaking skin.  

Luke slides down the side of the bathtub, until he sat on the cold tiled floor, feeling the cool temperature radiating off the tiles. His back pressed against the tub as he looked down, his briefs that he hiked up now damp with blood.

Despite how panicked he should be feeling right now, the weed he smoked earlier and the whisky he drank when he woke up at 1pm numbed him. Enveloping him in a cocoon of pseudo warmth, the numbness was welcomed anyway, anything so he doesn’t actually feel the physical pain he should be feeling right now and the mental anguish that he’s been feeling for a while now.

Luke reaches out for his phone that’s beside him when his vision blurs for a moment.

////

“Hello? Hello? Luke? Wassup man? Was actually about to call you, buddy. I wanted to see how you were doing. Luke? Are you there?” Ashton held his phone closer to his ear, stopping his meal and standing up, giving kaykay a confused look. They were dining outside at a little café a block from their neighbourhood, about a 10min walk, 5min sprint from his place.

Silence filled the other end. Ashton takes the phone away from his ear to see the screen light up, indicating that he’s still on a call with Luke.

Ashton’s about to hang up to redial when he hears Luke. A quiet “Ash…” filled the phone line and into Ashton’s ear.

“can you… come over, right now? I need…help.”

Fabric sounds muffle the receiver from Luke’s end as Ashton begins to panic. 

“Luke? What happened? Are you alright? Talk to me bud.” Ashton runs a frantic hand through his long locks as he waits for Luke’s response. As the older lad turns to tell his girlfriend that he’s got to go right now, Kaykay’s already waving him off, concern clear on her face.

A sob breaks out from Luke’s end as Ashton begins sprinting the 8 minutes it takes to Luke’s house from the café.

“I don’t think I like me anymore, Ash.” Luke said, tears evident in his voice. His voice is echoed, so Ashton guesses he’s in the bathroom.

Ashton all but slams through the front door once he got his keys out. One hand still holding his phone to his ear, the older lad starts yelling for the blond, rushing to the bathroom up stairs.

The sobs from the phone become clear as day as Ashton climbs up the staircase two at a time. Ashton reaches to open the bathroom door only to find it locked.

Hanging up his phone, Ashton knocks.

“Luke, you in there?”

No response. Just sobs can be heard from behind the door.

“Buddy you gotta let me in so I can help you. C’mon. Lemme in.” Ashton softly says through the wooden door. A moment passes before a thud, then footsteps, then a click of the lock.

Immediately swinging the door open, Ashton his shocked to see the younger lad standing upright. The shock quickly grows to concern when Ashton’s eyes flick down to see red blood seeping from Luke’s left thigh.

“Luke…” The older lad has unfortunately seen this sight before. Years ago, when they were still teenagers touring with One Direction.

The older lad all but scoops Luke into a hard embrace, not minding the blood that must be spreading on his own jeans right about now. The younger lad feels frail in his arms and Ashton’s heart breaks at the sight of one of his best friends.

Luke all but collapses into Ashton’s arms squeezing him tight.

“You’ll make it out of this, buddy. I know you will. You’ve survived this before, and I know you’re strong enough to make it out of this time too. I love you, Michael and Calum loves you, the fans adore you, we’ve got our families back home in Auz. that love you. Its all gonna be alright, Luke, it’ll be alright in time.”

[helena-edge]

The Great and Powerful Ozpin (RWBY fic)

So, I usually post og content on my page, but in honor of RWBY Volume 8 coming out I thought I’d share a fic I wrote awhile ago. I have to give a shout-out to @tigerstripedmoon. After reading “three small words,” which you can find at https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12372592/1/three-small-words. I had to write a cloqwork fic of my own. Seriously, you guys, it was THAT GOOD. Please check it out. You can find mine at https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13511024/1/The-Great-and-Powerful-Ozpin. I’ll also post the whole thing here. I’m hoping that Oz gets some love in volume 8. That poor old wizard deserves it.

Okay, so here it is, “The Great and Powerful Ozpin” in which Qrow is an alcohol-soaked cinnamon role and Oz is sadder than he lets on...

The Great and Powerful Ozpin

“What kind of headmaster lets a student die on his watch?” 

The shout that cut through the amphitheater forced the man on stage to pause mid-sentence.

“I—” 

From his place in the balcony seats, Qrow watched Professor Ozpin adjust his spectacles and peer out towards the crowd.

“Pardon me?” Ozpin’s deep, calm voice echoed in the vast room, the gathering place of Beacon Academy. Regular classes had been interrupted for a special ceremony. The screen behind the speech podium was black, the color of mourning.

“You heard me, murderer! You killed my sister!”

Gasps erupted around the room. The sea of students parted aside in the wake of a giant—no, a human, the largest man Qrow had ever seen, making his way, stomp by angry stomp to the stage.

“Hazel.” Ozpin’s soft whisper of recognition sounded loud through the microphone.

“Ozpin!” the man roared in response, a sound that could have come from the mouth of an ursa.

Glynda, Oobleck and Port stood behind Oz, watching Hazel Reinhart approach. Glynda clutched her riding crop tightly, Oobleck nervously sipped coffee from a thermos, and Port gritted his teeth beneath his mustache. Unlike the other teachers, Qrow had chosen to attend the memorial service for Gretchen in the shadows of the balcony. He liked to be up high. It helped him to see better. He clenched the hilt of his sword as he watched Hazel jump onto the stage. He was only a few feet from Ozpin now, who despite, the nearing threat, remained a steadfast presence behind the podium.

“You will pay for what you did!” Hazel bellowed. He raised a beefy arm to point a finger at Ozpin’s chest.

From above, Qrow saw the tightening of Hazel’s body. He knew what he was going to do before anyone else.

None of the students understood how Qrow managed to reach the stage so quickly. There was just a blur of black—one student swore they saw a few feathers—then a clang of something heavy impacting metal. When everyone opened their eyes again, Hazel’s fist was firmly planted in the flat side of Qrow’s blade.

“Not one step closer.”

Qrow heard his own voice pulsing in his ears, low and gravelly—and dangerous. “Make a move, you son of a grim. I dare you.”

A deep, rumbling sound issued from Hazel’s mouth. Qrow couldn’t believe it; the lunatic was actually growling at him.

In response, he turned his blade ever so slightly so that the sharp edge was cutting into Hazel’s knuckles.

“Qrow.” A gentle voice spoke from behind him, and Qrow felt the pressure of a hand upon his shoulder, one with pale, delicate fingers, but with a grip stronger than Qrow had ever known. At that moment there was the sound of a cane being tapped decisively on the ground.

“Why don’t we all calm down,” Ozpin said, his manner congenial as if he, Hazel and Qrow were merely sitting down to a cup of afternoon tea.

Hazel’s eyes looked past Qrow and instantly narrowed. “You,” he hissed. “You killed her; you killed my little sister.”

“Your sister was old enough to make her own decisions.” Ozpin sighed. “Gretchen was brave—braver than most. She would have made an excellent huntress.”

Hazel continued to push harder against Qrow’s blade with his fist. Blood ran down his fingers and dripped onto the stage floor. Qrow stared. Did the man not feel anything?

“I am truly sorry for your loss,” Ozpin continued.

“What do you know about loss?” Hazel cried.

“More than any man, woman or child,” replied Ozpin in a tone that grew heavier with each uttered syllable.

Qrow saw rage grow in Hazel’s eyes. He was certainly not calming down; in fact, Ozpin’s words seemed only to have incensed his rage.

“Oz, stay back,” Qrow warned.

But Ozpin had never been one to take orders from Qrow, or anyone for that matter. 

“Hazel,” he said softly, imploringly.

The resistance against his blade intensified. Hazel was strong, too strong. Qrow wouldn’t be able to hold him back for long.

“Drop dead,” Hazel seethed at Ozpin, spittle flying out of his mouth and hitting Qrow in the face.

“Dead,” Ozpin repeated with a wry chuckle. “If only.”

With a single thrust, Qrow felt his sword give way. The barrier that he’d made between Hazel and Ozpin clattered to the floor as Hazel rushed forward, letting loose a yell of savage fury.

“Aaaah!”

“Oz—!” Qrow cried, reaching, weaponless, for the professor. 

Before he could take another step, the sight of Ozpin raising his right arm, quick as lightning, caused his shoes to skid upon the ground to a halt. He realized that Hazel couldn’t get closer than a cane-length away from Ozpin. The headmaster held him back with the tip of the walking stick. Hazel was a towering mass of muscle compared to the slim figure of Ozpin, but he couldn’t force the man back an inch. 

The student body gaped collectively, spellbound by the scene. The whole amphitheater seemed to be holding its breath, and the teachers themselves were frozen with shock. Glynda, Oobleck and Port had their weapons out, but they appeared to have forgotten that they were authorized to use them. Ozpin’s face remained coolly unaffected; his eyes never broke from Hazel’s fiery gaze.

“Go home Hazel. Your family needs you.”

“My family?” Hazel’s incredulous scream traveled all the way to the ceiling and bounced back again. “You destroyed my family!” He struggled against Ozpin’s cane, but just then the doors to the amphitheater burst open and men and women in uniform came streaming in, guns drawn. Someone with sense (Probably Glynda, Qrow thought) had called the Vale police.

“Hands up!” they shouted at Hazel.

Hazel, finally understanding that he was vastly outmatched by Ozpin and now outmanned, did as he was told, raising his massive arms above his head. With one final hostile glare at Ozpin, he let himself be led away by the police.

After the doors slammed shut behind them, every eye in the amphitheater swiveled back to the stage. His cane lowered, Ozpin walked calmly back to the podium.

“That concludes the service,” he said into the microphone. Then he left the stage without another word.

Glynda took up the mic after he was gone, using her commanding voice to usher some order back into the disoriented crowd.

“You heard the headmaster. Back to class!” she barked at the students.

Qrow picked up his sword, flicking off some of Hazel’s blood before putting it back in its hilt. He was secretly glad that he hadn’t been forced to waste the scythe mechanism on a piece of scum like Hazel. He knew Oz would sympathize with his grief, but Qrow had no patience for people who took their pain out on others.

He pulled a metal flask out of his shirt, hearing it clank against the sideways cross necklace he never took off. He took a large swig and waited for the burn of alcohol to chase away the memory of Hazel, the hatred in his eyes. He would have destroyed anything in his path just to get to Ozpin, all for the sake of his suffering.

He stood alone on the stage as the room emptied out, gazing at his reflection in the flask. He saw dark circles beneath his eyes. The bright red irises matched the tiny veins popping out against the white. All the while he denied the voice in his head that called him a hypocrite. 

Self-destruction is still destruction, the voice taunted.

Qrow took another swig. Shut up.

                                                            ***

“How long has it been since you ate something, Oz?”

The sky was dark outside the circular window of Ozpin’s office. Because the window doubled as giant clock, Qrow was able to watch the minute hand tick up and around the shattered image of the moon, which illuminated the ground below in pearl-white fractals.

“Ate something?” Ozpin said from across the room.

“Yeah.” Qrow turned away from the window to face the headmaster, who was busy shifting books around in his shelves. “You know, food? Hot cocoa doesn’t count by the way.”

A hint of a smile played over Ozpin’s lips. “That’s a shame.” 

Qrow couldn’t help but notice that, between reaching up for books, Ozpin was leaning on his cane more than usual. In fact, the slight slump of his shoulders made it seem like the stick was the only thing keeping him upright.

A softer note took hold of Qrow’s voice.

“How long has it been since you last slept?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because it’s one a.m., and you’ve decided that now would be the best time to rearrange your bookshelves.”

Ozpin paused, running a hand over one leather-bound cover. The History of Remnant. The sound of gears churned rhythmically above them. The gears, along with the cool emerald walls of Ozpin’s office had always had a soothing effect on Qrow. Everything about the room was familiar to him. He used to spend a lot of time here during his student days. Granted, he had been in trouble most of those instances, sent to the headmaster for speaking back in class, starting a fight in the hallway, or sneaking booze into his dormitory. None of the teachers had ever been very fond of Qrow in his younger years, but Ozpin had always gone easy on him. Now as an adult, not much had changed; he continued to rub people the wrong way, but being back with Oz, looking down at the clouds from the tallest part of Beacon Academy, he felt like he was back home again.

“Time is relative,” Ozpin said at last.

“Right,” Qrow replied.

“Why are you here at this hour?” Ozpin turned the question on the huntsman.

“To give my report on the spring maiden,” Qrow lied.

“Young Spring is residing at Haven Academy. Leonardo keeping me updated for the time being…a fact which you are well aware of.” Ozpin raised a silver eyebrow in Qrow’s direction. “Why are you really here?”

Because I saw your face when Hazel called you a murderer, and there’s no way I’m leaving you alone after that.

“To help you organize your books.”

He took a step closer to the shelves. At the same time, a book wobbled and fell, and on its way down, knocked over a figurine of two intertwined dragons that had sat guard there for as long as Qrow could remember.

Ozpin caught the book in one deft swoop. Qrow rushed forward for the figurine but, his reflexes, dulled from drink (he had been outdoing himself this week), were too slow to catch the dragons. They hit the floor, shattering into tiny bits.

“That’s a bit of bad luck.” Ozpin frowned at the mess.

“Sorry,” Qrow grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You know I can’t always control it.”

“No need to apologize.” Ozpin squinted at the broken dragons, poking a shard with the tip of his cane. “It was a gift. To tell you the truth, I’ve never been fond of it.”

He started to put the fallen book back on the shelf. As he looked up, a daze came over his eyes. He blinked and staggered backwards like someone who was about to faint. Qrow made ready to catch him, watching as the weight of the book carried his arm downwards. Finally, it slipped from his fingers, which appeared to have no strength left in them, and tumbled to floor, joining the shattered dragons. 

Ozpin closed his eyes and hunched forward, resting his forehead on his cane, breathing hard. If Qrow hadn’t know any better he would have thought that he just finished fighting off fifty grim. Before him was the shell of the man who had held Hazel back with no effort one week prior.

“Oz,” Qrow said hesitantly, placing a hand on his back. At the touch, Oz straightened up.

“I’m fine; I just became a bit dizzy there for a moment.”

“That’s what happens when you starve yourself for a week,” Qrow muttered under his breath. Then louder. “Are you alright—really?”

Ozpin, either not hearing him or choosing to ignore the question, said nothing. Instead he let his cane guide him towards the center of the room.

“Is there a real reason you came here?” he asked Qrow without looking back at him.

At that moment, anger for the headmaster bubbled up in Qrow. Why couldn’t he be straight with him for once and admit that something was wrong? 

“Yeah, there is.” He struggled to keep his voice steady. “I came to ask if you think letting yourself die will bring Gretchen Reinhart back? Well, in case you didn’t already know, professor, Beacon lost a student forever—and you can’t die!”

Oz was silent for a minute before turning slowly around. One look at his face made all the anger in Qrow’s body dissipate into thin air. With his chin lowered into his green turtleneck and golden eyes raised in supplication, Qrow was instantly struck by how vulnerable, how sad he looked.

“Please…I know. You don’t have to remind me,” he said softly.

“I’m sorry,” Qrow immediately apologized again, disgusted with himself. Ozpin pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, a betrayal of stress that Qrow had come to recognize over the years.

“I try to eat, but—” 

“—you can’t keep it down,” Qrow finished for him. He knew the symptoms of guilt.

Ozpin nodded.

“I try to sleep, but—” 

“—let me guess: the nightmares.” 

Ozpin nodded once more, pinching his nose harder and furrowing his brows as if a bout of sharp pain had just seized him.

Qrow wasn’t surprised. Ozpin had been suffering the nightmares long before Gretchen’s accident. Another side-effect of a mind steeped in shame. Qrow had heard him cry out in the night before, screaming at someone only he could see.

 “The children! Where are the children? What have we done? What have we done?”

He knew that there were parts of Ozpin’s past that he had never shared with him, might never share with him. The man had certainly lived long enough to rack up plenty of secrets.

That doesn’t matter, not now. Qrow told himself. Let him keep his secrets for the time being. What mattered in this moment was getting Oz through the night.

“Even if this body does give out on me, death would be no release. I…I get to carry my guilt through each life,” Ozpin continued.

“Oz, you know Gretchen wasn’t your fault.”

Ozpin lowered his hand and looked Qrow squarely in the eye. Regardless of how old he became, the headmaster’s piercing gaze never failed to make Qrow feel like the scrawny first-year again.

“I’d rather not talk about this right now,” Ozpin said firmly. He moved to turn away but Qrow caught him by the shoulders.

“Then don’t talk, listen. You were right when you said Gretchen was old enough to make her own decisions; she chose her path, she met her fate.” 

All of a sudden, an image of Summer came to him. His breath caught in his throat. His team leader had left for the mission that day and never came back, leaving Qrow to somehow make a life without her, to keep Ruby, her infant daughter—his niece, safe. But in the end, he was positive that even if she had known what awaited, she still would have gone.

“That’s right,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Choice. We can’t forget that they made a choice. If we do that, then we insult their—I mean Gretchen’s memory.”

Qrow could feel Ozpin’s body shaking between his hands. He brushed the professor’s silver hair away from his eyes, letting his fingers linger against the side of his face.

“Hey. It’s okay,” he whispered.

The utterance of those three words was all it took to make Ozpin break. He crumpled to the ground, face buried in his hands, his cane clattering beside him. 

Qrow dropped to his knees after him. He waited a moment while Ozpin took deep, shuddering breaths. Gently, he removed Ozpin’s hands from his face, his chest tightening when he took in the agonized expression beneath. 

Past the black spectacles, past the gleaming gold, Qrow could glimpse a millennium of suffering in his eyes, a man whose life stretched beyond what he couldn’t begin to imagine. A man who had seen a thousand years pass by, life after life. How many mistakes had he, Qrow Branwen, already made in his short lifespan of less than thirty years? He thought of Summer again. Enough to turn to drink to numb the pain. Pain. Once he thought he understood it, but as he gazed down at Ozpin, so small and exposed once the façade of the calm, collected headmaster had come tumbling down, he realized that he only knew pain as an inkling, a small sliver of the suffering that the human soul, that Oz’s soul could and had been made to endure.

“It’s okay,” he said again, hearing how feeble his attempt at comfort was, like trying to staunch a stab wound with a band-aid.

The tears began to stream now, down Ozpin’s cheeks, dripping into tiny puddles on the floor. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he gasped.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Qrow repeated, taking off the spectacles to better wipe away the tears. “It’s okay…”

He pulled Ozpin into an embrace, rocking with him as the sobs wracked his body. How long had he been holding them back? It was a while before his breathing steadied.

As Qrow pulled a way, he automatically reached into his shirt for his flask. He contemplated its contents and the weeping man before him. It wasn’t the healthiest coping mechanism, and it certainly wasn’t hot cocoa, but it was the only remedy he could think of.

“Here. This might help you sleep,” he said.

Ozpin, his face pale except for the puffy redness around his eyes, stared at the flask. A split second passed and he seemed to make a quick decision. He took the offered drink, suckling the alcohol from it like a baby with a bottle.

“Hey, hey, slow down.” Qrow took the flask away, making use of his sleeve to dry the left-over drips of liquid on Ozpin’s chin.

“I’m sorry, I—” 

“Stop. No more apologizing,” Qrow whispered.

He leaned close, using his lips to kiss away the wetness on his cheeks. Then he moved on to the mouth. Ozpin’s lips were stiff and trembling, but Qrow knew how to work them until they melted into his.

He would stay with him tonight, be there to soothe the nightmares away. With a sigh of exhaustion, Ozpin sank into Qrow’s chest. Qrow’s hand naturally fell to the task of stroking his hair. 

Yes, he would be here, always.

“I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.”

Despite everything, Ozpin managed to chuckle through his tears.

“I thought you didn’t want me to starve.”

“Right. I’ll steal some pancakes from the cafeteria then.”

[wonderlandmind4]

Delicate Stages of Life: 26

We’re In the End Game Now

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC; Platonic Steve Rogers x OFC

Summary: Life in Wakanda is filled with love, laughs, some tears, all emotions, lazy days, goats, hot springs, a soul connection, and something dark that looms over Bucky’s and Ana’s domestic bliss…

Warnings: Language. Angst. Slight grief. Apologizes 

Words: 12,236 

A/N: (Do not read unless you’ve read Delicate Stages first) beautiful moodboard by @afewmarvelousthoughts​​​ and thank you for all your help and tears and yelling at me. (gif not mine) PS. I snuck a Hamilton lyric in here

One month later finds Ana sitting on the couch, watching while Alex is content to scoot herself around in an army crawl with a toy in her hand, when Carol hops over. She scoops up the little girl, spinning her in the air and making her giggle uncontrollably, before she plops down next to Ana.

Immediately, Ana knows something is up, as the other woman presses the side of her body to hers, and can feel the reluctance radiating off of her. Alex babbles and drools happily in her lap after Carol hands her a teething toy. She glances at Ana with an awkward expression.

“I get the feeling whatever you’re about to say isn’t going to be good.” Ana notes tautly, narrowing her eyes.

“Depends on your definition,” Carol replies. “Helping others is good. Missing me? Not good.”

“Who says I’ll miss you?”

Carol sticks her tongue out. Ana returns the gesture but can’t contain her grin afterwards. She turns her attention to the goat sock halfway off her daughter’s foot, fixing it in place. Carol turns the baby around after that, pulling her up to help her stand on wobbly legs as she bounces.

“So, you’re leaving again.” Ana sighs.

“There’s been more odd and unnatural blips on my radar from other planets,” Carol informs, she keeps a smile on her face for the baby’s sake. “Unfortunately they don’t have the teams like the Avengers to help them. Which is where I come in.”

“Still?”

“Yeah. I got a message from the Skrulls requesting my help. From there, I’ll check out other planets.“ Carol then meets her eyes. “I’ll be gone for a while.”

Slumping down into the cushions, Ana tilts her head to lean against Carol’s shoulder. Alex tips forward, reaching for her mother’s nose, somehow always sensing when she’s off. Scrunching her nose makes her daughter smile, she continues bouncing.

“I understand,” She exhales warily. “I will miss you though. You’re the only one who calms my energy.”

Carol hums. “I don’t foresee another outburst from you, if I’m honest. Sure, I felt a few surges here and there, but ever since Blond Dumbass moved out, you seem to have settled.”

“That’s not because Steve left, it’s because I started going to therapy groups twice a week.” Ana remarks kindly.

“Still a dumbass,” She deadpans. 

Ana snorts.

“Natasha has the pager, but I made you one too, in case you need me for anything. We can research more about this connection between you two. It could just be a stronger bond between mother and daughter, considering your powers.”

“I guess,” Ana relents with a shrug. “It’s gotten a little better. When are you leaving?”

“In three days. I’m going to use this time to soak in all the cuddles from this little one. Isn’t that right Sergeant Smiles?”

Carol lifts Alex in the air again, makes funny noises with her mouth, before she lowers her to nuzzle her head against her belly, making high pitched noises. Ana’s lips spread into a wide smile, listening to her daughter’s bubbly laughter that scrunches her whole face.

It’s not long after Carol leaves that Rhodey follows, following a lead on another horrific gang slaughter. Ana catches Natasha in deep thought later that day, her energy thick enough to fill the entire office space.

Leaving Alex in the care of Rocket and Nebula, with some effort to make herself step away, she finally demands Natasha to tell her what’s happening. If those notes Ana saw before have anything to do with Rhodey leaving. If the lead is in fact, Clint Barton gone rogue. 

A file is shown, the information inside makes Ana’s knees weak, staggering back into the chair. Clint had lost his entire family after the snap, all evidence pointing to him having turned over a bloodstained murderous leaf.

“I can’t track him,” Natasha informs her, her tone haunted. “We’ve always been two steps behind since I figured out it was him. The horrible thing is, I don’t think I want to find him.”

Flurries of questions fly around Ana’s head, though she pushes them away to get up and gather a clearly upset Nat in her arms. She snaps the file shut, and pushes it off the desk as the first sob breaks past Natasha’s lips.

Five Months Later:

The time came to baby proof the compound as much as possible once Alex began crawling and reaching for anything she could. Especially after she got a hold of the drive spring from Bucky’s rifle that Rocket had been cleaning. Ana nearly skinned him alive for deciding to clean a gun- unloaded but still- in the presence of a baby. Though as Ana tightened the last baby gate, she sat back wishing her baby girl wasn’t growing up so fast.

Slowly, while Alex continues to grow and develop, Ana has begun to heal a small bit of herself. The pain is still immutable, it’s hard to breath some days, and some nights leave Ana waking up in tears. Her daughter though, with her sunshine smile and sparkling blue eyes is one of the only things that helps her get by everyday.

At 11 months old, Alex utters her first word on a rather bad day for Ana. She had woken from the same dream she hadn’t had for a month, and the rest of the day had the connection between her and her daughter just as strong as that first day. When Ana absolutely had to leave her in Natasha’s keen watch, Alex cried.

“Ma, ma, ma, mama!”

She had come running into the room the second she heard it, Natasha smiling brightly at her. Ana gathered her baby in her arms, comforting her and kissing her all over her cheeks. Pride and happiness blooming through her chest had overcome the breaking of the connection.

Just two days later, when the littlest Barnes girl was close to sleep, Bucky’s lullaby soothing her, Alex utters her second word.

“Da.”

Half awake, Ana hums, patting her bottom as she rocks her in the chair. The word settles in her ears, slowly registering in her brain. Her eyes fly open, staring down at Alex, pointing to the projection of Bucky’s beautiful face.

“Did you just-?” Ana trails off in shock. 

For the past two months she had been pointing to the screen every time it played, telling her daughter the man on the screen was her dad. She figured Alex wouldn’t actually understand it at her age or even make the connection.

Her curious, blue eyes flicker up at her mother, the tiny little spots of brown more defined within the fibers. The little indent in her chin has turned into a prominent dimple, and whenever she laughs, a wrinkle forms by each eye. Alex is looking more and more like her father, and her developing, charming personality breaks Ana’s heart in every good and bad way. She sees Bucky’s in their daughter’s eyes everyday.

“Y-yeah, baby girl,” Ana chokes with tears in her eyes, pointing as well. “That’s dada.”

Alex moves her focus back to the screen. “Da...da.”

“That’s right, Alex. Oh my sweet little bean.” Ana leans down to kiss her head. “That’s your daddy. The best man I’ve ever known.”

Snuggling deeper in her arms, Alex finally succumbs to sleep, Bucky’s singing calling her to dreams.

***

Coming home from group therapy sessions usually drains Ana, always ready to take Alex and head to bed each time. Her abilities just mean she’s able to feel the weight  of emotions and people’s energies in the room. Sometimes it doesn’t affect her, but on the heavy days it leaves a dark cloud hovering over her; a thunderhead of grief and pain soaking her bones.

Ana is sort of thankful that the effects of the super soldier serum while she was pregnant wasn’t permanent. Otherwise she’d be more oversensitive than she already was. The group leader on occasions, would pull her aside offering one on one time instead, in case the atmosphere got too much for her senses.

This time, as she drags her feet through the door, empty cardboard cup of coffee in her hand, she’s determined to find Natasha. She stops in the kitchen for supplies first, then heads off in the direction of giggling and music.

She finds Nat and Alex in the spy’s room, a kid’s movie playing on her TV. It looks like Natasha had just finished dancing with Alex, a delighted grin brightening her little face. When she spots Ana she nearly throws herself out of the woman’s arms in her attempt to greet her mom.

Once safely on the floor, Alex wobbles as she stands, then falls onto her hands and hurriedly crawls over until Ana scoops her up with one arm. She kisses her daughter hello, then holds up the wine bottle she grabbed.

“Rough session?” Natasha guesses, hopping on her bed.

“More of a rough revelation,” She replies, handing the bottle to her. 

She hugs Alex to her body before she sets her down in the activity chair, continuing to focus on the bright movie and entertain herself with toys. Crawling into the bed, Ana lays back while the other woman pulls open the cork from the bottle with a knife. Ana glares pointedly as Nat shrugs and puts the knife back in it’s hiding spot under her pillow.

“Intrigue,” Natasha muses, taking a long sip from the bottle. 

“Natasha,” Ana begins as she sits up. Nat picks up on her somber tone, straightening up to meet her gaze. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

She frowns, opening her mouth to respond before Ana holds up her hand to stop her. “What I did, shutting off my emotions, how I treated you and Steve. I am truly and deeply sorry.”

“Ana,” Nat sighs. “It’s okay.”

“No, no it’s not. It wasn’t.” Ana admits, spinning her wedding rings around. “You keep telling me that, everyone says it’s understandable why I did what I did, but it doesn’t make it any less wrong. I never once thought about how it might affect the people around me. By doing that, I pushed away the only family I had left. I didn’t talk to Pepper for months. I barely talk to Tony. I ruined my relationship with him. With someone who has done nothing but been there for me at my lowest points.”

“Fuck,” Ana huffs, fighting back the sting in her eyes. “I literally drove Steve to move out, but he was right. I was overly attached because I was afraid that if I stopped for one second, all the pain I was holding off would come crashing back.

“I shouldn’t have done that. I realize now how horrible I’ve been. I treated both of you like absolute shit and you didn’t deserve that. You were all just worried and concerned. I was...I was in so much pain, no matter how much I tried to fight it, but I was selfish.”

Natasha had grabbed her hand halfway through her vent. She gently squeezes her fingers. “What do you mean by selfish?” She wonders.

Ana can’t help the rueful chuckle that emits from her lips. “I’m an Empathetic Healer, Nat. I can heal  energy. I could have helped; I should have helped and grieved with you.”

“That wasn’t ever expected of you, Ana. We didn’t want you to exhaust your abilities just to help us instead. You had more to deal with at the time, you were newly pregnant and at a high health risk.”

“But I could have-”

“No, you couldn’t, and we would never have asked that of you.” Natasha argues sternly. “That’s the one thing you don’t have to apologize for or feel guilty about. Got it?”

She nods, sniffing. “I’m sorry for putting everyone through that. I was missing Bucky, my family and forgot I still had my family right in front of me.”

After a long pause and hug from Natasha- the somber stretch broken up by the sounds of Alex playing- Nat pulls back and hooks her finger under her chin to make sure their eyes remain on each other.

“You’re family, Ana, that never changed. Apology accepted. Now, I don’t want to hear anymore sorrys from you, just continue to take care of your health. And that beautiful little girl, who by the way, somehow stole the last of my avocado when I wasn’t looking.”

“Do you know how many times I found the nutella Bucky always tried hiding from me?” Ana replies with a smirk.

“Sharp shooter, fantastic hand to hand, hiding anything from you? Utter failure,” Nat deadpans. Ana cackles, rolling her eyes. “Really though, I’m glad you’ve been going to therapy and finally taking care of your mental health.” Then she mumbles, “Unlike Rogers.”

Ana starts. “Wait...what do you mean?”

Natasha winces, quickly grabbing the wine and chugging. Ana narrows her gaze, but takes the break in their conversation to check on Alex, who had been gazing up at her mother with wide blue eyes. Her bottom lip popping out, her expression wrinkled like she was close to crying. Ana soothes her, flashing a bright smile and cooing until her cute face relaxes. 

“What’s wrong with Steve?” Ana questions, picking up her daughter and sitting on the bed again.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Natasha answers, tickling Alex’s thighs and making her giggle. “Just that we both know how he handles his own guilt.”

“So he did leave because of me.”

A half shrug. “I think it was more along the line of where he felt like he couldn’t face you, or any of us anymore because of his own guilt. He was struggling long before he moved out. I think it got to be too much for him. He saw how you were improving in some ways and figured it was time to deal with his own failure. Those are his words, not mine.”

Ana scoffs in frustration. “I’ve told him none of it was his fault. He shouldn’t feel guilty or carry this weight for the entire world.”

“It’s Steve Rogers.” Natasha reminds her flatly. She takes the cork that Alex just found out of her hands, giving her a small book to play with instead.

Deciding not to press anymore, Ana trades Alex for the bottle of wine, passing her baby over to Nat.

“Are you even allowed to drink that?” She asks, quirking her eyebrow.

“I have enough bottles of milk set aside. Besides, Alex prefers the baby food more these days.” She answers, then takes a long drag. 

“‘S that why your coffee intake has skyrocketed?” She smirks.

“Listen. I went a year without caffeine, leave me alone.” 

 ***

Jamie Alexandra Barnes is eleven and a half months old when Ana visits Steve for the first time. He hasn’t visited in five months, despite him saying he would.

Teething is a horrible feat, has been for months. Ana’s heart breaks every time Alex puffs out her bottom lip, wobbling with fat tears in her eyes. Ana is ready to fight the entire world if it meant her baby was no longer in pain. 

This time around, her fourth tooth coming in keeps her up during the night, which makes her cranky and fussy. Ana has tried giving her cold teething rings, massaged her gums, among other things, nothing seems to be working that day.

“Oh, Alex. I know, baby girl, I know, I just don’t know what else to do.” Ana hushes, nearly close to tears herself. She continues to bounce and sway with Alex.

She’s been crying for nearly an hour. Even when Ana plays Bucky’s recorded lullabies she remains inconsolable. Ana’s chest tightens the longer Alex cries, her eyes red and her little cheeks soaked with tears. She’s afraid she’ll dehydrate herself if she continues, or run a fever.

The compound is empty, everyone out for smaller missions or research. No one is there to help calm Alex, or take her for just a moment so Ana can figure out what to do. For the first time since she brought her daughter home from the hospital, she’s truly alone. It’s one of the many things she took for granted, and mentally slaps herself for.

It’s times like these that a deep longing ache for Bucky hits her so hard, Ana finally cries herself. With it comes clarity, and without a second thought, Ana quickly gathers the diaper bag, throws a few onesies in and checks the bag for extra diapers and wipes. She slips her shoes on and coat, and quickly hurries through the house. All the while, Alex continues to cry, hiccuping sobs as she presses her face into Ana’s chest. Stepping out of the elevators to the lower garage, Ana coos her daughter all the way. She straps her in the car seat once she unlocks the car. 

“I know, I know, Alex, it’s okay, sweetie.” She shushes, kissing her overheated forehead. 

She tries giving her a teething biscuit but she refuses it. Ana hands Alex her favorite stuffed bunny gifted to her by Carol before she left, the little girl clutching to it. She tries a pacifier, but Alex just spits it back out. Ana jogs to the driver seat, finally starting the car and taking off.

Within two minutes of driving, Alex’s cries have slowed down to little shuddering breaths, Ana checking on her every chance she gets. When she stops at a light, she reaches behind her to place the pluggie back in her mouth. This time, Alex accepts it, her wet eyes staring in wonder out the window.

“Car rides calm you, got it.” Ana sighs warily. She turns on soft calming music and continues to drive. Not even ten minutes in, she suddenly has an idea;  an impromptu road trip.

*

Two hours later, Ana finally parks. Alex had fallen asleep by the first hour but when she takes Alex out of the car seat, she starts fussing again. She wraps her little puff jacket around her before Ana pulls her out of the car and into the brisk air. Little fists clutch desperately in Ana’s coat, those whimpers the most heartbreaking sounds Ana has ever heard. She shoulders the diaper back, then climbs the stairs of the stoop to get to her location.

“Please, please be here,” Ana hopes, quickly raping her knuckles on the door. She coos at her sniffling daughter while they wait. The door blessedly opens, relief and shock smacking her all at once.

Steve stands in the doorway looking worn out. His gray henley is ripped in places, black sweat pants hang low on his hips, wrinkled. His hair has grown longer and untamed, some strands reaching his ears, and his beard has grown thicker. It’s the sunken eyes with the dark bags that hit Ana the hardest. Like he hasn’t known sleep for days. 

“Ana,” Steve breathes out, obviously taken off guard. He blinks, eyes roaming over her once before shifting to Alex.

“Hi,” Ana balances, abruptly thinking it was a bad idea to show up unannounced. She also looks down at her daughter briefly, who is hiding her face, before looking back.

“W-what are you doing here?”

“I uh...I couldn’t get Alex to calm down. No matter what I tried she wouldn’t stop crying and everyone is gone right now. I mean, she did nap in the car for a bit, but she’s reverse cycling right now on top of teething and I just-“

“Come in, come in. It’s freezing,” Steve quickly ushers them inside.

“I’m sorry for just showing up like this but I didn’t know what else to do. I just put her in the car to see if driving would help and then I decided to come here,” Ana explains, barely taking in his rather cozy apartment. “Luckily she fell asleep halfway through the ride. I just- I have no right to ask, but can you help please?”

The sympathy coloring his expression lasts for a second. “Oh, look at this little honey bee,” Steve coos, bending to her level. “What’s got you so upset, Alex, huh?”

Alex sniffles, her face screwing up, a sign Ana knows all too well. Before she starts to cry again, Steve carefully takes the girl from Ana, cradling the baby in his strong arms. Immediately, her bottom pops out, trembling as she stares up at Steve. He coos at her, patting her back, and slowly, her little lip flattens out.

Ana watches in awe, her daughter lifting her little hands to grab his beard. Steve just smiles sweetly at her, starting to make silly faces as he sways her around his living room. Ana drops the diaper bag on his couch, taking off her coat, shaking her head as Alex’s eyes start drooping already. Either her child exhausted herself out with tears, or Steve has just the right touch. Either way, after three minutes pass, Alex’s eyes flutter before closing, out like a light. 

“How did you do that?” Ana deflates in disbelief.

He looks baffled himself as he shrugs, continuing to rock the little girl. “She’s gotten so big,” He notes solemnly.

“Yeah...you’ve been away for a hot minute,” Ana levels him with a stern look. His expression turns remorseful, flashing her an apologetic smile. Ana catches the time on the stove in his kitchen, reading 6:35pm. “Told you she wouldn’t forget you. You can sit with her if you want. Hopefully she won’t wake for a while.”

Steve agrees, carefully sitting down on the armchair. Ana chooses the other couch, tucking her good knee under her as she sits on the seat closest to Steve’s.

“I have a confession,” Ana informs, keeping her voice low so as not to wake her daughter. “I also came here to apologize to you.”

Steve adjusts himself, sitting back in the single armchair to get comfortable with Alex. “I should apologize too.”

“Can I go first?” She requests sheepishly. When Steve relents with a nod, she continues. “I’m sorry, Steve, for everything. I-I don’t regret turning off my emotions when I did, for the sake of Alex. I do regret what it did to you, how I treated you the entire time, and after.

“You were right, I was hiding behind Alex for a while. She was the only thing keeping my pain at bay and it was much easier to focus on her than coping. I never meant to keep you at arms length. I didn’t realize doing that would make you think I didn’t want you around my daughter.” Ana exhales shakily. “She’s Bucky’s daughter too. You’re his best friend and it wasn’t right for me to ostracize you. I was just selfish and in too much pain to see that I did.”

She pauses to press her palm to her chest, emotions beginning to surface. “I talked to Natasha about this. I should have helped you guys. I’m a healer for fucks sake, I could have at least lessened the pain.”

“And what, absorb it all in yourself? None of us would have taken you up on that offer.” Steve responds kindly. 

Ana sniffs, but the wave of tears is too much to hold off. “Steve. I never wanted you to move out, and I’m sorry I was the main reason you did. You’re one of my best friends, you’re family. I didn’t mean to lose you too.”

Steve’s throat bobs, then he clears his throat softly, blue eyes pinning her to her seat. “You didn’t lose me.”

A mirthless chortle falls from her lips. “It felt like I did. I, uh. I’ve been going to group therapy. It’s helped a lot, but there are those days when I look in the mirror and despise who I see, who I’ve become. She’s not me, and it’s taken a long time to even try to get an ounce of myself back.”

Ana hastily wipes away the tears falling down her cheeks, on the verge of confessing a thought she hadn’t been able to shake for months. “The worst part is, the part I can’t stop thinking about, is-is how hurt and disappointed Bucky would be in me. He would hate me if he ever saw what I did. I-I’m not the woman he fell in love with anymore.” The last word breaks on a sob.

Steve shifts, like he wants to console her, before he remembers the sleeping baby in his arms. “Ana, that is not  true.” He reprimands fiercely. “Do not go down that road.”

She’s crying too hard to respond, pressing her hand over her mouth to quiet her sobs. Her chest constantly aching with the absence of another soul, with the sheer thought of Bucky looking upon her with disgust. The awfulness began invading her mind once that odd orange dream world stopped frequently visiting her sleep.

“Hey, hey, Ana, honey, look at me,” Steve coaxes leaning forward, careful with Alex. He holds out his free hand for Ana to take, squeezing her fingers. “You’ll get yourself back, even if it’s not the exact version you were before. But I know  Bucky would never stop loving you, no matter what. He would be so proud of how you protected and raised your daughter. You fell in love with every single part of him down to his soul. He would still love you the same way you love him. In fact, I believe he’s been watching over you both, smiling down at his best girls. Alright?”

Ana wipes away the fresh tears off her face with her other hand. “Y-yeah.”

“I understood your grief, we all did,” He continues gently. “We never thought you would do what you did, but you’re owning up to it now. You’ve apologized for your actions several times. I forgive you. But Ana, if you don’t start forgiving yourself, you’ll never start to move forward. Holding onto your own guilt will crush you.”

A self-deprecating chuckle emits from her mouth. “Is that what you’re doing then?”

Steve exhales heavily, slowly taking his hand away. “You felt that, huh?”

“I felt it the second you opened the door. How have you really been?”

“Let’s try to lay her down in the bed,” He suggests, standing cautiously.

Ana follows him, both keeping silent when he leads them to his room down the short hallway. As carefully as he can, Steve lowers the slumbering girl to the mattress, slipping his arms out from under her. Alex shifts, Ana biting her lip and crossing her fingers that she doesn’t wake. Steve places a hand back on her head until she settles.

Once they’re in the clear, both adults settle on either side of the small child, in case she decides to roll over. Ana lightly strokes her fingers through her daughter’s growing hair, that connection between them, although still present, had faded into a delicate hum over the past months.

“Have you been getting enough sleep?” Ana inquires with a pointed look.

Scratching his untamed beard, Steve answers, “Not for the past few nights. Nightmares fucking suck.”

Ana wholeheartedly agrees. “And...otherwise?”

“I found a support group myself. Been going for a month now. I was asked if I wanted to lead another group.”

“Wow, that’s...is that something you’re up for?”

“Maybe, down the road. How can I help others if I’m still holding shit in myself?”

Ana hums. “Founds familiar.”

“Come with me,” Steve requests, getting off the bed and grabbing a thick plush blanket.

He shifts his pillows around Alex, making a little barrier. Ana does the same, then follows Steve when he opens the window to the fire escape. The burst of frigid air bites at her skin, Ana closing the window to keep the warmth in the room. 

There’s a single chair, and a tiny try table with a sketch pad on it. Vaguely Ana thinks the set up is a fire hazard, but then again, Steve has a habit of not using stairs. He turns the chair and offers the seat to Ana, placing the warm blanket over her lap. She has a perfect view of Alex sleeping on the bed inside. Steve settles next to her on the second step.

Abruptly, the energy surrounding Steve morphs, a dismal tinge weighing heavily in the air like the threat of rain. It pulls Ana’s gaze from her daughter to him. Steve wrings his hands together, pressing his fingers between the spaces of his knuckles, his eyes focused on them, long lashes fanning over his cheekbones. The gleam of a wet track reflects off the light emitting from his room, carving a year of grief down his face.

“Steve,” Ana cajoles gently.

A shuddering inhale. “I’ve been wallowing in my own guilt and failure,” Steve confesses thickly. “I have been since it happened. I moved out because I couldn’t handle it, I couldn’t control how I was feeling anymore. I just couldn’t keep up that strong facade of knowing what to do, of pretending to come up with a way to fix everything. And I’m not blaming you, but I was so focused on making sure you weren’t drowning...I sunk myself.”

Steve’s voice wavers, but he doesn’t stop what comes next. His face screws up, pressing his knuckles to his mouth for a moment. “I lost my best friend, my brother. I couldn’t save the world, I couldn’t save Bucky.” A heart wrenching sob distorts his words. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save him for you, for his beautiful daughter. I failed the universe, and I haven’t been able to forgive myself.” 

Ana tries to keep her own tears at bay, but Steve’s shoulders shake as he full on sobs and breaks, she can’t help it. She scoots closer, pulling Steve into her arms, his face pressed into her shoulder, her arms wrapped around his back. She doesn’t know how long they stay like that; Steve’s sobs and heartbreak soaking into her shirt, into her bones. Ana just holds him as tight as she can. 

Finally, after what feels like hours and temperature dropping with the threat of snow, Steve’s sobs come to an end. Slowly he pulls away, sitting up and wiping his cheeks and nose with his shirt. Ana gives him time to collect himself, cleaning her own face with her sleeve. Her eyes shift to Alex, still napping on the bed, a small victory if she continues to sleep through the night.

A calloused yet tentative hand over her left pulls her attention back to Steve. He briefly touches her wedding rings. Ana searches his face, cheeks flushed from crying. His eyelids swollen, his beard damp and the bags beneath his eyes have darkened. His licks at his dry, cracked lips; Ana making a mental note to make him drink water when they go back in.

When Steve speaks again, his voice is raw with emotions. “I needed to deal with my own pain and healing if I was going to keep my promise to Bucky,” He tells her, pulling his hand back. He meets her gaze. “I know leaving broke it anyway. I apologize for that.”

“It was a little malicious of me to throw that at you,” Ana admits, suppressing a shiver. She pulls the blanket up to her shoulders. “We may have said some things to hurt each other, unintentionally or not. I’m sor-”

“I think there’s been enough apologies to last a lifetime,” Steve chuckles lowly.

“In that case, no more sorrys. We’ll just try to move from this point, little by little.” Her teeth chatter at the end, the cold finally getting to her despite the blanket.

“Agreed. Let’s go inside, you’re freezing.”

“Fuck, that’s the truth,” Ana laughs.

The second Ana sets her foot down on the wood floor, Alex sits up as if she could sense her mother. That bottom lip popping out, those ice blue eyes of hers searching for Ana. Cringing, she rushes over, cooing and hugging her child.

“Did you happen to bring the kimoyo bead?” Steve inquires, shutting the window.

“Never go anywhere without it,” Ana answers, rocking Alex back and forth. She looks at the clock on his side table. “Ugh, she only slept for an hour. This reserve cycling is rough.”

“Maybe she’s hungry. What did you bring? I can make something for her.”

“There’s a bottle, but also cheerios and fruit. There’s rice too, if you want to heat that up a bit.”

Steve quickly exits. Ana bundles up Alex, the sleepy girl sweetly cuddling against her chest as they follow him out.

*

Later, after Alex had eaten and Steve ordered some pizza, he offers to try to put her asleep once more. He convinced Ana to stay the night, considering the snow beginning to fall and the streets being slick.

“I’m not staying just to kick you out of your room, Steve,” Ana scolds, crossing her arms.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Alex is already sleeping in my bed, it makes sense to be there with her. Unless you want to sleep on the lumpy couch.”

“It’s close to the coffee machine.” She smirks.

“Don’t be a pain in my ass, Barnes,” He teases with narrowed eyes. “Go sleep in the damn bed.”

“Fine,” Ana relents, dropping her arms. “But only if you make coffee in the morning.”

*

Little fingers drag Ana out of sleep, the fingers tracing over her lips before pulling down her bottom one. Inhaling slowly, coming to terms that she now has to wake up, otherwise her daughter will force her awake by promptly shoving her fingers up her nose. It’s happened three times before. Finally, Ana opens her eyes, rubbing the last traces of blissful sleep away. She makes eye contact with Alex, then gasps and closes her again. Alex giggles, her hand tapping over her mom’s eyelids.

Ana peeks one eye open, and the bright smile Alex greets her with melts her heart. In a quick but safe motion, she hugs her daughter close, roaring softly before attacking her with kisses. Gleeful cackles fill the room, Alex trying to push Ana away weakly. Ana stops, pressing one last kiss to her cheek. Then her daughter leans closer, connecting her forehead with her mother’s. Both girls remain like that for a minute, Ana staring sweetly into her baby girl’s blue eyes, counting the flecks of golden-brown in them.

Once Alex is changed, both of their teeth brushed, Ana exits the room by holding her little hands and helping her walk with clumsy steps down the hallway. Watching Alex attempt to walk pangs at Ana’s heart; her daughter growing up way too fast. 

“Whoa, who is this little Coffee Bean strutting in here on a mission!?” Steve greets brightly, bending down to Alex’s level. “Has she tried walking by herself yet?”

“Not quite there, but soon,” Ana says. “I might cry when it does.”

Chuckling, Steve opens his arms for Alex, the little girl abruptly letting go of Ana’s hands to trip into his arms. Ana laughs through the small pang of their shared connection clenching her heart. It’s easier to ignore now. Steve greets Alex with a kiss on her head, standing up with her in his hold.

“Did you girls have a good sleep?” He questions, bopping Alex on her nose. She responds by grabbing his beard. 

His oddly light tone makes Ana suspicious. She gives him an unimpressed look. “As if you didn’t stay up all night listening for any sign if we didn’t,” She replies flatly. 

His smile is sheepish. “It wasn’t the whole night.”

“Uh-huh. Where’s my coffee, punk?”

“I swear you two were the same person at times,” Steve grumbles, passing Alex back to her. But the teasing glint in his eyes makes Ana smile with the grace of the Cheshire cat at the comparison of Bucky. He rolls his eyes, then messes up her already messy hair. She glares as she fixes her hair.

“She slept better this time, thank god.” Ana sighs, inhaling the aroma of the coffee he handed her. She pauses, narrowing her eyes. “Steven Grant Rogers. Is this decaf?”

He winces, taking a big step backward. “Yes it is.”

“No!” Alex suddenly chirps, then continues to munch on the piece of banana Steve gave her.

Steve blinks. Ana kisses her daughter’s head. “That’s right, Bean. Tell Uncle Stevie that depriving your mama of real coffee is a no-no.”

“You’re more yourself than you think,” Steve tells her, switching his mug with hers. His happy grin earns him one in return.

Steve finishes making breakfast, both adults making small talk while Alex chatters away with her baby language, a mix of “mama” and “no” thrown in. Ana sets a plate of scrambled eggs and the rest of the banana Steve cut up for her daughter. She gets half of it on her cheeks and clothes instead of her mouth.

After breakfast and a change of clothes for Alex, Ana offers to help with Steve’s energy. He allowed them to stay the night, offered his bed to them and cooked breakfast, the least she can do is transmute any of the heavily dark energy he has. When she says this much, Steve casts her a stern glare.

“When’s the last time you actually used your abilities?” Steve inquires. He’s been playing on the floor with Alex and the coasters she pulled off the coffee table.

“I’ll be fine, trust me.” Ana convinces. “I won’t go crazy, just enough to help you sleep better at night.”

“Okay,” He relents, then holds up one finger. “On one condition. Let me take Alex out of the house, and you nap for an extra hour or two before you drive back.”

“Deal!”

*

Two hours later, Ana rolls over and nearly falls off the bed, forgetting it’s not hers. She laughs at herself, untangling her legs from the comforter, groaning as she stretches. The faint sound of a familiar Disney movie reaches her ears; one she knows captures Alex’s attention for a while.

Using this time, Ana begins to gather anything she took out of the diaper bag and packs it away. She carefully places the kimoyo bead on the side table back in it’s safe place, then checks the room twice over for anything she may have missed. When she makes her way to the living room, Ana stops, mouth dropping. 

“Did you buy all this?” Ana gapes, staring at several items scattered around.

Steve looks up from his task of helping Alex place colorful rings on a cone. “Hey, good nap?”

“Very, thank you. What is this stuff?”

“Alex told me, in a very serious manner, that the next time she visits, her uncle should be more prepared for her arrival.”

“Did she now?” Ana questions sarcastically, a smile teasing her lips. “She can be very adamant in her gibberish.”

“Very persuasive,” Steve nods vigorously. “Probably gets that from Nat.”

“Steve,” She laughs, gesturing to the stuff.

Sitting in the far corner next to the couch is a play pen that doubles as a crib. There’s a small stroller still in its box, a few toys, some music with lights, books and puzzles are on the table. Ana spots a little stuffed bear wearing a blue jacket propped up against Alex’s side. 

He scratches the back of his neck, shrugging. “I hope it’s not imposing, and I’ll return it if it’s an issue. I just figured, well I was wondering if you two wanted to visit more often, Alex could have her own little play space.

Ana balks. “You want us to visit more often? Are you sure that’s not invading your own time and sp-“

“See the thing is, when you give yourself space, sometimes you miss the people you were spacing yourself from. Two way street though. I’ll come visit, like I said I was going to. Might get an ass kicking from Natasha though.” Steve winces at the thought.

Nodding in agreement to his statement, Ana goes to sit on the couch, brushing her hand over Alex’s head. She gives no mind to Ana, clearly captivated with her new toys. Steve grabs the bear next to the little girl, handing it to Ana. She raises a curious eyebrow.

“I saw it and I’m not sure why. It reminded me of Buck,” He says, avoiding her gaze. “Think it’s the jacket, like the one he wore during the war.”

She brushes her fingers over the jacket, a soft smile on her lips. “It’s cute.”

A slew of emotions roll through her chest, coming to a realization. Ana showed up on Steve’s door step, unannounced five months after he moved out. He has been trying to heal, process the death of his friends, process his own guilt and yet Steve welcomed them into his safe haven. He eagerly helped with Alex, had put her to such a state of comfort she fell asleep almost immediately. Steve had opened up, showed his broken vulnerable side, cried together and had forgiven her. He allowed them to spend the night, and just went out of his way to take Alex around the city, coming back with gifts in hopes for more visits. 

Ana has no doubt for what she does next.

“Steve,” She speaks softly. He looks up from Alex, eyes patient, curious. “Will you be Jamie’s godfather?”

Steve freezes. Ana doesn’t think he even breathes for several seconds. She fiddles with the bear in her hands as she waits, straightening out its jacket. A delightful coo from Alex on the floor when she pressed a button on a new toy seems to finally shake Steve back. 

“A-are you sure?” He breaths, uncertainty all over his face.

“Absolutely.” She confirms. “I asked Natasha to be her godmother about a month ago. I mean, she could fill both parts but-”

“Yes! Yeah, I would be honored too.”

Ana beams at him, earning back the truest grin she’s seen on Steve in over a year. 

Later that afternoon, Ana gets Alex ready to head back north, changing her diaper and pulling on her jacket. Steve holds her while Ana triple checks that she has everything in the diaper bag. She spots three white envelopes, remembering the invitations she made at the beginning of January. She pulls one out.

“Oh, here,” She says, handing it to Steve. “Alex turns one in a few weeks. I would love for you to come.”

His face melts into something fond, kissing the little girl’s forehead. “Jesus. A whole year already.”

“Yeah, we’re not gonna talk about it. My baby is growing way too fast,” Ana chokes up a little, blinking away the sting in her eyes. “So, will you come? Please?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.” Steve promises, then he tickles Alex on her thighs. “Huh, little Coffee Bean? You gotta stop growing so fast!”

“Eeb!” She squeals gleefully, tucking her head to his chest.

“Uh, I think that means Steve,” Ana chuckles. 

Steve hugs Alex tighter. He brings her out to the car, strapping her into the safety seat, giving her one last kiss, and tucking the new bear he got her next to her bunny. Ana waits until he shuts the door. When he turns, she hugs him, arms squeezed around his torso. Steve returns the hug, and the familiarity of family washes through her; their emotions calmer than they have been.

“Thank you, Steve, for everything.” Ana mumbles into his shirt.

“Don’t even mention it,” He tells her, his arms a vice grip around her shoulders. “Really, I promise to visit when I can.”

They break apart, walking to the drivers side. Steve opens her door, then closes it once Ana is settled and clicks her seat belt on.

“Drive safe, and please, let me know when you get back.” He commands. 

“I will. Alex, baby, can wave bye-bye to Uncle Steve?” Ana questions lightly, looking over her shoulder. Alex lifts her hand, scrunching her fingers quickly and smiling.

Steve waves back, laughing. As Ana drives away, she feels much lighter than she had for the past year. Any lingering tension between her and Steve has finally dissipated. 

 One Year and Six months later . July 2021. Three years after snap:

Ana has to be sneaky, quiet as she peers around the corner, the anticipation of being caught a high risk. She startles at a small noise, quickly presses herself as close to the wall as she can, squeezing her eyes shut, hoping her position won’t be compromised. Abruptly a voice calls out.

“Fond yuuoo!”

The little voice squealing with excitement breaks Ana’s faux spy mode, yelling in delight as well. She scoops up her daughter, spinning Alex around as she giggles uncontrollably.

“Yes you did, Bean!” Ana exclaims, kissing her sweet face. “Good job!”

A round of hide and seek has been going on for the past ten minutes. Alex has immensely enjoyed hiding under blankets and popping out to “scare” her mother. Somehow, she found one of Bucky’s jackets in the open closet, choosing to hide under the leather. The sight of her big blue eyes peering over the collar was so cute, that the pang throbbing in Ana’s heart didn’t last long.

“You’re such a good little spy! Auntie Nat would be so proud!” Ana cheers. 

The toddler laughs again, planting a sloppy kiss on her mother’s lips. She makes a loud muah! sound when she pulls back. “Mommy’s ‘urn!”

“My turn? I go find you now?”

“Yes!” Alex squirms as a way to be let down. Ana complies, making sure her little feet are on the ground before she lets go. Halfway through running away, Alex stops and turns to look back at her mom. “I hungree.”

Ana can’t help but chuckle, her daughter just too adorable for her own good. She bends down, opening her arms just as Alex runs into them. “How about I just eat you for lunch instead?”

She pretends to munch on her shoulder, down to her belly. Her daughter’s joyous laughter is a beautiful symphony filling the air. It’s been one of Ana’s favorite sounds in the entire universe for the past two and a half years, right next to Bucky’s lullaby. It’s moments like these when the energy connection Ana shares with Alex feels stronger, despite the intensity of it fading over the years. It still remains, just not as potent, which has made it much easier for them to be away from each other for a few hours or even a weekend.

“Mama!” Alex pats her hair, curling her fist in the strands. “Pway daddy’s song.”

Ana smiles sweetly, emotions always flaring up when she asks about Bucky’s recording. She pushes her chestnut hair away from her eyes, the golden-brown flecks glimmering in the sea of blue. She fondly kisses the little dimple in her chin.

“How about we go get some yummys, then we can listen to daddy’s song. Sound good?”

“Nummy, nummies!” Alex shouts happily. “Auntie Nat too!”

“Yes, we can make breakfast for Auntie Nat too.”

The second the words leave Ana’s mouth, Alex with the graceful skills a two and a half year old should not have, maneuvers herself out of her mother’s arms, and takes off running. Hurriedly, Ana goes after her, her right knee joint popping as she stands. Vaguely she wonders not for the first time, if the serum has affected Alex yet. She has better hearing, and faster running than any other toddler she’s seen.

“Come back here, you little bean!” Ana teases, just seeing her little girl disappear down the hall towards the office. “Nat! Little monster incoming!”

When Ana skids into the office, she has to halt herself. Alex stopped in the middle of the room, staring at something. She turns, lifting her arms to her mom. Picking her up, Ana follows her gaze.

“Steve!” Ana starts in surprise. “Hi. Did we know you were coming today?”

“Impromptu visit,” He shrugs, wiggling his fingers at Alex. Once the little girl realizes who is in the chair, she waves back animatedly. She might not have recognized him without his beard, his face now clean shaven.

“He claims to be checking up on me,” Natasha inputs, her feet on the desk. Her eyes are glassy, the tip of her nose red. She had been crying, and the energy of the emotions settles over Ana.

“I offered to cook,” Steve quips, reaching over to tickle Alex’s foot. She giggles and hides her face in her moms hair.

“Ahh, that explains the tears,” Ana winks, then shoots Natasha a look. The other woman sniffs but flashes a brief smile.

“I threw my egg sandwich at him,” Natasha retorts, her trademark smirk pulling up the corner of her mouth. She fiddles with her hair, now mostly a pretty ombré mix of red and blonde, the length just past her shoulders.

Before Ana can respond, an alert screen pops up in front of Natasha. She opens it with a lazy flick of her hand. A voice echoing through the room stuns them.

“Hi! Is anyone home!? This is Scott Lang! We met a few years ago, at the airport, in Germany!”

All three adults turn their attention to the video screen. Ana feels like her heart ceases, her mouth falling open. She meets Steve’s eyes who quickly meets Natasha's, staring wide eyed at the screen.

“Is this-is this an old message?” Steve stutters breathlessly as he stands.

“Ant-Man!” The video continues, the man chatting away frantically.

“It’s the front gate,” Natasha intones, odd relief coloring her voice.

“What?” Ana whispers, stepping closer. She notes the timestamp at the top of the screen. 

Alex pats her cheek, softly saying “Mama?”

“Oh my god. Oh my god!” 

“How is this possible?” Steve utters, half in awe, half in disbelief.

“Oh my god, let him in!” Ana demands.

*

An hour later has Ana with her head in her hands, shaking it back and forth. 

When Natasha arrived back with Scott, he began to explain what happened to him in a jumbled chaotic mess of words. Natasha and Steve were able to calm him down, fed him after he nearly lunged for Nat’s leftover sandwich. Ana had to leave to take care of Alex, quickly feeding her lunch and putting her down for a nap. Thankfully their game of hide and seek wore the little girl out, and she was drifting off to dreamland by the first chorus of Bucky’s lullaby.

Now Ana is attempting to soothe herself, keeping her emotions and energy down. Especially after she heard the haunting call of Bucky’s voice in her head again; it’s been four months since she heard it.

“Explain it again,” Ana requests. She rubs her eyes before she looks at Scott.

He nods jerkily, an awkward grimace on his face. “Right. I was in the Quantum Realm. Hope, my...s-she was supposed to pull me out, but Thanos happened and I was stuck in there.”

“For three years?” Natasha frowns sympathetically.

“No, that’s just it. It wasn’t three years for me...it was three hours.” He elaborates. He must notice the skepticism on their faces. “I swear! The rules in there aren’t like they are up here. Time works differently in the Quantum Realm, it’s unpredictable chaos. But what if we could control it and navigate it? What if we can enter it at one point of time, then exit at another point of time? Like- Before Thanos.”

“Like a DeLorean?” Ana questions the same time Steve asks, “Like a time machine?”

“N-no, of course not!” Scott stutters, then blinks. “Well, yes. A-a time machine. It’s crazy...”

Natasha chortles under her breath. “Scott, I get emails from a raccoon, nothing is crazy anymore.”

“You’re talking about possible time travel by entering different points of time through this Quantum Realm.” Ana repeats, musing for the sake of herself. She massages her temples.

This could mean so many things. This could...this could bring back- she swallows the thick lump in her throat, forcing herself not to get any hopes up just yet. She rubs her fingers along her collarbone, chewing the corner of her lip. 

“Exactly.” Scott comments. “Is there anyone- who do we talk to about this?”

Both Steve and Natasha stare hard enough for Ana to feel it, lifting her eyes to meet their gazes. All it takes is that split second look for it to click. Falling back against the couch cushions, she exhales heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Fine.” She relents with a grumble, hands thrown up in the air. “But we’re taking Alex.”

*

Stark Lakeside Cabin: Vermont 

Lush green and brown trees blur together like a watercolor painting, the scenic view serene as the nature rushes by. Though staring out the window for the past hour of driving should have settled Ana’s nerves, the sight contrasts with the anxiety rolling in her stomach. She alternates between rubbing the skin of her collarbones raw and twisting her fingers together.

“Mommy?” 

The little voice barely breaks through the contemplation of her thoughts, her feelings. If it weren’t for the worry in her daughter’s voice Ana probably wouldn’t have acknowledged her surroundings. A small hand reaches out, gently patting her cheek, a trait Alex has done since she was a baby; especially when Ana’s emotions were surging.

“Sorry, baby girl,” Ana coos, shaking herself out of her stupor. She kisses the tips of her fingers. 

“Is sad, mama?” Alex pouts. Her blue eyes round, concerned. Ana swears her daughter has moments of wisdom far too advanced for her age. Maybe it’s their connection causing her to feel for her mother.

Soothing her hair back, Ana says, “No, love. Mama’s just fine.”

“You pway daddy’s song!” The toddler exclaims, throwing her arms up. She suddenly hands Ana her stuffed bear, bunny and her blanket. “Nap, mommy.”

Ana can’t help it, she cracks a wide smile, a tiny chuckle escaping. “Thank you, Bean. You’re the bestest.”

Alex looks proud of herself, leaning as much as she can in her car seat and puckering her lips. Ana tilts the rest of the way, pecking her daughter’s lips, then her nose. When she straightens, she catches Scott gazing at them with a fond expression. However, the flash of blue staring at her from the rear view mirror focuses her attention on Steve.

Once Alex had woken from her nap, the three adults gathered in Ana’s car, insisting the Audi SUV would be roomy enough for the nearly four hour drive. She packed extra clothes, diapers, food and a few toys in the diaper bag before buckling Alex in the car seat. Ana handed the keys over to Steve, opting to sit in the back with Alex and Scott. 

Now, Natasha subtly nudges Steve arm resting on the middle console, his eyes snap back to the road. 

“Okay, what is it?” Ana miffs. “You’ve been shooting me looks for an hour, Steve.”

He shrugs, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. “You sure you’re feeling alright?”

“Because your energy is making it a little dense in here.” Natasha divulges, tossing a pointed look over her shoulder.

“I thought it was just stuffy in here,” Scott inputs optimistically. “I forgot you had powers.”

Groaning, Ana throws the blanket over her head to hide her face. “Sorry,” She mutters. “I wasn’t aware I was doing anything.”

“Eh, you’re lucky the car is still running,” Nat teases. “It is an electrically run system.”

“Nat,” Steve reprimands lightly. “Get your feet off the dash. Have some manners, Romanoff.” His mirthful tone makes Natasha stick her tongue out at him.

“You’re no fun, Rogers. This is Ana’s car, she makes the rules.”

The blanket suddenly yanks off Ana’s head, Alex giggling next to her right. Ana pokes her belly, then turns her attention back to the front.

“I’ll be fine, I’m just nervous,” She bites her lip briefly before continuing. “I’ve spoken to Tony a few times, but it’s the first time I’ll see him in… almost three years.”

Another quick look from Steve in the mirror. “He does know we’re coming. Right?”

Ana slouches as much as she can with the seat belt, grimacing. “Not exactly.”

Steve groans.

“I told Pepper! May have told her not to tell him, just in case he decides to conveniently not be there when we show up.”

“This sounds like it’ll go swell.” Scott chirps sarcastically.

*

After three and a half long hours and two pits stop for Alex’s sake, they finally arrive at the Stark household in Vermont. The rustic cabin secluded in the woods, sits fifty years from a lake, the afternoon sun glittering in fractals off the surface. The view is beautiful, serene, does nothing to settle Ana’s nerves. Especially when she sees Tony walking up to his cabin carrying his child in his arms. He falters when he spots them before he continues on, turning back once. Natasha throws him a nod, as if the past three years hadn’t happened. 

Tony nods back.

“You guys go ahead,” Ana insists, “We’ll be there in a minute.”

Steve’s concerned gaze lingers until Natasha grabs him by the elbow, leading the way for the two men. Ana takes her time unbuckling Alex, her little hands on her cheeks stop her.

“Is sad, mommy.” Alex whines again, patting her hand on her face. 

“No, baby doll, I promise. I’m not sad,” Ana kisses her and puts a big smile on her face. “See! Nothing but smiles for my little bean!”

Bringing Alex in through the front door, she greets Pepper with a long hug. Her cousin says hello to her daughter, then leads Alex by the hand to Morgan, introducing the young girls. It’s also the first time Ana has met Pepper and Tony’s daughter in person, but Morgan recognizes her from all the video chats Ana had with Pepper. The children get along immediately, Morgan, now five, shares her toys with Alex. 

When Pepper convinces Ana to join the others outside, like a mature thirty-four year old, Ana whines; nerves spiking again. The older woman nudges her towards the door, promising to keep an eye on the girls. Ana quietly steps out on the deck, coming into the middle of their conversation, taking a seat on of the wicker chairs.

“The stones are in the past, we can go back and get them,” Steve is urging.

“We can snap our own fingers, bring everyone back,” Natasha adds.

“Or screw up worse than he already has.” Tony argues.

“I don’t believe we would.” Steve asserts.

“I gotta say sometimes I miss that giddy optimism,” Tony snips. “However, high hopes won’t help if there’s not a logical, tangible way for me to safely execute said time heist. I believe the most likely outcome will be our collective demise.”

Ana bites her the corner of her thumbnail, tuning out their conversation to concentrate on keeping her energy under control. She had a slight feeling Tony would be against their plan, the hurt, the disappointment,  the fact that she got her hopes up for even the smallest amount of stings. None of this will work if they don’t have Tony on their side.

Hearing the desperation in Scott���s voice makes Ana pay attention again, closely watching Tony’s face.

“I know you got a lot on the line,” Scott is saying. “A wife, a daughter. But I lost someone very important to me, a lot of people did, and now now we have a chance to bring her back. To bring everyone back, and now you’re telling me-”

“That’s right, I am.” Tony cuts him off with no remorse. “I wish you came here to ask me something, I really do. I’m honestly happy to see you guys, table is set for seven-”

Steve interrupts him this time, stepping forward. “Tony I’m happy for you, I’m really am, but this is a second chance-”

“I got my second chance right here, Cap. I can’t roll the dice on it.”

Ana drops her face in her hands. She listens to Natasha’s gentle decline to stay for lunch, a short exchange of goodbyes and three sets of footsteps walking off the deck. Blowing out a forceful breath, Ana realizes her and Tony are alone for the first time in years. She lifts her head, met with Tony’s stoic gaze as she stands.

“Whatever you’re going to say,” He begins holding up a hand. “It won’t change my mind.”

“I know,” Ana replies softly.

They stare at each other, the air between them filled with unspoken resentment, hurt, anger. Remorse. Ana flexes her hands then curls her fingers, tampering back her urge to transmute the tension between them. The slightest pinched of Tony’s eyebrows breaks it all.

“I’m sorry.” They admit at the same time.

They laugh awkwardly. Tony dips his head, a silent notion for Ana to go first. Shoving her hands through her hair to give her something to do, she counts her breaths mentally before beginning. It’s been three years. Three long, exhausting, heartbreaking years. 

Standing in front of Tony now, someone who had become Ana’s family, who had been witness to her most life-threatening moments of her life, is overwhelming. Someone who has grown to care and love her like his own blood. Who had done everything in his power to protect her, to protect Bucky when it came to it. Who accepted Bucky despite their complicated issues. Ana is tired, she missed Tony and it’s time to mend their broken bridge.

“I should have never thrown the arc reactor at your head,” Ana admits earnestly. “I-I was in so much pain, Tony. I was hurting and scared. I lost Bucky and I...I felt when he d-died. I felt him ripped from my soul, I felt the whole world. Clearly I wasn’t in a good place when you rescued, we both weren’t. I don’t think we meant the things we said. I shouldn’t have iced you out-”

“Stop right there,” Tony cuts her off. He makes a motion like he wants to console her, but refrains. “That’s on me. I’m the one who cut you out.”

Ana scoffs. “You weren’t the one who shut their emotions off for months.”

“No, which- don’t ever do that again. Pep’s stress levels- nearly drank the entire wine cellar.”

“That’s a lot of wine.”

Tony chuckles lowly. “No, I didn’t have the talent to turn off emotions, but I may as well have. Cutting you out, not making any effort to reach out. I had time to heal from at least half of what happened. I got lucky. You...you had lost yet another member of your family.”

A lump forms in Ana’s throat, eyes beginning to water. Tony’s eyes glisten.

“I was...Pep and I...we were there for you during every loss, your parents and brother.” Tony puts his hand on his chest. “I should have been there for you when you lost Bucky, even after. I wasn’t, because of my own stubborn ass pride. I am genuinely sorry about that, Ana.”

Wiping the tears off her cheeks, Ana inclines her head, hugging herself. Tony clears his throat, then closes the distance between them, pulling her in for a long overdue hug. She wraps her arms around his chest, gripping his shirt, allowing herself to feel his energy, his emotions. The sensation of forgiveness merging together from them both.

“I’ve missed you, kid.” Tony chokes, his chin atop her head. “I really did.”

“I missed you too,” Ana sniffs. “You’ve no idea.”

Once they break apart, they take a moment to clean their own faces. Ana blows out a breath, looking over her shoulder at the car, Steve, Natasha and Scott waiting patiently. 

“Listen,” Ana begins. “I understand why you don’t want to help. You have a beautiful life, a beautiful family. I wouldn’t want to risk that either. It’s why I didn’t come here to convince you.”

“You didn’t just come to apologize either.” He specifies.

“I did not. I think it’s time you meet my daughter. Officially.”

“I would be honored.” Tony grins, like he wasn’t just crying into her hair.

Ana holds up one finger, quickly going inside. She finds Alex playing with Morgan, Pepper watching from the couch. She shoots Ana a questioning look, to which she shoots her a thumbs up. Pepper fist pumps, muttering “finally.”

She gently cajoles Alex to come with her, promising she can say goodbye to her cousin before they leave. Alex clings to her when they step back outside, Tony leaning against the wooden railing. His face brightens when he sees the little girl.

“Tony, this is Jamie Alexandra,” Ana introduces, bouncing Alex once on her hip.

Tony’s entire expression softens as he bends to Alex’s level offering her a soft friendly grin. “Nice to finally meet you, Alex.” He greets with a chipper tone. “I’m your Uncle Tony.”

Alex shies away just a little, hiding her face then peaking out.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Ana encourages softly. “He’s just old, he won’t bite.”

Tony shoots her a playful glare, then back to Alex, he pulls a silly face. Alex giggles once, then reaches out her little hand to grab at his goatee. His smile widens. “Can I get a high five?”

Alex shoots her hand out, smacking her palm against his. He proceeds to compliment her yellow velcro shoes, getting her to chat back with him. After two minutes, Alex is launching herself into Tony’s open arms, making her mother’s stomach drop to her feet.

“I hate when she does that,” Ana huffs, hand fluttering over her heart. “She’s got the agility of a gymnast right now.”

He hums in thought, hugging the girl to his chest. “Interesting. Those are some strong genes, strong grip too. She’s the spitting image of Barnes.”

A wave of longing and pride floods through Ana. “Yeah,” She exhales shakily. “At least I have a part of him in her.”

“She’s beautiful, Ana.”

“Thank you. She’s a charmer too, just like her father. Won over Nebula in a heartbeat.”

“She’s a softie at heart once you get past that murderous attitude,” Tony chuckles. He sighs, face crestfallen. “I’m sorry I can’t help.”

Ana shakes her head. “Stop. I understand. Just...hold them close, okay?”

“Will you sing daddy’s song?” Alex pipes up, using those baby blue eyes on him. Ana can almost see his heart melting.

“He doesn’t know daddy’s song, Alex,” Ana explains gently, fixing her askew shirt. “But how about we go say goodbye to your cousin Morgan and Aunt Pepper?”

“Okay,” She pouts, that lip popping out.

“What is that face? I bet I can fix that little pout,” Tony coos. “I have a juice pop just for you!”

Once they’re driving on the road again, Ana closes her eyes, wary from the trip and emotions. Alex is chattering away with Scott, the man animatedly responding back to her. Soft music croons through the radio, and the front of the car has been silent.

“What now?” Ana mumbles, rubbing her dry eyes. “We can’t do this without Tony. We have to do this right. If we don’t...I don’t want to get my hopes up and then just- I don’t think I’ll be able to handle losing him again.”

“I agree, which is why we’re making another pit stop,” Steve informs, voice tight around the edges. “It’s on the way though.”

Frowning, Ana wonders why Steve has decided to make another stop on this road trip, and where they could possibly be going.

*

 “When’s the last time any of us saw Bruce Banner?” Ana whispers as they approach the diner.

Steve hikes Alex further up his hip as he steps up to the door. “Two and a half years ago?”

“Let’s hope he’ll go for- whoa.” Scott starts, then abruptly stops.

Ana and Natasha exchanged confused looks, allowing Steve to enter the diner before them. He halts in his tracks. Alex startles, whimpering and hiding her face in Steve’s shoulder, fearfully clutching his jacket. Ana doesn’t even bother to see what scared her daughter, a spike of fear darkening the energy around her baby girl. Steve calmly turns, allowing Ana to take her from his arms.

“You should wait in the car,” He tells her, mystified expression on his face.

Ana peers around his body. “Oh. Oh my- what the hell?”

Waving happily in their direction, is the giant green hand of the Hulk. Dressed in a preppy cardigan sweater, and wearing black rimmed glasses. The sight is a little unnerving. 

“What the fuck?” Natasha breathes.

“We’ll be in the car.” Ana states, awkwardly waving back before she turns to leave.

She ends up finding an ice cream place not too far from the diner. Ana allows Alex to sit in the open trunk as she messily licks chocolate ice cream off her spoon. Ana keeps peering into the Diner, noting the disappointment look on Hulk’s- uh Bruce’s- on his face. 

As Ana wipes Alex’s face clean with wipes, the three adults exit the dinner with unreadable expressions. Except for Scott, he just looks utterly baffled. After Steve pulls onto the road again, Ana fishes for information.

“Sooo…” She drags out. “How-?”

“Bruce managed to merge himself and the Hulk together,” Natasha informs. “I don’t even know.”

“It was weird right? That was weird? It was weird.” Scott babbles.

“So he’s basically a hybrid?” Ana clarifies. “And yes, it’s a little weird.”

“A lot. It’s a lot weird- strange,” Scott whispers, eyes wide like he can’t unsee what he saw. 

Alex tilts her head curiously, then she offers her bunny to him. Scott breaks his shock, accepting the comfort stuffed animal. He gingerly pats her head and proceeds to make a show of cuddling the bunny to his chest. Pride and adoration bloom in Ana’s chest for her daughter.

“Right, well. What did he say? Did he agree?” Ana questions.

“Took a bit of convincing, but yes,” Steve answers, eyes meeting hers in the rear view mirror.

For the first time in three years, Ana allows herself just the faintest ounce of hope.

*

It takes three days for Bruce and Scott to figure out- hopefully - the Quantum Realm and traveling through it. Ana had stayed well out of the way, Quantum Physics being too far off her scope of practice. Although Bruce tried to persuade her into attempting to control and feeling out some of the energy raging through the portal. Ana refused; not that she possibly couldn’t  do it, but she had Alex to think about and if something went wrong well. She wasn’t going to make an orphan out of her daughter. 

Now Alex is taking turns feeding Ana her chicken nuggets as they sit at the dining table. The toddler tries to feed her stuffed animals sitting next to her, and Ana doesn't have the heart to tell her that her BunBun and Beary can’t actually eat it. So when she isn’t looking, Ana quickly eats their portions, just to make Alex smile in satisfaction.

Heavy footsteps echo from the entrance, an irritated Steve sped walking past, shaking his head. There’s a cloud of exasperated energy hanging over him, disappearing down the hallway towards his room. Ana stands, straining her ears to listen to what he might be doing. She doesn’t wait long, for he comes stomping back.

“Uh, Steve?” Ana calls cautiously.

“He turned into a baby,” Steve snaps, throwing his hands up in the air as he exits. “A fucking baby!”

Gaping, Ana just blinks, wondering what exactly happened down in the hanger. Then-

“Fucking!”

Ana gasps hearing her daughter’s little voice repeating the curse. She looks down, Alex oddly seems coy, proud of herself and she resembles Bucky so much, it almost makes Ana laugh.

“No!” Ana scolds, but her lips are twitching. 

“Fucking!” Alex chirps, munching on a chicken nugget.

“Jamie Alexander, that is a bad word. We do not say that.”

Alex hunches her shoulders, corners of her mouth pulled down, those sky blue eyes round and innocent. Ana holds out for as long as she can, narrowing her eyes with her arms crossed. Alex scoots the rest of her food over to her mother, the right corner of her mouth ticking up. Ana’s heart clenches; daughter of Bucky Barnes indeed.

“Swrry, mama,” Alex mumbles. "Is mad mommy?"

Finally, she cracks a smile. “No, baby doll.” She kisses her forehead and steals one more nugget. 

Five minutes pass, Alex carrying her plate to the sink with Ana’s help, when two sets of footsteps alert her. She hands her daughter another juice box, as Steve enters again. Trailing behind him is Tony.

Inhaling sharply, Ana stares at him. Tony being here means one thing. He shrugs, holding up his fist, a strange watch-like gadget wrapped around his hand.

“Figured it out,” Tony announces like he’s noting the weather. “Let’s not harp on it. I was getting bored up there, composting isn’t as thrilling as it sounds.”

Ana exhales on a half laugh. “We’re doing this then?”

The gleam in Tony’s dark eyes sparks a new hope in Ana’s chest.

“We’re doing this.”

****************************************************************

A/N:  This isn't one of the favorite chapters I've written so I apologize if it's lackluster or no one liked it. But, it's important to set up for the next chapters and coming to the end of this story.

Drabbles: Twenty-Five        Drabbles: Twenty-Seven 

 Tags:  @thecreatiivecorner​ @buckyland​ @stressedasalways​ @watchoutforfrostbite​ @justreadingfics​ @keldachick​ @eurynome827​ @elatedmarvel​ @shesalatesh​ @paintedgreywriting​ @buckaroo-blue​ @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin​ @crushedbyhyperbole​ @jaxthebookworm​ @gamorazenn​ @happinessisaloadedgun​​ @je-suis-prest-rachel​​

[heli0s-writes]

VI. Three Conversations

Summary: You have three conversations, respectively, with Peggy, Steve, and Sam. Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader A/N: Very dialogue-based! Thanks for reading and let me know what you think! Not too much happened here as far as ~*~Steve-time~*~ goes, but sometimes break-ups be like this, y'all.

Slow Like Honey Masterpost

The phone in your hand feels like it weighs a damn ton.

Steve’s message echoes through your apartment, bouncing off the walls of your brain, too. Honey. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

“Stupid!” You chuck the phone on your bed where it bounces into the dresser before tumbling to the floor with a thud. The insult is both for yourself and Steve, and you huff the entire time as you finish getting ready and head out the door for your first workday. In your head, a single string of words spin uncontrollably: How could he? How could he? How could he?

 “You all right there?” Heather’s concerned voice snaps you out of the miserable derailing train of your thoughts—crashing right into a cliffside.

“Hm? Yeah. Totally fine.” You smile at her. The two of you are exiting the gym together and heading to lunch. The morning has been full of professional developments which feel like what hell might be if it was led by your Operations Manager—monotone, unqualified, boring. The packet of strategies in your hand is heavy and you’ll probably shred it with your bare hands once you return to your room. You’re in quite a mood.

In the teacher’s lounge sits a spread of pastries to celebrate the first workday. You know exactly where it’s been ordered from and you pass right through the room. Jessica Sweetwater calls out to you to try out the pie and you grin, promising to come back as soon as you drop off your things.

Heather closes the door when you’ve both returned to the dusty room with the still-stacked chairs and desks. The windows are drawn. She flips on one light switch when you plop down in your swivel chair.

“Got anything for me to do?” She volunteers meekly. She knows something has happened between you and Steve; it’s hard to hide and too easy to put together.

“No, it’s okay. Enjoy your lunch.” What are the five stages of grief again?

“Huh?” Heather asks. You shake your head—must have said it out loud.

“Nothing. Sorry.”

The phone rings, and you absently fiddle around in your pocket for it. Steve’s face lights up on the screen— now cracked from when it pitched into the corner of the dresser. It’s a picture the two of you took together on the couch, with your head against his shoulder, eyes closed and laughing. He’s smiling too— perfect white teeth as he looks into the camera. Full brown beard. Ocean eyes, olive flecked. Damn it.

Your hand shakes, and from across the room, Heather sends you a sympathetic glimpse before she steps out and closes the door.

“Hello.” You say in monotone.

Silence on the other line greets you back.

You ask again, steeling your voice, and finally, a shuddering breath passes. Steve stutters your name a few times before asking, “Did you get my message?”

“Yes.” Your brain is melting. You can hear the sincerity in his voice, and you know he’s sorry. He sounds like he’s been crying because his voice is a bit scratchy and gruff. You probably do too.

“I- I uh… What can I do?”

Abrupt anger burns out the sympathy in you. “Oh, go fuck yourself!” and then it quells as quickly as it had arrived. “Ugh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” You mutter, face heated. “No! I’m not sorry.”

You’re backtracking and unable to find the right feeling to begin with—Hurt? Resentment? Disappointment? Or understanding? Because all of them are here, mixing together in a sickly-sweet potion.

Then, a wretched sob escapes, and you feel so stupid for breaking down over just the sound of his voice.

“Oh baby,” He sighs, “God. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I hurt you like this.”

It pours out of your eyes and nose and mouth like the smashing of an hourglass, releasing a summer’s worth of sand. You press your hand to your forehead and try to hold it back, but it continues relentlessly.

You scold him angrily in-between choked sobs. “You didn’t even call. You did nothing, Steve. Fuck. I understand your priorities. I know you love Sarah and want what’s best for her. I do too, you know!”

“I know—”

You gasp and cut him off, take a breath to calm your voice. “I get it. Okay? I get it. It doesn’t change the fact that I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not.” He whispers, “You’re not. It’s me. It’s all my fault. I know I have no right to ask you...” He pauses. “I-- Yester—Sarah asked if you were coming to the airport.”

A scoff finds its way out when the anger returns. Tears well up again in your eyes. Fuck! Why is he doing this? “Her flight lands at eight Friday night. She really misses you.” He continues. “She... would like to see you. I do too.”

“Is that right? You want to see me after the last two weeks? Fuck you.”

You hang up, slamming the phone face-down on the table while another sob wrenches itself from your throat.

Pulling your shirt over your face, you muffle the howling scream in your palms.

—

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

You show up at the airport fifteen minutes early and park your car underneath the shade of the blue section. Lot 5. A three-minute walk across the way. Your last workday consisted of rearranging your room back to its former glory. Dusting. Hanging posters. Sorting books and changing out colored butcher paper. Laminating so many things. Writing 24 new names on binders. And journals. And folders. And workbooks.

You dragged yourself home at 3:30 and took a swig of wine and a long nap. Your wrists hurt. Your feet hurt. Your heart, most of all, hurts.

Then, you spent the next three hours debating whether or not this was going to be either fine, or goddamnstupidwhatthefuck. So far, it has been fine.

Now, as you cross the street and see Steve standing with his fists shoved in his pockets, the switch reverses and fine becomes goddamnitstupidwhatthefuck. How does his beard stay so fucking --- ugh! His hair has grown, too, the ends of it flipping out when it touches it neck.

You take in a shaky breath with every step your feet cross the road’s white block lines. Your hands come up to smooth your white and orange flower print blouse, but you put them back down. There’s no one to impress here, you chide yourself.

Steve’s smile is wary and sad, and he dips his head low to regard you. His greeting gets lost in the honking and bathumpthump of cars running over speed bumps. “She’ll be out soon. Want to go in?”

You step behind him, holding onto the strap of your purse like it is the only thing to keep you on earth. Through the sliding doors and into the bag check line, the two of you stand awkwardly, waiting until the next teller is available. You let your thoughts loose amongst the strangers with roller bags and pressed suits, or mothers wearing sweatpants, teenagers returning from summer vacations, finding anything else to care about but him.

“Sorry sir, there’s no unaccompanied minor by that name on the flight.”

Steve shakes his head, “That can’t be right— look, it’s my daughter and we need passes to get her at the gate.”

“Sir, the passenger with that name isn’t traveling alone. You’ll have to wait by luggage pick-up for them.”

Steve frowns and steps away as you follow him. He shakes his head, “I didn’t know Peggy would be coming back with Sarah.” He tells you in a hushed voice, “If you.. if you want to leave… I understand.”

Part of you wants to disintegrate from this airport, not just leave. Leave is a term that sounds serene, normal, decidedly rational— a term for people who have the grace to choose to depart. Your departure would be instant, like being struck by lightning and cremated on the spot.

But it’s already too late. You are already here, with him. And it is 8:38, the plane has already landed. So, you smile defeatedly and shake your head. “I’m fine.” The former Misses Peggy Rogers will shatter you with her perfect white teeth and prim posture while Mister Rogers stands watch and you’ll kiss Sarah on the cheek before you go home to pick up what’s left of your pieces.

Steve doesn’t push it. He only leads you to baggage claim 6 and stares at the flight of stairs that disappear up to the second floor. The first wave of arrivals streams down with scattered footsteps. Two families and a few young men with backpacks come to stand by the dusty conveyor belt. A few more passengers follow them before the crowd picks up with a steady current of arrivals.

Clicking heels and a high-pitched voice alerts you of the one arrival you are here for.

And then you see them, walking down the escalator because Peggy Carter doesn’t stand still for anything. Even on an already moving platform she is face-forward and in motion by her own accord. Sarah follows her with the same determination, holding her hand and slipping through standing people easily.

“That baby cried a lot, mumma. I couldn’t fall asleep.”

“Shh, Sarah. It’s rude to say those things. Babies cry, it’s natural, my love.”

“Did I cry a lot?”

“Yes, darling, you did.”

Steve sucks in a sharp breath upon seeing them, and you exhale just a little bit for him. You could cry too, like that baby, because the wave of emotions crashing over you is exploding saltwater into every single wound that has been punctured into you this summer. Seeing them, the three of them now, all together, is the final nail in the coffin. The final puncture, and the final seal— hard, metal, definitive.

You are the lonely remainder in this familial equation.

Sarah catches sight of you first and takes off as soon as her feet hit the slate tight-knit airport carpet. She’s yelling your last name in between shrieks of “Daddy!” and when you think she might pause to say hello to her father, she leaps forward into you, instead.

Third time is the charm, you think, as she careens into your arms and you pitch over with a small squeal. It happens too quickly, you’re too far away, and Steve doesn’t catch you this time. The idea of how fitting it all is tears a laugh from your throat.

“Sarah!” Her parents exclaim in unison as they both rush forward. You put your hand up when Steve bends down and brush yourself off, picking bits of fibers from your knees. Sarah doesn’t give you a chance to stand as she reaches into a pink and orange fanny pack around her middle.

“Look!! I used the camera a lot! Look at this horse with a carriage! And this man with the tall hat just like in our Snapshots book when Nate went to the U.K.!”

She dumps the contents of her pack out onto the floor and all over your legs as you stare on, open-mouthed. “Thank you thank you thank you so much for letting me use the camera!” She surges forward into your arms again and wraps all four appendages around your body.

You’re glad you wore pants as you pat her back with a smile, “I’m happy you liked it, Sarah. C’mon, let’s clean this up.” You quickly scoop as many polaroids into your hands as possible so that neither of the other adults will try to help you. Sarah tugs open the mouth of her pack and you slip them in before standing.

Steve and Peggy exchange firm, grim lines of their mouths, speaking in low tones to each other about why the flight has changed—why Peggy’s in town, and why she didn’t tell Steve. You stand around awkwardly and clear your throat. “Well—uh, Sarah. You ready to go home?” You ask, eyes fixed on the young girl. She blinks by your side, as if suddenly remembering that she hasn’t said a word to her father at all.

“Yeah! Daddy!” But mid-step, she turns around to tug at your hand. “Can you come over for dinner again?”

Steve shushes her and lifts her up onto his hip, “You don’t want to spend time with your dear old dad, Sarah?” She’s ready to argue with him, but Peggy steps up and pinches her cheeks.

“Steven, would you mind getting our bags from the luggage claim?”

He sends the two of you a worried look, but his daughter has already hopped out of his arms and tugging him towards the crowd of people who wait for their bags. You are left alone with the former Misses Peggy Rogers and her flawlessly lined red lipstick.

“Hello.” She smiles carefully, placing her hands together. You stare on, as if gazing into the sun, blinded by her composure. The two of you must look like complete opposites—her in a pressed black suit and matching pencil skirt, creamy silk button up decorated with delicate lace collars, polished black heels pointing forward directly at you who is dressed down in a blouse and blue jeans. Your ballet flats are well-worn and dirty. Your hair is a knotted and tangled bun.

“I know what you must think of me,” Peggy begins, sending you a sad smile. “I just—well, I had business in the states, but I really wanted to come and apologize to you.”

“I’m sorry, what?” You blurt. “Apologize?”

She laughs a disappointed tone, as if she’s scolding herself, “Green’s never been a good color for me. And I suppose I needed the reminder.”

What the fresh hell is she talking about, you think as you continue to listen as much as you can. If that comet is coming to incinerate you, you only wish it would hurry up.

“Sarah wouldn’t stop talking about you when she arrived. Really, the whole time. And I… I just felt so replaced that I acted selfishly and irresponsibly—I.. I was so jealous. I knew who you were, of course—” Yes, of course. You’ve been sending her weekly newsletters all year, the same as you send every other parent in your classroom. You begin to shake your head- to stop her from continuing because you can’t bear to hear any more of it, but she pushes through, and her will is leaps and bounds stronger than your own.

“I saw how… changed Sarah was. How she’d grown. And I know that I have you to thank for it. I just… I felt as if suddenly my little girl had forgotten all about me and… I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I’ve ruined what you and Steve have.”

“Had.” You correct her candidly. “And thank you. For your apology. But I’m just Sarah’s former teacher—I’m not your replacement, in any way. Really.”

You slip away from Peggy’s apologetic brown eyes and linked fingers. You don’t bother to look behind you when she calls out to you. Your muddy flats stomp as quickly as they can out the sliding doors and back into the safe confines of your car where you blare the radio as loudly as you can to drown out the static fritz in your mind.

--

The lights in your apartment are turned off, save for the one strand of Christmas lights you line around the perimeter of your room. The walls glow a melting array of peach and rose, dappled with blue-green, and you plant yourself face-first into the mattress that smells only like detergent. He’s been washed out. You sigh.

In bed, you think about Peggy Carter’s apology and her manicured fingers clutched together and squeezing themselves so tightly.

It doesn’t matter. She’s not even the person you’re most upset with.

It doesn’t matter at all.

The first day back to school is in five days, with a whole new set of children who require your attention. You have bigger concerns than your crumpled little feelings.

--

There are thirteen students in the gym who sit bouncing their knees. You’ve met some of them at the early open house yesterday and some of their parents at the orientation after the final Monday workday. You remember a few—Kalyn, Carson, Phoebe, Meredith. Some were harder to recall, like the set of similar-lengthed brown hair of two girls.

They file in slowly before the first bell, and soon enough you meet all twenty-four pairs of big eyes full of wonder as they search around the tops of their classmates’ heads looking for familiar friends from Kindergarten.

You read them a book—First Day Jitters, about a character who is afraid of the first day of school because she doesn’t know if her peers will like her at the new school. At the end of the story, it turns out the character is the teacher and the class erupts into laughter and asks you if you are nervous.

Yes! Of course! you reply. You are. They titter and wiggle their heads. Your heart is about to burst.

At recess, you chat with Heather and walk around the grassy path, keeping your eye on as many of your students as possible. Jared scrapes his knee in a rather physical game of soccer, and you catch Ruby before she slips off a swing. When you blow the whistle to line up, you see that second grade is already filing out the back door.

It’s complete and utter chaos. They stream down the ramp and screech and your mostly single-file line begins to wobble and curve. Heather briskly walks back and forth down the row to reel them in, counting the tops of heads by twos, making sure all are present.

“Woah! It’s okay. Let’s scoot over so the big kids don’t run into us!” You call over the shouts of a hundred children.

The other first grade classes aren’t faring any better as more yelling breaks out.

Just as you think you can begin leading them back in, a body crashes into the back of your legs and you stagger.

It’s Sarah. She’s pressing her face into your hip and there are two rivers running from her eyes. “I wanna go home!” Behind her are Harper and Grayson, both shyly waving.

“Sarah,” You say firmly, taking a second to signal to your previous students. Then you try to peel her grip from your legs, “Sarah, I have to go with my class.” Her teacher stands by the railing, giving you a silent plead with her eyes. All morning, she mouths, hasn’t stopped.

“No! No no no no! Please please please!” She’s heartbroken, squeezing her eyes shut as if it could be the balm to ease her crying. If she keeps this up, she’ll likely vomit. “Please don’t go please don’t go! D-”

“Sarah!” You put a finger up as you kneel, then you motion for Heather to take the rest of the class inside. “Sarah Rogers, listen to me.” The hiccupping ceases for only a second.

“You’re in second grade now and I know it’s tough, but you have to stop.”

Then, it gets louder, more panicked, almost to a shriek as she grips you tighter. You’re in way over your head as the last child in your class disappears into the school, and your brain is spinning every possibility you have to find one that is best suited for this situation. You mouth a message back to her teacher—who graciously nods, and then you tug Sarah along inside. She sniffles the whole way and when she gets to the door to your room, she’s wailing again. “Stay here.” You say.

Heather starts the kids on lunchtime, and you grab your phone. “Sarah. I’m going to call your dad. He is going to talk to you. You may eat lunch with me. And then you are going to go back to class. Okay?”

She nods tearfully.

“But this is the only time. This cannot happen again.”

She nods once more.

Steve picks up on the second ring—alert, confused, a little hopeful. “Hello, Mister Rogers,” You say as calmly as possible even as his daughter continues to sputter in the background. It’s like you’re reading a television prompter, but the plan in your head must go just right or else Sarah’s breakdown is going to also cause the rest of your kids to panic.

“Sarah is having a very emotional morning. I have invited her to eat lunch with me, but could you please console her just for a second?”

He pauses- begins to say yes, halts, begins a different sentence, but finally, he stops and breathes a sigh. “Yes. Thank you for reaching out to me.”

The wall of necessary professionalism separates you both.

--

Lunch is spent mostly fielding off Sarah’s questions about when you’ll come back to her house. She speaks much too loudly about the time you watched The Little Mermaid and soon enough the rest of your class wants to know when you’ll be visiting each of them for a sleepover.

“Not a sleepover!” You exclaim, but the moshpit of voices only responds with, “Yay, sleepover!”

Heather is laughing so hard she’s pitched over her desk. You grumble and put your head down before escorting Sarah back to her class at the end of lunch.

Her teacher meets you at the door and ushers her in quietly.

“Thank you so much.” She sighs, “Apparently it’s been like this for days. Dad walked her to the room this morning really tardy and he was... not happy.” She says the last bit painfully and you can just imagine what Steve must have looked like. “He said he’s not working today but I wasn’t sure if calling him was a good idea. First day, you know?”

You push your hair from your forehead, hum a little because it’s Wednesday and Steve isn’t working? Also—being tardy is very unlike him.

“Yeah. I mean...” You find your words again and peek through the door’s window to where Sarah has laid her head down. “You’re fine, Christine. It’s... this happened at the end of the year last year. She should be okay for the rest of the day. Esther is usually pretty good with her, too. Have you tried calling her?”

“Yes. And Esther sent her back. I’m pretty worried—if this is frequent, does she need a behavioral plan?”

Oh Christ, you think, it’s really not that serious. And Steve is going to lose his mind if he gets summoned to sit in a conference for behavioral intervention in the first week. You shake your head quickly, “It might be too early to tell. Can you send her to my room at dismissal? I’ll talk to dad at the end of the day.”

Your colleague smiles and thanks you again before slipping back into her class. You wander down the hallway, take a deep breath, and return to your own post.

--

Sarah links her fingers through yours and stares at her feet as she walks. “I’m sorry.” She says as you lead her down the ramp and around the dismissal cones. “I don’t like school.”

“Don’t say that, Sarah. You liked school last year.”

“No. I like you. I don’t like Miss Parsons.”

“You don’t know Miss Parsons. You might hurt her feelings if you say that.”

“Daddy says you are upset with him. And that you can’t be his friend anymore because he did something wrong…. did he hurt your feelings?”

You shut your eyes for a second, and you hope Sarah’s out of harm’s way. You hope a little that somebody’s SUV full of children will pummel right into you. Let you splat over the traffic circle. Add a little color to the concrete.

“He said he was very sorry.” Sarah peers up at you with those giant doll-eyes.

“Yes, he did.”

“Okay. Can you come over today?”

“Sarah... it’s not that simple.” But to her, it certainly is. Saying sorry means, you take responsibility for what you did—the wrong that you did—and it is an all-absolving expression. Then the hurt and the wrong disappears and then you can be friends with that person again.

The world of adults is not that simple, but Sarah Rogers does not yet live in that world.

“Daddy!” She perks up at the sight of the familiar blue sedan.

Steve steps out of the car sporting a cap and sunglasses. It really is his day off. He rushes over, “Hey.” He breathes when his feet finally point at you and still.

“Hey.” You motion for Sarah to get into the car and she does, waving to you and yanking the handle until the door swings shut. “She cried all day. Before and after lunch with me.”

Steve puts his face in both his hands, “Shit, I’m sorry. It’s been like this since she got home.”

“Since Friday?” You ask in disbelief.

His defeated nod almost breaks your heart. “It’s constant. Nothing helps. We’ve gone to the movies, the pool, made her favorite dinner... which apparently has now become the yuckiest thing, and she just...”

“Did you talk to her mom about it?” You venture to ask, steeling your heart that begins to squeeze at the idea of Peggy. “Did she experience this on the trip?”

He takes off his sunglasses and you see the deep blue that rests below his eyelids. You feel as tired as he looks as the sun beats down on you both. “Yes. She said the only thing that helped was the camera.” Steve looks slightly uncomfortable and you sigh because you know exactly what he’s thinking. Now that Sarah is back home, the camera has finished serving its purpose. Now she needs more. And he thinks she needs you.

“Christine is thinking about a behavioral plan.” You admit, and then correct yourself when Steve doesn’t seem to recall the name, “Parsons. Steve, your child’s teacher. Christine Parsons.”

He shakes his head, “Shit. Sorry, I knew that. What is a behavioral plan?”

You explain the process of him being called into a conference and how the teacher will outline with interventionists ways to implement and manage behavior modification. You try your best not to use the kind of jargon that only educators understand, but it’s really hard to explain to a man that his daughter is throwing a tantrum and needs to be mediated with without making it sound like she’s just a brat. Because she’s not.

“Jesus.”

“It sounds worse than it is... but it is kind of bad. Especially since...” You shrug, unsure of how to word the next part. How would you say it if you didn’t know him? It would be so disengaged, you think, and you really need for Steve to understand that it is urgent.

“Because she wasn’t like this with you last year?”

“It’s not me.” You reply, “And it’s not her teacher, either.”

“So it’s me?” He steps back, crossing his arms. No, he’s not understanding at all. You almost roll your eyes at the way he cocks his eyebrow and pulls his mouth, but another teacher breezes by and smiles so the exasperation you have pushes itself down. You forget sometimes that Steve Rogers isn’t perfect. He can also be a little snide and short-tempered.

He’s looking at you now, sunglasses hanging from his shirt collar, standing defensively with his weight on one leg.

“Okay,” You sigh, exhausted by him. He wouldn’t act like this if you weren’t who you were. “This is really neither the time nor the place. I’m not your child’s teacher. Take it up with her, Mister Rogers.” And then you turn to walk away but damn your conscience—it pulls you back despite how angry you are with him.

You wish you could say fuck you like you’ve done before but little Sarah is sitting in the car bopping her head along to the radio and you can’t stop thinking about how she was bawling her eyes out for five hours today.

“Listen up, Steve.” You announce, “You and I aside, I’d like to impart some knowledge onto you as a professional, and also a bit as a child of divorce.”

Stepping closer, you glare into his eyes, which are now wide with shock at your firm tone.

“Your child is suffering, and that is a bold word, but it’s true. She doesn’t know it, but you do, and I do. And because you are privileged enough to afford her the courtesy—I suggest you take her to a child therapist who can talk to her about her emotions and work through them before they fester into something worse.”

He swallows, “Therapy?”

“Yes. Therapy. We have a school counselor, but Sarah does not want to see her. And unfortunately, I think it’s going to take more than Esther. Take her to therapy. Go for forty-five minutes once or twice a week and see the difference it will make. It will. Don’t think about the stigma. Think about your child.”

Steve opens his mouth again, but you push right through his protests, “From my personal experience, I wish I had that option. But instead—as you know-- my rough patch involved a lot of running away from home. My mother did not know how to talk to me, and I did not know how to talk to her. A therapist would have helped both of us if we could have afforded it—or even known about it.”

Then, quieter, you frown. “Steve, even if my attempts weren’t serious—and even if Sarah’s acting out might not be as bad as you think, what happened with my mother and I changed our relationship for years. Do you want that?"

A soft banging on the window pulls both of your attention back to the car where Sarah has started pressing her face to it until her cheeks become flattened white circles against the glass.

“Daddy!” Her voice is muffled, “Daddy! I’m hungry! Is Miss Marnie coming? Or am I going with you?”

He whips over to her and then back to you. You wave to Sarah one last time and then begin to cross the street where cars carefully pull around the bend and back out the circle. “Take the advice, Steve. It’s good.”

“Okay.” Steve calls faintly at your retreating back. “Okay.”

Thank God, you think. Thank God that Steve Rogers loves his daughter more than his pride because you have figuratively eviscerated him in broad daylight. A part of you is so sad that it had to be you who tells him this—in this way. But you’re not confident that anyone else could have. He loves Sarah. He loves her so much that it’s easy for him to become defensive about it, and you know it hurts him to realize that his love alone isn’t enough to raise her.

With a final tight-lipped smile, you respectfully go back inside.

--

The second day runs a lot more smoothly, and the third day is as easy as a breeze. Granted, it’s a hot, humid, sticky type of summer breeze as you Clorox wipe down twenty-four desks smeared with Elmer’s Glue. How they manage to do this in such a small amount of time is both fascinating and disturbing.

On the fourth day, you arrive at work to a surprise back-to-school Teacher Breakfast and you head to your classroom without another thought. Later on, as you hear from Heather, there were no Rogers-es in sight. You grumble a little at the thought of missing out on two free yogurts and a bagel. But alas, life moves on just fine without both the breakfast and the Rogers-es.

You return to equilibrium in the following weeks: in bed at eleven, up at six, work-work-work, repeat. Wine still exists and is soothing. Your cabinets are stocked once again with tuna. British Bake Show is still fantastic and bless Noel Fielding for dressing himself. There are no more sightings of Sarah in tears and no more run-ins with Steve in parking lots.

On a bright Saturday morning, you put on some flower-patched denim shorts and head to the PTA picnic where it is crawling with parents and children on the front lawn of your school. There are checkered red and white blankets and corn-hole games set up all around. In the middle are three picnic tables side-by-side littered with tinfoil trays of food. Even a popsicle truck is parked to the side.

You put your contribution in the middle of the table after waving to familiar faces in the crowd. Edward’s mom is there, wearing apple-shaped earrings and you smile at how he’s grown so much. It’s barely a second after you set down the homemade rice-krispies that someone comes by and peeks over your shoulder.

“Those look awesome.”

Turning, you tilt the brim of your sunhat away from your face to find the source of the compliment. It’s hard to see, because the sun shines right into your eyes when you try.

“Thanks!” You blink the burn away and try again. “Sorry—wish I could actually look at you when I talk to you!”

The man laughs a little and reaches forward to take a star-shaped treat from your tray. “Nah. Honestly I’ve just been walking with my eyes shut for the past twenty minutes. Forgot my sunglasses.” He takes a big bite of the treat and a leg of the star gets crushed into his mouth.

“How’s it?” You ask timidly when the blinding afterimages fade away and you can finally make out his features. The first thing you see is –Jesus, that adorable gap between his front teeth. True to his word, his eyes are squeezed tightly.

“Oh man, these are so good. And you cut them into stars? You must be a teacher.”

You laugh again because his mirth is so infectious, “I am. First grade. And thanks!”

“Mmf—don’t let the kids see me. I’ve been eating all their desserts.” He swallows the mouthful and brushes the crumbs from his fingers. “I’m Sam.”

You give him your name and shake his hand, even though both of you have little sticky spots from the marshmallow.

He steps to the side when a student of yours comes tumbling over and gives your leg a hug. You make a bit of chit-chat with her before something else shinier comes along and she’s bounding across the yard to a newly set up face-paint stand.

“So…” You motion vaguely, “What brings you to—”

“the PTA Picnic? Since I’m obviously too good-looking to be a teacher or a dad?”

You shrug shyly, ignoring his overt teasing, “Well, I meant the dessert table. I’ve only seen you here, and you’ve admitted to stealing sweets from all the children.”

He crosses his arms and laughs again, showing you that gap in his teeth and the round shape of his high cheekbones. Gosh, he’s really charming, you think. Sam picks up another treat from your aluminum foil tray and rolls his eyes in exaggeration.

“You know how in The Chocolate Factory, Willy Wonka is super paranoid that his competitors sent spies to steal his ideas?”

“O…kay…”

“Right, right—yeah not a good way to start a conversation, I definitely see that now.” He shakes his head, “Anyway, I’m like the spy because look at all these desserts and… listen, I just started this new job and you can never have too many ideas, right? Baker, by the way.”

You realize you are frowning at him when he sends you a curious look.

“My Wonka reference put you off that bad, huh?”

“You’re a baker?” You’re blighted or something. Another freakin’ baker? There must be a neon sign that is pointing them to you, and you would really like for that sign to shut off.

“Yeah. You might have heard of the place before—pretty popular. Oh! There’s my boss.” He tips his finger in the air over your head and you don’t need to turn around to see who his boss is. Instead, you pull the brim of your hat down and sigh. You can already hear Steve’s unyielding strides reaching the table.

He stops next to you and whispers a quiet hello and you respond in the same clipped tone. Sam looks suspiciously between the two of your suddenly stiff bodies and raises an eyebrow. “Is this?” He waggles his finger back and forth, “Oh. This is… Oh… shhhhhhhhit…”

After circling the dessert table for the last half-hour since his arrival, Sam Wilson suddenly finds the corn-hole game on the other side of the lawn very interesting. He doesn’t even bother to come up with any kind of excuse as he takes two long steps away from Steve and then books it because as a relatively new employee, flirting with your boss’ ex-girlfriend seems like a sure-fire way to get fired.

Next Chapter

[vannahfanfics]

The Joys of Fatherhood

Category: Family Fluff

Fandom: Gintama

Characters: Tae Shimura, Gintoki Sakata

Requested By: Anonymous User

“Gintoki!” 

Gintoki wrinkled his nose in distaste as his wife’s voice floated in from the entryway. Whenever she called him by his full name, it usually meant that he was either being scolded, inconvenienced, or both. Even after years of marriage, Gintoki was not so much in her favor to spare himself from her ire, so he peeled himself from the living room floor. Though his limbs moved, his eyes remained glued to the weather report on the screen until the very last second that his body was passing into the hallway. 

“Yeah?” he finally addressed Tae, head swiveling from a nearly one-eighty degree turn to look at her. She stood in front of the front door, slipping on her shoes and holding her clutch. Their young children ran in a circle around her, giggling loudly as they tugged insistently at the hem of her cotton kimono. 

“Mama, Mama, let us go too!” Their older child Shouyo, who was five, pleaded as he used both his hands to pull at the skirt like it would make a difference. His sister, three-year-old Ayano, parroted his words before stuffing her fist in her mouth and sucking on it. Gintoki was caught somewhere between disgust and affection as he watched drool pool at the edges of her lips and begin to dribble down her tiny wrist. 

Tae responded with a motherly tut and patted the tops of both their heads. 

“My dears, I have to go shopping in town. Mama will bring you back something nice, but please stay here with Papa today, okay?” 

Simultaneously, the two toddlers turned to fix their eyes on their tall, lanky father. As if a switch flipped, they released unearthly squeals and bounded forward to begin dashing in circles around him. Gintoki grimaced as Ayano gripped the bottom of his yukata with her grimy, spit-coated hand. 

Tae smiled charmingly at Gintoki as his frown deepened into a scowl, pink gums on full display. “Honey, I’ll be back in an hour or so. Please watch them for me?” It was phrased as a question. Gintoki theoretically could refuse. 

But he didn’t. He’d married the woman, first of all. Secondly, Gintoki Sakata was many things, but a deadbeat dad was not one of them. 

“Yeah,” he droned in a small sigh, but a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Tae hummed happily at his compliance, giving the three of them a little wave before she opened the front door. Ayano had finally discovered that her hand was covered in spit and began to shrilly scream, making Gintoki grimace. “Just don’t take too long, okay?” he asked in a pleading voice. 

Tae giggled and mouthed, “You’ll be fine,” before trotting out onto the porch and shutting the door behind her. 

Gintoki exhaled tiredly as the latch clicked, exhausted though his wife hadn’t even been gone five seconds. Ayano had plopped down on her butt, holding up her slobbery fist as fat tears rolled down her round cheeks and shrieking wails spilled from her gaping mouth. Gintoki rubbed the back of his neck as he regarded his screeching daughter puzzledly. 

“Ayano, Ayano,” he sighed as he crouched down to wrap his hand around her tiny wrist. “Why are you crying? It’s just spit. It can’t hurt you.” The baby girl stopped wailing for a second to blink blearily at him, sucking her snot back up into her nose. She reminds me a little of Kagura, Gintoki thought amusedly. The girl cocked her head to the side slightly as she beheld her glistening fingers. 

“Look, all you have to do is wipe it off,” he said as he tugged her to her feet. The girl giggled, refusing to bear weight on her legs so Gintoki could lift her like a ragdoll. He was careful to leave at least her feet dragging against the floor so that he didn’t risk wrenching her shoulder out of socket as he carted her into the kitchen, Shouyo following behind curiously. Gintoki snagged a dishcloth from the counter to wipe the goop from her fist. “See? All clean.” 

Ayano blinked at her now-dry hand, gave Gintoki a bright smile, and then shoved her clenched fist back into her mouth. Gintoki grimaced and just watched his daughter suck on her chubby hand. This is gonna be a long couple of hours, he thought with a small groan and rubbed his face tiredly. 

“Papa,” Shouyo asked quietly, tugging on the hem of Gintoki’s kimono. The white-haired man grunted and looked inquiringly down at his son. “M’hungry.” 

“Hungry? Mama didn’t make you lunch before she left?” That was usually Tae’s policy before running out on errands. Somehow the woman had mastered the art of cooking, though Gintoki had to stomach the myriad of trials and tribulations on the rough road to her culinary prowess. 

Shouyo puffed out his lips into a small pout. 

“Well, yeah, but… I’m still hungry. I want sweets.” 

Gintoki had to laugh; that was definitely his son, all right. He smiled in amusement down at the boy and ruffled his hair affectionately, making Shouyo smile happily. 

“All right, all right, but don’t tell Mama I let you squirts have sweets before dinner, okay? She’ll plow me through the wall, and not in a fun way,” he chuckled as he began rifling through the cabinets. After a few moments of critically inspecting the goods occupying his kitchen, he procured a container of ginger cookies coated in powdered sugar. 

His children tottered at his heels as he strode across the tatami flooring to the table. He set the box down and then grabbed Ayano under her armpits to hoist her into the chair. “Uuuuuup we go,” he grunted as he lifted her up while his daughter squealed and kicked her chubby legs elatedly. Shouyo clambered into the chair beside her, and Gintoki discreetly leaned on its rounded back as it teetered dangerously on two legs. 

“Cookies!” Shouyo squalled demandingly and slammed his fists down on the table. Ayano mimicked her elder brother, filling the air with a rhythmic pounding. Gintoki momentarily considered the efficacy of duct-taping them to the furniture and opting to just shovel cookies into their mouths. 

Tae would drop kick him through the floorboards if he did, so he saved that solution as a last resort. 

“All right, all right!” Gintoki shouted over his children’s insistent shouts and reached for the box of cookies. He tore it open with little ceremony, poured several onto plates, and then set them in front of the kids. They dove into the dishes before he’d even put them onto the wood. Gintoki watched, a little disturbed, as they tore into them ravenously, shredding them in their teeth like hyenas ripping apart a zebra carcass. He debated getting a cookie or two for himself but was admittedly a little frightened they’d sink their teeth into his hand, too. 

“Papa, don’t you want a cookie?” Ayano asked through plump, stuffed cheeks with cookie crumbs and powdered sugar coating her lips. Without awaiting his answer, the little girl held out her plate to him, offering up the last remaining cookie. “Here you go!” 

Gintoki had to admit, his heart warmed a little. 

“Why, thank you, Aya—” 

With a devious snicker, Shouyo plucked the ginger cookie from the plate and crammed it into his mouth. Gintoki just gawked at the now empty plate, rapidly going through the five stages of grief as his son relished in his cruel, insensitive prank. His little eyes glittered as he chewed on the cookie, and every crunch of its sweet crispiness broke Gintoki’s heart a little more until nothing remained but shattered shards of hopelessness. 

“Hey! That was not for you!” Ayano screeched angrily. She slammed the plate against the table and stood up in the chair, fumbling for the box of cookies. Gintoki just watched tiredly, thinking the child was just going to get another one for him. 

Instead, she dumped the box of cookies into Shouyo’s hair. 

The scream Shouyo released as sugar powder cascaded into his hair and face and cookies bounced off his head was ear-splitting. Gintoki’s body sagged as the cookies crashed onto the floor, splitting into pieces and spreading gingery sugar bits everywhere. Ayano cackled triumphantly and threw the box in Shouyo’s face to add insult to injury. Shouyo began to sob, the tears cutting rivers through the sugar coating his cheeks, and pointed angrily at Ayano. 

“She’s a meanie!” 

“You’re the meanie!” Ayano accused. “You stole Papa’s cookie!” 

“I want Tae,” Gintoki moaned and slammed his forehead against the rim of the table a few times. His children continued to squabble over his head, and Gintoki felt powdered sugar raining into his silvery hair as they flung it back and forth at each other. 

“All right. All right!” Gintoki griped in a raised voice, sitting up. The two children immediately froze, looking at him doe-eyed. Gintoki suppressed his strong desire to yell because he and Tae tried not to scold their children that way. Seeing the two coated head-to-toe in ginger cookie dust made that so very difficult, but he managed. 

“That’s enough of that now,” he exhaled sharply while pinching the bridge of his nose. “While I appreciate the back-up, Ayano, you should not have dumped cookies on your brother’s head.” 

Shouyo was still sniffling pitifully, trying to cheer himself up by licking all the crumbs from his face that his little pink tongue could reach. Ayano screwed up her face bitterly and crossed her arms with an exaggerated huff, making a show of glaring at her brother. Gintoki nudged her in the side of the head with his elbow a few times. Soon, she began giggling and swatting at his arm. 

“Papaaaaa!” she squealed and hung on his arm with a cheesy smile. Gintoki couldn’t help but smile back. His kinds may be hellions in the making, but damn it, they were so cute. 

“Apologize to Shouyo, Ayano.” 

“Do I have to?” 

“Yes, you have to, or I will tell your mother when she gets home,” Gintoki insisted with a raised eyebrow. Ayano’s face scrunched up in distaste. Tae definitely was in charge in their chaotic little family and did most of the disciplining in the household. The children were not fond of her stern talking-tos. 

Gintoki really wasn’t fond of them, either. 

“I’m sorry, Shouyo,” Ayano said begrudgingly. Shouyo, who had inherited a sweeter disposition (though they had no idea where from), nodded forgivingly as he wiped at his eyes. 

“S’okay, Ayano. I shouldn’t have taken the cookie. I was jus’ tryin’ ta be funny…” 

��Well, whatever the case, it’s over now,” Gintoki cut in before Ayano could jump into the assault again. “You’ve both gone and made a mess. What’re we going to do about that, huh? Mama will not be happy to come home and clean up, now will she?” 

The two children shook their heads in unison. 

“Right. Now, first things first, you’re going to get a bath, and then we’ll come back and clean up, all right?” 

“Yes, Papa!” they chimed. 

Gintoki inhaled in relief. Crisis successfully diffused. The children climbed down from the table and dashed off to the bathroom, leaving a trail of powdered sugar and cookie crumbs in their wake. Gintoki stared at it tiredly, already dreading the clean-up effort he’d have to undertake. Take it in stride, he told himself wearily as he headed after his children before they could tear apart the bathroom. I don’t want to hear anyone chide me about ‘the joys of fatherhood’ ever again, he thought, but the fond smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. 

Somehow, he managed to avoid any more disastrous catastrophes while giving his son and daughter a bath, though he did have to chase Ayano buck-naked around the house trying to dry her off. He only caught her when he slipped in the puddled water and flopped right on his back; she came to check on him, giving him the prime opportunity to strike and wrap her up in the fluffy towel. After dressing them, he limped to the kitchen, nursing his aching back while the two children were glued to the television watching their favorite afternoon cartoon. Gintoki deflated as soon as he saw the mess he had to clean, leaning against the counter with a groan. 

Tae found him there thirty minutes later, laying on the floor with his arm slung over his eyes, snoozing. She crouched down beside him with an amused hum and stroked his bangs out of his face when he lifted his arm to gaze tiredly at her. 

“Worn out?” 

“Mhmm.” 

“Apparently, you’re not the only one.” 

Gintoki looked down with raised eyebrows to see his children curled into his side, one on each side. Shouyo had his thumb stuck between his lips, while Ayano, snoring quietly, had her tiny hand latched onto the front of his shirt. A smile bloomed on Gintoki’s lips, and he reached down to gently stroke her hair while using the other to hug Shouyo to his side. Tae watched him with eyes lidded in pure love. 

She then tapped her thighs, making to get up and mumbling something about making dinner. Gintoki’s hand snatched up to pull her down on her rump, making her squeak in shock. Gintoki forcibly maneuvered her to snuggle next to him. As Ayano was squeezed between them, she mumbled something incoherent before flipping on her side to nuzzle into Tae’s stomach. Tae smiled as her daughter pawed at her front, then looked unsurely at Gintoki. 

“Gintoki! What about dinner?” 

“Later,” he groaned, tucking her head into his shoulder. “Nap first.” 

Tae’s face scrunched up like she wanted to argue. Then, she released a quiet sigh and obediently cuddled into him, looping her arm over the front of his chest. As she hummed in contentment, Gintoki closed his eyes, drifting back into the comfortable twilight of half-sleep. 

The joys of fatherhood, all right, he thought with a small smile as he hugged his family a little closer. Who knew…

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[calumance]

I have a request!! “This was my ex’s number but he changed it, sorry I keep calling when I’m drunk”

I love this so much. Also, I chose Calum, because Calum is my muse. Also, I’d love to keep this going, maybe turn it into a little series if y’all like it enough. Hope you like it!! Feedback and requests always welcomed!!!

           It was incredibly late on a Saturday night, to be technical, it was really early on a Sunday morning; Three thirty four to be exact. Calum had just gotten home from the party his friends were throwing. The party had lasted longer than he had thought it would, and Calum had stopped drinking a long time ago knowing that he had to drive home. When the door clicked shut, Duke came running up to him and he bent down to scratch his favorite spot behind his ears. As soon as Duke felt he had gotten enough scratches he ran back to his spot on the couch. Calum kicked off his shoes and threw his keys into the bowl next to the door. As he walked into the living room, his phone began ringing. His eyebrows stitched together as he tried to figure out who could be calling him at this time of night. Looking at the screen, it was a number he did not know, usually he ignored these types of calls, but why the hell not? “Hello?” He answered putting the speaker to his ear.

           It had been a rough few weeks, you had finally finished school, thinking that everything was going great, and then with a snap of your finger, everything started to fall apart. It was at your graduation party that your boyfriend decided to break up with you, in front of all your guests in probably the most embarrassing way possible. Now that’s it been a couple weeks since that happen, you’ve gotten to the second stage of grief: anger. The alcohol coursing through your veins did not make the anger subside in anyway. Your friends kept joking about taking your phone away, knowing you to be the type to make drunken phone calls, but they never did. Through your drunken haze, you hid in the bathroom and dialed the number you knew was his. When a male voice answered, you couldn’t help but to sob into the phone. “Why don’t you love me anymore?” You cried out, losing all sense of your internal filter.

           Calum ran his fingers over his eyebrows, maybe he shouldn’t have answered the call. “I’m sorry, I don’t know who this is. I don’t have this number saved in my phone. Could I have your name?” Calum remembered the night when he was partying with his friends and drunkenly dropped his phone. He was too drunk to even know he had dropped it, and apparently his friend was too hung over to notice it lying in his driveway. When Calum finally found his phone, it had been crushed under the tire of his friends car. With a sigh and a goodbye to his friends, he immediately drove to the store and got a new phone, and unfortunately a new number. Maybe this number was one that he hadn’t been able to save or transfer from the barely readable memory card in his old phone.

           The question rang through your ears. If you had been sober you would’ve known that the voice on the other end was not, in fact, your ex, but the alcoholic haze convinced you that it was. Hearing him say that your number was not saved in his phone made your blood boil. Sure, the breakup had been horrible, but he really deleted your number and moved on that quickly? Your quiet sobs, turned into absolutely hysterics. “What do you mean you don’t have my number saved? It’s only been three weeks, you really moved on that quickly, huh?” You could hear your friends footsteps quickly stomping down the hallway. You continued to yell through the phone as they all fought to get the door open.

           Calum sighed, “I think you have the wrong number, love. Maybe it’s time you go to bed, nothing good happens after two in the morning.” It’s true, nothing good happens that early in the morning, especially if you have been drinking. Calum learned that years ago, and tried to live by it, but somehow he always finds himself getting home after two in the morning. Just as quickly as the call started, there were voices in the background that quickly asked for the phone and then ended the call. Calum blinked a few times, trying to process what had just happened, before dropping his phone into his pocket and making a b-line to his bedroom.

           Being heart broken, and unemployed because the job market right out of college is incredulous, what else was there to do but get incredibly wasted every night? Every night your friends would come over to your apartment and check on you, and every night you would sneak away to the bathroom to make the same phone call. It always ended the same way, your friends kicking in the door and taking your phone to end the call. The mornings always started the same way, them telling you that he changed his number right before the break up and the number you were calling was his old number, but each night the alcohol would erase that memory and you would revert to the memory you had before everything went to shit. This continued for four days until you were tired of the ripping hangover and wanted to perk yourself back up. It was then that you looked through your call history and knew you had some explaining to do.

           For three days in a row, Calum would answer the phone calls, not being one to have a fantastic sleep schedule because of touring. Never once did he get a name, but by the third time, he was starting to feel a weird sense of continuity from these calls. In a weird way, he enjoyed them, enjoyed hearing the drunken slurs on the other end, and always got a good chuckle out of the sound of the door being kicked in and the barely audible fight for the phone. They made him smile, but when he woke up the following morning, he always started to think he was going insane finding pleasure in wrong-number drunk dials. It wasn’t until the same number called him the afternoon after the fourth call and a smile lit up his face, that he was sure he was insane. “Hello?” He answered, wiping the smile from his face.

           “Uh, hi,” You said to the voice. Being completely sober you suddenly felt like an idiot thinking that voice sounded anything like your ex. This voice had an accent, and your ex was by every stereotype, American. You dropped your face into your hand that wasn’t holding the phone, “I think I have a bit of explaining to do, I went through a really rough break up a couple weeks ago, and have been kind of leaning towards alcohol for support. My friends tell me every day that I keep trying to call my ex, but every day I erase that and continue to call, uh, you.” A chuckle escaped your throat as you realize just how silly you sound. “Long story short, this was my ex’s number, but he changed it, I’m sorry I keep calling when I’m drunk.” The embarrassment was eating away at you, wanting to smash your phone into a million pieces so that this would end, but the soft laugh on the other end caused the anxiety in your chest to dissipate.

           Calum couldn’t help but laugh, because although that’s kind of what he had gathered, he still wasn’t sure why this number kept calling him. “It’s alright, I actually don’t mind talking to you, even if you’re drunk. My name’s Calum, by the way.” There was a soft sigh on the other end of the line as the familiar voice told him their name. “It’s nice to put a name to the voice. I’m sorry to hear about your break up.”

           Your heart clenched, but there was a feeling of security in the voice on the other end. Maybe you weren’t going to completely forget this phone number, “It’s alright, I don’t think it would’ve hit so hard if it didn’t come along with some other shitty things.” Calum laughed and agreed, then there was silence. You ran your hand along the back of your neck and cleared your throat. “Do you mind if I save your number? I know that sounds insane, but you kind if helped me through a lot, without you really knowing.” You were sure you had lost your mind now.

           Calum smiled to himself, feeling the insecurity of enjoying these phone calls wash away. He sat up on the couch and bounced his leg, “Yeah, I’d love to keep talking with you.”