Ru5t - Blog Posts

for a moment, the girl looked as if she were ready to surrender. hands raised, palms forward as her pursuer slowed to a stop just outside her reach. bucky hadn't known exactly what he was going to find when he'd followed the soldiers from their safe house, he'd figured he'd tail them to whatever side hustle they were working. he'd figured out pretty quickly that it was a kidnapping job.

he recognised the look on her face when she finally spoke. defiance woven into the crack of her voice even as stray sparks of electricity rolled up the length of her forearms and tangled around her fingertips. the sparks were fleeting and if he hadn't seen something similar once before, he might have thought it was a trick of the light.

bucky had seen enough.

he dropped down from the fire escape he'd perched himself on, landing silently behind the soldier that had chased her through the streets of the city for almost six blocks. over her pursuers shoulder, he met the girls eye moments before wrapping his arm around the mans neck. the soldier didn't have time to scream, or even to fight. his eyes bulged out of his head, hands floundering for a weapon that bucky quickly snatched out of his waistband. ❝ i like your spunk, kid, ❞ bucky said conversationally as the soldier thrashed in his grip for a few futile seconds, ❝ but there's more where he came from. ❞

@wintrb0rn //> plotting-starter.

  Her run ends at the bricked cap of an old alley, escape ladders too far overhead for her to reach. The only window boarded up. The door she collides with decidedly, firmly locked. She looses several curses and turns to the mouth of the alley as her pursuer makes the corner.

  She takes a step back before she can stop herself, the heel of her shoe grinding against the end of the alley. Then she sets her feet and squares her shoulders. Tucks her chin a little, to keep her focus set and aim the nastiest glare she can get into her sharp eyes down the alley at him.

  His stance reeks soldier, even if the shaggy hair and simple clothes don't. She knows what she knows of the type. Boots and bad tempers. A willingness to throw little girls around because someone with the right number of little embroidered marks on their hat or jacket or whatever the fuck said so. It's the rules. The order. The orders. She brandishes her hands. It almost looks like surrender, fingers and palms wide, but it's a warning.

  “I'm not going back.” One way or another. A few stray sparks flicker up from her elbow and leap for oblivion from her fingertips, so fast and faint it could have been a trick of the light. “Kill me or fuck off, I'm not going back!”