#why must i pine for things people like me aren't supposed to have

[realrogerhours]

Rancid tags do not read

[jacksonleavesthe0nly138472]

Silly Fiddles

POV: Fiddleford

Tonight was the night when I quit the project, couldn't take it anymore even being outside of Fords house was a nightmare. Luckily I have a solution to all my problems, forgetting Stanford Pines.

The memory gun was always in my pocket, so I got the gun out my pocket and started to write Stanford pines in the machine. Put the gun up to my head then suddenly I get a touch on my shoulder, instinctly I pointed the gun on the guy or thing who touched my shoulder and fired.

Finally I get to see the guy who was behind me, it was Stanford himself which surprised me, why was he out here? Wasn't he trying to "changed the world" with the stupid machine we made. Wait oh no, I realised that I wiped Stanford entire mind, I only fired the gun because people aren't supposed to know about the memory gun, unless I tell them. This is so dumb now I have to help him again, I hate this man so much but I don't hate him enough to leave him confused and lost.

He looks at me confused just standing here, then he asked "who am I, who are you, where am I?" This gave me a brilliant idea, I can just get Stanford my to do my bidding and destroy the portal. I giggled a bit "well look who's silly, your Stanford Pines and you must of hit your head, when you were trying to take down the portal?"

Stanford looked more confused "What portal? Are you a friend of mine?" I couldn't contain my laugher "of course I'm your friend, it’s Fiddleford, you like to call me Fidds" mmmm maybe I shouldn't of told him my nickname. "Now let's get you back in my house and check for any head injuries" oh gosh I'm so hilarious, pretending his house is my house "Fidds your such a good friend, I'm so lucky to have a friend like you" okay that does make me feel guilty, I shouldn't of lied than but it's too late now, why is he being so gullible, was he always gullible and I didn't notice?

We had back to the house, I got Stanford in the bathroom, got a damp towel and pretend to clean off his fake head wound. He was blushing for some reason and I was too, what the hay is going on, why am I feel warm in the head. "Um once I bandage your injury and turn off the portal, we will head to bed eeeerrrrr Okay" Ford looks up at me all bright eyes, gosh I never notice how beautiful Ford's eyes were. "Oh that's an excellent idea, your so amazing and smart"

Wait why is Stanford being so nice to me, I know he's memory isn't here, but when ever I did patch him up he would usually just look at the floor than leave when done, usually when he does say nice things about me he doesn't tell me, he would just write in down. "Um thanks, well now I got your taken care of"

[findafight]

Idk if you’re the person to send this to but like

The whole thing with Murray’s comments and Nancy and Jon getting together…. It is set up in such a way that it can be read as a situation where an ambitious teenage girl was pressured into what she was “supposed” to be. Nancy was told by a man that she respected and who took her seriously (and was the ONLY one to do so, so Murray gained an untold amount of trust from Nancy immediately, and the show just brushing off their relationship is such a loss but ok), that in order to be her real self she must dump Steve. Now Murray was just poking at two teenagers with a metaphorical stick to see what would they do. Understandable position, as a younger sister haver love doing that also (not with romantic feelings though but Murray was never meant to be ethical). I doubt that what the comment meant for him can be easily translated into what it meant for Nancy (let alone Jon, who thinks that he is better than most people and that he is definitely better than Steve, so I imagine he was nodding along). But he did influence her into becoming an investigative journalist. Like Murray with him taking Nancy seriously influenced her into two major life altering decisions (career and significant other). Like wow. And they never interacted again! Fucking hate st continuity.

Like Nancy dumping Steve because Murray told her to do so is a major thing. It’s BAD for jancy. Before s4 I thought that they were not mentioning it because jancy happened and was the endgame. But with them toying with stancy and likely knowing that they might toy with stancy all along??? Why did they not leave it open to interpretation. It’s such a juicy storyline, it shows the magnitude of the influence that you can have on a teenage girl, it’s beautiful, it’s painful, it’s the stuff of a real love-triangle (which is hard to make interesting but that would make it interesting!!!). Why did they write it then??? Whyyyyyy?????

oooooh that's so interesting anon!

I am much more of a murray fan when he is being a weird gay conspiracy uncle guy and isn't matchmaking, it must be said.

He and Nancy have the potential for a really interesting dynamic! It really is a shame we don't get to see more of it tbh. and you are so right in what his comment meaning to him and what it meant to Nancy and Jon separately would be so different! I don't know if Nancy would necessarily feel pressured by it, (though I wouldn't say she wasn't, either) but maybe it would vindicate something of how she was feeling about her relationship with Steve at the time and her feelings for Jonathan? Like a "oh this man I respect and who takes me seriously also thinks Jonathan is better for me, thinks I should go for it. Maybe I will..." kind of thing?

And lol yeah so true Jon just had his own conception of himself and Steve and their relationships with Nancy confirmed by Murray. he just kinda got...permission? I guess? to make a move on Nancy even though he was the one bringing up Steve both times he's mentioned on the road trip.

Totally see where you're coming from of Murray's influence not being mentioned because you figured Jancy was endgame, makes sense (if boring) to not question it if it doesn't need to be addressed as an issue because the pairing is canon for the rest. But now the teen love triangle has been brought back.... you're so right it is bad for Jancy. It brings up stuff about them that a lot of people (especially the Duffers!) don't want to deal with or acknowledge. Though I don't think they were planning the whole time to bring stancy back I think that sort of happened because the duffers unfortunately don't know what to do with Nacy if she doesn't have a boy to look at and Steve when he isn't pining over Nancy.

There's not enough time left to fully and satisfyingly delve into the issues between the original older teens, especially since some of those issues aren't treated as issues. It would be interesting to see, and also so so juicy, the complicated relationship they have with each other because of the UD etc, but I don't think a whole lot of interesting canon material will come from it (though that doesn't mean fan content can't!!) just based on how other romantic relationships and their dynamics with each other have been treated through the show. tbh I think maybe s5 will tease the love triangle but ultimately either end up with them all single (my preference) or with Jancy still together.

[ladyofsnark]

Garrus wasn’t jealous.

He liked Lex. He respected her–admired her, even.

And true, he also thought Lex was beautiful. He didn’t have a human fetish, but there was something about her that went so much deeper than appearances. The way she commanded attention. The way everyone turned to look at her. That kind of presence–that power–was intoxicating in its own way. He was cocky, but he knew what to be cocky about. He knew his strengths and played to them. Lex played to everything and anything with a devastating amount of self-assuredness. Or suicidality. It was hard to tell sometimes.

He glanced back out the windows that looked down into the shuttle bay. They’d created a makeshift firing range there to test their weapons and help the team blow off steam in between missions and long stints at the Citadel. It was Kelly's idea, since half of the ground team needed anger management lessons and this was as close as they would get.

There was no real danger to it. Nothing short of actual AA guns could pierce the Normandy's hull and they used soft-polymer rounds for safety in close quarters, so the most anyone was risking was a painful bruise. Of course, Lex loved it. She cared for her rifles like they were her children and she never wasted an opportunity to tinker with them.

But she was practicing with Thane.

Garrus sighed and pushed away from the window. It bothered him and it bothered him that it bothered him. Lex also practiced with him and with Grunt and Zaeed and she and Jack challenged each other to trick shots when they weren’t being supervised.

Hell, he liked the assassin. Respected him, even. It seemed like there was a sore lack of good people in the universe and few tried half as hard as Thane did to be one.

So why this? This irrational annoyance. This irritation. He couldn’t help but think back to Oraka in Chora’s Den moping over Sha’ira and it didn’t do great things for his ego.

Garrus was so distracted he didn’t even hear the elevator ping. 

“Hey, I was wondering where you’d gotten to,” Jon said as he stepped off. “I looked in the main battery and thought something must have gone horribly wrong to drag you away from your terminal. What’s up?”

Garrus straightened, looking away quickly from the shuttle bay. “Nothing,” he said. “I just came down here to talk to the engineers about the power draw from the new guns.”

Jon leaned against the opposite bulkhead and then glanced out the window, at his sister who was listening to Thane explain something to her with rapt attention. “Uh huh.”

It was more of a grunt than words, loaded with as much skepticism as the older of the Shepard twins could muster.

Before Garrus could make good his escape, Jon spoke again: “You two are a lot alike, you know.”

Garrus gave him a dubious look. “How?”

“Well for one, you’re both dumbasses,” Jon said, surprising a laugh out of the turian, who then reached up to rub the sore side of his face. The man smiled, only half apologetic. “My sister tells me everything and I can count on one hand how many times she’s said she loves me. So, if you’re waiting for her to make the first move, you’ll be waiting for a while.”

Spirits, they were so unmistakably related. Jon might have been the diplomat of the pair but that was only by default, because Lex’s idea of diplomacy involved a dictionary of curse words and probably at least one explosion.

Garrus glanced back down at the shuttle bay, at Lex. “I’m sure she wants something closer to home…”

“And closer to home is someone else with scales? And hallucinogenic saliva?” Jon snorted. “Garrus. Think of it like this. You’re up here pining for a woman who would have thrown her whole life–her whole career–away to go with you to Omega. I can tell you right now, Lex wouldn’t do that for anyone else. Maybe not even me. So the only thing in your way is you.”

He had a point. He usually did, but this was a particularly annoying example.

"You're her brother, aren't you supposed to be threatening me? Not trying to set us up?" Garrus asked, with humor.

Jon laughed. "When we were sixteen one of the Reds decided to cop a feel and Lex almost beat him to death with a datapad. I don't need to come to her rescue. Yours, maybe. But not hers."

[mister-eames]

Hi hi hi can we please discuss in more detail how eames and Arthur’s love for one another might manifest in their dreams, especially during the PINING YEARS since their dreams are possible their only outlet for this love!! Because when they’re awake, in the real world they have to repress it, seal it away, pretend it’s not a big deal... ahhh! Going insane over this thought! The power of the subconscious!!

Yes!! I keep thinking how pieces of people must show up in dreams, how our subconscious simply can't help but bleed into dreamscapes - even in the most detailed build, even with the most experienced dreamer. It's your brain being used for the foundation, there must be some cross-over! And if it's a powerful emotion like love or hate or grief, well we've seen it in the latter, so why not the rest?

They both take forever to notice it. And even then Arthur, who notices it first, doesn't even see it until Cobb points it out. They're doing a test run in Arthurs dream - and the menu at the restaurant they're not even supposed to stop at has items with titles of AC/DC songs.

While Cobb is astute enough to know that and assumes Arthur has an earworm, what he doesn't know is that on Arthur knows that Eames listens to the band when he works out and taps his fingers to the rhythm of thunderstruck and you shook me all night long when he's restless.

After that Arthur can't unsee the things he's picked up from Eames in his dreams. At first he tries to convince himself that of course Eames is just that annoying he infests Arthurs subconscious. A literal parasite.

But then some of his projections have crooked teeth, and he starts seeing more and more of Eames' forges as projections - and the projections that aren't echoes are forges are wearing Eames' watch, or the trucker cap Eames' wears when they're not on the job and he's back at home, recuperating from not being himself. There are little pockets in his dreamscape that are from stories he has heard Eames tell when he was eavesdropping, like the antique store his mum used to temp at during his primary school years. The playground where he got into his first fight. They look innocuous to anyone else but Arthur knows they're from his own imaginings and daydreams. Parasite, he reminds himself.

Every time he wakes up a little more perturbed, afraid of the magnitude of his own feelings. Maybe if he can pretend to loathe Eames in the real world his brain (and body) will get the memo.

One day they go into Cobbs dream and he notices a pair of feminine, cat-eye sunglasses folded and hooked into Cobbs dress-shirt. He points it out and Cobb mumbles something about Mal and Arthur stops listening. His first thought is: I don't want to know.

Then he remembers all of the little details he'd flat out ignored his own dreams. How his subconscious seemed to lovingly envelope itself around such tiny details.

His second thought is: Oh no. I'm fucked.

[ash-morgensterns]

Post Chain of Thorns Rant

Just finished the book and I have lots of thoughts.

Split in two parts because of word limit.

I'm starting with Lucie, the real MVP of this book. The way she managed to keep Lilith trapped without any pentagram or protective spell but just using her powers was some QUEEN shit. It's safe to say that in this book she totally outshone Cordelia in terms of badassery, I mean she was responsible for both holding off the Mother of all Demons all on her own and defeating Tatiana and her army of Watchers and thanks to her powers the Watchers were defeated. Of course, CC couldn't help herself and she had to throw in some drama that prevented her to be with Jesse properly until the very end, and the fact that to reach the souls of the dead Silent Brothers was to make out with him was a tad weird, but given the level of badassery she reached in this book I feel like I can close an eye on it for this once. 

Now onto Cordelia.... First and foremost, she needs to cure herself of the obsession she developed towards Grace. My God, for 23 chapters it was like she couldn't go a whole paragraph without bringing her up somehow. James looked thoughtful??? Surely he was thinking about Grace. James was going to Curzon Street?? Oh yes, the house he surely bought for himself and Grace. Lucie has been distant lately?? Surely because of her new best friend Grace. Girl, get a life. Another thing that I noticed and annoyed me was how she still found every little reason to feel estranged from her group of friends, even after the conversation they had about this exact subject at the end of CoI. With Grace, it's because James has "feelings" for her (he doesn't and he told you that) and now Lucie is now dating her brother, and somehow that means that Grace is going to steal all the affection either of them felt for Cordelia??? As if people aren't allowed to have more than one friend??? And then again with Ariadne. She was engaged to Matthew's brother and she is close with Anna so they must be all friends and Cordelia literally says she feels left out because of it. Why????? You have had people falling over themselves to help you since the moment you stepped out of your carriage and you still have the courage to say they don't consider you their friend or that they would ditch you on the first occasion??? And let's not even mention her fight with Lucie!!! Lucie not telling her about the necromancy is totally justifiable and not only I'm sick and tired of people pretending it wasn't but also I really do not understand why on earth Cordelia had to go and bring up Grace (again!!!) when it's blatantly oblivious that if Lucie had been caught Cordelia would have been in deep shit too (especially since she had conveniently fled for Paris too). Meanwhile, Cordelia spent the entirety of the last book going from one place to another to solve her problem with Cortana and the only reason Lucie knows about it is that she was there when it all went to shit and Cordelia couldn't hide it from her anymore. Let's not even mention the fact that Cordelia herself told us the closest people to her were Matthew and Anna. Oh, and her using The Beautiful Cordelia against Lucie was a shitty move. Your best friend wrote you a whole-ass novel because you told her you felt lonely and bored and now you accuse her of being childish for the fantasy world she created with the sole purpose of cheering you up??? Screw You. For someone who is supposed to be the absolute protagonist of the series, she did absolutely nothing for the entirety of the book besides pining after James and unnecessarily prolonging the love triangle because she decided that maybe she was in love with Matthew instead. At first, if she couldn't lift a blade it was the paladin's excuse, but even though people kept hyping her up as the great hero who would get kill Belial when the moment comes... all she does is pass the blade to James for him to do the job himself and it's still James who tricks Lilith into freeing her from her paladin's oath. An absolute delusion.

I liked James a lot better in this book. Not that I hated him before, I just didn't really care about him. Now that CC has gotten him rid of the bracelet and was forced to write him actually interacting and caring for his friends we got a few scenes I really liked. I liked how he bonded with Jesse and how he and Matthew started opening up to each other more and how they started picking their parabatai bond back up. I also really liked the talk James and Lucie had in Cornwall after she woke up. Too bad that, for all their talks of sticking together more didn't really go far since they still didn't interact much during the rest of the book.

I overall liked how CC handled Matthew's problem with alcohol, that she showed that it's not a smooth path and that people often have relapses but I think that, to have him happy and healed in the epilogue she should have started his abstinence in the second book. Weird but not unsurprising that the other characters (especially Alastair) didn't have the same patience and kindness extended to Elias. Third consecutive book where we're told by one of his friends (in this case Anna) how they had noticed Matthew was suffering for years and yet nobody bothered to do anything or even just talk to him about it. Love to see it. I'm a bit sad to see him going off alone in the Epilogue, especially when everyone else has a companion. Not that I wanted him to be shoehorned into a super rushed romance, but I would have liked to see him travel with a friend. 

If it's true that Cordelia needs to cure her obsession with Grace, then she must take Thomas with her and help him get rid of his obsession with Charles. How many times will Alastair have to tell you he doesn't care about him anymore before you stop bringing him up in every conversation you two have??? Oh, and some of his internal monologues whenever Alastair was involved felt rather cringe. I get being flustered in front of your crush but there's a limit to everything. Other than that there isn't much else to say, considering most of his plot was about his relationship with Alastair. 

I feel Christopher's death could have been really interesting. By far the most interesting death in all TSC. When you think about it, by killing Christopher, Tatiana got what she had wanted all along. Revenge on her brothers. With Gideon losing Barbara to Belial's demons and Gabriel losing Christopher to Tatiana herself, both her brothers lost a child just like she had lost Jesse (in her mind because of them) all those years ago. Too bad his death scene was.... well, I'm not sure how to describe it exactly. The first word that comes to my mind is rushed. We get this super tense battle scene where you know you cannot win because your opponents keep resurrecting, you even get a scare about him (he nearly got hit by a blade) but no he's fine so we get back to the battle. Then when finally the enemy finally disperses, Lucie turns around and Anna (very calmly, absolutely chill) informs us that her brother is dead. We don't even get to know how he died right away, we need to wait for Cordelia's POV for that, and when calm settles nobody even bothers to mourn him properly because James and Matthew have been taken and that gets all the spotlight away from him... And sure, Christopher was pretty much a 2D character whose purpose was to speak of science and experiments (and being Grace's advocate in this book) and that didn't help his case, but yeah, his death was rather underwhelming. A special mention goes to the whole "James turned out fine so we should forgive Grace" thing? What the hell was that about Christopher??? 

[part 2]

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Little Witch | The Mikaelson Boys

Hey lovelies, I’m finally back with some Mikaleson Brothers content. I’ve had this idea for a while and rewrote it about a thousand times. I’m not sure if I love this but I needed to just finish it. I feel like it’s not that great but regardless I’m giving it to you. It’s super fluffy and a quick burn romance but, hey, who doesn’t like kissing me you just met you know? In all seriousness I hope you’re all doing well. I know life is really off right now and I hope this helps. All my love <3 until next time loves!

Description: Hogwarts and The Originals crossover, disbelief must be suspended for this one as we all know some of this doesn’t add up, soulmate AU

Pairing: The Mikaelson Boys x Female!Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: there are no warnings

Word count: 6.7k

Tags: FLUFF

Tag List: @activist-af , @hellotvshowtrash , @firebirdsalvatore

(Photos not mine but mood board is :) )

“There you are, sweetheart,” her gentle voice breaks through you dreams, pulling you from the same scene you’ve grown used to seeing for the last couple weeks, “you’re going to miss dinner sleepyhead.”

You awake to a familiar picture: your books sprawled across a desk in the middle of the library and a fiery redhead with a soft smile holding a semi-crumpled cardigan towards you. Her eyes twinkle with laughter and familiarity. This isn’t the first time Arabella has found you asleep after you told her you were going to be studying. When you look down at your divination textbook you notice a small pink smudge from your cherry lip gloss. You wipe your fingers around your lips, collecting the rest of your smeared makeup.

You stifle a yawn, stretching your limbs out with a soft groan, “shoot, I fell asleep again. What time is it, Ari?”

“Quarter to six, hun,” she reaches out to brush some fallen hair out of your eyes, “we should really get a move on. Are you feeling okay?”

You nod, this time the yawn interrupting any intention to answer that you had. Your head buzzes lightly with the remnants of your dream. For weeks you’ve felt something on the horizon, something meant just for you. Three pairs of brown eyes and the warmest feeling in your chest. It’s the same feeling you’ve been waking up with every night, if not a touch stronger this evening. You don’t mind it though, it layers a warmth to your bones that this winter in the castle has stripped from you.

“I haven’t been sleeping too well lately is all,” you let Arabella help you slip your cardigan back on, straightening it and your tie, evening the yellow and gray stripes. 

Her hands still against your shoulders, her concerned green eyes meeting your own half open ones, “still having those dreams, sunshine?” 

You nod once more, sagging slightly from the weight of your tote when she loops it over your shoulder. Your skin tingles with slight electricity, lulling your already fuzzy brain into a deeper haze. You tug your sleeves over your hands, scrunching your fingers into a fist to try and regain some awareness.

“Hmm,” Arabella pushes the same strand of hair from your forehead again, removing her headband and putting it on you instead to keep your unruly strands in place, “remind me to make you some tea before bed. I have some herbs from the greenhouse that might help with them. Let’s go get some food into you first though, ok?

She links her arm through yours, pulling you alongside her towards the dining hall. The corridors are mostly empty, spare a few behind students. Much like yourselves, they hurry in the same direction, following the wafting smell of roasted chicken and pumpkin pie. You can’t help but shiver as you watch them rush, feeling like someone forgot to tell you something. As if everyone knows a secret that you very well must have snoozed through.

“Hey Ari,” you tug lightly on her sleeve to get her attention, “why is everyone in such a hurry? Did I miss something?”

She looks confused for a moment, her button nose scrunching tight before her mouth falls open, “oh yes, that’s right! I forgot to tell you! Some seventh year prefects overheard McGonagall talking about some exchange students from Ilvermorny. They’re supposed to be here for dinner!”

Your skin crackles with electricity, the air static with anticipation, “Ilvermorny? They’re from America?”

She nods her head cheerfully as the two of you approach the towering doors of the dining hall, “I know, it’s crazy right?”

You can hear the buzz of activity emitting from the hall before you cross the corridor, a dull roar that lights you with an even mixture of excitement and nervousness. 

“They certainly think so,” you motion to the giggling fourth year girls who scurry past you, their chatter no doubt about the possibility of Hogwarts’ newest additions. 

The current coursing through your body sings when Arabella pulls you through the doors. The dining hall is a flurry of activity, each house no doubt wondering if they’ve gained any new members tonight. The thought of some new Hufflepuffs warms your heart. You haven’t had any new faces around in ages it feels like. You let her lead you to a few seats left open near the front of the hall, next to the small stage.

You fall into your seat with a sigh, graciously accepting the plate of food Arabella hands you. How she made it so quick you aren't sure. Magic probably, that would make the most sense. When you glance over at her she has her wand out, levitating food onto her own plate. She always puts you ahead of herself, something you can't help but feel bad about sometimes. Regardless, it warms your heart immensely to be lucky enough to have such a caring best friend. You catch her eye and she passes you a loving smile and a wink before lowering her plate. 

As you take the first bite of your pumpkin pie, ignoring the nudge you get for eating your dessert first, Headmistress McGonogal taps her wand to the podium in front of her.

“Students,” she clears her throat, waiting for the noise in the great hall to quiet, “as quite a few of you have already heard by now,” she searches you all with a glint in her eye, a small smile on her lips, “we have a few students joining us.”

The great hall buzzes at her admission, a current running through the entirety of the student body and, most of all, you. Your head feels like it’s spinning. Like you’ve just drunk a litre of fire whiskey and that if you stand up there’s a good chance you’ll fall right over. You drop your fork but the clatter it makes doesn’t register with you as much as it should. Arabella looks over at you, clearly worried, and raises her eyebrows, placing a warm hand on your back. 

As you go to shrug your shoulders at her, the doors to the great hall open once more, “ah, and here they are! Please, everyone, show them your warmest welcome. They have come a long way, all the way from Ilvermorny in the United States.”

McGonogal continues to speak about Hogwarts and its connection to Ilvermorny but her speech is drowned out by cheering from all over the great hall. Well, you’re pretty sure it is. Your pulse is thundering so loudly in your ears that you can’t hear much of anything at all. Arabella stares at you still, growing more and more scared as the seconds pass. You think you say something, you open your mouth at least, but whatever words come out of your mouth don’t reach your ears. Arabella tightens her grip.

You close your eyes, squeezing them shut tightly, desperately willing your senses to go back to normal. It almost works too but then you breathe in and are hit with three scents so hard that you almost vomit. Not because they’re terrible, though, they’re anything but. No, you almost puke because of how fast you’re swamped in pine and buttery leather and the entire damn sea and how quickly it makes your heart rate spike. Are you having a heart attack? What is going on?

When you open your eyes the great hall is spinning and you know for a fact that you’re the only one experiencing this carousel ride. You have to get out of here. You push away from the table, standing on legs much too shaky for your own good. Arabella calls your name and it sounds like she’s behind a thick sheet of glass, one you can’t break no matter how hard you slam against it. The trees and leather and sea wraps around you again and your knees almost give out. There’s only one thing you can think to do and you don’t hesitate to do it. 

You run like hell. 

No. Scratch that. You run like hell is chasing you and, well, maybe it is. Maybe hell is a person, or people, perhaps even three people, and their footsteps pound down the corridor behind you so loud they echo through your chest. Your kilt whips around your legs, your hair flying behind you as you clear the corners as they come. You can feel them, whoever they are, gaining but slowly. You can make it, you know you can.

It’s midwinter, the thick of February, and yet you feel like you’re wading through lava. The halls should be ice right now but your blood is scorching you from the inside out. You pull the sweater from your chest as you run, not thinking twice before dropping it, never stopping. Your skin is charged with electricity and you want to scream and tear your heart out but you can’t, not now. You feel them like they’re right on your heels, the triplet of scents swirling furiously around you. You need to get outside. Now. 

You make it to the courtyard, practically leaping off the cement steps, but a hand catches your arm midair and you stumble. You see the ground hurtling towards you in slow motion, the cobblestone path laughing at you. You squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for the stones to bite into your side but they never do. Instead you’re wrapped in pine, two warm arms pulling you into a firm, hot chest. 

You thought your skin was electrified before but that was nothing compared to what is now. Everywhere your body touches the person holding you prickles with static. You can almost hear your flesh crackle, each one of your veins roaring so loud that all you can hear is your blood rushing through you. It’s like a tsunami, waves of fire and power and fucking pine rolling over you unrelentlessly. You aren’t quite sure if you’re still breathing.

You feel another pair of hands on your back, rubbing up and down, spreading the fire like butter over your shoulder blades. Your body reacts on it’s own, your back arching into whoever it is behind you, your head falling onto a shoulder that smells like summer at the beach. 

A part of you is screaming to run. To jab your elbow into their stomach and fight like hell. However, against all of your better judgement, the feeling is fading and fast. Hands skim down your arms lightly and you fight the delicious shiver that crawls up your spine. You don’t realize you’re still clinging to the first person until your fists squeeze around the cotton of their shirt. Their hands hand loosely off your hips and you don’t even want to acknowledge how much you like it. 

Instead of fighting, you pry your eyes open, only to stare directly into strikingly familiar brown eyes. Your breath catches in your chest, your head still against his shoulder. He leans closer towards you, blonde hair falling down his face slightly. It looks entirely soft and you squeeze your hands tighter, resisting the urge to touch this stranger’s hair. His scent, that overbearing ocean, wraps around you again. He definitely doesn’t feel like a stranger.

“Hi love,” his voice is soft and lulls you deeper into his chest, his nose skimming the arch of your cheekbone, “you’re lucky we’re fast. That could have been quite the fall.”

He chuckles lightly and your cheeks flame, the noise like the wind chimes you hung in the greenhouse your fourth year. His laugh hits you in the gut and radiates to every inch of your skin, cooling the flames but also concentrating them lower. Too low. Your traitorous core sets on fire from the mixture of his musical laugh and mesmerizing eyes. Merlin, you don’t even know his name.

You look away from him but you can’t escape his eyes no matter how hard you try, looking directly into an identical pair of warm, brown eyes. The man in front of you, the one with his hands squeezing your hips, is also frustratingly familiar. He’s tall, his chest, the one underneath your fingertips, is broad and heaves up and down with every breath. Your body, being the wanton force of nature she is, longs to have you wrap your legs, and every other part of you, around the man in front of you. When the blonde behind you wraps his arms around your stomach, reminding you that he’s still there, you want to do the same to him as well.

Memories prickle the edges of your mind, the dreams you’ve been having for weeks now flashing behind your eyelids every time you blink. The warmth in your bones and the molten brown eyes. The same electricity that is burning through your chest and head and core, only now it’s a million times stronger. You shake your head. Not at the man in front of you but at yourself. No way are these the men from your dreams. That’s impossible, Right? And besides, there were three eyes in your dreams.

“There you guys are,” a voice, steadily approaching and as slow and tantalizing as honey, pulls your attention away from the men surrounding you, “I can’t believe you left me to explain what was happening to McGonagall.”

You meet the third pair of eyes with an audible gasp, his sharp leather scent curling around you despite the distance between the two of you. It sinks into your skin and puts you in motion, like the potion you needed to break whatever paralyzing spell you were under. You pull yourself so suddenly from the two men that they don’t have time to catch you, putting some much needed distance between all four of you. You force yourself to ignore the way your heart aches already. Your hand finds the wand in your kilt pocket. Stupid girl, longing for men you don’t even know. 

You find your voice but only enough to mutter hastily, “Were you chasing me? Aren’t you supposed to be meeting, like, the whole school right now? What in Merlin’s name is going on?” 

The newest male takes a step towards you, his eyes drawing up and down your body, reigniting the heat that has been slowly subsiding and lingering on your hand wrapped around your wand. He smirks at you, like he knows something that you don’t and, honestly, he probably does. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth. His hair is dark brown and just as touchable as the previous two. You squeeze your fist tighter.

“One question at a time, darling,” he takes another step and you tense your shoulders instinctively even though your body is fighting the urge to run to him, “we’ll tell you everything. Can we go inside first, though? You look like you’re freezing. Is this yours?”

His question isn’t really a question, in his hands is your cardigan. He picked it up for you? You let your shoulders sag slightly and your grip loosen. He doesn’t know you, why did he bother picking it up?

“I-,” you release the wand slowly, “yeah that’s mine. Thank you.”

He’s right about the cold, now that you aren’t sandwiched between the other two men the chill nips at your fingers and legs. You go to take your sweater from him but he holds it open, beckoning you to turn around and let him put it on you for you. You sigh but oblige, tucking your arms into the soft wool with his help. His hands smooth down your arms once you’re settled, the familiar sparks following their path. You’re head squeezes with confusion and you want to scream if only to release the pressure.

You turn in his hands, meaning to break his hold but only ending up closer to his chest, “what is going on?”

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to his chest. The ache in your heart eases drastically and you breathe in the leather once more. Merlin’s sake, this is exhausting. Even so, your limbs feel lighter in his arms. His eyes burn into yours and you don’t even try to look away, letting him extract whatever information he wants from you. You’re almost sure he can read every thought flashing through your eyes.

“Can’t you feel it?” His hand brushes your cheek, your skin buzzing on cue, “feel us? Like there’s a string pulling you to us, right? We feel warm, don’t we, and you want to be near us. You feel like you know us but you don’t know how or why.”

You find yourself nodding along to the words of a man whose name you don’t even know yet, your hands finding their way to his chest. 

“Who are you,” you turn to meet the other two, your eyes wide, “all of you.” 

The second man, the one who caught you, steps forward, holding out a hand for you to take. You aren’t sure why but you look back to the male in front of you, the one with his arms still tight around you, for approval. He nods, letting his arms fall almost reluctantly. When he releases you, you’re quickly pulled back into the pine scented chest. You don’t like how easily your body moulds to his, how his body seems to have some sort of claim on yours. How all of their bodies do.

“Elijah,” he rests his chin against your head, caging you against a chest that feels too much like home to make any sense, “I’m Elijah. You were just talking to Kol and Klaus-”

The hands, the same ones from before, once again rest on your back, drawing a traitorous sigh from your lips, “is right behind you, love, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Your heart squeezes dangerously at his words, letting them fill you with the warmth of his promise. Even if your rationality doesn't accept it for the immediate truth it is, every other part of you does. You pull out of Elijah’s arms and turn to the ocean of a man behind you, throwing your arms around his neck without a second thought. He, too, feels like coming home. He takes no time squeezing you against him and burying his face in your neck. You feel hands behind you move your hair away from your neck and then a nose drawing up the exposed bumps of your spine. 

“I don’t understand any of this,” you mumble into Klaus’ shoulder, “I don’t understand what any of this means.”

“Of course you do, darling. You can feel it in your bones,” Kol pushes his nose against your temple, his lips skimming your ear before tugging the lobe between his teeth.

Merlin. His teeth on your skin sends heat pooling in the pit of your belly. You tighten your arms around Klaus, biting back an embarrassing moan as he laughs again. This time the sound echos through your chest and wraps around your heart, grabbing on and refusing to let go. Kol’s lips skim down your jaw, nipping lightly at your throat in a way that is completely inappropriate for a man you just met but you don’t care right now. 

Arms wrap around you from behind and you sink back into them, letting Elijah spin you and haul you into his chest. Your head is spinning from how quickly you’re being passed around by men you don’t know. Your heart stings slightly, the comfort you feel in the large male’s arms screaming at you. Perhaps you don’t know them but your body has been waiting centuries for them and is more than ready to reunite. You don’t hesitate to wrap your legs around him. 

“Baby,” your heart stutters and his pupils expand like he can hear it, “do you mind if we go back to our dorm before anyone sees us?” Elijah glances over your head, searching around the courtyard before landing back on yours, “This is a lot to explain to one person, let alone the whole school.”

Your cheeks flame for the millionth time and your head whips around, searching the courtyard yourself for any prying eyes. You breathe a quick sigh of relief when you don’t see anyone. He’s right and, besides, you really are freezing now, your exposed legs two icicles.

You smile gently at him, savouring the way his eyes draw to your lips, “that’s probably a good idea.”

You go to unwrap your legs from his hips when he stops you, his hands tightening around your back and thighs, “may I?”

Your eyes widen, your hands stilling on his shoulders, “you want to carry me?”

He leans his forehead against yours, his nose brushing yours gently, “very much so, baby.”

Your heart feels like it restarts, kicking your pulse into overdrive. You don’t trust yourself to speak, your entire body engulfed in pine and flames like a forest fire that you never knew could exist. You just nod, your arms snaking around his neck and pulling you flush against his chest. You can feel every breath he takes, closing your eyes when he begins walking. 

The hallways, thankfully, feel empty and you don’t open your eyes, letting yourself sink into Elijah’s chest like you’ve been doing it your whole life and this isn’t your first experience being held by someone as large and strong as him. Your fingers, laying on the back of his neck, can’t resist shuffling through his hair. You’re already in his arms anyway, so what’s the harm. Just as you thought, his hair is soft to the touch and mesmerizing. You tangle your fingers through it, the last dregs of anxiety seeping from your bones. 

When he starts down a staircase that you aren’t anticipating you tighten your fingers, squeezing your thighs to keep from falling out of his arms. In turn Elijah releases a breathy groan, one that hits you directly between your thighs. When you open your eyes you’re met with a coal black instead of the warm brown from minutes ago. Your breath catches in your throat but not from fear, albeit it should be. You know you should be painfully afraid of this man, whom you barely know, whose arms are wrapped around you so tight it almost hurts, but you aren’t. Not even a little bit. 

Not even when he opens his mouth and you see two, very sharp looking fangs poking out of his gums, “Eli?”

You don’t know where the nickname comes from and, honestly, you don’t care. All you can think about is the irrational heat growing between your legs and his hands, once again squeezing your hips. Who is this man and why do you want him to press you against the stairs and do unspeakable things to you? You look over his shoulders at Kol and Klaus, whose eyes aren’t quite the same charcoal as Elijah’s but definitely not the sunshine whiskey that they were before. You have to bite your lip again to keep from squeezing your legs harder around Elijah. 

“Come on,” Klaus steps ahead of you and Elijah, glancing back over his shoulder and smirking teasingly, “I can hear people leaving the Great Hall.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him. How can he possibly hear the Great Hall from here? You glance back to Elijah, the sight of his fangs flashing through your mind. You shake your head, not wanting to think about any of this right now. You reach a hand up, cupping his jaw and running your thumb over his cheek like any of this at all is normal.

“Klaus is right, Eli. We need to figure this out before it gets around the school.” More than it already is, you add in your head.

The four of you somehow make it to their dorm and you breathe a sigh of relief when it’s segregated from the rest of the dorms. McGonagall probably gave them their own dorm to make them feel more comfortable. You’re just thankful to be away from the open space. You already know the entire school will be talking about what happened. Merlin why is it always you? You’re just a Hufflepuff, you didn’t sign up for any of this. 

Their dorm is magnificent. The doorway leads into a moody common room, surrounded with cozy browns and greens. The walls are lined with bookshelves and there’s a window looking out into the lake. The waves lap against the glass and you giggle as a few fish swim by, stopping to look into the room and then continue on their way. The room smells like all three of them. Like every plain of earth and sea and air. There are four doors leading to what you can only assume are their bedrooms and bathroom. Compared to your dorm, which you love but also share with five other girls, this place is an oasis.

Elijah sets you on an incredibly soft, brown leather couch and you pull your legs up, tucking them underneath you. Kol settles next to you, his arm resting on the back of the couch, behind your head. Klaus sits on your other side, pulling your legs from under you and over his lap, his hands rubbing circles on your calves. With your back now to Kol, you can’t help but let your head fall to the side against his arm, soaking in the warmth of his skin. The dungeons are colder than you thought they would be. How do the Slytherins do it? He laughs quietly, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you to lay against his chest. 

Elijah settles on the coffee table in front of the couch, leaning his elbows on his knees and staring at you with a look only slightly less hot than before. You hold a hand out for him, one he quickly takes, threading his fingers between yours, pulling your knuckles to his lips. Klaus’ hands are slowly working up your legs, now wrapped around your knees and steadily moving higher. You squeeze your eyes tight before opening them and staring at the ceiling, avoiding three pairs of brown eyes to the best of your ability.

You sigh gently, leaning into Kol’s hands as his fingers search through your hair, scratching at your scalp in a way that makes you almost keep your thoughts to yourself if only to ensure he doesn’t stop. But you need answers now.

“Okay, I’m serious this time,” your eyes train on a bookshelf, counting the books to keep yourself focussed, “who are you? You clearly aren’t like me, you aren’t witches, but you definitely aren’t regular people,” you suck in a breath, your eyes stalling on a thick book titled The History of Mythical Creatures, “so what, pray tell, are you?”

Your eyes stay focussed on the book but you don’t want to entertain the thoughts flowing through your mind. You had to read that volume in your seventh year myth class. Just because you’re a witch it doesn’t mean you’re used to the creatures you’re taught about. There’s a reason every student at Hogwarts takes eight years of defensive magic.

“You got us, little witch,” Klaus’ hands are above your knees now, kneading your exposed flesh with skilled fingers, “clever and beautiful. The perfect mate.”

Your eyes snap from the bookshelf, from the book that you know holds the answer to their identity, to the blonde lazily licking his own extended fangs. Mate. Did he just say mate? There’s no way he just said mate. Impossible. You’re a witch. As far as being mythical goes, you’re as close to normal as it gets. They, however, are something stronger. You can feel the power rolling off of them. 

“I,” your mouth falls open, your mind spinning, “what?”

Kol laughs from behind you, his chest rumbling under your back. He pulls your hair to the side again before capturing your ear with his mouth again. 

“You heard him, darling,” he tugs your earlobe between his teeth, pulling a tiny gasp from you as, “your ours. And, I hate to break it to you, but we’re pretty hard to get rid of. ”

Klaus’ hands squeeze right below the hem of your kilt, lighting your skin with the delicious sparks. If his hands weren’t there you would be squeezing your legs together for sure.

“He’s right, love, I’ve tried. Many times,” Klaus smirks at Kol in only the way an older brother could and it hits you.

“Oh, Merlin,” you close your eyes again, heat flaring across your face, “you’re brothers. All three of you are brothers. What is going on, Helga help me.”

All three of them laugh and Elijah kisses your knuckles again, “yes baby, we are in fact brothers. It’s been a long millennium.”

“Millenium?” You feel faint.

He laughs again and you wish you could pluck the sound out of the air and hold onto it for the rest of your life. When you look at him all you can do is smile and run a hand down your face. A thousand years, huh? Klaus’ hands trace lazy circles on your inner thighs as Kol’s lips find your neck, his teeth scraping your skin in a way that has you sinking even further into his buttery leather arms. When he bites down a touch harder you can’t help but wonder what kind of experience a thousand years would allow a person. 

A thousand years. Your chest stings unexpectedly as another thought hits you. It must be the day for that.

“I don’t think I’ll live a millenium. I probably have a few hundred years but a thousand? Not even close,” your heart stutters, a cold chill running over you, “You’ll all outlive me.”

Three growls sound in the room and you almost jump out of your skin in shock before you realize that they’re coming from them. Kol tightens his arms around you protectively as Klaus’ hands find your hips under your kilt, squeezing you like you just suggested you’re going to die tomorrow. Elijah drops from the coffee table, sinking to his knees in front of you and throwing an arm over your stomach. 

“You’ll be living a lot longer than that, baby, I assure you of that.”

You reach a hand towards Elijah, curling your fingers through his hair on instinct, “I may be magic, Eli, but I’m not immortal. It’s not the same for me.”

He leans into your palm, rubbing his cheek against your fingertips, “that’s an easy fix.”

Your head spins, the pieces connecting in your head as you stare into his serious eyes. For the first time all night a tinge of fear zaps your chest. Immortality is no joke.

“You want me to become like you?” You look away from him and Klaus, who nods in agreement with his brother, “You want me to become a-”

Kol nips the back of your neck and you try to ignore the pleasure rolling through you in the midst of the most serious conversation of your life, “a vampire, darling. You can say it. We’re vampires.”

The word echoes through you, bouncing around your head and lungs, fluttering in your stomach before finally settling directly between your thighs. Merlin. You sit upright quickly, pulling your legs from Klaus’ dangerously skilled fingers, and all but stumble over Elijah and the coffee table in order to put some distance between you and the brothers. You scrub your hands over your face, your entire body feeling more alive than it ever has in your short lifetime. But you know it can’t last.

You keep your hands over your eyes, letting the open air sooth you for a moment before speaking, “I’m just a witch. Just one witch and not even a good one at that,” you peel your hands from your eyes, opting instead to tug your hair, “I’m more of a farmer, honestly. I spend all my time in the library or the greenhouses. I’m not mate material. I’m definitely not,” you swallow thickly, your throat closing all of a sudden and without your permission, “vampire material. You have the wrong girl.”

As soon as you say the words they feel wrong but they’re already out of your mouth and you have to live with them now. For a long moment nobody says anything. It’s just you standing in front of them, your eyes refusing to open and your hands ripping at your hair. Your legs tremble beneath you and it feels like your heart is trying to crawl out of your throat. If it can’t be with them then it would rather stop beating altogether. The cold air of their dungeon dorm nips at your legs and fingertips painfully and you revel in the feeling of something other than the torrent of emotions that you’ve been battling for the better half of an hour. 

You feel a rush of air in front of you, forcing your eyes open just in time to see Kol standing in front of you. You open your mouth, ready to let even more words that you know you’ll regret out, but you find that you can’t speak. Not because you don’t want to, though, but because Kol’s mouth is now crashing into yours and, gods, does it ever feel like you’re breathing for the first time. Kol’s mouth is oxygen. Like before this moment you were dead and his lips are life. You grip his shoulders, your fingers digging into the taught muscle to keep yourself upright against this force of nature. 

His hands wrap in your hair and he tugs gently, swallowing each moan like it’s candy and he can’t get enough. Your hands crawl from his shoulders to his hair, doing the same to him. He groans, a sound completely different from Elijah but so similar at the same time. When his tongue finds its way between your lips you see stars. Your blood sings like you’ve walked through a magnetic field, your veins buzzing with a foreign kind of power. This time you don’t feel like you’re home, you know you are.

Kol pulls back a fraction, his lips brushing yours while he speaks, “you feel that?” His hands move to your cheeks, your skin like a current where he touches you, “I know you do, I know you feel me in your veins, darling. I don’t have the wrong person. Fate doesn’t make mistakes. You’re perfect for me.”

Your eyes widen and you push back the swell of emotion rising in your chest.

A pair of arms wraps around you from behind, a riptide pulling you into an ocean of a man, “me as well, my little witch. Besides, I quite like farmers. Tell me, can you grow strawberries?”

You try to stop yourself from sagging against his chest but you can’t and you don’t actually want to. His head falls on yours as if he’s been doing it for years.

“Pumpkins,” you whisper. You don’t know what else to say, knowing full well you aren’t ready to answer the other questions, “I grow the best pumpkins in the school.”

Klaus’ chest rumbles like a cat purring against your back, “pumpkin pie it is then, love.”

You feel a hand close around your arm, pulling you from both Kol and Klaus and into a pair of arms that rival the dark forest. Elijah lifts you against his chest, giving you a moment to wrap your legs around him before he walks the two of you to the window. He looks out in the water and it eases you knowing that you don’t have to answer to his molten brown eyes.

“I know this is a lot to take in right now, baby. I know you’re scared and tired, I can feel it. You don’t have to make any decisions right now. In fact, I’d rather you didn’t. But just know that we’re here because something stronger than time itself brought us to you. No mistakes were made,” he catches your eyes through the reflection of the glass, “I’m ready for whatever challenges this brings. I’ve been ready for a thousand years, ten lifetimes, and I would wait fifty more for you,” he pulls you further up his chest, pressing his forehead against yours, “just think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”

You can’t stop yourself from pressing your lips against his, catching his bottom lip between yours, “graduation.”

He pulls back, his eyes wide and his eyebrows scrunched together, “what?”

You pull his face back to yours, stealing another kiss that he doesn’t hesitate to return, “I just need until graduation. I need to finish my last year here, it’s my home. After that, I’m yours.”

He crushes you against him as soon as the last syllable leaves your lips and you let yourself giggle freely. He looks at you in awe, a smile blooming across his face like he just won the lottery. Kol and Klaus are next to you in an instant, their faces almost mirror images of Elijah’s. Your heart soars at the sight of the three boys you met less than three hours ago who you’ve just promised the rest of your life, and longer, to. It sounds ridiculous still but nothing has ever felt so right.

“Well, brothers,” Klaus’ eyes shine happily, “it looks like we’re going to be here longer than we thought.”

[desertofsnowflakes]

Incorrect Order Chapter 5 (Nessian AU)

A/N: Do inform me if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist! If you happen to find my storyline similar to another fic or one of yours, I'm extremely sorry, I might've just not known. All characters belong to the author Sarah J. Mass. Enjoy!

Summary: Don't first impressions always affect the way you see someone? Well, what more with the Nesta Archeron? Nesta meets Cassian at few unexpected places and to say it didn't go well was a major understatement. Certain circumstances make them become enemies to tolerable company to friends to lovers.

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, an angry Nesta and a heart-broken Cassian

2094 words | Incorrect Order Masterlist | Read on AO3

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Nesta had never been one for small talk but in his presence she spoke as if she was excellent in small talk. They spoke of all unimportant things and ended up forgetting the important stuff; their names. Again.

Feyre sent an invitation for her first anniversary party as she did for every other occasion. The only thing different was that Nesta never bothered to pay heed to her invitations before. After the day in the alley, however, she decided she was going to turn over a new leaf. This was her first step.

She checked her reflection on the side-mirror. She tried to keep her outfit and make-up as simple as possible. She only wore a white ruffled-sleeved blouse with a black pencil skirt. Her hair was braided into a coronet. She looked good, but not as good as she’ll look if she took her own time to do a detailed make-over. She let out a breath and braced herself for the inevitable little chat with her sisters.

“Nesta?” a bewildered voice breathed. She whirled around to face her younger sister, Elain, looking up at her, a small smile playing about her lips. “You’re here,” she said and flung her arms around Nesta. Nesta automatically wrapped her arms around Elain’s smaller frame. Eventually, Elain pulled back.

“No offense, but I really thought you wouldn’t be coming,” Elain said.

Nesta felt as if the smile on her face couldn't be wiped out for the next few hours. “Honestly, I didn't think I'd come either. But here I am.”

She nodded and pulled Nesta to the garden the party was held at.

“I did this,” Elain said. “This garden, I planted and groomed all this.”

“No wonder why it looks so beautiful,” Nesta replied.

She flushed and said contemplatively, “You're so different now, Nesta.”

“I hope in a good way. Where's Feyre?”

“Let's go meet everyone first.”

Nesta shook her head. “I— I need to talk to both of you before I meet everyone else. ”

Elain hesitated then said, “Can you wait in that room? I'll fetch Feyre and come.”

Nesta nodded and headed to the door at the end of the garden Elain pointed at. The room was classy, much like the exterior of the house. She was struck by the simple yet grand theme of Feyre's house. She knew he and his brothers were rich but she just didn't understand the extent of their wealth. Till now.

“What are you thinking?” Feyre wasn't the type to blindly trust people. It took more than coming for her anniversary to persuade her that Nesta's intentions were good.

Nesta faced Feyre, her youngest sister, who stood before her, gorgeous yet fierce in a simple but elegant blue gown. She shrugged, “Just thinking that I'm glad my sisters were well-provided when I couldn't take care of them.”

Feyre’s face didn’t change, she just gestured towards the couches. “Have a seat,” she said.

Nesta sat down, “You both look splendid,” she said. Feyre said that the gown was a gift, Elain thanked Nesta and offered the same.

Nesta cleared her throat. “I need to tell the both of you something. Many things, actually.”

Elain nodded encouragingly. Feyre said, “Go on.”

So Nesta spoke. She apologised. For how she wasn't there to fulfill the role of an elder sister. For how she failed to attend Feyre's marriage and many other occasions. For all the rude words she spoke to them. For shunning them. She apologised for being self consumed. For everything else.

She also promised. To try harder. To become better. To be a good sister and sister-in-law. To be with them at all times, especially when they needed her. And they listened.

“I know these words aren't enough, but I'll try to make it so,” she finished, her hands clasped with both her sisters on her sides.

“You said you'll try, Nesta. We will too,” Feyre said.

“I see a very bright future ahead of us,” Elain said.

Nesta couldn't help the tears anymore. She folded her arms around her sisters and tucked them close. Her sisters. Her beloved sisters she now knew she'd do anything to protect.

“I see a very bright future too,” Nesta said.

Nesta pulled back after what felt like an hour and looked at her sisters' tear-streaked faces.

“I love you,” the three of them said simultaneously. Nesta giggled. Elain laughed. Feyre stared.

Nesta gently brushed the tears from both of their cheeks. “I don't want to see any of you crying.”

She hugged them again, willing the hug to convey everything she didn't say out loud.

“Now, now, enough snuggling. We've got a party to attend and people to meet, remember?” Feyre said.

***

Cassian was anxious. He had always hoped Nesta, his sister-in-law, would come for the gatherings they had; be it family dinners, or birthday parties, or the random meetings they had when they just got tipsy and played games. He hadn't seen her face-to-face before. All he knows about Nesta are from the descriptions from Feyre and Elain. That, too, was minimal. One of them would quickly change the topic to something pleasant the moment traces of an emotional breakdown were visible. Every time he hoped, he was let down. She never came. He vowed he would stop hoping and instead just go about and act as if she didn't exist. But that never happened. Every time his family met, his treacherous heart would start hoping only to have a chunk of it fall off when she failed to attend. Today was no different.

Then there’s the woman who he’d been talking to the whole afternoon. He was a tangled up mess of emotions and doubt and confusion. He had been sort-of pining after Nesta. She was exactly the person he’d like. Apparently she was drop-dead gorgeous, witty and… feral. Feyre said that. Feral. She’d be someone worth seeing. She was totally a worthy opponent. It’d be fun. But the other woman? Mother above, she was ethereal. More than ethereal, in fact. Words can't contain what he had to say about her.

He was damn near killing Az for calling him right when they were about to exchange names. He really can't believe he was a hairsbreadth away from knowing her before it was all ripped away. Now they were back to square one. He didn't know anything about her.

Azriel clapped him on his back so hard that he almost stumbled and fell. Or probably that was because he was too distracted. “All good Somm?”

“Mmm-hmm,” he replied noncommittally. He busied his hands with re-rinsing the champagne flutes and wiping them clean again. He did this two times already. Still.

“Mood is sour today, Cass?” Az teased, mock-frowning.

“Nah,” Cassian said wryly, “it's as sweet as honeydew. Especially today, when my chat got interrupted.” He glared at Azriel.

“Now, now, that is a story for another day. For now though, I think I've got something that can cheer up your brooding self.”

“What is it?” he mumbled.

Az grinned. “Nesta is here.”

***

Feyre and Elain took Nesta on a quick tour around the house. Feyre’s paintings were hung on the walls throughout the whole house. Nesta grimly noticed that there wasn't a single picture of her. There were even paintings of their father whose heart had long stopped beating. But none of hers. If only she didn’t push herself away, Nesta would’ve been a happy part of her sisters’ lives.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Feyre took her hand in hers. Elain tucked herself to Nesta’s side, wrapping her arms over her slender shoulders.

Nesta already met Mor, a stunning blonde woman, and Amren, a slightly intimidating and short person. Now she only had to meet her brother-in-laws.

“Let’s go meet the boys!” Elain said brightly.

We walked back to the garden. Feyre seemed to get more and more elated the closer we got to the garden. Huh. Probably falling in love would do that to someone. Anyway, as long as her sisters were happy.

They stepped through the doorway. The garden was decorated with more banners and streamers hung on the back of chairs and on the low branches. Again, it looked opulent in a simple way.

There were three men in the centre of the garden, gathered around a table. They all were slightly similar, broad shouldered, tapered waists, muscular limbs. Three of them wore formal shirts and pants clinging to their frames. The one in the middle was Rhysand, she supposed. She smirked internally. Of course Feyre ended up with this guy. She's got a good taste. Must've gotten it from the oldest sister.

The one on the right, though. His figure felt familiar. Very, very familiar. She couldn't quite put a finger on it yet.

“The one on the left is Azriel, the one on the right is Cassian,” Feyre said, and Nesta nodded.

The boys must be really engrossed with their conversation. They hadn't noticed the three of them yet.

The guy she thought was familiar threw his head back and laughed. She gasped. That laugh. She'd know the laugh anywhere. Indeed, when he angled his face so that she could get a glimpse, she knew she was done for. She swallowed with much difficulty.

“I need to go,” she said quickly.

“Go? But— but we haven't cut the cake yet. It's still early. We've got lots more fun stuff,” Elain said.

“You said you'll try, Nesta. Only, this doesn't feel like 'trying',” Feyre said.

They sounded… hurt.

Mother above, I'm doing this wrong.

“Nesta?” Elain asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Yeah,” Feyre added, “you look pale.”

“Y-yeah it's f-fine. Kinda. My head hurts,” she said, accidentally clutching her stomach. “I-I mean, yeah my head hurts. Very badly. I gotta go.” She looked helplessly at both of them. “I'm so sorry. I really am. It's just— I think I need rest. I'll recompense. Probably dinner in three days?” They both shared a look and agreed.

Nesta was already walking away. “Love you both,” she threw over her shoulder.

***

“Feyre!” Rhys called. He beckoned Feyre and Elain to the table. He didn't see Nesta.

Cassian lightly kissed Feyre on her cheek once they made their way to the table and said, “Gorgeous as always. Happy anniversary!”

Feyre grinned, but it showed traces of disappointment.

He frowned. “Hey, what's wrong?”

She just shook her head and mumbled, “Nesta.” Rhys's face hardened. His brother was never fond of Nesta. He said that she was why Feyre was always worried.

“Where's Nesta?” Az asked, craning his neck to see behind farther.

“She… left,” Elain pointed, revealing a figure disappearing behind the gates. A figure he knew all too well. Shitshitshitshit.

His head snapped back to his brothers. “That is Nesta?” he damn near shouted.

Rhys scowled, “Yeah.”

No wonder why she's so beautiful, he thought dumbly before running after her with a quick “I'll be back.”

***

Nesta was wrong. In all her happiness of being reunited with her sisters, she completely forgot how even a small thing can break one's smile. She felt like she couldn't breathe. She kept her calm demeanour, but inside, she was a raging storm of emotions.

One step in front of the other, she kept reminding herself.

She kept walking. Even when she heard footsteps. Even when the steps got louder. Even as he got close enough to cease running.

But not when he called her name. She halted. Locked up her emotions. She knew she shouldn't but she turned around anyway.

“What do you want?” she snapped.

“Nesta,” he breathed. She tried to hold back her shudder. It was from the night air, she told herself.

“If you have nothing to say, do let me know. I'm not going to wait forever,” she said. Harsher than she intended to. But she didn't care, at least, that's what she told herself.

Cassian winked, “I'm honored you came, sweetheart. I'll pass the credit to my influence on you. ”

She ground her teeth against the truth threatening to fall off her lips. Yes, I came here because you made me happy. And I thought that if I tried, as I did with you, I can rebuild my relationship with my sisters.

***

Cassian did something stupid. He grabbed her hand. Her eyes snapped to his, burning with anger. Like the day they first met.

He gave her a crooked grin that he knew would drive her mad. Well, more than she already was. He tilted his head to the garden, “The party is that way, love.”

She snatched back her hand at continued walking. Like a fool, he followed. “I spoke to my sisters. Told them I won't be staying tonight. And that we'll have dinner in three day's time. Does that satisfy you? Now, can you stop following me?”

“Something's wrong. What's wrong, Nes?”

“One,” she ground out, “don't call me that. Two, I'm a grown-ass woman; I know how to take care of myself. I don't need a babysitter.”

“You did. That day,” he said quietly.

She whirled on him, “Is this you taking back favours? Because I'm not interested. You want money? Take it. Tell me your price and fucking take it! Don't tread on my heels because you helped me, okay? I've got way better things to do.” She paused, “And don't follow me, Cassian.”

She turned and stalked away.

You want money? Take it. 'Take it.' As if he were a beggar, asking for alms. As if they weren't laughing at each other's jokes not more than an hour ago. As if he didn't spend a week taking care of her as if she were a part of his soul. Maybe she was.

But that was before, Cassian thought as his heart cleaved into two perfect halves. No— it smashed to a million tiny pieces.

He waited till Nesta was out of his line of sight. He turned and walked back to the garden, leaving his heart behind.

taglist: @shadowsinger07 @im-someone-i-guess @saltyfortunes @cressjacquine @julian-blackthorn-supremacy @champanheandluxxury @zemiraa @ladygabrielli1997 @nehemikkele @heartless--aromantic @sv0430 @ddsworldofbooks @irenethaleia @sjm-things @dontgetsalmonella

[willow-salix]

Fluffember prompt : Fond (vaguely, I'm sorry, you get what you get and you will like it)

Day 8 of Isolation on Tracy Island 2.0

I can’t have been the only one to notice it, I really can’t, because it was just so out of character for the big guy that it had taken me a few days to realise that anything was going on at all. I must be losing my touch, usually I have a kind of sixth sense for these guys, that's why I’m their emotional support witch, I’m the one that keeps an eye on them, forces them to sleep when they need to and makes sure they eat.

“Hey,” I said in greeting, coming over to the desk and settling my butt on the corner. That’s how you get Jeff’s attention, you put yourself right in his eyeline and you don’t leave until he notices you.

“Hey yourself,” his eyes flickered to where I was sitting with one butt cheek on his paperwork, but he was too polite to say anything about it so he left me where I was.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure, go ahead,” he actually took his glasses off and put them down before he looked up at me, showing he was paying full attention.

“Have you noticed that something is a bit off with Virgil?”

“No, I…” he trailed off, pausing as he thought about it.

“He’s seeming a bit grumpy, like his usual morning bear with a sore head is extending further into the day than usual. I mean, we all know not to approach before he’s had his morning bucket of coffee, but this is a bit extreme, even for him.”

“Now that you mention it, he has seemed a little on edge.”

“That’s a bit of an understatement, he actually growled this morning when his toast took too long to pop up.”

“Well, yes, that is a bit unusual.”

“What can I do to help him?”

“He’s always happy when he is doing something, that’s why he hardly ever sits around,” Jeff told me. “He’s like John, he likes to stay busy.”

“What can we do then, find him something to do?”

“That would be my suggestion, yes.”

“Do you have a suggestion for something I can do with him, too?”

“Unfortunately not.”

I nodded, my mind whirling until I hit upon the most obvious solution. “I’ll ask John.”

“Good plan,” Jeff agreed, sliding his glasses back on, a sure sign that he was dismissing you in the most polite way. I took the hint and hopped off the desk and toddled off to find the hubby.

“Babe?” I dropped down on the stool next to him at the kitchen table.

“Hm?” he answered, rather noncommittally, I thought.

“Is there anything that I can do with Virgil?”

He paused in his typing to look at me.

“In what way? What’s the purpose?”

“Just to give him something to do, your dad said that he needs to be kept busy.”

John paused for a second, thinking, then pulled up something on his holotab. “The last time the mail was picked up was more than two weeks ago, you could go with him to do that,” he suggested. “There should be enough by now to be worth the trip. I think Gordon has ordered a few bits and I know you have, plus we almost always have fan mail.”

“That could work, my candle wax should have arrived by now, too.”

“Have fun...” he paused to watch Gordon slide into the room, headphones on, butt shimmying as he danced to the fridge. “Please take him with you.”

“For you, anything,” I promised, dropping a kiss on his nose. “Yo! Squidward, with me!”

Next up, drafting the chonk.

                                                ***

Virgil had been mostly back to his usual placid self on the flight to the mainland, obviously happy to have an excuse, no matter how flimsy it was, to take his ‘bird out to stretch her wings. As with all of the boys he was never as content as when he was spending time with his lady. Honestly anyone that gets with a Tracy needs to know from the start that they will be sharing their man with another and she’ll be bigger and prettier than you, sorry, just spitting straight facts.

Gordon assembled the cargo pod and, with Virgil driving it, Gordon and I jumped in the back ready to load up. Apparently the mail room had banned the use of the mechanical arm because there had been an incident with a pile of boxes that had caused an avalanche and now it had to be done by hand. 

Gordon tossed everything in to me where I was in charge of arranging it all carefully so nothing would get squished. It was quite a job, there were a lot of packages, mostly fan mail I have to say, we aren't that addicted to shopping that we could fill the pod cage that much. Some of them were very heavy too, one of which, a large packing crate that was addressed to Virgil needed both of us to lift it and slide it into the back. 

Eventually we were done and ready to head out. Now, I can’t be sure when it actually started, but I’d noticed that the patience of the chonky one had started wearing thin, he was sounding grumpier by the second, his little grunts of acknowledgement at our endless chatter now turning into something vaguely growl like.

“What’s with him?” I whispered to Gordon. He glanced at his brother then leaned in conspiritally to answer me.

“It’s his coffee.”

I frowned, not understanding. He didn’t have any coffee to be worried about. “I might need an explanation for that, love.”

“Virgil loves his coffee,” Gordon patiently explained, rather like he was telling a dog to sit.

“I’m aware.”

“The fancier the better,” he continued.

I lifted an eyebrow at that. Virgil, from what I’d seen, was a pretty straight coffee drinker. He’d take it however it came as long as it was large, hot and strong enough to wake the dead, which is what he was first thing in the morning. I barely ever saw him add milk or creamer, let alone anything fancy. It just did not compute.

“It’s our secret, but I’d be very surprised if John doesn’t know.”

“Doesn’t know what?” I was sooo curious now. How dare they keep secrets from me? I have no life at the moment, I need to live vicariously through them all, I need to know the details, I need to feel special.

“That it’s online, have you never seen the tag?” 

“What tag?” Why did I feel like we were actually having two different conversations?

He pulled out his phone and typed something in, turning to show me the screen. The tag said #podspotter and under it was a number of pictures that had obviously been taken at various times in a variety of places but that was the only normal thing about them.

In every one of them there was Virgil on his own or with Gordon and they were either in a pod vehicle, standing beside it or it was on its own. Again, not too strange until you looked closer.

In one the mole was stopped in a drive through Starbucks, in another an elevator car was parked beside a truck in a car park, in another the Helipod was hovering just in shot while Virgil walked towards it with a coffee cup in each hand. The more he scrolled the more there were.

“The fans turned it into a game, which country will the pod be in next.”

“How does no one else know about this?” I asked.

“Know about what?” Virgil asked from behind us, making us both jump.

“Your coffee addiction,” Gordon supplied, tucking his phone back into his pocket.

“It’s not an addiction,” he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks tinged a little pink. “I just have a fondness for good coffee, and if we’re already out or on our way back to the island why not stop off and get one?”

Why not indeed. I supposed he had a point, I mean, most people think nothing of grabbing a cup on the way to and from work, or at lunch or even just when out on a shopping trip or before a journey, why should he be any different.

“Is that why you’ve been grumpy?” I asked.

“Grumpy? I’m never grumpy!”

“Yeah, you are,” Gordon laughed.

“Am not!”

“You are,” I agreed. 

“That is insulting and untrue,” he sniffed, crossing his arms, his eyebrows drawn down in a scowl. We didn't say anything, we just looked at him and waited.

“OK, so maybe I’ve been a little tense,” he admitted with a sigh. There it was, the dawning of truth.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I offered. The desire to keep my boys happy was one of the main reasons I’d agreed to come back for another round of island grounding. They did so much for the world and often had to adjust their lives to fit in with helping others, they couldn’t do the ‘normal’ things that we take for granted, like jumping in the car and grabbing a loaf of bread or something for dinner without having to plan it days in advance, buy in bulk or have to abandon the trip at a moment’s notice if a call came in. It wasn’t something I really thought about, but it was times like these that brought it home a little bit.

“Not really,” he shrugged. “They are just a little treat thing. Something that feels like a reward at the end of a tough rescue. It’s not something that we do every time, but Squid here might get a brownie or something and I’ll get my coffee and we’ll take five minutes to relax a little before we go home or head out again. You need that time, those little moments of calm and normalcy when you do a job like ours.” 

The look on his face couldn’t be described as anything else but pining, like a dog who had lost his favourite toy or was waiting for its owner to come home.

“Shall we grab one now?” I asked, taking pity on him. “I could go for a latte or a hot chocolate.” The outside temperature was a little cold after the island and we’d been in the mail warehouse for over an hour, which had contributed to putting a chill in my bones. The boys were even more sensitive to temperature changes than I was, I’m English, I’m used to damp, chilly weather almost all the time, but that didn’t mean we wouldn't all benefit from a little something to warm us up.

“There’s a place near here that does an amazing white chocolate latte,” he mused, seeming to perk up a little. “You could have the best of both then.”

“Sounds perfect,” I nodded. 

“Let’s load this lot up in Two and then we can have a little lunch maybe?” he suggested as an afterthought. One thing I’ve noticed about Virgil is that he never liked to cause a fuss, he didn’t like to put people out or really ask for anything for himself. It was people like him that we’re content to chill in the background until they were needed or spoken to. People always thought that John was the quiet one, but I’d say that he and Virgil were pretty much equal when it came to attention grabbing. 

Virgil was more confident and comfortable than John in social situations, he was so laid back and easy going that you knew you could take him anywhere and he’d have a great time. He’d join in with any conversation and would make friends anywhere he went. If he was comfortable and with people that he knew well he’d happily join in with the prank pulling and brother teasing, but his inbuilt need to be the peacemaker and comforter meant that he rarely pushed his way into a situation without an invitation. He was always too worried about annoying someone, hurting their feelings or taking away their chance to talk. He often needed a little encouragement to take charge and decide what to do.

“Food is the best idea you’ve had in the last week,” Gordon agreed. 

“You always think food is a good idea,” Virgil laughed as he climbed back into the drivers seat, his bad mood evaporating now that his precious was almost in his grasp.

                                                ***

“So, how’d it go?” John asked when we got back. Seeing my arms full he jumped up to help, relieving me of some of my packages, carrying them to the bedroom for me when I started heading in that direction.

“It was fine, we stopped off for food.”

“Food?”

“I got you a grilled chicken sub, extra lettuce and pickles,” I lifted the brown paper bag I carried as proof.

“This is why I married you,” he grinned, dropping our post on the bed and reaching for the bag. 

“Well, I must say I had hoped it would be for something a little more meaningful and important than food, but I’ll take what I can get.”

“There are other reasons,” he assured me, sitting down on the edge of the end to unwrap his sandwich. “Did you find out why Virgil was grumpy?”

“Yep,” I flopped down in the squishy reading chair that lived under the window. “Caffeine withdrawal.”

John paused in his chewing, obviously trying to work out how that could be possible since Virgil seemed to have a mug surgically attached to his hand most hours of the day, then the expression cleared, comprehension dawning. 

“His post rescue speciality coffees,” he nodded, taking another bite.

“Wait, you know about them? Why did you never tell me?”

“Of course I know. I monitor all the crafts whenever they are off island, for whatever reason that is, it wouldn’t do for something to happen to one of them and for us to not have an accurate and up to date last location. I know when they stop off and I see where they go. Plus EOS found the tag over a year ago.”

“Yet you’ve never said anything?”

He shrugged. “Why would I? He’s always had a fondness for them. It started in university, he said there was something comforting about having a warm drink to sip while he was studying or in class. He didn’t drink them for the caffeine hit, it was just to keep him warm and give him something familiar. I’m not surprised he still does it.”

I shook my head, utterly lost for words. It never ceased to amaze me, the hidden depths that these boys possessed. I loved the way that they all either consciously chose not to mention things like this or just didn’t think to, but it was there all the same, a silent support and respect for each other.

“OH MY GOD, THIS IS AMAZING!”

We both jumped, hearing Virgil’s excited bellow floating up from the lounge. We exchanged a look, then both took off to see what all the fuss was about.

We found him sitting in front of the open crate, straw and packing materials surrounding him on the floor. He had a bottle of syrup in each hand and a large jar of coffee beans on his lap. I glanced in the crate, seeing it full to bursting with more syrups, probably six other types of beans, bags of chocolate drops, tiny marshmallows, stirring sticks, sprinkles and right on top a recipe book.

“We have the best fans in the world! I’m gonna have so much fun with this.”

[neenahnah21]

Find my Way Back Home XI

Summary: Bucky Buchanan Barnes is smitten to a four insignia military officer—you. How do you think things will unfold?

 Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader 

 Word Count: 1,248

 Warning: Swearing?

You were agape at what just Bucky uttered. For a moment you have to check for yourself if there's a problem with you hearing that caused for you to hear what he said wrong. But no, your sense of hearing were perfectly fine and undamaged.

"What?" still, you muttered and Bucky repeat it again without any trace of hesitation and shyness. Completely straightforward.

Then your eyes fell on the ground, quite feeling bad. You wanted to accept Bucky's offer, you really do but someone already beat him to it. You were already asked on a date by a certain lad and you were pining on that date for so long that you promised yourself you're not going on any date until he would fulfil his promise to you.

Bucky noticed your predicament. He doesn't need to wait for your answer to decipher that you would already say no.

"There's someone else is it?"

"How can you tell?" you said finally having the guts to to look at him again.

"The look in your eyes says it all, that you're waiting for that someone"

"hmm" you hummed

"I gave him my word— that I'm gonna go on a date with him" you admitted.

"And until he takes me to that date, I'm sorry Buck but I can't take your offer. I promise myself I'm not going to any"

Bucky nodded and mutters that he understand. He can see the love and longing in your eyes. Despite of his heart aching knowing that you just rejected his offer for someone else, he can't help but be happy for you.

"Is he nice to you?" he must know, he need to be certain that this man can take real good care of you, that he can you give you everything you deserve, that way he can at least be at peace, knowing you'll be at the hands of someone who's capable of handling you. If he can't have you then he at least wanted to be reassured that you're at the hands of someone better than him or else he would have a difficult time trying to swallow the hard pill.

You smiled at him, beaming with joy and love. It's a giveaway answer really. The way your eyes shines like he just gave you the moon and stars says it all, making you utter it yourself makes it more raw and real though.

"Yeah, he does" you pledged

"He's everything that a girl could wish for to be his man. I was one hell of a lucky girl to be called his girl" you said looking from afar, the smile on your lips never cease to leave and it was full of adoration and affection.

Maybe that was all the reassurance and closure that Bucky must hear for him to proceed hurting peacefully. He can't help but smile when your gaze met even when his heart were melting and breaking into million pieces at the same time.

"I'm happy for you" he admitted and it was a genuine one, he's happy knowing you have someone you're proud to boast to be your man, the look in your face says it all—that he really do takes good care of you, in fact the love in your eyes says it's more than that.

"Thanks"

Bucky silently walked back to his chamber despite of the heaviness of his heart, he can't help but feel proud on his self for trying. In the middle of the hallway he met Steve.

His friend noticed his gloomy state and asked him what's the matter.

"I asked her on a date" Bucky admitted to his friend, rendering him a sad smile, Steve was confused. He doesn't need to know who's dame was Bucky is referring to because the moment you step your foot into the compound Bucky couldn't tear his eyes off you.

"Then what's with the pug face?" he asked.

"She refuse" Bucky answered.

Steve's confusion grew further. You refused? Impossible. Why?

"She said she's waiting for someone else, she's in good hands punk. I can see it. She looks so happy talking about him" he admitted.

"That's enough for me, at least I tried" Steve couldn't help but punched his friend hoping it would finally knock some sense to him.

Bucky grunts not really expecting the contact.

"Ouch! What the hell was that for?" he asked while holding his jaw and checked if there's a blood in his nose because he was so certain that it was one hell of a punch and considering it was Steve, he would of have at least broke his nose—luckily there's no blood drippin'.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" He was shocked at his friend's vulgarity, not used to him cursing. In fact Steve would be the one who's always reprimanding them in their language.

"That girl waited a century for that date and you have the audacity to talk about her being in love with someone? You punk" he exclaimed, about to pounce on his friend once again when Bucky held his defensive stance. Bucky were confuse for a moment then realisation finally sinked in.

"It wasn't a dream was it?" he asked, more of a rhetorical one. Recalling the dreams that once hunted his slumber, a dream that how he deeply wished to be true. Recalling his dream that in reality was part of his lost memory.

"Can we just be like this please? Stay like this"

"Buck you know we can't, if someone saw us you'll be—" he didn't let you finish your words when he crashed his lips to yours.

He could still picture and feel how your lips feels and taste when you kissed him back.

He hugged you tightly afterwards, no one saying anything for a while.

"5 minutes" he declared.

"Let me have you like this for at least 5 minutes, please" and you agreed letting him hold you like that until Steve caught you bought in your intimate position when he barged into your tent.

"How could you not remember?" Steve retorted.

"Sarge"

"Put you head on the swivel Sergeant Barnes, stay alive and come back home from the war"

"I know you're a green eyed beast so come back home and consider it a date"

"You bet I will" he beamingly replied.

And now that Steve pointed it out to him, it was suddenly crashing all down to him in a series of flashbacks.

"I thought it was a dream. I thought I was loosing my mind, how would I know?! You didn't say a single shit!" he retorted back.

"Well you're already head over heels with the women, and I fucking asked you if you really can't remember her or something but you just give me an ogling eyes. When you're both seems cozy I thought you already remember? Hell, everybody seems to bloody know her except you of all people, geez. What a five plonk you are"

Steve then looked back at his friends who seems to be still in deep thought.

"What the hell are you still doing in here?" he snapped, Bucky looked at him confused.

"Aren't you supposed to be going after your girl? You idiot" as if that finally knocked some sense to him Bucky was already walking away from his friend after saying.

"yeah, yeah you're right. Of course. Damn hell you're right. See you later punk"

Steve could only laugh at his friend. What a five plonks indeed.

[punkscowardschampions]

Sick Kids

gotspoons: [A chatroom/forum situation for teens with invisible illnesses/disabilities, a resource that is recommended when you can't go to IRL groups for your health/they aren't in your area etc] gotspoons: Ticked one whole thing off my to-do list today, feeling like a champ 💪 also feeling like a 2-hour long nap, who here relates? 🥱 tigerbalm: 🖐 took my nap earlier & yet 😴💤 brainpain: 💕🛏 brainpain: long lasting relationship with my memory foam mattress gotspoons: There is NO limit on the number of naps necessary to make it through the day tigerbalm: or the number of abandoned to-do lists, what was your 1 thing? gotspoons: 🚿 looks like breakfast will have to wait tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: @brainpain I have so many memory foam pillows in every room of my house I'm basically a shareholder 🙌 brainpain: @tooexhaustedtolivevicariously same but I've got my fave, I call him Edgar tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: 👏🙏 thank you for your service, Edgar tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: must name mine, only named the chariot 🦼 Charlton gotspoons: [ihatemyguts has entered the chat] gotspoons: A newbie, welcome! tigerbalm: 👋 tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: love the username, what ails ya? tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: because this is the only place it's acceptable to ask 'what's WRONG with you?' but not the only place you encounter it, right brainpain: but you don't have to answer cos it's also somewhere where you're encouraged to 'express yourself' translation: be an arsehole if you want brainpain: if you don't go hardcore enough to get blocked brainpain: @fibrofog LMAO tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: the normies get to be rude as their default, and it is NOT encouraged to hit people with your cane, let me tell you ihatemyguts: Hi, everyone ihatemyguts: I'll do my best not to be an arsehole, even if my problem only lie directly above said orifice, which makes it a struggle not to be at times ihatemyguts: UC, first flare totally fucked over the family holiday 😬 sorry to that hotel toilet and my long-suffering parents and brother brainpain: newbie got jokes AND comedy timing ihatemyguts: 🚽 humour isn't all I have, I swear, though my life now does revolve entirely around the porcelain throne so it's no surprise I'm anally expulsive, thanks to Freud for that read tigerbalm: Freud's the perv, am I right? ihatemyguts: Totally ihatemyguts: and a big believer in the cocaine cure-all, which my Doctor just wasn't going for, shame tigerbalm: sounds like my sleazy uncle in every way tigerbalm: why does everybody get one? gotspoons: 😂 This chat is worth keeping my eyes open for gotspoons: every family is a play, and we're destined to be the 'sick kid' part gotspoons: other players react accordingly, from the 'can't look at you without crying' to the 'thinks you're making it up for some reason' brainpain: I vote we all go off script like @fibrofog 🤬🚨👿❗️ ihatemyguts: I guess I'm lucky in the sense that if anyone doubts the legitimacy of my illness, I can offer to show them the contents of my stomach/toilet bowl ihatemyguts: that shuts them up relatively fast, not had to go full 🐒 and throw it at anyone yet ihatemyguts: though I'm intrigued by the infamous @fibrofog, who are they, where, and why the infamy? Fill a girl in brainpain: the myth, the legend brainpain: so angry cos I turned 'em down for a romantic rendezvous ihatemyguts: No way! ihatemyguts: I'm glad that napping isn't the only action the memory foam is getting ihatemyguts: we're just like any other teens, right guys? 💁 tigerbalm: @brainpain you know the rules, fedora pics or it didn't happen! tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: you know what they say about disabled chicks, grateful 😉 tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: #dontkillmeladies #iamnotasleazyuncle tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: don't think Mr. Fog was even a legit 🥄 tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: total predator tigerbalm: if it was my uncle I'm SO sorry 😂 tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: family who piggyback are THE worst tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: no, MY disability doesn't make YOU automatically WOKE for not drowning me in the tub or throwing me off the nearest high place I can access ihatemyguts: Honestly, I've never felt as simultaneously popular and unpopular in my life ihatemyguts: people 💬 a big acceptance game on the socials ihatemyguts: but no one wants to actually hang with the girl who can't eat shit and will spend half her time in the 🚽 gotspoons: Everyone's supportive until your disability gets in the way of THEIR perfect life even slightly gotspoons: imagine if they were one of us 👽 brainpain: speak for yourselves, my slurred speech makes me a hit with all my hard partying peers brainpain: get weird without a 🍹 ihatemyguts: hey man, don't let us drag you down 😎 ihatemyguts: if @fibrofog was feeling you, you're WAY too cool for this chat right now brainpain: never have, never will, baby 😉 brainpain: [inandout has entered the chat] gotspoons: OH MY GOD, that's a whole different story...my parents = you need to socialize more, live life! my parents = I don't know if this group is good for you, we think you're being encouraged to display and give in to even more problems gotspoons: thanks guys, you're literally making me more disabled with your disabledness 😂 tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: It is a cult, well-known fact, leave your productiveness to society at the door and let's all lie here and feel sorry for ourselves, doesn't that sound like fun, kids? 😈 tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: and 👋 sup, inandout, not seen you in a while tigerbalm: my parents act like y'all are catching too! Would you like to cage me like a legit 🐅 or? inandout: baited breath inandout: out living that life like @gotspoons parents want tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: It'll be the Olympics next tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: 🥇 Hero status with the normies, inspirational, dude inandout: if it'll make adults I've never met proud of me ihatemyguts: I can't believe I've not checked if I'm disabled enough for the paras, oh my God ihatemyguts: are there enough of us for a basketball team? brainpain: if ONLY my former lover were here brainpain: he's gotta be so tall ihatemyguts: Pining for @fibrofog is productive, yeah? ihatemyguts: can pine from my throne just fine brainpain: hands off newbie! I will throw mine brainpain: LOL imagine gotspoons: This group has always had a bias towards too many girls gotspoons: it's almost as if even disabled boys don't wanna talk about their feelings gotspoons: what say you @tooexhaustedtolivevicariously and @inandout? 🤔🤴🤴 inandout: I'd bring friends but you know us CF kids aren't allowed to congregate inandout: and what could I possibly have in common with someone who doesn't share my disease ihatemyguts: So, what is the deal with that, are some of us catching? ihatemyguts: 🐅 parents might have legit concerns inandout: cross infectious but only if you've got what's got me inandout: none of you do so you'll need another reason to turn down hanging out in person tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: my fedora is in the wash? inandout: Fibro could easily say it's my jewishness brainpain: but it's your hunkiness, babe 💪😉 inandout: I'd whistle back at you, Lauren but.... inandout: let's just say you leave me breathless tigerbalm: No names, Zach tigerbalm: it's like a rule ihatemyguts: uh-oh ihatemyguts: if you had a name, Tiger, in theory, like ihatemyguts: 🧐 tigerbalm: Robyn ihatemyguts: Pretty, you others may as well just come out with it now ihatemyguts: even if I'm a massive perv with mad hacking and tracking skills, I pinky promise I won't be able to find you from your given name alone brainpain: give us yours, newbie ihatemyguts: I will, but you'll think I'm giving you a fake one ihatemyguts: it's the gift and curse bestowed upon me at birth, along with potentially dodgy genetics brainpain: your life is 💩 brainpain: but still ihatemyguts: Zelda ihatemyguts: a reference I'm sure you won't get, 'cos you're so 😎 brainpain: I game, the stream was fibros fave hunting ground brainpain: no 💩 tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: Turns out being a nerd is way easy from the relative (barely but beats death, yeah?) comfort of the memory foam tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: and Rich 👍 only in name, destitute until my next pittance comes in tigerbalm: she's not supposed to 🎮 -headaches -dizziness -light & sound sensitivity but she's a REBEL brainpain: 👌 MOM maybe I'd love a seizure, what do you know? ihatemyguts: I respect it ihatemyguts: gonna be fondly reminiscing over all those dirty, evil trigger foods when they're resecting my bowel 🖕🚔 brainpain: I had a life before I had a TBI, no offense to 👶 Zach inandout: none taken gotspoons: You're all being bad and I cannot support it 🤐😜 gotspoons: and I'm Rosie, I will just 😴 out on you all the time and yes, it's a fantastic excuse for when you don't wanna respond ihatemyguts: I'll commit all of those to memory in a normal, non-creepy manner ihatemyguts: but whilst I'm allowed to be a n00b, what do you all do for school? brainpain: I was nearly done before 🤯 which got me my pity pass ihatemyguts: pity with a point, at least, alright tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: I'm waiting to start uni, absolutely no thanks to my school and their totally ableist refusal to make reasonable adjustments for accessibility tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: but fedora or not, I can be a real arsehole, a loud, persistent one at that tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: take my applause now brainpain: 😍 brainpain: take my 💘 tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: as long as it's not heavy, m'lady brainpain: you could 💔 brainpain: hold the pieces tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: 🧠 just isn't poetic enough brainpain: you know me gotspoons: you guys are so cute 🥰 and your broken brain is beautiful, Lauren gotspoons: me though, I'm barely struggling through school still, so many sick days, so much catching up to do 🥱 just thinking about it and therein lies the problem tigerbalm: my parents are trying to get online classes set up but my headteacher is like a million years old inandout: is he a demon? inandout: that was some scary fiction brainpain: or was it? brainpain: cue up those sound effects tigerbalm: if we're gonna talk about hypnosis, I'm out ihatemyguts: that was some serious creepy uncle vibes ihatemyguts: why did he need that level of control ihatemyguts: 🐘 in the room tigerbalm: I have a hippie cousin too, alternative therapy talk is so triggering ihatemyguts: I need a memoir re. your family sitch immediately 😂 ihatemyguts: you get the food purists coming @ me as if I just eat the right thing I'd be 'cured' tigerbalm: I'm working on a screenplay but I've never written a script before, I did find an online class for that easily though ihatemyguts: that's actually 😎 ihatemyguts: soz, Lauren brainpain: she's our lil busy 🐝 brainpain: step your game up, Zachary brainpain: supposed to be you, bro inandout: let Robbie have it, she has more sick days to fill up ihatemyguts: always have your 🥇 inandout: I can pin it on like a star when I got to school with the masses inandout: let them know I'm not what normal looks like ihatemyguts: only the others like you need to have the scoop on that though ihatemyguts: really fucks with the segregation in a big way inandout: “I feel like someone breathed new air into my lungs. I am not Abnegation. I am not Dauntless. I am Divergent.” ihatemyguts: Tattoo idea inandout: if I make it to 18, I'll do it ihatemyguts: how long you given yourself there? inandout: I turned 14 in may, the party was a full blown rager inandout: 🏥🎂 ihatemyguts: you like ruining events too? ihatemyguts: what a coincidence, don't just do family holidays inandout: if I can't blow up 🎈 nobody can ihatemyguts: 🥳 smug bastard inandout: I find that party blower offensive inandout: Rosie! That's a strike for the new girl ihatemyguts: Come to me when it's as culturally iconic as 💩 ihatemyguts: my next (first) tattoo right there inandout: how long are you waiting for that masterpiece? ihatemyguts: was 14 in March ihatemyguts: if we both make it, it's a date inandout: cool inandout: way I'm going that'll be my first one brainpain: now I feel like a pervy OLD uncle brainpain: thank you 👶s ihatemyguts: Lemme guess? ihatemyguts: I'm thinking 19 brainpain: spooky brainpain: I'm an Aquarius if anyone cares ihatemyguts: our 🌟s aligning might be too close to alternative for comfort tigerbalm: I'm a cancer, which is awkward tigerbalm: not my diagnosis ihatemyguts: at least it's memorable ihatemyguts: literally tacked on at the end, who's remembering 🎣 tigerbalm: I hope my 16th will be, for the right reasons tigerbalm: I've still got 5 months left to plan ihatemyguts: 🤞🤞🤞 tigerbalm: I'll add your name, the others know they're all invited ihatemyguts: that's so nice ihatemyguts: considering this introduction has given away nothing if not I am a terrible guest brainpain: another chat about online safety, Robyn, REALLY? 😏 brainpain: did my failed romance teach you nothing? ihatemyguts: if that isn't a challenge to send a photo and make you feel really weird ihatemyguts: why are we anon anyway, to stop us uprising? ihatemyguts: metaphorically if not literally, no offense xoxo brainpain: f it brainpain: I need you all to sign up to my stream to pay my bills anyways brainpain: [a selfie] ihatemyguts: @fibrofog, I get it brainpain: don't flock to tell me how sexy I am, that'd make it weird brainpain: plus, I know tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: I picked an awkward time to check back in tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: Rosie falls asleep and anarchy reigns? tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: I'm proud brainpain: 💔 YOU haven't showered me with compliments, but hey tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: if I made it that easy you'd never be 💘 brainpain: 😩 tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: to save any of the rest of you following such a hard act tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: [pic] tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: it's old but still a rough estimation of what I look like on a good day brainpain: 😍 brainpain: You're up, girl Z ihatemyguts: if you're all good looking though, I'm so mad ihatemyguts: [a selfie] ihatemyguts: 💩 inandout: I'm not good looking, I'll go next inandout: besides, Robbie would never bow to peer pressure and Rosie is out for the count inandout: [a selfie] tigerbalm: I am 🙀 tigerbalm: but everyone else has tigerbalm: [the shyest selfie of all time] ihatemyguts: 😻😻😻 ihatemyguts: seriously ihatemyguts: representation done us dirty on so many levels now ihatemyguts: when we're not invisible, why we not so gorgeous tigerbalm: there should be a blushing 😸 tigerbalm: that's the representation I need ihatemyguts: Call me out all you need but I was convinced this whole thing would be a lot more tragic than it has been inandout: tragic Tuesdays are a thing brainpain: no they are f-ing not brainpain: Zachary, just cos the new girl's in your age bracket + shares your 1st initial brainpain: she is not corruptible to you inandout: check us on our date, Lauren inandout: but watch your profanity brainpain: watch me give you a DIY lung transplant gotspoons: Excuse me gotspoons: what is going on here brainpain: nothing babe, it's all a dream gotspoons: 😖 gotspoons: if it was, none of you would be here gotspoons: sorry to say brainpain: we love you too brainpain: hit us with that sleepy selfie gotspoons: You know we aren't meant to give out personal info in the public forum gotspoons: if you choose to privately, that's okay though gotspoons: also I don't look any better for my shower now 🥴🤫 brainpain: you're a hottie gotspoons: 😘 gotspoons: well, my blog IS going to be featured on [insert disability awareness news moment] next month, so it isn't as if you couldn't find 🖼 if you really wanted gotspoons: [photo] tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: Congrats, Ro tigerbalm: a genuine 👏👏👏 tigerbalm: I love your blog gotspoons: Ty, ty 🙇 gotspoons: it's the same as my username, if you wanna check it out, newbie 😄 brainpain: but have you been on the news for being the victim of a violent crime? 😏 just me LOL inandout: Lauren's trading on her fame again inandout: let Rosie have her moment ihatemyguts: pass along all relevant info and I'll 🤓 right up brainpain: @inandout 🍒😃💩👅 brainpain: enjoy the profanity, bro inandout: today's highlight tigerbalm: Zelda could take offence at that, Zach tigerbalm: I think it was nice to meet her ihatemyguts: Not at all ihatemyguts: though it's cultural appropriation to use that emoji without my permission, I'll let it slide 😉 ihatemyguts: nice meeting you all too tigerbalm: I really am gonna have to tell you about my family now ihatemyguts: All I wanted, tbh tigerbalm: everyone else knows this but my parents are white Americans & they adopted me and my brothers who are Native and African American respectively tigerbalm: & you saw me, the Korean girl so ihatemyguts: Ohh tigerbalm: it sounds like a show that should air on ABC family, right? tigerbalm: hella awkward ihatemyguts: I'm brainstorming (p. sure we're not meant to say that, soz) titles rn ihatemyguts: inappropriate question alert, verbal smackdowns appreciated if needed ihatemyguts: did they adopt you knowing you were disabled or is that a new development? tigerbalm: I was gonna call it building bridges but we can't really say that the USA has wronged Korea like the other nations tigerbalm: though they did adopt me knowing so maybe it still works 😄 ihatemyguts: it's got legs tigerbalm: 🦿 ihatemyguts: Ugh, must dash ihatemyguts: 🩸💉s tigerbalm: best of luck ihatemyguts: 💕 total pro by now 💪 brainpain: if I don't 👀 you on my stream I'll 🔎 you here in the forums inandout: a threatening goodbye inandout: can't compete tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: 👋 Hope to see you back here, Zelda tooexhaustedtolivevicariously: though you wouldn't be the first person to 👻 after dropping in, so no pressure, @Lauren gotspoons: but actually, we're always here, some of us more than others, but you'll always find someone to chat to about the things you can't with non-spoonies ihatemyguts: ✌

[theliterateape]

Commie Puke-Faced Panty-Waisted Girly Man

by Don Hall

New comment from Ed Parker on They Learned it from the Wolverines:

It's hard to believe that one author can be so twisted, so wrong, and so proud of it in one article. "Soyboy" doesn't describe him well enough. Don Hall is what GenXers would call a MANGINA. But we Boomers used to call guys like this Commie Puke-Faced Panty-Waisted Girly Men. I suppose it would be pointless to argue that the frame-up on Kavanaugh had nothing to do with any reality outside of Whoopi Goldberg's psychosis, or that the obvious fraud of the recent election was nothing more than the installation of a Chinese puppet by a Chinese-owned Congress, or even that the remake of Red Dawn was censored by the Chinese, as it originally portrayed them as the invaders. Facts don't matter to thong-wearing pajama boys. As a spew, this article was a decent attempt to be obnoxious without being factual, but Donny's efforts were all in vain anyway, as his target audience doesn't read, can't think, and functions primarily on "feewings" manipulated so well in his Public Fool System edumakayshun. I'm sure he's very proud of himself, as any hocker that manages to crawl all the way up the side of a toilet bowl would be, but the intelligent reading public will just flush him down the swirly of irrelevance from whence he came, and where he should have stayed. All you've got is snark, Donny boy, and you're not even very good at that.

Dear Ed—

We at LiterateApe.com don't get too many comments on our articles despite our impressive (at least to us) average 98K unique reads per year, so yours stood out. It also stood out because, in terms of kind of brilliant takedowns, yours is quite the feat.

In 236 words, you manage to include some excellent Trumpian putdowns (soyboy, MANGINA, thong-wearing pajama boy, hocker that manages to crawl all the way up the side of a toilet bowl, and the classic Commie Puke-Faced Panty-Waisted Girly Man), you also adhere to some fantastic (but erroneous) GOP talking points like a champ! "Kavanaugh was framed." "Biden is an illegitimate president because Trump really won." "The Chinese are defrauding our elections (as opposed to the Russians)."

All unleashed due to my observation that guys like you have been pining away for your "Wolverine" moment since we all were in high school, desperately clinging to the possibility that we, too, could avenge Harry Dean Stanton while looking like a teen heartthrob.

I could simply ignore your comment. I could answer it in the comments section. But, no, Ed. You deserve better. You deserve more.

Throughout history, humans have not handled new technologies well. Gutenberg's printing press has been implicated in the Reformation, the Renaissance and the Scientific Revolution, all of which had profound effects on their eras. The shift from an earth-centered to a sun-centered universe were unintended consequences in the printing press era. This influx of books, pamphlets, and ideas destroyed the existing paradigm and those in power at the time did not respond well. Excommunications, torture, executions followed the spread of information previously gated from the rabble.

436 years later, Bell received his patent for the telephone. Give or take fifty years or so and a large percentage of American households contained a phone. All of a sudden, when tempers flared and your neighbor needed to be insulted or wrangled, you no longer had to leave your home, walk to his house, and confront him face-to-face. Now, sans the brief time to diffuse the rage, you could pick up the phone, call him, and tell him what a MANGINA he was in an instant.

In the onslaught of the Information Age, we now have the internet. No longer even required to know the neighbor you get to insult, everyone is a neighbor by proximity to a computer screen and some broadband. Instantaneous outrage, immediate written bitchslapping.

This, like the fallout from every invention of new technology in communication indicates, is not the end of all things. It is us getting used to new ways to engage and, because we are humans, fucking it up for a while until the newness wears out.

In the nascent days of digital communication, I found some fun in trolling some people. I recall creating a fake character—Kaufman—and trolling the Chicago Improv Message Board. It was pointless, it was antagonistic, it was a series of namecalling and juvenile bullshit. On the other hand, I was in my twenties and, like all people in their twenties, a bit stupid.

I am, however, curious about grown people who continue to engage with online communication in the same manner.

Specific to your comment, Ed, I can say that the insults are like throwing a basketball at an armless kid. Just bounces off and I stare at you wondering what else you have for me. I've been called a Nazi and a racist by some on the Extreme Left ("The Woke") and that doesn't bother me because it isn't any different than calling me a Unicorn or a Bowl of Potatoes. I'm obviously not those things so why would it bother me?

I can't speak for being a "soyboy" as I'm not entirely certain what that means but I can say I dig meat. Not sure what a MANGINA is but I applaud the creation of the word. I might very well be a MANGINA.

I'm definitely not a Commie. I'm no more in favor of the "Oppressor/Oppressed" binary of Marxist thought than I am a racist. Binary is too simplistic in my opinion. I may be Puke-Faced (subjective), I wear boxer shorts so no panty-waist, and I'm thinking that you see "Girly Man" as a derogatory but I see it as being feminist (which I am).

Still, pretty creative stuff and you managed to evoke "libtard" without using it so my hat goes off to you.

You, by your choices of real info, present yourself as a member of the Alt-Right Tribe and so your insults are pointless and juvenile (like mine were when I was a 22-year old "Kaufman").

The meat of your comment centers on three issues we can disagree about but could use a bit of genuine conversation.

I understand how someone would see the Kavanaugh accusations as merely a "He Said/She Said" situation. The Whoopi Goldberg thing misses me but I can see how someone might disagree that Brett is a rapist. While I don't believe all women in these cases, I believe these women so we'll just have to leave it at that.

As for your contention that the presidential election was fraudulent ("that the obvious fraud of the recent election was nothing more than the installation of a Chinese puppet by a Chinese-owned Congress"), man, there's so much actual data available that disputes everything in that excerpt it's hard to take you seriously. You seem to be a True Believer and I've found that talking to you and your type is more like beating my forehead up against a building or giant rock than dialogue.

Keep in mind, the fact that your comment sort proves the point of my article doesn't mean I dismiss you entirely. I have friends and family who believe in the concept of Christianity and I don't relegate them to idiot status due to the fairy tale to which they ascribe.

As for the remake of Red Dawn I have no opinion on it either way so you may very well be correct that it was censored by the Chinese government. They tend to do that on the regular with Western film so it would not be a big surprise.

My curiosity comes back to why you would feel it necessary or worth your valuable time to write those 236 words?

I suppose one could also ask what pragmatic purpose I had in writing the article in question and my response would be for entertainment purposes in general. I found the idea of men my age being slowly indoctrinated by the pop culture of our youth fascinating. I remembered that the Milius version of Red Dawn was in line with the "Trust the Military/Distrust the Government" propaganda of the Reagan years. In terms of pragmatics, I suppose I thought this was interesting enough to pen and publish. I could be wrong.

What pragmatic purpose would you, Ed, say justifies your response in writing? You don't know me. I don't know you. You decided that the article was so enraging that you needed to respond, not on your own social platforms, but on mine so there must be a reason other than sheer spite?

The landscape of our current version of the same culture wars we Americans have been fighting since the founding of the country aren't that different from the days of incendiary pamphlets distributed by Patrick Henry. The difference, I think, comes into play in the immediacy of response (which eliminates the time to calm your "feewings" and focus your thoughts) and the vast reach the internet provides.

I can't make too many assumptions about you, Ed. I could assume that working IT at Sears for years (which, these days resembles working at a Blockbuster Video as a tech support guy) left you feeling cheated by life. I could assume you sat there in your Sears polo shirt imagining the coming Red Dawn and how you could be a Wolverine yourself—fighting for the freedoms of "real Americans" against the Commie Puke-Faced Panty Waisted Girly Men. I could assume your sad existence led you to open your own firearms school and wear t-shirts that declare your fealty to "Beer & Guns & Bacon & Freedom".

I could but I won't.

I find that kind of assuming makes an ass out of you. You might be a great guy. Or not. I can guarantee you are far more than your online vitriol. Most people are more than what we can see on the surface.

Ask yourself, Ed—why? Why even bother when you know how meaningless and empty your screed will be? Is it a sort of bragging for your friends to see and applaud? “You sure told that pussy what’s what, Ed!”

Is this the person you hoped you’d be when you became the age you’re at now? If not, what went wrong and is it too late to change course?

[skeine]

I have a bunch I can highly recommend. It’s a mix of Hydra-era Winter Soldier fics and post CA:TWS where Bucky still has a very Winter Soldier mindset for much of the fic. Unsurprisingly many are pretty dark, especially the Hydra-era ones, so please read the tags so you know what you’re getting into.

Winter's Children by Neery

When their attempts to recreate the super soldier serum failed, Hydra started trying to breed Captain America clones from his genetic samples. Unfortunately, the serum's effects aren't passed down genetically, so instead of an army of tiny Captain Americas, they get a bunch of tow-headed, asthmatic, allergic, immuno-compromised little Steves.

And then the Winter Soldier stumbles across Hydra's failed experiment...

the long game by dirtybinary

In 1945, Steve Rogers trades himself to the Red Room in exchange for the Winter Soldier. They accept his offer, but don't let Bucky go. After all, their supersoldiers come as a matched set.

(Featuring crafty Steve, pining Bucky, and a very noisy metal arm.)

Out of the Dead Land by emilyenrose (orphaned account, sadly)

Someone is building machines that look and act like people.

Meanwhile, the Winter Soldier tries to be Bucky Barnes.

Memory by emilyenrose (orphaned account, sadly)

He remembered nothing. After the first few weeks, he asked to be called James.

there must have been a moment where we could have said no by magdaliny

The Soldier remembers this: he wakes up in the snow.

A History of Birds by OddityBoddity

"You look like him," Bucky says. No prompting, no nothing. He just speaks, like this is a thing he does. "What?" Steve asks. He didn’t really hear it, too stunned by the fact that words were coming out of Bucky’s mouth to understand their meaning. "You look like him. So did Pierce." His voice is soft, gravelly from disuse. "Is that why they picked you?" Steve’s heart plunges like an elevator with the cables cut. “Buck, it is me.” The hard line of Bucky’s mouth softens just a little. “Sure,” he says.

And No One Can Talk to a Horse by leveragehunters

An urban fantasy AU that delivers an unusual but really well-written mythological-creature take on the Winter Soldier.

This is the Ghost Story by Taste_is_Sweet

You can't have amnesia if you're not supposed to remember.

And these below have a dark psychological focus, some Hydra Trash Party-adjacent. It’s all hurt, no comfort here. Again, read the tags before you dive in.

Windmills by coffeestainanalyst

His current codename is Bucky. His new handlers are called friends. Steve, one of the highest ranking friends, only had to correct him once before he’d adapted to the new vocabulary. Yet so far, things are looking rough: decommissioned from active duty, he's left with no other purpose than their entertainment. All he can do is wait, push through with gritted teeth and do whatever he can to turn the tables in his favor again.

Uberrima Fidei by asocialconstruct

“That good?” Bucky asked. He lay on his side with his arm tucked under his pillow, almost as boyish as Steve remembered, but more watchful. Something that could have been, that Steve hoped was, a shadow of a smile. Open like a book but hard to read, like he’d been written over in another language.

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The title is Latin for "utmost good faith," a standard of contract law which assumes that both parties are going into things with full knowledge and disclosure. Which this does not have.

Hydra Prelude by osprey_archer

It's amazing the lies you can tell to a man with no memory.

Hope you enjoy!

HELP GAY PERSON IN NEED !!

does anyone have any good winter soldier ao3 fic recommendations? like where bucky is the winter soldier? please i need it :) any ship please idc, preferably stucky or sambucky