Claire sat facing the long mirror, her tight curls spread around her shoulders. Mama Crook and Ellen had been up early preening her to within an inch of her life, scrubbing every inch of dirt from her skin before washing and drying her hair. Flowers sat through the cloud of brown that cascaded around her shoulders. Ellen had lovingly picked the blooms from her spring garden in an effort to make Claire as spectacular as possible.
If she hoped to hide her ever expanding midriff though, she was going to be disappointed.
Her dress, although very well hiked in, still showed the soft swell of her belly and Claire was a little paranoid that the guests were going to guess why the wedding had been pushed so quickly - exposing her to the whole of Lallybroch.
“Dinna fash, lass,” Ellen cooed from the corner as she prepared Claire something warm to drink. “Whatever they think, they can all keep quiet for yer special day. Jamie wouldna marry you if he didna wish it and all of the tenants ken this well. Yer condition won’t affect that.”
Claire blushed, the pink hue spreading over her half hidden face as she turned away from her mother-in-law-to-be. “How do you know for sure?”
“I’m the laird’s lady, Claire. I’ve grown wi’ these folk. If we’ve agreed to it, then they’ll ken it’s no’ for show, aye?”
Claire nodded, the petals of the soft summer arrangement wilting a little as she tried to still herself without ruining the display.
“He loves ye something fierce, Claire,” Ellen added, her tone softening as she watched Claire’s blush increase. “He’d fight for ye if he thought that’s what he’d have to do to convince ye of it. So dinna doubt him. Anything else, weel…” she sighed and shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, “…that can go hang, ken?”
“Yes,” Claire mumbled, her heart picking up pace as she imagined what kind of morning Jamie was having with his da. His uncle Murtagh had ridden in for the special occasion, leaving his post with clan MacKenzie - one of the bordering clans - to see his godson on this special morning. She knew he’d been waiting patiently for Murtagh to arrive and so wanted to take her time getting ready to allow him a moment with the man. But now, with Ellen’s words coursing through her, she wanted to be close to him more than ever.
“Are ye ready, Claire?” Ellen said, sensing Claire’s growing agitation. “I think we can start to make our way down now.” Looking out of the window, Ellen could see the large gathering of people, Jamie, Murtagh and Brian at the helm of them. She could only see the top of her son’s head but from that view alone she could see a similar eagerness to him. Too long he’d been kept from Claire’s side and now, bound as they were to one another, he obviously didn’t wish to wait a moment longer to be close to her…officially.
“Yes, yes…I am.” Steeling her nerves, butterflies gathering in her tummy as she felt the bairn push gently against her womb, Claire pushed herself from the dressing table and straightened out her skirts. “Is he there?”
“Aye, he is at that. Just ye wait until ye see the lad,” Mrs Crook said proudly from the doorway as she slid her way inside. “Brian sent me up for ye both, he says they’re ready for ye.”
Without a father to agree a dowry, Mama Crook had stepped in as a ‘liaison’ between Brian, Ellen, Jamie and Claire, though she knew she needn’t worry for Claire’s safety. It had, however, made Claire feel slightly less nervous about her impending nuptials, knowing that she had someone looking after her best interests. Mrs Crook had ensured that Claire knew all the facts and had helped her to understand that - although a usual requirement of a bride before her wedding - in this case certain formal arrangements would not be necessary.
Taking Claire by the arm, Mama Crook led her behind Ellen as they made their way downstairs. Having elected to marry in the courtyard of Lallybroch had meant that Claire could stay in the big house and had not been expected to travel the few miles to the small kirkyard that lay beyond the hill to the west. It had been something she and Jamie had both wanted and Brian and Ellen had gone to extra lengths to ensure that it happened correctly.
“It’s alright, Claire,” Mama Crook soothed, her free hand coming across to stroke Claire’s arm gently as they made their way closer to the front door. “Yer shaking like a leaf, lass. Just take some deep breaths. Dinna work yersel’ up.”
Claire could feel it, the extra energy in her that was suddenly building the closer she got to Jamie and she tried to quash the urge to bolt out of the door and rush straight into his arms. She felt jubilant. Buoyant in the knowledge that within an hour or so she could settle into the life she’d dreamed about since she’d fallen for Jamie all of those years ago.
“Claire,” Ellen lay her hand against Claire’s back as Mrs Crook held her solidly in the doorway. “Claire,” she repeated, seeing the vacant expression solidify on Claire’s face as she finally caught a glimpse of Jamie through the crowds of onlookers. “One step at a time, my girl,” she whispered, bringing her mouth as close to Claire’s ear as she could without spooking her. “He willna go anywhere.”
Breathing in once through her nose and out through her mouth, Claire nodded, her eyes steadfastly fixed to Jamie as he crooked his neck trying to catch a glimpse of her. He smiled and her heart raced, the usually steady beat running a little out of time as blue eyes met whisky.
He could see her.
His tongue peeked out from behind his lips as he blinked slowly.
She could see him, too.
The greens of his dress kilt swished in the breeze as their eyes locked on one another and time seemed to stand still.
“Please,” Claire begged, her tone airy and light as she tugged on Mama Crook’s arm once more, “can we? Please?”
Understanding the rush, Ellen nodded to Mrs Crook and the three ladies began their journey across the courtyard much to Claire’s immediate relief.
Conversation - inane chatter that had ebbed and flowed through the congregation as they awaited the service - abruptly ceased as soon as they heard the crunch of footsteps headed towards them. Everyone turned, taking Claire in as Mrs Crook and Ellen Fraser escorted her through them and down a narrowly left aisle that led towards Jamie, Brian and Murtagh.
If she’d still had any lingering doubts that the residents of Broch Tuarach were going to be scandalised and incensed by her *situation* they would have evaporated in a second upon seeing their faces as they watched her slow ascent along the walkway that separated the guests. They were all awestruck and none of them seemed to be paying attention to her slight bump.
“Claire,” Jamie whispered, his eyes wide and unblinking as Claire was brought to stand at his side. Mama Crook took her hand and laid it over his before leaning over to kiss her brow softly. She said nothing as she patted Jamie on the shoulder and shimmied to the side away from the lovestruck pair.
“J-Jamie,” Claire stuttered, her palms sweating as Jamie clenching his fingers around hers. The prickle of heat brought Claire to her senses as she took one unconscious step forwards, bending her arms so that they rested neatly between herself and Jamie.
The priest coughed, the clearing of his throat making Claire jump a little as she looked briefly to the side and then straight back to Jamie once more.
“Are ye ready?” He asked, his deep, booming voice echoing through the bustling courtyard even though the priest hadn’t spoken very loudly.
“Aye,” Jamie said, bowing his head a little to Claire as he smiled a small, comforting smile. “Ne’er any doubt, sir.”
– — –
The ceremony seemed to pass in a blur from then on out and Jamie, sweat dripping from his brow in the unusual midday Scottish heat, couldn’t help but be happy about it. The sooner they both said their vows, the sooner he could abscond with his blushing bride.
Closing the door on the rowdy party below, Jamie peeled off his dress jacket and hung it over the small chair that sat by the vanity in the corner - the same vanity where Claire had been getting dressed only hours before.
Perched on the bed, Claire had her back to Jamie as she tugged at the laces of her bodice.
“I just had a thought,” she mused, her tone quiet and reverent, “since you discovered I was pregnant, you haven’t really seen me. Have you?”
“Nay,” Jamie answered, his fingers stopping as he ceased unbuttoning his shirt for just a moment. “I wished for it, Claire,” he whispered, an intense longing in his voice, “but I didna know whether it was the right thing to ask or no’. But now..” He paused for just a moment, his knees going weak at the prospect of seeing her nude and round with his child, “now yer my wife and I think it proper to be able to see ye as ye are, aye?”
Claire dipped her head, the flowers falling around her as they drooped, flopped and slipped from her curls. Silently she slipped her shift from her shoulders, discarding her bodice in the process and sat, patiently waiting for Jamie to make his move.
“Yes. I think it proper. Do you want to come and look?”
Needing no further invitation, Jamie quickly shook off his boots off and took four long strides along the side of the bed until he could see Claire’s profile from where she sat.
She was glorious. Still not too large, but enough that she looked radiantly pregnant. “Dhia, Claire,” he murmured, his voice catching on the words as he stumbled the last few steps towards her, fell to his knees and wrapped one large hand around her middle. “My wife; my Claire, ye are a miracle.”
Allowing the tears to drip down her face, Claire hiccuped as she reached forward, her fingers tangling in Jamie’s tied back hair as she pulled it free of its binding. “Do you really think so? Even though I hid it for so long?”
“That’s in the past,” Jamie interjected, not willing to dwell on things long since forgotten. “What matters now, Claire Fraser,” he said, love and understanding filling his words as his palm ran soothing circles over her abdomen, “is that we look towards our future…together.”
You guys have waited way too long for this and for that I’m sorry. But here it is, so I won’t start it with my usual long-winded preamble.
Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Modern AU thingy)
Words: 5046 (yikes, that’s the longest fic I’ve ever written)
Warnings: The usual tiny bit of swearing
For a moment, you wonder how this became your life. Yesterday, you were just another girl worrying about everything except her lack of a love life. Now that’s all you can think about because you’re flirting with a complete stranger. How insanely insane is that? For all you know, he could be a forty-something year old dude with three ex-wives and a beer-belly that could carry triplets. Somehow, though, you don’t think that’s likely.
You blink your eyes blearily and shift in bed. The sheet is wrapped around your legs like sweaty vines, constricting your movement. You growl angrily and throw them off, sitting up and relishing in the cool air of your apartment. Despite the frigid cold outside, you somehow still manage to wake up sweating. Maybe you’re a mutant.
Glancing over at your phone, it dings again to impatiently let you know that you still haven’t opened the text that woke you up. Usually your phone is switched to silent because of your job at the diner. There are always so many phones going off that it’s almost impossible to tell which is which. It’s just easier having your phone on silent because then you’re never worried about whether your phone is ringing or if it’s someone else’s. It saves you a lot of unnecessary anxiety.
But ever since last night’s conversation with James, you decided that you wanted to hear your phone ring with a text. It’s the first time in your life that you don’t want to miss a text.
You pick up the offending piece technology and swipe it open. Sure enough, the text is from James and you grin despite the fact that this message is the same one that woke you at—you squint at your alarm clock—3:49 a.m.
Deciding you are both thirsty and in need of some time in the open air of your apartment and not under the suffocating sheets, you get up and stretch. The floors are cold as you pad to the kitchen and fill a glass with water, shooting a text back to James.
3:51 a.m I am now
You wait for an answer while downing your glass of water and putting the empty glass in the sink again. Maybe he fell back asleep when you didn’t answer right away.
For a moment, you wonder how this became your life. Yesterday, you were just another girl worrying about everything except her lack of a love life. Now that’s all you can think about because you’re flirting with a complete stranger. How insanely insane is that? For all you know, he could be a forty-something year old dude with three ex-wives and a beer-belly that could carry triplets. Somehow, though, you don’t think that’s likely.
You have no proof of this, and absolutely no reason to believe he isn’t a creep except for a gut feeling. You resolve to ask his age whenever he decides to answer you.
You think about that. He could lie to you and tell you that he’s 20 when he’s really a lot older than that. The only way you’d truly know is if you meet him in person.
Suddenly you’re a little dizzy. This is just way too much to worry about at four a.m. You decide to just talk to him. You genuinely like his personality, and you don’t have to worry about all that other stuff until you actually meet him. If you actually meet him. That’s a big, neon-colored, flashing sign in the middle of absolute nowhere if.
Your phone dings and you look over from where you’re clutching the counter. You don’t notice how hard you were gripping the counter until you pull your palms away and it stings, lines etching themselves across your palm.
4:03 a.m srry didnt mean to wake u
Before you can even formulate a response, he’s texting you again. A double text. Gasp.
4:04 a.m just couldnt sleep. i was wondring if u wanted to talk
You tilt your head at your screen. He’s up in the middle of the night, and the first thing he does is text you? Why? Does he not have other people he can talk to? A stupid part of you, the same part that wants to meet him in person, thinks that maybe it’s because he wants to talk to you.
Maybe he does. Probably not. It’s too much to hope for. All his other friends are probably asleep. Regardless, not answering is not an option. Well, it is, but it’s not one you’re likely to explore, not when your chest has those freaky bubbles in it and your stomach is doing that stupid flippy-thingy. Nope. This, you decide, feels like High School when a cute boy texted you first and the instinct to giggle shot up to level 12.
4:06 a.m alright. what about?
Capitals, Y/N. What the hell happened to capitals?
You take your phone and pad back into your room, perching yourself up against the headboard with your knees drawn up to your chest and your phone in your hands as you wait for a response. Worrying your bottom lip, your mind drifts to work. You’ll have to get up in about three hours to be at work on time. Man, you’re going to be tired.
It’s then that your phone dings. You decide then that talking to him makes it worth the fatigue.
4:11 a.m twenty questions?
4:11 a.m Fine, but since you woke me up you have to go first.
The three dots that mean he’s typing pop up three different times before the response finally comes through.
4:15 a.m whatd u go to school 4?
4:15 a.m getting down to the nitty gritty personal stuff I see
You think for a moment. Telling him what you do isn’t divulging too much about yourself, so you decide it’s okay.
4:16 a.m lol yup thats me. i want the deep personal stuff. might just ask what ur fav color is nxt
4:16 a.m 1. editing; 2. sorry, that’s sacred info
4:17 a.m 1 ah i understand y ur a grammar nazi now…2 obviously
Thinking for a moment, you decide that favorites are just too cliche. Any conversation anyone has with some new friend ends in questions that start with “What’s your favorite…” You really want to know how old he is, but you figure you need an ice breaker before you get to the actual nitty gritty.
First, though, you must take the bait to piss him off:
4:19 a.m What would you have done if I hadn’t gone to college?
With a yawn, you lie back down and curl on your side, sitting your phone on the nightstand in front of you with your eyes glued to it. Once you realize that staring at it isn’t going to make him type faster, you turn over.
You’re totally not too eager. There’s no—
You flip over so fast that you rip the sheet from the other side of the bed and end up with half of it between your stomach and the bed. It pulls from the bottom corner of the bed and is slightly uncomfortable, but you don’t care.
4:22 a.m high school?
4:23 a.m I didn’t go to high school FOR anything
You’re not sure if the use of caps-lock is weird, but you send it off anyways, deciding that emphasis on that one word is crucial to your meaning. He replies within seconds.
4:23 a.m i mean dunno bout u but i went to learn
You laugh, probably louder than is necessary.
4:24 a.m Touche. What’d you go to school for?
4:26 a.m repeating questions isnt alowed
Frowning, you wonder if he actually didn’t go to college. Should you push it? Maybe you should just change the question. There’s a part of you, the curious part that wanted to be a reporter when you were young, that really wants to know.
There isn’t too much time for you to think all of that before he’s texting you again. Usually, you’re the one to mercilessly double-text. James, it would seem, has you beat in this department. Also, you didn’t want to double-text a complete stranger.
Before you even look at the text, it hits you again: this is a complete stranger. The thought of not answering enters your mind again, but you push it down. No harm in just talking if neither of you meet, right? Right?
4:27 a.m i joined the military right out of HS
It’s a real Oh moment, and you find yourself staring at your screen as if it’s a real person. The military? What are you supposed to say to that? What’s the protocol for a text that you’re not sure how to answer? Should you just leave it alone? No; if you leave it alone then he’ll think he freaked you out. He hasn’t. Your brain is just short-circuiting on an answer.
Should you think him for his service? No. Not yet. You don’t want to call too much attention to it in case he doesn’t want to talk about it or he’s had bad experiences, but you’re still not sure how to respond. Have you taken too long already?
You summon up some courage and type out a message.
4:31 a.m Oh wow. Well, what would you have studied if you had gone?
You cringe, totally not meaning for that to sound like you were completely skipping over the issue altogether. James doesn’t seem to mind though, if his response is any indication.
4:32 a.m hmm history i think. ive always liked ww2 4 some reason
4:33 a.m well you’ve got AP european history girl right here. 1 of only 11 in the whole senior class to take it.
4:34 a.m well, smartypants i get 2 q’s bc u asked 2
You feel that you handled that effectively, and you were already beginning to formulate a plan in your head while he thought about his questions.
See, you know next to nothing about the military or what it’s all about except that it is for valiant people who want to serve their country. You can respect that, but you want—nay, need—to learn more. Convincing yourself that it’s purely for research purposes and not for anything else.
Regardless, you need to know more. It’s probably better to get it from someone who has been through it rather than from some cold, impersonal online source. And besides, you just so happen to know someone who was in the military. Someone who, in fact, lost a limb in the line of duty: Bucky Barnes.
As far as you know, Bucky lost his left arm in the military. You’d asked him before how he lost it and he hadn’t answered you, opting instead to change the subject to Steve and his new (at the time) art studio. It had been suspicious, but you understand that it must not be easy to speak about something like that.
You’ll have to go talk to Steve tomorrow morning to get Bucky’s number, but you think that maybe you’ll treat him to lunch in exchange for him giving you some details about the whole military thing. At the company, you get an hour off for lunch, which is just enough time to go out, interrogate a friend (respectfully, of course), and head back before the hour is up.
The plan was formed and you had your head already set on it. By the time James’ reply comes in, you’ve tuckered yourself out thinking that whole plan out. It is really late—er, early—after all.
4:41 a.m 1 how was ur day 2 how r u likely to spend a friday night
4:43 a.m I feel like I’m taking a Buzzfeed quiz
You yawn again and type out your answers.
4:44 a.m my day’s just begun. it’s four a.m. And probably reading or something
You put your phone down, thinking that you’ll just leave it there and wait for his reply, but you end up turning over and falling asleep.
In the morning, you turn your phone on silent again while you get ready for work, playing some music while you apply some light make-up.
It turned out that James hadn’t answered you anyway, so you would have been up waiting for a text that wasn’t going to come. Good thing you passed out.
Glancing at the clock, you notice that it’s 7:02 a.m and that Steve should be up. You don’t have to be at work until 8 and it’s not a long bus ride to get to work so you figure you can spare half an hour to haggle your best friend into giving up Bucky’s phone number. You wonder why you haven’t thought to get it sooner, figuring that you just never needed it.
You and Bucky only ever hung out with Steve or the rest of the gang. He was a friend of yours, but the two of you had never been too close in the two years of knowing each other. That said, you had heard a lot about each other even before meeting from Steve, and Bucky had expressed in the past how annoying he found it when Steve was constantly mentioning you in casual conversation.
It was the same with Bucky for you. Steve had been talking about his best friend Bucky ever since you had met him. It was in that way that you and Bucky had gotten to know each other sort of inadvertently.
Heading out the door and across the hall, you knock on Steve’s door lightly a few times. He’s a light sleeper anyways, and you don’t want to wake the whole hall with loud knocking. You only opt for knocking this time in case he’s not decent or something. Otherwise, you would have used your key.
Sure enough, Steve answers the door within a few minutes, clad in flannel pajama pants, a white V-neck, and holding a steaming cup of coffee. It smells amazing, and you realize then that in your rush you’d forgotten to make yourself some.
“Got another one of those and half an hour?”
Steve raises an eyebrow but steps aside to let you in. He’s a morning person, so you were sure on your way over here that you wouldn’t receive any resistance.
“What do you need?” he asks you, pouring you a cup of coffee not unlike how he’d done it the night before. He pours in a generous amount of milk and some sugar before stirring it and handing it to you, just the way you like it.
Blow, sip—“Mm,” you hum. “I need Bucky’s phone number.” You say it as nonchalantly as you can manage so as not to raise any flags to Steve, but by his surprised expression you can tell that you’ve raised them all.
You shrug like it’s no big deal. “He has some info that I need.” It sounds so covert and cheesy that you almost giggle, but you manage to keep your composure while sipping your coffee again.
Steve tilts his head to the side almost imperceptibly, leaning his back against the counter across from you as you sit at a stool by his island. Said island juts out from a wall to half-enclose the kitchen area like a wrap-around ‘J’ with the island as the tail.
After a few moments of silence, it becomes clear that Steve is waiting for you to elaborate, and when you don’t indulge, he sighs, setting his cup down and crossing his arms.
“Okay, but don’t call him now,” Steve says, already ruffling in a drawer for a pen and paper. “He—he has trouble sleeping, and he needs as much of it as he can get before he has to work. And he’s taking Friday off so he has to log in more hours to make up the difference.” Steve hands you a piece of paper with numbers scribbled on it.
“Got it,” you said, taking the paper and sticking it in your bag. “Thanks, Steve.”
“Yeah,” he smiles at you. “No problem.”
You stand and head to the door, plan in motion and feeling good about it. Then you remember something and turn as you’re walking toward the door.
He lifts his head from where he’s still standing in the kitchen sipping his coffee. You realize you’ve left yours there, but decide that it’s okay. You’ll survive. Somehow.
“Mom is bringing over pasta around two, but I won’t be home,” you can already see his eyes lighting up. “I told her to make extra and that you should be back by then. Can you—”
“—keep it here until you get home?” He knows you so well, it’s scary. “Yeah, but don’t expect me not to try some of it first.”
You fix him with a warning finger. “I’ll be over at seven and I will expect there to be enough for dinner and lunch tomorrow.”
He holds his hands up. “Hey, we all know my metabolism requires a lot of calories per day, and two is just in time for a late lunch.”
“Steve,” you warn.
“Alright,” he laughs. “I’ll leave some of your mother’s pasta for you for dinner.”
“That’s all I ask.”
You walk back over, kiss his cheek, take one more sip of your coffee, and then leave.
You tap your foot on the ground impatiently as you wait at your desk for the clock to turn from 11:29 to 11:30 so you can head for a bathroom break to call Bucky and find out if he’s busy for lunch.
James hadn’t texted you all day, but you figure that’s okay. He doesn’t always have to text you. He has a life. You push him mostly out of your head, or you try to. You fail miserably.
He’s the reason you’re meeting with Bucky anyways. As much as you don’t want to admit it, that’s the truth. Of course, you can’t tell Bucky that. You’ll just sound stupid. And then Bucky will tell Steve and Steve will have some sort of “talking to strangers is bad” intervention with you. You definitely don’t want to endure that.
11:30 hits and it’s officially been half an hour since your actual bathroom break. You don’t want to call attention to yourself in the office that you share with a whole bunch of other people in too-tightly-packed cubicles. You grab the slip of paper Steve had given you and head to the elevator.
By the time you make it to the downstairs bathroom, you realize that you forgot your phone upstairs on your desk. Great. Now what are you going to do? If you go back up to get it, you’ll look suspicious. Of course, you shouldn’t really care what your coworkers think of you, but you do. Everybody says they don’t care about peer acceptance but most actually do.
It’s human nature.
You sigh angrily and look around. The lobby is all marble floors and a little shop where they sell overpriced snacks and drinks. There’s a desk to the left of the elevator bank with one woman sitting in a black wheelie chair making and taking phone calls.
Can you just ask her to borrow one of her phones? There’s an empty seat next to her. Maybe you can explain your situation and just ask this woman if you can borrow the phone.
The only thing is that you don’t know this woman. Your supers rented the office space with the endless rows of cubicles from the people who owned the building. This woman obviously works for the building management, and not for anyone you know.
You decide it’s better that she doesn’t know you. It’s less personal. You can call Bucky, discuss details, and be done with it.
You sidle over and lean on the high desk. Its polished marble top is so high that you have to lean over it a little to see the woman. She’s plump, with dark hair, blue eyes, and a squished face. She looks the opposite of friendly. She’s wearing a black headset that you realize is some sort of Bluetooth.
You wait until she is done speaking to talk to her.
She doesn’t look at you for a moment, reaching up instinctively as if she thinks you’re in her headset before she realizes she’s speaking to a real person. She eyes you.
You were right to guess she wasn’t very friendly.
“I was wondering if I could borrow your phone,” you say kindly. “I have to call someone and I accidentally left my phone upstairs.”
She looks bored and eyes you for another second before looking back at her computer screen. “Just go up and get it.”
“It’s urgent,” you lie. Man, this is going to be awkward after you make the call right in front of her and she finds out its personal.
She eyes you again. “You have five minutes.”
You smile at her. “I’ll only need three.”
You wait as she plops one of the black phones on top of the counter, and it’s so high that you have to go up on your tiptoes to see the number pad.
“Type extension 382 first, then the number.”
With that, she gets back to her work and you pull the phone from the receiver. You flatten the paper on the desk and do as she instructed.
You wonder if he’ll even pick up. This will be an unknown number to him, and you know that if it were you, you wouldn’t answer.
It rings three times before a familiar, gruff voice answers.
“Bucky? It’s Y/N.”
He sounds surprised. “Y/N?” There’s a pause, a honking noise, and then he sounds as if he’s realized something. “Steve gave you my number.”
“Yeah,” you say. “I had to call you from a work phone, though.”
You catch the woman looking up at you briefly and can tell she’s annoyed that this is a personal call. You’re sure this call needs to be as short as you can possibly make it or else you’re afraid she’ll just cut it herself.
“Listen, are you busy for lunch in, like, half an hour?”
Bucky thinks for a moment on the other line and the lady looks at you again, her gaze becoming more venomous. You’re pretty sure that once she looks at you a third time she’s going to end your call for you.
Just as you’re about to scold him for an answer, Bucky speaks up.
You feel bad, but you have to cut him off.
“Okay, great. Meet me at the Deli down the street from Steve’s studio at 12 sharp. My treat.”
Bucky chuckled on the other end. “Your treat? What do you need from me?”
You smile despite the situation. “Just your brain.”
“Sure you don’t want Banner or Stark for that one?”
“I’m sure,” the woman was giving you her last angry glare. You had to go. “See you then, Buck.”
“Looking forward to having my brain probed. Bye, Y/N.”
You hang up, thank the lady, and make your way back upstairs as fast as you can. 12:00 can’t come quick enough.
Bucky wonders what you want to talk to him about as he drives a company truck to the deli and parallel parks a couple blocks down. The flatbed of the truck is filled with mismatched pieces of junk, from broken computers to the plastic from the top of a printer. It’s all stuff that can be broken down and reprocessed at a plant.
The city is taking down an old building and putting a new office building up in its place. It’s Bucky’s job as the assistant to take all the not-so-useless junk and dispose of it somewhere where it can be reused.
He doesn’t have to be at the plant until two, and he finished loading everything up early, so he has about two hours or so to spare.
Walking into the Deli, he’s hit with a wave of merciful heat and he immediately pulls his coat off. The deli is small with few patrons a small line for take-out. One woman is sipping an iced coffee through a straw while she types madly on a computer. Two men are sitting at a table wearing yellow vests and eating huge subs. Bucky wonders if he would have ended up as one of them, working for the DPW if he hadn’t begun working with the demolition company.
It takes him barely a moment of looking around to find Y/N sitting in a corner flanked by two windows with an empty seat across from her. There’s a wrapped sandwich and a water sitting on the table in front of the other seat.
She’s smoothing out the wrapper of her own sandwich as if the creases in the paper wrapping are offending and should not be allowed to exist.
“Hey,” he says, walking over and taking a seat in front of her.
She looks up at him and smiles. “Hey,” she shoots back, and then nods to the sandwich. “Got you a BLT.”
Bucky’s suspicions are steadily growing. He pulls the paper from around the sandwich and lays it on the table as Y/N had done, though he couldn’t care less about the creases. He looks between the sandwich and the girl, eyeing both with the suspicion of someone who thinks he’s being played.
“What’s this about?” he asks.
She swallows and puts her sandwich down, looking like she’s about to ask him a ground-breaking, life-changing question. Her eyes quickly flick over to his arm and he’s suddenly very sure he knows what this is about.
But that’s strange. Yesterday—or really early this morning—he was talking to Y/M/N about him having been in the military. Now Y/N is eyeing his arm like she really wants to ask what happened but she doesn’t want to sound impolite.
Then there’s the fact that they’re both editors. That’s weird. And how Y/N reminds him of Y/M/N.
He’s an apopheniac, he has to be. He’s seeing coincidences where there really aren’t any. It’s his brain playing tricks on him. In truth, maybe he just wants this strange girl to be Y/N. Though, probably not. Then again, maybe this whole time he thought he was jealous of Y/N for being so close to Steve, he was really jealous of Steve for being so close to Y/N.
That thought derails him so fast that he doesn’t hear it when Y/N actually asks her question.
She lets out a breath as if it’s a load-off to finally ask him, and he’s struck with the realization that if he says he didn’t hear her, she probably won’t take it well. He waits for her to say something else, but when she doesn’t he takes a leap of faith based on her glance at his arm.
“You want to know how I lost my arm,” he says, rather than asks. If her expression of shock and discomfort is any indication, he’s screwed up.
“I mean,” she straightens in her chair. “I guess—it’s sorta part of it? Yeah.”
She sounds so lost and he feels so bad.
He still has no idea what her original question was though. ‘Part of it.’ His thoughts drift back to his earlier conversation with the girl he’s been talking to over text. The military. Could that be what Y/N wants to know about?
No, it’s just too weird. There’s no way. But he has to know.
“The military? You want to know about the military?”
She nods, looking slightly guilty. “Yeah,” he tries not to let his breath of relief show, “I—uh, fact-checking. I’m fact-checking an article.”
Bucky nods slowly, sandwich forgotten. She’s a terribly liar. “You’re a terrible liar.”
Sitting back as if she’s been punched in the gut, she blinks once, twice, three times—“I’m not lying.”
“Your body language gives you away.”
“Is that something you learned in the military?”
Bucky chuckles. “That’s something I learned from a whole lot of spy movies. Seriously, why do you want to know?”
She takes a bite of her sandwich and speaks around it. Altogether, not the most sexy, but that’s okay.
“Research,” she says slowly.
Bucky creases his eyebrows. “For?”
“For a project?”
“If you’re going to lie, at least lie with conviction,” Bucky says. “One of these days, I’m going to teach you how to lie the right way.”
Laughing, she pulls her chair in a little more and sits forward. The picture of seriousness, she says, “Alright, if I tell you, you need to promise me you won’t tell Steve.” She sounds reluctant to tell him at all. This must not have been her plan.
Bucky draws a cross over his heart with his index finger. “Cross my heart or hope to die.”
She shakes her head. “Gotta be stronger than that. You have to pinkie promise.”
He gasps dramatically. “Not a pinkie promise. This must really be serious.”
Reaching over, she swats his arm. “Buck, I’m serious.”
“Okay, okay,” he surrenders, holding up his pinkie. She links hers with his and he’s momentarily struck by how soft her skin is. Then it’s over. “Tell me.”
She steels herself, he can see it. Jeez, it must really be something serious or she wouldn’t be swearing him to secrecy using childish, yet efficient tactics. It strikes him that she tells Steve everything, same as him, so for her to say she doesn’t want him to know must mean it’s not necessarily something good.
He lets himself think for a moment that she might be about to confess that she’s the mystery girl he’s been texting. It’s much more likely, though, that she’s about to tell him she’s got feelings for Steve or something.
Steeling himself as well, he waits as she takes a deep breath.
“I may or may not—”
“You may,” he corrects. She glares at him.
“—have answered a text from a guy who was trying to text someone else—”
This is where Bucky stops listening and his internal monologue becomes one word:
I’ve waited way too fucking long to finish this cosplay– and I’m still making improvements to it! Either way, I finally debuted my cosplay of Matt Bragg in his GTA outfit. @micoo joined me as Lil J.
- I told Matt I was working on this, so I wanted to finish it ASAP… So happy RT anniversary to one of my favorite Achievement Hunters! I adore you… and I had way too much fun with this cosplay. I can’t wait to wear it again!
With the amount of asks that I get in my inbox over the months, I’ve fallen behind on them so much I kinda feel overwhelmed with it all.
SO I’m gonna have my askbox closed during the week and only open on weekends to at least slow down the flow of asks I may get (this may change if it doesn’t work out). This goes for interactions too since I’ve fallen way behind of them and I apologizes to anyone who is waiting for responses to interactions they’ve sent to me. It takes so long to get to each one and trying to get to each one as fast as I can has burnt me out so I’m taking a tiny break from it (I’ll be back on it soon for anyone waiting currently).
Hopefully this isn’t too upsetting for people. If it is I’m deeply sorry, I have so many asks coming in all the time from so many followers it’s hard keeping up with. I still try my best to as daily as I can be, but some things do get in the way sadly.
Another note for when the askbox is close, Please do not send asks for the muse through messages. I’ve had this happen before when I closed my askbox for just a short time. it felt very disrespectful and I would much appreciate it if that didn’t happen. Ask are meant for the askbox for a reason, even when it’s closed. If you are an ask/rp blog that would like to interact with me, you are free to ask through messages about it or wait till my askbox is open again. Thanks!
"#he even twitted ichiruki pics when the last bleach chapter was approaching #he was ready to celebrate with us" --- he did? omg Kudo is such a gem T_T
Oh yes he did! I can’t really remember exactly what he retwitted tho, something about the ice skating scene??? Ahaa I don’t remember! But we talked about it in deathberry forum and we got excited because it looked like he was waiting with us for the last chapter and for ichriuki to be canon. Kudo was/is all of us LOL.
I really enjoy Kudo and the love he has shown for IchiRuki, after all he is the man behind episode 342 and more, the art he made the other day is amazing and made me so happy! But don’t be fooled by how excited I sound, since the Bleaach ending I don’t trust anyone. I still expect him (and others) too to acknowledge the last chapter and the canon ships. But the way this took and is still taking so long is delicious and clearly shows how Ichiruki is what (almost) everyone expected, wanted and needed but in the end we got what no one asked for.
Wander over Yonder premiered and my 15-year-old self was way too excited to see it! Four years have passed very, VERY fast and I still have lots of love for WoY. Also, WoY was the reason why I came to Tumblr (since other WoY fans on Instagram urged me otherwise). I watched every episode from beginning to end, from the beginning to end! And to top it all off, WoY is apparently the fandom I’ve been in for the longest, and these years will continue to count.
I waited for every episode, took screenshots on my old iPod while watching, then look back at them afterwards. Realizing that long-time thing I did while watching the show makes me have memories. Looking at all those screenshots I took always bring me back. I had such great memories with the show and especially the WoY fandom. And also, this show apparently became an anxiety reducer and a meltdown melter for me since I got upset and had nasty flashbacks over the simplest things. Talking about WoY or drawing WoY fan art always kept my mind off of the things that would get me close to getting these nasty flashbacks… and it still does (and so does the other fandoms I’m in now as well).
(It was harder for me to really describe those feelings when I was younger. Especially on the past anniversary posts.)
I, my 19-year-old self may have jumped myself into Felix the Cat (of course), Homestar Runner, Bendy and the Ink Machine, Cuphead, and other cool shows/games, but I have never left WoY behind. It has been over a year since WoY ended and I still miss this show. I will always love WoY to the moon and back!
Happy 4th Anniversary, Wander over Yonder!
Of course, ‘ol Whitney here never forgot why August 16th was such a special day.
Important political members are in town and a few small protests have begun because of it. It’s nothing major! The government seems to have it under control. The fine for crossing the line is too high for anyone to ignore so everyone seems to be protesting peacefully. At approximately 4:00 p.m. EST however, all cell phone towers went down. Could have been from the disruption on the main towers on 42nd street but who knows? Some close minded people are blaming the protesters and others are blaming the unbearable heat! What’s next? The electricity? Yikes.
Good thing phone towers went back up a few minutes later. Couldn’t live without your cell phone for too long huh? Ohhhh but wait! There’s a catch. All the lines have been crossed. Who’s phone number do you really have? And who is who in your contact log? Only way to find out is by playing a little game!
For this task, members are encouraged to post outgoing text messages to their loved ones or friends or whomever only to discover it’s someone else. This is the format:
On the subject line, you would type the name it should be going to and in parenthesis it should have the person it ends up going to.
Text: Peter Quill (Steve Rogers)
The purpose is to shake things up a little! Does someone end up spilling the beans about something super important? Do people who usually don’t get along end up having a cordial conversation? Or maybe it’s the opposite? Does someone end up confessing feelings to the wrong person or perhaps they end up telling someone something they didn’t want to. Have fun with this! This task will take place until Saturday, August 19th. Until then, phone lines will be mixed up so be creative on how your muse reaches another! (or you know, keep believing they’re someone else!)
You may choose to keep other text threads or not as long as these text threads are tagged Hera!prompt.
Members “like” this post so we know you’ve read it.
So one of the things that I love about this season of Camp Camp, is
that while it’s still pretty whimsical and hilarious, it’s shown some
real character development in Max and David.
Let’s face it, this kid was a die hard troublemaker and a fucking asshole all stuffed inside a tiny ten year old’s body.
now, you couldn’t pay him enough to enjoy anything, especially any of
David’s crazy camp activities. Hell, he spent a majority of the first
season either trying to escape, or trying to figure out how to destroy
the camp from the inside. And he got close sometimes, it all could’ve
been over when the FBI tried to arrest David for the stuff Max was
looking up on his phone. But the small part of him that said what he was
doing was going too far made him speak up and exonerate David. And when
he thought he had gone to far in his mischievous act that David
actually wanted to kill him, he was legitimately afraid and wanted to
take back his actions, unlike when he was in the forest with the
Quartermaster where it was more likely for him to be murdered and just
accepted his fate.
more importantly, Max was unwilling to accept that people like David
existed anymore, and was willing to go to great lengths to break him.
And he did. It took twelve episodes but in the end, Max won. David was
then Max had to learn the harsh lesson that sure, while life can
sometimes be a piece of shit, people can choose too not look past it,
but to live with it and still find the good in what’s left. Max was just
too jaded by things we know not of, and so was David, and he still
found the strength to be himself every day because if he didn’t, Camp
Campbell would be even more miserable than Max already thought it was.
And because of that, Max decided to help him just for the sake of
preserving this optimism.
now, Max has learned to kind of go with the flow. He’s no longer trying
to escape or sabotage David’s every action, he’s just kicking back,
relaxing, and enjoying the show.
so, when Daniel invaded the camp, Max actually sought out David’s help
rather than trying to figure out how to get rid of him on his own. And
when nothing he did convinced David of Daniel’s murderous intentions, he
entered the Purification Sauna, knowing full well he’d be hypnotized
into loving Daniel, but had enough faith in David to remove his rose tinted glasses, finally see the truth, and save all the campers from
when David got his heart broken by Bonquisha, he and the rest of the
children went to great lengths to try and get them back together so he
would stop being so depressed all the time.
That’s a lot of character development for a kid.
As for David, his transition has been a lot more subtle.
happy go-lucky camp counselor is still pretty much the same, while at
the same time completely different. The David of first season was
optimistic to a fault. He out right refused to see the bad in people,
especially Cameron Campbell, got bullied by the kids into leaving the
camp for a day, had no clue how to discipline children, and had an
unhealthy obsession with being the best camp counselor. And it killed
him every day when he couldn’t figure out why none of the kids loved
Camp Camp(bell) as much as he did.
were even some points in the show where his mask slipped and he looked
actually angry for once before going back to Happy David.
he was pushed to the edge by Max in the season finale of season one and
he finally laid all of his cards on the table. He knew perfectly well
that not everything was sunshine and roses all the time, but he had a
choice. He could be like Max, pessimistic and down right bitter about
the world, or he could try to see the good in the world every day and be
the best version of himself he could be.
he also learned a valuable lesson that day. It was okay to not be
himself all the time. Sure, he could still be overly enthusiastic about
everything, but he could still let go every now and again. Be it wanting
to kick out the psycho cult leader you almost hired and may or may not
have been after your job-
or sometimes fucking up and saying the wrong thing-
or being openly disappointed in the decisions other people make-
or admitting that you made a mistake that started off with good intentions-
or getting your heart broken-
needing to cry for days on end (even when it’s super awkward)-
beating the shit out of some guy for something that wasn’t really their
fault but only because you’re insanely jealous because they’re banging
your babe now.
So in the end, sure, they’re still pretty similar to how they started off in the show.
But the two of them have grown so much, I can’t wait to see where this show is going to take us next.
I saw a post about 100 ways to say ‘I love you’, so I thought I’d make the anti-version if it doesn’t exist already. Roleplayers, send these to each other for angst reasons! Tw for emotional abuse, language, and some major rejection themes, though some them are joking and could be used for friendly rivals or pals who play-insult one another. Change or add pronouns as necessary.
“You’re a disappointment to me.”
“I don’t care if you live or die.”
“I used to care about you. Now? I regret every second I wasted.”
“How do you think I feel? I’m pissed off!”
“Go. Just go.”
“If you come back, I won’t be here.”
“I’ve never despised someone as much as I despise you.”
“Ha! You think I care about you? What do you think I am, desperate?”
“I regret ever saying ‘hello’.”
“Leave and don’t come back, ever.”
“Remember when we first met? I wish I didn’t.”
“You’re the worst mistake I’ve ever made.”
“Don’t touch me. Don’t even look at me.” “You took months/years of my life away. I’ll never get those back.”
“I saw a trash bag on the side of the road today. Reminded me of you.”
“I could have been doing so much better than wasting my time with you.”
“You’re a sick bastard, you know that?”
“I don’t care.”
“Go ahead, leave. Don’t worry about coming back.”
“You’re such a piece of shit.”
“I didn’t think you could be any more of a shithead, but you just proved me wrong.”
“You’re so stupid.”
“Why do I waste my time with you?”
“You’re not the person I thought you were.”
“Hey! Just a daily reminder: you’re a piece of shit!”
“I deserve so much better.”
“We’re not friends. We were never friends!”
“I pretended to like you because I felt bad for you! How did you fall for that?”
“I never want to see you again.”
“You’ve done nothing but make my life a living hell.”
“Don’t apologize - you don’t deserve my forgiveness!”
“No, I’m never giving you another chance!”
“I wish you were never born.”
“You’re the last person I wanted to see right now.”
“I’d rather be working with anyone else in the whole world right now.”
“When you get back, your shit’s gonna be on the front lawn. Take it and get out.”
“Go ahead, choose them! You deserve each other.”
“I don’t know what they see in you.”
“You’re an embarrassment to me.”
“You’re an embarrassment to all of us.”
“I wish it was you. I wish it was you to die instead of them.”
“God, why did I have to end up working with the biggest asshole in the world?”
“How could you think I ever loved you? You seriously think I’d sink that low?”
“Sorry, I just puked in my mouth a bit. I accidentally looked at your face.”
“How can you even live with yourself?”
“If I was your mirror, I’d break myself just so you would throw me in the trash and I wouldn’t have to look at you.”
“Being with you was the worst time of my life.”
“You’re a monster.”
“Not a day goes by that I don’t wake up wishing I was dead because of you.”
“I’m going to ruin your fucking life.”
“You said you would change, but you never did! You never will!”
“Some people are just born to fail. Sorry you’re one of the unlucky ones.”
“You’re so worthless, you hardly even exist to me.”
“I wish I could go back to the day I met you, and just walk away.”
“If you give me that look one more time, I’m skipping jump-rope with your large intestines.”
“Honestly, I’m embarrassed to even know you.”
“Ugh, it smells like something died in here. Oh. It’s just you.”
“You need to stop. You hurt everyone around you!”
“Until you get your shit together, I don’t want to hear you complain.”
“Look at you. You’re disgusting.”
“Stop making me look bad.”
“You have a face that makes me wish punching people wasn’t frowned upon in our society.”
“Shut your mouth. I don’t want to hear your obnoxious voice.”
“Go play in traffic.”
“If I saw you in the ocean clinging to a log for safety, I’d save the log and let you drown. At least wood can become something useful, like toilet paper.”
“How could I ever love something as terrible and hideous as you?”
“I can’t even look at you right now.”
“It was all a lie.”
“I never loved you, and I never will.”
“Don’t try to beg. It won’t work.”
“You’re not worth the mud on the bottom of my shoes.”
“Look at you. You’re pathetic. I’ve never seen a sadder sight.”
“I’m going to hurt you slowly, and I’m going to enjoy every second of it.”
“For what you did to them, I’ll do the same to you.”
“An apology? You want to offer an apology? No. I don’t accept it.”
“You’re everything I hate in a person.”
“I wish you were dead.”
“You’re nothing to me. Less than nothing!”
“What a sad sack of shit you are.”
“My life is in fucking shambles thanks to you!”
“How could you? You bastard!”
“I’d rather eat sewage than ever touch you again.”
“Hey asshole, I’m here to ruin your day, just like I did yesterday and the day before that.”
“You’d be more useful if you weren’t even alive.”
“Hey, it’s my least favorite waste of space.”
“Every day that I woke up next to you, I was tempted to smother you with a pillow while you slept.”
“Love you? Don’t make me laugh.”
“Just thinking about you makes me sick to my stomach.”
“You deserve a slow and painful death for what you’ve done.”
“I can’t stand people like you.”
“Stop doing that thing. You know, that thing I hate. Breathing.”
“If I could trade you for a nest of angry wasps, you would be long gone.”
“I can’t wait to dance on your grave.”
“If we were the last two people on earth, I’d be subtracting one.”
“I never want to see the likes of your filth around here again.”
“I’m disgusted by you.”
“If I ever see you again, it will be far too soon.”
so i pretend like it doesn’t hurt
i pretend like i’m okay without you
what i haven’t told you is that i can’t delete our pictures, i can’t get your smile out of my head, i can’t think of you without losing my breath and i can’t listen to frank ocean without wondering if you’re listening to him too
do you think about me?
was it easy to let all of it go?
everyone has a choice and my choice was you
i don’t know how to let everything go the way that you did
i wanted to melt with you
i wanted to run away without ever leaving our homes with you
i wanted to come home after a long day and feel like i had everything because i had you
i waited three years to be the girl you kissed goodnight
three years to be the girl you never stopped thinking about
while you took 3 weeks to let me go
excuse me while i wait another three years to forget you
Summary: As a mild criminal, you make a bold move to pick-pocket a
suspicious looking stranger, but you may have picked the wrong target. (Bucky x
Request/Prompt(s): Can you do this “I kissed you as a
distraction while stealing your wallet” with Bucky x reader? Thanks!
Word Count: 1933
A/N: Ok first, I do not condone
theft. Second, I’m so glad someone picked this one!!! :D This was such a fun
“We’ve been here for over an hour!” you
whined, pacing the small empty room, dust particles swirling up into the
sunlight with each step. “When do we make the drop?”
I’m ready,” your partner hissed, clearly annoyed with your impatience, “We’re
the ones with the goods, they’ll wait and right now I’ve got a lurker that’s
been hanging around at the corner for too long.”
see.” You pushed your way to the window, picking up the heavy binoculars from
“Big guy. Army
green coat, and black hat, northeast corner.”