a collection.
(UNDER EDITING!)
- in which an aspiring writer attempts to make a book about marvel characters being parents and the readers as their children (gender neutral).
"with my head and heart in the clouds,
I do as I will as I know that my
p...
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"You don't know how long I could stare into your picture and wish that it was me" - TV Girl
TW: Cursing, depressive thoughts, mention of suicide once.
James Buchanan Barnes in the early 1940s was a man of confidence. His voice would spew honey that would make your heart race out of your chest and his tongue so elegant that when he spoke, more times than not, got what he wanted. Everyone knew who he was and he did too. But now, he wasn't so sure.
Bucky barely knew who he was before Hydra and he barely knew himself now. All he knew were three things. One, that he found himself to be flung between two states of sentiments and nothing in between. Those being confusion and mainly repressed anger that made him wish he died falling off the train instead of navigating through his own spiraling mess.
And two, that he fucking missed Steve Rogers.
Just the thought of the blonde made him wonder if he was mad at his own ignorance, Steve himself, or anyone who was remotely close to him. He couldn't pinpoint it. All these years of Steve pining over him, desperately trying to ignite any humanity that had been left unscathed in his brainwashing, decides to pick up and leave. Bucky understood the notion to leave. Life had been grueling for his friend, especially when he was so out of place. What made him pissed was that he left for a woman that captured his heart so quickly. They had been friends their whole lives, practically best friends, brothers, or maybe something more than that, and he threw it all away.
They were the modern iteration of Damon and Pythias. A Greek legend (Bucky loved to read. Words always stayed constant and that idea brought more comfort than any warm blanket.) of two men with a friendship so unbreakable that when it came to impending death, both had desires to sacrifice themselves. Luckily, the King decides that a friendship so pure deserved a chance at life. Bucky and Steve, Damon and Pythias, they were identical copies. When push came to shove, it was always one of them who wanted to play hero and save the other. The only difference between them and the stories was that he never got a happy ending because their friendship was never kept. He hated Peggy for taking him away, even if it wasn't her fault.
It wasn't jealousy he knew that much. He was glad Steve had found someone to love, hell he wished he did too. It was more like a part of him had been hollowed out and left with residual pain in return. But he loved it. He loved the pain in the mornings and he loved making it ache more because at least it was a constant reminder of their time together. It was a memento to get through the day just for him. Though late at night, when he found himself utterly alone, he would cry. He would cry for Steve because the pain made him replay thousands of tiny remarkably moments when they would laugh and dance together. Where it was just the two in them in Brooklyn and the only thing they worried about was when Steve was going to get his ass kicked next. And this would play like a never ending movie until his body would succumb to losing its other half and he would fall asleep. It never came easy though. Nothing did for him. He was either dreaming of false hopes or nightmares and so when he began to whimper "no please stop" or "no please don't leave", you would cautiously creep into him room to soothe him awake. And when he did wake and opened his eyes to look at you, the third thing he knew was that he hated you.
