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missorgana · 4 years

Text

like a tattoo kiss

pairing: karolina dean/nico minoru

fandom: marvel’s runaways

rating: general

word count: 4228

warning: swearing

summary: Nico doesn't get nervous. Except around pretty people. Especially around pretty people. (tattoo parlor AU)

(it’s been 84 years... Finally, i am writing!! life and uni has been extremely messy, so i’m just so glad to be creating again uwuu. this was meant for the @augustwritingchallenge but alas... i miss my alien and witch girlies!! thank you to my baby @griffinbellamy for beta reading <333 you are Everything. hope you enjoy this mess!!)

read on ao3

Nico doesn’t get nervous.

Or rather, she’s not the type of person to be nervous. Especially while working.

Her parents weren’t over the moon when she told them what line of work she was aiming for, not that she needs their permission or anything, but they’d warmed up to her internship over time.

Many times she had tried to explain why exactly she liked her art to be expressed through ink on skin, but parents just don’t understand some things. All hail rebellious teenagers, or something.

Amy’s always been supportive, because she’s an angel, Nico thinks, and her sister managed to get them along, somehow.

In the end, they were probably just happy to get her out of the house more.

By a string of luck she had found a local tattoo parlour, well, actually, the city’s best, and they were willing to take her on, along with her best friend, coincidentally.

And the boss kept an eye on her and Alex to make sure they didn’t misbehave, but just like herself, he wasn’t the type to mess around with the things he was passionate about.

They had always been excellent lab partners way back, considered each other their partner in crime, no less.

And over time, they both were allowed to work more freely. Even to the point of taking their own clients, albeit only walk-ins, for now.

This week, a little thing about Nico’s inability to get nervous might be changing, but she only knows that when a walk-in comes along late Friday afternoon.

It’s actually an hour and a half before closing time, that is, and they weren’t expecting much more people besides reservations.

But low and behold, when the bell above the door rings, Nico glances up to the sight of two young people, surely the same age as her and Alex.

And while the guy wears a leather jacket, messy brown hair that she isn’t sure which direction it was meant to go, the girl following behind him has her blonde hair in a braid over her shoulder, and is, unlike her companion, more appropriately dressed for the weather which has been abnormally hot this season.

The stranger tugs the cardigan on her shoulders over her white dress just a little. She looks impatient, poking the guy’s shoulder and saying something low and unintelligible.

Did Alex have to pinch her side to get the attention he wanted? Looks like it, yes.

Because holy shit.

Nico sort of feels like a deer in headlights, which is a joke, this is not anywhere near a situation like that, and a stupid metaphor, anyway.

But her previous string of keeping her cool, not letting her nerves overtake her entire being, is getting, well, thrown out of the window at this moment.

Alex likes to call this her “bisexual panic”. He’s a little bit of an asshole.

Well, they both are, but it doesn’t matter, because if Nico has to hear him tease her about “being a wreck around pretty people” one more time, she might just lose it.

It’s fine. She’s a customer, a civilian like herself, keep it together.

Thing is, this might just be the prettiest girl she’s ever laid her eyes upon. Sounds melodramatic, she knows.

This stranger looks like an extreme polar opposite of herself, in terms of fashion sense, anyway, but it wouldn’t be the first time.

She likes tall people, too.

Also, the blonde turns her head, seemingly surveying the parlour with a skepticism in her eyes that Nico’s seen many, many times, but it doesn’t faze her, because those eyes are the clearest blue possible.

She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, and Nico notices a small cross hanging around her neck.

Again, not exactly the community she herself hangs around, which might explain why she’s, tragically, never seen this person before now, but Nico’s experienced far too much shit to be judgmental.

“You done staring?” Alex’s voice mumbles on her left side, swiftly passing by to greet the two potential clients.

Guess he’s just earned himself another eyeroll. Or a death stare, maybe.

Her voice of reason gets to her, despite the, ugh, panic, and if she just runs this on their autopilot measure of things, as usual, it’ll all be fine.

Yes, definitely.

This isn’t some fairytale land, Nico tells herself, it’s not like this is your moment finally meeting the love of your life, or whatever, and you’ll live happily ever after.

She’ll most likely never see her again. She’s just very, extremely pretty- no, beautiful. Can’t blame her for being a little dumbfounded, right?

Alex is the kind of person who could make meaningful conversation with a toddler, a parrot, or a brick, if he really wanted to, so Nico’s glad to let him do most of the talking, as always.

He usually explains the basics to the clients, asks them about the design they have in mind (if they have an idea to begin with, that is), and that’s usually when he pulls Nico out from her thoughts, especially in situations like this where there’s more than one customer in the parlour at the time.

Given that their boss has more or less left them in charge of the shop till closing time today, however, she decides to make her way into the conversation herself.

“We’re getting matching tattoos!” the brunette guy tells them eagerly, a smug grin on his face, and judging by the impatience visible on his companion’s face, Nico has a feeling this wasn’t her idea.

She still sports a fond smile, though, despite her still not looking totally convinced of her… friend? partner?’s idea.

Alex nods politely, his customer service smile put on like he owns the place, and makes sure to present her to their soon-to-be canvases, “We’re interns here, Nico and I, but we got plenty of experience, so you’re in safe hands.”

And now, the girl looks directly at her. She might just mentally combust.

Nico has always hated those romantic traditions, and Valentine’s Day, and love at first sight, please, what vomit inducing bullshit.

She has to remember that, especially now, because a way too pretty girl looks at her up and down, very subtle and quick, so much so that it could be missed, but the bright smile she gives her makes her heart jump in her chest.

Nico smiles back, of course. She’s not an asshole.

“This is Chase and Karolina, by the way.” her best friend tells her, because administration, obviously, even though his voice definitely isn’t forgetting her and her panic, but fuck that.

Karolina.

She brushes another lock of hair out of her face, and Nico’s struggling to keep her attention on the transaction. She can’t be like this right now, nope, as sweet as the smile with pink lips staring her in the face is.

“So, you got a design?” Nico then inquires, once the pricing and everything is out in the open, knowing too well Alex will tease her more the longer she stares, and well, doesn’t know what to do with herself, so she might as well get on with it.

“A ‘C+K’ should do it, really, Oh! Can you do a heart?”

And Karolina sticks her tongue out at her companion, but he laughs nonetheless, like he can’t hold it back, bumping her shoulder.

They’re a couple.

Of course.

Nico should’ve seen it coming, she guesses, if she wasn’t so hung up on how pretty this girl was, it should’ve been obvious.

Ugh, it doesn’t even matter, anyway, because there wouldn’t even be a chance.

She’s a customer, she reminds herself, that’s like, the most unprofessional that could be. And even if they weren’t, and even if it was different, Nico could never tell if the girls she liked were into her or not. Or the boys, for that matter.

The partners previously always made the first move on her, which Alex explained by her being the most stubborn person he knows. Whatever.

Without Nico not realising much else conversation, it seems fitting that Alex takes on Chase’s shoulder blade, while her canvas turns out to be Karolina’s upper arm.

Alex and her cleaned the sketch up they brought, their clients both approved, and here they were.

It’s simple, really, a pink heart, with an added arrow through it because Alex likes to turn everything as extravagant as possible. And the initials, of course.

And Nico’s more than used to being close to total strangers like this.

Like, with most areas of the body, even. But those other people weren’t the prettiest girl in the world, so, you know.

And to make matters worse, once Karolina’s seated, and Nico’s sanitized the area, tracing the outline, the too pretty stranger starts talking. She knows this doesn’t sound like a bad thing, but Nico was already nervous, and far from an expert at small talk.

The blonde does seem to know how to lead a conversation.

Because the outline finished, glancing up to make sure the client’s still on it and not chickening out, wouldn’t be the first time, the pretty girl gives her another sweet smile, too sweet, really, and states, “I like the way you work.”

Nico has to blink a few times, because she’s not sure she quite understands what that means. Maybe she’s too used to lewd jokes from her peers that everything turns into an innuendo by now. Fucking hell.

So she opts for a, “You do?” as a reply.

Karolina nods. Gracefully, she has to describe it, not overly excited or eager, though the intention’s definitely there.

“I mean, you looked really concentrated a couple seconds ago. I don’t know. You’re gentle.” and she finishes her sentence with a shrug.

Gentle. Nico has never in her wildest imagination expected someone to associate that term with her. She’s never been called that.

Maybe her insides get a little fluttery. So what?

She’s not a giggling schoolgirl, she can keep her composure, and she does, but hopefully without the coldness she usually goes for when something doesn’t go as expected.

This girl doesn’t deserve that.

And honestly, this is feeling way too intimate way too fast.

The boys are already bantering about whatever video game they’re apparently both into, because, somehow, Alex manages to keep his lines straight while laughing at dumb puns and other ridiculous Alex-things.

Also, can this girl stop staring at her?

If Nico couldn’t control herself as well as she could, she might’ve been blushing. It’s only been ten minutes, come on, now.

Karolina seems a tad more… curious than most of her clients, anyway.

It’s like she’s observing every line she makes, at least, what she can crane her neck enough to follow.

So, inclined to distract herself from the thought of a pretty girl watching her, she asks, without thinking too much, “What are you studying?”

Nico’s got an excuse, cause her wrist is resting on the armrest, fashioned with an university pride bracelet, seriously.

The girl blows a hair away from her nose.

“Philosophy,” she tells her, in a shy, half-embarrassed tone, “Not my parents’ first choice.”

So Nico has to scoff. “Welcome to the club.”

The fact that they can have a laugh at this notion, a proper one, not as loud and bashful as the boys, but fuck them, this is like treading the deep waters of the pool, knowing someone’s holding your hand.

She doesn’t know where that comparison comes from.

…

It’s kind of excruciating, the way the session comes to a both disappointing and long awaited end.

The tattoo’s easy, and Nico’s nonsensical pining, or whatever it is, can’t just last here forever, she knows.

Karolina stayed quiet once they’d established their mutual bond of parents not trusting their decisions, besides the occasional humming, which she probably didn’t even realise she was doing, and offhand remarks to the boys about them being more serious.

The girl had seemed eager to get this thing over with when they came in, but once Nico announced her arm bandaged and in need of rest, she didn’t exactly miss the now anything but eager pout.

It’s not like she said anything, but Nico thinks her reading of people is improving. She’ll convince herself of that, anyway, to support the logic in her head.

The boys had fun, but she didn’t expect any less of Alex.

The fact that he’s made friends with multiple clients, or “established connections”, as he calls it, with the elder ones, seems exhausting to Nico.

She does envy him, though.

At least, she wishes she had that skill set right now, to have gotten a lot more meaningful conversation out of this meeting.

Don’t be fooled, she knows when a crush of hers is off limits, but who knows, maybe they could be friends. Not that they seemed to have much more in common, but, you know.

Karolina just seemed special to her brain, or heart, or whatever.

Doesn’t matter anymore, does it?

Chase proudly shows her their matching marks, which Nico would roll her eyes at if she could, and Karolina laughed with a sigh.

Nico’s got a sense that she’s, still, not all in on this. Too late now, she supposes.

And she’s never understood couple tattoos anyhow, because in Nico’s relatively short life on earth so far, she’s learned that most things come to an end.

It’s not necessarily pessimistic, or at least she tells herself that, because graduating was nice, and then she started an internship, so maybe endings really just mean that you’re ready for beginnings.

Sounds ridiculous when she thinks about it, but maybe they discuss that on Karolina’s philosophy course, who knows.

Besides, seems odd they would do it without mutual approval on both parts.

But of course, Nico doesn’t know these people at all, so who is she to ponder on their relationship?

And so the couple pay their bill, Alex exchanges numbers with Chase, because of course, and Karolina lingers just long enough that Nico suspects she might have something on her mind.

The blonde has a hand on her hip when she says, “He’s ridiculous.”

Nico doesn’t know if it was meant for her ears or the taller girl simply thinks out loud, but none or the less, she’d feel rude not to respond.

“It was nice meeting you guys,” is what’s coming out of her mouth, as casual as possible, emphasis on guys, “and hope you like the tattoo, regardless.”

Karolina scrunches up her nose, which is, um, adorable, like her words were troubling, but she still nods, more than once, “Definitely.”

And the girl looks to the side again, the boys fistbumping and Chase already snapping a picture of his mark. He’s stupidly proud of it, huh.

Nico can’t say he’s unlikable, can she? Maybe that’s part of his charm.

“You coming?”

And Karolina laughs again, sticking her tongue out, but starts moving when he almost bounces out the door, his attention immediately taken by a very important text message, it seems.

“Your art’s gorgeous, Nico.” she says over her shoulder, “See you around, right?”

And it’s said like a matter of fact, a law of nature, as if Karolina had searched for her work on the display walls, carefully eyeing the artist name labels.

She couldn’t have sounded any more sincere.

Nico nods, before she mentally combusts.

And the girl and her flowing dress are out the door in a flash, and if Alex’s laugh is any indication, Nico’s flushing beet red.

Gorgeous.

…

As if she received a small static shock, that’s how the weekend passes by for Nico.

Fast enough that she sits, on Monday, failing to remember anything noteworthy she spent her time with.

Well, she stayed over at Alex’s, since he swore to introduce her to Wolfenstein, whatever that word means. It turned out to be a game about killing nazis, so yeah, her interest was won soon enough.

Not that this is the point or anything.

The point’s more like in the evening, when the boss has a family emergency and needs them to close up alone, which they are fully capable of, mind you, and a familiar face walks through the door.

It’s not the first time customers have returned, far from it.

Whether it be one of many patrons of the parlour, who they both have been introduced to by now, or the many new friends Alex is so brilliant at making.

Today, though, Alex does show off a knowing smile, but it’s pointed right at Nico, and she kind of wants to pinch him and his ever annoying smugness away.

And he doesn’t even stay to greet their former client or anything. Looks like his plan is to leave her to her own devices, spotting Chase outside and swiftly swinging out the door in one fluid movement.

Asshole.

And well. Nico’s one again faced with this girl, who made her blush too damn much for just one meeting.

Karolina’s wearing blue jeans this time around, and a crop top, damn, she cannot imagine that white leather jacket is giving much warmth on a foggy day like this one.

She waves. Nico has to wave back. It’s not like she was supposed to clean this chair or anything.

Seems like duties are put on hold around the prettiest girl ever.

Her smile comes off shy, but Nico can’t imagine anyone feeling shy around her. Well, she’s come off rather terrifying, more like, to the local school bullies back in primary school.

They made her sick, she had fists, and her all-black wardrobe was certainly helpful in that mission too.

Then, in the thought of punching bullies, Karolina’s in front of her, seemingly, consciously, leaving her some space, which she’s grateful for.

Common decency, Nico supposes, but also, a reminder that this infatuation needs to fade if she wants to remain some form of contact with the blonde.

Her very real, very annoying boyfriend laughs outside. Nico wishes she didn’t sound so bitter.

It’s fine, you know, they’ve met one time.

Nico wants her luck to be different, but since that’s out of the picture, she wants to be her friend. Very badly.

If she could just open her mouth, dammit.

“Hey,” she starts, finally, judging by Karolina’s hesitant silence that she expects her to put out the first word, “Good to see you again. And so soon.”

The last part with a quick laugh, would sound weird, or judgmental, otherwise. Not the perfect second impression.

Is the second impression even a thing?

Karolina chuckles herself, thank god, but squints her eyes a bit and scratches her arm, “The tattoo’s looking nice, I think.”

Nico doesn’t know if there’s a question laced into that statement, but the tall girl shrugs the jacket off just enough for her to view the work, and so she moves a tad closer.

It does look nice. Still needs to heal, extremely fresh, but nice.

Definitely one of the better couple tattoos she’s done, Nico tells herself.

And she nods, and Karolina settles her jacket properly, and that subject is dealt with.

Now what?

Maybe this was all the blonde came to talk to her about. Makes sense, but also, a tiny disappointment settles in Nico’s stomach.

It’s not like she had high expectations though, hell, she didn’t even expect to see her just three days after the meeting.

It seems Karolina meant what she said. See you around.

But that’s just politeness, Nico figures. Artist and client.

She doesn’t know if she can ever learn from Alex’s mastery of the social art, to be honest. Stupid Alex things.

“So-” the girls find themselves speaking at the same time, and Nico chuckles awkwardly, but the blonde smiles too warmly for it to matter. “You were saying?”

And Nico’s about to answer, only she notices a third person joining Chase and Alex.

A relatively short girl, pushing her glasses up her nose and purple-dyed hair in two small buns.

And she kisses Chase on the cheek. Which, of course, friends do that. Nico and Alex don’t, but then again, they fistbump and shove each other more than anything else.

She can’t help but furrow her brows. It’s probably nothing, she thinks, forget about it.

“I was just thinking, if you wanna see some of my non-tattoo art one day.” Nico shrugs, better make it as casual as possible.

And Karolina’s eyes light up impossibly, and her nose scrunches up again when she smiles. Nico didn’t notice her freckles last time, weirdly.

“I’d love that, Nico!” she says, of course, looking excited and adjusting her ponytail, “I figure Chase wanna show Alex some of his gadgets. Something like that. I don’t know.”

That they can both laugh at. Doesn’t surprise Nico, given that Alex has been honing his coding skills since he was like fifteen.

She wasn’t even surprised when he offered to hack the school system and change her stupid history grades. It’s not like she agreed. But oh, did she consider it.

Nico scratches her neck. She wants to escape the conversation, which she’s experienced too many times to count, but also, she wants to stay there forever. Not that usual.

“Honestly, Alex has been talking about him. A lot.” she tells the blonde with a huff, and she smiles fondly, “Be careful he doesn’t steal your boyfriend.”

Nico’s been organizing the table in front of her during the conversation, it’s natural for her to do something with her hands, especially, well, now that she’s able to be nervous, apparently.

But it’s like something suddenly shifts.

When Karolina doesn’t laugh at her remark, Nico looks up, and the tall girl is frowning.

It looks wrong on her face, even though her nose is still scrunched, just the way it was with that smile a few minutes ago, making her feel these weird flutters somewhere deep in her chest.

So, naturally, Nico’s about to ask if she’s okay, because she’s suddenly terrified she’s said something wrong, or implied what her thoughts, somehow, until, “Chase? My boyfriend?”

Okay, Nico doesn’t really know what to say now.

Given her tone, Karolina’s clearly not comfortable. Maybe she’s ashamed of Chase? But that can’t be it, they got tattoos together, for goodness’ sake.

“Yeah? Sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“Oh, no!” the blonde looks confused, but reaches her arm out, like she’s going to touch Nico’s shoulder, but she doesn’t, “Or I mean, Chase. He isn’t my boyfriend.”

Her tone is stern without being angry. Elegant.

It’s now Nico’s own turn to frown. Shakes her head at herself.

“I’m so sorry.” she says, and tries to form a longer sentence in her head, without sounding desperate, “I didn’t mean to assume anything. I just, well, the tattoo looked like a couples tattoo, is all.”

And she tries a small smile, unsure if this relation’s already gone to hell after a weekend, but luckily, the tall girl’s frown is gone as fast as it appeared, and she’s biting her lip.

Nico’s more relieved than anything that she’s smiling back.

Then Karolina shakes her head, “Chase is an idiot.”

Again, like an unspoken, mutual understanding, they both laugh. Nico cannot for the life of her tell where this conversation is going.

And so the blonde continues, “It was a stupid bet. The tattoo, that is.”

Now, it does take a second, but it clicks in Nico’s brain. This is also new, and she didn’t know she could be more nervous, but here we are.

“I see.” she replies simply, glancing out the glass door, and figuring the bright haired girl out there must be Chase’s girlfriend.

Karolina chuckles. “They’re adorable.”

They’re looking at the same thing, it seems, so Nico can only nod, and wonder, if this is all, and the blonde is going to step out the parlour, and if the misunderstanding will be forgotten or not.

And they stand there for what seems like forever, but Karolina doesn’t leave.

No, she turns back to Nico, licks her lips, and folds her hands in front of her, “I’m sorry. I mean, God, I must be bad at flirting.”

Flirting?

This is going a little too fast for her. And now Karolina looks nervous too, but continues, impressively not stumbling over her words, “I mean, boys aren’t my thing. I-uh, I wasn’t sure if I should come, but Chase insisted I should make a move.”

Nico knows what’s going on. And she can’t say Alex was wrong when he said the blonde was “totally into her”, despite her very concerned, real protests about the very real boyfriend. Or well, very not real, it turns out.

So, instead of thinking of the nerves still sitting right beneath her skin, Nico lifts an eyebrow, trying to make sure what’s happening isn’t some imaginary dream scenario that’ll end in a blink.

“A move?”

The tall girl shrugs, biting her lip again. “Please tell me if this is crossing the line. I just…. you’re very pretty, is all.”

That’s fucking adorable.

“You think I’m pretty?” Nico replies, feeling her smile grow too stupidly bright. It’s not long before the girl in front of her mimics it.

Fuck, Nico, you’re going soft.

Alex is going to tease her for weeks after this. But she’ll worry about that later.

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windschildfanfictionwriter · 4 years

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Getting Started

Dear Windschild8179, I really enjoy your work and I was hoping you'd have some tips for me. I've been trying for the past few weeks to start writing a multi-chapter story, but every attempt at creating an outline has ended with me sitting there staring at a blank page. Then I tried just getting started without having an outline first, but that didn't work either. I don't know why I'm having so much trouble with this, especially as I already know how I'm going to start and how it's going to end, but I can't seem to fill in anything in between the first and last scenes. Any advice you could give would be immensely appreciated. Yours sincerely, TharAmira.

Then write the start of the story and the end. It doesn't mean that you have to use either of those scenes if later in your writing things change, the point is to have it done. To start.

Often times just having it written out helps to find the connecting points.

I often write out of chronological order and it makes writing connection scenes much easier. Sometimes for a story idea, I will write a scene that comes WAY down the line. Like... with Boogeyman, I wrote the scenes from Peter's point of view before anything else. I wrote the whole five chapters of that and it comes directly in the middle of the story.

For Spitfire, I wrote Ron's captivity with the Death Eaters first. Everything that happened with his captivity and everything else. These scenes are viewed through various means (flashbacks, PTSD symptoms, court accounts) but they came first.

With Vanguard I wrote the Billius scene at the start of the chapter five years before I actually decided to go through with the project.

Write the scene that you WANT to write more than anything else and then ask yourself questions once you're done.

What needs to happen to get here? [The beginning and lead up]

What repercussions will happen after? [The resolution and ending]

Try to summarize each of these events with one sentence and then say: Ok, so this has to happen, how can I make this scene fun to read while also getting across the goal of the scene?

For example:

I pictured a scene where Ron is wearing quidditch clothes that are far too tight. It's hurting him but he refuses to say anything. He has rashes and cuts along his body where the arm guards are cutting into him and the metal pieces are rusted from age. A younger student, Jack, notices and runs screaming to Harry, the captain (I set it up in sixth year).

Now, I wanted a story where we see the repercussions of poverty and how Ron comes to have a slight eating disorder because of it. This scene, I knew, would be far off in the story, but I didn't know anything else about it. So I wrote the whole scene out. And this helped set the tone of Harry and Ron's relationship for the story. Where Harry gets angry and tells Ron that Ron is hurting his best friend. He's hurting himself and that's not okay.

So what does that mean?

First of all, this takes Harry from left field. He had no idea. Which means I have to write this story form Ron's point of view and no one can know what's going on for a good while. I'll have to put little bread crumbs so that things click into place, but not big chunks.

It means that the clothes issue has to have a reasoning.

-Why is Ron so set on hiding it?

-How long has it been such a serious issue?

-How did it develop?

-How did it worsen?

Jack also needs to be present before this scene in a story. I hate one-line characters, so I have to develop this kid a bit to make the impact of him being the one to discover Ron more dramatic. And I decided, then, that I would have him not really like Ron at the start. I decided to write an entire chapter where he sees Ron being a jerk and then slowly witnessing how and why Ron was being a jerk and throughout the course of the story, Jack is used as an outside observer for events. Someone who doesn't care about Ron so he doesn't feel the need to step in when he sees problems or issues. But someone who, by the time he discovers Ron in the locker room, DOES care.

What else needs to be done here?

Tension: No story works well without tension. (Angst)

How do we rev up the angst if we want Harry to be oblivious? -I start writing down possibilities

1) Dean is an artist. Maybe I'll have him draw his roommates throughout the semester and when he goes to gather them up he notices the change in Ron through his own drawings. Something he couldn't see in the day to day, but is obvious in the pencil sketches.

2) Neville noticing something right from the start and nagging Ron about it but people brush off Neville's concerns because its Ron and he's fine.

3) We got the first two roommates so what about Seamus? Confrontation. He's good for that. We'll have him take the mickey. Tease Ron about some of these 'minor things' that later blow up.

4) Humiliation is always good: We'll have a moment where Ron's clothes break in some manner in a public place. Something tears or maybe a button comes off and he has to deal with it all day. He tries to mend it, but it’s been mended too many times before. His clothes have so much residue magic in them that they are literally falling apart by the fiber.

How does Ron fix that issue? Find new clothes? Maybe the room of lost things? Painstakingly sew it the muggle way? Try not to eat as much so he doesn't grow anymore? ... ...

...

All three.

Notice how now from that one scene I now have a good chunk in the middle. I now know that the story is going to surround the dorm mates so I'm going to want to limit characters outside of these because that's FIVE main characters.

So what do I need to make this central bulk work?

If we're focusing on the dorm mates then the story should start when all five of them are in the dorms sixth year for the first time. To set the tone and lay down the foundations.

So Dean needs to be sketching. Seamus needs to be teasing. Neville needs to be his normal affectionate self so that when he gets upset, the contrast is clear. Harry needs to be focused on his own issues so that his obliviousness is more believable.

And this needs to be seen through Ron's eyes where maybe we see a tiny piece of what's to come. Maybe he notices that he's down to his last few pairs of pants that fit or one of his shirts starts to disintegrate or maybe Dobby offers Ron socks because the house elf noticed Ron's clothes condition when he was doing the laundry.

It HAS to be something small though. An almost off hand note or observation.

Because one thing you want to do above everything else is to slowly build the tension up more and more. A very basic mistake of writing is coming out in the first chapter with guns blazing. You throw the reader in the center of the conflict and from that point on, the reveal of the secret is imminent rather than a fear of discovery.

Remember, there is a promise that is made in that first chapter and if it conflicts with the promise in the summary then you WILL lose the reader. If you promise that the story is about the fear of discovery and the MC is discovered int he first chapter then there is no longer a story. Everything that comes after is just the author struggling to find a new plot because they gave up the one they had within the first few pages. Most readers are just looking to answer the question raised in the summary. If you give that answer away in the first chapter then there is no incentive for them to continue.

The secret must slowly be unveiled so that the little things start to be noticed, built upon, and each discovery is like a small precious thing between the mc and the reader.

Now: You know Ron's secret, but no one else does.

This causes tension without ever doing anything else. Don't treat your reader like their stupid. They NOTICE those little things. They are paying rapt attention. Make sure you drop one small thing in each scene. Even if its a fluffy piece.

Now at this point, I have a beginning, some central middle points, but no end. What do I do for this? What do I want? -I want people to find out the depths of the issue which means a hell of a lot more than just the clothes being too tight in the quidditch scene. So is the quidditch scene the first big 'oh shit' moment? What are the consequences? -I want Dean to show his sketches to someone. [Ginny is the most obvious but I'll have to see at what stage of the year there at if that's a possibility] -I want Seamus and the others who were teasing to become more and more upset when people finally start noticing that Ron isn't eating. -I want protective Harry -I want pissed Neville.

Notice how this all started with one scene in a locker room, and how that scene is clearly in the middle of the story.

I highly recommend writing out whatever scene speaks to you the most and build from there. For many people, not just you, getting started is the hardest part because they feel the need, the obligation, to start where the story itself starts. Which most have only a vague idea about. But everyone has that image in their mind that's set in stone, the inspiration for the story they want to write. Allowing yourself to write that scene first, even if you end up never using it, helps infinitely in getting you starting on the right path and on creating a more defined outline.

Hope this helps.

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 5 years

Text

A love that never leaves (8)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. A brief flash of sexy times and angsty intrigue.

A/N: Several people messaged reminding me that adding links kill searches (Tumblr is utterly ridiculous), so I’ve taken those out. If you want to access the full ALTNL Masterlist, just click the MASTERLIST header on my blog.

That last chapter murdered my heart, I hope it destroyed all of you as well! This week, Bucky gets cockblocked and the mysterious circumstances that brought him back to her take a strange turn.

Tags are open, if you want on the list please send me a DM or ASK, it’s easier for me to track. Otherwise you can find the new updates each weekend!

Previously...

The poets say when your heart breaks, the world will grind to a halt.

The poets are wrong, she thinks.

When your heart breaks, the world will in fact keep moving. The stars will still shine, the sun will still rise. You will go on living, despite having nothing to live for. The world doesn’t stop for trivial things like grief. It lumbers on, drags you forward kicking and screaming, forcing you to keep breathing, until you’re nothing more than a ghost of who you were.

*****

MISSION REPORT

SECOND ATTEMPT AT CONTACT ESTABLISHED. AWAITING RESULTS.

He thinks to himself.

What will he do when he sees the whites of her eyes?

He grinds his teeth, breathing hard through his nose.

What will he do?

*****

After he came back, Bucky’s therapist encouraged him to ask questions. Anything and everything, the more the merrier. Nothing was off limits. At first, it felt strange, asking someone else to share the basic tenets of his life, but he grudgingly persevered. It was the only way he knew how to get the answers he needed.

The very first time they sat down, Bucky flipped his notepad open to reveal 27 pages, front to back, loaded with questions.

Some were simple.

“What was my favorite color? How did I take my coffee? When did I have my first kiss? What was my favorite book? Who was my favorite ball player?”

One after another, he fired the questions and Steve answered every single one, down to the most boring, insignificant detail. With every response, Bucky turned the words over in his head, testing them on his tongue and repeating them back. Committing them to memory so he could sketch out the simple outline of who he used to be.

Some here harder.

“Why’d I get drafted instead of signing up for the war? Why didn’t I get along with my father? Was I very religious? Why not?”

Those answers were thorny, not always nice and, but Steve replied with full and frank honesty, because there was no one else in the world knew Bucky Barnes as well as Steve Rogers.

It became a common sight, Bucky clutching the bright pink notepad Natasha gave him, carefully writing answers while Steve spoke; Steve was always willing to drop everything to talk.

Now, he recalls one question where Steve stumbled a bit more than usual.

“Did I want to get married?”

An oddly devastated sadness had rearranged Steve’s features, before he offered a vague answer.

“When we were younger, no. During the war, you changed your mind.”

“Why’d I do that?”

“It happens.”

“People usually have a reason. What happened?”

“War happened. And you know, stuff.”

“Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird, I’m just - look, you, um, you met - someone.”

“Who -“

But before he could dig further, the conversation came to a screeching halt. Bells started ringing, lights flashing, an Irish voice coming through the ceiling as FRIDAY announced they were summoned for a mission. Snapping his mouth shut, Bucky tucked the notepad in the waistband of his jeans and leapt to his feet, the question forgotten.

Later, Steve tried to bring it up again, casually mentioning Bucky’s girl and some letters she wrote to him, but by then it was too late. The mission had gone horribly wrong, and Bucky was exhausted and frustrated and close to tears, and he had no desire to remember someone else he’d let down.

Hurtled back to the present, Bucky sits up in the dim light of her bedroom and throws a knee across her hips, boxing her in beneath him. Palms anchored to the bed beside her head, he looks down at her face. Anxious fear flashes through her, something he can’t reconcile. All he knows in this moment, is a desire to smooth it away.

“I don’t - why didn’t you say something sooner?” Bucky whispers. “Why - “

But he stops. He stops, because he knows why.

“Oh,” he says softly, disappointment filling his throat. “No, okay. It’s okay. I get it.”

She watches him glance at the metal arm, his shoulders sagging as he tries to pull away. Her hands fly up, gripping his arms tight, keeping him in place.

“No. You listen to me Bucky Barnes - this was not about you or anything you think you’ve done.” Bucky stares hard, clearly desperate to believe her. “I wanted to tell you, I just - couldn’t hold you to a promise we made seventy years ago. We were different people then, I know that. You have a whole other life now. I don’t expect anything, I don’t - expect you to still want that.”

The sharp ache that hits him whenever he sees her sadness tightens his chest. The words come easily, and he answers without a second thought.

Because really, he doesn’t need to think. They’re the most honest thing he knows.

“Darlin, you listen to me - I said it then, I’ll say it again. This kind of love, it never leaves. I meant that. Even if I don’t remember saying it, I know I meant it. I know I did.”

Hope fills her eyes at his insistence, that fragile kind he could smash with a single word.

Which he never plans to do, as long as he lives.

“Really?” she whispers, brushing her knuckles over his fuzzy cheek and he turns, pressing his lips to them.

“Really,” he says hoarsely.

Curling her fingers behind his neck, she pulls his mouth down and her kiss is soft and sweet and everything he’s been missing his entire godforsaken life. Bucky lets himself drown in her for a brief moment, before breaking the kiss.

“Jesus Christ,” he swears, pulling back. “We were gonna get married and I just fuckin’ left you. I left you. God dammit, I’m - fuck, I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” she says immediately. “It wasn’t your fault, Bucky. None of it was your fault.”

Those magic words, he’s heard them a million times, in a million variations, since the day he came back. They’ve always meant nothing, hollow assurances he actively scorned. He knew better. But now, lying here with her while the dim light of a fresh mountain morning begins to flood the room - he finally lets them soak in.

Maybe he even believes them.

“We were gonna get married,” he says instead, wonder filling his voice. “You were gonna marry me.”

“I was,” she says, and her tentative smile is like the sun. “And you were going to marry me.”

Bucky considers her for a moment before he surges forward. Nothing about the move is coordinated, it’s a messy tangle of tongues and teeth clacking together, a kiss bubbling over with frantic need, as though the world is ending and this is the only way to prevent its demise.

His kiss is frantic and passionate and so utterly Bucky, she can barely breath. Everything he does to her, it kicks her heart into a crazy tailspin and she kisses him back ferociously, drinking up the tiny sounds he makes, the way his lips fit perfectly with hers. It’s enough for forever, the way he spills over so full of life and happiness and love.

And she knows, it’s all for her.

When his hands squeeze her ribcage, fingers playing with the hem of her shirt, his lips move up to her ear with the question she’s been waiting for, and she shivers.

“Can I?”

“Yes, please,” she breathes, and Bucky closes his eyes for a moment, steadying himself.

Slipping his hands beneath her shirt, twin sighs of relief come at the feel of skin on skin. For the first time in decades, that feeling of absolute and total desire crackles through her and she arches into his touch. Sliding his right hand up, gently cupping her breast, he kisses her again and she moans into his lips when he thumbs over her nipple. His left hand hesitates on her belly, hard and cold, but then she grips his wrist firmly and tugs his hand up, placing it on her other breast and hooking her ankle behind his thigh.

Rocking himself against her, Bucky kisses every inch of skin he can find; that smooth space behind her ear, the delicate tendon down her neck, the sharp collarbone above her sleep shirt, his hands teasing relentlessly until she’s breathing fast and hard, pushing herself back against him.

Swallowing his nerves, his fingers drift down. Finding the waistband of her shorts, circling the edge, working up the courage to dip his fingers inside, he takes a deep breath and -

His phone buzzes. Loudly.

“Shit,” he rasps, jerking back. Reaching over to the bright screen flashing on the nightstand, his lust-addled brain fumbles repeatedly and he hits the ignore button three times before it goes silent. The spell is momentarily broken, the room quiet. Breathing hard, he gives her a crooked little grin and kisses the tip of her nose. “Sorry. Way to kill the mood, huh? Where were we?”

“Right here,” she murmurs, pulling his face back to hers and slipping her tongue between his lips. Bucky melts into the touch, feels himself growing painfully hard against her, feels her fingers stroking down the hard planes of his stomach, sliding dangerously close to his -

His phone buzzes. Again.

“Motherfucker,” he growls. Snatching it up, he flips the phone to silent again and throws it across the room for good measure. It lands with a soft thump in the corner and he dives back in for a kiss, feeling her shake with silent laughter.

The laughter turns to a breathless whine when he tugs up her shirt, his mouth finding the soft skin of her belly, sucking and kissing a path higher and higher, licking at the swell of her breast, so close, and god he wants to -

He wants to understand why life can’t just go his fucking way for once, that’s what he wants.

His phone buzzes. Again.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Bucky announces, sitting up on his knees. There’s only one person who has the ability to bypass the silent mode he’s put it on and he’s gonna thoroughly enjoy strangling him next time he sees his stupid face.

Bouncing off the bed, he stomps over to the corner and picks up his phone, pressing the answer button so hard he’s surprised the screen doesn’t shatter.

“What, Steve?” he snaps, frustrated desire turning his voice into a snarl. “What could you possibly fucking need right now?”

“Morning sunshine. Sorry to bother, but we need to talk.”

“I’m incredibly busy at the moment,” Bucky grits out. Watching her snuggle deeper into the blankets, she gives him a lazy smile and he slams his eyes shut so he can focus. “I’ll call you later.”

He tries to hang up, but Steve’s voice is calling out “Wait!”

Bucky vows then and there to steal Steve’s shield when he gets back and brain him with it.

“Jesus Christ fuckin’ fuck. Hang on,” he growls. Stamping down the irritation, he shoots her a look of exasperated apology. “Give me two minutes, okay?”

“It’s okay. I’ll go make coffee,” she replies, crawling out of bed and Bucky feels the overwhelming desire to tackle her and make her to stay put. A whine of dissent slips out and she bites back a smile at his frustration. “Come downstairs when you’re done, maybe we can finish this.”

And then she winks and tiptoes out of the bedroom.

Bucky forces himself not to bolt after her. Instead, he irritably adjusts the situation between his legs and waits until she’s out of earshot before flipping the screen to video. Steve’s semi-apologetic face comes into view.

“This better be real fuckin’ good,” Bucky sighs.

“It’s that signal, up at the Hydra base. It’s gone off again.”

Anger evaporating, Bucky’s eyes narrow. “It’s what?”

“It went off again,” Steve repeats. “I thought you disabled it?”

“I did,” Bucky says slowly. “You’re sure?”

“Tony triple-checked it.” His face morphs into serious Captain mode. “Real talk. Do I need to come out? Is it possible there’s something else happening?”

Bucky thinks back, recalling the layers of dust, the cottony white spiderwebs, the echoes of ancient violence stuffed in that cavernous base. Once upon a time, it contained nightmares, sure. But there was nothing there now. He’s sure.

“No, there was nothing there. I’m sure. Stay home.”

Sky blue eyes scrutinize him through the small screen. “If you’re sure.”

“Positive.”

“Fine.” Steve pauses. “Anything else you want to talk about?”

“Nope,” Bucky answers promptly.

“Sure?”

Exhaling a long-suffering sigh, Bucky gives him a pointed look. “Actually yes. You’re a nosy little shit. Why is that?”

The stoic expression fades and Steve grins. “Probably ‘cause I’m used to your dumbass needing my help all the fuckin’ time.”

Shooting him a mocking glare, Bucky shakes his head. “Fucking hell. What’s the press gonna say when they hear Captain America has such a fuckin’ potty mouth?”

“Expect they’ll blame it on you. Just like my Ma did.”

Bucky snorts. “Touché. I’ll go check it out. Call you later. Dick.”

Steve gives him a goofy, open-mouthed smile and a thumbs up. Bucky presses the end call button hard. Silence blankets the room, and he rubs the heel of his hand in his eye, pushing down a sudden wave of tiredness.

Someday, maybe, just maybe - he’ll be done with this shit.

*****

Rifling through the tidy pile of his clothes folded in the corner of her closet, Bucky dresses quickly, pulling on a long-sleeved shirt, a vest, his white tac pants. Pulling his semi-clean, but still slightly bloody, white coat from a hanger, he shrugs into it. Looking into the mirror, he fingers the two bullet holes in the chest, twitching at the memory of them punching through his flesh.

Opening his backpack, he pulls out his cache of weapons. Chooses his favorite Glock, the old Sig Sauer, his second favorite Glock, his third favorite Glock, tucking them all into their designated holsters. Sheathing a couple knives comfortably in his boots, he ties his snarly hair back and fits the white balaclava over his head.

Standing in front of her mirror, he fixes his mouth into that trademark smirk that normally accompanies a mission outfit and tries to psyche himself up. Clear his mind. Sharpen his nerves.

It sort of works. Except that miserable slump of his shoulders - that refuses to change. Grimacing at the visual, he gives up.

Was he always this tired?

Steeling himself, he heads downstairs, clearing his throat and treading loudly to announce his presence. He doesn’t want to scare the shit out of her, stomping around like the abominable snow monster with weapons coming out his ass.

Standing in the kitchen, she wears her silky cotton sleep shorts and a loose t-shirt. The sight of her pouring two steaming cups of coffee, while the sun begins to fill the cozy little cabin, is almost enough to break him. Say fuck it and tell Steve to come do it himself.

But of course, he won’t. He never does. Because here comes Bucky Barnes. He always makes the shot. He always saves the day.

He sighs.

When she looks up, her budding smile instantly fades. She goes still, the only movement the tight clench of her jaw. She sets the coffee pot down with a quiet click.

“Before you ask,” Bucky starts, “I’m not leaving. Steve called, I gotta go back up to the base. That fuckin’ signal’s going haywire again.”

A spasm of alarm floods her face and she grips the edge of the counter. “Someone’s there?”

“We don’t think anyone’s there,” Bucky assures her. “There’s nothing to indicate that, we think it’s just the tech. Guess I didn’t finish the job last time, so I need to go fix it.”

Considering him for a fleeting moment, she bites her lip and thinks; appearing to make a decision she nods and walks toward him, heading for the stairs.

“I’ll get dressed.”

“No,” Bucky says quickly, catching her arm. “You won’t. It’s nothing to worry about. I don’t want you anywhere near that place. Please.”

Squaring her shoulders, she tugs her arm gently from his nervous fingers and Bucky braces for an argument. But then she simply traces the bullet holes in his jacket, examining the torn edges of white fabric. Contemplating his comment. She meets his eyes and gives him a small smile.

“If it’s nothing to worry about, then it doesn’t matter if I come. Unless you’re saying goodbye for good, I’m not letting you go alone. Is it goodbye for good?”

Even the thought of leaving her makes his breath catch.

“No,” he breathes. “Never.”

Reaching up, she tucks an errant strand of dark hair into the balaclava. Cradles his hot, scruffy cheeks in her cool palms, and kisses his lips.

“Then I’m coming with you.”

Should he argue? Probably. Will he? Probably not. Because having someone love him like this - it just feels too nice.

“Okay,” he concedes. “Get dressed.”

*****

Any roads leading to the base have long since grown over. The only way up is an overgrown trail, accessed through a steep hike. Parking her old, now slightly blood-stained truck to edge of the path, they start to climb. Bucky takes it slow at first, until he realizes she’s waiting patiently for him to go faster.

“Altitude sucks,” he pants, pausing to put his hands on his head. “Think you might be in better shape than me.”

“No,” she replies, offering a hand to pull him up. “I’m definitely in better shape than you.”

Barking out a surprised laugh, he squeezes her fingers.

Ninety minutes later, the entrance appears. Grey on grey, the door blends seamlessly into the mountain rock, it’s curved handle set flush against the heavy metal. On his first visit, it was rusted shut, wind and weather and age an effective deterrent; it had taken him nearly an hour to bust through.

Before they enter, Bucky turns to her and unlatches his favorite Glock from the side holster.

“Guess I don’t need to tell you how to use it, since you’ve already saved my ass,” he watches her tuck her gloves into her coat and take the handle of the gun, double-checking the safety. The fluid gesture twists his gut. Looking up, she gives him a wane smile.

“No. All good.”

It bothers him. Clearly, she knows how to protect herself - he wasn’t there to do it, she had to learn - but he despises the fact that violence has touched her. That he’s tainted her with it himself. He doesn’t want that part of his life to be something they share.

Then and there, he makes himself a promise. If he gets a future with her, he’ll do everything in his power to build her a life free from the sadness that seems so adamant to cling to her. Loving her that way, forever and always - it’s the least he can do.

Pulling off the balaclava, he welcomes the bite of cold air against his sweat damp neck. Reaching into the depths of his white coat, he produces two small flashlights, handing one to her and clicking the other to life, and with a shouldered shove, he opens the door. It swings easily, clean and oiled from his last visit.

Holding the flashlight aloft, he balances his gun on his wrist, rolls his shoulders and starts forward, eyes cautiously sweeping the entrance, as she steps carefully behind.

The hallway twists and turns, snaking deep into the bedrock of the mountain. The air warms as they walk, the depth of the mountain keeping the cold from penetrating; the dampness in the air increases though, negating any warming effects and cutting deep.

Damp cold was the worst kind. It always soaked into his bones. Held tight, refused to leave.

Heavy iron doors hang from broken hinges along the walls, frozen in place through a potent combination of old age and powdery red rust. Bucky’s already rummaged through the small rooms lining the hall, turning up nothing more than a handful of paperclips and a couple broken rifles; as he runs his light up and down the doors, the rooms reveal nothing new.

A good thing, he thinks. A very good thing.

Their flashlights illuminate the narrow hall, the enclosed space muffling their footsteps. On and on they plod, until the click of Bucky’s boot makes a new sound, echoing up into the soaring ceiling of a new chamber. They’ve reached the control room now, and there it is.

In the blackness of the cavernous room, he sees a blinking red light.

What the fucking hell?

He starts toward it, super soldier eyes navigating through the darkness. Just before he reaches the light, a startled hum of electricity crackles around them, a generator bursting to life. Whirling around, finger hovering over the trigger, he finds her standing by the wall, her hand wrapped around the t-shaped handle of a giant light switch.

“Jesus fuck,” he mutters, using his shoulder to wipe away the bead of sweat trickling down his temple. “Scared the shit out of me.”

Above the switch, he notices a water-stained Hydra propaganda poster depicting a faded red skull, tentacles reaching into a black pit of writhing, silhouetted bodies. Christ. He remembers those posters. They were tacked up around the bases back in the early 1950s. Some lousy intern’s job, he supposes. Hydra marketing for a summer job.

Assholes.

“We can’t all see in the dark,” she reminds him patiently, brushing the dust from her hands.

“Fair enough,” he says weakly, heart still pounding.

In the dingy light, the control dashboard looks as dirty and untouched as his last visit, coated in a thick layer of filth that only exists with decades of neglect. But in the right-hand corner, the red light blinks steadily.

Bucky’s perturbed. Is he missing something? Is there something else going on?

Right there, the first flash of fear prickles up his neck, lodging sharp claws into his skin.

Scanning the dashboard, he sees the breakers he flipped before, cutting power to the control center. All of them are still clearly locked in the OFF position, so he breathes a sigh of relief - just like the light switch she found, there must be some kind of secondary power source.

He debates the complex panel, searches the buttons and keys and slides and comes up empty. Unless Hydra gave him explicitly detailed instructions, he was never good with tech shit like this. What’s he supposed to do? Dismantle the entire dashboard? Search for a general power source?

In the end, he chooses a slightly different route.

“Cover your ears.”

She looks warily at him, her hands slowly rising to her head.

“Here goes,” Bucky mumbles to himself and with a swing, he smashes a metal fist straight through the dashboard. The sound explodes through the room, pieces of grey plastic and black metal and glass bulbs ricocheting off the wall. Jerking his hand back, he comes up with a fistful of electrical wires and the blinking red light goes dark.

“Problem solved,” he turns to her, the wires dangling like a handful of snakes.

The sound of his blunt dismantling still reverberates through the room, and she stands tense and frozen.

“What else was here?” her voice is low. Unlike Bucky, she seems afraid to make much noise.

“Not much,” Bucky admits, tossing the wires aside. “Searched it last time, nothing useful. Looks like it was abandoned sometime in the ‘50s.” He motions back to the far wall with the gun. “There’s a small office over there, we can have a look around if you want.”

There’s no reason for it, but something about the place puts her off kilter. Following Bucky’s direction, she moves toward the office, unsure what she expects to find, but inside is exactly what he said - nothing. A small desk and file cabinet on one side, a pair of broken metal folding chairs against a brick wall, a pile of crumpled papers on the desk.

“Went through it all,” Bucky confirms, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms. “Desk was empty, file cabinet had a few papers, looks like office inventory. Doesn’t seem like they left anything behind.”

She hums in agreement, peeking into the file cabinets and finding nothing but more dust and the moldering remains of a dead mouse. She turns in a slow circle, eyes tracing the angles of the small room, and she finds nothing. Breathes easier.

Although - wait.

Stepping closer to the wall behind the desk, she runs her fingers lightly across the brick, touching here and there. Bucky watches intently, the way her hands move in random patterns. Several minutes pass in absolute silence, until suddenly she stops. Pressing against a single brick, she wiggles it, crumbling white mortar shaking loose to the floor, and then the brick pulls free.

Behind is a deep, hollow space.

“What - ” Bucky says, coming closer. “How? How did you know?”

There’s an emptiness in her face when she looks at him. “I’ve been hiding things in floorboards and fireplaces and - walls, most of my life.” Her voice sounds infinitely tired, like the years have finally caught up. “I know what to look for.”

Bucky shines a flashlight into the dark space and they see a fat bundle of paper. Reaching in, she tugs gently, the rough brick unwilling to reveal its secret so easily. When it finally pops free, they find a folded envelope. Brushing away the layers of dust, the faded scrawl of cursive handwriting is splashed carelessly across the front, with two words:

VERSION 2.

Wordlessly, she looks at him and Bucky shakes his head in bewilderment.

“I don’t know,” he confesses. “I don’t know what it means.”

She runs her fingers beneath the envelope flap to pull it open, but Bucky stops her, glancing over his shoulder.

“What?” she asks, immediately on alert. “Did you hear something?”

“No, but can we wait until we get home? I just - don’t want you here any longer.” He says the words without thinking and flinches. When we get home? You idiot, you’ll scare her off with that shit. It’s not your home, it’s hers.

But while Bucky frets over his word choice, he notices something. That look of exhaustion and sadness filling her eyes - it disappears. Like a weight’s been lifted from her shoulders. She reaches for his hand, tangling her fingers with his and tugging him close. Tucking herself against him, she hugs him tight and Bucky holds on fiercely.

“Okay,” she agrees softly. “Let’s go home.”

And just like that, Bucky Barnes has a home.

Dropping a kiss to her forehead, he squeezes her hand and they walk toward the door, ready to leave this depressing world behind.

His brain is already plowing ahead, remembering warm blankets and the smell of hot soup and the sound of a crackling fire, all things he now associates with her, associates with happiness. His brain and his heart want it so damn badly, he nearly misses it.

Just before they pass through the door, a strange gust of air, ice cold and smelling of snow.

He stops so fast, she bumps into him. With a sinking feeling in his chest, he turns to the blank wall, eyes roaming over the faded brick.

“Did you feel that?” He glances over his shoulder. Her mouth is turned down and she rubs her nose when it smacked his shoulder.

“Yes,” she says tightly.

Stepping closer, Bucky runs his hands over the brick, searching for the source. Bending down, he freezes, seeing something new, something he knows wasn’t there before. He recognizes it instantly, an unfortunate currency he dealt for decades.

Blood speckled across the brick. A small piece of human skin embedded in the mortar. Dried, but no more than a few weeks old.

Someone was here.

“God dammit,” he hisses, jumping to his feet. “Fucking fuck!”

She kneels beside the wall, absorbing the gruesome details. “That’s new?” she asks, swallowing hard.

“Yes,” he says shortly.

She looks around the office, back in the control room. Remembers Bucky describing the welded shut door at the entrance. “You said the entrance was sealed shut when you first arrived. Could this be the same person? How would they get inside in the first place?”

The icy whistle of wind hits his face again. Leaning into the wall, he pushes, testing a few different points. “Please don’t be a secret door,” he mutters under his breath, but with a sudden grating rumble, it slides back.

Revealing a secret door. He hates secret doors.

Stark would love this.

A long, dark tunnel appears. Tapping anxiously against his leg, he debates - he doesn’t want her to follow, but he’s sure as hell not leaving her alone. He turns around, but she settles it instantly.

“Just go. I’m coming with you.”

Propping the flashlight on his wrist again, Bucky clicks it on and positions the gun. Starting forward, he hunches over, bending to fit his tall frame beneath the low ceiling. For ten minutes they walk, encountering nothing more than ice slicked walls and a hard-packed dirt floor. Finally, the darkness begins to fade, a dim grey light crawling into the spaces around them. Turning a sharp corner, they find the source.

A large metal door sits askew, propped open and allowing slivers of light and cold air to filter through. Coming closer, Bucky discovers the door hinges are unscrewed, a little pile of broken metal and stripped screws littering the ground.

Wrapping a metal hand around the edge of the door, he looks back to her. “Be ready,” he murmurs, nodding to the gun. She raises it, her hands steady and returns his nod. With a rough jerk, Bucky pulls the door fully open, the grate of rust and metal screeching around them.

On the other side, they find a thin fissure in the grey rock of the mountain. Protected from the drifts of snow outside, wide enough for someone to fit through - but hidden well enough that no one would ever think twice.

And there, lying next to the door, is a black wool glove. Threadbare, with an unraveled hole in the thumb, it looks perfectly clean. Clearly a recent addition. Bucky picks it up, that sinking feeling in his chest now bubbling like acid in his throat. He shoves the glove furiously in his pocket.

“You fuckers,” he growls to himself. Turning around, he meets her wide-eyed gaze, panic clear in her face. She still has the gun raised, but now he sees the hint of a tremble in her fingers.

He’d give his entire life to erase that look.

“Hey, come here,” he murmurs, and she steps quickly into his embrace and once more, he holds tight. Holding her this close, he smells the faint, calming scent of her lotion. “Let’s go home. I need to make a call.”

*****

“Anything?”

Once again, Steve Rogers is eating giant globs of peanut butter straight from the jar. Wasting no time, Bucky gets straight to the point.

“Someone was there. Found a back entrance they must’ve used. Assume they turned on the signal.”

Steve swears and the spoon clatters to the kitchen counter.

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky snaps.

“What the fuck did they want?”

“I don’t know.”

“No possible scenarios?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky grits out, pissed with Steve’s exasperated sigh. “I’m fuckin’ working on it. Give me a minute to think.”

Steve rubs his forehead. The expression on his face morphs, an odd mix of frustration and enforced calm, with a sprinkle of suspicion.

“The other reason you’re there,” he asks carefully. “The reason you’ve stayed. Whatever that is, could it have anything to do with this?”

Bucky opens his mouth to refute that possibility, because fuck you Steve, of course not - but then he pulls up short. That’s the thing. He doesn’t know. She still hasn’t told him her ability and why it ever allowed her to know the scope of Hydra’s brutality. This is one big piece of the puzzle that remains hidden.

“I don’t know,” he admits. Looking out of the bedroom, his gaze grows thoughtful. “But I’ll find out.”

*****

Downstairs in the cozy little cabin, she opens the dusty envelope.

Inside, she finds 14 photographs. They’re old, a sepia toned mix from the 1940s and 1950s, their occupants slightly blurry and peeling around the edges. On her kitchen counter, she lines them up in two straight rows.

She stares.

She begins to shake.

“Darlin, can we talk about something?”

Bucky’s voice is low and soothing, meant for comfort. Walking up beside her, he peers curiously at her profile. Slowly she turns, and the look on her face cuts him to the bone.

“Bucky - “

Cold sweat fills the palms of her hands where they lay flat on the counter and a shudder ripples through her, rattling her entire body. He moves quickly behind her, pressing himself against her back, wrapping his arms around her, surrounding her in that blessed heat.

“Hey, hey, what is it?”

Over her shoulder, he sees the images.

There are two group photos, each showing four men posing. Three of the men are dressed in white lab coats, horn-rimmed coke bottle glasses perched on their noses. The fourth stands a head above them, dressed head to toe in black, his white-blond hair gleaming even in the faded photo. Bucky’s lip curls in disgust - an SS officer, from the looks.

Until he looks closer. Something about the man’s arrogant sneer and icy stare sparks a long-forgotten memory. Bucky squints.

“Hang on. I think I remember him,” he says slowly. “He was there my first few years, but then he disappeared. Deserted, they said.”

“Deserted,” she repeats. She gives a hollow laugh. “I doubt that.”

Bucky should interrogate that comment, but he sets it aside for a moment. Returning to the pictures, he looks at the second row. The images are consistent, six full body pictures of a naked male, each accompanied by a close-up headshot - twelve photos in total. A small postcard is clipped to each pair of photos, block print letters with details.

This is familiar. Not the men themselves, but the visual and the information. Familiar, because long ago, the former Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes started with a file just like this.

Name. Country. Rank. Skills.

In the beginning, he supposes his was just as simple and basic. Until the graciousness of cryofreeze carried him through the decades, turning his paper-thin file fat with Hydra accomplishments. Assassination, murder, torture. All those details that made up the shadowy outline of the Winter Soldier.

Suddenly, he gets it.

Version 2.

Bucky knows that while he may have been the first successful super soldier Hydra created, he was by no means the only experiment. Proof of that assumption is lined up on the table before him. Soldiers and special skills categorized alphabetically in what he realizes is evidence of Hydra’s original super soldier trials.

The information is massive. He needs to call Steve, but there are shallow, panicked gasps bleeding from her throat, and he refuses to set that aside, because she is his priority - he turns her firmly to face him.

“Look at me. Darlin’, look at me. What is it?”

Wild eyes search his, so full of despair. Sweat slick fingers point to a pair of photos, depicting a tall, thin boy with curly black hair and vacant eyes.

Bucky looks closer and sees the information listed on the card.

NAME: Lewis, Henry.

COUNTRY: United Kingdom.

RANK: Lieutenant.

SKILLS: Espionage. Technology.

“I know him,” her voice cracks. She pauses and corrects herself. “I mean, I knew him.”

More than anything, he wants to ask about her past. Who she was before she found him broken and bleeding that day in her village. What she went through all those years ago that shaped her into the wary person she became. What secret she carries that weighs so heavily on her soul.

But he promised he wouldn’t. He knows the pain of having other people digging into his past, what it feels like to feel like to reveal your darkest secrets. He knows he needs to tread lightly.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asks carefully.

“No,” she whispers, staring down at her hands. “But I need to.”

He takes her chilly fingers in his and rubs, quick friction warming them.

“Okay,” he encourages. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. You can tell me anything.”

She stares at their entwined hands and curls her finger tight around his silver thumb.

“I don’t think you’ll like me very much. When you know.”

Bucky feels a hysterical desire to laugh. Not like her? Absurd. How could he not love her? Smiling wryly, he brings their hands up and leaves a kiss on her knuckles.

“Between the two of us, my track record will always be worse. There’s nothing you can say that’ll change my mind, so don’t worry about that. Just tell me.”

Gathering her courage, she looks up to meet soft blue eyes.

And she talks.

“When I was 12-years-old, a group of men came to my home. The - blond man. He was looking for me. They arrested my Father and I ran. As far from Berlin as I could get.” Closing her eyes, the memory of that black night burns fresh. “I made it to the coast and bought the first ticket out of Germany I found. In March of 1929, I got to London.”

Bucky imagines her as a little girl, alone, penniless, mourning her father and hiding from an unknown horror. It makes him want to raze the world for her.

“That was brave. You were really brave,” he tells her, still rubbing her skin, but she shakes her head.

“That’s where I met him.”

*****

Next Chapter

*****

Tags are open right now, if you want one, please send me a DM or ASK.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #altnl

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wiggly-blue-shite · 5 years

Text

Chapter 6 The Bell Doesn’t Dismiss You (Tedgens)

I get out of history and head to my next class. History is always boring. I know no one in that class. Well, I know people in that class but I don't like anyone in it. I also fucking hate studying history. Like I don't give a shit about how Napolean died.

While I walk to my next class, I have the sneaking suspicion I'm being watched. Y'know that feeling when you can feel eyes on the back of your head? Yeah, that.

I turn around to see if I can spot the person staring at me. There. Oh, it's just Henry. I smile and wave at him. He probably feels a little awkward for being caught staring. Acknowledging him might make him feel a little bit better. Henry turns bright red. Aw, that's a little cute. He waves back.

We pass each other without actually saying anything to each other. I want to say hi, or like tell him how good he looks in that outfit today. He doesn't usually dress like that so he should know it's a good choice. It like outlines him. You never really think about how in shape dancers are. I can feel his eyes on me and for some reason I get nervous. Knowing that I was him staring at me, made my hands a little sweaty.

That's weird.

I step into Art and go take my spot next to Paul. We're only taking Art this year because it sounded like fun and we didn't what else we would do. It's just some painting and it doesn't even need to be that good and you can still get a good grade. Easy A. It's a really fun class.

"Hey, what's up." I pat Paul's back. He laughs a little. He's already working on our next project. We have to do an abstract painting that shows our true emotions, or something. It's a nice sketch. Paul's actually not that a bad painter, don't tell him I said that though. Comments like that would go straight to his head.

"Not much man, not much." He continues to work on his sketch. It's pretty swirly and cool looking. "You?"

"eh," I shrug and take a seat in front of my easel. Now time to do some art! Yeah. Easier said than done. I really don't know what to do. I have the feeling of being watched again. I look around again to try to see if anyone is looking at me. No one is.

His lips were so red. His skin is so clear. His hair was great. And wow, why am I thinking about him. Need to think about something else. PAINTING!

The teacher is walking around. She walks up to me and Paul. She's always really supportive of everyone's are and she's understanding when you don't know what to do. I wish all my teachers were like that.

"That's a great start, Paul." I can tell she redirected her attention to my blank canvas, "having some trouble Ted?"

"Yeah, I guess." I'm not the most in tune with my true emotions.

"Well, how are you feeling? I know that's a loaded question."

I honestly have no clue. I guess I still have that feeling of being watched. But I don't really know how to paint that. Abstract paintings are so weeeird.

"How do you paint the feeling of being watched?" She's the art teacher here, she should know what she's doing.

"You mean paranoia?"

Well, paranoia is supposed to be negative though right. This feeling isn't really that negative.

"Not really, I don't know how to explain it."

"Explain it through your art." She's a cool teacher, but every once in a while she'll say something like that. Yup, this really is an art class.

I'll just draw some squiggles and make it into something later.

LUNCH TIME! The best part of the day. I just get to chill out and not deal with bullshit assignments and bullshit people!

Paul and I meet up with Bill and Charlotte at our usual lunch spot. The English building tree! It's this lumpy old tree that doesn't give off much shade but it's cool looking.

"Here you go!" Bill makes me lunch everyday. I don't really have any food at home, and the lunches they serve here are inedible. And Bill wants me to eat so he brings me some food.

"I'm ok without lunch." He's a little too kind sometimes.

"No fuck that you need to eat." Bill shoves the food into my hands. I actually really like the food he brings me. But he doesn't need to know that.

I dramatically spread out my jacket to sit on.

"One of these days I'm going to bring a picnic blanket." Paul sits down and opens the little lunch he has. "So in Art right now we're doing this really abstract thing and I really want to work in a dick in there somewhere."

"Mrs. Hawthorn wouldn't notice." Or she wouldn't care. She's a real hippie. Pretty sure she's come to school high a couple of times. I mean they call it HIGH school for a reason! Public school really is a tragedy.

"That's true." Charlotte has Mrs. Hawthorn fifth period I think.

Paul's staring at something, a smile creeps on his face. I follow his gaze and... yup! Emma and Henry. Why are they here? I'm not complaining, they make good company.

"Hi Emma!" Paul's like a little lap dog. You can almost see his tail wagging.

Emma sits herself down next to Paul. Paul shifts a little so his arm is behind Emma, almost around her.

Henry on the other hand kind of looks around nervously. That outfit might make him look a little intimidating, but he's still a dork. In a good way!

Bill pats the ground in between me and him, signaling for Henry to sit down. Henry sits down on the ground. No wait, those pants are going to get dirty. That sucks.

Bill pats the ground in between him and Ted, signaling me to sit there. So I plop down there. I didn't bring a jacket so I have nothing to sit on, but that's fun.

"Damn if I knew you were gonna be here I would have brought an extra jacket." I really would've, to save those pants. Paul really should bring a picnic blanket.

"No it's fine." No it's not! Nice clothes should be taken care of.

"I love your makeup." Charlotte does enjoy doing crazy makeup. Sam always says some bullshit about her looking a whore. So when Charlotte's not with him she get's to express herself more.

"Thanks!" Henry's eyes light up. He's pretty cute. His punk clothes can't fool me.

"I could never rock an outfit like that." I wish I could. I don't have the body for it. Henry on the other hand...

I can appreciate someone's looks without...

Whatever.

"Sure you could!" Henry smiles and laughs a little. He knows I wouldn't he's just being nice.

"Wow I can't even imagine Ted in full makeup." Bill laughs. That sounds so bad. I'm too messy everything would be smudged so quickly.

"I'm sure Henry would love to do your makeup." Emma suggests. Oh god that will be a mess. But hey it'd be a good story.

"Sure I'm down." I shrug. It would be fun.

"Yeah ok." Henry's blushing. I made him blush. That's...

"Yay!" Emma claps. I don't remember her being this upbeat. I thought she was more cynical. I don't know her that well I guess.

"Hey any word on the school play?" Paul doesn't give a shit. He just wants to make conversation.

"Nope. I think we're just going to be left in the dark until the week of the audition." Wow he really does care. "It's not going to be a Shakespeare show, because we did Shakespeare in the fall."

"Does that mean it's going to be a musical" Paul looks like he's trying to hide his disgust. I have no clue where his hate for musicals comes from, but it's kind of funny.

"Probably." Henry shrugs.

Paul groans. It really is funny how much he hates them. Like really, we have to force him to see Disney movies. It's a Disney movie like they're all good.

"Well I'm excited for it." Bill smiles. Bill and I have been going to school plays for a while. When I had a crush on Zoey, before she got with Sam, we started going because I thought she would notice me in the audience I guess. We still go because they're pretty good productions. They're all pretty good actors.

"Thanks!" Henry smiles awkwardly. He seems confident, I never would have imagined him being this awkward.

"Those shows always look like so much fun." I know I really enjoy seeing them. Even the sadder shows they've done seem fun. Henry and Norah always seem to light up when they're talking about it.

"You should audition." I hadn't even thought of that. "I mean you don't have to, we don't even know what the show is yet. But it is really a fun experience regardless of show. Though it is baseball season, and I know you're on the baseball team. Splitting time between the show and sports might be stressful."

Oh yeah, baseball season is starting. I get to be stuck in in practice with Sam and Coach Dickwad. I've already gotten all my PE credits. I don't need to take a sport to get out of PE anymore.

"Oh shit I totally forgot about baseball." There is no reason for me to stay in it, "if I'm being honest I might quit baseball. The coach is a dick, he-who-shall-not-be-named is on the team now, and I don't even enjoy it that much." I don't know why there's a silence. It's really not a big deal.

"Well there's alway seats open in theatre club." Henry smiles weakly. He's kind of like Paul, he can barely stand awkward social situations.

Imagine that. Ted Richards front and center stage in front of all the school. Fucking performing a monologue or something.

"I do not belong on stage." I'm 100% not a performer, "Charlotte knows what I'm talking about, my singing voice is awful." Charlotte giggles. That karaoke session was a hot mess but I do not regret a second of it.

"You don't have to sing. There's other aspects of theatre, y'know."

Well of course I know it's not just singing, but my singing alone should be enough to drive me away from the stage.

"You could be a techie!" Emma gasps. Based on Henry's expression I'm guessing that's a good fit for me.

A techie? Is that like a... robot thing?

"I don't even know what that is." Ted chuckle. I'll go along with what he says. He's the professional kind of. The

"You basically work backstage." Ah Ted backstage so no one can see my hideous face. "The show hasn't even been announced yet so there's not really any desperate need for techies. But I- We'd be so happy to have you!"

Did he say "I"? As in like "I'd be happy to have you,"? Am I looking to into this? I mean he's the one who said it. But why did he say it? Why do I care, it's not like it effects me.

"I mean if I end up quitting, I'll have nothing better to do." I shrug. I will definitely be quitting. And this looks like fun! And I want to do something I might actually enjoy.

And the bell rings. Paul and Emma take their leave, hand in hand, without a goodbye. They're a cute couple but like Jesus Christ. Bill and Charlotte are at least cool enough to wave goodbye.

I brush the grass of the jacket I was sitting on. I can see some of the dirt on Henry's ass. I should have brought a picnic blanket, I will tomorrow.

"Hey, if you'd like I can talk to Mrs. Murray about it."

Oh sweet this is like actually happening. I'm gonna get to see the inner working of a play! Not that it could be that complicated. I shouldn't start until I know I'm definitely out of baseball though.

"Well I need to quit baseball first." I pat Henry's shoulder, he tenses up. Huh... sturdy. "I'm looking forward to the makeover, see you later." I hope we actually do that. It'd be fun.

"Bye!" Henry calls out after me. My stomach flips. That's so weird.

I turn around to catch one last glimpse of him. He's off the theatre room probably. What am I doing, Looking at another guy like that. I can't help it though.

That's so weird.

#tgwdlm #tedgens #the bell doesnt dismiss you #fanfic

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octannibal-blake · 6 years

Note

How about a bellarke something where one of them is way too emotionally invested in pumpkin carving

i loved this prompt, nonny. Also, side note. This Hocus Pocus drinking game exists. My friends and I do it every October and I strongly encourage others to participate! PSA over.

If there is one thing you should know about Clarke Griffin,it’s that Halloween is her absolute favorite holiday. The moment Septemberfades into October, something unexplainable comes over her. She’s wearing herburgundy sweaters over her black cat t-shirts (and yes, she has quite a few ofthose) and she’s consuming all things pumpkin related. She also pulls out allthe stops on Halloween decorations, even if her apartment is small and therereally being no rhyme or reason for having ghost lights everywhere remotelypossible. She fucking loves Halloween, okay?

It’s something her friends have gotten used to, thankfully, becausehonestly her obsession can be a little overwhelming at first. The firstHalloween she ever spent with Raven in college she forced her roommate to sitdown and watch Actual Cannibal Shia LaBeouf and then proceed to watch the entirety of the Evil Dead series (includingthe T.V show because she’s fucking thorough, okay?). Raven was a bit freakedout, especially when Clarke laughed as a zombie thing got maimed by a chainsawhand, but she learned to love it. Just like the rest of her friends. ExceptBellamy – he’s still getting used to it.

It’s the first Halloween they’re spending together sincebecoming an official item almost six months ago. They had friends for a while,though friends from a distance. As in they seemed to always have at least oneclass together each semester and found themselves sitting next to one anotherin each of them. And then studying together outside of class. And then runninginto each other at a party. The rest, really, is history.

Once an anti-Halloween extremist, she’s only just begunconverting him to other side. She had thought dating someone who was so adamantlyagainst Halloween was against her moral code, but then he smiled at her andmade some nerdy history joke and, well, she was a lost cause. She’s been tryingto ease him into it. Last weekend she and Raven had their annual Hocus Pocus night,during which they play a drinking game and get shit-faced drunk. They followthat by drunkenly watching all the Halloween episodes of Boy Meets World. It’stheir thing. Bellamy joined them along with Raven’s new “friend” Luna. It wasawfully double-date like, though Raven refuses to admit it. Bellamy seemed toenjoy the movie, even enthusiastically joining in the sing along versions of IPut A Spell on You. When she was left wearing the witch hat (rules say whoeverhas the witch hat at the end has to chug a beer), he cheered her on as shedrank from her can of PBR. It was quite a bonding experience.

Deciding he was ready for the next step in the Halloweencelebration, she convinced him to come over and carve pumpkins with her.

“Isn’t that something really cheesy couples do?” he hadasked.

“Well, I don’t know if you know this, but we’re a prettycheesy couple.”

He hadn’t been able to argue that. She had picked out the perfectpumpkins at the farmers market yesterday, perfectly rounded. She has newspaperlining her coffee table with the necessary tools. Bowls for the seeds,included. She likes to roast them. She is quing up the new season of StangerThings when there is a soft knock on her door. She runs to open it, the fuzzysocks on her feet causing her to nearly slide into the door. She pulls it openand he’s standing there with a bottle of wine and grin.

She yanks him in and gives him a quick kiss. That’ssomething else she’s noticed about being with him – she could see him every day(and she pretty much does) and still gets excited to see him. He returns herenthusiasm with a laugh.

“Nice sweater,” he comments, nodding his head toward theembroidered pumkin on her chest.

“It’s festive!” she tells him. He moves to the kitchen andmakes quick work of opening the bottle of wine. He pours them both a glassbefore joining her on the couch.

“I’ve never done this before,” he says as she slides her ownpumpkin towards her, “Be gentle.”

“You’ll be fine,” she says and pats his leg. She grabs theknife and begins to saw off the top. Bellamy watches her carefully before shehands the knife over to him and he tries it on his own.

“Don’t stab yourself!” she worries when the knife puncturesthe side of the pumpkin. He sets it down and tries more carefully. She triesnot to get distracted as his bicep flexes naturally with the pressure of theknife. She’s well aware of how lucky she is, after all, he’s a very attractiveguy. Sometimes it’s still hard to believe that he chose her, of all people, thequiet art major who trips over her own feet. She’s definitely lucky.

She reaches into her pumpkin and begins to scoop out theseeds. This has always been her favorite part. When she was younger, she andher dad would carve pumpkins together and she loved to get her hands dirty.There was something so fun about scooping it out and making a mess. Maybebecause her mom hated it and would fuss over it when they were finished, andher dad would give her a funny look to make everything better. She misses him,a lot. But she’s happy to continue the tradition with someone she cares about.

“Earth to Clarke,” Bellamy’s voice brings her from hermemory, “You okay?”

She gives him a soft smile and hands over the spoon, “Yeah,I spaced out for a second. Time to get your hands dirty, Blake.”

She finishes cleaning out her pumpkin first begins to usethe pencil to draw the outline of what she wants. She can’t just make a simplejack-o-lantern. No, she’s an artist. It has to be more. She loses herself inthe sketching, making sure she gets the angles right and won’t be cutting intothe pumpkin the wrong way. It has to be perfect.

She finishes up the sketch and picks up the knife. Shesneaks a glance at Bellamy, who is still trying to get all the seeds out of hispumpkin. It had a lot more than hers did.

“It helps if you just stick your hand in there,” she encourages,and he sets the spoon down with a frustrated sigh before dipping his hand intothe goopy mess. He sticks his tongue out in disgust.

“Don’t be a baby,” she teases and glares at her for dramaticeffect. She laughs and turns her attention back to her own. Somewhere along theway, she gets lost in it. She moves the knife up and down, tracing theintricate design and ensuring everything is perfect. She isn’t sure how long ittakes her, but when she finishes, she’s grinning triumphantly as the creepyforest looks back at her.

“You couldn’t just be a normal person and do a face witheyes?” Bellamy asks incredoulously as she shows him her design. He only has onetriangle cut out of his own and it’s alopsided one. Poor guy.

“Just wait,” she smiles, standing up with the pumpkin inhand, “It’s going to look badass when I put a candle in it.”

She never gets to see it. As she makes her way to thekitchen, her sock gets caught on something, causing her to trip forward andlose her grip on the pumpkin. It hits the ground. She manages to catch herselfon the counter top. It lands faces down on the wood floor and based on theorange mess coming from the sides, it’s not good.

“Dammit!” she yells. Bellamy is by her side in seconds.

“Jesus, Clarke,” he grabs her elbow to help her stand upstraight. She just keeps staring at the pumpkin, her hard work all a smashedmess on the ground. She bends over and turns the pumpkin face up. The beautifulflowing forest is still there, it’s just dented in. And looks more like one sadlittle tree. Before she even realizes it’s happening, she finds herselfsniffling.

“Clarke?” Bellamy’s voice is full of concern, his handtugging on her elbow to make her look at him.

She’s embarrassed. She dropped her pumpkin and now she’sfucking crying over it like a baby. But seriously, she worked so hard on it.And now it’s all ruined.

“Are you…Clarke, are you crying?” his voice is soft when heasks her and tries to avoid his gaze. He places a hand under her chin andgently pushes her up to look at him. When she meets his eyes, he actuallycracks a smile. She pushes away from him.

“It’s not funny!” she says moving away from him, upset thathe seems to think her emotional reaction is humorous. Now she’s pissed. And shetends to also cry when she’s pissed.

“No!” he says immediately pulling her back to him, “It’s notthat. It’s…”

He looks contemplative then. Afraid even. She’s never seenhim look like that, which is strange, “What?”

He sighs, defeated, and returns his brown eyes to her blueones. They’re filled with something new. Something very intense. Something like…

“I love you.”

Oh. She blinks at him stupidly, trying to process the words.She just slid on her own floor, dropped her intricately made pumpkin on theground, and then cried about it like a child. And he…loves her?

“Shit,” he says when he takes a look at her face, which sheimagines looks something along the lines of shock, “Too soon, right?”

He tries to back away from her, but her body finally kicksinto gear. She wraps her arms around his waist and buries herself into him. Heloves her. Even when she cries over pumpkins. What a guy,

“No,” she says finally pulling back and giving him a waterysmile, because now she’s just happy. Happy that he chooses her, even when she’scrazy about a silly holiday. He chooses her when she acts like a fool. Happybecause she’s been in love with him since the day she met him, basically, “Ilove you too.”

When he kisses her, it’s easy to forget about the smashedpumpkin. In fact, she forgets about the smashed pumpkin until they wake up thenext day and she trips over it on her way to the coffee maker.

He tells her he loves her then, too.

#liz answers #bellarke fanfiction #bellarke prompt fill #plot what plot #just some good ol' bellarke fluff #my writing

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mooneryder · 7 years

Text

Genji Cybernization Speculation

WARNING: LONG POST!

For a fanfiction I’m currently working on, I’m developing a theory on a certain subject currently shrouded in mystery in the Overwatch lore: What the living fuck did Hanzo do to Genji to warrant cybernization, and how did Mercy save his life?

For this post I will be using pictures as references. Sorry for the mediocre image quality!! Here’s a link to the original quality images: https://imgur.com/gallery/7DCJ5

So to kick things off, I simply downloaded a picture of Genji’s Blackwatch skin.

Why the Blackwatch skin specifically?

A lot of my story involves Genji’s time with Blackwatch.

It shows which parts of Genji’s body are cybernetic and which are still organic more clearly than his classic skin.

Next I recorded my initial thoughts looking at this skin. I was mainly looking for how Genji’s body appeared to be operating and what Hanzo might have done to cause it.

I quickly realized, however, that in order to go further I needed to consult a basic diagram of a human male’s internal organs. (Funny enough cause I got a C in bio, lol :P)

I did a side by side comparison and sketched a rough outline of Genji’s internal organs – as they would be in his organic body, that is.

As you can see, most of Genji’s vital organs are covered by cybernetics. Since there are tubes clearly pumping something to the inside of the cybernetic armor, it can be concluded that he does indeed have cybernetic parts underneath it. Which draws me to this conclusion: Genji’s left arm and face were the only organic body parts to survive. Well, at least the only organic body parts to survive enough to remain functional without cybernetic implants.

So, what was the damage to Genji’s vital organs?

In case you can’t read the key I used on the left:

Gold is moderately damaged.

Shit brown is extremely damaged but still salvable.

Burnt brown is damaged beyond repair and needs a replacement.

(THESE ARE ALL BY MERCY STANDARDS, BTW… which means damaged beyond repair is literally unrecognizable as organs)

This is all speculation, but judging by where the aforementioned tubes in the middle of Genji’s cybernetics lead and where the cybernetic armor is in general, I think it can be safe to say the majority of his vital organs were damaged beyond repair. The reason some of his organs are only severely damaged instead of damaged beyond repair (since y’know all of them are technically covered by the cybernetic armor save for most of his left lung) is because they lie closer to the left arm – or the one part of Genji’s organic body that was spared. This includes the heart (NOT THE AORTA though, so technically not his entire heart), the lower part of his left lung, and his left kidney.

Now, keep in mind that the violent confrontation between Hanzo and Genji was pretty clearly a swordfight; the slash in the tapestry at Hanamura, the scars on what remains of Genji’s organic body, and their mutual talents in swordplay are evidence enough of this. But how did a sword inflict such devastating damage to Genji’s internal organs? And on top of that, how can there be such a huge difference in the amount of damage between Genji’s left arm and the rest of his body?

The answer is simple: the dragons.

Think about what Hanzo’s dragons do in game. They’re a huge wall of “oh shit avoid this” that’s relatively easy to dodge if you aren’t caught off guard. They’re unleashed via his weapon; he fires an arrow, they appear. But keep in mind: the bow was not originally Hanzo’s weapon of choice. Of all the skills listed on Hanzo’s official bio, swordplay is the only one we haven’t seen him use. He presumably abandoned the sword because it was what he used to kill Genji. But a weapon is a weapon is a weapon, and more likely than not Hanzo’s unleashed the dragons with his katana in the past.

Think about Genji’s dragonblade. If you’re caught in that ult without a way to escape, you’re more or less fucked. On a squishy like Genji, two blows and you’re dead. Strike after strike after strike. Each one doing horrific damage. And Genji only has 1 dragon. Hanzo has 2.

Imagine Genji’s dragonblade with double the pain, double the damage, and double the devastation – both physically and emotionally. That was what Hanzo did to Genji, in the broadest of terms. He unleashed his own dragonblade onto his brother. In game-mechanical terms, that would bring the damage from just a single strike – originally 120 – to 240. Genji has only 200 health. It could only lead to disaster for him.

To make things even more complicated for Mercy, I believe that when the Shimada dragons “consume their enemies,” they literally burn them from the inside out. (Because seriously, consider the idea that the dragons burn a person from the inside out. It sounds fucking badass.) Hanzo’s dragons roasted Genji’s vital organs. He is left with horrific burns on the inside of his body – both 3rd and 4th degree – and to top it all off, Hanzo slits his brother’s throat. (Thus the destroyed larynx/vocal chords.)

With this theory in mind, it’s easy to understand why Mercy would be overwhelmed. She’s never seen injuries like this before, let alone the damage. She doesn’t know what caused them. She doesn’t know who caused them when she first rescued Genji. She doesn’t even know what would have the capability of doing such damage – and leave the target still alive, no less. But she does know one thing: she has to try to save him.

Listed in dark purple are Dr. Ziegler’s medical solutions for the damaged organs. (This does not, of course, include the enhancements made for the sake of making Genji a living weapon.) Most are synthetic replacements, but the organs not damaged beyond repair were treated with bionic healing. Mercy did not want to replace anything unless there was absolutely no chance of salvaging it.

Which brings me to the specifics of Genji’s cybernization.

I haven’t been talking about the back of his body as much because I haven’t completed a thorough analysis of it, but here is the work I’ve done thus far:

My writing is kind of small, so I’ll elaborate.

There are two types of cybernetic enhancements in Genji’s body: those needed to keep him alive, and those that make him more of a living weapon.

At the base of it all is a power module: the big glowing circle on his right shoulder. It powers all of Genji’s cybernetic body. Power tubes carry the power from the module to all of his cybernetic parts – both organs and limbs.

Genji’s synthetic major organs:

Right lung

Aorta (part of the heart)

Stomach

Liver

Intestines

Vocal cords and/or larynx

Genji’s cybernetic limbs:

Right arm

Both legs

Both feet

Synthetic muscles on his right arm and back

Other miscellaneous cybernetic enhancements include Genji’s cybernetic spine – which holds his stitched-together body up – and his biotic lenses – which enhance his vision to a near superhuman level. Obviously he also has shriukens built into his right hand that he can fire and reload at will.

And keep in mind: this was only the first prototype. I haven’t even started on the specifics of Classic Genji’s cybernization. Actually, in comparison to Genji’s current cybernetic body, Genji’s Blackwatch cybernetic body was very clunky and primitive. But that’s a topic for another post.

I think I kind of rambled, so I hope someone was able to follow this! XD If anyone has any questions, comments, or suggestions, I’m all ears :)

#overwatch #genji shimada #hanzo shimada #mercy #angela ziegler #overwatch lore #cybernization #speculation #theory #mine #nanotechnology #blackwatch genji

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