redwhiteandbruised

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|| because bucky is always (despite my best attempts) low activity / there seems to be low interest in people interacting with him, i’m thinking of moving him over to my multimuse. please poke this if you would be interested in writing with him over there and i’ll add you. (reposting a few times to gauge interest. i might keep him separate on here, but i would definitely keep this as an archive no matter what.)

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BUCKY BARNES The Falcon and The Winter Soldier → “The Star-Spangled Man“

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This is so, so important. TFatWS spoilers.

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TFATWS - NEW WORLD ORDER (1x01)

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saving the world, one distraction at a time

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Say whatever you want but damn these vampires are thirsty af for Steve Rogers and honestly who blames them

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You sound like my dad.

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castlcd​:

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It’s a slate. 

Some people, maybe they’d see an apartment: brand new; barely lived in. Others would kick off about the bare walls, compare it to the inside of your skull; tut over whether the lack of fruit bowls meant you were more a risk to society than someone who sat a fucking orange in the center of the coffee table. 

To Frank, the place is bare and smart: somewhere to sleep, shower, take a piss; designed to be wiped clean and emptied out in 10 minutes or less. It’s not paranoia when someone’s got the kinda heat and attention Barnes does. 

Checking in with the head-shrinkers every 24h like they knew shit. Tagged like some common perp.

– not a choice he’d make. Not a choice he agreed with. But not his choice.

Frank dropped his jacket over the couch back, eyes subconsciously trailing along the ceiling for cameras. Figured Barnes would know where they were; figured he wouldn’t invite him here if they weren’t accounted for. ( Habits still died hard. )

“ – nice place. They give you a pension with that pardon?”

The freedom was more than he deserved, even if that freedom was thoroughly conditional and came with more clauses than a corporate disclaimer. Bucky had never expected to be allowed anything other than to rot in a box somewhere for the crimes he’d been used to commit.

There was a part of him that bridled at swallowing the full guilt - the full responsibility - for things he’d never stop having nightmares about, lives he’d never have taken of his own volition, choices that’d been made for him and about him and blood that stained him, only him, and never seeped into the cuffs of the handlers who pulled his trigger. Nobody else was willing to own that guilt, so it was his to choke on.

Bucky jerked his chin slightly to the space between where the open-plan kitchen’s cabinet ended and what was meant to be a living room wall began. (What people these days had against separate rooms, separate spaces, was beyond him. He hated feeling exposed, and he sure as hell hated the smell of cooking following him around the entire place.) The camera was just subtle enough that a civvy would think it was part of the trim, but obvious enough once you knew what you were looking for.

“I killed the mics; they haven’t bothered replacing ‘em.” Not that he didn’t check. “Stay away from the fridge/sink/microwave triangle. There’s more eyes in the bedroom.” It explained the pile of blankets on the floor, between the TV and couch. “Guess they think I’m gonna get creative with a garlic press or decide to dive out the bedroom window specifically.” He sucked air through his teeth. “Pardon’s for heroes, Castle. I’m on permanent probation. Beats the alternatives, though.” I guess.

The fridge was empty except for a bottle of mustard and four bottles of lager. Bucky snagged two of the beers, used the cap of one to open the other out of habit, then flicked the second cap off using his metal thumb before passing the bottle to Frank.

“There was some sort of Tony Stark memorial fund for heroes in financial straits. I declined.” Bucky swallowed the grimace down with some beer. “I don’t need much.” The irony of that, considering how much the apartment must be worth, wasn’t lost on him. But that was conditional, too: an open-air prison cell where he could be kept under observation. Contained. The very thought made his skin crawl. “Things good?”

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// like honestly if you’re thirsty for zemo kindly fuck off? it’s like the new version of rumlow stans. y’all need to not.

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This just in: local man has his memory wiped; forgets he’s gay

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no offense but bucky not remembering what he does as the winter soldier makes his & sam’s rivalry so much funnier

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a mood

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Concept: Some jackass shows Bucky how to make a blog and it becomes really popular. Not because it’s the blog of James Buchanan Barnes, American Legend, War Hero, Infamous Assassin, Alleged Terrorist. Nobody even knows it’s his blog. It gets really popular because people think it’s a really great shitpost generator or something. Because Bucky is just a Weird Fucking Person and everything he posts on his fucking personal blog comes off as somewhere between dril and Jaden Smith and people are like “this is some quality garbage right here” and thus Accidental Memelord Bucky is born.

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Steve to Hydra: The assassin you sent started a family with me.

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Your Bucky

I’d made fanart for almost every mcu movie before infinity war hit the theatres. The First Avenger was the only case where I made 3 pieces. My love for Cap and Bucky and Peggy knows no bounds.