#ladied and gentlemen and other fellas 'I am' exhausted

[fractal-patterns]

The thing about "I Am" affirmations is that it feels uncomfortable because I do not want to have an ego identity and consciousness. I just want to melt into nothingness. Existence is Pain.

[mshermia]

No. 13 - The Winter Air - Part III

Whumptober 2020 Prompt No. 13 - Breathe In, Breathe Out

Delayed Drowning | Chemical Pneumonia | Oxygen Mask

Part I

Part II

###

The house was quiet and dark. Morgan really seemed to be asleep in his arms this time. Her breathing was deep and strong. In contrast, he tried to keep his own shallow, scared that any excess movement even of his chest might wake her back up.

So he stayed quiet and completely still until he saw the lights outside of his window. Carefully and slowly he maneuvered himself out of his own bed, cradling Morgan's head that had been cushioned on his chest until he had moved it onto the pillow instead. He snuck to the door and stole out of the room before May and Happy had even made it into the house. At least that meant there was no light for the hallway was dark and silent, nothing that could disturb the little girl

"FRI, 20% lights please."

"Of course, Peter."

He made it down the stairs just as the two adults unlocked the front door.

"How is he?" His voice sounded small and hoarse.

"Oh, honey, come here..." May's hands were in him in moments, pulling him into her arms. His eyes closed, he counted to 5, indulging her. "You okay, hm? No cough?" Her hand ran through his hair, along his face, pressed a kiss against his forehead.

"How is Tony?" he finally asked. "What... what is happening? I don't... I don't understand!"

"Come on, bud, let's just..." Happy sighed, one hand on his shoulder. "Let's get out of the hallway at least."

They positively dragged him into the living room, made him sit on the couch just next to where the blankets were still lying that Pepper had pulled all around Mr. Stark.

"Please..." His try to keep the pleading whine out of his voice was unsuccessful. "Just tell me what's happening!"

May sat down next to him but it was Happy who spoke up. "The doctors are doing the best they can to treat Tony and all we can do right now is—"

"Yeah, that's what they tell the families when someone is about to die." He looked from Happy to May and then back to Happy again. "I want to see him."

"Peter, honey..." May shifted a little closer. "There is nothing any of us can do right now other than being here for Morgan and then tomorrow morning—"

"No, I..." He shot up from the couch, every muscle in his body seemed electrified. "I can't just sit here and wait." He shook his head. "Last time you told me to just do nothing he would have just... just stayed dead. I can't—"

"Alright, alright..." Happy had stepped a little closer. "Just calm down for a moment. This is... this is very different from what happened with... erm... over... over the summer, okay? He's at the hospital. He has people who are—"

"Just stop!" Peter's eyes wandered back and forth between them. While Happy looked a little shocked at his outburst, May's eyes were round and wide ever since he had stated that he wanted to see Mr. Stark. "I can't just sit here. Please."

"Just sitting here, just sitting there..." Happy pulled his arms up to underline the shrug. "What does it matter tonight? He's not even conscious right now, Pete. At least here, you have a bed where... Peter!"

His heart had given such a painful squeeze, he'd staggered back a bit only to rebound with a rush towards the cupboard in the hallway where Mr. Stark kept his car keys.

He was... he was unconscious? Peter's breathing staggered at the thought. Unconscious? Why... why? 

"Hey, stop! Peter—" Haply had put himself between Peter and the door that led to the garage.

"Get out of my way."

"Honey, please. It's the middle of the night. There is no point." May was close behind him but still kept her distance, not physically trying to hold him back. Not yet. "They won't even let you into the hospital right now!"

Happy's hands were pulled up in a defensive gesture as he blocked the door. "Pepper is with him. He's not alone, okay? We'll go right after breakfast and—"

"I don't want to hurt you, Happy." Peter's hands were balled up into fists to retain control over his panic. "Please. Move."

"Hey, I know you're scared for him..." He shook his head, eyes intently on Peter. "I get that, okay? But you can't—"

"Alright..." Peter muttered under his breath. 

He stepped a little closer, feigning to go left, and just as Happy jumped into action, he dodged him on the right instead. Child's play, really. He shut the door to the house behind him then pressed the button to open the garage door, and quickly jumped into the Audi. A quick flip on the gearshift put the car in reverse and he stepped on the gas. Suddenly, there was a tingling on the back of his neck and without thinking, Peter jumped on the break with both feet just as Happy rushed out of the house and came to stand right there in the driveway.

"Holy fuck," Peter breathed.

Happy rushed towards him, pulled open the door.

"Alright kid, just—"

"I need to see him!" His knuckles were white from how hard he was holding the steering wheel.

"Yeah, I got that, but you're not driving."

Peter looked up at him, his eyes burning.

"Just.. come on..." he sighed. "Scooch over. I'll drive you."

Peter froze, not sure if he had heard that right. "You... you will?"

Happy pursed his lips and gave a quick wave to May who still stood at the front door. "Will there be another way to keep you quiet?"

"N-no."

"That's what I thought. Go on. Passenger seat for you."

Their drive was quiet. Peter's eyes got a little heavy. Maybe he was a bit more exhausted than he had realized. Once or twice he startled himself, sat up straight after he had almost nodded off.

"We have another 20 minutes to go." Happy's voice was low, eyes focussed on the dark road ahead of them. "You can close your eyes for a bit of you want."

Peter huffed. "You trying to circle the block till I'm down? I'm not a kid anymore."

Happy shook his head and for a moment, Peter thought he might leave it at that. "You're old enough to know that getting tired has nothing to do with being a kid. It's been a long day, Pete. It's okay to need some rest, even for Spider-Man."

He looked down at his hands where one of his thumbs was flicking the other back and forth. "How are you this calm?" 

There was another beat of silence before Happy answered just as quiet as before. "Someone has to be."

"But he... he's unconscious. In the hospital," Peter whispered back, his voice shaking.

For the first time since he had gotten in the car, Happy gave a quick glance in his direction. "It's Tony."

He said it like that should be enough to believe that the man would just wing this. Like he wasn't mortal. Like they hadn't all been at that very house they had just left less than 6 months ago to mourn him. Like Peter hadn't watched him die before.

His face turned away from Happy towards the window, lip caught between his teeth he was trying to think of anything but that fear in his heart. The fear that crept up to his lungs and made it hard to breathe.

20 minutes later they had parked the car and rushed towards the entrance of the hospital. Well, Peter rushed, Happy tried to keep up. The lights in the hallway were blindingly bright. He squinted his eyes to protect his senses from at least some of the glare. Happy was right next to him, guiding him now with a hand on the back of his neck.

Peter sent a sideways glance in Happy's direction. "You know where we're going?"

Happy shushed him as a set of automated doors buzzed open in front of them. There was a bit of a commotion to their left as they walked on.

"Hey! Stop!"

Peter tensed under Happy's hand and craned his neck. A security guard, no two, came rushing out of their booth.

"Visiting hours are over, fellas!"

Happy held his head high as he looked the two men up and down. "We're on our way to the ICU. We called ahead."

"Visiting hours are from 7 am to 9 pm. So how about..." One of them, short, no hair, made a show of pulling out his watch. "How about you come back in 6 hours and 12 minutes, yes. Alright." He gestured to the door they had just walked through.

Without even acknowledging the man's comment, Happy gave Peter's back a light push and made him walk on towards the elevators that the hallway was leading towards.

"Hey, woah, you can't just... hey, stop! Freeze!"

Happy blew out a low breath but stopped walking. He turned towards the security man. "Listen, buddy. I'm really not in the mood for this tonight. Call your supervisor, hm? Like I said, we called ahead to—"

"And I said, visiting hours are from—"

The elevator door behind them opened and both security guards' faces made an impressive run through the motion from anger to surprise and then very clear annoyance.

"Mr. Hogan?"

Happy's eyebrows moved up and he tilted his head a little to the side while he still stared at the men in front of him. "Mrs. Sakuma..." He turned towards her. "I presume?"

"Miss actually." She looked past him at her two subordinates. "I'll take it from here, gentlemen."

The lady ushered both, Peter and Happy, into the elevator, then followed them and pressed the button for the third floor. Peter's heart was racing, his pulse hammering in his ears and it had nothing to do with hospital security.

"He's... he's in the ICU?" His eyes were looking for Happy's but the man just placed his hand on Peter's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, followed by a light nod of his head.

"I'm sorry, my mistake, Miss Sakuma."

"Oh, not to worry, not to worry!" The lady wrung her hands, looking just as nervous as Peter felt. "We have set Mr. Stark up in a room with the utmost privacy just like you had requested, Sir," the lady continued, her eyes nervously wandered from his hands to Happy and then to the door of the elevator. "I informed Mrs. Stark about the imminent arrival of Mr. Stark's son right after your er... colleague called."

Peter's head shot up but Happy kept a tight grip on his shoulder. "Thank you, Ms. Sakuma."

"We have been doing our best to accommodate everything that Mrs. Stark asked for but she didn't really seem interested in any offer we could make for... for food or the bed in the adjacent room. She just—"

"You don't need to worry about that, Miss," Happy interrupted. "That's what I'm here for."

The doors opened up to another long hallway considerably darker than the entrance of the hospital had been. Peter's feet only moved when the pressure of Happy's hand urged him to go. He couldn't even feel his legs. Or his arms. His whole body was buzzing after what the woman had just said. Mr. Stark's son? And she had said that to Pepper? Peter swallowed hard. He'd never live that one down. Their steps echoed through the otherwise silent wing. Their steps and Peter's thundering pulse it seemed.

It wasn't such a big deal. Right? He needed to get a grip of himself. A white lie, probably so the hospital would let them in. Happy, he knew how these things worked. This wasn't his first rodeo, far from it.

"Here we are," Ms. Sakuma said, gesturing at the door in front of them. "I'll be here all night if you need anything—"

"Thank you." Happy interrupted, bowing his head in the slightest motions.

"R-right." The lady did a weird mix of a bow and courtesy before she blushed slightly and walked back towards the elevators.

One hand still on Peter's shoulder, Happy reached forward and pressed down the handle of the door. The first thing Peter's eyes fell on were Pepper as she sat close to the window, curled up with a blanket in a large armchair. She was awake and roused herself out of the chair as Happy pushed Peter into the room.

He wouldn't have moved on his own. He was too occupied staring at the hospital bed that stood right next to Pepper's chair. Not the bed of course, he was staring at the man who was lying on that bed. His arms were stretched out next to his body an IV lodged in his left arm. Two, two IV's. There were two separate bags hanging on the stand at the top of the bed. Most of his mentor's face was obstructed by an oxygen mask. His eyes were closed, his body motionless except for his chest that was rising in short and shallow pulses.

It wasn't until Pepper's hands had pulled him closer and then into a tight hug that he even noticed that she had walked towards him.

"Wh-what happened?" Peter's voice was thin and teary even though he had been so determined to keep his tears back, had thought he was too numb anyway for any emotions to overflow. Apparently, he'd been wrong.

"Shh, just take a breath, honey."

"I... I don't understand. He was... he was fine. He was fine. I... I pulled him out in time, I did. I—"

"Hey, Peter... listen to me."

He couldn't take his eyes off the man's face, the ashen blue-ish look of his skin. That mask.

"Hey, honey, look at me." Her hands cradled of face and turned it towards her. "You did. Alright? You did so good. This is not—"

"I should have... oh god, I... I waited too long, didn't I? I... I should... should have never taken my... my stuff off. I... I would have been fine. I wouldn't have sunk." His eyes shifted back over to his mentor despite Pepper's hands on his face. "I would have been fine and faster, gotten him out so much faster it—"

"Shhh, no, Peter. No, that's not... Peter, look at me. You did everything right, okay? Hey..." Her eyes were wide when he finally looked at her. "You helped Tony and you also took care not to... not to put yourself in... in more danger than..." She swallowed hard. "You've done everything right."

"Then why is he here? Why... why is this happening?"

Pepper pulled him towards the chair. Both hands on his shoulders, she pushed him down until he sat, then she crouched down to be on the same eye-level as he was.

"Tony inhaled some water. This is where these complications came from."

"But... but then if I'd been faster—"

"Peter, when you pulled him up, he was conscious, wasn't he?"

"I..." He shook his head. "You did. You... you pulled him out. Both of us"

"Al-alright. Yes. Yes, I did." She nodded, her head slightly tilted to the side. "But you pulled him out from under the ice, right?"

"Right," Peter whispered.

"And he was conscious then."

"He... he grabbed my arm, under... in the water. I.... I didn't..." He shook his head, his eyes burning. "I didn't find him, he... he... he found me!"

"Well, the things is, darling, he was not passed out, was he?"

A shudder went through him as he thought back to those moments underwater that had seemed so much longer. Of how someone... Mr. Stark. He had reached for him out of the icy darkness in that lake. "N-no, he wasn't."

"No." Pepper hand was back on his cheek and she nodded like it would mean something that Mr. Stark had reached for him. "But aspiration of water is not something that just happens, even in the struggle to breathe underwater. A person usually falls unconscious before something like that happens."

He frowned, not really following where she was going. "But then... how—"

"The.... the doctors think that maybe when Tony first fell into the water, when is head was submerged under the water, that it was such a shock to his system because of the cold that he might have blacked out for a moment and that this is where he inhaled some water."

"Oh..." With a shiver, Peter tried to shake off the icy feeling that suddenly flooded his senses as Pepper's words brought back those memories. He seemed to tremble just like he had when he had slid into that ice-cold lake when he had dove down to find his mentor and just hardly managed to keep his own consciousness. "He passed out when he fell in."

"That's what the doctors think."

Peter nodded like his agreement would matter to the doctors. His eyes shifted over to Mr. Stark. He was just lying there, quiet, unmoving.

"He's on antibiotics now," Pepper explained.

Quickly, Peter blinked away his tears the best he could before he looked back up at her.

"The water he inhaled caused inflammation in his lungs. That turned into pneumonia."

"Is... Is that..." Peter silently the weakness in his voice. "Is that why he fell unconscious?"

"No!" Pepper's hands squeezed his, looking for eye contact. "No, darling. It's... the sedation helps his body rest. The coughing would have kept him up."

"Oh..." Peter frowned, not sure if this was better or worse. "That's..." He frowned.

"They are giving his body time to fight this."

He nodded, trying to signal that he understood when really, he wasn't sure he did. All he knew was that Mr. Stark was hooked up to a few machines while they had knocked him out. It should make him feel better that his mentor was monitored and treated by professionals, but a single glance at how helpless the man looked blew all that away.

Happy tried to usher him in the adjacent room at least twice if not three times. Peter didn't even try to pay attention to it. It wasn't until Happy dragged in an armchair from the other room and placed it just next to Pepper, that Peter found it in himself to settle down. Yes, Happy had been right, there wasn't anything he could do but sit and wait, but he couldn't deny that the sitting and waiting felt a lot easier to handle while he could watch his mentor's chest rise and fall, confirming that he was still there with them.

He woke up with a start when someone nudged his shoulder. For a moment, he was a little lost, not sure when he had fallen asleep and most of all, where. He glanced around himself and couldn't really place his surroundings at all. Then he saw Pepper and the hospital bed. Right. Mr. Stark. The realization had him jerk up straight, eyes wide open, mind alert.

"It's okay, honey. Tony's doctor will be here any minute. I thought you might like to hear, hm?"

Peter had barely had time to rub his eyes before the door swung open but instead of the doctors, it was Morgan who rushed through the door, closely followed by Happy. Without as much as a look at either her mother or Peter, the little girl ran for the bed and pulled herself close to Tony. Peter's eyes were wide and he had just been about to pull her back so she wouldn't make it harder for the man to breathe when his arm came up and pulled his daughter close.

Mr. Stark was awake and Peter hadn't even realized. There was little time for Peter to mull that one over before the door swung open again and three doctors pressed through the frame almost simultaneously followed by the lady that had led them up to the room the previous night. He tried to rouse himself, tried to keep up when they talked about inflammatory damage to alveolar-capillary membranes and acute respiratory distress. 

The doctors then did ask them to wait in the other room while they would examine Mr. Stark. Morgan protested heavily until Happy picked her up and carried her next door. Peter kept his head down and followed along, leaving Mr. Stark and Pepper alone with the doctors.

Miss Sakuma had followed along and closed the door to Mr. Stark's room. In impressive detail, she ran through a list of food and beverages, magazines, and things like that, but Peter had no appetite or nerve to do anything but wait for what the doctors had to say. Morgan on the other hand, was outright rude to the lady, telling her how she hadn't asked for anything and wasn't planning on it either.

"Morgan, that's enough." Happy rarely treated the girl like anything but the little princess firecracker she was but even he was taken aback by her outburst.

"I said, I don't want anything!" she whined.

"That's..." The lady cleared her throat. "That is perfectly okay, little Miss. Mr. Hogan, if you do need anything please just let the staff know."

Peter had his arms crossed as he watched Miss Sakuma leave the room, then turned and just caught how Morgan tore herself free from Happy and stalked over to the couch next to the window. With a heavy groan, she let herself fall down, face balled up with frustration. Happy was just about to open his mouth when Peter walked up to him.

"You know... actually... about the breakfast thing..."

Happy narrowed his eyes on him. The expression on his face said that he knew what Peter was trying to do and if he did know, it seemed that he was okay with Peter to give it a shot. "Well, let me see if I can find you any, hm?"

Peter waited for a beat after the door had fallen shut behind Happy. Morgan wasn't looking at him, head turned away and arms crossed. She seemed mad and for the first time in the hectic of the day so far, it dawned on Peter who she was really upset with.

"Hey... Morg?"

She didn't look at him though, only jerked herself a bit further away from him.

"Morgan?" He was slow to come closer to her and then came to sit down next to her on the couch. "Hey, you okay?"

It didn't take much to make her talk. "I told you I wanted to go and you just left me!"

"I..." Peter flinched back at her words, mouth gaping. "You... you were sleeping and... and I didn't... you were sleeping and..." And he hadn't even thought of that. How to get to the hospital had been the only thought on his mind.

"So? You could have woken me up!" She growled at him, still turned away but not even pretending to hide her anger. "I wanted to go! I told you I wanted to see my dad!"

"That... Morgan, they would have never allowed it." He swallowed hard. That wasn't even a lie. In fact, if Morgan had been up by the time Peter had made his intentions clear to May and Happy about driving to the hospital, he was pretty sure nobody would have left the house that night.

"I don't care," she spat at him over her shoulder.

"Hey, come on... I'm sorry, okay? I could have never convinced them. It was past midnight!"

"So?" She finally turned towards him, arms still tightly crossed around herself. "They let you go, didn't they? Happy took you to see my dad and not me!"

"I'm sorry, Bambi, I... I didn't mean to—"

"DON'T call me that!" The voice was high pitched and sharp. So sharp in fact, Peter flinched back from her.

"I... I'm sorry, Morgan. I..." He shook his head, not even sure what to say. He had never seen her this angry before.

"Happy took you but he's my dad," she yelled at him. "He's not your dad!"

Peter didn't really know when he had stood up from the couch, but he had as if the cushion had been on fire. Then he just stood there, staring, his mouth wordlessly open.

"All you do is get him hurt! He never got hurt like this before you came back!"

"Morgan!" Pepper had rushed into the room and quickly came to kneel in front of her daughter, both hands on her arms. "Morgan Hertha Stark, what do you think you're doing right now? Apologize to Peter!"

"But he's not!" She was crying now, big tears rolling down both her cheeks. "He's my dad, not Peter's!"

Pepper's mouth popped open but she didn't say anything until she shook herself out of her trance. "Morgen, that... Peter and your dad—"

"No..." Peter cleared his throat and retreated a couple of steps. "That's... that's okay. You... you're right, Morgan, he's... he's your dad, not mine. I... I shouldn't have..."

Pepper's eyes were on him but she struggled to let go of her crying daughter. "Peter, honey, just... that's not... Tony loves you, you know that."

His eyes were burning even without looking at either Pepper or Morgan. "She's.. she's right, I... I shouldn't even..."

"Peter..."

He shook his head and was through the door that led out to the hallway without another look at them. His mind was racing so fast he didn't even know where he was going until he pushed his way into the stairwell. He hesitated for a second before he climbed the stairs up all the way to the rooftop. He just needed some air. He need to think. To come up with a way out of there. There was a padlock on the door that led outside which was flimsy enough that it didn't stand a chance against his strength. He pushed into the open and the cold New York air was almost as painful as a punch to the face. 

It did help clear his mind though or maybe that was the pacing. It was impossible for his feet to stand still up there and not just because it was freezing. He lost all sense of time as he walked back and forth along the edge of the building. Mr. Stark would be annoyed with him this close to the ledge without his suit, but Mr. Stark wasn't there to lecture him now, was he?

"Peter?"

His head shot up and he froze but stopped himself from looking over his shoulder at Happy.

"You really need to think of new places to hide if you don't want to be found, kid."

"Why did you come up here," Peter whispered into the cold wind.

"Well," Happy sniffed out a short breath. "Because of Tony."

His heart was beating in his throat, a sudden sense of dread engulfing him. "Is... is he okay?"

Happy frowned. "He asked for you."

Peter's eyes went wide. "He... he did?"

His eyebrows knitted close, he studied Peter. "Wouldn't chase you all the way up here if he hadn't, would I?"

It didn't matter. Peter turned his back, head bowed low. How could he go down there right now? Disturb him? The three of them? He should go home, leave them be and maybe if— when... when Mr. Stark was a little stronger—

"Peter?"

"I, erm...." He cleared his throat, concentrating on his voice. "I think it's... it's not the right time for that."

Happy blew out a low grunt. "Listen, about Morgan—"

Peter turned on his heel, pulse spiking. "She told you?"

"Pepper," he sighed. "Pepper told me you guys had a fight."

"We didn't—" His heart made a jump as it suddenly occurred to him why Mr. Stark would want to talk to him. "Did she... did she tell him? Oh god, did she tell him that Morgen... that I..."

"Hey kid, take a breath, okay?" The man shuffled a little closer, the concern on his face now evident. "Of course we didn't tell Tony."

Deep breaths. He had to get a grip on his nerves. They were running away with him.

"Come on, the little munchkin is upset and she let it out on you. It's not fair but you shouldn't take it to heart."

One hand on his face, Peter rubbed his temples. His head was throbbing, likely but not exclusively because he had hardly gotten any sleep last night. Not like he would admit it and earn himself another lecture though.

"She's a child, Peter. You think she has any idea how to place any of this? You and Tony, what you mean to each other? She's four years old! She doesn't know what Tony's life was like before you came into it. Or even before she came into it. How often he got hurt, how severely."

"So?" Peter looked back up at him. "That's not her fault, is it? She just... just calls it like she sees it and all she's known was a life that was quieter and... and more peaceful while I was gone."

Happy shook his head getting a couple of steps closer. "While half the universe was gone, Pete."

"I've been back what, 6 months? And he's been in the hospital or... or injured how many times since then?"

"Don't flatter yourself, kid."

Peter only huffed and turned away.

"You saved his life, more than once. You brought him back from the goddamn dead, Peter."

"Yeah, well..." Morgan didn't know that. Didn't know his secret. Nobody did outside of the people on the battlefield that day. Nobody could ever know.

"You've always had his back, Pete. From the very beginning." The man groaned. "Hell, I don't even know how he'd stand up to the Rogues without you having his back."

"The Rogues..." Peter shook his head. "They don't matter. Rogers knows not to bother him anymore."

There was a moment of silence. "What is that supposed to mean?" Happy's voice rang sharp.

Peter bit his lip, eyes on his feet. "It... it has nothing to do with this, okay?"

Loud steps behind him made it clear that Happy was walking closer. "What the hell did you say to Steve Rogers, Peter?"

Oh, he had said a good many things to the Captain, none of them he was willing to discuss on the rooftop of the hospital Mr. Stark was being treated in though. He turned, just as Happy came to a halt right in front of him. "I'm just... I'm gonna go home. Can you.... you're.... you'll pick up May, right? I mean, she... you'll..."

"Hey, can you slow down for a moment?"

"Please? I can... I'll take the subway. Maybe get in an hour or two of patrol on the way back to Queens." That wasn't really an option. His regular suit was still in Queens and the nano-housing unit for the Iron Spider was in his room at the Stark residence, but it was a good enough excuse to bolt as any.

"Come on, kid..." Happy's hand came to rest on his shoulder. "You made me drive you here in the middle of the night and now you're not gonna talk to Tony when he asks for you?"

His pulse was hammering in his ears. He did want to see him, now that he was awake. Make sure that his mentor would be okay...

"Pepper and Morgan are grabbing a bite to eat, so... you know. It'd just be the two of you."

Peter looked up at him. He felt a little numb but without thinking much more about it, he nodded his head yes. Just Mr. Stark. He could do that.

They walked silently side by side, not to the stairs but the elevator. Peter's heart was throbbing in his throat, nerves making his hands shake. Happy accompanied him to the door like he wouldn't be able to find it on his own. Or like he would run if left unsupervised.

"Here we are." Happy motioned for the door. "Go on, I'll go see how the girls are doing."

Peter pulled in a deep breath before he pushed the door open. The room was indeed empty. Except for his mentor of course. The mask was obstructing most of his face though so Peter had to step a little closer till he could confirm that the man was awake, looking right at him.

"Mr. Stark?"

The man's eyes fell shut for a moment, then he reached up and pulled the oxygen mask down. "Back to... that, are we?"

Peter swallowed hard at the strain in his mentor's voice, his cheeks hot as he stepped even closer to the bed.

"You're not supposed to remove that," Peter whispered.

The man's eyes were on Peter's face, unwavering. "Think it's... okay... for a moment."

"Oh yeah?" It was awkward just standing there. He didn't know what to do with his hands or arms. "And where did you get your medical degree, hm?"

The corners of the man's mouth twitched. "The Wizard's been... expanding my basics."

Peter frowned. "Strange?" He contemplated what that would be like, those two men on like... a video call or something? That smelled like more trouble than it was worth. "You shouldn't be talking to the Wizard. You're supposed to be in retirement."

Mr. Stark gave him a look. "Retired from... active duty. Don't ship me... off to an old... folk's home yet."

One hand scratching the back of his neck, Peter avoided the man's eyes. He didn't like this at all and he couldn't even hide the fact that he didn't.

"Kid..." He waited until Peter looked back up at him. "I don't... remember a lot of... what happened... yesterday. But Pepper... Pepper said that I... was a bit... of an ass... to you."

Heat was rushing to Peter's face. "It's... it's okay, you don't... "

"I'm sorry." His eyes were so intent on Peter, it almost made him overlook how the breaks between his words when he tried to suck in more air became longer. "Thank... you... for saving... me."

Peter could only shake his head, eyes on his hands instead of Mr. Stark.

"Pete?" For a moment it seemed like he wanted to say something else until he screwed his face up in pain and a deep cough rang through the room. One at first then the man struggled to pull in a deep breath and coughed some more.

Peter's hand was on the mask in seconds and pulled it back up over his mentor's mouth and nose. "Just breathe, Sir, just breathe." One hand still held the mask in place while the other rubbed the man's arm.

It took a couple of minutes until his breathing had calmed down enough that Peter felt confident enough to let go of the oxygen mask. He had just been about to step back, to let the man get the rest he needed when he caught Peter by his arm.

"Kid, it'll..." His voice was strongly muffled through the mask. "I'll be okay."

Goosebumps traveled from his neck all the way into the tips of Peter's fingers. His throat felt constricted like his emotions were trying to choke him while Mr. Stark looked at him like he could peer into his very soul.

"Come on... give... your old... man... a hug... hm?"

Peter bit his lip hard and a part of him wanted to turn and bolt, but a soft tug on his wrist by Mr. Stark was all he needed to lean down and wrap his arms around the man. Mr. Stark held him close to his chest, while he muttered again and again that everything would be okay. That he would be okay. The words, the promise everyone else had been avoiding to make since the night before. He couldn't deny that those arms around him, holding him close, that it brought a sense of calm and confidence that he had been thoroughly lacking. He couldn't deny the tears either that he shed while he pressed his face against the man's chest.

Only a feeling that crept up his spine made him let go and rub a hand across his eyes before the door swung open. He had taken a couple of steps back from the bed, his mentor's eyes still on him when Morgan rushed towards the bed and clung to her dad in the very same spot that Peter had been kneeling at just a few moments earlier.

"Honey...." Pepper's voice was low right next to him. "Let's go and talk, hm? You and me."

It was the last thing he wanted, to talk about this some more. But what was he supposed to do? Say no to her? Instead, he gave a jerky nod but just as Pepper was about to lead him to the room next door, the lady from the hospital reappeared. Without much preamble, she started talking to Pepper about a nicer and bigger room with more light, more comfortable now that Mr. Stark could be moved out of the ICU and while Pepper was distracted by the lady's congratulations on how much better her husband was already doing, Peter decided on the only plan of action he could handle right now.

He stole to the door of the room then turned one last time and found Mr. Stark's eyes glued to his every movement. For a moment it seemed like the man was about to say something but Peter didn't stick around long enough to find out. He slipped out of the door and back into the stairwell.

Without his suit, it would be a long and dreary trip to the other side of the city.

 ###

[author’s note: Thank you guys so much for reading, the likes, reblogs and comments. I love and super appreciate them!

I took some creative license with Morgan's middle name cause Morgan H. Stark is canon and I absolutely hate the idea of Tony naming his daughter after Howard no matter how many people want to go on about Stark family traditions, I decided, he would rather name her after a strong female historic persona and decided on Hertha Ayrton, a British Engineer, mathematician, physicist, inventor.]

[rydenstories]

I found a journal in my hotel room

REDDIT

My girlfriend and I are just finishing up road tripping around the US, seeing concerts, attending festivals, visiting landmarks, etc. As you can imagine, we've seen a ton. It's been great, but by the time we started our long journey back to our home state, the trip had taken a lot out of us. Not just physical exhaustion, we'd nearly drained our savings for the trip as well. The plan had always been to drive straight through, taking turns at the wheel while the other slept. With tension rising as time passed, the plan quickly changed and we looked for the cheapest (but still nicest) hotel we could find.

Later, we found ourselves pulling up to the building directly next to the highway that would be our haven for the night; a cheap chain hotel with a bright sign that read "NIGHTLY $4O, WEEKLY $200" and a giant parking lot nearly packed full of semi-trucks. There are two more hotels on the same side of the highway underpass similar to this, two gas stations, and a fast food restaurant. The crowning feature of this small area, however, is a goliath stone cross that almost looms from the other side of the highway. It towers over everything, including the church that stands behind it and is illuminated by two bright white spotlights. To be truthful with you, this SOUNDS very odd when typed out but after weeks of driving past countless places like this, it's all just something I've come to shrug off as very mid-west.

The lobby wasn't packed like the parking lot, but there were more people wandering around the main floor than I'm used to seeing in near any hotel. Mostly gentlemen, reading books, eating cup noodle, watching the news, and chatting joyfully. It actually kind of reminded me of living in the dorms during college. Very friendly environment. I found myself surprised at how just... nice everything was for how not nice you'd expect it to be, you know? Still, we didn't really pause to reflect on that before checking in and quickly rushing to our room. My girlfriend did a quick check of her side of the bed and was asleep within minutes, but even with how tired I felt, I couldn't bring myself to go to bed so early and decided to check over the entire room.

Fairly clean. Carpet was really new, too. Not bad for the price. I sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling satisfied enough. Still, I pulled out the nightstand drawer, more-so to satisfy my curiosity about hotel bibles than anything else. Instead, there is this dark blue composition notebook. I've been reading it for a little while now.

It seems to be a journal, with many of the entries summing up the mostly uneventful days of the writer, a truck driver with a wife named Lynae. The writing itself is really messy and although I can tell that the author is deeply thought and well spoken, many of the larger words are spelled phonetically; smart, just not book smart. The journal is really full and some of the earlier entries are really interesting, detailing run-ins with hitchhikers and feuds with other drivers. The entries stop very abruptly and the last few are particularly unsettling. I can't be entirely sure, but I think those were written in this room. These are the last few entries. I've copied them down and done corrections to make it overall more legible, but otherwise I haven't changed anything.

___________________________________________

July 27th The money is in and it is good! I knew Bone would come through for me on that last haul. Now I just gotta get the rig back home! I'm glad I finally have the money to stop and rest in a real bed, too. The old cabin just ain't as comfortable as it used to be. Maybe that's what I'll be fixing next! I called Lynae and let her know I was coming home and she near squealed over the phone. I'm thinking now's the time to get her that pretty ring. Anyway, I saw Monty again today and asked if he was gonna return my MP3 player but he just kind of shrugged me off. It was pretty damn rude, actually. Knew his parents didn't teach him manners. He just got up in his truck, wasn't even gonna stick around. Weird actually, he almost always sacks up for the night, doesn't like driving after dark. Oh well, hope he enjoys a nice night drive! All over nothing!

Anyway, seems time to hit the hay! I'll be headed out tomorrow morning and I'll hopefully be home for supper!

July 28th Woke up this morning with the worst kind of headache. You know the kind that stings behind the eyes, burns your nose? Awful. Soon as I got out of the bed, the nausea hits. Damn it! Happens after every long haul; I get some bug off some dirty oldie who ain't never heard of antibacterial soap and I have to sleep it off in some crummy hotel. Fucking figures. Anyway. Seems like this place is much less crowded than last night and near all of the fellas that are here are total strangers to me. I wandered around a little bit, went to the lobby and grabbed some good stuff from the snack machines. Hung out for a few minutes, too, but instead of the normal circulation of news and talk TV, the counter girl was watching some weird black and white film. I ended up just going back to my room, throwing up a little, and getting some sleep. I napped until now, which it's pretty late. I'm getting 1 AM on my room's alarm clock.

I went downstairs to grab some clean clothes from my rig and smoke a cigarette but the front and side doors of the building were locked. I didn't see any employees around though, so I figure they're on their late night break. I hung out down there for a while and waited for someone to come open it but gave up eventually. If I'm being honest, I was feeling a little uncomfortable. It was too damn quiet. Plus, that church changed the lights shining on that giant cross. They're red. What a weird color for a church to pick. I don't know, maybe the fever is just making me loopy and paranoid. I better try to get some more sleep.

July 29th When I woke up this morning, the alarm clock said it was already well past noon. I thought it couldn't have been right because it was still pitch black in my room, no light shining through the open curtains at all. I got up and sure enough, it was still pitch black outside. So I figured my clock was broken. I guess the fever's got me feeling more and more irritable since I got here, otherwise I don't think I would've even brought it up let alone complained, but I yanked the cord from the wall and left my room.

The lobby was still empty, door still locked, and no employees in sight. I rang the little bell on the counter but nobody came. Hell, I waited in that lobby for a damn hour and nobody came! I'm starting to feel worse, too. My head is pounding so hard and I can't get any damn medicine since I've searched high and low for an unlocked exit and found not a single one. I don't really have any choice except to lay down and rest. Tried to watch TV, but all it's pulling is the weather channel and black & white movies, so I guess I've been watching the weather channel for a couple hours now. I'm going to try to rest more.

Oh. By the time I turned on the weather channel, it was saying it was 2 PM. The clock for sure was not wrong, but I have yet to see any sign of the sun.

August 2nd It's still dark outside and according to the weather channel's date, I'm missing some days. My head is so foggy that if I didn't remember at least a little from the other day, I don't think I'd question the initial notion that I just... slept through it from being so damn sick! I'm not sure that's what this is anymore. I'm not sure what this is at all anymore and frankly, I'm scared as shit.

The bit I can remember is only a small sliver of time. I got up and near shit my pants when I saw that not only was the alarm clock plugged back in, the damn thing was set again. I remember checking the door to find that the privacy lock was sure enough in place. Unlocked it and I swung open the door but then it all goes blank after that. Now I'm here and it's more than a day later and there's some kind of music coming from somewhere. Searched for it but found nothing.

As for the cross, they turned the lights off all together. I went up to the fourth floor to get a good look outside. Seems like everyone just left... All the haulers.... Gas station attendants.... Highway drivers.... Everyone. My rig is the only one in the parking lot. I'm beyond scared... I could break out but I'm so weak.

Aug 3rd My door was open when I woke up. All the doors to all the rooms are open. People's things are sitting around but there are no people. I've stopped pretending that this is normal. Something is so fucking wrong here and I can't even find a single clue as to what's happening or why it's just me. I've slammed my whole body weight into doors, searched high and low for keys or any damn thing that might help me get out of here. Nothing. It doesn't even seem like there's a world out there anymore. Like something just picked the hotel up, emptied all the people out besides me, and let darkness swallow the rest of it up. I can't see anything beyond the parking lot. Somewhere out in the vastness, though, I can hear that music from yesterday. It's something low, with a lady's voice singing over a very slow and out of key piano. She sounds sad but I can't make out what she's actually saying. I think I would be more concerned if the noise itself didn't make my headache so much worse. Instead, I just feel angry.

[[The entries no longer have dates after this and I can only assume they are each separated by at least a day just due to the previous writing pattern, but who knows.]]

xxxx I've spent a lot of time wandering around the hotel. At first, I tried closing all the tenant doors again. It made me uncomfortable to see them that way, but as soon as I'd hear the latch and I'd turn away, they'd loudly swing open again. Scared me shitless, as you can imagine. Then, after a couple more times, pissed me off. Even despite my fucking throbbing headache, all of the rage within my chest spilled out of my throat in a torrent of screams. As you probably could guess. My screams haven't received a response beyond that same sad song that only gets closer. Or louder. I don't know.

I've started searching through the rooms. Going through people's things. I wonder where they are. Did they get to leave? Or did they go somewhere else? I'm still not sure. Does it even matter? Things are getting worse for me regardless what happened to them. 

xxxxx The parking lot is gone. It seems like the closer the darkness creeps towards this place, the worse my headaches get. I've tried to move to a higher room to get away from the darkness, but then I wake up back in my original room again. The weather doesn't play anymore, but the black and white film channel does. I've tried to sit down and watch it, but after a couple minutes, it ends up being far too painful. I can't... describe the pain. It's everywhere. It's in everything, god damn it.

xxxxxx First floor is gone. The cross is back though. It's illuminated in that same strange red light, taunting me from out in the darkness.

I've been through every inch of this damn place, trying to find some kind of haven away from this madness. I tried to go downstairs at one point. Into the darkness. My ears are bleeding now but I made it back to my room in one piece. 

xxxxxxx Oh god. Dear Jesus Christ. Her singing is now screaming. The piano is grating. I wanna go home.

xxxxxxxxx I think this very well might be it. If you'd believe it, the higher floors went before this one, making it damn clear that this has always been coming down to me. It's been coming for me since I got here. I think even Monty could sense it.

Despite having every light in the room on, as well as every single one I could steal from this floor, it just keeps on growing dimmer. The girl. She's not screaming anymore. She doesn't need to scream. She knows I hear her. It's like she's right over my fucking shoulder, whispering right in my ear. And just like that, someone is knocking on the door. Darkness is seeping underneath like black smoke and I know I don't need to answer. It's creeping over the pages, up my arms, shoulders, face, and into my mouth.

Lynae, I'll miss you. ___________________________________________

I'm really.... shocked. It could easily be.... anything..... but something between the too comfortable vibe in the lobby, the handwriting, and the overall feeling I've had since picking the journal up absolutely tells me that there's something to this. Now that I've got it all copied down, I'm getting my girlfriend up. We're taking this journal down to the front desk. God fucking willing, we're leaving as soon as we can.

[writeouttaluck]

Here is a story about my friend getting hit by a bus and then haunting said bus, per her request.

(this probably has a whole lot of spelling mistakes and stuff, but thats because i didnt feel like editing it. enjoy)

Two older men sat in their chairs in front of the bus depot. From their spot, they overlooked all the buses lined up beside each other. Today was a hot one, but otherwise, it was a pretty standard day.

All of a sudden they were both alerted to the sound of a Diesel engine. They glanced at the entrance to find a bus driving in pretty fast. The front of it was covered in something red and the driver behind the wheel looked really panicky.

When the bus stopped and the engine was shut off, the driver swung open the door and nearly sprinted out of it. He ran directly for the hose and bucket outside.

One of the older men just sipped their beer and watched, the other picked up a news paper. Neither of them seemed real concerned.

The young bus driver ran back over with the bucket full of water. In a quick motion, he threw its contents onto the front of the bus and started scrubbing the area with a sponge like his life depended on it. One of the old men set down their beer on the pavement and got up from their seat. He walked over to see what the bus driver was up to.

As he got closer, he quickly realized that the red stuff on the front was not quite what he imagined. It was thick, and syrupy, and it just swirled around on the surface instead of picking up.

The bus driver caught the old man watching him and in a quick motion, he spun around and faced him. He looked terrified.

The old man was still nonchalant about all this.

“What happened?” The old man asked.

“Oh, boss, it was horrible! I-I was doing my scheduled run around the city when all of a sudden this girl just ran out of nowhere!” The bus driver could hardly get the words out, he was shaking so bad.

“Ah, ok. I dont need to hear anymore. Well shit. Its been awhile since this happened…”

“Am I going to jail?!” The bus driver asked in fear.

“What? Of course not. Go grab the pressure washer from out back and use a lot of soap. Blood doesnt come off easy.”

The bus driver stopped for a second and looked at the old man in confusion. Was he crazy?

“S-sir… that woman was killed!”

The old man shook his head.

“She either killed herself or it was natural selection...did anyone see you?” He asked.

“I uh….I dont think so?”

“Great,” the old man started, “clean your bus and continue your run.”

��

It took longer than expected for Terry, the bus driver, to clean his issued vehicle. It was about an hour and a half washing job, and he was still pretty shaken up over it. He just couldnt get the image out of his head.

Like any other morning, Terry drove his bus down down hill to meet his first stop. It was a pretty quiet stop as not many people really used it. most people that lived in that area either drove or walked to work and other places. The bus just wasnt needed as much. Even though the stop seemed to be pretty empty, he figured he would stop there just incase someone was right by or running late. It happened sometimes.

What didnt usually happen though, was someone running into the street. Terry’s heart sank as he watched this small woman run directly in his line of drive. He slammed on the brakes though he knew he wouldnt be able to stop in time.

Everything slowed down as he watched the girl. She looked up at him from the road and smiled wide. She even moved her arms outwards like she was about to hug someone before it happened.

The bus hit her and her body flew out to the sidewalk, a crumpled heap of nothing. Blood had exploded all over his windsheild.

“O-Oh my god!” he yelled.

He knew that if he stuck around that he would get in trouble so he did what all people do when theyre scared and ran. He drove down the rest of the way and made a beeline for the bus depot.

The whole drive there he was gagging and crying and shaking and pretty much having a breakdown.

“W-what the fuck! What the FUCK!”

He shook his head and decided that before he went back to work that he was gonna get a cup of coffee. He hopped off his bus once more and went inside the building for the bus depot. The old man sat back and was doing something on the company computer. He looked away from the screen and watched Terry walk across to the coffee maker.

“Be careful about the coffee maker today. Its been a lot hotter than usual today. I think somethings wrong with it.”

“Yeah, sure” Terry responded.

Terry drank a lot of coffee so he was sure that it wasnt that bad. He grabbed a syrofoam cup and poured his coffee in before stiring in some suger and popping a lid on. He grabbed the coffee and actually started to feel the heat through the cup. It burned his hand a bit. Damn, maybe the old man was right. He wrapped some napkins around the cup before picking it up again. As he turned to walk out, he faced the old man.

“Well! Back to work!” He said sounding exhausted already.

The old man chuckled a bit.

“You will do fine, kid”

…

Terry was back in his bus and driving to his scheduled spots. He had the hot coffee sitting in his cupholder with the tab up so it could cool off. If it was too hot to touch, it was probably too hot to drink.

He went to stop on another hill across town. He slowed down before his brakes shuddered and his cup holder that extended outwards, broke free. Terry flinched as he expected boiling hot liquid to burst into his lap. But when non came, he glanced at the cup holder.

It had broke away completely. But his coffee cup and the napkins wrapped around it, stayed levitating in place.

He looked at it in wonder, trying to figure how tf his coffee was floating.

All of a sudden, he felt a cold chill run down his spine and he shivered. He grabbed the coffee cup out of the air. And like that, the cold went away.

Terry spoke out loud to himself.

“Well that was fuckin weird…”

…

Later on in the day, he was driving his bus with a few passengers scattered throughout. There was an old lady, a mother with her kid, and a teenage boy with his hood up listening to his headphones.

It was rush hour now and the streets were pretty busy. Terry was already behind schedule, but he had been rushing to make up for it all day. He even cut a few corners and took side streets when he could.

At the moment, he was speeding up the street. Not too fast, but not exactly safe either. He was going about 50 when a big pick up truck pulled out of an alleyway and right in front of him. In a panic, Terry swung the wheel to the left in an attempt to avoid an accident. As he started left, a car in the left lane beside him was almost shoved off the road and into a high curb. He quickly realized that there was no way out of this when he felt the cold again.

The wheel was yanked out of his grip and his first thought was that he had lost his power steering.

However, as he fought the steering wheel that seemed to be steering itself, the bus swung around the pick up and past the car beside him in a near miss of a maneuver.

When the bus straightened out, the cold faded away and he regained control of the steering wheel.

Once he realized that everything was fine, he looked in his overhead mirror to check on his passengers.

“Is everybody alright?”He yelled to the back.

The mom, while she looked a bit frightened, nodded her head quickly while the old lady just smiled. The teenager in the back didnt appear to realize what had just happened at all.

Terry let out a sigh of relief and kept on his way, making sure to stay the speed limit.

…

This was the part that Terry always hated about his job. The last stop was near a really bad neighborhood and, considering he was about an hour behind, it was now dark outside. He gave out a long sigh and drove through the area. Cars sat on cinderblocks, garbage fires raged about in the alleyways. Most of the streetlights had that old, orange glow to them. Most of them flickered.

The bus stop was right ahead and Terry noticed a group of young gentlemen sitting on by, watching him pull up intently. Something about the way they watched him come to a stop unsettled Terry. He didnt have a great feeling about this.

He stopped the bus and opened the door and the gentlemen climbed on. However, instead of moving to a seat, they stopped up near Terry.

Before he could say anything, one of them whipped out a large knife and aimed at him.

“Close the door and drive, fat man”

Terry, feeling now obligated to follow the mans request now that there was a large sharp object aimed at his neck, did exactly as he was told. As soon as the bus started moving again, One of the men moved to the money box and tried opening it.

“Hey bus man, open yo fuckin box here”

Terry now started sweating as he realized he cant.

“Uh, S-sorry fellas! I cant do that. Its locked and the only key for it is at the depot.” He spoke trying to keep his eyes on the road.

“Bullshit!” the 3rd man in the back said.

The guy with the knife tapped the blade on the box.

“Open this box, before i open you.”

Thats when Terry felt a cold chill for the 3rd time today. Only this time, It seemed to be coming from the door instead.

The blade in the mans hand suddenly bent itself all the way to the left, before snapping off completley and skating towards the back of the bus.

“What the fuck?” the Criminal said.

“Im tired of fucking around!” the 2nd one said. He drew his gun and aimed it at the lock box before he felt something hit his wrist hard.

“Fuck!!” he yelled in pain as he dropped his pistol.

The third man watched as all of this continued while he stood against the door, still on the stairs.

The door whipped open and he felt something grab his tank top from behind. He was suddenly thrown from the moving bus. The other two men turned to look at what was happening before the bus braked hard. The two men were thrown against the glass of the windsheild. Then, the gas got stomped down and the two men were flung into the metal bars behind them, getting knocked out cold.

They slumped to the floor of the bus.

Terry watched as they were flung out of the bus like their friend before. The doors slammed shut behind them.

At this, Terry wanted to know what the fuck was going on with his bus.

He drove up ahead a bit before pulling into an alleyway and stopping. He stood out of his seat and flipped on the overhead lights.

“Ok, What the fuck is going on here”

He felt like an idiot when he got no immediate response.

“I know theres something here. Dont play dumb with me. Ill have this fucking bus scrapped!”

Again, no response.

Terry was about to give up and drive back to the depot when a mysterious fog formed from nothing in his bus. The temperature dropped drastically. It wasn't just a cold chill, it was freezing.

The windows fogged over, blocking his sight to the outside world. He started rubbing his shoulders as he began to regret his thirst for knowledge.

A large puff of smoke plumed from the back of the bus and a figure moved through it.

Terry was one step from attempting a jump out of his windshield before he gave the figure a closer look.

The figure was the girl from this morning! The one that ran into his bus!

“Ayyy, what it do.” She spoke waving off the fog with her spector hand.

“Its fucking smokey in here, what is up with that”

Terry felt a mixture of fear and confusion at the sight before him.

“Y-y-youre t-t-t-that g-girl-!”

She cut him off real quick.

“Yeah, heh, sorry about that. I didnt realize what kind of mess my body would leave like that”

Terry was 90% sure at this point that he had finally lost his marbles.

“Anyways,” She continued on, “Im a ghost now, and since you were able to help me end my shitty existence like that, I want to help you”

Terry gained a bit of confidence at these words, for whatever reason.

“Help me with what?” He inquired.

“With your job, dude!”

Terry stood for a moment and thought about it.

“So let me get this straight, You want to help me with my job because you were able to kill yourself using my bus? Is that right?”

The ghost, unnecessarily leaned her shoulder on one of the metal poles in the bus.

“Yeah, thats pretty much it.”

“Huh...:” Terry thought aloud.

They both sat in silence for a minute before Terry shook his head.

“Wait, wait a second. How do i know youre really a ghost and that this isnt just some wild guilt hallucination?”

To answer Terry’s question, The ghost walked forward and moved straight through Him. Terry grabbed onto his own body and twisted in horror before The ghost walked back through the same way.

“Alright! I believe you! Enough of that!” He yelled.

“So, we got a deal?” The ghost asked as she raised her hand up to him in proposition.

He grabbed her hand, somehow and shook it.

“Whats your name, anyways?” Terry asked the spector.

“Jada” the ghost responded.

[spideyxchelle]

hey guys, here is the first half of a ww2 spideychelle hc/fic au. this is not the happiest headcanon/fic thing. so be warned that this will deal with war and race issues. 

ain’t no business like show business. not really. 

see, peter got shaken up real good that first trip he took to the apollo theater down in harlem. the big band really got into it. that swing. that rhythm. that jive. 

and he knew, at fifteen, that he had to be apart of it. be apart of that only business. show business. 

so he took extra shifts down at the cinema, every shift he could get, to pay for a trumpet of his very own. he wanted to blow like the boys down at the apollo or the club on 7th street. 

peter spent every saturday night down at the Stark Club in Queens. it was cool, hip and had some of the best music north of Brooklyn. the Stark Club was where those hollywood types hung out in New York. dancing, drinking. it was the life of the party. 

or so peter assumed. see, he’d never actually been inside. he would hang by the artists entrance hoping to get even a glance of some of his favorite big band players. and he’d loiter in that alley all night to listen to their music, the best music, ringing out the music. 

it took just over a year for someone to catch on to what peter was doing on those saturday nights. a trumpet case in hand. and it was Tony Stark, the owner of the Stark Club, that caught on. 

“you’re here a lot kid, ain’t ya?” Stark asked. Peter nodded, clutching his case to his chest, “yes sir. much as I can manage, that is.” “what for?” “why, to listen to the music, sir.” “music sounds better inside.” “i ain’t smooth enough to get into a place like that, sir.” “says who?” “says everybody.” “well, i say you can come in. and I own this club. so get out of the cold...?” “peter. peter parker, sir.” “yea, yea. get inside, mr. parker.” 

he’s sixteen years and some change old when THE Mr. Stark of Stark Club gives him a job as a bus boy at his club. and every night he gets to work and jive to the best music around. 

he still practices his trumpet at home. carves out a few hours every day after school before work to get in some practice. and the sound that comes out starts to sound less like tinny screaming and more like notes.

he’s eighteen, having put in two years at the club, when he feels he’s good enough to play in front of a crowd. and so, with all of his hope in his throat, peter dares to ask Mr. Stark to let him play. 

his employer stops in his tracks and eyes up the kid, “you play? what?” “the trumpet, sir.” “been playing on three years now.” “and you think three years is good enough? to play on my stage?” “only one way to find out, sir.” he knows Mr. Stark is fond of him. he stands anxiously while Mr. Stark appraises him. Tony shrugs, “fine. but just ONE night, Parker.” and peter is so excited he’s shaking Tony’s hand a hundred times over, “yes, sir, Mr. Stark, sir. I ain’t gonna let you down.” Tony pries his hand from peter’s grip, “we’ll see, won’t we?” 

he takes the day off from school on that Thursday rehearsal at the club. the club looks different in the daylight. all of the boys in the band are chilling out on stage, warming up, when peter walks in. the twittering stops and they all STARE at him. he knows he’s the new guy. that he’s gotta earn his keep and all, but he’s here to play. be a part of the action, man. 

he lamely waves to the gentlemen on the stage and a fella named Sam, a trumpet player, steps in front of Peter. a second trumpet player named Bucky joins him.  sam says, “you must be the runt, mista stark was gabbing on about, ain’t ya?” peter nods. bucky eyes his trumpet case, “you’re playing fourth chair, kid. our usual fourth chair, Bruce, got himself into a bit of trouble lately. he ain’t gonna be back for a few weeks. so you prove you can play.....and you’re down to play with us ‘til he gets back.” 

and peter’s heart SOARS. because a one night gig could turn into more. 

he gets seated next to the piano and the kid tickling the keys looks about peter’s age. he smiles at peter and offers his hand, “I’m Ned, pleasure to meet cha, Mr. Parker.” “peter, please,” he shakes Ned’s hand. “peter, then. don’t let them boys make you feel nervous. everybody’s had their first gig. everybody’s been the new guy.” “i ain’t nervous,” peter lies, “mostly excited.” and that part is true. Ned grins and plays a jazzy tune on the piano, “well, Mista Parker, let that trumpet wail.” 

and he does. he’s not as good as the other guys, its true. but he can keep up. and that feels good enough for now. sam sniffs at him at the end of rehearsal but he tells him he can play on the gig. and he’s on cloud nine.

or so he thinks. until the night of the gig. they’re playing two hours of jazz music and he knows he’s gonna be exhausted after, but the energy of the room pushes him through. 

and when they start to play its magic. Same yells “A ONE, TWO, A ONE TWO THREE FOUR”.... and they’re off. they’re sliding and scooping and swinging. and everybody is dancing in the hall. fellas and their ladies move and groove. and a couple of sailors and soldiers take the stage, going crazy where they can. kicks and jumps and twirls. 

about half way through the performance is when he notices her. the beautiful doll standing in the back, lingering by the bar, with a cigarette hanging from her lips. her curly hair hangs free...kissing her shoulders. and she’s got red lipstick staining her lips. 

and he starts playing to her and he knows she can tell. because she cracks her lips up in a smile at him and blows smoke in his direction like it’d reach him if she blew hard enough. 

when they blow out the hall, finish their playing, he packs up his case as quick as he can. clapping Ned on the shoulder in thanks and heads to the bar to talk to the girl with the cigarette. she’s still there and he bounces in his oxfords. tries not to....but its damn hard. 

“hey there, miss,” he swallows, “let me buy ya a drink?” she raises her perfectly styled eyebrow at him. “i got my own, thanks.” “let me get your next drink?” he offers. and she laughs like he’s cute or funny or pathetic. he hopes it one of the other two. “didn’t your Mama ever teach you no means no?” he smiles, “my Aunt did.” she blows smoke out, “then, what? you a bad learner, or something?” he blushes, “if I’m bothering you really....I’ll leave you to it, miss. i ain’t trying to ruin your night.” she puts out her cigarette, “you’re not. but surely, trumpet boy, you got better things to do during a gig than focus on a girl at the bar.” “i disagree.” 

and he’s pretty sure she smiles. it isn’t one of them big, new york lights kind of smiles that the whole room notices. it’s more private. it feels like just for him. and damn, he could look at her all day. 

he offers his hand, “i’m peter parker, miss.” she peers at him over her cigarette and slowly takes his hand, “michelle. jones. but everybody ‘round here calls me MJ.” and his eyes go big. because he’s spent years outside this club listening to the acts in the alley. and he’s spent the last two years working in here watching the performers come and go. and he knows MJ. she just looks different with a red lip and a cigarette in her hand and her hair wild and curly instead of pinned up in one of them smart ‘dos. “you’re a singer,” he blinks. she curls her lip around her cigarette and blows out another puff of smoke before answering, “i do it on occasion, yea.” “gee,” he pockets his hands to keep them still, “i love your stuff. really. you’re just....wow.” and then he asks the stupidest question, “how old are you anyway?” 

her eyebrows SHOOT up into her hair, “excuse me?” “not to be rude,” he fumbles, “i’ve just heard you singing here for a few years. and you don’t look a day over seventeen, is all I meant, miss. miss MJ, i mean.” she puts out her cigarette, “i am a day over seventeen. i’m eighteen. been singing here since i was fourteen. tony found me at one of those talent competitions down at the apollo.” and peter feels a moment of full circle. “me too,” he replies, and then amends, “i mean, not that he found me at the apollo. that i’m eighteen.” she’s smiling again. and he figures he must be doing something right. so he takes the plunge, “can i ask for a dance, you think?” “there’s no music playing.” “don’t care.” 

she pushes herself off of the bar she’s been lounging on and peter realizes immediately that she’s taller than him. by a bit. but he doesn’t mind so much. because how many people get to look up at such beauty? he’s the luckiest sonofabitch. ever. ned’s packing up on stage when peter catches his eye. and his friend smiles. as peter leads MJ on to the dance floor, Ned sits back at the piano. he begins to play something slow and smooth. the music tempts other couples join them on the dance floor. they sway. they’re halfway through the song when peter mumbles, “go out with me.” “you know,” MJ whispers in his ear, “this is all fine and dandy in a jazz club, mista parker, but even in new york….nobody is gonna be very pleased about you being seen with me.” peter tightens his hand at her back, bringing her closer, “i don’t pay attention much to what people say about me, anyway.” she pulls away slightly, “i do.” “then..i’ll just have to see you here,” he tugs her close again. she breathlessly laughs in his ear, “you one of them progressive types?” he shrugs, smile dazzling, “it’s 1941, miss, the world’s changing.”

a stand-up bass joins the piano and then the drums are light and lazy and swaying turns to feeling the rhythm. its in his finger tips just like playing the trumpet. MJ drops her head back like she can hear the music better if she’s looking up at the sky. and he leads from his hips. dancing a little more rudely than he would outside the walls of this club. but something about Stark makes the mess of the outside world easier to handle. 

at the end of the night, nine dances later, MJ tips her head back so they’re looking at each other and peter’s eyes flicker down to her lips. those lips curve in a smile and she presses her hand to his chest, “that’s enough for tonight, mista parker. i best be getting home now.” “let me walk ya,” he insists. she shakes her head, “can’t. you know how it is.” he hates that he knows what she means. the world isn’t a forgiving, kind place. “tomorrow?” he asks, and he doesn’t care that he sounds desperate because he is. 

she shrugs over her shoulder at him as she walks to the front door, “we’ll see.” 

and that’s how he meets Michelle Jones. he comes back the following night. and she’s not there. and so he plays with the boys a little sadder than before. 

it takes three weeks for him to see her again, except this time its not at night. it’s in broad daylight. he’s at a rehearsal for a set that night and she shows up in smart blouse and an a-line skirt. he grins. and she rolls her eyes. “hello boys.” Sam jumps off the stage and gives MJ a kiss on the cheek, “heya cousin.” she throws her arms around Sam and hugs him tight, “heard you need a singer.” “is that the word on the street?” “it is.” 

and peter hopes they do. because he could do a night of watching her sing up close and his trumpet supporting her vocals. actually, he’d take any excuse to just be closer to her. Sam nudges MJ and gestures to the stage, “well come on then. we don’t have all day.” 

they get some lead sheets for the music she knows and when she starts to sing peter is pretty sure whatever attraction he has to her doubles tenfold. music is such a huge part of who he is, you know? its a need. like if he doesn’t play he’ll die. and when she sings he knows she understands that need. and damn it all to high heaven, its attractive, ain’t it. yea it is. 

when they finish she grins over her shoulder right at him. and peter scoots to the edge of his seat cause hello miss Jones. Sam’s eyes flicker between the two of them and he groans, “oh no, sir. not my baby cousin.” MJ turns to Sam and indulgently kisses his cheek, “i’ll see you tonight, Sammy.” “we gonna talk about this Emmy.” “no we’re not.” “yes we are.” she skipping to the door, “i said i’ll see you tonight.” “Michelle!” “give your Mama my love.” and she’s gone.

and peter’s pretty sure he’s still smiling like a moron. Sam whirls on him, “whatchu think you’re doing boy?” his blood cools, “nothing, sir.” “i don’t know what stupid world you live in parker, but you’re a white man. don’t go bringing trouble to my cousin’s door. you hear me?” “Sam....come on...why does that matter? white. black.” Sam’s eyebrows get more serious than he’s ever seen him, “you’re white. you don’t understand consequences because they’re never gonna fall on you. but i won’t have them falling on my cousin. you hear me?”

he nods. and while he doesn’t understand, peter likes MJ. he doesn’t want to do anything that could cause problems for her. he likes her too much. so he does try to stay away. really. for her sake. 

but its hard when he sees her every night at the club crooning on that microphone. it’s hard when he sees her all dolled up and looking pretty for the crowd. and harder when he sees her in her every day clothes at rehearsal looking just as cute. and its hard when she flirts with him in front of Sam to get a rise out of her cousin. and its harder when he flirts back. it’s all hard. because MJ isn’t just a dime. she’s smart and funny and great and she gets music. 

in late-October is when they start to give in a little. dancing like they did that first night well into the early hours of the morning whenever Sam isn’t around. they aren’t the only interracial couple dancing here. there are no rules at Tony’s....the world outside is the messed up one. 

the whole world, actually. peter isn’t stupid. he’s heard about the Germans. he knows Europe is at war and they’re tearing each other apart. but he’s got his own life, his own things going on, and he’s too busy worrying about how to make life with MJ work to worry about things happening half a world away. 

for now. 

his birthday is in late-November. and they play an awesome set for his birthday. and MJ wear that red dress that she knows peter can’t keep his eyes off of. he likes to think that she did it for him. as a sort of birthday present. and he’s grateful. 

turns out, that isn’t his present. 

after the set, MJ tugs peter into her dressing room. and he gulps, “miss jones.” she rolls her eyes and turns around, “these clips are digging into my head. help me take ‘em out?” “what?” his voice cracks. and she looks over her shoulder at him, her red lips inviting, “help me take out my clips, peter.” 

with shaky hands, he tries. he really does. but her hair is so soft and curly and he’s never touched a woman’s hair before. he’d kissed a few of them at school. but it had been a polite exchange. nothing as erotic as taking out her hair pins. it takes longer than it should, but he gets all of them out, and her hair tumbles down. 

he knows he shouldn’t, but his hands slide down from her hair to her neck and then down her spine. his voice is rough, “this is a lovely dress, MJ.” her voice sounds wrecked, “oh shut up.” and she spins around and she’s kissing him. 

however girls kissed him before MJ was not kissing. now he’s certain. just pressing lips. kissing MJ is like searching for answers, all consuming passion. and he’s already touched her hair so he brushes his fingers into it. 

they stumble backward against her vanity and he’s pinned her between the little table and his chest. they’re kissing and his thigh slips between her two legs to get closer to her. 

the door bangs open. “Emmy, that last number- what in the hell?” they pull apart, MJ trying to get her dress somewhat in order. peter doesn’t even try to right his floppy hair. it always looks some variation of messed up. 

Sam is shooting them daggers and peter’s eyes widen. he braces for impact as Sam steps at him, but MJ throws herself in between. “Sammy,” she puts her arms out, “leave it.” “leave it???” Sam roars, “are you outta your mind, Emmy? he’s white!” peter squeaks, “i don’t care. i love her, Sam.” and he sees MJ’s back straighten. he’s never said that to her before. never had the time, really. but he knows its true. knows he’s been a goner since that first moment he saw her sing. 

Sam points at peter over MJ’s shoulder and snarls, “no. no you don’t.” “i do,” peter nods, “i love her. and i’m sorry if you don’t like it-” “like it??” Sam interrupts, his voice wild, “you think this is about whether or not i like it? you stupid kid.” “Sammy-” MJ whispers. 

Sam snaps his gaze to MJ, “no. you don’t get to Sammy me. he’s white, Emmy. he’s white and so the rules are different for him. he can fool around with a black girl, fine, they been doing that for hundreds of years. but you? they’ll kill you. they’ll string you up and make you dance for it.” 

and that image flashes in the back of peter’s mind. he sees the world not as he’d like it but how it is. and he clenches his fists in anger. he won’t let anybody hurt her. “i won’t let them,” he says out loud. 

Sam brushes MJ out of the way and she looks so defeated she doesn’t fight him. he steps so he’s looming over peter and his eyes are angry, “you’re a dangerous kid, you know that? pretending the world outside is shiny and new and different. adopting our music and acting like its yours.” “i love big band.” “but it ain’t your music, boy. you play the trumpet fine. but you and Bucky don’t really belong up on that stage. but you’ll steal it. you always do. and you’ll pretend it was your idea all along.” “Sam....come on, you know me. i wouldn’t.” “I TOLD YOU,” he yells, “I told you to stop sniffing around my cousin. it stops today.” 

Mr. Stark cracks open the dressing room door and the whole room freezes. he looks between the three of them and MJ’s smeared lipstick on Peter’s mouth. it takes him less than three seconds to figure out what’s going on here. “Michelle, darling,” Tony drawls, “why don’t you get going...i gotta sort out my band here.” she takes one last look at peter over her shoulder and scurries out. he takes an enchanted step forward like he could follow her. Mr. Stark steps in front of him, “wipe your mouth, kid. you look a mess.” 

Sam seethes beside him, he can feel the anger radiating off of him. Tony claps Sam on the back, reassuringly, “i’ll handle the kid. you go make sure your cousin gets home safe.” “alright, Tony,” Sam responds, stilted. 

and then, its just him and his boss alone. Tony hands Peter a towel and he wipes the red lipstick off of his mouth. “good?” Peter asks. Tony nods.  they sit in silence for a while until Tony stretches out and sighs, “Michelle is pretty. I ain’t gonna fight you on that.” “Tony-” “An adult is talking! .....look, Michelle is pretty. she’s smart and funny and she’s as talented as talent gets. she could have a real career one day. maybe sing in one of those flicks in Hollywood. but she isn’t gonna get to do any of that if you get her killed.” “we live in New York City.” “you think there aren’t racists here? you think that just because you don’t care that she’s black other people won’t? this world isn’t a nice world, peter. but that is a nice girl and i’ll be damned if you get her in any kind of trouble.” 

peter shrinks into his seat. Tony stands, buttons his jacket and exits through the door he came with one final thought, “clean yourself up. you look a mess.” 

and he stays a mess. he stays a mess for the next two weeks. Tony gives him some time off at the club. like getting distance might help limit his feelings. like he might get over her. all it does is make the longing stronger. all it does is make him miss her voice. 

and so on December 1 he goes back to that alleyway where he used to listen to the music at 15, aching for a listen to her voice. and she doesn’t disappoint. he can’t hear her as well as he would have if he was in the club. or as well as he would have if he were playing trumpet right beside her. but its still her and he’ll take what he can get. 

he does this every night. every night until:

December 7, 1941. 

the day starts ordinary. he misses MJ but he’s got errands to run and he doesn’t miss her so bad in the day time. its at night when he’s used to seeing her that the longing gets incapacitating. he figures he’ll probably go to the alleyway to listen again tonight. 

and then, at lunch, the world falls apart. they’re calling it an attack on pearl harbor. they’re saying that something over 1,000 americans died. they’re saying that it was the Japanese. they’re saying the European War is now on their doorstep. 

he wasn’t born until after the Great War. but he knows the stories. he knows that the world all fought each other and men never came home to their families. he knows that his Dad and Uncle Ben used to get that look in their eyes whenever someone mentioned the front. he knows what Global War does to men. he knows. 

and he knows that this attack on pearl harbor ain’t gonna stand. 

he doesn’t go to the club that night. he waits. he waits for what he knows is gonna be the end of the world. he’s 18. no way he’s avoiding the fight. 

Aunt May cries all night as they sit next to the radio. she cries and clings to him and tells him he’s not allowed to go.

but when the call to war happens, he already knows he’s shipping out. because he’s gotta protect his family. he’s gotta go fight so that other attacks won’t reach their shores. he’s gotta go. 

and so when FDR gives that speech, one he’s sure is gonna go down in infamy, and congress declares war on Japan it feels like suiting up.

he doesn’t wait for his draft letter, he goes down an enlists immediately. if he’s gonna be in this fight, he’s gonna be in it.  

everything is so frantic and so crazy, every boy he knew growing up is throwing themselves in the way of the war, that he doesn’t forget about MJ but he is distracted enough that he doesn’t obsess over missing her. 

until the night before his boat is full of boys is expected to ship out to the UK. there, they’ll meet up with some other soldiers, train and head to france. where the bulk of the fighting rages. 

he’s packed his bag and aunt May has cried herself to sleep when he hears knocking at his window. he wanders over to the glass and sees MJ through it. he throws it open. “what’re you doing here?” she covers his mouth with her hand and climbs inside. he wants to talk to her again but she spots his duffel and glares at him, “you’re going?” he tenses his jaw, “yea. course i’m going. they’re gonna enlist me anyway, MJ. i’m 18.” “that could have been weeks, months, even a year from now.” “they blew up pearl harbor.” “you’ve never even been to Hawaii. why do you care??” “BECAUSE IT MATTERS. because next time it could be New York. because i’ll be damned if i coulda done something and didn’t cause I was scared.” “you noble idiot.” 

“tell me this,” Peter steps toward her, “would you tell other boys not to go?” she narrows her eyes, “don’t. don’t act like i’m dumb. i know what germans are doing. you know i hate the nazis. you know i’ve wanted us to fight in the war forever.” “so why not me?” her bottom lip goes and she looks like she could cry, but MJ is strong. she won’t. “because I love you. let other people can die for world peace...but not you.” 

he rests his forehead against hers and even though they’ve only kissed once it feels like he’s been close to her forever, “i gotta go. baby, you gotta let me.” she shakes her head and he cups her cheeks, pleading, “baby, you gotta let me go. its what’s right.” “i hate you. if you go i’ll hate you.” 

he smiles sadly, “i’m going because i love you.” 

she grabs the front of his shirt and smashes his lips into hers. its better than the last time because she’s in his space and in his imagination, he can pretend that she’s a permanent fixture in his room. that this is their room. and they’re happy. and the world doesn’t care about dumb racist bullshit. 

she must pretend, too, because she keeps kissing him. 

that’s all they do that night. that and a bit of necking. but no matter how much he wants to do more, MJ is still a lady and he won’t disrespect her. 

its the wee hours of the morning when she leaves and as she goes she presses a picture into his hand. its of her in that red dress he favors. his face lights up, “you giving me a picture of you to ship out with?” she rolls her eyes, “oh shut up.” “admit it, you’re my girl.” she flicks his nose, “i’m nobody’s girl. but i’ll admit i like you fine.” he kisses her briefly, “i’ll take it.” 

they don’t say goodbye. he imagines MJ wants to act like she could see him tomorrow. like it won’t be months or maybe years until she sees him again. she wants to pretend the world is better. he does, too.

once she’s gone, though, he breaks down. because fuck. he could die. he might. and he’s only 18. 18 year olds aren’t supposed to die. but the world is at war. and duty calls. 

[katestinyliving]

This is going to be a LONG post of all the holiday portraits I took of my family during this Christmas season. If you’re into pulling out family portraits and reminiscing or learning about someone’s family events, you will enjoy this.

I am that person. Haha! I Thoroughly enjoy hearing about people’s families and their histories or how they celebrate together. 

Weeks’s Christmas Tree Decorating Party!

Because my parents technically live in a “tiny apartment”, we have tiny trees. They’re super easy to decorate and super cute, but my favorite part is my family and the food. Haha!

  She’s being cute, as always.

Daddy’s giving me a serious face.

Mama makes THE BEST potato soup everrrrr. Ever.

Nom. Nom. Nom.

5 days engaged!

Super excited about all of it!

Wrapped up in the Grinch!

She loves the singing in this movie!

Asa being cute and funny.

Totally sucked into the Grinch.

Everyone decorating the tiny trees!

We just opened up the gifts our friend Melissa sent us for Christmas!

Family time.

She’s pickin’ a guitar!

Most of my evening was spent sewing on buttons to this velvet jacket I bought from Goodwill.

    Moon’s Decorating Christmas Party!

And then we decorated the Moon’s tree the next evening. I thoroughly enjoyed looking at the old photos and eating the tasty Texas chili Darnea made! And I finally got Asa up out of the recliner to help put a few ornaments on the tree!

    Can you tell I’m obsessed with food?

Cuuuutie.

Herb getting his soup!

Herb holding a childhood picture of Darnea!

Please notice how cute my fiance is on the bottom left. He’s got the best cowboy look.

And the recliner battle begins.

Herb getting the boxes open.

Jordan getting the tree stand ready.

Danielle being beautiful!

Stockings are hung.

Danielle and Jordan!

Asa’s grandmother holding one of the grandkids. I think this is Asa, but I could be way wrong.

Me asking Asa to get up.

Then he does this. Haha!

Decorations!

I began begging.

Yay! He joined us!

So handsome!

Darnea looking beautiful holding two ornaments!

Danielle making delicious hot chocolate!

Crazy cute.

Close up of the hot chocolate.

Darnea enjoying her hot chocolate.

  The tree is completed!

  Nanny’s Christmas Celebration

Every year my Mama’s side of the family gets together for Christmas. Nanny and all her kids and all their kids and all their kids’ kids get together and eat and exchange gifts. This year my aunt Ann and John couldn’t be with us, and my cousin Luke was in Florida. They were crazy missed, and I’m hoping next year we can all be together again.

First photo of the night. I’m printing this out and hanging it on my fridge. I love it that much.

Everyone praying over the food.

Dig in!

Love birds!

Daniel’s first Christmas at Nanny’s.

Loved having Kim and Tommy at the party! I love this picture of Kim. Beautiful smiles! We missed having her BFF Mary!

Two cousins.

Trying to figure things out.

Bashful.

I love my aunts!

Love this smile of Susan’s!

Mama! She’s gorgeous.

I love my aunt Missy!

Paw Paw wranglin’ a Jubi.

Nom nom nom.

Food makes her happy.

This is perfect.

Everyone gets wildly serious with gift giving. And most of the gifts are actually hidden.

Grandma and Maggie!

It’s not a gathering unless there’s a puppy running loose! Haha!

Two sister’s holding their grand babies passing out gifts.

Mother and daughter. Twins in frustration.

Passing out gifts!

Passing out gifts!

Cousins at their great-grandmother’s feet.

Getting some great-auntie time in.

Mine and Asa’s first gift this year together.

I’m thankful for Levi snagging these for me!

Love our ornaments from Lori and Roy!

I am super pumped to learn how to make pies.

The best gift is usually just the box when you’re an imaginative kid.

I love my sister!

Best friends!

Kim gave us skillets! Crazy thankful! Kim is one of the best cooks I know!

Ladies and gentlemen. This is my sister.

Shameless party animal.

We love our matching boggin’s!

Asa took this picture of me.

Best friends!

Playing in a box!

Jubi and Tony!

Getting photos outside!

Nanny with her children. We just needed Ann with us! She was terribly missed!

Weeks/Tuttle Family! Grandma was freaking out because she was afraid to be on the tall porch.

We love Tony!

I love my Nanny!

I’m thankful I have her!

Looking at wood stoves!

Trying to take a nap.

You know it’s a good party when you end up with crusty hair, under a rug, and trying to take a nap as the party is winding down.

Weeks’s Christmas Celebration

The next day, aka Christmas Eve, we celebrated our immediate family’s Christmas!

Our tiny trio of trees!

Krispy Kreme is important.

Mama’s cornbread, or as Jubi calls it “kernbread”.

Daddy’s got the New Orleans 1920’s street band going for background music.

The beginnings of potato salad.

This is a mother daughter yearly event for all the holidays.

I asked Asa to take pictures of us and now I’m feelings shy. It’s definitely different being on the other side of the camera.

We’re having a difficult time peeling eggs. For some reason the shell didn’t want to come off of these.

Getting serious.

Ingredients.

Mama made this and it looks crazy tasty.

Serious tater salad makers.

Cutting up the eggs.

Mama cuts the onions.

Putting in the mayo.

Now the pickles!

Mix it up!

Daddy’s making chicory coffee!

So good!

Daddy usually says something wild, and then I look at him like this. HAha!

One with onions. One without.

Super cute percolator!

This WAS crazy tasty!

My friend Deb gave me this for Christmas, and I thought it was wildly cute!

Playing hide and seek. She found me!

Supper time.

So excited about kern!

Nom nom nom.

Passing out gifts.

She loves puppies.

Her Cabbage patch raccoon baby!

  Moon’s Christmas Celebration!

Then on Christmas morning we celebrated at the Moon’s!

Last Christmas Darnea made quiche for breakfast. I was SO excited to hear that she made it again this year.

Lil Red.

Loooooove it. Which is why I’m posting two different photos of the same thing.

Herb relaxing before breakfast.

Beautiful tree!

Cuties.

Herb reading the birth of Jesus.

Handmade scarves by Darnea!

Yuri gave Seth a BKNY shirt and his reaction was hilarious!

Excited parents!

My Moonpie.

Darnea looking cute!

Another handmade scarf!

Darnea opening gifts!

Seth was very excited about Darnea’s dress Yuri gifted her.

Herb getting the hard drive of his dreams!

Moon Christmas jam session!

Asa took a picture of me singing. Also, that scarf was handmade by Darnea too! It is my favoriteeeee.

Cuties!

Proud Padre. I love it!

Danielle serenading us!

Christmas snuggles!

Family Photo!

The REAL Family Photo

  Christmas With Grandma Celebration

And THEN that night we celebrated Christmas with my Grandma at Shoney’s.

Our driver for the evening. Haha!

The tribe!

Daddy’s driving!

Tristan’s updating her instagram story.

Mama looking beautiful as always!

Grandma opening her gift!

Mine and Tristan’s handsome fellas.

Jubi.

My two grandmothers. Both in their 80’s now. I’m so thankful to have them!

Buffet!

Gearing up for the family portrait!

Tada!

Shoney’s. This one in particular is fancy.

Nanny “What’s that Katie up to?”

I gave them accordion portrait books.

If you’ve made it this far, I’m honestly shocked. The holiday season is exhausting for me, but it is my favorite time of the year too. This is JUST the Christmas celebration portraits. I haven’t even talked about the birthdays.

My birthday is 2 days after Christmas. We celebrated eating Indian food. It was SO good! And then 2 days after my birthday is my Aunt Fay and my cousin Luke’s birthday. And then 2 days after that is Mama’s birthday AND it’s New Years Eve.

Christmas time is hard. It’s a whirlwind, but I’m thankful for these people in my life and I’m thankful for such a large family.

This past year my uncle Chris passed away, and we all miss him terribly. His passing though made me realize just how important portraits are of my family. The documentation process is everything. Usually I’m always photographing other people’s families with my DSLR and only using my phone for portraits of mine. But the more I think on it, the more I realize that I am a huge contributor to educating future generations on how our family was and who our family is. And I think it is insanely important for more people to document their families as much as possible from their own perspective. You only have your family once.

This next year, I want to document more of my family as well as my clients’ families. I love being a memory keeper. I just need to remind myself to keep my memories too.

I hope everyone had an amazing Christmas and I hope everyone took tons of portraits and held their darlings close!

2017 Kate’s Tiny Living Christmas Recap This is going to be a LONG post of all the holiday portraits I took of my family during this Christmas season.

[conwaysherman7-blog]

reduced price reside intercourse

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[badlytimedhumancombustion]

I got the pan-dimensional, temporally leaky, spatially abstract, quantum mechanically entangled, super symmetrical, calibi-yau manifold blues.

My name is Quark, but all the classical kids in new Newtonia call me the Quantum Kid. A name like Quark gets too many sideway glances in this part of the world. Sure, it’s ten a penny out in the subatomic suburbs where I was born and raised, but here in the biggest PhysiCity this side of Relativiton, with its Eucludians and Chronologicals, people just hear the word and assume you’re imitating a drunk duck.

So yeah, the Quantum Kid, that’s what we go by now. I’m kind of a novelty—a q-punk who scrambled up and out of the seething nowhere and everywhere of the quantum frontier towns to make a play of it in the stick-up-your-butt science of the big city. Sure, there are plenty of other Stranglings and Higgs and Leptons who the bright PhysiCity lights draw like protons to electrons, but they all end up falling into one of the neat little boxes folk in the big city insist everything must fit into. Not me though, strict categorisation was never my bag. I’m one of the very few from my part of the world to trade up their surroundings whilst managing to keep their quantum peculiarities fully intact and operational. Because I’ve always had my eye on the bigger picture, that sweet long time promised theory of everything: the unification of the small town weirdoes and the big city policy makers. Soon as I was spat out simply and suddenly into a semi-state of being/not-being as a fully formed thing/not-thing, I was ready to ride the wave function all the way to collapse. I’m going to get these two ideas into a shotgun marriage if it’s the last thing I ever do.

But before we get into all that crap, let’s get the basics out of the way first: everyone always asks the same freakin’ questions when they find out where I came from so I’m going to go right ahead and just tick them off double time. Yes, the suburbs are as weird as you’ve been led to believe. Yes, I can exist in two places at the same time. Yes, this is a guitar I’m carrying. Yes, I’m really good at it.

Now, when I say the subatomic suburbs are weird, boy howdy ladies and gentlemen—strap yourself in and let your freak flags fly. All those impossible to fathom stories about living life in a wild storm backwater burb that plays fast and loose with a PhysiCity’s idea of conventional eye-see-therefore-eye-am science don’t even begin to scratch the surface of how far out of whack it is down deep in the quantum wilderness. The out of touch ideas the fat cats in new Newtonia have been whispering about us blips and bits are the teeny, tiny top of a glacier that turns into an endless snake skinned, tentacle heavy, feathered mass of warbling who-knows-what the second you peak below the surface. In a word, it’s exhausting. In two, it's fucking bananas. 

And when you’ve been forged in the fires of a place that doesn’t make a god damn lick of sense to anyone from anywhere else, what other choice to you have but to play the blues?

That’s where the guitar comes in.

Would you believe that I found it? Seems a million years ago now, but the memory is still impossibly bright and endlessly clear. It was sat there, perfectly battered in the way only a perfect instrument can be, at the quantum crossroads that marked passage from the science of the suburbs to science of the city. Shimmering in and out of phase, a beautiful six stringed hunk of wood that I knew… knew… could only be brought to life by a man brought up kicking and screaming in the wild weird wilderness. Because a thing like that can’t be played in straight lines, no way fella—it needs someone who can make it sing in different directions, spaces, places and times all at once. And with my fingers on the neck, that’s what you get—a symphony of possibilities all expanding and contracting at once. I make it make music that thrives and knits and flourishes and lives and dies in an ever blossoming fever dream of here and not-now. I make the music only someone from the subatomic suburbs could make.

I make music that can change the world.

And it’s how I won the straight shooters of new Newtonia over to my side. It's how a q-punk named Quark become the Quantum Kid.