#he is just such a sad puppy without luigi by his side

[kuramirocket]

[skulls-soul]

Guuuuuys imagine with me

We got classic sick fics in where one character is sick and the other has to take care of them on both sides I’ve seen fics where luigi is sick and one’s where Bowser is

But what if

✨their both sick✨

Just imagine Bowser Looking at Luigi asking him where he’s going and Luigi turns to him with a sad kicked Puppy look on his face saying that he’s “going back to the bathroom” Bowser comments on how that’s the third time he went to the bathroom in the past hour, and Luigi responds saying he can’t help it His tummy hurts and he feels nauseous.

So Bowser sluggishly gets off of bed and he’s like I’ll come with you and give you company and Lou’s like “no babe You don’t have to do that I’m fine” and bowser is just like “you’re shivering like a leaf you’re not ok” and luigi responds with “what about you? You are as pale as a ghost, and I would know!”

Like give me Bowser talking about how his body is so heavy and how he feels like he’s gained 1000 pounds and when he tries to eat he can’t stop shaking so Luigi feeds him instead and Bowser’s like “no you should focus on eating not feeding me” only for Weegee to shush him.

Give me Bowser and Luigi clinging onto each other for body warmth

Give me kamek coming in to give them medicine only for both of them to grown because that shit taste nasty

Give me Bowser trying to kiss Luigi only for Luigi to try and push them off because “my mouth taste bad and your covered in snot”

 Both of them go to take a shower to clean off the sickness so that way they could give each other Smoochies without fear (or disgust)

[sublimecatgalaxy]

Hello! I hope your having a good day.

May I please request a Kol Mikaelson x reader with hidden injury and “whose blood is that?” please?

Thank you!

(Your writing is amazing!!! 💛)

Thank you for the lovely words! I hope this is good, I'm a bit rusty on my Originals so I went with generic situation!

Also wasn't sure which Kol cuz I know there's two when the mom does that weird body switcharoo thing so I went with the Kol we know and love😭😂

In the state that I'm in, the last thing we need right now is for Kol to find out that he couldn't trust his brother with me.

Kol has trust issues at it is. Maybe a little bit of separation anxiety because every time I have to go out with anyone but him, he clams up and immediately starts to get unbelievably defensive in my defense.

He's a bit of a control freak, what can I say.

But today, Klaus and I were tasked in going out and making sure that the newly formed bond between the werewolves and vampires, hybrids too, was holding up and that there were no issues that we needed to discuss and get out in the open.

Maybe it's mine and Elijah's good influence on the group that led to the better communication between the supernatural creatures of New Orleans, or maybe it's just that the Mikaelson's are tired of fighting and tired of bloodshed.

But apparently, some of the werewolves had a very deep, very personal, bone to pick with us because we left nearly torn to shreds.

"Klaus- shit, that hurts." I wince, taking a deep breath in through gritted teeth as Klaus frowns deeply, shushing me under his breath. "Kol is going to find out about this, there's no use hiding it-"

"Kol is going to find out about what exactly?" The familiar voice startles both Klaus and I, my head craning to look back at my boyfriend who stands in the doorway, brows pulling together at the sight of my shredded, bloody shirt. "Who's blood is that?" He asks, rushing up to the side of the bed, pushing his brother out of the way. He takes my hand in his as I writhe around in pain, my eyes fluttering shut as tears prick the back of my eyes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want you to be mad-"

"I'm not mad." He whispers, eyes raking over the wounds on my stomach with a sigh. He turns to look back up at Klaus who looks like something resembling a kicked puppy, his eyes anxiously avoiding his brothers. "Get out, would you?" Klaus quickly leaves the room without another word, leaving us alone as I grip onto his hand.

"I'm sorry." I whimper, lip jutting out in frustrated sadness, tears trailing down my cheeks and he gives me a sad smile, reaching up to brush his knuckles over my cheek gently.

"Don't apologize, my love. We'll figure it out." His fingers draw small circles into my cheekbone, soothing my worries and concerns and for a moment I forget about the open, searing wounds. "For now just relax."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane2828 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi

@crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the-heart @vampviolets@haylee-e@popehaywardssecretgf @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife @smoke-and-fire @officiallyunofficialperson@heyaitsklaudia@rosepetalsparks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @colbysbrocks @iamasimpingh0e @smoke-and-fire386 @loveshineslikethesky @id-3-kbro @diorsitgirl @errorfound101-allideasburnedout @neverwillknowme18 @ellyskey @taylors-folk @loversjoy @myaloveee @thyris-is @lagataprrr @aaaaslaaaan @minjix @luvrosee @storytellingwitht

[nikki-writes-stuff]

While You’re In the World - Part 2

Summary: The year is 1980, and when you come home to find a man on your doorstep, beaten and bloody and on the brink of dying, you patch him up and let him stay with you while he heals. But there’s something strange about this stranger with the metal arm, and it will take a while before either of you know who he really is.

Read Part One Here! 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: Hello! I hope you guys like this story! I suspect that there will be three parts to it, and I’m so excited about this story idea. Please please please let me know what you think!!!

The next few weeks were interesting, to say the least. You worked on your book, letting Bucky read passages of it to get his thoughts on what you’d written. He always had nice things to say, along with critiques or constructive criticism. Turns out, he knew a lot about what life back in the 40’s was like, so he would always help you correct continuity errors when they arose. Any time you asked him how he knew so much about that time period, he would frown and shrug, telling you that he didn’t know how. He just did.

You were quickly learning that Bucky wasn’t like other guys, and in more ways than were just obvious. It only took him four days to heal from the wounds that had very nearly killed him. You’d stared for a solid sixty seconds at the tanned, freshly-scarred skin of his abdomen, trying to process how it was possible.

“Bucky, you…you realize that this isn’t normal, right?” you’d asked. He’d arched an eyebrow at you while tugging his shirt back down, levelling you with a skeptical look.

“When have I ever given off an indication of being ‘normal’?” he’d snarked back.

That was another thing; the man was becoming more and more human with every passing day. He still hadn’t remembered anything other than his name and a blonde man from his past named Steve, but his personality was still shining through. You saw it in the way his eyebrows would bounce from something you said, or in the sarcastic tone of his voice when he would answer one of your probing questions.

“Why do you have a metal arm?” you’d finally questioned him one night over dinner. He hadn’t even stopped in his rhythm of moving his fork up to his mouth as he replied.

“Well it’s just so fashionable.”

He was always quiet in his joking, and he was always so surprised when you would laugh at his humor; it was as if he wasn’t even aware of his own teasing. But even if he didn’t know it, he was becoming more and more comfortable with showing you his true colors.

He was still incredibly timid about certain things, though, and still had an aura of sadness floating around him. You were desperate for him to smile; you tried to joke around with him, and while his face would always soften at your goofy comments, it was still never enough to pull him out of his stupor.

On the seventh day of him living with you, though, you marched over to the couch and stood over him, hands planted on your hips.

“I think you should get out of the house,” you stated. “You can’t just keep sitting on my couch all day long staring out the window.”

He frowned, straightening up.

“You… want me to leave?”

You faltered in your confidence, his nervousness taking you off guard.

“Bucky… No,” you assured him, sitting beside him. “No, I like having you here. It’s just that I don’t think it’s healthy for you to stay copped up inside all day. Maybe you could come with me to the grocery store? Or the library? I need to return a few books today; maybe going out will help to jog your memory.”

He considered it, chewing absentmindedly on his lip as he watched your cat twine around his ankles. He reached down with his metal hand and let Obi rub his face against it.

“…Ok,” he finally nodded. He seemed apprehensive about it, but you were over the moon. With a grin, you stood up, rushing to your bedroom.

“Great! I’m going to get changed; you go ahead and get ready, and I’ll meet you at the door in ten.”

You quickly changed into a yellow romper, pulling your hair back with a headband and sliding some gloss over your lips before waltzing back into the living room. You were just about to ask Bucky if he would like to get some lunch with you, but your words died on your tongue when you saw him standing in just the pair of gray jeans you’d bought for him at the thrift shop. He was sorting through the stack of t-shirts you’d gifted him, a long-sleeved blue shirt in one hand, a long-sleeved white one in the other.

He looked up, lips parting in surprise at seeing you standing there, and you thought you saw a blush rise over his cheeks as you stared at his naked torso. You’d noticed the scars before, sure, but you had no idea how you’d could have missed how muscular he was. His flesh arm was just as ripped as the metal one, and prominent abs popped out along his stomach. Just as your eyes started skirting over the scar along the line of where his metal arm met his shoulder, he turned away and pulled the white shirt on, hurrying to pull on the gloves he’d been wearing when you first found him.

You snapped out of it, feeling your cheeks heating up as you slung your purse over your shoulder.

“Um… Are you hungry? I thought we could stop for pizza on the way to the store,” you stammered. You saw Bucky nod out of the corner of you vision before bending over to slip on his boots.

“Sure.”

After he was done getting ready, the two of you set out. The metal stairs creaked and shook under Bucky’s weight as he walked down them behind you, and you gripped the railing with a white-knuckled grip.

“I really need to talk to the landlord about these stairs,” you mumbled.

When you emerged from the alleyway, you got about five steps down the sidewalk before realizing that your companion wasn’t next to you anymore. Turning around, you saw him squinting in the sunlight, taking in the busy street before him. Brown brick building rose up as far as the eye could see, with cars honking their horns and flying along the road.

“Bucky? You ok?”

He gulped and turned to you, a uncertain glimmer in his eyes.

“Where are we?”

You frowned at the question and shook your head, walking back over to him.

“Brooklyn,” you answered. “I thought you knew that. We’re in Brooklyn, New York.”

Once more, he looked around, taking in the neat row of shops across the street. He was quiet for a long moment, and just as you were about to say something, he turned to you once more.

“I know this place,” he murmured. “I remember it. I think… I think I grew up here.”

You blinked a few times before a grin stretched across your face.

“Bucky, this is fantastic! You’re starting to remember,” you exclaimed, setting your hand on his shoulder. You watched as a half-smile twisted his lips, and at least part of his nervousness seemed to dissipate under your enthusiasm.

“Yeah, I guess it is good,” he agreed.

“C’mon, maybe pizza will jog your memory,” you said, reaching down to grab his hand. “Any true New Yorker can never forget the pizza here.”

You tugged on him until he was following you again, and you found yourself reluctant to let go of him. You forced your hand to drop to your side after a few steps, though, and you told yourself to ignore the butterflies in your chest. He had enough on his plate without you shoving you schoolgirl crush on him.

The two of you walked together for a while, with you pointing out landmarks as you went, trying to jog his memory. All the while, Bucky watched you prattle on with that same puppy-dog look of confusion in his eyes, but he still smiled anytime you grinned up at him.

“Ok, we’re here!”

You jogged up the steps of your favorite pizzeria, opening the door for Bucky.

“Luigi’s Pizza might be my favorite place in the whole city,” you said, getting in line to order. “It’s been here since the 1930’s, and their recipe apparently hasn’t changed at all. They only sell five different kinds of pies, but each of them is delicious.”

Bucky nodded dutifully, and when it came time to order, he just muttered that he would get whatever you usually got. And so, five minutes later, the two of you were sitting on a bench outside the shop, a huge, greasy slice of pepperoni pizza on each of your paper plates with two cans of Coke resting against your leg.

You watched as Bucky folded the slice in half at the crust, and you smiled when he took a pensive bite out of it. You watched as his eyes widened at the taste, and you giggled as you did the same.

“Pretty great, huh?”

When Bucky didn’t answer, you just shrugged and kept eating, oblivious to the discovery Bucky was having beside you.

He was a teenager, maybe 13 or 14, and the blonde guy – Steve – was sitting at the table beside him. He was much smaller in this memory, almost sickly looking, but he still had the same smile on his face as he and Bucky took a slice each of the pizza pie in front of them.

“How’d you manage to afford all of this?” Steve asked, arching an eyebrow. “You didn’t steal outta your mom’s purse again, did you?”

“That was one time, punk,” he said, rolling his eyes. “If you gotta know, you remember that guy who was giving you trouble last week behind the schoolhouse?”

“…which one?”

“Johnson.”

“Oh, yeah. What about him?”

“Well after I beat him to kingdom come, a dollar bill slipped outta his jacket pocket, and I figured I would take it as payment for the lesson I taught him that day.”

“Oh, really? And what lesson was that?”

“To go pick on someone his own size. Now shut up and eat your pizza before it gets cold.”

Bucky shook his head as he came out of the memory, glancing over at you as you sat oblivious next to him.

“…Hey, can I ask you something?”

You glanced up, wiping some grease off of your chin as you looked up at him.

“Yeah, Bucky, what’s up?”

“…What year is it?”

You frowned, staring incredulously up at him.

“Are… Are you serious? How do you not know what year it is?”

He just ducked his head, taking another bite of his pizza as he stared at the ground in front of him. You set a hand on his shoulder, patting the metal a few times before opening your Coke.

“It’s 1980, hon. Why, what year did you think it was?”

The man beside you shrugged, already half through his pizza, and he didn’t answer you as he picked up his beverage. He fumbled with it for a second before he was able to open it like you had, and he lifted a curious eyebrow at the label before taking a cautious sip. He sputtered a little after his first sip, furrowing his eyebrows at the drink, as if it had personally offended him. You laughed and patted him on the back as he coughed, finishing off your own food before getting up to throw your trash away.

“What, have you never had a coke before?”

“It didn’t taste like this the last time I had one, let’s just say that.” He eyed the drink again before taking another sip, this time swallowing it without any incident. “…It’s not too bad, though.”

After Bucky was finished, the two of you got up again, walking a couple more blocks before you came to Brooklyn Grocery. Bucky looked weary of all the people coming in and out of the busy building, but you gave him an encouraging smile as you picked out a shopping cart and wheeled it over to him.

“You feel up to doing this, Buck?” you asked. “If it’s too much for you, you can wait outside while I get the shopping done.”

“No… No, it’s ok,” he assured you. “But thanks.”

Your shopping adventure was, for the most part, uneventful, with Bucky trailing you silently through the aisles. The only times he spoke up were when you asked him what he would want for dinner over the next few days.

“I can make us sloppy joes or tacos or pasta… Or-“

“Do you know how to make chicken a la king?”

The question came out of nowhere, but Bucky explained himself as you looked up at him curiously.

“I think… I think it used to be my favorite,” he said sheepishly. “If you don’t want to, it’s-“

“Oh, Bucky, no! I would love to,” you insisted. “I think my mom made it for me once… Let me just get the ingredients, ok?”

You smiled as you gathered everything you would need for the dish, feeling excited at Bucky’s returning memories. Whatever had happened to him, you could tell that he would never truly be the same. But with each new memory, each joke he made, each smile he sent your way, you were becoming more and more optimistic.

Once you had everything you needed, you went to go to the checkout line, but Bucky lingered in front of a display of cassette tapes. With a smile, you came over to him, your shoulder brushing against his as you looked at the various songs available.

“You wanna pick one out?”

“I don’t know much about music these days,” he sighed.

“That’s ok. Pick one out anyways; it’ll be a surprise when we listen to it at home.”

Bucky turned to you, giving you that same old half-smile before he reached out, picking a tape off of the top rack. Somebody to Love by Queen.

“You, sir, just picked one of the best songs ever to be written,” you praised. His smile grew as he set it into the shopping trolly, but he frowned after a moment.

“But it won’t be a surprise for you now,” he mused.

“Oh! Well then…” You put your hand over your eyes. “Pick another one out; I won’t look.”

You only removed your hand when you heard the plastic being dropped into your cart, and you shared a smile with Bucky before finally going to the checkout counter. A few minutes later, the two of you emerged, arms laden down with bags.

“Ok, so I think we should drop this off at the house before heading to the library,” you said as you started walking again. “Besides, it’s on the way to the library anyways.”

After the two of you went home, you started putting away the groceries while Bucky took the two new cassettes over to the radio. You heard the opening lines of Somebody to Love start to play as you popped the chicken into the fridge, and you sang along softly under your breath, trying to be quiet so Bucky wouldn’t be able to hear you.

When you turned around, though, Bucky was leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, watching you intently. You felt your cheeks heat up under your gaze, and you abruptly stopped singing as you shoved the leftover grocery bags under the sink.

“Sorry about that,” you mumbled. “I hope my caterwauling didn’t ruin the song for you.” Bucky frowned and took a step closer to you, shaking his head.

“Of course you didn’t ruin it,” he assured you. “Your voice is… It’s nice.”

You saw a soft stain of red come over his cheeks, and you cleared your throat as you shifted on your feet.

“So… What do you think about Queen?” you asked, desperate to change the subject.

“Oh, they’re… they’re good. He has a nice voice.”

“God, I love Freddie Mercury. He’s so talented.”

The two of you were silent for another few seconds.

“Freddie Mercury is the guy who sings-“

“I kinda got that, yeah.”

You were quiet for another few seconds before you started laughing. At first, Bucky only grinned down at you, but before you knew it you could hear him chuckling, too. It was a rich, warm sound, and you knew immediately that you wanted to hear it every day going forward.

“Gosh… Okay,” you giggled. “Okay, we should go to the library now.”

He nodded and gestured for you to lead the way, and after grabbing your purse again, you led him out the door. The two of you were still smiling as you walked beside one another on the sidewalk, shoulders occasionally brushing against one another. In the distance, you could see dark clouds forming, but you didn’t mind the rain. You had plenty of time to get home before it started pouring.

It only took you guys five minutes to get to the library, and when you stood in the doorway, you breathed in the smell of books permeating the building. With a smile to the librarian, you dropped your due books into the return slot before turning to Bucky.

“So,” you said. “I’m going to go to the WWII section for some research material for my book. You’re welcome to come along, but if you want to check out the other parts of the library, that’s fine, too. Just meet me back at the front in fifteen-“

“I’ll stick with you.”

You smiled and nodded, leading him towards the historical non-fiction isles. You made a beeline to the section that covered the 1930s to the 1940s, browsing the titles for something that might help you.

Oblivious to you, Bucky was looking at the titles as well, eyes skirting over them, looking for something. He didn’t know what that something was; he didn’t even know why he seemed to feel so at-home when he thought about that time period. He just knew, deep inside of himself, that it was the key to remembering who he was.

His fingers brushed over the spines through his gloves, coming to a stop on a title that caught his eye. Feeling trepidatious, he slid the book out from the rest, scanning its title – Captain America: The Man, The Myth, The Legend.

“Captain America…” he breathed under his breath. Why did that sound so familiar?

You looked over upon hearing his voice, looking down at the book he was holding.

“Captain America, huh?” You smiled. “I always loved learning about him in school. I did a project on him, once. You know, come to think of it, I think his best friend was named Bucky, too.”

Bucky gulped, tentatively opening the book and skimming through its pages. In the center of the novel, the pages turned glossy, and he squinted at the black-and-white photos adorning their pages. The first page held a picture of a woman standing next to an old man wearing the uniform of a general, and beneath that was a photo of a shield with a star in its center.

He turned the page, feeling his mouth go dry at the next picture he saw. It was of Captain America and his Howling Commandos, standing side by side as they smiled at the camera. Bucky’s hands started shaking as he stared with it, and when you heard him drop the book to the ground, you saw him staring at the wall, pale as a ghost.

“Bucky? Bucky, are you ok?” He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out, and you bent down to pick the book up. “What happened? Did you read something-“

You paused as you opened the book, flipping through to the glossy picture pages just as he had. You gasped when you turned to the same photo he’d been staring at, not believing what lay right before your eyes.

“Bucky…”

In the center of the photo was Captain America’s familiar face, but what drew your attention was the man directly to his right. He was grinning at the camera, his arm wrapped around Steve Rogers’ shoulders. His hair was neatly cut, and he was dressed in an army uniform, but you would recognize his face anywhere.

“Sergeant James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes,” you read aloud, almost dropping the book yourself as you looked up at your companion.

He was staring at you, eyes darting all around your face, neither of you knowing what to say. You closed the book slowly, pressing it to your chest.

“Bucky…” you finally whispered. “The friend that you remembered, the one named Steve… It was him, wasn’t it? And you’re… You’re James Barnes.”

He slowly nodded, not believing the truth himself, and you heaved a sigh.

“This isn’t possible; how have you not aged-“

“I don’t know.” His voice was hoarse and thin. “I…don’t know. I just know that… that used to be me. I’m starting to remember before, when it was me and Steve. And I remember bits and pieces of after, of what I’ve…what I’ve done. But I can’t connect them…”

Your heart broke from hearing him sound so helpless, and you reached out to him without even realizing it, pulling him into a hug. Your arms wrapped tightly around his center, your head resting on his chest. The book was squeezed between your two bodies, but it didn’t bother you. You just needed to comfort Bucky; you needed to show him that he wasn’t alone.

After a few seconds, you were afraid that you’d overstepped, but just as you were about to pull away, you felt his arms slowly, tentatively, start to wrap around you. You couldn’t help the small smile that came across your lips as you held him. rubbing his shoulders softly.

“It’s going to be okay,” you whispered. “I promise. We’ll figure this out. I’ll help you.”

A stilted sigh slipped past his lips, and he squeezed you tighter. You felt his nose press against your hair, inhaling your scent as the two of you stood there. You didn’t know how long it was until you pulled away, but when you did, you thought you could see tears in Bucky’s eyes.

“I think we should check this book out,” you said, handing it to him. “Maybe we can read it together; it might help you remember. And once you remember, we can figure things out from there. Okay?”

Bucky nodded, looking right into your eyes. For a second, you couldn’t move, frozen by the look in those blue irises. No one had ever looked at you like that before, and it made your heart thump harder in your chest. You had to look away after a few seconds, forcing yourself to clear your throat and start walking to the librarian’s desk.

“C’mon, Buck. Let’s get this and head home.”

Once you were all done checking out, you stepped out onto the street only to find that those storm clouds you’d spotted earlier were now blanketing the sky. You could taste the approaching rain in the air, and you patted Bucky’s arm.

“Let’s hurry home; looks like it’s gonna start raining soon.”

He nodded and copied your brisk walk. Thunder rumbled in the distance as you rounded the first corner, and you groaned when you felt a raindrop plop onto the top of your head. Within minutes, it was pouring, and you and Bucky were sprinting the rest of the way home. He was fast; you had no doubt that he could have left you in the dust if he’d wanted to. But instead he kept pace with you, not even winded, whereas you were huffing and puffing by the time you turned into your alleyway. You could see the book under Bucky’s shirt; he’d shoved it under there to save it from the worst of the rain, and his hair was dripping wet by the time the two of you leapt past your doorway.

For a second, the two of you took in the other’s appearance; as he tossed the book onto the couch, you could see his muscles straining against his wet, white shirt, the lines of his metal arm now clearly visible. His hair was hanging down into his eyes, water dripping down the column of his throat, and you gulped at the sight. You knew that you couldn’t look much better yourself, and you were horrified when you looked down to see your nipples clearly visible through your thin bra and romper.

“I-I’m gonna change,” you stuttered. “And, uh… I’ll get us some towels.”

Feeling mortified, you all but ran to your bedroom, changing into the warmest pajama set you could find. After buttoning all of the shirt’s buttons, you grabbed two towels and walked out to find Bucky standing shirtless once again in your living room. You forced yourself not to stare, though, as you walked over and handed him a towel.

“Here you go, Bucky.”

He nodded his thanks and slipped on a navy blue shirt before starting to towel dry his hair. You plopped yourself down on the couch and did the same, smiling at Obi as he jumped up onto the sofa next to you. He meowed softly, and you gave him a few pets before leaning back against the cushions.

“Well… That was an eventful afternoon.”

Bucky chuckled, sinking down onto the seat next to yours.

“You can say that again.”

You were about to say something else, but a huge clap of thunder sounded outside, and not five seconds later the power went out, your window being the only remaining light source. You squinted in the dim grey of the room, making out Bucky’s face through the occasional strikes of lightning.

“Fuck,” you groaned. “Well… At least I have some candles. C’mon, help me light them.”

You rooted around the cabinet beneath your sink, pulling out a handful of candles and handing the lighter to Bucky. He followed you through your apartment, lighting them after you’d sit them down, and after about six candles, the space was illuminated enough.

“Well… Watching tv is out of the question this evening,” you sighed. Your eyes skirted to your boombox in the corner, and an idea sparked in your head. “Oh! I know what we can do.”

You ran into your bedroom, coming out with your old Walkman, and you retrieved the book from its spot on the couch before sitting next to Bucky again.

“What is that?” he asked, pointing to the device.

“It’s a Walkman! Like a portable cassette player.” You untangled the headphones and twisted them around until the earmuffs were facing outward. You handed one end to Bucky and leaned your head close, pressing the other to your ear. “You hold it against your ear like this, ok?”

Bucky nodded, and you grinned as you went to pick up a few cassettes from their shelf next to the radio, making sure not to look at the mystery one Bucky had picked up from the grocery store.

“I think we should start off with the one you picked out,” you said, sitting beside him and popping it into the Walkman. You pressed your headphone to your ear before pressing play, smiling in delight when the familiar refrains of American Pie by Don McLean started to play.

“You have a knack for picking out songs, Buck,” you praised, and you thought you caught him grin from the corner of your eyes.

You picked the book up and positioned it to where it was open between you, its left side resting on your right leg, and vise versa against Bucky’s left.

“Just let me know when I can turn the page,” you said, opening it to the first page of the introduction, which had been written by none other than Howard Stark, the famous inventor and scientist.

The two of you bent your heads, starting to read together. Bucky would nudge your knee with his once he was ready for you to turn the page, and you quickly slipped into a rhythm with one another. Once American Pie was finished, you slipped Rocket Man into the player, and by the time the two of you were finished with the introduction, you’d made your way through Bridge Over Troubled Water and Rich Girl.

“Are you remembering anything else?” you asked him before turning to the first chapter.

“I think I can remember this Stark person… But I don’t remember him being nice,” he said carefully.

“What do you remember him being like?”

“An asshole.”

You laughed and nudged his shoulder, slipping Brown Eyed Girl into the Walkman. The two of you started to read the first chapter, which overviewed Steve Roger’s early life, and you winced the first time you saw his name appear in it. You chanced a glance over at him, but he didn’t look upset or sad. He just looked focused, a tiny crease resting between his eyes. You suddenly realized how close the two of you were sitting, and when he turned his head to look at you, your noses brushed.

Both of your eyes widened at the contact, and you quickly turned back to the book, blushing furiously as you kept reading about how Bucky and Steve had met as children. Steve had apparently always been sickly and frail, whereas Bucky had grown up strong. They’d met one day when a few bullies were pushing Steve around on the playground; he’d come to Steve’s rescue, beating the other kids away and helping his soon-to-be best friend up off the ground.

“You were a good kid,” you commented under your breath. You felt him shrug beside you.

“I just did what I thought was right,” he said. There was a hint of melancholy in his tone, and you looked up when you saw him pull the headphone away, leaning back against the couch.

“What’s wrong, Bucky?”

He sighed, looking over your face before pushing a hand aggravatedly through his hair.

“I’m not sure I want to remember who I was,” he murmured. “I… I know that I’ve hurt people. I don’t know how, but somehow I… I was forced to do bad things for bad people. I just… I can remember just enough to know that I’m not the good man I used to be.”

You closed the book and took his metal hand in yours, lacing your fingers through his. You looked down at the sight and smiled, rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb.

“Can you feel this?” you asked. He followed your gaze, and his fingers twitched against yours.

“I can feel the…the pressure, I guess,” he said. “I’ve never thought of it much. I think it’s a type of uh…muscle memory. I can feel phantom touches. But I can’t tell how soft something is… Or how warm or cold.”

His flesh hand reached over, and he ran a finger up the back of your hand, past your wrist and to the crook of your elbow. You felt goosebumps rise up in this touch’s wake, and you bit your lip at the sensation. You looked up to see Bucky focused on your face, his sadness evident in his eyes.

“Bucky… You said those people forced you to do those things, right? If you didn’t have a choice, then you’re just as much of a victim as the people they made you hurt.”

He shook his head, looking away, and you tilted his chin towards you, forcing him to keep your gaze.

“They hurt you, didn’t they, Buck?” Tears rose up in his eyes again, and he nodded. “You couldn’t even remember your name when I found you, hon. Whoever ‘they’ are, they took your identity, your humanity, from you. And right now, you don’t have to be here with me. You could have left as soon as you woke up the second day you were with me. But you didn’t – as soon as you recognized that you had a choice, you chose to do the right thing. You didn’t go back to them; you chose to live your life the way you want to live it.

“You could have hurt me if you wanted to, Bucky,” you said, squeezing his flesh hand. “But you didn’t. That proves that you’re still a good man.”

A tear slid down his cheek, and you brushed it away with your thumb. Bucky leaned his face into your touch, closing his eyes.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

“You deserve everything the world has to offer,” you countered.

He opened his eyes, watching you as he brought his hand up to your face. You leaned your cheek against the cool metal, feeling your breath catch in your throat as he leaned closer to you.

His lips were soft against yours. The kiss was soft, just the faintest brush of skin against skin, but it electrified every single nerve ending inside of you. Before he could pull away, you were leaning into him again, pressing your lips harder against his. His stubble was rough against your palms, but you loved the feel of it, and your heart soared when you felt his lips start to move against yours.

Bucky let his muscle memory take over as he kissed you, relying on his instincts from a life long gone as he pulled you closer. He drank in your moan as he swiped his tongue along the seam of your lips, and when you opened for him, he nearly let out a moan of his own. He suppressed the moan, focusing instead on your taste; you were sweet like the cola you’d drank earlier, and he knew that he would forever be addicted to your kisses.

Your hands moved back to his hair as a hand on your lower back pulled you into his lap, and you tugged at his tresses as he maneuvered you to straddle his waist. Something hard pressed against your inner thigh, but you didn’t feel frightened or intimidated. You ground your pelvis down against it, delighting in the hiss it drew from his lips. Suddenly, though, you felt him tense up beneath your touch.

He whispered your name against your ear, his tone as reverent as a prayer as he pulled away. Blinking dazedly, you looked down at him, at his red, swollen lips still slick with your spit.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, sitting back against his thighs. His hands were resting on your hips, rubbing circles against your sides with his thumbs.

“I… I’m afraid I’ll…” He huffed, setting his forehead on your shoulder. “I don’t wanna hurt you, doll.”

You preened at his pet name and craned your neck to press a kiss to the side of his head.

“You won’t hurt me, Bucky,” you promised. “But we can take this slow if you want.”

When he lifted his head up, you pressed a soft peck to his lips, hugging around his neck. Above you, the lights flickered once, then twice before turning on again. You grinned and turned to him, playing with his hair as the power came back on.

“I trust you, Bucky,” you breathed. “I promise you won’t hurt me.”

The two of you sat there long into the night, holding one another tightly before the both of you trudged to your bed. You convinced him to wrap his arms around you as you fell asleep, whispering that it would be ok, that you wanted him there with you.

His touch slowly became more confident, and you fell asleep with him clinging to you tightly. You drifted off with a smile, surrounded by his warm embrace, completely unaware of what was to come.

[bagels-and-seagulls]

god PLEASE talk about david finding out that sara and leonie outed matteo in the enemies to lovers fic i cannot IMAGINE that he would take that well

i have gotten a couple of questions about this, so here’s a little thing about what happens when david finds out

more enemies to lovers au

Matteo waits for David by his own locker. He leans back against them, feeling the cool metal through his sweater, and scrolls through his phone kind of mindlessly, just waiting for the time to pass. They were going to go to the movies to see something that Matteo hadn’t heard of but David was raving about while they texted the past couple of days, something artsy and a little pretentious sounding and something that Matteo was sure to go over his head. But David sent him a link to a review online that Matteo pretended to read for the sake of keeping the conversation going for a little while longer before they both said goodnight. 

And the morning after, David shyly asked Matteo when they had started to stop by to say hi before class if maybe he wanted to go see it with him, maybe as a date too, and maybe they could hang out for a while afterwards back at David’s because Laura wasn’t meant to be home until really late that night. Matteo had nodded and bit his lip, responding with a quiet, “Yeah, that’d be chill,” knowing that his face was heating up, and he was giving everything away right in the middle of the school yard. 

“Hey, man,” Jonas greeted as he came up beside him. 

“Hey,” Matteo said back and lifted his elbow to knock them together before leaning back against the locker again. 

“What are you up to tonight?” Jonas asked. “Carlos said something about a new game he got last period, and Abdi already said he would bring some beer over if we wanted to hang for a little while.” 

“Uh, I’m can’t tonight,” Matteo said with a shake of his head. He pocketed his phone and pulls on his backpack strap to pull it a little closer to his side. 

A little frown came over Jonas face, and Matteo wanted to huff a little at the quick concern that crossed over his features, like every time that Matteo was busy these days, it was because he was going to go have a quiet and private mental breakdown back in his apartment without telling a single soul besides his drug dealer when he tried to buy a new baggie. “Everything good?” He asks.

“Yeah, yeah,” Matteo quickly responded to try and get that sad face away from his best friend’s face. “I, uh, I have a date, actually. Soooo, yeah.” 

Jonas perked up immediately. His eyes going a little wide and his grin going ever wider, quickly forgetting about anything negative he was just thinking like a little emotional roller coaster was expected, or even delighted. “A date? Really?” He asks in the way that a puppy greets an owner that’s been gone all day. Matteo nods. “Who with?” 

“Hey,” someone says beside them, and Matteo looks over to see David standing with one book tucked into his side and the other shoved in the pocket of his jacket. He’s got his hat over his head, and he’s wearing a plain black t-shirt that made Matteo want to just stare at his shoulders for a while, which he was allowed to do these days he had to remind himself, now that they weren’t sneaking around back behind everyone anymore like they were both each other’s dirtiest secret. They look at each other for a second, both blinking a little owlishly at the other. 

“Uh, hey,” Matteo says, shaking himself out of his little trance. “Jonas, you know David, right?” He says and looks at his friend who was still standing off to the side, watching this train wreck of a introduction. 

Jonas nods and says something vague in greeting, and Matteo wonders in the back of his mind if David is feeling the same way that he was in his kitchen with Laura staring him down with a bathrobe over her shoulders and a glare between her brows. If his heart was pounding waiting to hear the verdict of if this was going to be accepted by the person that their interest respected most in this world, if he was going to be enough to earn some arbitrary stamp of approval, if he was going to pass a test he didn’t even know he was supposed to study for. Matteo remembers wanting to throw up. He kind of hopes David doesn’t feel the same way at the same time he kind of hopes that David wants to impress his friends. 

“Wait,” Jonas says and shakes his head like he just thought of something. “This is- is your date?”

“Yeah,” Matteo says with a little uptick in his voice, like it was a question, like he wasn’t too sure now that he was saying it out loud. 

“Aren’t- Isn’t he friends with, you know, Sara and Leonie?” Jonas says looking between the two of them and taking a step closer into Matteo’s space. He would almost be touched by it, the way that Jonas mothers him like it was a second nature, if this whole thing wasn’t so mortifying all of a sudden. He felt something sticky fill his throat, and he tries to think of ways to stop this before it even starts, before Jonas gets any bright ideas that he has to protect Matteo’s honor, before David starts to figure things out that Matteo wasn’t too ready to talk about where other people could hear him. 

David sputters and goes to defend himself, and Matteo cuts him off and holds a hand out to grip at Jonas’ elbow. “Jonas,” he says to get his attention away from where David was looking like his heckles were raising and his mouth was about to foam at the threat of something a little more violent. “It’s chill. Don’t- Just don’t worry about that right now.” 

“Luigi-” 

“I’m serious. It’s all good, man,” Matteo interrupts with a forced smile. He pushes himself off of the lockers and goes to grip loosely at David’s wrist. “We got a show to catch. I’ll text you later,” he calls over his shoulder and pulls David along behind him. 

He let’s go once they’re out of the doors, and David stops behind him with a jolt. “Aren’t we going?” Matteo asks as he turns to look at him and the way confusion was written down to the bones of his fingers.

“Yeah, I just-” David says and rubs at the back of his neck. “Just, what was that?” 

“Oh, Jonas is just a little protective since-” He stops himself with a shrug. “Since everything that happened with Sara, and Leonie, I guess,” he adds after a second because he doesn’t know how much longer he can get away with skirting around the whole ordeal. 

“When you dated? Sara, I mean,” David asks with a little tilt to his head and a scrunch of his nose that Matteo would think is completely adorable if it weren’t for the way that his heart was pounding in his chest and the way that the palms of his hands were starting to sweat. His mouth twitched. 

“Yeah, I mean,” Matteo starts and pauses for a second, thinking about what he was going to say, what he was going to reveal outside on the school yard when it was bright and sunny, and people were stilling milling about. He tried to think of words that were meaningless in an order that meant nothing, but thought that would be a disservice to himself, the boy who was trying to start over. A new leaf, he thinks again, almost like deja vu. “We had a big blowout in the end. Sara and me. Leonie got involved. Jonas too, and it was just- just a whole mess, I guess.”

“Wait,” David says and looks to the ground. “Wait,” he repeats and scrunches his face up and pinches the bridge of his nose tight between the pads of his fingers like there was a thought right there at the edge of his mind, and he desperately didn’t want to lose it. “Don’t- Did they-” He starts and stops and shakes his head while staring at the ground like it was speaking to him. He whips up to look at Matteo with his eyes wide. “You told me you were outed. Were they?” He asks in a couple of words with something panicked and angry and something else entirely playing on his face. 

Matteo shrugs. “I’m over it,” he says instead of answering straight out, and he thinks that David can tells he’s lying. “Mostly,” he adds after a second. 

“That’s- They- Jesus,” David stutters, looking between the doors of the school and Matteo’s face, trying to make some sort of decision. “I just,” he says and turns onto his heels to storm back into the school building once his mind seems to settle with Matteo trailing behind him, trying to think of something to say, trying to catch up himself now. 

“David, David,” Matteo calls out after him, but David was a man on a mission and faster than Matteo on a bad day. “David, it’s not- it’s fine.” 

“It isn’t though, Matteo,” David grits through his teeth as he spins around to face him with something heavy in his voice and furious in his eyes. “It’s so not fine. It’s no where near fine. Jesus Christ,” he spits out like he was angry but not trying to throw it down at Matteo’s feet. “Did they even apologize?” He asks and throws his arm in some direction that he must have seen them last. 

And Matteo feels put on the spot and looks around the hallways, biting his lip, trying to find a way to defuse this whole situation and go back to half and hour ago when he was patiently waiting to go on an exciting date with the boy that he liked so much. 

“Jesus Christ,” David says again, more flabbergasted than anything else, getting his answer from Matteo’s lack of one. “Just- I can’t even- like, what the fuck?” He says, and Matteo thinks it’s rhetorical. “Like who does that? Like who, for the love of god, does something like that? I can’t- I can’t believe I would be friends with someone like that. Something so- so- so, fucking, despicable. Like how can I trust someone like that? Like did they-” his face blanks and the color drains until he’s left standing there looking a little bit blue and a little bit green all at once. He pulls at his back pack strap and wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, staring at the floor like it was falling out beneath him. “Did they?” He asks quietly, looking down with wide eyes and his mouth open. 

“No, no, David,” Matteo says quickly, crowding into David’s space, one hand gripping onto his hand and the other going to cradle the side of his face. “They wouldn’t. They’re your friends, David. They wouldn’t do something like that to you.” 

David shakes his head and pulls his face out of Matteo’s grasp, even though he grips onto his hand hard until Matteo can’t feel the circulation in his fingers too good anymore. His face goes as blank as it can with the world sinking around him, like he was replaying his past and wondering where it all went wrong, where he missed a step somewhere. “They did it to you, though. What make me any different?” He asks with a quiet and sad voice. 

He let’s go of Matteo’s hand, turns around, and walks away with his feet dragging a little more than usual. And Matteo is left watching after him, wanting nothing more than to turn back time and turn over a new leaf. 

[iamsoneurotic]

Hey Milo! You Five! And other stuff...

So we’re weeks out from baby #3 being born… I’ve hardly written a single update about this pregnancy because oddly enough it’s really, really hard to find time to write absurdly long posts when you’ve got two little boys and a pregnant wife.

Oh who am I kidding, I’m just really lazy. But having kids is such a good excuse to not do things that I can’t help but use it every chance I get. Now if only I had a decent excuse to get a minute alone from the boys I’d be in business! I kid… but let’s not pretend that it isn’t the worst thing in the world to wake up to a toddler screaming at you to play legos upstairs. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE playing with Legos and I love playing with my kids, but I love not moving in the morning more. We’ve got a rule in the house: Mommy and Daddy don’t play until after they’ve had their coffee in the morning. Needless to say I sip mine VERY slowly.

Rachael and I are not morning people. Milo and Noli inherited that trait from us, but unfortunately they also inherited my stubbornness - so they just refuse to sleep in. Yeah, I know all kids wake up early and are miserable, but Noli literally wakes up growling and Milo always wakes up yelling “HEY!” like he dreamt about some goblin flicking him in the nose and then woke up too soon to flick him back. That’s what I imagine happens anyway. If they’re so mad about being awake, why not just stop being awake?? It’s not that hard, I do it all the time!

But whatever. They come out of their rooms, they fight over a lego, I pathetically and ineffectively shout at them from my recliner downstairs and then I drink my coffee and secretly daydream about drowning to death in it. Mornings with the Marianelli’s are a good old time. Even the unborn one wakes up cranky, he just awakens when Rachael is going to bed and kicks her in the ribs like a savage. Crap, I just realized I never posted his gender - well if you haven’t figured it out yet, he’s a boy. If anything I’m consistent.

We had the sonogram a week after my last post and boy oh boy the boy wasn’t shy about being a boy. Have I said boy enough yet? I know a sonogram isn’t actually a camera with a lens, but I swear, the moment they turned that device on he practically slapped it against the screen. No subtlety whatsoever.

There’s this awkward moment during a gender reveal where both parents are secretly hoping for different results (by secretly I mean me, Rachael was quite vocal about her hopes) - it’s like when you’re playing a board game with people and it’s maybe 10 rounds in and that competitiveness is starting to rear its ugly head and the laughter is becoming more and more forced with every round - and then you win for like, the 5th time in a row and you’re not quite sure what emotion to express so you just sort of downplay your own victory as dumb luck, but now everybody feels insulted that you’re pitying them… Yeah, that’s what it’s like to find out you’re having a third boy.

But for real, it’s better this way and we all know it.

I can’t tell if the sound of my voice makes the little stinker agitated or happy. He usually starts moving a lot when I talk to him (yeah I know, they can be startled by sound and it’s not technically me specifically that he’s responding to - but let me have this!), I think my proudest moment was when I placed my hand on Rachael’s belly and said “HIGH FIVE!” and he totally kicked my hand. He also likes to kick me in the head when I try listening to his heartbeat… They say you’re supposed to be able to hear the heartbeat without a stethoscope but I’m three kids in and it’s NEVER happened! I do, however, hear a lot of digestive sounds that I wish I could un-hear.

This pregnancy gives me a lot of memories of when Milo was still in the womb and he would stop Rachael dead in her tracks by roundhouse kicking her in the side. This little guy might actually be worse. There were a couple of weeks in the Autumn where we were convinced he was actually kicking Rachael in the spine. It would send shockwaves up her back and every time it happened I thought she either saw a giant spider or suffered an aneurysm. I’m not saying I wished for the latter, but I really hate spiders… Don’t judge me.

We’ve been trying to prepare Noli for the baby’s arrival. He can get pretty jealous. My brother came home one day with puppies and Noli got really sad that we were giving the puppies so much attention. It broke my heart a little. He’s a really sensitive kid - it’s a good quality, but it can be difficult. I have to discipline him almost entirely differently from how I discipline Milo because of it. To be honest I still don’t really know what I’m doing when it comes to that with him. Some days I think I’ve cracked the code, but then the next day it’s an entirely different ball game. He’s been a little grumpy lately and we haven’t really figured out why outside of “Terrible 3’s” (terrible 2′s is a myth, 3′s suck).

I used to think I knew what a tantrum was… I was so wrong. On Christmas Eve Noli threw the most epic tantrum I have ever witnessed in the history parenting. It’s mostly a blur at this point, but it started when I tried making him put on a pair of pants after his bath and it ended with a full-on UFC-style showdown where I was literally grappling him on the floor so that he wouldn’t hurt himself. I ended up tapping out because nothing was working - Rachael finally managed to defuse the entire situation by simply pulling an ice-tray out of the freezer and showing it to him. Yup. Problem solved. All the shouting, bribing, begging, grappling and crying did absolutely nothing - a boring inanimate object from a mini-fridge tamed the beast. How Rachael thought to walk past a playroom full of toys and grab an unused ice-tray will forever be a mystery to me. Since being pregnant the girl can barely remember her own name, yet she knew exactly how to deal with a situation that neither of us had experienced - motherly instinct is truly the 8th wonder of the world.

All tantrums aside, Noli cracks me up. He’s making up his own superheroes now. His latest evil creation is “Play-Doh Butt”. His superpower? He shoots pink legos out of his butt. I’ve also learned a number of other characteristics that I wish I could forget. He’s apparently blue, wears no clothes, has no hair (anywhere) and is little. He’s straight out of a nightmare. There’s another superhero he’s working on that’s less fleshed out, and I truly hope it remains that way because I don’t need nor want any other details. His name is “Tater Tutt” and, in Noli’s own words, “he shoots poo-poo out of his hands at all the happy people”... I think that makes him a villain, but I’m not sure Noli sees the lack of virtue in flinging your poop at happy people. I’m sure there’s somebody out there who would derive joy from that experience, but it’s certainly not anybody I want hanging around my 3 year old.

I can’t bring myself to discourage his progressive line of superheroes, they’re more creative than anything I came up with at that age - my greatest childhood achievement was creating a superhero who controlled fire, and I named him “Flamer”. Just failure all around. One of these days I’ll get around to asking Noli to draw a picture of Play-Doh Butt for me just to see what monstrosity he puts to paper, but until then I’m totally satisfied just watching him draw Spider-Man… with chalk… on our walls. So glad we didn’t give him markers that day. For a 3 year old he’s a really good little artist - I’d say even for somebody older than him. His Spider-Man drawings are really cute and surprisingly stylized. Between the two of them, I think he’s the most handy with a drawing utensil, and it makes sense; Milo is very book smart, Noli is very creative. It makes a lot of sense to me, Milo is a spitting image of Rachael, so naturally he’s just gravitated towards books and math. Noli got my genes, hence, Play-Doh Butt and art.

He really is the sweetest little boy on the planet though. I slipped on the bottom step the other day like a bobo and fell down, Noli immediately ran over to me and kept trying to make sure I was okay… Milo, on the other hand, just yelled at me to get a toy for him that he got stuck under the television. I’ll be remembering that when it’s time to draft up wills. Anyway, the point is, the kid just has a kind, nurturing soul. He wants everyone to be happy...

“Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“Happy?”

“Yes.”

“Ohay!”

He still can’t say his K’s.

What else… Oh, yeah, Milo turned 5! My baby is growing up and I’m both happy and miserably depressed over it. I feel like I’ve said this for other birthday posts, but it’s how I feel every time. I don’t sing Happy Birthday to the boys, I sing “Cats in the Cradle” and my tears put their candles out. Nobody likes growing up in our house.

I think he had a good day. This was the first birthday that he actually seemed aware of leading up to it. He was so excited he woke up at 5:30 in the morning and for the first time ever WASN’T cranky! I wanted to stick my head in a stove, but at least he was happy to be up before the sun. We had a Mario-themed birthday for him - correction, a LUIGI themed birthday for him; He prefers Luigi to Mario. He’s been playing a lot of Mario Run on his iPad… Probably too much, but mommy and daddy are literally the worst parents in the world when we’re feeling defeated so we throw iPads at the boys for distraction while we recharge our broken will. He’s actually really good at that game, he beat it before I did - and I’m awesome. I’m terrified to introduce him to the original Mario games, he hates losing, and that’s basically all you do with the old ones. You lose until you throw a controller at the wall, then you play DOOM for an hour to vent. We’re not there yet with the boys.

One of the reasons I was so excited for him to turn 5 was STAR WARS. It’s a movie I’ve always looked forward to watching with my kids, but wanted to wait until they were old enough to actually get what they’re watching and hopefully not get too scared. We have a media room upstairs that is 100% off limits to the kids, but I told Milo for his 5th birthday we’d get milkshakes and watch a big boy movie in the media room… He was a little bored by it, but he was happy to just be in our home’s ‘Forbidden Kingdom’ with junk food and some one on one time with Dad. I really loved it. When you have more than one kid, it’ hard to just enjoy them for their own uniqueness. They morph together into this wild entity that lives to argue with itself and bring chaos and exhaustion to your once stable, quiet household.

Milo is a brilliant boy. Every day he makes it a point to remind me how much of a genius he is. Whether it’s his ability to perform division in his head or how he reads at a 1st grade level (even more so I think) or the fact that he can build a set of Lincoln Logs exactly as they are on the box when I can barely make any sense of the vague directions they come with. He’s a sponge for knowledge. He also had a piano recital on his birthday and he nailed it. It probably doesn’t sound like much to an adult musician, but for a 5-year-old to play piano and without looking at the sheet music, know when he’s made a mistake and correct it by ear is wildly impressive. Like I said - brilliant.

Milo - I know I’m a month late writing this, but I’m just so amazingly proud of what a big boy you are. I love your face, I love your voice, I love your personality and your sense of humor, I just love everything about you. I can never find the right words to express it, but I’m just so filled with joy watching you grow up. You were the very answer to a prayer I had prayed almost every night since I was little - to be a Dad, to have a family of my own. Now I get to pray every night and thank God for a family I know I’ll never truly be worthy of. So yeah, just in case you ever doubted what you mean to me.

Happy Birthday, baby boy. I love you.

Anyway, this is turning into one of those super long posts that Rachael yells at me for writing, so I guess I’ll wrap it up… My next post will inevitably be another 2-part ‘Birth of Baby’ story (and hopefully my last), so be on the look-out! Or don’t. I don’t even know who’s reading this besides my wife, and she doesn’t much care for the amount of detail I go into regarding the births so I imagine I’ll just be reading the next post to myself. Good lord it’s late.

Auf Weidersehen, goodnight (why yes, I did have to Google that), ~ M.