stephenson @jamesstephensons-blog - Tumblr Blog

Sean glanced over at Elena when she said his name, but as much as he wanted to respect her wishes for him not to be there, he was worried about James and he wouldn’t feel right just leaving the guy after not having seen him for so long. Besides, he didn’t seem to mind. If he minded, he would’ve left, but noticed the smile despite it being a little bit more for Sean’s benefit instead of his. His smile widened to add a bit more warmth of his own to the room.

“Yuck, it was amazing, Kenny, my pride and joy,” he said with a smirk. He finally entered the room then, casually setting the coffee tray on the desk in front of Elena before he turned to face James again. He noticed all the injuries and he wondered if it was from protecting someone like he knows he used to do, but he figured it’d be inappropriate to ask.

He stood a little off to the side and enough out of the way to not be standing in front of Elena, but still leaned against the desk a little. “Your hair’s longer. Looks like you’re ready for a clone attack.” He laughed a bit at the joke. “Please tell me you’ve still kept up with them. If not I have them and my home theater. If yes, I have them and the original- and I mean original not the edited Han shot second bullshit- trilogy and my home theater. Oh and popcorn and beer. And I suppose you could drag Grainger with if you wanted. Does he have a girlfriend now? I saw him with Christine the other day and then another day and then another day. The two of them?”

He looked up and off to the side for a second with a smile like he was thinking about how cute they were, except that was what he was thinking. But then he looked back at James. “And it’s crazy that they’re making a new series too. We have a really long ass wait though. A whole ‘nother year. But it’ll be worth it. No Jar Jar.”

jamesstephensons-blog

It was almost startling, after all this time and after everything that had happened in between, to be sitting in front of Sean as he discussed Star Wars. His hair was longer than it ever was in high school for plenty of reasons - he never had time or he just forgot being the main two excuses he most often gave. He would never admit it out loud that it had a lot to do with the fact that he didn’t like the thought of letting people near his neck with sharp objects. He was a paranoid client.

“I’ve only seen parts,” he admitted, and smiled at the mention of Grainger. “No. Not technically. But they’re as good as. He just won’t admit it.”

Sean kept in touch with Grainger, so he must have known the truth, or at the very least half of it. If he knew all of it - that some time in the fourteen years since they’d last seen each other Bucky had been a prisoner of war and presumed dead by most - then he was doing a better job than most at acting normal about it. This was surprising in itself - not because Bucky expected Sean to act out of line or in any way disrespectful regarding his time in the war, but because there were days that he saw old photographs of himself and wondered how he could be the same person. There were days that he looked in the mirror and saw a stranger. To think that Sean could act normal despite that was something James wasn’t yet used to. Sean was one of the few.

Especially now. Especially in this state.

He knew he shouldn’t have let himself end up here.

James pushed his mind away from the war and its consequences. In recent years, since his recovery had taken a turn for the better, that was the only time he got bad. He still had to be careful, keep his thoughts guided specifically, and sleeping medication usually helped to stop him from dreaming at night. Keeping his mind in the present was the only cure that had been remotely efficient.

“How about you?” he asked, forcing himself back on track with the conversation. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

#past para #— ❝ sean. ❞

bookergallagher

A smile began to creep its way onto Booker’s lips, slowly spreading across. Not that he could see it behind the mask he wore.. The response was phenomenal. Had he been a scientist, had he really been studying James’ reaction and the effect it had on his psyche, he would probably win some kind of award. That is…. if human experimentation were legal.

Scream for me, the thought surfaced. Scream.

What came out of James’ throat would have to do. But that was okay. Booker would get the man screaming at the top of his lungs soon enough. His eyes gleamed, watching James’ expressions shift from this to that all in a matter of seconds. No doubt, memories were being remembered, maybe even altered. It was time he stopped watching, though. Booker had other plans that day for James.

Back turned towards the pained man in the chair, he began to prep for some shock torture. Flipping this switch and that, he made sure it was enough to hurt him, but not enough to kill him. No, he still needed him. What he heard next stopped him, his head turning around slightly. Another smile. Death would be too sweet for him. He ignored his request for the time being, turning back around and finishing the prep work. Then, walking toward him with a switch in his hand, he peered down at him, head tilted only slightly as he observed him before answering his request.

“You don’t deserve death.”

jamesstephensons-blog

And thus Booker pressed the big red button.

Things were changing. He knew it and he didn’t. There were parts of his consciousness that knew he was forgetting, that his memories were cracking and that his mind was slipping, but the part of him that didn’t understand was overwhelmingly powerful. It was like a black haze that slowly crawled through the cracks in his mind to devour and diminish things he once knew. All he could was watch as it happened and wait for it to finish - wait to lose himself completely.

Maybe it would be a relief. To forget who he was. To forget everything.

James understood everything. The man in the mask was right.

He was nothing. Just a soldier who didn’t deserve to die, but deserved to pay.

Someone who was very quickly losing sight of the reasons he once had to resist. Their faces started to fade.

He tried to conjure them again when Booker pressed the button.

— THE WORLD IS ON FIRE —

The hailstorm in his mind turned into a wildfire as the electric shock ran through his body and he broke, a scream tearing from his dry throat. His body fought against the constraints as his muscles contracted, and the colours of the world around him began to fade.

Everything began to fade.

#torture tw #— ❝ booker.❞

seanxwright

Honestly, it was evening, but he had an inkling- which actually meant he walked in, saw the chaos then turned back around- that anyone at the police station was in for a long night. So he made a b-line for the Brew, picked up what he’d learned was Elena’s favorite and his favorite, and then headed right back for the station. He’d been told once or twice or three thousand nine hundred and eighty-four times that he really shouldn’t come in and bother Elena unless he actually broke a law. He didn’t have time to call Rey and have her catch him j-walking tonight, so he’ll just be arrested for an impromptu visit.

He weaved his way around rowdy arrestees and frustrated arrestors with absolutely no effort and with a ton of grace. Childhood dance lessons paid off no matter if his mother had been annoying about it at the time. Not a drop of coffee was spilled, he touched no one, and he was unnoticed until he got to the door to the office.

An officer way in the back opposite where he was and he’d seen once or twice noticed him and only got half his name out before he winked at them, turned the handle with one hand, and pushed the door open with his back.

“Okay so it looks like hell here and I know I’m not supposed to bother you because of stupid codes or something,” he began like he’d never ignored them before. He turned inside to look at her. “But I got cof-” However his eyes landed on the roughed up guy in the room sitting across from her. “-fee.” He was familiar. Why was he familiar?

He stared at him blankly for a moment, but was still vaguely aware that it was awkward. And then, shockingly, he remembered an eighteen year old who had sucky ass parents and chose his way out as joining the army. He’d heard an array of things. James was captured, James died, and James came back. But the one thing so perfectly clear in this moment was that James wasn’t the James he saw fourteen years ago.

“Hey if it isn’t Obi Wan.”

jamesstephensons-blog

James couldn’t believe he’d landed himself in here despite the fact that it was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid. Truthfully, he’d have loved for Kyle to pay for what he’d done - and if he wasn’t dating Toni, that’s exactly what he would have let happen. But Kyle was dating Toni, and despite what had happened, the likelihood of Kyle getting arrested for any length of time was slim, and if he wasn’t arrested, he’d have the chance to take it out on Toni. Bucky couldn’t let that happen. This had already gone too far.

And he felt bad. Elena Stone wanted to help and she genuinely cared. She must have known more about him than she was letting on -- he was sure he probably had a file somewhere in their records with the words ‘prisoner of war’ and ‘compassionate discharge’, one after another. When people knew that their tone and demeanor around them tended to lean towards pity, sympathy, empathy, or all three. Sometimes it was too much, other times he took it to heart, appreciated the effort of understanding. With Elena it made him feel guilty, because the more he refused to tell her what had happened, the more dejected she seemed to look. “I just want to help you, James.” He believed her. She was a natural mother.

“I’m sorry,” he said honestly, his voice hoarse. His right hand gently touched the bruise on his neck before falling back in his lap. He looked down, unable to handle the sincerity in her eyes. “I can’t tell you anything. I didn’t see them.”

Elena looked as though she were going to continue when the door swung open and a man walked in carrying coffee, talking casually - until he caught sight of James. He could almost see the cogs working on Sean’s head as he tried to put a finger on how he knew the man in front of him. James recognized Sean immediately, if not from the previous times they’d met, from his graduation party. He remembered everything about that day in vivid, sharp detail.

Elena must have sensed some sort of discomfort, because she stood up straight and said, “Sean,” as if expecting him to leave - but her demeanor changed immediately when she realized there was recognition between them. Her features softened once again.

It wasn’t surprising that it would have taken Sean time to recognize him. Not only had the war aged him and changed his once relaxed and happy demeanor, but he was currently in the worst shape he’d been in since the war. In fact, he was surprised Sean recognized him at all past the cuts, bruises, and stitches.

When Sean called him Obi Wan, he felt that familiar itch in the back of his head that happened every time someone brought up a happy memory from the past. There was before the war and there was after the war, and when he was reminded of the before, he never knew whether he should be happy or sad, so he settled for an in-between. The nickname made a lump form in his throat, and he tried to swallow it down. James smiled as sincerely as he could, painfully aware of the feeling of dried blood on his left cheek and his inability to do much with his left arm or hand other than move it ever so slightly. He hoped he could live up to Sean’s memory of him.

“Sean,” he greeted, and did something that he’d only recently found the hear to do since before the war. “Last time I saw you you were in a peach and baby blue plaid suit.”

#past para #— ❝ sean. ❞

tonixosborne

Toni wasn’t sure if what she needed was time alone or just time away from expectations. At work, she was expected to do her job. That was fine. That was the point of having a job and it was the least of her problems. At her apartment, she was expected not to be thinking about Kyle. She knew Natalie meant well and wanted what was best for her. She couldn’t ask for better, she was lucky to have someone looking after her. She just felt tired. Tired of everything around her and tired of herself. And from Kyle, she was expected to be doting, she was expected to ignore the fact he had a new girl around every other day, she was expected to forget what he’d done. She couldn’t do it. She was weak, but she also wasn’t as weak as he took her for.

This is how she’d found herself at the Island alone. She wasn’t looking over the menu, but anxiously gripping the side for barely a reason at all. It wasn’t like she was expecting anyone. Nothing was expected of her here either. She was alone. But maybe she hated being alone. She rarely was. The more she was alone, the more she was dealing with herself and dealing with herself was a difficult place.

She dropped the menu without even having figured anything out. She’d just go with a caesar salad should she be pressed too soon here. It was simple and never bad, even if this place was known for seafood. She looked up and glanced around the restaurant a bit. There was a family, the baby was crying between spoonfuls of food. That didn’t bother her much. Before catching sight of them, she hadn’t even heard them. There was a couple and that caused her to look away right away. The group of laughing friends was much easier to look at, but even then she stared beyond them. She just wanted time where she didn’t have to think too hard about her rproblems, but she knew as well as anyone that that would never happen.

jamesstephensons-blog

James used to pride himself in everything he did. He worked hard and accepted nothing less than his best. Now, he wasn’t even sure what his best was anymore. His high tipping customers were the ones that preferred waiters who weren’t chatty, but on the whole he wasn’t exactly a favourite. When he smiled it was strained. He was impersonal. A customer had once reviewed him with the phrase “nothing special”. He agreed. They started putting him on the same shifts as Grainger, which helped. When Grainger was around his strained smiles became more genuine.

Today was not one of those days. Grainger was at the theatre, and a small part of him could hear his old self hoping that Grainger was with Christine. Those were the moments that jarred him the most — when he realized that there was a small piece of himself left from before the war that snuck its way through the cracks. There was a comfort in it, but there was fear, too. It forced him to face the reality that he was a different person. A stranger. A ghost of his former self. It made him feel sick to think of what he looked like to people like Grainger or Jack who knew him before — he hated being broken. They deserved better than that.

What he hadn’t expected today was to run into an old friend. If James had seen her before walking up to her table he probably would have fallen back, begged one of his co-workers to take the table for him — anything to avoid facing the past.

His features softened when he saw her face. He recognized that look.

“Toni.”

#past para #— ❝ toni. ❞#this is garbage i'm sorry #tonight is not my night

bookergallagher:

Who would ever think that a lumberjack of all people would have a degree in biomechanics? That’s right. No one. For all anyone even knew, the only mechanics Booker knew were about cars, and that was only very little. He still took his car to the auto shop. Still called an electrician when his oven went out. Not that he really knew how to take care of a car, anyway. All he knew was how to change his oil.

So when it came to replacing a human arm with a metal one that the patient could control, one that worked exactly like flesh and not like some shit prosthetic limb. No, this was no prosthetic. This was more. It was of his own design, not found anywhere else. His most prized possession that he was about to bless the man lying on the reclined chair with.

Booker had already had his fun with James, testing his limits to see how long he would stay alive. Almost a month in already and he wasn’t dead– which Booker found incredible, but not surprising considering he was a soldier.

Fingers tapped on the syringe before he put the contents into James’ IV drip. Something to increase the pain he felt. And there it was again, he was repeating his rank, name, and ID number. It was as if he was trying to ground himself. A valiant effort that only made Booker smile underneath the mask he wore.

“Wrong.” He said when the pain hit James. Then he repeated what he recently started telling him out of curiosity that he could change the way he thought. “You aren’t Sergeant James Stephenson, ID 324457. You are nothing. And you will continue to be nothing until the day that you die.”

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

He felt like nothing. He felt helpless. Torture was a unique sort of cruelty -- it chips away at a person little by little. It breaks them and then takes away the pieces one by one until it’s impossible to put them back together again. There were pieces missing. They would never be the same. Bucky knew. He remembered.

He was losing.

James Stephenson. The name was barely a whisper.

Nothing was much louder.

James’ body felt as though it were on fire, but he didn’t want to scream. If he started screaming he was afraid he wouldn’t stop. He tried to look at the source of the voice but his vision blurred as his eyes watered until finally the pain became too much. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth, a strangled and pained scream tearing at the back of his throat.

You should have died in the war.

NOTHING. Who are you?

You should have died in the war.

Jack’s voice, distant but loud, poignant -- a memory. “I thought you were dead, Buck.”

Sergeant James Stephenson. Nothing. Bucky.

Jack was a reason. Grainger was a reason. Toni was a reason. He needed to live. But you’re a coward. Nothing. Until the day you die.

Bucky.

He spoke through clenched teeth and a dry, strained throat. “Kill me.”

#— ❝ booker. ❞#torture tw #suicide mention #just fuck me up

The world seemed to flicker in and out of existence. When James slipped he found himself back in Ukraine, teasing death with every breath he drew - realizing that death would probably have been an escape, a reprieve. He fought to keep his consciousness but found little solace in it - it was met only with stale air and the smell of blood and when he was very unlucky, the worst pain he’d ever felt.

But he couldn’t move. He wasn’t sure if he was strapped down or drugged, but the most movement he could manage was his head, and even then it was mostly reliant on gravity. He tried to take in his surroundings whenever he was of a sound enough mind to consider it, but his vision blurred and whatever he may have seen he never registered long enough to remember. It flashed between a bare room and the cave in Ukraine and all he was really aware of was pain.

The only thing he knew was absolutely sure of was that someone was responsible.

Taken. He knew that. Jack. They had been together. No. Jack had left. Just briefly, Jack had left. And that’s when it had to have happened. Remember. Remember. Who was it? You’re in Aldyria. You’re a prisoner. This isn’t the war. This isn’t the war.

Isn’t it?

“Sergeant... James Stephenson... 324457...”

Another wave of pain washed over him and he felt as though he were on fire. He wanted to scream and writhe but could do neither - he couldn’t even be sure if he was clenching his fists, but he knew he was clenching his teeth.

James had emptied his stomach earlier that morning so all he tasted in the back of his throat was bile, driven there by physical agony.

Kill me. Let me die. Please.

#aldyriastarter #closed #( booker. )#torture tw #suicide mention #sort of?? idk this whole thing is a potential trigger i hope i tagged them all

graingerxstephenson

➳ ❝ You love playing the piano. You would forget. And that’s not a problem, I’ll be your other arm. I’ not quite as good as you, but I can keep up.

— James took a deep breath and pressed his lips together, suddenly more aware of his left arm than he had been in a long time. He sat at the piano bench to the right of his brother, placing his right hand on the keys, surprised to see that it wasn’t shaking. He hated the barrier that had built itself around his old self, knowing that this was as close as he’d gotten to being the person he had wanted to be for his brother. ❝ Alright. I’ll try. ❞

#— ❝ grainger. ❞

oscardicarlo

“Thanks. I think it’s more just practice for many years. Did you play violin?”

— ❝ No, no - I... used to be able to play the piano. ❞

#— ❝ oscar. ❞

graingerxstephenson

➳ ❝ Of course it is. It’ll be like the time you taught me chop sticks.

— ❝ Grainger, I... I haven’t played in a long time. I can’t even use... ❞

#— ❝ grainger. ❞

graingerxstephenson

➳ ❝ It is. You know you can join me if you want.

— ❝ I don’t think that’s a good idea. ❞

#— ❝ grainger. ❞#bye #fuck you

oscardicarlo

“Good guess. It’s the Four Seasons, I think his most famous piece.”

— ❝ It is. I used to play it. You’re talented. ❞

#N I C E #— ❝ oscar. ❞

— ❝ Vivaldi, isn’t it? ❞

#aldyriastarter

medicarizona

Arizona only left the army becuase she had to, because the death of her brothers had left her unfit for duty. She’d been grief stricken for not just her brothers but her job too. Still it was for the best that she got out of there.

Ari had gone into the alley for a breath of fresh air, or rather a smoke. She sighed before pulling a cigerette from her latest pack, setting it alight and letting the smoke cloud the air. It was only then that she heard a familiar voice behind her.

She turned around half not believing here ears, but sure enough there he was. James Stephenson. A face from a long time ago.

“James? James. What the hell?

— James jumped in surprise when he heard a voice. He jerked his head up in surprise to see who had addressed him and it met with the hard brick of the building he was leaning on. Pain shocked his body and he squeezed his eyes shut, his right hand instinctually grabbing the back of his head where it had hit the wall. No blood - that was good. He put his hand on the ground to lift himself up, leaning against the wall for stability, before he looked back towards the woman who apparently knew his name.

He was shocked to see a familiar face when his vision cleared, and instantly, he felt dizzy - though he was sure it wasn’t because of the alcohol. ❝ Arizona? ❞ he asked, though he hadn’t meant for it to be a question. He remembered more about the war than he wanted to anyway - he wouldn’t soon forget one of the people who had helped in taking care of him.

James wished he could feel happy, or even sad - but he only felt confused, maybe scared. He hadn’t had to face someone who’d known him in the war since he returned to Aldyria, and he’d never expected to. A lump formed in his throat, and he wondered why, of all times, she had to see him now, like this. He wondered why, of all times, he would be faced with someone from the war when that’s what he was spending his time trying to forget.

He reached down and picked up the bottle he’d placed on the floor next to him. ❝ I’m - I’m just - taking a walk, ❞ he lied, raising the bottle to his lips and taking a drink that woudl satisfy nothing.

#— ❝ arizona. ❞#alcohol tw

( medicarizona )

— James’ compassionate dismissal from the army had been in the hopes of his recovery. “Not everyone is made for war,” they’d said. “But you were a unique exception. You were good at what you did. And we’re sorry that it has to end this way.” He often wondered in what way they meant, but drew the same conclusion every time: they were only sorry he had to leave. He was sorry for a lot of things. He was sorry he survived. He was sorry he had wanted to die. He was sorry that he’d ever signed up for the army.

This is why he drank. Alcohol numbed the memories, wearing them down to thoughts, and thoughts were more tolerable. It was easier to remember things more vividly when sober - easier to remember the way a gun fit into the palm of his hand, or the long days as a prisoner, repeating his name over and over - Seargeant... 32557... Stephenson... - just to prove to himself that he remembered who he was.

He hated himself when he drank, which is why he usually did his best not to do so at home. Grainger had seen the best of him, but now he was only seeing the worst. Every day he wished he could change everything, take it back to the way it used to be, be the brother he’d once been and more. But now, James felt more like a nuisance than a brother, and he was scared that would never change.

❝ Fuck, ❞ James muttered, slumping back on the alley wall and sliding down. He dropped his head into his hand, his one good hand, and wondered whether he was going to vomit or cry.