Hmm… there are lines from Bucky’s letters that have lived rent-free in my head since I first read this six years ago. I also particularly love Sarah Rogers’ backstory in this fic.
On the epistolary front— it is incredibly effective to cut between a heart-wrenching, traumatic war scene that inspires Bucky to write a letter and a Buzzfeed article from 70 years later that completely trivializes and “memeifies” the whole thing… wow, we are good at missing the point and reducing people and their lives and writing down into bite-sized comedic chunks for the gossip industry to circulate…
I also love the foreshadowing here, of Bucky “becoming a monster”. I think the whole point is that even though Bucky is brainwashed into a Hydra weapon and kills innocent people, he’s already doing it on behalf of the US government in WW2… Bucky recognizes the unfairness and ugliness of war, the building of bloodlust and hatred, the way killing daily turns you into a shell of your former self. There’s no way to justify that. There is no glory in war.
не знаю, чому я вирішила, шо текст про війну мені в 2024 буде сприйматися так само, як у 2015 чи коли я там це читала, але чуда канєшно не відбулося. і воно господи соу драматік, неможливо. але a long winter я тепер канєшно теж перечитаю. із плюсів - цікава форма, звісно.
I’m framing these and putting them on my wall because what in the flying fuck???? I don’t think I was able to read one line twice through how hard I was sobbing. it’s just so eloquently written and is constantly yanking at your insides. 1000000000/10 no notes.
songs for this book: Blood of a Broken Man by American Mercury Little Sun by Blues Pills Melatonin (unplugged) by Phoria
“The closest I’ve ever been to the Garden of Eden is the genesis on the battlefield when the shrapnel’s still falling like hail on a tin roof… Bone of my bones. Were you taken from my rib? You must have been, or maybe I was made from yours. And God damn I want it, I want back inside you.”
“I used to love you so sweet, the way kids love, the way I was supposed to. Then it turned greedy and true.”
“Stay for me. If you leave me alone in this world I’ll turn into something terrible. I’ll turn into the nasty creature that’s growing inside me. This war, it’ll swallow me whole.”
“Here’s the truth — baby, here’s the truth. I got a rootless heart.”
“It turns out there’s not one God damn thing that’s glorious about death. You’re not out here for them. You’re out here because that’s just the way the chips fell.”
“There’s a lot of waiting to be had in war… Time bleeds and stretches.”
I love words. I’ve spent a majority of my adult life studying them. I’ve spent a lifetime stringing them together and crafting them into sentences and allegories and similes. Words are my lifeblood; my endless love that has no end or beginning.
The writing in The Thirteen Letters made me fall in love with words all over again — violently and easy as breathing. Magic poured off the pages. Jesus Christ, some of the sentences and paragraphs had my heart racing, my hands shaking. It was art. I wish I could read it again for the first time, with fresh eyes, and fall in love all over again.
"How Long have I loved you? Womb to tomb Sweet heart. Since before I was even here at all." By far one of the greatest pieces of fiction I have ever had the pleasure of reading. The best of all three which is saying something because each story is fantastic. This one is phenomenal I've cried and been deeply engrossed in this story several times over. Even if you don't ship Stucky. Read Longest Winter, Thirteen Letters, and Not So Easily Conquered. You'll be doing yourself a favor if you do.
this fanfic is unironically the best piece of fiction i've read all year holy fuck
I won't be in the history books; that's for you. But I loved you first. As long as they get that right, I don't care what they say.
the interwoven history, the seamless shifting between genres (romance?? action?? thriller? shameless, heart-shattering poetry?!?!), the CHARACTERISATION AH i might believe in God if only to believe she gave us the gift to create and enjoy things like this
“at least those are the things I’m going to tell you the night before you propose, nervous and pacing and wanting to practice on me. then again, maybe I won’t live to see it. sometimes I hope to god I won’t”
words cannot describe the beauty of this book. it broke me emotionally :( the writing, it’s just the most beautiful thing I’ve read in a while
Review for entire series: A fine example of how fanfic is so frequently better written and infinitely more creative than the vast majority of conventionally published fiction. Not only is this series a fantastic family and personal epic saga linking a century of global events, but it is also a superb work in both the action (war and superhero) AND the epistolry romance genres. That same level of skill is applied to the inserts: bits of journalism, fiction writing, social media posts... all of it independantly well-crafted and in themselves examples of what those things can and should be.
Please be aware if you are not in a safe headspace right now that this fic is... a lot. It's a lot of heartache and anger and then heartache all over again. dropdeaddream's talent made me feel both as numb as Steve did, floating through his hollow life, and also every bit as broken by the things that hollowed him out to begin with. There's very little directStucky in this, if that's what you were looking for, but what there is has a sweetness that hurts as much as the painful bits do.
Everyone who reads this has a favourite quote, usually something grand and sad and worthy of a literary prize even out of context. We can't help it - that's just what this fic is. I, though, would like to quote a throwaway moment of levity, because when I stumbled across it in context it didn't feel light or insignificant at all. What does it tell you about this fic that I felt that sobbing and flinching my way through nearly 118k words was worth it to finally see:
“Barnes, quit peacocking,” Steve says. “Rogers, quit looking,” Bucky replies. He grins at Steve in the reflection.
“Bone of my bones. Were you taken from my rib? You must have been, or maybe I was made from yours. And God damn, I want it. I want back inside you. I want you now, same as I wanted you before, prettier than hell even with a bloodied nose and split knuckles. Don’t care you were smaller. Liked it, even — same as I like you this way too. You make me hungry. You understand? You make me hungry. That mouth pink like spun sugar, though it doesn’t stop you from talking fit to cut anyone down to bits with your angry words. A spitfire since you learned how to speak, and I’ll tell you something, it’s hell to love a fighter.”