#and he very helpfully explained who and what it was about

[squidiosyncrasies]

I think it's pretty common actually that, after learning enough about any subject, it gets harder for that person to realize what is and is not more common knowledge about that subject.

It also goes in the other direction. For example, one of my in-laws, after learning that I'm not familiar with Star Trek, assumed I had never even heard of (the very famous) George Takei and kept trying to tell me things I already knew about him.

I think the most unintentionally pretentious part of me is I genuinely forget that most people do not have a near-encyclopedic knowledge of mythology and folklore. I literally just assume most people know at least the name of every Greek god. My mom and I were watching the Banshees of Inisherin and at the start, she asked "Do you know what a banshee is?" and I was so stunned because it would never occur to me to ask that question because I would never assume the average person doesn't know what a banshee is. The average person knows what a banshee is right. You know what a banshee is right. You know the names of the greek gods right. You know that norse myth where loki fucked the horse right. Right. RIGHT

[magicalmanhattanproject]

Okay, so with Quackity Studios tweeting about adding new people and the need for tolerance and patience with people who don't speak English, let's just take a second and have a chat about what that's gonna look like.

First: you will hear things or read things on the translator that hurt or offend you.

This is inevitable. Do not immediately post about it. What you need tolerance for is hearing things that hurt or offend you and what you need patience for is figuring out of malicious intent was present or if this is a hill worth dying on right now.

As an example, we're pretty sure at this point that Korean is gonna be the next language added. The second person pronoun in Korean sounds a lot like the n-word in English. The n-word in English, if you're not aware, is like the single most offensive slur we have. It's not something that you want to hear unexpectedly. But also, if we get Koreans, they're gonna be using the word for "you" and English speakers are gonna have to be able to tolerate that.

On the other side of things, Korean has a complex system of honorifics and addressing someone without an honorific would be considered very forward and intimate at least if not very rude. None of the QSMP languages have honorifics though and only French really retains formality* so no one else is going to address them with honorifics unless they specifically explain it to people and walk them through it. That will probably be weird and uncomfortable for them and they're going to have to be able to tolerate that.

*Spanish and Portuguese do technically have formal vs informal but it's disappearing quickly in both of them.

These natural cultural clashes and pain points are going to be harder to overcome since we also know that at least some of these creators won't speak English at all so they can't just switch to English to helpfully explain things to us easily in a way we understand. We're going to have to deal.

So here's the thing: just because there can be cultural miscommunications and mistranslations, that doesn't mean that people can't also be assholes. How do you distinguish between the two?

Step One: Assume good faith. Assume that everyone in a given encounter is trying to communicate respectfully and compassionately and that a failure to do so can be overcome

Step Two: Don't get involved. Especially not in Twitch Chat. Two or more people trying to communicate through a language barrier does not get easier when they're also trying to wrangle hostile viewers.

Step Three: Are you sure you heard what you thought you heard or saw what you thought you saw? Did the translator fuck up? Is it a word that just coincidentally happens to sound like another word? If this is the case, the streamers can ask for clarification or use another tool and get it cleared up. Keep watching and see if they do.

Step Four: If they did say what you thought they said, are the streamers handling it? We had a thing a while back where Bad called some friends, including Bagi and Etoiles, uncultured because they didn't get a reference he was making and Etoiles was like "bro I'm French" and Bad apologized. That should have been the end of it, but I had to see people arguing about it for weeks. The problem was solved in 10 seconds.

Step Five: If the person is doubling down, are you sure this is something you can fix by yelling about it on Twitter or Tumblr? Would it be better to let people who actually know them talk to them behind the scenes? Pierre made a few missteps in the beginning of the server, Quackity said they had a chat, Pierre hasn't misstepped since. It's just easier to sort things out in private, one on one conversation than yelling at someone in public.

In short: it's fine to take note of behavior in case patterns start to emerge in it, but yelling on social media about how so and so is the worst person possible is not constructive.

[cheriladycl01]

My boyfriend the Bad Guy- Oscar Piastri x Teacher! Reader

Plot: Oscar surprises you in a class that you’re covering for on a day before a race weekend.

“Okay guys so Mrs Copani won’t be here for the rest of term, but that means I get to teach you guys all about … the rainforest!” You exclaim to the young children in your class. You were currently covering for a school in your district whose teacher went on maternity leave, it was your first job as a teacher rather than a teaching assistant because you were so young.

“Now, this project will be very fun! We’re going to do lots of arts and crafts and at the end of term Headmaster Kelvin has organised a trip” you tell them excitedly and they all start chatting!

“We’re going to a rainforest!” One of them exclaims.

“My mum says they’re a long way from us!” Another chips in.

“Are we going far for this trip?” Another asks a little confused.

“Okay okay settle down! Now you’ll learn that Chloe is right and that there aren’t any rainforests near us. The closest one would be Africa, and I can’t take you guys all the way there … but in the UK we have a place where they have these biome pods called the Eden Project so we’re going to take you there” you explain and they all nod.

“Okay so let’s start on some facts about the rainforest. Does anyone know anything about the rainforest that they can tell me!” You ask.

“It rains a lot!” Dylan shouts and you nod.

“That’s right! It’s helps that its in the name right? But rainforests have a lot of warm humid rain all year round. 79-394 inches. High for comparison is about the height of a tree!” You exclaim and gaze round seeing the fascinated look on all the kids faces.

That was your favourite part of teaching!

“And when you look at a rainforest … like this one” you say getting up a picture of one of the interactive whiteboard. “What do you see!” You ask looking around the classroom.

“Lots or Green” AJ shouts and everyone agrees.

“Mmmmm that’s very true. And what is all that greenery, some of you might have them in your garden at home! We have some in the gardens here and Miss Y/L/N has a few on her classroom windowsill” you offer helpfully, a girl raises her hand.

“Gabby?”

“Plants Miss!” She squeals and you nod with a smile on your face.

“Very good! Now the rainforest is very important as even though only 10% of earth is made up of rainforests … it has the most plants and animals there which helps us” you smile.

“Why miss?” Connor calls out and you smile.

“The trees around us, even the ones here release something out of them that go into our atmosphere and it turn it helps us breath. That’s why trees are so important and it’s why when we use paper, we always ….” You pause waiting for them to finish your common phrase.

“Recycle it” they all giggle and you nod.

“That’s right!” You smile at them all.

“Okay now when you all have a cold what does you mum and dad give you to make you feel all better?” You ask walking around the room.

“Matt” you say seeing the boys hand raised.

“Medicine!” He cries out in joy.

“Lots of those medicines come from the rainforest, that’s why it’s important we preserve it!” You teach them, you could never be to young to teach about protecting the planet.

“What’s preserve?” One of them asks with their head cocked to the side.

“Hmmmm that’s a difficult word to describe. Okay so let’s pretend you guys are … the Avengers” you grin and they all gasp happily.

“I wanna be Captain America”

“I’ll be Thor”

“I want to be Black Panther”

“I’m Kate Bishop”

“Okay okay you can all be whoever you want! But you guys need to protect the environment from all the bad people out there!” You grin, knowing this was all just a bit of fun but still educating them on what’s important.

“Who are the bad people” one of them asks, just before a knock is heard on the classroom door. You look to the left seeing Oscar there watching you with a soft smile on his face. You hop up from your desk walking over to the door.

“Here is one of the villains you have to defeat” you say as you open the door to your boyfriend.

“He’s a bad guy!” One of the girls ask, and you know you’ve just potentially started her obsession with always crushing on the villains in future movies and books she watch.

“But Miss that’s your boyfriend” they all giggle at this and you grin too, Oscar just standing there confused as to why you’re now all of a sudden calling him a bad guy.

“Mmmm and why am I a bad guy?” He asks looking at you with his polite cat smile.

“Who knows what Oscar does for a living, do any of you like Cars?” You ask and they all gasp.

“Miss miss I know I know!” Ollie cries out.

“Yeah?” You asked.

“He drives race cars!” He says on his knees rocking back and forth.

“He does! And he travels all over the world to do it, meaning he doesn’t help the environment, he does the opposite!” You say knowing just how astronomically high your boyfriends carbon footprint was.

The kids then all started to ask Oscar questions about racing, many of them being Lightening McQueen related.

Eventually it was the end of the school day, Oscar kindly helped you pack up the classroom before leading you out to the car park where his McLaren was parked.

“Thank you for coming to get me baby” you smile and he takes your hand guiding it to the gearstick so he can keep a hold of you while he’s there.

“You’re welcome! How was your first fall day teaching them on your own?” He smiles rubbing his thumb along your hand.

“It was really good, we’re starting a rainforest project and so we’re going to make loads of charts for the board I created and at the end of term we’ve got a trip organised!” You explain and he can’t help but grin at how excited you seem.

“Woah, that’s really cool! Do you still think that you’ll be able to come this weekend?” He asks knowing that where you taught Monday to Thursday you had the perfect opportunity to spend GP weekends with him.

“Of course I am baby, I have my flight booked for Thursday night, I’ll get there Friday Morning” you admit and he smiles bringing your hand up of the gearstick and in front of him mouth. He kisses it lightly.

“So where are we going, this isn’t the way home” you ask once you notice your on a different main road.

“Somewhere Lando showed me, I wanted to take you there. I think you’ll really like it” he explains and you nod.

Eventually you come up to a little park, he takes a rucksack from the boot, taking your hand and walking through the afternoon sun with you to the edge of a large pond, that had a wooden bridge going over the middle of it.

“Wow this is gorgeous” you exclaim looking at the surroundings before taking some pictures. You get one of yours and Oscars feet and then a selfie of you guys with the lake in the background.

“I love this, it’s so peaceful” you breathe out a relaxing breath. You and Oscar walk and talk, both having a busy schedule ment that moments like these you could yap to each others hearts content.

He eventually started to lay out a blanket, it was getting a little cooler as the sun got lower and lower in the spring afternoon.

“I brought some wine, and some cheese and grapes. I know you’ve been wanting to go out for a while with the girls but you haven’t had time… so I brought girls night too you” he smiles sheepishly hating how busy both your lives were individually and with each other. You saw your friends maybe once a month at best, you were very lucky they were so understanding.

“I love you Osc” you say leaning into him, kissing his cheek, a blush forming across his nose.

“I love you too baby” he smiles.

You both sit on the blanket leaning into one another while continuing your previous conversation, and sharing chaste kisses every now and then, tasting the rich one on each others lips.

Intimate and personal time like this with Oscar would always be your favourite.

y/user

Liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and others

y/user: Oscar surprised me on my first day today and took me out afterwards on a date :) How sweet can he get!

View all comments

oscarpiastri: Love you ❤���

-> y/user: I love you more 🥺🌸❤️

ybff: omg you guys are so cute! Seeing you when?

-> y/user: soon for sure! After class coffee? Mrs Copani has gone for maternity leave so I’ll have this post for a while!

user: Billy raves about his new teacher in class today! Thank you for making it engaging!

-> user: I agree Madison came home with the biggest smile on her face today! Thank you Mrs Y/L/N

Instagram Story Caption:

First day on the job 🌸 Miss Y/L/N

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[ellecdc]

HIII!!!!!!!!! first off i wanna say - I LOVEEEEE ALLLLLLLL THE RECENT WORKS SM i came back and i was reading through them and they're soooooo good ur so talented omgomomg

ok so request (take ur time if u want!!) idk if u write platonic fics but i really really love how u write barty and that one fic where reader and reg were fighting and she was bsfs with barty- i loved it smmmmm so can we please get some platonic barty x reader being the main focus? (i dont mind anyyy romantic pairings i just want best friend barty being absolutely insane plsplsplpslsl

of course MY LOVE; this request is from back in March hahaha sorry

poly!moonwater x fem!reader who they find in bed with Barty

CW: fluff, swearing

Regulus had spent the last umpteen years believing himself to be a light sleeper, likely thanks to growing up in a house straight out of a muggle horror film where his fight or flight reflexes were always at the ready to flee from any danger. It appeared, though, that being,  like, loved by and feeling safe with the people you surround yourself with could do wonders to a person’s subconscious…

Who knew?

This meant that though Regulus was typically a light sleeper, he seemed to have slept through your departure from his bed in the Slytherin boys’ dormitory.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to sleep through the sudden jolt Remus caused in the bed as he sat up and began panickedly feeling around the bed. 

“What’re you doing?” Regulus groaned as he pulled his pillow over his head and rolled onto his side in order to point his back towards his - currently skating-on-thin-ice - boyfriend. 

“Where’s dovey?” Remus hissed back; an urgent quality taking over his words that Regulus could tell it was far too early to be dealing with.

“What d’you mean?”

Remus groaned in exasperation as he cast a lumos with his wand. “I mean where is our girlfriend, you sod.”

“Have you checked with Barty?”

Regulus almost allowed sleep to pull him back into its sweet, sweet embrace before Remus ruined it again.

“What?”

“Barty, Remus. Have you checked with Barty?” Regulus repeated irritably.

“No? What? Why would I have checked with Junior?” Remus sputtered, though his asinine question was answered by none other than Barty himself.

“Finders keepers mother fuckers.” He snickered quietly.

Remus ripped open the curtain of Regulus’ four poster bed in the Slytherin dungeons to see you sleeping quite peacefully on the opposite side of Barty who was grinning arrogantly at your two boyfriends. 

“What!?” 

“She was too hot over there; I can feel the heat radiating off of you from here, Lupin. What the fuck is that about?”

“She could have taken a blanket off!” Remus argued petulantly.

“You kept tucking her back in saying she was going to catch a cold.” Regulus added helpfully sleepily.

Barty snickered at Remus’ disbelieving scoff. 

“No. Absolutely not; Junior, give me our girlfriend back.” He demanded.

This time it was Barty’s turn to scoff. “Would you shut the fuck up, Lupin; we’re trying to sleep over here.”

And to Remus’s absolute horror, you seemed to stir at the conversation causing you to reach an arm over Barty’s chest and rest your head on his shoulder before you settled back into a restful slumber. 

“Leave her be, Rem.” Regulus chided, causing Remus to divert his malcontented glare to his boyfriend.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re always going on and on about how we need to prioritize sleep; she’s doing that.” He explained simply.

“With him!” Remus nearly shrilled, earning him a ‘shut up you stupid sod’ from said girlfriend stealer.

“Well would you rather have both of us be tetchy tomorrow for having our beauty sleep interrupted, or just me!?” Regulus finally barked, pulling his pillow away from his face to shoot Remus a stern glare. 

Remus seemed to consider his options before he begrudgingly relented and sunk back under the covers with a very petulant harumph.

“She’s going to smell like him tomorrow.” He pouted as he pulled Regulus into his arms possessively. 

Regulus sighed and nuzzled further into Remus’ neck. “You can fix that tomorrow.”

Regulus felt the tension in Remus’ body relax as he no doubt imagined all the ways he would be doing just that.

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (v)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, witchcraft

A/N: it's like i never left amirite (im sorry it has been like 10 months pls forgive me ily guys let's pretend this series never went on hiatus) (i had cancer and college but now I've graduated from both and i live babyyy. anyway. welcome back to my house of horrors)

Previous part || Series masterlist

When you tell Maya you want to do witchcraft, you'd done so with the full expectation of defending your idea with the force of a PhD student who was on the verge of a mental breakdown.

She surprisingly agrees. 

“Really?” It's hard to stop the astonishment from entering your voice. Honestly, it sort of pisses you off that the Canva presentation you spent five hours on wouldn't actually see the light of day.

“Yeah, sure. I think it'd do well with the older demographic. ” She shrugs.

"Really?" Now you weren't sure she was on the same plane of existence as you were.

“Make some animals talk. Conjure up some parking spots.”

Ah. 

“I was thinking more like... hexing people and shadow demons,” you test slowly.

That seems to tether her to reality.

Her head cranes towards you centimetre by centimetre, like she was buffering in real time.

“Are you insane?" she states, not very much sounding like she was expecting an answer. "Do you want to end up on the news? Do you know how vicious Facebook groups can be?” 

“No PR is bad PR,” you preach wisely, parroting advice you’d seen bots on Twitter tell other bots. 

“That doesn’t apply to you. I already have a tough time explaining Stephen Strange and why he’s not literally the devil to the public."

Now that was a little unfair. Perhaps it warranted another Canva presentation.

"Have you considered that I'm hotter and significantly cooler than Stephen Strange?" you suggest helpfully.

She squints at you, or more likely your audacity. "I will not have another scandal on my hands this week.” 

“But next week is okay?”

Her hardened stare tells you quickly what a thousand words cannot.

You cross your arms over your chest. “Thou limit me so, Maya. How is one to find you invigorating content in these trying circumstances?”

Maya taps your shoulder on her way out, crooning, “There’s a reason I asked you to do this series. You’ll figure it out.”

You hide a smile with an all too dramatic sigh. “Thou compliment me so. How am I to not fall in love with thee?”

Maya shakes her head playfully. “Nothing that will get me called into a press conference by mid-day. No hexing. No extreme curses. ”

“Mid-level curses it is, then” you call after her.

Her leaving figure does not give you a reply.

After a week of staring at the corner of his room through the night, delirious to the point where he seriously considered using Sam’s Amazon Prime account to buy his own stupid ghost apparatuses, Bucky throws in the towel.

Clearly, he was mistaken. Sleep deprived and probably missing his family a little more than he would have ever admitted to a living soul.

Bucky's sleep deprivation adds to his already charming and sociable personality.

No one would touch him with a ten-foot pole. Bucky’s usually grumpy and while everyone had sort of built a tolerance towards his regular nonsense, he was now the very sexy combination of grumpy and sensitive.

For his part, after last week's shenanigans, Bucky has stuck to avoiding anything and everything horror.

He watches only romcoms and finds that while everyone says he seems most like Harry from Harry Met Sally, he hates that Mike Wazowski motherfucker with a passion. 

While everyone else seems to get the memo, you have chosen to ignore it blissfully, and have instead been prancing about all week, shoving meme after meme into his face.

Bucky Barnes smiling compilations that were 7 seconds long. Bucky Barnes social media fanfictions that showed him replying far more than he had ever replied to anyone in real life ever.

Bucky’s learnt to ignore you with a long-suffering glare. You adapt quickly, skillfully dodge the daggers shooting out of his eyes and shove another TikTok in his face. It is an edit of him to Toxic by Britney Spears. He doesn't want to ask where they got some of the footage they used.

After the fifth Twitter screenshot, he takes to avoiding you like the plague.

Unfortunately for Maya, that involved avoiding the set too. He sees on the official The Graveyard Shift channels that there’s an announcement put out about an episode delay. 

It is undeniably his fault. No, he still won't answer the group chat or the several knocks at his door every day.

But because the universe is invested in his sorrow, you seem to find him wherever he goes.

In the garden, digging through the vegetable bed.

In the storeroom, looking through oversized cookware.

When he walked into the alley behind the Tower and found you there, he hissed at you like a feral cat and you asked very loudly what the fuck was wrong with him. 

He checks every part of him and all his clothes for a tracker but no-- you just seem to have a karmic connection level of being exactly where he is. 

When he runs into you for the fourth time at the library, he really thinks he’s lost it.

“Are you following me?” he asks, voice sharp.

You look at him in wonder. “Your ego is so big it could have its own gravitational pull. How do you carry around your massive head all day?"

“Everywhere I go, you’re there.” He continues, finger pointing in accusation. 

“Bitch, you're the one who walked in here," you exclaim. "I’ve been here all day.”

“Doing what?”

“Who’s following who now?” you dare.

“Because you’re in this section.” He does a quick check to see what section it actually is. Witchcraft and Wizardry. He may not have known that when he accused you but he definitely was not wrong.

“Why do you care what I do here?”

Because he's wondering if he’s managed to shut down production permanently and sent a bunch of people into unemployment.

“I don’t trust you here," he settles on instead. "What are you actually doing?"

“I’m learning things. Gaining knowledge. And such." You gesture vaguely before you narrow your eyes at him. "Not that you would know, you ape.”

He scoffs. He had the intelligence of a thousand suns, mind you.

“You don’t even have a book," he counters.

“So? I’m gaining knowledge through osmosis.” You look around. “I’m absorbing.”

His nose twitches, teeth clenched.

“Whatever,” he mumbles instead, turning his attention to the bookshelf.

As he thumbs through various titles he’s too annoyed to read, a small movement catches his attention. 

He watches you from the corner of his eyes. 

“What?” you demand, this whole exchange too damn loud for a library. 

“What?” he challenges right back. “Why are you watching me?”

“Why am I– you’re the one staring at me.” You throw your hands up. “First you follow me here, second you accuse me of things that would get me burnt at the stake a couple of years ago, third you accuse me of watching you just 'cause you know you're pretty. You–”

Bucky narrows his eyes, not missing the random compliment you slipped in.

“Hold on just one second. That’s why you’ve been avoiding everyone all week.” You stare at him, wide-eyed and unrelenting.

He thinks he must have missed some part of the conversation because he has no idea why you're looking at him like you've figured him all out.

“That’s why you’ve been so jumpy and sleep deprived ever since that episode you filmed.”

Bucky’s gaze doesn’t waver, but his mind races and his breath falters for a second. There’s no goddamn way you knew what had gone down, he’d deleted every footage that could possibly–

“You missed me.”

He stops his overthinking right in its tracks.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” You tilt your head, face full of pure sympathy. “You filmed one episode without me by your side and realised you couldn’t live without me.”

“Fucking ridiculous,” he mutters, eyes pressed closed tighty, partially in relief. 

“You want me, don’t you? You want me so bad it makes you throw u–”

“Fuck off.” Bucky turns on his heel at the speed of light.

“You have a fat, raging crush–”  

“I’m fuckin' moving out.” His voice is like rocks.

“You can move out, but you can never move on, baby,” you whisper-shout. “When’d you realise you liked me, Bucky? Night one? The first hou–”

He slams the library door behind him. 

From: Stevie Left some strawberries outside your door. They’re good. 

From: Stevie How are you doing today, by the way?

From: Bucky alive

From: Bucky and thanks 

From: Stevie Anything we have to talk about? Your wood chisels didn’t break again, did they?

From: Bucky nothing im fine

From: Stevie You sure? Time for a Cypress Hills visit?

From: Bucky no im fine 

From: Stevie You haven’t left the room in a week. Beat your old record and I'm going to start getting worried here.

Bucky stares at his phone wondering how he ended up with a mother a century after his own died, before sighing.

From: Bucky going to film a video this week. im fine

From: Bucky promise 

Because there really was no other way to convince Steve that he as leaving the cave he constructed from his comforter.

From: Steve Good to hear. I’m always across the hallway if you need anything. 

From: Bucky i know. your gramophone won’t let me forget it. 

From: Steve Dick.

From: Bucky it is too damn loud. old ass

From: Steve Got a new record. Haven’t listened to it yet.

From: Bucky ill be there in 10

That Friday, Bucky walks onto the set in his finest black hoodie and darkest sunglasses, looking less like a badass and entirely like a hungover teenager. 

Before he has a chance to even register what’s going on, he is ambushed by lights, a team touching up his face and his stupid dollar store sunglasses leave him before he has a chance to protest.  

“I told you he’d show up,” you pipe up proudly from your place at the table. “Lil' shit simply missed me too–”

“Stop,” he interrupts, finally getting around to look at the set when the foundation brushes stop assaulting his line of vision. 

For a hot second, he thinks you've taken over Steve's cooking show. 

There are candles floating around, which he assumes you're holding up. A large… cauldron, gigantic wooden mixing spoons and 50 little bowls worth of ingredients are neatly arranged on the table.

“What the hell is going on?” he questions immediately. “What is all this?”

“Mise en place, baby,” you reply, shutting a book you had on the table loudly before looking at him. “You’re on dish duty. Come on.” 

“What?” His eyebrows pull into a frown. 

You dust off your hands before reaching under the table and chucking an apron at him. “Back when I worked as a line cook, the number one rule was to clean up as you go. I like to think of it as--”

“What is going on here?” he specifies, already trying to piece together your timeline in his head with every new piece of lore.

“Welcome to my kitchen, motherfucker.” Your grin is nefarious. “We're gonna do some witchcraft.” 

After he spends fifteen minutes on the phone with Maya confirming that yes, that is indeed the episode and that the heads up he needed would have reached him if he opened the seventeen million messages on the group chat– he finally comes to stand behind the bench with you, a tick in his jaw but also with enough self-awareness to be sheepish. 

He thought his grand return to the channel would be a simple video with some ghost reading or whatever, not… this. 

He turns to you, ready to reach a compromise that ends with him not having to be there at all.

But in the fifteen minutes he had turned his attention to the call, you’ve somehow convinced them to start rolling before he gets the chance to leave, so he’s immediately hit with a--

“We’re on in three…two–”

“Where is your apron?” you demand, looking him up and down.

“I’m not wearing that shit.” It had some stupid slogan like ‘Life is about taking whisks!’ and he had already been through enough.

“Jeez, annyone would think that you're not in love with me--"

"I'm not."

"--by the way you're so ungrateful. I got that custom-made for you,” you tsk. “I could've gotten the other one. Mine could've said ‘he’s my sweet potato’ and yours could've said ‘I yam’.”

Bucky experiences a whole-body chill. 

“Whatever," you dismiss with a wave of hand before looking into the camera. "Before we get started, we recognize that for some, witchcraft is a deeply meaningful religion and spiritual practice that should be approached with respect and curiosity.”

“We’re not claiming this is the definitive guide to witchcraft, we’re simply trying out a book that’s been highly recommended for better or worse, and seeing where it leads us. Whaddya say, Bucko?

You look at him for input. Bucky stares at the dusty, hole-ridden monstrosity on the table.

“What’s it called?” Bucky asks finally after a long pause.

You tap the thick, old book. “Witchcraft for Weenies: A Totally Legit Guide to Authentic Witchcraft by A. Harkness.”

“Is that the actual name or are you just making it up?”  

“Rich coming from the only one between us who actually lied on camera--" you glare at him. "I would never fabricate my sources, I’m a champion for academic integrity.”

You pick up the book to show him, flipping it towards the camera too and sure enough, the book that was basically falling apart at the binding was called exactly that.

“Let’s-a go, baby.”

You stare at him, lips pressed together. Bucky gives no inclination towards changing his answer. 

“Fine. We’re going to do this the hard way, I see.” You exhale, reaching into the pocket of your apron. 

Bucky’s eyebrows knit together when you brandish a deck of cards, yank his arm towards you and drop it into his open palm. 

“Shuffle," you command.

Something very familiar faces him.

Bucky stares at the cards before looking back at you. “Why’s my face on it?”

“It’s a tarot deck I got from Comic Con,” you insist. “Avengers themed. Now shuffle it.”

He thinks you left that card on top on purpose, but regardless, he's already been too much of a menace to the crew to be the cause of any more disturbance.

So he slowly begins, careful and skilled, before you scoff in his face.

“Faster, grandpa," you chide. “I’ve seen the way those hands cut garlic when no one’s around, I know you move faster than that.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but complies anyway, shuffling the cards with the adeptness only a certain Jim Morita could have taught him in a dark tent to keep him awake on a night watch. 

“Faster,” you goad, face smug. “Faster. Come on now, Barnes, your age finally catching up to you?”

It’s stupid– he doesn’t even know why he’s actually complying and increasing his speed. He can’t believe that he was letting you pressure him.

“C’mon, faster, Barnes, you abso-”

His hands were moving so fast by then that they’d have to put the video in slow motion to catch all the movement.

“Faster–” and in the commotion, a few cards fly out.

“Brilliant, thanks.” You slam them down on the table, plucking the deck out of his hand before he has a chance to process why the fuck he actually went ahead with what you were trying. 

“Right, so the universe has decided that these will be your cards,” you tell him, and he finally looks down at what had fallen out of the deck. 

The cards show Sam’s Captain America shield, Carol Danvers, and Spider-Man, with words written below.

“The Star, Six of Cups, The Hanged Man,” you read out thoughtfully.  

Bucky rolls his eyes so hard he thinks they’ll fall out of his skull. 

“You know, I’m going to just make a general assumption and say you need help.” You hum to yourself. “I'm gonna make a potion to get you some.”

“Get me some?” He's too busy trying to figure out what the cards could possibly mean to see that he's walked straight into that one.  

“Get you some perspective. You need an advisor who’ll dish it to you straight. Give you the facts, no bullshit–”

"No." He had too many of those in his life and he has had enough of people being “honest” and "straightforward” and telling him his moustache was ugly every time he dared to try out a new look–

Until you reach under the table and again and suddenly, there’s a white creature buzzing around on the table in front of him.

“Behold– your new advisor,” you announce.

From the corner of his eye Bucky can see the production team scrambling to figure out where the hell this was going. He lip-reads producers’ orders to find adoption links or resources to insert during post-production, and teasers on social media, to make this look more planned. Great, so no one was prepared-- it wasn't just him.

“Whose fucking cat is this?” He looks down at it, all white except for a few brown spots all around, green eyes and evil in her aura.

“Relax, I'll give her back when we're done.”

“Give her ba–” he echoes. “Where did you get her?” 

“The alley outside,” you coo, rubbing under her chin. “I checked and she doesn’t have an owner. But look at her, she’s meant to be here.”

Bucky looks at the cat. The cat looks back at him, irises narrowing into slits. His nose twitches. 

“You can’t just bring a cat–”

“Remember to adopt, not shop,” you say to the camera before clapping your hand. “Anyway. If my potion goes according to plan, she will be giving you unsolicited life advice for eternity.” 

“You will be unemployed, then,” Bucky manages to add while watching the chaos unfold behind the camera.

“Nonsense, I’m irreplaceable.” You grin. “Besides, you can't manufacture chemistry like this even in a cauldron.” 

You send him a flying kiss. His glower was as sharp as laser beams.

“Let’s get started.” You grin at the camera. 

Bucky tries to pet the cat. She hisses at him.

Well all-fucking-right then.

One hour later, things have descended into madness of the most mundane kind.

It was precisely when you started telling him ten minutes in that a book had nothing on your instincts and raw intelligence that Bucky knew that this was going to shit. 

The cauldron was on an electric stove unlike the open fire demanded by the book because the team had enough foresight to know it would be a fire hazard.

You toss in something that looks like cardamom but he isn’t sure at this point. He just wanted to get away from the bright lights and the strange smiling liquid boiling awai.

The cat sits obediently by your side, watching curiously. He is convinced that she is evil.

Unfortunately, Bucky has had to hold her back twice when she tried to stick her paw in to attack a bubble, and at this point, he doesn’t think he has it in him to do it a third time. 

You read the recipe as if it makes any sort of fucking difference now.

“We’re almost done,” you sing. 

Bucky nurses his headache.  “Don't give me hope.” 

“Put some more reegelbeetle seeds in,” you dictate. “This is gonna work, I can feel it.”

Bucky uses his free hand to do as you say. He doesn’t even think it’s the right one, he just reaches for whatever is closer to you and you don't seem to care either.

You toss in some more seeds, stir twice and then turn off the stove. 

“Boom.” You lift the spoon up, watching the thick liquid drip back. “This is either a talking potion or a hex.” 

"Hex to do what?”

“I think it activates dormant allergies.” You squint at the book that literally had no significance besides being a prop. “You got any?”

“No.” But it makes him think of Steve’s pollen allergies. 

“Oh. Well, then there’s only one outcome here.”

“Alright, here we go.” Of the gigantic pot that you’d just stirred, you fish the tiniest amount out on the smallest spoon he’d ever seen, which you also apparently stored in the vast space that was your apron pocket.

The cat watches you hold the spoon near its face.

It takes a sniff. Then two. Finally, after deeming it non-poisonous, it sticks out its tongue the tiniest bit and takes a lick.

The whole crew is silent.

Bucky’s hand is still pressing against his temples.

“Tell us your name,” you urge, voice hopeful.

The cat looks at Bucky, and for a second, something akin to understanding flashes in its eyes. It’s uncanny and weird and something about it unsettles him deeply. 

You seem to catch it too because you look at him in surprise. He looks back at you, face pulled into a frown. 

And for a moment, he wonders. If you'd somehow done it. Because there’s no fucking way–

Then it meows.

He exhales.

Your shoulders drop as you let out an “Aw, man.”

"Great. Goodbye. Like and subcribce to the bell icon," he calls out, dusting his hands against his pants.

Someone from the production crew sneezes.

Both of you turn to him immediately. 

At the same instant, someone else all the way on the opposite end sneezes again, and the whole crew turns to look at them, before another sneezes in the front.

“We did it!” you cheer.

“We didn’t do jack,” Bucky interjects immediately as the crew errupts into a cacophony of chatter and sneezes.  

“It’s a hex that activates allergies and they’re sneezing,” you point towards them with the spoon, triumphant.

“You threw fifteen fuckin' pounds of pepper in there,”  he argues. “You've turned this room into a sandstorm of dry spices. This proves nothing.” 

“I’ve connected the dots.” Your eyes shine, ignoring him.  

“You didn’t connect shit.”

“I’ve connected them.” 

Someone in the corner sneezes. He wonders if Steve’s allergies would be activated by the trace amounts of... cursed soup that he carries with him back to the floor. 

“Well, we can’t leave them like this, Bucky.” You look around, tsking. “We gotta make a reverse hex or something.”

“You can,” he says. “It’s called opening the windows.”

“Nope,” you pop the last syllable. “We’re making another potion. C’mon.”

“First of all, this is not a potion–” he begins, but is interrupted by a buzz on his phone, the screen lit up by a text on the groupchat. 

From: Maya I don’t give a shit if it’s placebo or not. Make a damn potion before you get sued for hexing employees. 

“Fine,” he grumbles. 

“Beautiful. Grab the ash sphinx flakes,” you brandish another big cauldron from fuck knows where.

Bucky stares at you, unmoving.

“Just get the oregano,” you sigh. 

The cat tries sticking her paw in the pot again.

Bucky feels a sneeze incoming.

Whether the hex and subsequent anti-hex Maya forced you to make at gunpoint was real or not, is yet to be determined scientifically.

What actually does happen, is the damn apron you give him carries enough trace amount of your stupid experiment, that it somehow activates Steve’s very real pollen allergy. Bucky finds himself on edge for the rest of the day every time the man rattles the walls with his middle aged dad sneezing.

It carries on over to his show, which means Steve’s episode on baking a 1950s chocolate cake from tomato soup is edited extremely strangely to cut out every sneeze.

Which means Nat’s episode on spy inaccuracies in Argylle takes twice as long to film because they have to take a few seconds every time Steve’s sneezes interrupt her from the set next door.

Which means Bruce’s video on the science behind memory is delayed on shooting.

All in all, something does seemed to have been hexed, but it mostly seems to be everyone’s fucking productivity.

Finally, everyone manages to get through the day, and the videos are sent to post production.

The same night when everyone’s gathered at the dining table to commemorate the end of another shoot day, Bucky slips out, knowing that Steve would save him a slice of pizza if he never returned. 

He goes back to the library to return his copy of Understanding Wood Finishing, when his curiosity leads him back down a familiar path. 

It’s where he finds you again, in the same corner as the last time, on the floor, surrounded by shelves.

“You again.” You quirk an eyebrow when he appears from the shadows. "Aren't you supposed to be eating pizza?"

“What are you absorbing now?” he asks, voice low for once, respecting the sanctity of the library now that day had slipped into night and everything seemed a bit more solemn now.

“Nothing,” you answer.

“Then why are you here?” 

He figured you’d be out there, introducing everyone to the cat that was now set to be roaming the halls, before someone assumed it was a shapeshifting enemy and dealt with it accordingly.

“God forbid someone get some peace and quiet for once,” you mumble. “It’s too loud out there.”

Oh.

You don’t say anything else, leaning back against the bookshelf with your eyes closed.

There really isn't a need for more words. He gets it. 

The understadning leaves silence in its wake. Bucky doesn't really have anything to say.

“Did you come here just to stare at me?” you ask finally. “Did you finally admit your feelings?” 

“Jesus Christ,” he groans. “I’m not in love with you.”

“Only a matter of time.” You smile before changes to something more subdued, a bit more serious. “You wanna talk about what’s actually been bugging you for the last week?”

Bucky looks at you wearily. “The tarot cards tell you something?”

You eye him. “Not more than what’s obvious. Wanna talk about it?”

He swallows, throat suddenly feeling like it's closing in on itself. 

“No.”

“Alrighty.” 

You say nothing more than that, leaving the both of you in relative quiet, save for the buzz of the warm fluorescent light above. 

Bucky takes an awkward seat next to you on the floor.

You pry open an eye to look at him in suspicion.

“Y’mind?” he manges.

“Mind what?”

He gestures to himself uncomforably, readiy to jump up and leave at any second.

You observe him for a second, and for once he stares back with no irritation in his look, just permission.

“No, you can sit.” You close your eyes. “So long as you don’t tell anyone else 'bout this place.” 

If there’s anything Bucky’s good at, it’s keeping a secret. 

He settles back into the shelf with an exhale, letting the weight of day roll off his shoulders.

You wordlessly slide a thermos towards him. He doesn’t even have to open it to know it’s the damn soup from that afternoon.

And if he’s being honest, it doesn’t taste that bad at all. 

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Next part

[p0orbaby]

Teddy Picker

summary: three’s a crowd might be an understatement

warnings: none

a/n: based on this request !

word count: 1k

-

Your bedroom is a war zone, but instead of landmines, it’s littered with plushies. Innocent, wide-eyed plushies. Each one has a name, a backstory, and possibly a retirement plan, because you take this stuff seriously. There’s Mr. Fluffington, the bear who "survived" your university years, Miss Whiskers, a cat with a questionable amount of fur left after years of cuddling, and God knows how many others.

Leah’s in bed, wedged between a life-size llama and a squishy avocado. She’s trying to read, but there’s a giraffe’s neck poking her in the eye, and a penguin is wedged under her knee in a way that defies the laws of physics. The woman’s practically sweating from the effort of not losing it.

“It’s like sleeping in a zoo,” she says, not for the first time. You’re not sure if she’s talking to you, herself, or Mr. Snuggles, the elephant who’s somehow become the unofficial leader of the bed plushies. “Except none of these animals breathe, and they all look like they’re judging me”

She’s not wrong. They do have that creepy, glassy-eyed stare going on. It’s the kind of gaze that says, “I’m cute, but if you fall asleep, I might just steal your soul”

You, of course, are oblivious to this. You’re flitting around the room, busy finding space for the latest addition—a bright pink octopus with a smile so wide it’s borderline unhinged. You plop it down right in the middle of the bed, where it immediately claims dominion over the blankets. Leah watches this, her jaw tightening like she’s about to have a full-blown existential crisis.

“Babe, I love you,” she starts, the tone you’ve come to recognize as the precursor to a very serious, possibly relationship-defining conversation. “But we’re running out of bed”

“We have a king-size bed,” you point out helpfully, like the size of the bed has anything to do with the impending suffocation she’s feeling.

“And yet, somehow, I’m sleeping in the fetal position on the edge of a cliff,” Leah retorts, kicking at a plushie that’s taken up residence near her foot. “Why is there a taco in our bed? We don’t even eat tacos in bed”

“It’s not just a taco,” you correct her, as if this explains everything. “It’s Señor Taco, and he represents my love of Mexican cuisine”

Leah blinks. Slowly. Like she’s buffering and trying really, really hard not to crash.

“And why is Señor Taco touching my leg?”

“He’s being friendly?”

“I swear to God, if one more inanimate object gets near my leg…”

“Look,” you say, climbing into the plushie mountain, where you promptly disappear like it’s some kind of portal to a magical, fluffy realm. You poke your head out, like a meerkat surveying the savannah. “They’re just… comforting”

Leah sighs, closing her book, or at least trying to, but it’s hard when the pages are partially obscured by a duck with a beanie. “I’m sure they are, but it’s like sleeping in a furnace. Do you know how much heat these things trap? I woke up last night thinking I was being smothered by a goddamn Build-A-Bear”

You laugh because, honestly, the mental image is hilarious, but Leah looks dead serious. She probably had a near-death experience with a rogue teddy bear last night, and here you are, making fun of her.

“We can get rid of some,” you offer, half-heartedly, because you both know you’re lying. You’re not getting rid of a single plushie. Not Mr. Fluffington, not Señor Taco, and definitely not the avocado, which you’ve started using as a neck pillow.

“Uh-huh,” Leah says, unconvinced. “And which one of these childhood relics are you going to sacrifice to save our relationship?”

You look around, as if there’s even the slightest chance you’ll willingly part with any of them. “What about the avocado?”

Leah perks up. “Really?”

“No, I was kidding. Avocados are healthy”

Leah groans, pushing the giraffe away from her face. “At this point, I’m pretty sure I’m allergic to plushies”

“They’re hypoallergenic,” you assure her, because you googled that once in a fit of paranoia after you brought home Mr. Snuggles and Leah sneezed for three days straight. She’s giving you a look now, one that says she’s rethinking every single decision she’s made since meeting you.

“Just… maybe… one night?” she pleads, voice softening, appealing to your nonexistent sense of reason. “One night without the army of stuffed animals?”

“Where would they sleep?”

“Anywhere but here. In the living room, in a wardrobe, in a goddamn plushie cemetery for all I care”

You pretend to think it over. “But then they’ll be lonely”

Leah throws her head back on the pillow and stares at the ceiling, contemplating the chain of events that have led her to this moment. “I think you’re confusing your feelings with theirs”

“Maybe,” you admit, settling in next to her, your body flush against hers, although there’s really only so much of Leah you can touch because Señor Taco’s taking up most of the space between you. You snuggle into her shoulder, despite the llama’s best efforts to wedge itself between you.

Leah wraps an arm around you, half-heartedly, more out of habit than actual affection at this point. “One night,” she whispers, like she’s making some sort of solemn vow. “One night where I’m not suffocating under a pile of polyester and fake fur”

You hum in response, already half-asleep, because honestly, plushies are the best. They’re soft, they don’t talk back, and they definitely don’t complain about how hot it is in the bed. They’re perfect, and Leah should really be more appreciative of the cute little ecosystem you’ve built here.

As you drift off, Leah’s already strategizing. She’s probably planning a plushie heist, one where she sneaks out of bed in the dead of night and smuggles Mr. Snuggles and his plushie gang out of the room and into some faraway closet.

But for now, you’re both stuck. You in your plushie paradise, and Leah in her plushie purgatory.

It’s a good thing you love each other because honestly, if there’s anything that’s going to test this relationship, it’s Señor Taco and his posse of cuddly, suffocating friends.

[defectivehero]

The hero is taking their nephew trick-or-treating tonight for the first time, and they’re a bit nervous. Their nephew, Danny, is a great kid and well-behaved. The hero just isn’t used to acting as a guardian.

But as the afternoon begins, they start to relax as they see how much fun Danny is having. They watch as he runs up to a rather nice house, returning moments later with candy.

Then the hero sees the homeowner motion for them to come closer. They see that familiar form—almost seeming misplaced in civilian clothing—and their heart drops. Out of all the people they could’ve encountered… they just had to find the villain.

Gritting their teeth, the hero tells their nephew to run to the next house and stay within eyesight… before they walk up to the doorstep of the villain’s house.

“I didn’t realize you had a child,” the villain hums casually.

“Don’t,” the hero warns them.

“What?” The villain asks, having the audacity to look offended. “It was just an observation.” They blink innocently.

“He’s my nephew.” The hero spits out. They must be doing a bad job of hiding their distrust, because the villain sighs theatrically.

“Trust me, if I were up to something, you’d know,” the villain huffs. “Besides, I have… other priorities tonight.” They glance to the side and, in a few seconds, a child heads towards the doorway. The hero blinks. This must be the villain’s child.

“Um. Hi.” The hero says awkwardly, still reeling from the realization that the villain has a child.

The kid has the same eyes and nose as their parent. The resemblance is startling. “That’s a bad hero costume,” they remark helpfully. “You’re missing the amulet.”

They are missing their amulet, ironically. The hero self-consciously puts a hand to their collarbone before sighing. The villain looks endlessly amused, and also a bit wary of them—as if worried about their behavior in front of their child. The hero resists an eye roll at that, before glancing down the sidewalk. Their nephew is running back to them, bouncing on his heels impatiently as he evidently wonders what’s taking them so long.

“Hi,” the hero greets their nephew, placing a hand on his shoulder. He settles down a little, but still looks eager to go to the next house.

“Hi.” He answers. Then he looks curiously at the other child and smiles at them. The villain’s child smiles ever so slightly in response. The hero studies them for a moment, taking in those familiar hazel eyes on someone far more innocent and pure hearted than their enemy. Then they notice the kid’s costume and the slight frown on their lips and wonder if the villain has taken them trick or treating yet. It doesn’t look like it, actually—and that would explain the envious glances the kid is shooting at Danny.

“You know,” the hero says, crossing their arms over their chest. They’re already making the offer before they can think about it. “I was going to take Danny here trick-or-treating anyways… I’d be happy to take your child too.”

The villain studies them for a long, long time. The tense silence is only broken by a movement from the child at their side, who hesitates for a moment before crossing the threshold of the doorway and standing next to Danny.

“Do you want to go with them, Kel?” The villain asks; their child nods brightly in response. The villain lets out a long-suffering sigh, turning their attention to the hero. “Very well. I’m trusting you to ensure their safety.”

“Of course,” the hero responds sincerely. “I’ll have them back by curfew at 7.”

“6:30,” the villain argues.

The hero squints at them skeptically, before glancing down at their watch. It’s only 4:45 p.m. That’s plenty of time. “Fine.” They agree.

“If anything happens to them-” The villain starts.

“I know,” the hero interjects, before they can utter any threats in front of the children.

“I’m trusting you,” their enemy repeats gravely. “Don’t make me regret it.”

The hero nods, understanding just how much faith the villain is placing in them. Then an idea comes to mind. “Get your phone out.” The villain stares at them for a moment, before doing as requested. From there, the hero gives them their phone number. Then they reach into their own pocket and turn their phone’s ringer on. “Okay?” They ask, looking at them pointedly. The message is clear: Call me if you need anything.

The villain is staring at them with a complex expression on their face. “Okay.” They respond. Then they look to their child. “Have fun, alright?”

With that, the hero turns their back on the villain and watches as their nephew and their enemy’s child excitedly race ahead to the next house. They can feel the villain’s gaze watching them, even as they turn the corner and head out of sight.

©2024, @defectivehero | @defectivevillain, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

thanks for reading! happy halloween!!! 🦇🧛🏻

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[blackbat05]

Real or Not Real?

Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Plot: You need a plus one for a wedding. Who better than your boss and perhaps the most hated person on your list.

Genre: PG-13, Enemies to Lovers (I would like to think so😬)

A/N: I’m on a roll. Also, I always wanted to do this trope! This is longer than usual. Reblogs and feedback appreciated!💜

“Shit!” Your phone bounces off the bed, landing inches away from another expensive repair.

“What’s wrong?” Jessica Drew looks up from the self help book that she was currently engaged in.

“An old classmate. I totally forgot about the wedding!” You groan, feet becoming more fidgety by the second.

“Right… and would you care to explain why you look like one of Norman Osborn’s pumpkins?” Your best friend looks at you cautiously, as if like you were a volcano waiting to explode any second.

“Well, she used to be great with everyone in school. Can’t say the same about myself.” You winced internally at the memories about your youth. “You know how it is. Everyone is either rich, successful or in love once they leave school.”

“Or maybe all three.” Jessica adds helpfully much to your chagrin.

“Thanks, Jess.” You refrain from rolling your eyes. “Anyways, the chat group got reignited and some genius started asking about ‘the girl who everyone always see but doesn’t really know’ and before I know it, everyone starts pestering me about how I’m doing!” You throw your hands dramatically in the air and Jessica can’t help but to look amused. “So?”

“So, I kinda told them that I have a reallyhotboyfriend.” The last few words are mashed into one big mess but still clear enough for Jessica to pick up. “You what now?”

Smelling the judgement from a mile away, you hang your head in defeat. “I know! I’m an idiot! I couldn’t help myself okay? This is what happens when you attend a private all girls’ school. You stand out for being weird and suddenly The Plastics start making your entire school life hell.”

“The Plastics?”

“It’s a movie reference.”

“Why am I not surprised.” Jessica chuckles. “So what now girl? How’s damage control going?”

“Terrible.” You splat face first into the pillow. “I was thinking of getting help from the guys but…” You hold up four fingers, ticking them off one by one. “Pavitr can’t pretend, Hobie’ too unpredictable, Miles is too young and Peter’s married with a child - a fact I can’t ignore even if this is fake.”

Jessica looks at your closed fingers, tapping her chin thoughtfully. If being friends with her taught you anything, this wasn’t a good sign.

“There is one more option. I think he would fit your description of a really hot boyfriend.” She deliberately gives you a meaningful look that makes you leap off the bed, throwing her an accusing look.

“Actually, I think I’m going to ask Gwen. Do you know where I can find her?”

“Long gone. She went to visit Captain Stacey.” Jessica quips. “Come on. He’s a good option. Besides, this is a great opportunity to know him better!”

“I rather tangle with the loch-ness monster instead.” You mumble, thinking about your very first encounter with the man of the hour - Miguel O’Hara. The two of you were a good representation of day and night.

While you were bright and upbeat, the leader of the Spider Society probably didn’t have the word ‘joy’ in his dictionary. As you attempted to introduce yourself to him at your first meeting, he had simply brushed you aside.

“Miguel isn’t that bad once you get to know him.”

“Very funny, Jess. You should be comedian of the year. Did you forget how he yelled at me when I pushed him out of the way from Kingpin’s gangbangers?”

Jessica opens her mouth slightly, only to shut it soon after. You frown, turning your back to see whatever she was staring at behind you. How you wished you hadn’t. Oh, if only the ground could swallow you whole as Miguel himself stands at the door, staring at you with an unreadable expression.

“What- how long have you been here for?” You struggle to form that one sentence. “Jess…” You start accusingly.

Jessica shrugs, taking Miguel’s presence as a sign to leave. “I’ll leave you two to it!” She gives you a wink that results in your mouth hanging agape. Miguel closes the door and you quickly attempt to compose yourself.

“I’ll do it.”

“Do what?”

Miguel raises a brow. “Be your date.” He says it all too nonchalantly, as if choosing at empanada at the supermarket. You blink, pinching yourself out of his sight. The situation was very real. He stands in front of you, waiting.

“What do you want from me?” You blurt out. “You want something in return.” You clarify once more, trying to make sense of things.

The end of Miguel’s lips turn upwards slightly, and you’re worried that the sudden acceleration of your heart would unable to support your body to stand upright.

“I just want to apologize for my behavior and I happened to overhear your conversation.” He responds and you make a mental note to never trust Jessica again for not warning you about his presence.

“Am I in some kind of alternate dimension?” You laugh, trying to defuse the awkwardness. Miguel remains impassive, eyes staring intently into yours.

“What’s it going to be? You can take me or you can look like a liar to everyone. It’s your choice.”

You hate to say it, but he’s right.

***

“You came!” Your old friend comes barreling into you, giving you a big hug.

“Lils! You look amazing!” You gushed, returning the hug. “Congratulations. What a beautiful place.” You refer to the beachside wedding that she insisted on.

“Thanks! Jeju Island was always on my bucket list. I’m so glad I get to share this memory with all of you!” She gushes, turning to your plus one. “I mean, I finally get to see who has stolen your heart!” She extends a hand. “And who may you be?”

“Miguel O’Hara.” He extends his own hand for a shake. “Congratulations.”

“No need for the formalities!” Lilly smiles brightly. “What I do want to know is how you two got together! You can be away from her for a little can’t you?”

Before the two of you can even say anything, you find yourself being pulled away by Lilly while the groom effortlessly picks up the conversation with Miguel. She brings you aside, within the sight of the two men.

“Tell me everything!” She pounces on you like a tiger, demanding to know your first encounter. You give what you hope was a easy smile. “We’re… colleagues.” You don’t think exposing both your superhero personas would do well, not especially when you got here by inter dimensional traveling.

Your friend seems to be satisfied by this as she squeals. She hits your shoulder a little too aggressively, wanting more. You sigh, hoping that Miguel wasn’t being interrogated this intensively on his end.

“We just had the same interests and kind of clicked.” You prayed that the questioning would stop soon. “Everything was just a blur after.”

Lilly nods, throughly invested in your fake love story. She’s about to ask another question when a sharp voice pierced through the air, causing you to be rooted to the ground. You really wanted to run away at that moment.

“What is this that I’m hearing? You’re actually seeing someone?” The clack of heels come to a stop and you find yourself facing your tormentor.

“It’s nice to see you too, Becca.” You grit through your teeth. The woman remains oblivious to your discomfort as she addresses the two others trailing behind her. “I wonder who’s the lucky man nice enough to pick her up!”

“That’s enough, I invite you to my wedding out of our friendship but this doesn’t give you the right to insult her.” Lilly shoots back, keeping her eyes trained on your curled fists.

“It’s alright, Lils.” You try to remain calm. “Let’s go. I’ll tell you everything later.” You take the lead to escort her back when Becca’s comment brings you to a halt.

“I bet he isn’t even real!”

Although she was right, you couldn’t help but to turn around, wanting to give Becca and her posse a piece of your mind. Something that you should have done a very long time ago.

“Oh, I’m very real alright.”

You see Miguel walking up towards the trio. Was it just you or did Miguel look… angry?

He composes himself, giving a charming grin to the trio who looked like they were going to start falling at his feet any moment.

“Miguel O’Hara. She has told me a lot about you three.”

“Oh, she has?” Becca twirls the edge of her skirt nervously and you don’t know where Miguel is going with this.

“Sure. She’s told me all about how you three dimwits made her entire life hell. Honestly? I don’t even know how that happened when she’s a hundred times classier with more substance than you plastics claim to have.” Miguel catches your eye and gives a quick wink.

“Excuse me?” Becca stutters. “Oh, I get it. She must have paid you to say that!”

Miguel walks over and gently loops an arm over your shoulders. By now, the conversation seemed to have attracted every guest who were lining up at the buffet table.

“Nope. But you know what she is? She is the most courageous and selfless person who wouldn’t hesitate to help others. I don’t think you three would even come close to understanding what that means.”

Miguel has done it. He’s left them speechless and every guest is know giving disapproving looks to the trio who can only storm away in embarrassment.

“I think I’m not that hungry yet. How about we take a walk?”

You realize that Miguel is asking you, so you nod numbly and find yourself being led out of the venue. You see Lilly standing at the entrance greeting guests.

Catching your eyes, she gives you a thumbs up and a mischievous grin, not bothered at all about the verbal altercation that was inadvertently caused by you. Amidst the chaos, one thought was clear in your mind.

Just what is going on?

***

The rainbow colored blocks providing as seats for families, friends and couples to take photos makes the sea look even clearer. Silence overtaking the two of you, you busy yourself with noticing how the jagged edges of the rocks are a wonderful addition to the waves crashing near the shore.

“What’s going on up there?”

Finally. You prepare yourself, stopping beside the statue. “I was just about to ask you the same thing O’Hara.” You take a brave step closer towards the hulking man and he briefly looks away before staring back at you. “Not that I’m ungrateful but that wasn’t like you.”

“Then, what am I supposed to be?”

You paused. “Well… you’re supposed to be grumpy and grouchy and keeping me at arm’s length I guess?” You search for the right words as Miguel contains a chuckle seeing how flustered you were becoming by the second. “And you’re suddenly being nice to me? Hell would have to freeze over.”

Miguel closes the already small gap between the two of you and you suddenly feel hot at his gaze. He examines you for a while and you think he’s about to deliver another sharp retort.

“I did try. I tried to keep you away but you were too bright and cheerful for your own good.” Miguel gruffly tells you. “You were so much like her.”

You knew that he was referring to his past. His wife whom no one really dared to talk about. You finally understood. To him, you were a walking and living painful reminder.

“I’m sorry.” You breathed out. The air suddenly constricts in your lungs and you feel the need to get away. Anywhere but here. You turn around and find yourself being pulled into him. Miguel hugs you, and he hugs you tight.

“No, I’m the idiot. I punished you for seeing you as someone else.” He confesses. “I should have just seen you as… you. You were so bright and so brave, I almost lost it when you took the bullets from Kingpin. That’s when I knew my behavior had to stop. I wanted to tell you and I guess I saw this as the perfect opportunity.”

“Oh.” You don’t know how else to react to this sudden revelation.

“But I meant every word. About me apologizing for my past behavior.” Miguel continues. “And that. Earlier on.” He refers to his relentless counter attack on your tormentors. “I didn’t know that you had to go through all that.”

“Hey, we all go through things right? Kind of a ticket to join the spider society.” You try to lighten things up. “Besides, it’s nothing big.”

Miguel pries you away gently, a slight frown on his face. “Don’t minimize your struggles. You are a hundred times stronger than those three combined. After all, that’s what made you stood out to me in the first place.”

Your heart swells at his statement. As you hear the waves crashing, it felt as if like it gave you a sense of newfound confidence as well. It was all or nothing now. You’re inches away from Miguel, his rosy cheeks prominent from the strong breeze that the coastal city offered. “I just have one more question.”

Miguel cocks his head to the side, curious. He doesn’t interrupt, giving permission for you to go ahead.

“You love me. Real or not real?”

He takes you by the waist, lips on yours. It could be minutes or hours before he lets go, leaving you in a daze. But the movement of his lips are as clear as day. One that would be forever etched in your memory.

“Real.”

[teencopandthesourwolf]

LOVE YEW

on ao3 HERE

.

“Here!”

Stiles slams something down on the coffee table to the left of Derek's (Stiles's) laptop.

Derek is searching online, only a little psychotically, in the hope of finding a store that sells these very specific organic coffee beans he tried in a hipster coffee house recently. Derek isn't a hipster—he isn't—he just likes nice coffee, is all. Really, he should have asked the barista to find out not just the brand name but their supplier's address too because this is driving him insane. Maybe he is insane? More likely just incredibly shit at the internet, but he thinks he'd prefer to plead insanity if challenged.

Derek unknits his eyebrows and looks down at… a green thing. It's sort of feather shaped and has many spindles with bronzed edges.

It's a leaf.

His eyebrows knit themselves back together as he blinks down at the thing a couple of times.

“It's a leaf,” he says, because he doesn't know what else he's supposed to say.

Then he looks up—and back and forth at Stiles who is now pacing the apartment and alternating between clicking his fingers and flicking his thumbs and shaking his arms out at the sides of his body; his stimming can get pretty extra when he's anxious.

Derek's frown deepens with immediate concern. He must've really been deep in it with the infuriating Google searching to not have noticed the smell of Stiles's distress when his mate first arrived home.

“Hey, what's—”

“Yes, Derek, it's a leaf. It is a leaf that I brought all the way home. For you. From the cemetery.”

He's still pacing.

“Okay, well do you want to tell me—“

“It's an Apology Leaf. Obviously.”

Obviously.

“And, Derek, do not laugh, because—"

“I won't but could you just—“

“—this isn't funny. I'm ridiculous, I know, and I know that that's funny. But this? This is decidedly deeply unfunny, alright? This is totally not at all funny, Derek. It's like, a thing without one tiny ounce of humour in it, as in not the slightest bit funny in a gazillion sombre years. Do you hear me?” He inhales deeply, holds the breath, then blows it out harshly via puffed-out cheeks as he clicks and flails some more.

Derek hears Stiles and is of course prepared to wait for him to explain whatever this is, because Derek would wait for Stiles until the end of time, if he had to. Although that's not likely a thing to happen in any reality as this is Stiles who can't go for longer than fifteen seconds without talking. But still, Derek thinks it's the sentiment that counts. 

“You, Derek Hale, are good, and someone as good as you deserves somebody far, far better than a ratbag like me. Hence the leaf,” Stiles now tells him in a rush of even more confusing words, his chemo-signals tinged with shame for some worrying reason Derek is yet to discern.

Stiles glances over anxiously from his place of animated, mysterious penance—and then looks away again just as quickly while still trying to wear footprints into the recently painted varnish on the wooden floor of their new apartment.

Derek is clueless as to the cause of Stiles's meltdown, but neither things are a first. Stiles struggles sometimes—just like Derek does, who has plenty of his own outbursts (albeit more moody than vocal) that Stiles has to Private Dick his way through.

Derek is also trying his best not to worry too much about thinking that this is somehow his fault, so now sets his mind on attempting to marry these seemingly unrelated things in his head.

He thinks about the facts he's been presented with:

What is, at an educated guess, a Pacific Yew leaf.

and

Stiles's rather unhinged and self-deprecating dig at himself-slash-compliment for Derek.

...Yeah, no, he's not getting better at this game any time soon. 

“Uh,” he says helpfully, and Stiles rolls his eyes in that Do I really have to do everything myself around here? way of his which, rude.

Good job Derek loves the kook.

“It was just sitting there, on top of my mom's gravestone when I got there,” Stiles says quietly, incredulously, gesturing at the innocuous leaf.

Then he's off again with the pacing.

“And I knew, straight away, I knew,” he says, getting louder again and laughing in this accusatory sort of way, pointing somewhere into the ether, eyes manic.

Derek scratches his nose. He hopes he will soon know, too, because honestly, he's kind of blindfolded in the dark here.

“She was obviously telling me what a dipshit I was! What a douche I am! A massive ass-hat! Total loser!”

“I mean, that's mostly fair, but maybe total loser is a little strong.” Derek will often speak Stiles's language when Stiles is freaking out, using humour to try and ground him. 

Stiles carries on as if Derek hadn’t said anything.

“And I was like, Come on, mom, give me a break, will you? and she was like Seriously, Mischief? You really wouldn't let the special person in your life, your special little guy—”

“You can just say boyfriend, Stiles.”

“—come with you to the cemetery to visit me? Like, as if with that leaf she was reminding me that you are the one person who actually gets this shit, which, I do know. Of fucking course I know. And then—get this—I swear to God, Derek, I felt her literally slapping me upside the head! No fucking word of a lie, man. Like, thousands wouldn't believe me. Millions. They'd say that it must have been the wind or my incredibly vivid imagination. But I know, Der. I know that it was her,” Stiles continues with the confession without stopping for breath.

Derek has thought it before and he'll think it again: the kid's lung capacity is seriously impressive.

“And I also know that I totally should've said yes when you asked me if I wanted you to come with me to the cemetery this morning. Because the thing is, I did want you to. I really, really did. But I just… I just…”

Stiles starts slapping himself on the forehead with both his hands and Derek has had enough of that already. He gets up off the sofa and walks over to Stiles, catching those slim wrists in his grip, gentle yet firm.

“Please don't,” Derek says, imploring Stiles to stop. Derek can understand frustration, but can't stand Stiles hurting himself.

Stiles deflates a little. He then takes a step towards Derek and leans in, resting his forehead against Derek's, their noses lining up like penguins.

“I just—I should have said yes to you when you asked because I honestly, truthfully wanted you there. It's just that I've only ever been there with my Dad. And even then, not as many times as you might think. Not even Scotty has been there with me. It's just a place—it's usually something I do alone. You know?” Stiles' front teeth worry at his pretty lip. 

And yes, Derek does know.

So he says, “Because you feel guilt, right? Even though there isn't a thing in this universe or any other that you should feel guilty about.”

Guilt just for being alive. 

Slightly cross-eyed with the proximity and angle, Stiles looks at Derek in a way that says he knows just how much Derek knows about this stuff.

“Yeah. Yes, exactly. And I guess I didn't know how to be that with somebody else around.”

“But Stiles, that's completely—”

“No, Der. It isn't, actually. Because you're not just somebody else. It's you. And I'm in love with you.” Stiles finally takes a breath while Derek's heart is busy swelling to twice it's size. He will never tire of hearing Stiles Stilinski say those words to him. “And I absolutely should've trusted in that. In us.”

It is, of course, completely fine that Stiles went to the cemetery alone to visit his mother, but Derek also gets where the kid is coming from. He too takes a breath, now, a big one, because this kind of stuff doesn't come as easily for him as it does Stiles.

He swallows his nerves and pushes on.

“I love you, Stiles. And it's alright that we're not perfect. Neither of us are. Us—you and me—we're both just… Finding our way.”

After a moment, Stiles adds, “Together.”

They smile at each other like huge dorks.

“Yeah.” Derek breathes, and his heart might just burst.

Derek scents Stiles, and Stiles breathes deeply too, now. “Thanks,” he says, then Derek kisses him, just as deep and for a long while, because it's his favourite thing to do in the whole damn world.

Eventually Derek pulls back, runs a thumb over Stiles's mouth and says, “You know what?”

Stiles's brow lifts inquisitively.

Derek lets go of Stiles's wrist and takes his hand instead, leading him back to the sofa and sitting them both down squarely by the coffee table where he had been sat fruitlessly Googling not so long ago.

“I believe you,” Derek says.

Stiles frowns. “Huh?” It's his turn to be confused.

“Millions wouldn't, but I believe you, Stiles. About your mom.”

He reaches across and picks up the Apology Leaf, cradling it for a brief moment in his palm before nudging at Stiles's hand and urging him to take it, which he does.

Derek then grabs the laptop, side-eyeing his previous Google search—WHO NEAR ME SELLS PHOENIX ROAST ORGANIC COFFEE BEANS THAT TASTE LIKE HOME—and forcing himself not to get instantly sucked back into that particularly vexing nightmare, while also trying his best to angle the screen away from Stiles who, if he saw, would fall off the sofa laughing at Derek's admittedly pathetic research skills.

Not everybody is a… Technophile? Cyberpunk? Derek has no fucking clue about any of this shit.

With Stiles now passing comment on the aesthetic qualities of the Apology Leaf, Derek uses both index fingers to tap out the words of the thing he wants to look up, taking no notice of Stiles who is trying his annoying not-very-best to smirk at Derek's sorry efforts in Derek's periphery. Clicking through a few different links, this time Derek manages to find what he's after without any trouble, amazingly. He then hands the laptop over to Stiles, who carefully places the leaf down on the arm of the sofa beside him before fully taking the computer from Derek. 

Stiles purses those pretty lips of his as he scans the information on screen, squinting a little.

“Uh, well yeah. It's like you said, Der; It's a leaf. From a Yew, according to this.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Your mother's ghost is infinitely more clever than you.” Stiles's squint deepens further. “Stiles, she is absolutely spot on about this. Just—scroll down the page a bit, dumbass,” and he ducks his head and smiles, seeing as accusing Stiles of Internet-related Dumbassery is really fucking funny because, irony. 

Stiles tuts but does as he's told.

Derek gives him a minute to read the passage on the website he found. It says:

The Yew tree can live for many, many years. It has deep connections with magic and the universe. It was regarded as the protector of the soul by the ancient Greeks. You’ll find this tree planted at many burial sites throughout the world as it’s recognized as a guardian of the dead.

It is believed that Odin (from the Nordic legend) hung himself from the Yew for nine days and nights. It’s symbolic of its everlasting and regenerative properties and is often associated with transformation and change after a difficult time. The Celtic tradition honours the Yew tree for symbolising death and rebirth.

Stiles is smiling this gorgeous, open smile by the time he's finished reading, and Derek makes an unrealistic wish to be able to keep it there forever.

“So, you were right,” Derek says, “when you said that she knew. You were just a little mixed up about what, is all.” Derek takes another deep breath. “What your mom knows is that you got the chance to begin again, Stiles. After all the shit we went through, you actually got to start over. With somebody who will absolutely protect your soul with their life.”

Stiles suddenly blinks furiously, like somebody just threw salt in his eyes.

“And you knew it, that she knew... something,” Derek smiles back, lovingly, before that smile turns a little wry. “It's just that you were kind of—now, how should I put this…?”

“No. Do not do it!” Stiles shouts—instantly catching on because he'd easily be the brightest bulb in any box—and he's pointing again, at Derek this time. “Puns are my stupid thing, you charlatan, and I can and will sue!” he warns, outraged yet smiling again as he wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.

“—barking up the wrong tree,” Derek finishes, his smile now positively wolfish.

Stiles shakes his head and narrows his eyes, but he's chuckling, too as he says, “You do remember that it's you who's the canine in this relationship, right, 'wolf? If anybody's going to be making barking sounds, it's you.”

“Speciesist,” Derek quips.

Stiles pokes his tongue out. Then he's quiet for a few seconds (but definitely no more than fifteen).

“You know, I really was wrong when I said you deserve better than me. We actually absolutely deserve each other, Hale. Because it turns out we are both humongous assholes.”

After a moment, Derek grins more.

“Well, I would have answered that with I love my asshole, but you had to go and use the word humongous, and there's no way I would say that about my asshole—even though I would have technically been talking about you when I said it, seeing as it's actually you that is my favourite asshole.” And he pulls a rare, goofy face, just for Stiles, who laps it up. “Also, thinking about it, I would also have to say that loving my actual asshole is, in fact," he points at Stiles, “your job.” 

Stiles dramatically slaps a hand over Derek's mouth.

“Oh my God, Derek, stop! My ghostly mother could be listening in to us right now! Jeez, dude, have a little decorum, won't you?!” And if Stiles saying that isn't ironic, Derek really doesn’t know what is.

“Sorry, mom!” 

Grinning even more, Derek pushes Stiles's hand away from his face.

“Hey, wanna know the coolest thing?” he asks.

“Why in the name of anything sacred did you bother posing that as a question, Der? Like, when would I ever say no to that?”

Derek leans over and kisses Stiles again, soft and languid this time. The boy's lips are dry and warm and he tastes just like autumn.

Stiles hums and smiles into Derek's mouth as if he really, truly does love Derek. 

After another glorious moment, Derek pulls back, looks at Stiles and says, “Yew trees aren't even native to this part of California.”

.

for @greyhavenisback my beloved <3 sorry i'm a dipshit, douche, massive ass-hat and a total loser, sometimes xp

(i got the info on tree symbolism HERE btw)

[luminouslywriting]

hey love! can you do a BoB boys when their partner has the same personality as them? please?

love your work 🤭❤️

Hi Nonny, you're so sweet :) I'm glad that you enjoy my work so much! Reminder that my requests are open and that I don't mind spam BUT PLEASE, I don't write actual smut scenes/imagines/x readers :) So don't ask?? Thanks??

Cut for length, more under the cut:

Dick Winters:

-You mean this man finds someone of equal responsibility, maturity, kindness, and social grace? The world is unprepared for the level of wholesome that this relationship is going to be.

-I think that naturally, this is the type of person that Dick Winters attracts anyway, so it all works out

-You know that quote about how the Lydia's of the world don't attract the Mr. Darcy's? Yeah, totally applies here. To be in a relationship where there's equal level respect, focus on the job, and genuine care for one another is rare

-He's very grateful for you and for the relationship and never misses an opportunity to express this

-The men of Easy Company easily consider you the parents of the group, hands down

Lewis Nixon:

-This relationship is so chaotic, SMH—like—this man is out here getting drunk most of the time and so are you, as you helpfully suggest an unhinged thing that actually works

-The level of genius and smarts is unparalleled, it's just soured by the attitude that is doubled when the two of you are together

-He considers you his soulmate (like, way more than Vat-69 is) and vice versa

-I think that ultimately, this is a relationship that is consistently burning and like a wildfire, but in the most sensual and best of ways—you're there to help each other be both simultaneously worse and better

-Iconic, if I do say so myself

Ronald Speirs:

-Scary dog privilege goes both ways now?? Iconic, truly.

-Two rather quiet people who are there to work hard and get the job done by whatever means necessary meet and fall in love and therefore the stories about the two of you are UNHINGED

-But behind closed doors, you're both just very soft for one another and in love

-And if you steal as much as he does? It's maybe a competition to see who can flatter the other person more via stolen Nazi goods, but hey—if it works for you two lol

-Honestly, the leadership and compatibility in the way that you two work together is unparalleled

Buck Compton:

-Two college kids that are out there with natural charisma and fun but care about the men in Easy Company more than anything else? Bestie, this is just for you

-This man is utterly besotted with the way that you can talk college/academics with him and not even miss a beat

-There's a fun and healthy level of competition when it comes to games and downtime, which the both of you enjoy

-And everyone knows how good you two are at keeping spirits up and preserving morale, especially for each other

-The kind of emotional atunement to one another is rare to find I think that everyone is slightly envious of the two of you

Carwood Lipton:

-A responsible mom friend meets another responsible mom friend—and you know what? The level of married couple that you two are off the bat from meeting one another is just too much haha

-It's the domestic details and trying to check in on people/their mental health throughout the war, it's the way that the two of you know exactly how to care for one another in a non-overbearing sort. of way—

-If Lipton is the undisputed leader of Easy Company during Bastogne, then you're the undisputed right hand person—always putting the needs of the men and your S/O before yourself

-Selflessness and genuine love is also really rare to come by and I think that this is just what Lipton really needs—a support who is just a little bit too much like him

-You two are easily married by the time you end up in Austria

Joe Liebgott:

-Why is this giving gremlin energy? I can't explain it, but the way that the two of you constantly flirt and joke and have each other's backs is amazing

-Everyone is just like, "Lieb, there's two of you" and they're not wrong

-Supporting one another's beliefs and vengeance—because sometimes it's not about making the other person better, it's just about accepting them as they are and loving them anyway

-Easy Company simply adores the two of you and the way that you two succinctly work as a team and in tandem most of the time

-But you two are also so incorrigible and horny at any given time, so that's their one vice with the two of you

Donald Malarkey:

-This man?? Right here? The best friend energy that he exudes and now gets to have with you? Amazing

-It's the way that your relationship feels like breathing air because the two of you are so easily able to talk to one another, are each other's best friends, and the way that you care fiercely about one another and everyone else

-Sometimes it's like looking in the mirror though and the two of you are like, "please just go take a nap,"

-And unwillingly taking charge of situations w/Easy Company because it's just you or him that's left to lead? Also part of the deal, but everyone is on board with you

-Lots of hugs and cuddles are needed between the two of you

Eugene Roe:

-Oh goodness—two people who are out here burning themselves out for everyone else because they care so much? You two are either the most passionate lovers ever or you two are arguing about how the other person needs to take care of themselves and there's no in between

-You're both nurturers and lovers by nature and so being in this war is hard for the two of you

-Exchanging stories from home and sternly commanding the other to please "get some sleep or eat something" because you love them?? It's a love language

-No one wants to be on either of your bad sides—let alone the two of you at the same time. It's giving the energy of upsetting the nicest and clearly bravest people ever.

-If you two aren't engaged by the end of the war, then what's the point?

Bill Guarnere:

-Loyal to a fault, good sense of humor, probably from Philly? I mean, it's no wonder this man fell for you, you're just him in another font

-Literally everyone out here just wants to be friends with the two of you because you're already lowkey married, if that makes sense

-The conversation alone leaves everyone just wishing the two of you would get a room though

-Physically affectionate best friends who also makeout and maybe have some serious feelings for one another? Absolutely

-He absolutely writes you letters throughout the rest of the war after Bastogne and wants to marry you ASAP

Joe Toye:

-Quiet energy that lowkey makes people scared because of an RBF but then is super gentle? Oh yes, the two of you were made for one another

-You two easily become friends and easily fall in love—after all, the level of devotion and friendship, but also the ability to actually talk to one another? Unmatched

-He always has your back and vice versa; he already wants to talk about domestic life and you're out here naming your future dogs together

-And then Bastogne happens and you promise that you're gonna make it home so you can take care of him

-And no one is surprised when the same week you get home from the war, you end up married to him

George Luz:

-The comedic value here is too great and far unmatched. You're either super menaces together and leadership hates the two of you or you are carrying the morale of Easy Company on your backs.

-He's never met someone to match his humor so well or encourage him in the same way that he does others—and it's a beautiful match made in heaven

-Everyone is half-convinced that you're just his twin or something, but then the two of you are in love and everyone is rooting for the two of you

-You probably both propose to one another in a joke at some point and then have to actually do a proposal later on at the end of the war

-Everyone shows up for the wedding because no one was gonna miss out on the speeches that the two of you prepared haha

[xamaxenta]

Ace yawning and showing off his huge sharp chompers and Marco misses his mouth twice with his spoon cuz he was staring like uhh

Namur helpfully points out that hes got sauce on his shirt and Fossa asks if he’s had enough sleep as of late

Thatch however knows because Thatch always knows and Thatch is also incredibly nosey (this has nothing to do with his magnificent schnozz being almost as large as his hair—)

“I hear he was raised in the jungle.” Thatch says conversationally

Ace still sits a small ways away from them, newly appointed second division commander and he’s still holding them all at arms length

“Heard he took out hunter beasts thrice his size with his bare hands.” Thatch adds, his voice lowered to a dramatic hush

Marco would’ve challenged that if they hadnt seen him take out a sea king solo the week prior

“Whats your point” Marco phrases his question as stoutly and forthright as he can muster this early in the morning

“What im saying is youre a beastie.”

“Thanks.” Marco says dryly

Ace yawns again like a large cat, heavy canines on display

Marco gives up on his breakfast

“And what im catching on is that you wanna be his dinner next—“

Marco stands abruptly, its not that Thatch is wrong, its just that Ace has keen hearing and as far as hes concerned, Ace doesnt see them as anything beyond a working relationship

“We will talk about this later.” And by later never, everyone knows this because Marco is unfortunately a very busy man

“Sure.” Thatch draws out the syllables annoyingly, his grin coy in the smarmy manner he’s always gotten into trouble for

Marco leaves trailing blue gold plumage, the back of his neck prickling from the gaze of a new predator following him all the way out of the mess

Ace remembers to blink when the door closes gently behind Marcos retreating form and he looks down at his empty plate and then at Deuce

Deuce regards him with faint disconcert but that might just be his general expression, its hard to tell with the mask

“Dya know your eyes do this weird thing when you do stuff like that?”

Ace doesnt know, what he does know is hes gonna go get thirds, he offers seconds to Deuce who declines

“What does that even mean?”

“Your pupils do this weird cat slit dilation thing.”

“Cats are cool.” Ace replies and walks off unperturbed towards his apparent weird cat shit.

Deuce thinks maybe he couldve explained himself a little better, or maybe Ace truly doesnt really care. He’s not exactly worried about Marco or anything, Ace is young and strong sure but still leagues beneath anything the phoenix was capable of.

He’s not supersitious but something nags at his subconscious, invest in earplugs, they. Probably would come in handy

[incorrectmahabharatquotes]

Recently I saw this post by @god-has-adhd (I'm not reblogging it because I saw the people they tagged and realised very quickly that it's quite likely that us reblogging the post will be unwelcome, to put it mildly. I'm tagging the OP here anyway since it's a direct response to the post and it seemed only fair to engage in the conversation. I hope they don't mind.) OP urged everyone to watch the video regardless of the political leaning so in the spirit of giving everything a fair shot, we watched it. 'We' here refers to both me and Mod G. There are things we agree on with the guy speaking in the video and there are things we disagree with/think he didn't properly research. However, there is one thing that's most relevant to this blog and to me, personally so I'll be talking primarily about it. This is your long post warning, I'm afraid.

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

"The Real Story of Eklavya"

The context for people who haven't watched the video is that the guy brings up two stories, one of Satyakama Jabali from the Upanishads and that of Eklavya from the Mahabharata. He brings up both these stories in the context of caste, he helpfully titles it and everything.

What I found interesting is that he frames himself talking about the story with the words "The real story of Eklavya". If you know even the basics of storytelling or filmmaking, you know that this is quite important. This implies that you, the viewer, do not know the real story and the one you know is either incomplete or false.

He begins, in a memorable instance, by asking ChatGPT for a summary to grasp the popular interpretation of the story of Eklavya and Drona. I have THOUGHTS about using a machine learning tool that is trained on data that is infamously biased and lacking when it comes to anything that isn't American, but that would be digressing from the point. ChatGPT provides him a summary that mentions that Eklavya was denied Drona's tutelage because he was of a lower caste. After this, the guy proceeds to recite the lines where Eklavya is mentioned in the Adi parva of the Sanskrit Mahabharat that we refer to as Vyasa's Mahabharat. He expresses surprise at how Eklavya is introduced as being the son of the "king" of the nishads (I think leader is a better word that should've been used but the Sanskrit text has a notorious habit of having just really questionable ways of referring to people, if you've read it you know.) Which is found HILARIOUS. Bro, what do you mean you're surprised? This is COMMON knowledge, I fear.

He mentions how being the son of the nishaad's leader/king effectively puts him on the same level as Arjun and that they're both princes. He says that this means Eklavya isn't shudra or dalit (there is a word that's curiously absent here that I'll mention in a bit.) Now, this one of those parts where the choice information he presents the viewer with is bizarre. Since I promised I'll give it a fair shot, I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt and assume this is a fault of him not researching enough and not willful omission. Maybe he just doesn't know. The information he's given here is correct, mostly. What he DOESN'T explain is who the nishads, as a group are. I'll fill in the blanks for him.

The nishad are said to be a group of tribal people who reside in the hills. The text he reads out even has the word "tribal" in it but the guy sort of glosses over it? The nishads are sort of like an aggregate grouping of different tribal populations and not the name of a specific tribe. Kind of. But the mention is still significant. See, the Mahabharata, especially the Sanskrit text, has this Thing™ that it does where it's incredibly rare to find a mention of tribal populations who are said to be human, many of the other mentioned tribal groups are demi-humans or non-humans or just straight up rakshahsas.

Eklavya is said to be the adopted son of Hiranyadhanus, the aforementioned king/leader of the nishads. The Harivamsa Purana part of the Sanskrit text (which is a giant-ass genealogy section where it traces the family line from the start of existence to the birth of Krishna) mentions that biologically he's the son of Devashrava, Vasudev's brother, which makes him Krishna's cousin by blood. Eklavya was abandoned by Devashrava in the forest and Hiranyadhanus found him and raised him as his own.

This makes Eklavya a tribal boy, I would use the word adivasi but people might disagree so I'll just say he has a tribal heritage, not by blood but by his upbringing. The man in the video says that Eklavya isn't a shudra, or dalit or untouchable, which is technically true. There's a missing word here that's doing a lot of heavy lifting for him, though. He says that Eklavya is a Kshatriya, which is DEBATEABLE because in the epic we've seen time and time again that blood doesn't matter and it's the society that does. With this, hopefully not to y'all, new information we might understand how the guy's assertion that Arjuna and Eklavya are on equal footing is shaky at best.

He continues to explain that in the text the reasoning why Drona refuses Eklavya is because he'd already promised he'd make Arjun The Best Archer. Since, he's bound by obligation to the Kurus, he can't afford to let Eklavya outshine his kuru students. The man proceeds to assert that in the text there is no caste-based discrimination happening here. Ergo, he concludes, the story of Eklavya doesn't have a caste aspect to it. If you believe otherwise, you're uneducated and need to learn the Truth and not fall into Propoganda. (I'm trying to be charitable to the guy but his tone when he says the word "propoganda" is dripping with disdain and it's making it very hard for me to remain charitable.) He ends this section this way.

This guy says he's given you all the facts. He's cited his source and he's said the complete truth. He hasn't. In this man's viewpoint, the complete and true Mahabharat is the Sanskrit text. Which, as you know, ISN'T what the entirety of the Mahabharat is and claiming that it is is a narrow perspective to see it. (Which is FUNNY considering this guy has a whole section towards the end of the video about Nuance and it's ironic that he's unwilling to provide the same nuance about the epic to his trusting audience.) Maybe he just isn't insane enough like me to know that it isn't the entire Mahabharat. It's possible.

There is a viewpoint that declares that the Sanskrit Text is the primary source and everything else isn't "canon". There's a SPECIFIC word for it but I will not say it because it's like a boogeyman word on hindublr, at least, so I'll omit the word in this post. This man, from what I've seen, shares this viewpoint.

I disagree.

The Mahabharat, is first and foremost a collection of oral traditions of storytelling that were written down much later. This means that the entire corpus of work that is this mammoth of an epic consists of the thousands of written texts, poetry, plays, songs, folk tales, recently it also includes cinematic adaptations, bedtime stories that your elders might have told you, and lastly, popular culture for better or for worse. This is my viewpoint and I feel it provides for a much better lens to engage with the story. Otherwise, you're denying the story of the rich tradition and heritage it was forged in.

The guy in the video wonders why the story of Eklavya is more popular than Satyakama Jabali and there are a lot of reasons for it. First is that the epic is simply more popular and, in many ways, more fun than the upanishad stories. Second is that the story of Eklavya captured people's minds because it's a story that has strife and the ending is unsatisfactory. Tragedies inspire emotions and connection in a way that comedies do not. There are many more reasons but I'll stop listing them.

It's not a coincidence or happenstance that there are caste dynamics added in the popular interpretation of the story. There are even seeds of this in the Sanskrit text, if this guy is truly only looking at that alone, Eklavya being a tribal kid, the way his physical appearance is described in the text, the way he's stopped from sharing a space with the kuru princes etc. If a variety of people who have historically faced similar things especially when it comes to education and find themselves mirrored in Eklavya? That's not Propaganda, as the guy puts it. It's just how stories naturally evolve and grow. It's people reading between the lines. There's no conspiracy at play. Just people finding something to relate to when they cannot relate to any other character.

I can write essays on how caste and varna show up in the Mahabharat (and I might, if even ONE person asks me for it) but to sum it down, it's a task of examining exactly who and what KIND of people are absent from the story. The Invisible People, if you will. You can count on your fingers how many shudra, dalit and adivasi figures are in the Mahabharat.

Drona is a teacher who fails at being a teacher in this instance. (The Mahabharat in many ways is a story of people failing to do their Duty. There's a certain peacock feather wearing guy who does a whole song and dance about it. It can cover a whole book. It's quite popular. Maybe you've heard of it?) Even if you ignore the caste dynamics reading of it, you cannot deny that the man just sucked at being a teacher in that moment when he denied education to a student, whatever his reasoning may be. He brutally asks for the kid to maim himself and again, even the Sanskrit text describes this action of Drona as cruel. He creates a barrier for Eklavya to stop him from continuing to practice his archery.

It's not surprising that Drona is read as a stand in for an education system that sucks at being an education system that does its job. Again, it's not a conspiracy or propaganda. It's people trying to connect to a story through the prism of their life experiences.

It is not my place to tell people what to believe and what not to believe. It's not the guy in the video's either, despite what he says. People's interpretations are personal to them. What is my place is to remind people that it's wrong to deny people their interpretations. There are versions and interpretations of the story that I hate or dislike but I'm not standing here and telling you they're not the Truth. This is the nuance that Mahabharat requires that the guy lacks. This is also why I believe his sources and research is lacking in this department.

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

Beyond Eklavya

There's a lot of other thoughts and things I want to share about the rest of the video. I'll try to summarise the highlights.

There's a part where he doesn't understand what systemic patriarchy means, exactly, even though he himself gave an EXCELLENT example of it towards the start of the video with Satyakama Jabali's mother's heritage not being considered when it comes to his gotra. It was frustrating because he SAID it. He said the perfect example himself. I almost thought he set it up as a complete circle moment but he hadn't.

I appreciate him bringing a Shaivite perspective because I'm honestly tired of so much Vaishnavism at all times. I love to see different schools of Hinduism actually being practiced and not just one dominating and subsuming the others.

Towards the start of the video, Mod G predicted that the man would go on a "Periyar sucks" rant and I was so delighted that G was so right.

The guy in the video neglects to look at any contemporary research and scholarship about the linguistics and the Aryan migration theory(which he calls the invasion theory, obviously) including the genetic studies.

There's a funny bit where whenever the guy mentions Ambedkar he has to assert that he thinks Ambedkar is anti-hindu. Even when he's praising him. It happened multiple times.

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

TL;DR The man in the video fails to provide his viewers with the full picture about the story of Eklavya even when he claims he is.

- Mod S

ALSO

The structure of his arguments are poor especially in the section where he talks about why the North-South divide came about. Does he not know about the field of linguistics and how root languages are established? Telugu as a language has a 'Dravidian' (he seems to hate that word, even though Dravida is not just the anglo word for the southern parts of India) root because of certain features it has. Notice how North Indian languages use Gender. And then, notice how Southern/central or even Adivasi languages use gender. One main reason why Dravidian languages have been speculated to have another root language different to Sankskrit is the counting systems. Its not wrong to say Telugu has sanskrit INFLUENCE, but again, look at WHICH people within the language group use that type of Telugu (spoiler alert, its the 'proper' upper castes). He dismisses that entirely and makes it a whole issue about how the North South divide happened.

Its very clear to me that he has no intention of representing any of the counter arguments to his premise in an honest manner and is instead single mindedly trying to create more propaganda.

-Mod G

[saphronethaleph]

Dis Tributary

“Those Rebel animals,” Grand Admiral Sloane said, softly, as the report came in – the Star Destroyer Haruspex had been effectively hulked by some form of sabotage, the details unclear but it had involved something to do with a reactor breach.

Whether it had been internal sabotage, manufacturing sabotage, or a bomb infiltrated onto the ship… that wasn’t yet known.

“This must be something to do with the New Republic,” the officer added. “If they want a war, we’ll have to give them one. Rollo!”

“Ma’am?” Rollo Yarnet asked.

“Run me the numbers,” she requested. “Can we do some kind of deniable strike on some New Republic system? Or… something that will stop them from doing this?”

“Well,” Yarnet began, and his tone of voice made Sloane sigh.

“I’m not going to like this answer, am I?” she asked, testily. “All right, let’s hear it.”

“To put it simply… no,” Yarnet replied. “Not for, and I use this term advisedly, Admiral – generations.”

Sloane blinked.

“...what?” she asked. “What do you mean, we can’t do anything for generations?”

She swept her hand across. “The New Republic’s military is far smaller than it should be – it’s not even as big as ours is! We should be able to break loose a strike force, at least.”

“That would be very difficult,” Yarnet said. “For… well, generations, as noted.”

“Then explain, Rollo,” Sloane snapped. “Explain to me how the decadent Old Republic could build a fleet to shake the galaxy in months, but for us it’s impossible!”

She was shouting by the end, and Yarnet folded his arms behind his back.

“We are not the Old Republic,” he said, succinctly. “Nor, I will note, are we the Empire, though we are structured much the same. The problem is scale… and, chiefly, legitimacy.”

Graphs appeared on the bridge holoprojector, and he pointed at them helpfully.

“The Old Republic was militarily extremely weak, for its production capacity, size and legitimacy,” he said. “Decadent, as you called it. But it was the unquestioned, elected government of most of the galaxy, however skewed those elections were – it was believed to be the elected government. The people who lived under the Republic may have thought it was basically useless for many purposes, but they did not question that the Republic was who should be in charge of them. The Separatist movement was largely driven by rich companies, who exploited what legitimate grievances did exist for their own purposes, but in many cases those rich companies brought their own manufacturing industries to the table – and, of course, did not require heavy contributions of labour or resources from most of the Separatist worlds.”

Yarnet glanced across. “I won’t dissemble here, Grand Admiral. The Separatists were created to be defeated by the Emperor; this was generally fairly well concealed during the Emperor’s reign but is considered to be more or less evident now. The important point here is that the Old Republic represents what we can call the mobilization model of economic output – the people in the Republic believed that it had a legitimate claim on their effort, and their population and economic base was so vast that it did not require a significant contribution from any given world to field a vast fleet… which, of course, crushed the Separatist fleet.”

He shrugged. “The Separatists were largely raised through what we can call the existing power model – they simply already had significant production assets and private armies and put them at the disposal of the Separatist state, but loss of those facilities was crippling to Separatist war production.”

Sloane’s expression had been stormy since Yarnet mentioned the Separatist’s being created to be defeated, but she controlled her initial reaction.

“I don’t believe you about the purpose behind the Separatist movement, but… I suppose it’s not especially germane,” she said. “So… we have a problem because the New Republic is bigger? The Empire was bigger than the Rebel Alliance, but they wanted victory more. Isn’t that why they’re now in charge?”

“No,” Yarnet told her. “The cause of the rapid collapse of the Empire’s military position is because of the Empire’s economic and military system – it was what is called a military-tributary empire. That is, the Empire’s military – originally built up under the Republic, I will note, and subsequently modernized – used the threat of military force to extract value from systems under Imperial control, ultimately dismantling every other power structure that did not represent the ability to exert violence. This permitted higher productivity from an individual system…”

His voice trailed off.

“...so what’s the problem?” Sloane asked.

“Most of the value extracted from the systems went into maintaining the military that provided the threat of violence,” Yarnet explained. “I actually did my dissertation on this. In hindsight, the tipping point was probably reached in about Imperial Year Twenty or Twenty-One.”

“Tipping point?” Sloane repeated. “Explain.”

“If the military sustains losses that are too severe and its image of invincibility is too sharply damaged, then a runaway collapse can take place,” Yarnet said. “Unrest grows, demanding harsher suppression to maintain productivity, meaning that more and more of the capacity of the military is occupied in simply keeping the extractive system running; at the same time, the ability of the Rebels to recruit assets expands.”

He highlighted a graph. “By Imperial Year Twenty-Three and the Battle of Endor, the Emperor was attempting to stabilize the situation with a second Death Star, but effectively the entire Imperial military not constituting the garrisons and nodal forces running the extractive systems was present at Endor – and, I will note, lost the battle, leaving a weakened but still extant Rebel fleet.”

Sloane was frowning. She hadn’t heard this before, but she could run a strategic analysis.

“So… there were no longer any good options?” she said.

“Correct,” Yarnet agreed. “Surrendering a large portion of the galaxy and concentrating the fleet for a fighting retreat, maintaining both a sufficient fleet in being to punish Rebel attempts to accelerate the timeline, would have probably allowed the Empire to retain extractive control over that reduced area for longer, but instead the caretaker government engaged in the Jakku campaign.”

“Shavit,” Sloane muttered. “So… hold on. The New Republic is seen as legitimate and so they had the ability to build ships quickly, because their population was actually putting in effort without blasters to their heads, while we were pulling out ships and our productive capacity cratered… okay, I see how the collapse happened. But-”

She stopped, and ran through the numbers again.

The First Order had a fleet, still… but it was mostly spread out into, as Yarnet had put it, garrison and nodal forces running the extractive systems.

She looked again at the screen showing the hulk of Haruspex.

“Are we past the tipping point?” she asked. “Should I be calling for a withdrawal and consolidation – would that even help?”

Yarnet was silent for several seconds.

“I don’t… think we are,” he said, eventually. “But it’s close. In fact, Admiral, I would say that we need at least one of two things. Urgent peace with the New Republic, not merely a cold war… or to focus on building legitimacy of our own. To reach a point where our civilians will work without blasters to their heads – simply reaching that point effectively frees up our entire military for campaign.”

“That would take decades, even if I could get the rest of high command to sign off on it,” Sloane said, then groaned and rubbed her temples. “Which is… exactly your point. Right.”

She sighed. “All right. Is there any other way we can resolve this?”

Yarnet frowned.

“Well,” he said. “If we were not the successors to the Empire and presenting ourselves as such, we probably could expand and recruit other smaller powers into our overall structure, but we are the successors to the Empire and that would obviously require too many aliens in positions of authority. If we had a superweapon then we could intimidate the New Republic into backing down and that might let us expand our control without needing to maintain the ability to fend off a possible attack… and of course if the New Republic got rid of their entire military, we wouldn’t have any opposition anyway. But aside from that the only thing I can see that would break the logic of the situation would be if we got hold of several hundred fully crewed capital ships that appeared out of thin air. In that circumstance we would be able to destroy the New Republic fleet in being, and then re-establish a tributary empire over enough of the galaxy to overcome the New Republic on a medium term basis – essentially the Separatist theory of victory.”

Sloane sat down.

“So, no, then,” she said.

“More or less,” Yarnet agreed. “You did ask.”

[cellgatinbo]

i. okay. so quackity was given a mission by cucurucho to clean up the adoption center after it somehow became an absolute mess, covered in leaves and cobwebs and cockroaches. he (with bagi's help) work on the task, but in the middle of it he finds a diary apparently from tilin, talking about her father, and a picture of tilin and quackity together. he finds this and doesn't realize he's the father mentioned.

after cleaning up the center cucurucho approaches him to give him his rewards, but before that asks where the eggs are. q doesn't know what he's talking about, so cucurucho tries to teach him a new word (classified), but really just writes it down and leaves.

q runs for a lil looking for roier, and after finding him (in his very funny hospital), q asks him about the picture of him and tilin. roier's stunned that he doesn't know who tilin was, but explains that it's quackity's kid. he doesn't seem to take the info well, going very silent, then says "i need some time." and glides away.

after that he runs into forever, who he also asks about his son. he confirms, yes he has a son, and tilin is quackity's child. he recognizes that q doesn't have his memories and probably doesn't remember him, but forever repeats that he wants to help him anyways, to get his memory back that was stolen by cucurucho. he offers to go together to visit tilin's grave, to helpfully jog his memory a bit. once they get there and see how broken and in ruins it is, q starts cleaning it up a bit, breaking the random blocks in there, and then just stands there, staring at the red walls. he goes silent again. and just ends stream right there.

[beecauseevan]

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December 2023

"Home Alone?" Chim says the title like a question he doesn't really want answered, with a not insignificant amount of trepidation. 

"What's it about?" Buck asks innocently, fiddling with a pair of craft scissors, the bright pink plastic of the handle a stark contrast against his dark blue uniform pants. 

"It's about a boy," Chim explains. "He's home alone."

"He almost murders two burglars," Eddie adds helpfully, because that seems like a pretty crucial detail. 

Buck hums. Then, after a few seconds of hopeful silence, he shakes his head. "Doesn't ring a bell."

Chim groans. There are two stacks of DVDs on the coffee table, the one on the right drastically higher than the other. Home Alone quickly joins the looming tower, another entry in the seemingly endless list of shows and movies you simply have to watch, according to Chim and probably several Buzzfeed articles, unless your name is Evan Buckley and your childhood sucked. 

Chim's desperate eyes meet Eddie's. Eddie shrugs. He doesn't even try to hide his smile. 

"I don't know what you expected."

Chim sighs, because of Eddie's comment or maybe just the general situation, and turns back to the coffee table to survey the stacks. Though, given that the left one consists of exactly one DVD, stack is probably not the right term. 

"How is Die Hard the only Christmas movie you've seen?" 

"Maddie made me watch it," Buck replies, opening the scissors and closing them again, cutting the air with cheaply metallic little snipsnipsnips.

"I guess that's my legacy," Chim says morosely, and gets up. "I have more DVDs in my locker. Don't go anywhere."

"Who even uses DVDs in this day and age?" Buck calls after him. "There's this thing called Netflix, old man. You should give it a try."

Chim is still flipping him off when he gets to the stairs and the dimness of the 10 PM app bay swallows him whole. 

"What are you doing anyway?" Eddie asks, nodding at the mess Buck has made of his half of the couch. Paper cuttings cover the leather like snow, leftovers from the pile of strange sculptures he's gathered in his lap. 

"I'm making snowflakes," Buck informs him. Eddie's levels a—pointed, doubtful—look at one of those sculptures, misshapen and strangely bug-like in nature, and Buck amends, "I'm trying to make snowflakes. I want to make some with Jee, so I looked up, uh, child-friendly crafts, but—this is way more difficult than I thought. And if I can't do it, there's no way a two-year old can do it." 

Eddie thinks back to a sunny afternoon in his kitchen, to two very different kinds of heart drawings spread out on his kitchen table. Chris got an A on his sketch. Buck's had a heart-shaped button nose. Jee will probably do just fine. 

"Practice makes perfect," Eddie tells him cheerfully, patting his shoulder. "If you keep it up, you're gonna have the fine motor skills of a preschooler in no time."

"Screw you," Buck replies. "I'm holding scissors. I could stab you."

Eddie glances at the scissors, eyes the childproof rounded tip. "Sure."

Before Buck can prove to him just how dangerous those craft scissors can be—and he looks like he's definitely considering it—a shrill ringing interrupts the relative nighttime peace that has settled over the firehouse. DVDs and ugly snowflakes get abandoned, gear equipped and the truck boarded, and just a little over ten minutes later, they're standing on the set of some Hollywood blockbuster Buck probably won't watch either, and for a moment, Eddie forgets to be professional. 

"Holy shit."

The set in front of them, a fake street hemmed in by fake brownstone facades, might have looked festive, maybe, at some point, but there's not much left of that now. It's all buried beneath white goo, glittering ominously under the studio lights, more horror flick than Hallmark movie. What looks like the grayscale aftermath of a Slimer attack is the result of a bunch of fake snow machines gone wild, and next to Eddie, Buck has stopped dead in his tracks too. 

"Holy shit," he echoes. 

Bobby, strutting through the mess with the grace of a former figure skating star, calls for them, and they start moving. 

Truth be told, there's not that much they can do here. The machines are already turned off, and there's no fire that needs putting out, no car wrecks, no stuck elevators. They're here because three of the crew members fell unconscious after they came in contact with the goo, but it's probably some type of allergic reaction, so Chim and Hen have it handled. That gives Buck some time to look around, his face painfully open with curiosity and that strange, enviable love for life that comes so naturally to him, and it gives Eddie some time to watch him do it, watch as his eyes, bright and blue, take in the scene. 

"Did you know that the largest snowflake ever recorded was 15 inches wide? They found it in Montana, in 1887."

"No," Eddie says honestly, because what the hell. "Nobody who isn't you would know that. And I call bullshit. 15 inches? Come on."

"I didn't come up with it," Buck tells him. "Otherwise I'd have a Nobel prize."

"They give out Nobel prizes for that?"

"They should," Buck says, and at Eddie's dubious look, he quickly continues. "Snow is fun, Eddie. People like snow."

"I don't like snow," Eddie replies. It gets below freezing in El Paso, but usually only at night, and even then it rarely snows. He doesn't miss much about Texas but he does miss that. Then again, Southern California isn't that different. Which may or may not be why he picked Los Angeles over Chicago.

"Snow is beautiful," Buck argues. "Magical, festive—"

"Cold, slippery, dangerous—"

"Come on."

Eddie spreads his arms, look around, and Buck does, but only so he can look back at Eddie and roll his eyes.

"That's not snow," he says, kicking his foot as if to prove a point. He sends a clump of goo flying in Bobby's general direction, and Bobby glances over his shoulder to give them a long-suffering look.

"Snow is snow," Eddie says, just to be contrary. 

"One day I'll show you," Buck decides. "I'll take you to Hershey. Then you'll see." 

"Sure, Buck," Eddie says. "Sure."

December 2024

At the time he'd laughed it off, but now, a year later, Eddie understands that suggestion for the invitation it was. Buck invited him to spend Christmas in Hershey—his hometown, where his parents live. That feels significant, somehow, even though it probably wasn't meant to be. Buck was probably just joking, probably didn't mean anything by it, just wanted to introduce Eddie to the dubious wonder that is a snowy winter. Even now, a year later, it's a ridiculous suggestion. Eddie doesn't even like visiting his own parents over the holidays, and he doesn't dislike them nearly as much as he sometimes hates Buck's. 

It's a ridiculous idea, but if Buck brought it up now, a year later, Eddie would say yes in an instant. 

Because now, a year later, Buck's smile has faded. His skin is pallid and bruised, his large frame looks strangely small. A hospital gown will do that to you, Eddie thinks, as he stares at the wires, the tubes, all those foreign objects attached to his best friend's too-still body. 

What a difference a year can make.

Written for the @911countdowntochristmas - this was supposed to be 24 drabbles but the Buddie NDE speculation going around pre 8x08 inspired me and now it's a 24-mini-chaptered fic instead. And definitely more hurt/comfort than fluff. Oops.

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[lizardlicks]

Momo surprise

“I’m a little worried about Momo,” Aang said to his friends as they gathered around the morning campfire and started preparing for their day. “He’s been acting kind of off lately.”

The lemur in question was fussily nosing around Aang's abandoned bedroll in tight circles. As the group of teens watched, he laid down in a curl, chirped unhappily then got up and resumed tugging and scratching at the bedding. “How can you tell?” Sokka asked. He was by no means a lemur behavior expert. To him all of Momo’s actions were strange. It was possible that Aang's Avatar-ness gave him some kind of spirit connection to flying lemurs. Unlikely, but still possible.

“He doesn’t have as much energy, even though he’s sleeping more.” Aang explained, frowning. “You don’t think he’s sick, do you?”

“Maybe it’s the climate?” Katara offered helpfully. She wasn’t a lemur expert either, but she and Sokka had struggled the first few weeks with adjusting to the Earth Kingdom’s warmer weather. As far as she or anybody else knew, Momo has lived his entire life in the towering, windswept peaks around the Southern Air Temple, so maybe the sudden change had affected him too, she reasoned. 

“It’s because you’ve been giving him too many treats,” Sokka told Aang matter-of-factly. Lemurs were outside of his wheelhouse, but he'd helped the older boys with conditioning the polar dogs for sled pulling every fall. Spoiled pups turned lazy and fat, a hard lesson to learn for the littler children who only wanted to express their love.

“You think so?” Aang looked contrite.

“Yup,” Sokka said as he reached to snag a piece of star berry off the board Katara was using to prepare their breakfast. He snatched his hand back with a squawk when she smacked him.

“He is looking a little pudgy, Aang,” Katara said without taking her eyes off the food. Poaching brothers were too wily to be given that kind of an opening.

“Monkey feathers. I just can’t resist him when he gives me The Eyes.”

“I know,” Katara agreed. “He’s weaponized his cuteness.” “You’re going to have to.” Sokka nimbly dodged a sister elbow, but he still didn’t quite manage to snag any tidbits from Katara’s pile of fruit. “It’s for his own good.”

Momo, apparently noticing he was being talked about, finally abandoned the bedding to perch on Katara’s knee. “No, bad lemur!” She snatched her cutting board up and held it over her head. “No more extras for you!”

Sokka whooped in victory as he snagged a slice of moon peach and popped it into his mouth before Katara could adjust her defenses. “You’re on a diet, mister,” he informed the lemur as he sucked the juice from his fingers.

Momo chittered and pinned his ears back.

“Sorry, buddy,” Aang said regretfully as he scooped Momo up and tucked him into the crook of his elbow. “I already gave you a big handful of lychee nuts when you woke me up, you’re gonna have to wait until lunch time for more food.”

Aang could never quite tell just how much human speech Momo understood, but the lemur appeared to grasp something about the situation. He curled his tail around and grasped it anxiously, cooing at Aang with all the force of The Eyes that one tiny flying mammal could muster.

Aang held strong. For all of three seconds. “Okay... well. Maybe a couple berries wouldn’t hurt?”

--------

“AAAAAANG!”

The young monk bolted upright in his bedroll at the sound of his name, startled out of a sound sleep. Sokka was loud. Loud and very upset.

“What!? What is it?” He blinked several times, then rubbed at his face, trying to get his eyes to focus on anything distinct before he realized the reason he couldn't see anything was because dawn was still hours away. The moon hung in the sky, a crescent barely thicker than a thumbnail, with no light to offer. Hedgegoosebumps broke out across his arms. Aang hugged himself as the night pressed in, suddenly no longer a sheltering veil, but full of hidden threat from enemies he couldn’t see. 

The sleeping lump to his right rustled and shifted as Katara sat up in her bed roll. “Sokka-haaah,” her voice stuttered, breaking off with a yawn. “What's wrong?”

“What's wrong? What’s wrong!?” Sokka was rapidly climbing in pitch with each repetition. “Why don’t you look at this situation and tell me, huh?”

“Uhh.” Aang squinted into the dark and tried to make sense of their camp. Appa was still peacefully snoring several yards away, completely oblivious to the sudden chaos. Katara was wiggling and shuffling her way out of her sleeping bag, growling unflattering things at Sokka under her breath, and Sokka. Sokka was standing in the middle of their sleeping circle. He looked like he was holding something, but Aang could not for the life of him see what it was.

“We can't see anything without light, Sokka,” Katara groused. She finally won her struggle with her sleeping roll and started patting around for her bag. “You couldn't have lit a fire before you started yelling loud enough to alert the Fire Lord himself?”

“Oh, gee, why didn't I think of that! Could it possibly be because I'm dealing with Aang's mess over here!?”

Aang didn't remember leaving a mess. In fact he'd been careful to pack up everything before turning in for the night just in case they had to make a quick getaway. A few too many lost supplies had trained him quickly.

“What are you talking about?” He asked while stretching, less alarmed now that he knew Sokka was just. Well, being Sokka. They weren't being attacked, there was no life or death situation he had to fight through in the pitch dark.

Katara, having retrieved some kindling from her pack, scooted over to their banked campfire and began to poke the coals awake. She had apparently given up any hope of going back to sleep until her brother was sorted out. Even Appa was starting to rumble awake with the commotion.

“You said Momo was a boy!” Sokka hissed. 

Aang. Blinked. “Yeah?” he said, uncertainty clouding his mind. He must still be dreaming, why would Sokka wake up the whole camp to debate their pet’s gender?

“Then explain this!” Sokka shoved his cupped hands out, away from the protective shield of his body, just as the fire flared with a pop and Katara's satisfied grunt.

Cradled in between his palms, fur still sodden and sticking, was the teeniest, tiniest lemur Aang had ever seen.