It Was Always Raining In Gotham. It Came Down In Sheets, Cold And Bitter As If It Were Trying To Wash

requested by @livingincolorsagain insp

Bonus:

the shooter wasted no time, moving with complete certainty, dragging the man to the nearest car like a sack of meat, knife already out, gleaming in the light. the tire hissed, the car sank a little, and the man, still bound by bucky's makeshift restraints, thrashed like a worm on a hook.

he made no move to stop him then either. bucky watched with an almost morbid curiosity, and an even darker compliance, listening as the man descended from defiance, to anger, to desperation, to fear. screams dissolving into tears. he'd been here before. only he'd been the one holding the knife then.

the car sank lower, the man sobbed, and bucky twitched the same time frank pulled the man out from under the car by his leg. bucky stared as frank asked if he cared if any were left alive. he didn't know. he couldn't tell if the guilt he felt was because it was wrong—or because a part of him understood exactly why it wasn't. ❝ i don't care what you do. but they aren't going to keep those people alive if they don't have a buyer. ❞

bucky made a face. something akin to anger, or disgust as the shooter explained who they were up against. ❝ then we better get moving. ❞ bucky said, walking briskly towards one of the dealers cars—a stereotypical black suv, ❝ hit them hard and fast, make sure they have no time to kill or use them as hostages. you know where this warehouse is? ❞

Frank doesn't say much, just walks over to whoever got pointed out and starts dragging them towards the nearest car. A knife gets quickly taken out from his vest and he punctures the tire; resting the man's head underneath the car. A small hiss is let out as the vehicle moves slightly and the man starts struggling with him; just bound arms swiping at him to get away. The car looming over them as it slowly moves down.

"Where are they? They were supposed to be handed over to those assholes at the Crossroads church and they didn't make it. What happened!" He barked at him, holding him in place as the 'boss' struggled with Frank.

[Fuck you!]

Frank takes the knife out and makes another puncture in the tire, the car moving even more now. "You think your head can survive the weight? You know you'll feel every inch of it happening. The car slowly crushing your fucking head as it bursts open finally crushing your damn brain. You know you survive 15 minutes after?"

[Fuck you! Fuck you! FUCK YOU!]

The man screams before crying as the car moves closer and closer.

[I don't know! I don't know! They didn't show up! We stashed them at our warehouse with our merchandise! We had nowhere else to put them, they fucked us over!]

Frank punctured the tire again and watched as the car slowly descended down on the man, his screams filling the air before he pulled him by his leg away from the car.

"—You care if any of them are left alive?" He asks the stranger, looking at the way he moved, he had a feeling he didn't. It's not like they had the time to be fucking around anymore.

"I'll take you up on your offer,too." He added, knowing he meant he'd help with the women when they found them. "We get them to safety and find out more later. This church," Frank shook his head, his jaw set tight. "They start indoctrinating low tier drug offenders, give them the salvation speech and then have them do shit like this to prove their loyalty. If those assholes didn't show, it means something went wrong on their end."

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.

it was a strange thing, to see another walk so evenly in his own footsteps. he'd spent years hunting the remnants of hydra's survivors. going beyond just those that had controlled him, or those he had assisted in gaining power, influence, control. he'd had a list, ever growing, never ending, he'd soaked it in vengeance and justified it. it had taken him a long time to realise that it wasn't helping, that for every life he took, he'd only ever felt worse.

but maybe here, maybe now, he could at least help someone else reach that point earlier. she met his gaze and he held it. hoping she could find whatever it was she was searching for, beyond the memories of blood and violence, there was something else. not peace exactly, not comfort, but something that didn't feel like death warmed over.

❝ slowly. ❞ bucky said, ❝ small ways at first. mundane . . . boring. help someone with their bags. walk someone across the street. pay for someone's meal. ❞ anything that would remind her that she was flesh and blood and not a weapon primed to fire.

❝ eventually, it'll get easier. become more natural, and the people that need help will find you. ❞

kara stood frozen,  the weight of his words settling into the spaces she had tried to keep empty.  she had spent years chasing ghosts — her own,  the ones left in her wake,  the ones she had been made to create.   &  yet,  here was bucky,  telling her the truth she already knew but couldn’t bear to accept.  that the blood she spilled would never be enough to wash away what had been done to her.  that vengeance would never quiet the voice in her head whispering,  this isn’t justice.  this is just survival.   

her fingers twitched at her sides,  aching for something to hold onto.  for years,  her purpose had been defined for her,  her will overwritten.  now,  even free,  she found herself caught in the cycle of retribution,  mistaking action for atonement.  but bucky had seen through it.  he knew because he had lived it,  because he had been here before.   &  still,  he had found something beyond the nothingness.  she met his gaze,  searching for the place where his own ghosts ended  &  something else — something lighter,  something almost like hope — began.   

her throat was tight when she finally spoke.  ❝how?❞ it was barely a word,  just breath given shape.  but it was a question she had never allowed herself to ask before.  because wanting something beyond survival,  beyond punishment,  meant believing she still had a choice.   &  for the first time in longer than she could remember,  she wanted to believe him. 

his brow furrowed seriously, his mind working through scenario after scenario. with the information she'd provided him with, it was going to be a shitshow no matter what they did. they simply didn't have the manpower or the equipment to ensure that everyone got out of the kill zone before their enemy set the bomb off and any sign of trouble would guarantee the bomb be set off early. ❝ too loud. no guarantee our bombs wouldn't take out some random civilian in the wrong place at the wrong time, ❞ he said almost absentmindedly.

bucky glanced at her, watched the way she pressed her fingers into her collarbone and rubbed at what he could only assume was a phantom injury. something old that had healed over but still gave her some kind of grief. he had similar wounds. ❝ i can get you in without being seen. these guys aren't suicidal, they'll want to put as much distance between themselves and the blast zone as they can. means you'll have time to diffuse the bomb. ❞

his brow was still furrowed. despite suggesting the idea, he was clearly still unhappy with the odds. ❝ while you do that, i'll take them out and clear out civilians as i go. we'll need something to disrupt their communications, keep them deaf and blind to what's happening around them. ❞

that's not going to work .. did she hear him correctly? A small frown formed on her features, well this was certainly a first. Yet Amelia knew that Bucky was far more experienced than she could ever be. The young Holmes gave a small nod of her head half in agreement and half in thought. "A diversion? We could always place some bombs on their trucks within the perimeter, that would distract them, take their eyes away from anything important" although that would take some planning and she was sure that she would need permission from her uncle to even get such weapons.

Amelia ran a hand through raven waves, a soft sigh passing rose coloured lips. Her hand instinctively rubbed the top of her left collarbone, where a scar was placed permanently upon her body. Her other hand began to tremor, she wasn't going to allow others to endure what she also had to endure by James Moriarty. She clenched her fingers into a fist, in a bid to stop the shaking. "We just need to be sure to slip in, and slip back out with those people safe." Hazel hues met his gaze, offering the smallest of smiles.

"Or if you have any suggestions, I am all ears" Amelia was tough, or at least that was what she wanted others to see, yet there were moments where vulnerability slipped through the cracks, and if one was to look close enough they would see the tired eyes of a soldier who woke up with nightmares, and a woman who distracted herself by throwing herself into adrenaline situations.

❝ you think i can't walk out of here right now? ❞ the soldier asked, a trace of a challenge woven into his voice. whatever power her bosses or their bosses' bosses thought they had was nothing more than wishful thinking. he'd taken apart more than a single police station with less. the only reason he was sitting in that interrogation room, the only reason he'd even stepped foot into the station was because he wanted to.

❝ oh? and who's they, huh? ❞ bucky asked, a humorless smile that was all teeth tugging at the corners of his mouth. he suspected she was good at her job, perhaps even an expert in her field, a shining star. but he'd come face to face with people like her over and over again. people who spoke beautifully, eloquently, who said all the right things in all the right ways. but there was always an angle. some agenda hidden inside all of the carefully interwoven hints and unspoken promises.

❝ and what's in it for you? you gonna share this information with me for what? need me to kill someone for you? destabilise a country? destroy an embassy? ❞ that humorless smile remained, as sharp as the curve of a knife, ❝ i don't work for anyone anymore. ❞

clea’s gaze remained steady,  neither pressuring nor retreating,  her words carefully measured.  she saw the quiet resolve in him — the winter soldier,  a man who had been honed by pain  &  time into something beyond ordinary human limits.  she wasn’t naive enough to think she could break him,   &  there was no need to try.  he was the one who had to decide if he wanted what she had to offer.   

her voice was soft,  like a gentle invitation,  but it carried weight — an offer he couldn’t ignore.  ❝no one is keeping you, ❞ she said,  her words almost soothing.  ❝but you’re already in a position where you don’t have full control,  even if you think you do.❞ she leaned forward slightly,  her expression unhurried,  as though she were discussing a simple fact of life.  ❝i’m not offering you shelter or protection.  i’m offering you information — things you need to know,  things they don’t want you to hear. ❞ she let that hang in the air for a moment,  watching him,  her eyes reflecting an understanding that was almost too knowing.  ❝you don’t have to trust me,  but you should know this: you can’t outrun what’s already hunting you.  not forever. ❞ she tilted her head slightly,  her voice lowering.  ❝i can help you avoid it.  or,  at the very least,  i can tell you how to fight back. ❞

HEADCANON : war letters , 1 / ?

Dear Home : The Lost Letters of Sgt. James Barnes

Discovered decades after World War II, these letters—written by Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes—offer a rare and intimate glimpse into the heart of a soldier. Though history remembers Bucky Barnes as war hero, these letters remind us that before the legend, there was a young man writing to the people he loved. This collection invites you to read not just history, but memory.

March 18th, Somewhere Sandy

Dear Becca,

First things first: yes, I'm alive. Yes, I still have my limbs. No, I haven't run off to join a Bedouin circus. I'm writing by lantern light with sand in just about everything—my boots, my rucksack, even this envelope. If it gets there looking worse for wear, consider it a souvenir from my time on the front.

We've been pushing through a lot of desert these past weeks. It's dry, endless, and hot as hell, but the stars at night more than make up for it. You wouldn't believe how clear the sky gets out here. The boys in my unit are solid. Tough as nails, loyal to a fault. There's a kid from Kansas who swears up and down he can fix anything. I told him he ought to start with the coffee—it tastes like it lost a war of its own, probably with a boiled boot.

How are things back home? Don't let Mrs. Kaminsky rope you into babysitting that howling menance of hers again. You're too polite to say no, and she knows it. Keep up with your schoolwork, even if it's dull.

Take care of yourself, and check in with Steve for me.

All my love, James

P.S. If you must send cookies, no raisins. That's not a cookie—it's a betrayal.

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he didn't have to stay. arguably, it would have been smarter if he'd disappeared before the shooter arrived, circled back, and observed from a distance. but the shooter hadn't been targetting him, therefore, they must have been after the gangs. enemy of mine enemy, or something like that. bucky was crouched over one of the survivors, rummaging through his pockets for anything useful.

❝ only loose cash and bullets, ❞ he said, looking up as the shooter approached. there was something off about him, the same way there was something off about bucky. not broken, not exactly, but set wrong. more like a jaw that had been knocked out of place and healed without care. too hard. too tight. and the eyes, he'd seen eyes like that reflected back at him in the mirror too many times.

❝ i didn't call the cops. it's not a hit. and lately . . . i've been doing this a lot. don't really have a name for it. ❞ whatever this was, he was still figuring it out. bucky stood slowly, watching as the shooter dug his foot into one of the goons sides hard enough to make him whimper and twitch. bucky made no move to stop him. ❝ half of them work for la fierra. she's been supplying the coast with guns and explosives. didn't know about the women. ❞ and wasn't that a fucking oversight on his part. bucky's expression hardened, jaw tight, angry. pale gaze swept the area, inspecting the faces of the men that he'd bound and disarmed until he spotted the straw buyer.

❝ if anyone's gonna know where their boss is, it's him. ❞ bucky pointed. ❝ cops'll be here sooner rather than later. i've got a container on highland drive. ❞ the implication was clear: bucky was willing and able to help secure the women intended for utah.

"Got anything on our guest?" Frank radioed Micro again.

[ Nope. Got nothing. Which is really saying something, Frank. I'll keep looking, but so far I'm just getting weird garbage.]

"What do you mean?"

[ Well...the kind of stories people in the community tell each other to even scare us. Undying assassins, spooky disappearances, unknown and forgotten government projects that still run in some zombiefied way. This guy, his training, he should be known, but I'm not finding a damn thing, Frank. Someone's hiding him, or he gets help from someone and they are way up there in a very big chain. ]

"Alright, I get it. We don't know jack shit about him." Frank grunted and lowered the volume on his radio. Didn't want Micro's voice to come out while he's talking to the man. One thing for sure is that he's got some kind of code or strict guidelines because he didn't come rushing towards him after he shot and killed one of those assholes.

"Got anything good?" Frank asks, walking towards the man. He can see now that a few of the bastards are still alive, there's a twitch on his face, his trigger finger tapping, but he doesn't say anything about it. The way this man moved, he wouldn't get a shot off to kill the rest before hitting the sand like these idiots did.

"First: did you call the cops? Second: is this a hit? Third: I don't do this shit often. I don't even know what the fuck the protocol even is at this point. I doubt it involves us sticking around here for long. I'm trimming down the family tree. I just needed one of these assholes," his foot started digging into the side of one of the men who were bound," to tell me where their boss is. They were bringing a shipment of women from down south up to a cult in Utah. This is one of their stops before they make the handover. I need to know where those women are."

altered carbon sentence starters. episode one && two.  feel free to change pronouns and details if necessary !! 

❝  don’t trust anything. ❞

❝  let experience wash over you. ❞

❝  expect nothing. only then can you be prepared for anything. ❞

❝  who cares? we’re getting paid. ❞

❝  have you always been such an asshole? ❞

❝  the only way you’ll learn is by watching, so watch. ❞

❝  you’ll be fine. ❞

❝  i think i’m gonna be sick. ❞

❝  what the fuck?  is that normal? ❞

❝  you almost fucking killed me, man. ❞

❝  make them remember. ❞

❝  you had to go be a dick. ❞ 

❝  some people just need killing. ❞ 

❝  that’s a little vague. ❞ 

❝  where did you get this? ❞ 

❝  some things can’t be bought. ❞ 

❝  no one has that kind of power. ❞

❝  stop obsessing. ❞ 

❝  there’s nothing to be afraid of. ❞ 

❝  who’s fucking afraid? i’m not afraid. ❞ 

❝  i need to show you something. ❞ 

❝  what’s your excuse? ❞ 

❝  are you a moron or just an asshole? ❞ 

❝  i just want one thing to go right today. ❞ 

❝  you know. it’s… it’s about the details. ❞ 

❝  people like you are still stupid. ❞ 

❝  i was wrong about you, [name]. ❞ 

❝  i don’t know how to be in this world without you. ❞

❝  there’s more here than you’re willing to see. ❞

❝  never. you hear me? not ever. ❞

❝  no matter how tranquil the world seems, peace doesn’t last long. ❞

❝  she’s not our problem. ❞

❝  war is the only thing we really understand. ❞

❝  ah, for fuck’s sake. ❞

❝  that’s disappointing. ❞

❝  let me know if [name] goes anywhere. ❞

❝  don’t thank me. just stop. ❞

❝  i’m sure he’ll understand. ❞

❝  how tasteful. ❞

❝  you want answers, they come with questions attached. ❞

❝  all this trust is just making me tear up. ❞

❝  don’t threaten me again. ❞

❝  they’re not like us, [name]. ❞

❝  i was worried. ❞

❝   sooner or later, somebody’s gonna have to tell her the truth. ❞

❝  i’ll never see her again, not even to say goodbye. ❞

❝  do you know what that’s like? ❞

❝  violence is almost always, in one way or another, personal. ❞

❝  well, you didn’t answer. ❞

❝  i got drunk to celebrate. ❞

❝  technology advances. but humans don’t. ❞

❝  what the hell is wrong with you? ❞

❝  you gotta get out more, [name]. ❞

❝  you’re just gonna leave? ❞

❝  i thought it would give me a moment of peace. ❞

❝  i should’ve known better. ❞

❝  you’re not supposed to have that. ❞

❝  me and [name] have been best friend forever. ❞

❝  i’m devastated. ❞

❝  you’re better off alone. ❞

❝  this is my place. i’m staying. ❞

❝  if it was me, what would you do? ❞ 

❝  you’re worth more than that. ❞ 

❝  you can’t possibly think i’m that stupid. ❞ 

❝  i’m too tired to do the paperwork. ❞ 

❝  you wanna know why? because i’m capable of almost anything. ❞ 

❝  when i get there, i’ll let you know. ❞

❝  i’ll be right next to you. ❞

❝  how about, fuck no? ❞

❝  there’s someone waiting for you. ❞

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

❝  sometimes, complexity can be exhausting. ❞ 

❝  you fascinate me. ❞ 

❝  you’re everything this world has lost. ❞ 

❝  why would i be nervous? ❞

❝  i’ve done terrible things. ❞

❝  please forgive me. ❞

❝  sometimes, surrender can be as savage as any attack. ❞