#stilt-fishing

[deadpanwalking]

what does punk mean in gay?

This is a great opportunity to remind everyone that I'm not amenable to followers who are mentally and/or physically under 18 years of age. I'm not holding your youth against you, but as things stand, I can barely produce enough breast milk to keep up with my cat's nutritional demands—it would be irresponsible to take in another child.

[termagax]

i will admit i did watch that video of that guy butchering that alligator and every time he made a comment about how fatty the tail was i was like. taking notes.

[swordmaid]

have this hc that shri’iia has a particular way of talking as in she’s been conditioned to treat every conversation as a (sort of interrogation) and that she always tries to fish out more info about the person she’s talking to and give little to no info about herself but it’s not obvious …. the high charisma and charm ! makes it feel like you’re having a nice convo with her but by the end you realize you’ve just info dumped and told her about your backstory and trauma and name of your first best friend, security pin number, mother’s maiden name and the only thing you know about her is her name and she has a mole on her chest.

oathbreaker shri’iia is trying to break out of that habit obvi she’s trying to unlearn everything her matriarch has programmed into her but it’s funny to think about…. like if she was a bg3 companion and you talk about the first tadpole dream/dream guardian visit to her she’ll be like

‘well mine wasn’t anything significant, what about you? what did the dream figure look like? what could they want? did they look familiar to you? someone from your past? did they tell you anything that could be useful to us?’ and so on and so forth and she’ll just let you yap but she won’t share anything from her end

[toytulini]

I dont know why youve leapt to assuming this post was about the workplace? the original post mentioned friends, family, and going out for drinks, and it feels a bit like a bad faith read to assume this meant for you to try to talk about weird niche TV show interests to your boss, when it seems far more likely to be a post about not letting cringe culture rule your entire life, in a time when its so common for ppl to let themselves become beholden to tiktok microtrends, and being terrified that theyll lose all their friends if anyone finds out they enjoy steven universe.

It’s crazy and fucked up that being yourself is actually the solution.

[subbalakshmisastry]

The Dying Tradition of Sri Lankan Stilt Fishing , Novel Fishing Method, ...

[travelinsrilanka]

Tiny Coastal Town With High Value - Koggala

Koggala is a lovely city in southern coast of Sri Lanka. It’s got one of the longest beaches in the country, and the place is just stunning – really peaceful, away from the crowds.

Koggala Lake is a must-see too, with its little islands and heaps of birdlife. Even though there’s been some development, the town’s still got that laid-back vibe, and the seafood is unreal at the beachfront restaurants.

Whether you are up for surfing or just chilling out on the beach, Koggala is the perfect spot to escape and soak up the beauty.

[mowgliproductions]

Stilt Fishing The Dying Tradition of Sri Lanka Explore The Unseen

[sheltiechicago]

Stilt fishing by Chantal van Dam-Nederstigt Via Flickr: Weligama, Sri Lanka www.channedimages.com www.facebook.com/channedimages

[nazumichi]

michiru is wearing glasses like marie’s, no one touch me rn i’m gonna d

[anony-mouse-writer]

grian as the strange man who appears suddenly on gem’s dock with no explanation. no one knows who he is.

no one saw him arrive and he has no car.

he’s never bought anything from the store, and a few locals said they saw him simply cooking and eating the fish he catches on the spot.

the only belongings he seems to own are his fishing gear.

when asked where he lives, he points to the cliff. there is a tiny blue house there, balancing precariously on wooden stilts. the house has never been there and no one’s seen it before, but the local gas attendant pulled up a 40 year old photo of her grandma on the beach, and sure enough, the tiny house is there, a wee speck of color hanging like a barnacle on the cold, wet bluff.

the age of his mysterious little home aside, no one’s sure when he visits it. he’s at his little dock before the earliest ships cast out, and the sickly glow of his lantern can be seen long into the coldest of nights.

the man has pulled the strangest things from the ocean. fish, to be sure, but other, stranger things. lily pads, far from their native biomes. fishing poles, tattered and worn, of various makes and styles- some look positively ancient. boots. giant shells with twisted patterns to match no living thing. a genuine horse saddle once. bowls. a bone that looked just a bit like a human femur.

and books. perfect, unblemished books, nearly glowing with some kind of energy and filled with a script both unfamiliar and unsettling to see.

he opens them each with a breathless anticipation that tastes like brine or maybe tears.

but whatever he sees in them is not what he wants, and each book is tossed aside with resigned disgust and something like despair, before the weathered pole is taken up to cast a line to sea once more.

[cranberryberry]

omg

Tripod fish (Bathypterois grallator) - Schmidt Ocean Institute

[noras-dc-shenanigans]

Adoption | Learn

“So let me get this straight.”

Danny stared at the group of vigilantes in front of him, a look of utter disbelief etched onto his face.

“Batman had a baby with Catwoman, she hid it from him, gave the baby up for adoption, and that baby is me. And you’re all here because Batman’s other ex also had a hidden pregnancy, but she’s a homicidal maniac who wants to make sure her son is the only blood child because of some weird cult rules?”

If they’d been in a cartoon, there’s be crickets chirping. He continued, voice growing less disbelieving and more angry as he went.

“And because some cult wants to kill me, I have to give up my whole life, cut off all contact with my family and friends, go live in a state 900 miles away, and stay cooped up— for an unknown amount of time— in Bruce Wayne’s mansion, because that’s who Batman really is.”

A stilted silence filled the room of the safe house Danny had been dragged to a few hours ago, sans the unnecessarily long explanation he’d just summarized.

After a few more moments, Nightwing stepped forward and smiled gently at him an oh, that rankled Danny. He did not need whatever kid gloves the guy was about to pull on. Before Bluebell had a chance to open his mouth, Danny channeled his inner Jazz and raised his hand for silence. Nightwing paused, and Danny proceeded to give them all a single, flat, unimpressed look, and then stated factually,

“I’m not leaving, I’m not staying with yet another frootloop billionaire, and I’m not in the least concerned with dying. So. You can all go back to where you belong, I’ll stay here, where I belong, and if any cultist come knocking I’ll deal with them just like I’ve been dealing with every other threat in this town the last six months: alone. Because apparently the entire Justice League is too busy to respond to calls for help about inter-dimensional threats popping in and out of my parents basement on a daily basis.”

… Okay, so Danny may have been yelling a bit by the end, but it was justified! And oh, Danny really wished his life was a cartoon right now, because that cricket chirping would be been perfect. He’s pretty sure he broke a few of them. Nightwing looked ready to cry.

Good. Danny was too tired to deal with this sh*t.

Thanks to the whole Pariah Dark thing last month, Danny was apparently immortal now anyways, so even if the cult people managed to completely destroy his body, he’d just reform in the Zone. Because he was now connected to it, and only another ghost could End him like he had Pariah, because of some weird dimensional rules. Apparently, since humans couldn’t rule the Infinite Realms, they just, like… didn’t qualify to kill him. That went for aliens, demons, gods, and other non-human beings of sentience.

So Danny’s got that going for him at least. About time something useful came outta this whole disaster of a school year.

But he’d gotten off track. Before him stood a truly ridiculous number of vigilantes, and they all looked like he’d just slapped them with a fish and then played violin with it. For a few minutes, Danny just basked in the stuttering and bewildered looks, before he noticed Nightwing drawing himself up in righteous determination and decided that yeah, he was done now.

At this point, being a dramatic a**hole to people (or ghosts) who were annoying him was just second nature, so he straightened to attention, raised his hand in a salute, and then let himself sink through the floor, perfectly stoic.

The stuttering turned to panicked shouts, and Danny’s last view of his apparent siblings was a few people lunging for him and missing, winding up tangled together on the carpet.

‘Ahhhh, yesss, I will treasure that memory always! Ah well, time to get home! Maybe I should scout out for those cult people, mess around with them. Maybe follow them back sometime, meet my half-brother. That could be fun, me and Ellie can make a road trip of it this summer! Maybe by then, the Justice Losers will have gotten their heads out as their butts.’

Meanwhile, back at the safe house, several frantic calls were being made about the dimensional threats and the League of Assassins and the possibly meta human, definitely vigilante brother.

Amity Park was about to get a lot more chaotic.

[loud-mouth-loser]

not him - 2

summary: marc has had his eye on you for a while now. he's seen your interactions with steven and has held himself back from taking you for himself, but what happens after he finally makes a move?

pairing: marc spector x reader

rating: more angst

cw: pining (really intense pining), jealousy, miscommunication, mentions of past kiss.

wc: 2.7k

part one

[author's note is at the end of the chapter to avoid chapter spoilers!]

---

Marc’s POV

It’s your laugh, that soothing, sweet sound – so inviting that he wants it to soak right into his skin. When he hears it, he holds it close to him, making sure he doesn’t miss a single note. Letting it replay in his head until the next time he sees you. 

Marc has never considered himself a funny guy – or hadn’t for a while. He never had a reason to joke around, a reason to smile or laugh, but then there was you.

So now he tries his best to incite that laughter, if only for a mere taste of your sweetness.

He’s equally addicted to that view. The sight of soft lips parting into a bright smile, your shoulders shaking with each stilted breath, your eyes glistening with unerupted joy; a bliss that he’s craved to know since the day his brother passed. And it’s genuine. 

Everything about you is genuine. 

Then, when you come down from the laughter, you look up at him with a ghost of a giggle still thrumming in the air, still tugging at the corner of your mouth. He can’t help but stare back, wishing this moment could last forever. 

It’s just you and him, nursing sweating bottles of beer on his ratty old couch, the TV running quietly in the background as you unconsciously lean closer as the night progresses. He plunges into that gaze wrapped in innocent moments and admiration, a look that whispers unspoken sentiments and unattainable promises. 

You are looking at him, yes, but you also see him. 

He feels it wrap around him, a warmth that reminds him he’s worth being around, that you want to be there with him. It sparks a revelation within himself that if he could make you laugh, or even look at him the way you do, maybe…being him is ok. 

And maybe he wants to stay.   

But then there’s that smile – no, not your usual amused grin or the bashful one he attempts to lure out whenever he gains enough confidence to tell you how pretty you look – the cherry-red lie that’s specially curated for Steven. 

It’s a mask you use to preserve your friendship, to convince the oblivious man that you’re happy for him even when your side of the bond is crumbling, struggling to stand up straight. 

The first time Marc saw that smile was from the reflection in his apartment. 

He usually doesn’t stir or interfere while Steven is fronting, unless there’s an emergency of course, but there was a pang of energy that woke him up. And now he’s wondering if it was you. 

He watched broodily from the fish tank; jaw clenched tight as Steven sat in front of you holding your hands in his. He knows he shouldn’t be jealous, but he can’t help the ire burning low in his chest as he watches you position yourself closer to Steven, eager to hear what he has to say. 

Marc’s eyes drift from your hopeful face to your joined hands. 

He wonders how that feels: to hold your smaller hands in his, to squeeze them just so as to remind him that you’re real and there with him, to feel you squeeze back and run the soft pads of your fingers over his callouses. 

Your softness smoothing over his jagged ends. 

You like it – the touch. Steven’s touch.

He can see it. 

But you’ve always liked it when Steven gives you physical affection, even if it was all platonic. You’d lean into him, practically craving it, eagerly presenting yourself to his hand. And he’d give it to you, merely enjoying the closeness you offer him – nothing more. 

Your eyes are wide, and you lean in, listening intently, but at the same time, you’re not hearing a thing. Marc can see that you’re lost in Steven, a feeling he’s often had around you. 

The giddy comfort you felt from his touch instantly dissolves as he continues to speak, “And we kissed…” You lean back from him, quickly covering your reaction with a blank expression. Marc can see right through it. 

Needless to say, Marc also isn’t too happy hearing about Steven’s escapades with his estranged wife; He’s always been protective of Layla, but now more than ever. Layla had once been his rock, keeping him grounded as life attempted to sweep him away. She was the only person he trusted for a while, the only one he could lean on and hold whenever he wanted to give up. 

Because of that, he left. 

Too much of a great thing can only lead to a horrible ending. 

Right?

He convinced himself he did it because he didn’t want her to get involved in his life of violence, of his life as an avatar. She was always getting dragged into business that wasn’t hers, used as bait to lure him out of the shadows, and Khonshu was starting to hint at making her his next avatar. 

That is a reason, a sound reason, but he can admit now that that wasn’t the main reason. At some point, Marc realized could never love her the way she wanted him to.

When he first felt it, he couldn’t shake it. He was forced to face it until it utterly consumed his thoughts, until he could taste it hanging from each word, turning every whisper into a sour void. He felt unworthy of her affections and ashamed that he continued to take and take, drinking in every last drop of warmth she could supply. Anything to numb that looming darkness that threatens to drag him under the bloody viscous waves of his past. 

And all he could give in return was surface-level words and cool kisses. Guilt dripped from his embrace and soaked against her soft skin, and he knew he had to pull away. 

Steven, the lovesick puppy, was completely oblivious to what he was inviting her back into: danger, violence, and an unspoken truth.

Marc should be jealous that his wife and alter are continuing to fraternize behind his back, or angry that Steven went against his wishes and welcomed her back into his life, but he’s not. Mostly, he’s nervous to face what he wasn’t strong enough to do, scared that he’ll continue to push it away until it swallows him whole. 

Then there’s you.

Your eyes are glassy and empty as you nod robotically as Steven rambles, lost in his own words. “...the most brilliant woman I’ve ever met.” Your hands attempt to retreat from his and Steven doesn’t notice, but he does. 

The audacity of Steven to talk about this stuff to your face astounds him. How can a man who shares his body be so clueless? So stupid to not see what’s right in front of him, offering herself for any ounce of attention he shows.

“I love her.” 

And there he sees your heart shatter. 

“That’s great, Steven. I’m so happy for you.”

—

All he can do is stare back, eyes taking in your swollen lips and wrinkled clothes. Your bodies breathe together, catching a breath as you process what just happened. There’s a voice in the back of his head urging him to pull you back in, to drink the ambrosia of your lips until you melt against him and beg for more, while he still has the chance. But he knows that if he were to move the spell would be broken.

And he was right.

When the stare breaks so does the moment. You clumsily slip off of his lap and sit back on your side of the couch. His hand hovers over your figure as you move away from him, a ghost of the touch he once had on you, desperate to stop you from leaving him. Fingers grip painfully into his palms as they curl into a fist of frustration and loss.

You both sit there for a second. It’s easier to think when your bodies are pressed against each other. When you aren’t tempted to lean in for one more kiss.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, he wasn’t supposed to get this far. 

Ever since meeting you, he’s tried his best to keep his distance, to watch you pine for Steven from afar as he harbored his own longing for you. Marc never believed he deserved it, you, always taking three steps back before he could touch a perfect thing. Before he could ruin what was already breaking. 

He’s supposed to be detached from real life, from anything outside of his work. He’s convinced himself that he was okay with letting you go, even promising Steven he would give him complete control of the body once he was done with Khonshu. But now he doesn’t think he can. He can’t leave you.

Marc finally builds the courage to look over at you. 

Your eyes are closed, not squeezed shut, just closed. The soft glow of the TV pools over your body. You could probably feel his eyes on you so you begin to talk. 

“I’m confused.”

“Confused.” He repeats with a soft nod, letting the word settle in his mind.

He doesn’t know what else to say. Of course, you’re confused, this whole night has been a series of bold actions and heated words. One second you’re having a pity party at your crush’s flat and the next you’re crawling on top of his alter. You still haven’t had time to really go through your emotions.

“You like me…” You finally look at him, brows furrowed as you navigate through your thoughts.

“I do.”

“And I like Steven…” He frowns at that but nods. You both know it, that’s how you ended up here in the first place. “..And Steven likes Layla, but you’re still…married?”

He sighs, “It’s been over for months, sweetheart.”

“Well, aren’t we a group of lovers?” You joke. 

Neither one of you laughs.

Deep brown eyes meet yours, “I meant what I said. Steven is blind if he can’t see what’s right in front of him.”

“I-I don’t know where to go from here.”

He places his hand on top of yours. And you let him. 

“Stay…” He didn’t mean to say it out loud, didn’t mean to say anything at all, but when he’s with you, he feels out of control. 

He sees the little furrow of your brows as you digest the implications of his suggestion. Stay and forget about the consequences. Stay and pretend it's just us. Stay and let me love you.  

“Marc –” 

He interrupts you before you can finish your thought. 

“For tonight.” He just isn’t sure he’d be able to take what you were about to say. If you could stay like this, even for one more night, just you and him and the memory of that embrace, he thinks, maybe he’ll be okay. Even if you leave him in the morning. Even if you run away from what could have been. “It’ll be easier to understand after a night of rest.” 

You stare solemnly at the edge of the couch, “Yeah.” For a moment he holds some hope that he’ll be able to hold you tonight and sleep like everything is right in the world. But then you gently slip your hand out from under his. “I should probably go though.” His palm burns. You push yourself off the couch in search of your discarded jacket and shoes.

“You can crash here,” He feels desperate. You’re slipping from his hands and he’s frantically grasping at the evading warmth. “It’s late and there’s more than enough space in this flat.” He wants to reach out again but he’s afraid you’ll reject his touch this time.

“Steven has work tomorrow morning.” You say sheepishly as you slip an arm into your jacket. Of course, you’d know Steven’s schedule. “He needs to wake up early…and it would be awkward to find me on the couch.” As if he’d let you sleep anywhere but in his arms.

“Ok, but I should walk you home.”

You tug at the bottom of your coat, flattening it onto your body. “It’s fine,” You look back at him, hovering by the door, “Really, I’m fine.” He doesn’t miss how you’ve switched from talking about the situation to yourself.

He murmurs your name, not knowing what he can say to make you stay.

“Marc.” You echo back, voice soft and – tired. “I guess I’ll see you later.” 

—

“Whot was that?”

Steven didn’t wake up for work the next day. In fact, he didn’t ‘wake up’ at all. Marc did. He woke up around 1 pm with a throbbing headache and a loud, berating British man yelling at him from the inside out. 

After you left, he sat there in silence and moped, hoping you’d stop in the middle of your commute home and realize you wanted to come back to him. You didn’t. Once he received the ‘got home safe.’ text from you, he decided to drink whatever was left in the fridge before passing out. He’s regretting it now.

“Steven, please.” He presses a hand over his forehead, trying to soothe the ache as he blearily stares at the mess of empty bottles from last night. “Not right now.”

“Not right now?! You snogged my best friend!”

“Oh, come on.” Marc tugs on a shirt before making his way to the bathroom. In the small cheap mirror, Steven stares right back at him, a disgruntled glare burning right into his skin, “You weren’t going to do it.” That makes him blush. 

“If–If I had known…”

Marc tries to ignore him, splashing some cool water on his face to wake himself up. How can Steven even complain about it when – “Wait – how did you even find out?”

“I saw her…” He says uneasily, “pulling away.”

Marc groans into the towel as he dries off, “You were there? How much did you see?” 

“It’s not like I planned for it! I’m not a perve or anything, I was just…pushed to the front all of a sudden!” Shit, he must’ve gotten too excited. “I tried to leave as soon as I got there.”

“For the record, I wasn’t planning on any of that happening either.” 

“Why would you do it then? You’re going to confuse her.”

“Confuse her? Steven,” He shakes his head, “She’s obviously in love with you and you still wave whatever weird relationship you have with my wife in her face.”

“Well, hold on a minute–”

“Go back to sleep, Steven.” Marc walks over to the couch, longingly staring at the spot he was in last night. “I gotta clean up.”

–

Your POV

Your hands nervously fiddle with your phone, opening, closing, and reopening your messaging app. You stare at the text you sent last night:

‘got home safe.’

You actually got home 15 minutes before sending the text, but he doesn’t need to know it took you that long to type out 3 words. It’s crazy, you tell yourself, how many texts you drafted, edited, and deleted before hitting send. What if he doesn’t want to hear from you again? What if Steven gets it instead of him? What if he thinks you’re being clingy just because you shared one kiss? One, blissful, enamoring, show-stopping, kiss?

He hasn’t answered it yet. 

Read 1:56 am

Which is fine. You’re fine. It’s only 3 pm and Steven is probably still at work, so he hasn’t had a chance to text you back. It’s fine.

You hate the way your heart skips a beat when a typing bubble comes up. Fuck, did he see your pathetic attempts to text him earlier? You quickly exit the app, not wanting to expose yourself if he sends the text and you immediately ‘read’ it. The phone vibrates abruptly in your hand as a banner drops from the top of your screen.

‘Hey 🤠! –’ Already from the emoji use you can tell it’s Steven, ‘–Wanna meet up for tea ~4:30? Let’s go t…’

You let out a sigh. You know you shouldn’t feel disappointed. Steven is your best friend and you love hanging out with him, but there’s this anticipating giddiness when you think about Marc. The feeling you used to have about Steven…

It’s crazy how one kiss can flip your life so completely. Not just that, but how fast you went from mourning the chance of one relationship to melting into the development of another.

You open up the conversation. You really should talk to him. 

‘okay 🫡 i’ll meet you there'

---

a/n: sorry this took so long (literal months). i had half of this written for a while and was so sure i'd get it done within a few weeks, but then I let it sit in my drive until I picked it up TODAY and finished it lmao.

so most of this chapter delves into marc's thoughts before and during what happened in the first part, some of steven's thoughts + the aftermath of the kiss. i know a lot of ppl wanted a confrontation between the reader and steven, but I didn't want to rush into it when we don't even know how marc really feels ab the reader :3

i thought it would be interesting if steven found out about the kiss through marc (and I also didn't know how to write out the reader admitting it to him) bc that's how marc found out ab steven breaking the readers heart. i also wanted to explore how the reader is grappling with her feelings towards the two guys!

i def want to write more, but I can't promise when the next part will be out. I'm a notoriously inconsistent and SLOW writer, so bare with me. thank you for all the support on my angsty journey and I hope you enjoyed this chapter <3

[someforeignband]

🪱Wiggly Worm Wednesday!🪱

having thoughts about eddie and steve going to visit steve’s grandmother! (im spending the week with my nanna and am having thoughts)

It starts with this nebulous idea that Steve’s parents didn’t want to take care of Francesca’s mother after her husband died, so they moved Steve’s maternal grandmother to a 65+ community in Sun City, Arizona. Just like their son, they’d much rather ship off Franny’s mother instead of dealing with her needs. So, they leave sweet Cecilia in a massive 2,900 square foot condo in the Arizona desert, all by herself.

One afternoon in march, Steve gets a call from his Nonna. She explains she has had some plumbing issues and neither Franny, nor Richard is returning her calls. She complains that there’s palm fronds in her yard, and with the state of her back, she just can’t fix all of these things on her own.

“How do you feel about a trip to Arizona?” Steve would ask Eddie, after a two-and-a-half hour long conversation with his grandmother.

Thusly, a PanAm flight to Phoenix was booked. It was Eddie’s first time on a plane. Despite his nerves prior to getting on the flight, he has a marvelous time. Eddie discovers that he loves turbulence and puts his hands up and giggles the whole time.

Steve, to Eddie’s dismay, is the exact opposite. He squeezes the armrest the entire 3.5 hour flight. He can’t stand how relaxed Eddie is, not understanding how someone like Eddie could just be so calm.

Once they land, Steve tries to brief Eddie on his Nonna’s disposition. “She’s sort of a firecracker, Eddie. Very particular about pretty much everything. I’m sorry if she’s mean to you.”

Eddie tells him not to worry about it, assures him they’ll get through the weekend.

To Steve’s delight (and Eddie’s utter surprise), Nonna takes to Eddie like a fish to water. He can talk about the Bible with her. Wayne’s been pretty devout his whole life, so when Eddie makes a comment about her dish towel with Philippians 4:6-7 printed on it, Steve knows Eddie’s going to practically be family.

Cece is ecstatic to be able to show the boy pictures of Italia and tell him stories about her upbringing. She shows him pictures of Franny, pictures of her late husband, and her collection of photos of Steve’s baptism. It keeps Cece distracted, while Steve gets to work fixing her kitchen plumbing.

Steve can’t help but grin to himself like a madman as he tinkers with her pipes, listening to his Nonna and his boyfriend volley back and forth. Sharp as whips, the both of them, and god it was nice to watch Eddie get on with someone who was blood to him.

Steve didn’t have much family that bothered to be in his life.

It was nice.

And best of all— at least for Nonna— Eddie can eat her food. Eddie can seriously put it away. Steve stops after one helping of Parmigiana di Melanzane, but Eddie has two more servings, and saves room for dessert.

“Eat up, Edoardo,” Cece pats his cheek. “Too skinny, Stephano. You starving him?”

“Never, Nonna,” Steve laughs, shaking his head, watching Eddie shovel another spoonful into his mouth, grinning at Steve across the dining room table.

Despite the fact that they’ve been seeing each other for a few months, after dancing around each other for the better part of two years—Eddie’s feeling things about Steve fixing his grandmas plumbing, doing yard work, etc. The flush in Steve’s face, hands on his hips, complaining about the state of the yard: Eddie’s never felt more in love (and other tingly, warm sensations).

Further, Eddie watches Steve and Cece scream at each other in stilted Italian as she tries to pick up a scorpion and take it outside with her bare hands. Finally, after about forty-five seconds of screaming and the scorpion trying to wiggle away, Steve takes Eddie’s boot and smacks the thing with a scared squeal. It crunches under the sole and twitches a few times before dying on the salmon colored tile, guts splattered everywhere.

“You handled that well,” Eddie muses, once the whole ordeal is over, taking a dishcloth and floor cleaner, scrubbing at the thing’s guts.

“I couldn’t let her get stung. She’s seventy-nine!” Steve says, then shudders. “I never wanna do that again.”

Later that night, Eddie sips coffee out of a lumpy clay mug, a Stephano Original, while she and Steve play rummy. Catching eyes over the table, they smile at each other, knowingly. After a while, Eddie gets tired, slinking off to the office, where Cecilia had set him up with an air mattress.

Before Steve retires to the spare bedroom that night, his Nonna pulls him aside, wrapping him in a warm hug.

“Ti voglio,” She whispers, kissing his temple, smoothing his hair back.

“I love you too,” Steve answers quietly, thrown off by the unexpected display of affection.

“And,” She pauses, scrunching her dark eyebrows together, deciding exactly what to say. “I really like that boy, Stephano.”

Steve’s chest fills with warmth, not knowing exactly if she means what he hopes she means. But at that moment, he’ll take it.

“Me, too, Nonna.” He whispers, grinning at her. “Me, too.”

TAGGING ONLY @yours-etc!!!! WRITE SOMETHING I MISS YOUR WRITING

[banana-breadses]

Another thing they did was to cast the shortest guy in the cast as Karl the giant.

the funniest thing the directors did was cast the tallest guy in the entire cast as the guy named tiny Tom

[moonstruckme]

OK so this idea is for like Sirius its the holiday and they’re exchanging gifts well siris gift to her it’s kind of meh not a lot of thought into it. So she freaks out because her gift to Siri is like really personal after she opens up her gift she snatches his away from him and runs(of course he gets her tho) Blah blah blah cute convo turns out he had another gift but was scared to give it to her blah blah blah

Xoxo love you 💕

Thanks for requesting sweetness! I am totally tapped out of gift ideas atm so you'll have to forgive the poor gift choice in this, just imagine them as whatever you like haha

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

“Come on,” you tug Sirius over to your Christmas tree by the wrist, sitting in front of it eagerly. 

“I thought we were going to do gifts after the movie,” Sirius complains, letting you tug him down beside you with a reluctance you know has to be feigned. Sirius loves gifts, giving as well as getting them. You’d been just friends for years, and you’d held back from getting him anything too sappy that might reveal your humiliating mega-crush, but now that you’re dating you’ve finally given yourself permission to get him whatever you like. 

“Oh, don’t bother, I know you want yours already,” you tease, fishing it out from under the tree and setting the box in front of him. The resistance doesn’t completely fade from Sirius’ expression, but he gives you a small smile. 

“Fine, I’ll be generous,” he says. “You can open yours first.” 

You grin at him, leaning over to kiss him on the lips and marveling at the fact that you can. “Thanks! I’m so excited.” 

“I can tell,” he jokes, somewhat quieter than usual. It nettles at something in your nervous system, but you ignore it for now, taking the tissue paper out of the little bag with an enthusiasm you can’t bother to be embarrassed about. 

You peer in, and it’s all you can do to keep the smile plastered on your face when you see what’s inside. “Candies,” you say, imbuing your voice with as much pep as you can manage. “Wow, I’ll be well fed this year. Thanks, Siri!” You can’t stand to stay under his gaze a second longer, swooping in for another kiss. It feels stilted and awkward. 

“They’re your favorites,” he says with a tentative little smile. “I thought I’d better stock you up.” 

“You’re a genius.” You grin, unwrapping one of the candies and popping it in your mouth. “Mm, thank you, honey.” 

“Course.” He looks down at his present, starting to fiddle with the ribbon. “My turn, I guess.” 

Your heart turns to stone, dropping all the way to your stomach with a dull thud. “Actually,” your voice squeaks a bit as you reach forward, taking your gift back, “I think I gave you the wrong one.” You start looking under the tree, trying to find a replacement that won’t be too sorely missed. 

Sirius brow puckers. “Really? It had my name on it.” 

“No, I think this one is for Mary—”

“Babe, I saw my name right there.” He leans over you, taking the present from where you’ve stowed it in your lap. “See? Right on the top.” 

Your blood rushes in your ears, which is ridiculous, this is Sirius, you’ve known him for years, you shouldn’t be nervous around him—but fuck, how can you really be sure you know each other at all after what he just gave you? If he’s expecting something similar, you’re about to be so mortified. “I think that might have been a mix-up,” you say weakly. “I’m pretty sure yours has someone else’s name on it too—”

“Hey,” Sirius seizes your wrist when you grab for the gift again, holding it protectively to his chest, “what’s wrong with you? I know you didn’t mix up the names, sweetheart.” You strain against his grip for a few moments, but Sirius is surprisingly strong when he decides to be. It’s little effort for him to keep you at bay. He gives you a hard look. “What’s going on?” 

“I just…” You give up your attempts to steal the gift back, but you can’t look at him. You gnaw at your lip. “I’m sorry, I might have gone a bit overboard. It’s…you can open it, just, sorry.” 

Sirius' features soften, but he’s quiet, wary as he peels off the wrapping paper. Your heart climbs back up your throat when he opens the box. For a horrifying second, he’s frozen, but then his hand dips into the box and emerges with your gift, holding it all too delicately. 

“Baby,” his voice is barely more than a whisper as he admires the small clay ornament, a likeness of his animagus form. “Where did you get this?” 

“I made it,” you admit, shoulders gravitating towards your ears. “I couldn’t find one that looked right in the stores, so…”

“You made it?” Sirius sounds awed. “Fuck, it’s amazing.” His eyes move to yours, still holding your gift suspended in the air between you. “Thank you, sweetheart. I love it.” 

It’s like someone’s been inflating a balloon in your chest and has just finally let it deflate. You can breathe again. “I’m really glad,” you say, and your smile may not be huge but at least it’s not faked. “I was worried it was too much.” 

“No, this is perfect.” Sirius places the ornament back in its box with heartbreaking care, giving you a sad look. “Fuck, I’m an ass.” 

“No, you’re not—” you start automatically, but he cuts you off. 

“I am. I’m a total coward, too. I’m so sorry, doll, I just—I freaked out.” He puts a hand in his hair, fingers curling in the dark locks. “I have a better gift for you, just one second.” 

He stands, leaving you in confused silence. You hear something rustling by the entryway of your flat, and then Sirius comes back a second later with a nicely wrapped box. 

“What’s this?” you ask when he sets it in your lap. 

“Your real present.” Sirius seems almost bashful, looking down as he gets situated on the floor again. “Go on, open it.” 

You almost don’t want to destroy the wrappings on this gift, clearly done with much more care than the first, but you take the paper off bit by bit, opening the top of the box. 

“Sirius,” you breathe. “Honey, what is all this?”

“It’s, uh, it’s just stuff from our first few dates.” You look up, and he’s playing with his rings. “Pictures, receipts, ticket stubs, shit like that. I know you’re a sap for that stuff, so.” 

“I’m a sap?” Laughter comes fizzing up out of you despite the tears blurring your vision. “You’re the one who collected it all!”

“Oh, technicalities, I only—hey.” He finally meets your eyes, noticing your state. “Hey, don’t cry. Shit, I knew this would happen. I should have stuck with the candy.” 

“I don’t understand,” you warble as he chases determinedly after your tears with painfully gentle fingers. “Why were there two?” 

Sirius sighs, pressing an apologetic kiss to your cheek. “Like I said, I freaked out. I was planning on giving you this, but on the way over I started thinking about how we haven’t been dating that long, and maybe it was too soon for something so…relationship-y, you know? So I panicked and bought a bunch of candy at the store.” 

You’re laughing by the end of it, shoulders shaking with amusement even as tears continue to dribble down your face. Sirius coos and kisses them away. 

“I guess I am a sap,” you say cheerily. “I never even thought about if my gift would be weird.” 

“Not until I made you,” Sirius groans, pulling you in for a hug. “Pretty sure that doesn’t make you a sap so much as it makes me an idiot, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” You smile into his shoulder, curling your fingers into the material of his shirt. “We both got to give our sappy gifts, and if the apocalypse goes down, I’ve got enough candy to last through New Years’.”