#bucky's pain is my pain..

[buckydeservesthebest]

I will never forgive Zemo for all the horrible things he said to Bucky... it breaks my heart that deep down he felt the Winter Soldier was still there... Even the Winter Soldier himself was a victim as well 😭😭😭😭💔💔💔💔

"It didn't take much for him to fall back into form"

[maplefiasco]

Steve's choices / Bucky's lack thereof

[onelungmcclung]

- Should I sing? - No.

[johnslittlespoon]

i just finished the prologue of the mota book and i don't know how i haven't seen a single post talking about how after john and gale's stalag reunion, they were then separated for another four months.

my heart is aching so bad. imagine being reunited (after almost three weeks, oct 8–26th) and having that tiny feeling of 'everything is going to be okay' and then being ripped apart again for four fucking months. 120 more days of not being able to be at each other's sides.

[avonne-writes]

thinking about how buck wouldn’t share a bed with anyone because he wouldn’t feel comfortable being in that close proximity to anyone even if all the other guys are doing it. until bucky shows up and now he can finally be warm and have a comfortable sleep.

It takes Bucky about a week in the camp to recover enough of his personality to socialize. He was a shell of himself for what feels like forever, but getting Gale back was like getting a second chance at life. He can feel himself healing with every hug, every touch of Gale's hand, every warm look. By the end of the week, he’s well enough to open up to some of the younger guys who don’t know him but who, for one reason or another, joined his ragtag team of friends.

They're watching a soccer game outside, soaking in the sunshine. Gale refused to come and decided to stay behind reading instead, but already after one week, Bucky wonders how long his dislike of sports will win over the boredom of camp life. Watching these games are one of the few things that bring a smile to Bucky's face here.

"God, I wish I could bottle this up." One of the boys, Alan or something, sighs as he tilts his head back in the sun.

"It gets so freakin' cold at night that if I don’t share my bunk with this moron -" He shoves his friend, some short, tan guy called Billy, who pushes him back with a smile. "- then I can’t sleep from my teeth chattering. And it's not even winter yet."

"I don't know how Cleven does it."

Bucky's interest perks up. "Does what?"

"Sleeping alone." Alan explains.

Billy shakes his head. "That man's made of stone or something."

"Buck doesn’t sleep alone." Bucky says.

He’d know, given that he spent every single night since he arrived pressed to him head to toe. The first few times, when Bucky was really bad off and wasn't sure if he'd recover, Gale would spoon him from behind, his hand splayed over Bucky's heart. Nowadays, he's back to being the little spoon, which Bucky likes even more, because it lets him feel like he can put himself between Gale and the rest of the world.

"He did when we got here. Before we were sorted apart." Alan makes a contemplative face. "Wasn't real keen on getting close and personal with us."

"He just didn't like your ugly mug." Billy teases and gets another friendly shove for it.

"I wonder who shares with him."

Bucky raises his eyebrows at the boys, the corners of his lips twitching to smirk. "Me."

He doesn’t know what's more amusing, the look of utter admiration on the two boys' faces or the way Gale reacts half an hour later, when Bucky interrupts his reading to tell him what interesting rumours he heard.

[hogans-heroes]

“Do you know how to tell someone’s broken, just by looking at them?”

[sapphirerogers]

Thought I had after reading a bunch of headcanons from @16woodsequ

I think the greatest tragedy of Steve Rogers' life is not the pain he suffered as a child, or the abuse from his father, or the grief of losing people or the tiredness of always having to fight.

The greatest tragedy of Steve Rogers' life is everyone around him knowing him, but simultaneously also ignoring him. Yes, Captain America is famous, he's admired/hated (depends on where you're standing). He's talked about often, asked for advice and leadership, he gets privileges too.

But no one really knows him. No one knows just how hurt he is. How *lonely* he is. How distrustful he is. How anxious and scared he is. No one bothers to find out either.

There's a reason he wanted someone with shared life experiences. Nat may try to get to know him, sympathise with him. Sam - bless his soul - tries his best but even as a veteran himself, he can't really understand everything about Steve Rogers, because a) he hasn't witnessed Steve's entire life, and b) Steve is extremely reserved, both by nature and out of trust issues.

As for everyone else, his teammates aren't nearly close enough to him, and everyone else simply doesn't care.

Everyone knows Captain America but not a single soul knows, or cares about Steven Grant Rogers.

Except...

Except for maybe that one boy who stuck with him and fought off the bullies and patched him up later. The boy who grew up with him and watched him grow up while tackling everything life was throwing. The boy who later on became the man who followed him into the jaws of death (quite literally). The boy who, as far as Steve knew, was now at the bottom of an abyss in the Alps. The boy who he had nothing left of, except dog tags and his own faded pencil sketches.

The boy whose name was James Buchanan Barnes.

[wexhappyxfew]

uh hi so yeah upcoming kennedy x bucky piece with this vibe of the stalag? post whatever-they-were-doing-in-that-last-piece:

"Whatcha doing in here all alone?" Kennedy said, some of the voices outside coming through the walls, the sunshine coming in through the hazy window, half-reflecting off of Bucky's face as such that made his skin glow in a way it hadn't in a whole, "I was looking for you." At those words, the corner of Bucky's lips curled upwards a bit. She always seemed to get him to grin.

"Just doing some thinking." Bucky said slowly, a nod to follow, "In my thinking spot." Kennedy chuckled and stepped into the room more, shoving her hands in the pockets of her poor, tattered A2.

"In your thinking spot, huh?" Kennedy said, tilting her head to the side, a small smile on her face, "What's bouncing around in your brain?" Bucky watched her deeply for a moment; it felt like he was looking at her as intently as he could, as if memorizing her face, her dimples, her freckles, her hair the way it was (and it wasn't pretty). He seemed distracted, off-guard, on the low. Her smile fell and instead, worry began to consume her.

Bucky was usually far from the person sitting in front of her now. Her heart pounded a bit. Moving closer, Bucky looked up at her as she came to stand beside him - she offered an attempt at another smile - before reaching forward and running her fingers over those few loose, wild curls of hair against his forehead.

"What's going on?" she asked quietly, a bit more urgency to her voice, retracting her hand, the touch having been, evidently, both gentle and welcome, "You're never this quiet, Bucky, you're worrying me."

[nyxstyxsstuff]

How it started

How it went

And how it's going 💞💞💞

A friend sent a picture of a book called Boys Are Poisonous, and my brain ran with the idea until I started drawing Snakeboy Steve Rogers. Now I'm 3 days into drawing this, and I have an entire AU fic idea lined up. I am so proud of how soft I made Steve look in this ❣️

[princessconsuelapark]

metal skin by nowhere_blake

James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers & Dog Tags & Jewish Bucky Barnes & Established Relationship & Bucky Barnes Recovering & Supportive Sam Wilson

He shrugs again. ‘It’s not on my record. Have Protestant on my dog tags in case of capture. It was what we did,’ he says, more offhand than he feels, and he’s not sure if that’s a lie or not. It was certainly what he did. But he doesn’t have it in himself to feel cowardly about it anymore. He was trying to get home to Steve. He knows he would make the same choice over and over again if he had to. OR Bucky lies about his next of kin for his dog tags, and things kind of spiral from there.

[onceuponastory]

defiance - the winter soldier

Plot: The Winter Soldier tries to defy his handlers. Warnings: The Winter Soldier/Bucky being mind wiped, abused, tortured, drugged and having his identity stripped from him. Also has mentions of violence, pain, blood and injury/bruises. Nothing too graphic, but even so. Also Alexander Pierce and HYDRA, because they're warnings all on their own. Please use your own discretion. But as always, if I miss any triggers, please let me know. Notes: This is for @whumptober Day 11: "All The Lights Going Dark and My Hope's Destroyed." I also combined it with the bonus prompt captivity. Someone PLEASE give Bucky a break.

Not beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

It’s cold. That’s the first thing he thinks, even as they force him back in the chair, the metal chain clamping around his ankles… it's too cold in here, much colder than it usually is. Goosebumps run up his arm, the hairs sticking up. The Winter Soldier watches, slightly intrigued by the sensation. His body feels so new, so different. He practically discovers new things about it every day. Despite having his metal arm for as long as he can remember, he still struggles to get used to it.

Sometimes though, he sees a flash of a memory through his mind. One of a happy and much younger version of himself. But when he tries to recall the rest, there’s only empty space, static where there should be words, voices, people. He glances around the room, watching as the agents continue on with their routine. The man with the clipboard is back, chatting with another agent. The Winter Soldier doesn’t know their names. He doesn't know his own name, or if he even had a name. He’s just The Winter Soldier. Despite being HYDRA’s best weapon, and their pride and joy… he’s still not important enough to know anyone’s name.

“Why is that? How is that fair?” He thinks, the sudden words making his brow furrow. He’s not supposed to challenge them, or dare question their work. The same work that saved him from certain death at the hands of the enemy and made him into HYDRA's prized weapon. He’s stronger and quicker than ever, an extremely skilled marksman who also excels at hand to hand combat. And all because HYDRA saved him and took him under their wing.

Or at least, that’s what they told him happened.

“Bucky! No!” a voice shouts in his mind, so loud it's as if the person is right there with him, and he flinches.

“Who is Bucky? Why is that name so-”

But as he tries to pinpoint who the voice belongs to, or when those words were said... all he finds is empty space.

Suddenly, the man with the clipboard is standing right beside him, his unexpected arrival making him jump. He adjusts his glasses, checking the Winter Soldier’s vitals before the procedure. The same procedure he’s gone through countless other times before. The burn marks on his temples throb in anticipation, a harsh reminder of what’s coming. And he braces himself, ready for the pain.

He fucking hates this procedure.

“So why do you let them do it to you?” The question throws him, and he frowns, brows drawn together in confusion. He’s right. Why does he sit back and let them treat him like this? They keep telling him how grateful to him they are, and how useful his work is to them… but that doesn’t excuse the pain they unleash on him. Surely there's another, better way to do this.

So, when the man with the clipboard comes back for his final check, the Winter Soldier speaks. “No.” His voice is so quiet the man doesn’t hear him, and he frowns.

“Excuse me?”

“No.” He repeats, this time more forcefully. “I don’t want the procedure.”

In response, the man gasps, his face paling. He rifles through his notes, unsure of how to react. After all, their prized soldier has never defied an order before. They trained him to be compliant. To do what they say and not fight back. It’s what he does every time.

But this time, he doesn’t want to. It feels wrong. He doesn’t want to just grit his teeth and survive like he’s used to doing. To wake up each day to new bruises and wounds on his body, ones he can’t remember getting, and just accept them as part of the job, because HYDRA said so. He wants to live and find things out for himself. On his own terms.

So when the man leans in again with a syringe, the Winter Soldier grabs his arm, wrenching it away from him. The man cries out in pain, and others rush up to them, trying to hold the Winter Soldier down. Yet, he keeps fighting, pushing against the men with all his might, showing the full range of strength HYDRA gave to him. After all, they trained him to use it on his enemies, and anyone who would hurt him.

They just never expected him to use it against them.

The fight continues, a bloody blur of fists and pain. And for a while, it seems like the Winter Soldier has the upper hand. Until a door opens and an all too familiar voice speaks. One that strikes fear into the Winter Soldier’s heart.

“What is going on here?” The question stuns the Winter Soldier for a moment, and the agents take the opportunity to grab him, pulling him back into the chair and locking the restraints around his arms. He lashes out, trying to wrench his arm free, but he’s pinned down too tightly.

Must get out.

Must fight back.

He pulls with all his might, straining and pushing his metal arm to the limit. The second he gets out of here, they’re going to pay. A grinding noise fills the air, the sound of metal against metal. Nothing budges. but he keeps going, refusing to let them win. Another agent approaches. "No." He repeats, hissing and growling at them like some sort of caged animal. He contorts his body, twisting and turning as he tries with all his might to get away from them. Unfortunately though, he's tied down too tightly, limiting his movements. Something stabs him in his human arm, and he turns just in time to see a syringe being pulled out. A man steps forward.

“Mister Pierce, sir….” An agent tries to explain, but Pierce shakes his head, a disapproving look on his face.

“Shut up. This shouldn’t have happened again.” He hisses, his voice just loud enough for the soldier to pick up.

“Again? But I’ve never disobeyed orders before… What does he mean, ‘again’? Have I done this before? Why don’t I remember it? What happened to me?”

Pierce steps forward, keeping a steely gaze fixed on the soldier. “What happened?” He asks, bending down so he’s eye level with him now. Yet it still feels like he’s talking to him like he’s a child.

“I didn’t want the procedure.” He murmurs. He hates how quiet and guilty his voice sounds then, like he’s already ashamed for what he’s done. When he should be burning this place to the ground for all they’ve done to him.

“I’m sorry?” Pierce frowns. “You… didn’t want the procedure?” He repeats. “But that procedure helps you do all our great work. It helped you shape the century!” He chuckles, as if he can’t believe why he would ever turn down the chance to make a difference in the world. Those words used to make him feel incredibly guilty, make him stop fighting and do what they asked. But now, they’re not enough.

“It hurts. I don’t want it to hurt.” Pierce rolls his eyes, making the Winter Soldier even angrier. How dare he mock his pain? He grunts under his restraints, trying to wrench his metal arm free. But he can start to feel the effects of whatever they injected him with now... his mind is hazy, and his vision is starting to blur a little. It must be some kind of sedative. He groans, his body feeling like it weighs a hundred pounds.

And he stops fighting.

“Good try by the way, but our restraints are strong enough to withstand you.” Pierce grins.

"Bucky!" The voice speaks again. He still can't register who it is, or who this Bucky even is. His wary gaze is fixed on Pierce, who just keeps staring at him with those beady little eyes. Honestly, he just wants to rip them out of his skull. And then, the horrible realisation that he’s going to be stuck here forever slowly sinks in, seeping through his entire body.

“Please….” He speaks, his voice strained. Tears spring at his eyes, despite his furious attempts to prevent them from seeing his pain. Because then they’ll know they’ve won. “I just don’t want it to hurt anymore.” He murmurs. Pierce steps forward, and for a moment the soldier thinks he might have a chance here. Maybe his attempts have broken through his hard exterior?

The slap that hits him soon erases all thought of that. His cheek burns and stings with the pain, and for a moment a dull buzzing fills his ears. He blinks, gasping. They’ve struck him before. He knows this. But it’s never been with such force, such ferocity… or been left so stunned afterwards.

“Don’t ever disobey me again.” Pierce warns, his voice low and threatening. “Wipe him and start over.” He huffs, walking out of the room. Something burns deep inside the Winter Soldier’s gut, willing him to keep going, to fight back, and tell them that if they ever touch him again, he’s going to make them pay.

But the ferocity of his slap stuns him into silence, and the sedative flowing through his system is preventing him for doing much else. And before he can even react, he’s being strapped in even tighter, and the familiar hum of the machine sounds, reverberating throughout his body. And he’s trapped once more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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[shurisneakers]

Sup babygirl

sup shawty

[holistic-alcoholic]

some post-cw Bucky pain with pre-WI vibes!

The kindest thing would have been to let me die, he thinks, and it doesn’t fill him with dread or fear. He has no fear for death: it means peace and blackness and an end. He doesn’t believe in hell, too — or, more accurately, he does but is too familiar with it, and there’s no chance he lets anyone drag him back there again.

He doesn’t think that he deserves death, though.

What is he? A body of Bucky Barnes, long dead, reanimated and reworked, depraved and changed. A soul transformed too much, burnt and subsided, fitted to the atrocities of HYDRA. He is a Frankenstein’s creature, rebelled against his masters. He’s Cain, left to wander with memory of blood over his hands.

The kindest thing would be his death — but it would be a kindness done to him.

And yet; Stark’s rage is a primal force, purifying in its swiftness. But there’s no end in sight, no easy resolution: Steve is with him, fighting for him, willing him to be alive, and he — the man who lives in Bucky’s skin and soul — he fights back. They are all alive, as it ends. Nobody gets what they deserve; nobody deserves what they are left with.

Existence is a painful mistress, enticing but with a proclivity for hurt. He lives, accepts the name that Steve puts on him, takes the help given.

Bucky is a shadow of a monster. He’s a beast chained, living in stagnation, waiting for sentence to be carried. Yet, life disappoints him.

There is no sentence, no judgement; just life, uninterrupted, freedom granted. A chance to prove himself if not innocent then useful — a place in the team. Being a weapon yet again but out of his own volition — in hands of people that he trusts. Does he?

His therapist, government- or Stark-mandated, talks to him about agency, which only makes him laugh — there’s nothing to this word. World has complicated itself enough so that the choices lost their meaning. He is of little use if he doesn’t wield a weapon — there’s no choice. He has just this one option for atonement.

And so he does it, despite the horror in his blood, the fact that mirrors sometimes show him a monster, inhuman, beastly, agonized. He lets himself to be used and hopes that it would be enough. He knows it won’t. There’s too much grief caused by his hands, too many deaths he caused.

There’s one mercy, one stability to this: the lack of kindness — of anything — from Stark. They never talk, rarely keep to the same room, and Bucky’s glad — grateful to feel the animosity and hate and grief. That’s what he earned. That’s what is right, not like Steve’s stubborn acceptance or his friends’ pity. That is the only aspect of his life that he can bear — but then it breaks, for Bucky meets Stark one night, with lights dimmed and nightmares just waiting for their victims, and Stark is merciful. He talks to Bucky, in voice strained but words kind, an olive branch in palm. He talks, and Bucky cannot deal with this: with his eyes, dark but understanding, with a whiff of humor, with— absolution.

He runs. Stark is left behind him, hand outstretched, his expression burnt in Bucky’s memory, and — the worst thing — it speaks of kindness.

The thing that lives in Bucky’s flesh and haunts Bucky’s soul runs to its room, locks itself inside and cries.

There’s only him who hasn’t yet found the forgiveness for himself.

[purple--queen]

not one day passes by where i don't think about the Winterhawk idea of Clint being a vampire who gets hurt on a mission with bucky & the only thing that would help him would be getting blood but Buckys chemical changed blood makes him sick so it would just make everthing worse....

[hogans-heroes]

https://www.tumblr.com/hogans-heroes/744793903614640128/we-as-a-fandom-have-not-explored-throughly-enough

hi! we as a fandom have all collectively chosen NOT to explore this because it would be detrimental to my mental health. hope this helps! x

About this post

Honey don’t pretend we all didn’t gladly sacrifice our mental health on the altar of the feels gods the moment these two came on screen lol

It’s too late fam, that ship has SAILED

[just-spacetrash]

🦾