You munched absentmindedly on pretzels you found in the pantry, your mind preoccupied with thoughts of Bucky and his latest mission. You knew this one was going to be a rough one; going back to one of the facilities he was kept in during those nightmarish years was going to be a difficult and damaging situation. You prepared yourself for whatever was to come; the inevitable. Maybe a panic attack, maybe a relapse into his old bad habits, maybe the nightmares would become frequent visitors in the night again, or maybe he would run away again. You cringed at the last one, but whatever his reaction was you would be there for him. You had been there for him in the beginning and you would be there for him now.
In that moment, your front door was thrown open, causing you to bite your tongue. You grimaced, but turned to see a worn down Bucky. His shoulders were slumped and the bag he was holding looked as if it was a thousand pounds. He nudged it off his shoulder and it fell with a thud.
You stood slowly to meet him, “Hey, baby, how was your…” He took large strides toward you, but they were slow and tired. Your words died on your tongue when he reached out for you, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you tight against his body.
You felt how tense he was, how the mission had affected him physically. He inhaled you, breathed you in, tangled his other hand in your hair. He cradled you to him like you would float away. You didn’t say anything as your arms wrapped themselves around his neck, your nose pressed against his shoulder.
“You’re safe; no one will find you.” You whispered against his skin. You pulled his head from your shoulder, his eyes were glazed over with tears, and you tsked at the sight. “C’mon, baby, let’s get you showered and in bed.”
He remained silent, and it wasn’t until he was tucked into bed, covers pulled up to his neck that he spoke, “Don’t. Don’t go anywhere. Stay with me.”
The idea of turning the lights off downstairs was quickly dismissed.
“Alright,” You nodded, squeezing his hand. He lifted the blankets for you, quickly pulling you against his side.
“I just want to be free of these dark thoughts, of this fear.” His voice broke and a tear or two trailed down his cheek.
You were quick to wipe them away, adjusting your position so you were laying on top of his chest, “Bucky, baby, you’ll get there. You’ve been doing so well. One day, you’ll be able to go a without a bad thought; we’ll take it one day at a time.”
You could tell he didn’t believe you fully, but he nodded nonetheless. His voice was soft and it shook slightly, “Just… let me hold you.”
“I love you, Buck.” You whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his soft, trembling lips.
“I love you… so much. I am so thankful for you.” He whispered back, his arms pressing you even tighter against him.
hey deputy, o queen of dealing with shitty politics through fic, marine le pen just announced that she wants to abolish free education for foreign kids in france. as a foreign kid myself who greatly benefited from that, and after seeing the country of my parents succomb to the idiocy of nationalism and brexit, i'm now angry and scared that my adopted country might follow it down that rabbit hole of hatred and intolerance. do you have any tips for coping?? (and or any awesome fic??) thanks xxxx
I assume you can’t vote in French presidential elections, and that’s the worst thing about Brexit and this wave of xenophobia and racism, that the people who are most affected by it didn’t get to vote on it. It’s a very helpless feeling, like the place you thought was your home is whispering about you behind your back and plotting against you. At least that’s how I felt about Brexit, and I *did* get the chance to vote against it even though I don’t live there. I wish I had a good answer for how to cope when you can’t vote to affect the outcome. I’m a white professional looking person and it makes me feel 0.5% like I’m accomplishing something if I’m conspicuously smiley and polite to anyone who’s more obviously ‘foreign’ than me. Woo-hoo, change the world why don’t I.
There’s also a valid place for escapism in these dark times, and this is where fanfic steps up for us: today this Stormpilot rec list crossed my dash, and after WEEKS of frustrating editing I finally posted a thing which uselessly looks at right wing politics in the context of Star Wars without doing anything about it, so you know, there’s that.
Hiddleston said: ‘We talked about Guinness for some reason because I told his assistant that I did give up alcohol once, and then I had a Guinness and realised it was a terrible mistake. She said that Steven loves Guinness, at which point he walked in and said, “You talking about Guinness?“
He soon bonded with Spielberg when he realised they were both Guinness fans.