the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.
three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.
two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.
their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.
one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.
i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.
i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.
and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?
you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.
a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.
someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.
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have sum steddie! maybe modern!au, no upside down!au & a meet cute <3
Steve sits in the booth, his foot tapping away mindlessly under the table, with half a mind to abandon the table entirely.
In fact, the only reason he hadn’t yet was because of the $20 he was hanging out for at the end. And the bragging rights, of course.
Robin had set him up on this blind date, plied him with all the promises in the world that he would enjoy it — said she’d spent a decent amount of time hunting for the right first gay date for Steve.
She also conceded that if he, for whatever reason, didn’t enjoy it, she would cough up 20 whole bucks for his wasted time. But he had to actually see the date through for the prize to be claimed.
And the bragging rights were so that Robin — with her uppity, healthy, and happy relationship that Steve was only a little bit envious of — could ease onto the breaks when it came to Steve’s love life.
So it was looking a little bleak at the moment, so what? Every stallion or… lion or whatever had their moments, right? Moments where their mane is a little uncouth and food is low and…. Where was he going with this?
The point was, that Robin got into one relationship and suddenly decided she was fit to become a high and mighty matchmaker. Never mind that Steve had reminded her numerous times that he had dated a lot more than she had.
So, for 20 bucks and the right to stick his tongue out at his best friend when she tried to meddle, Steve could stick one night out.
Besides, she was right about one thing. They weren’t in Hawkins anymore — and San Francisco had a hell of a larger dating pool than his hometown.
Still, that didn’t make people anymore for prompt for dates though, apparently. Steve’s foot taps incessantly under the table, his knee bouncing up and down in his nerves. He runs a hand through his hair and checks his watch again.
7 o’clock, Harvey’s Diner, a cute little Italian place that Steve had begun to frequent since they moved to the city, and a date with a dude called Daniel whom Steve had no idea what he looked like.
This was his Friday night plans.
His watch reads 7:12pm and Steve sighs, his fingers beginning to fiddle with the strap of his watch just for something to do. Great. He had gotten all dressed up for this? To be stood up? How was this any better than his usual Friday night plans that Robin claimed were so pathe—
“Hi.”
Someone sits down in the booth across from Steve, landing with a thump loud enough to give him a fright.
Steve’s head whips up from its focus on fiddling with his watch and— woah. Steve blinks once, twice, and feels his jaw unhinge a little, his lips parting an inch as he gazes at the stranger across from him.
Holy shit, this dude was hot.
He’s got curls for days, dark chocolate ringlets all messy and unkept spilling over his shoulders— long and probably perfect for burying your hands into. Steve flushes a little at the unexpected thought.
He has beautiful brown eyes, widened with a smudge of eyeliner and framed with long lashes. Steve thinks he can spy a smattering of freckles across his forehead. His nose is long and his lips are plush and pink and holy shit, this dude was pretty.
“Oh— hi.” Steve manages to remember his manners. Only after he fully checked this dude out, of course.
God, couldn’t Robin have given him a better warning than just ‘he’s probably your type’? Couldn’t she have warned him that this dude was ‘do-a-double-take-on-the-street type hot?’ What the fuck Robin?
The man across from him grins, wicked and alluring all at once, and shucks off his heavy leather jacket. His eyes do a once-over on Steve, taking his time to check him out— which is great because Steve is stuck on all the glorious tattoos that have just been revealed. So much skin shown in his roughly chopped muscle-tee, swirling ink all down his arms. This dude is hot.
Silently, Steve curses Robin and the 20 dollars that is totally slipping away from him. Why did she have to be right all the time?
“Been waiting long?” The man, Daniel, asks as he makes himself comfortable across the table. He pushes his hair back with both hands, using one hand to gather it into a ponytail, holding it up to air out his neck and Steve now realises he is slightly puffed.
He must’ve run part of the way here, to avoid being later than he was. Steve can’t help but be slightly endeared by that fact.
The man grins again, “Promise I was trying to be on time but, you know how the subway is.”
Steve huffs out a laugh, any annoyance at being kept waiting melting away at his date’s sincerity.
“Not too long,” Steve admits, smiling to ease Daniel’s apparent concern. Across the table, Daniel slumps a little and releases his hair, his curls pooling back around his shoulders. Steve watches, entranced.
“Well, that’s good,” Daniel smiles, eyes bright like he really means it, and his hand darts out to steal the drinks menu from the edge of the table. He looks back over to Steve, a furrow in his brows. “You didn’t order anything?”
“I thought I should wait,” Steve says with a shrug. No point paying for food if your date never shows up.
Daniel looks up from the menu through his lashes and smiles, placing his elbow on the table and dropping his chin in the palm of his hand. “Aw, you’re sweet.”
Steve is a little embarrassed by how easily the compliment makes him blush, feeling his cheeks glow lightly. Across the table, Daniel seems to revel in it, drinking in the way Steve’s face filled with colour with a cheeky smile. His eyes flick back down to the menu.
“You know,” Daniel begins, keeping his eyes on the menu, scanning it with a hum. “Chrissy said you were good looking but I think she seriously undersold you.”
He takes his eyes off the menu to trail up Steve’s body, his gaze heavy. Steve feels a delighted zing go up his spine, feels the way he preens at Daniel’s attraction. Steve opens his mouth to respond, more than ready to return the flirt when—
“Can I get you two started with anything?”
The waitress interrupts. She’s poised with her notepad, standing at the edge of the booth. Daniel perks up and nods.
“Can I get a chocolate milkshake please?” He asks with a polite smile. Steve laughs lightly at his selection and Daniel’s gaze cuts from the waitress to Steve.
“What? Not a milkshake man?”
Steve tries to contain his grin, all too endeared by the man before him. He shakes his head and raises his hand in defense. “Nothing against milkshakes just… for dinner?”
Daniel gasps theatrically and his head snaps back to the waitress. “This man has never had the delight of a Harvey’s milkshake with his dinner. Please bring us two chocolate milkshakes!”
Steve watches as the waitress dutifully writes down the order and turns on her heel, heading for the kitchen. He turns back to his date and gapes, taken aback by the forwardness.
“Did you just order for me?”
“Did you just diss milkshakes?”
Steve scoffs, but even then he can’t stop his lips from curling up into a smile. He can’t believe it but he’s genuinely glad he waited this date out. It's not at all like he was expecting. Even Robin's short description of this dude pales in comparison to the real thing. Steve nudges his foot forward into Daniel’s shin lightly.
“I did not diss milkshakes,” Steve argues, his smile widening at how Daniel’s eyes dart to the table before back up at Steve with a grin.
“Uh huh,” Daniel nods, his voice sarcastic and 100% unbelieving of Steve’s insistence. “Just wait, okay? You’ll be changing your tune soon enough. Harvey’s milkshakes are class. I’ve had a thousand of my best ideas in here, sipping on a chocolate milkshake.”
Steve grins and leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. Under the table, he feels Daniel’s boot nudge against his leg gently— and he laughs to himself. This has gotta be the most teenage way of flirting and he’s fucking loving it.
“You know,” Steve begins hesitantly, letting his forearms lean up against the table. “You’re not quite what I expected, Daniel.”
Across the table, Daniel scrunches up his face, his expression one of pure befuddlement. He puts his hands flat on the table and leans forward.
“Wait, you think my name is Daniel?”
Steve splutters for a moment because even though the answer is duh, yes, it’s become increasingly apparent that the man across from him is not who he was expecting. But if he’s not Daniel, who is he?
Suddenly, the door chimes and someone else is entering the diner. It’s a man dressed like Steve — on the preppy side with hair that must’ve taken at least an hour. He scans the booth and spots Steve’s booth, wandering over, his eyes fixed on the man across from Steve.
“Hey, are you Eddie?” He asks confidently, ignoring Steve’s presence on the other side of the booth.
The man — Eddie — freezes as he glances up at the newcomer and then back down to Steve ahead of him. Steve deflates a little inside as he realises abruptly what’s happened— a mix-up of wrong dates that was completely warranted because this dude dresses exactly like Steve. Steve doesn't stare too long to see if he's any hotter.
Instead, he tries to give Eddie the all-clear with his eyes. He smiles polite as he can and gives a little nod to let him know it was alright to abandon him for the date he was supposed to go on. Not to get stuck with Steve.
Eddie clears his throat and smiles, not cheeky like he had with Steve, but stiff and polite. “Ah sorry man, I think you’ve got the wrong guy. My name's Daniel.”
Huh? Steve takes his eyes off the table to steal a glimpse at Eddie (is his name even Eddie?) and something inside him burns hotly when the man glances across at Steve and winks.
The man standing by the booth wavers for a moment, glancing between them in the booth as Steve schools his expression to neutral. After a moment of silence, there's a half-assed apology as the man retreats, heading back out the door he had just come through. The door chimes again on his way out.
Steve straightens up and peers over his shoulder, watching the door slowly swing shut. He turns back to the man across the booth and squints at him. The waitress returns briefly, dropping two large chocolate shakes onto the table, topped with a mountain of cream. She murmurs something about coming back to take their order in a moment.
"Wait, so who are you?" Steve asks, gently sliding his shake closer to him. "Daniel or Eddie?"
His date —well, his new date— has already begun taking a big long sip from his own milkshake, so enamored with it that when he pulls away there's a dot of cream on the end of his nose. He swallows with a satisfied ah and grins across the table at Steve, not noticing the dairy on his face.
"I'm whoever gets me talking with you a little bit longer."
Steve grins, an endeared roll of his eye at the blatant flirting but he can't deny how it makes his chest warm. He grabs one of the napkins and reaches forward, adoring how Eddie goes cross-eyed as he watches Steve smudge away the cream on his nose. He laughs sheepishly, giving his nose a little wipe with his own hand.
"I'm Eddie." He says, finally introducing himself. He doesn't offer his hand, just gives Steve a little nudge under the table and a grin over his milkshake. "And I think you just saved me from a terrible date."
Steve laughs, giving a little shake of his head. He finally goes in for a sip of his own milkshake— and it's just as heavenly as Eddie had promised, glorious chocolate dancing over his taste buds.
Steve groans quietly, eyes bright when he glances at the other man over his glass, entirely amused by how wide-eyed Eddie has become. He releases the straw and sits back, more invested in this date than he has been in... years. Stallion's got its mojo back. Or lion. Whatever.
"I'm Steve," He responds, giving a little nudge back under the table and a grin of his own. "And I think you saved me from being stood up."
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Steve’s known to be very good at charming girls.
He’s used to making them blush and giggle at his sweet words. Used to them giving him the bedroom eyes as their delicate hands slowly moved up his arm, squeezing the muscle there while begging for him to take them to his room and fuck them.
He never left them unsatisfied.
So, it wasn’t any different when he used the same technique on Eddie.
They had been sitting on his couch, a movie playing in the background when Steve had finally made the first move after months of them tiptoeing around each other and their feelings.
He’d made the older boy laugh at his dumb jokes before he had scooted closer, slowly moving his arm to rest on the back of the couch, very close to the Eddie’s shoulder and then… he had leaned in.
And Eddie had responded so well.
He kissed Steve back with the same type of desperation, arms finding their way around Steve’s waist and Steve felt like he was buzzing with excitement as he deepened the kiss, softly caressing the back of Eddie’s neck.
”Let’s go upstairs,” He had said, voice deep and low and it had made Eddie moan.
When they got to his room, Steve was all but ready to push Eddie to his bed and make him stay there looking all pretty while Steve did all the work.
But instead, he felt Eddie pushing him towards the bed and soon he was the one laying there, big brown eyes looking up as Eddie came to lay between his spread legs with a wide grin. He grinded down on him, making their clothed dicks brush against each other and Steve let out a soft moan out of surprise.
It was a total switch up from the nervous Eddie from earlier and it had made Steve feel many, many things as older boy started to kiss his neck.
Steve had to bite back a moan when he had licked his pulse, but Eddie wasn’t having any of that, apparently.
”C’mon, let me hear the real you, sweetheart.”
Steve hadn’t known what he had meant by that. Wasn’t this the real him?
When he has had sex before, he’d always focus on his partner and their pleasure over his as he’d try to make them as loud as possible when they cum. That’s what he does and what he loves.
But once Eddie was cock deep inside Steve’s tight heat, holding onto him and praising him of being such a good boy and the most gorgeous creature he’s ever laid his eyes on, Steve couldn’t help the way he whined.
Couldn’t help how he moaned with every thrust his lover was giving him. How he begged for more as he held onto Eddie’s shoulders and cried when Eddie answered to his pleas and fucked him harder.
How he came untouched for the very first time.
After that, when they were laying in his bed, both sweaty and panting from the sex, Steve realized he’d been so so wrong about himself and the sex he loved.
It made him a little irritated how much he had held back his own pleasure.
So, it hadn’t taken long until he was already up for a second round, riding Eddie with earnestness as he took control of the pace this time, listening to his own body and the things it liked. The things it needed.
Which was the way Eddie’s dick felt inside him. How full it made him feel and how it always hit that spot inside him that made his whole body tingle.
Yeah.
Steve was never coming back from this.
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