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i-am-a-bad-influence-writes · 3 years

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I found peace in your smile

Bucky Masterlist - Full Masterlist

Summary: Bucky gets activated as the winter soldier. No one knows how but he disappears and no one can fine him. But no one can keep running forever. Not even Bucky.

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader

Word count: 6.5k (it’s a long one folks)

Warning: Fluff, I guess a bit of angst, cursing, and a little sprinkle of smut in the middle.

Author’s note: Inspired by THIS prompt from @artinvain

‘Hey Shuri, we’ve got a small problem.’ ‘What is it? Something wrong with the arm?’ ‘No, the arm’s fine. The man is not.’ ‘What?’ ‘He’s gone. He went into winter soldier mode for some reason and just ran.’

Steve walks into Tony’s office, confused at the mess and Tony’s limping body. There’s broken glass, broken furniture everywhere. There was clearly a struggle but who did this and why?

‘What happened?’ Tony holds up his finger to shush Steve and continues his phone call though it is mostly one-sided from the other side of the phone call at this point. Steve takes a seat, patiently waiting for an explanation of the mess and the alarm that went off mere seconds ago.

‘Well, that didn’t help at all,’ Tony states as he ends the phone call. He takes a deep breath and aggressively throws his phone across the room to release some anger. Hard enough to shatter the flimsy thing against the wall. His hand goes to his face and pinches the bridge of his nose while Steve still waits for an explanation. Tony can feel his beady little eyes on him with laser-like focus. ‘Your boyfriend slipped back into his winter soldier thingy. I don’t know why.’ And suddenly it’s a little too quiet for a little too long until Steve starts muttering questions.

‘What? Why aren’t you going after him?’ Tony looks at Steve as the man slowly builds up stress in his own body. That can’t be healthy. ‘Did you see my leg? I can’t walk.’ Steve sighs and nods. He walks over to Tony and helps him up.

‘We should get you some help.’ With Steve holding him up, Tony and Steve slowly make their way to the med bay.

‘I wouldn’t worry too much about Bucky. He’s been gone for about half an hour and I haven’t heard any screaming yet.’ As if that will calm Steve’s mind.

Bucky’s mind is in shambles. He knows he should be doing something but he doesn’t know what. There’s no one to give him orders and no one to tell him to calm down. And so he just keeps running. And running. And running.

He runs to the edge of the city and past it. Into the suburbs and past it. Into the farmland until he can’t anymore. His knees buckle as if his body is trying to tell him that he’s making a mistake. That this isn’t right. But it is. He has to find who activated him, who sent him on this rampage. Is there even anyone who activated him?

His knees scrape against the gravel dirt of a driveway as he comes to a sudden stop. He sits on his knees, palms resting on his thighs, head hanging. He can feel the dirt and gravel dig their way into the scrapes on his knees. It hurts but not enough. Not enough to make him come to his senses.

His eyes are fixed on the ground but he isn’t looking at it. He’s in his head, far removed from reality and the movement of his surroundings. His body jerks to action when he feels a tender touch on his shoulder. In a reflex, he roughly grabs the thing touching him. For a second, he looks at the palm of a hand with confusion in his eyes. The short fingernails on the ends of scarred fingers are lined with dirt. His thumb absentmindedly strokes the palm of it to find it soft in some places and calloused in others.

‘A-are you alright?’ His eyes finally move up to see the figure next to him. Draped in a creme-colored sundress stands a woman with her lips pursed shut. She looks scared but not in a way that he’s used to. She’s surprised by his action but not by his image. Does she know who he is? If she knows, why isn’t she running?

His eyes wander and he notices the cottage the woman probably came from. Hundreds of colorful flowers stand in her front garden and ivy is climbing up the walls of the cottage. He notices a white, fluffy cat rolling around in one of the flowerbeds, trambling them in her movements. It takes Bucky a second to look back at the woman. He opens his mouth to finally speak to her but no words come out.

‘Come on, let’s get you inside,’ she offers, gently moving his hand so he’s holding hers as if to ground him to reality. He doesn’t know why but he follows her like a lost puppy, his jaw still ajar. Bucky doesn’t try to fight her touch, he doesn’t try to run. But before he can step over the threshold of the cottage, he freezes.

She turns, never letting go of his hand, and shows him the gentlest smile he’s ever experienced. It’s warm like a sunset, beautiful like nightfall. ‘It’s alright. We’ll get you patched up and then you can leave if you want.’

Steve marches into the briefing room. No one has even had the chance to sit down but they all scramble to do so the second his hands slam down on the table in the middle of the room.

‘Listen, Bucky disappeared a few hours ago,’ he states in the most factual way he can with how unstable he’s feeling, ‘Tony said he went back into winter soldier mode and fought his way out of the building. Of course, Tony was stubborn and got hurt. He’s in the med bay now to get his leg checked.’ A small, amused scoff comes from Natasha.

‘Of course he did,’ she murmurs quietly. Steve’s eyes shoot in her direction. ‘Now is no time for jokes. We don’t know what will happen next. We need to find him as soon as possible.’ Sam coughs to catch everyone’s attention. When he has it, he gets up from his chair.

‘Listen, Steve, I hate to be the person to tell you this but if we haven’t heard anything yet there might be a possibility that he’s not alright. We all need to prepare for that.’ He can tell from the change in Steve’s stature that he won’t agree with him. In fact, he’ll acknowledge his words but he won’t take them to mind. Steve can’t lose Bucky again. He’s lost him too many times before. He won’t let his last memory of his best friend be the one of him hunting Bucky down. He can’t allow it.

‘Sure,’ Steve grumbles, ‘Sam, I want you and Natasha to stay here and use redwing to surveillance areas he’s been spotted at. Natasha, hack into security cameras around town, figure out where he went. I’ll go talk to Tony to see what triggered Bucky. Bruce and Rhodes, I don’t know. Do something. Anything.’ Natasha, Sam, and Bruce are out the door but Rhodes lingers. Before Steve can leave the room, he puts his hand on the shoulder of the super-soldier to stop him.

‘Listen up captain, you’re not going to like this but I am going to have to make a few calls in relation to his pardon.’ Steve looks betrayed, eyes wide like he’s been stabbed in the back. For a second, Rhodes thinks he’s going to get a rogue Steve on his hands once again but he seems to calm himself down rather quickly.

‘You don’t have to.’ Rhodes shakes his head with a slight smile, admiring Steve’s loyality to Bucky and his will to fight for him.

‘I can give you 24 hours but the second Bucky does something, I’ll have to contact someone,’ Rhodes warns Steve.

‘Of course, thank you so much, Rhodes.’ He nods as he steps out of the room. ‘Just this once Rogers,’ Rhodes calls after him but Steve’s long gone. He’s going to find Bucky and if he can’t… well, then he’s going to die trying.

Anxious and afraid, Bucky sits at a wooden table with a cup of tea in front of him. The nice lady that helped him is outside tending to her garden. Through the stained glass window, he watches her work in the golden sunlight with the white fluffy cat walking around her like he’s giving her orders.

She hadn’t asked him about his arm, nor his injuries, nor his lack of conversational skills. In fact, she hadn’t asked him anything after he found himself incapable to talk to her. She simply told him that she wouldn’t call the authorities if that was what he was afraid of and told him that he could stay as long as he wanted.

And she did it all wearing that wonderful, gentle smile of hers. Her smile enchanted Bucky, made him feel warm inside. She just looked so innocent and pure with that little sparkle in her eyes and the blush on her cheeks.

The soldier inside himself speaks: “I can’t leave her all alone in a cottage so far removed from society. Who knows what kind of figures lurk in the woods surrounding this place? I can’t leave. I have to protect her.”

And suddenly his body relaxes. The tension in his shoulder disappears and his grasp on the wooden table that had caused it to come close to splintering releases. Instead, his normal hand goes up to the cup of tea. It’s cold by now but he doesn’t mind.

Hours pass of him watching her through the window. Somewhere within those hours, the little furball she kept around came inside and made itself comfortable on Bucky’s lap. He had read the tag on her collar and smiled. Alpine. Fitting name for a white cat.

As the sun slowly starts to set, he hears the creaking hinges of the back door whine under the weight of the door as she pulls it open. She steps through with a warming smile on her lips. The door closes with a relieved sigh and she brushes her hands off above the sink before washing them. her eyes dart over to him a few times.

‘It’s getting late.’

‘I know.’ She almost jumps at the sound of his voice and he almost regrets speaking but the smile that disappeared from her face reappears just as quickly. She looks down at her hands instead of him but her smile looks different now. In a way, she looks shy.

‘Do you want to stay the night?’

Steve didn’t want it to get this far but Rhodes had to make the call. He tried to talk to him, extend the time a little longer. But when Bucky’s disappearance touched the seven-day point, Rhodes couldn’t keep it quiet any longer.

After all, there had been videos going around the internet of the winter soldier running around town in a frenzy, a cold look in his eyes. It had to be explained. To Steve’s disappointment, the response of the public to what had happened was terrible. Most were already afraid of Bucky even though he had proven himself to be one of the good guys. No one took into consideration that the man had been brainwashed and tortured for years.

On the other hand, Steve couldn’t really blame them. Most details of their work weren’t spread around and if someone’s actions weren’t captured on film or photo, they didn’t happen. And Bucky wasn’t particularly fond of pictures. But then a week turned into a month and a month turned into two. Steve’s trust in finding Bucky alive and well melted slowly like snow in the cold January sun. By now, Natasha told him to prepare for the worst and maybe talk to Tony about burying an empty casket.

Steve didn’t want to acknowledge that Bucky might be dead. Of course, he didn’t. So he went to Hydra facilities, Madripoor, anywhere he could think of where scum could get better off of Bucky getting worse. Sadly, luck wasn’t on his side.

The group saw Steve slowly deteriorate into a shell of the man he had been before. The loss of his best friend took a tough toll on him and he almost wanted to go through with the empty casket funeral until-

The door to Steve’s room flies open, loudly banging against the dresser behind it, knocking some knickknacks and valuables to the floor. Sam stands in the doorframe, looking surprisingly excited for a Sunday morning.

‘We know where he is!’

Soft morning light falls through the sheer curtains of your bedroom, illuminating the dust particles floating around in the harsh reality that is the morning sun. You roll over onto the naked chest of the sleeping man next to you. You fold your hands under your chin and admire him for a second. He looks peaceful like this.

His hair had grown out a little since you met but it had been quite short when he came to you so it wasn’t all that bad. Yesterday he had toyed with the idea to let you cut his hair and you joked back that he should grow a beard instead to match his hair. He had laughed loudly and you reveled in the sound of it. His laugh is made of pure sunlight and you’ll do anything in your power to hear it each and every day.

‘You’re staring,’ he grumbles. A bright smile pulls onto your face as you press a kiss to the underside of his jaw to greet him.

‘Good morning to you too,’ you say and lay your chin back on your folded hands, continuing to look at him with pure admiration. His metal arm moves to wrap around your waist. The metal is chilly against your bare back but not cold. After a week or so of sleeping in your bed, he had noticed you got hot really easily and would wrap his metal arm around you to cool you down. One downside had been that the metal would warm up to your temperature overnight but by then you’d be fast asleep most nights.

‘What are you looking at me for, doll?’ Your smile brightens a tad bit at the use of the nickname. It is so old-fashioned but so sweet. He never uses it in a degrading manner but more so to let you know he adores you.

‘Was thinking about us,’ you tell him, ‘about how bad you looked when you ended up on my driveway. ‘Bout how I thought you were going to run when I touched your shoulder.’

‘And now you can’t get me away from you.’ He chuckles as he says it, taking one of your hands from under your chin and pulling it up to his lips. He presses kisses to your fingers until he hears you giggle and lays your hand down on his chest, continuing to hold it in his.

But as his mind starts to wander back to that day, his smile fades and he looks concerned. ‘What’s up,’ you ask as you try to not seem too terrified of what he might say.

‘Something happened to me that day,’ he tells you as if he’s confessing to something. You bite down on your lower lip gently in anticipation.

‘What happened?’

‘I told you about the winter soldier, right?’ You nod. ‘That day, something triggered me and I slipped back into it. I don’t know if anyone tried to activate me or if I slipped into it because of a nightmare but it happened and I went looking for the person who activated me to give me an order.’

‘So why did you end up here?’ His thumb rubs your hand but he isn’t sure if he’s doing it for your comfort or his own.

‘The winter soldier saw a helpless woman living on her own in the middle of the woods,’ he explains but he hesitates for a second. His eyes dart over at you for a split second before looking back at the ceiling. ‘And I ordered myself to protect you.’

‘And that’s why you stayed?’ He looks back at you and nods, eyes wide, terrified of what you might say. Over time, he’s learned that you are quite the spitfire, not a helpless woman at all and you pride yourself on that. Will you send him away because of his words? No, you grin at him.

A wave of confusion washes over him but before he can ask you what you think about it, you get up and straddle him, getting comfortable on his lower abdomen, awfully close to his crotch to tease him a little because you know your words will annoy him.

‘That’s adorable.’ You watch his eyes darken as his hands move to your hips, fingers digging into your plush, naked skin.

‘Doll, I’m a ruthless killer. I’m anything but adorable.’

‘Or so you say and yet you are here, underneath me. Not only that but you walk around talking to a cat like it’s a person, you help me tend to my flowers, and you cook me dinner while wearing an apron that is bright pink and way too small for you. You, James Bucky Barnes, are adorable.’ You boop his nose but his hand swiftly catches your wrist and pulls you against him, your neck open and bare. He presses a trail of wet kisses up to your jaw. You whine as his other hand digs harder into the skin of your hips, roughly pushing you lower.

‘Say that again doll,’ he dares you. It’s a warning and a promise. Your next words will determine if you’ll be able to walk for the remainder of the day. Or days if you tease him enough. You lean back a little, letting his eyes wander all over your naked body as he admires the marks he left last night and the days before that. Then, his eyes lock onto yours. He can already tell what’s going to happen. You’ve got that twinkle in your eyes that never means anything good.

‘You’re adorable.’ You don’t linger when you’ve spoken the words. You jump right off him and sprint out of the room in hopes of making it to the couch to grab a pillow for defense before he catches you.

‘Oh, you’re dead,’ he laughs as he hears your hurried footsteps down the creaking staircase. He jumps off the bed, quickly grabbing his sweats and hopping into them. You were used to living somewhere no one comes but he still felt a little too bare when walking around naked.

‘You’d never kill me. You said you’d protect me,’ you tease him when he peeks his head into the living room. When he takes another step, you chuck a pillow at his head which he catches with ease.

A cocky smirk appears on his lips when he watches your face fall. You’ve realized you deeply underestimated your competition here. As you always do when play fighting with him.

‘Apologize and I might have mercy on you later,’ he offers. It’s a generous offer. You really have no way of winning here. That doesn’t mean you aren’t stubborn. ‘Never.’ His smirk broadens.

‘I was hoping you’d say that.’ He approaches you too quickly for you to respond. One second you’re standing behind the couch, the next you’re thrown over his shoulder and halfway up the stairs. Your pleading won’t save you now and you’re certain of it the second your body bounces onto the bed.

Bucky looks predatory, like a starved animal about to devour his prey. And yet, there’s this gentleness in his movements. It’s in the way he removes your panties and looks back up at you to check if you’re alright with this and in the way his hands caress your skin before diving between your legs, nipping at your pussy like it’s the elixir of life.

With his head between your thighs, his stubble brushing against you, he licks a thick stripe down your pussy. You shiver at the sensation and try to move your hips away. His arms hook around your thighs to keep you in place as he does it again. And again. And again.

You gasp when he finally latches onto your sensitive bud. A coil forms in your stomach, slowly tightening at every movement from Bucky, every sinful sound he makes.

He releases one of your thighs and uses his free hand to push a finger inside you so gently that you barely notice it until he moves. A loud yelp is pulled from your mouth when he adds another finger and brushes against your sensitive spot with the pads of his finger. The coil inside your stomach tightens. You’re close to your release.

‘Bucky-’ you whimper. He hums against your pussy and the vibrations tip you over the edge. You gasp out his name between a string of helpless moans as your hand shoots into his hair. He continues lapping up your juices as you come down from your high.

When your breathing slows, he moves up your body to capture your lips in a seething kiss.

‘Still adorable?’ You open your mouth throw some sassy comment that will leave you screaming his name but you’re cut off by the doorbell. The both of you freeze in place in the knowledge that no one ever comes around these parts on Sunday. When the doorbell rings again and is followed by aggressive knocking, the both of you shoot into action. Bucky hands you a set of clothing and clean underwear and shoves you into the bathroom. He tries to close the door but you push it open.

‘Bucky, it’s probably just the neighbor,’ you whisper to him in hopes of calming his nerves but you can tell it doesn’t work. He nods.

‘I know but just to ease my mind,’ he says with a slight smile. You nod and let him close the bathroom door. You lock it when it’s closed.

The doorbell rings a third time. Bucky changes into the clothes he had thrown onto the clothing chair in your room at the speed of light and grabs a gun he had hidden in one of your drawers. Slowly and quietly, he stalks down the stairs hoping to make out who is behind the door through the clouded glass in the front door before they notice he’s coming down the stairs.

And then he sees it. Red, white, and blue.

‘Really? This is where he was last seen,’ Steve questions Sam as they stand in front of a cottage with tons of flowers in the garden. It looks too whimsical for the winter soldier and Bucky alike. Steve would know. The man lives in an apartment that is a kitchen, a couch, and a TV. That’s it.

‘That’s where redwing spotted him,’ Sam shrugs. He hands Steve his phone to show him the footage. It’s blurry but the black and gold arm is easy to distinguish.

‘Alright. It’s worth a try.’ Steve walks up to the front door and Sam stays a few feet away just in case this whole thing is a trap. He gives Steve the thumbs up and watches as the super-soldier presses the doorbell. There is no sound from inside the house. Sam shrugs and watches as Steve sighs and presses the doorbell again desperately. This time, he follows it up by pounding the door.

‘Dude,’ Sam hisses at him, ‘calm down will you?’ He can tell Steve is frustrated and tired. The little hint of hope Sam had given him has already withered.

‘Why? It’s an abandoned house,’ Steve replies and presses the doorbell again for good measure. Sam shakes his head and continues to stand on the lookout until Steve decides to have peace with whatever is going on in his head. It only takes a minute or two and Steve almost wants to give up but then he suddenly hears the door open.

‘Steve?’

‘Bucky.’ A relieved breath leaves Steve’s body as he pulls his friend into a tight hug. ‘Shit, I thought you were dead.’ Sam watches the pair closely and immediately notices that Bucky doesn’t seem all too happy that they found him. He isn’t returning the hug like he’d usually do when Steve hugs him.

‘What’s up with all this Bucky,’ he asks him. Steve lets go of him and looks over at Sam, not quite understanding why he would ask that instead of if Bucky’s alright. But when he realizes Bucky isn’t answering, he understands.

‘Bucky, what is it?’ Steve looks desperate and then there’s the faint sound of a door opening upstairs. It’s so quiet they wouldn’t have heard it if it hadn’t been this quiet and tense between the three of them.

‘You should leave,’ Bucky tells them before they can ask any questions. The tension between them grows as Steve finds himself unable to speak. Sam peeks past Bucky and notices the shoes on the doormat. Bucky’s boots stand next to a pair of dainty, white tennis shoes. There’s a creaking coming from the stairs behind Bucky. The two watch him turn his head towards the sound.

‘You got a girl, Bucky?’ When Bucky looks back at Sam, his features seem softened. ‘You got a girl,’ he repeats but it’s not a question this time. It’s disbelief. Steve stands in front of his friend in confusion. Bucky sighs and turns slightly to gesture the person upstairs to come down. They watch the stairs in anticipation and watch a girl in a white and red, checked dress come downstairs. Her hair is messily thrown into a bun, her eyes scared, cheeks flushed as she presses herself to Bucky’s side. His arm wraps around her waist like it’s meant to be there.

‘Y/n, I told you about Steve right,’ he says. She looks over at Steve and smiles at him.

‘You did,’ she says with a voice like sirup, sweet and thick, ‘it’s nice to meet you, Steve.’ She looks over at Sam. ‘That would make you Samuel or Sam, right?’ ‘Just Sam is fine.’ She looks up at Bucky again, looking for any sign of what to do. Should she be scared? Can she trust these men? The tension in the air isn’t helping her. But Bucky doesn’t look at her, he looks straight at Steve.

‘This is Y/n. She took me in when I went haywire a few months back. I didn’t want to put her in danger by letting you guys come here,’ Bucky explains to them and suddenly Steve seems to fully realize the gravity of the situation.

‘Oh my god, you’re in love.’

Anxious and afraid, Bucky sits at a wooden table with a cup of tea in front of him. Through the stained glass window, he can see you work in the golden sunlight with Alpine running around you like he’s giving you orders.

You hadn’t asked about Steve and Sam or why they were here. You hadn’t asked why they looked angry and confused. You simply told them to come inside and made them all tea before disappearing into your garden after telling them they should talk.

And you did it all while wearing that wonderful, gentle smile of yours. The one that makes Bucky feel warm inside. The one that felt warm like sunrise and looked beautiful like nightfall. It’s like the first time he saw you all over again.

But no one dared to say a word after the door closed behind you. The tea in their cups is slowly cooling down and no one seems to want to say anything. Well, Steve wants Bucky to speak and Bucky wants to rip Sam’s head off for bringing him here but no one wants to speak on their own accord.

Eventually, Sam decides to be the bigger man and speaks up: ‘Look, we didn’t know where you went and we wanted to make sure you were alright.’ Bucky nods. He understands but that doesn’t mean he agrees with it. It was nice being considered dead. He didn’t have to worry about anything but you.

‘Can you tell us what happened that day?’ Bucky lets his head hang.

‘I don’t know. I haven’t been able to figure it out.’ Steve leans in a little bit, wanting to comfort his friend yet knowing that he won’t allow it.

‘When did you snap out of it?’ Steve looks nervous as he asks it. Bucky knows it’s because he’s worried he’s might’ve done something to you before that.

‘I didn’t hurt her if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘He’s just asking what happened all the time you were gone,’ Sam clarifies in hopes Bucky won’t take it as an attack.

‘I know,’ Bucky snaps back, ‘but you have to know that I didn’t hurt her.’ The conversation suddenly has a lot more weight to it. It presses onto their chest and they feel like they’re underwater, holding their breath until they’re up again. Bucky feels tears in his eyes but he doesn’t want to cry. ‘I just know I started running without a place to go and I ended up here. I couldn’t run any further and she took me in. I was still very much the winter soldier at that point but she sat me down and tended to my wounds. And then she smiled at me. I just- I gave myself the order to protect her and I snapped out of it.’

‘And then?’

‘I fell in love.’ It’s like a heavy wind passes through the room, blowing away the previous tension and leaving a bit empty space. Sam isn’t sure what to say but Steve is smiling.

‘You fell in love?’

‘I did.’

‘All because she smiled at you?’ Bucky nods and as he lifts his head to look at Steve, he sees his friend has tears in his eyes. Tears of happiness. Steve has never seen his friend like this before. Not in the 40s, not in modern times. He looks genuinely happy with the small life he created for himself.

The back door opens with loud squeaking and you peek your head around the corner. They watch you gesture for Bucky to come to help you. He excuses himself and follows you outside. Sam and Steve watch as you open the shed and point at something you can’t reach. Bucky grabs it for you with ease and seemingly looks to warn her that it’s heavy. You don’t look to believe him and try to take it from his hands.

‘He looks happy, doesn’t he,’ Steve mumbles.

‘Should we leave him alone?’ Sam sits back in his chair and crosses his arms. ‘I mean, deserves to have some peace. Peace in his head, peace in his life.’

‘I don’t think I could say goodbye that easily,’ Steve admits as they continue to watch Bucky and you outside.

He seems to refuse to let you take the thing from his hands and puts it down in front of you. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and watches with an amused smile on his lips as you try to pick it up. It takes a few tries but you seem to admit that it’s too heavy for you, finally allowing him to bring it to wherever you need it to go.

‘Maybe we can arrange something,’ Sam suggests, ‘because the world might still need him. Or he’ll need us. Either way, we should keep an eye on him.’ They see Bucky put down the thing for you. He leans against the shed, talking to a white fluffball as you start working on the thing.

‘That’s fair.’ They watch you nod at Bucky. He picks up the cat by his feet and carries it towards the house with you in toe. The door opens again and the two of you step inside.

‘How is the tea,’ you ask with a cheerful smile but then you notice all the cups are still full, ‘you know, you could’ve just told me if you wanted coffee instead.’

‘Oh, no, it’s not that,’ Steve quickly says, ‘we were just talking. I guess we forgot.’ You chuckle as you start to wash your hands.

‘It’s fine. Bucky does it all the time.’

‘What if I just prefer it cold?’

‘You don’t,’ you argue with a teasing grin, ‘I can see how disgusted you look when you accidentally drink it cold.’ Sam stifles a laugh. Bucky sits down at the table again.

‘We talked,’ Bucky tells them, ‘and I do want to see you guys sometimes but I just don’t want this to become a target or a safe house. So no wounded soldiers, no fighting, no hiding.’

‘She agrees?’

‘She has a name but yes, she agrees.’ Sam nudges Steve.

‘I like her.’

Evening falls on the first year of Bucky’s new life. He sits in the back garden of the cottage at the campfire he build with Sam and Steve. The two sit by his side while he watches you play with Sam’s nephews.

Sarah comes outside with another round of beers and calls her boys over to come inside as it’s far past their bedtime. The three men watch you and Sarah get the kids inside and listen as the quiet of the forest returns.

‘Was it really her smile?’ Sam nudges Bucky as he asks it, a cheeky grin on his face.

‘You’re never going to let that go, are you?’

‘Why would I? It’s like a damn fairytale. Fucking Beauty and the Beast playing right in front of my eyes,’ he says with a laugh. Steve gives Sam a push to make him shut up and almost pushes him off his chair.

‘I’m happy you found her Buck,’ he tells his friend, ‘she’s great.’ Bucky nods, a grin pushing its way up onto his face as he reaches into his pocket, letting his hand glide over the velvet box he has tucked away in his jacket.

‘I think she’s it for me,’ Bucky tells them and pulls out the box to show them his intentions. ‘I know most people wait a few years but I’m pretty sure I want this for the rest of my life.’

The house is quiet except for some snoring from Sam in the guest bedroom. You lay on Bucky’s chest, tired and satisfied. His arms are around you, holding you close but knowing that he’ll have to get up in a second to get you comfortable.

‘I should get you cleaned up,’ he says and tries to get up but you hold him down.

‘Don’t. Just stay.’ He gives you a confused look as you bite your bottom lip. ‘I heard you talk to Sam and Steve.’ His heart drops as nerves start to rush through his body like it’s a damn race track.

‘How much did you hear?’ He prays to the gods you heard nothing and he can just continue looking for the right moment to ask you to be his wife. But would it really be that bad if it happened right now?

‘I heard you say this is it for you.’

‘And?’

‘This is it for me too.’ He smiles brightly, pulling you closer to him. You feel your body warm up as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. Suddenly, laying like this together feels ten times more intimate.

‘I was looking for the right moment to ask you,’ he says as one of his arms leave your body and move to grab something from his nightstand. ‘And I thought it might be by the fire tonight but I never got the courage to ask.’ He lays a velvet box in front of you by your hand so you can open it. You fiddle with it for a second as you start to realize the weight of the moment. He wasn’t just saying it, he meant it.

‘From the moment we met, I found peace in your smile and I find it day and day again. You thought me to forgive myself and love without restraint. And we don’t have to get married if you don’t want to, we can just continue to stay like this, but I’m a classic man so I’ll ask anyway. Will you-’

‘Yes.’ You press your lips against his, your hands gently on his cheeks. ‘Yes, I’ll marry you.’

Epilogue:

Sam has a head like a dog’s breakfast as he sits at the table slowly chowing away at his breakfast. The poor man is the only one with a hangover and his nephews are already running and screaming, excited for the day. Sarah sits down with him and shakes her head at his moody gaze.

‘Shouldn’t have had that last beer,’ she lectures him. He sighs.

‘Sarah, Bucky was talking about love like he was a teen with a crush,’ Sam argues, ‘I had to hear all of it.’

‘Yeah, but you were drinking with two super-soldiers who quite literally can’t get drunk How’d you even get to bed?’

‘I carried him,’ Steve calls over from the couch, still snuggled under the blankets you had given him to sleep under, ‘but you should be glad you were out right away.’

‘How come?’

‘Those two went all night.’ He nods his head upstairs.

‘We weren’t that loud,’ you exclaim as you come around the corner, rubbing your eyes. You had quickly thrown on a short summer dress and put your hair up, not really thinking about it. Sarah laughs as she sees all the lovebits, bruises, and hickeys littering your skin.

‘Sweetheart, if you’d going to lie you shouldn’t flaunt the incriminating evidence,’ she tells you.

‘What?’ You walk over to the full-length mirror in the hallway. ‘Bucky! You’re a dead man!’ The three in the living room laugh as they hear the stairs creak. They hear you yelp and watch as Bucky walks in with you over his shoulder. He sits you down onto your big, cozy chair and presses a kiss to your cheek.

‘How lovely that our first quarrel is about sex,’ he hums to you as he makes his way to the kitchen.

‘What do you mean by that,’ Sam asks him. Steve sits up and looks you up and down. And then he notices it.

‘Oh my god, did you ask her while you two were having sex,’ he loudly exclaims as he stares at Bucky. Sarah and Sam stare at Bucky in disbelief as you feel yourself go bright red.

‘No, I asked her after round one.’

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jasminebecket-griffith · 5 years

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Happy Easter! I'll be broadcasting LIVE at 3PM EST (Noon Pacific, 20:00 UK Time) here on my Twitch channel: https://www.twitch.tv/jasminebecketgriffith - or on the Twitch App just find me at JasmineBecketGriffith (assuming our internet is solid, it's been up & down all day >__<) I'll be finishing work on "Innsmouth Mermaid" - shown here - a new acrylic painting destined for the Corey Helford Gallery's 14th Anniversary event showcasing pop surrealism & figurative works from a selection of their gallery's artists from around the world. I may also be varnishing up some finished custom mini paintings (and maybe doing a new custom mini painting live auction if there is time!). Everybody is welcome to come & watch me work, chat with me & Matt, etc. It's completely free and welcome to all ages. You can lurk quietly and just watch at that link above, or sign up for an (also free) account to chat & win special prizes (got some very rare Strangeling items to giveaway). Just click the link above on your PC/whatever! Or also you can also download the free Twitch app and watch me at JasmineBecketGriffith on any device/phone/tablet/ etc. I typically broadcast for about four hours, mostly on Sunday afternoons, we're hoping to start doing broadcasts twice a week though - be sure to bookmark the link above or add me as a friend up at Twitch. You can also watch all my old broadcasts up at https://www.youtube.com/jasminebecket if you want to catch up =) ANYWAY - this painting I'm showing in the pic above is "Innsmouth Mermaid" - a brand new acrylic painting I'm debuting for the Corey Heflord Gallery - she'll be available at the gallery, a 16"x12" original acrylic painting (much larger in her gorgeous frame) priced at $5400 email [email protected] if you are interested in the original piece. The gallery is happy to ship worldwide and can often work with payment installment plans. We'll as always have prints & canvases up at Strangeling.com after the show opens! (at Celebration, Florida) https://www.instagram.com/p/BwhkGQJlPet/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=ygw6j0t2wyvt

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afrojonathan · 5 years

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Day 24: Fes and Chefchaouen, Morocco

Another big day here, even if it was bifurcated into a Fes morning and a Chefchaouen evening.

I got moving early to take some photos of side streets in the Fes medina that I absolutely loved, but didn’t look as resplendent (nod to Brett Cluff) at night. I also went to the oldest library (attached to that Mosque I errantly entered yesterday) to see if I could get myself in today. There was a different guard, but seemed very dismissive (I couldn’t tell if it was closed or he just didn’t want to let me in - I’m presuming the latter. The internets were unclear whether I would be able to make it in or not, so, worth a try). A local heard my fruitless conversation, and took me to a nearby medersa (old university) that I thought was going to be that library (but perhaps a different entrance). It wasn’t, but I don’t think he was hustling me, I think he thought I was looking for this. I gave him 10 dirhams, admired the architecture in this tiny place, and then headed back to the riad for the comically large breakfast. I even tried to tell them to bring me less, to no avail.

The manager of the riad was nice enough to come help me flag a cab to the bus station, as well as get me a great price (2 bucks, as opposed to 3). He went to give me a kiss on each cheek, which I roundly botched, but we kind of made it happen. (Also, my brother says the Swiss do 3, [which just seems to fit his need for affection and is unclear if true] so I had that in my head during the whole exchange).

The bus station was as unpleasant as any bus station, no more no less. The ride was bumpy and kind of nauseating, but otherwise uneventful.

As we pulled in to Chefchaouen, I saw the mountainous blue-splashed landscape, and knew this place was going to be special. Upon checking in (entirely in Spanish), I realized my apartment was on a pretty iconic street here. Note the steps with the colored pots below. I’m sure I ruined more than a few photos popping out of the apartment, as there was always a line of folks taking photos here.

Intent on making the most of the remaining few hours of sunlight, I walked through the very manageable medina. Things are are pretty relaxed comparatively, which is a welcome change.

I had dinner on the roof terrace of the Clock Cafe, where there was someone playing a guitar-like instrument, and someone singing. It would have been awesome, except 3 teens sitting near me were playing music on their phone and generally being super annoying. Apparently my frosty looks whenever they played music weren’t being recognized. I debated between couscous and a camel burger, and went with couscous. I should have gone with the camel burger. THAT’S IT THIS TRIP IS A BUST.

After meandering around quite a bunch more, I saw a shop that was only lit with candles, and the light was wonderfully reflected with the shop’s many geodes. I walked by it twice, and something finally compelled me to go in. I sure am glad I did.

I perused the geodes and shells that were on display, in this small, cavernous and sexy space. It was definitely the coolest shop I had seen in all the medinas. As Spanish is spoken fairly prevalently here, I spoke mostly in Spanish with Ibrahim, the owner. There was an older French woman Carole in the shop as well, and though I eventually asked, I never really understood their dynamic (and they gave a coy answer about the world being a small place). I eventually bought something there, and as I was out the door, I popped back in to take one more photo. Ibrahim invited me to sit with him and Carole to have some slightly hallucinogenic kif, which is smoked out of a long, thin pipe (I believe it is legal here, based on my readings). I originally declined and went to leave, and then my brain just said “why wouldn’t you embrace this foreign experience, Jonathan?”

The three of us passed it around and chatted in Spanish, English and a wee bit of French. We talked about travel, humanity, kindness, our homes, etc. Ibrahim even brought me some delicious COLD tea (finally! Something other than scalding hot tea in these hot Moroccan days!) I think the cold tea maaaay have gotten me sick, but more on that later. This was one of those moments (and I told them this) that you dream of as a solo traveler. Off the beaten path, chatting with locals, partaking in local customs. Eventually a younger French woman Claire joined us, though I wasn’t clear on her connection to the others.

At one point, I heard lots of car horns and general cacophony, and asked what they thought it was. A wedding, I was told. I joked about American weddings (and how I’m so popular at them 💁‍♀️), and I talked about how I can’t imagine a wedding without alcohol. “How do the weird uncles get on the dance floor then?” I mused, to their enjoyment. After feeling I had stayed a good amount of time (and being mindful to not overstay), I politely excused myself and walked back into the main part of the medina in a bit of a haze.

I somehow ended up right in the thick of the cacophony from before, as it seemed half the Town was marching and celebrating this wedding. I stopped at a corner right as the groom (presumably) walked by carrying a...actually I don’t know the word...a covered throne thing? I assumed the bride was in it. I marched along with the wedding for awhile, and no one seemed to mind (I’m giving credit to the keffiyeh!) They were chanting the same things, and quietly joined in. I walked with them for about 5 minutes, but I had another goal in mind.

I took off deep into the Moroccan night, following a rumor towards a bar. All I wanted these last few days was an ice cold crispy boy.

Wandering the darkened streets of Chefchaouen, I eventually came across a waterfall. I decided I’d come back and check it out in the day, especially because there seemed to be some people lurking in the shadows. After going to the completely wrong place and asking for a beer (of which I think I offended greatly), I found my way towards the (actual) bar OumRabie. On the way, I wound up again amongst the wedding, this time a line of endless cars with people hanging out the sides, cheering, honking, etc. I danced along to the music as I made my way to the bar. I also thought how weird it was that everyone was driving post-wedding, and then remembered that no one would have been drinking there.

The bar: what a site to behold. It was similar to the worst dive bars in NY (Holland Bar near Port Authority comes to mind), plus people were just ripping butts. It felt like nothing had changed in here since the late 80’s. I sat at the bar and chatted with the server in Spanish, all the while a Yanni YouTube playlist was being broadcast. The other grizzled patrons were in RAPT attention with the Yanni, and truth be told, so was I. I had a Casabalanca, a Flag Special and a Stork. They were damn fine beers on a sweaty summer night. Around 1am I decided I had smelled enough smoke and wasn’t really looking to get dinged up, so I walked the 20 minutes back through the quiet and slightly spooky medina, reveling in the experiences of the day.

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greetings-from-the-suffer-puppet · 7 years

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age doesn’t matter.

I’m fifteen years old, and American. Next year, I will be eligible to get a learner’s driving permit, have a relationship with an eighteen-year-old, and go on testosterone. These are things where age is a deciding factor.

But those aren’t what this post is about.

This post is about what happened to me between the ages of nine and thirteen, because there’s this misconception that toxic relationships are dependent on age.

I’m not talking about abuse. We’ve all heard of child abuse cases, we’ve all heard about poor living conditions. Those affect people of any age.

We hear about teenagers whose families are great and who live in good homes, but who end up in bad situations anyway - teenagers who are old enough to make their own, fully informed decisions. Not kids. Children are supposed to be protected from that.

I was a child when I entered the relationship that has left me with permanent trust issues and triggered the upswing of my depression. I was nine.

So was the girl that hurt me.

I don’t want to undermine the horror of domestic abuse or abusive relationships. That’s not what I’m telling this story for.

I’m telling this story because everyone assumes that an abuser has to be an adult, or at the very least a teenager. Thirteen-year-olds don’t go on the news for physically abusing their crush. Eleven-year-olds aren’t reported to the school administration for emotionally abusing a “friend”.

Except when they are.

This is a true story. I wish to any higher power that I was making this up, but I’m not. This has scarred me, and I’m going to carry the impact of what happened for the rest of my life.

I’m not putting this under a read-more, but I am putting warnings so you can decide for yourself whether to read on or not.

Warnings for bullying, depression, self-loathing, mentions of self-harm/thinking about self-harm, suicidal thoughts, manipulation, toxic/unhealthy relationships, and... and emotional abuse.

I’ve never called it that before.

To the people who were involved, if any of them ever find this:

I haven’t forgiven you. I hope I never will.

When I was nine years old, a new girl came to our school. I’m going to call her S.

She had six outfits to her name that she wore in different combinations. She always smelled strange and even though we didn’t share classes, I knew she wasn’t terribly smart. As a whole, the sixty kids in my grade either ignored her or directly bullied her.

I pitied her. So did my friend J. So, a few months into the school year, we made a deal to attempt to befriend her.

We treated the idea like a job. Neither of us actually liked her - there were reasons no one wanted to be around her - but we pitied her and no one else was willing to make the effort, so we kept at it.

And then J quit. Literally. She went up to me and said “I can’t. She’s so awful. I can’t do this anymore.”

The two of them hated each other’s guts for the next two and a half years.

I didn’t give up.

I should have. I really should have. But I was young and I still believed that people were mostly good. I still trusted that anyone I met on the street was more likely to greet me with a smile than a threat.

I kept talking to S. I kept hanging around with her. I listened to her. I sacrificed time with my real friends for her.

All the school’s anti-bullying videos were circulating and I myself was watching my sister be invited to things I was passed over for. I was sympathetic. I wanted this girl to be helped, and it was clear that no one other than me was going to do it.

The summer came and passed, and I went back to school no wiser about the pit I was slowly sinking into.

I was ten years old, and suddenly S was in all of my classes. I no longer had an escape.

My best friends were no longer in my classes. My sister had never once been in a class with me at that school. My only friends that year that I could still see on a daily basis were J - yes, the J who S considered her mortal enemy - and two other girls, mutual friends of J and I. We’ll call them N and E.

Every day, I went to school and S was there. Every lunch, she followed me. Every recess, she dogged my footsteps. Every bit of time I had to be with my real friends, she would try to steal.

At some point she handed me a tourist-shop shell. She’d written “FRIENDSHIP” on it in black Sharpie.

“Keep this with you,” she told me. “It’s to show how good friends we are!”

I put it in my backpack. I never found it after that. When I told her I couldn’t find it, she yelled at me and pouted. I apologized again and again. She told me we were still friends, so I was forgiven.

Please remember that I was ten. I didn’t see the red flags going up. I didn’t know what to look for.

Even now, five years later, I’m still going back over those memories and recognizing things I didn’t at the time. I had never even considered the creepiness of that shell until my cousin compared it to her experience with a stalker ex-boyfriend. Here, have this token of affection... and if you ever tarnish it, you’re tarnishing our relationship, and you need to beg for forgiveness.

My depression was kicking in. My self-loathing was at a new high. I was going home and taking stock of all the things in my house that could kill me. I was in no shape to fight back against what S was doing to me.

I didn’t even realize that I needed to.

Things got worse.

S and J never stopped being at odds. They had screaming matches, hurling insults at each other whenever the teachers weren’t around. I was constantly treated to barrages on the other whenever I was in earshot of one of them. They’d fight, and it would fall to me to mediate.

It wasn’t an easy choice to make on who to support, though. J wasn’t a good person either. She was selfish and bossy and cruel; she was all the worst parts of becoming a teenage girl in a five-foot three-inch package. (Of course, the height absolutely lessened my intimidation of her. Of course. Not like she was the only girl taller than me in our grade, or that she’d taken scissors to my favorite shirt the year before without my permission, while I was wearing the shirt. Not like she was constantly demanding attention or insulting other friends. Not like she looked down her nose at me whenever I wanted to read something she didn’t like.) In fact, at some point during that year I and N confronted J about her behavior, essentially saying “You’re being awful and we’re not going to be your friend until you get your crap together”. (E, who’d never liked the drama, lurked quietly behind us.)

I really was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

It wasn’t an easy choice. S was clingy and off-putting, but J was arrogant and shallow. But J had N and E on her side - girls who had their flaws, but were leagues better than my other options - and so when it came down to it, I was on her side.

I think that made S more angry. It makes me wonder if she’d have still done what she had, if I’d come down on her side more often.

At some point that year, I did something immensely stupid.

The school had an event, and I met S’s mom for the first time. S wasn’t there, but my sister and my mother were.

We got to talking about S. S had told her mother about me, of course. I was still the only friend she had - sure, my sister and her friends were kind to S, but they were kind to everyone - and she was clearly excited as hell to have me.

“Your daughter’s kinda clingy,” I said, ten years old and buzzed on sugar and feelings things I didn’t understand. “Like... she goes way overboard. I get that I’m the only friend she has to talk to, but it’s... it’s a lot, you know? I wish she’d lay off a little. I barely have any time to spend with my other friends.”

My sister and mother acted like I was crazy for saying that to S’s mom. I’m not going to say they were wrong.

S approached me the next day. “My mom said you told her I was clingy? That you wanted me to leave you alone! I know she’s lying. She lies all the time. You didn’t say that, right?”

“No, I didn’t,” I said. (I still wonder what might have happened if I’d told her the truth.)

“I knew she was lying,” S said. She was smiling at me. I could see my friends behind her across the playground.

“Uh-huh,” I said.

I didn’t know what I was doing at the time. I was ten. The only ten-year-olds who learn these things are the ones who come to school with bruises.

I know what I was doing now, five years on.

My mother had set up meetings with one of the teachers at the school to talk about the situation with S and J. It helped to talk, but nothing changed.

I’d told my sister and my mother and to other friends. Mom could only be there at home, and my sister and friends were in other classes. They couldn’t help me.

The school had done nothing. My family couldn’t do anything. My friends couldn’t - or wouldn’t - do anything, either.

I was reaching out to the only source I had left: the mother of the child causing my problems. Deep down, below conscious thought, I knew that if I could get S’s mother to take my side, her daughter would have to leave me alone.

But that’s not how it went. S’s mom didn’t take my side, and I didn’t stand up to S by telling her the truth.

So it went on.

That summer was the summer I discovered fanfiction.

Suddenly, the internet exploded with possibilities. Suddenly, I could hide from my problems by diving into interpretations of my favorite fictional characters.

Fanfiction was one of three main escapes I had from S and J that year.

The other two were special school programs. AMP picked a few kids from sixth grade who passed their tests and dropped them into a middle-school class on Pre-Algebra, skipping sixth-grade math entirely. TAG piled a dozen kids from various schools into a bus every other day and sent them to another school for a few hours to explore other aspects of education.

S was in my classes again, but that didn’t matter. I was only in school half the time, and even then, we were on different levels of the curriculum. I had to see her often, but she rarely had the time to speak with me.

My best friends - my real friends - were in my classes again too. A couple were even in AMP and TAG with me as well.

Sixth grade was off to a far better start.

S realized she was losing me, I think.

I wasn’t quiet about the fact that I was going to a private school for the next chunk of my schooling. After this year, I was never going to see S again.

She was louder that year. She yelled at J more. She got into more fights.

I kept pulling away. I wasn’t out of the pit yet, but I’d been thrown a rope and a whole bunch of people were pulling me up.

The final straw came in the spring. It seems so small and petty, now, as a teenager who’s seen how terrible humanity can be, but S writing “I hate [best friend’s name]” was the cruellest thing I’d ever seen her do.

She could do what she wanted to me, and I’d take it. But insult my friend, and I was done.

I stopped approaching her (not that I’d had to since fourth grade; she always barreled toward me whenever she saw me). I stopped talking to her.

(I started pulling back from J, too. I was tired of friends that weren’t worth my effort.)

That left S standing at a crossroads.

She could accept the inevitability of change - we were going separate paths and she’d crossed a line I couldn’t forgive her for - or...

Or she could cling harder, and cross a line so extreme that I’d never considered the necessity of drawing it.

Every year, a pair of jugglers performed at my school. The graduating sixth graders (eleven-year-olds) would perform as well. I finished my act, went offstage, and circled around the auditorium to stand in the back and watch my friends perform.

I don’t know where S came from. She was just... there, suddenly, next to me, grabbing my arm.

“Can you come to the bathroom with me? There’s something I need to tell you.”

I don’t know why I said yes. I shouldn’t have said yes. I should have pulled away and walked away and left her there.

But I didn’t. I said, “Okay,” and followed her into the girls’ bathroom.

Five years on, I believe that I wasn’t really thinking that night. If I’d been firing on all cylinders, I wouldn’t have done what I did. I wouldn’t have gone along with her and I would have recognized the marks for what they were and I would have fucking left without spilling my soul out to someone taking advantage of me.

But I was tired and jittery from my performance, and I’d had a lot of candy, and I was feeling like being kind.

(And people wonder why I’m the cynical, sarcastic twin. What the hell has kindness gotten me in the past few years?)

She pulled up her sleeve and said “I’m cutting myself.”

She didn’t warn me. She didn’t say it shamefully or tearfully or like a challenge. She said it... bluntly. A fact.

(It wasn’t a fact.)

It wasn’t a cut she showed me. It wasn’t even a damned scar.

It was a bruise.

For gods’ sakes, it was a bruise. I was eleven, not four, I knew the difference between a bruise and a cut, but -

...but I believed her.

I don’t know why. There is no explanation I can offer you for how my brain accepted her bald-faced untruth.

If that was all that happened in that bathroom, I might have been okay. Shaken and startled, yes, but the therapy I’ve been attending for the past year and a half could have dealt with the aftershocks of that moment.

But that wasn’t all that happened in that bathroom.

I’d been dealing with my depression for two years by then, entirely by myself. Never once had I told anyone about the voice in my head that constantly told me all the ways I was a bad person, or the sometimes urge to take one of the knives from our butcher block and find out how much pressure it would take to split my skin, or the list of ways to die that ran through my mind on days I’d done badly in school.

Abruptly faced with someone whom I believed to experience the same thing, how could I keep quiet?

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“I promise.”

I came home. Went to bed. Went to school. Went to TAG. Tried not to cry on the bus home. Got off the bus and fell into my mom’s arms, sobbing out the (edited) story of what happened that night.

(My mom wouldn’t know about my depression for another two years.)

My mom called the school. In another week or two, I was called to the principal’s office for the first time in my life.

I stood up from my desk with the classroom gaping at me in shock. I walked out without a word or a backwards glance.

The principal said a whole lot of words in that meeting.

Most of them don’t matter.

The only thing that matters was the point of the meeting, the message she rambled over in sentence upon sentence instead of the four words she could have used.

“S lied to you.”

She was eleven. So was I.

She was so desperate to keep me by her side that she’d shown me a bruise she’d gotten from falling off her bed and told me it was a self-inflicted wound.

She was so desperate to keep me hers that she claimed to be doing one of the most horrific things someone can do to themself, and managed to pick the one thing that would resonate with me the most.

She’d figured out by then that it was pity that kept me with her. What better than self-harm to induce pity?

For so long, that was what I focused on taking away from this. The betrayal. The lie. The desperate clinginess - damn near bordering on obsession - that made me feel like a favorite doll instead of a person.

But my trust and my faith in people weren’t the only things that S ruined that night.

For the first time in my life, I had told someone about the darkest parts of me. For the first time in my life, someone knew about the voice in my head and the pit in my stomach.

And it was someone who didn’t deserve my secrets.

I did my best to avoid S after that.

She kept approaching me, though.

She never once apologized. All she ever said about the matter was “Why did you tell?! You promised you wouldn’t tell!”

I graduated. I never saw S again.

But that’s not the end, because with my luck, of course I run into the same kind of shameless manipulator two years later in my new school.

#personal #about me #in which adrian has issues #in which adrian gives their two cents on toxic friendships #manipulation #my childhood #adrian's various childhood traumas #toxic relationships #unhealthy relationships #self-harm #references to self-harm #depression #self-loathing #suicidal thoughts #please be careful reading this #it's not under a readmore because i know tumblr fucks up links a lot #but i'm absolutely serious about these tags #i don't want to hurt anyone with this story #so tread carefully please #feel free to reblog or reply or... anything #this wasn't just written as catharsis #it was written as a reminder that toxic relationships and emotional abuse do not have an age cap #young children have the capacity to be terrible people #little-kid friendships can scar you as badly as adult ones #suffering is valid no matter what age you experienced it at or how old the person who made you suffer was #okay i'm going to bed #i hope this helps someone somehow someday

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redscullyrevival · 7 years

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Fool’s Quest: Fitz and the Fool Rundown

And now we wait together @sonnetscrewdriver!

Plot/Setting/Narrative

I’m so embarrassed for my son Rap-a-taskal.

Getting ahead of myself here but take a chill pill kid.

Calm your Tellator tits.

Actually, screw it! lets start at “the end”:

I’m officially caught up now and I’ve been digging around the internet lurking on forums trying to soak up art/discussions/opinions I’ve been avoiding for months.

And the most interesting fannish thing I’ve uncovered is how lots of people are treating Tellator and Rap as two different people - I’ve read several discussions and threads where Tellator was being thought of and referred to as almost like a parasite or something.

I personally didn’t get that vibe when reading Rain Wilds.

I don’t view Rapskal as an innocent bystander taken over by an insidious and other entity, but I can totally see how folks can see it that way so power to them I suppose.

Time and Parenting really come to a point at the end of this book, bounded tight within the thrill of having these two Realm of the Elderlings character axis’ finally meeting!:

And we the reader are, now, FAR more knowledgeable about the magics and histories of the Realm than any one character present! Funny how time and managing our narrative children will do that, huh? ;D

I’m of the personal opinion that the Elderlings are going to be too thankful and indebted to Fitz to really head the level of retribution Rapskal will demand - but that doesn’t mean Fitz won’t make matters worse with his paranoia and how he expects to be treated (Fitz’s “I-deserve-to-suffer” self loathing really reeks in this book and I have no doubt it will harm more than help in the early stages of Assassin’s Fate)

But oh! I can’t wait to see my Elderling darlings and Six Duchies nerds mingle more!

And yes, I do think Rapskal will continue to be an asshole.

I’m invested in Rapskal though and I can’t wait to see what his deal is and how he’ll affect the story.

I don’t know about y’all but I feel Rap is being set up to have some big part to play - but I’ve no clue if it’ll be direct or indirect lol. TIME WILL TELL!

If I had to guess right now (and I’m going to because why not) I’d guess that at the moment Rapskal probably struggles, that he is antagonistic, because he is outside of the narrative’s “Reflection & Parenting as Change” theme and may never fold into that current because of his choice to skip adolescence via-memory stones.

Rapskal doesn’t have a lot to reflect back on, or maybe the issue is he has too much memory or doesn’t reflect at all and only looks forward forward forward. And we know he isn’t a parent as Nortel told us.

Frankly I hope Rapskal can learn from Fitz and/or Amber, I’d like to see him fold back into the narrative flow rather than swim decidedly against it (not that he isn’t uninteresting for doing so, quite the opposite really).

Maybe Rapskal will find something to reflect back on? Maybe he’ll refuse?

But enough about Rapskal!

THYMARA’S WINGS ARE SO BIG NOW. *gasp* I love her.

Do you think when our Six Duchies party leaves Kelsingra they’ll ride down the Rain Wilds River on Tarman?!

*muffled screeching*

Okay okay okay I’m sorry, back into a Fitz and the Fool Rundown not Kristie has deep love for Rain Wilders Giggling.

Fitz

This dummy.

Don’t get me wrong; temperament wise this older Fitz is still my favorite but he’s also so full of grief and self loathing he’s practically useless mid-book.

And that’s fine, Hobb as always does a great job with making me understand Fitz.

But still - OH MY GOD.

You’ve done a lot wackier and intensely strange stuff than admit your daughter is the result of your BFF, your wolf-brother, and yourself’s souls mingling Fitz!

You even come to terms with that fact, even if simply choosing to ignore it for the most part that still means you’ve acknowledged it - you’re willing to painstakingly mine information from any and everyone but you don’t tell Beloved about your daughter’s dream journal?

Um??? WHAT???

Wake up dude.

Just poor decisions left and right.

Needless to say I was very frustrated with Fitz for a while but we worked through it.

Oh my god I friggin’ cried when Starling sung her Epic and Fitz was recognized by the court though, oh man that was so satisfying and mystifying and wondrous.

I’m glad Fitz has for the most part gotten over his issues with Amber and the Fool’s various identities and seems very accepting of Ash and Spark.

Bee

Nooooo!

I mean, “No” to Bee still being on her own but mostly “No” about Bee slowly being blocked out of the narrative perspective!

NOOOO

I’d be fascinated to find out how long she was in the Pillar. Based on the narrative we read and assume she’s wandering about around the same time Fitz and company are but we’ve been given nothing in evidence of that.

INTERESTING

Stay safe my little piglet!

The Fool

Yes.

YES.

I’m very intrigued to learn more about Beloved’s dragon blood transformation and what knowledge will come with it.

What will happen if the dragon is truly dead, who will guide their transformation?

ME THINKS FITZ

But, uh, yeah.

While it was uncomfortable I was rather happy that Fool got angry at Fitz and had no trouble telling him to step off.

I wasn’t very pleased with Fitz myself at the time, I was a bit smug about him getting a tray full of food plopped in his lap.

Well done.

I really hope to witness more of Ash and Spark and The Fool’s bond!

Beloved has been alone for so long, has had the opposite later life to Fitz and his massive family.

And what better than taking in and giving shelter to a son and a daughter?

Good stuff.

Shun AKA Shine

CALLED IT.

Oh Shine, you poor dear.

Shine will become an asset to Nettle, I imagine, and I desperately hope she heals and that Kettricken can guide her well and that court does Shine good.

I’m livid and just overall done with Chade, I’m serious.

I feel as though I’ve given Chade benefit of the doubt over and over again and it isn’t like he is an evil person or claims to be something he isn’t - but uuugh what the hell?

If you’re mister cloak and dagger spider web master maybe reel in some goddamn self control and think ahead on the consequences of your personal actions instead of just those of your King and various eyes within the kingdom, come the fuck on dude.

What an idiot sending both his children to a grieving Fitz and for not following up with any information for his children OR for Fitz.

I’d be so upset if I were Shine, I would’t be surprised if she drugs him.

It’d be poetic in a twisted away.

Why did Chade hide Shine from others as well as from herself? What was he thinking, that she’d have to become less shallow, vain, and self-centered before he’d bestow upon her the depths of her lineage?

Chade moans about being denied learning to Skill because he was a bastard but zip! he seals up his bastard daughter’s power because ???

????!!!!!

ANYWAY

I’m glad Shine is safe and that she and Bee came to a functioning relationship even if not one ripe with mutual meaning and growth.

Lant

Chade-light 2.0 and I aren’t hitting it off so well but I’m trying to keep a level head about this sassy lost child.

His biggest sin is that he is boring.

Or, well, I think my real issue with Lant is that he’s young.

So young.

Oddly young.

Older than Per or Ash or Spark yes but younger than them somehow; he doesn’t see, he doesn’t listen, he doesn’t seem to even think for himself.

Rolling about in his self pity that he can’t bang his sister doesn’t help endure him to me either but you know, I’ll take Riddle’s advice and let time and space do it’s thing so maybe by the time the third book comes out I’ll have cooled on Lant.

Ash/Spark

OH SHIT.

I love themmmmmm.

Oh my god.

I’m really really really hoping that Ash, Spark, Per, and Bee are going to be Gen 2 of Elderling mayhem and stories.

That’d be golden.

Smart as a whip and willing to make their own choices, that’s Ash and Spark.

Brilliant.

Perseverance

Talk about stickin’ to your name!

Per is a sweetie and I really need to stop but I can’t help but see him as my son Charlie.

Which is amazing - but gutting at the same time lol.

What have I done?!

Per is perfection and I really hope Fitz does right by him and of everyone traveling now I feel like Per will help Fitz the most as far as his inner space goes.

Per has a understanding and relationship with Bee outside of Fitz’s understanding of his daughter and I think Fitz’ll need to hear about that and mine Per’s perseverance as their quest wears on.

Highlighted Passages

I smiled as the royal family passed, tears of pride stinging my eyes. Our doing, the Fool’s and mine.

“Vengeance?” I asked quietly. “It’s a poor motive for doing anything. Vengeance doesn’t undo what they did. Doesn’t restore whatever they destroyed.”

“Sometimes thanking someone is more important to the person giving the thanks than the one who receives it.”

“I thought you had come here in fury over what I did to you as we passed through the Skill-pillars.” He stepped back from me. “Oh, I’ll leave that to Nettle. If she hasn’t blasted the skin from your flesh with her words yet, you’ve that to look forward to.

I could not think about it at the moment. I tried so hard, but there was just not enough time or enough of me. And trying was not doing.

Safe. As if “safe” were more important than anything else.

With the instincts of all bullies, they knew that eventually she would have to emerge. Then, in the way of their kind, they would peck her to death for being different.

“Ah, Fitz. I can always trust you to have some sort of bizarre problem that breaks my ennui.”

She breathed as if she had run over nine hills. I stared at her. She had been a stranger, a lover, a nemesis, and a betrayer to me. And now she was my historian.

“Why does understanding come so late to us?”

War and hardship had hardened them; I understood that, but it did not mean that I wished to see my own folk mocked or disdained that they were not likewise hardened.

But all fires, of wood or grief, burn down to ashes eventually.

“Doing something stupid and reckless is not a better proof of your love than doing something measured and powerful.”

“Keeping a child from harm is not the same as rearing one.”

“Steady, I’m pregnant, not ill.”

Both logic and love anchored me where I was and doomed me to the suffocation of waiting.

“Every one of them has witnessed what the Servants have done to their fellows. And each has chosen to serve them rather than defy them. Every one of them is more treacherous than you can imagine.”

Once one knows what heartless people can do, it cannot be entirely forgotten. It always remains among the possible things that can befall you.

“Put it behind you, and think about it again in twenty years. Whatever it was, you can’t change it. So stop clinging to it, and let time and distance do their work.”

“I always fail the people I love the most.” “Say rather that you judge yourself more harshly than anyone else ever has.”

“No soup! Anything I can bite and chew. Or crunch! Is there anything crunchy?”

“That I guessed,” Malta said knowingly. “When first I saw him, I felt as if I already knew him.” She smiled at me as if we shared a jest. I smiled back, without understanding.

“Worrying doesn’t solve anything. I know that. In one way I know it but in another it seems wrong. It seems that if I don’t think about all the things that hurt, all the things I’ve done wrong, then I don’t really care.”

#realm of the elderlings #year of book #fitz and the fool #fandom talks

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