#lizbeth burke

[tcmparty]

@tcmparty live tweet schedule for the week beginning Monday, December 06, 2021. Look for us on Twitter…watch and tweet along…remember to add #TCMParty to your tweets so everyone can find them :) All times are Eastern. Monday, December 06 at 8:00 p.m. TO LATE FOR TEARS (1949) A married woman's discovery of stolen money changes her character for the worse. Saturday, December 11 at 6:00 p.m. THE MAN WHO CAME TO DINNER (1942) An acerbic critic wreaks havoc when a hip injury forces him to move in with a midwestern family.

[barbariccia]

approaching the area where the exogeni staff are being held, we hear some chatter over the radio, and lizbeth demands we stop the rover.

a disagreement (tm) is occurring between ethan and juliana. we’re not really able to hide successfully behind a bunch of debris, so we come out when called. with a beautiful stink-face.

Ethan: Hah, Shepard. Damn it! I knew it was too much to hope the geth would kill you. I found some interesting facts about you in the ExoGeni database.

Ethan: I know what happened on Akuze*. This doesn’t have to end like that.

*Sole Survivor background. and goddamn, if shepard ain’t sick of people bringing up their trauma like that every ten minutes...

Lizbeth: This is a human colony, Jeong. You can’t just re-purpose us.

Ethan: It’s not just you. There’s something here far more valuable than a few colonists.

and here the ugly face of corporatism rears high, ready to strike. lizbeth quickly explains about the thorian to her mother, and everyone’s adequately horrified... except ethan, who really doesn’t care about anything other than exogeni and really makes me think of burke from aliens with how fervant he’s being toward his employers. it’s... it’s almost like... placing people in danger at the expense of your research into something that’s clearly too much for you to understand or look into isn’t going to end well!!

still don’t have enough points in the paragon or renegade skilltrees to be able to select EITHER of those suggestions on the left, which is where your P/R points get used in-game. i’m a little >:C about that, because i’ve maxed them both out at 9 skills, and i’m hoping the rest of them open up sometime soon.

ethan reaches for a gun, but shepard takes him down first, no problem, and his security detail quickly put up their hands and surrender. smart lads.

Juliana: As if we don’t have enough problems. Now we’re shooting each other in the back.

juliana gives us some nerve gas that we can use on the colonists to knock them out rather than shooting them - since they’re now aggressive and are highly resistant to the idea of shepard coming anywhere near the thorian. but before we even get anywhere near the first of them, we see something truly horrifying.

this is a thorian creeper, and takes the place of husks on feros. they’re quick moving, come at you in small swarms, and on harder difficulties can overwhelm you with ease. tali mentions that “no amount of infection could have done that [to a colonist]” which only begs the question... what is it? it’s humanoid, but not human, utterly mindless but for protecting the thing that, presumably, created it. but created it from what? the spores have only been infecting the colonists for a couple of weeks, so what did it take the form of before it had them to sink its spores into?

brr.

[dawnkiwi-blog]

Fortune of A Broken Man - Chapter 3 - Avengers Fanfiction | Bucky Barnes-centric |

Word Count: 2,340

Chapters: 03/50 Status: Finished prior to publishing

Trigger warnings: Vulgarity / allusion to schizophrenia / mentions and explorations of mental illness / war and PTSD

[ could not find a good enough gif and the gif loader hates me lol bye ]

Chapter 3: Snakes

"You see that? Eyes of a killer. Stone cold and cruel," Lizbeth sighed.

An intern named Pamela stood beside her, doing her best not to quiver in fear.

"You do see it, right? The way he stares at you, just waiting.."

Pamela nodded vigorously. She stared wide eyed at Barnes who sat stock still in the center of the room on the floor. "He's so scary," she whispered.

Lizbeth barked out a laugh and clamped her hand down on the shorter woman's shoulder. Pamela is very, very short.

"I'm just fuckin' with you, love," Lizbeth giggled. "When I look at him, I actually see a very sad man. Probably a romantic. Aren't those eyes just dreamy."

Pamela wasn't sure of what to say. She leaned closer to the window, as though it could shatter if she so much as sneezed. "I... I mean, yeah, actually.."

Lizbeth's lips quirked in a smile but she didn't say a word.

Pamela continued, placing both hands on the window as she peered at him. "He's kind of got that James Dean vibe, I guess. Aw, he needs a hug."

"What he needs," Lizbeth said as she draped herself across Pam's shoulders, "Is for you to realise his eyes aren't telling you anything. They're just blue, and quite tired."

They stared at each other, amusement meeting confusion. "What...?"

Lizbeth steered her back to face Barnes, "Look," she pointed out, "The man is just sitting on the floor, staring at the mirror. There is nothing else to be said. He isn't anything but really, really fatigued. He can't even see you, this is mirrored glass," she said, tapping it, "He's just staring in our direction because logically, he's aware there's probably a bunch of prudish lab coats analyzing him right now."

"But... you said.."

"I know what I said. At first you thought he was evil, or something, and now he's your own Romeo, or maybe a frog that needs a kiss. And a shave. Nothing changed except what I said. It's all too easy to read too much into something. Pretenses kill."

Pamela blushed a deep scarlet, "Sorry," she muttered.

"Hey, it's fine. You're interning to learn, and look! Active learning!"

It had been nearly four hours since she had left Pam to colour coordinate the dossiers and categorically compile her research notes. It was completely unnecessary, of course, but it certainly made it easier for Lizbeth to decipher her own chicken-scratch.

According to the nightly recordings from JARVIS, Barnes had not slept a wink, but at least attempted to rest by taking up the cot offered to him. He had exceeded her expectations by a mile, and that bothered her more than she cared to admit.

Watching him now, it remained obvious that the man was in a deep fugue state. He would twitch every two minutes with less than a second of difference in the repetition. Every ten to fifteen minutes he would get up and wander seemingly aimlessly around the room before returning to his hunched perch on the side of the bed.

It made her restless just to watch him. Like clockwork, each calculated action resembled a man strung up like a doll in a childs play room. But it was impulsive, and reeked of fear.

Barnes had thankfully eaten Steves meal, and the cornflakes Pam had slid through the delivery slot on the door that morning. Even if she had nearly dropped the bowl in terror.

Lizbeth crinkled her nose at the memory of Steve's 'homecooked delight'. SPAM, with bonebroth soup. Smell is a powerful memory, and Lizbeth did not want to remember the heavy tang of preservatives. At least he'd taken her words seriously and gone with something Barnes would be hard-pressed to forget. She certainly wouldn't forget it any time soon.

Even now, Barnes was coiled tight like a grenade. He watched her through the mirrored glass. A wild animal calculating her intentions and tracking her habits. She stared back unflinchingly, perversely taking delight in the unease it brought him.

She had lied to Pam. Despite the mirrored glass technically obscuring them, Barnes seemed to be unhindered by it. His eyes bore into her. How he did this, Lizbeth did not know, but she'd hazard a guess it had something to do with his super serum abilities. Even the documents SHIELD had swiped from HYDRA prior to their collapse did not fully detail the extent of the super serum. Steve had kindly (re: waspishly) informed her that Barnes had been administered a bastardized version of his WW2 serum. But that really didn't tell her much.

One had to wonder, naturally, what went through his head. As far as she knew, the Ol' Doctor Strange could peer into the heads of those under his care, whether by force or permitted. Wanda, alike, could view the on-goings of his brain. Lizbeth had her own methods of examination. But if she forced her way in.. it would likely be easier to get through to the Hulk than James Barnes.

She pressed the buzzer forcefully.

"How do you feel, Mr Barnes?"

He stiffened almost painfully, eyes widening a fraction. Internally debating with himself as to whether or not to respond, he stayed mute.

"That's no fun," Lizbeth muttered. She pressed the buzzer again. "Would you like Mr Rogers to visit?"

He eyeballed her as though she'd kicked his cat.

"So much rage," she mused, "No wonder he was the perfect weapon for HYDRA."

As though doing so would bring him grevious harm, James nodded reluctantly.

"I'll have him sent up, then," she informed him, "My name is Miss Burke, by the way. Tony Stark hired me to get through to you. You know who he is, don't you?"

More silent rage.

"Well, he remembers you, Mr Barnes. Yet his morality has him showing you kindness. Like it or not, you won't come to harm here."*

He, obviously, did not believe her.

After the good Captain had responded to her summons, she had taken a seat on the leather couch. Her clipboard held sheets of crinkled paper dotted with notes, scribbles, and lewd drawings of the two men in Barnes' illustrious accommodation.

Steve had practically hurtled through the door, having apparently misunderstood JARVIS' request. He must have come from the gym, as he was dripping in sweat, and looked ready to fight a god.

Lizbeth wondered who would win a fight, Steve or Thor.

She started another graphic drawing.

Beyond the mirrored glass, Steve sat with James, trying to coax him into talking. While he had been fairly vocal yesterday, it seemed his situation had sunk in, and the man refused to even sigh.

It infuriated Steve for reasons he couldn't fathom. Lizbeth herself didn't care- she had all the time in the world, a nice salary, and access to whatever resources she wanted. She could probably kill in cold blood and have it hushed up.

"I'm telling you," Steve said, "Miss Burke is harmless."

Lizbeth snorted without looking up. Barnes looked no more convinced than she did.

"She's just a shrink Stark hired to help you. We just want you back, and in control, Buck," Steve sighed, wringing his hands. "HYDRA can't touch you here. We're actively hunting them, and their numbers have been reduced drastically. While you were in cryo in Wakanda, T'Challa signed a defense sanction with the White House. There's a North American task force scouring earth for any sign of them."

'Nice choice of words there, Steve,' Lizbeth thought, 'Specifying earth to a man who isn't aware mythology is actually history won't raise alarm bells at all.'

As if to prove her right, Barnes' eyebrow nearly floated off his face. Rogers mistakenly took this as a sign Barnes remained doubtful of his words.

"Our team has expanded, too," Steve said, nearly pleading, "It isn't just the six of us anymore. We have Wanda, Peter, Sam, Vision, and a number of SHIELD agents on board."

"Who the fuck is Peter?" Lizbeth said to herself. She ran through the faces of the Avengers and realised it was probably the Spider dude who like shooting sticky white stuff at people. She snorted, and returned to her drawing.

"Wanda is from Sokovia," Steve continued, staring at his feet. He spoke almost as if Barnes was in a coma, not sitting nary a foot away and scrutinising him. "And is an enhanced. HYDRA took her and her brother, and really did a number on them. But Wanda helped us destroy the Sokovian and Ukranian HYDRA bases during Ultron."

"Who he doesn't know," she sighed. "You're gonna give him an anxiety attack at this rate, Cap."

The hammer she had artifully sketched for Thor looked more like a popsicle.

"Peter is just a kid, but he tries his best. You remember him, right? He managed to pin you down on the hellicarrier."

Barnes frowned.

"Ah, a-and Sam is ex-military. A pararescue. You threw him off the helicarrier," Steve stuttered.

Barnes frown grew heavier.

"But, well, ah," Steve grew flustered, aware he was only making things worse, "Vision is nice. He was Tony's AI, but he stole the body Dr Cho made, before Ultron could have it."

"Jesus christ, you idiot," Lizbeth sighed, dumping her x-rated drawings and stomping over to the mirror. She stabbed the buzzer. "Steve," she cut in irritably, "Why don't you try not to give the man a stroke. You've now convinced him half the people in this building want his head on a stick."

Steve's head snapped back to glare at her. Barnes looked ready to explode. She sighed again, forgetting her finger was on the buzzer. A creepy woosh filled the air.

"Wanda is a telekinetic and telepathic enhanced who swore allegiance to the Captain. If that's worth anything to you, Mr Barnes. Peter is an idiot who is afraid of his shadow, and more specifically you, Barnes. He can't handle gore and hates HYDRA like the rest of us. Sam has forgiven you. I spoke at length with him about it, and he admits that, if he were you, he would have done the same thing. Vision is an artificially created human who put his newborn existence on the line for earth. None of these people pose a threat to you unless you are trying to harm them or their loved ones."

Silence reigned as Steve alternated between glaring at her and peering with concern at Barnes.

James himself had resumed his boring stare through the mirror. Completely at ease, Lizbeth stared back with a blank face. She wanted to shriek boo but the consequences could be mortal, so she refrained. Instead, she settled for meeting his eyes and displaying a weak sympathy on her face.

After a moment, he relaxed. Her actions indicated her honesty, and while he couldn't trust her, he could believe her.

Lizbeth knew how to lie through teeth, even better than she could breathe. Which can be hard, when one is a chronic smoker.

When Steve stepped from Barnes' room, he looked like he wanted to smack her through the wall and out into the muggy Manhattan air. She smiled breezily at him, curling her fingers in a suggestive manner.

"What are you playing at?" he spat, nearly shaking with rage.

Her eyebrows raised. "I didn't do anything, Rogers."

"Yes," he roared, uncharacteristically pissed off, "You did. You nearly f-you- what do you think that was, huh?"

She swallowed, contemplating the right answer. Truth wouldn't work in her favor, but if she lied, he'd smell it a mile off.

"I corrected you. Barnes' began to exhibit signs of an anxiety attack, which in his current state, could land one or both of you in the ICU. Given his past, the best thing for him is blunt honesty and no tip-toeing around sensitive subjects."

Steve stared at her with barely restrained something simmering in his blue eyes. She sighed and stood up, taking a step towards him. He briefly showed surprise before he closed himself off to her again. Unlike most, she casually walked towards the man who could crush her skull with two fingers as though she weren't a frail human, and he wasn't the big bad wolf. To be fair, Barnes' would probably be the wolf in this situation.

Although, frankly, Lizbeth embodied the Black Adder snake that would snap at a dogs heels.

Very slowly, giving him time to step away from her- which he didn't- Lizbeth placed a calming hand upon his forearm. "Steve," she said quietly, "I'm sorry. I know I showed you up, and that wasn't my intention, but I also didn't want you to push Barnes' back into his shell and set us back a week. You didn't do anything wrong. You know your best friend better than I know my left hand, but Steve, I'm a shrink, and I'm here to help. That includes you. You can tell me how you feel- about everything, towards Barnes, Stark, even me. But don't let yourself act in a way that will give you shame latter."

Her words cut through him like he was a sponge, and it rocked his composure. She had spoken like she knew him and it frightened him.

"You're here for Bucky and it should stay that way."

She gave him a knowing look. "How about we cut today short. Could you still prepare a dinner for him?"

He nodded sharply and nearly pushed her off him as he strode away hurriedly. After the door clicked behind him, she shook her head. "Definitely feel shame in the morning."

"Oh, Mr Barnes, what have they done to you?"

A/N:

*Anybody know what I'm referring to? First person to get it can have an OC named after them.

I would like to apologise for this late update. I had to leave my previous home rather suddenly and the last few days have been me settling into a new place. I needed to edit over this and make sure a few small details line up with what happens in the coming chapters.

The next chapter will be up tomorrow. I know this is somewhat of a filler chapter but it didn't flow right to be 1 super long chappy. Sowwy.

BAI

[char27martin]

For the Love of Love: 8 Benefits of Reading & Writing Romance Novels

by Angela James

“Without romance novels, I wouldn’t be who I am today.”

Romance readers have long suffered through Fabio jokes, inaccurate assumptions, contempt, and lurid speculation from those outside the romance community. No other genre is the target of such ridicule as romance. And yet, romance readers remain loyal to the books, their favorite authors, and to their community. Romance may be the most popular fiction genre, but not because of all the things non-romance readers like to sneer at. Romance gives something to its readers that no other genre seems to offer.

Romance isn’t a joke. It’s an escape, it’s hope, it’s a community, a source of knowledge, a gathering of friends, an affirmation, it unites differences, offers representation, gives comfort, and provides a voice.

So many articles have been written about romance novels, but none capture the spirit and positive impact these books have had in the lives of those who read them. No mainstream articles seem willing to pay tribute to the readers, the authors, and the words on the page making a difference. So I asked people to share their romance positive moments. This is a small selection of the responses, which were as different as the readers of romance are, but also united by common themes. In their words.

Twitter, tell me about the positive impact romance novels or the romance community has had on you, or that you’ve witnessed. Looking for wonderful tidbits for a romance-positive article!

— Angela James (@angelajames) January 31, 2018

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HOPE

By far the word mentioned most often in the responses, romance novels have given readers hope across illness, loss, despair, uncertainty and turbulent political times.

I found Romance after my brother commuted suicide. It was a very dark and hopeless time, but Romance taught me that hope can rise again even after the darkest of moments and love, in all its forms, can be found if you just open yourself up to it.

— Mariah Ankenman (@mariahankenman) January 31, 2018

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  Romance was basically the missing link for me in my life. It inspired me to write again, I found passion, I found purpose, I understood myself better, women and even men better! Kept me sane through my bizarre marriage. A huge turning point for me in my life.

— Christine Donley (@chrisanthemum7) February 2, 2018

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  Romance threw me a lifeline when I was a depressed teenager living with alcoholic parents. In addition to providing me with a temporary escape, romance gave me hope that things would get better and the courage to create my own destiny. I became my own heroine.

— AJJ (@cricksiren) January 31, 2018

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  I began reading romance novels after my first miscarriage. I believe they re-wired my brain and helped me remember what optimism felt like.

— Mia Hopkins (@MiaHopkinsxoxo) January 31, 2018

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  When I was a pre-teen my Mom had massive stroke.. my coping skills was to read and create my own safe space . Reading romance brought me into a world of happiness while in a world of darkness .

— Colleenmarieh (@colleenhruska) January 31, 2018

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  There’s so much hope in them and the world is garbage right now so it’s fantastic to escape into these stories where perfectly imperfect people find themselves worthy

— Leslie (@lesliemp_) February 1, 2018

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Love Letters: How to Spark Romance in a Story Without Using the L-Word

REPRESENTATION

Representation came up again and again in romance readers’ responses. The gift of seeing themselves, feeling validated, understanding that they weren’t alone… It’s difficult to overstate the value of representation, the opportunity to be seen and heard.

  As a reader, queer romance in particular allowed me to see happiness for people like me even when I was at my lowest. And knowing there’ll be an HEA or HFN means even the darkest stories in the genre have hope at their core.

— Elliot Cooper (@elliotwrites) January 31, 2018

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  Romance was where I first saw characters genuinely like me: black women who lived the life I live. I “belonged” in romance.

— Rhonda J. Joseph (@rjacksonjoseph) February 1, 2018

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  Romance novels are particularly important for marginalized people—as a queer, disabled person I never see myself as a love interest or even dateable in most media, but romance is doing better with this in recent years. https://t.co/TPPPiOpf0l

— Alaina Leary (@alainaskeys) February 1, 2018

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  Well… I struggled with my sexuality for a long time and discovering LGBT+ romances and the (amazing) community around it made me feel safe enough to explore and finally come to terms with who I am. I feel pretty good now saying I’m biromantic and ace. Thanks romance!

— Emy Calirel (@EmyCalirel) January 31, 2018

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  Romcoms remind me that real people like me can have fairytale Romances

— Sheritha Singh (@Shersinghzn) January 31, 2018

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KNOWLEDGE

Sometimes funny, sometimes touching, readers shared the opportunities reading romance has given them, and the knowledge it has imparted.

  I was raised by conservative Catholics who never discussed sex. Romances taught me what positive, healthy sexuality can look like and helped break through the intense catholic shame

— Audely Bensen (@AudelyBensen) January 31, 2018

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  Without historical romance novels I never would have passed my high school history exams. My teacher was boring as hell, and romance brought to life the things he droned on about in class.

— Lizbeth Martin-Lopez (@lizbethannlopez) January 31, 2018

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  Totally unrelated to anything but general life improvement – romance novels improved my vocabulary immensely. Seriously. I learned more SAT words in romance novels than in classes. Also history. Because historical romance tends to be incredibly well researched.

— Elise Logan (@Elise_Logan) January 31, 2018

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  Romance novels are what got me reading. I was an indifferent tween until I stumbled across Jude Deveraux’s The Princess. It started my love affair with books.

— Nancy Burke (@Nancy_Burke) January 31, 2018

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Write Naked A Bestseller’s Secrets to Writing Romance & Navigating the Path to Success by Jennifer Probst

FRIENDSHIP

Those involved in the romance community know that it’s a place where lifelong friendships grow and thrive. For many, romance novels have led to some of their most rewarding relationships.

  Romance unites all of its readers along several, timeless journeys to the HEA. And especially those HEAs for All. The Romance Community is the most welcoming and inclusive group I have ever had the pleasure to learn from and collaborate with in my entire library career

— Frannie’s Romance (@FranniesRomance) January 31, 2018

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  Some(most) of the best person I’ve met on Twitter are from Romancelandia. Books I never knew existed that I can see myself in were rec’d by the romance community. Even encouragement to continue my own writing.

— L. Anthony Graham (@Grey_Books) January 31, 2018

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  My best friends and I used to share romance from around age 12 (starting with Rebecca Brandewyne- swoon). Even though we all moved away, we still share books (the postage is insane). When they were my bridesmaids, they quoted ‘Desire in Disguise’ in their speeches.

— Sharon Ibbotson (@seibbotson) January 31, 2018

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  M/M romance introduced me to a whole new genre I never knew existed. It also introduced me to some of the best friends I’ve ever known.

— Steve Leonard (@stevetleonard) January 31, 2018

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  Romance has given me a community of friends in my country and around the world. I’ve met (in person) fellow readers from the US to Australia, and I take an annual vacation with romance reader friends. We are a worldwide community, both online and in person.

— Mary Lynne Nielsen (@emmelnie) January 31, 2018

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SUPPORT

The romance community has given a lift to many of its members during times of sorrow, loss and pain, and when encouragement is needed, a kind word, gift, or just a response on social media can make a difference.

  They saved me when I was at rock bottom. One friend, one gesture. A novel in a plastic bag left by my door – the game changer. I was able to lose myself in a book for a moment of peace and find perspective that grew to a renewed love for reading and my passion for writing.

— Heather Castle (@AuthorHCastle) February 1, 2018

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  Without the romance community, I wouldn’t have met a number of my closest friends. I wouldn’t have the career I do now. Without their support, I’m not sure how I would have made it through the death of my mother 6 years ago.

— Lynda the Guppy (@FishWithSticks) January 31, 2018

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  This is the best writing community. We have each other’s backs, are always there to support each other through both highs and lows. I’ve never been apart of a community that is so welcoming and understands my struggles so completely.

— Tricia Lynne (@tlynne67) January 31, 2018

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Online Course: Writing the Romance Novel | March 8, 2018 with Elizabeth Delisi

INSPIRATION

It’s no secret that books are inspiration, but those who’ve never read a romance novel might make a lewd joke about just what it is they inspire, rather than understanding the difference romance novels have made in readers’ lives.

  A romance series was why I joined the US Navy.

— Black Claire Beauchamp (@synonymsoflove) February 1, 2018

    Thank God, I found romance novels at 11. Helped me with the learning disability I had since 2nd grade. Now working on second MA and a published author.

— Nikki Prince (@AuthorNPrince) January 31, 2018

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  Started reading romance as a teen. They taught me I could ask for what I wanted in the bedroom. That agency parlayed into a 12-year career selling sex toys and education women. PLUS was part of impetus in creating my subscription box @bawdybookworms

— Thien-Kim Lam (@thienkim) January 31, 2018

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EMPOWERMENT

Race, sexuality, gender, economic status… it’s all that and more. Romance is about hearing the message of “yes, you can” and “it’s okay to be who you are, you will be loved.” Not just representation, but encouragement and acceptance.

  Well I finally discover/acknowledge my asexuality because of reading romance. Will never know otherwise. Especially since I come from culture that do not talk about sex openly

— Ami (@amiesavitri) January 31, 2018

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  I have found romance novels (of all varieties) empowering. Romance is a place where women were at the center (I’ve been reading them for 35+ years when primarily were m/f). Women had a voice. Their desire for love, careers & love, sex, etc were important.

— Jennifer Porter (@JenniferRNN) January 31, 2018

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  There’s Ayaan Hirsi Ali’s memoir Infidel, where she talks about her youth in a repressive environment, esp. for females, suffered FGM, and how romance novels gave her a glimpse into a world where women expressed their desires and were treated with respect.

— Sabine Sur (@sabinesurlalune) January 31, 2018

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ESCAPE

Yes, romance offers hope, representation, empowerment, inspiration, friendship and support, but, at the end of it all, romance readers can rely on a sense of optimism and the promise of a happy ending.

  I started reading romance novels while was undergoing cancer treatment. I needed positive, escapist stories that promised a HEA.

— Tracey/Alanna is ready for spring (@TA_Martin) January 31, 2018

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  Romance novels were my reward, my self-care, as a social worker. After witnessing such human suffering, I needed the stories of love and redemption romance novels promised in order to keep me going.

— HarperKincaid (@HarperKincaid) January 31, 2018

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Without romance novels, I wouldn’t be who I am today. I wouldn’t be doing a job I’m so thankful for, in a marriage with my best friend, a parent to a beautiful daughter, a believer in social justice and equality, a friend you can count on, and a person who believes in love and happily ever afters. Those might be my words, but it’s already easy to see I’m not alone. Read a romance. Who knows, it may just change your life too! #romancepositive

  It brought me to my people, the only ones who really understand me.

— Cassandra Carr (@Cassandra_Carr) January 31, 2018

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  Angela James, editorial director of Carina Press, an adult genre fiction imprint of Harlequin, is both an avid reader of digital books and a veteran of and advocate for the digital publishing industry. She has enjoyed fifteen years of experience in her field, including successfully launching, building and serving as editorial lead for two digital-first presses: Samhain Publishing and, since 2009, Harlequin’s Carina Press. She has edited bestselling authors such as Alexa Riley, Shannon Stacey, Jaci Burton, Lauren Dane, Ilona Andrews, Lilith Saintcrow, Shelly Laurenston and more. She was profiled in Fast Company magazine as a digital pioneer in the romance publishing industry, has been named New York Romance Writers of America’s 2013 Golden Apple Editor of the Year, and is the creator of Before You Hit Send, the popular online self-editing and writing workshop for authors. You can find Angela on Twitter at @angelajames.

The post For the Love of Love: 8 Benefits of Reading & Writing Romance Novels appeared first on WritersDigest.com.

from Writing Editor Blogs – WritersDigest.com http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/questions-and-quandaries/romance-writing/8-benefits-reading-writing-romance-novels

[dawnkiwi-blog]

Fortune of A Broken Man - Chapter 2 - Avengers fanfiction | James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes-centric // dawnkiwi

Word Count: 2,340

Chapters: 02/50 Status: Finished prior to publishing

Trigger warnings: Vulgarity / allusion to schizophrenia / mentions and explorations of mental illness / war and PTSD

2: Girl

The door slid open with a hiss, permitting a perfectly sculpted blond man entrance.

This must be Steve Rogers, Lizbeth thought.

“Hi, Miss Burke?” he said, smiling warmly. She saw through it, though. He was tense and distinctly uncomfortable.

“Hey, man,” she replied, offering her hand. “Yep, I’m Lizbeth Burke, and soon enough you’ll have Barnes back to being your friend.”

He took the proffered hand and shook with a strong grip. “Right,” he said, unsure of what else to say.

“I called you up here because I’m going to require your assistance in establishing Barnes surrounds to him.”

The Captain shifted wearily, “I’m sorry, Miss Burke, but I don’t know what I can do to help him. He’s so..”

“So lost,” she said, nodding. Turning towards the window before them, she beckoned him over. He moved to stand beside her cautiously.

“I know that this is going to be very painful for you,” she said quietly, eyes locking onto his, “But whatever pain you will feel during this process, is the equivalent to what Barnes will feel as a sense of relief.”

He shook his head with well-disguised grief, “I don’t understand.”

Lizbeth gave her toothpick another crunch, internally laughing at his discomfort in her presence. She would have to see him away from Barnes and fuck with him a little.

“Barnes is a very broken man, Mr Rogers. I’m sure you’ve seen that. But the extent to which it runs is immeasurable. He does not know who he is, where he is, and I doubt he knows the year or even his age. So what I want you to do is speak to him. The dossier,” she said, looking around for the manila file she had discarded shortly before Fury had told her to get the hell out of his lab. It lay strewn on its side beside a leather couch set up for ‘viewing’. Her lip curled at the thought. She snatched it up, and leafed through it, passing him a sheet of paper. “-states that Barnes recognised you once on the helicarrier, and then again when you tracked him with Mr Wilson to Bucharest. Is this correct?”

Rogers nodded tentatively, still scrutinising her with his pearl blue eyes.

“Would you mind telling me what you said to him that could have jogged his memory?”

Rogers shifted on his feet and turned back to face Barnes prone form. He stayed silent for some time, allowing Lizbeth to drink in his body language.

He shook his head mutely. “I..”

Lizbeth reached up to his considerable height and patted him on the shoulder, “It’s alright, Captain, take your time. We’re in no rush. How about you have a seat?” she said, falling onto the couch with a thump and patting the cushion beside her. “How about some coffee?”

He stared at her with an unreadable expression.

Settling into Tony’s overpriced but overly comfy couch, she stared back. Black met blue in a dead quiet staring contest.

He cracked, licking his lips before he spoke. “Why are you here?”

“That’s a stupid question, Rogers.”

He frowned, irritated. “I’m asking you why you’re the person Fury has hired.”

“You don’t trust his judgement, Cap?”

He stayed mute, unwilling to disagree with his superior, nor voice his true objections. She sighed. Part in parcel of job detailed dealing with some of the most difficult people on the planet.

“I understand,” she offered dryly, “I’ve been entrusted with the wellbeing of your oldest friend. That hits a nerve because of what he’s been through. You don’t know me, or anything about me, and I could singlehandedly fuck him up even more. Correct?”

He flinched at her use of language, but nodded with a strained face, unwilling to meet her eyes. “Your file tells me nothing more than you’re a shrink who Stark likes.”

“I think like is an overstatement, but sure. Has Tony told you much about his time prior to the Avengers?”

The Captain scoffed, “Stark and I don’t really talk, Mss Burke.”

She filed that away for later. “Right. Well, what do you know about him?”

“Let’s see- genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Sound familiar?”

“Not much, then,” she replied with a hint of amusement. “You’re going to have to get to know him at some point. After all, you live in his tower. Anyway, Tony isn’t a horrible as you think he is. He has his own issues, and he’s been through his fair share of torture. Pepper hired me some years back, and Tony appreciated the work we accomplished together. He’d be a lot worse now if it weren’t for me.”

Rogers raised his eyesbrows, as though to question her self-assured manner.

“We both know you could end me before I could say a word, Cap. I’m not going to hurt your friend. It’s not professional.”

“That’s what you think of me?” he bit out harshly, “That’s I’d end you for not doing your job properly?”

She hummed, “Not necessarily. But I’m aware of the lengths you’ll go to in order to protect those you love.”

If it were possible, Steve Rogers seemed even more irritated than before.

“Look, what exatctly do you want me to do?”

She smiled. “When he wakes up, I want you to be in the room. He will recognise you, and if it goes badly, you won’t die. Unlike previously,” she muttered angrily. “He’ll be awake in, oh, five or so minutes? Whadda ya say?”

Rogers didn’t want to say anything, but he’d do almost anything for James Barnes. “Alright,” he said stifly.

Lizbeth stood abruptly, clapping her hands, “Great! I’ll open the door and you can take a seat across from him. Or stand, if you like. I’ll be able to hear you, and you’ll be able to hear me, but neither of you will be able to see me.” She rapped her knuckles on the window, “It’s a mirror. Supposedly.”

When his eyes opened, the first thing he saw was a blond man sat resolutely across from him. Blue eyes met in silence. He looked familiar… very familiar. James made to move but found himself tightly restrained.

“Bucky?” The other man said cautiously. James stared at him.

“..yeah,” he rasped, shaken. “…Steve?”

Steve Rogers let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Bucky,” he repeated, almost breathlessly. “You know who I am?”

He nodded back, swallowing. “Yeah, I… I rem-” Steve cut him off with a raised hand, quickly moving to his side.

“Here, drink.” Steve demanded gently, bringing a cool glass cup to the man’s parched lips. As much as he felt pathetic, and somewhat emasculated, he drank greedily, thankful for the relief.

Placing the cup down, Steve stared at him deeply, scrutinising the soldier restrained like a dog.

“You’re in a secure facility, Buck,” Steve said quietly, “Nobody can hurt you here.”

James stared back, his mind frayed and confused. “How long?”

Steve sighed, “A week and a half.”

His mind swirled. The last thing he could clearly recall was Bucharest, and then there were vague moments of a black man.. Challa, or something like that. As his memories tried to worm themselves back into his conscious, Steve cleared his throat.

“What do you remember?”

James shook his head slowly, as much as he could with the thick strap nearly strangling him. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “I remember Bucharest.. those people.. and I remember the stairwell. Everything else is a blur. What happened?”

Steve placed a hand on his shoulder in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture, but it just felt foreign, and strange. “It’s a long story, Buck.. We’re going to help you recover your memories. But just rest, okay? You are safe. I’m not going anywhere.”

James tried to relax, but with each moment that passed, he grew more and more tense. “Where are we?”

“New York. After Bucharest, we were in Wakanda, but you’ve been brought back to America for rehabilitation.”

He tensed fully at Steve’s words.

“Not that kind of rehabilitation,” Steve said quickly, growing worried. “You’re not going to be used, Buck.”

He wanted to laugh at that. Also a foreign feeling. For them to not be used was an entirely stale idea. Of course, he wasn’t sure why, but knew HYDRA used him. Forced him. And Steve was certainly still on active duty.

There was a buzz, which had him stilling to a statue.

“Mr Rogers, can you try to prompt Mr Barnes memory on who he is?”

Steve’s eyes slid shut with a hearty sigh. He mumbled some unintelligible. Clearing his throat, he looked up at James.

“You heard the woman,” he said tersely. “Do you know who you are?”

“Who is that?” He replied quickly, eyes darting to the two-way mirror on the wall.

“Miss Burke,” Steve replied, shaking his head. “She’s here to help you regain your memories. Ignore her.”

James couldn’t do that. Both of them knew that. As a trained assassin, he couldn’t ignore anyone. He could pretend, but his senses would still analyze their intentions. James stared searchingly into Steve’s eyes, silently questioning if he could trust her. Almost imperceivably, Steve hesitated, but Lizbeth was the only one to pick up on it. Steve nodded.

James cleared his throat, thinking over how he could answer without giving this hidden woman information for blackmail.

“My name is James Barnes,” he replied, almost a question. “We were.. soldiers.. commandos..?”

Steve nodded encouragingly, eyes searching him with hope. “The Howling Commandos.”

“You were the leader… Captain.. we grew up together, didn’t we?”

Steve looked like he wanted to cry. Almost. “In Brooklyn. You used to call me punk.’

That jogged his memory. It came rushing back like a kick to the head. A small boy, almost hilariously short for his age. Scrawny. Sickly, even. But defiant.

"You were, Steve,” he choked, trying to come to terms with this sudden past he didn’t feel was truly his. It hurt. It stung. The information was so abrupt, it quickly began to overwhelm him. “Scrawny and always looking for a fight. A damn death wish.”

They both went silent. Steve quietly disgesting that, perhaps, his hopes were not truly unfounded, and maybe Bucky would be whole again. And James because he didn’t know what he didn’t know. He’d been awake for only moments it felt, but his mind was racing, trying to comprehend where reality met conditioning. It was too much.

The buzz rang out again. “That’s enough for today, Mr Rogers. You may release him from his restraints,” Lizbeth’s disembodied voice spoke. “Mr Barnes, Mr Rogers will return soon with a dinner for you, and a sleeping aid, if you are amiable. You are under no obligation to consume either.”

Steve stepped back into the hall, and moved around the corner to face Lizbeth, wno stood with a ring binder in hand. He looked worn, and aged, but infuriatingly enough, he still retained an almost perfect composure.

She smiled at him softly. “That went well,” she said, dropping the binder to the couch. “You did well, Mr Rogers.”

He nodded to her, but his eyes didn’t focus.

“If it isn’t too much to ask, would you prepare Mr Barnes a meal he favored when you were young? I could do it, but you have the knowledge of a proper 40’s meal.”

He shook his head quickly, “No, I’ll do it.”

Lizbeth smiled again. “Soon, preferably. When you serve it to him, don’t try to force the sleeping pill on him, but suggest it. Otherwise he won’t sleep at all.”

Once Steve had departed, Lizbeth turned back to Barnes to find him pacing in front of his cot. Somebody has placed a tacky Captain America blanket on it with matching pillows. She fought the urge to facepalm.

“That won’t seem suspicious at all,” she sighed.

Barnes knew she knew, that he knew she was watching him. The air was silent bar the soft static of the AC, and Barnes calculated and even footsteps. He stood tall, but hunched, with pinched features and a growing tension between his shoulder blades. Lizbeth wondered what he would do if she just… left his door unlocked. Not that she would.

He wouldn’t take the sleeping pill. He’d be stupid to. She wouldn’t take it, either. It could be cyanide for all he knew. But by introducing the concept, he would eventually allow himself a full nights sleep. She bet herself it would be no less than three weeks, and no more than six.

The food was necessary. He’d die in a few days if he didn’t. So far he had only been fed by IV, and that was only giving him nutrients. Without fat and carbs, he’d lost approximately ten pounds over the last week. And prior to that, Dr Cho had estimated he’d been nearly eight days without food.

The wonders of super serum.

With whatever depression-era food Steve cooked up, Barnes would likely experience another torrent of memories. Taste and smell are the two most powerful senses closely following hearing and touch, and with his enhanced everything, it would certainly remind him of his past.

So far he seemed to recall his name, and snippets of his past. Likely a recollection of childhood or teenage memories, and most probably only those featuring Steve. What was most important were the foundations of her person; his formative years and his service to America. Those pertaining to HYDRA would be addressed at a later date, when Barnes broached the subject himself. She was weary of doing it before he had a grounded sense of person, lest she trigger an appearance of the Winter Soldier. In fact, she still didn’t know he exact words used to activate his split personalities.

Lizbeth chewed on a new toothpick. This would be an interesting test of endurance on his part.

A/N: Well there you go, a second chapter for the second day of publishing. The next two chapters are of the same pace, until the end of chapter 4, which is when things begin to bubble and brew.

[dawnkiwi-blog]

Fortune of A Broken Man - Avengers fanfiction

James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes-centric | #2 in the Wretched Adrenaline series

Summary: Barnes is transferred from Wakanda to NYC at the behest of Tony Stark. Tony then hires a personal friend and mentor, Lizbeth Burke, to unscramble Barnes' fried brain. Barely visible on the horizon, enemies stir.

Featuring: Bucky Barnes x Lizbeth Burke Steve Rogers Wanda Maximoff Erik Selvig Darcy Lewis

Genres: Horror/Drama

Word Count: 2,442 Chapters: 50 Status: Finished prior to publishing

Trigger warnings: Vulagarity / allusion to schizophrenia / mentions and explorations of mental illness / war and PTSD

Opening: Up In Arms

Bleak. The first feeling he was met with happened to be a crummy, filthy bleakness. The type of grating numbness that accompanies extreme agony.

A hell few know; only those with trauma and scars deeper than a ravine can sympathise, let alone empathise, with the sort of acute dissonance the man in the straps felt.

Who was he?

He didn't know. Glimpses of winter, crimson, and the fleeting sounds of groaning metal and screaming engines ghosted through his dazed mind. It disappeared faster than he could register having experienced it.

Something in the back of his mind pulled him forth into consciousness, and the man's eyes shot up, drinking in the agonising, blinding whiteness before him.

A voice somewhere- behind you -spoke swiftly, spitting out foreign sounding memories. He knew what they were saying but it didn't make any sense.

Neutralise.

Acid pumped through his veins. It carried a wildfire of panic; white hot fear and symbiotic rage. Reaching behind him, the man felt his knuckles connect with flesh. A crunch filled the air. That language he recognised fluently.

The fear told him that these people were the wrong people. The rage spoke volumes- his target (his mission?) had disappeared. He had been compromised. No, It. It had been compromised.

Neutralise.

His vis- its vision focused. A woman and a man. Two people directly in front of It, another behind, countless unseen. White lab coats.

Its handlers wear white lab coats, but these ones are nondescript; that haunting red star absent from their lapels.

Wrenching forward towards them only to have thick straps halt Its attack, the Lab Coats stumbled back and fell with fear into the wall behind them.

More words were yelled and It felt meaty hands clamp down on both shoulders.

It roared, and with a grunt swung sharply to the right, landing another crunching blow. A shriek echoed around the room, and the grip on It weakened for a moment.

It was all It needed.

Another hearty lurch forward and the straps snapped, allowing It to careen towards the Lab Coats. Sinewy arms locked around the woman, tightening across her neck before throwing her to the side with a sickening crunch.

She lay lifeless in on the floor.

Its heartbeat steadied as Its conditioning directed the next fatal blow. One sharp punch from the left arm and the man went down, too.

The yelling increased in volume and number.

Through Its hair, It spied the large man who must have been restraining It. Taking a step forward, Its left arm reached the man, with a glinting silver hand closing around his neck.

"Barcala!"*

Cold darkness washed across It.

"You fucking idiot," a small woman snapped brashly. Taking a weighted step towards the sallow-faced man with the intent to smack some sense into him, she was stopped by Nicholas Fury who stepped between them.

"Sit down," he ordered. "We've already lost two lab technicians, we don't need you taking the life of another."

She barked a laugh out, shaking her head. "Oh, and who's fault is that? I told you not to put untrained techs in that lab, and yet there you went, throwing them into his fucking chambers. This one is on you, Fury."

Restrained anger stared back at her from his good eye.

"What?!"

He pointed behind her at the door. "You need to calm down, Miss Burke. Take some time and come back when you can start working again."

She didn't bother to deign him with a response. Twisting around to leave, she made sure to slam the door behind her.

"Useless baboons," she muttered angrily, storming down the sleek white corridors. "Never trust anyone with the jobs you can do yourself."

Making her way towards the elevator, Miss Burke- Lizbeth Burke -felt the chip on her shoulder grow.

She had been hired some months prior by the ever enigmatic Tony. In the years past she had worked with him, acting as a live-in shrink and generally helping him organise his mind. Initially hired by Pepper to help counsel the trauma inflicted on Tony by the Ten Rings, she eventually ceased the therapy in favour of advising the billionaire Avenger on the psychology behind those who he sought to destroy.

After the events in New York, in which Loki had probably given most of the city's population some form of PTSD, Lizbeth had found herself in between a rock and a hard place. The offer of employment by SHIELD was an enticing one; given her deliciously accumulating debt, the pay had her hesitating to turn them down. But the end result meant she would have to become a live-in shrink for the higher ranking employees and likely the Avengers themselves.

That headache had her saying no and cutting the phone line from her shitty apartment.

Then, of course, Tony had made another grave mistake- albeit with good intentions- and suddenly NYC was pushing the ozone layer and a demented celestial freak threatening to wipe out humanity. That had been a fun time. The price of incalculable intelligence happened to be various forms of apocalypse and all the usual comic book jazz. Tony really needed a good hug and probably a Tempurpedic mattress.

The aftermath had been beyond biblical. In less than a week, all international flights had been grounded, and the UN disbanded, only to be replaced by a juiced-up version demanding the heads of the Avengers. Naturally, they had not obliged, and now with SHIELD technically disbanded, America had become a superpower in the sense of a merry band of severely traumatised superheroes. Nobody on a federal level could actually control them, and given the public favour the whole 'defenders of earth' thing had given them, they had been cautiously left alone by SHEILDs counterparts.

International relations were at an all-time low, but Wakanda had formed an intelligence deal with the United States, so they at least had that.

Her bills had gone sky high as well as her bank interest, though.

Now, two and half years since Loki had bullied Earth, Tony was at her door waving a pretty green cheque in her face and offering her accommodation in his egotistical popsicle of a tower. He had also paid her debts off.

Money can do awful things to a person.

She sighed, stepping into the elevator and jabbing the button for the lobby.

Ugly elevator music attempted to soothe her on the way down.

"JARVIS, can you tell Tony to put some better music in these things? I feel like I'm Gatsby or something."

"Of course, Miss Burke," the charming English AI replied.

"Please and thank you," she muttered, stepping out into the bustling lobby of Stark tower.

Once she was out on the street, she let the blissfully ignorant hubbub of Manhattan wash over her and inhaled the fumes and grime of the Big Apple.

She fished a cigarette out of her pocket and raised it to her lips, intent on some carcinogenic relief.

"You know that will give you cancer, right?"

She slumped, groaning at the handsome sight of Sam Wilson. "Why won't you people leave me alone?"

He chuckled sheepishly, "Sorry?"

Lizbeth shook her head, "No, I'm sorry. How are you doing, Mr Wilson?"

He joined her, standing in a small industrial alcove beside the building's entrance. "I'm alright, but you don't seem to be," he probed. "Something the matter?"

"You mean you haven't heard?" she said, eyeing him. His silence prompted her to continue. "Two techs down in less than five seconds, courtesy of the Winter Soldier."

He sucked in a breath, tensing.

"Yeah," she said lowly, finally lighting her smoke. "Fury's had me studying him the last week. I submitted a report and he took it upon himself to have his people," she spat, "Give him some TLC. Now they're cooling off in the morgue."

Sam stayed silent and tense. The man needed a good massage. They all did. In the silence that ensued she inhaled deeply, feeling a bitter burn coat the back of her throat. Exhaling, she blew the smoke into his face. He winced, snapping out of it.

"It's been a while since we had a session," she said, staring at him intently.

"Yeah, I just.. I've been doing good recently. Steve's been trying to immerse himself in current culture and it's given me something to focus on."

She nodded, flicking the ashes on the pavement. "You know I'm only a text away, Butterfly."

His lips pursed fondly. "How's.. your research going?"

Now that was a good question. Good and bad didn't fit the bill; that was too subjective. She could say her research was progressing at a rate faster than expected, at least by SHIELD's expectations, but then again- their expectations were of a different calibre to her personal criteria.

"Things are developing as expected," she said, "In that, what HYDRA has done to the man exceeds what most could survive. Barnes is a wreck. Frankly, I'm surprised he's lived this long. And yet at the same time, it's a miracle he hasn't done more damage than he already has. I, personally, don't believe he is a lost cause."

Sam watched her intently. "You know how I feel about him, about all of it. Do you think it's justified?"

Another paradoxical question. "I think you are justified in your personal feelings towards him."

Sam just sighed, running his hands through his hair. She stared at him, lost in thought.

Lizbeth rarely felt emotions; rather, she experienced them but struggled to correctly process them. It leads to blunt speech and a complete obliteration of social cues. Not that Lizbeth couldn't read the cues or atmosphere, she just didn't give a damn to adapt to them. If people wanted to speak to her, they knew what they were getting into.

She had formed a comradery with Sam Wilson. The man had a standard form of PTSD. His experience in watching his best friend get knocked from the sky like a baseball had birthed a quiet pain in him. After being recruited by the great and holy Captain America, the former soldier had felt his wounds reopen. And of course, when Barnes had nearly killed the man atop the Helicarrier, the PTSD he had slowly been recovering from had been reborn like a demonic Jesus.

Sometimes it felt funny being a personal shrink to superheroes. When she'd been a child, one of the only programs she could glimpse on the old tube TV was an animated version of the Justice League. None of the Avengers had a JL feel, but she supposed Wilson would be Hawkman, and Clint would be Green Arrow.

"Well," Sam said, "Will you join Steve and I for a drink on Saturday?" Hope evident in his voice.

Lizbeth shook her head resolutely. "You know I don't mingle with you pringles."

He sighed, pushing off from the wall. "I think you need to socialise more than we need counselling."

She barked a laugh, flicking the butt to the pavement and stamping it out. "Now that, Wilson, is what makes you a funny man."

"I'll see you around?"

She nodded, fluttering her fingers in a farewell. "See you, soldat."

Harsh iridescent light scrutinised the immobile warrior as only inanimate objects can.

Chewing on a toothpick, Lizbeth stared at the prone form of James Barnes.

"Well?" Fury said.

Her eyes did not stray from Barnes. Unfocused but deep in thought, she gave the toothpick a particularly hard crunch.

"Do you want to know my thoughts on Barnes or your attempt at being an armchair psychologist?"

There was a vague grunt of resignation; Fury had been dealing with her for long enough to know when picking a fight was viable. Which would be never.

She spun around, pinning him with her pitch black eyes. Panda bags made them seem almost cartoonishly large, and the harsh lighting turned her almost paste white. A ghoulish figure if Fury had ever seen one.

"I think," she started, chewing musingly, "That I can have Barnes up and walking around the tower in less than a week. I mean I could have him at the dinner table with the Captain," she said with a grin, "tonight. But for safety's sake, you know that thing you didn't do earlier, I'd play Saturday as a good bet."

To Fury's credit, he didn't even twitch at the slight.

"Walk me through your method," he said, moving to stand beside her and watch Barnes.

Since a well-placed needle- rather, a thrown syringe from a higher ranking tech- Barnes had been out cold. Only three hours had passed since 'the incident' as it was now being referred to.

"Don't think that's a good idea," she mused.

Fury sighed. "Miss Burke, I cannot give you clearance to do anything unless I know what  you're doing."

"I don't need clearance," she said, shaking her head, "But I'll humour you. But, my dear man, if you try to undermine me, I'll be out of this tower and knee deep in southern mud before you realise I even knew."

It wasn't an idle threat, they both knew.

"So," she started, "What I'll be doing is fairly simple. I've read the dossier compiled on him and consulted Natasha on the 'Russian Methods'. What needs to happen first is Barnes understanding where he is. His dissonance is deep; when he doesn't know where he is, it means his mindset will not revert to Barnes, and he will remain the Winter Soldier."

Lizbeth tapped a small silver disk on the pane below the one-way window. "The microphone installed here will allow me to communicate with him for the time being. I'll require Rogers present as he is the only person Barnes knows he can trust, and also the only man who has knowledge on who Barnes really is. Once I've established 'first contact' and familiarised Barnes with the situation, I'll begin reconstructing his memories with associative prompts, imagery and lights."

"Seeing as he can't escape this awful room," she said with a disgusted glare at Fury's reflection, "The restraints can be removed. I want them gone, and his bed made properly. No white sheets or pillow. A quilt is important, as warmth is the opposite to his previous resting areas. He will be served old school American cuisine. Home cooked. Rogers can do that."

Fury stared at her with an unreadable expression. "Whatever happens," he said, "Is on you."

Lizbeth shimmied her eyebrows at him. "I know that."

"I'll leave you be then," he said, walking towards the door.

"Send Rogers up," she replied, "I still haven't met him, you know."

A/N: *Barcala is latin for an idiot, or a fool.

This is the second story in a 16 part series. This sounds like a lot, but keep in mind; this is already finished.

The first story is titled 'A Beautiful Mind' and is focused on Tony. ABM is finished and will be published soon.

It is NOT necessary to read ABM to understand this story.

The sequel to this fic is also finished, and so far I've typed and edited (sorta) 450k words. Can you believe that shit? I'm fucking amped over it.