He Sat Still, Shoulders Squared, Jaw Locked, Still As Death. He'd Learned To Outlast The Worst Kind Of

he didn't know her well enough to object on whether or not she was always right, but he was relatively certain that she was right about this. he exhaled slowly, a habit more than anything else and while his expression remained carefully neutral, it was clear that his mind was racing, running through scenarios and weighting the risks against necessity.

❝ that's not going to work, ❞ bucky said, voice firm, ❝ i can't clear the building without setting off every alarm they've got. the second i start moving people, someone's gonna notice. cameras, guards, hell—just one wrong move and we're screwed before you even get to the bomb. ❞

it was an ugly thing to realise that killing people was a hell of a lot easier than saving them. ❝ we need a diversion. something to pull their attention, force them to readjust. like a better target. ❞

Amelia knew that she could talk for England, bouncing off facts and conclusions that sprawled into her head as if it were nothing, the odd looks that she often got, yet here Bucky was looking at her as if she were normal. "I'm always right" Amelia responded, for she had calculated every aspect inside of her mind. "..If we don't stop this from happening, then a lot of people are going to get hurt, and if I call my uncle and make it a national emergency.. he will be too slow, too many protocols and hurdles to get over" Amelia paused.

"we are going to have to do this ourselves..we don't have a choice" She could hear it now in the back of her head, Amelia Jessica Holmes you are reckless! The sound of John Watson's voice often invaded her mind, to try and give her some sense of simple reason. "I have dealt with people like this before, we will have to tread carefully and not be seen. Once I'm in there, I can disarm the bomb and you can help get everyone out. I suspect from that point, we will have, five minutes before they notice that something has gone wrong and probably ten minutes to truly be out of the building before hell breaks loose" She gave a small cock of her head, a slight smirk formed across her lips. "But that's always the fun of it, isn't it?"

he'd taken the sentries out first, moving in quickly before the two groups could notice their missing men, by the time he'd stepped out into the fray, there were only six men remaining. the fight was almost entirely one-sided as bucky moved between them with devastating precision, incapacitating his enemies with brutal efficiency until a shot whizzed over his shoulder.

the bullet penetrated the throat of a man that had snuck up behind him. bucky snatched a hold of the mans jacket before he could fall, using him as a human shield as he turned to stare at where the shot had come from.

a beat. two. nothing. not aiming for him then. a good shot, an expert marksman, evidently not a member of either of the groups attempting to trade guns. bucky dropped the body unceremoniously to the ground, stepping over him as he gargled his last futile breaths. there wasn't much else he could do except wait for the shooter to join him, so bucky secured the scene instead. disarming and binding the survivors of the gun deal before he moved to inspect the equipment while he waited.

@wintrb0rn

April 19, Las Vegas, Nevada.

Somewhere far from the strip, a meeting between two groups of dirt bags in the desert is happening. Frank is quietly watching from far away, his scope on one of them as he gets ready to pull the trigger. Before his finger can even twitch, there's a blur of a man punching the shit out of them. Small pops of gunfire go off; he can see the light from their muzzles in the dark.

Frank's jaw is clenched tight. "Micro, who is that?" He taps his radio, but he hears nothing but static before a voice cuts in.

[Don't know. Can't get a good read on his face. Maybe a hitman?]

He looks into his scope again, and quickly fires a shot at one of the men creeping up from behind with a gun. Nothing but blood flies into the air as the bullet goes through the man's throat. "Not a hitman. He wouldn't be attacking both groups, and now he's got my position." He says, looking at the man turn his head towards him in the hills.

"Guess, we'll see what his deal is. I didn't see blood splattering everywhere. He might be one of those 'I don't kill' types. Fucking, Saints, everywhere."

he took in the sight of her, all sharp lines and lethal elegance, a predator carved from shadow and scarlet. the gleam of her sai caught in moonlight and neon, but she wasn't aiming to kill. not yet. he let the distance between them close, let her blade kiss his throat—just enough to break skin.

she's good, but he's been in the game too long to be caught unprepared. his own knife presses against her stomach, sharpened point cutting through fabric just enough to touch skin. ❝ don't start something you can't finish. ❞ he said, voice like gravel, words edged with something sharp and unrelenting.

he tipped his chin back, daring the scarlet assassin to make a move. to step in or out, to attack or defend, it mattered little to him. either she was a nuisance, or an obstacle, but he was prepared to go through her if he had to.

Something hadn't felt right from her peering through the shadows out the window of her hideout. A light reflecting onto the window in a way unexplainable based on what could easily be perceived by the surrounding sources.

Her target asleep. The assassin vanished from the safehouse to the mysterious glimmer reflecting on the window. Feet silent on the way up to the adjacent rooftop. Her sai spin silently in her hands in preparation for the threat she finds herself about to face.

The door opens in silence and Elektra's movements are swift. Eyeing her new target down, assessing his features and their surroundings. She knows of this man if a man is what he could be called. Could she even be called a woman in this state?

After her analysis, the assassin slips behind the soldier. Her sai points into his throat, lightly puncturing the skin near his windpipe. "I'd be careful of your next moves, Winter Soldier."

amelia holmes talked fast, and thought faster. words spilled out like she was five moves ahead and barely waiting for the rest of the world to catch up. bucky had seen minds like hers before—brilliant, untethered, always running at a pace most people couldn't follow. he let her talk. let her lay out her theory, the threads of logic she w as weaving together, the patterns only she seemed to see. he didn't interrupt. just watched. listened. measured every word against the instincts that kept him alive longer than they had any right to.

a pause as she took a breath and only then did she seem to notice that he hadn't responded. not yet anyway.

❛ don't worry, i'm not crazy. least, i don't think so. ❜

bucky held her gaze for a beat. the ghost of something unreadable in his expression as he waited. maybe she wasn't crazy, or maybe she was just the kind of crazy that made sense to him. but he'd learned early on that sanity was subjective.

❝ i don't care if you're crazy, ❞ bucky said finally, ❝ i care if you're right. ❞ because if she was, and he thought she was, then a lot of people were in danger and the only people who had any clue, was them. // @tcbefearless / amelia , silent hill prompts .

it was easier to be present when the city's heartbeat pounded all around them. the distant call of sirens, the buzzing of florescent lights, the rolling of engines and other strangers burning the midnight oil. the city always felt somehow more real at night. or at the very least, bucky felt comfortable occupying the spaces of the city at night. bucky tipped his head to one side, curious as she asked incredulously if he thought that their night-time book club was a one time deal.

he watched her out of the corner of his eye. beside him at first, slipping easily into place as if they had done this a hundred times before, then slightly ahead. there was an intensity to the way she spoke and the way she moved that gave away how determined she was to make this into a habit. it was . . . unexpected, but not unwelcome.

❝ you'd be right about that, ❞ bucky said carefully, ❝ feels wrong not to finish something you've started, no matter what it is. ❞ he smiled when she flashed him a daring smile, all sharpened edges and intense eyes. ❝ you talk a big game, palamas, but i've got stamina. you're the one who's gonna need a nap between chapters. ❞

kara stepped out first,  the hush of the abandoned library fading as the pulse of the city greeted them — distant sirens,  the occasional murmur of voices carried on the wind.  she cradled pride  &  prejudice against her ribs like a secret worth keeping,  letting the weight of it settle as she glanced toward him,  eyes sharp,  knowing.  ❝oh,  you think this is just a one-time thing?❞ she mused,  the corner of her mouth curving as she slipped into step beside him,  easy as breathing.  the night stretched before them,  quiet  &  endless,   &  she had already decided — this wasn’t just a single evening’s indulgence,  a fleeting moment swallowed by the city’s restless hunger.   

she moved ahead,  just enough to make him follow,  her voice drifting back to him like the echo of something inevitable.  ❝two books,  barnes,❞ she reminded him,  tapping pride  &  prejudice against the spine of a tree grows in brooklyn where it still hid in his pocket.  ❝that’s at least a couple of nights.   &  i don’t think either of us are the type to leave a story unfinished. ❞ the words carried a weight beneath the teasing,  something unspoken yet understood.  they had both left too much behind,  too many pages torn out,  too many endings they never got to choose.  maybe this,  small as it was,  could be different.   

she shot him a look over her shoulder,  dark eyes glinting with challenge,  with invitation.  ❝better pace yourself, ❞ she warned,  all playful arrogance now,  half-daring,  half-taunting.  ❝wouldn’t want you losing steam before we even get to the good parts. ❞ then she turned back ahead,  leading him toward the rooftop,  the city’s glow stretching out before them like a world of stories waiting to be told. 

the bell over the door chimed softly as he stepped inside. the city noise vanished behind him and he was swallowed by the scent of old paper, dust, and something faintly floral. the place was cramped and lived-in, shelves packed so tightly they formed narrow corridors of leaning books, some stacked haphazardly on the floor.

bucky adjusted his gloves as he swept the room. patrons were sparce, he spotted her easily amongst the books. corinne delacroix, an elementary teacher. hardworking, kind, quiet, and if he was to believe his contact, in imminent danger.

a record player somewhere in the back crackled out an old tune, something soft and tired. he moved forward, inspecting the bookshelves, picking something at random—first edition alfred tennyson, not exactly in his price range—while carefully keeping her in his line of sight. // @rosewiltd , a semi - plotted starter .

there was no undoing what had happened to them, the world or fate or simply the harsh reality, was that it would stay with them for as long as they lived. but there was a means to overcome it. to survive and live despite the violence, the pain, and the horror of it all. she wasn't too far gone to come back to something—someone—more. it was hopelessly optimistic to believe it, and bucky knew better than most that believing it was sometimes harder than even living it, but if he could do it, then so could she.

❝ all we can do is try, ❞ he said, with the same heavy quiet that had wrapped itself around her voice. try, fail, fail again. he wasn't saying that it would be easy, but then, nothing in either of their lives had ever been easy.

bucky holstered the weapon he'd taken from her in his waistband, casting one last glance at the dead man at their feet. blood had pooled around his corpse. ❝ time to go. ❞ he said, voice louder now, something like conviction laced into his words. ❝ i know how to start. ❞

the breath she took felt foreign,  like she had forgotten how to hold air in her lungs without bracing for the next strike.  the world had been sharp edges for so long — missions  &  orders,  blood  &  consequence — that the thought of something mundane felt almost laughable.  help someone with their bags? walk someone across the street? the absurdity of it settled in her chest like a stone,  heavy  &  unfamiliar.  she had spent so long being shaped into something unrecognizable,   &  now he was telling her to rebuild herself with the smallest,  gentlest things.   

she wanted to scoff,  to tell him she wasn’t built for kindness anymore,  that her hands only knew how to take,  how to destroy.  but she swallowed the words.  because she had seen it in him — something she had thought impossible.  the way his presence no longer carried the same weight as before,  how the ghosts still walked beside him but did not dictate his every step.   &  if he could be more than what they had made him,  then maybe — just maybe — she could too.   

her fingers curled,  then flexed,  as if testing the weight of an idea she had never dared to hold.  ❝ &  if it doesn’t work?❞  she asked,  voice barely above a whisper.  but beneath it,  buried in the quiet,  was the real question:  &  if i don’t deserve it?

im so ready for a nap

his brow furrowed seriously, his mind working through scenario after scenario. with the information she'd provided him with, it was going to be a shitshow no matter what they did. they simply didn't have the manpower or the equipment to ensure that everyone got out of the kill zone before their enemy set the bomb off and any sign of trouble would guarantee the bomb be set off early. ❝ too loud. no guarantee our bombs wouldn't take out some random civilian in the wrong place at the wrong time, ❞ he said almost absentmindedly.

bucky glanced at her, watched the way she pressed her fingers into her collarbone and rubbed at what he could only assume was a phantom injury. something old that had healed over but still gave her some kind of grief. he had similar wounds. ❝ i can get you in without being seen. these guys aren't suicidal, they'll want to put as much distance between themselves and the blast zone as they can. means you'll have time to diffuse the bomb. ❞

his brow was still furrowed. despite suggesting the idea, he was clearly still unhappy with the odds. ❝ while you do that, i'll take them out and clear out civilians as i go. we'll need something to disrupt their communications, keep them deaf and blind to what's happening around them. ❞

that's not going to work .. did she hear him correctly? A small frown formed on her features, well this was certainly a first. Yet Amelia knew that Bucky was far more experienced than she could ever be. The young Holmes gave a small nod of her head half in agreement and half in thought. "A diversion? We could always place some bombs on their trucks within the perimeter, that would distract them, take their eyes away from anything important" although that would take some planning and she was sure that she would need permission from her uncle to even get such weapons.

Amelia ran a hand through raven waves, a soft sigh passing rose coloured lips. Her hand instinctively rubbed the top of her left collarbone, where a scar was placed permanently upon her body. Her other hand began to tremor, she wasn't going to allow others to endure what she also had to endure by James Moriarty. She clenched her fingers into a fist, in a bid to stop the shaking. "We just need to be sure to slip in, and slip back out with those people safe." Hazel hues met his gaze, offering the smallest of smiles.

"Or if you have any suggestions, I am all ears" Amelia was tough, or at least that was what she wanted others to see, yet there were moments where vulnerability slipped through the cracks, and if one was to look close enough they would see the tired eyes of a soldier who woke up with nightmares, and a woman who distracted herself by throwing herself into adrenaline situations.

snowfall slicked the rooftops and turned the streets below into a dull smear of neon reflections and black ice. his target—allison daws, a former operative now in bed with the enemy—had hunkered down in hells kitchen, hoping to disappear. a standard job. he'd done it a hundred times, but something felt . . . wrong.

it was too quiet. no patrols, no sentries. just the low hum of a faulty streetlight and the distant wail of a siren that never got closer. the soldier stared down his scope, watching the safehouse window where the blinds had been pulled for movement. all it would take is for his target to pass by. one quick, clean shot and it would all be over.

a whisper of movement behind him, too smooth for a mercenary and too measured for a common killer. the soldier turned quickly, primed to defend. // @kenosky , a semi - plotted starter .