StrangerNightmare

Failing upwards (age: 39, feel: half dead, humor: 12) “moons haunted” is the tag I use for work

[alovecraft]

Ma’am, we are off I-81. I have no idea where I-95 is.

Yes, I am in Roanoke. You take I-81 and hit 581. No. I am nowhere near Main Street (where the fuck is main st in Roanoke? That’s what, somewhere near garden city right? Or over up on by wasena?)

You’re calling me on a cell phone. Google Maps is a thing. Mapquest still exists. Your phone has a built in map app. Use that.

(Edit to add: yep, Main Street is up on over by Wasena. Sigh. You’re looking for Black Dog Salvage not where I am)

[heldbybarnes]

bucky slowly realizing he can’t live without y/n? it creeps up on him so subtly he doesn’t even realize it, but suddenly his day doesn’t start until u walk into the room? or he can only concentrate once he knows ur safe? he doesn’t know when exactly u became his entire world and he’s a bit terrified of it bcuz of how easily he could lose u

There’s no lightning bolt, no cinematic swell of music, no single moment where Bucky Barnes wakes up and thinks, I can’t live without her.

It creeps in quietly. Patiently. Like dawn bleeding into the sky before you even realize the sun is up.

At first, it’s small things.

He notices that his coffee tastes better when you’re in the kitchen with him. Not because you add anything to it—he still drinks it black—but because you’re there, humming softly while you dig through the fridge, stealing sips from his mug when you think he’s not looking. He pretends not to see. Pretends not to wait for it.

But on mornings you sleep in? He finds himself standing at the counter longer than necessary, mug cooling in his metal hand, listening for your footsteps in the hall.

His day doesn’t feel like it’s started until you appear.

He tells himself it’s coincidence.

It isn’t.

He realizes it again during missions.

There was a time when Bucky could compartmentalize anything. He could put emotions in a locked box, shove it to the back of his mind, and focus solely on the objective. Clean. Efficient. Detached.

Now?

Now he checks his phone before every briefing.

Just to make sure you texted back.

Just to make sure you’re safe.

He doesn’t relax until he sees your name on the screen—some mundane message about groceries or a picture of the stray cat you’re trying to befriend. His shoulders loosen. His breathing evens out.

Only then can he concentrate.

Sam notices it before he does.

“You’re distracted,” Sam mutters one afternoon while they’re reviewing intel.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Bucky bristles automatically, jaw tightening. But when Sam raises a brow and glances pointedly at the phone in Bucky’s hand, Bucky feels something twist low in his gut.

He sets it down. Pushes it away.

He doesn’t pick it up again.

Not for fifteen whole minutes.

And then he checks it anyway.

It’s subtle at first, the way you become the axis his world turns on.

He starts timing his workouts so he’s home when you are. Starts grocery shopping for things you like without thinking about it. Starts leaving a light on if you’re coming back late because he doesn’t like the idea of you walking into a dark apartment.

He tells himself it’s just… consideration.

He doesn’t realize it’s devotion.

The first time it truly hits him is on a random Friday.

You’re late.

You said you’d be home by six.

It’s 6:17.

And Bucky is pacing.

He hates that he’s pacing.

His chest feels tight in a way he hasn’t felt in years—like something is pressing down on his ribs from the inside. He checks his phone. No new messages. He considers calling you, then stops himself. He doesn’t want to be overbearing.

You’re fine.

You’re fine.

You’re—

The lock clicks.

You walk in, shaking rain from your jacket, muttering about traffic and a flat tire and how your phone died halfway through the tow.

You barely get two steps inside before he’s in front of you.

“You okay?” His voice is rough, sharper than he means it to be. His hands hover at your shoulders like he’s afraid to grab you too tightly.

You blink at him. “Yeah? Buck, I’m fine.”

But he doesn’t breathe properly until he pulls you into his chest and feels the steady rhythm of your heart beneath his palm.

And that’s when it settles in.

The realization.

It’s quiet and terrifying and absolute.

His world doesn’t function right without you in it.

He doesn’t know when it happened.

He doesn’t know the exact moment you became the first thing he looks for in every room, the person his mind reaches for when things go wrong, the calm in the storm of his thoughts.

He just knows that somewhere along the way, you stopped being a part of his life and became the center of it.

And that scares the hell out of him.

Because Bucky Barnes knows loss.

He knows how easily things can be ripped away.

He knows what it’s like to wake up in a world where everything you love is gone.

The thought of that happening with you?

It makes him feel hollow.

He starts watching you differently after that; much more aware.

Of how you laugh when you’re half-asleep. Of how you chew your bottom lip when you’re thinking. Of the way your hand always finds his without looking.

He memorizes you.

Like if he learns every detail, he’ll somehow be able to keep you.

One night, you catch him staring.

“What?” you ask, smiling softly from where you’re curled against him on the couch.

He hesitates.

He doesn’t do vulnerable easily.

But this feels too big to swallow.

“I don’t remember when it happened,” he says quietly.

“When what happened?”

“When you became… everything.”

You go still.

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, metal cool against your warm skin.

“My day doesn’t start until I see you,” he admits. “I can’t focus unless I know you’re safe. If you’re late, I feel like I can’t breathe.” His jaw tightens. “And that’s— that’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” you whisper.

“For me.” He swallows. “Because I know how easy it is to lose things. I know how fragile good things are. And you…” His voice falters just slightly. “You’re the best thing I’ve got.”

You reach up, cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you.

“Bucky,” you murmur, pressing your forehead to his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“No,” you agree softly. “But I can promise I’m here right now. And I choose you. Every day.”

The tightness in his chest eases, just a fraction.

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close like he’s grounding himself in something solid.

He may not know when you became his entire world.

He may never pinpoint the exact moment.

But he knows if loving you means being terrified of losing you, he’ll take that fear.

[alovecraft]

omg

[alovecraft]

It’s not my fault you’re an idiot.

So no, you will not be getting a refund.

[alovecraft]

Was informed I got a formal complaint lodged against me by a client because I “don’t smile enough.”

This coming from the person who intentionally misspelled their name and then kept cutting me off. Ok, bye. Go bother someone else.

[alovecraft]

Coworker T and I were commiserating over how baffled we are that people younger than us seem to not be able to work computers and made jokes about how they probably couldn’t figure out how a rotary phone works if handed one.

[alovecraft]

If you stand in the middle of the road, you are not my problem.

[alovecraft]

Hi no I’m not ignoring you for any nefarious reason. I don’t think I’m ignoring you, but please tell me if I am. Because, for me, object permanence includes living organisms.

For example:

I forgot my grandma had a dog one summer while I was staying at her house. (Because I never saw the dog. She was living her best life in the back cornef of the stupidly large backyard with the best choice of shade and quiet that could be offered away from everyone. She was an old dog by this time)

Another example:

When my uncle got out of prison, I didn’t know who he was, which is strange on many levels because I vaguely remembered who he was (he’s the reason why I wanted tattoos as a wee goblin), I just remember this wild eyed adult running at me and picking me up by my ankles to crack my toes. It was a very strange experience.

Jamie seriously hopes I forget what kind of dogs we have so he can sneak a pug into the house at some point.

[alovecraft]

Apparently Other Department think I’m former military.

One of them also swears I’m “only 27.” (gee thanks, if I was 27 I’d still be working at [Company] as a manager).

I really don’t know how people keep thinking I’m former military. I’m not. Is it because I can stand for hours at a time? I’ve had practice. Is it because I don’t deal with drama? Is it because I have RBF?

—edit to add:

The weirdest part of this is the former Airman firmly believes I’m former Army

[alovecraft]

I have finished “the cuddle clause” and I’m still unsure if i liked it or not. Still gave it five stars, it’s a halfway decent book and I do enjoy “idiots in love” and “miscommunication when it’s not life or death just stupid because they’re both idiots”

Worst I can think of is: couldve chopped a few sentences here or there? (Wow so harsh I am an animal) it was almost low stakes without being low stakes, yknow.

On to the next novel.

[alovecraft]

Overheard “is a French 75 shaken???”

…you have a cell phone?

The main base, yes, and then you top with champagne. You have a plethora of knowledge at your fingertips.

Look it up.

[alovecraft]

I’ve never seen someone try ribs with a fork and get the tiniest bite.

Fuck that, free food? Just to give an opinion?

Don’t mind if I do. Omnomnom

Cleanliness be damned.

[alovecraft]

It is a perfect blue sky and I can see all the weird little bits floating in my eyes and immediately think of the NoSleep Poscast story where the guy convinces his little brother it’s ghosts so his brother gouges his eyes out

[alovecraft]

I feel like I haven’t done squat today.

Did I sleep in? Yes.

Did I make an art? Also yes (made a mess too)

Did I finish laundry? Yep.

Didn’t do dishes? Nope.

I did get a weird sort of relief when I looked at the clock and realized that I did not get a text or phone call asking me to come in on my day off and I am very thankful for that.

The temptation to continue to wallow in this weird pseudo-guilt and take a nap is great, so I might just do that.

[alovecraft]

I don’t like this. The itch, the anticipation of possibly being called in on my day off because someone can’t get their shit together.

[alovecraft]

Ok, so an Spinone Italiano was not on my Bingo card for the week.

Holy shit it’s like meeting an Irish Wolfhound down here.

(He is a Grade A Good Boi)

[mrbluesalad]

HYDRA-Mandated Wife || 50s housewife!reader x Winter Soldier headcanons

warnings!: canon-typical violence, stereotypical 50s housewife—sexist undertones, questionable autonomy, implied brainwashing (reader), author's poor attempts at mimicking 50s speech patterns notes: I had to get these headcanons outta my head soon as I can, so sorry if it seems rushed. LIGHTHEARTED, which I know is bizarre given the warnings but trust me. timeline not specified but it's pre-ca:tws.

✩₊˚.⋆✪⋆⁺₊✧

The Asset has started becoming difficult to manage, and there is only one solution left. So HYDRA really and looked at their most terrifying living weapon and went,

"Зимний Солдат has become too difficult to manage... What if we gave him... a wife."

Someone got shot for even suggesting that, someone else saw how impossible The Asset was becoming, and somehow, the mind-wipe isn't working anymore. And with The Asset's continued attitude problems, too unbearable to leave unchecked, too important to kill, mere weeks later, they accidentally assign him the loudest, most theatrical woman alive.

What's a girl to do when her husband accidentally splashes blood all over her new gingham dress?

The Soldier remained courteous with you. Once his handlers had introduced you to him as his designated wife, he gave them a simple nod and took you in as if you were any other mission.

Protect the asset, retrieve the asset, do not lose the asset— ...the asset is complaining again

You didn't have much complaints yourself, HYDRA just legally assigned you to this soldier and you just immediately start acting like you've been married for thirty years.

The first week, you were already reorganizing his living space (his designated area when he's not in cryostasis), stealing his shirts (whatever comfortable part of his soldier uniform you can find), and asking him how was work (he killed approximately five men).

And the Soldier just allows it. Despite not understanding domesticity, nor is he emotionally adjusted, he automatically categorized you as authorized presence, which transformed into constant presence. Which transformed to quality time being your main source of bonding. In eerie silence, often parallel to each other, but bonding nonetheless. Oftentimes, this means painting your nails while he disassembles his rifle.

Unfortunately, as much as you liked the peaceful quiet, you weren't quite as reserved as he is. So now, HYDRA's most terrifying assassin is walking down the bunker with you often found trailing behind him. Sometimes, even the other way around when you're especially peeved.

"Oh, honestly, James! You never take me anywhere swank! Sometimes I think you've forgotten I own a Sunday dress. If I don't get out of this lab soon, I will simply wilt!"

✩

Terrified scientists nearby pretend not to hear because that's the Winter Soldier being nagged like a suburban husband, although what really gets their attention is the fact that the Soldier merely seemed mildly inconvenienced.

"I brought you with me to Luxembourg," he responded with the confused sincerity of a man who measures acts of love tactically. "You said the architecture was beautiful."

"You're a real card, aren't you?" You raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at your towering, regular goose of a husband.

The Soldier seemed to visibly deflate. Minus the gunfire that rang those nights, he thought the night lights illuminating those cathedrals were stunning. "I could take you to Sokovia on my next mission?"

You visibly light up at the mention of Sokovia, clapping your hands together at the thought of visiting. "Oh, that would be magnificent!"

✩

His version of being a good husband is filtered through being an assassin first. Dates are had in diners in the middle of a mission, and anniversary gifts are knives and holsters that you ultimately didn't use but appreciated the sentiment behind.

He provides what he can with the resources that he has to make sure you were warm, safe, and satisfied. Meanwhile, you wanted ceremony, you wanted the yearning and the romance and the gifts!

But the Soldier's idea of thoughtful gift-giving is silently dropping a military-grade flare gun into your lap because you complained about feeling unsafe. And you swoon because that meant he listens to you. As a soldier, he listens to a lot of people, but as a husband, he absorbs your plights and acts accordingly.

But, well, of course, being attuned to him, it often left you visibly breathless, completely undone by the sheer scale of his devotion.

✩

HYDRA agents get used to this eventually after long long months of mistaking you as the Winter Soldier's hostage suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. Eventually, they stop hovering around when you'd watch the Soldier gear up for a mission.

"Don't forget your gloves, dear!" you would chirp, standing by the doorway. "You wouldn't want to look like a total roughneck at your business trip, would you?"

The Soldier grunts in acknowledgement and puts them on right before anything else. You give him a kiss goodbye before he heads out because in your mind, this is just marriage where you wave goodbye before he leaves for work. And his work just so happen to involve international assassinations.

The Soldier never thinks it, let alone verbalizes it, but he knows deep down somewhere in his subconscious, you were such a good wife. You would talk to him normally instead of like a weapon. Notice when he's dissociating. Redirect handlers before they aggravate him. Instinctively lower stimuli after missions. Heavens, you were perfect.

Which means HYDRA succeeded in giving the Soldier something stabilizing; a routine, and most importantly, a person who expects him to come back.

It works, a civilian domestic presence starts anchoring him to humanity again. They could almost let you off on cosntantly calling the Soldier "James" despite the liability you were posing. Who even authorized you, why do you have access to such classified files?

On the flipside, they didn't mean to rehabilirate him, your presence was initially just to make him manageable. But instead, the Soldier starts developing habits, preferences, protectiveness, attachment... all because of a woman who watches him return covered in soot and blood and only exclaim about the time.

"Heavens to Betsy, James!" you exclaimed as you walked over to give your dusty husband a kiss on the cheek in outraged greeting. "I was beginning to think you’d moved into the office. What did you do that kept you out so late, mister?"

"Traffic," the Soldier responds curtly as he takes off his boots. He knew you never liked when he tracked mud all over the floor. He'd already gotten an earful from that.

✩

They let it. As risky as it was, your grounding presence has made the Soldier kill more efficiently. There were less blood being spilled, and he finished missions in record time, if not earlier than expected, just so he could come "home".

So long as you were effective, they'll avoid intervening and merely keep a close watch.

[alovecraft]

My boss is about to lose her shit on someone.

People being people.

New girl looks like she’s about to quit or cry.

Saw a pug…or a puggle, probably a pug, doing its floppy dog thing in a backpack.

Watched one girl from the other dept look at something and go “no I’m not doing this. I had to put up with this yesterday I’m not doing it today,” and walk out. lol ok then.

Why yes I am sitting here refusing to answer the phone. New girl needs to learn to multitask and I am having snacks.

Also: “magical colour changing crème” Oreos are the devil and I will never trust them again.