I APPEAR MISSING.

there's such a sweet look of annoyance on bucky's face. she eats it up. her head falls to the side, " of course i know. " leaning into the empty space he was occupying on his couch just minutes before, " i'll make it up to you. "

These  thoughts,  these  feelings,  trickled  in  and  out  …  leaving  just  as  swiftly  as  they  had  come  the  moment  she  drew  nearer.  Her  scent  lingers  in  the  space  between  them,  every  feature  of  her  face  filling  his  vision,  leaving  him  entirely  vulnerable  to  every  suggestion.  Residual  annoyance  may  have  subsided,  but  the  mask  obscuring  his  true  emotions  remained  intact.  It  was  part  of  their  game,  this  banter  they  had.  

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚎. 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎. 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚎. 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎. 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐬, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭. ( you were made to serve. )

“ oh, relax, soldier. ”  her voice is rough around the edges, but it purrs, it hums. she seems comfortable … loose. but with every sway of the hips or roll of her shoulders, it’s easy to see that everything is controlled. nothing is accidental. the cadence she speaks in, the very way she presses her tongue against her teeth or gestures … control. all of it. but when she smiles, it’s the only feature that doesn’t seem perfectly curated.

not here   —   not right now   —   at the very least.

It’s gone in an instant, and all that is left is the sputtering, muted confusion. If this is a command, it cannot tell. Nobody had ever ordered it to relax. Tension yielded control. Relaxation meant death. Laxity spurred an absence of awareness, a lack of focus. Did she mean for it to sit, or remain standing? To watch and protect, or simply exist as a shadow in the corner? Did she want it to speak, or remain silent? The lack of true objective was new territory. It was rarely awake when there was no mission, no work to be done … even rarer that it was without a clear, distinctive order. Spelled out, down to the letter.  

Following  the  framework  of  the  Five  Love  Languages,  Bucky  predominantly  identifies  with  Acts  of  Service,  both  in  showing  and  receiving  love.

As  he  isn’t  always  the  most  verbally  or  physically  expressive  person,  it  is  those  helpful  and  thoughtful  tasks  meant  to  ease  the  burdens  of  the  other  person  that  are,  at  times,  really  the  only  way  that  he  can  express  his  affections or fondness.  When  breaking  down  the  other  love  languages,  it’s  easy  to  understand  why.

WORDS  OF  AFFIRMATION.  As  previously  stated,  he  isn’t  always  the  most  verbally  expressive  person.  He  can  be  a  man  of  few  words,  but  more  importantly,  he  often  has  difficulty  with  vocalizing  his  emotions  and  thoughts,  which  stems  from  a  multitude  of  things.  In  turn,  when  receiving  words  of  affirmation  ( while  the  thought  is  nice )  the  self-deprecating  voice  in  his  head  is  much  louder.    QUALITY  TIME.  This  one,  while  definitely  a  potential  contender,  is  not  so  easily  accessible  for  him  and  he  has  had  to  learn  to  deal  without  it.  Even  if  distance  makes  the  heart  grow  fonder.  With  the  type  of  life  he  has,  in  tandem  with  the  jobs  he  tends  to  take,  it’s  not  entirely  uncommon  for  him  to  be  away  for  weeks  or  months  at  a  time  —  in  fact,  there’s  potential  for  him  to  disappear  without  a  trace  for  years  even,  should  things  be  dire  enough.  The  key  here  is  a  partner or friend  who  either  understands  this  …  or  at  the  very  least,  puts  up  with  it.  That  being  said,  it  does  mean  he  appreciates  the  time  he  gets  with  them  all  the  more.  It’s  precious. RECEIVING  GIFTS.  He’s  not  good  at  gifts.  He  is  horrible  at  finding  good  gifts.  The  idea  alone  stresses  him  out,  and  when  someone  gives  him  a  gift,  he  doesn’t  quite  know  what  to  do  with  that  either.  At  most,  plain  and  extremely  practical  gifts  are  best  if  someone  wanted  to  gift  him  something,  but  he  really  doesn’t  know  how  to  handle  it.  In  addition,  he  isn’t  a  very  materialistic  individual  and  doesn’t  place  much  value  on  objects  to  begin  with. PHYSICAL  TOUCH.    As  outlined  in  my  sexual  habits  and  preferences ⁽ ¹ ⁾  headcanon post, physical  intimacy  and sex often can  be  very  difficult  for  him,  but  this  extends  beyond  just  sexual forms of  touch.  He  is  generally  quite  touch  averse  unless  he  is  extremely  comfortable  with  someone,  due  to  his  extensive  trauma  and  physical  abuse.  But  even  with  that  comfort,  there  will  still  be  times  where  he  does  not  want  to  touch  or  be  touched,  which  isn’t  very  conducive  to  this  form  of  expression.

random sentence prompts. / @operationwinter

❝ yeah, okay ... ❞ if you want to get technical about it, she supposes he's right. picking locks and disarming cameras doesn't necessarily count as breaking anything. not that yelena's opposed to breaking and entering. that's a petty crime in the grand scheme of things ... what she is opposed to is the lab they're currently standing in and the underground scientists, the experiments that tend to go along with it.

human experimentation is a bit of a touchy subject. go figure.

❛  You’re  not  gonna  like  it.  ❜  Bucky  admits,  voice  hushed  and  fizzling  out  momentarily  as  miscellaneous  footsteps  clicked  down  the  corridor.  His  back was  pressed  flush  against  the  wall,  yet the  lab  coats  around  the  breezed  through  without  taking  any  ᴺᴼᵀᴱ  of  their  position.  He  exhaled  the  stale  breath  he’d  been  holding,  gaze  panning  back  over  to  the  blonde  widow.  

❛  Department  X ... trying  to  pick  up  where  they  left  off.  Got  some  intel  I  couldn’t  ignore,  so  I  figured  I’d  find  out  what  they’re  up  to,  see  what  their  next  move  is,  and  then  blow  the  lid  off  the  damn place.  ❜

matthew paused his browsing of the case notes as the other man talked. he fetched his old audio recording device out of his bag, laying it flat on the table before toggling it on. he was the sole attorney listening in during this meeting, and so he needed to ensure that he got the proper notes jotted down for the case.

foggy was taking a half - day for an appointment — damn him — but this wasn't matthew's first rodeo by any means, so he could keep the firm occupied in the meantime.

after all, this was just the initial consultation. he wasn't even certain that james was going to hire him after all was said and done, but he had to gather the evidence he could to determine if nelson & murdock would be a good fit to represent him.

❛ according to them? mr. barnes ... from a legal standpoint, that's a yes or no. not a technicality. ❜ he sighed, folding his hands atop the table. he could hear the way his jaw clicked, could hear the venom lacing the words that rolled off his tongue. for a moment, matthew thought that perhaps this client wasn't a good fit. but after the silence between them passed, he spoke once more, seemingly more compliant. and then, matthew had an idea. ❛ ... mr. barnes, do you happen to have any proof? do you have tangible evidence that exposes those employees as fascists? ❜

it was mandatory that for the trial, the jury remained entirely unbiased ... but matthew knew the people of new york fairly well after all these years living alongside them and serving them, and it wasn't exactly a secret that the majority of the population didn't take well to fascists. ❛ we have to present a convincing case that proves what you did was justified, if we want to keep you from being put behind bars again. so, i'll ask again ... do you have anything we can pin on them? ❜

That  was  the  funny  thing,  about  being  paranoid.  The  belief  that  anything and everyone  was  out  to  get  you,  that  there  were  so  few  souls  that  you  could  really  trust  …  for  most,  it  stemmed  from  nowhere.  The  sign  of  a  deeper,  far  more  internalized  problem.  For  Bucky  …  it  came  from  experience.  Not  even  the  government  he  had  fought  for  ( 𝙳𝙸𝙴𝙳  𝙵𝙾𝚁 )  could  be  trusted,  let  alone  the  man  sent  to  represent  him  who  claimed  to  uphold  the  ideals  of  a  court  and  country  that  had  never  cared  whether  he  lived  or  died.  He  didn’t  feel  protected.  He  felt  antagonized,  stripped  bare,  thrown  to  the  wolves  without  defenses.  He  felt  vulnerable,  sitting  here.  Bound  in  chains,  one-armed,  swathed  in  the  vibrant  oranges  that  labelled  him  a  criminal.  Sat  across  from  a  man  who,  evidently,  still  believed  there  was  some  hope  that  Bucky  could  ever  really  be  free.  

❛   What, you  think  I’d  blow  up  an  entire  building  if  I  didn’t  have  proof?   ❜  Sure,  he  might  have  been  a  bit  rough  around  the  edges,  with  more  than  a  few  screws  missing,  but  it  wasn’t  that  bad. 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ( 𝙽𝙾𝚃  𝚈𝙴𝚃,  𝙰𝙽𝚈𝚆𝙰𝚈. )

❛   ... Do  you  know  what  happened,  after  the  war?  They  called  it  Operation  Paperclip.  The  United  States  recruited  hundreds  of  scientists  from  the  Nazi  party  so  that  they  could  get  their  hands  on  all  that  fancy  German  tech  and  defeat  the  Soviets  during  the  Cold  War.  We  gave  our  supposed  enemies  jobs  and  positions  of  power  instead  of  consequences  because  they  wanted  to  share  ideas.   ❜  

But  it  hadn’t  ended  there.  It  never  did.  This  incident  was  not  an  isolated  one.  Men  were  easy  to  kill,  this  much  he  knew.  They  were  human,  made  of  flesh  and  blood  with  hearts  that  ceased  to  beat  when  you  put  a  bullet  through  it.  However,  it  was  damn  near  impossible  to  kill  an  idea  …   to  stamp  out  the  endless  greed  and  yearning  for  control  that  had  poisoned  so  many  since  the  dawn  of  time.  The  Cold  War  had  ended,  not  with  a  bang,  but  with  a  whimper  …  beneath  the  ashes  and  metaphorical  rubble,  something  else  had  grown.  Impenetrable  and  sickening.  He’d  played  his  part  in  it,  against  his  will  or  not.    

❛   They  funneled  a  hell  of  a  lot  of  money  into  those  programs  to  build  those  weapons,  you  think  all  that  ended  just  because  Gorbachev  collapsed  a  wall?  No.  Even  after  the  USSR  fell,  I  was  still  getting  passed  around  between  operators  who  wanted  to  pursue  their  own  agendas.  We  had  contacts  and  allies  here  in  America.  They’re  still  out  there,  they’re  spreading,  and  they’ve  got  a  paper  trail.   ❜

“ then you can’t. ”

bathed in the cool blue hour hue, veiled by the smell of fresh coffee … with her knees tucked to her chest and her hands around a warm latte, trixie’s eyelids twitch nearly imperceptively. a crack in the straight face. something of pity, maybe even regret, but the way she says it is more … matter of fact. she’s straight shooting the truth, or sharing her pessimism.

there’s a city below, one that doesn’t care about redemption. that’s its whole thing, isn’t it? whatever happens in vegas, stays in vegas. it doesn’t matter. nothing does. there’s a reason you can smoke in the casinos. there’s a reason there’s indoor cities that mimic an uncanny tuscany. it’s always sideways. just like they are. bridal parties are still crawling the strip, the bachelorette is probably doing a walk of shame, the girls in amazon-shipped corsets are going home with their mascara smudging … redemption doesn’t matter in a city that barely exists. she briefly nods.

Everything about her exuded control, even as they sat here over a single coffee without another soul in the world around to witness the performance. Steam curled from the top of the cup, everything bathed in the aroma. The fabrics wrapped meticulously around her figure flowed and settled with perfection, and he can’t stare for too long out of worry he may turn to stone. His gaze shifts, towards the window. There’s nothing but high-rises, impossibly tall hotels and casinos forming the excruciatingly bleak image of manufactured excellence. The trap that draws you in, and keeps you here, crawling with lotus-eaters and lawless sinners. Every building a copy of a copy of a copy. Cars down below blinked in and out of existence. Somehow, he wished he could follow them into the meaningless, nothingness of oblivion. 

❛ Yeah. You’re right. ❜ Bucky says. The subject is snapped shut, sealed tight, locked in the vault alongside the rest of his thoughts.