#shaking crying wailing I need September to be here yesterday

[sad-emo-dip-dye]

[darkfearsandkittyears]

Y'all, it's Whumptober! I'm super excited!

Okay, uh...funny story [and super embarrassing for me] I am a highly unorganized person, I have a calendar in my room, but it's so much easier to check the date on the huge calendar in the kitchen! So, I calculated the days till October in August, and promptly forgot to write prompts and outlines, [even though I pants most of my works].

Fast forward to today, when I see my mom writing down the October events. I was like, oh, she's just reminding herself for next month.

Then I realized.

I literally forgot that September comes right before October.

I literally thought that I had another month to plan ideas.

One of you come whack me on the head, I really need it.

Anywho, let's get on with the show!!

"Come on, Damian! Reach for it." Jason dangled Damian's bottle, inches from the baby's hands. Damian whined and stretched his arms out as far as they would go, attempting to snatch his bottle.  Jason smiled at the child. "Scoot forward. Like this." He demonstrated, pulling his body along with his arms.  Damian stared at him as if he'd grown a second head, then cooed a little.  "Yeah, it looks whack. But come on." Jason shrugged and put the bottle down, wagging Damian's little toy dog instead. On what planet did this qualify as a dog? It looked more like a deformed elephant.  The woman at the store had insisted it was a dog….he had to get Damian some more toys. All the parenting books said that babies needed good toys for development. "Come on buddy, get your..animal." Jason called. Damian laid his head on the quilt and sucked his thumb. Jason snapped a quick picture as the little boy nodded off, tuckered out by 'tummy time'. "Come on Dames, don't fall asleep just yet." Jason said, grunting as he got to his feet. The wound he'd sustained wasn't helping any, and the painkillers weren't working right, thanks to the pit.  Oh well.  "Come on kid, you can't fall asleep on your stomach." Jason rolled the sleepy baby over on his back. Big blue eyes batted up at him, laced with sleep.  Looked like Bruce, a little.  House of Wayne.  Once upon a time, Jason had wanted to use the kid as leverage...but this was a baby, and his brother. He'd realized that, but realized it a little late. Damian deserved to grow up, shielded from batdad's nonsense and in a world without Joker.  Godamn it, Talia was right.  Having a 'family' around him had cleared his head. And screwed up his plans. Majorly. But he wouldn't trade it for anything.  Besides, he'd nearly had Joker's brains splattered against the wall yesterday, right in front of Bruce's face.  He'd make them watch, make them all watch when he pulled the trigger on Joker. For himself. For Barbara.  For Damian. Maybe then, when Joker was dead, he'd present Damian to Bruce. Let Bruce wage war against the House of al Ghul while he and Damian ran for the hills. Then they'd double back and destroy both families. He couldn't kill Bruce, not until Damian was older. Jason was no Willis Todd, he was far from willing to force his brother into a life with no father. Picking sides would be Damian's choice, when he got older. But for now, it was Damian, Jason and Talia against the Joker and Batdad.  Not a hard fight.  Especially when Jason had the upper hand.  "We're gonna be just fine." Jason smiled down at the sleeping baby. "We're already winning." Damian's eyelashes fluttered, and he let out a tiny snore. Jason picked him up and transferred him to his playpen, then wandered out of the living room and into the bedroom that he'd converted into a gym.  A rumble of thunder burst through the room, and Jason paused, hoping it wouldn't wake Damian up. That was pretty loud, for thunder. The ground seemed to shake with the sound.  The pull up bar he'd installed yesterday clattered to the ground, and he flinched lightly as an image of a crowbar flashed before his eyes. It felt as if something had hit him in the back, but he chalked it up to imagination. He was probably imagining the fog around him too.  Some things Joker gave him, he could never get rid of.  But Damian began to cry, loud, hysterical wails that sent fear up Jason's spine. Another rumble broke through the air as Jason sprinted out of the room. A sickening crack ricocheted through the house, and Jason unwillingly moved to the left as something brushed his right shoulder.  A support beam.  "Damian!" Jason had never moved so fast, weaving past and through the falling drywall and wood. He was only feet away from the playpen when Damian's wails choked to a stop, as if someone had turned them off. Through the fog and falling objects, he reached into the playpen and curled around the child, shielding him with his body as he tried to find an exit.  Damian's body was limp in Jason's arms, not a cry or a coo. Jason risked a

glance at the child's closed eyes and pale, dust covered face. He shoved the blanket up to cover Damian's nose and rushed blindly into the direction of the doors. Behind him, a beam fell and what was left of the house shuddered.  An eerie feeling washed over Jason, settling right in the pit of his stomach. Everything went quiet, but Jason tensed, alert.  A hot burst of air slammed into his back, and he knew he'd been right to keep alert. Jason grunted as he was thrown into what was left of a wall, which crumbled, pinning his legs down. His mind fogged like a static TV, and he could feel warm air.  Fire.  Then realization hit.  Damian was no longer in his arms.  "Damian. Damian!" His throat was raw, coated in drywall dust and dirt. But he yelled on, hoping, needing to hear anything from the rubble.  But there wasn't a sound.  Jason pulled his leg from under the rubble and plowed through it to the best of his abilities, climbing over and under and around piles of garbage that had once been a house. There was an odd feeling in his leg, the only other thought that wasn't an urgent repeat of, "Find Damian!". But he quickly suppressed the feeling, because through the fog and dust and smoke, a tiny hand protruded from under a beam. Jason attempted to lift it, but couldn't. Damian was trapped under an air pocket, but any wrong movement would send it all crashing atop him.  A lever.  Jason searched desperately for a board or pole to use as a lever, but saw nothing. But then his eyes scanned over his own leg, and he had to look back at it.  His foot was quite literally facing the wrong way. The odd feeling vanished and became a sharp pain that nearly took his breath away.  Focus, Jason. The League had trained him as a sniper, and he was good at it. He excelled, even.  But all snipers knew how to do one thing. Hyperfixate. And that skill, with the help of adrenaline, might just save both his and Damian's lives.  Jason looked around the room once again, eyeing the position of the beam that Damian was under. If he could manage to get across the rubble, he could crawl into the air pocket and rescue Damian. Jason pulled his body up and over rubble, ignoring the extreme pain that was now burning through his body. At some point, that white agony would get the best of him, but for now, adrenaline was masking most of it.  "Damian!" Jason called again, nearly falling over a piece of wall. His broken leg slammed into a sheet of metal, which dislodged. The beam began sliding, and Jason screamed, unwillingly. He felt his legs propelling him towards where his brother lay, and he pulled Damian into his arms and cringed as the beam fell down around them.  "Damian...Dames." Jason panted as the dust settled, smoothing the dirt off his brother's pale face. The baby was too pale. He had to get him out of here. The falling rubble was controlling the fire, but smoke inhalation would kill them. And Damian had been unconscious for far too long, but there wasn't a single scratch on the child to evidence any injuries. Jason growled in frustration. "Damn it!" His entire body hurt, his leg most of all. Adrenaline was wearing off...the pain was mixing with the green light of the pit, and together they nearly blinded him.  Rage, and pain. Great combination.  He looked around for a way out. It was like a grave. Tight, and hard to breathe.  No Jason.  No.  His breath caught, and he knew he'd just screwed up. There wasn't enough air in his lungs, and he could breathe it in quickly enough. He clutched Damian to his chest and tried to get in a breath, to no avail.  Whimpers punctuated his breath, and the rational part of him could have laughed at himself.  But he couldn't. Whimpers turned to screams, and nothing made sense anymore. He screamed the only name he knew would come for him. "Bruce! Bruce, please!" He could hear his own screams dying out, feel himself losing a grip on consciousness. "Dad! Dad...Bruce…" His voice rasped into a whisper, and he gritted his teeth. "Batman! Dad! I need you! Please...please dad!"  Not a soul

stirred.  "That's right. He's not coming for you." Joker whispered sadistically.  Jason shook his head desperately, tears mixed with blood running down his face. "Shut up, you stupid clown! Please! Bruce. Bruce! Please!"  Like a miracle on Christmas eve, a ray of light shone into their prison, and a familiar shadow fell across Jason, along with another pound of dust. Damian wailed, and Jason shielded himself and the child against the dust, then spiraled into an exhausted darkness.  Four hours later, he pulled himself out of the pit of unconsciousness. "Dami?" Jason slurred, exhausted.  "He's fine, Jay. With Alfred."  That voice.  Jason made an attempt to bolt upright, only to find that he was secured to the bed.  "You have two broken legs, five ribs, son." Bruce muttered, undoing the restraints.  They must have given him some hefty painkillers, since he could feel nothing. "Call me son again-" Jason snarled, his voice cracked and dry. "How am I your son, if you had the nerve to let him live?! I gave you the choice last night, Bruce. Save me, or save him. You threw a batarang at my throat instead."  "Jason-" Bruce looked wounded, his jaw working with words he didn't know how to say.  "No! You don't get to "Jason" me. Not after what you did. You don't deserve to have your son."  "Jason."  Jason looked up at Bruce. "What?"  "I put a batarang in your throat?"  Disbelief surged through Jason. "You didn't know? All those years of aiming those damn things, and you didn't know?" Bruce's face was as stone cold as ever. "No." Jason had probably imagined the look of sorrow on his father's face. It wasn't like Jason meant anything to him anymore. "It only nicked me, lucky for you. Doesn't even matter, I'm alive. Surprising, isn't it? You wanted me dead and him alive. What, you got a crush on him?" He looked away, unwilling to meet Bruce's eyes.  "I hate him, Jason. I just can't kill him."  "You screwed me over Bruce. All this," Jason gestured to himself, "Is your fault."  "You have a son, Jason." Bruce said softly.  "He's not my son. He's my brother." Jason replied, tone dark. "He's your son."  There was a dead silence that almost resonated. Jason chanced a look at Bruce.  For once in his life, the man looked truly stunned.  Did he break him? "Bruce…?"  "Talia's child?" Bruce whispered.  "Yes." A sudden whim forced him to add, "And you can't have him. You're not going to get him killed too." "I wasn't going to make him a Robin."  "Cut the bullcrap, Bruce!" Jason screamed, startling both himself and Bruce. "Yeah, maybe I almost got us both killed, but I've never put a gun or a batarang in his hand and told him to throw it!"  Bruce hesitated before speaking. "It wasn't your fault. The city was destroying a building, and the explosion shook the foundation of other buildings. I couldn't get to you two as quickly as I should have. I'm sorry, Jaybird." Bruce sighed. Sorry. Sorry doesn't cut it, Bruce, Jason wanted to say. "Whatever, Bruce.", was all that came from his throat. "Not the first time you've forgotten me, anyways."  "If I had known-"  Rage surged through Jason. "Save it! Why the hell is he still alive? That's my only question. Why. Isn't. He. Dead? Don't kill him. Fine. But let me kill him. Look at Barbara! Isn't what he did to me enough?! When will it be enough, Bruce? When he murders Damian?" Hands gripped Jason's shoulders, and he stopped his tirade. "Son…" Bruce began, then stopped. Jason could feel his face crumple, not a word slipping past his dry lips. "I can't kill him, Jason. I can't let myself go off that edge. "You failed me, Bruce. When will it be enough?"  Bruce didn't answer. Jason swallowed against the knot in his throat and spoke roughly. "I just want him dead. All I ever wanted was to make you proud...then you left me with him. That, the abandonment, it doesn't even hurt anymore, but I wanted you to kill him. For me." Jason's face twisted into a scowl that thankfully repressed the tears. "Make him die." He spat. "I can't, Jason. I'm sorry Jason. It's meaningless, but I'm

so sorry." Bruce looked physically pained.  He's acting, Jason told himself. "If you're sorry, don't let him hurt anyone else."  "I can't promise that."  "I know you can't. But I can!" Jason yelled, finally. But instead of his rage getting the best of him, it all just evaporated. He felt nauseated, as if someone had punched him in the gut. But all he vomited up were words, words that he shouldn't say. "All I ever wanted was to make you proud...then you left me with him. I don't care about that...but didn't you care about me?"  Bruce's expression darkened to something that Jason had never seen before. "I put the Joker in a body cast for a year. That permanent limp he has is evidence of it. I couldn't bring myself to murder him, because in his dead eyes, all I saw was myself in him. And it was all too peaceful. He tortured you for months. I'll torture him for the rest of his life." Bruce said the words like a vow, determination lacing his tone. Jason stared straight ahead in shock. Silence settled over the room.  "You-when was Joker dead?" Jason finally asked, almost dreading the answer.  "Dick killed him when he found out what happened. I couldn't let him live with the remorse, so I revived him." "Dick….killed him." Jason repeatedly slowly, almost dumbly. He wanted to feel anger that Bruce had brought the damn clown to life, but he couldn't.  "He always had a temper." Bruce said lamely.  Oh great, both of them were shutting down their emotions and verbalization. "Didn't think he'd go that far." "I did. He loves you, Jason."  "Don't talk to me about Grayson. He managed to do what I've been trying to do." Jason managed a rough laugh. "Isn't it funny, Bruce?" Bruce only stared at him, a near pitiful expression on his face.  It wasn't until Bruce hugged him that Jason realized that there were hot tears streaking down his cheeks. Slowly, Jason hugged back, blinking back the stinging wetness of his eyes.  This, all this 'emotional seminar with the Batman' was a total mistake. So Jason let go of Bruce and pushed him a little to regain personal space.  Bruce unsurprisingly was fine with taking back his boundaries. "You're doing alright, Jaylad. You took in a son that wasn't yours and you're raising him."  "I took him in for all the wrong reasons." Jason bit his tongue. "And what are your reasons now?"  "Touchè."  Parents...and adoptive older brothers make mistakes with kids. They fail them and screw them up. But Jason's mistakes with Damian could be fixed.  Jason couldn't. Not until the clown died. "You can always make the present better than the future." Bruce said.  Dammit, old man. "Whatever." Valid points.  Very valid points. "Who else trained you in manipulation?"  Bruce just looked confused. Either this was more manipulation, or Bruce being bipolar by the days.  Whichever one, Jason would try his luck. It was a mistake, destined for disaster.  But he just couldn't help himself.

[iliketowrite1996]

Lunch Buddies

Part 1:https://iliketowrite1996.tumblr.com/post/614617294578089984/his-best-girl

Part 2: https://iliketowrite1996.tumblr.com/post/614969499334197248/meet-the-music-teacher

TRIGGER WARNINGS AND THEMES- abandoning child, mentioned of dead spouse, moving and starting over, single parenthood

‘’Jasmine. What on earth are you doing?’’

   The ten year old freezes in her spot at the sound of Steve’s voice, before looking up at her dad with wide, brown eyes.

   ‘’Um… I am making you lunch,’’ she responds, slapping yet another slice of bread on top of the sandwich that she is constructing.    

   ‘’Alright, Jasmine. What did you do?’’

   ‘’I did nothing!,’’ she insists, stepping over to the cabinet and getting out some tupperware and a top.

   ‘’I guess this wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you got your math test back yesterday, hm?’’

   Jasmine looks at Steve with wide eyes before sighing, looking to the floor, and trudging over to her book bag. She returns with her math paper… a giant red ‘’F’’ in the top, right by her name.

   ‘’Jasmine, come on now,’’ Steve sighs, shaking his head slightly as Jasmine constitutes stare at the floor, ‘’What happened?’’

   ‘’I studied, daddy,’’ she looks up at Steve, big, brown eyes filling with tears, ‘’Honest, I did! But when it was time for the test, I got so confused.’’

   ‘’Have you asked Mr. Isaac to help you?’’

   ‘’Yes,’’ she wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand, ‘’But I don’t get it the way that he explains it, either. Deshaw tried to help me and Alexandria tried to help me, but it’s still so confusing.’’

   ‘’Okay, don’t cry, come here,’’ Steve says, allowing Jasmine to lay her head on his shoulder like she used to do when she was little, ‘’Don’t cry. Everyone makes mistakes.’’

   ‘’But I KEEP failing!,’’ she eventually wails, and Steve pulls her in for a hug, smoothing her curls down as he does so.

   ‘’Shh. Sweetheart, calm down. WhenI was your age, I didn’t understand science, and I had trouble with social studies. Your grandma had to get me a tutor. And, you know what? That’s exactly what we are going to do. I’m going to ask Tony if his intern will tutor you.’’

   ‘’Peter,’’ Jasmine lifts her head up and looks at Steve, continuing to wipe her tears, ‘’From church?’’

   ‘’Yes, your crush,’’ Steve teases to which Jasmine giggles.

   ‘’Okay. Do you think that he can help me pass math?’’

   ‘’I’m sure that if he can’t, he knows someone that will. So, what do you say, kiddo? Ready to get yourself a tutor?’’

   ‘’You bet,’’ she nods, looking at his lunch, then the time on the clock, ‘’Daddy, we have to get to school! I want to give my music teacher her bracelet that I made her!’’

   ‘’You’re right. Grab your boots and let’s hit it.’’

   September has given way to fall, and Steve and Jasmine crunch the leaves under their feet as they make their way to the school building. Steve has to drag Jasmine along a bit, seeing as they got in late from church last night. But she perks up when he brings up her music teacher again.

   ‘Daddy, she is so nice! Yesterday, we got to makeup songs about school supplies,’’Jasmine reveals, sticking her arm out so that her dad so that he can guide her across the street through the crowds of people coming and going.

   When the duo makes it to the school, they share their customary high-five before going their separate ways.

   ‘’Good morning, Mr. Rogers,’’ you smile as you walk past him to your classroom.

   ‘’Good morning. And call me Steve,’’ he beams at your retreating form, ‘’I assume I’ll be seeing you today?’’

   ‘’Actually, we should be all good,’’ you turn around to face him as he comes closer, on the way to his class, ‘’Unless you just like seeing me.’’

   ‘’I-I, um, you know-,’’ Steve begins to sputter, causing you to giggle a bit.

   ‘’Steve, relax. I’m kidding. But I do thank you for being so kind to me these first few weeks. I’ll see you later,’’ you turn around, taking your key to unlock your classroom.

   And Steve tries to ignore the slight pang of disappointment that accompanies that statement. 

   ‘’Thank you so much for your help, Olivia,’’ Steve smiles as he high-fives the five-year-old, who beams in response.

   ‘’Thank you, Mr. Rogers,’’ she nearly whispers, following her kindergarten class into the hallway and back to there room

   No sooner than the students leave is Steve interrupted while organizing for the next class to come in.

‘’Mr. Rogers.’’

Steve looks up from where he is placing materials on the tables in preparation for his next art class to see you at the door, dressed in a blouse and professional bottoms…

With a giant coffee stain on your shirt.

‘’Woah, what happened,’’ he questions as you enter, futility scrubbing at the stain with a damp paper towel.

‘’Fourth grader running down the hallway. Luckily, it’s ice coffee,’’ you huff, tossing the paper towel away, ‘’Um, I’m here because Jasmine said that you had a pen to get stains out. I was if I could borrow it?’’

‘’You know,’’ Steve chuckles, walking over to his desk to retrieve it for you, ‘’We’ve got to stop coming to each other when we need things only.’’

Since your arrival three weeks ago, you and Steve stop by each other's rooms frequently. After all, you’re right down the hall from each other.

He needed a stapler, you needed a case of pencils and couldn’t find the janitor. Mr. Smith. He needed to know what time the assembly started, and you needed help with the copy room printer that always jammed and he didn't mind, did he?

‘’Thanks,’’ you sigh in relief, scrubbing at the stain, ‘’I sense you’re prone to messes, too?’’

‘’Not me. Jazzy,’’ he shakes his head fondly, ‘’She’s always moving, always rushing. She gets that from me, but her mom always used to spill on herself, too.’’

‘’I see,’’ you smile gently, pressing the cap back onto the pen before giving it to Steve, ‘’Thank you, Mr. Rogers.’’

‘’Please, call me Steve. We’re cowowrkers,’’ he reminds you, and it takes everything you have in you to bite back the smile that is beginning to form on your lips.

Okay, okay.He’s cute. But you’re his co-worker, you just got here, and you’ve got a lot on your proverbial plate already.

‘’Oh, um, listen. I’d packed Jasmine some lasagna that I made last night, but DeShawn’s mother packed her lunch today. So, if you want, since we have the same planning period…’’

‘’I’d love to. We can eat in my class, okay?’’

‘’Okay,’’ Steve nods, shoving his hands in his pocket.

‘’I’ll see you at 12:30,’’ you agree, exiting his classroom and heading back to your own to prepare for your first graders from Ms. Wilson’s class.

Just in time to miss Steve’s fist pump.

And he doesn’t see you do the same thing in the hallway.

   When you first moved to New York from Texas, it was for a fresh start. You’d parked your car, and moved in with your aunt and your uncle. Your uncle is the pastor at a local church, and he was more than happy to let you move into their house in New Jersey with them until you could get your bearings.

and he’d heard about the opening for the music teacher as a way for you to more easily get on your feet. In fact, you have a meeting with a landlord tomorrow to look at a one-bedroom apartment a few blocks from the school.

   You’ve been taking time getting used to your new surroundings. Every day, you take a walk right before work, taking in your surroundings and casually absorbing people. On the weekends, you find one new restaurant to try with your ‘’restaurant buddy’’.  After church, you say hi to one new person.  At work, you make it a point to say hi to one new co-worker each day.

   For a while, though,you seem to be making it a point to find any reason to talk to one Steve Rogers.

   Steve is one hundred percent handsome, and very  kind. He always has a smile on his face, he is so good with the students, and you can see how much he loves his daughter.

   ‘’Hi, mommy!’’

   You’re broken out of your thoughts by a young kindergartner who is waving at you as she clutches a hall pass.

   ‘’Hey, honey, why aren’t you in class?’’

   ‘’Teddy got sick in our class bathroom and I’m going to the big kids’ bathroom,’’ she beams, feeling proud of herself.

   ‘’Oooh, that’s a big step! Now make sure you go and get right back to class, baby. Mommy’s gotta go get ready for ehr new class. And you go with Ms. Potts after school, I’ll pick you up from  her classroom at 4:40, alright?’’

   ‘’Alright, mommy,’’she nods dutifully before trekking off up the hallway to the bathroom.

   Your five-year-old daughter is your first, and only child. She started kindergarten here when you moved, and it’s taking a while, but she’s slowly coming out of her shell.

   When your daughter was born, you had just finished college with a degree in teaching. Though her arrival was about five years ahead of your timeline, you were ecstatic. You’ve always wanted to be a mom, and this journey just began earlier than you expected.  Her dad, your then-boyfriend, Darryl, was less than thrilled at the prospect of a new baby, but he agreed to be there.

   That is, until he wasn’t. One day, the texts stopped being returned, the calls went unanswered, and he didn't drop by. A quick visit to his apartment confirmed your fear- only three months after your daughter’s birth, and he had decided that this was not for him. No conversation, no warning, nothing.

   And had you not had your faith, your church family, and family and friends, you’re not exactly sure where you would be. The combined forces have helped you get through your first year of teaching, your move, apartment, hunting, and most importantly, raising your  beautiful baby girl.

   Your next class is milling in now, so you put on your best smile and greet the students, earning high-fives and hugs from the class of second graders.

       And so begins another class.

   ‘’Hey, lunch buddy,’’ Steve appears at your doorway, right on time.

   ‘’Hey,’’ you smile at him, nodding for him to enter.

   ‘’I warmed it up for you, hope that’s okay,’’ he speaks, placing your lunch on your desk and pulling up a chair for you as you pull two bottles of water from your bag.

   ‘’Thanks for sharing with me,’’ you speak up, ‘’Otherwise it would have been peanut butter and jelly again.’’

   ‘’Hey, nothing wrong with a classic,’’ he grins at you, ‘’I forgot to tell you, and I hope I’m not overstepping… you look really nice today.’’

   You’d woken up a little earlier today, so you took care with your hair, slicking it back into a bun and taking the time to gel down your edges. Your favorite, red jumpsuit is on, and you’ve got the red ballet flats to match.

   ‘’Thank you, Steve,’’ you return the gesture,completing his outfit.

   You enjoy your lunch with Steve. The teacher lounge is great and everything, but you like quiet conversation during your lunch. So  it’s nice to spend time with your teacher neighbor, and relax before your last two classes of the day, and glee club practice.

   ‘’So, how long have you been teaching here,’’ you ask after praying over your food, silently reveling in the taste of the pasta that he’s given you.

   ‘’About ten years. I was hired here the year before Jazzy was born. This is, uh, actually where I met her mom,’’ he reveals, a look that you don’t quite understand crossing his face before he shakes it off, ‘’How long have you been a teacher?’’

   ‘’Five years ago, I started out in Texas as a grade-school special education teacher. I’m dual-licensed,’’ you move back in your chair, looking out the window, ‘’It’s quite different going from having a classroom full of students that you’re with all day to only seeing students a few times a week for 45 minutes.’’

   ‘’I imagine it’s also really difficult to come here from Texas. Did you have any family?’’

   ‘’Yeah, I moved in with my aunt and uncle. They’ve been a great help, but I think I ‘m ready to head out on my own. With their help, of course,’’ you amend, tapping your fingers against the desk, ‘’I don’t know. I just like the feeling of being independent.’’

   ‘’Well, you still seem pretty independent to me. But, you know, if you'd find a place, you’ve got two people that’ll help you move in. You’re Jasmine’s favorite teacher. She talks about you non-stop at home.’’

   ‘’She’s wonderful,’’ you shake your head, laughing fondly, ‘’And very headstrong.’’    

   ‘’Always has been,’’ he chuckles, ‘’Just like her mother.’’

   Before you can respond to that, they’re calling you over the PA system, and lunch is cut short. Steve follows you out, allowing you to lock your class door and head to the office.

   And giving you a minute to feel just a tad bit sour on missing the rest of your not-a-date-lunch-date with Steve.

   After the glee club picks up, you’re exhausted. Thank goodness you’re aunt is making dinner tonight, because you plan on crawling straight into bed after dinner.

   ‘’Mommy!,’’ your daughter screams,rushing forward and leaping into your arms.

   ‘’Gey, you know we don’t get that loud in the school building. But I’m happy to see you,’’ you smooth down her flyaway curls, ‘’Girl, what did you do to your hair?’’

   ‘’We were discussing static electricity,’’ Pepper informs you, walking over holding a first grader and a kindergartener's hands. ‘’She was absolutely lovely and so well-behaved. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?’’

   ‘’Okay,’’ you and your daughter nod before you take her to the parking lot, ready to head home.

   ‘’Mommy, are we having pizza for dinner again?’’

   ‘’No, we’re having whatever Auntie is making. And you’re going to be polite, even if you don’t like it. Understood?’’

   ‘’Yes, momma,’’ she nods, to unlock the car and place her in her booster seat before heading around to the driver’s side.

   Your night time routine is, somehow, a bit more chaotic than your morning routine. Baby girls are always tired from school, your aunt is exasperated after dealing with high school students all day, your uncle is tired from whatever volunteer or service he has done that day, and you’re just tired. But you’ve got to feed  your daughter, bathe her, do her hair, help with her homework, and send her off to sleep before working on your own planning.

   ‘’So, honey,’’ your aunt tells you as you send the resident kindergartner to the bathroom to wash her hands, ‘’I’ve got this great guy at church I’d like to set you up with.’’

   ‘’That’s gonna be a no from me,’’ you sneak a cucumber from the salad your uncle is making, causing him to playfully glare at you.

   ‘’Leave that girl alone,’’ your uncle jests.

   ‘’She’s a smart, lovely, beautiful young woman and he’s a good man!,’’ your aunt defends.

   ‘’I don’t have time for dating! We just got here, I need to put down roots first. Besides… I’m not even sure that I want to be dating right now.’’

   In some ways you’re still reeling from your relationship with Darryl. And you’ve been on dates, but nothing serious.

   ‘’Oooh, have you got sights set on someone at work,’’ your aunt smirks, earning a groan from you, which she laughs heartily at, ‘’You do!’’

   ‘’My sights are not set on him, but he is attractive. He’s with someone, though, so… there that goes.’’

   ‘’And here goes your daughter, so pipe down,’’ your uncle whispers, knowing you hate discussing dating in front of her.

   Soon, dinner is served and you're grateful to put the issue to bed.

   When it’s time to tuck your daughter, she’s smiling at you as she strokes the curls of your hair.

   ‘’Your hair is pretty, mommy.’’

   ‘’Thank you, sweetheart. Your hair is pretty, too,’’ you respond, taking her hand and kissing it, ‘’Time for bed, ladybug.’’

   ‘’Okay. Good night, mommy.’’

   ‘’Good night, Olivia. Mommy loves you,’’ you speak.

   Then, it’s time for you to head in for the night, leaving all thoughts of blind dates, school, work and Steve Rogers behind before drifting off to sleep.

DISCLAIMER- I own no rights to any Marvel characters, places, etc. 

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