#Guys I learned Sumerian and Akkadian for this

[uselessbard1031]

POV: You find ten chapters of a Mizora fanfic you forgot that you were writing and decide eh let's post it.

[necromancy-savant]

I really hope my history professor from undergrad is still alive. Idk if he remembers me, but I remember him. He said I was the only student in all his years of teaching to say "I want to learn Akkadian." But that's not quite accurate: what I said was, "hey, I've been working through this book (it was Caplice) over winter break every day and I'm on chapter 8 and I think I'm doing ok, but I have some questions. Can you help me out?" And he was very impressed, I think. He answered all my questions; told me I got all the translations as correct as you can get them. He called me Lugal Edward, Sumerian for "king." He gave me printouts of all of Hammurabi's laws. He lent me his sign list that had every historical version of every single cuneiform sign ever. It was in French, but that didn't matter; I knew exactly what to do with a sign list. That summer I would skateboard to the library with my books and spend a few hours translating Hammurabi's laws. I developed my own cuneiform shorthand that only I know bc I wasn't about to literally draw out every santakku every single time. I went on a field trip to Yale with a few people from the class and we used real cylinder seals. I got to use a stylus much nicer than the one I made at home from chopsticks to write with. He pointed out to me on their replica Hammurabi the signs I knew and I could read it. On my 24th birthday, (he didn't know it was my birthday until I admitted it late in the day) he took me to a lecture at Yale by Stephanie Dalley who authored my favorite collection of translations of Mesopotamian myths. I got to meet her and meet all the guys I'd read all the books by (it's not a huge field so you do get to know who's who pretty quickly.) And he bragged about me to all of them. It was the best birthday ever. After Hammurabi, I worked my way up to translating historical texts and some of my favorite myths on my own. In grad school I finally got my hands on Enuma Elish. I didn't have as much time as I would have wanted to sit and translate it, what with my actual coursework, but I did go over my favorite parts. It was the myth that made me want to learn the language in the first place. I hope to god that he's alive and that I can reach out to him still - because forget all of that, literally: I had a bad life before I went to that school and I've made nothing of myself since I left grad school. But he made me feel like I was really worth something, and I want more than anything to thank him for that

[tt-squid]

what i find really cool is that in the 'three stars each' texts, and expanded MUL.APIN (𒀯𒀳) tables, each constelation starts with 'mul' (𒀯) such as tarus (𒀯𒄞𒀭𒈾)*

but! more importantly for this discussion, the pleiades cluser (which is coincidently a part of the tarus constelation) is written simply as MUL.MUL, or: 𒀯𒀯

𒀯𒀯 has been translated to mean 'star cluster', 'many stars' or 'star of stars' depending on whose translating the text, a fact of which i could find absolutley no sources to very much to my immense annoyance but im going to keep trying at that

its also one of the closest star clusters to earth

and, just to get on the same page, the pleiades cluster, also called the seven sisters, and, for me at least, its one of the first things you learn to pick out in the night sky

just looking at it normally you can only tend to see six stars in the cluster, but on really clear nights you can even see the seventh brightesst star as well and its fucking beautiful

but anyway! back to the cuneiform!

𒀯𒀯 (MUL.MUL), or more specifically just the singular 𒀯 (MUL) is the determinative used when noting stars and planets (and star clusters) which is made up of the sign 𒀭 but just there three times

now, the sign 𒀭 is a sumerogram for either AN or DINGIR depending on your translation, but essentially equates to meaning a range of words from 'sky', to 'god/goddess'

an example of this is with Anu (𒀭𒀭) in Akkadian or Anum/An (𒀭) in Sumerian. Anu/Anum/An has a passive 'king of the gods' sort of role who is a divine representation of the sky (seeing the links?)

that example might be a biiiit too pointed actually hangon :,

Ki (𒀭𒆠) is a Sumerain goddess, sometimes depicted as a queen of 𒀭𒀭, sometimes as a sister idk it gets confusing with all the different translations. anyway 𒀭𒆠 also has the '𒀭' (DINGIR) character that preceedes her name like the other gods, which is followed by the sumerogram '𒆠' (KI) which is translated into meaning 'earth'/'land'/etc. which makes sense when you consider she is mostly translated into and described as being an 'earthly' goddess.

anyway, Ki (𒀭𒆠) ends up marying her oldest son Enil (𒀭𒂗𒆤), likened as a god of wind/air etc, who is an Anunnaki (𒀭���𒉣𒈾)? but all this to say thats one of the stories of how plants and animals came about on earth

a bit less of a confusing example is probably 𒀭𒊹 (AN.ŠAR). His name contains the character 𒀭 as well as the character 𒊹 (ŠAR). 𒊹 looks a bit ominous cause its so big and just all consuming of the space which makes sense when translated to mean 'totality'

(𒊹 can also mean 3,600 - it all depends on the context though)

𒀭𒊹 is described as being a primordial god, and occupies the same role as 𒀭𒀭. sometimes 𒀭𒊹 is described/written/translated as 𒀭𒀭's father? sometimes not? idk tracking the relations of gods to eachother is hard to follow through all the different translations lol

but anyway when you have 𒀯𒀯 denoting a star cluster made up of 6 relatively easy to distinguish individual stars, you know some part of me doesnt exactly think thats a coincidence

and anyway i cant exactly remember where i was going with this whole bit of text but anyway the pleiades cluster is one of the most beautiful things in the sky (at least in the northern hemisphere, cause i cant lie, the coal sack nebula and magellanic clouds are sick as fuck but you guys dont get them up there)

*this is where i realised that tumblr is not going to let me do superscript rip x_x anyway u should go read the wikipage on babylonian star catalogues its a p good summary and has better translation lol

[samwhump]

happy wincest wednesday!!!! 🥳 supernatural canon is incredibly undecided on this matter, so i want to know YOUR headcanons for what language(s) sam and dean have studied! do you think they have overlap anywhere, or would they divide and conquer? 🤔 i think about this so often, so i want to know other people's opinions too :)

(@incesthemes)

oh this is SUCH a fun question; thank you for thinking of me!!! and I'm sorry I didn't get around to answering last week; it's been a wild few weeks IRL.

I definitely think that both Sam and Dean have a passing familiarity with the languages that canonically would be useful in hunting, for whatever reason - Latin for spells, Sumerian and maybe Akkadian and old Aramaic for mythology stuff. idk why, but I envision Dean as picking up pronunciation/speaking/vocab skills pretty easily, whereas Sam gets more interested in the more rigid rules/structure of the languages themselves and learns any different alphabet(s) for writing that he can.

one specific headcanon I am obsessed with is the idea of Sam becoming fluent in Enochian during his time in the Cage, because Lucifer and Michael would go long periods speaking nothing else. I can't remember which fic it's from (I think I have maybe seen it in more than one?) but I really really enjoy the concept that there is some kind of split between "Old Enochian" and "New Enochian" and that Sam would have picked up on Old Enochian because that's what Lucifer would have known (having been locked in the Cage while the language was developing over the centuries). when he gets out, he tries to use his Enochian fluency to help with one case or another (talk to an angel, idk, my headcanons are only as fleshed out as I want them to be ohKAYY) and realizes that what he's grown so familiar and accustomed to is actually something that pretty much just links...him and Lucifer, and no one else. (and Michael, but Michael probably can also speak New Enochian if prompted). PRETTY FUN AND FUCKED UP HUH. yes. I love.

on a less serious note, I personally chose to believe that Sam went through an anime phase as a teenager (on that Sailor Moon, Gundam, Ranma 1/2, late '90s shit - iykyk) and picked up on some conversational Japanese, because he was definitely a "down with dubs/subs or bust" kinda elitist guy. probably also taught himself katakana/hiragana and some basic kanji (did he maybe get a kanji tramp stamp while wasted as a freshman at Stanford that he refuses to acknowledge to this day? perhaps.)

I think Dean probably took the bare minimum (probably a year, added up across schools) of Spanish to fulfill any foreign language requirements in high school, and despite pretending to hate it and skipping class most of the time, he actually picked up on it very quickly and still remembers way more than he lets on.

tbh, I could probably think on this some more, but these are just the first thoughts to come to mind! I hope this made some level of sense lol my brain is hella fried. thank you so much for the question!!!!!! (and everything you do for WW!)

[spacesnail3000]

Brooklyn’s Sweetheart Chapter 18: I Got an Eight-Ball of Yey!

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Chapter Summary: Ahh, the typical college experience: alcohol and drug abuse, handymen turned sugar daddies, and the inescapable mounting pressure to succeed as the semester progresses.

Word Count: 4,336

Warnings: Language, drinking, drug use

A/N: Hello dear readers, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I have been having so much fun writing America Chavez, Kate Bishop, and Kamala Khan, all of whom I love dearly in the comics. I think this chapter is a lot of fun and I hope you guys do too. Btw I don't condone any of the things being done in this chapter ;)

ALSO: I’ve discovered that the formatting is so weird on mobile?? It doesn’t show any of my line breaks? I want to fix it but HOW??? Why is mobile like this????

Masterlist

X

There was a storm cloud above her head when she entered the apartment several days later and slammed the door. When she threw herself down on the couch next to Kamala, her roommates all exchanged a look before turning their attention to her.

“How was swim practice?” Kate asked tentatively. The other girl’s hair was still wet and she was still wearing her swimsuit, only a pair of tiny spandex athletic shorts covering her.

“Ugh.”

Wanda grimaced. “How was the interview?”

Her whine was cut off as she tossed her arm over her face dramatically. “Mmmfh—”

“That bad?”

She let out a pitiful moan before falling silent.

Kamala reached out and pet her hair gently. “There, there. It’ll be okay.”

She had already had three interviews and none of them had gone well. The last one had ended when she couldn’t give a good answer as to why she would be the best candidate for the position. Utilities were due soon and she had no food of her own in the pantry. Wanda had been taking pity on her and sharing her ramen packets. On top of that, her swim coach wanted her to focus more on her breaststroke rather than freestyle, which was her preferred technique, and she already had three readings due for her classes that she was nowhere close to completing.

“I know this isn’t really helpful,” Wanda said tentatively, “But Bucky’s in your room.”

Her back straightened immediately and she shot off the couch. “What?” she nearly shouted. “Why?”

“He’s putting up shelves.”

“He wasn’t supposed to do that until next weekend!”

Rushing down the hall, she threw open her bedroom door and of course, there was Bucky, drill in hand, multiple shelves already hung up around the room. He paused when he saw her, eyes errantly raking down her figure before snapping right back up to her face.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, face heating up with anger and embarrassment at the way he was looking at her.

“Uh,” he nodded to the half-drilled shelf above his head. “Shelves?”

How the hell could Bucky act as if nothing was amiss?

“You weren’t supposed to come until next weekend!”

“Well I had time today, and I wanted to take some measurements of the kitchen, too.”

“The kitchen?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna put up some shelves in there, too. You guys don’t even have an island—I was thinking of building one, and I needed to measure the area. This place has almost no storage space, but—”

“Shut up!” she cried. “You can’t just come over like this without telling me!”

Bucky frowned and put down the drill, approaching her with his hands raised. “Whoa, doll, calm down. I just wanted to help out.”

“We don’t need help!”

“I know, but listen.” He placed his hands gently on her shoulders, and she thought about shying away, but his palms were so warm, and he was looking right into her eyes with that earnest blue gaze, and then he started talking in that deep, husky voice, tone so soft that it melted her. “I feel real bad about everything that’s happened. And I just want to do something that’ll make your life easier. You see?”

He motioned around to the shelves he had already put up, and that’s when she got a good look at them. There were some hung up low above her bed that she could use as a bedside table. A long line of shelves and cabinets hung along the wall to the side, some with hooks, some with rods, so she could hang up her clothes. On the opposite wall there was a larger shelf down low positioned as a makeshift desk, her desk chair already tucked underneath, and above it, more cabinets and shelves.

“And I knew you were gonna need a place to study,” Bucky was saying, “So you can use this one as a desk. There should be plenty of space up here for your books,” he ran his hand along the cabinets above. “And I was considering building you something else, maybe something with drawers that you can use as a dresser, maybe something that slides under your bed—but I didn’t know how much space would be left.”

She looked around again, then walked to the little desk and ran her hand across it. The wood was smooth and glossy, a warm color that didn’t detract too much light from the room. They all matched, so she knew he really did make them all himself. She recalled that his grandfather was a carpenter. Bucky must have learned a few things before he passed away.  

“I also brought you something,” he said, startling her out of her thoughts.

“What?”

“A little housewarming gift.” From out of nowhere, he pulled out a small potted plant, a succulent in a soft green color with stubby little protrusions. “They’re called Baby Toes.”

She frowned at the small plant that did indeed look like the toes of an infant. It was all too much at once—the shelves, the plant, the kindness in his eyes.

“Please say something, doll.”

Realizing that he was still holding the plant out to her with a worried expression on his face, his vulnerability hitting her straight in the heart, she looked back up at him, eyes shining a little bit. She chewed on her lip, then gave him a small smile; she was a little ashamed at her anger at him before. Her voice was soft as she took the small plant, “Thank you, Bucky.”

“You like it?” he asked hopefully. “And the shelves?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“I’m glad.”

He hid his triumphant grin from her as he finished putting up the last of the shelves, and he didn’t say anything about how she placed the plant on the shelf underneath her window and opened the blinds for the sun to reach through.

Once he was done, they went into the main room where he took measurements for shelves for the kitchen and living room. He was all business, barely speaking to any of the girls as they chattered amongst themselves.

Once he was done, he said, “I’ll be back in a few days to put them up.” Y/N walked him out and stood in the hallway to say goodbye to him.

“Thanks again, Bucky,” she said, still slightly chagrinned at her previous treatment of him. “The shelves are really nice, and helpful, and the plant is really cute.”

“Of course, doll.” The sincere smile on his face was the honest one he would always give when he felt his heart swell with love for her, the same smile he gave her on the night of her birthday when he told her she was beautiful. “I’d do anything for you.”

Her face heated up again, this time from the way her heart fluttered in her chest. Bucky pulled her in for a hug, lingering for a moment before bidding her goodbye again.

 X

The next time she saw Bucky was a few days later, Friday afternoon.

She was back from class and she didn’t have swim practice, which was a relief because her muscles were aching terribly from the last week of training and drills meant to whip her back into shape. Her immediate plan was to take a hot bath and work on the 30-page required reading about Mesopotamia for her history course; then she would perhaps consider letting Wanda drag her to the house party that she had been talking about all week.

But then Bucky was in the kitchen, the shrill buzz of his drill working the shelves into the wall combined with the fact that he was shirtless disrupting every single rational thought she almost had.

Kamala and Wanda were perched on the couch, eyes raking over the muscles and tattoos covering his back and arms. America and Kate—who had literally not had eyes for anyone but each other since they had all moved in together—were the only ones who noticed the girl in the doorway, whose mind was also shorting out by the sight of Bucky half-naked.

“Hey,” America greeted her. “How was class?”

“Uh.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Um.”

“Good talk.”

Bucky was alerted to her presence then, and he turned around and sent that bright smile at her. “Hey, darling. How was class?”

“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

Kate made quite an unbecoming snort at this, but Bucky seemed to ignore it. “I think your AC’s broken,” he answered, his tanned wrist coming up to wipe sweat from his forehead. “Was gonna take a look at it once I finish with these shelves.”

“Oh.”

“Can’t you feel how hot it is in here?” America asked pointedly.

Well, she had chalked up the heat to the blush that was surely spread far and wide over her body at the sight of Bucky’s tattoos, ones she had once fantasized running her hands and lips over in the throes of passion—

“I have homework to do!”

With that, she hurried to her room, shutting herself away and sitting at her desk with the intent of doing her readings. However, she stared at the words in her textbook and didn’t take in a single word about the ancient language of the Sumerians or the legacy of the Akkadian Empire or the significance of the Epic of Gilgamesh for the better part of an hour.

Instead, she listened through the walls as Bucky and her roommates chatted, as he finished up putting a bunch of shelves in their apartment, and as he somehow magically got the AC unit working after fiddling with the filter or something for five minutes.

When a light knock came on her door and Bucky let himself into her room, he was thankfully wearing a shirt, and his hair was pulled into a little bun at the nape of his neck. “Hey, doll,” he greeted her. “Wanted to check in on you.”

Now that she didn’t have to see so much of his skin, she could think. “Hi.” Yet somehow that’s all she managed to say.

Bucky walked around, looking at the shirts and dresses she had hung up on the racks, the books and pictures she had placed on the shelves, and the succulent on her windowsill. Then he wandered back over to her and glanced over the desk, half of which held her beauty products, and the other half held her laptop and study materials.

“I have something for you.”

Her eyes grew wider and she frowned. “Bucky, you can’t keep bringing me stuff.” It harkened back to when her father would “apologize” for his cruelty with shiny gifts and meaningless gestures.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said honestly, “But I saw it in a shop and it reminded me of you.” Kneeling in front of her, he fished a little velvet bag out of his jeans, handing it to her and looking at her expectantly.

She sighed and pulled it open, then dumped the contents of the bag onto her open palm. It was a small bracelet made of intertwined white string, a line of tiny rose quartz beads woven in the middle.

“Bucky,” she tried to protest, pushing it towards him. “You shouldn’t have—”

“Sweetheart, just take the bracelet,” he laughed. “Barely cost me anything.”

Well, it wasn’t extravagant like her father would always go for. It was just a simple gesture… practically meaningless. Right?

“Help me put it on?”

He grinned and obliged, big fingers fumbling with tying the tiny strings around her thin wrist. “There,” he said once he finally tightened the knot. “Perfect.” He looked into her eyes as he said the word and his intense stare made her feel hot all over.

Looking back at her reading, she tapped her highlighter on the pages of her book. “So,” she said. “You fixed the AC?”

“Yep,” he answered. “And took measurements for an island in the kitchen. I’m gonna measure underneath your bed now, too. I’ll make you some little drawers you can pull out and put clothes in.”

“Oh—okay—” she said, watching as he stood and pulled a tape measure from his pocket. He was quick, writing the numbers down on a little notepad, sticking his pencil behind his ear. When he finished, he turned and saw her watching.

Holding her gaze, he stalked towards her, towering above her in her desk chair. Goosebumps raised over her arms at his predatory gaze, like he was stalking his prey—or playing with it.

“What’re you reading?” he asked, leaning down over her shoulder to get a good look at her papers. “Mesopotamia, huh?”

“Yeah,” she replied, her mouth dry. This close, she could smell him, tobacco and cologne, a little bit of sweat. It threw her back to the first night he took her, when he was so sweet, and to the night they punished her so horribly, her ass stinging as she rode his cock. He was so warm against her shoulder, and she felt like she was vibrating.

He pulled back to look at her face, still very close. “You’re so smart.”

“I—” Why did she always feel so warm inside when he complimented her?

Then he was gone, standing up and away from her. “Listen, I have to get going. I’ll be back in a few days once I’m done with the island and the drawers. Alright?”

“Okay.” She was still in a sort of daze from their proximity, from his compliments, his body heat.

“You need anything, just call me.”

“Okay.”

She walked him out and he pulled her into a big hug just outside the front door, placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

“See you later.”

 When she came back into the house, she collapsed on the couch.

“Why do you look like that?” Kate asked. She and America were in the kitchen filling up the shelves with everything that had been sitting on the counters for the past week while Kamala and Wanda sat at the kitchen table doing homework.

“Like what?”

“Sad,” Wanda answered. “You look sad.”

She huffed. “I’m not sad. I’m just… I don’t know. Wanda, why do I miss him so much?”

“Who, Bucky?”

“Yes, Bucky!”

Kamala answered, “Because he’s a total sweetheart. Seriously—why did you even break up?”

Y/N looked at Wanda and they shared a glance. “It’s complicated.” She hadn’t even told Wanda the entire story—just that they were somehow involved in her father’s murder and that she couldn’t live with them anymore. She had barely told Wanda the extent of her relationship with Steve and Bucky—only that she had kissed both of them, and they both seemed to like her.

“Listen, it’s totally normal to miss an ex after a breakup,” Wanda said.

America added, “But not so normal for your ex to come in and do a bunch of nice things for you afterwards.”

“Well he clearly wants back into your pants,” Kate said. “Otherwise he wouldn’t be doing all this.”

It hurt to think that Bucky’s motivations were simply to get her back. “Can’t he be doing nice things just for the sake of being nice?”

“No,” the girls all said together.

“But we don’t really know the circumstances of your breakup,” Kamala pointed out. She was ever the optimist. “I believe that people can change, and I believe in second chances. Maybe this is that.”

“Ugh, don’t give her ideas,” America groaned. “Girl, you need to move on from him.”

“Hey, you agreed with me earlier when I said how swoon-worthy Bucky is.”

“Kamala, he’s a hot guy who comes over to our house and builds us shelves for our kitchen. How can I not swoon a little?”

“Ugh, guys,” Y/N groaned. “Not helping!”

Wanda stood and sat by her friend, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. “I have just the thing to cheer you up. A little rager in Greenwich Village is the perfect remedy to a broken heart!” She wiggled her fingers around in her face, as if it was a magic trick that could cure her gloom.

“I don’t know if that’s really the case, Wan,” America said, skepticism written on her face as she tutted.

“You’re right. Copious amounts of drugs and alcohol are the real cure. Time to break out the Tito’s!”

 X

The month of September carried on in much the same fashion. Between the rigor of her classes and her grueling swim practices, she somehow managed to get a part-time job as a waitress, barely getting fifteen hours a week. Bucky would stop by every week or so to repair something or put up furniture that he built himself, and he would always bring little gifts.

An embossed leather journal for her to take notes in; a vintage art piece he hung up on her wall; a new set of nice markers to draw with.

“I hope you’re still drawing,” he said one day. “You’re a great artist.”

He’d shower her with compliments, encourage her when she struggled with her many obligations, and never stopped offering to fix up things around the house.

Between class, homework, swim, work, and Bucky, she went out with Wanda and the girls regularly. She found out that she loved vodka, hated tequila (after a particularly monstrous hangover), and was intrigued by the party drugs she seemed to see everywhere, but too nervous to take them.

It was all a good distraction from her inner turmoil, her heart aching whenever she thought of Bucky.

He had always been her friend, she had always cherished the connection they had, and it seemed like it was all thrown away in a matter of a few days. It hurt to think about and all she wanted was for things to be like they used to be.

Kamala said she was mourning the loss of a relationship and it was normal to feel this way. That didn’t make it hurt any less.

Ultimately, she missed Bucky. She missed Bucky with so much of her heart, it hurt. She got so excited whenever he stopped by, her heart beating a race in her chest, although she wouldn’t show it. Secretly, she looked forward to each visit, and had occasionally asked him over for repairs every so often.

The shower head really had needed replacing, and the lock on her window really had been jammed. If she got to see Bucky while he fixed it, then maybe it didn’t bother her so much.

Sometimes she did wonder if she was playing into his trap—and then she would look at him, joking about something, eyes lit up whenever he looked at her, and she knew he wasn’t the type to try and manipulate her like that. Truthfully, she had always felt safe around Bucky, aside from those few specific instances all those weeks ago. But he had always kept her safe, secure.

She was being paranoid. That was all.  

And then there was Steve, who Bucky mentioned a few times in passing, but never brought up more than that. She thought about Steve sometimes, about the man he used to be, and the man he had turned into.

She missed him, too—only the soft parts, though. The man who held her in bed in the morning and ran his fingers across her skin. The man who bought her pretty trinkets just for her delight. But that man seemed to be lost to rage and violence.

Or maybe they were the same man the whole time and she never realized. How had she missed how dark and angry Steve had become, but more than that, how had she failed to do anything to help him, to prevent him from falling down a hole so dark and deep that he could never crawl out?

She thought of him when she sketched in her notebook, whenever she broke out her watercolor paints and used the techniques he showed her over the summer.

One day, Kate looked over her shoulder as she painted at the kitchen table and asked, “Aw, you’re painting your sugar daddy? Who’s that guy next to him?”

“Ugh, Bucky’s not my sugar daddy.”

Wanda peaked across the table at the drawing. “That’s her other boyfriend.”

“Steve is not my boyfriend!” The vehemence in her voice shocked the other girls.

“Woah, fine, okay. He’s her sugar daddy’s boyfriend.”

“Oh my God, he is not!”

Then a knock sounded on the door, startling them out of their teasing. Kamala stood from the couch to answer it, announcing, “It’s Bucky!” even though they could all see the front door from the kitchen.

Bucky entered the apartment with one of their kitchen chairs which he had taken to repair a few days ago when it broke. “I’ve got the chair,” he said, “Fixed the leg and sanded it down a little, too.”

“Oh, Bucky, our hero,” Wanda teased as he set the chair next to her at the table.

“We really should pay you for being our own personal handyman,” Kate added.

He grinned at them. “I would never charge you ladies—it’s my pleasure.” Then he turned to the third girl at the table, running his hand over her shoulder. “How’s it going, doll?”

“Fine,” she answered, a little shorter than usual on account of her friends’ insinuations just before his arrival.

“What’re you working on?” He leaned over her, pressing the weight of his hand into her shoulder, and a soft grin slowly grew over his face as the photo. “That looks real nice, sweetheart.”

“It’s nothing,” she said quickly, shoving the paper away from herself, embarrassed. “I really should be working on homework.”

He pulled away from her, a sly grin stretching his mouth. “Whatever you say. Hey, what’re you doing on Friday night?”

“Homework,” she answered automatically. “Uh—probably.”

He chuckled at her and asked, “Could you spare a couple hours away from homework and come to dinner with me?”

She was silent for a moment, then stuttered. “Uh—”

“She’d love to!” Wanda interjected. “Pick her up at 6! We’ll make sure she’s ready.” Wanda received a sharp glare from her friend, but she ignored it.

“Great, thanks, Wanda,” Bucky said, beaming at her before turning his smile back on the girl who stole his heart. “Dress nice, I’m taking you someplace fancy. Oh, before I forget—” He fished around in his pants pocket before pulling out a small rectangular box. “I want you to wear this. Okay?” She took it hesitantly and nodded. “Good, I’ll see you Friday, sweetheart.” He bent down to give her a kiss on the top of her head before heading out the door.

Once he was gone, Y/N turned to Wanda. “What the hell?” she exclaimed. “Why would you do that!”

Wanda scoffed. “Listen, you’ve been dancing around him all month.”

“For a reason!”

“Not a good one! He’s proven that he’s a nice person! He gives you gifts! He fixes our shitty apartment! He calls you sweetheart! And you’re crazy about him, we can all see it!”

“You know what he did, Wanda!”

“What did he even do?” America asked. “You never told us.”

Y/N sighed and looked pointedly at Wanda, who shrugged and answered, “You guys really don’t want to know. Anyways, you don’t have to fall in love with him! But I’ve been trying to hook you up for the last month and you refuse to go on any dates! You’ve been way too uptight, so you need to have some fun—and get laid.”

At the insinuation that she would have sex with Bucky, she choked on her own spit. “I’m not going to have sex with him!”

“But he’s your sugar daddy, he gives you gifts for sex!” Kate said.

“That’s prostitution, Kate,” America scoffed. “But what’s in the box?”

She had almost forgotten about the box laying on the table next to her paintbrush. She opened it carefully and tries to suppress a smile. It was a thin gold chain with a dainty ruby pendant at the end, simple and sweet.

“What were you saying about Bucky not being your sugar daddy?” America asked dryly.

Kate helped her clasp the necklace together. The pendant fell just below the dip of her collarbone. Wanda grinned, “You need to date this boy or I will.”

Kamala protested, “Hey, you already have a girlfriend. Leave some hotties for the rest of us!”

Y/N sighed and took the necklace off, shoving it back in the box. “Well, it’s too bad, because I’m too busy to date him anyways.”

“Speaking of which, don’t you have a shift in like, a half an hour?” Kamala asked, pointing to the clock on the stove.

“Yes, I do. Thanks for reminding me.”

America snorted. “Yeah, you need all the hours you can get. Utilities are due on the first of the month.”

“Ugh, I know, but they only scheduled me for one shift this week. I’ll figure it out.”

She went to get ready and Wanda followed her into her room. “You know, if you need more money, I can get you a shift at the Widow’s Web.”

Y/N frowned, grabbing her nametag from her desk. “I don’t know…”

“C’mon, upstairs is just waitressing, and now that Natasha’s Manhattan location is open, it’s a shorter train ride.”

“Maybe,” Y/N shrugged. “I’ll think about it. I gotta go, though. I’ll see you later.”

X

The rest of the week passed in a blur. A 6-page essay on the contributing factors to the Collapse of the Bronze Age; a chemistry exam that she got a C- on; an art project due for her drawing class. A visit to the athletic department’s physical therapist to look at her shoulder, which had been hurting since she started switching up her stroke style. One 4-hour shift at the diner. Not enough money in her bank account for bills, so she had to take out of her savings. Again.

“Well if you take a few shifts at the Widow’s Web, you’ll earn back that money in no time,” Wanda said with a bright smile as she shuffled through the dresses Y/N owned. It was Friday evening and Bucky would be around to pick her up in a half hour. Her hair and makeup were done, all courtesy of Wanda. The ruby necklace was already sitting in place on her neck.

“I know,” she sighed. “With the way I’m burning through my savings, I won’t have enough money to make it to senior year.”

“Ooh!” Wanda squealed, pulling a swathe of dark fabric from a hanger. “This is perfect!”

“It’s a little revealing…”

“Uh, yeah. Duh. Put it on!”

With a sigh, Y/N pulled the dress on over her undergarments. The shin-length dress was a deep navy blue with delicate white flowers spotting the fabric, thin straps and a deep V-neck revealing much of her chest. She looked in the mirror with a frown. “I don’t know… It shows my bra!”

“Take your bra off, then. C’mon, this is probably the least revealing thing you’ve worn all semester, especially considering some of the things I manage to get you in for parties!”

It was true; Wanda was partial to miniskirts and crop tops, and whenever Y/N allowed her to dress her up like a little doll, that was often the result. “Fine,” she grunted, pulling off her bra and then adjusting the straps of the dress. Her sigh of exasperation was cut short by a knock on the door.

“He’s here!” Wanda squealed, running out to get it.

“He’s early!”

“Put on your shoes!” Wanda yelled back at her.

She huffed but obliged, buckling up the strappy heels that paired with the dress. As she heard Wanda answer the door, she completed her outfit with a simple gold bracelet, stud earrings, and a spritz of a floral perfume.

Then she walked into the living room, and her greeting to Bucky died out in a gasp as she saw who stood in the living room instead of her date, her stomach twisting up and turning sour. “Steve, what?”

He smiled, pink lips surrounded by a full golden beard that hadn’t been there before. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked, crossing her arms across her chest, shy at the way his eyes dragged across her form.

“Bucky was called away for something by Tony,” he answered. “Buck didn’t want to have to cancel on you, so he sent me instead.”

She was frozen for a moment, voice stopped in her throat by something sticky and unpleasant, but then she blurted out what every molecule in her body was screaming. “No.”

He raised his eyebrows. “No?”

“No,” she repeated, voice stronger now. “I’m not going anywhere with you, Steve. Get out.”

“Honey—”

“No! I’m serious, Steve, get out, right now. I’m not going on a date with you.”

Hurt flashed across his face, lips forming a pout in an impressive display of manipulative emotion. She could feel all of her roommates’ eyes on her. He said her name, softly, almost a whisper, and it almost worked, almost made her heart jump back on board with him.

But her resolve held strong, even as her skin itched at the memory of his touch.

“Our neighbor is a cop, Steve,” she said, pointing in the general direction of the apartment next to them. “Get out. Now. I’m not playing your game anymore.”

Pressing his lips together, he let out a long sigh. “Fine,” he replied, not clipped or short like he had been in the past, but gentle and accepting. “Have a good night, darling.”

And then he left, just like that.

It was silent in the apartment, only the sound of Steve’s footsteps growing quieter at he went down the hall.

Then, finally, America broke the silence. “Damn,” she said. “He must’ve really fucked up to get that treatment from you.”

“I’m going to bed.”

And with that, she retreated back to her room, locking the door behind her, hiding underneath a blanket, and ignoring every time her roommates tried to check on her.

She tried to tell herself that her heart hurt because Bucky had bailed on their date. But she couldn’t help but regret not going with Steve, wondering where he would’ve taken her, what they would’ve talked about, and if it would’ve been anything like how things used to be, so long ago.

Half of her felt justified in her reaction to him, angry that he had the gall to show up and expect her to go out with him, just like that, no apology, nothing. The other half of her felt so bad, and guilty, and it kept replaying the look of hurt on his face at her rejection, his defeat as he left the apartment. And more than that, he had actually respected her wishes, and he left. That had to count for something, right? Maybe he wasn’t all bad.

These conflicting emotions warred inside her for the better part of the next week. It didn’t help that Bucky didn’t come by or text her that entire week, and that made her so confused, like she had done something wrong and now he was mad at her for it.

Was he mad? Was he mad that she rejected Steve? Should she have texted him during the week instead? (Not that she hadn’t drafted about 57 messages to him and then deleted them before sending a single word).

Why was all of this so fucking complicated?

So her turmoil continued throughout another four discussion assignments for each of her classes, one shift at work, and five grueling swim practices in a row, until that Friday, when she came home and cried so hard in the shower that her roommates looked at her with pity in their eyes when they came out.

“Listen,” Wanda said her name and took her shoulders, forcing her to make eye contact despite her puffy red eyes. “You need to come out with us and have fun. And get super drunk and fuck someone else. Forget about Bucky and Steve. They’re old news.”

America piped up then, an enthusiastic, “Hey I got an eight-ball of yey! That’ll make you feel better!”

And at that point, she was so fucking tired of feeling sad, and feeling guilty, and feeling angry, and feeling conflicted over the stupid boys in her life.

“You know what, you’re right. Let’s go out tonight!”

It took one shot of Tito’s to get her into the silk minidress Wanda picked out, another to get her out of the apartment and to the club they picked downtown (courtesy of a fake ID provided to her by Kate), and an entire margarita to get her into the bathroom of the bar with a line of coke in front of her, awaiting her nose.

“Okay, cut that in half, America, she can’t snort that whole thing!” Wanda said, regulating the line America laid out for her. They had already both had their turns.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Y/N asked, uncertainty in her tone.

America rolled her eyes. “Dude, it’s cocaine. Do you wanna be safe, or do you wanna forget about Buck-nasty and Steve Buscemi?”

“Oh my fucking God,” Wanda snorted, “But she’s right, just do the line. We’ll take care of you, don’t worry.”

“We do this all the time,” Kate reassured her.

“Uh, I don’t,” Kamala pointed out, ever the more conservative partier of the group.

Y/N looked at herself in the mirror, then rolled her eyes. “Whatever, fuck it.” It burned her nostrils going in and when she brought her head up, she thought her nose was bleeding, but there was no blood, and it was numb all the way into her sinuses and down her throat. “Holy shit!”

Every cell and atom in her body was charged and alert, like she had chugged six cups of coffee all at once or injected it into her veins. Her hands were shaking, but she barely registered that as euphoria and elation swept through her. Skin tingling, shivering, a smile swept over her face.

“How do you feel?” Wanda asked as Kate snorted the rest of the powder on the counter.

Y/N giggled and threw her arms up. “Oh my God!” She gasped, “Let’s go dance!”

Throughout the night, they hopped around to a few different clubs across the city, and they danced and drank and she took whatever drugs Wanda gave her, including more cocaine and a little purple pill that she slipped in her mouth and made her feel sososo good. Suddenly, she couldn’t even think about anything but the beat of the music shaking her bones and making tsunamis in her blood and the way her skin felt so soft and smooth, and how nice it felt when the people around her danced against her body.

The lights twirled in her eyes and on her skin and they almost tickled against her skin, so funny that she laughed and laughed until her stomach cramped and someone pushed another drink into her hand. Tequila burned her lips and she didn’t mind it as much as she normally did especially with the fresh burst of the lime that Wanda shoved between her lips when she almost gagged.

She lost track of time, and places, and people. All she knew was the bass in her skull and the bodies against her, dancing to the rhythm like a séance or a ritual or something almost spiritual.

Denim pants against her legs, and someone’s mesh crop top on her palms, and long silky hair gliding against her bare arms, and soft lips on her neck, and sticky lip gloss stains left on her skin. Hands, hands everywhere, pushing up her dress, touching her through the silk, and God, the feeling of her own silk dress on her skin felt so good, she just had to rub her own belly and sides and hips for the feeling—

And heat, so much heat, rising up her chest and suffocating her brain. She couldn’t get a breath of fresh air, she was breathing through a plastic bag, and she turned to the person she thought was Wanda and gasped, “I’m gonna go outside for a second!”

After she made her way through the bodies and out the doors, the fresh air felt so clean on her face, and she broke out in goosebumps as the sweat covering her body evaporated into the brisk October air.

Wait—wait, wait, wait a second. She knew the bridge in front of the club. And what did that familiar street sign say? Or was she hallucinating from the copious amounts of drugs she took?

Were they in Brooklyn? She didn’t even remember taking the subway!

The streetlights and cars swam in her vision, twisting and twirling like the fucking Tilt-A-Whirl at Coney Island, which definitely wasn’t as fun as Bucky insisted it was, and this felt exactly like that.

She turned and leaned her hands on her knees and panted like she had just swam a 100-meter race with her shitty breaststroke.

“You okay, girl?” The voice was deep, maybe the bouncer, she wasn’t sure, all she could see was the concrete and her toenails painted blue, poking out through her heels.

But she managed a reply, her words slurred around the numbness of her tongue, “Yeah! Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m great, yeah.”

“Uh—”

And then, very casually, she face-planted into the brick wall beside her.