࿒

/  rubbing hands together evilly i can’t wait to load this man up with catholic guilt

“Steve,   what I want is for you to stop lookin' at me like that.”   James didn't know why it bothered him so much,   at least today of all days.   It was easier most days,   to stay quiet when he saw that crease in people's forehead.   Like they were either wary of something or worried.   The words fell out of his mouth,   a plea of some sort.   (A beg,  perhaps?)   The way the other looked at him put him on edge.    It made him feel like he was a crazed animal being backed into a corner;   the look conveyed of one trying to placate said animal.   It just pissed him off.    So as he stood across from Steve,   his hands flying up to only fall back down to hit onto his legs,   an exasperated movement.   “All I want,   especially from you of all people,   is to look at me without...  / that / look!”

" I'm explaining it wrong, " Bucky sighed, leaning forward to bury his head in his hands, ferociously gripping what hair he could reach. Nothing made him feel more neurotic than having the same conversation with at / least / four different people a week. ' where's your head at? ' 'How do you feel? ' everyone tip-toeing around what they really wanted to get at. He couldn't even raise his voice - he couldn't even be ANGRY as himself without it being credited to / him /. The man that not only haunted this county's past but Bucky's mind as well. " Can we just change the subject?  You're not going to get it." ( talk to me like your pal, not your patient. ) 
          
          || a little death - the neighborhood

/  remembered my login info

݁⠀ ⠀.̲.̲.̲⠀ ⠀*⠀ ⠀i   / never /   said   that.   not   in   my   many   years   of   living   have   i   said   that.

/  hola

/  steve hands on his hips rogers 

jesus,  what happened to you?  

you hungry?  i can make something.

i think alpine missed you.