#academia is all about bullshitting

[bnha-more-like-bnh-gay]

Shinsou: I hate all those things that were like, “they used to be so strong and funny…. ThEn [insert trauma here], now they are a shell of what they once were”

Shinsou: I can be traumatized and still be strong and funny. I’m the funniest fucker I know

Tsuyu: yesterday you said that you wanted to enter a coma so you didn’t have to deal with an authority figure being mad at you again

Shinsou: both can be true, am I not allowed to have duality, tsuyu??

[starswornoaths]

3. Tempest

Post 6.0, things are changing for the Scions.

They just haven't told all of them yet. So naturally, that becomes an issue.

word count: 1,313

-

“Big things ahead for us, I should think,” Alphinaud chimed happily without looking up from the letter he had brought in to work on. 

“Hmm. Bigger than what we just finished?” Serella asked, her own focus deterred from goldsmithing between his comment and the ache in her ban.

“Oh heavens, I should hope not! Many changes loom on the horizon, but much will feel familiar. It will be nice to go to ground again, so to speak. Not that we should hasten to our next task, of course, but having a plan is preferable.”

There was a peculiar pause there—only a few moments, but long enough that Serella caught the way he flitted his eyes toward her with as little movement as possible. Had she not stopped fiddling with her project, she might have missed it entirely…which she suspected he had been hoping for.

“What do you mean,” she asked slowly, “when you say we will go to ground again?”

That got him to set his pen down, though he kept his eyes on the paper in front of him. 

“We Scions have been talking—”

“—Without me?” she asked with care.

“Oh!” Alphinaud was startled into actually looking at her when he seemed to realize how horrible it sounded when put like that. “No, not with the intent to leave you out of the discussion, of a certainty, but we thought to bring it up when you were perhaps a bit further along in recovery—”

“What are you lot talking about, then? What’s this plan I’ll find out about later?” she pressed, already thin on patience.

Silence stretched for another few heartbeats, drawn out further by Alphinaud’s resumed refusal to look at her.

“I— well, ‘tis hardly a plan just yet, but…given all that we have accomplished, and how far the Alliance has come—”

“The Grand Company of Eorzea.” Serella corrected him.

“Yes, yes, the Grand Company,” Alphinaud hastily corrected, adding, “though even that name change proves how far they have come. Far enough along that I believe it time for the Scions of the Seventh Dawn to slip back into the shadows. We aim to announce our disbandment upon your medical clearance—”

“Disbandment?” Serella gawked. 

“Not in truth! Only insofar as the official story will tell!” Alphinaud reassured, at last turning to her fully.

Serella wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the conversation, at the way he looked surprised that she might take umbrage with the notion.

“We are an organization that has always worked in shadow in service to the star—”

“Oh come off it,” she cut him off waspishly, “Minfilia called us the worst kept secret in Eorzea before we had even moved to the Rising Stones. If you think for one second we were ever fully hidden—”

“I am under no such delusion.” Alphinaud huffed. “Even if only in principal, however, we were not outwardly acknowledged.”

“Until Minfilia specifically declared that we would be a public institution. To be open and honest with the people we fight to save. And you would undermine that, Alphinaud?”

“The world has changed, Serella,” he sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, “to even begin to speculate on what Minfilia would do after all of this is a disservice to her memory.”

“And the choice to lie to our friends isn’t? To our allies? After fighting alongside them in the name of truth and unity? When we have only barely started pulling back as arbiters for advanced technologies and mediators between peoples post-Calamity? For what purpose, even? So you won’t be pestered by the things they don’t ask of us anymore?” she asked.

“Not—not lying—well, alright, ‘tis a lie, but one that we feel—”

“We?”

“—is necessary. The city-states will continue to grow independent on their own—”

“You know they only asked us for help when they couldn’t do what we did, yes? That such needs were why the Scions were even founded to begin with?” she pressed him. “I don’t even particularly like the governments we’ve worked with, and even I would not be so uncharitable as to consider them demanding.”

“They did ask much of us—” he began.

She was having none of it, however, citing, “Eorzea was losing to Garlemald when I joined the Scions. Do you even remember that? It was a lifetime ago, aye, but they didn’t even ask us at first—do you not recall how close they came to surrendering? Now that they have the means to combat primals without the Echo and a cure for tempering, you cannot even trust them to restrain themselves from asking needless favors?”

“‘Tis not only up to me—” he sidestepped.

“But you suggested it, I’d wager.” She countered.

When the silence re-entered the room, it was incredulous. Stifling. 

“That…is a cruel assumption,” Alphinaud said slowly, eyes averted.

Unfazed, Serella blanched, “Am I wrong?”

Silence chimed in to answer on his behalf: of course he did.

“I think it more than fair for us to step back from—” he tried to pivot.

“So do that. Assign other Scions to Eorzea’s care if you feel you’ve done your part. Disbanding would displace dozens of our colleagues. How many of us have rooms in the Rising Stones with nowhere else to go? For how long was I one of those colleagues?”

“Everyone would remain on the payroll—”

“But disbandment would require us to scatter. To “keep up appearances” and give credence to the lie. Have you factored in where our colleagues will go? How long will we be scattered? What will happen to the Rising Stones and the Waking Sands?”

“We’re barely starting the talks for this now, I know not what we will do to address these things—” he tried to argue.

“Have you told Estinien?” she asked pointedly. “Does he get a vote?”

Silence once more interjected—of course Estinien doesn’t know yet.

Nor was he an Archon.

“Well…” Alphinaud meandered.

“After all the effort the lot of you used to cajole him into joining, finally reassuring him he’s got a steady place to rest his lance outside of Ishgard, this is his thanks not even six moons on?! And what of the others?!”

“As I said, we’re still working it out—”

“So you’re bringing this to the table with no logistics, no plan, and nothing to act as a safety net for those of us that aren’t Archons?” Serella pressed.

“Were our deaths not enough?” Alphinaud asked, tired. “I care for our comrades’ well being. You know I do. But I haven’t the answers yet.”

“Were any of mine?” she countered. “You got to come along for the full ride once, and that was enough, was it?”

“I know not why this is an argument,” he huffed, throwing his hands up in the air as he added, “I still want to work to help Garlemald—your betrothed leads the charge in that—”

“Which makes it all the more insulting you would have me lie to him. You would leave no organization behind the lot of you, nothing to help future generations, no “guiding light” like Loui—”

“I know,” Alphinaud said in a low voice, “what my grandfather wanted. And I know what we want.”

“And who is we, Alphinaud?” Serella asked again in a matching tone.

Silence’s presence made itself known in the room again. It hummed in her ears, it buzzed in his blood. 

“I think…I should go.” Alphinaud murmured, easing himself down from his chair. “Mayhap we can revisit this once you are better. You’re talking like you did years ago when you thought yourself alone.”

“And little wonder. You talk like you did when you thought to form the Braves. You’ve never seemed younger.” Serella quipped, already leaning back into her pillows.

If his flinch was any indication, Alphinaud understood it as the furthest thing from a compliment, yet silence saw him out of her room.

[epickiya722]

"Why vote for Miruko, she's actually OVERRATED!"

You might can hear me inhale and than exhale. Maybe because for two weeks now I've just had this pent up amount of frustration and today is the day I just say "fuck it".

But seeing someone say something like this brought a lot of annoyance into my body for several reasons.

First, why in the hell not vote for Miruko? Are you so bothered that Miruko, this dark skin character who actually does have fans who do like her as a character, is being voted on? As she is a choice that people can choose?

Second, I'm going to sound like an ass for this one, I know, but... having an icon of a very popular character who at least showed up on several covers, have a bunch of official merchandise, been in several arcs, and even a whole fucking backstory I just don't think you give any room to talk about how Miruko is overrated.

She had one fucking episode to herself and it wasn't even the damn whole episode. It was HALF.

And the constant lightening of her skin... HORIKOSHI DID NOT MAKE HER THAT DAMN LIGHT IN THE MANGA!!

Third, you say she's overrated but I'm still trying to find fics and posts that actually study her character and treat her like a human being. There are 43 Miruko-centric fics in AO3. Forty-three.

4-3... guess how many are mine? Guess.

20 of THOSE FICS ARE MINE. 20 FICS!! I'm damn proud of that though, I'll tell you that. And if I could draw right now, I'd probably be flooding the Miruko tags here.

"She's overrated, she's overrated".

She only grew in popularity after her episode and even still it doesn't compare to other characters that some of you oh so love so much.

If she's overrated, fucking great. It's not often that a dark skin female character is. Let alone one that suffers as much as she has. She deserves hype.

She's not just a girlboss, but to me she is a character worth exploring. You just don't care to because she isn't pale skinned or male.

[racke7]

Sooo... I got bored and started trying to make crossovers happen again.

And basically, I've realized how very close BNHA and Worm are to each other, as far as settings are concerned.

Like, there are underlying differences in the world-building, but:

Powers appeared from an unknown source

Heroes and Villains are a thing

Powers are very unique, but tend to be "thematic" in families

In my opinion, the biggest differences between the settings are:

BNHA takes place in Japan, Worm in the USA

Scion is a well-known "all the powers"-cape, AFO is an unknown "all the powers"-cape

Worm has Endbringers

And... that's pretty much it.

Which lead me to think about "BNHA with Endbringers" and... it sure does fuck with the setting a LOT.

[north-wilkesboro-moonshine-cave]

another weekend, another job rejection!

[dockaspbrak]

i think the stock market in its entirety is such a flop....back to grain markets.

[arledrone]

p5 suou au microwaving in my head thinking about shiho's parents' change of heart eventually lead to katsuya and maya taking her in. hmm. oh i could be so unhinged about this. akechi has shit to Say about this and none of the Phantom Thieves are going to enjoy it because they always strive for the ideal outcome and. well. akechi does not. and i think too much peace so suddenly with her parents would just leave Shiho on edge after so long under their scrutiny anyway.

[eatdrinkandburyme]

I was going to write a post about lego but then I got sidetracked by goblin market and I got lost once again in the horrors of the british empire

[fractallogic]

You know, I haven’t fully wrapped my head around how I’m going to incorporate it, but I had a great idea for this grant proposal that’s making me very excited

Because I think. finally. I will be able to justify testing arabic-speaking children. I will get to find out what kinds of errors THEY make learning my arabiclike made-up language.

And plus I’m realizing that I like portland more than eugene, and oops, the two Islamic schools and the one Arabic-medium school are all in the portland area oh no I will have to spend so much time in portland if I get this grant oh well

…plus I just really want to be able to stay in one place for three more years, and let scone live in Oregon like he’s really wanted to for YEARS.

I love arabic and I love my pastry and I love how kids do language. I am very excited about this part of the project and I just. The likelihood of it happening is vanishingly low. But it’s more likely to get this grant than getting a TT job. So.

[wickedlittlewordsmith]

There’s a post going around on my dash rn about teaching kids to read, and I’m so fucking furious rn. Like, god fucking damn it, I’m pissed at the way the U.S.’s education system is built specifically to keep students from succeeding in life. I can go on such a long rant about the k-12 education system in this country, but I won’t bc I’m pretty sure there’s not enough space in a single text post (and bc tumblr’s not really known for its nuance)

But goddamn...it makes me think of the freshman I taught at my university and how much they struggled with everything and how much they hated English and writing until then. Bc no one fucking bothered to explain shit to them or teach them ways that’ll help them with shit like critical thinking and reading and just...

I hate the education system. Academia & the university is terrible, too, but our k-12 system is built to fail students, and that’s so fucking disheartening and infuriating

[casuallyhollering]

anybody else’s work kinda reading as a crisis of faith in academic inquiry as it currently stands?

[jovialcloudqueenisnotonfire]

anyone else write their mandatory outline after they write their paper bcs they're a "figure it out as you go" type academic?

[aquaticmercy]

Of Heroes and Heartstrings (Part Three)

Part 1 │ Part 2

Summary : Bucky Barnes develops a crush on the researcher who interviewed him. After inviting her to board game night, he takes her on a second date.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her) (The reader works in academia and is writing about superheroes and how they perceive themselves in the 21st century)

Warnings/tags : Mentions of food. Slight cursing. Sex is implied. Yelena and Sam being annoying. 

Requested by :  myself again

Word count : 2.4k + 200ish-word bonus epilogue.

Note : This is the final part! I loved writing on this, and will definitely think of writing longer series in the future. Enjoy!

Requests are open!

The next morning, Bucky was barely awake when the pounding on his apartment door started.

“Open up, Barnes!” Yelena said from the hallway, loud and insistent. He groaned, rolling over and covering his head with a pillow, hoping they’d give up. No such luck.

“I know you’re in there!” Sam chimed, sounding just as persistent.

Bucky cursed under his breath, reluctantly pushing himself out of bed and stumbling out. 

As he opened the door, the cool morning air swept into his apartment, carrying the scent of coffee his friends had bought for him. Sam's grin widened, while Yelena immediately pushed her way in. 

The familiar, chaotic energy the two brought with them was like a damn alarm clock that couldn’t be snoozed. Despite his outward grumbling, a part of Bucky felt… happy. 

For someone who had spent so many years isolated, these intrusions had become a comforting reminder that he wasn’t alone.

“You guys need hobbies,” Bucky grumbled, he had barely gotten any sleep after last night. Between replaying the almost-kiss and mentally planning the second date, his mind hadn’t been able to shut off.

Yelena placed the coffee on the counter, while Sam leaned against the island kitchen with a smirk. 

“So…how’d it go?” Sam asked, curios.

Bucky shot him a glare, walking over to the coffee that had brought. He took a long sip before answering, knowing there was no getting out of this. “It went fine.”

“Fine?” Yelena hopped to sit on his counter. “I saw you all touchy-feely all night. Are you expecting us to believe that you dropped her off and came home?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, unaffected. “That’s exactly what I did.”

Sam snorted. “I call bullshit. I saw how you looked at her during Monopoly—you had hearts for eyes. Come on, man, give us something. Did you even kiss her?”

Bucky’s silence was telling. 

Yelena’s eyes widened in disbelief. “No. way.” She said, her Russian accent dripping from her mouth.

“I didn’t,” Bucky admitted, his cheeks warming at the thought. “We just had tea.”

Yelena blinked. “Tea?”

“Is tea code for something?” Sam repeated incredulously. 

Bucky shook his head, taking another sip of his coffee. “We talked. It was nice.”

Sam looked at Yelena like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Yelena nodded. “Oh this is real. He’s not playing around. This is real.”

“Look,” Bucky said, “She said she doesn’t kiss on the first date. I respect that. But there’s going to be a second date.”

Sam’s eyes lit up. “When?”

Bucky grumbled under his breath, scratching the back of his neck. “Two days.”

Yelena smirked. “You better kiss her then, Barnes, or I’ll do it for you.”

Bucky shot her a look. “Not helping.”

Sam, ever the wingman, reassured him. “You got this.”

Yelena leaned back on the counter with a satisfied grin. “And if you screw it up, we’ll hear about it the morning after.”

Bucky rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at his lips. 

As much as they teased him, it felt good knowing they cared.

—

Standing outside your door, Bucky’s heart raced in his chest.

The bouquet in his hand felt heavier than it should have. His leather jacket felt stiff, and he tugged at the sleeves out of habit, hoping to ease the tension in his muscles. 

When you opened the door, all the thoughts that had been clouding his thoughts vanished in an instant. 

You stood there in a simple but stunning dress, your hair falling perfectly into place. 

Your smile lit up the hallway, and for a moment, all he could do was stare. 

You looked beautiful, but he already knew that. 

“Hey you,” you said softly, stepping out into the hallway.

“Hey yourself,” he breathed out as he held out the flowers. I’ve got to stop overthinking this, he told himself, trying to fight the heat creeping up his cheeks.

You took them, your fingers brushing against his. “Bucky, they’re beautiful.”

He gave a small, relieved smile. “I wasn’t sure what kind of flowers you liked, so I just—"

“I love them,” you interrupted him from his anxious train of thoughts, smiling up at him. “You ready to go?”

—

The restaurant was even more lovely than Bucky had hoped. The warm lighting gave the small space an intimate glow, casting soft shadows on your surroundings. 

The quiet hum of conversations around you created a sense of privacy, as though the world outside didn’t exist. You sat across from him, leaning forward slightly as you asked for his most embarrassing stories. 

Bucky chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. The heat from the candle between you flickered, radiating your smile. 

"Okay, okay," he sighed dramatically, but the laughter in his eyes gave him away. "But you better share some of yours too."

"Deal," you agreed with a wink.

He leaned back in his chair, thinking for a moment. "Alright, here’s one. I was way too old when I found out the tooth fairy wasn’t real."

You blinked at him, then giggled. "Wait, how old are we talking here?"

Bucky’s grin widened, and he looked a little sheepish. "Like… fourteen."

Your eyes went wide, and you clapped a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter. "Fourteen?! How did that even happen?"

Bucky shrugged, chuckling. "I don’t know, I just… didn’t question it. I’d lose a tooth, and a dollar would show up under my pillow. Magic or whatever."

“Oh my God, Bucky, fourteen?!” You were stifling a laugh so hard you could barely catch your breath. "Did anyone ever try to tell you?"

"My ma did, actually," he said, shaking his head at the memory. "She sat me down and said, ‘James, there’s something we need to talk about.’ I thought I was in trouble. Then she just blurted it out— I was crushed."

"You must’ve felt so betrayed,”  you laughed, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. 

He smiled. "Yeah, a little."

“That’s adorable.” You shook your head, still grinning. "I’m never letting you live that down."

"Fair enough," he said with a chuckle, leaning forward slightly. "Now. Your turn.”

You took a deep breath, gathering yourself. You told him a story about how you used to get in so much trouble as a kid, how you injured yourself every now and then. 

As you told your stories, Bucky found himself completely mesmerized—not by the little anecdotes, but by the way the sound of your voice made everything sound so fascinating.

The conversation eventually drifted from light-hearted teasing to deeper topics, both of you sharing bits of yourselves you hadn’t before. 

Bucky found himself laughing more than he had in a long time, and you seemed just as captivated. You leaned in every time he spoke, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

As the night began to wind down, neither of you were in a rush to leave. Eventually, after paying the bill, Bucky stood and helped you into your coat, his hand lingering on your back for just a second longer than necessary.

The walk after was filled with soft conversation, with no particular destination in mind. 

The city lights reflected in the puddles on the sidewalk, your arm brushing against Bucky’s every now and again.

Bucky found himself watching you a little longer than he should, memorising the way your face looked when you were lost in thought. The gentle glow of moonlight wrapped like a blanket around you both.

He slowly reached out, taking your hand in his. You smiled up at him, squeezing your interlocked fingers. There was something perfect about everything —natural, unforced, as if the world was giving him permission to just enjoy this fleeting moment.

The streetlamp overhead flickered slightly as you stopped for a brief moment, turning to face him. The soft, golden light casted a gentle halo around you, illuminating the curve of your smile.

“I had a great time,” you said, your voice quiet, but your eyes full of warmth.

“Me too,” Bucky replied, his heart pounding a little faster than it should.

The world seemed to grow quieter, as though it knew something was about to happen. Bucky stood there, his heart pounding against his ribs like it had on the first date. He could feel the gravity of the moment pulling him closer to you, his breath hitching as you took a half-step toward him, your face tilted up. His gaze flicked down to your lips, and then back to your eyes.

This time, when Bucky leaned in, you didn’t stop him. His lips hovered over yours once again, soft and tentative at first, testing the waters. He pulled away before he could kiss you. “Do you want to head back to my apartment?”

Oh, that little tease. 

You nodded, feeling that familiar flutter in your chest. 

—

Once you and Bucky reached his place, the air around you was shrouded with anticipation. 

“You want something to drink?” Bucky asked, trying to ease the nervous chills creeping up on him.

“Whatever you’re having is fine,” you replied, offering him a soft smile.

He gave you a nod and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving you to take in your surroundings. His apartment was just like him—cosy but strong, dark with hidden depth. 

Bucky leaned against the kitchen doorframe, watching you from across the room as you absentmindedly touched the spines of his old books. There was something surreal about seeing you in his space, like you belonged there. 

His apartment had always felt a little too quiet, a little too bare. With you, it felt complete— alive. 

Then it struck him: just how much he wanted this— not the moment, not the date, but you, and how you represented the kind of connection that made him feel like he was truly home. 

He finally handed you a glass of sparkling water. “I don’t have any fancy tea,” he said with a small laugh, his eyes flicking to yours, checking to see if you were comfortable.

“This is perfect,” you reassured him, sipping from the glass. You both settled on the couch, not quite touching yet.

For a while, you just talked. The conversation was easy, the kind that made you feel like you were learning something new about each other every minute— you talked about your studies, talked about how the interview with Clint went yesterday. He told you about his latest mission, and how he was waiting for his next. 

There were moments where Bucky would say something that would make you laugh, your hand brushing his arm without thinking, and you’d catch the way his eyes softened with affection.

As the conversation slowed, the silence between you was anything but empty. It felt heavy with with the tension that had been building since the moment you walked through the door. 

Bucky’s heart was pounding so loudly in his ears that he almost missed the way you whispered, “You can kiss me now.” 

His eyes widened, and for a split second, he hesitated. But when he saw your breath hitch, and he saw the way your eyes fluttered closed, your lips slightly parted, and all his hesitation melted away. 

He leaned in slowly, savoring every second before his lips met yours. Finally, he felt the softness of your lips against his, the warmth of your body pressed close.

He pulled you closer, his metal hand resting on the small of your back. It felt like the world had disappeared, leaving the two of you tangled in a movie that neither of you wanted to end.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath a little shaky. The soft glow from the nearby lamp casted gentle shadows on your face.

He moved back slightly, just enough to see your eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his voice low and sincere. He could barely believe what was happening.

A soft laugh escaped your mouth, and you pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. “And you’re perfect,” you murmured, the words full of affection and admiration. 

“Far from perfect,” he replied, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.  

“Feels pretty perfect right now,” you teased.

He grinned, and before you could say another word, he pressed his lips against yours again. This time it was soft, but with more certainty, like he was tasting every drop of you.

You both smiled into the kiss, unable to help the giddiness within.

“I’ve been waiting for this for so long,” Bucky admitted in between kisses.

You whispered, “How long?”

His thumb traced the edge of your jaw. “The week after our interview? I went to the same cafè every day hoping I’d run into you. And I did.” he said with a sheepish smile.

You recalled that moment you were pleasantly surprised to find him there. He had played it off so casually, saying he just liked the coffee. That day, you ended up talking over coffee for two hours, both of you oblivious to each other’s intentions.

You felt your heart flutter, the weight of his words wrapping around you like a blanket. “Me too,” you confessed, your voice almost shy. “I’ve had a crush on you since the interview. I just… never thought you’d feel the same.”

Bucky’s eyes softened, the icy blue of his eyes filled with nothing but warmth. “You have no idea,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours again to prove just how wrong you were.

The kisses got more heated as your hands slid up to rest on his chest, feeling the strong beat of his heart beneath your palms. 

His hands found your waist, pulling you closer.

Bucky’s lips trailed from your mouth to your jawline, then to the sensitive spot just below your ear. 

You shivered, a quiet sigh escaping your lips.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, and he responded with a soft groan.

The kisses became more intense, his mouth claiming yours again. The space between you seemed to disappear entirely. 

When he finally fully pulled back, both of you were breathless. 

His voice was low when he asked, “Do you… want to stay the night?”

“Of course,” you whispered without hesitation, your voice steady and sure.

The smile that spread across Bucky’s face was a mix of relief and desire. He pressed one more soft kiss to your lips, his hand lingering on your waist.

For the first time in a long time, everything felt just right.

—

Epilogue : 

The next morning, the sun was barely peeking through the curtains when the pounding on Bucky’s door started again.

You stirred under the covers, blinking sleepily as you registered what was happening. Bucky groaned beside you, burying his face into the pillow.

You laughed softly, sliding out of bed. “I’ve got this,” you whispered, grabbing the first thing you could find—one of Bucky’s old shirts—and pulling it over your head. It was too big on you, the fabric hanging just past your thighs. 

The pounding on the door continued. Did Bucky order something? It must be mail, right?

You sleepily trudged out of the bedroom towards the front door and opened it. Yelena and Sam froze mid-knock, eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“Oh,” Sam said, his eyebrows shooting up. 

Yelena’s jaw loosened, “that was unexpected.”

You leaned casually against the doorframe, crossing your arms with a tired smile. “Good morning to you too.”

Yelena broke into a grin. “the second date went well?”

Before you could answer, Bucky’s groggy voice called from the bedroom. “Who’s at the door?”

“Your nosy friends,” you called back with a chuckle.

Bucky appeared behind you, rubbing a hand over his face. “Can you two not?” he grumbled, clearly still half-asleep.

Sam pointed at you again, now looking between you and Bucky. “You owe me 20!” He said to Yelena.

“Settle your bets somewhere else,” Bucky grumbled, though he could not stop the shy smile forming on his lips.

Yelena elbowed Sam. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll leave you alone... for now.”

As they walked away, Bucky quickly closed the door and wrapped you in his strong arms. 

You grinned, “I kinda really like your friends.”

-end

Taglist : @quiet-loser @hzdhrtss @intelligenceofapineapple @yujyujj @miriamnox @thecraziestcrayon

[abby-the-druid]

Which is why it’s also influenced by monetary gain and therefore perverts the scientists to be shitty themselves and reinforce an abusive, misleading, and sometimes straight up deceitful capitalist system. ✌️

[daisystwistedgarden]

if you can't date for love, date for money.

ruggie bucchi remembers receiving this advice well. back when the news of his acceptance into night raven college felt like a dream, when the congratulations and well wishes from his neighbors back home clung to him like the subtle glow of streetlights at night. those days felt... fragile. breakable. there was a subtle tension in the air as he pondered whether the haughty halls of the academy would change him into someone he didn't recognize. he knew hunger pangs and cool nights on the savannah, not whatever bullshit academia had in store.

some of the folks his age-- deeper into their twenties, a bridge he had just begun to cross, with more life experience and cynicism under their belts-- had made jokes about him getting hitched to someone with enough money to give him a good life. money. status. no worries about where your next meal is coming from or if treating a broken leg can leave you homeless. hey ruggie. make sure you pick real good, okay? maybe if your in-laws are rich enough, you can get us all out of here!

ruggie was never one to have romantic fantasies. his ideal partner had a fat wallet and a retirement fund, a formless blob devoid of anything other than the sense of security only money can provide. rich kids just didn't get it. the scars of poverty ran deep.

why, then, did he not follow that advice given to him all that time ago?

his feet carried him across the icy steps of ramshackle, dry knuckles shoved into a threadbare coat, letting the puff of warm air from his tired sigh keep his nose from freezing over. he let himself into ramshackle dorm with a customary knock. the warm crackle of the fireplace greeted him, chasing away the clod draft he'd brought in as he left the entryway.

"i got some extra thaumarks from leona today." he announced upon spotting you in the common room.

"and i got my paycheck from the mostro lounge!"

your smile was infectious. an involuntary shyeheehee left his lips as you scrambled up to your feet, throwing your arms around him in greeting as he teased you for your eagerness.

getting paid was the excuse you had for making dinner together biweekly. when the strain of bills felt less heavy and spirits were lifted, you'd venture out to sam's shop and pick up something to make together. it was a night of luxury, of indulgence, the two of you feeling spoiled to have a meal your classmates would more than likely scoff at.

you were not the rich suitor of ruggie's dreams. magicless and lost in a new world, you'd managed to scrape by doing odd jobs and living in the rickety shack known as ramshackle dorm, all without complaint. he saw himself in you. scrappy. clever. there was an optimism in you that enticed ruggie to stay, even if it meant scraping by for the foreseeable future. "date for money, not love" was a proverb lost to the wind the moment you held a spoon up to his lips and urged him to try whatever you'd been mixing in that pot across the kitchen.

... well, not all advice is good advice. ruggie would rather spend the rest of his life shoving thaumarks into mason jars with you than in some spoiled rich person's mansion, anyways.

a/n: ruggie bucchi, contender for Most Boyfriend twst character of all time

[hexagon-club]

The more I think about it, the more I think the best parallel ideology to transgenderism is scientology. One of them is a wacky and wildly individualist spiritual belief system about how all your problems have to do with how your soul was forcibly placed in the wrong body. And you can only solve those problems by forking over money to a weird priesthood masquerading as intellectuals and health experts, who will help align your body with the vaguely defined and unfalsifiable spirit at its core. All justified with a mid 20th century coat of psuedoscientific paint. The main architect of which was a pedophile. Which later went on to infiltrate the government, academia, and the entertainment industry (especially Hollywood) where it morphed into a weird cross between a sex cult and a pyramid scheme. And even though most people know it is bullshit, its followers are so tenacious, and it's church so well funded, and their abuse of the legal system so well refined that people are simply too intimidated to stand up to them. And people who do dare to defect are mercilessly hounded and intimidated into silence for daring to expose the cults inner workings to the general public.

And the other one is a group of weirdos who worship an alien called Xenu or something.