𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒍.

hello !  welcome  to  my  independent  roleplay  blog  for  james  “bucky”  buchanan  barnes,  also  known  as  the  winter  soldier.  i  am  red  or  ash  ( 21+ / she+her / cst ),  just  depends  on  what  you  want  to  call  me.  and  some  of  you  may  know  me  from  @behunted​.  this  blog  will  be  low  -  activity,  selective  and  private,  so  i  will  only  interact  with  mutuals.  also  expect  some  heavy  canon  divergence  and  lots  of  headcanons  as  i  play  god  with  both  comic  and  mcu  lore  to  build  my  bucky.  be  sure  to  peep  the  guidelines  before  following !     

ABOUT

GUIDELINES

INTEREST TRACKER

STARTER CALL

@intohero​   sent  :    “I’m sorry I was gone.”

@lethalmade​  // plotted starter 

                     WALLS   KNOW   NOTHING   BUT   VIOLENCE ; if she traces her fingers across cold stone, she knows she would feel the cold whispering against her skin. or is that freezing skin her own, and the walls are just the walls, and the violence is less abstract and more real —— shade of darkness behind her gaze? 

                    she walks empty corridors unnoticed, she thinks. she thinks, but is not naïve enough to be sure about it. knows there are eyes everywhere, every little indiscretion will always find it’s way back to the surface. it doesn’t stop her, never did. and when sleepless nights stretch ad infinitum, natalia finds herself seeking out that familiar comfort that the training room brings her. there she feels complete, good —— exceptional even —— it is one place where her shoulders are free of doubts.

                    that night she finds HIM there too. thinks she knows the shape of him by now —— fought more than once, there are bruises blooming on her ribs from his touch still. observes. knows he heard her coming, so there is no need to pretend. moves in closer, gaze glued on the way he sits, as if there’s something bothering him under his clothes.    «are you hurt, soldier?»    she’s close enough but still out of reach; ready if he decides to attack her on sight. speaks russian at first, then continues in english.    ❝ show me. ❞

                    𝙷𝙴’𝚂  𝙵𝙰𝚅𝙾𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶  𝙷𝙸𝚂  𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃  𝚂𝙸𝙳𝙴.      the  weak  side.     the  knife  wound  there  is  superficial.     he  rationalizes  that  as  his  sole  reason  for  not  alerting  his  handler  or  the  technicians  upon  his  return  from  the  mission.     the  soldier  doesn’t  think  about  rough,  uncaring  hands  pressing  against  a  wound.     the  tension  in  his  jaw  from  clenching  his  teeth  so  hard  as  they  refuse  to  sedate  him  or  provide  anything  to  numb  the  pain.     no  —  he  can  patch  himself  up  this  time.     no  need  to  alert  anyone  over  a  minor  injury.

                    the  soldier  sits  in  the  training  room  —  where  just  that  morning  he  had  sparred  with  the  widows  he  is  tasked  to  train  in  between  missions.     it  is  one  of  the  few  places  he  is  afforded  privacy.     the  handlers  do  not  bother  him  here  unless  they  are  tasked  with  observing.     he  is  free  of  them  for  the  moment;  first  aid  kit  rests  beside  him,  as  does  the  heavy  tactical  vest  he  wears.     no  stitches  needed,  only  some  bandaging  and  then  he  will  be  able  to  rest  for  the  night.

                    the  soft  foot  falls  would  easily  be  missed  by  others,  but  he  is  not  like  others.     unmade  and  remade  into  something  else  entirely.     tension  seizes  him  involuntarily.     a  deep  breath  and  he  forces  his  shoulders  to  relax  as  the  voice  that  reaches  his  ears  registers  with  recognition.     he  doesn’t  answer  her.     doesn’t  look  at  her  either.     but  as  always  is  ready  to  comply.     and  although  he  does  not  take  orders  from  the  widows,  he  lifts  his  dark  t-shirt  just  high  enough  to  show  her  the  wound.

@ironicarus​   sent  :   [text] Let me help, please?

@executiioner​   sent  :   [text] FUCK YOU AND YOUR DUMB CUTE FACE