#I understand why some people might feel defensive about this take or reluctant to label them poorly

[threewaysdivided]

I just read that ask about Vlad that you did and was wondering if you had any thoughts about Jack and Maddie. They have clear love for there kids and when they know they are in danger they will drop everything for them, but they also don't notice when there is somthing wrong going on. Valerie would be another good one, though I think that she mostly framed around how whe is manipulated by others (like Vlad).

(the Vlad ask)

So, I have quite a few thoughts on Maddie and Jack, and they’re probably some of the most complex.

I’ve talked about this before but one of the quirks/ bugs/ features of Danny Phantom’s tumultuous production and at-times-contradictory canon is that there can be multiple disparate readings that are all somewhat supported.  And no more is this true than for the (nominally) good Doctors Fenton.

Let’s talk about the meta-side first because it’s kind of fascinating.

Issa Nicktoon

Sounds kind of dismissive to say it that way but I think it’s important to remember that Danny Phantom is an early 2000s TV7+ (i.e. “for kids”) Nicktoon and some artefacts of canon are clearly concessions to the medium.

As a formulaic episodic kids show, the Status Quo is God - characters rarely experience substantial change or ongoing arcs/ consequences and even episodic A-Plots tend to reset major developments by the end.  (I’ve talked about some of the problems it causes for Sam specifically here.)

Things like hyperbolic cartoonery and Aesops are also in play; characterisation and situations getting hyper-charged or hijacked by the Idiot Ball/ Jerk Ball/ Conflict Ball etc. in service of jokes or whatever “moral lesson” a given episode might decide to be about.  (It’s really not in-keeping for Danny to act like he did in Livin’ Large but the show wanted a “don’t be materialistic/ wealth isn’t everything” lesson so he got Jerk-Balled.)

There’s also stuff that mostly exists for narrative convenience, and that the producers either didn’t consider or actively try to avoid the implications of.  Maddie and Jack being as clueless as they are about their kids is at least partially a convenience to keep them out of the way.  The show doesn’t want to engage with the implications of ghosts being dead people, the implications of ghosts being sentient, or the fridge-logic/ fridge-horror ramifications of a bunch of its one-liners and contrivances.  It wants to be a fun hero comedy cartoon with a spooky twist and it absolutely doesn’t want you thinking about any of it too hard.

Because of that, you kind of have to be selective about when to read things ‘to the letter’ and when to read things ‘in spirit’.  Do you choose to take everything as having literally happened as depicted (even when those things could have terrible or story-breaking implications) or do you take the general impression from the whole and exclude specific outliers on the grounds that they only exist as a concession to the nature of the show?

Maddie and Jack’s Weird Fictional Niche

I also want to briefly touch on the unusual narrative space the Fentons occupy in the realm of hero-story-parents.

(For simplicity I’m going to take inspiration from OSP’s video and refer to the ‘secret’ side of the double-life that teen superhero/ urban fantasy protagonists interact with as the ‘fantastical world’.)

When it comes to stories with child/ teen heroes who have living parents, I feel like you can map most of them against 3 axes:

How aware are they of the fantastical world in general?

How aware are they of their kids’ activities in the fantastical world?

If they are involved in the fantastical world themselves, is it in a way that is supportive or antagonistic to their kids activities?

It’s a pretty stock trope for these parents to be both ignorant of the fantastical world (or at least, no more aware than the average person) and unaware of their kids activities.  This is often done by putting these parents somewhere on the scale between too preoccupied/ overworked to notice what’s going on and actively uncaring/ neglectful/ abusive.  Again, it’s mostly a narrative convenience to explain how the kids can get up to so many unsupervised shenanigans while also having a stable homebase.

Rarer is seeing parents who are directly involved in the fantastical world without being aware of or interacting with their kid’s activities.  I think the most common version here is typically when the parents are studying some tangential aspect of the fantastical world while their kids fight villains/ have adventures somewhere else.

What’s weird about Maddie and Jack is that not only are they fully aware of the fantastical world (being the ones to open the portal), they’re also completely unaware of their kids’ presence in that world even though they’re active in the same areas, AND - most unusually - they are personally antagonistic to most of that world and Danny’s alter-ego in specific. 

That’s pretty unique.  Typically you would expect that to be a villain archetype; a classic setup where the parents act as the main Bad Guys (or are working for the Big Bad) while their kids assume secret alter egos and enter the fantastical world in order to stop them. 

But that’s not what’s going on.  Despite qualifying as secondary antagonists, Maddie and Jack are never presented or treated as villains; they have no ‘evil scheme’ or agenda, they are not sadistic or exploitative.  The show frames them as likeable and relatable (if annoying).

And despite everything, both they and their kids sincerely love and want happiness/ success for each other.

The Fentons as Parents

To me, Maddie and Jack as parents embody the concept of and:  

Someone can love you and hurt you.

Someone can want the best for you and not understand who you are at all.

Someone can sincerely care about you and completely fail to recognise your needs.

Someone can want to support you and never be there when you need them most.

Someone can try their best and it can still not be anywhere near enough.

You can love someone and they can have hurt you in ways that might be unforgivable.

You can want to be with someone and they can be unhealthy for you to be around.

I think this is one of the places where Danny Phantom’s production being kind of a mess has allowed it to accidentally resonate with a rarely-depicted but very real emotional experience.

So, are they abusive and/or neglectful?

I want to be clear that abuse and/or neglect is in the impact, not the intent.  That isn’t to say intent is irrelevant (especially in fiction) but the most important thing is the effect.

And from that perspective…

Yeah, even with the most generous ‘in spirit’ reading Maddie and Jack are at the very least emotionally neglectful to their kids.  They are rarely present for their kids (definitely not consistently) and even when physically present they’re often mentally focussed elsewhere.  They rarely listen to Danny and Jazz; often talking over them, derailing conversations to be about ghosts and dismissing Danny and Jazz’s opinions on the topic when they try to participate by offering counterpoints.  While they don’t restrict their kid’s hobbies we rarely see them actively participate or encourage them on screen, and they often ignore Danny and Jazz’s attempts to express that they don’t want ghosts/ the supernatural being brought into all the family time they spend together.  It’s very easy to read Jazz’s interest in psychology as her at least partially trying to find the emotional guidance and framework that their parents are failing to provide, and to pass that on to Danny second-hand.

The Fenton household seems like it could be a very emotionally lonely and invalidating environment for a child to grow up in.  The thing with love is that it’s not just about feelings: it’s about actions, and (while Maddie and Jack no doubt feel and think that they love their kids unconditionally) what they have routinely shown Danny and Jazz is that - outside of emergencies - they will choose ghosts ahead of their children 90% of the time.

It’s also hard to ignore that - even in a generous reading - the Fenton parents probably do count as physically criminally negligent.  They have a laboratory in their basement where they deal with potentially biohazardous substances but there is no containment separating it from the rest of the house (it’s unclear if there’s even a door).  Danny’s chores include cleaning and equipment maintenance in the lab (some of which can be explosively dangerous) which he does without PPE or supervision.  The unsecured portal releases ghosts directly onto the premises, sending them up through the house on their way to terrorise the town.  Even outside the lab, the kids are at risk of being exposed to barely-tested stuff like Fenton-Foamer.  Maddie and Jack bring unsealed ectoplasmic samples and power sources to the breakfast table, sometimes storing them alongside or even using them to prepare the food their kids eat.  Danny only became Phantom (an event that either partly killed him or mutated him into some kind of hybrid) because a group of teenagers were allowed unsupervised access to a lab containing an un-signposted piece of malfunctioning equipment that was left connected to power.  (And sure, maybe the trio shouldn’t have snuck down there in the first place but “rely on a teenager to never do stupid things” should not be the sole safety precaution.)  None of that is good.

Taking a more strict ‘to the letter’ reading makes them seem much worse; at times crossing the line into ‘wilfully harmful’.  There’s a joke about how Jack has made most of the lab work Danny’s job because he’s too lazy to do it himself.  There’s the iron maiden thing, sometimes they lecture or scold Danny in a way that feels very not good, and then there was the whole bit about putting him in a spinner ‘to get the crazy out’ in The Fenton Menace.  It’s not invalid for people to argue that, based on a strict reading, the Fenton parents could be some form of abusive.

The Problem with Their Parenting

I think the core problem with the Fenton’s parenting can be summed up in this diagram:

The surface level problem is obvious: Maddie and Jack prioritise their work over their kids way too much.  That isn’t to say that parents’ lives should be 100% about their kids but they should be swinging for a better balance.  At the very least they should be able to have more than a handful of conversations with their kids that don’t end in them making it all about ghosts.  It’s like they can’t compartmentalise.

However, it’s that top one that’s the real problem.  Maddie and Jack’s paranoid hatred/ fear/ distrust of all things ghostly is a consuming fixation.  I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s partially driving their obsession with their work.

That ectophobia also creates a very emotional unhealthy (and at times physically unsafe) environment for Jazz and especially Danny.  Like I said in the DP’s asexual fanbase post every part of their lives from their language to their behaviour is steeped in casual prejudice.  Not only is it psychologically harmful for Danny and Jazz to be internalising these beliefs, it’s yet another thing that makes their love feel less certain/ more conditional.

It’s also a super weird mindset for a pair of supposed scientists to have.

Ectophobia and Bad Science

Maddie and Jack are pretty textbook examples of the Fantastic Racism Trope; they have an irrational hatred for specific paranormal entities and some of the things they do could definitely be categorised as Van Helsing Hate Crimes.

However, while it makes sense for the routinely-terrorised townsfolk of Amity Park to be generally anti-ghost based on their experiences, it’s very strange for Maddie and Jack to also have this mindset (considering that they were the ones who chose to actively seek them out for ‘study’), and even weirder that they are the ones who most strongly spread that rhetoric to the community.

The Doctors Fenton are very unscientific in a lot of ways; they don’t use any form of the scientific method (hypothesise → test → repeat) when it comes to ghosts, and they seemingly went into the field with series of pre-set beliefs that they had formed before gathering any firsthand data.

“It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts.” -Sherlock Holmes

Not only that, but they’re very incurious about most ghostly things.  They seemingly aren’t interested in studying the behaviour of ghosts, their habits and interactions (ecto-ecology), or questioning why they might act a certain way.  Their approach seems to be more about hunting/capturing ghosts, taking them apart to see how they physically work and then using the remains to build new, more effective anti-ghost technology.

From that perspective, it’s almost worth questioning whether their anti-ghost prejudice is actually serving a self-protective function: if it’s less about the belief and more about what it enables.  If ghosts are inherently evil, dangerous, non-sentient/ impulse-driven, incapable of feeling pain or emotions and only imitating these things as a manipulative defence/ predation strategy then it’s not morally wrong for Maddie and Jack to hunt them and subject them to inhumane experimentation.  That might explain why their rhetoric has internal inconsistencies (“non-sentient manipulator” is an oxymoron) and why they continue to cling to it and double-down even when faced with contradictory evidence.  So long as they believe it, they never have to feel guilt or question themselves.

Obviously the actual answer is that it’s a Nicktoon and Maddie and Jack ever significantly changing their beliefs/ behaviour is Forbidden by the Formula™ but we’re analysing from a Watsonian perspective right now so hush. 

It would be interesting to know how they might have come about this belief in the first place, since it doesn’t seem to be from firsthand data.  Maybe they’re working from bad anecdotes or folklore, biasing towards the idea of ghosts as evil.  Maybe they’re carrying a personal bias from an early firsthand encounter (perhaps in their college days) that left a terrible first impression.

Whatever the case, the fact that they keep holding onto this hypothesis and dismissing alternatives, rather than actually testing it against the mounting pile of obviously contradictory evidence, kind of shows how unwilling - or maybe unable - they are to consider that they could be wrong.

“one of the greatest human failings is to prefer to be right than to be effective” -Stephen Fry

Narcissism vs Egocentrism

Something that strikes me is that Maddie, Jack and Vlad are in some ways extremely similar.  In the Vlad post, I said that one of the things that makes Vlad so dangerous is that he shows signs of malignant narcissism.  Similarly, I think the main thing that makes Maddie and Jack so unintentionally harmful is that they are supremely egocentric.

Egocentrism refers to someone's inability to understand that another person's view or opinion may be different than their own. …an egocentric person does not necessarily obsess over things like success, beauty, or status. They simply don't consider other people in their decision-making. -Verywell Mind

It’s more obvious in Jack because of his general social cluelessness; his opening line in the whole show is asking if insisting the kids want to hunt ghosts and then completely ignoring that all three say ‘no’; he brings up the ‘Hairy Chin’ nickname because he doesn’t see how that ‘funny memory’ might be embarrassing or hurtful.  Maddie is more socially savvy but there is also a benign condescension/ dismissiveness in her reaction towards views other than her own.  They are both more capable of compassion than Vlad but, like him, they show very little natural empathy. 

They both also tend to assume their perspective is universal/ correct, and/or not consider how their actions might affect other people.  It doesn’t seem to occur to them that maybe other people don’t want to talk about ghosts all the time.  They don’t consider how barging into the school and making a ruckus might impact their kids socially or hurt their relationship with the faculty.  They never develop perspective that maybe they should put aside their exhausting yearly Santa argument for the sake of a positive holiday experience with their kids, even though that argument never goes anywhere.  They don’t seem to include their kids in making family plans and just take it as read that Danny and Jazz will be totally on-board and satisfied with whatever they decide.

At times it’s like they borderline forget their kids but then believe they should/ act like they have a really close relationship with them when they do pay attention.  (They actually do this with Vlad as well - Jack treating him with the same overly-close college-roommate familiarity despite years of silence).  It’s almost a failure of object permanence; they disappear off into their own minds and come back expecting the other person to be exactly the same as when they left - like a reverse-weeping-angel who freezes whenever they’re not being looked at.  And when they do notice something is amiss (or someone gets upset with them) they often default to wondering what is wrong with the other person rather than considering whether they might have done something. 

None of this is to say that Maddie and Jack are malicious, or to suggest that they don’t like or care about their kids.  It’s more like they’re trapped in their own little bubble of being The Heroic Doctors Maddie and Jack Fenton, Genius Ghost-Hunters Extraordinaire and it completely walls them off from the reality of other people’s needs and feelings.  They simply don't consider other people in their decision-making and unfortunately their kids are part of the other people.  They do love Danny and Jazz.  They love them so much… when they remember that they exist.

And it’s worth noting that the behaviours and feelings we see from Danny and Jazz align pretty well to how dealing with egocentricity can affect people:

Low self-worth: feeling irrelevant, as if your opinions don't matter Self-doubt: questioning your own judgment or perception Confusion: wondering if the person recognizes their egocentric ways Sadness: feeling sorry for the person or sad for yourself after interacting with them Anger: frustration and anger over not feeling seen or heard Resentment: becoming bitter toward them for the ways they behave and how you feel after interactions Detachment: a desire to move away from the person as much as you can in order to protect your sense of self. -Verywell Mind

What to do?

I want to reprise the same idea I expressed in the Vlad post:  Maddie and Jack are not Danny and Jazz’s responsibility.  Functional relationships require participation from both parties.  And when it comes to relationships between children and adult parents/ mentors it is not the job of the child to assume primary responsibility for managing the relationship, their parents’ feelings or their parents’ lives.

As it stands, this relationship is not functional or healthy.  Something’s got to give.

Which is painful and complicated because they all do love each other. 

It’s that idea of and again:

You can love someone, you can want their affection, their approval, a positive relationship AND you can be in a position where continuing to stay and try for that will end up doing more harm than good.

I see things going one of two ways:

1. The relationship gives

The kids end up leaving - either cutting contact or at least pulling away. 

There are a bunch of things that could lead to this.  Maybe their parents don’t accept Danny when the truth comes out, and they have to flee.  Maybe Jazz moves out and offers for Danny to come and stay with her.  Maybe they just grow up, move away to have their own lives and rarely come home.

The best outcome here would be Danny and Jazz being able to reach a place where they feel safe (emotionally and physically), unconditionally loved and can start healing into a sense of confidence/comfortableness with themselves: whether that’s just with each other or as part of some kind of larger community/ found family group.

2. Maddie and Jack's behaviour gives

Here something would need to happen to shake Maddie and Jack out of their egocentrism, make them realise how much their ectophobic obsession has been hurting their kids and their relationship with them, and that they need to make a committed effort to change their behaviour if they want a hope of salvaging things.  The thing with love is that it’s not just about feelings: it’s about actions.

Considering how resistant and generally obtuse Maddie and Jack can be towards accepting things they don’t want to realise, this could require a quite drastic inciting incident (Danny being hurt, the kids deciding to leave), although it could also be a slow build of subtle things that eventually breaks the dam.

And I do want to stress that ‘change in behaviour’ bit. This kind of quasi-redemption-arc really needs to be about recognising why the behaviour was harmful and realising they want to be better.  If it’s primarily about absolving themselves of feeling bad or undoing undesirable consequences then it’s still egocentric; in which case there’s no guarantee that they wouldn’t backslide down the line, or slide into a near-identical behaviour that’s just superficially different enough to avoid the same criticism.  The main goal and reward of a redemption path is the character(s) on the path growing into better people.

As for actually reconciling, it would be up to Danny and Jazz to decide when and if they want to accept any prospective olive branches.  Forgiveness is admirable, but not owed.

Like I said, it’s messy and complicated.

Someone can love you and hurt you.

Someone can try their best and it can still not be anywhere near enough.

You can love someone and they can have hurt you in ways that might not be forgivable.

And, as parents, Maddie and Jack Fenton are - quite by accident - some of the most emotionally complex, realistically flawed and believably human characters in Danny Phantom’s canon.

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

*slaps roof of fanfiction* this baby can fit so much self-projection in there ~ @rauko-is-a-free-elf s wise words. enjoy <3

Dean's the one who can't get out of bed without coffee. The one who thinks sunday brunches are a thing just because real people aren't supposed to be up by breakfast time on the weekend. The one who'll crash face first into the couch, first thing he's back from college, because screw consciousness, that's why.

And yet, it's Cas who stumbles out of the shower on seven-am-biochem-Thursday, and proceeds to trip over the carpet and land in Dean's arms.

"I'm so fucking tired."

"Of the — carpet?" Dean frowns, looking over Cas's bedhead to examine the Queen lyrics-filled specimen. He's rather fond of it.

"Of being," Cas mutters, heaving himself upright and swatting at Dean's hand when he reaches to smooth his tie. "Whoever the fuck I'm supposed to be."

Dean tries to get to his tie again, and receives a particularly pissed-off glare for his efforts.

"And who is that?" Dean throws back, playful because why not; he's expecting a sarcastic comeback, a suffering eyeroll, or even to be annoyedly swore at — which he definitely wouldn't mind, coming from his best friend slash boyfriend slash dude with the literal sexiest voice Dean's ever heard — but he's definitely not expecting Cas to launch himself at him, purposefully this time, also gentler, and bury his face in Dean's shirt.

Dean waits, worried, but hands coming up involuntarily to hug back.

Cas doesn't budge.

"Babe?"

All the reaction that induces is for Cas to cling harder. And for words to get muttered — and reasonably muffled, into Dean's shirt.

"I hate that guy."

Dean raises his eyebrows, belatedly realizing Cas can't see them. "Huh?"

"The guy I'm supposed to be." Cas goes on, gritting his teeth. "Dean, I hate him. He makes my life miserable. And I — I'm just so tired."

And at that, Cas decides the point's been made, and stops talking entirely, leaving Dean with little more to do than hold on.

And think.

He knows Cas never got a chance to make the choices most people take for granted. The guy never got to choose his major, choose his hobbies. Hell, hardly even his friends. Private schooled and isolated until his parents up and shipped him off to Princeton pre-med, Dean's always believed Cas had the right to be mad.

Even though he's now in actual med-school, a year from becoming Doctor Novak — Dean gets a secret thrill every time he imagines that, and Cas knows, so it's not a very well-kept secret — and no longer in touch with his parents (who turned out, unsurprisingly, to be assholes who cut him off when they found out Cas is gay. Well, pansexual, but they didn't really care about labels once they'd met Cas's boyfriend. Dean. Who likes to take some of the credit for his boyfriend's relatively new disowned status, even though it had mostly been Cas being a badass, and finally, finally standing up for himself.)

So one might say things turned out fine, and there's no reason to hold grudges, but if Cas wanted to, Dean would have a hundred percent declared it valid.

But that's where Cas came in. That's where who he was, came in. A thinker, a dreamer, but grounded enough to not hold onto the anger. Independent, but rarely reckless. Plus, aware enough to work hard and reap well, while at the same time, searching for reasons to find the good in things.

Dean loves him, and admires him. Admires his intelligence, and tenacity, and courage. But this had never happened before.

Dean may have been the initiator of most hugs, but that could usually be traced down to Cas's nonexistent social skills, and Dean's embarrassing dependency on touch, in lieu of words. This, was one of the most passionately Dean had seen Cas feel something, outside of love.

And it was rattling.

If being this way — this ideal everything; top of his class, tireless, always in control — was burning Cas out, it couldn't go on. Dean would take a less 'functional' Cas over the wrecked-sounding prodigy in his arms anyday.

And god knew Dean Winchester was far from perfect himself.

There was only one way ahead.

Dean holds on quietly, and a couple minutes pass. Clearly Cas needs it, seeing as how he dissolves more into Dean as the seconds pass, the frustration leaving him vacant and devoid of energy.

"Cas?"

Cas shifts in his arm, tenses a bit. "I'm sorry, I —" He starts, sounding too obviously disappointed for some reason, and Dean hates it.

"Dude." Dean cuts him off, somehow not cheerful, but still bright. It's always easier talking someone down like this, and Cas has always, strangely, drawn from Dean's moods. "You're going to apologize for needing a hug?"

Cas remains quiet.

They both know it was more than that. Cas has calmed considerably, but he wasn't himself before. Or he was. Now, he's almost normal — but it feels like he's being who he's normally supposed to be again, and that's not good.

"Also," Dean continues, undeterred by the lack of response. "That guy? Sounds like a real piece of work. Ever thought of cutting him off?"

"It doesn't work that way."

"Don't see why not."

"Dean —"

"So it won't happen in a day." Dean realizes Cas is shifting again, and a little uncertainly, lets him pull away. Thankfully, he stays in Dean's space, albeit carrying his weight on his own two feet. Dean doesn't know what to do with his hands anymore, so he takes Cas's in them. Cas lets him. "It'll take time, be a process and whatnot, and you'll have me with you, you'll have all our friends really. Plus, isn't college about experimenting?"

Cas makes a sound which sounds like a chuckle he couldn't exactly help, and Dean preens, encouraged by it.

"And it's not like I'm about to let you go try and play for the other side," He adds, lightly. "You're stuck with me. But this could be your adventure."

There's a more comfortable silence.

Cas breaks it this time, clearing his throat. "You don't think I'm too young for a midlife crisis?"

"Take it from someone who raised Sam fucking Winchester, babe. This is way more of a teenage crisis." Cas cringes visibly at that, but that just means it's working. "Breaking out of your barriers, discovering who you really are? Netflix's coming-of-age producers are coming for your twenty seven year old ass."

Cas shakes his head, grumbling at him, but he's already sounding more like himself, and Dean can work with this. "You're mean to me sometimes."

"You tackle me like a mascot scoring a touchdown-hug sometimes."

Cas snorts. "That hardly makes sense."

"Your face hardly makes sense." Dean wastes no time in hurtling the first response in his head, and it earns him a less reluctant laugh. The weariness in Cas's voice remains, but the upset is wearing off.

"Great comeback, wasn't that?"

"Your face is a great comeback." Dean informs him with a huff, as he leans in to kiss the smug look off his boyfriend's face. Cas meets him halfways, tilting his head, and sliding a hand up Dean's arm and shoulder until it's around his neck. His fingers stroke the short hairs at the back of Dean's head, and he tugs just the way Dean likes it, earning a full shudder from the latter as he pulls back breathlessly.

"Are you trying to distract me?" Dean accuses dramatically, hand on his heart.

Cas shrugs, pulling on a nonchalant look, and almost succeeding. "You were making my dilemma sound too solvable. A man is excused some defense mechanisms, isn't he?"

"Not when I'm making progress, sunshine." Dean throws back. "Just, hear me out, okay? You want to do this, you're going to be making changes. Doing things, and more importantly, giving up things that don't feel like you. It doesn't even have to be a big deal. Unless you want it to be. I mean, you're a sucker for planning, making lists, that sorta thing, right?"

The easy smile has started returning to Cas's features again, and he nods. A little. (As if he appreciates Dean's rambling, and because he's Cas, he probably does.)

"So that's where we start. Hell, I could buy you a binder. There's this stationary place Charlie does not shut up about, and they might have those huge, black, spiralbound binders. Which I figure you're secretly obsessed with, you know, since you're secretly a nerd." Dean reasons, satisfiedly.

"It's hardly a secret."

"Oh, it is." He beams. "And I, your awesome, hot boyfriend, am your cover."

Cas rolls his eyes with feeling, leaving Dean basking in a momentary sense of accomplishment. But it's not the time. And it may have been him rambling, but it's not about him.

"So," He raises his eyebrows. "What do you say?"

Cas draws in a breath. "I say," he swallows. "Yes. Okay, I mean. Yeah. You — you make it sound doable. Plausible, somehow." Cas bites his lip. "Come to think of it, I haven't thought of a particular something I want to change, and I know I'll probably rethink everything six more times, and I know you'll still be patient with me, even when I don't change what doesn't feel right, just because I'm too used to it, and truthfully, maybe it's too soon to be thinking of changes, and we should slow down, especially you, because you're wonderful, but I don't think I can change myself as efficiently — and I don't think we can, either. But I'm grateful, and I agree, and I want to change things as well, and I'd like a binder, really, and you —" Cas scrubs his face with a hand. "I just know, that I - I feel different."

Dean grins. "Yeah?"

Cas breathes in again, slower. On the exhale, he sighs. "I love you."

"That ain't exactly a 'different' anymore, babe." Dean reminds, and it's all the motivation Cas needed to wrap his arms around Dean again, and plant a firm, telling kiss on his lips.

"I know. But it's easier to say, and I know you understand."

"Yeah, I do."

Dean smiles, and Cas mirrors it, crinkled eyes and showing gums, and an uncharacteristic dampness in his eyes in spite of the breathtaking smile, and it's too damn beautiful a sight to not kiss again.

So Dean does, and Cas only smiles wider, more beautiful.

*

In around twelve minutes, Cas's alarm for six forty-five goes off, and he pulls back in a frenzy — as dazed as Dean from the makeout, but senses just enough present to realize he's going to be late for his lecture.

They figure it out though, like they figure out most things — Dean puts together a sandwich while Cas gets dressed, and later drives him to class in his Baby, since he's obviously missed the bus. Cas ends up only three minutes late, and it's a good thing Dr. Harvelle is in a good mood, because she at least pretends to believe their unbelievably trite excuse, delivered in Dean's most earnest voice. ("Traffic.")

Later that evening, when Dean's back from his shift at the autoshop — it helps pay bills, and he gets to add 'experience' under engineering on his resume — and Cas is back from the hospital, and they're piled on the couch in front of the TV watching reruns of Doctor Sexy, tangled in each other, Dean remembers something he's been meaning to ask since the moment he gave what happened that morning, some thought.

"Hey, babe." he begins, as a by-the-way. "What exactly happened this morning?"

"I believe I tackled you like a mascot scoring a touchdown-hug." Cas answers, in the straightest of voices because he's hilarious like that.

"Yeah, I mean — you did." Dean snorts at the callback. "But like, what triggered it?"

"Oh." Cas pauses. "I believe we ran out of shaving foam."

"Shaving foam." Dean repeats, incredulously.

"Yes." Cas doesn't even have the courtesy to grin, when Dean snickers. "And usually, we have a spare bottle. I — I tend to make sure of it. But I checked, and we didn't, and I was supposed to make sure we don't completely run out of these things, and I didn't, and I —" He shrugs. "I just hated that I forgot, so much, in that one minute of staring at the mirror, and I was agitated, until —" Dean blinks, and Cas affords a tiny smile. "I realized I couldn't do this anymore. I had a revelation, it would seem, at how pointless all of that self-loathing was, and how I've tired entirely of being that person."

"So you got mad that you got mad?"

"I — kind of. But it was mostly the shaving foam." Cas points out, now deadpanning on purpose because Dean can't hold back the laugh. Nobody in the universe could have an identity crisis over shaving foam except for Castiel fucking Novak, and Dean gets to live with this ridiculous sonuvabitch, the adorable fucker, and watch him get more unbelievably perfect by the day.

"Cas?" He lets out, still laughing. "Proud as I am of your moment of truth, and you deciding to go easy on your expectations of you and all that, can I just say something?"

"Of course." Cas responds, immediately.

"I think I like you better with the peach fuzz."

And so it's Cas's turn to burst into a laugh, and it's not like Dean's stopped anyways, so eventually it's just the both of them laughing through the evening, and laughing through dinner, still tangled in each other, still piled on the couch, and Doctor Sexy still playing in the background, because some things change, and other things don't, and some things won't, and that's that.

[painted-crow]

Snake vs Bird secondary?

This is a submission, so it's formatted a little differently. My line notes will look like this. Let me know if this is hard to read for anyone. -Paint

Just to get it out of the way, I'm a snake primary.

Secondaries:

The ones I'm not:

-I think badger secondary skillset is kind of cool, but rather than something that comes naturally it's something I'll occasionally make the conscious decisions to use, and the *value* set that goes with it is not me at all (use all the shortcuts! Minimize hard work as much as possible! Flit from project to project!)

Yep, not you. Cool beans. Might be a performance since you do turn it on? Up to you whether you care about that.

- occasionally, when trapped with no way out, I'll do a lion style "charge in". It feels like the desperate act of a feral animal, not my natural preferred style. Can't manage to make anything else work, charge in, worse thing that happens is we all die. Also re lion I do occasionally consciously fake it, like, I used to have a reputation as the blunt one who couldn't lie and despite being perfectly fine with lying I'd lean into it, having people think you don't lie is handy. I used to be the person appointed by unspoken group consensus to say the things that needed to be said but weren't socially acceptable, that kind of thing. But I'm not a lion primary (I honestly tend to feel slightly queasy reading lion descriptions, although I do have lions I admire)

Oh gosh, this bit is so Snakey. It's SO SNAKEY. Lol

(On the second pass, it almost seems like you're seeing others' opinions of you as a resource you can use...)

So now... Snake vs Bird secondary:

* I can't tell what the system is even talking about when it talks about collecting information because its useful or not. No, I don't waste my time on totally useless trivia.

It's less that you'd seek out random trivia, and more that some of your interests are maybe not super practical.

I was really into natural planted aquariums for a few years, and I thought they were really cool as an exercise in botany, chemistry, biology, aesthetics, and building a tiny ecosystem.

Is this knowledge ever going to be useful? Well, no, definitely not maybe some of the stuff I learned about what plants look like with various nutritional deficiencies...

Some Birds will focus entirely on their more impractical interests, others won't have any and their skills will all seem kind of utilitarian--but they will have picked them up out of interest, even if they really value their utility. I know a lot about computers and programming, and I picked that up partly because it's so useful, but I couldn't have gotten as far with it as I have if it didn't interest me.

On the other hand, I learn languages for fun, even if I don't have anyone around to use them on. Languages are just inherently useful. And I'm a writer, so like, pretty much everything is useful eventually, right?

I'm a writer too so I know what you're talking about, and this is a more solid justification than the example I gave above, but uh... this is a real good blanket rationalization xD

I read as much history as I can because it all goes into a big subconscious churn to make me have a better understanding of human nature.

This is very Birdy. I do something similar, but it's more psychology focused.

Does knowing why I pursue knowledge make it a model?

Nah. Knowing why they value something would just make a Bird value it more. Also, we're really likely to analyze why we like stuff, because analysis is kind of our jam.

If so, that's so deeply strange to me I guess I'm not a bird?

Right now I'm thinking you're a Snake with a strong Bird model. You seem reluctant to identify with it, whereas the Snakey traits you talked about in your "I'm not a Lion" section, you described with a kind of trickstery playfulness and I think you see them as more "you." With Bird you're almost defensive, like you're trying to assure me you're not boring and stuffy xD

But your Bird model seems strong. I think you'd be able to rely on it if your Snake ever Burned. That's a good thing.

* I never know what to answer on the "going in with plans" question of the quiz. I always have a few plans in advance, and they always have several blank spots marked "adjust based on what's happening". I can't imagine not having plans, it gives me anxiety, I can't imagine being too rigid about the plans, it gives me anxiety.

Yep, this still vibes as Snake with strong Bird model.

* I like to research and prepare in advance as much as possible. I was researching college majors when I was 12. I read all the choosing your career books, spent summers interning, and interviewed people about their jobs so I could feel safe choosing. I spent three years reading books and listening to podcasts about parenting before having my first kid so I'd know what I was doing (similarly, I spent years before marriage reading marriage therapy books and relationship skill books).

Oh hell, just @ me next time. This is more full of Bird shit than the windshield of a car that's been parked under a tree for the last 3 years.

And then, after doing as much research as possible, there's ALWAYS the moment when you have to say "screw it" and jump in blind as a bat anyway. That's just life. It's completely impossible in the actual moment to follow a plan, the plan always disintegrates at first contact with the "enemy" (but the process of making the plan, backup plan, and additional backup plan is important.)

There's that Snake again. I really wish I could do this. It'd be super useful.

It's starting to sound like your Snake is supporting your Bird rather than the other way around, which is surprising me. I was expecting you to start convincing me you were a Snake around about now, but you're doubling down on the Bird.

* there's a distinct feeling of 'turning on' my hyperawareness of my surroundings and ability to respond. Like, let's say I drift through life *highly* distracted by what's going on in my head.

Moooood.

But if I'm at a job interview, or giving a speech, or having an important social interaction, there's this sort of clear quiet feeling where I'm just trying to sense the room and respond on instinct. It sure feels like this might be what snake descriptions are describing, but it's only on sometimes.

That's how models work, or how they can work. I can see why you're confused.

* honestly reading snake description feels vaguely "aspirational" rather than "yeah, that's me" because I simply don't have confidence that I'm THAT good at grabbing opportunities or responding to chances. In the moment I can fatally hesitate for the crucial two seconds...

Also a model thing. You value it over your actual secondary, which explains why you want to identify with it more. I do this with my Badger model sometimes.

Actually, thinking about it, I essentially feel split. I feel I am both. I feel like my brain can be in plan mode or response mode. It cannot do both simultaneously, I need both modes, and I have no idea how I'm supposed to figure out which is one is my "type" ie more essentially "me". Response mode is more "natural", ie instinctive, when in use. Planning mode comes more easily, feels more comfortable, but of course that's because the inherent nature of planning mode is to happen in the safe spots, you don't plan mid-interview because that's when you're in "danger" and need to "respond".

You're taking your Bird for granted. A lot of people find planning REALLY stressful, and actually feel more comfortable in the moment. Or they like the slight feeling of danger.

Our society holds Bird up as "this is what intelligence looks like" and tells us we should all be that way. (It does this with Badger a lot too.) The result is that people who are good at it don't realize that it's not universal--and they think that seeing it as something particular to them is arrogant.

Effectively, it becomes invisible. We take it for granted and identify it by its weird quirks rather than its actual structure, which we've been taught is something everyone should be able to use easily.

Improvisational secondaries are going to feel more instinctive, almost by definition.

I don't know, I'm beginning to feel like I fundamentally don't grok either one or both of these secondaries and hence am so confused..

I think you're using Snake to support your Bird more than the other way around. You're more comfortable with Bird, and it's most of what you've focused on in writing this. So, after reading all of this, I think you're a Bird with a loud Snake model.

But if that doesn't jam well with you, you could just say "I have two secondaries." Traditional? No. But go ahead. If you feel like that's the truest description of you, then it probably is. Labels describe, they don't define. If it changes later, that's okay too.

Thanks for your question!

[getalittleclosey]

under 50k larry fic rec

hi! i’m becca and i read...so much fic. these rec lists are an accumulation of fic that i’ve read or reread and extra loved from 2016-now. there’s a wide range of stuff here and i think there’s definitely something for everyone!! i divided them up by length so you can check out all those categories below!

please make sure to read tags and warnings on all these fics!! the only things i think i can guarantee is that these are all larry, there’s no non-con, no age play, no eating disorders, no mentions of bg, they end happy, and they’re mostly aus. oh and they’re all on ao3 and some are locked so you’ll need an account! anyway i hope y’all enjoy!!!

under 5k

under 10k

under 25k

under 100k

100k+

☆ the beginning of everything by thedeathchamber 31k

“How do you take it?” Harry asked, pouring tea into a cup.

“Just a dash of milk, please,” Louis cast a look over the small table, filled to capacity. “They’re very fond of you.”

Harry ducked his head, grinning. “They’re trying to impress you.”

Louis smiled, shaking his head. “Why would they want to do that?” he asked as he took the cup Harry passed to him, their fingers brushing for an instant.

“Empathy,” Harry said under his breath.

--

A Belle Époque AU set (mostly) in Paris in which Harry is a struggling artist, in more ways than one, and Louis is a successful theatre critic and a failed writer, more or less.

☆ to kill the mess we’ve made by misandrogyny 43k

And when he's finally standing, Liam fussing over him, rubbing his hand at the red mark blooming on Harry's forehead, does Harry learn two things:

One, he wasn't actually hit that hard, and Tommo--or Louis, rather--is just as pretty when Harry is staring at him head-on and,

Two, Louis is the Adidas model he's going to be working with on today's photo shoot.

(or: AU where Harry and Louis are both models, and they decide being friends-with-benefits is a great idea. It isn't.)

☆ heart open, bloodstain on my sleeve by silkbombs (mulberrygrey) 36k

“I couldn’t help myself,” Harry admits, one hand coming to rub the back of his neck, “I stared at you for a good while before I finally got the guts to come up to you. You looked so pretty sitting there, with your little ankles and your pencil in your mouth, so enthralling… art in front of art.”

Louis’ not sure what to say, so he just kind of sits there, eyes bugging out as he stares at Harry.

“I mean, like you’re not an object!” Harry rushes out, babbling.

“I just, there’s something about you that’s so captivating, and maybe it’s the way your eyes are like a watercolor painting of the sea, or how delicate your hands look when you draw, but I just wanted to get to know you. It’s not like I pick up random boys at art museums usually, I swear. Not that I’m trying to pick you up! Unless you want to be…God, fuck I’m sorry this is so awkward now. I can go, um, if you want."

--- Or, the one where Harry's the long limbed, gangly, sweetheart who just happens be a high profile art thief who conducts heists for a living and Louis' the loud, pushy art student who just happens to steal his heart.

☆ a king beside you by stylinsoncity 26k

When the aliens invade, the last thing Louis expects is to fall in love.

☆ the boys of summer by afirethatcannotdie 45k

“I mean…we’re gonna have to sneak around anyway, yeah? Like, with that whole rules thing that I guess we’ve decided to ignore. Might make it a little more fun this way.”

AU. In which Louis is a reluctant sports coach, Harry's a fellow counselor who wears tiny yellow shorts, and camp rules say they're forbidden to date.

☆ don’t let the tide come and take me by kiwikero 29k

The aquarium in the lobby has been there as long as Louis can remember, and so has the merman inside. That is, until the day Louis loses his job and decides to set the creature free.

They set off on a road trip to the sea, learning to communicate more and more each day. Their destination is LA, but the closer they get and the more Louis gets to know the merman, the more he dreads having to say goodbye.

Or, the one where Louis decides to set a merman free and ends up finding his own freedom along the way.

☆ introduction to dynamics by juliusschmidt 29k

Louis Tomlinson is the outspoken omega in the 'Introduction to Dynamics' course Harry wishes he didn't have to take. He's nearly certain to present as a beta, after all. Things will be simple for him.

☆ saved tonight by objectlesson 31k

Harry is the world's most persistent seduction-baker, a questionable dog-sitter, and Louis's biggest fan. Louis hasn't written in years, is trying to pass loneliness off as cynicism, and absolutely hates his fans. It's probably destiny.

☆ once upon a dream by objectlesson 27k

“M’not gonna half-ass our fake relationship,” Louis almost snaps, voice sharp with a defensive edge, like Harry wandered too close to a bruise with needy fingers. “Now kiss me again. We’re gonna make every shitty tourist here wish they had stayed in the Midwest. We’re gonna burn Disneyland down with our gay. ”

Harry shuts his eyes and opens his mouth, because he can’t fucking say no to Louis.

--

Or, a fake dating AU where everyone is lying and they happen to be at the Happiest Place on Earth.

☆ rivers ‘til i reach you by embodied 29k

Louis can’t begin to understand how he’s always this close and still can’t manage to make Harry his. He stands up and gets another beer. AU. Louis studies astronomy; Harry studies Louis. They spend their summers on the water and it shouldn't be complicated (spoiler: it is).

☆ life was a song, you came along by rainbowninja167 38k

It's embarrassing how long it takes Louis to recognize his own song. Niall had sung it as a bright, hopeful love song, and that’s honestly how Louis had always assumed it should sound. But this new voice, slow and rough, stripped of any backing instrument, has infused the lyrics with just the tumultuous mix of fear and defiance that Louis can remember so clearly from the night he wrote them. It’s not a comfortable thing, to feel like someone is singing all your secrets back to you.

Louis is a songwriter trapped in a lie that could ruin his best friend's career. Harry owns a record store, distrusts everyone in the music industry on principle, but loves Niall Horan's newest album. A modern retelling of Singin' in the Rain.

☆ learning to eat by photo41 29k

Celebrity chef Louis Tomlinson has a problem. He’s opening his first restaurant in 9 weeks, and he has yet to hire a pastry chef- apparently people think he’s ‘standoffish’ and ‘rude’ and ‘quick to temper’. Whatever. He ends up saddled with an annoying, happy-go lucky rookie who also happens to be obnoxiously good looking. His tv presenter and pop star best friends only add to the drama, and for fucks sake would everyone please stop quoting Julia Child?!

Kitchen AU where Harry helps Louis re-learn how to eat. (METAPHORICALLY)

note: just to clarify this is NOT an eating disorder fic don’t worry

☆ runner on third by kikikryslee 40k

As Harry stood there, the other man turned around, and he knew he was correct in who he thought it was. “Louis?” he asked, still not quite believing it. Louis blinked. “Harry? Wh– what are you doing here?” “I work here,” Harry said. “What are you doing here?” “Um, I’m picking up my brother. The nurse called and said he was sick.” Harry felt like he was going to be sick. “Wait, Ernest is your brother? Since when do you have a brother?” “Since about seven years ago, I guess. Wait, how do you know Ernest?” “I’m his teacher.” “You’re his what?” Louis exclaimed. Harry gulped. This was going to be a long year. --- Or, the AU where Louis and Harry were best friends growing up, but lost touch after Harry moved away. Ten years later, Harry has moved back to town, but he and Louis don't pick up where they left off.

note: there are four fics in this series that total to 60k

☆ roots by cherrystreet 43k

There aren’t many things that make Harry Styles nervous. He’s spent the past couple of years on and off various stages, filled with screaming fans, all chanting his name, loud and adoring. He’s done countless interviews, some even on live, national television, never faltering over his words, answers meticulously planned out, smooth and steady. He’s signed countless autographs, taken just as many photos, and even when he sat in his label’s studio, waiting to see how high up on the charts his single made it, he didn’t feel uneasy or uncomfortable. It’s all been unbelievably fun. No, there aren’t many things that make Harry Styles nervous.

Enter Louis Tomlinson.

☆ once upon a dream by thedeathchamber 33k

Louis is psychic and gets caught in the middle of a murder investigation led by FBI Special Agent Harry Styles.

aka. the Medium/Criminal Minds-inspired AU no one ever asked for.

note: there’s a 24k sequel for this!

☆ the melody you never heard by bananasandboots 30k

It's one last adventure. One last chance to be young and carefree. One final weekend before they take up their internships, their corporate positions, before they enter the real world, fresh out of university. Niall's his best mate. Liam's been there for him since they were lost, little freshmen, trying to find their ways through an overwhelming first year. Harry can't disappoint them, even if it means enduring four days with Louis.

Louis, who he does share a history with, a history he's never told anyone about, not even Niall, a history he hasn't brought up in three years because it's stupid and embarrassing and confusing.

Or, the one where Harry gets roped into a four-day camping trip with the boy who kissed him and never called back.

☆ born to make you happy by objectlesson 26k

Harry makes a quiet vow to himself that he will be the very best girlfriend Louis has ever had, even if he never actually gets to be Louis’s girlfriend.

note: i literally had to take a break and reread this cause i love it so much

☆ close to nowhere by angelichl 35k

“I will kill you in your sleep,” Louis threatened as he quickly stepped out of his jeans.

“I don’t think that would work very well baby, seeing as you talk to dead people all the time.”

“I’ll kill you in your sleep and ignore your ghost. And don’t call me that.”

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting.

☆ adrenaline by reveries_passions 38k 

“Harry Styles,” Nameless Boy who now has a name says. Louis is too busy having an internal crisis to realize the boy has just introduced himself as Harry Styles. Harry Styles, only son of Des Styles, PhD, Dean of Harvard Medical School. Harry Styles, known by everyone and their grandmother. Harry Styles, star rower. Harry Styles, youngest enrolled student in graduate school at Harvard University. Oh my god, Louis thinks, mortified. I just slept with Harry Styles. As he reaches out tentatively to shake the boy’s hand, another thought hits him. Oh my god. Harry Styles is gay.

~

louis tomlinson, college dropout, up and coming dj, and gay activist, is the notorious owner of exclusive underground gay club, adrenaline.

harry styles, med student by day, partier by night, child prodigy and seemingly heterosexual son of harvard professors, is the youngest and arguably the smartest student at harvard medical school.

or: a one night stand wasn't supposed to become the greatest love story of the 21st century.

☆ bloodsport by tofiveohfive 40k

“You know how our next game is against the Cardinals, right? You remember how vicious those guys can get. I wanted us to come up with some plays, maybe work on a block from the left—”

Louis stops when he hears a chuckle.

He doesn’t think he’s said anything particularly funny, so he turns to Harry, waiting for an explanation.

“‘S funny, ‘s all.” Harry throws his finished bottle somewhere near the other discarded ones. “This is the first time you’re talking to me in eight months, and it’s still about football.”

☆ the haunting of louis tomlinson helloamhere 31k

“I'm not afraid of ghosts,” Louis said.

Every single magnet unstuck itself from the fridge and fell to the floor in a clattering cascade.

“I'm only a little afraid of ghosts,” Louis said.

*** OR: Louis is a plucky Gothic Heroine, Harry is a Mournful Spirit, and Big Country Houses are full of mystery and suspense, as Big Country Houses ever are!

☆ can i not like you for a while? by larryshares 43k

louis tomlinson is awful. harry is just as difficult, and they're both terrible to each other. it makes being in the same acapella group together quite complicated.

☆ delight in masques by kassio 28k

Popstar Louis Tomlinson has been pulling one over on the mortals for years. In the five years since he put on a human illusion and tried out for the X Factor, none of them have realised that he’s one of the Fair Folk – a cat shapeshifter, to be precise – and he’d like to keep it that way.

When he returns to the X Factor as a guest judge, the last thing he expects is for some half-Siren fool to use magic on the judges. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what Harry Styles does. Now Louis has to track down some rogue changeling before he exposes them all. Even worse? Apparently, Harry doesn’t even know what he is.

(An urban fantasy adventure, set in the world of - but not crossing over with - the October Daye book series. No need to be familiar with those books; I just want to give credit where it's due on a lot of the worldbuilding.)

☆ no love like your love by rearviewdreamer 43k

When it comes to saving the world from itself and convincing rich CEOs of environmentally harmful companies to go green, there's nobody better than Harry Styles. That is, until Louis Tomlinson, his ex and former Alpha, is involved.  

note: i love vegan harry styles

☆ for neither never nor ever by fairytalelights 29k

Then Harry looked down. A newspaper was on the steps in front of him, looking new, like it had only just gotten delivered but no one had bothered to carry it inside yet. That, in itself, wasn't unusual. The unusual thing was the headline, Chernobyl - Half a Year Later, and the date in the corner. 5th November 1986. He looked up to stare at the girl in the doorway one last time, before he did the only logical thing his body knew how to do in this situation. He bolted.

or, the one where Harry travels through time and has to come to terms with losing everything he's ever known. Louis might be the only thing that feels real.

☆ worth dying for by whoknows 45k

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. In the center of the table, a set of three glossy photos stares up at him, mocking him.

“A security detail is non-negotiable, Louis, you know this,” his mum reminds him, tapping the middle photo with two fingers.

Louis doesn’t look back down at the pictures, gesturing towards them wildly, over-dramatically. “This is not a security detail!” he protests. “This is a lanky college student. In what world do you hire someone like this kid to protect me?”

☆ listen to your heart by lovelarry10 35k

Are you kidding me right now?

I… No? Louis frowned, feeling angry now. It wasn’t fair, he knew that, but at the same time, he couldn’t help his feelings. It felt like this had been brewing for weeks, and this was it. Give it a rest, Harry.

Why are you such a brat? Why can’t you just be happy for me for once?

You think I want to hear about you kissing James? Really, H? There’s things I just don’t need to know, okay? I’m your best mate, not your fucking relationship advisor…

*****

Louis has always been comfortable being Harry’s one and only. When Harry starts to branch out, Louis has a hard time letting him go.

Harry is very lucky to have someone who listens to what he has to say, despite the fact that he’s deaf. He’s finally feeling like he’s coming into himself, but Louis seems bothered by his newfound confidence.

☆ another day gettin’ into trouble by whoknows 26k

Harry’s drunk when the idea occurs to him. He’s also a pop star, so sometimes his drunk ideas turn into actual things instead of just ideas. The clone-a-willy kit is one of them.

In Harry’s defense, when he first thinks about it his intention is just to buy the kit and give it to Louis to make his own dildo with, because that’s what he wants anyway, right? To have a penis filling him up?

Then he realizes that it would be weird if Louis made a copy of his own dick to fuck himself with. It’d be super weird. Louis fucking himself? That’s a weird idea. Harry’s pretty sure Louis wouldn’t like that.

Clearly the only solution here is to use his own dick for the mold.

☆ all the right moves by cherrystreet 32k

This is the third game in a row that Harry has been distracted by the noisy boy in the stands, five rows back.

There’s really no reason that he should feel compelled to stare into the audience as frequently as he is, but he can’t help it. This boy is a nuisance. And he’s loud. Even from basketball court with nine other players running by him, shoes squeaking on the shiny hardwood floor, and thousands of cheering college students, Harry can hear this boy nearly shrieking, his laugh more like a cackle than anything.

It’s seriously obnoxious.

☆ play the odds by alivingfire 26k

Harry and Louis are best friends since childhood who, after a night of drinking, find themselves locked in a bet: first one to kiss the other a thousand times wins. Wins what? They don't know. Glory, Harry supposes. Bragging rights, though those don't do much in this economy. All Harry knows is that this is one bet he can finally win. What he doesn't expect, though, is what happens when he starts kissing his best friend on a daily basis.

Namely, he doesn't expect falling head over heels in love with his best friend.

Now all he has to do is make sure the bet never ends, so he never has to stop kissing Louis.

[theawkwardterrier]

Beneath the Flap

Steggy Week 2k19, day 4 Prompt: AUs and crossovers

Summary: The serum doesn’t work out as planned. Steve gets a new role in the SSR.

AO3 link here.

With Dr. Erskine dead, no one can entirely explain why the serum worked, or why Steve woke up the next morning to find that it had entirely stopped working and left him just as he had been before. The vein in Colonel Phillips’ neck gets a worryingly energetic workout as he moves between yelling at Steve (again) for getting himself on the front page, and yelling at Howard for having created a single super soldier for about twelve hours and now not even that.

“What’s done,” Agent Carter says firmly from her place against the wall behind the desk, “is done. And I think, sir, that we all just need to move forward. We’re still meant to fly to London, I presume?” She doesn’t give Steve more than a casual glance, but he still appreciates her speaking up on his behalf.

“The three of us are,” Phillips says, moving on to a more businesslike crabbiness. “But now I don’t have many options for what to do with this one.”

Steve stands as straight as he can now that his scoliosis is back. “Sir, I’d like to reiterate my request to come to London with you.”

Phillips gives a snorting little laugh. “‘Reiterate your request.’ Son, I’d like to remind you that I turned you down yesterday during your fifteen minutes of being Charles Atlas. Now you’re back to being a shrimpy little thing who barely survived basic? I’m sorry, but the senator doesn’t want you on his plate, and neither do I. We’ll just have to see if the lab boys will still take you.”

Stark steps forward. “Actually, I’d like to keep looking at him. At this point, I’m the most familiar with the process. Maybe by figuring out what went wrong here, I can figure out how to get it working again.” Phillips still looks dubious, so he adds, “Might be able to make it more broadly applicable, get the whole program working like we had wanted.”

There’s a split second where Steve thinks the answer will be no, but then Phillips says gruffly, “Alright, pack your bags. But Stark, this had absolutely better not interfere with your other work.”

“It’ll be a side project,” Stark swears, raising a hand.

“And perhaps when Private Rogers is not being a test subject, we could find him some other duties,” adds Agent Carter, and while it’s phrased as a suggestion, it borders on an order. Phillips looks amused so briefly Steve isn’t entirely sure he saw right, but then points a finger at Agent Carter.

“You’re right, Agent. I suppose I can find him something else to take care of.”

“Like I said, most people are pretty good by now about keeping it clean,” says Private Allen, “but if you catch something…” She snips her scissors through the air over the shared square desk in their back office in demonstration.

Steve eyes his pair warily. Sure, he’s had his own mail censored, he knows that. But being the censor is different. Time of war, he reminds himself, and winces at what a slippery slope that is.

Once he gets started, though, he finds that it is pretty easy, just as Private Allen had said. Most of the folks detailed to the SSR know how to keep a secret, and the stuff they write to siblings or sweethearts or fellow soldiers is pedestrian - about the food, or how they're feeling, or the guy in the next bunk who talks in his sleep. Steve snorts reading through the half dozen letters Corporal Daniels has copied out exactly to different girls at different addresses, and rolls his eyes at the way Private Ellerby describes his duties to his mother with a sort of loftiness that is entirely unearned by the guy in charge of divvying out new boots.

He hasn't even touched his scissors, and hasn't entirely realized the morning has passed when Allen says, "One more each and then we'll go have some lunch?" and he agrees.

Dear Kitty, says the letter that he opens next

The weather isn't exactly welcoming, but it is nice to see familiar scenery again. I know things might wear for you a bit, seeing the inside of the same four walls most of the time, but it wears on me sometimes not to always know where I'm going to hang my hat from one night to the next.

(Not that I wear my uniform hat very often - it gives me a bit too much of a jaunty recruitment poster look - but you'll forgive a turn of phrase, I hope?)

Steve laughs a little, and Allen, not looking up from her own letter, asks, "Is that one of Patterson's? If he's trying to hint again about what he’s packing down below, I'll tell you that he's certainly exaggerating." Steve waves her off and continues.

Things haven't been going quite as smoothly as I'd wished - we lost an excellent man recently, and in some senses more - but we go on. I'll be travelling a bit and I'm not sure where, but I'm sure the service will do its best to make sure that your letters find me. I know that you enjoy a good chat more than sitting down to compose a letter, but I'll ask your favor in continuing to write. Since Michael— the writer censors herself, a thick black line drawn through whatever she had written next. Steve refrains from holding it up to the light to try to identify the words.

Hearing news from old friends always brings a smile to my face, and reminds me that we aren't fighting alone. And, of course, your care packages are always appreciated. The one you sent last time was a treat. The Body in the Library and a pair of your hoarded Dairy Milks were just what I needed - bless you, and twice again!

As for the issue we spoke about last time we were together, I'd ask that you remember to speak up. I know you think that you were brought on only because you are excellent at adding numbers together in your head, but I'll remind you that the skill is more than that and I wasn't the only one who noticed. Mr. G can certainly build a head of steam, but steam is simply the venting of heat and we’ll all be better off if you hold your ground, wait for it to dissipate, and make sure that he understands what you're saying. I appreciate knowing that people like you are helping us work through our problems, and I'll sleep even better at night if you would push through the stubbornness of others and allow your solutions to truly shine. You are brilliant, you've been right more often than nearly anyone, and if they aren't going to listen, you must make them.

I'll leave off my scolding here (I am still holding out for something sweet next time, after all) but remember that I'm thinking of you even through everything else. Speak out, Kit!

Much love,

Peggy

When he comes to the signature, something in him isn't surprised. It isn't that he and Agent Carter are best friends - little could be further from the truth - but the letter shows the tenacity and intelligence and subversive bits of humor that he has already noticed in her. The handwriting is clear and readable, although there's a bit of a patchwork quality to its composition, a smudging to the ink in some places, that makes him think that it was dashed off in odd moments, pieced together as she found the time, and that touches him too: the thought of her remembering to jot down advice and comfort to a friend even with everything he’s seen her taking care of. He notices the places where she'd done her job for him too - "the issue we spoke about last time," “Mr. G” - and his eyes move again to the thick black slash in the center of the page. There's still a place or two where he should probably do a bit of a snip (the reference to Erskine's death is on the borderline), but he decides to let it slide. Steve was chosen for this job, as much as Phillips had chosen him for anything, because he had knowledge of some of the SSR's most top secret work and would be able to pick up references to it. Someone without that knowledge, though, wouldn't understand what was truly being said.

Or at least that's what Steve tells himself as he slips the letter, whole and untouched, back into its envelope, marks it with his censor’s label, and places it in the box set aside for mailing.

"Time for lunch?" Allen asks, getting to her feet, and Steve, considering whether he’ll have time to eat and still run out to find a bookshop with Agatha Christie, agrees.

Kitty -

Just a brief note to wish you a happy birthday. Imagine me singing if you’d like, though I think we both know that it isn’t truly a strong point of mine.

Considering geography, weather, battle lines, the whims of fate, etc., I’m not entirely certain that this will reach you before your next birthday, but hopefully my gift will arrive in a timelier manner (it needs some more particular handling than a letter; you’ll understand my meaning when you receive it).

I hope everyone there is planning to celebrate you properly. And if they’re still reluctant to have a real party there after the one they threw for me and Fred, please pass on from me that I don’t actually consider what happened between us a tragedy and that things in fact are looking even better for me now than they were then - in more ways than one, actually.

I know it seems a bit defensive, but speaking honestly, Kit, I look back on the person I was then and it’s as if I only dreamed being her.

Anyway, you can pass on my official lifting of the curse, along with my greetings to everyone (except Noreen - we both know why). But many happy returns mostly to you, Kitty. I hope things look even better at this time next year for all of us.

Best, Peg

“So why did they pick you for this detail?” Steve asks as they sit at their traditional table in the mess.

“I’m usually in the secretarial pool,” says Rainy. Maybe it’s not professional and he should still be calling her Private Allen, but she’d told him her nickname and he figures they’re friends now. “It was in my file that I speak French, and after the last girl who did got married, they asked me to step in. You know that we can’t just pass through letters because there’s no one to understand them.” Steve is meant to be taking a similar role for the SSR’s secret and science-related assignments - last week he’d finally been given some heightened clearance, and several encyclopedias worth of classified files to read - but sometimes he wonders if assigning him the letters not actually written in English would be more effective.

Rainy pushes away her plate, the little leftover lump of stew, with its approximate meat and perhaps once potatoes, jiggling slightly. She examines her bread, crinkling her mouth, but butters it anyway. Steve doesn’t take any such issue. Meals here are served on time and in what he considers plentiful quantities. Plus the doctor who’d done his physical when he’d arrived had put him on some sort of extra milk ration in an attempt to “get some heft on these bones of yours” (and given him the glasses he’d known for years he’d needed and also known he couldn’t afford). Steve can still sometimes grasp the feeling of those hours of having been taller, broader, of not struggling to breathe, of having a straight spine and eyes that just worked. But even without all that magical science he had hoped would change things, being a little guy in the army he’s in some ways better off than he’s ever been.

“Everyone from secretarial who has the night off is going to the pictures after supper, if you want to come,” offers Rainy. “They want to see Mrs. Miniver, but I have the feeling I’ll end up crying. I’d much rather see Yankee Doodle Dandy, but I’ve been outvoted again.” She puts on a little pout, which makes Steve laugh.

“Getting your performance ready?” he asks, and Rainy sticks her tongue out at him.

“The girls are much harder to convince than boys ever were,” she reflects, sighing as she tosses hair that Steve can now see clearly is a bouncy and beautiful blonde wave. With the glasses to help him actually pick up on details, he itches for his sketchbook and pencils more than ever. Rainy really does have a fascinating face, beautiful if not classically so, brimming with confidence and a bit of mystery. He wonders if he could get her to sit for him.

“Steve, are you going to answer the question, or are you just going to stare?”

“Sorry.” He decides to ask her later, maybe after the film and the inevitable follow-up visit to a pub. “I’d love to come. Thanks for asking me.”

She stands to clear her dishes. “Well, everyone’s been wondering about you, so coming out tonight and meeting them might settle the questions.”

He knew that he stuck out among the staff here. The only surprise is that no one’s confronted him yet about how he’d gotten in. “So what’s everyone been saying?” He gulps down the last of his prescription milk and stands too.

“Top theory is that you’re the secret son of some higher up,” she tells him seriously, and he almost drops his tray.

“Which one?”

“Most people are split between Marshall and Nimitz, and there are some who are sure it’s actually Phillips, but I think Hap Arnold’s the best looking, so that’s where my money is.” She elbows him as they finish scraping and sorting their plates. “Want to give a pal the real story so I can get a jump on things?”

He shrugs, a little uncomfortable even as he’s amused by her matter-of-fact tone. “Someone took pity on me, I guess. Not a general though, and certainly not Phillips.”

There’s that theatrical nature again: Rainy looks disappointed only for a beat before she perks back up again, says, “We’ve got to come up with something better than that by tonight,” and starts proposing stories as they walk back to the censorship office.

Agent Carter is seated at a table by the back wall. For a second, Steve thinks he sees her eyes following him, and actually considers waving to her although they haven’t spoken since he’s been here. But then he blinks and she is just eating absently while paging through a file on the table in front of her.

Maybe the glasses just don’t work as well as he thought they did. He goes back to work, trying to forget the moment that he had apparently just imagined.

Steve starts saving her letters until the end of the day. He knows that it isn’t exactly professional of him, but he can't help but want to savor them. He tells himself it's alright - he doesn't give special treatment to all her letters, only those to Kit. The dutiful missives to her parents, those that go to the other relatives and acquaintances with whom she occasionally corresponds - they are all read and processed in the order he comes across them, just as he does with all the rest of his load. But when he comes across one addressed in her now-familiar handwriting to Katherine Moore, he tucks it aside, uses it as an incentive to get through another day of the work that wears and weighs on him more and more.

He is angry at himself, that all he wanted to do was make a real contribution to the war effort and here he is in the heart of it all and still it isn't enough for him. He is angrier that he has given up asking Phillips for more that it seems he will never receive. And he lies guiltily in his bunk at night thinking about how much he loves reading over Peggy's writing, hating that he thinks of her as Peggy now only because he's listened in on her talking to a friend. Sure, it's his job, and sure, she must know that someone would be doing it, but it doesn't give him the right to take so much joy in it. No one else would give them more than a cursory glance - they're perfectly ordinary letters on the face of it; whoever reads Kit's letters on the other end probably doesn't remember them by the time they're through - but Steve can't help it. When he forgets himself, he wonders what she is going to say the next time, what little turn of phrase will make him laugh, what observation will make him think, what detail she will reveal about her life that will only make him fall for her further.

Dear Kitty,

When I said that you should speak out, I had no idea that I would be encouraging you to do so against me. I am proud of you, however. Excellent preparation for the next time someone tries to speak over one of your ideas (and we both know there will come a next time).

You say that you're ashamed that I'm happier now during wartime than I would have been otherwise. Sometimes I'm ashamed at it myself. But then I remember that it is not my choice to make it better for many women in Britain now than it was when we were at peace. Yes, the franchise has been extended by a lordly and reluctant hand, but I'll remind you that it was through strenuous efforts on the parts of our mothers (well, not mine, perhaps) both in civil protest and in another time of war. Do you truly think you would have been allowed to learn higher maths, the advanced calculus over which I despair and in which you so revel, to truly exercise your brilliant mind, had the opportunity at B— (she's blacked out the name, although Steve has read enough of his classified files to insert "Bletchley Park"; he snips carefully to take out the redaction completely) not been opened to you? Do you think that I would have been allowed to show what I was truly made of in a world where women were meant to aspire only to a man, home, and family - and where a nice man, a fitting man, was neither required, nor encouraged in developing?

This war has devastated me, Kit. I've seen its ravages more closely than you can imagine and they terrify and sicken me, and make me even more determined. I am doing absolutely everything in my power to make sure it comes to as clean, fast, and righteous an end as can be hoped for at this point. But I would make myself a liar to my own mind and to you if I ignored the ways that it has given me things that I never would have had, showed me things I might not have discovered until too late otherwise.

I would trade my life for the war to be over. I would trade my life for it to never have started. But it has, it is here, and it has opened doors that would have remained firmly shut - and I know not only for me.

Peggy

P.S. Had a report from Hew that you're in high spirits, and that you were very thankful for the birthday gift - I will politely refrain from imagining how you might have showed your appreciation. Don't worry, it wasn't hard to have him reassigned to courier duty in line with your special day, and I’m sure I’ll have another urgent message to send along with him. Perhaps just around New Year’s?

“What are you sighing about?” Rainy asks, eyes almost crossing as she focuses on cutting out some single incriminating word inconsiderately placed in the exact center of the page.

Steve hadn’t even realized he had been sighing. “It’s nothing,” he says, thinking about how Peggy had so perfectly, so precisely and vehemently, expressed something he had felt himself and felt terrible for feeling, something he had never been quite sure how to say.

It made him feel a little less lonely. He wonders what she would say if he went up to her and said, “That strange and awful kind of lucky feeling? I understand it too.” Probably she wouldn’t say anything, just wonder who in the hell he was and get him shipped back home.

It might be worth it, though, just to see her in real life again, instead of the vague paper outline he has to conjure up every time he reads her words.

“Now I’m not calling this a solution,” Stark says as Steve buttons up his shirt and smiles at the nurse slipping out of the exam room. “But I’ll comfortably consider it a breakthrough.”

“A breakthrough that came totally by accident,” Steve points out.

“So did X-rays and the Toll House cookie.” Howard grins unconcernedly and claps his hands together. Steve’s been coming to see him every week or two for the last three months and he’s never looked this delighted with the progress. And it wasn’t even Howard who did anything: apparently a lab tech had brought one of the portable sun lamps which are so popular at headquarters over to his work station where he had a couple of vials of Steve’s blood.

“And you’re sure the ultraviolet in there caused some sort of reaction?” Steve asks.

“That’s the theory as of now. We’ll keep running isolation tests but,” Howard smacks a file gleefully against his palm, “the samples that were exposed to the UV look almost identical to the ones we had taken right after the procedure.”

“And you think you’ll really be able to get things back to how they were?”

For a minute, Howard looks more cautious. “I don’t want to get your hopes too far up, pal. It’s looking good, real good, but this really was Erskine’s baby and I’m just the understudy here. I don’t want to make any promises.”

“How much longer are you looking at for testing?”

“If it goes well, maybe another month and we’d be ready to try again. You still willing?”

Steve tries to give a simple nod, nothing overeager, nothing to jinx it. Last time had turned out to be too good to be true, but maybe this time… “Come find me when you’re ready.”

“Good enough.” The door opens, and Howard’s secretary enters. “Good to see you, sweetheart,” Howard tells her in that smarmy tone of his as she hands him a stack of papers to sign with a smile. He nods to Steve, who says, “Hi, Millie,” and sees himself out.

He’d told Rainy a couple of weeks back that he didn’t understand why girls like Millie put up with that kind of stuff from people like Howard or worse, and she’d just laughed and said, “Of course you don’t. The thing of it is, Steve, when this war finally gets done, most of us are going to have to go back to the way things were, which means that this is a perfect time to find a half decent husband. You have to keep smiling to keep the options open, even with the beasts around base.”

“Why would you want to settle for half decent?”

Her smile turned slightly brittle at the corners. “It’s not really about want, more about what’s going to have to happen. There aren’t as many nice men as you might think. I have standards - I keep my ear to the ground, so never anyone with a wife or a fiancee or a steady, and no one who’s given another girl a problem - but I have to jump on it, or I’ll be back home with a dud or everyone whispering about what I might have gotten up to with all these men here.”

Steve didn’t even feel overly affronted by the remark - he’d spent his whole life firmly in the dud category when it came to women, and at least Rainy was his friend - but something must have shown in his face because she’d pointed a finger and said, “You’re lucky I haven’t jumped you, honestly, but it’s pretty obvious that you’re taken, considering all the sighing and mooning you do when her letters come through here.”

“What do you—I’m not—I don’t moon.” But she was already grabbing a letter off her desk and staring at it with big dopey blinks, heaving her shoulders about and taking in huge, dramatic breaths, occasionally letting out a little ha-ha-ha chuckle. He guessed that it was probably a pretty decent impression of him reading one of Peggy’s letters, but he wished he wasn’t so obvious about it.

He’s not exactly being subtle now, but he never is on the way back from his appointments with Howard. He doesn’t get many other opportunities to wander around with his eyes casually peeled - usually he’s meant to either be working, at chow, or in his bunk, not moving through the more essential and top-secret SSR areas where people like Howard and Phillips and Agent Carter do their work.

He’s distracted from thoughts of getting a glimpse of her when he comes across the huge map that dominates the tactical room. He tries to just peep from the corners of his eyes as he strolls through, but even with his new glasses he can’t see quite that well. Then again, no one’s around at the moment, the last of the SSR personnel striding out with a stack of folders and not even a glance at Steve. He takes advantage, placing his hands at the edge of the massive model as his gaze sweeps over the little markers that represent troops and bases. He frowns, and not only because those little wooden figures are too insignificant for what they’re meant to stand in for: Bucky and his friends, people who Steve grew up with, millions of exhausted and foolish and jubilant soldiers, each with their own past and future. How can a war ever end when all the people fighting it are reduced to game pieces? How can a war ever end when the people in charge are overlooking something so major?

“That’s not right,” he mutters to himself.

“What isn’t right, Private?”

He spins, not quite believing that she is here, that he didn’t sense her behind him or at least hear her heels approaching.

“Your map’s wrong,” he blurts, thinking of the way Bucky would cover his face in embarrassment because even after all that tutelage Steve still couldn’t get a simple sentence out to impress a lady.

Her mouth twitches upward, just the left side, and she lifts a meaningful brow at him. “I did well at geography and I’m fairly certain that we’ve labeled everything correctly.”

“It’s not that.” He gestures to the Alps between Italy and Austria. “Why isn’t there a fortress marked there?”

“Why should there be?”

She is studying him intently now and he stumbles a bit with his words before getting back on track. “You’ve got a half dozen units which have encountered Hydra troops in a pretty small area and a short time span. They have to be coming from somewhere, and I’d say the likeliest place given the information is about here.”

“I’ve been informed by experts in six different disciplines that it’s absolutely impossible for someone to build anything there because of the bloody great mountains on either side. And until we can get further aerial surveillance of the site, it’s known around here as Agent Carter’s magical base theory,” she says with a wry bit of challenge in her eye. He just shrugs.

“I don’t know about magic, but I do know that logic dictates an enemy base around that location. And besides, isn’t this a rogue Nazi science operation we’re talking about? Maybe they could come up with a way around the problem of...what was that? ‘Bloody great mountains?’”

"Cheeky," she says quietly, but she's smiling as she does, and the affection in her tone startles him and turns something sour in his belly. Because she's here talking to him as an equal without knowing that he's been peering into her private thoughts, mulling over and coveting them in a way he doesn't with anyone else's feelings. If she knew that, she would probably never look at him with politeness much less friendliness.

"I should get back," he says abruptly, and he shoves his hands into his uniform pockets and finds the first exit he can.

Kit!

The news came through the grapevine before Hew arrived back - I should have known that soldiers would be such massive gossips, but honestly - which is how I've gotten this letter out in the early post.

Congratulations to the both of you. I know you have that lovely rose-covered church back home that will make the perfect spot for the ceremony - even if you decide on a winter wedding, everything will look absolutely picturesque all draped in snow. And while Hew might argue for Edinburgh, I do encourage you - as always - to put your foot down. Although goodness knows you would merely have to think about a trinket you saw on holiday as a child and the man would already be crawling on his knees over the ocean to fetch it for you. He really is a darling where you're concerned, and I say you couldn't be luckier.

I certainly have no wish to intrude on your happiness, but you did ask about my own romantic prospects, and I'm afraid to report that they're a bit stalled at the moment. (I don't wish to ruin things further, but "grim" might be putting it better, if I'm to be frank.) I wasn't actively seeking a single thing in that area, and I think you’re well aware how thin on the ground suitable prospects are, especially someone who would find me suitable in return. (If Fred was frightened off by a bit of light introductory work, he would barely give me the time of day in my current position.)

But then the man I’ve been writing about came across my path and I could suddenly think of little else. Do you recall the letter your sister sent years back describing the Ideal Man, the one we all laughed over that night until we couldn't breathe? I know it’s a silly old thing, but I keep thinking to myself that he ticks each box: kindness and compassion, intelligence, respect for who I am and what I stand for, looks (it must be mentioned), and that special something that works its magic on you in particular...Things are a bit sticky, given our relative positions, and he seems rather dense about the whole thing, but those factors could be overcome. We had a conversation recently that made me think he thought of me in the same way. However, it ended with a definite rejection, and I have seen him many times in close company with a woman, so I wonder if he is perhaps very privately spoken for. I'm nearly ready to give up, if you'd like the truth.

I know. You're the romantic of the two of us, Kitty, and I can practically hear you telling me to seize the day and not rest until I've properly done the job.

I suppose that attitude is why you are the once announcing an engagement and I'm the one moping over people who don't seem to notice a thing.

I'll take the advice, if I can. After all, I would never want to upset the bride before her nuptials.

All my love and best wishes,

Peggy

Well, Steve thinks, swallowing hard as he sets the letter down. That's that. She's had her eye on someone else this entire time and he was a fool to think he ever had a chance. This man is a fool, too, for not seeing the chance he has.

He still finds a smile for Kit: he's never met her, never even read one of her letters, but Peggy's warmth for her has sparked the same within himself. He hopes that she and Hew are happy, that they both make it through and have a chance at a life together.

"Take a walk, Rogers," Rainy tells him kindly. "You're going to fog up the windows with all your sighing, and it's still first thing in the morning."

"No," Steve says, biting down on the wave of sadness inside of himself. Even the letters, illicit as they were, aren't safe anymore. "I can work." He’ll have to get used to it sooner or later.

He starts looking out for the man who has Peggy’s heart. He doesn’t even notice he’s doing it until he catches himself staring with furrowed brow at a letter from Corporal Lewis, who he thinks he’s seen talking to her a couple of times. He tries to recall whether he’d noticed between them that particular magic she’d mentioned. He imagines he’d know what it looks like: it’s what he’s felt looking at her, all the way back to Camp Lehigh. With a precision that surprises him, he can recall the quiet amusement, the perfect red upturn of her mouth as she’d smiled at him when he’d climbed into the back of her jeep. The memory of it still makes him smile now, even as he knows that it’s the sort of thing that will have to keep him going from now on.

“Private Rogers.”

He snaps to attention, dropping the letter and saluting from the crisp, commanding tone even before he quite registers who’s addressing him.

“Agent Carter.” He flounders for a minute. “This is Rainy. Private Lorraine. Private Allen, I mean.”

“Private.” Peggy nods at her, but Rainy is too busy letting her eyebrows climb into her hair and mouthing “Is that her?!” at Steve as he tries to subtly wave her off. Unbelievable that he once thought her sophisticated and composed.

“Perhaps we might speak in the corridor? I wouldn’t want to distract Private Allen from her work.”

Steve can practically feel Rainy’s wide eyes on his back as he holds the door for Agent Carter and follows her out into the hallway. He expects that his friend will have her thumbscrews waiting when he comes back.

“Rainy would have let you distract her all day,” he says, trying for a laugh as they find a quiet place around the corner, but Peggy only presses her lips together and says, “Indeed.”

After a space of silence, still waiting for her to speak, he suddenly has an inkling of why he’s been called out here. She’s smart, Agent Carter, and she’s somehow figured out that reading her letters is the best part of any given day, that he sometimes reads them through two or three times before sending them on. She’s probably letting him stew in it, waiting for him to confess. “Was there something you wanted to speak with me about?” he asks through the clenching of his lungs and throat. He stands very straight even as a thread of sweat slides slowly between his uniformed shoulder blades.

“I did.” She gathers something within herself and starts, “Steve—” before he cuts her off.

“Yes, I’ve been reading your letters,” he blurts, barely registering the use of his first name. “It’s my job, but just doing your job is no excuse, and it certainly doesn’t let me off the hook for the way I read them. So I understand if you won’t ever trust me, but I just wanted us to both know.” He lets the last of his breath go as he trails off and faces her like a firing squad.

“Of course you’ve been reading my letters,” she says with what he thinks is a little smile on her face. “All of the higher level SSR correspondence is distributed to you.”

“You knew?” It feels as if he’s six steps behind and he doesn’t quite know how to make his brain catch up.

“Yes. Just as I know that you aren’t particularly good at the job. Agnes who empties your wastepaper basket says that the others in the department are full while you barely ever seem to have anything thrown away.”

“People don’t speak out of turn too often,” he says uncomfortably, but then adds with a bit more fire, “And there’s also the little matter of free speech, unless we just decided to hell with the whole Constitution around the same time we locked up all the Japanese folks.”

“Not quite,” and she’s certainly smiling now, eyes softened at the corners. “It sounds, however, as if you aren’t entirely satisfied in your current position. I was wondering whether we might put your skills to better use elsewhere.” She holds up a file folder he hadn’t even noticed before and flips it open to show far off shots of snow and dirt and trees and an incongruous steel fortress. “The surveillance flights came back. The Hydra base in the Alps is no longer simply my pet theory.”

He can’t help the way his voice picks up, turns serious and strangely professional, as if he’s really part of it all. “So you’re formulating an attack plan?”

“We have something in the works,” she says briefly. “And I actually— Well, I was here to offer you a chance to be involved.”

“In strategy? With you?”

“It would be nice,” she says slowly, “to work with someone with a mind of his own. Someone who can listen.”

Steve’s instinct is to glance around to make sure there’s no one else there she could be referring to. He smothers it, but ends up pointing stupidly to his own chest, which isn’t much better. “Are you sure—Do you really mean me?”

“Who would I be speaking of otherwise?” She tilts her head at him, a bit of hesitance to the motion. That’s not like Peggy, he thinks, and it’s so strange that he knows that she is cautious only in a tactical way when this is one of a bare handful of conversations between them. “Steve, you have been reading my letters, haven’t you? Even the most recent ones?”

A disbelieving little snort escapes him. “You can go back and ask Rainy that question and she’ll laugh herself sick.”

“Is she—Are you...in a relationship?”

“No,” he says in careful confusion, and then adds recklessly, “She says she wouldn’t even take a chance on a guy as hung up as I am on...someone else.”

He remembers the way that remade body of his had reacted, careening around corners, rushing too fast for control. That’s how he feels now, on an edge too rapidly, recklessly, approached. He’d always accepted that he wasn’t exactly a catch for any girl, no matter what Bucky had insisted, and he’d made himself stop caring about it all, given up reaching. Except for now, apparently. Except for her.

She says, “If you’ve read the letters, why would you assume I meant anyone else? Unless—” and something is dawning on him, terrifying and bright and impossible: the idea that she is reaching back.

“Why wouldn’t you just say something?” It’s bewildering to even ask the question, to even be entertaining the possibility that this is what she meant, but she acts as if it isn’t.

“I thought I was, after a fashion,” and he thinks he sees a bit of a blush rising in her cheeks. “Apparently I hadn’t taken into account your obtuseness.”

“And you still want someone that obtuse on your team?” The words contain too much yearning hope for them to simply be about a new army assignment.

“A little obtuseness can be charming, under the correct circumstances,” she says, and he hadn’t noticed that they were so close until a door slams down the hall and they shift apart as if they’re being chaperoned.

“Why don’t we say you report to me at 0800 tomorrow?” She folds the file against her chest with one arm. He has a sudden, delightful image of Peggy as she would have been at school. “I’ll have you officially reassigned by then.”

He nods. “Rainy’s going to be furious. She says it took long enough to break me in, she’s not going to be pleased to have to do it to someone else.”

“Yes, well, I think it’s someone else’s turn to break you in.” Even with her bland, businesslike tone, he feels the tips of his ears glowing from the insinuation.

“Just so I’m aware, how does—” He clears his throat. “How does Colonel Phillips feel about his people becoming...friendly under his watch?”

“Oh, he takes it about as well as you’d expect,” she says casually. “If he finds out about it.”

“Then I guess I’m lucky to have a crack SSR agent on my side.”

Her eyes meet his, and he sees his foolish grin echoed in hers for the moment she allows it. Watching her tuck it away and become professional again only makes him smile wider.

“I’ll see you in a timely manner tomorrow, Private, or I’ll be sending you a strongly worded letter.”

“That doesn’t give me much incentive,” he tells her honestly. “I’d love any kind of letter of my own from you.”

A week later he gets back to his bunk and finds an envelope tucked beneath the blanket addressed in familiar handwriting. He doesn’t even know how she got it there - he’d just left her after a strategy session and her announcement that they would be traveling to visit troops on the continent - but he sits and tears it open before he can think of anything else.

Dear Steve...

[anistarrose]

Stan and Ford Vs. The Future - Chapter 2

Summary: One fateful night soon after returning to Gravity Falls, Ford is unexpectedly confronted with memories from a lifetime ago.

Warnings: implied references to past child abuse

The Beginning

Thank you for the great response on Chapter 1! I started this fic completely on a whim, but once I saw how much people were enjoying it, I knew I was going to continue it! Hope this update doesn’t disappoint!

I guess I’ll also count this as a submission for @forduary!

Ford is ransacking all the basement’s shelves and drawers and nooks and crannies in a seemingly futile search for his old magnet guns — Stan told him they were down here somewhere, but apparently couldn’t be bothered to elaborate — when he finds the box. It’s old, the cardboard practically decaying, and he’s honestly surprised he’s able to get it out of the closet without the whole thing falling apart in his hands, but there’s also something about it that feels indescribably familiar. It takes him a moment to realize that it’s because of the scrawled cursive label — Stanley and Stanford, 1961-1963 — that’s written in his mother’s handwriting.

He rifles through the contents: two reels of film, four photo albums. A comic book so old and well-read that the images are beginning to fade away entirely. Sheets of piano music, showing the notes to a familiar song, simple enough to be played by beginners but complex enough to be catchy. Notebooks filled from margin to margin with doodles of strange and wondrous creatures, dragons and cryptids and dinosaurs and aliens.

Ford recognizes everything, but while he remembers bringing some of it first to college and then out to Gravity Falls himself, there are other things — three of the four photo albums, the comic books, the piano music — that he hasn’t seen since… well, since 1963.

Ford has always thought he was the overly sentimental one, but here Stan is, not just holding on to his collection of keepsakes but adding to it.

Stan only would have had a chance to go home and pick up all of this when he was pretending to be you, a resentful whisper in the back of Ford’s head reminds him, but it’s far from the loudest voice, far from the loudest emotion. He picks up one of the photo albums, one that he doesn’t remember ever seeing outside of Glass Shard Beach, and steps into the elevator.

He hopes Stan is still awake, because the two of them need to talk. He’s not quite sure about what, but… they really need to. His grip tightens on the old album as he rises towards the ground floor, and for neither the first nor the last time in his life, he finds himself wondering what other paths he could have taken away from Glass Shard Beach, where the other diverging roads might have led him —

Over the whirr of the elevator, he first hears Stan’s tour-giving voice, and then two other ones — young, but not Dipper and Mabel’s, and out-of-place, but not unfamiliar. He steps out from behind the vending machine and into the gift shop, and the album falls from his hands.

Its spine strikes the floor first, and it falls open to a page with just one picture: two twin boys caught in a candid photo, staring at the camera with identical looks of surprise and confusion. Just a few feet away, the exact same boys stand before Ford, eyes wide and mouths agape like the picture come to life.

Behind them, Stanley grimaces and raises his hands in a gesture that can’t quite make up its mind between apologetic and defensive. “Okay, I know things look weird, but I promise I can… I can kinda explain? So, I was just minding my own business when —”

“Get away from them!” Ford barks. “Now!”

“What?” both Stanleys ask in unison. The young Stanford doesn’t say a word — just stares at Ford’s fingers, as his own reflexively curl into trembling fists at his side. It’s so easy to visualise the wheels turning in his head, the wheels that are shaking and locking up, like the system has been presented with an input it’s not designed to handle.

Ford points at the young twins, and then jabs his finger towards the space behind the gift shop counter. “Kids! Get behind there!”

The boys stare at him, unmoving.

“Now!” Ford barks, and with that, both of them do as they’re told. But young Stanley’s eyes flash with a look of fear for a moment, and Ford’s stomach churns with guilt.

“Stanford, what the hell?” Stan yells, apparently abandoning any sort of secrecy he might have been maintaining on the kids’ behalf. “What are you doing?”

“They’re from a parallel timeline! If either of us touches our counterpart, our dimension will completely collapse in on itself and disintegrate, with us and billions of other lives inside!”

Ford can feel the pounding of his own heart, and he’s not sure whether it’s the adrenaline, or that other drug of the body’s own producing — the sentimentality. “You should have told me about this immediately! What were you doing up here with them, giving them a tour? You could have ended the entire —”

“E-excuse me,” a quiet voice begins, and Ford turns away from Stan to see a small, owl-like pair of eyes peering up from behind the cash register. “But, Stan and… uh, my Stan and your Stan high-fived a couple minutes ago, and nothing happened. The universe didn’t disintegrate.”

“Yeah, we did,” young Stanley adds. He seems reluctant to make eye contact with Ford, and his voice has a slight nervous tremor to it — but Stanley’s never been the type to stand back and leave his brother on his own. “When he said Ford would be the first to die in a horror movie. I thought it was funny, so we high-fived —”

He finally looks up, and stares at older Ford with a resigned guilt in his eyes — just like how he’d look at Filbrick whenever he’d gotten into so much trouble that he knew no apology would be enough to avoid being punished.

“I — I didn’t know he was me then,” young Stanley stammers. “I didn’t know about — about dimensions, or parallel anythings, or… or… I’m sorry, Ford! I wasn’t trying to destroy the world, I promise!” There are tears in his eyes now, and young Stanford has one arm reached out towards his brother, but he’s frozen in place, as if paralyzed by indecision. Older Stan, for his part, is making a point of looking in the complete opposite direction, but his trembling, clenched fists betray everything one needs to know about his feelings.

And older Ford… he does one of the dumbest things he’s ever done in his life. He steps towards the counter, towards the children that could easily destroy the world alongside him and his brother, and places a completely bare, exposed hand on young Stan’s shoulder.

“I know,” he whispers, and all his emotions from when he found the box of keepsakes come rushing back, channeling across time and space and dimensions and reaching one Stanley Pines, but not the Stanley he’d thought he might be reconciling with tonight.

“I’m not mad at you, Stan. I promise.” That’s not entirely true for the older Stan, though a part of Ford honestly wishes more than anything that it could be, but he’s not going to say as much to this poor child, not now. “I shouldn’t have yelled like that. I’m sorry.”

He steps away from the kids, and finally, finally thinks to put on a pair of gloves. He’s afraid to look behind him and see how the older Stan has responded, so he instead awkwardly begins to speak again after a pause.

“But, I… I’m still a bit confused about this whole situation. By all accounts, our dimension shouldn’t have survived that high-five.”

“Maybe we just… traveled through time normally, instead of to another dimension?” young Ford suggests. “And like, we haven’t messed up anything yet that would make us diverge from your timeline?”

“That would explain it,” Ford replies, “if Stan and I had memories of this incident. But while I can only speak for myself, I’m fairly certain I don’t remember anything like this…”

“Time travel, man,” young Stanley mutters, “why you gotta be so complicated…”

“Remember,” Ford repeats to himself. “Oh, of course! That’s it! We have the memory gun!”

“What?” both of the boys ask in unison, just as the older Stan whirls around.

“What the hell kind of idea is that, Sixer?! Are you seriously about to wipe our own minds?”

“I’m just trying to protect us all, you idiot! If we don’t wipe their minds and return them to their own time, they’ll cease being us and become just different enough to destroy the world, in all likelihood! I’ve been dealing with more than enough chances of apocalypse since you reactivated the portal, thank you very much!”

“Oh, and remind me who it was who built that portal in the first place?”

“I told you not to restart it! It was your foolishness, your recklessness, that only exacerbated it all!”

“My recklessness? That’s rich coming from you! I can’t believe I ever thought you would thank me for saving your damn life, when here you are, acting like I’m the —”

Ford has no doubt that Stan is about to unleash some particularly scathing and profanity laced rant without any regard for the children present, but before he can, he’s interrupted by a sudden clattering noise. It takes a moment for either of them to realize that it’s the sound of the gift shop door slamming shut.

“Oh no,” Stan whispers as Ford turns to look behind the counter, and finds the space completely empty.

“Kids?!” he yells. “Kids, come back! I didn’t mean —”

They both rush outside, Ford activating the flashlight on his watch and scanning the surrounding field, but the younger twins are nowhere to be seen.

***

“I’m so sorry,” young Ford tells his brother. “I don’t know what I… what older me was thinking! I’d never wipe your mind!”

The decision to leave had been unanimous and unspoken, and was made the second the older twins had begun to argue again, voices dripping with a lifetime’s worth of unfamiliar bitterness and frustration and hostility. A lot can change in fifty years, but…

But they hadn’t sounded like twins. They’d sounded like strangers, who didn’t understand what the other had become — who didn’t even want to understand, maybe. They hadn’t sounded like Stan and Ford.

“That wasn’t you,” Stan declares with a certainty Ford wishes he could share. “You don’t really think we’ll end up like them, do you? There isn’t anything in the world that could make us like — like that.”

They’re sitting on the forest floor now, backs up against trees. Ford holds the broken time tape in his hands, turning it over and over and over, like eventually it’ll somehow whisk them away again — off to some alternate future where two brothers travel the world together, just as they always thought they would, just as it should be.

“I don’t want to think that’s how we’ll end up,” Ford murmurs. “But how else do you explain everything we just saw?”

“Easy, we musta just messed up the timeline or something! That happens in your nerd stories all the time, doesn’t it?”

Ford sighs. “Even if this wasn’t supposed to happen… how do we fix it?”

Stan starts to reply, but he’s cut off by an older and gruffer voice calling out from deep within the woods: “Kids? Are you there? Look, I know Ford and I said some things we — some things I regret, but you’ve gotta come back!”

From the opposite direction of the older Stanley’s voice, Ford sees the beam of a flashlight hovering between the trees like a ghost.

“Please, kids… I know how I sounded, and I don’t blame you for running away, but I just want to keep you safe, I promise…”

Stan stays still, but his wide and worried eyes make contact with Ford’s, and even in the dying evening light the message is clear: What do we do now?

Ford doesn’t have an answer, but even if he did, he wouldn’t have a chance to share it, because it’s at that moment that it feels like all hell is breaking loose.

First it’s a flash of brilliant blue-white light in the quickly falling darkness that blinds him, and then it’s the sudden clap of an explosion in the eerily peaceful forest that deafens him. He feels a hand on his shoulder, and for a moment he’s afraid he’s somehow brought about the apocalypse that his older self warned of, but the voice that speaks from behind him as he’s lifted into the air is unfamiliar.

“Time Paradox Avoidance Enforcement Squadron! Nobody move!” it barks, and then in a slightly lower voice, it adds: “You four are in a heap of trouble.”

***

Wr ila wkhlu zurqjv, wzr wlphv pxvw fodvk Zkr zloo zlq, wkh ixwxuh ru sdvw?

Thanks for reading, reblogs/feedback are appreciated as always! I have a decent idea of where I want to take this, and barring anything unexpected it should wrap up in one or two more chapters.

[trisockatops]

Teens are getting queerer. According to a recent trend-forecasting report by J. Walter Thompson Innovation Group, 13- to 20-year-olds (known as Generation Z) are even more sexually fluid than millennials—while 65 percent of millennials identify as exclusively heterosexual, only 48 percent of Generation Z does. The "trend" is unsurprising—increased legal protection, social acceptance, and media visibility of the LGBTQ community have afforded more opportunities for queer people to love in the open. That being said, according to the National Coalition of Anti-Violence Programs, a national advocacy group for local LGBTQ communities, 2016 was the deadliest year on record for LGBTQ folks, and that's not counting the 49 victims of the Pulse nightclub massacre.

As the purview of queerness expands and the need for political solidarity and resistance against LGBTQ violence becomes all the more necessary, how can we think critically and compassionately about desire, identity, and labels? I talked to Suzy Exposito, Ales Kot, McKenzie Wark, Whitney Mallet, Davey Davis, and Javier Nunez Cespedes, a group of individuals who deal with issues of identity in their personal and professional lives, about love with or without labels.

Ana Cecilia Alvarez: What's your relationship to questions of desire and identity?

Suzy: I am a bisexual woman in a long-term relationship with a bisexual man. At this point in my life, I refuse to date straight people. In my experience, they just don't understand certain fundamental things about my friends and me. That said, I could generally say the same about monosexual people. I have been on dates with cis lesbians and felt a similar lack of common ground. Because I wouldn't "pick a side," my sexual identity was always in flux to them and not to be trusted. I don't think my sexual orientation is in flux at all!

Ales: Before people used the word "queer" to describe me, they called me "weird." But when I moved to Prague and lived on my own for the first time, I slept with girls and boys, and had threesomes and group sex. I realized that people would have these impositions on what it means to be queer for them. I didn't want to narrow it down too much. If someone asked, I'd tell them I'm bisexual. Of course, I could see many people judging the shit out of me. But, even though I pass as a straight dude, the fact of the matter is that I am a fluid sex monster.

McKenzie: I am somebody who passes for a straight person. I am reluctant to be a spokesperson for queerness because I get to avoid all of the difficulties that are involved in that. I don't advertise, but if people ask, I'll them that I've had sex with men, and I will again.

Javier: I'm a transgender mixed-race Latino who identifies as bisexual. I like to joke that I've identified with literally every letter in LGBTQ at some point.

Ana: Has identifying—or not—as queer resolved anything for you? Or how has it complicated things?

Javier: Part of the beauty of "queer" is that it doesn't have a real definition and that it's open-ended, but that also can be a major drawback to it. By not having a concrete definition, people can use it any way they want, and it can and definitely has been co-opted. Also "queer" doesn't really say anything about someone's sexuality. When someone tells me they identify as either gay, lesbian, or bisexual, I have a better idea of who they date. To me, "queer" has always had radical anti-oppression trans-inclusive meaning behind it, but it's clearly not the definition everyone uses.

Whitney: I guess I would reluctantly identify as queer. I don't think of queer as an essentialist identity. It's about identifying with certain politics. It is a decision of what community I want to call my community. People still ask me if I am gay or straight. Sometimes I think, maybe it's on the way, maybe by the time I'm 30 I'll be gay. Or I'll always be slutty. In life, we're always becoming, so it's fine.

Davey: The amazing thing about being able to come out and find a name for yourself as a queer person is that you feel like you fought for it. My partner and I have both had family members who completely rejected us. So it's this thing that I've fought for, it's my identity, it's who I am—you get defensive and protective with it. And so I can see people's kneejerk reaction, Oh, are they really [queer]?The more compassionate me, and the part of me that has been in that position, knows that's bullshit, to be like, Oh, they're not really [queer]. And as much as we fought for our identities, at the same time, identity is fluid, and fluidity is challenging for most people. Even if you are gender fluid or your sexuality is fluid, labels are, by definition, rigid.

Ana: To me, labels seem imperfect, at times flattening, but politically necessary. Sometimes we need solidarity and shared identities. What do you think?

McKenzie: It's crucial to remember that there are a lot of men who sleep with other men that do not think they are gay. They aren't in the closet or in denial. They just have different categories. Some people don't think having sex with men is an identity. It's an act, and you might have other acts you do and other identities.

Davey: When I had just come out, I had an instinct to taxonomize: "I am a femme boy." But I've moved away from that because I've lived in the world long enough as a gender-nonconforming woman that visibility isn't exciting anymore. I've realized that being visible isn't that great. It's pretty scary, and most people outside of your community think you're gross, and it affects your chances of getting a job. Foucault said that visibility is a trap. We all want to be seen and understood and be known for what we are, but unfortunately, if what you are is queer or bisexual, they will hate you.

Ana: Visibility is a trap! Either you're legible in mainstream culture—you pass—yet you aren't seen as queer in queer communities, or you're visibly queer, and thereby a target for homophobic and transphobic violence.

Suzy: Visibility makes all the difference in how you experience queerness. Visibility makes you more vulnerable to attack. And it's a threat that not all queer people face equally. I'm a cis femme woman with long hair, and men harass me all day for being a woman, but absolutely no one knows I'm queer unless I'm with someone who more visibly is. On the other hand, my partner is a drag performer and very gender fluid, but on most days he presents masculine for his safety. On days when we're both femme, we're much more prone to harassment. Not everyone's queer presentation is so conditional, though, so we have to be mindful about how much space our voices take up and which experiences are simply not ours to claim.

Javier: Disclosing being trans or bi is a choice I can make every day. What I can't choose is walking out of the house every day as a Latino man. I experience way more gender-based violence (mostly from the NYPD) in that way than I ever did before I started medically transitioning. It's something I wish I'd been prepared for. It seems like the people wrapped up with visibility around their sexuality are cis white people. It feels like a luxury that people of color and a lot of trans people do not have. I just want to go out in the world and not be worried about being attacked or killed. I don't care about the rest.

Ana: One way I've been trying to think about this is by shifting questions of queer authenticity—is someone really queer or not?—to queer accountability. Are there certain actions or values we can hold one another accountable for as members of a community?

Ales: I ask, How can I encourage a sense of safety around myself and my home? How can I contribute my own energy? On the most immediate level, I think about just listening. I think just listening to people and not comparing or trying to place them is crucial.

There is a level of performative allyship and people trying to ride on the wave of a higher social consciousness more than they actually care for others. I don't know what to do with that except to be sure that I don't do it.

Whitney: I think there are moments when checking is important. I was at my next-door neighbor's New Year's party, and there was a moment where I noticed there were a lot of straight people there. It's a predominantly gay and trans space, and I think it's worth thinking about how you literally are taking up space at parties. There was a line, and at a certain point, other people couldn't get in, and for some of the people, that's the only party that's welcoming for them.

Davey: This reminds me of who gets to be at pride. I do think straight people need to think three or four or five times about whether they should go to some queer event, even if other queers are bringing them. But, if the ultimate goal is liberation of some kind from white cis hetero imperialist Western patriarchy, it can't come down to "make sure there are no heteros at the party." Probably, straight people shouldn't be at pride, but if you're the kind of straight person who's going to march with us, and protect us, and work with us, we can work together on the larger political goal of liberation.

McKenzie: When you get to middle age, it's just not that big of a deal anymore. I'm into this or that, and I'm going to go and get it with whoever is up for it. It's so much easier. I get why it was important in my 20s and 30s, but now I am not worried about if I am or am not this or that queer being now. I'll just go find my friends.

My favorite quotes from this that I just want to emphasize:

Davey: And as much as we fought for our identities, at the same time, identity is fluid, and fluidity is challenging for most people. Even if you are gender fluid or your sexuality is fluid, labels are, by definition, rigid.

Javier: Disclosing being trans or bi is a choice I can make every day. What I can't choose is walking out of the house every day as a Latino man. I experience way more gender-based violence (mostly from the NYPD) in that way than I ever did before I started medically transitioning. It's something I wish I'd been prepared for. It seems like the people wrapped up with visibility around their sexuality are cis white people. It feels like a luxury that people of color and a lot of trans people do not have. I just want to go out in the world and not be worried about being attacked or killed. I don't care about the rest.

[imtwentyfuckingfour]

WIZARDING WORLD QUESTIONS

tagged by: @cxdxnce (thank) tagging: steal it! steal it!! (repost do not reblog thanks!)

idk you guys I made a harry potter verse a while ago but never used it.  I may make another one later that has nothing to do with what I wrote for this meme lol.  For the sake of this meme, though, I’m going to assume that Kafei’s parents are snooty and rich, obviously.......but muggles.  idk you guys!!  It would be easy to just be like oh yah they’re definitely snooty pureblood wizards.  But like!  Clock Town already has like widespread fantasy discrimination against deku scrubs etc. etc. and it’s already awkward to find a good balance between being honest and real about that aspect of the source material, & not writing about a terrible person who jumps at the chance to decide others are inferior.  I don’t HAVE to write about shitty wizards too lol; and I’m not going to.

anyways the meme!

MUGGLES

What is your character’s opinion of Muggles?  It’s useful to him when someone blatantly dislikes them because then he knows right away to avoid that person at all costs.  He hates the word because it literally has a funny sound and literally carries a degrading edge to its meaning.  Why is this the wizard word for human beings.  What the fuck.

Does your character look down on Muggleborns? He’s well aware that muggleborns are considered unworthy by some.  He tries to be conscious of what his audience may expect from him, and tailor his actions to try and optimize his outcomes.  That comes with some measure of looking down on himself and muggleborns, to sort of immerse himself enough in the “game” to instinctively know how to play.  But logically he considers looking down on muggleborns ridiculous and cruel. 

Would your character ever use the phrase ‘Mudblood’? He might use the word in a sentence if it served him, maybe talking about himself.  He wouldn’t direct it at a specific muggleborn student, to their face or not.  Also...he’s of the opinion that the word “muggle,” with the meaning wizards attach to it, is a gross thing to call another human; and nobody bats an eye if you say that word?  If being shitty to people is the law of the land, he’s already pretty scandalized at the gate, “mudblood” isn’t necessarily going to shock or horrify him.  Wizards think human beings who aren’t wizards are a few steps above animals, wizards can basically just shut the fuck up in general.  Wizards who make an elaborate show of rejecting ‘mudblood’ but use ‘muggle’ uncritically are some wizards he doesn’t want to be around.

Is your character familiar with Muggle technologies, customs, or money?  Of course.

What is your character’s blood status?  Muggleborn

Has your character ever watched TV or gone to the movies?  Of course.

HOGWARTS

What was your character’s House?  Ravenclaw

Was your character happy with their House? Did they feel the Hat was wrong?  He was super honored by it when he was a kid.  He was still figuring out his place in this new weird world, and the hat said he was Smart and he Liked That.  As he gets older, he starts to see the house labels as tools for putting people in boxes and stirring up pointless competition.  Intrinsically he sees house identities as harmless Myers-Briggs test type results, but he really rejects the way the school focuses on them so damn much, and the way the students organize themselves as suggested (a true Ravenclaw!).

What is your character’s opinion of the other Houses?  Like “muggles,” the people in the other houses are human beings with infinite possibility, who happen to be different from him in the one respect.  

Did they have many friends in the other houses?  Did he have many friends?

Which subjects did your character take?  Having just learned about this magical world, he wants to understand it, as a sort of safety measure.  Get caught up before inexperience is used against him.  Once he feels like he’s really part of that world and has a good shot at defending himself from this or that, meanwhile, unsuspecting teachers will meet... Lazy Kafei.

What OWLs and NEWTs did your character achieve?  Depends on when Lazy Kafei arrived.

BEINGS & BEASTS

Does your character or their family own a House Elf?  His parents would probably keep a hose elf if they were given one, and Kafei doesn’t really want them to ever find out house elves are a Thing...

Would your character join SPEW because they support House Elf Rights or to shut Hermione up?  He wouldn’t join SPEW at all because taking a stand on something makes you an obvious target.  But he’d be generally sympathetic to the cause.

Does your character consider Werewolves to be Beings or Beasts? Beings, though he’d prioritize his own survival at all costs if that came up.

Would your character stop being friends with someone after learning they’re a Werewolf?  Maybe.  He’d keep their secret, though.

Would your character willingly kill a transformed Werewolf if they encounter one? Would they see the difference in killing an untransformed Werewolf?  If he had to make a choice, he’d err on the side of keeping himself alive.  He understands werewolves as people; if he caught himself conceptualizing one differently than he’d conceptualize a person who had the ability to pose some kind of threat, he’d rethink his outlook.

Does your character respect Non-Human Beings?  Wizards barely see “muggles” as humans, of course.

Does your character support a Non-Human’s right to a trial?  If you asked him for his opinion, he does.  As mentioned previously, he’s not likely to take stands on things.

OTHER

What is your character’s Patronus form? Can they cast a Patronus?  Either a cat or a fox, if he can cast one.  He might not end up learning any time soon.  He’s a sad, defensive coward, leaning towards realism/pessimism in terms of how much danger he might be in at a given moment.  He’s not going to be great at thinking up a super happy memory when he’s in distress.  He’s also not going to be great at thinking up a super happy memory if some teacher is wATCHING him?  And GRADING him?  Reliving happy memories is a deeply private experience, a vulnerability, fuck off. 

What is your character’s Boggart? Is it embarrassing for them?   Maybe it just fuckin... I don’t know, keeps changing forms, too quickly to really focus on a given one?  And all of the forms are recognizeable as things that do scare him, like his parents?  Because he’s afraid of A LOT of things; and he’s also afraid of not knowing enough about a thing to protect himself from it (other people DO NOT help, they never have, he has no reason to suspect they ever will, it’s just him against anything he faces).  

Has your character ever thought about or tried to become an Animagus? What form do or do they think they would take?  He’s curious about it, sure, but he’s really reluctant to experiment with casting magic on himself, especially serious magic.  Plus, students aren’t allowed to do that.  He supremely doesn’t want to get in trouble for things; a habit carried over from his home life.  He is interested, meanwhile, in assembling a general  magical bag of tricks for illusions, diversions, secrecy, etc.  There’s probably an easier, less intrusive way to hide from people than turning yourself into a dog.  Would he start a rumor that he has an animagus form, if it served him?  Oh yes.

[mistystarshine]

Make Me Live, Prologue

Story Summary: Sometimes, the past can come back to haunt you. That is especially true in the town of Morioh. Sixteen years after one terrible summer, two girls find themselves facing the consequences of actions that were not their own.

Chapter Summary: Whispers of things to come.

Notes: Behold, the prologue for the Yoriko fic. It’s on the short side since it is a prologue and won’t be uploaded until Ao3 until I’ve finished chapter one and can post them both at once. I’m not sure if I’m content with the story summary, so that may change before I make the official upload. Let me know what you think?

Wordcount: 1,703

Beta’d By: @sentochoryu

“It isn’t fair, is it?”

“No. It’s not.”

“Wouldn’t you like to do something about it?”

A somber mood permeated the back yard. Both women were reluctant to acknowledge it, the young especially. She walked with her hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket and her eyes on the ground. Some of the blades of grass were dry and partially browned. She wondered how strong her hearing would have to be for her to be able to hear it crunching beneath her feet.

The pointless thought was interrupted by the sound of her older sister clearing her throat. “So! Are you excited to visit Morioh?” At a glance, Holly Kujo’s voice and face were cheerful. Closer inspection would reveal the strain of someone who was trying to force joy where it did not belong.

Shizuka didn’t have to look closely. With what was going on, what had happened to that woman in particular, there was no way her joy could be genuine.

“I haven’t been there in a long time,” she answered. It wasn’t a lie. It also wasn’t the question she had been asked. Holly was good enough at forcing a smile that she could fool most who didn’t understand the situation. Shizuka wasn’t so talented. Attempts to replace to morose look on her face with a smile or even neutrality resulted in a fakeness that bordered on painful. She wasn’t sure she could successfully lie right now. A visit to Morioh wasn’t a bad thing, but the reason behind the visit, the implications of it, were nothing short of terrible. And that was just from her point of view.

She stopped walking. Holly stilled beside her and offered a curious look. It was returned with one that was dripping with concern. “What about you? Will you be…?” Alright? She didn’t elaborate, but the unspoken words hung heavily between them. Suzie Q, Holly’s mother by birth and Shizuka’s by adoption, had died of old age three years ago. Jotaro and Jolyne had been lost in an incident in 2011. Now it was 2016 and, at ninety six years old, it looked like Joseph Joestar didn’t have long left. He still had just enough strength left in him to make the trip from New York to Japan, but… this was not a random visit.

Holly hesitated for a moment before laughing and waving her hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine!” Something in her expression faltered. She allowed her gaze to wander away from her younger sister and across the garden. “It’s not like I’ll be alone forever.”

She had been able to look Holly in the eyes to ask her question, but at that line, she was forced to avert her gaze. They said that there were five stages of grief. After the loss of her son and granddaughter, Holly had never moved past denial. She had said that it was too soon and they were too long - as if death discriminated.

Holly looked back at her as if the conversation’s awkward detour had never happened. “Anyway, you should go make sure you’re all packed! You leave in the morning, right?”

“Right.” Her voice was shaky and the smile she finally forced not quite convincing. Thankfully, she turned around soon enough that she didn’t have to look it long. ‘Right’. It sounds like ‘alright’. She focused in on the browning blades of grass once more. I hope Morioh will be alright.

It had been several years since their last visit to Morioh, but she remembered it being a peaceful town. Quiet. A part of her hoped that it would somehow help her father, like how she had been told that meeting Josuke and finding her had. Another part of her, the part that knew that all the small towns and family visits in the world couldn’t fix old age, took comfort in the knowledge that at least it couldn’t make things worse.

“What do you mean? It isn’t… that isn’t something you can change.”

“Maybe most people can’t. But for people like us? Anything can be changed.”

“How?”

“Not easily. I have one more question to ask you.”

Meanwhile, a pair of highschool students walked down the streets of a quiet town. One of them, a dark haired young man, was grinning enthusiastically as he chattered at his companion. “All I’m saying is that it might be fun to have a proper talk with the guy. I mean, he’s lived there since before we were born! How have neither of us actually met with him yet?”

The person he spoke to was a young woman. Her blank expression did not waver as he spoke, but she did shift the book bag slung over her shoulder somewhat. “Having lived in a pylon since before we were born is exactly why we shouldn’t talk to him.” Her voice was mostly neutral, but the boy she walked with knew her well enough to be able to pick up faint hints of warning and concern.

“Yorikooooo,” he whined.

“Takuma.” Her deadpan response initiated a brief staring contest, which he cut off with a huff.

“Fine, be that way.” They had stopped walking to have their silent battle of wills. Now, he began striding down the street once more, allowing his own bag to drop into his elbow as he braced the back of his head with his hands. A few moments after Yoriko hurried to catch up with him, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Maybe you’d be more adventurous if you had eyebrows.”

That got a reaction. Yoriko let out a tiny, offended squeak and lifted her hand to her forehead. Her eyes glared daggers - or a weak approximation of daggers, for it took a great deal for her to truly glare, as she prepared to launch into her defensive lecture. It wasn’t that she didn’t have eyebrows, she was just blonde and her eyebrows were lighter, they were there, it was normal, they’d been over this - when Takuma cut her off with a laugh. “You know I’m kidding. You rock the light ‘brows look.”

He reached out to ruffle her hair, which she deftly dodged. She maintained the glare for a moment longer, but it quickly became half-hearted. Of course he was kidding. Aside from her mother, he was the only one who she trusted to be kidding in a genuine, mean-no-harm way when he said so. With a huff, she looked forward and carried on.

The next few minutes of their walk passed in silence. They passed several people on the way. Most were noticed by both of them, while others went completely unnoticed by half of the pair. Yoriko only let her gaze rest on them for a heartbeat, less when she could make herself ignore them completely. Even a heartbeat could be enough to earn her the label of ‘odd’.

She spoke up when after they crossed the street. “Visiting him would be a waste of time.”

Beside her, Takuma sighed. “I know, but maybe during summer break?” At the glance she shot him, he said, “I can find some free time! Or after graduation!”

Yoriko shook her head. “No.”

“Yeeees.”

“No.”

“You’ll come around eventually!” They came to the end of the block as he made his declaration. Before she could call him wrong, he asked, “do you have everything you need to study for the quiz?”

Now, one corner of her mouth twitched. “Of course.” Her words held a quiet pride, a complete contrast to the loudness that he presented his with. “And you?”

An overdramatic gasp. Takuma placed his hand over his heart and cried, “You need ask!? I am wounded.”

A small smile finally fought its way onto her face. She offered her friend a wave and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” as she crossed the street.

“See ya!” echoed over her shoulder.

With that, it was just her and the people she occasionally passed on the street. Just her and the residents of Morioh, content to ignore her.

For the most part.

A man wearing seventies clothes eyed her from across the block at one point, but he didn’t approach or look at her for much longer than she looked at him. He’d been there since before she could look at him and knew better than to expect anything.

She maintained her casual pace until she was about a block away from the house. That was when the (relative) normalcy was shattered by a glimpse out of the corner of her eye. There was a man wearing a suit. He had hands. He had feet. Other than that, she could provide no description, for there was nothing but shadow where his head should be. She knew what she would see if she turned around. She knew how the terrible black nothingness in the place of a face would make her skin crawl and her stomach lurch, how she would feel the glare boring into her despite the absence of eyes. Even that flash of dark out of the corner her eye was enough to make dread fall over her like freezing rain. She turned around anyway.

There was no one there. The sight made her take a stumbling step back. Ghosts could be quick when they wanted. She didn’t think anything good could come of that one wanting to be quick. Her eyes widened for a moment before she forced her cool expression back into place. While she didn’t run, she did increase her pace until she was able to duck into her house.

Most ghosts were nothing to be afraid of. There was a reason she had named her stand ‘Don’t Fear The Reaper’. Yet there were times when she found herself ignoring her own advice. Most was not all. The knowledge that her stand was not all-knowing or constantly correct with its predictions didn’t always keep her from worrying when it manifested to show her something bad. It was times like those when Yoriko Kawajiri felt especially grateful to live where she did.

She would probably see much worse if she didn’t live somewhere as safe as Morioh.

“What would you do to bring back the ones you lost?”

[bonitafreund-blog]

Mind-calming exercise Web sites.

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