52 (Short Stories) in 52 (Weeks)

Story #7 - Outline/Rough Draft/Editing - In the Morning's Hush

"Well I'm not going hit 52 this year, so I suppose I'd better come back and change the title in January to X in 52 or something." The Writer sighed. Her writing desk was a pile of good intentions and shed plot bunny fur.

"Still plenty of time to get in a few more drabbles," the Muse pointed out. She scanned the Dreamwidth comms and tossed a few links in the Writer's direction. "Pick one."

The Writer flailed a bit and ended up snagging the 100words prompt out of the air. She read it with a frown.

"So?" asked the Muse after a moment.

"Prompt #071 is Illusion. Only I don't know what 'verse to set it in. It's not a fanfic only comm, so... choices." The Writer redirected her frown at the pile of napping plot bunnies. "Hey, fuzzballs! Want at prompt?" She dangled it over them hopefully and after a moment the Avengers plot bunny untangled himself enough to take a nibble.

"Well, I can work with that." The Muse scooped up the multicolored plot bunny. "So illusions-- Scarlet Witch, Doctor Strange-- we've got a bunch of magic users around. Plus Tony and all his holograms."

"It's stupid and I know it's stupid," said the Writer, "but I want some shippy-if-you-squint Steve and Bucky. Because reasons."

"You are the shippy-est Gen writer in the history of Gen." The Muse sighed.

"Reasons."

~*~*~*~*~

It's an illusion, Steve knows it is, the same way he knew Peggy and the dance were wrong, because his life isn't this. It isn't couches that feel like clouds and televisions the size of cars. It isn't kitchen stuffed full of food, some so exotic he's never sure if Tony's joking when he says their edible. It isn't his face plastered all over the news, the internet, a rabid fanbase that worships the ground he walks on.

And it isn't this.

It isn't a ghost sprawled alongside him on the couch, watching B movies and providing snarky commentary like he'd never been gone. And he knows if he moves, if he breathes, if he just gives into the doubt for just one moment it will all go away. So he doesn't.

It's an illusion and he doesn't care.

~*~*~*~*~

"Well that's 139 words and as confusing a mess as most of your rough drafts." The Muse said with a sigh. The plot bunny looked quite proud of itself. "So, time to narrow this down... what was the point?"

"Steve can't believe he's not in the ice, or the war, and he still thinks he doesn't deserve to be happy-- you know normal Steve things." The Writer frowned at the drabble. "Where am I going to chop 39 words from..."

The Muse pulled out the editing chainsaw and an evil smile as the plot bunny fled back under the desk. "And that's why you bring me along."

~*~*~*~*~

[It's an illusion, Steve knows it is, the same way he knew Peggy and the dance were wrong, because his life isn't this.]

"23 words and badly phrased-- to the word chipped with you!"

[Steve knows it's an illusion, no more real than fever dreams or Wanda's nightmares, because his life isn't this.]

"19 and more compact, ish. 4 down, 35 to go."

[It isn't couches that feel like clouds and televisions the size of cars.]

[It isn't kitchen stuffed full of food, some so exotic he's never sure if Tony's joking when he says their edible.]