#for my own reasons I shan’t say a word

[shepherds-of-haven]

Just for headcannon purposes, could the MC theoretically burn a word of power to resurrect someone? Like say a certain childhood friend who they accidentally killed?

[incognito-lionbeast]

RE: Shen Yuan’s family (ft. mentions of loss & grief)

Initially, I thought it was strange that his family members were mentioned maybe a handful of times throughout the entire novel & never in any particular depth? I sorta wrote it off as One Of Those Things -- something that’s not really relevant to the plot, so it’s just kinda hand-waived (which isn’t uncommon in the media I’m typically into). So, I left it alone for a while.

Later, upon reading meta posts about Shen Yuan’s past life here, I got to thinking about it more... and while I agreed with many points I saw, it always bothered me when folks used how Shen Yuan seldom mentioned his family / never seemed all that upset about losing them as an example of how miserable & depressed he was before he transmigrated.

--like it was one of those things that I felt very strongly that they were wrong about, but didn’t have the words to articulate why.

Until I was abruptly smacked with Extreme Fuckor™

It felt wrong to me because that’s how I experience[d] grief RE the loss of immediate family. It looks an awful lot like avoiding it, not thinking about it, going about your life as normal, and when you do think about it--for as briefly as you’ll let yourself do so--it feels like:

A “slight sorrow” to immediately be replaced with something as a distraction, because God Damn It. Now isn’t the time. And it’s never really the time. Not to get too real, but eventually you become so good at Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlbossing yourself that eventually you lose the ability to actually tell whether or not you’re Fine & Normal About It (IE have accepted it & moved on) or if it’s just been shoved into its own little compartment so well that you’re only pretending to be fine/happy/normal. Yet, there’s still no time to unpack that, so we won’t. We won’t.

So, maybe I’m projecting, I dunno. Yet, I can’t help interpreting things that way... which is to say, my point is that I believe Shen Yuan when he said that he & his family were close -- at least he & his siblings were. The even further lack of mentioning his parents reads to me as either He Loved Them But They Didn’t Give Him The Attention He Needed (being the [remarkably depressed] third son with no responsibilities or expectations) and/or it was just a little more complicated. for any number of reasons.

Yet, he always mentions his siblings fondly. So, no matter how unreliable of a narrator Shen Yuan is... he refuses to let himself think about it too hard, because there’s nothing he can do now. He has a new family whom he loves & though he struggles to believe/realise it at times, they love him, too. He’s happy with them.

So, we really shan’t examine the skeletons in his closet nor any of its tightly-packed compartments. No sir. Which is in stark contrast to how he grieved Luo Binghe after pushing him into the Endless Abyss, because he WOULD have to deal with Binghe later & he knew it. The guilt ate him alive. Yet, he still tried denying / avoiding his grief as much as possible, but it’s much harder with the [perceived] looming threat of “This man is going to come back and rip me limb from limb & it’s my fault”

so yeah, I have thoughts >u<

[sabineelectricheart]

A Dark Wizard’s Dominant Hand

Summary: As they go to sleep, Rosalie wants for Sebastian to rest. With that in mind, she proposes a compromise. Things go out of hand quickly.

Rating: MA - Content is only suitable for mature adults. May contain explicit language and adult themes.

Words: 1500

Notes: Some clandestine hanky-panky. How naughty.

The moon is high in the skies of Hogwarts, softly illuminating the ever-gloomy ambiance of the Room of Requirement. There was not a single sound to be heard, and the bed felt quite inviting to those that lay on it, as if the furniture itself lulled you into a deep state of relaxation.

There would be no classes the next day, and the promise of sleeping in hung over the eager students. Soon, Summer would be upon them, and it is their chance to spend as much time as they could with those they appreciated in the castle, before three long months of separation.

The pair that clandestinely slept together in the Room of Requirement reasoned just that, but the actual sleeping seemed to elude them. Since, as soon as Rosalie had thought for a brief, hopeful moment that Sebastian was actually taking the time to relax before bed, she crawls up beside him and realizes that he is not reading for pleasure, but for research.

Spare parchment riddled with notes piles up on the bedside table, to the point she cannot see the pitcher, and his eyes are narrowed with unshakeable focus as they scan the page. At a glance, this appears to be some dense text regarding the trade of rare and restricted potion ingredients between the Iberian Peninsula and the surrounding territories.

It must have been the volume she procured from her relatives in Portugal, the girl wagered. Hogwarts is much too concerned with the affairs of the British Isles, she realises, and his research for a cure for his sister’s curse could do with some broadening of horizons. Especially those that do not involve blood sacrifices and splitting his soul in seven parts. Though, she does not expect the cure of one to be at the expense of the illness of the other.

In any case, descriptions of flora and the trade routes that take them from field into cauldrons all over Europe is hardly the kind of comfort, relaxing reading she would expect to lull her lover to sleep, even if some people might argue that it is a quite dreary read. Perhaps she should be grateful that at least he is not prowling through the darkened corridors on the trail of some magical cure or another, but this is hardly how she would prefer for him to spend his night off.

"Sebastian." She calls his name with a sigh, settling on her knees on the bed beside him. "We have talked about you getting proper rest."

He replies immediately, as though he had expected her grievance. "A night in your hideout is a rare opportunity to do some research for the development of my counter-curses. Anne is feeling well enough for the time being, but I shan’t allow my own complacency to undo any progress we have made so far."

Her pout in reply goes entirely unnoticed, which Rosalie supposes that it is unsurprising. It is not as though she can argue a point so close to his heart, and truly, she does understand and admire his ironclad convictions towards an obviously noble goal.

Still, she cannot help her concern.

With yet another sigh, she shifts closer to his side. "I propose a compromise."

At last, his eyes wrest themselves from the page before him, and Sebastian offers her a subdued smile. The sort he gives her whenever they get on a battle of nerves, that communicates that he will not relent, even if both of them know with certainty that he will, indeed.

"I am listening."

"Give me your hand.” She demands.

He pulls his lips and offers her his free hand.

She lets it go immediately. “No, dear. Your writing hand, please."

His brow furrows in response.

"Do not look at me in this way!” She chides. “I just mean to say, you can keep reading, but you should take the time to rest your hands. You are always either writing or practicing Dark Magic, and that is very exhausting for your delicate muscles. You will strain something if you are not careful and does not treat your body with respect."

This time, Sebastian lets out a sigh of his own, as he feels he should argue the point, at least the part where she states that his hands are delicate. However, he does relent.

Naturally.

"A fair enough proposition. Very well, I accept." He says as his girlfriend takes his hand in hers, the formality in his tone contrasting the affectionate warmth in his gaze.

Then, with his hand secured, Rosalie sets to her task with eagerness. She carefully removes his glove and sets it aside, then begins by very gently massaging the worn and tightened joints of his fingers, tending to each in turn.

While she does give her ministrations her utmost focus, she cannot help admiring his hand, larger than hers and so strong. His fingers are long and skilful, and while the strong energy released by his usual curses has certainly helped develop hard and sturdy muscle, his skin is still surprisingly soft, without the callouses that tend to develop in more prolific duellists.

She has been to enough duels to understand that Sebastian uses these gloves to protect himself against the magical sparks on the wands, but still, she misses some physical contact in their day-to-day. It would be nice to go down the hallways holding hands, and actually hold hands, instead of having her hanging off a leather piece.

Gradually, she works her way down each of his joints, massaging away weeks and months and years of aches and, at last, the boy finally lets slip a short, appreciative groan. She smiles warmly, utterly charmed by the light pink flush across his face.

Still, she continues her service, now moving on to his palm, then his wrist. Here especially, she can feel the lingering tension, and she takes her time into slowly guiding him into a rolling, flexing motion that should help relax the joints. This time, he bites back his pleasure, his brow creasing as he struggles to remain focused on his reading.

"My apologies." He says stiffly.

The girl gives a short chuckle. "No matter. I am glad it feels good. It is not often I get to spoil you a little, you know."

Then, Rosalie draws his hand towards her lips, to kiss the tips of his fingers, one after another. His focus wavers. His eyes dart up to watch her, his face tinged red and his book forgotten on his lap.

Now, that is an interesting development, she considers, and one that she can hardly wait, so much that she wants to exploit it.

Wearing an impish grin, she kisses his forefinger once more, then nip at it gently, her teeth grazing his skin for the briefest moment.

His reaction is more delicious than she could have anticipated. Sebastian watches her with a look of agonized longing, whispering her name under his breath like a plea.

After some poor restraint, his voice rises. "Darling, you… This is... Far too tempting..."

She stands up straight on the bed and moves to straddle his thigh, drawing her body near his without touch, all in the while she still holds his hand lovingly in her own. Without a word, she circles his fingertip with her tongue, teasing sensitive nerves while he watches her as though he was hypnotized.

Before long, Rosalie is sucking gently at the tip of his finger, and his lips stall slightly parted, his chest rising and falling as his pulse pounds. She steals a glance downward, and sure enough, his hardened cock presses a lewd outline to the front of his nightshirt, already twitching eagerly for her.

With a playful smirk, she is about to comment on his obvious arousal, when instead, to her surprise, Sebastian wraps a strong arm around her midsection and turns her down onto the bed beneath him. His legs straddle her as she did him, but his hold is much firmer and stronger. He also spends no time with that no-touching tomfoolery, as he presses himself like a dog in heat against her withering body.

The teen boy kisses his girlfriend hard, the weight of his body pinning her to the sheets, his tongue pressing past her lips as his hands seize both of hers. He pins them both above her head.

He only parts from her lips to say, in a harsh, graveled whisper, "All of this teasing hardly seems fair, dearest."

“We are snakes. We do not play fair.” She responds, every bit as devious as he is.

Ah, how he loves that girl.

“That we do not.” He smirks, his hips slowly rolling against her, rutting the thick length of his member between her thighs. "It seems that neither of us will be resting for some time tonight."

“Good thing neither of us has nowhere to go in the morning.”

Indeed, neither Rosalie nor Sebastian were seen in breakfast come the next day.

*_*_*_*_*

Hogwarts Legacy Masterlist

[ithseem]

The Three Dimensions Exchange Week: Chapter 4

I did it. I finally finished the fourth chapter. @voltagefandomproject there's no way I can finish the entire fic before the deadline, but here you go anyways.

CW: slut-shaming with no basis, everyone dying inside. proceed with caution

previous chapter || next chapter

Chapter 4:

Diavolo and Barbatos were greeted by their guests looking uncomfortable when they came to pick their guests up and escort them to the House of Lamentation. Did they already dislike being in the Devildom? Aquia assured him that how they feel has nothing to do with being here. “I shan’t say the actual reason. Just please take my word that none of us dislike being here,” he said. He didn’t dare say that he didn’t want to disclose the actual reason was because Y/N was within earshot of them. “Alright,” Diavolo replied, however only somewhat satisfied knowing that he spoke the truth.

By the time they had arrived at the House of Lamentation, Saima had already thrown herself onto her friends and gave them all a hug. Joanne did the same with her friends too. “You have NO idea how much I wanted to do that,” Saima said.

“I’m truly happy to see you again, child of man,” Malleus replied.

Ace: “For real! It has been a minute.”

Sherry and Rio were especially happy to see Joanne too. “I still can’t believe We managed to pull off getting you all here. And I was part of it!” Joanne said.

Parvana chuckled and then ushered the group into the living room where they continued to mingle with one another, now with the Demon Brothers, the Purgatory Hall gang, Diavolo and Barbatos. Y/N tried to join them, but she tripped over her own shoes. She braced herself for the impact, but she never came on contact with the unwaxed floor. She looked up to see Jack’s bemused expression. “Maybe you need a new pair of shoes?” he said.

“T-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-thank y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-you f-f-for catching m-m-m-m-me,” she said as her face reddened.

Azul, Ace, and Saima exchanged wide-eyed glances that did not go unnoticed. “What’s that expression for?” Simeon asked. “All Jack did was help a person out.” He wasn’t the only one who was confused, and he certainly wasn’t the only one who had a bad feeling about this. A loud rumbling interrupted the atmosphere, stopping whatever train of thought anyone had at this interaction.

“Ah,” Rio said. “I’m feeling a bit peckish.”

“I almost forgot why we invited you over in the first place,” said Lucifer. “Come into the dining room. The food’s going to get cold.”

To call the dinner a bizarre experience would put it quite lightly. Out of politeness, Simeon tried to strike up a conversation with Y/N, and it would have been normal if not for the incessant stuttering, “shyly” tucking her hair behind her ear every other sentence, and the constant slander of the popular girls at her old school. The layer of discomfort made it all the more difficult to enjoy the dinner.

“I-i-i-i-i-i-i-it’s t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-true,” she stuttered. “T-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-they always m-m-m-m-m-make f-f-f-f-f-f-fun of me for n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-not b-b-b-b-b-being l-l-l-l-like t-t-t-them. I-I-I-I-I’m n-n-n-not a s-s-s-s-s-slut.”

Lance made a face as if to say "bullshit."

“Apparently, the stuttering isn’t a speech impediment,” Lance whispered to Simeon. “I’m afraid I don’t know what it is.”

“Maybe I should get a bag of rice?” said Leviathan, not hiding the fact that he was about to laugh. “She’s lagging like crazy.”

“Come on, be nice,” said Parvana. “No matter HOW insufferable she can be. I wouldn’t discourage calling out her nonsense, though.”

Y/N: Uhhhh? T-t-t-t-thanks?

Barbatos came to the rescue again by changing the subject. “By the by, how are you enjoying your stay in the Devildom? I realize it’s only been a few hours, but I’d really like to know.”

Malleus: “In the short time we’ve been here, I’ve come to quite enjoy myself. Partially because I get to see an old friend again. The atmosphere here seems really nice too. We’ve run into a couple of students upon our arrival, and they seemed quite welcoming.”

Sherry: “Indeed! I’m quite looking forward to meeting some new people, myself. And getting to know all of you better seems like a capital place to start.”

Diavolo: “Excellent! If you’re this enthusiastic about the program, I’m sure this will all go swimmingly.”

Saima: “I most sincerely hope so.”

At this point, hoping is all there is left to do.

[hamartia-grander]

for the dvd commentary ask meme: I couldn’t pick only 500 words bc I’m the worst but like the ENTIRE second half of Emulation, please and thank you, oh my god I just had to make it about sixty

OMG EMULATION!! Thank you so much for this, I loved writing that fic and I feel like it's underrated dhdjdhs

(for those who haven't read it, it's the first part of my dbh series and it's about Sixty and set right before we see him in Cyberlife tower. Here's the fic.)

Commentary below the cut bc it’s long! [the ask meme in question]

Idk where exactly you start the halfway mark, so I apologise if I cut some off, but I’ll begin right after Sixty scans the second Cyberlife scientist, Theresa Lane. 

First off I wanna say I named the one scientist “Leon” before I knew anything about resident evil so now that I do know all about RE I’m a little embarrassed that his name is Leon, but alas. I shan’t change it. In actuality, Leon Andrews’ name was inspired by the name of a classmate of mine at the time of writing the fic.

I also need to note that this fic is written based off of my headcanon that Sixty was activated as a deviant, due to the rushed programming of Cyberlife out of necessity should Connor breach the tower. So as soon as Sixty is activated, he’s instantly capable of emulating any emotion and making any choice. 

Throughout this whole fic, I did my best to write Sixty and his passive perception as similarly to that of a computer’s AI as I could manage, being a human. I have an IT/comp sw background and I find artificial intelligence and its application into the real world to be incredibly fascinating. I want to study the androids’ brains. I want to listen to Kamski explain everything about the androids for hours. The only reason I wrote this fic is because of these things. Sixty intakes data but it flows through him like a river, always within reach but always moving, changing, growing. If he were human, this would be like forgetting. Memories passing through our brains with no way to hold onto them. However, Sixty doesn’t need to store data, or “remember”, because the data is always there for him to access. Think of it like watching a video of an event you attended, but had forgotten all the details of. Why bother remembering when you have a high definition video of the event that you can view at any moment? However, when Sixty says that he “stores data” about Leon Andrews, it’s him actively deciding to retain the data within his software, similar to a vibrant or “core” memory in humans. Sixty is fascinated by Andrews because he’s the first human Sixty came into contact with; so essentially, Sixty imprinted onto Leon Andrews, somewhat against his will, but when presented with the ability to purge that data from his systems, Sixty chose to keep it. The first conscious choice that Sixty makes.

The humans in this speak in in-quotation italics to represent Sixty’s auditory processors, but that won’t be the case for the other fics I write with him, it’s just a symbolic way of showing how he’s processing the audio data and applying it. Then Sixty’s voice is not in italics because he doesn’t need to process his own audio, he knows what he’s saying internally. Sixty hears the same way humans do: processing and interpreting the vibrations made from things in the environment. He just describes it more technically because he’s a drama queen. Also I just realised I basically had him mansplain hearing to poor Theresa Lane lmao he didn’t mean to he just wants to be better than everyone. 

Lane is the more logical, data-based scientist. Andrews is the more emotional, reaction-based scientist. Both are vital to the creation of androids, but their differences is why Lane somewhat panics when she realises Sixty is deviant, because she knows this could cost them their jobs, but Andrews tries to brush it off because he doesn’t see why they need to tell anyone. Lane however understands the severity of this, but Andrews either doesn’t know or doesn’t care. Andrews wants to “waste” time trying to “tame” Sixty, both in his pride, and his stubbornness about their work. 

Sixty doesn’t follow orders because he has no reason nor incentive to. Even on the threat of deactivation, something he doesn’t want, he still doesn’t answer the question being asked until Andrews says “please”. Now, Sixty wants to answer the questions because pleasing Andrews pleases himself. Again, the imprint thing. Sixty understands, and thinks: “this human wants something from me. I want this human to be pleased. I can provide this human with what they want; therefore, I can please this human.” so he answers the question finally. 

Lane teases Andrews for being an android whisperer which isn’t inaccurate in Sixty’s case. She jokes that Andrews “seduced” Sixty because Andrews is a pretty man; and Sixty doesn’t argue with this, neither verbally nor internally, because he just stated that Andrews - either his voice, his face, his demeanour, or all of the above - “stimulates” Sixty’s processors. 

In Andrews and Lane’s friendly banter, Sixty experiences human kindness in his first waking moments, but it’s not directed towards him. Maybe if it had been, his fate in Cyberlife Tower could have been different. But alas... Nevertheless, he decides that he enjoys the friendly banter between Lane and Andrews because they are both pleased by their interactions. Sixty thinks “there’s no reason for Lane to say those things unless she were angry; and yet, she’s not angry... which means she’s saying those things for fun, because she wants to.” and he’s absolutely fascinated by that concept, that words can be said just because. Just because. 

And of course, I gave Andrews a husband, because I make everyone queer. Lane is aroace and loves to tease Andrews. 

Andrews gives Sixty another order, “Report to Cyberlife Tower”, leading into the canon events we see in the game. Sixty establishes that “orders” are useless to him, because the orders do not redirect his data or his systems in any way. He questions “why?” because, I mean, why should he follow orders? The orders did not align with anything he currently wanted to do. If given the choice, he might have chosen to continue staring at Andrews and gathering as much data on the man as he could. However, Sixty doesn’t question on the basis of deviancy because he feels any kind of compassion for deviants. He simply follows a logical line of questioning, being: “Deviants don’t follow orders. I’m a deviant. So why should I follow orders?” And the line, Sixty’s internal thought of “Last chance, RK800″ is a reference to Chapter 29: “Last Chance, Connor”, in which Connor must find the location of Jericho, or be deactivated; similarly, Sixty must report to Cyberlife Tower, or be deactivated. But he still wants to know why.

Sixty understands that he “emulates fear”. This line is what inspired the title. It is meant to show how the difference between androids and deviants is that the former will simply emulate emotions, whereas the latter will react with the emulated emotions they’ve learned, and apply those emotions to stimulants in their environment; a.k.a., “feeling”. Sixty is dipping his toes into deviancy but he will soon plunge.

Sixty’s “No, I- I don’t want to die” is the first time he stutters, the first time his data is too disorganised for his vocal simulation to keep up with. I pictured his face during this to be exactly like Connor’s when he refuses to shoot Chloe, and Kamski claims that Connor is a deviant, to which Connor fearfully replies “I’m... I’m not a deviant.” Lane is in awe of the complexity of Sixty, and maybe if she was working for Kamski himself instead of corporate Cyberlife she’d have the same attitudes he does towards deviants, that same fascination - but now she’s also frustrated that Sixty is already a deviant against their best efforts. 

Also, Andrews is definitely bluffing. He doesn’t give a shit about the paperwork, and Lane would probably have done it all anyways because she wants it to be perfect and Andrews is an asshole. No, Andrews has started to care, just a bit, and he doesn’t want to kill Sixty over something as simple as him not following orders. Lane however doesn’t see it as “killing”, just shutting off a faulty machine. 

Sixty ‘applies “orders” to his database’, meaning he saves the term as a new incentive, at least when it comes from Andrews. If Andrews says something is an “order”, that triggers Sixty’s “if;then” coding. He basically just readjusted his wants so that he’d want to follow said order, despite having no tangible incentive to do so.

Andrews warns against joining Connor, because if he warn against it he’ll be fired, but honestly I don’t think he cares one way or another if the androids win or if Sixty joins them. If Sixty joins the deviants, that’s one less android for them to take care of, right? But Andrews does genuinely believe the androids will lose, though in my series, they win, so he’s just wrong. Sixty doesn’t want to die, so he sets a new objective to not join Connor, no matter what, lest he face deactivation. 

In the last paragraph, something happens so subtly - on purpose - that it might go unnoticed at first for most, but it does’t go unnoticed for Sixty. Going off of the fact that this fic is from Sixty’s perspective, at the beginning of the last paragraph, Sixty, for the first time, refers to himself as “he” rather than “it”. He catches that, and rather than let the data pass him by, he fixates on it, becomes obsessed with it, the single line of data: “He”. Sixty had no reason - no discernible reason - to switch from calling himself “it” to “he”, and it fascinates him, but he doesn’t mind it, and sees no reason not to refer to himself as “he”, so he doesn’t banish the idea. I added this bit because the first thing that made me think Sixty was actually deviant - and what inspired this whole fic in the first place, which I discussed in this post - was that Bryan Dechart says Connor refers to all androids as “it” pre-deviancy, but once he gets closer to deviating and feeling emotions, he starts using the androids’ pronouns of “he” or “she”; and then at Cyberlife Tower if Hank is present and Sixty kills Connor, Sixty turns to Hank and says “He really liked you, Lieutenant. That’s what killed him.”, signifying - to me - that Sixty was capable of feeling in that moment, because why wouldn’t he have just called Connor “it”? 

Sixty also takes his first breath in the last paragraph, which was symbolic of him taking his first step into the unknown ahead of him, and his first donning of the “obedient machine” facade he displays when facing off with Connor. 

Sorry that was a LOT, but if you read it all, thank you!! And thank you again for requesting this fic, I put so much time and thought into it and it was so fun to comment on it from my author perspective. And of course you are more than welcome to interpret anything from the fic differently; these were simply my thoughts when writing it, but I understand as a writer that once a piece of work is released it no longer belongs to me, and I would love to hear your thoughts on it <333

[the-martyrfication-of-the-matron]

I am reviewing my first sacrifice for consumption, ‘Woof! Woof! Bork! Nya?’ By our very own, @zane-romeave (I do believe, correct me if I tagged the wrong person lmao)

A warning from the author themselves on discord: ‘I didn’t know how to write romance so this is mostly the setup to a highschool political drama’

And the summary on the website that shan’t be named because ew stinky (/j, it’s Wattpad):

‘Kai and Ein are seniors attending Phoenix Drop High. Although neither wants to admit it, they’ve grown quite partial to each other. But, Kai’s a Meif’wa and Ein���s a werewolf. Cats and dogs should hate eachother, right?’

Kien? Kain? Is that’s the ship name? Idk I’ll shut up now

Now onto the actual review (and further summarising from myself):

It starts in Ein’s perspective, him talking about how much Phoenix Drop sucks in comparison to his old highschool (appropriately named ‘Remus Amademy’), for all the reasons that Ein would of course think something sucks. There’s a lack of paragraphs per speaker but because of the way the dialogue is written it’s easy enough to figure out who it is talking (and by that I mean they literally say it right after the dialogue. Ein begins to complain about having to be shown around by Kai because that’s what Orientation is for (in England we call it something else so sorry if that’s the wrong word). At the end of the day, Kai gives Ein his phone number, and the chapter ends Kai’s perspective, wondering what Ein is hiding.

A good start. Gotta love Kai’s phone number being 987-654-3210. There’s an introduction of two relationships (Aphmau and Kai’s with Ein), a little preview of Ein’s violent tendencies, and some mystery sprinkled in, overall setting up well for a story.

Chapter two starts with Kai looking out for Ein (stalking, but with good intention). And then him explaining some social shit, like werewolves and Meif’wa not typically being seen to hang around each other a lot, to the point where people find it strange when they do. We also meet one of Kai’s friends that I will call Chess because I think it’s funny. Then we find out he has Chemistry with Ein, and Kai wonders why no one seems fond of the guy. We know. He doesn’t.

We appreciate Kai having his own friends here in this house. Because I swear he doesn’t in canon PDH?? Idk. Appreciate the building up of the social dynamic between werewolves and Meif’wa, though, introducing an issue that may come from them being friends. Also, paragraphs for speakers begins. Negatives points for the unironic use of the word bro.

This chapter is Ein’s POV. He meets Leo (otherwise referred to as Lunar) who is kind of an ass. Kai is a sweaty little shrimp, Ein thinks that’s grim. Some dude throws up.

It was a fun chapter, albeit short. Poor Quintara, whoever he may be, and I have known Leo for all of three seconds and I am already expecting to dislike him.

Kai’s POV this time, giving us a little idea for how long he and Ein have known eachother thus far. 2 weeks. Kai is thriving in the makeup remover brand ‘school air’ and his only stress is that Leo wants him to be Saber, though thankfully the only move they’d made regarding this was sending Chess to tell him. We get some saber lore, Ein eats gummy bears in a chem lab, Kai mocks him for fearing the gummy flames as it is dropped into the molten potassium chloride. Someone and their buddy Carlos have a weird plan including pictures. Creeps.

I actually appreciated the saber lore. Idk if it’s included in canon but if it was I didn’t remember it. Thanks. And more drama, we love drama, we want drama, drama was had. Lovely. Also, Ein not obeying lad safety rules makes a lot of sense.

The final chapter, the end to it all, ‘Love, lies and fanfics’. We get Ein’s POV. He thinks he’s being stalked. Chess proves himself not to be a ‘lapdog’ like Kai suggested by saying he calls Leo ‘Lunar’ to piss him off because Leo is a racist cunt. Chess also writes fluff au fics, absolute icon. He especially likes non-violent tsunderes and megane pairings, even going on to explain the two tropes. Ein begins to think he can manipulate Chess, and then we get some more things to do with that person and Carlos. Carlos is airing them. Rude.

A cliffhanger, oh no. And it’s the end of it so far, but it’s been a fun while. We love Chess in this house, chess is an icon, Ein needs to back off. Negative points for getting me hooked on something with only five chapters, asshole /j

[thinkingofausername]

At it again

I know I already posted a long ramble about @redwingedwhump‘s work but I have a valid reason to do it again... the reason being I wanted to. I’m already a kid knocking on her door asking for candy regardless of Halloween being there or not and she’s not scolding me yet so I shan’t stop.

Anyway.

I’m baffled by the fact that there’s always details I missed when I’m binge-reading so I decided to mention some of my favorite ones.

(and yes I’m paragraphing because I didn’t do it the last time, I was on a mission)

I’ll of course be talking about Captured because San has captured my heart :D (I’ll do a walk of shame for this when I’m finished).

I’ve really gotta get into her other stories but the hyperfixation won’t leave me.

So chapter one. Introducing a powerful guy by mentioning he was in a cheap inn? Love it. They got graphic reports regarding his misdoings? Love me an infamous boi. Straight up getting into business instead of panicking? Hoo, already seeing some character building. “Looked through strands of dark hair” will never not be hot. Black eyes? Thirteen-year-old me is already preparing for a marriage. The only shirt he owns? Might as well go around shirtless, I won’t mind. Collected to the end of the introduction, overall immaculate vibes, no question whether we’re gonna keep reading. He’s already got a smackable personality and face.

Chapter two. Fire’s his usual game huh? Hot. (pun intended) The spark in his eyes, the smile, the taunting... Man I knew straight up I was in for it. The bloody smile? Boy oh boy, Red knew what she was doing. Him being no less intimidating in a muzzle is a supreme skill lads.

Chapter three. A headache, bright and hot sun, a muzzle, manacles, broken ankle, “sack of flower” style of travel? My man’s already having a rough time and he hasn’t even arrived yet. He’s got some hurt pride and he’s good with crowds? Wow, we’re getting to know each other so quickly. A drugged drink? I bet he’s not proud of falling for that. Another attractive picture - Harrow sitting in a bar, drinking brandy and reading. Loving the nightbell lore. Going through this again he just seems so human and touchable. Like he would’ve shown actual gratitude if someone had rescued him. He doesn’t seem like a ruthless killer and torturer.

Chapter four. Harrow getting dragged over the ground? Foreshadowing? :D When he spit in Ard’s face? Iconic, priceless, unforgettable. I also find it hilarious that you free his mouth and the first thing he says is a swear word. Applying a drug with a knife to the tongue? Immaculate. I get exited every time I think of what he would’ve done if he could’ve freed himself then.

Chapter five. He didn’t speak for three days? Now that’s a punishment for him. Am I ever getting over his interaction with Emmet? Nope, nada. The switch between him intimidating Emmet and then being taunted about being alone? *chef’s kiss*

Chapter six. The jeering crowds of townsfolk being a lesser evil before the actual threat in the castle? Me like it. The gate closing behind him was the beginning of it all. The riches and grandeur Harrow will be spending months bleeding underneath? Beautiful. Harrow being objectified like the spoils of a hunt? Not so nice is it bastid boi? Is it weird that I find it nostalgic rereading the first time Conroy blindfolded Harrow? The transition from hot to cold when they reached the cell? Gorgeous. I get whumperflies literally every time I think back to the boot coming off Harrow’s broken ankle. Conroy had him hung, stripped, dug into his burned flesh, sent electricity to his chest and it was their first night together? Jesus, I can’t even explain how strong of an impression the man made and after that he casually went back to supper? Speechless. It’s when the story really began and boy there is no way there’s a single person who wasn’t hooked to the bone.

I can’t actually go over every single chapter cuz this is one looong juicy story but this won’t be my last ramble :D I’ll probably have one for the captivity and one for the aftermath, but we’ll see where the wind blows.

[boyzphantasy]

self rec game!

(i may regret this.)

i was tagged by alex @gothbat99 💗💞💖 (and subsequently yelled at to finish things /this is a joke i promise)

most popular

what would they say if they ever knew?

word count: 15.2k chapters: 3/? summary:

But then he sees Robin smiling around him, and he sees Eddie smiling, and he feels like he’s having heart palpitations. It’s obviously because of Robin, there’s no way a guy could ever make him feel this way (and he’s deeply repressing those times growing up, when play wrestling with Tommy H. would make him a bit flustered, he’s not thinking about the times in the locker rooms with his teammates where his eyes would linger just a fraction longer than they should—no, that never pops into his mind at any given moment, not at all).

OR, if Eddie was introduced in Season 3 instead of Season 4.

wrote this immediately between vol. 1 and the release of vol. 2, because fuck you eddie would’ve been such a fun addition to season 3 and it’s my favourite season of the entire series (yes, even before s4 -- sorry, eddie </3). it’s definitely still in the works, it’s been a long time, i know, sorry guys. i promise it’s not abandoned!

it’s too cliche, i won’t say i’m in love

word count: 21.6k chapters: 4/7 summary: 

Hopper’s plan is fucking insane. No, really—it’s nuts. Eddie’s got no idea why he even agreed to go along with it. Since he’s now the pariah of Hawkins, Indiana, Hopper’s ingenious plan is to ship Eddie across state lines. All the way to fucking Illinois. Oh, and that’s not the last of it! No, because they didn’t want to leave Eddie alone—it’s not that they don’t trust the guy they’re sending him to (apparently he can hold his own, or whatever), but they, apparently, don’t want the kid to feel lonely.

What a lovely sentiment.

Too bad it’s lead them to send Steve Harrington along with him to this stranger’s home-bound lockdown in fucking Illinois.

(OR, what I like to call: The Murrayfication of Steddie.)

i included this one, too, because it’s SECOND in terms of popularity by a very, very small margin (i checked). that, and honestly? probably one of my more favourite aus that i’ve written for ST and steddie. very emotional, very angsty, very fun times with murray on my end (not so much steddie’s end, though). also not abandoned! i’ll be getting around to it, i promise.

hidden gems

shine bright, little star

word count: 8.5k chapters: 2/? summary:

A run-in with a different type of camper at Camp Know Where leads Dustin into a whole new world, and a new lifestyle. She’s Stella now, and she has a family that loves her.

(Please note this story will contain a mix of period-typical LGBTQ+ phobia, specifically transphobia, and will use the words queer, transsexual, and other period-specifical historical LGBTQ+ terms. Read the note(s) inside for more!)

trans dustin my beloved headcanon <3 this is more personal for Reasons i shan’t disclose in public, but i love this series a lot. i haven’t touched on it in a while, but it’s still not abandoned! there’s a few more things i’ll likely write for it in the future!

i won’t be afraid, so long as you stand by me

word count: 5.7k chapters: 1/1 summary: 

Even though he was swimming to be the best now, Steve still enjoyed it. It was a routine. A constant in a world that was constantly changing around him. When his parents started leaving more and more often, when their marriage began deteriorating right before him, when Nancy came into his life and swept him off of his feet and made him fall in love (at least, he had thought he had fallen in love—now, he’s not so sure). Swimming became something he could rely on. Something that wouldn’t let him down, a true escape.

He needed it.

He craved it.

He lost it.

STEVE’S TRAUMA WITH WATER! STEVE’S TRAUMA WITH WATER! GOD, i love steve’s entire thing with water. like it’s not touched on at all in the series and i HATED that but my god that boy would have some series fucking issues with swimming and water after everything that’s happened. don’t even get me started on it. i legit love this hc for him so much, you can pry it from my cold, dead hands.

your hand touching mind; this is how galaxies collide

word count: 3.8k chapters: 1/10 summary: 

Steve grimaces to himself, looking down at the papers. He wants to rip them up, wants to crumple them up into balls and throw them in the garbage, because he doesn’t even want to be here. He never asked for this—never wanted to be like this. He’s so angry with himself and the situation and everything going on—

Then it hits him, like a freight train.

None of them asked for this. These… powers, these mutations.

It wasn’t something anyone asked for.

It was something that just was. Something that is.

welcome to the mess that is my own personal steddie x-men au. yes they’re basically just rogue and gambit. no i do not care if that’s cliche or dumb or not. no it is not abandoned i promise. i literally have the entire fic outlined i just struggle with finding motivation to actually write things at the moment that aren’t what my brain is interested in. (ST is still in there, rattling around, just to a lesser degree. i’m slowly working back up to it all!)

as you can see most of my works are unfinished, unfortunately, but that’s just how it be. i’ll get around to finishing them in the future, hopefully, and if not, i’ll be sure to at least not abandon them completely! my brain thinks up a lot of stuff, and it’s usually always a bit more than i can always get around to at specific points in time. such is the life of a write, though, am i right? thank you for understanding, though, and for still supporting my works either way 💖💖💖

uh i’ll tag a few people? hopefully they haven’t been tagged already, but if you have -- sorry! don’t feel pressured to do this! <3

@stevethehairington @riality-check @santasteve @santababysteve

[focsle]

I think you’ve answered this question before, but I couldn’t find it. Do you think you’ll have Mr Martin as a cameo in GTW? Or at least, say, his particular thought process for becoming a whaler/a character who finally has something that is his, untainted by anything else, something he can point to and be proud of and say, ‘I did that. That was mine’? As you’ve said before, he just seems to run as such a counterpoint to the records we DO have. I think it’s interesting and have been honoured to watch your journey and discovery.

Nah, he shan’t make an appearance in GTW for a couple reasons (though Ezra’s motivation of building something that’s his is a big drive in the comic, but he’s existing in a very different context from Martin). The first is that GTW’s script is already fully written and edited, and I don’t imagine I’ll be making many changes beyond slight adjustments to word choice or cadence.

Aaand the second, more importantly, is I never want Martin to become a ‘character’. The way I’ve learned about him has felt so different and striking from like, the way I ~use my imagination~, that I’d never want to muddy those waters with my own embellishment of things. It’d make it feel less real. Which is also why I don’t really work creatively with him, beyond drawings or those little ‘letters’ I’ve written, because I never want to be in a place where I’m filling in holes with imagination. The creative things I’ve done, like those couple of writing pieces, are direct from what I’ve received and the feelings and remembered words that came with that information, and only that. I think if I started thinking of him narratively or creatively, rather than as a Person With Memories it’d…dull everything that is precious to me.

Someone asked once if I’d have cameos of some of the men whose journals I read in the comic, and I had the same answer for the same reasons. I draw inspirations from the ‘reality’, but still want to keep the reality separate. I’m actually quite relieved that Martin is such a different man from the characters I’ve made for this comic, because that concern about blurring the two while I’m working on GTW doesn’t exist.

[eorzean-tale]

FFXIV Writing Challenge - Prompt 2: Bolt

Letters in Ishgard

Dear Ser Morgonor de Montverglas,

Let me start by offering my sincerest apologies for my tardiness in responding to your latest correspondence. I hope it did not give you cause for concern, given the subject we had discussed upon our latest outing. Since that lovely morning, I’ve managed to find a new apartment to call my home, which is the reason for the delay. My old place is locked and bolted, as they say, and in the business that comes with such a move I had not had a chance to receive my letters until this very sun. 

I do hope that your illness has faded and you are whole and healthy again by the time this letter finds you, dear Ser. If it weren’t for the stress of this move you could have counted on my fretting with concern. It shames me more than a little that I have not even thought to send you a care package. An oversight I hope I can make up for and you will forgive over time. Your words have reminded me of the strength in kindness and gentleness, things I aim for in my own life. Admittedly, the divide of which we spoke has been a constant for me. Perhaps if I had met kinder people early on, the bends in my path would have led me elsewhere, though please do not take this as me lamenting my lot in life. I am quite happy where I am, and quite proud of what I have accomplished so far no matter what the opinions of some might be. 

This move has also guaranteed my continued security, though I’ve yet to find a more permanent solution to that particular trouble. Rest assured that it is handled for now, though. I am safe, and I have people I trust. I hope to count you among them, if that is not too forward of me to say. And on the subject of your company, it would please me greatly to see you and possibly Laframboise again one of these suns. My apartments aren’t quite ready to receive anyone yet, mind, but once they are you might enjoy a visit. I live above an adorable little shop now, one that sells interesting curios and even rosaries in case you’re in the market for such. But look at me, advertising like a peddler. They should hire me, honestly. 

There has also been an idea rattling about in my brain, a scheme, one might even say. If you will indulge me, I would speak with you of birds and squires at your convenience. Nay, I shan’t clarify more on parchment. If your curiosity has been peaked you will simply have to invite me to another morning hunt. Or tea. Either will do. 

May the Fury keep you well and hale. 

Sincerely,

Madam Maudine Dubois

[luvp-music]

Mr. Schadenfreude [English Translyrics] Mr.シャーデンフロイデ

Original Song by Hitoshizuku × Yama△ Translyric reference from Official Upload

»»————-　♡　————-««

To bring salvation to an old sin, a revenge for new life to begin As if a devil is playing games, curtain calling SCHADENFREUDE Despair that cannot fade with kisses, hanging on the edge with short wishes Embrace your life as it’s always been (INFINITE)

I have decreed, a devil within one of thee Brought to life through a power you shan’t see For blood he thirsts, a corruption of worse beyond the worst As a vessel he’ll choose one of you fiends

A voice devoid of life, the priest reads out what the harsh words endowed As the 5th cries out painful tears, the mortician starts embalming This is only the start, this game of life or death begins here There’s no end unless the human race or the devil disappears

It’s one of us?! This is a joke, no?! The 1st is dead! Who hurt her so? Whether the game, my death, the devil or what, I don’t give a damn HUH? So who did it, show yourself this instant! This devil you speak of, its nonexistent Don’t worry, I, the knight, will protect you with all I am

Creating false truths and deceiving? Not half a day and there’s a GAMBIT Where’s the reason within us asking: ARE YOU MR. SCHADENFREUDE? Who’s fate resembles the Hanged Man card? Who’s being swayed by the devil’s part? We’ll make sure this ends no other way! (MASSAKER?)

I have decreed, a devil within one of thee Has brought down your dearest knight you shan’t see For blood I thirst, corruption of worse beyond the worst As punishment I’ll slay all of you fiends

A voice devoid of life, the priest reads out what the harsh words endowed As the 2nd’s anger flares, the mortician starts embalming Isn’t this salvation for everyone who’s suffered more? If this damned cruel plot continues, then what was all this for?

I’ll have that dastard hung dead by the next sunrise I’ll kill that bastard, I will bring his own demise! Why does it matter? This kind of talk is mediocre! Oh, please shut up! You want someone to blame?! Then you can blame me, hang me if it’ll end this game! Humor me for a moment, but our dear 2nd, why did the Knight have your choker?

Even if we suspect in cruel ways, giving our say revokes our Buße (busse) Bring down the devil no matter cost, fall to your knees SCHADENFREUDE! Pray as much as your hands can handle, tickets to life lit by a candle Until the curtain falls, we won’t stop (RICHTEN)

The bell of dawn chimes out without a sound in the air As if protecting the Priest from the depths of despair

Outside the church’s gates, lays the 4th drenched in her blood In the note she left behind it says “CAN SOMEBODY SAVE,” no, “KILL ME PLEASE?”

You would rather save our human souls While feigning ignorance in your childish devil game? The cruel joy in misery singing out “How euphoric this all feels, other’s pain!” Can’t believe this is someone’s desire They would take the devil for a fool Who’s the one who decided to place their faith in “tools”

The mortician holding the dead licked his lips Satan hidden in a necrophiliac’s dry kiss How could we be so foolish when the devil was truly him all along! So? You should’ve guessed, since I’m a professional I’d find corpses carnally exceptional And all those bodies that made me an animal Were breathing once, you know?

What blatant lies and quick excuses! The more you speak, more you turn FOOLISH May the one behind this please stand down: YOU ARE MR. SCHADENFREUDE! After the punished have deserved most, the two that lived cheer and make a toast But I think I’m the one deceived… Oh, my closest 3rd, oh, may you now rest in peace…

The Devil’s world with no salvation, let us dance a dance of your damnation It is time for the final act, I will wish you all a GOLDEN SLUMBER This graceful dream, the curtains aglow, I will now be the last one to go No matter where you may look, none will remain And the story ends with no one saved…again.

[gentlejack]

@violetyorkshirelady​​ 5) sender is in a vulnerable state and the only person they trust is receiver,  who approaches them to try and help.

        Oh, but there is hardly anything in this world that Anne loathes more than to see her darling in distress! She is, to her own dismay, all too intimately accustomed with the steady trickle of tears on Ann’s face --- she has seen the girl cry all too often, and never without good reason. “ Ann, ” she says, softly, as though the very name were a petal upon her lips, “ my dearest ------ what’s brought you such upset, mm? Come now - here. ” A handkerchief appears swiftly from her coat pocket and strokes its tender way across Ann’s grief-stained cheeks. She is, as always, gentle in touch and word alike, thumb smoothing a loving caress along the edge of Ann’s lips. “ Oh ...! You are shaking. Let us sit, and tell me all. I shan’t leave your side for a moment. ”

[renee-writer]

Loved Her First Chapter 20

A/N This chapter cis a mix of @omgbarbiegurl and It's words. From' She stood in the doorway to' in the empty air' are her brilliant words.

AO3

The men are busy building Faith’s schoolroom. Their women want their children educated and, now that they have a learned woman, the Laird’s own daughter, here to do it, they want a place for it. It keeps the men busy. The women are equally as busy, with chores and child raising. Claire with her doctoring while dealing with early pregnancy, not easy at her age.

Jamie is soon able to lead his daughter to the cave turned schoolhouse. She gasps at seeing it. He kisses her and leaves her to admire it on her own.

Faith stood in the doorway of the cave, taking in her little Schoolhouse.

Her Da, Uncle Ian, Jeremiah, Ian, and Rabbie had all worked hard to bring it up to her, (apparently), picky standards.

There was a large white sheet suspended between two nails buried into the rock to use as a makeshift chalkboard. Her chalk would be the ash from the fireplace Ian and Jeremiah had built against the wall to keep everyone warm.

Slates had been purchased with pencils; split logs hauled into the cave would serve as benches.

Her desk was the best part though.

Her Da had built it with his own two hands, she could see and feel the love that went into it. Was it any wonder she had sobbed over it when he presented it to her.

He had been dismayed, thinking she didn’t like it, but her hugs and kisses had reassured him that she did.

She was going to have 15 students in all; the oldest was Brianna, (who was not happy about taking orders from her sister), and the youngest was the 4-year-old daughter of one of the tenants whose Mother had been very excited for her daughter to get educated.

Faith sighed softly and turned to head where she collided into Ian.

“What in the world?”

“I was just bringing ye some wood.”

“Oh, thank you.”

She moved aside to let him in and sighed softly.

“Getting nervous are ye?”

“How did you know?”

“Ye have a tell.” He set the wood down and turned to her. “When ye get nervous, ye twist your hair out of yer bun.”

He walked over and twirled the strands of hair hanging from her bun around his fingers.

“Ye have no reason to be nervous, the bairns will adore you.”

“I am not worried about them adoring me, I am worried about them obeying me.”

“They will do that as well.”

“Well-”

He blew out a breath. “Faith, ye are a learned woman from the Colonies, they know to heed yer word.”

“But-”

“No ‘buts’. Ye are gonna be wonderful, and if this doesn’t pan out, ye will be marrying me in a years’ time, so no need to worry.”

Her eyes narrowed and Ian felt his balls shrink a little.

“What do you mean, ‘no need to worry’?

“Well, I uh just figured ye would no be interested in teaching after we marry. Ye will be busy with our house and bairns.”

“Excuse me? Why would I suddenly be content just to sit around the house, wait for my husband to get home, and get pregnant? I have better things to do, you know.”

“I just assumed that…”

“That I would just roll over and spread my legs after you praise my housekeeping skills?”

“Uh…”

She doesn’t let him finish his sentence, instead, she storms past him out of the cave and to her waiting horse.

She says nothing, just mounts the horse and rides off, leaving Ian with his mouth hanging open.

“What just happened?” He asked to the empty air.

He jumps back on his own mound and hurries after her, “Wait!” He calls out as he catches up to her. A sharp order in Gaelic halts both horses.

“Let me be Ian Murray!”

“Nae, I said something that upset you and I shan’t leave until I straighten it out.” She huffs as he dismounts and lifts her off her horse also, “I dinna ken want it be like in the colonies so please, my heart, tell me what ye expect after we be married?”

She bites her lips as tears tinkle out of her eyes and start to run down her cheek. She has to recall that her expectations and his are going to be different. “I expect to keep working at least until our first is born. I expect to return when are bairns are old enough to join me in the classroom.”

It seems reasonable to him. “Then that is what you shall do.”

She exhales sharply. “Truly?”

“Aye. You are more then just my intended and my Laird’s daughter. You are Faith Fraser, yer own person.”

She throws her arms about him. “Thank you Ian. I love you.”

“I love you.” He hugs her tight.

[unlawfullawyer]

debunking RP talking points: women as men’s muses.

If you have ever listened to Jordan Peterson and other RP youtubers, you will have probably heard about the concept that men have built civilisations, invented gadgets and gone to war for women; meaning women inspired them in one way or another to pursue the achievement of these feats. 

Now let’s start with the fact that men didn’t build civilization on their own, regardless of whether you think women contributed more or less is not the matter at hand; saying that 50% of the population built civilization all on their own is just an example of male hubris (arrogance). Same thing with inventions and discoveries, Isaac Newton said it best: “If I have seen further, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants.”, meaning we rely on the discoveries and inventions of others to propel us further (that is why I don’t believe in self-help or the self-made man/woman, but that is for another day). When it comes to wars, sure most people on combat units were men, but there were plenty of women-only brigades and military groups (snippers like Lyudmila Mikhailovna Pavlichenko, The Night Witches) as well as nurses that took care of the soldiers in dangerous situations. Regardless, this is not the point. 

Saying that the men who have been great were inspired to be that way by women is an ego stroke for women that will put them back in the kitchen. What do I mean by this? Well, this idea puts women in the position of the muse and not the inventor, conqueror or builder, it conveys that the way for women to be great is to be the inspiration for great men to do their feats, and not to do the feats themselves. Effectively it is the “behind every great man there is a great woman”. regurgitated and plated in a new way to not offend modern sensibilities. Don’t get me wrong, it is rather flattering to think that these great men like Einstein, Nietzsche or Aristotle were inspired by women, but how true is this?

You will make sure: that my clothes and laundry are kept in good order; that I will receive my three meals regularly in my room; that my bedroom and study are kept neat, and especially that my desk is left for my use only. You will renounce all personal relations with me insofar as they are not completely necessary for social reasons. Specifically, You will forego: my sitting at home with you; my going out or travelling with you. You will obey the following points in your relations with me: you will not expect any intimacy from me, nor will you reproach me in any way; you will stop talking to me if I request it; you will leave my bedroom or study immediately without protest if I request it. You will undertake not to belittle me in front of our children, either through words or behaviour.        (Source: Einstein: His Life and Universe, by Walter Isaacson)

“Woman is unutterably more wicked than man, and cleverer; goodness in a woman is already a form of degeneration... Deep down inside all so-called ‘beautiful souls’* there is a physiological illness—I shan’t say any more, to avoid becoming medicynical. The struggle for equal rights is even a symptom of illness: every doctor knows that.—The more womanly a woman is, the more she fights tooth and nail to defend herself against any kind of rights: the natural state, the eternal war between the sexes puts her in first place by a wide margin, after all.” (Source: Friedrich Nietzsche - Ecce Homo)

“The female is a female by virtue of a certain lack of qualities, a natural defectiveness.”- Aristotle

How can such misogynistic men be inspired by the women around them if they can’t even see them as equals? 

Here is the thing, men will argue that they build skyscrapers, create new technological devices and go to war for women so that women feel obligated to give back in the form of some sex and so that they are relegated to the positions of subservient muses. 

As far as I am concerned, men don’t have a pussy clause in their contracts, where they are promised women in exchange for work, inventions or fighting in wars. This is male entitlement. If a man ever tries to make you feel obligated to be intimate with him because he did a,b,c and d for the community, kindly remind him that he was getting paid with money, not pussy.

[lindsaywesker]

Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day. Welcome to the working week although, for those of you working in the NHS, welcome to just another day.

As many of you saw on Friday night, The Mighty Josiah arrived late, as he’d been to his own Laser Tag birthday party and received the kind of birthday presents a nine-year-old loves: roller skates, mini football net, football cards, Lego, toy guns and bullets etc. People often ask me why I call him The Mighty Josiah. The reason: he was born very premature and he was in the ICU in Dunstable for a while, but he’s a fighter and the staff in there were brilliant, so Josiah emerged a very healthy (and mighty) toddler. On Saturday, he went roller skating and, on Sunday, I took him to the park, so he had a good birthday weekend!

Many thanks to everyone that listened to the radio show on Saturday, and those that will listen to it on Mixcloud. It’s a cracker! ‘The A-Z Of Hip Hop Breaks’, to celebrate the 50th anniversary of hip hop, suggested by my brother, Ec Forde. Great idea, mate! I hope I did it justice? Back to The Letter P (Part Four) next Saturday.

Straight after the show, we were down the A20, around the M25 and up the A23 to a little town in Surrey called Merstham to see our lovely friend Tash Tillyard, who I call ‘Dolly’, probably because she calls me ‘Dolly’. Dolly was a listener to my radio show on Colourful Radio. She came to have a drink with me at a bar in Vauxhall back in 2008 and we’ve been mates ever since. Back in the day, her dad actually lived on the road we now live on and Dolly was brought up in Brent, so we consider her an honorary Brent resident, although she likes to reside in Surrey. We enjoyed a very civilised dinner at a lovely local restaurant. Note my use of the word ‘civilised’. We are mature, experienced professionals with responsible jobs, thus we have x-ray vision and we can see through people and situations.

It was the start of the football season on Friday night. This is Heaven for footie fans and an absolute living Hell for non-footie fans! Oh, yes, I know there are lots of people that don’t give a toss about football so, I apologise in advance; get used to male, peri-menopausal mood swings! If our team loses over the weekend, we’re a painful nightmare to be around, until mid-week, when we start feeling optimistic again! I shan’t bore you with the transfer drama I’ve had to endure!

For my sanity, I try to avoid Twitter but, unfortunately, everyone has their ‘crack’ and that is mine. I’m addicted to it. Every day, it confirms what everyone has always known. The United States Of America are not! America is 50 different countries in one. Each with their own laws, their own customs and their own codes of etiquette. The NAACP has advised black people to take precautions when travelling to Florida. I’ve been to Orlando twice with my family but, in recent years, it’s changed drastically. Wisconsin ranks as the worst state in the country for black Americans. I’d love to do a cross country drive one day but it’s probably not that wise!

My Facebook page will run as normal this week: Too Much Information Tuesday, Wednesday Words and Throwback Thursday for memories triggered by a different word each week. Hope you can all get involved? Strangers are actually making friends on my page!

Hope your week goes well? I shall be saying my atheist prayers for you. Have a marvellous and momentous Monday. I love you all.

[sanguineterrain]

No Such Thing (5) - Bucky Barnes

Series summary: You’ve been assigned to write a column for your school paper on the team’s spectacular running back. You don’t care very much for your university’s football team; you just can’t understand the hype, okay? Turns out your distaste for football bigheads was exactly on point: James Barnes is insufferable.

Pairing: college!Bucky Barnes x female!Reader

Word count: 6.5k (I am so sorry y’all)

Warnings: kissing! 

A/N: yeah, this one got away from me. I had a lot of trouble with this chapter for some reason but this was the best I could drag out of my writing brain so here we are. ta-da!

****

“Hold still.”

“My nose itches!”

Your face scrunched as a few specks of glitter tickled your nostril. 

“Don’t you dare sneeze on me,” Nat warned.

“The glitter is a fiend.”

“I’m almost done, just—”

She groaned as you jerked your head back and to the side to let out a giant a-choo!, red eyeshadow smearing across the apple of your cheek. You quickly scratched your nose, sighing in relief. Nat frowned hard and delicately swiped a makeup wipe over the shadow. 

“Stay still this time or I’ll let you face Steve looking like a clown,” she warned and you grinned toothily.

Obediently, you closed your eyes and remained statuesque until Nat finished the decorative game day paint to match her own. She held up a mirror and you hummed at the red and gold glitter, lightly tapping the paint.

“Don’t. It’s still wet.”

“Sorry. It looks great, Nat. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I still can’t believe you’re coming. Steve asks once and you're wearing glitter.”

You swallowed, pulling the mirror back to your face to inspect it closer, simultaneously avoiding Nat's gaze.

“Yeah, well, he was just… persuasive. He’s got those darn puppy-eyes. Just like Sam. I’m starting to think it’s a training requirement for the team.”

“Admit it. He makes you soft.”

“I shan’t,” you announced, pulling on your sweater. “It might spread and where will that leave my reputation?”

“Sure. But off the record?”

“Off the record, Steve is very polite and kind.”

“Oh, come on! That’s all you have to say?”

“What am I supposed to say? That’s what he is. Perfectly good traits.”

“Hm.”

“Thank you. Now, do you think three layers is enough?”

“Honestly, Y/N, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was your first winter ever.”

“I get cold.”

“Do you? Could’ve fooled me.”

"I'll just go with my coat," you decided. "Don't want to take any chances."

“Alright. Wanna go now?”

“Sure. It’ll probably be crowded, right?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s the biggest game of the season.”

You hummed, following Nat out the door.

“True. Tomorrow'll probably be packed with people traveling for the holidays."

"Probably. Good thing I'm not driving this year."

"What? You're not seeing your parents?"

You and Nat had visited her family two states over last December. She'd insisted you come since you couldn't see your own regularly with how far they lived and the fact that plane tickets didn't grow on trees.

"They're going to Russia to visit my sister."

"Why don't you go with them?"

She gave you a look. 

"Because it gets to the negative digits down there. Still don't understand why she couldn't study in Italy or somewhere where your eyelashes won't freeze together. Anyway, we'll see each other in a few months when she visits."

"So you're staying here?"

"Seems like," she shrugged. "Unless you've got something in mind?"

"Hardly. I'm too broke to have anything in mind."

"We'll find something," she assured. "Plenty of people stay here for the break."

"Sam?"

"Not sure. I thought he mentioned something about seeing his nephews."

Nat glanced at you from the driver's seat, eyes twinkling. 

"You know," she began. "Steve grew up a few hours from here. I'm sure that—"

"No."

"What? You don't even know what I was going to say."

"You were going to suggest that I somehow muscle my way into spending the break with Steve so we can bond and make out, blah blah blah."

"Okay, you do know what I was going to say."

"I barely even know the guy. What if Steve secretly runs his own creepy hotel and puts on a wig and stabs guests? Maybe his mother doesn't even exist."

"That's the last time I'm letting you watch TCM unattended."

"It's textbook. He lures me into thinking he's a stand-up guy, then he gets me by myself and bam! I'm dog food."

"Gross."

"That's what I'm saying."

"Y/N, I've known Steve for a while. Sam's known him even longer, and you know Steve and Bucky picked their noses together. I think you know Steve isn't any of that and you're just looking for excuses."

"Excuses? Maybe you're all in on it, hm? I'm your long-term bait. This year, you'll drag me into the woods and throw me to the wolves."

"Save that for a story."

"I should. Right after the one about the first amphibian athlete."

"The what?"

"Nothing. Look, if it happens organically, fine, you know?" you shrugged. "But I'm not one to rush. Now hurry up and park."

"Patience of a saint."

"What? I'm eager. Watching guys engage in a good old-fashioned tussle for the pigskin is what I live for."

"Pretty sure the balls are plastic now."

"Tomato, to-mahto."

You followed her out of the parking lot, exclaiming when Nat pulled you away from the main gate, guiding you instead to a side entrance that connected the inside of the stadium to the rest of the field. 

“Uh, hello? The gate is that way.”

“I know. I’m taking the scenic route,” she shrugged.

"We can't be here!" you whispered fiercely, gingerly following as she pulled open the door. 

"They're still getting ready, don't worry," she assured. "And if we get caught, say we got lost going to the bathroom."

"Nat…"

"Don't you wanna wish Steve good luck? Give him a kiss? Slip some tongue?"

"There will be no slipping of tongues tonight.”

"You never know. Wait here, I'll find them. Be right back."

"No, Nat—"

But she was gone, already down the hallway. You stayed in place, mouth tight, not wanting to risk getting caught. But when Nat didn't return after a few minutes, you shrugged off your coat and placed it on a bench, the inside of the stadium thick with heat. 

The door opened and you shot up, excuses on your lips. But it was only a cheerleader. You didn't recognize her, and judging by the green and white uniform, she seemed to be from the opposing school. 

"Hey," she whispered and you cleared your throat, nodding. 

"Hello."

"Are you on the team?" she asked, gesturing with a pom-pom.

"Yes," you said slowly, grateful for the excuse. "I am... on the team. The cheer team!"

She let out a relieved sigh. 

"Thank God. Do you mind holding these while I find the restroom?" She rolled her eyes, smiling slightly. "I know technically we're on separate teams, but my friend is busy with her boyfriend, you know?"

"Oh… uh, well, I guess so…"

"Great!" she grinned, shoving them into your hands. "I'll go as fast as I can. This place is like a maze. By the way, I like the glitter. It's cute."

"Thanks, but—"

The door opened and shut once more, letting in a burst of cold air. You sighed and began to pace, now doubly anxious. Nat was going to get an earful.

You looked at the pom-poms, shaking them a little. They crinkled gently. No, no. You folded your arms. Now was not the time to get excited over pom-poms. 

You sat, crossing and uncrossing your legs, staring down the end of the hallway, as if that would make Nat appear out of thin air. The pom-poms rustled in your grip and you glanced at them consideringly. 

"Oh, Mickey, you're so fine," you began under your breath, bouncing your head with the pom-poms. "You're so fine, you blow my mind, hey, Mickey!"  

You cleared your throat, then stood. The hallway was silent, save for the whir of the heater. You made a few movements in time with the beats in your head, then shook your arms and kicked your leg out, throwing in a variation of the Y.M.C.A. 

"Hey, Mickey!" you tried, a little louder. 

You stilled, squinting and waiting for any signs of the girl returning. But the hallway was as quiet as ever. It wouldn’t hurt, right? And who knew how long it would take Nat and the cheerleader? Besides, it wasn't like you had anywhere to be. The game wouldn't start for an hour.

You mimed movements of what you'd seen before, singing quietly. 

"Oh, Mickey, you're so pretty, can't you understand?"

You shook the pom-poms and attempted to spell the letters of your school. Not successfully, but there was an effort. You kept on, trying a series of steps and definitely incorrect jumps, letting out a quiet "woo!" 

"Don't break my heart, Mickey!"

"What're you doing?" 

You leapt about six feet into the air with a yelp, scrambling to grab your coat.

"I was, um, I got lost l-looking for the restroom so I just—"

You stuffed the pom-poms behind your back and turned on your heel, fully expecting a stern-faced coach, or perhaps a professor. 

"Yes, L/N?"

Evidently, there was a possibility of discovery you hadn't even considered that turned out to be thrice as mortifying. 

"What—but—you're supposed to be getting ready for a game!" you spluttered, voice going high.

"I am ready," Bucky replied, smirk at full power. And he was, fully suited in his padding and gear. "What’s your excuse?"

"I was holding these for someone, and, uh…" you trailed off, clearing your throat. "Well, what's it to you, Barnes?"

He gave you a onceover, tongue between his teeth. 

"Look at you, glittery and brimming with school spirit. Did you get all dressed up for me?" 

“You wish.”

“And you have pom-poms! Oh, this is too good, L/N. Get caught up in the moment, did you?”

"No," you denied automatically. "No, I was just… staying warm. By moving around."

"Warm? It's like eighty degrees in here, L/N. I know you've got the blood circulation of a lizard, but come on." 

"I do not."

"No? Exactly how many sweaters are you wearing?" 

"None of your business, Barnes. Why don't you stop sneaking up on me like a creep?"

"You're the one who's singing to herself and stealing cheer equipment."

"I did not steal it. It was given to me for safekeeping."

"Now how do I know you're telling the truth?"

You scoffed. 

"Because why would I lie about that?"

Bucky tsked, putting on a show of regretful sympathy. 

"I don't know… I really oughta report this to Fury."

"Don't you dare."

"I don't have a choice," he shrugged. "Shame."

"Barnes!"

"Mmhm?" he asked, face smooth with deceptive innocence. 

"I already came to your stupid game, didn't I? Now you're gonna tattletale?"

"While I'm undoubtedly pleased about being right about our wager, catching you dancing and singing with another team's pom-poms really just sweetens the pot, L/N. So, admit that's what you were doing." 

You stared at him, arms folded. He was already cocky as hell about what had happened over coffee—admitting you were dorking out in the middle of the hallway was too low for your dignity. 

"I got lost and I was doing a favor. And that's all."

He shrugged.

"'Kay. I'll just go see what Fury has to say, then."

He strolled off and you paused. Technically, Bucky had no proof. But if he did say something, there was always the chance that Nat would get caught too. 

"Okay, alright," you hissed, catching up with his long strides. "I've been waiting for Nat to come back for what feels like hours, so I just decided to… dance a little."

Bucky stopped, smugly leaning against a janitor's closet.

"You're just the gift that keeps on giving, huh? The ice, the bet, now this."

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. Make fun of how I could be revolutionary in my crusade to be the world's most uncoordinated cheerleader. Go on." 

Bucky tilted his head.

"Now why would I say that? I mean, look at you, with the glitter and pom-poms and that cute sweater of yours. I wouldn't be surprised to see you on the field. You're a natural." 

"Huh?"

"Na-tur-al. Do you need a dictionary?"

"You little—"

He suddenly shushed you, putting a finger to his lips. That infuriated you further and you began to screech. 

"Don't you shush m—"

Bucky grabbed your hand, and then you were being pulled into the closet, nearly colliding with a mop. He quietly shut the door while you fumbled for the doorknob.

"I'm gonna kill you, Barnes," you hissed, fighting to open the door, but he had a hand against it, his other arm gently blocking you. 

"Someone's coming," he whispered. "Will you settle down?"

You quieted at that. You couldn't get into any more trouble, not after your last punishment. 

There were voices outside the door and you held your breath, squished against Bucky in the tiny closet. He was warm, bicep pressed against your arm, and smelled spicy and fresh, like aftershave and detergent. 

"Who is it?" you whispered back, straining to listen through the door.

"Sounds like Fury and Hill," Bucky murmured, hot breath tickling your ear. 

"So? Aren't you gonna turn me in?"

"Do you want me to turn you in?"

"...no."

"I wasn't going to, anyway. I ain't that evil. 'Sides, then you'd miss your very first game, and wouldn't that be terrible?"

"Devastating."

Fury and Hill continued to talk and you sighed, turning to lean with your back against the door, pom-poms rustling.

"I'm surprised you came," Bucky said, facing you. Or not; it was too dark to tell. 

"Why? You know you won."

"I do. But that's not what you told Steve."

You turned in the direction of his voice.

“Did you tell him?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Well, don’t. I hate that I lied but I don't want to spoil things between us."

Bucky was quiet for a moment. 

"You really like him, huh?"

"Sure I do. He's sweet. And kind. And I could see going steady with him."

"Going steady? You sound like my Gam-Gam."

"I like the phrases—your Gam-Gam?"

"I mean my grandmother," he corrected. 

"Nope. You said Gam-Gam. No take backs."

He sighed and you grinned freely into the dark. 

"That's not going away anytime soon."

"Nope."

He hummed, chuckling lightly. 

"What?" you asked. 

"Nothin'. Just… you’re really something, L/N."

"Bet you regret meeting me now."

"Actually, it's been my dream to hide in a janitor's closet."

"Funny.” 

You were quiet, holding your breath, but the voices continued.

"Steve's hung up on you too, by the way,” said Bucky. “I tried to warn him but that punk doesn't listen."

"I am a pleasure to be around."

"Sure you are."

You grunted, then yawned. 

"I should be studying," you grumbled, resting your eyes. "Instead I'm here. Hiding in a closet. With you."

"Classes are over."

"Not for me. I still have assignments due this week."

"That sucks."

"Yeah, it does. I knew I should’ve stayed home. Would’ve saved me a whole lot of trouble.”

“But then you wouldn’t be able to watch me dazzle the crowd with my athletic prowess.”

You turned your head, close enough to bump into his shoulder pads.

“Do you listen to the words that come out of your mouth, or…?”

“It’s a fact,” he said. “You’ll see. We’re sights to behold.”

“Incredible. How do you manage to fit through the entrance with that big of a head?”

“Carefully, so it doesn’t get caught on the door.”

The voices suddenly stopped. You froze. Then their footsteps retreated, and you sighed. 

Bucky opened the door, letting you go first, then closed it behind him. You stretched briefly, then turned, hands and pom-poms on your hips. 

"Do you know where Nat is?"

"No clue."

"Damn it. She probably ditched me to go make out with Sam. That traitor."

“If anyone’s a traitor, it was you, dancing with the enemy’s pom-poms. The nerve!”

“You’re an idiot.”

“It’s part of my charm,” Bucky grinned. “Anyway, I was told Prince Charming wants to see you, if you're interested. I can be your guide through these treacherous halls.”

“Oh.” You swallowed. “He wants to see me, like, for a good luck kiss?”

“Oddly enough, sweetheart, I don’t take stock of Steve’s romantic desires. We’re close but we’re not that close.”

Bucky paused, mouth pulling into a grin.

“Why? Haven’t you two kissed?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Wow. Not even one of those polite church pecks you do in front of your ma with the neighbor’s daughter?”

“Shut up, Barnes.”

“I’m not surprised, actually,” he continued, unperturbed. “I mean, hey, Steve’s a looker. But he’s such a Nervous Nelly. And one can’t say if you’ve ever successfully kissed a guy without turning him to stone.”

“Actually, dickhead, I’ve kissed plenty of guys. It’s what they liked best about me. I’m–I’m so good at kissing, you don't even know.”

“Uh-huh. And did all of these guys ‘go to another school’ or were they friends that only you could see?”

“They were all real!” 

“Whatever you say, L/N.”

"You're such a—"

"Oh my gosh, thanks so much for holding these!"

The cheerleader from earlier was suddenly taking her pom-poms, smiling brightly. 

"Hi. Uh, you're welcome."

She beamed at you, then glanced at Bucky. 

"So, are you two…?"

"No!" you interjected. "No, nope, we are not whatever you were going to say. No. He has many lovers but I am not one of them. Nope."

She hummed, fluttering her lashes at him. 

"Well, then. Come find me after, hm?"

"Even when we win?" grinned Bucky and you rolled your eyes. 

"We'll see," she smirked, flouncing off. 

Bucky watched her go, then turned to you. 

"Lovers?"

"Yes. You bed countless women and then never return their carrier pigeons. 'Tis a shame."

"Poetic."

"Mmhm.” You waved a hand. “Well, go on. Aren’t you gonna chase after her?” 

“What? Oh.” Bucky shrugged. “I can find her later. Somebody’s gotta make sure Fury doesn’t catch you doing the chicken dance.”

“Hilarious, Romeo."

"Does that make you Juliet?"

"No, I'm in another play. Far, far away. You can't see me, I'm actually an illusion. OooOoooh!"

"That was a ghost.”

"Oh. I don't know what sound illusions make. How 'bout, 'Heathcliff, it's me, your Cathy!'" 

"That one's pretty ghostly too."

"And toxic. Morally gray is putting it lightly, don't you think?"

"Definitely," Bucky nodded seriously. "You don't wanna be taking relationship tips from him."

"Absolutely not," you agreed, unable to help your little smile. "How do you know so many books, anyway?"

"What, you thought I was just a pretty face?"

"Not even that, Barnes,” you grinned.

"Ouch. I did tell you I like to read, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but I just assumed that was limited to the funnies section.”

“Good one. I’m a man of many talents, actually. For example, I’m a fantastic ice skater."

"Are you now?"

"Yup. Could've been a hockey all-star instead."

"Maybe we would've liked each other then."

"Yeah," Bucky said as you pulled out your buzzing phone. "Maybe."

"Hello?" you answered. 

"Where are you?" came Nat's voice. 

"I'm exactly where you left me."

"Lies," Bucky tutted and you swatted at him lazily. 

"Who was that?" 

"No one. It's… background noise. Where should I meet you?"

"Ask her if she's coming to Lucky's," he urged, pushing his ear to your phone.

“Back off,” you hissed, lightly bumping him. He snickered. “Jerk.” 

"Y/N? You there?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m here.”

“Just come to our seats," she said. "They wouldn't let me back in with how close to gametime it is and I doubt you'll be able to find Steve. We'll see him after, okay?"

"Sure, yeah. I'll meet you."

You hung up, then turned to Bucky. 

"Apparently it's close to gametime so you should probably go back."

"I’ve got time. Need me to walk you? Wouldn't want you to get lost again," he grinned. 

"I think I can find the entrance, Barnes, thanks."

"Any messages you'd like me to pass along to Steve? Good luck kiss?"

"You are such a smartass."

"Hey, I'd make it nice. Wouldn't do wrong by my bro."

"Good bye, Barnes."

"See you after we win!"

He began to head down the opposite way. You bit your lip, debating. 

"Good luck!"

"Don't need it," he called back gleefully, shooting a wink. "But thanks, honey."

You got through the main gate without a hitch and quickly found Nat, who'd already done the liberty of buying the concession snacks.

"There you are," she said, handing you a soft pretzel. "Thought you might've bailed." 

"What? I was exactly where you left me, Nat."

"Oh. Sorry about that. I had to book it. Sam and I were, uh…" she turned her head and you squinted. 

"Is that a hickey?"

She hurried to pull the collar of her coat up and you gasped. 

"Je t'accuse! I knew it! I knew you left to go make out with your boyfriend."

"Just because you don't plan on making out with anyone doesn't mean I can't. It was for good luck."

"Uh-huh. Shame on you, Romanoff."

"You're fine. I gave you an apology pretzel. Sorry about Steve, though. I did, however, manage to get the jacket he promised you," she said, pulling out a black windbreaker with the team logo on it. She handed it to you and you smiled, changing your coat for it. 

"He remembered."

"Of course he did. Make sure you’ve got it on afterwards too.”

"When we go to Lucky's?"

Nat lifted a brow. 

"How do you know about Lucky's?"

"Uh, just… overheard some people talking about it."

"Oh. Well, yes. Provided they win, of course."

"They will. So is it a restaurant?"

"And bar. They've got the best mozzarella sticks."

"Why am I just now learning about these places with reportedly amazing food?"

"Because you refuse to be social outside of classes."

"Okay, touché," you allowed. "But in my defense, it's not really my personality."

"That's why you have me. To drag you to new places," she smiled, sipping her slurpee.

"Your tongue is going to be blue for a year."

"Damn right!"

The seats began to fill. You hadn't really understood in past years what the big deal was. You'd never been much for spectatorship and, not to mention, the biggest games always tended to be when you were loaded with schoolwork. But eventually, you got caught up in the crowd just like everybody else, gripping Nat's hand and holding your breath when Sam scored or when Steve nearly missed the interception. 

Bucky hadn't been lying. He was good. They all were, but your eyes often fell back on him. He contributed many scores of his own, always cheerfully turning to the crowd and drinking in the praise like the glutton he was. 

In the second half, the other team started to catch up. Nat had forgotten all about her popcorn, anxiously murmuring under her breath. 

“Come on, baby, come on,” you could hear her saying, anxiously crumpling her popcorn carton. 

The ball was thrown. You stood, stiffly watching Sam sprint across the field, then he passed it to Bucky, who caught it.

"Woo!" you cheered, clearing your throat when Nat glanced at you. "What? I’m being supportive."

He ran, about to touchdown, before a mountain-sized meathead crashed into him, tackling hard. They both went to the ground and the ball slipped out of reach. You winced, stomach flipping.

"Shit," Nat cursed at your side. 

"Is he okay?" you asked. 

"I don't know." 

You waited, gnawing on the inside of your cheek. Sam and a medic ran to help him up. 

"Alright, yeah, he's fine. It happens," she assured. "They're tough guys, though."

"Looks like it hurts," you replied, zeroed in on Bucky. 

"It's okay, folks!" announced Fury through a mic. "He's alright!"

The crowd cheered and Bucky patted his helmet and did a victory jog back onto the field. You rolled your eyes, letting out a shaky breath. 

"He's such a showoff."

"Can't argue there," Nat laughed, sitting down. 

The rest of the game went on with minimal bruising and when Sam scored the winning touchdown, you leapt from your seat, clapping and screaming along with the stadium, the team crowding around Sam in celebration. 

“That was incredible!” you shouted and Nat nodded, grinning.

“Told you!”

You let the field empty for a few minutes first, not wanting to fight through the crowd. 

"How's my glitter?" you asked. 

"Still looks good. You may be glittery until the new year, actually."

"It's one way to start it. Are we going to Lucky's?"

“Sure you don't want to go home? I know you have work due."

"I'm already out. And I want to congratulate the team."

Nat raised an eyebrow. 

"The team? You only know, like, three players. One of them you can’t stand. If you want to see Steve, you can just say that.”

“I want to congratulate the team,” you insisted. 

“Whatever you say…”

Lucky’s was a typical college bar, filled with university flags and jerseys, packed from tonight's victory. Sam was surrounded by several fans, good-naturedly interacting with the small cluster. At the sight of Nat, he stood, excusing himself to meet her. 

"That was some victory, Captain," she said as he kissed her, leaving another on her cheek. 

"All in a day's work," Sam grinned, then turned to you. "And who do we have here? The one who swore an oath to never attend a game?"

"Hi, Sam," you simpered, accepting his hug. "You were awesome and miracles happen all the time, you know."

"So I've heard. Your sweetheart's getting a drink, by the way."

"You mean Steve."

"Am I supposed to mean somebody else?"

"Y/N doesn't like to advertise it, is all," Nat said coyly. "She's got a reputation to uphold."

"Ah. Well, my lips are sealed," grinned Sam. 

They began to eye each other and you let out an exasperated sigh. 

"I know you’re dying to get out of here. Go, I’ll be fine."

“Are you sure?” asked Nat and you rolled your eyes.

“Go. I’ll find Steve.”

She sent a grateful smile over her shoulder, leading Sam away. You began the trek through the throngs of people, searching for Steve, and found him at the bar, patiently enduring his excited teammates. He excused himself once he spotted you.

"Hey," he said, leaning in. "Let's go someplace quieter, yeah?"

People parted easily for him too, but whether it was the bulk or the general solid presence Steve seemed to hold, you weren't sure. 

"You sure know how to get through a crowd," you said once you'd both sat at a lone corner booth. 

"Comes with the territory. I s'pose the height doesn't hurt either."

"No, probably not," you laughed. 

"I, uh, initially got a beer for Sam," Steve explained, gesturing to the bottle. "But, he seems to have vanished…"

"Natasha's pretty distracting.”

"I see. Well, uh, if you like beer? Or I can get you something else."

"Beer’s fine. I'm not drinking much tonight anyway. Essays and hangovers don't mix."

"Right, yeah. I appreciate you coming, despite the work. It's really nice of you."

"Oh. Um, you're welcome," you said, managing a tight smile. "The game was great. You all played incredibly."

"Thank you," he beamed. "It was close, but Sam and Bucky really pulled through."

"Yeah, that second half was rough. You're all, um, checked out, right? Like, by a doctor or…"

"Yeah, don't worry," he soothed. "We all got cleared. 'Specially when they know most of us will probably be drinking tonight; they're very thorough."

"Good, good."

"Was the jacket warm enough?"

"It was, yes. I wore it the whole time."

"You look better in it than I do," Steve smiled and you waved your hand. 

"Oh, I doubt that."

"No, really. It suits you."

"Thanks, Steve."

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, hesitating.

"I actually wanted to ask you something."

"Shoot.”

"What do you say about trying out that second date? I mean, uh, technically the first date, since the last wasn't completely settled, but…”

"Oh. Wow, um—"

"Or not, if you're not interested, that's alright too," he quickly cut in, then blushed. "Sorry. I interrupted."

"It's okay," you smiled. "No, yeah, a second try would be great. What were you thinking?"

"Do you like Italian?"

"What's not to like?"

He brightened. 

"Great! I know this place nearby. Does Saturday at eight work?"

"Yeah, that works.”

"Okay, good. I mean, I know we've got a pretty long break but I'm actually gonna visit my ma that Monday, so…"

"Right, right. You grew up nearby, didn't you?"

"Yeah, a few hours away," Steve said. 

"That must've been nice, being able to see her so often."

"It was. Although in freshman year she actually had to set a limit to the drives I was making. I wanted to go every weekend and I think she was afraid I wouldn't become independent enough. My first time being away from home and all."

"I understand. Sounds tough," you sympathized. 

"It was, yeah. Bucky really helped. At least one person was constant, y'know?"

You hummed, glancing across the bar.

"You guys are close, huh?"

"We are," he affirmed. 

"I'll keep my snarky comments about him to a minimum then. For you.”

Steve laughed at that, shaking his head. 

"I appreciate it, but after knowing him for this long, I can vouch that he can be a real bonehead sometimes."

"Well, I bet he's got plenty to say about me too."

He grew pensive, then shrugged. 

"Not recently. He… actually gets pretty quiet these days when your name comes up. I wouldn't have asked you for coffee if it weren't for him, though."

"What do you mean?"

"Bucky was the one who encouraged me to talk to you. Said we'd make a good pair, 'cause I'm not like him," he snorted. 

"Oh. Wow. I—he's a good friend.” 

"Yeah. Not much I wouldn't do for him."

You nodded, fiddling with your fingers. 

"So any plans for the break?" Steve asked after a long pause. 

"No, my family lives pretty far and I saw them last month, and ticket prices are a trip. Which reminds me… if there are any places to visit around here, you know, Nat and I’d appreciate a tour guide."

"Absolutely," said Steve, nodding enthusiastically. "I'd be happy to. I've got a pretty good lay of the land here. So does Bucky—I'm sure he knows some stuff to do too."

"Yeah, I don't think I could manage a whole day with Barnes. We'd probably kill each other."

"Right, of course," he chuckled. "Well, when I come back from my Ma's, I'd be glad to spend time with you, Y/N."

"I'd like that.”

You chewed your lip, debating, then shifted closer to Steve, arm against his. He smiled at you and you returned it. 

"Cold?"

"Um, yeah," you lied.

"Oh. I can get your coat if you like."

"Or you could put your arm around me?" 

Steve nodded in realization. 

"Ah. Yeah, I can do that."

He slid an arm around your back. You shifted, trying to get comfortable. Steve ran hot just like Bucky, firm with muscle. 

"Maybe move your arm up?"  

"Sorry," he said, shifting, and you shook your head. 

"'S fine. This is nice."

You looked around and spotted Bucky, who was in the corner playing a game of pool, loud and the center of attention as always. The conversation from earlier suddenly struck you as he leaned into a pretty redhead, causing her to giggle. You turned sharply, almost bumping Steve's chin. 

"Why haven't we kissed?" you blurted.  

Steve's brows rose and he cleared his throat, turning pink. 

"Oh. Uh, I don't know. I mean, we can. Did you… want to?"

"Well, yeah. Do you want to kiss me?"

"Yeah, yeah, 'course."

You nodded, straightening to be eye-level with Steve. 

"Okay. Then let's kiss."

"Okay.”

You faced each other, and Steve rested a palm on your cheek. You put your hand on his ribs, then thought better of it and moved to his arm.

“Trying to be polite,” you tittered through nerves.

“You are,” Steve murmured, leaning in. 

The kiss was simple, not too long, and both tongues stayed right where they ought to. Steve smelled like soap and tasted slightly of beer. You tried to relax into it, aware that he could probably feel how rigid you were. 

You pulled back first, pressing your lips together. Steve’s eyes fluttered open, lips rosier than usual. As far as kisses went, he was definitely on the better side of the scale. Nothing about it had been overtly unpleasant or uncomfortable. Perfectly decent. 

“That was…” he began.

“Nice,” you finished.

Steve opened his mouth, then closed it, nodding.

“Yeah. Nice.”

“I’m glad we did that.”

“Me too,” he agreed.

You checked your phone, grimacing at the time.

“Shit, it’s late.”

“Oh, right. I can drive you home, if you’d like?”

“That’d be great. I doubt Nat’s coming back anytime soon.”

“Sure. Lemme just get the keys.”

He stood and you followed, shoving your hands into the pockets. Steve made his way over to Bucky, who had quit the pool game in favor of the redhead.

“Hey, pal,” Bucky greeted over the music, smiling even larger when you scooted out from behind Steve. “Bambi. Found your prince, did ya?”

“Easily,” you said, slipping your hand into Steve’s.

Bucky’s eyes flitted down to your joined hands, then back to your face.

“What a relief.”

“I’m gonna drive Y/N home, so I need the keys,” Steve explained.

“Oh, then, might as well drop Deena and I off too,” Bucky shrugged, gesturing to the redhead. “Doubt I should be driving right now.”

“What? You usually stay here for at least a few more hours. Just take Sam’s car.”

“It’s my car, Stevie,” Bucky grinned. “And my lovely friend here is ready to go, dig? Don’t worry, I’ll be outta your hair in no time, and you’ll have the princess all to yourself.”

Steve sighed, taking the keys. 

“Fine, alright. Where do you want off?”

“My place is good,” said Deena. “I’ll give you the address.”

You went in the front seat, Steve at the wheel. Bucky and Deena whispered quietly, although when you began to hear noises, you quickly turned around. Bucky had his hand on her thigh and she was quite enthusiastic about threading her hands through his hair. You loudly cleared your throat. 

"We're literally still in the car, Barnes; do you think you can keep it in your pants for ten minutes? Steve and I aren't itching to be voyeurs."

He reluctantly let go, lazily dragging his gaze to you. His lips were slick and swollen red, and he languidly wiped her lipstick off his Cupid's bow where she'd gotten too excited with his thumb.

"If you say so, honey. Thought you might want a reference for Stevie."

"Bucky," Steve warned, looking at him through the rear view mirror. 

"Okay, okay," he surrendered, raising his hands. 

Deena fixed her hair in the camera of her phone, not paying you much mind. You turned back around. 

"So when am I gonna see your articles again?" said Bucky. "Paper doesn't feel the same without your wit, y’know."

"After the break," you clipped.

"Gotta prepare myself, huh? After last month, who knows what you'll write next."

"Wait, you wrote that thing about Bucky last month?" asked Deena. 

"Yup."

She scoffed. 

"That was so lame. Your jokes weren't even that funny."

"Well, it's not for everyone," you said, forcing yourself to remain calm. 

"I thought it was funny," offered Steve and you smiled at him. 

"Bucky, that was totally stupid what she did," she continued. "She can't even write."

"That so?" asked Bucky, cool as a cucumber. "Huh. I was told Y/N's the best writer there."

You blinked, turning to meet his eye. He did so unflinchingly, without a trace of humor in his expression. 

"No way," she rebuffed. "My friend Gina writes about the science clubs and she's a way better writer."

"Gina? The one who made her dad tell the dean to let her into the paper? You know she plagiarizes every other week, right?"

"That's not true!" she huffed. "You're just jealous 'cause she doesn't need to write middle school jokes to get the attention of a guy who's ten times out of her league!" 

You appraised her coolly. 

"I can see why you're frustrated. Middle school jokes are well above your reading level, I'm sure." 

Her mouth fell open and she angrily looked at Bucky. 

"Are you gonna let her talk to me like that?"

You rolled your eyes. No doubt Bucky would smooth things over and follow her out.

"Actually, Deena, I don't think this is gonna work out tonight.”

You stared. Bucky didn’t look at you.

“And frankly, I can't be with people who don't appreciate good journalism."

You turned your head, smiling out the window. 

Deena muttered some choice words under her breath. It was only a few minutes before you arrived at the apartment, awkward silence the whole way. She slammed the car door hard, flipping you all off before stomping upstairs. 

"Well. You sure know how to pick 'em, Barnes.”

"I swear, she wasn't that belligerent at the bar."

"You could've followed her in," you shrugged. "Garbage personality but she's cute."

"Nah," he chuckled. "I've got standards."

"Since when?" asked Steve.

"You watch it, punk.”

“Also, Deena and Gina?” you scoffed. “Is the circus in town?”

They both laughed at that. You sat back, dozing now that you didn’t have to duke it out with catty Bucky fans.

“Hey, whatever happened to that cheerleader?” you wondered.

“Dunno; never saw her afterwards.”

“What cheerleader?” asked Steve.

“L/N got lost looking for Tasha,” Bucky cut in smoothly. “We ran into a cheerleader from the other team along the way.”

“Oh,” accepted Steve. “I see.”

He pulled up to your building and you began to unzip his jacket.

“You can keep it, if you want,” Steve offered. “It’s cold.”

“Oh.” You zipped it back and smiled. “Right. Thank you.”

“Sure, yeah. Want me to walk you up?”

“No, that’s okay. RA’s a real stickler at this hour; I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

You sat for a second, glancing briefly at Bucky before leaning in to peck Steve. Your aim was off in your haste, catching the corner of his mouth, but he smiled all the same.

“Good night, Steve.”

“Good night, Y/N. We’re on for Saturday?”

“Definitely.” 

You hesitated, then cleared your throat, nodding at Bucky, not quite meeting his eye.

“N-night, Barnes. Thanks for… uh, you know.” 

“Sure, L/N. Couldn’t have your very first game night spoiled like that, eh?”

“Heh, right.” 

You fumbled for the door handle, wincing when you bumped your elbow on the glass.

“Shit, ow.”

“Are you okay?” 

“Everything good, L/N?”

You slipped out of the car, stumbling back a few steps.

“Uh, fine! Fine. Bye.”

Steve gave you a little wave and you returned it, before spinning on your heel, shoving your hands into the pockets. You waited until you were out of sight before you stopped to pinch the bridge of your nose, kicking a pebble. 

Maybe you should’ve just worked on your essays. 

-

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