#FORGOT TO ADD it looks like JFK is in the middle of speaking in the second one

[bonnieura]

the kennedys and family pictures at hyannisport ,1963

(left to right) rose kennedy , jacqueline ,patricia ,jack ,lem billings ,steve smith ,ethel skakel ,sargent shriver

[waywardsou2]

SPOILERS FOR BRAVE NEW WORLD

Who's bright idea was it to make Bucky a congressman?

Please tell me who? Because I have a set of knuckles with their name on it

Now I haven't cross referenced this event with the comics so I will be speaking from a purely cinematic position.

But again who fucking through that Bucky would become a fucking congressman.

Now Thunderbolts isn't out yet so we don't know his motives or if it's his choice at all but I have answers for both scenarios.

1. If it is his choice

The person who decided that Bucky should be a congressman clearly didn't take into account Bucky's vigilante nature.

He spent all of Falcon and the Winter Soldier sticking his middle finger in the face of every government official he saw.

He hated the state for giving John the shield and planned to steal it on multiple occassions and ended up stealing it.

All throughout FATWS Bucky was doing lots of self destructive things and at the same time trying to attone for all the mistakes he had made as a winter soldier. A lot of actions he took would not have been approved by the government. But guess what? Bucky didn't give two shits.

He beat the shit out of the new Captain America and more or less spat on his name.

He was still treated like a criminal even with his pardon and as far as we know the state still doesn't trust him given his history despite all the good he has done in recent years.

That's just the present stuff. If we look into the past Bucky went to war for a country that didn't even bother to save him when they knew exactly where he was.

Sure it would have been a dangerous op, but if Steve could rescue an entire battalion on his own I think a decent chunk of that military base could have done something. He was not important enough to be saved. That much was clear.

(this is delving a bit into comic lore) but Bucky is Jewish and not only that but he's the biggest fucking activist you would ever see in his time. For his best friend who was constantly sickly and wanted nothing more than to fight for a country that wasn't really fighting for him.

Bucky spent years of the run after the collapse of SHIELD in DC being hunted like a wild animal whenever he was spotted by the local government of whatever country he was attempting to hide in.

The government is not on his fucking side and I don't see a lot of reasons why he would be.

2. If he isn't doing this again his will

Already this argument doesn't feel really stable because other than having his pardon revoked there isn't really anything anyone could hold over his head. That we know of

But also who would benefit for having Bucky in the government. Even as just a secretary. Why him? If he was chosen, why him?

I can't think of a reason someone else. Let alone why Valentina would want him. I know she was recruiting people but why Bucky. Why make him a congressman. He's got just as much blood on his hands than any of the other Thunderbolts. Yelena and Alexi probably aren't American citizens so there's that. Hardly anyone knows what Ghost or Taskmaster have done. And for a while Bucky was convicted of an immense amount of crimes. So why him?

None of it makes sense to me. I need to check the comic lore but I honestly cannot fathom why he would be a government official let alone a fucking congressman.

Some of this stuff probably touches on head canon territory but it just feels so wrong to me. Please tell me I'm not the only one?

Either way I hate it and I'm fucking mad

Edit: I can in fact confirm that Bucky being a congressman is a new thing. What the fuck Marvel?

Edit pt 2: Another point I forgot to add is the fact that yes, we do and have had crazier people than Bucky Barnes in high positions *cough* TRUMP *cough*. I love Bucky, so damn much but seriously that man killed JFK, he is a war criminal and technically a traitor to the nation. There is no logical or legal way that he could be in any position in government.

[virtueangel]

limitless.

chapter fifteen.

wc: 1,950. original publish date: november 2, 2020. 

"Is it a terrible idea?" Van Gogh mumbles, his cheek against JFK's chest as the taller boy plays with his orange hair. "For us to fall in love?"

Kennedy stops stroking the boy's hair. "Maybe for us, it is."

"But is that going to stop us?"

JFK runs his fingers through Vincent's hair once again, careful around the bandage. "Not necessarily."

A couple of seconds go by before John adds, "Let's fall in love."

Van Gogh sighs, feeling the soft fabric of JFK's t-shirt against his cheek. He closes his eyes, feeling the sun drip through the tree branches and warm up his face. He exhales. "I think that would be okay."

***

JFK and Vincent are walking through the forest, their picnic cleaned up. Kennedy has his arm slipped through the basket handle, and Van Gogh has the blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape. They walk slowly, the babbling river water shimmering in the sunlight next to them.

"This is really nice," JFK comments, giving Vincent a soft wash-over with his gaze.

"It is," Van Gogh agrees, slipping his hand into John's.

"You know what it reminds me of?"

Vincent shakes his head. "No."

Kennedy smiles to himself. "It reminds me of when we were in grade school, and I was super into nature habitats and stuff."

Van Gogh giggles. "God, I totally forgot about that phase. You had, like, three terrariums in your bedroom at any given time."

JFK laughs. "Yeah. And remember I had that pet salamander named Gertrude? But she only lasted for about a week because I didn't know how to take care of her?"

Vincent's elbow knocks John's arm. "God, yeah, I do remember that. You gave her a heart attack or something, right?"

"Yeah. Ponce and I kept trying to pick her up-"

"Oh. I didn't know Ponce was there."

JFK squints down at the shorter boy, trying to assess his emotions. "Yeah... we used to hang out a lot more, remember? We were neighbours, until he got transferred to a different foster family..."

"Oh, yeah, I think I remember you talking about him a couple times before we started middle school... But how come you never hung out with both of us together?"

Kennedy shrugs. "I don't know. I just didn't think you would... mesh well."

Vincent glares at the river and drops the boy's hand. "You didn't think we would mesh well? Why not? Because I'm mentally ill, and he's not?"

"That's not what I said!" John protests, stopping and turning to Van Gogh.

Van Gogh doesn't return the taller boy's gaze. "Because I'm a social reject, and he's popular?"

"You're being ridiculous. You're putting words into my mouth, Van Gogh-"

Vincent's head snaps in JFK's direction. His chocolate brown eyes cut through his chest like lasers. Van Gogh? That's what he's been downgraded to?

He rolls his eyes and puts his hand up. "You know what? Forget it. I'm sorry I ruin all your nice things, all your nice memories. I'm sorry I deplete your social status."

"That's not true..." JFK grumbles.

Van Gogh shakes his head. "You don't need to spare me. Isn't this what it's all about? What dating is all about? Finding our true selves, together? I know that's why you don't hang out with me at school. Because I'm like the plague for your social status. It's okay, I guess. I just don't like being your charity work. I'm sorry I took away your time with Cleopatra-"

"This isn't about Cleopatra!" Kennedy yells. He drops the picnic basket, which lands with a clang on the grass as the plastic cups fall over. "God, none of this is about Cleopatra." He steps towards Van Gogh, and makes a grasp for the boy's hand. Vincent pulls his hand away before their skin can make contact.

"Don't you understand, Vincent? Don't you understand that all of this has been about you?"

Van Gogh shakes his head. "I have no idea what you're trying to say."

"I'm trying to say that all of this fuss over my romantic life has been about you. I don't date, but I date you. Don't you see the difference? It's you. You're special."

The corner of Vincent's mouth twitches. "So why'd you call me Van Gogh?"

JFK blinks, taken aback. "What?"

Van Gogh turns towards the boy impatiently. His arms are folded across his chest defensively. "You called me Van Gogh. Not Vincent."

"You call me JFK."

"Yes, but that's a nickname. I don't call you Kennedy, because that's a last name. Van Gogh is a last name."

John swallows, realising his unintentional mistake. "I'm sorry, Minivan-"

"I hate it when you call me that, too."

"So, what, I can't call you pet names?"

Vincent tries to suppress the grin erupting across his face, but he fails miserably. "I didn't say that."

"Okay, so what am I allowed to call you?"

"'Darling' does just fine."

JFK slides his arm through the handle of the picnic basket again, and the two start walking. Van Gogh doesn't reach for Kennedy's hand.

"Doesn't the water look pretty?" JFK asks, trying to cut through the tension in the air.

Vincent looks to the water. Rays of white sun bounce back into his eyes. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Wanna go wading?"

Van Gogh thinks over the offer before answering. "Okay. But don't you dare push me in."

Kennedy grins, and his Colgate teeth are blinding. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Vincent rolls his eyes at the boy, but can't help the upturn of his lips.

Van Gogh ventures down to the riverbank, and sits to untie his shoes. He peels off his socks, and rolls up his jeans before wading into the stream. The water is cold against his skin, but refreshing. The bottom is rocky, so he has to be careful where he steps. He wades in deep enough so that the water is just below the cuffs of his jeans.

"John!" He calls. "You have to come in, it feels so good!"

"One sec," JFK calls back. His voice sounds far away, but Vincent doesn't turn around to check on his whereabouts. A couple seconds later, he hears the boy's shoes on the grass behind him.

"Close your eyes," Kennedy instructs the boy. Vincent obeys.

"Okay, now turn around."

"John, I'm going to slip!" Vincent protests. "There's algae growing on these rocks!"

Van Gogh hears shuffling, but doesn't open his eyes. "Okay, you can open your eyes to turn around and then you have to close them again. Actually, take a couple steps closer to me. Closer to the bank."

Vincent follows the boy's instructions.

"Hold out your hands."

"I swear to god, JFK, if you drop some mud into my hands right now-"

Van Gogh can hear the boy's grin. "I'm not giving you mud! Just, please put your hands out."

Vincent lets out an exasperated sigh. If his eyes were open, he'd be rolling them. Still, he bends his arms at the elbows and opens his palms, facing them up to the April sky. JFK places something on his hands, and it's lighter than he would've expected. It feels just the slightest bit prickly.

"Okay, open your eyes."

In his hands, Vincent is holding a thick-stalked sunflower. It's a pale but healthy green colour, and the petals are as vibrantly yellow as ever. He closes his hands around the stem, pulling it close to him and holding it to his chest. He looks away, hiding his overly-enthusiastic smile from JFK. When he looks back at the boy, Vincent can see that he's grinning, too.

"You got this for me, just now?"

Kennedy nods in affirmation.

"You just wanted me to play in the river so you could surprise me, didn't you?"

JFK nods again.

Vincent speaks down to the flower. "It's lovely."

"Like you."

"It's brilliant."

"Like me."

Van Gogh grins, and looks up at JFK. "Thank you," is all he says.

Kennedy had been expecting a kiss, but instead he replies, "You're welcome."

***

"Are you still mad about Ponce?" JFK asks once they're in the car. Van Gogh is cuddled up in the passenger seat, his knees pulled up to his chest, creating a cage for the sunflower.

Van Gogh swallows, hesitating. "I don't know if 'mad' is the word."

"Okay, so what is the word?"

Vincent goes silent again, and Kennedy is ready to drop the conversation. Why had he even brought it up in the first place?

"I thought we weren't going to use our phones on this trip."

"We never made that agreement."

Vincent twists in his seat, the sunflower still safely nestled in the crevice of his bent knees, hands still wrapped around the stalk defensively. "Can we make it now?"

"I don't see what the problem is, Vincent. You can talk to other people too, you know."

Van Gogh goes silent for a second. "Don't you see the problem with that statement, John?" He says, his voice dangerously quiet. "I don't have anyone else. It's you and me. Or, really, me and you."

JFK swallows, his jaw tight with tension. "Well, maybe it's time you get someone else."

"What the hell does that mean?"

Kennedy curses in his head. He hadn't meant it. He would never mean something like that when it comes to Van Gogh. "Nothing, it means nothing. Sorry."

"I don't want anyone else, JFK," Vincent whispers, staring out the window. The highway rushes by before his eyes, the greys of the road and the whites of the sky blurring together until he can't tell them apart. "I just want you," he swallows. "Don't you see that you're enough for me?"

Kennedy's hands tighten against the steering wheel. His grip is so violent that he has to readjust his hand positions. He opens his mouth to speak, closes it, opens it again. "Ponce is just someone I help with homework."

"Not even a friend?"

JFK shakes his head. Slowly at first, unsure. "No, not even a friend."

Van Gogh takes a deep breath. "I know I can't ask you to stop talking to him..."

"No, you can't."

Vincent doesn't finish his thought. There's nothing else to say. You're not a crazy boyfriend, Vincent. Don't do crazy boyfriend things.

"I think there's something wrong with me," he whispers.

JFK's face falls, and his heart sinks. "Something... wrong? With you?"

Van Gogh nods without looking at the boy in the driver's seat. "I just..." He swallows. "I get so... angry, sometimes. I can feel it coursing through my body. I get really worked up, and then my muscles just get really tired all of a sudden. I can't stand and I can't eat. I can't do anything, really. It's like... all of my energy, all of me, is wasted into this void of anger."

"How come?"

Vincent shakes his head and whispers, "Fuck if I know."

"Are you angry now?"

"I'm past the point of anger."

JFK gives Vincent a quick glance in the rearview mirror before taking a hand off the steering wheel and extending it to the boy. "Take my hand," he says.

Van Gogh's eyes dart between John's hand and his face. His expression curls into that of confusion, his eyes widening and his mouth turning down. Eventually, he slips one hand off of the sunflower and rests it in Kennedy's. He interlaces their fingers and squeezes Vincent's hand. Van Gogh squeezes back before relaxing his hand again. He grips the sunflower in his other hand, and doesn't stop squeezing until he can feel the life being strangled out of the plant. He lets go, the flower resting limply against his bent knees.