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shwarmii · 8 months

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i just moved three boxes (two light and one heavy-for-me) to my car to take to the storage unit after a break and i AM SO BRAVE

context: i am still in the process of moving (un-moving? i am here, in a new residence, but i am surrounded by boxes and shit ugh) and i was very kindly gifted a storage unit by my parents since i down-sized so much (and my dad is a hoarder so he was very "YOU CAN'T GET RID OF YOUR BREAKFAST ISLAND CHAIRS JUST BC YOU NO LONGER HAVE A BREAKFAST ISLAND" even tho i got the three plush chairs for a total of $20 bc thrifting yay). but i couldnt supervise the movers (bc i was so wiped i was gonna throw up or faint if i didnt lay down and let them do whatever) and they apparently read like.. 2 or 3 of my labels and none of the rest. so they ignored so many that instructed them to put things in the storage unit. and i dont feel comfy calling them for a discount bc they had to deal with so much regarding me and my disability already (mainly: that i didnt finish packing before they got there. yeah. i did 2 or 3 all-nighters in a row just before they came, worked for weeks, and still couldnt do it all. best i could do was make them piles of the remaining stuff and go "please help")

but yeah, im quite disabled and sickly and i have muscle weakness, and i am spent FOR A DAY after a carrying a single case of Arrowhead water from my car to my personal cart to my apartment, so you can imagine the havoc a medium-to-large Costco Box of board games is apparently causing me

(read more is just more of me complaining about boxes, ft. me breaking down how my internalized ableism skews my pov of how difficultly heavy things are by using my little sister for comparison)

i was so shaky after, it sucked so bad. im so glad my storage unit has carriers by the door so i dont gotta haul that shit long-distance anymore. my body is so disregulated, jfc, that box felt like it might as well have been 50 lbs but i know for a fact it was on the heavier side of "light". bc my little sister helped me out with the worst of my heavy boxes a week or so ago (aka: my book boxes. bastards were the heaviest thing by far bc i have a concept art book collection and those books are weirdly shaped and hardcover and even just five of them is heavy enough for me to struggle. though, in my defense, i had a physical therapist test my muscle strength and she openly said "Oh, god, that's not good" lmao rip) and like.. my lil sister is an athlete, sure (and built like a model jfc she is so tall and dainty, hOW?? shes got muscle mass but its so stretched out that she looks like she doesnt have much. but bitch works out for fun, runs at least a mile every morning before college classes, and does sports and dance for shits and giggles. and also she's STEM. beauty and brains. jfc, i love her, her future partner better worship the ground she walks on, i swear. but yeah, her favorite way to show love is acts of service and she likes doing physical labor, so when i asked for help all hesitantly and ready to bribe, she was like "Okay!!✨️" before i even finished and rejected any form of payment that was more than a starbucks frap. she's back in college on the other side of California now anD I MISS HER COMPANY.. AND ALSO HER MUSCLES...) but she truly carried all my book-boxes like they weighed as much as a handheld-basket of laundry

and i even asked her "Is that an okay weight? I can grab another cart, we can take as many breaks as you need, would you like a water, thank you so much for doing this, are you okay??" and she just laughed like a mix of Santa Claus and the blonde girl from Utena (/positive)

she was so fine with what she was carrying. the only reason she agreed to a cart was to make shit faster with less trips, but she didnt care about the weight of the boxes themselves. she even said "These aren't nearly as bad as you made them out to be!" (as bad = me telling her I couldn't lift them. i had to make the boxes and tower then ontop of one another and put a book in individually at a time. after they were filled, i could not lift those boxes at all). she openly found these boxes easy to deal with. they were about Office Depot File Cabinet size bc i worried using a BIG box for books would be truly unliftable. but yeah no she was fine. my sister was very open about it even and did a couple of tricks for the comedy of making me go "EY EY EY, BE CAREFUL, DONT HURT YOURSELF" and fuss over her

so. like. i know she'd be able to carry this board-game box i am currently struggling with, probably even one-handed if it wasnt for its awkward size of it which would necessitate she use two hands. and you might go "shwarmi, your sister is probably not an accurate representation of a person's strength, im sure those boxes were heavy, books are heavy, so are board games" and im like:

the book-boxes were likely heavy but mangeable for most people. the board game box was definitely heavy-end-of-the-"light" weight-spectrum. also, my sister is a great barometer for me because i am in F-tier, maybe D-tier on a good day, and she is A-tier. she is likely not S-tier, she isnt a body-builder, doesnt have obvious muscle definition, no a six-pack, no evident biceps or calfs, nothing. so most people are B- or C-tier. so she is actually a good litmus test for me, personally, because i see the strain on a B-/C-tier person and i spiral into thinking they feel like me when they DONT. so seeing my sister have no problems or strain beyond "this cart that your storage unit supplied sucks to steer!" makes my dumbass go "...ahhh, i see how different me struggling versus a B-/C-tier person struggling is now that i see my sister's limits and think of her proverbial Strength Stat as ridiculously high". i have a few other friends (and a brother, who teagically lives far away from me boo) who pride themselves on their strength that similarly make me do a double-take of "OOOOOOH.. oh, okay, my frame of reference has been righted, okay"

really brings to light a reminder that i still have a SHIT TON of internalized ableism. it is very hard rn to not kick myself for only doing three boxes in one trip today. my dumbass really wants to go "DO A NORMAL PERSON AMOUNT OF STORAGE MOVING" but, my comrade, i am not normal. i am disabled. i very physically weak. there is a reason why my loved ones and i make frequent jokes comparing me to "sickly Victorian ghost children" (hence why my @/playbychoices account had that John Mulaney quote as its blog-title for so long). i can do these three boxes today. hopefully, i can do the equivalent or more tomorrow, but i also could have another week-plus long flare-up like i did this past period before today. so. today. just three. very sadge. but alas, the way things do be

anyway

praise me for this stupid fucking board-games box. the other two were easy, even for me. one was even the same awkwardly medium-large Costco box but just had lighter shit inside. but the board game box??

shit sucked. im sitting next to an a/c with an ice-cold drink and my feet up, trying to get my likely-POTS-raddled body regulated back to a mangable level

but still

shit sucked

#shwarmi #me #diary dump

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asherlockstudy · 3 years

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Rhett and Link’s problems with the Enneagram

I have now watched both Enneagram EBs and the second one actually set my gears to work (So Anon here it comes! I promise it was spontaneous).

After listening to Link and mostly Rhett talk about the Enneagram again and again, I realised I have a problem but I can not place its exact root. There is either something fundamentally wrong with the Enneagram itself or maybe it’s Rhett and consequently Link who talk about it in a way that made me feel a little uncomfortable.

My problem and cause of concern was that everything that was said during the two podcasts had a clear negative tone to it. I will have to bring in myself to it to give you an example so bear with me for a paragraph. I did the test and I am a 5 (Investigator - Observer, something like that) which suits me rather well, especially since it agrees perfectly with my Myers-Briggs INTP type. The results said I was a 5w6 (essentially an emotionless analytical robot) which is definitely wrong as I am clearly a 5w4 (a sad mess who analyses the world and searches pointlessly for the true meanings in life and wants to come up with the ultimate all-encompassing philosophy). I mean, OK, they are not described exactly like that but trust me, that’s the point. But despite all the flaws associated with it, especially in the fields of socialising and tremendous procrastination due to an insane fear of failure, I am actually very much in touch with it. I revel in analysing, in trying to see the bigger picture, to make up my own theory about life and the world. It gives me fuel to go on, it fills me with excitement, it gives me a purpose.

Now, what I kept hearing from Rhett and Link are the things they would hope to run away from. I can’t seem to remember a single positive thing they said about their personalities. All traits they mentioned ( which were all pretty one-dimensional for both I dare say) were presented in the context of torturing them and having to confront them. With these insights in their personalities and the spiritual deconstructions earlier, their old (surprising back then) statement that they are “fundamentally sad people” makes more and more sense. Some of their traits, like Link’s care for perfection to the smallest detail and his moral concerns could have been neutral or positive but, no, they are almost all given as clear negatives or at least as things that have an emotional toll on them.

This gives me the impression that Link and especially Rhett have found comfort in studying the Enneagram and try to find an explanation for what they are like, to feel part of a group, represented in their misery. In short, they focus on the analysis of the flaws of their personalities as a part of who they are and avoid dealing with the root that caused said flaws. Link is more self aware while Rhett still struggles to reach the root of it, which is his childhood. Not that he doesn’t know it but he can’t just deal with the people and the situations that impacted him enough to make him a three. For instance, Rhett seems to believe that he is a natural three that his parents made manifest even more strongly. It could be the case or the threeness we observe in him is the direct product of his parents’ constant judgement. By keeping chanting he needs to “be” instead of “do”, I am not sure Rhett will achieve much. Honestly, the one impactful step he needs to take is to stop caring about what his father thinks and I am sorry to say he is still not near achieving this. Especially when I take into account how scared he was during his videocall with his dad in GMM and how relieved he looked after the call was over without drama. In short, my problem with their take in the Enneagram is that it seems that Three is Rhett’s pack of unresolved issues rather than his complete personality type.

Furthermore, Rhett speaks knowingly about all numbers / personality types which proves he consumes passionately all Enneagram information that is available. For a man of his level of active lifestyle, hectic schedule and impatience, this shows that he indeed seeks comfort in finding a detailed description and an explanation for his personality, for the way he feels and acts. What does this mean? Well, that he does not like the way he feels about himself a lot. Not only that, but he is actually in a search of self. At this point, he is no longer cryptic about it but it is more serious than he lets on. He tries to make sense of himself and he tries desperately to find something in himself to love. I hope there are people in his life who let him know that he is worthy of their love, friendship and appreciation even though he is so deep inside his head that even the affectionate feedback can only help so much. Rhett will start finding some peace only if he takes the one step I mentioned above.

And then it seems that Link’s personality type is also exclusively a byproduct of his childhood and is aggravated by his relationship with Rhett. Link’s perfectionism doesn’t cause him enthusiasm - he just dreads the disturbance of his supposedly perfectly stable world. In all honesty, Link doesn’t strike me as an ambitious person. Link would just love to have his dear routine and a loyal person to share it with. Link needs stability and companionship. He is fine with just one person as long as this person contributes to the stability of their bond. Who that one person is in Link’s life is another story…

Link doesn’t care that much about the creative process and, frankly, he doesn’t care all that much about the comedy. Link cares to keep the environment Rhett and he work stable and safe. For Link, judgement from the audience is not as alarming as Rhett’s frustration because of it. Link cares to ensure that Rhett’s idea will be successful enough to keep working and to keep working together. So Link’s entire self-identification as a one seems to stem from his fear of abandonment and worthlessness only. Link fears he has not much to contribute to Mythical and he tries to counteract that by becoming the ultimate source of management and control. Because if he didn’t even manage the company, then what would Rhett need him for? Hence, Link’s obsession for control is a consequence of his fear, he doesn’t necessarily love to be in control for the sake of it. This is proven by his plane example, which shows that he finally relaxes when he does NOT need to be in control.

Link has been working hard most of his life to ensure his position next to Rhett. This brings even more insight in his resentment for Rhett that explodes from time to time. Link resents Rhett because he tries so hard to be always by his side but due to Rhett’s opportunitism, he can’t tell whether Rhett wants his companionship or he simply needs it for their brand. Even worse, Link dreads that the reason Rhett is his friend is because Link feeds his ego with his loyalty and admiration, because he takes Link for granted and not because he loves Link for who he is.

“Do you care for me or do you revel in the fact that I care for you?”

Now, I can’t get inside Rhett’s head but I doubt he uses people. I believe his genuine care for Link can be found in the weirdest examples - those from which Rhett has nothing to gain i.e getting frustrated when Link doesn’t enjoy food as much. Yes, this is a sign of love. Rhett enjoys food so much that he wants to share that enjoyment with Link. He can’t realise Link’s tongue works differently - he thinks Link is missing out and it frustrates him. Another silly example is Rhett buying Apocalypse equipment for a clearly disinterested Link and probably never getting its money’s worth back. This is important to Rhett for some reason and he is concerned enough to protect careless Link as well despite having no personal gain from it.

The truth is that these two men feed off each other; Rhett keeps Link attached to him to always feel worthy and Link keeps Rhett attached to him to always feel safe. However, the fact that Rhett is almost his entire source of safety and that Link is Rhett’s biggest calibrator of worth is indicative of the levels of love and need. Nevertheless, Rhett and Link are not independent people. They were constantly in search of support from one another and they lost themselves in the process of satisfying others or being safe. This is something they are realising only now.

Link’s fear of abandonment is so big that it frequently leads him to an almost paranoid behaviour. It is crazy that he felt left out when Rhett communicated with the audience during a podcast whose key purpose is to… communicate with the audience. His fear here has two sides: 1) that Rhett didn’t consider him an equally important business partner so he preferred to speak directly to the audience and 2) that Rhett isn’t emotionally invested in him in order to open up to him. And by saying he can deceive people if he needs, Rhett doesn’t help Link overcome his huge insecurities. This is why Link begs Rhett to talk to him about his feelings more. He does not understand whether Rhett loves him or uses him. The notion that Rhett doesn’t truly love or appreciate him is one of his biggest fears in life.

As for Rhett, it is certainly huge growth that he starts opening up and being vulnerable to a few thousand strangers yet it all still derives from his need to be accepted by said strangers as I am afraid that the late disproportionate criticism he gets for silly stuff on Twitter and Tumblr surely don’t help him deal with his issues, no matter how hard he tries. Therefore, Rhett is trapped in a vicious circle. Besides, Rhett was overly sensitive to be hurt when Link stated the obvious; that he was being vulnerable in hopes to be understood and accepted, because that was clearly what Rhett was openly doing. However, having someone discussing openly his vulnerability immediately made Rhett retreat back to his shell because no matter how hard he tries, Rhett hasn’t managed to separate vulnerability from weakness in his mind yet.

Long story short, Rhett and Link might be Three and One respectively but I am not sure they have a good understanding of themselves anyway. They may have figured out their types correctly but they certainly narrow their entire sense of being to their unresolved issues and phobias. They entirely lack a sense of self-worth and they probably have not realised the extent of the traumas in their youth. In the Enneagram language, the nine personality types have nine levels of development. I believe Rhett and Link are either in the average levels or the mildest unhealthy level. They are certainly not in the healthy top three levels.

Their obsession with the Ennegram helps only superficially but they seem to have based an illogically huge part of their self exploration on it. The Enneagram might offer some insight but won’t offer the resolutions they long for and badly need in order to find some relief. The ones that come when you confront your environment instead of overanalysing yourself and beating yourself up because of it.

#Rhett and link #ear biscuits #Rhett McLaughlin #link Neal #Enneagram #randl #r&l #mythical

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quarantined-with-bucky · 4 years

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Shopping

Bodyguard!Bucky x Reader

Request: Hi! May I ask for a hc or scenario in wich Bucky falls for the reader who has a "spoiled brat" stereotype...u know? Like a Regina George from Mean Girls type of attitude, Maybe the reader is the daughter of someone important who Bucky needs to protect idk I thought it could be quite fun, anyway...loved your writing so much in "Dichotomy" ❤

Words: ~ 4,500

Summary: Bucky’s paid to be your bodyguard and you’re, well, kind of a bitch.

Warnings: None! For once ;)

...

There is three things men want in life.

1. They want to see if they can fuck you.

2. They want to see if they can fuck you over.

3. They want to get you out the fucking picture.

That was simply a fact of life. It was especially accurate in the world you grew up in: the world of powerful men, fast cars, vast mansions, and extravagant wardrobes. There was something about everyone’s cut-throat attitude that also seemed to drag along these luxuries. It was all about showing off: who had the most expensive car, whose house was bigger – whose wife was hotter.

This is the climate you grew up in: constant competition, envious friends, malicious enemies. There was a certain image you were expected to maintain, so you did exactly that. Not only did you have the weight of one day taking over your father’s company on your shoulders, you had the paparazzi stalking your every move. There wasn’t a single moment of peace in your life. You couldn’t go to the mall or the grocery store without at least one picture of you showing up on Daily Mail.

You’d grown up with it and, for the most part, you didn’t have to do things like that anyway. There was always someone to do those menial tasks for you.

Until you moved out of your parents’ house. You finally graduated college; a twenty-something kid finally ready to jump into the world on your own two feet. You were eagerly awaiting your move into your New York City apartment – a swanky two-bedroom on the top floor of a building in Soho.

Everything was going swimmingly well until you had an altercation with paparazzi. It was hard to navigate the narrow streets and sidewalks of the city, and as you were meeting your friend at a restaurant, you found it was a little too easy for the cameramen to push you around on the street. However, while you were thinking more along the lines of a restraining order against them, your father had other ideas.

“No way,” you interrupted, holding your hands up to your father. “That’s not happening.”

He raised his eyebrows at you. “It is happening. Unless you want this to happen again.” He tossed the stack of newspapers onto your dining table, the photo of you on the front page sliding across the table towards you. The title read “(Y/N) Falters – Will She Fumble Daddy’s Company?” You bit the inside of your cheek, the photo immortalized you trying to push past the group of people photographing your every step, the bright flashes causing you to hold your hands in front of your eyes. “This won’t be happening again.”

…

That’s how you met Bucky. At first, it was nice to have him around. He shook your hand once as he introduced himself. It was months before he even said anything else to you. He stood posted up in the doorway of every room you walked into. He wore a smart looking suit ever day, the top few buttons of his shirt undone to show off his tanned muscles underneath.

He walked you to restaurants, taking the lead, keeping the paparazzi at a far distance away from you. He followed you around shopping, carrying your Gucci, Dior, and Balenciaga bags to your car for you. God, it was a dream. What was even dreamier were his eyes. Before anyone approached you to speak with you, he stopped them, turning his head to look at you for your nod of approval before letting them past. And holy fuck those two seconds of fleeting eye contact made you absolutely melt. You almost started scheduling unnecessary appointments into your schedule just so he could face you again for confirmation. You stared back at him as seductively as possible, eyes half lidded, glossy, staring back at him and tilting your head in the slightest nod.

That was the only time he ever acknowledged you. That, and when he opened your car door for you. He never said much – if anything – at all. But his presence was so demanding: his shoulders were so broad, his chest constantly puffed out, his jaw clenched, and eyebrows narrowed in challenge. It took every bit of willpower not to jump his bones.

…

You had a certain mentality when it came to work. There was a certain image to be portrayed. You always dressed to the nines: a fitted suit, usually Balmain or Chanel, complete with gold jewelry and tall heels. Your makeup was done every day: a neutral pallet, something that unsuspecting peers would assume to be natural. Your hair was always perfectly in place: either cascading smoothly down your back or pinned neatly into a bun. Not only were you running the company, but you were also the face of the company.

You walked around with your head held high, shoulders back, and with determination in your step. People watched you as you walked down the hallway. Maybe some in admiration, others envy, even a few with desire. You always heard their whispers, though.

Bucky walked in-toe with you always remaining a cool two steps behind you; you could feel his gaze burning into the back of his head. You entered your office, Bucky taking his usual post by the door. You plopped down in your large leather chair, preparing yourself for your meeting.

Your morning got progressively worse as the meetings progressed, people not cooperating, work not being done, no conflicts getting resolved. As you last meeting ended, and the particularly patronizing man left your office, you couldn’t hold back muttering a “fucking prick” as the door shut behind him.

Bucky pinched is lips together, holding back a smirk. You reclined in your chair, watching him regain his poise quickly, eyes not moving from the fixed position on the wall in front of him. “You know, James,” you spoke up, instantly getting his attention. “That was my last meeting today; you can sit, if you’d like.” You gestured to the seating area across the room.

He nodded in thanks, strutting across the room and sitting on the black couch in front of you. All you wanted was to join him on the couch. The things you could do to him on that couch – the things he could do to you on that couch. “You can call me Bucky,” he stated, reclining against the back, legs spreading open a tad bit.

You nodded stiffly and bit your bottom lip, unable to tear your eyes away from his splayed posture. “Bucky,” you whispered, testing his name on your tongue. And, damn, it tasted good.

You snapped yourself out of your fixation, pulling your laptop in front of you, pretending to work as you couldn’t get that image out of your head. The face that you could still see his propped-up figure over the top of your laptop screen; his eyes had not drifted from your person.

…

Your were temporarily blinded, gripping the back of Bucky’s jacket as he pushed through the crowd of people, shoving open the door to the lobby of your apartment. Calling the elevator, he watched as you smoothed down the ends of your hair, trying to rub the light spots out of your eyes as best you could without smudging mascara all over your face. He ushered you in once the doors opened, holding a hand lightly to your waist.

You dropped your back against the shiny elevator walls, crossing your arms over your chest and staring at the reflection on the wall in front of you. You looked tired, makeup wearing off under your eyes, purple circles under your eyes becoming prominent; a few flyaways framed your face, curling and unruly. The doors opened and you pushed your way through before Bucky. You shoved open the apartment door, throwing your purse on the table, viciously kicking of your heels. You heard Bucky shut the door softly and he paused before entering the kitchen behind you.

Today had been effectively one of the worst days of your life. Work was terrible: your day was run with meetings and disrespectful colleagues, bulldozing over all your ideas and suggestions; it rained during lunch, completely ruining the Coach heels you were wearing to attend the business luncheon; afterwards was much worse. You were highlighted in the issue of Forbes Magazine. You’d been waiting for this for months: you’d done multiple interviews, had photoshoots, the whole nine yards. You were excited for the world to see the underlying factors of what made you you; for them to finally recognize not only your past academic achievements, but also all you have accomplished thus far with the company, for them to see that you were capable – qualified – to run this company.

Boy were you hopeful.

You were met, in fact, with quite the opposite.

Waves upon waves of criticism washed upon you after the release. You were met with all kinds of backtalk: everything from you inheriting the company, to being accepted into college because of your dads’ money, to “stick to makeup, honey.” People began commenting on how they thought you walked all over people, how you rarely seemed friendly in the workplace, how you “used men.”

It couldn’t be more the opposite.

While you liked to maintain a certain image and always have a presentable appearance, despite any men or women that sought after you, you’d turned them downs. In fact, you’d never had a boyfriend – let alone any friends.

You worked hard to retain a respectable image. The problem with working and living in a dog-eat-dog world is the sacrifices you had to make to maintain such an image. You couldn’t simply allow people to walk all over you – achieving this took years. You had to speak up in times others would cower, use your voice when there was an issue other did not seem to care about. You had to walk with your head held high and your shoulders back.

Once you obtained dominance in the workplace, you had to conquer the world of love. It could make you gag. You wanted to intimidate the men that once patronized you. You wanted them to want you, fight over you, worship you. But you’d ever let them have you. Nobody could see you vulnerable, nobody could love you, touch you, blackmail you. That’s the way it had to be.

But you couldn’t always be so ruthless. Right now, you leaned against the counter, dropping your hands onto the cold marble surface. It was one of those days like today where everything got the best of you. Everyone tore you apart, you’d spent the last half of the day just reading tweets about yourself.

“She looks like such a bitch.”

“Would it kill her to smile? Not the kind of boss I’d want to work for.”

“My friend worked for her and said she has everyone else do her work for her.”

“Forbes, is this issue recognizing daddy’s money?”

Bucky placing a mug next to you pulled you out of your thoughts. You stared down at the steaming mug, Bucking suddenly speaking up: “maybe if you drank something, you’d feel better.”

You pushed past him, shoving him away from you as you headed to your bedroom. God, all you wanted was to be alone. Did he have to be here every second of the day? All you wanted was silence and he picks this one time to start babying you? You slammed the door shut, the sound echoing throughout the vast apartment. You stripped your nice clothes, opting for a shower and large t-shirt for bed.

Bucky sat in the living room, listening to you shuffle around your bedroom. He finally stood, ready to head home, when he heard the softest sound come from you bedroom. A sniffle. Followed by another.

He leaned against the doorframe, listening to the noises that he’d never heard from you before – hell, he never thought you were capable of that emotion. He weighed his options carefully: go inside and comfort you, it didn’t seem like you had a lot of close friends or even family that checked in on you, you must’ve felt so alone, and everyone attacking you definitely didn’t feel nice; he could leave and let you deal with this on you own – which is probably what you wanted, considering he knew how long it took you to create your façade. However, Bucky could see right through it – he could always see through it. No matter how intimidating and powerful you wanted yourself to be, he and everyone else knew that you were a spoilt brat trying to live up to daddy’s expectations, but only he knew that at your deepest core, you were a tired, lonely, sad little girl, wishing for just one day of invisibility, in which nobody knew who you were, nobody care about you – like you didn’t exist.

…

You and Bucky continued your usual routines from then on, nothing changed. He didn’t talk to you; you didn’t talk to him. He spent his time pushing people out of your way, and you went along pretending nobody existed.

It was two weeks after that when you spoke to him for the third time. You and Bucky were walking from the parking garage to your place. That’s when a masked man came out from behind you and grabbed a hold of your purse. You helped in surprise as he tried to run past you, one hand loosely gripping your Birkin. Before you could even turn to the direction he ran off in, Bucky’s hand hit him square in the jaw. You gasped, holding your hands up to your open mouth as Bucky knelt on top of the man, continuously hitting him and holding him down.

You saw a flash simmer as you saw Bucky’s hand move, holding the other man to the sidewalk. Metal? Did he have a prosthetic arm? When did that happen? And why didn’t you ever notice it before?

In the mixture of bystanders, paparazzi, and doormen, the police quickly pushed through. Bucky was relieved of his post as the man was taken away. The policeman escorted the two of you to the lobby, where he took the information and returned your purse to you.

Eventually, Bucky took you upstairs to your floor. “Are you okay,” he asked, following you through the door.

You nodded, turning around to face him – face his arm. You stared at it, the metal coils formed in the shape of a perfect hand, winding upwards all the way up to where his shirt sleeve was pushed up past his elbow. It shimmered in the soft lighting, reflecting the moonlight that cascaded in through your windows. He held his hands behind his back, tilting his jaw upwards slightly as he stared you down. Your eyes flitted to his narrow ones; his eyebrows narrowed between pieces of dark hair that fell over his forehead. “Yeah,” you muttered. “Yes,” you clarified, clearing your throat.

“Do you need me to stay with you? Or are you fine for the night?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, shifting your weight from one foot to another. “Stay?” It came out more of a question than you expected. He nodded, not moving any other muscle. You quickly thought of something to break the silence and pulled your phone from your bag. “Takeout?”

He cracked a smile, nodding again. “Sounds good.”

After calling it in, you shifted away to the kitchen as Bucky sat in the living room. You didn’t know what to do to fill the silence. You’d never talked to him. You fumbled around with a wine bottle, popping it open and taking a long pull straight from the bottle before heading towards Bucky with two glasses. Hopefully some liquid courage would kick in quickly. You poured him a glass, another for yourself, and sat beside him on the plush sofa.

It was quiet. It was awkward.

“Thank you for, y’know,” you murmured over the rim of your wine glass, eyes falling to the red liquid swirling in your glass.

“No problem, it’s my job,” he replied casually. “To protect you.” You nodded; lips pressed tight in a line. You looked around the room, trying to find anything to look at. Your gaze landed on the metal arm propped up on the side of the couch. “You wanna take a picture of it, doll?” He chuckles lightly, tapping his fingers on the fabric of the sofa.

“Oh!” You snapped out of your gaze, jumping slightly on the couch. “Sorry – I didn’t mean to stare, I just – just – ” you stuttered over your words, reaching out slightly towards him.

He smiled, genuinely smiled this time, tongue running over his bottom lip. “It’s okay, (Y/N) – ” your name sounded so good on his lips “ – you can touch it, if you want.” Touch it? Touch what? You nearly started salivating. Then he held his hand out to you, palm facing upwards, fingers outstretched. You held your hand out, brushing his metal palm with the tips of your fingers. He chuckled again, flipping your hand around and holding your own hand in his. He ran his metal fingers over the backs of your knuckles. It was cold, yet so much softer than you expected.

Your eyes flitted up to meet his blue ones, already staring back at you. He licked his lips and leaned ever so slightly towards you. Your breath hitched in the back of your throat as you stared at him with wide eyes and mouth agape. “See, that’s not so bad, right?” He whispered, gaze shifting from your eyes to your lips, tinged red from the wine.

You held your breath, leaning the rest of the way in, shutting your eyes.

Then you hit a brick wall.

A metal wall.

Your eyes snap open to see Bucky’s metal hand gripping your shoulder, holding you in place. “Look, (Y/N) – ” there he goes with your name, again “ – I didn’t mean to send any signals…” he trailed off, dropping his hand and pushing himself up to his feet. Signals? No, of course not. Just holding my hand, staring lustfully into my eyes, and looking at my lips. Not to mention licking his own. You almost rolled your eyes. “I’m sorry,” he sighed.

You did roll your eyes, standing with him. “It’s…” you trailed off. Save face. “Whatever.” You turned away, shuffling to the front door, pulling it open.

He left without another word, but not without stopping to look into your eyes – at least, he tried to, if it hadn’t been for you dropping your whole head, staring blankly at the floor. You slammed the door behind him, nearly nicking his back heel as he stepped into the corridor.

Well, that was perfectly embarrassing. The best way to end such a terrible day. Utter embarrassment. You didn’t know how you were supposed to face him tomorrow.

Sadness turned into anger as you threw his wine glass directly into the sink, watching as the glass shards flew across the countertops. Who did he think he was? That he could act like that and then throw it back in your face? His signals were perfectly clear. In fact, you were haunted by those signals all night.

By the touch of his skin.

By his blue eyes.

…

You didn’t sleep that night. Instead, spent your time getting ready all morning. Hair perfectly set down your back, eyes surrounded by sultry makeup, a ferocious looking contour. You put on your tallest heels, tightest dress, and shiniest jewelry.

You looked ravenous.

Bucky knocked on your front door, as he did every morning to take you to work. You slung your bag over your shoulder, took a deep breath, and swung open the door. You looked straight past him; eyes directed on the elevator doors in front of you. You walked directly past him, relying on him to shut the door behind you.

Your heart was racing, it took all of your willpower not to twitch or tap your foot as you waited for the elevator. You set your jaw and stood stonewalled.

That’s how the day went: you completely ignoring Bucky. Although you normally ignored Bucky, today you didn’t look at him, thank him when he opened the door for you, nothing. Not even sparing a glance as he stared at you from his position on the sofa in your office. There he sat, usually splayed out and legs open; you could feel him staring at you. All you wanted to do was run into the women’s bathroom and sit there all day – anywhere would be better than here with him.

That’s how the weekend went, too: you spent the first six days ignoring him. Today was Saturday and you wanted to go shopping. Not the normal shopping. Today was all about showing Bucky that if you wanted something, you got it.

Again sporting the skimpiest outfit you could manage, you dragged Bucky around shopping all day. By your fifth store, your feet were absolutely killing you from walking so far in these heels, but it was worth it to torture Bucky. He carried all of your bags – from your purse, to you shopping bags, to even your coat. And nothing pissed him off more than you waiting at the register, the person behind the counter ringing up your literal tens-of-thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes, shoes, and bags, clicking your tongue and holding your hand out for your wallet. You tapped your foot, continuing your light conversation with the employee, waiting for Bucky to drop the heavy wallet into your palm. Without a turn of your head or even a thank you, you finished the transaction, walking through the door immediately, leaving Bucky to take your purchases.

This is what he deserved after embarrassing you like that. Was he just so nice to see where you’d take it? Did he want you to try to kiss him, just so he could say no? Just so he could turn you down? To be the one guy you wanted – and never got? Maybe he was going to sell the story. He was just like any other guy – but then why wouldn’t he kiss you? And the thought replayed in your mind, as did that night’s events. You had no other choice but to continue shopping and dragging him around.

Oh, he was pissed.

A fucking bagman? That’s how you saw him? That night was probably the calmest he’d ever seen you. You seemed nervous, even. Nervous because of his arm? Yes, he would’ve loved nothing more than to have you in the palm of his hand – literally – he would’ve loved to kiss you, and touch you, and hold you. He couldn’t take advantage of you like that. Not in your most vulnerable moment. After the robbery, you mind must’ve been scrambled. He wasn’t sure if that was your way of thanking him. He wasn’t about to let you throw yourself on him – who knows how you would’ve felt the next day.

But that’s not how you saw it, and you weren’t about to let him explain.

And this show you were putting on for him? He wasn’t dumb; he would’ve had to be oblivious to not know you were showing off for him. These skimpy outfits and tight dresses, necklaces that ended just at the top of your cleavage, skirts that ended just at the curve of your ass – he loved every minute of it. But he wanted you out of it at the same time.

You were treating him like shit, which he didn’t enjoy. He could’ve stopped by now: dropped all your shit and walked right out of the store. Instead, he clenched his jaw, bit his tongue, and followed you around the block, holding your bags; the only saving grace was getting to walk behind you and stare at your shaking ass all day.

…

You pushed the apartment door open, barely holding it open long enough for Bucky to slip through, carrying bags lined up his arms. You heard the crinkling of some of the paper bags as the door shut on him. He took one step in, letting the door fall shut, then dropped everything to the floor nicely.

“No,” you said, not looking up from your cell phone. You pointed a finer across the room. “Bedroom.”

A sharp laughed cracked through the silence. You almost flinched, starting at Bucky cackling loudly at you. “That’s not my job.”

You stared at him, narrowing your eyes in challenge. “Excuse me?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, shit-eating-grin unfaltering. “You heard me, princess.”

You didn’t move. Instead, you took a step backwards as he approached you. He walked towards you until you were backed up against the kitchen counter. You mimicked his arms, crossing them over your own chest, inadvertently pushing your cleavage up – which you noticed when you saw his eyes flit down for the tiniest second before returning to your own eyes, a tinge of pink lacing his cheeks – not that he cared. “Don’t fucking call me that,” you spat, tilting your chin up. You were not intimidated by him.

He got so close that your pelvises were nearly touching. He leaned down, dropping his hands to the countertop on either side of you, his lips barely grazing the shell of your ear as he bent closer. “What do you want me to call you, baby?”

God, you looked so real in that moment. Caught off guard, maybe. But your usual forced scowl was replaced by your surprised expression, eyebrows raised, mouth slightly ajar, tongue tucked right where your two plump lips meet. You were holding your breath, he could tell. He liked you like this, better. When you weren’t trying to be all hard and intimidating, when you didn’t know how to react – couldn’t deal with these emotions because just this once, they were real.

You stumbled over your words, mind suddenly not processing anything. His stubble rubbed ever so lightly over your jaw, his breath tickling your neck. You didn’t know how long you were standing there. It felt like forever since either of you said anything.

Suddenly, he pulled away – just like before. You released your breath, about to speak and then –

He grabbed your face in both hands (one warm to the touch, the other cold from the marble) and held you so that you eyes gazed up at him. His blue eyes looking back into yours, a smile pulling at one corner of his lips. He pulled your head upwards, leaning his own down, meeting in the middle in a soft, tender kiss. He shrugged, letting himself fully tilt into the kiss, hips touching each other’s; you swung your arms around his neck, pulling yourself up to him, chest pressing against his.

God, you could get used to this.

And all it took was a little shopping.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bodyguard #bodyguard!bucky #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #captain america #request #bucky x you

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starrynite7114 · 4 years

Text

snapshots: assumptions

A/N: I cannot believe I have been regularly updating, but the muse has been so strong. I would like to thank @iambabyharry for listening to my crazy vents about this story.

I would just like to apologize now, there is some angst in this chapter.

If you would like to be added to the taglist for snapshots, please let me know!

Hope you all like the update!

Taglist: @iambabyharry; @thegirlwhowritesfics

Masterlist

“You can’t do this,” Rafael frowned as you packed your things. Ares was lying beside Rafael, watching you as well as you placed clothes in a box.

“Rafa, I just,” you sighed, holding the edges of the box that had your clothing. “He’s having a baby with Adelita, I don’t want to be here for that. I can’t take that.”

“You don’t even know that! It’s all assumptions at this point!” Rafael was frustrated to say the least. Your spontaneous actions were definitely causing his blood pressure to rise since he knew he would have to deal with the aftermath. Angel was going to come knocking on his door, demanding to know where you were. “You always do this, you need to communicate with him.”

“There’s no point, he would want me to stay and I can’t do that. I know it sounds selfish, but this is just like my father.” You purse your lips, taking the box down.

“Angel is madly in love with you, don’t be stupid.”

“I’m due to be in Arizona next week, there’s no changing my mind now.”

Rafael groaned. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“I don’t expect you to agree with my decision, but as my best friend, can’t you just show me some support here, Angel has been cheating on me.”

You always knew it was too good to be true. That the ship had sailed for Angel when it came to Adelita. She most likely rejected him and he ran to you. That thought was always at the back of your mind and you could usually keep it at bay but after everything that has occurred the last month and a half, your decision had been made.

It wasn’t a spontaneous decision. At first, you could live with the recent revelations you found out. There were other options after all if you could not have kids. But finding out still broke your heart.

======================

You sat down, awaiting for the nurse to call you. After having your yearly check-up with the doctor, you decided to schedule an appointment with an OBGYN since you were much more sexually active than you have been before. No birth control as Angel specifically asked that you stopped. At first you were opposed to it, but at this point, you were ready to have children, you’ve been ready. You had your initial exam with the OBGYN 2 weeks ago and now, you were following up.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” you heard the nurse call out.

You stood up, giving her a smile as you walked past her. She led you to one of the examination rooms, sitting on the bed. You waited for the OBGYN to come, anxiously waiting for her to come. Coming here was a bit premature, but you just wanted to make sure everything was in order. You and Angel were ready to have kids. It was a big step, considering everything that you both had going on, but there was never really a good time to have kids.

What mattered was that you were both financially stable, to some extent, and you would be able to provide for your children.

It frightened you, but it felt right at the same time. You couldn’t explain it, but you were ready, especially since Angel was so eager to have a child. He was going to be a great father, you just knew it. He doted over your niece whenever she was in town and you couldn’t want to see Angel with a daughter of his own.

Your OBGYN, Dr. Preci walked in, giving you a warm smile as she always did when you’ve seen her before.

“How are you?” She greeted as she sat in front of you.

“Good, kind of eager, how are you doing?”

“I’m well, busy day as always,” she opened your folder and a quick grimace graced her face before it went back to a smile, except it looked tighter than before.

That made your stomach churn.

“When you have sexual intercourse with your partner, do you use protection?”

You shook your head. “No, I guess in some ways we’ve been trying to have a child.”

Dr. Preci nodded her head. “I see,” she wrote some notes down. “We checked all your lab works, which showed abnormal hormone levels, which we can easily prescribe medication for. However, your ultrasound was a bit concerning.”

“How so?”

“Well, uterine fibroids were noted in your ultrasound and with your history of irregular periods and uterine fibroids, we would like to do further testing to assure that everything is well in order.”

“Further testing?” You were frightened, did you have cancer? Your irregular periods never bothered you since it was nice to not feel pain for a long period of time. Your periods were always so painful. Whenever you did have your time of the month, you were always incapacitated due to the pain. For some reason, you always thought that this was how it was normally for everyone and Midol did help every once in a while.

“We cannot guarantee till we get further testing, but I’m afraid that you will not be able to conceive a child.”

======================

You remember the day so well and after further testing, you found out 2 weeks ago that you couldn’t have children. You felt as if you were stabbed in the heart, over and over again as the words repeated in your head. Ares was your companion for 2 days, refusing to talk to Angel as you knew it would greatly disappointment him. When you finally had the courage to speak to him, your world shattered all over again.

======================

Taking a deep breath, you exited your car that you parked outside of the scrapyard. You could do this. You and Angel could adopt or even discuss other options with Dr. Preci. Waving a quick hello to Chucky, you walked quickly towards the clubhouse. But you halt your steps when you see Adelita, a very pregnant Adelita with Angel. You felt your heart clench as your eyes landed on Angel, with a look of such admiration and happiness, caressing her abdomen.

Adelita cupped his face, softly caressing it and you couldn’t breathe. Quickly, you turned around and made your way back to your car. You faintly heard Chucky call out to you, but you were in your car, already thinking of a way to leave. You were finally able to live with the fact that you couldn’t give Angel a child. But you never even thought that he could have another baby with another woman. You wouldn’t be able to stay by his side as selfish as that sounded because you wouldn’t fully have Angel.

With Adelita pregnant, that meant he must have cheated on you. She didn’t look more than 6 months and you’ve been together for close to 9 months. You felt sick to your stomach as the picture replayed in your mind.

You weren’t going to be the other woman, this just reminded you of the situation of your father and how he left you all for another woman since your mother could not conceive another child. It hit far too close to home.

You made the decision then and there that you were leaving. You were going to break up with Angel and that unborn child could have a complete family with Angel and Adelita.

======================

That was 3 weeks ago and you’ve been playing your part with Angel since then.

You played like nothing was wrong, but you knew Angel could tell you were pulling away. You weren’t actively avoiding him, but club business has kept him away. The movers were going to be here in an hour to bring your stuff to the moving truck and drive it to Arizona for you. Rafael was going with you to drop you off and he was gonna fly back to San Diego.

This was the cowards way out and you knew that, but you couldn’t help it. You didn’t pack up your whole apartment, just most of your clothing was going with you. The company you worked for provided your housing that was furnished. The only thing you truly needed was your own personal items.

“I am your best friend, which is why I’m trying to prevent you from making a big mistake.” Rafael helplessly watched as you went back in your closet to get another box of clothing done.

“So you’re saying I should just suck it up and watch Angel have a baby with another woman?”

“Ugh, you’re being so difficult! Of course not, I just want you to get all your facts checked before moving to another fucking state.” Rafael has had this argument with you numerous times, but once your mind was made up, it was hard to change.

“For what?! The facts are there! How do I actually know he’s doing club business? They’re working with Adelita now.” you felt the tears well up and fall from your eyes. You never went into depth with Rafael on what the club did, it was for his own safety after all.

“Babe, I get it, but you’re overreacting without even talking to him.” Rafael felt it was a moot point to try and sway you, but he had to try. He thought you and Angel were perfect together. If you only saw what he saw every time you were with Angel. And for a person who once threatened Angel’s position in your life, Rafael experienced first hand just how much Angel cherished you .

“You don’t get it, it never made sense. Angel’s gonna be just like my dad who left my mom cause she couldn’t conceive any longer. I’m just beating him to the punch.”

“This is actually insulting towards Angel, you think Angel is going to be just like your father? How could you even think that? Angel is nothing like your father.”

Your father left your mother when you were younger. You never truly understood till your mother explained what happened. She didn’t try to make your father look like an awful man, he made his choice since he wanted more children. Though, your father has tried to reach out to you and your sister, he was happy with his new family and quite frankly, you didn’t want him anywhere near you.

“I didn’t think my father was an asshole too till he never came back.”

“This is misplaced anger, I think you need to talk to Angel and straighten this out.”

“There’s no point, besides he’ll just lie to me.” Your anxiety has been at an all time high as of late. You hated how the insecurities that you’ve tried to bury for years have been plaguing your mind, no matter how hard you tried to push them away. Rafael made complete sense, you should talk to Angel, but you had nothing to offer him. Adelita was someone Angel was in love with, he told you so and now, she’s pregnant with his child, something you could never give him. Maybe you could stay by his side, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to do so. Knowing Angel has possibly cheated on you and conceived a child, that was too much for you to bear. You should have known this was something that was coming, everything was too fucking good between you two.

“Your anxiety is really doing a number on you, I know it’s not something you can control, but he’s your best friend, you know him better than anyone.”

“I know him better than anyone, that’s why I know what he’s going to do. Angel Reyes is a charming man who knows how to get himself out of trouble,” you slightly chuckle at your own description of Angel. “I love him so much that I’m willing to let him go.”

“You’re making a big mistake babe,”

“I’ll live with the consequences.”

======================

Angel quickly made his way up the stairs of your apartment, not even waiting for the elevator. He had to see you. He hasn’t seen you in a few days and all he wanted to do was hold you. It was a tough few days with the altercation with EZ then the information Happy had given them. All he wanted to do was tell you all about it as he held you. If anything, he wanted to hear all about what he missed out with you. He hadn’t spoken to you for a day since he wanted to just travel home and talk to you then.

Opening your apartment, he was surprised that Ares didn’t greet him by the door. Even though Ares was still loyal to you, he warmed up to Angel to some extent.

“Baby!” He called out to you.

Closing the door behind him, he removed his boots and kutte. His eyebrow raised noticing that your apartment seemed so much more bare. He knew you liked to clean every other weekend since Ares’ fur got all over your things. Usually you were at Angel’s on the weekends, but since he wanted to surprise you, he didn’t let you know he was coming back.

“Baby girl!” He figured you walked Ares or something, the dog did have far too much energy for his own good at times.

Angel walked further inside your apartment and became nervous. Ares’ bowls were not in your kitchen. Ares had his own bowls at his house, so there was no reason for his bowls to not be there.

“What the fuck,” he murmured as he noticed that your Keurig was no longer in the kitchen.

He was confused to say the least. He ran over to your room and there were less pillows on your bed. Your charger was not by your bedside drawer. Your computer was missing from your desk. He walked over to your closet and it was almost bare. Angel’s heart dropped. There was no way you moved. He must be in another fucking apartment. Maybe you went on a vacation or something. He couldn’t wrap his mind around you leaving without so much of a word.

“No, this is not fucking happening.” Angel wasn’t even sure what to think, all he knew was that this was a fucking nightmare and anxiety was slowly taking over his body.

Walking out of your room, he noticed an envelope on your kitchen counter. He quickly grabbed it, ripping it open, a set of keys dropping on the counter. It was the keys to his apartment.

Opening the letter, he sank to the floor as he read it.

Angel,

I’m sorry you had to find out in this way, but I moved. Please don’t come look for me. I grabbed my stuff from your apartment, if I left anything, please just throw it away or sell it, whichever you want. Please leave my keys in the mailbox so my landlord can come collect it.

Just remember, all I want is for you to be happy and I’m glad you’ll have that with your family. I always thought that we were a fluke and you deciding to give us a chance because you didn’t want to lose our friendship, I’m grateful for that. I understand if you mistook your love for me as your friend for something more, no hard feelings.

I will always love you, but it would be best for us to just admire one another from afar.

You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. This isn’t on you, this is on me. I don’t deserve you and you should pursue the person you truly want to be with.

Love always, Y/N

Angel reread the letter numerous times, trying to decipher the message. Was this a cruel joke? He wasn’t fucking laughing. He crumpled the paper, refusing to believe this letter. You would talk to him, this fucking letter made no sense.

What family?

What person?

You were the only person he wanted to be with. This just made no sense to him. Who the fuck were you talking about? He’s made it clear time and time again that it was you and him from here on out.

Did someone kidnap you? There was no fucking way, he would know. If someone kidnapped you, they would have made some noise by now.

He took out his cellphone, dialing your number. It rang and rang, but no answer. He called you 10 times and every time, there was no answer.

Then the thought crossed his mind, what if you left him for Gabriel?

He shook his head, that wasn’t possible. You didn’t even speak to Gabriel, there was no way you left him for another man. But the idea screamed at him at the back of his mind.

What did your letter even mean?

Mistaking this relationship as a scheme to keep you by his side? The more he thought of the words you put in that letter, the angrier he became. He knew he did a number on you by promising to marry you when you two were older, but he always thought it was for your own good. He was going to be your last choice because you were able to experience other people and at the end you two were meant to be together. He didn’t know it would backfire so hard that you would be insecure about his feelings for you.

This was ridiculous. You weren’t going to leave him, there was no fucking way. This had to be a cruel prank.

He fucking prayed it was a cruel prank.

Angel got to his feet, rummaging through your apartment. He noticed that there were less things around, things you used day to day were no longer scattered around your apartment. Before Angel could even register, he left your apartment, getting on his bike and rushed to his apartment.

Once he arrived at his apartment, he looked through his closet and drawers. As you had stated, your stuff was gone.

Angel didn’t even notice EZ was in his living room, calling out to him. EZ went inside Angel’s room and found his brother with his head in his hands, sitting down at the edge of his bed.

“Angel, you okay?”

Looking up at his younger brother, EZ saw the tears in his brother’s eyes. “She left me.” His voice cracked as he told his brother.

“What?” EZ wasn’t certain he heard correctly.

“She fucking left me Ezekiel!” Angel shouted. “Y/N left me man,” he whispered, “she fucking left me.”

EZ watched as his brother fell apart in front of him, not believing his words. You would never leave him. You and Angel have been attached to the hip ever since you two were teenagers. With everything you’ve been through, EZ never thought you would leave him.

“There’s no way, she wouldn’t leave you.”

Angel took out his phone again, calling you. Your voicemail was what he got once again.

“Baby, this isn’t fucking funny. Pick up your phone, please, let’s talk. What’s going on? We can talk about this.” He pleaded before hanging up and calling you once again. Again, no answer. “Call her.”

EZ took out his phone, calling you and much like for Angel, you didn’t answer. “Hey, you okay? Can you call me back? You have us worried here. Whatever is going on, let us help you.” He hung up, looking at Angel who was holding a letter in his hands. “She left you a letter, what did she say?”

“That we’re done.”

Angel couldn’t wrap his mind around this whole thing. What happened? He didn’t talk to you for one day and you were gone? He didn’t do anything. He knew he didn’t. You weren’t petulant enough to not speak to him just cause you two did not speak for a day.

“It makes no sense,” EZ took the letter from Angel’s hand, skimming through it. “What person? What family?”

“I DONT FUCKING KNOW!” Angel yelled out, the situation was so fucking frustrating. “How can she fucking do this?”

“Don’t jump to conclusions, she’ll come back. She can’t stay away from you.”

Angel nodded his head. He shouldn’t. This was going to pass, it will. He was going to call you till you got fucking tired of hearing your phone ring. Once he does, you’ll straighten it out and you’ll be back in his arms again. He didn’t even give a fuck what your reason was, he just wanted you to come back.

But you weren’t.

You weren’t coming back.

Not this time.

#Angel Reyes #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes fanfic #angel reyes fic #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes x you #mayans imagine #mayans mc imagine

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thattimdrakeguy · 3 years

Note

I liked Alan Grant’s work with Tim (specifically Batman 457, it’s still one of my favourite Tim stories) but yeah Dixon’s early stories (especially his 1st miniseries) were some of the best Tim writing. Lewis had a few good Tim moments, mostly with his relationships with Dana and Steph, but I felt like Lewis preferred Steph’s character over his, since she had a lot of focus in his run. I can’t remember much of Willingham’s run (also according to him, Tim kept journals of his time as Robin? 1/2

I can’t remember the journals appearing beforehand) I felt like Beechon made Tim more angry than he’d normally be, but he was a relief after the last 2 writers. His stories (evil Cass who?) were decent. Brandon Thomas wrote one issue (167) and it was a bit angsty, but not too overbearing and it had a hopeful ending (Jack wasn’t a good dad tho). Dixon’s second run was disappointing (I think he called Ives Martin?). Fab Nic’s was a mess. Yost was not bad, but his Tim could be OOC at times 2/2+

+ I wish Yost stayed on as Red Robin’s main writer tho. Bringing back Cass, RR 16 (I think(?) where Anarky tries to find out RR’s ID) and the Teen Titans crossover were the only positive things about Nic’s run. Funny how TT!Tim was more broody than solo!Tim and RR!RR is more broody than TT!RR. I knew Tim as RR first, so reading backwards, his earlier stuff were definitely more well written. It’s why I love your blog, since early Tim is the best Tim and your analysis is spot on +

I think Alan Grant’s work is very undervalued, because alongside Marv Wolfman and Chuck Dixon, he’s another writer that brought us a fully fleshed out Tim Drake during his first year of existence. He helped bring us a lot of good Tim moments too, and honestly some of his better ones from his pre-Robin days as well, and after he was Robin too of course.

Dixon in his early work did amazing work and taking all that we learned about Tim and putting his character to the test in so many fun and interesting stories. At least until his decline where he comes off as too self-obsessed and became known as the jerkface we think of today, cause with the internet coming in--he's more bigoted views came out. And makes some hindsight stuff even more obvious.

John Lewis though I don’t honestly like. The most I can say for him is that he had good Tim moments where he understood Tim’s dorky nature, but overall he wrote him to be a pretentious, judgmental, boy genius, that just seemed so off the mark for the meek-ish, insecure, but super clever, and slowly forming confidence Tim that we saw just before. He made Tim kind of a jerk, like all of Tim’s worst moments, but except if Tim was always like that and not just in the moment when he’s having a difficult time or put on the spot. So I really can’t like his run because of that. His stuff with Steph too, was just really forced, and simply continued all the forced stuff Dixon did with her. Lewis besides some good moments has a lot of the worst stuff Dixon did with the romances, plus his own weirdness and lack of understanding.

Late Lewis and Willingham though, is were you really get the sense that editorial (namely Didio as this was when he gained more power in the company. And the storyline where Batman put Tim through a test that gave him paranoia came from) wanted to make Tim tougher, and edgier, because he was too soft before. He had “war journals” even though I don’t believe Tim ever spoke about having any, nor thought in a way that would have him calling them “war journals” suit him. They made him more conventionally cool, and rebellious (this was also happening in Teen Titans at the time). He had a motorcycle over a mildly dorky, tiny sized car (like pretty much only Tim can fit in the Redbird comfortably). He was becoming more Batman-esque, and there was angst about how that was happening. It was just all about changing Tim into something he’s not simply because people with power didn’t like him as he was.

Beechon I think did really good though with Tim, because he wrote Tim after Tim’s months of having people he loved die. So I think being angrier made sense. Although I remember it being more frustration and desperation. But he also wrote him in a way that showed an idealistic spirit in him, and a heart that pushed on that kept it feeling like Tim. It felt like Tim dealing with his loses, much more than Geoff Johns’s over the top melodrama. Evil Cass though--can’t deny that’s Beechon, ain’t gonna, but at least he attempted to make it up by writing a Batgirl mini too mixed reception.

Dixon’s second run really showed just how bad Dixon got. Like you’d think a break might have him get his head back into it. But it was all just about bringing Steph back and shoving her in, because he became borderline obsessed with his OC like that. He just wrote things with no regard to how other things were. Wrote Zoe, who was a very sweet, but awkward, understanding, independent, and unsure kind of girl, exactly how he wrote Ariana, just a romantic plot device to be frustrated at Tim to give Tim boy-angst, instead of like she’s a real person with her own issues like how Zoe actually was. COULDN’T EVEN REMEMBER SEBASTIAN IVE’S NAME. And sometimes wrote Tim more like he was in the mind zone of writing Dick versus actual Tim. It was a trainwreck that at one point I loved cause of rose tinted glasses, but now, it’s entirely obvious how far he had fallen. Everything going sour towards the end of his original run times 10. Awful stuff.

FabNic though. I just really don’t like FabNic’s run. He made Tim a cold, caluclating, somewhat apathetic-ish (not fully, but in ways), angsty, edge lord. He didn’t resemble Tim to me. But sort of represented the final position of Johns’s and Didio’s, and others transformation of Tim into something not recongnizable through contrived deaths and situations, that wouldn’t have happened under writers who could write a competent story.

Yost was okay though, but still pretty mixed for me. I recognized Tim more in him, but there’s still a lot of moments where it just didn’t feel like Tim at all. Like I can’t picture Tim punching Damian in the face, I can’t picture Dick just giving away Robin when he knows more about Tim than anyone, and I can’t picture Damian just acting like a stereotypical bratty kid, he’s a total jerk, but not how he wrote it, he just wrote a random kid, not Damian. But there’s more moments of genuine Tim-ness then there was with FabNic. I’m not an honest fan of Yost’s run, but comparatively, it was superior. And while a lot of his writing for it was awful in spots, his story was at least one that was interesting and worth reading just for premise, but shouldn’t be held highly on characterization.

That’s my feelings on it anyways. I’m really glad to hear you enjoy my blog, and I appreciate your compassion about it too. I needed another smile today. it genuinely means a ton to me.

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anonsally · 4 years

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Days 79-82 of COVID-19 shelter-in-place

These have been four very intense days both globally and personally. This admittedly long post will focus more (but not exclusively) on the personal side of that.

Day 79 was Wednesday. I hadn’t had enough sleep, but I got up at a reasonable hour because I needed a ballet class. Before class started, I got a call from the medical center for scheduling a procedure I need to have done. That will be in 2 weeks, contingent on me testing negative for COVID-19 four days beforehand. I’m anxious about the procedure but will be glad to get it over with after several months of worry. Anyway, ballet class was good for calming me down.

It was hot out. I did my parents’ grocery shopping (and bought a few things for us) and then had a nice conversation with my dad when I dropped off his groceries. We talked about the state of the world. He told me about a city that had literally fired its entire police department and started over... which is what we probably need on a national level, with very few exceptions.

I refueled the car on the way home and got a predictably late start on my work day. Wife got two more job interviews scheduled at very different companies. I took a walk, spotting another Steller’s jay at the bird feeders. The jays are so much larger than the little birds who frequent the feeders!

I then went to try to buy milk, but the tiny independent market had closed early to enable the employees to get home before curfew. So I had to go to Trader Joe’s instead. By the time I got home I was somewhat demotivated about food prep, but luckily Wife pulled herself together and scrambled me an egg. I didn’t manage to get to bed till 1am, which was at least an hour later than I’d intended, but Wife was still up at 4am!

Day 80. I forced myself to get up at 8:30 since I knew I would need to go to bed early that night. I arranged to (video-)meet with my boss at 12:30. I started work around 11am or so and got a few thing done. The meeting with my boss was good--partly social, discussing how we were coping with the situation and working from home, what we missed about the office, and such, but we also talked about what I’ve been working on. She reminded me that the study section reviewing my grant application will be meeting this month, so I will have to remember to check my scores.

Afterwards we had a meeting with a few other coworkers, which was fairly productive. I had a short “coffee break” video call with a colleague, too. The county-wide curfew was lifted a day early.

After work, I took a walk in a direction I hadn’t gone in a while. Was heartened to see Black Lives Matter signs even in cul-de-sacs in a wealthy, mainly white neighborhood. I picked up takeout for dinner, and did a bunch of Adulting in the early evening, including preparing for the next morning. I was in bed by 10:45pm.

Day 81. My alarm got me up at 5am, and we left at 6am. We got to the medical center on time at 7am and I went in (Wife was not allowed to accompany me, but had to be there to drive me home; there was a separate room across the street for visitors to wait in, which was good because it was suddenly very cold outside). Initially, there was a lot of waiting, during which I did a little bit of yoga and dancing as I knew I would not be able to move much for the rest of the day. I was there for a diagnostic procedure involving a needle (for data privacy reasons I won’t get more specific here; it’s unrelated to the procedure I’m having in 2 weeks), which required me to remain horizontal for 4 hours afterwards, at least according to the information they’d given me beforehand. I had to be fasting from midnight the night before: no food or drink, including water.

Eventually I was wheeled down to the ultrasound department, where the doctor who planned to do the procedure met me and the radiologists. However, when they looked at the images, there were a lot of vessels around. The doctor did not feel confident that she could do the procedure based on a mark on my skin without accidentally hitting a blood vessel. So she asked the radiologists to do it as an ultrasound-guided procedure, which would be safer since they would be able to see what they were doing on the ultrasound. This procedure was done with only local anaesthetic. Mostly I couldn’t feel what was going on, and it was supposed to be very quick, but unfortunately, the resident had a lot of trouble--the senior radiologist was trying to guide him through doing, but he couldn’t get the needle positioned quite right, and in the end the senior radiologist had to do it herself. It was pretty uncomfortable and there were some moments where it was quite painful. I tried to breathe deeply and stay relaxed, but it was hard. When they finally got it to work, it was over pretty quickly. I was relieved. It was about 11am by then.

However, I had to spend an hour in a large recovery room with many other patients, while my blood pressure and pulse were monitored. I had expected to have the procedure done upstairs in the room where I’d started, where I had left all my stuff. They very kindly sent someone up to retrieve my phone for me so I could at least text Wife and my parents so they would know the worst of it was over.

After an hour I was wheeled upstairs and transferred from the gurney to a bed (this took 3 people as I was not allowed to stand up yet) for more monitoring. They drew my blood to test my blood counts; I was going to be allowed to leave after only 2 hours of bed rest if the counts were stable. After the 2 hours, I was allowed to get up and use the bathroom (and grab the crossword puzzles from my backpack to work on), and then I continued resting while waiting first for the blood counts, which finally came back fine, and then for the discharge papers, which took an unreasonably long time. Around 2pm the nurse finally allowed me to have some ice--hoorah! (I was parched. I normally drink at least 2 liters of water per day.) At 2:40pm I was cleared to leave; I texted Wife, who went to get the car and picked me up at the entrance to the hospital at about 3pm.

Literally every single person on the hospital staff was kind and friendly. They all introduced themselves to me by name, including the people whose job it was to simply wheel me from one place to another, and they all seemed to be invested in my well-being. When I was being wheeled through the hallway, whenever we passed anyone else who worked there they smiled and said hello both to me and to the person in charge of transporting me. It seemed like everyone working really considered themselves a team, with respect for everyone regardless of place in the hospital hierarchy. Since, like all patients during this pandemic, I was there alone and a bit anxious, it made the experience much less unpleasant than it could have been.

I spent 8 hours in the hospital, so I really hope I didn’t catch COVID-19, but the procedures seemed pretty good. I was wearing a mask almost all the time (except in the room where I was waiting at the beginning and end, which was essentially private), as were all the employees, and everyone was sanitising their hands every time they entered or exited a room or touched any equipment. I also didn’t spend the whole time with any one person. So, hopefully it was safe.

I spent the rest of the afternoon vedging out at home, rehydrating, and finally eating, and I went to bed earlier than usual though later than I expected, around 12:15am.

Day 82. I wanted to try to get a lot of sleep so my body could heal from yesterday’s ordeal, so today I slept till about 10am. The wound from the procedure is tender to the touch and there’s a small bruise near it, but otherwise I’m not in pain from it. Except my ankle is in more pain than it’s been in for ages, and I have no idea why. Maybe I slept on it funny? Or maybe it’s an aftereffect of the weird position I had to hold during the procedure.

I think my joy at getting to eat cereal this morning was perhaps a bit over-the-top!

Wife had a bad headache today, likely caused by neck tension from all the driving yesterday. I am still pretty tired today, despite all the sleep, but I suppose that’s to be expected.

We went to the farmers’ market and stumbled upon a socially-distanced, family-friendly protest. A friend of mine was there with her kids, but I didn’t see her. We bought our produce--though I had to make an extra trip back to the car to drop off my purchases, as I am not supposed to lift anything heavy today. The stand with the curried fish had run out, but they still had some uncooked prepped fish, so we bought that and they explained how to steam it at home. We came home and cooked the fish and ate it for lunch; it was just as good as it would’ve been if they’d cooked it. Phew! Other than that we’ve been relaxing at home, though Wife did gather her energy and go for a run, which has helped to relieve her headache a little (as has the bath she took afterwards, and the painkillers she took).

I’m hoping to feel up to taking a dance class (online) tomorrow.

#personal #dance #birdwatching #Health Care #food #even though there is no picture of food here #black lives matter #epidemiology #activism #tl;dr

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