No church in the w i l d

Do you know any hurt!bucky fanfics with protective!steve and protective!avengers, where Bucky disregards his health because he still sees himself as a weapon, and doesn’t realise that other people care about him. So far I’ve read: “By Choice or By Habit” by Sholio, “Lay Back, Lay Back” by Ultrageekatlarge, and ” Keep You Going Through the Show” by Lauralot. Thanks!

Hmmm try:

And I Am Always with You
by Lauralot

Collateral Damage
by letempest

Out of the Dead Land
by emilyenrose

Almond, Clavicle, Orchid

by kvikindi

Out of the Wreckage by eosaurora13 (WIP)

Surfactant

by tigriswolf

lilies with full hands
by refusals

The man on the bridge
by boopboop

maaaybe Poltergeists
by dirtybinary (though it’s mostly Steve with him)

as always, mind the warnings in each fic. Hope it helps!

EDIT: Forgot to add Color by Numbers by vitoliel. It fits, though it’s Bucky who does all the work at realizing he’s a person and Steve and co. who decidedly fail to treat him as one (for 2 chapters, at least), fair warning.

bannannibal:

rly upset over the dimension changes but okay thnx tumblr here you go anyway

petite-madame:

Bucky Barnes’ Funeral (2016)

For the people who forgot that death!art is a bit of my trademark, here is B. Barnes’ funeral…

I have a head canon about this art: let’s imagine for a second
that in in Captain America – The Winter Soldier, Steve never managed
to see Bucky’s face in the iconic “Who the hell is Bucky?” scene because
Bucky’s mask never fell from his face. Steve fights the Winter Soldier
as any other enemy, finally kills him in a pretty tough fight and it’s
only when the dead body of the Winter Soldier rests on the floor and that
he pulls off his mask that Steve realizes who he had just killed. Of
course, Steve will never forgive himself. I know, I know “Thank you,
Satan”. Your welcome, guys! Have a great day. 💗

And now, let’s kill Steve! I have a plan to draw his funeral too. Maybe a whole series ^^

tuotilo:

macbeth | 2015

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

And then is heard no more. It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.

countingtoabillionslow:

Here is what they don’t tell you:

Icarus laughed as he fell.
Threw his head back and
yelled into the winds,
arms spread wide,
teeth bared to the world.

(There is a bitter triumph
in crashing when you should be
soaring.)

The wax scorched his skin,
ran blazing trails down his back,
his thighs, his ankles, his feet.
Feathers floated like prayers
past his fingers,
close enough to snatch back.
Death breathed burning kisses
against his shoulders,
where the wings joined the harness.
The sun painted everything
in shades of gold.

(There is a certain beauty
in setting the world on fire
and watching from the centre
of the flames.)