#fuck. not low-hanging fruit. low-floating fish.

[female-malice]

Read this thread about cult social relationships by Matthew Remski:

When you deconstruct harmful ideas and beliefs—from antivax positions to reactionary social views—you will inevitably be seen and felt as attacking the relationships that people form through those views. That’s a big problem in a lonely world, and there will be blowback. 

In anti-cult theory and journalism, this alienation is usually seen as unavoidable. The idea is that the relationships within a toxic group are transactional, unfulfilling, and fragile. The gamble is that the person will wake up into wholesome relationships outside of the group.

That may work out. Or, the person will crawl out of a mid-level engagement with NXIVM and find themselves in late stage capitalism looking for gig work, missing the friends they had on the inside, and the sense of shared purpose.

This analysis can scale up: It’s been helpful for some to look at QAnon, the Trucker Convoy, and antimask protestors through a cult studies lens. All the boxes get ticked: information silos, emotional manipulation, charismatic leaders and their failed prophecies. But there is never a single explanation and the activities within these groups are diverse. It was dangerous for antivax parents to open mask-free homeschool spaces when the schools had to shut down. But the reason for the school was the outer layer on what it felt like to be in the school, or teach in it.

In researching an antivax parenting group on IG, I saw they posted about their parties and playdates in politicized language. They were also parenting at the time, doing all the things that parents do. Shooting criticism into that space will feel like an intimate attack.

There was a lot of disgust at the Convoy crowd for partying on Parliament Hill. But pissing on snow while rave music throbs can signify bonds that may outlast any incoherent ideology. Which is why the same group will cycle through different ideas. The ideas may be fragile.

The most dangerous bonds are locked in with fascist hatred and must be resisted. But most participants are not leaders, and not monetized. Many of the yoga and wellness people I interviewed had no idea how toxic the views of the leaders were. But they did feel they had friends. 

These groups are diagonalist, distrusting all power structures, including (maybe most of all) an interpretive power structure that would discredit their views without knowing or valuing their relationships. 

The truckers hated Trudeau’s position on vaccines and fossil fuels, but they may have hated more what they saw as his smug privilege and mastery of national hypocrisies. He stands outside and above their society and friend circles, like Clinton using the word “deplorable.”

There’s an amazing passage in Naomi Klein's Doppelganger where she basically asks Why should we be shocked that after decades of neoliberal cruelty and individualism, people will say Fuck you to the “elites” who are suddenly asking them to act like we’re a society after all?

I think this problem scales further, with different political valances, up to broader critiques of religion from rationalists/skeptics, where the target is low-hanging fruit: crazy shit people believe. The collateral damage is usually a neglect of social desires and needs. 

Currently there’s this question floating around about how so many former members of rationalist and skeptic movements, and IDW influencers, slid rightward and conspiratorial in their politics. Many answers there, including: “They might have always been like that.” But one answer is that when Hitchens guts Mother Teresa like a fish, there’s schadenfreude, but no more clarity around the diverse reasons for what people experienced when they gathered around her. The charismatic religious is taken down by the charismatic debunker.

And what is left over, aside from lonely smug men? Are people forming real communities of solidarity and resilience through Sam Harris’s meditation app, or in Bill Maher’s garage? Is there a single pro-community initiative that has emerged from this commentariat?

If not, could this be because they never really took an interest in the day-to-day lives or shared needs of the people whose ideas and beliefs they preferred to snigger at?

I’m not debunking all debunking here because we’re all doing what we can. But I am advocating for a more social and anthropological approach, an approach that offers more than “follow the science” or “develop critical thinking,” or anything else that implies stupidity among people who need friends and meaningful work. We all guffawed when Ron Watkins, pretty much caught out as Q, gave up on the LARP by saying “Maybe QAnon was all about the friends we made on the way.” It was a POS statement for a POS dude to make.

But he wasn't all wrong. That’s the thing about grifters. They exploit a social vacuum progressives often think they can fill with irony. They wrap their followers in flags or ideas, but in that huddle there are real connections that have to be understood and not dismissed.

–

This is very relevant when dealing with cults on all sides of the political spectrum.

Most young people are wrapped in colorful flags and anti-scientific homophobic ideas pushed by big industries. But they also find community through those flags and ideas. No young person wants to be outcast by their peers.

And then there's the people who deny climate science and oppose catastrophe mitigation policies. These people also find a powerful form of community. They are uniting through a shared relationship to the land. The relationship they all share with the land is toxic and misinformed. But uniting over your shared perspective and feelings about land is powerful. Human-land relationships are neglected by modern neoliberal society. But solastalgia is now causing everyone to reach desperately for that human-land connection. And we're all coming up with different perspectives on land and forming social groups around those perspectives.

#cc

[marinebiologyshitposts]

Why are blobfish are Like That

well, blobfish actually look much more suited to their environment- when they are actually seen in their environment. this image i found on google maps explains it well!

their bodies are best suited for surviving at about 60 to 120 times as much pressure as we experience at sea level. (fun fact- maintaining a swim bladder would likely be very inefficient at that pressure. in order to be able to float, blobfish are made primarily of a gelatinous mass that is slightly less dense than water!) when they get pulled up in fishing nets, or by a natural disaster, their body rapidly depressurizes, expanding their tissues beyond their natural limits, turning the barely-swimming, deep-dwelling fish on the left into the more commonly portrayed image on the right.

while doing a little more research on this, instead of doing my final research paper like i should be, i discovered that there is only one instance of a blobfish specimen being kept alive in captivity, located at the Aquamarine Fukushima, in Japan! the specimen was pulled- alive- through about 750 to 1,200 meters of water before it was moved to the aquarium. now look at this screenshot from a news article about it because im about to cry over it.

#cryptic clicks #blobfish #i make a lot of blobfish posts. theyre low-hanging fruit i know. but they are soooo funny. so funny little fish. #fuck. not low-hanging fruit. low-floating fish. #because #the. b. because th. because blobfish. they fl. b. because #original coast

[ceilingfan5]

the song "happy together" with some taakitz? you never disappoint!!

send me a ship and a song and i’ll write a minific!!

I can't see me lovin' nobody but you For all my life

They pack out early in the morning before the sun rises. Kravitz has never seen Taako awake so early and not homicidal, and it probably has a lot to do with the amount of espresso he’s consumed already. He’s practically vibrating when he holds onto Kravitz’s arm, and he cuts a hole in reality and helps Taako step through to a completely different world. The little boat is ready for them, and together they row out into the middle of the lake, where Taako helps him cast his line and they share another thermos of very strong, very sweet coffee. 

They don’t talk for a while, and when they do, it’s soft, just as the steam begins to curl off of the lake and into the low-hanging fruit of the sunshine. It’s stunning. 

“This is beautiful, Taako. I’m so glad I came with you.”

“Me too.” Taako’s tone is gentle, and he leans against Kravitz’s back. He’s warm, and it feels nice. The water laps gently at the side of the boat, creating a sweet rhythm to bob their heads to. There’s a tug at one of their lines, but it amounts to nothing. Besides, Taako reminded him as they packed last night: it’s not actually about catching fish. He didn’t bother to explain what it was actually about, but Kravitz could wager a guess. 

It’s bizarrely calming. 

“You know, when we met, I never would have figured you for the fishing type.”

“You know what they say about book covers, my man.” Kravitz can just hear Taako grinning from ear to ear. 

“I suppose you’re right. Still, I’m glad you decided to share this side of you, Taako. It means a lot to me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Shucks.” Taako laughs softly. Everything about this is soft. Kravitz feels like he could scoop the sun out of the sky with his bare hands and hold it close, like a fledgling bird. He feels fond, so fond. He’s not actually that interested in fishing, and wouldn’t know what to do with a fish if he caught one, but he’s glad to spend time with Taako, especially doing something he loves.  Slowly, the sky warms up and blushes blue, the clouds still keeping their pink hue. Cotton candy, floating high above them. Kravitz hums. 

“Hey, Krav?”

“Oh shit, am I disturbing the fish? I’m sorry.”

“No, no, you’re good. Um...” Even with their backs to each other in the tiny boat, Kravitz can imagine Taako’s face. Hesitant. Exposed. His tone tells all. “I have, uh, I have a question for you. But you gotta stay calm, cause of the fish, and all.”

“Calm?” Kravitz frowns slightly. “I can stay calm. What is this about?”

“Well, uh...” Kravitz feels the movement as Taako wipes at his brow, and then takes another long sip of hot coffee. “I’ve been thinkin’ a lot, and...here’s the thing. Um.” He taps his toes in a discordant rhythm and Kravitz waits, patient despite the growing concern. Taako will tell him when he’s ready. 

“Kravitz, I, uh, I’ve been thinking. About the future, and, and what what the rest of my life is gonna be like, and...um. Who I’m gonna spend it with.”

Something tickles at Kravitz’s brain, but he stays calm and quiet. 

“And, uh, I can’t see myself with anyone but...but you.”

It finally clicks.

“Taako…?”

“Now, I’m not gonna get down on one knee, cause, cause of the boat, but...hey, I think..I think we’d be really happy together. What do you think?” 

Kravitz, stunned, turns around, and waiting for him is Taako, holding a glimmering ring. The band is black, and the gem reflects the clouds, and Taako’s hands are shaking holding onto it. 

“Oh, Taako-!” Kravitz can’t help but kiss him. The boat rocks dangerously, but Taako kisses back, holding onto him tightly. 

“Fuck,” he says. “Is, uh, is that, is that a yes?”

“Hold on-” Kravitz says, and he digs through his pockets.

“You’re makin’ me nervous,” Taako says, with an awkward laugh, but it dies in his throat when Kravitz produces a small box of his own. He pops it open, and there in the center is a ring for Taako. 

Taako’s jaw drops. 

“I’ve been-” Kravitz’s eyes are getting wet, “I’ve been trying to think of the best time to ask you for weeks, and you beat me to it-”

“Oh my god,”

“Taako, will you marry me?”

“Only if you’ll marry me, you big doofus.”

“Then of course I’ll marry you.”

“Great,” Taako says, a grin slowly spreading across his freckled face. The dappled sunshine plays across them and the birds sing for want of an angelic choir. “Then I’ll marry you.” 

“We’re going to be so happy together.”

“Fuck, Krav,” Taako says, and he can’t hide the way his eyes sparkle with tears he’d never admit to. “We’re already happy together.”

They don’t catch a lot of fish, but they’re too distracted to mind.

#taakitz #taako #kravitz #who doesn't love a double proposal #that's the gay agenda #taz #tazb #the adventure zone #the adventure zone balance #fan5fics #ask games #thank you!!! #ive been sitting on this idea for a long long long time

[champhangman]

The Difference

Title: The Difference Characters: AJ Styles x OFC Summary: He picked up her life when she threw it on the floor Warnings: Drunkenness? A little making out… A/N: Inspired by Drunk Girl by Chris Janson. I usually loathe country music but my friend made me give it a listen and I fell in love with it. Also, this will be a two-parter! Word Count: 2424

Tagging: @stylesmella | @styleslee | @horcruxhunter5972 | @zombiexbody | @imtoldimbabe | @vebner37 |  @nickysmum1909 | @taryndibiase | @justtrey19 | @alexahood21 | @lunaticqueen7 | @thephenomenonalkingofthebrogues | @styl3sl0v3r | @kingslayers-angel | @womderland-fandom | @blondekel77 |  @lonewolfgirl17 | @florenceivy | @meghanannexx | @skrillexslays13 | @geekoftv | @athoughtfulmindwrites | @charlottebecky | @not-that-kinda-gurl08 | @lunaticfringe216 | @13reasonswhyiblog | @itsclaaree | @mainlywwe-shitposts | @fluffyzombiemia | @spine-buster | @idle-vanity | @ladylokid | @wwewomendaily | @xfirespritex | @secretagentfangirl | @southerndreamz | @bigpixiefoot | @kakakatey | @luckygillblog | @wweburnitdown | @supermanrreigns | @thedevilinsworld | @stylesgirluk | @castielscamander | @devittslegos

"Wooo!" The shot glass slammed down on the polished surface of the bar. "Another!"

"Girl… You should slow down," he warned, shaking his head when she ignored him and motioned to the bartender. "How many shots of tequila have you had?"

"I dunno. Two or three or six." He shrug was exaggerated. "You promised you wouldn't fuss."

AJ sighed. She had drunk wine before switching to mixed drinks then to the tequila. And that was only what he had seen. Lord only knew what she had downed when he'd gone to the bathroom. He was trying not to fuss. He didn't know why she seemed so damned intent on drinking herself to oblivion. He hadn't even planned on spending time at the bar with her.

She had been there when he floated in with Karl and Luke. She had looked sad, sitting in the corner by herself sipping wine. When she'd seen them she'd smiled. When Karl had asked her to join them she had hesitantly accepted. As the night moved on first Luke then Karl had left, leaving AJ along with her.

A woman he barely spoke to at work. Their conversation since he'd arrived at the bar had been stilted to say the least. But she was starting to talk more now, tongue loosed by the alcohol she'd steadily pumped into her system.

Her glass slammed down, then she was grabbing his arm. "Come dance with me?"

He grunted, managing to push some money towards the bartender before she dragged him away from the bar. "Lexie—"

"Just a dance, Styles." She began tugging him towards the dancefloor, stumbling on her ridiculously high heels.

"Lexie, honey…" He caught her by the waist when she stumbled again. "You can barely walk. C'mon, let's go sit down, okay? I'll get you some water."

"I don't want water," she argued as he guided her back to the booth they'd been sitting in. "I want another drink."

"Why are you bound and determined to drink until you're unconscious?" he asked, sitting across from her.

"Because being unconscious is the ultimate goal right now." She eyed the glasses in front of her. Most were empty, but there was one that had a few swigs of some fruity concoction in it. She reached for it.

"Jesus Christ, don't drink that," he blurted, snatching it out of her reach.

She stared at him, brown eyes wide. "You're fussing, Styles."

"You're plastered. You don't go around drinkin' out of a glass you haven't been watchin'. For all you know someone could have put somethin' in it," he scolded. Then, seeing her flinch at his harsh tone, he sighed. "I'm sorry, Lexie. I'm just tryin' to keep you from hurtin' yourself."

"I should get out of here," she said, rubbing her face. She unzipped the miniscule purse that hung from her wrist.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for my – Found them!" she squealed, jangling the keys as she pulled them out. She carefully rezipped the purse. Bracing both hands on the table, she got to her feet and shuffled out of the booth.

AJ reached out a hand to steady her when she swayed. Frowning, he slid out of the booth. "You're gonna drive?"

"It's either that or walk. And…" She gestured wildly with one arm, leaning heavily against the table. "I can't 'member which way the hotel is."

He opened his mouth to berate her on that decision, then swallowed back the tirade on how stupid it was to drive when drunk. How she could end up wrapped around a light pole. Or being flung out the windshield. Or causing any number of injuries and deaths of others. When she straightened and began tottering away, he hurried after her. "Lexie, wait."

"Whaddya—Ooh!" She giggled as he slipped the keys from her grasp. "Coming home with me?"

"To keep you from killin' yourself or someone else? Yes."

He steered her out of the bar, tensing when the crowd of college-aged guys near the bar began whooping and raising their glasses towards him. As though he had achieved some dream, he thought several moments later, helping the swaying Lexie into the passenger seat of her rental car. Once she was fully inside he reached for the seatbelt and leaned in to fasten it. She grabbed the front of his shirt and it was only by luck he didn't bang his head as she tugged him close.

"Thanks," she hissed, lips pushing to his.

AJ froze, surprised by the sudden kiss and the soft warmth of her lips. He wavered, hand still on her hip, and allowed himself a small taste of her when her tongue slid over his. She tasted of alcohol and fruit.

Jarred to reality when a car sped down the street, its horn blaring, he gave her hip a gentle squeeze and pulled away. She lay her head back against the headrest, fingers sliding over his chest, eyes glittering in the low light.

"Let's get back to the hotel," he murmured, waiting until her hand dropped to her lap before closing the door. Heaving a sigh, he wiped his tingling lips as he rounded the car.

"Music!" Lexie cooed as he got behind the wheel. She began pushing the stereo buttons on the dash before he started the engine. When the sound of a guitar screeched through the speakers she wailed and pushed the buttons more furiously. "Oh this one's good!"

AJ waited until she leaned back in her seat before reaching to lower the volume. She sang along to each song that came on, at one point lowering her window so she could wail some lyrics at the car next to them. She danced, hair flying in the wind, seeming to either not notice or not care that she wasn't moving in time to the music. When he stopped at a red light she flopped back in her seat, crossing her legs.

Her bare, amazing legs…

He tried not to look at them. But they were on full display, the streetlights emphasizing the toned muscles. The skirt of her short dress was drawn up to the tops of her thighs. She uncrossed her legs and crossed them again, body swaying to the music. The red light continued to glow. He rubbed his chin, gaze darting up her body. Her dress had moved during her seat dancing, exposing more of her breasts than before.

"It's hot in here," she groaned, leaning forward to fiddle with the controls. Once the air conditioner was on full blast she sat back.

AJ muttered a curse as he caught sight of her nipple. Without thinking he reached over, snatching the neckline of her dress up. She yelped, looking down at his hand, then her glittering brown eyes swiveled to him.

"You can touch me," she promised as he drew his hand away. She caught his wrist and tugged it back, pressing it over her breast.

"Lexie— Shit," he muttered when a horn sounded from behind him. Realizing that the light had changed, he stomped on the accelerator. She held his hand to her breast, making soft little moans that sent prickles of longing through him. He drew his hand away slowly and gripped the steering wheel, relieved to see the hotel up ahead.

She nearly toppled getting out of the car. She swayed and staggered into the lobby, staying upright only because he kept hold of her arm. She fell against him on the elevator, giggling against his chest.

"What room are you in?" he asked, hand hovering over the panel.

She giggled louder. "It's… Um… I forget."

"Do you have your key?"

She scoffed, leaning against him fully as she unzipped her purse. "Of course I do! Hold this. And this. And this… Hang on…"

He caught every item she pushed at him. A compact. Lipstick. A pack of gum. A small wad of cash. Her phone. Her ID. A lighter. Just when he was beginning to thing she had a bottomless purse, she thrust a keycard into his face.

"Wa—Wah—That word," she mumbled.

"Voila?" He provided with a chuckle. Rearing his head back, he read the number on the paper sleeve and pressed the button for her floor. Then, because she was too focused on staying somewhat upright, he shoved all her things back into her purse.

"You're so hot," she murmured as he took the keycard from her and slipped it into his pocket. Hands free now, she dragged them down his chest. "I've always thought so."

"Yeah?" Clearing his throat as her hands dipped dangerously low, he grunted when she feebly pushed at his abdomen. He backed up until he met the wall, grasping her hips when she would have stumbled.

"Mm-hmm." Her head bobbed up and down, hair bouncing against her shoulders. Her hands continued their trek over his abdomen. "With your hick accent and that hair that belongs in a shampoo commercial… And your fucking abs…"

"Lexie," he whispered, sucking in a breath.

"I don't know what I like more," she continued, voice thick with alcohol and…

Was it lust? For him?

"Your abs or your biceps," she went on. "Or that ass like a ripe, juicy peach—"

"What are you doing?" he mumbled, swallowing hard when one hand dipped lower.

"I'm—" she cut off with a gasp when he nudged her back. Her lips forming a pout, she squealed as he guided her out of the elevator. Tripping along beside him, she held a finger to her lips. "We have to be quiet. Don't want to wake up everyone."

AJ snorted on laugh. She practically yelled the words. Then she made shushing sounds. Fishing her key out of his pocket, he stopped outside her door, bringing her back to him when she would have kept walking. She slumped against the door, giggling again. Her kiss this time was fervent. Bracing one hand by her head, he forced his other hand to remain at her shoulder, even when she slanted her lips to deepen the kiss. "Inside," he whispered, fumbling to get the key into the lock. She grabbed the front of his shirt when the lock clicked, and her tongue greeted his as they stumbled into the room.

Common sense burst through when the kiss broke and she backed towards the bed. Near breathless, he let go of her, watched her flop down. He dragged a hand over his face while she threw her purse onto the floor, gaze once more on her legs.

"C'mon," she slurred, crooking her finger at him. When he didn't move, she stood up. And immediately sank down again. After briefly fighting to remove her shoes she got to her feet once more, shuffling towards him. "I want you, AJ…"

"We can't," he stressed, smoothing the hair from her face. His fingers grazed her jaw and she shivered. "It's not right, Lexie, honey…"

"I don't want right." She was pouting again. "I want right now."

"I ain't gonna take advantage of you." He allowed himself to press a kiss to her forehead. "C'mon, you need to lie down."

"I need a good fuck," she announced. But she let him guide her to the bed.

He shook his head, leaning to stack the pillows together. He glanced from the bed to her and back again. Then, muttering a curse, he stepped over to the open suitcase and fished through the contents until he found an oversized t-shirt. "Put this on."

"Most boys want to undress me," she mused, turning her back to him.

"I'm not a boy," he reminded her. Unzipping her dress, he turned to study the painting hanging on the wall. He focused on the brush strokes. Pretended the sound of rustling fabric didn't affect him.

"I know you're not," she said, touching his arm as she climbed into the bed.

"I'm not what?" he asked, finally looking away from the painting. Her discarded dress lay in a tiny heap at his feet. The oversized t-shirt covered more of her than the dress had, he noticed. Reaching to pull the covers up, he motioned for her to lie on her side.

"You're not a boy." She situated herself, smiling faintly as he gathered her hair and tied it back with a hair elastic he found on her nightstand. "You're a man."

"You can tell the difference, huh?" he mused. Seeing that she was settled, he picked up her dress and laid it over her suitcase. He crossed the room, closing the curtains and switching on the lamp on the other side of the bed. He made sure the bathroom door was open and the light on, then carried the trashcan from next to the desk and set it on the floor by the bed. "In case you get sick."

"There's a big difference between a boy and a man," Lexie said softly as he went into the bathroom. She waited until he returned, having filled the two plastic cups with water. "A boy wouldn't be taking care of me right now."

He nodded, making sure the cups of water were within her reach on the nightstand. Picking up her purse, he unzipped it and located her phone, which he plugged into the charger. He placed her room key and the keys to her rental on the dresser. Then, leaning over the desk, he picked up a pen.

"Well I suppose he would be taking care of me," she murmured after a moment. "But not like this. Which makes you a man. A man doesn't sleep with someone just because they're drunk and easy."

"Right," he agreed with a smile. Tearing the top sheet off the notepad, he carried it to the nightstand and placed it next to her phone.

"What's that?" she asked, starting to sit up.

"Lie down, honey." He placed a hand on her shoulder and guided her back. "It's my number, okay? Call me if you need anything."

"Thank you," she whispered.

"And you're right about that difference." He leaned to press a kiss to her cheek. "Get some rest. Drink the water. And, Lexie?"

"Hmm?"

"Stay away from boys."

"I will." She closed her eyes. Her breathing evened.

Certain that she was asleep – or passed out, more likely – he moved towards the door. Just as he was stepping out into the hall, she spoke again.

"Gonna stick with a man from now on."

Grinning, AJ eased the door shut and headed to his room on the opposite side of the building.

 ~tbc

#aj styles #wwe #aj styles imagine #wwe imagine #oh hi Lexie thanks for your name #btw OC looks like AJ Lee in case anyone was wondering

[imaginetonyandbucky]

The Witch and the Warrior

Author Note: The Killer and the Kid has been my number one most requested “more of this” fic (with over 40 requests between tumblr and A03) since I started working at Imagine Tony & Bucky. Working with the idea, I found I had an awful lot more to say. Therefore, I’m going to continue this series as the mood strikes (unlike Helping Hands, which is updated weekly) I hope you enjoy the second part. I’m in outline phase for part three, The Captain and the Consequences.

T’challa, King of Wakanda, son of T’chaka, grandson of Azzuri, the Black Panther, protector of Wakanda, stood in the wreckage of his home and made arrangements for the care of the injured, the honor of the dead warriors, the incarceration of prisoners, and all those tasks that took place at the end of the battle.

The foreigners, the Americans, the rogue Avengers, were weary, blood splattered. Some of them were injured, but none particularly in danger. The silver-blonde boy that Stark had brought with him had a broken collarbone, painful, but not fatal. His sister, Wanda, hovered at his side, even now unable to look away from her brother’s face, unable to take her hand off his arm.

“Sorry about this, your highness,” the Captain said, coming up beside T’challa, looking over the ruins of the audience hall and the subsequent destruction of the courtyards.

“It was a risk I accepted,” T’challa said, his voice deep and thoughtful, “when I granted you sanctuary. That someone would come for you; Hydra, the United Nations. Eventually, you would be discovered.”

“Stark?”

T’challa rolled his eyes -- he was a trained diplomat, but sometimes people could be so… petty. “I deem it unlikely that Stark would lead such as these deliberately into my people’s lands. If he were looking to force you to return, to imprison you, I do not believe he would have arrived here, without his suit.” Beside which, Stark had known where the renegade Avengers were within ten days of their arrival; he’d been working closely (if secretively) with the Wakandan scientists to amplify and ready his Binarily Augmented Retro Framing device, that they might use it to deprogram Sergeant Barnes. He’d also consulted and provided schematics to replace the Winter Soldier’s metal arm that had been destroyed in Siberia.

In short, Tony Stark was, as he always did, looking out for his teammates, whether they knew it or not, whether they appreciated it or not.

T’challa stroked his chin. It was not his place to enlighten these Americans. Wisdom didn’t come from a place of lecture; it was either learned from experience, or it remained unearned.

“<Sire>.” One of his men approached, bowed his head. He spoke in Xhosa, as had been the general order whenever there was information T’challa might not want to share with his guests. That was a ruse that probably wouldn’t last much longer. The Witch had a natural talent for languages. But she was not looking their way at the present. “<They are missing. There are many dead in that direction.>” He slanted a glance at Rogers.

<”Did you find what happened to our friend?”> T’challa did not want to draw Rogers’ attention.

<”He seems to have been with the soldier when they left the compound. Not willing.”>

“Eish,” T’challa swore, and Rogers turned to look. That word, perhaps, T’challa used a little too often.

“Something wrong?”

“Your friend has woken early and is… not where we left him,” T’challa explained. There was no point in concealing it; Rogers would find out soon enough. “He may have taken the ensorcelled Stark with him.”

“Took Tony? Why?”

“You would, perhaps, know better than I.”

[mobile readers, there’s a readmore cut here.] 

Being dragged back to the Wakanda compound like a runaway toddler was pissing Tony off. The Winter Soldier -- who should not have woken up in that mindset and Tony was wondering in the half of his brain that wasn’t otherwise occupied by being pissed off, what had happened that his brainwashing had reset -- had Tony balanced on his hip, the metal arm wrapped around Tony’s waist. The position was only slightly less undignified than wrapped up like a burrito and hanging over the Winter Soldier’s shoulder. But only barely.

Tony made that fucking arm; it shouldn’t be being put to use to contain him.

“You know I’m perfectly capable of walking, right?”

“You know your legs are at least a foot shorter than they used to be, right?” the Winter Soldier snapped back. “And you’ve already proven to be untrustworthy.”

“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you, Manchurian Candidate,” Tony said, crossing his arms and leaning back as far as he could. He’d tried this maneuver a few times already, and chances were good he was going to end up falling on his head, but it was possible that the Winter Soldier would lose his grip. “In case you forgot, you tried to kill me once already.”

The Winter Soldier’s steps faltered. “You said that before.” The Winter Soldier stopped his ground eating pace through the thick jungle, dropped Tony to the ground and steadied him, twisted himself into a graceful squat, which put him on eye level with the pint-sized Avenger. “I don’t… I don’t remember. Tell me what I did.”

“You lied,” Tony said, eyes widening, less an accusation and more a revelation. “When I asked if you remembered killing my mom. You said you remembered them all, but you lied. Why would you lie about that? You don’t remember anything you do when you’re out of it, do you?”

The Winter Soldier appeared to consider the question, his gray-blue eyes serious. Finally, he said, soft, “Did you need me to? I killed someone you loved.” He licked his lips, his expression shattering. “Would it have given you comfort?”

Tony shrugged, his feelings a mess of shit and anger shoved in a blender.

The Winter Soldier drew one of his weapons and offered to Tony. “Will revenge make it better?”

Tony scoffed. “I’m not going to shoot you in cold blood,” he said, not taking the weapon. He squinted, then, “Holy shit. You want someone to kill you.”

The Winter Soldier shrugged. “I want someone to stop me. I know what I am, even if I don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Jesus,” Tony said. “Well, it’s not going to be me. I don’t take out Hydra’s trash for them.”

The Winter Soldier holstered the gun. “Are we done, then?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just extended the metal hand to Tony and stood up. Warily, as if expecting the fingers to clamp down, or to drag him back up to the Winter Soldier’s side, Tony took the metal fingers. The Winter Soldier clasped his hand lightly, like a parent with a kid crossing the street. At a much more moderate pace, keeping Tony’s short legs in mind, the Winter Soldier continued back toward the compound.

Tony scowled at the fire, low burning and smokeless, that the Winter Soldier had set up. He was probably going to have to give up and let himself be carried the rest of the way back. They’d made shitty progress that day, and the compound was still another eight hours walk away. At least.

Watching the Winter Soldier tickle fish out of the river had been interesting, at least. He stepped into the water, slow and easy, not even causing a ripple, then put his metal hand down. Time passed and the Winter Soldier hardly moved, breathing slow and shallow, then suddenly in a flurry of motion, he lunged, snapped up and tossed a wriggling catfish onto the shore.

“Get it, get it,” the Winter Soldier said, and Tony rushed forward to struggle with a huge, black fish that was almost half as long as he was, dragging it back into the wood. The Winter Soldier had gutted the fish, wrapped it in leaves, and spitted the whole thing over the fire. After making Tony promise to stay there -- and actually trusting him to do so -- the Winter Soldier disappeared into the jungle and returned with his shirt over his shoulder, stuffed full of a red fruit that was about the size of a lemon and tasted like a cross between a grape and and a cranberry.

They ate piping hot, flakey fish off leaves and Tony found himself leaning against the Winter Soldier as it got darker, aware of his tiny stature and propensity for looking like tiger food. In the curve between the Winter Soldier’s metal arm and his ribs, Tony found a warm, safe nest, and didn’t even mind as the Winter Soldier spread the shirt he’d used as a basket, over Tony’s form. “Sleep, kid,” he said, low and soft, “I’ll keep ya safe.”

“Not a kid,” Tony muttered, but snuggled against the Winter Soldier’s side and let his eyes drift shut.

Steve had seen some strange shit, even before he woke up from being in the deep-freeze for seventy years. But Bucky walking into the Wakanda compound hand in hand with a four-year-old Tony Stark just about took the cake.

And then, even more astounding, was the fact that the Wakandan guard descended, guns at the ready, and rather than Bucky going into defense mode -- Steve had watched that several times, Bucky’s response had always been violence, or fleeing -- he’d just stood there. Tony, on the other hand, had snatched up one of the pistols and pointed it directly at the captain’s head. “Don’t you fucking touch him,” he snapped, weirdly adorable and angry at the same time.

“No one will come to harm, Mr. Stark,” T’challa said, moving into the courtyard with haste. He snapped a few words in that clicking language that the Wakandans spoke.

Bucky gave T’challa a quick bow, answering in the same tongue, his mouth moving quickly through an explanation that Steve couldn’t understand at all.

“I did not know you spoke our tongue,” T’challa said, chagrined.

“I didn’t know it, either,” Bucky said. “Where’s the witch?”

Wanda came out, floating on a cloud of her red-mist magic. “What do you want?”

“Fix it,” Bucky said, indicating Tony with a jerk of his chin.

“Why should I?” Wanda stared down at the little boy, her eyes crackling with red fire. “Maybe, this time, he will grow up to be less terrible. He will have time, to think of the choices he has made. Time, like I had, in that prison.”

“Were your choices better?” Bucky asked, calm, quiet. His voice was deadly, his face unforgiving. “Made the right ones, all the time, did you? And when you didn’t, did you make up for your mistakes? Help heal the harm you’d caused?”

Wanda shivered, the red mist dying under her feet and she lowered heavily to the ground. “No,” she answered.

“Then make better ones,” Bucky urged. “Fix this. You’re the only one who can.”

“I… um,” Wanda started, licking at her lips. She stared around helplessly. Her brother, his arm in a sling, came up behind her, touched her shoulder.

“She can’t,” Pietro said.

“Why not?”

Wanda blinked a few times. “I… I don’t know how. I don’t know what I did the first time. I don’t know how to undo it.”

Tony sighed, throwing his hands up in the air, the disgust and despair weighing oddly on his tiny frame. “Figures.”

Bucky heaved a sigh, then dropped to one knee at Tony’s side. “We’ll figure it out, then,” he said, drawing the boy into a hug. Steve’s jaw dropped as Tony threw his arms around Bucky’s chest, seeking comfort from one of the people who should have been his greatest enemy. Bucky put his arms around the boy and stared at Steve.

“Bucky,” Steve said, walking up. Bucky scooped the boy up and half-turned, hand coming up defensively as if Steve was a threat. “What are you doing?”

“Making better choices,” Bucky said, keeping himself between Steve and the boy.

To Be Continued

Story Note: Eish is a Xhosa word, with a kind of “sheesh” connotations, a very mild swear. Xhosa is an African language, commonly referred to as the “click language.” In Captain America: Civil War, the actor who played T’chaka (John Kani) speaks it and taught it to Chadwick Boseman during the filming. 

[botanistlester]

The Most Beautiful Forbidden Fruit

Summary: In a world where witches and humans live side-by-side, a war breaks out after the two species procreate, producing bloodthirsty children. As a result, the government puts laws into place: Witches and humans must never fall in love or bear children. It’s a rule that Dan Howell and his family have lived hand-in-hand with, even going so far as to make sure that Dan never has prolonged contact with the other species. When Dan goes to his favourite magic shop one day, he meets the new employee, Phil Lester. A human who he can’t seem to get rid of. Warnings: violence, prejudice/discrimination, burning at the stake, mentions of death, blood, alcohol A/N: Holy fuck. it has been WAY too long since i've attacked this fic. i'm seriously so sorry, guys. I've had a lot going on recently and this semester at uni was absolute hell. I'm hoping to get back to this fic soon as i absolutely love the idea so much and have most of it planned out. Thanks so much for sticking with me anyways! Love you all!

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Masterpost

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Chapter Seven

It’s been weeks since Dan had first met Phil and he was already starting to feel considerably more relaxed around him. He didn’t get as worked up whenever Phil’s skin brushed against his own and he didn’t even panic all that much either. Of course, he still had those moments of anxiety where he wondered how he was even talking to a human, but that quickly passed when Phil’s gentle blue eyes glinted back at him.

Because that was why he was talking to a human. Phil was hands-down one of the nicest people Dan had ever met and he slowly found that he wanted to know more about him. But how could Dan bring up that fact without utterly embarrassing himself? Or making it seem like Dan wanted to go on a date? He didn’t want to go on a date. Not with Phil. Not with anybody. But mainly not with another human when it risked Dan losing his wonderful powers.

“Dude,” Louise said flatly one night as she was closing up the shop. She gave Dan an unimpressed look as he balanced on the edge of the glass display cabinet. “You gotta ask him to hang out sometime. I know you’re still going through your weird anti-human thing, but you live in the same building for god’s sake. You already know you have a lot in common because you gushed about Muse and anime for two hours straight. But even so, every time you see him, you look like you’re going to shit your pants.”

Dan glared at her. “I do n-!”

Louise stood up straight, pulling her wand out of her pocket and slapping it on the wooden wall with a loud thwak! “You do. And I think it’s time for an intervention.” Before Dan could ask what in the hell she meant by that, the tip of her wand was glowing brightly and Dan’s phone was flying out of his hands and into Louise’s own.

“Hey!” Dan screeched, lunging towards her. She stopped him with a simple flick of her wand and he was suspended in air, stuck, watching as she easily unlocked his phone and visibly typed out a message. “Can you at least let me know what you’re saying?” Dan whined, pouting his lip out and feeling fear flash through him so strong that he wondered how he hadn’t been flung backwards with the force of it.

Louise rolled her eyes. There was the distinctive noise of the sent message tone going off on Dan’s phone and he blanched. “I just asked him if he wanted to go to a human-friendly witch bar with you tonight.”

“A bar? Tonight?!”

“A bar,” Louise said slowly, as if Dan was stupid. He wasn’t stupid, just nervous. “Tonight.” Dan was about to curse at her, already planning which spell he was going to cast on her for revenge that night, when his phone let out a shrill whine. He got a text. Louise’s eyes immediately lit up and she pumped her fists in the air. Dan’s heart sank and his body lowered to the floor with it, finally in control of his limbs again.

He snatched the phone out of Louise’s hands, heart pounding in his chest.

Phil Lester That sounds great! I’ll be at yours around nine?

Dan looked at the clock. It was eight. He cursed under his breath. “Mother fucking bitch,” Dan hissed, scrabbling around for the rest of his supplies that he’d bought. He was considerably low on dragon’s breath and poison ivy so he’d run by the Witch’s Cauldron for some and ended up staying until close just chatting up with his best friend. But now it seemed as if his actions were being payed for and he didn’t know whether to be pissed or anxious. “I hate you so much, you know that?” Dan growled, stalking towards the door.

Louise’s laugh followed him out as the door swung shut behind me. “You’ll be thanking me later!” She called. Dan doubted it.

Don’t get him wrong, Phil was a nice guy. That much was obvious. But he was a human. Dan and humans didn’t get along. He didn’t mind them, of course. He just got so nervous and became a bumbling fool around them, not really knowing what to do or how he should act. Should he talk about the new bottle of fish eyes he had to get for one of his potions? Should he talk about how his cat kept throwing up after Dan accidentally burnt a shitton of sage?

Dan wouldn’t know. He wouldn’t know because he’d never had to deal with this sort of thing before.

He paused outside of his apartment for a bit too long, trying to calm himself down. He couldn’t be worked up when Phil got here because it would make him more of a bumbling fool in the first place. So he just breathed for a moment, closing his eyes and trying to pretend like Phil was just another witch.

Except he wasn’t. And Dan was screwed.

Chamomile pounced on him as soon as the door opened, making him cough as cat hair flung into his mouth. “Dan! I smell anxiety and teenage hormones!”

“What the fuck do you mean by teenage hormones?” Dan grumbled, detaching his cat from his face and setting her on his shoulder instead. He made his way to the bathroom, making sure that his hair was presentable and he didn’t look like a complete funeral. He was wearing all black, as per usual, but he decided not to change anyways.

“You smell like angst and worries. What’s going on?”

Dan sighed and sorted his hair out, splashing cold water over his cheeks to try and calm himself down. “I’m going to a witch bar with Phil.”

Chamomile gaped at him. “But- that’s awesome! You can finally get to know him better!”

Dan didn’t think she understands. But then again, she is a cat so what could he expect really? “He’s just-”

“A human, I know. But who cares? I thought you were over that.”

“I just get nervous,” Dan mumbled.

Chamomile sighed and laid down on his shoulders so she was literally a giant fluffy scarf around his neck. It was comforting, especially with the way her purrs felt like a little massage on his skin. “Just be yourself. There’s nothing to be worried about. You and Phil have been getting along great and he’s a really nice guy. I’m sure there’s nothing for you to worry about.”

Just then, there was a knock on the door and Dan visibly paled. “It’s Phil,” he said dumbly.

“So open the door,” Chamomile replied gently.

Dan did. Even though he knew who it was, he was still surprised to see Phil’s face staring straight back at him. His eyes were shining and his cheeks were tinted a nice peony colour. “Dan!” He exclaimed, and Dan had a moment where he could have sworn Phil was going to hug him.

He didn’t, and Dan didn’t know why he was a bit disappointed by that. “Hey, Phil. You want to come in or should we just go to the bar now?”

Phil shrugged, grinning. “Up to you. I’m fine with leaving now if you’re ready though.”

Dan agreed. What else could he do now, anyways? He’d already had his daily dose of anxiety, and now it was just time to act on it. Without any further contemplation, Dan grabbed his jacket and followed Phil into the cool air of the night. He’d decided to go to a fairly close human-friendly bar called The Brew, which he’d only been to once. From what he remembered, it was a very nice place with decent alcohol. To humans, it’d probably be about ten thousand times better than just regular bars, but to Dan it wasn’t anything unusual.

So when they walked in, Dan couldn’t help his initial first reaction at being surprised when Phil let out an amazed gasp. “What?” Dan asked, eyebrows raised with amusement.

Phil was gaping, his mouth dropped in awe. His eyes were shining, glittering in the dancing lights, and he looked even more pale in the darkness. “This is… this is bloody amazing!”

The remark made Dan try to look at it from a human’s perspective when he took another glance around. There was fog that crept over the floor without the usage of any fog machines. Lanterns floated in the air, flashing different colours, and there was the faint smell of lavender and vanilla in the air despite the sweaty and alcohol-ridden bodies. Artwork hung from the walls and the portraits moved, seemed to be dancing with the throng of people. As they walked further inside, they were each handed a crystal necklace that glowed in the dark. Phil’s crystal was blue and Dan’s was pink, just like his wand.

Dan smiled a bit, finally understanding why Phil was in such shock about this. Compared to a normal human bar, this one was like a fantasy come to life. But to Dan? This was normal. It was fucking amazing.

“Well are you going to keep standing there?” Dan teased, grabbing Phil’s wrist and tugging him over to where he saw the bartender balancing six shot glasses on each arm, a bottle of vodka magically pouring itself into them. “Or are we going to have some fun?”

Needless to say, Dan didn’t have to ask Phil twice before he was ordering six shots of whiskey. The only problem that Dan’s ever found with a witch bar is that the alcohol was way too strong. Compared to a human bar, Dan got blackout drunk far quicker than he’d ever anticipated so he always tried not to go over three shots of whatever the hell he was drinking. He tried to tell Phil but before he could get the words out, Phil was on his fifth shot and was giggling over the stupidest things that he could think of. Dan couldn’t say much because he was giggly as well, just a little bit less so than his human friend.

“There’s a freaking goose on the dance floor!” Phil cackled.

Dan looked. There was a fucking goose on the dance floor. He snorted, accidentally inhaling some of his drink through his nose and coughing violently. “Why- why’s there a goose in here?” Dan snickered, wiping off his nose and putting his hands on his cheeks to try to cool himself down. It was getting hot in here.

“You’re the witch, you tell me!” Phil shot back. He was laughing so hard that he leaned against Dan, the bare skin of their arms touching and sending a weird buzzing feeling through Dan’s entire body. He tried not to pay too much attention to it. Instead, he continued to stare at the goose, trying to figure out why there was a fucking goose in there.

Eventually they downed the rest of their beverages and got up to join the goose on the dance floor. They danced and laughed and spun around until Dan could have sworn he was going to be sick, and he had to wipe his eyes when the goose suddenly turned into a person. He almost had forgotten that witches were a thing at that point, but realised all too late that a witch had probably turned the human into a goose for some odd reason.

He didn’t care. He was too drunk to think about it that hard. And Phil was too, by the looks of it.

“This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” Phil yelled over the booming music. He was doing a weird dance move that made him look like a white dad at a barbeque, but Dan wasn’t judging him because he probably looked the same.

Dan grinned back at him, watching as the floating lanterns made Phil’s eyes shine in the darkness. “Me too, I haven’t felt this relaxed in ages.” He threw his head back and laughed, almost stumbling over, but Phil was right there to catch him, to steady him and make sure he didn’t fall. Instead, Dan was collapsing into Phil, his head on his shoulder and a stupid grin on his face that wouldn’t go away. His voice was breathy when he said, “I guess humans aren’t so bad, are they?”

Phil giggled and his lips were right by Dan’s ear so he could hear him. “That’s what everyone’s been trying to tell you, you idiot.”

When they stumbled to Dan’s flat at one o’clock in the morning, Dan didn’t have to think twice before inviting Phil to stay. Even though they were both pretty trashed, it was entirely too innocent as Dan fell onto his bed, watching through half lidded eyes as Phil stumbled onto the other side of the bed. He didn’t have the heart to tell Phil to get off of his bed, not when he seemed so tired that he looked as if he was going to pass out right then and there.

So Dan just let him stay. He’d had a great time that night anyways and he figured it was only normal for friends to sleep in the same bed together. Because that’s what friends did, and Phil was Dan’s friend.

Friends. The word lifted a huge weight off of Dan’s shoulders and suddenly he wondered why he was so afraid of humans in the first place.

And if Chamomile was so quiet as Dan drifted to bed, he didn’t even notice. He was too tired, too drunk, to care at all.

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