#howlobaby

[pencap]

Oh captain, oh captain do you hear the alarms ringing? do you hear the people screaming? do you hear the storm raging,      the winds howling,      the demons clawing at your door? Oh captain, oh captain,  can you feel the waves beating hungry against the hull? can you feel the gravity tilt beneath your feet? can you feel the Sea rising up like the dark of night? Oh captain, oh captain, the Sea is calling for you the Sea is singing for you the Sea is reaching for you the Sea is grasping for you-- Oh captain, oh captain, your ship is sinking, captain. the Sea is claiming your ship as Hers. the Sea is claiming you, too. are you listening, captain? can you hear Her? Oh captain, oh captain, do the waves knocking at your door      remind you of the lullabies your mother used to sing? do the winds screaming past      remind you of old lovers' fingers caressing your hair? does the water swallowing you up      remind you of being six years old and tucked in at night?

oh captain, oh captain, does it feel like coming home? ( j.p. )

[whtaft]

stevebucky ☾ ☆ ■

☾ - sleep headcanon

Contrary to popular belief, Bucky was not a snuggle monster in the forties. He’d snuggle when necessary, but he was always a light sleeper, and Steve snored. If he didn’t need to wake up at the crack of dawn, it wouldn’t be such an issue, but if he doesn’t get at least six hours he’s a grumpy dude. So, Steve didn’t get his snuggles.

Now, Bucky will just drape himself across Steve, trying to get as much skin-to-skin contact as he can. Sometimes Steve loves it. Sometimes it reminds Steve of when he had asthma.

☆ - happy headcanon

Bucky fosters cats. He likes to put them on Steve’s face while he sleeps.

■ - Bedroom/house/living quarters headcanon

After a while, Steve and Bucky move out of NYC. They start buying houses here and there, small places that they spend some time fixing up by themselves. They like the challenge of each place, and it’s a good way for Bucky to get out of his own head. They live in the houses for a while -- never long; Bucky gets antsy -- then sells them real cheap to a family who wants a house, but would have trouble affording one.

[amnesiaguy]

⭐ hey ily ⭐

hey!!! ily too my dear

color: cream | grey | navy | plum | maroonscent: cinnamon | lavender | rose | vanilla | lemonweather: fog | rain | wind | snow | suntexture: satin | velvet | leather | lacecreature: siren | vampire | fairy | wizard | ghost

no more please!

[pencap]

Dear Memory,  I planted a daffodil today.  I couldn't remember if you're supposed to plant them       in September before the snow falls, or       in January when the ground is still cold, or      in March as the world wakes up slowly-- So I just planted a daffodil in the garden where He used to walk. Maybe it'll bloom in the spring, when the sun reaches down to caress the earth. Or maybe it'll be already be dead, cold and lifeless. I don't know. But I planted a daffodil today.  Dear Memory,  The cold is back.  The sky keeps getting darker earlier and earlier, and the clouds are seeking shelter in my mind. The wind likes to play hide-and-seek between my ribs,      and leave me shivering for days. The dark likes to crawl into my mind and make a home there,      digging up old memories and cruel thoughts I buried long ago. And the snow, you know,  the snow makes everything so quiet, so that the voices in my head are the loudest thing I hear: Unloveable. Guilty. Useless. Red-handed. Forgotten. They are so loud, memory.  They are so loud.  Dear Memory,  It's February again.  I think, I think there was something important about February.  I can't remember what it is, but  I think there was something important.  The snow isn't so cold anymore. The ground isn't so hard and unforgiving.  The sky is a little brighter, a little warmer,  and I find Him everywhere.  He is in the whisper of the snowmelt trickling by. He is in the color of the sunlight coming through my window.  It's getting warmer, and gentler, and brighter, and He is here, somehow, and I am not quite so lonely anymore.

Dear Memory, it’s spring around the corner and I might be okay ( j.p. ) || February, daffodil, unloveable for anonymous