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hispeculiartreasure · 5 years

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All We’ve Got is Time - Chapter Fourteen | B.B.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

AU: If They’d Survived/Post-War/Window Washer!Bucky Barnes

Rating: Teen

Word count: 4,000

Chapter 14/24

Warnings: Language. Flashback to a traumatic event from Bucky’s time of service that is fairly upsetting. If you’d rather skip it, do not read the italicized text at the end of this chapter.

AN: This chapter took so much out of me, I’m not going to lie. For sure, the majority of it is good feelings and fluff. But I spent a lot of time crying over this, I felt like my heart was bleeding. Please take the warning to heart, I don’t want anyone to go through any sort of anguish without a little bit of preparation. Chapter 15 is going to be a rough ride as well, just a heads up. The good news is that I’m back on my original posting schedule, woohoo! Returning to posting every other Thursday unless something changes again. I love you.

Chapter Thirteen

‘All We’ve Got is Time’ Masterlist

Saturday afternoon at Grand Central Station was tantamount to pure chaos, but you didn’t much mind since you’re there for a singularly joyful reason. The hubbub of both weary and excited travelers echoes across the cavernous main concourse; you can barely hear yourself think. People from all walks of life bustle around while you hover in the agreed-upon spot, waiting for a particular train to get in.

For the fourth time in 20 minutes you check the giant chalkboard along the main wall to confirm the train’s time of arrival before consulting your watch.

Soon.

Somewhere in the last 34 days you had become the girl that ran to her mailbox each day after work with hopes of hearing from her beau. A girl that missed that boy more every moment he was away, life feeling dull in his absence. A girl that was a hopeless goner. A goner who had had to scrap more than one letter because she’d written Love, Sixth Floor or All My Love, or Love you! No one had told you how difficult love letters were to write without using the word ‘love’.

As you scrambled out your door in a rush to the train station not too long ago, you’d practically run over your unfortunate mailman. He’d had a letter for you - from Pennsylvania - and he chuckled as you couldn’t contain the giant smile on your face. Even he knew what a goner you were.

You’d plopped yourself on the front steps of your apartment and torn open the envelope, reading the letter three times before you walked mooney-eyed to the station, the paper still in hand. His words reverberated in your mind. You snort at the mental image of Peggy throwing herself over a table to maul Steve to death after he’d charged her an exorbitant amount of rent during Monopoly. He said he longed for New York because you were here. Bucky adored that you got along with his family, said you fit in seamlessly. He thanked you for things that were so natural you didn’t even realize you were doing them.

Again your eyes settle on your favorite line - “You’re so familiar to my life now, I can hardly imagine a time when you weren’t in it.” Delicately you trace the word Bucky had written before your nickname - darling - then run a finger over his soothing scrawl of ‘Your Window Washer’.

There were moments when you forgot how this had all begun. How you’d noticed a handsome window washer going about his duty, how he’d gone out of his way to interact with you, to make you smile. The moments you’d tried to connect and had barely missed one another. He really had been your window washer from the start, hadn’t he? You just hadn’t known it.

Your ears prickle to attention when they hear your name ringing clearly in the severely crowded area. Looking up from the letter your eyes rove the crowd as you shove it into your pocket.

Bright, sparkling eyes meet your own across the room.

Eyes that were attached to Bucky’s thousand-watt smile. He looks tired from the journey, but only someone who knew him as well as you could tell. With his suitcase in one hand and his jacket draped over the other arm, he cocked his hat at an incorrect yet very suave angle.

With several trains having just arrived, the concourse was rapidly becoming busier. Passengers exiting the rail cars took up almost all elbow-room available, ending in a flood of people between you and Bucky.

Taking several rushed steps through the hoarde you head in his general direction, continuously searching for that hat a head above the crowd. One moment you saw it, the next you were stuck in a crush of travelers. Finally there were only a few paces between you.

You hear the clunk of his suitcase hitting the ground a split second before your feet are swept from under you, Bucky’s arms strong and secure around your waist. He takes a superfluous little twirl around, pulling a relieved giggle from you. Feeling his heart beating against your chest shockingly sent the peaceful feeling of HOME thrumming through your veins. You didn’t know it was possible to feel home in a person.

Bucky heaves a sigh, one that reminds you of a house settling after a long day of activity. A hand smooths up your back and to the nape of your neck, sending tingles down your spine. When you feel his lips press delicately to the side of your head you’re grateful he’s got a hold on you because you’re fairly certain your knees would’ve given out. For all the affection you doted upon each other, none had ever felt quite so intimate, so. . . tender.

“People are staring,” you whisper in his ear.

He pulls back, granting you a view of that rugged face you’d so dearly missed over the past month. “Don’t care,” he smarts. Then he kisses you properly, scandalizing the old ladies walking past - hell, he was even scandalizing you a bit.

“Okay Romeo,” you lean away, laughing when his lips attempt to chase yours. “Let’s not make any grandparents roll over in their graves with our excessive public displays of affection.”

With that he snorts before reluctantly setting you back on your feet, though not taking his hands from you. He doesn’t say much, just gazes into your eyes. Almost as if he was guzzling a glass of water after having gone days feeling parched, he takes you in, seeming more nourished as the seconds ticked by.

“What, do I have some lunch left on my face?”

There’s that wide grin you love so much. Bucky runs the backs of his knuckles along your jaw and murmurs, “Oh yeah, I missed you a ton.” His head dips down once more, gracing you with a kiss so ardent it steals your breath. A firm hand to his chest separates you and you remind him to behave.

He only laughs heartily and stoops down to retrieve his luggage and hat you’d apparently knocked off during your embrace. You hang his jacket over one of your arms, looping the other around his elbow. Together you walk out of Grand Central and onto the New York streets, feeling like a piece of you had just been restored.

-x-

Over the following weeks, you and Bucky are rarely apart from each other. If you aren’t sleeping or working, you’re together. Suffice it to say, absence had definitely made the heart grow fonder. During those days there was a near-imperceptible but also impossible-to-miss shift between you. In the moments of intense relief of being reunited, the gravity of the relationship dawned upon you. You wonder if you would ever have reached that point if not for the distance and time away forced upon you.

There was a particular night you truly felt the relationship deepen. August was quickly coming to a close, a sense of change coming in the air in the mornings and evenings. It was a Thursday. You and Bucky had generously - well, at the time it had felt generous, but it turned out to bear more likeness to disastrous - offered to cook dinner for the pair of you as well as Peggy and Steve. The other couple was extremely kind about the ordeal, but it had been a mess and barely edible. Thankfully there was plenty of wine and laughter around the table to make up for it.

Having set your eyes on cleaning up the remnants of your destruction of the boys’ kitchen, you were promptly shooed away by Peggy.

“No, no - you cooked for us, we’ll clean the dishes,” she commanded, practically booting you into the living room.

You collapse onto the couch with a huff, not having realized how much time you’d spent standing in the kitchen over a meal that was most definitely not worth the effort. Without much grace Bucky plopped down next to you, head knocking against the back of the sofa, hand searching for yours.

“I really am sorry, Bucky, I told you Mom hadn’t passed down her exceptional cooking skills to me.”

“Don’t worry about it. I have a thing or two I can teach you,” he winks before closing his eyes.

“Although I do feel like we owe Peggy and Steve some sort of tangible apology for making them sit through that.”

He waves his free hand flippantly. “They’ll be fine, they’re big kids. Be thankful you weren’t around for Peg’s burnt pot roast debacle. I don’t think I’ll ever see angrier tears again in my life.”

The faint sound of running water from the kitchen combined with the clattering of dishes signals that Steve and Peggy were no doubt side by side in front of the sink, shirt sleeves rolled up and out of the way, bumping elbows in their homey little chore. Bucky talks about his work in the garage while idly flipping pages of a textbook he’d placed in his lap. He dutifully asks after your coworkers, expresses genuine care and concern for them which never fails to warm your heart.

A hum of conversation floats into the room and you give in to your exhaustion slightly, dropping your head to Bucky’s shoulder. “Are they okay? Sounds serious.”

“Work stuff,” he mumbles. “Not that you hadn’t guessed it, but they have a hard time leaving it in the office. Which is understandable considering what they do.” Bucky shifts his arm up, offering you a place to wiggle beneath it, nice and cozy in his side.

“Mmm, saving the world and all. I mean, at least it sounds like a better talk than the one we walked in on after the baseball game.”

“That was definitely a doozy. Apparently it turned out okay and they seem to be better off because of it. Steve said something about how getting everything out into the open always suited them better than keeping feelings to themselves.”

“Makes sense, I suppose. So tell me what your latest lesson is about, maybe I can help.” Bucky pours over paperwork he’d retrieved from the desk in his room, calling attention to marks he’d made on diagrams that had confused him, underlining terms for which he had a hard time finding definitions. For quite a while you work like that on the couch, listening, pointing things out, doing your best to help where you could and encourage where you couldn’t.

You hadn’t noticed how heavy your eyes had gotten until Peggy’s voice fills the room, causing you to bolt into sitting upright again. “You better leave soon or the neighbors will start talking,” she halfway teases before offering a graceful wave; both you and Bucky mutter goodbyes.

“I’m leaving soon, I promise,” you call out before the front door clicks shut as Steve and Peggy step outside for a moment to themselves.

Minutes later Steve comes back down the hallway, sleepily bidding you both goodnight before slinking to his bedroom.

“Ugh, the walk home is going to be horrible. We waited way too late tonight.”

“I know, I know,” Bucky sighs. “Just listen to my essay about the benefits of having a key-based ignition in the future and then I’ll take ya home.”

“Okay,” you agree, eyes drooping as you focus on his steady tone.

The next thing you know, a door squeaks open. A few heavy footsteps move in your direction and you hear Steve murmur, “Oh.”

You squint one eye, then the other open against the sunlight streaming through the living room windows. Looking around, your confusion only heightens when you realize you’re in the boys’ apartment. Moving to prop up on an elbow you glance to your side to see Bucky fast asleep on the couch, his shirt rumpled from where your face had just been plastered. A pile of textbooks and sheets of paper is in disarray around Bucky’s feet. Steve was standing in the doorway from the kitchen, looking slightly uncomfortable and a little worried in his blue striped cotton pajama set peeking from under his robe.

Swiping a hand across your eyes you realize with dismay that you’re still wearing makeup, which is now smeared all over your face. “What. . . what time is it?” you groan.

Steve looks to the clock on the wall. “Uhh. . . a little after eight.”

“Well that’s not so bad for a Saturday.”

“It’s. . . it’s Friday.”

“SHIT!” you clamber to your feet.

Your exclamation startles Bucky awake, looking as disoriented as you felt and extremely bothered by the anxiety you’re radiating.

“Oh my gosh, this is horrible, this’ll ruin me - we slept together!”

Bucky looks down at his mussed clothing hurriedly before confirming everything was where it had been the previous night. “Well, technically-”

“Shut it,” you snap as you dart around the apartment. “I stayed overnight in your home, society doesn’t care about technicalities. Oh my god, I’m going to be late for work by the time I get back to my apartment to change clothes. Flannery is either going to kill me or worse, fire me - WHERE ARE MY DAMN SHOES!”

“I’m gonna start a pot of coffee,” Steve says to Bucky before slipping from the room.

“Baby, take a breath-”

“I don’t even have time for that, why didn’t I just go home early last night? Where did I put my purse?”

“Honey, it’s gonna be okay, will you stop for a minute?”

Eyes wide you spin to him, arms thrust out. “How is this going to be okay? Debbie probably worried about me all night AND she’s going to think I’m easy for staying at my boyfriend’s so she probably won’t want to live with me anymore-”

Suddenly Bucky’s hands grip your shoulders, forcing you to a stop. “Hey,” he says firmly, yet with a touch of gentleness. “You’re gonna call Debbie right now and tell her it was too late last night, so you slept over at Peggy’s. Would it be worse to show up to work late or not go in at all?”

“Probably show up late, she’s a stickler for punctuality,” you squeak, heart still beating out of your chest.

“Then call in sick after you talk to your roommate. You’ve been a model employee, even Flannery knows people get sick sometimes. Take another deep breath for me - there ya go. No one has to know that we accidentally fell asleep on the couch, Steve’s not gonna say anything to anyone, okay?”

You only nod, too focused on stopping the hyperventilating.

“You’re alright, c’mere.” Drawing you into his chest, you press your forehead into it, willing your tense muscles to relax. “I’m due at Harvey’s garage today, how about you come with me? I know he’d love to see you and it’d feel good to be working together again, right? We can stop by your place on our way over so you can change. How does that sound?”

Even amid the panic a part of your heart keened at the comfort Bucky was providing, at the feeling of being cared for.

A few minutes later, your relieved roommate and a surprisingly sympathetic Flannery had been called and placated. After you’d calmed down, Steve offers you coffee and cereal while Bucky changes into the coveralls Harvey had given him; Steve threatened Bucky that if he skipped breakfast again, he’d tell Winnifred.

Before you know it you’re in the garage, playfully sticking out your tongue at Harvey’s teasing about playing hookie. You forget how much working with your hands brings you peace until you’re doing it again - the stress wound in your back eases as you help Bucky on a tune-up. With a hip propped on the front of the car, you watch as Bucky follows the checklist, testing the functions of various parts to make sure they’re up to snuff.

For the first time that tumultuous morning you take a look at the man next to you. What you see sends a ripple of unease through your gut. Even though you’d both slept like the dead last night, the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced than they should have been and you find yourself mentally going over the last few days to remember if they were there earlier. With only his health in mind, you notice the coveralls are little looser than when he’d first tried them on for you.

“Bucky,” you ask. He hums in question from beneath the hood. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine, why?”

“I’m not trying to make conversation, I really want to know if you’re okay. You look tired. Well, you’ve been looking tired.”

He straightens and arches a sardonic brow. “That your way of saying I look ugly today?”

“Stop it, I’m being serious.”

“I mean, I feel tired but it’s been busy. Nothing different than usual.”

“Are you sleeping?”

“Enough.” He wipes grease from his hands before shutting the hood, evading your eyes.

“So that’s a no on sleeping. Between two jobs and school, you’re going to run yourself ragged.”

“School’s almost over.”

“You still have two more months!”

There’s a flash of emotion in his eyes you can’t quite identify before he consciously smooths it over. “I’m fine, doll. Really. I just. . .” You wait patiently. You almost think he’s not going to finish when he says, “I wanna work hard and do this right. All this is so I can have a better life. . . and so you can have one too.” He finally turns his eyes back to yours. “I’m afraid that if I don’t give this all I have, I won’t be good enough to pull it off. And I really want this to work.”

Internally you debate with yourself. More than anything you want to reassure him, to soothe him, to fix all his fears and problems. But there’s also a part of you reminding yourself that that’s not your job. It’s Bucky’s life, not yours. The last thing you wanted was to become a nag and drive him further away.

You smile and drop the matter, hoping he’d take your concern gracefully. The rest of the day you work in semi-comfortable silence, each tip-toeing around the other and the subject.

That night, Bucky tosses and turns, your conversation playing over in his head. Maybe he’d been too harsh, maybe he should have been more gentle. Maybe he should take your advice and stop washing windows. But another voice (one that smacks of his father) pushes back, insists that all the work was necessary if he wants to be successful, to have a brighter future.

Finally, he drifts into a restless sleep, the all-consuming thoughts of a better life for himself and for you finally fading. Or so he thought.

-x-

Cold. Cold cold cold. He’d been on that fucking hill for hours with his belly buried in dirt, waiting. Waiting waiting waiting. Funny how this job required hours of waiting and only seconds of action.

Eyes slant to the watch he’d taken off and propped up on a stone. Nine minutes to go. Willing feeling to return to his hands, he flexed his grip on the familiar weapon he’d been cradling for hours.

To calm his mind, he runs the math again - latitude, wind speed, relative motion. Check, check, check.

The radio laying in the reeds buzzed softly with the other Commandos reporting in, just loud enough for him to hear.

“He’s on the move, Barnes,” Jones relayed from his post across the street from the church, of which Bucky had a clear line of sight from his position. Bucky leans in, one eye shut against the world so he could zero in through his scope.

The target appeared in the shadows of the doorway. Schmidt’s rumored new right-hand-man, Karl Fischer, almost as psychotic as Hydra’s leader. Falsworth had been able to get chummy with some of his men over drinks the night before, learn the faction was storing weapons in the sanctuary’s basement. Parishioners had shared that their priest had mysteriously disappeared after refusing to agree to the commander’s demands last week.

Bucky knew that the individual he watched confer with Fischer was by no means a man of God, unless priests now walked around with crooked collars and Hydra weaponry stashed in their back waistband.

The conspirators shake hands before leaning in to undoubtedly whisper two words that he had grown to loathe as they were murmured over him dozens of times while he lay strapped to an operating table in Azzano.

They pull apart and the target takes one step down the stairs.

Bucky’s finger holds tension tight on the trigger.

Two steps.

There’s a thought nibbling at the back of his mind. Begging for attention. But there’s no time.

Three steps.

The rifle’s kickback slams into his shoulder as his eye remains trained on the commotion in his scope.

Bucky blinks.

Fischer was still standing.

Had he missed? Were his calculations off? He fires again and finally sees the wretched man crumble. Then Bucky sees the other form on the ground and his stomach drops.

He hadn’t missed. Not totally.

Radio and watch forgotten on the ground he bolts for the trees, for the Harley he’d stashed beneath fallen branches before the sun had come up.

The rest of the Commandos were following the plan, corralling Fischer’s cronies before they could spread news of their leader’s demise.

Dugan shouts something at him as he speeds into the square, all but leaping off the bike when he nears the church.

Bucky’s presence perturbed Steve; if Bucky was here, something was wrong. Stepping over the score of soldiers he’d already managed to incapacitate for the time being, he rushed to meet his friend.

“Buck, what’re you-”

He ducked a shoulder into Steve - which was more like hitting a brick wall - to move past him to the church steps.

Heavy footfalls take him over the long-dead Fischer to the small body one stair above him where Bucky comes to kneel.

Her hair was dark, like his sisters’. She was young like them too. Except he’d never seen this much blood from one of their scraped knees.

A local. Had probably been praying inside before she went about the rest of her day. The overturned basket with meager rations strewn down the steps taunted him.

Bucky struggled to make sense of what happened. Fischer must have slipped or perhaps had a premonition and used her as a shield right as the shot had been fired.

A shot that had taken a blameless life. Bucky’s shot.

He wasn’t naive. He knew every action taken by each soldier sent ripple effects that altered the lives of many - but he’d never been face-to-face with the outright consequence of his profession.

Being so focused on Fischer, he hadn’t even noticed another person in the vicinity. And this young woman he held - when had he started holding her? - had paid the price for it.

Gradually Bucky became aware of Steve’s insistent tugging on his shoulder.

If they broke down over every innocent caught in the crossfire they would all have lost their minds by now. Everyone had to harden that part of themselves - not for convenience, but for survival. Bucky thought he’d mastered the act, but this girl couldn’t be much older than Evie.

“Steve, I-” Bucky sees his anguish reflected in the blue eyes of his best friend.

“I know, Buck. I’m sorry. But they’ve got her.”

Suddenly he’s sees the other villagers surrounding them, grief tracking down their cheeks. Reaching to take her away from him, to weep and mourn this sweet loved one whose time on earth was finished.

Staggering to his feet, Bucky swayed at the blood covering his clothing. Steve steadied him with an iron grip on his arm, a hand to his back.

“Mea culpa,” Bucky whispers against the wind, the sight of her unmoving eyes burning into his memory.

She wasn’t getting a better life. Why should he?

Chapter Fifteen

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes series #All We've Got is Time #AWGIT #Chapter Fourteen #beka writes

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kurenaiwataru · 4 years

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Victor Grantz Observations

I’ve been playing Victor Grantz the Postman for 4 days now, and I’ve decided to compile some observations and headcanons into a convenient post for my own benefit. If anyone else finds this interesting, that’s cool, but this will be mainly for my own personal use. Check the Read More for my humongous paragraphs filled with Victor Grantz observations and headcanons. They’ll probably show up in my fics at some point, whenever I get around to writing again. Until then, enjoy all of this nonsense.

1. Firstly, Victor is a lot quieter than the other survivors. Yes, he pants and moans and makes ghastly noises from time to time, but on the whole, he keeps his mouth shut. Quite literally. The voice recorded for him, in addition to being extremely soft and light, has mainly an array of muffled throat noises to pair with the fact that his mouth is sewn shut. Even when he gets sent off on the rocket chair, he doesn’t scream but lets out a muffled cry. It’s very cute and I do enjoy it.

2. Victor is a genuinely good boy. Despite how he seems to not enjoy people in face-to-face settings, he has a deep rooted belief in the morality and goodness of people, finding that humanity’s moral goodness is merely hidden beneath the veneer each person shows to the world. This is in contrast to how Aesop views people, where he would rather interact with a dead thing rather than a living person. In that way, Victor has a charm that reminds me of Kurenai Wataru from Kamen Rider Kiva. I mentioned this on Twitter, and I still hold to it now that I’ve had so much time with the character. Wataru was also one to think that humanity was depraved and unclean, yet he believed in the hidden goodness of mankind and fought for them as Kiva. That is also Victor’s charm, only with handwritten letters instead of vampire armor and a demonic horse motorcycle.

3. Victor’s empathy shines through via his in-game actions. One of his traits is that he is empathetic, and I feel it whenever I play as him. I’m sure it’s because I’m a weirdo, but whenever I send off a letter, I hope it arrives safely. When Wick barks to indicate the letter has been delivered, relief washes over me and I feel so much joy that it was received safely. I’ll often get thanked for the letters, which isn’t necessary but greatly appreciated. It makes me feel like I’m doing a good job, even when I’m not utilizing the benefits of the buff. And Wick the Post Dog is very cute and hardworking. I always feel bad when he can’t deliver a letter or I send him off and it’s too late.

4. Speaking of Wick, here are some observations about him. He’s a weird mix of the seer’s owl and the wildling’s boar. When you use owl sight, the observed character can’t see the owl until it’s needed, which is how Wick is sometimes. Wick isn’t seen unless he’s needed, making him invisible until you’ve decided on the letter you wish to send. Once you give Wick a letter, he will appear visibly on the field like the boar and you can crash into him if you’re not looking. I think hunters can hit Wick, too, but I’ve never seen it since I give Wick letters and don’t see him until I send another letter. The only other times I see him are if we happen to be running in the same direction or if I accidentally crash into him while we’re going opposite directions. He’s very small and hard to see if you’re wearing The Embrace, since it makes him black. I’ve been using Victor’s base skin since Friday after crashing into Wick several times during one match. He’s a lot easier to see when he’s a bright yellow dog. Darned good doggo, 13/10, would pet infinitely.

5. From here on out, it’s headcanons. While playing Victor for… 4 hours… yesterday, I started to wonder what exactly was inside the envelopes he sends out. I then envisioned him writing each letter by hand before his matches, making sure he has a surplus to send to people. Sometimes he gets so excited about how well he’s written a letter that he wishes to read it again, which is why he opens letters surreptitiously during matches, as though to remind himself of what good writing skills he has.

Anyway, after thinking about that, I decided to try my hand at writing such letters given the letter types he has available as prompts:

Urgent Letter

Farewell Letter

I am writing you this to inform you that I am leaving. The time we spent together was beautiful, but it had to end. To part ways is a normal experience, as people ebb and flow from our lives like the tide. Each new phase of the moon brings new people for us to experience and love, just as it takes people away, and I now must away with the tide.

Should we see each other again someday, I hope that you will remember the happiness we felt. There is no malice in this parting, for farewells are hope for a bright future apart. May time be gentle as the waves of change flow over you.

Victor

Tranquility Letter

I hope this letter finds you well, for now there is peace, though its tranquility I know is fleeting. Time will find us, and when it does, hardship will prevail again. The waltz of time dances around us, and we are in one upward beat of its musical rhythm. The next beat will fall upon us, and time will rage with its horrors again. Yet now we can ease ourselves into this momentary peace.

Do not think to darkness. Do not think to tragedy. If famine and war and violence befall us, we will be together in it. We will persevere and strive towards living, to find that beat of tranquility again.

Time dances on to its own beat, and we can join its dance if we are surefooted.

Be safe and at peace,

Victor

Bravery Letter

Rise up, my friend and ally, and throw yourself into the fray! You are strong and brave beyond compare; have confidence in yourself and we shall not lose. Fight on, brethren! Victory shall be in our grasp should we merely strive to obtain it. Reach out your hand and grasp victory! Hold it firm in your hand and never let go. We must survive to another day. Be like the sun, rising and setting in glory with each turning of the Earth. Do not think to failure. Do not think to the endless bitter outcomes. We can win the day.

Stay safe, my dear friend and ally.

Victor

Inspiring Letter

Have you ever looked to the sky and thought of its brilliance? On a summer day, bright and warm, we are treated to bountiful warmth and beauty. Each day sprawls before us in splendid colors, radiating their joy endlessly. Everything is verdant and rich, succulent in its glory each day. Even in rain and gloom, colors shine to warm even a dull day.

That is you. You are the summer. When you smile, birds sing of its radiance and send those songs to the wind. You are the brightest and the warmest. You are brilliant in intelligence and warm in kindness. You exude life and color to all who see you, even on days when you lack the confidence to shine. I have seen you shine, and you are stunning.

Shine for everyone. Be brilliant and bright. You are resilient and true willful. Use that willfulness to your advantage and become a beacon in the dark. The path you forge blazes only for you. Cleave the darkness before you and shine towards a brighter tomorrow.

Ever faithful under your light,

Victor

Hope Letter

Do you believe in anything? Do you believe in God? Do you believe in science? Do you believe in the morality of humanity at all? Belief is what drives us to be so resilient and adaptive. We drive ourselves toward betterment because we simply believe that we can be better. What an incredible drive we have!

Tantamount to this drive is a simple belief in hope. A hope is like a wish, but more tangible and real. A hope can be so simple. I hope that you will see me. I hope that you will smile for me. I hope that you will say my name. Such simple desires can keep us motivated for short intervals. On a day that drudges on, one can merely hope that it will be lunchtime soon. On a day when the air is cold and the sky is dark, one can hope that the clouds will part and bring the sun back to smile on us. Hope isn’t as lofty as wishing. I could wish for something unfathomable, such as a giant swimming pool filled of ice cream and chocolate pudding, but wishes rarely come true. With hope, there is a flicker of reality in them and with enough hard work that hope can be obtained.

I hope that you have belief in hope. I am sending you this in the hope that you receive it. I am sending you this in the hope that it will aid you in some way. I know not how, but if it is helpful to you in anyway, that is all I hope for.

I hope to see you again. I hope that we will share a knowing smile between us. I hope that you will say my name and that the word is filled with your gratitude that I helped you, even if my aid was so small.

Those are my sincerest hopes and I have put all of my belief into each one.

Stay safe, my friend, and return to me.

Victor

These are just quick samples that I whipped up, but I’d like to think that he is feverishly writing, knowing that his letters inspire hope in the hearts of those he sends them to. I feel like it’s a lovely sentiment that he endeavors to bring just a modicum of inspiration to his teammates, even if he fails in the match. Especially if he’s sending out the permanent buffs. That’s his last wish, essentially. He wants you to succeed where he has failed because he has faith that you can triumph.

Those screenshots are mine btw. If you want to see them all in tweet format, you can find them on my Twitter account. Feel free to RT if you think it’ll help someone.

6. Victor is quiet, meek, and a nervous wreck, but he has a heart of gold. Much like Aesop, he’s shy and not the most forthright with his emotions. He hides himself behind a mask of silence, as I enumerated in How Do You Explain Love? I wouldn’t say that he’s afraid of intimacy, but more that he worries that intimacy may shatter his worldview. I doubt that having his world be shattered in such a way would leave Victor in a poor situation. He already has belief in the goodness of humanity, as witnessed by his introductory video, yet he could be left shaken by the thought that not all people wear such reprehensible masks. To know that there are people who wear their honesty plain as the nose on their face would be a shock to him, but I think he would readily accept it. Despite how he hasn’t experienced much kindness in his life, he’s always open to giving kindness to anyone he meets.

7. And I believe that that kindness could be extended even to hunters. Though they pursue him daily for death, he likely understands that it’s merely their job and laments not being able to give them letters as he can for his allies. Perhaps if the hunters got warm, heartfelt letters like the survivors do, then they would not be so cruel and heartless. He knows that many of the hunters were human once, and he would likely want to appeal to the remainder of their humanity by offering them comfort in the form of a beautiful letter. A wonderfully crafted letter can bring even the strongest men to tears, and I’m certain that Victor would feel that the hunters are deserving of that kindness despite how terrifying and terrible they are.

…Okay, I think I’m done. Sorry this is so long. If you see me in game, I’ll try my best to be a good letter fairy, delivering hope and inspiration to all!

#identity v #victor grantz #idv postman

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olaluwe · 5 years

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Athlete [photo credit] unplash.com

I don't know of anybody who embarks on a journey without having a clear-cut description, road-map or if you like graph of the destination he or she intends to reach.

And if such a person does exist, he or she is definitely just taking a walk.

Having a clear-cut description will enable the traveller to navigate the route with ease.

Therefore based on what may suit the individual journeyman, it is either the road-map is in the traveller’s head memorized or on a piece of paper for ease of reference as the journey progresses.

Or alternatively, it is on the traveller's phone if he or she owns one.

This is to makes it more likely for the traveller to make a call to someone who may be of help in case he or she misses the way.

Or God forbid like we used to say in this part of the world where I come from, something terrible happens. Contacts on the phone might just come handy for the rescuers. That's by the way.

In the case all these are not available, the traveller must be prepared to ask for the direction where and when it is necessary as the journey hots up from those they meet on the way who are familiar with the route or have being to the destination he or she desires.

To do the contrary is akin to courting a disaster altogether. It is also tantamount to ending up wandering aimlessly in no man's land as if on a wild goose chase.

As unpalatable as it may sounds, however, it is the reality of some people's life and a fate that awaits anybody who is presently going through life without a purpose.

What then is a purpose, if I may ask?

Purpose is a goal or a plan of action which one has set his or her mind to achieve.

It can also be defined as a vision of what one wants to see comes to reality in one's life.

It may be to get married at a specific time in one's life. It may be to go to university. It may be to learn one vocational skill or the other. It may be to start a business or grow an existing one into a profitable national or global brand. The list goes on and on and on.

How is a life purpose set?

Life goal can be set provided there is sufficiently clear understanding about what it entails and what it requires to achieving it.

Life goal can also be set so far there is the courage of conviction, spiritual, intellectual, material, and psychological enablement- that the goal-setter can go all the way not minding the challenges that lay ahead.

One can set a life goal for himself or herself or it can be predestined.

I'm not saying setting life goals for oneself is wrong. In fact, it is allowed.

It is even possible for one to stumbles into his or her God's given purpose (s) as the case may be. It happens.

It is, however, far better to seek to know the plan or the purpose of God for your life.

The reason being that its fulfilment and glory far outweigh anything you can ever imagine.

It is clearly for this reason Apostle Paul said in the book of Romans 8: 30. [Moreover whom He predestined, these He also called; whom He called, these He also justified; and whom He justified, and these He also glorified. NKJV.]

This verse, though occurring as a form of spiritual exhortation to the church in general; its very essence can as well be transposed for use in myriads of the aspirational situation of an individual.

When to set a life goal?

If you are setting a life goal for yourself, it is best to do so when you are setting forth at dawn.

I mean you must start as early as possible. There's nothing age-specific about it. We have seen people who find their purpose so early in life. And they are often called geniuses. Parents and guardians are therefore implored to be observant of their children and wards.

Right from elementary school, conscious efforts and attention must be paid to signs on the way of our lives that indicate where life is leading us through not only responsive self-awareness and of the environments but a deliberate developmental engagement with our natural endowments and acquisitive skills.

But if you are not sure or still clueless, like I said earlier, then it is time to go and meet your maker so that he can help set the record straight and it shall be well with you.

Qualities of Purpose:

· Purpose is spiritual. Just like most things in life, purpose, too, takes its root from or in the spirit before their physical manifestations.

· Purpose is adjustable.

There are short, medium, long-term purposes or goal. As a footballer for instance, the longest you can stay active is roughly, very roughly around forty years.

After that, you have to adjust your goal to something else that demands less of kinetic intelligence.

Inability to do this has often led to many great athletes suffering greatly from then henceforth because of either problem of adaptation or mismanagement of their finances.

Going bankrupt is one of the many consequences.

So, we must be able to adjust our goal as we journey through life because we are most likely to end up not where and how we started.

· Purpose is time-bound. Life is transitional - childhood, adolescent, and adulthood- which require different rules of engagements.

There are things you can do as a babe that you cannot do as an adolescent. And there are things you can do as an adolescent which you cannot do as an adult and vice versa.

So, everything in life happens in space and time. Besides, life purpose can only be achieved when one is alive.

As such, only the living strives towards their life purpose. If it doesn't happen when you are young, it may happen when you are old.

I've been around long enough to confidently say nobody should be written off on the account where they are today.

Things can change. And I've seen many of such happened. So, you have no reason to lose faith in achieving your purpose in life even if you suffer repeated setbacks.

· Purpose leads to success.

When one is purposeful in life, success is a near assurance with hard/smart work, optimism, enthusiasm, faith, and perseverance.

· Purpose is definable.

Whatever in life can be imagined can be defined. It outlines can be verbally or manually painted. And the moment one can define his or her purpose in life, the battle is half won, the rest is left to the details of the methodology adopted towards achieving it.

· Purpose is conceptualizable.

Life is a campaign; and long and tortuous one at that. So, there is a need for proper conceptualization which gives room for feedback, evaluation and adjustment to strategies as and when necessary.

· Purpose is plan-able.

A purpose is plan-able when it becomes a revelation. And writing out the methods, steps or approaches to achieving it is of necessity because it is a journey. And it advisable not to take lightly this part of our goal-setting; it could make or mar you.

· Purpose is achievable.

Purpose is nothing if it is not achievable. A purpose well-conceived is achievable.

Right from the point of its conceptualization, no stone should be left unturned to ensure everything is put in their place. Otherwise, it is not a purpose. It is a wish.

· Purpose is miss-able (like a sitter-goal in a game of football)

Purpose can be missed if we give in to distraction.

It is like when you get to the marketplace, (which life is metaphorically, speaking) do you focus on what you are there to buy or you allow yourself get distracted by the noisome environment occasioned by the many buyers and sellers? No!

Let your eyes stay on the ball of your purpose in life at all the time.

· Purpose is recoverable.

If a footballer whose purpose on the field of play is to score a goal and he misses a sitter (s) as the case may be or if he misses what we often refer to as glaring chances but in a sudden change of fortune he is able to atone for his sins of not converting obvious goal-scoring chances by netting a brace at the dying minute of the game.

We can say he has recovered his purpose maybe not when the fans of the team expect him to but it doesn't matter. It would have been worse if he didn't and his team ended up on the losing side.

From the foregoing, we can then conclude that a purposeless life is, among others, one that's lacking in direction, focus to buttress what have been mentioned above.

A purposeless life can therefore not be worth living because it is miserable. It is time-wasting. It is unprofitable. It is frustrating not only to the one living it but to others who are stakeholders in our life project.

And so a purposeless life is, put summarily, and to reinforce what I said earlier, a disaster.

And this definitely is not the plan of God for your life and my life.

But how come then that people live a purposeless life?

On the surface of it, I want to assume nobody sets out to live a purposeless life, at least not consciously, which unfortunately they now live for one reason or the other.

People live a purposeless life sometimes out of sheer ignorance, disobedience, wishful thinking, dishonesty, and misguided exuberance, or as a result of a care-free lifestyle if you like.

To illustrate the points I'm driving at, let me give one practical personal example.

I think it is only fair and proper I start with myself instead of with others, more so because; charity they say begins at home.

In 1999, I was in Abuja as a member of a team of builders to execute a project for the Nigerian Army.

But somehow, the project didn't go according to plan.

And out of anger and frustration, I left and returned to Lagos which was our originating state and my place of residence.

Still, for saving grace, unknown to me, I travelled to Abeokuta to see my family where I met a God's servant at the earnest imploring of a blood brother.

The God's servant told me that I should go back to Abuja that God has something in stock for me there.

But under my breath, I was disputing his prophetic declaration and vowing never to go back. I didn't go to disobedience.

Later, it so happened that another project was substituted for the one that suffered a delay and my compatriots who tarry make really good money.

And I only get to know of it two years afterwards when out of frustration I was forced to go and rejoined them in Calabar where also the main project has been completed. There I was left with scraping the remnants.

So, you can see what an act of disobedience did cause me.

On a daily basis, purpose and opportunities have been missed by people who, among others, are disobedient, dishonest, wishful thinkers, ignorant, living in misguided exuberance or a care-free lifestyle.

What having a purpose does for your life?

It gives direction to life.

When you are living a life of purpose, there is a direction to your life. You are not just wandering aimlessly around. And like the saying goes - if you don't stand up for something, you fall for anything. May that not be your portion in Jesus Name? Amen.

It gives life a focus.

When there is a purpose to life, focus is automatic. You gaze don't shift impatiently from what is helpful to things that are don't add up to your life.

It puts sparks into life.

Purpose puts sparks into life. There are no dull moments in your life because a set of actionable plans or projects have been put in place. You have something to live for.

It makes life worth living.

A purposeful life makes life itself worth living. And the more your life's goal continues to take shape right before your eyes, the greater your zeal to wanting to see it all to the very end,

It helps to determine where you stand and how much ground you have covered in life.

When you are purposeful, you have something to evaluate every now and then as regards where it manifestation vis-a-viz its realisation stands and how much ground you have covered with an ongoing project (s) as the case may be.

Finally, in all education must be prioritized because it has a place in the greater fulfilment of our life goals and purposes.

#IFTTT #Blogger

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