#it’s…less about selling her because we didn’t ever truly click and more about. i am losing such a CORE facet of myself.

[lvllns]

the barn owner will be buying charlotte and i’m so happy it’s worked out so well but at the same time. i’ve never not had a horse. it’s going to take some time to figure out who i am, i think.

[onlyhereforangst]

WWR

Alright y’all a likely final WWR coming at you, you know 3 months late the day of the dreaded s19 premiere. This definitely gets ranty and emotional, if you’re a Gibbs stan scroll the fuck away & don’t send me hate anon. This is bittersweet and it hurts and I’ve been living in denial for months but I needed this little bit of closure before the writer’s absolutely fuck it up in less than 6 hours. I hope you enjoy my emotional ramblings & I’ve absolutely loved writing these for the past two years, i’ll miss it & your reactions to it dearly ❤️

Badass Ellie is allllllways a treat, and protective nick contrasted to her making albeit slightly reckless decisions is top tier. And then followed up by him being impressed as hell??? He’s like damn my girl just did that and I am not turned on, no way, we are working I am not turned on, nope. Nick sitting at Ellie’s desk in the beginning PLS. Feet kicked up feeling mighty comfortable for someone who hates sitting at a desk 👀 only ok with it when it’s Ellie’s, huh Nick? Also I love that he’s sticking with the nonchalant approach like he did when he found her looking up Eastern Europe locations. He knows if he pushes too hard it won’t go well, but he is still concerned for her well-being. Those pieces slowly clicking into place that something isn’t just off- it’s worrisome off. Because while yes he’s still nonchalant he’s a touch more serious this time, ignoring her attempt at a brush off and claiming “he wants answers.” It’s a subtle step up from 18x14, but it’s there. His spidey senses are tingling and he’s getting less and less able to hide his concern for her 🥺 even if he tries to play it off as flirty banter because yes he’s still gd impressed with her moves and even tells Vance as such essentially. 

Flash forward to at the stash house and they find the files plus the mini debrief back in the bullpen…I truly am inclined to believe Ellie doesn’t know here. I mean sure she realizes that the timing fits to a certain extent—she was at NSA when this happened, but I don’t think she knows this is the beginning of her end. She’s like “oh they’re selling secrets too” and “my contacts are all gone” like…I just, she seems too casual and not at all on edge. Idk so far I’m just not getting that vibe. She even brushed off McGee with the whole that was ten years ago almost like she didn’t remember it? But then at the same time she did bring up the whole legal vs ethical- she hedged, but she did mention it. She was not super gung-ho about OMG THIS WAS SO UNETHICAL WTF HOW COULD THEY DO THIS so still……..idk lets continue haha

Ok her knowledge of guns is slightly concerning but also Nick finds it concerning AND hot, boy can’t help himself lets be honest. That “damn” that slips out please, so many sirens going off in that head but also you’re just like well fuck talk dirty to me some more babe. Aaaaand here we go, here’s why I know Ellie didn’t know that odette was going to plant that shit right now. “Whoever took them from the NSA’s code-level servers risked a lot more than their career” with a little like duh face from Ellie SCREAMS that she did not, would not, EVER do that. The leak was fabricated by Odette and the fact that it would be planted during this case was all Odette unbeknownst to Ellie. Or why the fuck would Ellie so casually and somewhat judgmentally be like “who TF would leak something like that, man they stupid, committing treason and whatnot.” And Ellie is SHOOK when Vance tells her it was her. Like shook as in, blinks several times, shifts her weight back, glances at McGee with a flash of surprise in her eyes. That body language screeeeeams being caught off guard. If she had leaked those documents and if she had known this was a plant, she wouldn’t be caught off guard. And no matter how well you can try and play the part, that body language is legit. She’s shocked someone would even think about that and oh man, Nick. Nick’s face hurts me (and I know this is just the beginning). Because a man who has always seen himself as the bad egg, the criminal so to speak, the one who would do something shady before any of the others. He is shook and angry that Vance could even consider accusing Ellie of this. And then there’s the genuine concern etched on his face (and I’d know, the screen is currently paused on his face staring at Ellie with a worried furrowed brow and pain clenched in his jaw) because he knows logical Ellie wouldn’t do this but also he knows he’s been seeing little puzzle pieces fall into place of suspicious behavior and this is just one more thing that doesn’t sit right with him- doesn’t fit the woman he’s come to know and love. And while I know he truly believes she didn’t leak the files, I would bet right here he’s concerned about what the fuck she’s gotten herself wrapped up in. 

And she continues to be adamantly against this, like Eleanor Raye Bishop would NOT ever leak intel, not as a baby NSA analyst who believed she was doing the right thing always in her role. Never once bringing up questionable ethics, she thought it was the greater good, that little patriot. She’s so adamantly against it and then Vance asks if she was framed, and I think that’s the point where Ellie realizes this is Odette. The word framed all of a sudden clicks it all into place and she picks up it might be “go time” for her. Her glances over at Vance have changed, they’re more cautious, calculating. She hears they’ve been leaked over ten years ago and she knows that she didn’t do it 10 years ago so this very well may be the notice of eviction from Odette. The “we’re coming for you, Agent Bishop” and her little look, oooooh Ellie is fired up. Her switch flipped and she’s now gotta hunker down and defend herself until she can confirm with Odette. Vance doesn’t even let her get a word in to “fight” for her innocence. But the fact that she’s getting sent home pisses her off, she wants to be close to the investigation, know what’s happening, and I’m sure a part of her still resists being dubbed that traitor of the state. Who knows, Odette may have never told her how she would become a disgraced NCIS agent, and this may have pissed Ellie off because her integrity is something she prides herself on. Her line, “I’m not Gibbs […] I’m innocent line” is like a tiny bright spot to chuckle in during this dismal finale. Gibbs hate train right hereeeee

Love that Kasie is immediately on the Ellie defense side, not looking forward to her reaction to Ellie leaving IF they even decide to show us. 

Gibbs telling Ellie “sometimes there’s nothing left to be said” when he fucking up and left the team without so much as a goodbye or sorry for committing police brutality like fuck outta here Gibbs. Ellie is CLEARLY vulnerable right now, she’s been accused of leaking classified documents aka committing treason, she’s suspended, she’s on the brink of going on some dumbass undercover op and is begging, pleading, for any sign from you- her boss and father figure- not to do it. That he shows remorse for leaving the team without a word, that he regrets his decision to just disappear on them, that he wishes he hadn’t or he had done it differently. ANY kind of sign to tell her not to go through with what she’s about to go through. Literally any sign, and instead Gibbs gets defensive and bites back that she’s picking the wrong time in her life (LIKE HELLO YOU JUST SAID IT RIGHT THERE IDIOT, SHE’S GOING THROUGH SHIT MAYBE YOU SHOULD FIGURE OUT WHAT IT IS BUT NO YOU’RE WRAPPED UP IN GIBBS LA-LA-LAND AND HAVE SAID FUCK YOU TO YOUR SUPPOSED KIDS), so now Ellie is even more pissed and gets defensive back telling him he doesn’t even know what’s going on in her life and if that’s not a desperate cry for help I don’t know what is. like she is begging you Gibbs to pick up on it and figure it out, begging you to do your job that’s you’re supposedly so good at and save her from going through with this stupid mission. And then Ellie realizes that he stopped caring about them. He’d gotten so wrapped up in what he was doing, he stopped caring about their lives, the problems they were facing, anything. Him *not* realizing something was happening??? This is Gibbs, this is the man that always knows what’s happening before you even know what’s happening. So the words “I’m starting to realize that” hit like a fucking dump truck. He’s too preoccupied with his own boat-making nonsense that he can’t be bothered to have even an inkling of an idea of what’s going on in their lives. And he doesn’t seem to care that he’s dropped them from his life. And that’s when it hits Ellie, he’s never coming back. He’s cut the team out of his life and he doesn’t care. He has no regrets, he can’t even be bothered to have a single regret. And I think that, right there, is when Ellie decides she’s all in. I think there was always a small part of her that was hesitant to go along with odette. Hesitant to just upend her career and her relationships (aka Nick, but we’ll get to this), all of it. But hearing that the man she looked up to even though he’d made some mistakes, the man she viewed as a father, the one person who’d taken a chance on the nerdy analyst long ago, the one constant through all the turmoil she’d had, just left? Just left without a goodbye, without remorse, without even a parting thought for her? That was it for her. Whatever brainwashing Odette had fed her that she’d pushed back against from fully taking over finally broke free. And with it, Ellie grieves, she’s tearing up from knowing what she’s about to lose. Lose the man she viewed as a father, the coworkers that were like a family, the partner she’d found herself loving like she’d never loved before. 

Ugh poor hurt Nick, he’s willing to do all the grunt work that he abhors in order to free up McGee so he can save Ellie. Nick knows he doesn’t have the skills and I think that’s killing him even more so. He can’t just do it himself, he has to rely on someone else to clear her name (to which he bumped back to last name in a last ditch attempt to maintain distance and keep some semblance of emotions in check, which is failing miserably), and that is killing the doer we know and love. LOL “so you’re both wrong” this poor man I love him, I can’t wait for the tears that will come from me later 🥲 nick immediately taking Jessica’s help, I love it. He’s like I don’t give AF who will help us but I am clearing this woman’s name if it’s the last thing I do. And then she walks in and he’s frozen. All these emotions running through him and then she’s there?? And she ignores him??? Ignores all of them?? Rushes past and storms up to the director on a suicide mission??? Yeah this is why I said that conversation with Gibbs was her last nail in the coffin. She hadn’t decided to go through with it (hence why she hedged earlier with Vance) and then he went and was a piece of shit so she said the hell with it and went all in. She can’t even bring herself to speak at Nick, barely looks at him, because she knows, she knows if she speaks to him, if he gets a chance to try and talk her down in the heightened emotional state she’s in after talking to Gibbs, she won’t be able to hold it in. She won’t be able to deal with seeing emotionally charged and hurt Nick. So she ignores him and McGee and does what she thinks she has to do. How hard did it have to be for Ellie to tell Vance not to defend her, and that their intel was correct? 🥺🥺 it goes against everything she’s ever stood for and she just went and did it. She hates liars and yet she lied. She loves her country and yet she claimed she committed treason. Her body language once again screams uncomfortable but trying to play it off. She’d nodding and repeating it over and over because she needs to convince herself of the words. They leave a bitter taste in her mouth and she can’t stop it. All she can do is clench her jaw a little tighter and get it over with and convince herself. 

Nick is in disbelief, obviously. McGee looks like he’s five seconds from breaking down because his little sister is supposedly a traitor??? Like he can’t believe it. He’s hurt she would do something like this even though he still knows in his gut that it can’t possibly be true. And oh FUCK the part where Nick’s voice cracks asking if Vance fired Ellie. Fuuuuuuuck me. This man’s heart is breaking for what’s happening to Ellie and being completely in the dark about it. Sure they weren’t really clear on what “they” were after The Talk but still. He thought she was open with him. Ever since the jail cell, things had shifted and he thought she’d been honest with him. He’d picked up on those little things, but maybe it was just training or something, NOT committing alleged treason and quitting the one career she loved. Not leaving him in the dark and vanishing without so much as a word. Not that. Because she KNOWS his past, she knows how much shit he’s been through with people in his life leaving without so much as a goodbye. And his voice continues to crack asking about what’s going on because he’s literally in shock. McGee is desperately trying to keep it together, keep some sort of figurehead for the team. Nick is in shambles ok, just like I’m in shambles. He’s adamant she didn’t do it because he KNOWS her. He knows she would never in a million years leak classified intel and now he’s just confused like a lost and kicked puppy. She didn’t DO IT, and she’s not answering her PHONE. He just wants to talk to her, he just wants to know she’s ok, wants to comfort her, wants to convince her to stop and it’ll be alright and he’ll take care of her and he’ll save her because that’s all he wants to do and always has, right? Save her. Save her from everything in this world that could hurt her. Protect her from life’s dangers. Protect her because he can’t bear the thought of losing her. And that all is crumbling down around him. All of it, crashing down like an avalanche, ready to bury him alive in grief and guilt and despair and anger. How am I supposed to TALK to her, he just wants to fucking be with her. He just wants to be there. With her. For the rest of their lives.

Ellie looking at the hat, please. That’s a lifetime of regret packed into one facial expression right there. She’s looking at that hat, the one she cherishes from the moment Gibbs hands it to her, and knows it’ll be the last time she ever sees it again. It’s not something she can take with her, and it’s full of fond memories—most happy, some sad, a few bittersweet—but memories that have made her life whole the past 8 years. And there’s officially no going back, she’s admitted to treason, there’s no way out of that. She’s having to say goodbye to all of her career without saying goodbye to any of them, all of that is wrapped up in that hat. A hat that’s so simple but signifies so much to her. She definitely was not expecting McGee to come out and so her rebuttals to him are exasperated and grasping at straws initially. She tries sarcasm and then she tries to brush it off “it doesn’t matter, it’s done […] I get that, I don’t want to talk about it” when McGee voices that he’s hurt over this and her reputation matters to him. Because he’s like another brother to you dammit Ellie. Yeah he’s grown since he said Ziva was like a sister to him and just stomped on your heart, he didn’t say it then but you’re like a sister to him too Ellie. I love that he fights her on it, and Ellie is like shit I have to come up with something. I don’t think she expected McGee of all people to fight her on this and I’m so glad he did. A little bit of growth because he is not going to see another person he views as family leave him again. And Ellie’s half assed excuses please, all of it is just such BULLSHIT because when they first debriefed she was just like “ethical? Hmmm” nothing more, nothing about being a vigilante and being up in arms over this like she claims she was. Bullshit Ellie, bullshit. And the PARALLELS TO FUCKING GIBBS. THIS IS WHAT YOU DID GIBBS, THIS IS YOU. LOOK WHERE YOU FUCKING PUSHED ELEANOR BISHOP TO STOOP TO. McGee begging her to regret it and Ellie pulls a Gibbs and is like NOPE. WONDER WHERE THE FUCK SHE LEARNED THAT FROM HUH. Gibbs you are singlehandedly responsible for this shit and how Ellie broke Nick’s heart and whatever happens to her on this stupid mission. I’m glad your dumb boat blew up, you deserve it. 

“I don’t want protection” because I can’t have you all following me. 

“It kills me that I lied to the people I was closest to” not about what you think I’m lying about but what I’ve been hiding. It kills me that I can’t tell you the real reason for this. It kills me.

“It wasn’t years ago for us” McGee rip my heart out please it will hurt less. And Ellie just playing into all of it. Knowing that she needs him and everyone else to hate her and not trust her. Her entire livelihood and backstory rely on them hating her and not following her, believing she’s the enemy and she’s hid these kinds of secrets for so long. Believing she’s a criminal and it was all a farce. She has to play into it. She has to. It’s the only way she will survive, they’ll survive. Odette likely fed her this shit, cut all ties, make sure no one follows, make sure no one is attached, burn all bridges. 

Ah and we’re back to pissed Nick. Nick who doesn’t like to be left in the dark ever, let alone when it deals with Bishop. Getting his edgy self being rude to Kasie but Kasie doesn’t even bat an eyelash. She knows Nick is hurting and she reaches out to him, she doesn’t take his tone to heart because she knows. Nick saying he wouldn’t know how she’s doing is just like a knife to the heart. He wants to know, desperately. He once thought he was the person she would go to in times like these but now all he’s getting is radio silence, a cold shoulder, and screened phone calls. He’s in visceral pain from the thought of her going through this alone, pain from everything he once thought true and good being destroyed in a day’s time. And Kasie is shocked that Nick hasn’t spoken to her. If that doesn’t tell you she knows that they are a thing and the gravity of all this, I don’t know what will. Nick should have spoken to her, clearly he wants to, in every other situation he would have already. But Kasie (and Jessica) just realized Ellie is shutting Nick out and that is Not Good. 

Back to Gibbs. Fucking asshole he is. McGee comes to you desperate to help his sister, Gibbs’ “daughter” and he goes “I think she’s at a crossroads” ???? Acting like he didn’t fucking encourage her at this so-called crossroads???? Like ???? The fuck???? Her crossroads was painfully obvious when she came to talk to you and YOU basically treated her like you couldn’t care less about her. That you had no clue what she was dealing with in her life and said as much. So yeah, she WAS at a fucking crossroads until you SHOVED her into oncoming traffic and said have a nice fucking life. AND THEN. McGee wants to help her and Gibbs tells him he can’t??? “Not this time” bitch this is YOUR FAULT. YOU COULD HAVE HELPED HER. COULD HAVE TALKED TO HER AT LEAST SOMEWHAT AND YOU DIDN’T. YOU SAID YOU DIDN’T REALIZE SHE WAS SPIRALING AND THAT YOU DIDN’T REGRET LEAVING YOUR SO-CALLED FOUND FAMILY IN THE DUST AND GUESS WHAT. SHE WENT AND PARROTED YOUR WORDS RIGHT BACK AT MCGEE SO FUCK YOU GIBBS. 

Ooooh Nick looks lethal, love that look, hate why he has that look though. Lol Nick getting ready to go murder the dude in interrogation because he set up Ellie and he’s just ignoring the fact that she claims she committed treason because he already knows there is literally no way on earth that she did it. And Vance realizing that Nick needs to stand down like fiiiiiiinally someone realized it. Obviously he isn’t gonna listen and poor Nick, this boy has it bad and he’s truly just SO WORRIED for what Ellie is about to do. Because right there, the confirmation that the file was a plant, that was the final puzzle piece falling into its perfect place. Every single thing he questioned, every little moment he’d replayed in his head, it all made sense. And he was so very pissed she hadn’t come to him- and honestly I think part of him is trying to ignore the WHY that’s behind that because he truly wouldn’t be able to think straight if he went there. I think that would be his end, going into the why she didn’t trust him, why she lied, why it hurts him so much. It would be the end, and yet…we’re just beginning here. And of course he knows exactly who is manipulating Ellie, he hadn’t trusted that scum from the start. So of course he goes straight to Odette’s cabin and lays in wait, probably pouring over all the documents and things Ellie did or didn’t leave behind there. 

Ellie pulling up in the truck and that heavy sigh? Yeah, she’s still not convinced this is a good idea. She’s running on emotions but that logical part of her (and deep down, her heart, knowing what she’s about to do- who she’s about to cut out of her life) is whispering of how very bad an idea this is. She still has to gather her willpower to get out of that car but when it’s Gibbs calling her? The same Gibbs that basically just kicked her out the door without so much as a wave goodbye? Yeah, the emotion just came rushing back, pushing the logic aside. She claims she can’t tell Nick because no shit if she has to look him in the face and lie and still say goodbye, it’ll kill her. She’s honestly not sure if she can go through with it. 

OH we back to a Gibbs hate novel, hold on. “I’M REALLY PROUD OF YOU BISHOP” WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK. I’M REALLY PROUD YOU’RE THROWING EVERYTHING YOU EVER WORKED FOR AWAY, PUSHING THE ONES YOU LOVE THE MOST OUT OF YOUR LIFE, SACRIFICING YOUR ONE SHOT OF LOVE THAT YOU OF ALL PEOPLE DESERVE THE MOST. I’M SO PROUD OF YOU. Oh fuck OFF Gibbs. “Following your gut” oh shut UP. I just don’t understand this part. I don’t understand it, and I’m trying so hard for it to make sense, for it to be in character. Like does Gibbs have any clue?? I’m sure he recognizes the signs, I’m sure he has an inkling at this point. So how would he be proud? How the FUCK would he say he’s learned some stuff from her. Does he mistakenly trust Odette because of what she did for Ziva? Is he just so self-absorbed he doesn’t completely comprehend what Ellie is doing leaving Nick behind??? And Rule 91 is a load of shit. “When you decide to walk away, don’t look back” how FUCKING STUPID. Like Gibbs of all people, you should understand that is a SHIT rule. You’ve lost the people you loved dearly and you think she should just never look back? Like are you saying this so that Ellie has a clear head for the undercover op? Are you hoping she doesn’t get herself killed by being wrapped up in what she left behind??? What the actual fuck. Stupid ass rule honestly. It’s what you live by Gibbs and look how well that turned out for you. Look at the family you ditched. Nice fucking job. 

“It’s done” and “what are you talking about I did everything you asked” ok she’s 100% being manipulated and almost blackmailed somehow. There’s no other explanation. Eleanor Raye Bishop wouldn’t do this shit. Not willingly, not if she knew how much Nick loved her and how much she loved him (which if her words in just a minute are any indication, yeah she had a fucking clue). Odette calling Nick a loose end just SCREAMS how she purposefully fucking chose the moment Ellie and Nick started to get close to decide it was time for Ellie to go undercover. I just KNOW it. She’s a manipulative bitch and there is no limit to the rock bottom she will stoop to. 

Ellie knows who she’s talking about and the just look of fuck I have to actually tell him to his face. The doubt and grief and guilt and all of it, flashing across her face as she realizes she has to do this. She has to face this, she has to lie. She has to break his trust (not that she hasn’t already) something SHE made so painstakingly clear she needed from Nick. Nick is rightfully *pissed* I mean who can blame him. Ellie with her, “I have nothing to be sorry for.” I know Ellie is just doing her best to burn bridges, the hesitation and avoidance leading up to this lends itself to no other interpretation. She is going to say anything and everything to make sure Nick does not follow her. Make sure he stays as far away as possible from her. She can’t bear the thought of him getting hurt in some way from all this. Even though he may not get physically hurt, I don’t think she realizes the heart break is going to be worse. The painful part is Nick understands, he understands why she wants to do undercover. He had seen that glimmer in her eye when they were Charlie and Luis, he gets it, he’s been there. And he wishes so desperately he could impress every lesson he’s learned on her right then and there but at the same time he knows it won’t change a thing. He just wishes in vain that their love would change her mind, even if logic wouldn’t, their love surely could. I think Ellie starts to realize just how much Nick can see through her and that’s why she owns up to the fact that Odette planted the files, and also why I believe the leak was all an elaborate hack that Ellie didn’t know about. 

Then we get to the even more painful part of Nick giving us a glimpse of his raw heart. The why now with a voice crack and Ellie’s hedge at now wasn’t her choice with her own voice cracking, just is so so so telling. She could lie, she could really work at burning this relationship in a blaze of glory but she doesn’t, she owns up to the fact that she didn’t purposefully choose now (aka right when they were starting to figure things out between them), she’s not pulling the strings. Nick coming back with so you had a choice is like the little 5 year old boy whose dad is walking out on him again and it just HURTS. And at the same time Ellie is also the young, insecure agent right now who just wants to prove herself. She wants to be viewed as “ready” and the man whose opinion she bases way too much of her self-worth in didn’t say he was proud of her until she was upending her career to go on some deep cover op where she ditches everyone important in her life. 

“How long?” “Too long.” Yeah ok FUCK ME. They both know exactly what they’re talking about without even saying the actual words. Ellie’s voice cracks once again because of the emotion in Nick’s voice and what he’s implying. It pains her to leave him and what they’re becoming behind. It viscerally hurts her, you can see it on her face. She doesn’t want it to be too long, but she knows it will be. She can’t fathom that he’d stay or wait for her, she doesn’t think she even deserves that. 

Tbh it’s so hard to put this all into words. To fully convey to you how angry and hurt I am over this shit. Ellie’s being manipulated and hurt that she has to burn this bridge and push Nick as far away from her as possible. She thinks its her only out and what should be expected of her based off her conversation with Gibbs because then she parrots his exact words back at Nick when he begs, literally begs her to say something after she was willing to leave without saying goodbye (which we know is because she didn’t think she was going to be able to look Nick in the eye and still go through with it all), “sometimes there’s nothing left to be said” like fuck you Gibbs for planting that in her head. There’s PLENTY left to be said. Clearly Nick was not pleased you blew him off Ellie, he wants you to say anything that would make this make sense (we all are tbh) and she says you know my *favorite* line, “I didn’t mean for us to happen.” Nick is all of us with his “something else” because WHAT THE FUCK. This is how I know Ellie was going full throttle with her strategy of pushing Nick away. This was the one thing she could say that would hit hardest for Nick. The man who is insecure about anyone truly loving him and him being a person deserving of a love that “stays” and for Ellie to say she didn’t mean to fall in love and even though they did she’s still going to leave because it was never in the plan, just damn, stab him in the back and twist that knife Ellie. And just like her body language this WHOLE TIME 💀💀💀 she’s just shaking her head because she doesn’t even believe her own words, she doesn’t want to confront this, she doesn’t want to end this. There’s tears in her eyes because everything she’s saying is a lie and it hurts it hurts so damn much but she has to. She’s been manipulated into believing she has to do this, has to say these things. And his body language too, I mean he is tight. He is standing so rigid, hands clasped behind his back because he’s trying to convey openness and vulnerability and it’s so much growth for Nick, so much growth and Ellie is still ripping his heart out and stomping on it. And when she chokes out that goodbye you can hear and feel how final she believes it to be. She doesn’t think he’ll stick around or even want to. In this vein I think she underestimates his love for her here. And if the show goes a different way with it, they’re little bitches. It is in character for Nick to do everything in his power and outside of the rules to find & save Ellie. I will riot if I don’t see unhinged Nick some point early in s19 (I say like I’m going to watch religiously), because that is the only logical reaction to her leaving like this. 

The kiss. It’s a beautiful fucking kiss and it’s ruined by context. It’s an emotional kiss, Ellie throws her body behind it, gripping his face with both hands because she doesn’t want to let him go (even though she’s going to), she clutches to this memory like she clutches to his face. Nick’s clenched expression because he doesn’t want to open his heart up to more heartbreak but when he leans into the kiss and gives the kiss back you know he’s a goner. And maybe a part of him doesn’t care because this may be his last memory of her for a long time and he’s going to burn it into his memory too. It’s why he keeps his eyes shut after she’s left for so long, he doesn’t want to open them and the reality of her retreating back be the last thing he sees of Ellie. He wants the kiss to be the last thing, he doesn’t want to face his reality. His hands had even come out from behind his back, reaching out to her subconsciously willing her not to leave. Meanwhile, Ellie opens her eyes for that last kiss on the cheek to get one last long look at Nick, one last look that will hold her over for who knows how long. A look at his vulnerable face, a face she loves. A look that she hopes will keep her warm at night even though she knows she’ll never get it this close to her again because there’s no way in hell that Nick would entertain the thought of them together again after what she’s done. She doesn’t look back because she can’t. She can’t see Nick’s wounded face just standing there, broken or she won’t go. And Nick tries to stand resolute, the anger and pain flashing across his face before he grits his teeth together and *hopefully* resolves to find Odette and kill her I mean save Ellie I mean kill Odette 🙊

Anyways, there’s only a very specific way this entire finale makes sense. And I know Emily’s pregnancy threw it for a loop, but they can still SOMEWHAT fix this. Do I think they will? Hell fucking no. I have zero expectations, in fact negative expectations. I have a feeling what we were supposed to see is Nick going on an absolute swan rampage to find Ellie and clear her name throughout the first couple episodes of s19 and with Emily leaving the show, I’m not sure how they’ll twist this. I can see why they thought this was a fun cliffhanger because it would eventually be resolved and I do believe they would’ve eventually gotten ellick together after Nick found her. But unless Emily comes back at the end of the show, that won’t happen, at least not on screen. And with that I just 🥲 I’m still mad, I’m still broken inside but yeah. I’m a masochist before anything else apparently and so I made myself rewatch and write this out. A bittersweet pissed off adieu to the WWR. maybe one day i’ll find another ship & show that gets this level of meta out of me, but it’s been real ellick, it’s been really real ❤️

[fyeahnevilleslongbottomsocs]

YOUR FINGERPRINTS ON MY SKIN, A PAINFUL REMINDER! ⚰️ CAN BE READ ON AO3

❝Catherine Cullen, born out of wedlock to the late Carlisle Cullen and Elspeth Fynch, struggled to live in the village that had ostracized her since birth. At nineteen, her only chance for survival is to sell her body; ironically this is what leads to her mortal demise. Aristide Athanasiou of the Volturi, finds a Blood Singer in the form of Catherine Cullen after intending to kill her, but he spares her. And he spares her over and over again until the painful reminder of her beating fragile heart becomes too much for him to bear.❞

part of PETALS FOR ARMOR a twilight au series of one-shots! please read tags before reading the one-shot!

warnings: mild smut, blood kink ( ??? im not sure about this but just in case ), prostitution, possessive behaviour

pairing(s): OC/OC | Carlisle Cullen/OC ( past relationship )

characters: catherine cullen ( oc ) | aristide athanasiou ( oc ) | aro ( mentioned ) | carlisle cullen ( mentioned ) | elspeth fynch ( oc )

click on ‘keep reading’ if you prefer to read this one-shot on here instead of on ao3!

RED EYES BURN into her pale freckled skin, they belong to a young man of the name Aristide. Catherine Cullen doesn't have to turn around to know it's him, he's the only one who ever looks at her. Her freckled skin and long messy, matted strawberry-blonde hair made her less than attractive compared to the other women in the area, and, of course, there was the fact she was a bastard child. None of the local men wanted her and the village scarcely brought in travelers. Catherine loosens the buttons on her late husband's old white blouse, exposing her the chest before turning around. The young woman nearly gasps when she sees that Aristide is standing right behind her. She had expected him to be across the street, where he normally waited, every night that she came to these parts for the past month and a half. If she thought about it, she would reckon that it was unusual, scarcely any traveler stayed this long but he paid her well so who was Catherine to complain.

She clutches her chest inhaling sharply. Before she can scold him for startling her, Aristide reaches up in a swift movement and brushes over her bruised cheek "My sweet singer, what harm as befallen thy cheek," He questions her in honey-coated voice, his fingers are freezing against her skin but it feels good against her throbbing cheek. Sometimes Catherine thinks that Aristide feels to cold to be truly alive. He was a strange young man, the strangest she had ever encountered.

"It is nothing, Aristide, merely Pastor Cullen," Catherine says, "He does detest me so, and with his old age —"

"You should forbear attending —"

"You know that I cannot do that, Aristide," Catherine says fiercely, more fiercely than she intends to. The last thing she needs to do is scare of the only paying customer she has but that place meant so much to her mother. Even though Pastor Cullen had always treated her and her mother terribly, her mother, Elspeth Fynch, had insisted that they go as often as they could. Her mother had said that the place was very important to her late father, Carlisle Cullen. 

"He is old, Aristide. I have heard gossip that he is appointing a new pastor soon."

"Has thou? I am sure it shall be his son, that cannot be much better," Aristide says, sarcasm dripping from his tone and he's met with a solemn look.

"Afraid not, his son went missing nearly twenty years ago," Catherine says quietly, "On one of those vampire hunts, his father planned . . . No one knows what happened to him, we do not talk about it but I have heard many good things about the man."

Her mother had talked highly of him, Carlisle this and Carlisle that, was what had filled Catherine's childhood. Her father was all her mother talked about, his death had left a hole in Elspeth's chest and if he had not died than nobody would have known that Catherine was born out of wedlock and she wouldn't be facing the poverty that she is now. And perhaps her mother would not have perished so brutally upon that pyre all those years ago. Talking about Carlisle Cullen now did nothing but leave a bitter taste in Catherine's mouth. 

Aristide frowns, he wonders if it's possible that the missing man had found real vampires and if he did that would mean, he's still around somewhere. Aristide had not sensed any in the area but there are plenty of sewers that they can hide in here. He pulls Catherine closer, she was his and his alone. Aristide had been passing through London when he seen her wandering the streets late at night, in need of money for medicine. In fact, Aristide had not met a single supernatural creature in this town, not even a witch and they were almost everywhere. Although just because he had not sensed another vampire around, it doesn't mean they weren't there, they could have easily found a mundane scent to cover theirs up, the son she spoke of could still be around, hidden in the shadows, it would make sense as to why his father had survived so long without a single uprising to his medieval ways. This son could be hidden somewhere, anywhere in this village which means Aristide would have to keep a closer watch on Catherine.

He had not meant to grow so attached to Catherine, he usually killed his blood-singers hours after encountering them but for some odd reason he found himself besotted with Catherine. Aristide had know her for a month or so by now. It started on a night quite like this and her alluring scent sang to him, her scent was much better than her appearance, she had been near this exact spot looking for anyone willing to pay her for sexual favours. He had given her the money in exchange for her to come back to his home where she believed that they would have sex but he had other plans. Catherine was supposed to be his dinner that night but as soon as the door closed behind her and he moved to pounce, she kissed him hard against his open mouth. The very same mouth that had been seconds away tearing through her jugular and draining her of her life. After that Aristide couldn't bring himself to kill her, he let her kiss him hard over and over, pressing hot and wet kisses on his mouth and down to his neck. It ignited a feeling in him he hadn't felt in centuries and he knew he had to keep her around, for the past month he's been coming to this dump of town just to see her night after night. Some nights, she wasn't there because she had made enough money to pay for the medicine of the little girl that lived near her. Aristide doesn't understand why she bothers to work so hard for someone that isn't herself but he's grown to adore it because that means she has to be here to do it.

Catherine presses a clammy hand to his face "Aristide, are you alright? You have grown tense . . . Have I done something to upset you?"

"No, my sweet singer, I am cold, it has naught to try with you." Aristide says, pressing a kiss to her forehead with causes her to shiver.

"Indeed, you are freezing . . . Shall we go back to your place and warm ourselves up," Catherine offers, pushing herself against Aristide's cold body. She looks up at him through her pale lashes, his red gaze is hot, it feels as though it's burning straight through to her wicked soul.

"That sounds enchanting, ma chérie," Aristide says smoothly, whispering in her ear. And off they go, arm in arm to Aristide's 'place' hardly a block away.

Unlike the last few times, Catherine does not throw herself on him immediately after the door closes behind her and as much as he'd love to see her naked body writhing with pleasure and bathed in the candle light, he assumes she's grown fond of him; she must trust him now. He licks his lower lip, it was naïve of her to trust him but something about the thought of earning her misplaced trust excited him.

He lights the candles and she sits down on his bed, technically not his bed but the person who owned it before he killed them, but Catherine doesn't need to know that. He smiles at her and she smiles back at him albeit a bit hesitantly, her heart speeds up and he wonders why — could it be she possibly fancies him?

Catherine's desperate, desperate enough to give her body time and time again to a man she's quite certain is the devil. He has red eyes and he's perfectly perfect and oh so tempting. There is no way that Aristide is human but she never dwells on it for long, she needs the money. Agatha is sick and her parents are even sicker, Agatha relies on her, Catherine couldn't let her down and she doesn't care if she's sinning or not.

He stalks towards her slowly and comes to a stop between her legs, he lifts her head up with a finger and leans down to kiss her, slowly but passionately. Her heart skips a beat as she kisses him back, she reaches up and wraps her arms around his neck, he snakes his arms around her waist. Aristide starts trailing kisses down her mouth to her neck, allowing her to catch her breath as he didn't need to stop to do that. He kisses her neck, finding her pulse-point with ease, he kisses the spot again and again, then he gently drags his teeth against her skin which elicits a quiet moan from her. So unaware how close she is to death, he pulls away to study her, her eyes are closed and her pink lips are swollen. Freckles coat her face as well as her exposed shoulders, Aristide is sure that every inch of her is covered in freckles, making her look like a constellation in the sky.

Catherine lies down on the bed, she smiles up Aristide as she slowly begins to untie her dress, he reciprocates her smile as he begins to unbutton his petticoat. By time he's pulled his blouse of, she's untied her outer-layer corset, she shivers again and he wonder if his home is really that cold. He, of course, wouldn't truly notice.

"It is cold in here," Catherine whispers, her pale face flushed, as her thin fingers begin to remove her blouse, Aristide can see that they're trembling and he frowns. He had forgotten how sensitive humans were to temperatures.

"Keep it on, my sweet singer, you will be warmer that way," Aristide says, and it will be easier for her to leave quickly in case something goes wrong. He unbuckles his trousers, Catherine hums in response abandoning her attempt to undress herself and instead busies herself with watching him, she takes in his too perfect features, his long black curls which were pulled back with a thin white lace. His pale skin seems to glimmer in the light of the candles, he was heavenly-looking, almost god like. But every moment with him felt like a sin.

Once Aristide has kicked off his trousers, he crawls over her and listens to her heartbeat race. He settles himself between her legs and pushes her long skirt down to her waist to expose her thin and freckled legs. They're covered in bruises especially her thighs, and they're all from him, as gentle as he tries to be with her he always leaves evidence of his strength. He tugs off her undergarments, his calloused fingertips brushing against her inner most thighs as he does so.

She hisses at the harsh coolness but arches her hips towards him nevertheless, He smirks at her and says "Eager are we now, ma chérie?"

Catherine nods her head, whimpering. Playing it up because she just wanted to get this over with, she doesn't hate it and she quite enjoys their time together but she wishes he would be quicker. She just needed the money, Agatha is relying on her. If they got this done with quicker, she could probably get home in time to make some soup for Agatha and her parents. Aristide was the only good man she had ever been with, outside of her marriage, but this was never about good, this was about survival for not only herself but those she cared about. It was nothing more than that.

He chuckles, grabbing her legs and pulling her close. Their hips meet and Catherine shivers violently at the feeling of his freezing body pressed against her already cold one, Aristide hushes her, stroking her cheek in a gentle manner as he tells her to sit up. Catherine does as he asks, they're so close their bodies were practically one. Although she, herself, felt cold, to him she felt like a raging fire against his own cold, undead skin.

His finger traces her lips before pulling her into a bruising kiss, she hisses against his lips but the hiss turns into a pained moan as he thrusts into her. He's careful as he can be, she's a delicate flower compared to him and he could easily kill her this way. He pulls away from her, muttering "You're beautiful," against her bruised cheek. How he longs to taste her blood, her skin itself was surprisingly sweet and he's sure that her blood is even sweeter.

"Thank you, sir," She mumbles, bucking her hips into his. Quiet pants and moans escape her chapped, swollen lips. She grips her skirt tightly, her eyes screwed shut and Aristide watches her every expression with keen interest from the smallest twitch of her eyebrows to more noticeable action of her mouth falling open as louder moans fall from her lips. He's learned to let her do most of the moving because it results in less bruising, at first he didn't care but as their intimate encounters grew closer together, he had grown fond of her and her safety.

He gently moves his hands so they're entangled in her hair, he pulls on her matted locks slightly. Her strawberry-blonde hair appears almost golden in the glow of the candles. If she had the ability to take care of herself, she would have been breathtaking. Catherine, in Aristide's opinion was unique for a mortal. He could give her the power to be so much more than that, he had thought about it for an agonising amount of time. But, Aristide had never turned someone before, it was usually Aro who did that and Aristide had went alone this time around. 

Her heart pounds loudly, mocking him and his cowardice. He was afraid to turn her, he could kill her instead and for the first time in his immortal life, Aristide did not want to kill. He thought about bringing her to Volterra but he thought it unlikely that Aro would turn her, Catherine appeared to be lacking a gift, in other words, useless to Aro. But, she meant everything to Aristide. 

His name is whimpered, as he tugs a little harder on her hair, Catherine's hips press into his. Momentum is growing, a feeling akin to being alive grows inside him, Aristide moans lowly. He swallows the venom pooling his mouth and presses his lips to her shoulder, over and over and over, slowly moving up to her jawline.

After a few minutes, her moans get louder and her legs start to shake but Catherine does not cum. Typically the mortal doesn't last this long but Aristide had taken it slower tonight, mostly lost in his thoughts. But now, it was getting harder for him to ignore his bloodlust, he trusts into her hoping that it would be enough to push her over the edge but it's not. All he earns in a loud, pained moan and then she bites down on her lip hard and draws blood which is enough to send him spiraling over the edge. He inhales sharply as he does his best to restrain himself, he grips her skirt so tight that it tears. Aristide doesn't want to kill her, she's too precious, too good to be killed no matter how good her blood smells.

He pulls away from her, stumbling backwards and he hears her whine quietly as she sits up. She goes to ask for her pay but she falls short upon seeing the ravenous look on his face, her grin turns into an uneasy frown "Aristide, are you alright, have I done something wrong?" 

"Get out," He hisses, he wants nothing more to tear her apart, he wants to completely destroy her just for a drop of her precious blood, "Get out now!"

Catherine scrambles out of his bed, looking terrified out of her wits as apologies profusely fall from her lips, she tries to move closer to him but he throws the first thing he can grab — a pot — in her direction and he screams "GET OUT!"

For a moment, Aristide expects her to flee, he hopes that she will but Catherine surprises him and she stays. Stupid, foolish girl. 

Her eyes, blue as Aristide remembers the Mediterranean Sea to be, are wide with fear. Her bloodied lower lip is quivering but she stands motionless and determined. And although, Aristide would never raise a hand to her, he understands why the pastor raises his hand to her; she doesn't seem to obey what she's been told to do. 

"The money," Catherine says, trying and failing to keep her meek voice steady, "I did what you wanted me to do, if you're done I would like my pay." 

A thin line of blood trickle down her lip and onto her chin, his red eyes zero in on it. Catherine's words become lost to him, her pounding heart is all that Aristide can hear and he can no longer control himself. He lunges, she screams. 

He takes her out easily, his teeth tear into her jugular with ease, her scream becomes muffled by the blood filling her mouth, some of it splatters against Aristide's pale cheeks. It tastes much better than he ever imagined, Catherine was not the first Blood Singer he had encountered the many centuries he had been alive but she was by far his favourite. 

Her hand slams against his chest in a feeble attempt to fight him off but all she gains is a broken wrist. The snapping of her bones brings Aristide back to reality, he remembers that he doesn't want to kill her and with great difficulty he pulls himself away from her. Catherine screams meekly, her voice hoarse already, blood pools out of her mouth as she rolls onto her side and curls into herself. Her small frame trembles violently with every sound, the venom spreads through her veins like a forest fire, she has no idea what's happening.

Aristide watches with keen interest, he had seen Aro turn lots of people but it seems different now, a whole new experience for his old soul. Every tremble and every scream from her excites him. 

"Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop," Catherine screams over and over, she grits her teeth together after every word, eyes squeezing shut as she hugs herself around her middle, writhing violently on the wood floor, her words fade from harsh and hoarse screams to a soundless chant. 

Aristide reaches out, brushing her hair out of her face, she looks at him with complete and utter betrayal, she whispers a plea for him to put her out of her misery. He doesn't, his bright red eyes zero in on the bite he left on her neck. It was not as clean as Aro's and it would leave a nasty scar, Aristide thinks that it will look much better than the bruises of his fingerprints ever did on her. His bloodied lips pull into a satisfied smirk, she was his forever now. 

[carol-effing-danvers]

Steve Rogers is a Monster

Yeah, that’s a hell of a title, isn’t it? Strap in, it only gets worse from here. 

(click here if you’d prefer to read this on AO3)

Forewarning, if you enjoyed the epilogue for Endgame, this particular essay is not for you - and no, I am not bashing the Steve/Peggy shippers, you are beautiful human beings who make the fandom brighter and I’m happy that at least someone in this fandom got the ending they wanted.

Additional warning: if you expect this to be another Civil War debate, you will also be disappointed. There has never been a measurement invented that can adequately describe how much I loathe the verbal dick measuring contest that seems to pass for human interaction between Tony Stark and Steve Rogers in this franchise. It’s not funny or entertaining - it’s exhausting, uncomfortable, and frankly it’s rather lazy writing.

This is about the very specific way that the epilogue in Endgame completely changed the way the character of Steve Rogers can be interpreted, and I don’t just mean the very illogical and contradictory way that time travel is explained, both in the movie itself and the fact that the writers and directors have two completely different views on how that worked out. 

I mean that the choice made by Steve Rogers in the very last minutes of that movie alters the way I view each and every one of his actions starting from The First Avenger and that alteration is exactly what I want to talk about, because whether you view it as deserving or not, what Steve does at the conclusion of Endgame was the most selfish thing humanly possible. Time is a thief, but somehow Steve managed to steal even more than Time.

Side note here: I understand that I am a completely biased Stucky shipper, a friend to Barnes and Noble, a Starbucks aficionado - sorry. Anyway, I’ve always believed that Steve and Bucky were destined blah blah blah, but I was never expecting a Stucky ending. Disney wasn’t going to do that, and I knew that, I wasn’t bothered that Steve and Bucky weren’t doing the smoochies by the end. But Bucky’s facial expression during those last minutes was gut-wrenching. Like...I have no idea what kind of cues the script and directors gave him, but in the future, please don’t ask Sebastian Stan to look sad unless you want soul-crushing devastation. It’s not Seb’s fault, his features are just arranged that way - but the fact that the editing staff allowed Sam to be sad though elated to be entrusted with the Shield and Bucky looked like his soul was being physically torn out of his body was an… interesting choice. 

Other side note: if you’re writing about time travel, I’m begging y’all to get your facts straight. Or just don’t write about time travel. It almost always sounds better on paper than it does on screen and it means that you’ve opened doors to more questions than you’ve probably got the answers for. I know this was about trying to set up the idea of the multiverse, I get that, but there were better and less messy ways to do that, and I know that because I’ve done it before. @Marvel: Let me write you a six-way orgy you fucking cowards~

By going back in time, Steve robbed Peggy of the future that would have been hers - not only that, he’s robbed her of even the chance of making the choice between those futures, because you honestly could not tell me with a straight face that Steve told her the complete truth of what he had done and she would be okay with him alternating the very course of the future. It doesn’t help his case that he has a history of not disclosing truths that he knows will be painful or inconvenient for other people in his life.

He robbed his loved ones - Sam, Bucky, Wanda - of the years they would have spent with him. Sure, he ‘came back’ after Peggy passed away, but they are adults in the prime of youth who knew him sixty years ago in his own time and he is an old, old man who has lived an entire life completely separated from them. He is practically a stranger with a name they know, but a history that no longer belongs to any of them - not even his oldest friend. They have him back, but judging from his age, they’ll be lucky to get even ten more years with him. Assuming of course, that any of them can stand to speak to him - I certainly couldn’t blame them if they tell him to go to hell and take his dad jokes with him. 

Steve has stolen away their friend and dropped off an elderly and dying near-stranger in his place, and this is treated by the writing (and the majority of the acting) as a wild and unexpected but not tragic event. 

Is it really that unexpected, though?

I recall seeing a Game of Thrones essay on Daenerys across my dash (I’m sorry, love, I don’t recall who you are since it’s not a fandom I’m in, but if someone knows who wrote that, please post the link!) which detailed how her ending in the series was foreshadowed many times by her penchant for bloody killings and her habit of surrounding herself with her own fawning friends.

Months after reading that, I had the thought: though Steve is never really shown thinking about Peggy after Civil War, except in a few scattered scenes in Endgame, was this foreshadowed? Whether you believe that his actions are justified or not, what Steve does is still, in the end, selfish at its very heart, and Steve Rogers is not a selfish person. 

Oh no, my dear friends and readers. Because taking this action has solidified and clarified Steve Rogers as the biggest and most selfish asshole in this whole universe.

Steve does not do the right thing, Steve does the thing that will most make him feel better. The fact that this often happens to be the right thing in the end is more the result of happy coincidence than any special sort of moral authority that the man holds. 

Rescuing Bucky Barnes and his fellow captives in a prisoner of war camp from being experimented on by an insane Nazi eugenicist? That was not a moral stand, that was endangering himself, Peggy Carter, and Howard Stark because he couldn’t handle the reality of his best friend being killed in war.

Sacrificing himself by putting the Valkyrie down in the Arctic Circle? That was not about sparing human lives, that was about Steve seeing his friend die right in front of him and not being able to deal with the grief. There were ways he could’ve prevented the plane from killing people without killing himself.

Trying to make Bucky remember who he was? And later on, saving him from the government agencies who wanted to hunt him down? Although, arguably, that last one is also just good common sense - Steve was already shown that government agencies could and were corrupted by HYDRA and he’d also seen how dangerous the Winter Soldier could be when unleashed. 

Steve did, I think, truly believe that this was the right thing to do, but it was also about keeping his connection - his very last, since Peggy had descended into dementia caused by Alzheimer’s before she ultimately died - to a past that for him, was only months or years ago, rather than decades. In some ways, this is completely understandable - Bucky might be the very last person left alive who truly knows who the real Steve Rogers is, because the rest of these people only know Captain America and we are consistently shown through multiple movies how uncomfortable this makes him.

This gets...considerably less and less understandable as we are shown Steve’s growing relationships with Natasha, Sam, Wanda - even Sharon, though she barely gets any screen time and they share the most awkward kiss I’ve ever seen - and indeed, what might be the most uncomfortable kiss in cinema history.

Side Note 3: This is made even more awkward by the director’s choice to have two of Steve’s friends watching them the whole time - seriously, who even does that? Why would you make them do that? Only sociopaths make out with their friends staring at them like that. It’s so fucking creepy - and don’t even get me fucking started on the fact that she’s also apparently his own niece. AHHHHH!

But we are shown, over and over again, that Steve is capable of building close meaningful relationships with people in the present. They don’t know his whole history, but they do know Steve Rogers rather than Captain America and they care about him deeply. 

Side Note 4: Notice that I don’t count Tony Stark among those people - despite this strangely persistent narrative that the various writers and directors tried to sell to the audience, Tony and Steve were not friends. They were never friends. They were colleagues at best, but these were two men who neither liked nor understood each other very well, but had to work together. And sometimes that’s okay, too. (Oh dear, I just gave the Stony fans a fit too, didn’t I? Sorry, guys. Enemies to Lovers is a great trope, I support you!)

But let’s set aside Steve’s gross betrayal of the people who loved him. We’ll also ignore the question of whether the motive for these good actions has tainted the actions themselves. Because even without questioning these, the conclusion of this story arc still transforms Steve into the biggest monster this franchise has. 

The very fundamental way that the writers and directors can’t agree on how the time travel mechanics in their own story work mean that Steve has just done one of two things and they range from shady and very questionable to absolutely fucking horrific. 

The first, that he’s created his own alternate universe to exist in, is morally dubious at best. Even the people who support this theory and liked the ending seem to feel that it wasn’t necessarily a ten out of ten on the moral goodness spectrum. They’ll say things like ‘he deserved to have his happy ending’. Even that phrasing seems to acknowledge that doing this was the opposite of the right thing. It just considers doing the wrong thing as being justified rather than horrifying. 

But let’s examine this first idea for a minute - even this, the more innocent of the two implications, means that rather than really processing his grief or dealing with the repeated tragedies and losses that have occured in his life, even as he was running group therapy sessions and grief counseling, Steve Rogers chose to escape his current life by creating an alternate universe that specifically allows he himself to live out his own fucking fantasies of the way his life should have turned out. 

That, in case you are not aware, is wildly fucked up. I thought I was playing pretty fast and loose with Steve’s characterization when I turned him into an extremely polite serial killer but as it turns out, I clearly just wasn’t setting the bar high enough, because that’s somehow even more fucked up than being an undercover child soldier with a small sadistic streak. 

Hm, and now I feel I should have been more creative there...

The second, and even more horrifying option, is that this older Steve Rogers has been in this world the whole time, watching as things unfolded just as we’ve seen over the past decade, taking ‘the slow way’ through time. 

Side Note 5: I do kind of understand why you would do it this way, because that’s really cool and shocking when you say that! Until you think about it for longer than three seconds and suddenly you realize…

Everything that has happened here, every tragedy and downfall these people experienced, happened because Steve Rogers lived his happily ever after with his beautiful wife and did absolutely nothing to stop it. He got to fuck Peggy Carter and watched as his wife built an empire of intelligence networks, knowing that her efforts were completely in vain because her agency was rotten to the core and he never told her.

Every horrifying act committed by HYDRA under the guise of SHIELD was permitted through Steve Rogers’ negligence. And that’s just the wider big-picture worldview, large and shocking, but not personal. 

What about the people that Steve claims to actually care about? 

This means that Steve lived his whole life in contentment with his wife and children while his best friend was physically and psychologically tortured for over seventy years and just...let that go. 

He allowed one friend to murder another in the nineties, when the Winter Soldier was sent after Howard and Maria Stark. Then their child was being advised by a greedy self-interested warmonger who paid terrorists to drag him off to be tortured and slaughtered, and Steve did nothing about that, either. 

Bruce Banner was exploited, experimented on, and made into a monster against his will in the failed pursuit of recreating what was done to Steve, resulting in billions of dollars in damage and dozens or even hundreds of lives lost, and Steve allowed that to happen, too. 

Like Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanov was physically and psychologically tortured for others to use her as a living weapon - except that this was probably happening to her since early childhood, and a man her future self loved and trusted implicitly did nothing to save her from this upbringing. 

The Maximoff twins are shown to have not wealthy but loving parents who are murdered in front of them and they both endure days of laying in the rubble of their ruined apartment, wondering if the bomb in their living room would go off and kill them. Later, they are taken in by HYDRA, experimented on, and recruited as child soldiers to the cause when they show signs of having supernatural powers. They start a series of events that result in the destruction of a major city and the loss of what is probably thousands of lives. Pietro is murdered while trying to help the Avengers to stop this, and Wanda suffers the loss of the very last living person she loved. None of these things seem to have bothered Future Steve. 

Steve “I can’t sit on the sidelines when I see a situation go sideways” Rogers, planted himself on that fucking sideline and observed for nearly eighty years as friends, colleagues, and his own wife were lied to, brainwashed, tortured, vilified, and hunted down like animals.

And then there Steve Rogers himself - not the Endgame Steve Rogers, the Steve Rogers who brought down a Nazi plane and will lie beneath the ice for seventy years while everything he knows disappear (mostly) innocent of these horrors, the life he would’ve lived stolen from him by a stranger with his name and his face from another universe.

What I’m saying here is that if you consider this idea for any amount of time, it took Steve Rogers less than ten minutes to become the most evil and disturbing figure in the entire MCU, only (not really tho) contested by Thanos himself. 

Gross and poorly reasoned libertarian ethics aside, Thanos genuinely believes that he did what he did for the sake of the entire population. It’s made fairly explicitly clear that Steve didn’t do this for anyone but himself. 

Call me crazy, but if everyone you know needs to suffer and multiple planet-wide devestations have to happen in order for you to get your happy ending, you might be the bad guy. 

Maybe I’m just old-fashioned?

[kurowrites]

The Live-In Boyfriend - Chapter 1

Looking for live-in boyfriend, the title read.

It had only been put up the day before.

Well, well, Wei Ying thought to himself. Isn’t that exactly what I was looking for?

He clicked on the link and quickly read through the text of the advert.

Since you all enabled me yesterday - have a chapter of Wei Ying being supremely stupid. Link to AO3.

(Note that this fic is going to get mature later on. Also don’t try this at home pls.)

---

Wei Ying usually wasn’t the kind of person that eavesdropped on the conversations of people he didn’t know. Most of the time, it wasn’t worth the effort of spying, anyway.

(Too many boring people in this world.)

But something about the day he’d had so far, and the way the two girls seated next to him kept giggling and exclaiming in (pretended?) shock, made him listen in. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do. He was just sitting there, sipping on his depression coffee, trying to decide what he was supposed to do next.

“A website?” the girl with a truly impressive set of pink lacquered nails exclaimed. “Isn’t that super sketchy?”

She emphasised ‘sketchy’ by tapping her long, sharp nails onto the tabletop.

“Noo, not at aaaall,” the other girl, dressed in a figure-hugging dress the colour of a ripe banana, replied. “You have to provide identification and they do a background check on you, to make sure you’re not a criminal or something. The sugar daddies too, of course.”

“Oh really?” Pink Nails asked, and immediately looked a lot more interested in the topic.

Well, Wei Ying had to agree with Pink Nail’s interest – he could use one of those sugar daddies himself. Someone willing to pay for his expenses, that would be nice. A lot better than being homeless, at any rate.

“Yeah, and you can even chat with them before meeting them,” Banana said, twirling her hair around her finger coquettishly. “It’s not like I’m going to go out with just any guy.”

“And that’s where you met him?”

“Yeah,” Banana said, leaning back a little, clearly satisfied to have the undivided attention of her companion. “You have lots of choices, and you can put in your preferences, too.”

She leaned forward again, and lowered her voice to a fake whisper that did nothing to make her voice less audible over the soft café music.

“I was really lucky with my current sugar daddy. He’s really generous because he has an established career and a lot of money. He likes kinky sex, but that’s fine, because he also kinda gets off on me sleeping with other guys, so it’s not like I can’t still go out and do whatever I want. I’m just providing him with company and a pretty thing to hang off his arm whenever he goes to a party or something.”

The two women laughed, and returned to the discussion of the advantages of this website.

Wei Ying’s attention was caught. He looked down at the sad little weekend bag next to his chair that contained nearly all of Wei Ying’s worldly possessions, discounting the boxes of books he had managed to stow away in Jiang Yanli’s attic. He’d had to sell all his furniture because he had no space where he could put it anymore. The landlord had kicked him out despite Wei Ying’s best attempts at negotiation (curse his entire bloodline), and now Wei Ying was, essentially, homeless. He had no idea how to weather the next few weeks. He had no stable address, and he needed to look for a new job. Things weren’t looking good for him.

So, he sipped on his possibly last coffee for a long time and pretended not to listen in to the conversation of the two women next to him. And when Banana finally mentioned the name of website she had been using, he felt compelled to casually unpack his own laptop, make use of the café’s free Wi-Fi, and enter the name of the website into his browser.

He was just curious, that was all.

His search returned with the result that this website was in fact the equivalent of a dating website, only for sugar babies and other forms of… special companionship. The company claimed to be classy and strict with their background checks, made assertions of quality and high customer satisfaction. And the registration as a potential sugar baby, companion, or whatever else they wanted to call it, was free.

Wei Ying paused for a moment, wondering if he really should do such a thing. All assertions from the provider aside, it was still a risky thing.

He took another look at the bag at his feet. It couldn’t get much worse than it already was, could it?

He clicked the ‘new account’ button and filled out the application without a second thought.

---

Looking for the right sugar-person wasn’t exactly a simple thing to do, Wei Ying realised about three pages in. He had decided early on that the gender of this potential sugar person didn’t actually matter, but that had the simultaneous advantage and disadvantage of increasing his possible matches considerably. He wasn’t sure how to make a choice in this wild new world that had suddenly opened himself up to him.

He was a bit nervous about the having sex part, too. He tried to imagine having sex with someone he didn’t really know and maybe didn’t find very attractive, but he drew a complete blank. It might be better to stay on the safe side and choose someone who didn’t have sex as a prerequisite. That might work out better for everyone involved.

God, with all these options and decisions, it was as complicated as looking for a job.

Well, technically, if he did it right, it might be a job. Well, not really, but he might get enough money to keep him afloat for a little bit. And with enough money, he might be able to both afford a decent apartment and find a well-paying new job.

He absent-mindedly scrolled past adverts looking for highly specific… qualifications that Wei Ying definitely didn’t have, and was considering giving up when he saw an advert for the same city he was living in.

Looking for live-in boyfriend, the title read.

It had only been put up the day before.

Well, well, Wei Ying thought to himself. Isn’t that exactly what I was looking for?

He clicked on the link and quickly read through the text of the advert.

Looking for live-in boyfriend

The ideal candidate must be clean, quiet, obedient, and sophisticated. Must be able to play his part convincingly around relatives, business associates, and friends. Good table manners and skilful socialising are required.

Physical relations are not required, but negotiable if so desired. Strictly no romantic entanglements. Affairs during the duration of the contract will lead to immediate termination.

I offer a large apartment with own private room. All ensuing costs (rent, food, clothing, allowance etc.) are covered.

The advert didn’t reveal much about the writer and his personality, so it was difficult to say anything about how well they’d fit together. But the man offered a room! Without the prerequisite of sex!

He clicked on the profile of this potential sugar daddy to find out more about him. The man, who went by L. Z., was the same age as Wei Ying, and had been working in his family’s company ever since he graduated university. Someone who had been born into wealth, probably.

He lived alone and was openly gay, so his family would expect him to bring a man to public events and family dinners. His hobbies included music, reading and tea ceremony. All in all, Wei Ying started to wonder if he was being catfished, because the age and occupation said successful young man, but the rest of it said boring middle-aged uncle with a receding hairline.

But what did Wei Ying care about boring when such a perfect opportunity presented itself to him? He didn’t want some kind of old, kinky dude. He simply wanted a place to stay, and if that stay came with an allowance and some social contact, it would be perfect for him. He had good table manners. And he did well at socialising. Most of the time.

He decided that ‘quiet’ and ‘obedient’ were relative things. He could be quiet! Sometimes! If he was reading interesting things!

He was going to contact this person, worries and fears be damned. What use was it to wait around? If this man was actually for real, he might get snatched up by someone else quickly.

He clicked on the 💌 button on the sidebar of the profile, and typed out a quick message.

Hi L. Z.!

My name is Wei Ying. I live in the same city as you and as coincidence would have it, I’m currently looking to be a live-in boyfriend! We’re the same age, too, so I think we would work very well as a couple!

I also like reading (if you have a library, I’d be all over that) and I think I can safely promise not to have any affairs while we’re dating. As for the rest, I think it would be best to judge for yourself. I’m free the next few days, so I have time for a personal meeting!

I’m a little curious though – why are you looking for a live-in boyfriend? Not to judge you, since I’m obviously responding to your advert, but you seem like a man that’s very put together. You probably could choose anyone you wanted, so why an advert?

Best, Wei Ying

He didn’t really think that he would get an answer soon, and half expected his message to go ignored, but it took barely an hour until a notification pinged on his phone, indicating that he’d received a reply.

He eagerly clicked the ‘view message’ button.

Dear Wei Ying

Thank you for your message.

I agree with you. Someone from the same city and of the same age would be a good potential partner. If you do not mind, I would like to invite you to my apartment for a personal meeting. We can meet in a café if you are more comfortable meeting on neutral ground, but you should know where you would live before you make any decisions.

To answer your question: I am not interested in a romantic relationship, but my family has been concerned about my happiness ever since I came out as gay. They want to see me in a fulfilling relationship. I want to make them stop worrying. A contractual arrangement will take care of these issues. Once we terminate the relationship, it would also provide me with a good reason not to date for some time.

Best regards,

Lan Zhan

Wei Ying gaped a little. That was a… very decisive statement. This Lan Zhan certainly didn’t beat around the bush.

Oh god, was he really catfished? Human trafficking, perhaps? But then…

He had no time to lose, and getting a home and money as a package deal was very tempting. If Jiang Yanli ever got wind of this, she might strangle him with her own bare hands. But well. She never would get wind of it. Wei Ying would make sure of that.

He pulled out his laptop again, and typed out a second answer.

Hi Lan Zhan!

Nice to meet you again. 😊

Meeting you at the apartment is fine, just know that I’m going to inform a friend of my whereabouts and check in with them to make sure everything is fine.

Tell me your address and a time that works for you!

Best,

Wei Ying

He sent the message and within a few minutes, he had an address and a time – the next day, at 5.30 pm. Lan Zhan also assured him that he was perfectly fine with Wei Ying telling a friend where he was. So maybe not a catfish, after all?

Wei Ying immediately looked for the address online, and it was a nice, modern building in the centre of town. Not some kind of seedy warehouse or an abandoned house. If he ended up disappearing in that part of town, there would probably be witnesses.  

He sent a short confirmation to Lan Zhan, telling him that he would be there at the desired time. And then, he spent the rest of the evening panicking about what he had done.

He just barely remembered that he needed to contact Nie Huaisang and use him as security. Nie Huaisang was the only one he could think of right now that wouldn’t try to talk him out of this. Jiang Cheng would just straight up murder him.

He had committed now. There was no way back.

---

His internet search had already informed him that the apartment was in the better part of town, so Wei Ying had expected a rather classy apartment building. What he hadn’t expected was that said apartment building came with an actual concierge. He’d never had to go through a concierge to meet any of his friends so far. The entrance hall almost looked like a hotel.  

Good gracious, this might all be an elaborate prank.

On the other hand, if he disappeared, now he had another witness.

He walked up to the concierge’s desk and smiled at the man behind the desk winningly.

“Hi, my name is Wei Ying. I’m here to meet Lan Zhan.”

The man gave him a critical look, from his ponytail down to the thick black leather boots he always wore, and picked up the phone in front of him.

He entered a number and let it ring a few times.

“Good evening, Mr. Lan,” the concierge said when someone picked up on the other end of the line. “A Mr. Wei is here to see you. Yes, understood. I will send him up immediately.”

The concierge came out from behind his desk and directed Wei Ying to the elevator. He held the door open for Wei Ying and pushed the button for the right floor, then bid him goodbye.

“Thank you!” Wei Ying called through the closing elevator doors, but the concierge was already out of sight.

Oh well.

He was going to meet Lan Zhan. Right now.

He quickly pulled out his mobile phone and tapped out a message to Nie Huaisang.

[Wei Ying, 05:29 pm] I’m going up to the apartment now. IT COMES WITH A CONCIERGE. 😱

The door pinged and opened onto an empty hallway with elegantly tiled floor and a tasteful but abstract mural on the wall. Wei Ying stepped out of the elevator and looked around curiously. Which way was he supposed to go?

“Wei Ying?”

There, at the end of the hallway, a man stood in the frame of an opened door.

This must definitely be a catfish, Wei Ying decided then and there.

There was no way that a man this beautiful needed his help.

[seokjinsdisciple]

You’re On, Doll

requested!

You and Jaehyun are CEO’s of rival companies, hating each other for as long as you can remember. Will you be able to find common ground after an important file goes missing, or will the two of you never quite see eye to eye?

enemies to lovers! jaehyun x reader

warnings: degradation, oral fem recieving, they have sex in an office so, one thigh slap (i really held myself back ok), finger sucking, i think thats it?

word count: 2.6k 

There was truly only one person on this planet that you hated with your whole being. It’s not like you made it a habit to argue with your other business competitors, but something about the way Jung Jaehyun carried himself left a bitter taste in your mouth.

So, you tried to ignore all possible encounters with him, something that was much harder when all of your friends were the same. That was one of the downsides of running a successful programming company, your world was small. 

The situation you were currently in didn’t surprise you at all, your mind drifting from the girl beside you who hadn’t stopped trying to sell herself to your company, towards where Jaehyun sat. A smirk formed on his lips at your obvious disgust. This is one of the games he played, bring someone who either loved or hated your company and let them run wild during what was supposed to be a relaxing party. 

“I don’t currently have any open positions,” you said to the girl, never breaking your gaze from Jaehyun’s. He wanted you to crack first and be the one to approach him, but you weren’t that weak, “please excuse me while I grab a drink.”

You made your way over to the drink table, smiling and chatting with a few people who lingered near it. You knew exactly who was approaching as their smiles dropped and weary glances came your way. You finished your drink, grabbing another before rolling your eyes and turning around.

“What do you want?” You asked, taking in the appearance of the man stood before you. It was no secret that Jaehyun was attractive, he always had been, but tonight it seemed to be worse. His suit was embroidered in gold, as if he were some sort of Mafia boss. The smirk that painted his face was only amplified by the way his hair was pushed back. His hands were stuffed casually in his pockets and if you hadn’t been so focused on what he looked like, you might’ve heard him respond, and then repeat himself, and then laugh. 

“Am I that distracting?” He smiled as his hand wrapped around your wrist, tightly enough to spark a feeling of lust in your belly but not enough to hurt. Jaehyun knew you had a thing for his hands wrapped around your various body parts. He let out another laugh at your gaze, pulling you through the ballroom and into the hall. 

“You aren’t distracting, you just look like you’re trying too hard,” you snapped, following behind him into a smaller living room. 

“Is that why you were fucking me with your eyes?”

“I was not,” you hissed, a moan slipping from your lips as he attached his lips to your neck, hands drifting across your waist and across your open back, “Jae, I told you that we aren’t doing this anymore.”

He let out a little sigh, his forehead resting against your collarbone. 

“You’re right, I know,” he muttered, hands still on your hips as he took a step away, “I’m sorry.”

You grabbed his hand lightly, leading him to sit on the couch next to you, “What's with the girl?”

“What girl?” Jaehyun asked, confusion crossing his face for only a minute before realization dawned on him, “Ah, she’s one of my interns, and I caught her looking up open positions in your company.”

“So you thought you would torture me as a punishment?” You asked, finishing your martini before resting your head against the back of the couch. 

“What can I say, I hate disloyal employees,” he shrugged, finishing off his own whiskey before copying your position and turning his head to look at you, “Plus it was a win-win situation, I get to annoy the hell out of you and my mother doesn’t badger me to bring a date.”

“I don’t understand why people find you so charming,” you rolled your eyes, glancing at him, “and I really don’t understand how so many women end up in your bed.”

At this Jaehyun laughed, “Don’t forget you’ve been in my bed,” he smirked.

“Shut up,” you slapped his arm lightly, “That was a lapse of judgment.”

“It was several lapses of judgment,” he smirked, “Unless you aren’t counting the times we weren’t in bed.”

“I’m only counting the times that you made me cum. So yes, it was a lapse of judgment,” you said, emphasizing the endings of the words. You were working him up now, and you knew it. You felt him before you even had a chance to process your assumed victory. His hand was on your thigh, his grip light, and barely-there as he spread your legs open. You held your breath, eyes fluttering closed as his finger ghosted over your core. His touch was gone in a second, a laugh in its stead as your eyes shot open. 

“We both know that that’s a lie, doll,” Jaehyun smirked at the way you slightly squirmed in your seat, “See ya around, YN.”

Jaehyun smirked as your jaw dropped, waving with a smile as he left you in that room, turned on and frustrated. As much as you hated to admit it, you and Jaehyun had been fucking around for years now, and you just recently cut it off. If you were being honest, you missed him, but you would never admit that to anyone, let alone him. You just groaned at your luck, standing up and hurrying out of the room and back into the ballroom to retrieve your things. 

You should have been suspicious then, the way he had led you out and distracted you. You didn’t notice though, at least not until a few days later that your file was missing and the only person who would want it had distracted you while his evil little minion had stolen the file from your purse. You were angry. Very angry. That file had a list of investors in it, and you’d be damned if Jung Jaehyun stole them from you. 

So here you were, strutting through the lobby of his office. You pushed past security officers, most of them knowing who you were and glancing quizzically at their partners. ITs not like this was the first time you had been to his company if anything you had been there several times for peace meetings and just overall business. So you knew where you were going. 

You made it to his office first, grunting in annoyance when it was empty. You strode around the corner, anger completely blinding you as you stormed into the middle of his conference room. Everyone stopped in their tracks, looking from Jaehyun to you. You nodded briefly at the CFO, your close friend Johnny, before speaking. 

“Get your ass in your office, right now,” you growled, storming out of the board room and back into his office, praying that he would follow you. You breathed out a sigh of relief as you heard the lock click.��

“What the hell is this all about?” Jaehyun asked, and you turned to look at him. Damn him. His hands were on his hips, his tie crooked and face flushed with anger. 

“I want my file back.”

“I don’t have your file,” he said easily, the only indicator of his lie the small movement of his index finger against his hip.

“Jaehyun, I don’t have time for this. You’re lying. I know you’re lying. We both know you’re lying so give me my goddamn investor file before I lose my shit.”

He glanced out of the windows of his office, and you followed his gaze. A small crowd had gathered. They pretended to not look as our eyes fell onto them. Jaehyun let out an almost inaudible curse as he made his way to the window and hastily closed the blinds. 

“You fucking ruin everything, you know that?” he asked, his voice much less angry than it had been before. 

“I ruin everything?” you asked incredulously, “I ruin everything? Jaehyun you’re the one who stole my file! Since when have you ever done business this way, I mean Jesus! You’re acting like a-”

“Just shut up, and listen to me,” He raised his voice slamming his hand against the window, making you jump a little where you stood. 

He turned to look at you then, his eyes glassy and cheeks redder than before, “I’m in love with you.”

You stood there for a moment, looking for his tell, looking for any sign that he was lying. You didn’t see anything, and suddenly your heart was beating at two times the speed, breath caught in your throat and nerves twisting your belly into knots. 

“I’ve been talking to your dad, about merging the companies and being co-CEOs. I knew you’d never give your company up and I don't want you to. But Jesus, I can’t go on any more dates that my mother sets up for me because I don't want to marry any of them. I want to marry you. And I know that’s insane, and I know you hate me. But its the truth. It’s the truth,” he finished, his breathing ragged and refusing to meet your eyes. 

“Jaehyun,” you paused, taking a deep breath, “I think I love you too.”

“You- you do?” he asked, eyes snapping to where you stood, your anger completely melted and your eyes just as teary as his, “Say it again. God, please say it again.”

“I love you,” you muttered, your grin growing, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He rushed towards you then, lips finding yours messily, the two of you grinning too much to actually care. The force of the kiss pushed you back against his desk, the two of you exploring each other's bodies with your hands as if this was the first time. You melted into him, his fingers finding the zipper of your dress and tugging at it. When it was unzipped he pulled it off, never once breaking the kiss. 

You tugged at his tie, bringing him as close to you as possible. You whined as he broke the kiss, arms leaving your body as he hastily cleared off a spot for you on his desk.

“Patience, princess,” he muttered as he kissed the side of your head, guiding you onto his desk, “Spread your legs for me, doll, let me take care of you.”

You wasted no time, complying easily to his command as he knelt before you. He was slow at first, kissing up the side of your leg as he gently eased your heels off of your feet. He paused his mouth as he reached the crux of your thigh and your core. 

“Baby, you’re sure?” he asked, pressing a light kiss to your thigh, eyes locked onto yours as you nodded. You hissed when a lap landed on your inner thigh, “Tsk, you know the rules doll. Or has it been that long that I need to train you again, you filthy whore? Been too busy fucking other people that you forget my rules?”

“No sir,” you muttered out, the hint of a smile teasing Jaehyun’s lips, “haven’t had anyone but you. Want you to touch me now, please,” you babbled, willing to do and say anything to get him to finally touch you. 

“My dirty girl hasn’t had anyone but me?” Jaehyun asked, an eyebrow raised and a shit-eating grin unable to be hidden on his face. You let out a needy whine, scooting your hips closer to his face,  “Is my princess needy? Does she want a reward for being such a little slut for my cock and my cock only?”

“Please, sir,” you nodded desperately, not wanting to beg but getting to the point where you didn’t care anymore. 

Jaehyun placed a soothing kiss to your core over your panties, hooking his finger underneath the hem as he spoke, “It’s ok, doll. Be nice and quiet for me, hm?”

You nodded again desperately, Jaehyun forgiving your lack of words just this once as he shimmied your underwear down. You tried your best to hold in your moans as he devoured you. The closer you came to your climax the harder it was to keep quiet. Having mercy on you, Jaehyun slid his hand up your body and pushed two fingers into your mouth. Letting you suck and drool on them as he continued to pleasure you. You were so so close, bucking and grinding your hips into his mouth as you came. You tried to be quiet, you really did. But if you were being honest, you couldn’t help the moan that left your body. Jaehyun’s tongue retreating but your body still shaking as you raked in deep breaths. He pulled you calmingly into his chest, whispering praises and pressing kisses to your hair as you calmed down. 

He tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear as he cupped your face, “Can you take more?” he asked, eyes searching yours for any sort of hesitation. 

“Please Jae, I can take more, I promise,” you whispered, hands finding his tie and loosening it as he kissed your forehead. He undid his belt buckle quickly, shuffling his pants and boxers off quickly. He slid himself inside you, bottoming out with a small groan. He rested his forehead against yours as he waited for you to let him move. A small moan leaving your mouth as you bucked your hips. 

He lost it then, all of his usual calm and cool composure was out the window as he thrusts into you. His pace was steady, but it was much faster than usual, something that had you biting your lip in order to ensure your moans were quieted. As he hit the sensitive spot deep within you, you let out a guttural moan, slapping a hand over your mouth as Jaehyun laughed. 

“I thought I told you to be quiet?” he smiled, his previous dominance out the window as he pulled you into him. His thrusts are still powerful, but his actions are more loving and intimate than they were before. He kissed you gently as he thrusted, his pace faltering as you clenched around him. 

“Jae-,” You whined, almost running away from him as his fingers found your sensitive and swollen clit, “I’m close.”

“Me too, love,” he whispered, rubbing more vigorously as you spasmed around him one more time. His lips met yours as your moans grew less discreet again, his mouth absorbing as much of them as he could. He was cumming swiftly after you, his fingers digging into your hips as he twitched inside you. 

“I love you,” you spoke, wrapping your arms around him tightly and resting your chin on his broad shoulder. 

“God, I love you too,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss as he eased himself out of you, “What do you say we skip the rest of our work today and spend the day in my bed, together?”

“That sounds like a dream,” you added, your limbs cooperating with his hands that were guiding you back into your clothes, “If you can make me squirt I’ll sign the merge papers.”

At this Jaehyun laughed, “Oh, you’re on, doll.”

You followed him out of his office, too happy to care about his employees' embarrassed faces and awkward stances. Jaehyun was finally yours, and you were finally his.

[alittlewhump]

Unbidden - Act 5, chapter 3

Masterlist | Previous | Next

Content warnings: fantasy religion, death mention

Morgan's golem eventually warned him of people approaching. He didn't need to look to guess it would be Blaise and Icharion. It had not been an especially dignified departure. Blaise would have questions, and would have dragged him along with her to satisfy the sentry. Morgan took a steadying breath and raised his head. This conversation might as well happen now. He made a cursory effort to wipe the tears from his cheeks, not that it would make it any less obvious that he'd been weeping.

Icharion was the first to speak once they had rounded the corner and spotted him. "It was cruel of Master Ordan to lie to you as he did," he said stiffly. That didn't sound right at all. Morgan hadn't known Icharion especially well, but he hadn't been one for that sort of reflection. It was the sort of sentiment he would expect from Blaise, though. He glanced over and saw her watching him intently.

"We both know that cruelty was not the Master's intention," he said, addressing Icharion. "And we both know he was in the right."

Icharion exhaled. "I told you," he said to Blaise. She elbowed him.

"There's nothing right about what he did. Don't sell yourself short," she said to Morgan. "You've gotten so much stronger since we met. Just look at everything we've done together."

"That has nothing to do with it," Morgan replied.

"I told her, she wouldn't listen-" Icharion was silenced by another elbow to the ribs.

"Explain it to me, then," Blaise said, crouching in front of Morgan to look him in the face. "Because it sounds like this Ordan just sent you out to die without even telling you what you did to deserve it, and I really don't understand how the two of you seem to think that's justified."

"You know we don't perceive death the same way you do," Morgan reminded her. She nodded grudgingly. "Master Ordan's primary concern is the maintenance of our Order. Our numbers are few enough, but even a small tree can benefit from pruning its weakest branches." That had been one of the master's favourite metaphors. He'd usually used it in the context of seeking out weakness within oneself, but it seemed apt enough here too.

"Yeah, that's pretty much what he said, but you aren't weak." Her voice was rising, the frustration clear on her face.

"I am weak in the ways that matter to the Order," Morgan explained. The heat of shame prickled at his neck. He had no desire to enumerate his failings to her here, in front of someone who could verify the precise degree of his inadequacy. But Blaise was a force to be reckoned with, and he couldn't let her focus her anger on the Order. They were important, even if he was not, so he tried to explain. He started reluctantly with the most fundamental issue, the lowest bar he'd failed to surpass.

"In order to uphold the Balance, we must be objective in our judgment. And we cannot do that if we are beholden to emotions. It's some of our most basic and essential training, and I have never been able to master it properly." He could hear the bitterness creeping into his voice, feel the familiar weight curling in his gut. Even now he was failing.

"So, let me get this straight. You have feelings, like a regular person, and for some reason you think that's so bad you deserve to die for it." Blaise cocked an eyebrow at him. "It's not like that's something you can just turn off."

"I should be able to. It's one of our central tenets. We must be able to separate ourselves from our emotions so we can remain clear-headed. I truly thought I had myself under control when I set out, but... oh." He trailed off as the pieces finally clicked into place, tracing an unmistakable pattern back to its origin. It had felt like it had finally started getting easier by the time he'd left on his quest. The doubt he'd had in himself had been erased by the Master's assurance that he was ready. And he had found it to be possible, if not exactly easy, right up to a very specific point.

Proper control had been impossible ever since the fight against Andariel. Whose venom had caused a lasting change in his sense of pain, lingering even after all physical traces of the wound were gone. Permanent, Jamella had said. And Cain had also mentioned that Andariel could cause emotional sensitivity. So this, too, would be permanent. A heavy feeling settled over Morgan, coming to rest behind his ribs. The rest of his shortcomings were insignificant in comparison to this. There was no hope of redemption. It would take years more dedicated training to overcome this weakness, if it was even possible. And he had nowhere to train, no mentor to correct him when he inevitably strayed. He couldn't return to the Order, not after the story Ordan had woven. Icharion's reaction would be amplified a hundredfold. Why had he-

"Speak, Morgan. You're inside your own head." Icharion's voice was not unkind, but Blaise shot him a dirty look.

"I was clearly mistaken. I just don't understand why Master Ordan lied about the request," Morgan said, voice so low it was nearly a whisper. "He only had to ask. I would have gone willingly." If the goal had simply been to remove him, that could have easily been accomplished in a number of simpler ways. Everything else made sense. Morgan looked up at Icharion, half hoping to find an answer, half dreading what it might be.

"Politics, most likely. Any expulsion from within the Necropolis must be approved by the council, and Jostan is too troubled by our numbers to let anyone go, no matter the reason. No one would have believed you decided to go of your own volition, and Ordan has too many eyes on him to stage a convincing accident."

"Ah." Morgan looked back down. That explanation made sense enough, he supposed. He had simply been so intolerable, so far from adequate that it had forced the Master's hand. The man was fiercely loyal to the brotherhood, if rather unyielding in his views. His decisions were unswayable, and clearly he'd decided - he'd seen - that there could be no place for someone as weak as Morgan in the priesthood, no matter how earnest his devotion.

"Hang on," Blaise said, "when you talk about 'going', do you actually mean-"

"Dying, yes," Icharion interrupted. "It is an honour to lay down one's life in service to the Order." It was an honour he would never know, Morgan realized suddenly. That twisted like a knife.

"You're really not convincing me that any of this is okay," Blaise said.

"You don't need to believe the truth," Icharion replied. "It will be true all the same, with or without your approval."

"Blaise," Morgan said quickly, "wait." She looked ready to explode, glaring murderously at Icharion. Morgan tried to find the right words, ones she might take heed of. "Master Ordan was right. I cannot serve the Order of Rathma. I am not capable of meeting their standards. He saw that and acted in their best interest because that is his duty. The only fault here is mine. I should have seen it too." Should have recognized the truth and gone long ago, saved them all the trouble.

"That's stupid. The whole time I've known you, everything you've done has been in the name of the Balance. I've watched you work yourself nearly to death for it, and you're telling me that's not good enough? Bullshit."

"I've no doubt his intentions are pure," Icharion said with surprising gentleness, "but effort alone cannot overcome inability. Not all people are capable of all things. Few are suited to our work, fewer still are able to carry it out."

"Bullshit," Blaise repeated, but it was quieter this time. "That's not fair."

"It is important work," Morgan said. "It cannot be entrusted to those unfit to do it."

"And you really believe that includes you? Even after all the shit you've been through for it? After how hard you've worked?"

"I do." Morgan closed his eyes against the surge of emotions that swelled up at the finality of that admission. He had no choice but to accept the truth. It was nothing new, after all. Hardly the first time his best efforts had proven to be insufficient. That didn't do much to soften the blow. At least his ineptitude was likely to have prevented him from doing any real damage to anything in his efforts, he thought dully.

"I could witness your departure," Icharion offered after a time, breaking the silence. "We are far from home. The rules would allow it." It was an unexpected gesture, permitted but not necessary by the laws of the Order. Morgan studied his face for a moment. He found nothing; of course Icharion could make himself unreadable, like a priest ought to be able to do. There was an undeniable thread of kindness in the offer, though. At least it could be done properly. That would be a small comfort.

"I would appreciate that very much," Morgan said, getting to his feet. Blaise sprang up as well as Icharion drew his sword.

"Whoa, whoa, hang on a second here. Somebody tell me what's happening. I'm not going to let-"

"It's not that kind of departure," Icharion interrupted her. "Sit back down." Blaise bristled.

"It's just a ceremony," Morgan reassured her. "An oath. Nobody dies." She seemed slightly mollified but did not sit down, instead crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes. She would let them proceed, then.

Morgan fished out a vial of oil from his chest pocket. Uncorking it, he pinched the tip of Icharion's proffered blade with his thumb and forefinger and squeezed several drops of blood in to mingle with the oil. Then he poured out the contents in a rough circle around himself. The circle glowed faintly as he imbued it with intent. He had never seen this particular ceremony, but the steps were as familiar as all the others he'd ever committed to memory.

"On my heart's blood I swear I shall never again interfere in the Order of Rathma, nor in the affairs of the dead." The words left a heavy feeling in his chest, but it was a little better than the jagged hurt that already sat there.

"On your heart's blood it is witnessed," Icharion replied, "and so are you bound." He traced a line under the circle with the bloodied tip of his blade. It drew in the light from the circle, which faded to nothing as he dismissed the magic with his free hand. Morgan wiped his fingers on the hem of his shirt.

"Thank you for that," he said quietly. Icharion nodded an acknowledgement as Morgan handed over the rest of his ceremonial oils. He no longer had a use for them. A thick, protective numbness was starting to settle in, blunting the world's edges.

"So that's it? You're just... done?" Blaise hadn't moved, still regarding them suspiciously.

"It is a very straightforward oath," Icharion pointed out as he wiped his blade clean and returned it to its sheath.

"Oh, fuck off."

"I will continue to do my part in the effort against Baal," Morgan clarified, the words feeling far away and hazy. "But on my own behalf, now. I think I'd like to join you in battle tomorrow." He could still work toward a purpose, still make himself useful. He needed that. To hold him together.

Blaise slung an arm around his shoulders. "I'll be glad to have you by my side." Morgan leaned into her gratefully. "And I think the barbarians are going to like your golems. If you're still..." she broke off, glancing over at the one still standing watch.

"He cannot raise the dead, but the earth is still fair game," Icharion confirmed. "Now if you're quite finished, I'm going back inside." He turned and left without further comment.

"You should go back with him," Morgan said. He pulled away from Blaise, but her hand lingered on his shoulder.

"Hey," she said softly, "are you... okay? I mean, fuck, obviously not, this is... I know the Order is important to you. Can I help? Somehow?" Once again, she was looking at him with earnest concern. He should have felt something about that, probably, but the numbness was there instead.

"I don't know," Morgan replied. "I'm going to finish checking the wall for damage," he found himself saying, "and then I think I'm going to meditate." Being fully rested would be a good idea. He'd been getting so much sleep recently, he didn't need any more and he certainly didn't want to risk the nightmares. But he found he didn't want to be conscious either. Though the specific techniques had been developed by the Order, the act of meditation was hardly exclusive to them. It wouldn't interfere with anything. He could still have that little peace, at least.

Blaise squeezed him gently. "Think about eating something too." That was probably also a good idea, but less appealing. He nodded anyway. "I'll leave you to it, then," she said, then followed Icharion's path back toward the gates.

There was still more to do, Morgan reminded himself as he walked slowly around the wall. Tyrael had bidden them to slay Baal. He still had a purpose, for now. Between that and the numbness, it was enough to propel him through the rest of the day's actions. His body patched a few more damaged spots in the wall, and put some food into itself, and found a bed to lay itself in, and then it rested as his mind drifted in meditation, carefully focused on absolutely nothing at all.

[elizabear]

body language will do the trick

OK, so I know this is going to be fully AU in about five seconds when The Falcon and the Winter Soldier airs, but those couples counseling scenes in the trailer got me WAY TOO EXCITED and I really couldn't help myself.

Title: body language will do the trick

Rating: Explicit

Category: M/M

Relationship: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes (background Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanoff)

Additional tags: frenemies to lovers, coworkers to lovers, couples counseling, because sam and bucky can’t stop flirting at work, post-avengers endgame, but it’s au because, steve rogers isn’t old, and natasha romanoff lives, captain america sam wilson, shield agent bucky barnes, past steve rogers/bucky barnes, but it’s minor, bucky and sam fall in love, but COMPETITIVELY, oral sex, anal sex, tender railing, idiots in love, praise kink

Words: 12,598

Link to AO3: here

Summary:

“There’s no way you’re going to win this,” Bucky tells Sam. “I am going to love language the shit out of you.”

Sam gives him a considering look. “You do seem like you’d be really good at that.”

Bucky’s cheeks flush with heat. “Thanks, pal, I—”

Sam smirks, and Bucky’s eyes narrow. He shoves his elbow into Sam’s side and stalks off, leaving Sam cackling behind him.

“Your ass looks great today!” Sam yells.

Bucky reaches up to flip Sam the bird, and he definitely does not feel grateful that he wore his good jeans today. Bucky’s ass looks great every day.

Bucky Barnes is pretty sure that these counseling sessions—supposedly for Bucky and Sam’s “interpersonal issues”—are Director Fury’s revenge for that whole fake assassination situation. Which, to be fair to Fury, came about as the result of Bucky’s very real assassination attempt, even if the subsequent “assassination” was fake, so Bucky can’t exactly blame Fury there. What Bucky doesn’t understand is why their possibly-fake counselor—is she a real counselor, or just another one of Fury’s spies?—chooses to conduct her “therapy” sessions in the unlikely and frankly suspicious location of an underground bunker.

Dr. Carson’s therapy bunker is probably just a temporary location, since usable office facilities with running water and electricity are still pretty limited after the Blip, but Bucky was definitely under the impression that modern American therapists’ offices were supposed to be more soothing than this. He’d expected a bland but tasteful space filled with a cushy sofa and watercolor paintings and the calming sounds of nature recordings. Instead, Bucky and Sam are sitting in uncomfortable chairs in a dim room with bare cement walls and unflattering fluorescent lighting. Is Fury even trying to sell this fake counseling op?

Bucky and Sam’s counselor/interrogator is most definitely hostile. Although Dr. Carson looks lovely in her delicate green silk blouse and expensive silk scarf, her expression is stern and sour. She’s styled her glossy dark hair neatly, in gentle waves that summon a distant memory of the way women used to wear their hair in the 1940s, and Bucky wonders if this is Dr. Carson’s authentic style or if it’s just part of another SHIELD spy game, meant to trick or manipulate Bucky into confiding in Dr. Carson because she looks familiar and nonthreatening.

Bucky considers it an insult to the memory of Peggy Carter if Fury thinks he could’ve worked with Carter for two years in the SSR and still underestimate a woman just because she has nice hair and a pretty outfit.

Also, if Dr. Carson’s trying to lull Bucky into a false sense of security, why is she doing it in this weird basement?

Honestly this whole counseling thing really does seem like it’s secretly just a poorly planned interrogation.

Like right now. Dr. Carson asks, “Are you having a staring contest?” and Bucky isn’t going to disclose valuable intel by admitting that while Sam is definitely having a staring contest with him, Bucky is just using this as an excuse to look into Sam’s eyes, which are warm and brown and make Bucky feel all sorts of confusing things. Bucky is trained to resist interrogation, and that piece of information definitely falls under the category of “unexpected and alarming potential weaknesses.”

Also Bucky’s still sort of figuring out how he feels about Sam’s whole eye and face and shoulder situation, so the staring contest is actually a pretty great cover for whatever the fuck is really going on with him. Half of successfully surviving an interrogation is letting your captors fill in the blanks themselves and then pretending like their waterboarding is the worst thing you’ve ever endured.

Unfortunately, while Bucky is congratulating himself on successfully maintaining operations security—and winning their staring contest, no reason he can’t do both at once—Dr. Carson seems to reach her limit for the amount of shit she’s willing to endure from them today.

“You’re not taking this seriously.” Dr. Carson shoots them with a hard glare. “I’m giving you a five minute break, and if you’re not ready to open up and work on your communication and compatibility issues, I’m going to have to advise Fury to put you both on leave.”

Bucky’s fine with being put on leave, and he’s fully prepared to wait out SHIELD, Fury, and Dr. Carson. It took HYDRA fifteen years to break him down enough to send him out on missions, and no matter how much they tortured him Bucky didn’t shed so much as a single tear until they showed him newspaper headlines about what a bad pilot Steve turned out to be.

Also, Bucky’s not entirely sure that he’s not actually immortal, so he figures his patience will probably far outlast Fury’s determination to punish him for shooting him a few times when he didn’t even die. Actually, now that Bucky thinks about it, Fury’s probably less mad about the whole fake assassination thing than he is about Steve forcing him to offer Bucky a job and then grit out the most begrudging apology Bucky has ever heard in his life for SHIELDRA holding Bucky hostage as a brainwashed assassin while Fury was the Director of SHIELD. Right in front of Captain Marvel, too, Fury’s favorite Avenger, who had looked very disappointed in him. Apparently Danvers had her own history as a superpowered amnesiac brainwashed into working for the bad guys? Bucky’s unclear on the details, but when Danvers’s mouth tightened and her head shook in dismay, Nick Fury’s shoulders had slumped like a chastened schoolboy.

God, Steve is such a dick sometimes. Bucky loves him so much.

Dr. Carson’s high heels make clipped little clicking noises that speak volumes about her frustration with them as she strides purposefully out of the room. As soon as she closes the door, so firmly that Bucky can just tell that she had to have put conscious, controlled effort into not slamming it behind her, Bucky turns to Sam with a satisfied grin.

“Well, I think we’re doing great,” Bucky says. “SHIELD’s going to have to work a lot harder to get any real intel out of us, and I was definitely promised that they wouldn’t be using any drugs or brainwashing techniques this time so I think we’re going to nail this whole interrogation.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “This is therapy, man, not an interrogation. We’re supposed to be, like, opening up and becoming a better team.”

“Yeah, well, if this is real therapy then where are the goats?” Bucky says, raising an eyebrow toward the most likely location of the nearest camera as if to say gotcha, Fury, your goatless fake therapy interrogation tactic isn’t fooling me.

“I’m sorry, goats? Why would there be goats?”

Bucky leans back in his chair and folds his hands behind his head. “I’m just saying, in Wakanda I always got to hang out with animals when I did therapy. And look how great that turned out! I hardly ever kill anyone anymore, and when I do it’s on purpose because I decided to. Anyway, I really feel like this is all just a plot by SHIELD to find out why we—”

Bucky and Sam bicker for a while about whether or not this is real therapy until they’re interrupted by Dr. Carson’s return, her face looking a little damp now, like maybe she spent her time away from them splashing water on it and doing some deep breathing exercises in the bathroom.

“OK,” says Dr. Carson, visibly relaxing her spine. “We’re going to take a new approach. Have you heard of the five love languages?”

Sam’s eyes widen in horror. “No, we are not doing the five love languages.”

Bucky hasn’t heard of the five love languages, but he can tell from the look on Sam’s face that they definitely don’t want to do this, and Bucky’s pretty good at improvising when he needs to. “Oh, you know, I think HYDRA already implanted the five love languages in my brain when they were doing the rest of the Romance languages. So we can just skip those, I already know them.”

Bucky offers Dr. Carson his blandest and most innocent smile, the same one that sometimes worked on Sister Mary Angela back at old St. Charles Borromeo, but Dr. Carson’s face remains as stony and unmoved as the church itself, still standing in Brooklyn Heights in the year of our Lord 2023. Instead she says, “I think we need to take a couples therapy approach.”

“Couples therapy,” Sam repeats, sinking lower in his chair. Bucky winces as Sam’s knee starts to crush his balls.

“According to this file,” Dr. Carson says, opening it up to read aloud, “the two of you are here because your colleagues have complained about your, quote, romantically-charged bickering, your constant flirting, and your unnecessarily sexual sparring.”

Dr. Carson punctuates these damning statements with some truly savage air quotes.

“Listen, when I slap Sam’s bare ass in the locker room after a good sparring session it’s with purely collegial respect for a worthy opponent,” Bucky says, folding his arms across his chest. “I only ever treat Sam with the same level of professional respect I give Steve and Natasha.”

Sam nods in support. “Steve and Natasha never have a problem getting sweaty and physical with us, and I’ve personally witnessed Steve and Natasha slap Bucky’s ass dozens of times.”

Dr. Carson raises a single judgmental eyebrow. “Don’t you think there might be a reason why Fury’s banned the four of you from using the gym at the same time?”

“Uh, yeah,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes. “The other SHIELD agents get intimidated by Sam’s shredded abs and Steve’s and my super strength. Plus everyone’s scared of Natasha.”

Dr. Carson closes her eyes and visibly counts to ten. Bucky can see her mouth forming the words.

“All right, we’re just going to move on here, because I’m really only able to deal with just the one dysfunctional relationship at a time.” Dr. Carson passes them some worksheets and pencils. “I want you to fill these out, honestly, and then hand them back to me when you’re done.”

Bucky reads over the worksheets, which are filled with questions like, “Do you like it more when your partner reacts positively to something you’ve accomplished or when they do something for you that you know they don’t particularly enjoy?” There are a lot of questions about hugging, and holding hands, and Bucky gets distracted trying to picture holding hands with Sam, who has big hands, strong and capable and—

“Stop trying to copy my answers,” Sam says, when he notices Bucky glancing over at the way Sam grips his pen as he fills out his worksheet. Sam shoves his knee harder into Bucky’s crotch and Bucky stifles a gasp.

“I’m not!”

“Bucky, stop cheating.” Dr. Carson presses her lips together in a severe frown.

Bucky scowls and scooches his chair back several inches. It makes a loud scraping sound as it drags against the cement floor. But before going back to filling out his form, Bucky gives Sam’s ankle a sharp kick for getting him in trouble with Dr. Carson, and the two of them engage in a brief but brutal silent kicking war below the front of the desk where Dr. Carson can’t see.

When Bucky and Sam finish their kicking war and their quizzes, they hand their worksheets back to Dr. Carson for grading and rub their shins as they wait.

“Bucky, your primary love language is words of affirmation, and your secondary love language is physical touch,” Dr. Carson announces. “And Sam, your primary love language is acts of service, while your secondary love language is quality time.”

Bucky frowns. On the one hand, he feels like he’s received some pretty valuable intel about Sam that he could use to his benefit. But on the other hand, he’s probably given up some valuable intel of his own. He wishes there hadn’t been so many questions that made him think about hugging and touching Sam—somehow those made him so distracted that he forgot to respond with lies.

Bucky’s stomach knots up a bit at the thought of Sam learning his potential weaknesses, but really, how much of a psyop could Sam possibly launch with the results from a couples counseling questionnaire? (Natasha could probably execute a successful psyop based on the information from a Buzzfeed quiz meant to reveal your “celebrity mom,” so Bucky really hopes Sam doesn’t talk to Natasha about this.)

“Your homework is to try to learn to speak each other’s language.” Dr. Carson stands up and walks around the desk to touch Bucky’s shoulder. “Good job today, Bucky.”

Bucky smiles, and the knot in his stomach releases a bit. He is so nailing this therapy thing, he knew he’d be better at it than Sam.

Dr. Carson helps Sam back into his coat as she ushers them toward the door, and Bucky’s pretty sure she’s meant to be modeling an act of service except that mostly it seems like she’s just trying to rush them out of the office.

“See you next week.” Dr. Carson smiles stiffly, like she is not at all looking forward to seeing them next week. Her expression is full of determined professionalism right up until the click of the door latch, and then Bucky hears a dull thudding noise that is pretty unmistakably the sound of Dr. Carson hitting her head against the doorframe.

“There’s no way you’re going to win this,” Bucky tells Sam. “I am going to love language the shit out of you.”

Sam gives him a considering look. “You do seem like you’d be really good at that.”

Bucky’s cheeks flush with heat. “Thanks, pal, I—”

Sam smirks, and Bucky’s eyes narrow. He shoves his elbow into Sam’s side and stalks off, leaving Sam cackling behind him.

“Your ass looks great today!” Sam yells.

Bucky reaches up to flip Sam the bird, and he definitely does not feel grateful that he wore his good jeans today. Bucky’s ass looks great every day.

***

They’re on a mission together the next day, battling some Doombots in New Jersey, and wow is Sam committed to this whole words of affirmation thing.

When Bucky deflects a punch aimed straight for Sam’s head with his vibranium arm, Sam whistles and says, “Nice save, man, you’re killing it today.” Warmth rises up in Bucky’s chest at Sam’s praise, and Bucky is filled with panic and dismay when he realizes that the fight to squash it back down is honestly more taxing than their battle against Doombots. There’s absolutely no reason Bucky should be having such a physical reaction to basic battle camaraderie.

When Bucky stretches his leg up above his head to nail one of the bots with a vicious kick, Sam smirks and gives him a distinct how-you-doing sort of nod. “That was—seriously hot, man. Have you been doing yoga or something?”

So apparently Sam is choosing to interpret words of affirmation as “wild flirtation,” and Bucky’s cheeks are choosing to betray him by radiating at Sam’s attention. Bucky knows there’s a flush spreading down his neck, and he’s hoping Sam will attribute it to exertion from the fight, because there’s no way Bucky can let Sam know that Sam’s sort of winning at their therapy homework—not when Bucky’s entire mental health journey and, like, the honor of the Wakandan animal-assisted therapy program is at stake.

But after they board the Quinjet and set the autopilot on a course back to New York, Sam gives Bucky a slow up-and-down perusal with his eyes, and Bucky feels Sam’s gaze like a physical touch. “You look really good after a fight, Buck. That messed up hair and pretty pink blush are giving me all kinds of ideas.”

Bucky’s cock twitches at that, and huh. Bucky blinks and looks down at his crotch.

So that’s working again.

A dirty smirk spreads across Sam’s face, like maybe Sam knows exactly what just happened inside Bucky’s pants, and fuck, this whole situation is spiraling rapidly out of Bucky’s control. Like, yeah, Bucky kept Sam from getting a pretty gnarly concussion, and that was probably an act of service, right? But it’s pretty clear, to both of them, that Sam is winning this competition, and Bucky is not about to go down without a fight.

Which is—an idea.

Bucky drops to his knees in front of Sam and bites his lip in a way that he knows, instinctively, will make him look hot. Sam inhales sharply in response, and Bucky reaches up to grasp Sam by the hips before he can take a step backwards. The material of Sam’s uniform bunches up and shifts under Bucky’s hands, and fuck, Bucky’s cock is aching now, throbbing and filling up in his tight uniform pants. Bucky forgot he could feel so good.

“What are you doing,” Sam protests in a half-assed sort of way.

“Servicing you,” Bucky replies with a wicked grin, sliding Sam’s zipper down slowly over his thickening cock. Bucky can’t remember if he’s done this before, but the way his mouth waters and his throat aches in anticipation makes him feel pretty fucking confident about how this is going to go down.

But before Bucky can pull Sam’s cock out of his briefs, Sam slides his fingers into Bucky’s hair and tips his head gently backward, using his other hand to tilt Bucky’s chin up to look into Sam’s face. Sam’s pretty brown eyes are already darkening with arousal, but his expression is serious.

“You don’t have to suck my dick for therapy, man.”

Bucky huffs. “Sam, this is the first time my dick’s been hard since 1945. Do you know how many times Steve’s let me watch him jerk off trying to heIp me get hard again? I am definitely not doing this only to win at therapy, pal.”

Sam’s hands freeze in Bucky’s hair and his cock swells visibly in his briefs. “I’m sorry, Steve let you do what now? Dude, I thought Steve was straight.”

“Oh, he’s definitely, like, straight-ish,” Bucky assures Sam, with a little so-so wave of his hand that hopefully conveys the correct amount of ambiguity there. “He’s mostly just a really great friend.”

Sam’s eyes close for a long moment, and then Bucky’s scalp stings when Sam clenches his fist in Bucky’s hair and pulls. “Jesus,” mutters Sam, his voice gruff and husky. “Yeah, OK, baby. Go ahead and suck my dick.”

Bucky’s heart pounds as he pulls Sam’s cock out of his briefs and licks a wet stripe up the length of it, groaning at the feel of Sam’s skin under his tongue. Sam tastes salty with sweat, and his scent is musky and thick after their fight with the Doombots. Bucky teases him for a while, the way he’s seen people do in porn, trailing wet kisses along the shaft and mouthing at the head, and Sam lets out a ragged moan when Bucky’s mouth finally engulfs him. Bucky’s feeling pretty cocky about this, loves the rush of power he feels as Sam’s hips twitch and jerk to keep from thrusting into Bucky’s mouth—but then Sam fucking escalates shit, because Sam is an asshole.

“Christ, you feel good,” Sam murmurs, reaching down to rub his thumb against Bucky’s mouth, stretched wide around Sam’s cock. “You look so pretty with my dick in your mouth.”

And then Bucky’s the one moaning, eyelids fluttering shut and heat coursing down his spine at the sound of Sam’s husky voice. Bucky should have expected Sam to counter his act of service with more words of affirmation, but somehow he wasn’t prepared for the unbearable ache he’d feel at Sam’s dirty talk. Bucky feels inexperienced, outclassed at this sort of sexual warfare, and the only way he can retaliate is by sinking as far down on Sam’s cock as his throat will allow him. He reaches up to grab Sam’s hips, urging him to fuck his mouth, and then he hums a little inside his head to try to tune out the sound of Sam’s praise.

“Fuck,” says Sam. “God, that’s it, baby. You take it so well, Buck. So fucking good for me.”

Bucky whines, his jaw aching, eyes filling with tears as Sam’s cock stretches his mouth open. Sam keeps offering him filthy praise as he slides his mouth up and down Sam’s thick cock, and Bucky doesn’t know why this is doing it for him when all of Steve’s pale skin and strong thighs and big dick couldn’t, but maybe seventy years of torture and captivity have left Bucky with a few new kinks. Or maybe Bucky’s just healing or whatever. Bucky honestly doesn’t care, as long as Sam keeps letting him fill his throat with Sam’s dick.

Sam’s voice is rough when he says, “God, you fucking love it, don’t you,” and Bucky pulls off Sam’s cock just long enough to nod eagerly and gasp for air before diving back in. “Take your dick out, baby. I want you to come sucking my cock.”

Bucky’s rhythm stutters at that, his hand reaching down to pull his cock out of his uniform pants. He wants to be so fucking good for Sam, wants to come just how Sam says, wants Sam to keep telling him how good he looks, how much he loves fucking Bucky’s mouth, how much he likes giving it to him.

Sam’s praise grows hotter and filthier as he gets closer, and Bucky whimpers as he feels his own orgasm approaching. God, he hasn’t come in so long, hasn’t felt that hot rush and that familiar ache in his balls in forever and he wants it, wants to come, he just needs—

“Come on, baby, come for me, I know you can do it, just keep sucking my cock, God, you look so good, baby, don’t stop, don’t stop—”

And Bucky spirals over the edge, cock pulsing and spilling over his fist. He lets out a choked moan around Sam’s dick before his mouth is flooded with bitter, salty fluid. And then Bucky feels so fucking full, like he could drown happily in Sam’s smell and his taste and his fucking words of affirmation.

Fuck.

Bucky definitely did not win that round.

***

The whole blow job thing was an outstanding idea, really, one of Bucky’s best. But fuck, he did not anticipate Sam using that as an opportunity to completely turn the tables and affirm the shit out of him. Bucky can’t help but privately acknowledge to himself that Sam is completely winning at love languages so far.

They’re in counseling the next week, still in Dr. Carson’s depressing therapy bunker, and honestly, Bucky can’t imagine that this setting is good for, like, anybody’s mental health. His therapy in Wakanda always took place outdoors, under the warm African sun, surrounded by the wild, earthy smells of mud and animals and Lake Turkana. It made him feel open and free and connected to nature or whatever. It was peaceful.

Therapy at SHIELD is not very peaceful, especially because Dr. Carson clearly hates them, and she isn’t at all impressed by what Bucky considers some very impressive progress by them. Bucky and Sam are getting along.

“So,” Dr. Carson begins, apparently deciding to just start right off with more hurtful accusations from their colleagues, “according to Carl from the gun range, the two of you have been subjecting your coworkers to your, quote, uncomfortable bickering-slash-foreplay, and Maria Hill reports that you’re still, quote, cluttering up comms during missions with the most embarrassing flirting I have ever heard, I hate it so much.”

Dr. Carson’s air quotes are fucking vicious.

Despite the fact that they’ve only just started their session, Dr. Carson looks tense and aggravated already. She’s wearing another pretty silk blouse today, but her earrings don’t seem to match and it looks like she didn’t bother to curl her hair today. Maybe she just realized that Bucky wasn’t fooled by those forties waves?

Also, even though it’s Friday, Dr. Carson’s giving off a very Monday sort of vibe.

“Sam and I are working on it, OK?” Bucky says, with a mulish set to his jaw. “Obviously I’m doing my best here, but it’s hard to do therapy in a cement basement that gives me flashbacks to 1970s HYDRA facilities where I was tortured. And there aren’t even any pets at all to comfort me. Didn’t you receive the note from my Wakandan therapist stating that I require animals during therapy?”

A blood vessel in Dr. Carson’s forehead throbs, and she raises her hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. “I’ll see if I can get us a room upstairs for our next session, but I’m telling you for the last time that we don’t have any therapy goats.”

“Well, I don’t have any issues doing therapy without goats,” Sam says, like the worst sort of teacher’s pet. God, Sam’s teachers probably loved his charming smile and his quick wit and his stupid handsome face. “Maybe Bucky is using the goats as an emotional crutch.”

“Listen, goat therapy works, OK?” Bucky counts out on his fingers as he lists the many examples of real progress he’s made since his time as a goat farmer in Wakanda. “I started off as an amnesiac brainwashed assassin, and now I have a steady job, a haircut, an apartment leased under my own shell companies, and I only kill people when I want to kill people now. And I wash my hair regularly. And if I don’t wash my hair, I use dry shampoo. And I don’t turn into a mindless killing machine when people speak Russian at me.”

“Dude,” Sam says.

“Anyway, it’s fine if you’re not as good at therapy as me.”

“Not as—not as good at therapy as you? Man, I am a certified peer specialist. I was so good at my own therapy that they let me give other people therapy,” Sam says, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“Yeah, in America, where they’re not even familiar with things like advanced goat therapy.” Bucky clucks his tongue and shakes his head. “Did you even keep up with your continuing education requirements while you were fugitives with Steve?”

Sam sinks lower in his seat and frowns. “No. But speaking of Steve,” Sam says, perking up a bit as he follows a new thread of argument. “Whose PTSD recovery was so complete and inspirational that Steve Rogers trusted them with the responsibility of carrying the Captain America shield, hm?”

“Listen, Steve is reckless as shit and he’s so irresponsible with that shield that he’s constantly losing it in rivers and getting it broken by alien supervillains,” Bucky points out. “I’m so recovered that the king of an entire country, a man so responsible that they put him in charge of running literally everything in the most advanced nation on the planet, trusted me with a prosthetic arm powerful enough to crush the skull of an ordinary man with a single blow. Probably even his skull, and he’s been enhanced by some weird plant that makes him even stronger than Steve.”

“Yeah, well, I’m so recovered that—”

Dr. Carson interrupts them here, pinching the bridge of her nose. “OK, listen, I think there’s actually something pretty interesting here in how you each relate your recovery to your ability to wield weapons. Why don’t we stop bickering and discuss that a little further?”

“Yeah, OK,” Bucky mumbles.

Sam sighs heavily. “Fine.”

***

So the blow job thing is working perfectly—like, so perfectly, God, Sam’s dick is amazing—except for the fact that Sam is able to talk the entire time. Words of affirmation spill from Sam’s pretty lips every time Bucky swallows his cock, and Bucky is still fucking losing the love languages competition.

It’s time to create a Pinterest strategy board to figure this thing out.

Bucky is a visual planner, and he believes in tactical flexibility. He might not remember a lot about sex, but there’s tons of porn on the Internet. He just needs to find a couple of ways to service Sam while Sam’s mouth is otherwise occupied. How hard could that be?

After a lot of research and the creation of several Pinterest mood boards, Bucky calls Steve down the hall to his apartment to help him out. They all live in the same building since it has the best security in the city—and Bucky and Natasha are very particular about security—and it makes sense for the four of them to basically live together when they already spend all their time together. When Steve arrives, they head right to Bucky’s bedroom, get undressed, and survey the porn board on Bucky’s laptop.

“OK, so what about sixty-nine,” Steve suggests. “Let’s try that.”

They get themselves into position, mouths hovering over each other’s flaccid dicks like totally normal best friends.

“See, I feel like this works, but is it really servicing Sam if he’s, like, servicing me at the same time?” Bucky flops over onto his back in frustration and worries at his lower lip with his teeth.

Steve nods and tilts his head in thought. “Yeah, I see what you mean. Depending on the grading rubric, the two acts might cancel each other out. How about rimming?”

“I feel like rimming is a great idea, and I definitely want to do that, but how do I shut him up while I do it?”

Steve frowns. “Can you reach up and cover his mouth with your hand? Hold on, let me bend over and we’ll see.” Steve gets on his hands and knees, tilting his ass up for Bucky to simulate a rim job.

“You know, your ass really is kind of amazing.” Bucky takes a moment to admire the jewel of Howard Stark’s empire. “I mean, it was cute as hell when you were little too, but Scott Lang definitely wasn’t wrong in that podcast episode about which superhero has America’s ass. Don’t tell Sam I said that, by the way.”

“Thanks, pal,” Steve says, flashing Bucky a quick grin. “Your ass is great too, Sam’s a lucky guy. Now bend over and pretend to rim me.”

Bucky leans down and uses his hand to cover Steve’s exposed hole, then presses his mouth against the back of his hand to simulate a rim job. He reaches forward with his other arm to see if he can put his vibranium hand over Steve’s mouth. He could—maybe? If he releases the catch on his shoulder?

“I don’t think this is going to work,” Bucky says with a frown. “Here, maybe try getting on your back and holding onto your legs?”

“Like this?” Steve asks, shifting gamely into position. Bucky folds him over and pretends to rim him while covering Steve’s mouth, which—works, actually. And this is probably the most erotic scene Bucky’s ever been a part of—Steve really does look incredible like this—so it’s kind of a shame that it does absolutely nothing whatsoever for Bucky’s dick.

Except then Bucky pictures Sam in Steve’s position, bent over and whining under Bucky’s vibranium hand, and Bucky’s cock gives a little twitch. Fuck.

Bucky sighs and releases Steve with a short nod. “Not bad, pal. I think this one’s gonna work. Let’s write it down.”

They test out a few more positions, taking careful notes on the comfort and degree of mouth coverage of each one. Bucky finds a few more pictures to add to his Pinterest board, and they sort through every image and assign them to the correct position number. Then Bucky and Steve print off their pictures and tape them to Bucky’s wall for inspiration, mapping out a sequence of actions that will lead to orgasms for both Sam and Bucky with a minimum amount of talking on Sam’s part.

Which is a shame, really. Sam’s dirty talk really does it for Bucky.

Still nude, Bucky and Steve stand in front of the vision board and assess the plan.

“I think position two is really going to work,” Steve says, stroking his chin, and Bucky’s brain flashes back to an image of Steve in pretty much this exact pose, assessing a map of HYDRA facilities in Western Europe with no less gravity and passion. God, Steve Rogers is a great fucking friend. “And if you really want to service the guy, I mean, you’ve already got him all loose and open. You might as well give him your dick too, right?”

Bucky nods in agreement. “Yeah, I mean, as long as I keep kissing him, he won’t be able to affirm me too much. I think this really is the winning scenario.”

“Great teamwork, pal,” Steve says, slapping Bucky’s bare ass. “This was fun! Just like the old days.”

Bucky smiles wistfully. “Yeah, there’s nothing like planning an op with The Man With the Plan. Hey, you want to grab dinner after this?”

“Nah,” Steve says, too-casually, angling his pelvis away from Bucky as he pulls his pants back on. “I think I’m gonna go see if Natasha’s busy.”

Bucky grins. “Give her my best.”

“Will do. Love you, pal,” Steve says, giving Bucky a quick kiss before he leaves.

Steve doesn’t bother putting a shirt on before he goes, and Bucky can hear him whistling cheerfully all the way down to Nat’s apartment.

***

Steve and Bucky’s plan was great, so naturally it goes to shit as soon as Sam gets involved.

Bucky’s sucking Sam’s dick, which OK, yeah, wasn’t technically in the plan, but God, Sam’s got such a great dick. How far behind can Bucky really fall in the standings from just one blow job?

“Your mouth feels so fucking good, baby,” Sam says, sliding his long fingers through Bucky’s hair—which Bucky washed before he came over, because he is killing it as a recovered assassin and also because this afternoon Sam grabbed his hips and leaned in, breath hot against Bucky’s ear, and murmured how much he wants to smell Bucky’s shampoo on his pillows tomorrow morning.

Which was both smooth as hell and very convincing. Bucky immediately bought like three more bottles of that shit and accepted Sam’s invitation over to his apartment that night.

So now they’re in Sam’s apartment, and Bucky’s sliding his mouth along Sam’s cock, and Sam’s telling him how much he loves the way Bucky sucks him, loves the way Bucky’s pretty face looks with Sam’s cock in his mouth, lips slick with spit and tears leaking out of his eyes. And then Sam says—

“Are you gonna let me fuck you tonight, baby? Gonna let me see how well you take it?”

And before Bucky knows it, he’s moaning around Sam’s cock and nodding his head, and Sam’s pulling a condom and lube out of the side drawer, and then Bucky’s face down on Sam’s bed, gasping and clenching around Sam’s long fingers.

When Sam finally turns him over and pushes inside him, Bucky feels his brain just—fully vacate his skull. Pleasure buzzes up and down Bucky’s spine like an electric current, and he’s only barely conscious of the wet-sounding gasp that comes out of his mouth when Sam finally slides all the way home.

Sam gives it to him slow and sweet, fucking into him at a dreamy, leisurely pace as Bucky grabs fistfuls of Sam’s sheets and scrabbles at any leverage he can get to try and push back against Sam’s cock. Bucky wants Sam to grab his hips and pound him hard, overwhelm him with stimulation and keep him from sinking under the gentle wave of that languid rhythm. It’s too intimate, too vulnerable, and Bucky’s chest is cracking wide open for Sam to look inside. He’s a little afraid of what Sam might see within him, but instead Sam’s expression is full of awe, his face open and tender as he runs a thumb over Bucky’s cheekbone.

“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous, so fucking sweet for me.”

There’s a lot of eye contact after that, and romantic face touching, and Sam telling Bucky how much he loves the way he feels, loves the way he looks and smells and tastes. Warmth pools deep in Bucky’s gut, spreading through his veins like the burn of whiskey, until Bucky feels like he’s going to burst into flames around Sam’s cock. Instead he comes, long and hard and messy, all over his stomach.

Sam’s eyes are hot as he looks down at the sight of Bucky’s abs covered in pearly fluid, and then he slams his hips into Bucky three more times, hard, before groaning and collapsing on top of him.

Fuck, Bucky thinks.

He takes a few minutes to catch his breath, and then suppresses a half-hearted sigh when he realizes that he completely blew the plan. Like, yes, that was some fucking amazing sex, Sam gave him the dicking of a lifetime, but somehow Bucky ended up even further behind in the love language competition. How does Sam keep winning?

It’s too late now to offer another act of service. Even if Bucky could get it up again, Sam definitely couldn’t.

Shit.

But wait, what was Sam’s secondary love language? Quality time? Perfect.

Bucky rolls over to give Sam a few open-mouthed kisses on his shoulder. Sam is sweaty from exertion, and he tastes salty and amazing. God, Sam is the best.

“You mind if I stay the night, sweetheart?” Bucky murmurs.

Sam’s lips curve up in a soft and pleased smile. “Yeah, baby, I was hoping you would.”

“C’mere, you can be the little spoon,” Bucky says, reaching around Sam’s waist to reel him in, and Sam huffs out a surprised grunt and then a happy sigh when Bucky wraps his arms and leg around him.

They fall asleep within minutes, and it turns out Sam really was into the smell of Bucky on his pillows because they fuck again in the morning, and this time Bucky forgets to keep track of who’s winning at therapy homework.

***

They fuck constantly after that, which is amazing, but unfortunately Bucky is still staying in this game only by the skin of his teeth. Like, yes, Bucky is performing acts of service for Sam on the regular, but somehow Bucky finds his self-control dissolving like sugar melting into caramel when Sam spreads him out under his dirty mouth and his clever hands.

So now when Sam collapses on top of him at night, fucked out and shaking, Bucky nuzzles his face into the back of Sam’s neck and wraps his arm around him to pull him close. Bucky stays the night, every night, and at work he sticks to Sam more tightly than one of Steve Rogers’s t-shirts. But the more quality time Bucky offers Sam, the more acts of service Bucky ends up performing—which, sure, sounds like a plan that would put Bucky pretty solidly in the lead, except for how Bucky always ends up a sobbing, needy mess dripping onto Sam’s sheets while Sam smirks and tells him how good Bucky is for him.

They fight together even better now, in sync in a way that Bucky hasn’t felt since he worked with the Howling Commandos, and when they finish a skirmish they turn to each other, flushed and grinning, flying high on adrenaline and oxytocin and arousal. They kiss savagely, mouths wet and open, and they don’t care who hears them pant and groan over the comms.

“God, you were so fucking hot—”

“Sam, yes, god, please—”

Bucky and Sam have died and come back to life already this year and somehow they’re still bringing each other back to life. Bucky swaggers through SHIELD headquarters with champagne flowing through his veins, bright and bubbly, and Fury yells at them twice for passing dirty notes to each other during briefings. They’re obnoxious about it, obvious and messy and shameless, and Bucky’s pretty sure that Maria Hill is going to resign in protest if she has to work surveillance for even one more of their ops.

Somehow they’re generating even more complaints to HR than before.

***

Dr. Carson has finally managed to find them a room with a window for their counseling sessions. They’re on the fifth floor, and there’s not much of a view—just the brick wall of the building next to them—but sunlight streams in through the sheer curtains and highlights the cut ridges of Sam’s frankly incredible cheekbones. God, Sam’s so fucking handsome.

Bucky and Sam are grinning broadly, but Dr. Carson looks stressed out and irritated today, even though they just started the appointment. Her hair is stringy and a little greasy at the roots, and Bucky wonders if Dr. Carson knows about dry shampoo. He isn’t sure how to ask, or if it would be rude to offer her a few sprays from the travel bottle he keeps in one of the pockets of his tactical pants? She’s still wearing a nice silk blouse, but it looks like she’s buttoned it incorrectly, and the tail is hanging out of the top of her slacks.

Are those even slacks? They kind of look like yoga pants.

Privately, Bucky thinks that an outsider might be hard pressed to figure out which of them was supposed to be the mental patient here. Are Bucky and Sam actually driving this woman insane?

“So you’re sleeping together.” Dr. Carson’s tone is flat and dismayed. “You know this is against SHIELD employee regulations, don’t you?”

She taps her pen against their folders in agitation, and Bucky wonders if those folders are their actual permanent records. Does Bucky’s folder still have all of the notes from Sister Mary Angela about his “distracting” and “unnaturally close” relationship with Steve? God, Sister Mary Angela hated Steve.

Sam waves a careless hand and props his ankle up on his other knee. “We’re independent contractors, and Steve and Natasha made sure that our contracts didn’t include any kind of anti-fraternization policies. They were extremely thorough about it.”

Dr. Carson sighs heavily, and it looks like she’s doing literally everything in her power not to roll her eyes. Instead, she tips her head back and looks at the ceiling, probably hoping to roll her eyes where Bucky and Sam can’t see them. “Nevertheless, the two of you are still required to be discreet and professional when you’re at work. We’ve received complaints from several of your coworkers about your behavior in the last week. According to Carl, you’ve been bringing, quote, unwanted and uncomfortable sexual energy to the workplace.”

Bucky scoffs. He knows how to handle this sort of situation. “Listen, I didn’t lose my life fighting Nazis so that a little homoerotic banter and ass grabbing would get me in trouble at work. And anyway, this is how Captain America and I behaved at work back when we were fighting fascism and defending the free world—in the 1940s, even!—so I can’t imagine that somehow you’re just not allowed to give each other friendly hand jobs in closets in 2023. If anything, I should be able to give Sam a friendly hand job outside of a closet. Those are exactly the kinds of freedoms I fought and died for.”

Sam nods in support and says, “That’s a great point, Buck,” and Bucky feels warmth curling in his belly before he realizes, fuck, Sam’s doing it again, and right in front of Dr. Carson too. Jesus, Sam is so good at therapy. “And it sounds like Carl might be just a tad bit homophobic. Maybe we should be complaining to HR about him. You know, I didn’t serve during the long years of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell just to hear—”

“Carl is happily married to his male partner of thirty-seven years,” Dr. Carson states, clenching her jaw. Bucky has literally fought people to the death who look less bothered by his general existence. “Also, you didn’t actually die fighting Nazis, Agent Barnes.”

“It was a metaphorical death,” Bucky defends, because this is important to him. “The old Bucky Barnes died in that ravine. We went over it all in my therapy in Wakanda, the most scientifically advanced country in the world. What even are your credentials and where are your goats?”

“I have a Bachelor’s degree in psychology from Harvard and doctorates in clinical psychology and neuroscience from Oxford. I was a Rhodes scholar, I’ve received a MacArthur Fellowship for my work in PTSD and polytrauma in returning veterans, and I literally wrote the textbook for most Introduction to Psychology courses.”

Bucky waves his dismissive hand at this. “Yeah, well, Sam did eighty hours of coursework and an eighty hour practicum to become a certified peer counselor. Plus he has experiential knowledge, which is more important than book learning. Also, Sam isn’t HYDRA. Are you HYDRA?”

The wood in Dr. Carson’s pencil cracks a bit under her hand. “I’m not HYDRA.”

“But, like, would Nick Fury know if you were HYDRA?” Bucky presses.

“That’s an excellent point, baby, you’re killing it in therapy today.” Sam pats Bucky on the thigh and then leaves his hand there, bare inches away from Bucky’s cock, and Bucky bites the inside of his cheek to keep from moving his hips or making any noises. “Nick Fury would definitely not know if Dr. Carson were HYDRA, his Nazi-finding track record is, like, dismal at best. I vote that we suspend therapy until there’s been an independent investigation into whether or not Dr. Carson is HYDRA.”

“You can’t suspend therapy,” Dr. Carson says, her expression pinched. “These counseling sessions are mandatory.”

“Look, we’ll keep doing the love languages thing as a show of good faith, and once the investigation’s concluded we’ll come back so you can decide which one of us is winning at therapy,” Bucky says. “In the meantime just, like, prepare to have all of your secrets uncovered and all of your loved ones and ex-boyfriends questioned extensively about your most private and intimate memories.”

Dr. Carson covers her face with her hands. Is she trying to muffle a scream?

“For the last time, no one wins at therapy,” she grits out.

“I mean, I think I’m pretty obviously winning,” Sam says. Bucky tips his head in reluctant agreement. “Anyway, we’ll talk to Natasha and Steve about the HYDRA thing since they actually know how to find Nazis. If Steve and Nat clear you, then Bucky and I will agree to let you judge which one of us is winning the love languages competition. In the meantime, it would be nice if you could get some therapy pets for Bucky. He likes animals. Goats might be a bit unreasonable for downtown D.C., but I’m sure you could rustle up some cats or something, right?”

Bucky hums. “I like dogs better.’

“All right, cool. Dr. C, get us some dogs.” Sam raps two knuckles against the desk. “Bucky and I are going to go to the gym to work out a bit. Bucky’s shoulders are looking really good lately.”

“Sam!” Bucky hisses, squirming a bit in his seat. “Not in front of Dr. Carson!”

“Sorry, baby,” Sam says, holding out a hand to pull Bucky up out of his chair. “See you next week, Dr. C!”

***

It hasn’t exactly escaped Bucky’s notice that Natasha has been avoiding him ever since Bucky and Sam started their love languages competition, so when Bucky sees Steve walking alone down the hallway toward his office, he reaches out from the broom closet where he’s hiding and yanks Steve inside.

“Is Natasha helping Sam win the love languages competition?” Bucky hisses.

There’s no real reason that they need to have this conversation in a broom closet instead of Steve’s office, but Bucky’s feeling nostalgic today, and Steve doesn’t seem at all bothered to suddenly find himself in a broom closet with Bucky.

“I mean, probably?” Steve says with a shrug. “It seems only fair, since I’m helping you. Also her dirty talk has really leveled up lately, and that’s probably not a coincidence. Why, what’s Sam doing?”

“He’s, like, constantly flirting with me. And the touching! God, Steve, I’m horny all the time now. And you wouldn’t believe the things he says to me in bed! Do you know how hard it is to concentrate on all the sex routines you and I’ve choreographed when Sam’s telling me how pretty I look with his cock in my mouth?”

“Natasha is definitely helping him then—she says that to me all the time when she’s using her strap on,” Steve says, chewing his lip thoughtfully. “Are you sure you can’t keep it together enough to service him without getting distracted by his words of affirmation?”

“Yes,” Bucky says, his cheeks growing hot. “You have no idea, Steve, like Sam just gets so filthy. I know my brain’s been fried like an egg and I don’t actually remember a lot about sex, but I don’t think people talked like this in the ‘40s, right?”

“I mean, you and I shared a bedroom in an apartment with paper thin walls and then spent a few years in a warzone. There’s not much opportunity for dirty talk when you’re just doing your best to get off without waking anybody up,” Steve says. “But that does give me an idea. Sam’s secondary love language is quality time, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“So date him! You may not have the sexual repertoire of someone who’s watched hundreds of hours of modern porn or even someone who remembers much about having sex before like three weeks ago, but you do know how to pull off a good old-fashioned wooing.”

Bucky’s forehead wrinkles. “Do I, though? Do I still know how to pull off a good old-fashioned wooing?”

“I believe in you, pal.” Steve claps him on the shoulder and then looks around the broom closet thoughtfully, taking in the dirty mop and the shelves of cleaning supplies and filthy rags. “You’re honestly not even doing a bad job of wooing me right now. Want to trade hand jobs for old time’s sake?”

Bucky shoots Steve a withering look. “I’m not wooing you right now, Steve, you’re just easy. Go find Natasha if you’re horny.”

Steve shrugs. “Eh, it was worth a shot.”

***

Two months later, once Steve and Natasha have completed Dr. Carson’s background check and confirmed that she isn’t HYDRA, Sam and Bucky return to therapy. Even though Dr. Carson hasn’t seen them in months, she looks pinched and irritated, and the deep wrinkles in her forehead and the sudden explosion of gray in her hair make her look as though she’s aged five years since she started giving them therapy.

Bucky frowns and squints in suspicion. “We haven’t gotten Blipped again, have we?”

“What?”

“You just look—” Bucky gestures toward her hair and the bags under her eyes.

Dr. Carson’s expression shifts from exhausted indifference to polite fury, and Bucky’s just about to apologize when Sam gestures toward the floor under the window and says, “Hey, look at that! It’s about time you got Bucky a therapy puppy, you know that his doctors in Wakanda strongly encouraged it.”

When Bucky follows the line of Sam’s arm, he sees the cutest puppy in the world sitting in a fuzzy little dog bed with pictures of bones on it. Bucky gasps in delight. “He’s so cute, Sam, look at his little face!”

The puppy’s face is perfect, with big brown eyes and a short little snout with a tiny black nose. When he wags his tail, his little butt wiggles and Bucky wants to die about it. He loves this puppy so much.

“I’m naming him Paddington after my favorite movie,” Bucky declares.

“I love it,” Sam says immediately, pulling out his phone. “Put him in your lap so I can get some pictures for Steve and Natasha. They’re going to be so jealous when they find out that we got to have a dog in our therapy.”

Sam and Bucky spend the next ten minutes playing with Paddington and taking photos of the two of them with their adorable new therapy dog while Dr. Carson rubs her forehead like she just fucking knew this puppy would be a distraction.

“I think we should get started,” Dr. Carson interrupts, glancing pointedly at her watch.

“Yes, perfect!” Bucky pulls a small notebook out of his back pocket. “OK, so let me catch you up on everything we’ve done to each other since our last meeting, and I especially want your input on the scoring system that Sam and I have developed—”

Bucky and Sam spend the next half hour recounting their every interaction over the past couple of months in explicit, pornographic detail while Dr. Carson repeatedly clenches and unclenches her fists. When they spend ten full minutes alone on the rim job Bucky gave Sam last Saturday, Dr. Carson’s eyes go distant and glassy like a shell shocked veteran of the Great War or something. Bucky has literally seen torture victims make less of an effort to dissociate from their surroundings than Dr. Carson right now.

Honestly, who would have expected a therapist with thirty years’ experience to be so faint of heart? It’s absolutely critical to Bucky and Sam’s scoring system to determine whether Sam let out a “choked moan” or a “strangled gasp” while Bucky ate him out, and Bucky doesn’t appreciate Dr. Carson’s frankly lackluster participation when they stage a reenactment of events to try and settle the matter. She doesn’t even seem very decisive when she finally renders her judgment, like maybe she just doesn’t care what kind of sound Sam made, even though it was the most erotic noise Bucky’s ever heard in a hundred years.

When Sam concludes his argument for why words of affirmation during sex should count for more points than praise at work, Dr. Carson sighs heavily, looks off into the distance for exactly ten seconds, and then states, “I think we should discuss how you two can erect boundaries between your work relationship and your sexual relationship.”

Sam raises a skeptical eyebrow at Dr. Carson’s audacity. “Do you really feel like you’re qualified to counsel us on that particular issue?”

Dr. Carson’s jaw clenches. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean, after everything that went down between you and Dr. Fitzgerald back in Philadelphia, I hardly think—”

Dr. Carson’s face whitens like curdled milk. “How did you find out about that?”

“Remember Natasha’s background check? Anyway, I’m just saying that it’s a tad bit hypocritical of you to suggest that Bucky and I shouldn’t be fucking during work hours, I mean, Bucky isn’t even married—”

Dr. Carson bites her lip so ferociously that she draws blood. “Bucky may not be married, but he is technically your subordinate, and that means there’s an uneven power dynamic to consider here—”

Sam smirks like he’s fucking Benjamin Matlock and he knows he’s just one pointed question away from making the guilty party break down and confess right there on the witness stand. (Bucky makes a mental note to ask Sam later why he and Natasha always snicker when Bucky and Steve get together to play cribbage and watch Matlock on Sunday afternoons.) “You mean like the uneven power dynamic at play between you and that doctoral student whose dissertation committee you chaired at UPenn?”

Dr. Carson gasps, and her face turns as red and furious as Sister Mary Angela’s that time she caught Steve’s skinny arms nailing a copy of Martin Luther’s Ninety-five Theses to the heavy wooden door of St. Charles Borromeo.

Bucky’s mind wanders a bit at that memory. God, Steve Rogers really was such a bad influence—maybe Sister Mary Angela was right about their distracting and unnaturally close relationship. Because of course Bucky couldn’t leave that stubborn asshole to face Sister Mary Angela’s wrath alone, so Bucky had ended up confessing to abusing his powers as editor of the student newspaper to let Steve use the school’s small printing press. Bucky emerged from the experience with an ass that burned for a week and a few uncomfortable new kinks.

Now, Bucky looks speculatively over at Sam’s strong hands and shifts in his chair.

“I just remembered, Sam and I have something really important to do,” Bucky announces. “So we’ll see you next week, right? OK, cool. C’mon, Paddington!”

Bucky grabs Paddington’s cute little dog bed and Paddington hops down from Sam’s lap to follow them out of the office, his tail wagging happily as he trots along beside them. God, Paddington is so fucking cute, Bucky cannot believe what a great dog he is.

Dr. Carson calls out after them through gritted teeth. “You’re not supposed to take the therapy dog with you!”

“Sorry, what?” Sam shouts back, cupping his hand around his ear. “I can’t hear you!”

“Bucky, I know you have super hearing!”.

“Sorry, I’m a hundred and six years old and I left my ear trumpet at home!” Bucky raises his hands in an exaggerated shrug to convey the hopelessness of trying to communicate at this great distance of about forty feet.

“God, I need a fucking vacation forever,” Dr. Carson mutters.

***

Later, after Bucky and Sam collapse against Sam’s sheets in sweaty exhaustion, Bucky mentally tallies their points and comes to the frustrating conclusion that Sam is still absolutely wiping the floor with him in this love languages competition. God, how is Sam so good at everything? He’s so fucking handsome and charming and athletic and just, like, absolute dynamite in the sack—

God, no wonder Bucky’s losing. There’s no way he can win this competition with his dick alone. Time to channel Tommy Dorsey and play it from the heart.

“Hey, Sam,” Bucky murmurs, leaning up to nuzzle his nose against Sam’s jaw. “Let me cook you dinner tonight, doll. Wanna treat you right.”

“‘M not your doll,” Sam grumbles. “But yeah, OK.”

Bucky kisses Sam’s shoulder and plots.

Three hours later, Bucky and Steve survey Bucky’s dining room with the smug satisfaction of Scarlett O’Hara stealing her sister’s fiancé to get her greedy hands on his general store and sawmill.

“I think we nailed it, pal,” Steve boasts. “This looks just like your date night mood board.”

“I mean, I feel like half the credit should go to Pinterest user donkeydick2004—who would’ve guessed that he’d have such a sensitive soul.”

Bucky’s dining room table is covered with rose petals sprinkled over Bucky’s mother’s best lace tablecloth, liberated from the archives of the Smithsonian along with the rest of the contents of Steve and Bucky’s old Brooklyn Heights apartment. Two lit candles rise proudly from the gleaming silver of Sarah Rogers’s candleholders—the only wedding gift she’d managed to save from the pawnbroker during those lean years of Steve’s childhood—and the Victrola crackles with the smooth tenor of Enrico Caruso singing an aria so romantic it once brought a tear to the clear, flinty eye of Bucky’s father. Bucky’s grateful now that the Barneses were a Victor Talking Machine Company family—those Edison wax cylinders decayed faster than American democracy after the invention of Facebook.

The first time Bucky saw the familiar red logo of that Caruso record again—faithful Nipper the dog, his head tipped toward the horn of a gramophone playing the sound of his dead master’s voice—Bucky drove straight out into the desert and screamed until he was hoarse.

And now tonight Bucky’s using that very record to romance the shit out of Sam Wilson, so Nick Fury and Dr. Carson can fuck off with their so-called “therapy” because Bucky Barnes is doing great.

Steve clears his throat and gives Bucky a meaningful look. “You know, if this is all just some competition between you and Sam, you didn’t have to drive out to Maryland to dig all of our most personal and intimate memories out of storage for this dinner.”

Flustered, Bucky replies, “You have no idea what a canny opponent Sam is! Every time that man talks, my heart flutters and my stomach’s all full of butterflies. Besides,” Bucky says, “my grandfather paid fifty extra dollars to get the Circassian walnut veneer put on that old Victrola—he would haunt me if I didn’t ever use it, Steve.”

“You know your Aunt Margaret spit on her own father’s grave when your grandfather left that Victrola to your dad instead of her?”

Bucky laughs. “Is that why they had that big falling out? I couldn’t remember.”

“Peggy said that your Aunt Margaret wrote Howard Stark a letter every month until the day she died demanding the return of that Victrola.”

“Well, I hope that greedy old hag is looking down at me right now,” Bucky says, shaking his head in disbelief. “She deserves to watch me seduce my gay lover with that Victrola, it serves her right. You know she called you a fairy once?”

Steve gestures toward the intimate tableau featuring all of Bucky’s most precious memories and dryly states, “Well, as long as you’re clear on spite as your motivation for all of this.”

Bucky bites his lip as a sudden fear strikes him. “Do you think Sam’s going to like the chicken? People still roast chicken, right? It’s not just, like, sushi and gluten free vegan desserts nowadays?”

Steve opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted by a knock at the door. Paddington dives off the sofa like he’s responding to an Avengers Assemble alarm—which, oh my god, could Paddington wear a little outfit and come with the Avengers on ops? Bucky needs to look into this immediately—and dances around in elation when Bucky opens the door to reveal Sam, who is looking fine as hell in a lavender button-down and navy trousers.

And Bucky’s heart is—honestly not reacting much differently than Paddington right now.

“Aw, hi, baby!” Sam says, leaning down to pet Paddington and scratch him behind the ears. When Sam’s finished giving Paddington the attention he so richly deserves, Bucky’s pulled in for a long, heartbreakingly tender kiss that sends a shiver of want down the entire length of his spine. Sam and Steve exchange their own greetings while Bucky surreptitiously reaches up to rub at the goosebumps prickling at the sensitive skin at the back of his neck.

“Steve, you’re going to be OK watching Paddington tonight, right?” Bucky’s voice is threaded with the justifiable suspicion of someone who has known Steve Rogers for a lifetime.

Steve’s mouth drops open in offense. “Yes! Bucky, I know how to watch a dog.”

Bucky lifts Paddington’s tiny body and curls his arms protectively around him. “OK, well, Paddington is the most important thing in the world to me, and you are literally the least responsible person I know, so.”

“What? Bucky, I’m—that’s—I’m Captain America. I’m famously responsible.”

“Sam is Captain America, Steve. I feel like you’re not moving on. Also my brain might be a giant lump of small curd cottage cheese now, but I still remember that you’re a reckless idiot.”

Sam gives Steve a sharp look of his own and says, “Steve, Paddington is very important to Bucky’s therapy and also to our therapy as a couple—” Sam pauses, then adds, “of coworkers. So make sure you give him his favorite treats, but don’t give him too many treats, and make sure he doesn’t pull the squeaker out of his stuffed alligator—”

Bucky and Sam lead Steve to the door while Sam continues to debrief Steve on all of Paddington’s most important feelings and preferences. “You should really be writing all of this down, Steve,” Sam says with a frown.

Steve sighs. “I have an eidetic memory.”

“All right, well, if we pick him up in the morning and he has an upset tummy, I will literally kill you, and Sam—the trustworthy Captain America—will be my alibi,” Bucky says.

Sam nods in solemn agreement.

Bucky and Sam part from Paddington with identical expressions of worry as Steve walks him down the hall to his apartment.

As soon as Steve’s door closes, Bucky is all over Sam, pressing him against the wall and skimming his lips over the warm skin of Sam’s neck. God, Sam smells incredible, like tobacco and vanilla and oiled leather, and somehow the masculine scent of him travels down Bucky’s windpipe and directly to his cock.

“Hi,” Bucky breathes.

“Hey, baby,” Sam murmurs, tipping his head back to let Bucky’s lips trail along his throat to his jawline. Bucky’s just getting really into it, his hips pressing insistently against Sam’s, when the timer for the oven goes off.

Over dinner, Bucky and Sam talk and laugh about their coworkers as the candlelight does frankly amazing things for Sam’s bone structure. Bucky squirms in his chair and tries to will away the flush he can feel spreading up his neck when Sam compliments Bucky on the romantic lighting and the beautiful place settings. Fuck, he’s supposed to be giving Sam quality time here, and instead Sam’s using that quality time to offer Bucky more words of affirmation. Bucky’s not really ready to concede this battle just yet, but he’s definitely starting to craft a defeat narrative for himself about the lack of shame in being beaten by the best.

And Sam is definitely the best.

“That chicken was incredible.” Sam pats his stomach and groans in satisfaction. “You know that’s just how my mama always makes it?”

Bucky wonders if it would be weird to divulge that he actually broke into Sam’s mother’s house to sneak a look at her recipe cards. That’s normal intelligence gathering, right? Bucky made sure Sam’s mom was out of the house when he entered, and afterward he sent a team of security specialists to give her a better alarm system setup—”compliments of SHIELD, ma’am”—when he realized that her house was way too easy to break into. And Bucky’s dad always said to leave things better than you found them, so if anything Sam’s mom is probably safer now than she was before the world’s most legendary assassin crept into her house to rifle through her personal belongings.

He feels like Natasha would agree with him but he also feels like Natasha is probably just as batshit insane as Bucky and Steve are. Bucky has literally no normal friends and he should probably start spending more time with Sharon Carter.

After dinner, Sam looks relaxed and sated, his eyes warm and heavy-lidded as he watches Bucky shiver under his praise. “You know you have a praise kink, right?”

“Yes, Sam,” Bucky says, and tries to refrain from rolling his eyes. “Steve and I did a ton of research and watched, like, hours of porn together. We figured it out.”

“You and Steve have some serious boundary issues.” Sam shakes his head and grins in amusement. “But seriously, though, you’re not just hooking up with me because you imprinted on me after I made your dick hard or something, right? I mean, I remember the first time I got a boner after being deployed. I cried like a baby, so I get it, man, but—”

“Actually, I sort of wanted to talk to you about that,” Bucky says, his stomach swimming with nerves. This is the moment he’s been anticipating and dreading since he planned this whole date night op. “I was thinking—how would you feel about taking this competition to the next level?”

Sam’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I just think we’d both have more time and energy to devote to this competition if we were competing, you know, exclusively.”

“Ah.” Sam’s expression clears and a slow smile spreads across his handsome face. “You want to be boyfriends.”

“I want to be boyfriends,” Bucky confirms with a decisive nod.

He may be losing this love language competition by about a hundred and fifty points, but Bucky still has some fight in him yet. And between work and sex and co-ownership of Paddington, Bucky’s already spending so much time with Sam that there’s no real way to increase the amount of time in “quality time”—but he can improve the quality of that time. If Bucky and Sam are boyfriends, Bucky figures, all that quality time should automatically count for more points than the quality time they spend together as coworkers with confusing feelings for each other, right?

Bucky’s lungs burn as he holds his breath held in anticipation of Sam’s response.

“Yeah, let’s be boyfriends,” Sam says, with a grin tugging at his lips.

Bucky’s heart soars in victory.

***

Bucky and Sam have decided not to bring Paddington with them to any future therapy appointments just in case Dr. Carson tries to take him away like Cruella de Vil.

This week, however, Dr. Carson shows up their session with a whole new vibe. Instead of striding imperiously into her office in her usual stern fashion, Dr. Carson blows in fifteen minutes late with the casual energy of a high school senior during the last week of school. She walks over to her desk, flip-flops slapping against her feet, and reclines back in her chair to prop her feet up onto the polished surface of her solid oak desk. She’s dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie like a suburban mom in an airport waiting to fly down to Miami for a Caribbean cruise.

“So how’s it going this week, boys?” Dr. Carson asks, slurping from the straw of her Big Gulp soda.

“Um, great.” Sam eyes her cautiously. “Bucky and I are boyfriends now.”

“No shit!” Dr. Carson says, and tilts her head back to squint down at them. “Huh. What do you know about that.” Then she shrugs. “Tell me how it happened.”

So Bucky and Sam tell her every detail of the last week, including the way they tenderly made love after Sam agreed to be Bucky’s boyfriend. Dr. Carson is clear-eyed and engaged the entire time, even during the five full minutes Sam devotes to the ripple of Bucky’s abdominal muscles as he strains toward orgasm, and Bucky’s just starting to think that maybe they can get some real therapy out of Dr. Carson when she says—

“So Fury’s transferring me to Hawaii.”

Bucky’s mouth drops open. “What?”

“Yup.” Dr. Carson burrows deeper into her chair and lets out a relaxed sigh before taking another loud sip of her soda. “This is our last session!”

“So do we have a new therapist after this, or?” Sam waves his hand uncertainly.

“Nah, I’m just gonna go ahead and tell Fury that you guys are doing great. You’ve officially graduated therapy.”

Bucky chokes on air. “Excuse me, what? We graduated therapy?”

“Sure, why not?” Dr. Carson says with a lazy shrug. “Despite literally all of my expectations to the contrary, it seems like you guys have actually formed a stable partnership. Just, you know, maybe stop fucking so much at work.”

Bucky scoffs. “Listen, I didn’t give my life fighting Nazis in World War II—” he begins.

***

After Bucky and Sam’s appointment with Dr. Carson, Sam receives a text asking him to meet Fury in his executive suite.

Bucky heads back to his own office—his real one, buried deep within the bowels of SHIELD in a secret interrogation room someone bricked up the entrance to and then forgot about years ago. Bucky discovered it while crawling through the air ducts to place surveillance equipment in the offices of Nick Fury and the major SHIELD department heads. Once Bucky disposed of the mummified body he found inside—which, wow, super gross—it made the perfect private office space and server room.

Bucky opens his surveillance software just in time to hear Fury tell Sam that Bucky broke his best therapist.

“Dr. Carson is a highly trained professional at the top of her field,” Fury says, his voice stern. “I had to offer her a fifty percent raise to lure her away from private practice, and now I’m sending her away from D.C., where all of my elite agents reside, to Honolulu, which is where I send all the useless nepotism agents I’m forced to hire by the World Security Council. I don’t know what Barnes did to that woman but he just cost me a very experienced and expensive mental health professional.”

“And what makes you think Agent Barnes is at fault?”

“Dr. Carson is obviously not at liberty to divulge any specifics about what was said during your therapy sessions, but she did note that your bickering was ‘maddening’ and that she, quote, hadn’t even realized it was possible to overshare during therapy. She also indicated that Barnes instigated an invasive and traumatizing background check that caused her a great deal of personal distress.’”

“Given Agent Barnes’s history with SHIELD, I think it’s perfectly understandable that he may have sought reassurance that Dr. Carson wasn’t an agent of HYDRA.” Sam’s voice is bland and pleasant. “It’s hardly Agent Barnes’s fault that Dr. Carson turned out to have a surprisingly messy personal life.”

“Be that as it may, I’m suspending Barnes from active duty until he passes a second psych eval from another therapist.”

“With all due respect, sir, Agent Barnes has been nothing but cooperative in this retaliatory investigation into his mental state. He’s a skilled and creative fighter, a selfless and generous partner, and a brilliant tactician. He deserves to be treated with the same respect as any other SHIELD agent who hasn’t shot you.”

Jesus Christ, is Sam offering Bucky words of affirmation even when he’s not there to hear them? What kind of love language master is Sam? God, how can Bucky possibly compete with this?

Fury’s voice is strangled. “Retaliatory?”

“Yes,” Sam says firmly. “As far as I’m aware, Agent Barnes has cleared all mandatory psychological evaluations and then some. If you have a problem with his—or my—behavior in the workplace, I suggest you carefully review our employment contracts and initiate the appropriate disciplinary proceedings. In the meantime, I will be continuing with Agent Barnes as my partner. There will be no suspension.”

The sound of Fury’s office door slamming shut is unexpectedly erotic.

By the time Sam slides through the secret passageway into Bucky’s office, Sam looks calm and collected, like he hasn’t just returned from facing down a man with the power and authority to send him to one of a half-dozen black sites so secret they probably exist on other planets.

“So how’d the meeting go?” Bucky asks, suppressing a grin.

“Oh, it was fine,” Sam says with a nonchalant wave of his hand. “We don’t have to do therapy anymore.”

Bucky lets his smile spread across his face. “Oh, yeah? No more retaliatory investigations into my mental state?”

When Sam realizes how Bucky must have overheard that remark, his eyes widen in delight. “I’m sorry, did you bug Fury’s office? Bucky Barnes, you crazy asshole, I love you so fucking much.”

Bucky freezes. Sam loves him? Adrenaline and exhilaration race through Bucky’s veins, spreading through his entire circulatory system until he feels like he’s going to buzz right out of his skin. For the second time in Bucky’s life, he’s been flung straight over the side of a cliff, except this time Sam has wings to catch him. God, this is why they call it falling, isn’t it?

Bucky is feeling so fucking affirmed right now. He has never felt so affirmed in his entire life.

And Bucky’s lost that stupid competition now, hasn’t he. There’s no way Bucky can compete with that declaration, no way he can pull off a victory after Sam just earned himself, like, fifty million points—but when Bucky looks at Sam’s gap-toothed grin, he thinks maybe, just maybe, he’s secretly won after all.

And he does have one last, best card to play.

“Hey, Sam,” Bucky says, with a wide grin, “how do you feel about moving in together?”

[pufflyhallows]

Picks & Pens (I)

Hi! This is a brand new series for our boy Sirius Black. It’s a rockstar!au in modern days. I really hope you like it, I had the idea over a year ago and had a little something in my drafts but only now got to write it the way it deserves. Enjoy!

Chapter One: Press

Warnings: language

Word count: 1,7k

a/n: I know nothing about press or the music industry, so forgive me for any mistakes lol

Sirius Black. What a perfect name for the typical arrogant and condescending rockstar who had just been declared artist of the decade by the magazine you worked for. Unfortunately for you, he also happened to be your ex-boyfriend.

You two had met in high school, way before he got famous. He already wrote music back then, you being one of the very first people to ever listen to it. Some of those songs were quite big hits today and you genuinely liked them, but that didn’t mean you liked him. At least, not anymore. Your relationship had ceased to exist seven years ago. What is it that people say about fame? Oh yes, it changes you.

As you walked past the countless desks in that white-walled office with tall windows, the latest edition of the magazine in hands, you thought about your boss’ proposition. She wanted you to interview the “artist of the decade” for the February issue – it was coming out on Valentine’s Day and she wanted an article about Sirius Black’s muse and writing process. According to her, it was impossible that there wasn’t a girl behind the lyrics of his songs, even though the man had been single for years now. You had told her you’d think about it and answer the next day. Well, today was the next day.

Brenda, your boss’ assistant, was on the phone when you approached her desk. She raised a finger at you as if to say “hold on” and kept talking to the person at the other end of that call. You knew better than to interrupt her, so you patiently waited.

“No freaking way, Rebecca! I told you he was going to the party regardless of what Charlie said! Now, don’t get me wrong, I think you’re much smarter than Mackenzie, but she’s got a point.”

You inhaled deeply, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Was it naive of you to assume that people only took business calls during business hours?

“I’m wheezing! Literally dying! Oh God...” Brenda giggled. “Well, I gotta go. I’m at work. What? Bitch, you called.”

You watched as she hung up the phone and gathered some loose sheets of paper from her desk, organizing them in a pile.

“Brenda?” you said, catching her attention. “I’m here to see Mrs. Lennox. Could you announce me?”

“She’s busy.”

“Uhh… She asked me to come by her office at ten and it’s… ten.”

Brenda sighed and picked up the phone again, pressing the interphone button. “Mrs. Lennox? Sorry to bother, but Y/N says she’s here to see you. Yes. Not a problem. Okay.”

She hung up and went back to putting her sheets into piles. You raised an eyebrow at her before she finally looked at you and spoke as if it was obvious. “Go in!”

Was it unprofessional to flip off a coworker?

You opened the door slowly and found Mrs. Lennox sitting by her desk with her eyes focused on her computer screen. She looked at you and smiled, gesturing for you to come see what she was working on.

“These photos just came in. Look at him! Isn’t he just so handsome?!”

And there he was. His signature guitar lazily laying between his legs as he had one hand resting on it and the other supporting his weight. He was sitting on a white… box-shaped stool? The background was also white, contrasting to his all-black outfit.

“I think I want these in black and white, what do you think?”

“There isn’t much color in them anyways,” you though out loud.

“Oh…” Mrs. Lennox eyed the entire picture. “You’re right. Black and white it is,” she wrote it down on her notepad.

You kept looking at the photo displayed across the large computer screen. The little shit was handsome, there was no denying that. The problem was what was behind that smirk – arrogance, selfishness and a big big sense of self-importance.

“So?!” your boss’ voice snapped you out of your memories. “Have you thought about our conversation yesterday?”

“I have,” you walked around the desk and sat in front of the older woman as she took off her red cat-eye glasses. “But I need to ask you something first.”

“Go ahead.”

“Will it bring attention to the fact that I am his ex-girlfriend?”

“What do you mean, sweetie? Everyone already knows.”

“I know, but… will it be focused on that? Yesterday you mentioned that it’d be great to have some sort of reunion and that the public would love it. Your idea is an intimate interview, just the two of us in the room and all.”

“Yes...”

“I understand it. I agree that the conversation flows better that way, because the interviewees usually feel more comfortable with less people around and no cameras. However, this is my job. Just my job. I don’t want it to be publicized as a reunion with my ex-boyfriend. This is me, a journalist, interviewing him, a musician.”

Mrs. Lennox looked at you for a while, as if she was trying to read your thoughts. She placed her hands together on the desk and took a deep breath.

“Listen, Y/N. I’ve got to be honest with you. The subject that will be discussed in this interview is interesting, yes. A lot of people are curious about his lyrics. Myself included. But frankly? Anyone can ask him questions about that and put it on a website or a magazine. Anyone. Would it sell? Of course! He’s the artist of the decade, everyone adores him. Now, imagine if the person interviewing him is actually a former girlfriend. And not any girlfriend, but his high school sweetheart. The girlfriend from the very beginning of his career. The person who was there when some of the biggest songs of this entire decade were being written. It will sell like water in the desert, Y/N! This is really good for press.”

“So this is why you picked me, of all people. Press,” you looked down and bit your inner cheek. “I’m a journalist, Mrs. Lennox.” You looked back at her, “I am part of the press. And I know how they will eat me alive after this interview. They will chase me around, paps will hunt me everywhere. The whole nightmare will start all over again. Even after seven years, I still get the occasional question about him. After this interview, though? There will be no peace. And, as a matter of fact, I’m not quite sure if I like the idea of having my personal life used as marketing. God, I’m not even sure if I do want to ‘reunite’ with him.”

“I see,” Mrs. Lennox leaned back on her chair. “What is your answer, then?”

You looked in her eyes, thinking about the last three years you worked for her magazine. She was by far the best boss you’ve ever had. She took you under her wing and gave you enough space to explore your full potential and truly shine. She bent backwards for you several times in the past, helping you build your name in journalism. There was nothing in this world that she could ask that would make you think twice before attending. Nothing, except this.

However, there was a side of you that wanted to see him again. To speak to him again. Hear him talk again. A very curious side of you, that needed to see how he would act around you after so many years of no contact. Would he treat you like every other interviewer? Would he be as self-absorbed and pompous? Would he answer to your questions truthfully? That side of you would die to find out.

And that side won. Along with all the respect you had for your boss and the extra payment she offered the day before, of course.

“My answer is yes. I will interview him.”

Mrs. Lennox smiled widely, but before she could say anything, you added. “Under one condition.”

“Oh, Y/N. What is it?”

“It won’t get publicized as a reunion. Please, Mrs. Lennox, don’t publish it with something like ‘Sirius Black interviewed by former girlfriend’. Just put my name in there and let the press do their thing around it. That’s all I ask. Please.”

Mrs. Lennox eyed you for a while, just like before. She always seemed to crave the power to read minds, maybe even control them. She bit her lower lip and adjusted her wedding ring, looking down at her notepad now.

“Well, it does look good to treat it like it’s so casual. Like you’re still friends and it’s no big deal. You did end things amicably, after all.”

Right…

“Okay, Y/N,” she nodded. “It will be just your name, no mentions of the relationship.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Lennox.”

“Right. Look, Y/N, this interview is very important for us. Please, keep that in mind. I expect a really good show of professionalism on your part. The subject might be delicate to deal with, given your past, but I trust that you won’t leave out any details pertinent to the writing of this article.”

“You have nothing to worry about. The subject won’t be delicate at all.”

You hoped you didn’t sound insulted, because you did feel your ears burn slightly with the insinuation that you might care if he wrote songs about some other girl. You absolutely did not. It’s been seven fucking years.

“Great. That settles it, then. I will look into scheduling this interview now,” she clicked on her mouse and put her red cat-eye glasses back on. “I am predicting it will take place within two weeks from now, so no trips out of town during this time!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You can go back to work now, sweetie. If anything comes up, I’ll e-mail you.”

“Okay,” you stood up and grabbed your latest edition of the magazine, remembering why you had brought it in the first place. “Oh! By the way, there’s a typo on page forty-five of the January issue. Printing started this morning, so I think there’s still time to fix it before we lose too much material.”

“Y/N! What would I do without you?! Page forty-five, you say?” she immediately wrote it down on her notepad. “I knew I couldn’t trust Henry on this.”

“He’s a good kid,” you shrugged. “He’ll get the hang of it.”

“Right, right… Ask Brenda to call him on your way out, will you?”

“Of course,” you nodded, already feeling bad for Henry’s ears.

The next couple of weeks were going to be interesting, though.

********

[bepoets]

Review for Trish’s Dream Fic

Trish ( @couragedontdesertme  ) said she’d write an epilogue of the elsarik dream Fic if I made a Formal Review of the elsarik dream fic. So here we are.

Please note review should be taken VERY LIGHTLY this is more or less me re-reading the Fic and loudly yelling about things with too many exclamation points. Enjoy Trish.

Ch1

First of all imagine my fucking surprise I didn’t even know you had gotten work done on the dream fic???? Here I was thinking the link you sent me was the next chapter of city of ice and then I click on it and it saYS DREAM FIC???? E X C U S E M E oh my goodness

The first section is just so entirely domestic and beautiful and you can tell how lived in and content they are in their life as roommates. ALARIK (listen my phone autocorrects ALARIK to be in all caps and I’m too lazy to fix it so y’all are gonna have to deal with reading ALARIK’s name as if I’m yelling it every time I type it) anyway ALARIK just bringing her the chocolate croissants she loves so dearly and Elsa curling up with a book and him fretting and worrying over her being there alone all day and later... it’s just SO DOMESTIC. it’s such a small short moment but it’s so domestic and a perfect opposite of the PAIN THAT HAPPENS AFTER!!! And we al know I LOVE READING PAIN

The fact that ALARIK was only home late because he was doing tutoring to earn more money to by Elsa A PRESENT????? Shut up no one speak to me that’s true love but also PAINFUL the guilt he must feel oh my god

Elsa...stops struggling... because she doesn’t want ,,,, ALARIK ,,,, to get hurt. Because she cares for his safety more than her own because he has protected her and he is her friend and she loves him I am going to SCREAM

The fact that you use the phrase ~marching her out of the warmth of the room~ when she just used her magic to like cover the walls in frost makes my Heart burst cause idk if it was intentional or not but I just love the thought that this room has become Home to her it’s become safe and beautiful and lovely and WARM because it is full of love and friendship and companionship rather than the cold loneliness of say her ice palace of her locked room as a child. I like to think Elsa could have covered the room entirely in ice and snow and frost and it would still feel warm to her because of the love that’s developed there thank you for coming to my tedtalk

Ugh fuck hans

I have literally no words other than fuck hans for any section with hans in it I DONT even want to RECOGNIZE THAT HE EXISTS !!! Making Elsa feel like she’s nothing I am going to punch him in the eye

~ALARIK weeps over smushed chocolate croissant. End scene~

I know that it’s such a heartbreaking sad ending for that first chapter but also I really can’t stop laughing about him crying over a stepped on croissant since I know that your like planning note for that last scene was literally just some variant of ALARIK cried over a smushed croissant and that’s just such a funny IMAGE TO ME EVEN THOUGH ITS SAD

I just like to imagine ALARIK cradling the chocolate croissant in his arms like a bébé as he sobs

Ch2

I’m fucking S A D

ALARIK having like NO MONEY and just thinking about that the money he has was going to go to a gift for Elsa and the guard LAUGHING AT HIM LIKE THATS IT THATS ALL YOU HAVE?? Like shut UP HES TRYING TO SAVE HIS BELOVED

P e t t y c h a n g e HE IS TRYING MR GUARD I WILL HAVE YOU KNOW HE WORKED EXTRA TO GET THAT MONEY

ALARIK is so fucking DEVOTED I’m going to run through a goddamn wall I cannot cope. Willing to sell the clothes off his back have you ever seen an idiot more iN LOVE

ALARIK just going willingly cause he has no fight left in him and he just wants to see Elsa even if it means he gets imprisoned too oh my GOD

THE SCENE ITS THE SCENE!!!!!!!!!

STRAIGHT FROM TRISH’S SUBCONSCIOUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WHAT STARTED IT ALL!!!!!!!!!!

ALARIK wanting to hold her hands when her hands are what are chained up and seen as dangerous and what ~make her a witch~ the absolute love and power that holds.

LET ALARIK AND ELSA HOLD HANDS

“I promised to keep you safe” the pain I feel oh mY GOD

“They’ll KILL you” they’re really out here trying to protect each other at all costs oh my god nothing matters more to the other than keeping the other safe and for that I want to cry and love them and also I want to ram their heads into the wall because wHY WONT THEY JUST PROTECT ESCH OTHER TOGETHER

The PARALLEL OH MY FUCKING GOD

the P A R A L L E L of ALARIK stilling and no longer struggling when the guards threaten Elsa’s death in the same way that Elsa stilled and stopped struggling when they threatened ALARIK’s death oh my god that broke me right there

U g h hans fuck that guy

A N N A !!!!!!!!

When I first read this,,, I DONT know why??? But for some reason??? I didn’t think Anna would be in it???? Which like thinking back on that it makes no sense of COURSE Anna would be in the FIC why would I ever think otherwise. But anyway I was so surprised when she showed up I literally gasped and went ANNA??? Out loud because I was so shocked

ALFAFA GERANIUM

ALARIK really is just so bad under pressure who thought this was a good idea

AG FOR SHORT wink wink nudge nudge cough cough

I’ll be thinking about ALARIK shouting alfafa geranium on my death bed let us never forget

“No harm, no foul” is literally the most fucking Anna line I’ve ever heard. She absolutely would say that to someone who was being question for a crime she’d be like “it’s not biggy”

Why is it that when hans says “BUT ANNA!!!” I hear it like he’s wining like a petulant child I read it like “bUT annNNAAAAA” ugh I hate him

“Don’t scream” *ALARIK’s inner monologue* “this ,, is the story of how I died”

ILL HELP YOU HELP HER ESCAPE!!!!! HELL YEA YOU WILL ANNA HELL YEA YOU WILL

Ch3

My dumbass really went “why are none of the children named neta” before remembering that is the child of Anna and Kristoff and these...are the children of Anna ,,, and .... ugh please don’t make me say his name

I would die for these kids though I love them and I want to protect them at all costs 

Johannes at 5 (and a half!!!!) being a fine soldier GOOD FOR HIM

Isak owns my entire heart from the moment he started fake crying for his mother what a star performer a true Actor he’s too good

Arendellian Royal Guards, are they guards? Or are they simply baby sitters? The world may never know

JOAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! One of the babies being named JOAN!!! Hang in there Joan!!!!!!!!! That made me cry oh my god J O A N

Bébé Isak lookout supreme with his big eyeballs and smile and goofy lil salute I love him

The fact that Elsa says she felt stupid for being lured into a false sense of security means she felt secure and safe for literally the first time since she was a child when she was with ALARIK and I cannot properly articulate how much that made me cry I love that so much that has to mean sO MUCH TO HER oh my god

“You have to get out!! Do the magic!!” NO ONE SPEAK TO ME ABOUT ANYTHING EXCEPT THIS LINE FOR THE NEXT SEVERAL MONTHS I LITERALLY WEPT

the use of DO THE MAGIC oh my god AND ELSAS HEART LIKE BREAKING BECAUSE SHE FEELS LIKE SHE CANT

DO ! THE ! MAGIC !

Brave little boy with his mother’s determination saying “be brave. That’s what mama said to tell you” oh my GOD THESE CHILDREN HAVE MY WHOLE HEART OH MY GOD

A rooster crow for the signal COUKD they be more obvious I love these kids they’re ridiculous they are truly the children of Anna

Elsa!!! Chose!! To be!!! Brave!!!

IF SHE TRIED TO SAY GOODBYE TO ELSA!!! SHE MAY NEVER LET GO!!!

SHE HAD NO WHERE TO GO!!! BUT SHE DOES BEVAUSE THERES ALARIK WAITING FOR HER BECAUSE GUESS WHAT

ALARIK IS HER HOME !!!!! HE IS HER HOME !!!! SHE CAN GO TO HIM!!!!

Queue another one of my shocked and delightfully surprised screams as I shouted KRISTOFF????? Because blonde dude driving a reindeer cart

Let’s get you somewhere safe I’m going to cry THEYRE finally together again and they can keep each other safe together as. They. Should.

They are cuddling and my heart is exploding oh my god ALARIK seems so surprised like you big dumb idiot you’re both in love with each other it’s a mutual thing get with the program

SLEEP ELSA! ITS GOING TO BE OKAY! AND FOR THE FIRST TIME IN PROBABLY FOREVER! IT WILL BE!

Ch4

*queue another gasp* there’s only one bed?????

Yea I saw it coming yea I was just as shocked even so yea I got very excited about it wHAT DID YOU EXPECT

They’re cUDDLING and he went to move away and she DOESNT WANT HIM TO they could’ve been sharing a bed THIS WHOLE TIME AND I JUST WANT TO SCREAM BECAUSE OBVIOUSLY

ALARIK laying all the credit on kristoff and the kids when he’s kind of the one that steamrolled the whole plan into happening because he’s the one who showed up ALARIK please give yourself more credit

“You came back” “of course I came back... I couldnt ...” “why?” And then ALARIK refusing to meet her eyes has me absolutely weeping this is the kind of shit I THRIVE ON this is truly a gift to us all everyone say thank you Trish for these three bits of dialogue I will be thinking about them for all my days

ELSA KISSED HIM!!!!!!!!!

Yeah I do lose my shit anytime Elsa is the one to make the first move you go girl you go

THE SPICE VENDOR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Bringing in all my favorites I am going to cry thank you Trish I love Darius

I SUPPOSE YOU TWO HAVE FINALLY GOTTEN MARRIED

listen I SCREAMED WHEN HE SAID THAT I SQUAWKED!!!! MARRIED!!!!!!

I had been observing you two and just assumed!!!!! You would assume right mr spice vendor sir if they WERENT so stupid for so long it’s okay we understand

WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE ??? And Elsa says MARRY US? And ALARIK is going to PASS THE FUCK OUT

He literally got to finally kiss the woman he’s in love with for the first time last night and now they’re getting married poor boy is going to get WHIPLASH from how fast things are progressing but it’s okay im sure he is happy

Elsa’s little vows of just needing each other and keeping each other safe and keeping company and not needing gold or silver ugh TRUE LOVE

And ALARIK hopelessly devoted to her being like I PROMISE

“just you being there no matter what is enough” peak romance true love the devotion the dedication I’m a wreck

LE SMOOCH! LE MARRIAGE! INCREDIBLE I LOVE THEM

~end review~

Okay where is my epilogue please and thank you

[rosecoloredkay]

Something To Believe In

Hey there friends! I decided to give my hand at writing a Jack Kelly x David Jacobs one shot fanfic. Sorry if it’s OOC or anything. It was my first shot in a very long time writing this.  

So all of this goes down after the rally between Jack and Davey.

David was so stunned and hurt by what just happened. He just ran off entirely after the whole debacle at Medda’s theatre. Jack Kelly, the leader of the strike and his best friend! Just betrayed all of the newsies and himself. Punching a brick wall with his fist David cried out in frustration on the verge of tears recalling everything that just happened minutes ago. Sinking against the brick wall he took off his cap and squeezed it with all of his might. “Heya Davey? I was just going to take Les back to ya place for ya. If that’s a’ight with you. You look like you might need some space to think about things alone. You can head up to Jacks penthouse.” Race gestured at the fire escape near where David was slumped against the brick wall. “I doubt Jack would go there with everything that just happened at the rally.” Wes walked up to his brother and touched his shoulder. “Don’t worry Davey. I’m sure Jack will come around! I’m sure of it. He wouldn’t leave us alone like this.” David reached up and squeezed Les’s hand and smiled at him sadly. “Yeah bud, I’m sure there must be some kind of explanation. Hurry along with Race okay? Tell Mom I’ll be back soon. I just need some time to think about some stuff.” He shifted his attention towards Race and stared at him with a sad smile. “Race, thank you. I’ll head up there and try to clear my head. I owe you one for taking care of Les.” Race shifted on his feet with a big smirk on his face and smacked Davey on his other free shoulder. “Oh, trust me I’ll collect when the time comes.” David rolled his eyes and let out a small chuckle. “Got it. Just don’t bleed me dry now.” “Come on Les lets get ya back to ya place.” Les and Race walked side by side as Race held his hand up in a goodbye gesture and kept walking forward until they were both out of sight.

Climbing up the ladder David had so many thoughts going through his head he didn’t even know where to start. Once David was in Jack's “Penthouse” He saw the appeal the place where his friend liked to hang out. “The view is gorgeous. I wonder if Jack ever painted this view from here or sketched it.” Sitting down he let his legs hang through the railing of the balcony he was on and just leaned against the bars and sighed looking into the distance and started talking to himself. “Jack has put so much into this strike. He cares about his friends and these boys so much. Why would he do this? It doesn’t make any sense! What about Crutchie? What about everyone else!” Rubbing his forehead he started to tear up again but he wasn’t too sure why. His chest was hurting. He felt betrayed that must of been why right? “All I was doing was going to sell papes with my brother to help feed my family. That’s it. Then he just popped up out of nowhere.” David rarely felt so frustrated with himself and the current situation he was in was driving him crazy. “Damn it Jack! You and your beautiful blue eyes and stupid-” David stiffened and he felt his heart pounding and like the world just froze. Shaking his head he tried to calm down. “No, I did not just say beautiful. That’s illegal Davey! Oh god, that and the nickname he gave me I love when he calls me that.” His eyes widened and everything just slowly pieced themselves together in front of him like a puzzle and Jack Kelly was that missing puzzle piece. “I’m supposed to be angry with him right now! I’m hurt!” Shaking he stood up and stared at the New York skyline as the sun began to set. “Well, I guess that’s that Jacobs. You’re screwed.” He chuckled to himself and noticed some papers sticking out and decided to look at them and noticed they were Jacks drawings.

Walking back to his penthouse Jack felt like screaming. “I did the right thing. I know I did. No one can get hurt because of me.” Jack recalled how badly Davey reacted to what he said at the rally and he felt his heart break looking at his dear friend like that. Sure, they just met not too long ago but it felt like forever for him. They just clicked and got along so well. But at Medda’s that all changed. “Davey..” Jack whispered under his breath. “Shit.” He got so angry he started to climb the fire escape to his penthouse and was swearing under his breath. When he got to the top he saw a tall figure wearing a newsboy cap. His heart stopped as he said in a whisper. “What are you doing here?” David turned around staring at Jack with sad eyes. “Race showed me the way here. It’s a beautiful view. I needed a place to think about things.” Jack walked up to Davey and seen he was holding his drawings and ripped it out his hands impulsively. “Hasn’t anyone taught ya not to touch other people's things!” David flinched and straightened himself up and stared at Jack. “You have skills Jack truly. Is that the Refuge? I can’t believe our friends and other newsies are staying in those conditions! We have to expose that!” Jack laughed and shook his head and walked closer to Davey. “Dave, no one cares about us and how we live!” David touched Jacks shoulder. “We can talk with Katherine I’m sure she can get your drawings published. She has to have something else we can use against Pulitzer she’s talented and witty.” Jack pushed Davey away and leaned against the railing and sighed. “Why aren’t you mad at me?” David walked towards Jack once more but stopped himself and looked at his friends form sadly. “I came to a few realizations Jack about things. But first can you please explain to me why you did it? It hurts yes. But I’m not mad.” Turning around Jack looked at Davey in the eyes and bit his lip then looked at the ground. “Pulitzer...he gave me an ultimatum he said to either A; Take the money and go to Santa Fe and disband the union or B; He was going to throw You and Les and the rest of the newsies in the Refuge and I couldn’t.” Jack focused his attention solely on Davey and stared into his eyes with tears in his own. “ I couldn’t let him do that to you. Not you. You’ve given me so much Davey. You’ve given me something to believe in.” David moved closer to Jack and took his hand in his trying to calm Jack. Jack’s eyes never left Daveys. He squeezed his hand gently. “We made this union together and I just don’t know what to do Davey. Please tell me what to do.” David took his other hand and touched Jacks cheek and rubbed it with his thumb. “Jack we can do this together. Like we have from the beginning.” David was nervous but his heart was pounding he was scared that he was going to mess this up. But at the current moment it was like time has frozen once more. Getting closer to Jack he leaned in and closed the gap between them. It was a soft chaste kiss but messy. Heart pounding he realized that Jack Kelly, His best friend. Was reciprocating the kiss he was actually kissing him back. Stunned Jack pulled away and leaned his forehead against Daveys. “Woah...I-I didn’t expect that out of you Davey.” Jack whispered and squeezed Davey’s hand. David looking through his thick eyelashes he made eye contact with Jack and whispered back. “I didn’t mess this up did I? When you said that you did it for me, I kind of just lost control.” Jack pulled away and shook his head. “No, not at all. I felt something between us since I first saw you.” Jack awkwardly took off his hat and rubbed the back of his head blushing. “What about Katherine?” David sadly looked up at Jack and Jack rushed towards Davey and grabbed both of his hands in his. “Katherine is beautiful, kind, smart, witty and beyond. But Davey she isn’t you- Wait, am I kidding myself here Dave? A guy like you can’t be with someone like me. It just doesn’t happen. You have a family, A home, Somewhere safe to stay. Here I am living meal to meal on pennies. I never know where I’ll sleep next. You know I’m a rule breaker Davey. So I could care less about being in trouble about being with you even if it means legal trouble.” Davey hugged Jack tightly against him and whispered in his ear. “I’ll always be here for you Jack. No matter what kind of situation you’re in, I'll always be by your side to help you. Now please stop rambling Jackie.” Pulling apart once more he kissed Jack once more with more passion before pulling apart at the sound of someone climbing up the ladder. Katherine looked like she interrupted something important as she looked at the disheveled boys but just brushed it off. “Guys! There you are! I wrote and article that we could use to take down Pulitzer once and for all.” She handed the paper over to David who scanned the paper and chuckled and smiled at Katherine brightly. “This is great Kath!” He handed the paper over to Jack as he started to read it. “Hey, Katherine can we use some of Jack's drawings to the paper?” He picked up the discarded drawings of Jacks and squealed. “This is perfect! A nail to put in the metaphorical coffin!” Jack drew his attention to both of his friends and spoke up. “But no pape is going to print this!” Katherine folded her arms and paced back and forth thinking. “There has to be at least one printing press that my father doesn’t control.” Jack scoffed “Oh, this is good. I know the perfect place. The printing press in the cellar of The World.” Katherine jumped up and clapped. “Perfect! You guys meet me there as soon as you can!” Katherine quickly scaled down the ladder as she had some important things to do! When they were sure they were alone Jack and Davey started laughing and held each other close. “Jackie, you gave me something to believe in too.” Jack gave him a toothy grin and kissed him once more and grabbed his hand. “I don’t know what this is but I want to give this shot. But right now, we have more important things to do. Let's go take down Pulitzer! David smiled and thought to himself. ‘I’m so glad I met this man. He makes me a better person.’ “Right after you Jackie!” Chuckling to himself, he held his hands out in a gesturing manner to the ladder. “What a gentleman! I may have been swooned!” Jack winked at him and started down the ladder. “Back at you Partner!” He winked back at him and followed him. Time to seize the day and take down Pulitzer together.

“An angel come to save me but didn’t even know he gave me something to believe in.”

[vael]

2019 Annual Review

Each year, I look back at the previous year’s annual review and note that things didn’t go as planned. For some reason I am always surprised, but this time it’s a little painful, too. From 2018′s Annual Review:

“2019 outlook? Sunny! I hope it will be my best year yet.“

Oh, Vael. You built your house, you moved to the promised land. But your year did not go as planned. You are not even close to the zen you craved.

It has been a wild year. This will run long. All I can do is stick to the format and hope my memory and average writing skill will do the year justice. So, as usual, we start with the positive.

What went well this year?

We like our house. We do. The builder was no good, resulting in some warped walls and a lot of headache getting them to finish everything properly, but the layout is very suitable for us. My office is exactly what I needed, our TV room has just the right space for us. We finally have a respectable kitchen. Since I’m living and working in the house 24 hours a day, it’s important to have a comfortable space.

Game development. For the past five years, I’ve put in some serious work. A lot of it was within my game engine, GAM3, and tinydark’s gaming network, The Orbium. While I put in a lot of work, not much came in the way of actual games produced. I finally rallied in 2018 and put out Bean Grower. It was designed to be a supplemental game, not a main driver, so it will not bring in sustainable income. I went on to think that I should open GAM3 up to other developers, license the engine out and collect a share of what they make.

I resolved to refactor GAM3: a word which means to rewrite and modernize many parts of it so that it’s easier to work in, and for it to present better. I would come to realize this desire to share GAM3 was due to a lack of confidence in myself to produce something great, and financially sustainable. Around the time I was realizing that multiplayer was the answer, I discovered Marosia.

Then we moved, I took on contract work, and things generally slowed for me for a few months, eking out what development I could. I played Marosia throughout and in August, it died. I wrote a teardown for it. The stars had aligned: though I had a lot of prelim work to be done, I would make a successor to Marosia. I managed to hype a few people in the community with a demo of GAM3 and I spent the next few months coding a chat prototype and generally organizing myself, and finally mid-November began the refactoring. It would end there, but just this morning (seriously) we learned Marosia was coming back. I had a momentary freakout but it’s ultimately a good thing for my own game.

I haven’t been more excited for a project in a long time. I never thought I’d be so excited to create a standard fantasy world, but it’s a ton of fun, with intricacies I never considered. The game’s design lends itself to a sustainable monetization model: I’m thinking $3/mo for quality-of-life upgrades, with a discount for buying in bulk. I would have paid double for Marosia, so I think this is fair. (6 months of die2nite is currently priced at $69, 6 months of Hattrick is $90!) And most important of all, I can do it ethically, with a game that truly means something to people.

Web development. I’ve learned quite a bit this year! I am so grateful for svelte. I liked but never loved React.js. It always felt ponderous to me. I have no doubt The Orbium’s refactoring would have taken me half the time it did if I were learning svelte vs. React, simply because React is so much more convoluted than svelte, and all in the name of uglier syntax. Svelte seamlessly integrates style and functionality into UI components, which means that if I’m working with a button that clicks to open a modal, everything I need for that button is in that one file.

Due to my contract work (with Harley Davidson, I can reveal) I also got some experience with Symfony and other modern development practices in PHP. PHP doesn’t really excite me these days, loathing having to produce views with it, but it is at least comfy.

My job. “Yeah, yeah.” I got a raise, most of which was contributed to getting Eve and my son onto my badass healthcare plan. We’re developing like it’s 2012, which is frustrating and makes even simple tasks take forever, but I can’t complain about the pay nor the stability of the company and my position there. I also work mostly remotely.

What didn’t go so well?

2019 was dominated by the bad. Eve’s not putting out an Annual Review, but our pain is shared.

The move. 11 months after the contract was signed, our builder was finally ready to let us move in. The house was not finished, just livable. So we rushed out of Rhode Island. We packed my car with everything we could fit, even removing the spare tire, but we got almost all of it. Me, Eve, our son, and our two cats.

At around 7:30 PM, we were driving on a dark highway when we were struck by a muffler that had fallen out from the truck in front of us. It destroyed the front-end, spilling radiator fluid onto the road. I had no idea what was going on, but it so happened that a mechanic had broken down right near us and was able to help. The engine barely carried us to the nearest motel, and I was in shock. I carried all our stuff to our second-floor room, it was even lightly raining. And I was defeated. Eve reports she had never seen me so bad. I had no idea how long we’d be in this ghetto-ass motel, what it would cost us during this time of great financial need, and mostly: I was just miserable. We could have died. If it had hit one of our tires, we could have spun out at 70+ MPH. All I wanted to do was get to our house the next day, and here we were.

I won’t detail the rest here, but I do want to thank my friends for their support and appreciate the good fortune that we got through this time.

We got to the house at 11PM on a Sunday; I still appreciate our builder taking the time to show us around so late. And... it was not at all what we were expecting. We had no driveway, and it had rained. We were tracking in some mud but that didn’t even matter because the entire house had to be cleaned. There was dirt all over the floors, they’d forgotten I didn’t want a chandelier over the dining room table, and the feeling was that we’d gone through Hell (and austure financial practices) to get here and this was it. So much wasn’t done. We knew that, but we didn’t think we’d be sweeping and wetting the floor with paper towel just to have a place to put our stuff. Shoutout to my friend Cody for setting us up with a supply drop.

We spent a lot of time buying furniture, aided by our rental SUV, all the while worrying about our newly purchased things sitting around the house without our protection as workers came in and out. I had to go back to Virginia to pick up the car and through exhaustion, caffeine, stupidity, and anxiety, managed to go 88 MPH and get myself a ticket: a misdemeanor, even. I spent the entire day picking up that damn car (5 hours up and down) and returned home in the worse state I’d ever felt. I was emotionally, mentally, and physically depleted.

But there was no stopping for me: I took on contract work and I had to get it done just to stay afloat. And then we got a fucking dog.

The dog. At some point in 2018 we determined that our son could use a companion and that a dog really completes the family. Leading up to the move, we put a down payment on a rough collie: the “Lassie” breed. They usually run around $800 and we got her for $500. I was a fan of the breed and Eve had done research that proves it’s a great breed. (it is) Even after the accident, we thought we should pay the rest for her and bring some joy into our life.

We named her Esme, and getting a dog was definitely one of the worst macro decisions I’ve made for the family yet. I couldn’t last more than a month with her. It was my decision to get rid of her, which made my wife and son sad but we were getting so little out of the experience. The cats beat her up, she was afraid of everything, and all she wanted to do was run around but we kept her cooped up in the house because we had no fence. I hated that there was still a dog smell, and I hated that it farted during Game of Thrones. It was over when we went grocery shopping and came back to a poop-filled crate, which the circumstances of the night dictated I must clean.

Young Living. Eve was supposed to sell essential oils for some side money. We knew it wasn’t going to be big money, unless she got lucky or turned out to be a natural-born saleswoman, but it was something to do and we believe in the products. I really trust in Young Living and I personally have seen the benefits of their oils and products.

So she went to the YL convention in Utah to learn to sell and, hey, have some fun. She returned feeling even less confident: they’d changed some numbers, and the truth that we always knew was that the market’s highly saturated. There are memes trivializing the effects of oils and there’s no denying the company’s an MLM. A lot of the big earners made their sales early on. Coinciding with the bad feels of Autumn, we decided to put the oil dream aside and focus on mental and physical health.

Eve mental/physical health. The muffler changed a lot for us. It morphed what should have been a very happy time in our lives into a very stressful one. Eve felt fatigued and broken down, and I wasn’t much better off. One day before her planned back-to-action, pick ourselves up and get ready to enjoy Summer, she sprained and tore a ligament in her ankle while coming down the stairs. We hoped it was just a sprain and did everything we could to avoid going to the doctor, but a week later she hadn’t gotten better and so began the PT and bullshit regimen. Our plans of hiking the blue ridge mountains were crushed.

But she recovered, and I shit you not, the very day before she planned to return to action, it was Father’s Day. She was making me my special breakfast and was using a hand-blender to blend pumpkin french toast mix when she went to clean some gunk out of the blender with her finger. It was a split-second decision to help make breakfast faster. Her finger twitched, caught the irresponsibly sensitive power button and tore her finger up. Immediately took her to Urgent Care and then the Emergency Room. $3,000 and some luck later, she kept her finger, but has permanently lost some feeling in it.

That was a bad time for us. I was overworked, she was miserable, and yet she still managed to get to Utah to learn how to sell. To salvage our year. In Autumn, all the anxiety, stress, and the damage from her upbringing finally culminated and she broke. 

Her physical health tanked in tandem with her mental. She suffered frequent menstrual issues and her EDS (a joint disorder) flaring up. It is hard to detail all the pain and frustration, and it really is beyond the scope of what needs to be said. My wife is depressed, prone to feeling overwhelmed, and I’m happy to say that we are getting her professional help soon.

What’s remarkable is that I can’t recall a period of time that she didn’t try her best to recover. Every month, most weeks, she would constantly express that the next day or month was her time. She’s done it for this month and 2020 as well. And I don’t think she’s lazy or unmotivated. She is just defeated and I am a poor comforter. Honestly, I am just shit at helping people if the solution isn’t “well just force yourself to do the thing.” That’s how I get through my problems and it doesn’t work for everyone, not even always myself. Still she is strong. I think writing this out has helped me remember that.

Relationship with my son. I had hoped my increased efficiency and happiness would improve our relationship. I planned for more structure: things like “once we’re upstairs for bedtime rituals, no going back down.” Each night I make a point to spend a minimum of 30 focused minutes with him. But I have only succeeded in making our relationship worse. I don’t think he needs professional help, but there is something within him, from when he was three years old, that just prevents him from being a hard worker. Respect is important to me and I don’t respect him. He is a frustrated child, often not understanding the world, often forgetting things he was supposed to do. I’m not doing a good job of helping.

I think I could have done better, but there were simply too many fronts to fight.

Mental performance. I haven’t gotten any better from last year. I am still not as sharp as 2017-Vael. It is a matter of stress and lifestyle.

What did I learn?

How to be a homeowner! Generally how to manage a home. I got my tools, all cute with my little leaf blower.

SLOWWWW DOWWWWN. The outside of the house needs some work. We need to extend our driveway, clear an acre, and put up a fence. I could take a loan out to do this and be fine, but I could also just slow down. Take a deep breath. Enjoy what we have for the Summer. It sucks I won’t be able to use that acre for farming, but I think I have a good place to plant a single apple tree this year. And hey, less mowing.

A shit ton of web development.

Probably became more cynical. But I think The Good Place has helped remind me to be a good person.

To just accept Eve needs help. And that I really suck at helping her.

Future Outlook

All that bad stuff that happened? Pfft. Shitty year. 2020′s here, it’s a brand new decade. I’ve got a cool game I want to make, we’re gonna get Eve some help, and...

Get pregnant! Yeah! Right now we definitely aren’t ready for kids. We need to use our new health insurance to make a bunch of appointments, recover  financially, mentally, physically. But we very badly want more children. I feel it all the time. I have begun to suspect that genetics do matter, and I wonder if Abel’s laziness mirrors his biological father’s laziness. My dad loved to work and I do too. It might be possible to pass these traits on.

Better office. I need to get some furniture and improve my work environment.

Vacation! We desperately need a vacation. We’re going to Disney this year, either May or June.

Zen Vael. I will attempt to be “the person I want to be” as detailed last year. My soft goal for this is March 15th, as I set last year. I will undoubtedly fail that date. There is no way I’m wrangling my sleep and attitude in the next two months, but surely by the end of the year?

Thanks for reading.

Vael

[dredshirtroberts]

So I’m running off of like...6 hours of sleep for 48 hours. I’m doing real well.

I’ve got some shit to unpack here so like...hang in there.

Friend of mine introduced me to V-pop tonight and I’m obsessed. So like...be aware of that in case I start posting pretty vietnamese boys all over the place. Blame my friend, it’s his fault.

I’ve decided that this is going to end up a lot like my anime obsession where I end up learning bits and pieces of a language so I can better enjoy the media i’m consuming. So I’ve picked vietnamese because that’s super easy.

I’m so smart.

Anyway we ended up on the topic because I think he was trying to distract me from being a fucking mess and crying all over the place because i finally went through my social media and removed almost all my pictures of my time with the ex and put them on a backup drive.

The images i saved were 95% cat pictures. 

It’s hard to look at them. I miss them a fucking lot and I don’t think I realized how much this really and truly has broken my heart. Not only have I lost my children but I’m never allowed to see them again and I didn’t do anything to deserve that. And it fucking sucks. 

I’m being punished in the worst way possible. Like...it would have been easier if they were dead and that’s a horrible thought. because it’s so fucking painful that I can’t even see them ever again. Not on facebook, not on instagram, i don’t get updates, no one is letting me know how they are, i can’t go and see them or anything. 

If his goal was to break me inside, mission fucking accomplished. I was already fragile thanks to all the shit he put me through, this was uncalled for and unnecessary and I’m a fucking wreck emotionally over it. And I’m not addressing that because it hurts and I don’t want to hurt. 

It would be a lot easier if people understood how much it fucking tears me up inside to talk about the boys, to see people happy with their fur babies, to know I’m never going to see those furry little faces or their particular toebeans ever again. like. fucking sucks, man. 

fuck I thought I was done with tears, welp....alright then.

Among the cat pictures were a lot of memories from when things were good. Because it wasn’t all shite all the time. If it had been I wouldn’t have stuck around. And I’m so FUCKING angry that I’ve gone through all of this. I want to blame him completely for all of it, and maybe I should. But I won’t because I feel partially responsible for it all too.

IDK if that’s healthy or true or not. It’s just kinda where I am with it all. 

My date thursday night stayed over and yesterday morning he and I were out in front of my apartment and we were talking about family animals, he’d brought up the boys the night before and I gave him the cliffs notes of the situation, and one of my neighbor’s dog decided i was her new favorite person which was sweet. Date teased me saying I’d now want a dog, or a new cat or something and I get where he’s coming from but like...that’s where the statement from before comes up. I wish people could just...inherently understand how much that thought hurts. I can’t replace my babies. I can have a new baby, one day. I can love other peoples’ babies. but it’s never going to be *my boys*. And that’s hard to explain. 

I literally lost my children and I do not ever want to hear any of you telling any mother that it’s something she can get over because that’s not fucking true. I’m having a hard enough time with my boys and they were cats. Not to say that I loved them less than a human child, but i did not birth those babies. They were placed in my care as an adopted mommy and I did my fucking best. It’s not my fucking fault. It’s not my fault and I shouldn’t have to be punished because I value my safety and my happiness over trying to save a relationship that should have ended before we even got the boys. 

It’s not my fault. 

okay...okay i’m moving on because i’m angry and I can’t do this right now.

positive things. we’ll try talking about my forays into the dating world again.

I’m probably out in society again too early but I cannot stand being single and not taking advantage of my ability to see all my options out there. I tried that and I was bored and depressed. I require social interaction to survive because apparently I’m an extrovert and I had no idea. So i’ve been talking to a few guys and have gone on dates. Thursday date was a new contender on the field. Hes hella pretty, little dumb, very privileged and there are some flashes of red that might be flags coming up but like...it was the first time we’d met in person? we were both on first date best behavior trying to sell our personalities to one another. He was relatively respectful which was nice. He’s not looking for serious and that’s super nice. 

Then there’s the good conversationalist I was speaking to previously and he’s still very nice but I think...he’s more domestic than I’m looking for right now. Does that even make sense? He’s definitely long-term relationship material but I do NOT want an LTR. not now, possibly not ever. He’s super sweet but I just...i’d rather just be his friend, and not ever anything more than that. 

Thursday date was more along the type I usually go for - kind of an asshole, kinda dumb in a almost smart way, and as a new added bonus he’s also conventionally attractive which is a change. I have very low standards for physical attractiveness, and it shows lol. 

idk

I’ve got a date set up with another new guy this evening after i’m done hanging out with my mom and sister. I haven’t had a lot of conversation with him, but like...that’s kind of the point of the date i guess. 

A lot of the reason I’m even back out in the dating scene is because there is a lot of safety and security in the idea of a relationship. Especially since I tend to lean towards wanting to be taken care of. Being provided for is a huuuge thing for me and I just...I know that’s a lot of what drives my interest in certain guys. That’s why Thursdate was actually a break from the norm. The fact that the most he could possibly want from me right now is a FWB situation and he’s openly dating around too, that’s refreshing and super pressure-free. I tend to attract either complete dickheads or people who want to have someone come in as a surrogate mother. I picked a real winner with my ex and got both at once so that was...an experience. I’m trying to stay safe, trying to keep my distance and look at things objectively while also keeping an open mind that you really cannot predict when shit’s gonna just click. 

That’s part of the problem with conversationalist. We click really well but I have...no interest in him outside of being a friend. oh damn...i don’t want anything from him but friendship. Nothing wrong with that, but I literally just put that together properly and realized what it was that was feeling weird with him lol. I’m so smart. 

The major problem is that a lot of guys my age, and in the age bracket i’m looking for potential partners in, are looking for long term relationships. They want a settle-down partner. I’m...not a settle down partner right now. I’m a lets go on dates and have fun and be friendly and maybe we have sex but that’s like not the point?? because right now it’s just getting me out of the house. Plus it’s free dinner most of the time and that’s super nice. Plus sides to presenting as female and dating cishet dudes, they think they’re supposed to pay for everything so i get to eat and drink on someone elses’ dollar. 

also it’s extremely difficult to find potential partners who don’t have kids or who don’t want kids at all. i have zero interest in doing the pregnancy baby thing. I don’t even think i’d adopt, but none of it is on the table. And dudes all want to eventually have kids. it’s so weird. idk that’s more of an observation than anythign else. i just think it’s weird.

anyway...idk where i’m going with any of this. mostly this is just a thoughts-ramble and i’ve successfully calmed down from the angry-sads I was having earlier. I’ll freak out some more later I’m sure but until then I’ll probably just...social media until 9 or so.

hope y’all have a good saturday.

[twitchesandstitches]

The Great Library was a vast enough eldritch realm that there were enough room for smaller pockets for magic to carve out enclaves of spirit sanctuaries within them, and establish little pocket realms loosely tethered to the rest of the Library; close enough, so to speak, that you could walk through a door in the Library and into someone’s personal realm with ease and comfort, but distinct enough that the all seeing eyes of the spirit that commanded the Library had no actual influence or power there.

He probably didn’t care what anyone did, as long as it was not misusing his knowledge or stealing it, but it paid to be cautious around spirits… divorced from understanding of humans, or so Raven understood. Magnus had taught her this with some urgency when she was young; she knew that spirits were more direct than mortals. They were a purpose and domain given its own form, and did not understand the complexities and changes that a human did. Some dealt with this magnanimously, such as spirits of righteous concepts like Valor or Honor. Some, like the great knowledge spirit of this Library, regarded mortals as hopelessly treacherous and insane, as lost as the tides upon the ocean. And he had told her scary bedtime stories about entities like Koh the Face Stealer, and those like him altogether too interested in mortal weakness, taking the faces and perspectives of mortals to experience it for themselves.

Ever since she was small, long before she had ever towered over him and everyone else, Raven had always listened closely to him. One day, a red giant with one eye had taken in a half-demon girl, on perhaps a whim or a stirring of compassion within his heart, and a longing for a father who had long since left into the ether.

To Raven, the demon Trigon was a monster. A nightmare that even the great demonic Who’s Who tomes refused to talk about in detail. Talking grimoires clammed up, stifling their screaming voices, and would say nothing of him. He was many things in her mind; a looming inevitability, something she would have to take care of, a reminder that she had been born wrong. But he was not Father to her.

When Raven thought ‘Father’, she saw a giant of a man, with a great mane of feathered red hair, a single shifting eye. Always a word for the curious, sarcastic snarking for the unwise, and moments of childish pique… but always kind with her, patient and encouraging her talents no matter how they might frighten her, or she frighten others.

The sanctuary of Magnus the Red, his students, and those he had named sons and daughters, they lived within a realm partially modeled after many worlds he had taken a liking to, an ever shifting magical wonderland of infinite possibilities, and the multiverse’s most complicated antique shop. Buildings lay within this realm at odd angles to one another, streets sticking out around invisible trajectories to create mountains of buildings all twisting around one another, and talking raven-spirits flapping about to make sarcastic comments at people.

Presently she and Magnus were within his own sanctum, a place of power to preserve his incorporeal form and make him properly solid for a while and stabilize his powers a bit. It pleased him to follow her whim to make it look like a giant T-letter. Within it, they were having a meeting.

“Sit, my child,” he said, squatting down upon a heavy mat in the fashion of his homeworld from lost antiquity, Prospero. Raven sat in precisely the same way, her gargantuan backside serving the role of a chair. Awkwardly, she pulled her heavy cloak over herself, trying to wear it like he did and she had some trouble. Her chest was getting in the way. Granted, he was quite broad in the chest but not quite in the same way she was.

She was, in every way, a loving daughter who wanted nothing more than to be like her father. Not Trigon. Magnus.

He looked fondly at her, but also sadly.

“There is…” he started, and stopped. He fumbled for the words. “Ah. ...You are well, today? My child?”

Raven nodded demurely. “Yes, father. I am well. The nightmares of…” she shifted anxiously. “Well, you know. I am not dreaming of that anymore. I suppose the medicine worked?”

“That’s good to hear. Yes, good. Er…” he looked awkward again. “I think I know what was causing those nightmares.”

“You do? I thought the general idea was that… he… was growing in power and was attempting to contact me through my dreams.”

“I had thought so too, and that is indeed the case. However… I may have unintentionally given him a route, of sorts.”

Raven’s face, as red as his own, paled into a grayish horror. “You, you what?”

“Not on purpose!” He waved a great hand anxiously. “I was studying a summoning spell for him!”

“Oh dear lord…”

“Not to summon him, not at all! I was simply trying to find out his name!” He sighed. “I don’t want to have to wait for him to make the first move. When we face him, and we will, I swear to you, I want it on our terms. But I needed more information; his name, something to use to track his realms of power or fiendish armies, a way to figure out his cults in the material realm. So I was decoding his summoning spell, working out the programming in it, so to speak.”

Raven calmed down, a bit. A summoning spell ,of the classic ‘call up something into a circle’, was effectively the magical version of messaging someone with the bonus of making them materialize under certain controls. What he was talking about was theoretically possible, and she had no doubt he could do it.

“Then, you have his name?”

Magnus bowed his head. “Yes. I have a name, of great importance to him. The seed of his existence.”

“You do!? What is it?”

He hesitated. “Raven… this is… ah. Look, I called you here to tell you this because we both know the day will soon come when you will have to face him. Sooner or later, he will press that matter, and I intend to see you slay him and take his power for your own. But… now, there is something else. I have to fight him. Not just because I want to, for your sake.”

Raven frowned. “I’m not sure I understand. Do you not have his name?”

“I do. And that is what worries me.” He sighed. “Daughter, you understand that many ages ago, I was… very, very badly hurt.”

She recalled her history lessons. “The Thousand Sons teach that in ages past, your essence was shattered into many shards. Each one containing a portion of yourself.”

“Yes. And in order to retain me, my shards sought each other ought and enough recombined to allow me to keep my mind. And I was badly weakened, as most of my power was scattered. And over time, I found more of them, becoming more whole and powerful… but I never did find them all.”

“The best of you remained as the core aspect, and over time, you found more pieces of yourself,” she said.

“Yes! Very good. Now tell me, how many shards do you think a soul would break into? Bearing in mind that the soul is, by its nature, indivisible and infinite.”

She considered this riddle. “I would think that there is no limit. You could have any number of shards, and since the soul encompasses all you are and COULD be, you might have many, each comprising a minute facet of your being. Is that not so?”

“Indeed. And as I embody the magical potential of humanity as a whole, and therefore multitudes, I could be stretched farther than mortals would be.” Magnus tapped his chest, a nail clicking against one of the spike/horns growing from his chest. “So how many do you think I was reduced to?”

Raven took a guess. “Hrm. A few hundred?”

He winced. “Selling me a bit short there.”

“...A thousand?”

“I wish. More manageable and I enjoy the theming. But no.”

“Father, I don’t know. How many did you break into.”

He looked up, his face weary with an ancient ache. “Trillions. More.”

“Trillions!?”

“I broke apart into so many pieces, each one aware, if barely. Some larger and more powerful. Others less so, but each one an aspect of me. When some of these shards found one another, they fused into what I am now; myself, if not quite whole at least stable. And there were still vast gaps in my being, for eons I searched but never found them all.”

Raven leaned forward, eyes wide and fearful. “Father… do you mean that… oh, are you alright? Are you hurting, even now?!”

“Don’t worry, dear child. I have become whole, over time. The soul is a growing thing, and experience, understanding, growth? I have found all that. I have changed, and so my soul has healed itself. My power is weaker, yes, I would have to fuse with my shards to truly regain my full power, but my being, the essence of what makes me who I am? I have grown into a new Magnus, and made myself whole. I fixed myself, you see.”

Raven sighed, looking relieved. “I was worried there, Father. And, why do you tell me this?”

His single eye narrowed gravely. “You must know that, therefore, many of these shards are still out there. Most are just pockets of raw potentiality, unlikely to do more than exercise random magic. No mind there, just a sense of will. But some, with more essential aspects in the beginning, took on their own life.”

“And, if you grew back into someone…” Raven pondered this. “Then perhaps they have grown into something else as well?”

“You have it! And for the most part, this is not so bad. Some of them are harmless. Others, mutated into dangerous monsters that I must find and slay. But others embodied… terrible aspects of who I was. Spiteful tendencies, vindictiveness, thoughts of wanting to be extremely important, and overwhelming arrogance.”

Raven loved her adoptive father, but she was also realistic. “Thank goodness you left all that behind,” she said sarcastically.

“Yes, it’s rather a good job, isn’t it?” Magnus replied proudly, quite blind to it. “But those parts of myself are still out there. They are still in existence, and over time… I believe they found one another. All the worst in me, coming together without a single aspect of the parts of me that knew compassion… trust, love, the need for other people and a desire to help. Everything, in short, that makes me human.”

Raven frowned. “And those shards might have grown, as you have.”

Magnus’ expression was terribly blank. “This is no hypothetical situation. I can prove it.” He pulled out a roll of parchment, and upon it were many things, but at the bottom:

A summon spell, decoded in messy script, and below it, was the name of Magnus.

“Father?” Raven took it and studied it. “This spell… your name is the central part of it? What is it?”

“A summoning spell for the demon who sired you,” Magnus said grimly. “This is what I’ve been studying, and he used that to try to pinpoint your location. I’ve created wards so he cannot do that now, but I’ve learned his origin.”

Raven tried to work this out. “Okay, but what do you have to do with-”

The shards of myself can grow…

Pieces of myself, the very worst in me, without any shred of humanity or compassion…

Father’s name, on the parchment. On a summoning spell for Trigon.

Evil pieced together, without any room for goodness in there, evolving… growing… and demons, fiends, were just what happened when evil took on a face and a will.

And Trigon looked so very much like Magnus the Red.

Raven paled again. “Oh dear, sweet Primus.”

Magnus shuffled away from her. “Please… Raven. Understand, I am not Trigon! And he is not me! I-”

“But he was made from a piece of you,” she said, understanding dawning. She forced herself to calm down.

This is Father. It has always been Father.

He is not the monster you fear.

She remembered a great red hand, always at her shoulder. Giving her treats. A warm voice, making snide comments at the more fussy Thousand Sons. Always standing up for her, and so kind to her mother…

Father.

Raven tried not to think about the terrible feelings welling up, the confusion and random surges of fear, and silenced them. Deal with them later, she told herself. She wiped away tears. “I’m sorry, Father,” she said meekly. “I.. I don’t… this, this isn’t your fault…!”

What have I done to Father? He must think so terribly of himself…!

Magnus’ face curled in horror. “My fault!? I, no! This isn’t about me, this is about you! The demon that plagues you, he is my fault! Now, more than ever, it is my responsibility to help you end him.”

“Does that mean… you can become more whole by making him fuse with you? Will that help you?”

Magnus shook his head. “No. We’ve been apart for so long that I haven’t the faintest idea what he has become. A fiend, yes, but apart from that? He’s certainly far less human that I ever was, and I suspect he’s evolved into something else entirely. I’m more interested in how you can help yourself by… hrm, how do i put this delicately… ‘absorbing him’, I suppose?”

“You, you really think that’s a good idea?”

“I trust you, daughter. And whatever power he has, I’d rather have you claim it, and make yourself the best you can be.”

“But, it’s your power!”

He didn’t look at her. Just saying ‘I don’t trust myself to stay me after absorbing him’ was out of the question.

Magnus trusted Raven. He did not trust himself.

“We can end him,” he promised. “Whatever happens after that. We are the key to undoing that monster’s evil. I, the remnant of what he once was a part of. You, the person he made as a vessel. We are in a perfect position to ruin his plans, and for you to become something even greater than you already are!”

Raven bowed her head. “I am willing to try, at least.”

Sometime later…

“And that is the situation,” Magnus said to the assembled Thousand Sons, the Blood Ravens, his other orders, and the human wizards and witches that were allied to him. “Are there any questions?”

A Blood Raven raised his hand.

“Yes? Gabriel Angelos!”

“The plan is still to kill this wretched fiend,” Angelos said. “So apart from a technicality, that the fiend was born from pieces of you, has much actually changed?”

“A lot has changed! It’s a lot more personal than it already was, and it was really damn personal to begin with!”

“Doesn’t sound like much has changed.”

“Oh, shut up and let someone else ask something. You! Tall wizard, the one with red hair.”

A human wizard, red-haired and peeking out of the copious masses of Hermione Granger’s hair, had his hand raised. He was called Ron Weasley, and he had a point to make. “So does this make Lady Raven your actual daughter, or what?”

“She already was,” Magnus said flatly. “Next question.”

“No, no! I mean, adopted, yes, but… biologically! Is she your actual daughter!?”

“We have different meanings of ‘actual’. She is my daughter, end of story. Next question?”

“But if she’s Trigon’s daughter, and Trigon is a part of you, is there some kinda, what’s the word, transitive property that make her your kid too?”

“For pity’s sake! No one actually cares!”

Raven raised a hand. “I care, Father.” She smiled at that.

“Oh come on! Don’t tell me you believe that biological parentage is more ‘legitimate’ than adoption!”

“Well, no… but it’s still a nice notion, all the same.”

Magnus sighed. A Thousand Son - Ahriman, perhaps - piped up. “This, I think, makes the Lady Raven Lord Magnus’ first heir!”

“SHE ALREADY WAS!” Magnus bellowed. “It’s even in my completely pointless will!”

“I recommend a grand celebration!” Ahriman continued, ignoring him. “Let us celebrate the downfall of our eldest enemy, and the discovery of a true scion to lead us all!”

“How is he an eldest enemy?” asked a witch; Luna Lovegood, Raven thought. “You’ve only known of his nature for a short while.”

“He is retroactively a greatest enemy,” sad a Blood Raven, with a straight face somehow. “And he was at one point part of Lord Magnus. Everyone knows that Lord Magnus’ greatest enemy is himself.”

“Hey now!” Magnus complained.

“I’m sorry, Father, but they’ve a point,” Raven said.

“Oh gods not you too.”

[rexscelestus]

I’ll Keep Coming

Kingpin 02/16/2019

Your name, for today, is Malik Kingsley, and you have a very important appointment this day. One that will have major influence over the business of this city and your plans. A meeting with, and you admit that with only the greatest disdain, the mayor of this city. You have followed the elections with the greatest scepticism.

At least it is a Dersite sitting in this office. How much power he really has, especially with the queen of eggs being right around the corner, is yet to be seen. But you would be a fool to miss out on the chance to get your foot in now while you can.

You have arranged an appointment with the mayor a good while in advance. A good hour to talk, just the two of you, if you even need that much. You arrive more than timely. Dressed in a flashy white, with a black shirt and Derse-purple tie, reasonably large and commanding all the respect you need, you wait for the secretary to notify him of your arrival and be let in.

WV 02/16/2019

It’s been a slow day. Most days have been relatively quiet so far, settling into your new office, your new building, your new secretary, your new duties and responsibilities and the paperwork that needs doing, permits to sign, orders to give, public works to plan. Today, though, you have an Appointment.

You are admittedly apprehensive about this. Your appointments thus far have primarily been with your subordinates in City Hall, the secretaries and council undersecretaries that are learning how to most effectively communicate with you. This is the first outside force to actively seek an appointment with you, rather than the other way around; this is new territory.

You adjust your tie. You adjust your hat. You mutter under your breath, “keeping customers content creates kingly profits, feel free to follow that fellow, Susie’s sister sewed socks for soldiers” until you are certain you won’t stumble over or halt your words while speaking. You straighten your spine, you motion to Serenity to sit quietly under the desk, you press the button alerting your secretary to send in your appointment, you are fine.

Kingpin 02/18/2019

You're finally let in. You eye the mayor thoroughly as you enter. You think you might remember him, but there's been a lot of faces during the war and not enough time to memorize all of them. You realize how rare it is to see a Dersite without glamour these days - on their own planet. Truly a shame. You already admire him for this choice, while a part of you can't help but be jealous as you can't afford that. Maybe never again.

"Greetings. Thank you for making time for me." You offer your hand for a firm handshake, then take a seat.

WV 02/18/2019

You're already a little intimidated. The man in your office is easily the size of a brute by Dersite standards. Still, you take the offered handshake, even as his hand dwarfs yours, and somehow manage minimal stiltedness in your speech. "It was no trouble. I'm afraid our office doesn't see a lot of visitors." You smile a bit as you take a seat in your chair, the side of your shoe brushing against Serenity, and straighten up a bit. "You did not mention to my secretary when making this appointment why you wished to meet...?" You hope the question is obvious enough.

Kingpin 02/19/2019

"What a shame, it's a wonderful office." Well, it's alright. Not quite something you'd be satisfied with, but apparently the mayor of Midnight City has to make due with this.

"Hah, straight to the point. Well.." you begin, "I'd like discuss the possibilities of future collaborations. I believe we both only want the best for the city, and I think we can reach our goals if we help each other."

WV 02/19/2019

You do like your office. It's not huge, but then, it doesn't have to be; you have a nice big window with a view of the city, and you even put a picture of yourself and Serenity the day you got her on the desk.

Somehow you thought a businessman might not have been so impressed with it. But if he's not, at least he's being polite.

"Future collaborations?" This is nice. This is going well. Your voice is steady. "Perhaps it is on me for not doing my research, but--you are a businessman, yes? What exactly is it that you, well, do?" There's a faint thought in the back of your mind that this is a little embarrassing, that perhaps you should have found out a bit more about the man, been more prepared--but you shut that down, you can go over every detail of the conversation later. At home.

Kingpin 02/20/2019

You're torn between being offended because he didn't find you important enough to put more preparation into this meeting and glad because it's giving you so much more control and leverage in this conversation. A mix of emotions flashes over your face before you settle on a polite smile.

"A business man I am, yes. I deal with real estate, for the most part. Usually buying and selling existing houses, at times building new or improving on old property." You did your researching, of course, and it wasn't too hard to finding out that the new mayor may have a strong interest in these things as well.

"This city needs development, desperately. But it is dying under crime and poverty." You click your tongue and grumble with lower voice. "And the Prospitian restrictions have the economy in a choke hold."

WV 02/20/2019

Huh. How convenient, that a real estate mogul has walked into your office just as you're drafting proposals for the various old properties in town. You smile, a little easier. "Of course. I will not speak as to Prospitian restrictions--" partially because you're not sure what to think about them, but also "Partially because it is so early into my term, and that is the sort of long-term change that will require more time, but I have been drafting proposals for development--public services, that sort of thing." You're relaxing, a little. This conversation is easier than you thought it would be.

Kingpin 02/21/2019

You feign pleasant surprise. "That is great to hear. Can you share any of your plans?"

Of course he got plans. He'd be incredibly ill-suited for the position if he didn't. But plans alone don't bring change. This planet needs idealistic people, but it more so needs people that can accomplish them.

"It is just important to think about the big picture. It's true, these things take time, but they need to be addressed now so that proposals and reforms can worked out with the necessary care, else you'll find yours scrambling for time."

WV 02/23/2019

You're beginning to get the impression that you're out of your depth here.

You try not to let it show, instead handing over the folder of one-page proposal summaries--a new library, soup kitchens, community gardens. "Of course. But going too fast could upset the monarchy and lose what little democratic process we have here. It's a--a balance." You stumble only briefly, collect yourself, smile.

Kingpin 02/28/2019

You take the folder and look through it. Interesting proposals. None that can replace and fix all that has been lost, but it's a start.

You continue speaking without looking up from the files. "Ah, that blasted monarchy." Prospitian monarchy, mind you. "Right, can't hurt their sensitive feelings after they just waltzed all over this planet like it's theirs. I don't envy you for your position. Any ambitious idea stifled between invaders and gangs. A hard place to be. You'll be needing strong allies if you want to get anywhere."

WV 03/02/2019

It's not what you'd call a subtle question. "You consider yourself a good candidate for a strong ally?" The answer's going to be yes. Of course it will. Real estate moguls don't just come to the mayor's office for a friendly chat, no matter how much you'd like a friendly chat these days.

What he says is true, though. You hadn't thought this would be easy--far from it--but it's proving so much more than you had expected. Endless red tape. You've been in office for two months and have managed half a step of one of the public works proposals.

Kingpin 03/03/2019

"I dare say so." Your next words have to be carefully chosen. "I have influence - contacts, finances -and I have plentiful security staff at hand. You know.. You never know when someone may get tired of an overly ambitious politician. Which would be a pity.. I quite like the gardens."

You put the file down on the desk and lean back, eyes on the mayor, watching his every reaction. "But there's plenty of things still out of my reach. I'm sure there's some room for collaboration here. You scratch mine and I scratch yours, you know."

WV 03/03/2019

You work to keep your face blank and pleasant as ever, but you’re not certain that the trepidation doesn’t show.

On the one hand; this is a mistake. Kingsley is choosing his words so carefully that you have no guarantee he’s not—and wouldn’t be surprised if he was—involved with the less savory aspects of the city. He’s given no indication of how much he expects from you. The humans call it a Faustian deal; and if that was all there was to it you’d be very foolish indeed to try.

But he’s also right. You’re polite and quiet, but you have plans. Plans that will take multiple terms, plans that might carry on past you—plans that could easily be shut down in their early stages if the Prospit monarchy decides they don’t like what you’re doing. He has what you need.

You wish you’d asked the dear Inspector to dig up anything possible on him before this meeting. Lesson learned. Too late for this round.

After a moment, you nod. “I....certainly could use the assistance of the private sector. At least while starting out. I’d prefer to start small, and learn how we work together, but collaboration is....certainly agreeable, and not out of reach.”

Kingpin 03/04/2019

The mayor may seem like a dunce, but he's much sharper and cleverer than he looks.

"Definitely. There'll be enough time to get to know each other. I don't intend to disappoint you." You give him the most friendly smile an old sour man like you can manage.

Certainly, you're aware that winning an ally like that means playing nice. It's a worthy investment all things considered. "Do you have any ideas how I can be of service yet?"

WV 03/04/2019

You think that was the right answer. Certainly, he seems to have taken it well.

"Ah...." You take the folder back, shuffling through, and remove a two page briefing. "A trial run, perhaps. The City Council's been very eager to renovate the old factory." You point to the photo. "It's been unused for years, but whenever someone gets the time to try and track down the current owner, they get tied up in red tape; it swapped hands several times, frequently less legally. Do you have any, er, contacts, who might have ways to find out who owns the building at the moment?"

Kingpin 03/05/2019

You pick the folder up to take a closer look at the photo and address. The spot seems familiar, but you honestly can't claim to know every spot of the city inside out. "Not off the top of my head, but I'm sure I can figure it out pretty easily."

You hum. "The building is in a shambles, but unless the property is rotting away in someone's forgotten heritage, it might be that the plot of land is still pretty valuable. A good investment for whoever is holding onto it. You got the funds for it?"

WV 03/08/2019

"We have a portion of the budget set aside for projects like this. That portion was apparently pocketed by the last few mayors, but it's not insignificant. Unless the property is unusually valuable, we should be able to purchase it."

You fold your hands over the desk, watching Kingsley. There's probably a not-insignificant chance that somewhere along the line, illegal methods will be used; it's just the nature of Midnight City at this point. You wonder if your Inspector could assign someone to finding out exactly how far along the transaction will get before passing into mob hands.

Kingpin 03/08/2019

Bold of the mayor to assume that the transaction isn't already long in mob hands.

"That is good to hear. The budget, I mean. The pocketing not so much. Glad to see an fine upstanding man in this position now. I will see what I can find out and, if possible, help you strike a good deal." You'll definitely need to make sure that whatever you do here is absolutely clean and waterproof. Can't have the mayor's people or anyone else notice something off and start snooping around.

WV 03/12/2019

"Then I look forward to doing business with you." You set the folder back in the drawer of your desk and hold out your hand for Kingsley to shake. A second later, you realize that his hand is much larger than your own, but, well, too late to take it back now.

Kingpin 03/13/2019

You give him a satisfied smile before slowly leaning forward to return the handshake with firm grasp. "It is settled then," you nod. Never expected any other outcome anyway. You didn't intend to leave this office without some kind of deal. It may be that the city won't ever accept you as their ruler again, but you're going to make sure that you're still pulling the strings.

WV 03/16/2019

You hold for a socially appropriate amount of time before releasing and falling back. "Is there anything else I might assist you with today, Mr. Kingsley?"

Kingpin 03/17/2019

"Not in particular. I'm quite satisfied with the progress we made. I'm sure we can handle the next on our next meeting, unless you're dying to tell me more about some of the plans you made. Ah, speaking of plans. Any events worth noting in the foreseeable future? I love mingling with the people and meeting old and new faces. I'd hate to miss out due to scheduling conflicts."

WV 03/24/2019

"We have a newsletter; if you give your address to my secretary, she'll have it sent to you. Though I'm afraid that we're still settling in; you'll have plenty of advance notice for any events." You smile slightly. "Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Kingsley. I hope this is the beginning of a wonderful partnership."

Kingpin 03/25/2019

A newsletter. Who does this worm think he is that he considers you insignificant to put you on a list for a newsletter. Anything less than a personal invite is an insult. But fine, you're not about to make a scene (yet).

"Likewise" you smile as you raise from your seat. "It was a pleasure. Hope we can repeat this sometime soon."

WV Last Friday at 6:58 PM

“I hope so as well.” You kind of don’t, but hey, this is what you signed up for. You knew what you were getting into. Probably. Hopefully.

“Do have a safe journey out there,” you call as he exits.

Kingpin Today at 9:30 AM

"Will do" you nod as you grab your hat on your way out the door. "My assisstant will be in contact." So much more work to be done, but it this is a start.

[amadmaddie]

TL;DR: Atheism saved my life.

It was this morning that I realized that I have never really shared the story of how I came to believe what I believe. I grew up in a VERY Bible-following Christian family, and attended church with them every Sunday. I was always fascinated with the idea of a god being there for me, but I was also skeptical. 

I never did experience that “feeling” you were supposed to feel during worship. My friends at church all talked about it, and I could never relate, though I pretended to. As much as I prayed, worshipped, devoted myself to scripture, I never could “hear” or “feel” god. Oh, and boy, did I devote myself! I memorized those verses and read that book multiple times as a child, something my peers hadn’t even done. I prayed night and day. I tried so hard. I even begged my mom to let me get baptized when I was nine years old after finding out, in depth, what hell was. I was terrified. 

When I was about eleven, my family started attending a new baptist church, and at first it was amazing. I loved everyone there, I made a lot of new friends, I was excited to go every Sunday and Wednesday, less for the god aspect and more for the social scene, as my siblings and I were homeschooled for a time. 

Problems always arise when one fully realizes their sexuality. It was that same first week at that new church that I came to terms with the fact that I had a huge crush on one of my friends, who was female. This was before I knew what that “man shall not lie with man” verse meant. Hell, at the time, I didn’t actually know what sex was. All I knew was that I liked her, and wanted to hold her hand, and maybe kiss her. 

I, being shy about any sort of romantics, never made a move, not once. A couple of years went by before I found out what that verse meant, and what the word “gay” meant. I was horribly ashamed of myself. For a while, I even hated myself for ever developing feelings like that for someone who wasn’t a boy. 

So, as a young, terrified, confused teenager with very low self esteem, I started using box cutters for a different purpose. My arms and legs were littered with cuts. My youth pastor must have spotted a cut under my long sleeve one day, and instead of confronting me, went straight to the church’s circle of leaders, who eventually talked to my mother. 

Like that, everything changed. Parents of my friends started looking at me like I was diseased, and some even decided to try their hardest to keep their children away from me. I didn’t understand until my mom confronted me. 

When I didn’t stop cutting, my mom threatened multiple times to throw me in one of those glorified looney bins. She didn’t take me to counseling. To be fair, I don’t think she understood what self harm truly was. It was a whole new concept to her, none of her children before me had suffered from it. I don’t blame her for that. I would have been scared had I been in her position, too.

Despite how I was treated by my elders at the church, who were supposed to be there to guide me, but instead alienated me, we as a family continued to go for a little bit. It was shortly before we left that an older woman in our church had come out as gay, and the church began to gossip about her, bully her, and alienate her to the point where she was too uncomfortable to continue attending. This made me ecstatic whenever my family decided it was the best decision to leave that church altogether.

A couple of years later, I was 15. I didn’t stop self harming, and had picked up smoking cigarettes, as well as heavily dabbling in drugs and drinking a year prior. My dad quickly realized that I might have depression, and took me to a counselor. Sure enough, I was diagnosed and put on medication, which has slowly but surely helped me to this day. I didn’t stay in counseling for long, as my amazing therapist was retiring, but while I was in, I felt listened to for the first time in a while. 

I continued to go to church, despite cringing through many verses of the Bible that were anti-women or anti-gay. I would question the verses that would state that a woman must be sold to her rapist. When I asked my pastor about them, he would say “Well, it was a different time in the old testament.” To which I would reply “But if god is all-knowing, wouldn’t he know that regardless of the time, selling a woman to her rapist isn’t right?” Not a single pastor ever had a solid answer for me. I wanted to believe so badly, and I wanted to feel god with all my heart. But I just didn’t. 

After a while, I stopped going to church because these questions of mine had made more than a few of my pastors uncomfortable, and they would usually try to dodge me. So I gave up. But I didn’t stop trying to believe in god. I had to, or I would go to hell. That was my whole drive. My mom used to say “If atheists are right, then whatever, we all die. But if they’re wrong, at least we get into heaven.” It wasn’t until years later that I realized that was no reason to devote your entire life to something that may or may not exist.

When I married my husband, who is an atheist, I was still hanging on to the last shred of belief I had for a god. He respected that I believed, but he was curious, and would ask me questions like “why do you believe?” He made me realize that I never could give him a solid answer for that other than “I’m afraid of hell” or “I want to believe that my loved ones are in heaven.” 

That clicked for me. I wanted to, but I didn’t. I was a solid straight A student in school, and my science books never held any proof or concrete evidence of a god. I was always told to “have faith,” but never told to open my mind. 

To this day, many of my family members still believe that I just call myself bisexual to be edgy. Ever since I came out to them years ago, they either ignore the fact completely, or, as one of them does, they say “stop” whenever I comment on how pretty a woman looks. She never said “stop” to my brothers. But I always needed someone to talk to about it, so I was lucky I had the friends I did at the time. They were very supportive.

Just like my sexuality, much of my family believes I’m using atheism to rebel once more. My mom told me once, while we were having a beer and shooting pool, that she “didn’t teach me to be atheist,” and “I don’t know where you and your brother got this atheism thing from.” To which I replied, “you didn’t influence anything. I informed myself and made my decision.” She didn’t have a reply. 

Growing up, I was always made to believe that atheists were evil people who were hopeless and sad all the time. My mom also believes that, and even tried once to blame my 15 year battle with depression on my beliefs. When I pointed out that I haven’t self harmed once since I came to terms with myself, and that I first developed depression when I was a Christian, AND that before every suicide attempt, I prayed to god to forgive me beforehand, she went silent. 

To be clear, my mom, and possibly other family members, are very wrong about me. I have seriously never been happier in my entire life. I’ve grown so much, and I’m proud of how strong I truly am. My self esteem has never been healthier, and that came straight from the mouth of my current therapist. I finally found my strength and became a good person, all without a god. 

Now I’m not trying to shame any religion. Since religious people commonly give testimonies, I figured I’d give mine as well: Coming to terms with my beliefs truly saved my life.