How many photos have you been in the background of today?
Nowhere near as many as I have.

[ more info ]


you look familiar.


maaan, i haven’t painted in forever. i feel pretty rusty but it was still fun to try & carve a face out of the colors.



"I don’t know… If I was a cad I’d ask for a kiss, and if I was smooth I’d ask for your number, but as it, how’s about we just sit down and eat pancakes together like civilised people?" He grins at her and winks, ordering them pancakes and their drinks with a glance back down to her.



She struggles to remember if any time period on Earth is renowned for sickening dialogue and boys who don’t know how to talk like real people. He winks and she stares at her hands.

   ”Don’ have a phone,” she adds as an afterthought, or a warning for him not to ask for her number at any point.



Rough night, hm?

          …I’m afraid not. If I were familiar to you, eight times out of ten, that would be a rather bad situation for you to be in.

She nods without a peep at first, as if she might puke her guts onto the floor if she even opened her mouth.

   ”Rough week.
   ’m almos’ sure I’ve seen y’fore. Wha’ are you, 'ssassin?”



   ”Me, or the pancakes`” He doesn’t mind, not really. Not all that much. “And I can deal. I’m not the most comfortable person to be around. So I suppose I can deal with you.”

   ”’I can deal with you.’ God fuckin’ damn, y’flatter me. ‘m swoonin’, truly.” She takes a bite from her food to stop herself going on a sarcastic tangent, with the words prince Charming already on the tip of her tongue.



     ”Let’s get to know each other a little better first, hm?” he finishes with a tightlipped smile.  

Curiosity is tugging hard at the strands of his existence. It plucks up the hairs on the back of his neck like static and her strange prescience ( he knows it must come from the time travel, actual experience, but it comes across eerily like being able to tell the future… ) has him already digging for the name that best suits her.  

Moving over to the counter, Bucky’s shoulders draw like a bow about to loose; he doesn’t feel comfortable with his back turned, but if she was going to try anything… He suspects she already would have. 

He’s still on his guard when he plucks the twisty tie away from the loaf of bread, tugging two pieces from the cellophane wrapper to pop into the toaster.  

"Well done or golden?" he asks, absently grabbing for the coffee. If they’re going to talk, then he’s going to be damn near awake for it. Turning with the empty pot in hand, he looks at her.  "There’s a lot I’m wonderin’ about you… 

"It doesn’t start and end with the name, but it’s a start.  All I’m inclined to call you right now is ‘burglar’ and somehow that just doesn’t seem to fit." 

A forced smile is better than no smile in her books, so she smiles back, half as wide but twice as genuine, and gives a single nod of agreement to let him carry on whatever way he likes. Not that she could have done much to stop him if she felt otherwise, really. He could probably kill her faster than she could say please don’t.

   ”Golden,” she smiles, without going into the whos and hows and whens of why, eyeing the toaster with something of an envious look, and passing the same gaze over the rest of his kitchen. Jealous and not about to hide it, not of a particular marbled counter or a certain brand of stove but of anybody with a roof over their head.

   ”Nice place,” she mutters as an afterthought, pushing her back off the wall again and dragging her heels over to Bucky, so she’s more in his peripheral vision. No need to act the dangerous stranger.

At least she’s flattered that burglar doesn’t fit.
   ”You’re too kind.” Tongue in cheek so much that she’s risking biting it off someday. “Alrigh’, I’ll ease you int’ it. Twenty questions — I’ll go first. Where’d the name Bucky come from?”


  [several attempts at facial-recognition end in failure, and much to the cyborg’s silent frustration, they can find no record of this woman in the DPD databse.]


  ▬❝It almost sounds as if you’re looking for trouble. Not so smart in this city.

She looks at him with a face of genuine shock and borderline disappointment, disappointed in him, for thinking such a thing. Her eyes look for somewhere to look him in the eye.

   ”I’d already be dead if I looked for trouble.” The nerve. “Lookin’ for trouble’s never smart, no matter where y’are.”

BERNARD: Since meeting you Queenie, you’ve brought out feelings in me I never knew I had. It’s a gift you have. I know I’m not as gay or worldly as other men, but no one will care for you as I do.
QUEENIE: No, but, Bernard please don’t say that…
BERNARD: No, please let me finish, let me finish… All I pray is that one day should you ever, uhm… I’ll wait for you Queenie, however long it takes, I’ll wait. [He takes her hand and places it over his heart.] It belongs to you now, Queenie. No one else.

codes by