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vibraniumwing · 4 years ago

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only girl in the world.

a sam wilson x fem!reader wherein the reader cleans the apartment due to jealousy.

WARNING: NSFW (18+, minors DNI. ), praise kink, oral stimulation (f receiving), fingering, vaginal penetration (wrap it before you tap it lovelies), light choking, swearing, the setting is set somewhere in between AoU and CACW so like around the time in Ant-Man ?? also slight au ( i think )

A/N: so this is for @anchoeritic's 3k writing challenge! seeing that she’s a fellow sam wilson simp, i chose him for this fic (and we are seriously lacking in sam wilson content i hate this) and because it’s sam’s birthday we’re gonna celebrate >:)))) icb he’s an aries though. uGh

prompt/scenario: character A catching character B singing

word count: 3.7k

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Dating a superhero meant there was a lot of restrictions; cuddles and movie dates with them are fleeting moments since you never know when they would get a call about a grape-headed alien terrorizing the planet and you couldn’t flaunt them as much as you wanted to because your safety would be greatly affected if their arch nemesis finds out about your existence.

But regardless of it all, you were thankful because Sam never made you feel less of what you really are to him. A lot of your friends who know about your relationship with The Falcon were envious about how mature the both of you are, managing to balance both of your work lives and your personal ones at home; none of them really knowing how immature the both of you are behind closed doors.

Making this another reason why you loved the privacy being hidden from the public eye; you felt like you were in your own coming-of-age, rom-com movie with Sam with all the hidden rendezvous at The Washington Mall at midnight and drive around the empty streets of the city just until the crack of dawn or just stay at home and cook countless of meals, teaching each other recipes from both sides of your families

It was the relationship anyone could have ever dreamed of.

---

“You’re not making this any easier for me, baby girl.” Sam said, sighing inwardly as he stuffed his duffel. He was going over to New York for a few days, probably on another mission with the Avengers (or training with them) and you weren’t having any of it; wanting nothing more than to have him home and with you for a few more days一 possibly forever if that was even possible.

You groaned softly at his response, sitting on the bed with your knees hugged to your chest as you watch him ready his things for yet another mission. “Then don’t go” You simply told him, face holding the same sad expression as your lower lip was jutted out in a small pout as you looked away, not waiting to tear up once again; him leaving for missions was always the hardest.

A chuckle left his lips, setting the suitcase down on the carpeted floor of your shared room before claiming his spot next to you; the dip of the bed from his weight caused you to look at him. “You know I wouldn’t dare to leave if I had the chance to, right?” He asked, his scooting closer to you and pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “But I always come back, right? Because you’re my home.”

You relaxed under his touch, stretching your legs unto the bed and wrapped your arms around his muscular frame, hugging him close to you in fear that he might disappear all of a sudden. “I know, but do you really have to go?” You murmur, hiding your face against his neck, the way your breath falls on his skin causes goosebumps to rise on his own.

“I have to, they need me, sweets.” He explains, wrapping his arms around your own frame and squeezes gently, enough to convey that he’ll be fine; that he’ll be safe and unharmed after all of the fighting he has due.

“I’ll be back in no time.” His reassurance made you sigh inwardly, knowing that you can’t convince him otherwise. Sam was always just like that, once something is set on his mind on something, he won’t stop until he gets it done. He rarely second guesses what he wants and he does, you’re the person he talks to.

You didn’t speak anymore, opting to let the warmth from his body consume you and lull you into sleep, his hand tracing small shapes into your back as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Go to sleep, baby. I love you.”

---

The sunlight that peeked in through the sheer fabric of the curtains was enough to wake you up, reaching over to Sam’s side, expecting to feel him there but instead you were greeted with the sound of paper crumpling from the side of your hand. Stirring awake, you sat up and grabbed the note that was folded neatly.

“I’ll be back soon, baby girl. Don’t miss me too much, I love you.” You read outloud, adoring how neat his handwriting was, hugging the paper to your chest before whispering, “I love you too” before placing the note by your bedside table, rolling out of bed to get on with your day when your phone dinged. Looking at the lit up screen, you smiled at the message from Sam.

[ from: birdman lover ]

- It hasn’t even been a day and I already miss you.

- This’ll be a long week.

- Have a great day though.

- I love you.

---

- Steve’s still clueless on how phones work but he’s getting there. He “greets you a hello”.

The rest of the week was your normal routine, aside from the occasional texts and calls you would get from Sam whenever he had the chance to check his phone; telling you how much he missed you and sharing stories of what’s going on inside the compound. It was like he never left, the only difference being he wasn’t physically there to give you the affection.

Saturday morning soon rolled around and you were bouncing off the walls excited that you had to wait just one more day before Sam could come back home; come back to you. You practically bounced off the walls as you did all your errands一 mainly you getting your car cleaned and your weekly Target run一 and your day was all rainbows and sunshines.

Until it wasn’t. You were scrolling through your Instagram when you saw a picture that made your blood boil immensely. It was a photo of an actress (who was extremely good looking) in the arms of The Falcon. You had to take a few moments in to fully register the fact that the woman had managed to snag a photo with him, “He’s even hotter in person.” You read the caption out loud, eyes rolling in irritation, even replying to some comments from her fanbase, making it seem like they were dating.

You rarely get jealous about anything with Sam, being so secure with your relationship with him but seeing someone who has a platform freely post him made you writhe in your seat about how you should be the one flexing him like that, not her or anyone else.

You opted to call your lover to tell him how you feel but there was this side of you that didn’t want to go through a whole discourse with him through the phone so you went with the better option, cleaning the fuck out of your apartment until your agression washes away.

Plugging your phone to the sound system, you started off with Rihanna’s Only Girl in the World before grabbing the broom from the small closet in your apartment's kitchen, starting to sweep the floor. “You’re a bad bitch, Y/N. Now go clean,” You hyped yourself up in the mirror before strutting back to the living room to sweep your emotions away.

Unbeknownst to you however was the fact that Sam was well on his way home. He got to go back home earlier than expected and he didn’t tell you, wanting to give you a surprise. Jogging up the stairs of your apartment complex, he was practically rushing to make it your door so he can finally kiss you.

Finally finding the keys to your shared apartment, he opened the door and slowly creeped in, expecting to see you seated on the couch but what he saw was something else. He was stunned beyond words to see you clad nothing but his shirt and a messy bun while holding a broom, singing your heart out.

“Want you to make me feel like I’m the only girl in the world” you sang out loud, holding onto the broom as if it was a mic while you danced, awkwardly body rolling to the beat. “Like I’m the only one that you’ll ever love, like I’m the only one who knows your heart” You continued, starting to “sweep” the floor again while grooving to the beat of the song, not noticing Sam who was silently watching you.

“Like I’m the only one who’s in command” Your voice blending into the music as you rocked around the room, singing your heart out to the chorus. “Cause I’m the only one who understands how to make you feel like a ma一 Sam!”

You dropped the broom, jumping up in the air as you turned around to see your boyfriend leaning by the wall, watching you with an amused expression while holding his arms out to you. “Are you just gonna stand there or come here and give me a hug?” He questioned, raising up an eyebrow at you.

Wasting no time, you paused the song before making your way over to him and jumped into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist as you hugged him. “How long have you been here? Why are you here already? Shouldn’t you be coming home tomorrow?” Your bombardment with questions made him chuckle, his arms going under your thighs to support your weight, walking towards the couch and settling the both of you on there.

“I wanted to surprise you, baby. We finished a little bit earlier than expected so the moment we got back to the compound I was well on my way home.” He answered, one of his hands retreating from your backside to sneak up and cup your jaw, thumb tracing it gently. His eyes were locked with yours, filled with adoration and love as he continued, “turns out you have a surprise of your own for me. What’s got you cleaning so aggressively?”

You laughed, the anger you had just moments ago melting away as you lean into his touch, “It’s nothing, Sammy. Just me being a little jealous, is all.” You explained, finding it easy to admit your feelings. Your relationship with him was just like that; centered on honesty, understanding, and love. The reason why you’re so assured with him.

“Jealous? What’s got my baby jealous?” His brows were furrowed at the answer, mind trying to remember his actions prior to this conversation to see if he had done anything wrong but came up with nothing. “Did I do something?” He questioned, sitting up a bit as the conversation got more serious.

“I just saw this picture of this you and this actress posted on her instagram and一” you paused, finding it silly now that you’ve even been this jealous about this in the first place. “一I just got jealous that she could post you on their social media so freely. Kind of made me realize that I’m still not existent in the eyes of others; I should be the one posting you like that. Kind of made me realize that I’m not the only girl in the world that wants you.” you finished, not wanting to look into his eyes anymore at the sudden sadness from being hidden.

Normally, you wouldn’t even bat an eye on it but seeing how broken you were, Sam was shattered that you had to go through that thought. “There’s no need to feel ashamed that you got jealous, Y/N.” He said, the hand that was on your jaw now going under your chin to make you look at him again. “I know I insisted that I hide you from the public eye so you can be safe from harm and I’m sorry that because of it makes you feel like this.”

He sighed softly, leaning in to press a chaste kiss against your lips. “But if you’re ready to be introduced to everyone, even to the team, then I’ll be more than glad to show you to the world.” Sam said, his lips just millimeters away from yours, “The only girl I’ll ever love.” He finished, locking his lips with yours.

You swore on the fact that Sam’s lips were made for your own, the pace slow and sensual, enough to relay that he was sticking to his words and that you didn’t need to worry about anything. His plush tiers felt soft against yours, his teeth sinking into your bottom one, nibbling against it softly before swiping his tongue against it.

“Does my angel want me to show her how much she really means to me?” He whispers, pressing one more kiss to your lips before pulling back, locking his gaze with yours, pupils blown with love and adoration clouded with a hint of lust over the thought of seeing you squirm under him.

Given the fact that you were sitting on his lap, you could feel how hard he was under you. “You feel that, darling? You do that to me.” He groans as you shift, the friction causing his dick to twitch inside his tight jeans. “Be a good girl and use your words, baby.”

“Want you, Sam.” You say, mind too aroused and clouded with perverse thoughts due to the lack of touch you had from him this week to make a concise sentence. “Want you to make me feel good, please.” You beg, brows furrowing lightly in need as you watch him study your expression, a small smile forming on his lips as he easily hoists you up, arms gripping your thighs.

“How can I resist such a good girl begging for me to make her feel good?” He questions, gracing your lips with another chaste kiss as he carries you into your shared bedroom, placing you on the bed as he hovers above you. “I’ll make you feel so good tonight, sweets.”

His lips are then on yours again, his lower half grinding on yours a few times to rile you up, making you elicit a few moans that caused him to go overdrive. He grunts, taking in the scandalous sounds you make before sitting back up, taking the shirt off from your body, throwing his head back at the sight of you clad in only your underwear. “You do know how to make me go wild, baby doll.”

You smiled at him, happy that you were able to make him go haywire at just the sight of you not even fully naked. “My clothes never seem to stay on with you around anyways.” You answer, making him chuckle lightly as he started to attack your neck with kisses, nipping at the skin quite harshly making you hiss in pleasurable pain.

“You look better naked” was all he said before taking in one of your breasts, tongue swirling around the hard nub as his hand teased the other, fingers pinching on it lightly making you take a sharp gasp. He did this for a few moments before kissing his way from the valley of your breasts all the way down to the top of your panties.

Sam looked up at you with a devilish grin upon the realization of what lingerie you were wearing, “My angel looks so good.” he praises, taking a moment to admire your already fucked out appearance with lips swollen and hickey littered skin. He was quick to take off your underwear, eyes filled with hunger at the sight of your soaking cunt.

This feeded his ego to no ends, seeing you so needy for him. “I haven’t even touched you yet you’re already so wet for me, baby girl.” he commented, hands caressing your inner thighs teasingly as he took a moment to drink in the sight of you.

The way his rough and slightly calloused hands were in juxtaposition to the smoothness of your skin granted goosebumps to run along your skin, the cold air of the room adding on to your arousal. “Sam, please. Need you.” You begged once more, attempting to close your legs for some needed friction but his sudden grip on it making you think otherwise.

“Almost there, baby. Patience.” He said, bringing two digits to very lightly graze upon your slit before bringing it up to your lips, his thumb tapping your bottom lip, “Open up, sweets. Wanna see you taste yourself first.” He ordered, wanting to see you suck on his fingers.

Wanting nothing more than his touch, you easily obliged and took his fingers in without him prying them open. Your eyes were locked with his as you sucked on it, setting a blaze inside his eyes that you haven’t seen before, that lone making your stomach twist in knots.

As soon as Sam was satisfied at how wet you made his fingers, he finally gave your throbbing pussy the attention it yearned for. Inserting the two digits inside of you with ease as he slowly started to pump it in and out of your heat while his thumb rubbed circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

You were a moaning mess under his touch, back arching at the slightest touch he would do to your clit. You were overwhelmed with the pleasure he was providing you. “F-fuck!” You breathlessly moan, hips bucking up as you wanted more of his touch.

Sam then leaned, tongue lapping up your sweet juices as he sucked on your aching clit, the gentle suckling was sinful to your ears. He moaned at the taste of you, its vibrations against you making you whine at the contact. He curled his fingers inside you, easily finding your sweet spot upon seeing how you writhed under his touch.

With Sam’s tongue abusing your clit to no end and his digits mercilessly pumping in and out of you, the tension was all too much to handle that the knot that was in your stomach finally broke. “Go on, baby. Come for me, why don’t you.” He said, feeling how your walls were clamping up around him. The euphoria that followed made your legs tremble as you reached your high, shamelessly moaning Sam’s name mixed with profanities as he continued to finger you through your orgasm.

“Such a good girl for me” Was his words, rising up from his position. You watched as he licked up every last drop of your cum off his fingers, rolling off the bed to rid himself off from his own clothes, your mouth practically watering at the sight of his rock hard length that sprung out from the tight confinements of his boxers.

You were gonna reach out to feel him when he stopped you, “No, baby. Tonight, it’s all about you, remember?” he said, stroking his length a few times, thumb circling around his tip that was glistening with pre-cum as he got back on the bed, positioning himself on top of you. “You ready?”

“Y-yes, Sam.” and upon hearing your answer, he eased into you. Both moaning at the longing of feeling each other intimately. No matter how many times the two of you would fuck, you still couldn’t get used to his size. He filled you up quite easily, his hips meeting yours as he filled you in deep.

Ever the gentleman, he waited for you to give the signal that you were ready and upon your nod, he started to move slowly, wanting to ease you into the pace.. Sam’s groans were music to your ear, “So fucking tight, angel.” He said, one of his hands reaching up to wrap around your neck, pressing against its sides lightly.

“F-faster, Sam. Please” You said and he complied, like your words were pressed a switch in him, he started to relentlessly slam into you, fucking you into the bed and into oblivion. His other hand was on the headboard, palm spread out to gain some support, the bed shaking violently as he continued.

“Let me hear those moans, angel. Let everyone know who you belong to.” Sam said, the hold around your neck tightening slightly, wanting to see you slowly gasp out for air as you let out those heavenly yet sinful sounds, “Who do you belong to, baby?”

“Y-You, Sam!” You answer, feeling your body writhe as another orgasm was already brewing at the pit of your stomach. “F-fuck, I-i’m yours!” You continued, eyes practically rolling to the back at the immense amount of pleasure you got from him drilling you into the mattress.

With those words that left your lips, he started to pound to you even rougher, not caring if the neighbouring apartments heard your cries of pleasure or the squeaking of the bed. You were his and it was his very intention to let everyone know that. “That’s right, doll. You belong to me.” he said, his eyes on your fucked out face. “Mine to fuck and mine to love.”

Feeling the knot in your stomach about to burst, your hands were gripping the bed sheets as you cried out in pleasure, “I’m gonna cum!” body unable to handle the amount of pleasure being handed to you as Sam continued to fuck you out, riding out your high until his own climax hit with one final slam, moaning as he filled you up with his own cum.

Pulling out slowly, Sam took the time to admire his own cum mixed with your drip down from your cunt, a feeling of satisfaction spread through his chest at the sight of you. He leaned in to kiss you once again, this time it was soft and just filled with love, hand running along your sides gently, “Such a good girl for me.” he whispered, pressing one last kiss before he stood up and walked over to the bathroom.

You attempted to follow him, but ultimately failed as your legs were shaking too much from your recent orgasm. You could hear Sam chuckle as he re-emerged from the other room, a wet washcloth in his hand as he approached you. “Let me take care of it, alright princess?” He said softly.

He then started to clean you up, making sure to whisper soft praises about how you took him so well and of how you were so good for him. The moment he was done, he mindlessly threw the cloth into the hamper, collapsing on the bed and took you in his arms, eager to cuddle you. Sam pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, “I love you, Y/N. You’re the only girl I’ll ever love.”

You hummed softly, making yourself comfortable in his arms, reaching up to steal a kiss from him, “I love you too, Sammy. I’ll always love you.”

---

TAGLIST: @harrysweasleys @selenasprompts @weasleytwins-41 @anchoeritic @darthwheezely (hello fellow the falcon simp)

if your name is in bold, it means that i can't tag you for some weird reason. join my taglist! find the link in my main masterlist!

#kelly's 3k wc !#sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x y/n #sam wilson x you #sam wilson fic #sam wilson fics #sam wilson imagine #sam wilson imagines #sam wilson fluff #sam wilson smut #the falcon #the falcon x reader #anthony mackie x reader #mcu #marvel #mcu x reader #mcu smut

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boredoverlord · 4 years ago

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Bucky X Reader - Hold the Line

I came in here to show you a good time, so here's my personal work and my very first fanfiction of all time. And because I'm a thirsty bitch, of course it's smut.

Summary : As a young and talented psychologist specializing in difficult people in prison, you believed in a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to work with the SHIELD. Turned out you were tricked to work for HYDRA.

For three years they made you do horrors in the name of an ideology you despised, but you may have found the occasion to finally make a change for the good, when they introduced you to your new patient.

The Winter Soldier.

Rating : Explicit, please kids, look away ( of course you won't because you're cute little rebels, but please do it)

Word count : 6.4k (chapter 1)

TW: Light BDSM (for now) Because Bucky is a massive Sub and it seems nobody agrees with me, so I have to do the lord's work here.

Foul language, mention of violence and murder, Masturbation, male orgasm and a tiiiny bit of choking. I started lightly

Please consider reading this on Archive of our own or read it below the cut. Lemme know what you think !

Chapter 1: A Story of Almost Everything

You never were the type to brag. But one thing you know is : you’re damn good at your job. Years and years of psychology studies, you barely got to parties, you hardly made any friends, and your sleeping schedule is still a nightmare. Those were sacrifices you did for one sole purpose : helping others. To be the last resort for people who have lost everything. You always firmly believed that you could make a change in the world, even the slightest, even for just one person. That would have been enough to make your lifetime worthy. What's more noble than just a genuine try to make it better, after all ? So you wasted your youth on studies, without a damn blink. And never one ounce of regret. You did it because it felt right. You’re not very brave, but you decided to face your fear a couple of times. You even were an intern in a high security prison, talking to broken men and women who hated your guts. Trying to lead them to another path of life. You heard stories that could break any mind. Only time could tell if you actually helped them. But that’s part of the job. Hope. And hard work.

That’s why when you started to have a growing reputation, at 26 after five years of studies and several years working in prison and rehabilitation, you were ecstatic when S.H.I.E.L.D contacted you. You quit everything, starting with your homeland in Europe, to fly to Washington DC, to visit the headquarters. The new building, the thrill of novelty, the clean rooms, the medical wing, and Alexander Pierce himself coming to shake your hand and telling you personally the wonders they have in mind for the psychology field. You could prepare people to save the world, you could have all the resources to make research, and fix minds that were supposed to be beyond repair. It was supposed to be just a quick trip, but the visit wasn’t even done when you looked at your guide with enthusiasm : you weren’t going home. Just cancel the fly. You’re taking the job immediately. It was three years ago.

Enough to understand how fucked you are.

You didn’t save anyone, you didn’t even work to make the world a better place. Oh but you did work to make a change. A change for HYDRA. They tortured you to make you swallow their ideology, but even if your body surrendered, your mind didn’t, even if it was still a perpetual work on yourself. You never believed in this masquerade, but you know it doesn’t matter. Because HYDRA knows how good you are at your job, and you’re a precious asset. So precious that they pushed all your buttons to make you obey. You tried to act and escape. Their last resort is the Damocles sword they put over your family’s head. Next act of rebellion, heads will roll. And it won’t be yours : no, no. HYDRA won’t give you this relief. It will be your loved ones. So you’re doing what you have to do. It’s the most cowardly choice, you know it. And you’re ashamed. But you’re too terrorised to make it otherwise. So you’re here to twist people's minds to swallow whatever Hydra wants. You make them understand the importance of the organization, when they can’t take it anymore, you make them understand that not only they can, but they must . You saw vulnerable people giving their life to this awful cause, and you are the person to make them understand it was the right thing to do. They gave you kind people with dreams, morals and passion, and you turn this into anger, hate and war, worshipping a crazy doctrine that spoils everything you believed and fought for. You have blood on your hands. You’re THAT good at your job.

So when they called you for a highly secret mission, you weren’t exactly surprised. Just disgusted by them, and mostly yourself. In the guts of what was called the Ideal Federal Saving Bank, you’re obediently following the chef himself : Alexander Pierce, to your next place of action. “I believe you have read your mission’s order, Y/N ?” “Yes Sir.” You said. “It did mention I will have the whole file today, though. I need to take a look at my patient so I can work in proper condition.” “Whatever you call it.” He said, opening the door of the clandestine laboratory in the now abandoned bank. If not for the machinery, we could still believe that those art deco walls filled with safes would still contain treasures of a lifetime for some people. Now there is nothing of value in here, not even the very skin of every PoS present. And you were including yourself. Making your way in the middle of the heavy set up, you slowly reach the pod in the middle, chewing secretly the interior of your cheeks. You know what’s inside, and it makes you want to puke. Mr Pierce continued “Doctor, as your mission was presented to you, your one on only assignment will be the physical and mostly the psychological perfect condition of the Winter Soldier, for the entire length of this mission on american soil.” Basically, be sure his brain is a fucking slushy. You reluctantly nodded and drew closer. “What’s his condition ?” At the top of your height, barely 5’3, you tiptoed to actually look at him by the window of the cryostasis chamber, since you never got this close of a look, not without the file and basically crumbs of info that were thrown at your face. They expected you to keep a dog on a leash, not making actual work on him, and it shows. White man, late 20s to early 30s, approx 5”7, long dark messy hair, not shaved, geez, it seemed like the poor guy was barely cleaned up before being pushed here. Good physical condition, breathing was steady. You could see the steam of his breath on the glass. He may be clinically asleep, but she highly doubted he would be in his best shape. He looked uncomfortable, and tired. It wasn’t a restorative sleep. It was a prison. You couldn’t help but notice his prosthetic arm, even if that was the only thing you knew about him. It’s a fascinating work of science, that’s for sure. And even if transhumanism and biomechanical wasn’t your forte, you wanted to have a closer look, to satisfy your curiosity. One of the scientists watching his screen responded : “He’s gently defrozing, should be half conscious in 5 minutes. You may want to take a step down.” You ignore that, and lean your hand to your superior. “May I finally have what I have been asking for ?” With the most irritating smile, he gave you the Winter Soldier’s File and you quickly opened it to have a first look at all the fuss. Basic physical information, previous missions report, date of entering and ending of cryostasis, bare minimal medical record, notes by her predecessor, fucking trigger words to make him kneel like a 12 years old in front of any boysband... nothing about his previous life, his antics, his name, actual disorders, no name, nor adresses… You glaced a bit at Pierce and threw a polite smile. He knows what he’s doing, and he knows you know. You’re extremely good with very violent patients. You have endured rapists and murderers spiting in your face and swearing to bite your head off and fucking your skull. You were traumatized and you cried yourself to sleep, but the following day you did your job again. You’re just here to handle the worst of the worst. And you’re going to do it.

Or he’s going to break your neck and fuck your skull. You’re fine with that.

“Thank you it’s going to be very helpful.” As helpful as a band-aid on a wooden leg. “What’s this device ?” You point your chin to another machine not far away from it. One of the two men finishing installing it, raised his head to look at you. “A memory suppressing machine. Usually he doesn’t need it as much as he used to, but it’s mainly for safety. He must be prepared.” “He’s in a state where he willingly takes it. So don’t hesitate if he’s starting to be annoying, or excited. That can happen. But that mean you would probably have to work more with him to make him fully ready for his mission,” “Understood, thank you for clarification gentlemen.” You smiled and they smiled back. You’re a woman, so you’re used to it. Basically this shit was supposed to hack his brain, and it must be painful. “I would strongly recommend not using it at such a time. From what I quickly read he needs stability and time. Wiping everything out will more likely create more confusion.” You took a look at the file again and took it upon yourself to not have your eyes double in size and screaming at this bunch of idiots. “... and it does seem he’s using it a lot.”

“We want the asset to be as focused as possible.”

“I understand that, but that's a temporary solution at best. He’s got a brain, not a harddrive. We still don’t know how it can store information, and if it can…” “The last time we used him was five years ago…” Started Pierce, with diplomaty, but also with a tone that wasn’t allowing any more debate on the matter. “And this mission is an absolute priority. The asset is strictly under cryostasis procedure as soon as he’s not needed anymore. The machine will be used if needed.” “I understand your point.” You absolute psychopath. “Then my request is simply to be here if it happens, and to be able to control the shocks. Also, I insist that he must be in perfect condition when you launch the procedure, I’ll personally make it happen and give you a green light.” “Thank you for your hard work.” He said, raising his hand, that you promptly and politely shook. You could feel the angry grasp. “I know you’re the perfect woman for this hard job. Your work is an inspiration for us all.” You wish you could end your life right here right now, instead of being told such atrocities. But you think about your mom and dad. At this time of year they start to prepare the pool for the summer, for the future neighborhood barbecues where they will brag to everyone about their incredible psychiatrist daughter who is doing secret stuff over sea to help save the world. You have to be strong. At least for them. At least for now.

“Hail Hydra.”

“Hail Hydra.” You responded, while your tongue feels like sandpaper.

“Ok he’s starting to wake up…” Someone warns, as Pierce leaves the room, unbothered. The pod opens before your eyes, as the asset -you hate this term- is being roughly handled and carried away by two dudes to his seat. The one dangerously close to the memory suppressing machine. You squatted in front of him, the time for him to blink several times and look around him. Confused, but it’s not exactly his first rodeo either. His eyes are quickly focused on the first thing in front of him : you. He looked like he was trying to remember who you are, but quickly realized he didn’t know you. Two blue spears digging right into your soul. That’s making you a bit uncomfortable. The same weird feeling of unease you have when a cat is watching you taking a shower. “Hi.” You started, in english, even if he could be from italy you had no freaking clue. You guessed that he was probably slavic. But the file says he’s speaking more than ten languages. And it wasn’t specified when and how the hell did he learn that. “Can you hear me?” He took a few more seconds to look at you, probably the time to finish reading every embarrassing moment of your life, right into your eyes, like your drunk 18th birthday when you finished in your panties swimming in a city fountain, but he nodded eventually. You actually know this look. But it’s the first time you have a super soldier in front of you so it’s of a rare intensity. He’s dissecting you. Gathering information. His eyes moved slightly down : a recent scar on your neck. Right : an ex piercing on the top of your ear, now unusable. Down left : he just realized you’re slightly unbalanced so he knows you have a hip issue. And down right : he’s looking at your hand, you don’t really know what he saw here, maybe calculating how to break them ? You were literally a foot in a viper’s nest. Were you terrified ? Absolutely. Will that forbid you to do your job ? Nope. “Can you follow the light ?” You asked, moving slowly your phone’s lamp from left to right in front of his eyes. He did it without questioning. “Ok good.” You tried a smile, not really knowing why. If he was at least a tenth as clever as the file said he was, he perfectly know that you’re here to fuck him up. But you couldn’t help it. Poor dude. He was visibly more or less your age. He could have been a prince, or thief, a womanizer, or a priest, whatever, HYDRA took everything from him. From his free will, of his right to grow old, to his sleep. “Can you tell me your name ?” He frowned, perplexed. “Winter Soldier.” Shitty answer but at least he was fully aware, and his tongue was working properly. “Nice to meet you, I’m doctor Y/N. We’re here to work together in preparation of your next assignment. Do you understand ?” He nodded, unimpressed. “Good, can you get up ?” He did, so you did it too. And he realized that you were… very short. His eyes literally went up and slooowly down. That was a bit mean, actually. You carefully took a glance behind you, and your eyeroll could probably trigger an earthquake. “Can you all nice gentlemen let down a bit of their weapon ?” You said at the 6 dudes with rifles literally fixed on him, ready to shoot at the wrong twitch of muscle. No wonder he wasn’t talkative. “You won’t say that when he will break your neck with two fingers, ‘mam.”

“He’s pretty stable for now. Plus he’s not fully awake, let’s give him time before threatening him, shall we ?”

Nobody moved for ten seconds before one of them complied, since you didn’t move. The rest of the bunch reluctantly followed . You looked at your patient, hoping that that would have made him a bit more relaxed. Nope, he didn’t give a shit. He wasn't even looking at them. He was looking at you. You’re the mystery of this room to him. But you didn’t need extra vision to understand that Docs treated him like a guinea pig, so he was very understandably extra careful with you. Standing on his feet, all his muscles ready for action, that’s the exact moment you realized how close you two were. Indeed, if he decided to, your jaw would fly across the room in a single move. You never had such a display of sheer raw strength, and you could feel the heat of his body radiate.

“He needs a shower, and clothings.” You said, having a look at his 5 years old combat suit still reeking the smell of his sweat. It was intoxicating. They didn’t even allow him to clean himself. Poor dude was frozen in his own filth for the last five years. And you didn’t know why you took an even deeper breath. “And I’m talking about comfy workout clothes, no combat suit. Please escort him and handle him with care, before bringing him to my office.” You actually decided to be sure he wouldn’t be mistreated, by waiting outside the man’s bathrooms. You weren’t certain of how he could react, and you didn’t trust anyone here. If one of them decided to do a piss contest with your patient, it could end badly. So you put your hands in your pockets, looking at the two armed men waiting for the most dangerous assassin in the world to finish scrubbing himself with soap. The atmosphere was heavy and the silence was loud in itself. Even the sound of the shower was stressful and menacing.

When the Soldier was escorted to your improvised office into the archive, directly linked to a storage room that will be your bedroom for the next weeks, you let him take a seat and promptly blocked the access to the room of the two escort members. “Thank you sirs, that will be all. Please wait here.” They look at you like you just told them you were dating their daughters. “Sorry Miss, but we can’t…” “Sorry Doctor , and I can’t work properly with weapons in my office.” You raised your hand, showing your device on your wrist. Something that would not only call for aid by a simple pressure, but could stun an opponent. Neither them nor you were stupid : it wouldn’t stop The Winter Soldier, maybe he would blink a second at most. But you really wanted to be alone with him. Was he dangerous ? Yes. Were you absolutely certain that you would leave this room alive if you closed this door to their face ? No. But it’s been three years since your priority wasn’t your survival anymore. So you forced a smile and slapped the door. They needed you more than you needed them, so they will obey.

“Douchebags.” You muttered to yourself while coming back to your desk. Your patient didn’t even move a muscle at your little argument. He wasn’t totally inexpressive actually, mostly terribly broody. His hair was still wet from the shower he took, wearing cargo pants, heavy boots and hoodies, generic clothes by HYDRA. You got those too, since you’re not allowed to carry anything personal for mission to mission. You had a tablet for books, music and movies, but that was it. You haven’t opened your shelves yet, but you know it’s full of ugly clothes and generic black panties of doom.

You took a large inspiration, sat on your desk in front of him, and started : “Ok ‘Winter Soldier’... how are you doing ?” He didn’t even flinch. He was staring into your soul with his eyes lost into dark circles. Depriving someone of proper sleep is a basic rule for brainwash. “You enjoyed the shower ?” Nothing. You waited for a bit to see if he would finally respond. Ten seconds. Twenty. fourty. a minute. When he gathered that you were actually looking for an answer, visibly a first one for him, he finally gave you the courtesy of one. “Yes.” “Perfect.” You didn’t hide your slight smile and tiled your head. “I’ll be sure you’re in your best condition for your next mission. If something’s on your mind, I need to know about it. Nothing will get out of this room. Both of our priorities are your goal, and your condition is the key to success. Which makes you , my high top priority. Do you understand me ?” “Yes.”

“Ok so let’s get going.” You took another file, and took a picture out, ready to handle it to him. “Is the name : Nicholas Fury, ringing some bells to you?” “Yes.” He took it inside his titanium fingers and finally moved his piercing blue eyes away from you to look at the picture. “In two weeks, you’ll be in Washington DC. An entire squad will be deployed to assassinate him. Fury is the leader of the S.H.I.E.L.D, not a mere target. He will break free and fight back. That will be when you’ll show up.” He wasn’t looking at the picture anymore. One thing for sure : at least he was paying attention to you, and what you were saying. And that made you actually kind of proud of yourself. “That was part one. I’ll personally supervise your training with the VR machine and your physical health and condition. I really need you to communicate with me all the time about anything that could be in your mind. The more focused you are, the more Hydra’s plan will succeed.” And what’s that plan ? You have not a single clue. You were a cog in the machine, disposable. Not much more than him. “Do you understand ?” “I understand.” Oh shit, two words this time!

“Good.” You smiled. He didn’t. You move your hands closer to him, to take a grip on the picture. He opened his prosthetic hand, leaving you to take it back. Nothing in his gesture seems dangerous. Just normal, somehow cordial. “I must ask : are you in any pain right now ?” His eyes significantly get from right to left. He must probably wonder why you are asking him that. Did nobody ever ask him such basic questions like : ‘are you in pain?’ This man's sole purpose was to fight, that made no damn sense for you.

“Sir ?” You insisted for an answer, even if the ‘sir’ sounded absolutely ridiculous to your ears. You didn’t know his name, and you don’t feel comfortable calling him “Winter Soldier” , “Soldier”, “Sir De Winter”, “Hey you,he soviet assassin” so it will be “Sir” for now. “Sir are you in pain right now ?” “I’m not in pain.” A complete sentence, that’s progress. You breathed a bit better “Ok good.” You got up from your desk, which was honestly barely taller that him remaining on his chair. He didn’t let go of your eyes and you decided to make a bold move. For now, he was always being responsive so you slowly moved your hands toward him. To his prosthetic hand. “May I take a look, please ?” You glanced at each other, nobody made the first move. In complete silence, if it wasn’t for both of your breaths. You’re almost sure that it has been at least 5 minutes since you decided to speak again. Slowly, and gently, with no signs of confrontation in your body language or speech. “I will not do it until you comply. And you can refuse the contact.” He didn’t answer right away but he finally nodded.

Slowly, you took his hand into yours, lifting it from his thigh where it was resting. At the beginning it was just taking a look. But he wasn’t making any moves, so you decided to take your observation a little further. You used your other hands to start to move each finger separately, taking a step closer to him. Finally, you made one of your hands slowly sliding into the hoodie, to feel the muscles, the nerves, how it feels like a real arm. It was cold, but you felt it shudder to your touch. That was the line you decided to not take it further.

“Thank you, Soldier.” You said with a smile, taking away your hands from him. You moved behind your desk, opening your notepad to take a bunch of notes, breaking the contact with him. Just a second. But when you raised your eyes again, The Winter Soldier wasn’t in sight.

You shuddered and didn’t make a single move. If it wasn’t for your fingers grasping your desk. You did your best to have a steady respiration and not start to panic. Your throat dried up immediately. You took a deep breath and say : “Please, get back to your seat.” You slowly moved your head to look right back at him. He was standing. His eyes were black, taking loud deep breaths, fixing your behind your shoulder. Tall. Dangerous. You were terrorised. And he could smell it. He didn’t move so you stood up as well, and slowly faced him. You try to remain in total control of your body and not start to fidget. You could scream for help, but for whatever reason, you still had the feeling you could handle the situation. Trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t the first time a patient was disobedient. The only difference was that this one could crush your skull in a bat of an eye,

“Get back.” You said once again, bearing his piercing eyes, but he didn’t budge. So you took out your hand and put it on his chest. You felt like an ant against a mountain, but you pushed him a bit. “We will go nowhere this way.” You resumed trying to get a step closer, even if it will be creating a proximity that could be even more lethal to you. “So please, get back to…”

Something happened. It was obvious, and clear as day : you felt the bulge between his legs. Right above your navel. Hardening even more now that he could feel your body. You decided immediately to repress the shameful feeling of your very inside warming up and tickling you. “Winter Soldier.” You growled, angry but trying your best to remain as professional as you could. Of course, of fucking course. This guy was gorged on serum and hormones, quick, violent actions, and adrenaline. Pumping in his veins, burning 24/7. His body was on the edge all the time, and he just awoke from a dreamless slumber. He was a human, whatever all these idiots were thinking, not a freakin’ cyborg. When was the last time he saw a woman that he didn’t smash the head on a wall ? You even suspected that Pierce was counting on it. Nonetheless, you were alone in an office, literally glued with the world's most dangerous assassin, who was having a massive hard-on. Throbbing against you. You had your share of very awkward situations in your short life time. But nothing, nothing prepared you for this. And you had even less of an idea of what to do because he was doing nothing . He was feeling uncomfortable, that you could say, but he wasn’t really doing any moves to attack you, or even take you. He was standing here, with heavy breathing, his eyes still piercing you. And you slowly slided your gaze to his lips, finding the vision of his hard laboured breath strangely mesmerizing.

Short of ideas, your reflexes took the best (or the worst) of you, and without you realizing it, your hand was around his neck. Your palm pressured on his glottis, and you clearly felt him swallow. As clearly as you felt him becoming even harder. Your breath was starting to shake, as you felt a not-so subtle chill coursing your spin. You drew his face and your face closer, as you finally moved forward, forcing him to move as well. Forcing was a strong word : the last time you hit a punching bag, you hurt yourself and sobbed for an hour. But for whatever reason, he did whatever you wanted. As if he was testing your resolve to make him obey. But there was nothing on his file about this behaviour. He tried to attack, kill and escape. Nothing about testing the limits of anyone.

“You. Will. Sit. Down!” you spat, through your teeth, forcing even more your grip around his neck, as your other hand was reaching for his hair. You pulled it, not too harshly, but you could definitely smell the musk, and the wetness of what stayed of his shower.

You did it. He was sitting down again. And your bodies departed for one another. For once he tried to escape your gaze, which was a strangely human reaction. You both managed to get your breath back, before you decided to call the guard to adjourn your observation.

As soon as the door closed behind them, you felt your legs giving up and you sat on the ground, back against your desk, a small wimp leaving your throat. You felt your eyes starting to wet, and your teeth rattled a bit so you tried to cuddle yourself to try to retake control on your body. Your hands were shaking uncontrollably as his intoxicating smell was still all around you. It was by far one of the most terrifying experiences you ever felt, and it was all clouded by the phantom feeling of his body against yours. You could still feel his gaze, his heat, his… well, his cock against your belly. You were still chilling, trying to repress whatever you were feeling at this instant. Because it wasn’t right, for you. Nor him. Everyone in this godforsaken organisation was treating him like a dog, just here to attack and do tricks, but you swore to yourself not to do the same. You will succeed at your mission, but you’ll do it from the crumbs of humanity and morality that HYDRA left you. You will do anything possible that the mission will be complete, the most painless possible for this broken man you just saw. Wait a second.

Painless .

You jumped on your feet, ignoring the numbness of your legs caused by the shock, and you ran at the door, screaming at the three men at the end of the corridor. “HEY !” The guards startled a bit and looked at you “I changed my mind. Bring the Winter Soldier back to my office.” They briefly exchange what seems to be a bunch of insults about you, but they comply to bring the Soldier back. Him ? He seemed absolutely unbothered.

You closed the door behind the both of you, to the face of the guards yet again. He was standing here, showing his back as you slowly got back in front of him. Hands in your pocket, not really sure of what to do nor how to do it. He was looking at you, this same feeling of unease than before. And for reasons : a small glance confirmed that he was still rock hard. You didn’t make any move for a long time, until you finally put your hand on his chest. You felt his breathing becoming slightly quicker. “You’re not in pain.” You whispered, and he shook his head, negatively. “That was the wrong question. I’m sorry... “ Without you noticing, you had the palm of your hand on his cheek, scrubing lightly his stubble with your thumb as an apology. You breathed in, just couldn’t believe what you were about to say. “Do you need help ?” His expression didn’t change, but his eyes ? They became a bit brighter, you could even see a bit of relief when you saw him nod.

You swiftly move your other index on his pillowy lips as you still lower your voice. “They cannot hear us.” He nodded again as the only feeling of your finger as close to his mouth made him shiver with anticipation. He was literally dying of anything that could relieve him. And for what you understood, as your conversation continued, he trusted you with his body, to provide him with the sweet touch he has been totally deprived of. You slowly push away your index to gently slide your thumb between his lips, and he sighed with pleasure as he took it with an eagerness you would never have believed possible. The most deadly assassin in the world, the legendary Winter Soldier that everyone wishes he wasn’t real, was purring while sucking your finger. If you weren’t the shrink, you’ll be needing one immediately. You gently moved him to make him sit in his chair, he was way too tall for you to handle this with ease. “What about the showers?” You asked him, as you removed your thumb to make it gently slide on his lips, your other hand crawling across his chest to his pants. He swallowed before whispering. “I could but... “ his well built square jaws started to tense, with a visible revulsion. “... They can watch.” Disgusting. He couldn’t even close the damn door of the shower. “You’re safe here.” You said as your hand was finally reaching the bulge behind his Hydra cargo pants. You didn’t know what you expected but… it was way beyond that. He hissed a bit at the feeling of your hand as you started to touch it gently over the fabric.

Now he was panting, looking at you as you were a single oasis after years of thirst in the desert. “Please…” You heard, barely audible when he was starting to lose it. “I got you, but you have to promise me to be good.” “Anything. Please…”

And at your very surprise, you obliged him. Using your hand to plunge into his pants, while the other fast pressed into his mouth, muffing the immediate deep moan that escaped at the very second you touched his pulsing penis. He started panting even more, as he used his flesh arm to drive you onto him. His forehead against yours. You couldn’t stop yourself from getting closer and closer. Actually you let go of his -massive- erection a second to just drop out his pants, and his breach. You stopped a second, only to watch him begging you with his eyes, as you could feel his saliva at the palm of your hand while you muzzled him. It was it. You realized what kind of power you have over this man. He has been used and abused in every single way, but for once : someone’s finally doing what he wanted. You had his pleasure in your very hands, and for once in years, you could finally help someone. So you’re gonna do it, you’re going to make him feel good. Very good. “Good boy.” You muttered, without knowing where the hell that could come from, and you reached him again. Stroking your hands up and down his shaft, nourishing yourself over the vibration of his muffled moans against your hand. His eyes weren't leaving yours, if it wasn’t for when they seemed to roll to the sky. His vision periodically blackened by the waves of forbidden pleasure he was feeling over his body, who was barely him anymore. Your eyes were gorging on the vision of his handsome muscular man, surrendering himself to your touch, sweating, trembling and panting for you. You were saluted by an utterly satisfied noise the moment you decided to lean over his manhood to drip a large amount of your own saliva moist what was already on the edge of ruin. You rolled your thumb against his tip, massage his veins with just one finger… anything to make him feel something. Anything that wasn’t pure anger, hatred or apathy. You were inclined to believe the file saying that he was nothing but a perfectly built weapon for HYDRA to command. But now, when you tickled, teased and made him shiver, and you felt all his sincere gratitude, you were certain : There is a man in here. And he was finally feeling good .

But soon, it wasn’t enough anymore. Seeing his bare thighs, powerful, thicken by years of training and super soldier serum, tensed by all the nerves and muscles deliciously answering to your call, made your inside warmed up. Your core was aching, screaming for proximity and intimacy, and before you understood what happened, you sat astride on his left thigh. The soft flesh between your legs immediately responded with delight, making you shiver. Almost instantly, you felt his grip on your hip, of the cold metal digging into your flesh with despair. It was a super soldier, with the stamina of several dozen men, but it’s been so long, and you were touching him with perfection. You felt his head on your shoulder, and slowly you started licking his temple, tasting the very fruit of your hard work : his sweat.

Galvanized by his intoxicating smell, and the thrusting he started giving to your hand, you started to move like a snake, rocking against his skin, looking for some pressure despite the fabric of your pants, mercilessly acting like a barrier of your own pleasure. You could get it off, but it was a limit that you forbid yourself to cross. But it’s true, as you were working him, you couldn’t stop yourself to think of how this would feel. Sliding inside you. You were so very short and fragile, and compared to your hand, his phallus was gigantic. He could ruin you, split you in half, using his bare hands and make you do anything. But the only person in control here, were you. And only you. You never felt anything like this before. And it’s highly probable than neither did he. You tried to vanish the thought, but the more you could feel his thigh between yours, the more you became obsessed.

The more he was approaching, the more eager the soldier became. Both of his hands firmly gripped on your behind, almost certain that it will leave bruises, but you didn’t care at this very moment. His grunts against your hands became more and more intense, and you started to feel he was about to give in. In between your fingers, small drips of salivas were started to escape. You couldn’t give up your grip now, so you made it even more tight, drawing your lips closer to your hands, you whispered as your sore wrist fastened its path “I’m here for you. Give everything to me.”

His panting became incontrolable, his eyes rolled out, his head dropped back, before he finally reached his peak. You felt the deep vibration of his ultimate cry on your hand, as your other hand was dripping of hot seed. You slowly removed your other hand from his face, and could contemplate your masterpiece : the Soldier absolutely looked like a mess, with his red face, his eyes blinking furiously, covered with his own saliva. You left his leg, both your hands dripping of his bodily fluids. You used the one that was on his lips to pick his head and forced him to look at you. You ravished your vision of this man who absolutely surrendered to your good care, deeply satisfied with your attention. You cradled his face, and you took a large lick of his spit from his chin to his mouth. Where he leaned for a wet and warm kiss. You took a good taste of him, intoxicated by whatever pheromones he could diffuse around you.

You look at him another few seconds, before recluandly moving away, to the bathroom where you not only washed your hands, but came back with a wet towel. You first cleaned with infinite care his face, and then his genitals, making sure he wouldn’t have any kind of unpleasant sensation as he had a big day ahead of him. You were his doctor and caretaker, and he had a mission to prepare. He seemed to respond well to the cleaning, not really expressive, but he made no sudden move. You could see him sighing with ease, closing his eyes as he rubbed his cheek in your palm again, when you were caressing him with the wet towel. You could still hear a loud satisfying purr. If you didn’t specifically ask him to kill someone less that an hour ago, you would actually find this absolutely adorable.

You breathed in and out, making sure he was okay. “Are you feeling better ?...” He nodded, visibly relaxed, as he was closing his pants but not much more expressive than before. He stood up, in front of you, like nothing happened. “Yes.” But to your surprise he added a second later. “Thank you, doctor.” You smiled at him as you couldn’t keep yourself from making your knuckles caressing his cheek, and finally tracking the shape of his jaws. “Good boy.” You heard yourself say, wondering what the fuck was wrong with you.He didn’t react. All the shivers, purring, sighing, and moans disappeared as soon as his pants closed. It was for the best, and you quickly took your hand back, clearing your throat. You call the guards. The Winter Soldier was fully ready for his mission preparation, and you asked them to give him some time to recover from… his cryostatic, before you would start the procedure.

In the meantime, you need a shower. A long, hot, steamy, shower.

43 notes · View notes

tivaholic4 · 4 years ago

Text

NCIS High School: Chapter Eleven:

The game ended after the overtime quarter (Which means the teams were tied in the fourth quarter and need to determine a winner so they added another quarter to the game.) The score was 68-66. Michael Franks Washington beating Washington High by two points. The people in the stands were screaming and jumping on the bleachers. They had finally beaten their rival. Tony looked around the stands and locked eyes with Ziva. She was smiling brightly at the scoreboard and of the chaos going around the gym. She was looking around at the excitement that was spreading around this room. She locked eyes with Tony and her smile became brighter. He moved over to the bleachers and saw Ziva, Abby, and McGee as well as his parents standing and cheering for his school and their basketball team.

After 10 minutes, things finally started to settle down. Tony and his team moved to the locker room where they all cheered after their win against their big rival. Tony got pats on the back from most of his teammates. He hurriedly gathered his things and changed and left the locker room. As he walked into the hallway he saw Ziva, Abby, and Tim, along with his parents, waiting for him, leaning against the wall talking. He locked eyes with Ziva and started making his way over to her. Um them. As he was walking, a hand grabbed his shoulder and wouldn’t let go. He turned around to see Jeanne standing there with a smile on her face and batting her eyelashes. He yanked his shoulder away from her and started walking towards Ziva and his family again. Her hand gripped his shoulder once more. He turned around, ready to tell her off.

“What do you want, Jeanne?” His voice was filled with venom. Something that Jeanne seemed to ignore.

“Wanna join me at the Sacks’ house for the after-game party? I’m sure we’ll have lots of fun.” Tony gave her a look of hatred. He knocked her hand off his shoulder once more and looked at her.

“Leave me alone, Jeanne. And don’t touch me ever again.” With that, he turned around and walked to Ziva again. Jeanne didn’t make another attempt at him. As he saw Ziva, his glare made its way into a smile. She was sending a glare over in Jeanne’s direction. Something that made his heart flutter. She was jealous. He liked that she was protective of him. He didn't know how much, but he was very protective of her too.

He walked over and his dad gave him a pat on the back. Tony had scored 46 of the 68 points tonight. People would say that it was skill, but in reality, it was the fact that Ziva was there and he wanted to impress her.

“Did you see the look on Jacobs' face when you scored that three-pointer? Looked like he was about to shit himself.” Gibbs laughed. Jenny lightly slapped him in the arm, as they were in a public place and it wasn’t just the family and Abby. There was a beautiful girl standing close to Tony. She assumed that this was Ziva.

“Hi. I’m Jenny Gibbs. Tony’s mother. Excuse my husband, he’s normally a functional mute. At least, until it comes to sports.” Gibbs smirked. Ziva smiled at the love that she could see between the two adults.

“It is very nice to meet you. I am Ziva.” She went to shake their hands which they accepted happily. Gibbs turned to look at her and noticed she looked like someone that he knew. Ziva saw this and turned her head to the side and squinted her eyebrows together. Gibbs. She had heard her father say many things about this man. Manly how stubborn and addicted to coffee he was.

“Gibbs? As in Leroy Jethro Gibbs?” Ziva hesitantly asked, not wanting to seem creepy. Gibbs nodded his head slightly. The family around them could only watch the interaction.

“My father has told me many things about you. Mainly good as you have a strong work ethic. Something my father greatly appreciated when working with you.” Then it clicked for Gibbs and he raised his head to her.

“Eli David was your father?” Ziva nodded.

“Yes sir.” Ziva had always been polite. Something her mother practically branded her into at a young age. She would always say “Nobody will respect you if you don’t show some respect and manners yourself.” It was always something that Ziva took to heart as she believed her mother to be correct.

Gibbs looked at her within hidden emotion. He had heard that Eli David’s remaining family had moved to the U.S. He didn’t expect his oldest son to become smitten with his oldest daughter. He knew how much of a hard-ass Eli was, especially when it came to his family.

“I’m sorry for loss.” Ziva nodded her head, a silent thank you.

“Enough sadness! Let’s go get some ice cream!” Abby yelled. She hated it when people were sad and it seemed like Ziva really didn’t want to have this conversation. Everybody agreed and they made their way out to their separate vehicles. Tony drove his 1969 Mustang and offered Ziva a ride to the ice cream parlor. Tim drove with Abby in his 1970 Audi, something that they always did as they were very close friends and her hot rod was always causing problems. Gibbs and Jenny drove in Gibbs’ Ford F250 as the company charger was normally for too and from work.

Tony and Ziva climbed into the mustang and followed Jenny and Gibbs with Tim and Abby behind them. They made it to Presidential Scoops (actually a real place in Washington D.C.) and went inside. There were many people crowded into the little building that was the ice cream parlor. Many noticed Tony and his varsity jacket and patted him on the back for his job well done in their game tonight. He said thanks but went right back to his conversation with Ziva about some things that she was confused about from the game.

“How hard do you have to hit someone for it to be a foul?” She asked, not wanting Tony to be hurt in this game he found so enjoyable. Tony shrugged.

“Honestly not that hard. If somebody from the other team practically touches you that’s a foul. Sometimes it can be a charge foul, you know where they actually try to hurt you.” Ziva nodded. She had seen one instance when that had happened tonight. Somebody totally nailed Jackson and was called to the free-throw line. The other player was on the bench for the rest of the game.

“So that is why he was on the bench the rest of the game?”

“Well, he had five fouls which means that he couldn’t play in the game anymore.” Ziva’s mouth formed an O shape as she got what he was saying. They ordered their ice cream. Tony got strawberry and Ziva got mint chocolate chip. It was no Berry Mango Madness but it would do. It was actually very good. She turned around and saw that Abby had gotten chocolate and Tim had gotten peanut butter. Surprisingly, there was a coffee flavor that they served, which of course Gibbs got. Jenny got orange sherbert. They all moved to a table outside of the parlor as all the seats had been taken. Many others must have had the same idea as they did as the parlor only became more crowded. They all ate their ice cream together and talked about the game. Ziva’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She didn’t want to take it out of her pocket, not wanting to be rude, but she wondered if it was her mother. She reached behind her and grabbed a hold of her phone and unlocked the screen. It was her mother.

Ima: Where are you, Ziva? You said you would be home after school. It is 8 PM.

Ziva wanted to smack herself on the forehead. How could she forget to tell her mother where she was and what she was doing? But more importantly, who she was with. Ever since Ari was killed, she had been very protective and Ziva and Tali. Not wanting anything to happen to her daughters. When Tali died, she upd the anney, and Ziva had finally reasoned with her to stop hounding her. Even though she knew her mother was just scared for Ziva to be out and about, it was interfering with Ziva’s freedom. She was finally away from the burden of Israel and looked forward to the countless opportunities to be free in this country.

Ziva: I am sorry, Ima. Tony had a basketball game today and he wanted me to come. I met his parents after and we are eating ice cream not too far from the house.

She knew that her mother didn’t trust people and she was surprised that she actually took a liking to Tony so early. I guess that ran in the family as she was quite smitten with him herself. Her mother’s reply came back as fast as she could type.

Ima: I do not want you out too late tonight. We still have boxes to unpack. You still need to get your room situated.

Her mother never liked messes. Especially nowadays. She would clean every Saturday and sometimes every Wednesday when Eli had a drunken fit some nights, and she would fight to put him to bed. Something Ziva was very glad would not happen now. Yes, she missed her father, but he never acted like a father to her only like a sperm donor. He had always shown Tali that side of affection, but when it came to her, it had always vanished as soon as he saw her. She didn’t know what she did to make that spark leave his eyes. She had always tried to please him, but it would go to no avail. Eventually, she had given up seeing as it wasn’t worth her time when all he did was turn his nose up at her.

Ziva: I will be home soon, Ima.

Ima: Will you need me to pick you up?

She looked up and saw that Tony was looking at her with a smile on his face.

“I can take you home. Tell her not to worry her pretty little head about it.” Ziva smiled and let out a chuckle. No doubt this was some of his charm.

Ziva: No. Tony said that he will bring me home.

Ima: Okay. Be careful. I love you, Zivaleh.

Ziva smiled.

Ziva: Love you too, Ima.

Her mother was all that she had left now. She loved her very deeply and knew that her mother felt the same. Just because they moved here from bad experiences, didn’t mean that they had to dwell on them any longer. They had a fresh start and Ziva planned on taking that. Especially with the man, she was sitting next too.

#NCIS #Ziva David #Tony DiNozzo #Leroy Jethro Gibbs #Tim McGee #Abby Sciuto #Jenny Shepard #Donald Mallard #Jimmy Palmer #Eventually Breena Slater

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blue-box-cosplay · 8 years ago

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Time to prove this blog isn't dead!! By answering how well I know Kokoro!! 1) 2) No 3) Tempora, mostly chicken 4) Paper 5) 24 6) No; but has tried to learn Astral Projection but has been unsuccessful 7) Yes! With yours truly in original design/concept and the canon of an upcoming project! Stay tuned for more details!! 8) Her compassion and kindness towards those who suffer from depression/other emotional and mental handicaps as well as towards those suffering from being bullied. 9) Her tendency to be a bit head strong and stubborn when doing things like work or life 10) Spaghetti strap top with white jeggings and white converse in the spring when indoors; Bikini Top with Vintage bellbottoms and strappy sandles in the summer when outdoors; Open faced dress shirt that belongs to me with white lacey underwear indoors both spring and summer, we only have 2 seasons here. 11) Dogs 12) She can be but is discerning about it, typically she goes active when she senses stress from me; but when by choice or she wants to she can go full beast about it. 13) Her earliest memory is her 4th birthday when her dad got one of the super sentai actors to come to her party; she’s from a US military base in Japan. 14) Yes; She owns a Samsung Galaxy S6 Note 15) Bullying mostly, uneducated remarks can also be a trigger; she’s always been in my mind a champion of those viewed as lesser by their peers and an extremely well educated woman so when people make stupid remarks with little basis in fact or careless disregard for truth or integrity it gets her pretty angry. 16) Spring, she loves going back to Japan for the Cherry Blossom festival but if unable to she will gladly travel to Washington DC for the festival there. 17) She can hold it for a bit, depends on what she’s doing, as she is a trained vocalist this has had the effect on other ways; swimming she’s got about 1 minutes of air, hold your breath contests are 2 minutes oi air. 18) She wears a lot of white lace and novelty underwear, her favorite novelty pair is a pair of white pixel underwear; this does exist oddly enough, google maison pixel or might be mission pixel and that should get you to where it is. 19) Neither, she finds them okay but isn’t a fan of them; she likes to keep tastes in clothes simple solid colors or 2 tones. 20) She has a few, but I think her favorite is the one I know how to make that takes a while to make but it’s family recipe ;). But if I were to give her one that is well known? It’s a custom made pie that was based off of a pie from Pizza Hut that isn’t made anymore, it’s the Rooster Teeth Podcast Pizza which consists of the following ingredients: Large Pie with Crushed Tomatos as sauce with cheese. With (And there are some substitutions I make to it) Saucisson, Hardwood Smoked Bacon, Fresh Mushrooms, Diced Roma Tomatoes Balsamic Drizzle, Buttered Crust 21) 22) No unless video games count 23) It’s a secret? Why would we tell you? 24) She smells like seashells and the ocean, she uses a lot of semi natural scented perfumes and self care products; most of which are sea based scents. 25) Spring or summer; she lives for summer cause she gets to go swimming and roller blading/ biking with me and she lives for spring cause she gets to see the cherry blossom festival or go home for it and it makes her happy to go and see it and go and eat the same food she’d eaten as a kid from home. 26) Human duh 27) Japanese (She’s the daughter of a Japanese American Father and was raised learning how to speak it), English (She’s the daughter of an Italian American Mother so she was raised with English but was raised to be bilingual), and French (She took a french class in college) 28) Yes; her favorites are The Dragon Ball Series she like myself loves the non canon GT Series but also loves Super, Gundam Build Fighters, and a shared interest and love for Mobile Fighter G Gundam. She likes others but these are her top picks for anime. 29) Absolutely, she has to keep up with her Boyfriend, who can swim like a champ by the way, somehow! While her speed doesn’t match mine she is very very close to my speed. 30) Landing Strip or Triforce depending on what she feels like between each shave. 31) No 32) Yes; She went to ASU and recieved her Bachelor’s degree in Visual Communication Design. 33) Her father is, her mother is still alive and is living in Florida after deciding to move down to retire. 34) No, though she has always made a conscious effort to understand Buddhism, which I practice, out of love for me. 35) Are we talking when having sex or just in general? I mean she’s pretty limber as she did take a few martial arts classes, easily able to kick someone in the head and probably knock them out with a side kick and get low enough to throw a person. 36) 37) 38) No but within the canon of the story/photo journey/whatever I end up calling it, as I really need to come up with some kind of term, I would imagine due to our mutual love and obsession of dogs we have discussed the possibility of getting a dog which will probably end up being us rescuing a Dachshund. 39) 40) Get blackout drunk and try and go streaking through the neighborhood. 41) 42) Tea; mainly green and chamomile 43) 44) Rainbow 45) Yes, one of the many things we share is a love of classic literature; her favorite author is H.G. Wells. She also loves reading comics, her favorite publisher is IDW. 46) Yes absolutely, both romantically and personally with me and loyal to her friends 47) Absolutely not unless it is in self defense, but she’s not afraid to hurt someone if they push her too much 48) Military Class? I don’t know how social status works on a military base 49) Japan in a US Military base 50) No but when her father passed she was understandably shaken as she was very close with her parents and her father was the one who encouraged her to follow her dreams of pursuing a career in design of some kind to the point of tears constantly when thinking about him. 51) Classic Rock, 80s Glam, 90s Punk Rock, Big Band Music, Blues. Favorite Bands/Artists are:Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Elton John, Social Distortion, Frank Sinatra, Madonna. 52) She’s okay about them, better than I am honestly, she just leaves em alone most of the time doesn’t really care about em one way or another unless they present a clear danger then she starts to care. 53) Straight 54) No to Cigarettes but is okay and open to smoking weed. 55) Female 56) As said in the last one, she wears a lot of white but breathable clothing 57) Yes, I’d say she is adventurous enough to get me to try and overcome many of my fears, like heights and cities. 58) Extroverted 59) Her chameleon color changing eyes and hair 60) Absolutely, she loves going for hikes and loves it when we go camping. Creator’s Note: Some of these will be filled in as this does technically count as character development even if about 98% of these are filled

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edc-creations-blog · 6 years ago

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Are people constantly dumping their negative energy on you? Do you find yourself bombarded with painful thoughts from your past? What if with seven simple steps you could minimize their mess and maximize your happiness? Interested? Read on…

In Family Is Not Everything: How To Minimize Their Mess, Maximize Your Happiness and Enjoy Emotional Baggage Breakthroughs, author Anita Washington details personal stories of surviving a homicidal alcoholic father, a neglectful mother and an emotionally and physically abusive brother to show you how childhood trauma turns into adult dysfunctional behavior. She includes lessons to learn from her abuse and her life-altering mistakes, along with teaching you how to use the affirmations, techniques and activities of her 7-Step Method to resolve the effects of emotional baggage and create a life of purpose and meaning. The 7-Step Method is a process of seven sequential steps she had seen produce the greatest results. It has not only worked for her and her previous clients, it can also work for you!

BOOK REVIEWS

ASwirlGirl 5.0 out of 5 stars This Book is Riveting! I finished this book a few days ago and I’m still mulling over what I’ve read. So much of Family Is Not Everything is heartbreaking and painful to read, and my heart ached for Anita. I rejoice in the fact that despite EVERYTHING that happened in her childhood and young adult-hood, Anita TRIUMPHED. She shares realistic, actionable steps that can be taken by others who feel trapped by their past or the circumstances of life. I applaud Anita’s courage and transparency in writing this book. I’ve been impacted profoundly as a result of reading this, and I know I’ll be thinking about what I’ve read for years to come.

Falexia 5.0 out of 5 stars A must read! Amazing book, hard to put down. It’s heartbreaking to read about the horrible things Anita endured, but despite what she went through she didn’t let it destroy her. This book is for everyone who grew up in a dysfunctional family, it gives you hope and inspired you to use what you’ve gone through to help others. We are taught that family is everything, yet the Word even says that your enemies will be members of your own household, Matt 10:36, therefore family is not everything and it’s okay to cut them off if it means saving your life. The book helps you under generational curses and educated you on how to be an overcome and not stay a victim. This book is going to help a lot of people who want to be free from the prison of their past, it gives hope for those who grew up in a negative or toxic environment. Freedom can be yours if you put into actions the steps Anita lays out in this book.

Sharon Lawrence, LCSW-C 5.0 out of 5 stars Brave, Resilient, and Courageous!! This book is amazing!!! It speaks for many who are afraid to share their stories of pain and trauma. Anita takes us on a journey while providing us with tools to improve our own lives with no guilt. It will teach you how to establish self-respect, set boundaries and live a free life. Thank you Anita!!!

Rhonda Dickerson 5.0 out of 5 stars Family is Not Everything!!! This book is sooo good. It is very hard to put down. After reading this book it gave me a extra push to finish my book and not worry about others opinion. I am so happy for you Anita. Thank you for allowing God to use you to help and health others. Love you!!

Charlie Latham 5.0 out of 5 stars A helpful book that gives you actionable steps to work on Everyone has traumatic events happen in their childhood and this is what shapes and molds our psychological behavior and outlook. Ultimately we all have traits we don’t like because of this, and they vary in so many ways depending on what exactly we’ve been through. For me I mainly struggle with a mixture of anxiety and emotional detachment which grew from going to boarding school at a young age. Reading this helped me analyse why I had these personality traits, dissect that a bit and deal with it. It showed me how these had formed and gave me steps that I can actively follow to change this way of thinking and behaving.

Explore Books Anita Washington

AnitaTheAuthor.com/FINEAmazon (Amazon)

AnitaTheAuthor.com/FINEbn (Barnes and Noble)

Excerpt: Family Is Not Everything: How To Minimize Their Mess, Maximize Your Happiness and Enjoy Emotional Baggage Breakthroughs

BACK IN THE DAY

Once upon a time, we managed emotional problems with only prayer and encouragement. Seeking professional help was frowned upon. We were taught, What happens in this house, stays in this house. Seeking counseling services for divorce or molestation or addiction or domestic violence was taboo. Society expected the wife being battered by her husband to stay married, the niece being molested by an uncle to keep quiet, the daughter with the alcoholic father to make the best of it. Divorce wasn’t even regarded as a serious consideration. Instead, any spouse considering divorce was encouraged to make a new commitment to their vows, to pray, and to have faith. We were expected to achieve emotional wellness through a process of suppression and turning a blind eye. Adults had to live their lives according to who they were expected to be and hide who they really were. Children were expected to be seen and not heard.

Remember those days?

The unspoken belief was that when the person died, the problem died with them. When the alcoholic father died, the problems and effects of alcoholism died with him. When the physically abusive mother died, the problems and effects of battery died with her. Unfortunately, nothing could be further from the truth and, because of this, generational curses have been present in our society for centuries. A generational curse is created when the effects of an emotional offense are passed down from one generation to another. It manifests through different dysfunctional behaviors in each family member but can be traced back to one common cause. So how is a generational curse passed down? In emotional baggage.

Children who grow up in dysfunctional environments become adults who exhibit dysfunctional behavior. A child learns from their experiences and from what they’re exposed to and then utilizes that later—albeit unknowingly—as a mechanism when they become an adult. In large part, the person you are today is a collection of your past experiences. Your behavior is shaped by what you think, and what you think is determined by what you’ve seen and heard. Basically, traumatic events experienced during childhood and left unresolved produce dysfunctional behavior in the adult. We carry it around unseen in the form of emotional baggage. Don’t believe me? Keep reading. Let me put it in live and living color for you.

THE STORY – THREE GENERATIONS

Imagine a family of three generations: a grandmother, mother, and daughter. Although the grandmother dies a couple years after the granddaughter is born, somehow, at the tender age of sixteen, they will each have become teenage mothers.

The year is 2000. In a small town in the southeastern United States, the high school football team is playing in the state championship game. The entire town is excited. Flat-panel TVs are mounted over the counters of local hotels and fast-food restaurants. Policemen direct the heavy traffic with glow-in-the-dark mascot paw prints painted on the palms of their gloves. Young and old, those with children and those without gather in the local stadium to watch the beloved home team take on their fifty-year rival. The bleachers rock from the beat of the fight songs played by the high school band as the crowd claps and dances along with the cheerleaders. The art club paints paw prints and jersey numbers on the faces of fans of every age. The booster club sells hot dogs, hamburgers, French fries, and popcorn decorated in the team’s colors. The junior class volunteers sell commemorative programs and T-shirts to raise money for their impending senior trip. It’s the second quarter and the score is 14–7, with the home team in the lead.

While love, happiness, and excitement roar over the bleachers, under the bleachers lives lust and desire. Justin, affectionately called “the Magic Two” by other students, is the son of an alcoholic and the lead-scoring shooting guard for the high school basketball team. He stands six-four, is clean-cut and caramel colored, with hazel eyes. He has set his eyes on Monisha, a 4.0, coke-bottle-curved yet unpopular geek sophomore who has just celebrated her sixteenth birthday—and who is very conflicted. In her head she keeps hearing the one thing her mother has repeated her entire life: “Leave boys alone. They’ll ruin your life.” But inside she feels the butterflies flutter as Justin says, “You’re really beautiful,” and wraps his letterman’s jacket around her shoulders.

When Monisha was born in 1984, her mother, Monique, was sixteen, and her father, Clayton, was seventeen. They were the head cheerleader and captain of the football team, and everyone adored them. Wherever you saw her, you saw him and his cherry-red Ford Escort. Monique had thick, jet-black, shoulder-length hair and a tiny waist. Clayton had a bright, big, money-grip smile that sparkled with all the promises of possibility for future success. The night of the junior prom, Monique wore a floor-length Carolina Herrera sheath-silhouette evening gown with a twist one-shoulder strap. Clayton was in a black-and-white tuxedo. He picked Monique up at her home at seven o’clock Friday night and dropped her off at noon on Saturday; with that, Monisha was conceived. The generational curse had claimed another member of the family. The emotional baggage of hurt and shame had shut down healthy communication about love, sex, or relationships in Monique’s household. Monique too had been the product of a teen pregnancy, a disappointment to not only family but also the community, which was harbored by Millie, Monique’s mother, in silence.

Millie threw herself into making life look perfect and good, even though she was hurting on the inside. That silence left Monique to learn responsible behavior by trial and error. Millie was too hurt to bring it up for discussion and too ashamed to acknowledge the right way because it would shed light on the fact that she’d done it the wrong way. Millie and Sam, Monique’s father, were one of the more well-respected and affluent couples in town, the kind that keeps family faux pas quiet.

In 1968, Millie and Sam were the pride of the local Section 8 project community. A straight-A student, Millie excelled in math and science. Monique’s father, Sam, was the lead singer in a quartet, crooning Motown jams at parties every Saturday night and belting out soul-stirring gospel hymns in the churches every Sunday morning.

Millie and Sam managed to make marriage look good. Millie attended teachers’ college and secured a position teaching math at the elementary school. Sam traveled the world extensively, first as a lead singer, then as a solo artist. It was his way of handling his feelings of hurt and shame from teenage pregnancy, creating a family he was not able to provide for. If he didn’t see it, he didn’t have to face it.

The music hits and the steady paychecks were ever present in Monique’s home, but attention and love were not. Her parents provided food, clothing, and shelter but otherwise ignored Monique. She was the evidence of their failure to live a moral life. If they did not look at her, they didn’t have to wear the badge of embarrassment. Rumors of Sam’s cheating on the road would sometimes filter back to town, but proof didn’t materialize until the other wife and children attended his funeral. Neither Millie nor Sam was emotionally present or available to cultivate genuine love in their child. Unconsciously, her parents passed on the emotional baggage of hurt and shame and, though she was always the best-dressed girl in school, the baton of the family curse seamlessly moved from one generation to another and now another.

Monisha, the third generation, has her mother’s curves and her grandfather’s soulful songbird voice. Her grandmother, Millie, raised her until her untimely death when Monisha was three years old. At that time, Monisha went to live with her mother, Monique, who rarely smiled because, like Monique was to Millie, Monisha was the evidence of the life-altering mistake Monique had made. It had crushed her dreams of attending college and going to law school. She was stuck in a small town working swing shifts at a dead-end hourly job in the local food factory. Her conversations were full of pessimistic snappy comebacks uttered between the cigarettes she chain-smoked. Unfortunately, because of the emotional baggage she carried, she couldn’t free herself of the hurt and disappointment so she could mature and be a better mother to Monisha than Millie had been to her. When Monisha entered high school and the house phone started ringing with boys calling, Monique simply hung up the phone and told Monisha, “Leave boys alone, they’ll ruin your life.” Throughout Monisha’s childhood she heard her mother’s grumblings about how her father was no good. Monique complained constantly about how Clayton didn’t buy food or how he was not trustworthy enough to babysit.

The educational trend of social promotion of star athletes made it very difficult for Clayton to survive at the Ivy League college that heavily recruited him. Though he had a 3.7 GPA, it was obvious Clayton could read and write at only a fourth-grade level, so he dropped out. Out of compassion, the community business owners, who were once high school teammates of Clayton’s, employed him for odd jobs until his addiction to alcohol would take over his performance and he would return to rehab to dry out once again. He was of no assistance to Monique.

Teen pregnancy is the epidemic, lack of communication and courage to heal are its enablers, but hurt and shame are the generational curse. And so, two weeks after her sixteenth birthday and just twenty minutes after belting out a soulful rendition of the National Anthem, Monisha is under the bleachers at the state championship football game. She thinks she knows what love is. She believes Justin is the one to give her that forever-after kind of love. Justin has taken her from nerd-weird to crazy-cool with one wink of his eye and made her the most popular girl in school—that’s love, or so Monisha feels.

Our biggest problem as a society is that the emotional baggage of hurt, pain, guilt, and shame gets passed down but not resolved. It can live in a family for centuries yet never be discussed openly. Why? Some believe discussing it openly glorifies it. Others believe if it is not discussed, it will go away. These misconceptions breed life into the problem and death to the soul. It forces victims to continue to suffer in silence. It creates a breeding ground for dysfunctional behavior that can hurt future generations.

You’ve seen it a hundred times. The daughter of a teen mom grows up to have a baby at the exact same age her mom birthed her. The son of a heroin addict grows up to be addicted to heroin. The son of a physically abusive father grows up to physically assault his wife. The daughter of a battered and beaten mom grows up to only feel she is loved—when? When she’s being hit. The string of connected dots from one generation to another is a generational curse. But hold on—please do not think the “dots” are always the same kind of dysfunctional behavior.

The pattern of maladaptive behavior can manifest differently in each person. For instance, a father beaten and sodomized in the sixties commits suicide. His son, who was a teen at the time of the incident, becomes a substance abuser. And his son, the third generation, for lack of having a healthy father, becomes a womanizer. Suicide, substance abuse, and womanizing are all dysfunctional behaviors that can be traced back to the experience the family suffered in the sixties. All the behaviors—suicide, substance abuse, and womanizing—are dysfunctional behaviors but not the same behavior. Get it? Maybe this will help …

Imagine three generations of men—a grandfather and his brother, son, and grandson—exhibiting different coping mechanisms but carrying emotional baggage because of the same horrific historic incident.

The year was 1972. MLK Jr. and JFK had been assassinated. On every wall in America hung honors in their memory as the fight for civil rights raged on. Jim and his brother Peter were leaving a protest in Atlanta, Georgia, driving back to Charleston, South Carolina, when they stopped at a country corner store for gas. The sign in the window read “Always Open, All Welcome,” but the rifle pushing into Jim’s back as he paid for the gas Peter had just pumped said “White’s only.” Peter was forced behind the store at gunpoint with his hands up in the “don’t shoot” position. After the pillowcase went over Jim’s head, he began reciting the “Our Father” prayer. He thought about his darling wife, his aging mother, and the murders of Mr. Evers and Dr. King. Jim could hear Peter screaming as he was dragged behind the store. Both men were sodomized, severely beaten, and left for dead. Both men were found by a white college professor returning from a summit in Charleston, South Carolina, to his home in Atlanta when he stopped for gas around midnight and oddly found the store closed.

Jim and Peter were taken to a hospital. When they returned home, they were physically healed but emotionally destroyed. Jim sat for days without uttering a word. His wife continued to love and care for him until his death in 1983, just shy of his son Jeremiah’s sixteenth birthday.

Jeremiah doesn’t remember his father’s happy-go-lucky personality. He remembers only a lump of human existence that sat on the porch from sunup to sundown, and then at the dinner table until bedtime. Because she worked as a housekeeper at the local college, Jeremiah’s mother was gone all day, but Jeremiah’s Uncle Peter would stop by the house to see his brother, Jim. Somehow, Peter seemed to have bounced back to a normal life—always full of jokes for Jim and candy for Jeremiah. On one particular day, Peter didn’t stay on the porch with Jim. He softly walked the house and found it empty, with the exception of Jeremiah, napping in his bedroom. Sitting on the porch, Jim cried as he listened to his son scream for Uncle Peter to stop hurting him, but Jim never moved. Two years later, Jim drove to a nearby pond, locked all the doors on his 1957 Chevy pickup truck, set it ablaze, and burned to death.

Jeremiah’s high school friends affectionately called him Jerry. They loved his happy-go-lucky demeanor and warm smile. When they cut class to hang out at the baseball field, he always supplied the booze. Jerry started drinking heavily at fifteen—the same year he fell in love with Susan, the beautiful sixteen-year-old platinum blond with the baby-blue eyes. Together, they smoked, drank, and made love. The next year, they had Justin, a beautiful baby boy with hazel eyes. Jerry and Susan remained a couple. Though Susan worked full-time as a receptionist, Jerry bounced around doing handiwork for the people in town.

In 1984, Justin, a high school sophomore, is the star of the varsity high school basketball team, and Susan could often be seen in the stands sporting a sweatshirt screen printed with Justin’s jersey number. His dad, though, never made it to one game. Many nights after he and his mom returned from one of his basketball games, Justin stepped over his father, who was passed out in the doorway. Susan would pick Jerry up and drag him to their bedroom as the phone bounced off the hook, constantly ringing, from a steady stream of girls vying for Justin’s attention.

The family curse affected each of the men differently, though the root cause was the same. Peter became a molester; Jim committed suicide; his son, Jerry, became an alcoholic; and his grandson, Justin, was a womanizer. Unresolved guilt, hurt, pain, and shame was the emotional baggage handed down in the family’s generational curse. Without a strong positive father figure, the second and third generations were left to deal with the hurt and shame experienced by the first generation and to figure out how to become men on their own.

Everyone has been affected by dysfunctional behavior, if not through their family, then through their job, church, or community. Perhaps you can remember lying awake at night listening to your neighbor abuse his love interest. Maybe you watched over and over as the youth pastor or priest exhibited a stronger interest in one child as they disappeared into rooms alone. Or maybe you’ve suffered at the hands (or media coverage) of a mass shooter. However you were affected, everyone has some emotional baggage, and they may or may not be properly working through it.

Some people keep their story secret because they’ve suppressed it so well they aren’t immediately aware of it. Others keep it a secret because they think they’d just die if anyone found out. Unfortunately, emotional baggage can cause us to become stuck. It creates insecurities that prohibit us from living our best life in the moment. Insecurities can show up as self-doubt, negative self-talk, low self-esteem, arrogance, conceit, low self-confidence, worry, or indecisiveness. Behaviors that can become dysfunctional are belittling, intimidating, neglecting, hitting, baiting, threatening, manipulating, lying, choking, abstaining, and indulging.

When we’re stuck, the effects aren’t always obvious or overt. For example, we’ve earned two college degrees but still cannot break the desired six-figure income ceiling. We’re smart, beautiful, and accomplished but can’t find genuine romantic love. We’re always around loads of friends and have managed to establish a social calendar that would make Oprah and Gayle blush, but we feel lonely, lost, and purposeless. We’re driven, task-oriented, and the highest producer quarter after quarter, but life still feels aimless and empty. We’ve got the gorgeous husband and brilliant kids, but we feel invisible and underappreciated.

Occurrences are bubbling over, becoming systemic and uncontrollable in homes, schools, and workplaces all over the country. Divorce, addiction, domestic violence, and sexual abuse are social ills that create deep-seated emotional baggage that seeps from the secrecy of our families into mainstream malls, entertainment complexes, and workplaces. Over time they deteriorate the soul of the person carrying the hurt and shame of the trauma, causing that person to inflict wounds on other people. Every problem you have is your responsibility, regardless of who caused it. Take responsibility to not pass your pain to the next generation.

Managing emotional wellness with silence has driven us into a hurricane of destruction on every societal level—from the family to the workplace, church, and school. The bad news is that emotional baggage is killing our communities. The good news is that over the last decade or so, the tide has turned, and emotional wellness is now a societal priority. No longer are we expected to nurse our wounds in silence. It’s the best time to find your authentic self and live a fulfilled life of joy. At no other time in history have we had as many life coaches, counselors, and clinicians abundantly available to assist you or corporate brands publicly championing for mental health causes and social responsibility. Now is the time for you to move past the stories that cause you pain. This is your moment. This is your pivotal place in space and time. It is no longer a situation of chance—you get to decide to win!

CRACK THE MASK, BREAK THE MOLD

With this book, I want to help you accept your past and decide it will no longer control your future. I want you to discover the past experiences that created your limiting beliefs and fuel your sabotaging behavior so you can beam with joy from the inside out. I want you to utilize the process of continuous growth and development. Living the same year ninety-nine times is not living a life. There’s more, and you can do more than have it—you can thrive in it. I want you to remove the restrictions your past has put on your ability to feel free to live true to your own personality, spirit, and character.

You have to crack the mask to define success and happiness for yourself: In your wildest dreams, what would give you the greatest joy? Think of three things that, if you owned them or earned them, would make you feel like you are living your best life. For example, my three things would be a private jet, a five-acre estate, and a home management staff—no debt. What are your three things? Now, let’s do this. Pick up your cell phone (yes, I know it is right there next to you), join my Facebook Group at https://www.ThatAnitaLive.com/group, and post your “Best Life Top 3.” We are a safe circle of compassion and understanding. Who knows, your “Best Life Top 3” may pop up in your direct messages when you least expect it as a reminder that dreams do come true—you just have to put in the work.

But understand, time is of the essence. Change is evident and always evolving. Just as times changed to produce a new day of pride in one’s authentic self, it can quickly change to make anyone with an emotional issue a dangerous detriment to society. The focus of pop culture and public opinion is largely dependent upon the latest major headline—good or bad. The pendulum swing affects the openness with which we can practice self-help. Today, hashtags that end in “pride” fill every social media timeline daily, but how long will we be able to live unashamed? No one knows, which is why you need to move to create the life you were destined to live now. It’s time to soar to your next level in life. Will you continue to go round and round on the merry-go-round of sameness, or will you jump and reach for destiny’s brass ring of happiness and success?

IT’S YOUR TIME TO SOAR

In this book, I’m educating, entertaining, and teaching you a new process for dealing with emotional baggage. This process will not only help you to stop living an aimless life but will teach you how to sustain your momentum and steadily accomplish your goals. I’m going to educate you by demonstrating how childhood trauma becomes adult dysfunctional behavior through my own personal stories. I’m going to entertain you with my southern colloquialisms and quick-witted tongue but also by showing you the silver lining to your own dark clouds, the good things that have come out of all those tough times. Lastly, I’m going to teach you how to defend and prioritize what is most important—your happiness and your health.

That new process is my 7-Step Method, which got me off the emotional spin cycle. The basic format of the chapters in Section I are the same. First, I share a personal story highlighting a certain type of abuse and its lasting effects. In some chapters, I give you multiple examples of abusive incidents. I need you to know abusive behavior is not a onetime event. When a survivor says “I was abused,” the listener hears and sees one single event. I need you to see, hear, and feel that abuse is repetitive and will persist as long as the perpetrator has access to the victim.

Each chapter will also feature a Lesson to Learn section highlighting the dysfunctional behavior resulting from the abuse (the effects), and how the 7-Step Method can be used to overcome the maladaptive behavior (the technique). The activities will teach you how to minimize toxicity, maximize what serves you, and enjoy a meaningful life. Section II of this book—chapters seven, eight, and nine—shares with you how to keep your momentum going once you’ve gotten free.

The Techniques of the 7-Step Method are:

Step One – Life Mapping Step Two – Track and Trace Step Three – Dispose of Distractions Step Four – Celebrating Self Step Five – Inner Peace and Quiet Step Six – Emotional Equation (Performance Review) Step Seven – Gratitude and Give Back

My Successful 7-Step Method Affirmations include:

1. The better I know the person within, the happier I can make her.

2. I am the master of my emotions. I control them, they don’t control me.

3. Having boundaries shows I want self-respect. Forcing people to adhere to my boundaries shows I have self-respect.

4. I am precious.

5. I am peace. I am peaceful. I am at peace.

6. I am in a perfecting process.

7. I am receiving goodness and giving greatness back.

My successful 7-Step Method Activities include:

1. Life Mapping 2. Tracking and Tracing 3. Disposing of Distractions 4. Celebrating Self 5. Inner Peace and Quiet (Bonus: Finding My Father Collage) 6. Solving Your Emotional Equation 7. Gratitude and Give Back (Bonus activity: Creating a Family of Choice)

This book does not include a comprehensive list of all of the Affirmations, Techniques, or Activities in my 7-Step Method. It does include all the steps. However, I’ve carefully selected the specific Affirmation, Technique, and Activity that best correspond with the lesson to be learned from the True Story in the chapter.

WHY LISTEN TO ME?

I hear you, I hear you. Who is this woman and why should I listen to her? Why should I continue to read this book? Let me give you four reasons: my education, my career experience, my personal experience, and most important—my gift.

I’ve earned three degrees—a Bachelor of Science in Mathematics, a Master of Education in Counseling, and a Master in Business Administration—and I do mean earned. I attended all my own classes, wrote all my own papers, and conducted all my own research. I learned from professors that cared more for my well-rounded, intellectual development and my ability to rise to the top than my feelings.

But I’m not just heavy on the education side; I’m also qualified by career experience. I’ve counseled, coached, and trained hundreds of people between the ages of eleven and fifty through their own personal transformations and professional endeavors. I’ve been a summer teen program counselor and a middle school guidance counselor. I’ve worked as a counselor in a life skills, education, and technical job training program as well as a career services counselor at a college. And I’m still that one friend everyone seeks out when they need help with their challenges. In addition, as you will learn in later chapters, I’ve been on every side of emotional baggage.

I am an expert because of the combination of my education, career experience, personal experience, and heavenly gifting at identifying where you’re stuck and mapping out how to move you from where you are to where you want to be in life. Yes, I said “heavenly gifting.” Consider what world-renowned celebrity personality Steve Harvey tells his audiences all over the world about The Gift:

“At birth God gave each and every one of us a gift. A gift is something you do the absolute best, with the least amount of effort. Gifts are more than just running, jumping, singing, and dancing. Your gift is where your success and happiness will be found.”

My gift is counseling—picking apart people’s insecurities and helping them find their emotional wellness. When life throws everything at you, when you’re buried under the mess of this world, I am the hand that you reach for, the hand that will pull you out of the dust, dirt, and mud, then teach you how to live a life of joy, love, and peace.

ARE YOU WITH ME?

Nothing gives you a better understanding of a topic than a 360-degree experience, and as I’ve said, I’ve been the victim, the witness, and the conduit God uses to heal.

Using that full panoramic view, I have made this my mission—you will:

· Be EQUIPPED to boldly go beyond your comfort zone and refresh, reinvent, and revise your life for the better.

· Learn how to TRANSFORM negative thinking into positive thinking with 7 affirmations, 7 results-driven techniques, and 7 actionable activities.

· Learn how to DEFY your limiting beliefs about yourself and create a life you’ll love living.

· Be EMPOWERED to do more for yourself and demand even more from others.

· Learn how to CHANGE your self-sabotaging behavior.

· Learn how to RELEASE fear.

· Be MOVED by the vivid and transparent personal stories of violent abuse to realize you are not the only one with a past and it doesn’t define your destiny or stop you from getting it.

In chapter two we’ll examine the importance of self-awareness and why no one should know you better than you. We’ll review the benefits and the life-changing effects each benefit can have on us. Turn the page, and let’s get started.

( Continued… )

© 2018 All rights reserved. Book excerpt reprinted by permission of the author, Anita Washington. Do not reproduce, copy or use without the author’s written permission. This excerpt is used for promotional purposes only.

Explore Books Anita Washington

AnitaTheAuthor.com/FINEAmazon (Amazon)

AnitaTheAuthor.com/FINEbn (Barnes and Noble)

About the Author Anita Washington, M.Ed. & M.B.A., CEO & Founder of That Anita Live, LLC, host of the TV show That Anita Live and The Emotional Happiness Podcast with That Anita Live provides a platform for women to learn, laugh and more importantly heal emotionally by learning from the challenges and successes of others.

A former school and community agency counselor and creator of the 7-Step Method, Anita’s helped guide people from the ages of eleven to fifty through their own life issues, personal transformations and professional endeavors. With an old soul and a comedic, honest voice. She uses many southern colloquialisms and colorful expressions to unwrap personal stories of surviving a homicidal alcoholic father, a mother in denial and four physically and emotionally abusive brothers and relates them to guiding principles and healing techniques.

Through her powerful and uplifting interviews at ThatAnitaLive.TV and The Emotional Happiness Podcast women get to see and hear real women with resourceful stories living relentless lives after life’s most devastating events. Through her charismatic and compelling speaking, Anita helps women use the tools and resources they already have to reveal and release success blockers such as childhood trauma and family dysfunction to build self-confidence, boost their self-esteem and feel free to live true to their own personality, spirit and character.

She has self-published two books: number one ranked ebook, 7 Simple Steps to Beat Emotional Baggage: How To Become Whole, Healed, Healthy & Happy, which shares actionable techniques that will walk women through letting go of the past and rising above the glass ceiling to reach higher levels of success and satisfaction in life and newly released book (ebook and paperback), Family Is Not Everything: How To Minimize Their Mess, Maximize Your Happiness and Enjoy Emotional Baggage Breakthroughs which shares trauma stories you can relate to along with the seven techniques, affirmations and activities to help you heal.

From nine-to-five, Anita is a Senior Acquisition Support Specialist, possessing over nineteen years of performing and administering program management and cradle-to-grave commercial and federal contracting activities for acquisitions ranging from $500,000 to over $2 Billion. She has progressively worked her way up the federal acquisition life-cycle and commercial supply chain through various positions from pre-award and requirements definition to commodities buying to contract close-out. In her career, she has mastered the art of transitioning to level-up.

Anita is a graduate of Limestone College, Virginia State University, and Strayer University with a B.S. in Mathematics, an M.Ed. in Guidance & Counseling, and an M.B.A. in Contracts & Acquisitions. You can find Anita online at ThatAnitaLive.com, Twitter, Periscope, Instagram and Facebook. Her handle is That Anita Live on all four social media platforms.

Family Is Not Everything: How To Minimize Their Mess, Maximize Your Happiness and Enjoy Emotional Baggage Breakthroughs by Anita Washington Are people constantly dumping their negative energy on you? Do you find yourself bombarded with painful thoughts from your past?

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slugsforjustice-blog · 7 years ago

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Week 9: Fake News

During the 2016 Presidential Election, a widespread of fake news have been propagating throughout the internet, with Facebook as being the most viable way of spreading this information. It has even been shown by data from Buzzfeed that such fake news have nearly two million engagements on Facebook, all within three months prior to the election.

One of these top fake news is addressed by the headline:

“Pope Francis Shocks World, Endorses Donald Trump for President, Releases Statement”

Written by Chiara

An archived version of the original article can be found here.

This story was published on WTOE 5 News, a website with vague origins and an unknown owner. Apparently “the owner has never been identified,” according to Buzzfeed. As depicted by the title, the article describes breaking news of the pope deciding to “take action” by announcing that he will side with Donald Trump. Evidently this roused the public audience; knowing that the pope is an extremely significant person as being head of the Catholic Church, as well as conservatives often associating with Catholicism, seeing such an influential individual in their community endorse their favored political figure would give them all the more reason to convince others to vote for Trump. As told in the words of the pope addressed in the article: “I have been hesitant to offer any kind of support for either candidate in the US presidential election but I now feel that to not voice my concern would be a dereliction of my duty as the Holy See...I ask, not as the Holy Father, but as a concerned citizen of the world that Americans vote for Donald Trump for President of the United States.”

Later on after much debate, it has been realized by various reliable news sources that this story is a complete hoax. Even WTOE 5 News came out to admit that they are but a fantasy website who are a source for satirical content. And despite this, the article has been copied throughout different websites such as another fake news publisher, Ending the Fed, and unsurprisingly enough has earned about 960,000 engagements on Facebook. This may be in part of the strategy utilized in garnering enough attention for the story to be spread all throughout the web: encouraging votes. The pope endorsing Donald Trump shows his support for him, or in other words, taking a side in the political war. By doing so with his power as head of the church, along with his fabricated words, he too encourages others to vote for Trump during the presidential election.

Already this would create suspicion for some, however. The pope often does not associate himself with political sides at all, making sure to stay as politically neutral or even out of any political agenda as possible. He has revoked this statement shortly after its release and makes it known that he does not endorse any political figures. In addition, he has even criticized Trump for his call to build a wall across the Mexican border, believing that causing separation instead of a sense of community is not truly Christian.

This article would at the very least rouse suspicion in me - because I know well enough about Catholicism, I wouldn’t think that the Pope would be politically aligned as well. I would have also done some research before quickly drawing any conclusions. Otherwise, I may be fooled for a second, but only because of the hooking headline. Reading the pope’s false words on WTOE 5 News would be the one to cause me to question the nature of the article though, as to me he would seem much less neutral and more aligned than usual.

“Obama Admitted His Experience With Democrats ‘Monkeying Around’ With Elections”

Written by Abby

Rick Wells’ Facebook page

I chose to research a fake news article claiming that Obama admitted to tampering with 2016 election machines. The author of this story is Rick Wells, who appears to be a conservative American journalist primarily concerned with returning America to the way it used to be. On his website, he writes, “The freedoms and the rights that we used to take for granted as our birthrights are under attack. The very enemies, foreign and domestic, which were foretold by the founding fathers are at work to subvert our Constitution and turn the United States into a socialist authoritarian Hellhole.” However, I can’t conclusively prove that he actually exists; the only posts on his Facebook page and Twitter account are his own articles, and does not appear personally in any of the videos in his Youtube Channel. The only photos of him are the five profile pictures he’s used on Facebook (two of which a just a repeat of the same picture), and he doesn’t list anything about himself, like a family or hobbies. He is not linked to any other groups. Doing a reverse Google Image search of the pictures led to a Wordpress blog, which definitely held many of the same conservative views as Rick Wells, and is much more angry and bigoted. This blog does talk about some personal things, like a family and a trip he took, but it does not link to any of his articles or the DC Gazette. Many of Wells’ stories feature ad-hominem attacks in the title, such as referring to people as “Libtards,” and use obviously manipulated photos of people he wants to demean. In the article I chose, which was published in October 2016, Wells grabs readers’ attention with the outrageous headline “Obama Admitted His Experience With Democrats ‘Monkeying Around’ With Elections.” In this article, he cherry picks lines from a video of a town hall meeting, emphasizing the parts where Obama jokes about Democrats being in control of the machines and admits that Democrats have tampered with machines in the past, and ignores the parts where Obama talks about needing a paper trail and accountability to ensure that everyone is being heard. This is clearly meant to paint Obama in a negative light by asserting that he tampered with election results, in an effort to drive conservative voters to get out to the polls. There are also two points in the article where he makes claims that appear to backed up with a source, but clicking on these links leads back to his website, with no search results found.

Rick Wells’ Wordpress blog. Directly underneath this is a slur-filled rant demeaning Obama and transgender people.

Rick Wells presents himself as an average, everyday American who wants to protect his country. He uses language that allies him with the reader, such “We, the regular, everyday Americans,” and drapes himself in patriotic imagery- his website’s color scheme is red, white, and blue with a heading of a painting of George Washington, and his profile picture shows him against a background of an American flag. He also uses a lot of buzzwords associated with American patriotism, such as freedoms, the founding fathers, and America’s “former greatness.”

One of the photoshopped images on Rick Wells’ Facebook page.

This story would definitely not have fooled me. I tend to not believe any outrageous headlines unless they’re backed up with sources, especially if they’re conservative.

“Post-Election Violence All Traces To One Source, And It Is NOT Donald Trump” By Cultural Limits

Written by Sebastian

[ link to the article ]

The first hint that this maybe false or distorted news comes from the supposed author. Scrolling down the page I found a bio for ‘Cultural Limits’ linking this article to Patricia Holden’s facebook. She is an author, her books are for sale via the online platform Smashwords. The bio also refers to her work with the Bohemian Crochet Fair. But looking at Patricia Holden’s facebook she never mentions her interest in crocheting and makes no connections back to the DC Gazette or the article. This could be a symptom of bad marketing/social networking skills but it still raises a red flag for me.

Within the terms and conditions for the website I found that the DC Gazette links itself to USA Liberal Media. But looking through google USA Liberal Media doesn’t seem to claim ownership of the DC Gazette. Nothing about this makes me think that these articles are coming in from outside the US, but there is also no firm evidence that they are not. The DC Gazette lists its headquarters as inside the white house (which it clearly isn’t). Easily one could conclude from the facts above that this is not a trustworthy news site.

The article itself claims to be about violence during the post election period and disavowing the idea that this violence is because of Trump. It uses inflammatory language calling young liberals “special snowflakes ”. The article makes the claim that George Soros (who they cite as the founder of the Ferguson protests) has a secret agenda but doesn’t make it clear what that agenda is. It highlights that “the mob” (anyone who didn’t vote for Trump) is attacking Americans (as if democrats aren’t Americans). The article does not fulfill its promise of showing that all the violence comes back to one source, the way its written uses keywords but does not string them together in sentences that make sense.

Within the article the key piece of evidence provided is a supposed video of someone being beaten up because they voted for Trump. The video does not play, but you can see a blurry thumbnail of what looks like a beating in progress but nothing is clear enough to support the claims the article makes.

The article would not have fooled me mainly because of the video, that would have given me pause and cause to look for this news elsewhere/find out where it came from and look up if the DC Gazette is a reliable news source.

10 Ways to Fact Check Your News

Below is an infographic concerned with ways to tell if news is fake or not. This would be distributed by a non-partisan organization trying to educate people on what constitutes fake news.

[ Enlarged Image ]

Two additional ways to find the truth is through websites that fact-check like Politifact and Snopes.

#week 9 #fake news #misinformation #2016 election #group mods #mod: sebastian #mod: abby #mod: chiara

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