GHOST: SURVIVOR

[thisflight-blog1]

let’s talk about how she devours secondhand wrath, her teeth stained black. prosthetic hearts. refurbished tears. she is this hunger for emotional overflow. this sink, this tub. she soaks herself in it. sometimes, drown. — as revived by rosé.

[karazrel]

EXCERPT FROM MORTAL HEARTS // L.H.Z

[fenrous-blog]

nameisagent‌:

   There is a twist on his face, a shade that appears briefly in his eyes. She does not know what he sees, what he’s thinking about but, obviously, it’s something that pains him. It must be about Steve because that man is the only link that exists between them. Her presence here, if memories are still existant, must bring him images back. So maybe the Winter Soldier knows who he is, maybe Steve is right and his friend still exists. Margaret retains the sigh that wishes to escape her lips because she knows what that means. This encounter between them, the Winter Soldier being his friend, that is a secret she will have to keep. She doesn’t like it one bit but she will have to keep it. Maybe that man doesn’t remember everything, maybe everything is a mess and that’s why he’s not letting Steve find him. Because he could be dangerous. 

   Knowing Steve, he would not stop running after Bucky even if Margaret assured him that he is dangerous. She can’t have Steve dying over this, she just got him back for Christ’s sake. But it seems kind of egoistical of her, keeping Steve all for her when he years to find and help his best friend. No, she can’t be an obstacle here. But Steve, he’s too reckless, she’ll have to keep this secret even though she knows he’ll learn of the lie one day. She’s willing to risk their tentative friendship so as to save him from pain. 

  Her eyes note that his fingers aren’t as strong on the handle of his gun, that there seems to be less a will to hurt her. That is one more piece of the puzzle sliding into place, he has no wish to hurt her, yet, if he has no recollection of her, why would he not wish to hurt her ? Certainty sucks low in her guts, he knows her, he knows them, he remembers. She won’t be able to say she didn’t know, she won’t be able to say that she wasn’t sure. Her lips purse, she can lose Steve over this, because of that man. Anger surges but she quickly pushes it down, it’s not his fault. She’s the one making this choice, she’s the one who is deciding to keep all of this secret. Plus, she was never one to wish for things to be different. Margaret will have time to pity herself later though, now is not the time. She only replies with a short nod, doesn’t tell him that Carter is fine, it’s been a long time since anyone called her Ma’am, it kind of feels like home a bit, like she’s in the right decade. God were people rude nowadays, with absolutely not a care about decorum. She finds this century distasteful. 

  Of course, if he knows who she is, he knows that this is not her face. She’s not tired of fighting but she has learnt how to pick her battles, when to yield. Slender fingers come to her face, taking the mask off without any fanfare. Daring brown eyes meet blue ones, letting him see her. She’s curious to see if there is a hint of recognition in his gaze, if her face is something he knows.  “ Well, now that you see me, can we go ? I’m quite famished. ”  She feels her face relax, for before it was a studied blank expression. Only a cocked eyebrow answers his affirmation, answers his refusal to serve his country – for it is still his country. He has never seemed like the patriotic type unlike Steve – well, it’s difficult to be as patriotic as Steve but stil – and she knows that he had been drafted, that going to Europe wasn’t a choice he made. And working for HYDRA, knowing what they’ve done to him, she can understand that he wants nothing more to do with the United States, with its administration. Margaret wonders if they have reached a silent agreement to never speak of this, to have this moment – silent or meaningful – and to never utter a word about it. 

the perusal that perches on the edge of this moment unsettles him. this moment is quiet, all contained silence at the end of the gun’s mouth, clambering from the barrel to the muzzle with a deadly precision. he’s nothing if not carved with the flight responses clawing at the underside of his skin, and aware of that he is. but it doesn’t mean that he’s adhering to the fears — not when he’s been trained, conditioned to do the otherwise. except there wasn’t such a thing as fears in the winter soldier’s mind; his head was a flask for missions, swallowing almost a pint of orders at a time before being wiped once again, placed into the cold. but of course, when fears coexist with this version of the winter soldier, he has no other choice but to evade the emotions, letting them soak the bottom of his viscera but never listening too close.

and she, as one of the oldest serving agents ( or is she now? ), would’ve known how to undress people’s minds in one, two step. but it doesn’t deter him. he meets her eyes in a gaze that locks, fixated there with the determination known only to a man who’s been a machine longer than he is a man. she’s mulling over a plethora of options in her head, and if he could bet money on it, definitely has it on where steven grant rogers is. the man is a myth for james, sure, he’s set the barriers himself so that james is also a myth for steve. he’s reassured himself of that, but with her standing here, he’s uncertain of his current standing when it comes down to the issue. an antithesis to everything that he’s built around his reputation, now, conversing with a woman who could deprive him of the fruits from his carefully filed schemes. yet, it’s not like he can undo this now. for certain, she’s probably contemplating letting steve know. that’s one definite option — but she’s no fool, and neither is james. there’s always a plan b — he’s no longer the robotic killing means anymore. he’s more than a kinetic form of devised plans. able to think for himself now, so he’s not afraid. and he shouldn’t be.

when she unmasks herself, that’s when he lets his guard seemingly even lower. his front fools too many eyes already, he should’ve won a grammy award at this point. “famished? that’s such a fancy word,” he says, humming. taking his mask off to store it at the compartment of his backpack, he meets her bare face with his own. “is that how a dame like you would speak like decades ago?” scoffs, but he leads the way, casually strolling through the front door this time. there’s no point in bringing her through his personal, preferred route. that one is for him, and him only. “i don’t know much about the older days. feels like it’s been years since i was born, but hey, i’m young. like thirty years young.” it’s a joke that he tells with the driest tone. opening the door for her is almost sarcastic. “after you, ma’am.” he strolls after her, and looks around even when he knows there’s no surveillance anymore after he crippled the entire system.

[fenrous-blog]

a. ) an after dark siren song from afar. b. ) the streams of screen lights. c. ) nicotine-stained teeth, smoke-tainted lungs. d. ) another severed visceral response…

                                                                        (   error. identity not found.   )

𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐋𝐘 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐒

mcu-based, as rewritten by rosé. indie account, selective and private.

[fenrous-blog]

freedomfallen‌:

he’s apologizing.   he shouldn’t be apologizing.   grant is the one who should be saying sorry  —  for everything that’s happened and what may happen in the future.   he’s sure that things are going to go to hell because of him eventually.   the h-word.   it almost makes him smile,  but it never makes it that far.   he’s spent so much time looking and chasing after what natasha and sam say is a dead end,  but look at where he is now  ——  he’s actually speaking to james,  seeing  him.

even if right now it’s hard,  it’ll be worth it ;  grant is sure of that,  or at least,  he believes he is.   he hopes that they can get past this,  but it still hurts.   not his words  –  the apology.   the fact that james felt the need to apologize for what he said,  stings.   some would think that  nothing ever satisfies you,  but truth be told:  grant just doesn’t want james to apologize for something like this.   he feels like he deserves to hear it.   even after everyone,  including james himself just now,  has told him that none of what happened on the train ;  during the time james was lost and he was frozen was his fault,  he can’t believe it.

you jump,  i jump.   a silent promise between the bond the two friends shared and yet  —  grant didn’t.   he never jumped.

‘  no  —  no,  it’s okay.   you don’t have to…  apologize for that.  ’    a thin smile on his lips as he looks up at james,  glancing in the direction the other is staring before eyes focus on his face again.    ‘  conversation,  especially with me  –  it’s gonna be hard.   but you shouldn’t apologize for saying what comes to mind.   it’s better to get it out.   yell,  scream,  lash out…  i don’t care.   i can take it.  ’

the number of calibrated errors in his mind definitely outweigh the current situation, in which he needs to analyze the cause and effect. but it’s to no avail: all these efforts to refocus his head onto something that doesn’t even calculate. he doesn’t truly comprehend the need for him to actually shout the entire three words. if he has a say in the circumstance, he would believe that it was uncharacteristic of him to actually engage with such feelings at all. still, he did so, and those three words have carved a mark in the captain’s face. it’s not something that he can revoke — with or without apologies.

i am sorry becomes another moot point that means naught. it has been said, but delving deeper into it, he has never actually realized that he has it in him... to enact a feeling deep enough for him to even speak those words. this is, however, an experience more visceral than not. there’s something about this encounter that doesn’t let go of his beating heart, gripping it too tightly he bleeds within. and perhaps he doesn’t remember, but there’s inevitability in him that does — the same one as the concept that made him say those words. he wouldn’t have engaged in these feelings if steve rogers wasn’t a crucial part in his previous life. and maybe, just maybe, some of the remainders, they stay with him regardless of all the lies, all the wipes.

his eyes find grant’s again, but this time, facing his deepest source of fears doesn’t feel that surreal anymore. this man, in the flesh and bones, carries something more than mere memories for james. “it’s not,” and he sounds like he’s on the edge of snapping, again. it’s as if he’s letting out pent up anger that he’s sustained for god knows how long. “it’s not okay. listen, i’m equally as guilty when it comes down to it. i don’t hate you, alright? i just... hate the positions that we were... are... in. i’m sorry i shot you, too, trying to kill you. it’s not... i don’t... shit.” he swallows, once again looking away. “you don’t... just take it. you cannot just take it. i’m not the same man as i was — you need to stop treating me as if we were the same man.” he shakes his head. “i’m sorry for what happened. i’m sorry that i’m not him either... it’s just... you’re not the one to blame for it.”

[fenrous-blog]

freedomfallen:

grant’s voice catches in his throat immediately after james’ words are said,  eyes blinking one  –  twice ;  almost in slow motion.   i hate you!   the words settle deep in his chest and dig down to his stomach,  making both twist and ache.   it feels as if he’s been shot  –  maybe punched through and through.   as much as they may have argued in the past,  they’ve never uttered such words to one another.   it hits harder than he ever thought it would.   he should’ve seen it coming though.   what happened to james was grant’s fault and he’s never forgiven himself for it.

mouth opens then closes once as grant tries to find the words to respond.   hurt is evident on his features and there’s no way he could hide  that.   not in this moment.   any other person and he could have,  but this was james.   it aches a lot more.   finally,  grant takes a deep breath,  head tilting if only brief and he blinks again.

                  ‘  you have every right to,  james.   i don’t blame you.  ’

the aperture of this scene does not quite add up to the fact that he’s just reunited with the man — the same one as the one that he recalls shooting far too many times in that helicarrier. prior to the potomac, prior to the escape. the cold leads that piqued no one’s interests but steven grant rogers’, chasing after the shadows of a gossamer ghost’s tail. and now that he’s confronted his fears, pivoting on the heel to face his demons in the eye, he’s still unsure if it’s the right move.

( is there even such a thing called the right move? )

when the words are enunciated with relative ease, however, he’s certain that the strung words are definitely not what he’d recount as a right move. hate is a harsh one, and it was more of an automated response than anything. one that he regrets almost immediately, reciting the event in the back of his mind as his own countenance alters to that of remorse. blinks his expression away; there’s something about his words that twists steve ( grant? ) within, like a semblance of sorrow that doesn’t expand on its fullest flight on grant’s face.

“right...” he starts again after a pause with a pint of guilt soaking his insides. “i — uh, i’m bad at this, alright.” he runs a hand through his hair, evading grant’s eyes. “but i’m sorry. about that. i shouldn’t have said... the h-word.” shrugs to lighten up the situation, at least for himself. eyes fixated on the sofa instead, he wishes he was sitting so he doesn’t have to fight the urge to shift his weight from foot to foot. “listen, grant. you’re not... responsible for things said and done, okay? those shouldn’t have been your fault. i shouldn’t have lashed out on you.”

[fenrous-blog]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑, @prcsopa​.

there are moments they don’t forgive, nor do they forget. in the simile crafted specifically for men that were meant to be weapons, they resist, and desist. the clatter of their shackles in the ricochet creates an echo deafening enough their ears bleed. and when they finally broke free, the empire of lies doesn’t simply let them ebb away. they are were assets, the second worthier than the first but still exploitable regardless. if it wasn’t for the error in their programming, the glitch in the dna that happened to tether the second to the first instead of the makers — the so-called gods — they wouldn’t have been liberated. and for that, james is aware. he owes the clone his life.

the only way he knows how to repay it, sliver by sliver, is by ensuring that they both stay alive while chipping away at every ounce of hydra’s lies. peeling hydra’s skin for the world to see what’s hidden underneath: all the rotten flesh, the seared veins, while ascertaining their lives. and it’s made difficult by each questioning look that bucky gives him sometimes, for james doesn’t know how to answer to those eyes without inquiring deep within either, digging deep into the grave of his own. he senses that it’s no different from picking at his scabs to reveal deep wounds underneath. either way, they’re somewhat safe and sound after all these illusions of normalcy.

with their manhattan loft illuminated by the moon sneaking in from the blind gaps, he is deep in thoughts, buried under the tons of their next moves. hydra is still after them, for sure, but they haven’t discovered that the winter soldiers would be hiding in plain sight. he doesn’t find it surprising anymore that bucky is seated in a corner with a knife in hand, idly playing around with it — a habit that he’s acquired himself during his time in hydra. when he wasn’t in the cryostasis, when he wasn’t in the missions. he heaves a sigh, seating himself across bucky, crossing his legs. “what’s on your mind?” he asks, voice soft. it always has been, it seems, when it comes to bucky — after all, hasn’t bucky been created out of his own shape? it still feels like staring in a mirror, even with james’ hair cut short, exposed more to the outer world than bucky.

[fenrous-blog]

steve doesn't know whether james would accept a present from him yet, so instead of getting something for him, he makes a gift. he wonders if james will remember sarah rogers' stew ; if he doesn't, it's understandable, but steve wonders if he can offer even a sliver of comfort to his best, long-lost friend on james' birthday. he waits for james to get back after an afternoon of scouting and crosses his fingers that james will like his little birthday celebration.

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄, 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄, @kidfrombrccklyn. — 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘: 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆.

there are inevitable holes carved in the graves that mark his memories. sometimes, they feel like gaping wounds. other times, they feel like hollow eye sockets, watching him with from the cavities. he’s left vulnerable on his own devices, scavenging for little beads of survival bits that do not quite stay, especially during the nights when the terrors filled with blurred snippets captivate him like no others. it’s as if he’s watching a life that used to be his own from a tinted window, almost rose-colored with the stain of disbelief that marks his mementos. in the punctured nerves that do not deliver enough for him to recall anything in full, he wonders if the disjointed movements of his memory phase steve.

even today, the remembrance feels more like a commemoration than an actual birthday, remembering looking back at the museum’s exhibit where the date of his supposed birth while idly wondering if his rebirth had eradicated every little thing that pertained to the dead man. james buchanan barnes, feels more like a borrowed name than not, still. like a cutter against the tip of his tongue, enunciating each syllable doesn’t feel real, still. and that’s how he feels when he sees steve from the vantage point across his loft. he’s left the blinds drawn, windows cleared. this is still surreal, having the man unearthed from his greatest fear. facing steve must’ve been one of the most daunting tasks he’s had after his escape from hydra’s grip, so to have steve’s existence reinstated in his life ( ? ) is definitely an anomaly that he didn’t calculate enough, which speaks a lot. he’s always been one step ahead, or so he thought.

his giving steve his loft’s key was definitely an act of caprice. he doesn’t know how to respond to what seems to be a birthday celebration for him, and he cannot deny the rapid heartbeats that indicate the blisters of anxiety. but still, he cannot prolong this anymore, so he eventually relents to the situation, returning to his home with what he could call a leisure walk. pretends to sustain composure he doesn’t have, he inserts the key to the lock. opening the door, he feigns a surprised countenance upon having steve there. “hey,” he starts dumbly. “i didn’t know we had a lunch date. at my place nonetheless.” the corners of his mouth pull a smile that’s far too convincing. “what’s the occasion?”

[fenrous-blog]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑, @kidfrombrccklyn​.

the incisors to this event lie not in the jaws of the same cycle he’s been running in, but outside it. feeling trapped in another ring of fire, this issue feels too personal, especially when it sustains its terror by exploiting his name. the bombing in the vienna gives him no room to breathe post-chase. the hydra goons that he was pursuing left quite an impression that he needed to ram his metal fist for another dozen times just to give himself enough peace of mind. and for that fact alone, his frustration over being framed by yet another party is tripled. there’s no such a thing as calm before the storm for him — it has always been another storm after another after another.

calamities don’t just desist with him; it feels like being a body of magnetism towards the troubles. he’s attached to them in one way or another, with their flocking onto his rotten flesh to lick it clean from his bones. and so, when he found out about the newsflash at the bucharest stand, he doesn’t find it too huge of a surprise. still one, however — there’s certainly a bigger picture painted behind this scene, motives dangling from the thin lining. he cannot simply stand idly watching the event unfold when he wasn’t even in vienna, let alone murdering innocent parties, including the king of wakanda. it’s definitely another ruse, the use of his name as a cloak slash distraction makes sense to an extent, for they’re targeting the avengers one way or another considering whom it involved.

and so, the wisest decision that he can execute for now is to head towards one of the leaders, even when it means facing his own truths — ones which he’s been avoiding for years. the fears are there, clinging to his sinews, but he believes there’s no backing off at this point. he’s left his hotel vacant by dawn, knowing that the captain will probably be scouring the continent for james’ whereabouts. he’d like to believe that steve would believe him rather easily, but he’s never certain about that even when steve has been tracking all his cold leads. he’s not the same man he was before — not even the shadows of the man the captain used to know. it’s a moot notion at this point, and so, when he sneaks into the hotel room, he’s prepared for the worst.

steve’s arrival is not unforeseen. looking worn, the captain’s shoulders might not be slouched, but he doesn’t stand tall either. james’ eyes are trained at the figure before disclosing his own presence. “i wasn’t in vienna,” he starts. “i don’t do that anymore... wait, i do. not towards them, though. my enemy is hydra... those that people tend to overlook. i’m not here to kill innocent people. i will take the people behind the bombing myself. i just need you to trust me. i didn’t do it.”

[fenrous-blog]

3rdgencarter‌:

It took a long time to make it to this point. Finally she would be meeting the man she researched for years. She needed help to get her revenge and he was the only person that could really help her. Her long legs lead her to the tiny cafe, sitting next to the dark haired man. “ We finally meet ” thin fingers playing with the necklace of her family crest that her grandmother gifted her at a young age. 

in the impromptu moment lodged between the columns of his throat, he decided to eventually catch a rendezvous for a mission even when it’s something that he doesn’t favor. it’s been proven over and over again that civility is often a measure that’d be better forgone pre-mission; he’s not the social being alexandru dragomir should be, but this one... it intrigues him when he’s traced the ever-changing ip, anonymity is a forte that suits her but nothing that he couldn’t decipher amidst the row and row of binary codes. there are theories that clatter, and he decides that this is a chance to prove himself right. a game with himself, otherwise insanity ( if not ennui ) would eat himself alive.

he’s seated at the café, on the bar that sits in front of the barista. stacked mugs in front of him as he sips his coffee. bet coffee back then wasn’t this good — god bless 2019. he hums at the taste of bittersweet warmth on his tongue, and notices when she enters the premise. it’s not like it’s easy for him to overlook the similarities between her and her predecessor. he takes another sip when she slids onto the seat next to him without any doubt. “well, i’d say i’m glad to meet you, but i’m not typically into meeting my... customers. not this casually, at least, unless you’re buying something more legal from me.” he doesn’t regard her beyond a glance. his branded gloves speak of themselves, of what they’re covering. “and this isn’t my preferred means of contact with my... customers. ears everywhere. can’t run from concepts that are supposedly dead as well.” but at least he was and is right, it’s her. “i just need to know when and where, and we can consider it done.”

[fenrous-blog]

TAGGED BY   @falsedking   ( thank you, doter! ) TAGGING   nobody, nobody but you.

ONE ( ALIAS / NAME )   rosé.

TWO ( BIRTHDAY )   13/11/1991 ( 27 ).

THREE ( ZODIAC SIGN )   scorpio. 

FOUR ( HEIGHT )  1.58cm.

FIVE ( HOBBIES )   writing, coding, editing, designing, café hopping.

SIX ( FAVOURITE COLOUR(S )   gold, lavender, silver, white, black.

SEVEN ( FAVOURITE BOOKS )   after dark by haruki murakami, the subtle art of not giving a fuck by mark manson.

EIGHT ( LAST SONG LISTENED TO )   young by baekhyun and loco.

NINE ( LAST FILM WATCHED )   bohemian rhapsody.

TEN ( INSPIRATION FOR MUSE )   captain america: the winter soldier as a movie, alongside many of its soundtracks and other songs. he’s a mixture of many things at once, but the main drive to keep writing is to explore parts of a bucky that i didn’t have the chance to do when i was writing him in a more canon compliant fashion. the survivor in him, basically, placed in a completely different scenario, with completely different coping mechanisms.

ELEVEN ( MEANING BEHIND YOUR URL )   from fenrir, meaning wolf. was actually saved for cloud strife from final fantasy vii due to the symbol. then i reused, since it fits james quite a bit.

[sheismyshe-deactivated20190201]

What is a ghost? Something dead that seems to be alive. Something dead that doesn’t know it’s dead.

Richard Siken, Landscape With Fruit Rot and Millipede (via sheismyshe)

[fenrous-blog]

cardshcrp‌:

          Remy can’t help but laugh at that, startled and pleased - and he can’t quite help ducking in to steal a kiss, either, because it’s been far too long and James looks far, far too nice not to. “No, I think I’ve noticed the appreciation there,” he murmurs, a faint pinch deep inside at James’ obvious distraction. 

It’s really silly, actually. He can hardly expect the man not to have plans, but even so, it’s still disappointing. He likes their moments, so far and few between, and with a chagrined click of his tongue against his teeth he drags his thumb over the other’s jaw, smile holding firm. 

“That’s such a shame, cher. You gotta go now, or do we have time for a dance on top of those tricks? Magic feet, magic hands…take your pick.” He tips his head in turn, just enough for warm lips to trail down James’ cheek, a low chuckle sneaking away from him. “I’ve missed you. We should catch up proper soon, if you got the time.”

there’s an inhale stuck between the columns of his throat. he locates more people in the club, somehow, as if tonight was a hydra night out. that’d be great had he been alone, not spotting a familiar face that he’s fond of like this. there is, inevitably, a sense of dread that swells in his chest, especially when he spots the subtle hint of remy catching his attention being diverted to another place. it’s a quick cover for the flash of disappointment, but it doesn’t help with the feelings that are seemingly… mutual, even when remy isn’t someone he frequently meets.

heck, remy isn’t even someone he’s honest with. and he feels guilty for that.

uncharacteristic of him, it seems, when all that he’s done post-hydra would be lying, cheating, and stealing. killing, too, when it comes down to the hydra goons that have yet to fall alongside the decimation of their cursed syndicate. he holds not much of remorse from turning those faces into pulps, but with people he cares about, it’s different. it always is. also the reason why most of the time he’s escaping them. but with remy, thought that it would be just harmless fun, so he didn’t ponder much upon entertaining their little sessions of cuddling and kissing.

and he’d love that, the offer of dancing with remy. sharing what little intimacy he can afford with the man, even when it risks his position. he chuckles, although his eyes dart at how the hydra men exit from the back door. it’s now or never. catching these men in a place unexpected has been an opportunity awaited, and as much as he’d like to indulge in the pleasures, he needs to do his missions. that’s one thing that doesn’t change. everything else has, but he’s a manmade monster, the frankenstein they’ve assembled to have it turn against themselves.

he gives remy an apologetic look as he sighs. “i’m sorry. maybe next time?” he asks. “i really, really have to go. we can… exchange numbers, perhaps?” one of his most permanent numbers, probably, considering the bogus phone numbers that he’s had for conning purposes. and with that, he slips past the crowd, meandering his way towards the back door as well to follow his preys. it’s a rapid, solid movement, succession somehow too quick for a normal person. he’s a ghost, after all.

[robertpattisons]

random gifs of bucky barnes (11/50). 

[fenrous-blog]

nameisagent‌:

      Margaret waits. 70 years of waiting she has already done, a few more minutes is not something she concerns herself with. Oh, she has not been waiting for the red star’s identity, no. She has been waiting for a purpose, an explanation for her lifespan to be so wide, so long. Steve has come back && she has wondered if it was all for that, all of this to be the damsel in distress, the lover who waited decades to be reunited with the one she lost. But no, she is not made of porcelain, she does not break – she’s steel, she became a WEAPON – and her mission is to save the world. No more, no less. She won’t let herself become a doll who waits around, she left all of this behind her as it only weighted her down. She’s no lover, she’s no tender heart, she only is Margaret Carter. Peggy was a good woman, yes but she died with Steve it would seem. 

     Head tilts, eyes tighten as an image flashes behind her eyelids. RED STAR. It speaks to her and she’s trying to remember. Yes, yes, there were red stars on old building but that is not it. A Red Star, HYDRA. She blinks twice, too fast as the realization floods her. The Winter Soldier. His metal arm, the Red Star on it. Sergeant James Buchanan. Bucky, for some people. Like a center piece finally taking its place in a puzzle, everything seems to fall in place. Of course, he’s what was missing, of course he’s making sure Hydra stay dead, of course Steve can’t catch him, of course he’s here. His voice, like THUNDER, brings her back in her body but now, now she’s reading the situation differently – way differently. She can’t win against him, not if they fight && even if she could, she can’t kill him, she can’t harm him – not too much at least. Steve is adamant in his belief that the Winter Soldier has recovered his memory but she won’t bet her life on it. Steve is COMPROMISED when it comes to that man. 

     Brown eyes follow his form as his feet lands elegantly on the floor. She did not take the time to answer his previous words. Yes, he does not owe her shit. Yes, he will do what he said regardless of his decorum of hostility. Sometimes, she wonders what’s the use of being so hostile when, in fact, actions will be contrary to words. She imagines that it is some kind of WARNING, that it should be taken as a way to inform her that nothing is granted. But she knows that though so it seems polite to take an uncomfortable expression. Sometimes, humoring people is a good way to get where you want, where you aspire to be. The mask is familiar, Steve drew him once or twice with it but it’s the eyes, when she catches them, that sell his identity. Margaret can’t know if he recognizes her, if he has his memories back because she does not know him that much. But she’s positive it’s him. “ James Buchanan. Or you might prefer Sergeant ? Bucky ? Winter Soldier ? ” An eyebrow is cocked, a sort of challenge hidden in the chocolate of her pupils. Though it does sound CONFUSING, she imagines that he does not really care about the name she uses to speak to him. 

    Feet do not move, eyes taking him in as she tries to guess what he TRULY wants. Because he knows that she knows now. If he does have his memories back then he must remember that she’s linked to Steve – the man he’s trying to escape. By letting him know she knows his identity, she becomes a liability. However, if he does have his memory back, he won’t kill her. But it does not really matter, she can’t kill him so she has to craft a plan including him not dying at least, coming back with her at best. It does seem like such a hardship. Hard eyes looking at his face, she asks. “ What do we do now ? ” 

there’s no solid response to his words for a moment, and he’s left with the scarcity of peace within that pause. she remains quiet, seemingly drowned in her own thoughts about the red star left, still reeking of its painted glory. the graffiti is crafted out of the paint found in any skateboard store scattered all across the world, untraceable. there’s no way someone could pinpoint the origin of his device itself, but it’s the tacit message that matters. hydra agents that return to this place would know that it’s the winter soldier, marking everything that he’s left in his wake, territorial to the core; something that he’s never allowed to be when he was the fist of hydra. he was always a ghost story, but now it’s his time to rebrand his tales, the haunting is a freeform for him to rewrite. his own arm is already without the red star itself, devoid the symbol to present his liberty like nothing else, self-painted. now it’s hidden underneath the hoodie, but she isn’t supposed to require looking at his metal arm to know who he is if she’s truly the person that he thinks she is.

margaret carter. or better known as the shield founder, an agent from london that seemed stranded. he doesn’t recall much apart from the images flashing in the smithsonian, the sole video that talks about the captain’s heroic retelling. and he cares naught for all of that — or perhaps he cares naught for what he wants to admit to himself is miniscule, as he’s always scared of facing steve as a part of his past. last meeting with the man, he himself was less of a human and more of a monster, trying to murder the symbol by ramming his metal fist into the face repeatedly — and that’s what he’s been doing to the faces of hydra agents that he’s met along the way during his missions. he’s not ashamed of the latter, more of the former. until the end of the line, until the end of the line, until the end of the line… fuck, fuck. fuck. he cannot break down into memories in front of the woman. not now, not in the confines of this place. curse his weaknesses: he’s not made of the shards that he knows for sure he once held feelings for, regardless of the form. regardless of the meaning. she’s been… something to steve, he’s sure. that leaves a tinge of bitter taste on his tongue. again, he doesn’t want to admit it.

his arms do not waver at all, still, locking his target, but when the name is launched from her mouth with an accentuated end, he knows that it’s a confirmation. they both have come to a mutual comprehension of each other’s identities, but doesn’t mean that he’d trust her just like that. he doesn’t know what she’d do with this kind of information, her being face-to-face with none other than the winter soldier. clenches his jaw, realizing that he’s lowered his gun slightly, but he still holds it in a fixated spot. he isn’t meant to show weaknesses, and so, when she asks which name she should address him by, he cocks his head sideways, making a scoffing noise that sounds too derisive filtered by the fibers of his mask. “well, the winter soldier would suffice, ma’am,” he says, but his tone is far from indifferent. it’s sarcastic, as it’s always been his way of coping with whatever’s thrown at him. to mask the trauma, the nightmares. he’s certain that she’d surmise that, too.

a smart woman, she is, but he isn’t one to trust when there’s no agenda splayed before him. they’re at a loss as to what to do, and everything that he needs has been placed inside his backpack. he didn’t obtain much prior to her arrival, much to his dismay, but there’s not much left behind in this decrepit underground base to begin with. “oh, i don’t know.” he eventually speaks, clacking his tongue against the palate of his mouth. “i’m done with my mission, so i’m going to grab some supper at the closest convenience store. would invite you, but you’re not even being honest. that mask looks ugly on you,” he comments. “the man you were talking about is dead, by the way. sergeant my ass. not serving this goddamned country.”

[fenrous-blog]

“Tell me this isn’t you breaking up with me.”

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄, 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄, @takeseffort. — 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌: 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆.

the opulence of this quiet is deafening, its core dragging him down. it’s as if something was tied in a knot around his sternum to weight him similar to that of an anchor, and he’s sinking, drowning to a point of no return. he doesn’t understand the situation anymore even when he was the first to initiate the conversation, if it could be called as such. he’s uncertain as to what to make out of this anymore; he shouldn’t be here. his instincts have told him to run repeatedly, and the rinse lather repeat process of escaping everything he’s come to know has been too ingrained in him. but not with alec — not with him, too. james doesn’t think it would be unfair for alec, for the both of them, to simply discard what they have ( had? ), leaving everything behind as though nothing had happened in the first place.

his stay in the new york institute has been uncalled for, now that he revisits it. there were times he tried, and succeeded in prolonging his stay, for reasons that were uncharacteristic of him. he’s always been known as a ghost story, after all, and all the secret rendezvouses with alec were all that he could afford, but even so, now it’s already too stale of a scheme for him to play out. the demons and the enemies of the institutes have started piecing the jigsaw together, pinpointing the fact of his whereabouts, striking where he wasn’t when they knew they couldn’t outdo him. he’s of no help to the world for the time being, with an ankle tethered to a place. he’s never meant to do this, but it’s not like he could deny these raw emotions, consuming him alive amidst the gnashed jaws of his own nightmares.

when alec tries to decipher what he’s been saying, decoding what was left in the encrypted words, he’s left with vacillation. is it what he was trying to say? he doesn’t know. doesn’t think he wants to know either; this is a tough dilemma, and alec must’ve known it. he might be unreadable to many, but after nights spent with them talking, dissecting their own hearts to lay the insides out on the table for each other’s perusal, he doesn’t think that lying to alec is as effortless as he would to others. maybe he’s left it vague so as to make it easier, but is there a way to make it easier? it feels like straining every syllables all over again as he told alec that he had to go, away. away from the entirety of this shackle, because he’s meant to be an untied soul. not when he’s half a monster himself, pledged to none but himself.

“no,” he eventually croaks out, finding alec’s eyes even in the darkness. and he lets his gaze down after, trying to will away the image of alec’s apparent disappointment from his mind. “i don’t know,” corrects it as an afterthought, and when he looks up again, he tries not to look bitter himself. “you understand it’s not my place to stay, alec,” he tries again, rationalizing with himself as well. it’s better when said out loud. he cups alec’s face with his right hand, and sighs. “i’ve never stayed. i’m never supposed to. but—“he swallows thickly. “it’s not what i want. to be separated from you.”

[fenrous-blog]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑, @flamepng.

in the purgatory that is time, he exists, coloring it with the hue of monochromes. it’s not like he hasn’t subjected himself to torture of sleep attempts every night, even when he knows that there are two outcomes: a failure, or a nightmare. one of these days the other parable would be worse than the comparison, but it’s still bad as it is. he’s not new to torments of squandering hours on mere void, even within this self-made lifetime, and this is simply another instance of it. in the capillaries of the moment, he calculates the markings, again and again and again even when he knows it’d be accurate the first time — second time at the maximum. he lets out a puff of air, an exhale that spells out humanity as he recalls the asset would remain completely still during his hiding, unlike the miniscule moves that james as the winter soldier can still manage into the timeframe. it’s an exhibit of being human; something that he doesn’t recall he could afford as hydra’s fist.

tonight’s work is rather unorthodox for someone typically found wrecking hydra’s bases openly. this one is rather… selfish, and he hasn’t thought that far as to where the money would go once he gets the crown liquidized. still, all that he knows is that the riches is hydra’s, and so, he cannot let them be, relishing in a sight of wealth that is afforded by placing threats in everyone’s lives. they might try building a new brand, establishing something that’s more than just the rotten foundation dated back in the beginning of the century, as they cannot really live under the fear of being discovered anymore. it’s the entire plan of having their two heads regrown after that one head was decapitated, incinerated. but he’s not letting them be as long as he lives, and that’s a promise.

except that as he remains in the ventilation system, he notices that he’s not alone. the heat signature radar tells him that someone else is approaching in the vicinity, their close proximity causing discomfort in him because while he’s always prepared for confrontation, he’s not always in the mood for it. not when the mission briefs from himself and for himself told him otherwise. a sigh as he knows that it might be inevitable, but he cannot let that crown fall into a wrong person’s hand — especially not hydra’s. wonders, if this time, they are sending another prototype of another soldier program, as hydra’s agents don’t seem like the type to confront their former asset alone unless they’re confident the solo mission can bring him back to them. he readies himself as the signature tells him the perpetrator is coming closer in the ventilation system, crawling in a rapid manner, the silence unnerving since that means they’re extremely careful. and he doesn’t know if the target is him, or the crown, as he’s now sitting nearby the vantage point towards the latter. this is a shooting game, perhaps, and times like this would be when he’d be grateful for having a metal arm that can stop bullets. when the person closes the gap between them, his laser is aimed at their chest, enough to leave a distance after they cease.