#ayrendium

[sparedpartsa-blog]

[ Ahem. Well for this account, I started yelling at you about Bucky and then you made a Bucky account and I enjoyed the portrayal but for your Vincent account, which I think is the main one that I follow because we haven't really interacted on any other yet ( I can't remember if Vince and Cas have interacted... ) I had started following you on Mal's account and I pretty sure it was him and Vince who had interacted and I enjoyed the writing and so here I am and there I am and here we are. ]

lmao my problematic, trash child. bucky was such an impulsive muse omg. i’m actually surprised he stuck. most of the time they don’t. idk how many blogs i’ve made that have inevitably failed, yet here we are. i’m really glad you like him though —– you and two other enablers, who know who they are and i shall not name, are responsible for this blogs existence. as for vincent,  i know we had a brief thread over there, and it died. i don’t think we’ve ever interacted between vince and cas though but we should! vince needs more threads ~

[icarusiisms]

It is an exercise of patience, though not one that he is unfamiliar with. The steadiness of breath as he awaits his answer, the curt nod once it is given and so he rises from his crouch, fingers smoothing out the momentary creases his position had offered his clothes. Perhaps not the most conventional of actions, to invite the other along with him but it was a day for unconventional acts ( or this was, at least, his argument to himself ). "Are you ready? Where we are going is not far."

Another nod as he hurries to mimic the other’s movement; rising to his feet, hands absently smoothing out wrinkles and brushing off dust and dirt, not that it does much good for his general appearance of course but at least he tried. He opens his mouth to speak, but only a rough, garbled noise escapes him. He supposes that makes sense; you don’t use your voice enough and it kind of just.. disappears. Or at the very least sounds harsher once it is used again. Undeterred and slightly embarrassed by the noise, he licks his lips and clears his throat to try again. Maybe this time it’ll work.

“Wh--” A slight crack in his voice, more clearing of his throat and then he’s trying again. “Where are we going?”

[icarusiisms]

There is something terribly dismaying at such a sight, and all to be walked by without so much a glance by the general populace of this city but he had stopped. Not to ask questions of 'how' or things of that nature-- as it were, he doubted the answers would be provided either of them. A frown graced his lips, knees bending into a slow crouch as a steady gaze met the other. The wind ruffled his hair, stirred ceaselessly in the beginnings of a storm and yet still he stared. "Come with me."

He does his best to shrink back further when the other crouches, hesitance and uncertainty gripping him tightly for a moment. In some part of his mind, he realizes that the other means no harm, does not wish to hurt him, but past experiences have made him guarded. So he studies him; watches the wind ruffle his hair, stares back unblinking into his eyes and wonders distantly what it must be like to be him.

And then just as quickly as the thought had entered his mind it is gone, only to be replaced by a cautious curiosity. Come with me, he had said and he should really think about this before he accepts but he doesn’t, just gives a hesitant nod of acceptance and readies himself to stand up; rational thought about his choices has no place in the face of his need to get out of the cold.

[icarusiisms]

"What is this?" | -casually rolls through your inbox to deliver this because why not? and then rolls out-

He’s curled up on a sidewalk, huddled up against the side of a building with his coat drawn tight around him to ward off the cold. He’s used to people walking by him, ignoring his presence, so the sound of a voice, of someone speaking to him causes him to look up. Azure hues widen in surprise upon seeing who it is, his breath catches in his throat for a moment before chapped lips part to speak.

“H-how--?”

[sparedpartsa-blog]

‘an angel. right----- 

bucky barnes wasn’t a religious sort. the idea that there existed a God, who dictated a person's fate, was a far-fetched concept in the midst of a war, when men were dyin' left and right. certainly, no god existed in Germany, nor among the depraved && battle worn soldiers trudging the trenches, carrying injured and dead comrades off the blood drenched field. 

he had his papers, he shipped out in the morning.   bourbon in hand, he gave the other a one-sided toast and took a sip. 

  ‘don’t know much about religion. though every man’s entitled to his own, i suppose.