#hydra mcu

[mohish-ko]

★"A This is not a drill. Containment breach detected.

Repeat: CODE RED!"★

[fizz-pop-thwip]

I struggle thinking about non consensual human experimentation as a whole, but what happened to Bucky really it does just make me sick.

To start, think of how his stomach dropped when he fell from the train, the fucking fear knowing you're dead. You have 2 seconds and then your dead, this is it.

Then you wake up to 1) being alive, horrifically unaware of the 70 years of hell ahead of you and 2) your arm being not only surgically removed but replaced with a metal arm, a foreign body, a parasite. You fight because what else are you ment to do? But you fall unconscious again.

You wake up to days and days of torment and torture and slowly loose hope that it will ever end, that you'll ever be saved. He didn't know that Steve was dead, how long did he yearn for Steve to find him? How mad did he get? Did he punch the wall, did he scream? Did they have to sedate him because of just how psychotic that made him? How fucking manic he would go?

How long till he lost all feeling, all emotion and hope?

When they started putting him in the chair, did he scream and cry? Did he beg for anything else? Any thing, anything, fucking anything. Did he beg for death? Did he feel himself slowly lose all of his memory, did he sob when he first couldn't picture Steve's face, or when he could remember the most important person in the world, but not a name or a background or a face, not a crumb.

The first time he's put in cryo freeze, does he remember his reflection? Seconds before he fell unconscious, never knowing how long it would be before he woke up again. Did he wake up, begging to just be put back in, the closest fate to death he could ever achieve? The closest thing to mercy? Does he catch himself falling asleep at night and wake up in tears, not even sure if it's been 20 minutes of 20 years.

Did his crys for help fall on the shiney leather shoes of scientists who showed no emotion, did he question if he was even human to begin with? Surely a human would be treated with even a fraction of care. No one treated like this was born from a mother, no one treated like this was ever looked at with maternal love.

He stopped feeling like a person, he didn't even remember he was a person. When things seeped though it just hurt, they hurt him, it made it worse. So he stopped it, he wouldn't let himself. It was impossible to live. He had no coping mechanisms, no outlet, he would show any signs of struggle and be hurt for showing humanity. He had to be what they wanted.

Even after he was broken in, no crying anymore. No begging for mercy. Did he spend his nights awake, just TRYING to remember what he forgot, FEELING the missing spots in his mind? Did he hold that metal arm close because he can't even remember how he got it anymore, all he knows is it makes his shoulders ache.

He was completely and utterly trapped, the more he suppressed, even the minor shards he remembered, the more mania he would experience.

Even once he's free, how do you come back from that, even if it was just a mental thing, the physical, real DAMAGE to his brain was enough to make him never heal again. Bucky is a walking fucking miracle and maybe THE survivor.

He is going to have memory problems, severly. He is going to have intense PTSD flashbacks, total hallucination level, breakdowns. Seriously, this level of trauma is NEVER leaving him, not fully. Phantom pains, endless nightmares, coping mechanisms that don't make sense but comfort him none the less.

He's going to have periods of times where he can't even stand being touched, not Steve, not anyone. Weeks where he can't shower or move out of a space his brain has deemed safe for fear of being hurt. Scratches at the seam between his flesh and the metal of arm, wanting it off, wanting it away from him. Again does it necessarily make sense logically? NO!! but does he feel it 100%? Yes!!

He gets better, his bad periods get less intense, more far in between but they never fully go away. As fuckimg depressing as it is, hydra made a permanent mark on his psyche. It's FUCKED.

Gods strongest soldier is Bucky Barnes.

[gracepureautumn]

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mission Control 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

That day, the bus is mostly empty. It's only you, an eldery couple, and the driver. The ebb and flow of traffic slows the wheels as the driver passes by vacant stops. You watch the pavement roll by between patches of grass. 

The dulcet ride lures you into a calm even as your pre-work nerves buzz. You hug your bag in your lap as the driver stops and the doors open to let in another passenger. The axel squeals as the vehicular behemoth pulls away from the curb. 

You continue to watch the city as the new rider strides between the seats. You sense their shadow loom closer and closer. You expect them to claim the empty seat across from yours. Instead, the sit right next to you. It's an odd choice given the few passengers aboard. 

You fidget and make yourself smaller. You turn your head straight as you try to see the stranger from the edge of your vision. They're big. Broad enough that their arm presses to yours even as you try to shrink into yourself. Tall too, his knees against the row in front of you. 

He sits rigidly beside you. Uneasy at his proximity, you fish into your side pocket and slide free your phone. You open it aimlessly, tapping habitually on the crossword app you play at work in the low times. 

The solutions elude you as your mind can't detach from the man crowding you into the window. Why can't he sit anywhere else? You look around at the unclaimed seats. He stays as he is, stiff, straight, unmoving. 

You close out of the came and lock your phone. You clasp your hand around the device as you hug your bag once more. Your other hand toys with the little pom pom that hangs from your zipper. 

The bright bus signs pass by. You're stop is coming up. Now is the awkward part. Getting the man to let you out. 

You pull the cord to signal your intent but he's already on his feet. You glance over and thank him softly, a brief glimpse at his face. A scar ripples from his hairline, through his temple and angles down his cheek to his jaw. His eyes are a bold blue and his nose finely cut despite the large blemish.  

He stands back as you grab your bag and sidle out. You go to the doors. He follows. 

Huh? 

He grips the yellow bar behind you, his large hand gripping as if he might crush the metal. You stare at his knuckles and the bus jerks to a stop. You nearly fall off your feet. The man catches you by your hip with his free hand. 

You set your feet and cough out another thanks. Embarrassed, you slap the doors and they open. You scurry off and the men once more trails after you. As you veer towards the mall, he waits until the bus takes off and crosses the street. With him, your suspicious leaves. 

You're frazzled as you enter work. You don't know why. You just... are. Something about that man sticks with you. Even if he never said a word, it felt like he was trying to tell you something. 

You clock in and try to shake it off. His face flashes in your mind. You can't place what seems so familiar about him. You would remember if you met him before. How could you forget? 

You go to the counter as Layton talks with a customer about the new seasonal blends. The tea shop has its peak times, especially as winter approaches, but it's one o clock on a Tuesday and that's never very busy anywhere. 

You greet the next customers. Two girls interested in the cold brew pots. You show them what you have and explain the store's points card. The buy a sampler and nothing else. Typical. 

Layton finishes at four. The traffic picks up once he's gone. You don't mind as it keeps the time moving. It peters out as the dinnertime rush fills the food court. You can hear the crowd from around the corner. 

You set to wiping down the counter and putting away the few stray canisters left out. As you turn back, you have to swallow down a shriek. You didn't hear the man over the mall's top hits playlist. 

You hesitate as your eyes meet. It's him. The man from the bus. You blink and press your lips together. 

"Hello, uh, how are you today?" You ask.  

He just stares. No answer. No sign he even heard you. 

He's in all black. Boots, jeans, cargo jacket. He stands like a soldier. You part your lips again, "are you looking for anything in particular? Today we have our apple crisp chai as the sample." 

He still doesn't react. Not more than his eyes falling to the nervous twiddle of your fingers on the counter. Your scalp prickles and your nape burns. If he keeps this up, you'll have to phone security. 

He raises his hand to reveal a familiar object. It's the fluffy pom pom from your bag. Your brows pop up, "oh? Thanks. It must have fallen off." 

You reach for it and your mind races. As nice as it is to return the key chain, you can't help but wonder. How did he know where to find you?

As you grasp the soft ball, his other hand comes up and snares your wrist. Your squeak and try to pull back. You're stuck in his grip.  

Your eyes round and flick up to meet his. His gaze bores into you and at last, his stony expression cracks. He smirks, the scar on the side of his face paling as the lines around his eyes deepen. He releases the keychain and grabs a fistful of your hair. 

"Ow!" You squeal and yank again.  

He rips your hair out at the roots and you exclaim again. Hets go of your arm and you hit the shelves behind you. He nods and spins on his heel, clutching the handful of your hair.  

You whimper and rub your head as your scalp burns. Your eyes water and your lip trembles. You just gape at the door. What just happened? 

[multiverse-peterbparker]

OPEN RP, PLEASE JOIN

Peter was breathing heavily, ducking behind an abandoned car and pulling off his mask. Behind him was the spitfire of gunshots, rapid and close. They hit the car. Peter honestly didn’t know what had happened. All he knew is that the multiverse portal thing was open again, pulling people to his universe, and there were some weird alien forces— working with HYDRA— to try and take over… starting with New York. He didn’t know what he was doing, but he sure as hell knew he wasn’t going to let them win… now he just had to figure out a plan.

—-

The situation: Hydra is in New York and is working with a mysterious alien army similar to how Loki had worked with the Chitauri. HYDRA is trying to take over the states again, one state at a time, and they started with New York since that’s where their biggest threats are. The portal that once dragged Peter 2 and 3 is open again, and it’s kind of a chaotic mess.

//So sorry, I see people tag for open roleplays so… I’m gonna do that too!//

@the-ironman @thatone-spidey @just-that-parker-girl @we-love-redwing @serenastark-official @proud-owner-0f-americas-ass @official-buckybarnes @the-amazing-bugboy

[annafacose]

~ the weight of his hands ~

Full version on patrəon 🐙

[ivysos2001]

Catws is such an important movie and we can never talk about it enough

This movie is literally about a nazi terrorist regime that successfully infiltrates the us government and tries to take over everything but their plans are stopped *not just by the avengers in the movie* but by so many regular everyday people deciding to stand up to hydra’s demands, planting their feet and telling them no

It’s that guy at the computer who, gun to his head and with tears in his eyes, still refuses to launch the helicarriers

It’s the security officers all around the triskellion that are outnumbered and outgunned but still choose to fight hydra bc it’s the right thing to do

It’s Sharon Carter refusing to blindly follow orders from her superiors when they seem worthy of questioning (even before hydra was unmasked)

It’s even the high ranking political officers that oversee shield that blatantly refuse Pierce’s offers to join him in his plans for ultimate control

When Steve and Natasha talk to Zola he literally spells it out for them that hydra has been using fear to control people and make them desperate and afraid enough to willingly sacrifice their own freedom

But while all of the people in this movie are visibly shaken and afraid they also actively choose to not give in to it and decide to fight for what they know is right

This movie is so important bc in some ways (big or small) we’re all that guy in the chair- and our choices will always matter 💙

[marvel-lous-guy]

Tony: what the hell were you thinking!?

Peter: Obviously I was thinking I would get away with it and wouldn't have to explain myself!

[bucky-obsessed]

He just wanted plums!

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

Mission Control Masterlist

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

Status: In Progress

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[notquitebuckybarnes]

Open Roleplay Starter

(TW: mental breakdown, vague bit of self-harm and small description of suicidal thoughts)

Bucky sat in a dirty alleyway, shadows swallowing his form so he wasn't to be seen. Something that he wanted right now. No, he needed it. If nobody saw him — noticed him in general — then he couldn't do more damage at least. God, he wasn't even sure in which country he was right now. What he knew through was that his head hurt like someone had tried to split it open from the inside. He knew what that meant and feeled like he would vomit yet nothing came out. He lifted his right hand, fingers burying itself in his scalp. It had happened again. HYDRA. The trigger words. It didn't matter what Bucky did. He always hurt someone. Over and over again.

He squeezed his eyes shut, tears escaping nonethelessly at the side of his face and dropped to the ground. He had brought Viktor Malric Finn and Callum and even another variant of himself that also had the trigger words. His titanium hand fisted the fabric of his dark combat pants. Viktor had given it to him so he would be 'proper equipped'. Yet another thing on the repeating list. How often would such things happen, would someone use this goddamn words? What if next time he wouldn't ''only'' abduct and imprison minors and variants, but kill again?

... Perhaps Steve had been good to leave. Perhaps it would be better for everyone if Bucky would just rot in some high security cell of some government. Or just would end it all together.

He couldn't hurt anyone then anymore. Not as the Winter Soldier, not as Bucky and not intentional or unintentionally. Never again.

Yeah, that sounded like a responsible idea.

((@ireallyliketacosokay and at everyone who wants or thinks about to join: Just do it!))

[mohish-ko]

★ "Especially when I feel lost" ★

[velvet4510]

Here’s my rebuttal to the common Avengers: Endgame compliant that “Steve would never settle down with Peggy in the 40s while knowing Bucky was being tortured by HYDRA at that time.”

Who says he didn’t save Bucky??

Steve knew that time-traveling to reunite with Peggy would create an alternate timeline and not affect the reality he’d been living in. All we see of his branched timeline is a moment where he danced with Peggy. How are we supposed to assume exactly how his life unfolded, when all we see of it is thirty seconds of them dancing one day? There is no evidence to support the notion that he didn’t tell Peggy about HYDRA and they didn’t rescue Bucky, before or after the dance.

[gracepureautumn]

“What you did all those years, it wasn't you. You didn't have a choice.”

“I know... but I did it.”

More will be added to this illustration, keep an eye out for it 🎨

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mission Control 7

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your captor drags you up the bed. You surrender as reality hits you. That's what he is. He has taken you. You can only let him move you as you’re subdued by his easy strength. He puts your head on a pillow and lays himself next to you. 

He draws you against him. The thin nightgown does little against his rampant heat as it seeps into you. You lay in his rigid embrace and close your eyes. You’re too afraid to acknowledge the world around you. 

He brings his large hand up to the of your face and cradles it. He presses his nose to your other temple and puffs hotly down your check. The long drone rolls through you. You are as still as he is, locked in his unspoken intent. 

The long trek aches in your legs and back. Your body eases out of exhaustion and you sink down into the mattress. His breath evens out and his touch softens. He sleeps but you still don’t dare to pull away. 

You drift into a layer of unconsciousness that keeps you eerily aware of your surroundings. You are in that room but you’re not. Your head swims and your body fills with sand but your mind will not rest. 

You come to with a twitch. You bat your lashes as the man’s hand lays just below your chest. Low, rocky snores trickle up his throat. You peek over. That alone is the singular strand of humanity you’ve witnessed in his. 

Your eyes scan down his thick arm. Scars this way and that, some faint, others bolder. You bend your arm as you examine on in particular, right around the top of his shoulder, from chest around to his back. It looks as if his arm was near severed off. How could anyone survive that? 

Unthinking, hypnotised by the torture etched in his flesh, you touch the thick scar. It’s slightly raised and hard. You brush your fingertips along it lightly. 

The lull startles you before his eyes snap open. His snores quieted moments ago but you only notice then. You look up into his icy irises as he tilts his chin down. His gaze flicks over to your touch. You’re stuck, too afraid to pull away. 

“That... must have hurt,” you press your fingertips down as your teeth threaten to chatter. 

He shifts back and your hand falls down across his chest. He catches it and pull it back to the scar, tugging you with it. You lean over him as he falls flat to his back. He guides your hand to another scar, right on his right pec, a large circular ridge with varying rings of discolouration. 

“That too,” you say. “You have lived through a lot of pain.” 

You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re talking just to do it. To keep your mind from racing. In a way, it calms you. He covers your hand with his and holds it flush to his firm muscle. 

Slowly, his hand crawls over your wrist and up your arm. You shiver as he touches your shoulder and traces up your throat. He turns his hand and frames your neck in the vee of his thumb and index. You gulp and he forces your head up. He looks down at you. 

He exhales heavily and pushes you away. He flips you onto you back and follows, crushing you as he puts weight on your neck. He smothers you with his body as he pins you by your neck. You squirm and pet his chest gently. You stare up at him, terrified. You won’t fight him. 

“Does it hurt when I touch you? I’m sorry,” you ekes past his grip. 

His eyes skim down your face and fixate on your mouth. His hand squeezes before it releases. He brushes up your chin and to your lips. He presses his wide thumb against your lips. He rubs the soft flesh. He toys with you as if curious. 

You slowly trail up his chest and feel along the tense muscles of his shoulder. You make a lightly line along his neck and the tendons tauten. You mirror him with your touch. You flutter along his square chin and draw around his lips. A light stubble pokes through at the edges of his jaw. He quakes and his lashes fan. 

You don’t know what you’re doing. You can’t know because you don’t know what he wants. Everything you do, just like everything he does, confounds you. 

He moves to brush his lips against your finger. He parts his mouth around it and sheaths it with his mouth. You wince at the odd act but don’t pull away. You let him, watching him as he closes his eyes and sucks on your digit, tongue pressed against it. His teeth clamp down but not enough to hurt. He hums as the pressure builds in his mouth. 

He curls his finger and pokes it into your mouth. You let him in and he pets your tongue with his fingertip. You push your lips around. Another drone rises from him. He has a voice, somewhere inside of him. 

He slides his finger out of your mouth and smears your saliva around your lips. He eases himself down next to you, hugging you as he stays latched onto your finger. You remain limp and prone to him. He settles his head next to yours. He puts his forehead to your temple. 

He sucks on your finger as his hand wanders down to your chest. He gropes you through the nightgown, fondling you, sucking harder and harder. He hooks his leg around one of yours and you feel the tension slowly slake from his large body. 

If it keeps him from hurting you, you will let it happen. You bend your other arm and pet his side. 

“I’m here,” you say, not sure what you mean. “I’m here with you. Are you tired?” 

The question hangs like every other word you’ve said to him. He nods around his hold on your finger. He kneads your chest and slips his arm beneath you, pulling you even snugger. You close your eyes again. You’re safe, for now. 

"Me too," you sniff, "I'm very tired."

[ghostblade-official]

Kit didn't know what made him sneak back into that horrible place. Instinct maybe? He sure had a lot of that. It was like being pulled by an invisible string in the right direction. It felt like the right direction, it didn't feel like his paranoia. That was more like a creeping dread. This was something else.

It wasn't difficult to sneak in, it was what he was trained to do, and he knew all the ways in. He stopped right in front of one of the cells. There was a kid in there. A kid he vaguely recognized, he just couldn't tell from where.

"Hello?" He whispered, trying not to be heard by the guards he'd snuck past

– @red-room-boy

His eyes were blank, he was programmed. That much was obvious. No emotion on his face, and bandages wrapped tightly around his forearms and his bare torso. He was cold, but he couldn't really feel it, not in the current state he was in. He was a shell, he was empty. He stared, unblinking. He watched the person move in front of his cell. He didn't make any attempt to move forward. He was very obviously in pain, his body shuddering, but he didn't show any piece of that pain. "What are my orders?" He said robotically. That was all he expected from this newcomer- orders.