#I think this ended up being a vent post rather than a minor peeve

[theshadowrealmitself]

Really wish everyone wasn’t like “don’t go to college if you aren’t passionate about what you’re majoring in”

Like unfortunately I am not blessed enough to really have a passion, much less one I can major in and get a job about, and I am not privileged enough to just do fuck all until I somehow find that passion

So I’m gonna keep doing what gives me a direction in life, and maybe I’ll never find that passion, maybe I’m not someone who was made to love working, but if I can find a career that doesn’t overwork me while paying me enough that I can take a few days off every week and get vacation time to do hobbies, I’ll consider that the jackpot and it’ll be enough for me

[theclintbartonbraindump]

Hello + a drabble

Hello friends! Hi, how is everyone? Good year so far? 

So, I realized that I hadn’t really posted anything of substance since December and I felt really bad so I wanted to come on here and give you guys a quick update. I have not been idle! I promise! I’m working on a new project (a big project) that has absolutely consumed me creatively. I’ve had like three existential crises over this thing let me tell you. I’m hoping it won’t be too much longer before I can start sharing it with you guys because I have like five chapters already that I’m just dying to post! And I’m not even halfway through writing this story! I wanted to be sure that I was in a secure enough place with the story before I started to post because, honestly, my number one pet peeve with when authors start to post a multi-chapter fic and then just stop partway through. I get it, the creative process is hard, but I don’t want to leave you guys hanging like that so I promise the wait will be worth it.

I really am so excited to share though. I’ll be honest, the theme I’m working with has kind of been done before, but I’m hoping you guys will like my take on it. I think it will be different enough to still be interesting.

In the meantime though, like I said I felt really bad for going radio silent for so long so I took a break from my primary project and wrote up a quick little drabble for you guys. I say little, it’s 1500 words. But hey I just finished writing a chapter that’s literally 8000 so I feel like 1500 is drabble length for me. I don’t really have a title for it. In fact, it’s saved on my computer under ‘word vomit’ so I’ve just decided to very lovingly and aptly dub this and all future drabbles I post ‘Brain Dumps’.

I’m rambling, I’m sorry!

This is Clint Barton x Reader per usual. For some context, this takes place about a year after the end of Endgame. 

Warnings: Implied sexual content, cheating, a shit ton of angst.

He crawls in through the half-open window around a quarter to eleven. You’d left the window open to try to relieve at least a fraction of the oppressive, New York summer heat, but then again maybe you were subconsciously hoping he’d slip in. You pretend to be asleep, knowing full well you can’t fool him. It’s not that you want him to leave, it’s just been a long day and the emotional turmoil of him sliding into bed next to you may just be the last straw. You don’t want to do that to him. Not with everything he’s dealing with. He’d offer to listen if you wanted to vent, but when you’ve tried to talk before, he always just gets kind of spacey. Like he wants to listen, but his conscience won’t let him. You don’t mind anymore. You two moved past pleasantries a long time ago. He’s not a cruel man, not anymore at least, and he’d be there for you if he could, he just has other priorities. You understand. If you had been one of those fortunate souls to get everyone they loved back this probably wouldn’t even be happening. But then again, he got everyone back and he’s still here with you.

The first time he’d worn his ring in front of you, you’d wanted to cry, scream, tell him to get out. But as you lay there with him above you, chasing not just his own release but yours as well, you realized just how little it mattered. He’d lost everything and over the course of five years, he became a different person. Trauma changes you, but continued trauma like that which he experienced, shapes you. Then everyone came back and he was supposed to just be the same man, but that’s not how it works. You can’t unshape yourself. Maybe you can try to chip away at the rough edges but deep down the core of who you are is still something completely different. You accepted that about him. Maybe you were the only one that did.

There’s a ghost of a kind-hearted man behind his eyes, the same eyes that have seen so much death and anguish. But that man was swallowed up by sorrow six years ago and has never been able to reach the light again. You wish you could say that you felt the same pain he did and maybe a year ago you would have, but things have changed now. You didn’t get anyone back. The snap didn’t take them, the car crash that followed did. You still feel the loss and really just emptiness. That same loss is what shaped him, but it’s not the pain he feels now. What he feels is regret and the feeling that he’s let down the ones that he loves. Not because of you, in reality the times when he’s with you seem to be the only times that he’s able to silence all that. It’s why he came to you in the first place, it’s why he’s here now.

His feet land silently on the floor and then he turns to close the window behind him. He must want to talk; you live on a busy street and he gets annoyed when he has to talk over traffic noise. The two of you don’t talk often when he comes to see you, but when you do it’s usually well into the next morning before you give into sleep. Sometimes he stays, he even made you breakfast once, but usually, he’s gone before you wake up.

You hear him shuffling about your room as he expertly avoids the clothes you left strewn about the floor earlier before collapsing into bed. You peek out from underneath your comforter in time to catch him ease himself down onto the edge of your bed and toe-off his shoes before rather gingerly ridding himself of the rest of his clothes, save for his boxers. It isn’t unusual for him to come to see you battered and bruised and you’re no stranger to patching him up. You could probably award yourself an advanced certification in first aid with the number of minor surgeries you’ve done on him.

He stands and moves around the bed to pull the covers back on his side. When did it become his side? When did you intentionally start leaving space for him in your bed? You’re not sure. If you’re being honest, you can’t even remember how you met him anymore. Maybe he saved you at some point. Maybe you saved him. Maybe you’re both killing each other. But once again you realize just how little it matters because he’s here for you and you’re here for him and that will always be true for as long as he wants you.

Finally, with what sounds like a very pained grunt he lays back against the pillow and turns to his side, facing you. He opens his arms and without even thinking or a moment’s hesitation you move into them. It catches you off guard when his arms close around you like a vise grip and he leans his head down to bury his face in your hair. You expect him to go for your underwear, the only article of clothing you hadn’t thrown across the room earlier, but he doesn’t move. He just holds you.

You wrap your arm that isn’t sandwiched between your bodies around him and he pulls you impossibly closer until your legs are entwined. You’re about to look up and ask him what this is all about when you feel his chest start to shake faintly. In all the time you’ve known him, with all the pain the two of you have shared with each other, he’s never once cried in front of you.

You look up to meet his eyes and are met with a storm of emotions that he’s never let you see before. You bring a gentle, reassuring hand to his cheek and he turns into it and grasps it like a lifeline. He looks at you and you think it may be the first time he really allowing himself to see you. His face tells you everything you need to know at that moment. Where there was once a mask of cautious distance there is now only honesty and surrender. You get the feeling that he’s giving a part of himself to you that he hasn’t let anyone else have in a very long time.

The damn breaks and he falls apart when you reach your arms around his neck and pull him to you. You hold him and he cries and then after a while your tears mix with his because there really isn’t any point in holding them back anymore. You want to heal him, to make him whole again, but you know it’s just a fool’s hope. Neither of you will ever be whole again, really, and you both know it. But you feel closer to completeness now than you have since even before the snap. You think he must be feeling the same with the way he’s holding you to him.

In the back of your mind, you register that there’s no metal sliding against your skin where his left hand his gripping your hip. There’s a part of you that thinks you should be happy about that, but all you feel is the despondency that he’s weeping into you.

You never want him to be unhappy, no matter the circumstances.

You want to ask. If you did, he’d probably give you an honest answer, but now isn’t the time. Whatever it is, is still too raw. So, you hold him, for as long as it takes for him to shed all his tears and breath just one even breathe.

You wonder for a while as you lay there if you should say something or should you just let him sleep, but it doesn’t seem that he’s going to be at peace any time soon. You know there’s nothing you can say to make it better, but you ask him if there’s anything you can do, all the same. The tension eases out of him at the first sound of your voice and he rolls over to his back. He’s quiet for several long moments and even when he answers you, he doesn’t speak. He reaches an arm out for you and pulls you to his chest again, kissing the top of your head when you lay it over his heart. Something about the way he’s holding you seems like both a final word and a promise and you panic a little as you wonder if this is the last time you’ll see him.

He must sense your distress because he brings a hand up to your face, pulling you up to look at him. His lips meet yours in a kiss that seers your soul and imprints on your brain. It’s everything you want to say to each other but aren’t strong enough to manage yet. Tomorrow there would be questions and more than that there would need to be answers, but right now you’re more than enough for him and he’s more than enough for you and, for right now, that’s enough.