#i begged and pleaded online for help with just. fucking anything. i was fucking homeless and people rbed my post but i hardly got anything

[6-2-aestheticsofhate]

What's the fucking point

[traumatizeddfox]

i feel like no matter who i meet irl or where i post online, i'm just not welcome. everything i do feels so one sided, like people see and hear everything i say and do and choose to ignore me. every single person i've tried to talk to has dwindled, and every single thing i've created and posted or shown to people has been met with :| irl and if i even talk on my account my post's interactions dwindle. i know i sound like i'm being a baby, but literally nobody cares about me anymore and i feel like no matter where i go i'm just not welcome or ignored even if i try to go out of my way to be kind or whatever, it just feels like people use me and run and if i have nothing to offer i'm not worth anything.

i don't know if it's because i'm overbearing or i have bad opinions or i just get into things a little too much but i just really really want people to like me, my mom completely distanced herself from me when i was like 5, so i still struggle with basic hygiene and now need multiple oral surgeries to restructure my jaw because i was never taught the importance of brushing, and i go months without showering. i have two separate bedrooms that are completely full of hoarder-eske piles, and one of them i have completely abandoned. i suppose it stems from my mom's neglect to regard my mental and physical pain, and being SA constantly in a hoarder house for a handful of years when i was a preteen by my dad, but i annoyed my mom so much with my needs like therapy and surgeries and hormones that she just kicked me out at 17. i just turned 19 and i'm still alone. i'm almost homeless. i haven't had a single penny since i quit my first job a week after i started at 15, because my health being too horrible to keep up more than that single week. nobody in school liked me either. people made fun of me for being fat and hairy but still being a girl, and when i came out as trans, i thought it would help because i would be a man to them and the other things wouldn't be a problem, they all made fun of me for that too. (i also am trans for other reasons not just that) i'm alone. i'm so poor. i'm so hungry. i've been stuck in some crazy cultist's house for two years now because i have literally nowhere else to go.

and i don't care if "i can just go call xyz organization and make a gofundme and blah blah blah" because no matter how many fucking hoops i've jumped through the past two years with all of the options at my disposal for being someone with literally no physical identification, a high school drop out, and no driver's license or access to a car, or anybody who will actually help me. i beg and plead with my girlfriend, the single only person who actually is still around, and has resources, a car, and a job, to please help me find means of help, a therapist, a doctor, a dentist, something, for the past two years after being promised for the first two years of our relationship that she would help me when she helps me get out. i'm stuck. in the same small room every single day, packed with my literal garbage, while i play meaningless video games and rewatch my little pony over and over and over. my teeth are falling out. another one chipped today. i have no weed left. i'm not sure what's wrong with my stomach, i actually eat good food like roasted veggies and shrimp and drink ensures when i'm hungry in between meals, but i have no idea what's wrong with my stomach. it always hurts. always. but i was starved by my dad to be more appealing for his "plans" for like four years straight with minimal food to keep me alive so im sure that damaged my stomach somehow, but the single doctor visit i could get my girlfriend to take me to, they took an X-ray, saw shit, said i was constipated and sent me home. but i wasn't? i shit like 30 minutes later after i got home and i spent the entire time on the toilet crying.

nobody believes me. nobody wants to be around me. i am unlikeable, annoying, and overbearing. i will never get help. no organization will help me because i have zero identification, money, or because of the severity of my situation. the (maybe?) tens of thousands of dollars i will need to restore my body. my mom didn't care, doctors don't care, and my girlfriend doesn't care. i am in so much pain. i always have been, and i always will be.

I am so sorry, it breaks my heart reading this. Im sorry no one makes you feel loved, and im sorry about your mom and being neglected :/ it is so hard to deal with. You are always welcome here, on my blog <3 I really do hope things turn around for you, and that you will see it was all worth it <3 ily

[feedmecookiesnow]

Can I Stay With You?

For @hopelessly-me who asked for a Winterhawk “Can I stay with you” from the prompt list:

Not NSFW, but we’ll say 18+ just to be safe.

***

At three am, there’s an unholy sound of someone pounding on his front door. Bucky stumbles out of bed, remembering at the last second to put pants on, and wrenches it open with a very irritated, “What?”

Clint is standing there, looking just as exhausted and annoyed as he is. “Hi,” he says. “Can I stay with you?”

Bucky rubs his eyes and tries to force his brain online. “What?”

“Can I stay with you?”

He stares at Clint for a moment, then opens the door a little more and gestures to the couch behind him. Then he turns and goes back to his own room. Behind him, he hears Clint close the door with a quiet, “Thank you.”

Bucky makes a sound that could maybe be described as “whatever” and is asleep again before his head hits the pillow.

It’s seven am the next time his eyes open,  He sits up fast, still covered in cold sweat from his last nightmare. Nothing unusual there.

What is unusual is the smell of pancakes drifting through the apartment. Burnt slightly, but still kind of appealing. Bucky rubs the grit from his eyes and gets up, tired and sore from sleeping wrong, and goes to investigate.

Clint is standing in his kitchen, wearing nothing but a black t-shirt and a pair of boxers with little purple things on them. Eggplants, maybe? His back is to Bucky, and he’s humming something quietly.

“The fuck are you doing here?”

Clint jumps a little, dropping one of the pancakes onto the floor. “Hi. Good morning. You let me in last night, remember?”

“Yes.” Bucky rubs his forehead. “No. Kind of.”

“There was a gas leak in my building,” Clint says. “The fire department dragged me out of bed and made me leave.”

Bucky sits at his little kitchen table and looks at the two plates set out. “Why?”

“Why did they make me leave?” Clint raises an eyebrow. “It’s a gas leak, Barnes. The building could have exploded.”

“Why are you here?” It’s not that he doesn’t like Clint, but it’s weird that he’s here. At the very least, he would’ve thought Clint would try Natasha or someone first.

“Oh.” He grabs one of the plates and starts putting pancakes on it. “Because you live closest to me, it was three in the morning, and I was standing outside in my underwear?”

Well. That’s probably fair.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” Clint says. “I wouldn’t have if I could’ve avoided it.”

Bucky waves a hand. “Whatever.” He takes the plate from Clint and looks at it. “Pancakes?”

“Consider it an apology breakfast.” Clint pours him a mug of coffee. “We can eat, wake up a little bit, and then I’ll go back to my place and see if I can get in. Okay?”

“Okay.”

The pancakes are good, if not slightly burnt, and the coffee is perfect. It’s nice, actually, to sit and eat breakfast. He usually skips it---either too keyed up from his nightmares, or too busy to have real food. “These are good.”

“Thank you.”

Bucky drains the coffee and gets up for another mug. “So...gas leak?”

Clint shrugs. “Apparently. I don’t know much. All I know is that I was sleeping, and next thing I know, there was some super hot fireman standing over my bed, shaking me awake and telling me to come with him. I thought it was a dream until I got outside and saw everyone else.”

Bucky laughs. “What about your roommate?”

“Kate’s with her dad in California. She’s got Lucky too, so it was just me in there.” He looks at his legs with dismay. “They didn’t even let me get real pants. I had to walk twelve blocks like this.”

“You can borrow some of my stuff,” Bucky says before even realizing he’s made the offer. “I won’t make you walk back wearing just eggplants.”

Clint smiles slightly and nods. “I would appreciate that. Thank you.”

They finish breakfast. Clint insists on doing the dishes too, so Bucky goes back to his room and tries to find some clothes that’ll fit him. He finally settles on a pair of jeans and a clean shirt. “Here,” he says, handing them to Clint. “I think these’ll fit you? Might be a little short.”

“Curse of being tall,” Clint says with a grin. “Thanks, Barnes. Seriously.” He pulls the jeans on right there, almost tipping himself over while he hops around on one foot.

Bucky rolls his eyes and steadies him. “Are you capable of doing anything without injuring yourself?”

“Yes,” Clint says, sounding mildly offended. He buttons the jeans, then reaches up and pulls off his shirt, revealing a very muscular torso half-plastered with bandages and medical tape. He looks at himself for a moment, then adds, “This means nothing.”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky says, oddly disappointed when Clint puts the new shirt on. He takes the other one and tosses it in his laundry basket. “I’ll wash that and give it back.”

“You’re awesome,” Clint says. “Insults to my capabilities aside.”

Bucky grins. “Come on. Let’s go see if you can get into your place.”

They can’t. They can’t even get close to it. A main gas line has blown, apparently, and they’re not letting anyone in. The whole block is cordoned off. After an hour of fruitless negotiating, pleading, and begging, the best answer they get is “It’ll be about two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” Clint throws his arms out. “But I don’t have any stuff! What am I supposed to do for two weeks, be homeless?”

“Sorry, sir,” the fire chief says. “Can’t help you.”

He walks away. Clint stares after him. “Great,” he finally says, and tilts his head up to the sky. “What did I do to deserve this, huh?”

“Sorry,” Bucky says, not sure what to follow it with.

Clint waves a hand and rubs his forehead. “It’s fine. I’ll figure out something.”

“You can stay with me again,” Bucky offers. “It’s only two weeks. We can buy you some clothes, and I’ve got an extra toothbrush.”

“No, I don’t want to be in the way---”

“It’s not,” Bucky says quickly, for some reason desperate for him to say yes. “It’s fine. It would be nice to have a roommate. For a bit.”

Clint studies him. “You sure?”

“Definitely.” Bucky nudges him with an elbow. “I expect breakfast every morning, though.”

Clint laughs. “Okay. I can do that.”

So that’s how Bucky ends up with a temporary roommate. It’s weird at first, if he’s being perfectly honest with himself. He hasn’t lived with anyone since joining the Avengers, not even a guest, and it takes him awhile to get used to sharing a space---particularly the bathroom. But other than a couple of arguments, they manage to make it work, settling into a comfortable rhythm.

Three weeks into this new arrangement, Bucky comes back from the grocery store to find Clint packing his clothes into a duffle bag. He’s wearing Bucky’s jeans again, and Bucky can’t help but notice how tight they are, riding low across his hips. “What’s going on?”

“I’m good to move back,” Clint says, grinning at him. “Building is safe for habitation again.” He hefts the bag. “I’m just using this for transport. I’ll bring it back.”

“You can keep it, I don’t care.” He tears his eyes off the jeans and looks up. “Well. Congrats on getting your apartment back.”

“Thank you,” Clint says, apparently oblivious to the disappointment in Bucky’s voice. Bucky swallows it down and helps him pack the rest of his things. When they’re done, Clint shoulders the bag and looks at him. “Well. This has been fun.”

“It has,” Bucky agrees. “Do you need help moving in?”

“Nah, I’ve interfered in your life enough.” Clint taps his fingers on his thigh for a moment, then says, “Seriously, though. Thanks for letting me stay here.”

“Anytime,” Bucky says, trying to imbue the words with all the subtext he can. “I liked having you here.”

Clint looks like he wants to say something, but after a moment, he shakes his head. “I’ll see you at work?”

“Sure.”

He leaves, then. Bucky doesn’t close the door until he disappears around the corner. Then he turns to look at his apartment. It seems smaller, somehow, which definitely doesn’t make sense. It should feel bigger now that there’s not two grown men taking up space.

Maybe smaller is the wrong word. It’s not smaller. It’s empty. There’s a distinct sense of something missing. Like losing a tooth, Bucky thinks, and all he can do is probe at the blank space where there used to be something better.

“Get over it,” he says to himself, and starts picking up blankets from the couch. “It didn’t mean anything. You were just being a good friend. That’s all you want from him. You’re just friends.”

He keeps telling himself this. He repeats it all day.

He doesn’t believe a word of it.

A week later, he’s watching TV. He misses Clint’s running commentary, which usually ended with both of them laughing their assess off. It’s just not the same on his own.

His phone rings, and he answers without looking. “Barnes.”

“Hey, it’s me.”

Bucky sits up straight and mutes the TV. “Clint? What’s up?”

“Kate’s back,” he says, “and she’s having a sleepover.” There’s a distinct shrieking of laughter in the background, and Bucky can almost hear Clint’s wince. “They’re loud and they’re very girly. Which is fine, but also they’re so loud. Did I mention they’re loud? We’re talking undiscovered decibels here.”

“I think you mentioned it, yeah.”

“Anyway. Can I stay with you?”

Bucky blinks. “What?”

“Just for tonight,” Clint rushes to add. “Not three weeks again. I just need a break. They’re loud. Have I said that yet?”

Can’t you just take your hearing aids out? is the first thing that comes to Bucky’s mind, and he almost says it.

Then he looks around at his empty apartment, and the newscaster on television, and instead says, “Bring something to drink.”

“Awesome,” Clint says. “I’ll be right there.”

He hangs up. Bucky stares at his phone for a moment, then looks around his apartment. It’s---well, it’s not a mess, but it’s not pretty. Not fit for company. He quickly gets up and does some frantic cleaning. He’s not sure why---Clint’s worse than he is, he makes Bucky look military neat---but he does it anyway.

He’s working on the dishes when the door opens. “Hey,” Clint calls. “Door’s unlocked, I’m coming in.”

“Hey,” Bucky calls back. He puts the last plate on the rack and dries his hands. “Good to see you.”

“You too,” Clint says, flashing a smile, and Bucky’s chest gets a little tighter at the sight. “I brought beer.” He raises a six-pack.

“Works for me.” Bucky sticks it in the fridge. “So how’s Kate?”

Clint winces. “I love her, but man, when she gets together with her girlfriends...” He shudders and drops his bag by the couch. “I don’t think they communicate with words. I think it’s just high pitched squealing noises. Seriously.” He shakes his head.

Bucky pulls two beers out and drops on the couch next to him. “Well, you’re welcome over here anytime.”

“It’s very appreciated.”

They drink beer and watch TV. It’s like how it was before, stepping back into their routine with barely a beat missed, and Bucky can’t stop himself from smiling.

Clint notices. “What’re you so happy about?”

“I like having you here,” Bucky says honestly. “It’s nice.”

Clint blinks, and then a smile spreads across his face. “Yeah?”

“I liked living with you too.” He’s already started, he might as well keep going. “I didn’t realize until you left, but it was really nice to have someone around.”

“It’s nice,” Clint agrees. “Roommates can be awesome.”

They’re quiet for a while after that. Bucky tries to think of something to say, but he can’t focus. Clint is wearing his jeans again, and they’re still too tight, and they’re still obscenely low across his hips, and the casual way he’s sitting---

“Eyes up, soldier,” Clint says, watching him, and Bucky blushes hard. Clint grins at him and sips his beer.

“Sorry,” Bucky says, face still burning. “I’m---that was rude, I shouldn’t do that.”

“I’m just teasing you,” Clint winks. “I don’t mind. I know these look good on me.”

“They’d look better on my bedroom floor,” Bucky says without thinking, and then nearly drops his beer from shock as the statement hits him a second later. “I mean---that’s not---”

Clint is suddenly very still, eyes fixed on the beer in his hand. After a moment, Bucky stops stammering out excuses, and resigns himself to dying of embarrassment. “Sorry,” he mutters again, and wishes he could just disappear into the couch.

“You mean that?” Clint asks after a moment, He turns and sets his beer down, then looks at Bucky. “Seriously?”

Bucky shrugs, trying for casual and definitely not making it. “Just a thought.”

“Just a thought,” Clint echoes. “Okay. And if I wanted it to be more than a thought?”

Bucky stares at him, barely daring to hope. “Wait. You do?”

“Uh, yeah.” He sounds a little breathless, a little excited. “Have you seen yourself? Of course I want that, you’re---”

He cuts off with a surprised noise, as Bucky leans forward and kisses him. Then he loses his balance and falls backwards, whacking his head on the arm of the couch with a soft, “Ow.”

Bucky chuckles. “Can’t do anything without hurting yourself, can you?”

“Your fault,” Clint pants, grabbing his shirt and pulling him down. “You knocked me over.”

“My bad.”

They kiss again, intense and hungry and heated. Part of Bucky feels like he should take it slow, make it a little softer. But then Clint’s leg hitches over him, pulling him closer, and all coherent thought flies out the window.

They break apart with a gasp, both panting. “Think we knocked your beer over,” Clint says.

“It’s empty,” Bucky says, kissing him again.

“Good.” Clint’s hand slips under his shirt. “Off.”

Bucky tugs his shirt off and tosses it somewhere. Clint puts a hand on his chest, skimming over his torso with an appreciative touch. “Your abs are unfair,” he says, poking them. “Seriously. Like, Greek god levels of unfair.”

“You’ve got abs.”

“Not like this.”

“Do more sit-ups, then.”

“I do sit-ups!”

“Not enough, apparently.”

“You---” Clint scowls up at him, and it’s honestly kind of adorable. “I don’t need your judgement. Shut up and kiss me.”

“Sure,” Bucky agrees, leaning back down. It’s a little slower this time, a little less frantic. Bucky hasn’t done this in a long time, but he’s missed it. He’d forgotten how nice it can be to get wrapped up in this, how easy it is to get lost in the taste of someone else---

They tip sideways and fall, Bucky twisting at the last second so he takes the impact instead of Clint. “Shit,” Clint says, flushing red. “Sorry, that was my fault.”

Bucky laughs. “It’s fine,” he says. “But why don’t we take this to my room before you really hurt yourself?”

“Works for me,” Clint says, standing up. He offers Bucky a hand, and pulls him to his feet. “I have been known to fall off beds, though. Fair warning.”

“That’s okay,” Bucky says. “I’m sure I can figure out a way to keep you in one place.” He winks. “For safety reasons, you know.”

“Looking forward to seeing your methods,” Clint says with a grin, and lets Bucky tug him down the hallway to the bedroom.

***

Charity Hawktion Self-Promo! If you like the things I write and would like me to write something specifically for you, you can bid on me here!  Winner will get a 5-10k word story of their choosing (possibly longer because I am a verbose motherfucker). If you can participate, I encourage you to do so, and if not, that’s okay too! Thank you for reading!