#being thoroughly American about it

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

‘Why, would you look at that? Another corridor!’

— Veneziana, addressing the programme’s history of mucking about in passages, while being thoroughly American about it

[chaoticbuggybitchboy]

Apparently there’s people who don’t like The Kids From Yesterday. Apparently there’s people who don’t like Danger Days at all. This is. Heartbreaking and disturbing on a fundamental level.

[verytendou]

Every time i go home i am reminded why i get closer to busting out the “anyone born and raised in the united states of america is born and raised a racist” speech

[neil-gaiman]

Will you read this? Eh, perhaps. You're a busy man with quite a lot of asks. But there is a very human part of me that wants to say my piece because I owe you quite a bit of thanks. And I shall express this thanks with a story of my first words.

When I was 2, approaching 3, years old my parents were worried I'd never speak. The child therapist we went to - quite an old bat if you ask me, considering the stories I've heard, but what do I know I was 2 - had told them to ever give up hope of hearing my voice.

On the way back from the appointment, my Godmother - the driver of the car used to take me to the doctor - stopped by a small bookshop and took me inside so my mother could weep appropriately out of line of her child. We went inside and she told me to look around for a book for myself. She knew I loved books - wasn't sure if I was reading them or not, but knew that I at least liked looking at them and wanted to keep me occupied.

I apparently stumbled around for a while, grabbed one small book off the shelf and plopped my little arse right down and started flipping through. About fifteen minutes go by - and my mother has thoroughly cried herself dry - and my Godmother comes up to me and scoops me up with the book.

I - being the obstinate two year old that I am - refuse to let go of said book and it's only about 50 American cents so she simply buys me the book.

For the next few weeks I only carry around the book. I do not touch any of my other toys or stuffed animals, only the very small picture book. I sleep with it under my pillow, carry it around happily, flip through it every so often.

And then one unassuming day, at the dinner table - with a set of non-prepared parents - boldly yelled out my first words ever: Blueberry Girl.

Now, I'm sure you've figured out at this point of the story that the book my little self was holding was none other than your boo Blueberry Girl - and this is where my thanks comes. I have spent the last sixteen or so years since first acquiring it repeating the words to myself, asking Ladies of Light and Ladies of Darkness and Ladies of Never-You-Mind to watch over me if they could spare moments of their time. I repeat them whenever I have a difficult test, and even in the few moments right before my graduation speech of high school.

So thank you for the words that touched my little soul and stuck with me till now.

You are so very, very welcome.

[foldingfittedsheets]

My beloved is very particular about their belongings. I was surprised when we first started dating about the scrutiny their loaned objects would be placed under when returned. Their car would be checked carefully for scrapes if someone loaded a bike into it, all returned objects were carefully and thoroughly looked over. Even now if Korben has bitten something left out like a dildo they’ll carefully look it over for damage it has one tiiiny tooth dent.

It won’t surprise anyone to learn that books they’d loaned people had previously been returned with broken spines and dog eared pages, and now it's very important to them to maintain their things in good condition. Their things weren’t treated with care and now it’s a sign of respect to them.

The first time they loaned me a book I was a little shocked that they received it back and began immediately investigating it for wear. To my chagrin there was indeed a tiny scuff at the corner where I’d put it in my bag too hastily. They said nothing, but nothing needed to be said.

Going forward I treated each book they gave me as utterly precious. I dogear my own pages but I’d never dare on a book that wasn’t mine and on their books I elevated to special protocols, handling them as gently as possible.

When it came to books I loaned them I got them back exactly as I’d handed them over. I had them read American Gods. They weren’t totally sold and I suggested the lighthearted sequel Anansi Boys might be more up their alley. It’s about a trickster god and his sons.

I was lounging when I got a call from my beloved. We usually texted, they’re not a phone talker so I picked up right away.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m so sorry,” they blurted.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but I was getting in my car, and I had a coffee and I was trying to juggle things and well-“

The silence stretched out.

“What?” I asked gently, afire with curiosity.

“I left your book on top of my car and I drove off. When I realized I drove back but I couldn’t find it. I’m so sorry!”

As the words sank in a laugh started rising out of me. “You lost my book?”

“I’ll buy you a new copy! It was an accident!”

“I’m not mad, it’s okay! Its just really funny, you’re always so careful.”

I then realized that they were holding themself to their own standard, beating themself up for something that to me was just a silly mishap.

“It’s really okay! I’m not mad, you can get me a new copy.”

They did, and when I chuckle about it they still pout a little like the funny part is that they made a mistake.

But honestly the thought of someone coming upon a copy of a book about trickster gods being left in a coffee shop parking lot and taking it is the funniest part. I hope they enjoyed it.

[fairuzfan]

"Israel also secretly hires Jewish Americans as spies to work out of its Washington embassy and its consulates around the United States to covertly surveil and monitor fellow Americans, including students. Thoroughly vetted to ensure loyalty to Israel, many of those hired have spent years heavily involved in pro-Israeli activities from the time they were in college and before. Among them was Julia Reifkind, who led a pro-Israel group at the University of California at Davis before moving on to become an activist with AIPAC. After she graduated in 2016, she was hired by Israel and assigned to its embassy in Washington.

Reifkind had good preparation for her assignment. Thinking that Kleinfeld was a fellow pro-Israel activist, over dinner at Washington’s Mari Vanna restaurant she revealed that while at AIPAC she spent much of her time deceiving college students about her covert connection to the organization. “Obviously, I’m an AIPAC-trained campus activist,” she said. “When you’re lobbying on behalf of AIPAC, you don’t say AIPAC, you say, ‘I’m a pro-Israel student from UC Davis.’ And when you’re meeting with students on campus I would never say, ‘I am the AIPAC campus rep.’ I’d say, ‘My name is Julia and I’m a pro-Israel student.’”

At the embassy, Reifkind focused on developing intelligence on fellow Americans, including students on college campuses. “So nobody really knows what we’re doing,” she said. “But mainly it’s been a lot of research like monitoring BDS.”

In a different conversation, Reifkind explained: “It’s mainly gathering intel, reporting back to Israel. That’s a lot of what I do. To report back to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Ministry of Strategic Affairs, and make sure they have the right information.” Among the ways she spies on pro-Palestinian activists and Palestinian human rights supporters is with phony Facebook accounts. “I have my fake Facebook that I follow all the SJP [Students for Justice in Palestine] accounts. I have some fake names. My name is Jay Bernard or something.”

Once Reifkind collected the intelligence on her targets, she passed it on to her boss at the embassy. Then it was sent to the Ministry of Strategic Affairs and other offices over a secure encrypted system called Cables. It’s “really secure,” she said. “I don’t have access to [it] because I’m an American.… I’ve seen it, it looks really bizarre…. And then they’ll send something back and he’ll translate it and tell me what I need to do.”

Since the brutal Hamas attacks on Israeli civilians on October 7 and the Israeli invasion of Gaza, the ICC and its US-based spy networks are no doubt working overtime. But there is little likelihood of interference by the FBI—well trained to look the other way when it comes to Israel. It was a situation that even frustrated a former head of the FBI’s counterintelligence division. When I asked him why no one would talk to me about Israel’s massive espionage in the United States, he simply shook his head.

“You don’t think Israel’s a sensitive topic?” he asked, requesting that his name not be used. “So, Israel has been looked at and is being looked at and that’s all I can tell you,” he said. “But nobody’s doing anything.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“You can imagine,” is all he would say, implying high-level political involvement. I then said that I was planning to write about the topic. “I hope you do. I hope you do,” he said. Sighing, he added, “I’ve been there done that. I know it. I’ve brought cases to the Department of Justice on Israel.” Cases that were never opened."

— Israel’s War on American Student Activists by James Bamford on The Nation

[haikyu-mp4]

Potty mouth

word count; 356 – f!reader

You were surprised when Kenma entered the living room one day with a glass bottle of your favourite soda and an unusually cartoonish smile. He asked you to please join him for his stream tonight, as he agreed to play against a popular American gamer to broaden both of their audiences.

Due to falling in love with a Japanese streamer at university, you settled in Tokyo despite being a foreigner, deciding you would probably stay for good. However, you were still nearly fluent in English.

You saw no reason why you couldn’t agree to help him.

It went well for a while, helping Kenma laugh at appropriate times to the other player’s comments, or rather making sure he didn’t laugh inappropriately.

Slowly but surely, you got invested in the game, eyebrows gradually furrowing as the foreign team ganged up against Kenma, throwing out nicknames for him that he wouldn’t exactly approve of if he properly understood them. He would probably also be too shy anyway.

Eventually, you had enough of Kenma silently taking all the comments. You grabbed the microphone from Kenma’s cheek and tilted it out to your mouth while you leaned in. “HEY!”

Several groans on the other end confirmed that they had their volumes up. Taking an artistic break, you wiggled your brows at Kenma’s monitor for some damage control on his faithful audience who were about to see your ugly side.

“MY GRANDMA COULD PLAY BETTER THAN YOU, YOU FUC-“ Let’s not write every single insult that fell from your lips any time anyone shot at your partner. Seeing his audience cheering you on and having you add comments for Kenma to get them, motivated him like never before as he plucked each of their heads and left himself the sole winner.

Chuckling softly, he took the mic back before ending the call. “Sorry. That was my wife.” His English wasn’t particularly good, but those words were said confidently.

As the stream ended, the Americans thoroughly embarrassed at their poor performance, Kenma slung his arms around you and let out a soft chuckle. “I didn’t know you were such a potty mouth.”

masterlist

[apocalypse-shuffle]

BLACK NOIR | EARVING (the boys)

—

“Promotion” (Black Noir x Fem!Reader)

| Being Black Noir’s new handler and him becoming obsessed with you since Mr. Edgar himself assigned you to him.

| SFW, vought employee!reader, (TW: Noir is kind of stalking the Reader, who’s uncomfortable but adapting mostly)

| 1k+ words

“You want me to…what?”

“Be Noir’s new personal handler.” He fans his hands out on the table with a shrug and gives you a disarming smile. “You’ll be expected to parlay direct mission instructions from me, accompany him to said missions and stay with the deployment team. I expect you to give written reports on his performance at the end of every day, active mission or not…”

Your eyes continue to widen as his barrage keeps going. This job would require you to be present for everything short of Noir wiping his ass and even then you’ll be outside the restroom.

Mr. Edgar finishes, gives you an expectant look, and you clear your throat.

“And, what if I don’t want the new position?”

“I don’t see why not.” He shrugs, “I mean unless you don’t think you’re good enough for the promotion. Then I suppose I’ll just have to tell Ashley her recommendation was for naught.”

You laugh.

“No no, that’s fine. There’s no need to tell her anything…” you gulp, watching the man just look back at you before taking a second more to inhale, “…ex-cept that her recommendation payed off.”

He tilts his head and it feels like his eyes are boring through your own, boiling your brain to mush. Your voice is small as you push the rest of your words out in one exhale.

“And that I’ll be starting my new position tomorrow. Sir.”

You stretch a smile across your face and hiss out a sigh of relief as that finally gets the man to respond.

He instantly reanimates, reaching atop his desk to hand you a secure black portfolio made from hard plastic.

“That’s great. I’m glad you decided to take on this new journey, Ms. L/n. May it serve you well. Have a good day.”

You don’t dare drop your smile as you take the offered portfolio and shove it under your arm.

“Right.” You take a moment to mourn the loss of your old job before nodding, “Thank you for the opportunity, Sir. You have a good day as well.”

The older man nods back at you, attention immediately gone back to his computer monitor afterward. You blow out air from your nose and then turn on your heels.

It’s not until you’ve left the board room that it hits you.

“Shit.”

The man had just played you. Goddamn Edgar and his resoluteness. Once he’d decided to “ask” you about the upgrade in position he never intended for it to be an actual request.

You rub your temple and head to the restroom. At least you had the rest of the hours in the day before tackling your new job.

You hunker down in the stall after peeing to look over the papers Mr. Edgar gave you. As you're skimming through a whole lot of shit marked “classified” or “redacted” you have the stray thought to be glad that Translucent’s creep ass wasn’t here to ogle you and be all in your business anymore.

Thank the higher power for small mercies, you suppose.

All the snippets of information you're gathering are kind of baffling. Legal name: Earving (of all things), biological male, six foot two, African-American (that’s fun; may be the reason he took such a liking to you too, not many black people made it to the top floors of Vought after all). You dog-ear a packet about some sort of imaginary animals he sees in his mind before looking over a page about a severe peanut allergy. Hmm.

By the end of the day you’ve nearly gotten all the way through Noir’s portfolio, and you’ve also worked up an itch to get out of your skin that means you’re not working overtime worth a goddamn.

At six o’clock on the dot all of your crap is already quite thoroughly packed, your former workspace - barren thing that it already was due to regulations - was cleaned out and ready for the next poor soul, and you’re in the elevator heading for the sub-level garage.

Dead stare locked onto the floor numbers you become acutely aware of the bags weighing your eyes down.

“Fuck,” you sigh.

Black Noir's Personal Handler.

Despite Mr. Edgar’s clear efforts it was more than a little known open secret that personal handlers rarely got to retire. Madelyn Stillwell’s death might’ve been something none of you dared discuss for fear of either Edgar or - heaven forbid - Homelander catching wind and putting you back in your place, but it was a pattern of the job that you all were well aware of.

Though you’d take Mr. Edgar’s culling over whatever Homelander could possibly come up with.

Something about his blonde, blue-eyed, ass didn’t sit right with your spirit.

Far as PR and wrangling went though, short of maybe Starlight, any wrinkles Black Noir managed to make would be the easiest to smooth out.

Plus, even with you and Noir having some form of a pre-established relationship it was in no way dependent or built upon you being Noir’s emotional epicenter like Madelyn and Homelander’s weird…dynamic was.

You had seen and heard far too much in your years working for Vought to think for a second that there wasn’t something dark and twisted going on with The Seven, but Noir still seemed mellow in comparison to the rest and their constant ego trips and dick measuring.

You had zero clue how letting the fully covered man teach you a few notes to a song at the Christmas party when everyone was drunk off eggnog and watered down booze and sitting with him when he was crying on the floor once led you to this.

Sure the silent man and you had somewhat hit it off - so far as you were one of the few non-supers he didn’t intimidate or just flat out ignore - but to be made so intimately in charge of him seemed like a bit much.

Noir had seemed endlessly patient with you as he played for you and then eventually decided he’d teach you how to play the piano yourself, the sides of your bodies’ shifting incrementally until you were pressed flush to one another in both of yous concentration, so you could really only hope he kept that same levelness with you as his handler.

You bank the corner, work bag and portfolio on the same arm, and fish out your keys so you can unlock your trunk and shove your shit inside.

Hope truly was the name of the game here unfortunately. You could only hope Noir kept up his “good” streak, and that that streak wasn’t just a farce that you were now in charge of covering up. Hope that he didn’t end up getting angry or reckless and making you one of those *redacted* cases with a ‘cause of death, unknown’ attached to your name, because you could do nothing to stop him if he wanted to kill you.

Shiver racking up your spine and turning your blood to static, you snap your trunk closed, turning to leave when—

“—Fucking Christ!”

Eyes gone wide and spit having nearly choked you from your sharp inhalation before your exclamation, you do your best to appear composed as Black Noir himself steps out from a conclave of shadows to stand in front of you.

The Devil, you find yourself thinking. Had he been following you this whole time?

For his part Noir doesn’t move aside from cocking his head to the side.

Steadily, you force calmness onto yourself. Ignoring that your voice is too high when you call his name.

“Black Noir,” you say, trying to seep the professionalism back into your tone while smoothing down the creases in your pantsuit, “surprised to see you here. What can I do for you?”

The smile you offer him feels wonky even as you command the muscles up, but it’s the best you can do with your heart hammering against your chest as if it wants to run off and leave you behind.

For a couple more beats the man doesn’t do more than size you up presumably before finally - as you were weighing the pros and cons of just getting in your car despite his presence - raising a hand to point at your trunk.

You catch on to his meaning fairly quickly, your smile dropping to something more natural whilst you huff a tiny laugh.

“Oh yeah, guess Mr. Edgar must’ve told you. I’m your new handler - you know, if you had one before that is. I don’t…actually know…” you trail off, shifting on your heels when Noir only continues to keep his stillness.

“Mhm,” you mutter, rocking backwards, just staring until finally Noir shifts and there’s suddenly a pad and pen in his hand.

He flips casually to a clear page before starting to write and you’re fairly sure this is the first time he’s ever actually ‘talked’ to you.

Huh.

Not long after does the pad get flipped over and brandished to you. You click your teeth together.

‘Edgar says you’ll do good,’ he scribbles, writing absolute chicken scratch and letters far too large on the medium sized pages, before flipping the pad back to himself and writing some more.

‘Believe in you!’ and a whole bunch of smiley faces is what meets you once he lets you see.

You blink. Noir puts the pad back wherever he had it initially to give you two thumbs up.

You muster a slightly bigger half smile for his efforts.

“Thanks Noir,” you say, words more sincere than you’d been expecting.

A nod and an eternity more of silence and staring is what he gives you in response.

You’re getting ready to shift, to awkwardly relay that you’d like to be getting home soon, when Noir stiffens suddenly - and isn’t that startling, a man so tall and so strapped with sharp explosive deadly things going so alert like that - head tilting like he’s listening for something.

A few seconds go by like that where he doesn’t do anything else and you fight to keep yourself still, smile gone and part of your lip caught firmly between your teeth.

Then Noir’s giving you a nod and leaving just as silently and unseenly as he had come.

You wait another two-three beats before scrambling into your car. The sound of your lock engaging sounds like salvation and the steering wheel feels like a lifeline as you grip it with stiff nearly foreign fingers.

God.

You force a deep breath into your lungs, make sure it comes out more steadily than it came in.

At least Mr. Edgar didn’t dump you onto Homelander’s lap. Something in you shrivels up and dies at the mere prospect. You nod, your hands flexing on the steering wheel.

This was definitely better.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

This is a semi companion story to “Pandora’s Melody” if you’d like to check that one out as well.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

[wileys-russo]

ahem. You. I have a foxy request— her obsession with her kindle while she’s dating you, perhaps? You don’t want to go paperless, but Foxy keeps trying to convince you to get a kindle. She’ll hide your book and make comments like “but if you had a kindle” and teasingly roll her eyes, but it goes both ways? Maybe R is taller than her, so one day she takes emily’s kindle and holds it over her head and emily tries to get it back and R just keeps gently tapping her head with the kindle before holding it back up. Absolutely no pressure, this just sounded like smth down your alley?

brand deal II e.fox

“em?” you called out hesitantly, frowning as the majority of the lights were switched off in your apartment and you let yourself in. “emily?” you called again, hair pricking up on the back of your neck as you took a few cautious steps forward.

“where is she?” you mumbled with a frown, knowing she was in fact here given she’d called you about five minutes ago as you were pulling into the parking garage to check when you’d be home.

you settled a little as you flicked on the living room lights, hanging your bag up and shrugging off your puffer jacket. “you’re back!” you screamed and almost fell over at the new voice interrupting the thick silence.

“don’t do that!” you scowled at your girlfriend, kicking off your shoes as she made her way closer with a grin. “do what? say hi?” the brunette teased as your facial expression remained unamused.

“why were all the lights off you freak? i called out for you twice!” you defended, making your way into the kitchen to wash your hands.

having caught your neighbours practically pantsless in your buildings elevator the other day you’d made sure to thoroughly wash your hands every time you had to enter it since.

“well it was light outside when i started this chapter, and now…many chapters later, it’s dark.” emily shrugged in explanation as you gave her an odd look.

“you were reading…in the dark?” “yes." "do you have like some superhuman ability to see in the dark that you just never told me about?" "obviously?"

"oh well sorry i didn't realise i was dating a mutant!" you teased with a roll of your eyes, your girlfriend smiling in amusement. "you don't need the lights on to read on a kindle babe." the american revealed the truth as you rolled your eyes again but this time less playfully.

"you know if you had one-" "don't try to brand deal me fox, i know all your little tricks."

"no come on, don't be like that!" emily laughed at your obvious disdain as you moved to start rummaging through the fridge. "like what exactly?" you sighed, tapping your foot trying to magically conjure up what you were going to cook for dinner with your severe lack of groceries.

the two of you were going away for a few days since there wasn't a game this weekend for arsenal and the girls were given some time off, so you'd both put off buying anything which might perish while you were gone.

"like such a negative nelly." "you are so american sometimes its painful." "hey! you were living in the states by your own choice when we met, thank you."

"emily i truly believe that if it was put to you that you had to choose between being with me or never reading on that stupid thing again, you'd choose the kindle." you pivoted back to the original subject making the brunette chuckle.

"and if i said you might be correct?" she grinned teasingly as you pulled your head out of the fridge to shoot her an unimpressed glare in warning.

"joking, i'm joking! just using my delightful sense of humor that helped you fall so in love with me in the first place." your girlfriend smiled charmingly as you hummed and bit back a smile of your own.

"since we have no food, how about i take you and paige to dinner?" emily offered, leaning around you and snagging a half empty bowl of strawberries out of the fridge, pulling herself up to sit on the counter to pick at them.

"me and who?" you closed the fridge and turned to look at her with confusion, untwisting the cap on a bottle of water and taking a sip. "paige." emily echoed as you waited for her to elaborate which she never did, just smiling at you as if nothing was wrong.

"who is paige?" you sighed, sensing you likely weren't going to enjoy her answer as the grin on her face grew.

"my kindle." "you named that thing?" "yes and you'll call her accordingly!" the brunette pointed with a playful glare. "darling i would so sincerely rather stick toothpicks into my eyes than address your kindle as if its a living thing."

"paige, address paige as a living thing." "are you cheating on me with an e-book fox?" "well she doesn't argue with me and nag me about doing my laundry after a game." "emily!" "just joking, joking again! trying to make you laugh since you have the most musical laugh babe." "kiss my ass fox." "who sounds american now?"

~

your rivarly with 'paige' only got worse as time went on, specifically as you both checked into the hotel you'd be staying at over the weekend for your little getaway.

your girlfriend had at least not pulled her kindle out the entire flight, the two of you playing a few very spirited rounds of her favourite card game instead and catching up on a few episodes of community which she had you watching for the first time.

but no sooner had you both gone out for a lovely meal together and a walk around town, retiring to the room for a glass of wine and some downtime, did paige resurface and not in the way you were expecting.

"em did you repack my case?" you questioned, sat on your knees and rifling around with a frown as your girlfriend had already settled herself in bed with her kindle in her lap ready to go.

"yeah you said i could put my big grey coat in if it fit, remember?" your girlfriend reminded as you hummed, eyebrows furrowing as you hunted around for what you wanted but came up empty handed.

"what have you lost baby?" the defender questioned as you unpacked and repacked your case for the second time.

"my books. i packed three of them and i can't find them? and i know they were in here because i was texting with lia about the series last night as i packed." you huffed in annoyance, sitting back and glaring at your now messed up case as if they might make them magically appear.

"oh those? yeah they're at home." the american confirmed, sitting up and fluffing the pillow behind her as your head slowly turned. "they're what?" you asked slowly, unsure if you'd misheard her.

"they're at home." her fingers flew across the screen with a slick click clack as she typed in the password to the kindle, not even looking at you and missing the way your eyes narrowed toward her.

"as in...they're still in london. "well that is where we live." "why are they at home?" "i unpacked them, you didn't need them." "i don't need them?" "nope."

again you waited for her to expand a little, even clearing your throat as she glanced toward you with a smile and going back to her kindle. "emily why wouldn't i need them!" you stood now, moving to stand at the end of the bed with crossed arms and a scowl.

"well if you had a kindle, you could just download whatever books you want and carry an entire library in your bag instead, without the dead weight." "are you trying to market me again? i told you i am not buying one."

"you don't need to." your girlfriend shrugged as you scoffed and threw your hands up in the air. "why? because you could click your fingers and have one magically appear for free?" you jutted your hip out and raised an eyebrow.

"you know you look very hot when you're getting all mad and dramatic." the american grinned, successfully winding you up more. "where are you going?" your girlfriend laughed as you mumbled something under your breath and turned away, sitting down on an armchair to wrestle on some shoes.

"theres a gift shop downstairs and i'm going to buy a book since i don't fancy sitting here staring at the ceiling while you get to read all evening!" you huffed, grunting as you managed to wedge your feet into your trainers without undoing the laces.

"i told you, you don't need a book."

"actually i'm now going to go and find the heaviest book i can and hit you over the head with it!" you threatened, standing and making a beeline for the door, a rustle sounding behind you.

"emily." you groaned as her hand shot out over your shoulder and pushed the door back closed as you opened it. "come here please." the girl snapped the waistband of your pajama shorts and you let out a long and deep sigh before following her.

"here." the defender rummaged around in her own suitcase for a moment before grabbing out a box and shoving it into your hands. "see? no need for any books, you're welcome." she kissed your cheek and wandered back to the bed.

it didn't take you more than a millisecond to clock what the box was for, the brand name splashed across the front as you shook your head. "you kidnapped my books so you could force me into using a kindle?" you waved the box in your hand at the brunette who nodded.

"correct, and i already purchased and loaded those same three books and the two that come after it. again; you're welcome babe." "i didn't say thank you!" "i know, i'll be waiting."

"well you'll be waiting for a long, long time!" you huffed, dropping the box back on top of her pile of clothes in her case. "where are you going now!" emily asked with a frown as again you headed for the door.

"to buy a book. then maybe while i'm at it look a new girlfriend who likes the smell of the pages and cracking open a fresh new novel, the thrill of a dog eared corner and the hefty weight of the paper in your hands. someone who appreciates reading for what it is, not something done digitally!" you rambled out with a huff, hand on the doorknob.

"baby, you're being dramatic. come here and i'll read to you, you can even close your eyes and pretend its a book!" emily opened her arms expectantly as your gaze narrowed and her face lit up more as you took a few cautious steps toward her, stopping once you'd reached the side of the bed.

"come on babe its our first night on vacation lets not argue over something so silly, come cuddle." the american patted the space between her legs as you stared her down.

her features brightened yet again as you pushed her legs together and moved to straddle her lap, lips curling into a signature smirk. "actually, why waste time reading?" you breathed out, leaning in as your lips ghosted hers.

you leaned back slightly as the american surged forward, a smile on your face as a pout appeared on hers, kindle left on the nightstand beside her as one hand grabbed the back of your neck and the other your hip trying to pull you closer for a kiss.

however right as you leaned in to do just that within seconds your arm darted out and fingers grabbed at the smooth cold metal, snatching the kindle and swinging yourself off of her, headed again for the door.

"babe what the hell? where are you going now?" emily groaned, head thumping gently against the wall behind her watching you walk away with a frustrated frown.

"oh well since you insisted on bringing 'paige' on holiday with us, i figured why should she miss out on all the fun? so i'm gonna take her for a little evening swim!" "don't you dare." "oh yeah? watch me."

again within seconds as your hand gripped the doorknob you heard the covers go flying and feet hit the floor, the door barely opened a few centimeters before a body jumped onto you and your own slammed into the door closing it again.

"give her back!" "no! you have a problem you just called an inanimate object a her!" "i said give it!" emily grunted, arms wrapping around your neck and legs clutching at your hips as you held the kindle away from your body, stumbling backwards trying to keep your balance.

"oh my god you are addicted to this thing, you need help!" "i do not! you just don't understand the future." "oh i do, i know the future is looking awfully wet for paige!"

"em!" you squealed as she managed to pull you down onto the bed, crawling on top of you as you quickly wedged the kindle under your back and fought to push her off.

the two of you bickered back and forth as you grabbed her hands and got a knee loose, pushing her off of you and trying to flee again as her arm wrapped around your neck and her leg around your waist in an attempt at some sort of sleeper hold.

you had a couple of centimeters of height on her though and held the kindle just out of reach, using it to bonk her several times on the head to try and get her to let go of you to which she protested loudly.

after a few more minutes of struggle you almost rolled off the bed, yelping as strong hands grabbed you and using that to your advantage you managed to climb back on top of her.

"are we really fighting over a kindle?" you managed to press her arms to the bed with a grip on her wrists, her chest heaving beneath you and both your faces flushed rosy pink after the tussle.

"yeah, yeah we are." your girlfriend sighed, body going limp as a beat of silence passed before you both shared a look and suddenly you were rolling off of her, both your combined laughter filling the air as you clutched your stomachs.

"this is so stupid!" you managed out with a shake of your head. "i know." the defender agreed with a chuckle of her own, both of you taking a second to calm down again.

"truce?" you held a hand up in the air, her own coming to interlock and give it a firm shake. "truce, i love you."

"i love you too." you smiled, head turning to look as hers did the same, the two of you craning your necks to sweetly peck one anothers lips a few times with some giggles, your body rolling so you laid half on top of her, legs intertwining as her heart pounded beneath your eat that was pressed against her chest.

"one thing though?" "mm?" "paige is not allowed to sleep in the bed with us."

[kelluinox]

Current mood as an anti Russia Russian jew:

- Watching western college kids spout the same propaganda you heard on channel one growing up

- Hearing chants of "Death to America" and seeing the destruction of the American flag and whispering "of course" to yourself because you know exactly where this rhetoric came from and who sponsored it

- Watching the world waste its time on a democratic country fighting back against terrorists instead of paying attention to the real evil in the world like Russia, Iran, or China, because... antisemitism is more entertaining and you guys haven't been allowed to kill jews in a while I guess

- Being frustrated by the protests because nobody exerted this much energy on Ukraine and everybody has already forgotten about Ukraine and it's so painfully obvious that you all just hate jews

- Remembering the time you sat in class and had to listen to your professor say shit like "America is the greatest evil", and "America is committing modern day colonialism through globalization and global market" and then comparing that rhetoric to that of the brainwashed western college kids'

- Being terrified of the upcoming 9th of May because you have no idea what kind of shit your country will pull on the 9th of May

- Being very familiar with Islamic fundamentalism because you live near Chechnya and for as long as you remember you have been witnessing the murder of human rights' activists, attacks on lawyers, and young women and girls trying to escape families who promised to honor kill them, mutilated them or poisoned them with medicine - some successfully crossing the border to Georgia but many more being dragged back to Chechnya from where they were hiding in Moscow and St Petersburg to their deaths

- And then watching the west pretend that there is no extremism or problems because then you will be called a bunch of names and obviously that's very scary 👍

- Realizing you have nowhere to run because the west has been thoroughly infiltrated and is digging itself a grave and hasn't stopped doing so for 8 months now

- Losing friends because they either fell for the propaganda and don't see the danger you see so clearly, or they are too cowardly to call out the mob and lose followers on social media. Even though losing followers will be the least of your fucking problems when you lose your democracy and freedoms

- Being furious 24/7 because more sane people aren't standing up, again afraid of the mob and losing their social media status

- Honestly just expecting to be bombed by now

[reality-detective]

💢 Very interesting 🤔

LAW OFFICES OF AISSA WAYNE (John Wayne's Daughter) Obama's S.S. Number

For those of you who don't know but at the very bottom of this writing, the attorney who authored this article is John Wayne's daughter, Aissa Wayne, also a USC graduate.

Well, Well, Well, it looks like someone thoroughly checked into President Obama's Social Security number.

Jean Paul Ludwig or Barack Hussein Obama? S.S.N. #042-68-4425

WOW, read this, it's short - very interesting.

An intensive 6-year investigation has revealed the identity of the man whose Social Security Number (SSN) is being used by President Obama.

Jean Paul Ludwig, who was born in France in 1890, immigrated to the United States in 1924, and was assigned S.S.N. 042-68-4425 (President Obama's current SSN) rec'd on or about March 1977.

Mr. Ludwig lived most of his adult life in Connecticut. Because of that, his SSN begins with the digits 042, which are among only a select few reserved for Connecticut residents.

Barack H. Obama never lived or worked in that state! Therefore, there is no reason on earth for his SSN to start with the digits 042. None whatsoever!

Now comes the best part! J. P. Ludwig spent the final months of his life in Hawaii, where he died.

Conveniently, Obama's grandmother, Madelyn Payne Dunham, worked part-time in the Probate Office in the Honolulu, Hawaii Courthouse, and therefore had access to the SSNs of deceased individuals.

The Social Security Administration was never informed of Ludwig's death, and because he never received Social Security benefits there were no benefits to stop and therefore, no questions were ever raised.

The suspicion, of course, is that Dunham, knowing her grandson was not a U.S. Citizen, either because he was born in Kenya, or became a citizen of Indonesia upon his adoption by Lolo Soetoro, simply scoured the probate records, until she found someone, who died that was not receiving Social Security benefits, and selected Mr. Ludwig’ s Connecticut SSN for her grandson, Barry Obama.

Just wait until the head Birther himself, Donald Trump, gets past the birth certificate and onto the issue of Barry O's use of a stolen SSN. You will see leftist heads exploding, because they will have no way of Defending Obama.

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

Although many Americans do not understand the meaning of the term "natural born", there are few who do not understand that if you are using someone else's SSN it is a clear indication of fraud, and a federal offense.

If the voters of this great nation can succeed in bringing this lying, deceitful, cheating, corrupt, impostor to justice it will be the biggest and best news in decades for our country and the world.

"In God We Trust."

[vor-leser]

Benny now an animal, I knew AM would let him play.

(Stuff about my own version of pre-monkeyification Benny below the cut because i have too many thoughts on this)

It's kind of hard to make heads or tails of any of the ihnmaims characters since the cannons of the different adaptations contradict each other so much, so I reconciled my own version of events in my head as to what I think Benny was like pre monkeyfication. I tried to fit everything from the comic, game and book in though.

Benny was a very masculine guy, excelling in every sport, and despising everyone who did not live up to his standard of what it meant to be a strong man. All his life, he tried to embody this ideal, not only marrying and having two kids, but going on to join the military. When he became general, he was known amongst the soldiers as an authoritarian punitive leader, often abusing those below him to whip the weak ones into shape. His ideals were solidified under the pressure of the continuing third world war, instilling a kill or be killed mentality into him. Eventually, he came to the realization that he was gay. However, because this reality threatened to break apart the way he viewed the world and his masculinity. With the mounting pressures from a chain of losses and his own internal struggles, he reacted by overcompensating and becoming more brutal than ever, leading him to kill multiple of his own men. Returning from the Chinese American War, he developed a severe case of PTSD. Constantly making him feel as if his life was at stake, he found himself unable to show any weakness. He hid his own war crimes thoroughly, all the while continuing to receive accolades from his superiors for his tenure. He constantly felt the need to not only hide his crimes, but also his sexuality, making him paranoid that people would realize he was a fraud. This did not only put a strain on him, but also on his family.

AM specifically chose Benny, because he embodied the many ways in which humanity tore itself apart through war, constantly finding new methods to make their own existence miserable for an imagined ideal.

At first, Bennys presence among the survivors proved very useful. Out of all of them, he had the most experience in dangerous situations and a lot of physical strength. His wisdom and leadership helped them a great deal, eventually though, they would inevitably disappoint him. Falling into his old patterns of behavior, he would berate Nimdok the most for his obvious weakness, saying he was holding them back. With time, he did the same with Ellen, Ted and even Gorrister, which formed a rift between himself and all of them. He felt as if he could rely on no one but himself.

Still, his usefulness irked AM. He had gotten one over on him too many times, but this would make his coming defeat even more crushing. It started with his mental state. Paranoia had already slowly crept up on Benny, but when he was forced to relive his trauma, it spiraled out of control. Being starved, beaten and defeated, he started to lose his humanity. His egoism, distrust and brutality, all born out a desire for survival made him a nightmare for the others. AM found it amusing, how he had turned Benny into a parody of humanity and its worst aspects, seeing it fit to strip him of his last remaining bits of humaneness, breaking his body into the shape of an ape-thing.

His spirits were now completely broken, being reduced to a bumbling fool. Even though his shame mellowed him out, there were still occasional outbursts. Now ironically enough, he had become the survivors greatest liability. Luckily for him, the others pity him and keep him around, a kindness he likely wouldn't have awarded them.

(Also drawing a guy thats canonically supposed to look handsome while making him resemble a monkey is hard :,) )

[necronomeconomicism]

Voting in the United States is unintuitive, often undemocratic, and painful. The natural emotional reaction with being asked to support vile people at the ballot box is disgust and avoidance. For leftists it doesn't help either when dominant narratives about voting put it on a pedestal as something patriotic system-serving citizens do.

But voting doesn't have to mean declaring personal support or belief in anyone, and there is a lot more to vote on than the presidency. Still, there's no bubble to fill in that says "Gay luxury space communism immediately!" so what do we do with the ballot?

There are two kinds of things you might get to vote on. Representatives and Propositions(or Measures). Representatives are those politicians the news is always abuzz about. Propositions are US America's cute attempt at direct democracy and can be a breath of fresh air to vote on when they're not trying to con you. Most are "citizen-initiated" so this is where you'll find most non centrist political actions. As I understand it 24 states do not have citizen-initiated propositions and of them some don't seem to have propositions at all. If you live in one of those I'm sorry.

Your mental energy should be prioritized in this order.

Propositions -> Local Representatives -> State Representatives -> Federal Representatives -> Presidency

UNLESS you live in a swing state, the list of which can vary depending on the election. In that case you'll have to think about the presidency first. I'm sorry. The electoral college is stupid.

I live in California, so we'll be going through part of the 2024 California ballot. Before we get into this know there is nothing wrong with using a voting guide that just tells you what to vote for. That is, only if the guide is good, which is uncommon. Most guides are either horrible or don't cover everything on the ballot. Before using a voting guide check who is funding it. If it has any holes consider researching those propositions or elected positions yourself.

California has 11 propositions on the ballot. I'm only going to go over one in detail, but I do want to bring up some more straightforward ones to illustrate a point

Prop 3 enshrines gay marriage in the California constitution Prop 6 bans forced prison labor in the state Prop 32 raises the minimum wage to $18 Prop 33 allows local governments to enact stronger rent control

Propositions like these, if they are available, leave decent leftists no excuse not to vote. No matter how much you detest the presidential candidates, no matter how revolutionary you aspire to be, no matter how much you hate American "democracy" propositions like these can have immense positive impacts on people's lives when they pass. You cannot allow yourself to be thoroughly terrified of the ballot box when these exist. And on the other hand

Prop 36 makes drug possession a felony and makes theft under $950 a felony after multiple violations

You cannot just do nothing and let something that monstrous pass. And it fucking might! And all that good stuff might not! There are more than twice as many millions of dollars in advertisements pushing prop 36 than against it right now. Forget the presidency for a moment, if you live in California, you get to decide if literal slavery is allowed in prisons or not.

As for representatives I'm not going to say exactly what city I live in, but I can say there are multiple elected positions that aren't even divided along party lines. There are also multiple state, district, and county representatives that aren't just horrible people. Many of them backed by unions rather than corporate money.

There's also sneaky shit on the ballot. I mentioned earlier propositions made to con you. This season's example is Prop 34 which, "requires certain healthcare providers to spend 98% of the revenues from the federal discount prescription drug program on direct patient care." Sounds maybe like a neat healthcare bill, but it says "certain" and that's a tricky word on the ballot. In this case Prop 34 specifies it only applies to healthcare providers that own housing. Only one healthcare provider in California does that, the AIDS Healthcare Foundation. A non profit that has put its weight behind affordable housing including support for Prop 33.

Without people doing the research on things like Prop 34, bills like this can easily pass and enable all sorts of chicanery.

So go vote! Do some research and make some changes to the world! Don't let it be the only thing you do either. Voting only happens every two years. Contact your local political groups and volunteer your time or even just listen. Talk to your friends about what you're doing. Exercise your political muscles! Exercise your organizational muscles! Solidarity can be hard, but we have to be up for it. Your leftism has to affect the world around you or it will rot in the prison that is your skull.

[murdrdocs]

having a baby w mike and it being the baby’s first halloween :’) you mike and abby take lil dude to baby’s r us and spend HOURS trying to find smth perfect, mike and abby bicker over costumes bc “he’s my kid??” vs “i’m a kid and i know what kids like, and he’s MY nephew”, taking him trick or treating w abby and her staring down anyone w a mask or smth scary like “>:( don’t scare him he’s little”, mike being a Dad and wanting to take pics/vids of everything

oh my god clementine this is so sweet i actually had to silently squeal for a second !!

it’s like there’s a general buzz in the house for all of october. each of you thoroughly excited for the first real holiday in baby schmidt’s life, apart from the fourth where he’d worn an american flag swimsuit at your parents cookout. he seems to be excited too, constantly flashing his newly grown teeth even when no one’s looking. 

the outside of the house is brandished in cheesy decorations, little cobwebs and faux tombstones, abby’s hard work as she likes to remind you and mike every so often. it seems like she has just as big of a role in baby schmidt’s life as his parents, which eventually leads to the infamous babies r us argument. 

standing in the infant section again, it’s at least the fourth time the four of you have found yourselves here, the three times before ending in frustrated walks to the toy section (where mike put entirely too many toys in the buggy), a lunch break, and a feeding break for little schmidt. 

now, you’re determined to find a costume this time. the section isn’t that big so it really shouldn’t be as difficult as it is. but the two equally stubborn schmidt’s are the ones making it difficult, dual hardened eyes staring at each other. 

“he should go as mickey mouse, it’s cuter.” 

“and i’m telling you again, abby, that he’s going as a little astronaut.” 

they each hold their respective costumes in tight fists, and it’s really a funny sight to see; mike bent down to eye level with his little sister, face just a tiny bit red from the argument that really shouldn’t be as heated as it is. 

“every other kid is going to be an astronaut.” 

“and how do you know that?” 

“because dina’s little cousins are all astronauts. i’m a kid. i know what kids like, mike.” she spits his name with such a matter-of-fact attitude, that you start to see her point. 

but little schmidt is starting to get fussy in your harness and your back is really starting to hurt so you cut the argument short just when mike states, “yeah but hes my kid” and abby is starting to counter that he’s her nephew. 

you punctually grab the first costume that you see, the lion from wizards of oz, and throw it in the basket. 

“neither of you carried him and went through 17 hours of labor so i get to choose.” and they can’t argue with that logic. 

but to make the two grumpy ones feel better about losing, you all stop for ice cream on the way home. 

and weeks later, when halloween finally rolls around (because of course abby and mike were so excited for little schmidt’s first halloween that you’d gone costume shopping extremely early), they’re both on guard. 

abby’s trick or treating with a friend, you and mike left as guardians for the night, and as soon as dina rings the doorbell abby is giving her a lecture. 

“and he’s really little still so you can’t scare him, okay?” 

you and mike stand a few feet away in the hallway, coordinating outfits with baby schmidt who’s still down for the remainder of his nap. 

when it comes to trick or treating itself, mike has his camera out the entire time. he refuses to let you all leave the house without pictures. every few houses he has to take a picture of you and abby and dina walking back from the porch, or baby schmidt with his fist in his mouth. by the end of the night, he’s gone through two rolls of film, and there’s new family photos framed around the house by the time thanksgiving rolls around.

[paper-mario-wiki]

What is your favorite bar from the myriad of good bars from Kendrick Lamar involving drake, i.e. Euphoria, Meet the Grahams, & Not Like Us?

note: when I say "Drake" I mean the constructed pop star. when I say "Aubrey" I mean the human being and actor behind the narrative that is "Drake".

Euphoria my favorite bar from this track is the whole "I'm the biggest hater" refrain. i like it because that singular section alone completely obliterated Taylor Made Freestyle. by paraphrasing the late DMX's famous quote about Drake, he is demonstrating how you can respectfully and powerfully use words from the mouths of dead predecessors to discredit your opponent, further showing how much of a stupid tactless clown-show popstar-turned-con-artist Aubrey Graham is in using the AI mockery of Tupac's voice to taunt Kendrick, the current voice of the West Coast and-- to many-- the people's successor to Pac.

6:16 in LA with a slightly lighter tone than the other disses, i consider this song to be a person to person sit-down and final warning to Aubrey that Kendrick is willing to provide. he explains that OVO is full of moles and wires, Aubrey is being hustled with nobody on his side, and going as far as saying "you can't sleep, these images trouble you" hinting at the fact that he would be going after Drake's personal failings that he thinks about when he goes home at night and stops being Drake. which he totally did in meet the grahams. also, bonus points to my favorite rhyme scheme in the song, just cuz it's so much fun to say:

Your lil memes is losin' steam, they figured you out The forced opinions is not convincin', y'all need a new route

like, what a perfect little two-bar rhyme scheme.

meet the grahams in this song, the most powerful lyrics to me (and the ones that usually make me start tearing up) are the ones where Kendrick stops being sorrowful and starts being angry.

You a body shamer, you gon' hide them baby mamas, ain't ya? You embarrassed of 'em, that's not right, that ain't how mama raised us Take that mask off, I wanna see what's under them achievements, Why believe you? You never gave us nothin' to believe in

this reminds me of every traumatic scolding i ever received as a child. i think that the word "disappointed" isn't strong enough to convey the feeling here. something closer would be "let down", because Kendrick's whole thing recently has been peace and uplifting people. he was willing to tolerate the competition for the game, but there were so many times that he warned Drake to not mention Kendrick's family. ultimately, in this stage of their careers, what they were fighting for was not fame or power, it was their legacy. they were fighting over how they were going to be remembered, and Kendrick was not about to let his pacifism make him passive in watching someone pretending to be a part of his culture stain how he will be written about in the records of Hip-Hop history. in specific, i love the line "take that mask off, i wanna see what's under them achievements" because he is BEGGING Audrey to respond honestly, as himself. he is begging him to cast off the facade of "Drake" and speak with any amount of dignity, because at this point there was no more room to speculate on whether or not he actually was who he claimed to be with regards to his music. at this point, the consensus was pretty thoroughly in the camp of "the actor Audrey Graham has been co-opting the image of the American Rapper for his career".

Not Like Us i think i love the bar "he has all eyes on me and imma send it up to Pac" because it goes back to the core of what this is about to Kendrick in fighting for legacy. the media, specifically the white dominated media, sucks the culture (that is to say, Black culture) dry for all it's worth monetarily, and in the process there have been many twisted caricatures or unfair narratives left in the wake of black creatives who are no longer alive to defend their own names. there's an entire tangent about how tabloids disproportionately affect black creatives due to the very fact that white supremacy discounts the respect these names have to the (largely un-melinated) higherups in hollywood, and as a result there is less PR dedicated to keeping their image clean, but i think im not qualified to go off on it. the point is, Drake disrespected Pac's legacy (and continues to do so by owning his ring, really, instead of having it be in the possession of someone who's at least from the west coast), and Kendrick wanted to put some honor on his name. he made sure that he was not just mentioned in the shameful (Taylor Made) and angry (euphoria) parts of this beef, but also its most triumphant moment.

[laundrybiscuits]

Eddie’s doing some dumb trick with a couple of wooden spoons, clever hands making them move through the air in improbable ways, and Steve’s about to bite his whisk in half. 

He’d thought for sure that Eddie would be going home the first week; Edward Munson, 29, bartender/musician from Brighton with mismatched tattoos and wild hair, seemed like exactly the kind of pretentious asshole who would flame out early with some ill-advised hipster experimentation. If Steve (28, social worker from Indiana, USA) had been a complete asshole, he’d have said that Eddie didn’t have the fundamentals. That he was all sizzle, no steak. 

It’s a good thing Steve’s not a complete asshole, because Eddie’s been blowing the technicals out of the water so consistently it’s actually pretty fucking embarrassing. His signatures and showstoppers are making a very respectable showing too, except for the time he tried to incorporate some fresh pandan extract and fucked up the liquid ratio, leaving him with a dripping mess that Mary’d declined to even try. 

Afterwards, Steve had seen him leaning against a tree and struggling to light a cigarette. Steve went over for no particular reason, flicking on his lighter and holding it out like a peace offering. Eddie looked at him warily, but bent over the offered flame. 

“Can’t believe I made it through this one,” Eddie said after a moment, white smoke curling out of his mouth.

“Yeah, I feel like that every week.” Steve leaned against the tree next to Eddie. It was a big tree, the kind that’s probably been growing in this field since before England was even England. 

“Nah, but—c’mon, you know what I mean.”

“You had some bad luck with your showstopper. Happens to the best of us, man. Your signature hand pies looked sick as hell.” Steve’s own hand pies had turned out pretty well, so he was feeling generous. It had only been the third week; plenty of time for Steve to snag Star Baker, though even by that point, Steve had been getting the creeping feeling that he was being a little too American about the whole thing. Everyone else seemed to think competitiveness was some kind of deadly sin. It was—actually kind of nice, to get the same kind of nerves he’d always gotten before high school basketball games, but know that he wasn’t really fighting against anyone except himself in the tent.

Anyway, the very next week, Eddie had done some kind of kickass gothic castle with a shiny chocolate dragon and gotten Star Baker for the second time. Steve had clapped him on the back, appropriately manly. Eddie had pulled Steve into a real hug, arms tight around Steve’s shoulders and his whole lean body pressed up close and warm. It had only lasted a moment, and then Eddie had bounded over to Mel and Sue, both of whom he’s been thoroughly charming since the get-go. 

Steve thinks that when this season—or, uh, series—airs, no matter where Eddie places, the entire country is going to be just as charmed. Eddie’s going to get whatever kind of cookbook deal or streaming show he wants. Sponsors will take one look at that handsome face and charismatic grin, and a whole world of possibilities is going to open up for Eddie. 

Steve’s not in it for any of that, of course. He’s here kind of by accident, because Robin pushed him to apply, and it’s a goddamn miracle he’s been holding his own. Hell, it’s a miracle he’s in this country at all. When Robin had started looking at the Cambridge MPhil program in linguistics, she’d said wouldn’t it be great if and he’d snorted, yeah right, like I could ever get whatever job I’d need to move to another freaking country, but then—well. Things had happened the way they’d happened, and now Robin’s almost finished with her degree and Steve is taking time off from the London charity he works at in order to be on Bake Off. 

He’s told all this to the cameras, plus the stuff about how baking started as a way for him to connect with the kids he used to babysit in Indiana, blah blah blah. He thinks it’s probably too boring for them to air, but he gets that they have to try to get a story anyway. 

Eddie Munson, on the other hand, is probably going to be featured in all the series promos. Steve is rabidly curious about what Eddie’s story is, but he hasn’t worked up the nerve to just ask. It should be the easiest thing in the world. They’ve got kind of a camaraderie going, the two of them; a bit of a bromance, as Mel’s put it more than once. 

It’s true they get along pretty well, and the cameras have been picking up on it: on the way Eddie’ll wander over to Steve’s bench like a stray cat whenever they get some downtime, how they wind up horsing around sometimes, working off leftover adrenaline from the frantic rush of caramelization or whatever. There’s the time Eddie had hopped up on a stool to deliver some kind of speech from Macbeth, of all things, and overbalanced right onto Steve, who had barely managed to keep them both from careening into a stand mixer. Sue had patted Eddie on the shoulder and said, “Well, boys, that’ll be going in the episode for sure.”

They both get along with the other contestants just fine, of course, but they’re two guys of about the same age with no wife and kids waiting at home. It’s only natural that they’re gravitating together, becoming something like friends, Steve figures. It’s pretty great that he’s getting at least one real friend out of this whole thing.

It would be even greater if Steve could stop thinking about Eddie’s hands in decidedly non-friendly ways. With all the paperwork he’s signed, he can’t even complain to Robin about how Eddie looks with his sleeves pushed up to show off the tattoos on his forearms, kneading dough and grunting a little under his breath with effort. Steve had almost forgotten to pre-heat his oven that day. 

Two benches away, Eddie fumbles the spoons he’s been juggling with a clatter, and he bursts out laughing, glancing over at Steve like Steve’s in on the joke. Steve grins back, heart twanging painfully in his chest, and thinks: well, fuck. Guess this is happening.