who the hell is bucky


thanks @ florence welch for fulfilling my musical needs of songs about the stars and the moon and the great big sky and the deep and terrifying ocean

but also thanks @ florence for writing absolute bangers about arson and all-consuming guilt and night terrors and human sacrifice because i need those just as much

unamedwatcher  asked:

Did you really convince little Steve Rogers that the fireworks on the fourth of July were for his birthday?

actually no. 

that was the handiwork of one mrs sara rogers, who used to take her little asthmatic arrhythmic tiny baby son on the roof to watch the fireworks on his birthday. (mostly so that they didnt have to be in the apartment with steves dad, who had shellshock which he medicated with waaaay too much alcohol, and he was always worse on the fourth, since it sounded like there were explosions going off everywhere. steves dad died when he was three, and my ma said once that mrs rogers might have missed him, but she didnt miss the bruises he left.)

 as it happened, that was how i first met steve–on the roof of the building when i was four and he was turning three. i actually remember it, which is pretty incredible considering how old i was and how swiss-cheese my brain is. but there was mrs sara, with her tiny little baby on her hip. i’d never seen anybody so fair-skinned and blonde as mrs sara and stevie, and the lights off the fireworks painted them all sorts of colors. most of the other little kids were crying and had to be brought inside because the noise scared them, but not baby stevie–he was reaching his little bitty baby hands up, trying to grab the sparkly fireworks. probably the noise didnt bother him because he was partially deaf, but mrs sara always insisted that it was just that he had more courage than could fit inside him. 

generally, she also mentioned that all that courage had taken up the space where his common sense was supposed to be. 

when steve was three, he said his favorite color was america–by which he meant red, white, and blue, because that was the colors for his birthday, and everyone always celebrated with him.

even after mrs sara died, us barneses kept up the fireworks story, and i passed it on to the howlies eventually. 

i dont know how old steve was when he figured out that the whole city wasnt just throwing him a huge birthday celebration, but im sure that if you asked him, he’d still insist the fireworks were for him.

whatever PR schmuck decided to name him captain america probably had no idea how accurate a name it was. 

as the year creeps around to the first anniversary of carrie fisher’s death, i want to point out how much she’s still living everywhere. she’s been in the theaters, attending protests, mocking politicians, and in our hearts reminding us to stand up and take care. she’s still our princess, still our general, and she’s still fighting against injustice.

Bucky’s Baby-Girl

Summary: Drabble. You used to think that you were the only person that Bucky would ever look at as if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, until her.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Bucky or anything related to Marvel (god I wish I did though)

||Please don’t repost anywhere or plagiarize||

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Originally posted by jefferson-sebastian-carter-bucky

You watched him, a gentle smile curling his full lips. Blue eyes following every movement as you sighed ever-so-slightly. His metal arm gleamed in the moonlight as he rested it on the wooden rim.

You couldn’t deny she was absolutely gorgeous, more beautiful than you could ever imagine to be, but you couldn’t fault him for watching her like she was the most precious thing on Earth.

She was…so much more.

She was the most beautiful thing you had ever laid your eyes on too. Her beautiful blue eyes that caught the moonlight and shined, dark hair that framed her cherubic face.

She was just so beautiful and you could understand why he was so enamoured with her. 

Because you were too.

She was gorgeous as she lifted her arms in the air, her fingers grabbing at the stars as if she could capture them in her grip.

Bucky chuckled softly as he watched her. “So beautiful,” he whispered to nobody in particular.

You walked deeper into the room and rested your hand on the muscular expanse of his shoulder and you smiled gently up at him. 

“Looks like I’ve been replaced.” You joked softly, chuckling as he sighed exasperatedly. 

“You could never be replaced, doll. But she…she is something else entirely.” Bucky reached around and rested his flesh arm around your waist, his thumb tracing little circles against the soft skin of your hip.

“Well, I should know,” you smiled, reaching down and you swept a wispy dark lock of hair away from her tiny forehead, “because I gave birth to her.”

“I was there, remember.” Bucky smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“I distinctly remember you crying like a baby, more than Jules did.” You teased, resting your back against his chest. 

“Hey,” Bucky chuckled, “my daughter had just been born and my wife had been so brave that day. Any man would cry after that.”

The little baby in the crib gurgled, her eyelids drooping slowly as she started to doze. 

“Our little girl,” You whispered, smiling, “our Rebecca Barnes.”

“She’s the only other one that is just as beautiful as my wife.” Bucky whispered, his metal fingers gently caressing the front of her little onesie. “The only one.”

Originally posted by runeddaddario


Me in September be like

Teacher: can u give me details on world war 2?

Me: Bucky fell off the train

Fellow students: who the hell is Bucky?

Me: *crying* exactly