#inecede

[agentxiii]

❛ Oh, it’s not as bad as it sounds. ❜

THAT FOREBODES MORE THAN IT SEEMS,     she’s  sure  this  is  only  the  tip  of  the  iceberg…     Especially  when  a  certain  infamous  Russian  is  the  planner  of  this  undercover  bust  that  had  just  been  assigned.          ❛      Yeah,   sure.    What  could   p o s s i b l y   go  wrong ?     ❜          Sharon  tosses  her  hands  up  in  the  air  in  defeat  –––   there  really  was  no  clear  way  out  of  this  without  further consequences  from  her  fellow  spy   –––   but  it’s  as  though  the  motion  only  stirs  up  more  unwelcomed  uncertainly,   with  a  pang  of   r e g r e t  for  her  choice  of  words.          ❛     –––––  Don’t  answer  that.     Did Nat put you up to this ?     I know she did.     She did,   didn’t she ?     ❜

             @inecede​   ➝   river song sentence meme.

[agentxiii]

sharon voice: you have, in no way at all, assured me such a thing 

[fenrous-blog]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑, @inecede.

it’s a paradoxical continuum on its own: this entire serene morning routine spent with steve. they’re fugitives for everyone, running from everyone. that, however, makes it somewhat calm for james — at least he’s not running alone now, and the world knows it. he’s no longer hiding in the shadows, but openly escaping every trap, every law, in order to maintain this peace that he’s been sharing with steve. and so, mornings are shared like this: their limbs intertwined underneath the tangled sheets, draped over them as they jump from places to places, their rooms are ever-changing. but this, this is somehow what he’s always wanted, and his sleep is often rimmed with the weight of memories about a man half his size. and how he’s always wanted to share his life with that man. now that he does, he mulls over his decision again and again and again as he lies his head against steve’s chest, temple pressed against the gentle thuds. “steve,” he says. “i know it doesn’t even matter now that we’re on the run from law… in all countries. but you know, unlike when we were younger, gay marriage is legal, right?”

[fenrous-blog]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑, @inecede.

the world is collapsing around them, the damage too collateral for them to fix. as he trudges along, eliminating more hydra bases within the last year after his recovery ( and if he were to be honest, most of it was contrived out of shock therapies, self-inflicted, in order to speed it up — nothing cures you more than the ones that don’t kill you, they’d say ), he starts building a life again, its semblance nothing like the previous one back in brooklyn as a man with too many mouths to feed. he’d learned about bucky barnes enough before discarding all of them as mere memories, moving on with his new lifestyle. another startling epiphany of this is the silhouette of a captain that he’s chosen to confront, having contemplated his next moves. it’s been two months, but it’s been two months made out of a raw emotion he cannot quite pinpoint whenever he is pinned to the door, the wall by steve, open-mouthed kisses shared between them nothing but a welcomed distraction from what’s going on around them.

for an honest figure, steve keeps his secrets quite well. james perhaps acts on the secrecies more than steve as well, having been a ghost on the larger portion of his life, but if steve hadn’t cooperated with his plans and schemes, carefully mapped out in order to allow them to pilfer all these carved moments, all of these wouldn’t have been possible.

and he’s grateful for that. grateful for all the moments, even when lately steve has been naught but absent. he sees steve on television, and the last of steve’s information retained would be the fact that he was involved in killing tens of people in an accident while being in action. at that, he remembers swallowing hard. the news talked about the wakandan king, demanding the avengers’ responsibility over the accident even when he’s certain that steve wouldn’t have had any civilian included in the action had it been of any choice. some of his texts have been left without replies for a long time, and he understands. steve is patching up his own wounds, and james feels bad for not being able to be there for steve.

not like he can just march into steve’s daily life and tell everyone that he’s alexandru dragomir, steve rogers’ boyfriend. or something of the like — that’d be catastrophic, especially when the avengers are far from ready to accept that steve is out there dating a man that resembles his supposedly dead friend. not when the dead friend… isn’t too dead after all. and maybe, just maybe, he hasn’t asked: steve isn’t ready to come out, even to his closest friends and allies, and james doesn’t want to impose. but that’s barely the matter.

the matter is that there’s the vienna accord awaiting steve’s signature, with too many countries requesting the avengers’ cooperation, and then, peggy carter’s death. knows how much she meant to steve, he would’ve flown to london if he could to attend the ceremony, or at least to stay outside it. it hurts to just be able to watch when the only person he’s risked to love is in the depth of the inferno. probably it was how steve felt upon his… bucky’s fall from the freight train. just being able to watch, as he watches his own plunge in his sleep, again and again and again. he wonders how much of a suffering that it caused steve then. again, that’s barely the matter.

the matter is that there’s the vienna accord news as projected on the five-starred hotel’s television screen, playing in the background as he works on three laptops to trace all the remaining hydra bases in romania. and when he catches his moniker, he freezes. fuck people, really. there’s something going on behind the scene, for sure, but first, he instinctively reaches for his phone, stopping himself from hacking everyone’s phones via the underground, deep web systems to tell them that it wasn’t him. if it were him, he wouldn’t be that stupid to expose himself to the world. but then again, it’s not him who’s stupid, it’s the people believing he’s the man behind the bombing. yeah, like he hadn’t hidden himself well enough to avoid the public cameras during all his missions. everything is mapped out in his self-made technological legends, decrypted up to his perusal.

it’s not the matter. it’s not the matter of running, either. he finds steve’s number with ease, even when it’s not saved in his secret phone. it’s always stored right there, in the crook of his mind.

[ message to: ——— ] it wasn’t me. [ message to: ——— ] i don’t do that anymore. [ message to: ——— ] you know it. [ message to: ——— ] i’m going to catch this motherfucker myself.

[fenrous-blog]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑, @inecede.

he is all ghosts of teeth marks and soft kisses, the inklings of their night dissipating from the skin the way they did on steve’s. believes it’s the perk of having enhanced healing systems, the factor causing no hickeys to stay long enough for their liking even when he wants to brand captain america with the insignia of his mouth, telling the world that he’s no longer the nation’s treasure alone. telling the world that he is james’, although it would never truly happen, which sometimes leads him to the thoughts of what ifs, what ifs, what ifs. like a proposal — but why would captain america, or well, steve rogers, now that they’re in private, want to accept a criminal like james as a long-term commitment?

and it’s not like james isn’t always running.

some of these days, he’s also scared that steve, too, would run upon discovering the monsters in his head, because he frankly might too if he were steve. but steve stays, and steve trusts. in him, in james. in the winter soldier himself. what a fucking joke, it’s almost like a miracle. well, it is a miracle. james has inquired in his head a multitude of times as to why steve would remain there by his side, coming to the secret rendezvouses designed for a man of justice and a man of crimes. and james is incredibly good at that: locating the crooks of time and space in order to make the meetings probable even when he’s a wanted former assassin. discovering more secrets about himself, more stories.

as the sun rises, and as his transient sleep is disrupted by another nightmare that was too blurred for him to decipher, there are more question marks engraved in his head, cluttered by thoughts about why steve hasn’t left him yet. instead, steve’s slumber seems serene… too serene for a man who knows he’s sleeping with someone who blatantly had an attempt at murdering him with nothing the bare of his metal fist. what a silly idiot, he shouldn’t have. he shouldn’t have believed in james, since james is still the moniker. all the vapid archives are true: he’s still bludgeoning hydra goons to death, faces turned to pulps with that same fist. steve should’ve been more careful, although james doesn’t know if he’d be able to handle if it steve were to knit a distance between them again when he has succumbed to the fact that he cannot outrun steve forever.

( maybe he could’ve, had the small voices in his conscience not told him otherwise. )

when steve steers back into reality, he catches himself staring at steve. has been for a while now — he’s a moment of deep reveries just prior to steve meeting his gaze, and he offers half a smirk, a cryptic one. “morning, cap,” he says, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss on steve’s chest. he’s been listening to the lub-dup of steve’s heartbeat. it’s simply calming, lying there with the company of the rhythmical, serene sound. “shall we go for coffee or shall we stay in?” asks, and when he finally tears his gaze away from steve, looking away to meet his own shoulder where the scar tissues are webbed, crisscrossing each other in a chaotic mess where the juncture of his shoulder meets the metal arm, he sighs. “i’ve been wondering… it’s been on my mind for a while. not a morning after sex material of a subject, i know, but bear with me. after i fell from the train…” he winces at the memory, caught in glimpses. the rest would be the echoes of steve’s foretold tales about the experience; he knows how much this would hurt steve, and how much this would hurt him. awaken his traumas. but isn’t it always james’ style to face his beasts head on? “after i fell from the train… did you look for me?” he doesn’t look at steve, now, for he knows if he did he would look expectant.

[sheresists]

anna for the princess meme !!

 DISNEY MEME    /    accepting ( @inecede​ ).

     ❛  i can take care of myself.  ❜       she bristles just as soon as they find themselves alone in a green room.  sweet, fresh - faced actress rey is perhaps one of the farthest from being worthy of the title ‘ hollywood diva ’  —  until steve rogers deems it necessary and noble to swoop in and save her from the vultures, as if she hasn’t already received a lifetime of lessons on how to deal with the worst of them.  as if she’s some sort of damsel in distress, in need of her co - star to defend her.  so naturally rey had lashed out, cutting into whatever neat, structured response he’d been in the midst of delivering to personally shut down whatever new and invasive line of questioning their interviewer had regarding her past, her parents.  that had left them all floundering, enveloped by an awkward tension, until their publicists had pulled them and urged them to work out their sour moods.  she’d had half a mind to say something about that, even;  could she not be in a mood of her own?  did he always have to be right there beside her in all things?  but ultimately, she’d thought better of that.

     now?  she almost wishes she’d pitched a fit.

     you choked,       he points out, though not unkindly.  it’s frustrating how effortlessly good and chivalrous he is, even when they are clashing.  but it wasn’t always like this, was it?  upon first introductions, rey had liked him well enough  —  maybe more than she ought to have, and then wasn’t that where she lost sight of it all?  their job as the two up - and - coming stars of luke skywalker’s newest independent film was to portray something raw and real, but even now  .  .  .  rey can’t be so sure it was all work, that she was even acting for the entirety of the time.  sometimes, she isn’t so sure that he was, either  —  and then he turns those eyes and that smile onto someone else, and she’s reminded that there’s a line.  there HAS to be.  so she resolves to stab it into the sand herself, leaving no question about it, making no mistakes.

     ——well.

     ❛  it doesn’t matter,  ❜       she dismisses his point, arms folded across herself protectively.  lie.   ❛  it was none of your business.  i can do this.  i don’t need you to rescue me.  i’m fine.  ❜   he briefly appears as though he might argue, so she simply barrels on ahead, facing away from him sharply.   ❛  look, i can be professional if you can.  just  —  do your job, and i’ll do mine.  then we can finally move on.  ❜   a long, heavy moment passes, but when rey finally turns to him, she sees nothing but his retreating back as he seems to listen to her.  life isn’t like a movie, she thinks, or else he might have stayed.

[ofwarbondsarchive-blog]

@brokcnsouls & @inecede || because why not both? 

Loud -- her thoughts are too loud, and clamor for attention that she’s loathe to give. For Natasha knows all too well what will happen once the darkened corners of her mind are acknowledged, and she’s well aware of how it will inevitably end; painfully. She swings her legs carefully over the side of the mattress and pads out of the room, seeking to place a necessary distance between herself and the two men that share a bed with her.

God knows they’ve endured enough suffering without taking on her demons, too.

The world outside of the hut is blissfully quiet, save for the occasional bleating from a dissatisfied goat. “Always got something to say, don’t you?” She mutters fondly, shooting the offender a small, tight lipped smile. “Just like him.” Her thoughts inevitably stray to blonde hair, sincere blue eyes, and a jaw set with determination. From there, her mind conjures images of darker hair tied back in a loose bun, kind eyes, and a mouth curled into an easy grin. Her boys; beautiful, tragic, and too good for her. Far too good.

[comradus-blog]

        ‣          a mission targeted towards @inecede .

the ripples of time do not stop the turbulence that comes with his nightmares. typically, however, the sleep comes first, construing the delicate fibres of trauma prior to deciphering its filaments, transforming them into the wounds that never truly close. and then, the heaving. and then, the screaming. he never really forgets the taste of the bitterness that soaks his tongue with certainties. it still feels like the weight of his phantom arms, the optic connections of the visceral responses do not quite add up anymore. he used to wield it with the might that heeded nothing but the mission; now, he’s not so sure why he still has it anymore. there’s no mission, just the pungent reminders of his older days. of the thaw, wipe, kill. repeated over and over again to the point of irrelevance.

until tonight. he doesn’t catch a wink of sleep, but next to him is steve’s body, lost in the depth of slumber. the systole and diastole, the breathing rhythm as he inhales and exhales, james can map the arteries with ease. knows which ones to sever to end the life right then and there. knowledge like this doesn’t just die. in fact, it simply grows, amplified by each sleep that awakens the older days. when the garrote cut deep into the bone. when the knife altered the flow of the blood. outward, dripping from the seared skin and flesh. he doesn’t understand how he managed to forget most things, but retain most of these. his brain has been put into the blender too many times, he cannot perceive how he can even still do simple tasks. all his life that he knows of has been devoted to missions. and this, this is the last. yet he cannot seem to find a way to finish it, nor can he find the will to.

except this hour, the clock does not seem to tick right. there’s something lurking in the shadows, something sinister. he doesn’t know what. but. squints his eyes as he tries looking through the blind gaps from where he’s lying, steve’s protective arm around him. there’s a fleeting shadow, a second of oddity that makes him feel unsafe. he swallows, looking up to find steve’s peaceful sleeping face. he presses a kiss on steve’s neck, furtively, trying to wake the other man up. ❛ steve, ❜ he starts carefully, because what if it’s just a figment of his imagination, his paranoia? ❛ steve, i think they’re coming to get me. ❜