#abrooklynboy

[murder-popsicle]

@abrooklynboy from x:

Rogers dropped a bottle of whiskey at his друг's side before sitting next to her, ensuring there was enough space between them. Crowding was dangerous. "I know. I feel it too. A hangover I can't sleep off. Remember those?" He shook his head, biting the inside of his cheek. "Didn't think I'd miss that."

"Thanks," Jane said quietly, pulling the cork from the bottle and taking a long swig. She scooted a little closer to her comrade -- her best and only friend, her anchor -- and stared out over the rooftops of the city as she savored the taste of the whiskey.

They'd been free for almost four months now, hunting HYDRA down together and slowly finding their way back to personhood, back to being something other than the Captain and the Winter Soldier. They weren't Steve and Bucky yet, and maybe never would be, but being Rogers and Jane was working out for them so far.

"Can't remember the last time I was actually hungover," she said. "Sometime before that bastard Zola got his hands on me." She took another sip of whiskey, passed the bottle to Rogers, and said, "He's still out there somewhere, y'know. I'm sure of it. That roach ain't dead."

[lostsouldier]

@abrooklynboy : stella & bucky ❛ do you feel like a hero yet?   ❜

Bucky huffs, a half smile at his glass that he pretends to check out. ' Didn't bring my trunks or I would've. ' He'd expected nothing less from Stella, but it was worth a shot anyway. It's what they did, isn't it ? Offered up bait for a deeper conversation disguised as a jibe and left it all up to the other to choose which way to swing with it. It's what Stella gives back to him, right after shooting him down.

' I ain't brooding. ' He straightens up after her nudge, stretching his shoulders this way and that, then rests his elbow on the table top, his jaw in the heel of his hand in a way that skews his smile. He looks tired. ' Six foot. Tall. Showgirl, ' he mutters. None'a that makes sense, he almost doesn't want it to. Never mind that it was the only reason he was alive right now. ' Still think I'm dreamin' when I look at you. How does it feel on ? '

[lostsouldierbye]

@abrooklynboy​   :    ’ drink.  some.  water. ’

‘ Steve. You’re not my dad anymore. ’

[silverjetsystm]

[ ruby ] give one random fun fact about yourself. [ lemon ] do you believe in ghosts? how about aliens? [ indigo ]  when did you first start writing / roleplaying?

𝑪𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑭𝑼𝑳 𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑽𝑰𝑬𝑾 | Accepting

I do St.ar W.ars cosplay for charity

Yes and Yes. Universe too big etc.

Started writing in December 2012 over on @/abrooklynboy. Set up on @/thehollowsoldat in Summer 2013. While I wasn't on tumblr rpc that entire time, I've pretty much written consistently since then.

[aluraborealis]

@abrooklynboy

Alura had just gotten to Earth. As in, she's been a resident alien for roughly twenty minutes. God, that emergency transport really scrambles your brain.

Her disorientation was almost a mercy, allowing momentary relief from the horror she'd just escaped. Her wristband told her she was somewhere in the planet's northern hemisphere (upstate new york) A remote area, surrounded by dense forest.

This was good and bad for multiple reasons. At least no one had seen her yet. Sure, she may resemble the local population. Though the armor strapped to her body, with its glowing bands on a few plates of the metal, and holographic HUD framing her face would put her straight out of a sci-fi flick.

Cut up and bruised, she was stumbling nothing short of blind through the trees, too out of it to scan the area. Collecting data would have to come later, she'd just stepped out of the bloodiest battlefield in the history of two star systems.

[agentnamed-gone]

@abrooklynboy liked for a starter with Captain Carter

One moment she was blinded by the light from the Tesseract's portal, and the next Peggy found herself standing in a strange room that was not a part of the castle she'd been in previously.

Blinking, Peggy looked around her, sword and shield still in hand.

Nothing was familiar, least of all the group of people who looked ready for a fight.

"Where am I?" Peggy demanded wielding the sword, if it was a fight they wanted then it was a fight she would give them.

[griim]

@abrooklynboy​ asked: ❝ Do you always sing like that in the shower? ❞

Fuck, he had heard her. Damn it. This was why she hated showering at SHIELD. Grumbling, she looked away. No one was supposed to hear her singing Gemma thought she was alone. “No, I don’t normally do that. And you will not tell anyone. Otherwise, star-spangled man, I will give you an extra red stripe.” Gemma hated when people heard her doing shit like this, which made her feel vulnerable. “Got it? This stays between you and me.”

[caramizie-vrajitoare]

@abrooklynboy

Wanda held Tommy on her hip as she made herself a cup of coffee. “Thank you for inviting us over. I apologize for not having anyone to watch the boys. Pietro is upstate visiting Charles and my normal babysitter is sick.” She turned to face her friend and teammate while lifting the mug to her lips. Her wild curls, which were a little wilder due to the sleepless nights she’d had taking care of the boys, framed her face as she looked up into his friendly, familiar gaze.  “What is happening? I heard that there have been... riots... in the streets against the GRC. Is it true?” Her home, only an hour from the city itself, had been pleasantly preserved in its tranquil peace. Word certainly got around, but she had been trying to simply... blend into the background. To become just another woman. Another mother. A normal citizen. 

As idyllic as that life might be she would never not come when her Captain called. Although she was not a soldier, Wanda had fought by his side time and time again. She would always come when he needed her. 

Wanda set her son down and watched him race over to his brother. “What do we do? What is our plan?”

[setitallaflame]

Closed starter for @abrooklynboy

Her mother was lying dead on the asphalt in front of her.

She told Jennsen she could never fall into the hands of the wrong people. Whether it was government agents, or mutants or magic wielders hellbent on one form of destruction or another, she had to find a way to escape. At the very least, she’d be turned into a weapon. At most, she’d be taken apart piece by piece to see if and how a ‘pristinely ungifted one’ could be recreated (a title she was still having a hard time even comprehending) or killed outright. But it was a moot point. She tried to run, she tried to flee, and they murdered her mother for it. And now she was cornered, guns trained on her as government agents prepared to take her away.

[invncibleiron]

@abrooklynboy​ gets a vintage starter

The Avengers were not on the water often. These days, they seemed to spend half their time in the sky--whether in a plane or flying by their own accord through the Iron Man armor or Thor’s hammer or Wasp’s wings--and plenty of fights kept them grounded. So it was pure luck that they were in the water that day, the Avenger’s jet still hovering over the ocean after a fight with Namor. Dumb luck that they were mending their wounds, talking strategy and next steps when Steve Roger’s body went floating by with the ice still melting around him. 

It didn’t seem real. Even after they’d dragged him inside, even after they’d gotten him to medical, even as the ice melted enough for them to see the white star on his chest and the A on his cowl, Tony had a hard time believing the body he was sitting vigil beside was the man he’d spent his whole childhood hearing about. For as long as he could remember, his father had been obsessed with the ending of Captain America, searching the seas for any sign of him, drunkenly recounting war stories and, after Tony, like every other kid his age, had made his own Captain America shield by hand so as to be like the hero he’d read about in comic books, he’d been told he would never live up to the man Steve Rogers had been, that he didn’t deserve to hold even a copy of his shield.

Tony had given up on Captain America then, thrown away his Cap lunchbox and his comics and any hope that heroes existed or that Tony could ever be considered one of them. 

It was as Tony Stark that he now sat at Steve’s side, glancing distractedly between his phone and the emails he was supposed to be replying to, and the sleeping man on the hospital bed. They had brought Steve back to Avenger’s Tower where the medical wing was private and the doctor, used to treating super heroes and celebrities, wouldn’t be distracted by the fact that she had a long dead national hero on her table. Tony had kept the media at bay, kept this--Rogers--their secret for now, but that wouldn’t last forever. He had also figured that, when Rogers did finally wake up, it would be better to see a man, human and unpowered, than a 6′6″ red and gold metal suit, so, as the world still thought Tony Stark and Iron Man two separate people, Tony had told his “bodyguard” to take the rest of the day off and sent the empty armor home. The other Avengers had drifted off one by one, vowing to return as soon as there was an update. 

Roger shifted, and Tony put down his phone to watch as the man’s eyes finally opened. Until that moment, he hadn’t really been sure it was possible. After all, it wasn’t every day that someone woke up after seventy years on ice. 

“Morning Captain,” he greeted. “How are you feeling?” 

[madeofstories]

Becky couldn't believe it. They'd told her, but she'd not believed them. She'd thought it was some terrible joke. A horrible, painful joke. Ever since 1945, she'd walked around with a hole in her heart-- a Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes sized hole. It wasn't until Fury had come to visit that she had reluctantly left her office for the upper levels of the Shield compound.

Her heart stopped for a whole half a minute. On the screens before her was Steve. Steven Grant Rogers. Alive. He looked exactly how she remembered him-- well... how she remembered him right before he left for England to join her big brother.

Her hand came to rest on her chest. He was still asleep, but he'd wake up soon.

"We're planning to send someone in. We thought that someone might be you." Fury looked at her.

"We think he'll be more receptive to a familiar face." Hill smiled at her.

It made sense to her.

"We brought you some clothes."

She looked at them and laughed. "Those look nothing like what I would wear back then. He'll know something is wrong if I show up like that." Becky shook her head. "I have a trunk of my old things back at my apartment. Let me go change and I'll be back."

When she returned her hair was curled, makeup done like she used to wear, tights on with the lines up the back of her legs, and her favorite yellow dress. Becky looked as if she just stepped out of a 1950's movie.

"Wow..." Hill raised her brows.

Becky didn't wear many dresses these days.

"What's his status?"

"Awake. You got here just in time." Fury handed her an earpiece. "You're on."

Becky took a breath to calm her nerves before she walked through the door of the set Shield had created for him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Steve..." Becky smiled softly. "Welcome back."

@abrooklynboy

[murder-popsicle]

@abrooklynboy (Stella)

The march back from the Red Skull's factory was…well, it was, and that was about all Bucky could say for it. She’d spent the first day wrapped in Stella’s jacket and perched on the edge of a tank, too shaky and exhausted to walk for any length of time. What little sleep she got came in restless snatches, and she was still half convinced that everything around her was an elaborate hallucination brought on by one of the little doctor’s concoctions.

The bruises on her arms, though, and the ache in her legs after she started marching under her own steam – those felt real, too real to be something her mind had simply cooked up.

When they’d finally reached the camp, when the cheering had died down, the brass had pulled her aside, given her a shot of benzedrine, and dragged her off for questioning – what did the doctor do, how much did you tell him, what do you mean he didn’t ask about the Allied forces at all?

But the questions had ended abruptly when she’d had to lurch out of the tent to vomit. Whatever the liquid fire Zola had shot her full of was, it clearly didn’t get along well with stimulants. So the nurses had taken her for a physical instead, noting down each cut, each scar, each bruise, frowning deeply at the blood crusted around her ear, the skin stretched too tight over her ribs, and the scar that ran down her abdomen in an angry red line.

Finally, finally, she had been allowed to collapse, and for the first time in weeks, she’d gotten a true good night’s sleep.

She woke to the smell of oatmeal and the sight of Stella sitting on the cot opposite hers. Sitting up slowly, she bit back a groan. Every inch of her body was stiff and aching, especially her arms; not surprising, when she considered the sunset of bruises that covered the insides of both her elbows. Christ, she was sore. But her cough was gone and she could no longer feel her ribs creaking inside her when she moved. It was a welcome improvement, though it did make her wonder exactly how long she’d been in that lab. She’d lost track of time so completely that she wasn’t even sure what month it was, let alone the date.

“Stel,” she said, finally succeeding in pushing herself upright. “Hey.” A smile flitted over her face when she caught sight a steaming bowl in her friend's hands. “You brung me breakfast? You’re a saint.”

[incredibleviralsensation]

@abrooklynboy​

“My face is very familiar.  That’s all” He said when he noticed the guy was staring at him in such a way that it was most likely he recognize him from the video of the fight in the bus. 

[lostsouldierbye]

@abrooklynboy   :   ’ you tried to punch out the bartender.  what was that all about? ’

      ‘ Nothin’, ’ Bucky mutters, kicking at a pebble along the pavement and sending it straight into the side of a trash can where it clangs loudly and scatters off onto the street. It’s lost in the moderate evening traffic, both on the road and the footpath, the same way that he and Steve blend into the crowd, just two men in jackets, heads ducked, walking side by side with elbows jostling together every now and again. Bucky shirks the contact each time, his current irritation manifesting in a static bubble around him, that Steve has the misfortune of being close enough to. 

      He’d gotten there half an hour early, more than content to get a head start on a beer and people-watch while waiting for Steve to show up. They were in town at the same time for the first time in a little while, and despite the chaos that Bucky seemed to be constantly running into ( read : chasing after ) lately, he’d agreed to meet Steve at a bar roughly halfway between both their current stays. Too bad now that bar was out of the question for any future greets, courtesy of Bucky reaching across the counter when he’d gone up to collect his third drink, grabbing the bartender by the collar to yank his face hard onto the sticky wooden countertop, resulting in an uproar by the rest of the patrons, a bloody nose from the bartender and an affronted looking Steve who’d just walked in the door, and yanked Bucky back by the collar before he could do further damage. They’d gotten out in time just as a couple of the customers’ temporal lobes were lighting up with the familiarity of Steve and Bucky’s faces --- and just as well they did considering the recent PR nightmare Bucky had left in his wake. 

      ‘ He was an asshole. You wouldn’t have stood for it either. ’ Being public means everyone had an opinion about you. Public opinion about Bucky was always in turmoil, doomed to forever be divided and that was okay. Bucky had accepted that. Poor opinions about people he knew to be good and true, about his friends, about the likes of Steve and Sam, however --- were worth correcting. Admittedly, he hadn’t gotten around to the ‘ correcting ’ part, but in his experience, people were more likely to listen and learn once punched in the face. 

      Still, he knows the excuse sounds thin, probably even more so to Steve’s ears. So he adds, a tad defensively, ‘ I was gonna use the right hand. ’ 

[masqe]

@abrooklynboy​ said: Becca | " you, me, ill-fitting tuxedo. the whole thing, you know? "

‘ You could smile a little more about it, ’ Rebecca gentles, walking over to him in heels that add an extra inch to the existing four inch lead she has on him. She bats Steve’s hand away to stop it from fiddling even more with the forelock of hair constantly falling over his eyes. An effort had been made today to slick it back with some pomade borrowed from Bucky, but apparently his hair was as stubborn as the rest of him. ‘ And the suit fits you just fine. I think it’s nice. ’ She smiles to herself, brushing off Steve’s shoulders, critically examining him for more dust and lint. The tuxedo was borrowed, from the son of one her dad’s old patrons, who’d last worn it to his high school valedictorian ceremony --- Bucky and Rebecca both left that part out when they’d handed it to Steve. 

‘ Now, are you going to at least try to enjoy this ‘ whole thing, ’ or do you need to take a drink before we leave ? ’ Rebecca’s boss, the editor of the Brooklyn Eagle was throwing a small mixer for writers, journalists, cartoonists, and the like across town, his entire staff invited including Rebecca, who, as nothing more than a proof-reader at the infancy of her career would likely go unnoticed in the shadows tonight. Still, she’s biting at the bit at the chance to rub shoulders with some of her favourite reporters and when Bucky had found out that she was planning to go dateless, he thought he’d kill two birds with one stone, and offer up Stevie to accompany her. Rebecca, of course, had no problem at all being chaperoned by Steve. 

She steps back from him, satisfied that he was lint-free and the clothes were sitting on him as straight as possible. She smooths her hands down the front of her own dress, a dark green satin thing. She gives an excited grin. ‘ Ready, Stevie ?’

[lamentingwclf]

@abrooklynboy​  ll  sent  ll  ❝ don’t give me that shit. ❞

Bucky’s jaw clenched, and his agitation only worsened with a sullen twitch of his left eye.  He resisted the urge to reach up and swipe it, keeping his fingers laced in his lap in front of him.  “It’s not shit, Steve.”  He started, voice giving away the emotions his face did not.  “Just because you’re this recognized hero now doesn’t mean you have to throw yourself at every challenge, especially alone.”