#back? old. sleep? gone. brain? serotonin.

[facelessmime]

With Arcane coming back the idea of Zaunian Uzi and Piltover N has slammed into me at full force and I'm wondering, thoughts?

I'm thinkin--

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I don't know how I busted this out in a little over 2 hours??? That doesn't happen??? With me??? But I'm finally going to bed.

Worth ittttt

[bullet-prooflove]

Chasing Fires - Brian ‘Otis’ Zvonecek: Chapter Four

Brian Zvonecek has spent most of his adult life fighting fires, now it’s time to chase one.

Follows on from Million Reasons but is a stand alone fic.

Tagging   @orileyfiction for all her help and support! Also @me-ladie​ for being the wonderful person she is and betaing.

It was late morning when Brian finally woke up. His alarm clock said 10.35am, which was unprecedented since he was usually up by 5am due to his insomnia. He usually snatched a couple of hours here and there, but he hadn’t had a solid block since God knows when. He lay on his back for a second staring at the ceiling. His muscles were aching but in a good way, they felt tender and well used. By the time he was back on shift tomorrow, they would be as good as new. He knew that had been Kat’s plan all along, burn off the excess energy, work him until he was practically nodding off, which he had done in the car a couple of times until his head had thudded against the passenger side window. 

He tilted his head, his eyes coming to rest on the prescription bottle of tablets sitting alongside a glass of water. He had never considered taking antidepressants, he never thought he’d need them. It caused a conflict inside of him. The firefighter in him rivalled against it but the other more rational side admitted that he was drowning out there in the world. He’d take all the help he could get.

When Doctor Charles had first prescribed them, Brian had felt like a failure, at his career, at life. Taking that little bottle in his hand made his chest ache and his heart hurt. He felt broken, fragile. He’d been angry, he’d almost tossed them in the trash before he’d jammed them in coat pocket. He was careful to read the instructions, to make sure they wouldn’t mess with his ability to do his job. 

Doctor Charles had explained his PTSD as a filing cabinet that refused to shut, it kept sticking at the same memories refusing to file them away into storage. No matter how much he wrangled it, those intrusive thoughts wouldn’t go away until he finally figured out a way to deal with them. By taking the pills he would be boosting the serotonin levels in his brain in order to regulate his mood, appetite and sleep cycles, which helped with one part of the problem. The other part was his treatment plan was far more daunting. Doctor Charles had suggested he undergo EMDR therapy, which involved accessing the trauma through talk therapy and stimulating the brain with eye movement in order to process it. The results were usually quicker than other treatments, but it wasn’t for the faint of heart. 

Truthfully the thought of reliving those events made his chest tighten. He had spent such a long time forcing them down and piling things on top of them, the prospect of facing them terrified him. His first session was later on this afternoon and the thought of it made him feel on edge. 

On the opposite side of his bedroom door, he could hear his roommate Joe Cruz clattering about the kitchen. He knew it was time to make a move, to start his day. He opened the medicine bottle and poured one of the tiny white pills onto his palm. It was smaller than he thought, it seemed nuts that this tiny tablet could contain something that was potentially going to help him in the long term. He popped it into his mouth before taking a sip from the glass of water to wash it down. 

It was gone before he knew it. 

He climbed out of his bed, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was clad in an old grey Battlestar Galactica t-shirt he’d had since his twenties and fleece lined pyjama bottoms. His comfort clothes. His dark hair was tousled from sleep, sticking up in all directions. He looked brighter though, the shadows under his eyes not as pronounced as they usually were. 

He opened the door of the bedroom, before heading to the kitchen. The scent of fresh coffee was in the air, the large cafetiere full to the brim and perched on the breakfast bar. One of the best things about living with Joe was the fact that he was a fellow coffee snob, the two of them loved sampling blends from all over the world and there was always a stock of them in their cupboard. 

“Ahh the dark roast from Indonesia,” Brian said as he slipped on to one of the stools. “Known for its creamy, chocolate overtones.” 

“It was a tossup between that and Guatemala,” Joe informed him, using two fingers to push the plunger. Brian watched the loose powder swirl like a blizzard as it was slowly packed into the bottom of the device.

“This is my favourite part of the morning.” He told Cruz, lining up his Chewbacca mug alongside Cruz’s NFL one.

“You’d have better mornings if you invited Kat to stay over every once in a while.” Joe teased as he poured coffee into each of the mugs. “You need to make a move before she thinks you’re not interested.”

“She knows I’m interested.” Brian said, adding a scoop of sugar and a liberal amount of cream.

“Have you told her that?” Joe asked, tilting his head to one side with a sardonic expression on his face. “Otis?”

“Not in so many words.” Brian demurred, taking a sip of his coffee. 

“When was the last time you took a girl out? I mean on an actual date…”

“Katie,” his tongue stumbled over the name before he forced it out through his lips. “It was Katie.”

Her face snapped into his mind like a ghost, those memories seeped under his carefully erected barriers. The purple bruising on the left side of her face, how small she had looked in that hospital bed, how pale. The light had died in her eyes when she spoke, clasping his hand telling him she was going back to Colorado. She didn’t feel safe here in Chicago…

His thoughts strayed to Keeler, the anguish, and the rage he felt towards the animal that had brutalised her. The nights he’d sat in his car, watching, planning, waiting for the right moment. A moment that never came because it was snatched away from him by someone else. 

He felt himself slipping away, like he was still in the room, but he wasn’t not really. It was something that happened sometimes when things got too intense, when he didn’t want to remember.

“Man, I’m sorry.” It was the clasp of Joe’s hand on his shoulder that brought him back.

He felt like he hit the cushion of his seat with a bump as he was suddenly back in the present, cup of coffee clutched in his hands. Brian blinked rapidly, before sucking in a deep breath. 

“Water under the bridge.” He said, draining his drink before standing up and putting his mug in the sink. “I gotta go get ready.”

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The corridor outside of Doctor Charles' office was quiet at this time of day, Kat didn’t mind the silence. It was a welcome change from the hustle and bustle of the station house she’d just come from. She’d pulled a novel out of her bag, Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng and set it in her lap. It was her book club read for this month.Mouch had proclaimed it was riveting and he wasn’t wrong, it was just she couldn’t focus on reading it just now.  

Her phone lit up, the speaker chiming as she stared down at the name.

Kenny Rixton. 

She declined the call before switching it onto silent. She couldn’t deal with him right now. 

Kat flicked through the pages of her book, the noise of them rustling together both soothing and satisfying at the same time. She did it again, and again and again before she glanced at the clock and realised a chunk of time had simply disappeared. She hesitated for a second, feeling the compulsion in her fingertips to do it again before the door to Doctor Charles' office opened. Brian stepped outside; his thumbs hooked in the loops of his jeans as the door closed behind him. He looked up as she rose to her feet, shoving the paperback into her satchel. Those dark eyes of his were stormy, a tempest wrapped up inside of a man. She reached out, her arms looping around his waist and drawing him close. He buried his face into her shoulder, the stubble on his jaw grazing her cheek as he clung to her. 

They stayed like that for a moment, him holding onto her like she was the final point of call at the end of the earth before he drew away clearing his throat, his eyes moist. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked, wiping the back of his hand across his cheeks. 

“I thought you could do with a little company.” She told him, pursing her lips together as she rocked back on her heels. “I can go if I was wrong…”

“No,” he said quietly, reaching out and clasping her hand. They fit together perfectly, his fingers entwining with hers as he looked her in the eyes and spoke. “You weren’t wrong.”

“Come on,” Kat said, tugging him in the direction of the exit. “Let’s get you out of here.”

[delacyrose224]

A Sky Full of Stars

-Pairing: Dad!Jin x Mom!Reader

-Premise: Your daughter asks for a bedtime story, and Jin tells the story of how the two of you met...as a fairy tale.

-Genre: This is just straight up domestic fluff, y'all. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

-Word Count: 2.2k

-Warnings/tags: SFW, tooth-rotting fluff, reader is pregnant

-Author's Note: This is based on A Sky Full of Stars by Coldplay...this type of domestic fluff is not usually my thing, but @hyungieyoongi is an enabler and too many ideas took hold that I needed to get out of my brain. Who even am I, writing a dad fic? Hope you enjoy!

“Lemonade, it’s time for bed!” Jin singsongs down the hallway. You smile to yourself in the kitchen as you hear the pitter-patter of tiny socked feet echo across the living room. You turn to see your five year old daughter, hiding behind the curtains, her toes peeking out and wiggling in excitement as she hears her dad coming down the hallway behind her.

“Now where can my daughter have gotten off to?” Jin stands in the middle of the living room, seemingly perplexed. He begins to look behind furniture, lifting couch cushions to call into the dust and crumbs that have fallen by the wayside, as if the five year old would suddenly appear. You hear her giggles again when he opens the coat closet.

Jin turns to you instead of towards the noise. “Excuse me, pretty lady...have you seen a small girl about this high-”, he motions just above his knee, “-dark brown hair, answers to the name of Lemonade?” He grins at you, just as the girl in question bursts out from hiding, flinging her arms around her dad’s knees in a giant hug. He quickly scoops her up in his arms amongst a flurry of giggles from both you and her.

“Daddy, that’s not my name!” She laughs, smacking Jin’s chest with her small hand.

“What’s not your name?” He responds, pretending to be clueless.

“Lemonade...it’s Adelaide, Daddy.” She rolls her eyes at him.

Jin chuckles. “Well, you could’ve fooled me...I thought you were named Lemonade because you’re so sweet.” He smacks his lips against her cheek in a wet kiss and puts her back down on the ground.

“Can you tell me a story before bed, please?” She tugs on the hem of his shirt as politely as she can manage, though you can tell by the look in her eyes she’s desperate for your husband to say yes.

“Since you asked so nicely, I’d be happy to...Adelaide.” She grins widely and runs off to go brush her teeth and change into her pjs.

As she leaves the room, you turn back to the dishes you were cleaning from dinner. It’s not long before you feel Jin’s hands on your waist as he peers over you at the dishes you’re working on, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Hi, you.” he mumbles into the crook of your neck, rubbing his hands soothingly up and down your sides.

“Hi yourself, handsome.” You smile as you twist your head to give him a peck on the cheek.

“You need any help? I’m sure you’ve been on your feet all day...I’m happy to give you a massage later after Lemonade goes to bed.”

You let out a small laugh at his nickname for your daughter.

“I would love that...but when are you gonna stop calling Adelaide that?” You shake your head.

“Oh, never...it’s too funny, and you know she secretly loves it. You do too, I think.” You look up to see him smirking at you.

“You know, whenever we have another kid, I’m going to give it the weirdest nickname ever, no matter what you name them!” You threaten, turning around to face him once you set the last cup out to dry. Jin raises an eyebrow at you.

“...whenever? I think it’s a little too late for that one, love.” You can see a mix of mirth and warmth in his eyes as his hands slide from your waist over your stomach, which in the last week or so has started to show signs of a bump, much earlier than in your pregnancy with Adelaide.

“You know what I mean, Seokjin!” You glare at him, even as you bring your hands over his.

“You can call them Tteokbokki for all I care, I still get to name them. Both, if my hunch is right and you’re having twins,” he caresses your stomach as he leans forward and kisses your forehead softly.

Before you can reply, Adelaide is shouting for Jin from her bedroom, impatiently awaiting her bedtime story.

“You coming to storytime, Mama?” He asks, clearly hoping you’ll say yes.

“I’ll be there in a minute, just let me go change into something more comfy,” you reply, heading for your bedroom as Jin smiles as your retreating figure.

After throwing on a pair of sleep shorts with a ratty old hoodie of Jin’s, you head over to Adelaide’s room, where Jin is on his tippy toes, retrieving a book of fairy tales from the top shelf of Adelaide’s bookcase.

“Not that one, Daddy...you’ve read those like a hundred times!” She exasperatedly proclaims, arms crossed.

“Okay-”, he goes on tiptoe again to place the book back on the shelf, “-what kind of story do you want to hear, then?”

“A new one, that’s all!” She smiles as Jin sits down on the bed with her, burrowing under his arm for warmth.

“Hmm...okay, I think I have one you’ll like.” He smiles sideways over at you in the armchair across the room. Where he’s going with this, you’re not sure.

“Once upon a time, in a kingdom not too far from here, there was a beautiful princess. Her parents, the king and queen, wanted to make sure that she was married to a prince that was worthy of her. For you see, not only was she the most beautiful in the land, she was also very smart, and very funny. Not just any prince would do for her.” He looks over at you and smiles fondly. You smile in return, realizing he’s telling your daughter your story-how the two of you ended up together, thinly disguised as a fairy tale.

“One day, a prince from a faraway land arrived on a visit. The king and queen thought he would be an excellent match for their daughter, and so they arranged a meeting between the two of them. The princess got along with the prince, and they became friends quickly. The prince also introduced the princess to his court jester, who traveled alongside him for entertainment. The three soon became inseparable.” Your smile grows bigger the more the story goes on...you realize that the prince is Jungkook, and the jester is your husband.

“However, the princess didn’t show any interest in the prince other than friendship-”

“I think you forgot a part of the story, babe,” you interrupt before he can get much further. Adelaide looks across the room at you in wonder.

“What did he forget, Mama?” she whispers, clearly enthralled with the story. Jin raises his eyebrow at you, interested in what you have to say.

“The prince did ask the princess to go on a date with him, and it was very romantic,” you start. Jin’s eyes go wide, this information new to him. “He prepared a picnic for the two of them, and they went on a stroll through the neighboring town. The prince told the princess of all his foreign travels, and they talked for hours. When the night grew dark, he walked her home and kissed her goodnight.” Jin makes an indignant sound, quickly covering it up with a cough.

“Are you okay, Daddy?” Adelaide’s little hand pats his back as he continues to choke.

“I’m...fine, fine. Where was I in the story? Oh, yes. After this date-”, he makes pointed eye contact with you, letting you know he will be asking about details later, “-the prince was called to go on an important trip far away from the princess. The court jester had to go too, to make sure the prince never became too sad while he was away. The princess was sad that they had to leave, but they promised to come see her when they returned and said they would exchange letters while they were gone.”

“Did they come back? What happened?” Adelaide pipes up, wanting to know what happened next. You begin to speak again, picking up the story from Jin.

“The three kept their promises to each other. They all wrote to each other while they were separated, but a funny thing started to happen...the princess started to realize that she missed the court jester more than the prince. She missed the way he would make her laugh, how he would make fun of her for small, goofy things, and she missed his smile when she managed to make him laugh.”

Jin lets out a breathy laugh at this, the sound sending serotonin through you, and you can’t stop the smile that takes up what feels like your entire face.

“The jester felt the same way. He missed the princess’s laugh, her wit, her...everything.” Jin looks at you with such fondness, your face starts to heat and you have to look away.

“So what happened?! What about the prince?” Your daughter demands, and Jin pulls her in closer.

“When the two returned from their trip, the jester shared with the prince his feelings for the princess. The prince understood, and had begun to notice the jester’s feelings himself. He gave the two his blessing, and the jester and the princess shared their feelings with each other and kissed. They eventually got married, and they lived happily ever after.”

Jin smiles down at his daughter. “How’s that for a bedtime story?” She grins sleepily up at him.

“That was good, Daddy...the princess reminded me of Mama.” Jin leans down to press a kiss to Adelaide’s forehead as he tucks her in.

“Well, your Mama has always been a princess to me,” he smiles over at you as he straightens up and takes your hand as the two of you walk towards the door.

“Night, Mama. Night, Daddy.” Adelaide calls softly from her bed.

“Night, Adelaide.” “Night, Lemonade.”

As you pull the door closed gently, Jin pulls out his phone and begins to FaceTime Jungkook.

“Jin, what-” Before you can finish your sentence, Jungkook appears on the screen.

“Jin hyung, Noona, hi! What’s up?” Jungkook smiles brightly through the screen.

“Did you, or did you not, take my wife out on a date and kiss her?!” Jin whisper yells through the phone, careful not to disturb your daughter.

Jungkook’s face scrunches in confusion. “What? Hyung, she’s your wife, that doesn’t even make sense-”

“Before we started dating, did you take her on a date and kiss her?!” Jin repeats.

Realization dawns on Jungkook’s face, and he starts to laugh. You can’t help it, you join in as well.

“Yeah, we did. It was a nice date, if I remember right, Noona? I made us a picnic and we talked a lot. And yeah, I did kiss her.” Jungkook smirks at the memory.

“And you just neglected to tell me this, all these years? What am I to you, nothing?” Jin is incredulous at Jungkook’s nonchalance.

“It wasn’t that important, hyung. It became very apparent soon after that that she was swooning over you, not me. Can’t see why with all the dad jokes, but to each their own. Speaking of dad jokes, how’s Addie doing?”

You chime in before Jin has a chance to respond. “You can see for yourself, I’m sure she’d be happy to see Uncle Kookie for a sec.” You push Adelaide’s door open again, calling her name softly to see if she’s still awake.

“Yeah, Mama? What is it?” She sits up in bed slowly as you turn on the lamp on her bedside table.

“Someone wants to say hi to you,” you smile as you turn Jin’s phone around to face her.

Adelaide’s face breaks out in a smile when she sees Jungkook, as well as her cheeks turning slightly pink. You’re pretty sure that she might have a tiny little crush on her Uncle Kookie...and who could blame her? You used to think he was cute too, once upon a time-before a certain jester stole your heart.

Speaking of the jester, he has sat himself down in the armchair across the room, a slight pout on his face. As Adelaide hangs up the call with Jungkook, he speaks.

“Aigoo, what have I done to deserve this? The women in my life all love Uncle Kookie more than they love me,” his pout becomes more prominent as he talks.

“No, Daddy!” Adelaide pipes up from the bed. “It’s like in that song you always sing to me and Mama about all the stars...Uncle Kookie’s great, but in all the stars, we see you.”

You both look over at your daughter, recognizing the song she’s referring to as A Sky Full of Stars by Coldplay. Jin had begun absentmindedly singing that to her as a baby as a sort of lullaby, and it had stuck. He now sang it almost every day to the two of you in some form or fashion.

“We see you. Forever.” Your daughter adds emphasis, trying to convey how much she loves her father.

Jin walks over to her, the partial darkness hiding the mistiness in his eyes from Adelaide.

“And I see you forever, Lemonade. I love you so much, and your Mama so much, never forget that. Ever.” She laughs and nods in agreement, before burrowing down in her covers again.

You turn off her lamp, and the two of you walk out to the hallway, closing your daughter’s door for the second time that night. You turn to your husband.

“You know, we do see you forever. Me, Lemonade, and Tteokbokki.” You laugh while gazing into his eyes, placing his hands on your bump again.

He leans forward to place a gentle yet firm kiss on your mouth.

“I know.”

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

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[burnedbyshoto]

the countdown

— A reflection on what New Years mean and a New Years kiss.

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pairing: todoroki shouto x reader

warnings: fluff, 2020 year rant kinda idk man

word count: 1,679

a/n: this was supposed to be a drabble, but I don’t know how to shut the fuck up at all. I made It as short as I possibly could, took 5 rewrites. so, take this huzzah. check out the rest of the collab here!

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New Year’s Eve.

It’s a day of endings, a time of reflection, recollection, and remembering.

Time is a finicky thing, convoluted and twisted in ways that people often spend a lifetime trying to understand but can only come to the conclusion that time is memories.

New Year’s Eve is the time to think about what you did in these past three hundred sixty-six days.

Did you have any New Years’ resolutions this year?

Most people are basic, routine, repetitive. It makes sense that the thing most people wish for every year is to make more money, to lose their hated weight, to become more confident, sexier, and to travel the world. Everyone wants some form of weird self-love because we are humans, and humans are so desperately craving to find happiness in life, taking it day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute.

Happiness is weird too.

Happiness is a mixture of chemicals in your brain that controls whether you feel normal or not.

Serotonin, dopamine, endorphins.

A terrific trio that the world always sought to have.

It’s not so easy to have all three; humans are made so weirdly after all. Too many chemical imbalances, receptors, and creators not perfect, and sometimes it’s not even that. It can just be the way the sun shines just too brightly through the cloudy skies, and suddenly that trio is gone.

So, humans consume.

We consume and consume and consume.

This year more than most.

Social interactions are needed to be human, many of us found out this year. You may love four people with all your heart, but going a near entire year with just four people when you’re used to so much more can be challenging, strenuous, exhausting.

But we remember the good things that made us happy this year.

We remember the way that the cold air whipped across our bare faces and the way that huddling up with your friends makes you both warm and cold. Reminisce in the way that the sun shines in deep rich purples and pinks as it breaks through the horizon, a simple, powerful portrait for your eyes only because art will never be seen the same by people who look.

We remember the terrible things this year too. The days were you were an asshole, a jerk, a bitch. How you whined and groaned about nothing. How you were mean for nothing. How you lied and cheated and stole. Admitting to it is one thing, but being able to look back on it is another thing.

You’re human; you have to remind yourself, part of being human is making mistakes. We humans are full of errors from our basic biology, so when you make them, recognize them, and make an effort to be better.

Perfection is not what you should seek, but the betterment of yourself and to others.

We remember the sad, too. Bowed heads as we count the ones we lost this year, tears streaming down your face because they died and because you didn’t get that promotion that you worked tirelessly on. Failure is something we all know of; we all experience it, in the many different shapes it comes in, and yet we are still so easily embarrassed by it.

Failure is okay. You can’t be better or grow to be better without failing once, twice, how many times it takes.

But it is New Year’s Eve, so we try not to think about the latter two; we celebrate the future of a new beginning, not the meaning of the past year.

We celebrate because we humans are selfish, loud, demanding.

We scream to the heavens on this day because fuck the world, we made it to another year, and for that, we demand a celebration.

You know this; you always have.

New Year’s Eve is yet another disgusting, selfish holiday, but you don’t mind it.

You want to be selfish.

You want to see your friends and family on the last day of the year and into the new one and groan loudly when someone exclaims that: ‘wow, y/n, I haven’t seen you in a whole year! Don’t hug me; I haven’t showered since last year!’

It’s stupid to be selfish in this way, but it weirdly comforts you. A weird promise that you might not be doing all too bad in this world, in your life. 

But right now, you’re exhausted, so terribly exhausted, you can’t even fight to keep your eyes open.

It’s dark outside. The moon is shining brightly in the vast wide sky, stars barely visible with the city pollution and the great light of the rock in the sky. It’s not a white New Years’ Eve, not this year in Japan at least (a kid with some stupid crazy quirk had actually managed to ban snow for six weeks). In the woods is a house that is large, bright, and warm. There isn’t much going on in the house from the distance, but the closer you near it, the louder the voices become, the more abundant it becomes that there are over twenty loud, near annoying adults who are playing a million drinking games.

Aoyama is hanging on the ceiling, demonstrating how he can get his laser beam to swirl around him like glass art as he spins.

Mina breaks dances on the pool table because someone told her to “break it,” and she might be a bit too drunk to realize what she was doing was not what was asked. Kirishima and Kaminari are stumbling against each other, laughing as they cheer her on, their eyes crossing as they watch the pink girl send ball after ball unintentionally into the holes.

Tsuyu is not surprisingly winning a game of beer pong against Iida. They’re only allowed to use their quirks for this game, and her tongue is better suited for this than Iida’s pipes.

Uraraka is still doing a kegstand, her early proclamations of how her zero-gravity training has made her the keg stand champion seem to be entirely accurate.

Ojiro is currently trying to find a word that rhymes with tail for the Kings Cup game he is playing with Shoji, Tokoyami, Dark Shadow, and Mineta. They’re undoubtedly the drunkest of them all, this is the seventh round of the binge drinking game, and all five of them have yet to tap out.

Kouda is begging Midoriya and Bakugou to stop taking shots as they both pulled the ‘take seven shots’ Jenga piece on the Drunk Jenga set for the third time. They’ve played as a team after being assigned as ‘mates’ in Kings Cup two hours ago. Poor Kouda is not set out to handle these assholes and having a drunk, instigating Sero as his own teammate is not helping in the slightest.

There’s a boom in the kitchen that rattles the windows. Still, no one even flinches as Sato, Hagakure, and Jirou stumble out of the kitchen, their blushes basically radiating light onto the walls as cake mix drench their bodies. Hagakure screams out for their uncaring old class to hear that sonic waves do not cook cake mix.

Momo, who is sitting in a rocking chair, sips her drink smoothly. It’s her eleventh bottle, and the creation quirk holder is barely tipsy; her metabolism was untouched.

And Shouto?

Well, that was easy.

He’s sitting on one of the lover’s seat, his body as upright as he could be, your body flushed to his side as you sleep. Shouto is drinking his own mixed drink that was prepared for him by you, still cool in his right hand. He’s warm, content, and at peace even with the chaos going on behind him. It was normal.

Shouto shifts his gaze over to your sleeping face, his chest warming pleasantly at the sight of your squished cheek and small puffing breathes. How you got so exhausted today was beyond him, he did warn you that daring everyone to start drinking the instant everyone woke up today was going to backfire, and it seems he was correct.

His hand reached for your cheek, his thumb stroking your cheek softly, the warmth of your flesh nipping as his colder fingers. You sighed contently in your sleep.

Chuckling, Shouto rested his head against yours, his heart speeding up quickly when you buried your face even further into his neck. Small smacks of your lips raising goosebumps as you spoke of your content even in your sleep.

By god, did he love you.

“Alright, everyone, please make your way over to the living room! We have one minute till the New Year!” Momo yells above the group's noise, and somehow everyone hears her and makes their way over.

“Aw! Look at y/n-chan! Knocked out like a baby!” Mina coos delightfully, her lips in a pout and her eyes shining brightly as she stumbles onto the armrest by you.

Shouto debates whether he should tell Mina to back off or to agree with her, but it’s far too late for him to decide when numbers begin flashing on the screen.

“FIVE!”

Shouto feels you stirring, your head lifting off his shoulder and your bleary eyes gazing into his. You look tired, sleepy, drunk, and oh so confused.

“Wha’s goin’ on?” you slur to Shouto, voice thick and husky.

“FOUR!”

“Looks like you woke up just in time,” Shouto comments, his fingers swiping at your face, fixing up the slightly ruined makeup. “It’s the countdown.”

“THREE!”

“Oh, good,” you sigh, your arms softly wrapping around Shouto as if he was made of clouds. Shouto laughs at the delirium still trapped in your eyes. “I made it.”

“TWO!”

“Thank you for making this year wonderful,” Shouto sincerely states, his hand setting down his drink and wrapping around your waist, pulling you toward him.

“ONE!”

“Thank you for loving me,” you cheekily sigh, and with the one still painted on the wall, Shouto pushed forward, kissing your chapped, sticky lips as the year ended and the new one began.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

“I’ll always love you.”

[restlessfandoming]

“the president and the troublemaker” (part 11) (chilumi fic)

“Lumine is the student council president and Childe is the school’s number one troublemaker. They cross paths more than they’d like. Especially when Childe finds out Lumine’s big secret. Highschool AU à la Kaichou wa Maid-sama.”

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9] [part 10]

[Fic Masterlist] // [AO3 Link] // [Main AO3]

my brain is struggling to produce serotonin :) 

* * *

the president and the troublemaker (part 11)

Lumine felt like a mountain had been lifted off her shoulders the second she saw the large charter buses pull up to the school. The class trip to Liyue was moments from starting.

Amber let out a huge yawn next to her. “Finally, the hard part is over,” she said. “Time to relax.”

Noelle handed each of the girls a paper coffee cup. “I hear Liyue is a beautiful city.” 

Lumine took a grateful sip of her drink, the early morning air crisp in her senses. It was tranquil: the low purr of the vehicles with the muted murmur of the students loading into the buses was almost pleasant enough to put her back to sleep. 

It had been a stressful (sleepless) few nights leading up to today. Lumine was thankful the bus ride was long enough for her to catch up on some much needed rest. 

“LuLu~!” 

Lumine started to turn around. “Hello, Venti—”

Immediately, the bard hugged her with a giggle. “So, where are we sitting?” 

She peeled him off with a raised brow. “You can sit anywhere you want. I’ve got to sit near the front.” 

A cheeky grin. “Then I shall sit at the front as well!” He pulled his ukulele out. “Let’s write a song together!” 

Lumine found herself smiling at Venti. His cheerful disposition definitely put her more at ease, his joy contagious. “Okay, sure,” she agreed. 

“Will Aether be joining us?” Venti asked. 

Lumine shook her head. “All the council members have their own bus to help supervise. He’s with Mr. Zhongli.” She pointed at a few buses over, where Aether waved back at them. 

Venti had gone home with her one day, playing catch up with both her and her brother. Initially, Lumine had been very wary of Venti. But as they recalled old memories together late into the night, she warmed up to him, now remembering their long forgotten bond (though she was still getting used to his...clinginess. And of course the fact he kept reiterating how much he loved her.).

He reminded her of happier times, times when the stress of the world hadn’t been placed on her just yet, and all they had to worry about was what game to play next. 

“LuLu, come on!” Venti said, pulling her onto the bus. He started settling into the seat next to Lumine as the rest of the bus filled up. Lumine settled her belongings as well, in addition to checking off her list of students on the bus, ensuring no student was left behind. 

Just as her finger traced over Childe’s name, there was a loud commotion coming up the stairs. 

“Let go of me, please!” Bennett’s voice. “What did I do wrong?” 

Childe sauntered onto the bus, hand gripping Bennett’s collar and dragging the poor council reporter down the aisle.

Lumine immediately stepped into the aisle, face furrowed. “What the hell are you doing, Childe?” She pried Childe’s hands off Bennett. 

“Making friends,” the tall ginger replied.

Bennett stopped rubbing at his neck, and looked up at Childe, eyes glistening. “Wait, really?” 

“Bennett, go back to your bus,” Lumine ordered. After her reporter dashed off the bus, she turned back to Childe, waiting for an answer. 

He shrugged. “I told you, I was making friends.” A tilt of the head, eyes flickering to Venti. “Too long of a bus ride to spend alone.” 

Lumine glared at him. “Just go find a seat, Childe. You’re one of the last students to arrive.” 

Childe’s eyes lingered on her for a second, before turning around, and making his way to the back of the bus. Lumine only sat back down when she saw him disappear into the seats. She let out a loud sigh. 

“Wow,” Venti said. “He certainly keeps your hands full.”

Lumine gave a strained laugh. “You don’t know the half of it.” She closed her eyes, leaning into her chair and relaxing—

BAM!

Shouts erupted from the back of the bus. 

The muscles in Lumine’s jaw clenched as she slowly opened her eyes and stood up, attention zeroing in on noise. And just as she thought, Childe stood in the aisle, his hands balled into fists, towering over a student on the ground. When he noticed her looking, he smiled. 

Marching to the back, she ignored Childe as she helped the student on the ground, blood seeping through his fingers as he cradled his nose, groaning in pain. 

“Oh my!” a different student exclaimed behind her. Lumine recognized her as Barbara, leader of the music club and occasional volunteer at the nurse’s office. Thank god. 

“Can you help take care of him?” Lumine asked quickly. 

Barbara nodded, gently helping Lumine carry the student to a nearby seat. 

Lumine turned and glared at Childe. “Making friends again?” 

He shrugged, still smiling, and wiped the blood off his knuckles. 

Lumine groaned, rubbing her forehead. “Just...You’re going to sit at the front. With me. So I can make sure you don’t cause anymore trouble.” She shuffled to the front of the bus, Childe in tow behind her. 

“So, what was going on…,” Venti started, sentence trailing off as his gaze landed on Childe. A twitch of a smile. “Aha, him again?”

“Yes,” Lumine said with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Venti; we’ll have to sit together on the way back or something. I’ve got to keep an eye on him.” 

Her friend gave a small smile, a nod of understanding, before scooting out of the seat. As his arm brushed past Childe’s, he stopped and looked at the tall troublemaker, opening his mouth to say something, then closed it. 

“See you later, LuLu,” Venti ended up saying, a sadden edge to his voice. He made his way to the back where Childe’s original seat was. Part of Lumine panged at seeing her friend upset. 

“Well, LuLu?” Childe said, already sitting near the window, legs crossed, head resting on his hands. “Are you going to sit down?”

“So sorry I’m late, dearies!” their faculty chaperone, Lisa—the school’s librarian—said as she walked onto the bus. She smiled at Lumine. “Ah, President Lumine! I trust you’ve accounted for all the students on our bus?”

“Yes, Ms. Lisa,” Lumine responded. “We’re good to go whenever.” 

Lisa nodded, leaning over to tell the bus driver, then plopping herself in the very first row, a few rows ahead of Lumine’s seat. The front of the bus was nearly vacant, with only Lumine, Childe, and Lisa sitting there; the rest of the students congregated towards the middle and back.

The doors to the bus hissed closed, and Lumine finally sat down, facing forward, head turned very obviously away from Childe. 

“Aw, are you mad at me, LuLu?” Childe asked. 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Oh, but Venti can?” 

“Why did you hit that student?” Lumine crossed her arms as the bus jolted forward. “You were doing good for so long.” 

“So you only like me when I behave?”

“You are acting up way more than usual today. Is someone a little cranky?” Lumine mocked. 

“You look like the cranky one,” Childe said, swiping at the bags under her eyes. 

Lumine pushed his hand away. “I told you. It’s been a busy, stressful time for the council.”

“Well the trip is finally happening, so you can relax now,” he said. “Take a nap, we’ve got a long drive ahead, don’t we?”

Lumine slammed her eyes shut and turned her head away from Childe. “Yes, I was hoping for a quiet, pleasant bus ride to catch up on sleep, then someone decided to start a fight.”

“Had to, Pres. Couldn’t let the new kid sit next to you.” Then, his hand was on the side of her head, and he pulled her head to rest on his shoulder. “Sleep,” he whispered. “I promise I won’t cause any more trouble, okay?”

“What’s wrong with Venti?” Lumine said, heat creeping from Childe’s shoulder to her temple. She didn’t move, however, her body feeling heavier with exhaustion—and Childe made an alright pillow.

Childe gently smoothed out her hair from where his hand still resided. “He loves you.” 

“So do you,” Lumine grumbled, eyes fluttering closed. So tired...

“And that’s the problem, now isn’t it?” Childe muttered. “That makes him my rival.” 

“Don’t be stupid.” “Oh? And whose shoulder would you be sleeping on if I hadn’t gotten in trouble?”

So he’s...jealous? Lumine started to sit up. “You punched that kid just so you could sit next to me?”

Childe pulled her back. “You should sleep before you get sick. Remember how we first met?”

Lumine hummed out a response, eyelids feeling heavier than ever, adjusting her head on Childe’s shoulder without even thinking about it. 

As the sounds of the bus started to drown out of Lumine’s hearing, she felt Childe rest his head atop hers, his cheek pressed against the top of her head. His hand on her head thumbed circles in her hair, while he took his other hand and slipped his fingers through hers. It was a comforting, warm, caring touch—safe.

And she fell asleep in no time. 

* * *

Lumine groggily opened her eyes, moving to stretch her sore muscles. She tried stretching her arms upwards, but realized her fingers were still intertwined with Childe’s. She glanced over at him. 

He was asleep, head leaning against the window. It felt odd to see him like this—so still and quiet. His face was slightly furrowed, as if he was dreaming about something mildly unpleasant. 

His body did look quite uncomfortable, sleeping upright like that, and Lumine felt the cricks in her neck and back from sleeping similarly. It’s probably worse since he’s taller...

Lumine let out a huff of embarrassment as she moved his head to rest on her lap. He immediately adjusted a bit, then visibly relaxed.

Lumine couldn’t help but smile a bit, at him looking so...vulnerable. Usually he was so puffed up with his strength and ego; it was cute to see him sound asleep. 

Her hand moved to soothe out his hair. It was much softer than she had expected, like a cat or fox’s fur, and she found herself running her hand through his hair repeatedly. Each time, his face seemingly relaxed. 

It’s nice. This is...nice. 

The moment didn’t last too long, the bus halting to a stop shortly after. Glancing out the window, Lumine saw they had pulled into a city on the outskirts of Liyue for their lunch stop. 

As she heard the students on the bus starting to gather their things, moving to exit the bus, a small panic formed in Lumine’s gut. She still had Childe in her lap. 

She quickly lifted his head up, pushing him off of her, perhaps a little too forcefully. His limp body smacked against the window with a THUNK! 

Childe jolted awake as Lumine clasped a hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh. He squinted at her through bleary eyes while rubbing at the side of his head. 

“Did you just hit me?” he asked, confused.

“No. Yes. Sorry, it was an accident,” she answered, still trying to hold back her laughter.

He blinked at her, then reached over, pinching the sides of her face and pulled at her cheeks. “Is this you wanting to start a fight?” He laughed. “I’d be happy to oblige; we never did finish our fight at the beach, did we?” 

“I’d win for sure,” Lumine managed to get out as she tried prying his hands from her cheeks. 

Suddenly, a ukulele descended into her view. She looked up and saw Venti standing behind her, in the aisle, holding the ukulele between her and Childe. 

“LuLu, is this guy giving you trouble?” Venti asked, a fake smile plastered on his face. “I’d be happy to bash a few strings over his head if you want.” 

Childe let go of Lumine’s face, an equally fake smile spreading on his lips. “I’d like to see you try.” 

“Okay!” Lumine interjected, standing up abruptly, and joining Venti in the aisle. “Let’s go eat.” 

“Okay!” Venti echoed, the hostility disappearing from his voice. He took hold of Lumine’s hand, and pulled her towards the exit. “C’mon, LuLu; we’re the last ones off the bus!” 

Before they moved too far, however, Childe clamped a hand down on Lumine’s shoulder, halting them in place. 

“Now, now, Pres—don’t forget your responsibilities,” Childe said, his faux smile still in place. “You’ve got to keep an eye on me, remember? Otherwise, who knows what trouble I’ll stir up?” 

Ah, shit. Lumine bit the side of her cheek, thinking of another innocent student’s bloody nose. “He’s right, Venti,” she said. “I’ve got to keep an eye on him for now.” 

“Oh,” Venti uttered. His face stilled. 

There it is again, that expression…, Lumine thought. What was it? Sadness? Yearning?

Lumine lightly squeezed his hand. “Venti—?”

“Well, the more the merrier, right?” he suddenly exclaimed, his usual, bright demeanor returning. 

And just like when they were younger, Lumine felt the need to look after him. Something was bothering him, and she wanted to patch him up—patch him up like the countless skinned knees she treated for him in their childhood. He was always so optimistic, and it was painful to see him otherwise.  

“Yeah,” Lumine agreed softly. “Why don’t you pick where we eat, Venti?” 

The bard nodded, and started pulling her along again, this time his grip tighter than before. As they walked forward, Lumine felt Childe’s hand on her shoulder slip off, and she glanced back at him. 

He was still following her and Venti, though much further behind now, his hands in his pockets, his eyes cast out the windows. 

She remembered, he was jealous of Venti, though she still didn’t completely understand why. Venti was an old friend, and Childe was...entirely in his own category. 

And yet, somehow, stepping towards one of them left the other in pain. 

What am I going to do?

* * *

The city was bustling with life as students roamed around looking for different restaurants to eat at. They had a few hours break for lunch, and the students were free to walk around after eating until it was time to resume the journey to Liyue Harbor. 

Lumine had texted Aether asking where he was, and he (with the rest of the student council) were already eating elsewhere. So, Venti dragged Lumine and Childe far away until they found a small restaurant near an arcade. “So we can have some fun together after eating, LuLu!” he told her. 

Currently, the three of them sat at a circular table, the waitress setting down their food before them—an almond tofu for Venti, Jueyun chili chicken for Childe, and jade parcels for Lumine. 

“My first time trying Liyue cuisine…,” Venti said, taking in a breath of his food’s aroma. “Smells delicious!” 

The sugary sweet scent of his almond tofu wafted towards Lumine, and she smiled. “Even now, you still have a sweet tooth,” she noted.

Venti returned her smile. “Well, of course! Remember that grape juice you always made for me and Aether? Oh, and those apples your mom used to cut up for us! The ones that looked like little bunnies?” he reminisced as he started to eat his tofu.

Lumine snorted slightly, biting in her jade parcels as well. “I don’t know how we never got sick of that horrid grape juice. It was basically just sugar water.”

“You made it—so of course we had to drink it. It was special,” he replied. “Oh, I remember how cute you were, so diligent and hardworking as a kid. You’ve gotten even more cute over the years~!” 

Lumine’s cheeks warmed. “You’re still the same as ever, blowing off classes whenever you feel like it, just to go off and write songs. I remember when—”

Childe’s foot tapped hers.  

“Ah, sorry about that,” he said, his blue eyes gazing directly into Lumine’s. “Don’t mind me.”

Huh? 

She could only hold his gaze for a brief second, before she averted it, finding it too intense. She chose to look down at his food instead—his completely untouched food.

“Why aren’t you eating?” she asked. Was he on a diet for training?

The corner of his lips twitched, and he mustered a smile. “It seems like chopsticks are harder to use than anticipated.” 

…

“Pffft—” Lumine couldn’t stop herself from laughing. 

“Haha, yes, very funny,” Childe said, his voice bordering on sheepishness. “You seem to have no trouble with it.” 

“No trouble at all,” she said, finger wiping at the corners of her eyes. “Look.” 

She scooted closer to him, showing him how she held her chopsticks in her hand. He mimicked her as best he could, but the positioning of his fingers was still a bit off. 

“Here,” Lumine said, setting her own utensils down. She reached over, her hand over Childe’s, moving his fingers to the correct positioning. “Try to pick up some food.” 

She saw his eyes narrow on a piece of chicken, hand steadily moving towards it like a target, concentration straining his face. She almost burst out laughing again. He’s so serious about it…

He slowly picked up the chicken, hovering it in mid-air, face relaxing in triumph. “Look, Lumi, I got it!” 

She raised her eyebrows, a slight smile on her face. “Wow, yeah you—”

“Hey.” 

The two of them stopped and looked at Venti. His eyes were focused on Childe, his cheerfulness nowhere to be found. 

“Do you like Lumine?” he asked Childe. 

Oh no. Lumine opened her mouth, ready to switch to another subject. But then—

“Yes,” Childe answered, his smile gone as well. He set down his chopsticks. “What are you going to do about it?”

Lumine froze, her jaw still open. Disbelief. Disbelief was the only thing running through her mind as she watched Childe and Venti before her, speechless. 

A sharp laugh. “Well, looks like we’ve got ourselves a good old-fashioned love triangle,” Venti said. “You should know I fought really hard to get back here, to Lumine.”

“And you should know I never lose,” Childe retorted. 

Venti grinned. “There’s a first time for everything.” 

Lumine slammed her hand on the table, hand gripping her chopsticks furiously. “How about we all just be quiet and eat?” Were these two idiots starting to fight over her? 

Anger bubbled in her gut, at Childe for revealing more of their secret. She was also angry at Venti for provoking Childe even further. Not to mention the two seemed to ignore her completely as they quipped at each other.

It was also two people she cared about, now at ends with each other. There is no way this is going to end well...

Childe and Venti sent each other a final glare before returning to their lunch, the rest of the time in silence. As soon as everyone was finished and paid for, Lumine left. 

“Let’s get back to the bus,” she said, not wanting Venti and Childe around each other any longer. 

“Wait!” Venti grabbed her hand, pointing down the road. “We still have an hour; let’s go to that arcade! Please?” 

Lumine looked at her phone. What Venti said was true, and what were they going to do on the bus for an hour? 

“Fine,” she conceded with a sigh. 

“Does Childe have to come too?” Venti asked, eyeing the tall ginger as he walked beside them. 

“Yes, I do,” Childe answered loudly. “I’m under Lumine’s watch, remember?” 

“Is he really?” Venti asked.

“Yes,” Lumine said. “If I don’t keep an eye on him, he’ll throw hands with the first person he sees.”

“Hmph. Sounds like an untrained dog if you ask me.”

Childe scoffed. “You’re the one who’s like an incessant yapping chihuahua.”

Venti blew a raspberry at him as they entered the building. A headache was mounting in Lumine’s head. 

Upon entering, they were instructed to leave their belongings in a locker. After doing so, they entered the arcade where bright neon machines flashed and the electronic noises of games chimed. 

Venti gasped, and started running ahead, forcing Lumine and Childe to follow close behind. He led them to the back, where there was a small archery range set up. 

“LuLu! I actually learned archery while I was away in the countryside,” Venti said excitedly. “Let me show you my amazing skills!”

“Why don’t we make it a little competition?” Childe said, already stepping up to one of the bows, picking it up and turning it over in his hands. 

Venti tilted his head, his eyes gleaming. “Okay,” he agreed, stepping up as well. He was deep in thought as he picked up the other bow. 

Then, Venti smiled, a true Cheshire grin. “The winner gets to go on a date with Lumine.” 

…

Wait. 

WHAT?!

* * *

[part 12]

[keeper0fthestars]

Two A.M.

Francisco Morales x fem character

1.3K words

warnings: this is basically 90% fluffy fluff with some talk about anxiety and fear,slight angst?

summary: Frankie knows what it’s like to struggle with with insomnia

a/n: ahhhhhhh this is my first time posting Frankie? I don’t know what I’m doing. be gentle please :) 

~~

Old habits die-hard. After years of being trained to wake at the slightest disturbance, he’s attuned to the nights that she’s restless and can’t fall asleep. He’ll reach for her in his semi-wakefulness; gently stroke her back or her hair, tuck her restless legs alongside his, help quiet her anxious mind, soothe her back to sleep. 

This time, when he wakes, unease settles into his awareness and he reaches across the bed to find her spot already cold. Digging a knuckle into his eye to rub out the sleep, he lifts his head, turning his ear, listening for where she might be in the house when he hears the soft sound of the fridge door close. He sits up, pulling on his pyjama pants, his phone showing almost two o'clock. 

Stairs creaking on his way down, he finds her sitting on the counter next to the sink, looking out the kitchen window, a bowl of cereal in her lap. She does not need to turn on a light switch with the moon on full display shining through the windows on this side of the house. He catches a glimpse of the glimmering expanse of water just beyond their property. He knows that’s what caught her eyes too because one side of her face is cast in silver light, her hair shining when she turns, hearing his bare feet on the hardwood. 

“Hey.” He whispers in the quiet.

“Did I wake you?” she murmurs, pulling her feet underneath herself cross-legged.

He shakes his head, gently padding towards her. “I didn’t hear you get up.”

She’s wearing his t-shirt, the dark one with the torn collar and the hole in the sleeve; her legs are bare except for a pair of grey flannel shorts and socks with the red stripe around her calf.  Standing in front of her now, two large hands rest on her thighs.  He watches her, tilting his head to the side.

“You okay?” 

He knows she’s not.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

He recognizes the nameless emotion in her eyes, the pale tremor on her face, the kind of faltering fear she would never afford herself during the day where there are deadlines to meet and bosses to appease and things to take care of and his heart clenches at the burden she carries, the battle she is facing. But battle isn’t the right word, because it was never a fair fight, to begin with.  Of all the blood and dust and gunfire he’s ever endured, this is the one battle he wishes he could do. He’d gladly be first in line it if it meant she didn’t have to.  Instinctively her forehead touches his shoulder, and he hears her inhale slow and deep like he’d taught her, eyelashes fluttering against his bare skin. He wants to be brave for her. When she cannot be. 

Smoothing a hand down her back, he thinks of all the nights she’s helped him get back to sleep, holding him, smoothing his hair after a nightmare, whispering against his overheated skin, taking the edge off the events of his past as they blurred together all messy, comforting him when she has so many demons of her own. If there is anyone that understands what it’s like not to be able to shut off your brain at night, she does. 

He also knows sometimes she doesn’t want to talk about it, and he knows better than anyone that inside the silence, more important things can be shared. The hum of the fridge kicks in and he stays like this, his nose buried in her hair, his hands seeping warmth into her ribs. For as long as she needs. Their breaths and the ticking clock are the only sounds for a while and then he feels the air shift around them. 

“Do you want some?” she asks, remembering the bowl of soggy cereal in her lap. She lifts her face, and he gently brushes her hair behind her ear. 

“I have a better idea,” he breathes. 

“Better than Cap’n Crunch?” her voice is warm now, teasing. He knows this because her cheek surrenders itself to a dimple, and the sight of it makes his heart sing. 

He presses his mouth to the divot in her left cheek, then moving feather-light down the side of her neck, eliciting an involuntary clench of her shoulder as goosebumps erupt down her arms. Her eyes crinkle at the sensation, and then the heat of his body is gone.

Opening the fridge, he pulls out the carton of milk. Setting a small pot on the stove, he pours milk and lights the gas underneath. In the darkness, he turns to the pantry, rooting through the top shelf. 

“What are you doing?” she asks softly.

Returning to the stove with a jar of honey and a small tin of cinnamon, he plucks a spoon from the dish rack on the other side of the sink. Sprinkling cinnamon into the milk, he measures two spoons of honey, stirring. “My grandma used to do this for me when I couldn’t sleep.” 

She watches him move around the kitchen, as if in slow motion, the way the angles of his back catch the soft moonlight, her eyes are drawn to the two matching dimples at the bottom of his spine. She watches him retrieve two mugs from the same dish rack, placing them on the counter next to the slowly heating concoction. He gives the pot another stir and then turns and leans on the counter, watching her. 

“The microwave would heat the milk faster, you know.” Her eyes linger on his collarbones, over the soft planes of his chest.

“Yeah,” he says lazily, his voice still thick with sleep, “but then I wouldn’t have time to do this.” 

Putting her bowl in the sink for her, he pries her legs loose from their crossed position. Carefully he lifts her hand, holding it in his grasp, brushing his thumb over her knuckles.  With eyes that want to take away every single sleepless night she ever has, he brings her warm fingers up to his cheek, splaying them open.  He feels her hand curl over his jaw, and he leans into her touch, curling his own hand over hers, keeping it there. His mouth finds her palm, pressing gently before letting his hands roam up her legs around her back. Pressing slow open-mouthed kisses along her neck, she fits inside his arms like their only purpose is to hold her together. To be brave for her.  When she cannot be.

The slope of his neck is the perfect spot for her mouth and she feels his pulse thumping in time with her heartbeat. She doesn’t know if it’s the warm drink in her stomach or the way she fits against the solid wall of his body, his arms snug around her hips, protective, possessive, but it’s impossible not to feel safe inside his arms. A yawn erupts, unexpected from her mouth and everything around her begins to melt away. He is nothing if not a hit of serotonin and he seems to know exactly what she needs. Their mugs are empty by the time he convinces her to come back to bed. He pulls her off the counter, holds her close and starts walking out of the kitchen. 

She is not one to be coddled like this, and at first, she protests but it’s weak even for her, and he scoffs softly, “Oh shut up,” using his mouth to abruptly silence any further complaints, leading her up the stairs, side by side, not letting go of her.

“Just don’t crack my head on the door frame.” 

“Oh?” He stops at the doorway of the bedroom and grins in the semi-darkness. “You didn’t seem to be complaining when I had you pinned against it yesterday.”

Once she’s settled in the middle of the bed, he slides in behind her, tucking his knees along the backs of her thighs, snaking an arm around her waist, eliciting another jaw-splitting yawn. Finally, he feels her weight sink against him, her body going limp, making sure she’s sound asleep before allowing himself to be pulled under too. 

~~

tagging: @opheliaelysia​ @pedropascalito​ @sistasarah-sallysaidso​ @oldstuffnewstuff​ 

I would love to know what you think of this? and if you’d like to be tagged in any future writing :)

[trillian-anders]

s’mores

pairing: chef!bucky x plus!reader

warnings: fluff, domesticity, 

word count: 1.8k

description: chef!au; you and bucky have a bedtime routine

just a taste masterlist

“What is that?” Bucky stepped up from the couch to help you at the door, the fifty-pound box you were trying to slide across the floor. You grin up at him,

 “A firepit.” 

 Now that the inside decor was mostly taken care of you were slowly piecing together something for your small patio. You’d been bringing home cushion covers, string lights, a crate for blankets. “For when it gets cold.” You tell him. But he was happy to let you do whatever made you happy. And this seemed to make you really happy.

 It was an odd day off for him. After giving Sam a few days off for him and Wanda to travel upstate to a bed and breakfast for their anniversary he pushed Bucky to take some time off for himself. The only problem with that was, you’d been busy all week.

 It was the end of another quarter, a big project that Stark was trying to launch, some app that you didn’t really explain too much to him about because it was mostly for corporations to see what quality of workplace they were creating. It had something to do with hours of work, versus difficulty of work, versus pay and formulated a score. And with this score it would show you how to improve the quality of work for employees.

 Needless to say, in testing, Tony had given you a raise among many others.

 But it took up a lot of your time.

 Which is why he was so surprised you came home with the firepit anyway. The two of you were listening to music and sitting outside, Bucky on the ground while you sat on the cozy deep outdoor couch that you’d given him heart eyes over when you’d originally gone shopping for outdoor furniture.

 “Can you hand me that screwdriver, right there?” He asked, holding his hand out for you to hand the tool to him, which you did, while also letting him take a sip of your old fashioned. His own long since finished but hadn’t quite gotten up to make another. “Thank you.”

 You were anxiously waiting for him to finish. A pile of sticks off to the side you’d already collected along with a couple of large branches you’d snapped and what was left of the briquettes from the grill just in case it wasn’t enough and beside you on the coffee table he’d pushed out of the way, marshmallows, chocolate bars, and graham crackers.

 He flipped the metal base over, pushing himself off the ground he moved it a comfortable distance away while you sipped on the strong drink, admiring the view of your boyfriend bending over in front of you.

 “What do you think?” He asked. You grin up at him,

 “It’s perfect.” You stood while he went inside to make more drinks, laying the dry sticks and branches on top of the briquettes, using old newspaper from the move to stuff in the sides and light. The sun was just setting, the outdoor string lights flipping on their timer. You hum contently and stick a marshmallow on a skewer. You twisted it around in the flame until it was bubbly and brown, pulling it out as soon as Bucky joined you back outside.

 You held the melty fluff to him and he wrapped his mouth around the marshmallow, pulling it off the skewer before sitting down. Munching happily while he handed you a drink.

 “Thank you.” You grin at him, a sweet marshmallow and bourbon kiss. Next time the marshmallow was melted and you smushed it between the two graham crackers and a couple squares of chocolate, happily taking a bite while Bucky pulled the blanket across your laps.

 “This was a great idea.” He mumbled over a mouth full of s’more. You sip on your drink, a pleasant buzz going through your body, leaning back into his chest as you worked on your second s’more.

 “How do you think Sam’s doing?” You ask. It was a Friday night after all. The first Friday night that Bucky hadn’t worked since the restaurant opened. He kept glancing at his phone in worry. Like maybe Sam would need him. He was also checking the numbers, sales. A 10k hour.

 “They did a 40k lunch today which isn’t bad for a Friday lunch.” That was busy. So they were hoping to do another 50k at least for dinner, “But we are looking closer to 75,” Bucky was worried but he knows and trusts Sam to handle it.

 “Maybe you should have taken off during the week.” You take a sip. “You’d be able to relax more.”

 “Yeah, but you’re not off during the week.” You sigh, leaning further into his shoulder, his arm wrapped around you squeezing you to his side.

 “Still… it would have made you worry less about what’s going on in the restaurant.” He pulls his skewer from the fire, blowing on the marshmallow that had caught fire and he popped it into his mouth.

 “Maybe.” It’s so comfortable. The silence. The radio still playing softly in the background as you both get lost in the flames. Both chocolate bars gone, Bucky munched on graham crackers and the two of you finished off most of the marshmallows. He tasted like sugar and bourbon. A soft kiss on your cheek and then on your mouth, soft fingers tilting your head towards his. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” His tongue is soft, slow. Bucky liked to savor everything, even kissing. His fingers brushing your neck made you shiver. Your lips parting in a soft moan against his. His other hand comes to your leg, tapping it gently before helping you straddle his lap, the blanket falling around your hips, his fingers tracing figures down your back while you slowly kiss. Your fingers finding his hair, scratching gently on his scalp.

You broke for air, resting your head on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around him as he hugged you to his body. You could almost fall asleep. The smell of just him, clean and masculine. The warmth between you. Work had been so stressful this week and you’d looked forward to spending the entire weekend with him. It was the only thing that made you make it through the workweek. Truly. And this hug, those sweet kisses, this closeness, it was giving your brain a much-needed rush of serotonin and you could feel yourself growing drunk with it.

“I love you so much.” You mumble into his neck, the fire warm on your back.

“I love you too baby.” He rubs your back for a moment, “You wanna go to bed?” A soft nod into his neck. “I’ll put this fire out, go ahead, I’ll meet you up there.”

He wasn’t far behind, meeting you at the sink to brush his teeth. You look at him in the mirror, watching him brush, to which he gives you a silly look, moving back to let you spit into the sink and grab mouthwash. A minty kiss after.

You change into some sleep shorts and an old t-shirt, rubbing lotion on your legs and moisturizer on your face while he changes and washes his face.

Bucky had this skin care routine, and he was very diligent with it, but then again his skin was very nice and clear for working in a kitchen and sweating for 75% of his time. The next part of the nighttime routine was probably the hardest.

He would sit next to you on your side of the bed and you’d take the medicated steroid cream given to him by his doctor and rub it into his left arm. The first time you’d done it you didn’t ask how it happened, “I can’t reach fully on my back.” He said. But he applied this cream every day to give the skin its flexibility back. It was stiff and hard to move sometimes. The tattoos he’d gotten, “They did more harm than good.” The inky swirls and Aphrodite herself, he’d gotten them before he went to war. The full sleeve. “There was an accident,” He told you, “It was friendly fire.” What almost blew his arm off was, of all things, friendly fire.

Against Doctor’s orders Bucky enraged the flesh more by going back to his tattoo artist and having the guy fix what he could on the healing and mottled flesh. “I was a dumb kid,” he said, “I thought I was doing the right thing.” Joining the war. “But they just chew you up and spit you out, thank you for your service and sorry but you’re going to be on the phone calling trying to get help every day for the next however many years of your life.” And it hurt you. It hurt you that he’d gone through this. Trying to get the military to pay for his hospital bills, the corrective surgeries, all the pins and rods in his arm. “I’ve got more metal than bone.”

You did what you could, rubbing the steroid cream into his arm, massaging the sore muscles he’d never complain were sore, working the joints of his fingers and massaging it into his back. The heel of your palm digging into his left shoulder at the knots that would form there from the stress on it. A kiss to the back of his neck and you went to wash the cream off your hands.

When you return the covers are turned down, Bucky already scrolling through the sales app on his phone. “He’s fine.” You scold him, climbing into bed. “Put your phone down.” Bucky sighs and darkens the screen, placing it on the end table.

“I know he’s fine…”

“You need to relax.” You softly kiss him, cuddling up into his side. “Sam can handle it, just like you did.”

“I don’t know about all that,” He jests. “He’s terrible at multitasking.” You roll your eyes, the room partially dark save for the light coming from the cracked door of the bathroom. A must for Bucky.

“You’re terrible at multitasking.” You mumble into his chest.

“That’s not what you were telling me yesterday.” Your core pulsed at that, the memory drifting back. You lift up to glare at him, a cheeky grin on his face. “You’re so beautiful.” He licks his lips, “Did you know that?”

“You’re a suck up.” You scoff, burying your head back into his chest, “Did you know that?”

“I love you baby.” His fingers tracing patterns on your back, your eyes beginning to find that tiredness you’d had on the patio.

“I love you too.”

[fbfh]

I Don’t Care - Leo x reader

Genre: lighthearted/comedic angst, soulmate au, good ending

Pairing: leo x gn reader (future relationship) ft calypso

Au: soulmate au

Wordcount: 800 something

Requested: nah

Warnings: a fair amount of swearing, reader's mental health is... not great, mentions of loss of appetite/living off ibuprofen for medical reasons, reader drastically changes their appearance/personality due do circumstances, brief mentions of therapy, I think that's it lol

Recommended songs: i don't care by fallout boy ft. disloyal order of water buffaloes by fall out boy

A/n:

You never would have expected your life to go so horrendously wrong in such a short period of time, but hey, here you are; worrying the people you love, focusing on shit you don’t even care about, and barely getting through the day. You had spiraled so fast - though no fault of your own - that Chiron made you schedule ‘check in appointments’ (aka therapy sessions) with him at least twice a week. Not to mention the mandatory checkups with Will Solace, who was still baffled by your “mystery medical condition”, which included one numb finger, heart palpitations and chest pains, and sleep problems. I mean, it could be worse, you could have no sources of serotonin in your life instead of one inconsistent one. You had no idea how it seems to fix your problems, at least temporarily, but it does. Not just in a ‘hey, I feel better emotionally’ way, but it genuinely makes your physical symptoms less bad. And it doesn’t even make sense, because you don’t have a crush on him or anything. Like, you actually don’t. You didn’t even know he existed before all this. But for some reason, the only thing that makes you feel even slightly better is Leo Valdez’s attention. 

You tried to be normal at first, you really did. But he was so preoccupied with his girlfriend (who everyone hates, not just you) and his projects that you couldn’t get closer to him. So you settled for the next best thing - fucking with him. Nothing serious or dangerous, just some pranks here, some innuendos there, y’know, enough to make him think of you. The more you did it, the more it seemed to work. It’s funny how a mystery medical issue and a whole lot of boy brain rot could change a person. You were not the same person you’d been a year ago - hell, a month ago. Your appetite had left the chat, you lived off coffee and ibuprofen, and you stopped giving a single fuck about anything other than the 18 year old hispanic boy who could inexplicably solve your problems, and getting through the next hour of the day. 

You forgot what having feeling in your pinky finger or a consistent pulse was like a long time ago. You brushed the thought off as you finished getting dressed. You were a hot flaming disaster these days. It was horrible at first, you felt like your old life was slipping through your fingertips. Then after mourning the slightly normal person you used to be who would do their hair and bullet journal and drink tea before bed, you embraced whoever the hell you were becoming. Your impulse control had gone out the window, along with any structure or routine, and your sense of self. You had hacked up a few of your camp shirts and pairs of jeans, and got some black platform boots decorated with slime drips just because you liked them ironically. Your hair had been bleached and dyed half cherry red, half black late last night. You found all this strangely liberating.

Thankfully, Leo also had mandatory ‘check in appointments’ with Chiron after dying and coming back to life. Apparently that can fuck a person up. You got to the living room in the big house where you two would wait for your appointments with Chiron. You flipped your hair to the red side and sat down across from him, sprawling out over an armchair. 

“Hey, Sparky,” you drawled, a smirk already on your face. He sighed and focused on the small thing he was building.

“What, no sass from the bad boy supreme?” 

“I’m a little busy at the moment,” he replied, his leg bouncing faster. Even he knew it sounded lame, but he never knew what to say around you. He didn’t know why you liked to mess with him so much, but it always disarmed him, and he didn’t know how to respond. You always seemed to know exactly how to get under his skin, and he didn’t know why he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

“Yeah, cause doting on your girlfriend takes up so much of your free time…” you punctuated the sentence with a sip of coffee. He looked up from his project.

“Are you trying to get me to hate you or something?!” he snapped. A smile played at your lips.

“See, I don’t care what you think, babes,” the door opened, and Chiron motioned for you to enter his office, “as long as it’s about me.” you said the last part quietly so only he could hear. You shot him a wink as you entered Chiron’s office. You got a glimpse of him blushing and putting out the small fire on his cheeks as the door closed. You sat down, eyes tracing the red string tied to your pinky finger that only you seemed to see, and you felt your heart beating in sync with Leo’s. Your suspicions were confirmed. 

You were soulmates. 

Now you just had to find a way to prove it to him.

×

[suck-my-tomato]

a moment of weakness

‘A MOMENT OF WEAKNESS  (Randomized.)

accepting

@ramenthings

3. Your muse is smashed drunk and incoherent.

Although Sasuke did not go to this college, or any college in fact, he was not a stranger to the parties that got thrown on and off of campus, always being invited for either to sell drugs to the student on campus, or just because people there enjoyed partying with the Uchiha And hell, Sasuke always was down to enjoy a party. He was, afterall, an alcoholic and drug addict, so nights of partying was the perfect escape from the sad reality of his lonely existence and a good way to forget his crippling depression for a while. Plus, people watching (sober or not) was a hobby of his. 

Tonight he was invited for the college kids’ celebration of the end of their semester deadlines being completed, a handful of people had hit the Uchiha up to buy MDMA or cocaine off of him and that was his job for the night, sell to the students to make a shit load of easy cash and then get blacked out himself on either of the substances, or just drink the rest of the night depending on how he feels. So far he had made at least $200 and the party had only been going on for a few hours, he spent a good amount of it chatting with an old friend, selling and now that most people had gotten what they wanted, Sasuke had meandered on over to the drink selections to pour himself a shot of tequila. It went down smooth, lip licking smooth, and then as he was making himself a mixed drink someone bumped into him. 

“Hey, watch it.” Sasuke talked over the music, not really mad because he’s been that guy to bump into people and spends so much time in clubs and bars that he basically was immune to it now. But when the person bumped into the table, hard, almost knocking everything over, Sasuke got slightly annoyed and grabbed the back of the blonde’s shirt to stabilize the guy. “Dude, watch it.” When the guy turned to face Sasuke, it was clear as crystal that this guy had taken too much of something or drank way more than his limit. “Get out of here before you cause problems, kid.” Not his friend, not Sasuke’s problem. So he released the other’s shirt and went the opposite way. 

An hour or two had passed by then, and Sasuke was feeling good. The alcohol was buzzing through his system, with a little cocktail of mdma and cocaine swimming around in his veins, and he could be found actually laughing with Deidara. In the crowd, Sasuke saw the same dude from earlier passing on through rather quickly and had just managed to make it to a nearby trash can where he basically fell over. Now he felt some sort of responsibility, maybe it was from the MDMA making him feel nicer than he usually was, the serotonin overload in his system making him feel some sort of motherly instinct and needing to make sure this idiot was alright… “Hey, Dei, I’ll be right back.” Yelled over the music, touching the small of his friend’s back to move around him to the other blonde. What was it with Sasuke and attracting stupid blonde men?

After swimming through the sea of people, Sasuke squatted down to the blonde whose head was in the bin and gently started to pat the top of his sweaty head. “Hey kid… you alright? What did you take.. Or how much did you drink?” When a few seconds went by with no response, Sasuke sighed and titled his own head backwards as his brain tried to process what to do. He didn’t know this kid, he could easily leave and pretend he didnt see this but if something happened to the kid? While he was on something Sasuke had sold to him, or having drank too much or “Fuck me.” If only he didn’t take his own mdma, he wouldn’t be feeling this need to care for a stranger. 

“Where do you live? Lets take you home.” Sasuke stood up now, moved behind the blonde man to grab ahold of the other’s arms to drag him into a standing position. But when that happened, the usual blank and just GONE expression of someone who drank too much stared back at him and almost babbling words of a baby escaped those pink lips. “Right... “ Sasuke shook his head, moved a few steps to realize that his kid could barely walk and then decided to pick him up bridal style to get the kid out of the party. “I’ll just bring you to my place.. I’ll take you home in the morning, sleep it off.”

[purplepersnicketywrites]

For the director's cut, what about Cranky-rishima? That's one of my favourite kiribaku pieces!

Aaa thank you!!

SO!!

Cranky-rishima was the first fanfic I wrote!! I’d just sort of started to read fanfic again (after a bit of a hiatus from general fandomness. i was between hyperfixations) and I think it was 2am Knows All Secrets especially that served as inspiration.

I thought to myself ‘hey I really like this genre of fic where Bakugou has nightmares & Kirishima comforts him and they experience extreme bed-sharing trope’.

And then I thought to myself ‘okay but what if it was Kirishima having nightmares?’ And it all spiralled from there! I’ll keep going after the break, I Rambled

(I still try to keep up that attitude to look for fun fic concepts - take in the popular situations, and flip who they’re happening to. It can result in stories that feel a little fresher, I guess?)

It’s kinda weird ‘cause like... my understanding of the characters has shifted since writing Cranky-rishima due to like, more content of them coming out & giving them more facets, and given all of that I think I’d write it differently if I wrote it now... But I still really like it! I enjoyed writing it and it gives me Happy Feelings if I go back to reread it ‘cause like !! I get those good I Made This serotonins.

I think the first scene I actually wrote for Cranky-rishima was the fight! I don’t know why, exactly, but I just wanted to see more Kirishima As A Human Person Who Can And Will Get Angry stuff vs the Unrelenting Sunshine thing, haha. (And I still do.) So the fic was kinda built around the lead up to the fight, and then the aftermath and results of it moving forward.

I remember dithering at first over whether to use ‘Bakugou’ or ‘Katsuki’ for the character voice, and started writing with Bakugou - but I remember changing my mind & going back through to edit them into Katsuki. I’m glad I did! It feels much more organic to have the characters refer to themselves by their given names in the 3rd person limited POV I like to write from!

Having Bakugou as the POV character was barely a choice - I wanted the true cause of Kiri’s sleeplessness to be mysterious at first, and it’s hard to keep details from the audience if the POV character is experiencing them!

I wasn’t sure that I could pull off his voice at first, but then it just sort of CLICKED, and I know exactly the point where:

Thursday, and Kirishima usually came for a tutoring session after classes. Katsuki was feeling jittery all through the lessons that morning. Fucking anticipation was doing, like, a jig on his nerves or some shit, and he really really wanted to blow something the fuck up. His palms crackled, and at one point Present Mic raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat at him from behind his stupid glasses.

The JIG! That was the MOMENT I knew I had Bakugou down the way I wanted, the dramatic little bastard. Now he’s still my absolute favourite to write.

Oh! Another thing I wanted to do with Cranky-rishima was portray the nightmares differently to how I’ve read them in most fics... Because most fics I read that include nightmares tend to do the whole ‘Character Panics Because They Don’t Recognise Reality’ thing. Which. Has its dramatic moments for sure, but it wasn’t nightmares like I knew nightmares.

I wanted to write like... Like Kirishima had Nightmare Disorder and didn’t know what to do about it! So I did!

Nightmare Disorder is something I used to suffer from as a kid. I think I sort of still have it? But these days I don’t tend to get distressed by what happens when I dream so they don’t really cause many problems or cause me to wake up.

They’re like... the level of stuff that tends to happen would be in line with a 15-rated film? Sometimes an 18. But I can handle the odd bit of dream gore/fleeing from monsters/etc now, lmao. It can even be fun sometimes, in the way that rollercoasters are fun - a lil taste of adrenaline, even if I’m asleep. And anything truly bizarre can be recalled and shared and even serve as inspiration for things! Like Cranky-rishima itself

But, when I was younger and they were scary, they weren’t really anything like the nightmares I keep seeing in fics!

If I woke up from one of my nightmares, I’d be perfectly lucid. No flailing around not knowing where I was - that’s something else entirely.

I’d know it was a nightmare that happened - and I’d also remember it incredibly clearly! Sometimes TOO clearly! That was the issue with them! They haunt you even if you’re awake and in the bright of day...

And then you can’t get back to sleep because you’re thinking about the nightmare, and because you’re thinking about the nightmare your brain queues it up for Subconscious Digestion which just means you have the nightmare again, and again, and again, until it’s there in your head and will be there FOREVER no matter what you do.

And you can defeat the dreams - if you change them by running through the way they play out and shifting it when you’re awake, if they don’t end with you jolting awake in a cold sweat with the images flashing in your head in a swirl of too-bright colours and impossible clarity - but they are replaced, and sometimes the old ones sneak back in a new skin because the core of them hasn’t really gone away.

It’s almost always that I’m being hunted by something.

And I used that as a basis for what Kirishima was going for - ‘write what you know’ works, lmao!

...Hey on that note...

I’m planning on a third part to Cranky-rishima, set after Doubt, in the future where Class A are now pro-heroes. I want it to be a class reunion or something, I think? And I plan to set a villain on them... And we’ll get to see exactly what Kirishima’s nightmares are really like.

As well as everyone else’s.

[haikpers]

[November 4,2020] 'Chapter 2'

I didn't expect the Night to go by so slow. Ever since I started writing in this I was just so excited to write whatever happens!

Anyways, I just woke up. It's currently 8:30 in the Morning. Wasn't expecting to actually wake up considering the fact that I kinda stayed up most of the Night looking up at my ceiling.

I'm in my Washroom getting ready to take my Daily shower. I've also gotta mention that my Friend Julien picked me up from my House today. For some reason my Pimples always settle down when I'm with him. He's probably Magic at this point.

It's not like I completely want my pimples to be gone just because I wanna look pretty. In all honesty, I want them to go away because I wanna be just like Oikawa! I know it sounds weird, and heck yeah it sounds impossible. But like I at least want to be similar you know? I've got the personality, the same interests as him, etc. So why not looks too?

Oh right, because he's perfect and I'm not. But whatever! I don't really care. I should be taking Shower by now but I'm standing here typing whatever's on my mind. Oopsies~ hehehe

Also, last night I was able to talk to my Friends about moving out and living together in the future. They're definitely going to be my Future Volleyball Teammates! I know, I know, I'm still 14. And yes we may have some age gaps but that won't stop us from setting up a Goal!

Hopefully Future me or any of them doesn't decide to leave. I really want to achieve this Goal of hours living together and staying Best Friends! Miracle, Lev, Mochi, and Colette. The 4 most precious people in my Life so far including myself, we're going to try our best! Anyhoo, I need to take a shower!

Just got done with my Shower. I feel much more refreshed now! I also haven't eaten yet, which I probably should do.. But I'll stay a little longer just so that whatever I post today is actually longer than the one from Yesterday.

Hannah somehow managed to make me cringe at my past self, I wanna die- So basically I used to do digital art, well not used to- I still do digital art til' this day but rarely. My art style was crap, oh GODXDDDDFFKEMFKKWKC.

I wanted to forget about it too, damnit. Now I have to relive my old art.

No idea why my head hurts a bit though. Maybe it's because I've never written a Diary before and my Brain's just malfunctioning because of it. Whatever the cause is, I'm ignoring it. [Unless it gets worse]

Did I mention it was Wednesday today? No, I don't think I have. Either way I'm just excited for the weekly Haikyuu Episode. It always comes out on Friday, which I'm so hyped about! Now that I think about it, I don't think I would've been so invested in Volleyball if it weren't for Haikyuu. In fact, I wouldn't even bat an eye to Haikyuu if it weren't for Oikawa. He caught my eye in one of the Instagram Posts- so, basically he's the reason why I love the Sport.

It's funny to think that my Future is because of Oikawa Tōru, a fictional Character who is both the Setter and the Team Captain for Aobajohsai from Haikyuu. But hey, I'm not complaining! If it's because of him then I'll continue.

Alright, I probably should actually eat now. I'm getting pretty hungry and I'm sure that my Birds are too as well. Their names are Bokuto, and Akaashi. Bokuto is the yellow bird, while Akaashi is the Blue. It fits them so well!

Well, well, well, I am back from my break! Also, I actually took a shower but I came back here like 3 Hours or even more after. Not a lot of things happened during the span of those hours. [Sad, I know]

But I did end up practicing my tosses for a bit! I use my Laundry Basket as a target for my Volleyball to land into whenever I set/toss it. It's not much, but it improves my precision.

I haven't tried setting backwards with it though, I probably should since I might need more practice for that. Also, I read some Hisoka x Reader Fan Fictions. Some were Lemon, the rest were fluff.

A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do okay? I was kinda bored so I ended up reading some FanFictions before deciding to go back to my own Diary and continue my writing.

I'm not even sure if I could practice outside today.. It's pretty sunny, but I feel like it might be freezing cold. I might as well just wait for tomorrow when I can go to School. Maybe then I could ask my Music Teacher if there's a way for me to Practice in the Schools Gym.

Corona is really pissing me off, I can't even practice or try out for the Team this year! Argh! And I was looking forward to it too. And the fact that I can't find any Gyms that has a Volleyball Court? Really shatters me. How come Japan is more superior. Like, I just wanna practice in a Gym that let's you use the Court for free.

I swear, when I become a Professional Volleyball player, I'm gonna set up a Gym/program in Canada where girls' and boys' like me could practice in without having to rent. I'll even be the coach for the program! Big dreams for tiny me, huhu.

I'm feeling even more sleepy for writing, is that bad? I really do wanna include something exciting in this Chapter but I can't think of anything that has happened that would be worth mentioning.

I also made a promise to myself that I wouldn't discuss any Past Occasions on here sooo... I have to make my current situation entertaining I guess. But~ I can do that after I sleep. uwu

Also, I kind of want to mention a little secret of mine that I do every single day. Before I go to sleep, or like any time during the day; I imagine Oikawa living along side me, interacting with me, and basically just straight up acting like my Best Friend. I also act as if no one else could see him BUT ME! It's honestly a straight up serotonin boost. I even have those moments where I could actually feel warmth where I imagine him to be. It's amazing!

But of course other people wouldn't really understand how much these little imaginations mean to me. Not everyone is this obsessed, but whatever. The more unique I am, the more reason to stay just the way I am.

I'll go check if it's actually cold outside, that way I can see whether or not I could practice my serves. Quick tip, if you don't have a net! Use the swings in parks. You could serve over the Bars, it's pretty useful. But make sure you don't hit anybody!

Bro, I just asked my Mom if I could go outside and practice. She said yes, I'm so excited to actually practice my serves! Wish me luck! I'll be back after. It's like 16° so I need to at least wear a sweater.

[r3b3lgrrrrrrrl]

A LunaTic and her Gunn (Part 89Xs1) "Dangerous But Sweet"

@lovemythsworld

@creatureofthen1ght-v3

@crystalbaby12

Don can't find any of them anywhere for Check Out. No one is answering their doors or phones. Not even the responsible ones, like Ashleigh, Bullet or Benny.

Annoyed, he heads to Colson and Luna's suite. He HATES dealing with them, ever since they first met. Especially her.

The door is slightly ajar, concerning Don for a moment. Entering the room cautiously, he finds The Ten of Them sleeping on the floor. Curled up and splayed all over each other like little kids on the mattresses.

Rolling his eyes, he mutters "Fucking idiots." Before speaking loudly. "What the HELL is this shit? You better put these fucking beds back. I'm not explaining your fucking slumber party when the hotel charges the lable for damages."

The rude tone and words coming out of his mouth stirs them. Groggy, with monkeys beating drums inside their heads, they all wish he would just GOOO AWAAY.

Luna opens her eyes. Giving him a death stare.

"Will you EVER be cool, Don?" She asks him with a sigh.

"Will you ever NOT be a fucking bitch?" He fires back at her.

"YEOO." The bass in Colson's voice vibrates Luna's body as his head flies up from behind her. "Watch your FUCKING mouth, Motherfucker when talking to my girl." His tone is fierce in defense of Luna. "Matter of fact, get the FUCK out before you make me get the FUCK up." He warns before laying back into their warmth.

"Bye, Don." Luna states in a monotone voice.

"I don't know how either of you have a fucking career." He spits out.

The Ten of Them are irritable from their Trip last night. With NONE of them liking this DickHead at the moment. Brains still linked, his comment hits them all.

"BYE DON!!" The Ten shout in unison, none moving.

"Indigent Fucks." Is thrown over his shoulder as he storms out, slamming the door behind him.

Getting comfortable again, those that awoke go back to sleep. Fuck Don.

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

Colson is performing tonight at MidLand. Finally up and dressed, they're all there. Moving slowly, but they're there. Even before 2P at that. Hanging out back. Burning as they recount the night before. No one skates. They sit, stand or lean. The struggle is REAL.

Luna's starving. She needs cheeseburgers, pineapples and coffee in her life.

"Hook it up?" She asks The Boys.

Offering to Take Care of Them All to their Oh My God, Yes Please's.

Dressed simply in dark shades, her Yankees hat, ripped jeans and a black crop top, Luna pulls off Colson's jean jacket. She was cold earlier but is starting to warm up in the sun.

Slipping in between Colson's legs, she wraps her arms around his shoulders. They lean cheek to cheek for a minute. Breathing each other in. Last night being so intense, they can still feel the raw emotions.

"I'll be back. Text me what you guys want from McDonald's. Love you." She kisses his cheek lightly.

"Love you.... Don't forget we gotta pick Emma and Case up at 430P..." He reminds her to her nod of agreement.

Grabbing Sam and Ashleigh, they take a walk. Burning and sipping on water along the way.

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

The Boys take The Girls being gone as an opportunity to run a light rehearsal. Focusing on practicing the Sublime song Colson wants to cover tonight.

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

Luna's a bitch. Luna's a bitch who doesn't like to be ogled. Luna is a bitch who can't STAND creeps. Luna's an even BIGGER bitch when she's recovering from a drug binge and CATCHES someone acting creepy.

And thaaats's exactly what leads to what happens in the grocery store.

In the produce section, Luna's wandering around with Ashleigh looking for fresh cut pineapples. Sam's towards her left, in a cross aisle on her phone facing the wall.

Rounding the corner into another aisle, Sam now comes directly into Luna's eyesight. So is a man moving around weirdly in the same aisle as Luna and Ashleigh. He's facing towards Sam. Watching him as her and Ashleigh begin to walk passed, something makes Luna look down.

This pig, is standing in the aisle, behind his cart. He has his hand down his pants and is jerking off to an unknowing Sam.

It feels like slow motion as Luna sees what he's doing, life hitting fast forward once she fully realizes it.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!!!" Luna screams.

Grabbing the back of the cart and shoving it into the man with all her might. Knocking him down backwards on to the ground, she then moves the cart. Stomping his hand in place on his dick with her right foot.

"What the fuck, Loons!?!" Sam comes rushing over.

"Bro. You see this shit." Luna points to his hand trapped in his pants. "He was fucking jerking off to YOU. RIGHT FUCKING HERE."

Sam's reaction is the EXACT same as Luna's. Word. For. Word.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!!"

She screams also. Bringing her knee up high, Sam starts to stomp down on the dude.

"You like jerking off to girls who don't know it? You fucking freak!" She continues to shout.

Luna joins in. Ashleigh standing back like the night in Chicago. Watching Sam and Luna stomp and kick the fuck out of A Jack Off Johnny of Kansas City.

"Let's see how much you like yanking it in the grocery store after that, Motherfucker." Sam spits on him before they leave him bloody and whimpering on the ground.

The two employees watching don't bother to aid the man or stop The Girls. His actions being unacceptable, they decide to leave him there.

Walking towards the door, Luna spies the fresh fruit she wants. Making their purchase, they leave the grocery store and head to McDonald's.

"Was he really whacken' off to her?" Ashleigh asks in uncomfortable disbelief.

"Yeah, dude." Luna says, disgusted.

She hates the world on a regular day. Today it's extra.

"I seen his fucking hand stuck down his pants, Ash." Sam says with a shudder.

"Why are men so gross..." Ashleigh complains.

Her low serotonin makes her sensitive to sadness. While Luna and Sam are both prone to anger and violence.

"Because there ain't enough women who ain't afraid to beat the fuck out of them when they act gross." Sam states angrily.

She's not wrong. 

"How do you guys know how to do that?" Ashleigh asks quietly.

"What?" Luna cocks her head towards her.

"Not be afraid of men and beat them up the way you do? I would never know how to do that." She says honestly.

"It's a NY thing." Luna blows her off.

Looking at Sam. Some words shouldn't be said. Just as some reasons never need to be relived.

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

Sitting on the back loading dock of the venue, The Ten of Them are reunited eating their fast food and fresh fruit. Having so many bags of burgers, fries, nuggets and pineapples. Ten different sodas and iced coffees, The Girls had to snag a shopping cart to get it all back in one piece.

The Ten of Them are all still pretty miserable. Luna offering up a Xanax to whomever needs. That would be 8 out of 10.

Sitting next to Colson as she munches on a double cheeseburger, Luna's legs are swinging wildly. She loves beef and cheese. Almost as much as she loves Colson.

"Is that blood on your shoe?" Colson asks her, confused and slightly concerned.

"Damn it. That Motherfucker." Luna growls as she lifts her leg to see the tiny splatters.

"WHAT Motherfucker?" Colson now demands.

His possessiveness amuses to Luna. Sucking her teeth and preparing for his reaction, Luna tells the Tale of A Jack Off Johnny of Kansas City.

"Why the fuck didn't you call me?" He insists once she's finished.

"Imagine that...." She says dryly.

Putting her pinky and thumb to her ear, like a phone. She bobbles her head and wiggles her straightened shoulders. Voice and body mimicking a 1950s housewife.

"Hiii Honey, would you mind coming down to the local grocer. I've got a sexual predator trapped here under my foot but still need you to come defend my honor for me. Please?"

She changes her tone as she shoots him a Look with a "Yeah. No."

"I fucking hate when she acts like this... Like she's fucking invincible... She better never...." He doesn't even want to finish the thought. Knowing that his brain is mush and his girlfriend is a psychotic bitch with no fear.

"You're fucking insane." Is all he says, shaking his head as he bites into his burger.

"And you're beautiful and I love you." Luna tells him, nipping any argument in the bud.

Once they've finished eating, Luna and Sam borrow Baze, their instruments and stage to rehearse. Luna doesn't have a name for the Ellen song, she just keeps calling it, IT.

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

Watching Luna from SideStage, Colson's phone rings. It's a number he doesn't know.

"Hello?" He answers.

"Hi. Colson? It's Francis, Luna's friend. We met at your house in LA for her Tea Party..." Frannie introduces herself.

"Oh! Hey! Yeah, what's up?" He asks, moving away from the stage.

"I hope you don't mind but I got your number off Sam to that maybe we could touch base about Luna's birthday?" Frannie asks, striking fear into Colson's heart.

"Oh FUCK... I forgot her birthdays coming up." He knows her birthday, he just sometimes doesn't know the actual date of the day he's living in. Many occasions sneak up on him. Ashleigh usually catching them first. Plus, his brain is more wonked out than usual.

"Uhhh... Yeah... What were you thinking?" He opens his apps to check the day of the week it falls on.

"Well, Paris and I always throw her a party out here... Or we used too. We didn't the last two years... So we wanna do that.... Is there a date? Because we were thinking the 19th, not knowing what you guys have planned with this and the wedding and all...." Frannie trails off.

"Fuuuuckkk... The wedding. We don't even know when we're doing that...." Frannie hitting Colson with layers of reality he can't deal with.

"Uhmmm... Shit man. We're on tour right now and haven't really talked about any dates or even her birthday. Fuck, I feel like an Asshole." Colson winces when he instinctively rubs the back of his head, forgetting his new ink.

"Okayyyy... How about we throw her the party on the 19th. You have my number now... If you think of anything just hit me up. Sound good?" She asks.

"Yeah. Thank you. I'm sorry I'm such an Asshole with all of this.... I've never had a serious girlfriend like this before...." He says sheepishly.

"Soooo... You think you should just jump right to wife in three months?" Frannie's trying not to sound sarcastic but she can't help it.

"YEAH. I do. And so does Luna, since she did say Yes." Colson begins to feel slightly defensive.

"I'm sorry." Frannie backs down. "Luna and I are really old friends and I just think it's quick. When do you guys get back to LA? We'll hang out. Before the party." She suggests an olive branch.

"Yeah, deff. And me too. We're done at the end up this month. Call Luna and set something up and I'll keep us and whoever free on the 19th." Colson agrees with an irritated sigh.

"You have people?" She asks.

"Yeah, is that a problem." He doesn't like having to deal with Luna's friend right now.

"No... Not at all. I just need a head count for the space size." She replies to his Oh.

Asking him to text her a list, he agrees. Apologizing again for being rude before they get off the phone. It's false. Not caring who's daughter she is, Colson decides he doesn't like Frances.

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

"If they don't have a date... Maybe it just won't happen." Frannie thinks after she hangs up. It's not that she doesn't like Colson, she doesn't know him. Just like she didn't know the guy she married six months after meeting him. Now she can't get her dad's guitar back or rid of him.

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

Once off the phone Colson immediately calls Ashley.

"Yellow!!!" She answers, cheerfully like her words.

"Hey Ash..." Colson sighs, relieved to hear a friendly voice.

"Sup Kells?" She asks, concerned.

"Francis just called me about Luna's birthday party?" He tells her in a confused tone.

"Her and P are doing that this year? Oooh!! That's gonna be so fun!! We haven't done it for the last couple... I wonder why she hasn't called me yet..." Ashley babbles as Colson listens emotionlessly. "What day is it? Kells! What day is it on?" Ashley snaps him back.

"Uhh... Friday the 19th....?" He answers, still lost in his conversation with Francis

"Ewww... I'm pretty sure I'm already.."

"ASH!" Colson cuts her off. "I'm freakin' out Dawg. I don't think Francis likes me. I know I don't like her. Luna's birthday is in less then a month. I have nothing planned. We're supposed to get married next month and we don't even have a date. FUCK, I don't even think Luna has one dress, let alone two!!" He spouts off.

"Whoa man, chillax.... It's gonna be alright." Ashley laughs at him. "First. Fran'll be fine, she's projecting her own shit right now. Second. Have you talked to Loons about any of this or are you just freaking out because of Frannie?" Ashley digs for the root.

"I'm just kinda freakin' out." He admits.

"Talk to Loons, Kells. She may already have something in mind. You don't know. Just make sure you keep the 19th open if you really don't wanna get on Frannie's bad side." Ashley teases him.

Colson sighs and thanks her. Really glad to have her as a friend.

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

"DAADDDYYY!!!!" Casie comes running up to Colson.

Emma trailing behind her, the two women greet each other warmly. Hugs and How Are Yous before Casie squeezes Luna's guts out.

"I can't breath, Dilla!!" Luna pretends like she's choking to Casie's laughter.

Colson giving her a piggyback ride out of the airport. Luna helping Emma with Casie's luggage as they chat with each other.

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

Sat together for a late lunch at Border's Cafe, Casie colors as the adults order food and drinks.

"How's the wedding planning going?" Is the first thing Emma asks Luna and Colson.

"What the fuuuuuuckkkk...." His brain groans.

"Ahhh... You might be able to help if you wouldn't mind. I need a planner for Cleveland. Nothing big. Just a little get together at the house after." Luna says to Emma.

"Yeah, I have a friend who owns a catering business." She suggests.

"That'd be perfect." Luna says graciously.

"When are you guys gonna do it?" Is the dreaded question.

"Monday, the 29th." Luna says nonchalantly.

Colson whips his head over to look at Luna.

"We have a date?" He asks with a mixture of shock, relief and a little bit of jealousy.

Luna's face lights up with excitement. Grinning, she leans over to kiss his cheek. "We doooo!!! And it's really freaking awesome!" She shines as she pulls out her phone. "Look... TownHall only marries on Mondays and Fridays. So.... Ash cleared your schedule from the 29th till here." Luna points to the Sunday of EstFest. Looking up into Colson's oceanic eyes, she gives him THAT One Look that made him fall so deeply in love with her. "Meaning.... We are having a seven day wedding celebration with the possibility of two of them being somewhere...." Lost in her enthusiasm, Luna suddenly remembers where they are. Changing her last word. "Awwwwwesome...." Followed by another Look.

"SEVEN DAYS?!" He exclaims. Looking at her like she just cured cancer. Forgetting the jealousy of not being included in picking the date. "Seriously?? Seven days? That's fucking SICK, Kitten. Where you wanna go?" He asks, pulling her in for a kiss on the cheek.

"We'll figure that out later..." She shrugs.

The server coming to set their food down. Refilling their drinks.

"Do you have a dress?" Emma asks.

She likes to watch the interaction between Colson and Luna. It gives her some insight to what kind of environment her daughter is exposed to when with them.

"I do..." Luna begins to speak.

Colson cuts her off.

"Yo. I legit was just freaking out on the phone with Ash over all of this. The date, your dresses, your birthday...." Colson rambles on in relief.

"My Ash...? About my birthday?" Luna questions him as they eat.

"Yeah... We haven't talked about that one either. Got any secret plans there too?" Colson has a little sass to his tone, last night still lingering.

"I haven't really thought about it... Come on, C... This month has been insane. I only figured out the dates with Ash yesterday when we were getting The Bus cleaned. I'm gotta head out Monday night for NY. I need to rehearse with this new bassist before Ellen. Which ironically worked out because, I can stop at a friend of mine's so she can fit me. I also gotta look at a brownstone in Brooklyn Heights while I'm there too. I tried to work our schedules together because I wanted you to check it out with me but you'll be in Idaho. So, I'm gonna meet back up with you in Anaheim probably. Shit is non-stop. You know this, Sugar." Luna explaining one day of her life next week. Emma tired just thinking about it.

"You need to see the Dr too." He reminds her.

"Motherfucker!!" Luna's mind bursts just as Emma opens her mouth.

"You okay, Luna? You sick?" She asks.

Casie's head pops up. Proving kids are always listening.

"Did the blueberries get you!??" She asks with wide eyes.

Luna can't help but laugh with Colson at Casie. Explaining to Emma her allergy and side stepping her with the explanation of an Annual Exam for work. It's not a full lie.

They enjoy the rest of their lunch. Emma choosing to catch a flight right black to Clevland. With hugs and kisses, she promises she'll see Casie in a week. Pecking Colson and Luna GoodBye with tight hugs. Reminding Luna that she'll send her the contact information for her friend as she gets into her uber.

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

"Wait!! Look what I got!!" Casie pulls off her school bag with excitement.

They're still standing on the sidewalk outside of Border's. Waiting for their own uber as Casie digs through her bag. Popping up once she's found what she was looking for. Proudly displaying two homemade, beaded bracelets.

"I made these for you. They're Love Bracelets. Because you're in loooove and I love YOU." She grins as she snakes her head at the two of them.

Casie makes both of their irritated souls lift with happiness. Cold hearts melt with adoration. Slipping hers on, Luna squats down to hug Casie.

"I love it, Dilla. I'll wear it everyday." She promises.

"Me too, Peanut!!" Colson scoops her up, attacking her with kisses.

"Daaaaad!!!! Stooop!!!" She laughs uncontrollably.

"Okay, okay..." He laughs, setting her down. "Here.."

He reaches for Luna's hand. Taking a picture of their gifts. He posts it to his Insta.

"Peanut made us Love Bracelets. My kid is deff the coolest 😭🙏🏽💖 #estfest can't come fast enough. 😈🔐🐈"

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

Back at MidLand, everyone's BackStage. Alcohol still flows but they've moved smoking outback. Away from Casie.

Coming down the stairs, Luna catches Casie drumming on the wall. Snagging a quick picture of her favorite little human with her favorite tall human in the background.

"That's gonna be my family..." Luna's eyes well up as she thinks of them lovingly.

"Looney!!!" Casie calls for her once she sees her. "I'm goin on stage with Dad tonight!" She grins excitedly.

"Yeah?" Luna beams at her. "What are you gonna play?"

"What I Got." Casie responds proudly.

"THE GOODNIGHT SONG!!" Luna shakes a giggling Casie. "Make sure you don't fall asleep on stage!!" She teases the little girl.

"Looney... It's too loud to fall asleep on stage." She states as a matter of fact.

"You're right, Dilla. Silly me." Luna laughs as she shakes her head at herself.

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

The show is wild as always. The Boys making about a 90% recovery by time they hit the stage. Running through the same setlist as most of this leg of the tour. Casie sings all of her dad's songs SideStage with Luna, Ashleigh and Sam. The Girls still passing a bottle but skipping the joints.

Luna dips off to change before heading OnStage. Dressing in black leather pants and a sheer open back black long sleeved top. Her ass looks phenomenal. Colson can't keep his hands off her while they're OnStage together.

Holding her from behind by the waist as he sings the last line with her, he nuzzles into her neck. Sending electricity through her body as she brings her hand down his face delicately.

"Y'all know we're getten' married, right?" He grins at the crowd's explosion. "We're doin' it at EstFest... Three day fucking RAGER!!" He shouts to the room's wild screams.

"That's right..." Luna chimes in. "This year we're extending it until Sunday with two special surprise performances for you guys. It's gonna be FUCKING WILD!!!" Luna laughs.

"WHO'S COMEN' TO CELEBRATE WITH US!??" He shouts as his fans roar.

He turns to Luna. "You think they'll come?" He asks

"I think they'll come." She answers him before turning back to the audience. "You gonna miss a helluva party if you don't...." She teases before kissing Colson.

"See ya there!!" Luna shouts as she glides OffStage. Right into a tiny Casie.

"Looney, I'm hungry." She pouts.

"We better fix that before you have to perform, hunh? I think we've got Pizza Bites on The Bus, wanna check it out with me?" Luna asks to Casie's nod.

Checking their time with Ashleigh, they have 45mins. Luna takes the little girl's hand in hers as they head off on their mission.

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

"You're the best, Looney." Casie states as she munches on pizza rolls.

"Thanks Dill. You're pretty rad yourself, kiddo." Luna smiles at her.

"So, you and dad getting married means you'll be my Looney forever?" She asks.

"Yup. Forever and ever." Luna answers as her heart swells.

"I want a sister NOT a brother." Casie stresses her request.

"WHAT?" Luna asks her with a scrunched face.

"When people get married, they have a baby. I want a girl baby." She explains.

Casie is freaking Luna the fuck out. "Where the HELL is Colson when I fucking need him..." She thinks. Not knowing how to answer.

"Well...." Luna sighs. "I'm preeeetty sure you don't get to pick whether it's a boy or girl. And, how about we get married first and have fun with you. Then maybe a baby might come.... But they don't always."

"FUCK... You should've shut up 10secs ago, you fucking idiot." Luna mentally scolds herself.

"Why?" Casie asking the question Luna knew was coming.

Luna has no idea what to fucking say. How do you tell your 10yr old, soon-to-be step daughter, that she's the only kid you like. That idea of birth and pregnancy makes you want to jump off of a bridge.

"Uhhhhmmm...." Luna chooses science. "You know how my body gets mad at me with blueberries?"

Casie nods.

"Sometimes babies are like blueberries and they just don't agree with some people's bodies..." Luna is struggling hard.

"So you'll die?" Casie asks with terror.

"Oh FUCK my life...." Is all Luna can think.

"No... No... Case, no.... It's just, sometimes blueberries aren't for everyone and sometimes babies aren't for everyone too... Does that make sense?" Luna asks her, confusing her own self.

"I guess." Casie pops up.

Dropping her dish in the sink. She washes her hands.

"Ready?" She asks.

"Yes." Luna has never been more ready in her life.

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

With the venue dark, Colson's voice quiets the crowd.

"I brought my Queen out here tonight... Now, I'm gonna bring out my Princess. Come on, Case." He calls her out.

He starts on his acoustic.

🎼Early on the morning, Rising to the street,

Light me up that cigarette, As I strap shoes on my feet🎶

Grinning at Casie, nods at her. She comes in with him. Changing certain lyrics.

🎶I got a Dalmatian, I can still get by, I can play the guitar, Like a motherchucken riot🎶

They sing before Colson hits the guitar solo. Having sang this song together all her life, they hit the notes and lyrics flawlessly. Not missing one beat.

🎶Never start no static, I just get it off my chest, Never had to battle With no bulletproof vest, Take a small example, Take a tip from me, Take all of your money, Give it all to charity, Love is what I got, It's within my reach, And the Sublime style's still straight from Long Beach, It all comes back to you, You'll finally get what you deserve, Try and test that you're bound to get served, Love's what I got, Don't start a riot, You'll feel it, When the dance gets hot🎶

Luna goes wild from SideStage. Cheering them on. Colson looking over Casie's head to grin at her. Loving her more each moment that she doesn't drive him crazy.

"THANK YOU KANSAS CITY!!! YOU WERE FUCKING SICK!!!! GOODNIGHT!!! Colson shouts, ending the show.

Holding hands with Casie, he kisses her on the cheek before passing her to Ashleigh. Colson hasn't fucked Luna all day and is dying to climb inside of her.

"We'll be back." He calls over his shoulder as he takes Luna's hand.

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

"I'm gonna rip these fucking pants off you." Colson says in frustration with Luna's zipper in between kisses. Out comes the blade again.

"No! I love these pants!!" She stops him, peeling them off herself. "Can you handle the fucking shirt?" She asks turning around for him to unzip it.

Zippers down, they're both naked in less then 30secs. Colson gripping Luna up by the ass and setting her on the edge of a table. He pushes his large dick inside of her warm pussy as she wraps herself around him.

"How come ever time I fuck you it feels like the first time?" He moans out.

"Cuz this pussy was made for you, Lover." Luna purrs into his ear.

Thrusting her hips into him as he bounces her body off his dick. They fuck each fast with a fierce hunger.

"My dirty girl likes it rough, hunh." Colson pants as he pulls Luna's hair back.

Sinking his teeth into her neck, making her buck harder. Clawing his back as she begs Yes Please.

"Mhmm... Take this fucking dick." He demands.

Making her body quiver, Luna losses all control. Gripping him harder, Luna fucks another two orgasms out of herself before Colson drops his load inside of her.

"FUCK." They both breathe out, sweaty and sex stained. Like usual, they hold each other as Colson rests in his favorite place. Both beyond content in each other's arms.

"We gotta get Case..." Luna reminds him.

As they clean up and change, they burn a joint together. Colson jumping on her so fast in the dressing room they didn't even light an After Show Sex Joint.

Just as they're about to walk out, Colson puts his large hand against the door. Stopping her.

"Wait. We get married on Monday and don't have anything to do till EST on Friday?" He asks.

"Yeah..." Luna smiles out the answer.

"You figure out where you wanna go. We gonna have ourselves a proper mini honeymoon, baaaaaby." He says in a weird country accent.

"I fucking love you." Luna cheeses as she reaches up for another kiss. ---------------------------------------------------

Word Limit (1 of 2) To be continued.......

[starkercrossedlovers]

Sillage

Up here the air is marginally thinner, cleaner, lighter, than it is down amongst the swell of humanity. Up here the cacophony of everyday chaos fades to little more than background noise. Up here, Tony can pretend everything is fine, that he’s not aching for something unnameable, though it has a name.

The love that dare not speak its name

Tony scoffs at his own melodramatic musings; it—no he—has a name, and here, in this solitude he creates for himself, he says it, too softly to hear, the sound snatched away by the wind even as its leaving his lips.

He finishes his drink and contemplates another—but he promised, promised he’d do better, be better. So he sets the cut crystal down on the concrete ledge and ponders knocking it over the edge—it wouldn’t be hard, a flick of his finger really—but then, he might kill someone and then where would he be?

Guilty, ashamed, exhausted.

All things he already is.

So he picks up the glass and carries it inside, sets it on the bar and pads silently through the tower, feet carrying him blindly to where he wants to be—shouldn’t be—for another lonely night in a row.

The air in the room isn’t stale exactly—still, and tense, and the scent that lingers makes his chest work, eyes falling shut at the familiarity of it. He can almost feel him here, in the lingering scent and the press of air against his skin like a ghostly exhale—but when he opens his eyes there’s no one but him here.

Tony’s like a lake, surface disturbed by stones, each one of them some way that Peter had affected his life. He’s gone now, but the ripples remain, spreading out and growing until he’s fundamentally altered. The trail his life leaves behind in the water shimmers like the reflection of a sunset—beautiful and achingly sad.

Too many nights he chases ghosts around the Tower; in the room that used to be his, in the book left on the coffee table he can’t bring himself to move, in the yearning he feels in his gut at a laugh that’s familiar but not quite the same—not quite his.

He’s weak tonight, and when he lays down on the bed and buries his face in the pillow, he doesn’t fight the tears. He’s too tired and lonely, so he chases the whiskey with sorrow and cries silently until he sleeps and dreams of ashes and apologies.

—————————

The world is quieter with half the population gone, or it should be, but sometimes it feels as though the remaining bits of humanity scream all the louder to drown out the silence of those missing.

He’d never heard silence so loud till he’d watched his friends, allies, loved ones turn to ash with nothing more than a whisper of the breeze.

Please Mr. Stark, I don’t wanna go

Eyes clenched tightly closed, Tony shakes his head at the echoes that haunt him, taunting him with everything he’s lost, everything he failed to protect.

That’s what he is now; a failure.

Maybe always was.

Howard had sure seemed certain that he’d never amount to anything.

“Look dad, failed again,” he mutters, “aren’t you proud?”

He tosses back the scant remaining whiskey in his glass and shudders as it burns its way down.

They have a plan, supposedly, to fix everything. He’s never seen Steve so hopeless before, never known Natasha to be scared, and he figures he probably should be too—hopeless, scared, filled with dread—but mostly, mostly he’s numb.

Which, maybe isn’t a bad thing, because then he won’t hope—there’s no room left inside him for hope, just a cold distant idea that maybe soon this will all be over and he can finally rest, close his eyes and not see his failures crumbling to ashes in front of him.

Wouldn’t that be nice

————————

He’s soaked to the bone in blood and gore and weariness, but they’ve done it. The Mad Titan lays dead at Nebula’s feet, head a short distance away, and Tony, he can’t quite manage to feel anything but quiet relief.

“Mr. Stark?”

Oh good, now he’s hallucinating.

He turns with a sigh and finds Bucky, T’Challa, Quill, Sam, and, and—

“Peter?”

He stares, wide eyed at the kid, disbelief and hope kicking around his heart as his stomach lurches and then he’s stumbling back, arms full with a warm body.

A hitching noise works out of his throat and his fingers curl through sandy gold locks as his eyes fall shut and a shocked inhale brings a familiar scent filtering in.

It’s not a memory or a ghost or a sensation in the air in his arms, it’s Peter.

He sobs and pulls him closer, inhaling deeper, wincing as slim fingers curl too tightly into his spine, but oh god, it’s real, and he can’t be bothered to care about a thing like pain.

I’m sorry Peter, I’m so so sorry

He gasps it out as he cries, holds him tighter, panic and ecstasy warring inside him. His left arm feels numb and his heart beats too fast, but he can’t let go, can’t risk losing him again.

Peter holds him tighter; I’m here Mr. Stark, I’m here, he whispers, voice hoarse with his own tears.

I’m here

———————

Cold sweat slicks his skin as he bolts out of bed, unease and fear sick and cold in his veins. He grabs his left arm unconsciously, staggers down the hall and pushes the door open, inhaling the fresh scent of linens and citrus and Peter.

Mr. Stark?

He sits up in bed, hair tousled with sleep still lining his face, eyes rapidly clearing as he stares at Tony.

It’s a moment of silence and then Peter slides over in bed, pulls back the covers and lays down, waiting.

He shouldn’t.

Will.

Does.

Peter pulls the covers up over them and gives it a moment before whispering what happened?

Tony shudders as the memory of his dream—nightmare—replays like a slideshow behind his eyes.

You died...again

There’s a long moment of silence and then a hand splays against his shoulder.

I’m right here

He nods, it doesn’t mean much to his traumatized brain though, the nightmares keep coming, even as he sees Peter everyday, knows he’s alive. It’s a failure of biology, serotonin and neurons; he wonders if he took a scan of his brain if it would show the parts of him that are broken.

Go to sleep Peter urges I’m right here.

He shivers as the sweat on his skin chills and then Peter presses up against him from behind, knees tucking against his as one of his arms slides under Tony’s to band across his chest and then Tony’s grabbing onto him, breathing unsteadily as tears burn in his eyes.

There’s a long moment of silence and then Peter starts speaking, quietly, breath soft against his skin.

“So I’ve been thinking about how to increase the tensile strength of the webs while maintaining their flexibility. I have a few ideas—”

And then he’s off, talking science in Tony’s ear until the tension bleeds out of his body and the soft murmur of his voice drops to a low hum and he’s asleep before he realizes it, the sun sliding through the blinds the first thing he sees when he wakes the next morning.

Peter is already gone from bed but there’s a note on the table next to him—stay as long as you need, training with Bucky. Be back soon.

It shouldn’t comfort him as much as it does, shouldn’t make his chest tight with affection, but then he also shouldn’t have crawled into bed with his 17 year old mentee and co-Avenger, but Tony Stark has never been one known for good decisions.

He stumbles from Peter’s bed and blinks at the light in the hallway, stilling when Sam turns the corner, eyes flicking between him and Peter’s door, lips pursing and turning down at Tony’s undress. They stare at each other for a minute before Sam shakes his head and strides past him, silent judgement radiating from him in waves.

He must have learned that trick from Steve, Tony muses, stomach clenching at the thought of the other man. After everything Tony thought he would stay, but given the chance, he returned to the 40’s to make a life with Peggy.

That Bucky had stayed without him surprised everyone, but then, as he’d explained, he’s had decades to get used to this world, and he feels like he owes it to the world to try and undo some of the damage he’d done as the Winter Soldier—brainwashing or no, he carries as much guilt over it as Steve did over not being able to stop his fall from the train.

Guilt, they all carry it now—an extra load on already burdened shoulders.

He shoves it aside for the moment and heads back to his room to shower and dress. Hopefully Sam will keep his mouth shut about this—he’s less prone to confronting Tony than Steve was, and for that he’s deeply, painfully, grateful.

———————

Each time he tells himself he won’t go. He’ll lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling for hours, trying to go back to sleep, and then curse himself as he tosses aside the covers and makes his way to Peter’s room.

He hates how weak he is, how dependent and lovelorn, but he needs Peter, more than he should, more than he has any right to, and he knows it’s wrong, but Peter has yet to turn him away—and it’s a weak defense, but it’s the only one he’s got.

Tonight though, tonight he’s stayed awake until the numbers on the holographic display beside his bed reads 2:42 AM and he’s got a stack of SI paperwork that Pepper’s needed his attention on for weeks, so it’s no loss really, in the grand scheme of things.

If he gets two hours a night he’s lucky, and he knows he can’t keep on this way, but for now, he’s fine.

That’s what he says when anyone asks—I’m fine—like it isn’t the biggest lie he’s ever told. He got used to saying it at a young age—hiding bruises from teachers (I’m fine Mrs. Woods, really) and schooling himself not to flinch when Howard spoke to loudly or moved quickly in public.

He’s been fine for most of his life.

And what an utterly inadequate word for what he is. His panic attacks are worse than ever, coupled with insomnia and shakes, he’s most definitely not fine. If anyone else on the team has noticed, they’ve steadfastly remained quiet about it—though he’s noticed Nat eyeing him on more than one occasion so maybe he’s not fooling all of them.

A knock at his door draws his gaze up and he smiles softly to see Peter there, toes curling under as he tugs at the collar of his oversized sweatshirt—one of Tony’s he’d stolen after a mission and never given back. He looks hesitant and pale, and immediately concern swells within Tony.

“Pete? What’s wrong?” he asks, already half way out of the bed before Peter has a chance to speak. He’s breathing unevenly, pale and sweaty and Tony frowns, reaches out and lays a hand on his forehead, lips pressing tightly together when he feels the kid burning up.

“Don’t feel so good,” Peter admits, swaying into Tony’s touch, eyes hooded and circled with blueish marks. Tony doesn’t hesitate, just wraps his arm around Peter’s shoulders and another under his knees to lift and carry him.

Peter tries to protest, but it’s weak and his head falls onto Tony’s shoulder with little resistance. “Fri? Scan please,” Tony murmurs, tucking the sheets up around his chest with gentle hands. “Hang tight kid, I’ll be right back,” he assures Peter before slipping out to the kitchen for a cup of water and a mug of chamomile tea.

By the time he’s back Peter is mostly asleep, curled into a ball in Tony’s sheets, shivering and whimpering softly.

“Boss, Mr. Parker has the flu. He’s currently registering a temperature of 102.3. Recommended course of action—fluids and painkillers every two hours to accommodate Mr. Parker’s high metabolism. Also recommended is intravenous nutrition in addition to soft bland foods such as; bananas, rice, applesauce, toast. These should help accommodate the fluid loss and stomach ache Mr. Parker is currently suffering.”

Tony just stares at Peter for a moment before nodding, “Have medical send up what’s needed and show me what to do, I’ll take care of him.”

There’s a moment of silence before Friday speaks again, “Yes boss. Nurse Diaz is on his way. ETA 15 minutes.”

Tony nods and sinks into the chair by his bed, watching as Peter sleeps uneasily. A soft command to Friday has the lights dimming and he sinks deeper into the chair, weary and heartsore, but unable to sleep.

Nurse Diaz is an efficient man in his 30’s who spares only a cursory glance around the room—Tony Stark’s inner sanctum—before moving to assess Peter. He’s quiet as he works, scribbling notes on a chart that Tony’s surprised to see isn’t one of his tech, but an honest to god piece of paper.

After twenty minutes of quiet, Diaz turns to him, arms crossing over his broad chest as he studies Tony. He waves a hand and Tony follows him across the room, panic swelling within him—is Peter worse than FRIDAY had indicated? Images of Peter crumbling to ash flash before his eyes and the taste of death is heavy on his tongue.

“Mr. Parker has the flu. I’d say with his advanced healing he shouldn’t be having this much of an issue with it, but there’s a particularly nasty strain out this year that’s making life very difficult for folks who don’t have super powers, so I’m not surprised he’s down for the count. It’ll probably take five to seven days for him to get through this, and as long as you keep the fluids up and get food into him, he’ll be fine. I’ll be back in thirty minutes with more saline and nutrition drips for you, and show you how to do the IV lines.”

Diaz looks at him for a long moment and his professional demeanor fades into something softer. His hand lands on Tony’s shoulder and his eyes are kind as he says, “He’s gonna be fine Mr. Stark. We all care about him, we wouldn’t let anything happen to him.”

Tony nods, grateful for the reassurance, but numb still, because he wasn’t supposed to let anything happen to the kid, and he’d ended up dead. So promises like the one Diaz made carried less weight than it would have once upon a time.

Diaz leaves and Tony takes up his sentinel position by the bed, paperwork for Pepper in his lap as he tries to focus on something other than his panic and fear and gut wrenching worry. By the time Diaz returns to show him how to change IV bags, he’s exhausted, tired down to the bone so that he’s sore with it, eyes heavy and bruised.

Diaz pauses on his way out and shakes his head, “Just my professional opinion, but if you’re going to be around Mr. Parker you’ll need rest so you don’t get sick too. If you need something to help—”

“No.”

His voice is harsh, and he immediately regrets the way it came out when Diaz flinches.

“No, thank you Diaz. I’ve uh, had a problem with medications in the past and I’d prefer to just sleep as much as I can without aid.”

Diaz nods slowly and a ghostly smile crosses his handsome face, “I understand Mr. Stark. My little brother had problems too.” He pauses and then sighs, “If you’re open to more natural remedies I’d suggest melatonin, chamomile tea before bed and a blackout on technology an hour before bed. Let your system wind down naturally and it’ll come easier.”

Tony’s heard it all before but he nods along anyway, grateful that they have people as dedicated and understanding as Diaz on the team. When the nurse leaves Tony carefully organizes his remaining paperwork and has FRIDAY dim the lights till there’s barely enough light to see by.

He sinks into the chair by the bed and reviews the most urgent of the files, eyes growing heavier as the numbers on the hologram grow. Outside, dawn blooms, grey and foggy and as the sun manages to break through, Tony falls asleep.

——————

FRIDAY alerts the team that Peter is sick and Tony’s been exposed and they’ll both be under quarantine in his quarters for the next week. It takes 18 hours before Peter is functionally coherent, and Tony finds himself threatening physical restraint if he doesn’t stop trying to convince him of his health by getting out of bed.

“Christ Pete! You practically collapsed in my arms! You’re not well and I need you to get better, you understand? I can’t,” his breath hitches as panic rises, “I can’t lose you,” he gasps, black spots appearing in his vision, left arm tingling painfully.

“Mr. Stark! Sit down, please!”

Tony doesn’t have much choice when his legs give out underneath him, and it’s lucky Peter’s not listened to him because he’s out of bed still and able to catch him before he falls and hurts himself. He’s guided into the bed, Peter’s hands firm as he tucks the sheets around him and then crawls in beside him.

Peter tasks FRIDAY with monitoring his vitals worth an order to alert medical if they grow drastically worse before he has her open the curtains so he can watch it rain. Up this high there’s nothing to obstruct the view, so it’s grey and gloomy and darkly beautiful.

He asks FRIDAY to filter the sounds of the rain into the room, the steady white noise soothing. He watches Tony for a moment, curled in on himself and breathing unsteadily, and decides screw it, he’s going to try and help.

He pulls Tony against him so his body is pressed along Peter’s and his head rests on his chest, and the older man stiffens for a moment before one hand slides across his hips and curls up around his waist, holding onto him tightly.

It’s glorious torture, being this close to the man he’s loved in one way or another for over a decade, but right now it’s not about what Peter wants, it’s about what Tony needs. He slides his fingers through thick dark curls and starts humming.

He doesn’t have the most amazing voice, but it’ll do for this. He sings softly a lullaby his mom used to sing that May had continued even as he got older. It should have been weird, to have her sing it to him as a teenager, but there were times when he was panicked or scared or hurt and all he wanted was her comforting voice and embrace to make it all better.

Eventually Tony relaxes against him, and when he glances down he’s surprised to find the older man asleep. There’s dark circles under his eyes and wrinkles on his brow that his fingers itch to soothe away. He keeps his hands to himself, limiting his selfish contact to just a hand in his hair, humming quietly.

He’s not really tired at the moment, and he doesn’t feel quite as terrible as he did earlier so he asks FRIDAY in a whisper to turn on the tv, sound so low that anyone without abilities wouldn’t hear it. He watches a few movies before his stomach rumbles and his bladder reminds him of its presence so he carefully edges out from under Tony and goes silently to the bathroom.

He’s just finished washing his hands and asking FRIDAY to have soup and sandwiches sent up when he hears a noise of distress from the other room. Hurrying out, he inhales sharply at the sight of Tony, white faced and panicked, curled against his headboard. He’s clutching his left arm, strained lines of tension in his limbs as his head whips toward Peter.

Peter

It’s half a sob of relief and then he’s collapsing entirely, hands fisting in his hair as he weeps and shakes.

Peter is across the room before he registers it, pulling Tony into his arms to rock him, panic of his own making his chest too tight. This time he doesn’t seem to be calming and FRIDAY tells him they should call for help so he agrees, keeps on holding onto him, and tries to fight back his own tears.

Nurse Diaz is there minutes later and takes one look at the situation before hurrying over. They get Tony to agree to take something to help him calm down, and a few minutes after it enters his bloodstream, he’s asleep again.

Before he leaves Diaz pauses and turns to look at Peter firmly. “Is it always this bad?”

“No,” Peter shakes his head, “I think it’s because I’m sick. It reminds him...” he trails off, the words of when I died hanging between them.

“You can’t make him better. He has to get help and you can’t be the person to do it for him.”

It hurts a little, to hear it put so baldly, but he knows that Diaz is right. He just nods and smiles tiredly at the older man, “Thanks.”

Diaz studies him and then sighs, “Let me know if you need anything else.”

As he leaves another staff member wheels in a tray of food and leaves just as quietly. Peter eats in silence, watching the rain fall, some unnamed thing inside him growing as he inhales the scent of petrichor.

———————

Peter waits till he’s fully recovered to approach Tony about what happened. It happens one evening while the others are out, having dinner together, leaving just the two of them alone in the tower. He finds Tony in his shop, elbows deep in a car engine, tinkering away with Black Sabbath playing in the background.

He watches him for a minute and smiles softly; sometimes his love for this man makes his chest hurt in the most beautiful way.

Tony glances up, face softening into delight and Peter quails internally, wishing he could cross the room and kiss him, firm and demanding so he knows just how he feels.

Instead, he moves to sit beside Tony on the spare stool and nods toward he engine, “Need a hand?”

“Nah I’m just killing time, monkeying around for the fun of it,” Tony tells him with a grin before turning back to continue what he was working on.

Peter hums and watches for a few minutes, gathering his courage before he murmurs, “You’ve been having panic attacks, bad ones. Rhodey told me they haven’t been this bad in years, except this time you aren’t trying to get help.”

Tony still and Peter can see him looking out of the corner of his eye before he resumes his work, every line of his body tense. “Yea? What else did Rhodey have to say?” he asks, voice dangerously calm and even and Peter’s brain screams—warning warning warning, danger ahead!!

But he has to keep going.

Because he loves Tony and he can’t heal him all on his own.

He’s not that powerful.

“He said the same thing Nurse Diaz did; that I can’t make you better all by myself, you have to want to be better and ask someone for help—a therapist or something.”

Tony flinches and his head turns slowly to meet his gaze, “Just how many people have you been talking about this with?” he asks evenly, displeasure writ on his handsome face.

“Just Rhodey; Diaz mentioned it when he came and helped while I was sick and you had a panic attack. Tony I wouldn’t talk about this with anyone, I swear. I just, I want you to get better, to get the help you need,” he tells him earnestly, hands itching to reach out and reassure him.

Tony’s face is blank as he turns on his stool, grease streaked on his face and forearms, impossibly handsome and seriously angry. “Better? Because I’m broken now, is that it? I’m too weak to handle all this on my own? Guess you have to have superpowers or be my father to know what’s best for me, huh?” he snarls.

Peter flinches but swallows back any sharp retort—Rhodey had told him Tony likely wouldn’t take this well. It still hurts though, that bitter ring of acrimony in Tony’s voice.

“No Tony, I’m just telling you this because I love you. I want you to be better, to be healthier, happier. Because I think if you’re honest, you know you aren’t any of those things.” He pauses and then sighs, “I’m going to move out of the tower and live with MJ, go to school and if you or the Avengers need me I’ll be here. You’re strong Tony, you, not Iron Man, and I know you can do this.”

Tony stares at him wide eyed, confused, and then goes studiously blank, “If you loved me you wouldn’t be leaving me,” he says flatly, turning away when Peter makes a soft wounded noise.

He fights tears as Tony works and swallows hard before nodding and rising to his feet, “Maybe. Or maybe I love you enough to walk away so you can find your own strength, to see yourself like I do,” he murmurs.

Tony says nothing and he feels like crying, but holds it in, takes a shuddering breath and prepares to walk away.

There’s a screeching noise behind him and then a hand clamps around his wrist, yanking him back and into the solid wall of Tony’s chest, a greasy hand grabs his chin and holds him still as firm, hungry lips press against his.

Tony tastes like whiskey and engine grease and regret and Peter finds himself leaning into the embrace, even as he knows he should pull away. Tony does it for him, stepping back with a low curse and a shake of his head as he avoids Peter’s gaze.

“Just go.”

Peter stares at him for a moment, throat thick with emotion and unshed tears before he nods and stumbles back a step.

“Okay.”

He doesn’t look back, doesn’t turn, not when he hears Tony curse, not when the door closes behind him and he hears a shout and something heavy slamming into the wall, not when he hears wrenching sobs on the other side of the glass.

Instead, he turns and walks away.

———————

Three weeks later he’s right back where he started—roaming the halls of the tower late at night, drinking too much and sleeping less than before.

Peter is gone, but his scent lingers on Tony’s sheets, the oragami cat he’d folded and put on Tony’s desk in the lab smiling and waving cheerfully—reminders of him everywhere, even the news as Spiderman saves the day and rescues a couple from drowning after the woman tipped the boat mid proposal and dumped them into the pond in Central Park.

When he finds himself in Peter’s room night after night, drinking till he blacks out, he knows rock bottom is close, but until the day he wakes up and realizes that he’s not just chasing a ghost but becoming one, he can’t get help.

After that it’s, well, not easy, but simple, to find a therapist and start trying to get better.

Because Peter loves him, and he’s going to do everything he can to be worthy of that love, to be strong enough without him, to stand on his own two feet and finally set aside the decades of abuse and neglect that he’s just so tired of carrying around.

It’s not easy.

But it’s worth it.

———————

Amber and vetiver are warm in the air when Peter walks into his apartment and he pauses, heart aching at the familiar scent. Every once in awhile he’ll catch it on the air and glance around, heart racing in the hopes that he’ll find Tony nearby, but always, it’s just an impression of someone already gone.

He tosses his backpack on the table and sorts through the mail as he walks down the hall to his room, frowning when the scent gets stronger. He pushes open his door and freezes because Tony is sitting on his bed, looking at him with soft hopeful eyes and he doesn’t quite know what to do.

Tony smiles faintly, “I wanted to see you, say thank you,” he says, and Peter shivers as the low raps of his voice runs over him. It’s been months since he’s seen the older man and he’s watched every news clip he can get his hands on, yearning for what he left behind.

He hadn’t slept right for weeks after he left; his pillows and sheets didn’t smell right and when he realized it was because they didn’t smell like Tony he had wept, aching with the loss of his best friend, mentor, love.

He’d lain awake, staring at the pillow beside him, remembering the way Tony’s head had looked on it, dark hair falling on his forehead in his sleep, face soft and flushed gently as he breathed deeply. There wasn’t even an impression left behind, just memories.

He swallows hard, “For what?”

Tony rubs his hands together and sighs, “For leaving. You were right. I needed to do it on my own and not rely on you to fix me. I have to fix me. I-I’m not fixed, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be completely better, because who is really, but yea, I uh, I’m doing good.”

Peter fights a smile at how nervous Tony is and steps forward until he’s right in front of him, knees barely brushing together so Tony has to look up to maintain eye contact.

His hand shakes when he pushes it through Tony’s hair, voice soft and hopeful when he asks, “Are you happy?”

Tony hums and leans into the touch, eyes hooded as he stares up at him, “More than I’ve ever been,” he answers, hands sliding behind Peter’s knees so his thumbs can stroke slowly against his thighs. “Are you?”

Peter leans down, titling Tony’s chin up further roll their lips are just a breath apart, “I am now,” he whispers, and then closes the distance.

A low noise of pleasure comes from Tony’s chest before he’s pulling on Peter’s knees and tugging him down into his lap. The kisses are slow and lazy, and even when Tony turns them and presses him into the mattress, they’re still soft.

“I missed you,” Tony breathes, mouth on Peter’s neck.

Peter tugs gently on Tony’s hair as he nuzzles his beard into his soft skin, “I missed you too.”

Tony leans up and smiles softly down at him, “I love you,” he murmurs, thumb making circles against his hip where his hand had sought out skin under Peter’s shirt.

Tears threaten and he feels like he’s drowning in warmth as he tugs Tony down to kiss him again.

“I love you too.”

———————

Peter wakes up the next morning and smiles, hearing Tony in the kitchen, cursing as he makes breakfast.

His pillow smells like amber and vetiver and it’s not just some lingering impression of someone long gone, it’s real.

He buries his face in the fabric and inhales.

It’s real.

———————

Angst! I love it! I hope you do too!

@sluttystarker @starkerchemistryy @pantastic-peach @thebadthingshappen @ciel-mio @hpspazz @starker-4ever @w1nters-stark @foof-a-loof @confused-trash-kitten @panicdotexe @stqrker @honey-honey-darling @mariketa12 @itsmeryshipper @dramione90 @starker-flame @pretzelpoetry @seriouslystarker @starkerthanreality @ikneelbeforemygod @professional-fangirl75 @virgilismypoorshadowling @godlovesstarker @sapphicfreak @veronicashipsit @the-dark-obsidian-princess @ikneelbeforemygod @laughing-oreo @sensei-sans-sugoi @ruelukas22 @tom-starker @yourlittlemelody @sbiderslut

[artificialqueens]

Amoretto - Chapter 2 - (Branjie) - dreamyunicorngirl

A/N Here we go again. Please appreciate my attempt at writing Kasia (Kameron x Asia) and some Ninex - probably my fav part. Thanks to Meggie for  being an amazing beta! Hope you guys enjoy this one!

CW: alcohol 

“You don’t need no unloyal piece of dick - even if it’s some fine piece of dick,” a wide-eyed Latina whispers to herself as a thin smile stretches across her face.

The brunette had left the comfort of her messy but cozy home just about two hours ago in favour of celebrating one of her best friend’s birthday. Vanessa had contemplated earlier if it was really the right decision to go out on a Tuesday, especially considering that there are plenty of essays and textbooks waiting for her at home, but what the hell; Silky only turns 21 once in her life. So after a few minutes of attempting to hold up a responsible personality, her evening plans were settled. 

Perfectly painted brows furrow together as slightly tipsy fingertips attempt to fix her smudged lipstick. Brown doe eyes stare at a skimpily clothed woman, wearing her favorite beaded red dress, in a sweat stained mirror, forgetting for a moment that it is her own reflection staring back at her. A flawless mug blurs the lines between the real Vanessa and the seductive and quick witted stranger she craves to be. Dark lashes flutter shut for a second before the girl in question regains her sense of being and flashes herself an encouraging smile.

After one last glance she quickly rinses her hands and leaves the safety of the cool bathroom - leaving behind all of her spiralling thoughts. A ball of energy bounces towards the sultry warm dance floor, greeting all of her friends upon her arrival, most of them barely even realizing that she was gone. Purple and dark blue lights dance on her olive tanned skin, painting a mysterious sunset on her naked limbs. Beaming smiles fill the heavy air as the Latina shakes her body to the catchy rhythm flooding the room, leaving her heart and all of her essence on the dance floor. She twirls and spins and dips, challenging her friends to light a fire under their asses as well, joining her destructive nature to help the brunette tear down the ballroom.

Laughter fills the heavy air between the party crowd, shots are distributed, energy is running high, and serotonin is flooding everyone’s system. A warm fuzzy feeling spreads in the brunette’s chest with each passing second, appreciation radiating off her soul for the lovely evening she gets to spend, surrounded by the best of friends. Ultimately grateful for the loving people in her life, celebrating spending another day with them.

Yet with all the loving and kind people around her, celebrating Silky’s birthday, she still steals glances at her phone screen, hoping to see a message from a certain someone. Her mind distracted, zooming out every once in awhile, barely registering the party crowd. Craving an answer to her flirtatious texts, craving proof of a chance at possible requited love.

But with each glance she gets disappointed. Doe eyes stinging at the corner, an embarrassed figure attempting to hold back the tears forming. So she sashays to the bar instead, grabbing one shot after the other. Showing off her curves to hot bartenders, fluttering with heavy lashes and giggling at gibberish spilling from her friends’ lips she doesn’t understand. All just to take her mind off a certain Tinder date. Ignoring the sting in heart and gulping down the lump forming in her throat.

And with each trip the group of friends takes to the bar, more alcohol enters Vanessa’s system until one shot of tequila is too much - the fatal shot that leads her to see her angel again. 

Just moments ago A’keria had ordered a round of tequila shots in honour of their birthday girl. Each guest wishing the life of the party all the best for the new year. Vanessa takes a good minute to scan the crowd surrounding Silky for the first time this evening, and is surprised that she already knows most people. Friends, old hookups, or fellow university students crowd the bar. There are only a couple of people she’s never even laid her eyes on, a model-like redhead who seems to be attached to the hip of a bald sepia skinned young man with an odd laugh, a raven haired girl - sharing a lot of similarities to a K-pop star whose name Vanessa couldn’t remember- and a girl who already seemed like a shady ass bitch, in the first few minutes she had listened to her, who Vanessa doesn’t even want to get to know.

As her eyes carefully scan the crowd, she manages to spot one of her close friends and fellow IT student, Asia, standing at the end of the bar, fairly close to a bodybuilder Barbie with light caramel hair and amber coloured eyes. Vanessa catches the other woman lovingly stare at her friend, tracing random shapes on mocha skin as she giggles to every mindless word spilling from Asia’s lips. The brunette faintly remembers being introduced to the other woman, yet not fully recalling her name. Katja, Kayla, Kimberly - something with K. 

Dark knowing eyes catch Vanessa’s staring and wave her over with a smirk.

“Do you remember Kameron, Vanessa?” Asia greets her friend after having paved her way through the crowd. The woman pets the barstool next to her, offering the seat to the brunette.

“Of course I do,” the brunette replies with a small smile, her cheeks painted with a slightly pink tint, embarrassment swimming through her veins, as she scratches the back of her head. Definitely grateful for the reintroduction.

After her little hiccup Vanessa manages to have a heartfelt catch up with her friend. They briefly talk about the upcoming semester and each other’s lovelife, or as much as they manage to scream over the deafening beat penetrating the floor, leading to Asia officially introducing Kameron as her girlfriend. Their revelation sealed by a sickly sweet kiss, nearly making Vanessa gag, so she decides to drag the two lovebirds to the dancefloor instead.

An hour later the three women still dance to old nineties tunes, screech along and stumble over misheard lyrics as Vanessa gets lost in the moment again. Her heart beats along to the rhythm of the beat, music running through her veins. Eyes closed, lost in time. Just living for the moment. 

So it’s a no-brainer that she doesn’t catch Kameron’s obviously inhuman beauty - long luxurious lashes, a perfectly proportioned body, glowing skin and flawless curls - or her knowing looks directed towards the brunette, amber eyes never leaving the young woman.

Sickly sweet, lingering kisses are being shared between the couple as the three women converse in small talk during a dance break at the bar, making the brunette third wheel for a few awkward minutes. Envy clouded eyes stare down her fidgeting fingers in her lap, a slouched shoulder leaning against the sticky bar counter. Another shot glass is placed next to her miserable figure, not even eliciting a smile from the brunette. Droopy eyes catch another kiss planted on Asia’s already bruised lips. Why couldn’t she be the one happily in love? 

Another alcoholic beverage runs down Vanessa’s throat as a deep sigh escapes her dry lips. Still no new message from her mysterious Tinder guy, Matt. Is it really that hard to actually send her a text back? Isn’t she interesting enough? Loveable enough?

The heartbroken woman empties her shot glass and throws her phone into her purse with an extroverted eye roll. He won’t text or call her anyways. No matter how long she stares at her screen. Ghostly hands grip at her throat, making her choke on air. Tears sting at the corner of her eyes as disappointment settles in her stomach, weighing her down like a sinking anchor in the deep ocean. No one to hold on to. Just a lonely girl all by herself.

As Vanessa looks up again, her now slightly tired eyes scanning the room, she catches an angelic woman with bright white wings entering the club. Naked feet hovering above the ground, a leather quiver and wooden bow hanging over her shoulder, painting an ethereal picture. Fully doubting her vision again, Vanessa tries to rub the sleep out of her eyes, even going as far as blaming the sighting on her slightly tipsy state.

But as she opens her eyes again, Brooke is still here in her godly aura with wings and shit. Vanessa had hoped she would disappear, just like she did this afternoon during her shift at the café down the road. The blonde beauty had appeared out of nowhere, making her drop multiple glasses in the process and scaring her shitless - she probably had looked like a madwoman as well. After a short lecture by her boss and another hour passing like a blur, the incident was already forgotten, upcoming exams and essays now occupying her restless brain.

Vanessa had originally blamed her appearance on her immense coffee and energy drink mix consumption - a constant in nearly every university student’s life - and nearly complete managed to erase the encounter from her memory. Until now.

Here she is, hovering above the dancefloor in a white, sheer robe and trained eyes looking out for her new prey, her aura consuming all of Vanessa’s attention. Dark plum lips fallen agape, pupils blown wide, her right hand gripping the counter so hard that her knuckles turn nearly white. 

Brooke’s heavenly body inches closer to another friend of Vanessa, targeting a bubbly girl with long dark blond braids and an enormous love for oversized flannels. 

Vanessa excuses herself from the couple in a trance-like state and dares to follow Cupid’s gaze and inches closer to her and her victim, feeling an invisible force pulling her towards the heavenly woman. A regal woman floating through the crowd, massive, feathery wings raised high above her head, yet no head turning her way. An invisible being, only for two pair of eyes to be seen - one not able to keep her distance. The brunette is fully captivated by the creature’s essence, gravitating towards her like a moth toward a light bulb.

From a safe distance Cupid’s blood-dripping arrow hits a girl with candy floss hair, who daringly decided to wear a dark blue pinafore dress above a Mickey Mouse patterned shirt to a club, instead of Vanessa’s friend. Monét continued to crack jokes with her counterpart, completely unaware of the commotion going on around her, missing how Nina’s lungs constrict at the impact, roses immediately blooming in her heaving chest. Her love for the other woman doomed from the beginning.

Vanessa feels the urge to close the distance between her and Brooke Lynn, sprint towards the angelic woman’s spot behind the oblivious Monét and bombard her with all of the questions burning on the tip of her tipsy tongue. But before her mortal body can even catch up with her demanding mind, Silky interupts her plans - always the woman of great timing.

“Are you really spying on these love birds, hoe?”

Vanessa slightly jumps at her sudden appearance, head whipping around in matter of seconds, not prepared to have Silky’s booming voice so close to her ear. So she just simply shakes her head, too stunned - for once- to get a word out.

“Stop being a perv, V, and let Nina get that pussy,” Silky cries out loud, dragging the Latina back to the bar by her wrist, while doe eyes try to catch fleeting pictures of the heavenly creature, and orders another round of shots. 

Having lost the immortal of interest, she decides to catch up with A’keria, takes two rounds of shots with the suspiciously sober Kameron and has a dance off with a slightly awkward twink. All in the span of an hour. Just a silent attempt at emptying her overloaded mind. Dancing and drinking away her worries. Trying to forget multiple names at once - but never succeeding.

An exhausted figure paves her way to the bar, ordering a glass of water for once. In a desperate need of a cool down, trying to steady her spinning world for a moment. The tongue in her mouth resting for once, no words bubbling up her throat. Her mind is spiralling at a record pace, jumping from one issue to the other. Matt - university - Brooke Lynn.

Speaking of the later - squinted eyes scan the room again, hoping to catch an ethereal creature hiding in the shadows, hoping to find her personal angel lurking somewhere. Doubting she stuck around, but still hoping to see her again. Needing to talk to her again. 

After their last encounter her head has been spinning non-stop, constantly replaying the encounter. While heart had fluttered at every message she had received from Matt - the guy from Tinder, now her heart just weighs heavy in her chest at the recent lack of messages. Her stomach starts to tighten at the thought of the reason for all of this. 

Still unsure if she had just fall in love with this sweet boy overnight or if her morning really had been full of strange encounters. Still not wanting to give into a reality full of mythological beings.

Nearly completely lost in her thoughts, she spots the woman she has been craving to talk to all night in the spur of a moment. Taking the last gulp out of her waterglass, she slams it down on the counter, before jumping down the barstool she has been sitting on, casually strolling towards the lady in question. 

“Are you a parking ticket? Cause you’ve got fine written all over you, mami.” The brunette flutters her heavy lashes and pokes out her tongue as she silently chuckles along to her own cheesy pickup line. 

“It’s nice to see you too, Vanessa,” the blonde monotonously answers without even sparing her with a single look. 

“Why do you look like someone kicked your favorite puppy, mami?” Vanessa asks, frown in place, clicking with her tongue once again at Cupid’s depressing mood.

Brooke Lynn doesn’t even spare her an answer this time around, just silently stares in a direction unknown to Vanessa. Cold, stormy eyes focused on caramel locks of an apparently particular interesting club-goer, one that Vanessa couldn’t identify from the distance. 

“You really aren’t the life of the party - huh? Well, sweet-cheeks, do you know what I do when I am sad?” Vanessa lets her unfiltered mouth slip, attempting to conceal the hurt Brooke’s sudden cold dementor is causing.

Vanessa only receives the silent treatment.

“Drink away my problems,” she still enthusiastically screams over the loud music, trying to uplift her counterpart’s mood. The brunette is fully aware at her struggle dealing with sad emotions, especially with other’s, and drags Brooke towards the bar, ordering two shots of tequila. 

Brooke suspiciously eyes the drink in front of her eyes before hesitantly grabbing it after being enthusiastically encouraged by the brunette. As the content of the glass runs down her dry throat, she pinches her eyes together and puts the glass back on the counter with a scrunched up face. A shiver runs down her figure at the sharp taste.

Vanessa barely contains a giggle as she orders another round, enjoying the torture she is putting the woman through. With an amused expression she watches Brooke run her hand over her tongue, trying to get rid of the taste on her taste buds, before she declines the other drink. Vanessa herself not even feeling any harsh liquid anymore on her now numb tongue.

Vanessa downs Brooke’s shot as well and drags the unimpressed woman to the dance floor with a “show me what you’ve got, mami.”

Vanessa twirls, spins, and dips for the third time this evening. Most of her friends have already gone, having an early calltime in the morning. But not Vanessa. She has passed the point of no return - text books and essays long forgotten. Even her phone is abandoned in her purse - hasn’t been touched for the past hour. All that matters is the mysterious woman dancing so close to her, but never close enough to touch. Dark brown eyes taking all of inhumane beauty, watching her icy hair swing around with every movement. The tipsy brunette dances in circles around the blonde goddess, taking her hand in hers during a very brave second, twirling her around the dance floor as well. Even teasing a small smile out of the ice cold beauty, dimples appearing out of nowhere. Two women caught in time, dancing the night away, all responsibilities forgotten. Just the two of them - letting their spirits run free. Their bodies gravitating towards each other, existing just within the world of the other. Two pairs of heavy lidded eyes, watching - staring - taking it all in.

Multiple eyes watch the scene with confusion painted on their faces. Wondering why the strange girl laughs and dances with air.

But as soon as Brooke’s mood has seemingly lifted, it falls again. Her eyes carefully scanning the crowd, searching for something, her mind running to places Vanessa never could imagine. The ice cold woman taking a step back from the young girl, distancing herself from her. Vanessa’s blunt rambling and chessy attempts at making the woman by her side smile again - blatantly ignored. The blonde’s attention not in the present. 

With a deep sigh Vanessa lets herself be dragged to a silent corner of the club, facing a previously empty stage. Yet somehow in the past hour the karaoke stage must have been opened, or at least been hijacked by Vanessa’s favorite blonde Russian exchange student. 

Beneath the bright yellow lights a very drunk Katya sings her heart out to a very beautiful rendition of Enya’s “Only Time.” It might not be the most appropriate song for the setting, but as if Katya would ever care, and yet she still managed to attract multiple party guests at the front of the stage. Numerous drunk men cheering for her, already chanting for an encore. Her girlfriend proudly smiling from the side of the stage.

“Mami, we’ve got to sing a duet together,” Vanessa blurts out after Katya had left the stage, spinning around to face the blonde beauty by her side again, flashing her a cheshire cat smile. Excitement sparkling in bright does eyes upon her, self-proclaimed, brilliant idea.

“Ohh no, no, it’s already late, I should- I should really go”, Brooke stutterts, finally being snapped out of her dream like state and catapulted back into reality by Vanessa’s request.

“Just one song, bitch, pretty please!” A pouty lip and puppy eyes face the torn blonde, attempting to win her over. Not ready to let her go just yet.

“Well…"  the blonde beauty caves in, her ice walls slowly melting.

Like a little child opening her presents on Christmas morning, Vanessa jumps up and down, clapping her hands together while simultaneously squealing. Her locks bounce with each jump, alcohol clouding her better judgement and a lack of sleep can be found behind her eyes as well. But it’s too late to stop her now.

“Gotta show these hoes how a ten does it. Get these cookies!” A hand on her hip, lips pursed and a sharp nod highlighting her determination, letting everyone know she could slay her competition.

With a confident stride she climbs up the stairs towards the stage and demands to sing the next song, Brooke trailing behind her like a little kid following her teacher on a school trip. Her lips pursed into a frown, arms crossed and her foot tapping as she watches Vanessa discuss the song options with Pearl. Heads nearly bumping together over the karaoke facility, olive hands raised high as the discussion grows heated.

As the intro to “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” by Elton John starts playing, Vanessa and Brooke take on their respective places in front of the two mic stands, the later not even able to contain an eye roll at the song choice.

But with each passing second and each sung paragraph, the two women enjoy themselves more and more. A serious attempt at singing a duet slowly but surely turns into lots of giggles and intentionally off notes, especially on Brooke’s part. Toothy grins are traded between the two women. The short song turning into a lasting melody.

Even though all Vanessa can focus on is the mysterious immortal by her side, everyone else seems to be watching a drunk girl singing by herself, drifting off into madness.

“A heartbroken Vanjie is really out there singing a duet all by herself - ouch,” Asia slightly whispers into Kameron’s ear, but still somehow loud enough for the other girl stood next to her to hear.

“We should get her down from the stage, before she embaresses herself even further,” Nina chimes in on the conversation. Her ever-so-kind soul looking out for the young girl on stage, not wanting to see her regret this decision in the morning. Monét smiles at the candy floss girl’s heartwarming compassion while barely containing an evil grin at the idea popping up in her head.

“Or - we could just film her,” Monét and Asia simultaneously exclaim, giggling at their own stupidity. Two halves of a whole idiot. Two phones point at a ball of energy, now fully pulling of a full production on stage, within a second.

Kameron doesn’t add a word to the conversation, distracted by an unexpected presence on stage, too stunned to form any proper sentences. Her usually giggly persona suddenly all silent. 

Within a heartbeat, a roaring applause signals the end of the performance. A curly beauty silently retreats into the shadows.

Two smiley women basking in the afterglow of their earth shattering performance, climbing down the stairs pulling and goofy faces at each other. Two pairs of eyes gleam brightly, challenging the stars.

The brunette inches closer to the blonde beauty hiding in another corner of the club, whispering seductively with a sly smile on her lips: “We should get outta here.”

[chicklette]

I have this angsty head Canon about a world-weary Cap dating a younger, earnest bucky and things going disastrously wrong when Bucky wakes up one morning and says “I love you” and Cap is like, uh, “that’s ok.” This is how it goes (angsty, rated M-ish for mature themes):

Steve wakes early, thinking about a run.  He’s almost made to pull off the covers and get moving when he realizes that the frantic energy he usually starts the day with isn’t there.  Instead, he feels…he feels okay.  So he turns over, pulls Bucky into his arms, closes his eyes, and goes back to sleep.  

It’s later in the morning when he wakes again.  He’s been at a light doze, flitting in and out of dreams that disappear the moment he’s conscious enough to take a look at them. He considers closing his eyes and going back to sleep, but his body is suddenly very aware that he has a handsome, lithe, twenty-four year-old kid in his bed, and well, it’s interested.

Bucky must sense he’s waking, because he snuggles deeper into Steve’s arms.  He snuffles against Steve’s neck, pressing a kiss there, before sighing, “I love you.”

Steve doesn’t move.  

It must take a moment for Bucky’s brain to catch up with his mouth, because suddenly he freezes. “Shit,” he whispers, and Steve feels the breath of it against his skin.

“That’s, uh, okay,” he says.

And fuck.  Fuck!  

He knows it’s the wrong thing to say the moment it leaves his mouth, but he can’t say the right thing, the thing the kid wants to hear, because that would be a lie, and he’s way past lying to save someone’s feelings.  That opens up bigger problems for everyone.

They lay like that for another moment, and then Bucky slides out of his arms.  “Gonna shower,” he says, and sure.  He’s probably embarrassed, or at the least, feeling sheepish.

“I’ll make coffee,” Steve says.  He pulls on a pair of boxer briefs, the kind he knows Bucky likes, and pads out to the kitchen to start the coffee.  He figures the kid’ll be in the shower a while, so he gets started on some omelets, slides a tray of bacon into the oven, and pulls out the carton of fruit salad from the deli on the corner.  

By the time Bucky’s out of the shower, the food’s ready.  They sit down to eat, but the air is heavy, stilted.

“Listen,” Steve starts, and Bucky holds up his hand.  

“Just…don’t.  I didn’t mean to say it,” he says, and Steve’s breath catches in his throat.

This kid. Christ.  He’s all pale, creamy skin and blue-gray eyes that are currently snapping fire at him.  

“I didn’t mean to say it, but I don’t regret it either.  Is that going to be a problem?”

Steve breathes deep because yeah, yeah he guesses it is.

Bucky’s watching him, eyes wide.  His mouth, God.  Steve’s done a hundred lewd things to that mouth.  Wants to do a hundred more.

Then Bucky blinks. Looks down at his plate. “Okay,” he says.  “Okay.”

He stands up and Steve watches him.  

He’s seen a lot of things since they pulled him out of the ocean, out of the ice.  He’s battled aliens and robots and those weirds sentient plants that sprayed out the purple mist that made everyone want to fight for the longest six days of Steve’s life.  He watched the love of his life wither and die, enduring the heartbreak each time she forgot him, and each time she remembered.

He’s watched his friends start to settle down.  Clint and Nat – saw that one coming a mile away.  Tony and Pepper never married, but Pepper’s having his baby, due in October, and Tony’s a damned mess.  Sam’s got a girl he’s seeing regular.  Doesn’t bring her around the tower, but Steve’s out a weekend running partner, and Sam’s smiling a whole lot easier these days.

He’s seen a lot of things in his time out of the ice.  Learned a lot about technology, learned a lot about himself, about humanity.  Maybe some things he wishes he hadn’t.  But watching Bucky walk to the bedroom, shoulders high and tight, that’s something he didn’t see coming.  He hurts for the kid, he does.

But he’s not going to lie. Not going to say something he doesn’t feel.  

Fact is, Steve thinks he’s probably past all that.  

Watching Peg die, SHIELD fall, watching a bunch of suits try to seize power and turn the Avengers into their lapdogs?   None of that was good.  Steve’s come to terms with it all, best he can, but he can’t find it in him to wish for some kind of happily ever after.

Meeting Bucky, well, that seemed like just enough good luck.  And maybe a little bit like something Steve deserved, after all these years.   They were at the SI Holiday party, the one for all the folks working on Avenger’s tech, the one with all of Tony’s pets.  He’d been talking to Dr. Cho and looked over when he felt someone watching him.

Bucky was eyeing him up, looking tall and handsome in a tux, his hair gelled up into that stylish disorder that Tony seems to appreciate.  He saw Steve catch him staring, bit his lip, then smirked over the top of his glass of champagne.

Getting him into bed took no time at all, and Steve was thrilled with how enthusiastic, how eager Bucky was.  

He’d dated some age-appropriate people, and he’d spent a lot of time with his own dick in his hand, so having someone who didn’t just tolerate Steve’s ramped up drive, but actually appreciated it?  Well, suddenly the weekends had a whole lot to look forward to.

He was a smart kid, too. Kind and funny, crazy about his family and dedicated to his work.  The first time he told Steve he’d have to reschedule because he was working late, Steve breathed a sigh of relief.

It was good to have someone who understood about work.  About responsibilities.

He just hadn’t thought the kid was going to go and catch feelings.

Steve’s not surprised when Bucky emerges from the bedroom with his overnight bag.  He walks over to the living room and retrieves his laptop, stowing it in the padded sleeve and zipping it into his overnight bag.

He stops at the kitchen table, where Steve is still sitting like a fucking punk, and sets down his bag. He strokes a hand across Steve’s face before tipping it up.  He’s looking down at Steve and Steve wants to wrap his arms around this kid, hold him tight and kiss his face, anything to get that look off of it –that brave little soldier look.  Steve’s seen enough of that look to last a lifetime.

“I knew what I was getting into,” Bucky says.  “And I don’t regret it.”

He leans down and kisses the corner of Steve’s mouth, once, twice, then stands again.  “Take care of yourself, Stevie,” he says, and Christ, Steve can hear the hurt in his voice.

“Hey,” he says. “Hey.”  He reaches out and wraps an arm around Bucky’s waist, pulling him in tight, pressing his face into Bucky’s belly.  He’d expected Bucky to be soft everywhere, but was surprised – and delighted – to find that Bucky had abs and well-defined muscles underneath all that lithe grace.

“Okay,” Steve says, finally. “Okay.”  He presses a kiss to Bucky’s stomach.  “Go…fix the world,” he says, and Bucky gives him a tight-lipped smile as he pulls away.

A moment later he hears the door close and figures that’s that.

It was a good run.

.

“I don’t know what to tell you Steve,” Dr. Cho says, putting aside her stethoscope.  “You’re in perfect health – just like always.”

“Okay, yeah,” he says. “Thanks.”

“Is there anything more you can tell me about your symptoms?”

Steve thinks back to the last couple of weeks.  “No,” he says.  “I feel lethargic, and kind of…achy?  Like maybe I’m coming down with a cold.”

“I’d like to do some additional tests.  It could be any number of things.”

It could be the serum finally breaking down is what she doesn’t say, but they both hear it anyway.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Sure.”

But three days later, the tests all come back, and nothing’s changed.  Steve is still the picture of health, the serum working overtime to ensure that he remains that way.

“Have there been any significant changes?” Cho asks.

Steve thinks back, but there’s nothing remarkable.  “I was seeing someone, but we called it quits.”

“Was it serious?”

“Not – not for me,” he admits.  He still hates that Bucky got hurt, but he supposes it was inevitable.  Lesson learned.

“Hmm,” she says, and Steve looks up.  “It’s just…a lot of these symptoms – it could be depression.”

“Nah,” Steve says. “Saw a head shrinker back when they first pulled me out.  I’m all good.”

Cho purses her lips. “I’d still like to have a look at your serotonin levels, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, rolling up his sleeve.  “Sure.”

.

“What the hell do I have to be depressed about?” Steve gripes.  

Sam shrugs, then dodges the next blow coming his way.  He’s not enhanced like the rest of the Avengers (you will never, ever convince him that Clint doesn’t have a bionic eye – no one is that good), so he has to be extra alert when he’s sparring with them.  Especially with Steve, who has been a real bear lately.

“Gee,” Sam says, grunting as he lunges forward.  “I can’t imagine.”

“Hey, I’m serious,” Steve says.

“You know, Rogers, for someone so smart, you sure are dumb.”

“What does that mean?” Steve asks.  “Nat said the same damned thing.”

“Lord,” Sam says, rolling his eyes.

Steve swings around, bringing in a left while coming up from below with his right.  Sam blocks one and dodges the other, then steps back and holds up his hands.

“Means it’s been so damned long since you’ve been happy, you didn’t recognize it when you had it.  And now it’s gone and you’re feeling it.”

Steve stands back, staring, and then starts unlacing his gloves.

Sam is prepared to spell things out further if he has to, but he hopes he won’t have to.  It’ll be better if Steve gets it on his own.  From the gleam in his eye, Sam thinks he’s just about there. He hopes so anyway.  Happiness looks good on Steve Rogers, even if he doesn’t know it.

.

“Hey,” Bucky says, as he opens the door.  “Oh.”  

He takes Steve in and Steve sees the bright light in Bucky’s eyes, a genuine smile on his lips, and Steve’s chest aches to see it.  Then Bucky tamps it down and all that light, brightness, leaves his face.

“Hey,” Steve says. “Sorry to just.…” He shrugs.  

“Thought you were the pizza,” Bucky says. The looks he’s giving Steve – irritated and sullen. Damn.  He looks every bit the kid that Steve had him pegged for.

After a beat, Bucky’s eyes widen and the irritated look gives way to confusion.  “Did you want something?”

“Yeah, I think, uhm. I missed you,” Steve says and Bucky looks good and unimpressed.

“Well,” Bucky says, and that derisive tone is not a good look on him.  “You think you missed me?  So what, you come over here, expecting…” and there he shrugs.  

“Buck,” Steve says, and reaches out to touch, but Bucky moves away.

“No way,” he says, shaking his head.  “You know, I was fine with how things were?  I mean, you’re – you’re Captain America, but you’re also Steve.  You’re him, too.  And I was okay just having a little bit of Steve.  I was okay with not having it all the way.  I didn’t ask you to love me back, Steve.”

“I know, Buck, I –“

“No,” Bucky says, and he’s really getting some steam going now.  Steve can see it in the way his cheeks get those two bright splotches, high up on his cheekbones, the way they get when he –

“You don’t get to show up here because you’re lonely,” Bucky says.  “I deserve better than that.  I deserve better than someone who keeps calling me kid, throwing my age up in my face all the time like I don’t know.  I know, Steve.  Jesus.”

He’s – Christ, he’s gorgeous.  Just…glorious in his anger, all pink faced and red lips, eyes blazing like nothing Steve has ever seen before and he – he wants it.  He wants Bucky coming at him, telling him he’s wrong and putting him in his place.    He likes the soft Sunday mornings, the nuzzling, snuffling, coming awake slow, bodies getting what they want, soft and easy. But he wants this, too.

It his him then, hard and visceral, in his gut the way it hasn’t until right now: He’s in love with this kid.  He’s in love with – with – with Bucky.  He’s in love with him.

Steve feels winded all of a sudden, and vulnerable like he hasn’t in years.  He’s looking at Bucky, but what he’s seeing is his heart, beating there outside of his chest, where anything, anyone, can come along and harm it.

It’s – He takes a deep, steadying breath, and then another.  He wants to reach out, grab Bucky and hold him tight, shield him with his body so that nothing can ever hurt him.  Hurt them.

Bucky sees something’s wrong.  The fire dies down a touch and instead his brows knit with confusion.  “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, I –“  His mind races, catching up, cataloging all of this new information, finally realizing what his body’s been trying to tell him for weeks. He feels winded because he finally sees this all from Bucky’s point of view: how they never go out, how Steve never invites him to meet any of the team, any of his friends. How he’ll answer any question Bucky asks, but he still keeps his guard up.

God, he’s a shit.

“Bucky,” he says, and he straightens up and looks Bucky right in the eyes.  “I’m,” he shakes his head.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t know, and I handled everything so badly.  I’m –“ in love with you. He means to say it, but he – not now.  This isn’t the time or place.  Not like this.

Bucky’s standing back, looking skeptical, but listening.

“You’re right about everything,” Steve says with a shrug.  “You deserve so much better than this.  And I hope, I mean, if-“

“Delivery for Barnes?”

Steve turns, startled. There’s a pizza guy behind him holding one of those padded bags and how the hell did he miss that guy slogging up the three flights to Bucky’s apartment?

“Thanks,” Bucky says, and Steve steps aside to let the transaction occur.  

As Bucky’s signing his name, a strand of his hair escapes its gelled confinement and falls across his forehead.  His tongue is sticking out and he’s holding the receipt to the wall and shaking out the pen, trying to get the ink to run.

“I love you,” Steve says.

Bucky startles, stops, and looks at him, eyes wide.

They stare at each other in shocked silence for a moment, until the pizza guy clears his throat.  

“I love you,” Steve says again, because now that he’s said it he doesn’t know how to stop.  He’s said those words to three people in his life: His Ma, Peggy, and now Bucky.  “I hope that’s good news,” he says, “but I’ll go if you want me too.  I love you and you should – you should know that.  If it makes a difference.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, and the pizza guy clears his throat again.

Without taking his eyes from Bucky, Steve reaches for his wallet and pulls out a couple of bills. “That cover it?” he asks.  It must, because the guy hands Steve the pizza and leaves.

Bucky’s still staring at him, and Steve’s starting to worry.  Did he leave it too long?  

Turning, Bucky walks into his apartment and Steve follows, closing the door behind him.  He looks around.  It’s small but neatly furnished.  Steve knows Tony pays well, but Bucky is still new to his career.  It strikes him then that while he’s been here to pick Bucky up, he’s never actually spent any time here, and feels like an asshole all over again.

“Shit,” he says.  “You probably thought I didn’t want to meet your friends.”

“You didn’t,” Bucky says, and he’s right.  Steve wasn’t thinking of Bucky in any way other than how they could spend time together, alone, and preferably naked.  All those other things, cooking together and listening to music, Bucky working at the dining room table while Steve sketched.  All that was just extra.  An afterthought.  He hadn’t even realized it was the best part. Or he had, but he’d hidden that away from himself, afraid of what it might mean to be let himself feel that way about someone again.

“I do now,” Steve says. “I want –“ so many things. Things, he’s coming to realize, he might not get.

“Why?” Bucky says.  “Why now?  Did you finally get lonely enough?  Because Steve, there are plenty of people who would fuck you, no strings attached.  No feelings.”

“I don’t want that,” Steve says.  It’s kicking up his temper, Bucky mouthing off to him like that.  He knows he has a right, hell, he knows that it’s his due. But he’s had other people following his orders for so long, it riles him when they don’t.  It riles him to be questioned.

He reaches out for Bucky, and this time, Bucky doesn’t bat him away.  He settles a hand on Bucky’s waist, then another, and pulls him close. His heart is beating hard.

What he wants is to devour this kid – this man – in front of him.  What he wants is to open his mouth and swallow him whole.  

Instead, he tips his head down, and brushes the softest, lightest kiss he can manage against Bucky’s warm lips.  

It takes him a moment to realize his hands are trembling.

“I love you,” he says, soft, a whisper, so that Bucky can feel it against his lips.  

For a moment, he’s afraid that Bucky will push him away.

“That’s okay,” Bucky says, and reaches his arms up around Steve’s neck.  “That’s…going to be just fine.”

By the time they surface from their next kiss, the pizza’s gone cold.

“Come on,” Steve says, taking in Bucky’s disappointed pout.  “I know this amazing place in Brooklyn.  We’ll eat it there.  I brought the bike.”

Bucky looks at him for a long moment before a genuine smile lights his face.  He looks so fresh, so young.  It’s dazzling.  

Steve’s been an absolute fool.

“Yeah,” he says, and goes to the closet for the leather jacket that Steve bought him the first time he’d picked him up on the bike.  

When he turns around, Steve takes a moment to zip it up, tightening the band at the collar and checking that the turtle shell armor is still in place.  When he’s satisfied, he looks up and Bucky’s giving him the most indulgent grin.  

“Shut up,” Steve says, leaning down to brush another kiss at Bucky’s mouth.  “I take care of what’s mine.”

“Does that mean I’m yours?”

“It means that one day I hope to have earned it.”

The grin that Bucky gives him is feral and hot.

“Why don’t you start working on that now?” he says, and Steve grins.  

“Because you’re hungry.”

“Baby I’m starving.  I feel like I haven’t eaten in weeks.”

Steve grins, unable to take his eyes off of the incredible man in his arms.  Now that he’s letting himself see it, he wonders how he ever saw anything else.

“Thank you,” he says, wrapping his arms around Bucky and holding him tight.  “Thank you.”

“Yeah?” Bucky says.  “Well don’t let it happen again.”

“Never,” Steve answers. “Never.”  

[ittakesrain]

Track Your Shit

I sat on the couch in my psychiatrist’s office with my arms crossed and steam billowing out of my ears.

“Are you on cocaine?” he asked without a hint of sarcasm.

“No,” I shot back, completely bewildered but appropriately defensive.

“Then you’re bipolar.”

Yup. That was how I was diagnosed.  And to my memory, that was really the only major piece of information my psychiatrist gave me that day.  There was no supplemental information given to me, no sort of enlightenment or introduction into the all-consuming project that would be managing my difficult and sometimes debilitating condition, and I left the office with what felt like a really random label and a higher dose of Abilify.  I was nineteen years old, I was a chemistry major in college, I’d kicked the hell out of an eating disorder, and I was bipolar. The facts didn’t matter too much. Right?

Over the next several years, I really didn’t hear the word “bipolar” all too frequently, in or out of my psychiatrist’s office, despite the increasingly, uh, intense fluctuations in my moods and energy as well as steadily growing anxiety and irritability. Weird, am I right? For a diagnosis that impacts pretty much all aspects of a person’s life, in one way or another, to not be mentioned nearly enough times? There are more fitting words, but sure, we’ll go with ‘weird.’

By the time I graduated college, I knew my diagnosis was playing a larger role in my life that I originally assumed it would.  I started keeping track of when I took my meds (and with that tried not to miss any doses). I recorded my moods more frequently.  I did some cursory research into my disorder. And I finally started noticing patterns in my cycle and knew to watch out for specific warning signs.  And mind you, doing all of that was a pretty big accomplishment for someone who was given virtually no guidance. Not to mention a medication regime that was significantly lacking.

The first thing I realized was that my episodes often began with feeling “emotionally itchy,” or “like I want to rip my face off” and “jump out of my skin and out of who I am as a person.” Thanks to the knowledge I have now, I can use different language to describe what actually goes on as I inch ever closer to a major episode. I become incredibly irritable and experience what’s called “dysphoric mania.”  I have the racing thoughts and flight of ideas that come with manic episodes, meaning my brain is running at a million miles a minute and I can’t keep myself focused on one idea long enough to think it through, but it’s not what anyone would call a happy feeling (not that mania is to be confused with mere happiness). In my dysphoric state, I have too much energy, so much so that it physically hurts me as it swells from within me and threatens to burst open at any second.  I often cut myself in such a state because I need the assumed and metaphorical emotional release as well as the physical release of endorphins in response to injury.

Then I began to see that if I missed my meds for any period of time longer than a day or two, I felt the effects about two weeks later. If I forgot (or “forgot”) to take my Abilify for let’s say a full week, I’d be in the middle of a relentless and torturous depression in about fourteen days. Sidenote, I shouldn’t have missed ANY days of meds, but lo and behold, I wasn’t exactly warned all too well against it. But to see a pattern, to determine the cause of a specific (and dramatic) dip in my moods, was hugely influential in my life. Not to mention, it brought me to google how the medication I was prescribed actually works. And, spoiler, every single human being who is prescribed any medication at all should be aware of what the fucking medication does and how it works and all of that. Seriously. So important. Turns out Abilify is “long acting” and takes about two weeks to leave my system.

Furthermore, Abilify is a type of drug called an “atypical antipsychotic.” Those types of drugs are frequently used as mood stabilizers. They’re the second generation of drugs that you’ve probably seen being used on dramatic medical shows or movies about psychiatric hospitals that knock people who are acting “insane” out. They’re used as tranquilizers. Haldol is an example of one that works fast and Thorazine is an example of one that works somewhat slower. Those are called typical antipsychotics. Atypicals like Abilify have fewer side effects. They work to influence serotonin (the neurotransmitter sometimes called the “happy molecule”) as opposed to blocking signals from dopamine (the “pleasure and reward” neurotransmitter).

Right. So as you see I’ve become fairly well-versed in the goings-on of impending episodes and the key pieces of information surrounding them. Again, this is phenomenally helpful. But my point is that I should have been given this information from the get-go. I should’ve been prepared and taught, should’ve been armed with education given to me by a human being who knew what the fuck was happening to me and how bad it would potentially get if I didn’t have the fucking said information! I got there myself, and I’m damn proud of myself for doing so. And it still brings me peace of mind and a sense of control to research bipolar disorder, and learn new things about treatments and meds and biochemistry, and to work through my recorded moods and symptoms to find existing patterns or warnings. But for fuck’s sake, why wasn’t I told about the importance of recording the fluctuations or about psychoeducation as a tremendously powerful tool?

Alright alright, not going to continue dwelling on the past and how I was royally screwed (at least not in this particular blog post). Because as I look to the future, I know things will at the very least make more sense. I’ll at least be able to understand this bullshit and from there hopefully combat it better.

Which brings me to a few months ago as I began to embark on a new and more um, intense journey of self-discovery and understanding –which, in turn, is allowing me to feel significantly less dread about my eventual (and inevitable?) next episodes. It started when I wound up in the emergency room for the first time in October 2018 when a depressive episode took a terrible turn for the worse. I was 27 years old and at the end of my rope. Exhausted from years of worsening symptoms and my cries for help going unheard, my begging and pleading remaining unnoticed, I collapsed into chaotic despair.

The good that came from that particular visit to rock bottom was that I subsequently found a therapist (no, I hadn’t been in therapy previously and yes, that was really dumb) who is literally the coolest person ever, in addition to being really fucking good at what she does. And a few months after that, my amazing therapist helped me find a better psychiatrist, and from there we all began the arduous task of getting my act together and trying to stabilize the shitshow of my life.

As it turns out, since I was on a medication that didn’t do much for me for such a long time, my bipolar disorder was able to “mature.” To further develop and overall just get worse. Literally look it up. It’s a known thing that bipolar worsens if left untreated, and I absolutely feel that mine at the very least wasn’t being treated properly. Lucky me.

But since beginning to see my therapist in November and my new medication provider in February, I’ve learned like, so so so much. I know to stop and breathe when I start to get worked up, because I know I have gone for long periods of time without inhaling and exhaling like a functioning human. I know that I fidget around and repeat purposeless motions (“display signs of psychomotor agitation”) because it comforts me when I’m anxious. I know I have issues with control, with the desire to feel safe, with things that aren’t fair.

Also. Insomnia is a huge red flag for me and for the majority of bipolars. It’s both a symptom of approaching mania and a trigger for it. Meaning, when you start staying up all night long, you’ve gotta find a way to get some sleep before it gets worse and leads to an episode. It also means that you can’t voluntarily pull all-nighters (if you can help it) because that might land you in the middle of a manic break as well. And as if that wouldn’t suck enough, a despairing depression would most certainly follow the agitated (hypo)mania.

Alcohol is another one. Now, I’m not huge on drinking. I never partook in any of that before I was of legal age anyway (which is perhaps a testament to my nerdy younger self haha), and once I started drinking, I had trouble getting past the gross taste. I still do. But when I drink as an adult (which I haven’t done in a few months, mind you), I drink to get fucked up. So basically, I drink in a way that’s literally terrible for my bipolar. It’s a cycle, too.  I’ll have a bad day and come home and take five shots of fireball, and I get shitfaced so I have a terrible day the next day. It’s similar to insomnia in that it perpetuates itself and that I’ve gotta be responsible about it.

[On that note, by the way, I should say that maintaining stability involves quite a few key things (such as sleep hygiene, med compliance, the nutrition you fuel your body with, the way you move your body, being mindful and having the ability to focus on breathing, following pre-set routines, your support system, your coping skills and crisis-management tools, and your healthcare professionals…to name a few). It’s imperative to keep up with each thing to prevent all hell from breaking loose.]

I’ve also come to see that, for whatever reason, my major episodes usually have a definitive end but not a clearcut start. As in, I can identify the specific day my depression ends, but the irritability and frenetic energy and aggressive outbursts start out kind of slowly and increase steadily until my moods surrender into despondent melancholy. At this point, I believe the phenomena has to do with my tendency to ruminate and nearly drown in repetitive thoughts. I really struggle with redirecting my brain away from negatives. It could also be because of my coexisting ADHD, but either way, I can’t knock myself out of a bad mood as easily as most people can. So even something small going wrong has the potential to send me spiraling. I can’t think myself out of it. But I can easily make it worse –by ruminating and letting the negatives repeat like a broken record in my head. The decline, therefore, moves like a ball rolling down a ramp. On the opposite end of a “crazy spell” (as I called them way back in the day before I learned all this enlightening information) we have the ball being yanked back up as if it was attached to a string or something. As in, something good can happen that completely “snaps me out” of a major depression. It’s wild to think about. Like, fuck, why can’t more good things happen? Maybe then I’d spend less time wanting to die. I have, however, come to learn how to put myself in the line of things that have the potential to knock me off the crazy train. File that under “bitchin’ coping skills.”

Thanks to psychoeducation, I’ve also come to understand some of my personality traits. I’ve often called myself “volatile.” I fly off the handle fairly quickly, I accelerate from zero to 100 faster than the Kinga Ka roller coaster at Six Flags. My therapist calls it being reactive, and I prefer that phrasing now. My reactivity is part of my personality, but I understand it more clearly by looking at it through the lens of what I know about bipolar disorder. Similarly, in addition to reacting more, I react bigger. I guess some people might call it being dramatic, but again, I prefer to think of it in terms of how my therapist explained it: I’m wired intensely. I feel things in a bigger way. She once said something along the lines of “you can light up a city with your emotions,” and I don’t think she used the word emotions, but that was the gist. My intensity if a part of who I am. And honestly, as much as it can be super annoying and anxiety-producing, it’s not all bad and I choose to label it as a good thing.

Oh, and I pretty much knew this already, but I like to write/type because in my bipolar brain, the thoughts move more quickly than my mouth can move. It causes me to stutter, or stumble over my words, or lose my train of thought because I didn’t say something the right way and I can’t make my mouth move in a way to correct myself because I have fifteen thousand other thoughts flying through my mind and I can’t focus on any of it now. I exhibit pressured speech. Oh yeah, that’s one of my faves.

Thanks to psychoeducation, I’ve learned why I cling to my routines with a death-grip. Doing so is legitimately helpful to people with bipolar. Which is why going on vacation or starting a new job or a new chapter in life can throw bipolar people off in such grand ways. Circadian rhythms are screwy in us. We need to work hard to keep that shit in check. And the sleep-wake cycle and yes, routines, are part of that.

Okay then. With all of this knowledge being attained and a few more trips to rock bottom (and the emergency room) since October 2018…here I am. Still holding on, and doing better at that holding than I have in a while. A month and a half of normalcy without anything rocking the boat? I feel pretty damn good, thank you very much.

Oddly enough, stability can be just as scary for me as the complete and utter chaos of the rest of it. Like, now I have no excuses for not moving forward. Ugh, I have to move forward. But ya know what, I will. Because I’ve got the bipolar symptoms under control at the moment. There’s really nothing stopping me, so I’m sure as hell not gonna stop me.

Keeping records is absolutely fucking necessary. I’ve got no choice but to record my moods, anxiety, and irritability. I’ve gotta take my meds every fucking day and keep track of if I ever miss a day (which I shouldn’t). I need to write down other factors that play a role, such as my periods and when I have therapy and life stressors and stuff like that.

It’s taken, holy shit, so much work to acquire the awareness I currently have. And moving forward will require consistently working on what I know and actively seeking more information. But dude, I’ve come this far. I’m not gonna stop now.