Willow_Wisp



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  1. Public Bookmark 45

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    He is a lost spectre, a thing of fable, and when he hears the wolves howl their melancholy chorus, announcing a presence in his forest, he rests his head in his hands, and wonders how long it will be before he is burying another pile of clothes and chipped bones in the part of his garden where once his ancestors were buried, before they ceased to live.

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    28 Aug 2016

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    Bucky Barnes was cold.
     
    He felt like he’d been cold for months now; doing nothing but experiencing one unending chill after another. He’d been cold in England, and again in Italy, and again especially in Austria – both while he was kept in an underground cell, and when he was strapped without cover to the unforgiving metal of Zola’s lab table.
     
    But Steve… Steve Rogers was sunshine. Everything about him was warm, from his crinkly-eyed smile to his white-hot rage. Steve was Coney Island on a summer’s day; lying back on high rooftops to watch fireworks on the 4th of July; drinking stolen whiskey in his parent’s living room…
     
    Loving Steve was a fact – simple and plain, like breathing air or bleeding red; loving Steve was soldered into his skin like a tattoo – it buzzed in his brain like its own kind of high. It was a part of who he was.

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    05 Apr 2016

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    Soon, the predator inside him whispered, he’s going to give in to you.

    Steve turned resigned, determined.

    “Okay,” he took a breath, "I don’t know what the hell is going on or what you did to help me but if I can do the same for you then…” Steve trailed off, sliding his arm through the silver bars and into Bucky’s cell.

    Bucky could have cried. Months he had gone without blood, months.

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    20 Nov 2014