#eamees

[veganthranduil]

au where steve and bucky go undercover and germany and are defeated by the ambiguity of the word 'Freund'

so bucky speaks german and just introduces steve like 'Und das ist mein Freund Steve' and everybody just rolls with it because thEY ARE OBVIOUSLY IN LOVE and bucky doesn't realise what he's done until later when somebody asks him who tops

[veganthranduil]

i have never had so many intense emotions about Steve and Bucky i have the worst friends on the other hand it was quite fun...

[lokilaufeys]

cloud atlas :3

never seen it | need to see it | didn’t like it | hated it | UGH | meh | it was okay | liked it | LOVED IT | asdfghjkl

thanks for asking! i love how i said i loved movies yet the first one i'm asked i haven't seen :O

send me a movie

[veganthranduil]

ONE WEEK

[veganthranduil]

The first time he doesn't know why they come for him.

He knows their technology is still a little bit dodgy, they're still working on smoothing out the kinks that come with trying to rewrite a human brain like a computer, but they're sure they're getting there and Bucky – if that's still who he is, because he really can't be sure anymore – hasn't given them any incentive to believe otherwise. He doesn't need anyone telling him that would be dangerous.

The first time they come for him, he's in his cell, strapped down because they're still not quite sure what he's capable of in this state of in-between-ness that they've put him in. He might be dangerous, or he might be their most loyal lapdog. He might be trying to slip out of their grasp.

It's dark in the cell, the stench of metal is overwhelming even after all these weeks – months? – but he's fallen into an unrestful slumber nonetheless. That's all he can do now, take his chances while he can and isn't that something, he used to be the one who took the initiative, who never backed down and now he's left to deal with the scraps. Deal with the scraps of who he used to be.

The first time they come for him the door bangs open with a start, and his reflexes tell him to sit up where his body is still tied to the mattress. He stares in horror and the man towering over him.

Knows, without a doubt, what is coming.

The second time they come for him, he wakes up a split second before the door bangs open, and feels unhinged. They'd tried wiping his mind blank once again that day, and it had held for a solid ten minutes before everything came crashing back into him with a painful intensity, left him howling and screaming and begging for it to end, but what was worse was the memory of that blessed nothingness, and then the realisation that this was what they'd make him into if they could. What they would most certainly make him into one day.

He's still shaking with the recovery – my name is James Buchanan Barnes, I live in Brooklyn, New York, I – when cold metal hits concrete and there's the man again, a giant outlined by the cold light of the corridor. Bucky thinks of blond hair, and then pain.

The third time they come for him, he's figured out what he's been doing wrong, and he hates himself for it.

He'd seen the recording that day when they thought he was still passed out from another mind-wiping session, and when he resurfaced there was the face of a stranger on a computer screen, screwed up in pain, glistening with sweat, lips whimpering the name Steve over and over again. The stranger was sleeping, but it wasn't a very restful sleep.

Later in his cell, he puts the pieces together, he figures the stranger must have been him because he knows Steve, feels like he will know him to the end of the earth but the truth is that his face is already evading Bucky's memory, and he's lying on the thing mattress with empty hands and an aching head and only the echo of what must have been his best friend. He can't really remember what Steve was to him. What he wanted him to be.

He goes to sleep that night, careful to put all thought of Steve aside, and when they come for him it's not to inflict more pain.

Instead, they put him in the chair in the middle of the night, tie the straps and boot up the machine. Bucky things the timing a bit odd, but it's better than what they used to do with him in any case. He can almost deal with the jigsaw puzzle his memory becomes after the sessions.

(When he wakes the next morning, he's blessedly refreshed and surprisingly not in pain. There are dark bruises on his wrists and hip. He observes them with a detached curiosity, moves his flesh and metal hands slowly. When he walks, his feet fall clumsily. He doesn't wonder, doesn't think, just lies there breathing slowly. There is nothing on his mind.)

(He never wakes at night with the name Steve on his lips again.)

[veganthranduil]

windtersoldier heeft op je bericht gereageerd “windtersoldier heeft op je bericht gereageerd “in an attempt to get...”

GOOD

you... are far too happy with all the heartbreak. we need to find stronger material.

eamees heeft op je bericht gereageerd “I gave in and wrote something because I’ve been physically incapable...”

i'm a mess wow [MUFFLED SCREAMING IN THE DISTANC

i have fulfilled my purpose

[veganthranduil]

I gave in and wrote something because I've been physically incapable of shutting up about the Winter Soldier since yesterday. No animals were harmed in the making of this oneshot. 

Somewhere he’d been told that animals had no sense of self. That they’d look straight at a mirror and see their reflection and take it for a fellow specimen.

The Winter Soldier had long since given up on mirrors.

He was standing in front of one now, though, of sorts, though his reflection was unmoving, frozen in a photograph taken seventy years ago, give or take. The panel was overly large, towering over him in a way he could have almost called symbolic if symbols weren’t made for the fools and crowds.

There was no tug or pull, no sudden burst of memory beyond the recognition of telling features he used to catch glimpses of in his enemies’ eyes.

No sense of self. Was that such a terrible thing?

The would-be-reflection mocked him. Straight shoulders and a cocky grin, the confidence of a man who was sure that he’d seen the world and by that knew himself, feet planted firmly on the ground. When the Winter Soldier tried to hold himself straight, a dead weight on his left dragged him down again.

He couldn’t smile, either. He’d forgotten the use of it between years of wearing a mask.

The conclusion he arrived at was a simple one: that man on the picture was not him.

He has enough self-awareness left to tell that.

It used to be easier, he thought, to be just one of the two. Animal or man. An animal worked instinct-based, no thoughts wasted on why it needed to sleep, feed, and mate, just as he never thought about why he needed to burn, kill and torture. There was no pain in unawareness, because the fear was always observed as something external. What was the point of fuelling an instinct of survival when there was nothing left to save?

He didn’t know enough about the human experience to judge properly, but he was dimly aware that the garotte around his throat might be named regret. He could only assume that he was mourning Bucky Barnes, the young, heroic man in front of him whose death blew him out of proportion into something whose footsteps the thing he was now could never hope to fill. Bucky Barnes, who fell out of a train and lost - himself, a war, a friendship.

He didn’t think that a concept of friendship existed between animals.

[xleyley]

eamees replied to your post: You guys, I’m trying so hard to not re...

why don’t you tag it with ‘cap 2 spoilers’ or ‘spoilers’ in general? this way, people can blacklist the tag and you won’t spoil anyone :)

Why I didn't think of that? I do not know. Lol. Thank you. :)