Vinterns Soldat

( so i may or may not have been considering bringing in another muse cus sometimes i really feel like writing, but bucky just doesn’t cooperate, but uh-

i have a few too many to choose from so. who’d you want to see, folks?? the list is as follows; Pagan Min(Far Cry 4), Garrett(Thief Reboot), Boxer/Blue(Transistor) or a fourth ~mystery option~ that i technically can’t app yet for reasons

clearly the way to figure out who’s the superior assassin in citta is to find out who has the superior ass

herestothelittleguys

He isn’t here to fight.

Not the people he’s been told to fight, anyway, because those people he’s seen little of so far. What he’s seen, however, is the mobilization of forces from the Hive-- his Hive, not this one that was just suddenly there-- sent out with little more than some claimed need to fight for survival; a us-or-them mentality that he just couldn’t stand behind. Not this time.

So far, he’d subdued the stragglers, the smaller squads of the militia that’d lingered around the ‘portal’; trying to clear a way to the city, perhaps even catch a glimpse of the supposed threat.

There was still the possibility that he’d been wrong. The signs of destruction he’d glimpsed from his City, fire and ice alike raging, explosions that surely couldn’t have been caused by any human-made weapon-- he had little idea who was responsible for it, but he intended to find out.

... Right after he found out who was responsible for the constant itching feeling that he was being watched. Followed. Soldiers had dropped even when he’d caused far too little damage to them for that to be the result. He had a shadow.

The captain turned, eyes carefully scanning the surrounding area; over the bodies and streets, the alleys, the carnage and havoc that’d been wreaked long before he’d even set foot there. Did he dare call out? The fighting should’ve drawn attention to him already, if noise was an issue.

... Yeah, he was gonna get nowhere quick if he kept to just looking for that shadow.

“You gonna creep after me all day? Because believe me, pal, I’d much rather get on with my life and not have to worry ‘bout gettin’ sniped while I’m tryin’ my best to do some good here.”

✧: my muse’s reaction to yours being terminally ill

This wasn’t happening.

It couldn’t be. He’d been sick before- he’d been sick a lot of times, but not like this. Crumpled papers in his hand, the other supporting his forehead, fingers threaded into short brown hair. Elbows on his knees. Bucky couldn’t really bring himself to move from where he sat by the side of the bed, all too aware of the fact that the feeling of defeat that radiated from him was probably doing nothing to make Steve feel better in any way.

“You’re kiddin’, right? C’mon, Stevie. They said you weren’t gonna make it last time neither, but here you are! You can’t-”

His hand slips down to cover his mouth, eyes shut as hard as possible because he doesn’t- He doesn’t want to believe this, and he can’t let the waterworks get started as if Steve’s doomed just ‘cause some doc or another said so–

Life was so very unfair.

... Well. Almost. He manages to supress the nausea that blooms in his throat and stomach and head as soon as he inhales. Sterile; cold, and it shouldn’t make a man feel this sick, but it does, and Bucky clasps his hand over his face in an attempt to block it out.

It’s panic. Fear. Memories of both resurfacing, though it was so, so long ago he was last subjected to the cold, and the sterilization, and the endless procedures. He thought he’d gotten over it, but the harsh awakening in this place which was definitely not where he’d fallen asleep, combined with the sudden appearance of someone-- surgeon, biology, experiment--

The second thing is actually throwing up. In an alley. Not his proudest moment, but pride has hardly been something he’s factored in lately. There’s barely anything to come out of him, anyhow. Just dry heaving, stomach acid and saliva that burns all the way up and leaves an oh-so-bitter taste at the back of his throat.

heya there fellow cittazens! now that I’m back from convention land, i’ll introduce myself properly;