Summary: Living in 1940′s Brooklyn as a crime lord is all fun and games until someone falls in love
Warnings: for now just swearing and brief mentions of torture
Bucky huffed on his cigarette as he walked down the empty streets of Brooklyn, a crooked little smile upon his face as his dress shoes clacked against the pavement. He’d had a business meeting only a few hours before but his newer- partner- had taken a little more negotiating than others.
“Good evening officer,” Bucky smirked as he tucked his bloodied fist into a handkerchief, hiding the already scabbing wounds. The officer gave him a polite smile and gently tip of his hat as he walked down on the road, attempting to hide the way he nearly quaked in his shoes as he walked off. Bucky chuckled dryly as he puffed a little bit of smoke into the air, watching it curl up beautifully only to dissipate a few moments later. With a gentle sigh Bucky continued on his way, bypassing half the slums of Brooklyn and slowly, nearly leisurely, made his way to the nicer, bigger houses in the Brooklyn area.
The lights to his house were on and a figure stood in the doorway, their arms folded over their chest as the looked out into the road with no doubt that distasteful eye of theirs.
“Dot,” Bucky smiled as he made his way up the steps to his home, kissing his girlfriend on the cheek. “Hiya babydoll,”
“You’re late,” She sighed, tucking a red curl behind her ear. Bucky gave her a gentle smile as he flicked his nearly burnt cigarette into their rose bushes.
“Business ran a little later than usual, seems like old Danny won’t be able to sell secrets for a bit,” Dot smiled, a twisted little thing as she got up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to Bucky’s lips.
“You cut out his tongue, didn’t’cha?” She asks with an almost morbid curiosity. Bucky smiled as he pressed another kiss to her cherry painted lips, letting her sweet taste fill his mouth.
“Mh, It was only fair, was it not?” Dot smiled even more, her hands sliding up to grasp at Bucky’s blood stained tie.
“Such a dirty boy Mr. Barnes,” She chuckled in an almost sultry tone.
“You know it,” Bucky gave her a little wink as he stepped away from her, waltzing into his warm kitchen. “Ah, doll, you made me dinner?”
“ ‘Course I did Baby, I even warmed it up for ya,” Bucky turned to Dot with a mock fond smile, an almost coo falling from his lips.
“You’re so good to me Dot, what would I do without’cha?” Dot smiled, an almost girly chuckle falling from her lips as her cheeks dusted a light pink.
“I suppose starve, you don’t ever seem to have the time to stop and eat,” Bucky smiled, turning back to look at the food with an almost ravenous look.
“Of course I would,’
(Y/N) walked down the street, their jacket pulled around their freezing form tightly as they breathed in and out shallowly. Damn, they hated their stupid asthma and they hated stupid winter. With a wheezing little breath (Y/N) turned a corner, marching right out onto main street. (Y/N) eyed the little bakery just down the block, it’s soft lights an invitation to get out of the cold, an invitation (Y/N) would accept. With a smile (Y/N) walked as briskly as they could to the shop, pulling open the old wooden door.
“(Y/N),” Mrs. Rogers, the baker, smiled out at (Y/N) with bright eyes and rosy cheeks. “I was wondering when you were going to stop by today,”
“Sorry,” (Y/N) gives her an apologetic little smile as they remove their mittens and hat. “Asthma’s been acting up and I got here as fast as my horrible lungs could carry me,” Mrs. Rogers gave them a sympathetic smile as they browsed over the baked goods, their fingertips gently reaching out to brush along the glass. “How’s Mr. Rogers doing?” (Y/N) poked their head up from the case just long enough to give Sarah a look before ducking back down again to look at the cookies, cakes, and breads.
“He’s just fine deary, thank you for asking,”
“And what about-” The name catches in (Y/N)’s throat, as though stuck by some invisible force. “What about Steve?” Mrs. Rogers sighs, her bright eyes losing their shine.
“I don’t know (Y/N), he’s hardly ever visiting, he doesn’t ever write to us, we only ever see him on the streets smoking with some hooligans.”
“I’m sorry,” Is all (Y/N) could provide, their tone coming across as sympathetic. “It happens to the best of them,”
“These….these gangs are dangerous aren’t they?” (Y/N)’s head perks up again, a look of remorse crossing their winter touched features.
“Yes Mrs. Rogers, very dangerous,’ Sarah sighs, hanging her head in shame.
“That boy is going to be the death of me…” A brief look of pain crossed her features before she was suddenly perking back up again, her cheery smile returning (even if it was a bit more plastic this time). “Well, what are you going to be having sweetie?” (Y/N) gave her a small smile as they point to a loaf of bread, the steam still slowly rising from it. With a smile Sarah retrieves the loaf, placing it in a small bag for (Y/N) to take home.
“Tell your mother to come visit sometime, god knows she needs to get out of that house every so often,” (Y/N) chuckled as they placed a few coins on Sarah’s nearly pristine counter top before they reached over and grabbed the still steaming loaf of bread.
“I’ll be sure to, I’m sure she’d love to catch up,”
“And mind that asthma of yours! I don’t want you dropping dead on me!” Sarah calls after (Y/N) as they exit the shop with a wave, a small smile plastered on their dusted cheeks. Sarah smiles as she places the money in the register, listening to the satisfying little chime that issued when she dropped the coins in. Her thoughts drifted to (Y/N), of poor sickly, stubborn (Y/N). God bless their soul she loved them, but in this world, with their ailments she doubted they’d last very long. And oh how right she’d been…
Bucky walked through the freezing streets of Brooklyn with a lighter in his hand, his thumb flicking over the tiny flame over and over again, almost tempting fate to burn him but he knew it wouldn’t, even fate was scared of Mr. Barnes. With a little satisfied smirk Bucky flicked the cap closed and placed the lighter back in his pocket, right next to his Brazilian imported cigarettes. His eyes linger on the small rounded material as he turns a corner, his feet carrying him down the familiar main street but suddenly his freshly polished shoes are colliding with some force, another person to be exact.
Bucky grunts a bit as he grabs onto whoever he bumped into, gripping them to steady not only himself but them as well.
“Sorry there kid, I didn’t even see you there-” Bucky’s sentence trails off as he looks up, his blue gaze connecting with one of the most gorgeous faces he’d seen in his life. Their eyes were brimming with tears, no doubt due to the harsh air, their cheeks and nose were dusted an almost innocent pink color, and their outfit, albeit old and shabby, complimented their rather sweet look very well.
“I’m sorry,” They whisper, their voice rather hoarse. “I wasn’t looking were I was going and-”
“It’s a-okay kid,” Bucky gives them a gentle smile as he dusts off their shoulders. “Nobody got hurt,”
“Well uh- thanks for sparing me a lecture about being mindful,” (Y/N) smiles sheepishly, their face suddenly contorting with pain as they turn their head to the side and cough up a raging fit. If Bucky didn’t know any better he’d say they were dying, hacking their lungs right up into the crease of their arm but suddenly the fit ends and they look at him again, giving him a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” (Y/N) whispers, their voice even more hoarse than before. “Um, thanks again though Mr…?” They trail off, waiting for Bucky to supply them with an answer. Bucky chuckled a bit, shaking his head in almost amusement. Oh, this was always his favorite part, telling someone his name and watching the life and color drain from their face, watching the way their eyes would dim and their smiles would fall.
“I’m Bucky. Bucky Barnes, and you are?” (Y/N) suddenly gulps, their eyes widening just enough to let Bucky know that they recognized his name.
Bucky Barnes- mobster and leading crime lord of Brooklyn 1944.
This is unbelievable! Steve received a mail with this photo a while ago from the great-granddaughter of his Brooklyn neighbour. The picture was taken around the year 1940 (or 1942?)
Oh! And the great-granddaughter even left us her phonenumber… *smirk*
>> my photoshop edit
In the golden age of professional wrestling, Maurice Tillet was a definite standout that served as a mascot of sorts for wrestling enthusiasts. Tillet earned two nicknames in life: “The French Angel”, due to his angelic face as a youth, and the “World’s Ugliest Man”, as his head, hands, and feet began swelling at the age of 20. In fact, it’s Tillet’s cranium shape and body type that served as the inspiration for the titular character in Shrek.
In February of 1937, Tillet met a professional wrestler named Karl Pokello who convinced him to get involved in professional wrestling. Tillet wrestled for two years in France and England until World War II forced him to move to the United States in 1939. There, Tillet met promoter Paul Bowser, who pushed Tillet as The French Angel to the main event. The French Angel was a huge draw for Bowser, and would be an unstoppable force for 19 consecutive months, including a bout against Lou Thesz. The French Angel was the AWA World Heavyweight Champion from 1940 until 1942, and spent time in Montreal as their world champion as well.
Sadly, by 1945, Tillet’s health began to deteriorate and he was no longer advertised as unstoppable. In 1953, Tillet wrestled his final bout in Singapore, losing to Bert Assirati. In 1950, a scupltor from Chicago by the name of Louis Linck befriended Tillet and made a series of plaster busts commemorating his wrestling career. One of those busts is in the National Wrestling Hall Of Fame in Waterloo, Iowa, which I snapped this photo of last year:
Sadly, Tillet passed away at the early age of 50 in 1954, due to cardiovascular disease. He’s buried in Justice, Illinois, 20 miles outside of Chicago.