𝗉𝗎𝗋𝖾ㅤ 𝕖͟𝕘͟𝕠͟ ㅤ𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝.

( ben barnes. 106. he/they. cis-male. ) are you a HERO? something tells me that cat fur on a leather jacket, an ache that won’t go away, flinching like a dog in a thunder storm make you who you are, JAMES ‘BUCKY’ BARNES. with the powers of SUPERHUMAN PHYSIQUE, you’re sure to have a adroit, phlegmatic personality — and you definitely belong to SHIELD. were you listening to YOU WANT IT DARKER by LEONARD COHEN on your way to the subway? it suits you. 

“oh don’t worry– she pisses me off too, i just make fun of it.” she said with a slyly giggle. she knows it means but sometimes those things makes her laugh a little bit. “yeah sure, give me your phone.” she hands her hand over to james.

a frown covered her face as she listened to bucky talk for far too long. what was he even talking about? after a moment, she looked at him quietly, her eyes narrowed a little. “what the hell are you talking about? how are you not going to say the internet is the best modern invention?” she asked. “you need better things to do with your time.”

yes, peter has mentioned that barnes could be scary. however, ned is simply fearless when it came to the topic of invention. and kitchen implements. there’s just profound confidence with ned when it came to it. “what about swiss army knives versus splayds? what are your thoughts on that?”

“isn’t that just a swiss army knife, but for culinary purposes?” tadashi rattles his brain for more knowledge that he might have of this … splayd .. but comes up empty and he shrugs. “well, it definitely has more practical usage, being related to food. i would agree with you on that end, then. you seem .. passionate about it, too.”

“yeah, i’m really starting to regret asking your sad ass over,” sam says. “plus, the spork is like, objectively better. or is it some kind of masochist kink of yours to try not to stab your cheeks every time you use one of those things? honestly, with all the knives you cart around with i’m sure you can use one in a pinch along with the proper combination utensil, the spork.”

“  oh  ,  you poor man  .  ”  rhodey says  .  “  who told you facebook was one of the best inventions of the modern era  ?  that’s the biggest lie i’ve ever heard  .  ”  he’s never been a social media person full-stop  ,  but  —  well  ,  the only things he knows about web design are from osmosis  ,  and even he can tell the ui is shit  .  “  but also  ,  splayds aren’t that great  .  a classic case of trying to do too much with not enough space  —  they’ve got nothing on those chopsticks that turn into a fork and knife by changing what’s stuck to the end  .  ”

“is this like an ad for splayds? are you their spokesperson or something, because you’re kinda doing a good job. personally, i’ve been more of a spork kinda gal but you make a compelling argument. though, i think the best modern invention are cotton candy grapes.” betty plucked a grape out of the box and held it between her fingers, carefully examining it like it was a precious jewel before popping it into her mouth. “like how is it possible for something that tastes so good be actually be healthy? that just blows my mind.”

rogue sat back on her chair and nodded. “ well if you don’t like some things you just don’t follow them on social media, you can just follow the things you enjoy knowing about. don’t have to be bitter ‘bout sandra’s brunch.” 

his arms fold,  a friendly scowl on his cheeks,   “i’m going to lock you in a room with sandra and then you’ll see just how annoying she is — but, uh...   that’s not a bad idea.   except for the part where i don’t know how to unfollow people.   one of the interns at s.h.i.e.l.d.  made  my account  &  followed a pile of people...   &  i have no idea how to actually use it.   any chance you know know how to use instagram?”

“Oh, no, it was the front door,” Niko says, a furrow of his brow that innocently corrected the detail as though it was something so simple. The lightness of it was mocking, down to the genuine crinkle of his nose. Its intention would only be masked to someone who was none the wiser, but James knows better. He knows more than Niko. He pauses, a small tilt of his head as he plays upon his words. He had chosen the scramble of terms, playing on a feigned barrier between languages that still sat on his tongue when he spoke. It was one of the other flaws, the way the Red Room hadn’t been able to eliminate that accent completely. “Or maybe the right word would just be entrance. There wasn’t much of a door left.”

He listened intently to him, unsure of where exactly it is that James stands. Niko’s interest is peaked, wondering if he’s really a hero or he’s just pretending to care. So many stand on one side out of necessity, but he’s pushed hard enough to find that their motivation is weak. Some belong to the other side defined by conflicting morals, and some belong no where at all. 

“The widows don’t claim me,” He corrects him. “So therefore I ask without a conflicting perspective on their behalf, where does your morality point? Your superiors are gone from both ends, good and evil. What are you doing with your life now, then?”

he can’t help but laugh just a little.   sounds about right.   there’s definitely been a few blown out doors.   and buildings.   &  maybe he’s a little proud.   it’s interesting— watching how the remains of hydra  &  the red room have progressed;  the evolution of it.   splintered out factions of former assassins and killers trying to piece their worlds back together.

           ever  since  her  mother  died  …  for  a  second  time  ,   daisy  tried  to  …  honor  the  woman  where  she  could  -  even  with  something  as  simple  as  the  sort  of  dresses  jaiying  had  shown  daisy  the  first  time  around  .   and  she  looked  …  pretty ?   she  thought  -  no  ,   she  hoped.   because  she’s  out  with  bucky  barnes  and  it  feels  good :  and  she  doesn’t  want  these  little  moments  to  end  .“  i  was  gonna  give  you  a  bite  of  the  mooncake  regardless -  ”   she  informs  him  ,   but  eyes  get  almost  rounder  with  innocence  ,   daisy  nodding  quickly  .“  but  i’m  not  gonna  say  no  to  that  offer  . ” 

“I left quickly. I’m sure I’ve made up for it if I didn’t.” It’s a lie, but only because of the glaze over the truth that only made it easier to swallow— not that he’d have to buffer anything for James. If anyone was holding it back, it had to be him and there was an unsettling feeling about not being the most aware in the room, even if the room was as wide as the skyline from where they stood on the roof. 

He shook his head, a small pace beginning as Niko finally moved from his position. It was draped casualty, some need to stretch his legs and give into the itch to make some form of movement, but he was casing where they stood. He was taking a glance at all the angles around them, looking for where to hide to claim complete isolation if it was needed. He was used to being watched, but it didn’t make him any less conscious of it. 

“I’m botched,” He reminded him. “What they made me with may have been similar to the widows and to you, but it’s not the same by a long shot. Mortality is all the same. But morality? I’m trying. I think there’s very little of it now, though, and it’s stale.”

they’re both predators,  trained  &  honed to kill.   circling each other  &  waiting for the other to make the first move.   for as much as niko says the words botched,  bucky isn’t going to underestimate him.   botched doesn’t mean docile.   it doesn’t mean weak or unwilling to kill you.   “sure shit.   you think i’m that dumb?   they’re not just letting people stroll out of there.   trying to tell me that you escaped out the fucking bathroom window or something?”

so he keeps watching  &  studying—  having faced and underestimated karli,  he’s not interested in repeating that mistake.   he’s seen the danger that rogue super soldiers can cause (and he’ll include the damage he caused in that),  & new york has enough shit going on without the little wolf spider causing chaos.

         (@reshieldedstart​ !  )“  so  maybe  i  underestimated  how  cold  i’d  be  in  this -  ”   gestures  towards  her  outfit  ,   shaking  a  bit  .“  regrets  .   i  gottem  -  wanna  share  this  mooncake  with  me ?  ”

            (  @menaticide​  !  )    woman  struggles  to  unload  her  grocery  cart  ,   having  done  the  shopping  for  her  roommate    (  who  was  also  her  ex  -  it  was  kinda  weird  ,   but  they  made  it  work  )   ,   and  -  is  that  her  cart  rolling  away ?    “  fuck !  ”   rebecca  hisses  ,   it  rolling  towards  the  man  and  she’s  just  trying  to  get  the  damn  rice  bag  into  the  car  .    “  sorry  ,   shit  -  shit  ,  ”  practically  drops  the  bag  into  the  car  before  running  after  the  cart  ,   before  blue  eyes  fall  on  …  him  .  

                  “  bucky !?  ”  

it begins like this:   they needed more soup.   so bucky volunteers to go,  sulks off to the supermarket and comes out with a pile of boring cans and some bread,  all while shoving a peanut butter cup into his mouth so that steve does not know he didn’t get him one too.   he’s cramming the cans into the underseat compartment of his motorcycle when someone yells.

he hears her before he sees her.   and it’s familiar,  a little bit so.   but there’s nine billion people on the planet— of course,  someone might have a similar voice to his dead sister.   it’s a reflex,  grabbing the trolley to stop it before it hits him.   and it’s then that he sees her.

“— what the fuck?”  it’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth.   it’s the only thing that is in his head looking at the face of someone who should be dead (a little hypocritical since he should also be dead).  but it can’t be her.   it can’t be rebecca.   or the even more terrifying possibility that it is her.   but it can’t.   he won’t even consider that possibility.   “who the—”

three options:   1.  she’s the grandchild or what-the-fuck-ever of rebecca who just happens to look uncannily like her.  status:  unlikely but possible.   2.  some stalker who’s stolen his sisters face to get his attention.  status:  even more unlikely.   3.   this is some plot by a) hydra or an even worse b) shield to control him and this is not his sister but a clone or someone with her face.  status:  most likely.   proceed with option three.

so he takes a second  &  it really is almost her.   but that isn’t her eyes.   rebecca is a dark eyed creature that mirrors him in every sense.   she’s a drowning void that could sink boats and engulf landmasses with the darkness that lays in them.   this woman isn’t her.   so he’s collected  &  cold,  highly aware of the knife tucked into his boot when he speaks.   “walk the fuck away.   if you think i’m not above killing you in front of a supermarket,  you’re wrong.   whoever the hell sent you—  hydra,  remains of the kgb— fucking shield  ;  i don’t care.   go back to your handler and tell them you can’t find me.   this isn’t worth dying for.”

@menaticide​

Steve Rogers had lived many, many lives–far more than any man had any right to live. He had been a child of the Depression, a sickly, dreamy child his parents could barely afford. He’d been a noble-visioned orphan, an art school drop-out with nothing tying him down, desperate for more. He’d been reborn the first time in a military lab in New Jersey; he’d woken again in New York City decades after he should by all rights have died. Then, when he’d thought it was over and his time was up, after he’d run out enough lives to warrant canonization, he’d come back. This was his last round. He was sure of it. He hoped. He didn’t know that he could handle another life after this one.

But, through all those lives, he had had one single constant: Bucky. His brother, his best friend, the only person still a live who remembered when Steve was barely five foot four on a good day and would snap in a strong breeze. Bucky, who had come back from the dead himself one time too many, who Steve had taken in in their last life, who had taken Steve in in this one.

Bucky, who had had an entire bedroom for his cat, a fluffy white-coated thing who refused to relinquish her claim. Here he was, the man who had once been Captain America, sharing a bedroom in a cheap, poorly-decorated apartment with a cat. (He couldn’t tell Bucky that he did, actually, love her an awful lot. In all his lives, he’d never had a pet. He’d been allergic, then he’d been busy, then he’d been dead. But if he only had one shot left, maybe they weren’t so bad.) It was peaceful, though, when she wasn’t hogging all the pillows for herself. Domestic, even. Normal, almost. They could sit on the couch, Alpine perched in his lap, Steve stroking her absently as he flicked through the TV. Why were there so many streaming services now? He hadn’t been dead that long–how had they made so much TV while he was gone? It was overwhelming, and his little post-ice catch-up journal had vanished with the rest of his things after Thanos.

The door shut, and Steve looked up towards it as he heard footsteps. Alpine stood up in his lap, too, and let out a chirp. “Hey, Buck,” he called. “Did you know they remade Sex and the City? Why did they do that? Wasn’t once enough?”

so maybe this isn’t how he expected his life to go.   the wide-eyed eighteen year old living in brooklyn that was barely scraping by never would have seen this coming.   but for all the changes,  all the terrifying and terrible things that happened,  he still somehow ended up again by steve’s side.   despite everything.   even between the brainwashing and the murder attempts,  steve stuck by him.   where everyone else would have rightfully turned and high tailed it out of there,  his brother stuck by him.

and now,  as far as bucky is concerned—  his biggest problem is the fact that alpine is a traitorous bitch who’s picked a new favourite.   maybe he doesn’t actually care how steve came back.   he’s got his friend back.   and this is somehow almost what he’d expected when he’d been a kid.   living with his best friend and working a shit job.   for all hydra tried to take everything from him,  it didn’t work.   he’s still got steve and that’s all that counts.

“why did they even make one let alone another?”   he calls back to steve,  keys dropping  &  kicking his boots to the corner of the room.   coming home to more then just alpine  &  soap is more comforting then he expected.   that he isn’t alone anymore.   his eyes fall to the traitorous cat,  his fingers rubbing softly over her head as he trudges past  &  sprawls next to his best friend on the couch,   “i hate all this new media.   westworld?   why bother remaking a good original?   the first film,  as the kids would say:  it slapped.   death to reboots.”