brumalshadow

[brumalshadow]

‘Don’t worry about it.’

Water pooled on the floor, but the mess was the least of Bucky’s concerns. Zemo, typically composed, seemed uncharacteristically adrift, operating on autopilot. He merely continued as Bucky watched him remove his soggy shoes and damp socks, trying to voice yet another apology. ( With a dismissive wave, Bucky secured the door, locking it with a decisive click, the heavy curtains already drawn tight to shield them from prying eyes. ) Whatever had driven Zemo to seek refuge here was unsettling enough; the fact that he had come to Bucky Barnes of all people added an unsettling weight to the air. 

‘Compromised? How?’

Bucky’s gaze flickered to Zemo, who was uncharacteristically drenched. Had he swum to get here? Suspicion crept into Bucky’s mind as he rifled through a stack of towels, offering them to Zemo while discreetly tucking his gun into the waistband of his trousers. ( He held a deep-seated dislike for the Raft. ) Yet even he understood the necessity of that underwater prison; some criminals were too dangerous to be left unchecked, their potential to wreak havoc on innocent lives far too great.

‘Why don’t you start from the beginning? What happened to your arm?’

His eyes drifted again to the injury, a stark testament to whatever turmoil Zemo had faced. With a sigh, Bucky moved to retrieve a medical kit, sliding it across the breakfast bar toward him with a soft thud. Even if he had the ability to offer help, he suspected Zemo would stubbornly refuse it. ( The man was nothing if not fiercely independent, a thorn in Bucky's side—a painful reminder of their conflicting past, especially that humiliating event in Madripoor that haunted him still for reasons he would never admit. ) Bucky had once believed he deserved his fate at the Raft, yet now, doubt filled him. What if he had misjudged Zemo? What if some terrible consequence had now unleashed itself because of choices he had made?

After everything that had happened, he felt strangely disconnected from himself. A part of him hadn't even expected Bucky to open the door, though even that didn't exactly come with a sense of relief. He stepped into the house at Bucky's urging, politely taking off his rather wet shoes - and then his socks, as well, as though it would help prevent him from tracking water through the house. It didn't stop water from dripping from his hair.

"I'm sorry," he repeated quietly, "I didn't... know where else to go." It sounded absurd, in some small part of his mind. Of all the people in the world to turn to, the fact that it was Bucky Barnes would have been truly senseless in any other circumstance. In this one, however? He was the only person in the world who made sense to run to. And it didn't hurt that he was close by.

"I... do believe I'm dripping on the hardwood, I..." he trailed off, about to apologize again. How terribly impolite of him. Unfortunately, he had little other option. The house was nice, if somewhat sparsely decorated. He politely didn't mention the blankets on the floor, falling quiet and still again for a long moment before looking over his shoulder at Bucky again and turning to face him.

"You asked a question." He tried to track back, before it clicked. "Ah how I'm here? That's rather a long story. I'm... well, I'm afraid the RAFT has been compromised."

[brumalshadow]

@whumpril | Day #3: Sore Captain America: Civil War (2016)

[brumalshadow]

‘Not really, it all looks the same to me.’

His honesty hung in the air, tinged with a hint of regret as he delicately set the brochure down, its pages fluttering in the stillness of the room. He had tried his best, meticulously arranging the suits and attempting to craft favour bags, but the whole process loomed over him like a towering mountain. ( Wedding planning was far more intricate than he had ever imagined. ) Still, he was comforted by the knowledge that she had an innate ability to manage even the smallest details, ensuring that everything would be flawless. He hoped she wouldn’t fault him for his cluelessness.

‘Did you sign off then?’

Leaning back in the chair, he stretched, a playful grin breaking across his face before he rose to prepare their drinks. The world of wedding patterns and colours had begun to blur together, and he felt a sense of relief as he turned away from it all. ( He had already visited the garden, a breathtaking canvas crafted by others, each bloom bursting with colour and life. ) He understood the anxiousness that accompanied such a significant occasion; nonetheless, his heart held no doubts about her. It was the idea of being thrust into the spotlight that weighed heavily on him. He had spent years learning how to blend into the background, to remain unseen, and now he faced the daunting challenge of standing before an audience.

‘Some packages came for you, doll.’

His voice was like a soft melody, an offering of love wrapped in thoughtfulness. He relished every opportunity to spoil her, to encase her in the warmth of his affection. ( He was responsible for at least two of the parcels that lay waiting, but he suspected the others were either pre-gifts or items she had ordered for their upcoming celebration. ) He gestured toward the stack, his eyes immediately landing on the one adorned with a familiar ribbon. He had enlisted Lucien’s expertise to design and engrave a necklace for her—a piece that resembled the bracelet which symbolised their relationship. Wasn’t it incredible, really, just how far they’d come?

BEFORE BUCKY, Sima's life had been a cacophony of failed attempts to hold something that was more than a wish or a dream. Thanks to her mother, it had been left more a series of traumatic events that would rival any soap opera. Then Bucky had come along, after so long of being alone and swearing away from allowing herself to fall in love through the fear of her mother repeating. He'd been a whirlwind and a calming sunset all in one go, sweeping her off her feet but loving her, even at her worst moments.

Both had their fair share of trauma, but that was the beauty of their love. They were able to understand each other unlike others, and Bucky had long become a safety for Sima, her home. While her mind raced and her body screamed, Bucky's presence and embrace calmed the demons that lived within her. The nights where sleep evaded her, cloaked in the guise of night terrors, he was there to hold her, and she was there for him. Bucky was unlike anyone else; he was her heart and soul, her soulmate.

The days were coming, and they had been long in the making, but now that they drew closer and all of her plans were coming together, it was all beginning to feel more real and less like some dream she'd fantasized about for millennia. Every little detail had been meticulously thought about, from the types of canopies being served to welcome guests to how the name cards looked. Much of them, she'd sat and crafted herself, finding it a small respite from the usual bustle of the ER but still kept her mind busy.

It was down to setting up the halls of her grandfather's Earthly home. Everything was there and ready for the most part, and it just required setting up. That could be done in the next few days. She finished her final shift for a few weeks, signed off on the paperwork, and left the hospital heading home to him. There was nothing more she enjoyed than seeing him whenever she returned home from work, seeing his face, and feeling his warm embrace.

Her drive was always quick when her mind was focused on other things and before long, she pulled up on their drive and climbed from the car. The front driveway and garden were already decorated ~ courtesy of both Phenex and Briar ~ ready for the big day but seeing it all made her smile, just not as much as the sight of him did as she stepped inside and spotted him, focused on one of the brochures. His expression amused her, but she slowly made her way over to him and tilted her head around to look up at him in an attempt to get his attention. " Seen anything that catches your eye? "

[brumalshadow]

SEBASTIAN STAN as JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES ↳ CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE FIRST AVENGER (2011), dir. JOE JOHNSTON

[brumalshadow]

The world Bucky Barnes had once known lay in ruins once more, its familiar contours distorted beyond recognition. It felt as if fate itself had conspired against him, ensuring that catching a break was a luxury he would never know. ( As the longest-serving prisoner of war, he had endured the dark grip of HYDRA, only to claw his way back to freedom as their empire crumbled in chaos. The escape had marked the beginning of a relentless, grueling journey, filled with months that stretched into years of agonisingly reconstructing his shattered past. ) It was a far more tormenting experience than any he had faced previously. There were countless moments he found himself staring blankly into space, haunted by echoing memories of heavy boots stomping against cold concrete and harsh orders barked in a guttural Russian tongue. For weeks, the bitter cadence of his trigger words echoed in his mind, repeating on a loop, while he fought with every ounce of strength to erase them from his memory.

Then came the reunion with Steve—his best friend—who pulled him back into the fray, thrusting them both into yet another relentless battle. Although Bucky had savored a brief reprieve in Wakanda, embraced by the tranquility of the lush, verdant landscape, that peace was a fleeting dream. During that time, he had taken on the mantle of the White Wolf, a title he preferred to the icy moniker of Winter Soldier. ( Yet, as fate would have it, peace was not destined to last, especially once Thanos decided to unleash his devastation upon the universe. ) Bucky found himself once again fighting side by side with Steve, only to be met with the crushing weight of loss, crumbling into dust amidst the chaos. Five years vanished in an instant, yet another bitter thief that time had become in his already fractured life. When he resurfaced, disoriented and confused, he had resigned himself to go with the flow, far too overwhelmed to process the injustice of it all.

Everything shifted once more when Steve disappeared from his life—the best friend he had believed would always be by his side. Now, recovery felt more unattainable than ever; solitude draped over him like a heavy cloud. His therapist’s words echoed relentlessly in his mind—he was alone, and she insisted that was the deepest personal hell one could endure. ( Week after week, he sat in those futile therapy sessions, masked beneath a veneer of indifference, enduring the probing questions and offering only feeble lies. He didn’t have nightmares; how could they be considered such? The tormenting visions behind his closed eyelids were tangible echoes of reality, replaying events he wished to forget. ) With each session, he clamped his mouth shut, finding these dialogues torturous in their own right. His expression remained stoic, a blank slate that concealed the turmoil within. He had grown weary of others digging into the dark corners of his mind, even if he understood their scrutiny was the only path to freedom. Thus, he found himself trapped in an endless loop of introspection and isolation.

As he left the sterile confines of the therapy office, his gloved hands twisted together anxiously. He made his way back to the dimly lit apartment he was renting—a temporary refuge that lacked any sense of belonging. ( It was far from home, but better than the cold emptiness that lay elsewhere. ) A mattress lay on the floor, a meager attempt at comfort that offered little relief against the weariness of his bones. Blankets—thin and frayed—were his only solace, and he contemplated going through the familiar motions of returning to that sparse space, his feet guiding him toward the door.

Every time he entered, he fought against the instinct to conduct exhaustive checks, a reflex born from an unyielding paranoia. Today, however, it felt justified. From behind the door came the unmistakable sound of someone—or something—breathing, accompanied by the shuffling of objects, the gentle clinking of glass unsettlingly loud in the stillness. ( Dread seeped into his bones as his fingers twitched toward the concealed blade hidden within his clothing, a creeping sense of apprehension settling over him. ) Was this the moment? Had HYDRA finally tracked him down? They lingered in the shadows everywhere, didn't they? 

With every ounce of courage, he forced himself to push through the door, knowing full well that it could lead to yet another violent confrontation. 

'Who the—'

But nothing could have prepared him for what lay before him. There, in the muted light of the apartment, sat a figure he had long thought lost to time—no, it simply couldn't be. How could this be real? Had he miraculously changed? Was he even the same person he remembered? ( The golden hair, the pristine posture—it was all too surreal. ) Bucky was no expert on the intricacies of time, but surely it wasn’t something one could simply navigate. Hadn’t he learned enough to question every illusion? Steve had been wielded against him before, a pawn in the ruthless hands of their enemies.

'Steve? What are you—'

❤️ @brumalshadow liked for a starter!

Steve had been observing this world for some weeks. After determining that it wouldn't be possible for him to return to his own the way he'd come--and he wasn't positive there was anyone in this world with the power to send him back--he'd been forced to accept he might be here for a while, potentially forever. Forever was a bitter pill, but if he was going to be stuck, he needed to be smart about it. He wasn't the sort of person to make rash decisions, a characteristic he'd never shared with the real Steve Rogers.

It had been a shock to learn this world's Rogers was gone, choosing to return to the past and live out a normal life. Steve had nothing but contempt for that decision. It was based in sentiment, which he loathed, but it was also irresponsible. He'd left this world unprotected. If Steve couldn't return to his own world, where HYDRA ruled with an iron fist, he supposed he would just have to recreate that world here. He couldn't hope to do that entirely from the shadows, so his first move would be stepping back into Steve Rogers' life.

For that, he needed to do research. He was an expert on the Captain Rogers of his world, and he'd impersonated him successfully a number of times, but that was only for the duration of a mission. This might be for years before he managed to restore HYDRA to its former glory. He'd pored over every file and piece of media about Rogers he could find to fill in the discrepancies between this world and his, particularly drawn to the connection between him and Barnes. They'd been childhood friends in his world, but where Rogers led the underground resistance, Sergeant Barnes was a loyal HYDRA agent.

He found it fascinating how differently things had gone for Barnes here, a loyal HYDRA asset but certainly not by choice. He'd only read about the Winter Soldier program at home. There was no need for it there, where HYDRA already ruled. It didn't seem to have done them any favors here, either. More interesting to him was the way so many of Rogers' decisions seemed based on Barnes. He'd become Captain America to save him once, gone against his own team and the governments of over a hundred countries to save him again, literally traveled through time to bring him back from the snap-- only to leave him here alone. It wasn't logical.

If he was going to be Steve Rogers, he'd decided, Bucky was the person he most needed to convince. It was a little like taking the exam before he learned the lesson, no way to practice without potentially giving himself away, but if he could fool Barnes, then the rest of the world would accept it. People were the same in pretty much every universe. They were just looking for someone to tell them what to think, how to behave, where to put their faith.

He'd purposely chosen a time when he knew Barnes was out, but would be returning shortly, to let himself into his apartment and have a look around. It was sort of sad. He'd obviously been sleeping on the floor, hardly any furniture or personal touches in the place. There wasn't a lot of intel to be gathered either. Unfortunate, but not a deal breaker. He helped himself to his liquor cabinet and poured a glass of whiskey, seated at the counter to drink it while he waited for him to come home.

[brumalshadow]

PSA.

Please for the love of sanity, if you are not a part of one of my roleplay threads, do NOT reblog it. Some people like me have trackers set up & if some stranger reblogs the threads then it completely confuses the tracker & makes it think the other person has replied when they haven't. It messes with the numbers & as someone with ADHD it's causing me immense stress !

[brumalshadow]

zemothethirteenth pardoned the white wolf : "I'm sorry I didn't warn you." Despite the dry night, Zemo was wet. He might've crawled right out of the river for the way he was dripping, and his clearly prison-issued clothing was in less than stellar shape, torn in a few places. In the dark it was difficult to tell whether the thing that seemed to be sticking out of his arm - occasionally peering through the fabric if he moved just right - was a shard of glass or metal, but whatever he'd been through, Zemo appeared oblivious to it. There was a wild look to his eyes, and yet he seemed paradoxically sedated, calm and still in the dark.

The rhythmic hum of the dishwasher echoed through the kitchen as it cycled through its final stage. He took this as his cue to settle into a chair, absently flicking through the pages of a book. ( His metal arm, detached and in need of yet another thorough cleaning, lay within. ) By now, this had become a part of his routine, though it always felt unsettling to be without it. Over time, he had come to accept the arm as an extension of himself, especially after the Wakandans had personalised it, removing the remnants of HYDRA's sinister influence in more ways than one.

Outside, the world had been enveloped in darkness, yet sleep was a distant prospect. The blankets, haphazardly arranged on the floor in front of the TV, waited for the moment when exhaustion would finally claim him. He doubted that moment would come soon; he was accustomed to pushing through fatigue, avoiding the nightmares that lurked in slumber. ( One thing he was sure of, however, was that he wasn’t expecting any visitors. ) So, when he sensed a presence outside, a jolt of tension surged through him. Carefully, he reached for the gun that was always within arm's reach and crept toward the door. Opening it, he muttered a soft curse under his breath. 

Zemo? Well, at least he hadn’t pulled the trigger prematurely.

‘How the hell are you even here?’ he muttered, the irritation fading as he took in Zemo’s dishevelled appearance. The unexpected apology caught him off guard, and he quickly assessed the situation. His eyes narrowed at the object embedded in Zemo's arm, a sight that made him grimace. ( Without hesitation, he gestured for Zemo to come inside, but not before his instincts as a soldier kicked in, prompting him to ensure he hadn’t been followed. ) It was evident that Zemo was in some kind of trouble, and despite their complicated history, he wasn’t about to turn him away, even if caution urged him to remain vigilant. The gun stayed firmly in his grasp, a necessary precaution as he felt oddly exposed without his prosthetic.

‘Hurry up before someone sees you. You have some explaining to do.’

[brumalshadow]

Send, "What are you doing here?!" for receiver to arrive on Sender's doorstep unexpectedly.

Send, "I'm sorry I didn't warn you." for sender to arrive on receiver's doorstep unexpectedly.

[brumalshadow]

| ❆ | ~ @crossxxbones

His feet dangled just inches above the cold, unforgiving ground, every muscle in his body straining to maintain his precarious balance. The sensation of weightlessness was both disorienting and familiar, a constant reminder of the torment he had endured. ( This position was a favourite of HYDRA, a cruel game they played that had become all too routine for him since he was plunged into the depths of darkness, both physical and mental. ) The shadows loomed around him, tightening their grip as he fought to stay grounded in a world that sought to unmoor him completely. They had shown remarkable creativity in their approaches, employing tactics that caught him off guard. Yet, despite their ingenuity, he resisted fiercely, challenging their authority at every turn. In a moment of frustration, he had unleashed his anger, sending one of them crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs. He’d overheard whispers among the remaining members that a replacement had already been summoned, intensifying the tension in the air.

Time lost all significance, stretching and warping in a haze of desperation and monotony. The agents surrounding him were an indistinguishable blur, each one oozing arrogance and a relentless determination to be the one who finally unlocked his secrets. They were all convinced they would be the one to break him, but he remained unyielding, hiding the cracks that were beginning to form beneath the surface. 

In moments of disorientation, he found himself grappling with dark thoughts, questioning the very essence of his struggle. There were flashes of delirium when he wondered if he might willingly surrender just to escape the torment. His tongue pressed painfully against the roof of his mouth, a dry reminder of his parched throat, fighting against his will to stay conscious. 

Just as he felt the last threads of his strength begin to unravel, his legs buckled beneath him, collapsing on the cold, unyielding floor. The sound of laughter echoed sharply in his ears—mocking jibes and taunts that stung worse than any physical pain. He couldn’t tell which inflicted deeper wounds: the laughter of his captors or the gnawing doubt festering within him. In a futile attempt to silence the chaos, he buried his thoughts in darkness, realising that nothing seemed capable of bringing him solace anymore.

There was no compelling reason to comply, for obedience brought him nothing but continued suffering. What awaited him was merely another iteration of the same grim existence—an unyielding cycle of torment that seemed to stretch into infinity. Throughout his time there, he had encountered numerous sadistic men, each one more bewildering than the last. ( He could never grasp the motivations behind their cruelty, and despair settled in his heart as he thought of Rumlow—the next in line to attempt to break his spirit. ) He had no delusions that Rumlow would be any different from those who had come before; he would simply be another figure clad in HYDRA’s oppressive regime, wielding their authority as a shield to indulge in his own dark impulses, exacting punishment on the elusive ‘asset’ they labelled him. The title itself was a stark reminder of his dehumanisation; he no longer possessed a name, a memory of who he once was lost in the shadows of his torment. As he lingered in this void of identity and purpose, he found himself wondering: why was he fighting at all?

[brumalshadow]

GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY (2014) PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary.

you can't! you'll die! why are you doing this? why?

it can't be done. you're asking us to die.

i have lived most of my life surrounded by enemies. i will be grateful to die among my friends.

you are an honorable man.

i will fight beside you.

well that's just as fascinating as the first 89 times you told me that.

i just wanted to tell you how grateful I am that you've accepted me despite my blunders.

it is good to once again be among friends.

i can barely see.

where did you learn to do that?

i'll have to agree with the walking thesaurus on that one.

nothing goes over my head.

i have a plan.

you've got a plan? first of all, you're copying me from when i said i had a plan.

i don't think you even have a plan.

we've already established that you destroying the ship i'm on is not saving me!

when did we establish that?

i wasn't listening then.

i just saved [name]!

you don't get an opinion.

that's a fake laugh.

it's barely a concept.

you're taking their side?

what the hell does that have to do with anything?

i am going to die surrounded by the biggest idiots in the galaxy.

no one's blowing up morons.

you just wanna suck the joy out of everything.

when i look around, you know what i see? losers.

i am not gonna stand by and watch as billions of lives are being wiped out.

leave it to me.

look at him. he's useless.

on that wall back there is a black panel. blinky yellow light. you see it?

how are we supposed to do that?

you must be joking.

i really heard they find you attractive.

we gotta move quickly.

for the record, i advised them against trusting you.

prove me wrong.

i am not some starry-eyed waif here to succumb to your pelvic sorcery.

i'm a warrior. an assassin. i don't dance.

we have a legend about people like you. it's called footloose. and in it, a great hero named kevin bacon teaches an entire city full of people with sticks up their butts that dancing is the greatest thing there is.

we're just like kevin bacon.

you've heard of this. you've seen this, right? you know what this is.

you're an imbecile.

what did the galaxy ever do for you?

why would you want to save it?

what should we do next? something good? something bad? bit of both?

we'll follow your lead, [name].

take my hand.

you said it yourself, bitch.

do you believe him?

your ship is filthy.

if i had a blacklight, this would look like a jackson pollock painting.

who calls him that?

i don't know how this machine works.

what are you doing?

dance-off. me and you.

quit smiling, you idiot. you're supposed to be professional.

i like your knife. i'm keeping it.

that was my favorite knife.

i live for the simple things.

he has no respect.

you're drunk.

this is exactly why none of you have any friends.

you've always been weak.

no one talks to my friends like that.

i only ask that you take this matter seriously.

you should have learned.

i don't learn. one of my issues.

what a bunch of a-holes.

you should try to be more nice to people.

hold on a second. you're being serious right now?

[brumalshadow]

| ✪ | ~ @walkitoffrogers

'I’m not sure if I’m worth all this, Steve.'

The weight of his own admission echoed painfully in his mind as he curled up tighter, drawing his knees to his chest. ( His surroundings felt distant and muted, a contrast to the chaos that had consumed him back then. ) When L and Strix found him, he had been a wreck—disheveled and shattered, a mere shadow of his former self. It was as if a dam had burst; the abandonment by Steve had shattered him, leaving him adrift in a sea of grief and isolation. 

After everything they had shared, to be left behind had felt like the final blow, plunging him into a dark spiral of despair that convinced him he was unworthy of love or connection. ( How could Steve have walked away, he pondered, if he ever truly believed in him? ) The thought clawed at him, a relentless reminder of his perceived inadequacies.

Yet, just when he thought hope was lost, L and Strix had emerged like a beacon of light in his suffocating darkness. They had promised an escape from the haunting memories and trauma that bound him. ( A real second chance at life. ) Skepticism clung to him like a heavy shroud, whispering that everything in life came with a price, that nothing was ever truly free. But somehow, against all odds, they had managed to pierce through his defenses, igniting a flicker of belief in the possibility of redemption.

He felt a wave of relief wash over him for deciding to give them a chance. Despite his lingering doubts about L and the organisation, he recognised Valentin as a steadfast friend rather than a potential enemy. The wolf, with his calm demeanor, had granted him a renewed sense of purpose; they often sat together in comfortable silence understanding each other's struggles without the need for words. ( If anyone could fathom the nightmares left in the wake of HYDRA's chaos, it was Valentin. ) The wolf had shared stories of another like him—a Steve from a different world—who had lost his own Bucky and was grappling with the emptiness that followed such a profound loss.

He had considered approaching this Steve numerous times, yet each time he had found a reason to postpone the meeting. It was clear to him that Valentin was aware of his hesitation, as his spiraling thoughts of worthlessness were disrupted by the familiar, lively chatter of his friend. ( But this time, another voice resonated alongside Valentin’s—a voice he would recognise anywhere. ) His heart raced and tightened in his chest as he sprang into an upright position, propelling himself toward the door. 

He couldn’t shake the feeling of trepidation mingling with hope. ( Did Valentin know what he was doing? ) The thought lingered as he opened the door, peering out into the hall, eager and anxious for the sight of them to come into view.

[brumalshadow]

‘That wasn’t me—’

The words hung in the air, heavy with defiance. It wasn’t him. He wasn’t the Winter Soldier, programmed for violence and destruction. He was James Buchanan Barnes, a man with a history, a heart, and a connection to his best friend, Steve Rogers, that spanned back to their childhood days. ( The shell that Rumlow recognised was not the real him. HYDRA had worked tirelessly to erase his identity, stripping away everything that defined him—his name, his voice, his very essence. ) Yet amidst the disorder of manipulation and suffering, he had fought fiercely to reclaim his identity. Though he had played the role of the Soldier for Zemo, he was resolute; he wouldn’t fall back into that dark abyss. Rumlow would not have the satisfaction of seeing him falter or give in. 

His jaw clenched and his blue eyes gleamed with a sharp intensity—cold yet brimming with unyielding emotion. There was no way Rumlow could erase the progress he had made nor convince him that he was still just an asset to be wielded. James had battled the weight of his past, grappling with guilt and pain at every turn. 

‘What you knew wasn’t me.’

His metal arm flexed instinctively, a reminder of both his strength and his burden, while his flesh-and-blood arm mirrored its tension. ( If Rumlow dared to make a move now, he would be prepared. This time, he wouldn’t be the one caught off guard. ) Their shared moments had all been a deceitful charade, a strategy to keep him in check, and the audacity of Rumlow standing there, claiming to know him better than he knew himself, only fueled his resolve. 

As he focused on steadying his breathing, he anchored himself in the reality of the moment, reminding himself of the reason for his presence in Madripoor. The Broker—the serum—was still the priority. 

‘What do you want, Rumlow? Other than to gloat?’

Brock was, for all intents and purposes, retired in Madripoor. It was outside the jurisdiction of SHIELD or any governments that might want to toss him back into The Raft, and its lawlessness suited him. He'd never been the kind to sit around idly though, even with his body's numerous complaints post-Triskelion. The serum had saved his life, but it couldn't heal all the damage. His knee and shoulder gave him trouble from time to time, and the nerve damage and scarring were extensive. Regardless, he could be coaxed out for the right price, going back to his roots as a mercenary for hire. No pretense at loyalty there, just money and the job.

The Winter Soldier's return had caused quite a stir in the city. Stories and rumors spread like a plague. He didn't believe half of what he'd heard, but that Barnes was in Madripoor with Zemo, of all people, was verifiable. That he was still the Winter Soldier… Brock had his doubts. Maybe the Avengers were foolish enough to let him run loose with the trigger words still in his head, or maybe not, but he'd been there. He'd seen the kind of effort and resources it took to break Barnes down into the Soldier and keep him that way, and it was far from efficient. His answer told him all he needed to know about whether or not they'd faked that little display. No way he came out of it that fast.

But it wasn't as simple as brainwashed or not when it came to HYDRA. Be easier if the line was that clear, but it wasn't, not even for Rumlow. Their way of thinking had a way of getting in deep, and they'd both spent decades being shaped by them. Barnes a little more than him, maybe, but it left its marks. If he heard an order in General Richter's voice, he'd snap to it without even thinking first. A part of him would always be HYDRA. Like it or not, he suspected a part of Barnes would always be the Winter Soldier. "Don't kid yourself, soldier. I knew you better than you knew yourself for decades."

[brumalshadow]

WHAT DO YOU NEED TO HEAR?

I'm glad you're here.

god, it’s been hard. I know it has. it has hurt like hell and some days have felt like you’re pulling yourself through one second after another by your broken fingernails in the dirt. you’re tired. it’s a bone-deep kind of tired that settles in somewhere behind your ribcage and makes breathing feel like dying half the time and it never really seems to go away.

but you’re still here. you’re beaten and bruised but you’re still kickin’, trudging one foot in front of the other no matter how heavy those footsteps are. you decided at some point that, goddamn it, if this is rock bottom then things can only get better from here, and you decided to see better for yourself.

and so you’ve been clinging onto yourself for dear life and it’s been the hardest thing you’ve ever done but you are one tough motherfucker and you’ve done it. and god, I’m glad you did. I’m so glad you’re here. I know sometimes it feels like no one appreciates how hard it is to just be here, but I do. I know. and it is absolutely amazing how far you’ve come and I’m so grateful you’ve made it. you are so important and your life is so beautiful and it would be such a shame for you to miss it. so keep on pulling forward. I promise it’s worth it.

[brumalshadow]

Crackship gifs : Emeraude Toubia and Sebastian Stan

[brumalshadow]

@kingcrossbones from  | ✪ |

His vision flickered like a faulty light as he fought to regain consciousness, the world around him a murky haze. ( Metallic fingers twitched helplessly, a reminder of the chaos that had ensnared him beneath rubble. ) He had slipped into unconsciousness, only to be rescued by his superiors, who had dragged him back to medical after he failed to respond to their calls. He felt expendable, just a weapon to be used and discarded.

A throb pulsed in his temples, drugs warping his reality. ( Fragments of a dream lingered—a blonde man sketching with a warm smile, now fading like smoke. ) He knew better than to share such thoughts with his handlers; they were too dangerous to voice.

His gaze locked onto Brock as his handler gripped his jaw. He blinked slowly, confusion swirling around him. ( What had caused him to call out? ) The memory vanished before he could grasp it. ‘Yes, Commander. I’m fine,’ he replied, his voice echoing back like a hollow whisper in an empty chamber—just as he assumed he wanted.

[brumalshadow]

"What are you doing here?!"

Brock looked to his left and right as he crouched down, he had a worried expression on his face and raised a finger to his lips, shushing him, "Shhhh, I not really suppose to be here, came to see yer okay. They dragged you away a big ago and you didn't look very well."

Brock didn't like to see the Asset in the chair but this time was especially weird. He was unconscious and all he could do was stand by the door and wait, guarding it as if he wasn't the fuckin commander and the Asset's handler. It wasn't something he was appointed a long time ago and he was still learning but how was he supposed to learn how to handle the soldier and how he was of he was just supposed to stay aside and not intervine.

"Hey, hey, look at me," he held the soldier's jaw jently in his palm, "D'you know who I am? You alright there, kid?" he searched his eyes and the vacant stare didn't help Brock asses what was happening with his Asset. He was worried, of course he was, even if he wasn't supposed to express that to anyone.

[brumalshadow]

sesyeuxocean  de-thawed the winter soldier: ❛ Are you hurt? ❜ from Sin to Bucky @pleinsdemuses

The shrapnel had buried deep, but it was always hard to tell whether he was in pain. HYDRA had trained out of him expected human responses, and sometimes, he didn’t realise anything was amiss until he saw blossoming blood or grazed flesh. ( Getting harmed during combat was inevitable. When one played with weapons, there were bound to be injuries. Being on the front line came at a cost, and the Russians demanded perfection. ) He was, after all, nothing but an instrument at their disposal. He wasn’t done until they said he was - couldn’t rest until they granted permission. It had been a while without a wipe, and his thoughts were starting to blur; repressed memories attempting to break through to his subconscious. He’d fought them, knowing better than to let on that anything was wrong. 

They would punish him regardless. They didn’t need an excuse to do it. His superiors were entitled to do as they saw fit. He was in no place to argue. Blue eyes inspected himself for injuries, for any telling sign of her distress and saw it. ( Only now did neurons burn, teeth gritting together. Semi-operational. Bruised but not broken. ) Whether he was wounded was irrelevant. They had a mission to complete. If he lost a leg, he had another. They’d no doubt just replace it with a mellitac substitute, just as they had his arm. He could still recall in flashes the excruciating trauma of having the remains of his tissue sliced away. It made him feel sick, to consider. 

‘No.’