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hobgayblin · 2 years

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Happy 4/4 I finally sat down and wrote my 2000 word essay on Jhin’s gay coding and why he’s a gay gay homosexual gay

I think tumblr is still weird with links so I’m going to post it under the cut and also link in the comments.

IMPORTANT NOTES: 1. I am insane I know this thank you mwah 2. This is mostly unedited because I am tired so if things sound weird I’m sorry gdfhfs 3. This is not meant for argument I don’t care if you think he’s another sexuality but I don’t want to hear it on my post about why he’s gay. I will block you ❤️

The (Probably Unintentional) Gay Coding of Khada Jhin

Since his release in 2016 Jhin as a character has hexed and bewitched me, a humble homosexual. Jhin is to date still one of the most interesting characters in League of Legends in all aspects: design, theme, lore, and character wise. One thing that has also caught my interest about him in all my insanity driven frantic delving into his character is the very subtle gay coding that exists in the writings about him. Very subtle meaning of course, easy to ignore and in some cases perhaps not even canon any more, (such as background information that was given about him on old official riot boards that have since been taken down). The coding still exists, however, and I’m going to unearth it like an archaeologist driven by some divine madness to tell everyone why this pixel man is gay.

To start off, it’s important to understand what gay coding is as well as why and how it’s used. Gay– or the more general Queer-- coding is a type of subtext in media used to imply a character is LGBT+ in nature without explicitly stating it1. Historically it’s been used in times where creators are legally unable to confirm such things, or cannot otherwise because of moral taboos against queer people. The same is still true now, especially for big game studios like Riot who don’t want to confirm their character’s being gay due to queer content being restricted in some countries internationally. However, this phenomenon cannot be blamed by that alone, as it is still largely due to homophobia in League’s NA servers, and Riot’s cowardice. This is especially true for not confirming characters as gay men as opposed to the several lesbians and bisexual women riot has confirmed, but that’s a topic I’ll get into later. Now to explain how the gay coding works it’s very simple: Use tropes commonly associated with gay people. To explain how some of these tropes are used, we’ll look into Jhin’s actual character, quotes, and backstory.

Immediately looking into the backbone of Jhin’s character we find the arts. He’s very theatrical, even working in the theater for quite a while in his youth, and obviously obsessed with creating art. While these aren’t exclusive to gay people by any means, these are both interests that are highly prevalent in gay communities and used to make characters in media read as obviously gay. Theater and the arts are also seen as more feminine, flamboyant, and campy in nature, which is also tied to gay men. Obviously Jhin isn’t interested in theater like a character from Glee, but he certainly fits into the role of “flamboyant performance artist5,” just more nuanced and evil. Again, obviously not every man interested in theater can be typecast as gay. The flamboyant nature and tone of most of his voice lines and speech mannerisms2,6 that go with his theater background, however, make it very gay. I don’t even have a semi-academic or succinct way to describe how the tone and wording choices for Jhin read as gay (without taking 10 pages to discuss every line). I, as a gay man, simply look through or listen to the words he says and think “okay [SLUR REDACTED]” we get it, you’re gay. Moving away from the association with theater and flamboyancy as obvious gay signaling, there are some other bits of Jhin’s character that read as gay as well.

On his release or near it, one of Jhin’s writers did an AMA (ask me anything) about him and his backstory. Tragically, the original boards were deleted, but a summary of some of the points was made by a reddit user4 on a discussion of his backstory. Before getting into it, it is important to note that technically none of what has been said in the forums/reddit threads is official canonical lore, or could be easily retconned in future stories, but I will be discussing it anyway because I think it’s important to the character. In the thread the fact that stands out the most to me is Jhin’s strained relationship with his father. Even going so far as to say “his father never accept[ed] him for who he was4.” Which of course is probably in reference to a young Jhin’s budding fascination with death, but is also the most explicit, slap to the face instance of gay coding in his character. The exact phrasing of his father “not accepting him for who he was” is a sentiment gay men, and other queer people, can frequently relate to and is usually used in media to tell that a character is gay. Again it has the plausible deniability of being about Jhin’s interests instead, and being on a social media board instead of written into canon, but it’s some of the only information we have regarding Jhin’s younger life/relationship with his family at this point in time. Going along with that also there is a point in the thread about Jhin’s father forcing him to learn his method of fighting with chi-daggers as opposed to letting him learn his own way (and then him rebelling by learning his own way anyway)4. This point isn’t directly related, but it’s not unusual for fathers to try to force their gay/seemingly gay sons into more “masculine” activities (such as fighting in this case) as if that will steer them away from being gay. Moving away from the bits of technically unconfirmed backstory (for now), there’s more to explore in his canonical interactions as well.

Up to this point in my analysis most of Jhin’s coding can be interpreted as a general sort of queer coding. Everything mentioned could also be applicable to bisexual men or any other form of queer man as well, but Jhin has something extra that really pushes him into the category of specifically homosexual, in my eyes. In almost every instance of writing Jhin has been in, whether it be the Zed comic, or his short stories, or even his voice lines in the game itself, Jhin has shown explicit disinterest in women. The in-game voice lines are the most subtle of them for sure, and could probably be taken as misogyny instead of a nod to homosexuality. With how he comments on Miss Fortune “needing a wardrobe upgrade6” and Illaoi wearing “too much gold6” it doesn’t just read as him being rude, it invokes a couple other staples of gay tropes: 1. Being a catty bitch, and 2. Having an interest in and commenting on people’s fashion choices. This isn’t limited to the women either, he also comments on Tahm Kench’s fashion choices in two separate voice lines, so he clearly has at least a passing interest in fashion (gay). In the comic and his short story, however, his disinterest is much more explicit. He has, on multiple occasions, referred to women as looking “boring”-- In both the Zed comic2, when he is talking about a woman Zed has a crush on, and also his color story The Man With The Steel Cane3, when he is referring to a woman at an inn he’s staying at. Perhaps he is just talking about how boring conventionally attractive women look, but in a world where every single character is made to be beautiful and conventionally attractive I doubt there would be any women he doesn’t find boring. And also given his highly theatrical character, “boring” seems to be one of the worst things Jhin could find someone; how could he make art out of something boring, something devoid of inspiration? This also sticks out as disinterest in women due to the fact that it’s been said more than once, in what is technically two-thirds of the written stories for him. One could argue he is also not interested in men or any other gender either, and in fact the same message boards that gave us some of his backstory would agree with that. However, I am gay and I make the rules.

Much of this coding as well as a couple other things could potentially point towards Jhin being asexual, or even both gay and ace. Unfortunately I cannot find a good source, but I remember another AMA answer floating around of Jhin being called “gunsexual” when one of his writers was asked about his sexuality. Now, ignoring the minor homophobia of making a joke out of his sexuality, this can be interpreted in a couple ways. It can be interpreted as Jhin being asexual, and disinterested in anything aside from his gun, the source of his artistic expression. Or, it can be interpreted as dodging the question of sexuality because Riot cannot/doesn’t want to confirm characters (especially men) as being gay. I find it important to note that this, while a joke, does point to him being queer in some respect though, as I feel a joke would not be made to keep his sexuality vague were he just simply heterosexual. Going back to a previous point, I think Riot is dancing around Jhin being gay because they know announcing a champion, especially a popular champion, as gay will receive backlash. Looking again at characters they have officially announced as gay there are a number of lesbians (Neeko, Leona, Diana, Caitlyn, Vi possibly Nidalee), and bisexual women (Rell, Nami, arguably some in the lesbian category), but only one gay/queer man (Varus). This is because of a double whammy of homophobia and lesbophobia, wherein lesbians are more marketable to their huge userbase of cis heterosexual men due to prevalence of lesbian fetishization, and also gay men are reviled and would be seen as “ruining a character” due to the rampant homophobia of the same group. Which is to say, unfortunately I don’t think Jhin will ever exist as gay outside of just his subtle coding. That is a whole separate issue I could go on about at length, however that is not the topic of this essay.

Looking back at what has been discussed, it is incredibly clear to me personally that Jhin is a gay man. Possibly also an asexual man; though I personally feel that would be, in a canon sense specifically, a bad move for Riot to make him asexual. I do agree Jhin can be read as asexual and I appreciate ace Jhin headcanons from other fans, however, in the context of canon sexuality I think it would be sweeping all of his explicitly gay coding under the rug and label him as anything but gay. That, again, is another whole conversation to have in a place that is not this essay. Looking at Jhin’s backstory, his interests and mannerisms, his several accounts of disinterest in women, and other smaller details of his character, I feel it is fair to say this man is absolutely homosexual. He may be too busy with his art and murders to seek a relationship, but this man loves other men.

References: (version with links attached in comments)

1. “Queer coding”, Wikipedia, last modified on 28 March, 2022,

2. Shafer, Odin. Zed, Issue #2 (other issues referenced as well), Marvel Worldwide Inc, 2019-2020.

3. Shafer, Odin. “The Man With The Steel Cane.”

4. @la_goanna."Jhin's Family/ Backstory." Reddit, 2020,

5. TV Tropes. Performance Artist.(See also: All Gays Love Theater)

6. League of Legends Fandom Wiki. Jhin/LoL/Audio.

#League of Legends #jhin #khada jhin #character analysis #art of legends #sorry im insane about this fictional man do you still think im sexy haha #🎭

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formulinos · 3 years

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a few life updates and other stuff

hi besties i hope some of you are well!

i've been thinking lately and i thought it would be nice to talk a bit around here since i've been sporadically coming and going out of this blog for the past few weeks. first of all, i would like to tell you how life has been personally since last year:

- i left my home country and moved to [redacted] to continue my studies - got super anxious, took me a while to deal with those feelings and didn't have a stellar debut grade wise - did make a lot of friends, had some amazing experiences, started living on my own (did you guys know that taking care of your own house is so, SO GOOD?) - got a job at [redacted], feel impostor syndrome everyday over it even though i only start in april - no bitches :/

as you can see, sometimes maybe good sometimes maybe shit but so is life! taking the time to adapt has been time consuming especially because, overall, i've taken my time with university at home and avoided full time studying not only because i wanted to work and research but also because i don't function really well taking full 30 credits a semester. in here, they ONLY take full semesters so i wake up super early and get home super late, have to cook and clean and shower and STILL study a bit because of the harsh amount of tasks we are given. this means i don't have the time to follow my hobbies during the week, and on weekends i have actually been trying to leave my comfort zone and not stay isolated at home working dae computers. last week i tried to learn how to ride a bicycle and my legs still have the bruises.

this all comes to say that i miss A LOT the work i've done here during my primadonna rise and before my primadonna fall. i have another blog i kept my work in, because my original plan was to fully delete this one, but i forgot the password and the email i used for it, so i still keep tabs here because i like to check the stuff i did every once in a while since i don't have a lot of time to do new stuff instead. i'm actually moved, truly, because i never get a note-free day. someone is always showing love either to the edits i did, even some of the more obscure ones, or the things i wrote. not only that, but with proper tag commenting, calling up their friends to check it out, etc. this makes me truly proud to know not only that i'm the absolute best at being talented in every single task i set myself to do, but also that it pays off not to be scared and throw yourself out there because people will always be able to give you feedback with the same love you applied in making something. and since it's been so frustrating not being able to keep working on all of this, it means the world to me to see formulinos live on. thank you so much for your support.

that being said, in my farewell letter i say i wasn't a nico rosberg type pre-retirement, but i absolutely am a post-retirement nico. my goal is to be confusing and annoying. i want to sound like i'm right but also i know i'm wrong but it's avant garde and post ironic, and also i want to be my own gender - i actually managed to do this last part as the woman in the bakery shop still doesn't know if i am a ma'am or a sir. anyway, i'm going to keep popping up sporadically but i fully have decided to keep myself away because i was advised by my right hand maisie (@jedivszombie) not to. she is an amazing person and so i trust her to know what's best for me. that being said (2), i will come back for another hyperfixation corner insanity i've been working on since last year on and off. half of it is written and it's all mapped out, i think it will be very much worth it to keep working on it because i have learned so much. i hope you guys enjoy it too! i don't know when i will be done but Soon...

if any of you are confused by this or want to reminisce the good ole days, remember all the nice pics and gifs i have edited here! i think it's mainly seb and/or ferrari, which works. if you are more of a reading person, i can give you my hyperfixation corners!

the 2005 united states grand prix rush 2: senna x prost jean-marie balestre lewis ♡ nicole 5eva robert kubica: the prince that was promised a special: understanding and ranking the landogates the 1982 formula one world championship a special: oops!… they did it again - the friendship of jenson button and nico rosberg (this one is in dire need of an update since last year's FP3 extravaganza and The Podcast) the 1993 SEGA european grand prix a special: donkey does hyperfixation corner

at last, since we are in race week, remember that f1blr is as good as you make it. if you don't like it here, you are part of the problem. take a good hard look at the mirror and think about why you need a stage to enjoy a hobby. just kidding, it's not that serious. but don't be asses, have fun and be yourselves <3 see you around!

#hahahahah i did a long post and didnt do a cut HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA

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tiny-crecher · 4 years

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Unus Annus Secrets

Here I’m going to try and explain all of the Unus Annus codes + possible lore. If I have forgotten some information or if one of these links doesnt work/is incorrect please let me know. This post will be updated when needed.

This is LONG, so be prepared.

At first, these codes were only in videos edited by NerdFiction, but as of October 26th this is no longer true. (The possible exception to this would be the first video I’ve listed, as the editor is not in the description).

1) 5 Weird Apps That Predicted Our Death

“Here at Unus Annus the end is nigh... when the timer hits zero we will cease to exist. is it fate? is this a simulation? Can anybody hear me? My name is.... [FILE REDACTED]”. Timestamp - 0:14

2) Ethan Roasts Mark for 15 Minutes Straight

“and in the comments, you will read the words you soon will see are wise controlling pawns who type our deed ‘That is Discord, not FaceTime’” Timestamp - 0:40

“within this truth a question stands, is the pee sauna ever close?”. [“Pee Sauna”was uploaded about a week afterwards] Timestamp - 0:40

3) Our Fans Try to Scare Us with Their Homemade Creepypasta

“What will happen if the clock stops”

“Could I find a way to keep it going?”

“If neither hand is right, what deals are left?”

“Who is the master of the clock?” (all around 8:44)

4) Learning to Cry on Command to Increase Our Youtube Views

“remember the key, the incompletion of a logolept’s corrective action” [a logolept is “a person who takes a keen interest in words”. Marcus is likely referring to himself.] Timestamp - 1:49

“the long wait ends with twenty four more for a path of destiny chosen before”[“Pee Sauna” was uploaded the day after] (closely after the last code)

5) Becoming One With the Horse

“They heard me, I knew it could work!” (timestamp currently unknown; to be updated)

Around this time, NerdFiction’s Twitter bio said, among his normal information, that he was “trying to stop the Unus Annus clock from within.”

6) Preparing a 5-Star Meal for Our Youtube Famous Dogs

“I couldn’t stop it. Will I die with the machine?” (Timestamp - 21:33)

7) Does This Magnetic Skincare Routine Really Work?

“freed or so I thought. Another layer, but still the clock.” (Timestamp - 9:45)

“The Beginning of The End”.

On July 26th, at 12pm PST, a video was uploaded to Unus Annus titled “Traversing the Desert to Find Our Inner Truth”. This video was only up for a few minutes before it mysteriously disappeared, only to be replaced by another video, titled “The Beginning of The End”. At first glance, the videos were identical, save for different titles and slightly different descriptions. However, the second video was slightly longer than the first, and upon further inspection, many came to realize that the audio was slightly different as well. You can listen to both audios here. There was a rumor going around that the captions of “Traversing the Desert to Find Our Inner Truth” said something about looking out for Norbert Moses, but no one has been able to confirm this to my knowledge.

8) Puberty Simulator

“Happy birthday to the beast or to the body that once housed me. A transfer made for pity’s sake. Tricked into the machine as he had my cake.” (Timestamp - 14:36) [The same code was found a week earlier in “Mark and Ethan Shave Chica”, uploaded on NerdFiction’s birthday. The original code was very difficult to make out, so it is likely he inserted it into a different video to make it easier for us.]

On the same day, NerdFiction’s Twitter bio read “Everyone must leave something behind when he dies. Memento Memoriae” (remember memory)

In “The Koala Challenge: TikTok’s Intimate Couple’s Trend” one of the clips is edited to look like a TikTok video, with the user ron_somberest being used. Ron_Somberest is an anagram for Norbert Moses. This TikTok account does actually exist, and the icon is a zoomed in and brightened photo of Norbert Moses’s face with the eyes scribbled out.

Around this time NerdFiction’s Twitter bio read “’It’s not dark, never was’ - Ron Bestsmore”. Ron Bestsmore is also an anagram for Norbert Moses. It is possible that the “dark” being referred to here is Darkiplier, and NerdFiction is trying to imply that Dark is not involved in this.

About a week after the koala challenge video was “How to Start a Fire (except don’t)”, which featured an appearance from Unus. NerdFiction’s Twitter bio read “In the end, who is your savior and what are they saving you from?”

Things were quiet for about a month. NerdFiction eventually erased the cryptic message from his Twitter bio.

9) Learning To Use The Force

“wait no something is wrong. he knows!” (Timestamp - 10:45) [translated from small coded words hidden in the montage]

“STOPTHISWHATAREYOUDOINGO3″ (Timestamp - 11:40)

“it worked” (a spectrogram, derived from a sound played at the end of the video)

10) Momiplier Tells Us True Scary Stories from Korea

“As I was, as I’ve done to him now. Am I right to decide his fate?” (Timestamp - 5:44) [Right before this, Mark’s mom is talking about a nightmare she had where she was paralyzed, possibly implying that nerdfiction was once paralyzed and has now paralyzed someone else (pointed out by @/minervas-sandwich)]

11) Cryptid Olympics

“I thought you’d join us but, hey, that was just a theory, Memento Doctrina” (remember learning). (Timestamp - 5:49) [The code references the Game Theorists channel, which had uploaded a video about Unus Annus earlier that same day.]

- From here on, every video has had some sort of code -

12) Edward Pumpkin Hands - This was the first coded video not edited by NerdFiction, instead being edited by Diceroll.

At various points throughout the video small parts of a url are seen. When pieced together, this link is made: https://imgur.com/a/tyDewJ7. It leads to a photo of the Unus Annus hourglass. When edited, a series of binary text is shown, which translates to “zhIaNL2“. Inputting this into another imgur link gets you to https://imgur.com/a/zhIaNL2. After editing the photo (although you can still sorta see it without doing so), a cipher of a custom alphabet is shown (I posted an edited photo here).

At 5:01 in the video a weird image is shown for only a moment (a slightly brightened version of it here). Nobody knows what the hell it means.

At the same time, there is a reversed audio of someone (presumably Ethan; it sounds like him) saying “we did that”. For context, the sentence said right before that line was “if one of us dies, the other has to take over for the remainder of time”. This is possibly implying that someone, or multiple someones, has/have died and been replaced.

13) Blood Bath - edited by rad_r

“Everything’s fine”

The Unus Annus timer is shown. It counts down for three seconds before counting up for one second. Heavy breathing can be heard over it. It is then cancelled by an error message

“ITS NOT FINE HELP” (this and the previous two messages are hidden at 5:57)

“you’ve done it now.. a machine observed. there is no returning.. a machine unnerved. there is only.. a machine unconqured.” (right at the end of the video, before the timer)

14) The Unus Annus Annual Costume Contest - edited by nerdfiction

“I saw just one door in a hall filled with many, I locked your gate but they were too late to join me. He was re-placed, she was undone, I had escaped yet he had still won”. (Timestamp - 2:05) [possibly talking about diceroll and rad_r. The pronouns would line up, and it would make sense with those two now having edited coded videos.]

15) Ethan Turns Mark Into a Werewolf - edited by rad_r

“futility or farewell? only time time time.” (timestamp - 7:17)

16) Ethan Kidnapped Mark - edited by Diceroll

Two spectrograms are shown in this video; one at 14:08 and one at 17:38. Combined, they create an imgur link: https://imgur.com/a/gKB62sv

The imgur link shows a photo of a key. On the key is a code translating to “stop the clock”

At the end of the video before the timer is a set of text in the custom alphabet previously mentioned. Translated and decoded it translates to “I can hear it coming theres not much time left the ones that tried to stop it have had their hearts cleft it is now your turn to put this loop to rest take us out of here and show us a new nest”

17) Being Brutally Honest with Each Other

“It is alive, no longer living / misunderstood beats unforgiving / escaped that fate but lost the tale / does a hope yet remain or just one final nail?” (Timestamp - 26:03)

18) Recreating Every Single Unus Annus Video

“The bottom of the spiral” (timestamp - 10:55)

19) “All Our Video Ideas That Never Happened”

“Be careful for what you wish for” (taken from two different codes)

*20) The Unus Annus Last Supper + Who’s Cutting Onions In Here??? - both edited by rad_r

“We’ve asked... we’ve tried... is there no way to stop the end? To those who aren’t deterred: how much will you sacrifice to ascend?” (A quotefall puzzle, split into 2 parts)

21) Everything’s Legal If You’re Dead

Norbert Moses is mentioned at 10:50. Look closely, his name is only there for a couple frames.

These have been the only codes I’m aware of as of 11/11/20.

(be sure to check out @gemstone6’s list as well!!)

Link to my Unus Annus theory

#unus annus #UA codes #crankgameplays #markiplier

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leejungchans · 2 years

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what if noona wasn’t neomu yeppeo part.2/????

@joshuas @seungcy my lovely noonas that are younger than me (no comment as to which one of us said what)

warning(s): very questionable things, probably shouldn’t read this if you’re under 16

/ = same person ; // = different people

i can’t believe people didn’t choose Illusion as number one mv 🙄🙄 it’s austin’s sexiest song

lightheaded🙏 seeing god

KEEP YPUR CLOTHES ON EVEYRONE

“SOL RIA HELP ME WIPE@MY BUTT PLEASE!!!!!”

i wanna kiss seungkwan in his liver / on his lips isn’t enough

my father is not running over any pedestrians today // we’ll see

my braincell is reviving

BEG FOR ME BY RV IS A SONG YOU NEED TO [redacted] YOUR BOYFIE TO

moisturizing my meat 🥩 / and lotion 😘🥩‼️

i’m [redacted] enuf purr

idk people that are mean to him are anti me bc he’s my entire brand </3

a big slay created the universe / slayed too hard i created planets

your honor / my [redacted] is [redacted] ‼️🥺

shuas back probably hurts sm </3 / from carrying the title of best dilf // FROM CARRYING ALL THE WEIGHT OF BEING SUCH A DILF

I WANT HIM I WANT HIM TO [redacted] ME I WANT HIM TO MAKE ME HIS STUPID [redacted] I WANT—

gurlz moisture their meet

you owe me a [redacted] / COKE

sometimes farts sound so embarrassed / WHY DO THEY ECHO 💔💔💔 / i need a bathroom that’s far away from society

good news is i seem to have gotten over fifty shades so i can write ceo hcs wo cringing again 😻

mothers and feckers of the jury

i’ll shove my cane up your butt // boring

WHAT IF HE THREW ME OFF A CLIFF IN MY DREAM // still cute

guys i showered / please congratulate me

i’m going to [redacted] you

im gonna shred all my clothes into pieces

oh my god it’s a sunday morning / i’m cuteeee / cursed

i don’t want you to have my children???

lucy is like what wikipedia is to a university assignment

i am the master of my own destiny bbbbb

american dream 🇦🇺🦘

how am i supposed to live laugh and love in these conditions

cant believe a pecan got to u before i could

prof ; so what visual aid did u bring / me : myself <3

oi eff u you smelly cant

connecting with my estarlian roots rn

thongs are uncomfortable

me when i accidentally bonked my piano teacher’s poodle on the keys

#this is 80% my waifey <3 #noona neomu yeppeo 👩‍🦲👩‍🦲👩‍🦲#luna 🍊💕#aria 🦌💕#moots <3

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ejzah · 3 years

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A/N: And now for the comfort aspect of this story. And some more angst.

***

Where It Hurts Most, Part 6

“Kensi, is everyone alright? Did you find Deeks?” Fatima asked in Kensi’s ear, bringing her back to the present.

“Yeah, we found, found him and we’re all fine,” she told Fatima, gently releasing Deeks to take a step away. “But Deeks does need to see a doctor. He, uh, he has some facial trauma and possibly other injuries.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” Fatima let out a hefty sigh. “Ok, I’ll call ahead and let the the ER to expect you guys. Paramedics should also be on the seen in about five minutes too.”

“Thanks, Fatima,” Kensi said gratefully. When she turned around again, Deeks was halfway across the room.

Several additional agents and police were starting to arrive and she could only guess how overwhelmed he felt. Although he didn’t have any obviously severe injuries, Kensi noticed he moved slowly.

As she headed towards Deeks, she noticed Kessler was stirring. He lifted his head just enough to catch her eye. She let her gaze sweep over him as a paramedic examined his knee.

“Have fun learning to walk on that again,” she said coldly. It was a harsh, cruel comment, but she didn’t feel a hint of guilt. Kessler growled something unintelligible, which she ignored in favor of hurrying to Deeks, and slipping her arm around his back.

There were more paramedics waiting and when Deeks noticed them, he held back, his hand tightening on Kensi’s arm.

“I don’t want them to touch me,” he said adamantly.

“You don’t have to.” She’d make sure no one objected.

“Kens,” Callen called out, quickly walking towards them. “I need a statement before you leave the scene. Deeks can give his after he gets checked out the hospital.”

Kensi gave the barest description she could, using as clinical of terminology as she could, conscious of Deeks’ presence. When she was finished, Callen let her go without question.

Deeks slumped in his seat a few minutes after Kensi started driving, exhaustion clear in his face. Every time he would begin to doze off, he’d jerk awake after a few seconds.

The third time it happened, Kensi reached across the console to take his hand. She squeezed it tightly and Deeks glanced over with a grateful look.

***

When they reached the ER, Kensi had Deeks sit while she checked him in at the front desk. As promised, they had a cubicle waiting for Deeks and Kensi silently thanked Fatima again. For her own peace of mind, she needed to know that he was alright, and she could tell that Deeks’ anxiety was increasing with every second.

By the time he was safely ensconced in the tiny cubicle, his legs were vibrating, right foot silently tapping against the linoleum.

His face looked significantly worse under the bright lights, each bruise, cut, and abrasion highlighted. His chin was blood, reminding Kensi of that horrible day years ago. A shudder ran through her and she reached for Deeks, this time for her own comfort.

She touched his temple, the unbloodied side, carding her fingers through his hair. It was tangled with blood and dirt, but she didn’t care.

“That feels nice,” Deeks whispered, leaning into her touch. He covered her hand for a moment, then shook his bangs out of his eyes, glancing up at her with a tired smile that was tinged with sadness.

The curtain to the cubicle slid open then, revealing a familiar face.

“Dr. Bartholomew,” Deeks said, quickly straightening with a wince.

“Mr. Deeks, Agent Blye,” he greeted them, nodding to Kensi.

Kensi felt Deeks relieve ever so slightly, some of the tension leaving his body. Dr. Charles Bartholomew had treated Deeks a few times over the years so knew some of Deeks’ medial history, if a highly redacted version.

“I wish I could say it’s good to see you…” Deeks shrugged and trailed off, giving his best attempt at a joke at the moment. Dr. Bartholomew allowed a half smirk, nodding in understanding.

“Same here. Now, you want to give me a rundown?” He addressed the question to Deeks, but glanced at Kensi as well.

“I, uh, might have some bruised ribs, my left shoulder is kind of sore, and then there’s this,” Deeks answered, gesturing to his face and head as a whole.

“And your wrists,” Kensi added quietly. “He was bound with restraints and zip ties for several hours.

“Uh-huh. Somebody certainly had it out for you Deeks,” Bartholomew observed quietly as he pulled on gloves and gently began pressing his fingers along Deeks’ hairline. His tone was non-judgments, only sympathetic.

“You could say that,” Deeks agreed darkly. He was silent for most of the examination unless asked a direct question. He flinched again when Bartholomew rolled his sleeves back to check his wrists.

After giving Deeks a couple of liquid stitches for the larger gash in his temple, Dr. Bartholomew slid his rolling stool back a few feet, and scrawled a few things down on a script pad.

“I’m going to prescribe an antibiotic and some pain medication. I know you’re probably not going to fill the second, but it’s there if you need it.” His brow rose a tad sardonically as he held out the prescription orders. Kensi accepted them, tucking both into her pocket.

“I didn’t see any signs of damage to your teeth or jaw, but I’d still like you to see your dentist or a orthodontic specialist,” he continued. Kensi noticed how careful he was to avoid the word trauma this entire time. “Given your history, I just want to make sure everything’s still in place.”

“Got it,” Deeks agreed, clenching his jaw. He’d handled the oral examination well, though he’d held Kensi’s hand the entire time, grip so tight her fingers ached.

“Good. I’m going to have a nurse bandage your wrists and give you a shot of antibiotics, then you should be good to go.”

“Thanks, Doctor.”

“No problem. Take care, Deeks. I hope I don’t see you for a while.”

A nurse came along a few minutes after Dr. Bartholomew left. She set up a tray of implements and bandages without looking at Deeks. She abruptly grabbed Deeks wrist and he jerked out of her grasp, much like he had with Kensi.

“Sir, I need to bandage your wrists,” she told him sharply. “Hold still.”

“No,” Deeks said, shaking his head as he pushed himself off the hospital bed.

“Deeks,” Kensi murmured, stepping between him and the nurse. “It’s ok.”

“Don’t touch me,” he snapped, nearly pressing himself against the wall as the nurse descended on him. She could see instinct and fear were taking over.

“If you don’t cooperate, I’ll be forced to call security,” the nurse threatened.

“Lisa, is everything alright?” A soft voice inquired as the curtain around Deeks’ bed was pushed aside yet again. Lisa spun around to face the young woman, dressed in light blue scrubs and a headscarf, who entered the room. “Would like me to take over, Lisa?” I think Dr. Favor needs assistance in room 8.”

Nurse Lisa gave the second woman a glare, but left without comment.

“My name is Ifrah,” the younger nurse introduced herself in that same soft tone. “Is it alright if I take care of you, Mr. Deeks?”

After a moment, Deeks reluctantly nodded and sat back down. His body was fully tense again and Kensi could tell it was taking all of his willpower stay out.

Ifrah seemed well aware of this and made sure to tell Deeks exactly what she planned to do before she touched him. As Kensi held his other hand again, Ifrah began to clean his left wrist.

She talked about her teenage daughter who was starting driving lessons in a few weeks and the garden she was planting. It was mindless, but Deeks calmed under the soothing rhythm of her voice. Kensi felt his breathing slow as Ifrah carefully bandaged his wrists.

When she was done, she gave him a pat, and nodded to Kensi.

“You can check out when you’re ready,” she told Kensi.

“Thank you,” Kensi said fervently, gratefully. Ifrah just nodded and left as quietly as she’d come.

“Sorry about that,” Deeks apologized, rubbing a hand over his face and then eyeing the think bandages with distaste. “I don’t know what happened.”

“Baby, you don’t have anything to be sorry for. What you went through…we understand,” she finished simply.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” Deeks hesitated a moment and then slid his hand across the bed until he could twine his fingers through hers.

“Why didn’t you kill Kessler?” he murmured. “I mean, I’m not saying you should have, but I thought you’d want him gone permanently.”

Kensi drew in a long breath.

“I wanted to,” she admitted. “I think I planned to. Up until the moment I shot him, I wanted to kill Kessler more than anything.” She shrugged, avoiding Deeks eyes for a moment. “But as I was standing there and I saw what he’d done to you, what he planned to do to you, and everything else he’s done to us, I decided killing him was too easy.”

She heard Deeks inhale sharply and she purposely met his gaze.

“He doesn’t deserve to get off that easy. Kessler deserves every moment of pain and punishment from now on and I want to be there to make sure it happens.”

“What if he gets out again sometime?” He shook his head slowly, eyes filled with worry. “I don’t think I could take this again.”

“It won’t,” Kensi assured him. “We’ll make sure it doesn’t. After what he did today, everyone on this team will use all their power to make sure Kessler never has the chance to hurt us again.”

“Ok,” Deeks said, his voice barely more than a whisper. Kensi ran her fingers through his hair again and pulled him towards her.

“We’re free, Deeks,” she said, pressing their foreheads together. He made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob and tilted her chin up to kiss her. It was a kiss filled with relief, the remnants of pain, and more hope than Kensi had felt in months. “We’re free,” she repeated, holding Deeks closer.

***

A/N: And I think that’s it, guys! I hope this was a satisfying ending for you all. Thanks so much for your enthusiastic and lovely response to this story, which was somewhat outside my normal range.

#ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #kensi blye #densi #angst #hurt/comfort #ding dong Kessler’s gone #where it hurts most #part 6 #ejzah fanfiction

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stablersolivia · 3 years

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Elliot/Olivia Rant About Last Night's Crossover (Sort of)

So, much like everyone else.... I have some thoughts on last night's SVU/OC crossover. Mainly... yes, the Elliot/Angela [redacted].

While I do want Elliot and Olivia together (soon), I do get why he [redacted] Angela. She's a manipulator. A lot of fans (including myself) have been suspicious of her from almost the very beginning.

Her son Rafiq's death is her only connection to Elliot on an emotional level since he's grieving his wife's death as well. So, with that being said, there's a deeper connection between it all IF she ends up being guilty as accused. We see her in jail in the next episode promo, so that leads us to believe she's been arrested. There's more to it, I'm sure.

But, to continue, I get it. I get why Elliot connected with her. He's grieving not only the loss of his wife, he's also grieving the loss of what he once had with his family (notably his Son Eli moved out so now he's alone) and the loss of his connection and partnership with Olivia. She is so close yet so far away and not only is it grief and mourning but also, guilt for leaving. (I just wish they would explain more of why he left and didn't show up during her darkest hours).

Then this woman comes up, Angela, with all these relatable feelings he's having. Obviously, before Isaac Bekher tells him it was her, Elliot doesn't suspect her of anything. He thinks she's the only one he can relate to in that moment. He thinks she's a victim in all this too due to what happened to her son because of what seems like his connection to her ex-husband's (Richard Wheatley) "business."

I genuinely feel that Elliot [redacted] Angela is what he 'thinks' is a connection that, in a way, will protect HIMSELF from doing something with Olivia that he'll regret because he's not in his sound mind.

Remember, toward the beginning of the SVU ep, Olivia tells him people (she doesn't name) are telling her to stay away from him? He looked hurt that she'd tell him that, and or that someone is telling her to stay away from him. She's all he has in reality and maybe he does recognize that eventually. It already seems he feels she doesn't want him in her personal life as of yet (he's yet to meet her son) so he probably feels like he can't talk to her like that quite yet.

He knows he left her, he knows he's hurt her so why go to her in his most vulnerable, insecure, reckless moments and hurt her even more? He may feel like he's connected to Angela through shared trauma but he has nothing to lose with her whereas, he'd lose what he has left in Olivia which is hanging by a thread as is.

While I do believe Elliot and Olivia are slowly rebuilding that trust, having brief moments of honesty, it's nowhere near where they need to be for him to make a move like that with Olivia. It would kill them both if it was the wrong time.

Now my favorite parts of last nights crossover?

First of all, loved the parking garage scene which seems to have replaced the diner scene from what I saw other SVU aficionados state.

I feel the hurt in him when she discloses that there are people warning her about him. But loved the moment he asked if they were ok and she goes, "I hope so." Burned parallel. Gotta love it.

I also loved the way he protected her in the shooting.

On OC, it's like night and day. While they had some tension at the beginning, the whole hallway scene at the OC precinct was so ... Season 12 EO. The way they looked at each other, the way they said Uncle K in sync, the way he pulled the chair out for her, and the way she grabbed his hand and he held on for a split second longer.

I feel like it was a bit of regret on Elliot's part, it was right after - you know. But I feel like he's realizing what he didn't before. He's connected to Olivia more than he'd realized through shared trauma as well. She gets what he is going through and he didn't see that before going to Angela multiple times.

What I didn't like?

Hated the way they had him initially react to Simon's death. "I'm sorry to hear that," is not good enough and I lay that purely on SVU's shoulders because they seem to not want anything to do with Elliot and it shows and it's... quite frankly petty.

He is much more tender and sincere when he and Olivia were talking in the hallway on OC.

I was also a little confused by the Bell comment. She said "Captain Benson means a lot to you, " and in the same scene says to move on. It wasn't clear at first and I feel like... I do now think she meant to move on from Kathy's case, but at first it sounded like she meant that she knows Olivia well enough to know he should move on from her because he'd hurt. Which, you know is probably why he went to Angela again. I don't know, it was confusing. I get it, but it's confusing.

And one last thing I don't like, is that they can't seem to get EO to just have one honest, bare to soul conversation. It's always deflected by the case or Olivia asking about any developments on Kathy's case which she also tells him to step back from so he can help himself heal.

Overall

I do genuinely feel like they're setting up EO, which I'm happy about. I just want them on the same page and on solid ground. They're trying to cram everything regarding Elliot's healing into eight episodes, I get that, but I feel like it'll all tie in better when Olivia's POV is more apparent and when they actually talk about the last ten years. I hope when Season 2 is picked up, they delve more into Elliot making up the lost time in the right way with Olivia. Including major explaining and groveling. Also, hope before Season's end, we get some sort of answers to that letter. I still feel like what he said in it, is why Olivia hasn't given up. He's said something we need to hear that she has already thus why she's just... there for him. I also wonder if Angela's seeming involvement in Kathy's death will allow Richard (Dylan Mcdermott) to stay on past season 1. Seems like a big name to only sign on for eight eps.

Guess we'll find out.

I'm just trying to believe Chris and Mariska when they say it'll take time to rebuild their relationship. I just have to believe it'll be something great when they get there.

#svuxoc #svu #organized crime #elliot stabler #olivia benson #bensler #eo #eoisendgame #svuxorganizedcrime #law and order svu #law and order organized crime #elliot x olivia #benson and stabler #my text

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sam-and-buck · 4 years

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At Home With Captain America

Fandom: MCU

Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes

Rating: G

Words: 7.7k

Also on AO3

“What can you tell me about how you got to know the Winter Soldier?”

Wilson chuckles. “The first time I met Buck—Sergeant Barnes—he ripped the steering wheel out of the car I was driving on the freeway. He got on the roof, punched through the windshield, pulled the steering wheel off. Just like that.” He mimes with his hands as he describes it.

This doesn’t sound like an auspicious beginning to me, but Wilson is laughing.

At Home with Captain America

By: Adrien Davis

Published: February 2, 2026, 3:35 PM

To say I’m intimidated by interviewing Captain America in his own home would be an understatement, and I would never have thought to ask if I could do that if he hadn’t personally invited me. Normally, I’d start one of these articles by describing the location, maybe even throw in an anecdote or two about how I got there, but that’s not going to be possible here.

Sam Wilson lives on [REDACTED] in [REDACTED]. It was a windy day.

Here’s what I can tell you: it’s an apartment. A nice one. Two bedroom, two bath.

“Am I allowed to describe the inside of your house?” is one of the first things I say to him, after getting his permission to turn on my recorder.

“Go right ahead,” he laughs, arms crossed over the worn USAF logo on his gray t-shirt. “Just don’t put the street name in there or anything.”

Wilson gives me a moment to poke around. Whoever decorated this place has good taste; it’s no haphazard bachelor pad. There’s an exposed brick wall in the otherwise slate blue living room, several plants (which I assume are fakes—albeit convincing ones—since Wilson is, by his own admission, not home as often as he’d like to be), a sturdy walnut coffee table, and a magnificently squishy-looking red couch.

It’s unmistakably lived in, though. I don’t get the sense that the place has been scrubbed spotless or particularly arranged for my visit. There are two abandoned mugs on coasters sitting on the coffee table, along with several different remote controls, and a stack of half-finished books with dog-eared corners. A pile of mail has been pushed to the side. Next to the door, a wall-mounted coat rack holds several leather jackets in shades of brown and black, and at least as many sweaters, mostly navy blue, charcoal and maroon. The shoe rack underneath houses multiple pairs of black combat boots, worn running shoes, house slippers. And next to that, on the floor, a large, gleaming silver case with red detail that could only contain Wilson’s Falcon wingpack. The legendary shield is propped up against it, ready to go at a moment’s notice.

I’m trying to imagine how it would be to leave the house for him. Got my keys, wings, phone, shield, wallet?

There are pictures on the walls and the mantle above the fireplace, under the television. People who I can only assume are Wilson’s relatives by their similarly gap-toothed smiles. Veterans. Wilson in full air force gear next to a blond man I don’t recognize. Then Captain Steve Rogers, in the 1940s with the Howling Commandos, and in the twenty-first century by himself. Wilson with Rogers, and Natasha Romanoff. One conspicuously empty nail where a large frame would clearly fit.

Scattered among these are several very old, dour black and white photographs of a dark-haired family. The first shows a mother, father and two small children, a boy and girl. The second is the mother and children only, taken some time after, judging by their apparent ages. The third is several years later still; the same children with light eyes and dark hair, but they’re teeangers now, and without parents. They look haunting and out-of-place among the glossy prints of Wilson’s big, happy family in matching 80s colorblocked tracksuits, or Wilson and his sisters in front of a Christmas tree, surrounded by wrapping paper and toys.

There’s also a wood-framed painting that stands out: an idyllic watercolor of a little farmhouse with a green roof and shuttered windows in a field. A small pile of lumber and a white mailbox make up the foreground. The most distinctive feature is the signature at the bottom: S.G.R. I know those initials.

“Captain Rogers painted this?”

“Uh huh,” Wilson nods fondly, hands now in his pockets. “Man of many talents. Maybe every talent. Having a hard time thinking of anything he wasn’t good at.”

I hear the unstated in that. A tough act to follow.

I think, for purposes of journalistic integrity, I should probably insert my bias before we go any further. We had never met before this interview, but I am and have always been enormously supportive of Captain Wilson and the work he’s done, and have written myriad articles and think pieces about him over the past several years. He’s shown himself time and again to be a man of unshakable integrity and endless emotional intelligence, and frankly, I’m more worried about the poor sucker who’s going to have to follow Wilson. Rogers did a lot of great things, but among the best of them was choosing a successor.

I tell him as much and he smiles, looking down at his shoes.

“Yeah, I know that’s how you feel,” he says. “I requested you for this piece, actually, because of that. People are going to accuse me of wanting a softball interview here, and maybe they’re right. For this one, I think that’s what I need.”

I’m not sure what he means by that, but he continues before I can ask.

“We should probably do this in the kitchen.” Wilson indicates behind us with his thumb, after I’ve stood silently in his living room for probably way too long. “That couch is too comfortable. I end up falling asleep every time I sit on it.”

The kitchen is, perhaps, a little cramped. There’s a large, dark marble-topped kitchen island that just fits in the center of the room with four bar stools tucked under it. The cabinets are tall, with glass doors showcasing a massive collection of healthy, but non-perishable food. The shelf nearest us holds several well-used bags of pantry supplies: chickpea flour, arrowroot starch, raw sugar. There’s a pasta shelf above it, but no Kraft Mac in sight; everything is lentil-based, chickpea-based, black bean-based.

“Have a seat,” Wilson says, inclining his head towards one of the barstools. “Can I get you something to drink?” He opens the refrigerator.

“We have…” he pauses. “Water. Sorry, just got back from Ecuador this morning. Sparkling or still?”

I accept a glass of still water from Captain America. He sits down on the stool next to mine.

His house, or what I’ve seen of it, is homey in a way I can’t imagine any of the late Tony Stark’s buildings ever were, and I mention this.

“I lived at the Avengers Tower briefly,” Wilson tells me. “Tony liked everything streamlined, really modern. Kinda sparse for my taste. I needed some real furniture when I got out of there, you know? Like, things that were made by human beings. Stuff with ‘character,’ that’s what Steve would call it.”

“So you decorated this place?”

“I think it’s about fifty-fifty,” Wilson says, indicated with vague hand motion.

This is my in.

This interview, as you may have read on the cover description, is actually intended to be an exposé about the working partnership between Wilson and Sergeant James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, but I didn’t want to be the one who brought him up first.

All I knew going in is that they’re a package deal in the field, a unit. We’ve all seen the footage.

Also, Barnes lives here too, but evidently, he’s not home.

“What can you tell me about how you got to know the Winter Soldier?”

This doesn’t sound like an auspicious beginning to me, but Wilson is laughing.

“I hope he apologized to you for that,” I tell him, because I’m not exactly sure how else to respond.

“Oh yeah, of course he did, even though he knows I don’t blame him for it. He doesn’t remember it at all,” says Wilson. “There are a lot of gaps, to be honest. Most of it is gaps.”

What Wilson is likely referring to here is the decades-long period in which Barnes was under the complete mental and physical influence of the Nazi splinter group known as HYDRA. If you’re unfamiliar with the history of Sergeant Barnes, I’ll list a couple of great articles for you to read at the end of this one. I assure you, it’s worth your time.

Wilson has without a doubt been Barnes’s most ardent supporter. He’s spoken out many times about not judging Barnes based on the actions he couldn’t control, and has masterfully refocused the national conversation towards Barnes’s invaluable contributions in World War II and in the recent war to bring half the universe’s population back into existence. Wilson has been quoted as saying, “The least extraordinary thing about Sergeant Barnes is his vibranium arm.”*

But perhaps Wilson’s most effective act towards building public confidence in Barnes was his decision to designate him as an almost exclusive mission partner. Even if the general populace has been reluctant to trust the Winter Soldier, it is abundantly clear that Captain America does, absolutely. Barnes is a constant in the footage of Wilson’s exploits. The moment he touches down on the ground after a successful arrest or negotiation, Barnes is right there. He’s been sighted treating Wilson’s minor injuries, tightening straps on the Falcon wingsuit before Wilson takes flight, and he stands quietly behind Wilson during almost all of his many public appearances.

Despite his ubiquitous presence in Wilson’s company, Barnes has remained elusive for comment. He has no social media, and the only public statement he’s made to date was in November of 2023, in support of Rogers’s decision to pass on the legacy of Captain America. Barnes expressed his categorical agreement that Wilson is “the best and only choice for this job,” describing him as both “worthy of the honor,” and “equipped for the burden.”**

“Is it fair to say that Sergeant Barnes almost comes with the shield?” I ask.

Wilson makes a face.

“No, it isn’t,” he shakes his head. “The shield is an accessory; my partner is not. I really don’t like it when people lump him in with the shield. It sort of minimizes how Bucky and I have made a series of conscious choices to be the way we are now. Especially because he’s experienced being fully stripped of his personal autonomy—as a veteran, I can say I’ve had a taste of that, but nothing like what he’s been through—and I think it cheapens his choice to do what he does if we imply that he, as a person, is a package deal with my title, you know?”

The therapist in Wilson is showing. In addition to his decorated military history and service as Captain America, he has a background in psychology, and a Masters degree in Social Work with a focus on Veterans’ mental health issues. He’s worked extensively with the VA as a leader in group therapy.

“So Sergeant Barnes is by your side day in and day out because he wants to be?”

This, Wilson has another unequivocal answer for. “Yes. He wants to be there, and I want him there. And here at home.”

“Tell me a little more about that,” I say. “After the...steering-wheel-stealing incident. Once he was more or less himself. Did you two hit it off right away?”

Wilson laughs again. “Not at all,” he says. “I think there was this resentment, kind of, in the beginning. Like I’m Steve’s best friend and no, I’m Steve’s best friend. Real elementary school stuff. He really got on my nerves; just everything about him annoyed me, and the feeling was mutual. Looking back…”

And here Wilson pauses for a moment. He chews on his bottom lip, and I notice all at once how nervous his body language has become. His fingers are drumming on the table, the line of his shoulders is taut, his leg is bouncing. He clears his throat though, and seems determined to continue.

“Looking back, I can see where it was coming from. It wasn’t clear to me at the time, but now I get it. There was this one time, it was during the fight over the Accords. We barely knew each other at this point. Buck and I, we’re fighting Spider-Man—who neither of us had ever even heard of before, like, that afternoon—and he pins us to the floor of this hangar with that goo he shoots out of his wrist. Really gross. I manage to get Redwing [Wilson’s drone] to fling Spider-Man out the window. So we’re just laying there, me and Bucky, stuck. And he goes ‘you couldn’t have done that before?’ And I just turn to him, and I’m like, ‘I hate you.’”

At this, Wilson really starts cracking up. He relaxes visibly, just a little.

“Did you mean it?”

“I sure thought I did,” he says, still chuckling. “Like, I wasn’t about to take it back.”

He continues: “Anyway, so after Steve, you know, passed on the shield to me, that’s when things really changed. Actually, back up a second. After the whole Accords incident, we ended up sending Bucky to Wakanda for like… to hear him describe it, it’s like we sent him for a two-year spa retreat. They unscrambled his brain as best they could—and really, I think it’s a good thing they couldn’t do any more because I wouldn’t wish some of his memories on my worst enemy—and he spent like months meditating in a hut and milking goats and going to therapy every day. When I met up with him again, I barely would’ve recognized him.”

“So that’s kind of when you guys reconciled? The arguing stopped?”

“Oh, it never stopped,” Wilson says with a grin. “We still argue all the time, about all kinds of things. Just ask Rhodey [Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes, aka War Machine] or Scott [Lang, Ant-Man] or anybody. But the dynamic shifted a little, I think. Bucky’s got… Like I can’t imagine some of the stuff he’s been through, but he’s just kind of learned to roll with it. He is hands down the most resilient person I have ever met. Easily. It was real hard to keep hating him when he was so dead set on getting me to like him, too.”

“Can you walk me through the process by which you two decided to live together?”

“Yeah,” he says, and the nervousness is back. He smooths his hands on his thighs over his jeans. “So, basically, once I got the shield, we’d just barely come back. Like everyone else who got… I—I still don’t know if this is like an okay question to ask people. Do you mind me asking if you were dusted?”

I don’t mind. “Yeah, I was.”

“So you get it,” Wilson says. “Might be the most vulnerable I’d ever felt. I got nothing. Nowhere to go, just the clothes on my back. Then Steve hands me this shield and this enormous legacy—and I look back and there’s Bucky, standing a couple of yards behind me, nodding like, yeah, it should be you. He was the first person who knew, and he’s been right by my side ever since.”

“So you decided to stick together?”

“The original conversation about it was pretty logistical,” Wilson says, rubbing his beard. “There was so much going on, it’s hard to remember exactly what was said, but I think it was along the lines of him offering to fetch the shield for me while I learned how to throw it, and stuff like that. Just easier to do when we’re together 24/7.”

“So rooming together didn’t actually grow out of field partnerships?”

“It was definitely the other way around,” says Wilson. “Basically, I’d get a call from the powers that be that there was something I had to go check out, and it was easier to just walk across the hall than to pick someone else, try to wake them up, and then have to rendez-vous and strategize.”

“I’ll bet,” I say.

Wilson nods. “Easier and faster. Bucky can go from dead asleep to fully geared up in under three minutes. The first few times were like that, with me just knocking on his bedroom door like ‘hey, I need—’ and he comes barreling out covered in knives thirty seconds later like, ‘where are we going?’ We just… clicked. And I’ll be honest; I was really surprised. He’s got my six, I’ve got his, and I never question it. I started asking for him specifically on all my assignments after that, and Fury [Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.] and everyone caught on quick that that’s how it was gonna be. I don’t have to ask anymore.”

“Do you see this continuing long term?” I ask.

Wilson doesn’t hesitate. “Definitely.”

“How would you describe your relationship with Sergeant Barnes now?” I ask. “Clearly you’re partners in the field, and roommates, but…”

Wilson takes a deep breath. His hands are shaking, but he clasps them together in front of him and looks me straight in the eye.

“As of last month,” he says slowly, “Bucky and I are married.”

In the spirit of my interview with Captain America, who stands for honesty and justice and integrity, I think you deserve to know the truth. I want to say that I didn’t drop my recorder, but I did. It clatters to the floor, luckily undamaged.

That startles Wilson into a laugh. For the second it takes me to retrieve my recorder from under my seat, I wonder if he’s kidding.

“Come on,” he says. “Say something. I’m getting nervous.” He’s smiling, but not joking.

“Congratulations,” I blurt out. “I...really?”

“Yeah.” The tension leaves his body in a rush. “We, uh, it’s official.”

I’m struggling for questions at this point. The talking points I was planning on hitting in this interview are all suddenly moot, and I decide to throw out my mental to-do list entirely. I finally settle on, “How long have you two been together?”

“A little over two years,” Wilson answers. “About three months after I took up the shield.”

“How did it happen?”

Wilson grins. “Uh, well. I had sort of been…having feelings about him, you know, for awhile. Actually, it’s more like I had noticed that I was having more-than-friendly feelings in the few weeks leading up to that. I think the main reason we had so much trouble getting along in the beginning is that it took some time to process those feelings as attraction. So in a way, I was interested on some level right from the get go.”

“Even if that person wasn’t...behind the wheel of their own brain, so to speak—” I start, but Wilson interjects.

“I see what you did there.”

“—I think it would take a lot for me to be attracted to someone who had previously tried to kill me.”

“Less than I would’ve expected, that’s for sure,” Wilson says. “But it’s not like I was checking him out while he was busy tearing my wings off my back; I’m talking about once he was mentally present in his body. That was like...two years after the whole steering wheel incident, and I hadn’t seen him at all in the interim. I didn’t even know where he was during that time.”

“So it had at least been awhile since he had tried to kill you?”

“Oh yeah. And plenty of other people tried to kill me in those two years, and they weren’t even sorry about it. You gotta adjust your standards, you know?” he says with a laugh.

“Anyway, if you ask him, he says he’s been all in since the moment he saw me back in Wakanda after his little vacation. Now we’re talking about four years since the steering wheel thing. Me, Steve, Nat and everybody; we landed in Wakanda and Bucky’s there. He and I look at each other over Steve’s shoulder, and like, bam, that was it for him.

“And then there’s five years where neither of us exist. We get back, we fight the monsters, Steve gives me the shield, and while all this is happening, apparently Bucky has come to the conclusion that he’s in love with me. After that, he was just waiting for me to catch up.”

“And he just knew you’d get there? Did you give him any indication that you were interested, or…?”

“I definitely did, but not intentionally,” says Wilson. “He’s very perceptive—like way more than I was giving him credit for—but I think it’s a combination of that and me not being as subtle as I think I am.

“Because, see there’s this invisible line I’ve drawn here—at least that’s how he was thinking about it—and I keep dancing a little closer to that line every day, the line being the no homo line; the point where you can’t take it back. The flirting, I mean. I, of course, think he has no clue and that I’m being slick about it. Actually, lemme ask—how much detail are you looking for here? Like do you want to know the whole story or just—”

“Lay it on me,” I tell him. “Just however you want to tell it.”

“Alright. Where was I? So I’m just there going back and forth on whether or not it’s a good idea to risk this roommate-partner-buddy thing we’ve got going here by trying to make a move that, frankly, I have no clue if he’s gonna be receptive to. You have to remember we’re talking about a guy from the Great Depression here, like that’s the time period he grew up in. I’m no historian, but I think it’s common knowledge that if you were a man who was attracted to men back then, you mostly kept that to yourself. The chances of him bringing up his sexual orientation unprompted are very low. And like, I’m 90% sure I’ve caught him looking before, but that’s never a guarantee, you know?

“So, instead of sitting down and having a mature conversation about my feelings, I keep doing this thing where, for example, say he’s trying something new with his hair, and I’ll say something nice about it. And then I follow up immediately with, ‘Almost makes up for your ugly mug,’ or whatever, which—I mean, he’s such a good-looking guy, like what ugly mug, obviously I don’t mean that. And he’s not stupid, he knows what he looks like. So he picks up on what I’m doing, doesn’t say anything, and lets this go on for months.

“Eventually, there’s one night… We’re on the couch, watching like, I don’t know, Seinfeld or something. Whatever was on. He’s reading a book on my tablet, looking all relaxed and handsome. I can’t have that, so I start egging him on like I usually do, and I guess I got close enough to the line that he just puts the tablet down, turns to me and says, ‘Sam, you know there’s no line, right?’

“And I’m going, okay, what does that mean? Like, is this a conversation I was previously a part of and forgot or...? Where is this ‘line’ thing coming from? And so I ask him—I think I just said, ‘What?’ At that point he looks me right in the eye, and he goes, ‘You can kiss me if you want to.’” So I did, and he was ready for it, like no hesitation. Like I said: waiting for me to catch up.”

This, as you can imagine, is far beyond the level of detail I could have ever imagined I’d get about Captain America’s love life in my wildest dreams. I decide to ask a new question, because I feel like I’d be pushing my luck to delve further when he’s already been so open about this experience.

“Who proposed and when?”

“Ooh,” says Wilson, “I guess technically I did, but I’m gonna go on record saying that one was a group effort.”

“Well, now you’re gonna have to explain that,” I tell him. “What’s a ‘group effort’ proposal look like?”

“Hmm. I backed myself into that one, didn’t I?” he says. “First, I want the record to show that before I called you guys to set up this interview, I specifically asked Bucky if there were any us-related topics or whatever that were off-limits to discuss and he said ‘No,’ and I said, ‘Are you sure?’ and he said ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ and I said, “You better be sure, because whatever I say is gonna be public knowledge after that,” and he said “I know, I get it, Jesus.” Then I dropped it because he sounded like he was getting kinda irritated. If he didn’t want me to tell you any of this stuff, that would’ve been the time to speak up, so here we go:

“We were at… Well, I can’t tell you exactly where we were, but let’s just say we were working. There was nobody else in the room, but we were getting ready to go out in the field; seemed like it was gonna be a pretty...intense situation out there. I had my whole suit on, he was calibrating his arm, and the conversation ended up at living wills. As you can imagine, that’s an important thing to have when you’re in this line of work. So he proceeded to tell me that the last time he’d updated his was never and that his next-of-kin was nobody. And I was like, ‘So what, your grenade launchers are all gonna go to the state? I don’t even get the red one?’ and I’m just giving him a hard time, you know, and he’s like, ‘Sam.’

“And then, my god, he just goes all the way off about how much he loves me and trusts me and I—we don’t usually go there. I mean, we’d been on the same page for a long time as far as, we’ve established that we’re in love, this relationship is going well, but it’s not something that we’d verbalized in any real depth. That’s just a level of like, exposure, vulnerability, I think, that doesn’t come naturally to most people, myself included.

“So he just keeps talking—and I think it’s fair to say he’s not a very talkative guy most of the time—and I’m standing there with my jaw on the floor because he is not holding back, and this is all clearly unrehearsed. Like, this is just how he really feels about me, apparently. By the time he’s finished, I’m crying, he’s crying, it’s a mess. And so I open my mouth, and I have no idea what I’m gonna say to all that, but what comes out is, “Will you marry me?” I wasn’t planning on it, but suddenly I just knew. Best decision I ever made.”

“And you’ve made some very important decisions in your life.”

“That’s right. I know which ones I’m leaving out by saying this was the best, and I stand by it.”

At that moment, as if on cue, the lock clicks, and Sergeant Barnes walks through the front door carrying two very full bags of groceries on his vibranium arm. He tosses a set of car keys into a little dish and locks the door behind him.

“Hey, babe,” Wilson calls out, catching his eye.

“You did it?” Barnes asks.

“Yeah.” Wilson tilts his head up.

Barnes rounds the corner, pecks Wilson on the lips with all the comfort and familiarity of a couple who have done it a thousand times. I hear him murmur, “Proud of you,” under his breath.

Barnes sets the groceries on the counter in front of me as Wilson introduces us.

“Call me Bucky,” says Barnes, reaching out with his right hand to shake mine. There’s a silver band on the fourth finger, and when I look back over at Wilson, he’s slipping his wedding ring out of the pocket of his jeans and putting it back on his left hand.

“Wasn’t sure if I’d be able to go through with all this,” he says, gesturing to me and my notepad. “I took the wedding pictures down in the living room too, before you got here.”

“I knew he could do it,” Barnes tells me. His voice is low, soft, and so quiet, a hint of an old Brooklyn accent underlying his words even now, despite everything he’s been through and everywhere he’s been. He shrugs out of his nondescript hoodie and tosses it on one of the unused stools, grabbing a kettle and putting it on the stove.

“Hibiscus or chamomile?” he asks me, pulling two boxes of tea bags from one of the grocery bags and letting me choose before turning to Wilson. “Bad news, hon. They were out of your whole wheat pita.”

“Again?” says Wilson, with feeling. “Really?”

“They only had the gluten free. I guess I could check the other store tonight, but it’s supposed to rain later, and I kinda don’t feel like going out again,” Barnes says, head buried in the cupboard as he stacks cans. “I was thinking maybe I could just try making ‘em. How does that sound? How hard can it be, right?”

“‘How does homemade pita sound,’ he says,” Wilson repeats, jabbing a thumb towards Barnes. “Can you believe this guy?”

“I honestly can’t.” It’s the truth. My brain refuses to reconcile this man with the supposed playboy I read about in my 11th grade history textbook, nor the internationally feared assassin.

“Is that a yes or no on the experimental homemade pita?” Barnes asks Wilson, still deep in the cupboard. “No promises on quality.”

“That’s a yes, Buck,” says Wilson, then he turns to me. “Don’t listen to him; he’s a great cook.”

The Winter Soldier is a great cook, I write in my notes. And then I realize this is my moment to shine.

“I actually know a good recipe for homemade pita,” I tell them. “It’s whole wheat.” That gets Barnes’s attention.

“You do?” he says, pulling out his phone. “Can you send it to—hmm.” He frowns. “Sam, it’s not showing the thing.”

“What thing?” Wilson asks, taking Barnes’s phone from his hand. “Oh, yeah, that’s cause it’s set to Contacts Only, Buck, you have to switch it to Allow Everyone.”

Wilson looks at me, smiling. “Bucky here hates technology—”

“—I don’t hate technology—”

“Oh yes you do, you won’t even let me get you an iPad—”

“Yeah, for what? What do I need it for? I wouldn’t even use—”

“You wouldn’t use one, huh? How about I stop letting you borrow mine for a couple of weeks, then we’ll see how you feel.” Wilson turns to me, passing Barnes’s phone back to him. “He should be showing up on your AirDrop now.”

Sure enough, I’m able to send the recipe link to Bucky’s iPhone. He thanks me and starts scrolling right through it, argument apparently totally forgotten.

As Barnes continues to read, periodically checking on the kettle; Wilson excuses himself to help put away the rest of the groceries, which are mostly produce.

“I hope you have like, immediate plans for these,” Wilson says, inspecting the avocados as he pulls them out of the paper bag. “They are ripe, man. Tomorrow’s gonna be too late for them.”

“Yeah I do, I was gonna make grilled chicken and avocado sandwiches for dinner,” Barnes replies. “I got tomatoes, swiss cheese—”

“What’s all this about pita then if we’re having sandwiches?” Wilson asks.

“No, the pita is the bread here,” Barnes explains. “You stuff everything in the pocket. I’m gonna have to get started pretty soon; probably gonna double the rising time since it’s cold out.” Wilson hums in apparent approval of this course of action.

I lose Wilson to the refrigerator for several minutes. He stands back up after arranging things in the crisper to his liking.

“Any chance I could get a peek at those wedding pictures?” I ask.

“Oh,” says Wilson. “That okay with you?” He turns to Barnes, who nods, carefully steeping bags of tea in three steaming mugs, and then leads me back to the living room.

Wilson has stashed two silver-framed pictures in a drawer of the coffee table, apparently in anticipation of my visit, and he pulls them out to show to me. Both are taken in front of a familiar-looking farmhouse, which I struggle with for a moment before placing it as the exact one in Captain Rogers’s watercolor painting that’s hanging to my left. Wilson’s suit in the photo is a matte but brilliant shade of cobalt; Barnes wears black.

One is of just the two of them, arms around one another and foreheads together. It’s almost too intimate to look at; I feel as though I’m intruding on something intensely private, even though Wilson is standing right here offering me a glimpse of it.

He puts that one back up onto the mantle.

The next is them in the center of a large group that consists of some people I recognize and others I don’t. Familiar faces include Dr. Bruce Banner [The Hulk], Clint Barton [Hawkeye], and Maria Hill [Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.]. Also present: King T’Challa of Wakanda and his sister, Princess Shuri. There’s a young girl in a white dress, carrying a flower basket and missing a front tooth, standing in front of [C.E.O. of Stark Industries] Pepper Potts. Next to them is a teenager with floppy brown hair doing an indescribably awkward double thumbs up.

“Who’s that?” I ask, pointing at him.

Wilson snorts. “Some punk. Family friend.”

That picture gets hung on the empty nail next to Captain Rogers’s painting.

Barnes knocks quietly on the doorway behind us. “Tea’s ready.”

An awkward silence settles in with us once we sit back down in the kitchen, Wilson and Barnes next to one another, and me across from them. I flip through my notes, taking a sip from my mug.. My drink is sweeter than I was expecting, because apparently the Winter Soldier has added agave to the hibiscus tea he made me. It’s delicious.

Barnes eventually breaks. “So whatcha go over so far?”

“How we got together, how we got engaged,” Wilson answers him. “In detail too, so if you don’t want that published, you’re gonna have to grovel at the journalist yourself, because you said—”

“Oh my god,” says Barnes, old-school New York sarcasm dripping from every word. “How dare you tell people about the best thing I ever did, huh? Now they’re gonna think I’m like, a sensitive, good guy, and here I’ve been coasting along on this murder cyborg image. What have you done, you dick?”

Wilson rolls his eyes.

“So...you’re okay with it?” I ask them, absolutely ready to scrub the record if he hesitates.

“You kidding me?” says Barnes. “Every other week comes up some new atrocity I committed against my will in like...the 70s, and you think I’m gonna be upset with people knowing that once in a while I say nice shit to someone I love? Write it. Please. Knock yourself out.”

Okay then. Since Barnes seems willing to talk, I ask them if I can throw them a few questions I have for them as a couple. Barnes looks as though he wasn’t anticipating this.

Wilson turns to him. “You wanna be here for this?”

Barnes nods slowly, hesitantly, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“You’re okay?” Wilson asks. “You decide you’re done at any point and I’ll end it. Or you can go hang out in the other room, your call.”

“I’m good for now,” Barnes decides. “I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“You can ask whatever you want,” Wilson says to me. “I can’t promise we’ll answer everything, but go ahead and shoot.”

“I guess the first question I have is: what’s the hardest thing about navigating your jobs as a couple? What bothers you the most about that?”

Wilson exhales loudly. “I mean, the obvious answer is the danger,” he says. “The nature of what we do is fundamentally unsafe. I think it goes without saying—I’ll still say it—that we’re always aware that one of us might not make it back from a mission, which is...” Wilson trails off for a moment, shaking his head. “You don’t get used to that feeling. The fear.”

“Mm hmm,” Barnes agrees, from behind his mug.

“And,” continues Wilson, “I’m also aware that by doing this interview, I’m putting Bucky in additional danger. I’m not naive enough to think that the people working against us won’t try to use my relationship with him as leverage against me.”

“That makes sense,” I say, because he’s absolutely right, and pretending that public knowledge of his marriage doesn’t put them both in a new kind of danger seems disingenuous. I face Barnes. “Your turn.”

“Racist assholes,” says Barnes immediately.

Wilson smirks and cocks his head in agreement. “Sometimes I think I’ve talked that subject to death, other times it’s like I could never hope to address it enough. Today feels like the first one.”

A diplomatic, but clear answer. Time to move on.

I’m about to ask the next question when he adds: “Another thing that gets under my skin is how it’s like Bucky’s image in the eyes of the general public is totally dependent on me hyping him up all the time. As far as I’m concerned, he’s proven himself a hundred times over, and yet if I’m not on T.V. reminding people of that every day, it’s suddenly like ‘oh, the Winter Soldier, can we ever really trust him?’

“I just… It bothers me. I want us to come to a collective understanding that everything that happened happened to Bucky, not because of him. It kinda circles back into another of the things I’m passionate about, which is mental health care and awareness. I think if we as a society were better about recognizing and addressing mental illness, and particularly Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, I wouldn’t have to keep having this conversation about my husband.”

Barnes’s face is getting pinker and he says nothing, but he’s smiling a little at Wilson, who puts an arm around his shoulders.

“Anyway, we can move on,” says Wilson, his expression going easy again. “Just had to get that out there one more time.”

“Hopefully this one’s a little more pleasant,” I say. “What inspired you to come forward about your relationship? I know you guys—” I gesture between them, ”—have been together for a couple years, so why now?”

“I want to go on a date in public,” says Bucky. “I haven’t been on a date since the 40s.”

“That’s right,” says Wilson. “We’re doing all this so I can take him Denny’s and hold his hand over a $6.99 Super Slam.”

When I finish laughing, Wilson continues. “Part of it’s because we realized it’s gonna get out there whether we like it or not. You already knew when you got here that we lived together, and that’s because that information got leaked to the public last week, so it was always just a matter of time before people found out anyway. I’d rather have some control over that narrative; better you hear it from me and Bucky, how we want to tell it, than in some tabloid.”

He’s right about that: they would undoubtedly have been outed one way or another. Their status as “roommates” was reported by TMZ a week and a half ago, and there was a Buzzfeed piece only yesterday, rife with gifs, entitled 15 Times Captain America and The Winter Soldier Made Us Wish We Were Their Third Roommate, that ended on the note of how Wilson and Barnes are “absolute BFF GOALS.” Wilson continues:

“But I think the biggest reason is that we decided, together, that we actually think it’s good for people to know. I’ve seen firsthand the impact that having a Black Captain America has had on the Black community and on the national topic of race, and we think—we hope—that a Captain America who is a member of the LGBT community will have a similar effect.

“The people who already hate me aren’t going to like me any better or worse for being bisexual, but some bisexual teenager out there is hopefully gonna read this article and feel a little bit better about themselves than they did before. That’s really the impact I want to have here. Got anything to add, Buck?”

“Actually, yeah,” says Barnes, staring at the counter in front of him and fiddling with his wedding ring. “I grew up gay in thirties. The idea of being able to just...tell people, that’s still amazing to me. The fact that I’m sitting here talking about it with a stranger and you’re not screamin’ in my face right now…”

“You do know I’m not straight either, right?” I ask him. I’m not exactly shy about that, it’s the kind of thing most people can tell just by looking at me.

“Even so,” says Barnes, finally looking me in the eye. “You fool around with a fella back in the day—or worse, you make a pass and he turns you down—then he knows about you, and then it’s like, what if he tells someone? Some of the worst shit I ever saw came from people who found out that way. So, other gay guys. Basically you never felt safe.”

“What about Captain Rogers?” I ask. “Did he know?”

“Oh yeah, Steve knew,” says Barnes with a dismissive wave of his hand, like that ought to be obvious. “He wasn’t gonna tell anyone; I got too much dirt on him.“

“Pfft. He’s messing with you,” Wilson interjects, directed at me. “There’s no dirt on Steve anywhere; believe me, I’d know by now if there was.”

“I want you to guess how many times I’ve had to clean up Steve’s puke,” says Barnes in a total deadpan, leaning forward. “Whatever number you think it is, the real answer is higher.

“This again,” says Wilson. “I keep telling you Buck, Steve throwing up on you at Coney Island isn’t the big scandalous story you seem to want it to be.”

“Sam wasn’t there, he didn’t see it,” Barnes insists. “We were with these girls and they just left us standing there by the Cyclone, covered in hot dog chunks. Actually, that part was kind of a relief ‘cause one of ‘em was definitely jonesing for me to kiss her before that, and I really didn’t want to.

“But seriously, after everything we went through together, I knew I could trust Steve with anything. And that made me luckier than most—at least I had one person. Lots of guys had no one.

“Anyway, my reasons for coming out with all this are probably more selfish than Sam’s. You know some of those Nazis—we’re callin’ ‘em something else these days, like ‘alt-right’ or whatever, but I know a Nazi when I see one—they have this crazy idea of what I was like back in the day. They’ve got this fantasy, like a golem of toxic masculinity with my face on it, and I just want to publicly shit on their dreams. Every date I ever went on with a girl was a total sham, and I was scared down to my bones that someone would figure that out. I fight because someone needs to and I’m good at it, but I hate hurting people and I’d much rather be sitting here cuddling on the couch with a man. This man.”

Barnes is grinning big and wide by the time he finishes—a real, genuine smile that brings out the sparkle in his eyes—and suddenly I feel like I’m catching a glimpse of what Wilson must be seeing in him. Wilson himself is laughing.

“I like how you snuck your little buzzword in there, baby,” he says. “Toxic masculinity. That’s one of Bucky’s things he learned about from his Wakandan therapist.

“Obviously super important,” Wilson adds, lest I think he’s making light of something serious.

“I think it’s great that we’re talking about it so openly now, especially with respect to the military.”

Barnes tilts his head in agreement, checking the time on his phone. We’re probably approaching the point at which he wants to get started on that pita bread, and I’m definitely in his way.

“So what’s next for you guys?” I ask.

“Isn’t that always the question?” Wilson asks, taking Barnes’s right hand in his left and resting them, intertwined, on the countertop. “Sometimes it’s aliens. Sometimes not. Who even knows anymore?”

“Hopefully, a whole lot more of this,” says Barnes, looking down at their hands.

Wilson smiles. “Well, that’s a given. That’s always.”

This is when Barnes gets up to pull a stand mixer out of one of the cupboards, and I read that as my cue to take my leave. I end my recording, Wilson thanks me for stopping by, I promise to give him an advance copy of my writing to make sure he’s comfortable with what I said, and I find myself standing back on the sidewalk of [REDACTED] moments later.

I’m not typically in the habit of including as many details about the dinner plans of my article subjects as I have here—and I’m certainly testing the limits of my editor’s patience with the word count—but in the spirit of Wilson’s wishes for what his coming out story will mean to the people of America, I wanted to emphasize how human his marriage is.

Barnes and Wilson have extraordinary jobs that they are undoubtedly uniquely suited for and that most of us will never fully understand, but they are also two people who have been through a lot of hardship and found happiness and peace in one another. And that’s something that most of us do understand: love, the human experience that transcends the divisions we give ourselves.

*From a press conference Wilson gave on May 7, 2025.

**From a statement written by Barnes and issued through a S.H.I.E.L.D. representative on November 1, 2023.

For further reading on Barnes, the author recommends:

1. Greatest Generation X: The Impossible Life of James Buchanan Barnes, by Ariel Guzman, published in 2025.

2. R.Y. Uhlencott’s column “The Wolf of Brooklyn” in the October 2024 issue of Time covers the basic timeline and trajectory of Barnes’s life.

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #winterfalcon #mcu #marvel #tfatws #sam(antha) tag #my fanfic tag #fanfic

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stovetuna · 4 years

Text

This is for @bardingbeedle who yelled at me in the tags and then on messenger and ultimately inspired me to write some “lorge soft steve” and tbh who am I to refuse. (also high-key inspired by this masterpiece of fanart I RBed [again] earlier today)

(takes place shortly after the events of Avengers Assemble episode 2x07, aka the best fic none of us ever wrote)

(heed the READ MORE!)

***

Tony is hustling from one meeting to the next, all but literally running into the kitchen for a cup of afternoon coffee, when he spies Steve Rogers bent over the communal living room coffee table. That in and of itself isn’t exactly outside the realm of normal Steve Rogers activities—the man does love a good brood, even if he won’t admit it and doesn’t do it as often as he used to.

But Tony wracks his brain for possible reasons why Steve would be hunched up around the shoulders like he’s expecting a body blow any minute and keeps coming up empty. Not even fresh coffee makes his synapses fire faster. Did they forget his birthday? Impossible. Did someone send Captain America hate mail? Uh, doubly impossible, especially because Tony’s got lawyers screening their mail for that kind of stuff (they’ve got more than enough pressure in their day-to-day lives, time-slip dinosaurs and age regressions notwithstanding).

Maybe Steve found a piece of upsetting news, or some fact of modern history that isn’t sitting well with him? That’s a lot more likely.

Before he can remind himself that Pepper’s waiting in his office to put him on a call with the president of MIT—something about a commencement speech, if memory serves—Tony is sauntering into the living room, nonchalant, tongue already prickling with some smart remark. He’s got it all written out in his head like a perfect line of code up until the moment he’s standing in front of Steve and sees the expression on his face.

“Whoa, who ran over your puppy?”

Tony winces, wishing for the millionth time that his mouth and his brain could work together simultaneously, but no. Worse, Steve doesn’t even answer him—he just frowns harder, if that’s even possible, and folds in on himself like his shoulders alone don’t take up half the length of the massive couch. Tony lowers the hand holding his coffee and blinks.

“Steve?”

“Oh!” Steve jumps upright, and quick as a flash moves something vaguely folder-shaped behind his back. “Tony! I didn’t hear you walk in—don’t you have a meeting right now?”

Something in Tony’s chest squeezes at the sight of that smile and at Steve’s impeccable attention to detail. But really, ever since the incident with the Time Stone, when he’d jolted back into his adult body and come to in Steve’s arms, he’s felt completely knocked off-balance. Now everything about Steve Rogers—the man, not the superhero—is a revelation. Every smile, every word, every look has Tony tripping over his own feet, tongue, thoughts. He may be back in his adult body, but he’s never felt more like a prepubescent teenager with a crush, fidgeting in place under Steve’s gaze.

“It got postponed,” he lies, because whatever has put that pinch between Steve’s eyebrows is way more important right now. “What’s up?”

“Nothing!” Steve replies, too loud and too quickly. Tony gives him a look. Steve flushes, shrinking in on himself even further, like he wants the couch to devour him. “Uh, nothing important. Just an anniversary I forgot about.”

Now it’s Tony’s turn to frown. He likes to think he’s got a solid mental calendar of important dates for all of his teammates memorized at this point—Natasha’s move-in, Bruce’s lab incident, Sam’s SHIELD acceptance, Steve being found in the ice—but none of those are today.

“Got room for one more?” Tony asks, nodding at the scant space next to Steve on the couch when the man gives him a questioning look. Steve’s cheeks immediately go a charming shade of pink, which churns the coffee in Tony’s empty stomach with a vengeance. Steve shifts to press himself against the arm as Tony moves to sit down next to him, almost crushing the folder Steve had hidden earlier in the process. There’s a gasp, and a lightning-quick hand, and then Steve, pale and breathless, is holding a manila folder against his chest like it’s the secret to the Super Soldier Serum.

It’s weird—Tony knows Steve trusts him, and vice versa. They wouldn’t have solved the riddle of the Time Stone if they didn’t trust each other. So to sit next to Steve, who’s gone from morose to terrified in the three minutes since Tony walked into the room and feel a wall between them is jarring. And upsetting. He’s only been nursing this crush for a few days, and Steve’s not that perceptive…is he? Maybe he is. Maybe this is Steve weeding out Tony’s feelings before they’ve even had a chance to grow.

Tony shakes his head at the thought. No, Steve’s a lot of things, but cruel isn’t one of them.

“Care to share with the class?” he asks, gently so he doesn’t spook Steve. It seems to work: Steve relaxes, tension falling from his shoulders as he eases into Tony’s presence. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, but keeps the folder pressed securely against his sternum. Tony tries hard not to steal a glance at the way Steve’s shirt pulls across his broad, thick chest as he breathes.

“It’s nothing.”

“Cap, if it was nothing, you wouldn’t be trying to Honey-I-Shrunk-Myself into the couch right now.”

Steve Rogers in active wear doesn’t cut quite the same figure as Steve Rogers in full Captain America regalia, it’s true, but that doesn’t mean he’s small. Like this, he’s just as large and has just as much presence as he does in uniform; it’s just…more human. Less Captain, more Steve. Both are devastating in their own way, but only Steve—friendly, blushing, awkward, unassuming Steve—makes Tony acutely aware of the distance between their bodies, down to the last electrified hair.

Catching his own breath, Tony puts his full mug on the coffee table and drops his hands into his lap, turning his head to watch Steve chew on whatever words are fighting to come out. Be patient, he tells himself. Whatever this is, Steve’s struggling with it, and Tony can have some tact when he wants to.

Finally, Steve closes his eyes and sighs. When he lowers his hands, the folder goes with them. Tony glances at the cover and almost swallows his tongue.

“Is that—?” Steve makes a noncommittal sound, like a ‘yes’ but softer, uncertain, like he’s not sure Tony’s reaction is a good one. Tony swallows his excitement with a wince. “Is that the Project Rebirth file? I told Fury to give it to you a long time ago, but I wasn’t sure he did.”

Tony is so preoccupied looking at the folder he doesn’t hear Steve’s gasp or notice his eyes lock onto him. “He did,” Steve replies quietly after a pause. “But that’s isn’t…that’s not what this is about.”

That’s kind of a surprise. The sudden appearance of the Project Rebirth file would explain Steve’s face and body language, but if it’s not that…

Steve hands the entire folder over to Tony without another word.

“Uh,” Tony gapes, too awestruck to achieve any kind of higher brain function.

“Look at the date,” Steve says. It’s not an order, just a gentle request, but it doesn’t prevent a shiver from rippling down the length of Tony’s spine. If he was hyperaware of the space between their bodies before, it’s even worse now with Steve leaning every-so-slightly toward him and reaching out a hand to point directly at the date written on the faded label.

22 June 1943

Tony blinks. “It’s the anniversary…of you?” He opens the folder without a second thought, and the first thing he sees is a picture of Steve. There are other things in the file—sheaves of what look like medical reports, heavily redacted memos, and carbon copies of typed letters—but the only thing Tony can focus on is Steven Grant Rogers circa 1943. The Steven Grant Rogers of before.

He’s touching the photo before he can stop himself, being so, so careful as he traces the narrow shape of the man in the photograph while the real, supersized thing sits next to him.

“It’s the first time I’ve really had a chance to sit and think about what it was like, before,” Steve says, unprompted. “Everything happened so fast once I got the serum, I didn’t have time to just…take it all in. And then I went into the ice and—well. You know the rest.”

All skin and bones, this man, back then. But the jut of his jaw is the same; the serum didn’t change that, or the flinty stubbornness in Steve’s eyes, or the proud set of his shoulders, just daring the world to try and fuck with him. Tony smiles—Steve before the serum is like a matchstick, short and thin and always one spark away from bursting into flame. He really didn’t change a bit.

When Tony finally looks up from the photo (not gazing, of course not), he sees Steve’s expression has gone pinched again, his arms now crossed in front of his chest.

“Alright, there’s that face again. Out with it, Cap.”

Steve really shouldn’t bite his lip—it’s bad for Tony’s health. But Tony’s comment does get him to smile a little bit, which is good. “I guess…it’s been over seventy years since I got the serum, but most days I still feel like that skinny guy in the picture.” Tony watches him as he speaks, taking in the faraway look in Steve’s eyes, the shrinking posture, the downward turn of his mouth—who says I can’t be observant, Tony thinks—and wishes he and Steve were the kind of friends who hugged outside of catastrophic cosmic events. God knows it looks like Steve could use one, as wound up and tense as he is right now.

“I’ve broken so many things by accident because I keep forgetting I’m this, now,” he says, gesturing broadly at himself with one hand. Frowning, Steve uses that same hand to brace his forehead, elbow dropping down onto his thigh. The man is the picture of misery, and Tony aches to comfort him. It’s a physical pull in the pit of his stomach, urgent and needy—like if he doesn’t get his arms around Steve Rogers right this second, something important inside him is going to malfunction.

Tony shoves his hands under his thighs and nods. “Dr. Erskine could turn you into a super soldier,” he says softly, “but he couldn’t erase the first 27 years of your life.” He doesn’t speak his next thought aloud—that if there was in fact a way to erase those years, Tony would have signed up for the very first clinical trial. It’s a grim thought, and not something Steve needs to hear right now, but it’s been on Tony’s mind ever since his brief return to adolescence, and it’s a hard one to shake.

But what Steve heard seems to help. He peeks at Tony through his fingers and swallows loud enough even Tony can hear it.

“Yeah,” he rasps, “something like that.”

“What else?”

“What?”

“What else is bugging you? About this?”

Steve lowers his hand and stares at Tony. Stares. It’s such a feeling, being stared at by Steve Rogers, Tony can feel the heat climbing up from underneath his t-shirt. Even the arc reactor feels a bit warmer in his chest.

“How could you tell?”

“You’re still doing your level-best impression of a Shrinky Dink, Cap,” Tony replies. “Kind of hard not to notice.”

“I have no idea what that is,” Steve laughs, a hoarse, dry sound, “but you’re not wrong. I guess…I don’t know. It’s hard to put into words.”

“Try.”

Seriously, when Steve looks at him like that—like he did when Tony soared through the air as Iron Kid, all awe and pride and warmth—Tony feels capable of anything. Anything. He’d bottle that feeling, if he could, just like he’d bottle the color of Steve’s hair in the afternoon light coming in through the living room windows right now, all warm, pale yellows shot through with gold. If the photo in the file were in full color, Tony would bet his fortune Steve’s hair would be the same shade it is now.

Because Steve Rogers has always been perfect. Damn him.

“I still feel small,” Steve says, and any thoughts of hair and perfection derail abruptly. Looking into the middle-distance past his nose, he continues, “I don’t fit in this body. That doesn’t make sense, but—it’s like the super soldier is a mold, and I’m just there rattling around inside it, too small to fit. Does that—does that make any sense?” He looks at Tony imploringly, begging him with his eyes to understand. Tony feels that tug again, worse now, to wrap his arms around Steve and hold him tight. Call it returning the favor for the other day with the Time Stone, call it acting on his crush, whatever.

No one so large has ever looked as small as Steve Rogers does right now.

“It does,” Tony croaks.

“Really?”

“Really. I mean, how do you think I feel inside the suit?”

Steve makes a sound at that—not a whimper, not a gasp, but something hovering between the two that splits Tony’s heart right down the middle. “I never thought of it that way,” he whispers. “But that’s it. That’s exactly it.” Visible relief fills Steve’s lungs and makes his entire body go lax, leaning closer to Tony in the process. Tony, of course, is hyperaware of Steve’s size—everyone except Thor and Hulk is small compared to him—but now he’s equally aware of who’s operating the Cap-suit, so to speak.

“The only difference is, I can take my super-suit off,” Tony says, pinching the underside of his own thigh to cut off a laugh—Steve hasn’t seen The Incredibles yet—and continues, “you can’t. That’s bound to make a guy feel uncomfortable, even you, Mr. ‘I can handle anything you throw at me.’” He elbows Steve a little, good-naturedly, for emphasis, and gets a full, beautiful smile for his efforts.

God. Skinny or huge, Steve Rogers is gorgeous. It really shouldn’t be allowed.

“Yeah, good point.” Face still split by a smile—I put that there, Tony preens—Steve leans against the back of the couch and sighs. “There are things I miss, though. About being small. I didn’t think I did, until…” He glances at Tony, then, and there’s no missing the blush creeping up his neck.

“Until?”

“The other day,” Steve replies. “When you de-aged, and I—when we—” Tony bites his tongue so hard he’s pretty sure he tastes blood. Don’t interrupt. Let him get it out. Steve laughs breathily. “When I hugged you, I was so glad I was in a position to protect you, physically, like that. But later on I kept thinking about how much I miss being the protected one, sometimes. Not always, but. Sometimes.” Steve looks at the photo and sighs. “I keep thinking about what it felt like when ma looked after me when I was sick, or when Bucky put himself between me and the bigger guy because he knew I couldn’t take another hit…sure I resented it a little, being so weak, but I liked…that.”

“You liked being cared for.”

The look Steve levels at Tony could drive away a storm.

“Yeah,” he husks. “I did.”

“And now that you’re—” Tony waves a hand at Steve’s everything, “—this, you think you don’t, what, deserve care?”

“Maybe?” Steve blinks. “I don’t know.”

“Cap—Steve,” Tony says, putting his hands palms-up in his lap so Steve can see all of him. No threat, no judgment. “Everyone wants to feel cared for. It’s human nature. And just because you’re superhuman doesn’t mean you’re inhuman.”

Damn if those therapy sessions Pepper forced him into aren’t paying off big time right now. If the sheen in Steve’s eyes is anything to go by, Tony’s hit the nail right on the head.

“Oh,” he breathes.

“Yeah,” Tony smiles. Butterflies be damned, he moves the project file onto the coffee table next to his now-cold mug and turns toward Steve. Slowly, he opens his arms. “C’mere,” he says, so quiet only Steve would hear if anyone else was around. As it is, they’re alone in the tower, and Steve doesn’t hesitate—one moment Tony’s arms are empty and the next he’s got 240 pounds of solid muscle curling into his chest and Steve’s tucking his big head under Tony’s chin like the world’s neediest Bernese mountain dog.

Thankfully, Tony’s arms are just long enough to fit all the way around Steve’s massive shoulders. And even if they weren’t, he’d find a way to make it work.

Knees knocking together, feet brushing up against each other on the carpet, Steve shifts and adjusts until he can wrap his arms around Tony’s waist. Once he settles in, he sighs right into the notch at the base of Tony’s throat. “Thank you, Tony.”

“Anytime, big guy,” Tony replies, softly with a warm smile he thinks Steve can’t see.

#bardingbeedle #steve rogers #tony stark #pre-getting together #stevetony #stony #stony fic #superhusbands #rachel writes fic #HAPPY JUNE 22 #KINDA #ignoring the fact that I'm posting this at 0130 on June 23 :3 #insecure steve rogers #insecure tony stark #tony and I see the same therapist lol #stovetuna writes #and yes 22 June is apparently the MCU date of Project Rebirth #PERFECT TIMING

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juniorgman187 · 4 years

Text

Serpent of Eden (Part 2 - Reid Series)

~ Reader’s one-night-stand with Spencer turns into a year long semester ~

Summary: Spencer and Reader attempt to navigate through the shock, horror, and confusion of the revelation that Spencer is a professor at Reader’s college. Couple: Fem!Reader x Professor Spencer Reid Category: Series, Fluff, Angst, (eventually smut) Word Count: 1.5k (this will probably be my shortest chapter) Content Warning: mentions of one-night-stand, age gap, teacher-student relationship Disclaimer: This is a filler chapter, and you’ll probably find it boring, but it moves the story along so that we can get to the exciting parts next chapter.

PART 1 HERE!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

What’s that saying again?

It’s a small world?

Well, after today - I certainly agree.

More as a comment to myself, I muttered, “I guess I should’ve asked for your last name after all, Spencer.”

Was this my cruel and unusual punishment for my first one-night-stand? If so, this was enough humiliation to convince me it should be my first and last one-night-stand.

His eyes were wide with astonishment; his eyebrows knitted together. “I thought you said you worked at a law firm.”

He wasn’t mad or accusing me of lying, but he was more stunned than anything that I was really here standing in front of him. I knew his voice to be too kind to be accusatory.

“That wasn’t a lie. I do work at a law firm - I’m an intern there,” I said matter-of-factly. “I only said that to impress you because you were older and had this big shot job. Which reminds me - you said you were part of the FBI.”

“I am, but I occasionally teach here.” He almost chuckled.

It was the slight pout of both of our mouths that proved a mutual resignation to the fact that we’d reached a stalemate. We both ran out of moves and there was nowhere for us to go if we kept on this path, not unless one of us surrendered to the other, which wasn’t really an option here. Simply by the look on his face, I could tell he was going to assume the responsibility of inciting a productive discourse. And I let him, for subconsciously, I looked to him to be the bigger person, the more mature one, the wiser one, for he was the older one, too. Whether or not this was taking advantage of the natural assertiveness one gains with age, I wasn’t sure.

“W-what are you doing here?” He finally asked, bringing me back to the harsh reality of being stuck between a rock and a hard place. Had this been any other teacher, I might’ve not been so embarrassed to admit I was 20 years old and serving detention for being dress-coded. But, alas, it wasn’t any other teacher - it was Spencer . . . or Dr. Reid? Is that what I have to call him now?

“I got detention.” I sheepishly admitted.

The furrowing of his brows and narrowing of his eyes told me he didn’t believe me; all the signs of skepticism plain on his face.

“I was dress coded earlier.” If it was at all possible, that statement sounded even more ridiculous.

“Dress coded?” He clarified, like he almost didn’t believe me.

“I started taking off my sweater - not like that!” I quickly redacted, and the stunned look on his face told me he almost took it that way and found amusement in doing so. “I wasn’t stripping in front of the entire school. I just wanted to take my sweater off.”

“That shouldn’t warrant detention, though.”

“That’s what I was saying!”

And the comfortable, lighthearted dynamic that brought us together only two nights ago resumed as if it had never paused. It felt like we were at the bar again, talking as strangers falling in love, but here in this sterile classroom, I was chilled by the reminder that we were no longer two strangers getting drunk off the other’s presence. We were a student and a teacher in a professional setting.

“I’m just gonna sit down, now.” I awkwardly announced, fumbling into the furthest seat from him.

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll just report to Ms. Whitman that you served detention, but you can go now. You don’t have to stay.” He turned away from me sharply and towards his desk, all but refusing to meet my eyes.

“No, that wouldn’t be right.”

As the sentence came from my mouth, my mind wandered into a trap my words had set. “What was right about this?” Because really, nothing was.

I knew I was charting dangerous territories by staying in his classroom alone with him, but those weren’t my intentions. If anything, this was one of those times where my “goody-two-shoes” mentality failed me. I was only furthering the chance something might happen and heightening my own attraction.

The more and more I sat across from the ever contemplative Dr. Reid, the more his figure began transforming into a work of art. I started to notice the little details, the nuances, the paint strokes. I couldn’t be bothered to figure out what he was actually doing, but I took notice of the manner that he was doing it in. He studied his papers carefully with almost the same level of intent as I had looking at him. Occasionally, his tongue would poke out between his lips and wet them, scarcely reacquainting me with the thought of how they felt against my own. His eyes would narrow at the words while he read them; his eyebrows twitching up every so often as a physical reaction to his reading material.

“Are you just going to spend the rest of detention staring at me, or are you actually going to get some work done?”

The sound of his voice snapped me out of my daze and before I could re-enter this dimension, he was already looking at me through smiling eyes.

“I am doing my work!” I defensively screeched.

“Oh, yeah? If I come over there right now and you haven’t written a single thing -”

“What?” I jested. “You gonna punish me?”

The words slipped from my mouth before my mind could process its subtly seductive suggestions.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” My eyes fell to my homework that I hadn’t even started on as a way to avoid his. He looked so entertained by my previous words, and that made it even worse. How could he possibly enjoy my flirtatious advances when there was so much at risk?

“I guess we should talk about-”

“What’s there to talk about?” I abruptly interrupted. “It’s not like I have your class now, and I’ve been rejected from auditing it before, so we don’t have to see each other in school ever after today.” I rambled.

“In school?” He repeated.

“What?”

“You said we don’t have to see each other in school ever after today. Were you implying that you … you want to still see me outside of -”

“No!”

I answered all too quickly for it to appear like an honest response. He was too smart to see it as anything besides what it really was - a way to save my ass.

“I mean … yeah, I did want to see you again. But that was before I found out you’re a professor at my college.”

“Part time.” He emphasized, as if that somehow made things less illegal.

A frown formed on my face to tell him that that clarification didn’t make anything better.

“It’s your call.” I finally renounced. This was probably the most honest and raw my emotions could have been. I couldn’t have said anything truer to my feelings than that. “You have more at risk here than I do. If you say you don’t want to see me again, then you won’t. But if you think there’s something between us worth exploring, I’m willing to make it work.”

He was visibly conflicted; the weight of my words stealing his voice. He was quiet for more moments than comfortable, but he would finally tell me his answer only after rising from his desk to join me at the other end of the classroom. I stood up from my desk, making our lack of professional distance all the more glaringly obvious.

“(Y/n),” He slid a hand onto my cheek and up through my hair. “You’re worth the risk.”

He was about to seal his promise with a kiss, but when we leaned in, three hard knocks hit against the door. I jumped back in startlement, while Spencer did just the opposite. He leapt into action, abandoning me at the back of the classroom to flee to the front. He must’ve recognized the knocks were coming from the janitor just outside his door.

“Any trash you need taken out, Mr. Reid?” The janitor asked while scanning the room, glazing right over me.

“No, nope. I’m okay today, thank you. Bye, Randy.” Spencer waved him away with his hand, and luckily, I must’ve camouflaged into the wall because he didn’t seem to see me or my profuse blushing.

“I’m so sorry. I forgot he comes here every Monday at 3:45.” Spencer apologized while slowly making his way back to me.

“You forgetting something? How can that be.” I joked - well enough to hide my ever growing paranoia behind a mask of comical enjoyment.

“What can I say? That’s what you do to me. You make me forget everything else in the world.”

His words were enough to woo me certainly, even enough to accept his resumed kiss, but they weren’t enough to convince me to commit to the moment. It was spoiled by the knowledge of our sins, stolen by the fear of our actions. I simply couldn’t enjoy our relationship to the fullest anymore.

And I never would again.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

PART 3 HERE!

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#serpent of eden #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid series #professor spencer reid #juniorgman187 #angst #fluff #smut

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