#hanukkah mice

[niche-pastiche]

I decided this year that I was only going to reblog seasonal posts I like (all seasons, not just December/Winter), and turns out I only have a few favorite Christmas posts, but am following a lot of people reblogging some really fantastic Hanukkah stuff. 

#miscmusings #i don't really have a point to this #other than I've been looking forward to the hanukkah mice all year

[gallusrostromegalus]

I haven't seen any dog stories in a while. How are Charleston and The Hanukkah Goblin doing?

Dog updates!

The first one is a little sad, but also how life should go. Arwen is 14 now and while she's still moving, eating, pooping and generally enjoying life, she also has canine dementia and sundown syndrome where she gets extremely nervous and her dementia gets worse after dark. She'll be with us for a while yet, but it's something we have to manage now.

One person who is very much helping her manage is Herschel. My parents are traveling a lot while they still have the knees for it so I spend a lot of time up at their house, and Charleston and Herschel come up too. Being a Corgi, Herschel likes to manage things, and Arwen would like someone to manage things for her so he's become her self-appointed guide dog.

When I call the dogs for food or outside, he goes and finds her deaf ass and herds her to the location. Normally she doesn't go outside after dark but when the boys are there she's willing to wait for Charlie to chase away anything that might be lurking out there, and then follow Herschel's ass around the yard at night.

Very literally.

She's also got cataracts forming and I think his bright white backside is easy for her to see in the dark, so she follows it around.

During daytime walks she sees well enough but neither she nor Charlie are fans of strange off-leash dogs running up to them (a regrettably common problem out here. I don't care if your dog is friendly MINE ARE NOT!), so both of them prefer to walk half a pace behind Herschel so his more socially adept and knife-filled face is out front to intercept any unwanted solicitors. This does tend to give people the opposite impression though- because he is so much shorter, Herschel gives the impression of a tiny, charming mafioso flanked by his two large and surly bodyguards.

Like, they absolutely would kill a bear for him.

But Charlie and Arwen would also try to kill a bear on general principle.

At night, when Arwen barks at shadows, Herschel runs up and stand between her and the alleged menace, and does his best to look large and intimidating and for as silly as he looks, he does have a very good growl. After a moment, when the alleged bear or congressman or other horror fails to appear, he will stick his nose into the offending shadow, and finding nothing, be satisfied that their joint effort has successfully chased the problem off, and report back to her. This, more than anything else, seems to alleviate Arwen 's fears.

I guess we all just need someone to take us seriously when we're frightened.

Charleston, meanwhile, has gotten into giving safari tours of the front range's small vertebrates.

After eight years of managing his exceptionally high prey drive, something clicked earlier this summer and instead of immediately lunging his whole face at any approximately bite-sized animal in an attempt to expedite it's journey into his stomach, Charlie has started *pointing* at things until I come look at them and tell him he's a good boy. This started with a mole, something he'd never seen before and that moves above ground in a strange way, so he wasn't sure about eating it, so he only alerted at it. "GOOD BOY!" I shouted, giving him all the cuddles. "GOOD SPOT! GOOD JOB NOT EATING IT!"

It's important to reward behavior you want to see.

Since then, he's been trying out pointing at small creatures in the grass and then making very pointed eye contact with me until I come look at them. This is a little tricky when walking both dogs because Herschel is still very much in his "inhale wildlife" phase, but usually I can lock the little gremlin's leash and go look at whatever Charlie has cornered while Herschel attempts to develop telekinesis to will the critter into his mouth.

So far, Charleston has found: a baby rabbit, several baby rabbits in a cluster, an adult rabbit with Jackalope virus, several voles, several moles, a fledgling owl, only the two mice, several mouse-sized grasshoppers and cicada, someone's pet rat (the person was searching within earshot and 'Socks' was collected forthwith), a beanie baby that had me fooled for a hit minute too, a marmot which I didn't know lived down here, a groundhog which I didn't know lived up here, a mink, so many toads, a wild turkey chick, so many more garter snakes and last night, an aquatic shrew.

I don't know if there's an Audubon Society for small things that scuttle around in the undergrowth, but I am inclined to join solely to get Charleston recognition for his service in surveying them.

#dogs #Charleston Chew #Arwen the crime dog #Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin #family lore

[shtetlcore]

It’s Chanukah, and Hershel of Ostropol needs to outsmart a string of goblins who are trying to stop him from lighting the candles. On the final night, he must face the King of the Goblins himself.

Anon’s great-grandmother Babushka Riva grew up in a shtetl outside Vinnytsia. She changed her name on her passport twice and used it to lie about her age. She worked in a liquor store so she learned all the swear words but the only time she swore was when she lost her dentures. She claimed the mice took them, and wouldn’t you know it, she was right. She fed the squirrels in her yard so much that you could tell them apart from other squirrels because they were so fat. She probably had an affair but nobody knows with whom and nobody will ever know. When she died, she had “well, that’s that” written on her gravestone.

#shtetl swag competition #jumblr #hershel #babushka riva

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Into the Unknown, Part 56

First

Previous

Bruce stared at the group of people gathered at his front door, unsure. “You know, when I said you could invite more people, I was expecting… Tim and Damian. Not…” he motioned vaguely to Worse!Tim (the future heir to his rival company), Bernard (a guy who had forgone introducing himself in favor of asking whether it was true that Bruce was dating renowned art thief Selina Kyle), and Steph (Steph).

Worse!Tim’s face flushed. “Ah, sorry to intrude, I just… didn’t have anywhere else to go. We can leave, though, it’ll be nice to have the house to ourselves –.”

Bruce, whose expression had been getting progressively softer the longer Worse!Tim went on, sighed and clapped a hand atop the boy’s head, ruffling his hair. “Don’t worry about it. We have more than enough food to go around.”

He glanced at Steph, quietly asking for her tragic backstory.

“I’m a college student,” she said.

Bruce seemed to decide that he should just accept this. He stepped aside so everyone could file in.

Everyone except for Tim. He waited until their group was properly inside so he could close the door behind them, leaving the two of them in the cold. But they wouldn’t be out there for long, no worries, Bruce only had one question for him: “Did you… bring one of the company rivals to make sure that Marinette and I couldn’t talk about business over this trip?”

“... no,” said Tim, who made a mental note of the strategy for later.

~

Marinette complained about her physics final at length, beating up dough to get her anger out. Alfred, ever the comforting presence, nodded along easily enough, giving occasional ‘hm’ and ‘oh wow’ sounds to say that he was still listening and also just as peeved as her. Damian sat on the counter, chubby little legs swinging, watching the pair bustle about, daydreaming about what designs he wanted to pipe onto the cookies Marinette was baking…

Not a creature was stirring (no, Alfred was not a creature, and he would prefer the term ‘whisking’), and there were definitely no mice around.

It was peaceful.

Until.

“I can help you with your homework,” Damian offered. “I know lots of things.”

Marinette paused, her hand resting over her heart. “Ye… yeah. Of course, Dami, I’d love your help.”

Damian lit up. He pointed to the chocolate chips on the counter. “Can I…?”

Marinette nodded easily enough, figuring that he was going to use them to visually show addition, subtraction… maybe even multiplication or division, if the kid had even advanced that far in his studies. He would count out the chocolate chips and put them in neat, orderly rows, and probably eat a few but it would be fine because it was Hanukkah and the kid would feel fulfilled in the fact that he had ‘helped’.

Damian grabbed a fistful of chocolate and shoved it into his mouth unceremoniously.

And then the kid started explaining quantum physics to her, still snacking away on chocolate chips.

~

They all almost dared to think that Alfred and Marinette had gotten over their mini rivalry. There had been no arguing sounds coming from the kitchen (only, strangely, the sound of learning), so there couldn’t have been any competition this time. This thought was only confirmed by the fact that no foods were presented to them with the question of ‘which is better’. They were in the clear.

But then.

Bernard squinted at Marinette. “You’re acting weird.”

She blinked. “Hm?”

“You’re… watching us eat.”

Marinette gave him a confused little frown, but Tim knew her well enough to know that when she was actually confused she was more liable to blink, her brain taking the moment where her eyes were closed to process what was throwing her off without any distractions.

“Code red,” Tim said.

Several forks clattered onto plates as everyone immediately abandoned their food. Except for Steph, who was looking at them all like they were crazy, a roll halfway to her mouth.

Marinette smirked at Alfred. “I win,” she said. Because, as one of the few people who weren’t aware of their rivalry, and the only newcomer wary enough of the fact that everyone had stopped eating to abandon their food as well, had chosen a bread roll she had made.

Alfred huffed. Which was basically his equivalent of screaming and cursing.

“... can someone fill me in?” Steph asked.

Bruce sighed, rubbing the space between his brows. “Anyone up for Asian takeout?”

Everyone raised their hands.

Steph only looked more confused by this, but then she seemed to realize that this would mean she got to keep all of the leftovers and immediately nodded along.

~

Damian looked up at Jason, almost offended. “Why are you small?”

Jason didn’t know how to respond to that. He leaned to whisper in Marinette’s ear. “Does he know what malnutrition is?”

“Absolutely not, and you’re not going to teach him about it, either,” she hissed right back.

Jason nodded slowly. He looked back at Damian. “I’m one of Santa’s elves.”

“Dad says that Santa isn’t real, but we’re not supposed to tell anyone,” Damian said. And then he gasped and slapped his hands over his mouth. “Oh no.”

~

“You guys really do look alike,” Jason mused. “I’m surprised Damian can tell you two apart.”

“Oh, he can’t, he just goes by our outfits and hair,” said Worse!Tim.

“Oh.”

“It’s better than Mari,” Tim said, grinning when she immediately turned red. “The only reason we found each other was because she mistook him for me. I’m surprised she hasn’t tried to kiss him on accident yet.”

“I’m going to divorce you.”

“Make that joke enough and I’ll actually start to believe it,” Tim pretended to sniffle, before leaning to press a kiss to her cheek.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

He returned the gesture.

“God, they’re gross,” Jason stage-whispered to Steph.

“They’re usually worse,” she sighed.

“I don’t think they’re that bad,” said Worse!Tim.

“That’s because you and Bernard are just as awful.”

Bernard sputtered. “Hey? Why am I getting dragged into this?”

~

Damian was the baby of the family. Quite literally, seeing as he was very young in comparison to everyone else, who was of college age or above.

And one might assume that he would be annoyed by this, his pride not allowing them to treat him in such a way, he was a big man after all! Six years old!

However, (during the holidays, at least) he welcomed the treatment with open arms. Because said open arms would be filled with presents.

Dick sighed. “You’re spoiling him.”

“You were literally raised by a billionaire,” said Marinette.

Dick huffed, but then it was revealed that he couldn’t really talk because he got Damian designer shoes.

“He’s going to ruin those so fast,” said Tim.

“I’ll buy him more, then.”

“But we’re spoiling him,” Marinette snarked.

“I’m the cool uncle!” Dick argued. “I’m supposed to spoil him.”

“... I’m the cool uncle,” Jason said.

“Excuse me?” said Bernard.

“You’re not married in,” Jason pointed out the distinct lack of a wedding ring on the man’s finger.

“And Marinette hasn’t allowed herself to be adopted, which means I’m the only uncle he has, therefore the cool one by default,” Jimothy pointed out.

“Boys,” Bruce cut in. “You can all be cool uncles.”

They were all quiet for a moment.

“No, they can’t,” Jimothy decided.

The argument started up again, but everyone was laughing, and even Bruce didn’t seem to mind it all, even as he was dragged into the debate over whether Jason or Dick was ‘the cooler one’.

Tim poked Damian’s shoulder. “You can fix this, you know. Just say you think they’re all cool.”

“No. Less presents that way,” Damian decided.

Tim cooed over his ‘manipulative little guy’, ruffling his hair and handing him yet another present.

The others were still debating over who was the best in the background, but whatever.

“Not going to jump in?” Marinette asked Steph.

“Please. I’m the wine aunt.”

“You don’t drink.”

“I do in spirit.”

Marinette squinted at her, wondering whether the pun had been intentional, before sighing and deciding that arguing the point wasn’t worth it.

~

As they lit the final candle, Tim found himself smiling. Not only because of the tradition itself, or even because he was surrounded by so many people he cared about, but because his plan was working. Bruce and Dick hadn’t genuinely fought once, too distracted by the sheer size of the group and their accompanying shenanigans. Jason seemed more relaxed, too, now that the holidays didn’t necessarily mean dealing with people yelling at each other over the table.

Mission success!

Tim needed a nap.

~

Marinette pressed against her boyfriend’s side, watching as Damian played tug-of-war with Frank. Frank was definitely going easy on him, but he didn’t need to know that.

“You know…”  she turned to bury her face in his neck. “I wouldn’t mind actually getting married one day…”

Tim’s breath stuttered. He dragged her head out of hiding to look her in the eyes. “Really?”

She glanced away, giggling nervously. “Uh, yeah, I mean obviously we have to wait until we can get our friends and family back home to come, so we have a lot of time to consider –.”

She was cut off when he tugged her in for a kiss.

She melted a little, her anxiety fading away when she realized that he was smiling against her lips.

“I would love to,” he breathed.

She flushed. “Well, I love you.”

He rolled his eyes just slightly at her immediate need to one-up him, but his chuckle was nothing but fond and the hands cupping her face were perfectly warm.

“I love you, too.”

~~~~~

Next

@unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff @toodaloo-kangaroo @queenz-z @imarivers8 @jeminiikrystal @adrestar @twsssmlmaa @literaryhiraeth @trippingovermyfeet @ev-cupcake @its-maemain

#a long awaited full fluff chapter for ur consideration #with only the barest mention of plot #ur welcome #into the unknown #maribat #timari #shutterbug #timmari #timinette #tim drake #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #red robin

[miss-kittys-magical-library]

Season of The Heart

A Kostas Family Holiday Story

There's not a single warning for this story. It's simply, somehow, become an annual tradition; Leon's vest. This gift comes as a peace offering between a Mama and her son-in-law. Chag Sameach and Merry Christmas!

Honey put her sewing down and balled her hand into a fist and then flexed it. She repeated the process. It was time she acknowledged age was creeping up on her.

It was bad enough that she and Leon gave in and began wearing glasses. That Selina was pregnant with their second grandchild in less than two years. They were old and young and new parents and soon to be seasoned grandparents. Selina and Sunny were innocent littles an these amazing adults. She and Leon had been together thirty minutes and thirty years.

Time, it seemed to Honey, was an asshole.

“Who’s getting that, love?” Leon asked from beside her. He put his book down and patted the space closest to him. He gestured for his wife to settle in.

“Nikolai.” Honey carefully folded the material and packaged it away. She placed it on the floor and laid back on the bed.

"What made you change your mind?"

"It's simple," Honey let Leon cradle her head in the crook of his arm, "he's Klaus in a way. Except Klaus does everything he can to turn people off or away. Nikolai practically suffocates them so they stay put."

"That sounds more like Of Mice and Men then A Tale of Two Hargreeves" Leon sniggered at his own joke. His nose scrunching in the process.

"You're such a weirdo," but Honey kissed her husband anyways. "I just hope it's enough."

"Gracie, it will be his whole world. I promise"

----

Selina watched her mama creep out of the bedroom from over a plate of cannolis that balanced precariously on top of her pregnant stomach. She took another bite and spoke with her mouth full-

“Mama, why are you sneaking around like a teenager smoking weed?”

Honey huffed, “When have I ever snuck around to do drugs?” She waved her hand in her daughter’s direction, “Just eat another cookie. Maybe this one will come out looking somewhat Italian.”

Selina rolled her eyes and accepted a kiss on the forehead. She went back to watching Irina bury herself in wrapping like a cocoon. The little girl dug her chubby fists into her eyes and rubbed.

“Вы сами устали, Irinushka?” Have you tired yourself? “All this playing in the paper instead of with these toys?” Nikolai hoisted his daughter up over his shoulder where she nuzzled into his neck. “Как маленький котенок,” he kissed her curls. You are like a little kitten. “Do you want Daddy or Papa to put you down, hm?”

“Oh Nik, why don't you do it?” Honey suggested. “It'll take Leon fifteen minutes to get off the floor,” she teased.

“HEY! Piss off!” Leon threw a ball of tinsel poorly at his wife. When that failed he reached out and smacked her in the butt as she turned to get away from him.

“No!! Stop! It's just that there's a little something for Kolya in the bedroom!” Honey gave in and allowed Leon to envelop her legs in a hug from his kneeling position on the floor. “From me.”

She and Nikolai caught each other's eye before he and Irina made their way into the bedroom. He tended to the toddler first, rocking her and humming just as absently as Selina often did. In mere moments Irina was out, and he laid her down on the pillows.

There was a gift beside Irina on his side of the bed. Nik put it in his lap and carefully undid the bow and paper setting it aside as if to save it. Inside the tissue was a lovely scarf made from the mythical pattern that his daughter wore onher dress.

He lifted the scarf which had been fashioned from the material and wool. A Star of David was embroidered on one side which he traced with his fingertips before bundling and tying it around his neck. Then Nikolai noticed the letter.

It read:

Dear Nikolai-

Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah. Yes, Selina’s told us. I'm not sure why you haven't said anything because if any family is Jewish friendly it's ours. You could have told Leon and I. Though I can understand your hesitation talking to me, I've not exactly been very welcoming to you these last two years.

I didn't set out to be “that mother-in-law.” Mine has been nothing short of a second mom to me since we met. And as far as I know it's been the same for Leon. The truth is, I'm not sure what my problem is.

Selina means more to me than anything in this world. Leon and Sunny of course, but when you carry something inside of you for that long it just becomes more. Selina changed my entire world. To say her birth was a bit.. traumatic is an understatement, but holy shit was she easy to love. 25 years later, and that love hasn't budged an inch. I've always told Leon that no living person on this Earth could love her more than we do.

Until she met you that is.

That first night you introduced yourself in my club, I think you scared me. I spoke you into being the night Selina came into the world. I know that sounds ridiculous, but you know our family by now.

You're so brash and boisterous and volatile. The exact opposite of Leon. The way you spoke about my daughter was a bit jarring. Like she was just another precious momento for you to steal and hide away in a drawer somewhere. Selina was yours now; you were just informing Leon and I.

It's taken me longer than it should have. You aren't possessive out of malice. You simply hold on to what you can tighter than the rest of us because everything good in your life has been taken away. You lived your entire life without affection or kindness until Oliver and Selina. No one to take care of you or teach you how to navigate the world. Being thrust into the most unconventional family ever probably made you feel out of place. I certainly didn't help.

You have treated Selina the way every parent prays for. The two of you forged your own path, and I truly couldn't be prouder of the people you helped each other become. Or what a wonderful Daddy you are to Irina despite your own lack of role models.

So this gift is for you from me alone. With a promise. A mama is there to love her child and make him feel safe and protected. Yours was taken from you the moment you were born, but I’ll step in for her. For you. I promise to protect you and love you as long as you're my son-in-law. The scarf I made is simply a physical reminder. And I do love you, Nikolai.

Always,

Mama Honey

---

Nikolai came out of the bedroom and stood beside Selina sitting on the couch. His eyes were puffy and red as he searched for his wife's touch. He patted her massive stomach absently then squeezed her fingers.

"Kolya are you alright?" she asked gently. He lifted her hand and stooped awkwardly to kiss it as if that was an answer.

"It is a good Christmas, ripka."

Nikolai walked away over to Honey sitting by the fireplace. He gestured for her to stand and helped her up. She seemed hesitant. Uncertain which direction this would go. But to her surprise he bent to kiss her on the cheek.

"Thank you, Mama."

Honey smiled and reached up to cradle his cheek in her hand. "Merry Christmas, Nikolai."

@magic-multicolored-miracle @bisexualnathanyoung @elliethesuperfruitlover @forenschik @firstpersonnarrator @heratheanon @neuroticpuppy @rob-private @love-is-dirty-baby @vonkimmeren @sylvertyger @kronoswheel @holidayspirits

#robert sheehan #honey x nikolai #moonbrella lake universe #robert sheehan character fic

[newvegasdyke]

Been seeing lots of mouse Hanukkah art on here. Love it. Are holiday mice trendy?? I hope so because I want to see more. For a variety of holidays

[vaspider]

Hey there, Spider. I'm sure you get a lot of these, but I'm in need of assistance. I know you probably won't be able to donate, but is there a chance you could reblog my pinned post to signal boost?

I hope your Hanukkah is calm and bright for you, your family, and your lovely flock and mice. 💙🤍💙

💗

[merry-melody]

#an american tail #don bluth #concept art #links

[lord-of-the-weird]

You’re a pet sitter!!! That’s so cool. You must have so many fun stories from doing that! Also what animals show up in your back porch?? Like wild ones or pets?

I should listen to the Beatles Spotify station more! AH asking me for Beatles recs is literally my love language. Some of my favorites are “Hey Bulldog” and “I Am the Walrus” for more experimental rock and “The Ballad of John and Yoko” and “I’ve Just Seen a Face” for a more upbeat happy vibe!

Yes I celebrate Hanukkah it’s one of my favorite holidays!!! I love the happy candle lighting and celebration vibes. Do you celebrate any winter holidays?

I really want to pick up knitting or crocheting soon bc I think I would love it. For now, my biggest hobby is reading a lot of novels. I have a lot of time in the next month, so I’m excited to check out a lot of library books! Do you have any hobbies? Do tell!

With love, SRS!

i do definitely have some interesting stories😅 i get both pets and wild animals! i’ve even met three separate neighbors dogs before i met them😂 let’s see other than the dogs and cats (pets and strays) there’s been possums, armadillos deer and rabbits in the backyard + birds and mice in the screened in porch! all round a lot of animals which i love!

listening to hey bulldog rn and i really like it!!!! walrus is always a good one everytime i hear it i think of ferris bueller😂 can’t say i’m as big a fan of john and yoko but i still like it. and now i’m listening to ive seen a face and oooooh i love it!!!!!! i love getting song recs! even if sometimes it takes me a little while to actually listen to them😂😅

happy hanukkah! i hope you’re having a wonderful holiday! i don’t actually know much about the traditions surrounding hanukkah would it be too rude of me to ask?😅

i celebrate christmas (my family’s religious i’m not particularly though)

oh! i used to knit! i don’t remember how to anymore but i don’t remember it being too hard plus it uses a lot less yarn than crocheting! which i just started teaching myself! do have a specific project you wanna make?

what kinda stories do you typically gravitate to? i love that that you utilize the library! that was one of my favorite places growing up!

well i love baking and making random crafts usually while listening to music! or with tv playing in the background

some random questions:

do you have a favorite animal? author? beatle?

do you mainly listen to rock or are you not genre specific?

#srs23 #anon

[stahlop]

Hey Hey Hey!

Just letting you know that your present is almost ready! I'd hoped you get the finishing touches done this morning but as with the best laid plans of mice and men, that hasn't happened.

I'm hoping to sit down tomorrow morning and get Chapter 1 polished and Chapter 2 started so that I don't feel like a complete failure! ETA is some time tomorrow afternoon! :D

I hope you're having a Happy Hanukkah, have enjoyed Christmas celebrations with your husbands family, and that the travelling wasn't too terrible.

Happy Holidays!

Lots of Love

Santa x

Take your time Santa! Whenever you're ready, I'm good.

#csss22 #csss2022 #captain swan secret santa

[wonderlandsdesignsstudios]

A Visit From St. Nicholas by Clement Clark Moore Or more popularly known as; "Twas The Night Before Christmas" Anyone else makes this popular poem/story part of their Christmas tradition? Pass it down, and continue it as grown-ups. Or if you celebrate Hanukkah what do the last two days of Hanukkah look like? Do you have a special dinner, do friends and family come over? Is it a nice relaxing night with the family? Or a relaxing night to yourself? Tell me what Hanukkah looks like to you. Do any stories or traditions also follow with lighting the menorah? Please share in the comments below I love to hear and learn more. For Christmas, those who celebrate or even enjoy some aspects of Christmas 🎄 😉 Does anyone remember the old cartoon with the clockmaker and the mice? The clockmaker was hired to make a clock and the head mouse, smart alack son broke it trying to see how it worked. They made a clock so Santa sp he knew they still believed in him after the head mouses son and his friends wrote to Santa to tell him that he and his friends didn't believe he existed and Santa was not going to show up that year. So the clockmaker and the mouse set out to fix the clock and play a song so Santa knew they believed and were sorry. Known as "Twas The Before Christmas." Probably not doing it justice with my explanation, but thats one of my traditions is to watch that old cartoon, it's one of my favorites along with the "Christmas Tree Train" involving Santa, a Christmas tree train, a baby fox, and cub trying to stay awake for Christmas and the big city. You can find that cartoon on YouTube. One cartoon I miss as well is the original Yes Virginia There is A Santa Clause, not the newer version or remake but the classic. What are some family traditions you have or some of your favorite classic movies or classic Christmas cartoons you like to watch or books you like to read for Christmas? Or what are some of your favorite gaming traditions that you carried on or hope to? Comment below some of your favorite things to do with may it be family or friends or both on Christmas Eve and Christmas 🎄 🎅🧑‍🎄 #christmaseve #holidays #hanukkah #friends #family #tradition https://www.instagram.com/p/CmjxWrKu-Ap/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#christmaseve #holidays #hanukkah #friends #family #tradition

[petnews2day]

9 Hanukkah Cat Toys To Keep Your Pet Busy Throughout All 8 Days Of Celebrations - DodoWell

New Post has been published on https://petn.ws/U4jm

9 Hanukkah Cat Toys To Keep Your Pet Busy Throughout All 8 Days Of Celebrations - DodoWell

Hanukkah kicks off on December 18 — are you and your cat ready to celebrate? If you’re hoping to treat your BFF to a few fun Hanukkah-themed cat treats during your celebration, then we found the best collection of toys to choose from. From plush dreidels and coins to themed catnip mice and rattle balls, […]

See full article at https://petn.ws/U4jm #CatsNews

#Cats News

[thegorgonist]

Happy 7th night of Hanukkah!

#menorah #hanukkah 2020 #happy hanukkah #hanukkah mice #cottagecore #jewish feels

[xmouseylove]

Holly and the gang wish you a very Merry Christmas! 🎄🎁🕯✨

#and Happy Hanukkah to our Jewish peeps! #mouse #mice #fancy mouse #fancy mice #pet mouse #pet mice #mouseblr #rodentblr

[the-clever-cupboard]

Correspondence: December

Number of Days: 31

Latin Name: Decembris

Anglo-Saxon Name: Wintermonath, “Winter Month”

Frankish Name: Heilagmanoth, “Holy Month”

Word Origin: December is the first month of winter. The term “December” comes from the Latin word “Decem”, which means “ten”. December was originally the tenth month in the original Roman calendar introduced by Romulus. Winter was originally considered to be a longer winter period but was eventually divided into three months by adding January and February. Historical names for December include the Finish name “joulukuu” (“month of Christmas”) or “talvikuu” (“month of winter”), the Anglo-Saxon name “Aerra Geola” (“the month before Yule”), or “Wintermonat” (“winter month”), the Frankish name “Heilagmanoth” (“holy month”), the Asatru name “Wolfmoon”, and the Irish name “Míí na Nollag” or “a Dubhlachd” (“the dark season”).

Traditions and Folklore: Yule is the most important time of December for Pagans because it marks the Winter Solstice. The Christian version of Yule is Christmas, and like All Saint’s Day, was an attempt to convert a pagan holiday to a Christian holiday. This is Jesus’ birthday, which corresponds to the birth of the Horned God on Yule. Other holidays during December include Hanukkah, which beings on sundown on December 2nd, Saint Nicholas Day on December 6th, the first day of Kwanzaa on December 26th, and the New Year’s traditions on the night of December 31st. Folklore sayings for December include “December changeable and mild, the whole winter will remain a child”, “Thunder in December presages fine weather”, “Frost on the shortest day is said to indicate a severe winter”, “December cold, with snow, brings rye everywhere”.

Moon: Oak, Long Night, Snow

Zodiac: Sagittarius, Capricorn

Incense/Herbs: Lilac, Violet, Patchouli, Frankincense, Myrrh, Rose, Geranium, Holly, English Ivy, Fir, Mistletoe, Cedar Wood, Juniper, Sage

Element: Fire, Water

Color: Blood Red, Green, White, Black

Stone: Blue Zircon, Turquoise, Serpentine, Jacinth, Peridot, Lapis Lazuli, Smoky Quartz, Lazulite, Blue Topaz, Aquamarine

Flowers: Holly, Poinsettia, Christmas Cactus, Narcissus, Daffodil, Jonquil

Spirits: Snow Fairies, Star Fairies, Storm Fairies, Winter Tree Fairies

Animals: Deer, Mice, Horse, Bear

Bird: Snowy Owl, Robin, Rook

Tree: Pine, Fir, Holly

Energy: Peace, Light, Inner Renewal, Enduring Hardships, Rebirth, Transitions, Long Term Projects, Life Evaluation, Ancestral Knowledge, Dedication, Devotion, Love, Peace, Prosperity, Strength

Deities: Athena, Attis, Dionysus, Frey, Freyja, Hathor, Hecate, Ixchel, Neith, Osiris, Woden, Horned God, Odin, Norns, Minerva, Lucina, The Fates

Holidays: Yule, Bumalia, Winter Solstice, Christmas, Christmas Eve, New Years Eve

#correspondence #december #month #reference #bos #book of shadows #wizard #mage #druid #familiar #magician #beginner witch #occultism #occult #ritual #spells #grimoire #witchyvibes #witchythings #eclectic witch #green witch #green witchcraft #kitchen witch #nature witch #pagan witch #sea witch #secret witch #urban witch #witch #urban witchcraft

[the-gentle-art-to-going-insane]

Never bury my bones apart from yours [Achilles and Patroclus redux]

Chapter 2: Winter, 1929

Steve groggily opened his eyes to big grey blue ones staring right back at him. His head felt fuzzy, nose stuffed, and chest achingly tight. He tried to take a breath beneath the heavy blankets and wound up coughing wetly, trying to struggle his way away from Bucky.

He couldn’t get Buck sick. They’d been friends for two years now… He couldn’t infect Bucky with whatever this latest winter sickness was. He supposed God was punishing him, as usual, when Bucky’s arms held him more firmly, tucking his head under Bucky’s dimpled chin.

“Get some sleep, Stevie. You keep getting restless, and if you don’t get better, Mama won’t get to have her favorite Challah maker for Hanukkah.” Bucky rubbed Steve’s back, trying to force some of his oven-like warmth into his friend. “Come on,” Bucky half growled into his hair, a slight dampness to it where Bucky’s face was pressed to the top of Steve’s head. “You gotta get better, please. I can’t lose you.”

✪✪✪

Bucky wrung his hands as he sat on the worn, mismatched kitchen chair in the Rogers’ apartment, shooting wild glances every few seconds to the doorway where the doctor was looking at Steve. His Steve. Damnit, Bucky, he isn’t yours. He’s your best friend, nothing more.

Burning tears fell down Bucky’s face as he gripped his hair, the unruly curls certainly needing a cut, but he didn’t have the time or the energy to sit through one of those when Stevie was like this. He refused to allow Steve to die, but this was the worst he’d seen his friend. The past two winters had their share of sniffles and coughs, a little asthma acting up now and then, but this was so much worse.

His mind raced with the possibility of losing Steve, and he felt the urge to do something, anything to just calm his thoughts. It was as if every sense was on fire, the volume turned up to eleven for even the tiny scratching of the mice in the walls. He gripped his hair harder, clamping his forearms over his ears to try and muffle some of the sounds.

Sarah, her blue eyes clouded, looked over at him from her relentless pacing by the door. She gently placed her hands on his, humming a soft Irish melody as she took a handkerchief and dried his tears. “He’ll be alright, boyo. You know our little man, he’s a fighter through and through.” Sarah Rogers’ smile was kind, and Bucky dared to look at the door once more, listening to the steady ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece as it accompanied a soft, wet cough. His heart wrenched with the sound.

“I can’t lose him, Aunt Sarah.” Bucky ground his teeth as Steve coughed again, trying to control how badly he needed to be in the room. How badly he needed Steve to be alright. He could almost guarantee that the pillows were all out of order, and Steve’s favorite blanket was tossed off. He knew Steve needed those things fixed. Even if he wasn’t aware of things, Bucky found making sure the tasks and things Steve needed done were complete soothed the itching in his palms to do something.

“I can’t.” He turned his eyes up to hers, meeting them for the first time in the past four hours. His lips mashed into a line, repressing the sobs trying to burst forth. “I just can’t.”

“I know, Buck.” Sarah ran one of her work toughened hands through his curls, sighing softly as Steve whimpered, his small admission of any sort of pain unlike him. “We’ll be alright. We’ll all be alright.”

The grim faced doctor emerged from the living room, tucking a handkerchief spotted with blood into his pocket, and pulling out his pocket watch. “It’s scarlet fever, Mrs. Rogers. I’m sorry, there’s not much you can afford…” His cold black eyes looked up, and he readjusted his grip on the shiny black leather bag as he shifted on his feet. “I would think about sending for a priest to give him his last rites, and making the necessary preparations.”

“No!” Bucky all but flung himself at the smug prick, who narrowly missed the ten year old’s anger due to Sarah’s arm caught about his waist. “No! You fix ‘im, you no good paskudnik! You fix ‘im or I swear I’ll…” Bucky fell to his knees, twisting out of Sarah’s grip and punching the worn floorboards. “He’s not dying. He’s not. We’re gonna be together till the end of the line. He promised.”

“Son,” Doctor Robertson muttered, “Control yourself. Don’t want your family knowing what a queer you are for a dead boy now, do you?” His heavy hand laid on Bucky’s shoulder, and it burned his skin with the accusation. Bucky snarled like an animal at the arrogant asshole, shoving off the hand to return to Steve’s bedside.

Bucky dimly heard Aunt Sarah’s angry cursing out of the Doctor, and the door slamming behind him. He didn’t even spare a glance as he knelt by Stevie’s bedside, watching over his friend. Good riddance, Bucky thought angrily as he took the washrag and dipped it back into the melted snow-water, laying it on Stevie’s burning forehead. “You’re gonna make it, Steven Grant Rogers, you hear me?” Buck sniffed, looking down at Steve’s glassy eyes as they cracked open. “You’re gonna be okay, Stevie. It’s just a little cold, like you get every winter.” He tried to smile, but it turned wrong halfway onto his face.

“Til the end o’ th’ line, Buck, right?” Steve slurred, his frail, clammy hand finding his friend’s and tugging him closer. “Alw’ys.”

“Yah, Stevie, you n’ me, always.” Bucky pressed his forehead to Steve’s shakily and muttered soft nothings. Just nonsense in Yiddish and English, hoping that as long as Steve heard his voice, that it could convince him to hold on.

“Please, Stevie,” Bucky whispered, his hand brushing his friend’s sweaty hair off of his sticky forehead. “Please, darlin’, don’t leave me.”

Sarah looked in on them from the kitchen doorway, her pale golden hair set in curlers and a scarf, and her lower lip worried between her teeth. Her heart ached to see her darling boy like this, after all he’d been through her Steven didn’t deserve this, not in a million years. He was so damn good, he could never have done anything in his short life to deserve this sort of punishment.

She watched with a soft throbbing ache in her heart, seeing her boy so lifeless on his small bed, bundled in blankets and cradled in Bucky’s arms, the older boy clinging to him as if he were his sole reason for existing. “God, help my boys,” she whispered, clutching her small golden crucifix, tears in her eyes. There was little doubt in her mind that it would always be those two against the world, whether they grew and found women to love or even…

Sarah sniffed, slumping against the door as she smiled weakly. She wouldn’t mind, she decided, if Steve and Bucky were always SteveandBucky. At least her son would have one person who would be with him through thick and thin. She only hoped that no matter what happened, Bucky could still look at little Steve like he was right then: like he was the center of the universe, end of story. But there was so much about her baby boy that even the doctors he saw were unaware of.

Things that were a secret between her and the ancient midwife on the floor below them, about how exactly her baby was born. Steve hadn’t yet needed to know that he was different from other little boys, and Joe...

She turned to the kitchen, sighing as she turned on her old Victrola and played her record from Joe, her sweet Joe. She remembered his tender expression as he held their fragile little boy, born almost a full month early. His big hands laid so soft against her belly when she sickened so often during the pregnancy, telling her he would always watch over them, his slate blue eyes glimmering with tears.

His steel dog tags rested cold against her heart, the twisted metal a reminder of his courage, like the shiny medal resting on velvet tucked in a corner of her bureau, hidden from prying eyes. He had to know what he was doing, jumping on that grenade. There had to have been some good from that, she knew, but the ache in her heart wasn’t so sure.

“Oh, Joe,” she murmured, holding the dog tags to her lips. “Help our little baby, darling, if you can.” Her pale blue eyes teared as she turned away from the doorway, trying to give her boys just a moment to each other. As a mother, she wanted nothing but happiness and peace for her child, and she knew, deep in her heart, however Steve found his happiness, she would be at peace. And if Bucky turned out to be the man she could see waiting inside him, no one could be better for her Steve.

Sarah sighed softly, rubbing her thumb over the letters worn to mere ridges without much sense by the repetitive motion. “No one gets to hurt my Steven,” she whispered softly as she stared out the window towards the cops on their nightly beat. “Not even the bloody President himself, I swear’t on me father’s grave, he will be safe.”

A soft smattering of snow fell from the darkening sky, and two huddled figures hurried down the street below, the softly worn scarves of Winnie and Becca covering their hair. Still, Sarah knew her friend and daughter more than well enough to know they would be coming over.

Sarah forced a sad smile upon her face as she moved towards the door, taking the other women’s coats mechanically. She collapsed at last into one of the kitchen chairs at a nudge from Winnie, who bustled about putting tea on to boil without a word. They’d been through this before, Lord knows, what with the pneumonia of last winter, and how Bucky spent more time now in the colder seasons in Steve’s bed than his own. Sarah kept the thought in her heart that the extra body heat was probably one of the things that helped Steven pull through, might’ve been the biggest thing that helped.

“How’re they doing?” Winnie asks in a low voice as Becca brings out the casserole dishes carefully wrapped in tin foil, setting them in the faulty ice box, her small hands sure and steady. “Oy, I swear those two will be the death of us one of these days, eh?” Winnie’s smile was belied by the dark bruises under her eyes, the new lines on her face, mirroring Sarah’s.

“Would we really have it any other way, though?” Sarah sighs as she cradled the chipped mug of tea in her tired hands, drawing in the warmth in the chilly air. The wind rattled the window panes, small bursts of cold air escaping the snowstorm into the small apartment. Blue eyes met slate, and Sarah sighed, again, casting a look at the two sleeping figures on the too small bed. “I was told he wouldn’t make it to half a year old,” Sarah admits, so soft it’s almost inaudible. “And then, when I lost Joe, in that damned war, they said I would be doing Steve a kindness to… to leave him in the cold. To walk away from my tiny baby, as his was going to be a short and miserable life.” Sarah fought back the bile rising in her throat at the thoughts of abandoning her Steven, his small hands pulling at her as she tended to his messy diapers and blue eyes looking up at her as he struggled to nurse at her overly filled breast, his appetite not up to level with his age. “He was so small, they said, his back twisted so badly he would never walk. His heart would give out before he was five, even after they’d patched up the hole, I was told.”

Sarah’s eyes glimmered with pride, as she muttered with a defeatist grin, “He’s a fighter, like his Pa. My Steven will make it, he’ll outlive us all, I insisted, and I c’n tell that Bucky of yours is gonna stick to his side like a barnacle on a Spanish galleon.” Sarah took Winnie’s hand as Steve coughed softly in his sleep, and Bucky could be heard encouraging him to take a sip of water, half asleep instincts always to see to Steve. “You raised a wonderful boy, Winn.”

“Thank you, I just wish…” Winnie sighed as Becca sat in the corner, braiding her doll’s hair for practice. Her braids were getting better, but she still came to Bucky with big doe eyes and her favorite ribbon each morning. Her boy never gave it a second thought, never considered it women’s work. “The world is so hard on them already, I fear that…” Winnie looked at Sarah with a hollow fear, gripping her hand with a fierce strength not often used. “You see it, don’t you… How they are with each other?”

“It doesn’t change anything, Winn. They’re our boys,” Sarah returned, her eyes dampening. “I’d do anything to keep them safe. My son isn’t going to Bellevue, not for falling in love.” Sarah looked back at the tenderness in Bucky’s sleeping face as he unconsciously held Steve closer when he whimpered. “There’s nothing wrong with them. I c’n tell it’s as natural as breathing for James, to care for Steve the way he does. And my boy looks at James like he’d hung the stars in the sky.”

“In a kinder world, we’d be in laws,” Winnie muttered, a small smile playing around her lips. “Matchmakers be damned, those two would be racing to get under a chuppah as soon as they were of the marryin’ age, I wouldn’t wonder.”

“Of course they would,” Sarah replied, a ghost of a grin flitting over her features. “And Steve wouldn’t bother with any fussin’ over the details. He’d be marrying his best guy. Knowing Steven, that’d be the only thing that’d matter.” Sarah took a steadying sip of her tea, gathering her courage. “Does your George know?”

Winifred Barnes smiled softly, nodding as she sighed. “He told me he approved of Steve the moment he shared supper with us. How he didn’t give a lick about the difference in faith, said we’re all prayin’ to the same God, the bible just has a few extra bits that were added later and not everybody agreed on them.” Winnie laughed softly, fondness in her eyes. “You raised a good ‘un, Sarah Rogers, sure as hell, you raised the best.”

“I really did so very little,” Sarah glanced at the boys, noticing Bucky’s slight shiver, and she carefully stood, grabbing one of the spare quilts from her ma, tucked away in the battered steamer that held her favorite possessions from dear old Eire. Bucky’s eyes drowsily opened, jaw set stubbornly as he held Steve close.

“Not goin’ Aunt Sarah. Can’ leave ‘im.” Bucky held Steve a little closer, shifting on the bed so that he could wrap around Steve like a squid, and pulling the mound of blankets over the two of them like a tent. A set of sleep clouded steel eyes blinked out of the gap in the blankets, the fear in them close to breaking Sarah’s heart. “Can’t lose ‘im. Not my Stevie.”

“I know, Bucky, I know.” Sarah kissed his forehead softly, whispering, “Just get some sleep, hun’ alright? Things’ll look better in the morning, you’ll see.”

“His heart’s not workin’ right Auntie, I c’n hear when it st’trs. What if…” Bucky shudders, burying his face in the tousled blond locks beneath his nose. “What if he’s not with me in the mornin’? What if Stevie’s heart forgets how to beat while I’m sleepin’? What if I never get a chance to say goodbye?”

“He’s got your heart to listen to, Buck.” Sarah felt more sure than anything that as long as there was a Bucky Barnes, there’d be a plucky little Steve Rogers at his side. Seeing this made her more sure of that than ever. “As long as he’s got you and your strong heart to remind his heart how to beat, he’ll be alright.”

“I’ll be strong enough f’r the both of us, Stevie,” Bucky whispered, tears welling up in his eyes but refusing to spill over. “I’ll always have yer back, ya punk. Ya just gotta shake it off, hear me, huh?” Bucky’s voice caught, as the lights were dimmed and his ma left, whispering a goodnight to him across the room. “You just gotta stay with me, an’ I promise, I’ll never let anything happen to ya, you n’ me ‘til the end of the line.” Bucky felt a drowsiness pull at him, exhaustion from the emotional strain enticing him to finally close his eyes. “It’s not th’ end of anythin’ ri’ now Stevie. Not fer a long time. Never, if I gotta say in it.”

Steve’s breath gently evened out, settling into less of a random pattern and a more regular rhythm in response to Bucky’s guiding breaths at his back. A small smile flickered over Bucky’s countenance as Steve calmed, the rattling easing in his chest for now.

Of course, it couldn’t last very long, but the moments of peace were what kept Bucky going. They had to be. He knew that it was going to get worse, because try hard as he might, Bucky couldn’t protect Steve from who he viewed as the biggest bully in Steve’s life: Fate.

✪✪✪

“No… Stevie,” Bucky sobbed, clutching at his Stevie as he rocked them on the pedestal while the incense curled around them, his voice cracking as the priest walked away, his rosary and stupid little book held in his arms. “You’re not leavin’ me, damnit.” Bucky had never particularly held an overwhelming amount of faith, but right then, he had to believe. He had to believe there was something that cared about Stevie, that no matter what the doctors said, what the damned priest said, that there was even just one last shot.

Bucky prayed, in the darkened Catholic church, soft chants in Hebrew, words he’d remembered from all of the sabbaths and Mitzvahs he’d been in. Tears flowed down his face as Steve struggled to breathe, and he placed a hand on his chest, tapping his index finger in a steady bum-bum, bum-bum, reminding his Stevie’s arrhythmia what a normal heartbeat was. Keeping his heart beating steadily for the both of them.

A whole day passed, Steve continuously coughing and every now and then coming up with blood on the handkerchief Bucky held to his lips, before falling back against his friend’s sturdy chest and trying to fight the smoke clouding the air. Bucky glared as the nuns came in, trying to help, he knew, but them helping meant he had to let go of Steve. He couldn’t do that, not when his friend was only attached to this world by a gossamer thread.

Bucky knew he had to be being punished for something, he just had to be. Steve had improved, marginally, as an older than rocks nun smeared some sort of gunk over his chest and placed some sort of paste under his nose. But the priest came back, and berated Sarah for allowing the old woman her superstitions. He prepared Steve for his Last Rites again, as if it wasn’t enough to hear Steve struggling against the damn incense smoke and thickness of the stale air. He also had to hear how his friend was going to be dying. Without him.

The priest gave the ten year old a disapproving look as he began a song in the old language of his father, and his father’s father, drowning out the words of how Steve’s life was ending. He sang about the promised land, the land that flowed in milk and honey, where there was no sickness, no suffering for their people. After the endless wandering and the bitter wars, the promised land was waiting.

A land he wanted to take Steve to, where they would be happy, together.

Steve’s frail hand twitched a little in his grip, and Bucky held it with an iron strength, pressing the cold fingers to his lips and then bowing his forehead to keep them there. He prayed for hours in Hebrew as the sun rose beyond the stained glass windows, and the stone floor chilled his body to ice. Still, he held his place by Stevie’s side, one hand clutching his friend’s, the other gripping his Star of David, as his tears ran unchecked.

“Bucky…” Aunt Sarah murmured, when the colored glass windows splashed Stevie’s face in blues and pinks. “There’s nothing more we can do here.” Sarah Rogers, for the first time, looked as if the spark in her eyes, the spark that Steve had whenever he saw something worth fighting for, was all but gone. Suddenly, she looked older than she ever had, worn by the years, weathered by loss. “We can just… We can just make sure Steve’s comfortable now. That he isn’t hurting anymore. We can do that for him.”

“That nun.” Bucky looked up with a fierceness, a set to his jaw that Sarah frankly was almost scared of. He had a look like he’d fight the Lord of Creation himself to keep Steve breathing just a few more minutes. Heaven and all its angels couldn’t stand toe to toe with Bucky Barnes and make off with his Stevie. “That old nun. She helped, until that bastard sent her away.”

“Father Joseph doesn’t believe in the old wise woman’s craft, said it’s the work of the devil.” Sarah steeled her jaw, nodding to Bucky as she pulled her frail little boy into her arms. “But if God Almighty won’t lift a finger for a sick little boy who’d done no harm to a soul, then perhaps the devil will. And I ain’t got no shame in askin’ Old Scratch for my boy to live, if that’s what it takes.”

✪✪✪

Steve blinked tiredly, his head filled with cotton and throat feeling like he’d gargled nails. A heavy warmth pressed against his side, Bucky’s soft breaths steady as they brushed over his ear. Vaguely, he remembers the smell of incense and Bucky’s perfect voice singing to him in a language he couldn’t understand. Darkness clung to his memories like mats of soft black wool, muddling what was real and what was a fever dream. Could he really have received Last Rites? Twice?

He drifted back to a peaceful slumber, a memory of the fever dreams playing in his mind.

✪✪✪

His Pa, no longer eaten up by the grenade, smiled at him, and told him that he was so proud of him, his son. And Steve had wanted to stay, where it didn’t feel like he was drowning in air, but Pa had told him, It’s not your time yet, boyo. You have a lot more o’ this world t’ see than just th’ tenements of old Brooklyn. Just keep yer chin up, and don’ back down no matter how big th’ bully is. Ye’re gonna do things that those big ‘uns could neva dream of, dearie, ye jus’ gotta keep fightin’.

Pa had seemed to burst with happiness, as he held Steve as tight as he could, ruffling his hair with a chuckle. He grinned as he added a teasing warning. And tell that Barnes boy, if he hurts a hair on yer head, I will nary hesitate to haunt his Jewish arse, it be my unfinished business or no. Nob’dy gets t’ break my young lad’s heart, not even that utter fool.

The images faded, like a dream upon waking, and Steve heard his father’s echo in his ears… Sometimes it’s who you least expect, who means the most. Yer heart’s in the right place, sonny, it won’ let ya down.

Steve smiled through tears, falling behind his closed lids. Love you, Pop.

Love you more, Stevie-boy, always will.

✪✪✪

Steve sniffled as he opened his eyes, scents coming into his nose for the first time since he’d gotten sick. He could smell Bucky, who clearly hadn’t left his side even to shower, and soup cooking in the kitchen. His ears buzzed lightly, the partial deafness less now that his sinuses weren’t pressing on his ear canals, and he heard a steady drum-like beat under his ear. Bucky’s heart. He smiled against the chest his face was pressed into, the urge to place a kiss to it sudden and slightly unnerving as it flashed through his mind.

He still tucked his small, sickly frame into the curve of Bucky’s side, nuzzling his pec with a hum. “‘M sorry, Buck.” He could tell his voice was harsher than it felt, rough and raw from what had to have been a long time under. “I don’t like getting that sick.”

“I know, punk,” Bucky sighed, his hand not stuck behind his head playing with his limp strands of hair. “I know.” Bucky takes a deep breath, obviously prepping for a long speech on how Steve was never going to scare him like that again. Steve hid his face, trying to fight the little swell of- of something in his chest at how much Buck cared about his miserable excuse for a life. “I’m gonna be here wit you, Steve, nothin can stop me.”

“Stubborn ass,” Steve muttered fondly, shifting to make his back more comfortable on the narrow bed. “Nah, ‘m fine, Buck.” Steve grumbled a little, peeking at the steely eyes that made his stomach act strange, especially when they had this type of softness that they did at that moment. “‘S not the most comfortable of beds, even on a good day.” He cracked a smile, and Buck rolled his eyes, pulling him onto his chest and scooting to the middle of the bed. “Mmmhm. Toasty.”

“Well compared to you, Stevie, an icicle is warmer than the beach at Coney Island in the middle of summer.” Buck laughed, the sound vibrating in Steve’s frame, making him boneless with fuzzy feelings of happiness, like kittens tumbling in his chest. “Just get some rest, ya jerk, you aren’t outta the woods yet.”

“Feel fine, Buck. Good as new,” Steve mumbled through a tired yawn. “Could go a few rounds with Johnny McCann, one hand behind my back.”

“Ya, ya, sure.” Bucky’s sigh ruffled Steve’s hair, and he felt arms wind about him, holding him tight to Bucky’s chest. “You had me so scared, Stevie…”

Steve half tried to respond, sleep dragging him under once more.

“I thought I was gonna lose my best guy. I know you don’ think a me like that but Steve…”

Steve struggled to open his eyes, to reply to his Bucky how wrong he was. Fatigue and the sudden anxiety of his… deformities… kept his tongue leadened in his mouth.

“Stevie, you’re my whole damn world. An’ I never want to think about losing you again. Ever.”

Me neither, Buck, Sleeping Steve responded, nuzzling his chest with a pleased grumble. You’re more than my life.

Of course, it was only in his head that he’d said the words that he forgot as soon as he drifted off completely. Forgot everything that Bucky had said, too, despite how easy it would have made the rest of the whole mess.

It must have been a few hours later, when Steve woke with urgency pressing on his bladder, and he struggled to extract himself from Bucky’s dead weight, his muscled arms from helping out in his father’s garage and junior welterweight boxing like lead weights, pinning him down. “Buck,” Steve grunted, poking him in his side, where the tiniest layer of baby fat still lingered, and where Bucky always complained of being ticklish. “Buck, you jackass, I gotta piss. Move.”

Of course, at that, his Bucky was instantly awake, mostly, and scooped him up, stumbling to the hallway and the small washroom at the end of it. Only when Steve could set his double socked toes on the chipped tiles did Bucky gently place him on his feet. Steve blushed, when Bucky rubbed his eyes, but made no motions of leaving or even turning his half-lidded eyes away. “Buck? Privacy?”

“Who the fuck’d ya think changed your bedpans while your ma was on a shift, Steve?” Bucky groaned, turning his back reluctantly. “Ain’t nothin’ special, nothin I haven’t seen before.”

Steve blushed a deep crimson as he untied the baggy drawstring pants slung about his thin hips, and settled onto the toilet, nervously watching Bucky’s back as he let go with a soft sigh. Jesus Christ, how much could he piss at one time? Steve grabbed a bit of tissue, carefully cleaning his privates and looking down at them with a worried crease in his brow. Bucky really had seen this? He couldn’t help but frown at the little cocklet that budded out from his groin, the fuzz of hair covering the little fold of skin, something the library’s anatomy books would call a Clitoris, but oddly enlarged, a miniature penis in all but name. He huffed, spying the folded flaps of skin behind, hiding his hole, the flushed pink skin lightly moist and soft. Not quite a dame, not yet a man.

And Bucky hadn’t run at the sight of this? Steve pulled up his trousers and roughly tied them, scrubbing up in the chipped porcelain sink to the left.

He tried to ignore the long scar down his chest as he caught sight of himself in the mirror, from just under his clavicle down almost halfway to his navel, a stiff, silvery marring of his skin plainly visible the instant he unbuttoned his shirt. Or when he wasn’t wearing a shirt, like now. His heart didn’t work right, and had holes in it when he was born. Did it even come as a surprise he couldn’t love right, either?

“Ye finished, princess?” Bucky teased, shifting against the door jamb and making the floorboards squeak. “Kinda hungry, myself, thinkin ‘bout heatin up some o’ your ma’s stew she left us.”

Steve rolled his eyes as he bumped his hip on Bucky’s thigh as he squeezed past him, casting a teasing look over his shoulder as he made his way to the kitchen before Buck could sweep him up into his arms again. Not that it didn’t sound fully appealing, in and of itself, but Steve needed to stretch what little muscle he had. Blood tingled in his toes as his circulation began working again, getting much needed warmth and flow to his almost numb feet.

“Alright, you stretched those sorry excuses for legs, now sit,” Bucky complained, tucking a throw blanket around Steve’s thin shoulders. “I know you want ta be out an’ about, running into all sorts o’ trouble like always, but,” Bucky turned to him, a light glare in his eyes, the threat hampered by his Ma’s flowery apron and the wooden spoon pointed in Steve’s face. “You are far from better, Steven Grant. You’re gonna do as I say, or so help me, I will call my mum, and you know how she is.”

Steve smiled, nodding as he pulled the blanket snug around his torso. “Yessir.” Steve chuckled, noticing for the first time that his voice wasn’t quite as high pitched and girly as it had been once. Sure it wasn’t anywhere near a deep bass rumbling, but, well, maybe he wasn’t such a freak after all.

He watched Bucky’s ears go pink under his curls, and his awkward shifting as he avoided Steve’s eye for a hot minute. The blond filed the information away for a later date, biting back the pleased as punch grin trying to burst across his face.

“Eat your damn soup, Steven,” Bucky growled, planting himself in the other chair and pointing at him with his soup spoon. “I ain’t reheating reheated soup, so if it gets cold, that’s on your punk ass.”

“Yeah, yeah, Buck, I know how to work the stove.” Steve rolled his eyes, nonetheless eating quicker than he had been. For a few minutes there was little to be heard other than spoons clinking on ceramic bowls, and a small slurp every now and then, one of them trying and succeeding to make the other grin. “Did my medicine get picked up while I was sick?” Steve stood to help clear the table, and haul the dishes to the sink. “I was runnin low on my asthma script before I came down.”

“Yeah, put ‘em next to your lighter, on the mantle.” Bucky accepted the dirty plates as Steve stubbornly got a small stool to assist in drying. “Just cause you got your special smokes does not mean I’m going to start lettin’ myself do it around you, Steve.”

“Might not have the best sense of smell, Buck, but I know you sneak off between classes to take a few puffs behind the bleachers.” Steve gave his friend a quick smirk, chuckling softly. “I can smell when you get stressed by schoolwork and duck out to light one. I’m not stupid.”

“Never said you were, Stevie.”

“Are you ashamed?” Steve looked at the stubborn set to Buck’s jaw as he scrubbed at an old indeterminate stain on a dish, avoiding his eyes. “Don’t bother me none, Buck. Dames like to think it’s attractive.”

“Not givin’ you an asthma attack cause I gotta get a fix.” Bucky’s tone clearly meant the conversation was closed. For now. “Oy Gevalt, Steve, quit lookin’ at me like that!” Bucky turned and leaned against the countertop, running his hands through his curls with a soft growl. “I ain’t riskin’ your life for a habit I oughta quit.”

I oughta quit.”, Steve, quit lookin’ at me like that!” Bucky turned and leaned against the countertop, running his hands through his curls with a soft growl. “I ain’t riskin’ your life for a habitI oughta quit.”

“I know you’re just tryin to keep me safe, Buck,” Steve admitted, leaning his head against his friend’s side, sighing. “I just wish, not all th’ time, but every now n’ then, I could keep your stupid ass safe for once.” Steve huffed, wrapping his arm around Bucky and swaddling them both in the threadbare throw blanket. “Wish I was the knight in shining armor occasionally. Instead of bein’ the damn damsel in distress every day of the week.”

“Steve, you utter idiot,” Bucky whispered, bumping their shoulders, and scooting close enough that Steve could lean his scrawny frame into his. “You have no clue, do ya?”

“Buck, I couldn’t get a girl even if I wanted one.” Steve froze at the slip up, but Bucky stayed comfortably relaxed at his side, his arm around his waist giving a little squeeze of reassurance. “I’m… I’m not a friggin’ fairy or anythin’, swear,” Steve mumbled quickly as a rapid heat filled his cheeks. Bucky simply chuffed into his hair. He couldn’t be sure if it was supposed to be reassuring or not, but considering the blow he was tensed for hadn’t fallen yet…

“Just doesn’t seem all that much t’ fuss over, honest. You know how many types of diseases can be spread just by swappin’ spit? And with my half assed immune system?” Steve tried to brush it off as a self preservation move, but really… He couldn’t picture himself staring after anything wearing a short enough skirt.

Not the way Bucky seemed to like to.

He wanted someone sturdy enough to take the weight of living off of his shoulders, solid so that he wouldn’t break them in one of his nightmares. Someone kind, sure as hell, but not soft. Feisty, his brain supplies, like Bucky, a smartass with a good heart in their chest.

“Wanna turn on the radio?” Buck offered, pulling him away from the kitchen and the cusp of a revelation. “C’mon, Stevie, bout time you learned to dance. I’ll teach ya.”

Steve rolled his eyes but let himself get tugged along to the living room, the sunken couch and Steve’s cot getting pushed to the walls. “Do I really gotta be the dame here, Buck,” Steve groaned as his friend placed his big hand on his slim waist. Steve tried to repress that prickle of want that made itself known between his legs as Bucky’s hand curved almost halfway around his middle. Big and strong, and always there for him.

God, how the fuck couldn’t he realize sooner?

Steve bit his lip as the next song came on, focusing on not trampling Buck’s feet as they slowly twirled around the room. “You’re doin’ it, Stevie,” Bucky murmured, his lips dangerously close to Steve’s ear, making a small tongue of heat lick up his spine. “You’re dancing.”

“Guess I got a good partner,” Steve mumbled, glancing up at Bucky, his lip worried between his teeth. He quickly looked back down at his feet, even as their hands began to wander. Bucky’s to Steve’s tiny waist, almost able to touch his fingers as they wrapped around him, and Steve’s to Bucky’s neck, his thumbs rubbing circles into the soft spots below his ears, their foreheads pressing together.

Steve knew it was wrong, to want Bucky the way he did when his friend wasn’t that way with other men. He just couldn’t help it, every time Bucky gave him one of those grins, the ones he saved especially for Steve, his damn heart would - almost literally - skip a beat. And that laugh that got his breath caught in his throat, every time.

Damnit.

He’d gone and fallen hard for Bucky, and fat chance they’d have a shot at making it. Bucky didn’t look at him like that, couldn’t look at him like that. Bucky wasn’t sick like him, wasn’t broken like him.

Bucky was good.

And Steve was just a mistake, one that shouldn’t have lived long enough to fall in love, since he’d get that wrong somehow, too.

#stucky #steve and bucky #pre war stucky #lgbtq #pre war steve rogers #pre war bucky barnes #ao3 #Eventually #who knows #Autistic Bucky Barnes #Intersex Steve Rogers #intersex steve rogers #Historic inaccuracies #Probably #fanfic #fanfiction #Look. I have no idea what the actual fuck I'm doing. Have fun #Gratuitous torture of an emotional nature #Smol steev