#captive-commando

they tell her the infection would have killed most people. however, she is not most people. she’s barely a person at all. she would have been a black widow. that was before this. before the masked man slashed his way through the facility leaving blood and bodies in his wake.

and by luck, some strange sort of luck. there is no such thing as luck. she manages to survive it. with a gaping wound in her side that she does her best to sew shut. only to end up a prisoner of shield. 

she’s not a prisoner. they tell her that too. but they are the enemy and she cannot leave and that makes her a prisoner. or a noncompliant patient the shield doctor grumbles. 

she’s not sure what is going to come next, but the sick feeling in faina’s stomach is only amplified as she looks up to see an all-too-familiar figure standing in the door way.

It was 6 pm when the Red Room handlers met with the Hydra agents in the discontinued subway station. The old lines made for decent cover, at least for a quick transaction. The small product secured and kept in a large wooden crate with metal lock. A weapon, they’d called it. Magdalina understood that much as they spoke, mostly in English, a language she didn’t speak with any reasonable capacity. She hadn’t gotten far enough in the program to be schooled in foreign languages. But locked in a crate, being talked about in words she wasn’t meant to understand put the girl on edge, pushing her already violent temper against her fight of flight instinct. She’d kill given the chance. She watch the door of her prison for a moment in which she could strike, have nicked a knife during the chaos of attempting to contain her to begin with.

She waited as voice raised and a struggle followed. She waited as shots were fired, one of which slicing through the crate only inches above where she crouched. Death wasn’t meant for her yet, and even if the concept of death was a bit lost on the 11 year old, she knew that in her bones. When her crate finally opened, she sprung from it, face dirty, hair wild, someone else blood staining her clothes. She rolled between her savior’s legs, and stood, holding her knife in her too small hands. She was petite, and small and angry.

well that wasn’t supposed to happen. tony had just intended to finishing some final tweaks when it came to the ‘time machine’ as he’d taken to calling it - he couldn’t come up with anything more original. in doing that he hadn’t meant to mess with it anymore than he already had but a slip of the finger and well, things had quickly spiralled out of control.

tony took a step back, eyes wide as he stared at the man now standing in front of him. he recognised him, but it couldn’t possibly be the bucky he knew, right? this was a time machine after all, it didn’t teleport people - at least there was that. 

It had been a lie, just a small lie, just an easy lie. “Just normal teenager stuff.”

But in reality she’d been attempting to find her parents, her birth parents. She thought in finding nothing that had been the worst of it, this idea that her parents had completely vanished and she was almost an orphan. Almost, but she had James, for what he was worth. He was almost a father to her, almost home. But he was prone to do brave and stupid things, and it would get him killed one day. She thought this knowledge was punishment enough but she was young and naive and the world was cruel. It was her own fault.

The next morning, he’d made pancakes. His pancakes were pretty good, never burnt, the edges crisp. Sometimes he made them in shapes, that was much more exciting when she was younger. She’d been sitting by the by the counter. There was a noise, they both turned, and then the door was being blown down and James was dashing to her, scooping her up like she was still some petite child, and not the lanky ballerina she was becoming. There was bullet spray and she curled against his form before another crash, they were falling, rolling, her knee scraping against sod and wood chips before she was being yanked up to run. It was her own fault.

     The world spins in slow motion.  Steve can see the projectile headed straight for Barnes, even before it’s had the chance to be launched.  It a sudden and mildly desperate attempt to save his friend, fearful that death might claim him, Steve bolts into action, pumping his legs and arms as fast as they’ll carry him.  Rogers feels like he has never run so fast or hard in his life.  Adrenaline rushes through his veins before he’s vaulting into the air and body slamming James into the ground, rolling their bodies away as an explosion rips the ground apart from where they once stood.  Steve rolls to his knees, gripping the other soldier's face in his hands.  Desperately he looks at his friend, searching for any signs of damage or death.  None greet him.  Just a bewildered expression.  Steve tosses his arms around James’ shoulders and draws him into a very tight hug.  “Glad you’re safe.”  He whispers against the other’s ear.

send for your muse to show up at my muses doorstep one night during a thunderstorm, shivering, bleeding & soaking wet. | accepting

dottir why

surprisingly tess didn’t do too bad for herself, height-wise!