#i dont know anymore why am i even uploading it

[giorgossou]

TW:DEATH

ART i did about ny grandmas funeral

[nxiispire]

Helloo

This is my first time doing requests and uhh

I was wondering if i can request a dom reader and sub tighnari in heat?? Like he just cant handle it anymore hhhhh he just needed to do something about it and the only person he can think of doing it with him is the reader-

i dont know how to do requests

|･ω･`)ﾉ a/n : here is the long over due tighnari fic, i am officially back from my hiatus but uploads may still be slow as i get back into the swing of thing :)

✰ Hot Faced .. !

[ Featuring ] -> Tighnari x reader

cw : gn!reader, handj0bs, riding, d0m!reader, sub!tighnari

The air around you started to cool down as the sun made its way over the horizon, glowing orange as it slowly disappeared. The forest didn’t get as cold at night as it did in the desert so you wouldn’t have to rush back to the village to avoid the night, but something else was causing you to pick up your pace, eager to get back.

Today you were surveying the forest with Tighnari, but about halfway through the day he had to excuse himself back to his house, saying he wasn’t feeling well and needed a rest. Quite honestly, you were worried about him as he barely ever misses out on duties and is very stubborn, even when sick. So, as soon as you finished your work, you made a beeline straight back to the village.

Finally, making it back to the village, you headed straight for Tighnari’s house and knocked on the door. At first, you hear nothing, but after a second knock, you hear a muffled groan through the door. Panicked, thinking he was in serious pain, you barged into his hut without waiting for a response. And the sight you saw only made your worries worse. He was curled up on his bed on top of a pile of blankets, only in his underwear, as his whole body was in a sweat. His ears perked up as he heard you enter the room. He looked at you, eyes wide.

"Tighnari, are you ok? You look horrible, well, not like that-"

Stepping closer, you paused mid-sentence, now having a better view of Tighnari’s state. Along with the sweat was a deep blush covering his face and hands, but the thing that made you stop in your tracks was his underwear. A visible bulge was evident beneath his wet, stained pants. Now you understand why he had looked so mortified when you entered the room, but now looking up at his face, his horrified look has relaxed into one of utter lust.

"Sorry… need help, please?" the way he stretched his “please” made it sound more like a whine, the sound causing your stomach to do flips.

" I-um I can get you someone to help? Someone more experienced," you rambled on, not really sure if he was suggesting you be the one to help him in that way. A part of you desperately wanted to be the one to help him, but on the other hand, you had minimal experience in this field, let alone experience with hybrids. You were pulled from your thoughts as you felt him grip your hand.

"Fennec foxes mate for life." You weren't sure what he wanted you to do with this information, but you waited patiently for him to elaborate.

“That's why,” he paused. “It needs to be you.” You swear your heart nearly shot out of your chest at his explanation, and god he looked so cute just looking up at you with those blown out eyes.

All you could do at that point was mutter “fuck” before positioning your knee between his legs and capturing his lips into a desperate kiss. The kiss was sloppy, but nothing less than passionate, releasing so many pent-up emotions. Knowing how much pain he was already in, you waste no time in ridding him of his boxers, wrapping your warm hand around his wet length. He moaned into your kiss as he immediately started to buck into your hand, doing the same thing he was doing to his pillow only moments earlier.

You guided him to lie down as you sat on his thighs, slightly hovering over him as you continued to make out. As much as you wanted to never leave, you parted from his lips, moving your head to between his neck and shoulder, licking and sucking on the sensitive flesh. You hadn’t even noticed he came until you leant up to check on him after his whines sounded somewhat pained. Of course, any worries of him being in pain left as you take in the view of his cum solid stomach, his cock still painfully hard.

“Please, just wanna be inside you, need it.” Even if you wanted to be mean and deny him the pleasure of fucking you, you couldn't deny the need to feel him either. Taking off your pants, you sink down onto his length, humming at the pleasurable feeling of being full. On the other hand, Tighnari was barely keeping it together, head thrown back, nails gripping your hips as he let out the most erotic sounds.

Wanting to hear more of him, you wasted no time moving yourself up and down on him, hands balancing on his chest as you play with his sensitive nipples.

“Ahh! O.. Oh!... Aghh! Uughh!” He let out, drool beginning to slide down the side of his mouth. Even with the quick tempo you kept, he still thrust his hips up, as if it were insufficient. Not that you were complaining. You could feel yourself get lightheaded as he hit all the right spots inside of you.

“Haah.. Ooh god, I'm gonna cum! Pleaseplease let me cum inside! Ughhh Pleeeaase.” Of course, you couldn't deny him, especially as you were on the cusp as well. As you groaned out permission, it only took a few seconds before he was spilling himself deep inside you, your orgasm following quickly behind.

Coming to your senses, you looked down at your lover, laying there covered in sweat. You can't help but smile and he lays there, eyes closed, with a dopey smile on his face.

[reds-skull]

BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

The finale! Post script will be uploaded right after this, fair warning it's a damn long one lol

Thank you for reading this far, this chapter is called "Where All Permanence Rests". Enjoy!

Edit: I forgot to add the final poem before, it's fixed now!

Page 67 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 18:

The village people, hearing of the hunter’s fall, Find before them, the Blind man and the Beast, Yet they do not look with malice, they do not fear, As the veil has been taken away, their eyes see truth, That this is no Beast, but a man. The Beast, the Cursed Man, He does not rejoice, for the Blind Man has seen him justly, When all saw a monster.

Isla,

I don’t think I’ve ever written an actual letter, like this. Certainly not in circumstances like these. But this is the most secure way to contact you. I shouldn’t talk to you at all, if we’re being honest, but… I couldn’t just leave without a word.

In the following weeks, or days (depending on when this letter will reach you), you will receive news that John MacTavish is dead. And for all intents and purposes, in all ways but physical, I am dead.

I’m writing this to apologize, and to thank you. 

Simon never thought he would return to Mexico by his own volition. Even before Soap, he refused to take jobs anywhere near Central America.

Only Johnny could give him enough strength to be here.

It also doesn’t hurt that they’re not here to fight the cartel.

“déjennos en paz!” a man screams further down the cobbled street. ‘Leave us alone.’ 

From the American-accented shouts that follow, the man’s pleas are ignored, “donte esta el Irani?!”

A woman joins the man, screaming that they don’t know. Simon continues sneaking past dark roofs. They can’t afford to attack just yet - their target has far too many soldiers in their disposal at the moment.

A couple of shots ring out, making his steps falter. The woman screams in anguish. He closes his eyes, attempting to not sink into the familiar embrace of cold indifference, like his instincts tell him to.

Being more than a weapon has its downsides.

“Ghost?”

“Johnny. Solid?” Simon answers on their private comm line, his partner’s voice relieving some of the uncomfortable ache cinching at his guts.

“Aye. Think I can see ye.”

He looks around for a moment, finding the red skull mask across several rooftops, crimson barely visible in the low light, “did you find any sign of the Vaqueros?”

Simon can almost feel Soap’s frustration from here, “negative. Only thing Ah’m seeing are American bastards and fucking corpses.” he grunts, “feels like the Hunter all over again…”

“Focus, Sergeant.”

“I am, LT.” he watches Soap’s form disappear between buildings, “gonna get on the ground, search for anyone we could rescue.”

“Copy, I’ll keep an eye on Graves.” Simon clicks off, knowing they both need the silence. 

I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better brother to you. That I couldn’t take my head out of my arse and simply live a normal life, be normal. I think I never learned how to. But you deserved better. Could you tell maw I’m sorry as well? I don’t think I’ll make it to Christmas in the next… However long I have left to live.

Don’t worry about me (I know you always do, and always will), this is why I wanted to thank you.

After you called, on the day I got the notice of the eviction… I realized I couldn’t do this anymore. Couldn’t pretend I was fine, couldn’t keep this same, soul-crushing monotony, day in, day out.

Laswell contacted them two days ago, asking them to land in Las Almas and keep an eye on an American PMC called “Shadow Company”. They came to Mexico to collaborate with Mexican Special Forces to capture an Iranian and his stolen missiles. On paper, the citizens of Las Almas shouldn’t have been involved at all.

Graves and his Shadows move to another building, where several men have been rounded and lined up against a wall.

Reality never seems to match what’s on paper, when it comes to wars.

The Shadows lift their rifles, and shoot the civilians.

They don’t know what made Graves turn. But that’s not Simon and Soap’s job to figure out. Their only interest is to minimize civilian life loss and rescue the Vaqueros, the Mexican soldiers the Americans betrayed.

A weak voice on the other side of the block catches his attention. Simon makes the split second decision to take his eyes off Graves and investigate.

“No- let her go!” a woman, a mother, screams at a Shadow ripping a child away from her.

The kid in his arms cries, “Mommy! Mommy!”

“What do you think you’re doing, I’m with the police-!”

Simon catches another soldier moving to shoot, and in a flash, he takes hold of two throwing knives, and buries them deep within the Shadows’ throats.

The policeman and his family look at the soldiers fall with horror and confusion. Simon jumps down, revealing himself.

“Find a vehicle, and get out of the city. The Americans are not going to stop until they find what they want.” he grounds, staring at the cop’s eyes.

The mother asks shakily, “what- why are they doing this-?!” but the cop pushes her and the child, nodding grimly to Simon.

He climbs back up not a moment later. A voice in his mind tells him this maneuver might’ve costed him his cover, but alongside it, Simon doesn’t feel regret. He has learned to appreciate any win, no matter how small. And for those people, it is not small.

So I ran. I can’t tell you to where. I can’t tell you what I found there.

But I can tell you who I met. He’s… fuck, how could I describe him?

He was such a cunt at first, you would’ve ripped him a new one. But I learned he was also running away, in his own way. That he’s been running for a long, long time. And when I met him, when we actually started working with each other…

I felt like I was alive for the first time in a year.

“Ghost” Johnny startles him from thought, “found a Vaquero. Yer…?”

“Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra. Who are you?” a farther voice barely comes through the radio.

“Soap. Laswell sent us.”

“Kate Laswell? Are you with Shepherd?!”

Simon grinds his teeth, “we’re not under anyone’s command, Parra. Not military.”

“You’re… you’re mercenaries?” he can hear Parra curse under his breath, “is it just you two?”

“Aye” Soap answers, “Laswell hasn’t burned ye yet - she asked us to help ye.”

The Sergeant Major seems to sigh in relief, hopelessness coloring his next words, “I’m glad. Though… no.”

He sounds more assured when he speaks again, “my soldiers and Colonel have been captured by Graves. I’ll need any help I can get to rescue them.”

“You got it.” Simon rumbles, “any intel on their location?”

“Negative. Alejandro has a safe house outside the city, I might be able to find out if we get there.”

“Alejandro?” Soap asks.

“My Colonel.” Parra says, noticeably sadder than before.

“We’ll get him back, mate.” Soap attempts to comfort, “Ghost, still got eyes on Graves?”

Simon internally grimaces, “...negative. Had to help some civvies.”

He didn’t expect the pride in Johnny’s voice, but in hindsight he should’ve, “understood. Ye see the church tower from here?”

Simon looks at the far distance, a tall building lit by an orange glow towers over the city, “affirm. Lets RV there.”

“Aye. Keep yerself safe.”

“You too Johnny.”

I don’t know how, but I have the feeling me and him were meant to meet. Not in a soulmate kind of way… I’ve been feeling things like that a lot, since I ran. Like this is where I would’ve always ended up being.

You will not meet me again, most likely. Me and him… Just our presence will put you in danger. There’s a reason they had to kill us both on paper. Can’t tell you what we’re doing that required that, but you know I was never one to stick to things like “rules” and “laws”.

We’re not alone in this, we have allies, people that want to do good, but are stuck in a system that refuses to change to do that good. I wish you never experience the amount of evil truly festering this world, and we are fighting so you never will.

He begins combing the streets for Graves’s trail, mostly tuning out the conversation between Soap and the Sergeant Major. From what he does listen to, Graves’ betrayal seemed to come out of nowhere - they had successfully disarmed a missile not a day prior, having interrogated a cartel lord who aided the Iranian.

They were so close to finishing the mission. Which is why, when the Shadow commander turned around and stabbed them in the back, only Parra managed to shake off the shock and escape.

Graves is still on the hunt for the Iranian, convinced he’s hiding in Las Almas, while also searching for Rodolfo. It won’t look good for business if he can’t wrap up things cleanly, Simon muses darkly. He had enough encounters with PMCs in the past to know how they operate.

He eyes a group of Shadows standing around a couple of fresh bodies, all seemingly focused on their comms. 

After a few moments, one of them answers to whoever is ordering them, “I’m here with a few others, sir, we can go search the area for the Mexican.” the soldier pauses to hear the response, “yessir! Let’s go, they spotted him at the northern plaza!”.

The group instantly starts sprinting, Simon following while radioing to Soap, “Johnny, Shadows heading to the northern plaza, said someone saw Parra!”

He hears the Sergeant Major through Soap’s comms, “mierda!”

Simon has to jump over an alley when the roof he’s been running on ended, “I’m on my way to you, can you hold them?!”

Soap huffs in a way that tells him he has something up his sleeve, “we’ll smoke up the plaza, they don’t know Ah’m here.”

He can just imagine Johnny’s sharp grin under his mask, “going undercover, hm? A man after my own heart.”

“Always, Simon.” Johnny whispers, just for his ears. Simon ignores the way it makes a shiver go down his spine.

Up ahead, a plume of smoke rises between buildings. Soap leaves his comms on, letting Simon hear how Johnny takes hostiles down one by one, going quiet until his cover is blown.

In the streets below, more and more soldiers funnel towards the plaza. Simon grits his teeth, pushing his legs to run faster. He will not let Johnny enter a losing fight, not if he can help it.

The shooting abruptly stops, making his heart still. A few moments pass before he can hear Soap’s voice growling, “let him go.”

He can hear the Shadows laughing, a churning noise grating on his ears. Simon slows, keeping to the swaths of darkness.

A half circle of Shadows formed in the plaza, Parra and Soap facing them. In the center, a shadow holds a pistol to a young boy’s head.

Simon doesn’t even attempt to swallow down the disgust that rises in his throat.

“No can do, pal. Drop your weapon and give us the cowboy, or the kid gets hit.”

He drops behind the Shadows, knife slipping down his sleeve silently. With careful steps, he closes in on the center soldier, while Parra curses at them.

Over the soldier’s shoulder, he meets Johnny’s eyes. With no words, they communicate. He waits for Soap’s signal, watching his Sergeant lower himself. To the Shadows, it seems like he’s bending down to place his SMG on the ground, but Simon can almost feel the tension coiling within Soap’s muscles, readying himself to fight.

“Alright, Alright!” Soap shouts, “I’m dropping my gun, just let the boy go.”

Johnny nods minutely. Simon strikes.

In a motion he’s done a million times before, the knife swings in an arc before burrowing into the Shadow’s neck. Simon doesn’t waste any time pushing the body aside, grabbing the young boy and pulling him back.

Soap snarls, righting his gun and spraying bullets to his left, clearing a path for him to take the kid and shove him into cover.

He swings around, ducking under a hostile’s incoming knife, unsheathing one of his own and easily stabbing it into the underside of his jaw. He throws it at another attacking soldier, noticing Soap and Parra being pushed back into a corner.

One of them gets the jump on Soap, the two falling to the ground in a struggle. His heart leaps to his throat, where it shouts, ‘Johnny!’

Simon takes a rifle off of a body, inhales to steady his breath.

Focuses his rage on the targets and shoots.

He drops the gun, rushing to Soap. The bodies on the ground don’t move.

A fast-paced chant screams in his mind ‘where is Soap is he broken is he dead have you failed him-’ 

“Ngh… Steamin’ Jesus, this fucker’s heavy.” Johnny grumbles, shoving the body covering his off.

Simon stares at him for a moment, before dropping to his knees and pulling him up. He searches for injuries on Soap’s body before two gentle hands stop him.

“Ah’m good, mo chridhe. Solid.” Johnny’s hands don’t let go, instead caressing his bloody palms.

An unexpected wave of emotion crashes into him, filling his lungs with warmth. He doesn’t know if it was the split second moment where he thought Johnny might be dead, or the gentle way he’s now comforting him, somehow always knowing when he’s panicked.

Maybe it’s all of it, that makes Simon blurt out, “I love you.”

And Johnny, despite having the majority of his face covered, looks up at him with so much care, blue eyes almost glowing behind the red mask.

Those eyes crescent with joy, Johnny pushing his forehead to bump against Simon’s in affection.

“I love ye too, Simon.”

And Simon finds himself thinking, that this is what he was meant to be.

Fighter.

Human.

Loved.

I’ll be trying to write as much as possible, but if this is the only letter you’ll ever get…

Just know that if I died, I went down fighting, and I went down with him. And I couldn’t have been happier with the way I lived.

I love you so, so much.

-J.M.

Page 100 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 20:

Where is your destination, now that the curse has been lifted, The Blind Man asks, with nothing but kindness on his tongue. I have no place to belong to, the once-Beast answers, Nowhere, but the path I walk with you, my fallen knight. Then we shall travel together, until we return to the earth, And perhaps, if God is to be so merciful, The paths we take will always, and forevermore, Be only by the side of the other.

[qumiiiquinnquin]

i feel like its better without my art out there, my ideas presented in visual form on a canvas. i feel like my art does nothing or does not leave impressions. i know thats not true because people compliment my art, and i should be grateful enough or that to not want to quit as badly as ive wanted to for several years. but others have much better ideas and have more creative ways of presenting it. others can actually get far with their art. they have a supportive circle that wants them to keep creating above and beyond. i have a lot to improve on, but the work it will take to improve is not my problem. its not really feeling like im never improving, though ive whined about that too. its just more, why am i creating? its okay to create simply for the sake of creating, its even okay to create for no particular reason. maybe its your reason to live. but what if you hate it? what keeps you going? what if you dont think you're good enough, what is the point in keeping this canvas open and continue working on this drawing? is it worth continuing to create? then what will you do without your passion?

i haven't completely given up yet because its admittedly difficult. i can despise my art but i often do come around or get myself to stop comparing myself to others or encourage myself enough that people like what i do - it does not have to be perfect or up to par with other people's talents. being a creative doesn't mean setting an unreachable bar for yourself. creating isnt a competition. even if i have such intense moments of hate that ive come close to deleting files and art programs and setting my physical art on fire, they do pass and im fine and open a canvas again. but its the fact that ive been feeling like this for years and overall do not like my art, even if i have improved and recognize that improvement. its something to be proud of for sure, and oftentimes i am. but i notice im becoming so unhappy with anything made by me that im even considering giving up, and feel so close to actually committing to it. ive been extremely upset with my art before, only in 2019 or 2020 did the thought of destroying my art start to form and become reoccurring. but if i did something like that, my plan wasn't to completely stop and give up. i wouldve picked up a pencil again several years later and give it another go. but im contemplating giving up completely and not doing it again at all now.

before i deactivate any of my accounts in the future for various reasons, my plan is to upload all of my works in progress. i want people to do what they want with them. i dont care what. i dont have any respect for my art anymore.

[qiscute]

so i watched pirated cats (NOT the movie i know better than that i was and still am obsessed with sideways youtube channel (still mourning their not uploading anymore)) and i honestly dont get why ppl hate it so much you get used to the furries after a while. furries arent even like bad or anything theyre just wearing makeup and fake fur. besides our entire society decided to normalise people dressing up in outfits made up of fucking random bright colourful shapes and sitting on the back of animals and whipping them so they run around in circles fast enough before they die an early death from being thrown off said animal. im just saying i think cats the musical is more normal than that

[cinnamons1999]

UPDATE TO THIS POST (TW FOR MENTIONS OF HARD DRUGS, SELF HARM AND SUICIDAL THEMES ON THAT POST)

also this post is QUITE LONG so if youre an "i aint readin all that" person (tbh me fr im just a yapper i cant listen for nothin) then maybe its best not to int w this post, cuz discussion will require you to read the entire thing for you to know what im on about.

TW FOR ( DRAWN AND MENTIONED) SH AND SADLY, MENTIONS OF ROMANTICIZATION OF SH, SUICIDE, DRUGS ETC.

ok so the prev post was about how much i realized menhera-chan was kinda like an inspiration to me, both in my art style and in the way i saw my own mental health. but honestly im way more detached from her now.

i've been clean for a good while since yk, its easier for me to distract myself from punching my own face now that i have wifey around. i honestly just dont think menhera-chan seems to encapsulate what menhera can be for me anymore, and knowing what type of person bisuko ezaki is i just don't feel comfortable knowing i used to look up to that work.

even with my recovery i still am going through therapy and potentially finding a diagnosis at the hospital, meaning i probably still have shit to work thru tho i cant predict the future

and with this i just dont relate to menhera-chan anymore, not just bcuz bisuko is a shit person but bcuz im more stereotypically masculine (obv, shes a girl in a sailor uniform what am i thinking), but bcuz even when some of the menhera-chan comic shorts seem genuine in the way they tackle self harm and mental health, but then i remember he made THIS ONE DRAWING (THIS IS NOT A CALLOUT POST. I HONESTLY JUST FEEL LIKE BRINGING THIS UP)

and apparently?? yamiko no seigi fetishizes girls who do SH, and even when im not a girl it all just feels less genuine bcuz of this. how u sexualizing SH yet still have comic shorts abt how you shouldnt upload your self harm scars bcuz ppl who romanticize SH could get to it.

(this comic short is the one im talking about btw)

it just feels less genuine to me bcuz of this, cuz if you really want to care abt mental health, spread awareness and share your struggle, then why make that shirt? thats just me tbh.

i've started liking the idea of making my own menhera mascot thing (menhera angel, who's kinda like menhera X by diy-menhera-blog in the way that they are completely genderless, also menhera angel is an angel ragdoll creature thing?? meaning they are completely raceless too.)

this image is also in a diff art post of mine.

my mental health has just gotten a bit better but cuz of therapy and school, and the stress of going to a gymnasium soon (yeah, SV system) i honestly just don't think im experiencing mental health struggles in a different way than menhera-chan is shown to be, and in a different way than most people who relate to menhera-chan/momoka sakurai do.

i respect those who are attached to her and can point out that ezaki bisuko is still a shit person but idk,, maybe when i can find community in the menhera space i can find others who are also not as attached to wrist-cut warrior manga like me.

just,, man. im really trying to find community w menhera people and in the menhera sphere so i hope i get welcomed with open arms but idk,,, (cuz a lot of menhera stuff crosses over w/ jirai and landmine and i feel like theyll see me as "too stable." n shit or just wont welcome me at all and will chase me out but thats just my anxiety talking.)

TL;DR: im more detached from menhera-chan's character cuz of bisuko himself and changes in my mental health, and i might find comfort in the menhera sphere if i get welcomed.

[latetothegameds]

Idk if you still feel like chatting and getting ask but i want to say I just absolutely adore your fics so much. Like I have reread them so many time and yet I still can not get bored like HOW DO YOU DO IT. Be it the characterisation and interactions ( my fav part ngl) or the porn it's just great all around LIKE OMG I am a DOG and I am FEASTING upon your writing everytime you upload something and EVEN THE THINGS I THINK I WONT ENJOY I END UP ENJOYING. HOW DO YOU DO THAAT

My favorite fic of yours HAS to be "All I Refuse" but i love all your fics in general. Your interpretation of the characters is god tier and your maxwil is even higher than!

I love your maxwil so much, you portray them so fucking well and it makes me go rabid each and every time. ITS JUST SO PERFECT. You write them the perfect amount of always fighting but still knowing theres a moment to be serious and a moment to be arguing, you can actually make them have some real fights and yet still get back together, you manage to portray the deep trust they have in each other in a way that doesnt make them just immediatly fluffy 24/7 because they still struggle with so many things and its just so normal to them they stil manage to me enamoured in each other your maxwil is probably amongst the first things that got me to fall in love with the ship.

And it's not just how you write characters that is genius, the way you write in general is. I love how you can manage to make the characters still speak into other languages without throwing me out of the story, the way other characters will answer to what was said in english so that even if you dont know exactly what was said you still have enough of the idea to not need to go to google translate for each and every sentence, the way you manage to know exactly when to and when not to translate in brackets, your clever use of words! English is not my first language and S&M is clearly not the easiest to read at all times due to the complicated language used sometimes and yet your writing makes it so easy to read it without needing to go to google search up what each and every single word means ( be it thanks to the way other characters react to the word or willow or some other character asking what it means )

I love your writing so much I'm really happy you decided to do shaking off the rust because I don't need to wait months upon months to see more of your stories anymore LOL ( this is a joke, take your time with s&m because I know it will be amazing each time! (But not too long! I need to know what happens next LOL!) )

But yeah love your stuff, too bad s&m is too tangled up with tickle porn for me to share it with any of my friends lmao ( they're just cowards who can't accept fine porn smh )

-Clam ( Sorry no pun this time!)

-Coconuts Live And Mine inthecaves

IT'S CLAM IT'S CLAM IT'S CLAM

Thank you so much for all your kind words! Honestly, I just kind of. . .write and see where it goes, I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing. I'm truly grateful for everyone that likes my writing - I never imagined people would actually enjoy it!

All I Refuse is actually one of my favorite fics, and I'm really proud of it. Not gonna lie, I love a good sappy wedding fic (even though it's less sappy and more just Maxwil arguing the whole time).

I didn't realize you weren't a native English speaker - could've fooled me! I'm always impressed by the amount of international readers I have, it makes me wish I actually spoke more languages so I could better communicate with you all. All of you are so good at English! I could never be that fluent.

Yeeeeeah. . .Smoke and Mirrors was supposed to be a self-indulgent one-shot, hence why it's so raunchy. It's kind of embarrassing to be honest 😅 But people seem to like it, so I guess I'm doing something right? I hope?

Thank you again, Clam! Hope to keep seeing you around ❤

[ecoamerica]

Apply or nominate: https://ecoamerica.org/american-climate-leadership-awards-2025/

Calling all organizations, individuals, and small businesses successfully engaging Americans on climate! Showcase your creativity and climate solutions by applying for @ecoamerica’s 2025 American Climate Leadership Awards. You can win $1K - $50K by submitting your efforts for consideration by a stellar line-up of judges and individuals leading on climate. It’s quick and easy to submit your application or nominate inspirational climate leaders. Apply or nominate today!

[cal-writes]

I FINALLY GOT AROUND TO CHECKING OUT THOSE WRITER ASKS, so excuse me, I'm going to disturb your schedule now with some things I want to ask. For 2023 review asks: 1, 3, 9, 23, 24, and 30 please. For the AO3 wrapped asks: 3, 5, 20, and 30, if you'd be so kind. Hope you are having an excellent time and lots of rest, Cal!

at least this time im at my computer and not on mobile so it will be infitely easier to reply! thank you <3

What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year? How did it turn out and would you do it again?

writing present tense actually! my dear beta has been suggesting it for years bc i mostly wrote past tense (or both i would switch in the middle of a work constantly, sorry @vaguelyreferential) so i dont even know what made me do it one piece fic just had the vibes for it i guess

What’s something you learned about yourself as a writer?

i write best at night and unfortunately like it best to write on my laptop. unfortunately bc i got an ergonomic keyboard for reasons and with the laptop thats not really compatible (i can of course conntect it but i like the vibe of the laptop yknow) i think it might have something to do with my double monitor setup on my main computer which tends to distract me so. fun things about being creative with adhd

What fic meant the most to you to write?

woof. thats a tough one. i mean to a certain degree they all mean something to me yknow. or i wouldnt write them. but i think meaningful to me personally is probably Salt of Midgar its the first long ongoing fic ive done in a while and i really tried to be consistent with uploads and stuff and try to hone the whole "done is better than perfect" with it. i sadly lost the consisitency with putting out chapters with it but i am still very dedicated to finishing it and plan to do it next year.

also have to say one of my unfinished 00Q fics has a soft spot in my heart bc i met my beta through it and got back into writing in the first place bc of the james bond fandom. i have planned to "reboot it" of sorts aka rewrite and actually finish it (bc its so old at this point my style wouldnt really work with it anymore and i also have no idea where i was going). it got shelved bc i got swallowed up my one piece fandom but yknow

Share the final version of a sentence or paragraph you struggled with. What about it was challenging? Are you happy with how it turned out?

“You don’t have to have all the answers for him right now, you know that right?” Kazuha told him gently and he glanced up, feeling small and terrified at the gulf that was opening in his chest. She smiled and nudged their joined hands. “Just talk to him and tell him the truth. Left to your own devices you two just reach the worst conclusions possible.” She added teasingly and Heiji felt himself snort. She had them there. “Communication.” She stressed in a tone of voice Heiji was too familiar with from their time as a couple.  With a final squeeze, he extracted his hands and groaned, letting his head hang over the back of the chair. “Why do I have to be the mature one? Why can’t he come talk to me?” He whined.  “Because Shinichi is emotionally stunted and you are better at interpersonal relationships than him.” She said placatingly and Heiji gaped at her. He narrowed his eyes at her. Kazuha grinned as innocently as possible. Oh, she was goading him.

this whole conversation from the third chapter of One Trick Pony probably. i struggled with that whole chapter in general a whole lot. this conversation originally took place on the train before i scrapped that location change so to speak and had them stay in kazuha's place. what was difficult at the time with that chapter is how miserable the characters were and i got really into that headspace which kinda made writing hard. but im glad with how it turned out in the end!

What's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

i think i have a lot of my "oho" moments when im not actively writing. such as kaito working for the friend of heijis mom. that was like a "yknow what would be funny" and then i implemented that and from that alone came The Simple Life of Kaito. otherwise my writing process is often just getting possessed by ideas and getting them out of my head the way they want it

What’s something that you want to write in 2024?

as said above i want to finish up Salt of Midgar which i think are 2-3 chapters by my last count.

i also had another one piece thing thats basically done that i need to polish up which is in universe and two other things that i might finish up ive been trucking away at those for a while. one is a sequel to laws eleven and the other is a new AU. also of course lucky charm. that reminds me i have to finish up the next chapter for that whoops

i'll post this now just so i dont lose it all but will reply to the other questions in a reblog!!

[dausy]

I never uploaded here, the other week I uploaded this. Some weeks ago, Grabie reached out to me and sent me some of their art products to review. Which was super cool. I am so thankful that so many companies have found me to let me try stuff. Lord knows I dont have a big following, I just really enjoy hoarding art supplies. It is just like the coolest thing ever this day and age to receive stuff like that via the internet. My hobbyist self is so thankful.

I just haven't felt like turning the internet on recently. I skipped this last week uploading to youtube and part of that was I just didn't feel like it but the other part was I worked a lot these past 2 weeks even though I put my foot down and said I wouldn't pick up extra anymore..I did end up picking up extra. Also, I had to do some boring adult chores and phone calls all that just takes so much time and effort.

I had to take my dog to the vet for her annual stuff last week and I would have rather have gone to the dentist for myself twice than do that again lol. I liked my old vet before we moved and I didn't jive with this place. Then on the way home my car started giving me funky warnings. So I had to take it to the shop. They told me a lot needed to be fixed which was already a fortune on top of paying for the dogs stuff. This is annoying but murphy's law states that if your spouse is gone for work, everything breaks. So I was already waiting for things to break and already had money set aside for when these events finally occur. So I had to spend half my day at this car place because I'm alone and have nobody to chauffeur me around. That zaps your energy.

My blessed coworkers were super sweet though when I told them about my car ordeal. They demanded to see my receipts and car (like they were physically at my car after work) and told me to never spend money like this without referring to them first because I probably got ripped off and they were concerned about my gullible-ness and lack of car education. I actually thought this was a really nice gesture. I didn't know that I could use coworkers as this sort of reference and I probably still wont. But nice people.

we had an accreditation survey at work. And I'm overly loud and oversharing of all things. They probably should have locked me away somewhere. I don't know why they allowed me on the premises during this survey or why I've grown this way as I've gotten older. The place I work is pretty sketch as it is.

Also got a concerning phone call from my spouse about a health incident re my MIL and I thought I was going to have to drive to Arizona for a minute. Everything is fine I think.

otherwise I just work, run home and turn on Disney Dreamlight Valley. Its kinda sad. I'm kinda tired. I have a terrible headcold too. I had to sleep last night with a paper towel tied to my face because face juice just kept leaking out uncontrollably.

[commanderquinn]

Good Space Chapter 2: Man On The Moon

! i dont! keep these posts! updated! like i do! ao3!

that means you're going to find typos and shit (and possibly minor detail changes) that don't match the ao3 version! that's because im not going to bother fixing the tumblr posts until i finish good space as a whole. im only uploading them here as a backup tbh

—

master list / ao3 chapter link

—

warnings: lotta swearing and usual heavy pstd bucky stuff. also!! im giving sam's story a little bit of author bias/culture venting. this wont read like canon FATWS sam, though i am trying to honor their show where i dont hate it. i love sam's journey to cap, even if ken doll was nauseating (whats funny is i didnt know his actor's name is wyatt until halfway through THIS chapter when i googled something. oh well lmao im sure he's a perfectly nice dude. the wyatt in this fic is My Baby) plus the trump era commentary was completely toothless imo. and the fact that james buchanan barnes acknowledged in episODE T H R E E of the series that he'd take the shield before letting it fall???? even through all his self-hatred?????? get the fuck out of here that desTROYED ME i hate this fictional man with a passion

song: this one's by kid cudi!! 🥰

its time for the l o n g i n g to start ❤️ grab tissues!! first biggie angst so i had to put it behind our resident teddy bear's pov 🥺 you KNOOOOW i had to finish up this update in time for stevie’s birthday 🥰

—

October 3rd, 2015

Samuel Wilson was not disillusioned when he walked into his first recruitment office. There were no patriotic stars in his eyes, no lotto number clutched painfully between nervous fingers to drive his feet up to that kiosk. He wasn’t foaming at the mouth to earn career-establishing stripes in a timely fashion. All he had to his name was a high school diploma and twenty-three bucks in his pocket. He didn’t have any big dreams for the desert rocks to tear a hole through. 

Sam was a kid back then. One who wanted to build a life, and the GI Bill offered to make that happen. A solid, steady income with the vision of a college education somewhere on the horizon. Not a lot of other options for someone like him, no matter which familiar corner of the country he looked at.

It took a long time and the right partner for the Air Force to talk him out of his combat objections once the ANG got wind of him. He turned the experimental program down flat twice; Pararescue was his focus for a reason. They had to bribe him with cutting-edge tech and the authority to refuse an assignment just to get him to agree to a first flight. The words never found their way onto an official record, at least none he knows of, but Sam had relentlessly insisted that he wouldn’t be volunteering as the next Indianapolis. Getting pushback on that assertion was when the anger first set in. The first crack in the armor of his career.

There were a lot of better angels within the service; it took most of them to get him home, tape-free, after Riley’s death. By the end of it all, it felt like every last one of them was outnumbered fifty to one. Nothing felt right anymore, including the idea of leaving the family he found in the sand to fend for themselves. The only thing that felt survivable after the world finally stopped tilting was dedicating himself to the VA.

Living for the memory of the ones he lost helped him find other reasons to want to be a person again. From there, it was mostly helping other people find reasons of their own that drove him forward.

It’s why he’s willing to delve into some shithole facility in the middle of nowhere Russia for a guy like Steve Rogers. And, on some levels, he supposes, if he absolutely has to, for a guy like Bucky Barnes. Even if he is the grouchiest motherfucker on the face of the Earth.

The lumbering moron hasn’t said a word all morning, no matter what small talk Steve tries to open with. And he’s tried everything, ever since they landed. Sam’s responded to a few of the openings himself just to try to fill the silence. He hopes it’s helping. It’s been hard to get a detailed read on the other push-pop’s triggers so far. Steve hasn’t signaled for him to stop, so.

“Cryo is through here,” Bucky rumbles under his breath. They’re the first words he’s spoken since the Quinjet.

“How many should we be expecting?” Steve asks almost as quietly.

“How many people am I asking you to put a bullet through, you mean.”

Steve stops halfway through the door Bucky’s directed them to. “We haven’t decided if that’s what we’re going to—”

“Maybe you haven’t decided. I’ll do it if you won’t.” The former sergeant doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking, getting closer to the stocky metal pods.

Sam already hates this. He already hates this a whole fucking lot. Captain America coming to him with a request to take the headcase to Russia was always going to get weird; he knew that. But he’s been very clear on what he’s down for, and now they’re in murder and war crime weird. He’d like to start slowing down the crazy train—

Steve holds up his hand. “Bucky, listen, it doesn’t have to—”

“Fuck off. You have no idea what it’s like to sit in this hell. You two can wait outside if you’re so uncomfortable. I’ve got it from here.”

Mmm. That’s the voice of a guilt-ridden survivor. Sam recognizes it well. At least it’s giving him a bead on where today’s drive is coming from. “You mean the hell we pulled you from?”

Steve’s head whips around, with righteous, territorial anger in his eyes. “You’re right, Buck; we don’t. But—”

“But you don’t know what they want,” Sam forcefully finishes, staring back at Steve. He banks on the fact that, technically, they’re not really disagreeing. Steve’s trying to back him down, too, in his own way. “Taking away their chance at the same new life you’re getting isn’t—”

Bucky’s cybernetic fist comes crashing down on one of the corroded desks, making the rusted metal whine in protest, deforming to the shape of his fingers. “You two don’t fucking get it.” He turns, angrily tugging his hand back to his side. The assassin doesn’t advance, but his posture is more than ready for it as he glares at them with pure contempt. “You think you’re going to find people in those tanks—humans, with hearts and minds and hopes and dreams. There might as well be skeletons getting freezer-burned in those goddamn caskets because that’s the only salvageable thing you’ll find. You fucking—”

He laughs, the sound empty, and turns back around to send his fist into the side of the table, knocking it across the room. He doesn’t face them again. “You fuckers! You take a fucking look at me. Take a good, long look. I am half alive. I had a radiation-free knockoff keeping me upright through their bullshit. You wanna know what they had? Something that might as well have been piss mixed in some fucking snow. Worthless trash those Nazi bastards bottled up and stuck in a needle.”

“Bucky—” Steve tries to calm his best friend as the man’s voice breaks. Sam could tell him from first-hand experience how well that’s going to go over.

There was a lot of screaming in that desert. A lot of grief disguised as anger. A lot of old ideals leaving newly-shattered men one seething tear at a time.

“They were zombies by the time HYDRA was done injecting them. Do you get that? Are you two grasping the concept? They were rabid dogs I trained to respond to whistles. Rotting corpses that I taught how to aim. And that was before their brains shorted out on them. I looked into every single one of their eyes. I saw what looked back. Fuck species—what was in there was not fucking alive. Fuck you—fuck you so fucking much for even fucking suggesting I should leave them like that—like animated fucking cadavers—hooked up to some fucking machine just to breathe—”

“James.”

Bucky’s flood of words finally cuts off, and Sam isn’t sure if it’s because of the use of his first name or the way he swallows as if he’s choking. His flesh hand comes down on the back of the chair that started out tucked under the table. It keeps the guy upright while he pulls in a few breaths that look painful, even through the curtain of dark brown hair.

“Let’s see what’s what first,” Sam suggests as diplomatically as he can manage. He doesn’t take a step forward, mostly because he doesn’t see Steve take one. “Then we go from there.”

“You’re going to hate what you see.” Bucky scoffs bitterly. “You think you know, but you don’t. You’re going to hate me for bringing you here. For the rest of your lives.”

Steve moves forward, finally, but he stays a few feet to Bucky’s seven o’clock. “I’m not dumb enough to make you any promises about not hating what I see here. I haven’t even looked in one, and I already know you’re right on the money when it comes to that. But I can promise that you’ll always be wrong about me hating you for any of this.”

“So can I,” Sam assures. There’s not a doubt in his mind now that he understands where they’re at.

—

Bucky’s up at 0500. 

He hasn’t slept a minute later than that since the first night his body adjusted to New York’s timezone, no matter what hour he falls asleep. He doesn’t attempt more than upright power naps on away missions. They’re the only thing that gets him any rest outside of his room in the tower. 

It’s the same every morning. First, he works on his back, popping away the stiffness one awkward bend of his limbs at a time. From there, the extra thick comforter gets picked up off the floor, then the blanket and the lopsided pillow. They always get tossed on top of the bed he’s never used. Except on Saturdays, when he does his laundry. That’s when they get put in a basket to be taken to Natasha’s room. She won’t let him have his own washing machine until he starts using the bed.

So, every Saturday, he shows up with his little pile at 0800 because Natasha won’t unlock the door until then. A pillowcase. A blanket and matching comforter. Two shirts, usually henleys, five black tanks, and two different tactical pants. One pair of gloves. His singular monkey suit gets taken to the cleaners whenever he’s forced to wear it, which thankfully isn’t often.

His dress uniform hasn’t come out of the box Steve dropped it off in after getting it pulled from the goddamn Smithsonian. Bucky hasn’t laid eyes on it since 1943.

While he’s working his hair up into a serviceable bun, he thinks about Natasha’s recommendation to start braiding it before he sleeps. He doesn’t like the idea of something that tight sitting against his head, especially at night. Maybe if he lets his hair grow out a little more. He wants to keep the shoulder length it’s at now, though. It looks good on him. He wants to know what asking someone to pull on it feels like. Eventually. 

Online dating has been… overwhelming, to say the least.

He’s reaching for the medkit in the drawer under his bathroom sink when the mental image of Ava creeps in. He isn’t trying to blow off the hippie’s orders. Honestly, the thought of their deal hadn’t crossed his mind until he got to this part of his day. Resisting the urge yesterday had been difficult. He knew ahead of time that today was going to be much worse. It means pushing through a repeated break in his pattern.

That voice, the one that insists he should tell Steve to fuck off much more, rears its head. His flesh hand twitches with the reflex to finish his usual routine. To show up late to her office with some blase excuse about doing it out of habit. He could sell the lie without even trying. Entire countries have fallen thanks to his expertise with it. She wouldn’t have a shot in hell at knowing the difference.

He could work his way out of this with ease. Steve already feels guilty about making him pull a hard stop during his first visit, even if he won’t say the words. It’s the perfect opening to establish a line and push it away to give himself some room, one step at a time.

With a decisive flick of his wrist, Bucky shuts the drawer holding his medkit. For the second time since he was allowed to travel without a handler, he walks away from his morning routine without treating the cybernetics on the back of his neck.

It makes his skin feel wrong—off, unsettled—as he gets his standard gear on. He’s still grounded, thanks to Steve, so it’s the version he’s got closest to fatigues. He hopes the doctor doesn’t mind rolling down a polyester turtleneck to get at his brain port. He almost skips going to the gym for his workout, but that would worsen the off feeling. And he’d have to sit around with nothing to do for hours waiting for their first scheduled maintenance. 

He slides his phone into his back pocket, intent on heading to his standard morning haunt. A few hours of going through his paces in the gym will help his nerves. When his mind offers up the suggestion that a workout before seeing the cute doctor could be—advantageous, he tries not to linger in it. 

The idea certainly doesn’t make him feel bad. It’s even sort of... motivating in its own way. It... contributes to his reasons for doing a few extra sets on the bench. And adding a quick rock wall climb. There are others, of course. Being chained to the tower like a toddler in timeout because his best friend is an asshole is certainly one of them. He tacks on more time at the reinforced, Super-Soldier-proof punching bag to ease that particular frustration.

Even with the additions to his cardio, he’s still got an hour to kill before their appointment. He fills it by heading for the roof of the tower. It’s not even 0900, so no one but a few graveyard stragglers are out in the open space. SHIELD agents like him that are married to the job, catching a glimpse of the sun and a few puffs of nicotine before going to crash. Bucky stops to help one of them struggling with her lighter, offering up his spare Bic. The other agent smiles at him in tired appreciation before hovering the end of her cigarette over the flame. He counts it as contributing to his social life. He’ll figure out how to phrase it to get his therapist off his ass later. 

The brain trust’s space is, unsurprisingly, effortless to find. Ava wasn’t kidding; it’s actually tucked away in one corner of the roof, hidden along the wall that extends up to the tower’s executive launch bay. Bucky had expected them to claim a spot overlooking the Avenger’s balcony. Then again, he’s heard she’s pretty close friends with Tony, so maybe he shouldn’t have. She probably knows better by now. 

There’s another collection of gargantuan chairs, this time made out of wicker and upholstery that feels soft when he runs his fingers over it. A tapestry rivaling the paint swatches at Steve’s supply store is mounted to the wall behind them. Two poles hold it at the opposite corners, keeping it blowing slightly in the wind as it hangs over the collected seating. The coffee table in the middle has a lockbox sitting on it, with SHEILDs insignia embossed on the lid. 

He’s got level seven clearance these days. He could still easily get through that lock, even if he didn’t. It’s going to drive him batshit, not knowing what’s in it before she takes him up here herself. 

Bucky turns around and gets halfway back to the door to the stairwell before the buzzing in his neck builds too much for comfort. He grinds his teeth through the sensation. He even manages to force himself another few steps forward. But, ultimately, the buzzing wins out, and he spins again with a vicious curse. 

The confirmation chime of his clearance override feels too loud, even out here in the open. The top of the lockbox rolls back, revealing a set of playing cards, a jumbled collection of stress toys, a SHEILD standard medkit, and some candles. He almost leaves without checking the medkit. He’s so close to being able to stomach the idea. 

Almost. 

There’s nothing sinister to be found in it once it’s open. It’s stock issue. Not one of the item counts is off, but the lot numbers don’t match, meaning she maintains it regularly. Knowing that information feels invasive, despite being convinced she wouldn’t mind how he got it.

This. Isn’t. Siberia. Ava Ryder is not going to put a gun in his hand. She is not a risk to him. 

Bucky leaves the roof, headed for her lab. He’s going to tell her he went snooping. He can do that, at least—a bare minimum level of respect to offer her. 

She’s not in her office when he gets through the painted door at 0857. Only one of the doctors is behind the glass today. It’s the other woman—the American-born German. Hannah. Her head is down, focused on a tablet under her hands, with wireless earbuds peaking out from her dirty blonde hair. A hologram of a brain Bucky doesn’t recognize is running next to her. It’s not his; there’s no spider webbing. One of their other patients then. 

He takes a seat in the same chair he used during his last visit. “JARVIS?”

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes,” the AI responds with nothing but tranquility. “Something you need?”

“Can you tell the doc I’m ready when she is?”

“Of course. Dr. Ryder has not yet entered the building. I’ll let her know you’ve arrived.”

Bucky frowns. “Ah—cancel that. Is she—“ Don’t ask him to track her, you dumbfuck. That’s weird. “Never mind. I’ll wait.”

This is New York. He’s not even sure what part of the city she lives in. For all he knows, she could be stuck in a cab uptown. He can pull the stick out of his ass long enough to give her room to be human. 

He sits there in silence, sunken into pillows with his leg bouncing rapidly, and talks himself up in his head. He’s not uncomfortable. He’s not going to bullshit his way out of this. This is good; it’s going to help him. Bucky is happy about that. It’s a relief to be facing this after a lifetime of running. 

By 0901, he wants to leave. The urge is nearly overwhelming. He makes it to 0904 before he stands up. It takes until 0906 to convince himself to sit back down. 

“I have an incoming message from Dr. Ryder if you wish to hear it, Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS tells him eleven minutes after the appointment was supposed to start. 

Thank god. “Play it.”

“Morning, JAR!” Her voice is muffled in the recording. She’s got something in her mouth. She’s also in the most broken-down piece of shit in the city by the sounds of it, so not a cab. The subway, maybe? It should be a lot louder than that. “Tell Bucky I’m about fifteen minutes behind and that I’m very sorry. Oh—and tell him to pick the candle!”

His eyebrows lift in confused surprise. “I’m picking a candle?”

“Choosing a candle to burn is part of the daily routine of lab 5923. Dr. Ryder and I usually decide on one, but the option is left open for patients. You will find a box behind her desk; there is a wide array to select from.”

“You pick it together?” Bucky prods, the corner of his lips twitching as he gets back up to check for said box. 

“She enjoys having someone to banter with about them. Dr. Schuster doesn’t usually have anything to contribute to the topic. Dr. Combs only has so many opinions on the matter. He is not overly particular about the olfactory state of the lab.”

“Is Ava?” It’s getting easier to refer to her by her first name alone. It helps that it’s made her smile the handful of times he’s done it. 

“Not especially. I would call her enthusiastic. She finds the options comforting, and there are very few that she doesn’t enjoy.”

“No kidding,” Bucky mutters as he pulls open the top of a very large box. He smelled the thing long before he picked it up, and looking at what’s inside confirms everything the AI’s telling him. There are dozens of them in here, and most of them are unburned. Various shapes and gimmicky scent names stare back at him. Not a lot of Bath & Bodyworks, he’s noticing. 

The hippie is a small business aficionado. How utterly shocking. 

He pushes around the amassed jars for a few minutes. His mind files away a few options he wants to try for later if they don’t get used up on the days he won’t be here. Definitely before he finishes talking her out of demanding these appointments. He picks up one that claims to smell like cranberries and peppermint for a test sniff. 

Thanks to the combination, the barest hint of the ghost of a memory comes over him. One that whispers the name of his mother. This happens sometimes. A fragment that’s still hanging on by a thread will float by. They never have much context, not anything he can typically extrapolate on, infuriatingly enough. Just his mind taunting him that something should be there, but it isn’t. 

He picks that candle, and it doesn’t make him sad as he lights it. None of his pieced-together memories of the life he never got to finish do anymore. He takes them in stride and tries to enjoy what he can. 

That’s what Ma would have wanted.

—

Ava hip-checks the door to her office somewhere around 9:30. 

This is already shaping up to be a terrible second impression. All that grief she gave Bucky about leaving things in her capable hands, and now here she is, showing up late and half-showered to the appointment that’s supposed to finish acclimating him. 

“I am so sorry,” she rushes out, dumping her bag on the closest available surface. It ends up being one of the novelty end tables tucked between the consultation chairs. At least she finally took the one shaped like a leg home. “I completely overslept, and then I wanted to grab you something from my favorite bagel place—do you want one, by the way?” She waves a finger at her bag, then at Bucky, who watches her as she walks and talks her way to her desk. “They’re in that side pouch, the ones that have cream cheese are wrapped up separately. I didn’t know if you were a plain butter kind of New Yorker. Anyways, there was this mouth-breathing dickhead who—” 

She stops and takes a deep breath in when her over-taxed mind finally registers the smell around her. 

“Good morning,” he says from the chairs, amusement coloring his tone. 

She spins on her heel, her glasses jostling with the motion, chuckling softly. “Good morning, Sergeant. Sorry. This is what happens when you talk to me before the coffee finishes evening out in my bloodstream. Fantastic choice, by the way. What is that? It’s peppermint—something.”

“Peppermint and cranberries.” His lips pull up into a half-smile that absolutely sells her on the idea of him being a serial heartstopper in the 30s. “Advertised in what looked like a mushroom cloud.”

Ava’s chuckling turns into an outright bark of laughter as she pulls her work tablet from behind her keyboard. “Yeah. That sounds about right. One of the candle makers I buy from is an anarchist working out of a garage. Great stuff, even if you do have to listen to the most ass backwards view of free trade to get the guy to send you his stock. Good morning to you, too, JARVIS, now that I’m not babbling around a mouthful of food.”

“No need to worry; I’ve become very fluent in your language of scarfing,” JARVIS assures. 

“My mother would keel over if she heard you say that.” Ava waddles over to her latest patient, tablet in one hand and medkit in the other. She puts the kit down on the arm of his chair, in the same spot she put the scanner case last time. He looks much less nervous now, and she gives him a warm smile to encourage that. “I know you don’t want me talking your ear off, and the breakfast offer can wait until we’re done, so let’s get down to this.”

Bucky’s mouth opens. There’s a moment of hesitation before he says anything. She doesn’t try to rush him through it. “What’s the plan, doc?”

“Paige won’t be back from the field until later today at the earliest, so I don’t have anything new for you to test. I passed along your request for the field kit dimensions. She says making something that portable shouldn’t be a problem.” Ava taps on the black sleeve of his shirt. “How comfortable are you with the idea of using nanotech?”

“As in the tiny robots Tony’s always testing?”

“Mhmm.”

“For what? My neck?” He raises his hand to the general area of the port, and she hears him scratching at the fabric over it. “I don’t think it’s—I thought this kind of opening couldn’t be—”

“I don’t mean for closing it off,” she corrects quickly, wanting to avoid a misunderstanding that might get his hopes up. “I want to program a batch specifically for daily care of your implants. The port and your shoulder. Something you can keep in safe housing for use in the field. Now—I want to make sure you understand something upfront. This won’t change my professional opinion; you need to have a specialist looking at this on an extremely frequent basis. However, I would prefer it if you had the nanotech as a safety net. The more of this that we can automate for you, the better.”

“I can agree to that. I’m guessing the bug bots don’t come with a manual.”

Ava moves behind him, mostly to hide how the grumpy old man routine is making her grin from ear to ear. “They usually don’t need one. I’ll be making you a checklist to go over if that makes you feel better.”

“You don’t—that’s—” He hesitates again, making her stop before she can make contact with his neck. “You don’t have to keep... doing stuff. Like that. I’m alright with trusting the bug bots.”

Another piece of Ava Ryder’s heart breaks for Bucky Barnes. “That's great to hear. But, just so you know, I’m going to hand you a checklist anyways.”

“Alright.” His head barely nods; she’s guessing because he can feel her fingers hovering. The evaluations of his senses were so off the charts it set a new testing standard for SHIELD. “That’s—appreciated.”

“You don’t have to worry so much about the manners.” Pressing down with a disinfectant, she circles her thumb around the port, wanting to get it done before moving to his shoulder. That’s going to need a shirt removal. She leans down and shifts to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m not reporting them back to Steve.”

“Don’t worry; my work wife will come to weasel it out of you or JARVIS all on his own.”

Ava giggles quietly, her eyes honed in on clearing the excess buildup. “You’re not having fun being married to Captain America?”

“Oodles,” he deadpans, making her giggles worsen.

She gives him a break from the small talk while she finishes working on his neck. At some point, she’ll need to put together a specialized blend for loosening up the scar tissue; the skin around it is dried to hell and back from years of sterile wipes. She doubts comfort has been much of a concern, and she’s not about to recommend putting generic lotion over it, but this is ridiculous. There’s no reason for him to live with pain like that.

“I don’t suppose a man from the 30s is going to appreciate being given a moisturizing routine.”

“Nat’s going to be thrilled.”

“She’s your work husband, I’m guessing?”

“She likes to act like it.” Bucky turns his head to glance back for a split second just as she leans forward to swap out for an ointment. The way his head jerks back into place lets her know he got an eyeful of cleavage on the journey. It perfectly mirrors how his eyes snapped up from her chest when he first walked in. She’s not exactly embarrassed about it, but she does feel bad watching him shift around nervously. “But I’m not dumb enough to argue. About that. With her.”

The awkward charm is starting to make her cheeks hurt. “Sounds like a reasonable choice. I hear arguing with Russian women isn’t a smart idea in general.”

“Not if you want to keep your limbs attached.”

“Is it too early for me to start asking for state secrets? Like, say, if the Winter Soldier happened to get his ass handed to him by a former commie?”

“I’m pretty sure she was still a commie the first time.”

“The first time?” Ava asks with excited delight, her hand pausing on his shoulder.

“There were a few run-ins. She’ll remember more of them.” Bucky grimaces with annoyance. “Worse, she’ll be willing to tell them to you.”

“Would you be willing to let me hear them?” she goads.

His shoulders lift with a strained sigh. “Sure, let’s call it willing.”

“You’ll have to remind me if I’m lucky enough to meet her.” She drums her finger on his mechanical shoulder. “Gonna need you to take this shirt off, superstar.”

“Off? Wait, what did you just—” Bucky shakes his head with a quiet huff of laughter. “I’ve got the arm covered.”

“I know, that’s the problem.”

“Alright, smartass. You know damn well what I meant. I took care of it before I came here; it wasn’t part of our deal.”

“Does gross puss leak out of it?”

She can see his eyes roll, even with his head only partially turned. “You know it does.”

“And is it attached to your brain?”

“Ava—really, I’ve got this.” His head turns all the way, and the smile comes back, in full force this time, and oh. Oh, she can absolutely believe that he broke half the hearts in Brooklyn during his reign of terror.

She leans down into his space, letting her arms rest on the back of his chair. “You know what I’ve got?”

His lips purse in resigned amusement. “Multiple medical degrees?”

“You betcha. They were stupid hard to earn, too, so I’d appreciate it if you could start taking that into account.”

“I’m not trying to dismiss them—”

“Just the expertise that they gave me.” When his smile turns guilty, she shifts her weight as naturally as she can to push her chest against her arms in compensation. She doesn’t miss the way he blinks a split second later. Such a gentleman. It almost makes her feel bad. “I don’t mind you arguing the point of your independence. I’m glad for it, Bucky. It tells me that you really want this to work. I hope you can start trusting that when I suggest against it, I’m doing it with your health in mind. Nothing more. You can tell me what you’re comfortable with from there.”

He stares at her like he’s in pain. For an almost uncomfortably long time. “I broke into your lockbox.”

Ava blinks at the sudden shift. “Okay. Wait—my what? Are you talking about the candle box? That doesn’t even have a lock—”

“Your stuff on the roof. You keep a SHEILD issue safe up there. On the table. I used my override.”

It takes a moment to piece together what he’s getting at. She’s been running late since she woke up on Paige’s couch at 7:50 something. The only thing in her bloodstream right now is caffeine; there was no time for a wake-and-bake. “Oh. Oh, oh, that’s just... it’s not locked locked; we don’t really care if anyone uses the stuff in it. We just needed something to put it in that the weather can’t get to.” She smiles at him as his shoulders relax. “You went to see our little corner?”

Bucky shrugs. “I was around.”

“Mhmm, I’m sure. And bouncing off the walls with Steve’s lockdown, no doubt. The faster you get that shirt off, the faster you and I can iron out a plan to get you back in the field. Work with me here, Barnes.”

Bucky stands up with a sigh, and his hands move to his shirt. He pauses while they cling to the bottom of it, his arms crossed. Once again, she doesn’t push him through his hesitation. “I don’t mind if you talk about things. Steve only said that shit about being direct to keep me from stalling my way out of this.”

Ava’s eyebrows pull in while she thinks over the words. “Is that the only thing he’s lied about? I don’t care if you two keep secrets, but you can’t bullshit about your mental health with me. I need to know what makes you uncomfortable; otherwise, I can’t do my job.”

“That’s all I can think of,” he assures her, and she believes him despite the wording. 

“In that case, you’re kind of stupid, full offense.”

It’s Bucky’s turn with the blinking. “Excuse me?”

“You signed yourself up for morning appointments, and you just gave me permission to talk your ear off. You’re an absolute moron; now take off that shirt so I can make sure your brain doesn’t melt.”

—

She has a pet cat named Oreo, of all fucking things. 

It’s hairless. And dumb as a box of rocks, according to her. The name comes from the huge black spots in its—pattern. He can’t exactly use the word fur. She was highly offended when he called the cat a ballsack while she was showing him her lock screen. He got smacked on the arm for the comment.

It’s not her first pet. She got it partly to mourn the snake she adopted in college, a rosy boa called Sayer that finally died at 32. She used the reptile as companionship and motivation to push through her first PhD. The one letting her work on his brain now. It was named after the lead character from her favorite medical movie, Awakenings. When Bucky mentioned that he’s never seen it, she made him swear up and down that he’ll text her his honest reactions if he ever dares to rip his own heart out with questionable ethics.

So now he’s got her number saved in his phone. It’s the 11th one he’s added. Two of them are therapists. None of the others are people outside of SHIELD. He’s pretty sure one of the therapists is a plant from Natasha, so maybe he should start counting them toward the SHIELD column.

There were only nine others over the course of his online dating attempts. None of them stayed on his phone for more than a month before getting deleted. He wasn’t about to let his therapist catch their names on his contact list.

Bucky switches the grape-flavored lollipop in his mouth over to his right cheek. Ava gave it to him. Bopped him right on the nose with one and then let him pick from an array of five like the blatant bribery it is. The good doctor smiled at him while she did it, too.

May it bring you back in good spirits and better health.

It’s the nicest way he’s ever been told to fuck off for being a grouch. It made him smile. Him. James Buchanan Barnes, in the year of 2018.

She’s.… Christ, calling the woman a handful in this day and age feels insulting. He’s not put off by it. Overwhelmed a little, maybe, but he gets the feeling she’s alright with him taking time to warm up to it. Hell, he gets the feeling that not much bothers her at all. It makes him envious. 

He likes the way she speaks. Not just the crazy and the swearing, though that’s its own comfort. There’s a—it sounds so stupid, but there’s a kind of music to it. She always talks in the same calm rhythm, despite the chaos usually found in her words. He didn’t notice the way it makes his foot stop bouncing until halfway through the appointment.

Bucky scowls. “Davis. Why am I looking at a lost signal?”

The level four analyst Steve’s been telling him to ease up on lately freezes in his swivel chair. His head turns, nervously searching the wall of security feeds. Bucky doesn’t offer up any help. “Sorry, sir, I can’t seem to spot which—”

“Third row from the top, eighth from the left. The one I’m supposed to be monitoring for an illegal exchange of nuclear materials, so if you wouldn’t mind—”

“Yes, sorry, restoring connection now. Apologies, Sergeant, I’ll—keep a closer eye on it.” The agent starts mumbling the rest of his intended sentence, mostly about how many he’s keeping track of, when he cuts himself off. His shoulders pull in a bit, almost chastised. It always takes people a minute to remember the super hearing.

He could let it hang. The feed is fixed; he can go back to staring at an empty lot without interruption.

“You’re doing fine.” Bucky feels bad because he’s having an unordinarily good day. That’s all it is. Nothing more. “Restructure your feed priorities. You can hand most of these off to JARVIS; that’s what he’s patched in for. Focus on the ones your gut doesn’t like.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll start on that now.” The words don’t even sound spiteful.

Bucky sits back against the executive bench of the Datacrux. The stiff leather creaks with the motion, the rigid frame under it keeping him grounded. He tilts his head from side to side, letting it crack and readjust incrementally. His neck doesn’t feel as tight as it should. When he touched it in Ava’s lab, the skin felt even softer than it did after her first round on him. He’s trying not to touch it now. He doesn’t want to irritate it. This is the best it’s felt in—

He doesn’t have a year, he realizes. He can’t remember the one he woke up to cybernetics in. He has no idea when his first taste of cyborg life was. There’s a vague lead, a number written out on paper to fill in the blanks of what’s been destroyed. An estimation anchored around the last day of his former life. But he doesn’t know.

At least you’re still breathing, the better angel in his mind coaxes.

Switching which leg is balanced on which knee, Bucky settles back into his work. It’s been six months since the last lead on his responsibility. There’s been no chatter from the known HYDRA cells, no underground protection contracts with suspiciously good track records hitting Natasha’s web, no suspicious Black Market transfers that scream safe house establishment, nothing. Wherever the Soldats are, they’re being kept under wraps. 

His hounds wouldn’t be able to be contained for anywhere near this long. They’re dead or sedated, no matter where they were smuggled. Otherwise, they’d have surfaced already.

Bucky tries not to think about what a life of not knowing will feel like. He doesn’t know if that’s worse than the idea of burying them. They’re certainly not staring down the barrel of a happy ending at this point. How do you mourn—a situation like that? He can’t even figure out how the hell he’s supposed to be fixing it.

Somewhere out there are the last ravaged pieces of a serum that never should have been made. It’s floating, cobbled together and left to rot, in the veins of men and women who didn’t know what they were signing up for. He remembers having to hold their shoulders down whenever the survival instinct kicked in during the first few injections. He remembers watching their faces as they screamed for a mercy no one in that facility was ever going to grant them. He remembers carrying the bodies of the ones that died in the night, over and over for months, all the way to the incinerator.

Bucky tosses the tablet in his lap off to a spot next to his leg out of disgust. His eyes shut, and his hands come up to rub them hard enough to hurt. He needs sleep. Good, honest to god, medication-induced sleep. He hates relying on those damn pills—it’s not as if they help the other half of his problem, anyhow. Falling asleep is only the start of it. The real kicker is staying unconscious, and nothing he can find, even behind the counter, is going to work on his system for that long.

He needs it, though. It’s been weeks since he got more than a handful of hours at a time. Months since he slept for longer than eight. Steve always talks about crashing for ten at a time after an extended mission, and it makes him want to punch his best friend’s lights out. He’ll never say that out loud, of course, but god. If fucking only.

None of his anger toward Steve ever feels fair. The guy had the world’s worst life before the serum, and he’ll bare his teeth at anyone who tries guilting the captain out of the notion. None of them understand what kind of fresh hell it was being Steve Rogers, and all his undying spirit, while trapped in a body with ten billion health issues. If ever there was someone who earned the responsibility of that serum, it’s him, and Bucky’s damn proud of him for it. He spends his days trying to live up to it himself.

He looks over at the back of the analyst with a guilty expression. People used to dismiss Steve the same way he dismisses people now, whenever the anger simmers. 

“Davis, pull up your priority flags.”

The level four glances back nervously, then clears his throat and refocuses on his terminal. “It’s alright, sir, I’m working on sorting them now—”

“I know. That’s what we’ll be going over.”

“I—” Davis hesitates for a long moment. Bucky stares at the back of his head. “Sergeant Barnes, I’m very sorry about the—”

“This isn’t a reprimand.” Bucky clears his own throat, trying to knock the aggression out of his tone. It’s. A lot more difficult than he was expecting. “You’re new here, so I’m gonna give you the crash course. I’m in here a lot, at all hours. You won’t get a heads-up about it; I’m just going to show up. When I do, there are certain hotspots I’m going to need you to keep focused on. They’re not going to be tied to any active case. You’re not going to be able to tell which ones I need. I’m going to tell you what’s already on my radar, and you can establish your own categories from there. I’ll tell you what else I need you to add as it comes up.”

“Oh.” A little hope is entering the analyst’s tone. “Yeah, that—you know, that sounds like what I do for Romanoff already.”

Bucky frowns. The hell it does. She has exactly three people on the face of this Earth that she trusts to handle something like this for her. He’s willing to do it for convenience, and because he doesn’t give a shit what SHEILD sees him prioritize. He worked very hard to not give a shit about it, too. But Natasha doesn’t work like that; she’s very particular about her web of information—

His face goes completely slack as the connection finally happens in his mind. He’s going to kill her. No—actually. He’s never going to bring it up, ever, and they’re both going to die before a word ever gets said about it.

That’s just how their brand of family works.

“Yeah. Exactly like how Romanoff has you do it. Pull up her file structure; let’s go over what I’ll need you to change for my end.”

—

“Bitch! It feels like I haven’t hugged you in a year!”

It’s the only warning Ava gets before she’s tackled from behind. She braces her hands on the engineering bench in front of her, barely catching herself from crashing into it. “Two weeks and three days, but who’s counting? How was the flight home, whore?”

Paige leaves a loud, sloppy smooch on her left temple before backing away to let her up from the attack. “That part was fine—it was the team I got paired with, ugh. You’d have hated the guy runnin’ it.”

“How bad are we talking?”

“Eh, your typical good’ ol boy. Mister my way or the highway, with an ego the size’a the fuckin’ Potomac to match. You know the type. Spent the whole mission criticizin’ my tech.”

She looks over at her in surprised confusion. Paige taking shit from other agents is nothing new; that comes with the territory of her personality and most people’s assumptions. Her work is usually the one thing they leave alone. “How critical are we talking?”

“That was the thing—it was the dumb kind. The kind that could’a been avoided if he’d maybe RTFM.”

“And he made it your problem?”

“Over and over. Every ten minutes, it was—” Paige shimmies her upper body dramatically, her voice going low and gravelly. “Why can’t my AIO do this? How do I make it do that? Rogers’ team gets the reliable gear; why are we always stuck with the second rate?”

“He said that to your face?” Ava’s about ready to march through the tower to find the prick herself.

“Not that last one. That was to his buddy when the dipstick thought his comm was off. I got a half-baked publicist apology over it, and I’m pretty sure he only did it to save face in front of the team for leavin’ the mic open.”

“Report his ass.”

Paige waves a hand dismissively, then dumps her go-bag unceremoniously on the workbench. “I ain’t gon’ waste my time. I’ll let him hang his own noose; I’m sure he’ll get around to it with that attitude. Oh! I’ve got a mock-up for your pretty boy.”

Ava smiles, tossing one of her best friend’s rolls of duct tape between her hands. “I didn’t say he was pretty.”

“Puh-lease. You texted about his hair.”

“With the amount of shit man-buns have taken, it was surprising to see on a guy from a less than accepting decade.”

“You only notice stuff like that when you’re lookin’.” Paige tips her head forward, letting her heart-shaped sunglasses fall to the end of her nose. Her eyebrows waggle enthusiastically. “Is he as big as Rogers? I can never tell in the press photos with him always loomin’ like a gargoyle.”

The smile turns deviously smug. “He’s a little smaller than your not-so-secret admirer. You gotta figure that’s expected without the Vita Radiation.”

Paige reaches out to shove at her shoulder. “I don’t think Rogers has really nailed down what modern flirtin’ is yet. Ain’t fair to pin that on the guy. He’s so sweet! And I give him art projects! And anyhow, he rushes outta here like his ass is on fire most of the time—”

“It’s so weird how that happens whenever your dad shows up to hang out.”

She gets a very unimpressed look in response. “You’re readin’ int’a things.”

Leaning in close, Ava squints and whispers, “You’re being oblivious.” She backs up, her smugness returning. “So, I take it our friendship never comes up while you’re giving the captain art projects.”

“I... hmm. Not that I can remember. Why?” Paige looks over suddenly, then back at the bag she’s unloading with more than her usual level of interest. “Did he bring me up durin’ the visit?”

The glitter-sniffing demon not being allowed to communicate with her has been utter hell for two weeks and three days. But it comes with the upside of getting to drop this bomb on her all at once. “No, but I brought you up during Bucky’s first visit. That’s when Rogers realized he’d read your best friend the riot act the week before.”

Paige’s eyes go saucer wide. “You’re kiddin’. You got chewed out by America’s Sweetheart?”

“Funny enough, I called him the same thing while he was huffing and puffing in my office.”

“What the hell happened while I was gone? Did—” Her head swivels around, checking who’s around them. “Did? Y’know?”

Ava shakes her head, then hikes herself up to sit on the workbench next to the bag. “Nothing like that. Turns out he was going for a trial run, trying to see how well I hold up against a bad episode. Stormed into my office, playing up the asshole captain routine just to see what I’d do. Apparently, Tony set him up for it by not telling him about my VA work. He let out the hot air the second I called him on it. He’s pretty cute when he’s blushing, by the way.”

“Oh, tell me about it,” Paige mumbles happily, proving the accusation of obliviousness entirely right.

“The blush or the huffing?”

“I already know about the blushin’, even if I am ready to hear it again. But over dinner tonight. What’re we thinkin’?”

“You’re the one who’s been living off MREs for two weeks. What are you in the mood for?”

“Fuck, that’s a great question. Indian, definitely. No—wait! Sc-ratch that! I want Vietnamese. Actually, I want both.”

“Take-out picnic, got it.”

“And Italian donuts.”

“Okay, but I’m bringing half the order to work tomorrow. They’ll get stale if you pull an all-nighter to catch up.”

“Fiiine. Take my victory donuts to the masses, y’dirty Marxist. Lemme show ya what I worked on for Barnes before I forget.”

The field case she’s designed is cylindrical and shorter than the phones SHEILD issues most of their agents. Definitely something he’s going to be able to carry around with ease. The applicators that hook to the interior are simplistic and utilitarian. They’re entirely mechanical, with no chance of an EMP being able to disable them—a request from the Sergeant himself. 

“Tony says I can requisition some nannies whenever—I just gotta get your signature on the form since they’re medical grade.”

Ava tosses an olive from the jar she keeps stashed in Paige’s mini-fridge into the air. She catches it in her mouth on the first try for once. “You have one filled out already? I can sign it now; I know you like putzing around with them for a few days ahead of time.”

“Eh, it’s a standard cleaner tag; I’m not gon’ sweat it. I know you’re all worried about his brainstem and whatnot—”

“That’s usually part of my job description, yeah.”

“—but I feel like sterile’s sterile. Ain’t no way I can make the man cleaner than clean, y’know? Now, if you wanna talk settin’ ’em up for emergency maintenance, that’s a different story—”

“Your not-crush just walked into engineering,” Ava interrupts lowly, wanting to avoid the enhanced hearing even from way the hell over here.

In the most conspicuous way imaginable, Paige whips her head around to stare directly at the bay’s front entrance. In a rival amount of obviousness, Captain Rogers slowly works his way through the amassed benches, his gaze landing everywhere but Paige’s station. 

Ava’s eyes roll so hard it’s physically painful. It’s been one thing hearing Paige talk about getting drop-in visits from the super soldier who just so happens to enjoy the blueprints framed over her workbench. It’s another to see it play out in person. 

“He’s prob’ly here to check on the kit for Barnes,” Paige whispers back, tugging off her novelty shades.

“Yeah, that’s definitely why he won’t look at you right now—”

“He’s takin’ in the work goin’ on. He’s a curious guy, you know that—”

“And why he’s walking slow enough to trip over his own feet.”

“He’s admirin’ the—”

“He’s working up the nerve—”

“If you don’t fuck off with that, you lunatic—”

“Alright, now you’re being hopeless on purpose—”

“Good afternoon, Ms. Findley. I hope the trip was—oh.” Steve stops dead in his tracks, three feet from Paige’s farthest desk, his eyes finally landing on Ava. He smiles sheepishly. “Hi there, Dr. Ryder.”

Her grin feels positively carnivorous. “Hello, Steve. Come to welcome home our resident space cadet?”

“Hiya, Rogers,” Paige responds, turning with a smile almost as bashful as the captains. She spins back around, busying herself with the mess of wiring she’s pulled from her bag. “Don’t pay her any mind; she’s in a mood.”

“Something happen with the appointment today?” The concern that immediately surfaces knocks some of the teasing out of Ava. 

Some.

“No, Bucky played nice, I promise. I even brought him bagels to make up for being a half-hour late. Come to think of it, that’s probably what made me a half-hour late.”

Steve’s eyes go a bit wider, his smile softening. “You two had breakfast together?”

“I ate mine in the car. He took his with him. But I like to think we did so in spirit.” Her head tilts to the side innocently, refusing to let him off the hook. “So. What brings you to engineering?”

His hand comes up to the back of his neck, his expression getting… close to nonchalant. “I had some time on my hands—don’t wanna run off on a mission with Buck being a grump about medical orders; he might sneak out. Take your time with that, by the way. It’s impossible to convince the guy to take a day off. You’d be doing him a favor if you dragged your feet a little more.”

Using a best friend for deflection is a social skill Ava mastered years ago. He’s going to have to try a lot harder. “Who wouldn’t want to kill time in engineering? The wrench monkeys get to have all the fun. Maybe you should bring Bucky next time—”

“Oh, that’s—you know, I don’t think that’d be a real—he’s very particular about where he—I think maybe—”

“I think the sergeant would love to meet you,” Ava tells Paige, who’s biting back a grin with her head pointed firmly down at her workbench. “I was telling him some stories about you this morning. I think he might share a few of his own with some time.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Paige offers, still not looking up.

Steve lets out a nervous chuckle. “That’s—yeah, it’d—it could help out with his attempts to be social, and—you know. Hey, how was the mission, by the way? I forgot to finish asking.”

“It went just fine.” Paige shrugs, and that’s when it clicks for Ava why she was willing to jump topics so fast. Agent Dickhead really did hurt her feelings.

“Towanda,” Ava says plainly, calmly.

Her best friend’s eyes lift to hers. They stare at each other for a long moment. Paige goes through a silent argument that it’s not worth it; Ava silently insists that it very much is. It all happens through shifting eyebrows.

After a moment, Paige’s shoulders deflate, and she looks back at her work with a sigh. “You do it.”

Looking back up at a confused Steve, Ava crosses her arms over her chest. “You’ve got a real cunt running one of your away teams.”

“Oh, sweet lord,” Paige groans, her head falling into her hands with her elbows braced on the workbench. 

The captain’s eyebrows go for his hairline. “I’m sorry—I have a—I’m going to need a few more details.” He shifts his attention to Paige��s back, and his expression gets worried. “Did something happen? Who was your lead? JARVIS, can you grab me the associated reports on Ms. Findley’s latest away mission—”

“You don’t have’ta do that—“she tries to assure, her head coming up with blazing red cheeks. She hates confrontation. Absolutely despises it. 

Ava used to avoid it. She doesn’t bother much these days. “Actually, your name got thrown into the mix, Captain.” 

“Heeere we go.” Paige takes a deep breath in.

“Thrown into the mix of what?” Steve’s tone is shifting into the sub-zero range. 

“I’m not sure what Agent Fuckwad’s name is, but apparently, the guy thinks it’s not his job to understand his equipment. He also thinks it’s super cool to talk shit about the engineer that designed what he can’t wrap his head around. On an open comm. With her on the other end.”

“I have the mission data ready for transfer to your private feed, Captain Rogers,” JARVIS reports in. Ava doesn’t miss the smugness sitting in his tone, making her smile. She’s betting the AI has been fuming over this in his own way. He’s been protective of Paige ever since her first all-nighters in engineering.

There’s a boiling rage sitting in Steve’s eyes, one that’s rising by the second. When he steps up to tap the side of Paige’s arm with the back of his hand, it’s entirely held back from his voice. “Are you alright with me handling this?”

It’s Ava’s turn to raise her eyebrows in surprise. Extremely pleasant surprise.

“I—oh, fuck me runnin’.” Paige lifts her hand to scrub at her face. “Look, Rogers, I’m not tryin’ to get anyone in trouble here—”

“There are ways to go about this without leaving you holding the bag from a reputation standpoint. If the guy’s a—a... I tried, I’m sorry, I can’t get the word out—the point is, I can handle this in a way that doesn’t blow back on you.”

“Let him do it for the other people the dickwad is going to end up being a cunt to,” Ava suggests helpfully. 

“Exactly,” Steve agrees easily. 

Paige groans, shifting her weight back and forth. Finally, she nods with an uneasy sigh. “Alright. But—maybe just have it be somethin’ found from the logs? I really don’t wanna write up a—”

“Your name won’t come up. I’ll take care of it.”

Ava smiles, tossing another olive to catch in her mouth.

—

September 20th, 2015

Sam balances the plate of sliced sough dough and fresh fruit on top of a can of grape Fanta. He keeps his eyes locked on the way it wobbles back and forth as he makes his way down the hallway of the rented house. Propping the bundle of still-warm linens on his hip, he shimmies his hand off them enough to grab at the handle to Sergeant Miserable’s room.

The sack of personified despair is exactly where they last left him, hunched in on himself in the corner of the room. The pile of blankets under him used to be on the perfectly nice bed sitting in front of the window. The one with an unbelievable view of Finland’s countryside hidden behind tightly drawn curtains.

Their resident vampire, un-fucking-surprisingly, fled from it as fast as he could. Steve’s been grumbling about stealing the curtains while he’s asleep just to force the guy to look out the window on the way to the john.

Sam’s decided to start handling the food deliveries alone. It’s time to start pushing, even if Steve’s not entirely ready for it.

Bucky watches him move through the room, never saying a word. Not even when the plate of food gets put on the nightstand next to the bed, where they always leave it. He leaves them empty outside the door at night, so they know he’s actually eating. Poor bastard never looks angry, more just anguished. 

Sam sits on the side of the bed slowly, as gently as he can. He keeps his posture relaxed, his expression passive, and looks up at the newly freed prisoner of war. “You and I gotta come to an understanding on somethin’.”

Bucky’s eyes start out mostly hidden, thanks to the angle of his head. The shadows consume them entirely as his eyebrows come down. “What.”

One-word answer. That’s good. It’s a verbal day. “We gotta figure out where we’re at. Steve is too close. You’re gonna need someone pushing you on things he can’t. Things you need help with.” 

It’s not a subject he’s brought up with Steve. Being blunt feels like the better option here. He’s guessing the captain’s appeasement is starting to grate on nerves going through this much culture shock. Plus, there’s no pep-talk like a military pep-talk. 

“Do I strike you as an invalid?”

“You might not wanna—we’ll work on that. Point is, you need to start gettin’ comfortable with the new reality. Suck it up, Buttercup, the sky didn’t actually fall. The world’s still spinnin’. None of the big baddies who still know about you have the juice to catch you—”

“No, they don’t,” he confirms aggressively.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever, you’re huge and scary. You’re also an idiot sitting around wasting a full pardon. No one’s expecting you to start doing a press circuit. If you wanna walk off into the sunset and go find a picket fence to park your Transylvania routine behind, we’ll help you pack and send you postcards. If you wanna do what Steve did and pick up a life in SHEILD, let’s get you fitted in some Kevlar and find you a therapist. But let’s get you outta this fuckin’ room.”

Bucky’s eyebrows stay firmly set, keeping his eyes shrouded. “Why.”

“Oh my god, could you be more dramatic? Like, shit, if you really tried?” He stands up from the bed, headed for the door, his eyes rolling again. “You wanna know why? Because that’s what people do, Bucky. They hit the ground, they figure out if they’re still breathing, and then they get back up to fix what broke. You keep going for the ones who didn’t survive the landing; because they’d hate your guts if you laid down and died over them. Your friend Steve can tell you all about that if you ever feel like giving the man the time of day. No one’s asking you to do this alone.” 

Sam stops at the door, raising one finger and pointing it back accusingly. “You know what— I’m asking you to go outside long enough for a beer in three days. Besides that, it’s up to you how slow you wanna take this.”

“What’s in three days?” The comment is thrown out on a grumble, right when Sam’s nearly got the door closed.

“My birthday, asshole. I’d like to spend it somewhere outside of this house. And, believe it or not, I’d like you to be there.”

—author end notes—

idk abt other ppls trauma foods, but man when im Goin Through Shit all i can ever stomach is bread and bubbles so, for sure inflicted that on bucko. plums i feel like are His to pick up, y'know?

im putting the idiots in my own couples counseling since im robbing bucky of his best FATWS moment so far (yes it is the wrong about me line ty for asking). i also want it on record that grammarly tried to get me to change "the 30s" to "his 30s" and i had to be like no actually i just jacked our leading man from the restricted section of the smithsonian, thanks tho babe

and now you've met paige!! the storm in a bottle herself!! she gonna smooch the shit outta stevie. gonna try to do our babe peggy proud and have her knock that dweeb off his toes at every turn (not hard). still no clue if ill do a spin-off series for them since they're just background here, but i do know im doing some kinktober stuff for them. they get 10 of the days so far (yeah. yeah, its gonna be 4some territory in the last few days, but have no fear, the main fic((s? series maybe? look man im makin a plan as we go. all i know right now is good space and kinktober)) will stay monogamy focused). so, fans of super mega dirty steve, might wanna Check Back Later for those posts 🥰

[cassthecheshire]

WHY IS IT SO HARD FOR PEOPLE AND THE GOVERNMENT TO REALIZE. ACCEPT AND UNDERSTAND THAT FOR US DISABLED PEOPLE WE A FORCED TO RELY ON AID EVEN IF WE DONT WANT TO HAVE TO AND JUST HELP US SO WE CAN AT THE LEAST SIMPLY FEED OURSELVES!!!

For those that don't know I am disabled. I have Agoraphobia, anxiety, Anxiety induced tics, Depression, Fibromyalgia, and PTSD. I applied to long term disability two years ago now and they initially denied me back in October saying I wasn't disabled enough. I have appealed and haven't heard anything.

Then I found out if you apply for LT disability then you can get temporary disability while you wait for long term.

I applied then found out I apparently only applied to SSD and not SSI as well and need both so that got denied.

Called LT disability and the worker said they don't typically tell you anymore about SSI if they deem you not qualified but you need to apply to both for some other programs.

So I applied to SSI and then put in for temporary again.

SSI skipped any phone call and denied me and then temporary finally came back to me with a denial for lack of paper work before the paper works due date. Note:I already had the paper work in but was missing a page that noone told me it had been missing.

I called temporary disability and then that worker sounded frustrated because he saw no reason it should have been denied at that point and said I just needed to reapply and advised me I should appeal or reapply for ssi again.

So I reapplied for temporary and automatically uploaded the required documents.

I then looked into temporary disability a bit more and while it says that you just have to have a claim for long term pending they only give you paper work for SSI to reimburse them.

This is leading me to believe they only give you temporary disability if you have a SSI claim pending which if true is really crapy.

I also looked into SSI requirements and I meet them due to having a mental illness that qualifies me as unable to work.

Tried calling LT disability yesterday and the automated system basically said call between Wednesday and Friday due to them have too high a call volume that day.

Now because of all of this and temporary screwing up and coming up with new reasons to deny me I will most likely loose my foodstamps.

HOW AM I NOT DISABLED AND DONT QUALIFY FOR DISABILITY WHEN I HAVE AGORAPHOBIA!!

It is so frustrating when I get told "Oh no you can work as you aren't disabled enough." When I can't deal with people. Like I legit have to have one of my 3 "safe" people with me doing the social interactions for me whenever they can pull me out of the house to get me groceries.

I can't handle phone calls either so being forced to make these calls over and over again has me completely drained and my tics and anxiety are at max levels which causes my fibro to flare and I am just miserable.

I want to work I want to get back to having to not worry about feeding myself or getting basic life needs.

I am working on it with doctors and my therapist and striving to get myself better but it is really hard to not just want to give up when your own government refuses to do anything to help and fights you every step of the way to make sure you don't qualify for their help.

For long term i am trying to take next steps to push them to approve me but I cant do that without having temporary at this point because I need money to just do basic life things at this point.

I hate that the government really does try and make it so they don't have to help you when there are plenty of people on disability that don't actually need it.

[tallkfandomtome]

Originally posted on previous reblog and then edited out bc I feel like I should have it on my own profile.

10 years ago or so (just turned 30 in sept), I've found a fic in a word doc, nameless. When I read it it was super familiar, and I could've easly forgotten I wrote it. Still, I "corrected some errors" posted it on ffnet, and said in the descrption: I found this on my docs. If its anyones, let me know. I love your wtiting. Or something of the sort. (Already mistake n°1) That was uploaded for like a year. Then I figured after no one recclamied it that was actually something I wrote. Like a dumbass I deleted that description and lo and behold, someone came 1) saying a was a a son of a bitch for stealing someone's work and 2) the actual author.

Ofc I was super embarrased and ashamed. I profusely apologized, took the fic down inmediatly and apologized again. I also made a statement in my bio and said everything that happened, apologizing again.

I think about this still bc I still feel bad. As an actual writer myself, something like this happeining to me would wreck me. The autor was super nice and I truly hope they've forgiven me for it.

They said something, I remember, that really hurt me even, lol, and that is "check if some other of your works are not someone else's and you upload them by mistake as well".

Gosh. It felt awfwl. Bc ofc they would make that assumption. That was the only and last time I would ever do that, but they had no real way of knowing that.. it still stings a bit.

After that ofc I never saved anymore fics in random word docs. But what I'm trying to say is that what JS and these other "creators" do is very different from these stupid, shitty mistakes that can still happen. We are small creators. I never was nor am a famous fic write,nor want to ever be tbh. I write bc i cant help it. Bc even with everything, i love it. I put a lot of effort and time into it (when i'm able to sit down and do it, i mean). Thats why I still feel like shit. Thats why i'm saying all this. This is something that i did and if i could, I would still be apologizing to the author.

JS and the others... dont. They dont care. They feel as if all this is an attack TO them. Its insane and horrible. They have no remorse for these other creators without a popular platform like theirs, who's works they're citing verbatim. That its truly mean and intentional.

If the author reads this by chance, I'm sorry. Hope you're still writing. ♡♡

[loyalestmunch]

11.19.23

actually the loneliest ive ever felt. i dont have a best friend. the two friends that i do have both have boyfriends n are preoccupied with them. im always in my room. im always in my four walls. i dont have a life outside of here. and i hate it so much.

i dont have someone i can spontaneously visit whenever i want anymore. i dont have a safe person that will always make time for me. if im sad, i dont have someone to go to. and it fuckiing sucks.

what sucks even more is when i sleep until 5 pm and check my phone to zero notifications. ts makes me go right the fuck back to sleep

i made an editing acc on tt. its cool its got like 70 smth followers so far. i really fucking hope i can make friends on there. but like. everyone in the editing community is like. 15 or 16. it just sux i used to edit at those ages too but now here i am at 18 (almost 19!) crawling back to the editing community to maybe find even a small glimpse of the happiness it gave me when i was younger. but nothing beat the feeling of dreaming of an edit in ur head all day.... waiting till school got out... running (literally) home to whip ts up on video star before i forgot it and then uploaded it and shared it amongst my little editing friends. and then i'd stay up late until 2 am or so watching and saving other edits i thought were cool. even in quarantine, i found joy in editing. november 2020 was actually the worst year of my life but also the best i miss it so much i miss the plethora of friends i used to have fuck. i miss playing identity v otp all night long with ray, i miss playing genshin in vc and doing stupid shit and farming for artifacts for hours on end with jazzy and tason and ray and gabby. my poor ipad wld overheat and my fingerprints would burn from dragging them across the hot screen but i didnt care . it was fun.

edit im not done i have more things i want to reminisce about .

ive been rewatching rick and morty and keeping up with the new seasons in the same sense that i watched it in middle school and now im crawling back to see if it brings me the same joy. and it does !. for the most part. but since justin got fired rip there's new voice actors. and it's fine honestly i dont care that much im still gna watch it but i hate how everythings changing. 13 year old me cldnt begin to fathom rick and morty losing (one of its) most renowned creator(s). like fuck. he voiced RICK AND MORTY. BOTH. like holy fuck. but its fine i guess the writings still kinda the same and the show is funny and makes me happy. i wish i had someone i cld take with me everywhere like my own little morty . i need friends.

i also miss the essence of boxed fettuchine(???) alfredo while watching r/m or camp camp at gammys house. ts was fire

i miss the roblox theme park tycoon and the chocolate cake we made that day and ate. it was so good.

i miss the lego game my cousin and i wld play. we didnt even do anything my mind just couldnt believe an open map game i haad so much fun just walking around and looking and doing absolutely nothing. and eating reheated pizzahut. and mcdonalds cookies. and funfetti boxed cake.

i miss when i had my phone taken when mom and i stayed at gammys when parents almst got divorced and i used her old iphone 5 she forgot she gave me and i had my little fandom acc on insta with my little mooties and friends and the warmth of gammys house in november fuck i miss it all i miss growing up so much i hate being an adult. i cant fucking have fun sober i dont have friends im alone nearly every single day i dont have friends in college i dont ta\lk to anyone i fucking just show up and leave without removing my earbuds.

and i know its my fsult. i know im the reason why i dont have friends. im the only reason why im like this. i only do it to myself.

im so alone and i just keep fucking regressing to find happiness because there's none here in present day thats for sure !

[adamnagaitisnews]

Okay, it's like i have to break my promise not to write publicly, i hate it. but this one, i really want everyone to see it. first of all, i want @carolsfeelgoodstuff to read it bc she won't leave me alone and won't contact me personally.

We'll talk the concepts of YouTube and self-sufficiency.

1)YouTube.

YouTube is the world biggest platform for videos, it allows to upload the largest and the best quality videos possible. Also, YouTube is the first place anyone would go searching. I cut my vids to pieces to be able to upload every second available without violating the copyright of the original owner. Sometimes my vids get blocked, sometimes the rightholders unblock them, it's a very complicated system, and we're not talking about it today. but i always try to make everything stay on the channel the longest time possible. Why? It's done for the fans who may come not today, not even tomorrow. A year, 5 years, 10 years, whatever. It's an archive of everything in one place available for everyone from everywhere in the world. That's it. That's why i care about quality so much. Everything is categorized by folders (for the times when he is super famous ehehe) for quick search.

So, it's YouTube.

Now your favourite part. The word 'EXCLUSIVE' (my ass ™). That's where we come to the concept of

2) Self-sufficiency.

When i first started it, i was different, let's say so. I thought im gonna do something and people will love me (i know, ridiculous, ive grown up since then). It was not about archive, it was about me wishing to be included. Long story short, it failed. (i strongly believe everyone knows this story of me attacking people out of the blue like a rabid dog. Am i proud of it? No. But what's done is done.)

I had two ways. To stop doing what i was doing or to go on alone. I chose the latter :). This channel was the first thing in my life i didn't abandon after 5 minutes. I enjoyed every second of it. Editing, making covers, avoiding blocking and deciding what im gonna do next. Adam turned out a perfect muse for me. I never get tired of his face and he always inspires me to try something new. Months later, I understood that i didn't need to be included anymore, it was so enjoyable that i knew even if everyone unfollows me today, im gonna start from scratch tomorrow just because i love it. Even when it sux.

I stopped asking people here and on twitter to subscribe (i do ask on yt but it's a common practice). I became self-sufficient.

Wow! You ve read up to this! EXCLUSIVE (my ass ™).

When i discovered Branwell's vids, i was sooo excited (my ass ™), i posted an extract on twitter immediately but no one seemed interested. I won't describe the circles of hell i went through to upload it to yt in THREE, CARL, pieces to make it available all over the world. And i still wanted everyone here and on twitter to see it. The word EXCLUSIVE (my ass ™) seemed to fit the best to draw attention, bc i was absolutely sure no one saw it before. Then @wifeofbath asked me where i got it, but i was still pissed (not proud), and never responded. As simple as that.

You gonna ask me why i said no to you. Speaking both Louvel and Hamlet, when i do something i find especially appealing, i feel an urge to make a post here and on twitter. Even if no one likes it. it's a ✔️ for me. Like mission completed or something.

Speaking Hamlet in particular, first, because i wanted to gif this one myself. Hamlet is a really big deaI for me. Second, i was dumb and it took me longer than expected to find it (on rutracker, my ass!). Third, im so so so sorry to say it aloud, and please don't take it personally and for fuck's sake dont stop giffing, but like i said, i have nothing to lose. Im a rabid dog :). i stopped visiting tumblr as often as i used to because i couldn't find other people's posts through the mass of your gifs. I got irritated and just left quietly and went into post'n'go mode. Tbh i was embarrassed when you wrote me here through the question form. Also, later i found you annoying, and im sorry for that.

So these were all cases when anyone asked me for a source of anything.

Everything i post i found in open sources, it's like a sport for me. First you find it, then you post and then there's this russian roulette moment - will it be blocked or not? Or will i have to cut the shit out of it to make it available all over the world? With those videos, Im concentrated on yt only, i dont aim to upload it anywhere else, bc see pt. 1. I don't own them, i dont care who else posts them and where. Ive learned my lessons and i wanna go on in peace.

Thanks for reading this,

Seems like im finally free now,

If there are any questions, please ask, im gonna answer.

❤️,

Al

[ceruleanskies]

🙃

[jung-koook]

let me talk about something here please.

every time I open my inbox I saw hates messages. I prefer to block these messages, ignore them completely but this time I think I need to reply to these ones that left me extremely offended.

stealing from twitter??? what?? whenever I go on twitter and see a photo or video and post it here I always put the credits. I also check their twitter account to see if there are any messages from them asking us to not repost their videos and photos. and after so many controversies and fansites wrong behaviors, i also stopped supporting fansite fantakes. when I go on twitter to look for translations for my gifs I always put the credits in the description of them. when I post only the translation I take a screenshot of their account and post it showing their username. I also use twitter for news and I always post a screenshot showing where the new came from. and I use twitter to see other instagrams uploading members photos, but do i need to put credits where i got these photos? please, I didnt steal anything from anyone!

now this one.. gosh :/ being called a sasaeng is so offensive, I’m really shook right now :/ let me reply to this message :////

first of all, I am a 24 year old adult, thank you. “has major saesang behavior”??? what do you mean by that?? if you call me something like that you have to give me proof of what you're talking about! I never posted anything from their private events and schedules. nor pics of them just enjoying their lives. i document every moment of jeongguks life?? I cant understand what you're talking about because i dont to that. I never posted anything private about his life!

i already posted some pics of jeongguk that his brother posted on his instagram and his brother talking about gureum. his brother always interacted with army on instagram. he already posted some pics of jeongguk and some bangtan fanarts on his instagram. his brother never told armys not to interact with his account. but after some people asked me not to post these photos/pics here anymore, i deleted them.  (i dont see anything wrong with posting these since his brother doesnt see a problem with it. different from hobis sister who already said she doesnt like her instagram posts beind shared. )

when jeongguk was to film the ‘left and right’ mv. I saw a translation account translate to where he was going. I had read the kmedia news but I didnt realize that the two accounts were talking about different places. so I completely wrongly shared what the translation account translated but that account translated the place bighit was trying to keep private. a nice person here saw it and came to warn me about it and after that i deleted my post and apologize for sharing that here. I think unfortunately these are mistakes that anyone can make. but that doesnt make them saesang. please search on saesang term first.

if i cared about ony notes i wouldnt make gifs anymore. I make gifs because its a hobby that helps me to relax, to forget about the things that are bothering me in my personal life, to show a little bit of my love and admiration for bangtan by making my gifs. but notes are something important and caring about notes is nothing wrong! everyone wants to have their work recognized in some way right? and here its through the notes. so yes, I will self-reblog my posts whenever I want, thanks. :) 

I dont know why but there seem to be a lot of people who dont like that I've been here since 2013 lol and they think I dont deserve the support I got since the start of my blog. been here since the beginning helped me a lot and its something important for me. please dont try to take that out of my story. my blog is a beautiful part of my history as a bangtan fan. please dont try to hurt this part of my story. I went on hiatus for a while because I'm studying architecture and I had to focus only on my studies :)) when i came back tumblr was completely different. the people I knew from before werent here. even though i still had a lot of followers i felt like most werent here anymore either. so for me it was like starting my blog all over again. most of the people who support my blog here dont know it from the beginning, most are new people. so the reason I have support here is not because I've been here since 2013. the only ugliness I see here is you and your messages. you tried to ruin my day and you succeeded. :)

I'm tired of people trying to make things up about me! leave me alone! I'm not hurting anyone. I just post my gifs, support the work of other talented people here and scream for bangtan. stop trying to make up extremely dangerous lies about me! if you dont like me and my blog, stop being pathetic please do something for yourself. blocked my blog so you will never see me here again.

P.S. I’m sorry for my bad english but i needed to answer these messages. and I answered that way because I needed to block these people or the same person from my blog.