i've been in a mood for explicit whump lately, which is where the creation of this side blog begins. i'm always excited to get more story recs and discover new authors on here :) i made this blog out of desire to comment and reblog and spread some love for whump stories, as i feel there isnβt a lot of that anymore!! i wish for more interaction within the community, and to discover new friends. always feel free to send me an ask, give me a prompt, or send me a dm.
i have three projects i'm working on right now, but my main one that i focus on the most i'm currently co-writing with my best friend, ohagi. it's being updated at @chrysalis-thestateofchange, and you can check it out if it seems of interest!! find ohagi here: @ohagany.
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would you rather the scraggly dogboy who kills for you & kneels at ur side in wait for pets or the sopping wet catboy who has big sad eyes and only wants you to love him
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Spring was showing her colours. New leaves of the cherry tree cast translucent, fluttering shadows into Eleneβs bedroom. She stared at the light shifting like a thousand wings on five hundred fairies, beckoning her to rejoice at the rebirth of the world. But she felt nothing.
Carpets of blooms had started to appear on patches of grass, natureβs confetti. Tom was outside most days, tending to the flowers heβd planted last year. Calyx followed him, silent and contemplative as a shadow. He was careful with the plants, gentle, attentive. She hadnβt expected anything else. It hurt, distantly, to watch him though. Heβd offered to show her what he was doing, leaving silent the unsaid. Elene had tried to hide it in the early days, and it had been easier back then. Back when she still had unrelenting, insistent hope. Back when there was always something to do, someone to call or something to clean. Now that routine had settled over the household, Elene found her thoughts drifting closer to the gnawing ache in her chest.
Last year, sheβd opened the curtains one morning and realised that everything was pink. The sky, the trees, the ground. It was as if itβd happened in a day, the welcoming of spring. Sheβd stood, captivated, for long minutes. Sheβd practically floated outside, standing alone in the still light of dawn. Sheβd never appreciated it before, had never even noticed it.
She dreaded the day when she would notice it this year. Her heart fought against the dismissal of grey winter more than was acceptable, but she could not stop it. She couldnβt stop her heart, she couldnβt stop the coming of spring. She just wished that time would slow the fuck down.
No, she chided herself, a little more than harshly. That was unproductive.
Elene frowned, clenching her fist and letting go, purposeful and steady. Why wasnβt she moving faster? Why hadnβt she anticipated this? Why did she let them leave? Why didnβt she go with them? Why hadnβt she figured this out yet? Everyone kept telling her that it was impossible, and she felt like screaming - she had always been the girl who could do the impossible, even when it killed her. So why now, faced with the first impossible thing that she actually wanted to do, did her ability elude her? It was infuriating.
It was exhausting. She was⦠exhausted.
Really, itβd only been two months. Two weeks longer than Calyx -
Bad. Before the thought had even concluded, Elene hit her thigh. Sudden and violent, it burst with dull pain that she did not soothe. That sort of thinking was not allowed, she forbade it. It was unhelpful and cruel. It would make everyone hate her, and it made her hate herself.
Besides, the situations were incomparable. They all knew Clem was coming back. She knew Clem had to come back. They would. Of course they would. Why entertain paranoia? They promised.
Elene sighed, finally turning away from the window to stare at the bangle on her wrist. Ruth had been generous with her gifts, but Elene privately thought that this was her favourite. It was a deep orange, the colour you saw behind your eyelids when you closed them on a sunny day. Sheβd known immediately that it was magical somehow, and appreciated that Ruth hadn't explained it. She applied herself to the task of learning about it like that could quell the noise in her head.
The colour was accurate, in literal terms. It was their blood in there, the bangle existing as a sort of homunculus. It emitted no light of its own now, but if they were in a state of healing, their blood - and it - would glow. It made sense that when (not if, it couldnβt be if) they got back, they'd need to heal at least a little. And in any case, Ruth assured her that she'd be able to lock onto their signature if they came back from wherever they'd gone. They kept in touch over text, both of them poised to notify the other of any developments.
Familiar memories flitted through her mind, taunting and sickening. Brief bursts of anger came and went, and with them, she tightened her grip on the bangle. It was so much, not enough. She didn't want this ornament to remember them by, she wanted them by her side in this room, in her life. But she could not bear to throw it across the room like she envisioned, too attached to the only tether she had to them. She had a feeling it wouldnβt break, but she couldnβt stomach being violent to any part of them.
Elene hummed discontentedly. She didn't want to touch any of the books on her nightstand, didn't want to socialise or do anything at all. She placed the bangle on their - the other pillow and turned up her music, slipping into a familiar dissociation.
It was in the midst of this tepid torpor that the miracle occurred. The bangle started glowing.
It'd already been sitting in a patch of sunlight, so the change had not been immediately noticeable. But when it was, and Elene would later be mortified about this, she screamed.
She half-fell out of bed in her haste to get up, then reached for the small sun with no hesitation. When her fingers closed around it, she was stunned to feel that it was still as cold as it had always been.
Of course, she thought instantly, cold-blooded.
The awe did not dissipate in the slightest. Her bones felt just about ready to jump out of her skin. But what next? Would they reappear where theyβd left? Theyβd be alone. How long till anyone found them? How long would it be before she saw them again?
It turned out, not long at all.
There was a sound. Something resonant, striking to the core. The sun came out from behind a cloud - the whole world seemed to glow brighter. The bangle started to thrum rhythmically, like a heartbeat. Then the sound grew louder, closer. Elene would later wonder whether she heard, however impossibly, the beat of wings.
But this all passed in a matter of seconds. The prevailing tone was unplaceable, most akin to a screech, a rapid displacement of air. Eleneβs ears popped. Then the whole house shook, a resounding thud carrying with it a physical shockwave. A glass of water toppled off her desk and shattered instantly upon contact with the floor. But she paid it, the small puddle it created or the cuts in her feet that she endured, no mind. She was no longer really existing in her body, in both emotional and literal terms, particles scattering with a teleportation spell. She had always thought she would have to look for them, but Fate, uncharacteristically, decided to be kind.
Once again, Clem had landed in her garden.
β
From relative peace there burst a sudden and absolute chaos.
Clem, Clem, was crouched on the ground, on their hands and knees, wings out to their sides. Their eyes were fixed to the ground, quiet clicks filling the air. It was a testament to Eleneβs confusion that she could not immediately attribute the sound to them. They looked different: their hands were clawed; their hair more orange, longer too; the wings, of course, wereβ¦ resplendent, and big, bigger than sheβd expected. They looked strong, powerful. A gouge had formed in the earth where presumably, theyβd crash-landed.
Everyone was standing in a half-circle just outside the threshold of the house. She was aware of a thin tension in the air, as if . But it was Clem, Elene thought. There was nothing to be afraid of.
She stepped forward, grass cool on her feet. Clem registered the movement instantly, and Elene startled for one reason only. Not the scars, not the new sharpness in their face, not the suddenness of being fixed with such a piercing gaze. No. Their hazel eyes were orange now, reptilian. Draconic.
Elene thought she might cry. It was one of the most beautiful things sheβd ever seen. Looking at them had the effect of being suddenly in the presence of a sunrise the likes of which you had never thought possible. Watching a painted sky shift and change with the incredible and illogical conviction that you were the only person watching it, that you were the only person who ever would see it in its complete and unaltered glory.
But no sooner than her realisation of this, Clemβs eyes flicked down, their body language shifting to try to make themselves, unmistakeably, smaller.
Oh, no.
βHey,β she whispered, crouching down to their level. Then she stuttered, unsure what to say. Are you okay felt inadequate. I missed you felt presumptive. She hadnβt practised this part. Her daydreams never dared to go this far. But she watched herself as if through water as a shaking hand came up to cup the side of their face, tracing lightly over a scar she didnβt recognise. Their eyes met hers again, silent, searching.
βWelcome home, sweetheart,β she said finally.
The slit pupils dilated, then Clemβs body, already so low to the ground, seemed to completely give way, and they collapsed into her arms.
βOh, wow,β they breathed, and she noticed a hand make a fist into the grass. βMissed that,β they said quietly, almost to themselves. Then, louder, pressing themselves further against her chest. βThis is nice.β
βYeah?β Eleneβs eyes were full of unshed tears. It was impossibly nice to hear their voice.
βVery nice. Oh, also. Is Calyx okay?β Their speech came out haltingly, like they were trying to remember how to speak or couldnβt find the words. βBecause I won, El. We won.β
Elene heard what could only be described as a squeak somewhere behind her. Clemβs eyes followed the sound, and fixed on Calyx. Elene didnβt turn to look, too comfortable in the embrace.
βYes,β Calyx breathed, before dropping to the ground beside Elene. βI - really?β
Clem nodded, with effort. βItβs over, dove. Youβre safe now.β
Calyx gaped, awe written all over their face. But Elene saw Clemβs eyes unfocus, a daze settling over them. They were exhausted, she could feel it, physically. Their muscles were all tense, and they were leaning on her to a degree that was becoming closer and closer to her taking all their weight.
βOkay,β she said, wondering how to voice this in the gentlest way possible. βI think we should all give Clem some space, hm?β
Calyx scrambled to their feet, never needing to be told twice. βUm, the couch is free.β
Elene replied without looking at them, absently stroking Clem's hair. βThank you, sweetheart.β Ideally, theyβd be in her bed under watchful eye, but Clem was falling asleep in her arms. The couch would have to do.
Behind her, there was the quiet sounds of people retreating. Only when the last person had clicked the door shut, did Clem speak again.
βThank you,β they murmured. βIβmβ¦ tired, El.β
It broke her heart. No, that was too tame. It felt more like the very fibers of her myocardium were being rent asunder. She rubbed their back, holding them close to her chest. They were crying, she could see them crying and feel the tears on her dress, but they barely seemed to register it. The tears were just falling, like a dam had opened and nothing would stop the flow now.
Clem made a soft, pained sort of sound. But then she was surprised to hear a quiet laugh from them. βI donβt think I hβve a choice,β they slurred. And then they were asleep. Like a light, as quick as fainting. They were unconscious, and silent as the dead. Had they been waiting for her instruction?
Elene shook away the thought. That was unimportant. Right now, anyway. The more pressing thing was the fact that Clem was asleep in her lap in the garden, and they couldnβt stay here all day. The grass was soft but not soft enough for aching bones. Not soft enough for her liking, certainly. And she would be the one deciding whether things were soft enough, now. This was all the vindictiveness she was capable of: if Clem could take matters into their own hands and take care of everyone, then she could do the same and take care of them.
A bird in the sky caught her attention. It was flying fast, in her direction, but when she realised who it was, Elene felt a smile grow over her face. Ruth was exactly the person she needed right now.
She landed effortlessly, making no mark on the grass at all, then stretched out to her human form in a movement so practised and smooth that Elene could not help but marvel at it.
βThey just landed,β Elene said in lieu of pleasantries. Every conversation with Ruth was like leaving off from the last one, like no time had passed at all.
βPassed out?β
βAsleep.β
Ruth nodded, appraising the soft rise-and-fall of their chest. βThe bangle worked?β
Elene nodded, a thrill rushing through her. She could hardly believe what was happening, half expecting to wake up in dismay. But there was no reason to stop the dream before it was over, if itβd ever be over. It felt like she was watching the world in technicolour, the most vivid sensations being the shine of Clemβs hair, the feel of their bones under the fabric of their shirt, a smell like blood and metal vaguely lingering in the air, the sure and steady thump of their heartbeat. With a skipped heartbeat, she remembered what the glowing blood meant. Healing. From what?
βCan you help me get them inside?β
βOh, thereβs a safehouse nearby -β
Elene fixed Ruth with a stare. Absolutely not. βNo, thank you. Would you help me get them inside? I donβt have any spells for it.β
Ruth bit back a smile, then gave up and rolled her eyes, affection obvious in the gesture. She bent down and lifted her friend up in as smooth of a motion as her landing had been. However briefly bereft Elene felt at the loss of their weight, she noticed the softness in Ruthβs eyes as she looked at Clem, still completely dead to the world.
βI get why she likes you,β Ruth said. βLead the way, princess.β
Elene blushed, pausing halfway through the action of brushing dirt from her dress. She had no desire to argue with the association, but she would define it on her terms. She could do the saving, too.
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Bucky is a particularly interesting character to analyze in light of the decisions made in Captain America:The Winter Soldier that changed him from the comics winter soldier.
These changes from comics canon contain some of the things about the character that were compelling, and also the things MCU had no idea what to do with in later installments
In the winter soldier comics, (which are themselves a violent re-invention of the character, he was raised on a military base and became Steve's sidekick after Steve had become Captain America, kind of a darker figure willing to do dirty work that Cap couldn't be seen doing
in the movie, he's Steve's closest childhood friend. They only end up paired up and fighting together because Steve goes on a desperate mission to save his life
in the winter soldier comics, he is something like 7 or 8 years younger than Steve and they still have a mentor/sidekick type of relationship
in the movie they are the same age and steve is no longer a "mentor" figure, that dynamic is eliminated
in the winter soldier comics Bucky loses all his prior memories after his apparent death, making him a blank slate to be groomed into a soviet super-assassin. There is no brainwashing.
in the movie they deliberately erase his memories by strapping him into this scary device that fries his brain with electricity. It's clearly torture: he is shown hyperventilating as the restraints close onto his limbs and then screaming in agony as the device activates.
in the winter soldier comics Bucky as the Winter Soldier is capable of independent thought and snark, and is shown questioning and mouthing off at his superiors
in the movie, Bucky is completely passive. He barely speaks at all; when he does, he is almost childlike, meek and quiet in his interactions with the Hydra characters, stubborn and confused in his fight with Steve. The main antagonist slaps him across the face for not answering a question and he doesn't retaliate at all even though he can obviously kill everyone in the room in the blink of an eye. In the same scene he also lets the scientists manhandle him and eagerly opens his mouth for the mouthguard even as his heart rate is spiking on the monitor and he's starting to hyperventilate because he KNOWS the pain is coming.
(side note: he is shirtless in this scene for no reason)
(second side note: the line "who the hell is Bucky?" is in the movie because it's iconic from the comics, but it's arguably super OOC for mcu!bucky)
The long hair and cyborg arm are straight from the comics, but the most striking change to his appearance is his mask: in the comics, he's wearing a domino mask over his eyes, but in the film, he has an opaque black mask covering his nose and mouth that takes away much of his ability to emote and looks strikingly like a muzzle. The comics mask evokes mysterious wiles; the film's mask evokes dehumanization.
basically the films gave him a much deeper and more intimate connection to Steve while putting the two of them on even footing as friends and partners, and changed him from a morally gray character who indifferently kills people and regrets and becomes angsty once his memories are restored, to a tortured and dehumanized human weapon who obeys despite not understanding anything that's going on because he knows nothing but pain and punishment.
The film's version is really much more interesting. Snarky antiheroes who kill indifferently are a dime a dozen; a character who is palpably, terrifyingly dominating and powerful yet completely powerless in the hands of those who control him, who is hollowed out of all personal identity and who has no agency or control over his own body as it is mutilated, reconstructed and wielded as a weapon, is something much more delicious and fascinating.
We watch this guy slaughter people effortlessly with an apex predator swagger that projects pure dominance and prowess, then we watch him meekly accept abuse and torture with soft, confused eyes.
Of course I'm insane about him. There's a lot to be insane about.
what gets me is like. Ed Brubaker knew what the fuck he was doing when reinventing The Bucky from tragically killed-off sidekick to reanimated cyborg death machine. Sebastian Stan knew what the fuck he was doing when portraying The Bucky. And I'm sure the other people involved with CA:TWS had SOME inkling, because this compelling portrayal doesn't assemble itself by accident.
The rest of the MCU portrayal of Bucky though after that? Clearly no idea what they fuck they had on their hands or what the fuck they were doing with it.
Flattening his character out into "morally gray depression man and he has Gun." And essentially making his story about shouldering responsibility for what he did as the Winter Soldier. A very flat, "guy did bad thing and now he's angsty and guilty about it and trying to redeem himself" (boring) instead of like. the gut wrenching horror of having your memories burned away and your name taken from you and your body reconstructed without your consent and used against your will.
The horror of being a weapon that was once a person and having your very selfhood irretrievably lost to you.
this is where the fanfictions pick it up, and I'm honestly pretty sad that fanfictions are still so widely viewed as Not Real Art, when they are closer to how humans told stories for the last hundred thousand years, and indeed to how storytelling works at its best and most alive and thriving.
We could be telling the most brilliant stories about The Bucky, if we all understood the essential principles (that stories are not Owned by anyone, but become Alive when they are told, in the hearts of the teller and the listener, and to listen to a story gives the gift of the power to tell it again)
And if we could all defeat our enemy, the Cringe (which is to say, that which cringes at sincerity)
God, the writers you put on this earth to write Buckyfic are trying to create something "Original" instead
(because originality receives respect by society as real, legitimate art, and is capable of becoming profitable)
I think, with hindsight, the main problem the post-TWS movies had with Bucky is the torture.
The broad consensus in modern western media seems to be that Torture Is Basically Fine. It works. Torture is an effective way of extracting accurate information. And because that alone isn't enough to make it seem legitimate, there's another failsafe: Torture works only on bad people. Villains crack under torture, and heroes don't.
This is how media creates a culture that finds torture justifiable. Especially media that is largely sponsored by the US military, of course, who in a post-Abu Ghraib, post-Guantanamo, post-CIA papers world has an interest in creating public indifference (or straight up support) for torture, but there's torture in animated movies for children, too. It's ubiquitous.
In real life, torture is horrific violence inflicted on our fellow human beings, that traumatizes both the victim and the torturer, creates heaps of false information, and has no discernible benefits. It doesn't work.
But in fiction, it must work, every time, because if it doesn't, then that collapses the entire structure, doesn't it?
In comes Bucky in TWS.
He's a character who is tortured into complete submission. Who is given electric shocks to the brain to erase his memory, but he still holds onto his own humanity. He is tortured into doing horrible things - the torture works - but it doesn't work completely. He breaks through it. He's beaten, abused, violated on screen, but - and this is important! - because he overcomes in the end, he's not the villain. His story evokes pity and sympathy, not suspicion.
With hindsight, it is clear to me that the mind wipe scene was meant to inspire disgust in the audience. Bucky's terror without fighting back, his defeated acceptance of the inevitable, the slow, lingering pan up his unclothed body. This is emasculating; at the time a lot of meta has been written about how Bucky is shot like a woman in a rape scene.
He submits. This is meant to be suspicious.
But it completely backfires, because what is shown and what follows is the story of a victim of unspeakable abuse finally breaking free from his abuser in a show of awe-inspiring mental strength.
(and also through the power of gay love but let's not get into that)
That's a problem. By complete accident, the film ends up saying Hey, torture is maybe sometimes bad? And that cannot be allowed. There is a more conventional torture scene in the film, where Steve and Sam throw a guy off a roof to get information out of him, but that almost doesn't matter. This is the one instance that makes the whole house of cards come crumbling down. If Bucky is a victim, then torture is both bad and does not work.
It is obvious to me that what followed TWS didn't know how to reconcile that. CA:CW felt extremely jarring because it treats Bucky with so much suspicion; it even retcons in the trigger word nonsense to justify that suspicion. Bucky has to earn trust. He has to redeem himself. From what? Not being able to withstand seven decades of torture?
Well, yes, the film says. Torture only works on bad guys. Bucky allowed the torture to work on him, and so, has proven himself to be untrustworthy. The abuse he suffered sullied him. He has to earn back his moral righteousness.
I want to stress that I do not think any of this is intentional. I don't think there was a meeting in the writer's room where they talked about how they accidentally made it seem like Torture Is Bad Maybe, and how they could reconcile that. If that had been the case, CW would have been a more honest movie. But looking back, it is clear in how the directors talked about the characters after CW came out, and in the baffling writing choices they made, that they were trying to breach this disconnect, without being aware that this is what they were doing.
For the fan spaces I hung around in at the time, where cis men were a minority, this was baffling. There's a reason post-TWS fic almost exclusively talked about Bucky's recovery, not his redemption. There simply was, in fandom's eyes, nothing to redeem him from. CW made clear that w completely misinterpreted TWS.
I'd love to go back in time to observe what the fallout from TWS and CW was in male-dominated fan spaces; how they talked about Bucky in 2015 and 2017.
Anyhow. With the benefit of hindsight, it is obvious to me that no one involved in the writing of CW and what came after took a moment to actually think about the themes and motives of the movies beyond the shallowest surface, and not just with regards to Bucky.
TWS ended up taking the tamest, most inconsistent anti-torture stance possible by complete accident and that could not be allowed. It had to be forcefully retconned. And that's why, in my opinion, post-TWS Bucky ended up being Like That.
Thank you thank you thank you for this. I don't know if you've read my Buckyfic but I've written a lot of meta about torture in relation to my fic and the political context re: torture at the time, to the point that Abu Ghraib is mentioned/discussed in the fic as the thing that broke Steve's desire to be Captain America
I've never thought of it in this light, though; this is actually a great explanation for why the trigger words were introduced in Civil War and why it feels like a retcon. Audiences didn't respond to Bucky as expected, and they had to change the method of his control/brainwashing to make audiences read him as a threat/antagonist for Civil War
You're also completely correct that the scene where the protagonists throw the Hydra dude off the roof is a torture scene. (I realized this after watching Jacob Geller's video analyzing the torture scenes in Call of Duty. Highly recommend if this topic interests you)
It is absolutely true that torture scenes in fiction often serve to show off the (usually male) character's "toughness" and mental resolve, which is a fantasy, one that comes out of this political context at the time of Guantanamo and the torture memos and the political agenda to make torture more acceptable/palatable to the public.
So in this context, the vault scene (where Bucky is struck across the face and doesn't retaliate, and passively submits to torture without complaint) evokes sympathy for Bucky but it's also supposed to show that Bucky isn't a "hero" in the same way the Heroes are heroes. Heroes don't "break" under torture; Bucky does.
Which means that accidentally, the scene was a little more honest about torture than movies are usually allowed to be.
This is what I meant when I said the Hydra Trash Party-goers knew what they were doing, btw. Real life torture is almost inseparable from sexual violence.
The popular portrayal of torture in movies is fully irreconcilable with that: when a Hero is tortured, it's an opportunity for him to reinforce his strength (and masculinity) by Not Breaking and hanging on to his dignity. The reality of what a torture victim would actually go through is so threatening to that fantasy version that it can't be acknowledged.
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