writing

Storytime Wednesday

This one is a one-shot, standalone. I don’t necessarily ship Steve and Natasha together so I left the female lead nameless here. But the more I wrote, the more I decided it was  in fact Natasha. You be the judge of that.

Title: Come Over

Rating: PG-13 for referenced adult situations and language

Setting: Pre Infinity War

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement intended. This is just for fun.

Continue reading “Storytime Wednesday”

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Storytime Wednesday

Continuation of this post

Life in a Northern Town–a (fan)fiction

As stated in this post, one of my favorite things to do is write. I don’t do it often but sometimes I like to get out my emotions by writing. This little blurb came from an idea I’ve had for a while and I decided to start writing and posting little by little. Like it? Leave a like or a comment?

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement intended. This is just for fun.

This is an original work by me. While you may recognize a character or two I am putting them in an entirely new situation. I discussed this a little in this post.

Chapter 1

1944

Bucky Barnes tossed the bale of hay down from the hayloft with force. One by one, the Timothy-Alfalfa bales fell from the small hole in the ceiling of the dark red barn planted on 115 acres of farmland in northern New York. The fall was growing colder to make way for snow, but Bucky hardly noticed the cooler temperatures, too caught up in the constant ache in his left arm and hand, and the demons consuming his mind.

He’d been home from the war for six months, had been out of the war for almost a year. Six months were spent in an Italian hospital while his left arm and hand healed from the burns he had experienced in a firefight between the 107th Infantry Regime and German forces. The skin had been burned in some places almost down to the bone, and he’d almost lost the limb. Forever thankful to his best friend, Steve Rogers had gotten him to a command post not long after it had happened, and he’d been transported to a local hospital. It had taken three transports before he’d ended up in Italy–where he had stayed until the infection was gone and the healing had all but finished. Well, what healing he would have. Unfortunately the scarring was dramatic and extended the entire length of his left limb, from where his shoulder met his chest and all the way down to his finger tips. He often kept the hand and arm covered–it was easier than explaining. And he hoped it made his young daughter a little less weary of her angry, absent father.

Charlotte Barnes had been a year old when he’d been drafted. And despite his arguing with the Army, and spending money he didn’t have on a lawyer, no one else seemed to agree that leaving his young daughter with her grandparents was not the best idea. She’d already lost her mother, now she might lose her father, too? No one saw his side of it, and he was shipped off to England only two months after her first birthday. She’d gone to live on his parents’ farm after that. He’d written her letters, missed her every day. He’d spent every day with the little girl, all up until he’d left. Little did he know it would be three years before she saw him again. And when she did, she didn’t know who he was. And that moment was etched in his already broken heart forever.

He didn’t bother pulling the glove from his right hand as he jumped down from the loft, moving the hay to an empty stall, setting it up for feeding the horses over the next few days. There was always a method to the madness, a reason for all they did on the farm. He’d move round bales later for the cows, corn for the chickens, and then start chores. Shortly before chores, Charlotte would be home from school and she’d help him with feeding the sheep and the pregnant mares. Those were her favorite of the animals; the soft bleep of the sheep and the promise of foals as the spring came closer.

Bucky’s father has died before he’d returned from the war; his mother Winifred and Charlotte on their own for almost a year before Bucky’s return. Winifred had hired hands to help tend the farm but upon Bucky’s return, he’d ran off almost half of them with his terrible temper and his perfectionist attitude. As far as he was concerned it was better off that way, he could do most of the work himself. And he did. Day in and day out.

Saddled with his self loathing and self pity, he worked the farm until late each night, taking time only for dinner and tucking Charlotte in. And while she’d grown closer to her father, they were still miles apart. There were often times she would disobey and run the opposite direction because Bucky had no idea how to talk to a four year old and no patience to learn. Winifred did the best she could to bridge the gap but it was a difficult feat with both parties as stubborn as Bucky and Charlotte.

The familiar sound of tires on gravel alerted Bucky to company he wasn’t expecting. He didn’t really have time for interruptions. He had stalls to clean, cows to move and horses to feed, along with re-stacking the hay bales. Sighing, he climbed down once more from the hay loft, jaw set and ready to send whoever it was packing back where they came from.

“You know, your face is gonna freeze that way if you don’t smile once in awhile.”

Bucky visibly relaxed as he looked up from the hay to find his best friend since childhood, Steve Rogers, leaning against a stall door a few feet away. The horse inside sniffed at his uniform, his warm breath fogging up the cold steel of the Sheriff badge he wore. Steve scratched behind the horse’s ear as he spoke. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were angrier than usual,” came the playful tease only a friend could pull.

“Fuck off,” Bucky grumbled, allowing a hint of an annoyed smirk to touch his lips. “Charlotte has been extra difficult the last two days as if she knows it makes it even harder for me,” Steve was the only person Bucky could open up to besides his mother. He allowed the words to tumble out before he could stop them. “Girl has a wild streak the size of Texas.”

“Sounds like she didn’t fall far from the tree, but we already knew that,” It came as no surprise to Steve that Charlotte had a way of pushing Bucky’s buttons. But he had known Bucky as a kid and Charlotte couldn’t be anymore his daughter if she tried.

“Well she needs to be a little more like her mama and a little less like me,” Bucky grumbled as he picked up two bales, on in each hand and began for the small stall he kept them in for easy feeding. “If you’re here, you might as well help…,” he threw over his shoulder at Steve, who chuckled and grabbed two bales, following him down the barn aisle.

“Listen, I didn’t come here to help stack hay, I came to see about you meeting Peggy and I for dinner at Hal’s. It’s been awhile since we all got to together and his wife is making that pumpkin pie I know you love,” Steve set the bales next to Bucky’s with ease, having helped on the farm as a kid. His parents had owned a store in town and while Steve had terrible asthma as a child, he still insisted on helping where he could and learning what he could about his best friend’s farm.

“I don’t think the diner is anywhere I should be going, no one wants to look at my hand while they’re eating,” his angry tone wasn’t directed at Steve and the man knew that. But that didn’t mean he’d allow it.

“No one cares about your hand, Buck. You went to war and you were fortunate enough to come home.”

“I care,” he shot back in a low tone, heading for more bales.

“It’s not my invitation you’re declining, it’s Peggy’s. And you know how she is about declined invitations.”

Bucky stopped with his back to Steve and let out a heavy sigh. Leave it to Steve to use his wife to get Bucky in to town.

“You can’t stay here forever. I know your Ma does all the shopping and you don’t get out of the truck when you take Charlotte to school,” Steve continued, “Peggy will come over here herself and drag your sorry ass to Hal’s if you don’t come on your own accord. Please don’t make me have to deal with that,” Steve added with exasperation, and while Bucky knew he /would/ have to deal with that if in fact the invite came from Peggy, he also knew Steve was carrying on because he thought what he was doing was right. It wasn’t, but maybe he didn’t need to tell him that.

“I might not stay for pie,” Bucky warned as he turned, “but I don’t want to piss off you lovely wife.”

The smile that split Steve’s face at first was much bigger than Bucky was sure he meant it to be. Asshole. Steve pulled it back and nodded.

“It’ll be good for all of us to catch up. It’s been since–”

“Yeah yeah, don’t say it. Get outta my barn before I change my mind and throw you to your wolf,” Bucky waved his hand at his friend before grabbing two more bales.

“See you at six, don’t be late. You know Peggy hates that.”

“I’m wondering who married her, me or you,” Bucky chuckled a little as he headed back down the aisle.

Bucky could hear Steve laugh as he climbed in his car. Once he was gone, Bucky swallowed hard and sighed. Steve was right, he couldn’t hide here forever. But that didn’t mean it made it any easier to head into town where he knew all the pitying eyes would lay upon him. In small towns, word gets around. Everyone knew his issues with Charlotte, his near death experience, the loss of his wife and father. The farm was barely hanging on.

Town was not a place Bucky felt comfortable or  felt he belonged. And he was sure dinner wouldn’t change any of that, only cement it more.

writing

Storytime Wednesday

Life in a Northern Town–a (fan)fiction

As stated in this post, one of my favorite things to do is write. I don’t do it often but sometimes I like to get out my emotions by writing. This little blurb came from an idea I’ve had for a while and I decided to start writing and posting little by little. Like it? Leave a like or a comment?

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement intended. This is just for fun.

This is an original work by me. While you may recognize a character or two I am putting them in an entirely new situation. I discussed this a little in this post.

 

Prologue

1939

“Isn’t she beautiful, Buck?”

The young blonde woman, just a month past her twenty-second birthday held the tiny pink bundle in her arms. She couldn’t stop staring at the round pink cheeks of their brand new baby girl, and he couldn’t stop staring at the pair before him. Healthy, beautiful, and having just met one another for the first time only two hours earlier, his wife was enamored with the little soul they had created together. And he was enamored with both of them.

“She looks just like you, darlin’,” Bucky Barnes drawled in a heavy Brooklyn accent, kissing the side of her head, tentatively and gently rubbing the pad of his thumb over the baby’s cheek. She was small, a little over five pounds but his wife was petite and had been sick most of her pregnancy. Both had come out of it miraculously healthy and they were now resting in their bedroom, where she hadn’t anticipated giving birth but life sometimes didn’t let one choose its path. So with the help of her mother and the local doctor who had arrived as the baby was crowning, she’d delivered the baby girl in their bed. Resting comfortably, Bucky couldn’t help but stare in awe at the way she glowed, a bright new mother. He loved her more than he thought it was possible to love anything ever.
“No, she has your eyes,” Cecilia Barnes argued with a quiet laugh, the little girl flashing her bright blues up at her happy parents. “What should we call her? I was sure she was a he, and James just doesn’t sound like a good girl’s name,” she pretended to actually contemplate such an idea and he found her utterly charming. Always had, ever since their second year of high school. She’d owned his heart from the moment he’d opened the library door for her.

“What about Emma?” He suggested with a small little smile still tugging at his lips.

“After my grandmother? Maybe…,” Cecilia was thoughtful, rocking the baby a little in her arms. “Maybe Victoria? Or what about Charlotte?” she suggested, eyes wide and curious of his thoughts. Bucky considered them heavily. This was what they would call their daughter for the rest of her life. It seemed like such a heavy decision suddenly.

“Charlotte. Charlotte Barnes. I like it,” he decided after mulling it over for a few quiet moments. “Do you?”

“I love it. Little Charlotte,” Cecilia kissed the baby’s small forehead, nestling her closer to her chest. “Charlotte, say hello to your daddy,” she cooed to the quiet baby, who peered up at Bucky with round eyes as though she knew just who he was. His heart cracked in two, overflowing with love he couldn’t even begin to verbally express.

“I love you both,” he told Cecilia fiercely, hand tenderly gripping her neck as he urged her to turn toward him. She did with ease, her own eyes watering with the emotion of a new parent, and unbelievable sense of love and sudden burden hanging over them.

“We love you, daddy,” she told him, leaning in to press her full lips to his in a kiss that warmed every inch of his soul. Then suddenly Charlotte was crying and Cecilia was pulling away and then she seemed even farther away but the crying grew louder and louder…

Bucky woke with a start, sitting up and rapidly blinking his eyes, trying to figure out where he was and why the baby was crying so loudly. It crashed over him like an icy wave as he realized it was his daughter sobbing in the crib next to his bed, and that Cecilia wasn’t there. She was never there. The dreams were beautiful, but that was all they were. She’d never even had the chance to hold the baby that was currently demanding his attention in a very hysterical, very angry way.

Shoving the blankets from his body, he was up in an instant, reaching for the newborn baby girl as soon as he was close enough, cradling her, blankets and all, into his strong arms. It only settled her slightly, but he was beginning to get the hang of this. He knew exactly what she needed every three hours now–a diaper change and a warm bottle of the formula the hospital had graciously supplied him with as he’d taken the baby home just five days earlier. Today marked her one week old, and something about knowing everything had changed so drastically one week ago today made him more tired and more emotional than he wanted to admit, to himself or the small child who wouldn’t understand any bit of his emotion.

After successfully changing her small little diaper–he was getting better at it every day–he carried her to the small apartment’s kitchen, turning on the stove and beginning the procedure of heating her three ounces of milk. It was a process, it took time to warm the bottle just right, and as he’d learned the hard way, she didn’t settle down until she had the milk in her mouth and she was no longer hungry. Nights were the hardest, as he tried to get as much sleep as he could. At least she slept between feedings. Usually.

“I’m sorry, Charlotte, it’ll just be a few minutes,” he bounced her and cooed to her and did everything the sweet old nurses had taught him, but she was on a tangent tonight. Little face red with exertion and lack of air from her high pitched, hysterical sobs, it made something inside him panic and anxiety grew in his chest. She should be here. She needed to be here. He needed her. Not just for the baby, but for him too. For everything.

He could feel it cracking. His resolve, his heart. Bucky had been strong. He hadn’t had time to break down. Immediately following Cecilia’s death, a small bundle of pink had been thrust in his arms and he’d had to name her and then learn everything there was to know on a crash course of how to be a father. A single father. A widower, as he’d overheard one nurse telling another. His wife had died, and now he was alone, trying to hold all this together by himself, at twenty two years old. It made his throat tighten.

Charlotte screamed and sobbed in a way he hadn’t yet heard and his heart raced. Was she in pain? Was something wrong that he couldn’t see, that he didn’t know? Maybe he should have stayed with his mother after all when she’d offered. Stubborn as ever, and bound and determined not to let Cecilia down, he’d told his mother he’d be fine and he had it under control.

How wrong he’d been. How much of a lie that had been.

He wasn’t fine and he barely had it under control. But not because he couldn’t manage the baby, no. Because he couldn’t manage himself and a baby. His grief and a baby. He missed her more than anything, a hole so large and so gaping in his heart that he wasn’t sure how he had survived the words, “I’m sorry, son. We did everything we could.” How could they have done everything they could and she still not be here?

Staring at the little baby and her perfect nose, her mother’s nose, he could feel the overwhelming sense of sadness and helplessness set in. She wasn’t any closer to being settled and if he was honest, neither was he. Bucky wasn’t ready for this, he didn’t know how to process all of this. How was he supposed to raise this child alone? Without his wife? Without his partner in crime, the woman who had cried hysterical tears of joy the moment she knew she was carrying Bucky’s baby. Their baby. A wave of despair hit him so hard it was crippling and he was completely aware of his eyes growing blurry with  tears.

He didn’t stop them though, couldn’t even if he’d wanted to. Bucky was so tired and so distraught and wanted nothing more than to wake up from this nightmare. Have reality be where Cecilia was right there with him, doing this together, like they’d always talked about. He needed this to be a dream. But he knew it wasn’t. And that was why there was no stopping the tears.

He leaned against the counter as the bottle warmed, bowed his head toward the infant as his own shoulders shook with sobs. He was stuck. They were stuck. The child had no idea yet what had happened to her life, and he wept for her, for the fact her mother was gone. And he wept for himself, for the wife he missed terribly, for the jagged, ripped edges of his life and his soul, and his broken heart.

The water began to boil around the bottle and he then knew the milk was ready for the crying infant in his arms, who’d never had a chance to have her mother’s milk. He sniffled and grabbed at the warm bottle, testing its temperature just as those kind, pitying nurses had taught him, and as soon as he put the nipple to her lips, Charlotte ceased her tears and suckled hungrily. Bucky’s relief was immediate and he sagged into the rocking chair he’d built for Cecilia, holding his tiny daughter close as the tears continued to flow.

How was he going to do this, day in and day out? Ensuring that Charlotte grew and gained weight, and stayed healthy, all while he worked and paid their bills and tried to keep them afloat. He was at a loss. With no idea what to do.

Carrying the baby down the hall as soon as she finished her bottle and lay quietly and sleepily against him, he broke his own rule and brought her into bed with him. He needed the closeness of the small being, and decided she probably needed his. Maybe that would make the next time she woke up not nearly as traumatic for the both of them. Clock blaring the time at him, just half past two in the morning, he propped up the pillows and laid down against them, settling her beside him on the mattress, cradling her small form.

Bucky wanted to assure her that she’d be okay, that they would be okay, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to lie and he didn’t think it was true. How could they ever be okay? In a continuing moment of weakness, he continued to let the tears fall, and he whispered words to Cecilia and prayed that she heard. And he prayed for strength. Because if there was one thing he needed, he knew it was that.

 

 

writing

Hey guess what? I love fan fiction! 


And am I ashamed? Heck no!

Let’s start at the beginning. Do you know what fan fiction is? It’s hard to tell because generally, it’s not something one usually admits. Why? Embarrassment probably. I know I used to be embarrassed. And it can take a lot of explaining. Like, what is fan fiction? Why do you read it? So, as I said, let’s start at the beginning.

“What is fan fiction?”

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So that pretty much sums it up, tbh. Fan fiction is a fan-made story about characters from a movie, television show, or book. Occasionally it’s about real people (i.e.*NSYNC). Pick a book, pick a tv show, pick a movie…I can almost guarantee you’ll find fan fiction out in the internet world written by people who love the show, book or movie as much as you but have a creative need to take over and deliver where they believed the writers may have gone wrong or not given enough information.

There are so many directions fanfic can go. Alternate Universe: where you take characters and write them in scenarios that have nothing to do with the actual storyline of the show, or deviate from it. Canon: where you keep the characters in their current places and continue on with a storyline or add more detail. There’s also different formats and every genre. Drabbles are very short stories, usually 100-500 words. Multi-chapter fics are exactly that, chapter stories! One-shots cover everything in one short story, usually more than 500 words. These are the most common. But trust me, people can write anything about any character in any genre, in any format. That is the beauty!

Where do I fall into all this, you might be wondering. How does one go down this rabbit hole? Well, it’s not that complicated. I love things to a particular degree. When I am dedicated to a show (LOST, The Last Ship) I NEED to explore it. I need to read the characters I ship together because the show only gives you so much.

Ship, you ask. What is shipping? “Shipping is a fandom practice that involves imagining relationships between two fictional characters from a show, movie, or book series. Ship is short for romantic relationship.” Sometimes the show or movie gives you two characters together and sometimes you prefer two other characters together. Have you ever thought “ugh he should be with her, not her!”?? Well, congratulations, you were shipping people together just then.

Oh, I got sidetracked there. I digress. I began reading at a young age, chapter books. I had no idea fan fiction existed until my friends and I decided to write a story in middle school about our crushes, who happened to be celebrities. Didn’t you do that at that age? No? Okay, well anyway…

So I dabbled mostly in that type of writing until high school when not only did I discover there was a website for this (YAY INTERNET!) but that you could write about anything and everything!! I took to a few different shows I loved (JAG, American Dreams) and began imagining different scenarios for the characters. In fanfic, you’re taking someone else’s characters and writing them in different situations. Might sound illegal, but it’s just fine as long as you never claim to own a show, character, etc. (Disclaimers are important, to protect yourself and your work).

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I’ve written my fair share of multi-chapter stories. Before I was married, I had an abundance of time to write. Marriage slowed that down a little (and I only confessed my hobby about two years ago to my husband) and then once I had my daughter, one-shots were all I could muster.  I write drabbles mostly at this time. I describe it as a snapshot into a scene. You pick one piece of a bigger picture and dissect it. Not a lot, just occasionally when the mood hits and I have to get something out. I prefer the Marvel fandom at the moment, but I’ll take characters and put them in AU situations at the drop of a hat. I wish there were more hours in the day…My longest story is over sixty chapters long. I can’t write like that anymore.

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SO. You probably have questions. Why do I write fanfiction? Because it’s fun is the number one reason. You write it and post it for the internet world to read. It’s free to read and write. You can write anything you want. Why NOT write?! And if you get feedback, or reviews as they are called, it makes it ALL worth the time and effort.

What do I write? Usually romance or drama, sometimes angst. I have an affinity for putting my characters in heartbreaking situations to torture the reader and then bringing them back slowly from the brink until we reach the happy ending.

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Did you know E.L. James wrote Fifty Shades of Gray as a fan fiction originally? It was for the Twilight fandom. It would be considered an AU version of the characters. Edward became Christian Gray and Bella because Anastasia Steele. Mind blown?

In fan fiction, everything is embraced. The sexuality of the character, the dangerous situations, the misery of the character, the hopelessness of a situation. Fandom loves to be tortured. Do you read comic books? Graphic novels? If you’re a Marvel fan, think of Bucky Barnes’ whole run in the comics. Talk about torture. He is one of fanfic’s favorites. Why? BECAUSE WE LOVE AGONY AND SUFFERING!

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Some people write because it’s an easy way to start writing–the characters are created for you and all you have to do is put them in a storyline. Some write because it’s a creative outlet, but they only write about characters they deem worthy. Everyone has their own, beautiful reasons. I embrace it all. Writers of shows and movies take the time to create these characters, what better way to appreciate that than to write about them? I would be damn flattered!

Below there are several reputable websites that either display fan fiction or are talking about it, in case you wanted to check out other sources.

Do you write fanfiction? Want to talk about it? Comment below! I LOVE to talk fanfic!