In 1795, a time capsule was buried containing numerous artifacts of the American Revolution to be opened in 2017. For 222 years it remained under the earth at Mt. Vernon. Among the items included were early drafts of the Declaration of Independence, the tools that crafted the Liberty Bell, and Thomas Jefferson’s fingernail clippings. But far more interesting than all was a handwritten letter by Jimmy Solsmith, age 9 at the time of his writing. It was an account of Washington’s visit to Jimmy’s small village in Virginia on August 8th, 1789, and for anyone interested in American history, it is truly magical. It is here presented in its entirety without alteration:
I write to you upon this date of Auguste the Eighth in the Year of our Lord 1789 to recount the events of to-day, in which George Washington himself did visit my small home town of Billsburgshire, Virginia among his United States of America.
The visit began in the morn as the presidential caravan entered through our village gates. Our first president Washington rode atop the caravan and did wave to the public, who greeted him with great fervor and good tidings. What surprised me moste was his stature. George Washington was well over six feet tall, and had a musculature to equal a great strong mule. As he waved, the meat of his arms did ripple with power and many a lady did swoon upon seeing his chest, which he unbuttoned his overcoat to reveal.
Washington for a brief time stepped down from his carriage to shake hands and greet the townspeople. It was as though a wave of glee rippled across us all. But that wave was cut short when an quake of the Earth struck us. The shivers of the ground unsettled most houses and collapsed the church’s steeple, which had been completed only a year prior. Washington calmed us all with soothing words but the quake was not over, nay, a great rift began to form, parting the earth in several places. From the largest of these muddy wounds came flames, and with them sparks like those of a smithy’s shop.
From the fyre did emerge what appeared at first to be an ox, but as it pour further from the soil we beheld it had the body of a man, the tail of a sea-beest, and several arms. In two of its hands it held swords, sickled like those who fought the crusaders. In a bellowing voice the monstere declared, “I have come for you, George Washington!” The president leapt toward it with a great bound and his voice did bellow, “Come take me, thou ox beest from Hell!” and the two did fight.
The violence was magnificent and terrible. Washington, having pulled a long sword from his trousers, fought the demon hand to hand for well over thirty minutes, as it growled. He beckoned again, “Come at me, brother, is that all thou hast got? Get thou some of this!”
His victory over the monstere was all but assured when the skies opened up and the beest’s brethren from the sky rained upon the village with fury and fyre. No less than twenty more of the things came forth from their ships-that-sail-upon-air. And these did have rifles that shot glowing pellets, and devices that threw flames upon us and our cherished leader. Washington would have none of it. He tore off his shirtpiece and by the shiver of his muscles beat down the creatures! And as they died at his hand, they burst into ashes.
It was then that the mother of these sky ships landed and disgorged a greater beest, akin to the others but with many tentacles and slimy appendages, and also its eyes did glow with blue flame. It spoke disrespectfully to George Washington our founder, stating, “Bring it, thou mother-fucker, it’s time to bringeth the pain.” Washington replied in kind, “Bitch, thou knowest nothing of pain.” And with one of the animals’ weapons he assaulted the mother beest and shot a vast hole in its chest, from which poured burning oil. As the monstere died under his boot, Washington took my elder sister Chastity by the arm and dipped her down as if in a dance, and to her great amazement and glee did kiss her powerfully, all as he held his weapon high and a bald eagle did land upon his shoulder.
Washington finally left our village and we began to rebuild, all the while speaking of his great feats of majestic saving power.
Summary: You decide to give Bucky 100 kisses for his 100th birthday.
Word Count: 2,845
A/N: I’m sure in parts of the world Bucky’s birthday is long over, but it’s still March 10th where I live! Happy Birthday, Bucky Barnes!
Steve Rogers stared at you with wide blue eyes as you attempted
to wolf down a bowl of cereal. There were many things out of place in this
picture—for one thing, he couldn’t quite fathom how a person could so wildly
eat cheerios, your spoon constantly clanging against the sides of the bowl.
For another thing, it was rare that you were up this early
on a Friday, even if it was a special occasion. He glanced at the clock
opposite him, noting that it was only fifteen past nine in the morning.
The super soldier opened his mouth to say something, but he
stopped short at the abrupt sound of your chair scraping its legs against the floor.
You shot out of your seat to drop your wares in the sink before floating across
the table, depositing yourself in Bucky Barnes’ lap.
Bucky eyed you with a smirk, still chewing his breakfast
while you placed your hands around his neck. You stared at him with doe eyes,
batting your lashes heavily. “You need somethin’ darlin?” he questioned you,
the tips of his lips curving into a smile despite the pointed look he was
trying to give.
“Uhhhhh hurry up!” You bounced impatiently on his thigh,
squirming around as you started to slip. “I’m only at twenty-seven!”
“Twenty-seven what?” For a quick moment, everything you
could have possibly meant flashed into Steve’s mind, some of them not exactly
what he wanted to think about over his first meal. With a quirked eyebrow he
looked at the close couple, searching their faces for an explanation.
“I’m trying to mmm-” Your voice was cut off when your
boyfriend shoved toast into your mouth, the jam smearing across your lips and
making it sticky. Smugly, Bucky returned his attention to Steve, who watched on
with a bewildered expression.
“She’s attempting to give me one hundred kisses today.” His
voice was laced with mirth, a silly smile plastered onto his lips that
juxtaposed his usual expression. Steve laughed, understanding your restless
“Did she give you ninety-nine last year?” Steve asked, very
amused by the challenge, but also grateful. While your idea was strange, he
found it sweet and affectionate; just the type of love Bucky needed after years
“He hid his birthday from me last year, and now he has to
pay for it!” you accused, poking your finger into his chest. “Besides, one
hundred is a special milestone! Much more so than ninety-nine.”
“Most people don’t make it to ninety-nine,” Bucky pointed
out, prodding your cheek with the end of his fork. You could see him fighting
the urge to cave into your demands, hiding his grin with a cup of coffee. His
eyes seemed to shimmer, much like they did when Steve brought him to the tower
for the first time.
It felt like so many years ago that you’d met Bucky, a
cautious, broken thing with eyes like glass. You didn’t think you’d ever get to
see him so comfortable, so relaxed, so human.
It made your heart swell, more so than the kisses ever could.
“Well then, even less people make it to one hundred. I’m
glad you’re one of them,” your smile softened as you placed a kiss to his
temple, his eyes closing in reverence. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder,
placing his head against yours.
“I’m glad you’re here with me. You too, punk,” the brunette’s
eyes picked up to Steve’s, narrowing playfully. “I see you over there.”
With a grin, Steve held up his hands in a placating gesture.
“Who me? I’m not doing a thing. Just watching my best friend be totally
disgusting with his girlfriend.” He was shaking now, wiping a tear away from
his eye as his laughter continued.
“I guess there’s some things one hundred years can’t change”
“Fifty three…fifty four…fifty five…fifty six,” You were on a
roll, having placing your lips back and forth against Bucky’s for a few solid
minutes. You were getting fast, knowing that at some point he would grow
impatient of sitting on the couch for such small pecks.
He hadn’t complained yet, a satisfied smile growing even
wider as the other occupants of the room stared in horror while you repeatedly
kissed Bucky, counting in between. Sam mimicked retching, his acting turning
into an actual couching fit.
“Jesus Y/N, aren’t you tired? And I don’t just mean from
having to look at Barnes in the first place.” His voice made you stop, turning
to face the man with a weak glare. Wariness showed on your face, emphasized by
your off-guard expression and swollen lips.
“Could you please be
nice to him for like, one day out of the year? Actually two; Christmas is a
good time to lay off him too.”
“Could you two maybe get a room? We’re trying to watch
quality entertainment, not whatever gross thing you guys are doing,” Clint
groaned, eyes still glued to the television. Tony and Sam agreed with a round
of complaints, the entire room beginning to get rowdy.
“Why are we even watching this? It’s March Madness, turn on
“Um, the Joffrey Ballet is performing Romeo and Juliet and I’m
“Would you guys mind if we put on Star Trek?”
“Fuck Next Generation, Brucey. Someone hand me the remote or
put on How I Met Your Mother.”
All of a sudden the T.V went blank, the remote clanging to
floor as you dropped it with your powers. The room was suddenly silent, no one
daring to make a move as your eyes returned to normal.
“I was here first, and I say you’re all watching T.V. in another room,” Your voice became
dangerously low, scarring the others to scamper out of their seats without any
complaints. There were small apologies being thrown at you, mostly muttered
from Clint and Tony. (“I’m sorry, I’m
sorry, please don’t use your powers!”)
You smiled until a pair of lips were
pressed firmly to yours, a much longer, heated kiss that stole your breath and
your thoughts. Bucky had grabbed your waist, pulling you to straddle his lap
“Sixty,” he reminded you, voice low as though he was sharing
a secret. You blinked, forgetting what the numbers were for in the first place.
He had that effect on you.
He smiled, a little embarrassed, but hugged you closer all
the same. “I wanted to give you one. That was pretty hot.”
“What number are you guys on now?”
Natasha lazily swirled her spoon in her tea, head propped on
her fist as she sent a smirk towards you and Bucky. By some miracle you weren’t
completely smothering him, the two of you eating like normal people at the
“Eighty-six. I’ve been spreading them out, he likes it
better that way.” You beamed at him, unaware of his blushing state. Nat,
however, noticed this right away, wiggling her brows to gain his attention.
“I’m sure that’s not the only thing he likes spread out,”
she winked, and immediately after Bucky placed his head in his hands. A chorus
of feminine cackles erupted, making his face even hotter.
“Bucky, please,” you wheezed out, holding a hand to your
stomach. You gave his back a little rub, coaxing him out of his flushed state. “What
are you acting all shy about, baby?” you teased him, the two of you calling him
“ladies man” and “lover boy”, harping back to the stories Steve used to tell
Bucky slowly lifted his head, hands still covering his face.
“You know, I thought today was going to be more embarrassing for you than for
me. How could I be so wrong?”
You rolled your eyes as his antics, prying his hands away. “C’mon
Buckaroo,” you joked, trying to use as many dumb nickname as you could to calm
him down. “We’re only teasing.”
“Relentlessly,” he added, and you scoffed, placing your
hands on your hips.
“You’re one to talk about relentless! Do you want a list of
all the times you’ve taunted me! You did that to me this morning!” Bucky peeked
at you through his fingers, catching the frown etched on your face. “It’s only
“Sorry, don’t recall,” he muttered, getting up from his seat
and walking away from you. You sputtered, standing quickly and bumping your
thighs against the table.
“Hey!” he was starting to run now, even with very limited
space. His back was retreating faster down the elevator corridor, and you
picked up speed, getting a running start off the ground before you flew towards
“I can fly faster than you can run, Barnes!” you called
after him, eyes glowing as you shot forward. Bucky suddenly turned, arms wide
open, ready to catch you with a solid stance. You tried to slow down, but you
were hurdling toward him like a comet. The force of your collision sent him
skidding backwards, his feet tripping over themselves to regain a sense of balance.
You ended up twirling like a top, his arms wrapped around
you as you spun into the elevator. Your giggles turned into a hiccups, only to
be silenced by a kiss. A deep and slow one, melding your mouths together and ultimately
grounding you. Any dizziness that persisted afterwards was not from being spun,
but rather from the kiss that had you seeing stars.
“Eighty-seven,” you counted proudly, without a single
Ten o’ clock wasn’t late by any means, but it had been a
There had been something of a party in the common room since
seven; a small gathering that consisted of the Avengers, and a few other agents
Bucky knew well. Tony had promised it wouldn’t be anything he wasn’t comfortable
with, and that if he wanted the celebration over, he could have it.
Tony kept his word. Even though Bucky had been having fun,
he realized that while he was busy catching up with Thor and Scott Lang, Y/N
had hardly been by his side. Perhaps it was the suddenness of it all, but he
felt immensely detached, gazing at her from across the room with longing looks.
You were quite adept at deciphering Bucky’s looks, even from
far away. He’d given you this long stare, his baby blue hues so cloudy and
dull, reason enough to saunter over to him and press a quick kiss to his lips.
“You okay?” you asked him, concerned that he wasn’t having
fun. He didn’t seem to suggest the idea, but you could tell that something was
bothering him. The first two times you did it, he shook his head and granted
you a small smile.
The third time was different. By the third kiss you felt his
restless energy, his hands cupping both your cheeks, seeking some sort of
outlet. You held his hands, looking straight into his eyes.
“Bucky,” you paused, making sure he was hearing you. “Bucky
are you alright?”
He was beginning to nod, his hair falling into his eyes as
he bowed his head, but his chin never came back up. “I’m fine, I just,” he
sounded strained, his voice thick with some emotion you couldn’t quite place. “How
“Ten,” you told him, rubbing the pads of your thumbs over
his hands. “Just ten more.”
He licked his lips, grabbing onto your wrist loosely and
pulling you away. “I want to go.” He was using short sentences, his speech
rushed and shoulders tense. Today had
been long, and social events tended to tire him out quicker than anything else.
“Okay baby, you stay right there, I’ll tell Tony.” You gave
him a smile that was forced, the façade vanishing when you turned away from it.
You nearly jogged to reach Tony, explaining the situation as best you could,
despite not understanding it yourself.
He was good about it. Tony didn’t make a scene, he just waved
graciously with a small smile. Bucky returned it, and suddenly the whole room
was raising a glass in his leave.
“Happy Birthday, Buck! Hope you had fun.” Steve’s strong
voice was wistful, but his smile was not at all sad. Bucky gave a salute,
relief seeping back into him as you two looped arms, turning your backs to the
“You sure you’re okay?” It was simply precautionary, your
worry fading when he gave a genuine smile.
“I’m fine, doll face. Just wanted to cash in those last ten
kisses in private.”
He was smooth, in almost everything he did. It was scary,
sometimes, how he could surprise you like that. Bucky appeared so sharp, so
bent and twisted sometimes that you were always taken aback by how careful and
soft he treated you.
His hands slowly went up your side, bunching the soft cotton
of your pajamas impatiently. When he detached himself, his burning blue eyes
looked straight at you, lips parted but unmoving, the question unspoken between
“Ninety-eight,” you replied, breathing heavily against his
lips, your foreheads touching. He’d been playing this game since he’d gotten
you alone, taking charge of the gift you were supposed to give him. He rolled
his hips under yours, nails digging into your sides almost painfully as he
angled his mouth down for another go.
Suddenly his pursed lips met the pads of your fingers. He
blinked, watching as you sat back on your knees, taking his wrists into your
“This is my gift. You can’t take control of it, that makes
it yours.” You felt like you were pouting, crossing your arms to convey your
annoyance, even it if was acute.
Bucky laughed until he realized you were serious. “What?
Darling, come on,” he persuaded, lifting up your chin. “It is for me.”
“Yeah, but it’s, I’m,” you struggled to form your thought
into a coherent statement, one that would make sense. “I’m giving you one
hundred kisses, in my time. You can’t
cash them all in like a rain check.”
That seemed to do the trick, your boyfriend leaning back on
his elbows, looking at you with raised brows. “Well when you put it like that,”
he drawled, and you used your strength to push him down onto his back.
“When I put it like that,” you mocked him, landing on your
side next to him. You grazed your finger across his jaw, tracing the outline
down his neck and collarbone. His skin was hot to the touch, but shivers wracked
his spine when your nails scratched under his chin. He was eager, hands
twitching to touch you. You laughed at his restraint, cupping your hands to
his cheeks and giving him a soft, tender kiss that lasted but a minute.
You didn’t need to say it out loud; you both understand that
this was the last of them, the final kiss to mark his birthday. He smiled as he
shifted to mirror your body, arms snaking around your neck. He wanted so desperately
to say something, but before he could even think about it, your lips placed a
small peck to his.
“One hundred! Happy Birthday, Bucky!” you grinned sneakily,
and he grabbed you, pulling you onto his lap. You laughed at his expression,
the fleeting anger that bubbling under his shock.
“What? That so does not count!” he yelled, feeling cheated.
He pulled your wrists to bring your closer, so close that your chests touched
and your eyes were solely focused on each other. You still stifled some giggles
back, and Bucky finally sighed, resigned to the fact that, no matter how
devious it was, you’d kept your promise.
“You’re forgetting something,” your chirpy voice reminded
him, and he grumbled a quick response before you placed your hands on his
chest. You captured his attention a mere moment before you captured his lips,
this time in a kiss that mattered.
It started slow and hesitant, as though you were testing
unsteady waters. Soon it became deeper, those hovering hands now fully immersed
in his hair, tugging at the roots with just enough pull to spur him on further.
Bucky placed his hands on your hips, slowly sitting himself
up, never breaking contact. He placed you back down onto the bed, his weight
pressing against yours. Your resolve broke, that earlier statement off the
table as Bucky guided you onto your back, trapping you between his arms. Your
head pressed into the mattress, your body sinking as your breath was stolen
from you, Bucky’s chest flush against you.
When the need for air became too hard to ignore, Bucky
pulled back, a questioning glance on his face. “Pretty sure I’m not one hundred
and one,” he inquired, and you smiled.
“One for good luck.” Your answer made him break out into a
grin, one so contagious you nearly forgot about everything else. He slowly
leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, a good and quick thing that
conveyed everything it needed to.