rpg genderqueer pc mechanic where you roll a dice to see how people perceive your gender. is that anything

okay it's been over a year and i keep saying i'm going to make a new post and it's too exhausting to even think about the whole thing so i keep pushing it-- here's the link to the old post if you want a more detailed thing i wrote back then.

anyway, a year ago, out of the blue, our apartment got raided by the police, they broke our front door, they broke a bunch of shit inside, they took a bunch of our stuff, they barely gave us answers or an explanation, they took my dad and made it seem like he would have to sign some stuff and answer some questions and come back, but it's been over a year (since june 2022) and he hasn't come back, and his case is still up in the air. they're barely working on it. they didn't pay for all the shit they broke, they haven't returned all the shit they took, we had to spend a lot of money on that, i had to take a loan to buy a new computer so i could keep working and studying, on top of spending even more money on basic needs for my dad in jail and lawyers, plus blood pressure and anxiety medications, plus he's old and he was scheduled an eye surgery that he obviously couldn't go to so he's like, practically blind in one eye now, also new clothes for him to wear there (there's a bunch of rules for that), honestly i already lost track of how many things we had to pay for. it's been incredibly stressful and it still is even now that we've gotten used to it. he's been detained for a year for something that they still don't even know if he did and the case is barely moving, i don't know if they're like... i don't know, waiting for the man to die in there since he's already old so they don't have to admit they don't have enough proof for all the mess they made? i don't know. like i said back then, please don't ask me for details on the case or show up in my inbox trying to play tiktok true crime and guess what he did/didn't do. it happened a few times and it's extremely triggering, please don't. please.

this blog is basically my job. it's my primary source of income, i don't have anything else, no matter how many interviews i go to, in the country/city i live and in the state our economy is, if you don't have contacts it's impossible to get a job. i'm always signing up to free programs to learn new things while i don't have a job, try to make my cv bigger, but it doesn't matter. if you don't have someone saying “please hire my friend/family member” or you don't have 500 years of experience, they won't. so like i said, donations people make to this blog are how me and my mom (and my pets) stay afloat. it's what we use to pay for food, general groceries, transportation, electricity, wifi, water, gas, health insurance, stuff for my dad in jail, meds for my mom who has diabetes, food and meds for my pets. i don't go out much, i haven't gotten a haircut in a year, i barely spend money in anything that makes me happy except once in a blue moon when i stop feeling guilty lmao i had a redbubble account also that helped a little too, but last week it got suspended without an explanation as i was uploading new designs, so i don't even have that now. i made a new account on teepublic, but all my designs in high quality are locked behind redbubble and i can't even log into because of the suspension. it's... complicated, and it's a lot, but it is what it is.

i'm always keeping an eye out on new collections, new designers, new cool things. like i said, i love fashion, i studied fashion, and i know a lot of you use this blog as inspiration whether it's for yourselves or for your art, so i don't want to post all similar stuff all the time, i want to post all kinds of styles and brands as much as i can. which is why when i say if you like this blog, if you want to support me, sending even the smallest amount of money helps me keep going. living in latin america, the exchange rate is kind of insane, so truly any amount of money donated helps. unfortunately, i never stop needing money to survive and help keep my family afloat, but in the past year more than ever.

as usual, my kofi link is this one: https://ko-fi.com/fashionrunways and my (new) teepublic link is this one: https://www.teepublic.com/user/dinah-lance. if my redbubble account gets reinstated, i'll add that link eventually too. and as always, thanks for loving this blog and for loving fashion like i love fashion, even when i post crazy looking stuff, and thanks for helping. you have no idea how much your support helps, but it really does, i don't even know if i'd be alive right now if it wasn't for this blog.

Bad Reputation – Chapter 1

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Series Summary: In a world full of careless supes, powerful people, and corruption on all levels, Y/N’s the typical millennial, trying to make the world a better place one good deed at a time. As a civil rights lawyer in New York City, justice, kindness, and selflessness are her motto. Her patience is tested, however, when none other than America’s ass himself shows up on her doorstep and needs help.

Warnings: +18, strong language (please mind the fandom), angst + crack = crangst, violence & a few death threats, a budding forceful friendship?

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: I, uh... words... Okay. How to describe this? Maybe “opposites attract” meets “gun-point friendship to lovers”? This is still in the early days of writing, but I wanted to share this first chapter with you guys as a thank you since I’ve reached 500 followers yesterday and y’all know I can’t do one-shots or keep things short 😂 I appreciate every single one of you so much and I hope you enjoy this little series. It was a lot of fun to write and to play around with a new character (even one we don’t know much about & I wrote this after 3x04). Enjoy, loves! And no, for once this wasn’t inspired by T. Swift but by the Joan Jett song 🤘

Say a big thank you to my sweet @eevvvaa​ for encouraging me to post this months sooner than I normally would have 😉🖤

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“And we’re done,” the EMT smiles kindly as she removes the needle from Y/N’s arm and carefully places a band-aid over the small puncture wound.

Y/N rolls down the sleeve of her hoodie and rises from the metal examination table, gathering the rest of her belongings. “Thanks, Amy. Have a good night.”

“Don’t forget: plenty of fluids and eat something. I don’t want you to faint again,” Amy reminds her with her infamous concerned brow as Y/N hops out of the back of the ambulance.

“Don’t worry. I have a box of macaroni and cheese waiting for me,” she grins in response, but honestly, it’s nothing to get jealous over. It tastes like the most generic shit ever and nothing like her grandma used to make it.

It’s Wednesday and almost midnight when she strolls home below 14th street into the Village. Street lamps and neon signs guide her way home, tourists and locals crossing paths on sidewalks. New York City is never quiet, especially after midnight, and especially with Vought HQ and all its superheroes nestled right in the heart of the city.

Every Wednesday, she donates blood after work. Hospitals are in dire need of it, not surprising with all the destruction around caused by reckless and careless supes – not that legal action could ever be pursued. She knows. Every second client of hers has been damaged or violated by a so-called hero, but barely a handful of them ever get any compensation for it.

Y/N’s not a superhero and never wanted to be one, even if Mother Theresa paid her a million bucks. Maybe that sort of power would only corrupt her like it seems to do with everybody else, you know?

In other words, Y/N’s simply a woman with a kind heart and a giving spirit. She grew up in suburban Connecticut with two warm-hearted parents and an admirable older brother. She doesn’t live lavishly, only buying what’s necessary and donating the rest. She’s still occupying the same apartment she’s lived in since she attended NYU. It’s a crappy place, hasn’t been renovated since the 80s, but she all too happily still calls it home. The world has become a sinister place ever since greed and corruption took over, but she’s far from willing to give up. If she can better the lives of a handful of people, that’s enough for her. So, she spends every ounce of her free time helping others. She helps organize protests, tutors kids for free at the local youth center, volunteers at homeless and animal shelters, and stops by the retirement home as often as she can to play bingo with old vets.

Y/N doesn’t care that there aren’t any days left for herself anymore. Her self-care is giving time to others. It makes her happy to make them happy, believing kindness is still the greatest superpower of all and time the most valuable gift.

With almost scientific accuracy, she pushes her various keys into all four locks before kicking the badly oiled door to her apartment open and closing it behind her, the rustling of a chain and four locks following. She’s already been mugged five times since her move to the city. No superhero ever came to help, which was probably for the best, considering the building would’ve most likely been leveled.

You’d think she’s kidding, but she’s not. Just during her lunch break, a building in Midtown was demolished to the ground with nineteen people left dead by some airhead supe. Honestly, she’d move, but these idiots have been scattered all over the country by fucking Vought. It’s like an alien race has ceased the planet and declared itself the new rulers of Earth. Everyone else is presented with two options: obey or die, and even if you play along, the chances of being blown into oblivion are still high.

Y/N grabs the pack of Queen Maeve’s Macaroni and Cheese from the pantry and turns on the stove, carelessly dropping the gross contents into a pot. Everything’s branded these days, and it’s even hard to purchase something that’s not decorated with one of those fuckers’ faces. Honestly, they might as well go ahead and burn that shit into her skin. It really doesn’t matter anymore.

While the yellow paste is cooking itself to completion, her mom calls like she usually does when Y/N gets home from work, even stays up late to check in, and always whispers through the speaker so as not to wake her snoring father next to her in the bed. Her mother constantly worries about her, wishes she’d only move back where it’s “safer,” but Y/N knows safe places don’t really exist anymore. Have they truly ever? To her, it seems like they’re a mere illusion people hold onto to sleep better at night.

Suddenly, some continuous thundering pounds on the front door rattle her, and she jolts up, almost dropping the phone in her hands into the pot. The pounding is so goddamn loud and heavy that the whole wall shakes and the thin wooden door comes close to giving in and crashing down.

A few seconds pass before she’s unlocked the door again, phone neatly tucked between her ear and shoulder as she pries the door open, the chain still providing her some necessary safety.

Her brow furrows, head tilting to the side, and her eyes wander up the tall, bulky frame of the stranger on her doorstep. He breathes heavily, stares angrily, and looks…

“Uh, Mom, I gotta hang up. There’s a homeless guy at my door,” Y/N says and mindlessly ends the call, her mother’s “call the cops, honey,” only a faint sound in the distance.

She’s not gonna lie: the dude in front of her looks rough. Long, untamed hair and an even more untamed beard almost entirely hide his green eyes and the freckles on his skin, dirty and ripped clothes (sweats no less) clad his muscular body, and his smell direly suggests a need for a shower. Either way, he seems to be in his thirties and definitely gives off serial killer vibes.

“Can I-, can I help you, sir?”

Look, if the guy needs a shower, some food, and fresh clothes, she’s not gonna turn him away. Everybody needs a little help sometimes or the kindness of a stranger. She’s still got some old attire from her brother lying around that she was going to donate anyway. She probably should call her upstairs neighbor Eddie, though, before she lets the man inside. Although, by the looks of it, the guy seems like he could probably take out both her and Eddie easily at once. Nevertheless, some extra protection never hurts, right?

However, before she can lift her phone to her ear again, the guy’s fingers curl firmly around the rusty metal chain. He yanks it off its hinges, screws propelling to the floor, and violently pushes the door open. The sudden force makes her stumble backward, and before she can utter a single word or catch her balance, he bursts into her apartment.

Her breath hitches as she watches his chest furiously heave and his nostrils flare. “Wait… what are you doing? You can’t just-,” she splutters, the rest of her sentence cut off by his hand around her throat.

He’s quick, too quick to even see him move when he pushes her harshly against the door, his fingers squeezing into her flesh and tightening her airway as her feet lift off the creaking floorboards.

“Can’t do what?” he growls through clenched teeth, a certain cockiness gleaming in his eyes. She’s scared shitless and can tell that little detail only amuses him.

His strength is unnatural and the arrogance on point, so she doesn’t have to think long and hard about who she’s up against. “You’re one of them... Supe…What do you want from me?” Each word pushes out with an exhaustive breath, making her wonder how many she’s got left, the harsh grip on her throat seemingly unwavering.

Quietly and mostly reserved, he stares at her, studies her, as eternal seconds tick away on the clock. She squeezes her eyes shut, a part of her already accepting her fate and repeating the death statistics in her mind. Dying by supe is almost as likely as a heart attack nowadays. She guesses for her it’ll be the former.

But then, absolutely nothing happens. In fact, his grasp even loosens slightly, and as she dares to open one eyelid again, she finds him gazing at her display of family photos on the little side table next to the door. Then he abruptly drops her, her ass rather painfully hitting the ground. She rubs the sore skin on her throat and coughs until her lungs finally refill with enough oxygen at her first deep inhale.

Her eyes then find the supe as he paces curiously through her living room. He stops in front of the window and gazes through the yellowing blinds, pushing them apart with two digits. “You know, this used to be my place. Got it back in the late 70s… off the books. Warhol recommended it to me. He brought the sluts from Studio54 here and fucked ‘em upstairs,” he chuckles over his shoulder and throws her an expectant look like she’s supposed to be impressed by his little history lesson.

Who the fuck is this guy?

“What a… sweet story,” she clears her throat and smiles at him, but she’s sure it looks awkwardly uncomfortable as she slowly gets back onto her feet, her back pressing against the door. Man, she wishes she could disappear right through it. “Look, I get being sentimental, but I don’t care that you’re a supe. I’ll call the cops if you don’t fuck off.”

What follows next can only be described as a death stare before the creases around his eyes soften and his whole body starts to erupt into shakes.

Oh shit… he’s fucking laughing at her. That’s not a good sign.

His laugh is loud and booming as it bounces off the walls. He rubs the tears out of his eyes, still chuckling when he strolls her way. “Gotta admit, I haven’t laughed like that in… well, hell, probably forty years.”

“Gnarly,” she grits sarcastically, and yet her heart is wildly hammering against her ribcage, the sound ringing in her ears like a shrill alarm bell. Maybe it’s the coronary that gets her, after all.

His mouth opens, ready to retort something or swerve into another story, but then he closes it, his eyes flickering to the TV screen as the late-night news report rolls footage of today’s explosion.

And then, she’s certain the heart attack wins because she surely can’t feel hers beating anymore.

Holy fucking shit Christ… She’s fucked, isn’t she?

“That was you, wasn’t it?” Same sweats, Y/N. Why are you even asking? “You killed nineteen people,” she whispers, and it comes out almost incredulously, like the number can’t be real and representatively standing in her living room right now. It’s too fucking surreal.

His head snaps to her, each heavy step towards her pushing his full weight onto the old, wooden floorboards. His eyes are dark, empty, and nefarious, his body threateningly towering over her small frame like the Berlin Wall. She’d love to cower in front of him, but she’s even too frozen for that. “You want to be number twenty, darling?” His hand reaches out, knuckles lifting her chin to meet his gaze. She shivers in fear and flinches away. He smirks and drops his hand to his side. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I have no intention of hurting a pretty girl like yourself, okay? Now, all you need to do to make me keep that promise is to shut that fucking mouth and stay outta my way. If you don’t, I might have to crush your skull. Understood?”

She nods with a thick swallow, her mind racing a mile a minute before her brain flatlines altogether.

“Good,” he smiles and ambles to the couch, planting himself in front of the TV. She’s frozen in place, can’t move a limb or a goddamn pinky. She’s not sure she’s even allowed to breathe at this point. All she hears and feels are her thudding heartbeat in her ears and the fear coursing through her veins.

He glances at her from his periphery, rather annoyed, and sighs, “Look, after a goodnight’s sleep to clear my fucking head, I’m gone again and you can return to your pathetic, little life, alright? I just need… a safe place, okay?” He shifts a bit on the couch and looks at her fully now.

“O-Okay,” is her response, not quite believing that word left her mouth. But for a blink of a literal eye, there was a softness flashing across his pupils. “You-, uh, are you hungry? I can order pizza.”

Jesus fucking Christ, is she losing her mind?

He seems to be as baffled by her question as she is. “Aren’t you cooking dinner right now?” He gestures to the pot on the stove.

She grimaces and shakes her head, “Trust me, you don’t wanna eat that.”

“You just found out I killed nineteen people. Do you really care what I eat?”

Well, he’s got her there. She really just wants him to leave her apartment again, but she supposes that won’t happen anytime soon, judging how his ass is firmly planted on her fucking couch. But now, she’s stirred her own appetite for pizza and craves some comfort food on top of it all. The last fifteen minutes have been incredibly stressful, and she’s donated a lot of blood tonight and feels dizzy under the circumstances.

“Okay, let me ask you this,” he interrupts her train of thought when several seconds pass without a response from her, “Are you just offering pizza so you can leave and get help?”

She shakes her head, lips slightly pursed. “No, uh, I was gonna DoorDash it.”

His brow knits, and when she pulls out her phone to show him what she intends to do, he suddenly jumps up from the couch and snatches the device from her hands, almost crushing it in his fist. “Whoa! What weapon is that?”

Confused, she arches an eyebrow at him, “Weapon?” Seriously, who the hell is this guy? He looks way too young to have partied here in the 70s and everything about him seems a little odd and out of place. “That’s a phone,” she points out.

He scoffs, the angry wrinkles on his brow reappearing, “How stupid do you think I am?”

“You want me to answer that honestly?” she snorts and then chokes the laugh when his glare only intensifies. “Look, I promise it’s just a phone, okay? Everyone’s got ‘em. Nothing special about it,” she assures him, and to her surprise, he seems to believe her, his shoulders slumping a little.

“It doesn’t have any buttons,” he grunts and squints his eyes at the device in his large hands.

“Yeah, it’s a touch screen,” she shrugs and observes his lips curl into a pout. God, he almost resembles her grandpa when she gave him a tablet for Christmas. “Can I have it back to order, or do you wanna do it?”

A moment passes between them as he seems to contemplate his options before shooting her a reluctant glance and handing her the phone back. “Nah, I’m sure you can handle it, sweetheart,” he smacks her ass with a smirk and coolly proceeds to saunter to the TV as if he hadn’t just touched her inappropriately.

“Sure,” she replies somewhat bitterly. Any other guy would have already received a lecture and a sprained wrist from her, but she figures an ass grab is not really worth dying over.

While she opens the app and places an order, she watches him as he inspects her TV, his head poking behind the flatscreen. The app announces the pizzas will be delivered in twenty minutes, and as she glances up at the superhero in her living room again, he has moved on to her laptop now. He picks it up, weighs it in his hands before opening it up sideways like a book. All in all, he seems lost and, frankly, slightly panicked.

Yeah… she should ask questions, right?

“Uh, just-…” Upon her utterance, he puts the computer back down on her desk and blinks at her expectantly. “Are you… alright? Like, in the head?”

His eyebrows draw tightly together, and then he rolls his eyes and licks his lips. “What do you mean?”

She twitches her shoulders, hoping she won’t say something stupid that’s going to get her killed. “I, uh, I just mean… maybe you have amnesia or something. Maybe a concussion? Did something happen to you? You remember anyone hitting you over the head?”

“Why are you asking?” he snaps a little impatiently.

“It’s just… the phone, the TV, the computer-”

His eyes widen almost comically as he thumbs back over his shoulder to her desk, “That’s a computer?”

“Yeah, see, kinda the point I was trying to make,” she nods. “No offense, but you seem like someone who’s stuck in another decade. And honestly, you look way too young to have already been alive and partying here in the 70s. Are you one of those supes that doesn’t age? Did you take on someone else’s identity, like a, uh, a mind switch? Or is your superpower time traveling and a wormhole scrambled your brain?”

“Look, I-…,” he scratches the nape of his neck and purses his lips. “Something like that. You don’t need to know the exact details, okay?”

The doorbell interrupts their talk, and she quickly rushes to accept the food. For a second, she thinks about dashing out that door and calling for help, but she doesn’t want to get the delivery guy killed with her. She puts the two boxes on the coffee table, the supe instantly plopping down on the couch and grabbing himself a slice. The way he hums in delight around the melted cheese and crust makes her think it’s been a while since he had a decent meal.

“Uhm, if you want, you can use the shower. I have some fresh clothes that should fit you, too,” she offers him and softly clears her throat to catch his attention. “Nothing fancy. Just some old ones from my brother.”

“Thanks,” he states gruffly and then continues to eat and watch TV.

She cleans up the kitchen a little, removes the vomit-looking food from the pot, and mostly stays out of the superhero’s way. After he’s done with his pizza, he wordlessly locks himself in the bathroom while she tells him a fresh set of clothes is already lying on the hamper. He showers for approximately fourteen minutes before she hears him cursing when the water finally runs cold. She’s turned the TV off in the meantime and prepared the pull-out couch for the night, only the dim and flickering kitchen light remaining to illuminate the apartment. The door to the bathroom then opens, steam flowing through the crack as her eyes slowly wander up his frame.

Admittedly, he looks a lot better once he’s cleaned himself up, her brother’s old Giants jersey and sweats fitting him like a glove. The hair and beard still remain a wild mess, and even the supe seems to think so as he rubs his chin rather uncomfortably and then looks up at her.

“Oh, uh, I can get you a razor tomorrow,” she tells him. He nods silently, and yet, she can detect a little gratefulness gleaming in his green orbs. Still, she reminds herself he murdered nineteen people and only threatened her an hour ago. As she dries the last plate over the sink, however, he walks to the fridge and grabs himself a beer, examining the label closely before popping the bottle open and gulping it down.

“I’m Ben,” he suddenly says, and her eyes almost spring wide open because she’s so surprised by the information he decides to share. A small part of her already bet on that he’d likely kill her in her sleep tonight.

“Wow, uhm, no stupid superhero name?” she questions, bites her bottom lip instantly, and honestly doesn’t understand why she keeps engaging him. She should count her blessings that she’s still breathing at all.

“I think it’s best if you don’t know that either, darling,” he replies and then stares at her intensely before she realizes he’s waiting to hear her name.

“Oh, uh, Y/N,” she swallows and then abruptly backs out of the kitchen. She doesn’t exactly know why, but his presence is making her feel fairly uncomfortable – and not just because of the killer look in his pine green eyes. “Uhm, I’m gonna go to sleep. I left a pillow and blanket on the couch for you. I’ll take the bed since I pay rent and you better not crawl into mine while I’m asleep. Got it?” she tells him in a sharp tone, wondering where the fuck that courage is coming from and immediately feeling like she’s going to pass out.

He bobs his head, tongue licking over his plump lips as he guides the beer bottle away from them. There’s slight amusement detectable in the corners of his mouth. “Alright… But you’re aware I could easily kill you and just take the bed, yeah?”

To his bewilderment, though, she plainly shrugs her shoulders and bravely meets his gaze, “Honestly? At this point you’d be doing me a favor.”

When he only nods and nurses his beer in silence, she finally escapes into her bedroom and closes the door firmly behind her, locking it for good measure, although she knows that won’t do shit to keep out a supe if he ever changes his mind about her living status during the night.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. How is she supposed to get outta this one alive?

Chapter 2

Please do let me know if you want more of this! I’m a little goofing around with this series and having fun. It’s got a bit of everything in it and if you know my writing and my humor by now, you probably can guess what this series will be like 😝 Don’t worry, tho – there’s no excessive slow burn, but as you can tell reader needs a little time to adjust to her hostage situation 🙈

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Photo from the Facebook group This Cat is G R O M P Y

Below the cut is the text from the announcement by his carer Ash Houghton:

"Hey Spudbuds,

I’m honestly not sure how to start this post, but here it goes.

Today, our tiny spud, passed away suddenly in my hands. His energy had been slowly decreasing over the last week or so, and we were hoping it was an illness that antibiotics could treat. He also started showing signs of pneumonia a few days ago, and I had started pneumonia protocol with meds and a nebulizer.

I brought up the possibility of a heart condition with our vet, but Tater Tot was too small to have any tests run on him yet. With how sudden his passing was today, I truly think he had an enlarged heart and it just couldn’t keep up with him. One moment he was walking around and the next he was gone.

This tiny little potato has had such a profound impact on my heart, and I am so unbelievably happy I got to share him with the entire world. What started as me sharing some photos of the goofy new foster I had turned into an entire community focused on kindness, humor and compassion. I am astounded at the reach Tater Tot’s story had, and I cannot express to you just how incredible it has been to see how he has impacted the world.

I hope that his resilience during his short time here continues to inspire people. He was dealt a really tough hand with multiple health concerns, but he didn’t let that slow him down. He showed us that even if we have some struggles, there is always something to fight toward.

I want to thank every person here who has been in his corner cheering him on. It has been so beautiful to watch millions of people around the world unite over the life of one small little creature.

Working in rescue is hard. We put so much love, care, literal blood, sweat and tears into trying to save as many animals as we can - sometimes they just don’t make it, and it is devastating. My heart is shattered. This tiny tot was such a joy to care for, even on the days it was hard as hell. Tube feeding a kitten every day for 6 and a half weeks is no easy task, and I definitely bonded with this guy in a way I’ve never bonded with a foster before. He has left his paw prints on my heart, and I hope he left some tiny paw prints on yours.

I am not shutting down this page even though our little grompy potato has crossed the rainbow bridge. His life has helped bring to light the difficulties of working not only in rescue, but caring for animals with disabilities. I want his memory to live on in the stories of other creatures who are built just a little different from others.

In closing, I would love it if all of the Spudbuds could make a donation to their local shelter in Tater Tot’s honor. Please help his life continue to impact other animals in the world.

Thank you for being a part of Tater Tot’s journey, and for having such a profound impact on me and our rescue. We never anticipated we would build a whole community, but my goodness, I am glad we did.

I will be taking a few days offline. This one really hurt. Tagging admins to watch this post so I can be disconnected for a bit to grieve.

Lots of love to you all,

Mama Bonker"

**CURRENTLY ON HIATUS**

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Hi! I mostly write fanfic and reblog Marauders related posts here.

I adore Starchaser (Jegulus/Sunseeker)! ❤️💚 I also love bartylus. I read most ships, actually, but those are my faves right now (i contain multitudes).

Regulus is trans to me! 🏳️‍⚧️

Since this is a sideblog, likes and follows are from my personal blog, orion-sbelt.

I will not follow you back if you are under 18, or don't have your age in your bio/I can't tell that you're over 18, or your blog is blank.

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DISCLAIMER

I haven’t read the Harry Potter books in years at this point. I do watch the movies from time to time. I am aware of all the issues in the canon, including the racism, antisemitism, fatphobia, sexism, and homophobia (and more 😬). I am very critical with the original material when I engage in it. I do not financially support Joanne in any way.

I do think critically about what it means to be in this fandom. I do my best to minimize any further harm. I do speak out against Joanne and the issues in the Harry Potter books.

I know the criticisms about being in this fandom and I still choose to be here, and I’m the one who has to deal with what that means.

My Fics (under cut)

Headache (starchaser, trans regulus, AU - royalty/arranged marriage, Explicit, WIP)

Prince Regulus Black always knew a few things about marriage: he wouldn’t get to choose his partner, he would marry a man (because his parents would never see him as a man), and that it would be loveless. His new husband, James Potter, can try to change Regulus’s mind about that last one, but he won’t. He doesn’t care that James is kind and patient and very attractive. No, love is not in the cards for Regulus. A story about learning to love and learning to be loved.

James, the Sun (starchaser, background wolfstar and marylily, trans regulus, AU, Mature, 23.9k)

James has been struggling with feeling like he’s too much ever since he and Lily divorced. He’s trying to balance fatherhood, his newly found bachelorhood, and the fact that Sirius keeps disappearing for weeks trying to find his long lost brother, Regulus. When Regulus comes back into Sirius’ life things get even more complicated. OR James is the sun and Regulus tries not to burn.

fool for you (starchaser, Band AU, Mature, 6.5k)

Hard rock lead singer Regulus Black is possibly in love with his brother’s best friend, James Potter (okay, he definitely is). He gets inspired to write a sappy love song and it leaves his fans wondering: who’s got Regulus so soft?

say "don't go" (starchaser, AU, Mature, 1.4k)

i would stay forever if you say, “don’t go.” Lately, things have been rocky for James and Regulus, but all James needs to hear are two simple words.

Hard Days (starchaser, trans regulus, AU, Teen, 1.1k)

Regulus wakes up with body dysphoria and seeks out his boyfriend, James.'

The Best Boyfriend (starchaser, trans regulus (mentioned), AU, Teen, 1.5k)

Regulus has the best boyfriend. Even if he makes him worry sometimes.

My Blood (Regulus & Sirius, Canon Compliant, Mature, 3k, Major Character Death)

Sirius came back home for Regulus. Sirius protected Regulus the best he could, until the end.

(6am/Prime Girl back to the super random chaos again haha) B A B E I serously caNNOT - I read your post about some AUs you’d like to get to and?? The Civillian CEO one literally spoke to my SOUL???? I’m just picturing Tim, fully aware of the Batfam’s identities (because he may have followed in his parents’ footsteps, but that didn’t stop him from his hobby when they were gone) starting to deal with some of this corruption, and then Dick and Jason are s o enraptured by Tim. Because this isn’t a Tim that is docile or subtle about anything.

As a CEO, Tim loses none of his sass or cleverness. When he sets his sights on someone, he does not hold back.

And his tech and detective skills would totally come into play, of course - after all, so much to dig up, so little time. (And those computer classes he took in Highschool and college? Absolutely paying off)

And Lucius would obviously stay with WE, but I can imagine Tam meeting Tim, this young, vigilant and untarnished CEO with so much to do and so many expectations, and rolling into the fray.

Tim, having grown up in these environments, knows how to wear his masks, to smile as he snatches information from tipsy gala-goers, to draw plans out of the elite of Gotham like it’s child’s play.

So maybe Dick and Jason see him at a gala one day. They’d known about him before, of course - but Tim Drake only became CEO about a month ago, so they were expecting the idealism to die sooner than later (like it does with most Gothamites)

However, they watch as he works the crowd, smile glinting in a way that verges on too-sweet and p, laughing as a mogul talks of some sort of Organisation they’ve set up involving the homeless, and -

The man is in prison the following week, charged with many counts of trafficking, and he’d miraculously ended up in a court that couldn’t be bribed -

Oh, yes, now they’re interested.

Anyways, so Tim starts running into Bruce’s wards a little more, of course. They try to be subtle about it, but Tim is very well aware of them and knows that he’s either being investigated or he’s some weird form of civilian city-cleanup entertainment (and wow, maybe he was flattering himself)

But they start wooing bit by bit, and our boys have maybe one combined subtle bone in their bodies, and Tim, here, has had so much practice with people that he realizes very quickly what their intentions are.

Instead of confronting them, though, which may lead to questions and turn them off from him (because they only wanted sweet but fierce normal CEO Tim - there’s no way they would want him as he is -) he decides that ‘hey, isn’t this an opportunity?’ And begins to help himself to their help.

Maybe it’s a file on some shady business dealer he’s left out ‘accidentally’ when they come over for coffee, or maybe it’s a hint here or there about a drug circulating on the down-low to a very specific group of people, or even notes on a cop he’d noticed a discrepancy with.

Dick and Jason are always so interested, after all, and Nightwing and Redhood are always so willing to help out a plain, ordinary CEO with his worries.

Everything could come to a head one day, however, when Tim might slip up somewhere due to lack of sleep and get caught in something. With little other choice he might call Dick or Jason and ask for help, and, well?

Wouldn’t they just find their little civilian detective so much more interesting?

(*coughcough* ANYWAYS - I hope you’re doing well!! Love love you and all your works, fren! I really hope I haven’t overstepped any bounds with this short thing inspired by your au, but I honestly just love your writing and this concept!! Many many hugs to you and kiddo!<333)

Prime Girl babe!

I was so happy when I saw your message in my fucking inbox and then, then, you bring this to my table? This buffet of clever, sassy, civilian Tim getting all kind of comfortable with hot vigilantes because he absolutely takes no shit when it comes to corporate bribery and corruption, is one of those CEOs that pretty much refuses a pay raise and puts it back into the company, that pushes for more than the standard 2% for his hard working employees, that makes sure they're donating to the right causes in Gotham, demands to see change whenever they support a cause? (The only reason the skate park keeps getting rebuilt after any number of shitty bad guys blows it up is because Tim can't stand the thought of a Gotham without one. Same for the several rec centers all over town.) And you, you, put this in front of me like an offering to the Gods of the Muse that Tim not only knows, but he takes perfect fucking advantage of it to use them strategically in bed and out to make sure the underground criminals, the blue collars, the corrupt politicians, cops, and judges, get their fucking due with minimal effort and no bodily harm in his future?

And like this idea isn't good enough by any stretch, but let's just have a nice CEO facing down one of Gotham's crime syndicates because he absolutely fucked up and he's done good things so this isn't a bad way to go–

When the skyline breaks in and a whole lot of pissed off vigilantes take the scene.

I'm not going to say the Red Hood isn't utterly vicious, or that one of his clips isn't rubber bullets. I'm not going to say Nightwing is banter-less once he sees how beat-up Tim is, the blood oozing from the cuts on his face, the deep bruising and swelling. I'm not going to say how merciless Robin is when he sees the usually clean cut CEO an utter exhausted mess.

Nor am I going to say how much they all coddle the fuck out of him for the next few weeks, stalk him in his office, his home, his commute to assure themselves he's okay, he's healing, he isn't in anyone else's hands–

except theirs.

A Leap in the Dark | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary:  AU. Daniel "Danny" Fenton tried to distance himself from anything that could possibly tie him to magic. However, his world begins to unravel when the powerful Vlad Masters brings charges of witchcraft against him.

Warnings: rated T for violence, descriptions of death

Warnings: Witch trail interrogation and execution by hanging

Parings: none

Notes: Cross-posted to AO3 and ff.net

This entire fic was inspired by a conversation I had on Tumblr

A Leap in the Dark

The old cart creaked and rocked as it slowly moved towards its destination. With the exception of the occasional instruction to the donkeys from the wagoner, the only sounds from its passengers were whispered prayers and weeping.

Daniel (Danny to friends) Fenton closed his eyes as he waited for the inevitable. No amount of crying or pleading would save him now, and he’d come to terms with it. Or at least that’s what he told himself.

Several days prior, town guards stormed his home and pulled him into the streets. He demanded an explanation only to be punched in mouth and knocked to the ground. Some of the guards grabbed him and forced him into a kneeling position as another took out a scroll.

“On behalf of his majesty, we the guards of Amity Park arrest Daniel Fenton, son of Jack Fenton, on suspicion of practicing black magic and soliciting with the devil.”

He tried to argue with them. The charges were insane. Sure, his parents liked to experiment with alchemy which often seemed like magic, but he’d done his best to keep his nose to the ground once he moved out of their home. What did he do to get someone so upset with him that they falsely accused him?

His words fell short as someone hit him in the neck.

The next thing he knew, water fell on him, jolting him awake. Glancing around, he found himself in a cell. Trying to stand, he found shackles binding his arms and legs. In front of him, a guard with an empty bucket sneered.

Soon after, he found himself brought before the hallmote. A representative of the town stood before those gathered and explained what the accusations against him were. The other villagers yelled and hissed. The representative waited until they calmed to provide the evidence which involved reports of him meeting with a dark someone in the middle of the night at the outskirts of town.

Danny jolted as he realized someone saw him meeting up with Samantha. She and her family were fairly new to the area and affluent. Her parents didn’t approve of him, and there was an issue of different religious backgrounds.

When he had a chance to speak, Danny explained just that. “I just wanted to spend time with my dear friend without worrying about the judgement of others,” he pleaded to them.

The crowd’s anger softened some. Another rose and asked if any further evidence could be provided. Hope welled within Danny. If no further false evidence existed against him, he might be able to walk away from this relatively unharmed.

The crowd shifted as they waited for someone to speak. When no one did, Danny sighed in relief. He’d be able to go home and live his life. He might have to let Samantha know they would need to move their meeting times to make it safer for both of them, but if that was the only thing he needed to do, he could live with that.

The sound of walking broke the silence. Everyone turned to see Vladimir Masters, another recent addition to the town slowly walk into the room. Danny didn’t know what to make of the man. He had more influence due to his merchant money then the local lord which caused some tensions between them. However, he’d managed to charm most of the villagers and the church with his donations and public improvements. He also seemed to have an unhealthy interest in his parents, particularly his mother.

“Ladies and gentlemen of this fair town, I bring you one final piece of evidence,” he announced as he opened his cloak to produce a large leather-bound book. He waited for the whispers to stop before he continued. “When rumors first started, I could scarcely believe the son of my two dear friends could possibly be involved in such things. So, I decided to follow him to one of his supposed meetings with the Dark One.”

Again, he paused for effect. “I watched as young Daniel meet with a strange man who appeared on a dark mist. Afraid for my life, I didn’t dare approach and instead hide behind a nearby tree. While I couldn’t hear their words, I did see the stranger hand the boy a book before disappearing back into the mist. The boy glanced through it before heading further outside of town.”

“Concerned, I followed at a safe distance. He eventually came to the hang man’s tree that grows at the crossroads and buried it before heading back to town. I waited until I believed he would no longer be able to detect my presence and dug up the book. Lo and behold, I found a tome written in a language I could not read. Images of death and sacrifice littered its pages. Horrified, I returned to town with it in my possession to report it to both the guards and the Church.”

“Are you so enraged that you can’t have my mother that you need to frame me?” Danny spat at the man. “Everyone knows the crossroads are dangerous at night. I have no desire to risk encountering the vengeful and dark spirits that make such a place a home. Besides, don’t we all know the Dark One is more likely to appear at the crossroads? Why would I go there after supposedly meeting with Him?”

Masters just gave him a sickly-sweet smile. “How is a simple man like me supposed to understand the logic of such evil? Besides, you have not denied ownership of this book.”

The rest of the crowd erupted. Even through the symphony of voices, he could tell many of them cursed and condemned him. His heart sang as the shouts grew louder. Everyone knew the if the crowd believed your guilt, your fate was sealed. He would be handed over to the Church. If he was lucky, their interrogation techniques would kill him before he would be hanged.

After the official ruling was given, officials from the church entered and took him. The last thing he saw before being knocked unconscious was Masters’ smug expression.

He came to in another cell. Sore and aching, he took stock of himself. Well, as best as he could due to the chains. He didn’t seem to be injured which the exception of a few bruises. The pain appeared to be from resting in the uncomfortable position. Shifting, he tried to find a position slightly more comfortable and warmer while he waited for his fate.

An unclear amount of time later, a couple guards came to retrieve him. They removed him from the chains in the cell and placed more compact shackles on his wrists. Once they were certain he wouldn’t be able to fight back, they led him to a different chamber.

He figured he’d see the vicar and maybe a deacon. Instead, Vlad Masters and some men dressed entirely in black greeted him. “I don’t… I don’t understand…” he stammered.

Masters clapped his hands. “My dear boy, I don’t expect you to, but I should explain, seeing as you are my most recent guest.” He closed the distanced between them after a few strides and began circling him as if he was a predator. “I’m one of those tasked with seeking out who have made unsavory deals with the Dark One.”

An icy chill raised through Danny’s chest. “Are you telling me you’re one of those moon touched under that Hopkins guy?” While Amity Park wasn’t part of any of the large cities, the stories of the sudden upsurge in witch hunts had reached them. Hopkins was the most prolific of the hunters.

“We have crossed paths on occasion,” Masters responded as he continued to circle. “However, we disagree on some methods and share little more than a profession. While Hopkins believes those he prosecutes are truly evil, I do things a little differently.” He closed the gap between them so he could whisper, “You see, I believe people need to fear evil, and to do so, I need to remind them of its existence, whether it exists in that location or not.” For a moment, Danny could have sworn the man’s features warped into something inhuman and evil.

Danny swore as the man moved away. “You… you monster! How many innocent lives have you destroyed?”

Masters just chuckled. “Not enough. My friends, could you please silence the boy? We need to begin our interrogation.”

The men in black quickly gagged him before ripping off his clothes. They gasped and muttered darkly when they spotted the large birthmark on his chest. When they found no other mark of interest, they poke and prodded the mark. They started lightly before beginning to scratch and jab. Eventually, they brought out a small knife and drew his blood.

“He bleeds,” the one muttered. “Surely this is no brand.”

“Perhaps it is an illusion, or his brand is one of those normally unseen,” another replied.

The first one nodded. “If that is case, then we must locate it.” He then made a series of cuts on Danny’s arm. “No evidence here. Please try his back.”

They continued this investigation for some time. Slices were made up and down his arms, his chest and back, legs, and even his face. All of them bled. All of them hurt. Displeased they could find no sorcery mark, they ordered the guards to take him back to the cell.

The cool stone of the dark cell gave him some relief from the stinging cuts. If any one of them refused to heal cleanly, it could mean the death of him. One of his uncles died from a cut that refused to heal, and it was not one he would like to repeat.

After that, the attempts to get some form of acknowledgement or confession from him worsened. The beat him with their firsts and with whips. They burned him with hot iron. They even tried to throw him in the nearby river, but someone interrupted that one. While it wasn’t much, he silently thanked the unknown stranger for the act of kindness.

While he never confessed to any of the false accusations, he did openly curse Masters. That apparently was enough for him and his cronies. The next thing he knew, he was standing in front of the Hallmote again with Masters announcing his confirmed guilt. As a result, he was sentenced to hang.

Danny spent the next few days in the prison’s cell. In a different cell across the hall, a few more condemned prisoners also awaited their fates. He heard they would meet their ends on the same day he would. One of the others tried talking to him, but he decided not to respond. Whatever the man did to deserve his fate, he didn’t need a chance to make it worse by speaking with someone accused of magic.

When the day finally came, the guards came to retrieve them. After their hands were bound behind them, they were led to the wagon to be transported to the location of the gallows.

While some of the other men prayed and wept, he just stared at the sigh. He’d made peace with his awful fate. As much as he wanted to blame the Lord, he couldn’t bring himself to do so. He learned at a young age that while the Lord could work miracles, He couldn’t always interfere with the evil acts of men. At least he knew he’d be welcomed in Paradise.

Once the wagon reached its destination, Danny allowed himself to glance at the crowd. Many of them were celebrating the day. He almost forgot how an execution could excite the townsfolk. Some were even taking bets on how long he and the others would last.

They were marched into a line underneath the scaffold. After the nooses were placed, the executioners gave the other men the chance to say their final words first. Then came Danny’s turn.

He glanced around in hopes someone might be brave enough to save him. No one stepped forward. Instead, most of the faces visible to him appeared to laugh and jeer. Except one, he spotted Sam who appeared to be weeping.

“I hope that you who falsely condemned me are haunted by your choices,” he stated while trying to keep his voice as even as possible. I know what awaits me on the other side, but can you say the same?” The crowd shouted obscenities at him as his words came to a close, but he didn’t care, not anymore.

With him being the last to speak, the executioner and his assistants began the process of covering his head with the characteristic hood and kicking the supports out from under their feet. Even though he was prepared for death, he didn’t want to die. His weight forced the rope to press harder against his neck, making it harder and harder to breathe. He struggled to free his hands in hopes he might be able to save himself, but with each passing moment, he seemed to be drain of more and more of his strength.

His last conscious memory was to hope Sam wouldn’t be targeted for her show of tears.

... … …

Consciousness came back to him slowly. Feeling groggy and stiff, he slowly sat up. As dirt fell away from his body, he realized night had already fallen. Why had he fallen asleep outside? Had he been stargazing again? After the first time, he decided to use his roof for that purpose as it was safer than sleeping outside the village.

“Danny?”

He jolted at the soft voice. Turning, he found Sam kneeling a couple feet away with her friend and servant, Tucker, standing behind her with a lantern that had an unusual intensity. Both of them watched him carefully. If he didn’t know any better, he would have guessed they were apprehensive of him.

“Thanks for waking me up,” he told them cheerfully as he stood and brushed some of the dirt off him. His voice didn’t convey his feelings though as it sounded gravely even to him. He must have slept much longer than he originally figured.

Frowning as he realized his feet were buried in the dirt, he glanced behind him to find what appeared to be a shallow grave. Disturbed soil with an arm of an unnatural bluish color sticking out of it could be found only a few feet away. He’d been buried.

“Danny?” Sam called out again as she slowly stood and approached him. “What’s the last thing you remember before waking up?”

As he thought about the odd question, flashes of his interrogation and the gallows came to the forefront of his mind. Scared at the implications, he rubbed his throat. The skin felt rough as if it had been injured and pain blossomed at his touch. He had been hanged. Falling to his knees, he thanked the Lord for a chance at a second chance at life.

Standing again once he finished, he glanced at his friend. “I’m glad you came when you did. I don’t know what I’d do if I woke up alone out here. Let’s get you home before something bad happens. Only one of us needs to be accused of practicing magic.” He gestured to the lantern. “You didn’t need to break out the good candles just for me. Actually, they might be too bright if we want to sneak back into town.”

Tucker glanced at Sam, who bit her lip. “Danny, they just seem bright to you. The candle in there is the dimmest I could find. We could barely see where we were going while getting here.”

She wouldn’t look directly at him. Instead, she kept her gaze lowered which was unusual for her. That by itself clued him in something was wrong.

“Sam, look at me. What’s going on? You’re not telling me something.”

“My lady, err… I mean Sam,” Tucker floundered as she turned to stare at him. Even though her parents bought him to be her personal servant, Sam refused to have him call her by an honorific. She wanted him to consider her his friend first and foremost. “Should I bring out that mirror?”

“That might be best,” she agreed as he hesitantly handed her the lantern while he dug through the sack attached to his belt. When he finished, he brought out a black stone and traded the lantern back for it.

“I thought that was supposed to be a mirror,” Danny joked as Sam took a moment to polish it.

“It is… It’s just a special type of mirror. Difficult to come across.” She held it up to him. “It’ll be easier to show you.”

Not sure what to expect, Danny stepped forward until he could see his reflection in the stone. However, whatever person it reflected, it certainly wasn’t him. The stone showed a creature with hair of moonlight and eyes of an unearthly green. Its skin reflected as the bluish pallor of death. Dark bruises were visible around the neck.

Cursing, he stumbled away. Grabbing at his hair, he found stuffs of whitish silver. The skin of his hands matched the color of the creature’s skin. “What happened? What did you do to me?”

“I was trying to summon your soul.”

“I get accused and executed for witchcraft, and you turn around and preform it?” Danny gave a hollow laugh. “Was my death not enough of a warning? And what did you plan to do once you summoned me?”

“I wanted to take down Masters, okay?” she snapped at him. Her gaze fell when they locked eyes. “Not all magic is evil. I just wanted to see if there was anything you could provided to help me make sure he didn’t take any more victims before your soul became beyond reach, but something went wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if I did something wrong.”

“Don’t say that,” Tucker scolded as he placed a hesitant hand on her shoulder. “The crossroads hold strange powers as its one of those places where mortal and immortal can meet.”

Danny gulped at the implication. He forgot criminals tended to be buried at the crossroads. And even though he wasn’t as superstitious as some, he knew such places could be very dangerous. “So… what did the combination of this good magic and the crossroads do to me?”

“That’s something I don’t really know. It seems to have reanimated you, but you are clearly not as you were.” She fell to her knees as tears began to roll down her cheeks. The Sam Manson crying! Sam never cried.

Hesitantly, he crouched down in front of her and used his fingers to lift her chin. Her skin felt so warm to the touch. “While I can’t say I’m comfortable with what happened, I can say it’s not your fault. You had no idea this would be the outcome. You’re also right about Masters… There’s something wrong with him. During the interrogation, I could have sworn I saw the shadow of evil on him.”

Instead of responding, she lurched forward to embrace him. Not sure what else to do, he rubbed her back in a soothing manner.

“Sam, you’re going to get dirty. Neither of us will want to risk the wrath of your parents.” Tucker spoke softly as he tried to gently pull her off of Danny.

She didn’t respond. Instead, she buried her head deeper into Danny’s chest. Not sure what to make of it, Danny shared a look with Tucker. Eventually, she stated, “I can hear your heart beating. Danny, I can hear your heart! You’re alive.” She looked up and gave him the biggest and purest smile he’d even seen.

“But how? How is that possible? I couldn’t have survived the gallows, and my appearance is of some specter… What the?” As he spoke, a blinding light washed over him. As his eyes adjusted, everything seemed much darker. If it wasn’t for the faint light of the lantern and the visible sliver of the moon, he doubted he would have been able to see anything. Wait, he’d been able to see just fine moments ago.

“Tucker, the lantern!”

Seconds later, the lantern appeared within inches of his face. “Whoa! Watch it! Those metal ones hurt when they hit you.”

“Danny,” Sam’s smile somehow grew wider, “you look like you again! “

“Is that why I suddenly can’t see?” When she rolled her eyes, he quickly added, “I mean, that’s wonderful!”

“I doubt it’s that simple,” Tucker noted as he watched the two of them stand. “You touched death, and that always leaves a lasting mark.”

Sam brushed the dirt off her skirt before she began to walk. “That’s true, but for now, we should return to town. We can figure out what happened to Danny as we work on destroying Masters. He can stay at my place for now. It’s big enough we should be able to hide you for a few days.”

Danny acknowledged that would work for now. Even though he didn’t want to put either Sam or Tucker at risk, it would be easier to discuss the future once they rested.

Perhaps he could even stagger back into town in a day or two just to see how the townsfolk would react. Maybe they would consider his return to life as the will of God. Or, if he could take the form of that creature again, perhaps they’d consider him a vengeful wraith. The latter made him smile. Oh, Masters didn’t know what type of revenge he unleashed.

End of story notes. There are a lot:

Firstly, if anyone would like to expand upon this idea, please feel free. I have no desire to extend this. The plot bunny, now that it’s fulfilled its goal, has run off.

Now for the historical notes.

The hallmote is a court held in a Justice’s hall. In medieval England, this is the lord’s manorial court. For the lord, this primarily functioned for fees and land ownership. However, when it came to issues regarding laws, the villagers acted as prosecutor, legal authority, witnesses, and judge. The lord of the area rarely had anything to do with legal issues.

I know that when it comes to magic, usually that fell under the church’s domain, but I wanted to mention a trial first before he was handed over to them as the accusations against Danny were fabricated.

Moon touched is being used as a euphemism for being crazy.

Vicar is a term primarily used in the Anglican church for parson/minister.

Also, witch hunts and trails did still happen in the 1600s in England – they peaked again in the 1640s and the 1650s due to the English Civil War and the rise of the Puritans.

I did review the interrogation techniques of this time period. While they existed beforehand, the specific ones I mentioned were championed by a man named Matthew Hopkins, who flourished as a witch hunger during the English Civil War. He and his colleagues are believed to be responsible for 20% of the total people persecuted for witchcraft in England between the 15th and 18th centuries. His book is also considered a contributing factor in how the trials in Salem, Mass. played out.

The accused often had their bodies searched for marks which were said to be proof of their pact with the Devil. This was often a birth mark, mole, or other skin manifestation. The area was believed to be unable to bleed or feel sensation.

Hanging. The gallows with trapdoors (drops) weren’t invented until the 1760s. So, Danny is experienced it the old-fashioned way where they put the noose on and cover the head with a hood. Depending on the gallows, the condemned might stand on stools or be on the wagon at first. Then those were removed. Unlike modern hangings which were designed to break the neck upon the sharp drop, the original version had people die by suffocation. Most loose consciousness within 5-10 minutes and death occurs soon after. The title actually is a saying believed to have derived from being hung.

There are some instances where people simply lost consciousness and revived at a later time after they were cut down. Some considered that a pardon from God. Others thought the person made a deal with evil.

Executed criminals were traditionally buried at crossroads. Normally, they couldn’t be buried in a church graveyard, and there were concerns the dead could come back to haunt the town. Being buried at a crossroads helped confuse angry spirits.

Crossroads were considered liminal places where one could meet all manner of supernatural creatures. Some traditions state it’s the best place to contact the dead or conduct spells.

Sam is still Jewish (although secretly since this is the 1640s) in this fic. There are old Jewish spells, which fall under a specific type of mysticism, that call allow one to call forth the dead to ask a question. This is what she was trying to do.

fanfiction writer appreciation: skamverse edition

writing can sometimes take a lot of work out of us but it’s also such a beautiful thing and sometimes, it doesn’t get the recognition that it deserves. so, if you see this and you aren’t tagged, i want you to know that you are an amazing writer OR if you are a reader and aren’t tagged, but would like to spread the love to the writer’s YOU enjoy, do it! DO IT! spread all the love. i know all the writers of all fandoms (not even limited to the skam fandom) would love to hear from those who read their fics.

Tagged by @sandersyasmina, thanks for the tag! Team 22 forever!

if you’re a writer:

a fic that you’re really proud of:

I at least kinda like all fics I have posted, they wouldn’t be posted otherwise. It’s hard to pick just one... I am rather proud that I managed to write the 50 prompts for Cliché prompts (Elu edition) / Cliché prompts (Davenzi edition). But I am also rather proud of the whole Theatre AU, for example. 

a fic that you were nervous to post:

I probably was most nervous for my first fic! And sometimes, for some fics which are a bit different than my usual, I still feel a flutter of nerves. Like recently I was a bit anxious to post Phoenix. Or some of the more angsty fics I posted, like Fall.

a fic you wished got more hits/kudos/comments:

Ok, this is going to sound weird, but... I honestly would write just for myself. That is not to see I don’t scream internally about every like and reblog and comment and kudo, though, because I definitely do! But each and every one is precious, and I have no ambition to ‘be popular’, whatever that means.

one of your favorite tropes to write:

ALL OF THEM!!! Just as long as it has a happy end. :)

another ship that you don’t write but you’d like to write:

If I really wanted to, I probably would.

one of your abandoned wip you never wrote but wish you did:

I don’t abandon WIPs. I just add more. 😊

No, but seriously, I don’t start posting stuff until it’s finished, so you never have to worry about that with me.

another writer you would love to collaborate with:

Damn, this reminds me I need to get cracking on the collab I have going...

if you’re a reader:

a fic (or more) that you love to reread:

So yeah, I am sorry to keep beating you over the head with the same fics... 

I read way too little, my ‘Marked for later’ list is like 30 pages long... 

The thing is, when I write, reading is very distracting. And then when I have some ‘empty time’ (on the bus, or while donating blood, or right before bed) I don’t usually want to get into an 80k slow burn, though I love those, but when I only have ten or twenty minutes I like to finish something.

So I miss out on a lot - and the Marked for Later list only grows.

But you can’t go wrong with Velocity by @dorkdumplings or for want of gold by @lallemanting or a rose, by any other name by @flying-elliska (or any other of their works, really!). Or try The Boy and the Star by @awake-dreamer18 , the book i read was in your eyes by @kritiquer or anything by @evakuality .

tag an author you always love reading:

See above! 

recommend a story to your followers:

See above! 

tag an author you discovered recently:

If I read not nearly enough, I’m even worse about connecting stories to writers... It took me ages to discover that a bunch of my fave fics were written by the same author! But I mentioned them above, so.

spread the love!

tag someone who inspires you to write:

Nat. Mostly because she nags until I obey.

tag someone who you’ve admired forever:

See above!

tag your writing support and loves!

My friends Nat and Mtea @dorkdumplings and Stela @awake-dreamer18 and Ju @lololil and Sophia @petitspaceling and all my anons sending me asks and headcanons and love!

Omenstuck Act 2 Bonus Content

Hello! Here’s just some extra bonus content from the pretty weighty upd8 I posted to my fanfic Omenstuck today (for Chapter 4: Act 2 specifically). A lot of background info went into it that I’m not going to get much occasion to use, so I’m doing what any self-respecting writer would do and dumping it here instead. Obviously has huge spoilers for Omenstuck so if you haven’t read the upd8s from today, don’t look. Hope the readmore holds on mobile, and there are some images below, too. Enjoy!

So for starters, I’m going to post the little cheat sheet that I had on hand for remembering all the characters’ assigned blood colors, Trollian handles, god tier titles, and quadrants (both filled and experimented with):

In order, here’s what we’ve got:

Crowley. Blood: burgundy. UN: anthomanicCaduceus. GT: Rogue of Life. Quadrants: Aziraphale (matesprit), Eric (auspistice, unwitting) and Hastur (other leaf of auspisticism quadrant, unwitting). Lusus: snake

Eric. Blood: brown. UN: coneyCloning. GT: Heir of Time. Quadrants: Auspistice to Crowley and Hastur (unwitting); Uriel (auspistice between arguing Erics, short-lived). Lusus: rabbit

Beelzebub. Blood: yellow. UN: carrionTyrant. GT: Prince of Rage. Quadrants: Dagon (moirail), Gabriel (kismesis). Lusus: giant fly

Ligur. Blood: lime/red (vacillating glitch). UN: guanineChameleon. GT: Sylph of Space. Quadrants: Hastur (moirail), Michael (kismesis). Lusus: chameleon

Hastur. Blood: olive. UN: amphibiousGrunt. GT: Knight of Breath. Quadrants: Ligur (moirail), Eric (auspistice, unwitting) and Crowley (other leaf of auspisticism quadrant, unwitting). Lusus: frog

Dagon. Blood: jade. UN: aquaticTaskmaster. GT: Witch of Mind. Quadrants: Beelzebub (moirail), Sandalphon (matesprit, short-lived), Metatron (kismesis, one-sided crush). Lusus: lungfish

Aziraphale. Blood: teal. UN: aetherialAntiquarian. GT: Thief of Doom. Quadrants: Crowley (matesprit), Michael (auspistice, coercing) and Sandalphon (other leaf of auspisticism quadrant, coercing). Lusus: ??? (dragon, owl?)

Michael. Blood: cerulean. UN: tenebrousAgent. GT: Seer of Void. Quadrants: Uriel (moirail), Aziraphale (one leaf of auspisticism quadrant, coerced) and Sandalphon (other leaf of auspisticism quadrant, co-conspirator), Ligur (kismesis). Lusus: ??? (tbh spider would still fit here)

Sandalphon. Blood: indigo. UN: toughenedCrusader. GT: Page of Blood. Quadrants: Michael (auspistice, co-conspirator) and Aziraphale (other leaf of auspisticism quadrant, coerced), Gabriel (moirail), Dagon (matesprit, short-lived). Lusus: ??? (Possibly musclebeast)

Uriel. Blood: purple. UN: celestialAureate. GT: Maid of Heart. Quadrants: Michael (moirail), Eric (mediated between two of his arguing selves, short-lived). Lusus: ??? (sea-goat still viable)

Gabriel. Blood: violet. UN: gregariousArchangel. GT: Bard of Hope. Quadrants: Sandalphon (moirail), Beelzebub (kismesis). Lusus: ??? (seahorse or shark)

Metatron. Blood: fuchsia. UN: communicantGodhead. GT: Mage of Light. Quadrants: object of one-sided pitch crush from Dagon. Lusus: Horrorterror from Beyond (Gl’bgol’yb, probably)

Here’s the shipping chart of what this madness looked like:

Solid lines for established or longer-lasting relationships, dotted lines for either crushes or experiments that didn’t pan out. Crowley, Eric, and Hastur’s auspisticism is dotted because it’s not a consciously-thought out relationship that’s actually been defined so much as a convenient social contract that keeps Hastur from killing Crowley by distracting him with a multitude of Erics, which makes it a pretty functional auspisticism, actually.

Some notes:

- If you’re thinking that the blood colors and god tier titles don’t exactly fit, you’re right, but there’s a reason, and we’ll get to it in future chapters of Omenstuck. Maybe one day I’ll do the thing proper and give them all more accurate classpects and blood colors, but I think I did pretty well, given everything.

- This means that it was Hastur and Ligur’s jobs, as the Knight and Space players, to breed the Genesis Frog, which creates each new universe, and that tickles me to the bone.

- Ligur’s whole situation is a nod to both Good Omens and to Homestuck; for a bit I entertained making Crowley the hemo-mutant that Karkat is, but thought he fit best lower on the totem pole (on his belly he shall crawl and all that). Canonically, Karkat’s bright red human-like blood is a mutation off of an old hemospectrum caste, the limebloods, and it tickled me to think of Ligur occupying both the limebloods and the red mutation that spawned from it, as a nod to his color-changing in Good Omens and his affiliation with chameleons. Also, apparently it’s the guanine in their skin that makes chameleons change color, which is what the G in Homestuck pesterchum handles stands for (bc the chats are all supposed to represent DNA strands that make up each Genesis Frog that creates each new universe), so it came together kinda perfectly. If Ligur ever was in a pesterlog, I was going to code it so his lines would alternate colors, but it didn’t pan out that way.

- Was it overly simplistic to cast Hell as the lowbloods and Heaven as the highbloods? Yes. But there are two reasons for this, one of which I can’t say because spoilers, one of which I will freely admit, which is that I got tired and just simplified where I could because I was already putting more effort into backstory that turned out to be less relevant than I thought once I finally got the dang thing written.

- In the bowels of my Instagram there is a doodle of Gabriel with the traditional Bardic codpiece and an expression to match, but I didn’t keep it in canon. It is definitely there in spirit and more loving detail will be paid attention to it if I ever go back and do a proper Homestuck troll AU.

- There was a subplot I discarded when thinking of the quadrant entanglements that involved Dagon hooking up with both Sandalphon and Michael in a redrom way and that being one of the catalysts for the bloodbath at the end, because I adore Dagon/Michael and wanted to go there first but she was already appearing so much, and I remember reading about Dagon/Sandalphon once in a fic I wish I could remember off the top of my head and it was so bizarre I adored it. Ultimately I stuck with Dagon and Sandalphon having a redrom fling, because why not.

- Dagon was also going to have a whole Thing against Metatron that boiled down to her having vestigial seadweller traits and being jealous of an actual seadweller that didn’t do his heritage credit, but Metatron was such a non-entity that it didn’t feel relevant to bring up, with so much already getting crammed into this upd8.

- Gabriel and Eridan have some eerie synergy and that’s a hill I’ll die on.

- Uriel was supposed to have a bigger part, too, delving into how they fit into the whole purpleblood Mirthful Messiahs cult and how they use their paint to emphasize their vitiligo (inspired by their canonical pretty gold face markings), but once again...not enough room, not enough interaction with Crowley or Aziraphale. They were either going to be a huge part of it, or eschew it entirely in favor of worshipping Metatron and possibly Metatron’s eldritch lusus instead, but eh. Roads untraveled. I also didn’t doodle their facepaint while I was doing my concept sketches/brainstorming activities so I just let it be.

- The whole Michael and Sandalphon using a heavily manipulative auspisticism to blackmail and control Aziraphale was a concept I had from the beginning, but when I wrote the scene, it actually shook me up a lot; Auspisticism is one of the platonic and weirder quadrants in Homestuck, but it didn’t hit me until I had written it how that particular dynamic could be exploited and turned into something kinda borderline abusive, if not outright abusive (I’m trying to be more careful in how I apply the word so I don’t know for sure if what I wrote counts as fully abusive, or just a super bad time). To be honest, in all the Homestuck fics that ever were, I don’t think I ever read a single one that described what I did in this fic (and RAPE MENTION TW a part of me that is forever struck by my friend’s fic that described a brutal pale rape, as in forcing the usual nonsexual markers of the pale quadrant on an unwilling victim, was worried that I had written ashen rape, which was NOT where I wanted to go; after worrying about it to friends and sleeping on it, I don’t think I quite went there, but the implication that it COULD happen is going to haunt me for a while).

- I did want to get more detailed with a lot of things, like Crowley and Aziraphale’s influencing and talking with humans, and how it was affecting things like their vocabulary and how they saw the world, but it was just too much to tackle in any great detail.

- the whole thing where Crowley uses his god tier powers to steal Life energy from his fellow stranded trolls and makes plants that could potentially feed them one day? Totally unexpected. I did a LOT of refreshing myself on the classes and aspects of god tiers when I was doing the groundwork for this part of the fic, but it didn’t strike me that that was a thing Crowley could do until I was already writing it. And maybe Aziraphale should’ve been a little more horrified by it, but Crowley’s right, they ARE immortal now. Also the whole “taking Life energy and redistributing it among allies” thing probably wasn’t meant to be interpreted as “puts the other trolls in the Mood for quadrant hookups” but it was too hilarious a coincidence to ignore. Life needs things to live, as a wise internet dnd player once said, and when you’re the last of your species, you’ve gotta do what you can to propagate (even if it’s functionally impossible to restore your species, since there’s no Mother Grub to donate slurry to and no ectobiological lab to make ectobabies from. God loves a trier). Does that make all the hookups dubious consent, since weird Life magic was involved? I don’t think so, I think it just accelerated what was already present, but I’ll leave that to y’all to judge.

- Crowley was actually supposed to be the one to die. It said so in my notes. It was a whole Thing, Crowley getting speared or shot or whatever and looking at Aziraphale like “ha I got this one better luck next time”. But then I made Aziraphale a Thief of Doom, which was originally a joke to myself about how he hoards books (Thief players are hoarders and Doom can represent rules or systems), and then he got all contemplative and hit ME back with “no, no, sister, you made me a Thief of Doom, I’m gonna steal this death meant for Crowley and keep it all to myself, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” And he was RIGHT. I can’t believe I’ve killed Aziraphale THREE TIMES now. And I completely forgot about how god tier players are also immortal from being killed unless the death is Heroic or Just until, again Aziraphale reminded me by pushing Crowley out of the way--therefore making his death to sacrifice himself for his friend and beloved Heroic. I played myself in every possible way. Checkmate, brain. (As for what that means in future chapters, stick around, it’s only gonna get weirder, but Homestucks who are puzzled at the inclusion of Dream Shards rather than Dream Bubbles are encouraged to draw some conclusions of their own.)

I think that’s all I wanted to talk about, so have a doodle of Michael with her Seer hood drawn for funsies.

See y’all later! Feel free to send me an ask or a comment or whatever if you have any questions or just wanna talk about this madness I’m creating!

Okay. So this... is a little bit different. This is a non fandom related, very short story inspired by this post https://writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com/post/630256128620740608/a-serial-killer-who-only-kills-organ-donors

Granted, it’s very short and a very new thing for me to be doing but... it’s nice to try to step out of our comfort zones once in a while, right?

I kinda wanna try writing more original short stories.... definitely not as dark as this one though! Definitely wanna try to write something happier and less... uh... murdery next!

(P.s big shout out to my buddy for encouraging me that they’d like to read original stories by me. Thanks, bud 💛)

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

It never sinks in when the doctor says it the first time, she quickly discovers.

“We suspect that there might be something wrong with your heart. We need to run further tests to determine what the issue is.”

Nor does it quite sink in the second time, as her wife sits in her chair, pale and weak, her breaths coming in harsh gasps.

“This is heart failure. We need to have you booked in for an implantable cardiac defibrillator until we can find a donor.”

And it isn’t the third time, when she’s sitting across from the woman she loves in an uncomfortable hospital chair that digs painfully into her back as her wife breathes heavily through her oxygen mask and somehow still finds the strength to smile at her from the hospital bed. To lovingly reassure her, to try to be strong for her.

“It’ll be okay, my love. They’ll find me a heart and it’ll be okay.”

No. The moment the madness of the situation fully sinks in as she stands in the aftermath of her choice, driven to the brink by grief and terror, staring down at the strange woman she’s never met. She digs her heel into the woman’s throat as she opens her wallet and smiles a dark, grim smile at the sight of the little organ donation symbol on her I.D.

“You’re an organ donor?” She murmurs softly, as her gloved hand drops the wallet to the ground. She moves to straddle the woman’s chest and smiles sadly beneath her mask as she grips the woman’s chin and forces her to meet her eyes. “You have my gratitude.”

She forces herself to watch as she slides her blade along the woman’s throat, forces herself to watch the way her face stiffens and her eyes begin to dull. She forces herself to listen to the choked, strangled gasps as she chokes on her own blood and she forces herself to close the woman’s eyes before standing and making her leave… though not before placing a single, white Lily on the woman’s chest that quickly becomes tinted with streaks of red.

Her wife has always been so intelligent. Her wife always has an answer, a reason and an explanation. She always knows what to do and what to say. She knows her wife is right this time too; they would find her a heart…

Even if she has to steal the hearts of a hundred donors to ensure that the woman that stole her own lived.

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo Book Review

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo Book Review by Taylor Jenkins Reid 

It’s funny. Two book reviews ago I went on a lengthy diatribe about how giving people books is often annoying and unwelcome (or maybe that’s just me). Recommending and suggesting books I love and can do all the livelong day. 

I encourage people to tell me about their latest foray into fiction or that one novel they haven’t been able to stop thinking about for years, but when you actually physically give someone a book, well. 

There’s pressure involved. 

In that other book review post, A Man Called Ove, I outlined how one of three things would happen if someone gives you a book and you read it:

1. The book is good and you chastise yourself for being a moron and not knowing about it earlier. 

2. The rare occurrence of the book being a home-run and has a place proudly sitting on your favorites shelf forever. 

3. The book sucks, the whole journey was tedious and annoying, and the person who lent the book to you in the first place is disappointed or butt-hurt. 

In the last review it was the third option, and to be fair, it usually is. Oftentimes this isn’t even because the book is bad per se, but more so because the book isn’t for me and my interest in it to begin with was tenuous and shaky at best. 

Fortunately, in the case of The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo it was option 1 with a small leeway into option 2. I had never heard of The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo before or the author, Taylor Jenkins Reid, for that matter, and when my friend gave it to me I put it off on my shelf to collect dust for several months.

However, as my to-be-read list dwindled down to nothing and my newest shipment of books was not yet ready (I might have been waiting for all those Barnes and Noble gift cards I knew were lurking in unopened Christmas cards) I decided to give it a try, and oh boy, am I glad I did. 

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo is an adult fiction LGBT novel that focuses on two different timelines running parallel throughout the book. We start off with our main character in the present day of 2017, Monique Grant, a biracial journalist in her 30’s who currently works for a publication called Vivant in New York City but wants more. 

In the midst of an impending divorce, stagnating at work, and missing her long ago deceased father, the only thing Monique takes pride in is a piece she did about euthanasia and how there is mercy in killing before suffering a few years back. 

Her life takes an unexpected turn when Hollywood legacy, Evelyn Hugo, reaches out to her through her job and asks to meet with her. What she thinks is simply a meeting about Evelyn’s recent gown donation turns out to be a life-changing decision where she not only learns about the life and loves of Evelyn Hugo, but also about herself and the choices she made along the way by being tasked to write Evelyn’s biography. 

Monique’s POV is sprinkled throughout the story, thrusting us back into the present every so often, but most of the book is now an eighty-year-old Evelyn dictating her rise to fame from the 50’s all the way to the 80’s and beyond as she lays out the ugly, the beautiful, the sordid, and the desperate actions and choices she made to where she rests as an old woman before Monique, alone, filthy rich, and ominous about the end of her life from a first person perspective. 

To be very blunt, I didn’t care much for Monique. 

I liked the representation of her character, but she often came across as judgy, annoying, and rash. Several times throughout the novel, she has to apologize for speaking too quickly or for jumping to conclusions and for someone who is a journalist I found it to be an odd trait. 

Her growth as a character as a direct involvement with Evelyn was interesting, and I truly enjoyed the fact that at the end of the day, Monique remains a single woman who didn’t want to settle for something less than she deserved. 

That’s more than I can say for most YA protagonists who almost always end up with someone romantically because god forbid they remain alone. 

Evelyn, on the other hand, I immensely enjoyed. 

She’s snarky, manipulative, mean, catty, ruthless, and greedy. 

She’s also hardworking, confident, intelligent, and passionate. 

She came across as a real person to me, a real person with flaws and with qualities I admired. She was kind of a bitch, and I loved that about her. The other characters from Evelyn’s tale, mainly her seven husbands, her friends, and Celia St. James, were also well developed and nuanced characters. 

Nobody was good or bad. Everyone had aspects of both in them and it was so good to see portrayals of characters that resembled real flesh-and-blood human beings. 

As you would expect, there is a lot of scandal, romance, sex, and the glitter and glamour of Hollywood throughout these pages. What I didn’t expect were the themes of race, of sexuality, of gender roles, of death, and of forgiveness. 

Having a bisexual Cuban-American main character detailing her rise to fame in 1950’s America was incredibly interesting from a variety of standpoints. 

To me, though, the biggest theme was about love. 

As the book is called The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, there is of course, an explicit understanding that love will play a large role in the novel. What I didn’t expect was the complex way in which love was depicted. 

The author Reid wanted to convey that romantic love wasn’t the only love worth writing about, and how there are all kinds of wonderful and all-consuming loves that have nothing to do with romance or sex at all. 

Parental love, friendship, inspiration, romance, and familial bonds were all represented and not one was shown to be more valuable or more interesting than the other. All of Evelyn’s relationships had merit, and at the end of the day, everything Evelyn did, start to finish, was for someone she loved one way or another. 

In some ways, aren’t we all Evelyn Hugo?

Together with the myriad themes, the alternating timelines, the representation, and the juicy plot, the story was enjoyable from the first page to the last. The writing itself is very fluid and very easy. 

This is not a hard read by any means. The vocabulary was simple and the writing was simple, but it was very entertaining and at the end, even thought-provoking. 

It made me think. 

Was I making the right choices in my life? Or was I settling for easy? For forgettable? Was I holding myself to high standards and getting what I wanted? What I deserved?

Books that make me sit in silence after I finish reading them, tears in my eye because I’m so emotionally overwhelmed are few and far between. This is what I did after finishing reading The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo. I simply sat on my couch, mind spinning, and tried not to cry. 

That, to me, is the mark of an excellent book. 

Recommendation: If you like strong and sassy female characters then this is definitely a novel worth checking out. The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo is a whirlwind romance, but perhaps not in the way you would suspect. With fluid writing, engaging characters, a scintillating plot, and themes that will leave you gaping, what better way to start off the year 2021 than by giving yourself a truly fantastic read? 

Score: 9/10

SkyFire 3: Chapter 14

The end of Live on Tour: March – July 2018

Word Count: 2.7k

.:SkyFire is finally back!:. If you missed all of the drama since the last chapter; my computer crapped out, my wip back up got corrupted and I lost everything I had written for the remainder of the 2018 chapters. This chapter has taken me a really long time to finish because I was trying to piece together what I remembered and honestly I'm not entirely happy with it but I just want to get back into the swing of the story. Please reblog if you like the story and want me to continue

CW/TW: This beginning of this chapter will mention the Parkland shooting. Please proceed with caution for this chapter as I would never want my writing to jeopardize anyone’s mental health. You can skip to after the "keep reading" break and it won't be mentioned for the rest of the chapter.

As soon as the tour kicked back off in Switzerland, life once again returned to a chaotic whirlwind of activity. Aurora always felt like she was constantly running when they were on the road. It seemed that they were always travelling from one venue to the next with barely a moment to breathe between events and for the first month while they toured around mainland Europe, Rori felt like she was chasing to catch up. She was still experiencing a heightened level of anxiety in the wake of the Parkland school shooting the previous month as the story was still appearing in the news most days with more of the surviving students choosing to speak out as the days passed. It all came to a head once the tour had reached Germany and a series of nationwide protests took place across the United States in what was called the March for Our Lives. Being so far away from the movement, Aurora felt compelled to partake in whatever way she could, and Harry and the band were eager to support her and the call for gun control. Before the Oberhausen show, they all posed for a group photo in shirts with the logo for the demonstration and posted it to all of their social media accounts. Aurora felt inspired by the teenagers organising and participating the demonstrations in capital cities across the United States. She was thinking back to how she had been feeling only weeks after surviving her own shooting and she couldn’t imagine the strength of those students. Even if she had not been recovering from her physical wounds, she would not have mentally been capable of marching on the capital and demanding tighter gun control laws. Had she not been on tour, Rori would have loved to have joined them in Washington so instead she participated in what little way she could, donating a large chunk of money to the movement and she also recorded a statement to post online.

“After Columbine they said never again,” Aurora began once she sat down in front of her phone in the green room of the König-Pilsener Arena in Oberhausen. “After Virginia Tech they said never again. After Sandy Hook they said never again and after Columbia, while I was lying in a hospital bed and 43 of my fellow students were dead, they said never again and yet here we are. 10 days ago, another community joined a club none of us want to be members of. 10 days ago, another group of students learned to fear a building they had once visited every day without a second thought. 10 days ago, Marjory Stoneman Douglass became another name in a long list of tragedy’s that could have been avoided. Today we stand together, to call on those whose job is to protect us, whose job is to protect those that will come after us. We call on those politicians today to refuse the blood money of the NRA. We call on them to pass gun control legislation. America has told the world for decades that it is the greatest nation on earth, and I am asking the politicians that run it to start acting like it. No other developed nation sends its children to school under the threat of mass shootings. It’s been three years since I survived Columbia, and nothing has changed. Parkland should never have happened and when we say never again, this time it’s going to mean something. These will be the last children taken from their families. These will be the last children traumatized by gun violence. These will be the last.” She was crying by the time she finished speaking, though her voice held steadying. She stopped recording, quickly cutting around the start and end of the footage before uploading it to her Instagram account. As soon as it was up, she turned her phone off, knowing that she would be inundated with notifications, both of the supportive and hateful nature. She went in search of Harry, accepting his comforting hug before preparing to head on stage.

xXx

Following the March for Our Lives protest, and once they returned to the UK in the second month of tour, she finally felt herself relaxing and able to enjoy the shows more, as well as carving out a few moments for herself during the day. Taking Louis’ advice, she turned her attention to her writing while they were on the tour bus, churning out songs that she sent off to her label. Mitch also agreed to start teaching her guitar and she enjoyed the time she spent with the quietest member of the band. In classic Mitch fashion, he didn’t speak a lot during their impromptu lessons, but he merely showed Rori what to do and let her mimic his movements.  They would often practice while Harry was caught up in interviews or meet and greets, only practicing for an hour here or there so that Aurora wasn’t spending too much time in her prosthetic.

By the time they reached the end of the Australian and the Asia legs, everyone was feeling exhausted after 2 and a half months on the road and were stoked to arrive at the midway break. Harry and Aurora flew to Manchester to spend their week off in Holmes Chapel with Anne, as the quiet, slow pace of Harry’s hometown was always the perfect haven when their lives got a little too hectic and things felt like they were moving a little too fast. Unlike most of the people in their lives, Anne didn’t see them as famous entertainers because to her, Harry would always just be her son, and Rori was the woman he loved. Anne treated them like a normal couple in their early twenties and after months on tour, with thousands of people screaming their names, normal was exactly what they both needed.  For the first few days, Rori and Harry stayed around the house, relaxing and taking the time to do absolutely nothing. They also went for walks along the River Dane and sat outside small cafes in town drinking coffee in the spring sun. All in all, it was a slow easy-going week and while they were occasionally spotted by a fan, most of the locals left them alone.

Towards the end of the week, Harry headed out to catch up with some old school friends while Rori stayed back at the house, having afternoon tea with Anne in the back garden. They’d been chatting casually when they were interrupted by Aurora’s phone ringing.

“Sorry Anne, it’s Louis,” she said after pulling her phone out of her pocket.

“Of course, sweetheart, go ahead,” Anne replied with a soft smile.

“Lou!” Aurora greeted with a broad smile.

“Hey love,” Louis replied. “How’s the tour been going?”

“It’s been fantastic,” Rori answered. “How’s things with you? Any progress on an album?”

“That’s actually why I’m calling.”

Rori sat up a little straighter from where she had slumped in the garden chair. Louis sounded hesitant and a little nervous, two things he rarely was around her. Anne looked over questioningly, sensing the change in her daughter-in-law.

“Is everything ok?” Rori asked softly.

“Yeah, yeah, just got a bit of a favour to ask really,” Louis replied. “See the thing is that Simon and Modest are being pricks about my contract and they’re making me be one of the judges on this years X Factor season which is whatever, you know? But they’re still trying to figure out the last judge and Simon’s now on my ass because he thinks you’d be great. He wants the two of us to try and bring in the younger viewers.”

“Lou I’m supposed to be in LA for the second half of the year.”

“I know, I know, and you know I wouldn’t ask but honestly I think it could be great. I mean think about it Rors, you and me hanging out every day? It’d be so much fun. And I won’t lie, it’d be nice to have a buffer because if I’m on my own Simon’s gonna be insufferable.”

“If we didn’t already have everything planned Lou, I would love too.”

“Ok but just promise me you’ll talk to Haz. He can write in London instead surely.”

“I’m doing the whole surrogate thing too,” she reminded him, gnawing at her bottom lip as she let herself indulge in the idea for just a brief moment. “My dads were really good about agreeing to fly out to LA for every appointment instead of me staying with them for the whole pregnancy.”

“They have a private jet,” Louis pointed out. “It’s only an extra hour or so to fly to London than it is to go to LA. Look just promise me that you will talk to Harry, talk to Steve and Tony. Don’t just dismiss it straight away. You’d be saving my ass and we will have a bloody great couple of months. Plus, you’ve been saying you miss spending time with Ella and you guys just bought the pub so being in London for a bit wouldn’t be the worst thing. Plus, it was only a few months ago you were sitting on my sofa complaining about how your career is dying because you’ve tied yourself to Harry’s. This would be good for you.”

“Ok, I promise I’ll think about it. Tell Simon I’ll give you an answer in a few days.”

“Love you,” Louis replied.

“Love you too.”

She sighed deeply after hanging up the phone, her head a whirl of thoughts.

“Everything alright, sweetheart?” Anne asked softly.

“Louis’ gonna be a judge on X Factor this year and Simon Cowell wants me to do it too.”

“Oh my goodness, that’s wonderful Aurora.”

“I mean it’s huge, but I can’t do it so…”

“Now hang on a moment sweetheart, you just told Louis you’d think about it. It seems like a fantastic opportunity, why wouldn’t you want this?”

“It’s just bad timing Anne,” Rori sighed. “I promised Harry we’d stay in LA after the tour so he can write, and I have the surrogacy plans. This year is just so busy that this would just add another thing.”

“Now I’m going to tell you something that I’ve been worried about for a while now,” Anne said, looking Aurora in the eyes before continuing. “I say this because I love you and I want you to be happy. I worry that you put Harry’s needs ahead of your own too much sweetheart. Ever since he went solo you’ve been by his side supporting him, and I know it’s what you want to do and he’s not forcing you into anything but maybe this is an opportunity for him to support you.”

“He does support me Anne. He’s an incredibly husband.”

“I’m not trying to say he isn’t Rori, you’re both just so young and I don’t want you to look back in 10 years’ time and find that you lost yourself in him.”

They both fell silent for a few minutes while Aurora thought over everything Anne and Louis had said. “You really think I’d be any good at it?” Rori finally asked.

“Oh love,” Anne sighed with a soft smile. “I’ve been watching that show since it first started, and I think you would be perfect. You’ve got the charisma for tv and you know so much about how the industry works that I know you’d be a fantastic mentor. Simon Cowell might be a controlling narcissist but he’s a smart man and he wouldn’t want you on the show if you weren’t capable.”

“I guess I should talk to Harry and my dads then,” Rori conceded. “See if this is possible.”

Harry returned a little while after she hung up from talking with her dads and once she had filled him in on everything she paused for his reaction, chewing on her bottom lip nervously.

“What did Tony and Steve say to this change of plans?” he finally asked.

“That’s your first question?” Rori replied. “They told me to do it. Dad thinks it’ll be fun for me and Steve agreed that there’s not that much difference between flying to London or LA so I shouldn’t let the surrogacy hold me back.”

“Well, I guess that settles it,” Harry shrugged. “Looks like we’re spending the second half of the year in London.”

“Just like that? What about your writing session?”

“I’ll make it work.”

Aurora fell silent for a moment, her eyes misting over.

“What’s wrong, love?” Harry gasped, watching the emotion rolling across her face.

“Everyone’s just been so quick to change all our plans for me,” Rori explained once she’d cleared her throat. “Just kind of overwhelming.”

“You deserve it,” Harry promised, pulling her into a tight hug which she happily returned.

“So, I guess I should call Louis back then, hey?”

xXx

When they returned to the tour after their short break, Aurora convinced Adam, Sarah, and Mitch to help her revive her YouTube channel. In the afternoons before shows, while Harry was meeting fans and giving interviews, Rori and her three fellow band mates would practice one of her songs and when they were ready, they would record it, often on the stage before soundcheck or sometimes they’d film acoustic songs on the tour bus in the morning once they arrived in a new city. It was a relaxing time for them all, giving them a break from the repetition of the set list and allowing for more fun and goofing around while playing. Harry would occasionally sit in on their practices on the tour bus, but despite Aurora’s continued invitation for him to join in, he continued to refuse, reminding her that the channel was her project and there were enough aspects of their life where he stole the spotlight.

By the time they reached California for the final shows of the tour, Rori had managed to upload around a dozen videos to YouTube and was feeling great about rebuilding her identity separate from Harry. She’d never resent his fame, nor regret being a part of his solo career, but she really was enjoying doing something for herself and was even more excited to be joining the X Factor team the next month. The announcement would be made a few days after the final show in Inglewood that Aurora, Louis, and Robbie Williams would be joining Simon Cowell as the judges for season 15 and while she was nervous about the public’s reaction, she was eager to start, having always dreamed of being on the show when she was growing up. Of course, back then she had dreamed of being a contestant, so it was crazy to her that she would be the one judging instead and she could only imagine her mum’s reaction given that it had been one of their shows to watch together.

xXx

While she had been travelling for the past few months, Aurora had been carefully tracking her cycle to identify her ovulation window so that she and her doctors could plan when was the best time to attempt the first round of insemination. By some luck it seemed that 3 days after the final show of the tour would be the perfect time to try, so following the Inglewood show Aurora flew back to New York to undergo the initial procedure. The doctor made it very clear that it would not be uncommon for it to take several attempts for a successful pregnancy and that neither Aurora, or Tony and Steve would benefit from putting too much pressure on this first round of insemination. The three members of the Stark family headed back to Avengers Tower after the appointment and set themselves up in the living room for a relaxing afternoon watching movies together. Rori was not allowed to lift a finger for the following days, with both of her fathers fully committed to giving the pregnancy the best chance which they decided meant waiting on their daughters every need or want. Harry arrived in town the day after the procedure, having remained in LA for a few days to wrap up things from the tour and finalise details for them to be in London for the next 5 months as opposed to their original plan to work in LA on his next album. They both stayed at the tower for the remainder of the week before flying home to London in preparation for Aurora’s first day working on the X Factor when auditions began on the 23rd of July.

NEXT CHAPTER

OR CONTINUE READING ON AO3

What is social proof? It’s a marketing concept that we are all inadvertently, unknowingly contributing to every time we click on, retweet, like, reply or comment, and share any kind of social media, article, or blog post on the net. Technically, social proof, as defined by Sprout Social is:

The concept that people will follow the actions of the masses. The idea is that since so many other people behave in a certain way, it must be the correct behavior.

Social Proof and Me

As an author, social media is a hugely important part of my author platform, as it is for any writer or blogger. This is how we connect with readers now, even before the pandemic. Virtual, online events are now the norm. Instagram, Facebook, and YouTube Live video discussions are the new book signings. Twitter chats are weekly on any number of topics; I have two of my own, in fact, #SexAbuseChat every Tuesday at 6 pm pst/9 pm est and #BookMarketingChat every Wednesday at 6 pm pst/9 pm est.

All important for visibility, branding, and most importantly, connection.

However…there’s a limit. I reached my limit over the course of this past year. It didn’t come all at once. It came, little by little, reaching a peak this past month or so.

Why? How? Me, the so-called social media expert?

Access. Like many people, I have issues with the incredible level of access Facebook gives people once we friend them without our consent. PMs (private messages) are automatic, now with the ability for people to call, voice, and video message us, with no option to shut these options to OFF unless we unfriend the person (we can, however, mute a specific conversation). Technically, we do give them consent in the legal mumbo jumbo we all agreed to when we joined back in the 2010s.

I am not okay with this. And Facebook doesn’t care. Nobody cares. You’re probably thinking, “Geez, Karen. Shut up, already. Stop your whining, white lady.” I get it. I do. First-world problems.

I counter with: I hear you. It’s also part of my business. A huge part. Here’s why:

As someone who manages over 70+ various social media accounts as part of my BadRedhead Media business, plus my own accounts as well, Facebook requires I have a personal account in order to manage all those other Pages. I do understand why, particularly with all the ridiculousness of the past four years with the abundance of fake accounts, fake news, and such.

As a survivor of sexual abuse and stalking, this is ultra-concerning to me. So, what happened this past month or so? Suffice it to say, one person repeatedly tried calling me. I never pick up Facebook calls, especially if I don’t know you. Another left me a few voice messages saying they were offended by something.

Yet another left me another message in ALL SHOUTY CAPS that she didn’t find what I posted inspirational enough and she expected better from someone who is “supposedly on the side of authors.”

Oh, and there is the one lady who started replying on ALL my posts to the kind people who did comment that she didn’t think I replied often enough or to her satisfaction.

Well. I’ve been criticized before. You should read some of my 1-star reviews. There’s plenty!

But, for whatever reason, this struck a chord. I got up in my feels. I cried. I talked with one of them and we worked it out because we like and respect each other’s work in the mental health space. The others I blocked. It’s darn frustrating to donate hours of my time each week to helping writers solely because I want to, only to be told it’s not enough. Like, seriously? Fuck off.

My blood raged. My heart sank. Understandable, right?

But what really made me angry is that I put myself in that position by being available. I accepted that ‘it is what it is.’ This is what the social media platforms have given us, so that’s what I have to work within.

I’m too available. It’s too easy to leave me shitty messages. This is why people hire people like me – to handle this crap for them! So they don’t have to read these ridiculous criticisms from judgy people who apparently have nothing better to do or are having a bad day.

And I get bad days. It’s a damn pandemic. We’re all struggling. Where’s the damn compassion for one another?

I have a dislike/hate relationship with Facebook anyway, since about ten or so years ago when I discovered that a past love had died by suicide by going to his personal profile and seeing, “RIP dude,” messages there. We had spoken early that day. It still haunts me.

So…what to do? I’m claiming my time. I’m not posting to my personal Facebook profile right now. I’m ignoring it. I am checking my Pages and of course, my client Pages. When I feel like I can face it again, I will cull my ‘friends’ down from *checks real quick* 4385 people to maybe, I don’t know, the few hundred in my groups, many of whom I do know and treasure.

Social Proof and You

If you’re a writer, social proof matters. This is the world we live in. Publishing is not only writing.

You need to be ‘findable,’ not only on Google, but also on each individual social platform, so your readers can learn more about you and hopefully, buy your books. If you go the traditional route, publishers and agents want to know how many followers you have (easily upped by buying fake followers or likes from Fiverr or wherever). I suggest not doing that, because:

1) fake followers don’t buy books 

2) it’s usually pretty obvious when you have fake followers because they’re all foreign names, have questionable bios, and no tweets

3) do you really want to start your publishing career with a lie? 

They also want to know what you post, how often, and what your branding is. If you’re an indie author, honestly, the same applies. Social proof is about connection, building relationships, and authenticity. I’ve believed that since I started my business and writing career way back in 2011, and I stand by it now. Start slow, grow slow. It’s not a race.

I’m the furthest thing you’ll even find from a conspiracy theorist – I don’t believe in chemtrails, pizza parlor cabals, or that the earth is flat. However, I am a realist. Watch The Social Dilemma sometime. These huge tech companies share our data without our knowledge or consent (Cambridge Analytics, anyone?). Younger generations are so used to this, they don’t really care – ask them.

(My kids think having a chip implanted in their hands with all their data is a fabulous idea. “So much easier than having to talk and repeat everything over and over. Just scan me and be done with it,” says my daughter Anya (21). “Agree,” grunts my son, Lukas (15). Buy stuff, go to the doctor, whatever. Scan and go. Talk with any GenZ kid, you’ll likely get a similar answer. They’ve been tracked since birth everywhere. They don’t know life without a computer, tablet, or phone in their hands.)

Know that whatever we do, it’s all part of each platforms’ AI, and they share data, which is why that darling pair of shoes you just saw on Amazon is now showing up on Google, Facebook, Twitter, and every website you visit going forward. It’s all about the money, and they all get a piece of that affiliate link.

Every bit of every click is recorded, even when you’re watching videos on YouTube, or a subscription service like Netflix, or perusing goods on Amazon. It’s all connected. I’m not shocked or surprised by any of this, are you?

It’s Not Personal

What people say to us and about us is ultimately incredibly revealing about them. We know this, at an intellectual, psychological, and emotional level. Still, when people say mean things, it hurts. We’re human.

Does it matter in the overall scope of our lives? Who can say. It matters at that moment. It can matter when it comes to overall visibility when you’re marketing your book(s) or trying to get that book contract or interview. Only you can say if it matters to you.

Already a longtime fan of THE FOUR AGREEMENTS by Don Miguel Ruiz, I took a moment to reorient myself with this one agreement: Don’t take anything personally. I also stumbled across an excellent short and entertaining TEDTalk by Frederick Imbo. His main message to stop taking things personally is two-fold;

It’s not about me. Look at the other person’s intention and

It IS about me. Give yourself some empathy. Speak up. Ask questions. Pay attention to how you feel and be vulnerable with your needs.

I’m glad I was able to, inadvertently, employ point #2 and work out some issues with one of the people by telling him what he said made me cry. He apologized. I apologized. We talked it through and we’re still friends.

Ultimately, social media is what we contribute to it. What we make it. How much we allow of it into our lives. Social proof is going along with the tide. I’ve been in this space since 2008. Being connected to others is a big part of the work I do to help and support not only other writers, but also other childhood sexual abuse survivors. However, I’ve reached that point. I knew it was coming.

I’m not shutting my doors. I’m just adding a screen. With a strong lock.

***

Read more about Rachel’s experiences in the award-winning book, Broken Pieces.

She goes into more detail about living with PTSD and realizing the effects of how being a survivor affected her life in

Broken Places, available in print everywhere!

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The post What Is Social Proof and Does It Matter, Really? appeared first on Rachel Thompson.

via Rachel Thompson

So, what do you think the femblem cast would do for jobs irl? Appreciate your stories by the way, beasty and the bard is my favorite so far

I’m trying to work through older asks more like I used to with HxH, shorter form stuff, you know? Anyway, this is silly so a good starting point (also thank you! I love writing that story and going through my inbox I saw so many kind messages. I didn’t reply to them, but know that everyone’s words mean more than I can say)

Dimitri - There’s fanart of him as a firefighter and I like that. However, I guess it’d make more sense if he had a net worth we could only dream of and inherited a company of some sort from his father so that’s what I’m going with. Aside from running that, I think Dimitri would be someone who uses his fortune to engage in a lot of philanthropic work. Also, bless modern mental health care. 

Dedue - If we’re going aesthetics, Dedue would also be a Firefighter. Or a famous chef, famous for his intimidating appearance contrasted with his world-famous dishes. Although, hear me out. Dedue was someone whose city or w/e was destroyed by negligence or conflict of some kind and he works with Dimitri to protect his people and built his home back up.

Felix - Raised in a wealthy military family, Felix enlisted and served in the Army as soon as he was able but became disillusioned with the military after the death of his brother and returned home. After that, he became super involved with martial arts and wound up opening a gym, inadvertently taking in other young and disillusioned kids and giving them a healthy method of self-expression.

Sylvain - Rich boy. Bad reputation. E-Celeb. He lends his skills to the social media inept Dimitri to promote and help with all of his philanthropic work. He does a lot of good things but keeps it under wraps to maintain his superficial image. 

Ingrid - She runs Dimitri’s personal security force with a side gig of anonymous restaurant reviewing.

Annette - Chemistry professor at a university and rabid overachiever who makes consistent strides in the science world and inspires her students. She knows the Faerghus crew because she’s gone to them to make a case for funding scholarship programs.

Mercedes - Mercedes went to school to became a nurse, which is where she met Annette, and then she met Felix through Annette. Since many of the kids at his gym aren’t likely to go to get actual medical help, he calls her if there are any incidents. At the same time, she is an active participant in her local church and charity drives.  

Ashe - Okay I think he’d have a really idealistic sense of justice as a kid, but that slowly became warped as he grew up. He met Ingrid through Felix’s gym and wound up getting a position on Dimitri’s security team, seeing the work that Dimitri does as a sort of justice.

Edelgard - I wanna say like a politician or lawyer, but the fictional kind where they have solid values and beliefs and do good things in the name of justice. Edelgard would be more vocal about her desire to change things entirely rather than follow the system as it is.  

Hubert - Obviously he works with Edelgard. Sharing her ideals of justice, he acts as a behind the scenes confidant of sorts. Irl he’d be a bit less simp-y, working with her because he believes in her ability to make a change rather than some blood-intrinsic duty.

Ferdinand -  Similar to Edeglard, but more invested in the idea of working within the system to make a change. Despite that conflict, they do work together quite often, respecting the ideals of the other and acknowledging that ultimately they do want the same thing.

Dorothea - Musical theater STAR who is very passionate about social issues, namely the treatment of younger and less famous people in the industry. She uses her platform to promote up and coming actors and all of the backstage production crews that are so often ignored and abused.

Caspar - Head of Edelgard’s security for sure. Grew up a rich kid but separated from his family pretty much completely, deciding to make his own way in the world.

Linhardt - Tech guy. Cybersecurity maybe? At some point, he got hired by Edelgard and works with Caspar bc ofc he does. He makes it clear that it’s not an issue of morality that makes him loyal, but because it’s a fun challenge. 

Petra - An ambassador from a smaller country trying to establish more friendly relations for her people. People underestimate her because of her language skills, which actually works out for her sometimes because they don’t expect her political maneuvering. 

Bernadetta - An extreme introvert who inherited her father’s company but manages most of it remotely, also focusing on her artistic endeavors. Probably has a super popular webcomic appealing to comically exaggerated introverts everywhere.  

Claude - He attended a prestigious university and quickly fell into a career in journalism. Not like, trashy tabloid style, but actual journalism that is well researched and meant to hold people in power accountable. His background and source of wealth are mysterious, leading people to spend an inordinate amount of time speculating about his race online. Claude also uses memes and snappy editing as misdirection. 

Hilda - She’s famous for being famous and rich. However, in the midst of all of that fame, she befriended Claude and actually came to stand for a cause. But on the lowest of keys, most of what she posts is makeup reviews and glamorous photos. Gamer girl.

Lorenz - His father's Thomas Wayne, but like... The bad Thomas Wayne from Joker. Weapon production and everything. Lorenz changes that, though, focusing more on those Bruce Wayne endeavors. Except he’s not Batman, but Batman’s flamboyant, eggplant-headed brother. I love Lorenz I’m sorry boo

Ignatz - An artist, of course. Works in animation, maybe? He’s drawn all of Hilda’s graphics and sprites and stuff. She even paid him!  

Raphael - He does a lot of manual labor, taking on odd jobs or anything in the name of supporting his sister. 

Lysithea - After graduating top of her class, she began working in the medical field, researching cures and other helpful medicine. Claude keeps her discoveries from going unacknowledged, and Edelgard has actually had a donation drive to fund Lysithea’s work. 

Marianne - She owns and runs an organization that focuses on taking on animal cruelty and taking care of mistreated animals. She’s incredibly organized and efficient in the way she handles things and sees results through her various charities and request for funding. 

Leonie - She works in a private security organization once run by Jeralt, taking on whatever job she gets hired for. Leonie is more interested in the work than the jobs. Drinking, too. 

Do you remember you took a thrashing for me?

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I Saw You First

“An Angel & Her Assassin” sequel

Patron Benefit Fanfic for @softdudebro​!

Pairing:  College AU - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Author's Notes:  People have asked for sequels to this fic and I gave it a shot. I thought I'd dedicate this to Tomorrow since they like Bucky :) hopefully this is a good continuation and elicits some college feels cuz it definitely did for me! Hope ya'll like it!

Summary/Request:   The story of the first time you and Bucky saw each other but didn't actually meet. Then a flash forward to the present. smut.

**inspired by that one video of Seb working out** gif post

Word Count: 1700ish

Wanna get previews, early access and make exclusive requests? Become a Patron! You can follow my Patreon for free too as some stuff becomes public after a while. I’ll be adding a discord server benefit soon too!

Can’t become a patron? please consider a donation to my Ko-Fi (Tips are appreciated!)

Mobile Masterlist  /  Patreon & Commissions Masterlist

---------------------------------------------------

Bucky noticed you before he ever encountered you in the laundry room or the elevator of your dorm building. It figures that it would be at the gym, likely one of the regular places he frequented. Of course, you never knew this until after that fateful night at the Halloween party when you finally, truly connected.

When you asked him to tell you the story, he was playfully vague. But you know. You were there. You’d checked him out too.

Here’s how it really happened.

-----

The summer after your freshman year, you created another reading list to focus on. One of your methods to read these had been to take a book with you to the gym. You figured getting a little exercise at the same time would only help you develop better habits.

It worked, at first. The beginning of the new semester, you went to the gym for maybe two weeks? You enjoyed the ellipticals and recumbent bikes--the things that kept your legs busy but your hands and eyes free to read. It also distracted you from feeling self-conscious about the fact that you didn’t look like the other girls that came to the gym to socialize and work on their already-perfect bodies.

With the addition of classes, going to the gym became a harder habit to keep. You could just stay in your dorm room and read all you want, right? But by now, Rachel, your roommate needed a work-out buddy. Someone to motivate her to continue to go to the gym, as well. She claimed she wanted to get in shape for all the boys she’d scoped out at the floor meeting for the dorm during the first week of the semester.

“Let’s try the classes!” she suggested, pointing at the schedule on the wall. Step Aerobics, Yoga, Zumba, etc. They sounded alright, and maybe a change to your routine would be good.

So you started with the step aerobics class. You didn’t last long. You were breathing hard, face flushed and dripping with sweat. The blood was pounding in your ears, harder than the beats of music and every step on the hardwood floor and plastic steps.

You took a break, heading to the back of the class to get your water bottle. The back of the room was floor to ceiling windows and doors that faced the main area of the gym where all other equipment was. It took you only a second to realize why you disliked this set up. Everyone in the class, mostly other female students were in a fishbowl, on display for all the guys passing by or just blatantly standing at the windows. One guy winked at you and you scowled at him, effectively directing his eyes elsewhere.

What was so sexy about a sweaty step aerobics class? You thought to yourself as you turned to look at Rachel, killing it on the routine.

Oh, the butts, getting toned by the steps...Ugh!

You left after that, picking a leg press machine instead.

“Hey! Why you’d you leave?” Rachel asked after the class was over.

“Did you not see all the guys window shopping?”

“Uh, yeah, I got a number or two,” Rachel giggled, swinging her ponytail over her shoulder. You laughed as you got off the machine, offering it to your friend. She sat down and lowered the weight, significantly.

“I don’t come here to pick up guys.”

“You could if you wanted to,” she said, exhaling on the release. You just rolled your eyes. You told yourself it was because you didn’t have time for a man but really, how could you possibly expect to attract the interest of some jock? The guy that winked at you doesn’t count. He was disqualified the moment he decided to drool over a step aerobics class rather than work out. Your standards weren’t that low, seriously…

You and Rachel tried out a few more machines in the circuit, trying your own hands at strength training. But you realized quickly that you’d left the quieter space of the cardio equipment, too close to the weight lifting benches. Young men of all sizes were pushing themselves to the brink, breathing hard, grunting, exhaling, chanting, and egging each other on.

“Come on, Sam, you can do it! Just two more!” You knew that voice. Everyone on your floor knew Steve Rogers, quarterback, certified hunk and sweetheart. Or at least that’s what you had heard.

“He can’t do it.”

“Shut up, Buck!” a football player shouted as he pushed himself.

Too much testosterone. Intense. Stressful. Intimidating. That’s not what you wanted out of going to the gym. Quite the opposite really.

As you two left the gym, you made a mental note to avoid that area again.

-

The next class you attended was Zumba and not only did you keep up with it but you enjoyed it! The music was awesome and the choreography wasn’t too difficult. You could totally see yourself doing this again. But of course, boys… not men… boys…they ruin all the fun.

If step aerobics could catch the attention of onlookers, then zumba was like blood in the water for sharks.

Then again, you did feel sexy, swaying your hips, waving your hands, rolling your body. You decided to put the spectators out of your mind, losing yourself to a Shakira song.

When you left the class, having stayed for the entire thing and deciding to return tomorrow, you felt so good, so confident, that you didn’t care about who was looking. You were just in Nike leggings and a tie-dye shirt, hair up in a messy bun, nothing special, but you felt great.

“Hey, Rach!” someone called out for your friend, inviting her back over to the weight lifting area. The guy who called out for her looked familiar, someone that was likely found hanging out with Steve Rogers.

“Hey Sam,” she greeted him. You stayed by her side, holding onto that Zumba confidence with a steely grip.

You didn’t really listen to what happened between your friend and the football player. You saw Steve a few feet away with another friend. The man was on his back, legs bent and giant dumbbell weights in each hand. Your eyes went wide as you watched him push them up and hold them there. The way his arms were bulging in that gray t-shirt, he was straining himself and you were tempted to tell him to be careful.

“Give me one more!” Steve encouraged him. His friend winced as that last push was almost too much for him.

“Ah, fuck,” he hissed, exhaling and grinding his teeth. He pushed those dumbbells into the air once more and even a second time, then put them down with a loud thud as rubber met the concrete floor.

You didn’t have the best view of his face from his position on the ground and your standing position over 6 feet away, but that sound...like a growl, and his bared white teeth against that strong jaw covered in stubble…it’s a sound that stirred something deep in your belly.

He jumped to his feet and did a few quick squats in those black basketball shorts. You averted your eyes from his perfect ass just as he turned around.

You wouldn’t mind if he’d been watching you dance.

-------

“Ah, fuck.”

It’s the same sound that he made now as you sit on top of him, his hips thrusting up. His fingers were digging into your hips and would likely leave a bruise, but you didn’t mind. You were Bucky’s and he was yours. You’d staked your claim with that hickey on his chest just the other night.

“Mmph, fuck, damn it. I love it when you move like that,” he grunted. You rolled your hips, earning another moan from his lips before you leaned forward and pressed your chest to his, kissing him. He wrapped his arms around you and pinned you to him as he sat up and rolled over. The grunts and squeaks coming from the two of you as Bucky repositioned himself on top were ridiculous.

“Quit giggling,” he half-laughed. “M’gonna pull a muscle in this bed, I swear.” Your head hit the pillow with a ‘oof’ and another giggle. “Dammit, babe, you make it hard to fuck you when you sound that cute.”

“Then don’t fuck me…” Bucky’s hips froze, his cock buried deep inside you. His sharp features softened with outright confusion and a slight insecurity. You reached up to caress the side of his face, the stubble on his cheek itching your palm. “Make love to me.” Bucky released a heavy sigh, rolled his eyes and collapsed on top of you.

“Don’t mess with me like that, Doll,” he whispered into your hair, using your new favorite pet name. His slow thrusts picked up again while he kept his face next to yours. You held onto him for dear life as the tension inside you continued to build until your arched back signaled your release. Bucky kept pumping until the lasting effects of your orgasm sent him over the edge. Rather than stopping completely, he slowed down until the only movement was a twitch of pleasure every now and then. “Oh my god,” he whispered, peppering kisses on your shoulder. “I’m taking you to dinner.”

“Why?” you laughed.

“I’m sorry, darlin, are you turning down a free meal? Is it the company? Do you just use me for my body?” Bucky climbed off of you but you reached out for him; He stumbled as he fully ejected himself from the bed.

“Nonono, that’s not what I said!” you said, as you continued to laugh. “I’m just wondering...if that’s your way of paying me for my services,” you wiggled your eyebrows, a hint at your teasing. Bucky snapped a finger and pointed at you, putting on his own mock serious face.

“Hooker, I’m taking you to dinner because I want to.” Having cleaned himself up, Bucky tugged on his basketball shorts and a t-shirt he’d left in your dorm room the other day. The boy considered your floor his own personal closet. “We’ve stayed in, ordered food and watched movies and you’ve even helped me with my papers. You deserve to go out to an actual restaurant.”

“Okay, well, we should probably shower before we go out.”

“Oh, I agree but I can’t share that shower with you. It was too dangerous the first time. Never again.”

You picked up your towel and toiletries as Bucky sat in a bean bag chair on your floor. You tapped him on the nose.

“Never say never, Buck,” you said with a wink.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

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