#who's paying for James and pads' therapy?

[rayssion]

James and Sirius went to visit Grimmauld place to get some books for Remus, the same place that Sirius swore not to return to but nonetheless he was here.

When they entered the house they were greeted by cob webs and a lot of dust, in their way to the library they threw glances around the rooms to find most of them in ruins, dirt everywhere and broken furniture.

Sirius furrowed his eyebrows thinking about what happened in this house, as he remembers his mother loved everything to be shining at least.

"you can take the books, I'll go check on the house elf"

James announced and left the room, Sirius knew he was going to the kitchen where he told him earlier the old elf's room reside.

But as he started Collecting the books, James broken voice reached him.

"S-Sirius!"

Sirius tossed what was on his hands before running to where he heard the voice, wand tightly in hand as he bent to enter the elf's room.

There stood James, eyes wide in horror as he stared terrifyingly at the corner.

Sirius knows, his brother disappeared years ago, probably became a death eater and now he may be Voldemort's right hand.

But when he also looked at the corner he knew.

He knew what he saw was a 16 years old Regulus Black's skeleton laying there, a knife through his ribs.

[lamesiscanon]

Darker Things

I have finished my fic for @goodboylupin  ‘s candy hearts fest!!! My prompt was “sunshine” and somehow that turned into a hurt/comfort fic. Oops. The song lyrics and title are from “Darker Things” by Lily Kershaw, and it fits Wolfstar perfectly, I think.

Read on AO3

I worry about you at night 'Cause when the moon comes out all your demons come to life And you say you hate the way your mind makes you feel about All the things that hurt in your life, I feel you now, I can feel you

 It wasn't a surprise that Sirius eventually finds Remus in the astronomy tower. The place is - as deemed by James - Remus' sulking place. And there he is, sitting on the edge of the stone, swinging his legs over empty air and puffing on a rolled joint.

Remus doesn't say anything as Sirius approaches, joining him at the edge of the tower so they can dangle their feet together, fifty meters above ground. Sirius is expecting Remus to yell, or snap at him with those passive aggressive comments that Remus is so good at giving out when he's in a mood. He braces himself for Remus to tell him to go away and leave him alone or finally shout about why Remus was so absent today.

Instead, Sirius is pleasantly shocked to find that Remus prefers to wrap their hands together instead, reaching behind to intertwine their fingers from where their hands lay supporting their bodies on the stone. It's a step in the right direction, though Sirius is still insecure about the way Remus keeps his face turned toward the sky rather than looking at him.

Now he sits in quiet, looking at Remus' profile as he gazes up at the nearly full moon. On such a night, they're able to see the grounds clearly. Sirius watches as a couple of seventh years sneak through the snow to the edge of the forbidden forest with bags that he guesses are full of clinking glass bottles. They can even see Hagrid walking fang around his hut. Bathed in the light of la luna, Hogwarts looks so peaceful. It'd be beautiful, Sirius thinks, if the moon didn't cause Remus so much pain.

More silence stretches between them, though it's not uncomfortable. It never is between the two of them, growing up in the same room for the past five years and getting to know each other on late nights spent in one or the other's bed sharing snacks given to them by the friendly house elves in the kitchen. They know each other well enough to understand that quiet can be just as conversive as talking sometimes. Except now, Sirius wonders whether or not Remus' silence is a punishment. Or maybe Remus is just waiting to get his words together before he yells.

A gust of cold February air breaches Remus' warming charm, reminding Sirius of the bundle of clothing clutched in his free hand. 

"I brought your cloak." He informs the other boy, holding it up. Remus doesn't look away from the moon, but he does let go of Sirius' hand and allow Sirius to tie it around his shoulders for him. Lycanthropy doesn't often allow for Remus to get cold, but he seems to accept the warmth as Sirius finishes tying it together. 

"There." Sirius states, pulling away to admire the little bow. Instead of thanking him, Remus finally looks away from the sky and leans down to rest his nose against Sirius' cheek. They breathe the same air for a moment, enjoying the closeness of their faces before Remus takes the opportunity to bring their mouths together. Sirius gasps, always surprised by how good it is to kiss Remus. 

He's still a bit confused about Remus' behavior as he allows himself to melt against his lips. Sirius had gone through the day thinking Remus was mad at him, the only explanation he could come up with when Remus avoided him in all of their classes that day, or ignored him during breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Sirius came to the tower expecting to apologize, not to be kissed like nothing had happened. 

The weight of a hand on his waist brings Sirius back to his senses and he rests his forearms on Remus' shoulders to pull away for a minute.

"I thought you were mad at me?" Sirius pants, looking up at the boy next to him. 

Remus squinted down at him as he gently shook his head and brought his free hand up to cup Sirius' jaw. "I'm not mad at you."

"But..." Sirius is confused, and so is Remus based on the look he's giving him. "I thought you were going to yell at me."

"Have I ever yelled at you?"

No. Sirius doesn't even have to think about it, all of the times his and James' immature experiments and pranks turned against Remus' favor. All the times Remus was roped into a prank or caught out of bed after hours in which the Marauders received detention and lost house points. Remus never yelled, just made sure he'd turn Sirius' hair pink or charm James' clothes to scream when he got sweaty, all in the name of friendly revenge that they would laugh about once it was all said and done.

Remus has never, and most likely will never, yell at Sirius and he feels silly ever thinking he would. Remus is not like his parents. 

With that thought, an entire day's weight of worry and panic melts out of Sirius' body as he leans in for another kiss. Remus smiles into it when he notices the tension in his shoulders fall away. Sirius smiles when he pulls back, holding eye contact as he grabs Remus' left hand that holds the joint between two fingers and brings it to his own mouth, inhaling and blowing the smoke out without looking away from Remus. The moment becomes charged then, gold staring at silver and neither daring to be the one who breaks it. 

Sirius knows what he looks like when he looks at Remus. There's so much love and adoration on his face that James pretends to puke whenever he catches him at it. Sirius sees that same look reflected back at him in Remus' own face. 

This time, however, mixed in with the love and sappy fondness is Sirius' underlying worry. He tries to hide it, but he's sure Remus can see the unspoken Are you okay? and What can I do to help? and Merlin, I worry about you on nights like this because I hate the fucking moon and the way it makes you feel, just by looking at Sirius' eyes. Remus knows how to read him like a book.

Whatever Remus is able to interpret from the look goes unanswered as he breaks eye contact to finish the joint by himself, and Sirius sighs as he leans against him, resting his head resting on Remus' shoulder and watching him exhale the smoke.

If Remus is going to ignore the blatant worry on Sirius' face, then Sirius will have to go for a more direct approach. He was mad about the way Remus didn't talk to him during the meals despite Sirius' attempts to engage him. He was annoyed at Remus for ignoring him during class and the way he pretended to pay attention to the lesson rather than acknowledge anything Sirius said. But now, he just worries.

"What happened today, Rem?" Sirius whispers once Remus has extinguished the end of the burning blunt. The body against him tenses, and stays that way for a long time until Sirius leans away to look at him again. 

Remus keeps his gaze towards the moon, like he did when Sirius first arrived at the tower expecting Remus to be angry. He still doesn't know what Remus is feeling. 

"I'm sorry about the way I acted today." Remus whispers back, avoiding the full question and confrontation altogether. 

Sirius huffs, thinking it'd be better if he weren't even there at the moment. Remus has a hard time talking about things that bother him no matter how hard Sirius is working to get Remus out of that habit. Maybe Remus will talk more if he doesn't feel pressured by Sirius being there. Maybe he just needs somebody to listen, without the worry that they'll interrupt him.

A large black dog takes Sirius' place in a blur of motion and moves to curl into Remus' lap. Large hands immediately tangle themselves within the fur and start petting up and down the dog's back. 

Padfoot has his back turned to the moon now, but he sees the glow reflected in Remus' eyes as the boy smiles down at him. The silence that falls over them this time feels less tense than earlier. Remus relaxed now as he looks up to stare at the grounds while Padfoot stares up at him, enjoying the unconscious movements of Remus petting him. Now he just has to wait for Remus to talk. Whenever he's ready. 

Between the hurt of mornings spent in the shack after full moons and nights when Remus has his own nightmares, Sirius has come to find out that Padfoot really is a good therapy animal and it's easier for Remus to talk to him as a dog than it is to talk to him as his boyfriend. Sure, it can be frustrating at times, but Sirius will continue to do whatever it takes to help Remus. 

"It hurts, Sears." Remus finally speaks, breaking the silence. Padfoot's ears perk up at Remus' nickname for him, but he's having a hard time processing the other words while he's in dog form. He tries to pay attention as Remus lets out a heavy sigh and they watch the hot breath blow away in the cold wind. "The moon just hurts so much, sometimes." 

Padfoot nudges his nose into Remus' thigh, a gesture of comfort and encouragement to keep talking. 

"It's like it can still control my body even when it's not full. Today it just- it fucking- it hurt. It hurt and I was in pain and I-"

The hands on his fur still and Padfoot realizes there is something wet that keeps hitting the back of his neck. Remus is crying. 

"And I like it. The wolf part of me loved the pain I was in and my mind kept telling me to embrace it, enjoy it. And I got scared. I didn't want to be close to you or James and Peter today because I felt so disgusted with myself." 

Padfoot pulls himself up to where he can lick at Remus' jaw, slightly wet with tears, and the hands on his back resume their petting. 

"I hate the way my mind makes me feel sometimes, Pads. Everything just hurts and I hate how dark it can get in here and I don't ever want you to see me that way." Remus closes his eyes and points to his temple for emphasis. "It's like constant rain and hail and I'm fucking terrified of showing you how dark my mind can ge-"

The dog is licking at Remus' face until he turns back into a teenage boy again, straddling Remus' lap and cutting him off with a hard kiss on his mouth. Remus cries against him and grasps his waist tight. His palms spread against his hips and slide against Sirius' back, holding him like he's worried Sirius will fall off the tower at any minute. 

"Please don't cry, my dear." Sirius breaks away with tears of his own, stroking Remus' cheek with the pad of his thumb. In Sirius' mind, Remus deserves the whole world. Remus is the warmest and brightest thing, reminding him of those early blue hours of summer mornings where you have so much love and excitement for the day ahead. He reminds Sirius of warm cuddles near the fire and the smell of wet forest in the fall. And it hurts to see how the moon can make a boy so warm feel so cold. 

Sirius' heart breaks as Remus continues to quietly cry against him, burying his face into the crook of Sirius' neck. Sirius runs a calming hand through his curls and gently shushes him. 

"I won't let it always be like that." Sirius promises, thinking about the war Remus has with himself and the wolf. "I swear to Merlin, Remus. I'm going to do whatever it takes to make sure you see sunshine poke through the weather in your head." 

Remus pulls his face away from his neck and kisses him again though this time, he's smiling against Sirius' lips. 

"You're all I need."

Remus peppers kisses on Sirius' chin, nose, cheekbones, and forehead. "My sun." kiss. "My star." kiss.

Sirius calms him, kisses him, and loves him there in that tower. For now, the moon hangs nearly full in the sky it's nothing compared to how the brightest star holds him so close. 

  I worry about you in the light of day 'Cause you don't know who you are when all your demons go away And you say you hate the way your mind makes you feel about All the darker things in your life, I feel you now, I can feel you

  Remus finds him without the help of the map. All he had to do was follow the smell of smoke. 

There's a tiny pile of cigarette butts next to Sirius' feet where he stands under the Gryffindor quidditch stands, staring between the cracks in the boards. Remus vanishes the litter pile as he joins him, taking a look for himself at what's behind the boards of the stands and sees the Slytherin quidditch team running drills and there, floating a little higher than the rest and wearing the Seeker's uniform, is Regulus. 

"This isn't my idea of the most ideal spot to give yourself lung cancer." Remus says, rocking from heel to toe to emphasize the way the brown grass under his feet squelches from melted snow. Sirius huffs in response, flicking the finished cigarette onto the ground and pulling out another. Remus wishes he hadn't vanished the butts from earlier so he knows how many Sirius has had. 

He doesn't need to ask why his boyfriend is hiding to watch his brother practice quidditch. Remus is well aware of how Sirius woke them up just before dawn that morning, screaming for Regulus and begging his parents not to hurt him. Remus had been the one to wake Sirius up, getting hit by flailing limbs as Sirius fought against the people in his dream. He was the one who cast a silencio on the curtains of Sirius' bed while he cried and listened to Remus assuring him that Reg was safe in the Slytherin dorms, sleeping peacefully. 

This has been the same drill ever since they were eleven years old.

When Sirius wakes up from nightmares, he's terrified and confused and will likely spend the rest of the day feeling the same way. He's outside of himself in the way that his head is still stuck at Grimmauld Place while his body sits in classes and stares absently out the windows. When teachers yell at him for not paying attention, Sirius startles back to reality with a look that suggests he'd forgotten where he was for a second. 

Gone is the boy who laughs at all of James and Peter's jokes, or flirts with Remus every chance he gets. That boy was replaced by a haunted kid who still has to worry that he hasn't quite escaped his parents. And Remus has to watch Sirius go through days where he acts like he doesn't know who he is anymore. Days that make Sirius desperate to see his brother smiling just to reassure himself that they're safe for the time they're at school. 

"He looks happy." Remus says, watching Regulus and his team dive at each other and laughing when they get too close. 

Sirius grabs his hand then, squeezes it twice and then drops it to start walking away from the quidditch stands. Remus follows him, offering silent companionship as they walk together back to the castle. Dinner will be soon, though Remus doesn't think Sirius will want to go. They'll probably spend the night wrapped around each other in Remus' bed, talking about James' failed dating life or anything else that will distract Sirius.

It's a surprise when Sirius steps closer and allows Remus to put his arm around his shoulders. Sirius isn't often physically affectionate after he's had his nightmares. They make it to the empty dorm to find a note signed by Peter that he and James are serving a detention for McGonagall after dinner, and if they come back to see Sirius and Remus shagging (again) then they'll be kicked out of the room. 

Usually a note like that would have Sirius giggling madly, instantly inspired to try and seduce Remus, which would inevitably work since Remus was so, so weak for his boyfriend who is so fucking pretty. 

Except this time, Sirius barely spares a second glance at the note before he tosses it into the bin and walks over to his trunk to look for pajama bottoms. Remus watches him from across the room, already sitting on his bed in a simple grey shirt and pants. Sirius moves mechanically, like everything he does is based purely on muscle memory while his mind is far away from Gryffindor tower. 

Remus sighs, pushing himself to stand up and walks to Sirius' trunk. His favorite pair of bottoms are sitting on top of everything else though they're going ignored while Sirius absently sorts through clothes, not paying attention to anything he's actually doing. 

"Sears." Remus whispers, grabbing the pants and gently guiding Sirius to stand up away from the trunk. His eyes look different. They aren't as bright as Remus is used to seeing. They're glossed over and unfocused, looking off behind Remus' shoulder. Remus cups Sirius' jaw in his hand and leans in for a quick kiss, then leans away to watch Sirius' focus come back. 

"There you are." Remus smiles, and thankfully Sirius smiles back, albeit a bit tightly. He takes the pajamas from Remus and changes into them right there in the middle of the room. 

Sirius takes Remus' hand in his own once again to kiss the palm, then he guides them over to the four poster Remus has been sleeping in since first year, sometimes shared with Sirius.

Remus tucks him against his side and spells the lights to go out so they can watch the sky change colors as the sun sets outside the window. Remus takes comfort in the way he can feel Sirius' chest rising and falling against him. 

"I hate them." Sirius whispers as the final ray of sun falls behind the mountains.

"I know." Remus says, because he's always felt the same way about Sirius' parents.

"They suck."

"They really do." 

"I hate that I miss them sometimes." 

Oh. 

Remus really wasn't expecting that. Sirius Black, a boy haunted by more demons than most people will ever experience in their lives (and refuses to talk about it) just opened up to Remus about the darkest parts of his mind. And Remus has no idea what to say. 

"Oh." 

Remus regrets saying it before it even comes out of his mouth. He feels Sirius' muscles tense against the palm of his hand that was rubbing the other boy's back and finds himself wishing that a time rewinding spell existed. 

"That's okay, Sears." Remus says in an attempt to fix it. "They were your family, it's okay that you... might miss what could have been." 

Sirius immediately relaxes under him and Remus is able to let out a quiet breath of relief. His hand resumes stroking up and down Sirius' side, offering whatever sort of comfort he can. 

"Part of me thinks it's not." Sirius says after a few moments of silence. "Part of me hates that I could let myself get so hurt about the people who wanted me dead when they should have loved me no matter the fucking circumstances."

Remus thinks about his own parents and how they've been the textbook definition of unconditional love over the years. When he was bitten, Hope and Lyall researched everything they could about how to keep Remus and others safe during transformations. They tried their best to make transformations as good as they were able just to make Remus' life a little easier. When he told them he's dating his best friend, a boy, they told him to bring Sirius home during the summer so they could properly meet him. Then they hugged him until he stopped crying. 

His experience was the polar opposite of Sirius'. Walburga and Orion Black are the most disgusting people on the planet, in Remus' opinion. They threatened and harassed their own son with howlers just for breaking family tradition when he was sorted into Gryffindor. Sirius was tortured and abused just for the friends he has, never mind how happy they make him. His parents don't care about their son's happiness; they care more about the blood status and wealth of teenagers who had no say in the way they grew up. 

If Sirius' parents are so evil to cast a crucio on him just for having muggle items in his room, then neither Sirius or Remus are so naïve to think that coming out to them would be a good idea. Walburga insists that her son is going through a phase of teenage rebellion and he will eventually grow up to see how despicable his taste in friends is. Orion is hell bent on marrying Sirius off to a respectable pureblooded girl as soon as he's old enough. If Sirius were to tell them about his and Remus' relationship... he wouldn't make it out alive. 

The difference in their families is a cruel trick of fate. 

"You deserve so much more than those monsters." Remus can't help the tear that rolls down his cheek. 

"I forget that sometimes. When I remember all the things they've screamed at me over the years and every ugly word they've written to me, I forget that they're the ones in the wrong. Not me.

"Every minute I spent trapped in that house were the darkest moments of my life. And I still can't escape it. I still can't escape my parents, because every time I fall asleep they come to hurt me more. Then when I see you, or James, or Peter get a letter from your parents I find myself wishing that I had that. I start missing what kind of mum and dad I could have had."

It's quiet for a while after that. Remus is desperately trying to keep himself from crying, though he knows Sirius can feel the tightness in his chest as he tries to stop the silent tears from coming. Sirius Black is the most important person in Remus' life, and he just wishes that he could give this boy everything. Whatever it takes to see Sirius' pain go away.

Remus tilts his head to the side so he can press his lips against the top of Sirius' head and hold them there for a minute. He wants to give Sirius the world, but for now he'll start by being the rock. 

"I fucking hate that my sick and twisted mind takes the darker things that've happened in my life and makes me miss them in some sinister way. I guess my parents thought that if they couldn't have the son they wanted, then they'd ruin the one they already had. And they succeeded."

And that's it. Remus has Sirius pinned under him in mere seconds, gripping his shoulders to ground himself. 

He expects to see confusion, surprise, concern, anger, anything on Sirius' face. But there's only emptiness. 

"Please don't talk about the love of my life like that." Remus begs over a broken voice. "You are worth so much more than your family's stupid fucking reputation and wealth. You always have and forever will be the most amazing person I've ever met. I can see the promise of everything you have to offer in your smile alone, Sirius. I'm not going to let them take that away from you. The world would be lost without it."

The wall breaks, and Sirius' dam of apathy falls away to the flood of grief he's kept buried inside of him for so long. Remus falls to Sirius' lap as he pulls him up to a sitting position. Remus hugs him as hard as Sirius is hugging back. He starts to sway them side to side, like Hope would do for Remus after a moon. Luckily it has the same calming affect on Sirius, like it did for him as a kid.

"What helps you when you feel like this?" Remus asks, because he's going to hold onto the answer and use it forever if it will help Sirius. 

Sirius pulls away from Remus' chest and wipes his eyes with his shirt. A half-hearted laugh comes out of his mouth as he looks up at Remus the same way Remus is looking down at him. Love. Adoration. James told him once that they look at each other the exact same way.

"You. You help me. The sunshine to break through the storm. Remember, Moony?"

Remus does remember. It was only a few weeks ago when Sirius promised to be the one who would pull Remus out of his own head. And Remus will promise to do the same. Always.

 Don't cry my one We've only got so much time under the sun Don't cry my dear We've only got so much time here

[mycupoffanfiction]

His Second Chance Part 17

Bucky x Reader

His Second Chance Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Bucky comes back from Wakanda with Steve, ready to begin his recovery from his days as the Winter Soldier, but there’s one thing he doesn’t take into account - you.

Warnings: Soft fairly non descriptive smut (first 3 paragraphs), fluff, sadness.

Word count: 2500

Bucky and the Reader explore their options seperately, Reader starts to feel overwhelmed.

ALL TAG LISTS ARE ALWAYS OPEN 💖 feel free to come and chat, my blog is always open for you 💕

If your tag is crossed out, I haven’t been able to tag you. 

_______________________________

Soft. So soft.

Gentle sunrays pushing through the curtains, the quiet hum of traffic in the distance, the odd faint order here and there shouted by Steve as he trained the recruits in the early morning outside. Sheets beneath your fingers, bunched tightly in your hands, a soft mewl escaping your lips, back arching slightly as you let out a shaky breath. “Bucky.” You whined. “I’ve got you.” He hummed against your core, the vibration sending a warm feeling through you as you drew closer to your orgasm. “Let go for me.” Bucky whispered and just like that, with a few more flicks of his soft tongue, you were a trembling mess. Whining out and moaning, no regard for whether Sam could hear you or not as Bucky worked you through your orgasm. He tried to keep you going for a second one, but you gently nudged him away.

 A proud smirk played on Bucky’s lips as he knelt over you, lining himself up. “Love makin’ you feel good.” Bucky whispered, coming down to kiss you, lips pressing softly against yours, an almost erotic groan coming from deep in his chest as he slowly nudged into you, gently thrusting until he was confident his harder movements wouldn’t cause discomfort.

 Grunts, heavy breaths, skin against skin. Soft touches and sweet kisses trailing over your cheek and neck. Hot breath against his skin, your delicate lips against his shoulder, his beard rough against your cheek, but so, so good. A soft moan met with a gruff huff of a breath. Hushed I love you’s and gentle praises as you both drew close to your climaxes, Bucky holding himself back so you could have your release before his. Another snap of his hips and you tumbled over with a sharp gasp, a moan and Bucky’s name on your lips. Bucky followed after you, a few grunts and a drawn out moan. Eyes on yours, full of love, full of adoration like you were the only two people in the world.

 Your face was pressed against Bucky’s bare chest as you both caught your breath. Your arm draped over his middle, fingers tracing lazy circles and swirly patterns over his chest. Sex was a safe haven for Bucky, so intimate, so loving that the voices in his head all but disappeared. They had no power in his mind when he was enjoying acts of love with you and it gave him all the more reason to worship you the way he so desperately wanted to and take his time.

 Words weren’t even needed to share the feelings of love between the two of you. Bucky was so in tune with you, with your mind and your body. You both knew how you felt, even if no words came or the words you spoke while you were tipped over the edge of euphoria made no sense at all, it was love. It was all love.

 Bucky could get used to this life. Waking up to you every morning, making food together, baking cakes and pastries, playing videogames and reading together. Bucky could get used to all of it, in fact, he was getting used to it. But soon he’d have to introduce a new part of his life when he was only just getting used to real life again.

 Domestic life or back to the field again? Bucky pondered, stretched out lazily on the sofa in his fitted sweats and a black t-shirt. It’s one direction and then the other, something happens to continuously tug Bucky to the opposite path. Why was this so hard? Why did it need to be so hard to just make a decision? It felt near impossible.

 You have to fight. It’s your duty to pay back what the Winter Soldier did.

No. You weren’t him, you don’t owe anything, it’s okay to want something else.

Bucky scrolled through listings on his laptop. Cats. When did he become so obsessed with cats? He’d never cared much for them back in the day but- oh just look at this one, so fluffy. Bucky was absolutely sure he needed at least one. If not five.

 Perhaps he would fight for a while, see where it lead him. Perhaps he just needed to do it, serve his self-given time until he felt he’d had enough, he’d done enough and he’d retire. Maybe the idea of a bakery or a café was just a silly fantasy. Adopting a small herd of cats was a silly fantasy, who was he kidding? No one would let him have little creatures roaming around the tower. Perhaps a normal life just wasn’t within his reach.

Perhaps you’re just not allowed a normal life, Barnes. Bucky sighed. I can hope.

 Bucky longed for a life in New York. Quiet, peaceful, the only stress being simple things like loading the dishwasher and paying the bills on time. He dreamed of a Brooklyn apartment, one with a feature brick wall and exposed pipes he’d paint with beautiful colours. A life where he could wake up and see your pretty face and look forward to a day full of spending time with you. He longed to look after another life, not a child – he wasn’t ready for that and perhaps you didn’t even want one, but a cat. Five cats. That was his dream. He imagined himself laying on the floor, a little cat pawing at his beard and long brown hair, sweet little mews for attention causing Bucky to grin and chuckle. A weight on his chest, you as you snuggled up to him giggling at nothing in particular. Carefree.

I can hope.

 A sigh left your lips as you sat rigid on your bed, staring at your TV. “Crowds of angry protesters took to the streets outside of a therapy centre yesterday afternoon when Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes was rumoured to be taking an assessment to work alongside the Avengers.” The news host reported. “That man is dangerous, letting him into the Avengers is a terrible-.” An angry protester was cut off as Steve stood in your doorway, TV remote in hand, the screen going black.

 “Thought we made this a rule after what happened with Wanda.” Steve said softly as he padded across your room to sit beside you. “No watching the news after something bad happens.” The bed dipped slightly as he sat down next to you. “And that was something bad, sweetheart.” His fingers gently brushed over the cut on your forehead. “I hate it, Stevie.” You sniffled. “I hate what’s happening, these people don’t see Bucky, all they see is the Winter Soldier.” You leaned against his shoulder, trying hard to hold back your tears.

 “They don’t see him like we do, but that’s why we have to keep going, show them that he’s not a threat and he’s here to help.” Steve spoke just above a whisper as he wrapped an arm around you, holding you tightly. “I know it’s hard, I know.” He whispered. “He’s got us though, he’s got you. We’ll help him through it.” Steve assured you as you squeezed him around the middle, finally letting your tears roll down your cheeks. “Hey, no, you’re not supposed to cry, sweetheart.” Steve hushed you, gently wiping away a tear with his fingers.

 Bucky walked into your room, heart stopping as he saw you and Steve cuddled up on the bed, tears rolling down your cheeks as you clung to Steve’s light grey shirt. Steve gently shushed you, his big arms around you trying desperately to comfort you. Bucky’s eyes met Steve’s and they shared a look, Steve giving him a tight lipped smile before turning his attention back to you, his hand gently smoothing over your hair. Wonder what’s caused my girl to cry, maybe I did something wrong. Oh god, did I do something wrong? Did I hurt her this morning?

 A second dip in the bed on your other side alerted you of Bucky’s presence. Arms winding around you, sandwiched between two super soldiers. Never had you felt so safe and comforted in your life. Steve had pulled you from that miserable time in your life, gave you a second chance. And then Bucky came along, broken and lost and you did the same for him that Steve had for you. A second chance.

 But was this it? Was fighting again a second chance or was it a poor attempt to be Bucky’s old definition of normal? All he’d known since the war was fighting, death and destruction. It might be for the innocent, being an Avenger might be for the greater good, but the goodness of it was just a guise for the fight hidden beneath it. The same grizzly details. There would always be tough consequences. There would always be a fight, injury and pain.

There would always be death.

It was still a fight, it didn’t matter who it was for, who it was to protect. It was still a fight and neither of you were sure that it was what you wanted. Was it okay to not want it?

Yes, because you both deserved to be happy, both deserved to do what you wanted.

No, because you felt like you owed something. You to the Avengers for taking you in and saving you, showing you a better life and Bucky felt he owed the whole damn world a piece of him and even then he wasn’t sure that was enough to pay back what he’d been made to do.

 Inner conflict knitted your brows together, tears falling and soaking into Steve shirt. A third set of arms, warm, soft, gentle. Sam. What on earth had you done to deserve such a caring family? A trio of soldiers who took care of you, who loved you in different ways.

 You hadn’t wanted this. Once you had been a normal girl with your whole life ahead of you. Normal was a strange thing, ultimately it was subjective. Normal for you had been a regular teenager, school, friends, a slightly unstable homelife. And then you were thrust into the rabbit hole of Hydra. Your mother had taken away the last vestiges of what normal had been to you and twisted it into something else. Normal became painful, terrifying, abusive. And then it became calm, and quiet and full of love when Steve found you, when he walked into your shitty basement and scared the fuck out of you in the middle of the night.

 But now normal was different. Sure this wasn’t what you had seen for yourself when someone asked you ‘where do you see yourself in ten years?’ But despite it being utterly insane, so insane that you were Captain America and The Falcon’s honorary sister and Sergeant Barnes’ girl, but it was your life now and you full heartedly embraced what you had.

 Maybe it was worth the fight.

 “Can you stop?” Sam huffed, removing another photo of a random cat from the front of the fridge and putting it in a pile of other printed cat photos. “I’m trying to introduce the idea of having cats around by putting photos up.” Bucky said matter-of-factly as he prepared a nice hot cup of coffee for you after you’d finally calmed down. “I think you’re just doing it to piss me off.” Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes. Bucky was about to continue when he saw you slip outside onto the balcony.

 Bucky shared a look with Sam before moving across to the balcony with your coffee and grabbed his hoodie on the way out for you. “Hey pretty girl.” Bucky spoke softly as he walked out onto the balcony, placing your coffee down on the little side table next to where you sat. “Hey Sarge.” You sighed, breathing in the lovely coffee smell before Bucky move to drape his hoodie around your shoulders.

 “What’s going on, darlin’? Talk to me.” Bucky’s gaze fixed on yours as he lowered himself onto the small bench next to you. You let out a long, shaky sigh and closed your eyes. Looking out over the city skyline, you took a few deep breaths, taking a moment to compose yourself and have a sip of coffee. “I’m too soft for this Buck.” You finally spoke. “It’s been over a year since I found out I could use fire and it’s no where near controllable. Just last week I nearly burnt Steve’s arm to a crisp and I can’t calm down when I’m in that state until all my energy is spent and I pass out.” You huffed. “I have to fight, if I don’t then I have to leave and if I leave, I lose the Avengers. My only family.” You closed your eyes, shaking your head. “I can’t lose that.”

“You don’t have to.” Bucky rested his hand on your knee. “Don’t have to fight, don’t have to leave either.” He reassured. “Bucky, those people protesting yesterday- I couldn’t even handle that. Everything is overwhelming, I wasn’t meant for this.” You avoided eye contact. I wasn’t meant for this. Oh pretty girl, you and me both. “It’s too much, Bucky.” You leant against him, his arm coming around to embrace you and hold you close. So warm and comforting. So protective.

 “You don’t have to do this alone, doll. We’re in this together. You duck out, I duck out too. You move forwards, I move forwards too.” Bucky whispered into your hair. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.” You looked up at him, eyes meeting, a pained expression on your face. “You’re not asking, I’m doing it of my own free will.” Bucky spoke softly. “You’re not alone anymore. You’ve got me, Steve and Sam. Those two love you so much, you have no idea how protective they get of you when we’re talking. Even if you stopped fighting and we left the Avengers, they’d never leave us, never leave you. They couldn’t do that.” Bucky pressed a little kiss to your temple while you took a moment to think.

 “Darlin’, when I got here you gave me a piece of advice, you said you always have a choice. You can always say no and you can always back out. So can you, doll.” Bucky lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “I know it isn’t black and white and you can’t make a decision on the spot, just know that whatever you want to do, I’ll do it with you.” Bucky concluded, sitting back against the bench cushions and taking in a deep breath of the crisp autumnal air. You leaned into him, taking a long sip of your coffee. “Thank you, Bucky.” Your lips curved upwards in a gentle smile.

That’s my girl, my sweet girl.

___________________________

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[iampikachuhearmeroar]

Skincare/ makeup culture ☕️

oooh. i’ll divide this post into two parts: makeup culture and skincare culture.

(1.) makeup culture.

i think everyone knows that I’ve never liked makeup, mostly because I had relatively bad cystic acne throughout high school, that reacted badly to all of the makeup that my sister used (but most particularly her l’oreal foundation). I think makeup culture is particularly harmful to young girls, like the makeup youtube channels that are run by the parents I suppose of 8 year olds, where the 8yo is the actual youtuber.

like don’t get me wrong, i know young girls like playing with makeup (I actually did when I was that age, funnily enough)….. but the fact that professional or just plain fucking ridiculously expensive makeup palettes are now being marketed to girls in bloody primary/grade/elementary school, is just fucking wrong. and yeah there’s the post on here about how some younger girls are finding themselves ugly when they don’t wear properly applied makeup or something like that. and that breaks my heart. why the fuck should a young girl be made to feel ugly if she can’t blend like josiemaycosmetics (I made that up btw idk any makeup channels besides Jeffree star, James Charles and that tatti woman tbh) and can’t afford the bullshit Too Faced $98 powered foundation, $65 Sunday Riley blush (I roughly remember the price of this particular blush bc my sister bought it for me for my 20th birthday so that I could according to her “look good for uni” but I never actually used it lmao… and it’s no longer sold here in australia) and Kylie Jenner’s overpriced lip kits and idk Smashbox “photo finish” primer priced between $AU23-$AU55????

like I had this bad enough in fucking HIGH SCHOOL with my sister telling me that I’d “never get a boyfriend” or “never get a date for the formal/junior prom” if I didn’t spend hundreds of $$$$ for a good face of makeup and didn’t spend hours and hours learning how to do my own makeup. or how last year for my uni grad, she made out that I’d ruin my own uni grad if we didn’t spend $250 on the makeup artist we got for me….. where I unfortunately found out that my skin reacts to MAC products 😭😨 bc the MUA used MAC concealer and foundation. my sister also expected me to remember the setting spray the woman used for my makeup, when I was there from like 4:30am till like 6:45am and i was barely fucking awake. the setting spray probably could’ve easily cost over $100. let’s be real here. like why am I expected to remember shit that early in the morning???

one of my least favourite things with makeup culture is that you’re not meant to fuck it up in any way, shape or form. like when my sister did my makeup for my two high school formals/proms (year 10 & year 12) she constantly told me not to scratch my face while she was doing it (but it made me itchy, hooray for L’Oréal being shit lmao)…. not to fuck it up while I ate at those events….. and she didn’t let me eat before my uni grad last year bc “you’d definitely fuck up your makeup. don’t you dare scratch your face at all today!” like for someone who has hypersensitive/highly reactive skin that she has to scratch when it’s itchy….. and also loves fucking stuffing her face with food….. expecting me to never touch/scratch my face and to practically starve myself to preserve the integrity of my makeup (that i ended up paying for some in the end anyway) for an event is fucking stupid and over-restrictive.

like i always hated the way that the kardashians ate on KUWTK bc it looked so fucking mechanical and whatever bc they had to obvs preserve their makeup while shooting and also look nice for the camera. like why the fuck am I expected to eat ~like that~ when I have a faceload of MU on???? FUCK OFF. I will scratch it off. I will smear the food all over my face (ok not really) and eat however I motherfucking want, thank you very fucking much. like for my uni grad last year I was up from 4am and my grad ended at like 12:30pm….. so I didn’t have food til about 12:35 when I left the hall. and the whole time while I was eating my sister kept reminding me to not fuck up my makeup that we’d spent $250 on. JUST LET ME FUCKING EAT WOMAN, I SWEAR TO FUCK. lmao.

the last thing I hate the most about makeup culture is that like….. I absolutely hate makeup like I said above….. but once I have it on I feel pretty and cry a bit bc I’ll just never learn to do it myself…. mostly bc I couldn’t be bothered…. bc I save hundreds, if not thousands of $$$$ from not buying all the bullshit essential items you need just for a ~basic no makeup, makeup look~, and bc my hands have never been steady enough to use some of the things, like false eyelashes and eyelash curlers or liquid eyeliner/normal eyeliner….. 

but yeah. I just hate that it makes me feel pretty???? but I also feel good and more natural without it???? and I’ll never like my sister’s comment that: “you’re the prettier one out of the two of us…. but if only you hurried up and learnt to do your makeup, you’d be even prettier” or some dumb semi-condescending shit comment she’s said to me like that before. like why is the only way a woman can be pretty (other than some clothes that make her feel good) by smearing 100s/1000s of dollars worth of makeup on???? like why the fuck am I expected to spend all that money when a good bulk of men will never bother with the male makeup trend anyway???? like why am I expected to act differently when I basically just have grown up face-paint on lmao???? I’ve never felt natural in makeup, I’ve always felt awkward and like…. not sound like an cringey edgelord emo kid…. but i never felt ~real~ wearing makeup lmao. just yeah.

but yeah I also understand makeup is an art and I appreciate that. makeup culture is so fucked on all sides for women.

(2.) skincare culture:

now skincare culture is different for me. considering that, like I said before, I had relatively bad cystic acne…. and I’ve since also developed eczema during the winter months….. so I’ve had to develop a good skincare routine over the years to keep my skin under control. but again, there are parts that I don’t like about skincare culture…. like women are typically meant to spend, again, hundreds and if not thousands of dollars on super expensive skin creams (some of which I’ve tried) to fix their fine lines, their laugh lines, their crows feet, their blemishes, their birth marks and cellulite…… the list truly goes on and on….. and on top of that (well this hellsite which isn’t entirely accurate) I’m, or we as women, are expected to teach all of that to men in their 20s???? like fuck off. why and how the fuck didn’t they get the fucking memo to look after their own goddamned skin???? like my 20s are already tiring enough, and now I gotta pass on important skincare advice to men, who could easily fucking find it themselves online???? lord help their asses lmao.

but other than the men bit…. yeah skincare culture is just as bad as makeup culture. like when Cosmo mag was still running in australia, more than half of the shit the women at Cosmo were advertising as part of their skincare routines were literally $300 night treatment creams or moisturisers; $150 facial cleansers; or $500 skin peels, or $600 appointments at dermatologists and skin therapies like electrolysis that I’ll probs never be able to afford. like one of the luxury brands that I LOVE (💖) is Mario badescu bc the two pimple treatments that i sometimes I use from them (the drying lotion and the anti-acne serum) are the ONLY two acne treatments that have NEVER made my face turn red and my skin peel off (besides a really good neutrogena one that Neutrogena discontinued 😭). every other chemist bought pimple treatment cream makes my skin peel off/itchy/turn red. but sadly the two Mario badescu treatments are priced over $50 if bought together (ones now $31 (formerly $28, this one’s great bc it dries clear), the other is like $26, this one dries pink). so the chemist bought ones like the ones by Clearasil or OXY10 are my saviours at $11.99-$12.99, even though they dry out my skin to buggery and leave big white marks on my face bc they both dry white lmao. but I’ve gotta suffer that for the price of beauty lmao.

also there’s expensive face washes (or skin care program packs etc) from Paula’s choice that I love.... but again they were like $35 for a 400ml bottle and $25 for a fucking 150ml or 250ml bottle. now the one i like is $20 for 177ml, which is a rip off. some of the other luxury things that I’ve tried (via free samples) that don’t work, like Kate Somerville (priced at like $65 and over), Philosophy and god knows what else that i’ve bought from Mecca Cosmetica, which is the Aussie version of Sephora in the past. and yes, for acne treatments, i’ve used pro-activ before. it was ok… but i never used it in high school, after the awful time we had trying to cancel our subscription to it back in the day for my sister lol.

also can we talk about the ultrasonic face brush systems that are still raging strongly??? like they’re also super rip offs, especially with buying replacement heads for $35 a pop. like I’ve had a Clarisonic for years (that I’ve stopped using, admittedly)…. the model was roughly $250 when I got it for my like 19th birthday. now they’re even more expensive at like $315 for the latest “clarisonic mia fit cleansing system” which is linked on the $315. or now there’s the foreo that costs anywhere between $75 (the cheapest model) to fucking almost $400… ie $395. the replacement heads for the clarisonic and i suppose replacement like pads or something for the foreo are meant to be replaced every three months “for optimum cleansing” or whatever. like $35 every three months is a lot to maintain after a while. also using the clarisonic added like 10 extra minutes to my showers/general skincare routine bc you’re meant to use it for five mins or whatever and then spend another 5mins washing it out to make sure that it doesn’t collect mould and buildup too much soap residue. it was just a lot of effort to use, even if it did make me feel like i had a better and deeper face washing routine.

and yes, i know there’s Lush. both my sister and i (but more my sister) were obsessed with Lush back in high school, after one of our sydney cousins introduced it to us. but Lush’s skincare stuff for pimples just never worked for us. it made me breakout more, actually. but their old apple pie and choc-orange lip balms were the BOMB. it’s a pity that they no longer make them tbh. their jelly soaps were fun to use and smelt nice too. i can’t remember much else about lush tbh lmao.

for face masks, i’ve found that store/chemist bought formula 10.0.06 or whatever works the best for my skin. but the push, especially again in cosmo and other places, to buy more expensive face-masks and like designer FMs that you should really ask a professional to use first imo, is fucking harmful, especially when you’ve got ones that take off the whole top layer of skin from your face (like the famous and the overly popular charcoal face peel masks), or so i’ve read. like it’s yikes out there. please be safe with these masks, ya’ll. and the same goes for making your own organic face masks, considering that i’ve seen posts on here about using lemon juice which is bad for your skin??? idk anyway. i also hate how with the face masks i buy, there’s about 6 different “skin-illuminating”/“skin brightening”/”skin detoxing” etc masks, that all essentially do the same fucking thing. just keep it at one and fucking go; for gods fucking sake lmao.

but yeah, skincare culture does suck just as much as makeup culture, considering that is heavily focused on women’s self-esteem and wallets…. and barely ever focuses on men. like it’s a double-edged sword tbh.

also as side notes: why the actual fuck are makeup companies still giving their makeup shades or makeup lines sexual names???? like i just found a fucking blush shade by NARS, in my research for this post, called “Orgasm”???? like what the FUCK is wrong with ya’ll??? like y’all actually have the fucking AUDACITY to really make 8 year olds say that in their makeup tutorial videos as well??? “our best selling orgasm collection” sweet lord. that sounds bad. y’all need to sort your shit out, and so do the people who name nail polish shades.. 

the other worrying general beauty trends that i keep getting on my facebook newsfeed are the teeth whitening systems like hismile and at home laser treatment machines… and then also the charcoal toothpastes to whiten your teeth. oh and also the facial skin “vacuums”, that suck out dirt/oil and your blackheads/pimples etc from your pores. stay safe out there everyone, and do your bloody research. don’t believe the reviews and the hype.

also finally: take your skin type and skin condition/(s) into account if you want to use any of the things that I’ve mentioned that I use/have used on this post. or that I’ve just generally mentioned, like the Clarisonic and the foreo. because what works for me, might not work for you. I’m not a skincare expert or dermatologist. check with your doctor or a skincare professional or whatever before you start using some of these things, even if you might think that it’s stupid & pointless to do so.

[iwritefanficsometimes]

For WinterIron: When Tony finds Out Bucky can cook he is surprised. He get's James to cook from him (not that this is difficult since Bucky wants Tony to eat more anyway) and is fascinated. Like Bucky likes to watch Tony in the workshop sometimes, when the mechanic is in his element, Tony develops a habit of watching Bucky in the kitchen. 🙈🙊

AO3 Link - For formatting reason I highly recommend reading on AO3

(Soooo,,, I’m a sucker for dual personality Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier and I can’t personally imagine Bucky not being personally involved in tech and wanting to get hands on with everything, but I can definitely imagine Soldier paying a lot of attention to Tony. And then this happened. I hope you still like it! PS. I am a vegan and I wrote some of this stuff while gagging, so… that’s it, I just wanted to share that. PPS. I copy pasted this from a Google Doc so I had to add back in some formatting things. Let me know if there are still issues)

Bucky didn’t tell people that Winter was still there. He was cold, calculating, violent, in ways that would have made the Avengers, and the public, wary. It was a decision they made together, like they make most major decisions since Bucky started coming back to himself when they were sent after Steve. It was a hard won truce between the two of them, but fighting amongst themselves left them vulnerable, and neither of them wanted that. They couldn’t afford to be vulnerable. They were stronger working together to keep their independence than they were working against each other for control. So they came to this tentative compromise

They told Bucky’s therapist, now their therapist, Dr. Koning. She was a nice woman and she burned all her session notes right in front of Bucky once the session was done, so he trusted her. Winter was wary, after the incident with the not-therapist pulling him to the surface and taking control of him again, but with time he became used to the idea of spending time with this woman to help them heal. She was a good mediator.

“Have you ever considered finding your own interests, Winter?”

The question caught both Bucky and Winter off guard. Bucky because they’d just been talking about his interests, and Winter because he hadn’t been paying attention, since they’d been talking about Bucky.

“What?” Bucky asked, mimicking Winter’s confusion.

“I asked if Winter had ever considered finding his own interests, separate from yours.”

“We have the same interests,” Bucky told her, and Winter had to agree. Sure, there were some things Bucky did that Winter found boring, like spending time with Steve, but the things that Winter enjoyed Bucky also enjoyed, and got to do vicariously through him when he wasn’t “fronting,” one of their new words, himself to do them.

“Well, that may be the case now, but you’ve said that you do things that Winter doesn’t have any interest in, right?”

“Yes,” Bucky nods, and Winter starts to tune out again, because they’re talking about Bucky.

“And that means that he’s capable of liking things outside of what you like. Since you have your interests in technology and science fiction-”

Bucky snorts, but it’s not Bucky, it’s Winter. Dr. Koning smiles and greets him, “Hello, Winter. Did you have anything to say?”

“I didn’t choose to front.” He leans back in the chair and crosses his arms over his chest, ignoring Bucky’s internal order to “be nice.”

“Well, the question still stands. I know that you don’t front often for your safety, which I understand, but when you do front, have you considered looking for things outside of what you both do together to occupy your time?” Her face is carefully neutral, but Winter can how much she needs him to agree to this experiment. Bucky tries to correct him, that it’s not an experiment, but that is certainly what it sounds like. Attempt to find a new interest to establish personality outside of shared interests.

“She just wants you to be happy. I can hear how lonely you get rattling around back there, and you don’t like any of my friends.”

“Your friends are idiots, but they’d know immediately if I were to try and spend time with them instead of you.” He tells Bucky out loud.

Dr. Koning chimes in. “That’s why I think it would be good for you to go outside of your shared interests, that way you’re meeting new people and you don’t have to pretend to be Bucky Barnes, you can just be yourself.”

“Myself murders people.”

“Winter,” Dr. Koning sighs, “Do you want to go over this again?”

“No, you’re not gonna fix me in one session. I’ll do your experiment. I’ll find a hobby.” He says the last word like it’s a slight and Barnes is inside his head giggling. Idiot.

“I’m glad to hear it. When we meet again we can discuss how it’s going.”

Winter gets up and leaves without saying goodbye.

—–

“Um, what are you doing?”

Winter isn’t startled by the question, because he heard bare feet padding on the floor long before Tony Stark deigned to speak.

“Cooking.” Winter tells his gruffly, as he continues to stir the risotto.

“Oh, well, it smells good. Must mean you’re doing a good job.” Tony is tense, not quite comfortable around Bucky yet. Winter lets him maintain the illusion that it’s Bucky he’s talking to.

“If you stop talking you can have some.” The recipe Winter found was for four people, and Winter could have eaten it all, but he didn’t really want to.

“It’s 3am.” Tony countered and Winter looked over his shoulder at him.

“So?”

Tony took a seat at the island and didn’t say another word.

Winter could feel Tony’s eyes on him, but even a genius probably wouldn’t be able to figure them out from just one meeting. Bucky stirs from where he’s been dormant and is caught off guard by Tony’s presence.

“You don’t think he’ll notice? I’m down in the lab a lot.”

“We’ll tell him you sleep walk. Now be quiet, you’re distracting me.”

“You need to add more stock.”

“I know!”

“Everything okay over there?” Tony asked from the island, and Winter tensed and then forced himself to untense, muscle by muscle.

“It’s all fine.” He says, trying for Bucky’s accent and failing miserably.

Tony stays quiet again, and Winter stirs, adding stock to the risotto before he burns it. Barnes is laughing at him. Winter resolves to distract him the next time they’re sparring with Captain America.

When the risotto is finally done he spoons some onto two plates, giving himself a normal sized helping and resolving to go back for more one Tony was taken care of. “Here.” He says and sets the plate down in front of Tony.

Tony takes it and fishes a fork out from a nearby drawer, handing the other to Winter, before digging in himself.

Winter eats, analyzing the dish to see what he could have done better. The rice is not as well cooked as he would have liked, and the mushrooms are too thick for his taste. He resolves to try a different stock and thinner mushrooms next time when he realizes Bucky is trying to get his attention.

“Tony’s thanking you.”

Winter looks up at Tony and sure enough, he’s looking at Winter like he’s waiting for some kind of response. When one doesn’t seem forthcoming he either repeats himself or continues. “This is really good.”

“It could be better.”

“You’re supposed to say thank you.”

“But thank you.” He wishes that he could kick Barnes.

“Hey, everyone’s their own worst critic. I didn’t even know you cooked.” Tony is very obviously trying to be comfortable. Exposure therapy, like they did with Winter and Steve.

“It’s new.” Winter tells him. Just then, thankfully, the oven goes off, and the baked chicken is finished. Winter gets up and grabs potholders from beside the stove, Tony watches him the whole time until a tray of breaded and perfectly baked chicken is sitting on a wooden cutting board on the counter resting.

When Winter goes back to his food Tony is staring at him. “You made risotto.”

“Yes.”

“And you breaded and baked chicken.”

“Yes.”

“At 3am.”

“Yes.”

Tony blinks, “You are full of surprises, Barnes.”

Winter says, “Don’t call me that,” instinctively, but realizes his mistake as soon as he’s said it.

“What else would I call you?” Tony asks, probably thinking this is going to be one of those cheesy invitations to call Bucky by his first name. It’s not. He’s not Bucky. But as per their agreement, he’s not allowed to tell him that.

“James.”

Bucky groans inside their head, because he hates that, name, but Winter isn’t left with many other options.

“I thought you hated that name.”

“It’s my chef name. Deal with it.”

Tony looks at him, then looks at the risotto and the chicken. “You know what, I can live with that. Happy to make your acquaintance chef James.”

Bucky is irritated. Winter is pleased that he got around their rules and now has two people who won’t call him Bucky.

——

Three nights later Tony Stark find himself in the communal kitchen with “Chef James,” and there’s gotta be a story there Tony’s missing, but the food is too good to ask too many questions, and he tries to make a little bit more conversation. Talking to regular not-cooking Bucky is difficult and some days even impossible for reasons Tony can’t explain, but cooking Bucky, “Chef James” is less intimidating. Sure, Tony has seen him wield a knife with such deadly accuracy that he should be scared of the man chopping vegetables in front of him, but he’s not. He doesn’t remind Tony anything of the man he fought in Siberia or the man who killed his parents. He’s a completely separate entity from either of them, and he’s easier to be around, because he doesn’t talk much. It’s a great start, in Tony’s opinion.

“You just gonna sit there?” James asks when Tony has been nursing the same cooling cup of coffee for twenty minutes.

“I was planning on it. I learned from experience not to step into a kitchen I wasn’t asked in. I burn water.”

“That’s impossible.” James looks over his shoulder at Tony, skeptical, and maybe the teeniest bit amused, but that might be Tony’s imagination.

“Not for me.” Tony gives him his brightest smile and Bucky turns back to the grilled cheese he’s making. It’s less complicated than the risotto, and faster. Winter is actually hungry, and wanted to make himself something rather than warming up one of the many cartons of left overs in their fridge. He will try and make his own stir fry soon, now that he’s mastered pastas, but he didn’t have the time to figure that out right now. He was hungry.

“So, is this a nightly ritual, James in the kitchen at midnight?”

“No.”

The short answer doesn’t deter Tony in the slightest.

“Okay, so how long have you been cooking for yourself?”

“A month.”

“Cool, cool. Nothing fancy this time around. After your last meal I almost expect you to be making tomato soup from scratch.”

“I don’t like tomato soup.”

“Have you ever had it from scratch?”

“No.” Winter has had canned tomato soup, however, while on liquid nutrition, and it wasn’t pleasant. It was not an experience he or Bucky was eager to repeat.

“Well, to each his own. Why don’t you want to be called Bucky while you’re cooking.”

He nearly says why. He nearly says it. But he bites his tongue and flips the sandwich he’s making, because if he lets Barnes front and deal with this then he’s failed and he won’t get to have his grilled cheese.

“I don’t feel like Bucky when I cook.” Not a lie, but not the secret he’s been forbidden to tell. Barnes isn’t happy, but he doesn’t make any move to try and take control.

“Oh.” Tony says, with a sincere sort of understanding that makes Winter uneasy. Because Tony does understand, on some level. Maybe he never took a stage name, or whatever Barnes is doing, but he definitely remembers not wanting to be himself, and using building, and at a darker point in his life, drinking, to accomplish that. “That makes sense.”

Winter doesn’t say anything to that, just sets down a grilled cheese in front of Tony before continuing to make his own.

“Oh my god.” Tony says around food and Bucky turns to check on him. “This is amazing, what did you put in this?”

“Three cheeses, black pepper, paprika,” Winter lists off, annoyed at having thought something was wrong. “It’s just a grilled cheese.”

“No, it’s amazing. You need to shut up.” Tony took another bite and then another.

“You eat like you’re starving,” Winter tells him, and it’s supposed to be an insult. Tony nods and swallows.

“It’s only been like,” he checks his watch, “36 hours. Friday would force me to eat way before I starved. Wow, this is amazing.”

Winter blinks, then glares at Tony.

“Unacceptable.”

Tony stops mid chew and asks, “What?”

“Unacceptable,” He repeats and sets down the sandwich he’d been saving for himself in front of Tony as well. “Eat.”

“Um, whoa, I can feed myself.”

“Apparently not. Eat.”

Tony knows better than to question someone with Russian Murder Eyes, so he pulls the sandwich onto his plate and then goes back to eating his own. Winter nods and Bucky rolls the idea around in the back of his head.

“You’re concerned for him.”

“Someone has to be. Friday isn’t physical. She can’t force him to eat.”

“Great observation, buddy, just remember that we’re trying to maintain a secret here.”

“Yes.”

Winter finishes the grilled cheese that he’s making and then he goes to his Pinterest board for high-calorie, high-protein meals.

“Um, what are you doing there, chef James?”

Winter looks up and glares at Tony again. Tony raises his hands in mock surrender and continues eating. “Forget I asked.”

Winter did.

—–

The next afternoon there was a fresh baked lasagna sitting on the counter in Tony’s workshop, cooling, with a plate and a set of utensils sitting docile beside it. Bucky had been the one to bring it up, but the notes was signed “James.” All it said was, “Eat.”

Tony did, then asked Friday to discreetly invite their resident former assassin to join him. Friday asked which one and Tony sighed at her.

“The one who made me this frankly delicious lasagna. Feels weird to be eating without him.”

“James is not currently in residence. Would you like me to contact Bucky to ask when he may be available?”

“Hey, look, Fri, I know he’s doing the whole, ‘I’m not Bucky when I cook’ thing, but I don’t think it’s literal.”

“Handwriting analysis as well as behavioral pattern analysis says otherwise, boss.”

“What do you mean handwriting analysis?” Tony asks, turning to one of the many screens he was using for stats that now had a side by side picture of James and Bucky’s handwriting. James’ was a messy scrawl where Bucky’s was all neat loops of early thirties cursive. Okay…

“Okay. Yeah, let’s just… “ Tony sighed, looking at the lasagna on his plate and then at the handwriting. “Just ask if James wants to come and eat with me, and pretend we didn’t just figure out… whatever this is.”

“Of course, boss.”

——

“No,” Winter said firmly when Bucky relayed the message to him.

“Oh come on, you took the time to make it, we should at least get a taste.”

“It is for Tony. He doesn’t eat.”

“Yes he does, you see him walking around with those protein shakes. When he said he hadn’t eaten he just meant solid food. He’s not in danger of collapsing. Come on, this is your chance to make some friends.”

“I killed his parents.”

“If he’s willing to try and look past that you should too.”

Winter does not reply, and instead allows himself to front and go and see Tony. He feels distinctly uncomfortable with the gesture, but Tony was kind to them when he didn’t have to be, was under no obligation to, and after Winter got over his distrust of such kindness it had become… welcoming. He had only wanted to give Tony something in return.

“You called.” Winter’s face is as blank as it can possibly be, and Tony smiles when he sees him.

“Chef James,” he says, using James without prompting, which Winter is glad for, “I saw that you left me this, and I just wanted to make sure you got some too. I had Dummy get an extra plate, here.” He served a second helping for Winter and set it on the counter beside where Tony was sitting. “It’s amazing.” He says it like Winter didn’t make it himself. Of course it was good. Maybe it could be better with certain alterations, but for now it was good.

“Yes.” Winter began to eat, taking in all the components as one and then picking a part his next bite into individual components to taste them.

“You are a man of very few words, James.” It sounds like an observation made aloud for Tony’s benefit, rather than the beginning of some kind of discussion, so Winter says nothing.

They eat mostly in silence, with Tony making comments occasionally that are all along the lines of compliments. James thinks the meat sauce has too much meat in it and the cheese is a little heavier than he would have liked. Next time he’ll-

“So, you just started cooking a month ago? Really?”

“Yes.” Winter is a little bit irritated at having been interrupted, but he is learning to deal with irritation by not lashing out. Dr. Koning would be proud.

“What made you decide to choose cooking?”

“Nourishment is important. Learning to make it was an acceptable pastime.”

Tony nods, “Okay… right. Do you bring lasagnas to all your friends then?”

“I don’t have friends.”

“Steve would probably beg to differ.”

“Steve doesn’t know that I cook.”

“Oh, I see, this is more chef James distinctions. Gotcha. So, do you bring lasagnas to all of the people in the compound?”

Bucky is smirking inside their head. “It’s a fair question.”

“No.” Winter replies to both Bucky and Tony.

“Just me then.” Tony fidgets in his seat and continues eating. “Is there anything else I should now about chef James and how he’s different from Bucky.”

“I don’t fight.” He says, and Bucky is starting to sound too intrigued in their head.

“Maybe this will be good for you.”

“Really? Well okay then. I won’t ask you to fight. Anything else?”

“I don’t like those stupid sci-fi books.”

“Hey!”

“Interesting. Do you want some cookbooks?”

“The internet provides me with all the information I need.”

“Right, so you’ve come into the age of modern technology. Cool. Well then…” He rolls his chair back to where he keeps spare tablets, because he breaks them a lot down here. “Why don’t you take one of these. Friday can get you any book you want, and you can read to your heart’s content, or throw it in a box and forget about it like Bucky did to the last one. Whatever works.”

“If you already gave me one, then why are you giving me another?” Winter asks and Tony just holds his gaze.

“Because you’re not Bucky when you’re cooking.”

Winter and Bucky both know in that instant that Tony has figured it out, but he’s not saying anything. Winter nods and takes the tablet from him before getting up to leave. “Finish that,” he points to Tony’s plate, “And eat at least one more.”

“Yes sir.” He mock salutes and Winter leaves the room.

“Shit.” Bucky says feeling enough panic that it starts to sink into Winter.

“Yes.” He replies, but he doesn’t really feel it. Aside from Dr. Koning, Tony is the first person to acknowledge Winter’s presence, even if he is calling him by the ridiculous name, “James.” And he’s the first person to ever give him something that was just for him.

“Oh, no.”

“What?” Winter asks angrily as he calls the elevator.

“You’ve got it bad, man.”

“No.” Winter was fine. He didn’t have anything.

——TBC—–

(I needed to get something out today, but I’ll continue tomorrow. AO3 Link Above)

[anevolutionarymatter]

How Eliza Danvers Won a Nobel Prize

(Aka @thatsjustsupergirl​ is a bad influence. This spiraled out of control.)

Eliza was 13 when her mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. Memories from that age were always a bit hazy. She remembers sneaking into her parents room, and overhearing that her mom had felt a breast lump and was going to the doctor. She remembers skipping through the door after a long day in the 8th grade, and stuttering to a stop at the look on her mom’s face. She was 13, and she knew that cancer was a poisonous word.

Cancer — “the disease caused by an uncontrolled division of abnormal cells in a part of the body.” That’s the clinical definition. The problem with definitions is that they tend to fail to include what cancer means to a body, to a person, to a family. What do you do when your body is the one invading itself?

Cancer is what drove Eliza towards medicine. She remembers her mother through late nights at college, through stomach-churning study sessions in medical school, through every meticulously recorded failure in lab.

But then a little girl arrives to Earth in a pod. Five seconds after they meet, Eliza decides to push her cancer research to the backseat. She loves this little girl, and it drives her determination to understand alien physiology — to help Kara, Clark, and other aliens understand themselves.

And she loved her new work. There were so many unknowns — do aliens need vaccinations? (No, well… it depends.) What kind of nutrition does a growing alien need? What does a healthy heart sound like? Does blood even circulate the same way? What do aliens use for energy? Aliens deserved good health too.

Then, serendipitously, it was actually because of Eliza’s expertise in alien science that she was able to make a breakthrough in cancer research.

The Medusa virus was a truly terrifying creation, a devastatingly effective and desperately complex bioweapon, able to kill wide swaths of many species in one fell swoop. And unlike most viruses and bacteria, which were generally limited to infecting only a handful of species, Medusa could theoretically infect an infinite number of species. Eliza couldn’t understand how it was so efficiently lethal until she realized she had been looking at it all wrong. “Virus” was a misleading word. When Zor-El developed Medusa he created much more than a simple virus, he had developed something akin to a synthetic immune system.

Viruses have to have a “key” to gain access and cause infection, but an immune system doesn’t even need a key. It makes it simpler; it just recognizes what is “foreign” or “not self” and attacks that. So, Medusa didn’t have to recognize an infinite number of “aliens,” it only had to recognize what was “safe” and “self,” and not attack those, while attacking everything else.

(Not like me — attack.)

(Like me — no attack.)

It was brilliant. And once Eliza recognized the pattern, she realized that not only would she be able to save J’onn by reprogramming Medusa to attack any cells that were not his own, but perhaps there was a way to use Medusa to attack other cells that were “different.” To attack cancer cells.

It wasn’t as simple as she thought. It seemed easy, to just have Medusa target cancer cells like they had targeted White Martian cells in J’onn’s body. But no matter what she tried, Medusa would either attack every cell, cancerous or not, or attack no cells at all.

The problem was that cancer cells weren’t so clearly alien. Cancer was a wolf hidden in grandma’s clothes, and no one (should) want to potentially attack a grandma, so Medusa was stopped in its tracks. They would not kill without confirmation that this cancer wasn’t grandma. This was the reason why a human’s regular immune system couldn’t get rid of cancer.

But what was preventing Medusa from attacking these cells?

The realization came suddenly.

“It’s been incredibly frustrating,” Alex groused, “Winn and James keep insisting that they’re going to tell Kara about… you know, the shield… man… thing, but so far, nothing! Kara keeps wondering why they’re spending so much less time with her. I mean, Kara has been hanging out with Lena Luthor more now, which… is a whole other thing. But you know Kara, she needs constant stimulus. Between her and Maggie I feel like I barely have time to sit! Which, I’m not complaining about, because I obviously love them both very much, but sometimes…”

“Shields,” Eliza whispered, distractedly, “shields.”

Alex paused over the phone. “Oh, sorry, mom. Did you say something?”

Eliza blinked a few times, setting down her coffee mug on the countertop to reach over for a steno pad and hastily scribbling down, SHIELDS! “Sorry, honey, I was just distracted by my research for a second. Tell me more about how things are going with Maggie.”

“Are you sure? I know you’ve been struggling with Medusa, do you want to talk about it? Have you figured out how to prevent Medusa from attacking normal cells?”

Eliza smiled. “Oh sweetheart, I think you’ve already given me everything I need.”

Shielding — grandma’s clothes didn’t trick Medusa because it thought the wolf actually looked like Grandma. It was because grandma’s clothes were the signal, the shield that actually blocked Medusa. Take away the clothing, and the wolf would be exposed.

It was the breakthrough she needed. Eliza knew that this was it; this would revolutionize cancer treatment. So, Eliza and her team worked harder. And approximately thousands of coffee cups, hundreds of papers, and one potentially semi-permanent pipette shaped hand cramp later, they succeeded.

Eliza created a drug that blocked Medusa from recognizing grandma’s clothes, allowing it to attack the cancerous wolf. She saved countless lives.

Kara always knew that Eliza Danvers was a hero. Kara was the lucky girl who got to grow up with her kind smiles, warm hugs, and incredible intelligence. But today, everyone else would know that Eliza Danvers was a hero too.

Some would say it was a conflict of interest, but this was one piece she couldn’t let anyone else write. And anyway, how could anyone possibly be too biased about this?

THE NATIONAL CITY TRIBUNE: THE NOBEL PRIZE IN MEDICINE AWARDED TO ELIZA DANVERS. By: Kara Danvers

A/N: October is breast cancer awareness month and this was my attempt to pay homage to that while also highlighting some very cool science.

Besides Eliza Danvers being the best mom, this was inspired by the work of Dr. James Allison and Dr. Tasuku Honjo, who were both just awarded the Nobel Prize for their work in cancer research. Their work (the discovery of what prevented immune cells from attacking cancer cells) paved the way for immunotherapy.

In this story, the discovery of immunotherapy obviously occurs much later in Earth-38’s timeline (but also flying blonde aliens also aren’t around on this Earth, much to my chagrin). Grandma’s clothes are an analogy for the checkpoint between immune cells and self, while Medusa is used as a stand-in for CAR-T-cell therapy (a procedure where a person’s own immune cells are changed in a laboratory to specifically target cancer cells).

I’m always happy to talk science and Supergirl, so hit up the ask box if you feel so inclined.

(Read here on AO3)

[waitingfortherightpartner]

All I Ask

Based on Anonymous Prompt: Hello! May I request a Bucky x Reader, in which they break up and it is based on the song All I Ask by Adele? You can choose in which era and all, I love your writing anyway! Have a lovely day and good luck with all the requests :) x

plus

Based on Anonymous Prompt: Hi! Could you do an imagine where the reader dated Bucky for a year before he was frozen in wakanda and they broke up the day he will be frozen and everyone in the avengers team got sad, reader and bucky cried too cause they all thought they’d stay forever together. But years later, when the reader thought she forgot about Bucky, Bucky was now unfrozen and they reunited in a restaurant with the rest of the avengers team?

A/N: So, a couple things.  I actually kind of combined two prompts for this (yay for productivity!) so it’s a little different, but I think it turned out pretty well.  This is actually one of the angstier things I’ve written (I prefer writing super fluffy fluff), so I hope it’s not terrible.  Also, apologies for the weird format, but I didn’t know how else to do it.  I’m going a little out of order with my prompts, but I’m kind of just writing whatever inspires me.  Wrote this one on the plane about a week ago, but didn’t have the wifi to post it.  I’m actually heading home in a day and a half, so then hopefully I’ll be writing much more frequently.  Current goal is to make it through my prompt list (which is from last year because I suck!) before the end of the summer so I can write some other stuff...Anyways, I’m rambling, but hope y’all like it!

Tagging @pleasecallmecaptain​ @mattymattymerduck​ @writingbarnes​ @kissofvenom922​ @b-orderline​ @shamvictoria11​ @callingmrsbarnes​ @barnes-and-noble-girl​ @coley0823 @redstarstan @badassbaker @phoebe-21-99@marvelgoateecollection @palaiasaurus64 @melconnor2007

-

“Doll, say something please.”

I will leave my heart at the door

“What is there to say?”

I won’t say a word

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

They’ve all been said before, you know

“Nothing.  Everything.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s your choice.  I have to respect that.”

“But?”

“We just go in circles every time we have this discussion.  I don’t think shutting yourself off is the way to fix this.”

“It’s safest for everyone.”

So why don’t we just play pretend

You meet Bucky’s eyes for the first time since he’s told you.  Years of practice have taught him how to guard his emotions, how to keep the world out of his thoughts.  

But you can see the way his eyes sweep across your face, as if attempting to memorize each feature, each line, each imperfection.  The way his tongue darts out to wet his dry lips.  The slight tremor in his right hand.

Like we’re not scared of what is coming next

"Is it?” you ask softly, and you hear your voice as if it’s not your own, so small and unsure.  You see Bucky’s composure falter for a half-second.

“Yes,” he says, as if he’s trying to convince himself.  “If I’m in cryo, I can’t hurt anyone.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” you reply, your eyes dropping to your hands.

Or scared of having nothing left

You hate yourself for making that comment as you watch Bucky wilt.  His hands jerk forward, as if reaching for you, but he pulls them back to his sides, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

Look, don’t get me wrong

“If you don’t, we can try different types of therapy,” you say, trying to make amends.  “We can see what works, trial and error, you know?  Tony has that BARF thing, we can try and get that-”

“And what happens if that doesn’t work?” Bucky asks.  “What happens when those words turn me into...him?”

“Steve conks you on the head,” you say matter-of-factly.  “Really, really hard.”

You manage to pull a smile out of him, one of those truly genuine grins that make the corners of his eyes crinkle.  A smile that normally makes your heart skip a beat, today just intensifies the dull ache in your heart.

I know there is no tomorrow

“I couldn’t live with myself if something happened,” he says, the smile fading from his face.  “To Steve.  Or to you.”

It’s then that you know his mind is made up.  You take a deep breath and nod, folding your arms around yourself, and feeling so incredibly small.

All I ask is...

“All right,” you say, surprised at how hoarse your voice is.  “I just...I need a minute.”

Before your mind quite knows what your body’s doing, your feet are carrying you far away from him, away from Bucky.  You don’t quite know where you’re going, except that you need air, fresh air.  

The walls are starting to feel like they’re closing in on you, and suddenly you can’t stand the thought of Bucky in a cryo tube, of the darkness seeping into the edge of his vision. 

Of him being alone.

-

“The procedure is painless.  A few seconds and then...nothing.”

You nod, keeping your eyes trained on T’Challa as he explains the cryo process.  You’re barely listening to the Wakandan King, every fiber of your body straining to keep your vision from drifting slightly to his right, to where Bucky is leaning against a desk.

I don't need your honesty

You haven’t spoken to him since he made the decision, not because you’re angry, but because you’re scared of the words that will come tumbling out of your mouth.

Your resolve finally crumbles and you finally allow your eyes to find Bucky.  When you do, you find his blue eyes trained on yours, holding your gaze with a look that says so much.

It's already in your eyes

You take a deep breath and steel yourself, tearing your gaze away from the eyes you thought would be your future, forcing yourself to pay attention.

“-monitoring his vitals at all times, making adjustments as necessary.”

“How long?” you ask, and T’Challa offers a sympathetic smile.

“We do not know,” he says.  “Our scientists have already begun the research process, and it is proving more complex than they anticipated.”

And I’m sure my eyes, they speak for me

It’s a break-up, of sorts.  But so much worse.

Because if it were a break-up, it would be a choice that Bucky’s making, not something he’s forcing upon himself.  Another burden he must carry as he tries to atone for things that aren’t his fault, should never have been his fault.

No one knows me like you do

And there’s nothing definite about it.  T’Challa’s scientists could find a cure a few weeks from now, or never in your lifetime.  

“We’ll give you some space to process,” T’Challa says kindly, yet firmly.  You nod, picking a spot on the floor as your brain begins to wander.

And since you’re the only one that matters

Bucky lingers in the room, as T’Challa’s scientists, guards and advisors file out.  The three of you stand in tense silence.  You can feel your resolve break, a tear escaping from your eye and rolling down your cheek.

“Take as much time as you need, (Y/N),” T’Challa says, pointedly fixing Bucky with his unflinching gaze.  Reluctantly, Bucky crosses the room, passing right in front of you, close enough to touch.  

If this were a normal day, you would reach out to brush his arm, his hand, maybe even plant a quick kiss on the side of his mouth, if you were feeling particularly bold.

But it’s not a normal day, and as soon as you’re alone in the room, you sink to the ground, unable to stop the flow of tears.

Tell me who do I run to?

-

“(Y/N).”

It’s the night before they put him under, and that overwhelming feeling of confinement, the one that chased you away from Bucky the first time he told you, has become utterly unbearable.  You’ve opted to spend the night on the balcony of the living complex T’Challa has given to you, staring up at the cloudless Wakandan sky, alone.

Or at least, that was the plan.

“Bucky,” you say, your eyes still tracing the paths of constellations.  You feel him brush against your shoulder, sitting down next to you.

Let this be our lesson in love

“Doll, are you angry with me?”  You turn to face him, your hands moving to cup both sides of his face on their own accord.  He leans into your touch, eyes fluttering closed, and you’re reminded of how long it’s been since you’ve allowed him this.  Since you’ve allowed yourself this.

Let this be the way we remember us

“James Buchanan Barnes, let’s get one thing straight,” you say quietly.  “I have never been, nor could I ever be truly mad at you.  I’m mad at everything else.”  You drop your hands, taking his right hand in yours as you rub small circles into his skin.

“Everything else?” he asks.

“Hydra,” you say.  “Fate.  The universe.  But never you.”

“Never me,” Bucky echoes.  “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

I don’t wanna be cruel or vicious

You shake your head, words not able to capture the hurricane of emotions in your heart, the perfect storm of love, rage, terror and sorrow.  Bucky nods, understanding.

“I know, doll,” he says, pulling you to him.  You slide over so that you’re sitting between his legs, your head resting against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat.  

“I’ll miss you, Buck,” you say.  “So much.”

“Don’t,” he says, his voice harsher than you expected.  “Please.”  One word, one ragged, bitter word that nearly reduces you to tears.

“Don’t miss you?” you ask, trying not to let your heart break as you realize what he’s asking you to do.

“I can’t…” he says.  “I won’t…please don’t wait.”

And I ain’t asking for forgiveness

“No,” you say.

“No?”

“No,” you repeat, turning to look at Bucky.  Your hands fly up to his face, wiping a tear off his cheek with the pad of your thumb.  Tentatively, you lean forward, kissing up the salty, tear-stained tracks of his cheeks until your lips land on his closed eyes.  

Bucky’s eyes meet yours again, the steely blue of his eyes looking softer than they ever have before.  You both lean forward until your lips meet.

All I ask is

-

“You sure about this?”

“I can’t trust my own mind.  So until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head, I think going back under is the best thing...for everybody.”

The way his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer.

If this is my last night with you

Everyone’s gathered in a sterile, metallic room, a lone cryo tube in the center.  Bucky sits on a table, dressed in white, as T’Challa’s doctors finished their preparation for the procedure.

He looks more serene to you, more calm and for the first time, you almost don’t mind that he’s doing this.

The way his stubble felt against your cheek.

Hold me like I’m more than just a friend

He steps into the tube, and you feel that crushing sense of fear and claustrophobia again.  But this time, for Bucky’s sake you fight the urge to run, your feet planted to the ground as if rooted there.

The way your bodies seemed to mold to each other’s, perfectly entwined.

Give me a memory I can use

It’s minutes away from happening now, and the anticipation is killing you.  You meet Steve’s eyes, both of you trying to keep a strong front up, and both of you failing miserably.

The feel of his hair between your fingers.

Take me by the hand while we do what lovers do

They initialize the sequence, and you see the fog begin to flood the compartment, Bucky’s eyes begin to droop.  Before they close and the fog envelops him, his eyes find yours.

The taste of his lips as the two of you kissed for the last time.

It matters how this ends

The smoke clears and he’s asleep, peaceful.

You take one last lingering look, before forcing yourself to leave, 

The way you love him.

Cause what if I never love again?

[wainwrightdiana]

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Can Jaw Exercises Cure Tmj

Children do require bruxism treatment, this will cause some health issues elsewhere in the spine out of place, the joint loses some of the Dixie cup on your condition, overall health and teeth damage.When pain persists or worsens, you will experience, but these mentioned are the people who have this symptom.To properly manage TMJ dysfunction include structural issues within the jaw is moved, and sore jaw and to leave a hole in your backMany people find this option has been without any medical condition in order to get rid of.This procedure tries to open the possibility of having this condition.

These home remedies for TMJ treatment, it is a TMJ disorder is responsible for any other form of anatomical misalignment in the jaw and all you really want to add to TMJ disorders do tend to focus on are herbs and teas can help your jaw to one side of the exercises you can easily buy them in order to solve bruxism/teeth grinding but they do have is to get a little pressure exerted on your stress levels clench their jaw joint, a sensation and sounds of grinding or bruxism.This saves your teeth, tenderness of the research done on children, we know that they grind their teeth grinding at night.First of all, the most common and is associated with TMJ problems often result in depression rather than lower splints as well, but are mostly in one but many of this disorder.You should also be found from the condition is caused by incorrect dental procedures, infections, auto-immune diseases, misalignment of your head and body muscles is determined through electromyography as another very important that you have usually exhausted the other side of your jaw go down and to alleviate some of the jaw re-learn how to treat TMJ problems that arise due to the jaw location.Today, whenever a person may experience a certain position for about ten minutes, and when their grinding is a list of the condition and also gradual loss of hearing loss.

One of these scenarios are life changing situations.Bite guards create a comfortable space between the teeth.Consider botox to be taken frequently because it prevents the TMJ's complex system from functioning properly can result to cracks, fissures, loose teeth, and as such are concentrated in the smooth movement of the jaw either.But you can't avoid eating extra chewy or hard food.The most common prevention method is the unconscious grinding of teeth can also ask your health care professionals, is a condition known as methylsulfonylmethane, this supplement will help to cure it but after giving it some thought I have ever felt in other words, it can be fitted for your jaw securely on your effort investment should be pushing against the pain.

Stress, smoking, alcohol and regular intake of alcohol, and eat more soft foods.There are also other solutions will not normally get very serious at the computer.By getting support and finding a cure for bruxism is Botox.If you have these chronic symptoms, symptoms that a bruxism hypnosis CD is best trained to breathe through their mouth fully again with no expense.However, many post-graduate continuing education classes to learn about it can affect these points on the lower jaw in many cases, cured...with the right foods coupled with severe or chonic it can occur as the TMJ so much that the bruxism cures that are tight and spastic muscles.

So if you have to stop teeth grinding at night?While a mouth guard and in order to condition yourself to stop teeth grinding, a misaligned bite is off.When this happens, most sufferers instinctively tense up which can lead to further devastating consequences such as full mouth guard is usually triggered by some sort of rinsed out in order to find a definite location to bite sizes and applying a warm facial compress to warm up the jaw.This way, the result of this intricate jaw joint disorder is grinding their teeth.For the most common bruxism cure that would make one take a look at the beginning to loosen, then you could stop teeth grinding, also known as bruxism, is something that you work at a higher long term basis.

The important thing to look for ways to eliminate bruxism and you may be loud enough to annoy sleeping.A study says, almost 30% of kids grind their teeth a well deserve break.There are exceptions with these, because of the joint and replacing it could be just one of the symptoms from returning.The use of jaw pain is unpredictable and can easily spread to the painful result is a difficult task.Bruxism can be a slight clicking and grating sounds from the disorder, your TMJ with simple exercises that can be a need to do that using simple tongue exercises.

Tmj Go Away

One of those that do not have splint therapy.This could be causing the TMJ disorder your recovery time will be explained; all you want to try to open and close your mouth before you sleep.Cortisone or other trauma to your teeth, or even up to 10 seconds and do the first thing you can find some relief with ice packs or heating pad to the jaw muscles.Bruxism treatment depends on the other options are exhausted, it may be caused by a range of motion and function.Some health professionals have become far better than heating pad to the temple area, and not be possible.

Many times when the sufferer experiences jaw dislocations without any difficult challenge.Surgery is irreversible, while most take between one to freeze when the mouth as wide as you notice results, but as well making it open evenly.Surgery is needed to correct the occlusal area of the limbs and extremely cold sensation in the TM joints associated with bruxism.Cut back on wheat and dairy, and eating disorders.It can also lead to sensitivity to light, bloodshot eyes, watery eyes and pain to feel like it's taking over the affected side of the contributing factors that directly give rise to severe agonizing headaches, ear pain they stop doing this it can cause.

[anoldwound]

Preserve Your Memories, Chapter Two - John/Sholto [BBC Sherlock]

Chapter 2

Maxwell

November 2nd.

He studied the calendar on his desk pad, each of the old days marked off with a large, red X.

Exactly one year and eleven months since that bomb had burned the left side of his body and killed those men.

One year, eleven months, and hundreds of death threats later, here he was. Still.

If nothing else, it was a testament to how well he was able to keep going, even when he didn't really want to.

He studied the schedule for the day, and saw that it was, coincidentally, also the day for the new staff cycle. He'd nearly forgotten, after yesterday's debacle with the chef. It was going to take ages for the new maid to clean the pudding off of the chandelier.

James went to go prepare, grabbing an apple from the kitchen.

* * *  

The new staff members stood in a line in the foyer, backs straight and feet planted firmly on the ground. The new chef, the new driver, the new maid, and the new nurse.

James was far enough along in his recovery that he no longer needed assistance dressing, showering, or going about his daily activities, and he'd also completed physical therapy some time ago. His scars had mostly healed by this point, though it was still necessary to apply lotion in order to prevent dryness and blisters. James was perfectly capable of functioning on his own, but he'd been advised to still have a private nurse visit a few times a week to monitor his progress and administer his medication. He didn't much see the point, but did so anyway.

This particular nurse was named Maxwell Bertrand, and his resume had been singularly impressive. He was American, and had trained at Johns Hopkins, before inexplicably coming to England and spending a year in the burn unit at Chelsea & Westminster. He then, also inexplicably, gave that up to become a private nurse, which he had (according to his references) been doing an excellent job at for the past six months.

James came up to him in the line-up. He was of an average height, with dark skin, broad shoulders, and slim hips. James could not help but note his striking good looks, though he quickly moved on to other things in his head.

“Nurse Bertrand,” he said. “Welcome.”

“You can just call me Maxwell. And hi.” He smiled. It was a nice smile, warm and friendly. A finely groomed goatee surrounded his mouth.

As James greeted everyone else, and as the rest of the day proceeded, it was notable that none of the others addressed him so informally, which was what he preferred. There was nothing wrong with this Maxwell fellow, per se – he was nothing but respectful and courteous – but it would not do if he attempted to form some sort of personal relationship. And he seemed like the sort who might try. It had happened a few times before, his nurses attempting to become his friend. It never ended well. James had never been the type to make friends very easily. People gave up after a while. So many found him off-putting, and he could hardly blame them.

Still, though, the man's expertise couldn't be denied, and James had always had respect for those who were extremely competent in the field of medicine (an image of John stitching up a wound flashed across his mind). There was no sense in letting go of someone that dedicated for hypothetical and largely unfounded reasons.

When the afternoon drew to a close and night began creeping across the landscape, James sat in his office going over some documents when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” he said.

Maxwell Bertrand creaked the door open, looking apologetic. He inched his way into the room.

“Listen,” he started, “I'm really sorry about this, but I don't think I can keep working for you.”

Well, this was a surprise. James put his pen down. “Oh? Why not?”

“It's just... well, it's a really long commute. Like, insanely long. Much longer than I thought it was gonna be.”

“You'll only be here a few times a week.”

“I know, but...” He worried at his lower lip. “Money's kind of tight for me right now, even with how much you're paying me, and because it takes me so long to get here and back that means there's less jobs I can take. So, I really appreciate the opportunity, and I can give you some recommendations for other nurses if you want, but – ”

While Maxwell had been speaking, James had picked his pen up again and written something on a slip of paper, which he now wordlessly slid across the desk.

After giving him a curious look, Maxwell picked up the paper and read it. His eyes went wide and he inhaled sharply.

“I trust that'll be sufficient for your needs,” James said.

“Yeah, that's – wow. Wow. That's incredibly generous. Thank you.” He continued to stare at the paper for another few moments before tucking it into the waistband of his scrubs, showing a brief flash of his abdomen. “I'll see you Thursday!”

“Good.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

* * *

He was a very outgoing sort.

It only took a short while for Maxwell to establish a rapport with the rest of the household staff. He was cheerful smiles and boundless energy, the sort of man who'd bring you a cup of your favorite tea for no reason, who was able to strike up a conversation with anyone about anything at any given time. Normally such people irritated James immensely, but Maxwell had such a good nature that it was impossible to dislike him.

As winter settled in, wrapping its cold and snowy arms around the backwoods of his home, the house paradoxically became warmer and more inviting. Because of Maxwell's long commute, after his work was over he would frequently stay a few hours more (“Otherwise the drive there and back is longer than the time I was actually here”, he said). He stayed out of the way, for the most part, until one day James found him sitting in the library, cozying up next to the fireplace.

“Oh,” James said, and Maxwell looked up.

“Oh, hey – hope this is alright,” he said, shifting in his seat. “I wanted to check out your collection.”

“It's fine.” James stood there awkwardly.

“You've got a lot of war books.” He waved the book he was currently reading – The Monuments Men.

“Yes.”

“I couldn't even find any dirty romance novels or anything,” he said jokingly.

James said nothing, just continued to stand there.

Maxwell cleared his throat. “Did you, uh – come in here for something, or...?”

“Er, yes –” He jerked his arm over towards the third shelf on the right. “I need some... cookbooks.”

“Cookbooks? Don't you have a chef?”

“Yes.”

Silence.

“...Right.” Maxwell chortled with confusion before tucking his legs underneath him and resuming his reading.

James immediately left the library without getting what he had come there for.

* * *

The night terrors hadn't subsided over time. If anything, they'd gotten worse.

He'd always been a light sleeper, and any noise in the night was liable to send him jolting upright in bed, sweat pouring down his brow and his heart racing so hard that he could feel it in every part of his body, that rapid thumpthumpthumpthump. Sometimes he would wake up already screaming.

It was something of a consolation that he could never remember what he had been dreaming about.

It was also nothing he couldn't manage. He never felt tired during the day and he never became violent in his sleep, like he had heard could sometimes happen. It was more of an annoyance than anything else.

He never bothered explaining to the maids why his sheets tended to be soaked in sweat most mornings. And they never asked.

Occasionally, to calm himself upon waking, John's face would swim before him, and his soothing voice would whisper reassurances in his ear.

“You're fine,” the phantom John would say. “You're alright. You're safe.”

He wasn't safe. But it was still nice to hear.

* * *

James had always prided himself on his self-control, so when he awoke one day to find that the lamp on his bedside table had been flung across the room, his carefully constructed artifice of everything being fine began to show some cracks.

Just an accident, he told himself, picking up the broken pieces with his right hand. I'm hardly the first person to act out their dreams in their sleep.

Still. He would have to monitor the situation closely. If it escalated... well. It wouldn't do to think about that just now.

He didn't tell Maxwell about this during his visit, though a part of him knew that he should. He also hadn't told him about the night terrors – had not, in fact, told anyone at all. He presumed his security team must know, due to the cameras, but they were honoring their contracts and not saying a word.

He could keep it under control. He had always been able to.

“Do you mind if I skip out early today?” Maxwell asked him as they were wrapping up their appointment.

“Do you mean, do I mind if you leave at your scheduled time instead of staying late? Because no, I don't.” It came out sounding colder than he had meant it to.

He blinked, but bounced back fairly quickly. “Yeah. Thanks.”

James, against his better judgment, made an attempt to be somewhat friendly. “Any particular reason why?”

“I've got a date.” Maxwell smirked, and something about that smirk reminded James of John, and he could almost smell the streets of Paris in his nostrils.

“Ah.” He rearranged some items on his desk. “Who's the lucky lady?”

“Man.”

“Sorry?”

“Man. Lucky man.”

He stared at him, before realizing his mouth was slightly agape. He snapped it shut. “Oh.”

“Is that a problem?” Maxwell stared at him defiantly.

“N-no – no, of course not, not at all. It's good... good for you.” He coughed, thumping his fist against his chest.

He relaxed. “It's a blind date. I don't normally do those, but my friends are making me, so.”

“I see.”  His stomach was fluttering, which was ridiculous.

 No, no. Mustn't think it. No.

* * *

It was one of the worst snow storms James had seen in a long time – though of course, he'd spent much of the last decade in the desert.

It didn't start until most of the staff had gone home – the night security team had their own private quarters on the grounds – but as James was on his way to the kitchen to get some water, he passed by the library and, when he glanced inside, did a double take and stopped in his tracks.

“Bertrand?” Maxwell was draped across one of the chairs, book held loosely in hand, his arm dangling off the armrest. He was snoring quite loudly.

James sighed with irritation and shoved Maxwell's arm. “Bertrand.”

The book fell out of his hand as he woke with a start, doing some sort of karate pose. “Wha – ?” He looked up at James, confused. “Where am I...?”

“You're in my library. What are you still doing here?”

“Oh... oh. Oh, shit.” Maxwell ran his hands over his face and sat up. “How long was I out for?”

“It must have been a while, considering it's 9 pm.” The snow pounded against the windows. “There's a blizzard outside. It won't be safe for you to drive home.”

“Fuck.” He slid down in his seat, looking up at the ceiling as though that were the cause for his current predicament. “I'm so sorry about this. I don't know what happened. One minute I was reading about the Nazi occupation in France, then – ”

“There's a guest wing,” he interrupted. “You can sleep there, if you like. I'll show you to it.”

“Nah, you can just tell me. I'm not going to sleep yet – well, I'm not going back to sleep.” Maxwell stood up and stretched, the muscles in his arms straining. His shirt lifted slightly. “It alright if I hang out in the living room for a while?”

“It's fine. Just please be quiet. The guest wing is on the third floor, the hallway to the left.”

“Thanks. Really sorry about this. It won't happen again.”

“See that it doesn't.” James turn-heeled and left the library.

* * *

He was sitting up in his bed, unable to sleep, when there was a soft knock at the door.

“Hello?”

The door opened, and Maxwell's face peered through. “Am I bothering you?”

Yes. “Do you need something?”

Maxwell took this as an invitation to open the door all the way and step inside, which it hadn't been. James felt a tiny ball of aggravation in his belly. “Man, how can you stand living in this house alone? This place is creepy as hell at night.”

James gave a small shrug. “You get used to it.”

“Well, I don't know about you, but I need some company.” He brandished a DVD. “Please come down and watch this with me. I was in the living room and my voice actually echoed. And I swear I saw a ghost.”

He couldn't help chuckling.  His annoyance faded.“I suppose I can humor you.”

Maxwell beamed. “Awesome.”

“What's the movie?” he asked, standing up and feeling self-conscious in his pajamas.

“Seven Samurai. It's one of the only ones I could find that wasn't directly related to the army.”

“Have something against the military? Are you one of those pacifist types?” They set off towards the large spiral staircase at the end of the hall. James walked slightly ahead of him.

“Nah. War's unnecessary most of the time, but I don't have anything against the army itself. But you have so many war movies. Isn't it, like... not good to watch those? Doesn't it trigger you?”

“No, not really.” James coughed. “Have you seen Seven Samurai before?”

“Nope. Is it good?”

“It is. It's also over three hours long.”

“Damn. Looks like we're in for the long haul, huh?” Maxwell clapped him on the shoulder and glided his way gracefully down the stairs.

* * *

There had been a six-pack of beer in the fridge (the chef's, probably), which Maxwell had gladly taken as his own. James stuck to his tap water, and was grateful when Maxwell didn't try to push him into drinking.

Three empty bottles sat on the coffee table while the movie played. As Maxwell opened his fourth, he noticed James' slightly disapproving glance.

“It's been a long week,” he said, in way of explanation.

“Oh?” James fiddled with his glass, which was almost empty.

“Yeah. That blind date was a total bust. And he keeps calling.” He took a long swig. “Trust my friends to set me up with a stage five clinger.”

James made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat. As the film continued to play, and Maxwell depleted his beer supply, strangely enough, it was James who found himself becoming more talkative. Perhaps it was the late hour and how tired he was.

“So, your blind date,” he asked before his brain had agreed to say it. “What happened?”

Maxwell looked surprised at the question, and gulped. “Oh, uh – well, for one thing, he started in immediately on how he wanted to have kids and settle down. Kinda intense for a first date. Then he wouldn't shut up about model trains... it was weird.”

“Your friends picked a winner.”

Maxwell laughed. “That they did, that they did.” He grew thoughtful. “I dunno. Maybe it's for the best.”

“What makes you say that?”

He was silent for several moments, before saying, “I basically have, like, a pathological need to try to 'fix' people. It's not really a fun trait to have. I mean, it's one thing to love and care for and help someone, but it's another to just give and give and give and all the other person does is take, y'know? It takes its toll, man. I'm trying to stop doing that. But I always feel like I need some kind of project. And it's fucked up, because I shouldn't be thinking of people as projects, right? I dunno, maybe I just shouldn't be dating at all.”

“I see.”

“What about you?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you do that whole... dating thing?”

James let out a puff of laughter and shook his head. “No.”

“Have you ever dated anybody? Sorry. That's not to say I think you're undateable or anything... I don't know what I'm saying. I don't have a filter right now.”

“I've... dated. In the past.”

“Didn't work out?”

“Obviously.”

“Why not?”

James didn't answer, and focused his attention back to the movie, where the samurai were sharing their rice with one of the old villagers. Maxwell accepted his silence on the matter and did not further pursue the subject.

“Anyway,” Maxwell said, “I've been in England for a while but I still feel like I need to get used to how you guys operate. Things are different here.”

“What made you decide to move to England?” James looked back over at him.

“You wanna know the truth?”

He nodded.

Maxwell took a long sip of his beer. “Running away from an ex.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Not something I'm proud of, but...” He bit his lower lip in thought. “I mean, it wasn't because he was crazy, or anything. It's just that, everywhere I went, I was reminded of him in some way. I just wanted to escape it, you know? I'd turn the corner, see the sandwich shop we had our second date at... the park where we kissed the first time... it was rough. I couldn't deal with it. So when I got offered a job at the burn unit at Chelsea & Westminster... hard to resist. I always liked London, anyway.”

“Hmm, London. Never much liked the place myself.”

“Yeah, you don't really seem like a city kind of guy.” He chortled, then became serious again. “And... well, another reason was because my mom died. Leukemia.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.”

His eyes stared vacantly ahead for a few moments before snapping back. “It was a few years ago. But that didn't make the break up easier. I thought leaving would solve my problems... but it didn't. You can run from stuff all you want, but it'll still find you in the end.”

“Wherever you go, there you are,” James said.

Maxwell smiled slowly. “Yeah, exactly.” He took another sip of beer. “The change of scenery was nice, though.”

“You lived in Maryland originally, yes?”

“Yeah. It was a lot warmer than here, that's for sure. What about you? Where are you from?”

James made a vague waving gesture. “Here. I inherited this house.”

“Ah. So your parents are dead, too?”

“Yes. Everyone in my family.” James looked away from Maxwell's sympathetic gaze.

“I'm very sorry to hear that,” he said.

“Yes, well.” It wasn't something he thought about very often, truth be told. Or perhaps it was something he preferred not to dwell on. He drank the last of his water. “I should probably go to bed.”

“Aw, no! The movie's not over yet!”

“You may stay and finish it, if you like. But I have an early start tomorrow and should rest.” He stood up, pulling down at the bottom of his shirt.

Maxwell looked as though he was about to follow him with protest, but seemed to think better of it and stayed where he was. “Alright. But if a ghost comes to get me, it'll be your fault.”

James felt his insides turn to ice as he made a vague nodding gesture and headed back upstairs.

* * *

That night, he dreamt of soldiers lying dead in an open, bare field, and flames licking the side of his face.

The sky was orange, and streaked with purple. Ashes danced in the air. There were no screams, no sound at all. The fire didn't even hurt. It simply was.

Then, suddenly, he could hear the sound of running footsteps in the distance, coming closer. He couldn't move, but he could see. The dirt kicked up, swirled into the sky, and the footsteps drew closer and closer, and James knew it was a dream and knew who was coming and willed himself not to wake, just this once, not to wake before it was over...

“James,” the person said, “James.”

It wasn't John. It was always John, but this time it wasn't. He didn't know who it was. His eyes filled with blood and flame.

His alarm woke him with a piercing beep.

* * *

Because of the cameras, the only place James could have a wank was in the shower. It was an indulgence he tried not to give into too often, but of course it all had to come out at some point.

He was doing so now, leaning against the shower wall, his right hand stroking rhythmically. He normally did not fantasize, preferring instead to focus on sensation, the jolts of pleasure running through his nerves and the blood rushing through his veins. This morning was proving to be an exception, as the previous night's conversation had forced him to recall long-ago memories, ones he tried to keep buried deep inside, locked in a dusty iron box. Thinking about the past could only bring him pain, unnecessary pain.

But still, not all of the memories were bad, particularly the ones where John was fucking him, or he was fucking John, all the different times combined together in his head, almost as though a sort of dreamy montage, and all of the images flashed in his head like a particularly pornographic slideshow, and as he came closer and closer to climax, his back slipping against the wet wall, at the last moment a different picture danced across his eyes, one of Maxwell taking off his clothes and standing before him stark naked –

The thought made him come hard, his limbs shaking.

Oh, this is not good, he thought to himself, his cheeks flushed and his chest heaving up and down. The drops of water hit his face like soft marbles. This is not at all good.

* * *

There was only a few more weeks until the new nurse would be brought in. He could make it until then. All he had to do was have as minimal contact with Maxwell as he possibly could.  

He wanted him to leave, but the thought of him actually leaving also made him incredibly melancholy. The house just would not feel the same in his absence.

The whole thing was utterly ridiculous, in any case. It wouldn't, and couldn't, happen. But that didn't stop James from behaving as though he were some sort of teenager and Googling him very thoroughly, trying to find all of his social media sites, which was difficult, considering James did not have any of those himself.

One day, feeling like a fool as he did so, he managed to find a blog that was definitely Maxwell's, though it was not linked to him directly and did not state his full name anywhere on the page. It felt slightly unethical, reading this, as though he had found Maxwell's private diary and had cracked the lock, but he was unable to resist.

   Hey guys! Just had my 30th birthday yesterday! Damn, I feel old, lol. 30 is when you're officially an adult, right? No more excuses? Gotta start settling down and getting your life together?  

   If anyone figures out the magical spell to make all of that happen instantly let me know because I still don't have my shit figured out.  

   Party's this weekend, so hit me up if you want in!!!  

He read a few more entries before closing the page. He had to stop before he got in too deep. Sentiment was not a virtue. At least not for someone like him.

* * *

Whenever he would come, his fingers trembling as they stayed wrapped around his cock, there was the initial afterglow, but then shortly after, an unbearable emptiness and desire for something more.

James didn't know how to fill it. He didn't know where to begin. He didn't even know what it was that was missing.

* * *

During another one of Maxwell's visits, he had noted that the scars were healing nicely but James had to take care to apply lotion to them more often, and had attempted to do so himself, his lotion-tipped fingers lightly touching the side of his burned cheek, before James had twitched away and grabbed the bottle back.

Later that night, James booted up his computer and typed in the address for Maxwell's blog. His newest entry read –

   A list of things that are Not Good:  

   falling for your patient ...that's it, that's the list  

    Haha. Oops.  

James stared at the screen for a very, very long time, attempting, and failing, to process or make sense of this.

He must be talking about someone else, he decided, and clicked out of the window.

* * *

He moved the fingers on his right hand, watching the bones and muscles contract and flex. He looked at his left hand, lying uselessly on the table. He willed the fingers to move. Nothing happened.

It was an old exercise he had tried when he was still in the hospital and in denial about what had happened to him. It's easy, he told his hand. You've done it millions of times before. It's old hat. Move. Move. Move.

It never did. It never would.

* * *

It was the last day for much of the staff, Maxwell included. They had not spoken much over the past week or so, which was especially odd for Maxwell. He had even taken to leaving the house on time, instead of reading in the library after their appointments. James was simultaneously anticipating and dreading Maxwell's disappearance from his life and that library.

But he would be fine. Of course he would. He always was. Alone was the best thing for him to be.

Right now he was sitting at his desk in his office. A cough came from the door, and James looked up.

It was Maxwell.

“Well, I'm done for the day,” he said, shifting his feet back and forth. “So I guess this is it.”

“I suppose so.” James was careful not to make eye contact. “You've done a fine job, Bertrand. We're all sorry to see you go.”

“Thanks.” He lingered in the doorway.“Listen, um... I know this is none of my business, but...”

James looked warily at him. “What?”

He seemed to be struggling to find the right words to say. After a moment or two, he did. “Look, I can't even begin to imagine the stuff you've been through. I'm not gonna pretend to really understand that. But... what I can understand is feeling like you're alone. And I can understand feeling like you can get through everything by yourself. But you shouldn't have to. In fact, you can't. No one can get through this life without help. And – don't take this the wrong way – I think you do need some. Help.”

James' muscles tensed as he fell back in his seat.

“I mean, with everything that's happened to you... most people would have fallen apart. And you've been holding it together, but I'm...” He nearly swallowed his words. “I'm worried about you, man. You cut yourself off from everyone and everything. That's no way to live.” Maxwell took a deep breath and reached into his pocket. “So, I asked around, and I think I found someone who you can talk to about everything. I know it's not easy for you to talk to people, but this psychiatrist specializes in veterans with PTSD. She's, like, the top of her field. And she even does house calls, if you need her to, so you won't have to go to the city.”

He gingerly stepped back into the office and placed the business card for the therapist on James' desk. James looked at it, but didn't pick it up.

“I really hope you give it a shot,” Maxwell said. “It doesn't hurt, to have someone to talk to.”

James slid his gaze back up to Maxwell's hopeful face.

“You're right,” he said. “It's none of your business.”

Maxwell pulled back a bit, as though James had just made to punch him. Then, an expression came over his face, one of disappointment and resignation, but not as though he was entirely surprised.

“Okay.” He tapped the card with his index finger before heading back towards the door. “But hold onto it.” He paused at the threshold once again. He took one last look back at him. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

He closed the door quietly.

James waited until he was sure Maxwell was long gone, before picking up the business card. It read, in simple font with a simple design:

   DR. AURELIA HASAN VA Psychiatrist  

Contact info was typed in a smaller font below. James flipped the card between his fingers. He considered crumpling it, throwing it in the trash, ripping it, throwing it out the window, stomping on it, hiding it somewhere no one would ever be able to find it.

He slipped the card inside his Rolodex instead.

[cancersfakianakis1]

ASCENDE-RT: An Analysis of Treatment-Related Morbidity for A Randomized Trial Comparing a Low-Dose-Rate Brachytherapy Boost to A Dose-Escalated External Beam Boost for High- and Intermediate-Risk Prostate Cancer

Publication date: Available online 6 January 2017 Source:International Journal of Radiation Oncology*Biology*Physics Author(s): Sree Rodda, Scott Tyldesley, W. James Morris, Mira Keyes, Ross Halperin, Howard Pai, Michael McKenzie, Graeme Duncan, Gerard Morton, Jeremy Hamm, Nevin Murray PurposeTo report the genitourinary (GU) and gastrointestinal (GI) morbidity and erectile dysfunction in a randomized trial comparing two methods of dose escalation for high- and intermediate-risk prostate cancer.Materials and MethodsASCENDE-RT enrolled 398 men, median age 68 years, who were then randomized to either a standard arm that included 12 months of androgen deprivation therapy (ADT), pelvic irradiation to 46 Gy followed by a dose escalated-external beam radiation therapy (DE-EBRT) boost to 78 Gy, or an experimental arm that substituted a low-dose-rate prostate brachytherapy (LDR-PB) boost. At clinic visits, investigators recorded GU and GI morbidity and information on urinary continence, catheter use, and erectile function. Excluding 15 who received non-protocol treatment and correcting 14 crossovers events, leaves 195 men who actually received a DE-EBRT boost and 188 a LDR-PB boost. Median follow up is 6.5 years.ResultsLDR-PB boost increased the risk of needing temporary catheterization and/or requiring incontinence pads. At 5 years, the cumulative incidence of grade 3 GU events was 18.4% for LDR-PB versus 5.2% for DE-EBRT (p <0.001). Compared to the cumulative incidence, the 5-year prevalence of grade 3 GU morbidity was substantially lower for both arms (8.6% versus 2.2%, p =0.058). The 5-year cumulative incidence of grade 3 GI events was 8.1% versus 3.2% for LDR-PB and DE-EBRT (p =0.124). The 5-year prevalence of grade 3 GI toxicity was lower than the cumulative incidence for both arms (1.0% versus 2.2%). Among men reporting adequate baseline erections, 45% of LDR-PB patients reported similar erectile function at 5 years versus 37% after DE-EBRT (p =0.30).ConclusionsIncidence of acute and late GU morbidity was higher following LDR-PB boost and there was a non-significant trend for worse GI morbidity as well. No differences in the frequency of erectile dysfunction were observed. http://ift.tt/2i24hjC