For A Moment, The Girl Looked As If She Were Ready To Surrender. Hands Raised, Palms Forward As Her Pursuer

❝ i think we've found enough books for one night, ❞ bucky said, ❝ we can always come back. this place doesn't look like it's going anywhere anytime soon. ❞ he added. her second option had bucky releasing a breath that wasn't quite a laugh but had the shape of one, something easy, something light.

❝ reckless, huh? ❞ the word rolled past his lips with ease. he leaned in just a fraction, a movement that wasn't meant to intimidate, but to tease.

❝ you want me to read to you, palamas? ❞ his voice was low, edged with something almost smug, but warm all the same. the tease came almost effortlessly, easier than it should've. a year ago, hell, even a few months ago, he would've let the silence settle there, but not now.

❝ if we're gonna do this, you should know—i don't do voices. ❞

kara watched the way his fingers curled around the book,  the deliberate care of it.  like he was holding something fragile,  something that mattered.   &  maybe it did.  maybe it was more than paper  &  ink,  more than a story — it was a bridge,  a tether to a past that hadn’t been entirely stolen.  she didn’t say anything,  just let the silence stretch,  let him have the moment.  some things didn’t need words.   

but when he looked at her,  something different flickered in his expression — lighter,  a ghost of something unburdened.  it made her chest ache,  just a little,  the way it always did when she caught glimpses of what could have been,  what still might be.  he tucked the book into his pocket,   &  she tilted her head,  considering his challenge.   

❝next adventure … right,❞ she exhaled a quiet laugh,  glancing around at the hollowed-out remains of forgotten stories.  ❝well,  we could always stick around,  find the weirdest book title in the place. ❞ her gaze flickered back to his,  something warm beneath the teasing.  ❝or i know a rooftop,  one of those places no one’s supposed to go but everyone does anyway.  good view,  bad idea.  but we could read there,  if you’re feeling reckless.❞

HEADCANON : early deployment .

Late 1941, following the attack on Pearl Harbor, Bucky voluntarily enlisted in the U.S. Army, driven by a sense of duty responsibility. He completed basic training at Camp Lehigh, where his natural athleticism and sharpshooting abilities quickly gained recognition. After completing advanced infantry and marksman training, Bucky was promoted to Sergeant due to his leadership skills.

In early 1943, the 107th Infantry Regiment was reorganized and reassigned to the 3rd Infantry Division, deploying to North Africa as part of the Tunisian Campaign. After landing in Algeria, the regiment was attached to U.S. II Corps and pushed eastward into Tunisia, engaging German forces in the Kasserine Pass and El Guettar. As a marksman and reconnaissance specialist, Bucky was frequently tasked with scouting enemy positions, providing overwatch for advancing infantry, and neutralizing high-value targets.

After North Africa, the 107th participated in the Allied invasion of Sicily (Operation Husky, July 1943), landing with the U.S. Seventh Army at Gela. Bucky and his unit took up defensive positions to support the landings, providing long-range fire and helping repel the Hermann Göring Panzer Division's counterattacks. Throughout the Sicilian campaign, he refined his mountain warfare, urban sniping, and small-unit tactics, often working alongside British Commandos, Free French Forces, and Italian partisans.

Following the capture of Sicily, the 107th joined the invasion of mainland Italy in September 1943, landing at Salerno. The fighting was brutal as German forces launched counterattacks to push the Allies back into the sea. During one engagement, Bucky’s unit was sent ahead to secure a strategic pass in the mountains, only to find themselves cut off and forced into a guerrilla-style fight, linking up with Italian resistance fighters to sabotage enemy supply lines.

By October 1943, the 107th was assigned a high-priority operation near Azzano, unaware of the Hydra experiments on Allied POWs in the area. While securing a strategic position, they were ambushed by Hydra forces wielding experimental weapons, leading to their capture and imprisonment in a Hydra weapons facility.

HEADCANON : dissociation & derealisation .

Bucky experiences dissociation, derealization, and hallucinations as lingering effects of his trauma, brainwashing, and fractured identity. Strangely, these moments don’t happen in high-stress or violent situations. When he’s fighting, running, or reacting on instinct, everything is sharp, real, and immediate. It’s only when things are quiet—when he’s sitting alone in an apartment, walking through a peaceful street, or drinking coffee in a café—that the world starts to blur. The stillness unsettles him more than chaos ever did. Without the constant need to survive, his mind has space to unravel, and that’s when reality begins to slip.

In crowds, the world warps and shifts. City streets become too bright, too sharp, and suddenly, he’s back in a cold bunker. If someone grabs his arm unexpectedly, for a split second, he’s strapped into the chair again, metal fingers twitching as his body braces for pain. Sometimes, his body reacts before his mind catches up.

Bucky can sometimes experience visual, auditory, and even olfactory hallucinations, each tied to echoes of his past. He sees fragments of people he once knew, glimpses of Hydra operatives, or flickers of moments long gone. Sometimes, a scent or a sound pulls him back—a whiff of gun oil, the barking of an order, or the distant hum of machinery.

Similarly, there are times when the world around him feels unreal, as if he’s moving through a dream. His hands—flesh and metal—don’t always feel like they belong to him. His reflection in a window might move out of sync, or worse, he sees his younger self staring back, before everything went wrong.

The derealisation can sometimes lead to Bucky losing time. He can zone out entirely—losing minutes, hours, sometimes even days—staring at a wall, or going about a day-to-day routine while operating on autopilot, caught somewhere between the past and present.

Extreme pain can also trigger Bucky's dissociative episodes, however, this hasn't happened since his arm was blown off as he hasn't allowed anyone to hurt him that badly since. Bucky has trained himself to recognise the signs of a dissociative episode and is capable of pulling himself out of it using coping strategies and techniques, but it can sometimes take time to do so.

he didn't have to stay. arguably, it would have been smarter if he'd disappeared before the shooter arrived, circled back, and observed from a distance. but the shooter hadn't been targetting him, therefore, they must have been after the gangs. enemy of mine enemy, or something like that. bucky was crouched over one of the survivors, rummaging through his pockets for anything useful.

❝ only loose cash and bullets, ❞ he said, looking up as the shooter approached. there was something off about him, the same way there was something off about bucky. not broken, not exactly, but set wrong. more like a jaw that had been knocked out of place and healed without care. too hard. too tight. and the eyes, he'd seen eyes like that reflected back at him in the mirror too many times.

❝ i didn't call the cops. it's not a hit. and lately . . . i've been doing this a lot. don't really have a name for it. ❞ whatever this was, he was still figuring it out. bucky stood slowly, watching as the shooter dug his foot into one of the goons sides hard enough to make him whimper and twitch. bucky made no move to stop him. ❝ half of them work for la fierra. she's been supplying the coast with guns and explosives. didn't know about the women. ❞ and wasn't that a fucking oversight on his part. bucky's expression hardened, jaw tight, angry. pale gaze swept the area, inspecting the faces of the men that he'd bound and disarmed until he spotted the straw buyer.

❝ if anyone's gonna know where their boss is, it's him. ❞ bucky pointed. ❝ cops'll be here sooner rather than later. i've got a container on highland drive. ❞ the implication was clear: bucky was willing and able to help secure the women intended for utah.

"Got anything on our guest?" Frank radioed Micro again.

[ Nope. Got nothing. Which is really saying something, Frank. I'll keep looking, but so far I'm just getting weird garbage.]

"What do you mean?"

[ Well...the kind of stories people in the community tell each other to even scare us. Undying assassins, spooky disappearances, unknown and forgotten government projects that still run in some zombiefied way. This guy, his training, he should be known, but I'm not finding a damn thing, Frank. Someone's hiding him, or he gets help from someone and they are way up there in a very big chain. ]

"Alright, I get it. We don't know jack shit about him." Frank grunted and lowered the volume on his radio. Didn't want Micro's voice to come out while he's talking to the man. One thing for sure is that he's got some kind of code or strict guidelines because he didn't come rushing towards him after he shot and killed one of those assholes.

"Got anything good?" Frank asks, walking towards the man. He can see now that a few of the bastards are still alive, there's a twitch on his face, his trigger finger tapping, but he doesn't say anything about it. The way this man moved, he wouldn't get a shot off to kill the rest before hitting the sand like these idiots did.

"First: did you call the cops? Second: is this a hit? Third: I don't do this shit often. I don't even know what the fuck the protocol even is at this point. I doubt it involves us sticking around here for long. I'm trimming down the family tree. I just needed one of these assholes," his foot started digging into the side of one of the men who were bound," to tell me where their boss is. They were bringing a shipment of women from down south up to a cult in Utah. This is one of their stops before they make the handover. I need to know where those women are."

SEBASTIAN STAN as THE WINTER SOLDIER CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE WINTER SOLDIER (2014)

seven deadly sins manifestation .

[ WRATH ] — he's always embodied wrath most naturally, before Hydra and before even the war, he has always been filled with fury towards those who abuse their power, who bully and belittle, and who harm. His wrath has only grown and become harsher, more precise and more person. He doesn’t just fight; he punishes. His control can slip, and the Winter Soldier’s brutality can emerge. Beneath this is another kind of anger—self-directed. He hates himself for what he did and for what he became.

[ SLOTH ] — he struggles with motivation, not because he doesn't care, but because caring hurts. There are days when he feels numb, when the weight of his past makes getting up and existing unbearable. He tries to force himself to act, to fight, but he rarely lets himself live. His sloth manifests in how he avoids emotional connections and vulnerability. He keeps people at arms length, afraid to form bonds, convincing himself he's better off alone to avoid the pain of attachment. At his lowest, sloth manifests as self-neglect—skipping meals, avoiding sleep, refusing to take care of himself because, at times, he doesn't see the point.

[ GREED ] — he doesn't and has never sought material wealth, his greed manifests in hoarding whatever peace he can find. He doesn’t trust easily, so when he does find something safe—a quiet corner of a city, a person who doesn’t look at him with fear, a cafe he feels comfortable—he clings to it. Similarly, he clings to sentimental objects and items, carries remnants of his past life as if letting go of them would erase what little he has left. His dog tags, Steve's old notebook and vinyls, letters from his sister stolen from the Smithsonian.

[ PRIDE ] — his pride is a double-edged sword. On one hand, he refuses help, believing he must atone for his past alone. He resists leaning on others, convinced that his redemption is his burden alone to carry which manifests in his lone-wolf vigilantism—he doesn’t want others involved, fearing they’ll get hurt or that they’ll see him as beyond saving. On the other hand, he struggles to accept kindness because, deep down, he doesn’t believe he deserves it. He seems constantly at odds with himself, proud of his skills and his abilities but ashamed of how he learned them.

[ ENVY ] — he struggles with envy. Feels it for those who live ordinary lives, who haven't experienced war, who retain innocence and optimism, who hold true to idealism and believe in humanity, kindness, love. He feels removed from these things, undeserving, robbed of being capable of it all and it can taint his interactions with people. He doesn't resent them, but there's a deep ache in him, a longing for a life he feels he'll never have.

[ GLUTTONY ] — isn't about food or indulgence with Bucky, instead it's about excess as a coping mechanism. He pushes himself too hard—training until his body aches, throwing himself into fights as if pain can make up for the past. He overindulges in isolation, in punishment, in guilt. He engages in violence not just for justice but because, in the heat of a fight, he feels something. His gluttony is about extremes—pushing himself too far, taking too much responsibility, refusing to allow himself balance.

[ LUST ] — It took a long time for Bucky to remember what desire really felt like, and even longer to let himself feel it without resistance. Lust for Bucky is about craving connection but fearing it at the same time. He wants closeness, but intimacy requires vulnerability, and vulnerability is dangerous. He yearns for it but when faced with the chance, he pulls away. His lust, then, is suppressed, redirected. He fights instead of embracing. He runs instead of reaching out. And in the rare moments he allows himself closeness, he does so like a man expecting it to be ripped away.

tagged by : @sangiusd3vil ♡ tagging : @memuntos ( zahra ), @staticveil , @disasteregyptologist , @kenosky , @d4ughter , @executiioner , @ru5t , @skiesfield and anyone else that would like to do it ♡

snowfall slicked the rooftops and turned the streets below into a dull smear of neon reflections and black ice. his target—allison daws, a former operative now in bed with the enemy—had hunkered down in hells kitchen, hoping to disappear. a standard job. he'd done it a hundred times, but something felt . . . wrong.

it was too quiet. no patrols, no sentries. just the low hum of a faulty streetlight and the distant wail of a siren that never got closer. the soldier stared down his scope, watching the safehouse window where the blinds had been pulled for movement. all it would take is for his target to pass by. one quick, clean shot and it would all be over.

a whisper of movement behind him, too smooth for a mercenary and too measured for a common killer. the soldier turned quickly, primed to defend. // @kenosky , a semi - plotted starter .

the bell over the door chimed softly as he stepped inside. the city noise vanished behind him and he was swallowed by the scent of old paper, dust, and something faintly floral. the place was cramped and lived-in, shelves packed so tightly they formed narrow corridors of leaning books, some stacked haphazardly on the floor.

bucky adjusted his gloves as he swept the room. patrons were sparce, he spotted her easily amongst the books. corinne delacroix, an elementary teacher. hardworking, kind, quiet, and if he was to believe his contact, in imminent danger.

a record player somewhere in the back crackled out an old tune, something soft and tired. he moved forward, inspecting the bookshelves, picking something at random—first edition alfred tennyson, not exactly in his price range—while carefully keeping her in his line of sight. // @rosewiltd , a semi - plotted starter .

the nights in gotham weren't just dark—they drowned in shadow, swallowing men whole and leaving nothing but a cold whisper behind. he'd worked in cities like gotham before—berlin, moscow, madripoor—but gotham was something else. a different kind of beast with different kind of monsters.

he moved through the warehouse like a ghost, boots silent against concrete, a black silhouette against the night. hydra had been quick to use gotham as their backdrop, smuggling weapons, money, and other nastier things and he had no intention of letting them remain.

the floor is a maze of steel crates, some marked with shell corporation insignias, others left blank and unidentifiable. overhead, a single flickering bulb swung slightly, casting long, jagged shadows, and that was when he saw it.

a man, swinging from the rafters by his ankles. he hadn't done that. footsteps to his left alert him to a patrolling agent and bucky slipped quickly around one of the steel crates, raising to his full height to wrap his arm around the agent's and cut the weapon from his body in a single motion. he took him down quietly, but the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. a warning that he wasn't alone. // @bruz3r , a semi - plotted starter .

you pick books like you pick your words, sharp. a little raw, she said. maybe he did. maybe that was how he picked all things, but kara didn't seem to mind it. be let the weight of the book settle, milk and honey wasn't the kind of poetry that soothed—it cut, left its mark, words that bled if you held them too long. he figured it was why it had felt right. some things weren't meant to be easy.

but then she pulled out a tree grows in brooklyn, and for half a second, his breath caught. she placed it in his hands and his fingers closed around it slow, deliberate, as if he was concerned that if he moved too fast it'd vanish. books had a nasty habit of disappearing, being left behind, taken, or like the library, forgotten. it had been a long time since he'd seen this particular book and while it wasn't his old copy, it mattered. a link back to an different time. a ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, boyish and charming as he turned the book over in his hands and met her eye.

❝ i guess you do, ❞ bucky agreed tucking the paperback into his breast pocket for later, ❝ which means, you get to pick the next adventure. so what'll it be? ❞

kara turned the book over in her hands,  considering it.  poetry.  it wasn’t what she expected,  but it fit in a way she couldn’t quite put into words.  ❝you pick books like you pick your words,❞ she remarked,  flipping through the pages.  ❝sharp.  a little raw. ❞ there was no teasing in it,  just quiet observation,  the kind that sat between them without needing to be acknowledged.  she thumbed through a passage,  letting the weight of his choice settle before she finally looked up.  ❝i’ll take it. ❞

she let the silence stretch,  long enough for the weight of his pick to settle between them,  before she reached behind her,  pulling her own real find from where she’d tucked it away.  the thin volume of poetry shifted in her grasp as she held up the worn copy of a tree grows in brooklyn.  ❝but i did take you for this type, ❞ she said,  softer now,  a quiet triumph in her voice.  the book was old,  its spine softened with use,  the pages yellowed at the edges,  but it was whole.  whole in the way that mattered.  ❝thought you might like to have it again.❞

❝found it buried in the back,  tucked away like someone meant to come back for it.❞ she didn’t say what she was really thinking — that maybe it had been waiting for him.  she placed it in his hands without flourish,  without expectation.  just a quiet offering.  his fingers closed around it,  lingering,  and that was enough.  kara nudged him lightly as she turned back toward the stacks,  a ghost of a smirk playing at her lips.  ❝guess i win this round. ❞