#the 1950s happened to a lot of them

[marzipanandminutiae]

"selling gorgeous Victorian fireplace mantle!"

that house had better have been literally falling down around it or gutted a long time ago, or I'm filling your shoes with thumbtacks in the night

[star-anise]

Warnings: Doomerism, climate grief, child death

The thing about having studied history and the psychology of trauma so much is that I can't pretend to myself that the world used to be better at sometime in the past.

Don't get me wrong; things are absolutely terrible right now and need to change, quickly.

But also, they're better than they've ever been for us as a species. It is literally mindblowing how much worse life was for us historically.

Have you seen one of those charts of the human population over time? Have you thought about what it actually means?

Because here's what I see: Humans have always loved things like living to old age, like having sex, like raising babies. Those are things we have always wanted to do. It's not like pre-industrial humans were giant pandas like, "Nah, rather not reproduce as a species. No thanks," and suddenly the Victorians discovered horniness.

Instead, for most of human history, we have died. At terrifically young ages. The few who made it to adulthood could make babies as much as they liked, and then overwhelmingly watched pregnancies miscarry, births end in tragedy, or babies die. Their own lives were constantly at the mercy of a world that could kill them without a second thought. To be human meant to live in a world full of a million little tragedies, all the goddamn time.

And then what happened was: The babies stopped dying. The effects of a lot of things from higher agricultural yields to public health efforts to mass communications made us the master over the diseases and maladies that once had us by the throat.

When we look ahead at catastrophe and terrors, yes, they're bad. But they'd have to be extremely bad indeed to measure up to the number of people who wouldn't even be alive in any other century.

And even the obvious bogeyman then, overpopulation—did you notice what's already happened? On that chart, there's the green measure of total population, but the thin purple line is the rate of population growth. Please notice that it peaked in 1968. It is, in fact, projected as entirely possible that within a century it could go lower than it was twelve thousand years ago, at the end of the last big ice age.

The moment babies started to live longer, people went, "That is too many babies. An absolutely unsustainable number of babies. People are crying out for help because taking care of that many children is completely overwhelming. We need to be able to fix this problem," and they invented birth control and fought to get it legalized. It hit the market in the late 1950s and in less than a decade, it had caught on like wildfire.

To me, this is the absolute opposite of an argument for passivity and political inaction. It's not that everything's going to be okay so why even try. It's that as it turns out, the human capacity to grow and thrive and make the world better is absolutely reality-defying. I don't have faith that all of our problems will be solved, but I do have faith that those problems are all the subject of passionate obsession of millions of people.

And apparently we have a really strong track record at that kind of thing already.

[transgaysex]

also the "imaginaire" part of the class was a fucking lie the whole time all we covered was the history of quebec. which infuriates me to no end bc class 2 is supposed to be "Literature and Imagination" and class 3 is supposed to be "Quebecoise Literature" so like wtf am i gonna learn in class 3. im just gonna see the same stupid material again ?

[theimpossiblescheme]

#i wonder if an in canon explanation was they were separated on purpose as a final twist of the knife in the gut so to speak#by de guiche because he knew they were friends

Okay, I have been thinking about these tags ever since I first read them, and I need to go feral for a few minutes, bear with me...

When de Guiche first pulls Le Bret aside in the guardhouse and says that he's separating them, Le Bret's first instinct is to tell him to piss off and just walk away. But all the fight goes out of him when de Guiche reveals that he knows about Cyrano's exploits in Arras--did you know he was risking his life every morning just to post a letter? Did you encourage him in this? Or did you just sit there and do nothing while the cadets' finest swordsman put himself in needless danger time and time again? Between this and Cyrano jumping in front of a Spaniard's blade for him, de Guiche makes it clear that he will not have his Captain enabling Cyrano's worst impulses--"there are more men besides that one who need you. And if I have misjudged your leadership capabilities, I expect you to start proving them to me." And through all of this Le Bret starts to think... shit, maybe he was just letting Cyrano walk into harm's way. Maybe he hasn't been doing as good a job at protecting him from himself as he thought. After all, what has he ever done to stop Cyrano outside of bitching and moaning about his foolishness? And besides, what kind of Captain would he be if he ended up neglecting the rest of his men and letting them walk into the same danger? So as much as he hates it--and he hates himself for it--he concedes de Guiche's point.

From that point on, de Guiche has him working at his side more and more often, discussing strategy and coordination of other regiments, even taking reports to the Cardinal whenever appropriate. And while Le Bret's learned how to speak the courtiers' tongue in his twenty years of service, it will never come as naturally as his native Gascon. He still hates these pompous idiots on high who hold his and his brothers-in-arms' lives in their hands, and the more he hears de Guiche suppressing his accent to keep up with his uncle's inner circle, the more he feels a grudging sympathy for the man. Working alongside de Guiche eventually becomes less of a chore, much to his own chagrin, and it's a disturbingly mundane moment for them both when Le Bret actually learns his commander's first name. Meanwhile, he sees precious little of Cyrano anymore. It seems like every time they might have a moment alone together, de Guiche is demanding that moment for another of their discussions. Le Bret wonders how he's doing, how he's coping without Roxanne and Christian. How his new method of distracting himself--namely throwing himself into training the new batch of cadets--is working for him. Seeing these bright-eyed and bushy-tailed young men, so eager to rush out and throw their lives away, is a melancholy experience for Le Bret every year, and there's a part of him that always wants to say, I'm sorry some of you will never make it home. From afar, he's starting to see that same look in Cyrano's eyes, and he wonders if letting that Spaniard stab him would've been less painful.

He finally gets to fucking talk to Cyrano one night at Ragueneau's shop, when de Guiche goes alone to Paris and the cadets get to spend it enjoying themselves. After letting Cyrano carry the conversation for most of it, Le Bret alludes to his own work at their commander's side in vague terms, trying not to divulge the more delicate details. At one point, Cyrano gives him a very wry look--"Have the planets finally aligned to seal Earth's doom, then, that Le Bret is keeping secrets from me?" And with that, Le Bret cracks. He admits that de Guiche has been deliberately keeping them separate, that he believes they've been a bad influence on each other. Almost instantly, he can see that goddamn self-loathing streak of Cyrano's take over, and when his best friend tries to apologize for leading him astray, he's not having a word of it.

"If you insist on such an insulting presumption, Cyrano de Bergerac," he says after shocking them both by yanking him into a fierce and all too brief hug, "I will personally drag you out of this place to demand satisfaction."

"And have us both arrested for public dueling when you've so recently found favor with the Cardinal?" Cyrano's laugh is warmer than Le Bret's ever heard it as he pulls away. "I would never dream of it, my friend." Le Bret remembers a certain comparison to a dog making friends and decides not to question this change in attitude. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder, he's found.

He makes Cyrano promise to take care of himself, and thankfully Cyrano seems to hear how loaded the request is, after so long not being able to make it to his face. But even as Cyrano assures him that Ragueneau won't let him do anything stupid and the night ends on a relative high note, there's still that uncertainty in the air of when they'll be able to talk like this again.

Fourteen years pass like this, with both of them running agonizingly parallel to each other, only to intersect on rare, short occasions. One evening, a now silver-haired de Guiche--now the Duc de Gramont, but Le Bret barely bothers with it--excuses himself to go and visit an old friend. It doesn't escape his notice how his companion, usually so proud and upright as he moves through the world, carries so much weight and tension in his shoulders now and how his head seems to sink beneath his new wig... and all of a sudden Le Bret feels very old indeed. Over forty years he's been doing this, all the while outliving most of his friends and barely keeping up with those who remain. He's tired, and every extremity of his body aches with half a dozen old wounds complaining of the oncoming chill, and he just wants to understand how there are still young men out there who are so quick to follow in his footsteps. They could never be expected to understand...

He misses Cyrano. If anybody out there could understand, it would be him.

That's the evening, when Le Bret finally steps out for some fresh air, that a frantic Ragueneau comes running up to him with the worst news possible. That's the evening he regrets listening to de Guiche more than he's regretted anything in his life.

Never off my bullshit about these characters... please know that I am constantly thinking about Le Bret's absence from the last act of the 1950 Cyrano movie. How Carnovsky's Le Bret was such a secure anchor for Ferrer's Cyrano (how Cyrano always managed to find him in a crowd full of strangers and how Le Bret ran to find him even with an army of cutthroats on his heels), how the last time we saw them together Cyrano had saved Le Bret's life at Arras... and how Le Bret only reappears when Cyrano is about to die, with Ragueneau taking over his role as confidante. I am constantly thinking about what could have kept them from each other's side, when they had been so inseparable before. I am thinking about ways the director and actors must have justified it and wondering about how they could have broken my heart more than the original play already did...

[dailyrothko]

No, the Popularity of Abstract Art is Not the Result of a CIA PsyOp

If you are unlucky enough to move around the internet these days and talk about art, you’ll find that many “First commenters” will hit you with what they see as some hard truth about your taste in art. Comments usually start with how modern art is “money laundering” always comically misunderstanding what that means. What they are saying is that, of course, rich people use investments as tax shelters and things like expensive antiques and art appraised at high prices to increase their net worth. Oh my god, I’ve been red-pilled. The rich getting richer? I have never heard of such a thing.

What is conveniently left out of this type of comment is that the same valuation and financial shenanigans occur with baseball cards, wine, vacation homes, guitars, and dozens of other things. It does indeed happen with art, but even the kind that the most conservative internet curator can appreciate. After all, Rembrandts are worth money too, you just don’t see many because he’s not making any more of them. The only appropriate response to these people who are, almost inevitably themselves, the worst artists you have ever seen, is silence. It would cruel to ask about their own art because there’s a danger they might actually enjoy such a truly novel experience.

When you are done shaking your head that you just subjected yourself to an argument about the venality of poor artists plotting to make their work valuable after they died, you can certainly then enjoy the accompanying felicity of the revelation they have saved to knock you off your feet: “Abstract art is a CIA PsyOp”

Here one must get ready either to type a lot or to simply say “Except factually” and go along your merry, abstract-art-loving way. But what are the facts? Unsurprisingly with things involving US government covert operations, the facts are not so clear.

Like everything on the internet, you are unlikely to find factual roots to the arguments about government conspiracies and modern art. The mere idea of it is enough to bring blossom for the “I’m not a sheep” crowd, some of whom believe that a gold toilet owning former president is a morally good, honest hard-working man of the people.

The roots of this contention come from a 1973 article in Artforum magazine, where art critic Max Kozloff wrote about post-war American painting in the context of the Cold War, centering around Irving Sandler’s book, The Triumph of American Painting (1970). Kozloff takes on more than just abstract expressionism in his article but condemns the “Self-congratulatory mood”of Sandler’s book and goes on to suggest the rise of abstract expressionism was a “Benevolent form of propaganda”. Kozoloff treads a difficult line here, asserting that abstraction was genuinely important to American art but that its luminaries, “have acquired their present blue-chip status partly through elements in their work that affirm our most recognizable norms and mores.”

While there were rumblings of agreements around Kozloff’s article of broad concerns, it did not give birth to an actual conspiracy theory at the time. The real public apprehension of this idea seems to mostly come from articles written by historian Frances Stonor Saunders in support of her book, “The Cultural Cold War: The CIA and the World of Arts and Letters” (New York, New Press, 2000). (I have not read this 525 page book, only excerpts).

The gist of Ms. Saunders argument is a tantalizing, but mostly unsupported, labyrinthine maze of back door funding and novelistic cloak and dagger deals. According to Saunders, the Congress for Cultural Freedom (CCF), an anti-communist cultural organization founded in 1950, was behind the promotion of Abstract art as part of their effort to be opinion makers in the war against communism. In 1966 it was revealed that the CCF was funded by the CIA. Saunders says that the CCF financed a litany of art exhibitions including “The New American Painting” which toured Europe in the late 1950s. Some of this is true, but it’s difficult, if not impossible, to know the specifics.

Noted expert in abstract-expressionism, David Anfam said CIA presence was real. It was “a well-documented fact” that the CIA co-opted Abstract Expressionism in their propaganda war against Russia. “Even The New American Painting [exhibition] had some CIA funding behind it,” he says. But the reasons for this are not quite what the abstract art detractors might be looking for. After all, the CCF also funded the travel expenses for the Boston Symphony Orchestra and promoted Fodor’s travel guides. More than trying to pull the wool over anyone’s eyes, it was meant to showcase the freedom artists in the US. enjoyed. Or as Anfam goes on to say, “It’s a very shrewd and cynical strategy, because it showed that you could do whatever you liked in America.”

For what it’s worth, Saunders’s book was eviscerated in the Summer 2000 issue of Art Forum at the time of its publication. Robert Simon wrote:

“Saunders draws extensively on primary and secondary sources, focusing on the convoluted money trail as it twists through dummy corporations, front men, anonymous donors, and phony fund-raising events aimed at filling the CCF’s coffers. She makes lengthy forays into such topics as McCarthyism, the formation and operation of the CIA, the propaganda work of the Hollywood film industry, and New York cultural politics—from Partisan Review to MoMA to Abstract Expressionism. Yet what seems strangely absent from Saunders’s panoramic history, as if it were a minor detail or something too obvious to require discussion, is the cultural object itself: The complex specifics of the texts, exhibitions, intellectual gatherings, paintings, and performances of the culture war are largely left out of the story.”

Another problem with the book seems to be that Saunders is an historian but not an art historian. For me, I sensed an overtone of superiority in the tale she’s spinning and most assuredly from those that repeat its conclusion. The thinly veiled message of some is that if it were “Real art” it would not have had be part of this government subterfuge. The reality is very different. For one thing, most of us know it is simply not true that you can make people devoted to a type of art for 100 years that they would sensibly hate otherwise. Another issue is that it’s quite obvious none of the artists actually knew about any government interference if there was any. Pollock, Rothko, Gottlieb and Newmann were all either communists or anarchists. Hardly the group one would recruit the help the US government free the world of communism. Additionally, this narrow cold war timeline ignores a huge amount of abstract art that Jackson Pollock haters also revile and consider part of the same hijacking of high (Frankly, Greek, Roman, or Renaissance) culture. If you look at the highly abstract signature work of Piet Mondrian and observe the dates they were painted, you’ll see 1908, 1914, 1916. This is some of the art denigrated as a CIA PsyOP, 35 years before the CIA even thought about it. Modern art didn’t come from nowhere as many would have you believe to discredit its rise. There was Surrealism, Dada, Bauhaus, Russian futurism and a host of other movements that fueled it.

Generally, people like to argue. On the internet, “I don’t like this” is a weak statement that always must be replaced by “This is garbage” or my favorite, “This is fake.”

It’s hardly surprising that the more conservative factions of our society look for any government involvement in our lives to explain why things are not exactly as they wish them to be, given the (highly ironic) conservative government-blaming that blew up after Reagan. In addition, modern fascists have always had a love affair with the classical fantasy of Greece and Rome. Both Mussolini and Hitler used Greece and Rome as “Distant models” to address their uncertain national identity. The Nazis confiscated more than 5,000 works in German museums, presenting 650 of them in the Entartete Kunst (Degenerate Art, 1937) show to demonstrate the perverted nature of modern art. It featured artists including Marc Chagall, Max Ernst, Wassily Kandinsky, and Paul Klee, among others. The fear of art was real. It was the fear of ideas.

To a lot of people on the internet just the mentioning a “CIA program” is enough to get the cogs turning, but as with many things, the reality of CIA programs and government plots is often less than evidence of well planned coup.

The CIA reportedly spent 20 millions dollars on Operation Acoustic Kitty which intended to use cats to spy on the Kremlin and Soviet embassies. Microphones were planted on cats and plans were set in motion to get the cats to surreptitiously record important conversations. However, the CIA soon discovered that they were cats and not agreeable to any kind of regulation of their behavior.

As part of Operation Mongoose the CIA planned to undermine Castro's public image by putting thallium salts in his shoes, which would cause his beard to fall out, while he was on a trip outside Cuba. He was expected to leave his shoes outside his hotel room to be polished, at which point the salts would be administered. The plan was abandoned because Castro canceled the trip.

Regardless of your feelings on this subject or how much you believe abstract art benefited from government dollars, Saunders herself quotes in her book a CIA officer apparently involved in these “Long leash” influence operations. He says, “We wanted to unite all the people who were writers, who were musicians, who were artists, to demonstrate that the West and the United States was devoted to freedom of expression and to intellectual achievement, without any rigid barriers as to what you must write, and what you must say, and what you must do.” Hardly the Illuminati plot we were promised.

In 2016, Irving Sandler, author of the book that started Kozloff tirading in 1973, told Alastair Sooke of The Daily Telegraph, “There was absolutely no involvement of any government agency. I haven’t seen a single fact that indicates there was this kind of collusion. Surely, by now, something – anything – would have emerged. And isn’t it interesting that the federal government at the time considered Abstract Expressionism a Communist plot to undermine American society?”

This blog post contains information and quotes sourced from The Piper Played to Us All: Orchestrating the Cultural Cold War in the USA, Europe, and Latin America, Russell H. Bartley International Journal of Politics, Culture, and Society, Vol. 14, No. 3 (Spring, 2001), pp. 571-619 (49 pages) https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20161004-was-modern-art-a-weapon-of-the-cia https://brill.com/view/journals/fasc/8/2/article-p127_127.xml?language=en https://www.guggenheim-bilbao.eus/en/learn/schools/teachers-guides/the-dark-side-of-classicism https://www.artforum.com/features/american-painting-during-the-cold-war-212902/ https://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/modern-art-was-cia-weapon-1578808.html https://www.artforum.com/columns/frances-stonor-saunders-162391/ https://www.artforum.com/features/abstract-expressionism-weapon-of-the-cold-war-214234/ Mark Rothko and the Development of American Modernism 1938-1948 Jonathan Harris, Oxford Art Journal, Vol. 11, No. 1 (1988), pp. 40-50 (11 pages)

[gublernatural]

Invisible String ❆ Spencer Reid

☃︎ SUMMARY: spencer’s new gf shows him a photo her mother sent. he happens to recognize it.

☃︎ WARNINGS: very short lol, mentions of diana and her dementia, all around cuteness

.｡❅⋆⍋∞｡∞⍋⋆❅｡.

“And isn’t it just so pretty think all along there was some invisible string tying you to me?”

“Spencer!” You were practically sprinting through the BAU, with your arm extended and a phone in your hand. “Spencer!” You yelled with more urgency as you came to a clumsy stop behind his chair. He spun around to face you with furrowed eyebrows and a perplexed expression.

“Are you okay?” He asked, resting his hands on your hips for a moment, just briefly. He made sure you were steady before he let go, but he didn’t want to draw any more attention to the public display of affection currently going on behind his desk. It was hard enough to keep the higher ups off of your backs for just dating, let alone showing off your relationship.

You nodded excitedly, forcing your phone into his hands. “What is this?” He asked, looking at a thread of text messages from your mother.

“Look at the picture!” You cheered, leaning over to point at the image your mother had sent you. Spencer scrolled up a little bit, opening the photo. It was one he’d seen before, he knew that much. He couldn’t forget it if he wanted to, eidetic memory and all.

It was a photograph of a high school girl’s soccer team from around the 1950s. He recognized exactly one of them, his mother. She was dressed in a classic soccer uniform, with hair much longer than he was used to seeing her with. Spencer had seen the photo in a yearbook she had when she had first begun showing signs of dementia.

“That’s my mom’s high school soccer team,” Spencer concluded, not understanding why you were showing him this, or why your mother sent it to you.

Contrary to his confusion, you were full of glee. He looked up at you and was basically blinded by the radiant, beaming smile on your face. He was even more entranced by you when you spoke, “Noooooo,” you extended your words for emphasis, “that’s MY mom’s high school soccer team!”

You and Spencer hadn’t been together long, merely a few months. Due to the nature of your jobs and the way you were constantly on the go, he hadn’t had the chance to meet much of your family, not even your parents. The topic of them had come up, but he didn’t know much. You spoke more about how you grew up, telling anecdotal stories when appropriate.

“Really?” Spencer asked, bringing the phone closer to his face and scanning it for a woman who resembled you in any way. He could feel you excitedly nod, again, as he did so. “She said she knew your last name but couldn’t remember where from! She was cleaning out her storage closet and found her yearbook!” You were laughing as you spoke, mind blown by the crazy coincide.

“There’s like a one in a million chance this could’ve happened!” You explained, leaning down to point at your mother in the photo. He followed your finger, smiling when he saw her. You did have a bit of resemblance to her. He was so in awe of the situation that he didn’t do the numbers to figure out the real chance.

“How did we not know this?” Spencer asked, handing your phone back to you. “My grandfather was a higher up in the military, so my mom moved around a lot. She said she stayed at this school from 8th to 11th grade and it was the longest she was at one school.” You explained, still shocked by the photo.

“It’s like destiny!” You cheered. However, when you saw Spencer’s face twist up, your excited demeanor fell. “There’s no such thing,” Spencer declares, ever the man of science.

“Look up the Red Thread of Fate, boy wonder,” Penelope butts in from behind you. She’s watched the entire exchange. You smiled at having her be your back up, and because you could finally teach Spencer about something.

“That’s just folklore,” Spencer dismisses, brushing off Penelope’s suggestion. “Just admit it, Spencer!” You demanded, “there’s always been an invisible string tying us together!” You pulled him to a tight hug that only lasted for a second.

“Okay,” he agreed after contemplating for a while, “only because it’s very sweet that you think so.” With that, he turned back to his computer, trying to hide his blushing face.

[reasonsforhope]

"Namibia is the driest country in Sub-Saharan Africa, and home to two of the world’s most ancient deserts, the Kalahari and the Namib. The capital, Windhoek, is sandwiched between them, 400 miles away from the nearest perennial river and more than 300 miles away from the coast. Water is in short supply.

It’s hard to imagine life thriving in Windhoek, yet 477,000 people call it home, and 99 per cent of them have access to drinking water thanks to technology pioneered 55 years ago on the outskirts of the city. Now, some of the world’s biggest cities are embracing this technology as they adapt to the harshest impacts of climate change. But Namibia leads the way.

How did this come about? In the 1950s, Windhoek’s natural resources struggled to cope with a rapidly growing population, and severe water shortages gripped the city. But disaster forced innovation, and in 1968 the Goreangab Water Reclamation Plant in Windhoek became the first place in the world to produce drinking water directly from sewage, a process known as direct potable reuse (DPR). 

That may sound revolting, but it’s completely safe. Dr Lucas van Vuuren, who was among those who pioneered Windhoek’s reclamation system, once said that “water should not be judged by its history, but by its quality”. And DPR ensures quality. 

This is done using a continuous multi-barrier treatment devised in Windhoek during eight years of pilot studies in the 1960s. This process – which has been upgraded four times since 1968 – eliminates pollutants and safeguards against pathogens by harnessing bacteria to digest the human waste and remove it from the water. This partly mimics what happens when water is recycled in nature, but Windhoek does it all in under 24 hours...

Pictured: These ultrafiltration membranes help to remove bacteria, viruses and pathogens. Image: Margaret Courtney-Clarke

“We know that we have antibiotics in the water, preservatives from cosmetics, anti-corrosion prevention chemicals from the dishwasher,” Honer explains. “We find them and we remove them.”

Honer adds that online instruments monitor the water continuously, and staff ensure that only drinking water that meets World Health Organisation (WHO) guidelines is sent to homes. If any inconsistencies are detected, the plant goes into recycle mode and distribution is halted until correct values are restored. 

“The most important rule is, and was, and always will be ‘safety first’,” says Honer.  The facility has never been linked to an outbreak of waterborne disease, and now produces up to 5.5m gallons of drinking water every day – up to 35 per cent of the city’s consumption.

Namibians couldn’t survive without it, and as water shortages grip the planet, Windhoek’s insights and experience are more important than ever.

Interest from superpowers across the globe

In recent years, delegations from the US, France, Germany, India, Australia, Singapore, and the United Arab Emirates have visited Windhoek seeking solutions to water shortages in their own countries. 

Megadrought conditions have gripped the US since 2001, and the Colorado River – which provides 40 million people with drinking water – has been running at just 50 per cent of its traditional flow. As a result, several states including Texas, California, Arizona and Colorado are beginning to embrace DPR.

Troy Walker is a water reuse practice leader at Hazen and Sawyer, an environmental engineering firm helping Arizona to develop its DPR regulations. He visited Windhoek last year. “It was about being able to see the success of their system, and then looking at some of the technical details and how that might look in a US facility or an Australian facility,” he said. “[Windhoek] has helped drive a lot of discussion in industry. [Innovation] doesn’t all have to come out of California or Texas.”

Pictured: The internal pipes and workings of Namibia's DPR plant. As water becomes scarcer in some parts, countries are looking to DPR for solutions. Image: Margaret Courtney-Clarke

Namibia has also helped overcome the biggest obstacle to DPR – public acceptance. Disgust is a powerful emotion, and sensationalist ‘toilet to tap’ headlines have dismantled support for water reuse projects in the past. Unfortunately, DPR’s biggest strength is also its biggest weakness, as the speed at which water can re-enter the system makes it especially vulnerable to prejudice, causing regulators to hesitate. “Technology has never been the reason why these projects don’t get built – it’s always public or political opposition,” says Patsy Tennyson, vice president of Katz and Associates, an American firm that specialises in public outreach and communications.

That’s why just a handful of facilities worldwide are currently doing DPR, with Windhoek standing alongside smaller schemes in the Philippines, South Africa and a hybrid facility in Big Spring, Texas. But that’s all changing. Drought and increased water scarcity worldwide are forcing us to change the way we think about water. 

Now, the US is ready to take the plunge, and in 2025, El Paso Water will begin operating the first ‘direct to distribution’ DPR facility in North America, turning up to 10m gallons of wasterwater per day into purified drinking water – twice as much as Windhoek. San Diego, Los Angeles, California, as well as Phoenix, Arizona are also exploring the technology."

Of course, DPR is not a silver bullet in the fight against climate change. It cannot create water out of thin air, and it will not facilitate endless growth. But it does help cities become more climate resilient by reducing their reliance on natural sources, such as the Colorado River. 

As other nations follow in Namibia’s footsteps, Windhoek may no longer take the lead after almost six decades in front.

“But Windhoek was the first,” Honer reminds me. “No one can take that away.”"

-via Positive.News, August 30, 2023

[langernameohnebedeutung]

there's a lot of valid takes on why Gen Z is becoming radicalised at the rate they are - all that misinformation, tiktok, red pill, the pandemic - all have good points. But I think another factor is that even politically, their sense of normalcy is entirely different to the one of prior generations. The spiral of the last 15 years, the way the Overton window has moved, the change of style and tone in political discourse, the normalisation of anti-democratic ideas, the obsession with people's private lives, the topics that are front and centre during elections these days, the changing concept of the respect and dignity expected in a public office (god I sound like a boomer) - all of that was shocking to us.

the three generations of my family, all born and raised in VERY different time periods from one another, we've all just been equally shocked and horrified again and again these last 15 years - not just by what is happening but how it is happening and by what is possible and how easy it is to make a total mockery of the democracy and the rule of law. For all of us, that was a feeling of realising that something we implicitly trusted in to the point that it didn't need talking about ... just falling away. Or proving to always have been an illusion to begin with. To someone who grows up right now, this safety and security has NEVER existed.

But for these kids - the window of their life where they start becoming politically and culturally aware basically coincides with this downward spiral and I think that makes many of them blind or numb to it. I think for many of them, that's just their understanding of how things naturally progress and politics works. That the way previous generations evaluate the current situation - this framework of intentional manipulation and misinformation and radicalisation - is just fair and acceptable behaviour and that of course politicians manipulate the discourse to get what they want and of course it is normal to tell brazen lies and spread panic if that gets you what you want and if you're loyal to the party, you parrot those lines whether you really believe in them or not. (And let's be honest with ourselves - the seed to that has always been there)

And others, who I imagine intellectually know that things are going downhill, are really stuck in this extremely mind-numbing fatalist mindset (climate change is gonna kill us all anyway, haha) which makes you hopeless and desperate. And being hopeless and desperate also makes you vulnerable to all kinds of manipulation and radicalisation - because the offer you a perspective. Or meaning.

If you think about the trad-wife and redpill stuff or generally christian nationalism but also any movement that instrumentalises history with ideological narratives, you notice that their narratives place periods of stability way back in time in periods that match aspects of their idelogy e.g. their fetishisation of the 1950s. Then they come up with some horrible bad evil enemy that destroyed that paradise and created the 'degenerate' misery we live in now. Authoritarians and ideologues and cults have always done this. It's part of constructing the mutual enemy.

Beause this way, they can create their illusion of this kind of mythical, unreachable utopia (the past) that fascists love and attach all kinds of conditions to reaching that - with no pressure for them to ever actually deliver: women staying at home, racial segregation, christian hegemony, eugenics, absolute exclusion of gay and trans identities etc. This doesn't just have the benefit of pushing their politics on a confused youth (though that's a big benefit) - it also helps them hide from young people that these last 15 years, they literally created the chaos that these kids are living in. They sowed this situation and right now, with the radicalisation of the youth, they are reaping the rewards.

And the thing is, we can blame the Tiktok or whatever but I also think it is important that we let younger people know and feel that what's happening right now - is just not normal and not sustainable.

And yes, we need to let go of the naive illusion that "the kid are going to save the world". We should never have had that. But I also don't think a radical heel-turn vilifying all of Gen Z is going to help anyone or do justice to the situation.

[crimeronan]

the last time i went to therapy they told me there was nothing wrong with me and that the clinic was for people with real problems.

this sounds like a joke about how i'm in denial about my mental illness but it's an actual legit thing that happened.

the reason it happened is not very fun or funny or punchline-like though. what happened was that i walked in and started the intake paperwork and one of the papers was a court document telling me to sign away my right to refuse ECT and force-fed antipsychotics. this document was included with no explanation in a stack of other more standard consent forms. i was at a low income medicaid clinic that serves a lot of homeless people who don't have legal counsel warning them what they're signing.

after several panicked texts to my partners, i overcame the fawn response just enough to ask the receptionist, "hey, is it okay if i look this over before i sign it?" and they replied, "oh, yeah, that one needs a legal witness anyway."

but it was included with no explanation in the consent forms. a document telling me to sign my name stating i'm incompetent and can be held down and subjected to 1950s horror torture if the doctor feels like i should be.

so i went into my appointment and i answered all the questions as brightly and neurotypically and sweetly as i could, and they told me i was incredibly self-aware and well-adjusted and that there was nothing they could do for me, and then i went home having been dishonest with my therapist.... but ALSO still having the right not to be Fucking Lobotomized For No Reason.

now don't get me wrong: i'm gonna guess the Vast Majority of therapist's offices do not do this. i'll even guess that this was flagrantly illegal, although i'm not super familiar with my state's specific patient rights protocols.

but it is Very Important to know that when you say "go to therapy, therapy is beneficial, and tell your therapist everything, because lying is counterproductive"

....some of the people you say that to. are going to walk into clinics like this.

so like.

please.

for my sake.

please understand.

Lying To Therapists... And Not Going To Therapy... Is Good, Sometimes ,

[ultravi0lence14]

Cherry Flavoured

sam winchester x fairy!reader

1.5k | fluff

summary: whenever sam finds himself on a case, he can’t stop himself from thinking of his fairy that waited for him back home.

it had only been a week since you had moved into the bunker with sam, and he fully believed that you were going to be the death of him.

he didn’t mean that in a bad way, he just didn’t know how he was supposed to control himself, or even be away from you on hunts for days on end without going crazy. you were the perfect girl for him, and he was starting to think that he couldn’t last a minute without you.

the two of you had met a couple months prior. sam and dean had been on a hunt a couple states away from home, and they happened to run into you as they were making their way throughout the town.

instantly you knew who they were; the winchester brothers, the most notorious hunters in all of the country. why were they in your town? did they know you were a supernatural creature? did they come to kill you? you didn’t know what the reason was, but you knew you were going to steer clear of them at all costs.

sam and dean didn’t know what they were dealing with, but as they caught on to your suspicious behaviour, the two decided to follow you home and see if their suspicions of you were correct.

though they didn’t expect to find you tending to your garden out front, communicating with a deer and fluttering onto your roof so you could water the ivy that grew from the top.

after a long, well needed conversation, they found out you were a fairy. you ended up helping with the case they were on, deducing it to a another ghastly creature in town and directing them to the person accountable.

the whole time during the case, sam felt a connection between you two. so with shaky hands — and a small push from dean, sam gave you his phone number before he went back to the bunker.

you two had been talking 24/7, and when sam drove to your house so he could take you on a proper date, you knew that you were in way too deep.

now, you resided in sam and dean’s bunker in kansas, sharing a room with the youngest winchester and trying your best to accommodate from living in a whimsical garden cottage to a 1950’s underground bunker.

sam had recently walked into your shared room to find copious amounts of plants and flowers placed around the surfaces. you said that tending to them gave you peace of mind, and sam really couldn’t argue with that.

in the couple of days you’d lived with him, sam realized that you two had a lot in common. you enjoyed researching cases with him, cuddling by his side as he read books on creatures and beasts alike.

each night, you two would cuddle up in bed together and read your own respective books, both taking sometime to relay the information after you’d finish a chapter or so.

the two of you were getting along so well, and sam found himself yearning to here your sweet voice and random facts on fairies and woodland creatures any time of the day.

alongside your budding love for literature, he also noticed how you had a knack for cherries, whether it be the food itself or the deep colour that adorned the fruit.

walking into the kitchen, he would always find you sucking on a cherry in your mouth. twirling the stem between your teeth and carefully pulling the pit from in between your lips. sam didn’t know if it was a fairy thing or not, but he wasn’t really complaining.

your favourite pair of high top converse were a deep cherry red. always paired with a short skirt or dress that had sam not being able to look away from your legs that seemed to go for miles.

dean would always make fun of his younger brother when he caught him staring. the eldest winchester would always smack sam on the back, jolting the man out of his stupor and making a sly comment around the lines of, “got a little drool on your chin there, sammy.”

after a while, sam stopped referring to you by your actual name and only called you ‘cherry’, a nickname you didn’t really understand at first but ended up not really minding at all. throughout his little endearing pet names, sam would throw it in every once in a while, especially when he saw you eating the messy fruit.

it would always stain your lips, and sam wouldn’t be able to stop himself from kissing them senselessly when he saw the light red tint. he’d pounce at you like a man starved, kissing your cherry stained lips until the delicious flavour was transferred from your tongue to his.

that was all he could think about when he and dean were driving home from a case in nebraska; your cherry lips and cherry sweet attitude.

sam didn’t even wait for dean when he pulled up outside of the bunker. he rushed out of the impala, hightailing it towards your room where he knew you would be.

to his surprise, sam walked in to find you resting on your bed and lying on your stomach. you had a bowl of cherries in front of you, book in hand as you sucked the fruit in between your lips. the small, denim skirt you wore wasn’t what had sam’s breath catching in his throat. it was the fairy wings that fluttered against your back that caught his attention.

sam had never seen them before, but he was glad that the wait took a little while. he almost fucking passed out when he saw the iridescent shimmer of cherry red in the wings. flecks of the red colour and veins of sparkly cherry decorated your back, and sam felt himself go to heaven and back.

they rested behind you, glittery sparkles and reflections of a deep red flowing around the room as sam felt his knees buckle underneath him. he couldn’t take this any longer. walking towards you like a love driven fool, he collapsed to his knees where your head was perched in your palm, starting to leave feather like kisses up your arm.

you squeaked out a huff of surprise, dropping your book on the bed and turning your head towards where sam kneeled on the floor. you didn’t even here him come inside, and you felt a small shred of embarrassment wash over you as you remembered that your wings were fully on display.

showing your wings to other people was something viewed as very intimate from where you came from. and yes, you loved sam, and you viewed him as one of the most important people in your life. but you weren’t prepared for it to happen today.

“sam,” you breathed out, hand resting in his mop of hair. “i didn’t know you were home already.”

you got up from your position and sat down on the edge of the mattress. your hand guided sam up to sit beside you, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. “i missed you so much, my love.”

sam reciprocated the hug ten folds, hugging you with all his mite as his lips found purchase in the soft skin of your collarbone. “i missed you too, so fucking much.” he spoke between kisses, eliciting a dopey smile on your lips. “and i’m missing the sight of those gorgeous wings even more.”

you just blushed at his words, feeling your wings retract as you pushed at sam’s shoulder. “stop lying to me.” you spoke with a grin, watching as a look of shock took over the winchester’s delicate features.

“i’m not, cherry.” he gasped out, brushing his hands over the part of your back where the wings were. “they were fucking beautiful. made you look prettier if that’s even possible.”

a blush dusted on your cheeks, matching the bowl of cherries that sat idle on your bed. “stop playing around sam, they are so unnecessary. always getting in the way, making me look like a freak.”

sam’s mouth just opened in a gape, looking at you like you had two heads. “well if they make you look like a freak, than the angels were right for calling me an abomination. they were unbelievable, cherry. unlike anything i’ve ever seen before.”

a wicked grin took over sam’s face after he spoke, hands reaching out to grab your face and pull it closer to his. “well,” he breathed out, lips brushing against yours as he caressed your cherry coloured cheeks. “second to you of course.”

you didn’t even have time to scold him for being so cheesy before his lips connected with yours, relishing in the plush warmth of your mouth while the taste of cherries invaded his senses.

the bowl of cherries on your bed was long forgotten, sam being able to taste it on his tongue as it explored the decadent flavour inside of your mouth.

when you fell back against the bed, your wings came back into view, revealing themselves from under your arms and around your upper half like a halo. and when sam noticed them, he couldn’t stop the smirk from dancing across his lips.

[astronomoney]

Waitress

Pairing + WC: Jason Grace x mortal!reader, 2.1k Warnings: NOT canon compliant, this takes place in my world where Piper and Jason realized they were best as friends right after lost hero and Leo never got with Caylpso. also TOA never happened because it makes me sad. Also somewhat not proof read Summary: Jason has been sneaking off for weeks and Leo is detirmened to find out why. Or alternativly: Leo, Piper, Annabeth, and Percy go snooping in Jasons buisness Authers note: Hey hey! first fic in what feels like a million years! I definitely have to shake the rust off a bit but this was a fun one to get back into it! I was listening to Waitress at work and got this idea so i ran with it. Honestly not much of the actual relationship, theres a lot of set up and other characters but I think I may do a part two if this does well :)

Jason Grace was a busy man. Going between camps, building shrines to all the minor gods, serving as Pontifex Maximus, taking trips to Olympus to meet deities, and head counselor duties. Everyone knew he had no time on his schedule. His friends were lucky if they could get him to spare an hour to catch up, much less get him to a bonfire. So why on earth is it that Jason Grace would take upwards of two hours out of his day, three days a week, to walk out of camp and go to who knows where?

Leo was determined to find out. He’d watched Jason sneak off for the past month, and he was sick of wondering. He tried to bring it up but just got a red-faced muttered excuse about it’s just a walk in the woods and I have to finish my work before he'd disappeared into his cabin.

“I think we’re lost,” Percy said, stopping suddenly and causing Piper to almost slam into his back.

“We are not lost!” Leo exclaimed, “I swear he went this way,” 

“We’re miles from camp,” Piper butt in, “he could be anywhere,” she crossed her arms and glared at Leo. 

“We should turn back before someone notices we’re gone,” Annabeth added, looking up and down the road they were on. Leo had seen Jason sneaking off just before lunch and had convinced his friends to follow him. Now, here they were, on some back road heading through the woods surrounding the camp a mile and a half away from the border.

“Guys, c'mon! Don’t you want to know where he’s been going!” Leo turned back to the group. “He can’t have gotten far.” He kept walking backward in the same direction they’d been heading for the past 10 minutes. For a little while, they could see Jason walking along the side of the road, far ahead, but they’d kept their distance so he wouldn’t notice them. Then he made a turn at an intersection, and they’d lost sight of him. 

“Maybe he really is just out for a walk?” Piper offered.

Leo hualted now, “For two hours? No way, he’s definitely up to something out here.” He stared at the group, waiting for someone to disagree. No one did. It was definitely unusual behavior from the son of Jupiter to take so much time away from his work.

“We’ve been walking for 25 minutes. I say we go 5 more and then head back,” Annabeth spoke up, sending Leo a you owe me glance. 

“Perfect, 5 minutes!” Leo returned an appreciative smile before turning on his heel and continuing down the road with his friends in tow.

They rounded a corner a minute later, and Leo couldn’t help the I told you so grin that came across his face. In front of them, just a few more meters down the road was a genuine 1950s-style roadside diner with the name The Doo-Wop Diner plastered over the door. “See!” Leo pointed triumphantly, “Now imagine if we had turned back when you quitters had wanted to,” 

The group walked up to the diner, rolling their eyes at Leo’s antics. They peered in through the windows that lined the front. It was cute, with pastel blue on the walls, 50s-style booths, a jukebox in the corner, and a countertop bar.

“Is he even in there?” Percy asked, huddled next to Annabeth and scanning the restaurant.

“He’s got to be,” Leo squinted from Annabeth's other side.

“There he is!” Annabeth pointed to the far end of the bar where Jason was sitting. He had a cup of coffee and an open book in front of him.

“What’s he doing in there?” Leo asked as if any of them knew. “He walks all the way out here for ‘New York's best black coffee’?” He read off the sign in the window. 

The group looked at him for another minute in deliberation before Piper let out a quiet gasp. “It’s not the coffee he’s here for,” she was staring at something on the other end of the restaurant with wide, knowing eyes. “Look,”

When the three others looked back at Jason, they saw a soft, almost nervous smile on his face while he gave a slight wave. When they followed his gazeto the other side of the resturant, they all came to the same conclusion that Piper had. Jason Grace had walked nearly thirty minutes away from camp to a rinky-dink old diner on the side of the road to see you.

You were dressed in a 1950s waitress uniform and serving some of that aforementioned black coffee to an old couple. When you caught sight of Jason, your face lit up, and you waved back. As soon as you finished pouring the coffee, you brought the pot over to where Jason was sitting, even though he still had a full cup in front of him. The four standing outside were frozen in place as they watched the two inside interact. 

“Hey!” You said as you approached. The smile you had on now was so much more genuine than your usual customer service smile. “I missed you last week,”

Jason’s smile mirrored your own as he put a napkin between the pages of his book to mark his place. “Hey. Yeah, sorry, I had a last minute thing, uh, out of town, I had to do,” he had been called back to Camp Jupiter to resolve a minor god conflict and hadn’t been able to come in at his usual time. 

“Ooo, more of your mystery out-of-town work?” He’d mentioned it several times but, for obvious reasons, couldn’t tell you the whole story, and being the golden boy he was, he couldn’t bring himself to flat-out lie. “Is it something illegal?” You asked.

Jason let out a laugh at that. “It’s definitely not illegal.” He pushed his glasses back into place. 

“Are you sure? Because based on what you’ve told me, it’s out of town, it’s odd hours, it’s highly secretive, and it’s hard work.” You listed things out, counting them on your fingers. “You’re either selling drugs or possibly a secret agent.” You finished with wide, questioning eyes.

He laughed again at your list. You always had a way of putting his mind at ease. When it was swimming in work, and he couldn’t think straight, you always managed to bring him back to sanity. “It’s all boring, I promise. I’d much rather be here.” 

Your grin returned. “Oh really? I didn’t know you held our fine establishment in such high regard.” While you spoke, the cook rang a harsh bell and shouted, "Order up!”

“Thanks, Cal,” You called while you grabbed the two burger plates from the kitchen and walked them around the counter to deposit them at a table nearby. Jason watched you while you worked, the soft smile never once leaving his face as you handed out napkins and refilled some water. 

Once you were back, the conversation picked up exactly where it had left off. “It has its selling points,” he mused. The other half of that sentence, mostly about cute waitresses with the brightest smiles and the prettiest eyes, stayed caught in his throat. The pair slipped into an easy routine they’d established long ago. Jason would sit and drink his coffee while you bustled around, taking orders, running food, cleaning the occasional spill, all the while keeping up a steady stream of small talk. 

It was a mutually beneficial relationship. You got a bit of conversation to distract from the monotony of your work, and his blue eyes always seemed to make your day go smoother. Jason got a much-needed break from everything Greco-Roman. At camp, he always had so much responsibility, and so many expectations were weighing him down. Here, he didn’t have to worry about all that. You didn’t know who his dad was or what quests he’d been on, and you didn’t care. You liked him for him and not for the hero he was supposed to be. 

You returned to your spot across from him and picked up a rag to look like you were still doing something. “Have you told anyone at that camp of yours about this place?” You knew Camp Half-Blood existed. You also knew it wasn't anywhere close to normal based on the folks that came through, but they had the best strawberries even in the off-season, so you didn’t ask many questions.

“No way. Trust me, you do not want them coming here,” Jason had told you about his friends, minus a few details, but he had always emphasized that they were trouble.

“Uh huh, so then, who's staring at us from the window?” You asked with a sideways grin on your face.

“What?” Jason wiped his head around in time to see four panicked faces duck below the window sill outside. “Oh, by all the gods!” He muttered angrily under his breath and made a beeline for the door. “I’ll be right back,” he called to you, knowing you’d watch his book and half cup of coffee.

“Take your time,” you called back as he pushed open the door and stepped outside. 

For a second, all the demigods stared at each other without moving. Four crouched on the ground, wishing he hadn’t seen them, and one glaring at the group from above. Jason grabbed the front of Leo’s shirt and hoisted him up so he stood with his hands raised in surrender. “What are you doing here,” he hissed.

“Hey! Calm down, calm down,” Leo tried a friendly smile but was met with a glare. “We just, uh went for a walk?” He offered an explanation that sounded more like a question

“Wrong answer,” Jason sent his glare at the other three. “Did you all follow me?” He let Leo go and took a step back so he could glare at everyone all at once instead of having to shift his gaze.

“Leo made us come,” Piper threw him under the bus.

“Oh gee, thanks, beauty queen. It's nice to know where your loyalties lie.” Leo shot back, adjusting his shirt front.

Percy gave Jason a sly grin. “We were curious, but we never would have come if we knew you had a secret girlfriend out here,”

“She is not my girlfriend!” Jason cut him off. 

Percy put up his own hands, “Sorry, secret crush,” he corrected.

“She isn't! I don't-” Jason was full-on flustered now.

“Does that mean she’s up for grabs?” Leo asked. He looked back inside before getting smacked upside the back of the head by Annabeth. “What? She cute!”

When Jason looked back through the window he caught your eye and you sent him a questioning, yet very amused, glace. Jason had a bit of panic at that and quickly moved to usher the four away from the window and back towards the road. “Absolutely not! First of all, she’s a person; she can’t be up for grabs, and secondly, you can’t meet her!”

“What? Why not, she seems nice,” Annabeth asked.

“She is nice! And she's normal, and she doesn’t need to know any of you,” Jason managed to get them all about 10 feet from the front door. “Go back to camp. Just follow this road east for a mile, turn right at the second intersection, go straight for another half-mile, and you’ll see the border.” Jason gave the hurried directions and prayed to whichever god would listen that they’d all just leave.

“Whoa, man, we walked all the way out here, and now you're just gonna send us away?” Leo asked, putting a hand over his chest in fake offense.

“Yes,” Jason shot back flatly.

Piper spoke up next, “Wait, what’s her name? How long have you been coming here? How’d you even find this place? Does she like you back? It looked like she did.”

“Really?” Jason asked before shaking his head and focusing again. “I mean, I am not answering that,” he was still trying to shew the group away, but clearly, it wasn’t working. 

“Well, do they have good food here?” Percy added

“I saw ‘Breakfast all day’ on one of the signs,” Annabeth walked around Jason and back towards the door.

“And that burger meal she brought out looked really good,” Leo added. The four demigods went right past Jason and headed for the front door. 

“No, no, no, no, no,” Jason muttered as his friends ignored him and went in. “This is not good,” he said to himself, following the group back inside. They obviously had no intention of leaving, and he figured the next best course of action would be to simply die of shame. He knew this day would come; someone would catch him sneaking off, and his best-kept secret would become his worst nightmare. He just didn’t think it’d be so soon.

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

Ahhhh first fic in a long ass time, its not my best work but personally I liked the plot so I got a little carried away and might have to make a part 2

[marzipanandminutiae]

I would LOVE to hear more about the moral panic surrounding fashion dolls!! (Also it is so cool to see a doll from history, with clothing that would have been worn around the time it was made!! so if you happen to have any more images lying around that you'd like to share...)

thank you for this totally unprompted request :D

most of it was more of the same from the Mlle. Frou-Frou article- people worrying that having dolls depicting elegant adult ladies, especially with lots of clothing or especially nice clothing, would make little girls materialistic. and/or distract them from their True Purpose of marriage and motherhood, by making them think about...well, really it was still materialism that they were worried over, but it's hard to not see the "having any life at all outside the home" implications. fashion dolls might have wedding ensembles, but they were seldom depicted as wives and mothers

there are famous "Norman nanny" dolls, based on the then-common practice of young women from Normandy coming to Paris to care for the children of the wealthy, but seldom fashion dolls outside that particular uniform with little china babies in their trousseaux. I find that very interesting

wearing a Norman folk costume + holding a little baby = Norman Nanny DollTM

(which is wild because most women had SOME degree of life outside the home. many working-class women, well, worked, and a lot of middle- and upper-class women were involved with charities or intellectual/academic pursuits. but I digress)

I remember reading one magazine story- I think also from the 1870s, like Mlle Frou-Frou, where a mother is concerned about the effect of a "Paris doll" (as Anglophone sources often called French fashion dolls) on her daughter and the wise aunt suggests giving her a baby doll instead. the little girl instantly forgets her well-appointed Mademoiselle and declares that "a real doll-baby" is much better. I don't know about you, but there's not a baby doll in the world that could distract me from this:

French fashion doll and her trousseau, late 1860s

lady dolls fell largely out of fashion by the 1880s, replaced by child dolls. which, while sometimes just as extravagantly dressed, could at least be said to represent companions for their owners rather than a vision of an elegant- and worldly -future. and by the time Cissy and then Barbie came along in the 1950s, concerns about materialism were largely replaced by worries about the sexuality represented by adult woman dolls with realistic bodies

(notably, French fashions didn't really have that- see above where the undressed doll clearly lacks breasts or any other sexual characteristics besides a slim waist. the same bodies were frequently used for dolls representing men and women. so Mattel, you're not innovative with Creatable World)

but that's not to say the Child Doll Era was totally bereft of elegant ladies! if you want some eye candy, here you go:

"Miss 1934," a doll likely made around the turn of the 20th century outfitted a few decades later with a fashionable wardrobe by doll collector Blanche Eaton

Same type of doll as above but with a trousseau more conteporary to her creation. She is clearly in her greige era but for some red shoes. poor thing

Kestner "Gibson Girl" doll with wardrobe, 1910s

There are plenty more online, but the pictures aren't wanting to load for me, so I must stop there. I hope this was informative!

[omgthatdress]

To get into the first looks that were made for Barbie, we need to understand the beauty and fashion of 1959.

1950s fashion existed under that shadow of World War II. Women of the war era were hardy, hard-working, and practical. Fashion was also extremely practical, using as little rationed material as possible. The silhouette was boxy, masculine and almost military, with big broad shoulders and knee-length skirts. Rationing and austerity continued in the years immediately following the war, but then in 1947, something miraculous happened:

(The Metropolitan Museum of Art)

Christian Dior created “The New Look.” Now okay, fashion in general had been leaning into this new silhouette and Dior was far from the only designer to be working with it, but his was the most copied and most iconic.

“The New Look” was a call back to the sumptuous femininity of the mid-Victorian era, bringing back tiny waists held in place by impossibly tight corsets and big, full skirts with crinolines and hoops. 

The silhouette was a return to classic femininity, but the materials garments themselves were pure modernity: a practical ensemble for a wealthy woman-on-the-go who was lunching with her friends in Paris.

Looking back at Barbie’s 1959 looks, Christian Dior’s fingerprints are all over them, but I see plenty of other designers in the mix, as well. It’s actually very easy to find near-matches of almost all of Barbie’s 1959 looks with a cover of Vogue from the 1950s. Barbie from the get-go was an idealized woman who existed in a world that was separate from the middle-class American suburbs that the little girls who played with her lived in.

Looking at classic first-run Barbie, there’s honestly not a whole lot to say about the bathing suit look. I mean, yeah, that’s what fashionable women wore to the beach in the 1950s. Her buxom curvy body fit the idealized standards epitomized by Marilyn Monroe.

Her face has the heavy makeup that was worn by French fashion models of the time.

Arched, heavily-styled brows, eyeshadow, slightly winged eyeliner, mascara, and of course perfect red lips with matching mani and pedi. One of my pet peeves about vintage style is when people wear winged eyeliner as “50s housewife glam.” NO. Your average middle class American Mrs. Homemaker was not wearing that kind of makeup. Winged eyeliner in the 50s only had a small wing that accentuated the eyelashes, and was generally only worn by the high-fashion crowd. Maybe on a special extra glamorous date with Mr. Husband, but not to a church potluck. Anyway, end of rant, but you see that’s what Barbie is trying to emulate.

Her hair, however is different: the poodle hairstyle was one favored by teenage girls. Seen here on the squeaky-clean America’s sweetheart, Debbie Reynolds:

The playful, youthful hair pulls her back and keeps her from being *too* grown-up. It’s the first step in the balancing act that Barbie has always pulled off with aplomb: to represent adulthood without being too far out of reach of children’s imaginations.

[hl-obsessed]

WARNING! it's a long one - 54 fics listed! 🙈💕✨

•°•°•°•°•°•

✨💎 Lend Me Your Broken Parts by @dizzy-pixie17

(M, 2,4k)It's been five years, but when Lottie doesn't know what else to do to console a hysterical Louis, she calls Harry.

And despite everything, Harry comes.

Look How Well I Play the Bare Truth by Missbeautifullywritten17

(NR, 8,7k) When recently single (to the general public, of course) Harry Styles gets nominated to an Oscar for playing a gay policeman in the 1950s he thinks it is the most wonderful and, at the same time, painful thing it could have happened to him. How is he supposed to say how much Tom and Patrick's story means to him without revealing he is being closeted himself? How is he supposed to go on with his life after receiving the most important award there is for simply playing the bare truth? Well, maybe the rainbow dress he is wearing would be enough of an statement...

Or, the one where Holivia stunt ends, dwd flops and My Policeman gets lots of oscar nominations. Now, it is March 2023, Louis can't be there with him even though his bearding relationship with Eleanor and bbg are already done and he is in the process of coming out himself (apparently, coming out was one thing, but them being a couple... that was perjudicial for their careers and shall remain hidden). So what he does instead is a rbb photocall with the one and only Niall Horan while they watch Harry on the TV screen.

Meanwhile, Harry Styles remembers his past and finds himself on stage with an oscar in hand and, perhaps, his only chance to be free.

Cigarettes and Fuckin’ on the Windowsill by carmelstyle

(NR, 2,4k) Harry comes back from Italy after filming “My Policeman” and stunting. Louis isn’t happy about that last bit.

Or: Sex in front of a window.

Rest in Peace by @stfustucky

(M, 2k) Sometimes, when he looks back on things, there’s a small, angry part of Louis that wishes he’d never met Harry. If he’d just missed that audition, if he’d just stayed in bed, he never would have fallen in love with curly hair and bright green eyes and dimples he’s never gone a day without kissing since. Most times, when he looks back on things, Louis blames himself. The very solar system revolved around Harry and Louis had the closest orbit, flying close enough to feel that warmth in every atom of his body. He should have been paying closer attention, should have opened his eyes and stared into the sun and seen what was happening.

Harry has inoperable brain cancer at the age of 26. Louis watches the love of his life slip away.

guide you home by @nauticalleeds

(G, 0,8k) It’s been a while since Harry’s been able to appreciate the night sky, been a while since his life wasn’t full of hectic schedules and interviews and jet lag. He looks at the sky a little longer, watches the stars blink back at him and thinks about another bright presence he’s been missing.

Taking out his phone from his pocket, he thumbs at his screen to open a new message.

Full moon tonight, he types, and presses send. He keeps the app open, expecting the message to come instantly.

It does.

the peace ring is back in louis' ass? by @greeneyesfriedrice

(E, 1,2k) peace ring adventures with harry and louis! probably not what you expect!

Singing My Name Like Your National Anthem by @letthemusicmoveyou28

(T, 1k) “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Louis just scoffs at that, dismissing Harry quickly yet lovingly in a way that only he has ever seemed to manage. “Good luck getting me to be anywhere else love.”

Harry sighs. “Louis you can’t afford to get sick too. Your album release is next week, you’re booked solid.”

Louis just shrugs. “And if I get sick then we’ll rebook all of it. Or damn it all to Hell for all I care. As much as I want my fans to hear the album, there is nothing more important to me than you.”

✨ Second Time's A Charm by @dizzy-pixie17

(M, 4,7k) “Harry?” Oli Wright said nervously into the phone. “Um… How… how’re you doing?”

Harry’s heart was already picking up speed because there was only one reason Oli ever called him after midnight.

“I’m alright,” Harry answered. “What’s going on? Is it Louis?”

“Uh… yeah,” Oli admitted. “There’s been an accident.”

OR

The one where Harry finds out Louis broke his arm. For the second time in one year.

A Boyfriend for Christmas

(G, 5,5k) Louis' co-worker, Gemma, asks Louis to be her date for Christmas dinner. She needs a fake boyfriend to keep her family from harassing her about her singlehood. Louis adores her, so he doesn't mind helping out--until he meets Gemma's handsome younger brother.

Feeling It Now by @ireallysawanangel

(E, 7k) When Louis hooked up with a hot guy in the bathroom at a music festival, the last thing he was expecting was for that guy to be one of the headlining acts at the festival.

✨ Seal The Deal by @itsnotreal

(NR, 2k) Harry’s been getting Louis Tomlinson’s mail for months, even though he told the mailman that he lived in apartment two and Louis lived in apartment eight.

✨ It's Thursday. Let's Get (un)Dressed by @bananaheathen

(E, 9k) When Louis is peer-pressured into downloading TikTok over the holidays, he fully expects to hate it. And he does hate it. All of it. Well... except for aspiring OOTD influencer, @ harrystyles.

Your Silhouette Over Me by orphan_account

“Alright don’t forget the mission, get Louis laid,” Louis shouted over the music.

“Don’t know who Louis is, but I support it.”

Louis turned towards the contributing voice and saw the bartender leaning in front of him, his elbows resting against the lip of the bar. He had brown hair that fell in loose curls just above his collar bones which were perfectly on show due to the fact that his shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his abdomen. The shirt’s sleeves were cuffed up along his inked bicep and the pattern was something that Louis would expect a dad on vacation to wear, not a young bartender.

“He’s Louis,” Zayn said, jutting his thumb in Louis’ direction.

The bartender nodded approvingly, “then I definitely support it.”

~~~~~~

Or the one where Louis went out one night after work, wanting to get laid, and then ended up meeting a bartender named Harry Styles.

you drive me wild (you know you do) by @missandrogyny

(E, 6,6k) Their management informs them that they have an interview right before the ARIAs, and it isn't until he's in a suit, seated on a couch between Liam and Zayn, that he gets the idea.

The interviewer, Angus, smiles at them, right before the cameras roll on, and a metaphorical light bulb goes off inside Louis' head. He's perfect. Well, not as perfect as Harry, but enough. He's attractive, attractive enough to drive Harry crazy, and he doesn't even think of the consequences of his actions, just decides right then. It's all Harry's fault anyway. Louis should be allowed to have a little fun.

(or: Louis flirts with the Australian interviewers and Harry gets possessive.)

Love In Conversation by @hellolovers13

(T, 4,9k) King Arthur Baking Hotline.

Your bread fell flat. Your cookies crumbled. Who do you turn to? The King Arthur Baker’s Hotline.

or

Louis has a severe baking breakdown.

Thankfully, he gets help from baking-hotline operator Harry.

✨💎 i've secretly always wanted to be yours (and for you to be mine) by @bottomhaztoplou

(M, 1,6k) Harry has just presented. Louis needs to know that he's okay.

Only you by @germericangirl

(E, 4k) Harry comes home from filming a particularly intimate scene for My Policeman. Louis is jealous, Harry doesn’t understand why. They talk it out, more or less…

✨ Whoever, However by @brooklyn-babylon / @twopoppies

(E, 8,9k) Louis could feel his heart rate pick up as he positioned the camera and Harry slowly stood up. They both knew what came next –– it had been clearly outlined in the advert Harry answered. The studio Louis worked for was filming a new series of camboy videos. Louis’ job was to make it look like amateur porn –– sweaty, sensual, dirty –– but well lit and edited. He was an artist, thank you very much.

—-

Or: Louis has a much better day at work than he’d expected.

home at last by @greeneyesfriedrice

(E, 1,9k) Harry turns, a wide smile on his face. Louis stands in the doorway to their shared bedroom, his right arm held close to his body and in a makeshift sling.

He makes sure not to fully ram into his husband, but it’s been almost one month, so sue him if he’s excited.

Everything by @tommokat

(E, 4,3k) He’s got a job he loves, fans he adores, friends to call on and family to claim. He’s traveled the world, broken records, set new ones. He’s 13 years into a relationship with the love of his life, the man he can’t wait to start a family with. He’s a three-time Grammy award winner getting railed by his husband in the back of a SUV in the middle of LA traffic. He’s got everything. What more could he want?

or

Post Grammy’s SUV Celebration Sex

Devil in my brain, whispering my name @lunarheslwt

(E, 9k) Or, Louis, a demon, shows Harry, an angel, just how good it can feel to give in to temptation and sin.

Only You, Always by @larryficwriter

(NR, 5,5k) “Hey Haz,” Louis says, tensing because he can tell that something is wrong. Out of the corner of his eye, Louis sees Liam hurriedly busying himself with the Xbox.

Harry walks over to Louis, eerily calm. Louis’ gulp is so loud he’s almost sure that Niall and Zayn could have heard it. He leans down, his breath tickling at Louis’ ear. Honestly, Louis can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine

“Bedroom.” Harry practically growls into Louis’ ear and then he walks away, just as calm.

For a second Louis is frozen. Just the tone of Harry’s voice has Louis twitching in his trousers. Louis knows what’s about to happen, he can just tell. And it is a far cry from the fight that he had been expecting. Louis gulps again, looking over to Liam. The tips of Liam’s ears are flaming and Louis’ about seventy-three percent sure that Liam had heard what Harry had whispered. Liam is specifically avoiding Louis’ gaze. And then it hits him that he should be up; he should be moving.

or how Harry reacted to the "Lilo Kiss" incident

Won't You Please Come Around by @allwaswell16

(M, 5,8k) Harry has lived in London for a month, and so far the only friend he's made is his sister's cat, Mr. Whiskers. When the lock on the window breaks, Mr. Whiskers begins exploring his new neighbourhood a bit too thoroughly and brings back mementos of his escapes.

Or a Valentine's Day story where Harry has a really fit neighbour, and his cat is a thief.

I Hope You Choke (on those words) by @imogenleewriter

(E, 3k) Harry Styles had been head of security for concert venues for over eight years.

Never in his career had he seen a musician as reckless when it came to personal safety as Louis Tomlinson.

After making his job a living nightmare, Harry decided he needs to talk some sense into Louis.

If only there were some way to shut him up.

You Could Give That Aspirin the Headache of Its Life by @letthemusicmoveyou28

(M, 3,6k) Louis had once heard that the chances of being struck by lightning are 1 in 700,000. He wonders now, how those odds compare to randomly being seated next to your ex boyfriend on a 10 hour flight.

Honestly, if the universe is going to insist on ruining his life, he really would have preferred the lightning thing.

(Or the one where Louis is a football player who gets stuck on a flight with his ex-boyfriend Harry. The universe might be conspiring against him, or is it?)

You Can See It with the Lights Out by @larryatendoftheday

(M, 8,6k) In a universe where you know as soon as you meet your soulmate, Harry's been shaking hands his whole career, waiting for the one.

Things Unsaid by @londonfoginacup

(G, 4,4k) Or, where you have a tattoo of the first thought your soulmate has when they see you.

✨ If the world was ending, you'd come over, right? by @enchantedlandcoffee

(T, 6,3k) "Is Harry with you?" Louis blurted out, his free hand tapping anxiously against his knee.

"Louis?"

"Yeah. Is Harry with you?"

On any other occasion, Louis knew Niall would have yelled at him for calling in the middle of the night. But Niall must've sensed the urgency in his tone, his voice immediately taking on a lighter touch.

"Yeah. Yeah, he's been staying in the spare room. Why? Do you want me to get him for you?"

"No!" Louis panicked. "Just- check on him please? Make sure he's breathing and everything?"

✨ My Arm Might Be Broken, But I Won't Be Broken Down by @boosbabycakes28

(T, 2,4k) Louis broke his arm for the second time and he is bored out of his mind. He has nothing better to do than mess with his husband.

✨ Together We're the Greatest by @hellolovers13

(E, 4,6k) “How the fuck does this always happen to you?” Louis huffed, pulling Harry's limp body into the half fallen apart car he'd borrowed for this. Well, he didn't intend to give it back, really, but insurance covered theft, did it not? And this thing was basically held together with duct tape and good faith, so really, the former owners should thank him for taking it off their hands.

-

It's not the first time Louis has to stitch Harry back together, but Louis will make sure it is the last

With the Bomb Lighting by @letthemusicmoveyou28

(E, 4k) “Hey mate, sorry for the delay. Pop divas I swear…”

Harry’s eyes jolt open with record speed and he notes in horror that the man that had been filling his fantasies mere seconds ago is now filling his laptop screen.

“Holy shit, is that your dick?”

(Or the one where Harry is doing Zoom interviews to promote his new album, but his time management skills are lacking. Louis is the writer interviewing Harry for Rolling Stone when he accidentally gets an eye full. They figure it out).

the sweetness of your words knows no bounds in making my heart leap by @bottomhaztoplou

(M, 1,4k) At the end of his heat, Harry writes a letter.

At the beginning of his rut, Louis writes one back.

Meant To Be (Arse First) by BayouSexual

(T, 4,8k) Zayn groans in response, and Louis can hear the slow rustle of his bed sheets in the background. “Is it another ‘you woke up in the back parking lot of a Tesco’s with no pants and I need to come get you before the cops do’ panic or more of a 'I can stay in my bed and lend you an ear’ kind of panic, because I drank a lot more than you did last night, Lou.”

“Uhh,” Louis replies eloquently, “more like an 'I have two giant, blood red handprints on my naked arse, and no, they aren't from a good shag’ kind of panic.”

------

Or the one where your soulmate mark appears on your body where they first touch you and stays there until they touch you for the first time.

Aka the one where Louis's soulmate must like bums.

Makes Me Feel Alive by @itsnotreal

(E, 8,3k) Louis hated when people came in to get tattooed and couldn’t sit still— bunch of fucking squares is what they were. If only that had been the issue for his newest client.

Completely Oblivious by @itsnotreal

(G, 1k) “Are we dating?” Harry looked very confused.

Louis huffed, “That’s what I’m asking you!”

Or an interaction with a stranger helps these two finally figure their shit out.

✨💎 Your secret's safe with me by @lightwoodsmagic

(M, 7,4k) He knew almost everything about Haz, considered him his best friend. He knew his favourite movies and books, how he liked his coffee, knew how many pets he had and what he was most afraid of. Louis knew how to calm him down when he was panicking, and that he’d lost his virginity to his ex-boyfriend when he was 17. He knew that Haz had curly hair, green eyes, that he was tall and considered himself slightly awkward. He knew his Instagram account that only had aesthetic pictures or ridiculous jokes, but in the all the time that Louis had known him, he’d never learnt, or been allowed to know, Haz’s full name, what he sounded like, or what he looked like.

Louis didn't care.

Or, when Louis' favourite singer comes back and announces he's performing again, him and the rest of his group chat decide to go. When Haz, the man Louis' fallen in love with without meeting him, says that he can't, Louis tries his best to convince him with a drunken phone call, hearing his voice for the first time. It's not until he's at Royal Variety that he swears he can hear it again.

✨ Let The Ocean Worry About Being Blue by @greenblueish

(E, 5,6k) In a society where young adults go through the so-called Colour Test which determines their affiliation to a Colour - Blue, Yellow, Red or Green - and thus where they'll live, work and socialise for the rest of their lives, Harry is finally about to take the Test. Born and raised in Yellow, he met his boyfriend when he was still a teenager - against the government's recommendation. Louis, however, changed from Yellow to Blue two years ago. The problem: Harry needs to receive a Blue Test result as well, because a relationship between two people who live in different Colours is forbidden.

The Touch of Your Hand by @larry-hiatus

(E, 8,2k) Louis has decided to bite the bullet and get himself a dick piercing. He knows it’s going to hurt, but what he doesn’t know is how to calm down when he finds himself on the brink of a panic attack in front of the incredibly attractive piercer, Harry. Luckily, Harry is really sweet and offers to help ease his nerves.

You Don’t Have to Be Lonely Tonight by @neondiamond

(G, 2k) Louis is stuck working the Christmas day shift at the coffee shop. Harry is the sad stranger who comes in to spend the day there.

✨ In Jest by @londonfoginacup

(T, 4,8k) Louis, who smiles at Harry as he reclines in his chair. Louis, whose soulmark is visible thanks to his low-cut top.

Louis, Harry’s soulmate, who seems to either be blissfully ignorant of that fact or maliciously ignoring it.

Harry would really like to know which.

✨ you give me feelings that i adore by @alwaysxlarrie

(T, 7,6k) Harry doesn’t mean to fall in love with Louis’ scent when they first meet after the Alpha joins Harry's study group, but after Harry leaves a sweater behind by accident and it comes back smelling like Louis, he can’t really help it. Nor can he really help continuing to leave his things behind in hopes that Louis will take them home and drench them in his wonderful, mouth-watering scent. He just has to hope Louis will play along.

Or, 5 times Louis scents Harry's things and the 1 time Harry returns the gesture.

We All Scream for Ice Cream by @wishingforloushair

(M, 3,1k) Harry snatched the flyer back off the noticeboard, waving it at Liam. “BJ in your PJs?” he repeated.

“What? I’m not giving you a blowjob, Harry,” Liam said, looking slightly affronted.

“See?” Harry rounded on Niall. “No one thinks of Ben and Jerry’s when they read BJ.”

“Well, they should,” Niall said, snatching the flyer back. “Not everyone is a disgusting heathen like you two.”

“It says BJ in your PJs?” Liam asked, sounding aghast. “On all the flyers?”

“You told me it was catchy!”

When Resident Advisor Liam left his boyfriend Niall, and Niall's roommate Harry in charge of advertising the end of semester ice cream celebration for their hall residents, he should've expected it to end in disaster. Niall created an entirely inappropriate flyer, offering a very different experience than what they were planning to offer. When distributing the flyers, Harry meets Louis, an older student studying Drama, who is far more interested in BJs that doesn't involve Ben and Jerry's.

AKA crack/fluff with a bit of smut, based off of that one viral poster 'BJs in your PJs'

✨💎 Odds Are That We Will Probably Be... by @lululawrence

(NR, 0,6k) From the moment Louis learned no one would survive past the evening, the only thing he knew was that he had to get to Harry.

✨ I Knew From the First Time by @lululawrence

(NR, 6,1k) Or the one where Harry definitely doesn't take a sneaky pic of Louis on the Tube. Absolutely not. (Except maybe he does.)

All You Want's Under Your Nose by @wishingforloushair

(E, 3,5k) Louis decides to treat himself to a new sex toy, but is perplexed when he sees a man in the shop placing each vibrator against the tip of his nose and sneezing. Curiosity gets the better of him, and it turns out the man, Harry, is a sex-god who knows far too much about sex toys and promises Louis that if a vibrator makes him sneeze it will definitely make him come. Of course there's only one way to find out for sure...

On Love's Doorstep by @hellolovers13

(T, 1,6k) Harry Styles: a day in the life

☑ Stuck in a dress

☑ Abandoned by his best friend

☑ Date with hot neighbour

All in all, not the worst day ever

If Life Is a Photograph by @allwaswell16

(T, 2k) Harry gets plucked out of the crowd to take Louis’ crew pic on stage in Guadalajara.

It Was Electric Touch by @allwaswell16

(E, 2,2k) Harry, assistant to The Snuts' manager, has been indulging in fantasies about the headliner and founder of the Away From Home Festival, Louis Tomlinson. He gets the chance to indulge in the real thing at the after party.

Just Two Stars Passing By by QuickedWeen

(E, 5,1k) Harry blew up on TikTok and became a fashion commentator during the pandemic. Now, all of a sudden, big channels are asking him to cover their red carpets and premieres. Somehow he ends up covering arrival fashion for the 2024 Euros, and somehow Louis Tomlinson already knows his name.

A Late Summer Day by @gettingaphdinmomo

(NR, 0,5k) Today

I realized

you are home.

I almost told you

I love you.

Figure This Out by @haztobegood

(E, 2,4k) Louis is everything Harry could have imagined when he’d typed “silver fox enthusiast” into his Grindr profile. Too bad he's probably scared Louis off by giving him too many expensive gifts.

✨ Booked and Busy by @insightfulinsomniac

(E, 9,2k) Booking the Away from Home Festival is the biggest opportunity of Harry’s up-and-coming career to date. It’s just an added bonus that the festival is hosted and headlined by his longtime celebrity crush, world-renowned rockstar Louis Tomlinson.

Despite his excitement, doesn’t expect Louis to watch his set. Or to visit his dressing room ahead of his show to wish him good luck.

Or to flirt with him.

But seeing as this is the most monumental night of Harry’s life to date, he might as well make the most of it.

***

A fluffy, smutty PWP where Harry performs at AFH 2024 and gets a lot more than he bargained for.

.🌸🌸🌸.

✨ you gave me a ring, lad! by @theeliampayne

(G, 0,2k, Liam & Louis) In which Liam visits Louis at a concert and "give me a ring, lad!" is taken more literally than Louis intended.

like air to me by @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

(M, 5,3k, Louis/Zayn) Five times Louis’ smoke break brings back memories of Zayn and one time it brings him back to Zayn’s doorstep.

.🌸🌸🌸.

🌿 part 1 (+50k) 🌿 part 2 (30-50k) 🌿 part 3 (10-30k) 🌿

[heliza24]

Thoughts about Domesticity, Carework, and the American Dream in episode 2.5 of Interview with the Vampire

I’ve been mulling over episode 2.5 a lot. There was so much to love in the episode (the incredible writing, the kitchen sink off Broadway play of it all, the chemistry between Luke, Jacob and Assad, the vulnerability in Eric’s performance). But my mind keeps circling a couple of themes, trying to piece them together. So as usual I’m here on tumblr to try to work it out. 

I keep coming back to the way that Armand was gendered in this episode. His big complaint to Louis was that he was “home picking lint off the sofa”. He arrives with “mop and misery” to clean up the mess. Louis insults him by calling him “the good nurse”. All those things are feminized. They’re also extremely of the era; these are Feminine Mystique, mid-century housewife type complaints. The wife’s job is to make the husband’s life smooth and never worry about her own happiness. Obviously in the 1970s we’re seeing this begin to change thanks to second wave feminism. We’re in the process of trying to ratify the ERA, Ms. magazine has just been founded, and things are shifting. The kind of cheery domestic American dream of the 1950s is definitely shifting, and we see this in the episode as well. Betty Hutton selling sewing machines competes with Spiro Agnew resigning on TV. The watergate scandal signified a loss of faith in American authority, a kind of parallel destruction of the country’s father figure (brought down by journalists, no less). The comfortable lie of domesticity, the “prison of empathy” that Armand has created around Louis is crumbling. Armand is boring but he’s also bored, like a housewife taking valium to get by. The whole episode is set in an apartment that reeks of divorce, according to Daniel, and we’re seeing it play out in real time. When Armand lashes out to hurt Louis, he does it not through direct violence, like Lestat, but by holding his failure as a father over him, telling him that Claudia  never loved him. That jab, in combination with the way he’s edited Louis’s memories (gaslighting, another time honored form of domestic abuse) is enough to get Louis to hurt himself. LIke a wife who is always outwardly obedient to her husband but spends her time exacting petty revenge against him for the way he takes her for granted, Armand’s methods are never violent. They are soft and subtle and targeted.

I have to thank @bluedalahorse for first alerting me to the way the crumbling domestic American dream is threaded through this episode. And after she mentioned it I saw it *everywhere*. 

Obviously there is a level of complexity here in the Loumand relationship that this metaphor cannot fully capture. For one thing, Armand is a man. He was turned in a time before modern understanding of gender and sexuality really solidified, so in some way it makes sense that he would be the most gender fluid of our main characters, but his position would be a lot different if he were a woman, even a woman vampire. And Armand is very powerful. His insecurities and crippling fear of being alone keep him from exercising this power and walking away in a way that would perhaps be healthier for both him and Louis. But he is not trapped economically or socially in the way a wife would have been in this era. (That being said, I get the sense that *something* about the way the fire happened in Paris has made Louis and Armand go to ground. Maybe there is an element of being “trapped together because of fear of exposure”. But even then, I think my point still stands.)

To drill down and become more specific, there’s an extra added layer to the way Armand is feminized in this episode. I’ve written a lot about disability in this show and also the way it approaches eugenics, and those things were very on my mind as I rewatched this episode. (To be fair, they are always on my mind when I watch anything. Being disabled will do that to you.) Anyway, the specific way that Armand casts himself in this episode is as a caregiver. He is a beleaguered, bitter caregiver to those weaker to him. I think you hear this especially when he describes to Louis what happened: “you said the worst things you ever said to me, and then you walked into the sun. And now you are a convalescent.” The absolute sneer on the word convalescent.  The absolute disdain for being put in this position again. The way he denies Louis the blood and keeps him out of his coffin for so long. The “final act of service” in calling Lestat. And then the tenderness laced with fear. Will he “be on suicide watch for the next 1000 years?”. 

Armand is fascinating to me because of the way he seems to instinctively reject people who remind him of his own past weaknesses. Those weaknesses are buried down deep in his characterization, but they’re there and they’re important. He was sick and wasting away when he was turned. And before that he was an abused sex worker. You can see the way he dismisses people in similar situations in the way he treats Daniel in this episode. He calls Daniel a “broken boy” when he’s talking to Louis. He casually rejects the idea that there might be any sort of truth captured in Daniel’s tapes. The interviews on those tapes are with a sex worker and gay veteran and his disabled refugee husband. All of these people are so close to Armand in so many ways. I even think this is why Armand comes down so hard on Claudia, and why he cannot abide the true empathy and love Louis has for her. Claudia was turned when her body was weak. Weaker and more disabled, so to speak, than Armand. But they are not dissimilar. But Louis loves Claudia anyway, and respects her strengths. No one ever shown the love Louis shows to Claudia to Armand. No one ever granted him true empathy. The only way he has been able to hold on to any love at all is to grovel, to manage, to care give. The only way he experiences care is to give it. Of course he’s broken, of course he’s bitter.

So now we come to Daniel. The broken boy who has suicidal ideation and a drug problem, things that make him imminently dismissable in Armand’s mind. But Daniel also has a drive, a passion for life, and a love for the people who slip through the cracks. Louis and Daniel definitely share this great affection for humanity, and it’s what allows them to connect in San Francisco and again in Dubai. And it’s what makes him inscrutable, and captivating, to Armand. Because there really is no greater act of service than telling somebody’s story. Daniel describes himself as a therapist ironically in Dubai, but what he’s doing is carework. It’s real empathy. And Armand doesn’t understand that. Armand doesn’t understand what someone is doing recording the stories of people who were just like him. A whole universe of possibilities opens in the moment when Armand almost starts telling Daniel his story. Out of all the ways Daniel tries to save himself, that little life line of empathy is what almost snags Armand. But then Armand clamps back down, realizes he’s staring into a “black hole”. He’s trying to insult Daniel when he says that, but to me it just sounds like he’s describing himself.

When Armand is lulling Daniel into death, the thing he chooses to describe to him is the American domestic fantasy. He describes it as a fate worse than death. He describes it as a boring trap. And he specifically casts Daniel in the masculine, straight role in that fantasy, with a wife “vacuuming on valium” who “counts down his thrusts”. In some ways Armand is painting his own relationship to Louis as the worst possible fate that Daniel could suffer. (And it makes me wonder– did Armand ever wonder if he would amount to anything? Does he think his life has any meaning at all, if you subtract the vampiric powers? Armand has never stopped to introspect like this, but I wonder what would happen if you forced him to.)

But Daniel is stubborn, and his desire to tell stories and empathize with people resists death. I love that he still defends himself, still claims that he’s “a bright young reporter with a point of view” and that that is worth something. Because it is.

When Louis asks Armand to save Daniel, Daniel unwittingly becomes a symbol of Louis and Armand’s continued marriage. He’s a wedding ring, a vows renewal. He’s emblematic of the continuation of failing vampiric domesticity. And when Louis tries to repair the damage Armand has wrought, he isn’t able to offer Daniel soothing words about his ability to find a spouse or raise children or understand love. Louis doesn’t understand those things, so how could he teach Daniel about them? But Louis has always understood stories and humanity, so he is able to gift Daniel his writing and his reporting back. 

I think you can interpret Daniel’s failed marriages and difficult relationship with his children in a lot of ways. We could say that he was always going to fail at these things, regardless of whether or not he met the vampires, because of the discontent that Armand sensed in him. Maybe the trauma that this aborted gay hookup with Louis created was enough to re-closet him, and send him down a dark road of unfulfilled straight relationships. Or maybe Armand’s words really did echo around in his head and pull him down as much as Louis’s lingered and sustained him over the years. Maybe we’ll get more answers about this as the show goes on, or maybe it will live in the ambiguous world of memory and manipulation the show so often plays in.

Regardless, I think this episode was a masterpiece, and the way it firmly established these themes about the failure of domesticity and the burden and joys of carework are going to really matter, I think, as we hit the brutal conclusion of the season. When emotions are at a breaking point, especially between Armand and Louis, they are going to resonate because they were grounded in this little claustrophobic wonder of an episode.

As a little postscript, I’m not quite sure where we’re going with Devil’s Minion after this episode, or if we’re even going there at all. If a DM timeline happened in the past, it would require additional editing of Daniel’s memory, and I’m not quite sure if that reveal would work structurally. (I would love to be proven wrong about this though, because I would love for young Daniel and Armand to have interacted more, for Assad and Luke’s chemistry if nothing else. They were so wonderful together.)  If it were to happen in Dubai, or to happen again Dubai, however… well that’s interesting. Because older Daniel is disabled. He’s even more firmly in this category of people that Armand is apt to dismiss. And if they were to get together, there would probably be some aspect of caregiving on Armand’s part. And there would also be some caregiving on Daniel’s part, in his ability to listen to Armand. So that has the potential to be really fascinating, and maybe mutually beneficial to both characters. But I think we have to cover a lot of ground before we would be able to get there.

[holdupjack]

Jump The Line Pt.1

——————

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fem!Reader

AU: 1950s/WWIII/pretend enemies

WARNINGS: None

——————

Third Person P.O.V:

December 12th, 1965

Y/n stood at her post on the march of a small town in her country. It was just a small wall of barbwire and sandbags, but right on the other side, were hundreds of witches and wizards.

(A/N: A 'March' is just another way to say 'border')

It was kind of surreal to think that something so insignificant, was their only line of defense. Hell, Y/n could jump it with ease if she wanted to.

But, now thinking about it, it really wasn't their only line of defense. There was her. The recruit that was a few months fresh out of boot camp, and was now the sole gun that stood guard on this strip of border.

It was very much terrifying, and a lot to put on one's shoulders. The only other soldier on this street was two blocks away, and he wasn't even awake half the time. So...she just bit her tongue and held her gun by its strap over her shoulder. She would stare at the wall on the other side of the street for almost twelve hours at a time before anyone bothered to relieve her from her post.

Everyone in this small town knew that they needed more soldiers stationed here, but there just wasn't enough to go around. Their enemy outnumbered them here, and they knew that was well, yet they just hovered around the borderline.

Watching, talking amongst one another in hushed voices, or sometimes one of them would walk up and ask her if she had a smoke. It was honestly quite strange, and a little unnerving.

But, there was only one small upside to this whole thing, and it was also an upside that would get her into more trouble than she could ever imagine. There was this certain...witch.

Ugh, it was ridiculous, honestly. She was one of the communication liaisons for their leaders, and they happened to work around the same time every day. From 6 pm to 6 am, Y/n would watch as the brunette went from tent to tent with papers and files tucked under her arms, sometimes even arguing with the higher ranks in the area while doing so.

Y/n never knew what they were arguing about, it was all a bunch of gibberish to her, but the only real thing she had learned was the woman's name.

Hermione.

A wizard had yelled at her for doing his job, to which she immediately stood toe to toe with him, barking back in his face that he should be 'better at it since he was watching her do it for so long'. It took everything in Y/n to not laugh because the man was a good foot higher than her, and yet she held her ground.

Their eyes had met a few times throughout Y/n's new post, but it only lasted a few seconds each time. The soldier thought it meant nothing, and wouldn't be surprised if the liaison cursed her whole lineage in her head.

But then, something mysterious happened.

Y/n had been where she always was, staring at the wall across the way, only really looking across when there was a sudden movement, or something caught her eye. So she was quite spooked when a soft voice called out to her from the left, where the border sat.

"Hello there"

Y/n blinked and looked over to find the intriguing liaison standing right at the edge of the waist-high wall. It was around 3am, and both sides were quiet as church mice, which is what usually happened when the moon came out to greet them.

"Uh, hello" Y/n replied in surprise. She wasn't a hundred percent sure if she was even supposed to be talking to her, but then again, it wasn't her first time talking to the enemy. They were kind enough to feed her during her patrols since she was told repeatedly that she would be reprimanded if she even thought about lifting her eyes away from the border.

You don't even want to know about the bathroom situation.

"May we speak for a moment?" The brunette asked, and Y/n subconsciously leaned on one foot to the other. She hesitated before taking a few tiny steps forward and tightening her grip on the strap of her rifle.

"I don't bite, you know" Hermione laughed softly, and Y/n opened her mouth to say something but ended up just closing it a few seconds later. She was nervous for multiple reasons, which incidentally caused her tongue to shrivel up, but thankfully the other woman was more talkative at the moment.

"My name is Hermione Granger, I am the communications liaison for this battalion, and you are...Y/l/n? Do you perhaps have a first name?" She joked as she read the tag on her uniform, to which the soldier stood up straighter and finally found her voice.

"Y/n, I'm a soldier" she replied and the witch nodded, her eyes flicked up and down the fighter's body a few times, before meeting her gaze again.

"I'm like you, except with powers" Hermione states, and Y/n furrowed her brows in confusion. From what she knew, the enemy was a hidden society that lived under our noses for centuries!

Then again, they are just people as well.

"How so?" Y/n asks as she takes another tiny step forward, her eyes watching carefully as Hermione chuckles and pushes down the wrinkles on her own uniform.

"I was just like you, a regular little girl in London" she explains and the surprises Y/n. Regular? So, she wasn't magical a birth? Fascinating.

"Really?" Y/n asks as she takes another step, a shiver then runs up her spine as snow clouds rippled over the landscape just outside of town. It wouldn't be long before she was stuck in a powdery downpour. God, that's the worst thing about this area of the country around wintertime, it snowed more often at night than it did during the day.

"Truly" Hermione replies as she takes a step forward as well. It wasn't long before they stood directly in front of one another, and there was a strange mix of awkwardness, fear, and curiosity. It felt wrong to even look at the other person, but at the same time, the rush felt very nice.

"How did you know? When you got your abilities, I mean" Y/n stammered as she anxiously held her gun by its strap over her shoulder. Even though there was barely anyone else on the streets, it was still nerve-wracking to think that they both could accidentally start a battle or be severely reprimanded.

"Little things. When I got very emotional, strange moments started to happen. Objects would disappear, change color or size, or even levitate if I was angry enough" Hermione explained as she watched Y/n tilt her head in thought, even tracing the bricks under her feet with the tip of her boot. The witch found it endearing since this was the first soldier she had tried to speak to, that didn't immediately put a gun in her face. So, that was refreshing.

"That's very interesting, but I doubt you've called me over to chitchat about our lives" Y/n replied with a slight smile, the brim of her cap blocked the light from the street lamp from hitting her eyes. Hermione was surprised by the insight but was glad to know that she didn't have to beat around the bush.

"You are right. The real reason I am here is because we would like to send a message to the civilians within the town and any military personnel." Hermione says as she clears her throat and straightens her posture. Perhaps to make herself more official, or maybe just to remind herself that she had a job to do.

"Message?" Y/n mumbled to herself as she furrowed her brows, and noticed as Hermione pulled out a large yellow envelope from somewhere. Maybe she was holding it? Y/n wasn't entirely sure.

"We are giving anyone who would like to leave the area, a chance to do so without problems. We have our forms of transportation that can send them wherever they would like to go." Hermione says in almost one breath, and Y/n is stunned to hear this. Was this...a warning? That something big was about to happen?

"I understand the civilians wanting to leave, but soldiers? You're asking us if we want to abandon our homes? Betray our country?" She asked calmly, but it was obvious she was offended. The brunette quickly shook her head and held the envelope over the waist-high barbed wire.

"No, no. It's just...a suggestion" she says with a slight breath as Y/n has to hold back the urge to snatch the documents from the other girl's hand. Hermione watched as the soldier pulled out the papers and read them over carefully, even stepping back to be directly under the streetlights.

This was big. It was multiple copies of the same thing the witch had said. Anyone who wanted to evacuate was more than willing to come to the border with a bag and would be taken anywhere they'd like. Free of charge.

Y/n stuffed the papers back into the envelope, and turned her back towards Hermione, before giving a loud whistle down the street. The brunette raised an eyebrow in slight confusion before a boy, no older than 18, came jogging down to Y/n. He could barely hold up his weapon, and he seemed very on edge, almost like a deer in headlights.

"Ryland, stay here and guard the border. I have to take these papers to command, immediately" Y/n explains in a hushed tone, watching as the young man nodded, his helmet blocking his eyes for a moment before he quickly pushed it back up. Everything on him was way too big, but it wasn't like the world had time to tailor his uniform right now.

"Yes, of course" he stammers before Y/n quickly runs off into the darkness with the flyers in hand. The young man, Ryland, Hermione thought she heard, quickly pointed his gun at her.

"Back! Or I shoot!" He shouted in between a stutter, and Hermione quickly raised her hands and backed away with an annoyed expression, but then again, he was probably scared out of his mind.

Hermione made her way back into the nearest tent as a cold wind blew just behind her, and then soon the soft shine of snow began to fall onto the thick dark fabric of the shelter. She sighed softly and pulled up a chair to the table in the middle as everyone slept soundly in their cots.

She should get some sleep, but she wanted to speak to that soldier again. She was obviously much kinder, and less likely to jump the gun. Literally.

Hermione jumped as another loud clash of a distant mortar erupted from outside the village, and she couldn't help up laugh at herself softly and lay her face in her hands. She really didn't find it all that funny, but she'd rather laugh than cry.

After spending a few months on the front lines in England, she's found herself very scared of loud noises. It reminded her of grenades, artillery, and the distance fire of tanks.

So, she just laughed it off. The last thing she needed was to be sent back home when she knew she could help end this war sooner than later.

It also didn't help that she had been fighting against other muggle-borns who had chosen the other side. Seeing classmates on the opposite side of the front lines, with nothing but muggle weapons. She had seen a few break their wands before returning home, knowing that it was the only way they could leave the Wizarding World without much resistance.

Speaking of home, her childhood house was destroyed during the invasion of London. Thankfully, she had her parents move into a rented home hidden in the mountains in Europe. They're protected from the battles and hidden by magic, and that's all she could really do.

"Oh Merlin" she whispers softly as she rubs her temples, fighting off sleep as it tries to creep in, feeling her eyes droop closed and then shoot open repeatedly. Finally, she stood up and shook her head in an attempt to awaken herself, but it only made her yawn as she quietly walked over to the flap of the tent, opening it enough to peak out into the snowstorm.

She was surprised to already see Y/n right back at her post, the snow drenching the thin uniform she wore as flakes blew off the brim of her cap. Had Hermione been thinking for that long? No, it must have only been a few minutes, but their base of operations must not be that far from the border.

"She doesn't even have a winter coat on" Hermione grumbled quietly as she took in Y/n's appearance from what she could see due to the low glow of the street light.

"Who doesn't?" The whisper came from behind her, and she instinctively jumped and whipped her head around, but only found Harry with a smile on his lips.

"Harry! Don't do that! When did you even get here?" She states, almost with a hiss in her words from the annoyance that filled her body within a fraction of a second. She hated being scared.

"I just took the portkey from the base in lower France, but you still haven't answered my question" he replied with a chuckle before turning the chair she was sitting in earlier, towards her and taking a seat. Hermione rolled her eyes and turned back to peak through the flap again.

"If you must know, I was speaking about the soldier I had just spoken to" she replied and Harry furrowed his brows in confusion. He sat up slightly and rested his arms on his thighs.

"A soldier spoke to you? Really? They said they must be more open-minded around here" he joked as he watched Hermione continue to stare out into the storm. He sighed softly and stood up as well, walking over to take a peak with her.

"Trust me, I've gotten more barrels in my face today than I'd like to experience in my whole life" she mumbled as she shivered slightly due to the temperature drop. Harry squinted slightly to see better in the darkness, and then he noticed something immediately.

"A woman? Ooo, does Hermione have a piqued interest in the enemy?" He teased and the liaison rolled her eyes at his childlike banter. Sometimes she just wanted to knock him to the ground just so his sarcastic jokes would take a backseat for a while.

"We talked for maybe two minutes, and don't even insinuate that I have any feelings towards the other side! Do you want me to be thrown in Azkaban for treason?" She asked quietly as her eyes darted around the tent at all their sleeping allies and Harry just rolled his eyes at her anxiousness.

"Whatever" he sings softly before plopping down on an empty cot. Hermione sighed in frustration at his nonchalant attitude, acting as if this whole war and situation were nothing to worry over.

Hermione took a deep breath and looked out at Y/n one more time, silently debating a question in her head. Should she, or should she not?

To be or not to be, that is the question.

With a few seconds of pacing, Hermione grumbled to herself as she snatched one of the umbrellas that was leaving against one of the support poles. It popped open almost immediately as she stepped back into the storm, and her eyes zipped back to Y/n.

"You'll catch a cold!" she called out once she was close enough to the border again, which just caused Y/n to jump again. Their eyes met through the onslaught of snow and dim streetlights.

"A cold? I think that's the least of my worries" Y/n replied, having to raise her voice because of how loud the wind was. Hermione chuckled and held the umbrella's handle just a little tighter.

"That is true, but to not even have the proper attire on is a little much" the brunette replied as she rocked from foot to foot, now starting to realize that she should really have thought of some conversation starters before she walked back over here. But maybe she was just nervous, and her causal responses had gone on vacation because of it.

"Sounds like you're trying to get me to leave my post" Y/n murmured, and Hermione stammered so bad, that she stuttered for a solid five seconds. The only thing that snapped her out of it, was the single thought that passed her consciousness.

TODAY WOULD BE NICE!

"Th-That-. Dammit! That's not what I was getting at!" She coughed out, and Y/n didn't even react to the humiliating ten seconds that would haunt Hermione's nights at random points in her life. Instead, the witch only noticed the smirk on the soldier's lips.

She stared at Y/n's side profile for a few seconds, deciding whether to yell at the enemy for the sake of her pride, or take the hit and turn in for the night out of shame. She opted for the latter, but yet, her legs stayed firmly planted where they were.

"That is not funny," she says and Y/n turns enough to catch the other girl's gaze, her smirk barely being held down, the evidence was by the twitching in the corners of her lips.

"I don't know, I enjoyed the way you reacted. It was like watching a baby dear trying to walk on ice" Y/n snickered and the witch coughed out what was almost a laugh, but it sounded more offended than anything.

"Are you trying to start the battle?" Hermione sighed as she pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes for only a moment, just to clear her racing mind. But when she opened them again, she was greeted by the fact the Y/n now stood directly across from her.

She stepped back slightly out of habit but just as quickly returned her foot to where it was before. Hermione didn't know how Y/n was able to move that quickly, but now it was harder to see her face because the streetlights were behind both of them.

"I am a little bored," Y/n said, but the look in her eyes told the brunette that she was just teasing, and in all honesty, it felt good to hear someone joke about things again. It's not like either of them had a choice in the matter, it was WWIII after all.

When Hermione got her letter from the Ministry, telling her that she had been drafted, it took her through a loop. She was going to just hide out from the drafting, but when Ron made it his whole personality to become a soldier, that's when she and Harry had no choice in the matter.

They couldn't let him die, especially since he has a remarkable ability to run into danger without even realizing so. This is why they both are now begrudgingly on the front lines and why Hermione was even a part of this useless war.

The muggles were going to win, and that was obvious. Their weapons and sheer numbers were enough to destroy the Wizarding World if they kept losing people at this rate. Thankfully, she had heard rumblings of a plan to retreat and go back into hiding, and that's really the only thing they can do, and hopefully think of a way to make the world forget about them again.

"A little bored? You look as if you're about to jump out of your skin" Hermione laughed as Y/n rolled her eyes, but it was true nonetheless. Anyone would be spooked if they were a stone's throw away from the ones who were perceived to be their enemy.

"So do you" she replied and the brunette nodded in agreement since she knew that she was one loud noise away from booking it.

"You got me there," she said as her eyes shifted to the small pile of snow that lay on the brim of the soldier's hat, she was almost tempted to reach out and brush it away.

"So what brings you back over here anyways?" Y/n finally asks, her head tilting to the side for a moment, it seemed like a force of habit whenever she wanted to know the answer to something that intrigued her. Hermione didn't know the answer, sadly.

"Can't blame me for being bored as well, can you?" She asked in return and Y/n just smiled before scanning her eyes across the multiple tents that littered the street on the enemy front.

"I suppose not, it is a ghost town around here" Y/n mumbled before their eyes met again, and she noticed a faint scent of flowers that invaded her senses, as a howl of wind fluttered Hermione's hair in front of her and the cold air nips passed Y/n's bare face.

"You're a native of this country, correct?" The brunette asked and Y/n nodded, her shoulders relaxing as time went on, and Hermione's grip on her umbrella loosened as well.

It wasn't till the sun began to peak in the sky and the snow stopped, did their conversation finally ended, but they both knew that this wasn't the end of their interactions. It was far, far, from over.

——————

December 20th

It was the start of Y/n's shift, and when she stepped around the corner to walk towards her post, she was surprised to find a long line of people from around the town. They were talking quietly amongst each other, all facing towards the border with a suitcase or two in their hands.

"Oh, wow" she whispered under her breath as she slowly walked towards the front of the line.

"Y/l/n! Help me with these civilians!" A voice called out, and her eyes darted to find Ryland and a wizard setting up two planks of wood on both sides to help people walk over the border. Y/n quickly jogged over as Ryland nailed the last of the supports into place, before standing up.

"What's going on?" She asked quietly as she was handed a camera and a clipboard filled with the same form to be filled out multiple times. She was about to ask another question, but the younger boy quickly spoke before her.

"I need you to fill in the information on these people before they cross. We need to find them again once this battle is over" he whispered in her ear as the Wizard across the border gave a thumbs up to them when he finished building his side of the ramp.

"Right. Right. Got it" Y/n said as she took a deep breath, taking a pen out from her chest pocket, and stepping towards the little elderly couple just before her. They gave soft smiles, to which she gave one in return.

Hermione was asleep in the tent nearby, she had worked a double shift that night and had only gotten a few words in with Y/n during that whole time. She hated being a liaison sometimes, due to all the communication screenings she had to do when it came to communication between the village's needs and peace negotiations.

Also, the constant snowfall wasn't helping either during her jogs between the radio communications tent and the tent that was filled with higher-ups and their idiotic plans on how they could possibly take control of the town with minimal loss.

Newsflash, that wasn't possible.

"Hey, get up" Hermione somewhat heard as someone gently shook her shoulder, and she immediately snapped her eyes open in fright. She grasped the person's wrist, but then realized it was just Harry.

"Woah, it's just me," he says quickly. She takes a deep breath and pushes his hand off her shoulder, resting back on the cot and staring at the ceiling of the tent. It was dark out, and the only light was the few lamps and small furnaces around the shelter.

"The civilians are being brought over the border, they want you out there to make sure that everything stays calm between the exchanges," Harry says as he leans over to look down at her, she sighs and covers her face in a silent form of frustration.

"Of course, they need my help" she groans quietly before sitting up with a bit of strain. Her back was aching from being on her feet for so long last night, and she honestly just wanted to sleep for a few more hours. She was so drained.

"What time is it?" She grumbles as Harry decides to pour her a hot cup of coffee and hand it to her, then sits on the empty cot across from hers.

"Twenty past six" he replies as he looks at his watch, his eyes following the second hand as it traveled its sixty ticks around the watch face. Hermione's eyes flicker with intrigue before she hides her interest behind the sip of her coffee.

"Alright, I'll be out in a moment" she hums as she stands to freshen up in the women's facilities tent, but Harry's eyes zipped up to her with a small smirk on his face. She knew that look, and she was already rolling her eyes and groaning as he followed after her.

"You want to see your girl, huh?" He whispered in her ear as they walked out the back of the tent, and she scoffed, pulling her winter coat close to her as they shuffled through the snow.

"You are such a child, she just happens to be the only person with any interesting conversation in this place" she replied defensively as Ron ran up behind them, ringing his arms around their neck as he began to walk with them.

"I see your 'lover girl' is helping with the exchange" he chuckles as Harry snickers and pats his stomach as a silent 'hello'. Hermione glared at them both, before shaking off Ron's arm.

"How did you even know about her? You haven't even been here for a day!" She huffs as she steps into the women's facilities, and quickly stops them both from entering with her. She poked her head out from the flaps of the tent and smirked at their grinning faces.

"I swear, you two gossip more than the old bitties at the tea house. Anyway, I've only known her for eight days. Isn't that a little fast to call it love?" She asks as Ron scoffs and leans against Harry's side with his own. Hermione raised an eyebrow at his immediate dismissal.

"I've fallen in love for less. I once dated a girl because I liked the way she said 'Rutabaga'." He says with a nod and Harry thinks for a moment before turning to him with furrowed brows.

"Wait, was that Mandy? I liked her, she made amazing banana bread" he says and Ron looks back at him with eager agreement,

"I know right? I was thinking about calling her once this whole thing is over" he replies, before they both start reminiscing about Ron's ex, and in all honesty, Hermione doesn't even remember who they're talking about. So she just rolled her eyes and slinked away into the tent while they were distracted.

——————

Y/n yawned softly as she used her torch flashlight to continue to write down all the information about the citizens who were either leaving the country or just going outside of town. She was freezing still, but at least her commander was kind enough to find a coat that had been found in the collection bin. It was just thick enough to protect her from hypothermia, but she was still cold as all hell.

"Name?" She asks a young mother, who had her toddler bundled up on her hip. They both looked exhausted from just waiting in line for so long,

"Ruth Magryn, and Joan Magryn. Joan, wave to the nice soldier" she says with a tired smile as the little girl waves with a small giggle. Y/n grinned and gave the girl a quick tickle to her stomach, which made the kid laugh in excitement and hide her face in her mother's shoulder.

"Hello, Joan. May I know where you two are heading?" Y/n asked as she readied her pen by the 'location' box on the form, but before the mother could respond, a voice called over.

"Y/n!"

Her head snapped behind her, recognizing the voice almost immediately, and she broke out into a small grin when she saw Hermione standing there in a winter coat that looked a little bigger than her. She kinda looks like a kid wearing her parent's coat.

"Ryland, trade spots with me," Y/n said as she watched the young boy help a child over the border, and then immediately run over to take over her post. He took the cupboard and stuttered over his words as he greeted the mom and child.

"Ah, good afternoon Ms.Granger" Y/n said once she was close enough, and Hermione gave a soft laugh as she stepped to the border as well. Formalities? That's new.

"Ms.Granger? Have I done something wrong to be reduced to formalities?" She asks jokingly, even though a part of her brain is slightly panicked about it.

"No, I'm just teasing. How are you? I saw you running around all night yesterday" Y/n asks before she and Hermione help the mother over the border first, with Y/n holding the toddler who looks a little entranced with the soldier.

"Just running useless errands" Hermione sighs before smiling at the mother as she helps her down onto the other side.

"And who is this?" She says with a bit of a laugh as she and Y/n step onto both sides of the ramps, meeting each other in the middle.

Their eyes meet and they fall into a beat of silence as they are now less than an arm's length away. Hermione noticed the snow that was still caught in the crevices of Y/n's jacket, and Y/n noticed how Hermione's hair was slightly damp. She must have just taken a shower.

"Uh...oh! This is Joan" Y/n chuckles as she looks down at the toddler on her hip, before slowly passing the child over to Hermione, who Joan immediately greets her with a little laugh.

Their skin touched, and for only a moment, Y/n's cold fingertips ran against the side of Hermione's hand, and the brunette didn't know if she shivered from the cold or...

No. No! It was cold. This was her enemy, now wasn't the time to play the dating game. She took and deep breath and forced a smile as they both walked back onto their appropriate sides.

"Hello, Joan" Hermione greeted as she playfully shook her little hand before passing the child to her mother's arms. Hermione then pointed to Ron, who stood casually against the wall of a building nearby.

"That is my friend, Ron, he will take you where you need to go," she says before the mother gives a quiet 'thank you' and walks off with her suitcases.

"So, they had you running around all night for useless things? Sounds a bit like a waste of your resources" Y/n says as Hermione steps back towards the edge of the border, her arms crossed over her chest.

"My thoughts exactly" she grumbled before Y/n chuckled to herself, looking over to check on Ryland, who seemed to be as anxious as usual. He really needed to relax, she feared he'd start shaking like a chihuahua soon.

"Hey, can I ask you a completely hypothetical question?" Y/n asks quietly, which causes Hermione to lean in to hear a bit better.

"Let's say, we win the war. What will happen to you....guys? Yeah, you guys" She asks quietly, clearing her throat at the end, before meeting her gaze again. Hermione opened her mouth but shut it just as fast.

What should she say? What CAN she say?

"Well, uh...hypothetically, we'd probably go back into hiding" she whispered, hoping that putting her trust in Y/n won't bite her in the ass in the future.

"Alright, that makes sense...what about you? I'm guessing you'll go home back to London, right?" She asks and Hermione stiffens at the thought of her home, that now laid in ruins. Technically, she had no home to return to.

"No, it's best if I didn't," Hermione says quietly. Y/n furrowed her eyes in confusion, but before she could ask a single question, a large family emerged to be helped across.

That was the end of their conversation for the night, but this particular subject wasn't going to be forgotten.

——————

December 24th

Y/n stood at her post like usual, it was snowing again, but Y/n didn't mind it this time. It was Christmas snow, and it did make up for the lack of people and holiday cheer that was lacking in the town now.

It was only an hour until it was officially Christmas Day, and all this patrolling gave Y/n more than enough time to wallow about missing the holiday season with her family and traditions.  Then again, it wasn't all bad.

"Hungry?"

Y/n turned to find Hermione with two plates of food in her hands, both steaming with a feast of actual food. The MRE packets weren't bad, but they weren't the best either since she's been deployed here.

"Hell yes" Y/n sighed in relief as she walked over to the boarder and graciously took the paper plate and plastic fork. Hermione chuckled softly as she leaned against the wall of the building beside them, and began to eat quietly.

"Thank you, you didn't have to get me a plate" Y/n soon says in a quiet tone, but you could still see the smile that she tried to hide by taking a bite off of her plate.

"I wanted to" Hermione replied simply as they ate together in a comfortable silence, maybe only a minute went by before she decided to speak again.

"Have you spoken to your family? With the holidays and all?" Hermione finally asks, watching as the snowflakes melt from the steam before they hit the plate.

"I've gotten a few letters, but I don't really have time to call as much as I wish I could," Y/n says with a small hum as their eyes finally lock together, and Hermione gives a small smile.

"Well, at least you know they're thinking about you," she says and Y/n nodded in agreement, before leaning against the building as well.

"What about you? Has your family called?" The soldier asked.

"Yes, they called me just a bit ago to wish me a Merry Christmas" Hermione said as she poked at her glaze-covered steamed carrots. Y/n noticed the lack of energy in her response and hesitated for a moment.

"And?" She asked, and Hermione sighed softly.

"And...they wished I was home with them, that they didn't agree with what the Wizarding World was doing to their-...our world," she says as she takes another deep breath, since if she didn't control her breathing, she might cry.

"War has no good or bad side. There are only good and bad leaders" Y/n says and Hermione just chuckled to herself. If that wasn't the truth, then she didn't know what it was.

It was quiet again, both of them now almost halfway through their meals, and Hermione felt a bit of courage run across her soul. Which made her stand up slightly, but before she could ask Y/n something, the soldier spoke first.

"A few days ago, you said that you wouldn't return to London, hypothetically. How come?" Y/n asks and Hermione gives a soft laugh at her attempt to 'hide' their questions still. Nobody was even around to eavesdrop on them. But she'll play alone, just for the soldier.

"Well, hypothetically, if you had been a part of the whole battalion that invaded your hometown, would you want to go back?" She asks in return and Y/n's eyes widen before nodding in understanding. Hell, she probably would have been shot before she even crossed the border if she had done that.

"I see your point" she mumbled as there was another string of silence. They both stared back at their food and quietly finished what was left, and soon their empty plates began to catch the snow that fell from the heavens.

Hermione slipped her gloved hand into her pocket, and pulled out a copper pocket watch, popping it open to see that it was now 5 past 12. It was Christmas Day.

"Happy Holidays, Y/n," she says quietly as she shuts the watch and stuffed it back into her pocket. The soldier smiled to herself as she folded up the plate and threw away the grave in a nearby trash can...or a postal box? She couldn't really see that well in the darkness, and snow.

"Happy Holidays, Hermione" Y/n whispers back as she looks up at the cloud-covered sky for a moment, seeing deep purple ripples between the clouds, almost faint enough to miss if you weren't looking.

"Look, would you possibly...want to share a nightcap? With me? It is Christmas, after all," She added, just in case it wasn't obvious that this was a small invitation. To break the rules, just this once. It was a holiday, and she thought that it wouldn't hurt to have a 'Christmas Truce' between them. Hell, if it worked in 1914, then it could work now.

Y/n blinked in surprise before turning back to Hermione, almost missing her completely. If it wasn't for her silhouette, Y/n might have just ended up talking to a wall.

"A nightcap? Here?" She asks in return and Hermione's back tightens as she stands up straight, slowly walking over to the ramps that were still standing as a walkway over the border.

"Well, I was thinking of a tent nearby? If you just stripped your uniform, nobody would notice" she says quietly as her foot hits the side of the ramp, ever so gently. It was honestly a stupid idea, now that she thought about it. It was crazy to think that Y/n would ever willingly put herself in potential danger-

"Well, maybe just one drink" the soldier replied.

Hermione's eyes widened, and just for a split second, her heart was thrown off its rhythm. This is crazy, she thought. Then she cursed at herself silently for repeating what she already knew to be a fact.

"Are you sure?" Hermione asks, just in case the holiday spirit was messing with Y/n's mind as it was hers, but Y/n didn't even pay it any thought. Instead, she hid her jacket and helmet behind the lamppost, leaving in just a tank top and her military pants and boots.

"Hurry, before you freeze" Hermione laughed in a bit of disbelief as she dropped the plastic plate and fork in the snow. In the back of her mind, she felt bad about littering, but she didn't care that much at the moment. She'll pick it up tomorrow.

She held her hand out as Y/n balanced on the snow-covered bridge, their hands clasping together like magnets in the darkness. There was a sense of excitement as Y/n stumbled slightly onto the other side, making Hermione shush her with a small laugh.

Y/n laughed as well as she began to smile, their hands never disconnecting as Hermione pulled her into a small jog, sticking them close to shadows as they weaved through the spaces between the tents. Hermione would peer around corners and pull the soldier quickly once the coast was clear.

As they sneaked past the biggest tent, there was a bunch of people inside singing carols and drinking together. Hermione pressed her free hand to Y/n's chest, before slipping away from her grasp to slip into the tent herself.

Y/n kept herself in the shadows, shivering slightly, since she was still without her thermal coat. Too bad it made her a walking 'I'm your enemy' type since the colors of her country were on it.

Hermione returned a minute or so later, with an open bottle of wine under her arm and two dixie cups. She grasped Y/n's hand again, noting it was colder than before, and subconsciously picked up their pace.

They found a vacant tent, and Hermione sighed in relief since the furnace was still burning inside. Once Y/n stepped inside, it was more obvious how cold she was, the biggest indicator was the bright red nose.

"You look like Rudolph" Hermione chuckled to herself as she watched Y/n from the corner of her eye, who looked at her with a smirk. There was something about it that had Hermione fighting back a grin.

They both sat down on the two chairs near the furnace, Hermione poured some wine into the two cups and passed one to Y/n. Fingers brushed against skin again, but neither said anything about the flutter between them.

"I have to ask, what's it like to use magic?" Y/n asks quietly, since anyone who overheard them, would know she wasn't on their side in an instant.

"Honestly? It makes regular life a whole hell of a lot easier" she admits as she took a sip from her cup, it wasn't her favorite type of wine, but she didn't have many options.

"Must be nice...you mind casting a spell to do my laundry for me?" Y/n asks playfully, which makes Hermione do her quiet laugh, she leans forward slightly before her quick breaths make a few noises come out.

"Sure, after this is all done" she finally replied as she looked back at Y/n who was leaning back against the chair, her sole attention on Hermione. They both got quiet before the brunette found her bearings and took a quick intake of breath before finishing the last of her wine in the dixie cup.

It wasn't long until one nightcap, turned into two...then three. Before eventually the wine was gone, and their cheeks were rosy pink. They weren't drunk, but they were definitely a little more than tipsy. It was the sweet spot for the subconscious to take over while your conscious took the passenger seat, only piping in when they thought about saying something or doing something stupid.

"I can't wait for this whole thing to be over. I want to go back to simplicity" Y/n sighs as she rests her head against the top of the backrest, her hands interlaced flat against her stomach. Hermione sat beside her watching Y/n with a bit more intensity than either noticed, her arm on the top of her backrest and leaning her head against her knuckles.

"It'll be a while until both worlds return to normal" Hermione added and Y/n nodded in agreement, before sitting up fully to look back at her.

"When that happens, do you think you and I could...meet up? Maybe get dinner or something like that?" Y/n asks, and Hermione blinks in surprise, sitting up as well. They stared at one another as the witch fought the urge to pound on her chest as her heart fluttered like she would do to her old TV that would static at her old home all the time.

"Yes! I mean, uh, sure. I would like that." Hermione breathed out as they both leaned their elbows on their knees, faces too close for anyone to see it other than what it was. Pinning. Yearning. Hesitation.

Slowly, they moved closer. Both have a million thoughts running through their heads, but none of their concerns even fostered their movements. Y/n could smell that flowery perfume even better than that one time before, it was subtle. It was made to only be smelt by the wearer or someone close enough to touch her skin. It was addicting.

Hermione eyes fluttered closed as the distance between them was about to disappear, wondering if this was too soon. If the 'maybe' outweighed the risks. If Y/n could be more than a fun thrill.

But it didn't matter.

Because the air raid sirens began to blare.