Wintrb0rn - He's A Ghost Story

the safehouse was the kind of place no one asked questions about. tucked between abandoned buildings on the outskirts of the city, it was forgotten. lost. much like them. the silence that stretched between them was tangible, the kind that felt as if it were leaving behind a sticky residue. his gaze—sharp, weary—never left her. pale blue scrutinizing the same truth he'd seen in the mirror splay out across her face.

❝ i’m afraid i had no choice in the matter. ❞

it was a familiar story and a familiar wound still bleeding beneath the surface. bucky leaned back slightly, flexing his fingers carefully, his expression neutral. then, after a long moment—maybe too long—he gave a slow nod.

❝ yeah, ❞ he murmured. ❝ i know. ❞ that was it. no absolution, no condemnation. just the weight of knowing what it was like to someone else's weapon. // @staticveil , altered carbon prompt .

amelia holmes talked fast, and thought faster. words spilled out like she was five moves ahead and barely waiting for the rest of the world to catch up. bucky had seen minds like hers before—brilliant, untethered, always running at a pace most people couldn't follow. he let her talk. let her lay out her theory, the threads of logic she w as weaving together, the patterns only she seemed to see. he didn't interrupt. just watched. listened. measured every word against the instincts that kept him alive longer than they had any right to.

a pause as she took a breath and only then did she seem to notice that he hadn't responded. not yet anyway.

❛ don't worry, i'm not crazy. least, i don't think so. ❜

bucky held her gaze for a beat. the ghost of something unreadable in his expression as he waited. maybe she wasn't crazy, or maybe she was just the kind of crazy that made sense to him. but he'd learned early on that sanity was subjective.

❝ i don't care if you're crazy, ❞ bucky said finally, ❝ i care if you're right. ❞ because if she was, and he thought she was, then a lot of people were in danger and the only people who had any clue, was them. // @tcbefearless / amelia , silent hill prompts .

the city skyline loomed like a jagged promise against the night. towers rising in stark defiance to the darkness, splayed in neon and halogen lights. the unlikely pair had a clear line of sight overlooking the flashing red and blue lights and crowd of uniformed officers that poured in and out of the warehouse below. what was left of the trafficking ring—those that could still walk at least—were escorted into armored vans in cuffs.

❝  sometimes, complexity can be exhausting. ❞

she wasn't wrong. he'd been chasing down a missing persons lead, a reasonably mundane operation that had quickly turned into something else when their paths had crossed. but the exhaustion that filled her voice ran deeper than a random night of vigilante justice.

❝  so simplify it. ❞ bucky said, as if life was that easy. ❝ forget the politics, the debts. just focus on the job . . . and maybe a drink after. ❞ he added as an afterthought. // @waruins , altered carbon prompt .

                 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 .

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.

his pace didn't change, but he heard the shift in her tone—the careful attempt at something lighter, the way she tests the weight of conversation like someone checking for weak ground. he understood the instinct. the city moved around them, alive but distant, separate from them almost, but still, his mind catches on her question. did he like reading? before?

before is a loaded word. before the war? before hydra? before he'd become something other than himself. there's too much ground to cover, and he still wasn't entirely sure where he was supposed to land in it anymore. but he doesn't mind the question. it's not one people usually ask him.

❝ yeah. i did. ❞ he remembered that brooklyn in the '30's wasn't much for distractions when one was barely scraping by. books were an escape, something that didn't ask anything from you except time. he remembered carrying a copy of a tree falls in brooklyn while on the frontlines. ❝ life stories. coming of age. adventures. ❞

her smirk caught his eye, that teasing lilt in her voice pulled the corners of his mouth upward—just barely, but enough. ❝ i bet you wrote your own, ❞ he teased in return, ❝ none of the other poets could explain it like you. ❞

the city pressed in around them as they walked,  the night thick with the scent of rain on pavement,  the distant hum of traffic,  the whisper of wind through alleyways.  kara fell into step beside him,  hands tucked into her coat,  shoulders drawn inward against the cold.  the weight of their last words lingered,  heavy but not unbearable.  survival,  she had learned,  was rarely about victory — just endurance.   &  endurance was easier when silence did not demand to be filled.   

still,  she broke it.  ❝did you like reading?❞ her voice was quiet,  more observation than idle talk.  ❝before,  i mean. ❞ books had been her refuge,  history her constant.  the past never betrayed the way people did — it only revealed itself,  page by page.  she wondered if he had something like that,  something to tether him before the world made him a ghost of himself.   

she glanced sideways,  a smirk curling at the edge of her mouth.  ❝something tells me you weren’t the poetry type. ❞ a pause,  then something almost teasing,  almost warm.  ❝or maybe you were.  brooding soldier with a book of sonnets tucked into his jacket.  wouldn’t be the strangest thing i’ve seen. ❞ the corner of her mouth twitched,  the words easier,  lighter.  maybe not normal — but something close enough. 

Jet Li, Mike Lambert - Unleashed aka Danny The Dog (2005)

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

he watched the scene unfold below, the flashing red and blue lights bouncing off the steel edges of the city. it was a familiar sight, one he'd seen in different lifetimes, different wars, in different cities. he should've felt something—satisfaction, maybe—but all he got was the dull ache of knowing it was never really enough.

bucky turned his focus to the woman beside him as she weighed the moment. he recognized that weight, the hunger to do more, to make it mean something. her words aren't unkind, but they were edged with the exhaustion of someone who couldn't remember why they were fighting, but kept fighting anyway.

❝ no, they don't, ❞ he agreed, a ghost of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. he doesn't say what he's thinking—that soldiers don't mix with anything. not politics, not peace, not with the kind of life that doesn't have bloodstains on the edges.

he feels her question before she asks it. instinct, not obligation. a stocked medkit, a place to come down from the night, a moment to breathe. she's killed for the right reasons, but she still wanted to save something. ❝ nothing serious, ❞ he said, ❝ but i'm not saying no to the scotch. ❞

it's  all  bittersweet,  a  feeling  familiar  like  the  ache  from  fading  adrenaline.  VIOLENCE  WITH  A  JUSTIFIED  MEANS  TO  AN  END,  but  it  never  ends  ─  not  really.  sisyphus  and  a  boulder  actually  worth  something,  pissing  off  every  white  suit  that  holds  themselves  as  gods  but  never  lifts  a  finger  to  make  a  change.  reflection  caught  in  her  gaze,  the  swarm  of  humans  corralled  like  animals  finally  tasting  freedom  after  who  knows  how  long.  IT'S  NOT  ENOUGH,  SHE  WANTS  TO  DO  MORE.

she  was  never  meant  for  it.  soft  innards  of  a  poet  armoured  up  and  made  a  weapon.  ❛  soldiers  and  politics  don't  mix  anyway.  ❜  it's  a  spark  of  wryness  chuffed  out.  ❛  a  drink  sounds  perfect,  i  owe  you.  ❜  a  hollow  grin  holds  so  much  warmth  at  the  edges,  eyes  that  start  from  his  feet  and  assess  her  way  up  to  his  eyes.

❛  you  hurt?  ❜  that's  a  glimpse  of  true  nature.  the  reflex  of  wanting  to  do  more  good  than  all  the  wrongs  she's  ever  committed.  ❛  the  gym's  a  few  blocks  away  and  i  keep  a  full  stocked  medkit  with  a  side  of  scotch.  ❜

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