#htse

But despite all of that—the burning hot shame caused by his existence that felt like mosquitos biting his innards—there was this wanting that lived inside him. It was buried in a cave that was called his heart. Flickering like a low candle flame, it lit up the dark cavities of his corpse, like a lighthouse beaming through a stormy night, and it was probably the most (and only) human thing about him.

Bob—and he’d never admit this out loud so don’t tell anyone—wanted.

He wanted so hard that tenderness. It was ironic how violently he craved such a gentle thing. A living oxymoron that ripped through his veins and arteries.

The worst contradiction yet? The wanting and the self-disgust. His nails grasping on for dear life onto that simple connection, like ripping bed sheets yet silently stitching it up because no one can see the mess. His broken heart and broken mind at war, still at a standstill these twenty-nine years later.

— — —

Or, Robert "Bob" Reynolds' unofficial guide to breaking the standstill of his being.

----

Read here!! Or from the beginning

Excerpt:

It was a sad sight. Bob didn’t really know how to comfort others, though. Hell, he didn’t even know how to receive comfort (ERROR! ERROR!). He just knew he didn’t like seeing Walker all zoned out and not fully there because some random Reddit user—who probably worked at a Sonic and was forced to wear those damn rollerskates and deliver everyone’s orders in that ridiculous costume, ergo, making any opinion invalid—made a whole post in the r/Avengers sub-reddit that discussed how John was one big colossal fuck-up for making America look bad in the eyes of the world and was too emotional. Insert some words about him acting like a female, blah blah blah, more sexist rhetoric, throw in the word bitch. It was all predictable. 

Bob thought people like that were, honest to God, losers.