#but anyway I’m glad grace got therapy and is doing better it’s what she deserves :) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blackfemmecharacterdependency · 4 years

Text

6. Passion Project

“What the hell am I reading?” The woman squealed in his ear, “And why is it ALWAYS something bizarre with you?”

“Did my favorite perennial flower get my emails?”

“Simon… you do know that I have both college AND a job to do, right? That not all of us achieve our dreams the first try?”

“I pay you good money for the work that I ask you to do!” Simon complained. “Unlike your day job that both pays you less than your male counterparts and less than you deserve in general.”

“Yeah, well… I live in the real world. Not like there’s some magical train to take me away from society and all it's problems. But, seriously… researching is one thing, but this feels oddly like stalking. First of all… I had to do some very illegal things to get this information - which, yes, I went ahead and did it, because by the time I got to that point I was feeling a little bit insulted by the thought of failing. Secondly… who IS this woman, Simon? How do you even know about her and what are you going to do with this information?”

“I met her in my everyday life and was interested in her, but found a simple background check difficult. I was people watching for a new story, but it’s become more like a passion project, now. But, I feel like you’ve got a lot to tell me about her!” He was teeming with excitement.

“I… found out things, things that I never would have wanted to ever know about anybody and am now honestly considering charging you for the therapy it’s gonna take me to get over this information… Where in your everyday life did you meet this person?”

“Why… what’s… what’s wrong with her?” Simon asked.

“A LOT. But… I don’t know… I guess she’s doing better, if you’re just seeing her out and about, but… I just…” Tulip yelped.

“Tools???” Simon called out.

Deep breathing. Then, she was back. “Sorry. Mikayla’s out, so I’m by myself and EVERYTHING is startling me. I’m gonna send you everything I found and my charges for this information. And Simon… please don’t ever send me anything like this again, and I mean it.”

“I only wanted to find out if she changed her name and why. How difficult could the information have been?”

“Most people don’t just change their names out of boredom, Simon. Also… it isn’t right to look into somebody this way. I’m only giving it to you because I don’t deserve to be the only person who has had to look at this.”

“That bad?” He heard sniffling. “Tools…”

“No, Simon! This is messed up! Don’t ask me for another favor again if you don’t know ANYTHING about the situation!”

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, I promise.”

She let out a deep breath. “Is your mom going to the retreat or whatever this year?”

“Yeah. She’s super excited about it. She says that she hasn’t seen yours in too long. Is she going?”

“Yeah, she was able to scrape up this year to reserve her spot.”

“Mom’s already pulling out all of her Single Mom Squad shit.”

Tulip groaned. “I’m really glad that they had a support group and stuff, but honestly. Why did it become their entire personality for so long?”

“Because it was their little escape from having smartasses like us at home.” Tulip laughed and Simon reiterated, “Really sorry about whatever you read about Grace.”

“I… Is this somebody that you think that you could care about, Simon?”

“Yeah?”

“Okay. Just… be careful. I don’t see how they’re even still standing, much less how they’re in a position to care for someone else. I don’t know if I’m more afraid that you might get hurt if you get attached or that she might, but… it just looks like it’d be super hard to build with this person. They’ve got… a lot of... history.”

“She’s tried to warn me of that and I ignored her and will most likely ignore you.”

“Well, I did my part, anyway.”

Her name was not Grace St. Catherine… Well, it was, because she had it legally changed four years ago. But it had been Grace Monroe when she was born… up until when she was 10.

She was kidnapped when she was 10. Apparently there was a ransom requested, and whenever it was set to happen, the kidnappers took the money and did not return the child. Nobody who knew her before saw her again for 8 years.

When she was 18, she was arrested for assault and when giving her name to arresting officers, said 148, but eventually Grace Monroe. From there, she was discovered to have been missing for 8 years and her parents were contacted.

The Monroes conducted every possible test available to check the well being of their now 18 year old daughter. She was treated for several illnesses, including STDs and a number of mental issues...

She was committed at age 18, and declared a ward of her parents, instead of convicted, and spent the next three years recovering. At age 21, she was allowed to be classified as an adult. She changed her name, and lived with her parents until 2 years ago...

When she began working at the bookstore...

Tulip had even been able to find court documents, police records, and psychiatric files. So… yeah. He owed her big time, even beyond payment for having read even a portion of this stuff. Some of it was simply things Grace had reported to her doctors. Some were things that she had not spoken of, but there was physical evidence enough to grant some ideas.

Years of damage to her uterus… Bruises and scars on her back, knees, thighs, wrists… A symbol carved into the back of her neck… He clicked on the images given from medical reports and saw the same A that had been spray painted on targets’ doors. He now knew who these people were, and why they deserved whatever Grace and her friends were doing to them. He looked at the photos of the girl before her disappearance vs the teenager in the mugshot. That didn’t even look like HIS Grace. She was the same person. He saw familiar features - her perfect round nose and beautiful full lips, the shape of her face a little more shapely there - probably wasn’t eating as well… but… that was a stranger. Only her eyes looked the same. Passionate but filled with pain. Beautiful and wide enough to get lost in, but dark, cold, and freakishly mysterious.

He quickly called her and she picked up, “Did I not just see you a few hours ago?” she teased.

“I was just thinking about you… hoping that you’re okay tonight. Are you okay?”

She laughed, “Are you?”

“I just… want you to know… whatever happens, I’ll always be here for you.”

She was quiet for a long time. He wondered what she was doing on the other end of the line. She was looking at a selection of masks and knee pads, but her mind was no longer on the outfit for her Date Night, but the man on the other side of this phone conversation.

“Thanks, Simon… Um… Are… you sick? Is something happening to you? This just really feels out of nowhere and quite frankly, I’m a little worried.”

“There’s nothing to worry about! I’m fine. I just… really care about you, and had to tell you that.”

Grace could’ve sworn that she saw a chorus of red flags being twirled around before her. Dancers, circling her and performing tricks with them. She was never one for rose colored glasses. She learned a long time ago that those weren’t for her… so these were red flags. She also knew that she often saw red flags where there were white ones. Because she didn’t believe in surrender, only blood for blood. She was angry in general, and usually seeing red. Simon’s red flags were probably no more red than any other poor guy that tried to simply make her smile over the past few years. But then he said, “Grace, I lo…”

“Simon, I really can’t do this right now. I’ve got something I’m in the middle of. So, like… Just… I’ll talk to you another time.” She hung up and snatched a mask that looked like it was crying blood and a pair of purple knee pads. “Not L words, Simon. For fuck’s sake…”

Simon had learned so much, then she was just gone. She wasn’t at the bookstore in days and whenever he finally asked her coworker, they said that she had a no call, no show and they hadn’t heard from her since. She didn’t respond to any of his texts. She seemingly deactivated social media (or worse, blocked him), and she wasn’t even staying at home, because he drove by several times for two days, then literally camped outside for another two. If she was inside, she hadn’t answered, and he hoped that she wasn’t just ignoring him pining through the door. He hoped that she just wasn’t there to hear him beg her to please at least tell him what he did wrong.

He went into the flower shop and the guy that he had become super familiar with as “152” online, even though his nametag said “Heath,” asked him what he could help him with. Simon ordered a bouquet and wrote out a card for Grace, apologizing for whatever he did wrong and asking her to come back, He sighed and asked Heath, “Could you make sure that Grace gets this, please?”

“Grace?” the guy repeated, eyeing Simon suspiciously. “I don’t know any Grace, Mister.”

“148, maybe?”

Now, the guy looked downright ready to fight. “I don’t know what you mean, but you’re making me uncomfortable, so I’m going to have to ask you to leave, now.” He even tried to refund him for the flowers.

“No, no… Please, just… tell her that I’ll be waiting, if she ever feels better…” He left and Heath followed him out of the door, watched him get into his car and drive off before he went back in to call Grace, panicked about that visit.

“Who the hell is this person and how does he know where I work?” Heath asked.

“Let me guess, a little taller than me, skinny, blond with gray eyes and something on his head trying desperately to be a ponytail? That was Simon. I must’ve mentioned the flower shop, or something.” She knew that she never had, but to tell her friend that this person had potentially stalked her and learned about him in the process just seemed like it would cause more harm than taking the blame.

“You must’ve mentioned it? Grace. Either you mentioned it, or you didn’t, and YOU would know. It isn’t like you to be careless about our personal information!”

“I know, I know, but maybe I said that it was my favorite flower shop or something. Heath. You know that if you want, I can get you a job at basically anywhere else that I own.”

“I like flowers!”

“Then, I’ll buy another flower shop you can work at, if he made you feel threatened.”

“Are you safe? He seems a little attached. He bought a really expensive bouquet and left a card. It’s sealed but I can read it to you.”

“No, I’ll stop by. I’ve got some job hunting to do, but…”

“Why don’t you just work somewhere that you’re familiar with, or somewhere that you own?”

“I don’t know. Because, I’m suddenly hyper aware of how messed up I am again, and I wanna feel like a normal person.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but normal people don’t get to just start over when life seems to be too much. We’ve gotta just continue to live it out, and change only ourselves, and maybe eventually our circumstances. Normal people would have called out of work (if they could even afford to) and came back, whether or not they were better and pushed through being miserable.”

“Are you suggesting that I return to the bookstore and ask for my job back?”

“Yeah. If it’s normal that you’re shooting for. But… I’ve got the feeling that you’re avoiding this creep.”

“I think things are moving way too fast. That’s terrifying.”

“Good news… that’s terrifying for normal people, too. Not everything that we do and feel is because of what the Apex did to us. If your manager likes you and values you, you can probably coax them into forgiving you for vanishing, with a good sob story.”

“Gonna go with dead homie,” she said. “Meds, etc. The whole works. If that doesn’t work, guess I’ll buy the bookstore. I really don’t feel like looking for another job, anyway… And I guess I can’t avoid him forever.”

She was back at work the next week. She noticed Simon sitting in the coffee shop whenever she came in. She skipped going for her old routine, to clock back in and get to work. She had to take down the Read Across America stuff and make sure to have all the Easter and Earth Day stuff situated… When was Easter this year? She checked her calendar as she grabbed her legal pad to start planning displays whenever she almost ran into Simon. He’d come over when he saw her return to the floor. She was startled. Then annoyed. “Simon. Please…”

“What did I do?”

“You’re… getting a little bit too… familiar. You didn’t do anything, I just don’t know how to handle having somebody else in my space this much. I just… need some space.”

He frowned and nodded his head, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Okay. You’re the boss.” She wanted to say something… explain why she was like this… why she could only trust her friends, who were more like her immediate family than her parents… even that she desperately wanted Simon to be in her space and to wait for her to be comfortable with having him there…

But, she couldn’t find any of those words. Even if she had, what if she were wrong? What if Simon catching feelings would be the worst thing to ever happen to her, or to HIM, for that matter. She watched him go, and hoped that after she had some time to chill out a little bit, she might be able to contact him again, and get another chance. So, she watched him leave the bookstore and get into his car. He peeled off, and she didn’t know if that meant he was angry or if there was a fluke with the car. She just hoped that he didn’t just show up at her friend’s job or anything else like that. Or something worse. The last thing he wanted while sad was to get on her friends’ bad side. The last thing she wanted was for him to learn that the hard way.

Simon overthrew every piece of furniture in his home. Samantha rushed into her room and hid, terrified of the noise. He cried, shook, paced…. How could he show her that he was on her side? Why did she want space?? Was she afraid of him??? DID SHE HATE HIM???? He flopped onto the floor, holding his head and shivering with tears, trying to catch his breath.

He needed some place else to handle dealing with her, he realized as he glanced around his demolished home. A storage unit, maybe… He collected all of his stuff pertaining to her and put it all together. He stuffed it into one of his bags and put it into his trunk. He could clean up his house whenever he stored things away safely. He needed a big storage unit. He had a feeling that he was going to be collecting more while giving her some “space.”

This was how he might cope. He turned on the light in the new storage space and set down a few boxes. He hadn’t been back into the bookstore. There was no need. He wasn’t writing right now, anyway. He had more important things to do. He’d printed out everything Tulip had researched for him and made plans to visit places he highlighted from all of the files. He got some photos professionally printed up - some poster size, some not as big, and some he simply just had various photo sizes. He just thought they would make nice decor for his new space. Grace had deactivated, but he still had just about every photo of her saved to his phone or computer, and they had taken a few as well…

He also… was starting to take them of her whenever he watched her… He just really missed her. It was only a couple of months in her presence, but that was longer than he had been interested in another person in a while, and he had never been this interested in anyone before. Any time he ever thought that he might be going too far, he reminded himself that she had both done and been through much worse than anything that he was up to at the moment, and that became his truth up until the very last time that he ever had to tell himself anything.

That was May. By May… he didn’t think. It was simply part of his lifestyle. Following, watching, studying, photographing, sometimes recording. But, she still hadn’t reached out to him, and he wasn’t sure if she wanted him to reach out to her. He tried to test it, by leaving her a bouquet of those red poppies that he’d seen her and her friends put on their friend’s grave. He watched, recording her reaction whenever she got home and saw them on her doorstop. She looked around, startled, kneeled to check the card. “Missing you. - S” She looked… relieved. He wasn’t sure who she thought they were from, but she grabbed them, went inside, and moments later, came out with an overnight bag and her turtle. She didn’t come home for days.

Next, he texted and said, “Hey. Sent you flowers. My mom asked about you. Hope you’re okay.” He watched her check the text before she went into the train station, but she didn’t reply. So… she still wasn’t ready, but he was letting her know that he was still waiting. By that time, nothing felt unreasonable to him. He was simply waiting for her to realize that she’d had enough space. He was curious about where she went to when she’d leave for days. The next time he scared her into not staying home alone, he’d follow. It was all that he could do at the moment.

07. Things Went Wrong

#AU Infinity Train #Infinity Train #Nesha Fanfiction #Infinity Train Fanfiction #fics #People Watching

11 notes · View notes

hydrospanners · 5 years

Text

a writing year in review: 2k18 edition

So I’m taking a minute to look back at all the writing I did this year and it has been a pretty spotty year for fanfic for me. Lots of long, blank spaces between weird surges of productivity. But! I did a lot of work on my original projects and also the boring adult responsibilities in my life (I changed jobs three times!!! I changed my name!!! I started going to therapy!!!!) and I pushed out some fic I really liked this year in spite of all that so, all things considered, I’m calling this one a win.

Without further ado, here is the breakdown of all the fic I’ve written this year plus a sad breakdown all of the geriatric WIPs looking at me with their big sad eyes, crossing their fingers for 2019. Hiding most of it under a cut because the rankings and WIP snippets got long.

2k18's Publication Stats for Fun & Profit:

This year I published 16 fanfics, all but one for SWTOR. 10 were brand new, started and finished in 2018, and 6 were old WIPS that have been marinating for Force only knows how long. That number is down from the 29 fics I published in 2017, but close to the 14 I published in 2016. 2015 was only 3 fics and 2014 was only 2. I have a total of 64 works published on AO3.

This year I published 34559 words for an average of about 2160 words per fic. This is extremely above my overall average of about 930 words per fic with a combined total of 59569 words published since I started posting fic publicly back in 2014.

So the number of fics may be lower this year but the number of words total and the average words in the fics I did publish went up! Please enjoy a review of the shit people liked most according to AO3 and then the stuff I personally liked most because I'm allowed to like my own writing, sue me.

2k18's Most Read Fics:

1. spoonful of sugar: Everyone gets sick sometimes; even big damn heroes. These are vignettes about the Jedi Knight's crew getting sick, getting treated, and getting better. (SWTOR)

I started writing this one when I got really sick during the summer of 2017 and I finally finished it this year! There's another part that I cut because it got way out of control that I'd like to one day add back in as a second chapter but I am okay with calling this one complete and maybe never doing that. This one is a nice combo of funny and a little bit sweet that I think is refreshing, like a cold, fruity drink on a hot summer's day. Here is my very favorite line from this whole fic because it is so delightfully dumb:

“Scourge,” Rhese tries and fails to sound as though he has some degree of command over his own voice right now. “Get off my dick.”

2. filling the table: They have a saying back on Corellia that the only way you can ever really know a man is by taking his credits. They also have a saying that you should never play cards with a Corellian because Corellians always cheat, but she's betting Doc never heard that one. (SWTOR)

I think I started this one all the way back in like 2014 or 2015. I can't remember now but it was a long time ago and this piece of shit has morphed a million times since then. I must have rewritten the ending about a million times.

I really wanted to capture the desperation of the Balmorran Resistance while I was doing the character work with this, the sense of limited resources and hard living, and I am pretty happy with the result. I'm also pretty happy with the characterization work here, the little snippets they are both revealing to each other and the bigger snippets they aren't. I'm still not entirely happy with the white spaces in this one. I feel like I was a little too sparse and there are lots of places that don't flow if you don't already know what isn't being said, but I am more or less happy with this one! Here is my favorite bit because of the doublespeak foreshadowing their future relationship that was definitely on purpose:

Four hands later, she’s fifty credits richer and Doc is rooting around in his pocket for something to scribble another IOU on. She knows he’ll never make good on it, but Rea’s happy to accept his empty promises if it keeps him playing the game. She’s overdue for a bit of fun.

3. take back what the kingdom stole: Alliance Commander Nirea Velaran has always had a talent for burning bridges. When Theron comes to her after Nathema to pay for his sins, she finds herself wondering whether some bridges can't be repaired. (SWTOR)

Hey look! Something I started and finished in the same calendar year!! This one grew out of a very stupid joke that I ended up not even making until the end of the fic. At first I wanted to draw that bit, but I got frustrated with my lacking artistic talent so I wrote it instead and it turned into one of my fave things I've written. It has nice scenery and character growth and intimate friendships that have a real impact on their emotional lives! Hurt feelings aren't just for romance fam!! Anyway here's my favorite bit because it's one of the most Rea moments I've ever written:

He shoved her off his shoulder none-too-gently, scowling as he looked skyward, as if searching for another fleet of hostile ships to arrive and grant him the sweet release of death. When none came, he settled for another hearty gulp of whiskey. He had to be halfway to knackered by now. “You’re insufferable,” he grumbled.

“I know.” She smiled a smile that felt damn near genuine and collapsed back against the grass, swinging her legs out over the crevasse.

“I don’t even feel bad about all this anymore.” Theron complained. “You deserve it.”

Rea only laughed. A real laugh, all the way up from her belly, and it felt so fucking good.

Theron looked at her from the corners of his bloodshot eyes, suspicious and too clever by half. “Fuck,” he swore, shaking his head. “You just mindfucked me, didn’t you?”

2k18 Author’s Choice:

1. when the wicked play. After witnessing his first real lightsaber duel, Doc reflects on the contradictions of what the Jedi are supposed to be and the realities of fighting a war. (SWTOR)

This might be one of my very favorite things I've written ever. In case it wasn't clear by now, I am pretty preoccupied with making myself feel the weight of the violence and uncertainty and war that plagues you in this game. It all feels so clean and sanitary in the game because it's a game, but it's something I always want to explore and make visceral in the stories I tell about the game. I am also obsessed with Jedi and the mythos and conflicting ideas that must surround them inside the story's universe. This was a fun way to marry the two and do a bit of character work at the same time. I'm also pretty proud of this one structurally, with how contained and bookended it is. [high fives self] Anyway here's my favorite part because it's some of the only action I've written that feels like it captures the brutal urgency of how I imagine actual lightsaber combat and also says a little bit about my girl Rea via the way she fights:

Rea is little more than a blur of blue light as she collides with the Sith across the field, her sabers swinging too fast for Doc’s eyes to track. She’s hammering her enemy from every side, pushing him back and back and back. Her assault is savage and relentless and there is nothing like grace or elegance in any of it. It isn’t beautiful; it’s violence. Ugly, brutal violence.

The whole thing is over in less than a minute.

Blue meets red meets blue meets blue meets blue meets red and then the Sith’s head is hitting the floor with a muffled thump. It happens so abruptly Doc doesn’t even realize it’s ended until the rest of the body collapses a heartbeat later.

2. shadows settle on the place that you left. In the wake of her father’s death, Nyria Ryder tries to reconcile the man she knew with the shadow he left hanging over her. (Mass Effect: Andromeda)

Look! Something that isn't SWTOR! (The only thing I wrote this year that wasn't for SWTOR.) I have a whole bunch of feelings about Alec Ryder and had a really good time porting Rea over to this game and seeing the ways his presence in her life altered who she is and the ways that it didn't. Also I have a lot of feelings about SAM. This is probably peak self-indulgence but I still feel like this is some efficient sketching of Nyria's character and Alec's and their particular relationship and I'm pretty proud of it. Also I'm always a slut for complicated familial relationships. Here is my favorite bit because it's such a nice illustration of who Ria is and an important turning point for her character:

She decided to be kinder to SAM than the universe had been to her. He was her brother, just as much as Rhys, and she was all he had. She would have to make sure herself was enough.

“He believed in us both,” she told him what he needed to hear, even though it wasn’t true. Then she made a promise she could not keep, because she knew he needed that too: “You and me are going to figure this thing out. Just you watch. We’re gonna make Alec proud.”

All the same stuff I said above applies here still. Glad we can all agree this one was nice.

State of the WIPs

Just for fun I did a dive into my WIP folder to see what I'm setting myself up for in 2019! Only it wasn't very fun at all because there is so much really old stuff in here!!!!!! Good luck to future me because past me really left you with the bag girl! Good luck carrying the weight of hopes and dreams and stories unfulfilled!!

I have a total of 48 fics in progress right now. The fandom breakdown is as follows, ranked from the most to the least: Star Wars: The Old Republic (35), Dragon Age (8), Mass Effect: Andromeda (4), Fallout 4 (1). And because I'm a masochist, I looked at the dates on all this shit too. Here's the breakdown of what year all of these things were started:

2014: 4 fics

2015: 9 fics

2016: 15 fics

2017: 11 fics

2018: 9 fics

That sound you hear is me sobbing in the distance. 2014!!! What the fuck!!!!! I am gonna finish those four fics this year if it kills me. We aren't living like this anymore. Please enjoy some samples from the WIP folder with absolutely no context:

“You carry sleeping pills in your pocket?”

“For my wife. Maybe you’ve met her? About this high--” Doc raised his hand half a foot over his own head “--brown hair, blue eyes, great ass.”

Ignoring the commentary on his sister’s figure and the extreme overestimation of her height, Rhese nodded. “I may have seen her around.”

“Well if you see her again, you tell her to come home. Her family’s worried.”

Do you hear that Rea? Your family is worried. Rhese wondered if she could feel their concern, their anguish. Was she searching for them as they searched for her? She’d always been good at hiding, but she’d never vanished completely before. A hole in the Force where her warm, fervent energy should have been.

He felt cold. Really alone for the first time in his life. Careful what you wish for, Liss had always said. You might just get it.

Ossus is important.

Rea feels it when she falls out of hyperspace, that shift, that tug of something just behind her navel. The familiar weight of destiny, settling like a stone in the pit of her stomach. It leaves her breathless, white-knuckled and gripping the shuttle’s controls, her skin prickling under the cold caress of dread.

She wasn’t expecting this story to have a happy ending—a colony of Jedi on the eve of war? she’s danced that dance enough times to know the steps by now—but she wasn’t expecting anything so bad as the draw of destiny.

Fate has never been anything but cruel to her. Feeling it here, now? This is going to be worse than she imagined.

This is how you deal with failure.

You just do.

You get up in the morning and brush your teeth. You train until your legs wobble beneath you. You choke down your nutripaste and ask Simms about his niece. You congratulate Tarinik on her promotion. You laugh too loud at Vortena’s shit jokes. And when Beniko’s eyes follow a little too close, you blow her a kiss like it doesn’t matter at all.

You keep moving forward because standing still will kill you. Because life is a race and if you slow down for even a second, death will catch up.

Nirea Velaran is not ready to die.

She is not maleficarum, but she is changed. Something is awake inside her now, and the whispers are louder each time she touches the Fade. Sweet, coaxing whispers full of promises. Some of them sound like her mother.

Take care of your brother, Niria. You’re all he’s got.

In the morning, Qarric wakes with a pounding head and an empty sleeve. He never asks, but he watches her more sharply, reprimands her more often, demands more of her in training.

When she is fourteen, blade tucked into the top of her worn boot, he gives her a warning. “You aren’t as strong as you think,” he says. “No one is.”

“Is it much farther?” Ria jabbed the bladed end of her stave--a fancy enchanted thing Vivienne had insisted on--into the sodden ground and squinted through the trees, praying for a glimpse of the promised coast. The air smelled of salt and death and the sea, but she hadn’t seen a single crashing wave yet.

“A few more miles yet,” Blackwall answered irritably. Ria had elected to blame the weather for his foul mood. “Same as it was five minutes ago, Your Worship.”

“And five minutes before that,” Varric added.

“Conditions are much safer inside the ship, Nyria.”

“Didn’t come all the way out here to be safe, SAM.” Another rock plinked hollowly against the wall of the prefab. “We came to see new planets and shit. That’s what I’m doing.”

“There is not much to see at night.”

“Not much to see during the day either. Sure as hell nothing worth dying for.” She huffed a bitter not-quite-laugh.

She spoke before he could even open his mouth to ask the question. “You’re overthinking it, little brother.”

“We’re twins,” he said, mostly out of habit. “And I’m taller.”

“Your hair is taller.”

“This is serious, Nyria.”

“So is your hair.” She reached out almost absent-mindedly to ruffle it, eyes still fixed on her omni-tool, but he dodged out of the way.

#long post #idk what else to tag this as #so long 2k18!!!!#you were a bitch of a year and i hated you!!!!!#good vibes & righteous anger for 2k19!!

4 notes · View notes

jynsongxvii-blog · 7 years

Text

Blondie, Tim & the Flower Girl

A/N: This is challenge #2.5? So I put in my practice challenge this time since I had no time to write the story out...still have no time (GUYS, I’M GONNA DIE. I NEED TO FIGURE OUT COLLEGE THIS WEEK ASDFGYHJK) but anyway, I did manage to write this out (not much editing...so forgive any weird grammar if there is some). If I have time later in the week I’ll write&post the actual story, but idk. I liked Jyn with kids tho. Maybe you will as well.

“There once lived a normal--”

The oldest kid in the room scoffed with an eye roll before I could say anything else.

“Timothy...” One of the nurses scolded him with a stern look.

“What? All stories start with ‘there once was...’ or ‘once upon a time...’ Something different would be nice.” It was clear his attitude wasn’t uncommon by the nurse's sigh. The boy was twelve at most and didn’t look sick; not that all the kids looked sick, but he was the only other kid wearing regular clothes besides a five-year-old sitting next to him.

I stopped the nurse before she could say anything else, addressing the boy, “How would you have the story start then?”

Timothy seemed surprised by my question but soon returned to his uninterested look, crossing his arms and staring away. “I don’t know, you’re the one telling the story. You figure it out.”

I smiled faintly at the way he tried to give me a side-glare. “Alright then, let’s see…” It’s technically not a fictional story, so I can start somewhere else.

The nurse nodded at me in a silent sign of permission when I hoisted up a blonde girl in my arms. I hoped that would make me relax a little as I walked around the room. Some would think carrying a kid around would make you more nervous, but in my case it made me think of being back home. After all, when I held singing classes for kids in my house, a couple of neighbors left their youngest with me so I could babysit. Sure, that only happened when my dad was going to be around the house, but either way, I usually had a kid in my arms during those classes.

Maybe I could pretend I was in a class. They're just children, Jyn. You can handle children. The blonde girl I’d decided to carry was soon fascinated with my purple tips and had her fingers around them.

“It’s purple!” She exclaimed and I chuckled at the amazement in her eyes.

“Yeah, do you like it?”

She nodded enthusiastically while another girl asked, “Why is it purple?”

I looked down, finding a girl with a bandana covering her head. I had to remind myself not to let my smile falter. She was as strong as children came. She didn’t deserve my pity; she deserved my respect, so I knelt in front of her, offering the same welcoming smile. “That’s because I dye it purple. You can make hair any color you want with hair dye.”

She tilted her head at the idea, “My hair isn’t flat like yours.”

I imagined the corkscrew locks that probably graced her warm skin before therapy began. Her brown skin more alive back then maybe. Joy. That’s what they need to see more often, Jyn. That’s what you’re here for. Bring some hope and joy. I kept the friendly smile on my face before saying: “That doesn’t matter. I bet purple tips will look amazing on you as well.” Then staring at her bandana, “I love the flowers though. They look lovely on you.”

I asked for Blondie’s opinion too, not able to imagine how hard it might be to be told you’ll have to get rid of your hair at such a young age. I never dared to cut it when I was young and still I’d barely ever cut it when I grew up. I wanted her to know she looked beautiful like that too. Not only to make her feel better but because it was the truth. She rocked that bandana. “Don’t you think they look pretty?”

Blondie finally looked away from my hair and focused on the bandana, quickly nodding with the same enthusiasm she’d had before, “They look like the flowers my daddy brings!” I was glad Blondie carried so much excitement for everything.

The second girl brought a hand to her bandana as if remembering it had flowers on it just then, a smile soon revealing dimples. “Thanks! My mom gave it to me a while back.”

“Well, she has a great taste! You should ask her where she got it. I might want one for myself.”

She blinked. “You would?”

“Of course! Bandanas are great accessories, but it’s not every day you find one as pretty as yours. I doubt it’ll look that good on me though.” I pretended to whisper at the boy sitting next to her but made sure all the kids could hear me. “I have a big head.”

The boy giggled with some of the other kids while others just smiled. Timothy...well, he raised an eyebrow at me, so I called it progress.

I faked a gasp, “Are you laughing at me?”

Some giggled again, Flower Girl and Blondie included. I could even see the nurse smiling at my dramatics too. The boy I’d whispered to adjusted his glasses and pointed out my head wasn’t that big, I ruffled his hair with a “don’t lie to your elders!”

That time I even got Timothy to roll his eyes with slight amusement. Why do boys roll their eyes at me so much?

I stood up again. “Okay, I’ve taken away enough of your time, let’s get to the story telling.”

“Take all the time!” Blondie said as she placed her arms around my neck. I laughed a bit, shifting her weight in my arms.

“So let’s begin again.This is actually the story of a friend of mine. His name is…" I'd originally planned to say his name was Jack for the sake of keeping Jason's life secret--even though in our phone call he'd said it was fine if I used his name--but as I eyed Timothy, walking around the room, I changed my mind and said, "Timothy. He was a normal boy like all of you...”

The kid next to him, whom I was starting to believe was his little brother, tugged at his sleeve saying, “Like you!”

Tim narrowed his eyes at me like he could make me disappear with just a glare. I smiled in victory before going on.

I was never good with stories. That was the truth. I loved kids, so the thought of coming here with them was comforting. People always said I was good with them, and to an extent, I agreed I wasn’t too bad...but writing a story for children was something else entirely. I was good with talking, attempting dumb jokes, playing, even teaching, but when it came to stories I was blank. The only stories I ever told the kids I babysat were stories about the crazy stuff I did with friends.

When Jason tried to teach me how to drive, when Johnny got attacked by a bunny and almost broke his leg, that time I messed things up in the washing machine and both my dad and Jason had to wear orange for over a month, how we met Clem when Johnny pretended to work at the beauty parlor I worked in and almost burned her hair with a curling iron… but that was just me fooling around, retelling something I lived. Those were the stories I could tell.

So that’s what I would tell them. Maybe not something funny, but something I had lived. Something I had gone through with a friend.

And so I told them about the time Jason's sister got seriously ill.

The story of the boy that held onto hope even when everyone else lost it. The story of the boy that taught me how to hope.

#selectionoc #selectionocnet #jyn #my fic #challenges #kinda #challenge 3 #1301 words

4 notes · View notes

novadreii · 7 years

Text

on anxiety

okay, i need some quality word vomit time.

sometimes i just sit and marvel at how much my anxiety has improved, even in just the last year. i was borderline almost ok actually agoraphobic, and i couldn’t navigate day-to-day life because of how fucking afraid of everything i was. it’s hard to put that fear into words. it wasn’t a fear grounded in reality, i wasn’t scared of monsters jumping out at me from dark corners. it boiled down to feeling like i was standing on top of a volcano that was liable to erupt at any moment.

as if i was one catastrophe away from my life being ruined. i lived in constant fear of losing my job, or getting an illness, or pissing someone off enough that they would come after me/my family, or losing someone, or becoming homeless. homeless was the big fear and still is. i hated when ANYTHING didn’t go my way, as if it was some indicator that my life was and would always be shit.

but i’ve come to view life as a sea that i can in fact navigate. sometimes it’ll be calm, sometimes the waters will be rough. but that no matter what happens, i have to tools to deal with it and rise past it. so, it’s not so much that i’ve convinced myself that there’s nothing to be afraid of, but that i have to live my life moment by moment and if shit happens, i’ll take care of it. i’ve learned to trust myself, and i’ve learned that i deserve that trust and that i’m worthy of good things.

i did a lot of research on mindfulness. mindfulness has been my saving grace and has allowed me to feel peaceful moment to moment each and every day. i no longer leap to conclusions about things that are YEARS away, hell, i don’t even stress out anymore about things that are next week. it’s all about right now, because that’s all we have. why would i worry myself sick about something that hasn’t even happened? something that won’t even be nearly as bad as my stupid brained imagined it to be? so there’s an experience component to this as well: i know from countless prior experiences that things i dread (presentations, interviews, etc) go just fine. so objectively KNOWING that it’s all in my head has allowed me to distinguish that fear as not being grounded in reality. it’s imaginary.

a lot of it has also been observing Neurotypicals on a day-to-day basis. i work closely with two people who are both the very definitions of Happy-Go-Lucky. i observe how they deal with and react to situations that used to send me spiralling at work. i subtly ask them questions about their lives, etc. and i realize how much of our happiness is due to our perception. one of them lives pretty much like i do. on her own, modestly (not rich by any stretch), finishing her long overdue business degree during night school since she works full-time. but her attitude is so radically different than mine. she is so laid-back. she just takes each day as it comes. sometimes bad shit happens, like her boss being a dick or a customer yelling at her, and she NEVER get rattled. she’ll recount these events to me as if she was a neutral third-party observer with a “oh well, what can ya do” type attitude. zen af.

i find if i can observe and understand the way normal people deal with the world, i can ALMOST mimic their thought patterns. well, i can understand the patterns, but putting it into practice takes longer. i’m getting there though.

anyway, all’s to say, find what works for you. i tried the medication and therapy route and while they were enormously helpful when i was deep down in the pit of it, they did not address the root causes of my anxiety. it was geared towards symptom management, but i was in no mood to be counting my breaths in a corner and knocking back pills for the REST of my life (also, i’m not hating on medications seeing as they are life-saving and sometimes you need to be on them for years to treat chronic depression/anxiety/mood disorders, i just didn’t like the feeling of eating xanax like it was candy when i knew there was possibly another way).

and i’m still nowhere NEAR fully recovered but at least i am functional, and content, and i can make phone calls or deal with stressful situations without falling apart. i didn’t put off my school registration until it was almost too late and classes were full, i just did it and got it out of the way without batting an eye. i have a full time job, i’m going to finish school, i am a day away from getting my first apartment. i still count my breaths on occasion, i still jump to the odd conclusion, but i am not a nervous wreck anymore.

for the first time in so long i am truly hopeful for the future and i feel i will be okay. i’m glad i hung on through the worst of it and waited for it to get better. because it did. and it will.

#personal #anxiety #rant #ramble

3 notes · View notes

asleepinawell · 7 years

Text

silveroakleaf replied to your post

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.” Shoot, please :)”

Holy shit this is awesome! Thank you so much! Your writing always makes my day. Very glad it doesn't end in either of them dying... But, then how DOES end?

I mean, at this point Finch has already shut them out of the system and Root already put in her extra code that only he can activate so he needs motivation to let her use it. So...

everyone goes to the safe house sans root who is taking ‘a nap’

shaw stays behind by herself because lbr even if she enjoys shooting people with root she can totally handle them all herself if needs be

i was gonna have her go with finch and elias because then elias has a good chance of surviving since shaw is the fastest shot on the team and crazy on guard at the moment

but...honestly at this point finch is still pretty anti-letting-the-machine-protect-herself and i don’t think that would change without someone dying

so sadly elias dies and i am mad about it but he gets to die a way cooler death probably

think like hersh’s death levels of badass

shaw shows up to rescue finch from the samaritan goons and the whole firefight happens

since there’s no one else to drive off with finch she shoves him under a car and is like remember that time you wandered into the line of fire and reese got shot? maybe don’t do that.

anyway the firefight takes way longer with only her but she’s got an entire fucking car full of guns and nowhere better to be

reese shows up to help her out eventually

finch wanders into the line of fire and reese gets shot and shaw is like omg we JUST talked about this wtf dude

reese is not dead though, bear with me

they all get out of there and fusco gets reese to the hospital and shaw takes finch to the subway

he has to stay in the subway now because his cover is blown

shaw probably makes some snide remark about this because she’s still low-key bitter about that time she got drugged and handcuffed

she goes back to check in on root

root is still KOed but wakes up later that night

boy is she not amused

but since they’re them they end up having mind-blowing sex and promise not to drug/tase each other in the future

which neither of them really means because they’re them

meanwhile reese is like hurt super bad but he’ll live and they bring him to the subway to recover

the whole team is there including fusco because shaw was like the whole team is basically dying maybe we should just fucking tell him what’s going on isn’t that a great idea

reese is being a giant baby about being hurt because he used to be the most dramatic team member until root rudely stole that title from him

root is all like harold everyone is DYING maybe we should fight back?

reese is like you know what i’ve been SHOT and it HURTS maybe she has a point?

he passes out dramatically

finch is like this is a terrible idea

but elias is dead, reese is barely alive, and every single member of the team is arguing for this

even bear

so he agrees if and only if he’s allowed to change the code and put in like a kill switch or some dumb shit

listen, this is not how AI works. but then again the idea that anything could stop the machine from altering her own code however she saw fit is pretty unrealistic so shrug.

my AI rant is a different rant completely

so finch is like there’s this virus called ice-9 but listen guys this is a terrible idea there’s gonna be collateral damage

shaw is like did you not notice the eugenics-happy evil ai like i think that might cause some fucking collateral damage

also remember the part where it tortured me for like 9 months

she is basically 100% done with his moral high-ground

anyway a bunch of the same stuff happens like in the show but the whole team is actually working together now because that makes a lot more sense

i honestly don’t remember a lot of the details of the last three episodes since i only saw them when they aired and mostly pretend they didn’t happen

but shaw gets to shoot greer in the face because after everything that happens she deserves to be the one to do that

root goes and uses ice-9 on samaritan, there’s probably some badass hacking sequence with lots of cg

would also like to point out that probably the only way to really kill an AI that powerful would be to permanently take out the entire internet and all wired devices and destroy any physical server/device/anything that samaritan could have stored a copy of itself on

but whatever

samaritan and the machine wipe each other out

reese and shaw defend the roof because in poi-healing-from-bullets time reese is like 100% a-okay again.

or he just has a minigun attached to a wheelchair like those dudes in bloodborne

because that would be AWESOME

root and fusco defend the machine in the subway

finch is off having a soliloquy somewhere

maybe he’s still talking to the machine

i don’t even care honestly

everyone lives and the machine comes back to life like a month later

finch has already taken off for italy

and grace is like wtf dude you basically caused me undue emotional distress for years and also lied to me the whole time we were together fuck off

so finch goes back to ny and does something or another with his life, stays friends with reese

reese, shaw, and root still do missions for the machine

who has taken carter’s voice because taking root’s would be weird now and carter was cool and had a good moral code and the machine digs that

reese still thinks it’s kind of weird but he gets over it

at this point it’s harder for me since i’m writing a fic which has an alternate ending and i don’t want to spoil shit from it

but everyone (that i care about) is super happy or at least content

root and shaw bang a lot and also are now bear’s parents

reese decides that there’s more to look forward to than death because come on that was like the whole fucking point until the end of the show

i don’t buy this ‘borrowed time’ bullshit when he spent over half a season getting therapy for his hero complex and also after he went through the aftermath of shaw’s sacrifice and saw what it did to everyone

so he’s chill with living to an old age and finds happiness with someone who isn’t his doctor because that wasn’t cool with me

maybe he and zoe remain fuck buddies instead or something

root and the machine work constantly to stamp out any trace of other AI development

shaw works to train a future generation of team machine

did i mention that shoot bangs a lot and are pretty content with life in general

fusco gets promoted to something or another

i don’t know much about police force ranks

like a captain or something?

i’m going by b99 here

the government rebuilds the isa under someone who will never be as badass as control but does alright

the machine helps them out with numbers still

everyone lives happily ever after with cool guns and dogs and only occasional taser incidents

the end

#silveroakleaf #i had to make up a second alternative ending since i didn't want to spoil where my fic is headed #anyway even though parts of this are fairly ridiculous my point stands that no one needed to die #root and reese both get fulfilling character arcs that don't involve their deaths because that's kind of anti-character-development #like they were both already ready to die for a cause #living for one is a way bigger revelation for them #and shaw had fucking suffered enough #like i get that root was the prophet type character and they'd always planned for her to 'ascend to a higher plane'#which is NOT HOW THAT WORKS either #but the story had evolved beyond that at that point #and no one stopped and was like hey we've tortured these two for over a season's worth of episodes #maybe we should stop now #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#sometimes when your story evolves in unexpected ways you gotta let go of those previous great ideas and go with the flow #okay thus ends my rant #wow am i still bitter #my writing #my tumblr fics #poi

8 notes · View notes

demonsonthemoon · 6 years

Text

We Shall Rule - Chapter 8.

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Comics Pairings: Platonic Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton, Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers/Peggy Carter, past Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes Word Count: 5017

Also available on AO3.

“One thing I can't figure out, though.”

Steve hummed curiously, around a mouthful of cereals.

“What part of us having sex was supposed to make you feel better about your multiple crushes and consequent identity crisis?”

Bucky smirked above his mug of coffee as he watched Steve almost choke on his breakfast.

“Oh god,” Steve said, wiping at his mouth. “Of course that's the way you would choose to bring this up.”

Bucky shrugged, his smile a perfect imitation of innocence.

“You are not a kind person, Bucky Barnes. Kind people do not bring up their friends' bullshit. They let them deal with it in silence.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You do not mean a word of what you just said and we both know it, Steve Rogers.” He put more emphasis on his flatmate's name, ironically mirroring Steve's tone.

“Urgh. This is the worst.” He ate more of his cereals. Bucky drank some coffee.

He was glad he had been able to sleep on what had happened the night before and collect his thoughts. Him freaking out while trying to have sex with his best friend had obviously been a terrible experience. Panic attacks always were, if he was being honest. But he knew that, although he had taken care of Bucky as if it wasn't the case, Steve had had to have been shaken by it as well. And even if Bucky didn't really want to talk about his own side of last night's events in more details, he could still show Steve that he was there for him. That he cared.

“To answer your question, us having sex does not bring anything new to the identity crisis. The identity crisis is over. Steve Rogers turns out to be poly as fuck, end of story.”

“That simple, uh.”

“Yeah. Except no. Because obviously that doesn't mean that either Sam or Peggy will date me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes as hard as he could, not quite believing that his friend was being serious. Sam had clearly been into him for months now. And Steve had himself admitted that he was pretty much dating Peggy already. They had talked about this.

Steve punched his right shoulder.

“Shut up. I know what you think but, like... It's not that simple. Even if they're into me... like, I don't want to date one of them if it means it's gonna my friendship with the other. I don't think I want that. But at the same time right now it's kind of awkward for them both. And Peggy... Peggy doesn't really know, about Sam. Or about you. About... I don't know. It's complicated.”

They fell silent, each going back to their breakfast.

“I know you,” Bucky finally said. “And when you've got something on your mind, you chase it. You don't let things go. You're Steve Rogers. You can't not do anything.” Bucky swallowed up his bitterness at the thought of how he compared to that. “So talk to them. Try it out. Sam's a great guy, he won't just cut you out of his life for something like this. Not if you go to him in an open and earnest way.”

Bucky was pretty sure that Sam would prefer earnestness over anything else. He was also quite certain that the man was capable of shutting Steve out of his life completely if he felt like the blond had betrayed him in a way he deemed unacceptable. But well. Risk-taking was something Steve knew well. And, somehow, Bucky thought this wouldn't cross Sam's line for unacceptable.

“Peggy... Well, I don't know her. I can't say. But I trust your tastes so ... you should go for it.”

“Yeah... Maybe.”

“Yesterday's better than in a year.” Bucky specified, earning himself an eye-roll. “I know it's kind of hypocritical of me to call you out on not dealing with your shit but...”

“Eat your damn breakfast, Barnes.”

Bucky smiled. Steve would be okay.

So Bucky clearly needed to find a hobby. Or start school again. Or something. After more than a year, he couldn't stand spending his time in a flat doing nothing anymore. Watching Steve leave for his part-time job in the morning and then walking in circles in the apartment trying to think of something to do was becoming far too boring. Bucky still believed in the possibility that he would be cleared for work again at some point. His physical therapy was going very well. But still. It would take time, and he was slowly driving himself insane in a very immediate way.

On a hunch, he sent a text to Clint.

Gotta get out of the house. Wanna meet for coffee?

He dropped his phone right after having sent the text. He apparently was far from over this habit of second-guessing himself whenever things concerned Clint. It was a miracle that the other man hadn't noticed anything yet.

His phone dinged:

I got your back bro :D

Bucky smiled, and stopped himself from typing a reply when he noticed the three little dots indicating Clint was typing as well.

Falcon again?

Do you have money this time or are you still trading favors for caffeine?

The question was meant as a joke, though Bucky couldn't help but wonder how Clint's life actually worked. He knew so little about it, and genuinely had no idea why Clint kept so many things about himself secret anyway. Secret might be the wrong word. He had never asked after all. And he himself hadn't told the other man a lot of things, things he didn't exactly consider secrets either, but that he didn't feel comfortable sharing openly right now.

And, hell, they hadn't known each other that long. Of course they didn't know everything about the other.

It was frustrating. Bucky was constantly torn between keeping his boundaries firmly in place and affording Clint the same ones, and wanting to push their relationship to see how far it would go. He felt the man like an itch under his skin.

He stopped his train of thoughts there, not wanting to think about anything else related to skin, in case he once again went down the road of the failed attempt at sex he had shared with Steve.

He read the last of Clint's texts.

I call it alternative economy and I won't let you judge my life-choices.

Bucky let himself smile. He was always impressed by the man's easy repartee. It was something he had mastered once, something he still tried to keep up in front of his friends, but which felt less natural in his mouth than it used to.

I'll meet you in fourty minutes, you anarchist

“Don't act like you don't like it, punk,” was Clint's immediate response. Bucky felt his heart tighten a little, but quickly slid his phone into his pocket.

Clint was sitting at the same table as the first time when Bucky walked in. The blond immediately beamed at him, waving.

“You look cheerful,” Bucky pointed out. He could already feel some of Clint's good mood seep in through his own layers of boredom and nerves.

“No reason not to be, so I'm going with it,” Clint replied. “Should we go order something while there's not queue?”

Bucky agreed, dropped his leather jacket on the chair, and they both walked to the counter. Clint ordred a mocha and Bucky a latte. They echoed each other's hums of contentment as they settled back in their chairs with the warms drinks in their hands.

“So, how have you been doing?” Clint asked after taking a cautious sip of his drink.

“I almost had sex with my best friend,” Bucky responded. He didn't give his filter any time to react, just blurted the words out and waited for what would happen next.

Clint took things with a surprising amount of grace. He put his mug back down on the table, carefully closed his mouth, frowned a bit and tilted his head. Then opened his mouth again.

“Ooookay, I guess?”

Bucky felt heat rise to his cheeks. What had he just done? What was he doing? What had his life come to? Why was running away not appropriate? Why didn't he actually want to run away?

“I don't really know how I'm supposed to react because I'm probably missing a lot of parameters here.” He started tapping his fingers against his mug. “I guess congratulations wouldn't really work?”

Bucky wanted to disappear. He forced his features to become blank. This had been a mistake. Any direction that the conversation could take from here was a minefield. Why had he felt the need to say it in the first place? Because it bothered him? It shouldn't. Steve had told him it shouldn't.

“Sorry. I have no idea why I told you that. Just ignore it.” His voice was cold, emotionless. Bucky recognized it from when he'd had to learn how to talk again.

Clint reached over the table, putting his hand on Bucky's left one. He pulled away, and Clint immediately did the same, retreating out of his personal space and putting both hands on the table.

“Sorry. I'm sorry. We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. But like... we can talk about it. I won't judge.”

Bucky wanted to run a hand through his hair, hide his face, wrap his arms around himself, stiff and close. He kept silent.

Clint's eyes stayed on him, but he took a gulp of his coffee.

Why wasn't he talking? Or leaving? Why was he still here, and so calm about everything?

Bucky wasn't feeling calm. He was completely still, but his body had always been the eye of the hurricane.

He counted his breaths. Tried to feel his chest expand with each one. He could picture his therapist talking, telling him to find his own boundaries then make them clear to others. He could already think of the type of questions she might ask if she were there with him right now. He could even picture the answers he would give.

He kept still.

“Bucky, hey. I just want to know if I should leave or not. You can just nod if you want me to leave.”

Bucky felt frustration rise up in him on top of everything else. This was much too similar to what had happened with Steve. Once again, he didn't want to be left alone, though he deserved nothing other than that.

“Stay,” he croaked out, forcing his body to relax all at once. He put both elbows on the table and his head in his hands, staring at his latte that was getting cold. He felt cold as well. His body started shaking slowly, from that or from the sudden relief of tension.

And Clint stayed. He sipped at his coffee in an almost languid way while Bucky took the time to gather himself and the courage to look his friend in the eye again.

It wasn't until he had taken a sip of his lukewarm coffee himself that Clint spoke again.

“I'm guessing this wasn't how you had planned for this morning to go, so I'm giving you options.”

Bucky looked up. He didn't feel like choosing. He didn't feel like wanting anything at all. He wished he could just sit here in silence for some more time. Still, at the back of his head he was aware that Clint was acting the right way, trying to respect and actively assert Bucky's agency at the same time.

“I can just ignore what happened and start babbling about something until you feel like responding or get bored of me and leave. Or we can leave, go to my place or yours and talk there. No pressure. Just talking and figuring shit out.”

Choose. Choose. Choose. He didn't know what to choose. Bucky didn't know what he wanted. He didn't know what he needed. He didn't know what his boundaries were, which was why he was seeing a therapist in the first place, wasn't it?

That, and the fact that he had to. The fact he was vaguely aware it was what he was supposed to do. The fact that something told him that pretending to be fine wasn't going to be enough in the long run. The fact he kept feeling like he owed it to his family to at least try and get better.

“Okay, so, I figure, we don't really know each other right now. We've met recently, so that's normal. But I guess I can tell you a few things, like, about me and stuff. So you know I live alone. You've been to my apartment. It's just me and my dog.”

Bucky was confused. Clint's words washed over him. He felt like drowning. Like letting go and drifting away in the current, uncaring of the consequences.

“He's a mutt I rescued from a car crash. Long story. My neighbourhood has some dodgy people in it, but the ones in my building are good guys and gals. Oh, yeah, I kind of own the building. Long story as well. I'm not really rich though. Just so you know.”

The words came and went like waves, and Bucky surrendered a few pieces of his anxiety to each one. He realised he could actually focus on the words after a while, understand what Clint was saying and what he meant.

“But yeah. It's me and Lucky and probably a few too many take-out boxes. I'm not a great cook. I mean, I can cook, but I just never take the time to, it's not really my thing. Sometimes Kate crashes at my place. If she was a decent person, she would stay on the couch, but usually she steals my bed. I usually fall asleep in front of the TV anyway so it's no big deal, but like. It's the principle of the thing, you know?”

Bucky actually felt like smiling a little now. He downed the last few gulps of his latte.

“Kate is probably my best friend. Kind of. Don't let her know I said that though. It would get to her head. We work together on one of my projects, it's actually how I know her. She's pretty cool. Doesn't take shit from anybody, which is nice. Oh, and she actually is pretty rich. So sometimes she'll pity-buy me pizza in exchange for squatting my place.”

Bucky looked up.

“Which is the least she could do with all that money. I'm kind of jealous sometimes. Although I guess she doesn't own a building, so I have that to be proud of.”

“You're weird,” Bucky managed to croak out around a forced half-smile.

Clint grinned at him like he had just promised to take him to Disneyland for Christmas.

“Hey. Are you feeling a bit better?”

Bucky nodded, still feeling on edge and a bit embarrassed by his behaviour. He couldn't even blame external circumstances for throwing him into this panic. It was all his own fault.

“Kind of.”

It was Clint's turn to nod. “My offer to talk some more still stands, if you want to take it. Or I can just leave you alone for now.”

Bucky tried to think about it now that he was a bit more clear-headed. He felt like he owed Clint some kind of exlanation, but also like he really didn't want to explain himself. Because he didn't want the man to be scared away, or misunderstand the whole situation and start feeling guilty about it somehow.

He wasn't sure if he was ready to go to Clint's place in this state. The flat was enough of an unfamiliar environment that it felt unsafe for now. At the same time, his appartment was also Steve's, and even if he wasn't there right now, everything there reminded Bucky of him. Which meant it might not be the best place for Bucky to discuss his relationship with Steve.

“I... I'd like to go to your place.” He tapped the fingers of his right hand against his empty mug. “If that's okay with you.”

“Yeah. That's cool. That's great. Should we go now?”

Bucky nodded and stood up, wincing at the sound of his chair sliding against the floor.

He put his jacket back on, and didn't look anybody in the eye as he exited the coffeeshop. He waited for Clint outside, falling into step behind him as they walked towards the nearest metro entrance. They didn't talk, and Bucky couldn't help but feel out of place as he forced himself not to fidget. Better not draw any attention to himself. Try to blend in as much as he could.

Clint seemed much more relaxed, though that might also be a front he was putting up to make Bucky feel better. He was thankful anyway.

“We're stepping down at the next stop,” Clint told him at some point, and Bucky nodded, following the man as they stepped out and started walking again.

They stopped in front of a grey appartment building, the kind of building that looked similar to every building around it and that you could only recognise out of habit. Clint pulled out some keys from his pockets and opened the door. He stopped in front of the staircase. “Are you okay with the stairs?”

Clint's apartment was on the fifth floor, and the elevator was a rickety old thing that couldn't be trusted.

“Stairs are fine.”

“Great.” Clint took the lead again, and they climbed in silence through the dark staircase. The blond then took out his keys again and opened the door to his appartment, gesturing for Bucky to walk inside.

“You can hang your jacket hear if you want. And feel free to keep your shoes, I forgot to clean up anyway.”

Bucky did as he was told, taking off his jacket before following the other man into the living-room. There was a television on one wall, with an archery bow hung above it. Right in front was a big couch and a coffee table, and behind that was the half-wall delimiting the kitchen area.

“Take a seat,” Clint said, gesturing to the couch as he picked up two dirty take-out boxes on the coffee table. “Do you want something to drink?”

“I'm fine,” Bucky replied, sitting down and fidgeting with the wrist joint of his prosthesis.

Clint joined him on the sofa, leaving plenty of space between them. Remembering how they had kissed each other only four days ago , Bucky felt a weird sort of ache. They should have sat close to each other. Bucky should have been able to put an arm around his shoulder, pull him even closer.

“Okay,” Clint started, pointedly not looking at the way Bucky was fidgeting. “So you nearly had sex with your best friend.”

Bucky froze.

“I don't mind at all, if that's part of the problem. I mean, we talked about the eventuality of fucking, but we didn't clearly mention exclusivity or whatever. So in case you weren't sure, I really don't mind.”

“It's not...” Bucky tried to find the words, but words had never been his thing. “It's not that. I don't...”

Clint tilted his head slightly, encouraging. He looked so open, ready to receive anything that Bucky woud send his way, ready to accept everything. But Bucky wasn't sure he could put all of it on Clint's shoulders. More selfishly, he wasn't sure he could bring himself to put all of it into words.

“It wasn't about you,” he finally ended up saying, looking away from the other man. He wanted to hide, wanted to go back to his state of cool distance. He felt weak, like this. Vulnerable. Exposed, when the enemy was always ready to strike.

“Okay,” Clint replied. He added nothing else, and the silence grew between them.

Why had Bucky asked to come back here in the first place? Why hadn't he just run away? It would certainly have been much easier. So he wanted to talk. He wanted to tell Clint about it, even though it seemed too personal to share with someone he had met so recently. But maybe it was also because he had met him so recently, because he felt like there was no expectation he had to fulfill with Clint.

“I lost my arm in Afghanistan. Bucky ended up saying, raising his prosthesis towards Clint, palm upwards, so he could easily see all the way it differed from a natural arm.

Clint didn't say anything. He looked down at the silicone hand, looked carefully, then raised his eyes back up to face Bucky.

He took a deep breath. “That was a year and a half ago, more or less. Got amputated right under the shoulder.”

He could remember the pain. Could remember falling, something falling on top of him, the searing pain. And then the waiting. The cold as night set it, as the fever rose, as he waited and waited.

“I couldn't bear to look at the stump, at first. I insisted on getting a prosthesis as early as possible. I couldn't look at it and I couldn't do anything with it and it made me sick.”

He claused his eyes. His body was his body. His history. A testimony of what he had been through, maybe. Of what he had survived. A means to and end, a way to move forward in his life. Just a body, imperfect in its own ways, never anything more than a body.

“I guess I'm still not over all of it.”

Bucky let the silence fall again. Did any of this make sense? They had been talking about Steve, about sex, not about... this. Would Clint understand? He looked up at the blond, who was still watching him, turned awkwardly on his couch. Clint smiled. Not really a smile, more of a slight upwards tilt of his lower lip.

Bucky breathed.

“I lost most of my hearing when I was eight,” Clint said. He gestured towards his right ear, pointing at his hearing aid. “Car accident. My parents died, I lost my ears. My brother was the only one who completely healed from his injuries. At least physically. I guess. I had had hearing problems from childhood, but it made everything worse. I act all tough now, but some days it wasn't that easy. I'm not telling you this to say I understand. I'm not telling you this to make you think your situation isn't that bad.” Clint cringed even as he said it. “But you shared something personal with me, so I wanted to do the same. And I did want to tell you that...That I won't judge you if things get hard. Because I know it does get hard.”

“I thought I had become okay with myself,” Bucky said. “I thought I was over it.”

Clint shrugged. “It's not a race. I... Obviously I don't know what you've gone through, and how much of it is still with you. But getting better is never a race. And it's never over. You're always getting better, you're never over it. I think.”

Bucky closed his eyes. He leaned back on the couch. He would have raised his hands to his face if he didn't think it would be much too obvious.

“Then how am I supposed to have a normal life?”

“Can I touch you?” Clint asked, and Bucky frowned. He opened his eyes and looked at the other man, who only raised an eyebrow, underlining his question.

Bucky nodded.

Clint moved slowly, putting a hand on Bucky's thigh. “There's nothing like a normal life. Everybody is deviant in some way, blaming themselves for their lack of normality for one reason or another. Some of those reasons are big. Some are smaller. But nobody is ever perfect at pretending to be normal.”

Bucky wanted to laugh at the argument. It was a lot too easy, said like this. It had nothing to do with the reality you felt every day, the stares people threw at you, the whispers behind your back.

“Feels like a load of crap,” he said, surprising himself with his own bluntness.

Clint laughed in reaction, removing his hand from Bucky's pants. “Maybe. I can understand where you're coming from.” He smiled, easily, naturally, and Bucky couldn't help but smile back in his own small, self-conscious way.

Then Clint brought his face back to a more neutral expression. “But seriously. I don't want you to feel pressured in any way, okay? We talked about it before, but we both have our boundaries. And those can change, or they can come up unexpectedly, and that's fine. Please don't ever feel scared to tell me if something is bothering you.”

Bucky nodded, feeling like something was stuck in his throat. He had the uncomfortable sensation of being like a child, taken care of by someone else, constantly being explained how the world actually worked. Clint was older than him, but not that much. And, anyway, Bucky had felt the same way before, with Steve, when he had first come back from the war. He felt confused, yes. And the guidance was reassuring in a way. But he was never entirely convinced that he could trust what these others were telling him. He was too aware of his own perception of things, of how he had had to build a life for himself despite what everyone said about it. It had started with his mom's only half-convinced objections to his tastes in music and aesthetics. It had ended with Steve's firm opposition to him signing up with the army, and to his sister's accusations that he was just using it as an excuse to abandon his best friend.

He had learned to stand by his choices, even when the results had been far from what he had expected. At least they had been his choices. At least he had had no one to blame but himself. At least he was well aware of the reasons behind every of his action.

And now, here, someone else was trying to tell him how the world work, being extremely nice about it, extremely considerate, probably not realising that he was doing it at all. And Bucky didn't know what to do. On the one hand, he loved the fact that Clint was trying so hard to be accepting, was trying so hard to make him feel safe. On the other, he partly resented the fact that his friend would assume he needed his help in the first place. It was kind of hypocritical, considering that he himself had thought of Clint as of a possible anchor. But Bucky wasn't above hypocrisy. He had never claimed to be that good a person.

“I'm not gonna tell you everything about me,” Bucky said matter-of-factly. He watched Clint's face as he let the words escape, waiting for a reaction.

Clint didn't flinch away.

“You... You're nice. You're being so nice about all of it, and it's great and I'm so thankful. But you can't ask me to tell you everything. Because I won't.”

Clint nodded. “That's okay.” Bucky looked away. “I don't need to know everything about your past. Or even about your present, I guess. As long I get something to work with. Enough to know who you are as a person, now, with me. Just the you of here and now. Just what you can give me.”

Bucky felt a tear fall down his cheek at that. He wiped it away as quickly as he could. Rubbed at his face until the pressure against his eyes had diminished.

Then he finally looked at Clint.

The other man slowly lifted a hand and pressed it against the shaved side of Bucky's head. He rubbed against it and smiled. “I like it.”

Bucky started crying again at the gesture, a full-on sob this time that tore through his body. Clint pulled his hand away, but Bucky stopped him, putting it back in his hair and holding it there.

He didn't try to speak. Knew it would probably be incomprehensible if he did. He just waited it out and focused on the contact between him and Clint, the sensation of his fingers in his hair as he carefully rubbed it. He let all of his emotions flow out, not trying to make any sense of it or even to name what he was letting go of. He just sobbed and waited until he didn't anymore.

He slowly moved Clint's hand away, but kept hold of his wrist as it lay between them.

“I'm sorry,” he finally said after his tears has calmed down.

Clint closed his fingers around his. “I'm sorry too.”

Bucky wanted to protest. To assure him that he shouldn't. But he could feel that that wasn't the point of the moment. “Yeah. Okay.”

They stayed like that for a while. Close. In silence. Bucky slowly calmed down.

“I'm gonna go,” he finally said.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Bucky stood up. Clint stayed where he was, looking up to meet his eyes. He looked sad, but smiled anyway. His eyes were filled with waiting and vulnerability, and Bucky stepped closer.

He slowly extended a hand towards Clin't face, who leaned into the touch.

“Can I...? I just want to...”

Clint nodded.

Bucky bent down, using his left arm to support himself against the back of the couch, and timidly pressed his lips to Clint's.

He closed his eyes, and focused on the feeling. He had to be present in this. Not as a body, but as a person. He opened his mouth against Clint's, felt the other man respond and thought “Yes.”

He could want this.

#Winterhawk #Marvel #Fanfic #Meeni writes fics #Fic: We Shall Rule

0 notes