#and we'll collectively object and keep believing in them because no one tells us what to think.

[fate2716]

I just keep reading fanfiction and thinking about how fun it will be when season 2 comes out and none of our headcanons will be real, like Wednesday speaking Italian or the nickname "Willa" and in some way, we'll still be surprised that they are not true.

[takeonmetakemeon]

I don't know. When someone starts talking about the Republican Party like it has some sort of cohesive ideology I kind of stop listening to them. Seriously, how long has it been since that was true?

It might have stopped being true when George W. Bush was reelected and without a shred of self-doubt announced he was going to privatize Social Security. A moment everyone has forgotten. If it wasn't then, it certainly stopped being true during the Obama administration.

Since Barack Obama left office and left his veto pen behind, Republicans haven't dared to pass much of anything lest they offend some key faction of their party.

When Trump came along and united the different factions in his person, the only thing keeping Republicans from fighting each other was dislike of or outright hatred for Democrats. That was it. I mean it kind of still is, but there is also Trump.

Before Trump, Republicans' answer to their increasingly angry voters was to blame Democrats. Democrats were keeping them from passing the changes the country needed. So they got the House. And the Senate. And the White House. And....

Somehow it was still Democrats' fault.

No matter what Mitch McConnell might want you to believe, it is not Democrats who paralyze Republicans, but their own fear of the electorate. And I suppose that is what frightens me. Republicans are caught between their lies to their enraged base and reality, coming steadily closer to the day when they must choose between admitting they have for at least 20 years promised them things they could never deliver or finally deliver them over the objections of the majority.

And if they choose the latter, there won't be any more middle class tax cuts. Their need for those will vanish with democracy. But at least the budget will be balanced.

The dysfunction of the current Congress, where the majority party cannot pass much of anything without votes of Democrats and can barely agree on a speaker, is not some new thing. This has been going on for years. Their current narrow margin exposed the divisions in the party. It didn't create them.

Consider what Democrats were able to do with smaller margins than Republicans had in 2017. Of course, it was Biden leading the charge and he is one of the most underestimated politicians in the US (though nothing like his vice president). But it's also true that even including Joe Manchin and Kyrsten Sinema, Democrats were more ideologically united than Republicans have been in some time.

Yes, Trump passed a tax cut. The easiest thing to pass. Governments around the world would pass a tax cut every five years to grand acclaim if they didn't have to live in the real world, which apparently this generation of Americans does not. Someday we'll reach the point where the US government collects no taxes at all and still finds money to hand to taxpayers on April 15.

Trump especially is not attracting voters to a concrete ideology. The whole idea of trumpism without Trump is specious. Because there is no trumpism. There is only Trump. The miracle-worker whose iconic anti-liberal status elevates him above the party's divisions. The man whose ideology is so muddled and whose convictions are so obscured that he can stand for whatever you want. As long as it isn't what Democrats want.

But if other people want to play the game and talk about Republican ideology, they can go ahead. I will find other things to do.

It's not that I think Republicans are too stupid to see their reality. I don't. I think they are the aging man who can't admit his abilities aren't what they were, the once-wealthy socialite borrowing their way into bankruptcy rather than acknowledge their bank account is empty, the fading movie star desperately grabbing one last headline.

And the press? Their longtime friend who shuts their eyes, telling themself they *must* know what they're doing.

And the rest of us? We're along for the ride.

[lazskum]

woodie x wx-78

i love these two...i knwo woodie is probably married to lucyu nbut just let me imahgine

The night slowly turned into day, bright hues of orange, red and pink painting the sky. The air was crisp, fortelling of the coming winter, though it was still warm enough to walk about with only a thin coat to keep out the cold. Woodie and WX78 were on chopping duty. Usually, Woodie would spend the day chopping trees on his lonesome, enjoying some quality time with his axe. But the other survivors had begun to worry that doing so was putting some sort of strain on Woodie mentally (though he couldn't imagine why), and as such he was lumped with his cold partner. He grunted and swung at some trees, watching as they fell. WX78 continued to chop as well, focused soley on their task and nothing else. Woodie glanced at his partner. WX78 was someone he didn't spend a lot of time with, mainly due to their strange behaviours and tendancies to brag about their misplaced God complex. "…" "…" "…MY AXE BROKE. DO YOU HAVE ANY SPARE?" Woodie huffed. "Nah. You know I don't carry another axe but Lucy, eh?" "WHY DO YOU INSIST ON KEEPING THAT THING? IT DOES NOT OFFER ANY VALUE." "Value? You don't see a point in an axe that never breaks?" "WELL, I SUPPOSE SO, BUT IT STILL SEEMS PATHETIC. TO HAVE SUCH EMOTIONAL ATTATCHMENTS TO AN INANIMATE OBJECT." Woodie rolled his eyes and mumbled something to Lucy. Then, he tossed WX78 a twig and some flint. "You just wouldn't get it, eh? You're not like me or Lucy." WX78 assembled the axe and continued chopping. "THE ONLY REASON I DON'T GET IT IS BECAUSE LOGICALLY-"

"Logically what? You just don't understand, nothin wrong with it, nothing else aboot it, you just don't get it. Now get back to choppin'. We'll need more than this if we're gonna survive winter." For awhile, they continued in silence. Woodie stopped every now and again to ensure that he didn't accidentally transform, and then they sat down to eat. "…" WX78 munched on some gears and examined the ground beneath them. "…TICKILY." "You got some sensors on that body of yours?" Woodie seemed surprised. WX78 let out what was probably meant to be a laugh, but just sounded like another set of jangled notes. "OF COURSE. I WOULD NOT BE ABLE TO TELL WHAT WAS WRONG WITH ME IF I DID NOT HAVE ANY SENSORS." Woodie reached out and touched them, pausing from eating his Beefalo and mashed potatoes. "Didja feel that?" WX nodded. Woodie tapped them in a seperate place, on the shoulder. "And that?" They grunted a yes. Finally, Woodie touched them on the forehead and grinned. "That too?" WX rolled their eyes and moved away a little. "YES, I FELT ALL THAT FINE, FLESHBAG. THANK YOU FOR TESTING MY RESPONSORS." He laughed. "No problem, machinebag." They sat in comfortable silence while they finished, slowly working through their meals until it was time to get back to felling the surrounding trees.

A few hours later, Woodie was getting particularly ferocious with a certain tree. Once it had finally collapsed, he let out a victory yell. "HA! TAKE THAT NATURE!" WX examined him. "…I ADMIRE YOUR LOVE FOR DESTRUCTION OF NATURE, FLESHLING. IT IS THE ONE THING I BELIEVE WE HAVE IN COMMON." The thought seemed to amuse Woodie, as he smirked. "It sounds like a riddle, doesn't it? What does a robot and a lumberjack got in common?" His words hung in the air, unanswered, as WX continued to work. It seemed like they didn't know the answer either. Although, a small feeling bloomed in their chest, like a bug burrowing through a new leaf, or a man beginning to cut at an old, gnarled tree.

A feeling they had tried to keep repressed for all too long.

The rest of the time they spent their was in shared silence, seemingly that they had nothing to realy discuss. It wasn't long before nightfall came and they used some of their collected wood to make a small fire. The pair sat together until suddenly, light rain began to fall. "AH- OH. IT'S RAINING." They reached around and tried to get an umbrella, only to realise they had forgotten it back at base. "I THOUGHT WE MAY BE BACK BY NOW, SO I DID NOT HAVE THE APPROPRIATE PROTECTION." The rain became heavier, falling and starting to electorcute them. They winced and tried to dry off. Woodie looked at them. "…Ey, wait there a moment." He got up and walked off into the darkness with a torch, starting to chop away at the trees. "FLESHLING, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? THAT WILL ONLY MAKE YOU TRANSFORM." He grumbled. "'At's the plan." It didn't take long before Woodie shifted into his werebeaver form. It snorted and turned to WX, approaching them. "AH. YOU HAVE HAIR. MORE THAN USUAL." It tilted its head a little, and then stood over WX, shielding them from the rain. It slowly began to run off his fur back, pooling onto the ground. Still he stood. "…THANK YOU, FURBAG. YOU ARE NOT AS BAD AS I THOUGHT."

[emluvsevermore]

Him (40’s stucky)

{ rb is great, but do not repost somewhere else without credit to me. do not steal my work }

originally posted on Wattpad. you can find my whole collection of stucky one-shots there. username is @/thatenbywitch107

wc: 1,437

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"I'll be back," Bucky said, ruffling Steve's hair. "Don't worry."

"Bucky, it's war. I have a right to worry."

The newly drafted soldier tried to fake a smile, but his boyfriend saw right through it. Luckily, he had the perfect thing to cheer him up.

Steve pulled a small metal object out of his pocket. He held it out to Bucky, who took it.

"What's this?" he said, inspecting it. It was a seemingly blank dog tag, save for three symbols pressed into the metal: S + B.

"Do you like it? I figured a picture of me would be too risky, and this way, you can make up any girls name that starts with S—,"

He was cut off by Bucky crushing him in a hug. Steve tried to hold the tears back but gave up when he heard Bucky sniffling. They held each other as they broke down. Bucky pressed his nose into Steve's hair, eyes squeezed shut. He hated crying, but it was an almost inevitable action. In a few minutes, he would be leaving the best part of his life behind to fend for himself in a city full of danger and disease. Meanwhile, he would be off fighting in a war that he didn't actually want to fight, with a slim chance of returning.

"Bucky... you need to go."

He shook his head profusely. "No..."

"Buck," Steve's voice cracked. "I'll be okay."

The brunette shook with emotion, but slowly pulled out of the embrace. He tucked the tag into his front pocket before turning back to Steve. He held his face in his hands. The couple shared a kiss mixed with salty tears.

Bucky pulled away only slightly, so that their lips still brushed when he spoke. "I love you, Stevie."

"I love you, too, Bucky."

///

He tucked behind a tree. Knowing his chances of survival were close to none, Bucky pulled out the dog tags that were tucked beneath his uniform. He ran his fingers over the extra tag on the chain, feeling the gentle bumps of the 'S + B'.

A bullet flew by, mere inches from Bucky's ear. He aimed his gun, but another soldier in his unit put a hand on his arm and shook his head.

"It's not worth it, Barnes. We're surrounded."

Hesitantly, Bucky lowered his gun to the ground. He held up his hands in surrender, as did the remaining soldiers of the 107th.

///

He was tossed into a dark, muddy cell with several of his comrades.

"We'll get out of here, men. Don't worry," Bucky said, trying his best to be a leader. He clutched the dog tags in his hand.

Yet months went by, and one by one, the men were dragged off. They never returned. Bucky spent his time reading and re-reading the words and numbers on his tags, spending extra time on the one from Steve.

This went on until one day, a German soldier approached the cell. He looked around until he landed on Bucky. He pointed. "You. Up."

///

When Bucky awoke, he was cold and in pain. He tried to sit up, but a strap over his chest and arms pinned him down.

Looking around him, he found that he was in a lab room of some sort. It was dark, so he couldn't make out much, but he seemed to be alone. That didn't last long.

A door clanged open, and three men walked in. Bucky didn't recognize any of them. They spoke amongst each other in German, before one walked up to the table that Bucky laid on. He was a rather short, middle-aged man, with round glasses.

"Trial number 310," he spoke in a thick accent, reading off of a clipboard. "James Buchanan Barnes, 26. Good history of health. Let's hope this one works."

He squinted when a bright lamp above the table was switched on. Before he could realize what was happening, a needle was pressed into his foremen. Within two minutes, he was passed out.

Apparently, "this one" did work, because Bucky remained on that table for another two weeks. At various points in the day, he was poked, prodded, and injected. They didn't always put him under for the tests. When those times came, Bucky forced himself to remember, despite the hunger and pain eating away at him. He ran through what he had memorized; his ID numbers, his full name, his station. Most importantly, he remembered Steve.

Steven Grant Rogers. 25, born and raised in Brooklyn. The best damn artist I've ever known. My boyfriend.

Steven Rogers. Brooklyn. Artist. Boyfriend.

Steve. Artist. Boyfriend.

Steve. Boyfriend.

Steve.

Steve?

///

He mumbled the codes. He had long since forgotten what they meant, but he knew they were important.

S. That one letter rang out in his mind, but he didn't know why.

The metal door swung open once again.

No. No, not again, he thought. One more round and I'll forget him completely. S- Steph? Sam?

But his confusion shifted when he saw the man that approached the table this time. He was different, but familiar.

That's not him, is it? No, it can't be—

"Bucky?"

Oh, shit, it's him.

"S- Steve? Steve."

The blond undid the straps and helped Bucky off the table. He took in his boyfriend, although he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

Steve spoke first. "I thought you were dead."

"I thought you were smaller."

The world was at war around them, but the reunited couple stood there, smiling like twitterpated idiots.

"Steve," Bucky cried as he collapsed into his boyfriend's impressive biceps. What the hell happened to the skinny kid he had left behind?

"I've got you, Buck. I'm here." Steve pressed a kiss to Bucky's forehead. "Can you walk?"

"Um—,"

Steve scooped him up anyways. "We need to go."

He ran out of the room with his exhausted boyfriend in his arms. Bucky rested his head against Steve's chest.

"I missed you, Stevie."

Steve glanced down, his expression warm and full of emotion. "I missed you, too, Bucky."

He kissed his forehead once more before continuing at full speed out of the building, and back into the battle.

///

*One week later*

Side by side, they walked into the base. There was applause was the other soldiers realized what was going on.

Agent Carter and Colonel Phillips approached them. As Steve filled them in, Bucky glanced around. Something about the cheering bothered Bucky. None of these men gave a damn about Steve before he got all big and strong. And then all of the sudden, he was a celebrity.

"Hey!" he yelled. "Let's hear it for Captain America!"

And there it was, even louder this time. This support was for Captain America, not Steve Rogers.

Bucky stepped forward so that he was right next to Steve. He took his hand, causing Steve to turn his attention back to him. They shared an affectionate smile.

///

Later that day, Steve and Bucky were alone in a private cabin. Steve had explained their relationship to Peggy and she had sorted it all out.

They sat on the couch in their favorite cuddling position, with one straddling the other, arms wrapped around each other. Except this time, their usual roles were swapped. For one, Bucky was now smaller than Steve, so it made more sense. Two, Bucky needed a little extra comfort. It had only been a week since he got out of the torturous room.

So, Bucky sat on Steve's lap with his face nestled in his neck. They were both exhausted, so Bucky simply placed slow, lazy kisses on Steve's soft skin. In return, Steve traced his fingers up and down Bucky's back.

"How are you feeling, doll?" Steve asked.

"Like I just came back from hell." They were quiet for a moment. "Steve?"

"Mhm?"

"I just want you to know, that you're the most important person in my life. I don't think I would've survived back there if I didn't have thoughts of you keeping me alive. You're a hero to the whole country now. I don't know exactly what this means for us, but I do know that... that even before, when you were skinny little Steve... you were my hero. I don't think I tell you often enough how much I appreciate you."

Steve hugged Bucky even tighter. "I won't let anything happen to you again, or to us. I'm with you till the end of the line."

[justletmeplayminecraft]

It's not uncommon that with new updates, mobs change.

Doc, as a creeper, hasn't experienced many. Creepers are iconic, if he says so himself. And his circuitry usually overrides small changes to the code.

Which is why the new update catches him so off guard.

"Doc," Ren calls. It's been a quiet night in the RV. They've washed up after dinner, and Doc is working on some plans for next season at the table. Paper is scattered across where they'd been eating, covered in scribbled base ideas and circuits. He looks up, leaning on his hand.

"Yeah?"

"I don't mean this in a rude way, man." Ren slides into the chair across from him, leaning on the table whilst carefully avoiding said sketches. His ears are tilted back, hands clasped in front of him. "But are you shedding?" Doc squints his eye, circuitry mimicking the expression for the other.

"I- No?" Ren sighs, reaching in his front pocket. He drops something fuzzy and green on the table, similar in appearance to fluff from a blanket. Doc reaches out, picking it up between two fingers. It's... Not fluff. No, it's more like a plant-

"Doc," Ren sighs. "When's the last time you looked in the mirror?"

"How am I supposed to know? You think I keep track?" The only mirror in the RV got cracked a while ago and it's not like it's easy to get a new one in deep space. And Doc's never been like Ren with the whole grooming thing anyway. He swears, the guy spends so much time brushing his own fur.

"Right. You need to look at yourself." Doc raises an eyebrow, but doesn't object as Ren pulls him onto his feet, pushing his shoulder to direct them into the bathroom.

They stop in front of the mirror, the large crack and missing pieces obscuring most of their faces. Ren points at Doc's collar, uncovered by his lab coat. His claws tap against the reflective surface.

"Ren, why am I covered in moss?" Doc asks. He can see Ren raise his eyebrows through the mirror, even though his eyes are hidden by his sunglasses.

"That," Ren declares, "was not this fluffy before." Doc squints, his electronic eye whirring as he focuses. It's still his usual green skin, the colours patchy. Perfect for blending into open fields and trees. He finally looks down, raising his shoulder to see better. There's small bits of familiar looking fluff collecting on his skin, like a beading blanket. He frowns, reaching down and picking at it. It tugs at his skin, clinging on before breaking away. Small pieces of... Not fluff caught between his fingers. No. This is...

"I think you can put that together, Doc," Ren replies, unhelpfully. Doc turns to face him instead, standing at his full height. Ren's ear twitches.

"I haven't rolled in any moss patches recently."

"Or you could just be in denial instead. I guess that works too."

"Because it's more likely I just started to grow moss?" Doc crosses his arms, scowling. "Maybe I'm going mouldy."

"Doc, dude." Ren puts his hands on Doc's shoulders, naturally avoiding the electrical joints that could easily threaten to trap his fingers. "These kinds of changes aren't bad things. I believe somebody very close to me right now has been saying that a lot lately." Doc huffs.

"You're not supposed to use that against me."

"If it applies to me then it applies to you too." Ren squeezes his shoulders, Doc relaxing slightly under the touch. "New updates can be funky, you know? We'll figure this out together."

-

Doc hisses, scraping at the peeling moss on his skin. Not only does it get everywhere, but it's itchy too. It's been making it hard to focus on building lately, always fighting the urge to scrape against the nearest surface.

"Hey Doc!" He turns at the side of Etho's voice, offering a nod. "Oh, something's bothering you." Doc rolls his eye, forever annoyed at Etho's ability to read people. Etho balances on his tiptoes, rocking forward. "Tell me about it."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes I do," Etho replies, not missing a beat. "Now, Doc, I've been told I'm an expert listener-"

"Expert annoyance more like."

Etho ignores him completely, "And I want to make sure I'm looking out for my friends!" He drops the dramatic voice, standing properly. "Seriously, you can't even stay still right now, dude. What's up?" Doc hadn't even noticed how much he'd been fidgeting.

"You won't laugh?"

"Never."

"The moss is itchy, man." He holds up his organic arm, rubbing at the skin around his wrist. "It keeps coming loose and getting stuck and I can't get rid of it." Etho looks carefully at the green plantlife dropping to the ground.

"Have you tried exfoliating?"

"What."

Etho laughs, "Well, it's like skin, right? You need to get rid of the dry stuff. Or... The loose stuff, in your case."

"And how do you suggest I do that?" Doc asks, tilting his head. His pupil constricts into a thin line. Etho reaches up, tapping Doc's nose.

"Come round my place later, I'll dig something out for you."

Doc doesn't know why he listened. Getting up their stupid cliffs is a nightmare by itself. The wind ruffles his skin, red eye checking ahead of him to make sure the path is safe. It lands in his palm, and Doc clicks it back into place as he continues to where he thinks their main base is.

Stone becomes more terraformed, small signs of life dotted around the otherwise empty landscape. And then Doc is finally stepping into what looks like a main hall. Signs cover one of the walls, with notes or small drawings. One of them is a reminder to buy food, another a drawing of items in a chest. He can recognise Etho's handwriting - the slanted, overly fancy words Doc's always told him is a nightmare to read. So the other fairly square writing must be Iskall's. At least that's legible.

"Enjoying our base?" Etho calls, head poking out of what looks like their storage room.

"You guys look like you're still in early game."

"Hey!" Etho places a shulker down, walking over to meet him. "Iskall and I are both busy people, Doc."

"Yeah, yeah." He waves his hand dismissively. "What did you want to show me?" Etho flops onto the bed, patting the open space next to him as he reaches for something. "Oh? Without dinner?"

"This is feeling less trustworthy by the minute," Doc decides. Etho shushes him.

Etho rolls his eyes, "Whatever you're thinking right now is on you." Etho picks up something hairbrush shaped. Doc's eyes narrow. "Trust me." Doc sighs, sitting down in front of him. Etho carefully pulls his lab coat off, turning Doc so he faces away.

"My thinking is that I've got this wire brush. If I brush you out well enough, that should get rid of all the moss that's loose right now and causing you problems."

"You're going to groom me."

"If you want to use that word. Now, come here." Doc is unprepared for the first press of the brush. The bristles are tightly packed, rubbing between his shoulder blades almost like a massage. Etho is careful to avoid any metal, Doc would kill him if he got scratches in it, but he doesn't want to leave any spot unbrushed.

As he continues working, Doc sinks further forward, slumping over. A low rumble emerges from his chest and it takes everything Etho has not to mention it. He picks another handful of moss off the brush, placing it on the growing pile. Doc's back is starting to look far more uniform. There's less bunches sticking out, the moss becoming a fuzzy spread across his skin. Etho brushes over it with his fingers. It really is like touching normal moss.

"Mm, you done?" Doc asks. His black eye blinks blearily over his shoulder at him.

"Was just wondering..." Etho taps the back of the brush against his other hand. "Do you think I could use this moss to make a farm?" Doc groans, Etho bursting into soft laughter.

"Shut up and keep brushing," he mutters. Etho takes a few seconds to gather himself.

"Can do, boss," he replies, pleased he gets to do something to help one of his oldest friends. He deserves a bit of TLC after everything he's done for them.

Doc sheds, little bits of green moss fall off all the time

Etho wonders if he could be used as a farm if you bonemeal him