Soldier Forward

2019

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May. 6th, 2030

[No Subject]




In-character (IC) contact post

Text messages. Emails. Short scenes. Welcome

What-ifs. Movie divergent. Canon. AU. ABO Welcome

Just give me enough to know what I'm walking into.

Jul. 3rd, 2019

Contact Post.



Good soldiers never pass up a chance to eat or sleep. They never know how much they'll be called on to do before the next chance.


Slash mostly. Email mostly. Thread friendly for the right line.

Jun. 8th, 2018

Open scene: lock up.

Barnes wasn't sure if the cell was in a SHIELD building, a UN building, or Avengers Tower, but he did know it was eight feet by ten feet. He knew that the clear barrier facing a hallway was not glass and was electrified. He also thought it was rated for the Hulk, but he couldn't prove that, only that it was definitely rated to at least hold in a super-soldier The other three sides of the room were sold cast metal over some sort of reinforced cement. Those weren't electrified, he could lean against them if he wanted. If he hit anything too hard the monitor on his wrist warned him once with a beep, and then with a shock if he did it again. He wondered idly if the warning buzz was standard, or if Rogers had insisted on it after seeing his face and calling him Bucky.

He knew there was video surveillance, guessed there was audio because why not. He was left to wonder if there was a HYDRA mole close enough to monitor what he said, erase footage if he said something he shouldn't, a SHIELD agent looking for him to say something incriminating or pointing to a HYDRA higher-up, or if it was an Avenger on the other end looking for some humanity in him. There was some there. He'd stood still and at attention when he first woke up in the confined space (after testing the waters of what was confining him), but eventually he'd dissolved into pacing, which showed frustration, hitting the walls and build in cot, which showed anger, and running his fingers through his hair and pulling at it on the way out, which one of the psychologists said showed worry.

They were right. He was worried. The Winter Soldier in the back of his head was worried about how many pieces HYDRA would cut him into for this fuck-up and James Bucky Barnes was trying to claw to the surface, and he kept remembering little flashes that Tony Stark looked like someone he used to know, the sound of Steve's voice, and flashes of a red-headed young woman whose face was sometimes Peggy and other times Natalia.

If he wasn't nuts already lock up was going to make him nuts--but that was probably the plan. Make him nuts. Make him an offer. Get information. Kill him anyway. He'd followed the same script himself before with a different employer.

Open Scene: Post CW/Black Panther

People had tried various ways to heal him, some he went along with for a while others he didn't. He hated therapy for example, but the most healing thing he'd found was being in the Wakanda countryside. Shuri had physically healed him in terms of removing the trigger words from his mind, but that was different than the healing of the countryside which was much slower and just as valuable. He was a simple man to please, even back in the 40's. He could indulge sometimes, but he was never someone who needed a big house, or a fancy meal to be happy. And so the hit he'd taken up residence in was enough for him, and something he didn't complain about.

It was outside of the dome, and so it was in the areas of Wakanda that were supposed to look less technologically advanced--even with Wakanda coming more into the public eye it wasn't smart to suddenly take down the barriers that protected it, or to bring technology and cities to the countryside. They were self-sufficient by having both cities and agricultural lands, and Bucky hadn't been able to relax in the city--even when the royal family had offered him rooms in the center of the city itself. The country was more his speed. He didn't jump each time a door closed heavily up here or a guard tapped their spear on the ground. He didn't wake up as frequently from nightmares here because of noises or bright lights. It was dark out at night, and light during the day, and the stars didn't flash like bombs the way vehicle lights could.

And the children. He didn't know if he'd liked children before but they were hard to not have a soft spot for here, and while he sometimes rolled over ad shooed them away when they woke him up he found himself easily roused into running and playing tag, hide and seek, and watching them train. He told them stories without feeling like they might ask unanswerable questions and he smiled when they tried to teach him their language (which he was getting better at). They didn't stare at his missing arm, and they didn't back away from him when he lifted things with his one good arm that it took too men to lift otherwise, they merely laughed and asked him to do it again.

Open scene: Post Winter Soldier

It was stupid to stay in Washington DC. He knew it. There would be people looking for him from all sides, SHIELD agents (or what was left of them), HYDRA agents (what was left them), as well as local authorities--and almost definitely the Avengers. They would all be looking for different people in their own way as well, some wanted The Winter Soldier, others their asset, and a few might have been looking for James--or Bucky Barnes. He wasn't completely sure which group he wanted to avoid the most, or which person he wanted to be, and for some reason it felt like he couldn't leave D.C. till he figured that out.

Even stupider than staying in Washington after the helicarrier incident was that he kept finding himself at the Smithsonian exhibit on Captain America. He kept finding himself standing there looking at his face blown up and hung up over the mock-up of their uniforms. Well, some of them might have been originals, but his has to be a reproduction, from what he'd heard he'd fell in the original, froze in it, died in it. He went from that to the section that showed Steve Rogers before the serum and tried to find something familiar about him. Captain America he knew from HYDRA pictures, from files about potential targets. He was trying to find something familiar about the person Steve Rogers was, where his memories didn't reach. His walk through the exhibit ended with standing in front of a dedication to a man with his face whom he didn't remember. It talked about a man who died with honor fighting against HYDRA, and he tried to see himself in that.

Maybe it wasn't too stupid to stay in Washington. No one thought he would. They knew him as the ghost Natasha had told everyone he was. They wouldn't be looking for him close. They wouldn't be looking for him with the same long hair he'd last been spotted with (though it was tied back right then). They would think he'd put on a better disguise than a hood and a glove over one hand. Sometimes the best disguise was just blending into the crowd of people that toured the usual parts of Washington and that was exactly what he was doing, the Captain America exhibit and some of the rest of the Smithsonian, not sure if what he was looking for was there at all.

Sep. 9th, 2017

Application for [info]reconsider

"What you did all these years ... it wasn't you. You didn't have a choice."
"I know. But I did it."
―Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes


Application Reconsider )