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trade-baby-blues · 6 years ago

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Feint

Pairing: Bones x Reader

Word Count: 1934

Warnings: minor swearing

A/N: Based on a request by an anon! The title is a pun bc the reader faints but also because reader and Bones have kind of rude attitudes to each other so it’s a little like feinting (and also I’m super tired so maybe it’s only funny to me lol). Hope you enjoy!!

Nervous was the best way to describe how you felt around Leonard McCoy. The strong jaw, piercing gaze, terrifying medical equipment -it was a mental recipe for disaster, sending you into a panic every time you were near him. Unfortunately, your fight or flight response was biased to fighting (too many years with Jim, Bones always said) and you came off rude every time you spoke with him.

Bones, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out what he’d done wrong. He’d been smitten from the moment you first got wheeled into Medbay. You and Jim had gone on an away mission and decided to race to the bottom of a hill. In a spark of what you called genius, you grabbed an emergency inflatable raft from the transport ship. Needless to say, neither of you realized the hill ended abruptly in a shallow cliff, and you tumbled out of the raft onto the quarry floor below. Luckily for Jim, you broke his fall. The whole ordeal was so stupid it actually endeared you to Bones as you explained it.

The scoldings, on the other hand, were much less endearing. They became more frequent and more intense as Bones fell harder for you. While he was glad to see you so often, he hated seeing you injured in whatever idiotic shenanigan you and Jim had gotten yourselves into this time. It was a waste of his time and yours.

“Can you believe it,” you shouted to Jim, who was in the shower, while you hung upside down from the side of his bed. “He said I was ‘wasting his time.’”

The water shut off. “Yelling is just how Bones shows he cares,” Jim called from the bathroom.

You scoffed. “Then I’m surprised he hasn’t proposed by now. He yells at me for everything. God, did I tell you that he yelled at me for taking a nap in the conference room chair yesterday? Said it was ‘ruining my posture’ and he wouldn’t help me when I started having back problems.”

Jim poked his head out from the bathroom, wet hair sticking up at odd angles. “You took a nap in the conference room yesterday? Weren’t you on shift?”

“Yes, but that’s not the point Jim. The point is Bones has a stick up his ass the size of Georgia and -.”

“And I think that’s enough,” Jim said ducking back into the bathroom before emerging with a towel draped around his waist. “I love a good shit-talk, but Bones is my friend, too. I don’t wanna get in the middle of whatever this is. It’s weird.”

“So is seeing you walking around in a towel, but that hasn’t stopped you.”

Jim turned around on his way to his closet. “Because it’s my room. Trust me, I would prefer to be naked.”

“Aw, thanks for saving me the nightmares.”

“Get out,” Jim laughed. You acquiesced, bouncing up from the bed so fast you felt a little dizzy. You brushed it off and made your way back to work.

Bones slammed his breakfast tray down on the table. Stabbed his food. Chomped as if his teeth were grinding down rocks instead of pancakes. Jim watched, bagel halfway in his mouth, before dropping it back to his plate with a sigh. “What’s got your eyebrow twitching today, Bones?”

“Nothing.” He stabbed his food again. Stab. Chomp. Stab. Chomp.

“You sure about-”

“I just don't understand what I did wrong,” Bones cut in. “I've gone out of my way to ensure Y/N gets the best treatment and knows how to take care of herself after whatever stupid shenanigans the two of you have gotten into and she acts like I’m some dictator trying to control her life when all I’m doing is trying to show her I care, you know?” Jim nodded along, trying to respond but being cut off again before he could say anything. “I’ll be damned. That’s the problem, isn’t it? I care about her so much I’ve been smothering her. I’ve got to find her.” Bones shoveled the last few mouthfuls of food into his mouth before practically sprinting out of the mess hall.

Jim stared at the empty space in front of him and sighed. “Thanks for the talk, Jim,” he muttered to himself. “You’re a great listener and a great captain. You’re the best, Jim.”

You threw your wrench to the ground, sending it clattering across the engine room floor. Sweat felt like a permanent accessory on your skin, and you weren’t sure which was louder: the roaring of machines or the roaring of your own heartbeat. When had you gotten so out of shape?

“Maybe it really is time for a physical,” you told yourself as you clambered back down to collect your tools for the day. The floor seemed to shift as you bent forward, barely managing to catch yourself before your face hit the metal floor beneath you. “Hm. Weird and not at all terrifying,” you whispered, keeping your hands and knees firmly planted as you waited for the dizziness to fade. “Probably dehydrated, which would also explain why I’m talking to a wrench.” You pressed your forehead against the floor, hoping the coolness of the metal would help abate the heat and lightheadedness plaguing your body.

The noise around you grew quieter as you focused on your breathing, on the solid ground beneath you, on anything but the overwhelming pounding in your chest. You came to realize your body wasn’t hot - your chest was. It felt like your heart was ready to burst out of it, pumping as if you’d run a marathon rather than climbed a ladder. You fought past the ever encroaching whiteness at the edge of your vision to fish through your toolkit for your Comm, hoping to reach Scotty or Jim or anyone and tell them where you were, but you could feel your arms get heavier with each move you made. Your fingers wrapped around the Comm like a life raft as you slipped past the edge of consciousness.

Bones tried to pretend like it didn’t upset him that you were avoiding his calls, but he’d always been one to wear his emotions on his sleeve, and right now his sleeves were pushed to his elbows, crushed and wrinkled, as he buried himself in paperwork to forget about the messages he’d sent you hours ago. Of course, he’d wanted to confess his feelings in person, but, when he couldn’t find you, Bones had to settle for a Comm call. When you didn’t respond, he was forced to settle for a bottle of whiskey and the realization that maybe you simply hated him after all. It was all the same. He’d gotten used to being alone.

That didn’t stop him from jumping from his seat the second his Communicator started ringing. He tried to remind himself that he was an adult, but the mix of alcohol and nerves made Bones damn near drop the Comm half a dozen times before he finally answered.

“Hello.” Bones made a note to not sound so breathless. There was no answer. “Anyone there?” There was a buzzing of machinery in the background but no voice, no sounds of movement. Bones pondered his next move before hanging up and dialing your Comm. It rang and rang but you didn’t pick up. Bones shifted gears and called Jim, asking him to call you before Jim could get a word in. Then, he paced impatiently around his office waiting for Jim to call him back.

“Did she pick up,” Bones started as soon as he answered the call.

“You know,” Jim said, “I am the captain of this ship. I have a job to do. Responsibilities. Plus, I’m technically your boss, so you shouldn’t be so rude to me.”

“Damn it, Jim, I think something might be seriously wrong with Y/N. Did she answer or not?”

“No, she -”

“Meet me down in Engineering.” Bones ended the call as quickly as it started, leaving Jim on the other end, staring into deep space wondering if his being captian meant anything to anyone besides himself.

Everything was bright. Everything was loud. The cotton sheets scratched at your skin, but you were unable to move. Your limbs were lead. Your eyelids like cathedral doors you had to pry open. You tried to focus on the face hovering above you.

“Is that you God? Odin? That cute delivery guy who brought us pizza on our last shore leave?” Your voice came out muddled, but Jim’s laughter hit your ears crystal clear.

“Yeah, I’d say she’s gonna be just fine, Bones.” Jim clapped him on the shoulder.

Bones scoffed. “Just fine? She’s got a heart condition, Jim. There’s nothing fine about that.”

“Someone’s in a bad mood,” you mumbled as you pushed yourself up on the bed. “You’d think you’re the one who got diagnosed with a heart condition.” “As often as the two of you wind up in here, I’m surprised I don’t already have one. God, do you have any idea how dangerous it is to work under the conditions down in Engineering with an arrhythmia?”

You furrowed your brow. “Arrhythmia?”

“An irregular heartbeat.”

“That explains so much…” you whispered in response. Silence fell as Bones glared at you.

“How long have you been having symptoms?”

You avoided his gaze, staring at the hem of the sheet you were lying under. “I don’t know. Not super long. Maybe a couple weeks.”

“A couple weeks,” Bones yelled louder than he intended. He reigned himself in again. “You didn’t think it was something you should mention? I mean, the dizziness, the heart palpitations - they’re all pretty noticeable symptoms.”

“I’m not a doctor,” you said defensively. “I didn’t know what it was! I thought it was just because I have a stupid crush on you and I was nervous or something.” You clapped your hand over your mouth, eyes wide, heart racing again.

“This ain’t a romance novel, sugar,” Bones laughed, which made your cheeks redder than they already were. “Your heart’s not supposed to flutter.”

“Yeah, well I realize it’s not a romance novel or I wouldn’t be lying in a paper gown covered in dust and engine grease in front of a smoking hot doctor.” You crossed your arms over your chest, sinking back into the pillow and wishing, more than anything, that you could sink through the bed and drift off through space to a planet a few systems away from here.

“I like a girl who’s not afraid to get dirty,” Bones teased.

“Aaaaand that’s my cue to leave,” Jim interrupted. “You crazy kids have fun.”

You watched Jim go, hoping he could feel your eyes on his back begging him to stay or at the very least smother you with your own pillow. Either would do. Sadly, he kept walking, leaving you with Bones and a heavy silence as you were both reduced to grade schoolers tugging nervously at your shirt sleeves.

“So,” you started. “Are you gonna...take care of my heart?” You cringed at how cheesy that sounded. “No, that’s. I’m sorry. Can you fix it?”

Bones couldn’t help but laugh. He’d never seen you nervous before. It was a cute look on you. “I’ll take good care of you, doll.” Bones pressed his hand over yours and everything clicked into place. The tornado of thoughts whirring around your brain finally calmed as you focused on the pressure, the warmth of Bones’ hand over yours. It was a feeling you wanted to hold onto forever.

Tags:

@outside-the-government @martinawalker @thevalesofanduin @goingknowherewastaken @thefanficfaerie @feelmyroarrrr @brooke-taylor0323 @slither-in-a-half @cuddlememerrick @8bit-arc-reactor @jimtkirkisabitch @sjlovestory @kristaparadowski

#star trek imagine #bones x reader #leonard mccoy x reader #bones imagine #leonard mccoy imagine #i feel like my tag list has gotten so small #so many of you have changed urls and I can't tag you anymore :(

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whitewolfbumble · 6 years ago

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The Fallout - Part Eleven (Bucky x Reader)

Summary: You had been a ghost for years, taking down the bad guys from the shadows that had once enslaved you. That is until the Avengers finally caught up with you and yet again your life changed. But your past won’t stay dead and everything starts to shift when a familiar face joins the ranks: Bucky Barnes. He may not remember you, but you certainly remember him.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Slow burn, language, descriptions of panic attack/anxiety, forced kissing, graphic description of gore/death, graphic descriptions of torture

Word Count: About 6k

A/N: Plan to read some fluff after this (maybe try this one) lol! But please please let me know what you think of this! Like, reblog, or a message would make my day!

MY MASTERLIST // THE FALLOUT MASTERLIST // PART TEN

“There’s nothing to reprint! You can’t simply reprint memories like you can tissue!”

A low muffled reply followed. You wondered if it was Bucky, threatening Dr. Cho coldly to figure out a way. They must have been just outside your small med bay room, their silhouettes dancing on the frosted glass door. It was only dawn, the grey lighting casting grey shadows.

Again, you wiped your face with your hands, fingers pressing in hard. You ran them through your hair, searching the ends carefully, checking every piece. Again your stomach rolled and you reached for a tin bucket on your bed table as acidic bile rose up your throat and a few drops pushed out of your mouth with a shuddering heave.

Your ears rang with the memory of grinding gears, a deafening electrical buzz, and two booming gunshots. You hadn’t been laying down on a cot in a white medical room alone like you were now. Back at the Hydra complex, there had been two men room with you, strapping you to a dirty chair.

When the shots rung out, they connected with the two men standing right above you. The blood splatter that exploded from their foreheads told you that it was not rubber bullets that hit them. Chunks of bone and brain sprayed down with the blood thickly on you, caught in your burning lungs, screaming mouth, and wide eyes.

For the hundredth time, you pulled your hands across your face and through your hair. You had been trying to wipe away the long washed away viscera, stomach trying to expel the pieces of the men’s split open heads whose last remnants had long been vomited up.

When the doors opened, you sat up slightly. “Bucky?”

But it was that Steve walked in, rearranging his anxious face to one of a tight smile. No real happiness was found on his face or yours.

“Hey kid,” he started. “Room for one more?”

You put down the tin bucket back on the table, looking grimly at it before moving carefully to one side of the bed. Steve sat down there with you, putting his legs up on the cot and an arm over your shoulders.

“Dr. Cho is still uh, figuring things out. Some other doctors may be through too.”

“Steve,” you began but didn’t have it in you to finish.

There was nothing to be done.

You curled up in his chest, balled fist above his heart. It was slightly faster than normal and you looked up to him, eyes desperately sad for a moment before he plastered another small smile on his lips.

“It’ll be okay, we’ll get this figured out. I know we will.”

“I’m not,” you looked down, whispering. “I don’t feel like… myself. I don’t know… I don’t know what I… who I...”

There was this impossible moment after had Bucky stormed in, killing those men and freeing you. He carried you, dripping in the men’s blood to the jet while this thing- this tentacle- weaseled it’s way through your brain, destroying and scrambling up your life as it wriggled around. You screamed for someone or something to get it out while Bucky locked your arms to your sides, keeping you from clawing at your face and head to get at it.

You stood on the jet, unwilling to lie down on that or any other table again, stunned as suddenly, in an instant, you were just not you anymore.

There was this great divide in you, this huge conflict now.

You were missing. Whole parts of you were completely gone. You remembered your life before Bucky took you, clear as day like it had only been a mere couple years ago.

Then Hydra. You remembered being taken, being locked up, tortured, experimented on. You remembered snapshots of hazy drug-induced mania bringing you to the edge of death with every injection.

Every face was so clear, every cut burned you, every poisonous liquid in your veins shaking and disintegrating you. You remembered someone standing behind you, glued to their body as they took your hands and slashed person after person. Then they were gone, and after simply speaking a few words you were doing it yourself now, completely unable to stop. You had kept track of the days back then, and there couldn’t have been more than a few hundred.

Then, nothing.

Not until a few personal vendetta missions before Steve caught up with you and brought you into the fold.

You had been pulled from an older time to suddenly this modern future with no in between. Somehow able to remember yourself doing things- fight and kill and resist anyone with a collected cool- but you couldn’t for the life of you know how you did it. You couldn’t picture yourself knocking someone out or murdering so easily. But you had.

You jumped from a young novice to a master at your craft, and now you were left with the memories of it but no real experience in it. In your mind you looked back at your missions alone, then with Steve and the Team. You had no idea how to do any of that any more of your own free will, not without the controlling Hydra looming over you and pulling your strings.

You were two people, utterly lost and completely at odds within yourself.

“Talk me through this.” Steve said quietly, resting his head down on yours, arms wrapped around you, holding you together.

You remembered doing that for Bucky during the first nightmare you witnessed, then he did it for you. A wave of intense misery washed over you, bring tears to your eyes and a burning in your throat. Your friendship with Steve hadn’t dissipated with the mind-wipe, but neither did your feelings for Bucky. He was the one you wanted here with you.

“I remember Kyiv?” you offered, sniffling in his shirt. “I can’t… there isn’t much before that.”

“You don’t remember your previous life at all? Where you were.” he asked grimly. He passed you a tissue and you took it, crumpling it in your hands distracted.

“No, I do. It was Hydra. They… I did things for Hydra.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, not overly happy to have to confirm the news. “You were with them.”

“But I don’t remember it.” you looked to him. “Not all of it, I mean. Maybe the first few years but…”

“It’ll be okay, we’ll g--” But he stopped, body frozen for a moment.

“What is it?”

“I hate to ask Y/N, I really do. But I need to know.” he started, then spoke deliberately. “Do you remembered being triggered?”

“I… I don’t know.” You didn’t want to think or talk about it, to be honest.

“Doing something that you had no control over, like someone was controlling you.”

“Um,” you sputtered, swallowing down to all too recent-feeling memories. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

You wouldn’t have hurt the people you did willingly. But you had been alone many of those times and all you could do was internally scream at the top of your lungs, mentally begging for someone to stop you or kill you. Yet somehow through the years you lived on, ending up here.

Steve took a deep breath in. “Do you remember being able to overcome them triggering you? Do you know how you did that?”

“I…” you stopped, having to actually think about that. “I don’t.”

Panic rose, tightening your chest and removing the oxygen from the room in a second.

Oh god, no.

“You would sing. You would focus on a song and block everything else out. You described it to me before, like when a tune gets stuck in your head and you can’t think of anything else or stop singing it. Just for you, it was on a different level. It took you years to learn to do that, for your brain to overpower their brainwashing with that intense focus.”

“I don’t, I don’t think I can anymore.”

Oh no. Oh no no no.

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think to try and breath with your mind racing too fast. Everything was too much. The suddenly grey light was too bright, the blanket covering you too claustrophobic, the soft buzz from the medical equipment nearby too loud.

“Steve, don’t let them do that to me again.” you begged, voice rising with every word. “I don’t know how to fight them now, do I? I remember fighting them but I can’t- I don’t know, I just- please Steve, just make this stop!”

He held you bracingly close as everything around you crumbled. Anxiety crawled over your skin and pierced through you, seizing your lungs and squeezing your mind. Thoughts racing to no end you couldn’t focus, couldn’t see your own hand in front of you. Everything was too much, like you were taking in too much air and no air at all, drowning in this bed on nothing but pure searing panic.

Steve held you, speaking right into your ear and you heard the words but you couldn’t process them. And he couldn’t hold you together.

Hydra could trigger you again now. Hydra could trigger you.

They could make you do whatever they wanted all over again. And now there was nothing you could do to stop it. You didn’t remember how.

Was that their plan?

“Doctor!”

“Steve please!” you screamed. “I don’t want this! I can’t do this anymore, they hurt me so much. Don’t let me hurt anyone else, please, oh god don’t let them hurt me!

He held you down and the panic took you, body moving and struggling against an assailant that you couldn’t see, couldn’t fight. Tears streamed down your face blocking out everything around you, your only focus on the pain. You cried out desperately as though in a void alone.

“Why isn’t he here, Steve?” you sobbed into his chest, tasting blood as you shook violently, biting your tongue. “Where did he go? He just left! Please, where is he, please!”

Through your tears you didn’t see Dr. Cho walking in, needle filled with a clear liquid in hand. You didn't feel the prick of it on your arm. But you did feel a cool numbing feeling start to slowly circulate through you.

As your mind and body slowed, every part of you grew lethargic, including the mordacious panic. Slowly, your heavy lids began to close as your heart rate began to drop down to a puttering, drowsy pace.

You wondered, in that numbing haze, if you saw the silhouette of Bucky in the doorway watching you.

But you couldn’t reach out, couldn’t ask before darkness overtook you.

The training room used to be an enjoyable space for you. It was your element. Or had been.

You swung your fist out again, hitting the punching bag quite off your mental target. It was sloppy, slower than you thought it should be, and didn’t quite land right. You pulled back your fist in a huff, inspecting your knuckles, looking for something there that would have thrown this off.

But it was you.

Your muscle memory that had once ruled your body was practically gone. Your years of experience and of practice were missing now. You knew how it felt to hit the punching bag properly. You knew exactly where on it to hit, how fast you should strike, and the feel of it, your skin numb to the impact.

But this was stinging, it was awkward, and it left you frustrated in your failure.

You wouldn’t be in here hour after hour if you could help it though. At least the punching bag was a distraction, if not an annoying one.

“How about a run?” Steve said, walking in with a water bottle in hand, ready to go. He looked beat down a little and moving slower than usual.

“I don’t know, I might trip over my feet.” you said darkly.

“C’mon,” he started, hand resting on the side of the bag. “You know this is going to take time. Have a little a grace for yourself.”

“How can I when this is fucking ridiculous?” you spat, beginning to pace around the mat.

You had been keeping this up all afternoon. The morning you had spent combing through the Hydra files, reading through your old missions. That didn’t last long. You could barely stomach it.

“I had reflexes and I had muscle memory just a few days ago! Where the hell did that go? That wasn’t in my mind, that was my body. And now it feels fucking useless.”

Steve shook his head. “You can’t think like that Y/N, your mind is more powerful and plays a bigger part of it. But you’ll relearn it, I promise you. We’ll train together.”

“You can’t teach me what I want to know.”

“What, how to kill someone?” he said almost defiantly. “No, you’re right, I won’t do that.”

“Than I want to know how to fight them. You’ve fought them but you don’t know them the same as I did. Hydra is coming after me, I need someone who knows how to fight them.”

“Y/N,” Steve said, dropping his voice down in understanding. “It’s only been a day. Give him time.”

You scowled, both wanting to talk about it and definitely not wanting to talk about it. Nothing was straightforward in your life besides a deep seeded wanting. A wanting for someone who was avoiding you.

“It was news he wasn’t prepared for. It’s an adjustment. Bucky’ll come back around, just give him time.”

“He’s mad at me for not telling him.” you ventured.

“He’s mad at himself that it happened at all. He’ll get through this, and so will you. We all will.”

You were waiting, sitting perched on a bar counter in a large, completely empty room. In fact the whole floor was abandoned, the Team either sensing the coming storm or more likely Steve giving them a heads up.

It was another grey day, much like the last couple. Like the one you woke up in a few days ago, beginning this new chapter with you as this... person. The same as you were yet markedly different.

You had yet to get used to it and doubted you ever will. You could- and would- relearn what you needed to defend yourself and others. But you couldn’t think of a way to actually get those lost memories back. Would there always be this hole in your life?

Maybe it was a good thing, forgetting so much of your years at Hydra. But however awful it was, the pain had ultimately brought you here. It made you capable of surviving anything and everything, and made you a fighter, uncompromising in your will to win. Now you were at the mercy of others.

A distinct ping sounded, echoing down the hall. As you heard the elevator doors open, your stomach dropped. You clutched your shirt over your abdomen trying for a moment to knead out the nausea.

Hearing heavy and hurried footsteps, you did you best to steady yourself and sat as upright as your emotion-wearied body could.

A quick second later you found yourself alone with Bucky in a large, vacant room.

He strode in, not looking at you as he moved, staying against the wall on the far opposite side of the room. He was stoic, standing at full height, black long sleeve shirt stretched across him too tight, face dark. But the bags under his eyes matched Steve’s.

With a pang of guilt, you understood: he wasn’t sleeping. Steve must have been trying to help as you recalled his exhausted face too, and by the looks of it unsuccessfully.

As he turned to face you straight on, you noticed his palour was greyish and those bags under his eyes looked a blueish purple. The blue of his eyes hung low watching you, as emotionless as you had ever seen them. The hard line of his mouth confirmed his cold-blooded state. He was unfeeling, detached to as far of an extreme as he could take himself.

He didn’t say hello, or ask how you were. He barely even seemed to see you, though he was looking right at you. You imagined he would’ve noticed your weariness too, being unable to sleep without Dr. Cho knocking you out, though that couldn’t last forever. Or how slumped your shoulders were. How hollow your face was. How you held yourself like at any moment you were going to be in pain again, constantly bracing yourself, crunched up in anxiety. But without pause to take you in or really look at you at all, you didn’t think he actually saw any of that.

“Tell me what happened.��

A tidal wave of cold struck you from that tone, those eyes. He wasn’t necessarily threatening and wasn’t exactly angry, just so incredibly frigid in a stoically, emotionless way. Maybe this was how the others viewed him. But you realized this dispassionate state was probably the only way he could get through this.

You wanted to say his name, but stopped yourself as the word formed in your mouth, remembering your breathy utterance of it on the balcony, then it being repeated on the intercom over and over before this all went to shit.

“I don’t r-”

“You’ve kept this from me since day one.” he said, cutting you off. “You knew me this whole time. Tell me what happened.”

You sighed. You weren’t trying to make this difficult- you had done enough of that clearly- but you were only trying to be honest.

“I was going to say that I don’t remember everything, just the beginning few years. And the last couple. Everything in between is a blank.”

You could feel the burning tears spring up in your eyes at that. You looked away from him, blinking them away as subtly as possible while you carried on.

This wasn’t over half a century old anymore, not that it ever truly felt that way. Everything that happened felt like a few short years, trauma you might have thought at one point that you were over (which wasn’t true) but that you now don’t remember actually getting over. It was still a gaping hole in your side, bruised and jagged and bleeding. It took your breath away.

“I was young, it was the 50’s. And you took me.”

It really had been that simple. Nothing you could have done to stop him, nothing he could have done to stop himself. Though you both had tried at the time.

“Why did I take you.” he said, dead eyes pushing you as far back in the room as they could, holding you there.

Both your voices echo in the expansive yet somehow stifling space between you. He said his words like he had been practicing how this was going to go, to stay focused and leave just as fast as he came. To get as far away from you.

“I didn’t know at the time,” you said quietly. “I genuinely think you were after someone else though. I was just… there.”

The only give away that he was feeling anything was the slightly quickened pace of his chest rising and falling. If not for that you would have thought him a statue.

“Why did I do it at all.”

It was a reasonable question. You had been a normal girl back then: young, naive, maybe a little confrontational but certainly not anything close to the Siren material they made you into. Why on earth would he have picked you?

“Bucky, you have to understand… I know you were a sniper in the war and were on an elite team but…” you sighed.

All this would break his heart and there was nothing you could do about it. He knew now and wouldn’t let you hide that rest of it anymore.

“Hydra wasn’t just going to send you out to assassinate presidents or topple governments from day one. They had to start you off on low risk, basic missions to test your ability to comply. To put you in familiar territory and know that you would complete your task. To know that no matter what, their brainwashing would work. It was just a test. I wasn’t the first or the last of the people you captured before they… “graduated” you to Winter Solider.”

He paused just for a moment, though you didn’t when you answered: “What did I do to you.”

“Does it matter?” you breathed, trying one time to give him an out.

He didn’t have to go through the pain of this. You had, wasn’t that enough for you both?

But he had to know, had to use this to punish himself. He could feel terribly worthless and hate himself for killing people in his past. But this was you and you were not a ghost and you were not a stranger. This was far more personal, hit far deeper.

“What did I do to you.” That sounded almost more like a threat, coming low and intense.

You took a moment, looking down in defeat and almost embarrassment. This was so uncomfortable for you, maybe he realized that and maybe he didn’t, but bringing this up made you relive it all over again. You didn’t have the buffer of time to distance yourself from it anymore.

“That first day, you took me to Vier Gliedmaßen.” you confessed. “You put me in a cell. I was “processed”, as they called it. Once that was over you stayed until they told you to leave me alone.”

That was bare bones and you both knew it. You didn’t mention the screaming, the excruciating pain, the unending terror as you were pulled away from your family, your life and dumped without reason into hell itself. The worst nightmare you could think of at the time was what Bucky had done: kidnap and lock you up. Until Hydra showed you how much more terror there was to fear in the world.

“What did I do to you.” You wondered if he was going to close the gap, body tensed up, but you wouldn't play this game. You wouldn’t add to his torment.

“No,” you said shaking your head. “You didn’t do anything, Bucky. You didn’t. They did.”

“Tell me what I did to you.” he said again, louder.

This was your fear realized. This was exactly what you knew would come if he found out.

“You cried for me. You hesitated for me. You tried with everything in you to stop. You railed against their brainwashing. You did that. All the other soldiers that came in through the years did that too. They were not the ones hurting me, Bucky. I realized that quickly. It wasn’t you hurting me Bucky. You never lifted a finger against me.”

“Stop making excuses. What did I do to you.” he said forcefully, eyes still dead.

“Hydra took me from my life.” you started, voice rising. You hopped off the counter and started closing the distance between you, his stare making it feel like wading through icy water. “Hydra sliced me open. Hydra beat me. Hydra experimented on me. Hydra did that.”

When you reached him, you stared up at him for a moment. Oh god, you wanted the kind face of Bucky when he reminisced, when you sat together drinking tea in the kitchen, when you climbed into bed together at night. Not the hardened face of a man in too much agony to show it.

You reached up to put your hands on either side of his face but he flinched back, recoiling at your touch. You pulled away and stepped back, burning eyes looking up to the ceiling. You remember how so sweetly in his sleep he said that you were the only one he wanted touching him, the only one he could imagine touching him. Now he recoiled from you.

This was so fucking complicated. And it was either cry or get angry, so you decided to get angry.

“I’m not a victim, Bucky!” you half yelled. “I’m a survivor! I survived them and everything they did to me! You didn’t hurt me because you wanted too, because of your own free will that was what you actually wanted! You did it because they forced you. They forced you, just like they forced me to endure it.”

“That isn’t true, just stop.”

“No, because I know you don’t get it! I couldn’t… I couldn’t tell you before. And yes, I probably should have, but fuck, Bucky, haven’t we gone through enough?”

“You’re wrong!” he was louder now, voice slightly manic for just a moment, matching your volume.

“Maybe you were the first, but you weren’t the only soldier they sent in Bucky.” you continued, unrelenting. “I was made by them to be violent and they hopped me up on whatever drugs they could give me to last longer, move faster, torture more insanely. They had their tricks but sometimes I was just too hard to handle. I wasn’t like you, cold and calculating. They wanted me more unhinged, to cause deeper pain to people. So when I failed a mission? Or when I hesitated? They would send a soldier in. And the soldiers that beat me? That tore the skin off of me? That snapped my spine? That…”

You couldn’t finish, putting your palms up to your eyes, trying to force the tears back. The pain was so fresh to you your whole body stung. You took in a shaky breath before you could continue, looking through bloodshot, tear-soaked eyes to him.

“I didn’t blame a single one. Not anyone of them, and not you!” Blood pooled in your hands as you nails dug into your skin in your closed fist. “They didn’t have a choice, they couldn’t fight it! Hydra took them too. They tortured them. They made them do horrible things. Hydra is to blame for all of this. Not you.”

“You didn’t tell me any of this. Why.” he said, voice low again, deliberately now trying not to match the heat of your outburst in his icy exterior.

“Because of exactly what you’re feeling now and trying not to show, damn it!”

He stood unmoving, dark features glued to yours. You were a mess and he was a stone statue.

“You’re in pain, Bucky. You’ve gone through enough of that. So have I. I didn’t want this for either of us.”

He narrowed his eyes and you almost shivered at the cold he threw at you with them. “That isn’t true and you know it.”

“You think I wanted this? I wanted Hydra to come barreling back into my life not on my terms but theirs? That I wanted to be threatened, half killed, tortured, mind fucked, and end up with you finding out like this?”

“You love the fight, Y/N. You run to it, you fucking crave it.” he snapped, the bark cutting through you.

“What the hell is that suppose to mean? Why does that matter? I was programmed to fight, I’ve been fighting for decades. If there is an enemy, I go after it before they go after me. We talked about that after The Black first arrived.”

“You love the carnage and the pain—“

“The fuck I d—“

“And that’s why you have feelings for me.”

His words silenced everything in you and you both stood there, him with fists now clenched and lip almost curled in anger, while you dropped your anger in shock.

How could he possibly think that of all things? That couldn’t be true.

“You wanted to relive the fight.” he continued darkly. “Then prove you can rise above it. So you can defy them all over and over again. Defiance; that what this is about. They used me to… to hurt you, and you want to be with me as a flip off to them.”

“Bucky,” your voice was much lower and much softer than before, because holy shit this was going off the fucking rails.

“That’s not true. Let me be clear here… you’re right. I do have feelings for you. Deeper than I’ve had for anyone.”

Saying that to a man that was standing there, watching you with icy and unfeeling eyes was almost unbearable. It was like the words snapped back and struck you. You tried to hold your body up but at the pain of the lashing words you felt yourself twist with the sting of them.

“But I don’t want to be with you because of Hydra. It’s very much in spite of Hydra that I feel how I do. How fucking twisted would that be? I’m not like that, you have to be able to see that it just isn’t like that.”

His face scrunched up and for the first time you saw a flash of agonizing heartbreak behind them.

“Then why the fuck do feel for me, Y/N? Why wouldn’t you want to kill me or hate me or tear me apart? I did this to you. Your whole life with them. That was because of me.”

You brought your hands up to your neck, eyes closed for a moment. You felt your pulse racing under your palms. You didn’t want to have this conversation, you never had wanted too. Your body and mind and soul couldn’t handle it.

“I have emotions, Bucky, and I can’t always explain why I feel what I do. I didn’t have the best role models at Hydra and years of torture tend to warp people. I think and I feel and it can be sick and illogical but it’s honest, Bucky. I can’t just turn it off. I know it’s… twisted maybe to feel for you like I do, but it’s… it’s real.”

You felt the next words in your throat coming up like vomit in your mouth, and you couldn’t stop them. They didn’t spill out violently but hushed in the space between you.

“Maybe you hate yourself or don’t feel worthy or feel damaged. Or maybe you just hate me for all this. But I… but I love you, Bucky. And I don’t care, you can push me away however far you want. Maybe I’m too tainted by Hydra now, and you’ll only ever see me as a victim. But fuck that because I’m not that person, you’re not terrible, and I won’t stop feeling this way.”

“Stop, just stop this.” His voice was hushed too, cold mask cracking with the heartache bubbling up from underneath it.

“Maybe you don’t want to hear this now, but you are worthy, you are loved, and you are not what they did to you,” you said, voice turning more resolute as you spoke, almost shaking with this truth. “I’ll keep telling you that over and over until you really hear it. Until you know it and feel it. I know that it’s not going to be today, but one day that will finally sink in. And even then I won’t stop saying it. So hate yourself and hate me all you want. It’s the goddamn truth."

The fireplace flickered and hummed beside you, curled up in the farthest corner of the room. Windows surrounded you, shedding bright light on the book you had been unable to read a single word from, even though you had been trying for over an hour.

You were impossibly cold yet you didn’t wrap yourself up in the plush blankets nearby, choosing instead to remain uncomfortable. You couldn’t nod off, your dreams coming on in too much horrific detail before even F.R.I.D.A.Y could wake you up.

Dr. Cho had been shooting you up with something to knock you out at night, but you couldn’t sustain it, the drug basically put you in a coma that would be enough to kill an average person. Maybe your drug tolerance was impossibly high due to Hydra’s experimentation but this was a short-term solution to what you knew to be a long-term problem. You didn’t remember how you dealt with it after escaping Hydra and before you met the Team, so you were on your own in trying to figure out a way to cope.

Basically, you looked like a ghost and felt dead too. But that feeling was more so because of your conversation- your entire complicated life- with Bucky than sleep at the moment.

“Incoming message from Steve, Y/N.” said F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s smooth voice.

“Please.” you said, desperate for a distraction.

“Hey, whereabouts are you?”

“The lounge, why?” Despite how it made your stomach roll walking in here, this was the only spot without a soul around.

“Just checking in, be there in a second.”

Bless him, poor Steve. He was on Bucky duty and now Y/N duty.

The others had generally given you space besides a kind word or pleasant small talk, thinking you would want some time to work through this. It was true, but you also intensely felt alone. Not so much lonely, but more like the foundation-crushing, soul-shattering alone feeling, like you were bound to a life of isolation now. It was dramatic but so true you felt in your soul and your body ached with it.

Nothing the others did or said could fix or change this feeling in you; you only wanted one person through this. And he could barely stand to be near you.

Steve did provide a little relief though, and you welcomed your interactions with him, even if the brief feeling of companionship fleeted just moments after seeing him.

He walked in, blue shirt lighting up his bright eyes and bringing out his perfect shade of blonde. It also accentuated the purple puffs under his eyes and bruises on his arms. He obviously wasn’t sleeping well either being on nightmare duty with Bucky.

“How does the other guy look?” you said as he walked over to you, sitting on the arm of chair just beside you.

“I haven’t seen him yet. He’s not really taking any visitors at the moment.”

“Never thought you would be called that in his books.”

“Me either.” he said, drained. “You okay?”

“Not any better than you are probably feeling.” He gave a small smile at that.

“How did it go?” He scooted off the arm and sat back in the chair, grey city buildings as his backdrop.

You swallowed, shaking your head and looking away from him into the flames of the fireplace.

“It was awful. Exhausting. Weird.” you said, speaking truth to your oldest friend. “He was so bitterly cold? He’s never been that way with me, even when I broke into his apartment before he came on the Team.”

“He’s angry, Y/N.” Steve explained softly. "It’s a lot to take in, I’m sure. Hydra did a number on him.”

“Yeah,” You quirked an eyebrow. “But he’s angry at me too.”

“I don’t think so, you didn’t choose this either,” he said, giving you a look.

“I didn’t say I did, but that doesn’t make it different.” you sighed, before wrapping your arms around yourself and looking back to the flames. “I just miss him.”

You spoke that last part so quietly, you wondered if maybe Steve didn’t hear it. But in the silence, he put a hand on your arm. You brought your own hand up and held onto his. Yet you still felt so desperately alone.

“What did you say to him?” This time his entrance was a lot less calm.

Nat looked up from her bowl of popcorn at the kitchen island, but Steve only took notice of you, who was in the middle of making a bowl of cereal.

“I, uh,” you said, taken a little off guard. The sun was going down and you were too tired to hold much of a conversation at this hour on so little sleep. “Earlier, with him? The basics. Nothing in too much detail.”

Nat hadn’t pried but you knew that she must know you and Bucky had it out earlier. Though you weren’t looking to have this conversation in front of anyone really, friend or no.

“I’ll just uh…” she said, grabbing the bowl and slipping out with a raised eyebrow to you. Again, Steve didn’t acknowledge her, standing in front of you with a carton of milk in your hand.

“Y/N, what did you say?” he repeated.

You opened your mouth to respond, hand gesture splashing milk inside its carton. Before you could string a few words together, you really looked at him. He looked exhausted, even more so than before, looking suddenly like several of those seventy years on ice had caught up with him.

“Just that it wasn’t him who did all of that to me.” you started. “That he didn’t hurt me, they did. Steve, what’s wrong?”

“He’s… he’s in a bad spot, Y/N.”

“Well, I don’t know, I—”

“There has to be something else.” he said, eyes searching yours. “He talked to me somewhat before you two did… He could imagine what he did to you Y/N, that’s no stretch to him. But I finally was able to convince him to talk to me tonight and…”

He faded off in a huff. What had Bucky said?

Oh god, what were you going to say...

“Okay,” you said awkwardly, words uneven and anxious. “I said more than just talking about what Hydra did through him. I also I may…I have... feelings for him too.”

Steve’s face pulled into perplexity, then something clicked and he shook his head, mouth forming a tight line.

“I’m trying to make it better, Steve.” you began quickly before he spoke. “I didn’t say all that because I wanted to make this worse. What’s happening?”

He looked down, nodding his head. What was happening to Bucky? What had those words caused him to do?

“Steve, what happened?” you tilted your head, trying to get him to look at you.

“Maybe just stay away from him for now.” Steve said eventually, pulling back and leaving the kitchen quickly.

Though you thought your heart was filled with beyond its capacity to feel, you suddenly felt like his words had stabbed you directly in the chest.

The scream brought you back to your first night in Bucky’s bed.

You thought of that first night as you ran down his hall now, hearing glass shatter and deep yelling boom out. As you reached the door you practically slammed into it. It was locked.

You called out to F.R.I.D.A.Y. who would not let you in, citing access was restricted. You tried to override the door, but Bucky had altered the security settings, keeping you specifically out.

“Bucky!” you yelled, pounding the door. “What’s wrong? Wake up!”

A choked grunt sounded with another distinct yell at the same time, and you knew someone else was already in there.

“Steve! Steve, let me in now!” There clearly was a fight happening, and if it was night terror Bucky (the Solider) you needed to get in there now.

Your experience with Bucky had once made you better than anyone to spar with him, much to Bucky’s confusion at the time. Without his shield Steve couldn’t win against him, Bucky having a lot more deadly fighting experience while Steve was on ice. But you had fought against him for years. Eventually learning his moves and predicting them. When he sparred with you, you were still always level footed with him, metal arm or no.

But there was no guarantee that you’d be able to even dodge one punch from him now.

The door clicked suddenly with a choked voice from inside, F.R.I.D.A.Y. unlocking it and you entered the dark room in haste. Right away you saw Steve in a headlock practically blue under Bucky’s metal prosthetic arm.

“Bucky, stop! Soldat!” you shouted into the dark room.

He turned to you and dropped the half-unconscious Steve at his feet.

Quickly his focus was on you, and he came at you with a grunt. Immediately you dropped down to dodge him, but he was faster than you and reached down to grab your shoulder, throwing you back clean over Steve. You hit his bookcase hard, books, records, and pictures slamming down on the floor same as you.

You were on your knees, briefly dazed, before he grabbed your arm roughly. Bucky pulled it backwards, forcing you down with your back to the ground with a slam. The air exited your lungs violently as his knees found their way to your thighs, pinning you down with painful force. He grabbed your wrist and held it down by your head, just as you lungs began to work again.

Your gasp was cut short as his lips hit yours, hard and painful.

Last time this happened you brought your legs up to his neck in a leg lock and flipped him over. You had taken him down in seconds with precision and speed, even after exhaustion had cut you to the quick.

But this time you didn’t pull away. You didn’t fight his hand crushing your arm, or hips pinning you to the floor painfully, knees digging into you.

You let him kiss you and you began to kiss him back. And slowly it turned from an angry, fighting kiss to something softer, something deeper. As it turned soft, his hand began releasing its crushing grip, body melt into yours rather than forcing it down. It went from an abrasive assault on your mouth to something delicately wet and warm.

And when he finally pulled back, it wasn't the Soldier, but him again. Looking down to you with warm blue eyes he watched you for a moment an almost smile dancing on his wet lips, tip of his nose brushing against yours. That look brought you feelings of cool air surrounding you, dark night sky above you, and his warm body pressed against you, the memory of the balcony replacing that first nightmarish kiss.

But that look dissipated, replaced by the pain and coldness of earlier that day as cruel reality settled back in.

He pulled away and shot up, blinking fast as horror and surprise set in, lifting himself off you. He looked around, getting his bearings in the confusing dark room. He spotted Steve watching him, face bewildered and pained as he rubbed his neck. Bucky quickly pushed past him and took off running down the hall away from you both.

You sat up, leaning back against the bookcase, hands over your face. Time ticked by and you couldn’t bring yourself to move. Moving meant facing this, and you just didn't have the will to do so. So there you sat, on the ground surrounded by splayed open books and broken records.

“Can we go back to the beginning, Steve?” you said, voice coming out like a sob. You hadn’t noticed the tears spilling through your hands. “Can we just start this over?”

PART TWELVE

Apologies for the lack of light moments in this chapter! The next chapter will be quite different from this one. If you read/enjoyed this part (depressive theme and all), please let me know somehow! A like or reblog or message will make me love you forever.

Tags: @seninjakitey @thetimidsarcasticcat @dontpanc @hawkspriing @kanekibooty @elizabeth-rose771 @methefandompanda @bookluver01 @celinejfong @themosthappyfangirl @themermaidpirate @andreamichellejodeit

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky fanfiction #bucky fanfic #marvel #marvel fanficion #marvel fanfic #avengers #avengers fanfiction #avengers fanfic #the fallout #the fallout part eleven

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thekintsukuroikid · 7 years ago

Photo

November 12th 2017 4:11am

Tofino is never worrying about running out of battery life, or the gas tank. Or atm service charges.

It’s is an odd place. Living on the mainland you get hit with the same cold and rain and you learn pretty early on how to shelter yourself in the rat race, to keep busy until the clouds roll through. Tofino is this weird anomalous places where people travel here for the express reason of running headlong into the rainy cold. Duh, the waves are better for surfing and storm watching. It’s weird being this close to the ocean. You’re surrounded by it here, you can hear it from the dead middle of town. It’s dark, cold and can swallow you up, and yet here we are grabbing neon coloured boards and wearing goofy rubber suits and paddling away from shore. Standing up, riding it. There’s a metaphor there somewhere I think. A really lame one. Suffice to say Tofino is the setting where I’ve always been most comfortable with entertaining feelings of optimism, they linger in my mind a little bit longer here, there aren’t a lot of things here that can take them away. And yet standing here alone on this beach I still wonder what it would be like to walk into the water and let the water I love so much fill up my lungs. To finally feel the tension unclench and release.

A girl bought me a drink and told me how happy she was that everything about this place wasn’t like home.

I agreed.

this trip was really about running away.

The band getting to create beautiful music for people to enjoy on a Saturday night, Thats pretty amazing right?

I remember how hard learning 3 chords was and thinking how weird it must be to be able to do so much more but the peak of your musical ambition is playing for my drunk ass.

—

I met a girl at the merch table. She was kind and she was pretty and in our conversation about the logistics of fitting a surfboard on a motorcycle I noticed her biting her lip…and looking at mine…and exhibiting every universal sign I could think of to express a “shut the fuck up and let’s make out already” sentiment–

“All I could do was wonder how much she’d have to know about me, to hate me as much as I do.”

This isn’t me. I’m so tired of this

I’ve been diagnosed with clinical major depression.

atleast I think thats what its called, I kinda zoned out when I hear it.

I’ve known that somethings been wrong forever but I’ve never had it named by someone else before. I’ve never been in a position where I could go out and really do that. I’ve been getting help for months but this weekend was the first time I’ve been able to process it all. 2 doctor’s a therapist and a councillor. 4 different opinions. The same mdi-10 depression index score. How it works is, 20 is dysthemia or mild depression and 25+ is no bueno moderate depression. 30+ is major depression. I figured I’d be around 18-19 with my shiny psych degree and my practicing of mindfullness and understanding of CBT and readings of Dr. Marsha Linehan and Brené Brown.–-

I got a fucking 38.

Of all the fucking tests to ace I sure know how to pick em lol.

Talk therapy’s helped narrowed it down, where In reality I’ve likely been dealing with this for over a decade. I could have and likely should have gotten help when I was in early highschool/late middle school. The fact that I’ve never been on medication pretty deeply concerns my therapist. I still don’t know if I want the pills, I stare at the prescription sometimes and wonder what the sweet fuck I’m going to do. It’s hard to plan things in a pros and con’s type of scenario with brain altering chemicals, like its not like theres a frame of reference or anything. I’ve always been getting by with habits and discipline. Reading ahead, doing homework early in case I sleep through my classes again. Never letting anyone get close enough to be in a position to judge you. Never be vulnerable. You’re not cool enough to have baggage.

It’s not like I’m like this all of the time. I have good days, mostly when I’m around other people, even strangers. It’s when I’m by myself for too long that it starts to creep into my mind, a little voice getting progressively louder and more persuasive. I Have fun by remembering what it’s supposed to feel like and selling it to everyone who can see me. This isn’t the stereotypical 3am negative thoughts, I mean those happen too but its more like 3pm, in the middle of my group of friends laughing, just getting hit with this whole body feeling of dread and trying to crack a joke anyway. I then follow this with sullen, silent car rides home or 45 minutes sitting on the shower floor wondering if I’ll always feel this numb?

That’s the worst part…the numbness of it all. Losing hours in the day to this thing that I can’t even really describe. I never get mad or sad or happy just attenuated, dulled versions of these emotions. I’m scared of heights, like really fucking scared of heights but I learned to rock climb because fear hits me in such a meaningless way now. This is such a weirdly strong biological component. I feel like I can never move forward to create myself because I’m always looking back, trying to get back to how I used to feel. That’s the one thing I know is missing, that sense of self that guides my decision making. I’ve never been able to go with my gut, the kind of spontaneity and passion and creativity that comes with that, Instead Its always minimize the damage, lower the risk. I feel inadequate in every measurable and measurable way, to the point of it being physically crippling.

I’ve been really fucking good at hiding this. Its the thing I’m honestly the most proud of, which is a bit counterintuitive. It’s allowed me to flip something that feels so intrinsically selfish and allowed me to keep focus on the people that are important to me. It’s allowed me to learn some really important lessons about friendships and relationships, coping and empathy, all without the vulnerability of facing those things head on. Depression to me, at least the way that i’m doing it (which I know is the wrong way to think about it) is this selfishness I don’t want to indulge.

There is massive guilt with this. I have so much. I have taken so much time, love, energy, money from the people in my life and I feel like I am and I have so little to show for it. That I am a highlight in every worst way, of the differences between what is good and what is just nice. but the thing is I’m starting to realize that this thing, this depression thing it couldn’t give less of a shit about how you rationalize it, its taken better people than me, I’ve seen it first hand.

For me this thing hits two-fold. Its the physicality of these symptoms I can no longer ignore or fight through. Messed up eating schedules, sleeping too much or too little, missing classes, being late to events or appointments and just constantly feeling zoned out, in a daze.

On the mental side of it, its been management. I’ve been in a dark place for a long time and my diminishing ability for me to manage these mental health symptoms means that I feel increasingly less equipped to take on this complete feeling of stagnation. This shit takes work. It’s like im trying to carry a weight with broken arms and no cast. It’s a feeling that even if I had an opportunity, job or otherwise, I lack the tools and the self belief to actually be and do what I want. It is such a weird sensation to feel the slide from wondering how to make it by 30…to wondering about making it to 30.

I Try to work hard to be grateful and find the joy in things. I spend my days trying to bridge the gap between the humility of recognizing this reality, with the ego of thinking I deserve better. I mean maybe this is as good as it gets? Maybe some people just spiral. I hope that isn’t me, I don’t want to see how far this rabbit hole goes, I don’t want to become what its trying to make me become, I think thats why I work so hard to keep being extraverted. I try to be around my friends, especially if I know that they have it a lot worse or are facing a difficulty. Being empathetic to what they’re dealing with makes you feel like a bit of a daft jerk for dwelling your own bullshit. That used to keep things quiet long enough. Then again you don’t win a fight by closing your eyes.

—

I went to the bar in Tofino where I bought my first legal drink and I thought about all the drinks I’ve had since then. I got hit with this really intense feeling of dread. Not that I had wasted all that time in those 5 years, Worse still, That I’ve never truly had the ability to truly appreciate all the amazing things that have happened since then.

Even if I couldn’t feel it I wanted to do the logical work towards getting out of this. I learned really early on to focus not on building a resume but on building a eulogy. To live a life well lived. To do things not for the spoils but for the man I’d become in the pursuit.

In the 5 year since I’ve been back to Tofino, I’ve hated that man. I still hate him. I am so much of what I told myself I’d never be: alone, weak, and of little consequence. I’ve tried everything to fix that man and I still can’t explain where that process went wrong. I’ve tried to surround myself with people who I love. But never letting them get close enough love me because of a combination of never feeling like I deserved it and never wanting to be burned or betrayed for being vulnerable.

I don’t know if I can really get better I don’t really know what better is. But trying has to be better than this. Thats the funniest bit about this, I don’t even think I can really imagine what better would be like, what the absence of all this would feel like.

I just know that there is more than this…that maybe I can be more than this.

I was always ashamed to take. So I gave. It was not a virtue. It was a disguise.— Anaïs Nin, The Diary Of Anais Nin,

I want to make all of this mean something. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. I just know that I could set myself on fire to keep others warm. If I couldn’t feel wanted, or that I deserved to be wanted I could at least make people comfortable. I never knew there was a difference between happiness and the distraction from sadness. I would just connect to benevolence. I’d try volunteering, donating time and money partly because I enjoy those things, but deep down in a small way it was also an attempt to try reconciling the diminishing potential I felt. If I kept doing the right things, things would turn around, that I could out work this thing I was fighting. It was all just heading to nowhere, I realized I could get hit by a car tomorrow and nobody would know this truth about me, the uphill clawing. I think now I want to turn this pain into something tangible for myself and others.If this is rock bottom I want to look around, I want to carve my name in the rock beneath my feet and remember what this feels like. I never want to know it first hand again. Maybe this is that first step. Who the hell can see forever but maybe I can just win tomorrow.

— This is the most I’ve ever written about myself and it’s a hell of a lot more than I’ve ever wanted to. Hell it’s the most I’ve ever thought of myself and part of me feels like this sounds really self obsessed. But I think, at least I hope, it’s just a self awareness that comes from no longer seeing the contrasts in life.

If you are reading this it means that 1) you’ve found this randomly, and in which case… “sup?” or 2) you are one of the maybe 4 people I genuinely trust to tell this too without fear of being treated differently after doing it. If it is option 2…Surprise? I’ve worked extremely hard to make sure you couldn’t have seen this coming. It also means that you’ve shown me love implicitly in such a way that removes so much doubt, I hope you know how powerful and beautiful that is.

I don’t know man I think this is all really just about wanting to feel that oneness with myself again, to finally find peace one day. I don’t have to live, I get to, and I want too. The world is abhorrently beautiful man. daunting, ridiculous, backbreaking and gorgeous. I want to feel all of it, I want to find my place in it and I can’t do it alone. Not anymore.

Happy Birthday to me. ayeee.

#depression.#happy birthday #35mm #nikon #photography #photoessay #technicially #ironandwinereferences #lost in my mind

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