#wui

Everyone saying wui! (All of these by @bea-the-ao3er )

my babies have a new cousin

Bucky had blood on his hands. Metaphorically not physically. He knew what he had done, it was under their control, but he had done it. In war killing was forgivable, you had enemies you were meant to kill. He didn’t remember the war, he didn’t remember killing for the good of his country. Now he only remembered being used as a weapon. There weren’t a lot of memories only a few yet it was enough. Could he be forgiven? Was he worthy of forgiveness?

Bucky liked staring at the stars. Sometimes he wished he was one of them. Stars didn’t have to worry about their past, didn’t have to worry about the reputation that might follow them around. They were just stars. Bucky wanted to be a star, he wanted a life without the memories of pain, of blood, of screaming. Sometimes the memories came back as nightmares, at least he thought of them as nightmares. They could have been true recreations of events he’d had wiped from memory.