#Mention of Forcing Names

[psychology-department]

Hey can we like leave Fictionkin, Fictives or Irls of problematic media alone

It is not an excuse to harass fictives or irls or fictionkin from anything the creator is making or has made, they cannot control their source or media. Just because our media has problematic creator make doesn't make us a bad person. An author's actions towards others doesn't define who we are. Leave us the fuck alone. Stop sending us death threats. Stop forcing names onto us. Fuck the creator. We are our own people with our own lives and we are not defined by how they wrote our kintypes to be.

[vigilskept]

Throwing my hat into the elves and culture discussion, I think one of the things that I find most... upsetting is _what_ Bioware took from Judaism to make their elves. Which is to say, not a lot. What they took was Jewish history - ghettos, diaspora, and blood libel. The bad parts. Stuff about our oppression. Not stuff from Judaism as a religion or Jews as a culture. We don't get to see elves celebrate any cognates to Jewish holidays. There's no equivalent of kashrut or Yiddish or Ladino (despite that not making sense with the Dales being around for four centuries). The two most defining features of Dragon Age elves, the vallaslin and the Evanuris, directly contradict Jewish teachings. Jews started writing down our history and laws as soon as we lost our homeland and independence to Babylon, but it's written into the fabric of Dragon Age that the elves didn't, and their story is one of obtaining a lost past, not preserving a remembered one. It's even indicated that the city elves largely worship the Maker.

In thoughtful hands this could be a story about how Jews are seen as a religion when it's convenient to oppress us one way and a race when it's convenient to oppress us another, but it's not. Instead the impression I am left with is that in the mind of Dragon Age, Jews are defined solely by our oppression.

thank you for sharing!!!!

this came up earlier when an anon asked about making an elven oc from a (marginalised) cultural context they themselves aren’t from and i think it always comes down to a question of whether oppression and suffering are the only things you’re interested in or whether you care enough to learn about community, family and joy. and bioware seems to fail to clear this bar every time it comes to the elves.

i truly think some of the most incredible work in this fandom has come from fans putting those things back into the setting.

[swordsofsaturn]

early seasons spn homophobia is actually so crazy because they literally do not look gay. hamfisted gay jokes when the characters look straight as hell. "you look the type" they literally don't. is the thing

[kingly-court]

I’m legitimately gonna explode if I don’t find someone else who understand the background tragedy of the Gleeful Family in Gravity falls.

[seas-of-silver]

"Alya, we've talked about this hundreds of times - in all our lives we and our friends have never met someone called Marinette Dupain - Cheng - she is just a figment of your twisted imagination!"

‘Alya, we've talked about this hundreds of times - in all our lives we and our friends have never met someone called Marinette Dupain-Cheng - she is just a figment of your twisted imagination!’

Alya barely suppressed a growl as she glared at Nathaniel. ‘“Twisted imagination?” Seriously?’

Chloé scoffed. ‘Yeah, twisted. I mean, honestly - super-powered villains? Magical terrorists and superheroes? Who, by the way, are all animal themed and get their powers from tiny gods in jewellery? Alternate universes and time travel? Ugh! And the bit you’re flipping out about is some chick that supposedly meant to be in this class? Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.’

‘Alya, we’re worried about you,’ Rose said, her wide blue eyes swimming in genuine concern. ‘You’ve been so different this past week; you look and sound and behave like our Alya, but what you’ve been saying is just so unlike yourself!’

‘It’s kinda like you’re living a nightmare in real time, or something,’ Juleka muttered, and the whole class nodded in agreement.

The whole class bar Adrien and Marinette.

Alya was smart. She had figured out something was seriously wrong when she woke up last week and found herself in her room instead of Marinette’s, where she had been sleeping over. It became even more concerning when she arrived at school and Marinette was nowhere in sight. Then she had started to panic when the seating arrangement was different, Adrien wasn’t at school either, and worst of all - Nino barely knew her.

She spent the first class trying to casually enquire about Adrien and Marinette, which led to confused responses and almost getting reprimanded by Ms Bustier, who was still their teacher and had apparently never had a child, and Chloé’s father was still Mayor of Paris.

One reassuring discovery Alya had made before lunchtime was that Adrien Agreste still existed in this weird world, but had apparently never been to their school. She also discovered that Lila Rossi had also never been to their school, but that good news was quickly soured when she found out that Lila now has strong ties to the Agreste family, and was frequently seen with them. But that didn’t stop Alya from trying to contact Adrien, though she had no success.

Alya had then started to research, and kept researching throughout the week. This weird world had no mention of recent Miraculous use; no Hawk Moth, Mayura, Ladybug or Chat Noir, and nothing of note in Shanghai or New York. Her Ladyblog was also non-existent, which was discomforting in and of itself. And there was no Marinette.

That was the part Alya was struggling to grasp. No Marinette? A world without Miraculouses was something Alya could wrap her head around, as was a reality where Adrien never went to their school, but no Marinette? So she had researched that too. Everything Alya had expected to exist were also missing - the sunglasses and album cover (and subsequent magazine article) Marinette made for Jagged Stone; Marinette’s winning submission in the derby hat competition held by Gabriel Agreste and the runway show it was displayed in; her fashion photoshoot she did with Adrien and Juleka… none of it could be found.

Alya knew this was no dream that she had found herself in - this felt more like some sort of akuma attack-related displacement… but Alya couldn’t remember there being an akuma attack while she was in Marinette’s room. The last thing Alya had remembered before waking up in this weird world was setting up for a girl’s night in while Marinette went on patrol with Chat Noir, as the new Butterfly villain, Malachite, had been annoyingly active as of recent. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

And now all her friends and classmates were looking at her like she was the weird one. Perhaps she was, at least to them.

‘You’re right, Juleka,’ Alya said sombrely, ‘this is a nightmare. Either I’ve somehow ended up in an alternate universe, or something god-awful must’ve happened for the whole world to forget about the Miraculouses in Paris, for Adrien to never have come to school here, for my own boyfriend to barely know me apart from just being one of his classmates, and for my best friend - a girl who meant so much to nearly everyone in this room - to completely vanish off the face of the earth!’

Everyone flinched at her raised voice, but she didn’t care. She was too angry, too confused, and too hurt to care about something as minor as that.

‘I- ugh! I feel like I’m going insane!’ Alya cried out, her eyes starting to sting. ‘I know what has happened here - I’ve lived it! I was a part of it! You all were part of it! But why don’t you remember? Why does no one remember? Ugh, it’s like, I don’t know, like someone’s messed with reality and gotten rid of any trace of Marinette and the Mira…cu…lou…ses…’

Alya felt violently ill. How could she have not thought of that? It all made perfect sense. But if that was really true, then Malachite must have…

‘Oh, God,’ Alya whimpered, sinking to the ground unsteadily.

The class bin suddenly appeared in front of her, just in the nick of time, and a kind, familiar hand held her hair back.

‘Can someone get the nurse or Ms Bustier?’ Nino’s voice came from right beside her. ‘She’s not doing good.’

People moved around her, but Alya could barely take it in. Her mind was overloaded with fear and horror. She needed to prove this horrific theory wrong.

‘Shh,’ came Nino’s voice again, his other hand starting to rub soothing circles on her back. ‘You’re not well, dude, and you’re shaking.’

She couldn’t dwell on that for long, as a loud commotion was happening outside and getting closer. Fear spiking within her, Alya forced herself to stand and get into a fighting position, ignoring Nino’s protests. She wasn’t going to lose anyone else, not without a fight.

The door slammed open, and Alya hesitated.

‘Alya? Thank goodness!’ Adrien cried, looking disheveled and winded. ‘I got your letters - you remember too?’

Her hands wavered. ‘Yeah. What do you remember?’

‘Oh, finally!’ Adrien exclaimed, relieved. ‘I thought I was going insane when I woke up to find Mother and Father alive and Lila-‘ he growled out, as if saying the name was like ash on his tongue, ‘-of all people was now a long-time family friend, which is revolting. But no one knows about the Miraculouses or Ladybug and Chat Noir or Hawk Moth or Malachite or akumas or anything!’ 

Alya wanted to cry - out of relief or grief, she wasn’t sure.

‘And you!’ Adrien said, pointing at Nino. ‘You hung up on me!’

Nino blinked. ‘So… that wasn’t a prank call?’

Adrien looked mortified. ‘You’ve… you’ve forgotten me? For real?’

Nino opened and closed his mouth, looking entirely uncertain about anything that was going on.

‘I was sure that you would remember me,’ Adrien continued, shaken, before looking back at Alya. ‘I tried to call everyone that I could remember the numbers of, but even Marinette isn’t picking up!’

Alya felt sick again at the mention of her name.

‘Surely you were able to get in contact with her,’ Adrien pleaded, putting his hands on her shoulders. ‘I’ve been stuck under Father’s and Lila’s thumbs for this past week, and I was only able to escape just now.’

With Adrien so close, she could see the anxiety, desperation and fear that was threatening to consume him.

‘Please, Alya,’ he begged, ‘please tell me you found her and she’s okay. She’s in danger, and I need to ensure she’s safe.’

All Alya could do was shake her head. She felt Adrien’s hands tremble and saw his eyes fill with tears as he began to hyperventilate, before he crumbled to the floor and let out a soul-crushing cry that shattered her heart.

[sleepy-grav3]

Obsessions - Family

A/n: So, a while back, I made this little thing about obsession speculations. Well, I made a few oneshots about that even further back and just found them. It's a mini-series that looks like it was attached to another fanfic plan? Well, I have no idea what the plan was, so I'm giving you this. There are 4 parts I made? This and the 3rd part are finished, but the 2nd and 4th are incomplete. Better together but still understandable as a standalone, you know?

Summary: Jazz has finally gotten through to Vlad in their therapy sessions. Danny is a bit on edge but relieved. Then Vlad has a talk with Jack and Maddie. Many things are shared.

TW: Unprofessional and very improvised medical treatment, mention of stalking, mention of attempted murder, intensified canonical death(s) (I made it so much worse, but it's not too detailed), hints at suicidal thoughts, hints as attempts, internalized homophobia, polyamory (I don't consider it a trigger but some people don't like it so whatever), mention of a dead kitten

Vlad/Maddie/Jack; Danny's obsession is Space and Protection; Vlad's obsession is Family; Liminal amity Park; Vlad loves animals; Amity is Danny's haunt and the people, animals, ghosts, and more sentient plants that live there are his people; Ghosts feel things more intensely and it's overwhelming for halfas who are also still alive and not built or used to it; ghosts are empaths, they know what other people around them are feeling

Danny was sitting on his bed with a needle and fishing line in hand, sewing a particularly long and deep enough cut from his last fight, when his door slammed open. He jumped, eyes wide, blood draining from his face, and heart entirely stopping.

He feared the worst, thinking about how to explain to his parents about such a large injury that couldn’t possibly be from bullying, but then he realized who it was. Jazz.

She was more frazzled, hair a mess and panting heavily. But thanks to ghost speak, allowing him to be the best empath a living person could be, he could tell she wasn’t scared or panicking. It was similar in intensity, but it was the opposite. She was excited and enthusiastic.

“I did it!” She laughed. Tears were springing forth from her eyes as she paced around, waving her hands around. “I actually did it! I-I helped him- I convinced- I- Holy shit, Danny! I did it!”

Danny sighed, shoulders slumping without the previous worry he harbored. He allowed his heart to beat once more, finishing his stitches as Jazz let out her excitement and… relief? No, it was satisfaction. Huh.

“It wasn’t- I didn’t think that- Wow! I didn’t know how it was all going to work because of how obsessions work and his seemed like it was leaning towards control but- But it wasn’t! And while the situation is a bit weird now, it’s- I got a breakthrough!”

Danny raised a brow as he looked up, having finished tying the knot and snipping off the rest while she spoke.

“Can I ask or are you implementing privacy protocols?”

Jazz took a few breaths, letting out a few airy chuckles.

“I-... No it’s…” She took another breath. “Vlad- I’ve been talking to him.” she quickly went to clarify once seeing Danny tense. “And yes, I’m fine. He hasn’t done anything. He’s sent me gifts and sent me a bunch of textbooks and all that- but nothing over the moon.”

Danny pursed his lips, making Jazz smile. He always hated how she’d slip in astronomy into the conversation to calm him down. She knew how it affected his ghostly side. It was like a sedative, a drug. It worked every time.

He was worried the addiction would grow like it had for other ghosts. Jazz stated that it was more like a prescription for a health condition. After that conversation, it clicked. She must’ve been talking with Frostbite. Damn her empathetic nature. It wasn’t even caused by some instinct (though he supposed that she may have a mother’s instinct with how she always saw through him).

“When did you…?”

“He wasn’t sure which place to get Maddie from and what would be best suited for them.” It took a moment for Danny to remember about Vlad's first cat.

“But why did he ask you?”

“He thought I wanted to be a vet. And yes, I did for a while just to be around animals. Always wanted a snake- but it wasn’t really… Anyway- The last time Mom talked about me before the incident, it was about me helping a friend with their grumpy cat.”

“Well, he went to the right person, I guess. He officially has 4 of them now.��

“Officially?”

“Remember the whole stray thing?”

It started with Danny finding a dead kitten in a parking lot. His obsession about protecting his people, including the animals and even some plants, had hit him hard. He ended up crying to Vlad about it when the older halfa saw him going on a frenzy to find all the strays in Amity to see if they were ok.

Vlad decided to join him and bought a whole building for the strays they've found. It's a play area open for adoption and just to hang out. But before that, he had to keep them in his mansion. He had to throw out his old wardrobe because of all the fur.

It was funny to think back on. Vlad spoiled them so much but refused to admit how attached he got to them even when he had 3 kittens climbing him, a surprise raccoon on his shoulders, and 2 dogs running circles around him.

“Oh, right.” Jazz snickered a bit before shaking her head. “After approaching him enough times while you were out, I was able to start talking with him. And now, he came to a conclusion!”

“And that is…?”

Jazz hesitated for a moment.

“So… how do you feel about hooking him up with mom-”

He opened his mouth.

“-and dad?”

He closed it, eyes now wide. Jazz pursed her lips, analyzing every micro-expression before falling back into therapist-brain when she found nothing.

“I know you aren’t comfortable with him after everything, but you must’ve noticed how he’s calmed down a bit, right? He’s trying and-”

“It’s related to his obsession. He has one.” Danny interrupted; Jazz could hear his slow relief sneaking in. “It’s not… You said it wasn’t control. It's... it's really not?” His expression held hesitant hope. As if he was trying to be careful not to get his hopes up.

Jazz smiled softly. “No, it’s not.”

Danny let out a small sigh of relief, slumping forward. Jazz could see the energy- something similar to adrenaline- drain out of him. He looked more tired now.

The exhaustion he carried was identical to that of a retired veteran soldier. It made a piece of her ache each time he let loose enough to show it. It made her wilt when she saw the similar expressions on his friends as well.

Val was an exception, but it was only because she acted like a military person during training rather than after war.

It made sense.

She hated how it did.

He looked up again, now with a more appreciative look. One that was thankful and genuinely happy.

“Congratulations on your breakthrough.”

“It’ll be a bit easier now, right?”

Danny let out a small chuckle. “Maybe.” He let out another sigh as his head spun a bit from the relief.

He could feel how fuzzy everything was starting to become as something in him twisted. He could feel his core amplifying whatever emotions he was feeling to the point he felt numb. The feeling made it harder to tell if he was breathing, it made it harder to stay in the moment.

He could see Jazz coming closer and he could only smile. He was happy. He was so happy. It felt like he was a step closer to completing something.

“Maybe…”

---

“Can we talk? Just the 3 of us?”

It was a few days after another session with Jazz when he finally convinced himself to talk with Maddie and Jack. Maddie looked at him more skeptically.

It was to be expected, and it made his core want to cry. But Jack accepted without hesitation, looking more than excited to see him. He smiled a bit, feeling his core mend itself with the acceptance alone that he received from Jack of all people. The very person he wanted to kill until about a week ago.

They shuffled to the living room where Vlad could finally sense Daniel in his room along with Jazz’s liminality along with him. It was always difficult to sense liminals, ghosts, or even Daniel in the household due to how much ectoplasm the scientists dealt with. It was worse than how difficult it was to track Daniel’s presence (ghost form or not) when he left Amity Park while Daniel out with his friends or at school.

It’s why he implemented cameras. He had deactivated them once the second truce came around, instead deciding to call Jazz regularly for updates. She was fully honest with him, it was relieving. It made his core hum with glee.

“So what did you want to talk about, Vladdie?”

Vlad took a shaky breath. He didn’t want to lie anymore. He didn’t talk about this to any of the children, but he didn’t want things to bite him back in the future if this worked out.

“Remember the proto-portal? The one we made back in college?”

“Yes?” Maddie confirmed hesitantly, feeling the tension of the room grow.

“Something happened to me then. I got a disease of sorts. It was fatal.”

The 2 of them stilled.

“But you recovered!” Jack exclaimed, though there was a growing puddle of fear. Of concern.

Vlad took another breath, eyes starting to sting.

“I was put into intensive care. They didn’t know what to do, it was a new field entirely. I kept getting sicker and sicker until they gave up and prescribed pain meds in dosages that should’ve been lethal near the end.”

Their hearts dropping was almost audible. Jack’s expression crumbled and Maddie’s became unrecognizable. There was too much weight in her emotions to try and piece together what she was feeling. He was too scared to find out. He was too scared to regret not saying the words “I wish” when his recovery picked up years ago.

He remembered the months during his recovery after he became a halfa. He woke up feeling a rush of so much that he felt numb until he could process it properly. He was still under immense danger of dying. He argued with the doctors, even begged, to go back into the coma he was placed into. He wanted to die without fear or any more pain.

They told him that he’d heal quicker if he was awake. That he was getting to the top of that hill. That he’d go downhill at top speed to his full recovery. He didn't believe them; he didn't want to hope. But heal, he did.

But it was so different as he did.

Too different.

He felt things so much more and it was so intense. His emotions were so strong that he couldn’t stand existing any longer in his lonely room. A room he thought he’d have to stay in for the rest of his life when his condition would go back to life threatening.

“I-” His voice cracked a bit, turning to Jack. “I thought what I felt for you was hate. That I blamed you for what happened to me.”

He wanted someone beside him then. He craved warmth he had only gotten from Maddie and Jack. The feelings he held for Maddie were so simple to understand at that time. It was socially accepted. What he felt for Jack was different. It was, in fact, much more intense. Shivers and goosebumps each time he remembered how Jack would hold him when he got a small injury or was out of breath trying to catch up to the athlete. He felt so small, so vulnerable.

“Vlad-” Jack started, his heart shattering from the fall and flowing through his voice. Vlad could see his tears at the edge of his eyes, ready to begin a stream.

To Maddie, he felt like he could provide whatever she wanted.

To Jack, he thought he felt like he was being treated like someone below him, that he needed to be doted on to be on par with the 2 of them.

But that wasn’t it.

To Jack, he felt like he didn’t have to shoulder any burdens. That he could be loved without truly doing anything in return, that he didn’t need to do anything but be himself.

“It only made sense in those times that it couldn’t be anything but. However…” He turned to Maddie and smiled softly. “It turns out that it wasn’t just you.”

He hadn’t understood it until Jasmine convinced him into therapy lessons. Practice, she claimed, she swore, she lied. She reminded him of how passionate ghosts were. How passionate he was and is.

It was then that he found that he loved Jack more than Maddie at first. That it was such an intense feeling that he confused it with hatred.

It didn’t help that their relationship would’ve been frowned upon then, that it would’ve been impossible and potentially illegal to seal the deal with a ring or even a simple kiss.

It took a moment for her to understand what Vlad was referring to. Her eyes widened, jaw dropping as she looked over at Jack before back at Vlad. Vlad nodded. She shook her head and took a breath.

“What? What do you mean-” Jack was still in the dark. Though, he always was the dense one. “You… You don’t hate me?”

“No, Jack. Though I hope that after this, you’ll be willing to give me a chance.”

“After- I don’t understand.” Jack turned to his wife. “What does he mean? The illness and ‘not just you’? What is he talking about?”

Maddie placed a hand on his shoulder, lips starting to wobble. She seemed to shake her head for a moment.

“He’s been-” She paused, eyes widening slightly before she let out a broken laugh. “He’s been obsessed with me for a long time. And… well, I guess you’re a target now too.”

Jack took a moment to process her words before his face flushed scarlet red. Though he couldn’t speak a word or react further. He simply froze up, making Maddie smile before her lips wobbled and dropped it.

“Are you normally so aggressive?”

The topic was obvious. It made Vlad hopeful that she’d listen.

“No. I was in denial and it had made me sick. For those of my kind, emotional and mental pain is like physical pain to the living. Denying my… my purpose for existing, my obsession, took a toll on me. Ghosts that attack Amity aren’t actually aiming to hurt people. They tend to go too far and forget how fragile living beings tend to be, especially humans.”

Maddie took a breath, looking down.

“They know.” It wasn’t a question.

“They know.” Vlad confirmed. Jazz and Danny knew about him from the very beginning.

Maddie took another breath.

“Why Danny?” Why did you obsess over him like you did with me?

“What- what about Dann-o?” Jack blinked back in.

“It was easier to get to him than Jasmine in my mind. Not only is he a male, but he was struggling with studies. There was also a sort of… connection I had with him. Perhaps it’s due to that portal downstairs. He has been exposed since the womb. Your children have not been fully human for a long time. Liminals at the very least, just as the city is becoming.”

“The city..?”

“Let’s just say that the ambient ectoplasm is the only thing blocking their signatures while that portal is only strengthening their liminality.”

“...”

Jack and Maddie seemed more sick. But Jack shook his head, getting himself back into the topic at hand.

“So- You-... You’re an ectoplasmic entity?”

Vlad swallowed.

“Yes… I’m what they’d call a halfa. According to a roommate, the long exposure from the proto-portal had forced my body to eventually adapt to it and learn to circulate and circulate it differently until it had… Halfas need to go through the process multiple times before they’re stuck as part of the living and part of the dead.”

“Vladdie…”

“I did not feel the final process. I was put into a medical coma. According to the doctors, I had flatlined multiple times and they had to shock me back plenty of times before I became what I am. I still get reminders, but that is a topic for another time.”

It was silent after that. Jack moved almost robotically as he came over, pushing up a sleeve and checking for his pulse. It was too feint to detect from there. He went for his neck next, looking up to Vlad in case he wished for him to give him space. Vlad didn’t fight back, so Jack started focusing on the pulse rate and translating it.

20 beats per minute.

It used to be a low average of 60-70 bpm. It had slowed over the years. He didn’t want to think what would happen when it finally stopped for good. It was already hard enough to remember he had to give a little thought of keeping some semblance of being alive when he was still so tempted to utter a wish.

Maddie came up next to him, lightly pushing him so he’d move enough to let her continue the silent physical exam. Once he did, she started checking his breathing. Then his reflex speed of his eyes in response to light. Then his joint reflexes.

They did all sorts of harmless tests, Maddie writing them down. After finishing the doctor check-up basics, they gave him some room. It made him both relieved and even more scared.

“Would a concussion show as a normal reaction speed?” Maddie asked.

Vlad blinked.

“Ah… No. While it’s much faster now, pupil dilation while concussed is the same as a normal person. Also, bleeding is less in volume, but I can self-heal.”

Maddie nodded and wrote it down.

“Do… Do ghosts have doctors? What if you get sick? We don’t know enough to help you if you do.” Maddie mentioned.

“What… What are you saying?” Please, please be what I’m thinking.

Jack placed a hand on his shoulder, smiling brightly.

“I think we have some time to make up! I’ll make some fudge!”

Maddie grabbed his shoulder before he could rush to the kitchen.

“I may be a little… on edge about this whole thing, but with time, I think we can be something. The 3 of us.”

Vlad’s eyes widened and teared up, his core practically squealing in delight. He felt as though his body was lighter. It felt easier to breathe, to make his heart beat, to- to exist.

All he needed to do was give it time. He hoped they’d be as accepting with Daniel as they were with him. And Danielle… They’d accept her too, won’t they? He hoped they’d forgive him about that. It wasn’t his… best moment.

He didn’t realize he started crying until he was pulled into a tight embrace by Jack, who had moved him onto his lap to comfort him. Maddie left them to it, deciding her next step.

She had traps to get rid of and weapons to recalibrate.

-----

A/n: Yes, Danny did faint. Why was that? Well, I'm not telling. comment what you think though. Hope you enjoyed.

Also, the next chapter or whatever, it's a dc x dp thing. I'll comment when the next chapter is up and add 2 links, a masterlist and part 2.

[adragonthatwrites]

Dr. Shen's Log, Pt. 10

Date; 7, 6, 2024. Signed Dr. Shang Qinghua and Dr. Shen Jiu.

The following is a safety memo that was distributed to the employees and researchers of Cang Qiong Mountain Research Facilities.

Because of recent advancements in our research program, in particular the areas pertaining to the observation of wild Leviathan class mer, there is now an increased chance of researchers finding themselves in sudden direct contact with one. Should you find yourself in this situation, here’s how to react!

Firstly; do not panic. While the situation may be frightening, do your level best to remain calm, and swim to the surface. Keep your head above the water, breath evenly and deeply, and move your limbs only enough to keep yourself afloat. Wild, flailing movements resemble prey animals, or mer threat displays; avoid them.

If the mer approaches you, remain calm and as still as you can; if the mer is friendly, they’ll likely begin circling around and brush against you with their sides. While this may resemble a predatorial behavior, do not worry; this is a form of greeting, a sort of mer version of a ‘hello’. Mer do this to gain a feel for each other’s size and health, and as a form of strengthening social bonds.

After the initial greeting, a mer may attempt to engage in further physical contact with you; in particular cheek brushing, grooming, or resting. Cheek brushing is, as it sounds, a behavior in which two mers will press and rub their cheeks together. This is a more intimate form of greeting, and is mostly observed in smaller, coastal species of mers, though it’s not unheard of for Leviathan class to exhibit this behavior. Grooming is self-explanatory. In the event a mer attempts do either of these things with you, merely bear with them until they’ve finished. The skin of your cheeks may end up a little rubbed raw, but they won’t leave you with any injuries! (And before you start to worry, no they won’t attempt to go below the belt. So long as you remain still and casual, they won’t assume mating behaviors)

The resting pose meanwhile is a behavior often viewed between adult mers and small pups or injured or tired pod-mates. Leviathan class mers have also been viewed doing this with their own pups, mates, or members of adopted pods. It is intended as a way for larger mers to provide comfort and rest for a smaller or injured companion. As you will be small, possibly appear injured and definitely a comparatively poor swimmer, it’s not unlikely the mer will attempt this behavior with you.

The mer will place their hands on your hips and lift you up, placing you near the center of their diaphragm or low on their chest. At least one of their hands will likely remain on your hips, as a means of steadying you. If this happens, lean forward, tuck your head underneath the mer’s chin and relax into their chest. This pose mimics that of a resting pup or pod-mate, and is what the mer will expect you to do.

Unless you would like the encounter to take a turn for the salacious, it is recommended you remain in this pose until you can be extracted. Sitting upright, placing you hands anywhere but the mer’s immediate chest, or moving your body any lower than their diaphragm, could very easily be confused for courtship displays.

Thank you for your continued help in mer research, preservation and rehabilitation, if you have further questions please don’t hesitate to contact your local Human Recourses agent!

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[formosusiniquis]

have your cake

So way back in August 2023 the steddiemicrofic challenge was Cake and 311 words, my head empty brain came up with one thought and it was Steve Munson having a bakery called Mun's Buns and so many months later I finally got around to finishing my vision

Ships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Tommy Hagan/Carol Perkins; implied/past Tommy Hagan/Steve Harrington/Carol Perkins WC: 6408 | T | tags: Future Fic, the lightest of post homoerotic friendship breakup angst, fluff, Tommy POV AO3

The bakery has a stupid name, is the first thing Tommy thinks when Carol tells him where he's supposed to meet her on his lunch break. He’s still thinking that, when he sees the place for the first time through his rain speckled windshield. It's a modest storefront, small for what Carol says is a booming business, tucked in next to a used bookstore and a music shop. There's a baby yellow awning hanging from the front just underneath a sign lettered in soft blue that reads Mun's Buns.

He's late, is the second thing he thinks after pulling up. Caught up in some stupid bullshit for his dad he hadn't managed to slip away until 12:30. Even then it had only been because Tommy had told him he was going to be late for their cake tasting. He'd rolled his eyes when his father and Greg, a guy that Tommy only considers a co-worker in the sense that they are technically on the same payroll since Greg in every other aspect is incompetent and an idiot, had winced. Shooing him away like a kid who'd just admitted that he's already twenty minutes past curfew. But catching sight of the way Carol has her arms crossed, tapping her foot fast enough to kickstart a motor, while her hair hangs limp in a way that it hadn’t this morning a third thought crosses his mind: maybe he should have been a little more worried.

Waiting isn’t going to make things any better. So he steps out of the car, let’s the misty damp cling to him in a way that makes his dress pants and button down feel like a poorly tailored second skin, and takes his licks like a man. "Late, thirty minutes late. Christ, it's the only thing I've asked from you Tommy." Her right hook stings just as badly as it did sophomore year when she punched him for asking out Erin Murphy instead of her.

Shit like that is probably why no one expected them to make it this long or this far.

When they went away to college; different schools, hours apart. His parents had been gleeful as they'd warned him that high school relationships didn't always last. That he should keep his options open, he didn't want to miss out on the love of his life just because of comfort. He didn't get offered the family ring when he decided to propose right after graduation. Carol has always been particular. Wanted the house to come back to before the wedding could happen, wanted a long honeymoon. That meant saving, a lot of it. Tommy knew and Carol did too, they'd overheard his mother and aunt gossiping in too loud voices after too much wine that they hoped the long engagement meant they were both trying to figure out a good way to break it off with one another. 

Still, over the course of their now five year engagement no one's asked once if they wanted to trade for it.

Carol thought it was horrendous anyway. She’d had her ring picked out since ‘85, styled her class ring so it would look like the oval cut diamond she wanted. Had him slide it on her finger the second it came in.

Cause in the politest of terms, Carol could be a raging bitch. She was Tommy's favorite person in the entire world.

There’s going to be a bruise on his shoulder tomorrow, even if she’s guiltily smoothing a hand down his arm now. Thrust toward the door first in offering, Carol is sorry she hit him but she’s not apologetic. “I’m serious, Tom, if we lose this appointment and have to go with Sweet Treats for our cake I'll- I'll-"

Whatever threat she was preparing is drowned out and then cut off by the echoing TONG of the door chime. A light in the back shifts color for a second, out of place enough that he wonders if he even really saw it. Head tilting toward Carol, his question catches in his throat when he notices her pinched off appraising. Better not to add to the ammunition she might already be building.

And if Carol is looking he better do it too. She'll want to debrief when they're having dinner tonight, just like they did with the florist, the caterer, the three wedding planners they'd met with, and each of the venues that they'd visited. And it wasnt because she was demanding, fuck you Greg. It wasn't because she was being nitpick-y, alright it was a little bit because she was but he liked being particular with her. He liked being involved in his wedding.

So he looked around.

The way they utilized their space -- a building that big and there's barely enough room to stand, we want someone who knows how to work with limited space for the venues we're looking at -- was the reason their first wedding planner hadn't gotten hired. Small, but not cramped. There are a handful of tables scattered in the open space in front of the counter. It’s the kind of small town cozy that Hawkins had tried for and he doesn’t see very often anymore now that they’ve moved out to Indianapolis.

It’s lunchtime, still too early for people to be seeking out the rows of deserts in their neat glass counter and too late for the breakfast crowd. But one of the tables is occupied by a teenager with long, black braids scribbling in a notebook while a slice of ice cream cake melts on a plate by her elbow. 

Everything was neat, organized, and compliant with health code regulations -- they hadn’t even made it in the door of the first caterer’s when she noticed a trail of ants and roaches marching into the open kitchen door.

Carol had always been quick when she was making up her mind about something. Like those Sherlock Holmes stories they’d had to read in school, in a couple of seconds she could spot everything she needed to make a decision. After a decade Tommy still couldn’t keep up; but he was always best at following someone else’s lead.

The smile she’s got frosted across her face is as sugary and fake as the roses on the cupcakes he can see behind the low topped counters as she approaches the only visible staff member. A girl, young in the way that nebulous way anyone younger than him was now, with thick squared glasses that magnified two distressingly blue eyes. The counters looked like they were designed to sit low enough that she could easily see over the top while in her wheelchair.

“Welcome to,” her customer service tone borders on bored. Two words into a clear script and she sighs, as if saying the name physically pains her, “Mun’s Buns. We’ve got a special series of summer flavors: Strawberry Lemonade, Lavender Mint, Chocolate Fudgsicle, and,” she sighs again, “for the grownups a boozy Blue Moon with orange zest.”

“How about a wedding cake.” He’s impressed. Carol made it through the speech without interrupting.

“Do you have an appointment?” the girl raises her voice, enough to make them both flinch back. Customer service isn’t a requirement for this part of the job necessarily, but Carol had bailed on two venues because the staff hadn’t been polite enough.

Her smile doesn’t crack though, “Yes.”

Even though he’s pretty sure this girl has to be basically blind with the inch thick frames, she levels Carol with a lethal stare. “Not you.”

From the open entryway behind her Tommy had been able to make out what sounded like the highlights of yesterday’s game. He assumed that space had to be the kitchen where these rows of deserts were made. He’s still surprised when a guy’s voice is shouting back, “I don't know, Max, do I? Why don't you check?”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Max shouts back, glowering at then in stand in for her mystery boss.

“With your finger, asshole. It's in braille. When I gave you this job you said you were actually gonna work.”

“Douchebag." Her eyes never leave them, while her hands rummage around in a space beneath the counter where the cash register sits. Max offers no explanation or apology for her shouting or for her boss. A large red appointment book gets slammed down on the nearest counter, making Carol jump but the neat two by twos of chocolate frosted cupcakes don't budge. He watches, a little fascinated by the way her finger scans the page before slowing. "Did you write this or did Dustin?"

Carol has always valued gossip over professionalism, he thinks that’s why she’s done so well as a hairdresser even though she was always awful at chemistry. It’s also why he’s held off from pointing out that they could solve this a lot faster if this guy would come out from the back. "Why?" 

“Cause one of you can't spell and one of you is trying to invent braille shorthand. So I'm not really sure what to do with TomGan Wed.”

“It might be Thomas and Wedding.” Carol leans over the appointment book as she says it, using a tone of voice he has never once heard her use in the entire time he’s known her. He thinks it’s supposed to be helpful.

“Wedding sampler.” The girl calls toward the back, “It's getting late.”

“I’ve got it,” the voice from the back shouts back.There’s an effortless assurance Tommy can hear from where he’s standing. It hits him with a wave of nostalgia so strong he grabs Carol’s arm on instinct.

“Really,” she says, cutting her gaze over to him. He’s not sure what she sees. “If we could hurry this along, it's just we've only got an hour.”

“You're late.” The glare she gets shuts Carol down faster than he’s ever seen.

“Right.”

“Okay I've got it.” The voice from the back is now the voice in the doorway. Hidden for a second by a serving tray loaded with samples of rich looking cake, it’s the first time since arriving that Tommy has actually wanted to be here. Not just because he can make out strong shoulders and a body of a man that’s still very fit but clearly enjoys his work too; the hint of love handles above strong thighs. Only then that tray dips, and for the first time since 1985 Tommy finds himself looking at the shocked hazel eyes of Steve Harrington. “Oh.”

Carol reacts for him, taking in a breath sharp enough she might puncture a lung. They’ll both wind up suffocated on the floor of this stupid bakery with an awful name, because Tommy can’t manage to breathe at all looking at Steve. Still unfairly handsome, faintly pink at the shock of seeing them too he imagined.

His hair is long, is the first real thought his half fried brain manages to put together. Soft looking even where it’s damp at the temples where sweat has pooled. He has it pulled back with a couple of the same butterfly clips that Carol likes to use.

His second, somehow more hysterical thought: this wasn’t how Steve Harrington was supposed to be included in his wedding.

Tommy was six years old and knew he wanted to marry Steve. When he’d told his mom -- to ask for her ring, Steve thought it was romantic like princes and princesses that they had a special ring that they got married with -- she’d grabbed by his arm so hard it’d left finger shaped bruises. So he’d held that certainty quiet in his heart until he was ten, and suddenly it was okay to want to play with girls on the playground -- he thinks it’s because Steve got tired of there never being an even number when they tried to play kickball, he had a way of making everyone want to do the thing he was. Carol wasn’t afraid to tell Tommy C. that he was dumb or to tell Mark L. that he hadn’t actually made it to the base, Steve liked her fast. Too fast, and Tommy had to tell her that one day he was going to be able to keep Steve all to himself. But he knew that it wasn’t right to say that now, even if he wasn’t all the way sure why it wasn’t. He was ten, but he would be eleven soon, and he took this part of him that he’d kept secret for so long and he whispered it to Carol under the slide while Steve tried to convince Brad P. that he could too pick two people for his kickball team first.

He was ten and Carol said they could share. Boys can’t marry boys, but girls can. So they could both marry her and live together forever.

It became a joke when they finally shared it with Steve, thirteen and boys going out with girls wasn’t funny the way it used to be. Sarah Jane asked Carol if she had a chance at going steady with Steve. She told Tommy about it later and they both told Steve that he was too good to date any of the girls in their grade. “Well I’ve got you guys,” his voice cracked when he said it, throwing an arm around both of them. Carol didn’t care as much, but even she’d noticed the way Steve was changing from boyish to handsome.

They were sixteen and disaster was just around the corner, not that he knew that. Steve dated around but he always came back to them. The head, the heart, the body. They don’t feel complete without each other -- at least Tommy doesn’t. Mr. Kripke, who was hungover more often than he wasn't, passed out ten minutes into study hall. Carol didn’t even wait to see if he’d wake back up before she left her assigned table for theirs. She smoothed out a lined piece of notebook paper for them, and Tommy scoffed like he was supposed to. “Aren’t we a little old to be playing MASH?”

“It’s dirty MASH, and I thought you’d think it was funny.”

“I think it’s funny,” Steve had said, “that you’re getting eiffel towered on your wedding night. Who else is joining in, Carrie?”

“We couldn’t agree on who got you for their side of the aisle. So we’re taking you to bed instead.”

He was sixteen and the way that the two of them looked when they shared a joke was the hottest thing in the world. The way their smiles mirror when they turned to him, sharp and ready to flay open the softest parts of him.

Tommy’s two days older when Steve lets him kiss the taste of Carol out of his mouth.

It was three days after he turned seventeen and he had to pretend he didn't want to die when he saw how Steve looked at Nancy Wheeler. Like he didn’t want to rip his hair out because Steve was fucking infatuated with this mousy little teacher’s pet and wouldn’t even look at him anymore.

He still doesn’t like to think about the breakup. He pokes it like a fresh bruise. Less often now, but when he does he digs his fingers in. Baits Carol into fights he doesn’t mean just so he can pretend like he hasn’t lost something that hurts like a limb.

Steve Harrington turns twenty-eight next week, and he’s standing in front of them both holding pieces of what might turn into their wedding cake.

“Wow I can’t believe you’re in Indy!” False excitement grates, but at least Carol has gotten herself together enough to speak. He thought he’d have at least another few months to prepare for the thought of seeing Steve, by their ten year reunion he was going to be married and happy and over it.

“Yeah, this is- Married, wow! I kinda can’t believe you haven’t already.” He says it to Carol, his platitudes had always been for Carol, but his eyes find Tommy. 

While Carol chatters at them and for them both, nervous, he knows she’s nervous. The situation is sudden and strange and fraught. But Tommy just looks at Steve, who looks at him. He’s getting married in three months, one week, and two days from now and for the first time in eleven years Steve is looking at him.

"Takes a while to save up for when you want the best of everything. Dad's still the skinflint he always was, I think he'd pay me less than minimum wage if he could get away with it."

And those soft brown eyes look so sad, looking at him. Sometimes he thinks no one will ever understand him the way that Steve did.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting the best, or having a long engagement." Carol defends. It's the same line she's been giving everyone. Defensive of him and herself and the choices they've been making. He can't believe Steve is someone she thinks they have to defend against.

“I really hope you're happy, man," he says, and the sincerity is a balm on the sting of this conversation. He pushes his hair back from his face, the way he always has when he's uncomfortable and trying not to make it obvious. And there's a fresh new hurt when Tommy catches sight of a plain gold band on Steve's finger, shining bright between the golden highlights of his hair.

“I’m happy about this,” he can say honestly. Carol is one of the only things he’s ever been sure about. She held him steady as she could when his other sure thing left him with a cracked foundation in a convenience store parking lot. “What about you? How long after meeting the future Mrs. Harrington did you wait to put a ring on her finger?”

“Tommy,” Carol chides as the teen in the corner snorts. To anyone else it would sound like a reprimand for being nosy, he, and he suspects Steve, knows she’s telling him to stop worrying a scab that has no hope of healing right.

Married and they didn’t know. Wouldn’t have found out until the reunion. It’s not like he expected an invitation, maybe an engagement announcement sent to their parents’ houses. They’d sent one to Loch Nora when the real ring had finally made it to Carrie’s finger. It was equal parts olive branch and offering. They’d gotten it back return to sender with no forwarding address.

The bell above the door tongs again, loud enough to make Carol jump. The platter of cakes doesn't shift at all in Steve’s hand. His arm shows no sign of fatigue. It’s almost distracting enough that he misses the obvious. The bell signals someone is coming into the store.

“Sorry, Sweetheart. I know I said I wasn't gonna be late but Mike…” There just inside the door is the Freak. Undeniable even with his head down as he digs through his shoulder bag. From the riot of poorly maintained tangles that still hang around his shoulders to the expanded mess of tacky ink on his arms. The only thing that’s changed is the age in his face and the band on his shirt.

“Munson?” Carol has the reflexes and the personal grace to address him first. Shock more than the disgust it might have been when they were still kids.

Tommy feels like a kid still. Looks to Steve in an instinct he’d thought he’d stamped out years ago, only to be met with wide eyes and teeth grit tight enough to draw out the square line of his jaw.

“Christ, I still get nightmares that start like this.” Munson says, eye darting between the three of them. “Max, am I naked?”

“Don't know, don't wanna know.”

“I thought you'd be able to tell by the energy in the room.” He wiggles his fingers, still bedecked in silver, like they can divine the vibrations or some witchy shit.

That’s enough to make Steve break just a little. A soft, exhaling scoff before he finally starts to move out from the counter. Tommy catches, and he doubts Carol misses it either, how Steve passes the closer tables to set his tray down between them and Munson.

“I can tell I don't want to be here for this.” Their redheaded audience member says, “I'm taking my 15.”

“Don't go harass Mike, he's finally working,” Munson says.

“Will and El are on shift on the other side,” Steve calls out, not looking at any of them as he moves cakes from his tray to the table. A deliberate selection he seems to be making.

“Whatever, I’m gonna call Lucas and break up with him so he can play better or whatever.”

“Don’t be too harsh,” Munson calls out, “I’ve only got him on a five point spread.”

If Carol’s nails break from how hard they’re digging into his arm, somehow it’ll be Tommy’s fault. Not the fact that they’ve advanced the worst part of their ten year reunion by months, and also Munson is here and knows shit about basketball.

“Sorry, think my hearing’s going, sounded like you said you want him to lose and he’s getting kicked from the next one shot. I’ll let him know.”

“She gets that from you,” Steve and Munson say in sync. Glaring playfully at one another the way Steve used to with Carol.

“I’ll tell Robin you were-”

“Do not sick Buckley on me, Max made the deaf joke not me.”

“Weird, that’s not what I heard.” Steve has always claimed his hair as his best feature. It isn’t -- Carrie liked his eyes, Tommy his hands -- but it’s hard to deny that it doesn’t look good, flipping over his shoulder. His smile is private, just for Munson, soft the way he got whenever he picked up a new girl. Carrie taps the back of his hand, two sharp smacks, their signal for years that he needed to pay attention and notice something she had. Wide, nervous eyes dart to Steve -- like he hadn’t already been looking at Steve -- so he does his best to assess the way Carol would.

Jealous, viciously, Steve had been theirs in every way that mattered since they were ten years old and Carol had never liked sharing her toys with anyone but them. She watched his face for any sign of unhappiness anytime a new girlfriend came along, and when she found one she passed it along to him. So he could pick and joke until Steve was all theirs again.

So he checked the face. Tried to ignore the way Steve was lit up from the inside out with a joy he could barely remember, and then he saw the hearing aid.

He tapped back, three times. O.M.G.

“The 1985 Homecoming court here to reveal that this has all been a long con, Stevie?”

“Yeah I faked the name change paperwork and picked up a fake ID, sorry I took my business somewhere else.” Steve says it with the sincerity he’s always made those kind of jokes with, his strange sense of humor never coming across when he always sounded so serious. 

Munson gets it though, snorts loud and ugly, before a smile pulls wide across half his face the otherside taught with a gnarly scar. “Now I know why my fake ID business went belly up when we got to the city, not like I only sold three in high school.”  He gestures to the three of them in a wide arc.

Sophomores, they had decided it was time to throw their first real party now that Steve’s parents had moved out of Hawkins in all but name. Steve was a latchkey kid of new proportions and took to self sufficiency in a way that had seemed adult to him then; and in hindsight looked more like a child fighting for his life. Steve bragged how he’d been saving up the weekly checks they’d sent to ‘sustain him’ while they worked in the city during the week. His contribution to Tommy and Carol’s vague plan to throw a kegger by the pool. When they’d floundered, immediately, with the hows, Steve had been the one to suggest going to Munson.

“Love this preview of the reunion,” Carol cuts in, there’s no bite but Munson bristles anyway like she’s being rude for reminding them that there are customers present. “Steve?”

It’s funny, Tommy thinks, the way Steve still straightens his back at Carol’s tone. All this time and he can’t fight the old ingrained instincts either.

“Dustin made the appointment,” Steve apologizes, even as he’s posture perfect and preparing his pastries. The unsaid, ‘I definitely wouldn’t have’ doesn’t go unheard and it doesn’t sting any less even this far from their last interaction.

“Munson could join us,” Tommy offers, a new olive branch since their last one was never seen. Even if it does raise three sets of brows and makes Carrie’s nervous smile tighten even more in the corner of her mouth.

“Well at least one of us has to,” Munson, Eddie, says. Just says, tone like it was meant to be something said under his breath.

He's grown up a lot since high school, they both have. Still, he's only got twenty minutes left on his lunch break and it's been a long day. "God, is that why it's called that?" Growth, he doesn't say that Steve Munson sounds a lot dumber than Steve Harrington.

"It's charming," Carol and Steve both say. Though Carrie is definitely lying and Steve barely gets it out from between his gritted teeth, a sore spot. He's always been good at finding Steve's bruises.

"It's charming," Tommy agrees, like he always did when he was out voted.

Eddie has a smirk spread across his face and a ‘too proud of himself’ look in his eyes. Mouth open to make some quip that Tommy is going to pretend is funny, for Steve’s sake. Now that they’re here, he’s going to do something to show that they could talk to one another again. Steve clicks his tongue, taps his index and middle finger down to his thumb two quick times before he can.

He turns to the girl in the corner, "Erica, scram, go help Robin and the kids with the new donation that just came in."

The teen continues to scribble in the notebook in front of her, bulky headphones over her ears, she makes no sign that Tommy can see that she's heard Steve speak. "Erica, go, or I'll tell your mother you moved out of the dorms. You're 20, it's not child labor, and you've got a timecard."

She sighs and wordlessly packs up her things, she gives Steve a scathing look that takes Tommy back to high school. The withering eyebrow and rolled eyes would have been just at home on Steve’s own face in 1985, but she marches behind the counter, the sound of her dish rattling in the sink before she disappears out the same door that the redhead had gone out.

Now that the room has been cleared, an awkward silence has found the space to squeeze in. Munson, the original, still standing in the doorway and Steve standing between his unlawfully wedded husband and the two people who had lost their chance at him years ago.

The wedding and the reunion both on the horizon had dredged up a nostalgia that Tommy and Carol had been dealing with in their own ways. Dredging up old yearbooks, Carol had found a shoebox of old notes that she’d kept. Conversations written in three different inks by three different hands, nonsensical after all this time. Tommy woke up from dreams that he hadn’t had in years. Always of Steve and Carol, a study in opposites, but similar where it mattered.

“Well,” Steve says, taking charge of the situation like he always would when the other two faltered, “you’re here for a reason. We might as well get started on it.”

Steve’s fingerprints are still on them, just like he’d noticed theirs on him, molded as they were together. They’ve always bowed to his expectations, and his whims. When he ushers them to the table with a spread hand, Tommy and Carol go where they’re beckoned.

And so does Munson.

They keep an empty chair between them, an artificial divide for Tommy’s sanity, but with the sprawl of Munson’s legs their knees still occasionally brush together. Carol had taken the spot closest to Steve, who has stayed standing. He is their gracious host, marking the head of the round table.

“I pulled out the full sampler before I realized it was you,” Steve says. Even with as off balance as the interaction has felt, Tommy doesn’t feel his hackles raising. While it’s possible he’s gotten more subtle with his digs, Steve’s vicious tongue was usually unmistakable. “I can tell you about as many of them as you want though if you want to pretend like we don’t already know what I’ll be making you. I’m sure neither of you have eaten lunch yet.”

“You are going to take us on?” Carol asks. Shock always gives her tone an extra edge, defensive and catty, even if she’s really just waiting to see if another shoe will drop.

“Obviously,” Steve says, placing a faintly orange square of cake in front of her. He slaps Eddie’s hand away from another piece without looking away from either of them. “That’s as far as I’ll be going in participation though.”

He doesn’t miss the way Steve’s mouth twitches up with the joke, a filthy smirk that leaves Tommy flushing hot. Too warm to not be a bright and obvious red at the acknowledgment of that old private in-joke.

It doesn’t get better when Carol moans, “Oh my god, Steve!” Even if it is about the cake.

He laughs, and Tommy suspects the two are actually trying to kill him. He chances a glance over at Munson who looks like he doesn’t care at all that his husband has made Tommy’s fiance moan. He is watching Tommy though, an inquisitive look like the one Carol gets when she happens to catch a nature documentary.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees with Carol, “I’ll do something small with that citrus cake for you and Tom so you’ve got something you’ll actually eat on your wedding, maybe a pineapple buttercream on top like that nasty Juicy Fruit gum you like so much.”

“I mean it’s really crazy how you’re so good at this when you’ve never had any taste,” Carol compliments, she never did learn how to be nice.

He could probably count Steve’s teeth in the answering smile. Tommy can feel it like an ache in his chest how much he missed this. He snatches another cube of cake off the tray just so has something else to focus on.

“That’s the fancy one for the people who hate their guests,” Munson says as the cake has settled on the flat of Tommy’s tongue.

“It’s lavender,” Steve corrects, and the floral flavor is lodged in the back of his throat at least gives him a reason now to feel so choked up. “And it is for a particular sort of bride.”

“Are you saying I’m not fancy and particular, Munson?” Carol asks. 

She’s obviously talking to Eddie Munson, who lifts his hands up in answer. But it’s Steve who says, “If you tried to feed that to Gail she would leave the reception bitching the whole time.”

“Well go on,” Tommy finds himself goading now that he’s swallowed, “finish calling your shot, Stevie. You said you knew what we were walking out of here with.”

Carol reaches across the table, locking eyes with Eddie as she snags the piece closest to him. The one his fingers had been inching toward like he thought Steve wouldn’t notice him trying to take it.

“I’ll make a small citrus cake for you, Carrie, we’ll hide it in the back of the larger cake so you can get the pictures of you cutting it and smashing into each other's faces-”

“We will not be doing that,” she interrupts, the warning for him and also unnecessary. He already knows how she feels about being embarrassed in public.

“Then the big cake for your guests will be a chocolate cake, I can cover it in a buttercream or a fondant icing also chocolate, because it’s the only kind of cake the Hagan family will eat. Even though I’m sure John hasn’t given you a dime for the wedding, he’ll complain until Hannah gets married if he doesn’t like the cake.”

“Really,” Steve continues, “the only thing up in the air is how many people you were able to get away with not inviting, Care.”

The two of them start talking actual wedding logistics, and as Tommy grabs another bite of cake -- this one looks like it might be a normal flavor -- he figures the real show of good faith would be talking to the only other person at the table while he eats what Steve correctly dubbed his lunch.

“Y’know he never actually answered me,” he says in an undertone.

Munson seems surprised at being spoken to, only widens his eyes in response to Tommy’s unasked question.

“I asked Steve how soon after the first date he proposed, he never actually answered.”

Eddie softens at the edges before he can even say anything. Steve had a way of doing that, bringing out the romantic in a person. He loved with a passion that demanded it be matched. “Technically I proposed to him, but he says it doesn’t count because we weren’t together and I was high on morphine after a major surgery and thought he was Apollo, come to whisk me away.” The smile on Munson’s face looks dopey and drugged up now, like the very memory of whatever hospital stay is so ingrained in his mind he can feel the high now.

“But,” he goes on, “he told me we were getting married whether it was legal or not about three months after he got legally married to another woman.”

“Stop,” Steve has always been able to sense when he’s about to be the butt of the joke. He has a finger pointed at Eddie like a teacher delivering a lecture. “You can’t tell people that. It was for tax reasons, I’m not cheating on my wife.”

“You say tomato, I say whichever one of us is your least favorite has to be the extramarital affair.”

“I say, you’re the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met.” Tommy can hear the warm affection behind the insult, the way their picking is a safer way to express their passion for one another.

He thought he would be jealous of whoever finally managed to reel in Steve Harrington for good, and he is. The emotion is there, present in the snarling tangle of emotions that this encounter has left in him. One that he and Carol will have to slowly tease and pick out tonight when they’re home in bed. Trying to make sense of what each thread is and what it means for them. But the one bright pulsing thread he can make sense of is happiness. He’s happy for Steve, happy that he gets to see an old friend so at ease and obviously cared for.

And he’s sad that his time is up, his lunch hour so close to an end he’ll be late getting back to the office. Something he can already hear his Dad and fucking Greg giving him shit for. Which means they have to end their time here.

Steve walks them to the door, flips the sign to mark them closed for lunch.

“Congratulations again, you two,” he says, “I really am happy I can get to be a part of this with you all. Even if it’s a little different than we used to imagine.”

Carol reaches out for the both of them, puts her hand on his arm. Tommy finds that he’s the one who actually says, “We’re glad you found someone who makes you this happy, dude. You deserve it.”

“Yeah, he’s alright most of the time.” It's said with such fondness it becomes a declaration. It’s hard to imagine how they thought they could ever be the something that could make Steve this happy. But maybe in a different life, under different circumstances it could have been.

There’s a minute where they all stand in the doorway. He wonders if they’re all afraid that this might be the last time they see each other, speak to one another, until Steve is delivering the cake on the day of the wedding. Maybe it’s just him, he was the one who pushed back the hardest after things ended.

Someone finally gives in and pushes the door open. It’s TONG a death toll for their current conversation. But it also sends a jolt through Steve, he straightens to his full height like a shock has gone through him. “Here,” he says, “here, um.” He digs around in his apron until he finds a pen and a receipt pad. Jots down something before tearing it off and putting it in Tommy’s hands, “It's our home number, in case you have any cake emergencies or something.”

They really can’t stay any longer.

Carol takes the note, better at keeping track of these things than Tommy is. It’s hard to know if they’ll actually use it, maybe after they talk about it, but if they do she’ll be the one to do it. She’s always been braver than him.

There’s no way of guaranteeing anything but the fact that they’ll have a cake on the table on their wedding day. But he hopes that Steve might stay for the ceremony once he brings it, he can even bring Eddie if that’s what gets him there. 

Alone in his car, Tommy lets himself take a minute to think about Steve Harrington one last time. He isn’t going to get what he wanted as a kid. Doubts that he’ll ever be as close to Steve as he’d been in childhood, too much time has passed and too much has changed.

But there’s an opportunity to get to know Steve Munson, and he isn't going to pass it up. Even if he doesn’t know how to name a bakery.

[magical-mystery-tour1967]

I love Amadeus so much hooooly shit i love it. I just watched it for the ninth time. I'm considering watching the directors cut this time, though i usually watch the theatrical version (guess who has Amadeus theatrical version on dvd) Amadeus Amadeus Amadeus Amadeus Amadeus Amadeus Amadeus Amadeus Amadeus Amadeus Amadeus Amadeus Amadeus Amadeus Amadeus Amadeus Amadeus Amadeus

[tiredandoptimistic]

Always I think about how Paul didn't recognize Pete in Lah Dee Dah Dah Day, and Ted never mentions him (even after Alice's call when he's clearly grieving him).

I bet that no one at CCRP even knows that Ted has a brother. I bet that Paul sees Pete every day at Beanie's and doesn't think twice about it.

Maybe if Ted was an actual person with his coworkers, they wouldn't hate him. Maybe Paul could have at least given him the comfort of knowing exactly what happened to his brother. But that's never gonna happen, because he ruined his chances with Jenny in college and is incapable of moving on.

I dunno, Ted is just such a sad character to me. His life sucks and nobody likes him and it's entirely his own fault. Honestly, I think they should be meaner to him.

He even has an origin story for his shittiness, and it just makes him more of a loser. He couldn't confess to his crush so he made "Worst Guy You Know" into his personality for fifteen years. Jenny died that night and he didn't even know it. He never once tried to reach out as a friend.

I want to like Ted as a character, because I think there's some interesting stuff in there, I just wish canon focused more on that and less on sex jokes.

If only he went to therapy.

[envolvenuances]

lesbian masterdoc and the unforgivable damage of making people hear compulsory heterosexuality and think of "can lesbians have crushes on men?" (no) instead of "are heterosexual women settling in unhappy marriages with men bellow their worth because of economic and social pressure?" (yes)

[boyfriendgideon]

as yr favorite local jason todd fan sometimes i get so fed up with the apparent inability of most dc comic writers to write a class conscious narrative about him.

and yes, i know that comics are a very ephemeral and constantly evolving and self-conflicting medium.

and yes, i know they’re a profit-driven art medium created in a capitalistic society, so there are very few times where comics are going to be created solely out of the desire to authentically and carefully and deliberately represent a character and take them from one emotional narrative place to another, because dc cares about profit and sometimes playing it safe is what sells.

and yes, i know comics and other forms of art reflect and recreate the society within which they were conceived as ideas, and so the dominant societal ideas about gender and race and class and so on are going to be recreated within comics (and/or will be responded to, if the writer is particularly societally conscious).

but jesus christ. you (the writer/writers) have a working class character who has been homeless, who has lost multiple parents, who has been in close proximity to someone struggling with addiction, who has had to steal to survive, who may have (depending on your reading of several different moments across different comics created by different people) been a victim of csa, who has clearly (subtextually) struggled with his mental health, who was a victim of a violent murder, and who has an entirely distinct and unique perspective on justice that has evolved based on his lived experiences.

and instead of delving into any of that, or examining the myriad of ways that classism in the writers’ room and the editors’ room and the readers’ heads affected jason’s character to make sure you’re writing him responsibly, or giving him a plotline where his views on what justice looks like are challenged by another working class character, or allowing him to demonstrate actual autonomy and agency in deciding what relationships he wants to have with people who he loves but sees as having failed him in different ways, or thinking carefully about what his having chosen an alias that once belonged to his murderer says about his decision-making and motivations, you keep him stuck in a loop of going by the red hood, addressing crime by occupying a position of relative power that perpetuates crime & harm rather than ever getting at the root causes, and seesawing between a) agreeing with his adoptive family entirely about fighting nonlethally in ways that are often inconsistent with his apparent motivations or b) disagreeing and experiencing unnecessarily brutal and violent reactions from his adoptive father as if that kind of violence isn’t the kind of thing he experienced as a child and something bruce himself is trying to prevent jason from perpetuating. because a comic with red hood, quips, high stakes, and familial drama sells.

it doesn’t matter if it keeps jason trapped, torn between an unanswered moral and philosophical question, a collection of identities that no longer fit him, and a family that accepts him circumstantially. it doesn’t matter if jason’s characterization is so utterly inconsistent that the only way to mesh it together is to piece different aspects of different titles and plotlines together like a jigsaw. it doesn’t matter if you do a disservice to his character, because in the end you don’t want to transform him or even understand him deeply enough to identify what makes him compelling and focus on that.

and i love jason!!!!! i love him. and i think about the stories we could have, if quality and art and doing justice to the character were prioritized as much as selling a title and having a dark and brooding batfam member besides bruce just to be the black sheep character are prioritized. and i just get a little sad.

[dseval]

Realizing the CrossDust congregation is so seperated/disjoined to a point we all call the same ship different names. I've seen some call it Xcutioner, someone also call it Apostasy, I've also seen it being called Ebonfall? Which were all beautiful names... Befitting for CrossDust....

I think that we all also interpret CrossDust differently. And I think it's a good and fun thing. There's no standard/mediocre way to do CrossDust. Like how they may struggle with who they are— we, too, are on the journey of self discovery with them. Because we are special individuals who see the world differently from each other.

[spikes-got-anger-issues]

I recently listened to The Sit and Chat (Jake and Bradley's podcast) episode that had Kelli on it and decided to create timestamps where they talked about anything relating to MM, LR, or LR:EF

But seriously go watch it for yourself, it was neat listening to Kelli talk about her life, insightful in general, and very funny!

11:46 - 12:31 - They talk about first working with each other on LR:EF and the Lab Rats vs. Mighty Med episode

20:40 - 21:08 - Billy is briefly mentioned due to Jake mixing up where Kelli is from with where Billy is from

25:00- 26:22 - Bradley and Kelli talk about how thankful they were to be on Disney as kids and their experiences

27:16 - 28:17 - Kelli talks about starting LR and how she grew up with Bree/as Bree and was happy with her character arc and where Bree ended up

28:17 - 29:22 - Bradley points out how Kaz, Oliver, Skylar, Bree, and Chase were essentially all different characters in LR:EF compared to who they were in their original respective shows

29:22 - 30:20 - They talk about how all five of them in LR:EF were ready as lead actors but were confined down to the writing of the show and how difficult that became as the characters switched leading parts in different episodes. Bradley says that they weren't angry at each other because of this, but Jake and Kelli say that something deeper than that was going on. Jake expresses that he wished he could have done more on LR:EF

30:20 - 31:09 - (continuation of conversation above) Jake talks about how he was interested with where Oliver's character arc would go in LR:EF and didn't know what to expect going from MM to LR:EF. He said he trusted the creators of LR who went on to create LR:EF and their writing for Oliver, but quickly realized in LR:EF that it wasn't what he was expecting for Oliver (I feel so bad for Jake). He still appreciates his time on the show and being on Disney, but views that time as a transition into more serious acting

31:49 - 35:33 - Bradley talks about how funny it was that Kelli always had a difficult time hitting her mark, especially when he was directing an episode ("Sheep-Shifting")

41:09 - 42:13 - They briefly talk about how they weren't allowed to do other projects without approval after LR:EF ended while they waited to find out if the show would get a season 2 and how the holdout on that was for one year after season 1 came out. Bradley says that they weren't even told what was going to happen to LR:EF and how it just dissipated out

[sharptoothed-gaze]

Hello fandom. I understand that very few of you will care about my personal opinion, and that's fine, but I find it important enough to how I run my blog to share anyway.

In the future, all of my posts will simply be avoiding any mention of Wilbur wherever possible. His character is a major part of Tallulah's story, but I will be keeping him away from my blog as much as I can.

Typically, I would go with a "death of the author" approach and keep mentions of the character and cc more separate. However, the cc's alleged quest for money and fame changes that entirely. I will not be contributing to that. That's just my personal choice, so there should be no shame to anyone who chooses to separate the two, obviously.

I watched Shubble's video and I saw his response. In my opinion, it was terrible. The way he centralized his own "growth," minimized the pain he caused, and left the actual apology on the second page is revealing. His statement reminds me of some of the past emotional abuse I've experienced, so his content will no longer be welcome on my blog. I believe in the merit of archiving, so I will not be deleting any past posts, but he will no longer have any place in my death family related tags.

[mdemn]

ok tommy “family is forever” angelo— what’s your daughter’s name and when was your son born? 🤨 🎤