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dislike and discomfort are normal and healthy parts of the human experience actually

no no bro you don’t understand. i’m not romanticizing murder. i’m sexualizing it.

good things will happen 🧿

things that are meant to be will fall into place 🧿

I’m always saying this

Peter climbs in through the window at 4am, being as quiet as possible so as to not wake Steve up. He quietly steps out of his suit and changes into his pyjamas and tiptoes across the bedroom to climb into bed, when his heart almost leaps out of his chest. He hadn’t realised Steve had been sitting on the edge of the bed in the darkness. Peter’s heart races as he turns on the lamp and speaks breathlessly, his voice high.

“Hey! What- uh, why are you just sitting there? It’s 4am!”

Steve glances up at Peter, and Peter can see how tired and worried the man looks. When Steve speaks, it’s in a low whisper.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says. “I was worried.”

“About me?”

“Who else?”

Peter feels warmth in his chest at Steve’s words. He kneels in the floor between Steve’s legs and takes his hands gently.

“Hey, listen, I’m fine okay? I do this all the time.”

Steve lets out a nervous laugh, looking down into Peter’s eyes with love and worry. “I know you can take care of yourself. I know you’re out doing good, protecting people, being Spider-Man. I get that. But I still can’t help worrying about you.”

“What is it that you worry about?” Peter asks softly. The way Steve is looking at him is making his heart melt. He’s never been looked at this way in his life.

“You’re just a baby…” Steve whispers, holding Peter’s hands tightly as if to never let go ever again,

Peter lets out a soft laugh. “I’m 18.”

“You’re my baby,” Steve murmurs. “If anything happened to you-”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me, I promise. I swear I’m always careful. If I got into any real danger I’d run and get backup. Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you. I love and trust you more than anything and the fear of losing you is driving me crazy, Peter.“

“What would you have me do differently? I- I don’t want you to ever have to worry. Let me know what I can do.”

Steve pulls Peter up to a standing positing and then pulls him closer so Peter’s sitting on his lap. Peter smiles and wraps his arms around Steve’s neck, leaning his forehead against Steve’s.

“I want to keep you here with me in this bed forever and never let you leave,” Steve says quietly, closing his eyes. “Would you like that?”

Peter smiles. “I would. But-”

“-But you’re a superhero. The most adorable superhero I’ve ever met, by the way,” Steve lightly kisses Peter’s cheek. Peter giggles softly holds onto Steve tighter.

“But you have a duty. And who am I to stop you?” Steve continues.

“I also have a duty as your boyfriend to not keep you up all night worrying about me,” Peter says. “I don’t have to patrol at night. One of the best things about being Spider-Man is that I can pick and choose when I work.”

“I can’t ask you to-”

“I’m offering. In fact, it’s non-negotiable. No more night patrols unless I know something is going to happen. I won’t make you stress, okay? Don’t want your age to catch up to you,” Peter says, giving Steve a playful smile.

Steve laughs and nods. “Yeah, we wouldn’t want that.”

“So it’s settled,” Peter says.

“I love you,” Steve murmurs, leaning in closer.

“I love you too-”, Peter is cut off when Steve closes the gap between them, kissing Peter softly and tenderly. Peter lets out a content sigh and kisses back, feeling his heart race in his chest. Everything feels so perfect, and Peter knows in this moment that he never ever wants to cause Steve to worry about him again.

SEBASTIAN STAN as James "Bucky" Barnes THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER | 2021

"Bleed the Sky"

The sky bursts open,

not gently,

not softly,

but like a body breaking,

like something holding on for too long

finally letting go.

The first drop hits—

hot asphalt hisses,

dust rises like ghosts startled awake,

and the earth opens her mouth

like she’s starving.

There’s no beauty here.

No poetry.

Just the raw writhing of water finding cracks,

finding hunger,

finding every place that aches or crumbles or waits.

The rain doesn’t ask permission.

It doesn’t care where it falls—

forest, rooftop, desert, skin.

It pounds against leaves as if to punish them

for turning their faces away,

fills the throats of rivers

until they choke on their own rushing,

slides down windowpanes like tears

too heavy to hold back.

And it keeps going.

There is no tenderness in this.

This is not about grace.

This is about gravity and surrender,

the weight of billions of tiny impacts

stripping the world bare.

And something in you loosens—

against your will,

unraveling in the rhythm,

in the relentless pounding that reminds you of your own breaking,

of the times you couldn’t stop falling.

You stand there,

letting it hit you,

letting it drench everything you thought was safe.

Maybe this is what healing feels like:

not silent, not soft,

not clean.

But messy.

Wet hands in the dirt,

skin soaked,

blurry vision as everything spills.

The rain knows.

It always knows.

It comes to destroy,

and in the destruction

it leaves something you didn’t know you were—

raw, gasping,

and growing.

Watching the rain

Tony / Quentin parallels