Tag Dump .

@whumpgifathon | Day #25: ALT PROMPT "Begging" Upgrade (2018)

HEADCANON :  war letters .

Prior to his deployment to the Italian Front and subsequent capture by the Wehrmacht troops at Azzano, Bucky wrote letters to his younger sister Rebecca religiously. At the time, she was only sixteen and had been living in a state orphanage in Park Slope, Brooklyn since their fathers death at Camp Lehigh. He also sent letters to Steve while he was training at Camp Lehigh for Project Rebirth, however, Steve wasn’t able to tell him that he had been selected by the USSR or that he had been accepted into the Army due to the secrecy of the project and Bucky was also not able to divulge much information about his duties.

He traded some letters with Connie as well, the pair of them often discussing the state of the war as she was a registered nurse, their letters would switch between casual banter and deep and vulnerable confessions of their struggles and challenges as either nurse or soldier, often attempting to uplift each other’s spirits through written word. One of Bucky’s letters included a pressed puglia that stained the letter purple.

After he and the other United Allies were rescued from the Hydra Prisoner Base, Bucky was reunited with Connie for a short time before he was deployed alongside Steve and the other Howling Commandos and Bucky returned to writing letters to Rebecca whenever he had the chance to sit down.

As before, he wasn’t able to divulge much information about their activities back to Rebecca so most of his letters discussed members non-classified information, usually details about the other Howling Commandos (such as Gabe Jones proficiency at the trumpet and Dugan’s terrible singing), in passing he would mention cities that he had passed through but was no longer residing, and other minor details about the people that he met from the various resistance groups that they worked beside against both Hydra, and Nazi Germany.

He continued to write to Connie as well, though the letters between them were few and far between due to their work.

Following the end of W.WII when the Smithsonian began developing the Captain America exhibit, members of the museum reached out to Rebecca as Bucky’s only living relative. She donated some of Bucky’s war letters to the museum where they picked and chose from those available to them to display for Bucky’s memorial. When Bucky began piecing together his history in 2014, he stole the letters that were on display to help trigger more of his suppressed memories.

bucky is in tentative contact with his granddaughter kim. she reminds him a lot of rebecca. he will maul anyone that hurts her to death thanks

the engine ticks as he killed it, too loud in a place where things came to die. she was already halfway out the door, frustration wrapped around her like a second skin as she held her phone high in an effort to get cell service. it was futile, but bucky didn't mention it as he climbed out of the drivers seat. he stayed by the car, pale gaze sweeping their surroundings slowly.

the cornfield surroundings swayed slowly in the distance as he scanned the tree line, but there was nothing but silhouettes and the taste of rain. the place didn't have a name, and it hadn't shown on the GPS, let alone on any map he'd studied. he glanced back at her. maria wasn't wrong. friendly conversations really weren't his thing, but he didn't like the idea of her walking into the gas station alone. something about the town felt wrong. it felt like the kind of nowhere place that people disappeared into.

❝ so you can do the talking, ❞ bucky said as he shut the drivers side door and locked it. ❝ and i'll stock up on roadtrip junkfood. ❞ // @castlevowed , continued from here .

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."

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 .

they call him THE WINTER SOLDIER

Archives of HYDRA

April 1st Theme: HYDRA @catws-anniversary

something in his chest seemed to kick like a live wire when she laughed. it had a dangerous kind of confidence to it, like the click of a safety coming off. not loud, or boastful, just certain. he kept his pace even, boots quiet against the concrete, watching her silhouette glide ahead throught the gloom.

❝ outta the two of us? absolutely. ❞ he said. she tossed him a sidelong glance, all mischief and challenge, and he felt it again—that flicker. rooftop jobs usually meant snipers, extraction points, high-value targets. now it was books, and banter. she cradled the books to her like they were the blueprints to a softer world and when she said don't you dare skim, it sounded like a threat, but felt a lot like trust.

❝ i've fallen from higher, ❞ bucky remarked dryly, the easy grin on his lips softening his dark humour into something congestible. he followed her up the ladder, jacket fabric straining against his metal arm as it pinched between plates but otherwise, the climb was easy enough. and she wasn't wrong. the view was beautiful. the city skyline illuminated by flickering lights like bathed starlight.

kara’s laugh came quiet but sure,  a slip of silver in the dark,  like the glint of a blade catching moonlight.  she didn’t look at him right away — just kept walking,  steady  &  certain,  gaze lifted toward the rooftop’s outline ahead like she was chasing constellations only she could see.  ❝you think i’m the one who’s gonna tap out?❞ she asked,  feigning disbelief with a lift of her brow.  ❝bold of you.  i don’t start things i don’t intend to finish,  barnes. ❞

she let the moment stretch before cutting a sidelong glance his way,  that teasing curve curling at the edge of her lips.  ❝but i’ll let you have your illusions — for morale,❞ she added,  dry,  theatrical.  the books in her arms shifted as she adjusted her grip,  fingertips brushing the weather-worn covers with the kind of reverence reserved for sacred things.  ❝we’ll trade off.  you read me the first chapter,  i’ll read the second.   &  when the words get good,  don’t you dare skim. ❞

she reached the base of the ladder  &  turned,  backlit by the soft spill of streetlight,  hair tousled by the breeze,  eyes bright with mischief  &  promise.  ❝hope you’re not afraid of heights, ❞ she said,  voice light but edged with something electric.  ❝because this book club? it’s got a view. ❞