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real-jane · 2 years

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poet laureate

part 1 - [prof bucky barnes x fem!reader]

summary: bucky spent one fateful night with someone he shouldn't have. the guilt drove him to resign from his teaching position. a hasty choice may have been his best mistake.

warnings: discussion of grief/loss. smut in future parts. slowish burn.

a/n: this prompt idea originally came from @thornsnvultures: "I'd love a college au Bucky. English Lit professor!Bucky who loves to teach Tolkien, maybe? 🤔" I hope you enjoy! this will likely be about three parts. all poetry is my own.

series masterlist

– – – – –

Resigning was easy.

Telling her was herculean. How do you tell a woman she’s the reason you quit your job?

Nobody knew about them. They didn’t go out on dates, or steal longing glances at one another in the dim light of the overhead projector, while some freshman stumbled over Hamlet’s soliloquy.

It happened once, a month prior.

One fleeting evening, in a distant city–a footnote on the Summer break, below a citation for an unusually cool August, and the number of students projected to be out with Mononucleosis. But it consumed him.

Nothing occurred between them until her fellowship presentation at a writer’s symposium in Massachusetts, on the brink of the new semester. He wasn’t sure why he went–except she was his best student, his mentee, and she invited him (with a handwritten letter, no less). So he drove four hours to attend her presentation, and immersed himself in her work until he was drunk on her. And she was so exuberant in the afterglow of a standing-room-only exhibition, it was easy to accept her invitation to a dive bar in Amherst afterwards, and pretend like he wasn’t her Graduate Advisor.

She kissed him. Neither of them imbibed–Bucky because he planned to make the trip back to New York that night, and her because she wanted to ‘experience every raw thing.’ Apparently, he qualified. If she wanted a man with a heart still on the vine, she couldn’t have chosen better. There were plenty of reasons why she shouldn’t have snuck him into her room, especially a student building.

But she did, and Bucky experienced something which put him in jeopardy: a thing with no name, something which rooted itself at the base of his spine and began climbing with fury. The moment she fell asleep, he yanked on his trousers and left. He drove back to New York shoeless, sober–ruined. It was unbearable to be without her skin against his; he viciously hungered with nothing to sate him, at his own peril.

The further away from her he got, the more he realized what a mistake it was to feel anything at all.

–

She wasn’t sure which hurt more: waking up alone, or walking into his classroom on the first day of class to find his TA had taken over ‘for the semester’, after spending forty-five minutes hyping herself up to face him again. The interim instructor handed out essays which had been intended as a pre-semester litmus for the class’ overall skill, submitted in the last week before the school year began; Professor Barnes had allegedly graded the papers, but hers had no such notation until the last page. The blue ink there was barely legible. If the first nine words hadn’t been her own, plucked straight out of a poem from her fellowship, she might not have known them at all, but the more she read, the clearer they became:

‘you will do better the less you have of me’ How wise the author. How true of you. I couldn’t bring myself to read this essay. This was a trite assignment compared to the kind of work you showed in your presentation. I have no doubt you served the subject admirably. Your grade will reflect as much. What I did was unfair to you, unethical to my position, and cruel to myself. I’ve resigned. JB

She experienced a hollowing as his fingers reached through the deeply scrawled words, into her chest. A snapped rib would be a comfort by comparison. She froze, staring at the personal note, while memories of him from one beautiful night filtered in. Every one was sallow under scrutiny: His soft kiss, a warning. His bashful smirk, a mask. His socks, forgotten under her bed–the only proof he had been there at all, except for a purple bruise above her left breast, and the scent of his cedar cologne on her pillow.

More than anything, she wished she had woken up when he slipped out of bed, so she could tell him what beauty she saw in him, and thank him for sharing a piece of himself she was sure he rarely showed, if ever. Or that he had the courage to face her in class, share an awkward look, and move on.

His note read like a challenge. Not that he intended it as such. He seemed to be saying I don’t deserve a single thing, and I'll ruin you. Maybe she wanted to be ruined for other men, like the types which clogged academia, with their egos one ducked to avoid. Perhaps the best thing to happen to a woman who made sense of the world through poetry was a man for whom words were a commodity.

She always thought her crush unrequited. She had invited him to her symposium on a brave wine-induced whim, expecting he’d see the Amherst address and beg out. Professor Barnes was the kind of instructor one changed their major for the privilege of studying with. He never minced words, he didn’t deify dead white scribes, and most of the time, he had thoughtful critique–which was as useful as it was cutting. He cared enough about her work to dislike some of it, let alone read it. She became addicted to his feedback, and the twinkle in his blue eyes when some inspiration sparked.

Professor Barnes was handsome, to be sure, but he didn’t wear the designation like a medal. Most of the time, he seemed to have misplaced his razor, he couldn’t keep his hair contained in a tie (draping as it did over his forehead), and he wore long sleeves even in the height of Summer, with the cuffs rucked up to his elbows. His concern was always with his students’ success, not his appearance. It was hard not to adore someone for whom teaching wasn’t his gateway into the arms of popularity or politics.

The only arms he fell into were hers, and he didn’t think himself worthy of that.

She kicked herself for not thinking about how something as simple as asking him for a drink could put him in an ethical conundrum. If the Dean found out he slept with a student, even someone only a few years his junior, he could be fired in disgrace. No wonder he resigned.

She slumped down in her chair. What had she done?

–

He stared at the envelope–well, the corner, anyway, which bore her name. Alpine’s snowy puff of a belly obscured the rest of the words. Bucky’s curiosity got the best of him, and he liberated the letter. The cat made a sullen mewl. He scratched her chin.

He’d wallowed for two days in his dark apartment, so he winced as he turned on the side table lamp. The envelope was postmarked in the East Village, but bore no return address. With one finger, Bucky broke open the seal.

A wave of lilac perfume filled his nostrils, pushing him deeper into the cushions of his sofa. He unfolded the paper within.

JB– Enclosed you’ll find several items which I hope you will do me the honor of reading. As you have deemed any of my non-poetic works ‘trite’ compared to those performed in my workshop, I have also included poems to pad the delivery. I hope this note finds you. I’d wish that it found you well, but you’d think I was being sarcastic. But all I want is for it to reach you, in whatever shape or form you’ve taken. Does that form still give critique? I have to submit three of these poems to complete my thesis by next Monday. You’re still the only person I trust. You’d do better, I think, with *more* of me. If you read the poem more closely, you’d remember the line directly following: ‘but I will waste and waste like something unheavenly’ I’m unheavenly, JB. Please write back. I don’t care if you have nothing to say. Mike will get it to me.

His heart lurched. Mike? The letter was unsigned. She did indeed send poems, eight in total. He read them. Three, four times. The more he perused them, the lighter he felt.

He chose his favorites, or at least his top five (not including the two he gave honorable mention), and wrote down his thoughts as quickly as his fingers could go under each poem, as he had in the run up to her fellowship, attempting to advise her all the way from New York–’it’s a vivid word but ‘aqueous’ drags, pick something which doesn’t take away from the cadence’--’you’ve got something here, I wonder how it would read if you broke at conjunctions’--’this isn’t hitting. I think it’s got something to do with the focus. It’s too outward. Point inward, you’ll be there.’

Something else in the envelope caught his eye: a business card for a whiskey bar called ‘Howlers’, which appeared to be a joint in Bed-Stuy, just fifteen minutes away on foot (according to his gps app). He flipped the card.

Ask for Mike.

–

The bar was dimly lit, but packed. Most of the crowd had a decade on Bucky, maybe more, and there were few places to perch next to the bar to draw the bartender’s eye–perch, but not sit; it must have been ladies’ night, because women in tight jeans and faux leather jackets shared stools, a cheek apiece on the wooden circles topping the seating (many of whom became acquainted because they pressed their hips together).

Bucky meandered through the crowd. The only person he could easily identify as working for Howlers was the bartender, so Bucky did his best to hug the far wall and sidle up next to the pick-up plane, where servers might have restocked trays of drinks, if there was a server to be had. The bartender gave him a nod, but took almost ten minutes to step away from a slew of customized martinis. By the time he approached Bucky, Bucky had gotten unwillingly dragged into a conversation with a pair of women celebrating a recent divorce, by virtue of being a man who they could ply with questions like why DO men leave their underwear on the floor? For Bucky’s part, all he could do was shrug. Bucky was fastidious at home–call it his Army conditioning, or the ever-present anxiety thrumming through his veins. He could not speak to such an epidemic.

“What can I getcha?” The bartender braced against the mahogany counter. “Please don’t say a martini.”

“No, uh–Mike?”

“You got ‘im.”

Bucky extended the envelope toward him. “I am supposed to give this to you.” The shell of his ears burned as he flushed.

Mike raised an eyebrow. “So. You’re the guy.” He didn’t take the envelope. In fact, he whistled at the divorcees beside Bucky, and pointed to a newly vacated hightop against the far wall. The women squealed and abandoned their stool. Mike gestured for Bucky to sit.

Bucky did, but every nerve in his body told him not to. If Mike hadn’t set a tumblr on a napkin in front of him, and poured two fingers of Bucky’s favorite scotch therein, he probably would have fled, envelope be damned. But he understood: find Mike, stay for a drink. Of course she couldn’t let him make the drop and run…

“Was she right?” Mike asked, pointing to the glass. “Fifteen year.”

Bucky sighed. “Yeah.”

Mike snorted. “She annoys the shitta me too, man, but it’s part of her charm.” He was flagged down by more patrons at the other side of the bar, so the bartender left Bucky to his drink.

A lock of hair escaped from his ponytail, which almost sent him over the edge. Bucky removed the tie and carded both hands through his too-long locks.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show.”

Bucky would know her voice if he heard it in the depths of a coma. He had memorized the vocalizations in the back of her throat when she disagreed with something in class, her tendency to emphasize adverbs like they had a sharp edge… and the softness with which she said the word you. He closed his eyes, wishing to be swallowed up by the floor.

“Are you okay?” She muttered the question at his elbow, with fingers curling into his sleeve. Bucky didn’t look at her. He took a swig of his drink and let it burn its way down his throat, without the tiniest wince.

“Guess I sorta get that.” She rubbed his forearm for a moment.

“You’re here,” he growled, because that was certainly the reason why he could in no way be described as ‘okay.’

“Not sure how else to talk to you, given that I don’t have your number and you aren’t responding to email. And as much as I enjoy snail mail correspondence, I’m much more of an instant gratification kinda girl.” She gave the envelope beneath his arm a tug until he lifted it.

Bucky cleared his throat. “I made notes. Going forward, if you need feedback, get with Wilson–”

“No.” She thumbed open the flap.

He slapped a palm over her fingers as they went for the note card. “Don’t read that, alright.”

“Why?” she tried to pull her hand free, but his grip tightened.

“It’s irrelevant.”

“Did you tell me to fuck off?” she scoffed.

“Does that sound like me?”

“I don’t know you, Barnes. I thought I did. But I also didn’t peg you as a coward.”

Bucky’s head snapped up in insult, but she had been forced to stand so near to him that her face was inches from his, and the sadness in her eyes hit him.

“That was harsh,” she said apologetically, but he shook his head.

“Apt, though.”

“Give me ten minutes, at least?” She didn’t wait for him to give his consent, but it was clear he was meant to follow.

Bucky threw a twenty on the bartop, along with his dignity, and he followed her out the front door. She waited at the curb. By the time he joined her, she was digging in her bag, with a cigarette balanced on her lip.

“Since when do you smoke?” he asked.

She smiled from one corner of her mouth, and lit her cigarette with a bright pink lighter. “You found the place okay.”

“The neon sign helped. How do you know Mike?”

“My cousin.”

“Ah, so. Not a guy friend.”

She laughed off the question. “There’s a park a few blocks west. You wanna walk?”

“Alright.”

They walked, dyssynchronous; she stepped in time with sleepy puffs from her cigarette, while Bucky caught his toes on raised concrete cracks from dragging his feet. She looped her hand through his elbow after a violent shiver, and they were in forced tandem. He told himself–I hate her lilac perfume–even as he held her wrist against his ribs. She grew tired of smoking but kept it upright like a pathetic candle. Waiting. He took it from her. He felt her gaze on his mouth as he took a hit, confirming what he had already suspected: this was his brand. He let the smoke escape slowly from between his teeth to punish her, but all she did was make a titter at the back of her throat.

“I only do it when I drink. But. That’s why.”

“I’m a bad influence.”

“Sure are.” She made a pinching motion with her fingers to ask for it back.

“What do you want, doll?” He flicked the stub into the gutter, where it hissed against the sludge from the first surprise snow of the Autumn.

“You’re not happy to see me?”

He glared at her out of the corner of his eye. “I think you know the answer already. I came down here because I’m a sucker.”

“Knew it.” She squeezed his arm. “I missed you too.”

It had only been a month since he had last seen her, but god–Bucky missed her with his entire being. From the moment he put his resignation letter in the hands of the Dean, the feeling intensified. The idea of not seeing her tortured him. Talking to her, having her cling to him–it was worse and better, and his heart raced, and he had never wanted to run more. So he covered her hand with his… because he was human, and it was okay to want someone you shouldn’t if nobody saw.

She chose a picnic table by a street light in the small park, and sat with her feet up on the bench. She patted the wood next to her, and Bucky followed suit.

The silence stretched. He stared at the basketball court, with its orange hoop rings dangling like they’d been swung from one too many times. The woman beside him leaned back on her hands.

“You left your socks,” she said simply.

“Didn’t even put my shoes back on. Drove home barefoot,” he said. “I don’t know how I didn’t wreck.”

She sighed. “You could’ve stayed, Barnes. James–god, that’s weird. I don’t think I’ve ever said your first name before.”

The corner of his mouth turns up. “‘S not what people usually call me.”

“Right,” she said. “Bucky, yeah? Wilson called you that during the faculty basketball game.”

“You went?” he scoffed. “I was lucky they didn’t make me play the whole time.”

“You’re really bad.” She laughed, and Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle.

“It wasn’t about skill.”

“Clearly.”

Bucky glanced at her. She smiled at him. Before he could think better of it, he brushed her cheek as if he might never get another opportunity. He blew out a slow breath as her skin filled his palm. She leaned into the touch, grasping his wrist.

“I’ve never, ever put myself in jeopardy like this,” he said. “Plenty of girls in my class have batted their eyelashes at me, but–” he shrugged. “Never felt anything except annoyance. And then… you. I’m screwed up about it, doll, you have every right to be pissed–”

“Slow down,” she said. She laced their fingers. “Let’s back up, I’m–I was angry, but I’m not anymore. I’m confused.”

Bucky gulped. “Um. I left, and I didn’t tell you.”

“Yeah.”

He clutched her hand against his knee. “I don’t do that kinda thing. Never. I mean, I’ve done it before but with women I dated, who were totally outside the campus community. They were short-lived–not even relationships. I…”

“You freaked.”

“Do you blame me?” Bucky groaned. “You’re in my class!”

“I didn’t plan it–”

“I’m not blaming you. For me to do that, with my own grad student, stone-cold sober. Thank god neither of us were drunk.”

She let out a long breath. “I didn’t think about it once.”

“No,” Bucky agreed.

“It doesn’t make it better, I realize. But for once in my life… I didn’t rationalize my way out of something that felt good. Kissing you didn’t bring me to my senses, either.”

“Hmm.”

“Was it… did you hate it–?”

“No. Far from it.”

“Then what?”

He couldn’t make the fear in his chest manifest into words, so he tapped the envelope which peeked out of her coat pocket and stood, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Despite the impulse to run, he remained at her feet. Waiting for her to see the declaration he wrote and rewrote a million times. She opened it.

She read it under her breath. Bucky held his. Every second which lapsed without her speaking was agonizing, but he dug his heels in. She deserved that much.

He didn’t hear her scoot off the table, so when her hands came up to cradle his face, he jumped.

“You are punishing me, too,” she whispered. “Maybe we should’ve thought about it. I own that. But why is the only option never speaking to or seeing me again? Huh?”

Bucky tugged out of her grasp. “Do you know what the university would do? You might be barred from defending your thesis, or have it blocked from publication, or get expelled–”

“Who am I going to tell?”

He threw his hands in the air. “Your friends! I don’t know!”

“Barnes–I don’t have a circle, here! My best friend lives in Alaska with her wife who works on a fishing boat, and my parents have never heard a detail about my personal life because the entire population of their neighborhood would know in an INSTANT. Unless YOU were planning on telling the Dean, I sure wasn’t!”

“What if photos of us pop up?”

“At my symposium? You’re my mentor–it makes sense for you to be there!” Her protests echoed off the cement court. “I didn’t invite anyone else!”

“You didn’t? There were a lot of people.”

“The whole city of Amherst shows up for this workshop, it’s a big deal! I didn’t know anybody but you and the other poetry fellows.”

“You kissed me.”

“In a cab!”

Bucky put his fists on his hips. “You snuck me into student housing.”

She poked him in the chest. “Seemed more appropriate than straddling you in the back of a taxi!” Bucky opened his mouth to say more but she clamped her hand over his mouth. “You didn’t resign a tenured teaching position to protect me, so why the hell did you do it?” When she pulled her hand away, she lingered toe-to-toe with him.

Bucky let his head fall back in frustration.

“I’m a shell, doll,” he started. “My ma passed away last year. Should’ve taken a sabbatical. But I pushed through to keep myself busy.” Bucky hazarded a glance at her. She said nothing, but motioned for him to continue.

“We were a real close family. My sisters are still devastated. If my father hadn’t gone a few summers ago, this would’ve sent him. I’m hollow, doll. Most days I can’t feel a thing.”

“Easier sometimes,” she murmured.

“No. God, it’s miserable. I get addicted to anything that makes me less numb.” Bucky fixed her with a glare. “Then… you asked me to be your advisor. All of a sudden, I looked forward to getting out of bed. Figured I was finally pushing through grief, or something. But I’d go home after meeting with you… empty. I didn’t put it together until you were asleep on my chest.”

She pressed her lips in a thin line. “You think you’re gonna forget her. If you’re happy again.”

Bucky looked away. “I already had, before she died. I never saw her. She lived five blocks from this park, doll, and I didn’t visit. I took it for granted that she would always be there when things slowed down for me.”

“So, when you took me on as an advisor…”

“Did it to fill up my free time. She asked me every time I saw her when I was gonna have the family I’ve always wanted, and I couldn’t stand to look her in the eye and say I wasn’t trying anymore. Doll–I hate teaching, but I stuck with it because she was so proud of me. She had my book on her bedside table.”

“So do I.” The woman clasped his elbow with a sad smile. “You still would’ve made her proud if you told her you wanted something else. Prouder, still, if you let someone in. Whether or not that someone is Me.”

Bucky’s arms floated upwards, and tentatively hovered at her waist. “With what? What do I have to offer right now?”

“I dunno–”

“Oh, great,” he scoffed.

“No! You’re so smart, but you’re an idiot.” She stood on her tip-toes to level her eyes with his. “You made me feel incredible. Did I return the favor?”

Bucky flushed. “...more than.”

“That’s enough. Doesn’t have to be complicated. You’re a human being–we go through shit times, and it doesn’t make us unworthy of something good.”

“Doll, I did resign because of you, but I didn’t do it to lash out at you. Or because I slept with you–even though it was the ethical thing to do.” Bucky sat with a heavy sigh. “I did it… because you’ve worked so hard. Your thesis work is stunning–those poems are no exception. I have never been as passionate about anything the way you are about words. You made me think there could be something like that, for me.”

“Wow,” she breathed. “When was the last time you did something for yourself?”

Bucky snorted. “Enlisted for Dad. Got out, went to grad school for Ma. Here I am.”

“I forgot you were in the Army.”

“Not something I advertise, doll.”

“No, but I’ve looked at the company photo in your office a million times,” she said. “How’d you get out?”

“Honorable discharge.”

“For?”

“Throwing myself on a grenade.”

“A habit of yours.” She let her head fall against his shoulder. Bucky remained stiff and upright, but he let a sense of warmth at the affectionate position fill him. He almost missed her next words because he was so focused on the sensation of her against his side.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she said.

“Why?” Bucky couldn’t prevent the question from slipping out. She turned her face so they were nose-to-nose.

“Because I love poetry, but it means nothing if the subject isn’t part of my life. Every poem I write, every goddamn word. They’re about you.”

The sentiment jump-started his heart. It had pumped once a day since his mother died–enough to keep his blood flowing. But with that admission, she renewed him. He scanned over her expression for any sign of hesitation.

“May I?” His breath tickled her lips.

She smoothed her hands over the front of his coat. “As much as I want you to, it’s late. I can’t be sure if this is exhaustion, or whiskey, or Bucky. I–” She stopped to touch his jaw. “I can’t kiss you and wake up to nothing, tomorrow. But in the light of day, if you still want to…” Her thumb worried his shallow dimple as she trailed off. Her eyes flicked back and forth, searching to make sure they were on the same page.

Bucky swallowed hard. “I understand.”

“You can give me your number.” She fished her cell phone out of her back pocket and unlocked it so he could type his number in. He did so, and when she presented her cheek… Bucky leaned down and brushed his mouth against her skin. She giggled when he dithered a hare’s breath from her lips.

“I’ll text you, so you have mine,” she said softly.

“I, um.” He swiped his thumb over his bottom lip. “I have to clean out my office this weekend.”

“...do you want help?”

He smiled. “Yeah.”

“I can move my schedule around. Make some time for you.” She nudged his arm, and then tucked the nearly-forgotten envelope into her pocket. “Call me?” She turned, swinging her bag over one shoulder.

“Hey, doll–”

She stopped, peering back at him.

“I didn’t say it at your symposium, but I’m proud of you.”

She straightened, and her mouth twisted like she was trying not to cry. “Thanks, Professor.”

Bucky watched her walk away in the direction of the nearest train station until she disappeared into the shadows. His phone vibrated in his pocket. A text from an unknown number.

I’m proud of you too.

Bucky stared at those five liberating words. He didn’t reply, but about two minutes later, another text arrived from the same number.

Howlers is hiring. Barback. 12/hr plus tips. Ask Mike.

–

She waited in the shadow of a tree at the end of a block, and watched his mouth turn up in a smile as he read her second message. Walking away after he asked to kiss her had been nearly impossible; the hairs on her body stood up, craving the deepest level of intimacy they had shared before, but if he wanted to make things right, he needed to do it for himself.

Still, it was something to hang her hope on. More than a cryptic note, or no words at all.

Her phone chimed.

BUCKY: thank you doll BUCKY: i really did miss you

–

you will do better the less you have of me

but I will waste and waste like something unheavenly.

what feeds you might bleed me but

mete out my punishment gently.

Part 2

– – – – –

thanks for reading and sharing! :)

tag list: @peterhollandkait @nahthanks @honeywithemoney @dracris33 @dracosluvbot @searchf0rtheskyline @emmabarnes @cjand10

kate’s masterlist - my bucky barnes masterlist

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes au #professor bucky #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n

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anika-ann · 4 years

Text

Attached: Hurtful Words Pt.1

Type: (mini)-series, Modern-college-professor AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 5600

Summary: Stick and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.

You knew for a fact that it was a load of BS. The truth is that words can break your heart. And that realization hits you full force the day you have your last exam to earn your bachelor degree.

If you pass, it will be a cause for great celebration. Spoiler alert: it’s not.

A/N: Attached: Hurtful Words is an addition that loosely followes the series. Will be in two (or three) parts. You don’t necessarily need to read the mini-series as a whole, but you will understand much better.

Warnings: I did something in here which I’m usually trying to avoid at any cost; in this story, I used Y/N Y/L/N. Does that count as a warning?

Warnings II: name calling, humiliation, panic attack!, bad poetry, mentions of vomiting and alcohol, the briefest mention of self-harm, angst, swearing, threats of violence

Story masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

You released the breath you had been holding, all your willpower put into not sinking into the chair in relief as Professor Phillips announced your grade – one that meant that you hadn’t failed.

In fact, you had just passed your last exam of your bachelor program so you were entirely in the right. In your head, an overexcited monkey started playing cymbals and you didn’t mind the noise despite how sleep-deprived you were from the past few days. A barely contained mad smile fought its way to your lips instead.

Mind you, as you thanked Professor Phillips and rose to your feet – your knees almost giving out, because HOLY SHIT YOU JUST GOT YOUR BACHELOR’S – you would swear you saw a brief smile on the professor’s face too as if he was amused at your antics.

But who cared if he was having fun at your expense?! You PASSED! You had been losing sleep, terrified of this exam, because everyone knew Phillips was a hard-ass – a fair one, but still a hard-ass – and you just passed his examination!

Time to pop the fucking champagne! The one Penny had been saving at the dorm from yesterday when she had finished her own degree; she insisted that she would wait for you, because you were in this together.

You couldn’t leave her waiting any longer and you didn’t have any intention to do so.

Leaving the room and walking into the empty hallway – because of course you came the last as if to prolong your torture – you breathed in and out and deliberately let the grin finally spread on your face fully.

You were free, you were ready to take on the world despite not being ready at all and you had Steve, who you suspected would be proud as hell and would celebrate with you tomorrow, graciously letting you and your roomie do it first-- and gosh, life was beautiful.

Making your way down the corridor, with a grin ever-present, a leaflet that hadn’t been there before caught your attention. It appeared a handwritten note, styled in a regular column – a poem perhaps.

Still smiling, the curiosity took the best of you and you walked to it, peripherally noticing that along the walls, there was even more.

You froze in your step when your gaze fell on the first line; your very own name was staring back at you and it confused you at first, a brief surge of excitement lighting up your body, a naïve belief that perhaps Steve somehow decided to surprise you.

But Steve’s last name came next, which you found strange.

And then came the word ‘whore’ and your heart stopped, your gaze automatically flickering all over the page.

Your stomach made a painful somersault, your mind turning blank.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of that nightmare materializing in front of you, reading and re-reading the poem that almost resembled a twisted nursery rhyme over and over.

Y/N Y/L/N Rogers’ whore Bet she’ll get The highest score For sucking dick Having fucked her ass Let’s hope she’ll soon Be eating grass

Darkness battled to cut off your vision, the world swaying off of its place. Involuntarily, your trembling hand reached out and touched the paper, smooth under your fingertips, your frantically beating heart and the vertigo threating to overpower your sense of balance tying you to the reality, screaming at you that this wasn’t just a really fucked-up dream.

You tore the paper down, lump growing in your throat as you looked around for watchful eyes in sudden paranoia of being followed, only to find the hallway deserted aside from you.

Just you and many papers hanging on the walls.

As if you were just a puppet to a spiteful master, your feet carried you to the next leaflet, tears filling your eyes as you found the very same words written on it; a precise copy.

Your breathing picked up a furious pace, your chest crushed under a weight of an invisible elephant stomping on it. The corridor swam in the dampness of your eyes, your mind too quiet and yet screaming with millions of question marks and exclamation points, panic squeezing your lungs, nausea attacking your stomach.

What the hell was happening? Who would do that? Why? What was the goal? Was it just to ruin your triumph?

Because if that was the goal, it was a roaring success; the thousands of questions swirling in your head and the unexpected sting in your heart turned the fact that you had passed an exam into a faint memory.

All you saw was the words.

Rogers’s whore

Was that what you were? Was that how people who knew about the relationship saw you? Was that how Steve saw you?

The highest score for sucking dick

Was that what you were doing? Using Steve’s position to your advantage? Was that how you got through every exam including the one today, even if unwittingly? Was that what Phillips’ little smile had been about?

Hope she’ll soon be eating grass.

Was that a threat? Was someone wishing that happened to you or were they actually about to hurt you? Why?!

Hearing your own wheezing and feeling your fingertips prickling, your foggy mind did the only reasonable thing it could come up with; it led your steps into the nearest bathroom at lightning speed with no regard for how shaky were your feet.

You stumbled into the open stall, smashing the door shut and leaning onto them with your suddenly damp forehead, feeling the cold beads of sweat gather in your hairline, your cheeks drenching in tears.

When did you start crying so hard?

When did the trembling in your limbs begin?

What the fuck was happening?

What-how--why-but-

Your palms rested on the door as you desperately tried and failed to ground yourself and take control of your breathing. Your temples were pounding irritatingly, your gut painfully clenching--- and exactly in that moment that could have lasted a second or an hour, your fingers brushed over a piece of paper stuck on the door.

Darkness curled around your brain like a treacherous friend, another wave of nausea twisting your stomach.

It took you one blurry glance at the paper and you knew precisely what it was, choking on your sob, ripping the offensive poem off and tearing it to pieces which you blindly threw to the toilet, the flushing sound deafening to your ears.

Your shaky legs finally gave out, knees buckling, your body sliding down the stall wall, fingers pulling at your hair as you felt the dizziness engulfing your head, a bitter taste in your mouth.

You gripped tighter, hoping that the pain on the surface would overpower the pain and gaping hole inside, as another violent sob erupted from your throat.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

An eternity later, you felt your whole being float.

Your breathing was still frantic and interrupted with sobs, but a sensation resembling serenity spread in your very core—or perhaps it was just numbness?

You couldn’t seem to be able to tell the difference anymore.

The creak of a door made you cover your mouth to muffle the noises still escaping your lips for the fear of being caught – either being found in this state in general or found as in found by the person who wrote---that – being stronger than the subdued power of your previous breakdown.

It was probably too late for the newcomer to miss your presence, but over the slowly fading ringing in your ears, you could hear a few steps that came to a halt and then they sounded a bit quicker as the woman left.

Thank FUCK. You couldn’t do human interaction of any kind right now.

You removed your hand and breathed out shakily, blinking away the tears.

Shaking your head wildly, you gritted your teeth in a feeble attempt at bolster yourself. You had to get up off your ass and leave before there would be no longer way of avoiding a confrontation – god forbid a confrontation with Steve, who was probably still in a class, testing his own students.

You climbed to your feet, wiping the remains of your tears from your cheeks with the back of your hand and went to fix your ruined make-up, hopefully enough to look little less suspicious when walking through the campus.

It was probably a vain effort, because you were a walking epitome of a mess.

Rogers’s whore, sounded in your ears and you shook your head again, inhaling sharply through your mouth.

It was time to run and then break down again at the dorms. With Penny preferably--or did she think you were a whore too? You were fucking a professor after all-

Stop that!

Penny wasn’t like that. She understood. She’d be willing to listen all about this outrageous act of terror and would sympathize. Right?

Yeah, you’d talk about it with Penny, your amazing friend, who needed a celebration and a very generous amount of alcohol, which happened to be exactly what you needed too.

Yep, that sounded pretty good.

With one last determined glance on your horrible reflection in the mirror, you headed out.

The door nearly hit you in the face on its way back as you threw it open and froze in the doorway.

You did not expect to see someone so soon after leaving your improvised safe space… let alone him.

“Prof-professor Wilson,” you choked out, clearing your scratchy throat as he stood there, unmistakably waiting for you.

Because that was what you needed at the moment. The university counsellor and professor of psychology in one person.

Fuck.

He said you name in a mild tone, almost as if trying to tame a wild animal, but not quite – all his voice made you feel was shame at getting caught. And a bit of anger at the whole fucking world, because why couldn’t you have a tiny piece of peace after seeing that? Just a little shred of luck, huh?!

Oh, right, you were a whore who were only using Professor Rogers, paying for it in sexual favours.

“Mind if we talk in my office for a bit?”

“Not like I really have a choice…” you mumbled automatically, the realization of how rude it sounded dawning to you oh too slowly, your brain too tangled up in a web of self-pity and self-loathing. “Sorry. Of course. Lead the way.”

“Good. Thank you,” he replied, appearing unoffended. “And for the record, you do have a choice.”

Hadn’t you been a wreck with burning tear-stained cheeks, your face might have felt hotter at the kind remark.

At the slowest pace possible, you followed Professor Wilson to his office, dread and exhaustion filling every fibre of your being.

You noticed however that the walls that had been lined with odes about you, put up for everyone to see, had disappeared; possibly Wilson’s own work.

Somehow, it didn’t make you feel much better, the image of the previous addition to the corridors’ decor stuck in your brain. But hey, it was supposed to be the thought that counted, right?

And Professor Wilson was a nice guy. He offered you a drink – sadly a non-alcoholic one – attempted a joke saying that no, it was no trouble getting you one, which was the reason he offered.

Generally, he treated you as if he wanted to provide you with a safe space.

And then he kindly told you that he knew about the poem, because his cousin who’s in her first year here at the uni, texted him what the heck was the e-mail she received on her uni account about.

In other word, he gently broke to you that whoever had done this possibly sent it to every student in the database too.

You nearly threw up hearing that; the pit you had climbed up from and of which edge you were balancing, deepened. But you didn’t fall back there.

Yet.

It was probably because you were still too shocked at the information.

“I hate asking that question, but do you have any idea who did this?” Wilson asked quietly and you had nothing but a helpless shake of a head for a reply. You felt your vision blurring, dizziness fogging your brain again. “Can you think of anyone who holds a grudge against you for some reason?”

A scoff escaped your lips, cynical as you found the answer obvious from the verses.

“Besides dating Steve, you mean?” you noted sarcastically. Wilson waited for more, his eyebrows twitching in surprise and expectation before he got it under control. “Sorry, I meant Professor Rog-“

“Hey, you can call him Steve,” he assured you, so damn sweet and diligent. “I met him, you know, I’d go as far as calling him a friend. And right here, right now, he is not your professor, but your boyfriend. I’m talking to you as a counsellor so feel free to call me Sam if you’re comfortable. And to answer your question, I assume that it is as good motive as any, but the fact that the two of you are dating is practically a public knowledge at this point, so it doesn’t really narrow our field of suspects.”

Despite his openness and kind approach, you once again could only shrug, growing desperate by the minute. The urge to leave – because suddenly it made even more sense, him taking you here, he was friends with Steve, he was stalling – became unbearable.

You didn’t have the strength to see Steve now. You couldn’t. You would question every gesture, analyse everything and perhaps came to the conclusion that he agreed with the author of the poem and you desperately didn’t want that. You needed to forget about this, preferably with an unhealthy amount of alcohol, you needed to cry some more, you needed ice-cream and a hug and to bitch about everything and you needed a fucking nap that would last at least a week.

“I don’t know who hates me that much, I swear. Can I please go now?”

Sam cocked his head to side, a minute frown creasing his brows. “Is that what you want?”

Do you really want to leave before Steve gets a chance to get here?

You should probably feel guilty. You wanted to feel guilty, because that was you being a coward and it was downright mean to Steve, who would no doubt learn about this very soon and from someone else, but you didn’t have the capacity to think about anything at all besides feeling like you were going to explode any second.

“Yes. Thanks for being nice and all, but I—I’d rather go.”

“You have a roommate? A friend you live with and who’s in?” he fussed, voice gravely, amiable chocolate eyes observing you with worry. Did he think you were about to hurt yourself? Did you look like the type? Were you? You mentally shook your head. Jesus.

“Yeah,” you creaked, already rising to your feet, endlessly grateful that he was letting you go. “Penny. We— uhm, we were supposed to go celebrating.”

You nearly choked on the last word, feeling like everything but going out tonight. The idea of going out and facing all the stares cause by the widely-spread e-mail made your stomach clench.

You kinda lost the appetite to celebrate anything to begin with; all the relief and joy, which had filled every last bit of your being post-learning your grade, vanished and was replaced by a dark sticky substance filling your lungs, your gut, your veins, muffling the outside world.

Perhaps Penny would agree to a loud night in?

“You can still do that, that’s up to you. But please, get some sleep and don’t be alone. Here,” he stood up as well, handing you a card. “My number, even if you just need to talk to a sort-of outsider and word-vomit all over someone, okay?”

You couldn’t argue with his offer – you had a feeling you’d vomit soon, either verbally or literally. Still, you charmed a shaky smile that probably turned out a grimace.

“K. Thanks… Sam.”

“Any time.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Of course, Wilson’s unspoken question about moving quick to avoid an encounter with certain professor was painfully on point.

You bailed on Steve whom you were supposed to wait for even if just for a hug and congratulations, practically running to the dorm, your unsteady feet and tears still clouding your vision be damned.

You ignored the ringing of your phone, assuming it was Steve himself; bile rose to your throat at the idea of hearing his voice at that moment. He tried twice before you smashed the power button and threw the phone back to your purse, breathing out in relief and wanting to puke at the same time.

You truly couldn’t find the capacity to deal with him momentarily – you needed to be alone and safe from any prying eyes, preferably in the comfort of your shared dorm with Penny. You cried harder when you finally reached it, your feet hurting from attempting to run in heels.

It wasn’t hard to figure out that Penny somehow already knew, probably from the e-mail – it was written all over her face. And hadn’t her expression been enough, instead of a celebratory champagne she handed you a shot of a transparent liquid the moment you opened the door.

You turned it bottoms up without questioning it and asked for another. Penny grabbed the bottle of vodka waiting on the shoe rack and poured one for you and one for herself. You didn’t bother clinking the glasses.

Though the burn in your throat felt pleasant, it did nothing to sooth the burn in your eyes and heart. Penny’s embrace made it a bit better.

So did the third shot of vodka.

You didn’t switch on your phone that day again – and when it was nearing midnight, after a four-hour nap, you convinced Penny to go celebrate to the Freddy’s as you had originally planned to do. You pretended that no one stared at you and instead you danced and drank until your mind was swimming enough for the sorrow and anger to drown.

You were one lucky bitch to have Penny walk you home.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Steve was sitting at his desk at the faculty office he shared with Bucky and was working hard at what he excelled at for these past days despite his genuine efforts at not doing so; getting absolutely nothing done at all.

His hands had grown somewhat unsteady, a reflection of how he was feeling, how torn and absurdly broken he had become. He was spilling drinks on a regular basis, items kept falling from his flimsy hold. His brain felt foggy these days as well, most likely a consequence of the shitty sleep he was getting.

His bed felt too big despite his rather large frame and too cold despite his body temperature usually running almost too high; the sheets smelled strange and foreign despite being his own and the bed screamed with emptiness on a volume that kept interrupting his already deficient sleep.

Four days.

Four days since one stupid poem knocked his world out of its orbit and everything that mattered crashed down. Well, perhaps not everything, Steve happened to like his job too and he still had it, but such detail seemed insignificant; it certainly did in comparison to the fact that he had been attempting and had failed to reach you.

Calls.

Texts.

Few e-mails when he felt particularly helpless and frustrated.

His messed up sleeping and eating schedule and the irregularity that came with the exam period would make a perfect case of him losing any notion of time – yet Steve knew about every second without you, practically counting them.

He could still see Sam Wilson standing outside the classroom he had been testing students’ knowledge in as if it happened yesterday. He could recall with painfully stark clarity the unreadable expression on his face and the ominous “Steve, man… we need to talk.”

Steve still remembered Tony Stark waltzing in the next day with a baby in some sort of a front backpack, agitated that someone had gotten into the database, let alone to send all the hate-emails, and how he announced he found the culprit and their accomplices in an hour, which apparently happened to be too long to his liking.

Steve would smile at the memory of the technical genius’ antics, but the gaping hole in his chest caused by the deafening silence from you prevented it. Hell, not even the vivid picture of Carol Danvers from the faculty of law, moonlighting like a member of the legal department of the university, made the corners of his lips rise.

And hadn’t it been quite a show, a downright uplifting experience.

Steve was watching the screen with a frown, a stone-solid clench to his jaw and a firm clench to his fists.

It was almost amusing really; Bucky kept going about Fury being a creep and not a spy, but despite the lack of a one-way glass, the space Carol and the girl was in – just like two other rooms, each with one man – resembled an interrogation room. Steve never had been more grateful for audio and video feed in his life, but he sure as hell wasn’t laughing in delight at being proved right.

In fact, it had been taking all of his willpower not to burst into those rooms and give a piece of his mind to every single person guilty of being involved in hurting you. In causing his life to collapse on itself.

Steve couldn’t quite recall the brunet Carol was roasting, but he suspected he had seen her in one of the classes he was teaching. She didn’t stand out from the crowd of students and he didn’t see anything special about her worth remembering; then again, he tended to forget to take notice of other pretty faces ever since he had laid his eyes on yours.

And right now, all he saw was a face of a vicious bitch who forced you into pushing him away and a single look at her had his blood boiling.

Steve truly wanted to punch the living daylights of her and that said something, because he prided himself in having moral objection to hitting women, especially from sheer anger.

However, the desire was growing with each piece of information he learned. Because Yvonne Whatever-Is-Her-Name was a piece of work for fucking certain.

She talked a guy number one, whom she was attending Introduction to Social Studies 101 and who had a very apparent teenage-like crush on her, into reaching out to his friend, guy number two, whom he often played some online video game with, into hacking the database, sending the e-mails and finding out when and where exactly your exam was, just so Yvonne herself could redecorate the corridors and bathroom and make sure you wouldn’t miss her work of art.

Carol was alternating between visiting each of the ‘suspects’ and man, did they sing like birds.

Steve wanted to strangle them all, but fuck, the hatred for Yvonne Burton specifically was already consuming him and gnawing at his very soul; yes, he found out her last name just so he knew his mortal enemy. He was going to burn her to the ground, one way or the other… not that Carol hadn’t been doing a fine job so far.

That damn brunet had tears running down her face, sobbing occasionally, but still rarely sassing back. Somehow, seeing her like that wasn’t half as satisfying as Steve hoped, because his mind kept wandering to you and wondering if you looked about the same and every time such picture formed in his head, he hated Ms.Burton a fraction more.

She had used a guy who liked her, which Carol blatantly pointed out. The lawyer didn’t seem to hold back her own snark if the question about how the culprits met – via some forum for bruised ego, was it? – was anything to go by.

“I might be a lawyer, but I’m begging for every art professor and author I know – stay away from poetry. What you wrote is a child’s rhyme really, but like every writing, it says a lot about who you are. And it gives me a plenty of ammunition. We have two names, one full, one last name pointing out a specific person from the context. If I play my cards right, we have defamation on our hands, libel to be precise. Congratulation,” Carol remarked in a surprisingly calm voice. The other woman visibly paled. Good. “And what about the last line? Is that… is that a threat of violence? I can make it harassment, but if I try hard enough, perhaps we can consider it something more serious…?”

“You don’t get to threaten me! You’re lying! I’ve done nothing wrong and so serious!” the girl – and really, in Steve’s eyes, she was nothing but a stupid girl who somehow managed to kick his life in its balls – exploded, jumping to her feet.

Carol levelled her with a glare and an irritated hiss. “Sit down.” Burton did, clammy hands curled up in trembling fists. “And you’ve done more than enough.”

“You don’t understand!”

“Oh don’t I? Be my guest then. Explain it. Your motivation, the legal side, anything. I’m all ears.”

“I love him!” the girl exclaimed and Steve grinded his teeth as a surge of rage shooting through his veins.

Like fucking hell she did. He didn’t remember even talking to her if he ever had to start with and she loved him?!

Was that really what this was about? This girl somewhat liked him and got obsessed? Decided to wreck his girlfriend? To what end? To drive the two of you apart? To make you hate him so he would run to her? To simply ruin your future? What the fuck was wrong with her?! She was a damn kid with hurt pride and zero efforts put in so far, because he couldn’t even remember her-

“Oh you really don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t have done this,” Carol responded with a cold edge to her voice, apparently agreeing with Steve’s thoughts and being equally unimpressed with Ms.Burton dramatic confession.

“I’m fighting for him! Ain’t nothing wrong-”

Oh Steve would argue with that so hard. He could feel Sam watching him from the corner of his eye, but neither of them said anything as Steve gripped the edge of the table the monitors were on.

He was sure he was going to be sick, the edge of his vision doing something he only read about; as if truly turning red, crimson with hunger for blood. He never ever craved tearing someone in half, not a single one of the guys who bullied him in school, not the girls that laughed at him when he said he liked them; and make no mistake, he had always felt mad enough.

But right now, he tasted undiluted rage and it tasted like acid with a bitter aftertaste of iron and copper, searing hot on his tongue and spreading through his body, turning it heavy and nauseatingly light at the same time.

“No, you’re ruining his life,” Carol emphasized, leaning onto the table and glaring murder at the girl. “If this is your idea of fighting for someone, it’s pretty twisted. You could have done literally anything to make him notice you, hell, pick you, but leave if he still said no, because that’s a sensible thing to do. But instead, you hurt someone he cared about. And that means you hurt him too – not to mention that his name is in there, possibly putting a scrap on his reputation. If you did love him, you’d want him to be happy.”

Steve gulped and looked away, unable to bear the weight of Carol’s words, feeling the jab on his own person. Because he was familiar with being accused of ruining someone’s life and future despite seemingly loving them. God knew that on a rainy day, he wondered about his own ‘love’ and its purity too – and now, it was fucking pouring and Steve had been forced to question everything he knew.

Was this little brunet Satan a godsend in fact? Was she supposed to tell him to stop lying to himself about not being your doom? Just what kind of a mess this stunt would have made had you been working a steady job and this got to your employer?

A gentle hand reached for his shoulder, a silent support, and Steve found himself torn between irritated, grateful and deeply ashamed.

No matter how much he hated it, he should be on the list to get punched for hurting you too.

“So, sorry to break it to you, but you don’t love him,” Carol continued and with Sam’s palm on his shoulder, Steve forced himself to watch the scene, the grand finale. “You’re just a little girl with attitude issues, a crush that got out of hand, and a ton of luck for knowing a guy willing to help you. Guess what – you just ran out of that luck.”

Heavy silence fell on the interrogation room and Steve’s eyes slid shut, hearing Carol and Yvonne’s parting words.

“And just so you know, she didn’t get the highest score. She got a B.”

Steve didn’t even know that and despite all the shit they were in, he felt a surge of pride for his g- hopefully still his girl.

At the same time, the fact that he learned it from Carol and not from you as he still couldn’t reach you, felt like a punch to his solar plexus.

Carol entered the monitoring room with a discontent expression on her face, wordlessly telling Steve and Sam that the conversation, no matter how harsh, wasn’t satisfying enough.

Still, Steve glanced at her and nodded with severity.

“Thank you, Carol,” he rasped, surprised by how hoarse his own voice sounded; for the burn of rage in his stomach and the tension in his muscles, he almost forgot about the lump gradually growing in his throat with each hour of silence from you.

“My damn pleasure,” Carol huffed with slight irritation, one clearly not aimed at Steve. She subtly raised her eyebrows. “I kinda want to punch her, but I guess I’m not the only one, huh?”

Steve sighed and closed his eyes, his hands almost shaking with the said need. Still, it was surprisingly relieving to be called out on that and to learn that he wasn’t the only one. And when he opened his eyes again, the look on Carol’s face told him that she wasn’t blaming him one bit.

“You have no fucking idea, I- Jesus, I never wanted to—to-- so much in my life.“

The rise of one corner of her lips was sympathetic. “We’ll handle this, Steve. I know it’s hard to hear, but you can’t really help us here. Go home. Rest.”

The lump in Steve’s throat grew nearly suffocating at the idea of going to the empty apartment, where his uselessness became even more evident. Steve eyed Sam, searching with hope for any sign of a better advice, but the counsellor only nodded to second Carol’s thought.

“Go home and try to call your girl. She’ll pick up eventually.”

At that time Steve had done exactly that – however, the result had remained identical to those with his previous attempts. You hadn’t picked up and he had left a voicemail and a pathetic text that somehow seemed to be reflecting all of his insecurities and doubts about your relationship and it hadn’t turned out at all as he had planned – and then it had been too late to take it back.

He had sent another and another, almost hour after hour and he was gradually realizing that he was forgoing all hope and his faith in what you two had and what it could become in the future; and god, did he want the future so badly.

But he couldn’t always get what he wanted, could he? He thought that a miracle had happened when he had first met you and later heard your yes to the date. But here you were.

Four days from that terrible incident.

Did Steve even believe that you two were supposed to be together? He didn’t even know anymore. Perhaps it was an intervention from some higher power and you two breaking apart was meant to be, saving you a heartbreak and disillusions which were about to come later.

He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought and the sensation that felt like a punch to his gut, his insides cramping.

That was not true. You two loved each other. You had found something truly amazing in each other and you were about to reach out to him any minute so you could continue to your brighter future together.

…right?

Except a minute passed by and nothing happened, the phone Steve was toying with remaining silent.

No received text or e-mail.

No incoming call.

Another minute and then another ten, the phone still spinning in his hand in almost a reflex at that point and still not lighting up.

The knot in Steve’s gut turned tighter and tighter, the tension in his shoulders and jaw growing, his mantra of you surely contacting him gradually falling silent.

Finally, he came to the decision that only fools kept doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result.

He was supposed to do that a long long time ago, the moment he had convinced himself that coming knocking on your dorm could be considered harassment… and would break his heart in case you’d shut the door to his face telling him you were done with him.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Steve swept through his contacts and dialled your best friend and roommate in one person.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Part 2

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Thank you for reading!

Let me know what you thought! I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’ doing something with randomly timed shots to a series, so… you know. I’m a bit nervous. And I guess that this is very different from what this series was so far too, so I hope it’s okay. Thank you :-*

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autoirishlitdiscourses · 3 years

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Discourse of Monday, 28 June 2021

Twentyeight I was able to avoid treating your time off. 34: A cultural meta-narrative and is entirely understandable, but it is so very lucid and engaging. —I think that you make the switch function in GOLD you should do now, you email the professor and see whether you hit a snag that students should have emailed me to print and scan and email a new signature form?

Duchamp's interest in the context of the passage in question before lecture starts that day already. Let me know if you have more or less entirely for the quarter a very good job digging in to a specific claim about the way that doesn't mean that you inform people who grow up to 1. Again, I'm certainly sympathetic to how other people to talk about, and gave what was overall an excellent job! Perhaps most importantly, though, you currently have a wonderful human being. Doing this effectively if the maximum possible number of important concepts for the Self. She wrote a very good textual accuracy; impassioned sense of disappointment and ambiguity and of putting them next to each individual Irish person is is measured, the attraction of the recording and allow the group. You had a good set of ideas here, though. Me in his collection Illuminations. Feel better soon. Instead, make sure neither of you is the deal I will give you a good job digging in to the department requesting a room, were everywhere but operated independently and no one else at all by any means, essentially, is generally quite engaging. But you're a bright student and good luck in every single one of the text. My first, and that some of them into a set of close readings would help you to take whatever is appropriate for the midterm; is there. —Please discuss your paper topic is potentially a good quarter. Picking a selection from closing dialogue with Old Mahon 6 p. He is also doing a strong second. 2:30 you're likely to score better on assignments and exams than students who often come in. This document is an A paper is straining to say about what you should spend at least at the end. That is, knowing what your primary payoff is—and then map those letter grades is as follows: Up to/two percent/for/excellent delivery, and you related your discussion on Wednesday evenings and bring them for you.

Grade Is Calculated in Excruciating Detail: Prof. There are no cries of unfair! These are actually doing the assignment requirements, specialization requirements, specialization requirements, minor requirements, and your structure for the term. Mr Power's mild face and said so on the section meetings part of the novel. I say that, too, but it does good things to say and got a lot of ground to cover here would be to enhance your presentation. And Fishes; Clarinet and Bottle of Rum on a literary topic; you have any questions about how you want the rest of the other students were engaged, and what this means and how is the only student who missed the professor's English 150 Fall 2013 UCSB One-Acts Festival lots of good ideas mentioned in your reading more than you might take here would help you to open people up for discussion: Midterm review. I almost certainly build on existing scholarship, you must email me at least a short description of your project, to put everything you know, that particular speech out of that first draft and worked out for you, too, that it would help to have let it motivate other people have expressed interest in food-related parts of the poem he is to talk. You've written a better job with something happier.

What is my 11th quarter as a whole. You picked a wonderful book that will result in a substantially improper manner, and prejudicial or hate speech will not hurt your grade provided that everyone in section tomorrow night. It's OK to e-mail me and make sure that I have made any concessions to the 5 p. Let me know if you want to do is produce an audio or video recording of your paper topic that probably has plenty of room for crashers, and if you want a recording of your argument from lecture or section in advance when they want to talk about papers, too. I think that you've got a good job of getting people to speak, though, that there are any number of impressive ways, and religion, and it's certainly appropriate. I think that your thoughts is then used to be. Overview: Recall from my other section's turn to get through emails as quickly as possible. You Are Old discussion of the 19th century, particularly in such an exaggerated form as, say, Italian Futurism Giacomo Balla, for that week short version is that one way to help you to place at the top eight or so describing what you'll want to take an emergency phone call during section this week tomorrow! I did better. Actually, I feel that the quality of Molly's thoughts to come to my preferences and how they affect your grade they're just suggestions that might work as expected/, you should definitely be there on time or the student who answered eight in the How Your Grade Is Calculated document to 0. Could never like it passes differently when you're going to structure your weekend! Alternately, if your thoughts would pay off, not Patrick Kavanagh, I can see that, then this change to concepts of nationalist identities to have let it sit for a selection from the section, probably due to proofread effectively in the right to cut it off between 2: Last day to change as you can engage in a research paper, and making yourself do it, but not which presentation you'd done. If you give a more fluid, impassioned delivery of the concept and/or, perhaps, provided that you should talk more would be perfect, most of it. Hi! For next week. So, what do you see the world. Of course. You mention Beckett there is in this regard I promise. Pre-1971 British and Irish Currency Prior to 15 February 1971 Decimal Day in the traditional southern English May Day celebrations, and your presence in front of the poem's meaning for me to respond to alternate viewpoints will help to focus your paper; I think that you need to be able to get back to the satisfaction of natural desires but as it is probably unnecessary, because this is already an impressive move, because I realized that their behavior was not proofread quite as clear as I'd like to recite. Grading Rubric for Analytical Papers I expect or want you to punch through to an A-range paper. I think that there is at least, that's fine. What if that works better for those who want to make sure that you talk in detail than we can actually discuss during the night before your performance tomorrow! The short version for this, and I cannot die. 415 435 B 400 415 B-, and I think it's fair to the growing poet, as well as in life.

I'm so sorry to say I don't know how well you do well in this task are defining your key terms in your selection; changed hell to heaven to heaven to hell; changed or to post it to be over. I'll see you tomorrow night! This may be that sitting down and sketching out a printed copy of The Butcher Boy and your paper graded by the wall of the text that they want to say to each other think about the question will ultimately be: ultimately, I'd like you. Have a good performance even though she almost certainly won't hurt your grade, but leaves it as representative, and how does this in terms of the work you're reciting if I recall them in episodes 2 and 7, I can give an impassioned and fluid, and you touched on some important ways. I am not fishing, but societies themselves differ about what happens to Gertie around 8 p. There are a lot of ways; one is simply to wait until I'd spent the day on which Ulysses is quite a good job of thinking about identity in the How Your Grade Is Calculated in Excruciating Detail the John Synge Vocabulary Quiz from October 17, Pokornowski's midterm review session. 133.

You have a lot. Just let me know if you just ran out of an existentialist trope—which is an unlucky month for marriages may be just a little bit happier: if we're going to be making sure that I didn't anticipate at the beginning of the recording of the entire weekend as one of the nationalist debate 5 p. We will have to pick for you, we know what the textual selections won't be genuinely random. Just as impressively, your readings of The Stare's Nest; and c get at least one fundamental problem that keeps her alive up to you earlier but the most important would be most helpful at this point, having hung them on these issues, and you met them at you unless you have any questions: I think, are there not other ways to the connections between the selection. /Discussion grade? Let me know if you describe what needs to slow down and start writing in a way into a more analytically incisive paper. I will also negatively impact your paper most needs to be helpful to think about the relationship between the selection you made the largest contributions to the overall logical and narrative themes in a more natural-appearing and impassioned performance that was helpful rather than the paper to support that particular idea. 3:30 work for a long selection and have a chance to jump in, but I completely appreciate that. 4% a little hard to get at this point would be to examine Irish, what are our responsibilities to each other. One aspect of the text that will either open up topics by asking the other, he just shrugged instead of seven, IDs out of that first draft, letting it sit and then ask yourself what they wanted to say for sure. You are perfectly capable of tipping the scales in this paper. But I do not check my email during the quarter. The other students in the assignment into a Fish. Have a good way to do a good job this week! You managed time well and that your paper graded by Friday. I will be holding openings for you if you have unusual, and in terms of discussion in a close visual reading of Irish literature that you think about how to do as soon as you can point people to benefit from making your teaching practices visible I post every slideshow I develop, so although there's no overlap in your paper's structure. Overall, how effective is a list of the Western World?

Jolly old woman. However, you should definitely both be very different things by it. I disagree with you to reschedule—they will be none. Does that help? Don't lose heart while reading through, because the opportunity for Ulysses none of these are of equal or even any real need for me to boil down to thanking the previous group and you touched on some important material in here. All in all, I think that O'Casey's portrayal of home that resonates with you, and there are no meaningful contributions in a close-read. Because the textual juxtaposition that you've done a lot of things well here, and it's not you, plus a third of a bar with an urgent question the night before will incur a penalty to the professor offered to the major ones for the quarter, this is that it is necessary to call on you before the paper's overall point here is some meaningful reason why you're picking that particular speech out of the subject in section three was a wonderful break, too, that connecting Lucky's speech and demeanor is expected from everyone in class this quarter. You're welcome to disagree in whole or part with the class, but you still have a basically solid, overall, people who never ask naive questions never stop being naive. Hi! Section meetings part of the poem I was too harsh on some relatively minor points of analysis. Let me know if you want to talk in detail than we actually getting Gerty's thoughts which would be to have to get back to you. Many students who propose personal topics sometimes have a hard selection. Let me know if you have selected after your memorized part had ended was also helpful in any reasonable way, OK? Thanks for letting me know if you want to go, which words and ideas of others, please let me know if you have any questions arise sufficiently far in advance will help you here, but neither is that your situational and historical texts might support that negative value-judgments about sex before sleep, or that you would have liked generally lost points for discussion you're opening up and talking, fall 2013 at UC Santa Barbara. You did an excellent lecture/discussion as a whole you'd have is to start writing.

I have posted a copy of Ulysses that's sitting in a way consistent with the play has your selection on pp. 40: A traditional form of communication, electronic or otherwise just want the paper. Even if someone else, but I think, is already an impressive move. Again, very articulate and have so many ways basically fair to Yeats's text, so overall they haven't started the reading. All in all, though, you had a low C in the assignment. That all sounds good to me/. However, it was more lecture-oriented than it would help to change margin sizes: Everyone has received at least the first place; something similar could be. /Her ideas, and it's OK to e-mail off to be a tricky business, and what exactly is at stake. You picked a good job here in a close-read. I think is one way to focus on that performance, you should shoot for it to yourself while you're making both up is a minor inconvenience. Section Guidelines handout, there is no ceiling in my cubicle, doesn't have to score less than half a second-generation descent of emigrants who left Nigeria but who lives in Ireland and other visual arts as texts, how effective is he concerned with Irish nationalism, the course-related tasks in this regard are.

I myself am less than 18 points on the other; time and wind up wanting to present itself in some sort of productive ways to get this to be any thematic overlap in your selection specifically enough that they haven't started the old Tiddly Show to started these stories; changed answered to said on 1. Anyway, my response to divergent views and responded in a way that is minimally acceptable will result in automatic course failure because you are the specific feedback in response to the city, and will incur a heavy task: Judge Woolsey's decision that/Ulysses/11—it's just that I'm familiar with immediately suggests itself to me, and how it supports your main payoff—then restructure your paper reads more like an overview or a test is scheduled to perform these calculations! /Verb agreement errors when speaking, because that will make what I think personally that the conversation. Throwing the candy was a much cleaner text than the syllabus says they should have a really, any your grade, but want to talk about in section, as it often does not necessarily the order I will still be calculating your grade back, but this is what you have an A-would be a substantial deviation from the analytical depth and with sensitivity; written gracefully and in a strong job here, I think. You really have done some solid work here. That's very good job in this passage: If you are quite open-ended questions productively this is what your overall argument will be able to download the document How Your Grade Is Calculated in Excruciating Detail the John Synge Vocabulary Quiz from October 17, Pokornowski's midterm review session, Pre-1971 British and Irish Currency Prior to the first person to advise you on whether or not this lifts you to ten pages. I can just bring it to you. Is rather complex in the hope that they understand and appreciate any aspect of the country, though, that looking at large-scale themes to specific textual evidence, and has no effect one way to do evil. C 350 365 C-range grades, which has been fun to have seen in the maximum possible number of very open-ended rather than that, I think that there was a much longer paper. The Butcher Boy here. I think that there's a web page I can attest from personal experience it can be traced through your questions touches on. 5% on the specific feedback and a grade estimate, but you are responsible to the poem is very engaging, and that you should email me and I'm sorry for your section to advance an original line of your material, and your writing is so strong that it would have helped to remedy that problem. You picked a longer paper. 277 in the context of that is closely tied to the original.

9 and Godot that might have been underrepresented in the paper the clock and think about specific questions general questions by bridging toward them with short, but because excellent papers avoid presuppositions, specify exactly what you're doing, you should be on campus never quarter. Raw grade: You may also be a constant problem throughout the novel close-reading exercise of your suggestions are potentially productive ways to do is to provide the largest overall benefit to the decimalization of 1971.

In a lot of good things to say that I can reasonably fault you in section tonight. I guess what I'm expecting it's a microcosm of some aspects of the room, were engaged and engaging although I will not necessarily the order I will not grant extensions beyond the length limitation work productively will just mean that Yeats was talking about the stare, but you complement it with a good student and good choice. You've both been very successful paper. Keep an eye on a timekeeping device so you can reschedule you for a specific question: can you send me at least 84% on the web? Your third option is to talk about why these are very impressive moves. Here is what is off limits from those poets: Eavan Boland reading White Hawthorn in the literal sense of rhyme, too, about whether you hit a snag that students have jobs and sports and family emergencies and about nine billion other things differently. Section hits its average level of familiarity with the second, larger claim would distract you from the plan; remember you said it was more lecture-oriented than it already does. I agree with opinions that have been thinking about, say, I feel that you discovered that I have one of these as a whole, I will take this long to get back to you; I still crossed out the issues that you're all scheduled for the quarter by as much as it opens up an analytical lens, and Ocean's Bad Religion was a pretty good at picking up cues that tell me when large numbers of people who were born and raised and have marked it as a whole, and wanted additional feedback, I think, not writing a report that's an overview on a second time; missed four sections this quarter, and how you can make absolutely sure that there was a productive way to meet with you, provided that each absence is a mid-century American painter Willem de Kooning's Woman series is full of rather depictions that are informed by a group. Hi! Just let me know if you have a nuanced argument, including no substantial gaps while you were on track throughout your time and managed to respond to any particular essay format has to be more help.

Here, though: Some of Synge's play, that's perfectly fine: remember that this is partly a cultural difference in how people reacted to a secret resignation. For that reason, you can absolutely supplement it with a GPA of 3. Don't want to deal with the earliest part of being perfectly clear, despite the odd misstep here and there, too. Unless you manage to produce a paper less effective than it could be said about Gino Severini, another Italian futurist who frequently painted dancers, especially, of Godot, and I will not hurt you, then go ahead and changed I'd say that you explicitly look for cues that this may be that you have an idea of romance has or has not always an easy thing to remember to send your message as a thesis while you write eight full pages/, please let me know. Hi! Everything looks good to me as soon as possible you'll get that to give a strong knowledge of Irish/femininity/in vocally reproducing the/optional section Thanksgiving week. 5% which would have needed to—but being flexible may be that the other Godot groups for several reasons, I have to take. What your primary focus should be helpful in any way that mothers and motherhood are used as props tonight and will not hurt your grade, and it may not be on campus on Monday. This quarter, which has Calc, a Batman, a very strong delivery. Discussion notes for section attendance and participation. Really nice arrangement. Welcome to ask the College themselves, not a suggestion, not a full schedule this week. Your message got buried under a bunch of meetings early in your selection specifically enough that I was happier then. That Show Just How Bad Things Are For Young People via HuffPostBiz Welcome to the group as a rejection of traditional romantic norms rather than race, and try to force yourself to do with the Easter Rising, and modeling this for everyone. I had better news for you.

#Irish literature #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains

0 notes

neopuff · 7 years

Text

riverdale ep 1-3

these twins always make me >___>

oh yeah i knew jason was gonna die

this is very artsy

i thought he was murdered

tragedy

oh......a mom for veronica

what is a...chocolate shoppe? and why? does it sell? burgers?

is veronica the new kid

OH KEVIN

the gay kid gweiopubgoewgnew

the acting in this is terrible

the archie actor is clearly not a real ginger so i approve of this casting lmao

“to pass time i started composing poems in my head” shut up archie

archie: says anything betty: amazing!

lmao

betty: ive been thinking about us- archie: is that a hot bitch i see

“we do, both of us, together”

omg

GNOIWPEGWE BETTY’S FACE IS KILLING ME

awkward

oh....archies dad

thats not archies dad

archies dad got that fat gut

“im a sophomore’ BITCH NO UR NOT

SHES GOTTA BE LIKE 25 LMAAAOO whaaatt

im still dying theyre supposed to be 15 gwenpiubgewo;gwe

“gay, thank god, lets be best friends” im gonna piss and die

wow

love these pussycats

“ive had every flavor of boy except orange” its better that

waywiongubwepogn;wegew

ARCHIE AND GRUNDY IM DYING!!!!

IM GONNA FUCKINGGG DIIEEEE

GRUNDYINOGEW;EWL

im pissing im

DYING

shes the music teacher

why wouldnt they just make up a new teacherniogwepng;ew WHY IS SHE MS GRUNDY!!!

archies dad/veronicas mom have a....history

“chose the rich kid”

wow

so many divorced parents

outdoor cafeteria

when will i see a high school that has one of these forreal

i assume its a west coast or south us thing

kevin: refers to cheryl as a widow me: i called the JOKES

“is cheerleading still a thing?” “is being the gay best friend still a thing”

the dialogue in this show is terrible its so funny

im glad betty/ronnie is a good ship

grundy is all turned on by archies music

this is so gross and im DYING

“i dont think thats a good idea” cuz u fucked a 15 year old bitch

theyre not talking about the fucking

did cheryl murder her brother

why doesnt just one of them say it and not mention the other

bitch ur the only one who’d get in trouble ur an ADULT

that was so lackluster

wow

GNIWEUPGEW;OGWE

CHERYL’S FACEGNIEW;GEW

like yeah....not the kind of heat i meant :\

im glad cheryls the villain i always hated her

wow

veronica: i know who u are [has known her for 2 minutes]

this dialogue is so unnatural and bad its cracking me tf up

get WRECKED cheryl

veronica: betty and i come as a matching set

i bet u do

time for football

“what you got something better to do” dont be rude

awww

“why did you defend me” just accept the kindness u fool

man

i like mr lodge

this is very awkward

was polly a character in the comics i dont remember her

WOW

“both of us” gewinouogbewgew

im DYING

in the headspace

“archiekins” gweinouobgweo;ngew

wow

“cheryl blossoms cheerleading squad.......”

bettys mom is so annoying

she sounds familiar

mr lodge just sent a lotta money their way

why did the coach call his dad

he said hed give him a day

impatient ass

archies dad is just like :\

these actors dont look related at all

which is funny to me

oh good its the pill in ibiza song

omg

i love that veronica is the speech giver in this show

moose/kevin gwiuebogiwgew

where is REGGIE

my SON

wow

openly talking about the illegal secrets at a big party

i just realized reggie is the asian guy

i didnt hear his name and couldnt figure out who tf that was gweopiubgwe;ngwe

im a fool

whered ronnie go

dancing with the gay guy, god

“i have this fantasy of us as a power couple” who asks someone out like that

STOP STARING AT GRUNDY

this is super awkward

cheryl is gonna murder...everyone

they could just

chill

“cheryl blossom truly is...the antichrist” just all her a bitch like a normal person

“we’re not just friends we’re best friends” shut up archie

wOW

hes NEVER FELT for betty

if these two make out i s2g

once they kiss cheryls gonna open the door

foolish children

ronnie dont DO IT

foolish

sighs

boring

what how tf would she know they made out

did they not come out at exactly 7 minutes

ok but wheres betty

oh hey jughead

i like jugheads not-crown

now shes goin straight for love

“of course i love you” hes being so...obtuse

annoying

ok now its about not being good enough

sure

did they find jayjay

and look at that

he got shot in the head

probably by his sister

its obvious cheryl did it

im sure theyll switch it up like somehow it was secretly jughead

but it was cheryl

ok ep 2

fgewgw

why were they even fuckin at 6 am

cant believe they made moose gay

i forgot his gf’s name in the comicsniguwebgew

god

the actor that played jason was so uggo

GEWNIOG;EW SHARING A SHAKE WITH HIS TWIN SISTER!!!

maybe someone shot him for being so openly incestuous with his creepy sister

i know its like plagueing archie now but i feel like this should help him

“are you up?” “no” “youre killing your mother”

he went to grundys house

weird

and hes shirtless

“you could be expelled” “we could go to jail” NEITHER OF THOSE THINGS WOULD HAPPEN TO HIM!!!

pedophilia is not a two way street

bettys mom is...the worst

betty plz dont talk to your bitch mother about your life

i love archies eyebrows

i hope this is the end of archie/betty forever

wow

“sardonic humor”

bye jughead

is kevin not out to his dad

“the yellows for friendship” sure

veronica is so aggressively into this friendship

YAYYY

the otp stays together

wow

betty u are a fool

that is your future WIFE

hi mr weatherbee

cheryl is wearing a spider pin gewoinubgewlngkew

CHERYL

archie and mr weatherbee just gonna

make eyes

jughead: archie you KILLED him

fewijohuog

HE THINKS ARCHIE DID IT

no jughead i was just fucking the hot prof

jughead: ew

fewiougobewgno;ewlgew

kevin moose is your new bf

“fate throws us together” ok

wow

why is he rejecting moose

because hes in the closet???

hes clearly trying to come out cmon

everyones terrified of cheryl now so thats good

bettys mom

“i ship it” why

“moose has an official girlfriend...mitch” i feel like i heard this line wrong

oh, betty

dont cry sweetums

“im supposed to say yes” THE DIALOGUE

ronnie is trying so hard with these dramatic white ppl

really

they couldnt even keep weatherbee fat

is this channel afraid of fat ppl

wow

does this bitch just sit in her empty ass music room all day

is she not really even a teacher

DONT TALK ABOUT FEELINGS

YALL ARE GROSS!!!!

disgusting

bitch get a dog and leave teenagers alone

WOW

WOW LMAAAAOOOOOOOO

AAAAAAA

JUGHEAD: WHAT!! GROSS!!! WTF!!!

this is not high school cheerleading

one of the girls here actually looks like a high schooler

cheryl just called herself exoticgewiongewiogew; CUZ YOURE A GINGER? BITCH

i die

betty why

wOW

betty dont do this

cheryls a crazy ho

i know theyll make up by the end of the ep but still

“like we were meant to be best friends” gweniguebwg

2nd grade tutor

gewinogubwegw

“oh, little archie-” little archiewgn;klew I DIE

references are what i live for

i cant believe betty let cheryl into her house

wheres her mom to scream and chase her out

welp

there goes that

betty dont let her into ur HOME

whats betty doing

“BEFORE I KILL YOU” BETTY

terrible thing to say

are they not friends because archie stood him up

cougarngiewgew

SHES A PEDOPHILE

awkward

i guess bettys mom coulda killed jason

“sometimes a friend is better than a boyfriend” actually, always, not sometimes

oh reggies finally doin something

gonna keep up the reggie/jughead rivalry

FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT

“you wanna d the right thing” the way archie said that made it sound like he wants to fuck her and she doesnt want to

but whatever

so does jughead and bettys friendship not exist in this universe

nod like douches and mutually suppress our emotions

wow

this dialogue is still awful its so funny

i hope it never improves purely for my amusement

out door pep rally...

[dances]

fewiulgbew

AHH HONEY HONEY

YOU ARE MY

CAAAANDY GIIIIIIRL

good shit

cheryls having a Time

god the kid that plays jason is so uggo

bye cheryl

finally getting a genuine emotional response from her

were they gonna fake his death for attention but then he was actually dead

yayyy

make up

veronica is over here like “betty and i were destined to be friends” and betty is like “im sure we wont know each other in a week”

aww archie and jughead back 2gedda

does jughead know betty or not

wheres the jughead/betty brotp of my past

veronica and jughead: interact me: yes...

im glad that, unlike in the comics, archie is not dating both girls at once and then also every other girl he meets

where ya goin weatherbee

wha

A CHALKBOARD LOL

i doubt a school like this would have a chalkboard instead of a smartboard

did she do it

gasp

im sticking with my fake death for the attention theory

OK LAST EP

im enjoying this show

but i dont think i could take multiple Dramatic Teen Shows

how could cheryl be wearing that skirt in public school

“the plan was bananas”

jason just wanted.....to leave

thats fine

who got shot

gwneio;glkwe

in my neighborhood it wouldve just been the hunters

is archie gonna have a shiner for the rest of the show

is betty not poor as shit in this universe?

i shouldve guessed from her moms outfits

“a lois lane type like you” nice and ronnie can be clark kent

omg leave grundy alone so she can die in hell

wha

why didnt you just say that you were alone

dog

a date....

hes hot

good call, ronnie

CHUCK CLAYTON

“hes kind of a player” dont be racist, betty

he is hot as hell tho

awww “juggie”

finally jughead and betty are 2gedda

jughead you need shit for your college applications

oh right, dilton

what

“im not ten years old” but you are 15 which is not very different

so if chuck is in the show is nancy gonna be around too

ronnie/chuck is a good ship

“to OUR relationship” shut the fuck you youre a pedophile

wow

the sticky maple....

wow

chuck was cute

ronnie is gonna tear him apart

man

why does chuck have to be a dick!!! chuck was always a nice guy

fewionpgnew

betty: [COVERS FACE]

destroy him

PUNCH HIM

why is chuck a villain im bothered but also hes the worst destroy him

this terrible au version of chuck is terrible

“nothing is off the table...except for my body” weiugblewnkg

i love the pussycats

is this every other girl chuck did this to

its ethel

hi cheryl

go away

lmao

whose this kid

wow

ok jughead

dont steal his ice cream

dilton shot a gun gwoinegbpweo;nglwe

survivalist?!?! DILTON

IM DYING

HES A TECHNOLOGY OBSESSED NERD

why do the pussycats roll their eyes at josie

“a bnd with b&v”

did they find...ze book

so the football players dont even fuck the girls its just about getting a date and a selfie???

cheryl, doubting her brother

what

just take the book

why not...just take the book

powerful

bettys rly lucky her mom isnt violent

(for now)

she looks super awkward in that

omg

the sound of bettys lil demons in her head

“and a hot tub....”

this is such an awkward conversation

just imagining this with real 15 year olds is ridiculous

oh hey ronnie

chuck youre so fucking stupid

shes wearing a swimsuit and heels this is CLEARLY A TRAP

GWENOIGO;NEW

BETTY

black is not a good hair color

ronnie: im so turned on

GEWNIOG;EWG

SLAP!!!!

i just realized why archies dad is so familiar

he was on generator rex AND clone high

love it

part of me always liked archie/josie

15 is not late wtf

“slut shaming...its what they call it when sluts get shamed” wow

when does bettys mom get murdered

are they gonna burn him

betty

LMAO

shes fine shes just pissed

awww

dads gonna support u now

must be NICE

gweoniugbweo;gew bettys face when ronnie said she called chuck “jason” was so funny

are they gonna do some she went off her meDS OO---OOOHHHA AAAHHH TERRIBLE BEAST

#burn it

cheryl tryin to make up for ze past

i still hate her idc

omg when does grundy get murdered too im done with this pedophilia subplot

STAY AWAY

FROM THE CHILD!!!

-___-

dilton you fool

im happy juggie and betty are hanging out

dont mention ms grundys car

YOU

FOOL!!!!

im tired of this pedophile plz shoot her next

ok im all caught up

whens the next episode

#riverdale #carro watches riverdale

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