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#1930s bucky
elkleggs · 10 months
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frost-queen · 6 months
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Shameless (Reader x James 'Bucky' Barnes)
Requested by: @vviolynn,Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22 @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne
Summary: [Set in the 1930's academy life] Bucky and you have known each other for years but always end up in physical fights with him till your best friend points out that she thinks you like each other, changing your entire perspective. A classic enemies to lovers romance.
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Heavy rain clattered on the stone buildings of the academy. Standing under the archway you tried to look if it would rain for any longer. School books clutched to your chest. A girl beside you was tripling impatient. You looked over your shoulder feeling a hand on your shoulder. A boy in uniform gave your shoulder a gentle push to squeeze himself between you and the impatient girl. He didn’t hesitate running into the rain. His friend following him close by.
Water splashed up from the puddles they ran in. Shouting a bit in displeasing to reach across the open courtyard to get to the other building. The academy was a beautiful historical artifact. Several buildings scattered around. Some connecting others not. An open courtyard in between the different entrances. Water droplets falling hard in the fountain.
The impatient girl became more impatient. Tripling in place as if she needed to go desperately to the bathroom. – “Ohh.” – she cried out hesitant if she should use her books to keep her neatly tied hair together. You held your hand out to feel how hard the rain was coming down. From behind you, you heard more footsteps. Rushed as they echoed off the stone walls. Before you knew it, you got pushed. Stumbling into the open rain, getting wet in the matter of seconds. Hearing him laugh loud, you turned round with a sour face.
“James!” – you called out clenching your hand. James ‘Bucky’ Barnes was laughing so hard his back arched a bit. Glaring at him, you stomped firm towards him. He was still laughing when you grabbed him by his tie. Pulling hard at it, he gulped when you nearly choked him. You dragged him into the rain with you. He sighed loud as the rain fell down on him. Opening his arms he looked at his uniform getting wet. – “That is what you get Barnes!” – you scolded as you were soaking wet already.
He clenched his jaw, glaring furious at you. – “You were going to get wet anyways.” – he replied mockingly to downsize you. As a result you slapped his hat off his head. His hat fell in a puddle. – “So were you!” – you responded not backing down. Bucky stared with wide eyes at his hat that was slowly getting wetter by the second he left it untouched. He picked the hat up in anger. You yelped when he grabbed you by the back of your neck, squeezing it. – “You are so going to pay for this!” – he said dragging you across the courtyard in the rain.
“Bucky let me go!” – you called out swaying your arms around. – “Do you have any idea how much this hat costed?” – he said loud, hinting to his formal school wear. One would resemble the uniforms you wore for war attire. Plain colors of brown and a dark forest green. The boys wearing a suit with a hat. The girls a forest green skirt with a white blouse, long socks, and black shiny shoes.
“Bucky let me go!” – you repeated as he still had you in a tight grip, dragging you through the rain. Having enough you stomped on his foot. Bucky immediately let go of you, hopping on one foot in pain. Seeing your chance you took off, but not before scooping up some water from the water fountain near you. Splashing the water in his face. Bucky got surprised, sighing so overly done with you. He started chasing you wanting to get his revenge. This was how it always was with Bucky and you.
For a few years now. The two of you always ended up in a physical fight for whatever reason. Always toying and taunting each other. You screamed loud when Bucky came chasing you. Running around benches and zigzagging to avoid getting caught by him. Someone whistled loud making Bucky stop. – “Buck! Hurry up. Class!” – one of his friends called out waving. Bucky groaned loud. – “This isn’t over Y/n!” – he shouted. You waved flirty at Bucky to tease him just that little bit more. Knowing how much you were toying with him that he couldn’t get you.
Bucky backed away, jogging over to his friend. The two of them ran through the puddles to one of the buildings. You ran to the other side as boys and girls were still separated. It was already a luck boys and girls were allowed to attend the same academy. You spurted inside glad to be out of the rain. You kept running in the hallways knowing you had lost a lot of time arguing and toying with Bucky.
Some girls were running as well trying to make it to class in time. Out of breath you rounded a corner seeing a swarm of girls waiting outside the classroom. Your friend waving you over. You slowed down panting to reach her. She took a tentative eye on you. – “You are soaking wet.” – she commented. – “Didn’t you run?” – she asked further. She was wet as well, but not as drenched as you. – “James.” – you breathed out letting her know enough.
“Are you guys still at it?” – she groaned rolling with her eyes. – “He pushed me in the rain.” – you said to justify your actions. She sighed once more, touching her forehead. – “You two are such children.” – she said lowly with a dismissive shake of her head. – “He’s the bigger child.” – you whispered to her when you heard a pair of heels click loudly against the stone floor. All the girls lined up by pair as the teacher walked past. She opened the door walking in first till you all went in. Ready for class to begin.
You sighed loud seeing it was still raining. – “What a grim day.” – you spoke holding your hand out to let the rain fall between your fingers. – “We still have to face it.” – your friend replied. You nudged her before running into the rain across the courtyard to head to the other building. She followed with a smile, catching up with you. The two of you ran as fast as you could. Water splashing up from the puddles you stepped in. Reaching the other side started both of you to laugh loud.
Brushing some droplets off your uniform, you followed her to the benches underneath the arched-way corridor that connected two buildings. At one of them were some boys sitting. They whistled loud for your attention when you walked past. – “Don’t be desperate John.” – Your friend called out with a smile. The boy grabbed his for his chest. – “Oh Carol you break my heart.” – he responded playfully. She laughed loud as they running over.
John threw his arm over Carol’s shoulder as David did over yours. Carol moved her shoulder, brushing his arm off her. – “Manners John.” – she said teasingly as you did the same. – “Oh Carol give my heart a break.” – he answered stabbing himself in the heart, falling a bit behind. Carol giggled loud. The boys followed Carol and you inside. You rounded the corner coming face to face with Steve. It startled him a bit as you noticed he was holding his hand by the wrist.
Steve smiled sheepishly. – “I’ve cut myself Y/n.” – he said nervously. You took his wrist, moving his cut finger closer to you. – “Do you perhaps have any bandages for me?” – he asked. You nodded pulling him back inside with you by his wrist. The other boys and Carol still following. You entered the dining room. Long tables lined up to have over two hundred students seated for diner. You sat yourself down on one of the long benches, sitting Steve beside you. Carol came sitting on the other side of you. 
John hovering over her as he had set his hands on the table in front of her. His two friends sitting across. – “What would you boys do without us girls.” – you said reaching in the pocket of your skirt. You took out a bandage pulling Steve’s finger closer to you. Beside you was Carol nudging John to give her some more space. John wouldn’t stop hovering over her as you were used by it now. The boys were always hanging around you girls since they knew how tentative you were to them.
Specially with those medical lessons you got. You blew gently on Steve’s cut seeing him get bashful. You then wrapped the bandage around his finger. – “You need a kiss on that Steve?” – Paul outed leaning with his hand against his jaw. Steve shot him a glare, kicking him underneath the table. Paul grunted flinching forwards avoiding a major hit against his knee. – “I’ve cut myself too Carol. I need a kiss as well.” – John said coming to sit beside her. He puckered up his lips as Carol punched him in the armpit.
“Jealous Paul?” -  you commented still holding Steve’s finger. Then out of the blue you got hit across the head with some papers. It made you immediately let go of Steve’s hand. Rubbing the back of your head you looked behind you to see who it was. Bucky was glaring seemingly to Steve when he noticed you staring, he started smirking. – “You still owed that Y/n.” – he answered with a mockingly smile. Bucky forced his way between Steve and you wanting to sit down. You rolled with your eyes as Steve scooted over. Bucky smiled grinningly at Steve before turning his posture to face you.
“My hat is ruined Y/n.” – he said coming to rest his chin on his knuckles. You pouted your lips mockingly. – “Poor Buck.” – you said sarcastically slapping his hand from underneath his chin. Bucky nearly lost his balance as some of the boys snorted loud. He grabbed you firmly by the chin, staring into your eyes with a hard stare. You stared right back at him, not backing down. Carol observed you closely, specially Bucky. – “You owe me a new hat Y/n. I’ll accept whatever payment you give me.” – he said smirking. – “Bite me.” – you responded as Bucky inhaled sharp through his nose.
The tension between your stare shooting through the roof. – “Alright, alright knock it off you two before we need more medical attention.” – John called out breaking it off. Bucky let go of your chin. You turned away from him. Bucky swallowed softly becoming aware of something. Carol kept a close eye on him, seeing the change in his eyes. The soft longing as it made her smile knowingly. – “Where are your manners Buck. Y/n is a girl.” – Paul said. Bucky smiled licking his upper lip briefly. – “She is an exception.” – he answered setting his elbows on the table to lean closer. He then glanced to the side, eying you. You wouldn’t give it any attention knowing how much it would stroke his ego.
Carol nudged you as you got up with her. – “Already leaving ladies?” – John asked. Carol hummed loud. Carol locked her arm with yours with a giggle. You let her pull you with her leaving the boys behind. Not only five seconds later got Bucky up, taking his leave as well. Carol lead you back outside standing under the arched-way ceiling of the corridor that connected this building to the next. – “Why are you smiling?” – you asked her confused.
She pressed her lips together making you even more curious. – “What? Is it about Steve?” – you asked seeing her shake her head. – “James.” – she laughed out. – “Buck? What about him?” – you answered confused. Carol came to a stop coming to stand before you. – “It is so obvious.” – she said making you quirk your brow up. – “What is?” – you replied unable to follow her thought train. Carol smiled sneakily as you demanded answers.
“What is?” – you called out. – “He likes you silly.” – she answered as your eyes widened. – “No he doesn’t.” – you snapped back in defense. Carol hummed loud. – “He so does Y/n you just don’t see it.” – she explained further. – “Why do you think he always taunts you?” – she asked. – “Cause he hates me?” – you answered wary. Carol shook her head. – “Cause he likes you Y/n! If he hated you, you’d be in the infirmary 24/7 but you never are. Sure you two get physical but never till someone is bleeding.”
Furrowing your brows you tried to follow her. – “I just saw the way he looked at you. Y/n I am telling you that man can’t breath without you.” – Carol exposed. – “And you feel the same way.” – she added as you took a step back into the rain. The rain sweetening your face as you were too stunned to even be bothered by it. Carol quirked her eyebrow up. – “Are you getting out of the rain?” – she asked seeing how stiff you stood. Getting soaking wet once more. – “Y/n!” – Carol turned her head seeing Steve rush over. – “Are you trying to catch a cold?” – he said worriedly, grabbing you by the wrist, pulling you back under the arched ceiling.
Carol turned her head seeing Bucky stand still at the end of the corridor. One hand in his pocket, staring at Steve worrying over you. – “three, two one…” – she whispered matching the exact pace Bucky got in motion. Heading your way. He grabbed your wrist pulling your arm upwards. – “I still expect payment for my hat Y/n.” – he said keeping his eyes on you. You slowly turned your head to look at him. You couldn’t even fight back.
Something inside of you had snapped, looking differently at him. Looking back at Carol you saw her nod and motion with her head. You wanted to test her theory out. You looked at Steve with a smile. – “I’ll keep good care of my health.” – you said feeling Bucky pull your arm more back. – “Did you hear me Y/l/n?” – he called out.
“I did James.” -  you answered pulling your arm down as it broke free from his grip. Bucky started to smile tauntingly. – “Good girl.” – he said patting you on the head. It annoyed you making you slap his hand off you. Bucky whistled loud snapping with his finger for Steve to follow him. Steve said goodbye to you before going after Bucky.
You watched them head towards their dorms as Carol came standing beside you. – “Told you. He is smitten with you, so smitten his jealousy became so clear.” – she told you with a smirk. Following Carol back, you couldn’t stop thinking about what she said. It was as if your gut got pulled out, twisted around, and put back. Everything felt out of sorts. You couldn’t even think properly off Bucky without feeling those darn butterflies tickle your insides.
You wanted to scream your lungs out. Everything felt wrong. The more you thought about him, the more your heart started yearning for him. In class you couldn’t keep your focus. Pricking yourself a few times in the finger while sewing. A good quality any lady should posses no matter the use for it. Carol had noticed how unfocused you were trying to get you to focus once more.
The rain had finally stopped when you walked back out after three more classes. You were walking alone as you noticed Bucky leaning against a wall. The moment you walked past he removed himself from against the wall, joining your side. He took you by the wrist, dragging you closer to the wall. Your back hit the wall as he came standing before you. – “You still owe me.” – he said eyeing you. You noticed he was wearing his hat again.
“Your hat seems fine.” – you commented with a teasing smile. Bucky chuckled. – “I still expect payment Y/n. So what will you pay me?” – he asked coming a bit closer. – “This.” – flapped out of your mouth before you even thought properly. Removing yourself from against the wall you stepped up to him. Grabbing him by his uniform, pulling him a bit down. Bucky gulped nervously when you looked at him with those eyes.
You tipped his hat off with a flick of your finger. Bucky glared but before he could do anything else had you kissed him. Bucky’s eyes widened slowly closing as he surrendered to you. His hands lowering on you, pressing gently onto your lower back. You felt him press you deeper against him, intensifying the kiss. He smiled against your lips slowly pulling away. – “How shameful of you Y/n.” – he whispered. – “Shut it Bucky.” – you said back kissing him again.
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16woodsequ · 4 months
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I was looking up tenement buildings for Steve research (because that's what I do in my spare time) and I found a picture of a New York synagogue and it got me thinking about Bucky and the synagogues he might’ve gone to, and anyway I just wanted to share
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1934 Synagogue; Workers Unemployed Union Local 18, from New York Public Library Archieves
Unfortunately it doesn't say what part of New York this picture was taken in.
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stevesbigbazoxngas · 2 years
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I'm a little miffed by the way that people in the fandom tend to be all "Oh poor Bucky" about STEVES disabilities?? As if it's Bucky who's primarily affected by Steve being chronically ill. Not Steve himself, Bucky.
It's Bucky that people always write as the hard worker, slaving away to buy Steve his medicine and keep a roof over his head and clothes on his back, as if Steve wouldn't have most definitely had multiple jobs to provide for his Mother and be her main caretaker considering he probably wouldn't have been able to afford hospice for her? As if Steve isn't the one experiencing the pain of having chronic conditions at all, with limited resources to begin with, and having to turn to a healthcare system that most likely either not help, or wouldn't have the resources to help him, living in a time where eugenics was at it's height in America, as if he wouldn't be the one at risk of violence due to being from an irish immigrant background and chronically ill in early 1900s America?
Like, theres nothing wrong with writing Bucky as someone who wants to help provide for Steve, but like, don't act like Steve had to depend on him for EVERYTHING. Because he absolutely didn't, and saying that reeks of ableism to me. He helped Steve out when he needed it, and Steve accepted that help, but he wasn't completely dependent on Bucky to do everything for him.
It just always FUCKS with me when people take Steves autonomy or only mention Steves ailments in relation to Bucky. Idk, it just rubs me the wrong way. Please stop infantilizing pre-serum Steve.
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cherrygh0sted · 2 years
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playlist
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going out dancing with bucky barnes
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I wrote my very first story on Ao3 and I’m sharing it here with the request that you please please please be nice if you’re going to say something because I’m about 90% nerves right now.
Just Being
12,296 words. Tags: Intrusive thoughts, Awesome Sarah Rogers, Steve Rogers’ Nervous Troubles, Protective Bucky Barnes, Hurt Bucky Barnes, 1930s, internalized homophobia, coming out, boys in love.
Summary: Sixteen year old Steve isn’t expecting to find Bucky in the kitchen one night, battered and bruised and being cleaned up by his Ma when she’s supposed to be at work. His mind spins with panic and he wishes he could understand why the world can be so cruel. The boys talk and Steve realizes his worst fear might actually be something he doesn’t need to fear at all.
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ghostsandmirrors · 1 year
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Thoughts: When within a mile of your Soul Mate you start hearing their thoughts. (From Steve)
He'd been walking home after work in the chilled winds, head down and hands in his pockets, and now he was hurriedly moving through Brooklyn in an attempt at finding the stupid idiot called Steve Rogers. Things had been fine until the thoughts kicked in. He'd hoped thinking 'don't fuckin' do it' would have stopped Steve doing anything, but he had a distinct feeling that it hadn't. It never had in the past, so he wouldn't have been surprised, but that didn't stop him wishing and hoping even if it'd likely never happen.
In truth, he almost marched right past when he did finally find Steve. It took him a moment to pause and turn around.
"Again, Steven?" he asked hotly, admittedly a little too irritated by it and he knew it wasn't all him; that wasn't how this all worked. "Did you even hesitate gettin' your ass kicked? Or just run in like it was nothin'?" Maybe Bucky was determined to not give Steve peace for as long as he didn't get any. Maybe. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he knew that was what he was doing. Intentionally or not, he wasn't sure.
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duchessonfire · 2 years
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I just found out that cartoonist Charles Addams published his first Addams Family cartoon in The New Yorker in 1938 so it's technically canon for Steve to imitate his macabre style by drawing the Addams family. And yes, in my head he would 100% draw himself and Bucky as Gomez and Morticia.
Now I need Captain America/Addams Family crossover content. Thank you.
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kitchaosdoodle · 2 years
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Current WIP line art-
I’ve accepted my fate so it’s another @spitandvinegar fanart piece, featuring baby Brooklyn Stucky.
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elkleggs · 2 years
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“Happy birthday, pal.”
So what if all Steve wanted for his sweet sixteen was his first kiss. It’s 1934, the first Fourth of July since the end of prohibition. Maybe it’s the whiskey made him bold enough to tell Bucky his birthday wish. Maybe it’s made Bucky bold enough to grant it for him, because he knows how to kiss real good, up on the rooftop, when all anyone else is looking at is the fireworks.
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valeskafics · 3 days
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"Over The Rainbow" - Gale Cleven x Reader
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a/n: my first time writing for buck! i hope y'all enjoy this!! 🩷
Summary: Thirteen years ago, Gale Cleven ran from you when you tried to kiss him. He doesn't intend on making that mistake twice.
TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, loss of virginity, fingering, oral f receiving, p in v sex, unprotected sex, ww2
Word Count: 3,000
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Masters of the Air characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷
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Gale remembers the last time he saw you vividly. You bounded up to him, a homemade valentine in your hands, grinning that chipped-tooth smile of yours, your two braids flying behind you. You shoved the paper into his hand and he looked between it and you, confused for a moment before reading its contents. There, on the paper, was a poorly drawn picture of a bee. And under it, the words “Bee mine, Gale?” Of course, the entire schoolyard was full of kids, teasing the two of you as you leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. And even though every fiber in him screamed to lean in and let you, he pulled away and ran, the sounds of the other kids' laughter ringing in his ears.
Casper, Wyoming was the kind of town where everybody knew everybody, with a population of just over fifteen thousand people. From the butcher to the seamstress to everyone who lived within a fifteen mile radius. How was he supposed to just kiss you like it didn’t mean anything? His friends would’ve mocked him ceaselessly. Hell, he might’ve even gotten beaten up, come Monday! So, he stayed inside all weekend, save for church on Sunday, praying that by the time Monday rolled around, everyone would’ve forgotten the almost kiss.
Valentines’ Day was on a Friday that year. 1930. And by Monday? You were gone. Everyone always said if anyone was going to make it out of Casper, it would be you. Every talent show, you were up there, singing your little heart out. Acting in every play. Though Gale would tease you and tug on your braids, he knew that you had what it took to be a star. He was ready to give you that kiss Monday at school, only to learn that your family had moved to California. That you’d gotten a part in some traveling vaudeville group, singing with that voice of yours. By 1935? You’d gotten your big Hollywood debut, starring as Cosette in ‘Les Miserables’. But it wasn’t until 1939 that you became a star, your role as Dorothy Gale cementing your status as the starlet to watch going into the 40s.
He’d deny it till he turned blue in the face, but he cried watching you sing ‘Over the Rainbow’, that gorgeous voice of yours like honey in his ears. Gale went to the picturehouse ten times to see that film, spending every bit of spare change he had to watch your face light up that screen. His friends all teased him, reminding him that the pretty girl up there playing a character whose last name was the same as his first tried to kiss him all those years ago, and he ran. He was a scared little boy and he ran.
Only Bucky knows about all of this. He’s the only one Gale ever trusted enough to tell. So, when he sees that you are doing a tour with the USO, the Foxhole Circuit, to be exact. Meaning you’d be performing in England soon enough. Bucky knows it’ll take a miracle to drag his friend along to a USO show. He’s not one for that sort of thing. But, he vows to make it happen.
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Gale does his best not to smack Bucky across the back of the head for dragging him out to this show, but all the boys seemed fairly excited. So, he decides to be quiet and do this small favor for them, getting himself a bottle of pop and settling in with the others to enjoy the show. The lights go up and he listens as the crowd begins to cheer enthusiastically for whoever it is that is about to appear onstage. He leans in to ask Bucky who it is, out of curiosity, but his friend merely shushes him, turning his face back toward the front. The curtains go up and there you are. It’s as though all the air has been stolen from his lungs as he watches you wave to the crowd, that million dollar smile on your face as you make your way to the microphone. Some people say that actresses look different on screen than in real life. He agrees. On screen, you look beautiful. In real life? You look like nothing short of a goddess.
“Good evening, gentlemen, and thank you for the warm welcome. Before anything, I wanted to thank each and every one of you for your service. The people of America owe you our thanks and gratitude for the bravery you show here, so far from home.” Damn. Your voice is so beautiful that it nearly has him swooning, and your words are the sweetest he’s ever heard. You introduce yourself by name, “Some of you may know me from a couple of films I’ve been in.” Still so humble. Still with that little twang to your voice. God… The memories of your shared childhood come flooding back to him like a tidal wave, chasing after the girl in her dirty overalls, hair in two braids, the booming sound of your laugh coming from such a tiny little body. And hearing you now is like a warm blanket on a cold Casper night. It’s like coming home. “I was in a picture called ‘The Wizard of Oz’ a few years back that some of y’all may have seen. I’ll be singing a song from that. This is ‘Over the Rainbow’. I hope that this can serve as a little piece of home for you and remind you that when this is over, your loved ones will be waiting for you back home.”
The room goes deathly silent, everyone present holding their breath as you begin to croon so sweetly into the microphone. Gale feels the goofiest, dopiest smile spreading across his face, a blush coming to his cheeks as he stares up at you, awestruck. He remembers watching you sing this on screen, wondering if he’d ever see that girl with the chipped tooth from down the road again. And here you are, with that dulcet voice.
“Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high
There’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby
Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true.”
Gale is completely enraptured by you. His best friend bites back a smile, patting him on the back, though he barely even notices, too busy gazing at you. Every note that falls from your lips, the way your eyelashes flutter as you lose yourself in the song. Hell, he’s pretty sure he can feel his eyes tearing up.
“Someday I’ll wish upon a star and wake up where the clouds are far behind me
Where troubles melt like lemon drops away above the chimney tops, that’s where you’ll find me
Somewhere over the rainbow, bluebirds fly
Birds fly over the rainbow, why then, oh, why, can’t I?”
Gale jumps to his feet, clapping louder than anyone present, taking a moment to appreciate the beautiful woman you’ve grown into. He sees the way you smile out at the crowd, the way you take a bow. And it’s that same spirit as when you used to win every talent show back in school. You’re older now, more comfortable in your skin. But it’s you. It’s unmistakably you. And he can hardly believe his luck. It’s like a star has fallen from the heavens right onto his front doorstep.
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Gale waits for you to finish speaking with some of the higher-ranking officers present before approaching you. He feels like that little boy again, palms sweating as he removes his hat, clearing his throat. He never expected to see you again. Not like this. Not looking so gorgeous and radiant. Colonel Huglin nods at him as he approaches, introducing Gale to you as “Major Cleven” as you extend your hand. Your lips part in surprise, eyes lighting up in recognition.
“Gale? That can’t be you.”
He smiles at you, taking your hand in his, the feeling of your soft, smooth palm almost enough to make him faint as he speaks softly, “I could say the same about you.”
You laugh, that same booming laugh from all those years ago that could fill a room, gesturing to your tooth, “Yeah, Daddy was finally able to afford to get it fixed.”
Gale chuckles, admiring that grin of yours, unable to help noticing the way the men around you eye you up and down. Like you’re less of a woman and more like a piece of meat. He feels a flare of possessiveness, jealousy inside him and takes a step closer to you.
“Look at you,” he remarks, “All grown up now.”
“You too,” you say softly, “The uniform suits you, Major Cleven.”
“Your new clothes suit you too,” he teases, “Though I guess I can’t be calling you ‘little menace’ anymore, can I? You’re not that little girl from Casper anymore.”
You slap his chest playfully, making him laugh even harder, “How dare you, Major Cleven? I’ll have you know they had the top accent coaches try to train the accent outta me. But you can take the girl out of Wyoming, you can’t take Wyoming out of the girl.”
“Well, thank goodness for that,” he drawls, that familiar accent the two of you share serving as a comfort to you both, “You’re still  that stubborn little girl I knew back when I was thirteen, huh?”
“I am indeed,” you pause before bumping your shoulder against his, the two of you entirely oblivious to the chatter around you, “And you’re still that same boy who ran away when I tried to kiss him on Valentine’s Day.”
Gale’s cheeks flush bright pink as he scratches his cheek, averting his gaze, “Hey, now. That was a long time ago. I was thirteen, what’d you expect my reaction to be?” Gale tries to play the whole thing off as if it isn’t something he’s spent the last thirteen years of his life kicking himself for.
“I’m only teasing,” you grin, “I know you were just a shy boy.”
“Oh, more than shy, I was completely petrified!” Gale admits, remembering the way he stumbled backward, tail between his legs and exited the scene, “I kicked myself for weeks afterwards. You moved away so soon after that and if I’d known…” He trails off wistfully, “I didn’t fully understand what a crush was yet. I had one on you, even though I didn’t realize it till the weekend was over and you were gone.”
“Well, that was the past, right?” You reply calmly, giving him a gentle smile that makes his heart skip a beat, that makes him want nothing more than to lean in and kiss you, right here and now, “How are things with you now? You got a girl waiting on you back home?”
“Things are fine… No girl to speak of,” he says, biting his lower lip before meeting your gaze again. He’s back there, thirteen years ago, standing in front of the girl he wants to kiss but too nervous to speak, “What about you? Never heard anything in the papers about a boyfriend or anything.”
“Naw, nothing like that,” you affirm, “I’m not trying to get hitched anytime soon. After all,” you give him a mischievous smirk, “The last time I tried to kiss someone, he ran away crying!”
Gale runs a hand over his face, the two of you bursting into laughter, his face turning a slightly darker shade of red, “I was young and shy and stupid. I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Young, yes. Shy, yes. An idiot? No way.”
He looks into your eyes, his heart filled with so much affection that he thinks it might burst, “Well, I definitely feel like one. Knowing what I should’ve done back then… I feel like an idiot for missing that chance.”
“Maybe you didn’t miss it,” comes your soft reply in that sweet voice of yours as you gaze up at him through your lashes, “Maybe you just had to wait for it to come round again.”
The thought of having another chance with you gives him hope like he’s never felt before. He glances away from you before looking back, a smile playing on his lips.
“You saying you’ve kept a torch for me?”
“Hold on now,” you protest, “I never said anything of the sort!”
“Well, maybe you should,” Gale counters, taking a step closer to you.
One step closer. And if you want him, truly want him, you’ll reciprocate. Which you do within mere seconds, grinning up at him.
“Maybe I should. Care to walk me back to my inn?”
“It would be my absolute pleasure, beautiful.”
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To your credit - and Gale’s - you manage to keep your hands off each other until you get to your room at the inn. The air is charged between the two of you as he walks you to your door, a longing gaze being shared between you as he bids you goodnight and your door begins to close. No later than one second after it shuts, you hear a knocking.
And when you open it, Gale stands there, his cheeks still flushed as he mumbles, “This is me taking the chance that’s come round again.”
And after thirteen years of pining on both your ends, of dreaming of what could be, your lips meet in a searing, passionate kiss. Your arms wrap around him as the two of you move back toward the bed. His body is on top of you, each of you eagerly tearing away at each other’s clothes, wanting nothing more than to feel the other’s bare skin against your own.
Gale’s lips are hungry against yours, and yet, so soft and so gentle, his fingers tracing your sensitive folds once the two of you are bare, nibbling at your bottom lip as he pushes two long digits inside of you. You gasp softly against him as he buries his fingers knuckle deep inside you, moving them in a hooked motion, the pads of his fingers rubbing against spots deep inside of you that you didn’t know existed. The moment is so intimate as you gaze into his eyes, your own hazy with pleasure, cries of his name falling from your lips over and over, your nails raking along the pale skin of his back, leaving angry red marks in their wake as you soak his fingers.
He moves back, his lips moving to your neck, down to your chest, your lower and lower until he reaches the apex between your thighs. Those soft, baby blue eyes of his meet yours, his lips parted in a silent question. You give him a short nod, allowing him to gently nudge your knees apart. Gale licks his lips at the sight of how wet you are for him, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh before moving to your core. You gasp, your hands twisting in his hair as he slowly pushes his tongue inside you, the pleasure it brings you almost too much to bear. Gale seems to sense how much you’re enjoying this and lets out a small chuckle before moving his tongue faster and faster, giving broad strokes against your sensitive flesh, making you whine pitifully. Your hips buck up against his as he flattens his tongue against your swollen pearl, making tears prick at the corner of your eyes, your second peak overwhelming you as you swear you feel your soul leave your body, if only for a moment.
Gale seems hesitant to go further, but you pull him back, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as you whisper, “I could lose you tomorrow. Forever. I won’t regret giving myself to you tonight. Not when I’ve waited this long.”
“You’re sure?” He whispers back hoarsely, barely able to hold himself back at the plea in your words.
“I’m sure, Gale. I love you.”
Gale smiles, joining his body with yours, slowly pushing inside you, taking care not to cause you any pain as he bottoms out with a low moan of your name, “I love you too.”
He starts off slow, hesitant, as if he’s afraid to hurt you. But you? You wrap your arms, your legs around him, pleading for him to move faster. And what choice does he have but to give you everything you want? Gale’s hips begin rolling against yours, pounding into you at a rapid pace, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing throughout the room as the oil lamp you burn begins to go out. His lips find yours once again as he kisses you, feverish and desperate, feeling you squeezing around him, your walls hugging him impossibly tight.
“I love you,” he grunts, each thrust growing more difficult, both your end and his own fast approaching, “I love you so much. Gonna come back to you, beautiful. Gonna come right back to you. Gonna have a family with you. Gonna have everything with you.”
“Yes, Gale, please,” you moan softly, his lips pressing to your neck, “I want everything with you too. Please come back to me.”
He feels your body squeeze around him, pulling out after you’ve reached your climax to spill himself against your stomach, not wanting to take any chances while he’s still at war. Wanting to save this for your wedding night, the day he comes back and sweeps you off your feet.
“Promise you’ll never leave me again,” Gale whispers as you tuck yourself under his chin, arms wrapped around each other, legs intertwined, “Promise me you’ll be there waiting for me when I come home.”
“I promise,” you vow, “I promise, Gale Cleven. You’re my rainbow, you know that? My happiness after the storm. I’ll wait for you, Gale.”
“I love you,” he whispers softly against your lips, kissing you once more, “I love you.”
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𝘐 𝘋𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘒𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘛𝘰 𝘚𝘢𝘺 (𝘖𝘳 𝘋𝘰.)
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: You’d never understood why Bucky never seemed interested in physical intimacy. When you find out, you realize it goes deeper than you ever thought.
Note: For my ‘Don’t Touch Me’ square on my @marvel-smash-bingo card!
Warnings: rape/non-con, sexual abuse, nightmares, ptsd, Hydra Themes, implied Hydra Trash Party, insecure!reader(?), crying, angst.
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Your sex life was not bad in these last few months you’ve been dating Bucky. That wasn’t to say it was particularly good, either.
You hadn’t had sex with him at all. You hadn’t even got past a little bit of making out. And there was nothing wrong with that, either. Maybe he was just shy. And he was a real quiet guy when he was around anybody but you, so you knew that that was a possibility.
He was also born in 1917, so there could be just more of an awkwardness around the topic for him. You obviously had no idea what Sex Ed was like in the 1930s, but you knew that it definitely wasn’t great.
Maybe he just wasn’t interested in sex at all. And that was perfectly fine, too. He could be asexual. Or gray-asexual. Or demisexual. And you were by no means a homophobe. If he wasn’t into it, he wasn’t into it and that was that. You would certainly not be upset or—God forbid—angry over something like that.
But the thing that plagued your mind after he ran off somewhere after kissing you for a little too long was the why. He’d never said a word about sexual attraction—you’d never had that conversation before. You didn’t really know how to bring it up.
Part of you wondered if you were the problem. Was he just not attracted to you? Was there just one tiny detail on you that completely made him not want you in that way? Fuck, did you smell bad?
You pushed the thought away. But you did know that you needed to have this discussion with him. Mainly in case that last reason was it.
As if right on cue, he walked into the kitchen of your apartment.
“Hey, doll.” He smiled, wrapping his arms around you and swaying you from side to side.
“Howdy howdy. I didn’t hear you come in.” You grinned. “You’ll give me a heart attack one day.”
“Sorry,” he replied sheepishly.
The rest of the night went on as usual. At least, until halfway through the night—perhaps early morning—when you were awoken by the sound of muttering.
Now, to be very honest, you thought about muttering ‘shut up’ back, before you remembered that you were a real person and not a dinosaur like you’d been dreaming about.
You sat up, looking over at your boyfriend. Another bad dream.
You kneeled above him, opening your mouth to say something to wake him up. And once again, as if on cue, he woke up. He sat up quickly, bonking you in the head with his own skull.
“Fuck—“ You hissed as your eyes watered slightly. “Bucky, you’re okay, you’re okay, it was a dream, it’s over.” You attempted to reassure him as you reached out.
“Don’t touch me,” he pleaded. “Don’t touch me. Please.” The way he said it made your stomach flip.
“I’m not.” You promised. “I won’t. I won’t. You’re okay, you’re safe. It’s me. Jus’ me and you.”
He seemed to relax at that as he laid back down. And then—very surprisingly—fell right back asleep.
Normally his nightmares were more of a major thing, so this was certainly a surprise. You frowned, before you yourself eventually fell back asleep.
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The next morning, you woke up alone, with the faint smell of breakfast coming in through the room. You walked out of your bedroom and to the kitchen, greeting your boyfriend.
“Mornin’,” you hummed.
“Good morning, doll. Did you sleep good?” He asked innocently, as if he didn’t remember the night’s…revelations.
“Yeah.” You murmured back. And then you decided to finally grow some balls and ask.
“Bucky? Can I talk to you about something serious?”
“Sure.” His brows furrowed slightly. “Always, hon. What’s goin’ on?”
“Is there a reason you don’t want to have sex with me?”
He practically turned to stone.
“What?” He croaked out.
“There’s nothing wrong about it! I’m just—it’s stupid. I’m sorry, I’m being an asshole. Never mind—“ You wanted to simultaneously beat the absolute shit out of yourself and bury yourself.
“No, you’re not.” He cut you off. “I—should’ve told you earlier. About this. It’s—it’s not you, I promise. I..I want to have..sex with you and all of that stuff. I do, really. It’s just—there’s..some stuff.”
Your brows furrowed as you took on a concerned and empathetic expression. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“No, it’s—it’s okay. I do. It’s important to me that I tell you.” He explained. “But—it gets kinda heavy. Are you okay with..hearing all of that?”
You nodded. “Yes, babe. I am.”
“When I was—when I was the Winter Soldier, HYDRA would torture me. You know that. They’d…’punish’ and ‘train’ me in ways that..fucked me up. Clearly. One of those ways was through sex.” He admitted, fiddling with his hands.
Your mouth went dry. You didn’t really know what to say. Or to do, even. Did you comfort him? Say anything at all?
“I know you would never do that to me. I promise—I’m positive and comfortable in the fact that you wouldn’t ever do anything to me without my permission.” He assured you, making eye contact. “You’ve made it perfectly clear that I can say ‘no’ and can make my own decisions without any form of punishment.”
You nodded slowly.
“But it’s just—it’s hard, y’know? Like, how I get all..jumpy and ‘PTSD-y’ on the Fourth of July because of the fireworks. It’s like that, but with..sex, and being naked and stuff like that. It doesn’t have anything to do with the Fourth of July, just like it doesn’t have anything to do with you. It’s just..a thing that happens in those circumstances.” He explained. “I don’t—I’m sorry. I don’t want to be like this, I promise.”
You could see his nose was getting red and his eyes were beginning to water.
“I don’t want to be broken.” He blinked away some tears, wiping the ones that escaped his eyes with the side of his hand.
“Baby, no. Oh, baby. No, you’re not broken. Honey, you’re not. I promise.” You comforted. You opened your arms for a hug and he wrapped his arms around you.
When he was ready, he continued. “It was mostly men. There weren’t any women in HYDRA up until like..2010. But sometimes they’d sell me—and I mean literally sell me—off to certain powerful women for a variety of purposes. And I didn’t have a choice.” He murmured.
“I know, baby. It wasn’t your fault. None of that was ever your fault.” You said softly.
He nodded slowly. “I do..want that. I want to do that with you, it’s just—it’s hard.”
“I know. Thank you for telling me. And we can take it slow. And if you realize you’re not into it at all—no shame. No judgement. Not from me.” You promised.
He nodded. “Dr. Raynor—when she was my therapist she..she uh, pushed on the subject.” He confessed. Your brows furrowed.
“She what?”
“I was mad about it then. And I still think she could’ve gone about it in better ways, but she gave me something useful, so..at least there’s that.” He hummed. “She suggested showering and taking baths together. For..non-sexual intimacy.”
“You wanna try that?” You met his eyes, the beautiful blue eyes that captivated you.
He nodded slowly. “If you're comfortable with it, yeah.”
“Okay. We can try that, babe.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“I love you.” He murmured. You’d heard him say it before, you’d worked your way up to it, but neither one of you really wanted to hold back that feeling from each other.
“I love you too. No matter what.” You swore.
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A/n: two Oneshots on the same day? Shocking, I know. Really wanted to bring hydra trash party and reader insert fics together. This was low key inspired by me and an ex (we’re on good terms dw), and it feels very important to me.
Please reblog if you enjoyed!
Sequel here!
dividers by @saradika-graphics
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Recipe Advent Calendar - Day 2
Happy Holidays!
To celebrate the season, I am doing 12-days of seasonal recipes from the 14th to the 25th December. These are recipes published in the Brooklyn Daily Eagle newspaper during the period that Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes lived in Brooklyn in the early 20th century.
Lemon Cream Cookies
1/2 cup butter 1 cup sugar 1/2 cup sour cream 2 eggs yolks, beaten slightly 2 cups find dry Bond crumbs 1/2 teaspoon soda Grated rind of 1/2 lemon Cream butter and sugar add sour cream and egg yolks and blend. Combine crumbs, soda and lemon rind and add to first mixture. Drop from teaspoon onto buttered baking sheet. Decorate the top of each with sugar and cinnamon mixed together, silver balls or tiny stars cur from candied cherries. Bake in a hot oven, 400 degrees F., until brown—about 10 minutes.
The recipe appeared in the Friday 11 December 1936 edition of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle.
Advent Calendar Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10 | Day 11 | Day 12
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[ Support SRNY through Patreon and Ko-Fi ] And join us on Discord for fun conversation! I also have an Etsy with up-cycled nerdy crafts
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blurredcolour · 20 days
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V. "I Trusted You!"
"Trust" Series Masterlist
John "Bucky" Egan x WAC!Female Reader
The unthinkable happens on Bucky's next mission, leaving both of you to deal with the aftermath of your idyllic day in London, and his harsh parting words to you during that final phone call.
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Warnings: ANGST, Language, Grief, Death, Imprisonment, Interrogation, Near-Death Experiences, Despair, Self-Loathing, Pregnancy, Era-Typical Sexism, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.
Author’s Note: I cannot believe we have reached the penultimate installment! As always, letters/notes have image descriptions that can be accessed by clicking the 'ALT' button. Special thanks to Marina @precious-little-scoundrel for helping me untangle numerous plot points in this and the final part of the series. I could not have done this without you. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.
Word Count: 7477
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Your eyes were burning as you struggled to decipher the last few lines of scribbles on the page of notes you were attempting to transcribe. Two nights of little-to-no sleep after weeks of fourteen-hour days had done you no favors, and the addition of the heavy weight of dread you had been lugging around in your lower abdomen since your disastrous phone call with Bucky yesterday afternoon was not helping. Your eyes lifted to the clock on the wall for the fifth time in as many minutes, once again hoping that no news was good news. It was nearly 1930, surely one of your dependable trio of friends would have delivered word to you by now if there was bad news.
The shrill ring of the telephone on the corner of your desk physically jarred you, your right hand nearly colliding with the cup of coffee you had brought up from the mess in a desperate attempt to make it to the meeting at 2200. Under Myrtle’s expectant glare, you lunged forward to answer it, providing your last name in greeting.
“Darling…” Vi’s drawl crackled over the line, dripping with sympathy, and you were convinced your dinner of army noodles and watery tomato sauce might make a reappearance right there on your desk.
“Vi I don’t…” You blurted out and then snapped your mouth shut because you did want to know, you were just not sure you could take it.
You clenched your eyes shut as your heart began to race, palms sweaty as your stomach continued to churn.
“He didn’t come back…” Her voice trembled and the world tilted completely off its axis, a wail clawing at your throat, desperate to be released.
“Thank you for telling me.” You gritted out before clumsily hanging up the phone, fairly dropping the handset into the cradle, before leaping to your feet and wrenching the office door open to dash down the hall to the washroom.
It was a miracle you made it in time, collapsing into the first stall to empty your stomach, tears streaming down your cheeks as your knees stung from their impact with the tile. When the urge to retch finally subsided, you hit the handle to flush and slumped back against the metal dividing wall between the next cubicle, sniffling pathetically.
‘He didn’t come back…’ Echoed through your mind and your hand rose to clamp over your mouth, desperate to smother the noise of pain that ripped through you.
Before you could fully surrender to the shuddering sobs that were about to wrack your body, however, the sound of the faucet running had you forcing your emotions down with brutal efficiency, snapping your head to the side to see who was bearing witness to your second public breakdown since your posting in England.
The sight of stoic, icy Myrtle holding out a dampened handkerchief to you had your watery eyes widening in shock. After a moment of your bewildered staring, she heaved a great sigh and crouched down to begin blotting at your cheeks and brow, dewy with the effort of losing your dinner. The handkerchief was blessedly cool, even if her touch was less than gentle, and brought a modicum of relief.
“What’s his name?” She asked quietly, tone not at all softened, but the tenderness of her actions and the words themselves had your eyes brimming with fresh tears.
“John…John Egan” You rasped.
“It’s heartless how the entirety of a man’s existence is boiled down to three letters. Just focus on the M for now. Doris in personnel is always willing to keep an eye out for a familiar name, I’ll ask her to add your man’s name to her list. Let’s get you up.”
You thanked her softly as she grabbed your elbows and pulled you to your feet. Beginning to tug your uniform back into place, you shuffled toward the mirror to tidy your hair.
“What’s your fellow’s name?” You asked her quietly once you felt confident in your ability to speak properly.
“Bobby Vendetti. Flew with LeMay and the 3rd Division to Regensburg. KIA.” She replied in her clipped, stoic voice and slipped out of the washroom leaving you to wonder if she was a grim glimpse into your own future.
Bracing your hands against the sides of the wall-mounted sink, you leaned against it heavily as a cruel wave of weakness overtook you, your body feeling an awful lot like a bowl of Jello in someone’s unsteady hand. Screwing your eyes shut, you locked your knees against the desire to crumple to the ground and forced slow, steady breaths into your trembling body until some semblance of control was restored.
Frowning deeply, you lifted your eyes to the mirror to re-adjust a few pins with sharp, self-chastising movements – using the pain as a point of grounding and focus – before you looked acceptable enough to return to your desk. Myrtle glanced up as your chair creaked slightly upon your return and nodded once. You barely managed to return it before glancing at the cup of coffee in disgust. Pushing it further away, you took a deep lungful of air and turned back to the task at hand.
Every time your fingers struck the M key you took a moment to send a silent plea up to every power above that might possibly hear you.
‘Please keep him safe.’
‘Please don’t let it change to a K.’
‘Please let him be alive.’
‘Please bring him back.’
‘Please.’
‘Please.’
‘Please.’
Reaching the end of the report, you swallowed roughly to see that it was just after 2100, time to set up for the last meeting of the day. Punching a pair of holes in the stack of sheets, you secured the report in its dated folder before dropping it off at the filing office and then made your rounds to collect the final weather and supply reports to be reviewed by the senior operations officers. Stepping into the darkened conference room, you laid your burden of files down on the large table before hurrying over to pull the blackout curtains closed. Clipping your hip on the sharp wooden corner as you made your way over to the light switch, you had to furiously blink back the tears that had been threatening to fall since you had emerged from the washroom.
‘Just a few more hours, then we can lose it completely in the sanctity of our attic closet-turned-bedroom.’ You mentally promised yourself with a shuddering breath.
Working your way around the table, you set out targeting information at each place for the Generals and their subordinates to review.
‘To send the next group of boys to the slaughter.’
Shaking your head with enough physical ferocity to send yourself slightly off balance, you succeeded in momentarily knocking such petty thoughts from your head as you confirmed the list of slides with those in the projector. With preparations complete, you settled into your out-of-the-way seat in the corner of the room. WACs did not sit at the decision-making table – your presence in this room was not for the purpose of being seen nor to be heard. It was simply to ensure things ran smoothly and were recorded for posterity.
Would that you could have done something yesterday, after Bucky announced his intentions to fly, as the target of Münster became ever more likely. Bucky sure seemed to think you could affect things – perhaps he would have come back if you had done something. Gulping roughly, you robotically slid to your feet as the jovial voices of several of the operations officers sounded just outside the door, warning of their imminent arrival.
They filed into the room in clusters and bunches, chatting and sipping at cups of coffee they had brought as they flipped through the latest reports. Once everyone was assembled, the meeting began more or less at 2200 and you set to your diligent notetaking, pushing aside the snarling voice in your head that wanted to question their every decision.
It seemed, in their packets, were the loses that had been accumulated in that day’s mission, Bomber Command 114 to Münster – thirty planes and their crews. A horrifying thirteen of these from the 100th. With their determination to mount another assault on Schweinfurt, the lack of operational aircraft and men would mean several days’ delay, but this would certainly afford the Divisions and Wings extra time in the planning. With a tentative date set as October 14, 1943, the meeting was adjourned, the junior officers hurrying to deliver the news via teletype as you cleaned up the room.
You had very little recollection of completing the last report of the day or the journey up to your room, only fully returning your body as you shed your uniform to collapse onto your cot in a flood of tears no longer willing to be kept at bay.
But loosening your hold on your emotions did not provide much relief. In fact you found yourself fading day by day to no more than a hollow shell of yourself, an empty ache replacing all that used to fulfill you. The world grew grey and cold around you, even if the sun dared to show its callous face, and food was barely tasted or tolerated. If you had possessed the mental capacity to notice, the other girls began to call you ‘mouse’ behind your back for the way you would idly nibble at crackers or toast while staring vacantly at things unseen before giving up on the idea of a meal altogether. The majority of your breaks were spent rambling outside, warm or cold, rainy or fair, circling the grounds as you gnawed at the worn ends of your nails and silently repeated your threadbare pleas for Bucky’s welfare.
Nearly two weeks of such dismal behavior seemed to be Myrtle’s limit as she turned to you sharply one afternoon and declared, “We need to get you a hobby. Do you know how to knit?”
Your head whipped up from your typewriter to look at her in startled silence for a few moments before you shook your head pathetically.
“I will show you how tomorrow at lunch so you can stop haunting the grounds like the Hound of the Baskervilles.”
Your lips may have even twitched slightly at her literary admonishment, and you nodded meekly in agreement. Though when she handed you a pair of long wooden needles and a skein of midnight blue wool as soon as you returned to the office after a lunch of cold toast and a few sips of soup, you certainly felt out of your league.
“Watch.” She said sharply and leaned back in her chair to demonstrate. “Stab it, strangle it, scoop out the guts, toss it off the cliff.” Myrtle rattled off as she slowly moved her needles through each step.
To the surprise of you both, a soft snort escape your nose and she gave you the tiniest of smirks.
“It is rather memorable. I’ll show you again.” She repeated the process several times, accumulating numerous stitches along one needle before looking to you expectantly.
Tucking your lower lip under your teeth in concentration, you did your best to follow her example. Your fingers found the motions foreign and awkward, the needles slippery, and the yarn uncooperative. But you were not one to surrender easily in any aspect of your life. Narrowing your eyes at the challenge set before you, you poured more of your concentration into the effort and slowly but surely cast twenty stitches onto your needle.
“Good. They will get tidier as you go. I think your first project should be a scarf – something useful and a no more than a large rectangle. Add another sixteen stitches to that and then I’ll teach you how to cast off.”
Glancing at her nervously, the idea of a new step and attempting to create a garment both intimidating, you took a steadying breath before turning back to look at the needles in your hands.
‘One step at a time. Sixteen more stitches.’
It turned out casting off was not nearly as terrifying as it initially sounded. And the hobby of knitting? Remarkably forgiving, unlike the rest of life. When a stitch was dropped or poorly executed, it was a simple matter of unravelling the error-filled portion of the scarf and remaking it. Knitting filled the empty times when you could not sleep, could barely eat as your stomach seemed hopelessly snarled in worried knots. You were still by no means living a healthy lifestyle, but somehow everything was a little less abysmal. Your nerves a little less frayed, your tongue a little less sharp.
The resulting scarf was in no way a work of art, but it was entirely serviceable and would certainly be a welcome donation to the Red Cross to keep some poor soul warm. It was upon the completion of that project, within one week, that Myrtle decided you ought to try and follow a pattern. A knit cap to match perhaps?
Patterns were an entirely different beast and certainly slowed your progress, though your slightly aching hands did not begrudge the slackening in pace as you worked and reworked, knit and unravelled and reknit your way through it. The weather turned genuinely cold by the second week of November, dropping to the single digits during the day and below zero at night. There was still no word on Bucky. No change to his three letters, still holding as MIA.
‘Please. Please. Please.’ You repeated silently with each wooden clack of your needles as you sat cross-legged on your cot, knitting by the light of your bedside lamp until your eyes refused to focus.
Three envelopes with writing as distinct as their personalities were tucked into the small dresser beside your cot – letters from Vi, Ruth, and Mary that you simply could not bear to open. The threat of their sympathy was too frightening to contemplate. Would surely shatter the fragile semblance of normalcy you had cobbled together. Holding equilibrium and hyper vigilance seemed to only way forward. If you were to upset the balance, something catastrophic might befall Bucky and you could not risk such an outcome by changing your well-worn habits now.
The third week of November brought the arrival of a familiar and, frankly, unwelcome face. It appeared you had not seen the last of Captain Miller yet, for she transferred to Pinetree as the replacement for the WAC commanding officer Captain Burns who had suffered a rather severe fall down those treacherous attic stairs a couple days prior. Your greeting was professional, if a bit on the frosty side, and you could feel her beady eyes boring into your back as you left her office along with the other WAC officers to inform the enlisted women of the personnel change.
Despite being a Lieutenant, you had yet to be placed in direct charge of any personnel yourself, a fact that you might have mused further upon if you had the energy to spare on useless pursuits. As it was you were barely getting through the day-to-day struggle of survival while awaiting news of Bucky.
It came not two days later, in the form of a note dropped on your desk as Myrtle shuffled past with a stack of folders. Eyeing it with trepidation, you slowly reached out for it before unfolding the torn scrap of paper to reveal three entirely new letters.
POW
An exhaled sound of elation escaped you before you could stop it, quickly clamping your mouth shut against further outbursts in respect for Myrtle’s lost loved one. Setting your elbows on the wooden top of your desk, you lay your hands over your face and rambled off a silent litany of gratitude to the powers of the universe for this outcome. It was by no means the best – Bucky would most certainly be furious to have been apprehended by the enemy, to be kept behind fences and barbed wire. But it was absolutely not the worst, and for that you could feel nothing but relief.
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Every time he closed his eyes, all Bucky could hear was your shaky inhale, laced with pain, which had seeped through the phone after his careless statements on October 9. Even as he had slammed down the receiver, it had already begun to echo in his ears as he wrenched open the door of the telephone booth and stormed back to the hotel room. The only anger he felt about the entire affair was at himself. He had not been there for Buck, and then he had hurt you.
Each piece of flak, each bullet that struck his plane, felt like divine retribution for his personal failings. And while he was utterly furious when that third engine died, forcing the crew to bail out, he was also convinced on at least some level he deserved it. Deserved to be caught by those snivelling kids and their fathers. Deserved the beating in that godforsaken town that the RAF had failed to flatten. Deserved to have died on that wagon, but the sunlight still pricked at his eyes stubbornly.
Your agonized sound ricocheted through his throbbing skull and his eyes shot wide with the realization that if he were to give up now, he would only be hurting you more. Failing you and everyone else he cared about. His stomach lurched in horror and, seizing upon the distraction of the two repellent grave diggers, he rolled himself off the cart, making for the woods with all the grace of a newborn giraffe. Everything hurt, most especially his head, and he could barely see out of his right eye, yet somehow, he managed to evade them. Before everything went black.
By the time he arrived at the interrogation centre he knew he had missed his chance to escape. But there was a bed, and a blanket. Some questionable food, but it was better than wormy cabbage. His interrogator, for all his claims of insider knowledge, knew nothing about Buck – the famed sports hater, nor you. Everyone around Thorpe Abbotts was more than acquainted with the fact that he was utterly devoted to you and yet the slimy blond tried to insinuate he was still up to his good time ways. It did not make the barbs and intimations of Buck’s death any less painful, however. But it failed to make him crack.
When at last he arrived at the prison camp, first spotting Crank and to his unspeakable relief, Buck, he was convinced his legs might give out right there on the spot. Refusing to give those sneering guards the satisfaction, he forced himself to continue putting one foot in front of the other, remaining curt yet polite through registration and combine assignment until he was delivered to his quarters. Barely able to summon the energy to embrace Buck, he asked him to point in the direction of an open bunk before crawling in and passing out for hours.
Bucky’s memory of the next few days was spotty, consisting of vignettes and flashes rather than full days. Brady and Buck had seen to it that he had made the twice-daily roll call, forcing watery broth down his throat, and Bucky had even managed to wash the last of that soldier’s brains from his hair with shockingly cold water. All the while he felt the need to mutter the apologies to you that he should have spoken. He should have called you that night when he reached base, or even right after he had hung up in London. He vaguely recalled Buck soothing him, uttering platitudes like ‘your girl isn’t stupid she’ll understand’ ‘just hang on you’ll tell her yourself.’ It was around his fourth day in camp when things began to clear, and he felt more like himself. Then the monotony set in.
The weather was already cold, even for late October, and he was sorely missing the sheepskin coat he had swapped with Kidd for his plain leather jacket. It only grew colder as the days grew shorter, darkness coming to dominate the time they spent huddled together around the small table eating their meagre rations. Apparently, the Red Cross packages, though frequently delayed, had their captors feeling entitled to provide them less than their full allotment. The atmosphere was grim among all the prisoners there, particularly the Brits and Canadians who had been POWs since ’41. Bucky was not sure if he had the fortitude to last that long.
The first mail call did not come until December and Bucky did not even bother raising his eyes as the enlisted man tasked with the duty called out everyone’s name.
“Cleven, DeMarco, Brady, Egan…”
Bucky’s eyes lifted slowly, and he looked to the young man, who’s name was just on the tip of his tongue but seemed determined to escape him, to see him holding out an envelope expectantly. Bucky reached out to take it, swallowing roughly as he recognized your writing immediately.
“…Cruikshank, Murphy…oh and this is for you too, Egan.”
Bucky’s eyes tore from your delicate cursive to look at the small box he was holding out, taking it with a mumbled ‘thanks’ before setting it on his lap. The box bore your writing too, his fingers idly tracing the loops and whirls before he heard a soft laugh.
“Go on then, Bucky.” Buck smirked at him, already well into his letter from Marge, eyes alight with pure excitement.
Bucky exhaled slowly before tearing at the paper covering the box, a broad smile forcing its way onto his tired face as he was struck by the scent of you. Pulling the first woolen object from inside he turned it in his hands a few times before recognizing it as a hat, misshapen though it was, and quickly pulled it onto his head. Several of the guys laughed and he was certain he looked a fool, but he also felt immediately warmer for it. In pulling out the much longer garment, clearly a scarf, a small note fluttered to the ground. Wrapping the scarf around his neck he scooped it up to read.
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There was a total of thirty-one words on that small piece of paper, with your name included, but he only cared about the last three, just above your signature. Taking a slow breath, Bucky was thankful for whatever divine entity existed that had prevented him from ruining his relationship with you. He turned back to look at Cruikshank as he mocked his new winter fashions.
“I’m sorry Crank, what did your girl send you?” He smirked good naturedly, picking up your letter from the tabletop, feeling the thickness of it, hoping there were a lot more than thirty words to lose himself in.
“My mom sent me this fine number.” Crank cracked back, pulling on a comparatively well-knit cowl scarf which he seemed more than a little proud of, but Bucky would take your questionable textiles any day.
First and foremost being he was currently wrapped in a cloud of wool that smelled so distinctly of you he had to be careful not to let his thoughts wander. He shook his head, laughing along with the rest of the guys, each of them basking in the glow of their first contact with home, as he carefully tore into your envelope. He was very obviously not the first to open it, probably not even the second, which sent a flash of annoyance through him, but he was learning to conserve his energy for things he actually had control over.
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He closed his eyes tightly as his mind was flooded with the memory of you falling apart in his arms all those weeks ago. It seemed like another lifetime now, but it was heartily reassuring that you too seemed to have such memories on your mind in writing this. Slowly opening his eyes once more to return to his grim reality, his eyes drifted below your signature to your post-script.
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The grin that split his face was near-painful and if he had not already reached the conclusion, the words would have surely been the final piece of evidence required to confirm that you were the perfect woman.
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January brought with a continuation of daytime temperatures below zero, the return of your appetite, and your first letter from Bucky.
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How something so small and thin as paper could both wound and soothe at the same time was perhaps the greatest of all mysteries to you. Elation at seeing his writing, hearing his voice in your head, was mottled with grief and pain at knowing what and who kept him from you. It was almost too horrid to think what he must have endured to date – what he could very well be enduring in this very moment for his letter was dated over a month ago.
‘Please keep him alive.’
Using your next Friday off you, made a special visit to the shops, collecting things like dried soup, nuts, and other things from Bucky’s list. Chocolate was harder to come by, but managed by accumulating your own rations of it, despite how you could not seem to get enough of it lately. That and apples. The staff in the mess line seemed to always have one on hand for you now, at every meal, after your constant requests, and the first crisp bite brought almost as much pleasure as a kiss from Bucky.
Adding a pair of hideous, in your opinion, mittens to the box of provisions, you sent it off via the Red Cross hoping he would not have to wait too long before the items reached him. A short note was all you added.
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As you were making your way up to your room to begin a more detailed letter, you were startled to see Myrtle and Captain Miller walking down the hallway together, heads bent close, the sight giving you more than a little unease. They had not noticed you, several steps short of the landing, and you happily remained hidden behind a stone pillar as they stepped into Miller’s office together.
With a frown, you continued on your way, hoping that nothing was amiss, but struggling to shake the sense of foreboding that had settled around you like an unwelcome, smothering blanket. It was an odd sensation, considering the way that you had been desperately fighting off the deep chill of the English winter that seemed to have snuck its way into the very marrow of your bones. You were constantly burrowing beneath blankets and coats and scarves, even going so far as to squirrel a lap blanket into the bottom drawer of your desk for use during your long motionless periods of typing.
Your suspicions were confirmed when Captain Miller asked to have a word with you in her office the following Monday. Nothing had ever gone well when you spoke to this woman alone and this time proved no exception to the rule.
“How have you been feeling lately, Lieutenant?” She sunk her teeth right into the meat of the issue not two seconds after gesturing for you to take a seat across from where she sat, perched behind a rather ornate desk in her remarkably well-appointed office.
“A…alright I suppose, Ma’am, no complaints.” You did your best to answer lightly, very much desiring to keep your exhaustion, born of the constant worry combined with the demands of your position, from reaching her untrustworthy ears.
“Hm.” Captain Miller replied, tone conveying that she remained utterly unconvinced. “I must say you seem rather changed since your time at Thorpe Abbotts. You look less than well to me, and some of your colleagues have brought such concerns directly to me. I’ve scheduled an appointment for you to see the surgeon tomorrow at 0800, just to be sure you’re right as rain.”
“Ma’am I assure you, I am–” You began to protest, wondering just whom considered you unfit for duty.
“That will be all, Lieutenant. You’re dismissed.” She replied brusquely and you rose to your feet to salute her quickly before slipping out of her office, mind racing.
Certainly, your lack of sleep was less than desirable, but your work or various knitting projects were safe haven from the darker thoughts that seemed prone to find you during periods of rest. Aside from that, though you were fine. Improved, even, since communication had been somewhat restored with Bucky, though you could not seem to shake this annoying sniffle. But everything else was just…
Your eyes flew wide as your steps abruptly halted in the middle of the busy hallway, hardly registering the sharp bark of the man behind you as he narrowly avoided slamming into your back. In all your desperation to lose yourself by blindly trudging forward through life, just trying to get through it, it seemed you had lost track of something rather important. Springing back into motion, you hustled to your desk, digging out last year’s calendar, flipping back through the dates, racking your brain for the last time you’d had your monthlies. Your fingertips grew colder with each turn of the page until you reached September. That was the last time you could confidently say that you had bled.
And then there had been the ‘idyllic day’ in London with Bucky. Or more specifically the night.
Looking down at your abdomen as though it were some separate entity; having acted entirely on its own agenda, you felt your lower lip wobble. The door to the office opened, the sound of the pane of glass rattling lightly in its wooden frame startling you into an upright posture as you slammed the calendar closed. The look Myrtle gave you was one of confusion laced with guilt and had you bristling defensively as you vividly recalled her chummy conversation with Captain Miller a few days ago.
Colleagues.
“I trusted you!” You snapped under your breath, the waspish cruelty of your outburst stinging your own ears and flooding your eyes with tears. “How could you go to her…”
“I was worried about you.” She replied guardedly, retreating to her desk as a place of safety. “You are clearly not well.”
You sniffed indignantly but it was beginning to register just how true that statement might be. Because you most certainly had not been taking excellent care of yourself and if…Who were you kidding, four months with no bleeding. The exhaustion, the nausea, the susceptibility to cold. The signs had been there all along, you had simply chalked them up to the emotional turmoil you had been experiencing related to Bucky’s disappearance, capture, and internment as a POW. A strangled sob escaped you before you could stop it, quickly burying your face in your hands as you gasped for air, struggling to get a grip on your rapidly fracturing composure.
The soft ‘snick’ of the lock on the door had you peeking through your fingers as you watched Myrtle approach you not unlike one would a wounded animal.
“I thought as much…How far along do you think you are?”
“I don’t. I’m not.” Every attempt at denial turn rotten in your mouth and though you knew that your words could very well travel from her lips to Captain Miller’s ears, who else did you have to unburden yourself to here in this former girl’s school where women were nothing but replaceable the moment they became an inconvenience. “Three months probably. No, definitely. If I am. Which I’m sure is what I am.”
Myrtle set her hand on your shoulder, offering a short sharp squeeze, fairly rending your heart in two at the realization that it had been far too long since you had received any form of comfort from another human being. “You’ll get to see your family soon.”
It was meant to be soothing, surely, but all you could think of was the ocean that was about to open up between you and Bucky. The statement wrung a fresh sob from you before you scrambled with the lock to get out of that room and down the hall to the now too-familiar sanctuary of the washroom.
The remainder of the day passed in a fog, the looming morning appointment dangling over your head like the executioner’s axe poised to fall. You even felt encouraged to begin tidying and sorting through your belongings that night, starting to assemble them into your suitcases. The puzzle pieces simply fit too well for you to ignore. The faint knocking on your door just after midnight had you tilting your head in confusion, and cracking the door open cautiously.
A rather tentative Myrtle stood on the other side, a small envelope in hand.
“This might help when you get back. Here.”
Take it slowly, your fingers traced over the lump in the middle, opening the flap to reveal a gold ring with a small diamond.
“Myrtle I couldn’t–” You blurted out quickly, certain it was from the man she had lost over Regensburg.
“Oh it’s costume jewelry, and I want you to have it. It’ll make things easier.” She replied firmly and turned to head back to her room before you could reply.
Swallowing roughly, you shut the door and moved to sit heavily on your cot, sliding the ring onto your left ring finger experimentally. It was a bit loose and felt like a lie. Tugging it off roughly, you returned it to its envelope, tucking it into a pocket of your suitcase before turning in to try and get some rest.
The surgeon, as sympathetic as he portrayed himself to be, was utterly convinced you were ‘in the family way.’ However, before he could have you discharged from the Women’s Army Corps, he ordered a Hogben test. Your urine was collected and sent to a local pharmacist to be injected into a frog, or so you were told. If this frog produced eggs by tomorrow morning, you would be confirmed as pregnant and immediately evacuated by to the United States. Until then, he ordered you to rest.
Captain Miller delivered the news personally the following morning, tone more than slightly patronizing. You sat quietly in the chair in front of her desk, trying to take slow, even breaths and remind yourself she would have to eventually run out of things to say. The next words out of her mouth, however, had your spine straightening sharply.
“You know, Lieutenant, this was precisely the situation I was trying to avoid when I recommended you for this promotion back in September.”
“You did this?!” You snapped, feeling somewhat blindsided.
For all her coldness you had never seen her for a schemer. Never once suspected her hand in your sudden removable from Thorpe Abbotts and Bucky’s side.
Captain Miller looked down her nose at you and exhaled impatiently. “You may dislike me, Lieutenant, but all three more weeks at Thorpe Abbotts would have done is hasten your due date.” She narrowed her eyes as she twisted the verbal knife.
“Dislike you?” You repeated incredulously, that icy rage which you had first become acquainted with back in August once more flooding your veins. “No Ma’am. I do not dislike you. I pity you. I pity whatever lack of love you have in your life that you could so easily brush off three weeks with someone you care about.”
The woman was taken aback for a moment. Most likely for the first time in her life, before she cleared her throat. “Please proceed to your quarters and pack your things at once. You will be transported to Prestwick for transport by air back to the United States for immediate discharge due to the medical inability to serve. You are dismissed, Lieutenant.”
“Ma’am.” You muttered and gave a half-hearted salute before making your way upstairs.
Your belongings mostly packed, you instead pulled out a fresh piece of paper to write to Bucky to provide him your new return address. The question that hung in the air, however, was whether or not to inform him of your…condition…
Knowing the fragility of such things, and given that his daily life was already such a struggle, it seemed prudent not to burden him with anything unnecessary until this baby was born. Besides, it had been your choice, your initiation – that last, final, reckless, unprotected coupling. You had been a greedy thing and look what it had gotten you.
Your hand found its way to rest on your lower abdomen unconsciously and you let your gaze follow the motion absently. You had never reached the stage in your relationship where you had been able to exchange gifts and yet…here you were carrying what some might call quite a gift.
Most of all, bleak as he found life as a POW you were unwilling to force him into the position of putting that life in jeopardy. He did not need to become reckless as you had been. Inhaling a shaky breath, you put pen to paper to keep it brief and vague.
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Sealing the envelope with a kiss from lips coated with fresh lipstick, you made a trip down to the post box before visiting the mess for an early lunch.
Within twenty-four hours, you were enduring your first plane ride, clinging to the seat inside a C-54 on the first leg of your journey from Scotland to Iceland. It was uncomfortable, unfamiliar, and on a plane filled with seriously wounded men, you stuck out like a sore thumb. The flight nurse had the grace not to comment, but the slightly oversized engagement ring you had ultimately decided to wear felt like a piece of armor on your left finger when her eyes fell onto it.
Bless Myrtle and her foresight. Whatever her motivations in bending Captain Miller’s ear had been, she had provided you with some of the best defence against judgement you could possibly have been afforded in your complicated situation. A wedding ring would have been too easy to disprove with no marriage licence. An engagement? Well it was still a bit fast of you to have spread your legs before the wedding, but at least he had bought you a ring first. Or so it appeared.
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The ongoing mail issues finally resolved in a flood of mail in early March. Two letters and a large package arrived from you, bringing a broad smile to Bucky’s face after a barren, cold set of months. The food was quickly stashed to be meted out, but the mittens were not to be shared. There was some kind of magic in the yarn you used that trapped your perfume and held it for several weeks. He supposed it was because you had to cradle and hold it close for some time in your crafting of the garments you sent him.
He had never been jealous of clothing before, but life was full of new experiences these days.
Turning to the pair of letters next, he was immediately drawn to the impression of your lips on the slimmer of the two envelopes, tearing into it with utmost care to preserve the mark for later use in the darker, more private hours. The letter inside, however, was the most confusing and vague piece of correspondence he had ever received. And it was not due to some obvious attempt to skirt censors or other prying eyes. You were being evasive.
Tearing into the thicker envelope with less concern, he noted an earlier date, though only by a few days, but no trace, not even a hint of an explanation, for the second, odd letter.
As he and Buck went on their daily walk about the camp – a necessity to keep fit and stave on the stir-craziness that came from spending too many hours indoors – he exhaled slowly before breaking the silence.
“Hey Buck?”
“Hm?” His friend lifted his head from where his eyes traced their boots through the endless, frozen mud that had become their landscape.
“What do you think the odds are on a WAC getting a discharge to care for a grieving mother?”
Bucky did not need to hear his answer. Buck’s doubtful facial expression said it all.
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Read Part Six - "Trust Me, Doll..."
"Trust" Series Masterlist
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allofthebeanz · 1 year
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1930s Brooklyn: Steve has a habit of flopping into Bucky's lap wherever-whenever. Sometimes Buck gets a pointy elbow in the ribs, but he'll just grumble something and adjust accordingly until they're both comfortable.
Skip to 1940s France. Bucky's sitting around the campfire contemplating the Howlies' next move when Steve '240lb tank of solid fucking muscle' Rogers drops on top of him
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katabay · 9 months
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1930s steve & bucky & a boxing match
it's stucky, but halfway through explaining the plot, I start talking about the history of boxing during the great depression and begin pulling academic articles and books out of my jacket
it's uhhhhh not the mcu for sure, and it's not really following any specific 616 canon because I don't care about that. I've read enough cap comics over the years, I've suffered through the marvel reboots, I've done my time.
with that said, the general ground work for this is that bucky's a highschool drop out who boxes as a side hustle and steve did a year of art school before dropping out, and also that I read non fiction for fun and I have a whole stack of material on the great depression from ten years ago that I'm cramming into this.
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