&. 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝟐 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

                 CARRD PROMPTS HEADCANONS

#WINTRB0RN : BARNES , B.UCKY . independent  b.ucky  b.arnes  roleplay  account,  mcu  based  / 616  inspiration, before interacting please read divergences page here . formerly found at @ghststry & @rprgrmmd-a ( lost login details ) . dead dove, do not eat . h.ydra t.rash p.arty dni .

the shooter wasted no time, moving with complete certainty, dragging the man to the nearest car like a sack of meat, knife already out, gleaming in the light. the tire hissed, the car sank a little, and the man, still bound by bucky's makeshift restraints, thrashed like a worm on a hook.

he made no move to stop him then either. bucky watched with an almost morbid curiosity, and an even darker compliance, listening as the man descended from defiance, to anger, to desperation, to fear. screams dissolving into tears. he'd been here before. only he'd been the one holding the knife then.

the car sank lower, the man sobbed, and bucky twitched the same time frank pulled the man out from under the car by his leg. bucky stared as frank asked if he cared if any were left alive. he didn't know. he couldn't tell if the guilt he felt was because it was wrong—or because a part of him understood exactly why it wasn't. ❝ i don't care what you do. but they aren't going to keep those people alive if they don't have a buyer. ❞

bucky made a face. something akin to anger, or disgust as the shooter explained who they were up against. ❝ then we better get moving. ❞ bucky said, walking briskly towards one of the dealers cars—a stereotypical black suv, ❝ hit them hard and fast, make sure they have no time to kill or use them as hostages. you know where this warehouse is? ❞

Frank doesn't say much, just walks over to whoever got pointed out and starts dragging them towards the nearest car. A knife gets quickly taken out from his vest and he punctures the tire; resting the man's head underneath the car. A small hiss is let out as the vehicle moves slightly and the man starts struggling with him; just bound arms swiping at him to get away. The car looming over them as it slowly moves down.

"Where are they? They were supposed to be handed over to those assholes at the Crossroads church and they didn't make it. What happened!" He barked at him, holding him in place as the 'boss' struggled with Frank.

[Fuck you!]

Frank takes the knife out and makes another puncture in the tire, the car moving even more now. "You think your head can survive the weight? You know you'll feel every inch of it happening. The car slowly crushing your fucking head as it bursts open finally crushing your damn brain. You know you survive 15 minutes after?"

[Fuck you! Fuck you! FUCK YOU!]

The man screams before crying as the car moves closer and closer.

[I don't know! I don't know! They didn't show up! We stashed them at our warehouse with our merchandise! We had nowhere else to put them, they fucked us over!]

Frank punctured the tire again and watched as the car slowly descended down on the man, his screams filling the air before he pulled him by his leg away from the car.

"—You care if any of them are left alive?" He asks the stranger, looking at the way he moved, he had a feeling he didn't. It's not like they had the time to be fucking around anymore.

"I'll take you up on your offer,too." He added, knowing he meant he'd help with the women when they found them. "We get them to safety and find out more later. This church," Frank shook his head, his jaw set tight. "They start indoctrinating low tier drug offenders, give them the salvation speech and then have them do shit like this to prove their loyalty. If those assholes didn't show, it means something went wrong on their end."

tag dump .

. ic . › about .

. ic . › aesthetics .

. connection . › ava starr .

. connection . › rebecca barnes-proctor .

he didn't flinch, he rarely ever did. not when people raised their voices, not when they started flailing like they might be carrying a contagious form of hunted by mine enemies. he just watched, quiet and measured with a single brow raised in silent question. booster's outburst seemed . . . misplaced and strained. there was more to the random attack than was on the surface, booster had obviously been the target but his attackers had been, strange. trained and well-armed, and yet not only did bucky not recognise their particular brand, he also didn't recognise their weaponry.

bucky folded his arms across his chest, one shoulder leaning against the wood of a floor to ceiling sized dresser. the stench in the motel was familiar. old sweat, burned wiring, fear trying to hide behind sarcasm. bucky knew the smell better than he cared to admit. it was the kind of smell that stuck to ones skin like regret. ❝ they come after someone i'm standing next to, that makes it my fight. ❞ he said carefully.

booster had handled himself in the fight, that wasn't up for debate, but now that the danger had come to a brief pause, bucky could look at him—really look at him this time—and he saw the fray around the edges of a carefully sculpted facade. the patchwork suit, worn and scorched, the dangling earpiece. the exhaustion crawling just beneath the surface. bucky saw it all because he'd worn that same look a thousand different ways.

when booster turned from the window, that false bravado peeling off him in layers, bucky's expression softened. sure, walking away would be the smart play. cleaner. safer even. his gaze lingered on booster's hand, the way it gripped the window frame like it was the only thing tethering him to this moment.

❝ until this is over, you're stuck with me. ❞ bucky said, and it wasn't because he had to, but because he chose to. ❝ so, tell me what we're up against. ❞ // @goldbiz , continued from here .

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."

capmeme: eight quotes [2/8]

↳ "Is this a test?"

what are you seeking ?

—  forgiveness  .

“what  should  i  apologize  for;  what  i  am  or  what  i’m  not?”  //  oh,  little  hero,  how  close  are  you  to  crumbling  under  the  weight  on  your  shoulders?  how  heavy  has  that  heart  of  yours  gotten?  how  deeply  has  the  guilt  burrowed  into  your  bones?  how  permanently  has  the  grief  been  seared  into  your  soul?

you  were  so  tender,  and  the  world  so  cruel.  loss  after  loss  after  loss,  each  another  chip  on  your  shoulder.  because  you  deserved  it,  didn’t  you?  if  you  could  be  better . . . faster . . . stronger . . . smarter . . . then  maybe  it  wouldn’t  have  happened.  right?  the  blood  stains  your  hands,  and  it  won’t  wash  out  will  it?

but  darling,  it’s  never  been  your  fault.  you’ve  learned  to  turn  the  rage  and  the  regret,  the  guilt  and  the  grief,  inwards.  if  you’re  hurt,  it’s  your  own  fault  isn’t  it?  because  then  there’s  a  reason  for  it,  because  it  gives  you  some  semblance  of  control,  doesn’t  it?  what  you  seek  is  forgiveness,  for  your  perceived  wrongs.  but  oh,  little  skeleton,  you  do  not  need  it.  stop  blaming  yourself  for  what  was  beyond  your  control.  let  go  of  the  past.  grow.  and  learn  to  breathe  with  both  of  your  lungs.  stop  choking  on  your  own  self  hatred.  the  weight  will  ease,  i  promise.  i  love  you.

tagged by : nada tagging : @staticveil , @sh1elded , @tcbefearless ( amelia ), @deathcrime & you <3

tag dump .

.     ic .     ›     wardrobe .

.     ic .     ›     ships .

.     ooc .     ›     back on my bullshit .

.     ooc .     ›     psa .

.     ooc .     ›     resources .

.     ooc .     ›     my  creations .

. ic . › musings .

.     connection .     ›     steve rogers .

.     connection .     ›     sam wilson .

CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE WINTER SOLIDER (2014) dir. Anthony & Joe Russo

he took in the sight of her, all sharp lines and lethal elegance, a predator carved from shadow and scarlet. the gleam of her sai caught in moonlight and neon, but she wasn't aiming to kill. not yet. he let the distance between them close, let her blade kiss his throat—just enough to break skin.

she's good, but he's been in the game too long to be caught unprepared. his own knife presses against her stomach, sharpened point cutting through fabric just enough to touch skin. ❝ don't start something you can't finish. ❞ he said, voice like gravel, words edged with something sharp and unrelenting.

he tipped his chin back, daring the scarlet assassin to make a move. to step in or out, to attack or defend, it mattered little to him. either she was a nuisance, or an obstacle, but he was prepared to go through her if he had to.

Something hadn't felt right from her peering through the shadows out the window of her hideout. A light reflecting onto the window in a way unexplainable based on what could easily be perceived by the surrounding sources.

Her target asleep. The assassin vanished from the safehouse to the mysterious glimmer reflecting on the window. Feet silent on the way up to the adjacent rooftop. Her sai spin silently in her hands in preparation for the threat she finds herself about to face.

The door opens in silence and Elektra's movements are swift. Eyeing her new target down, assessing his features and their surroundings. She knows of this man if a man is what he could be called. Could she even be called a woman in this state?

After her analysis, the assassin slips behind the soldier. Her sai points into his throat, lightly puncturing the skin near his windpipe. "I'd be careful of your next moves, Winter Soldier."