❝ It Never Does, ❞ He Said. He Had Been Here Before. The Emptiness, The Obsessive Need To Set The

I will get up again. And again. And again.

PROMPTS FOR THE ROMANCE OF BANTER, PLAYFUL SARCASM, AND USING JOKES TO HIDE HOW YOU REALLY FEEL ABOUT THEM *  assorted dialogue, some of which have some implied sarcasm built in (so just feel free to specify with "/s" at the end of each line), adjust as necessary

admit it. you're in love with me.

if only i had someone to go out with...

a date would be really nice right about now.

i might reconsider if you bring me flowers.

were you being serious back there?

did you just try to impress me?

was that another joke, or were you telling the truth?

we agreed that if no one asked us, we'd go together.

keep telling yourself that!

here it comes! the big love confession i've been waiting for!

you've been in love with me since the day we met.

you visited me in my dreams last night.

i know you're in love with me. you just won't say it outloud.

we can't hide this forever.

don't make me beg.

if you weren't so cute, you'd be annoying.

you're not very good at hiding how you feel.

you've been staring at me for a long time now.

is that what you really think of me?

you have feelings for me. admit it.

so what if i've been lying this whole time? for good reason!

you don't make this whole love thing any easier.

you make life difficult.

you're a piece of work.

is that how you really feel?

you're lucky you're so cute.

you're not really going out with them, are you?

i thought we... nevermind.

consider me impressed.

am i annoying you right now?

you didn't like that comment, huh.

i was only kidding!

you wish we were kissing right now.

oh, you'd just love to hear me beg.

i love our little back and forth.

sooner or later we'll have to come clean about how we feel.

i'm not good at hiding my emotions.

when were you going to tell me you were in love with me?

i actually hate your guts.

keep talking like that and you'll see how i really feel.

can your head get any bigger?

was that a joke?

were you just playing with me?

you didn't actually mean that, right?

hang on. you didn't just say that.

that was a joke, right?

this is just how we are when we're together.

i tease you, you tease me.

you and i have always been like this.

if i'm not annoying you, what's the point?

i'm allergic to tickling.

they said we'd make a cute couple. can you believe that?

are you always this annoying?

if i kiss you, will you turn into a prince? yes, i'm implying you're a frog.

you're lucky i love you so much.

you take that back!

that was uncalled for!

this means war!

this calls for a duel!

i'm challenging you to an arm wrestle.

last one there is a rotten egg!

i'm not racing you!

stop looking at me like that.

you stare at me a lot.

i know, i know. i'm irresistable.

something on my face?

a little bird told me you're in love with me.

prove me wrong.

HEADCANON : relationship with violence .

Bucky Barnes experiences his most vivid sense of self when engaged in combat. Fighting provides him with clarity—free from guilt, doubt, or horror, he exists solely in the moment, absorbed in the simplicity of violence. Unlike the intricate moral dilemmas that plague his daily existence, combat offers a straightforward equation: him versus his opponent. It is within these moments that he is most open, most expressive, and paradoxically, most talkative. The physicality of battle is a release, a channel for emotions too tangled to unravel through words alone. He grins, laughs, and embraces the fight with a raw, unfiltered intensity. Yet, this momentary freedom comes at a cost.

The aftermath of combat is where the exhaustion sets in, not just physically but emotionally. The clarity that violence provides fades into the murky waters of introspection. Bucky is left questioning himself: Does he enjoy fighting because it is inherently satisfying, or has he been conditioned to enjoy it? The doubt creeps in—did his opponent deserve the extent of his aggression? Was the violence necessary, or was it an instinct honed by years of programming? Even his own thought processes become suspect. When he deliberates whether he should have sought a second opinion before acting, he is unsure if this is a natural ethical impulse or a remnant of his conditioning—an ingrained need to take orders rather than make decisions autonomously.

Bucky’s struggle extends to identifying what exactly he derives from violence. Is it the act itself? The escape from his own mind? The power he exerts? The thrill of dominance? These questions drive his inner turmoil, leading to moments of emotional collapse as he grapples with the implications of his own desires. The answer, ultimately, is not singular. His relationship with violence is multifaceted.

Simplicity and Escape: In a fight, the world reduces to its most basic form—winner and loser, attack and defense. This absolves him, momentarily, of the crushing guilt that permeates his existence.

Power and Control: Having spent years as a puppet stripped of free will, there is an undeniable satisfaction in regaining agency, in overpowering an opponent. This newfound control is intoxicating but also troubling, as it blurs the line between reclaiming strength and becoming an aggressor.

Conditioning and Instinct: Bucky’s past as the Winter Soldier complicates his ability to trust his own instincts. Does he fight because he wants to, or because he was programmed to? This question haunts him, making each fight a battle not just against an opponent, but against himself.

While combat provides temporary relief, it is invariably followed by a devastating emotional crash. The pleasure of victory is undercut by the resurgence of guilt and self-doubt. The knowledge that he enjoys aspects of violence—especially the dominance and control it affords—deepens his internal conflict. This cycle of exhilaration and remorse becomes its own form of psychological torment, leaving Bucky to question not only his actions but the very nature of his identity.

Bucky Barnes' relationship with violence is deeply complex, rooted in both trauma and survival. It is an outlet, an escape, a source of power, but also a source of guilt and self-doubt. His struggle lies in disentangling his own desires from the conditioning imposed upon him. As he continues to reclaim his autonomy, the greatest battle he faces is not with an external enemy, but within himself.

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 .

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 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."

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

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.

Gentle Care

Taking care of them...

"Hey, it's okay. Show me?"

"What did they do to you?"

"Don't cry - I've got you."

"That's okay - get it all out."

"Deep breath, I have you."

"Sh, sh, I'm going to patch you up."

"I've got a bandage for you."

"This is going to sting, but we have to clean this."

"Oh - okay - we're hugging about this, okay."

"It'll all feel better in the morning."

"I can't believe someone would do this to you..."

"I'm going to protect you."

"Get some rest. I'm not going anywhere."

"You're safe now."

"I'm just going to wipe your face."

"When's the last time you cried like this?"

"There's nothing wrong with you, I promise."

"One day, you'll be okay. For now? It's okay to hurt."

"You want a hug?"

"I've got a blanket for you."

"Nice and cosy..."

"It's okay if you fall asleep."

"Just get some rest. You need it."

"Hey, I made you food."

"I know it's easy to forget to eat when you feel like this."

"You don't need to feel guilty."

"It wasn't your fault."

"Do you want a hot chocolate?"

"There's nothing better than a toasted marshmallow."

"Just hold onto me. There we go."

capmeme: eight quotes [2/8]

↳ "Is this a test?"