#and nobody can stand a hug lasting more than five secs

[what-is-merlin-so-gay-for]

i love touch. so so much. i literally never talk about it or downplay it but like. i wanna hold your hand. i wanna play with your fingers, paint your nails and press kisses to your knuckles. i’d love to just hold you. your waist, your hips, your back or belly or whatever. just holding on. it isn’t even meant to be romantic or sexual or anything. just please, let me hold you and hold me in return. let me press my face into your chest while you play with my hair. press a kiss to my forehead, my cheekbones, my nose, everything. let me bite you in like, the softest way you can imagine. i just need physical proof that you’re with me. i need to your hand in the crook of my elbow, my leg slung over yours on the couch. let me cuddle you and shower you in little touches and kisses i’m begging you. i can’t do distance, i hate it, i feel cold. please. i haven’t been touched in a week. no high fives, no pat on the shoulder or bumping arms, no thighs pressed together or legs fighting for room under the table. not a single touch. i’m dying and i don’t know who to tell. please. let me touch you, feel you next to me, know i’m not alone. please.

[jeonmagines]

anything for you 1

jungkook x reader (ft. taehyung)

genre: angst

warnings: jungkook is a meanie here,, curse words,, mentions of death, suicidal thoughts,, overthinking,, mentions of sex.

synopsis: you’d do anything to make him happy. even if it hurts you.

S/N is sister’s name

“hey, i noticed you didn’t really eat anything during lunch so i got you this.” you say as you tapped the boy who had his head down on his desk. he looked up at you and scoffed. “you woke me up for this?” he says with an attitude. “oh and i graded your paper. mrs. lim said that if you needed help you can ask her or jinah over there. i’m not really good at explaining so i can’t do much for you.” you say as you hand him his paper which he scored a 30/50 on. “even if you were an option i still wouldn’t pick you. stop trying so hard it’s annoying.” his friends looked at you in pity but continued to do their work. you never really understood why jungkook disliked you. you don’t remember doing anything bad to him or at least something that would irritate him. the truth is you actually liked him. ever since he transferred, you, along with many other girls had your eyes on him. you weren’t a try hard though. you’d buy him food, give him water, or offer to help him with his homework but nothing more. you did this because you knew that he didn’t really care for himself. he barely ate at school which is probably why he was so tired all the time.

when the bell rang everybody left except for jungkook. he walked over to jinah who was still fixing her backpack strap. “hey uh...i was told you could like help me out with my homework? can you?” he seemed so innocent and kind when he asked her. why did he have to be so rude to me? you asked yourself. she politely agreed and you overheard them saying that after school they’ll head over to the library. everyday you’d volunteer at the library since ms. jay needed to go home early to feed her cats. she said she didn’t want to bother you but you insisted since the library was a really relaxing area no one really went to. you enjoyed it there.

students returned books and some checked them out. you had your eye on jungkook and jinah and to be honest it looked like they were flirting more than studying. you were envious of jinah. she had the perfect smile, body, and attitude. cliché RIGHT. who wouldn’t want a girl like that right? you knew exactly what jungkook saw in her. you on the other hand are not really that interesting which is probably why you only had like two friends who barely talked to you. you were grateful for them though, even though they didn’t feel the same towards you.

as you were typing in the list of kids who still need to return books, you saw how mr. kim was struggling with picking up the trash the students left since he was a bit old. “mr. kim, let me help you with that. why don’t you sit down for a sec? i have some cookies and a water bottle in my backpack. you can eat them while i clean this up.” you grab his garbage bag and started picking up the trash the students dropped. “why are you such a good kid, y/n? you remind me of my grandson. he goes to a different school though. i think you’ll be good together.” he says while taking a cookie from the container you took out of your backpack. “ahh. mr. kim, i kind of have my eyes on someone else right now.” you say as he nods his head and continues to eat.

jungkook was eyeing you from the far end of the table. why were you so nice to everybody? he thought to himself.

you saw jinah get up and leave after bidding goodbye to jungkook, but jungkook stayed at the table. there were only four people in the library; you, jungkook, and two other kids who were trying to look for an interesting book. you walked towards them and asked if they needed any help finding a book. when they told you what they wanted you led them to where the books were. as you were walking though you felt someone glaring at you. your first thought was jungkook because who else would be staring at you?? a ghost??? when the students checked out their books and left it was finally 6pm which meant it was time for you to LEAVE. you walked up to jungkook who was still reading his book. “hey uh. im about to lock up.” he scoffed again and glared at you. “so when other kids are here you offer them help but when it’s only me left you have to ‘lock up’ you were BEYOND irritated. all you wanted was to go home, eat, and sleep but jungkook was keeping you away from that. “it’s 6. i’m supposed to lock up at 6. so. leave.” he was shocked. you’ve never given him attitude, it was always the other way around. you walked away and gathered all of your things getting ready to leave. jungkook also packed up his things while you held the door open for him. when he walked you shut the door loudly and locked the door.

you walked behind jungkook, but not too close because you didn’t want it to seem like you were following him. you sat on the bench while jungkook got in his car. you saw him look at you but you quickly look away to avoid the awkwardness. after a while you saw him standing right in front of you.

“why are you sitting here? go home?” why was he so concerned you thought to yourself. “i’m waiting for the bus. you go home.” he then grabbed your hand and led you to the passenger seat of his car.

“it‘s dark out. tell me where you live.” he opened the passenger’s seat and you went inside his strawberry scented car.

“i’ll just uh. point.” you say while smiling.

cute he thought NO IT’S Y/N. NO. jungkook shook that thought out of his mind and started his car. he played some music to make the situation less awkward.

you on the other hand were way past feeling awkward. you’d check your messages even though no one has texted you. hell, you even went on the weather app just to check the weather in london.

“uh just go right my house is the first one on the block.” you say as he nods.

“thank you. i appreciate it.” as you tried to get out of his car, he grabbed your arm. “why are you so nice to everyone? especially me? i’m such a dick towards you.” you laugh a little at his question. “i’m nice to everybody. especially you because i know you don’t really take care of yourself.” he nods and you thank him again.

when you get inside of your house you hear yelling coming from your parents’ room again. ever since your sister passed away they weren’t the same as before. you hated it. you hated how your sister was gone instead of you.

you just wanted someone to talk to, but nobody really wanted to talk to you. your friends..would you even consider them friends at this point? you shook your head and tried to focus on something else.

jungkook jungkook jungkook jungkook jungkook jungkook jungkook jungkook jungkook jungkook jungkook jungkook jungkook jungkook jungkook think of jungkook. you say to yourself.

the next day was the same as always. you’d walk through the hallways and see people with their friends. people who actually wanted to talk to them. you wondered how it felt to actually be wanted.

you sat down on your chair and got out your books to start writing down the agenda, but someone tapped your shoulder. “hello! i’m mira. would you like to be my friend? i’m new here.” you smiled at her and introduced yourself.

when class started your teacher told mira to come up and introduce herself. “hi! i’m mira. i transferred from (school name). i hope to become your friend!” everyone says hello and she sits back down. you noticed how jungkook’s eyes followed her from the front of the class to her desk. you felt a bit jealous, but didn’t think about it too much.

when lunch came around you tapped jungkook’s shoulder to give him his food. “i got you this sandwich and i baked cookies last night so i thought you’d like it.” he looked at you with no expression and you waited for a thank you but as always he didn’t say it and put his head back down.

“y/n, do you think we can hang out after school? get to know each other a little bit?” mira said with a cute expression on her face. you agreed and she gave you a hug.

after school you and mira went to the ice cream shop near by. “really? i’m five months older than you? i thought i’d be younger since you’re so mature!” you laugh and say you get that a lot. “so earlier i noticed you gave food to that jungkook dude. do you like him?” she says as she wiggles her eyebrows. “kinda.” she squeals while she shoves the ice cream in her mouth.

after eating you both bid your goodbyes and you walked home. finally. i finally have a friend. you thought to yourself.

you came home to your parents fighting again. usually to cope with how you’re feeling you bake in the middle of the night. it was a weird coping mechanism but it worked. baking helped you relax and think about other things.

“if it wasn’t for your fucking daughter! s/n would still be alive right now!” you heard your dad yell. he was right though. it was all your fault. and everyday you’d beat yourself up over it. you quickly went up to your room and started sobbing. you looked at the picture of you and your sister together. “why was it you? couldn’t it just be me? if it was me they wouldn’t be arguing. i miss you s/n.” you kissed the picture and hugged it and drifted to sleep.

the next day you did not feel like being nice to anyone or at least talk to anyone. you put your black hoodie over your head to avoid attention as you walk through the halls.

when you walk into class you see jungkook flirting with mira. you weren’t in the mood to deal with him today so you didn’t even bother. lunch came around and you kept your head down on your desk with your hood on. “y/n? you ok? i’m gonna go get some food. do you want anything.” mira asked. you shook your head and thanked her.

“yo kook, what’s wrong with y/n she didn’t give you food today.” jimin asks. “i don’t know. she’s usually always doing something.” jungkook says as he shrugs his shoulders.

when the bell rang you gathered all of your stuff and jungkook saw how your eyes were red. were you crying? he thought to himself.

you walked outside the school building and thought it was your lucky day because it was raining and you didn’t bring an umbrella.

you sat on the bench, drenched in water, watching students go by laughing with their friends, but suddenly feel the rain stop. you look up and see an umbrella under you.

“thank you, but there’s no point. i’m already wet.” the boy chuckles and says, “ha. that’s what my ex girlfriend said.” not caring whether or not he was going to get wet, the brown haired boy sat next to you. “i’m taehyung. i just transferred today. i’m in my fourth year. let me guess are you in your second?” he says, still holding the umbrella under the both of you. “nope. third.” he nods his head and points at his car. “if you want i can give you a ride home?” he asks with a smile. “really? i’m drenched though. your seats will get wet.” “don’t worry about it. it’s leather.”

as you walked really close next to taehyung, you didn’t know jungkook was watching the two of you from afar.

send an ask if you want to be on the taglist !

[legendofzelda4life]

Not Used To This

This was for day ten (yesterday) hopefully this is the last time I have to leave the post till the next day lmao.

Today we have Twilight and Sky platonic angst.

Will it become fluff? Will somebody die? Who knows, but let’s see.

-----------------------------

“Who’s fucking world are we in now?” Legend asked, rather annoyed. They had only switched worlds a day before so switching this soon was annoying.

“Does anybody recognise it?” Time asked. Everybody shook their heads.

“Is everybody here?” Twilight asked. His eyes looked over each person, counting, then his eyes landed on Sky.

It was obvious the Skyloftian was having trouble taking in air, well if the heaving chest was anything to go off of. Sky noticed the Ordonian boy staring at him and he just waved his hand to show ‘I’m fine’.

“If we know what’s good for us, we should keep moving.” Warriors said. The rest of the boys nodded before beginning to walk.

They were in a grass field when they came in so, based on the sun, it was easy to find north. If the boys knew anything about Hyrule, it’s that Hyrule Castle is always somewhere north.

Instead of walking up the front like usual, Twilight fell to the back and decided to walk with Sky.

“You okay?” Twilight asked, sparing a glance at the hero next to him.

“Ye-yeah I just…” The boy took a deep breath, adjusting his collar. “I’m not used to this.” He said. It made sense. They had been to Skyloft at one point, the air was crisp and had nearly made some people like Wind and Legend pass out. Whereas here, the air must’ve felt heavier to him and harder to consume.

It was for nearly everyone.

But it affected the Skyloftian the most.

“Do you want us to stop?” Twilight asked quietly, causing the boy to shake his head. “It’s fine.” He waved his hand. “Alright…” Twilight wasn’t too sure about this.

Not even five minutes later, the Skyloftian walked up to a tree and went behind it.

Twilight had stopped to wait for him and could hear the boy throwing up.

This…

This was not fine.

Sky walked back out, wiping his mouth, heaving a deep sigh.

“Better?” Twilight asked.

The boy shook his head.

“Wanna stop?”

Another head shake.

“Okay then.” The two walked to catch up with the others but Twilight made sure they stayed a few feet behind. He didn’t want to overwhelm Sky when he was like this.

A cough came from next to Twilight, followed by a few more, then stopping with a thud.

Twilight only just managed to catch Sky.

“Woah buddy, wanna stop now?”

Sky didn’t see a point in arguing and nodded.

Twilight looked up and saw Warriors at the back with Wind on his shoulders.

“Oi, Sailor! Captain!” Twilight yelled out. Both boys turned, eyes landing on Sky - whom Twilight had layed in his lap. He saw the two boys exchange words before Warrior’s came over.

“Wind’s telling Time we should stop.” Twilight nodded, not looking at the scarfed hero. His eyes were fixed on Sky.

Twilight was continuously growing more concerned for the boy in his lap.

Sky was one of the more responsible people. Sure he was curious and child-like at times but without Sky’s radiating calmness, everybody would go crazy.

It didn’t help that Twilight looked up to Sky.

Sky was like an older brother to him. Time would fit the role if they weren’t, y’know, related.

But it hurt Twilight deeply to see Sky in so much pain.

“Why *cough* does it hurt so much, Twi?” Sky asked, curling in on himself. “I don’t know, but I promise we’ll help you until we can leave.” Twilight said, feeling his heart break. Sky was so important to him, he couldn’t imagine the group with Sky gone.

It would fall apart.

“C’mon rancher, I’ve got him.” Legend tried to pick up Sky but was stopped by Warriors. “Oh shut up you twig, give ‘im ‘ere!” In response, Legend glared at Warriors before lifting up the sky child with ease.

“We should probably just set up camp now.” Legend said, looking at - a rather shocked - Time. A little confused, he looked at the rest of the Link’s who also had their mouths agape.

“Dear Goddesses is it really that surprising I can lift things without an item?” Legend asked, annoyed at everybody. “Vet, no offense, but yeah.” Wild whispered the last word and Legend sighed. “I hate you all.” No matter how hard he tried to hide it, Hyrule saw the shadow of a smirk on his face.

Eventually, the boys set up camp and layed Sky down.

It hadn’t taken long for Legend’s arms to get tired. Ten minutes at most. It was still a while but after they started playing pass the parcel - without opening said parcel - it became clear that everyone except Four, Wind, and Hyrule could hold Sky.

Twilight, by far, held him the longest and most often. He didn’t pass Sky off unless Warriors literally pried the boy from his arms. After Twilight, Warriors had held him the longest, passing him to Wild once his arms were tired.

Yeah, Wild held him easily.

Time held him for the shortest amount of time but it was enough to help the boys’ arms rest before Sky was passed to Legend once more.

It had been a few hours since they had set up camp and Twilight was on third watch from 2300-0000.

“Nghn.” Twilight heard a groan behind him and whipped around, unsheathing his sword, only to see Sky sitting up.

“Sky�� you scared the shit outta me.” Twilight laughed.

Sky gave him a blank stare before standing.

“You guys should’ve kept walking.” The boy sounded annoyed. “Why?” Twilight was confused. Usually Sky was hellbent against going anywhere when someone was sleeping.

“Because.” He said, looking away with a shrug. Twilight laughed nervously. “No, seriously Sky, why would we’ve kept walking?”

“Because I’m…” Sky mumbled the last part so Twilight walked up to him. “What?” The rancher was genuinely concerned.

“I’m a waste of time!” The hero of skies all but yelled.

SLAP!!!

“No! You’re fucking not!”

“Yes! I FUCKING AM, TWI!” Suddenly Sky broke into a coughing fit.

“Shit, Sky, I’m sorry.” Twilight reached out to help but had his hand slapped away.

“Leave me alone.” Sky hissed before turning and walking away.

Twilight made him…

Mad.

“Oh just go after him already and let us sleep.” Legend whined from behind him.

“Yeah, stop staring into space and go.” Wild encouraged.

Without turning to the boys, he nodded his head confidently before leaving.

He ran…

And ran…

And ran.

“Sky!” Twilight yelled.

No response.

The boy could hear a river nearby. “Maybe Sky went to it.” He mumbled.

He was right.

The sky child was lying on the ground, taking shuddering breaths.

“Sky!” Twilight was relieved.

Until he realized Sky had passed out again.

Fuck this place.

Twilight picked up Sky before dashing to the others.

“That was quick.” Four said.

“Is he okay???” Alright out of everyone, after Twilight, the sailor was the most concerned.

“Yeah, but he’s getting worse.” Twilight said.

“Wild found a portal!” Twilight looked up to see Hyrule at the tree line, breathing like he just ran a mile.

The boys ran to it without another word.

Upon entering the other world, it was immediately recognised as Twilight’s Hyrule. “We’re in the Faron woods. We should head to my village.”

“How far?”

“Like ten minutes.”

The group turned to Warriors, extremely confused.

Well, except for Wind and Time.

“He’s been more places than you can guess.” Time explained.

“Uh-huh, what about Lorule?” Legend asked.

Warriors looked at him. “You mean Lorule as in Yuga and Ravio Lorule or…?” The captain trailed off as a shocked look fell upon Legend’s face.

“What the fuck…?” He whispered.

“What? It’s not that-”

“No! Wars turn around!” Legend exclaimed, looking past the scarfed hero.

“What the fuck!” Yep, that was Warriors.

“Dear Hylia, just ignore it. It’s only a bulbin.” “Twilight, I know what a bulbin is! I don’t fucking like them!” Warriors yelled.

“Let’s just go.” Wild grabbed Sky from Twilight and sprinted as far south as he could.

He made it to Ordon within five minutes, everybody else not too far behind.

“Ilia!” Twilight yelled out.

“Link! Hey- you need help?” A girl asked, looking at Wild - who shook his head.

“Look we just need a place to get him rested ‘til he wakes up.” Wind said. Ilia’s eyes looked over everyone before stopping on Warriors.

“Th- they’re all you from other times.” She said. “Yes, now can we go?” “Sure but I’m asking a lot of questions pretty boy.” She gave Twilight an intense stare.

Hyrule groaned.

“What is up with us and girls with attitude???” He said quietly, causing Four to giggle.

A day later

Twilight was sitting next to Sky’s bed.

“He up yet?” Time asked. Twilight shook his head. “I wish old man.” He chuckled. “Yeah, yeah we know. Food’s ready by the way.” “Alright I’ll come over in a sec.”

Twilight stared down at the sleeping boy and chuckled.

“You always were a sucker for sleep.”

“I told you I’m not used to it.”

Twilight jumped.

“What the fuck how long have you been up for?????” Twilight asked.

“About an hour. Maybe less.”

“Idiot.”

Sky was engulfed into a hug.

“Wha- what?”

“I called you an idiot, you really scared me, passing out like that.”

Sky shrugged.

“Not used to it I guess.”

-----------------------------------

Hey look, nobody died but it didn’t centre around Twilight and his sadness/stress as much as it was meant to.

Why do I suck at writing angst????

Reference 1: Kilton is, apparently, botw’s version of the happy mask salesman

LEAVE REQUESTS BELOW!

REQUESTS MUST INCLUDE: PAIRING TYPE/GENRE/CATEGORY (fluff, angst, etc) PLATONIC OR NOT

I WILL WRITE ONLY ABOUT THE LINKS (including the ravio, shadow, and requested characters. Will not write about whole other fandoms though)

I CAN DO READER INSERTS IF REQUESTED (no oc’s tho)

CAN DO AN AU IF REQUESTED

[clumsyclifford]

dearly depressed and brokenhearted (i’d like to let you know that boys cry too)

it’s been a hot sec since i’ve properly posted a fic on tumblr but whatever i have the time and this one isn’t too long

anyway shoutout to @httpsgfg for the idea for the so much therapy playlist, which i somehow got through the entire three and a half hours of whilst writing/posting this. also shoutout to @rotten-candie for helping me pick a title & summary

to be perfectly clear: this is a gen fic. it is centered on a friendship. i’m not in charge of you and if you’re so inclined to read it as pre-slash then i can’t stop you, but if it’s all the same to you, it’s a friendship fic to me

tw i guess for angst, possibly hints at depression, crying, etc there are better tags on ao3 if you need them

title from how do you feel? by the maine

read here on ao3

-

It’s Saturday, or maybe Monday. Luke has stopped keeping track.

Rain is coming down, slowly but surely. Going outside is sure to end in getting soaked to the bone, probably shivering. Especially if Luke doesn’t bring a jacket.

He goes anyway.

The chill in the air wraps around him like clingfilm, settling under his skin. For a moment outside it would be bearable, but Luke plans to be outside a bit longer than that. He’s going to be cold. He is probably going to lose feeling in his fingers. It would be best to go back inside. Grab some gloves. Maybe a warm coat. Drizzling rain follows the wind and sprays in his face. Luke takes the front steps, one, two, onto the damp grass, which gives under his footsteps. Another. Another. Water soaks through the front of his shoes; his socks are going to get wet and soon he’ll lose feeling in his toes as well. 

He’s not trying to go numb or anything. Maybe he’s a bit of a masochist, but who isn’t? It’s not like the cold is going to give him permanent damage. He’ll go back inside when he can’t handle it anymore, but he has time before he reaches his threshold. Outside is the only place Luke can possibly fathom being right now. Everywhere else is wrong. Too bright or too loud or somehow otherwise just wrong.

Here, in the elements, his hoodie barely protects his face from the biting wind. Sleeves over his hands only do so much, even if he curls the ends of them into his palms. Jeans are not the right trousers to wear when it’s below freezing. The rain is only making it all worse.

Luke keeps walking.

He keeps his head down, watching his feet as they carry him forward, one in front of the other with no clear destination except away. Away will eventually circle around and lead him home again — he’s not trying to permanently escape. Something about the rain feels like a reset button, and that might be exactly what Luke needs. 

The thing is, this walk is supposed to be clearing Luke’s head, not weighing it down. Not weighing him down. Nothing is really wrong. If Luke tries to parse through his day, or the last couple of hours, he could probably single out a couple of things that might be to blame — calling home always makes him a little more fragile; call ended digs into his chest every time in a way that feels tragically, unjustifiably final — but he’s tired of having a reason for feeling heavy. Sometimes life is just hard. That’s the issue with the question what’s wrong, Luke thinks, blinking at the lights reflecting off the glistening road. Often, nothing is wrong. Does something have to be wrong for me to feel bad? he wants to say, except nobody has even asked him, and this entire conversation is happening inside his head.

Even in his head he’s creating problems where there aren’t any. Awesome.

A chill has taken up permanent residence in Luke’s body. He curls inward, trying to pretend like the wind isn’t blowing around him, like the rain isn’t stinging his face and the exposed strip of his ankles that his jeans and socks don’t quite meet to cover. It’s starting to come down harder; Luke’s hoodie is sticking to his shoulders and back and he might as well be wearing nothing at all for all the protection it’s providing him from the cold. He knows that this is the wrong thing to wear in this weather, but that had kind of been the point. It feels right to be doing something wrong on purpose. It certainly feels better than doing it wrong by accident. Or by virtue of it being beyond his control.

He’d expected to be cold, and he is. A sick sort of comfort arises from having predicted that cause-and-effect.

Luke’s mental clock is rubbish, and though his phone is in his pocket he can’t take it out and check it or it’ll get wet, so he has no idea how long he’s been out when it rings. Buzzes. Luke sighs. He digs his phone out of his pocket, cradling it to his chest to keep it out of the rain, and answers the call. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Luke waits for Michael to say anything. Eventually: “Where are you?”

“Outside,” Luke says. He looks around. “About five minutes away.”

“Away? Where did you go?”

“I didn’t — I was just walking.”

“Oh.” Michael pauses, and Luke knows what he’s going to say before he says it. “In the rain?”

“Is it raining?”

“...Yes?”

“Then yes, in the rain.”

“Okay. Well. Um, are you going to be back soon?”

Luke sighs again. “I don’t know, maybe.”

“Are you, uh…” There’s a moment of silence. Luke glances around himself, turning his back to the wind. The constant motion of his walk had been the only thing keeping him from becoming a glacier of a man, and now he’s lost that.

“Don’t worry about me, Mike,” Luke says. “I won’t be out too long. Promise.” He can’t, or he’ll get hypothermia or frostbite or something.

“Okay,” Michael says. Luke can tell he’s struggling not to ask if Luke is okay, and it makes Luke feel inexplicably affected. That Michael wants to ask, but knows Luke well enough to know that Luke won’t want him to. 

“I’m okay,” he says as a compromise. It’s not really true, but it’s what he would have said if Michael had asked him anyway.

“Okay,” Michael says again, more quietly. “Love you.”

“Love you.”

There’s a long silence. Then Michael hangs up.

The hand holding Luke’s phone slowly lowers, shoving it back into his pocket. Luke stares down at the ground. He blinks back tears, but they come faster than he’s able to stop them. There’s no mistaking tears for rain, actually, not in this weather, because these tears are hot and salty when they slide down his cheeks and into the corners of his mouth. The incongruity of warm tears on his freezing cold face almost makes him laugh, except when he opens his mouth to laugh what comes out instead is an unsolicited sob.

Shit. Fuck. He hadn’t meant to cry. He really hadn’t wanted to cry. He’s not going to become a blubbering mess in the middle of the road at midnight. Being sad is acceptable when nothing’s wrong, but crying when nothing’s wrong is crossing a fucking line. 

Why, why is it that hanging up the phone just stabs him in the heart? What the fuck is his problem?

One minute, he tells himself, crouching down because the smaller he is, the warmer he’ll be; one minute of crying and then you’re going to stop crying, because there’s nothing to cry about. One minute.

And for one minute he cries.

After one minute, he’s mostly out of tears anyway. Sniffling, he wipes under his eyes with his damp sleeve. That’s enough, he thinks firmly, sniffling again. Enough. It’s enough.

Before he stands up, he closes his eyes and takes a deep, deep breath. It doesn’t alleviate the weight on his chest, the weight of nothing being wrong, but blocking his vision allows him to tune into his other senses. It’s freezing cold and he shivers, listening to the rain softly hitting the pavement. This isn’t a panic attack, but Luke always finds it helpful to zero in on his senses. Quiet rain like static in his ears, the denim of his jeans creased behind his knees in his crouch, lingering salt on his tongue from the last of the tears, tight skin on his cheeks, his shaky inhales and exhales as he fights for a steady breathing pattern.

He’s okay.

Five minutes from home. Luke straightens up, hugging his arms around himself. His fingers and toes have all but frosted over by now. The world is awash in pale yellow and ashy grey, punctuated with almost-black in dark, unlit corners. On either side of him, familiar houses urge Luke onward, promising one more familiar than the rest if he just keeps walking.

So he does.

Five minutes feels very long, though Luke’s sense of time is, of course, warped beyond recognition, and for all he knows it’s ten minutes before he sees their house. Or two. 

Luke stands at the curb before the walkway. It’s freezing cold. He should go inside and warm up. He should make a cup of tea. He should take a hot shower.

Through the window it’s bright, though, so bright, far too bright for the gloomy mood still clamping down on Luke’s shoulders. Even if he went through the living room and shut himself in his room with the lights off, it wouldn’t be the same. The mood is uninterrupted and he doesn’t want to break it with anything.

As Luke stands there, shivering and indecisive, the front door opens.

“Luke?”

“Hi,” Luke says again, like he did on the phone. 

“It’s below freezing,” Michael says. “Are you coming in?”

“No.” He’s not. He can’t. Not yet, anyway. Maybe in five minutes. He can go five more minutes before frostbite becomes a real possibility.

“It’s cold, you’ll freeze,” says Michael.

“It’s not that cold.”

“And it’s raining. Cold and raining.”

“I’m not really cold,” Luke lies. “I’m okay. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

Michael stands on the stoop, watching him. From this distance it’s hard to see his expression, but Luke can pretty much guess it’s a mixture of disapproval and concern. Michael has perfected it.

“Be right back,” he finally says, then slips back inside, leaving the door slightly ajar, before Luke can tell him he really doesn’t need to come back. Luke waits, though he contemplates just leaving for another walk. He’s not a dick. Although if Michael returns with Ashton or Calum, Luke will probably be annoyed. He’s not a child and he doesn’t need mothering, which Ashton is sure to do, nor is he in the mood to be cheered up, so Calum won’t be any help either.

Michael returns. He’s wearing a jacket and a beanie and there’s a blanket from off their couch in his hands.

“Michael,” Luke says. 

“Please,” Michael says. “I’m obviously not going to convince you to come inside, but I don’t want you to freeze.” He takes the steps, footsteps falling where Luke’s had, and comes close enough to Luke that when he offers up the blanket, Luke reaches out and takes it. “I know you don’t wear jackets,” Michael explains.

It feels like cheating. The masochistic walk should be all-or-nothing. But Luke can’t bring himself to refuse it. It’s not about the blanket, is the thing, really; it’s not about being warm. It’s about the gesture, about accepting the love and concern of a friend when Luke obviously needs it.

The blanket unfolds in his hands and he wraps it around himself. Some of the chill subsides. A new warmth blooms cautiously from within, starting in his sternum and spreading outward. It moves slowly and with difficulty, thawing the ice that’s formed inside Luke’s chest from all of his internal insistence that being cold had been the solution, but it doesn’t back down.

“Can I stay?” Michael asks. “You can say no.”

“Stay for what?” Luke glances around. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Yeah, I know. I just. Thought you might want to do nothing but…with a friend.”

Luke considers saying no. Michael would shrug, eyebrows drawing together in more concern, probably. Okay, he would say. Come inside soon. He would probably shift on his feet, trying to determine whether or not it would be okay to hug Luke, and ultimately decide against it. The door would close behind him and Luke would have the big, empty, glacial outdoors to himself. That had been the goal, when he’d left. To be alone. To have all the room in the world, with the hopes that attempting to fill it would spread his sadness too thin to hold weight. Except that hadn’t really worked. He’d just grown dense, stodgy instead of risen. The rain must have iced his sadness in. 

“Would you?” Luke says quietly, swallowing.

Michael nods. He does a very good job pretending like he hadn’t desperately wanted Luke to say yes, although Luke knows he had. “Are you still walking?”

“I think I was going to sit,” Luke says, glancing down at the curb. “You don’t have to.”

“I don’t mind,” Michael says, and Luke really believes that. Luke takes a seat on the curb, even though the frozen rain seeps through his jeans, and Michael sits shoulder-to-shoulder beside him. They both stare out across the street. 

After a moment, Michael speaks quietly out into the air. “What — uh — I don’t really know what question to ask. Or if I shouldn’t ask anything.”

“Just as long as you don’t ask what’s wrong,” Luke says wearily. “I’m sick of what’s wrong.”

“Fair enough,” Michael says. There’s a beat of silence. “What are we doing out here?”

“You’re keeping me company.”

“And you’re…?”

Luke shrugs, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. It’s still raining and even the blanket is going to be soaked through soon. Luke’s hands are inside his sleeves, which are inside the blanket, but they’re still numb. “Wallowing.”

He really is wallowing, the most self-indulgent kind of sadness. Hardest to let go of, easiest to drown in. 

“Oh,” Michael says, a soft edge in his voice. “That makes sense.”

“It does?”

“I don’t know, yes?” Michael reaches out with his converse, tapping the side against Luke’s calf. “You’re a wallowing kind of guy. Sometimes that’s what you need.”

For the second time tonight, Luke feels abruptly like he might cry, but this time he doesn’t. “Uh. Thanks. I think?”

“I can wallow with you,” Michael says simply. 

“Aren’t you cold?”

“Yeah. Aren’t you?”

A small smile tugs at the corners of Luke’s lips. “Yeah,” he admits.

“Yeah,” Michael says, like he’s just made a point. “But you shouldn’t wallow alone. You should at least have company.”

Luke takes a deep breath. He pulls his hood further over his head and glances over at Michael, who’s just watching his own feet with interest. 

“Okay,” Luke allows, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Just a couple more minutes. Then we can go inside.” He wonders if this had been Michael’s ploy, to guilt Luke back indoors by offering to freeze for him. But he’s pretty sure it isn’t a trick. Michael isn’t manipulative. He’s just loyal.

“Whatever you want,” Michael says, kicking carelessly at a loose piece of asphalt.

Luke hesitates, lingering in the bubble of silence between them that almost seems to mute the rest of the world. Michael looks over at him finally. When he meets Luke’s eyes, he quirks a transient smile. The warmth defrosting Luke’s insides grows hotter.

Luke leans his head on Michael’s shoulder, and Michael only shifts to accommodate him. “You can wallow with me. We can wallow together. If you want to. If you don’t mind.”

Michael tilts his head against Luke’s and hooks his foot around Luke’s ankle. “Yeah. Wallowing together. I can do that.”

It’s bitterly cold, and the icy rain and wind are doing them no favours. But when Luke closes his eyes this time, the only sensation that seems to matter is Michael’s shoulder solid under Luke’s weight, and he doesn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.

[quinnybee-writes]

Title: Fire Meet Gasoline

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia

Rating: T+

Part: 2/?

Story Summary: A chance encounter between a villain and vigilante leads to an unwise deal made between unlikely allies; an unwise deal made between unlikely allies ends in a final stand neither would have ever dared to take on alone. Together, though, they just might have a fighting chance.

Part 2 Summary: Civilian life gets a bit more uncivil as far-flung paths start to cross.

Part 1 on  Tumblr / AO3

Part 2 on AO3

Hizashi pushed himself to the edge of his limit, legs pumping and chest burning for breath as he ran. His end goal was in sight, clear as day in from of him, but even as he closed in on it, it seemed impossibly far away.

“One twenty-eight point nine. You’re keeping a good pace with yourself,” Haruko announced, clicking the button on her stopwatch.

Hizashi staggered to a stop, hands behind his head as he caught his breath. “Dammit,” he muttered. His sister might have been impressed by his consistency but the lack of progress was frustrating. He didn’t want to admit it, but that vigilante from the other night had him rattled. Hizashi was used to outfoxing people bound by regulations that kept them and everyone around them safe but tied their hands when it came to someone like him. The vigilante, however, could meet him on an even playing field and was faster, more agile, and unflinchingly tenacious. Hizashi had to admit he was almost excited to meet up with the vigilante again for the thrill of it, but he was aware that his last escape had been more blind luck than skill. He was going to have to step up his own game monumentally to keep one step ahead.

“C’mon, Zash, don’t get yourself down,” Haru said, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “Even if you are plateauing, it’s at a good place. There’s no glory in ripping yourself apart for a couple extra seconds.”

Hizashi sighed but nodded, knowing she was right. He was about to say he was ready to reset and go again when there was a flurry of movement and chatter outside the training room door.

“What in the world?” Haru muttered, sticking her head out into the hall. “Hey, Megumi, what gives?” she asked, waving down one of the other trainers as they passed by.

“Some guy’s showing off in the parkour room,” Megumi replied with a shrug.

“Oh. It is about that time, isn’t it?” Haru said, checking her watch.

“What’s going on?” Hizashi asked, intrigued in spite of himself. Haru grinned at him.

“We’re being haunted,” she said by way of non-explanation. When he just stared back at her blankly Haru laughed and nodded down the hall. “C’mon, we’ll take a break and I’ll show you.”

They followed the trickle of people to a large plate glass window that overlooked another larger training room. The room was entirely taken up by a huge foam-and-plywood climbing structure full of sheer walls, sharp drops, and metal chin-up bars stuck in at odd angles. Making an impressive run of the place was a broad-shouldered man in all black workout gear, his dark hair in a short tangled ponytail at the back of his neck. It wasn’t until the man did an impressive leap over a waist-height wall that ended in a rolling landing back on his feet and almost immediately pressed a hand to the left side of his chest with a grimace that Hizashi recognized the vigilante from a few nights ago.

“Who is that?” he asked, trying to keep the question casual.

“No idea,” Haru shrugged. “Dude’s a machine, though. Every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday he swipes himself in at four, does a few miles on the suspended track, and then tears it up on the parkour course for an hour and a half. Swipes himself out at six-thirty like clockwork. Never talks to anyone, never rents a locker, no-nothing. If he’s got a name hell if any of us know what it is. We just call him The Ghost.”

“Huh.” Hizashi smirked a little to himself, watching as the vigilante squared his shoulders and began his run again. The man kept an impressively low profile for someone so notorious. Hizashi wondered if he could find a way to sneak into the gym’s registration logs and put a name to the face after all. His musing was interrupted by Haru holding up her water bottle under his nose and giving it a proffering waggle. “I’m good, thanks,” Hizashi said, shaking his head.

“You sure? You were looking a little thirsty,” Haru said, grinning.

Hizashi glowered at her, snatching the bottle out of her hand and squirting her in the face with it. “Hardy-har. Asshole,” he muttered. Haru just laughed.

“All right, break time’s over, slacker. You still owe me four more shuttle runs and a round on the weight machines,” she said, using the hem of Hizashi’s teeshirt to dry her face off.

Hizashi groaned. “I’m telling Mom,” he whined as they turned away from the window and headed back to the training room.

“It’d be the first time you called her in, like, four months, so.” Haru shrugged. “I’ll take what I can get at this point.”

Hizashi grimaced, the casual disappointment in her voice scraping him raw. “Way to kick me when I’m down, Haru,” he said.

Haru sighed, mouth twisting into a half-apologetic frown. “Look, Zash. We both know you get up to some shit that you don’t want the rest of us involved in and that’s fine. It’s not fine,” she corrected herself, “but it’s fine. It’s just. Knowing that and having you fall off the planet for months at a time...kinda freaks me out, y’know? I’m not saying you have to check in every hour on the hour or anything but more often than Christmas, New Years, and birthdays wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Hizashi muttered. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just keep it in mind, okay?” Haru said. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders in a hug made that much tighter by her Quirk, punctuated with an encouraging smack on the back. “Now c’mon, gloomy gills. You hired me to kick your ass, so I’m gonna.”

By the third delivery of the morning Shouta was regretting not calling in again. He’d pushed himself too hard trying to get back into his normal gym routine and every inch of him was letting him know it. He slid a box of audio equipment onto a dolly, sharp little spikes of pain shooting through his back and side as he did, and wheeled it up to the radio station’s front door. Just five more hours, he reminded himself. He’d worked much longer delivery shifts in much worse condition than this. Just five more hours.

There was nobody at the station’s reception desk. Shouta sighed, shoulders sagging. He wondered if he was going to have to figure out how their paging system worked and call the package’s addressee himself. It wouldn’t be the first time, but it was always a procedural nightmare if someone got up in arms about a non-employee using their phones and decided to give his boss an earful for it.

Luckily for him there came the sound of a half-whispered swear word followed by racing footsteps from down the hall. What looked like a very embarrassed intern rushed forward with a sunny “HicanIhelpyou?”, running the words together as they dropped into the chair behind the desk and practically threw their phone and coffee mug out of sight. Their name tag said “Chiyaki” and the look on their face said “please for the love of god don’t tell my boss”.

“Solo-Falcon Deliveries, I’ve got a package for...Hizashi Yamada,” Shouta said, double-checking the name on the delivery slip.

“Okay, one sec,” Chiyaki said brightly. They pushed a speed-dial extension on the phone bank next to them. It only rang once before someone picked up.

“Yah-mada.” The voice on the other end was sing-song and familiar in a way Shouta couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Heya, boss,” Chiyaki said. “The new presentation mics are here, the delivery guy needs you to sign for them.”

“Great timing, I was just about to start boxing up the old ones! Be right there.” The voice on the other end was suddenly louder, clearer, and sounded like it was coming from just over Shouta’s shoulder. Shouta’s breath seized in his chest and his head snapped around, fully expecting to see Mockingbird standing smirking right behind him. The station lobby was completely empty other than himself, the intern, and the box he was supposed to be delivering. When Shouta turned back around Chiyaki was smiling sympathetically at him.

“He does that,” they said apologetically. “It should just be a minute.”

Shouta nodded, taken aback by their total nonchalance. He supposed it made a certain kind of sense for Mockingbird to use his Quirk as a party trick and condition the people around him not to notice it. He didn’t have much time to mull over the logistics of that, however, as a lanky figure loped its way up from the back of the station. The man perked up as he caught sight of Shouta, a grin of recognition spreading across his face.

“Oh, hey, bus stop guy!” Mockingbird said cheerfully.

Shouta blinked, momentarily confused before the words clicked into place. Bus stop, right. This was the same man he’d badgered at the bus stop in front of his apartment building the morning after his bout with Mockingbird; same long blond ponytail, same horn-rim glasses, same lanky frame and broad grin with an almost imperceptible air of smugness to it. Clever, Shouta thought ruefully.

“Solo-Falcon Deliveries,” Shouta said tonelessly, offering the clipboard to sign.

“Right, right. So, didja end up finding who you were looking for?” Mockingbird--Yamada--whoever he was asked as he dug in his pocket for his stamp.

Shouta’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah,” he said. “I think I might have.”

Yamada glanced over the clipboard at him and his cheerful expression sharpened just slightly. “Lucky you,” he said. “But more importantly lucky me,” he added, sinking back into breezy affability as he scooped up the box of equipment. “Papa needs a new podcasting setup!” He cuddled the box to his chest, rubbing his cheek against it affectionately. “Chii, I’ll be back doing teardown if anyone needs me,” he said before turning on his heel and ambling back the way he’d come.

Chiyaki watched him go, then turned back to Shouta. “I can take that,” they said, holding out a hand for the yellow carbon copy of the delivery sheet Yamada had abandoned on the clipboard. “Do you want some coffee or something?” they added.

Shouta shook his head, slowly unclenching from the full-body knot he’d stiffened into the moment Yamada had smirked at him. “No. Thanks anyway,” he said. He grabbed the handle of the dolly tightly to cover his shaking hands and turned it towards the door.

“Have a good one,” Chiyaki said.

Shouta muttered a half-coherent reply, his brain already in a hundred other places. He shouldered open the station door and walked stiff-legged out to his truck to finish his shift. Just five more hours.

[eternaljouska]

Redamancy, Chapter 10 - Lee Jihoon

Pairing: Husband!JihoonxReader

Genre: Angst, the tiniest amount of Fluff

Chapter: one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | END | epilogue |

Word Count: 4.4 K

Recommended Song: SHAUN - Way Back Home (feat. Conor Maynard) [Sam Feldt Edit]

A/N: I hope this is a satisfactory conclusion to the series. Well, not really, since there’s still the epilogue, but I don’t want to raise expectations, so… Sorry if this is somehow disappointing.

–

Call Soon Hyung. You’re welcome.

That is the content of Seungkwan’s latest message for Jihoon. There were four missed calls and three messages preceding it, but Jihoon didn’t know any of these until he’s about to leave his car.          

Hyung, you guys still asleep? I’m outside.

Nobody’s home? Answer my call, hyung.

You in the studio? I’m going there right now.

Jihoon has no ideas as to why Seungkwan was searching adamantly for him like that, and he also doesn’t understand why he needs to call Soonyoung. He was about to do exactly as Seungkwan instructed, but you knock on his window, interrupting him before he can press the call button. “Ji? Let’s go.”

“Oh, okay. Wait a sec.” As he releases his seatbelt, Jihoon quickly types a short message for Soonyoung with one hand, asking what’s going on with Seungkwan.

“What is it?” you ask once Jihoon’s out from the car.

“Uh?”

“Are you needed in the company?”

“No. No. Just… Seungkwan. He visited when we’re on our way here and then he told me to call Soonyoung. I was just sending a short text for him.”

“Oh, okay. Let’s go then.” You grab Jihoon’s hand and lead the way to the elevator. Both of you are currently in Jihoon’s old apartment building. After having the conversation about your children, Jihoon suggested that you two take turns showering right away so that you can catch a quick brunch at a random restaurant you passed along the way before you pick your children up.

It was indeed a quick brunch. There’s not much in your conversation, but it left both of you in such a pleasant mood. Even now in the elevator, Jihoon’s hand is still snug in yours, drawing a permanent smile on his lips. The ding of the elevator breaks into Jihoon’s thought. He silently curses at the intrusion because the moment the elevator opens, you hurried out to search for Jihoon’s door, forgetting the poor man behind with his unattended hand.

When Jihoon arrives at your side, there’s already a click in the door, a sign that it’s only a matter of seconds before you both meet your sons again. The moment that Jihoon’s mom opens the door for the both of you, Jaemin shouts from behind her and jumps to your side, followed by Jimin, who’s running with all his might and only stopping once he’s able to hug your feet.

“Mommy! Daddy! Are we going home? Are we going home?” Jimin bubbles, jumping up and down with his hands raised above his head as to ask you to lift him up.

You kneel down instead, that way you can look at the two boys from the same level. “Let’s go inside first, okay?”

As soon as Jihoon gets to the living room, his phone rings with Soonyoung’s name displayed on the bright screen. “Excuse me, it’s Soonyoung,” he says to you who’s being dragged by Jaemin and Jimin to their room and his mom who’s following them.

“Hey, Jihoon. Where are you? We need to meet.”

“Hey, uh, I’m picking up the kids. Just arrived. What’s it about? Is this something serious?” Jihoon walks away from the living room to the kitchen, settling himself on one of the chairs near the counter.

First, your car. And second, I got your rings, well, Y/n’s.”

“The rings that she threw away last night?”

“She threw them away?”

“That’s… not the point. Ugh, God,” Jihoon grunts, placing one hand on the counter and resting his head on top of it.

“Jihoon? What happens?”

Jihoon turn his head a little to peek at the children room for you before he answers in something closer to a whisper, “What am I supposed to do with them?”

“What? Give them back to Y/n, of course. What else?”

“Yeah, hey, Y/n, here are the rings that you threw away last night because I suck as a husband. You still want them, right? No? Oh, great. It’s okay. I’m okay. Take—“

Soonyoung chuckles at Jihoon’s constant rambling. Despite the younger man’s effort to play down the situation, he knows that the anxiety is real. “It’s okay, Jihoon. You’ve been forgiven already, right?”

“Not really. Still on my way there. That’s why I can’t just come to her and give the rings. I don’t want to remind her of her meltdown last night—or more like the reason of her meltdown last night.”

“Jihoon,” Soonyoung starts as he exhales, “It’s okay.”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay then, would you prefer I give the rings directly to her? Or maybe put the rings on her finger myself?”

“Ya! Kwon Soonyoung!” Jihoon exclaims rather loudly that he snaps his head around to see whether it’s caught anyone’s attention. “Don’t you dare,” he stresses every syllable of his words, but the other man only laughs, clearly delighted at how easily he can rile Jihoon.

“Just kidding. You can do something like a re-proposal, I don’t know. I mean- God, I’m brilliant! Yes! Do that! Redo the proposal in that fancy restaurant. Maybe it can trigger her memory. I can gather the boys real quick. Wait- No! Crap! Seungkwan has a schedule today, I don’t know about tomorrow, but—“

“Soonyoung,” Jihoon interrupts, “I… I don’t want to go that strong. I just want to take it slow and not overwhelm her. Also, if I redo the proposal—God damn it, that’s gonna be our third proposal—what about the wedding? I… I want something simple, with only the both of us, or… I don’t know…”

“Hmm… I’ll think of something. Let’s meet tomorrow, okay? And don’t let her know about it. I got to go. Bye!”

The call ends even before Jihoon has the chance to express anything, not his sorry nor his gratitude.

“Jihoon,” his mom calls and motions for him to go sit with her on the couch. “I’m sorry, but I heard a little bit of your conversation on the phone. Would you tell me what happened between you and Y/n?” Once Jihoon reaches the living room, Mrs. Lee places his hand on his shoulder as to guide him down to the couch.

Jihoon gives the children room another quick look to make sure that you’re still too occupied to hear him. His mom who notices this speaks up once again, “She’s still packing their clothes.”

“She… had flashbacks about our fight, the day before my enlistment, and the wedding. And, um, I think everything confused her, and I wasn’t there to sort things out for her. I guess she felt lonely. No, she must have felt a lot of things. Hurt, betrayal. She went through everything alone and last night- I guess last night was her breaking point. She let everything out and even threw our engagement and wedding rings. But- But we talked. In the morning. She hasn’t exactly forgiven me, but at least she gave me a chance.”

The hand that was on Jihoon’s shoulder moves downward and rests on his thigh, patting it empathetically and encouragingly. “It’s okay. Everything will be okay. As long as you stay by her side.”

“Yes, Mom, but I don’t know what to do about the rings. Soonyoung has—Oh! When are you planning to go back to Busan?” Jihoon widens his eyes and swiftly changes the conversation when you walk out of the room with two bags on your hands and two boys on your tail.

Mrs. Lee catches on her son’s intention and follows along, “Oh, I don’t know well. You two came here in short notice, so I haven’t planned anything.”

“You can go stay with us for as long as you want,” you chime in as you place the two bags down. Jihoon grunts inwardly at this, not because of the suggestion you made but because of the action you just did—or more like he didn’t do. He should’ve helped you with the bags, but that thought didn’t even cross his mind as he’s distracted, trying to hide his previous conversation.

“That would be great, but I can only stay for so long, dear.”

“Ah, okay, then. Do you want me to help you pack now?”

“No, don’t bother. I can do it myself.”

“Alright. I’ll just prepare dinner instead. And you two stay here, okay? You play with them, alright?” you say, turning from Jihoon’s mom to the children and lastly to Jihoon before disappearing to the kitchen.

           Dinner comes and goes and so does the fifteen-minute drive to your house. Jihoon helps his mom settle in the guest room while you do the same to the kids in theirs. Obviously, your task takes longer than his, for when he passes the slightly-opened door he can see the two boys still huddled on your side in one bed. You have a book on your hands, but Jihoon can’t figure out what the title is from where he’s standing. He takes careful steps inside and squeezes himself next to Jaemin on your left, leaving the boy in a giggle fit.

“Daddy! The bed won’t fit us all!” Jimin argues from his position next to the wall.

You laugh because instead of moving to the other bed—Jaemin’s—Jihoon only squeezes them further, earning him another protest from Jimin who’s now pressed to the wall. “Dad!”

“Okay, okay”—Jihoon stands and raises his arms up in resignation—“You just don’t love Daddy anymore. It’s okay,” he says as he fakes crying, clutching his chest and throwing himself on Jaemin’s bed.

“Daddy!” Jaemin squeals, jumping from Jimin’s bed to the floor and then to his own bed. He climbs on Jihoon’s body and shakes his shoulder when he doesn’t give an immediate response.

“What? Just go to your Mommy and leaves Daddy alone.”

Jihoon’s words fluster his oldest son that he turns to his brother for help. “Jimin! Come here! This is your doing.”

“Ugh, Daddy! Get up!” he orders petulantly as he crawls around you and makes the same little jumps as his brother did before. “Get up. Don’t be like a little boy.”

Jihoon turns around and catches Jaemin as he falls down from his body, not bothering to keep his act anymore. “What? Who calls Daddy a little boy?”

The two boys laugh and look at each other before they chorus, “Grandma!”

“Grandma said you cried and didn’t eat or shower like a little kid when Mommy’s in the hospital,” Jaemin explains.

You raise your head at this, trying to meet Jihoon’s gaze. They do meet for a split second before Jihoon tackles down the two boys and attacks them with tickles. The laughter of the three of them is overpowering the still hours but do not tamper with the comfort that it provides this particular night. A fond smile paints your lips. Looking at Jihoon like this, you understand how you’d agree to bear any and every heartbreak as long as you could stay a little longer by his side.

When their laughter dies down and the boys curl up in Jihoon’s arm, you rise to bid them goodnight. You lean forward to kiss their forehead, but Jimin stops you. “One more story, please? Let Daddy read.”

You look at Jihoon, and he extends his hand to take the book from you. When he has sat down and had the book on his hand, he clicks his tongue, “Why do you guys still read stories with the Big Bad Wolf in them when it scares you?”

“Jimin does, I don’t!”  

“No, I don’t!”

“Alright, alright, we can replace them with new books tomorrow. The Big Bad Wolf is no more! How’s that sound? Great?”

“Great!” they answer in unison.

After each of you kisses the kids’ foreheads goodnight at the end of the bedtime story, you go directly to your room to take a shower while Jihoon stays in the living room to make a call. The first try rings for a long time before going to voicemail, but the second time’s connected after only the first ring.

“Hey, I’m sorry. We were at practice,” Soonyoung says, referring to the new group he choreographs for.

“No problem. Have you thought of something yet?”

“Actually, I do. Let’s talk about this over breakfast tomorrow. I need to get right back to the practice. Is it okay?”

“Sure. The usual place at eight?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, thank you.”

The next morning, you wake up to the sound of alarm you don’t remember setting and find the bed empty.  You’re slightly disappointed to find that Jihoon has left, but then you heard a clanking sound—from where you assume as the kitchen—and suddenly you get more than a little excited. When you get to the kitchen, the first thing you see is a pancake served on the dining table and a piece of yellow paper next to the plate. Just as you pick the letter up, a voice makes you jump in a start.

“I told him I can just tell you about it, but he insisted on writing a note for you instead.”

“Ah, Mom, good morning.”

Mrs. Lee nods in acknowledgment and smiles because you didn’t call her ‘Mrs. Lee’ again like you did in the middle of your ride home last night. “I’m going to freshen up a little bit while you enjoy your breakfast. Jihoon made that, so it might be cold now. And, um, sorry for the noise earlier. I was trying to place the water pot in the cabinet, but it fell down.”

“No worries. You don’t have to be sorry.”

“Okay, then. I’ll leave you to it,” Mrs. Lee says as he passes you and nods towards the letter.

It says that Jihoon is out with the two boys to buy books because they’re too eager to wait a little longer. While this is actually true, Jihoon with the boys don’t go directly to the bookstore, instead they have breakfast with Soonyoung first. The children are busy with their pancakes, having craving to eat one after Jihoon denied their request at home and made only one mix for you, while Jihoon is talking with Soonyoung in a hushed voice despite the pretty slow restaurant.

“Redo-proposal, at the Hill,” Soonyoung smirks, the pride from his idea flowing out with his words as he shoves a wooden ring box to Jihoon.

The younger man opens the unfamiliar box to find the two rings that seem to have been gone from your finger for too long. “But,” Jihoon starts, “She hasn’t said anything about the rings. What if- What if she doesn’t want them. At least, not yet. I told you we’re taking this really slowly.”

Soonyoung answers him with a sigh. “Wasn’t this the kind of attitude that distanced you from her after the accident?”

“I- I know, but—“

“No buts. Just ask her to meet you at the Hill to search for the rings together. That will make kneeling down such a reasonable thing to do. And then the rest is up to you. Tell her about your feeling and everything else you have to say. This is your chance, Jihoon.”

Jihoon considers Soonyoung’s words for a few moments while playing with his own wedding band. It is hurt to feel or see your bare finger whenever he does. “Alright, this is my chance,” he repeats in resolution.

“Daddy?” asks Jimin.

“Uh, what’s up, buddy?”

“When will we buy new books? We’re done eating.”

It’s true. The two boys’ plates are now empty; they have eaten all their food diligently. But this, in addition to Jimin’s words earlier, only reminds him of his original plan with the boys. “Wait a little more, okay? We’ll go right after this. I need to take them to the bookstore,” he says, turning to Soonyoung at the end of his sentence. “And, uh, I use Y/n’s car. There’s no way I’m gonna ask her to take a cab to meet me at the Hill.”

“Well, you can send the boys home after your shopping and pick her up and drive together to the Hill. I suggested you meet her there only because I think you’d need the time to prepare and rehearse on the location. It doesn’t have to be today. I can take your car back and you can both go with a separate car—wait, do you even comfortable letting her drive herself?”

“No, not really. And I think I can’t do this any other day. I- I might not have the courage.”

“Okay, then. Call her to get ready, or not. I’ll be the chauffeur—or rather, the head of your army—who is ready to send your queen your way, Your Majesty.”

“Shut up. You? The head of my army? Can’t Seungkwan do it instead?” Jihoon quips, half serious and half joking.

“What is this betrayal? Jihoon, I thought you trust me. Seungkwan’s not available, okay? That dude’s busy, that’s why he gave me the rings.”

Jihoon brushes Soonyoung’s comments off. “Alright, alright, whatever. Imma need to go.”

“Alright, good luck, mate.”

“Hm,” he acknowledges as he puts some money on the table and stands, gesturing the kids to do the same and greet Soonyoung goodbye. “Soonyoung. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Aye, Seungkwan found the rings. I only bought the box. He said he lost your ring once. The least he can do is find those ones and bring them back to you.”

Jihoon lets out a low chuckle, his heart warming at the thought of everything his members have done for him. “I’ll thank him later. But seriously, thank you. And, um, I’m sorry.”

Now it’s Soonyoung’s turn to chuckle, “No problem. I know the reason you get jealous easily when I’m with Y/n is that you love me. Too much, if I might add.”

“Seriously?” Jihoon deadpans, but turns to his kids as Jimin tugs at the hem of his shirt. “I got to go. Thank you again. I’ll text you once I’m at the Hill.”

The said message arrives about an hour after their meeting. It is a very succinct message with only one word, proceed. Soonyoung doesn’t have any particular plan on bringing you to the Hill, which is why he can only grin when you open the door with a faint frown on your forehead, clearly surprised to have him as an uninvited guest.

“Soonie? Jihoon’s not home. He—“

“I know. He texted me.” And then another brilliant idea pops into Soonyoung’s head. “He said he’s searching for your rings at the Hill.”

“What? No- no, he’s taking the kids to the bookstore. That’s what he told me.”

“Oh, crap! I’m sorry. Oh, God. He’s going to kill me.” Soonyoung pretends to be panicked and even go as far as turning around to walk back to Jihoon’s car. It takes you exactly two steps to finally take his bait.

“Wait! Don’t you dare move from that spot. I’ll just tell Mom that I need to go meet Jihoon, and then you need to take me to the Hill.”

“But, Y/n, I was just gonna drop his car. I have practice in half an hour.”

“Soonyoung, please? Just… Take me there, and you can go. Drop the car later or tomorrow.” The frown on your forehead deepens, but Soonyoung takes his time to consider his answer.

“Well, okay, I guess I can do that.”

“Mom! I’m going to go meet Jihoon! Soonyoung will drive me!” Apparently, you have a little doubt towards Soonyoung that instead of telling Mrs. Lee directly like you initially intended, you only duck your head inside and shout for her, to which she replies with another shout of okay, take care.

You close the door to your house and skip all the way to where Soonyoung parked the car. Once the car gears to life, though, your cheerful front has dropped altogether.

“Hey, Y/n, what’s wrong?” asks Soonyoung a few minutes into the ride.

“Why would he want to search for them alone?”

“Uh, I- I don’t kno—“

“I was the one who threw them out of spite.”

“Do you regret it, though?”

“Hm?” You turn your head towards Soonyoung at his question, and he meets your gaze through the rear-view mirror. “I… I’m not sure. I mean, I don’t have a solid thought about everything because I can’t remember, you know. But I know that what I did was cruel. Just throwing them out like that.”

“Well, maybe Jihoon knows that you’re confused. Maybe he doesn’t want to force them on you. I mean, would you wear the rings from an engagement or wedding you don’t remember being a part of?”

“Don’t say something like that,” you say sternly.

“Why? Would you, though?”

The answer is obvious. But when Soonyoung puts it like this, you can’t help but go over your thoughts and feelings once again. Your words come out as a mumble when you finally speak, “I don’t remember most of everything. But that sounds like an excuse the more I think or tell someone about it. I love him. That I know, so of course… Of course, I would wear them.”

Shooting you one last look, Soonyoung replies with a smirk, “All is good, then. We’re here.” He pulls to a stop near the walkway to the Hill. You look up from your lap and realize that you’ve indeed arrived at the location; the car that Jihoon drives—yours—is parked right in front of you. It turns out that alternating between the conversation you have with Soonyoung and the one in your head costs a long enough time. “Do you want me to walk you up?”

“No, no, it’s okay. Thank you very much.”

“Y/n,” Soonyoung says right before you close the car door on him. “Don’t be too hard on yourself—and him.”

You nod, “Thank you, really.”

And with that, Soonyoung reverses back and drives away from you.

The first thing that catches your attention is your two boys leaning on the Big Tree facing the walkway: Jaemin is muttering the words of the book on his hand and Jimin is iterating the act of stacking the rest of the new books and knocking them over. You quicken your pace with worry because Jihoon is nowhere to be seen.

The two boys stop what they’re doing and raise their head when your shadow falls in front of them. “Mommy!”

And as if on cue, Jihoon appears from the opposite side of the tree, muttering your name groggily, “Y/n.”

“Jihoon! I thought you’re not with them. I was worried!” you scold him as you walk, still with the same fast pace, towards where he stands.

“I’m sorry. Um, Y/n,” he repeats and then gets on one knee when you arrive in front of him. Gathering his courage, Jihoon stares at the ground while taking a few deep breaths, the bottom of his lips is caught between his teeth. When his erratic heartbeat loses its ultimate control over his auditory sense, Jihoon realizes that you’ve been calling his name for a few times now. He lets out another long breath before he looks up and stares into your bewildered eyes. “Y/n, I… I know I have not been fulfilling the promises I made in the past. Even if there’s a time that I did, somehow I just stopped without really knowing why. I know that I cannot give you any more promises for fear that I would just disappoint you again. But you’re giving me another chance yet again, and I- I am so thankful for it. I’m so thankful for you. Because I love you, and I want you to believe that I mean it. And I can’t- I can’t let you go, Y/n.

“So here I am, kneeling down in front of you, for the third time, asking for your hand again. And I hope that you’d deign to accept me again”—Jihoon takes out the wooden ring box and opens it, presenting the ring for you—“Y/n, I don’t think I have the right question to ask today. But would you let me—“

“Yes,” you begin, fresh tears already forming in your eyes. “Yes, Jihoon. Whatever that sentence entails, yes.”

Jihoon bites on his lips again to prevent him from smiling too widely. He reaches for your hand to slowly slip the ring to your finger, starting from the engagement ring. But before he can put the wedding band on your ring finger, you stop him. “Wait. I, um, there’s a condition. Explain to me why you, um, dragged the kids into this.”

“Oh, that.” Jihoon scratches the back of his neck, a big grin immediately taking over his face. He takes a few steps back to peek around the Big Tree for the children. Both of them are now busy stacking the books into a tower. Nevertheless, roses still manage to bloom on Jihoon’s cheek, realizing that the kids have possibly been listening to his cheesy confession. “This is kind of unplanned. Ugh, God, I’m so stupid. I should’ve asked Soonyoung to play with them or whatever, but I don’t want to make it look like—“

“Jihoon, stand up.”

“Huh?”

“Just… stand up.” You take his arms to help him get to his feet, but he doesn’t budge.

Panic starts crawling from the tip of Jihoon’s fingertips to the beating of his heart. He reaches for your hands again and holds them tightly. “But Y/n“—Jihoon stops himself from continuing his words when you walk closer to him and fall to both of your knees in front of him—“Y/n, what are you doing?”

A gentle smile spreads on your lips as you move your ring finger up and down a few times, signaling him to continue his previous action. “Do it.”

“What?”

“The ring. Before I change my mind.”

“No! Wait, no! I’ll do it.” Jihoon takes the wedding band again and carefully slides it into your ring finger, a cheeky smile plastered on his face.

“Hey, Y/n,” Jihoon begins as both of you walk back to where the car’s parked, your sons walking ahead of you hand in hand.

“What is it?”

“Thank you.” He nudges at you with his elbow. “And just so you know, you kneeling down up there, it’s happened before.”

“Me? I- I was the one who proposed?”

Jihoon’s crisp chuckles ring throughout the quiet hill. “Hmm, no. Not exactly.”

“Then what happened?” you urge.

“Well, let’s go home first, shall we? Because that, that is a story for another time, isn’t it?”

–

Taglist: @thatfangurltho @chwenchew @la-hermosaluna @heolykpop​

[xxx-cat-xxx]

let our hearts (like doors) open wide, open wide

Post-Endgame fic with Pepper, Tony, Bruce and Peter. Oh, and there’s a baby as well. No spoilers, this was written before the movie. It was a short drabble and then something went out of control and now it’s 3k words, but I promise that it contains a happy ending and an Irondad scene.

TWs: Vomiting and panic attack.

Thank you @whumphoarder for beta-reading.

It’s a night full of stars and tenderness when Pepper tells him that she is finally pregnant.

It hadn’t been easy with her being already well into her thirties. A long chain of failed attempts and endless doctor appointments lay behind them, but Pepper, an optimist at heart with the patience of a saint, never lost hope.

They have dinner on the rooftop in order to celebrate, SI appointments and Tony’s lab all but forgotten. They dance and laugh and make out a little, the air heavy with anticipation. Everything is perfect for once.

Right until it’s not.

He’s holding her from behind, taking in her face over her shoulder, absorbing the dimple on her cheek, the smile hanging on her lips. His fingers trail somewhere between the hem of her skirt and her bellybutton, light and teasing. He can feel it already, feel where her abdomen is just the slightest bit swollen.

There’s a life under her skin, just below my hands, he realises. His heartbeat speeds up at the thought of it, the thought that it’s his, it’s ours, our responsibility, and if I fail again -  

His heart beats faster and faster and then it’s all he can hear, the noise of it ringing in his ears and cancelling out everything else. A heavy weight settles on his chest, choking him, and suddenly there’s not enough oxygen left in the world.

“I need to - I gotta- ” He loosens his embrace on her and stumbles away. Don’t touch her. Don’t hurt them. “I’m sorry, Pep,” he rasps.

He’s out of the door before she can call him back.

*

Bruce has witnessed a number of unexpected incidents in the Avengers compound’s common kitchen, but he never imagined that he’d one day walk in on Pepper Potts violently throwing up into the sink.

“Are- Are you okay?” he asks, a little too perplexed for any more profound question.

“Oh, Bruce,” Pepper pants. “Yes, yes, I’m fine, just - give me a sec, okay?” She swallows hard, then loses the fight against another retch.

“What’s going on?” He carefully pats her on the expensive-looking blazer she’s wearing, then checks the back of her neck for a fever while she heaves again.

“Don’t know,  just…ate something bad, I guess,” she replies when she is finished with the current round, avoiding his gaze and thus confirming his suspicion.

“Mm-hm.” He watches her rinse her mouth and then motions for her to sit down at the large kitchen table while he starts the water in the sink, cleaning the mess and getting rid of the smell.

“What's the time?” Pepper asks hoarsely.

“Almost seven.”

“God, I need to go.” She closes her eyes for a moment, breathing deep through the nausea. She is still more than pale under her make-up. Her face looks tired and the dark circles under her eyes that Bruce knows all too well from the months behind them speak of yet another sleepless night.

“You should get some rest, Pepper,” he assesses. “Go back to bed, reschedule whatever meeting you were heading to.”

“Can't. Today’s the bidding for the harbour reconstruction. The shareholders made it clear that…” she cuts herself off upon seeing the lost look on his face. “Anyways, it’s important.”

“I see.” Bruce gives a sympathetic wince when she stifles another gag into her fist.

“Oh god, I’m such a mess,” she whispers.

“Okay. Breathe, Pepper.” It’s still been a while since she’s been that upset, but Bruce has seen her in much, much worse states and he knows that this is only a temporary crisis. “You got five minutes? I'll make you some ginger-lemon water. That should help with the nausea.”

“Yeah,” she exhales. “Yeah, okay. Thank you, Bruce.”

“Hey. We’re past this, right?”

He doesn’t have to say what he is thinking about, knows that it’s still all too present in her mind. The weeks of waiting after the catastrophe, every day tainted with the news of more and more dead friends, colleagues, long-forgotten family members. All the nights spent waiting for a sign from the skies, willing for something, anything to let them know that there was still hope, that Tony might still be out there somewhere.

She’d refused to give up, even for a second. He’s been gone before, she’d said, he’s always come back. He’s a survivor, Bruce. And although she’d been just as broken as him, more than once it had been her who’d held him when the world threatened to break down over his head. That had been the time when he’d learned the true value of the woman who, against all odds, chose Tony above all others. It’s the worst way they could have gotten close to each other, but Bruce is glad that they did.

“You’re right,” she chuckles sadly. Then, almost inaudibly, she adds: “I’m pregnant, Bruce.”

He sets the cup of ginger water in front of her before sitting down on the opposite side of the table.

“I know,” he admits calmly, a bit of relief in his voice.

“H-How?” she asks in surprise, looking up at him.

“I’m a doctor, Pepper. And I’m not stupid. I’m glad you told me, though, I don’t know how long I could’ve played along.” He hesitates for a second. “It’s good news. Something happy, after everything.”

“God, Bruce, please don't tell anyone yet.”

“Hey. I would never.” Following an instinct, he lays his hand on hers that’s clutching the beverage. “Does Tony know?”

“I told him last night. He’s...I don’t know. I mean, we decided this together, but I guess he needs some time to get used to it.” She takes a sip of the water, closes her eyes for a moment. “This actually helps a lot.”

“I often drink it after the transformations,” Bruce remarks.

They sit silently for a minute before Pepper speaks again.

“Tony...He’s different since…” She leaves the end open, but of course he knows what she is talking about.

There’s no term for it, really. How can there be a word for the end of the world? They call it the snap in the media and while joking around, but it sounds inappropriate, almost small compared to the impact it had. Half a universe extinguished. Everyone brought back in the end, thanks and a toast to the Avengers. But their victory came at a cost, and Bruce would dare to say that there’s nobody in the world who was left untouched.

“Aren’t we all?”

Pepper empties the cup and then stands up slowly. A bit of colour has returned to her cheeks. “Okay, I really need to get going.”

Bruce takes the cup and puts it in the dishwasher. “Where’s Tony now?”

“Downstairs, I think. He wasn’t there when I woke up. Could you check that he eats something?”

“Sure,” Bruce says with a nod. “Pepper?”

She turns in the doorway. He steps forward and gives her a brief, careful hug. “Stop worrying so much. It’s gonna be alright.”

*

When Bruce enters the lab with a plate of sandwiches, Tony is sitting reclined in an office chair, one arm covering his eyes, facing away from the door.

Bruce sighs. Talking about changes. In the couple of years that he’s been living under the same roof with him, Tony has always been working on something. Or rather, on multiple somethings simultaneously, on top of scolding dummy, exercising, and flirting with Pepper.

“What -?” Tony flinches when Bruce touches his shoulder lightly, then catches himself. “Oh, hey. Didn't expect you here.” He blinks hard against the lights.

“Thought I'd get you some food.”

“Oh, that’s great.”

It’s a plain lie. Tony eyes at the sandwiches with a mixture of disgust and barely concealed nausea, his pallor turning ashen.

“Or maybe later.” Bruce hurries to set the plate aside, definitely having seen enough vomit for the day. “Friday, lights at fifteen per cent,” he orders. Tony makes a small sound of relief when the room goes dark.

“How bad is that migraine?” Bruce asks doubtfully.

“Oh, that? It's nothing. Just a headache, really.” Tony makes to get up, but Bruce gently pushes him back down.

“You should rest.”

“Nah, not working. Peter's coming over later to fix his suit and Pepper will kill me if I don't get the proposal for that rebuilding thingy done today…”

Bruce feels like he's caught on repeat, not sure whether he should be amused or desperate. For all their differences, Pepper and Tony can be remarkably alike when it comes to being the epitome of workaholism.

“Fine,” he sighs. “Stay put, I'll get you something for that headache…”

Bruce returns with a couple of painkillers that Tony swallows dry.

“Okay, spit it out already,” the engineer sighs when Bruce hovers awkwardly behind his chair.

“Spit out what?”

“You’re an awful liar. Pepper told you, didn't she?”

“Yeah, well... kind of. I walked in on her puking into the sink.”

“Oh shit.” Tony slumps a bit, guilt written clearly over his face. “Is she okay?”

Bruce shrugs. “I think so. She left for her meeting.” He hesitates. “Uhm, congratulations are in order, I guess.”

“Yeah. Thanks. Okay.” Tony takes a couple of deep breaths, his hand balling into a fist.

“What’s going on?” Bruce asks with a hum.

“Nothing,” Tony deflects.

“It’s obviously something.”

“I can’t - not right now, okay?” Tony swallows, visibly fighting for control.

“It’s okay, Tony. We don’t have to talk about this immediately. I understand.”

“I know.” Tony offers a weak smile. “Everyone’s so goddamn kind and understanding and I-”

He doesn’t say I don’t deserve it, but Bruce can finish the sentence himself.

“I’ll be there, if you want to talk,” he offers.

“I just…I'll take a shower,” Tony responds. He gets up slowly and staggers only a little when he brushes past Bruce. “Thanks for checking in.”

*

“Okay, Mr. Stark, what’s going on?” Peter asks, a hint of exasperation in his voice, when Tony drops the soldering iron for the third time in a row and barely avoids setting his own sleeve on fire. “And don’t say you’re fine, because I know that you’re not.”

Peter takes the tool out of his mentor’s hand and sets it back into the bracket. It’s something he would’ve never dared to do before the snap, but things have changed since he's come back. May tells him that he acts more grown-up, more sincere, but also more serious. Like there's a big grey cloud hovering over you, she'd observed one time, and Peter had shrugged. Maybe that’s just what being dead for a year does to you.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony says flatly. “You should get going, kid. It's about time for your beauty sleep.”

Peter frowns. “What, before we finish the upgrades?” Tony had called Peter for a complete overhaul of the Spider-Man suit's hardware, and they'd barely finished half of it by now.

“I can do that alone. You’re here to learn, not because I need your help.”

Denial. Sarcasm. Insult. There they are, all of Tony’s defence mechanisms laid out clearly in front of him. Any time before Peter would have obeyed and left with a dent in his self-confidence and a heavy feeling of concern in the pit of his stomach, too afraid to oppose his mentor. But not anymore.

“Mr. Stark. Please.”

“I just -” Tony draws a breath before replying in a whisper. “Pepper’s pregnant.”

He lets out the air slowly through gritted teeth, seeming to shrink a little as he does so.

“That’s-” Peter feels warmth spreading through his chest. “Mr. Stark, that’s great news. I’m so happy for you, for both of you.”

Tony doesn't smile, doesn't do anything, really, and Peter’s cheerful words, despite their genuineness, suddenly have a hollow sound to them.

“Yeah,” Tony finally replies, not quite looking up at Peter. “I guess so.” His left hand is trembling hard. He quickly covers it with his right.

“You, um, you wanted that, right? I thought you’ve been trying for a while…” Peter trails off when a hint of panic crosses Tony’s face.

“Course I wanted that,” Tony retorts defensively.

“I just - I’m happy for you. You really deserve it, after all that happened, you know-”

He understands that the choice of words was wrong the moment he hears Tony’s breath and heartbeat picking up speed.

“Out,” Tony orders, and Peter isn’t sure whether that’s meant for him or for the engineer himself, but he decides to ignore it either way.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“I can’t  - Leave me -” Tony pants, his chest heaving. “Oh, fuck.”

He makes to stand and probably escape, but his knees buckle as soon as he puts his weight on them. Tony slides down at the side of the workbench before Peter can round the table and crouch next to him.

“It’s okay, Mr. Stark. You’re okay,” Peter tries to reassure him while biting down the panic welling up in his own chest. “You’re having an anxiety attack.”

“I know - doesn’t help - to tell me-” His mentor is clutching a trembling fist to his chest while gasping for breath, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. “Fuck, not now.”

“It’s okay,” Peter murmurs, biting his lip. It’s not the first time either of them has had a breakdown in front of the other, but he’s never seen Tony cry before. He lays a hand on the older man's shoulder, careful not to get too close. “Breathe, just breathe. Count backwards from ten with me, okay?”

It takes nearly three rounds of counting, but finally the attack ebbs away. When he can breathe a little better again, Tony pulls his knees to his chest in an unusually vulnerable gesture. He lays his greying head on them for a bit until the trembling dies down before finally glancing up at Peter.

“That sucked.” Tony looks pale and utterly drained, and there is still moisture around his eyes. “Gosh, I didn’t want you to see that.”

“It’s okay, really. Uhm...Should I get you some water?” Peter asks, unsure of what to do now.

“Nah,” Tony replies, drawing in a slightly shaky breath, “Don't think my stomach’s up for it.”

Peter feels his own clench in sympathy. “Sorry that I triggered you,” he says in a quiet voice.

“Wasn’t your fault, kid.” Tony gets to his feet a bit unsteadily, supporting himself on the workbench. “Today was a panic attack waiting to happen. Was just a matter of time till I'd spazz out.” Dum-E, whirring worriedly, wheels an office chair towards him and Tony lets himself fall into it gratefully.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Peter asks hesitantly, standing up and leaning against the edge of the table..

“Absolutely not,” Tony huffs. He picks up a wrench and fiddles with it in his hands. “But I guess I owe you an explanation. And I don’t want you to get any wrong ideas about me and the…the baby.”

Peter silently waits for Tony to compose himself. He can count the number of times his mentor has opened up to him on one hand, so he is hyper-aware of the fragility of this moment. He knows that one wrong word could cause the other man to draw his walls back up immediately.

“I don’t think I’m ready,” Tony finally admits. “I don’t think I can do this.” He throws up his hands. “Honestly, I had a fucked-up childhood, and I have no idea how to do it better than my dad. I destroyed so many lives along my way, Peter, and I really don’t want to destroy another one.”

Peter waits for more to come, but Tony goes silent, gazing into the distance as if he is looking at ghosts from another time.

“I…I think you’re wrong,” Peter responds carefully. “I think you’ll be a great dad.” He slowly steps in front of Tony, staring into his eyes. “Look around you. Look at the lab, at all the time we spend here. Did your father ever do anything like that with you?”

Tony shakes his head. There’s so much fear on his face that moment, so many painful memories, and once again Peter wishes that he could just erase Titan from both of their minds. Because of course that’s what it ultimately comes down to. It’s not like they ever talk about it, Tony being Tony, but Peter knows that his mentor has never forgiven himself for what happened out there, knows that the year in which he has tried time and time again to bring back the ones he’d lost has left deep marks in his heart and soul.

“I never really had a father,” Peter says carefully. “Uncle Ben…we were close, I guess, but it wasn’t the same.”

Peter hesitates for a moment, but the time seems right. When the snap happened, during that brief moment when he knew for sure that he was going to die, there was so much he regretted not having said. He doesn’t want to feel like that ever again in his life. “But if I could choose one, I would happily pick you.”

Tony looks at him, his eyes large and dark and a little warm now.

“I…” He swallows, once, again. “Glad you’re back, kid.”

*

It's a night full of thunder and rain when Morgan is born. There’s pain and fear and more than once Tony has to count himself back to reality, swallowing down guilt and ignoring the voices in his head that mock him for panicking when Pepper is the one doing all the hard work.

It’s not easy for any of them. But Bruce is just outside in the waiting room, making coffee for Tony when his jittering hands won’t obey anymore. Rhodey is texting him for updates every couple of minutes, messages that make Tony feel a tiny bit better even when he doesn’t reply to them. And Peter swings by just before dawn, minutes before Morgan comes into the world. He stands there next to Bruce, his grin spreading from ear to ear over his red face while they wait to greet the newest member of the family.

Inside, Tony kisses Pepper, wipes away the sweat and tears from her face, kisses her again. Then he takes a deep breath and looks at the child in her arms, branding every detail of that moment into his memory.

My greatest creation… His father is still in his head, will always be there. The path behind him is bloody and there is nothing he can do to change that.

But the road ahead is yet untouched. Pepper smiles exhaustedly at him when the baby makes a small sound between a croak and a cry, then blinks up at Tony. His heart fills with a kind of warmth that he’s never felt before. Ever so carefully, Tony takes Morgan into his arms. Nothing is impossible anymore.

Link to another pregnant Pepper fic

[dorkylittleweirdo]

Last giant camp post unless i think of more stuff and I probably will

So this is from the last day

~

We were all in a huddle before any of the kids got there (so all the instructors and assistants) and everyone was saying at least one good or memorable thing that happened to them this summer. SV goes "AL FARTED RIGHT. HERE AND THAT WS THE BEST THING THAT HAPPENED TO ME" and AL is like oml and our little cheer we did when put our hands in was "AL FARTED"

~

One of my girls brought me starbucks and another gave me a popsicle

~

Assistants and instructors were playing this game called assassin and we had to mark someone's hand with a sharpie to kill them and everyone had an assigned person so it was a mess

~

So SB had me bc she tried to get me twice then DENIED that she had me so I obviously called bs but ya know

~

So me and J were in the classroom helping with retakes and NOTHING was where it should be. So 3 different people came in and told him what to do and he got fucking stressed as shit and I was gently like "hey go outside for a sec and take a breather, I can handle everything in here" and he's like "nah I got this" but then someone else came in and told him what to do and he lost it and yelled and said he quit (he didn't actually he was just fed up) and I was like "ok go outside, go to the break room, go somewhere outside of this room for a few minutes and I'll take care of everything and come back for you when it's all set up"

So he agreed and walked outside for a while and holy fuck there was so much to do and so little time. So I was running around making copies and passing out tests and telling people who needed to do what and 2 other assistants came in (SB and ST) and started fucking around and I was like "if you're not going to help, LEAVE" and they never see me pissed off and stressed to that extent so they were freaked. ST left and SB stayed and I was like "ok you need to do this, and this is your one and only warning, my fight or flight instinct is HIGHTENED rn so if you touch me in any way, I WILL hit you with whatever's in my hand and probably apologize later" and she's like "oh shit ok"

so I have a folder in my hand, I'm calling out names, what's this bitch do? Comes up behind me and marks me with the sharpie, I wheeled around and smacked her with it and glared at her and she's laughing like ok bitch sorry this fucking game was more important to you than me not having a fucking panic attack. So I go "leave" and she's like "oh come on it's the game-" "I told you if you weren't going to help, then leave. So get out. Now" and she's like "ok damn" so I FINALLY finished everything and I went out to get J and he's like "damn how bad did it go" and I'm like "what" and he goes "idk man you looked pissed off and you're shaking" and I'm like "oh yeah bc SB and ST were fucking around and ST left but SB stayed and pretended to help so she could mark me after I literally said I was super stressed and to not touch me or Bad Things would happen and now Anxiety Has Peaked" and he's like "oh shit sit down when we get in there"

So I be sitting and then SB comes back in and I'm still pussed at her I'm like "you're grading the tests when the kids give them to you and putting the tests in the folders" and me and J helped answer questions after J explained how to grade the tests

So she finished grading then left and me and J high fived like "we almost fucking died but it's all good now"

~

Our boss brought us food and it was Really Fucking Good

~

Gave a child my stand up paddle board in exchange for his normal board and he was hype and so was I bc i hate SUPs

~

Found out at the end of the day that SB graded the tests WRONG and we had to regrade them

~

Dumped ice on SB

~

So I never left the lake yesterday and neither did my friend H bc it be like that sometimes. So we went to a burger place and got fries and shakes and banana splits and it was really good

~

Got cough drops at the 7/11 and H got a slushie and wouldn't stop singing freeze your brain and I was dying and I joined her but then like 4 other people joined in including one of the workers and I was crying

~

So we were doing our rewards ceremony and assistants sit with the instructors up front so we all had to introduce ourselves when our group went up. E and J introduced themselves and people cheered, the other 2 assistants said their names and how long they've been there and stuff but nobody did anything, then it was my turn and I was like "hey what's up I'm JC-" and it was too loud for me to finish right away bc ALL my kids were SCREAMING and the top of their lungs like normal screaming, "woooo", "we love you", normal stuff, then when it was dying down and I was about to finish my thing one of my boys screams "CHEESE BUTT FUNGUS" bc that was our inside joke for the session bc reasons and I was laughing while I finished and one of the supervisors is like wtf

~

I won a leadership award ^-^

~

All my kids ran for me and were crying and hugging me and I'm like "I'll see you guys next summer it's oK"

~

I thanked all the instructors for everything and they're "oml child ;0;" and there was a lot of hugging and crying

~

TL pulled me aside and was like "ok so I might not be here next summer-" and I was like ";0; nooo TL-" and she's like "bruh I'm not done" and told me how proud she is of me and how much I've grown since i was a tiny 12 year old and she hopes I'll have a good life and be more confident with myself and that she can call me her for real coworker in a couple years and I was Crying and so was she and it was a mess

~

I was the last assistant left and I was helping clean up and JJ saw me taking in the last few paddle boards and it like "JC what are you still doing here??? l e a v e" and I was like "oml fine" I said bye to everyone and that I'd see them next summer

[builder051]

If it rains I’ll wear my coat

Bad scribble sketch, but this fic demanded a doodle.  Whoa Bessie (AU featuring Trans Steve and Veteran/Amputee Bucky).  

Contains PTSD and panic attacks.

Steve’s in the middle of talking to a client when somebody knocks on his office door.  He’s set to ignore it and hope whoever it is reads and heeds the in session sign, but after two raps, the knob rattles.  Fury stands in the doorway, his phone to his ear.

The client whips around in her seat.

“It’s ok,” Steve reassures her.  “He’s my boss.”  He gives Fury a pointed look.

“Uh-huh.  Yeah.  One sec.”  Fury holds the phone against his chest as he addresses Steve.  “I’m sorry.  I know you’re busy, but I need to speak to you.  It’s urgent.”

“I apologize,” Steve tells the client as he gets to his feet.  “We’ll reschedule, and I’ll make sure you’re not billed for today.”

“Rogers.”  Fury beckons for him to follow, then resumes his call.  “Yeah, I’ll put you on speaker here in a second.”  He heads for an empty conference room across the hall and kicks away the door stop.

“What’s going on?” Steve asks, his heart thrumming as his head works out a thousand different possible situations, most involving James, and none of them good.

“Ok, you’re strong in a crisis, but try not to freak out on me,” Fury starts.  He’s a good manager, and a good man, but it’s times like these when Steve’s forcibly reminded that his supervisor’s experience lies firmly in the realm of physical health.  He respects psychiatry and counseling, but well-intended slip-ups are unfortunately common.

Steve takes a breath, acutely aware of his heart rate continuing to rise.  “Ok.”

“Local PD gives me a courtesy call when they think they’re picking up one of ours,” Fury says, sitting on the edge of the conference table.  “And, uh, today they picked up yours.”

“What?”

“Barnes was wandering around, having a breakdown, and someone called the cops.  They have protocols, but any additional insight helps.  And usually they try to follow our guidance.”

“Oh god.”  Steve’s hand instinctively comes over his mouth.  “Oh shit.”

James is on some street corner falling apart, and it’s entirely Steve’s fault.  He’s gotten lazy and lax, and now there’s a price to be paid.  Guilt hits him like a wallop to the stomach.

They stayed up too late last night.  Steve should’ve put his foot down at midnight, but something about The Rocky Horror Picture Show jogged James’s memory and he started reminiscing about college.  After a year of watching him try and fail to access the details of anything before Afghanistan, Steve couldn’t bring himself to stop him.

Then chatting turned to love-making, which turned to drowsing, which turned to nightmarish thrashing, and the spell had broken at 4:30.  They’d gone to watch TV again, this time in silence.

When Steve had set coffee and a paper cup of pills on the side table and given him a kiss on the forehead, James had looked at him and smiled before glazing over again and returning his attention to Nova.  Steve could claim sleep deprivation or excessive hope and trust, but they’re just excuses.  He should’ve stayed five extra minutes and made sure James took his meds and started the morning right.  But he hadn’t.  He’d left.

“Rogers?”  Fury raises his brows at Steve while he presses buttons on his phone.  “I got Officer Coulson on the line.  He’s a good dude.  We used to work together.”

“Hello?” A voice says from the other end of the line.

They’re on speaker.  Steve needs to pull himself together.  “Yes, hello.  This is Steve Rogers.”

“Ok, Mr. Rogers,” Coulson says.  “We’re responding to call about an individual in distress.  He’s conscious and responsive, but not able to communicate.  Behaving violently toward officers, but scared, and maybe in pain.”

“Yeah, that’s,” Steve starts.  “He does that.  He has PTSD.  He dissociates.”

“We called for an ambulance,” Coulson continues.  “It’s obvious he’s having a medical episode, but I don’t think he’ll respond any better to that—”

“Yeah, he definitely won’t.”  Steve jams his hands into his pockets, closing his fist around his keys.  “I can come get him.”

“Ok, sure.”  Coulson gives him the cross streets.

It’s around the corner from the VA, near the block of apartments where James had lived for a few months when he first returned to civilian life.  “Give me ten minutes,” Steve says.

“Sure,” Coulson replies.  “Just, do you have any form of ID for him?  Nick’s pretty sure it’s James Barnes from the description, but, like I said, he’s not talking to us.”

“Yeah, um…”  If James is that far gone, who knows if he has his phone or his wallet.  Steve wonders if James’s entry at the top of his list of contacts will count.

Fury sets his phone down on the table and quickly wakes the laptop on the podium in the corner.  He holds up one finger as he taps a few keys.  “Copy of his VA ID card is on the printer now.”

“Yeah, I do,” Steve says.  He mouths thank you to Fury.

“And you’re a family member?”  Coulson presses.  “I’m sorry, I have to ask.  Just for everybody’s safety.”

They’re close to two decades into the 21st century.  Steve shouldn’t be embarrassed to call their relationship what it is.  But even then, finding the right word is difficult.  He’s thought about it before, how challenging it is to sum up what James is to him, and he still hasn’t come to a good conclusion.  There’s no time to think now, though, so he says the simplest thing.  “He’s my partner.”  Then he adds, “I’m his emergency contact,” so there’s no space for argument.

Steve sees Fury pulling up James’s patient profile on the screen, too, the one that shows his relatives.  Steve tops the list, even though nothing binds them together but emotion.  One of the cases where water collects enough sediment and dissolved minerals to be thicker than blood.

“On the printer too.”  Fury points to the screen.  Steve nods.

“Good deal,” Coulson says.  “See you soon.”

“Ok.  Yes.  Thank you.”  Steve’s already halfway to the door before Fury returns to the table to end the call.  He can hear Coulson murmuring through the static as he fumbles with his own phone.  Steve’s coming, ok, Jimmy?  Steve Rogers.  It’s the wrong nickname.  But the right sentiment.

“Take the rest of the day,” Fury says, keeping pace as Steve jogs down the corridor to grab the documents from the office hub.  “I’ll clear your schedule.”

“Thank you.”  Steve realizes he’s not breathing, and sucks in a quick lungful.  “I’m sorry about this.”  The words tumble out, his body desperate to shed some of the stress so he can deal with the more pressing issues at hand.  “I probably could’ve prevented it.”

“Nobody sees emergencies coming.”  Fury claps him on the shoulder and holds the side door open for Steve.  “And this is well within the definition of what your sick time will cover.”

Steve’s timecard is the last thing on his mind.  “Thanks,” he says again.

“Hey.”  Fury gives him a meaningful look with his real eye while the glass one seems to stare through Steve.  “Call me if you’re gonna be out tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees as he walks backward toward his car.  “I will.”

Fury nods and gives him a smile.

***

The lights of the police cars are visible halfway down the block, but at least there aren’t any sirens to add to what has to already be an overwhelming amount of sensory input.  Steve pulls up to the curb and jumps out, papers shaking in his hands.

James is on his knees with his head resting on the bench at the bus stop.  His hand is fisted in his hair, and what’s visible of his face is ghostly pale.

“Are you Steve?”  An officer rushes up to meet him, interrupting his beeline.

“Yeah.”  Steve pushes the documents at him, trying to swallow his guilt and borderline panic and drudge up a calm frame of mind.

“Phil Coulson,” the officer says.  “We spoke on the phone.”

“Yeah.”  Steve can’t concentrate on him, though.  James makes an uncomfortable sound, and Steve’s stomach twists in response.  He notices the ambulance parked behind the cop cars, EMTs standing nearby.  “I think if I can just get him home…”  Plans are good, for everyone involved.  “He has a TBI.  Post-traumatic stress, a seizure disorder,” Steve explains.  “I’m pretty sure he forgot his meds this morning.”

It’s not James’s fault that he forgot.  It’s Steve’s fault. 

James groans again and mumbles something.  He blinks hard, but doesn’t look up from the bench’s chipped paint.

“Sure, we’ll stand by,” Coulson says.

Steve runs the last few steps to James’s side, but slows as he lowers himself into a squat.  “Hey, Buck.  Hey.  It’s me, ok?  It’s Steve.”

“Hm.”  James moves his jaw around, but no other sounds come out.

“Can you look at me?”  Steve hovers his hand over James’s arm.  He wants to jump straight to hugging him, but it’s better to go slow.  “I’m gonna touch your shoulder, just letting you know I’m here.”

James is too far gone to process the warning, and he lashes out as soon as Steve’s palm makes contact with his sleeve.  He catches a snag in his hair, and Steve can see strands of it clinging in the webbing between his fingers.  There’s no power behind the blow.  It glances off Steve’s chest, and he uses the opportunity to sandwich James’s hand between his own.

Coulson moves in Steve’s peripheral vision.  “We’re good.  It’s ok,” he tells the officer.  Then he gently squeezes James’s hand.  “You’re home.  Let’s bring you back, ok?”

James blinks again.  He turns his head a fraction of an inch so he can squint sideways at Steve.  There’s a second of recognition, then glassy dizziness again.  He swallows.  “I…  I don’t…” he mumbles.

“It’s ok, Buck.  You’re in DC.  It’s 2018.  It’s getting cold out.”  Steve thinks frantically of other sensory absolutes to point out, ones that won’t be further triggering.

“What’re you…?”  James shakes his head.  It starts slow, then the movement becomes a tremor, shaking his cheeks and his lips.  “You gotta…stop the fucking car…you’re gonna…hit another one…”  His voice dies with a wet sound.

“Ok, ok, Buck?  Look at me.”  But it’s no use.  He’s either going to throw up or start seizing.  James lunges away from the bench, but Steve still has his hand, and he snaps back like a stretched rubber band.  He face-plants into Steve’s chest just as he starts to gag.

Steve couldn’t care less about the mess or the dull ache from the impact of James’s forehead against his sternum.  All that matters is the twitch of tension in James’s hand as his fingers slowly interlace with Steve’s.

“Alright.  There you go.  It’s ok,” Steve murmurs.  He rubs James’s back until he’s done coughing.  “You’re safe.  I got you.”

James leans into him, pressing his face and the front of his neck and his shoulders against Steve’s body.  Steve returns the embrace, dipping his head till his nose brushes James’s back.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but eventually adrenaline wears off, and Steve’s knees ache from being jammed against the cold pavement.  He strokes James’s hair and whispers, “How about we go home?”

James takes a breath.  He’s not up to talking.  Steve still gets the meaning.  He’s heavy and limp like an overcooked noodle, but at least now he’s pliant.

“Ok.  Good.”  Steve plants his feet and slowly straightens his legs, heaving James up with him.  Coulson appears at his elbow, ready to help, but Steve warns him off.  “Don’t.  I got him.”  He pulls James’s arm over his shoulders.  “Sorry.  He just—”

“Isn’t good with strangers,” the officer finishes.  “I get it.”  He looks down at the splatter of sick on Steve’s jeans.  “You need medical, or anything?”

“No, it’s ok, really.”  Steve struggles to free his keys from his pocket.  “But can you help me unlock the car?”

Coulson holds the passenger side open while Steve settles James in the seat.  “Thank you,” he sighs.  “I’m really sorry about all this.”  Steve gently shuts the door and rubs his forehead with the heel of his hand.  “We’ve usually got things better under control.”

“Hey, no worries.  Everybody’s safe, and that’s what really matters.”  The officer gives Steve the keys back, then raises his hand in farewell and heads for his cruiser.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes.  “I guess so.”

***

He drives below the speed limit, then shuffles James across the parking lot and into the apartment.  The coffee and pills from this morning are still on the table beside the couch, but they don’t get that far before James is done with being vertical.

“Whoa.  Ok.”  Steve catches him around the waist before he hits the floor and slowly lowers him the rest of the way.  James gets a fistful of Steve’s collar, yanking his neckline down a few inches and begging Steve to hold him with everything but actual words.

Steve whispers to him and rubs his shoulders and matches his breathing to James’s, imagining the puffs of warmth on his chest feeding him with a little strength that he can foster and pass back to James on the next exhale.

It works for a while, but James starts to shake again.  He makes a humming noise, and Steve feels dampness on his shirt.  At first he thinks James is sick again, but when he pulls his head back to look down, he realizes James is crying.

Tears aren’t bad.  Steve tells that to his clients all the time.  Sometimes they’re necessary.  Emotional purging works very much in the same way as its physical counterpart: sometimes things just need to come up.

“It’s ok,” Steve soothes.  “It’s ok.  You’re ok.”

James pauses sniveling to listen to Steve’s voice, but then he sobs again, air gusting from his lips and making the wetness cold against Steve’s skin.  The vomit on his leg is cold too.  But the tears that run from the corners of his own eyes are hot.  He’d hug James all day and into the night, but he also can’t take this anymore.  The physical weight of him is too much on top of the weight of the responsibility Steve feels for him.

“Let’s get you to bed, alright?”  Steve manhandles James into the bedroom as gently as he can, then unlaces his shoes and tucks him in.  He catches a teardrop with his thumb and kisses James’s stubbly cheek, promising he’ll only be gone a minute.

It takes him longer, though.  Steve stops in the hallway and fights to keep his face from crumpling.  One deviation from routine, one skipped dose, and this is already where they’re at.

It might just be a bad day.  James had had a rough night.  Maybe if he’d slept, he’d be fine.  Or if it was warmer outside.  If Steve had just stayed and watched him swallow his pills, this wouldn’t have happened.

Or maybe if Steve wasn’t always coming up behind him, he’d pick up some more self-sufficiency.  No matter how he slices it, it’s his fault.  The pressure of tears yet unshed makes Steve’s head ache, but he’ll take the pain if it saves him from falling apart.

He strips out of his jeans in the guest bathroom and leaves them in the tub, then pads down the hall in his underwear.  He grabs James’s meds and fills a glass with water.  He digs crackers out of the cupboard, then looks over the spread.  Steve’s about to take it all back to the bedroom when he changes his mind and opens the drawer of pill bottles.

The benzos don’t do much for James’s sleep patterns, so he doesn’t take them.  Occasional insomnia is a joke of a diagnosis anyway; the sleeplessness is hardly a problem compared to the nightmares that cause it.  

He doesn’t like pills that make a fuzz his head, he’d told Steve.  But James is already in a fuzz.  What he needs now is rest.  Steve does too, and he knows he won’t get any if he spends the next couple hours with his heart breaking into smaller and smaller pieces as he listens to James cry.  

There are already four medications in the paper cup, a motley collection of capsules and tablets.  Steve can add one more.  James probably won’t even notice.

***

“Here, let’s take your meds,” Steve says, helping him sit up.  It’s not a lie.  They’re all James’s meds.

James complies without question, even shoving against the mattress with his shaking arm so Steve doesn’t have to do all the work.  He knocks back the pills and swallows a few times, squinting as if it hurts.

“I’m sorry, Buck,” Steve whispers.

James slumps back toward the pillow, reaching for Steve’s hand.  “Steve,” he whispers, drawing out the name until it’s just a breath.

“Yeah.  I’m here.”  Steve forces a smile.  He perches on the edge of the mattress and watches James’s eyes drift shut.

Once he’s breathing evenly, Steve changes clothes and retreats to the kitchen.  He downs a dose of ibuprofen and shovels cold leftovers into his mouth until his throat’s too tight to swallow.  He drops his fork and folds his arms on the table.  He pushes his chair out, then buries his face in his sleeves, wondering if he’s any more put-together than James was when he was breaking down at the bus stop.  Tears aren’t bad, Steve thinks to himself.  He repeats it over a few times, just to be sure he doesn’t forget.

It’s a miracle that logic kicks back in once the weeping tapers off.  Or maybe it’s just his protective instinct playing up again.  Steve peeks in on James, and once he’s sure he’s alright for the time being, he starts a load of wash and does the dishes.

He wanted a few hours of quiet, needed it, in fact, but now it’s too quiet.  Steve opens his laptop and fires up Pandora, but after five minutes he’s out of skips. and still restless.  He calls Sam and puts him on speaker.

“Hey,” Sam greets him.  “I heard what happened.  How’s he doing?”

“He’s ok,” Steve says.  “He just dissociated.  Panicked.  Got sick.”  The need to act, to keep cleaning up, gnaws at him.  He opens a new browser and clicks through the process to order James a medic alert necklace.  “He’s asleep now.”

“Well, that’s good,” Sam says.  “I mean, that he’s getting through it.  And no seizure this time.”

“Yeah, no seizure.”  Steve stares at the computer screen, wondering how on earth this is going to help.  He’s treating James like a stray dog he’s deciding to keep for his own.  Or throwing him back to the Army, with his name on a tag around his neck.  Just with Steve’s phone number instead of a serial.

“But…it’s all my fault, Sam,” Steve whispers.  Not just today.  Everything.  James had joined the Army for Steve.  To support him.  Then, after they’d fought about it, to get away from him.  

And now Steve’s doing the same thing.  Escaping. Slipping drugs to his medically fragile significant other when he needs a break to cry.  At least James had only risked his own life when he’d signed on.  It was gallant.  Steve feels disgusting by comparison.

“Steve.  Hey.  I’m not your kind of therapist, but I’m pretty sure you’re wrong.”  Sam pauses.  “Mistaken beliefs?  Is that what they’re called?  You know I don’t always pay attention in seminars.”

Steve chuckles.  “That’s right, actually.  You’d probably make a better counselor than I would right now.”

“I’ll drop off my resumé,” Sam laughs.  “But I’m serious.  We spend so much time on our patients, our clients.  It’s hard when it’s a loved one.  And it makes it even harder when you realize your limits.”

“I just ordered him a dog tag,” Steve blurts out.  It’s suddenly hilarious instead of sad, and it makes him question his sanity a little.

“That’s a good thing.  What does it say?  ‘If lost, return to Steve Rogers’?”

“Just about.”  Steve sighs and wipes his eyes.  “I just…  I really love him, Sam.  I don’t want to hurt him.  I don’t want him to hurt.  At all.  Ever.”

“You’re doing good,” Sam says firmly.  “Not everything turns out perfect, but overall, you’re doing good.”

“Hm.”  Steve’s still not entirely convinced, but Sam’s words are reassuring.

“Do you want to order a pizza?”

“What?”  Steve wonders if he heard right.

“Since I’m applying for everybody’s job, I thought I’d add pizza delivery boy to the list.  And I didn’t want to straight-up ask if you wanted company.  Since I’m not that kind of therapist.”  Steve can practically see his friend’s grin.

“Yeah,” Steve says.  “I could use some pizza.  And company.  We could use company.”

“Alright.  See you in 20?”

“Sure.”  Steve closes his laptop.  “Sounds good.”

[joeltaylorredden]

I had died every day waiting for you and it scarred me, and you too from what you’ve told me. I’ve loved you for thousands of years and all along I believed I’d find you. The one, the TRUE one. You’re the one I was always searching for by not settling for anything less than love. Like shit, I didn’t know what love was at the time but I went through trial and error figuring out what it wasn’t. I spent countless months to years afraid of settling for anything less than pure magic in such slim hopes to one day find the one with the other half of my heart or die completely alone. I’ve believed there was that ONE in this world of 7 billion with the other half of my soul/heart since I first learned what “love” was and that’s my idea of a fairytale because what are the odds? I was going to find that one or die trying. Because that’s always been the driving force to get me to keep standing, because everything else in this life seems so empty if there’s no one there to speak your language, view the world through the same eyes. Find interests and passion in the perfectly right things. Someone that will never let you feel alone in this full but yet so empty planet. How did you manage to fill all the missing pieces in my heart from the moment I met you. It wasn’t simply hope because that isn’t promised and Personally it would be a disgrace to try to explain the way it felt to meet my 1 in 7 billion with emotions. Because it isn’t a fleeting feeling when you meet the one. It’s a feeling that will never leave. People talk about what’s inevitable but the only thing In this whole life I’ve been 100% sure of is the moment it turned from grey to color. I’ve done almost every drug out there but none could replace the feeling I feel in her presence when she would laugh behind that beautiful voice while saying something along the classy lines of “go fuck yourself” and close in on me reminding me with her brushing touch that comforted me in new weirdly odd fulfilling way like a small healthy meal that fills you up better than a heaping load of junk food can. I’ve never experienced physical comfort like that because I’ve always hated hugs since I can remember. With a look in her eyes that spoke to me in a language only I was built to decipher to read “you are home ” because I’ve come to learn that actions speak louder than words ever will. I can now start to understand looking back, she loved me way more than I realized. Because the whole time its all really up in the air we all know the best moments are the ones that are happening without knowing

Or putting a title on it, and when we met and starting talking a huge sign didn’t appear in the sky saying “YOU FOUND YOUR SOULMATE” that would of made it too easy and it just doesn’t work like that because it would mess up a huge section in the journey and steps of passion we experienced like a game of “poke the bear” okay alyvia did have some bear alpha energy but probably not the best simile but we can just say we’d both been in constant back to back to back “relationships” that were truly nothing ideal to the romance we have had imagined and dreamed of growing up watching lion king and Cinderella, where there’s no cheating, no lieing , no abuse just pure faith and trust and fun in the one who caught their eyes and it was truly a remarkable beautiful story.

Welllll I wanted that faith and trust love story shit since before I could even remember

I was I true romantic inspired by the one and only Taylor swift.

But through the years I just loved and loved and poured every ounce of my faith in a girl and in return I got zilch, given up on, bored of , felt as if I was some freak show for conveying real emotions feelings and care.

So I learned after the third strike out and crying my eyes TF out in my dads basement at 16 after visualizing a whole 30 year plan talking getting married and kids and the house with a girl that barely knows my last name…

Heartbreak hurts when it’s the first pretty girl that you thought was out of your league gives you a chance has a car and even gives you your 2nd kiss and totally just disappears when I thought we were gonna get engaged and be high school sweethearts. This generations majority became to shy away from the high school sweethearts thing so they could just have a free for all “having fun” to find their spouse in college so it’s “less work more fun”

As for me, I wanted my princess. The one that would commit & follow our dreams happily together no questions. It doesn’t have to be that hard right? Just find a pretty girl and be cool enough for her to want to stick around.

I tried that andd I found out I love wayyyy too hard . I would date girls that I didn’t think were all that great but I had hope, like no butterflies in any sense. No connection just a beginner at this “I’ll be your Prince Charming stuff” and I thought every guy just picked girls they saw potential in and they both just grew together from scratch as long as they both agree to commit and work on it it’s gonna go somewhere.

Welp I found out pretty fast i didn’t feel like Prince Charming regardless how hard we worked on the relationship like it was a boat we each took turns working on and both hopped in. anything deserving to be called Romantic was all just for the movies at this point in my life because I would Find myself either bored out of my mind with a girl that I didn’t vibe with In any category expect the fact She was a girl I was a boy. Gave up on the L train it became just a waste of time and was pretty draining.

And on the other side of things I go for a girls just for their looks because I didn’t really understand personality and morals back then so I’d get totally turned inside out by some girls who were totally lost for love because james kissed lainas best friend in 5th grade now she doesn’t trust fuckboys” and hooks up with any male or female that gives her attention that one night and THAT SHIT starts a domino effect of everyone wants to have fun but not get close to anyone so they’re heart won’t get broken, the first few hookups might get hooked but male or female will just move on within the hour or week with someone new because one “just wasn’t feeling it”

I saw this all play out before me before I had ever “Hooked up” (had sex) with a girl and I swore I wasn’t going to be like any of them because I’m a romantic and I’m gonna “fall in love” with the girl I first have sex with like how could I not. So skip the bs I date a girl she’s never had sex just like me. So she’s head over heels for me and I think she’s beautiful but she’s just different, like we gotta different vibe going on internally but since we’re both 8s and we could atleast look romantic together we’re just gonna look like hoes if we breakup and move on to someone else.

Also this is my first real intimate gf that’s on the same energy as me and attraction that I’m not scared of or bored she just looks good and we had an alright when we’d hangout, but my shitty ass friends at the time got it stuck in my brain I had to have sex soon with someone or I’ll be the “loser” so my eyes were on one prize and that’s where I lost my dignity I believe. We ended up getting closer and closer to booking up every time and then finally did, on the floor so my bed wouldn’t squeak with my stepmom upstairs and the door open. It was pathetic.

Felt good for a second but I was pictured it being so much better than, that…

So the people I was hanging out with at the time made fun of me for talking to that girl so what does any 17 year old do trying to have a reputation for a bunch of nobodys that think they can run other people’s lives morals and fantasies by embarrassment.

I break up with her. find a new girl bring her to a kick back and take her upstairs to this old

Guys water bed and have a 8 sec ride looking back it felt like 8 minutes 😂😂 but hell naw it was 8 pumps if that 😂 we go back downstairs and I expect to chill all night with this girl w her on me at the party like she was my date. But naw she hooked up w one person I came with in less than 30 seconds of me coming down stairs with her. That doesn’t feel good either…

Plus one more guy after him…

I had it, I was done feeling with my heart and thought it was time to just feel with my you know what, so since I left my morals on the floor in my basement I would wait for any people I would hangout with to bring a girl around and I’d swoop her up because it had been done to me.

I came to realize some shit doesn’t feel good regardless if there’s a reward with it.

Because now that I’m texting my homies date behind his back that made my conscience eat at me twice as hard and then I got my turn and fell for the girl who was obviously for everybody but i was new so I believed whatever her preying cute face would tell me and get me to do for her. Because this generations relationships became a scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours till we get bored type of deal and you dont want to be caught dead as a hopeless romantic in this fucked up society of hos and manhos or you’re gonna go under and never come back because drinking is a high school over the counter medication for depression or sadness, and if you were cool enough you’d do coke once or twice then three times and shit I’ll do four and five I already came this far anddddd then a gram a night then an ounce and then selling the cocaine and it’s a lot bigger deal than realized and jail happens. Then it’s a spiral of fucking bullshit.

From friends dying of overdoses to getting clamydia to being insecure about what the people at school heard about what happened over the weekend. The people who said They had you forget when your face down in the dirt and they talked you into doing drugs that would start a new chapter of my life

Called love isn’t real ,fuck bitches ,be broke and homeless with three new addictions and no sign or thought of a future because I just want to get fucked up to not feel sad anymore cause of that girl and my I thought all bestfriends/ brothers just did me sideways for the 20th time I was so obvious that some people really aren’t genuine and don’t even know what a real friend is because all they know is the next face is either a liability or an asset. I hate it. I can say I played a part in the dumb shit and wasn’t the true me and looking back now I was very lost and that’s why I decided to start keeping record of the ones who do the things that friends don’t do and mark em off the list regardless of who they were because I was so ready to live a real life with real friends because I’ve only been surrounded by traiters and I’m not buying it anymore, only very strong willed people can become something better then the way they were raised up and the morals that were put in place and I haven’t really met many at all so I just am gonna take the easy route this time and gonna stay away off in my own lane.

I shoulda done it way earlier, coulda learned from j cole 3 times and fuck the peace sign.

I just wanted some friends cause there was no family for me at home regardless of what I did.

Never good enough , got what a thought was a dream girlfriend who was my ride or die for 5 years but did things out of spite to me like hookup with my friends I called brothers literally. I don’t think I ever loved her truthfully she was just really pretty and chill kinda just rode with the good but didn’t have too much of a plan or dreams like I did and that is another sign I should of taken more serious, because one thing I’ve learned is no one ever grows from the way they came so don’t wait for someone to go back to the way they were because it’ll never happen everything In this world is either evolving up or there are things diminishing down if someone has changed the chances of fully restoring them after life experience it’s a absolute 0% unless you have a memory eraser device but even then if there’s a change there’s no way we can go to exactly exactly the way it was, even the world is evolving every moment, so if someone misses the “old you” that was a thought of you just a mere figment of their imagination. Its better if you move to bigger and better things and if you wish for them to be in your life don’t dwell on it too much because if they are good for you and that means they believe in the best you, they’ll take the step forward to initiate the relationship again, but if you’re doing great and they still can’t find the peace of mind to love you exactly for who you are it’s time you get what you’ve always deserved and put your focus forward or your blessing that is twice as worth the time than your backwards or you’re gonna lose them all going back down to who you evolved from!

I finally found closure when she reminded me of my dad. Not on my team and just a boring ass time anytime we’d be together she literally was just pretty and that’s all she was to me, she didn’t know how to entertain or have a relationship, there might of been some downs but if you love someone you adapt to whatever situation conflict and confession then I met this girl who interested me and I spent a lot of time with her but the fact she wasn’t willing to put her pride aside fucked with the relationship, I was used in ways by her and she was caught up in another guy when I confessed that I was really really into her but the sad thing is she just didn’t respect her self enough, and I was on and off with her for a while and she fucked with my heart because it was my first try at something real after a while of being scared of commitment and being totally played by the long term ex, then one night the newer girls friend maya decided to link me with her friend in Denver so we could go to her boyfriends work and we pulled up at her house in bfe Denver to me at the time

And it’s hard to remember all the full details of the night but I remember that I was single for once in my life like actually single and committed to being that

but then I met her…

right now because mine read those words only to her and it feels as if these eyes were made for the sole purpose of .

[kpop--fics]

Accidental meetings - Park Jinyoung fluff

Summary:  ‘You moved to a new country and didn't know anyone yet, but you keep bumping into the same guy.’

Word count: 1.975

---

“Yes!” You screamed through your house. Well, technically not anymore. You had bought a home in South Korea, where you would be studying to become a teacher. It had been your dream ever since you were a small child, and now that it finally was reality, you couldn’t help but scream from happiness.

Well, anyways, you wouldn’t actually be moving in until next Friday, but still, you were still really excited.

“Y/N! Care to keep it down just a little bit?!” Your current roommate, Jess, screamed from the direction of the kitchen. “Oh crap! Sorry!” You yelled back, trying to keep quiet a bit. Keyword trying.

A few days later, the day had finally come after lots of waiting and stressing. “Just go! It’s your dream, live your life woman!” Jess said, giving you a little pep talk while pushing you further to your destined plane. “Won’t you be lonely? Will you survive without me?” You worried. “Yeah, I will, don’t worry about me! Just catch that plane, please!” She almost yelled when she saw your plane was ready for departure.

“You’re right. Well, I guess this is goodbye!” You said as cheerfully as possible while hugging her. “Don’t be so dramatic and run, woman!” Jess yelled in between a few tears. “Okay, I will!” You screamed back from the other side of the airport.

Sure enough, a long ass flight later, you arrived at Seoul. “Thank god that plane ride is over.” You sighed. To be honest, you never really were the kind to set foot on a plane, but seeing you didn’t exactly live close to South-Korea, you just haven’t had another choice.

Right when you exited the airport, you walked into a chest of someone a big taller than you, and almost fell over, if it wasn’t for the fact that the same person caught you in time. “I’m sorry, I should have looked where I was going. Are you alright?” He asked you, seeming to be in quite a hurry.

“Yeah, I guess I am. Thank you for catching me.” You bowed, and continued your walk to your new house. Looking back one more time, you figured the strange man already left the entrance of the airport, and vanished in the crowd inside.

Well, it’s time I found the way to my house. Now… where to go?” You mumbled out loud, hoping that nobody would have heard your little rambling right then. Luckily, no one did and you could start your search to your apartment.

 Having arrived in front of the door, you knocked three times, and a friendly face opened the door. In short, you now lived together with a guy named Minhyuk, who is a very lively and funny person.

“Oh, that reminds me Y/n: we still need some milk. Can you get it from the store real quick? It’s not far from here!” He almost begged you. Nodding, you took the directions with you. Minhyuk had written them on a post-it note, for your convenience.

Arriving at the closest store not that much later, you entered, starting your adventure to search for the milk. It wasn’t soon until you found it in the right corner of the store. You were in quite a hurry, so you took a small sprint to the right spot, and…

Boom.

There you were, sitting on the ground. “Huh?” You muttered, not sure what had happened just now. You looked up, curious what could have caused your fall. “Hey, it’s you again!” A laughing voice sounded in your eyes.

“Nice to see you again, too.” You added sarcastically, and tried to stand up. Only, you stood up too fast, which caused you to be dizzy. “Whoa, careful there.” The stranger said, and supported you with his right arm around your waist. You blushed at the sudden contact, not expecting that to happen at all.

“So… I never really got your name.” You chuckled, looking at him. “Oh, how rude of me. I’m Jinyoung.” “I’m Y/n, nice to meet you I guess.” You laughed some more.

“Hyung! We really have to go now!” A faint voice sounded from the other side of the store. “Oh, that’s my cue. I hope I bump into you again!” He exclaimed, and walk away rapidly.

“Weird.” You said out loud, continuing your search for the milk. The only thing that you couldn’t shake off of you was the lingering warmth of Jinyoung’s arm around your waist.

 Quickly after your milk adventure, Minhyuk sent you out to explore the neighbourhood. “If you are going to live here, it’s better to know where you’re going, right?” Was his argument. “And you’re not going with me?” “Bingo. I think you can handle this! Besides, I’m a very busy man, you know.”

When he said this, he was sitting on the couch, watching his favourite show. “Of course. Well, see you later then. If I get kidnapped, it’s your fault! Bye!” You yelled as a goodbye, and closed the door.

“Where to start…” You asked no one in particular. In the end, you decided to pay the local market a little visit. It might come in handy, you never know.

After walking around for about an hour, you came to stand in front of a little stall that sold books. You decided to walk closer, to examine if they would sell any English books, considering you still didn’t really managed the Korean language.

Right when you were about to be in front of the stall, you bumped into something. Or, rather, someone again.

“Jinyoung! What are you doing here?” You asked, your voice filled with curiosity. “I like reading books. I assume the same goes for you?” You nodded at his assumption, and continued to look for any good books.

“Say, do you have any good recommendations?” You asked the boy standing next to you. He hesitated a few seconds, and then took a book from one of the many piles. “This is a really good one, you might want to try it!” He said.

“I will then. Thank you very much!” You stated while you paid for the book. Afterwards, you turned around again, but Jinyoung was already lost in the crowd again.

 A few days later, you had completely clicked with Minhyuk. You two were constantly bickering over food, watching movies together and even had little sleepovers in each other’s rooms. You could say you were as close as you were able to be.

“Y/n?” Minhyuk asked from the couch were he was laying upside down. With a small hum, you signalled him to continue. “I’m bored. Do you know anything we could do?” With a little bit of thinking, you listed a few ideas. “We could go bowling, or skiing, or go to the movies?” The boy on the other side of the living room seemed completely in thought. I fact, it seemed he was as serious as if his life depended on it. He must be really bored, you figured.

“Bowling sounds great!” He suddenly exclaimed and jumped from the couch, ready to put on his shoes. “Come on Y/n, we don’t have all day!” He screamed, excitedly running around the house. “Hey! Don’t do that with your shoes on!” You scolded, chasing him on your socks.

After some bickering, you had put on your shoes and left your little apartment. “So, where can you go bowling here?” You asked the tall boy walking next to you. “It’s just around the corner, really. You should pay some attention to your surroundings sometimes!” He teased you while ruffling your hair. “Hey, the fact that you’re one year older doesn’t mean that much!” You pouted back, which made him laugh.

Not long after, you two entered the bowling place. It had this kind of familiar vibe to it, you absolutely loved it. “We wish to go bowling.” Minhyuk said to the person behind the bar. “Of course. Just you two?” After he nodded, the man after the bar continued. “All right, lane number five is free. You can use that one for two hours.”

Switching your shoes, you mentally made a note to absolutely beat Minhyuk. Little did he know, you were on the bowling team in your home country. You smirked, ready to beat his sorry ass.

“Y/n? You coming?” Minhyuk asked from where he stood, almost already at the destined lane. “Yeah, just a sec!” You screamed, putting your original shoes away. “Ready!” You exclaimed, having taken your place next to Minhyuk.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, it became obvious you wouldn’t lose. No matter how much Minhyuk might have done this , you were on another level. “Y/n, this is not fair! You never told me you were as good as a professional!” Minhyuk pouted, which was kind of cute. You were just laughing at his cute face, when you heard a few voices next to you.

At some point in time, another group must have come in, you figured. There were seven people, which weren’t exactly quiet, to put it that way. You scanned their faces, and they seemed a bit… familiar. “Where have I seen them before?” You asked yourself, not too sure. “Them? Oh, they are Got7. You know, the kpop band?” The boy next to you filled in your blank.

“Of course!” You chuckled, and continued bowling. After a while, you heard some screams from the lane next to you. You looked up at the score boards, and you had the exact same score as someone from the other group. You looked at the name next to it, and…

No way.

Jinyoung was just as good at bowling as you were. It was his turn to throw, and sure enough, he threw another spare. I can do better than that, I can beat him. That’s what was continued inside your head the entire time.

You took a little run and threw your bowling ball. You watched it roll down the lane with the most intense stare you had ever had on your face. “Strike!” Minhyuk screamed and hugged you. You were only one strike away from beating your high score.

The boys next to you seemed to have gone wild at your strike, seeing you were better than one of them. You looked at Jinyoung and smirked, planning to win in front of his face. He looked quite shocked at that gesture, but got himself together soon and smirked right back.

He threw again, and this time, it was a strike. “Dammit.” You cursed under your breath, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Jinyoung. It was your turn again, and you threw the bowling ball again. This time, it knocked over 9 pins. You threw another time, and sure enough, you knocked over the last pin.

Both of your games finished around the same time, and you walked to fetch your shoes, only to be blocked by an extended hand. You looked up, and there stood Jinyoung. “Good game, Y/n.” He said, seeming to be honestly impressed by  your skills.

“I can say the same thing, Jinyoung!” You smiled back while shaking his hand. “This is not over. What do you say about a re-match next week?” He proposed, having your attention.

“Does he know her?” A few muffling voices like that could be heard from the rest of his friends. “Hyung! Are you asking her out?” The youngest male, which you knew was Yugyeom, called out. You blushed at the sound of his words. “Maybe. What do you think, Y/n?” He asked, eager to hear your answer.

“So it’s a date, huh?” You asked boldly. Now, it was Jinyoung’s time to blush. “I like her Jinyoung! Keep her!” Jackson yelled from his place on another chair in the building.

“Well, I can’t say no to that.” He said, smiling at you.

[mooncookee]

QUIVER

You see the soul drips low down where the dirt holds and lip licks upside trees and rubs it's scent up in the leaves so every bee passin' flags its tale. In frets and waggles, tails a kites lets                                                     or a dragonfly drags, they sing out in trails of Halle-lu-jah stretches up, up to heaven' but the land; sees it. Land, it never forgets. No, see? The land never forgets.

It breathes in frequencies sometimes only wolves can bear. Now and then a cat or two might howl but hounds, they just too house broke, cozy, may a' bit too lazy for caring. Some ground just stares; some rumbles like mountain claws strummin' on drum skins. Some been rubbed too much.

 I'm told it growls like that at Shiloh and Antietam, And Vietnam's a locomotive hauling coal down where they stokin' Hell. So they tell. Well it's that kinda hum across the tracks as Quiver Lane backs up to Bayou Self.

Once it crossed there but Betsy or Audrey washed it out; maybe was a hurricane

way 'fore storms got names. No one cared to build it back or cared not to. True that.                                                                        

When Emmalite Petit came to name it Quivers for the way the silver willows shiver in the silver light of night everything changed.

Tragedy and Misery, ain't they so the loudest, overstaying cousins? And seems we never see the sunshine when they visit.   Poor Lita (her prayer given greeting) lived beneath a concrete cloud of loud and overstayin' cousins. They raved a regular hoedown, throw-down, hootenanny, fais do do with a neon rainbow and a disco ball. And I mean cousins, uncles et al. Damn Murder, Curser, Fever and Famine fired it up and washed it blue down there with Deluge.                                                                                        

First her Baby, gone. Her Daddy then her ‘nother Baby, husband, husband, baby, Mama; all lost quick as windblown sand.

 Some say Curser was first to sup. Before Choctaw pushed the Houmas through, before people were more than The People, angels and demons had drama there. In that, I'm told, can't be a winner. Seems Quiver Lane began to quiver long fore Lil’ Lita came for dinner or every time.                                                              

She came like plagues o' Moses. "Note-he-damn-us" speculated they's a Moses lain in every sack of sins.

So said, Lita lived as one or all those "Horsemen," well “Horse-folk,” that head banger gang, jammin' down till the World chokes, spokes broke in sections docking the earth in kinda pocky way clips. Cousin, you catch my crazy pills; lauded Lord seen the Devil’s daughter in a bonnet livin’ as the Mistress of the Quivers. I can't say. Maybe she's the lucky millionth shopper

straggled up, she, falling out the sack; register ding, clang and drawer slip, clap; balloons fell, politicians kissing black beauty baby hexes like bubble blowers whistling.

lucky Medusa, heaving chest, epistles of perdition Panavision in her sweat.                                                          

 Y’all know evil needs a witness, accepting victims’ just objects, directly. God knows Narcissus always came as the main idea. Ain't nobody plays that sorrow fiddle like him.

Maybe Emmalite's his sister?

 Lil' Lita came from Texas by the Sabine Pass. Her folk ran a trawl fleet, had plenty grass for cattle and passe blanc, they say. No verifiable pedigree, a Gypsy privateer, a Mescalita bruja here and here. Clearly an Andalusian heiress in that tree, more than half Moor-ish. She was Venus, trapper by trade so they say.

  (II)

 Down from Paradis a way the Old Spanish Trail snakes through the Texaco Woods. Inertia notwithstanding, curves are angular where that old road bends by the tracks and bends back a time or four. Man, DAMN, that was one alive drive. No, don't try those moves at Big Bear, no. Ask me how I know?

 So, the first knee coming from Paradis, Lita’s mausoleum gloats 'neath an oak grove.

Mère Brigit de Saint Asile, splayed in headstones, snaggle-toothed from the shiny rails, with a ditch mote, a throat bouquet of cattails and poison ivy commanded, a dead man's curve from any poet's axis. A swamp hugged close, old road to tracks that smacked blood wet, stains sustained since skirmishes of Yank incursions shucked, ghost rehearsals from Boutte to Des Allemands.

Older ground, this mound raised by the hand of man, built by bodies gone to mulch, a human humus mushed under hundreds on hundreds of autumn's silts. Floods sipped slippin' the baser stones to tilt in neglect, 'cept lichen love. Yet seldom did molesters linger. Centuries of cypress centurions, elders, priests and voodoiennes spit blasted blasphemous echoes and imminent offenders bent on infecting this umbilical age where souls are directed, selected and nakedly effected and tweaked past sec by the Conscious Constant Conscience Collective till they caress the nexus of perfection. Poor Lita‘s cache was stashed in a crypt like only city seen. Marble Venus reigning supreme over meager crosses, slaves and Cajun tenants, protestants, names scratched unless a body was a veteran.

 The black top ridge the bridge to Quiver Lane crossed tracks at are maintained by Santa Fe Railways on the civil side. The bayou banks can't be tamed. To its own travail, alone it wanes. It assimilates, ate by relentless quest of the prevailing Green to digest, jail and swallow every life, not sailing pass a snail's pace past the veil of tales.

 Some places birth a craving for belonging. I belong there. I learned to swear there,                                                                

was snared by the noose tobacco set. My first drunken crash there after Uncle read me Lovecraft there. I woke wet. We skipped for crawfishing on pretty new spring days, lunch meat and Bunny Bread, that pink mayo pickle spread, four finger bag of weed and a six o’ Dixie. What a day made; laying nets in a knee deep maze up to the first grave. Voo was a swamp "Fred Astaire." I was a true Scooby Doo.

 I felt connected. My first love was laid there.                                                        

We buried my Colinda in the Mom Brigit's breast. No other love tested more than a genuflecting peasant maid weighing fragrances passed in wake of her Queen's carriage. Stressing, up she peeked, a speck in shadows of divinity. That old road led me out on, a life of asphalt sped, gone, minstrel vagabond so long it's all I ever did since I turned back on this compost heap, love's keep, womb of every torch song.

 My class of '81 summoned, thirty-five years running but for them I come. I wonder why, true though, I never could deny our passion. When we took life in shots, chased with pitchers at Tolano’s. We had a world to make.

 Me, I just careened from ditch to ditch like it's me buried by the Quivers. No I deliver as I wither juke to honkey tonk, useless bitch of windy whispers. Till I listed, sunk and sprawled, depraved raving “kinda been” kissing the base of my true love’s grave. I bowed my gaze prostrate so to evade her name engraved by chisel. A blitz of banshees pulling train, crumbled by the strain, I crawled scratching three X's by the gate on Lita's marble vault pleading she would put me down, already nothing wasting air, better fare prepared as mushroom food or maybe that's too good.

 I should… I would but once I promised not to "should" myself. Still, shame laid lame, gasping breaths between grass roots. I wept. "Why me's" pelted till my ears burned red. I quivered in prayers to who knows who.

 "Madame Petit accept my humble suffering as sacrifice. By gluttony, greed and lust, I'm pinned by sin, an empty wraith in waiting, a soulless puppet painted live. I pray my worthless carcass lay a worthy crust to feed the inevitable Green lacing the gates of your Everlasting After.”

 Shotguns slam on Heaven's tin walls, clap of Atlas shaking this world off. Tossed by the blast wave reality whiplashed!

 Peace of the morning, peace of the dawn, peace of the dusk, trust is cruel quiet.

 I wasn't crying anymore, standing more or less, I smelled the musk of Bayou Self.

An ass drawn wagon crossed the bridge carrying six oyster sacks, a six pack of field hands

and six kindling stacks of dried fig twigs. A sickly girl’s grey pony led three chomping keen colts: a big red, an ice white and onyx black sweat gleaming fiery beast. Two tuniced, kilted dudes duked; blue steels, shields whacking, shrieks of deep dread jolts “blue screen” hacked my psyche. Pangs of fresh grief vigorously split me.

 A jug of berry sherry beckoned swig. My sweet Colinda, cherry plucker lolled, bent butt against the trestle rail. My first kiss again conjured up in home sewed halter and faded cutoffs

baring all I knew of truth. I sighed. Honey haired, hazel eyed, mine, giggling on the Quivers side. I knew I had died and raced embracing her with no step took, track jumped or cross tie straddled.

My Colinda, swarthy now calico long dress in bonnet, brunette, black eyes, pupils fire.

Love as always a puny liar.

           "Allons danser." Lil Lita grabbed me. We two stepped. A death of quiet                                                                        

only broke by creaking wood and creosote stink.

 Come to think, I never two stepped. Pickers never learn to dance. Sixties Cajun kids were forbidden, so I was not blessed to know her French addresses. Fancy me this dead man's chance.

We parleyed and danced and dance.

 Bless you; Ma'am Petit you be? Life for me was tired and old. If I’d be so bold

Please bestow me once more to hold my Colinda? Then to dust or mold or as you'd have me.

 "Chere," she said. "Colinda's me. No simple peace and death’s not free

Chere, we have scores and prophecies. A thousand first loves you and me span.

I was Lilith to your Adam.

 A hundred thousand maids you ruined. Who could ever love as I do? Spun out countless loves found tombs, dead in the womb as I sang lullabies. I brewed my fear beer. Stirred you here

Through waste and wander savoring every maid you plundered. Hate begets a viral Eden. Evil needs no truth to seed. Fear and hunger, pain and greed ripened drips in misery.

 Hero here alas you settle, finally, quite a hefty debt. Here you left, Colinda bled, red washed dress on a slave girl grave. Sweating fatherhood for fame let your name escape her blame. At last my final pica’s set my Casanova minstrel, convinced, sorry victim in your head, sped millennia and parried any collar, cross or retiarius’ net.

 But see this land, it never forgets. It pressed a bed of want in you that blooms like sumac in the rain. You came. Your only bet was plain. But here the game is mine, you swine

and markers called. You’re out of time. I'd feed a million trillion flies on your flesh and spread your soul like chewy tricks as treats on chilly demon children’s Halloween.

 But see, my pride, I got to ride. These fine three anxious steeded knights and I have deals to seal and seals to peel while you here feel the pain of every death since you've eluded me.” She chuckled, eyes blazing licked her lips. “But that too was your dream I guess. You always were my favorite pet and here see, this land don't forget."  

                                                                     (III)

Black is white to where she left me. Agony a soothing choice. Infinity times three;

tormenting claws and jaws forever stripping, split my atoms, sip and spit me. Buckets left to catch my wet screams. Seamless, moving troubadour’s tool ghoul re-jeweled to phantom’s whispering shrill banzai Mojave dry.

 Sorry now I'm such a bummer. I'm just a strummer not your savior but if you care for your creator make your peace cause Lita's coming.  

https://www.reverbnation.com/dwaynestromain/song/30163760-quiver-rvbntn