A Bucky x Reader Tangled AU
Summary: Reader has spent her life hidden away in a tower, longing to see the lights that float up every year on her birthday. When Bucky Barnes literally falls into her room, she can't help but take advantage of the opportunity to defy her mother and see the lights herself.
Warnings: Reader has blonde hair (it's magic and not her natural hair), Bucky Barnes is traumatized, the violence is a bit more graphic than the Disney movie, Sam is a horse (I'm so sorry), canon-typical squabbling, no use of y/n, parental abuse
Author's Note: This story has been bumping around in my brain for a while, and I'm so excited to share it with you guys!
Masterlist Playlist My AO3
Once upon a time, there was a girl.
Granted, fairy tales are full of girls, and ruffians, and evil witches, and this story has all of those things, but deep down, this story is different. For this story is about a girl who was unlike any other in the history of her country, for she lived in a tower, never allowed to see the outside world.
Mother kept her there, for her own safety, of course. For Mother’s Flower was precious to her, and the dangers of the outside world were too great, as the girl’s hair put her in more danger than she could ever imagine. Long, strong, and the color of gold, the girl’s hair was more powerful than any weapon in the king’s army, more potent than any spell that a physician could concoct. For it held magic, a deep magic from when the world began. When the girl sang Mother’s old lullaby, her hair began to glow, repairing every hurt or sign of old age it touched.
Mother was afraid of the outside world, of what people would do if they heard of her Flower’s hair and what it was capable of. She knew of the evils that lived outside the tower, of the people who would stop at nothing in order to get what they felt like they deserved. So the girl stayed inside, finding ways to amuse herself as the kingdom bustled below her, ever so secretly wishing to leave, even for one night.
On the night of your fourth birthday, you crept out of your bed, desperate to play once more with the doll that Mother had given you. You had left it beneath the window, the only one in the tower. And then you saw them. Lights, beautiful mysterious lights, began to float up above the trees, each one flickering with a warm glow against the night sky. You lay there, mesmerized, until every single light slowly disappeared, disguised by the rising sun.
You never told Mother about the lights. You weren’t sure why, but they became your secret, something special for you, and you alone. Slowly you formed a tradition, and every year you snuck out of bed the night of your birthday to watch the lights, alone. Somehow, it felt as if the lights were meant for you, as if someone, somewhere, knew that the day was special to you.
But that was ridiculous. As Mother said, she was the only one who knew who you were. Once, many years ago, someone had tried to cut your hair and use it for themselves. Mother had taken care of the evil, and that was when she brought you to the tower, for as she always said, you were safe as long as you were there. Where no one could hurt you.
It had been nearly twenty years since you had first seen the lights.
“I’m going to do it,” you whispered to Pascal, your pet chameleon. You had had him for years, much to Mother’s ignorance. Somehow, you knew that she would not approve of your tiny friend. “Today, I’m going to ask Mother if I can leave the tower and see the lights in person.”
He grunted, an inquisitive look on his tiny face.
“Oh, don’t say that. I’m sure that this time she’ll agree. After all, I’m nearly twenty-four, and I don’t plan on being seen.”
“Rude.” You smiled at him. “C’mon, I have to clean up this mess before Mother returns, you know how she gets.”
As you tidied the room, a painting caught your eye, one that you had made six years before. It was simple, really, just a picture of the lights, filling the night sky as they did every year, and you, sitting on a tree, watching them. The painting itself was nothing to be proud of, but it still struck a chord in your heart every time you saw it. Absently, you traced the long golden hair on the painting, and you made a resolve. I will go to see the lights this year, even if I have to run away to do it.
“Flower, darling, let down your hair!” came the call, and you flew to the window, hair trailing behind you.
There she stood on the ground beneath, basket in hand and foot tapping impatiently. “My dear, I’m waiting,” she reminded you, and you gasped.
“Sorry, Mother.” Throwing your hair into the hook above the window, you tossed the remainder down to her, heaving her up the side of the tower without much of a trouble. After all, you had been doing this for almost seventeen years, had you not?
“My dear, it astounds me how you manage to do that every single day without fail, it looks absolutely exhausting, darling.” She patted your arm gently as she let go of the ends, stepping with ease into the tower.
“Oh, it’s nothing, Mother,” you said quickly.
“Then I don’t know why it takes you so long.” She laughed, patting your cheek. “Oh Flower, I’m only teasing, don’t be so dramatic.”
You swallowed down the things that you wanted to say, the things that you always wanted to say, in favor of a smile. “Of course, Mother. I’m not sure if you remember, but something big is happening tomorrow—”
“Flower, Mumsie’s feeling a little run down, would you mind—?”
You sighed, and reached for a stool. Sitting her down, you wrapped her in your hair, and began to sing.
Bring back what once was mine.
Change the fate's design.
Bring back what once was mine.”
Slowly, surely, your hair, wrapped around Mother’s hand began to glow, filling the dimly lit room with immeasurable warmth and bathing the both of you in a golden hue. The slight wrinkles on Mother’s hand melted away, and you felt a new wave of courage.
“Mother, earlier I was saying tomorrow’s a pretty big day, and you didn't really respond. So, I'm just going to tell you. It's my birthday!” You laughed slightly, waving your hands. “Ta da.”
“Oh no darling, that cannot be right. I remember, your birthday was last year, dear.” Mother said gracefully, standing up with a newfound ease. She moved to unpack her basket, and you stepped in front.
“Well, Mother, that’s what’s so special about birthdays. They’re kind of an annual thing.” You tried for a smile, but didn’t get one in return. “I’m turning twenty four tomorrow, Mother, and I wanted to ask you for something. Something that I’ve wanted to ask for a while now, actually.” You muttered the last words, and Mother spun.
“Flower, please cease with the mumbling, you know how I feel about the mumbling. It just goes on forever, it’s very boring. I’m just teasing,” she pinched your cheek. “You’re adorable, I love you.”
You looked at Pascal, who motioned you to go on. “I want to see the floating lights.” You blurted, and then froze. I’ve gone too far.
“Well, I was hoping that you could take me to see the lights, Mother.” You said quickly, desperate to erase the faint anger on her face.
She waved her hand. “Oh, you mean the stars, dearest. You can see them just as well from in here, there’s no need to leave.”
“Oh, but that’s the thing, Mother.” You tossed your hair, winding it around a latch and tugging open a small hole in the roof. “I’ve charted stars and they're always constant. But these, these appear every year on my birthday, and only on my birthday.” You moved the curtain, showing her the painting you had made all those years ago. “I can't help but feel that they're, they're meant for me somehow. I need to see them, Mother. And not just from my window, I need to see them in person.”
Mother laughed, the cold sound causing you to nearly shiver. “Oh dearest, you couldn’t handle the world out there.” She walked over to the window, slowly closing the shutters. The darkness cloaked you, and the weight of your request began to dawn on you. “The world outside is a dangerous place, full of those who want to hurt you. If I let you go, then there is no telling of what could befall you. You’re a young woman, a unique one at that, and you’d be in danger so fast that I couldn’t even try to save you. Do you know what they do to the women in the outside world?” she leaned forward, hands running through your hair. “They take what they think is theirs, with no care for women they exploit. The things they’d do to you, the things you would endure, leave such scars that no magic could ever undo. Do you hear me?”
“I need to hear you, dearest.”
“Yes Mother, I heard you.” You whispered softly.
“I need you to swear something to me, Flower. Can you do that?”
“I need you to promise never to ask to leave this tower again.”
You sighed. It had been a valiant try. “I promise, Mother.”
“Good.” She let go of your hair, and light flooded the room once more. “Unfortunately, I have to go. I will be back, dearest.”
You helped her down the side of the tower, watching as she walked away, into the woods. “I’ll be here.” You said softly, hair blowing in the wind.
Bucky Barnes tore through the woods at a breakneck speed, the Stabbington Brothers straight on his heels.
“You know, when we hired you, they said you were the best.” Brock, the shorter one, pointed out as they scrambled over rocks and tree stumps.
“I am the best, how else would you have gotten into the palace?” Bucky retorted, satchel in hand. He climbed atop one particularly large rock, pulling out an intricate tiara from the bag. “How much is this thing worth, anyway?”
“More than you know.” Growled Alexander, the older brother, heaving himself beside Bucky, trying to grab the bag.
“Oh, let’s wait a bit before we make any rash decisions, shall we?” he grinned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
It hadn’t reached his eyes for years.
His hand twitched around the strap of the satchel, the leather of the bag rubbing against the metal glove he wore.
“Give me the bag, Barnes.” Alexander said, a note of warning in his voice.
Before Bucky could respond, a rustling sounded through the trees. He looked up to see a man, riding a white horse, charging directly at them. His heart sank at the emblem on the man’s shield, but he pushed down the feeling. “The guards!” He shouted. “Run!”
Scrambling down the rock, he tore past trees and through the brush in his desperation to escape, the Stabbington brothers close on his heels. Eventually, he came face to face with a dead end, the only method of escape being the cliff face of a rather large rock.
“Help me up,” he panted, extending a hand to the brothers. “I’ll give you a hand once I get up there.”
“No.” Was all Brock answered.
“You’d rather get captured than help a fellow fugitive out?”
“Give us the crown, and then we’ll help.”
He sighed. “Fine.” Handing them the bag, he was hoisted up the cliff without much of a second thought. He knelt to help them up, he wasn’t a monster, but the sight of the approaching guards made him pause. I can’t go back. Not again. Not after what she did to me. He plastered a smile on his face, lifting up the bag that he had snatched mere moments before. “Sorry, gentlemen, but I think I have to go.”
He ran, leaving the men behind him, their yells echoing in his ears long after they had been gagged by the guards.
Suddenly, he broke through a clump of vines, and beheld a sight he had never expected.
A tower, one without a door, stood in a canyon, surrounded by grass and woods and a stream that bubbled gently. It looked empty, devoid of any life, and he grinned. Shelter.
Pulling an arrow out of his pocket, one that had been shot at him a half hour before, he began to climb, scaling the side of the tower. It took some effort, but he eventually made it, climbing into the one window.
The place was surprisingly clean, and he set his bag down with a relieved smile. “Ah, alone at last.”
He didn’t even see the frying pan as it flew towards his head, and Bucky Barnes crumpled to the tower floor.
@biaswreckedbybuckybarnes
@petalsonparchment (you said you wanted to read this like a month ago, lol)
blakekathryn
germansingergirl
origamiaround
titsay
prguitarman
janainaart
vaporwave
