Author's Note: Making this for SouthSideStory's amazing fic was pure pleasure - we simply clicked, the first song I sent her was the one I ended up using, and I also ended up making a gif set with an epitaph she used. The vid is not so much a trailer as an attempt to show all the ways in which reading this story touched me (spoiler warning!). I hope I succeeded!
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Music: Ramin Djawadi - Paint It, Black (edited by me, full length on the Westworld OST)
Download .zip (121mb, .mp4 + .srt)
Voiceovers + text plates:
- It's me, it's Steve.
- Steve!
It used to bother Bucky, that the friend he considered a brother didn't see him the same way.
- I'm invisible, I'm turning into you.
Now Bucky couldn't care less how Steve loves him, as long as it means that Steve loves him most.
It's overwhelming pleasure, too pure to think through, exactly what he's been wanting most:
to lose himself.
Sometimes he thinks about the blood on his hands, and it disturbs him, how little remorse he feels.
At the heart of the storm, Bucky finds his own center.
Bucky's going to take his Colt, put it to his head, and pull the trigger.
Then he looks at Steve, his beautiful face twisted with pure fear, and Bucky knows that he can't leave him behind.
- The man on the bridge.
- Bucky?
- I knew him.
I don't remember loving him. I must have, though. I must have.
Together we understood what terror was: you’re not human anymore. You’re a shadow. You slip out of your own skin, like molting, shedding your own history and your own future, leaving behind everything you ever were or wanted to believe in. You know you’re about to die. And it’s not a movie and you aren’t a hero and all you can do is whimper and wait.
Source: The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien
