Raze was too calm. He's a mutant in the midst of a Hydra base; he should be worried. But these assholes had proven to be no big real. All bite and no bark, since their last leader had been knocked out.
"Yeah, bullets aren't a big worry for me. Ever since Juggernaut ran me over and I got back up I'm pretty confident I can't die." Bold words. Brash words.
Moving closer, he gave a flippant little salute. "Figured you could handle yourself, but I also didn't want to just leave you out to dry. I've still got a mission, though. So, how about it. Truce?" Even as he said it, his blue skin melted into tan white boy chic, the X-Men uniform turning into a darker color for blending in.
i can't die. bucky makes a short, skeptical snort, the sound gummy in his trachea; he sincerely doubted the validity of that so-sure statement. even if the kid had a regenerative factor like the wolverine, bucky knew firm methods of circumvention: he's certain their enemies did, then, too. still, he lets that statement go unchallenged, hiking his rifle up to rest in it's shoulder-facing straps. the muzzle angles down past his buttocks, shadowing the backs of his thighs.
' as long as you dont compromise mine, i couldn't care less what you get up to. ' it wasn't his job to babysit and monitor an intersecting faction--the x-men weren't bucky's business, just his friends. (or a number of them were.) if he remained ignorant to whatever the youth's mission parameters were, he couldn't be implicated in it.
not my circus and all. ' i work best alone. but i'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. ' he offers his natal hand for the taking, clad in dark leather.
Raze, aka Watch Dog, is one of the X-Men. Wolverine’s chaotic shapeshifter son. And fortunately for Winter Soldier? They were infiltrating the same Hydra base.
Bucky was staring down a trio of enforcers as they approached. When without warning the one in the middle turned on his fellows, batons a flurry. In no time the two other enforcers were down, and the traitor changed. Revealing blue skin and an X-Men uniform. “So, what’s a nice guy like you doing in a haunted Hydra base like this?”
this is a walk in the park to barnes.
hydra could chain him to a satellite and cast him out to orbit at this point--it wouldn't particularly break rank and stop him dead in his decidedly unquaked boots. a nazi is a nazi, and he will derive equal satisfaction out of each stolen fascist breath now as he did twenty years shy of a century ago. in fact, he's eager, almost, for the finish line; at sixteen, he could take down five grown men in under seventeen seconds, all SAS.
now, he'd dare his old colonels to time him again. barnes racks his rifle to fire, muramasa enmeshed blade jutting from his prosthetic palm held in a threatening arc, except he never has to bloody it; the scene devolves under his long lashed, wide brimmed stare, knit brow working to discern the identity of this apparent turncoat.
it's only when the uniform devolves, synthesized fibers (mutational cells? bucky could never know) unearthing more than a dissenter. bucky clicks his jaw. ' your first mistake was thinking i'm nice, kid. ' his voice lulls to a quiet, stubborn disposition, rifle slowly lowered. the blade sinks hilt to his palm, mechanically whirring as it recompartmentalizes. ' that's a risky stunt. i could've shot you and not even blinked about it. don't think i've met you. '
zimwyproximity to her mines holes into their brain. they know more than this empty vessel allows, feel the embryo of her locked inside the sleek cylindrical metals, though they fail to understand it. it should be easy and simple. digital repatriation and allocation never came with exceptional difficulty for the winter soldier, whom was more than adequate at bypassing security systems. it's prosthetic hand lands upon her chassis, caressing the metallic seams, when she hums to life. they startle. her voice is a haunting sting, pulling at the wires in their memory. the mammal pod feels alive, rooting around the technological implants buried in their brain. they know her. why do they know her? @cnebcss#cnebcss#THREAD.#V. MGS.#nods sagely..#you can decide how like. winter soldiery vs. bucky this premise is bc i can see it being either actually#wherein the boss pod is probably capable of filling in some gaps in bucky's memory#bc its implied he has a technological implant/connection to his arm? so like.... cybernetics etc#or just straight up destroying the barrier between ws and bucky for the flavor#TOTALLY UP TO YOU i can get funky with it11
zimwy' so, i know you know i have a prosthetic. ' if ever there were the flecks of charred remains smudging the tin vessel that was the marriage of bucky barnes to the winter soldier, this is it: that sort of earthly bluntness, the all american boy next door quality to it's smile, that was what was left of him. a product wrapped in cellophane. interred bones, the marrow softening for ripe plucking. the winter soldier eats him so that it will stay alive. it never questions or recognizes it's own blood saturating it's fingertips. they cock their hips. it's been a few months. they shrug their broad shoulders, cant their head off to one side, and slide their opposite palm beneath their coat sleeve. insofar, james has only ever worn long sleeves, leaving it's prosthetic to whatever imagery mikoto's abilities could confer to her mind, if at all. ' ... do you wanna see it? i'll even tell you how i got it. ' @perditos#perditos#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.#ok this is either a. part of trust building. you know i have this but you havent asked about it so you can see it as a display of trust#or b. prelude to drugging her for bringing back to red room. yes. i am terrible at making decisions so you decide1
zimwyevery fiber of the target's being is committed to the winter soldier's recent memory. if either process were quarantined compartments, each with it's own designated delineator, their long term memory would suffer in comparison to their short--an intentional blend of electroshock therapy and sedatives following striking and intensive punishment served to repetitively blanch what thoughts formed in the wake of operations, kept them pliant. the soldier is a good dog. it obeys on command, without question, a stark comparison to it's early days--where it'd been so unruly and particular and mouthy, stubborn, mean. it watches haven over the course of several days, noting her schedules, her points of contact, lulls in her activity, spikes. today, it's posing as an attendee of the museum she works at. the hunt is closing in on her, and if they've done their job well, she hasn't an idea how tight the noose knots. still--the art has a way of trapping them. it lists in front of an oil canvas, hillside in provence stamped upon the placard, subtly startling when haven's voice reaches them. ' sorry--you work here? ' @nonempyreal#nonempyreal#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.#:)#picks her up n takes her alllllll the way home to russia11
zimwythis will be an interesting exercise in what biological process takes precedence in alex's body first: the paralytics the winter soldier has just successfully darted into the nape of his neck with a tranquilizer round fitting an extension hugging the nose of his rifle muzzle, or his mutation. if the winter soldier's intel is right, the nature of the youth's mutation was kinetic as opposed to thermal. if their hunt is perfect, he won't be able to fight it's coaxing lull, chemical infiltration agonizing adrenal glands, sedating muscles. consciousness would follow eventually. they slink down from their perch, already garbed in civil gear. the soldier stashes their rifle in their prep duffel and hikes it over their shoulder, prosthetic concealed beneath the long twist of a dark and unassuming sleeve. james makes it's approach inconspicuous, it's brow fastening worry to it's eyes as they furrow. ' hey, pal. you alright? been drinkin'? '@summersbond#summersbond#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.#this paired w the bucky and alex flirting later is so funny#I HOPE THIS WORKS i figured since russia lends tws out to people for 'use' maybe they were contracted by sinister#who wants to get his hands back on the summers again because duh
zimwythere is really something about the fact bucky does not believe in the kindness of the universe and people being good to each other simply because he has seen and endured the absolute worst of humanity and its very hard to go on after that unscathed, and his faith in people is so nominal... but then the person he loves and idolizes most, his best friend if not soul mate in any and every sense of the term, is like, HopeMaxxing #1. like you know what i mean. bucky has had the absolute life kicked out of him again and again and its impossible to get back up but he keeps getting back up because it's steve's voice in the back of his head that says he has to. he's still alive so he has to stand back up. and i think this absolutely shines through in their intimate relationship too. when bucky thinks killing himself is the answer because he'll finally be giving the families of his victims justice and he'll finally stop aching like someone's broken little doll because he'll be dead, steve is always there to cushion it. always. if he has nothing he has steve. he has to believe in things because steve does. because if steve believes they're real, they have to be.steve believes he is a good man, so he tries to be.#HEADCANON.#ofc bucky thinks steve is unaware or naive about some things#and delusional about others at worst#but steve like. inspires. so much in bucky.#he is entirely the reason bucky doesnt try to kill himself in the modern day post mind break2
zimwyRebloggedpyrcmaniia❝ i don't believe they just want to question me. ❞ he stated simply, folding his arms over his chest. ❝ any idea what they want to ask me about? because i've got no idea. ❞zimwy' my guess? probably the six building run of arson in queens. ' barnes mirrors this gesture, prosthetic shimmery and dense over his black-clad arm. ' they do. and i really don't want to throw some dampener cuffs on you and call it a day, kid, but i will if i gotta. i'll just make my apologies to your betters. ' #pyrcmaniia#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.3
zimwyRebloggedsnktsIt really was shaping up to be the perfect evening. Just the two of them in a ritzy joint with good food and good drinks. What more could he ask for? … Well, he had something very important to ask for, but that would come in a minute. Along with a bottle of champagne and two glasses, one slightly heavier than the other… All carefully coordinated with the restaurant staff. Was it overkill? Maybe. But Bucky was worth it.“Not yet.” He laughs, leaning back in his seat. “Maybe later. Depends on if I fuck this up or not.” Okay, Wolverine. Show time. He exhales a quiet breath, folding his arms on the table.“We’ve had a lot of good times together, Buck. Better’n this ol’ bastard deserves. And I know, it’s not always easy. I know we each got a lot to work through, but… I wanna work through it together. All of it. The good shit and the bad. You and me.” He nods to a waiter who’d been lingering off to the side. They weren’t the most subtle, but fuck it, the kid tried. He approaches, sets down the bottle and the glasses, and scurries off. Logan waits for him to be gone before getting out of his seat. He takes Bucky’s hands - both of them - in his, kneeling in front of his partner. “James Buchanan Barnes - will you marry me?”zimwythis certainly isn't where bucky's suspicious tilt was going to land. he figured--maybe there was something on logan's mind he knew bucky would disapprove of him pursuing (with the x-men, or some old weapon x splinter), and was bargaining for the space before it happened to lessen the blow. rolling him up in it and cushioning him, transfiguring him into the soft yolk to whatever hard shell logan intended on enmeshing him in. if he were like logan, he'd scent the hot points on his throat buried beneath his subtle, scant cologne, mingling with sandalwood and his favorite oak cask whisky. he'd hear the way his heart flexes on the thick trunk of his aorta, the subtle curl of his fingers into his palms and the creak of adamantium buried beneath lined skin. so instead, bucky watches logan with dark, big eyes, stripped of their buffered flint. the same eyes that observed a target for days, weeks, months before striking. the same eyes that watched her die, rounded nails scrabbling at the gaping hole in her throat, you still remember. those pretty carob browns flit open wider, a seeming laser focus honing him in on logan's familiar features, the steady bar of his shoulders. it moors him to the present. keeps him from slipping across the drone wing, keeps him from plunging into the english channel. anxiety shuts his mouth. he only spares the waiter a cursory glance, monitoring his closeness and the inherent threat of it, before logan becomes his centerpiece. that same pounding dread comes to rest upon the laurels of rapidly superseding adrenaline, forcing bucky's mouth open to draw a shallow and ragged breath in between the soft petals of his doll lips. it's only the focus bucky affords his prosthetic limiter that keeps it from clamping painfully down on logan's entwined hand, yet his natal kneads regardless, affectionate reproach. ' logan-- ' bucky's brow knits, the coily tendril of a curl caressing the edge of a muted scar when his head bobs. he can feel every end of his autonomous system, every branching nerve, all of his intersecting cells, the prickling rippling over the apples of his cheeks. he's sure he's flushed, a barely-there sting wetting a sensitive shine over his dark squint. ' if you're messing with me, i'm-- ' his squeaky laugh is tinged sour, though it's anything but logan's doing. ' i'm gonna make you regret it. yes. get up and kiss me. ' #snkts#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.#:D#i would say forgive how feisty bucky is all the time but then logan knows what he's getting into doesn't he42
zimwyk1domega asked:Intense staring as he pulls out a sticker book. Flips to a random page and gently peels a sticker off. HERO in hot pink bubble letters. He peels another that says COOL in blue bubble letters. He holds out both with a small smile. "You can stick them on your stuff or crumple them up. I don't care."
(the respect for him is insane) bucky is quietly waiting for logan.he does this a lot. has learned a lot about the x-men and all their younger cohorts like this, observational as he was. if he were of poorer character, it'd make one hell of a categorical ledger for governmental systems that'd benefit from it. but bucky is nothing if not a dissenter: down with the man, and all that.even if his.. historical record will say otherwise. (james barnes was on the verge of delinquency when he was scouted to play the role of bucky, jaundiced pages will say. this is entirely accurate.) jonathan the wolverine nests across his thighs. hungry, his universal translator insists. hungry. ' pretty soon, buddy. gabby's been giving you way too many treats, anyway. ' bucky nudges the rumpled fur behind his ears. pink boy, jonathan announces.bucky cants his head up. quentin. his name is quentin. they'll have to provide jonathan with an equalizer later to spare him the indignity of such rudimentary descriptors. he watches quentin unhouse narrow cut outs that take him only a moment to discern the nature of. they're stickers, COOL and HERO in pink and blue emblazoned drop shadow, giving the appearance of depth. bucky blinks, an earnest awe stunning him into softly slackened lips, dumb bats of long lashes. he gives quentin a once over, then the offered stickers, reaching out a tenuous hand to accept them. the adhesive crests his fingertips and clutches at his trigger roughened callus. ' you know what, pal? ' bucky hums. he plants the HERO sticker upon jonathan's collar, who produces a snorty rumble in response. the COOL sticker is carefully turned around the apex of barnes' fingernail, promptly sticking it right in the center of quentin's graphic tee. the brief application of pressure lets him feel just how thread-thin the kid is, the slight bow of his diaphragm accounting for bucky's force. ' i'm not a hero, and you're a lot cooler than me. '@k1domega#k1domega#RESPONSE.#the way i ship w both jay and manda's logans so genuinely He Is Your Mom Now#this is very cute.... bucky unfortunately hates himself
zimwyReblogged vsagisheavensghostFollowsorry for acting batshit crazy I was feeling a little unwanted #MUSINGS.#bucky in nats amnesia era2135,39936,288
zimwyactually i do have a more in depth sunday themed post ive talked about on discord but i dont think ever on here: bucky really likes prey/pred play. he likes being both roles. and i mean to an extreme. the winter soldier was an apex hunter and bucky is one of the best trackers behind folk like logan. he relishes in a hunt, both the sense of hunting, finding, and capturing, and in the sense of being the hunted, the prey attempting to elude the hunter. if your muse is the kind that wants to feel what it feels like to be hunted for your life--though, of course, bucky never will hurt them in the end, he'll stab his knife into the ground or press his gun muzzle to their skin to show them they're dead and then cast it aside--bucky will indulge. equally, if they want to feel the rush of hunting a living person without consequence, bucky eagerly will prove why the winter soldier has his reputation. and yes they can fuck when they get caught or catch him.#HEADCANON.#NSFW.#it is because it is a sexual thrill and not just adrenal so it gets a nsfw tag7
zimwythere'd been a red room trained telepath in that last constituent of organized criminals bucky had been so urgently tasked with dispersing. a powerful one. he should've seen it coming: his suspicion had bristled when the historical trail ran dead, no more transactional history past the last five years, no roots tying this fascist militia to a parent organization. a rogue, splinter cell, ghosts in the system. but he'd bit anyway, zealous bloodhound that he was. rattling the foundations of bucky's mind was no easy task, all solid steel firmly bolted to a proverbial mantle that was his sense of free will and autonomy: the screws strip bare, a leg flags. he's gone before he even knows it. still, bucky makes it home without fuss, hide nor hair unharmed. he even greets bob with a kiss, hiking up onto the toes of his boots. ' hi, baby. ' when bob's eyes lull to a close, bucky strokes his shoulders, sinks his palms down his arms, and, producing a hefty pair of power dampening cuffs from his yet-adorned gear belt, bucky hooks bob's wrists together behind the small of his own spine. he ducks the embrace with militant grace before bob can close it, rolling onto his shoulders to springboard off his scapula. both legs lock around bob's head, all condensed weight (his sleek muscle and tendon crowning a hundred seventy odd pounds, his arm an extra hundred) hanging off the nape of his neck in an effort to slam him onto his chest. @bobrvynolds#bobrvynolds#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.#: )#you are 100 percent free to decide how well power dampening cuffs do or do not work on bob idc1
zimwybucky's official military headshot circa late 1944 & the winter soldier's praporshchik KGB reform headshot circa 1972#i SAID i wanted to do this#fought with my tablet until i produced something i am like. ok with. i dont like it but i dont hate it.#if i wasnt having all these problems w my laptop this wouldve been drawn like so many months ago#i had to inreinstall my drivers twice and its still fighting me every inch of the way lol#MINE.#also was listening to a lot of hotline miami music while drawing this and i think a hotline miami au for bucky fits PERFECTLY… See all118
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zimwythere's always an unspoken slant to the winter soldier's operations: don't come home if you fail. of course, it always comes home anyway. soviet masters will rouse the kennel if they don't, like the overbearing snap of a remorseful parent, except the reprimanding hand is the crushing jaws of a massive black russian terrier. today's inquisition is for the purpose of research, synthesis from genetic material. the kgb would have liked it entirely intact, from the nape of pallid neck to the scuff in her (it, they would insist, is not a woman) shoe soles. but they've settled for a biological sample as opposed to acquisition of the girlish mass: the soldier presents as a plain clothed civilian, some care given toward it's garments, scores of resistant dark curls cleanly parted and nested behind the shell of their ears. blood and a clipping of hair would temporarily satiate soviet nosiness, though they knew it would not be enough. the research and development department will cry for bone marrow samples and deep tissue biopsy. the winter soldier's head bows as it nears mami upon a busy sidewalk, easily blending with the current of mundanes. their attention is seemingly fixated upon their cellular device, tapping away at the settings bar. a minuscule panel in the heel of their prosthetic glides open, the virtually indiscernible tip of a protracted needle waiting at the open mouth. @mamidearcst#mamidearcst#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.#gwahgrhgrjhgeh I HOPE THIS IS OKAY i'm leaving it up to you if they successfully jab her or if she's quick enough to notice1
zimwyhey if you put that brotherhoodwarlord guy on my dash i'm gonna block you. just a forewarning. #guy is a blatant misogynistic racist pig. and not even like in character or whatever.#he is super anti black with the way he talks about black characters on his blog.#he talks about fantasizing about killing 'lefties' and 'liberals'#made 'vietnam flashback' jokes about a white man threatening an asian man#talks about women and female empowerment and feminism being a threat to masculinity#like sincerely this guy has posted about thor killing captain marvel because shes a feminist i am not joking#OOC.#TBD.#sorry for all the ooc! i also normally dont make posts like this but this guy is just genuinely disgusting#and its not about in character writing or rp drama#racism tw#sexism tw#name drop tw… See all610
zimwyit never says a word. in fact, it barely makes a sound. it takes a course of six hours to separate arthur from his team. the hex are diligent, but the soldier is indomitable, and shrewd to boot. it observes from points of elevation, it's pursuit a midnight, ardent streak. the soldier moves more like a jungle panther than a man, a sleek bolt darting from loft to loft. it's cleated boots make nary a conspicuous sound, as if it were synthesized from the empty air for the purpose of subterfuge. james waits. their tongue wicks the saliva off the veneer of their teeth, jaw flexing beneath their muzzle. they bide until the moment is perfect: the rumble of a passing tram conceals their forward movement. the winter soldier pounces, slingshotting their densely muscled legs around nightengale's shoulders. they lock their shins, squeezing even as they cant forward to maintain balance. a garrote wire zzzzips as it unspools, threatening arthur's windpipe.@onlyfiends#onlyfiends#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.#: ) ) )1
zimwyRebloggedhitsharder🦻 ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ: ▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪ 🇫🇺🇱🇱 🇧🇦🇹🇹🇪🇷🇾 — ❝ Sounds like a lot of work. ❞ The blonde was unimpressed. Clint leans on him. Folding over his shoulders and letting his weight press. Like he has every right to Bucky's space. ❝ You sure? Looks performative. What's there to think about? We go in, we fight some bad guys, we get out. ❞ zimwy' yeah. one of us has to do it. ' there bucky lets his fangs lie, unspooling from the vacant place he bites at. finessing off a sharpie cap one handed, bucky pages through the first leaflet of paper, then the second and third, until he finds what he seeks. the tip of the felt unleashes a pungent chemical scent, ink coiling around a margin of text. bucky's lines are precise and perfect. ' right. you know how many guys they got? or how well armed they are? or who they work for? how about positions? radios, comms? backup? ballistics? come on, clint. ' #hitsharder#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.31
zimwy.#like this if i can write you a short starter of the winter soldier hunting your muse.#or bucky! but it will probably be tws since tws does as its told and your muse has to be a problem for bucky to target them akshjdhdw#i'm super super in a ws mood.#OOC.#TBD.515
zimwyRebloggedonlyfiendsCALM DOWN? CALM DOWN?! given present circumstances, amir's panic feels completely justified. he's not like bucky or the rest of the hex ; he's just a guy. a guy with amazing tech skills, but a normal guy nonetheless . . . well, as normal as any of them are, all things considered —( AMIR. SLOW IT DOWN. )the one thing he always goes back to from that night is drifter's voice, and it's enough to pull him back into reality. grey gaze settles on bucky from behind orange lenses, which he adjusts with a shaky hand. “ y - yeah, alright . . . ” killing someone is so not on his to-do list. “ what, uh . . . what do you need me to do? ”zimwy' amir. ' barnes' racked rifle lowers, defensively inert where it slackens to the bridge of his defined hips. his suit leaves only intimates to the imagination, powerful scores of muscle adorned only by extraneous clips and accessory pouches (likely loaded to the seams with ammunition and specialized militial tools). the sleek make of the rifle blends with his panther dark thighs, only the long muzzle and the end of the stock disrupting his silhouette. ' look at me, pal. i'm the killer, here. i'm pulling the trigger. i'm taking the shot. you're saving lives. you get that, yeah? these are bad guys. 'and it was the winter soldier that served as the arbiter of their fate. bucky had long since cast off his reservations about taking lives, remembers how tremorous and thin skinned he'd been at the start. you did what you had to, buck. the strength and purity of steve's character superseded his own, and paradoxically confirmed to bucky that if steve told him it was right, it was right. his natal hand awkwardly lands upon the outer shelf of amir's shoulder blade, rifle nose scuffing the concrete. ' i need you to get into their comms line, so i know where they are, or if they figure out where we are. if you can feed it over to me, i'll know what they're saying--they won't be speaking english. can you manage that? ' #onlyfiends#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.#i could use a lil sub verse tag for them but i cant think of one hm22
zimwyRebloggedperditosVictor feels like a live wire, burning hot and nervous, gut churning stuff. He sees his claws smeared in blood, James' and his, and his father's disemboweled in his feral rage. The old log pa used to pin his hand to before bringing down the ax; the pliers, the pain. Sniffling in a dusty corner, covered in his own piss and feces and blood, chained down, chewing on his own hands. He learned he could bite through the joint of his first knuckle. Spit or chew, and it'd grow back. He kept biting and chewing and gnawing, because if they didn't grow back then he'd get to go back upstairs. He'd get to sit at the table again, get to be his ma's little boy again. Just missing a few digits this time but good. But no he was gangly and wrong, and too big, and.And trying so hard to be good now that the effort might just kill him. Be good for James, something demands in him. Good. Good. Good. Some instinct he hates and yet twists him up into a knot anyway. Demands submission, almost like self-flagellation. Victor grumbles about it and yet he wants it, wants the touch. Wants the heat of James' body rising into his and he slumps across their knees. Too big and too awkward to fit into the smaller lap. "Not a cat," Victor insists again but knows he'd be physically ill if he was ever called 'tiger.' "If you gotta know..."He flexes and retracts his claws, the powerful muscles of his forearms contracting in time. A demonstration for James' to evaluate and pick apart. Victor looks up only to watch the black crescent slink from beneath the slits of his skin and curl towards his palm. He closes his fist and the claws pierce the meat of his hand. Pin pricks of blood that well before the wounds heal over. He repeats the gesture, pricking, and pricking."S'different, pal," Victor mutters. Half in another world. "Someone stuck that to you and it's cool as shit. I grew these. I know what I am, freak or monster, or whatever the fuck. I like rippin' people's throats out and eatin' animals alive. Nothin' good about it. 'Bout me."zimwythe face james makes is briefly unpleasant, a contorting of brows eliciting a subtle line between the scar split hairs. their displeasure stems not from victor's behavior, but his explanations. ' i know. ' james murmurs, and lets it rest upon it's laurels at that; victor wasn't an animal, and they had never thought he was. the comparison was only topical, harmlessly intended. still, they watch with an intent verging on alien, the quiet repose of a hunter--observational skills curated over a century of life taking and subterfuge, the same as him. in fact, their sameness might've repulsed bucky, if the tenuous connection points between james and bucky were to finally bridge. all james can feel is a concentrated, boyish curiosity, and a subtle awareness of the lethality decorating every corner of victor's body. but, in the end, they were just parts. nothing in him was so innately deadly that james nursed even a shred of anxiety over his particularities anymore. teeth and claws that tore and crush, provided and fostered just the same. they shake their head, those curls (gradually reforming with care, the string of soviet distress buffering slowly out) bobbing about the frame of their face. ' but i didn't ask for this. i woke up without an arm. ' they pass their natal hand over victor's shoulder, encouragingly nuzzling the warm knob of their knuckles into his trapezius, then neck. ' i kill for my country. i lie for my country. i pretend to be anyone.. anything.. for my country. i.. i bend over for my country. play at girls and boys. whatever is needed of me. good soldier. Я больше не хочу быть хорошим. Я хочу быть собой. ' a hitch in their affectionate ministrations follows a shudder of breath. ' мне жаль. i know, the killing is easier. '#perditos#THREAD.#V. SOMETHING IN THE WAY.#t: i dont want to be good. i want to be myself. i'm sorry.#man whatever!!!!!41
zimwyRebloggedmorinotsumeKeep readingzimwyKeep reading#morinotsume#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.#NSFW.#knocks on ur door. good morning manda wakey wakey51
zimwyi am thinking about this again, so: bucky will always have some kind of feelings for steve. always. even when he is fully, 100 percent happy and content and deeply in love with his partner if it's not steve.... it hangs around. bucky loves him platonically more than anyone else, and is attracted to him, and has feelings for him; those feelings all mix together into this frankenstein conglomerate where bucky cannot find the end of one thing and the beginning of the other. not to mention, he isn't self aware enough to know he has those feelings. he's very self aware about almost everything else in his life, but his feelings for steve? no. he can internally admit that he idolizes steve (not that he worships him.... which he does.... just that he idolizes him), but the fact some part of him will always be in love with steve, even just a teeny tiny bit, completely passes him by. #HEADCANON.
zimwyReblogged0utl1ers' i'm—gross? ерунда! ' piotr chokes on the reply, caught between what he’d wanted to say and what so easily got him to sidetrack from it. he likes to believe that if all his flaws were laid out in front of him, ‘ superficial ‘ wouldn’t be one of them—but he can’t help noticing the way the shorts’ fabric clings to bucky’s skin, almost as if they’d been painted on, accentuating the grooves and ridges defining his thighs. the angles of his square jaw are softened by dark brown wisps caught at the edge of his hairline, bouncing loose from their ponytail and clinging to dewy skin, flushed and blooming where increased blood flow had painted him with spots of soft pinks and reds. the question quickly dissolves in the awkward silence that comes after, stretched by many failed attempts to search for anything to follow with.it isn’t until piotr feels the sudden, gentle brush of alpine’s weight against his leg that he’s able to divert his gaze. he bends, reaching to give old girl a few scratches between the ears, but she's smart. alpine knows he's not here for her, and once she's had her fill of playful touch, she zips past the two of them, going back to her usual spot on the windowsill—back to entertaining herself with passing traffic. ' Да, i wait here. no rush. ' he swallows, flustered again at the sight of the beads of sweat running down the length of bucky's neck, past the dip where collarbone and sternal notch meet. and he almost blurts it out without thinking, once again feeling absurd in the face of something far more simple than he's made it out to be.' there is something...i wish to speak with you. it's important. ' he shifts awkwardly on his feet, managing a bit of a smile, hoping he's not coming off the wrong way—the fleeting thought that bucky might yet retain some of their american sensitivities occurs to him.zimwybucky steps back into the throes of his living space, taking care not to nudge his meandering feline, creating a berth of space for piotr to take up. only when the door clicks behind him does he allow himself the freedom of baring his back to piotr, the innate survivalism of a cornered animal crouching in him even now: paranoia becomes something akin to instinct. he passes into his bathroom to briefly douse his face, the bloom of heat and sweat subdued by the fresh tap, then migrates to the partition of his room. ' yeah? ' barnes calls, door half ajar. he thumbs the elastic of his shorts, rolls them down to the cuff of his ankles, and delicately plies either foot out of the stretchy nylon. his dampened shirt follows overhead, metallic digits coiling into the sizing tag to scruff the collar; bucky takes a moment to shake out his curls and palm the loose tee across the plane of his abdomen. ' well, you know me, pal, i'm an open book. ' an underhanded toss lands his discarded outfit into a shallow hamper, following an absent categorizing of his array of garments. the tip of a natal finger taps the blades of hangers, one after another until he lands upon a gauzy, semi-sheer blouse, and high rise, form fitting jeans. that would do. emerging fresh from the confines of his bedroom, bucky migrates to his kitchen, swinging the door of his fridge open. ' you want a beer? i only drink german lagers. had a few pilsners when i was in nazi germany and never shook the habit. ' #0utl1ers#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.#nine months between ur reply and mine..... it has a baby31
zimwyRebloggedperditosHe hasn't had anyone since Logan. The idea of undressing, being seen, being touched, it's made him sick for years. All worked up in knots, been making do with his own hand for a while now, and it's never been enough. What's a few saltine crackers compared to a full course meal? Nothing. Had it all and it all went sour, and bad; and nothing compares, nothing compares to Logan. No one ever touched him the way Logan did. Looked at him the way Logan did. Like, he actually meant something and had some kinda worth. Course, it was all a lie, all some kind, bullshit. Probably the way James was gonna go, eventually. When the novelty of Sabretooth wore off and they realized they had better options after all. But James looks so good, warm, and firm, and soft. And Victor hesitates for a second, taking them in. He wants, he never knows what he wants, or how to trust, but fake it 'till ya make it, right? He wants this, wants James', even all it means is feeling good and a little less empty for an evening. Don't have to be real. So, he lowers himself down to rest between their legs. He knows pretty damn well what he's about to do, already pushing down James' boxers, finally freeing the half-heard length of their cock. There's an impulse to just rip the underwear off but he behaves and he grumbles, maneuvering himself and James to get the garment off intact. Don't say he can't be nice. "Ain't you sweet?" Victor chuckles, hands skimming down James' sides, feeling all the knobs of their ribs and the jut of their hips. Skin's smooth and supple, thanks to that healing factor of theirs, no doubt. Not a lot of hair either. "Ya want me that bad? All impatient like? Heh. Just wait, I got somethin' I want first."Victor pushes up James' thighs, hands bracing into the thick and corded muscle, letting him settle down onto his stomach on the floor. He keeps a knee underneath him as he presses his mouth into the interior of his leg, tongue wet with spit and teeth scraping at the skin. Victor likes that he can leave a mark, nipping to leave indents the shape of his fangs. He works to the base of their cock, eyes locked upwards, onto James' face, measuring their expression. For all his bluster, Victor wants this to be good, wants James' to be satisfied, happy. Happy with him. He turns his head to the side to mouth at the length of James', tongue laid flat over his teeth, all the sharp, ugly bits of him softened and warmed, more palatable. But his claws curl in, pricking at the exterior of James' thighs, his grip strong, unyielding. He moves up, sucks and tongues at the tip."I think," Victor smirks. "I like the taste of ya. Could eat ya whole, Jimmy."zimwythe cool air that caresses their bare, flush dick sends a tingle of nerves from james' mounting erection to the very core of their autonomous system, a spasming of synapses mistakenly firing off the false receptors in their prosthetic. the metals creak and mechanically whirr as the overlapping chassis, like each segment of an exoskeletal carapace, shifts and folds, eroticism inherent in supple and smooth waves the robotics make. his false fingers coil into nothing, forearm flexing to the elbow, then relaxing again. they want so badly to touch him with it, to be able to feel heat and the tactile sensation of hair and pores, to feel every hard angle and bunched muscle and comfortable fats congeal against and around their finger tips, to know the manipulation was real. limited to the single operative limb, barnes glides their fleshy thumb affectionately through the field of hairs hugging fringe victor's dense jawbone, across through the pale shag that gave way to the beautiful cascades of silken yellows, threading their fingers just above his temple. their palm delicately brackets his brow, a master come to praise a hound.it was a strange feeling, when they were so used to being the bloodied doberman, heeling for shiny oxfords and smoke-roughened russian. james had the feeling they were both subjugated monsters, finding alternative means of expression, gnawing through heavy chain that bound even like this. his sinus rhythm hastens, each wet, warm engulf of his sensitive glans earning pitchy whimpers, undignified sounds certainly unbecoming of a living weapon. every time victor's hot, perusing tongue encompasses him or swipes up his engorged cock, he sounds a tremulous whine, plump doll lips pressing intently together in a lame effort to spare his dignity. the ache crawls through his pelvic line. ' Ох, Витя... ' instead of anchoring his prosthetic uncomfortably beneath him, james pries one of creeds hands from the mass of his muscled thigh, only to thread his false fingers between victor's larger, claw-tipped ones, a silent plea writ into the gesture alone to be held. ' Ты добрее, чем хочешь казаться. Я чувствую себя хорошо. 'if only this position allowed james to service him, too.#perditos#THREAD.#V. TBT.#NSFW.#V. SOMETHING IN THE WAY.#finally. FINALLY. i come up with a name for this verse#800000 years later#russian translations are as follows: oh vitya.. you are kinder than you pretend. it feels good53
zimwyRebloggedbravegeneThere's something funny about the ordinariness of the asset's name. Grace hadn't been allowed to know it for so long that it sort of feels forbidden-- like finding out the shadow under your feet had a god damn identity.But of course he has an identity, argues the part of his mind that had instigated this escape attempt in the first place. The recurring crisis of morality eating Grace's brain alive wouldn't have been such an issue if not for that haunting realisation."Well," he says, like the knowledge hasn't shaken something fundamental loose in his head, "it's nice to meet you, James." Grace even bows a little as he says it, head tilted slightly all the while (he ignores the slight soreness from the way James had held him earlier). It's comically out of place, considering the circumstances.Then he touches his own chest. "I'm Ryland. But if 'Grace' is easier, you can use that too."Is it the right call to play normal? Grace doesn't know how to be critically serious, so he supposes this is all he can do."I can speak... German," he says, but there's a lack of confidence there that immediately makes him cringe. "I mean, I did an exchange program once, and I'm sure I can get home from Germany if someone, like, dropped me off out of nowhere, but I definitely write better than I speak."He rubs the back of his neck. "I know Spanish better, but not Spain-Spanish. Is it terribly cliche if we ran away to Latin America?"James is immediately victim to the rolling nature of his thought process. Grace sits on the coffee table in the room, arms crossing over his chest."Did they..." He stops. Tries a different angle. "What languages do you know, James?"zimwyeven carved away and whittled down into whatever he was now, trimmed stems and mangled foliage (it instinctively drifts two fingers toward the cap of it's metal bicep, pauses, and stops, the fulcrum of cradled objects preventing extension), the flickering visage that was bucky barnes slips into all the winter soldier-induced scars. his selfhood was epoxy, smoothing out the ragged vents. he imagines grace as another Враг народа, how blood might ribbon from lacerations the teeth make upon the tongue when a jaw is mashed into sturdy oak. the thought makes him curdle, squeezing the shelf stable provisions--before he remembers to reallocate them into one of their nylon duffels, military grade. that was one perk of field agency. james makes as much use of the space as they can, clinically sorting their begotten goods. they'd have to stop somewhere for the personal affects--hygienic products, a god damned hair brush. from where they briefly stoop, james glances up at ryland, prosthetic arm glinting with each rotation into the scoring ceiling light. with a listless pause, their eyes roll up further into their recounting thought, staring at nothing in particular, ' i speak russian, english, hebrew, german, chinese, french, spanish, and japanese. ' their gaze drops to find his. ' and i can get by in algerian and vietnamese if i have to. ' he doesn't wear his poly-lingual accomplishments with pride: there is no sense of superiority to crook james' mouth into a smirk, or square their strong shoulders. there is only that subdued apathy, soft and quiet, like he was still waiting for orders. almost petulantly, james posits with a crook of the brow, ' i want to go to new york before we leave. ' #bravegene#THREAD.#V. TBT.#imagine my joy seeing this in my notifs41
zimwyhi, updates! my break on bucky is nearly done, i intend to come back to normal activity on the 5th. i have a small surgery today that is going to leave me in pain so im not doing anything today, plus its 80000 degrees. i am going to be effectively inactive during summer on all my blogs overall. replies will drop when im feeling like it. i have a severe medical heat intolerance so if im not comfortable i'm not writing. i have a surgery and a procedure upcoming! i have an endoscopy and colonoscopy on august 31st, and a hysterectomy on september 29th. the first procedure will only take me out for a few days since the prep is the worst part, but the second one has a few week recovery time. its far less invasive than, say, my top surgery was, but its still incisions around the abdomen and removing organs. please be patient with me these upcoming months <3 when the heat goes away around september i will be fully back to normal everywhere.#OOC.#TBD.#logged in to a LOT of notifications#at least like five of which are big replies which makes me :D312
zimwyRebloggedperditosDamn, James was a pretty sight. Victor never would have guessed beneath the ratty clothes and layers of baggy jackets, that little 'ole Jimmy was such a tasty morsel. He'd caught glimpses, in mirror reflections, early morning rises, sprawled out in bed with one leg sticking out from under the cover. Now, like a feast they laid out in front of him, each rise and fall of their tone chest pressing against the weight of Victor's palm. Skin warm, flush and sweaty, and the smell, fuck the scent of them. The lingering soap and shampoo scents, mixed with Victor's cigarette ash. Their arousal, pheromones signaling eagerness to fuck and breed. It's like wine, sweet and heavy on the tongue. Victor grips one of James' thigh in his hand and squeezes the firm muscle, groping, digging his fingers into the full heft. Claws pulled in to blunt his touch. Victor wants to drink James, lick the sweat off his throat and abs, devour him whole, take him, mark him, own him. His, his, his. All his. No one is going to take this one from him.(James will leave him, like Logan did. Victor can't stop it). And it makes him all the more possessive. "Ain't you sweet," Victor growls. They'll sing a different tune one day, everyone always does.Victor paws at James' chest, an idle gesture. Claws scraping but so light as to do nothing more than draw thin, almost feather light lines along the sculpted ribs and abdominal of James'. Pretty marks to make James his. His attention is taken by the feel of James' hand, cupping his jaw and even pricking thumb on fang. It's such a tender touch that Victor turns his head into it, like a cat does leaning into a good scratch. The noise that comes out of him is a grumbled grunt, a suppressed purr he strangles in his own throat. It's so gentle and easy, fills Victor with a wholly new longing that makes his chest ache. Immediately, he's eager to avoid and escape, unable to trust that it's real. So, he catches James by the wrist and nips at the meat of his palm, then licks between calloused fingers. Victor slips the tips into his mouth, lips stretching over knuckles. Savoring the salt, catching James eyes before working his way down wrist and arm, mouth languishing wet attention to every scrap of skin.Until Victor reaches his prize, the crux of shoulder and throat where James' scent bundles. He grabs their jaw, grip firm, to lift their chin and give access to their throat, biting, sucking, licking the skin molted pinks and reds. His, his, his. Victor's lips are slick with spit when he kisses James, arm braced on the floor beside their head. There's a scrape of teeth and then, something in Victor softens, and everything is hot and wet and tastes like James. His tongue is in James mouth and he rocks into the space between his legs, his weight bearing down on the smaller man. So, he can feel the friction points between them. Victor's shirt and jeans, the bulge of James' boxers. He moans soft, almost needy. He tugs on their pant's waistband and is insistent, half rolling them up to get them down his thighs. Victor gropes James' through the fabric of their underwear, tented and damp. "Aw, you wet for me?" He sits up and shucks his shirt, sliding down the length of James' body to settle better between their legs. Hands to either knee to keep the trap of their thighs spread. "Ya smell like you're in fuckin' heat. Tell me what you want me to do to you."zimwyas soft and yielding as james is, makes themself to be (all the pretty parts both feminine and masculine, presented just for victor to sup upon; they were distrustful of others, would shirk away from an errant hand, marking the weight of this vulnerable display), they're confident, and at no risk of collapse under victor's weight--both literal and proverbial. they can take the strikes of hunger and need, lashing like flies for a bit of satiation; they can take his teeth and those rending claws, heal well in a day or two. they can take every inch of him, let him nest in their supple and velvety core. the last time they'd done this willingly had been with dmitri, one of their zephyrs, who only mingled about their memory in watercolor strokes now. he wasn't quite as big as victor, but bordered on his impressive stature, and he'd been so gentle, so reverent with the winter soldier, despite how his hands could meet near the smallest point of their waist and remind them of their frail humanity. even as victor closes a hand about their windpipe, they don't struggle or startle, trusting that the grip wont tighten and sever their flow of blood and oxygen. their confidence is well placed: instead, james is awarded with a needy expression of desire, bites and laps that brush a near tawdry pink across the span of their jugular. the colors will bloom into a sunset of red and purple before they heal over, but at least victor's ministrations will remain evident for longer than mere moments. Keep reading#perditos#THREAD.#V. TBT.#NSFW.#not me having i love you diane in my head the entire time i wrote this reply#waugh james making sure victor knows 1. this is consensual on both ends 2. he can stop any time he wants53
zimwybucky does not embarrass easily. being raised a soldier in both america and russia where he had very limited rights and privacy means he's very much used to humiliation and other sort of shame rituals involved in being in a gulag and a military camp. things that others may normally feel shame or embarrassed to perform or be around, such as nudity, masturbation, having to use the bathroom, etcetera, almost none of it bothers bucky. it doesn't mean he actually wants to see it, bue he's unlikely to feel any kind of... "traumatized" by it or even really scandalized. people are people. people have sex and have bodily functions. its whatever. this translates into his relationships as well; he is not going to be embarrassed by being naked or near naked by his partner in any way, and is not going to be embarrassed to ask them to fuck him. shame only comes if its part of the play intentionally. has some advanced field medicine knowledge through hands on experience. he's not a doctor or a medic by any real means, most of this was left to the red room medbay / russian military medics on standby that lived in the facility, but both bucky and tws picked up enough over the years to be able to keep most operations going without having to check in for advanced medical care. bucky can reset a bone, fix dislocations, cauterize wounds effectively, sew and stitch wounds together, debride and disinfect, apply and change bandages, utilize a tourniquet, do cpr and basic resuscitations, manually pump a heart, CASEVAC, and blast/burn treatment. some of this he learned post maiming simply so if he was ever around someone who suffered similarly, they wouldn't bleed out and die. he's by no means a doctor, but he can keep another soldier alive usually. (similarly this also means he knows exactly where to apply pressure and cut to cause some serious pain and injuries. the winter soldier has tortured dissidents, and was very good, for example, at waterboarding.) bucky has two laughs, and thats either a subtle, subdued, slightly moody 'heh' (again, think of jason marsden's craig boone and the very rare times boone almost laughs), or something that is a bit obnoxious and loud. not quite a dolphin laugh, but haw-haw-hawish enough to embarrass him if he's hearing his own voice.made alterations to his invaders era suit himself when they were between breaks/leave, because the damn thing would become too small between periods of growth. bucky hated that. even though i cannot see him wearing his domino mask in the modern day (unless it provided him a lot of tactical advantage and eye shielding, then yeah i think he would, but i digress), he still has his old one among his old things, and is still glad he wore the suit looking back. yeah, he looked silly. but he also looked like a hero, and he was harder to identify like that; they made some effort to try to anonymize him for a long time that he appreciated more than he could say. the suit, ahd the mask, meant something to a lot of people.#HEADCANON.#some bucker hcs14
zimwyRebloggedraregcmsKeep readingzimwyKeep reading#raregcms#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.#NSFW.#weehee32
zimwyabandoned wip from like, last year; i remember i wanted to fully color this, but alas, i genuinely seem to have lost the SAI file so its just this forever now. this is extremely nsfw as a warning. here is the full.#the top is nondescript on purpose. could be any one of your muses.... just a big boy.#MINE.#wahhh bucky is so pretty to me#i'm not attracted to fictional characters EXCEPT for bucky and one other#he has put a curse on my dick#NSFW.… See all3
zimwyRebloggedraregcmsFollow@zimwy // 3 for clint & buckyKeep readingzimwyKeep reading#raregcms#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.#NSFW.#everyone look away12
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zimwy@perditos from here. they need this. jerking off alone was one thing--it was pure physical release, a moment of pleasure superseded by the atmosphere of loneliness that led to conception with one's remaining fleshy palm to begin with, and frankly, it did not strongly appeal to james. and, at victor's side nearing twenty four hours of the day, the company they kept made it near impossible to take any time for themself. he would hear, or smell, or see. besides, they liked it best when something was inside them, and tired of resorting to use of their own prosthetic in favor of a dedicated toy. victor wasn't a toy. he was a man whom they'd developed particular attachments to, admittedly; a big, strong man who could move them around like a petite ragdoll, who would succumb to the convex of their need and fuck them good. hell, they'd take it raw if he asked, insisted, right alongside the wealth of his tempered rage. they can feel it coursing beneath his skin, adrenaline that landed somewhere between primitive excitement and trembling hunger, like he could devour them whole. that prospect wasn't terrifying, the way it was supposed to be--it was thrilling.it went against their instinct to survive, the propellant fuel that guided their hand into punishing their students when they'd slipped and made an error that drained their handlers' faith in them. a rifle at the back of the head was a motivating tool. a loose, breathy exhale marks james' mounting fervor, nerves prickling hot across the thin skin of their face, collecting in their low abdomen. they don't grouse about the shirt; it was begging for replacement, anyhow. their well-toned musculature rises and falls rhythmically, ribs into sectioned abdominal muscles, obliques pressing into victor's as james secures the powerful grip of their thighs about the bridle of his hips. like this, they feel every tipped point of those deadly claws, well aware they were suspending themself like red meat on a hook for him. as long as the hook was theirs. ' i've never backed down from a challenge in my entire life, Витя. ' james teases, reaching out with their natal hand. they cup the edge of his jaw, affectionately tracing the edge of one spike of a tooth before threading through his sideburns to the long flax of his hair. the spread of their fingers is gentle, affectionate. the hold their legs form slackens only to offer themself with purpose, their prosthetic fingers popping the button that held their jeans in place. ' i don't want to miss out on you. ' #perditos#THREAD.#V. TBT.#i STILL need a name for them god idk why i cant think of one#james vc this is about you btw. i could let any dude on the road fuck me#this is not quite spicy enough it needs to go under a cut yet idt but i will tag#NSFW.… See all53
zimwyRebloggeddefyxoblivionDane can't help himself. He lets out a groan, somewhere between a moan and a sigh. Two desires war between one another. The need to get a damn good steak... and the need to breed."You're right, I am. And this reservation took a while to get. Plus... I can use the energy from a big steak to really rock your world, later."zimwygod--but he did look good like this, smooth pressed button up feeding into a belt that probably cost more than bucky's entire wardrobe when he was younger. he loved the privilege dane afforded him, even if he was never sure just how to say thank you. taking him until the bedframe collapsed sufficed, he supposed. bucky's smile provokes his dimples, flattens his brow line. he smooths his thumb across the edge of dane's jaw, near the hinge of his ear. ' i hope that's a promise. where's this place again? i haven't had steak since.. last years birthday, i think. ' #defyxoblivion#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.#suggestive tw41
zimwyRebloggeddefyxoblivionFollow@zimwy HereIt's impossible to overstate how far Dane has come. It wasn't long ago that he couldn't even accept his own sexuality. Now look at him, encouraging his boyfriend to put on a borderline slutty skirt so they can have a night on the town."Babe if I wasn't looking forward to this steak house I'd tear you out of that get up right now and have my way with you." For good measure he grab's Bucky's ass, pulling him close. "I still might, princess. Don't tempt me."zimwywarmth narrows bucky's eyes, softens his own self-flagellating stare. he can be mean to himself, but he cannot be mean to his boyfriend in any meaningful way--not unless dane had asked him nice and pretty for it. that's not who he is, tonight. he's.. representing something. castle garrett, and dane himself. bucky makes a soft 'uft' sound as the lower arch of his obliques connect with dane's well-honed physique; he had some bulk that bucky didn't. ' don't threaten me with a good time, baby. ' the wink is unsubtle, one dense thigh subtly lifting just for a second or two before bucky's heel flattens back out. ' aren't you hungry? ' #defyxoblivion#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.#:3341
zimwydefyxoblivion asked:Dane is starting disrespectfully. "Babygirl, you are dangerous looking this good."it's rare that bucky indulges in a full spread, so to say. beat face, soft inky bralette straining against the plush of his well toned chest, a slip of skin bare from his taut abdomen to the high hill of his hips. a midnight black pencil skirt hugs the undercurrent of his waistline, obfuscating his groin and the dense meat of his thighs. the skirt tapers off just above his knees, a tantalizing slit crawling up toward his pelvic line. the thin net of stocking beneath ends at a pair of three inch heels, pumps that pinched his toes together. he's nervous about it, honestly. playing a role for a job was one thing, but going out like this, just for himself, was entirely another. ' you think? .. i feel like i look stupid. ' #defyxoblivion#RESPONSE.#GRAHHH...#i'd like to point out bucky has a very understated sense of how pretty/handsome he is#he thinks he's average at best lhsjkhfwfwfw1
zimwythere is nothing stringing together bucky's male or masc ship partners except that they're all bigger than him. all of them. #the only one who isnt is logan... and thats JUST height related. logan is sure as hell a lot bigger than him width wise.#one of logan's biceps looks like the size of bucky's head. so i can't even really say logan is not bigger bc he is. he's just not taller.#bucky isn't even like... a big guy chaser.... he just happens to be small...#he's 5'8 and like 160-180 lbs depending on the era.#everyone else is six feet or taller. itS NOT HIS FAULT he's never met a twink he found attractive <_<#OOC.#TBD.77
zimwyRebloggedemmatriarchyLucas can understand that Bucky doesn't like to be prodded and checked. He doesn't like it as well, and he knows better than impose in his motions, although he grunts his annoyance whenever his partner flinches away. "Big words coming from someone who's bleeding like that..." he mumbles, reaching for the bandana around his neck to fashion some kind of bandage for Bucky. It will have to do until someone more skilled in field medicine can patch him up. The fabric is red, so the fluid soaking it isn't too visible. "You might need stitches, Buck. I don't call it fine." zimwy' what, i don't look hot? ' it's just a joke, a sordid brand of humor typically employed by known jokesters among their colleagues--a red-and-purple hawkeye, nursing a busted nostril and a litany of smart remarks, or the disjointed thought streams that poured out of deadpool's gnarled mouth. bucky doesn't have it in him to tote around his baggage behind walls of ironic humor, always serious-- --except where he wasn't. a low exhale keeps him grounded, finding an anchor among the swim of lightheaded buzzing in lucas's touch. bucky absently paws at his hand once it's freed, twining his fingers together. ' i've had a lot worse, lucas. just feels like some shrapnel hit me in the back. i guess i didn't sidestep that IUD like i thought i did. we gotta keep pushing, bish. ' #emmatriarchy#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.41
zimwyRebloggedperditosVictor allowed James the use of his arm. In trade for pressing his nose to the rough fabric of their old jeans, the exterior of their thigh where his scent bundled thick and musky. Little bit of dirt and lingering blood. Like a cat, soaking in a warm sun beam, Victor relished in the shared body heat of James'. Rarely, never, did he get to have this, contact, touch; somehow James' coaxed it out of him, but there was a trade. Fingers pressing at his palm, his forearm.A discontent rumble rolled through Victor; the slight vibrations of a growl as his hands reflexively flexed, and his claws unsheathed. Black crescents, mean and sharp. Pa used to cut 'em off at the knuckle and the scrutiny scratches at an old scab, that's never quite healed for Victor. But he learned to be good for these kind of inspections. Roll over, show his belly, earn his little bit of affection.So, he lets James."Call me a 'kitten' again and I'll introduce ya to those claws in a more intimate manner," Victor grumbled. Yet, his chin rested on James' knee; knelt on the grimy motel floor, slung across their lap. There's little bite. "Watcha doin' anyway? Ain't nothin' good about those..."zimwy' many cats in moscow. is compliment. ' the slavic wheel james' language takes smooth out in the next sentence, unguarded as they were; this level of calm did not preclude the crossing of language synapses that field work did. the soldier could morph between man and woman, european and russian and american, seemingly with a snap of the fingers. james, however, aims to be less transfigurant these days. less of the soldier, more of themself.a soft intake of air follows victor's grumbled promise, somewhere between amusement and elation, a sickness that slumbered in them longing for a bit of pain. yet, their inquisition ends, turning his hand over instead to affectionately smooth their natal fingers across the knob of his wrist, the sturdy oak of his digits. ' i wanted to see what muscle controls them. ' their interest had been purely academic, yet not so pressing they would've harmed him. not like everyone else. curious inspection that maintained their empathy, nothing calculating or scientific about it, almost child like. ' they're only a part of you. they can't be bad or good, Витя. if they're bad, so is this. ' their prosthetic arm flexes and whirs, lifted demonstratively before coming to rest again. #perditos#THREAD.#V. TBT.#snoft...#i like bucky's sense of morality being so strong that it sorta turns victor in that direction too askdhjsdwh#Dirty Large and Angry Small41
zimwyRebloggedmorinotsumeFollow@zimwy // 26Keep readingzimwyKeep reading#morinotsume#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.#NSFW.#: )#me loading u up with threads51
zimwyRebloggedraregcmsFollow@zimwy // 27 for steeb & buck buckKeep readingzimwyBucky woke up first. The statistical likelihood was fickle: in the war, the advanced scout crowed with the roosters, off to lay a trail for the team to follow. That part of Bucky was unlikely to be eliminated in any meaningful way, and so there he was, quietly preening in the dusky morning light, watching Steve's face from where he rested. The breadth of his dense chest was better than any downy pillow, thicker and harder and, crucially, more comforting. Keep reading#raregcms#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.#NSFW.#swings my legs32
zimwyRebloggedsunlightreveriea muscle in her jaw twitches at the pressure of the tourniquet, the tight curl of his bionic fingers. if there was a medal for the pain olympics, natasha would be a world record holder at this point; she can almost smell the sterile scent of an old operating room, the copper twang of her own blood while she was cut open, paralyzed and awake. but there's no prize for hiding her discomfort, and she lets her lips grimace as her brain works to process the burning sear.james has always had a soft spot, when it comes to her. with the cleaner of her two hands, she reaches out, cups the side of his face and runs her thumb along the barely-there stubble at his jaw."i've had much worse. a couple of stitches aren't going to break me."but natasha has always had a soft spot, too, when it comes to james and their star-crossed history."-----there's a penthrox whistle in the bottom of my bag," she admits, nodding to the open pack on the table. it's not lidocaine, she won't be numb, but... she also won't care. that's something. "i'll be pretty out of it for a good half-hour, though. are you okay to check the perimeter? maybe get the fireplace going?"zimwy' it's not.. i know. but you being strong doesn't make me want to hurt you, 'tasha. ' penthrox whistle in the bottom of her bag. not an unfamiliar accoutrement--verdant tubing housing a full dose of methoxyflurane, trace oleic acid and ethanol to propel the delivery, suspended in gas propellents. concentrated morphine had been preferrable when used upon the winter soldier, paired with enough tranquilizer to knock out a rampaging elephant. james cinches the tourniquet in favor of freeing both extremities. the congruence of scent and sights and the livewire of passing urgency made bucky's skin crawl, yet here he was, dutifully attendant as he scoops up the proffered sling of nylon and polyesther. the tourniquet will ache, but it was better than weeping blood. seating himself at her feet as any good subject to monarch, or worshipper to bloody god, james quietly feels about her personal items--taking care not to linger, as if it was an invasion of privacy--until he traces the outline of the whistle, familiar plastic vertices ablated from the confines of the provisional bag. he inserts the narrow brown cannister into the intake port, stretching up to hand natasha the primed mouthpiece. ' i never liked these. just be careful. covering the dilutor hole'll make it work quicker. ' and like that, he's back at work: the small pair of angled, titanium medical grade scissors slit through the tourniquet. a little bottle of povidone iodine scents the open air, liberally smoothed across the ragged trench. antiseptic, portably small, non-stinging. better than isopropyl alcohol, at least. threading the surgical needle comes with only a glance at the curled hook to ensure the narrow piece of medical polymer had successfully entered the eye, some uncomfortable pinching of the flesh only when he hears the rip of the inhaler. ' you remember what i used to say? one way to get through the pain is to count down from one hundred. i'll keep track for you. девяносто девять. ' barnes' mouth wrinkles as he penetrates the broken flesh, needle curling quick and methodical from one edge of the rift to the other. ' девяносто восемь ' #sunlightreverie#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.#grrr grrr...#translation: ninety nine. ninety eight.41
zimwydo you guys actually like me and my blog#i'm sorry!! i hate making posts like this i'm just in a bad mood all of a sudden#and i feel like. second pick again orz#this isn't anyone's doing or anything i think i just need some reassurance i'm not bothering people or Insane TM#OOC.#TBD.#negative /810
zimwyRebloggedawbroCLINT KNOWS WHAT THIS IS. the digits crushing his shirt's fibers & choking its collar up under the hollow notch of his throat are no threat, but a desperate, self-preserving response to one. all hurt anyway. surrendering shock crumples his brow, his mouth, his entire expression collapsing into one of agonizing empathy. " i'm not like them. " it lands while the soldier is huddling away, closing in, fetal coil, around himself. prey fright still blinks, inky-pupilled, tremulous, within those dark, adrenaline star bursts for eyes. undulating, tacky-throated, clint swallows around his own words & realizes that it is a promise in its heavy, permanent way of rolling out of him. " you're safe here. " clint stays, half-prizes up from within the slatted couch cushions quashed haphazard from the soldier's hair-trigger panic. one hand hovers, showing itself empty, protective ; no hunter looms to stalk in these quarters. " you worried i'm too tall? heck, i've got sweatpants with a drawstring & a shirt i shrunk in the wash. we can pick you up some stuff tomorrow. or whenever you're ready. " zimwyyou're safe here. a sweeping blanket statement that remained to be proven, a promise that longs for the drop of the other shoe; the soldier would always spy through the gaps of stitchwork like fine grains of sand, so small they would slip right along the current. the steadfast bolt of their gaze follows clint's emergent, submissive hand, tracing sandy-dusk forearm and ropy musculature (years of engagement of the draw of a string to build up the fibrous tissue) to the heather fabric encompassing one sleeve. instinct. where once reactive aggression had lit the soldier up, now, in it's absence crouches a feline tameness: slinky and dark and quiet, toeing the slender and invisible edge between primitive fear and a neonatal craving for attention, body heat, love. so badly they want to trust, to strip away the inhibition that kept them safe. he'd saved them. that counted for something. james nods an eager yes, though the truth was multifaceted: his height, the widest points of their physique. would the false arm tear right through the blade of a fringe seam? finally, the winter soldier clears it's throat, hovering as if awaiting orders. ' my name is, james. '#awbro#THREAD.#V. LOVE ME HARD 'TIL I BREAK INSIDE.41
zimwy' you remind me of my friend. ' tailing de costa's heat signature keeps him easily centered; he has a feeling roberto knows where to go more than bucky does. mutants were victimized and weaponized to a nausea-inducing extreme: barnes kept his nose clean, remained upon the veritable line of support in comparison to a number of his cohorts. ' his name was thomas, but we all called him toro. did the same sort of, blustery thing you do. ' @apotheotica#apotheotica#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.#bucky berto team up yes yes... i like to imagine sometimes when logan is busy bucky gets 'loaned out' as a substitute11
zimwyRebloggedhitsharderFollow@zimwy ↣ SC.🦻 ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ: ▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪ 🇫🇺🇱🇱 🇧🇦🇹🇹🇪🇷🇾 — ❝ Can you stop brooding for like five minutes? I can hear it from over here, and it's not as hot as you think it is! ❞ Bucky thinks he's so cool. He's lame! Clint isn't mad at all. But he's damn frustrated. What Natasha saw in him, Clint would never know.zimwy' i'm not.. brooding. i'm thinking. ' a derisive scowl briefly impresses upon bucky's not-so-amused features, pouring over an unkempt spreadsheet of intel. his mouth slackens about his rebuttal, soft lips and firm words. clint drives him crazy, and not in the love obsessive way. ' not that i expect you to know how t'do that. ' #hitsharder#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.#bambi... when i brought bucky back i followed ur dead blog for so long...#chews on him like a dog toy31
zimwy' you know, the history books wont tell you this-- ' barnes pauses to scope the skyline, observant light streak refracting off the optical glass, ' but we fought some vampires and demons back in the war. the invaders were good friends with sal romero. ' the bolt clicks back, round primed. ' stay low. i'm gonna need you on the ground once i start firing. ' @werewolfbynite#werewolfbynite#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.#short lil thing for u. i like making bucky work alongside people that would otherwise make him slightly nervous#he is a little nervous around 'monster' ppl at first#my brain is a little mushy 2day so if u wanna plot out who they're hunting pls feel free to dm#otherwise idm winging :)1
zimwyRebloggedsunlightreverieFollow@zimwy gets a starter from natasha!the chill bites her skin as she eases the torn cargos down off her legs. this safehouse hasn't had a fire running in months at best, and the sticky, half-dried blood down the back of her thigh sends a shiver up her spine as james shuts the door behind him.her lungs heave with a sigh as she twists, trying to see the wound at the back of her leg." ---- just a graze," she tells him, hefting her backpack up onto the ramshackle table and steadying it with a hand before she starts to rifle through. her medkit is easily found, held in her (mostly) clean hand as she offers it to james. "it'll be quicker if you do it. just a few stitches to stop the bleeding and it should be fine by morning. we shouldn't stay here long."zimwywere she unmarred, james might preen, no worse than a lecher. hunger was a subtle thing with a feathery affect; the striking veins of spilled crimson cutting through the palest parts of natasha's skin are what keep him grounded, rolling worry terse between his teeth. it's all he can think about: the bullet snuffing her out, and the sort of subsequent blind rage that would've followed him. he loves her so much, it squeezes his stomach so intensely, if he'd been unoccupied, he might've succumbed to vertigo. instead, he remains level, quick and obedient. in the mean time, he fields a strip of cloth from the sleeve of his shirt to tie a makeshift tourniquet about the wealth of her leg. he's gentle, prosthetic hand applying a firm, even pressure to the gap of the graze itself. ' i don't wanna do this without lidocaine. ' it's more of a plea on his end. please don't ask me to hurt you. from his knees where he crouches, her leg bent gently back for ease of access, james looks up at her, big brown eyes set upon hers. ' you have any in there? ' #sunlightreverie#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.#thats perfect ty....#looks up at you with Huge Baby Cow Eyes41
zimwyargentarrogance asked:" I'm so upset -— my barber said he can't cut my hair any longer. He can only cut it shorter. " / it's dad jokes season and no one is safe, neither is buckyit takes him a second to process; the pun is a malady that bucky inhales with a sour-lemons screw of the nose and lips. they all incline toward one gravity spot on his face, some lines provoking along the hollow aperture of his jaw, beneath his cheek.' that was terrible. '#argentarrogance#ohhh......#thank you for this bsjfbsjhfjhwfjwhfwhj#i headcanon billy regularly invites bucky over to holidays so imagining this being at purim or something is killing me#RESPONSE.1
zimwyawbro asked:don't tell me, show me.they're just words, and therefore, hold power over bucky. hey, i love you. they strike the same as cleaving arrowheads, feathered helical fletch a garden in bucky's ribs as propagate as his brewing affections. it stuck out, made him weak. or thats the way it feels, anyway, and it conjures up some errant imagery of barton as a blushing cupid. it should've broken his tension, made him laugh, yet it achieves neither; he's just as nervy as he'd been moments before. ' clint-- ' it isn't an easy approach. a thin sheen of sweat crowds barnes' hot spots, the underside of his clean-shaved throat (burning through the delicate aromatic notes of aftershave: madagascar vanilla, a touch of saltpeter, squeezed lavender). tongue to teeth, bucky produces a rough and unrefined sound, vibrating off the slope of that still muscle. bucky's apparent intolerance is just to workshop a response that made sense, that didn't leave him feeling cored open for clint to jam his hand into. not that he thought he would. playing at court jester and maintaining a layer of protective facade was, surely, simply easier than brusque force, or introspection. easier to pin shame and anger on a toy like the winter soldier. easier to forget about a ghost, a vestige, a whisper, all the things bucky was sure he was. people usually took the easy way. clint was, after all, still a man.(natasha called him sweet, and home grown, whatever that had meant. he thinks he understands now, despite the brackish salt sting it imparted on the back of his tongue.) ' you don't--you don't get it. anything that i put a name to, gets taken away from me. the lost glove is happy. ' his fleshy palm thuds into his own chest, a profession held across bone drumming heart. ' you gotta know how i feel by now. what d'you think i've been doin', day in and day out? ' each gesticulation and expression performed by barnes was an act of service, of adoration. his struggle to profess with words, i love you, meant bucky always found the splitting path: acts of service to garner affection, transactions for approval. the winter soldier loved being a good dog.shouldn't clint be happy he'd said it at all?his hand drops, slack at his side, the subtle shiver intoning his voice suggestive of some deep seated anxiety. ' how do i know you won't go back to bobbi? ' @awbro#awbro#RESPONSE.#PROMPT.#i think#anyway idk why this turned into such a gut punch11
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zimwyperditos asked:✧ sender brings receiver to the edge multiple times before finally letting them finish.From Stevekinky prompts. | @perditossprawling the span of a loveseat, the employed display of trust might come across as an innocent romantic gesture alone to an outside eye--and perhaps it had started that way, bucky's ear engaged upon the shelf of steve's thigh. yet here he was, prone and draped delicately across the span of steve's broadened lap, lazy gym shorts a slinky pile of nylon hooked beneath the arch of his calf muscles. steve hasn't bothered to pry him out of his high-hipped panties, perhaps admiring the way the strands stood out against the satin of his skin, folding into every shaved edge of bone and sinewy muscle. no, he's simply teased the wall of fabric aside that encompassed his lover's delicates. bucky was given to his own desire, and found it intoxicating. digits wettened with water-based lube, steve alternates between pressing the forefront of his index into the clench of muscle awaiting him, and allowing that same hand to appraise the swell of his ass. he coils a palm around the fat and muscle of one cheek and squeezes, only to relinquish his grip with a hearty smack. the spank earns a startled, pitchy keen from barnes, a reactive roll of the spine plumping up the arch of his physique, the hard lines of his shoulder blades. steve's belt strains around the tapered apex of his ankles, compressing his legs together. the pressure is weak in comparison to bucky's strength ceiling, and he knows it--those bovine flesh fibers thin, threatening to give--it was an intentional effort on steve's end to avoid any modicum of lasting harm. metal would cut into the flesh, render sensitive skin raw. no, even if he begged, steve could never be so cruel. Keep reading#perditos#RESPONSE.#PROMPT.#NSFW.#drops this here and slinks off11
zimwyi dont think i owe any thread replies (?), so please like this for a short starter.#it will be SHORT.#if i owe you and you wanna continue please reply to this. i am stupid and do not track my threads.#OOC.#TBD.5
zimwyi dont think bucky really likes being called james. the first person to call him james is his father. the association was made very quickly: his first name in full is used authoritatively, and it makes him feel like he's in trouble, almost every time. the exception is when it's used by a lover who doesn't want to call him bucky, or is only familiar with james, e.g. natalia or anyone from the red room (where his name was not given as "bucky", it was given to him as dzheims). i know it annoys the everloving fuck out of him when a friend uses "james" instead of bucky. he will almost always correct, with an "it's 'bucky'" or "bucky" instead when they say james. it's... a name reserved to particular people. it's not like he hates being called james, but he doesnt like it.#he does hate being called jim/jimmy though. like it seriously pisses him off#HEADCANON.6
zimwyRebloggedsoulmissedit’s as if the wide, chaotic world cuts out. like a dial touched, turned. like plunging into abrupt silence. he’s breathing lungfuls of acid, sickening fear. (these were people for whom ethics don’t align. wasn’t it the calling card left, in bloodshed and inhumanity, by the united states of america?) his old man had lived a soldier’s mission. his old man had regretted his mission. the boy presses his hands toward his loose hoodie. that fiery power has dissolved. flesh-and-blood palms, fingers pinching cotton fabric.bucky’s appearance startles him from horrified thoughts. the boy stares, dazed, stunned. bloody smudges upon his nose. lips tugged to a tight, self-contained snivel. because, should he lose himself now, he would surely cry buckets. the kid can’t afford to shed tears. time, time, time was of essence. targets on backs. move. escape. ‘bad guy didn’t get the chance to hurt me,’ august thinks. ‘i ended him before he could.’ the boy remains silent. something steals his voice. movements robotic, he cradles cat in fabric of long sleeves. compliant. dainty. collected into metallic coldness, he sinks within hold-and-carry. down the ladder they bank.he has never shown a phobia of heights. you’ve scaled leaf-lappled tree trunks. you’ve made building rooftops your temporary, tentative home. there, that moment – carried by bucky, a precious cat tucked into arms – auggie feels very, very afraid. cool sweat beads his brow. the fear that someone could knock bucky off ladder. the fear that a super special boy could miss opportunity to save his almost family. however, such frights dissolve. they survived the fire escape.shoes onto dependable ground, the boy releases frayed sigh. chestnut eyes flash to flush of cherry red, huckleberry blue. strident whine. police sirens. a cop car whizzing, wheeling the street. bystanders strew plots of sidewalk like statues. in his arms, alpine meows. the kid quietly shushes her. he blinks at bucky. unimaginable stress already lined into his childish face.where do we go? a solemn, mute question written across his haunted, hunted expression. he’d run. keep running. if it meant another day. if it meant they might evade these mercenaries. if it meant they could recapture their sorta, kinda stability. just tell me where to go. his shoulders narrow. his hands carry the cat. his knee arches toward a readied run.zimwythe moment barnes' heels scrape concrete, he considers just, bolting. not without august, or alpine. keep them affixed, burst into a lengthy sprint, cheetah velocity. an upward of sixty miles per hour, maybe more if he pushed; they could cross state lines easier without a vehicle, he's sure he could manage it, tap into that experimental extraordinary alterations, the infinity serum chugging about his buried veins. he could. but he doesn't. august is gingerly lowered until his sneakers are congruent with the ground, an affectionate palm briefly smoothing out a rumpled shoulder, all instinct. alpine remains pliant, as if she possessed an awareness beyond sentient, perhaps assuaged by the lack of sensitivity to sound. the vet had said she was partly deaf, that most white furred blue eyed cats were--bucky tucks his tepid warm luger into his waistline. his blood-wettened tee folds around the handle, where it becomes nothing more than a solid metal paperweight. ' i've got a safehouse in maine, another in tenesse. going straight to SHIELD is suicide, and even if they're not involved, fucking--somebody is, which means they gotta know about it. ' a sigh grounds bucky, clears out the detritus of useless thought. ' we're going to see my friend. she's going to get us a car, or let us borrow hers. they'll be looking for a bike, we won't be on the bike. that'll buy us time to get somewhere safe while i figure out who those assholes are, and what to do with them. they're not gonna bother us again, it's just gonna take some time. i need you safe. and i don't trust xavier and his fucking school. ' with a gesture, bucky leads the pair to the standing lot of silent vehicles, clocks the disc lock on his motorcycle wheel with his metallic fist, and fishes up his keys from the depth of a denim pocket. ' we'll clean you up when we get to her. get some clothes for the road, some canned food until i can hit a grocery store once we're outta here. i think going southwest is smartest. lot of high profile folks on the west coast, hired guns aren't so bold. keep a good hold on her, buddy. ' barnes swings a leg over the bike, leaning back to give august the space to settle forefront. ' she's not gonna like the bike, but she won't be so scared with you. my friend's just a city over. ' #soulmissed#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.#i'm sorry this took me so long bb ;n;52
zimwyjames' fingers look narrow and verging on delicate in comparison to victor's. at least, the fleshy ones do, the stark whites wound down to callused trigger grips, the sprawl of knuckles run dense with tissue. the winter soldier has no finger prints. he's engaged in something very important. with victor's arm on their lap, the soldier smooths their digits across his wrist and the shag of hair-fur, finding the mutated flexor muscle in his forearm. pop, go those claws. when their ginger pressure relinquishes, so do those talons.' Как котёнок. ' james murmurs, more to themself.@perditos#perditos#THREAD.#V. TBT.#: )#lets see if i can keep this this fucking length#t: like a kitty.41
zimwybucky demonstrates behavior that is equally multifaceted over the course of his brubaker era resurrection to now that i find really interesting, wherein he will make casual acknowledgements of aspects of his trauma (namely, the one i find most interesting, the trauma of war and being a child soldier)--and not typically in the Deflective Funnie Haha way that a lot of (male especially) characters in comics do, but in a genuine, plain, straight forward statement way (tales of suspense, to loosely quote, when he's like 'i was a child soldier shipped off to fight nazis and watch people die before i was even 20 years old')--but simultaneously, he insists on this extremely unhealthy level of compartmentalization. so it's like.. he has examined himself and his past on his own, he has to have. he has the awareness to understand that he was effectively groomed into the winter soldier before he ever became them; bucky the invader was the catspaw of the american army instead of the cia. he's introspective and reflective and aware enough to understand that what happened to him started long before he and steve fell into the channel, yet so insistent on his own nature as this... force--and yeah, he repeatedly states and insists he wont be bound by the rules or orders of others, he'll never be a weapon again, and i believe that to be true and genuine. but it's also clear that he finds purpose in being the rifle that is pointed and shot. i don't know where i'm going with this, i just find it fascinating. maybe on an unconscious level, he's aware that all government is shit, and every last one of them would have used him, and america is just as complicit as russia. maybe even on a conscious level. yet instead of spitting back in their face he always swallows it down and allows it to happen. i suppose the goal is allowing it to happen on his own terms instead of someone else's.#its about how you get caught and not when right?#HEADCANON.#MISC.14
zimwyhigh feminine#i think im done. i could keep working on this but my pc is being such a dickhat with how it's sending my cursor everywhere#and im tired of trying to fight it#MINE.#suggestive cw7
zimwysome misc hcs bucky has a habit of spinning things if they're held idle in his natal hand. a pistol / his luger, a knife, pens and pencils, etcetera. this was also a tick he possessed pre-maiming in the invaders; he does not do it with his left hand anymore since he can't feel the tactile sensation of the item, which throws him off.while he was always a bit embarrassed by the invaders suit, it does make him very, very happy when he hears people say that they liked it, or liked him, especially kids. its either that or frustration, because rarely do they see the reality of what war was like for him. they're just seeing all the PR moves and marketing. and that exhausts and angers him. but he can temper his reaction and response depending on the individual.likes to play old civil war songs on his harmonica, but his favorite music to play on his harmonica is early black-american led rock and roll & blues. (there is SO much from the late 40s and 50s he would have LOVED, muddy waters is a prime example.) as ive mentioned, can bypass complex security systems, uses encrypted items, and understands a lot about that vein of computing, but struggles to some degree with pretty much everything else. i think he would negatively lose it over shit like "smart refrigerators", or complex coffee makers, or any other major appliance that seemed needlessly tooled up to him. and absolutely fuck ID and fingerprint tech. that shit would genuinely make him soooo angry.still gets giddy over learning new things or trying new things that didnt exist in his 20s, or are things he has limited knowledge of due to the winter soldier's isolation. i believe there is a line to walk between like 'lab rat levels of isolation' and 'soldier on tour levels of understanding' that the winter soldier has to walk--they know what things are but bucky has forgotten, or intuitively understands something because the winter soldier has interacted with it even if no one has ever told him what it is. CD players, for example, are something bucky would know how to use even if he doesnt know how or why he knows how to use one. but he doesnt know what iCloud and Synching and all that shit is. and don't even get him started on video games past the game boy era. genuinely fucking kind of terrifying at first.swings his legs when he's in seats that dont let them touch the ground. haha wee #HEADCANON.#thinking a lot of nondescript things about him today4
zimwyRebloggedcnebcssFollow@zimwy from x"It's something I enjoy." he shrugs. "You seem like you'd be good at it." Big Boss doesn't particularly remember a time before he could hunt or fish. In fact, he's fairly certain his very first independent memories were picking up soft, succulent fish out of the ocean surf and stuffing them in his mouth headfirst. Hunting wasn't much different. Animals were generally food first, companions second - he was not cruel or callous about it, he respected their lives and their place in the environment, but survival and success meant eating. To him, 'do you hunt?' may as well have been the same question as 'do you eat?'. Of course he did, and he did it with his bare hands, the same ones he's using to clean, slice, and salt the fish he's caught. The fish look clean, and the fishy smell is eliminated with a heavy dose of salt. They'll make for fine field rations - or a snack to wash down with some yerba mate. He likes Bucky. He couldn't ask for a more skilled ally that he didn't have to train up from nothing. Big Boss had a way of looking at things and people he liked as though judging to see if they, too, were edible. Ocelot and Kaz - well, they were certainly a type of prey, too. "When I'm hunting or fishing, things just make more sense. I can follow a path or climb a tree no problem --- it's people I can't always understand." Big Boss cuts a section of string loose with his teeth, and dusts the salt off of his hands."The Boss... she'd do anything for a mission. Whatever it took. Hell or high water, her and that horse..." zimwybucky knew what he meant. human beings were anomalous. the most evident, correct, efficient, and logical path wasn't always the one trodden--this was a naturally occurring phenomenon within the animal kingdom as well, albeit it's frequency was insignificant. in humans, it was a pattern--and that made it difficult to read, paradoxically. the winter soldier had been built from the ground up for every single purpose. urban infiltration, jungle and forest, wetlands, drylands. mountains, valleys. crags and cliffs, submersive environments. their artistry wove between ballistics and martial arts, but also, the most important aspect: social manipulation. whether male, or female, or somewhere between, or neither at all, the soldier learned every single person on this green and blue earth had a weakness, or a tell, or a desire. they satiated numerous, from covetous hunger to a thirst for violence. the soldier could procure and sell whatever, from flesh to firearms--so long as they provided. a doctor had called them a pinnacle in subterfuge, in cloak and dagger. that memory rings around their skull like a bullet ricochet as they calmly observe boss's repose: the preservation of his catches. dad took you fishing. a little wince is passed off as reaction to the glaring sun, rubbing what sunscreen stuck gummy to their fingers across their tricep. he lost an extra day of pay for it.' i'm-- ' bucky grunts, angles his body so his wreath of curls (regaining their springy texture) catches the broadest swath of the sun, ' alright, at reading people. it was part of my training. i just don't like doing it much anymore. ' his flinch is minutiae and little more, a tiny trench of dimple suggestive of depths he was unkeen on plumbing. then, he quiets.when snake speaks of the boss, it's as if there's an understood static cling of silence, yet he's set no precedent. bucky simply intuits the trench of the wound, how vast and deep it clefted. a domain of emptiness, clenching about the absence of something extricated, something that should be there. bucky shares that wound; he feels it burning beneath his fourth rib. ' it's what we're made to do. i've done--a lot, in service of russia. most of it, i'm.. still remembering, and not proud of. maybe she wouldn't feel like me. '#cnebcss#THREAD.#V. MGS.#god bucky caught between two worlds as always21
zimwysnkts asked:sender tightens their hand at receiver's neck just as they're about to climax. <- and thiskinky prompts. | @snktswant was a funny thing. bucky thought he'd be terrified of this--of the providing hand caressing the risen slope of his throat, the hard prominence of the larynx plied beneath his thumb pad before it settles over a spidering of transversal nerves. he imagined shattered walls and crumbling plaster, the sharp acerbic scent of propofol drilled too deep into the tissue of sensory memory. he imagined the same stark fear that blanched him death's pallor, the way the winter soldier became a specter. he thought oh so incorrectly.Keep reading#snkts#RESPONSE.#PROMPT.#NSFW.#nobody look its 1 am i can post what i want#choking cw#breath play cw1
zimwyhalekulan-i asked:"Do you hunt?" it's an easy enough question from a man arranging salted fish in the sun to dry. @cnebcss (from Big Boss!) @cnebcssthe memories are faint. there, but oh, so faint, little more than a smudge of charcoal upon withering vellum. swiss mountainsides and shelled out villages created food sparsity, and far be it from captain america to aid in that strain. an american soldier was to assist, not seize. what a joke. bucky, the boy, always fired on empty lungs: a six point roe buck made for good eating in a team of five, and that was at it's most bare. even namor had been swayed, in spite of sinewy cuts. (it helped that jim didn't need to eat.) and the winter soldier was hardly a stranger to it, either. of course, it preferred hunting with purpose: urban stalking to forested pursuits, the sinking of a hungry blade into white, pliant flesh. the squeal the rabbit would make when they snapped it's neck.a shiver equally licentious and disgusted courses through their center. they adjust before boss can take notice, rubbing a thin layer of sunscreen over the apex of his natal deltoid. kazuhira had made the suggestion. ' yeah.. i have. i did.. not for a while. ' #RESPONSE.#if this was a meme i Have No Idea Which#i love you regardless thank you... i think their dynamic is fascinating#especially the idea of like.... contempt and favoritism alike. once john understands bucky knew the boss too.#like... bucky's ideas / feelings about war align so intensely with hers.#it is his purpose. to be used like a weapon. adrenally he enjoys it. spiritually it drains his soul#two incredibly capable Wamen (throwing bucky into the Woman pool by merit of being bigender)#who paved the generations after them#who are excellent at what they do yet find it revolting simultaneously. and the idea that bucky is throwing it all away...#how angry that might make jack... god im rambling in tags when i should just be dming you but#cnebcss#V. MGS.1
zimwyRebloggedperditosIt was an unusual patient that Basil had been tending to. Found in the depths of the Underdark, a wounded creature, frightened as it was enraged, with barred teeth. Only upon drawing it from its recess did Basil realize she had met a person, caked in dirt and grime, bloodied beyond recognition. A changeling, Gale observed, ever the bastion of information, he provided Basil with a myriad of factual tidbits about the anatomy of the new visitor to their camp. Despite how he emphasized the differences, Basil found Bucky's biology not indistinct from that of a human, or otherwise, her usual treatments of sutures, balms, and medicines, proved effective in nursing it back to health. This was enough for her. She could treat it and that is what she did; changing bandages, applying salves, urging him to rest. Not that Bucky, independent (as everyone else was in their merry band), and strong willed, ever particularly listened to her.Basil longed for the days when the people she tended actually took her medical advice."Not completely," she said. The wound was almost closed, but the skin was still pink, and she could tell its body was not finished knitting itself together, beneath the surface. "But you're getting very close. You're healing well."She traced her fingers along the skin, following the curvature of its ribs to feel the shape of the wound. Her touch tender, to avoid irritating the stitches of causing it pain. Basil hummed and then dabbed a bit of a lotion onto her fingers. She applied it to the stitches and skin, a topical to reduce pain and promote healing. "How are you feeling? Have you been in too much pain?" She asked. Then paused, "You're still worried about your friend, I imagine."zimwyif it hurts, the indication of sensation is nominal; the changeling is no live wire, or perhaps is so accustomed to pain, the body remains unflinching. a reflexive twitch of the muscle beneath the stripped flesh, a queer elasticity that seemed to tighten around the sturdy cage of it's ribs, is all it offers her. instinct and environment. this, in itself, is a display of trust: her nurture has not been for the effort of indebtment. no, that was kindness. justice and servitude, traits embodied by the one they sought, an oath that squeezed around his heart. the duke's son was the only one of basil's compatriots that evoked even a flimsy shell of bucky's other half. (wyll was balmy and warm, at least. like a refreshing wind on an otherwise scalding and dewy day.) her ministrations and gossamer touches only succeed in inclining bucky's milky, featureless stare, two pallid holes among a mask of spilled cordite. there is no aggression there, only a sense of relief, perhaps some consternation at the ridge of the brows. ' he is all i think about. ' a pause. bucky's voice is soft, an uncomfortable flowing dichotomy between masculine and feminine, as if it cannot decide. ' this pain doesn't compare to our separation. thank you.. for helping me. '#perditos#THREAD.#V. DND.31
zimwyReblogged skycapt4ingreelinFollowno you can’t like me or care about me because then that prompts me to challenge my inner core belief system that i have structured my life around (me sucking so fucking bad) and then realize i didn’t deserve any of the things that happened to me as a child#MUSINGS.#:(120280
zimwyRebloggedawbro" hey, don't knock the beauty of a may-december. " clint, on the high side of his thirties, still hazards a charisma best defined as ( & perhaps to his determine ) boyish. pillow tousles still rumple rifts & tufts into his sandy thatch of hair. & when bucky roughly hauls him through the aperture to the appropriately spartan quarters, his smile jaunts up over a half-shear of his teeth. crooked, in an effortless way, like how he slouches back to scrape alpine between the downy ears with his fingertips. " unless this is your way of saying you're jealous of my youth, 'cause ... " a shrug: " last time i checked, only one of us got a dose of fury's special sauce. " the moment seizes around clint's rakish grin drooping into a horrified sag of disgust. " ----- forget i said anything about fury & sauce. ugh. " clint makes himself at home without an invitation, flipping open cabinets to rummage around for a mug. his opposite palm creeps toward the pot by the handle. a sniff & the tepid temperature tell him its past its prime freshness, but he dunks what's left into the pilfered cup anyway. hips shimming up against the counter, he levels bucky with glance over the ceramic's bitter ledge. " if nat wanted your attention, she'd have it. " it's a clear a no as anything. zimwywhatever catty rebuttal about age discrepancy bucky has to make (fine toothed points: actually, i'm probably younger than you, physically) die off at the cradle of their conception, swallowed with a sputter that gives into a husky hiccup of laughter. ensuring the front door is bolted, bucky instinctively migrates to pursue his guest, snowy felid streak slithering somewhere between his familiar gait and the cuff of clint's ankles. she coils barton's shins, winding then to rub a whiskered jowl repetitively at bucky's achilles tendon. the rough flat of his fleshy palm follows each opened slat of varnished plywood, knocking cabinet door after door closed. he gives clint an unenthused glower, rankling disapproval suspending joy. his brow line flattens congruent his stare, drifting to appraise clint's expression beyond the obstruction of his looted mug. (he did want to see him. hard to remember, sometimes.) ' you could have just asked. ' for the coffee, something fresh. to visit. for his attention. right hand traipses the counterspace sideways clint's angled hip. his annoyance disperses into some quiet and eclectic surge of anger and want for the undefinable. his lean is complementary, forward into barton's space. ' i don't like it when you play coy. '#awbro#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.31
zimwybaby bucky portrait meant for his military ID vs. winter soldier gazing into a cctv camera; these are both old (i literally cannot draw rn) but i realized how well they go together as i intended to make a follow up to the first portrait head on, and still may if i can ever afford a new laptop since this old piece of shit is on its way out. #MINE.#specifically drew the first as part of like 'red room file on the winter soldier' thing7
zimwyRebloggedawbro" whoa, hey! " clint's palms-out surrender is a smothered reflex. he exposes his empty hands & the calluses smooth-shining in the shape of his bow above the braid of his heart line. earnestness gentles turrets of shock from his brow. the rabbiting thud of his heart eases ; clint does not fight back ( though he could ) in spite of the tangled haul bunching the target painted in crackling purple across stretched cotton. " easy. i'm not gonna hurt you. or touch you. nothin' you don't want. " he gives a doubled outward thrust with his hands, as if emphasizing his unthreatening intent. an archer's discernment captures adrenaline flushing dark eyes blown black, a prey's panic alarming out the edges of a pupil like an ink blot. since providing safe harbor within the meager walls of his apartment, clint has become acutely aware that safety does not arrive in a moment, but over time-constructed trust. " just thought you might want to take a shower. or a bath. get cleaned up a little. zimwy' they all said, not going to hurt, then they hurt anyway. 'coarsely ushered sentence structure wheels toward slavic, yet the soldier responds to a deep-seated command shivering through their core: use english in america. off pries their grip, a careful doe-legged stagger relinquishing a modicum of their cattle fear alongside a full extrication of their compatriot, their.. what was he to them? shades of maladroit in comparison to the soldier's lethal nature, the ontological evil of a hybridized weapon. sweet. he was sweet. a shower sounded.. nice. or, rather, the abstract sensory concept of scrubbing the potent notes of iodine and morphine and saline off sounded as relieving as food, water, and sleep. a tenuous exhale to stave sparking nerves and soothe reflexive panic, james gives, a silent succumbing to desire fostered deep. they hover awkwardly center-wise his living room, false arm capturing natal in a harmless cradle. a once over concludes: ' your.. um. your clothes won't fit me. ' #awbro#THREAD.#V. LOVE ME HARD 'TIL I BREAK INSIDE.41
zimwyRebloggedawbroFollow@zimwy from here. clint has his own coterie of contusions, laid atop one another in a purpling patchwork. he doesn't say it out loud, but it's starting to get to him, the edema pooling his battered joints, the dull ache thundering his temples. as he does, he leverages his vantage point to survey: mottling amethyst spills its way to bob under bucky's adam's apple. it's ugly, violent. the thought of how it got there sews a channel between clint's twining brows. but, too, less serious, he can appreciate the lean lines of thew drawing delineating well-honed muscle still dewy with sweat. " ----------- seems like you need someone to kiss it better, " he offers, chin up under bucky's beseeching thumb. " somethin' like that, " breaks the pleasant, home-warming sentiment temporarily. clint blinks. he so frequently features tape & bandages that it's getting easy to overlook a new bruise on the bloom. vaguely, this morning, he remembers a little dark shadow nocking the instep of his eye, too. " 's par for the course, right? all part of the job. " his hand is a stay over bucky's. " i'm fine. " zimwya hiccup of honest, innocuous laughter bumbles through bucky's diaphragm, disrupting his attentions, provoking a pleased dimple upon the precipice of one cheek. ' i think i could do with that, yeah. ' the brief touchdown of a thought beyond chaste feels as scalding and ripe as if it had been clint's perusing hands greedily clutching his flanks, or a sweet greeting of twinging bruises to the soothing margin of his stubbled jaw. he imagines his only hand cupping the fuzzy swath of short cropped sandy hairs at the nape of clint's neck, digits spidering his occipital bone into the lazy shag of hair. however, with only one to ply his attention, bucky determines releasing his tender grip is par for the course. instead, he interlocks his digits with clint's bow-strung ones, a sickeningly romantic display that needled at the emollient and subdued part of bucky every harm he'd endured failed to hammer out entirely. the part of him that wanted to be loved. ' be nicer to yourself. i'll heal quick.. you don't. please? '#awbro#THREAD.#V. PRIMARY.#gross...21
zimwyperditos asked:sender gags on receiver during oral until tears spill from their eyes.+ reverse, Nat, because maybe he got a bit ambitious when picking her strap that daykinky prompts. | @perditosthere were very few circumstances in which if natalia made a request of him, or, frankly, gave him an order, that bucky would decline or resist in any way that wasn't purely simulated. acting out for the sake of it, craving as any tunneling hunger satiation in the form of punishment. it was a very different dynamic compared to their entanglement in the red room: the persistence was love, and almost that alone. the winter soldier became a stone wall to beat her fists upon, an agent of direction. that she didn't hate him for it remained a cherished gift, given to him every day.it is no surprise, then, when she commands him to his knees, he falls to them. before him, natalia is a gorgeous cut of marble, warm and pliant skin he longs to touch mere inches from his face. yet his hands remain submissively bound behind the small of his spine, held together by nothing but a fierce will and a hunger, a blighted famine upon licentious thoughts; a bad dog never received his rewards. Keep reading#perditos#RESPONSE.#PROMPT.#WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO#NSFW.#russian: good girl. i'll take care of you if you behave.1
