#𝙹𝙱𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙽𝙴𝚂 : independent, selective and private roleplay blog for james buchanan 'bucky' barnes from the mcu. canon divergent. iconless. mutuals only. please read the rules in my carrd before interacting. credits in carrd or posts, all other graphics made by me. 21+. personal blogs do not interact.
as written by holly (she/her, 28).
established may 1 2016. revamped nov 20 2023.
previously prxzrck.
★⠀⠀⟶⠀⠀CARRD.
★⠀⠀⟶⠀⠀ASK MEMES.
details of canon divergence under the cut.
Following the events of Endgame, with Steve deciding to retire once he returned from his last task, and passing the shield to Sam, Bucky starts to properly reintegrate into the world.
He is exonerated after some fighting, recognised as a prisoner of war and given both a backpay similar to Steve’s and compensation for all he went through. He keeps the backpay, but donates the compensation to charities and good causes. He knew there were better uses for that money than sitting in a bank account accruing interest. Buying a home in Brooklyn, not too far from Steve, he settles into being Bucky Barnes again, discovering what that really means in the twenty first century.
He meets his extended family, joins them for holidays and exchanges emails. They aren’t in each other’s pockets, and he struggles with it sometimes, but Uncle Bucky isn’t a stranger.
After some shopping around, he found a therapist he clicked with and started, slowly but surely, to heal. He’s the one who convinces him he doesn’t need to keep fighting if he doesn’t want to. He can come home. He doesn’t fully retire — if he’s needed, he’ll go and put his skills to good use. But it’s not an obligation, nor something someone can force him to do. He was used for too long, and part of getting his sense of self back was reclaiming control of his own body.
What he does do is put feelers out. Make it known that if someone is in a bad place, he’ll help. He’s always been a protector, ever since he was a kid, and it makes his life feel fulfilling. If someone has found themselves dragged into something way over their head, forced to do things out of fear, and needs a hand escaping, well. Bucky’s number is out there. And he’s got the money and the skills to make things better.
steve doesn't have nightmares often ------- he used to , when he first came to the modern world. crashing that plane was traumatic in itself , but now the nightmares were something so more intense ---- aliens &* bucky &* thanos &* the snap &* tony &* natasha . . . it was all too much for his brain to wrap around. tonight is one of those nights. the bed is too soft as he tosses &* turns , soft little noises leaving him as his brows knit together. his struggle is clear , especially as it goes on &* on. he usually sleeps better with @jbbarnes beside him , but it doesn't prove to be enough this evening.
It could be a complete toss up as to whether Bucky slept soundly or whether the slightest whisper of sound could wake him up. It had been one of the nights where the case was the former, trained from a young age by the general noise of a busy family and neighbourhood, then to grab sleep wherever he could get it in the war. But there was one noise that would always bring him around eventually, and that was Steve.
"Sh, Stevie," he mumbled sleepily, not having cracked his eyes open as he tugged Steve to him, bringing their faces close together. "I've gotcha. 'S okay."
He pressed a few kisses to his forehead and cheeks, eyes still closed but hand running up and down his spine.
"Oh, hey. Don't worry, he's friendly. A little too friendly sometimes," he huffed sheepishly, grabbing hold of the dog's collar and hauling him back a little before he decided this stranger needed a full-body bath. "I'm sorry if we scared you. You can come out. I promise he doesn't …bite."
The words trailed off as he finally got a good look around the dog and into the tide pool. The water was clear down to the bottom, and his breath caught at the sight of fins and tail fanned out beneath the water. It was a few long seconds of staring while he tried to convince himself he wasn't seeing what he was seeing. It was just a trick of the light, had to be, except it wasn't.
"You're…" he breathed, awestruck. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen. There was no universe where Steve actually finished that sentence out loud. It was a totally unacceptable thing to say to a stranger, especially one that probably feared for his life right now.
Every story he'd ever heard was running through his head. He'd begged his mother to read them again and again as a child. He'd gotten the shit kicked out of him numerous times for insisting that they were real, until he'd grown up and learned to keep his mouth shut. (Not that Steve had ever really learned to keep his mouth shut, but he had gotten better at choosing his battles. Mermaids are real was no longer the hill he wanted to die on.) He'd filled whole sketchbooks of drawings. "I thought I saw one of you, when I was a kid… But I convinced myself it was just a dream."
He'd dove back under when the four legged one had licked him, but the two legged one had him stilling in the water. Even from below, the sunlight caught his hair and made it look like gold, like the treasures they'd find in wrecks and carry home. His grandmother had had a golden statue of one of the two legs, and he used to make up stories in his head to explain just who the figure was, why he had deserved the honour.
His fingers itched to comb and braid, even if half of the two legs kept their hair strangely short, including this one. He wanted to gather pretty shells to decorate that golden hair, and he wasn't really sure where the impulse was coming from. It was a regular occurrence that family and friends would tend to each other's hair — he'd braided his sisters' often enough and had the same done in return — but to want to do so for a complete stranger? For someone who wasn't even mer?
Flattening his back against the far side of the rock pool, he surfaced again. The distance wouldn't really do much, but it helped him feel safer. The two legs' voice was rough, different from a mer voice, but he knew to expect that from hearing sailors on one of his other forbidden trips. He also knew he would be able to understand, some quirk to allow their ancient ancestors to sing two legs into the ocean. A lot had been lost in the intervening years, and they had their own words for many things, but he understood what the two leg had said.
"What... is he?" he asked, pointing at the four legged creature, now under control. It was an asinine question to ask, given his life was currently at risk, but he couldn't think of anything else to say.
Steve had a great time at the party Tony set up at the Avengers Tower for his birthday, he really did… but all the fanfare and attention had him drained by the end of the night. What he wished for was to be in bed - with a good book, some familiar music, and his best guy.
(A bit belated to post, but I did start this piece on July 4th to celebrate Captain America’s birthday! I wanted to draw him happy… T^T and yes, he likes being the little spoon, lol.)
My Art /// My Marvel Art
*Please don’t repost(?) or use my art elsewhere without my permission, and don’t delete my captions, thanks!