[aarmedanddangerous]

☆ Я готов отвечать. ☆

indie portrayal of marvel's bucky barnes, aka the winter soldier. piloted by @scriptio-continua (k, she/they, 31, est). fairly selective, medium activity, and mutuals only.

open to mcu, but my bucky is heavily based on comic portrayals, particularly brubaker's 2012 winter soldier solo series. oc friendly and always open to non-canon aus. plotting heavily preferred.

please check carrd before following. rules and triggers are there.

mature themes, 21+ only. minors DNI plz

❛❛ A true war story is never moral. It does not instruct, nor encourage virtue, nor suggest models of proper human behavior, nor restrain men from doing the things men have always done. If a story seems moral, do not believe it. If at the end of a war story you feel uplifted, or if you feel that some small bit of rectitude has been salvaged from the larger waste, then you have been made the victim of a very old and terrible lie. There is no rectitude whatsoever. There is no virtue. As a first rule of thumb, therefore, you can tell a true war story by its absolute and uncompromising allegiance to obscenity and evil. ❜❜ ― Tim O'Brien, The Things They Carried

❛❛ People aren’t supposed to look back. I’m certainly not going to do it anymore. ❜❜ ― Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

PROMPTS | INSPO | DRABBLES | OPENS | PINTEREST | PLAYLIST | WIKI

a study in: AGENCY AS A WOUND. being forgiven vs. being safe to love. GOODNESS AS VIGILANCE. love through bulletproof glass. MEMORY AS SENTENCE. memory as proof of life.

ALSO AT: @scriptio-continua (main/ooc) | @parentheticalgod | @ocularcatastrophe | @memoriiesreturn

[bowstringbound]

“ How long have you been watching me? ” from @aarmedanddangerous !

Questions Meme

Navigation.

"Long enough to enjoy your suffering," Clint chided, trying to mask his concern with sarcasm and wit. Steel blue eyes crinkled at Bucky as if he was literally trying to see through him. "I've also watched you long enough to see that you've skipped breakfast and are ignoring pain that I'm guessing is in your shoulder. But hey, what do I know?" he quipped, pantomiming his 'confusion' by hunching his shoulders up to his ears and throwing his palms up to the ceiling. "Just...tell me what I can do to help."

[aarmedanddangerous]

Bucky's eye twitched involuntarily, which was deeply annoying, because it was the sole piece of evidence visible enough to support Clint's nag.

"Christ," he exhaled, tipping his head up to the ceiling. "You're worse than Stevie."

He'd been standing in front of the coffee pot in the massive kitchen at Avengers Tower—Steve's idea of "laying low" by giving him a guest room and roof access—and every time footsteps passed in the lounge next door, Bucky forced his shoulders not to tense. Steve had told him Nat wouldn't be here today, but no one ever really knew where Nat was and where she wasn't. He had, once, but that had ended eighteen months ago.

A silent presence behind him had broken his train of thought, he'd had the audacity to speak, and now he was suffering the consequences of his actions at—he glanced at the clock—eight forty-five in the morning. Too damn early for this clown.

"Don't you have to go get your ass kicked somewhere?" he asked, and then added, lamely, "There's coffee."

There. Effort to get along with people. Just like Steve had asked of him.

"And for the record," he added, because of who he was as a person. "My shoulder always hurts, because my nerves are grafted to microcomputers. So." He turned back to the coffee pot and started pouring himself a cup.

[aarmedanddangerous]

[ shot ] requested by @alleyspat

Bucky is standing in Knox's apartment when it happens.

He's not entirely sure how he got here. Two weeks ago, Knox had discovered the architecture of his freezer and been incredibly indignant about it. Bucky had written it off at the time as irrelevant and moved on.

Now Bucky is… watching Knox peel potatoes with the kind of economy one normally applied to field stripping a Glock 43 in active combat. His brow is furrowed in what Bucky assumes is deep-seated, purposeful, personal offense.

You don't have to, Bucky almost says, and then changes his mind, because he is still, frankly, a little disoriented from walking across Brooklyn to an address he had been texted three hours ago. He'd knocked thrice, Knox had opened the door and let him in, and in five seconds, Bucky had scanned the room for exits and makeshift weapons without a word.

Now, he is standing—awkwardly—in the space between the living room and kitchen of the apartment. The whole place smells like sharp, fresh garlic and laundry detergent.

Bucky's own apartment smells like stale coffee and gun lube.

He suddenly feels acutely embarrassed about this. He doesn't know what to do about embarrassment. The last time he'd felt embarrassed was during the Roosevelt administration and he had promptly opted out of it because he had been in Italy and under fire two hours later.

Now he's in an unfamiliar apartment being kind of passive-aggressively cooked at.

His left hand—the metal one—flexes, and he reaches for a potato from the bag just to give it something to do.

"Don't touch," Knox says without looking up from the cutting board. Bucky's hand freezes. "Leave it with the others."

His hand drops. He doesn't reply. There's no reason to.

Instead, he continues to stand in the space between the living room and the kitchen without fully committing either way.

"I only have the one vegetable peeler," Knox adds by way of explanation.

"Right," Bucky replies lamely.

He does not say that he'd helped his mother peel potatoes for two hours once a week with a paring knife and been the better at it of the two of them. That was not information you divulged to assets.

Instead, he watches Knox's hands. It's a strange thing to watch. This whole evening has been strange, but—Knox always moved with the methodical grace of someone who'd learned to do terrible things to survive. Economical. Every movement exact to the fine muscle in his wrist.

What Bucky finds strange is watching that predatory care turned to something so gentle. A skinned potato. A boiling pot. No carbon-black thumbs or elbows braced steady against ribs or thighs tensed to bolt.

Bucky exhales, slow and steady, and Knox glances up, just checking.

Bucky watches the other man's eyes flick over him efficiently. And then past him, toward the window behind him, on the other side of the living room. The furrow on Knox's brow deepens. He stills. Stock-still. The kind of stillness that usually precedes violence.

And then Bucky turns to see what Knox sees, but Knox is already moving, knife clattering to the ground, pot boiling rapidly, and for the first time since 1943, Bucky's shoulders are wrenched forward and down, and, like 1943, he goes obediently.

And glass shatters. And Knox makes a noise that Bucky will not forget for the rest of his life, somewhere between a hiss and a groan. And Knox hits the ground, and the tang of copper cuts through the garlic and soap, and Bucky stays down, eyes searching the shattered window for a source while rolling to assess the damage.

And Knox is bleeding, and he's curled around himself the way one usually does when they can't help but curl. And there's the source of the copper smell pulsing out of Knox's shoulder.

"Shit," Bucky snarls, and moves before he can think, because that's what he was made to do. Pressure on the wound, body low, out of the window's sightline, just in case the shooter is still there, waiting for his head to poke up.

"Knox," he says, quiet and careful, half his bodyweight now pressed into the other man's shoulder. "Knox, I need to get this bullet out. First aid kit, needle-nose pliers, bandages, anything you have. Where."

His voice is even because it has to be. His brain is honed in on the wound, on stopping the blood, on recovering the bullet, because it has to be.

If he stops right now, he has to contend with the fact that there was a man bleeding on the floor of his own apartment because Bucky had allowed himself, for one moment, to be self-indulgent and pretend he was someone who was allowed to be cooked for.

And that is not something Bucky is addressing until the asset—because he has to be—is stable.

[alleyspat]

there's a glass wall between them. that's what knox thinks of most when they're spending this awkward time together. still, as he peels the potato in his hand knox can't help but feel glad bucky agreed to show up. that had to mean something, right? he shakes his head at the thought and looks up to check on his guest. there's a shadow looming large in the window and knox sees the gun too late. it's all he can do to lunge forward, grab bucky and wrench him down.

then there is pain. knox has been shot before, he knows what it feels like but it is disarming every time. velocity of the bullet lodging itself into his shoulder throws his weight back heavily against the floor. if he cries out, knox doesn't hear it above the ringing in his ears. instinctively his body curls inward to preserve the soft flesh of his organs, and the pain in his shoulder is blinding in the motion.

blood is warm down his front, and bucky is speaking. distantly, knox is aware of the sound of one of his cats yowling in fear from his hiding spot. he worries about the glass on the floor, more than the bullet in his shoulder. bucky is asking about first aide supplies. knox opens his mouth to speak, winces and lets out a ragged breath instead. admittedly, it's been a long time since he's been shot. it hurts worse than he remembers.

"bathroom, under the sink," knox finally manages to speak as sweat beads across his forehead, "gun, side table by the bed."

adrenaline is keeping his eyes open, and he turns his focus from the worried expression on bucky's face to the broken window. whoever shot him is gone, or hiding. pain mingles with despair as knox realizes this will change everything. the roots only just now growing, only to be ripped right out again. as the warm rush of anger washes over him, knox pushes himself to standing with his good arm.

"fucker probably ran off," he spits blood from biting his tongue in the commotion and surprise of being shot, "god dammit."

[aarmedanddangerous]

Bucky had already peeled off the black t-shirt that he'd been wearing before Knox finishes speaking, and he watches Knox struggle to a stand.

"Sit," he says, no room for argument in his voice. "Down. You can go after the shooter after you're not spilling your insides on the floor." He doesn't allow his jaw to set at the thought. Not yet.

Bucky doesn't think about it as he tears the other man's shirt open to assess the damage. The wound is deep, but the bullet is in there. No exit wound. That makes this marginally less deadly.

He packs his own shirt into the wound, and then takes Knox's good hand with his flesh one, slicking it with blood, and presses it into the crumpled shirt.

"Press down. I'll be two seconds."

Bucky is gone a heartbeat later.

If Knox hadn't put himself between the bullet and Bucky's own body, Bucky would be dead now, and no one would know to tell Steve. He'd be a cadaver labeled John Smith. Or worse, a cadaver labeled James Buchanan Barnes, which would make Steve's life unnecessarily difficult.

He's suddenly hyper-aware of the pot boiling over in the kitchen, water hissing against the burner. He's aware of the apartment's smell going from garlic-and-blood to blood-and-scorched-starch.

He creeps, low and fast, down the hallway. Bathroom first, on the right. The first aid kit appears to have everything he needs, thank Christ.

Then the bedroom. The gun is where Knox says it is, which Bucky finds himself feeling a modicum of satisfaction about, and immediately dismisses. It's a Glock 45, and Bucky press-checks it without looking and thumbs the mag release.

He glances around the room once. Two cats in here, one on top of his bed, tucked behind the pillows, the other had darted in under the bed at his heel when he'd walked in.

He shuts them both in as he leaves, and prowls into the living room, gun pointed low, as he presses against the wall. Glass crunches under his boots, and he ignores it for now. Knox had been standing up in plain sight and the shooter hadn't put another bullet in him. Gone or repositioning, hard to say which.

"Stupid choice in apartment," Bucky observes to Knox flatly, eyes on the roof across the alley. "Sightlines from the top of the bar across the street. Should have taken a floor higher or lower."

He says it like this because his body is hot and his mind is racing and he wants whoever put the bullet through this window on the ground.

And then he returns to the other man's side, fingers tacky, jeans stained red, and gently pulls the packed shirt away.

"How many cats do you have?" he asks, flat, as he works, because men in shock need to be carried, and talking men don't go into shock. "There were two in your room. I shut them in. Do I need to go look for ten more?"

[hiveswap]

big fan of when you peel back all layers of a character and at the bottom of it there's love

[hiveswap]

why are they doing this? because they loved someone so much it caused the plot to happen. Grief counts btw

[human-pet-they]

COME ONNN

[aarmedanddangerous]

​🇭​​🇴​​🇳​​🇪​​🇾​, ​🇾​​🇴​​🇺​❜​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇫​​🇦​​🇲​​🇮​​🇱​​🇮​​🇦​​🇷​ ​🇱​​🇮​​🇰​​🇪​ ​🇲​​🇾​ ​🇲​​🇮​​🇷​​🇷​​🇴​​🇷​ ​🇾​​🇪​​🇦​​🇷​​🇸​ ​🇦​​🇬​​🇴​ ​🇮​​🇩​​🇪​​🇦​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇲​ ​🇸​​🇮​​🇹​​🇸​ ​🇮​​🇳​ ​🇵​​🇷​​🇮​​🇸​​🇴​​🇳​, ​🇨​​🇭​​🇮​​🇻​​🇦​​🇱​​🇷​​🇾​ ​🇫​​🇪​​🇱​​🇱​ ​🇴​​🇳​ ​🇮​​🇹​​🇸​ ​🇸​​🇼​​🇴​​🇷​​🇩​

indie portrayal of marvel (616) bucky barnes aka ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴏʟᴅɪᴇʀ. piloted by (and follows from) @scriptio-continua. oc / au friendly. see carrd for more.

[aarmedanddangerous]

i haven't added it to my carrd yet, but i'm making a verse where bucky's a werewolf idc someone do something with that

[rpmemesyo]

For every 📎 I get in my ask box, I'll post a thread that I want to do.

Not necessarily with the person who sends. Just a thread I want to do in general some day.

[aarmedanddangerous]

SIGH................heated rivalry au

[aarmedanddangerous]

happy sunday nsfw bucky headcanons under the cut (brief sa mention)

bucky is aggressively a top and struggles with orgasms because of his history of sa while acting as the winter soldier, so he lacks the words for it, but controlling the pace is actually more important to him than topping or bottoming. on a good day, he has no trouble, but on a really bad day, his mind equates pleasure and release with obeying russian operatives and doing things against his will.

he is VERY quiet in bed by default, but if his partner expresses a desire for dirty talk/noises, he will become unhinged.

most of his partners have been in very good shape, just due to the nature of the circles he operates in, but i think he would find himself really enjoying a bed partner who couldn't keep up with him / he had to do more of the "work". he would have called himself a giving lover in the 1940's. that part of him feels cut off from who he is now, but it does still apply.

(bows and leaves the building entirely)

[thunderousmemes]

𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 

(starters inspired by too many drinks, city lights, and the kind of honesty that only comes after midnight)

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆

“You look like you could use another drink… or a bad decision.”

“Don’t tell me you came here alone.”

“I’m not drunk, I’m just—emotionally flexible right now.”

“One more round, and I might actually tell you what I’m thinking.”

“I didn’t plan on running into you here.”

“You’ve got that look—like you’re either about to confess something or start a fight.”

“You’re staring again. Should I take that as an invitation?”

“You ever think about how many bad ideas start with a shot glass?”

“You dance like you’re trying to forget something.”

“It’s way past decent hours—what are you still doing out?”

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐘 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆, 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓

“You can stop pretending you’re fine. Nobody believes it after their third drink.”

“I thought you didn’t drink anymore.”

“It’s funny—liquor makes you honest, but you still can’t say what you really want, can you?”

“You shouldn’t walk home alone. I’ll come with you.”

“You always talk like this when you’ve had too much.”

“You smell like smoke and regret. It suits you.”

“Let’s make a pact—we don’t talk about this in the morning.”

“You shouldn’t have kissed me. But I’m not asking you to stop.”

“You ever get drunk enough to think the world might love you back?”

“We’re both going to regret this tomorrow, aren’t we?”

𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑, 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done? I’ll go first.”

“Tell me a truth—just one. The kind you’d never say sober.”

“You’re going to forget this conversation in the morning, right?”

“If I told you I missed you, would you blame the alcohol?”

“You keep drinking like you’re trying to forget something. Or someone.”

“I didn’t mean to call you. My hands just remembered your number.”

“Why are you crying? Don’t tell me it’s just the gin.”

“You said you don’t love me anymore, but you’re still here.”

“Do you ever wonder how we got this lost?”

“Sometimes, I think the night listens better than people do.”

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐖 — quiet streets, unspoken things

“I’ll walk you home. You can pretend you don’t need me to.”

“It’s too late for goodbyes, isn’t it?”

“We shouldn’t have let it get this far.”

“You can hold my hand. Just for tonight.”

“Do you ever wish you’d met me sober?”

“Don’t fall asleep yet. The world feels softer when it’s still spinning.”

“Stay until the city forgets our names.”

“You look different under the streetlights.”

“Promise me you won’t vanish when morning comes.”

“I don’t know what I’ll remember most — the taste of the drink, or you.”

[alleyspat]

moodboard ft. @aarmedanddangerous

shall we beat this or celebrate it? you're not the one to talk things through. you checked your text while i masturbated. manelich, i feel so used. found myself on spencer's butte, traced your shadow with my shoe. empty outline changed my view, now all of me thinks less of you. on the sheet i see your horizon, all of me pressed onto you. but in this light, you look like poseidon. i'm just a ghost you walk right through. (all of me wants all of you x4)

[aarmedanddangerous]

helion ACOTAR is just skinny halsin BG3 send tweet

[6mayhem]

wait i just found out you can be nice to people and be their friend i thought we had to kill them all cause i was raised in a lab to be a living weapon

[kaisources]

°⋆.୨ৎ࿔:･ WHAT IF THIS IS THE BEST VERSION OF ME? ... a collection of roleplay sentence starters based on girlhood, coming-of-age, complicated relationship with parents, mundanity, freedom. genre: slice of life, coming of age, family, hurt and comfort.

I don't know what happened. Come and talk to [name].

I always have to do it.

I'm really sick. You'll have to make breakfast for the them.

I woke up in the middle of the night, soaking wet. It was like I was on fire.

Today's my last day of high school, I'm not going to miss that.

I struggled to give you birth and raise you, and take care of this family.

I didn't ask for you to give birth to me, okay?

Hang on a minute. What's happening with the college applications?

I'm not going to college.

You're smart, you have something to contribute to this world.

My family can't afford college.

I'm really sorry to have to say this, but you should probably spend your time helping somebody else.

I've been waiting for this day.

I was keeping it warm for you until you got here.

You know, you can always just kiss my ass to get your job back.

Why did you quit your job?

Why do you know about this?

You're just going to have to get another job.

What? No way.

I don't know, and really, I don't care.

Why do you have to say that?

I can't afford any more help!

What are you doing here?

We have already discussed that amongst our family.

But we need you to work now. You can go to college later.

Just to please think about college, okay?

My life is over!

Excuse me, but I am nothing like Mom, okay?

You know, why do you always have to be like this?

I only tell you for your own good!

What do you think you're doing?

Maybe it was your fault.

Why would it be my fault?

You are not going to make me cry.

Are you going to be working here full-time?

I'm just working here until I win the lottery.

I can't believe you finally made it to the factory.

Come on, let me show you your job, come on.

It's real easy work. Just keep doing that.

How much do they pay us to make these?

And how much do they sell them for at the stores?

Does this seem right to you, [name]?

Can't you do anything right!?

How many years have you had this one hanging here?

It's too late for [name] to get married.

I don't lie on applications, except about my weight.

I didn't think it was necessary.

Write about something you know. You can write about yourself.

Um, I don't know if I'm going anymore.

I was thinking about joining you, but you're not going anymore?

You'll get a whole new perspective.

Do something different, you know?

Your number? Maybe we could hang out?

I don't watch Spanish soap operas.

Eh, but of course we know what he wanted, eh?

Ooh, let me guess, she gets pregnant?

That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.

You'd better listen. That's what happens to people who don't listen to their mothers.

Are you busy? I mean, is this a bad time?

I'm just calling to say hi.

Where did you get this?

Do you think I'm your maid? You left dishes in the sink.

Aren't we supposed to be working?

Why isn't everyone here?

[Name], why are you late?

I need to talk to you.

Why are you sorry?

I wanted to tell you earlier, but I didn't know how to tell you.

I'm sorry that I have to leave,

You're all leaving me!?

Don't be sorry. I mean, I'm happy for you.

I just can't pay you right now, okay?

I can't believe you're paying us late again.

Let's get back to work before I change my mind.

What kind of a mother would you be if you don't help your own daughter?

I love you so much that I make your life so miserable.

Don't love me so much.

You expect me to do this dirty work for nothing?

How would you know what hard work is?

I never wanted to work here in the first place!

See the trouble you cause?

Why are you waking me up?

You're imagining things, okay?

I need you more than ever now, [name]

You're not going to believe this.

A mother knows the right man for her daughter.

You're so old-fashioned.

Girls nowadays think they know so much, eh?

The reason they end up pregnant is because they don't know how to use contraceptives.

Your husband's not going to like you knowing so much.

Why is a woman's virginity the only thing that matters? A woman has thoughts, ideas, a mind of her own.

I mean, a letter's not going to do anything.

Why should I be afraid of [him/her.them]?

Um, I didn't say anything.

Can't you keep your mouth shut?

I was just trying to help, [name]!

You're just figuring this out?

Why don't you go talk to the doctor, not me.

I made this list of topics to talk about so that we wouldn't run out of things to talk about.

You have a really beautiful face.

You don't take compliments well?

I had a nice night tonight. I guess this is good night.

I couldn't pay the hospital.

I never realized how hard Mom works.

Let's prove to them that we can do it.

I remind myself that it's not for me.

Do you want to hear music tonight?

[Name], does your mom understand you?

I don't know, it's like she hates me.

Where'd you tell your mom you were tonight?

Hey, hey, don't worry. You're going to get accepted to college, too.

This is beautiful. Did you make this?

Oh, my God, are you serious?

I got accepted with a scholarship?

What's wrong with that?

I'm sure there must be wonderful colleges in this area.

You don't understand, it's one of the best schools in the nation!

We are a family, and we intend to stay that way!

It's not going to change anything!

I didn't come this far to see my family break apart.

I don't understand. How is this breaking us apart?

I want you to see me. See, this is what I look like.

Don't worry about me anymore, okay?

Once you get to college, we won't have anything to talk about anyway, and I don't know, you'll probably end up with some people, right?

I'm really going to miss you.

You would say that, wouldn't you? There's more to me than what's in between my legs!

You're the one who pretends that you're pregnant for attention!

You can't have a baby. I'm not your baby anymore!

I'm going through the change of life. It's over. I'm no longer a woman.

Why should I listen to you?

How dare anybody try to tell me what I should look like, or what I should be when there's so much more to me!

I want to be taken seriously, and respected for what I think, not for how I look!

Why is everybody so quiet?

You want something to eat?

I thought you were going to the airport with us.

I wanted you to be there.

You're going to do great. Call me, okay?

Did you want to come out and say good-bye?

[dickgraysonsptsd]

i think MORE characters should be rape survivors. i think more characters should be csa survivors. i think more characters should be dv survivors. i think strong and noble and attractive and charming and brilliant characters with indomitable spirits should be survivors. i think the most powerful characters in the world should be survivors. i think characters who are cultural icons should be survivors. i think victims and survivors should see ourselves in the most admirable and beloved characters around! i think we should be protagonists!!!

[dickgraysonsptsd]

#‘it’s so unnecessary’ . okay . god yea this one drives me CRAZY. people will yap all day long about how it's "unnecessary" to make a character a survivor like do you think it was necessary for any of us to be abused or raped irl? was it narratively essential? did it teach the audience an important lesson? why do we, who have to justify our experiences and existences and reactions all the time in real life, also have to justify why we should exist in fiction? people act so repulsed by the thought of us. i've really fully and truly had enough of that. there is nothing so uniquely disgusting or repulsive or unspeakable about our victimhood or our survival that justifies this obsession with keeping the reality of our existence hidden

[aarmedanddangerous]

Character Headcanon Generator

Bucky has an incredible long-term memory but an awful short-term memory. // Bucky has unfortunately good long-term memory, and equally unfortunately good short-term memory.

Bucky does not know what sleep is. // TRUE

Bucky knows fnaf lore. // If he does, it is against his will.

Bucky gets ready for christmas way to early. // He doesn't decorate, but he starts playing Christmas music the day after Halloween because he misses Bing Crosby and Christmas is the only time he can hear his music in public.

Bucky needs a nightlight to sleep. // I was going to say false, but I actually think if he was made to sleep with a nightlight, he would secretly prefer it.

Bucky is pansexual. // He wouldn't ID himself this way, but yes.

Bucky has one, very simple word that they cannot figure out how to pronounce. // I'm not sure about this one. I think if he came across a word like that, he'd either look it up immediately or come up with some convoluted scheme to make Steve say it out loud and go with whatever he said.

Bucky is very good at walking in platform heels. // ... I think he would have less trouble than the average cis man.

Bucky is very willing to eat inedible things. // YES.

Bucky could easily survive The Hunger Games. // TRUE.

Stolen from @reliiance Tagging: @alleyspat (idc do it for Knox)