a little rust

i still get upset about robin williams. he was very little to me; meant more to my brother, spoke the best lines in my favorite movies, was a stunning actor. but i, in my head, never paid much attention to things like fame, and loved him like a distant uncle, but distant indeed. i can’t watch those movies the same way. i think about what was chasing him, what was chasing me.

some people tell me they won’t be missed. their lives are not sparks but dull, the regular, the forgettable. that their absence would be a small celebration, that when they left the burden would evaporate and somebody else, somebody better, would spill in waves to fill the empty space. that the forgettable get forgot, that the unexceptional are only spared half of a thought.

but i love the man who let me turn left at a busy intersection even though he had right of way today and i’m still thinking about him. i’m still thinking about the teenage girl i taught four years ago who was spiraling, who came to me and whispered she wasn’t planning on an eighteenth year - who was out of my hands, who was “taken care of” who i tried my hardest for and who still disappeared like smoke in the air. i still think about the girl in my dance class who, when we were both seven, taught me the magic potion of fingers and throats, who kept a secret, who reached out to me just once later to say, “remember when we were young and i was unafraid” and i said yes, we threw barbie heads at the ceiling, and she said, “i’m calling from inpatient. i never forgot that you were my friend. thank you for that. that’s it. the end.”

and at night i tell myself the names of others or i pass their features over my eyes. i think about how our dreams can’t make up faces and how each night like a litany i bring back people to fill in seats, and how some of these people are dead, and how i wake up and barely know them and still miss them. and i tell myself that with all this love i have in a bucket that if i dropped into the sky and took off with myself and painted myself into the ground - i say i’m mediocre. i couldn’t bear it if someone else went off but if i did that’s just fine. the world needs less poets. the world needs less open mouths. the world needs less of me and more people who can function properly. 

and i know you’re reading this and most likely you’ve felt the same thing. that everybody has a life that’s precious unless it’s you, and your untalented unproductive unhelpful self, with heavy hands and a little too much rust in the places that should shine. so here’s the deal. i’ll make a promise and if you keep yours, i’ll keep mine.

if you won’t die, then i won’t die. and we two can live in distant orbits around each other, admiring each other like the other is robin williams, planets that never speak, only listen, two stars with our own complicated galaxies we feel swallowed by - but if you won’t die, then i won’t die.

and if you keep yours, i’ll keep mine. and we’ll remember each other. and we’ll fill up the sky.

3

“She’s beautiful,” Westley murmurs as he peers down at the pink bundle on Madeleine’s lap. “What’s her name?”

“Jane,” she beams. “Claudia Jane officially, but we intend to call her Jane.”

“She looks like you,” West smiles, glancing between Maddie and her newborn daughter. “Especially around the eyes.” Turning back towards Jane, he coos, “You’re a lucky baby, aren’t you? To be as pretty as your mama.”

Madeleine blushes, a look of sheepish pride on her face. “Would you like to hold her?” she asks him in a meek voice.

Westley nods, and with slow, meticulously careful movements he picks up the child and lays her against his chest. Jane fusses for a moment, but the effort proves too much for the drowsy infant and she quickly falls asleep.

“You’re a natural,” Madeleine observes. “She wasn’t nearly so happy with Kit.”

“I come from a big family,” he shrugs. “Always lots of babies to hold.”

“Well, I’m still impressed. You’d make a great dad someday.”

Westley glances back at her, and their eyes lock for what feels like the longest ten seconds of Maddie’s life. “Someday, maybe,” he whispers.

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Wet

A Bucky Barnes Drabble

Word Count: 351

Warnings: NSFW, 18+. Oral (female receiving) and Fluff

Request: Anon: Can I request a drabble with you and Bucky getting mischievous in the rain? I would love you forever!

A/N: Thank you for requesting this nonnie! I enjoyed writing this one! Hope it was what you were looking for!


You tipped your face up to the sky as the first rain drops started to fall. Within minutes, a cool spring rain was upon you.

Turning to Bucky, you smiled at him. Letting go of his hand, you raised your arms up and did a twirl. You watched as people scattered back to their cars, leaving just you and Bucky alone on the walking trail in the park.

Your maxi skirt and baby doll t-shirt were molding to your body like a second skin, but that didn’t stop you from stomping in a puddle that was forming.

Bucky shook his head and chuckled at you. He reached up and pushed his wet hair out of his face, “Doll face, you are lucky that I think you’re cute.”

You made a kissy face at him, “Aw, is my super soldier afraid of his arm getting a little rust?”

He laughed and lunged for you. You squeaked when his arms wrapped around your waist and lifted you against him. He walked off the trail and leaned you against a tree. His smile was devious as his metal hand bunched your skirt in his fist, dragging the wet material up your legs. He tipped your chin up with his flesh hand and kissed you softly. You moaned against his lips when you felt the press of his metal fingers against the lace between your thighs.

He pulled away and wiped at the rain trickling down your face. “Place your hands behind you on the tree,” he said as he traced your lips with his fingers.

You did as he said, watching him kneel in front of you. You caught your bottom lip between your teeth at the sight. His metal hand kept your skirt bunched up around your hips as his other hand spread your thighs further apart. He took a quick look around before pulling your panties to the side and looked up at you.

“Now, let’s see if we can get you singin’ in the rain,” he said with a sexy smirk, seconds before his tongue buried in your folds.

And sing you did.

4

Carmen’s housewarming party proceeds in the most predictable fashion. They eat and talk and drink and laugh, but despite the jovial atmosphere Westley wants nothing more than to leave. He feels lost here, his mind- and his heart- trapped miles and miles away. Locked, it slowly dawns on him, with a new mother and her baby daughter in a hospital room across town.

“What’s wrong? Where are you going?” Eugenia pouts as Westley extricates himself from her grasp. All night she has clung to him like glue, but this time as she rises to follow him West shakes his head and pointedly motions for her to sit back down.

“I need to make a phone call,” he explains. “Alone.”

“Are you coming back?” she whimpers.

Westley hesitates, but glancing around the room full of strangers he smiles and says, “I sure as hell hope not.”

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It’ll Get Easier

After a particularly nasty fight with Ronan, Adam finds himself standing alone in his tiny apartment.


His hands are shaking with the effort to not turn around and go back to the Barns, and he almost wants to laugh at how afraid he is of this new thing between them coming to an end. It’s unreasonable to think that way, really. Adam knows they both care about each other too much to let a fight be the reason they call it quits. Their friendship has always been filled with arguments, some stupid and some not; and despite that, Ronan had still chosen him. On the small bed of his childhood bedroom, with a kiss as confession, he’d chosen Adam.

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