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Any entries earlier than this were pre-reboot.
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[personal profile] regimes_fall
November | A door that leads to a winter cabin

Every door at the Nexus was an unknown quantity, a potential bomb to be diffused, and it unnerved him a little how easily she could step over a threshold. Despite this, he hovered only a moment in the open doorway before stepping down himself.

Ongoing
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[personal profile] grimvisaged
End of February | The Nexus

She is a lifeline, a tether. The knife that slices through the fog obscuring his past. She is not gentle, for all that she tries to be; she is the bullet in the gun he presses knowingly to his own forehead.

Ongoing | R+
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Throughout the day on the 14th, the Nexus staff deliver single roses and accompanying notes to designated hotel guests in celebration of the Valentine's Day holiday. For some, the gesture will be a foregone conclusion; for others, it will be a surprise. For some, they might only guess at who sent them the gift in the first place.


[Comments with deliveries will follow are done. You may reply to yours with a reaction if you like!]
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[personal profile] grimvisaged
Sometime in August | The Nexus

He's stopped looking for Barnes, but he cannot stay away from the man who was his best friend. The thread which connects them is an invisible but unrelenting tug at his heart.

Ongoing
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[personal profile] grimvisaged
Backstory | Soviet Russia

Natalia Romanova is changing shape, from girl to agent to weapon, and he is the maestro of her change.

Adult content

Nov. 9th, 2014 11:40 am
on_your_right: (Sam; grinning)
[personal profile] on_your_right
Sam has never been the best with idle time. He's always wanted to be on the move somehow, be that as an active duty officer or just running around the Mall and being in the hotel makes him a little stir crazy. While he's aware that the current HYDRA situation means he probably shouldn't try to go make himself a hero back home, it leaves him a little at loose ends otherwise.

So he decides to start exploring doors. Some of them are easy enough to figure out - Disneyland is always a classic. Some of them are a hell of a lot more complicated and he's not sure why he decided heading into an unknown jungle was a good idea but now he's deep in the thick of it, the canopy of trees making it where he can't get a good idea of his bearings. The door is long gone, far behind him, and ahead of him is...well shit.

"That is a dinosaur. Dinosaurs are supposed to be dead." Except, apparently, not when you choose the random jungle door and end up in Jurassic Park.

(Sam isn't going to be surprised if someone tells him that it is Jurassic Park. His life is just weird and strange enough for something like that to be an every day occurrence.)

The dinosaur in particular is a T-rex and he thinks, if he keeps very still, maybe he can get out of this one alive. Still, that being said, he wishes he had his wings and some firepower to help even up the odds.
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[personal profile] grimvisaged
Sometime in August | The Nexus

She'd been preparing herself for anything, because at no point had she ever felt that she knew this man well enough to predict him. The vague shapes of her past that triggered all those old feelings of love and pain were just that -- vague. She found herself unable to look away from him while some strange breed of hope took root in her at the fact that he'd finally come to her in her territory. It was all so foolish, and yet she knew, although she could not precisely remember, that being foolish where he was concerned was an old habit.

Even assassins need a haircut on occasion.

Ongoing
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Early May | The Nexus Gardens

"Don't call me that," he says, low but firm, and then swallows hard, jaw flexing. "I'm not him."

This is something he needs to make clear right from the start, despite the undeniable way his body reacts to this man, the way his mind leaps entirely sideways and smears warmth and happiness across his murky memories at the mere sight of him now. He hates it. He loves it. He doesn't know if he can bear it, this resilient echo of James Buchanan Barnes.

Ongoing | Spoilers for CA:TWS
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[personal profile] grimvisaged
Mid-April 2014 | The Nexus

Bucky Barnes left the Nexus, and the Winter Soldier returned in his place.

Ongoing | Spoilers for CA:TWS
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[personal profile] grimvisaged
Idle hands are the devil's playground. It was Sister Mary Theresa who had been obsessed with that particular proverb, like a dog with a damned bone. As a kid, it seemed like Bucky had heard it from her daily, half the time with a good whack across his idle knuckles to drive the point home, and if he thought about it much, he'd probably have to give the old girl at least some credit for the fact that he was crummy at staying still long.

Like now, for example, his idle hands flipping through a magazine instead of holding the rifle they were meant for, the backs of his knuckles itching like they expected a ruler to slap down at any moment. Nearly a month in this place, and he'd been spinning his wheels the whole time, looking for an out that never seemed to turn up. Contrary to popular belief, even a fella like Bucky could only go so long drinking and flirting with pretty girls before his stomach started to sour with guilt. Most nights he spent on the floor beside his high-class bed because the cleanness of the sheets and softness of the pillows kept him up instead of lulling him to sleep.

The real rub, though, was how he felt ungrateful, too, like he was snubbing his nose at a God who'd dropped him in the middle of every childhood fantasy he'd ever had. What did it say about him that he'd rather be in a ditch somewhere getting shot at than have a few weeks of free food, good booze and eye candy? Steve would tell him to be patient, but Bucky'd never been great at that, and seemed to be getting worse by the day.

One of the few things he'd allowed himself to appreciate about the hotel, though, was the future. Not his own future, but the future in general—The technology, the politics, even the way people dressed. He had a telephone in his pocket right now that wasn't attached to anything and still worked. Rang like a real phone and everything. One of his favorite things was plastics, which seemed to be everywhere, from the tiny bottles that held his shampoo to the stir stick he had lifted from the bar and was presently chewing on.

Seated on one of the fancy sofas in the middle of the lobby, Bucky had a copy of Time clamped in his left hand, cover folded back, one booted foot braced against the edge of the coffee table. His expression sharpened on the page and then went slack as he pulled the mangled stir stick from his lips.

"I'll be damned," he said, and then flicked a glance up, peering over the top of the magazine at who had joined him.


[Please make sure you've read this first before deciding to tag in!]
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[personal profile] captain_rogers
There was a second - just a second there in the midst of shaking his head in an attempt to lose some of the sand that had been whipped up into his face by the harsh wind of a Kansas summer - where Steve stood entirely unaware of the shift of the world around him. In expecting the change in temperature, the shelter from the wind and the dust, he had not immediately thought that he walked through the door not of the run down diner just west of Ellis but into another world entirely.

Busy with the task of clearing his eyes of that sudden burst of sand and grit, the door slipped from his hand to close heavily behind him.

He did not think immediately of its consequences, not as he allowed the pleasant drag of a long ride to settle into the shrug of his shoulders and the feel of his back and arms as he shifted the helmet he carried under one arm. The long weeks on the road had not so much bred an easiness in him as it allowed him room to breathe, to think, to be able to look at the world as had been built around his sleeping body as being anything other than a discomfort or intrusion. It had not, unfortunately, kept him from understanding, as he gave one last rub of a hand over his eyes to open them and blink at the surroundings he found himself in, that he was not in the diner he'd spotted just off the road.

There were, for one, no green vinyl booths that had looked shabby even through a dusty window. No checkered flooring. No beleaguered heavy-set woman with a red-painted scowl or scuffed from the road customers. All this was obvious for the fact that he stood on the polished wooden floor of a grand lobby that put everything but Stark Towers to shame.

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