Latest Posts by 22bananapudding - Page 5

I'm never shutting up about Feliks, sorry for my friends

I'm never shutting up about Feliks, sorry for my friends

"if tumblr dies you can find me on bluesky" "if tumblr dies you can find me on Instagram" if tumblr dies you cannot find me. It's over. I'm free.

Well ig at least he tried? lmao 😭

“But They Cradled Me, Yes?”

“Steve?”

Steve watched Bucky’s beautiful blue eyes look down at his skin as it softly fell to thin ashy pieces, then look into his own with a look of pure fear that Steve hadn’t seen since that moment in the Hellcarrier.

It was such an innocent, childlike fear that made Steve forget where he was. It made him reach out to grab at the ashes that fluttered away from Bucky’s body like struggling butterflies.

Word count: 850

Content: a short fic rewriting the scene where Bucky turns to dust bcs Steve didn’t do enough for me 💔 like wdym your best friend just died and you barely even look at him. Also because Bucky’s metabolism from the serum would’ve made it slower (a little bit like Peter’s)

A/n: This is MUCH shorter than I thought it would be but honestly I’m happy with it it’s pretty heat 😝 anyways reblogs/notes appreciated!!

Crossposted to ao3 with the same handle!

"The hands that cradled your face and tilted it upwards to kiss your forehead are soaked in unfathomable quantities of blood."

”But they cradled me, yes?”

💕

How can the soft rustle of tree leaves and the sound of heavy breathing feel like such a heavy silence?

Because it was a silence, not laced but soaked, with such a blood coated feeling of loss and guilt.

Steve, deep down in his quick-beating heart, knew what had happened. He had felt it— the shift; but the words spilled from his bleeding mouth, anyway.

”Where’d he go?” He said breathlessly, looking to Thor and hoping for something like a miracle. “Thor?”

Thor didn’t look at him, and Steve felt his gut drop with desperation.

Steve didn’t want to believe it, couldn’t believe it. He felt denial running through the blood on his face, seeping into the air in his lungs. He felt guilt trickling down his face with the sweat, felt the responsibility just as hot in his hands as the failure.

”Where’d he go?”

That was when he heard it; a couple shuffled footsteps, another gentle breeze.

Then it was Bucky.

“Steve?” The man managed.

Steve watched Bucky’s beautiful blue eyes look down at his skin as it softly fell to thin ashy pieces, then look into his own with a look of pure fear that Steve hadn’t seen since that moment in the Hellcarrier.

It was such an innocent, childlike fear that made Steve forget where he was. It made him reach out to grab at the ashes that fluttered away from Bucky’s body like struggling butterflies.

He got closer and stared at Bucky tenderly.

”Bucky?” He said with a wavering voice, not even sure how to react.

He couldn’t stop it, he knew he couldn’t, but he still tried hopelessly.

Steve grabbed at ash in the air, trying to pack it back into place on Bucky’s trembling shoulders, but those shoulders only wasted away even more underneath his soft, gloved hands.

”Steve?” Bucky whispered, his weapon discarded on the yellow-green grass.

This couldn’t possibly be it. After all those fights, after that war he had crawled his way through just to get his best friend back. There was no way he could lose him again.

They had been through everything together; from the schoolhouse as children to playing cops and robbers in the woods; from the war when Steve became Captain America to the moment when he was assigned as Bucky’s target. So much had happened, and yet Steve had never once given up on him, never once believed that Bucky was truly gone (unless you were to count the grief he’d gone through after Bucky had fallen from that train. Steve was sure of his death, then, so why should he be now)?

There was no way that Bucky, his Bucky was dying like this.

Bucky’s flesh started to deteriorate faster than Steve wanted it to. He held onto Bucky as the latter tried to hold onto him, too, but failed.

”I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Steve mumbled as if it would put him back together, looking up and down the dusty form of his best friend.

This was his fault. He could've stopped Thanos, but he wasn’t strong enough; he wasn’t good enough.

And Bucky? Bucky was crestfallen at the fact that they had lost, but oh how comfortable it felt to die in the hands of the man he trusted most. As he looked into Steve’s warm eyes in the cold world around him, he felt something like contentment. Not at the death of his friends, not at the deaths of the people he didn’t know, not at how afraid he was of dying, but at the feeling of not being alone.

He was afraid; he was terrified, but Steve was there, and that was enough for him.

And just as quickly as it had started, Bucky was gone.

Gone.

Steve fell to his knees, palming the ash all over the ground and grabbing at bits and pieces as if he could jigsaw-puzzle them back into Bucky’s soft shape. He nearly cried out as some of it started to blow away in the wind.

He shoved some of the ash, which translated to as much as his shaking hands could get ahold of, into his pocket; he zipped it up firmly and looked up at the others.

“Oh god.”

For what felt like a long time, nobody spoke. What could anyone say in that moment to make things better? How could any word in the world make up for the billions of lives just lost?

It felt as if even the forest, the rich earth of Wakanda, knew that a great devastation had just fallen upon its people. It felt like the dirt and the trees and the sky grieved their king.

It felt like every heart on the plant ached for their loved ones, every soul filled with wrenched black fear and sorrow.

He was meant to be with Bucky until the end of the line, and he had been.

But at what cost?

Just saw a GIF of Clint Barton in casual clothes holding a bow and am now convinced that in universe he has the same famous person situation as Tony Hawk. He is completely unrecognized in public unless in the vicinity of That One Object. ‘It’s random middle aged guy.’ He picks up a bow. ‘Holy shit it’s Hawkeye!’

Okay so Bucky is 100% shaving the bob off by the end of thunderbolts*, or at least early on in doomsday, right??

Like they’re filming dd rn and his hair is very much gone lmao

Sad day for long haired Bucky fans (me) 😔

Pozostali zwycięzcy z tego miesiąca: Perpetua, Pafnucy, Filemon, Filemona, Porfirion, Symplicjusz, Symplicy, Benwenut, Anioł, Wirzchosława, Dydak, Eberhard, Nikon, Sekundus, Fokas, Pakosław, Bonawentura, Budzisław, Leokrycja, Trofim, Drogosława, Kutbert, Lutogniew, Rogacjusz, Rogat

Thunderbolts* Character Visuals

the guy

call me bucky barnes cuz i to am in a long ass situationship with one of my closest friends

Nuevos pósters para Thunderbolts*, la última fue tomada en una parada de bus en México esta mañana, la emoción y fiebre empieza a llegar a LATAM 💥💕🥰🤩

New posters for Thunderbolts*, the latest one was taken at a bus stop in Mexico this morning, the excitement and fever is starting to reach LATAM 💥💕🥰🤩

@whumptober | Day #11: "Leave No Trace Behind" Avengers: Infinity War (2018)

Tony survives! Anything But “Mr Stark” Pt. 2 :3

🦾🪶

All my bucky drawings from this month :,,)

Sebastian Stan [Captain America : Civil War]

I love how you can tell his exact eye color here, usually Marvel colors their movies a lot and a lot of the times his eyes look green or a very light brown. This one shows he's clearly a blue-eyed man

Hot Cocoa, Hummingbirds, and Something Sort of Like Healing.

Bucky quickly made himself enamored as flapping wings and the green tree leaves filled the screen. He tried to throw himself into the colorful songbirds and facts of sweet crows, tried to imagine himself flying away into a free sky with none of his heavy worries and bones as light as air. He tried not to remind himself of the lab rat he used to be, or of the torture or the abuse.

But at the end of the day, Bucky always ended up back there. He couldn’t get away from it, from himself.

Word count: ~2.1K

Content: Autistic!Bucky, protective Steve Rogers, he’s a really good friend, but I guess you could ship them in this if you want to, angst/comfort eventually, but I didn’t write the comfort only the very beginning of it 💔, I lowkey don’t even know what point in the fucking timeline I was in just imagine anything post!Civil War atp, Bucky’s special interest is birds bcs I said so

A/n: this one was lowkey difficult cos I tried not to mischaracterize Bucky while also doing that intentionally 😭 but anyways as an autistic person who oftentimes feels like their needs are annoying and embarrassing, this fic is a little bit special to me :)

Based on the last headcanon from this post

Reblogs/notes appreciated !!! Crossposted to ao3 from the same handle!

🥀

The tag on the inside of his shirt, the seams on his jeans, the slight prickle of his hair against his neck, the buzzing of every god-forsaken machine Tony had jammed into every possible nook and cranny. Bucky felt it all, heard it all. He sensed it down deep into his bones, and the years of conditioning to sense more than he was supposed to didn't help, either.

His week, overall, had been a pretty shitty one. From the rain hiding away the birds in the trees to the near-failed missions the team had gone on to the cold weather, he'd had enough.

He hated when he couldn't see the birds-- the cardinals and the Calliope Hummingbirds and the mourning doves stowed neatly into the tens of birdhouses hung outside Bucky's expansive window in his room in the Avengers' compound. 

He hated when his motor skills grew poor from exhaustion and overwhelm and his clunky metal arm didn't move where it told him to move, when his voice didn't move as fast as his brain, when it impacted his performance while he was working. He hated the way getting hit during battle and losing made him feel when for seventy-some years, he would never even dream of missing a single swing.

And the cold. Oh, how he hated the cold down to his rotten, strung out core. The cold reminded him of the cryo-freeze, the isolation, the chill against his back as he sat down to have his brain wiped, the being stuck in his worst nightmare.

The autism didn't help anything, either; only made things worse. It only made his heart break when he couldn't catalogue his dear birds, since they had been one of the only things to survive the conditioning of The Winter Soldier-- his special interest. It only made his need to be perfect heightened when those motor skills declined. It only made him feel the cold as what felt like a thousand times worse. It only made him feel so much more alone. Alone no matter how much the people around him told him he wasn't.

So, since he still hadn't worked out how to handle that, he went back to what he knew best. He put up a mask; a good one. It wasn't like he could hide the slurred speech or the running into corners sometimes, but he could hide the way it bothered him when the team laughed a little too hard on the jet, the way he had forgotten to eat for two days because Steve had forgotten to remind him, how he changed his shirt four times in the morning just to find one with an okay texture. He learned to ignore the way his brain needed quiet, the way he hated the smell of Tony's new cologne. He learned to keep his mouth shut when everyone was cracking jokes he didn't quite understand.

Sometimes, it worried him ever so slightly when it got bad. He felt like maybe he was just letting himself become The Winter Soldier again; silent, uncomplaining, numb. Steve worried, too, but he knew better than to say anything. It'd been like this for a while, even before Natasha had floated around the idea that maybe Bucky was on the spectrum, before the whole team had sort of just accepted it was the truth and kept going on without making it a big deal. Before Bucky had learned to hate those parts of himself.

Once or twice a month, sometimes even three, Bucky would start to crumble. He'd been masking and masking for so long, and he would keep up doing it until he genuinely couldn't manage it anymore. Steve had grown a sort of sense about it-- recognizing when the man would start to wince at the loud noises, stare off into space, run into the edges of countertops and pretend like it never happened, pull at the collar of his shirt like it was choking him. And Steve would be right there with him, subtly. There'd been an instance where he tried to talk to Bucky, help him relax, but had instead been on the receiving end of a meltdown where Bucky had hit him and screamed that he was okay.

Bucky had never felt more horrible, even though he didn't mean to do it all.

Steve had never felt so forgiving.

So, that Steve had slowly learned to get himself where he was then, making Bucky a simple bowl of plain grits exactly how he knew the other liked them, and leaving it on the counter when he heard him start to walk down the hall from his room.

He took one look at Bucky, tugging at his shirt's collar, and frowned.

"You're gonna have a bad day today, huh?" He said softly, pouring him a small glass of water.

Bucky took a moment, and did something he didn't often do.

He nodded; very reluctantly, but he nodded nonetheless.

"I appreciate you being honest," Steve smiled. "And I'm not mad, you're not annoying, and no you are not horrible or weird or a burden."

Bucky chuckled ever so slightly and took a bite of his food. It took him a while to work through it, the process of eating just being a bit difficult, and by the time the bowl was empty almost everyone else had woken up for a scheduled training session Tony had planned the week before. Bucky was both glad it was happening and dreading it all at the same time. He liked the problem solving exercises FRIDAY would generate for them to solve. Those were logical, predictable, perfect-able. He could knock them out in seconds. He liked proving he was worth something on the team.

So, when they finally made it to the training room, and Tony casually announced that he was reprogramming the AI for the small exercises, Bucky could have cried right then and there. The one thing he had actually planned to do all day, and the plans had changed. He took a deep breath, telling himself it was stupid to be upset over such a small thing, and ignored it. He went through the motions of the rest of the training, unfortunately getting toppled over by Peter a couple times, and ignoring everything he felt just to make it through the hour.

He felt embarrassingly exhausted, and it was only 11 AM. Bucky wished he knew how to be normal, or even just how to let himself be himself, but he couldn't. He didn't know how to stop hiding.

He wished his disability was so much more manageable than it was, then. He wished he could go back to the 40’s when he wasn’t ever too bothered by it, when he could so easily tuck everything away like a locked box under a bed-frame or deep into a full closet.

The botched experiments and decimation HYDRA had done to his brain left it permanently broken. His comprehension skills sometimes got the better of him, his focus, his calmness (did he even know what that word meant anymore)?, and no matter what had happened nothing could be worse than his disability flooding to each and every corner of his mind after being trapped behind a dam for so long.

Seventy years was a long, long time to ignore something like that.

Even after escaping the loud chatter of the team and taking half-refuge in the kitchen, Bucky felt like his chest was being pressed on so hard he couldn't breathe. The lights stabbed his eyes and every sound wiggled so far into his ears he thought his brain might burst. His shirt's texture was really starting to get to him, and it was cold in the compound today.

"Bucky?" Steve's gentle voice reminded him he was alive. "You okay?"

Bucky shrugged, a bit shaky, and shook his head no. He sat, unmoving, at the kitchen counter with a dead expression, trying to hold himself together like a bad crochet project caught on something sharp.

“You’re not alright, are you?”

”I’m fine.” Bucky said quietly, rubbing a hand across his lips and directing his attention to the tiles of the floor.

Steve’s somewhat disappointed expression melted into something sympathetic; understanding, as he started to make a cup of hot cocoa. He decided, then, that he should probably play it out as if he didn’t really know Bucky was having a hard time, even though the both of them would see right through it.

”I’m making hot cocoa, I’ll make you some, too, but you don’t have to drink it.”

He heard a small huff and took that as a yes, pouring hot milk into a cup with a small photo of a bluejay on it. He’d made a conscious decision to avoid Bucky’s cardinal mug, afraid the stark red would bother him and remind him of HYDRA’s star branding.

When he finally placed the mug in front of Bucky, the latter immediately wrapped his hands around it, probably to warm them up due to his poor temperature regulation.

”How about we watch that good bird documentary you like? The one with the hummingbirds.” Sam asked gently.

Bucky seemed to hesitate, probably winding through the labyrinth of his brain where every twist and turn told him he didn’t deserve help. However, he got up and started the slow journey to his room.

Once he’d finally made it in, he set his mug on the nightstand of his bed, and tugged off his shoes, making his way under the deep blue covers. (He never figured out what his favorite color was, so he just picked Steve’s).

Steve sat down beside him, not touching him or really looking at him too hard, and asked FRIDAY to pull up the documentary in question so Bucky didn’t have to. The large window darkened to hide the dark rainy sky behind it and lit up in the shape of a television screen, showcasing one of Tony’s more intricate technologies.

Bucky quickly made himself enamored as flapping wings and the green tree leaves filled the screen. He tried to throw himself into the colorful songbirds and facts of sweet crows, tried to imagine himself flying away into a free sky with none of his heavy worries and bones as light as air. He tried not to remind himself of the lab rat he used to be, or of the torture or the abuse.

But at the end of the day, Bucky always ended up back there. He couldn’t get away from it, from himself.

”Steve?” He whispered when he felt embarrassing tears press at his shiny blue eyes.

”Yeah?” The blond replied, already hearing it in his voice.

Bucky didn’t answer for a moment, fighting with himself, wishing for a moment that he hadn’t even said anything.

”It’s cold.” Bucky finally said, his voice failing him halfway through.

He wrapped his own arms around himself as he just couldn’t hold the tears back anymore. He didn’t look at Steve, too ashamed, and Steve didn’t look at him, either. He knew better.

”FRIDAY, turn up the heat, please.” Steve said pointedly, and folded his half of the blanket over onto Bucky as a second layer. “You stay as close or far as you want, Buck. But know I’m here, I want to help, and I’m not judging you.”

Bucky felt like he was being ripped apart between letting himself be loved and helped or sparing what little dignity he had left. He wanted his brain to slow down and also stop feeling like mush, wanted his hands to stop shaking and his heart to stop aching.

Bucky wasn’t even sure how long they sat there, in silence other than the narrator’s kind voice and the occasional songbird’s cry.

He told himself, I am not strong enough for this.

”You’re strong, Bucky. Just breathe, it’s gonna be okay.”

And that was when Bucky turned over and dumped himself into Steve’s arms.

Unraveling into a messy pile of exhaustion, Bucky let himself be held only because he felt like he couldn’t do anything else. He let Steve just run the smallest of circles onto his back and tentatively pull him a little closer, because he didn’t have the energy to pull away.

”I’m not mad at you, you’re not weak or stupid or embarrassing. You’re my friend, Bucky. Just breathe.”

and maybe, everything would be just a little bit okay.

BUCKY BARNES in THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER Episode One: New World Order (1/6)

whenever i say “screaming crying throwing up” this is what i mean

it's showtime, folks!

just admit not only are we talented were rad as fuck

sketch

by @Mdnite12

HI TUMBLR!! I wasnt posting here or anything for quite a while! And i am very sorry I didnt notify you all that i was going on a social media break.

Here are my chibi Stucky fanarts from last 2 months or so. Hope you enjoy! Will be posting more soon!!

hey so im just supposed to go about my day? why does this feel like a goodbye i won’t live through whenever he leaves us actually somebody please sedate me i can’t

“he understood that the only way out is going back in and truly confronting yourself”

lovely character. i need him to finally break down sobbing clutching his chest like it'll stop the pain crumpling to the floor begging God to either help him or let him die