#winteragentweek

John: No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. Bucky and I are not together. No. No.

WINTERAGENT WEEK 2025

Countdown: one week!!!!

If there’s one word to define it, it’s HAPPINESS 💖

Two weeks until WinterAgent Week begins!!

Are you excited?

WinterAgent Prompt Week

Three Weeks Away!!

The first thing Bucky noticed wasn't big. It wasn't large or overwhelming. It was small. Simple. It was bright and early on a Monday morning. He opened a kitchen cabinet and rooted around. Sunlight streamed through the windows, but the room was still gloomy around the edges. Bucky rocked up onto his toes. He nudged a canister of powdered lemonade to the side, then a box of English breakfast tea. No, no. No.

He wanted coffee, not candy. Caffeine didn’t do anything for his enhanced metabolism, but he drank it anyway. It felt like something Sergeant Barnes would do.

Maybe he clung to that a little too hard.

Bucky sighed. He pushed Yelena’s hazelnut Starbucks whatever out of the way. Wasn’t there anything drinkable in here?

Wait.

His fingers alighted on something… different. He froze.

Slowly, Bucky pulled a can free. It was a literal tin can, although the exterior was browned and smudged. He fell back to his heels. His breath exited his lungs in a quiet whoosh. With a contemplative expression, he rotated the can back and forth. The label was long gone, but the top was embossed.

“Nescafe,” Bucky mouthed.

And just like that, he was back in Italy. His ears rang with the sound of gunfire. It was morning then, too. Morning in Azzano. Dugan handed him a steaming canteen full of coffee, but Bucky drank it too fast. He burned his tongue. And his tongue was still burning when Schmidt’s battalion ran him over like a bulldozer. He tasted coffee and blood when they dragged him from the wreckage. When his whole life changed. When the world stopped making sense.

He blinked away wet.

With absolutely zero delicacy, he poked a hole in the top. His vibranium finger made it easy. The smell almost overwhelmed him. It was a smidge of coffee and a whole lot of tin, but it was unmistakable.

“Whoa,” someone said behind him.

It was Walker. He held up a can opener–a modern one. The handle was neon blue.

The illusion shattered.

Right.

It wasn’t 1943 anymore.

Bucky took the can opener anyway. His hand shook, so he forced it into stillness. Walker shot him a tentative smile, but by the time Bucky finagled the can, he was gone. He’d retreated into the depths of the Watchtower, taking the rest of Bucky’s memories with him.

But the coffee tasted the same. It tasted the exact same.

Winteragent week trailer !!!!

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Winteragent prompt week