Medical and Military assistance where you need it, when you need it.
Welcome to the offical Tumblr page for the Guardian Angel Search and Rescue foundation. We are so happy to have you here! Before you proceed, please read over the base rules. Any visiter who breaks a rule more than once will be forcefully evicted.
No discrimination unless it is within character and does not make the other party uncomfortable.
No NSFW. The ages of both parties are variable, so lets keep the space clean.
If you are going to flirt- even in character -please be aware that this blog does not do minor/adult relationships no matter how small the gap. Be aware of how old the characters are before taking such actions.
These rules may be updated or edited. You will be given one reminder to reread them if you break one. If a rule seems unjust, bring it up civilly using an actual blog. Anon complaints about rules will be blocked.
cws: internalized ableism, medical setting, burn wounds, eye and ear wounds, sad little guy™, suicidal ideation (may come up), they are also a little woozy from pain medicine (what they say might be disjointed and not make sense)//
Sol woke up to beeping. Irritating. Beep beep beep. Went the machines. Over and over.
They might be sedated, but that was barely possible. They had an IV in their foot - their hands were metal, so that wasn’t surprising - and it seemed hooked up to multiple bags. There was a blood bag - would their blood even be compatible with normal human blood? - saline - obviously - and, oddly, multiple bags of painkillers.
They had a good pain threshold. They rarely needed painkillers, not that they would really work anyways.
They looked around the room, trying to gather their thoughts of how they got there - where even was there? …here…?
Oh. The explosion. They felt around the right side of their face with a cold metal hand. There felt like there was fabric over their eye, and that most of their face and body was bandaged. The skin on their right side registered the cool feeling of the hand, or even the pressure, but not as much as it should, with how sensitive touch usually felt to them. It itched, but they resisted scratching it. Making themself bleed after almost bleeding out - their memories were starting to come in again, thankfully. They didn’t like forgetting things - sounded like a very bad plan.
But that wasn’t to say they weren’t distressed. One ear felt like the hearing was damaged, and at this point they couldn’t lie to themself with the eye. It was probably already removed, since the damage was severe.
They ignored the tightness that came to their chest. They must be useless now. Useless, and broken, and scarred and ugly. Not that how attractive they were was really ever a priority.
But who would ever want them now? They weren’t useful - as far as their spiral told them - they weren’t charming or sociable. What did they even have, aside from trauma and only half of a face?
Sol has mastered the art of being silent and still during breakdowns, so any by-passer would only see a heavily burned and bandaged teenager staring at the wall in front of them, and assume it was only a little shell-shock.
And, to a degree, they were shell-shocked. Both definitions could fit, really.
They were physically shaking, unlike the usual stillness that came when they were thinking. It was more of a trembling, really.
They would never describe themself as such, but it was similar to how an angry chihuahua shakes, or some creature that shakes when scared.
//No pressure tags (use any accounts yall would like if you have multiple): @variousvossivixens @ancient-siren @floralramblings @the-winter-soldierr @lost--storm @le-chevre-marvel @emiliakane @belong-in-the-wilds @liliyabarnes and anyone else who wants to join in!
Their attention flicks over, thoughts pushed to the side now. They blink a few times. “…hey.” They speak, their voice raspy. It hurt a little bit to speak.
"Oh!" He looks up, a bright smile forming almost immediately. "I'm so glad you can speak now. We were a little concerned about the amount of smoke and dust coating your throat. How do you feel?"
They try to smile back. It’s disjointed. The right side of their face feels stiff. They clear their throat. “Shitty.” They croak. They groan at the stinging in their throat.
They keep a somewhat wary eye on him (they know it doesn’t make sense. If he had been planning to hurt them, he could have done it while they were completely defenseless and no witnesses were nearby). “…paper…please.” They didn’t want to break their voice again.
They take the offered materials, frowning at the question. It takes them a little bit to write. It had never been a skill prioritized by HYDRA, writing. They frown. Not when it came to them, at least. Their spelling is a little off and words are a little jumbled with Russian ones.
He leaves the room, returning with a tray of the usual 'easy' food that hospitals give you. Setting this down next to them, he pauses to check their vitals -more out of instinct than a distrust of the nurses abilities.
They take the food with a raspy spoken ‘thanks’, before beginning to eat it. It’s simple, and bland, and familiar in those regards. Unfamiliar in some others, but that isn’t as important to them. They need to keep their strength up.
They write again, just a one word answer: ‘no.’
They don’t really know a lot of people. The only truly trustworthy person would be Tanya, and they don’t want to be pathetic like this in front of Tanya. They don’t want to be like this in front of anyone, but especially not her.
"Alright. I'll look into that now." He writes these answers down. "Do you have any family or relations that will need to be informed, or not informed?"
They scowl. They don’t know if they want to tell Tanya. They know she’s not like that, but they don’t want to disappoint her. She’d already done enough for them, and now they’re not sure if they can repay the favor. They just tap the ‘no’ again instead.
They nod. They fidget. Is it important that they do? Will they have to escape soon? Can they wait until they’re mostly healed from their injuries or will they have to do the remainders of their recovery alone in some safehouse or other?
cws: internalized ableism, medical setting, burn wounds, eye and ear wounds, sad little guy™, suicidal ideation (may come up), they are also a little woozy from pain medicine (what they say might be disjointed and not make sense)//
Sol woke up to beeping. Irritating. Beep beep beep. Went the machines. Over and over.
They might be sedated, but that was barely possible. They had an IV in their foot - their hands were metal, so that wasn’t surprising - and it seemed hooked up to multiple bags. There was a blood bag - would their blood even be compatible with normal human blood? - saline - obviously - and, oddly, multiple bags of painkillers.
They had a good pain threshold. They rarely needed painkillers, not that they would really work anyways.
They looked around the room, trying to gather their thoughts of how they got there - where even was there? …here…?
Oh. The explosion. They felt around the right side of their face with a cold metal hand. There felt like there was fabric over their eye, and that most of their face and body was bandaged. The skin on their right side registered the cool feeling of the hand, or even the pressure, but not as much as it should, with how sensitive touch usually felt to them. It itched, but they resisted scratching it. Making themself bleed after almost bleeding out - their memories were starting to come in again, thankfully. They didn’t like forgetting things - sounded like a very bad plan.
But that wasn’t to say they weren’t distressed. One ear felt like the hearing was damaged, and at this point they couldn’t lie to themself with the eye. It was probably already removed, since the damage was severe.
They ignored the tightness that came to their chest. They must be useless now. Useless, and broken, and scarred and ugly. Not that how attractive they were was really ever a priority.
But who would ever want them now? They weren’t useful - as far as their spiral told them - they weren’t charming or sociable. What did they even have, aside from trauma and only half of a face?
Sol has mastered the art of being silent and still during breakdowns, so any by-passer would only see a heavily burned and bandaged teenager staring at the wall in front of them, and assume it was only a little shell-shock.
And, to a degree, they were shell-shocked. Both definitions could fit, really.
They were physically shaking, unlike the usual stillness that came when they were thinking. It was more of a trembling, really.
They would never describe themself as such, but it was similar to how an angry chihuahua shakes, or some creature that shakes when scared.
//No pressure tags (use any accounts yall would like if you have multiple): @variousvossivixens @ancient-siren @floralramblings @the-winter-soldierr @lost--storm @le-chevre-marvel @emiliakane @belong-in-the-wilds @liliyabarnes and anyone else who wants to join in!
Their attention flicks over, thoughts pushed to the side now. They blink a few times. “…hey.” They speak, their voice raspy. It hurt a little bit to speak.
"Oh!" He looks up, a bright smile forming almost immediately. "I'm so glad you can speak now. We were a little concerned about the amount of smoke and dust coating your throat. How do you feel?"
They try to smile back. It’s disjointed. The right side of their face feels stiff. They clear their throat. “Shitty.” They croak. They groan at the stinging in their throat.
They keep a somewhat wary eye on him (they know it doesn’t make sense. If he had been planning to hurt them, he could have done it while they were completely defenseless and no witnesses were nearby). “…paper…please.” They didn’t want to break their voice again.
They take the offered materials, frowning at the question. It takes them a little bit to write. It had never been a skill prioritized by HYDRA, writing. They frown. Not when it came to them, at least. Their spelling is a little off and words are a little jumbled with Russian ones.
He leaves the room, returning with a tray of the usual 'easy' food that hospitals give you. Setting this down next to them, he pauses to check their vitals -more out of instinct than a distrust of the nurses abilities.
They take the food with a raspy spoken ‘thanks’, before beginning to eat it. It’s simple, and bland, and familiar in those regards. Unfamiliar in some others, but that isn’t as important to them. They need to keep their strength up.
They write again, just a one word answer: ‘no.’
They don’t really know a lot of people. The only truly trustworthy person would be Tanya, and they don’t want to be pathetic like this in front of Tanya. They don’t want to be like this in front of anyone, but especially not her.
"Alright. I'll look into that now." He writes these answers down. "Do you have any family or relations that will need to be informed, or not informed?"
They scowl. They don’t know if they want to tell Tanya. They know she’s not like that, but they don’t want to disappoint her. She’d already done enough for them, and now they’re not sure if they can repay the favor. They just tap the ‘no’ again instead.
They nod. They fidget. Is it important that they do? Will they have to escape soon? Can they wait until they’re mostly healed from their injuries or will they have to do the remainders of their recovery alone in some safehouse or other?
Open rp! Masked AU. [Info: the mask is nailed to WS’ face. CATWS proceeds similar to canon except for Steve figuring out Bucky’s identity. After, he is placed into Avengers’ custody]
The Soldier sits in the holding cell of the Tower. His hands are cuffed and an EMP goes off from them every so often to keep the metal arm useless. It just… sits there. Thinking. It’s not supposed to think.
His last mission. Captain America, Steve Rogers. It knew him. The helicarrier was going down and malfunctions flashed in its mind of a younger Steve. Why did he pull him from the river? That’s not protocol.
After it pulled Steve to the riverbank, it sat with him until he was found. By Shield. Shield that is Hydra but also not. They ended up tranq’ing him because he wouldn’t let any of them get near Steve.
It leans back against the wall, letting out a quiet huff. He can’t speak, not through the mask like this. He’ll be wiped again soon, won’t it? It’s been too long. His eyes dart to the cell door when it opens.
The man who enters murmurs to himself as he flips through the papers on his clipboard. He looks up with a bright smile. He's not alone. The Soldier can see another man and a woman in the hall, both armed.
"Hello," the man greets him, setting the clipboard down and pulling a hairband from his wrist to pull his dark curls up. "I'm here to check on your injuries."
The Soldier sits up straighter, studying the man. It shifts nervously at the two in the hall. He’s complying. He’s being good. Why do they need weapons on him..? It glances down to itself then. Does it have injuries…?
It's injuries...it had them. But the serium- the healing factor had taken care of that. Not that they had time to know that. Shield could see the blood and knew he had been hurt.
"May I?" The man crouches down and opens his bag, but waits. Seeming to genuinely want the Soldier's permission.
The Soldier hesitates. He’s… asking? That’s not normal. It doesn’t know what to do, so it just freezes. Does nothing. He shouldn’t have to give his permission to doctors. They just poke and prod and hurt him until they deem him okay for missions—
"Okay. Take a deep breath for me, okay?" He reaches out one hand to press it gently against the non-metal arm. "You're safe. I'm not going to hurt you, and I won't do anything if you don't want me to."
The Soldier flinches, expecting the touch to hurt. Its eyes fill with confusion when it doesn’t. He shakes his head. It doesn’t have wants. It doesn’t know how to communicate that. People tend to just know that about him.
The Soldier cowers back when the others come into the cell. It flinches when its hair is moved, watching them all warily, like he expects them to attack suddenly.
The men talk quietly among themselves, before coming to the agreement that whether or not the Soldier was capable of communication at the moment, they had to fix the mask. They would take him to the hospital and have it removed by professionals.
"Alright, come on buddy. We're going to take care of that mask." The second man offers the Soldier a hand, giving him the type of assuring smile one might give a dog before taking them to the vet.
They take it to a medbay that was equipt like a hospital. They told it everything they were going to do, although by now the men seemed to understand that it wasn't going to protest or make any choices of it's own. It would have to learn that.
They ended up fully knocking it out using a drug that was injected into it's blood stream. When it woke up, the mask had been removed, although it couldn't move it's jaw. They had been forced to put a plastic brace and some bandages to keep it still while it healed. Thankfully with the super healing, it wouldn't take long.
cws: internalized ableism, medical setting, burn wounds, eye and ear wounds, sad little guy™, suicidal ideation (may come up), they are also a little woozy from pain medicine (what they say might be disjointed and not make sense)//
Sol woke up to beeping. Irritating. Beep beep beep. Went the machines. Over and over.
They might be sedated, but that was barely possible. They had an IV in their foot - their hands were metal, so that wasn’t surprising - and it seemed hooked up to multiple bags. There was a blood bag - would their blood even be compatible with normal human blood? - saline - obviously - and, oddly, multiple bags of painkillers.
They had a good pain threshold. They rarely needed painkillers, not that they would really work anyways.
They looked around the room, trying to gather their thoughts of how they got there - where even was there? …here…?
Oh. The explosion. They felt around the right side of their face with a cold metal hand. There felt like there was fabric over their eye, and that most of their face and body was bandaged. The skin on their right side registered the cool feeling of the hand, or even the pressure, but not as much as it should, with how sensitive touch usually felt to them. It itched, but they resisted scratching it. Making themself bleed after almost bleeding out - their memories were starting to come in again, thankfully. They didn’t like forgetting things - sounded like a very bad plan.
But that wasn’t to say they weren’t distressed. One ear felt like the hearing was damaged, and at this point they couldn’t lie to themself with the eye. It was probably already removed, since the damage was severe.
They ignored the tightness that came to their chest. They must be useless now. Useless, and broken, and scarred and ugly. Not that how attractive they were was really ever a priority.
But who would ever want them now? They weren’t useful - as far as their spiral told them - they weren’t charming or sociable. What did they even have, aside from trauma and only half of a face?
Sol has mastered the art of being silent and still during breakdowns, so any by-passer would only see a heavily burned and bandaged teenager staring at the wall in front of them, and assume it was only a little shell-shock.
And, to a degree, they were shell-shocked. Both definitions could fit, really.
They were physically shaking, unlike the usual stillness that came when they were thinking. It was more of a trembling, really.
They would never describe themself as such, but it was similar to how an angry chihuahua shakes, or some creature that shakes when scared.
//No pressure tags (use any accounts yall would like if you have multiple): @variousvossivixens @ancient-siren @floralramblings @the-winter-soldierr @lost--storm @le-chevre-marvel @emiliakane @belong-in-the-wilds @liliyabarnes and anyone else who wants to join in!
Their attention flicks over, thoughts pushed to the side now. They blink a few times. “…hey.” They speak, their voice raspy. It hurt a little bit to speak.
"Oh!" He looks up, a bright smile forming almost immediately. "I'm so glad you can speak now. We were a little concerned about the amount of smoke and dust coating your throat. How do you feel?"
They try to smile back. It’s disjointed. The right side of their face feels stiff. They clear their throat. “Shitty.” They croak. They groan at the stinging in their throat.
They keep a somewhat wary eye on him (they know it doesn’t make sense. If he had been planning to hurt them, he could have done it while they were completely defenseless and no witnesses were nearby). “…paper…please.” They didn’t want to break their voice again.
They take the offered materials, frowning at the question. It takes them a little bit to write. It had never been a skill prioritized by HYDRA, writing. They frown. Not when it came to them, at least. Their spelling is a little off and words are a little jumbled with Russian ones.
He leaves the room, returning with a tray of the usual 'easy' food that hospitals give you. Setting this down next to them, he pauses to check their vitals -more out of instinct than a distrust of the nurses abilities.
They take the food with a raspy spoken ‘thanks’, before beginning to eat it. It’s simple, and bland, and familiar in those regards. Unfamiliar in some others, but that isn’t as important to them. They need to keep their strength up.
They write again, just a one word answer: ‘no.’
They don’t really know a lot of people. The only truly trustworthy person would be Tanya, and they don’t want to be pathetic like this in front of Tanya. They don’t want to be like this in front of anyone, but especially not her.
"Alright. I'll look into that now." He writes these answers down. "Do you have any family or relations that will need to be informed, or not informed?"
They scowl. They don’t know if they want to tell Tanya. They know she’s not like that, but they don’t want to disappoint her. She’d already done enough for them, and now they’re not sure if they can repay the favor. They just tap the ‘no’ again instead.
Open rp! Masked AU. [Info: the mask is nailed to WS’ face. CATWS proceeds similar to canon except for Steve figuring out Bucky’s identity. After, he is placed into Avengers’ custody]
The Soldier sits in the holding cell of the Tower. His hands are cuffed and an EMP goes off from them every so often to keep the metal arm useless. It just… sits there. Thinking. It’s not supposed to think.
His last mission. Captain America, Steve Rogers. It knew him. The helicarrier was going down and malfunctions flashed in its mind of a younger Steve. Why did he pull him from the river? That’s not protocol.
After it pulled Steve to the riverbank, it sat with him until he was found. By Shield. Shield that is Hydra but also not. They ended up tranq’ing him because he wouldn’t let any of them get near Steve.
It leans back against the wall, letting out a quiet huff. He can’t speak, not through the mask like this. He’ll be wiped again soon, won’t it? It’s been too long. His eyes dart to the cell door when it opens.
The man who enters murmurs to himself as he flips through the papers on his clipboard. He looks up with a bright smile. He's not alone. The Soldier can see another man and a woman in the hall, both armed.
"Hello," the man greets him, setting the clipboard down and pulling a hairband from his wrist to pull his dark curls up. "I'm here to check on your injuries."
The Soldier sits up straighter, studying the man. It shifts nervously at the two in the hall. He’s complying. He’s being good. Why do they need weapons on him..? It glances down to itself then. Does it have injuries…?
It's injuries...it had them. But the serium- the healing factor had taken care of that. Not that they had time to know that. Shield could see the blood and knew he had been hurt.
"May I?" The man crouches down and opens his bag, but waits. Seeming to genuinely want the Soldier's permission.
The Soldier hesitates. He’s… asking? That’s not normal. It doesn’t know what to do, so it just freezes. Does nothing. He shouldn’t have to give his permission to doctors. They just poke and prod and hurt him until they deem him okay for missions—
"Okay. Take a deep breath for me, okay?" He reaches out one hand to press it gently against the non-metal arm. "You're safe. I'm not going to hurt you, and I won't do anything if you don't want me to."
The Soldier flinches, expecting the touch to hurt. Its eyes fill with confusion when it doesn’t. He shakes his head. It doesn’t have wants. It doesn’t know how to communicate that. People tend to just know that about him.
The Soldier cowers back when the others come into the cell. It flinches when its hair is moved, watching them all warily, like he expects them to attack suddenly.
The men talk quietly among themselves, before coming to the agreement that whether or not the Soldier was capable of communication at the moment, they had to fix the mask. They would take him to the hospital and have it removed by professionals.
"Alright, come on buddy. We're going to take care of that mask." The second man offers the Soldier a hand, giving him the type of assuring smile one might give a dog before taking them to the vet.
Open rp! Masked AU. [Info: the mask is nailed to WS’ face. CATWS proceeds similar to canon except for Steve figuring out Bucky’s identity. After, he is placed into Avengers’ custody]
The Soldier sits in the holding cell of the Tower. His hands are cuffed and an EMP goes off from them every so often to keep the metal arm useless. It just… sits there. Thinking. It’s not supposed to think.
His last mission. Captain America, Steve Rogers. It knew him. The helicarrier was going down and malfunctions flashed in its mind of a younger Steve. Why did he pull him from the river? That’s not protocol.
After it pulled Steve to the riverbank, it sat with him until he was found. By Shield. Shield that is Hydra but also not. They ended up tranq’ing him because he wouldn’t let any of them get near Steve.
It leans back against the wall, letting out a quiet huff. He can’t speak, not through the mask like this. He’ll be wiped again soon, won’t it? It’s been too long. His eyes dart to the cell door when it opens.
The man who enters murmurs to himself as he flips through the papers on his clipboard. He looks up with a bright smile. He's not alone. The Soldier can see another man and a woman in the hall, both armed.
"Hello," the man greets him, setting the clipboard down and pulling a hairband from his wrist to pull his dark curls up. "I'm here to check on your injuries."
The Soldier sits up straighter, studying the man. It shifts nervously at the two in the hall. He’s complying. He’s being good. Why do they need weapons on him..? It glances down to itself then. Does it have injuries…?
It's injuries...it had them. But the serium- the healing factor had taken care of that. Not that they had time to know that. Shield could see the blood and knew he had been hurt.
"May I?" The man crouches down and opens his bag, but waits. Seeming to genuinely want the Soldier's permission.
The Soldier hesitates. He’s… asking? That’s not normal. It doesn’t know what to do, so it just freezes. Does nothing. He shouldn’t have to give his permission to doctors. They just poke and prod and hurt him until they deem him okay for missions—
"Okay. Take a deep breath for me, okay?" He reaches out one hand to press it gently against the non-metal arm. "You're safe. I'm not going to hurt you, and I won't do anything if you don't want me to."
The Soldier flinches, expecting the touch to hurt. Its eyes fill with confusion when it doesn’t. He shakes his head. It doesn’t have wants. It doesn’t know how to communicate that. People tend to just know that about him.
The Soldier cowers back when the others come into the cell. It flinches when its hair is moved, watching them all warily, like he expects them to attack suddenly.
The men talk quietly among themselves, before coming to the agreement that whether or not the Soldier was capable of communication at the moment, they had to fix the mask. They would take him to the hospital and have it removed by professionals.
"Alright, come on buddy. We're going to take care of that mask." The second man offers the Soldier a hand, giving him the type of assuring smile one might give a dog before taking them to the vet.
cws: internalized ableism, medical setting, burn wounds, eye and ear wounds, sad little guy™, suicidal ideation (may come up), they are also a little woozy from pain medicine (what they say might be disjointed and not make sense)//
Sol woke up to beeping. Irritating. Beep beep beep. Went the machines. Over and over.
They might be sedated, but that was barely possible. They had an IV in their foot - their hands were metal, so that wasn’t surprising - and it seemed hooked up to multiple bags. There was a blood bag - would their blood even be compatible with normal human blood? - saline - obviously - and, oddly, multiple bags of painkillers.
They had a good pain threshold. They rarely needed painkillers, not that they would really work anyways.
They looked around the room, trying to gather their thoughts of how they got there - where even was there? …here…?
Oh. The explosion. They felt around the right side of their face with a cold metal hand. There felt like there was fabric over their eye, and that most of their face and body was bandaged. The skin on their right side registered the cool feeling of the hand, or even the pressure, but not as much as it should, with how sensitive touch usually felt to them. It itched, but they resisted scratching it. Making themself bleed after almost bleeding out - their memories were starting to come in again, thankfully. They didn’t like forgetting things - sounded like a very bad plan.
But that wasn’t to say they weren’t distressed. One ear felt like the hearing was damaged, and at this point they couldn’t lie to themself with the eye. It was probably already removed, since the damage was severe.
They ignored the tightness that came to their chest. They must be useless now. Useless, and broken, and scarred and ugly. Not that how attractive they were was really ever a priority.
But who would ever want them now? They weren’t useful - as far as their spiral told them - they weren’t charming or sociable. What did they even have, aside from trauma and only half of a face?
Sol has mastered the art of being silent and still during breakdowns, so any by-passer would only see a heavily burned and bandaged teenager staring at the wall in front of them, and assume it was only a little shell-shock.
And, to a degree, they were shell-shocked. Both definitions could fit, really.
They were physically shaking, unlike the usual stillness that came when they were thinking. It was more of a trembling, really.
They would never describe themself as such, but it was similar to how an angry chihuahua shakes, or some creature that shakes when scared.
//No pressure tags (use any accounts yall would like if you have multiple): @variousvossivixens @ancient-siren @floralramblings @the-winter-soldierr @lost--storm @le-chevre-marvel @emiliakane @belong-in-the-wilds @liliyabarnes and anyone else who wants to join in!
Their attention flicks over, thoughts pushed to the side now. They blink a few times. “…hey.” They speak, their voice raspy. It hurt a little bit to speak.
"Oh!" He looks up, a bright smile forming almost immediately. "I'm so glad you can speak now. We were a little concerned about the amount of smoke and dust coating your throat. How do you feel?"
They try to smile back. It’s disjointed. The right side of their face feels stiff. They clear their throat. “Shitty.” They croak. They groan at the stinging in their throat.
They keep a somewhat wary eye on him (they know it doesn’t make sense. If he had been planning to hurt them, he could have done it while they were completely defenseless and no witnesses were nearby). “…paper…please.” They didn’t want to break their voice again.
They take the offered materials, frowning at the question. It takes them a little bit to write. It had never been a skill prioritized by HYDRA, writing. They frown. Not when it came to them, at least. Their spelling is a little off and words are a little jumbled with Russian ones.
He leaves the room, returning with a tray of the usual 'easy' food that hospitals give you. Setting this down next to them, he pauses to check their vitals -more out of instinct than a distrust of the nurses abilities.
They take the food with a raspy spoken ‘thanks’, before beginning to eat it. It’s simple, and bland, and familiar in those regards. Unfamiliar in some others, but that isn’t as important to them. They need to keep their strength up.
They write again, just a one word answer: ‘no.’
They don’t really know a lot of people. The only truly trustworthy person would be Tanya, and they don’t want to be pathetic like this in front of Tanya. They don’t want to be like this in front of anyone, but especially not her.
"Alright. I'll look into that now." He writes these answers down. "Do you have any family or relations that will need to be informed, or not informed?"
Open rp! Masked AU. [Info: the mask is nailed to WS’ face. CATWS proceeds similar to canon except for Steve figuring out Bucky’s identity. After, he is placed into Avengers’ custody]
The Soldier sits in the holding cell of the Tower. His hands are cuffed and an EMP goes off from them every so often to keep the metal arm useless. It just… sits there. Thinking. It’s not supposed to think.
His last mission. Captain America, Steve Rogers. It knew him. The helicarrier was going down and malfunctions flashed in its mind of a younger Steve. Why did he pull him from the river? That’s not protocol.
After it pulled Steve to the riverbank, it sat with him until he was found. By Shield. Shield that is Hydra but also not. They ended up tranq’ing him because he wouldn’t let any of them get near Steve.
It leans back against the wall, letting out a quiet huff. He can’t speak, not through the mask like this. He’ll be wiped again soon, won’t it? It’s been too long. His eyes dart to the cell door when it opens.
The man who enters murmurs to himself as he flips through the papers on his clipboard. He looks up with a bright smile. He's not alone. The Soldier can see another man and a woman in the hall, both armed.
"Hello," the man greets him, setting the clipboard down and pulling a hairband from his wrist to pull his dark curls up. "I'm here to check on your injuries."
The Soldier sits up straighter, studying the man. It shifts nervously at the two in the hall. He’s complying. He’s being good. Why do they need weapons on him..? It glances down to itself then. Does it have injuries…?
It's injuries...it had them. But the serium- the healing factor had taken care of that. Not that they had time to know that. Shield could see the blood and knew he had been hurt.
"May I?" The man crouches down and opens his bag, but waits. Seeming to genuinely want the Soldier's permission.
The Soldier hesitates. He’s… asking? That’s not normal. It doesn’t know what to do, so it just freezes. Does nothing. He shouldn’t have to give his permission to doctors. They just poke and prod and hurt him until they deem him okay for missions—
"Okay. Take a deep breath for me, okay?" He reaches out one hand to press it gently against the non-metal arm. "You're safe. I'm not going to hurt you, and I won't do anything if you don't want me to."
The Soldier flinches, expecting the touch to hurt. Its eyes fill with confusion when it doesn’t. He shakes his head. It doesn’t have wants. It doesn’t know how to communicate that. People tend to just know that about him.
The Soldier cowers back when the others come into the cell. It flinches when its hair is moved, watching them all warily, like he expects them to attack suddenly.
The men talk quietly among themselves, before coming to the agreement that whether or not the Soldier was capable of communication at the moment, they had to fix the mask. They would take him to the hospital and have it removed by professionals.
cws: internalized ableism, medical setting, burn wounds, eye and ear wounds, sad little guy™, suicidal ideation (may come up), they are also a little woozy from pain medicine (what they say might be disjointed and not make sense)//
Sol woke up to beeping. Irritating. Beep beep beep. Went the machines. Over and over.
They might be sedated, but that was barely possible. They had an IV in their foot - their hands were metal, so that wasn’t surprising - and it seemed hooked up to multiple bags. There was a blood bag - would their blood even be compatible with normal human blood? - saline - obviously - and, oddly, multiple bags of painkillers.
They had a good pain threshold. They rarely needed painkillers, not that they would really work anyways.
They looked around the room, trying to gather their thoughts of how they got there - where even was there? …here…?
Oh. The explosion. They felt around the right side of their face with a cold metal hand. There felt like there was fabric over their eye, and that most of their face and body was bandaged. The skin on their right side registered the cool feeling of the hand, or even the pressure, but not as much as it should, with how sensitive touch usually felt to them. It itched, but they resisted scratching it. Making themself bleed after almost bleeding out - their memories were starting to come in again, thankfully. They didn’t like forgetting things - sounded like a very bad plan.
But that wasn’t to say they weren’t distressed. One ear felt like the hearing was damaged, and at this point they couldn’t lie to themself with the eye. It was probably already removed, since the damage was severe.
They ignored the tightness that came to their chest. They must be useless now. Useless, and broken, and scarred and ugly. Not that how attractive they were was really ever a priority.
But who would ever want them now? They weren’t useful - as far as their spiral told them - they weren’t charming or sociable. What did they even have, aside from trauma and only half of a face?
Sol has mastered the art of being silent and still during breakdowns, so any by-passer would only see a heavily burned and bandaged teenager staring at the wall in front of them, and assume it was only a little shell-shock.
And, to a degree, they were shell-shocked. Both definitions could fit, really.
They were physically shaking, unlike the usual stillness that came when they were thinking. It was more of a trembling, really.
They would never describe themself as such, but it was similar to how an angry chihuahua shakes, or some creature that shakes when scared.
//No pressure tags (use any accounts yall would like if you have multiple): @variousvossivixens @ancient-siren @floralramblings @the-winter-soldierr @lost--storm @le-chevre-marvel @emiliakane @belong-in-the-wilds @liliyabarnes and anyone else who wants to join in!
Their attention flicks over, thoughts pushed to the side now. They blink a few times. “…hey.” They speak, their voice raspy. It hurt a little bit to speak.
"Oh!" He looks up, a bright smile forming almost immediately. "I'm so glad you can speak now. We were a little concerned about the amount of smoke and dust coating your throat. How do you feel?"
They try to smile back. It’s disjointed. The right side of their face feels stiff. They clear their throat. “Shitty.” They croak. They groan at the stinging in their throat.
They keep a somewhat wary eye on him (they know it doesn’t make sense. If he had been planning to hurt them, he could have done it while they were completely defenseless and no witnesses were nearby). “…paper…please.” They didn’t want to break their voice again.
They take the offered materials, frowning at the question. It takes them a little bit to write. It had never been a skill prioritized by HYDRA, writing. They frown. Not when it came to them, at least. Their spelling is a little off and words are a little jumbled with Russian ones.
He leaves the room, returning with a tray of the usual 'easy' food that hospitals give you. Setting this down next to them, he pauses to check their vitals -more out of instinct than a distrust of the nurses abilities.
They take the food with a raspy spoken ‘thanks’, before beginning to eat it. It’s simple, and bland, and familiar in those regards. Unfamiliar in some others, but that isn’t as important to them. They need to keep their strength up.
They write again, just a one word answer: ‘no.’
They don’t really know a lot of people. The only truly trustworthy person would be Tanya, and they don’t want to be pathetic like this in front of Tanya. They don’t want to be like this in front of anyone, but especially not her.
Open rp! Masked AU. [Info: the mask is nailed to WS’ face. CATWS proceeds similar to canon except for Steve figuring out Bucky’s identity. After, he is placed into Avengers’ custody]
The Soldier sits in the holding cell of the Tower. His hands are cuffed and an EMP goes off from them every so often to keep the metal arm useless. It just… sits there. Thinking. It’s not supposed to think.
His last mission. Captain America, Steve Rogers. It knew him. The helicarrier was going down and malfunctions flashed in its mind of a younger Steve. Why did he pull him from the river? That’s not protocol.
After it pulled Steve to the riverbank, it sat with him until he was found. By Shield. Shield that is Hydra but also not. They ended up tranq’ing him because he wouldn’t let any of them get near Steve.
It leans back against the wall, letting out a quiet huff. He can’t speak, not through the mask like this. He’ll be wiped again soon, won’t it? It’s been too long. His eyes dart to the cell door when it opens.
The man who enters murmurs to himself as he flips through the papers on his clipboard. He looks up with a bright smile. He's not alone. The Soldier can see another man and a woman in the hall, both armed.
"Hello," the man greets him, setting the clipboard down and pulling a hairband from his wrist to pull his dark curls up. "I'm here to check on your injuries."
The Soldier sits up straighter, studying the man. It shifts nervously at the two in the hall. He’s complying. He’s being good. Why do they need weapons on him..? It glances down to itself then. Does it have injuries…?
It's injuries...it had them. But the serium- the healing factor had taken care of that. Not that they had time to know that. Shield could see the blood and knew he had been hurt.
"May I?" The man crouches down and opens his bag, but waits. Seeming to genuinely want the Soldier's permission.
The Soldier hesitates. He’s… asking? That’s not normal. It doesn’t know what to do, so it just freezes. Does nothing. He shouldn’t have to give his permission to doctors. They just poke and prod and hurt him until they deem him okay for missions—
"Okay. Take a deep breath for me, okay?" He reaches out one hand to press it gently against the non-metal arm. "You're safe. I'm not going to hurt you, and I won't do anything if you don't want me to."
The Soldier flinches, expecting the touch to hurt. Its eyes fill with confusion when it doesn’t. He shakes his head. It doesn’t have wants. It doesn’t know how to communicate that. People tend to just know that about him.
cws: internalized ableism, medical setting, burn wounds, eye and ear wounds, sad little guy™, suicidal ideation (may come up), they are also a little woozy from pain medicine (what they say might be disjointed and not make sense)//
Sol woke up to beeping. Irritating. Beep beep beep. Went the machines. Over and over.
They might be sedated, but that was barely possible. They had an IV in their foot - their hands were metal, so that wasn’t surprising - and it seemed hooked up to multiple bags. There was a blood bag - would their blood even be compatible with normal human blood? - saline - obviously - and, oddly, multiple bags of painkillers.
They had a good pain threshold. They rarely needed painkillers, not that they would really work anyways.
They looked around the room, trying to gather their thoughts of how they got there - where even was there? …here…?
Oh. The explosion. They felt around the right side of their face with a cold metal hand. There felt like there was fabric over their eye, and that most of their face and body was bandaged. The skin on their right side registered the cool feeling of the hand, or even the pressure, but not as much as it should, with how sensitive touch usually felt to them. It itched, but they resisted scratching it. Making themself bleed after almost bleeding out - their memories were starting to come in again, thankfully. They didn’t like forgetting things - sounded like a very bad plan.
But that wasn’t to say they weren’t distressed. One ear felt like the hearing was damaged, and at this point they couldn’t lie to themself with the eye. It was probably already removed, since the damage was severe.
They ignored the tightness that came to their chest. They must be useless now. Useless, and broken, and scarred and ugly. Not that how attractive they were was really ever a priority.
But who would ever want them now? They weren’t useful - as far as their spiral told them - they weren’t charming or sociable. What did they even have, aside from trauma and only half of a face?
Sol has mastered the art of being silent and still during breakdowns, so any by-passer would only see a heavily burned and bandaged teenager staring at the wall in front of them, and assume it was only a little shell-shock.
And, to a degree, they were shell-shocked. Both definitions could fit, really.
They were physically shaking, unlike the usual stillness that came when they were thinking. It was more of a trembling, really.
They would never describe themself as such, but it was similar to how an angry chihuahua shakes, or some creature that shakes when scared.
//No pressure tags (use any accounts yall would like if you have multiple): @variousvossivixens @ancient-siren @floralramblings @the-winter-soldierr @lost--storm @le-chevre-marvel @emiliakane @belong-in-the-wilds @liliyabarnes and anyone else who wants to join in!
Their attention flicks over, thoughts pushed to the side now. They blink a few times. “…hey.” They speak, their voice raspy. It hurt a little bit to speak.
"Oh!" He looks up, a bright smile forming almost immediately. "I'm so glad you can speak now. We were a little concerned about the amount of smoke and dust coating your throat. How do you feel?"
They try to smile back. It’s disjointed. The right side of their face feels stiff. They clear their throat. “Shitty.” They croak. They groan at the stinging in their throat.
They keep a somewhat wary eye on him (they know it doesn’t make sense. If he had been planning to hurt them, he could have done it while they were completely defenseless and no witnesses were nearby). “…paper…please.” They didn’t want to break their voice again.
They take the offered materials, frowning at the question. It takes them a little bit to write. It had never been a skill prioritized by HYDRA, writing. They frown. Not when it came to them, at least. Their spelling is a little off and words are a little jumbled with Russian ones.
He leaves the room, returning with a tray of the usual 'easy' food that hospitals give you. Setting this down next to them, he pauses to check their vitals -more out of instinct than a distrust of the nurses abilities.
cws: internalized ableism, medical setting, burn wounds, eye and ear wounds, sad little guy™, suicidal ideation (may come up), they are also a little woozy from pain medicine (what they say might be disjointed and not make sense)//
Sol woke up to beeping. Irritating. Beep beep beep. Went the machines. Over and over.
They might be sedated, but that was barely possible. They had an IV in their foot - their hands were metal, so that wasn’t surprising - and it seemed hooked up to multiple bags. There was a blood bag - would their blood even be compatible with normal human blood? - saline - obviously - and, oddly, multiple bags of painkillers.
They had a good pain threshold. They rarely needed painkillers, not that they would really work anyways.
They looked around the room, trying to gather their thoughts of how they got there - where even was there? …here…?
Oh. The explosion. They felt around the right side of their face with a cold metal hand. There felt like there was fabric over their eye, and that most of their face and body was bandaged. The skin on their right side registered the cool feeling of the hand, or even the pressure, but not as much as it should, with how sensitive touch usually felt to them. It itched, but they resisted scratching it. Making themself bleed after almost bleeding out - their memories were starting to come in again, thankfully. They didn’t like forgetting things - sounded like a very bad plan.
But that wasn’t to say they weren’t distressed. One ear felt like the hearing was damaged, and at this point they couldn’t lie to themself with the eye. It was probably already removed, since the damage was severe.
They ignored the tightness that came to their chest. They must be useless now. Useless, and broken, and scarred and ugly. Not that how attractive they were was really ever a priority.
But who would ever want them now? They weren’t useful - as far as their spiral told them - they weren’t charming or sociable. What did they even have, aside from trauma and only half of a face?
Sol has mastered the art of being silent and still during breakdowns, so any by-passer would only see a heavily burned and bandaged teenager staring at the wall in front of them, and assume it was only a little shell-shock.
And, to a degree, they were shell-shocked. Both definitions could fit, really.
They were physically shaking, unlike the usual stillness that came when they were thinking. It was more of a trembling, really.
They would never describe themself as such, but it was similar to how an angry chihuahua shakes, or some creature that shakes when scared.
//No pressure tags (use any accounts yall would like if you have multiple): @variousvossivixens @ancient-siren @floralramblings @the-winter-soldierr @lost--storm @le-chevre-marvel @emiliakane @belong-in-the-wilds @liliyabarnes and anyone else who wants to join in!
Their attention flicks over, thoughts pushed to the side now. They blink a few times. “…hey.” They speak, their voice raspy. It hurt a little bit to speak.
"Oh!" He looks up, a bright smile forming almost immediately. "I'm so glad you can speak now. We were a little concerned about the amount of smoke and dust coating your throat. How do you feel?"
They try to smile back. It’s disjointed. The right side of their face feels stiff. They clear their throat. “Shitty.” They croak. They groan at the stinging in their throat.
They keep a somewhat wary eye on him (they know it doesn’t make sense. If he had been planning to hurt them, he could have done it while they were completely defenseless and no witnesses were nearby). “…paper…please.” They didn’t want to break their voice again.
They take the offered materials, frowning at the question. It takes them a little bit to write. It had never been a skill prioritized by HYDRA, writing. They frown. Not when it came to them, at least. Their spelling is a little off and words are a little jumbled with Russian ones.
cws: internalized ableism, medical setting, burn wounds, eye and ear wounds, sad little guy™, suicidal ideation (may come up), they are also a little woozy from pain medicine (what they say might be disjointed and not make sense)//
Sol woke up to beeping. Irritating. Beep beep beep. Went the machines. Over and over.
They might be sedated, but that was barely possible. They had an IV in their foot - their hands were metal, so that wasn’t surprising - and it seemed hooked up to multiple bags. There was a blood bag - would their blood even be compatible with normal human blood? - saline - obviously - and, oddly, multiple bags of painkillers.
They had a good pain threshold. They rarely needed painkillers, not that they would really work anyways.
They looked around the room, trying to gather their thoughts of how they got there - where even was there? …here…?
Oh. The explosion. They felt around the right side of their face with a cold metal hand. There felt like there was fabric over their eye, and that most of their face and body was bandaged. The skin on their right side registered the cool feeling of the hand, or even the pressure, but not as much as it should, with how sensitive touch usually felt to them. It itched, but they resisted scratching it. Making themself bleed after almost bleeding out - their memories were starting to come in again, thankfully. They didn’t like forgetting things - sounded like a very bad plan.
But that wasn’t to say they weren’t distressed. One ear felt like the hearing was damaged, and at this point they couldn’t lie to themself with the eye. It was probably already removed, since the damage was severe.
They ignored the tightness that came to their chest. They must be useless now. Useless, and broken, and scarred and ugly. Not that how attractive they were was really ever a priority.
But who would ever want them now? They weren’t useful - as far as their spiral told them - they weren’t charming or sociable. What did they even have, aside from trauma and only half of a face?
Sol has mastered the art of being silent and still during breakdowns, so any by-passer would only see a heavily burned and bandaged teenager staring at the wall in front of them, and assume it was only a little shell-shock.
And, to a degree, they were shell-shocked. Both definitions could fit, really.
They were physically shaking, unlike the usual stillness that came when they were thinking. It was more of a trembling, really.
They would never describe themself as such, but it was similar to how an angry chihuahua shakes, or some creature that shakes when scared.
//No pressure tags (use any accounts yall would like if you have multiple): @variousvossivixens @ancient-siren @floralramblings @the-winter-soldierr @lost--storm @le-chevre-marvel @emiliakane @belong-in-the-wilds @liliyabarnes and anyone else who wants to join in!
Their attention flicks over, thoughts pushed to the side now. They blink a few times. “…hey.” They speak, their voice raspy. It hurt a little bit to speak.
"Oh!" He looks up, a bright smile forming almost immediately. "I'm so glad you can speak now. We were a little concerned about the amount of smoke and dust coating your throat. How do you feel?"
They try to smile back. It’s disjointed. The right side of their face feels stiff. They clear their throat. “Shitty.” They croak. They groan at the stinging in their throat.
They keep a somewhat wary eye on him (they know it doesn’t make sense. If he had been planning to hurt them, he could have done it while they were completely defenseless and no witnesses were nearby). “…paper…please.” They didn’t want to break their voice again.
cws: internalized ableism, medical setting, burn wounds, eye and ear wounds, sad little guy™, suicidal ideation (may come up), they are also a little woozy from pain medicine (what they say might be disjointed and not make sense)//
Sol woke up to beeping. Irritating. Beep beep beep. Went the machines. Over and over.
They might be sedated, but that was barely possible. They had an IV in their foot - their hands were metal, so that wasn’t surprising - and it seemed hooked up to multiple bags. There was a blood bag - would their blood even be compatible with normal human blood? - saline - obviously - and, oddly, multiple bags of painkillers.
They had a good pain threshold. They rarely needed painkillers, not that they would really work anyways.
They looked around the room, trying to gather their thoughts of how they got there - where even was there? …here…?
Oh. The explosion. They felt around the right side of their face with a cold metal hand. There felt like there was fabric over their eye, and that most of their face and body was bandaged. The skin on their right side registered the cool feeling of the hand, or even the pressure, but not as much as it should, with how sensitive touch usually felt to them. It itched, but they resisted scratching it. Making themself bleed after almost bleeding out - their memories were starting to come in again, thankfully. They didn’t like forgetting things - sounded like a very bad plan.
But that wasn’t to say they weren’t distressed. One ear felt like the hearing was damaged, and at this point they couldn’t lie to themself with the eye. It was probably already removed, since the damage was severe.
They ignored the tightness that came to their chest. They must be useless now. Useless, and broken, and scarred and ugly. Not that how attractive they were was really ever a priority.
But who would ever want them now? They weren’t useful - as far as their spiral told them - they weren’t charming or sociable. What did they even have, aside from trauma and only half of a face?
Sol has mastered the art of being silent and still during breakdowns, so any by-passer would only see a heavily burned and bandaged teenager staring at the wall in front of them, and assume it was only a little shell-shock.
And, to a degree, they were shell-shocked. Both definitions could fit, really.
They were physically shaking, unlike the usual stillness that came when they were thinking. It was more of a trembling, really.
They would never describe themself as such, but it was similar to how an angry chihuahua shakes, or some creature that shakes when scared.
//No pressure tags (use any accounts yall would like if you have multiple): @variousvossivixens @ancient-siren @floralramblings @the-winter-soldierr @lost--storm @le-chevre-marvel @emiliakane @belong-in-the-wilds @liliyabarnes and anyone else who wants to join in!
Their attention flicks over, thoughts pushed to the side now. They blink a few times. “…hey.” They speak, their voice raspy. It hurt a little bit to speak.
"Oh!" He looks up, a bright smile forming almost immediately. "I'm so glad you can speak now. We were a little concerned about the amount of smoke and dust coating your throat. How do you feel?"
They try to smile back. It’s disjointed. The right side of their face feels stiff. They clear their throat. “Shitty.” They croak. They groan at the stinging in their throat.
cws: internalized ableism, medical setting, burn wounds, eye and ear wounds, sad little guy™, suicidal ideation (may come up), they are also a little woozy from pain medicine (what they say might be disjointed and not make sense)//
Sol woke up to beeping. Irritating. Beep beep beep. Went the machines. Over and over.
They might be sedated, but that was barely possible. They had an IV in their foot - their hands were metal, so that wasn’t surprising - and it seemed hooked up to multiple bags. There was a blood bag - would their blood even be compatible with normal human blood? - saline - obviously - and, oddly, multiple bags of painkillers.
They had a good pain threshold. They rarely needed painkillers, not that they would really work anyways.
They looked around the room, trying to gather their thoughts of how they got there - where even was there? …here…?
Oh. The explosion. They felt around the right side of their face with a cold metal hand. There felt like there was fabric over their eye, and that most of their face and body was bandaged. The skin on their right side registered the cool feeling of the hand, or even the pressure, but not as much as it should, with how sensitive touch usually felt to them. It itched, but they resisted scratching it. Making themself bleed after almost bleeding out - their memories were starting to come in again, thankfully. They didn’t like forgetting things - sounded like a very bad plan.
But that wasn’t to say they weren’t distressed. One ear felt like the hearing was damaged, and at this point they couldn’t lie to themself with the eye. It was probably already removed, since the damage was severe.
They ignored the tightness that came to their chest. They must be useless now. Useless, and broken, and scarred and ugly. Not that how attractive they were was really ever a priority.
But who would ever want them now? They weren’t useful - as far as their spiral told them - they weren’t charming or sociable. What did they even have, aside from trauma and only half of a face?
Sol has mastered the art of being silent and still during breakdowns, so any by-passer would only see a heavily burned and bandaged teenager staring at the wall in front of them, and assume it was only a little shell-shock.
And, to a degree, they were shell-shocked. Both definitions could fit, really.
They were physically shaking, unlike the usual stillness that came when they were thinking. It was more of a trembling, really.
They would never describe themself as such, but it was similar to how an angry chihuahua shakes, or some creature that shakes when scared.
//No pressure tags (use any accounts yall would like if you have multiple): @variousvossivixens @ancient-siren @floralramblings @the-winter-soldierr @lost--storm @le-chevre-marvel @emiliakane @belong-in-the-wilds @liliyabarnes and anyone else who wants to join in!
Their attention flicks over, thoughts pushed to the side now. They blink a few times. “…hey.” They speak, their voice raspy. It hurt a little bit to speak.
"Oh!" He looks up, a bright smile forming almost immediately. "I'm so glad you can speak now. We were a little concerned about the amount of smoke and dust coating your throat. How do you feel?"
