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johannestevans · 10 months

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Is the Homophobia Worth a New Hobby?

Rolling the dice on homophobia in nerd spaces.

Photo by lil artsy via Pexels.

Originally published in Prism & Pen. Also available on Patreon.

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I went to a board-game evening last night with my boyfriend Lewis, who’s nonbinary and uses he/they pronouns. Frequently, people assume they’re cisgender, especially because he’s fat and has a gorgeous, thick beard.

I’m a gay trans man, I only use he/him pronouns, and I’m at a point in my transition now where I almost never get clocked as transgender even by other trans people — a lot of the time other trans people don’t even realise I’m trans too unless I say it explicitly or take my shirt off and they can see my tits.

I occasionally joke that the time I really knew I was passing as a man was when other comics in stand-up comedy spaces started making homophobic jokes about me instead of misogynistic ones, joking that they didn’t want to bend over in front of me, or similar.

But just because they don’t know I’m transgender doesn’t mean they don’t know I’m gay.

I’ve written before about my nuanced experiences of gender-based interaction as a gay man who’s perceived unequivocally as gay and effeminate in every situation I’m in, even at a distance, and how this translates to cis women feeling more comfortable with and safer with me than they might if they perceived me as heterosexual.

Gay men often seek out employment in areas that are perceived as being “for women” or stereotypical women’s jobs — nursing is a stereotypical career for queer men, and much of the time, queer men will fall into step with women in retail, hospitality, and other customer service positions, especially if they’re very obviously queer from a distance.

Why?

Because homophobia is hostile to us in every environment.

People will often wonder why queer men will take up stereotypical “women’s jobs” when being men in those positions make them stand out more because there aren’t other men around. Won’t they be opening themselves up to more homophobia by being such a visible queer man among a staff of mostly other women?

And what those people are missing is how like… queer men among women in service positions will absolutely be treated with homophobia, but because they’re alongside women who are going to be treated misogynistically by many customers at a bare minimum, they will be amongst friends.

Even in more traditionally “masculine” careers and environments, queer men might gravitate towards socialising with the women in the space rather than other men who are cishet or just less visibly queer, because it’s safer as a queer man to be amongst those women than to be amongst the men — who might be violent, who might be hostile or rude, or might just treat him as invisible.

People often treat male nurses and midwives, male nannies and primary school teachers, male receptionists and personal assistants as jokes. They might think of them as stereotypically gay and effete, limp-wristed, “sassy.” I know a lot of those gays. They’re my friends and lovers and ex-coworkers.

I’ve worked alongside them. They’re absolutely real.

But what people mix up is the cause and effect of why those men are in those positions. They don’t become sassy and obviously gay because they took a receptionist job. They went for those jobs — and might excel in those jobs because — being hired elsewhere might be harder, and specifically, surviving elsewhere might be harder.

Because it’s not just about getting hired, it’s about getting to do your day-to-day duties, about going for promotions, about how comfortable customers or patients or parents or students are dealing with you.

And while, sure, they might treat you with homophobia in mind, or say homophobic shit to you — because the positions are stereotypical women’s jobs and you as an effete gay man are treated by much of society as woman-lite or basically a woman (“Except you’re technically a man… I guess.”) the idea that you belong in that position is natural.

These are the caring professions, the service professions.

People like women to be in those positions because they’re “more caring” or because they’re “good communicators” — and because they’re expected to constantly smile and be friendly and bubbly and pretty, and to do what they’re told and to say “the customer is always right” and make you feel good even as you treat them disrespectfully.

People are often more comfortable treating a woman like that than they are a straight man, because to do that to a straight man would be emasculating. It would be an insult to his manhood to treat him like that.

What are you insulting with a gay man, when we don’t have the same manhood to insult in the first place? What are you emasculating, when he emasculates himself with his very existence?

Some queer men I know go up the expected men’s path of advancement in their careers, while others are much more in the expected women’s ones. These men get treated in the same way their female colleagues are and impacted by a similar glass ceiling.

It’s not to say gay men can’t benefit from and leverage misogyny against female coworkers in the workplace, any more than women can’t benefit from and leverage homophobia against their queer male coworkers, depending on the dynamics of a particular workplace and the intersections of marginalisation at play — particularly given that I’m only discussing here the intersections of misogyny and homophobia. I’m not even getting into racism and particularly anti-Blackness, ableism, ageism, fatphobia, or any other form of bigotry that influences the power dynamics and marginalised experiences present in any given workplace.

The thing about workplaces is that we often enter them because we have to. We have to navigate different forms of bigotry or marginalisation, slot ourselves into wherever we can safely fit, or at least fit as safely as possible, because ultimately, we need to earn a wage.

We can’t just pick and choose and wait until we can find employment with people who don’t or wouldn’t leverage institutional power over us, or find a mythical workplace that’s untouched by bigotry or capitalism and the desire by bosses, not to mention society, to exploit their workers.

We do our best to fit ourselves into whatever career track or employment position will allow us best to survive and support ourselves, because we need to earn money to live — to pay rent, to feed and clothe ourselves, to support ourselves.

What about hobbies?

What about things that we’re doing ostensibly for fun? Is it worth it then? Any woman can tell you that navigating nerd spaces can be excruciating.

Frequently, women and people perceived as women are presumed to be ignorant of anything around them in such spaces. They’re guessed to be the wives or girlfriends of men in attendance. Simple concepts might continuously be explained to them when they’re veterans of whatever the hobby is.

They’re treated as romantic or sexual prospects of any man who lays eyes on them, with a refusal to allow them to just play and exist in the space without being sexually objectified.

In the event they do show their knowledge or expertise, insecure men might respond by quizzing them and putting them to test after test, or by furiously disagreeing with any mild critique or opinion they share.

And again, I’m only talking about misogyny here — if that woman is Black, or queer, or trans, or all three?

White cishet dudes will froth at the mouth to demand why she thinks she’s allowed to be there, why she thinks she can be comfortable or can enjoy the same things they do, or speak on them with any entitlement or expertise.

Many white cishet dudes in nerd spaces effectively believe that nerd spaces — sci-fi and fantasy literature and entertainment, board games, video games, computing and tech spaces, coding, comic books, etc — were invented by and for men like them. They respond to any kind of diversity of identity or experience in the space as if it’s an invading threat.

Photo by Tima Miroshnichenko via Pexels.

Particularly because many of them have experiences of being emasculated or bullied for not measuring up to mainstream standards of straight masculinity — because they’re disabled or chronically ill, because they’re autistic, or simply because they “look” and came off as nerdy or geeky since they were young, and were never able to navigate “popular” spaces — they take on a very competitive mindset with the other men within the space. A lot of these spaces can be horrifically toxic, with these men putting each other down, wallowing in their loneliness whilst gloating over men who are more lonely or more pathetic or uglier or nerdier than they are.

They don’t want solidarity with each other in most instances — until a woman walks into the room.

They use and have internalised deeply misogynistic ideologies, often thinking of women as prizes to be won, or beautiful trophies, or in general as people who experience emotions — especially loneliness or isolation — in “shallower” or less real ways than they do themselves as men.

Subsequently, they respond to the presence of women in their spaces as a potential threat and/or as potential reward for one of them.

Nerdy guys of this calibre are often very attached to their identity as a societal outsider, and by their own definition of societal outsider (based in faulty assumption and self-obsession) women can’t experience this sort of social isolation. Women are therefore treated as invaders in the space.

Visibly or obviously queer men are not treated in precisely the same way, but in many social environments, because of the ways in which effeminate queer men are socially sorted into a woman category by homophobes, we’re often treated in ways that effectively mirror expressions of misogyny.

I have a stand-up bit about how many cishet people effectively project their expected male-female dynamic of a heterosexual relationship onto a gay couple, where you can see them doing the maths in their head:

Oh, that one rides a motorbike and has short hair, so she must be the husband, and the other one wears dresses and paints her nails, so she must be the wife. But wait, the wife has a high-powered law career and the one with short hair is a stay-at-home mother! Maybe the lawyer is the husband and the mom is the wife! But wait! The lawyer was the one who carried the baby, and the stay-at-home mom is trans! But wait!

And so on.

Straight people are so obsessed with their gender binary that they’ll tell you something like “Dogs are boys and cats are girls,” to the extent that if you’re like, “What? Why?” they’ll say something like, “You know, because dogs are goofy but cats are sexy,” and they’ll treat that shit as completely normal rather than moderately deranged. They’ll act like you’re the odd one for saying how ridiculous that is, because it’s so ingrained in their world view.

So of course, meeting a couple formed of two men or two women (or two people they assume are two men or two women), they’ll naturally project the same gender binary onto them.

I like board games, right?

That’s not true.

I love board games. I’ve been obsessed with them since I was a child. I own dozens of them, and I’m only starting to get more into the hobby as an adult in the past few years, attending board-game nights here and there. I used to have a lot more social anxiety, and I tend to get quite overwhelmed in unfamiliar environments with large groups of people where I’m also learning new skills, so it’s taken me awhile to feel more confident about going to boardgames events — but I’ve pretty much always attended queer ones.

There are multiple queer board and tabletop game nights in the Bristol and Bath area. There’s one or two in Cardiff; there’s a regular running one in Galway; of course, there’s several across the Leeds and Bradford area.

Last night we went to a local board-game night — just a general meet-up. I liked the look of it because it seemed to have an older age cohort than many of the queer ones I’ve gone to, and a good mix of people.

Lewis and I walk in: they’re drinking a pint of cider, I’m drinking a double of Bailey’s on the rocks. They’re wearing an open striped shirt over a t-shirt and a pair of shorts; I’m wearing some blue trousers with a ruffled blouse and an open waistcoat. They have a thick gingery-brown beard; I have thick sideburns and a moustache.

Of course, I also wear eyeliner. He’s fat, I’m thin, and while we both have similar mannerisms — we hold our hands delicately, we both tend to sway our hips somewhat when we walk with a slight sashay, we both gesticulate and express ourselves with our hands — because of the way that people tend to desexualise fat people and particularly those they perceive as fat men, cishet men often treat Lewis slightly differently than they do fellow cishet men, even just assuming they’re a cis gay man.

We often notice and talk about the fact that when Lewis walks in somewhere on their own, people read him as gay, and that’s coloured and influenced by their fatphobia, where they just assume that fat men don’t fuck, but because of a combination of his fatness and his queerness leading people to assume a level of emasculation, they guess that a lot of people assume they’re a bottom.

Until I’m standing next to them and it’s clear we’re a couple — the assumption is that because I’m thinner and because I’m more pretty than Lewis’ handsome, I’m the bottom, and if we’re split into a cishet’s vision of a man and woman, that makes me the woman.

We put our drinks down as I take out the two games we brought with us and a man comes over — tall, white, cis and straight, in his 50s. He’s friendly!

To Lewis.

I was the one that RSVPed to the event, my name was on the attending list, and they were just marked on the list as a +1. I was the one that looked for the event and brought it to them for us to go.

He asks both of us our names, but when asking us about games, he directs most of his questions to Lewis; his body is angled toward Lewis’ conversation; he looks at Lewis about 70 or 80% more than he looks at me, even though I’m leading much more of the conversation.

It’s not that Lewis doesn’t like board games, of course he does! He attends regular queer board-game nights, they enjoy different kinds of board games, but they remarked that what stood out to them about the conversations of the night is that men kept asking them about the different games, and he didn’t know any of the terminology — deckbuilders or worker-placement games, co-operative versus area control games — and wasn’t as familiar with the stalwarts in each genre.

Whereas, I was and was just ignored. Lewis likes board games the way a normal person likes board games — he likes to play different ones, he enjoys them as a method of socialising with others and meeting and engaging with new people.

Photo by Pixabay via Pexels.

I’m a bit of a freak about board games. I own dozens of them, I browse forum entries and read reviews of board games, I’d play board games solo — they’re an area of special interest for me.

The man who walked over asked if anyone was interested in a particular game, and I put up my hand and said I was super interested in playing In The Year of the Dragon (which I very much enjoyed and was absolutely into). Even playing the game, he described a lot of it initially to Lewis and the other guy playing with us and made far less eye contact with me, talked less directly to me, but also in general acted as if I was less interested and invested in the game than anyone else at the table, despite the fact that I was the first volunteer for it.

It’s the sort of thing that’s so blatant when you experience it, and yet if I’d called it out at the time, I would have been treated as being very unreasonable, if not insane. A lot of the time, when cishet men treat women and effeminate men like this (as abled people with disabled people; as white people with POC and esp Black and dark-skinned people; the list goes on and on) they’re often not entirely conscious that they’re doing it.

There have been numerous studies into gendered interactions in different environments, how much men interrupt women versus the reverse, how a minority of women are perceived as making a more significant amount of the group because of how they’re treated as tokens. If you just speak with people anecdotally, some will absolutely relate similar experiences.

Some people will become angry and upset when you point this out, and say that it’s actually the fault of the people being ignored or spoken over, because they’re not being big or loud enough, or angry enough that it’s happening to them.

Except, if you get angry about it, you go from being the woman or gay man being treated as a non-entity to being the woman or gay man treated as an irrational hysteric, imagining mistreatment where none is happening.

As the game went on, and each of us made mistakes or showed that we were learning the game, the attitude toward me at the table did change a bit, especially because Lewis and I answered a lot of questions together, and we do, as a lot of couples do, add to each other’s answers or remind each other of things mid-discussion.

And then, another man came over to the table, because he was obviously a regular at these events, and had never seen Lewis before. He asked Lewis if they were enjoying this game, what sort of games they liked.

He didn’t even look at me, let alone direct any of his questions toward me, even though Lewis looked to me multiple times when they couldn’t remember particular games they’d liked, or wasn’t certain what kind or genre of games they fit into. I actually answered the question of what games I favoured even though he hadn’t asked, and he sort of nodded awkwardly as he left.

I shouldn’t be entirely offended — the thing about nerd spaces (as with many other cishet-male dominated spaces) is that conversation like this isn’t necessarily approached with a view to making new friends or social connections.

A lot of these guys just want to measure each other up so that they know where they stand in the pecking order, which other men are potential threats to their masculinity or to their standing in the pack — will they be better than him at his favourite games? Will they embarrass him by making him look bad, either by being better at certain strategies, or by knowing more than he does about his favourite subjects and specialist fields? Will they out-man him, in short?

I felt horrible after last night even though I genuinely enjoyed the actual game, because the thing is, like…

When someone turns around and calls you a faggot, or even when they make catty little comments about your sexuality, at least you know they know you’re there.

When you’re treated as functionally invisible, an extension of someone else’s humanity, and given the “girlfriend treatment” — whether because you’re actually a woman, because you’re perceived as a woman, or because you’re treated as woman-adjacent because of some element of your personhood that means you’re also deserving of misogyny— it’s maddening, and it’s sickening.

There’s no easy way to actually fight against it, most of all because it’s so thoughtless, and so easily denied as accidental or inconsequential.

One thing I’m very lucky for is that Lewis does know what that experience is like and clocked it and noticed it and why it was happening from the get-go, whereas I know a lot of women dating men particularly have difficulty not just relating that experience but describing it to an uncaring or oblivious partner. I think there’s something really unpleasant particularly about being in their position, because I’ve felt something similar, where you go to an event with someone similarly or differently marginalised to you, and you’re more keyed into what’s happening, but also like…

There’s a sense that you’re being afforded humanity effectively because your partner or the friends you’ve come with is being afforded less. You’re expected to be complicit or fully engage in their manufactured invisibility so that you can enjoy some conditional privilege.

Lewis didn’t, of course. Repeatedly, he would redirect some questions to me or turn and make a show of asking me. It was just ignored to a large extent, but it’s still shitty to be put in that position with the assumption that you wouldn’t want to do so.

We discussed it, afterwards.

If he’d gone alone, would they have shown the same amount of interest in him, or would they have treated him as they did me, without a faggier gay guy next to him to compare and contrast them with? If I’d gone alone, would they have been forced to extend more interest to me as a person, because there’s no partner to assume I’m the “girlfriend” of?

If we’d gone with a bunch of other queer people in tow, outnumbering them, how would it have been different?

How would it have been different if we’d been at a table with some of the women, or at a table where women were the majority? Middle-aged cishet women have their own homophobia, naturally, but it wouldn’t have been quite like this.

There weren’t any visibly queer men there, but what if we’d sat down with some of the lesbians?

I like board games a lot, and I really like talking and interacting with different groups of people, and especially as someone who writes in the SFF genre and regularly attends sci-fi and fantasy events and conventions, I’m familiar with this unsubtle and subtle homophobia, being snubbed or ignored by other men whether they notice they’re doing it or not, but it’s like…

How much do I actually like board games? How much am I willing to weather to establish my personality in certain spaces and to be afforded some humanity? How many times do I go back until I’m seen as a person — as a full person at that?

It’s just shitty, having to weigh up those calculations when all you want to do is sit down, roll your dice, and have a good time. At least I do have queer-run events to avail myself of, and I do know that I rarely if ever experience this attitude as a queer man at them, but they’re neither as often nor as local as other board-game groups.

Like I said, it’s one thing weighing up these things for somewhere you have to be — navigating a workplace, navigating healthcare, etc, but when it’s something you do ostensibly for fun?

It’s not quite as fun when you have to put in a twelve-step strategy just to be seen as a human being.

#musings #board games #nerd culture #essay

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castielslostwings · 2 years

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Please help me tell people about my book!

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**************************************** About the author (info dump ahoy!!!!) :

I'm Robin, sometimes known as Wings! I'm a 36-year-old, queer, autistic, disabled mom of 2 humans and 5 senior rescue dogs, former R.N. & paramedic. I'm a hardcore fangirl and a proud fanfic writer (and reader), and while I know some people will judge me for that, I am not ashamed! I started writing as a hobby after becoming physically disabled and unable to work as an RN. Fanfic gave me an audience and an outlet, gifted me purpose and hope again. Transformative fiction is FUN! It fosters creativity and passion, heals wounds, and makes people happy. If someone wants to discredit me for that, then perhaps they aren't the audience I'm seeking.

Ultimately, I know I'm taking a risk, but since people seem to enjoy my fics, this book is my attempt to try and make ends meet through original fiction! I know some people WILL discredit me. But I'm always about being myself and speaking on what I feel matters: Fanfic should be legitimized as a creative medium. I assure you, friends—the thousands of hours I've spent on my fanworks are as REAL as it gets. The intersection of disparaging fanfic + sexism/misogyny can't be overstated—women (esp queer women)'s unpaid work is often treated as a "hobby," not worthy of uplifting. I'm here to uplift! The risk is worth it—I would have nothing without fanfic & I'm proud. Younger creators shouldn't feel shame about writing/reading fanfic. We should ALL approach it as a legitimate medium. In fact, MOST new media these days is transformative "fanwork" of SOME kind, whether it's inspired by, based on, or outright rebooting existing worlds.

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<3 Wings

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h-worksrambles · 1 year

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I make it a personal rule not to do holiday stuff (minus important stuff like sorting gifts) until December actually starts. But now that the month is here, I consider it to no longer be ‘too soon’ (it’s been on all the commercials for weeks anyway). So I kicked it off by going through The Smoke Room’s modern AU Christmas special again. I still love it so much.

It’s a genuinely great companion piece to the main game by showing how many of the main cast’s struggles were born from the difficulties of living amidst the harsh social context of 1915. Seeing all the cast in the modern day, living lives that aren’t perhaps perfect, but where they are at least all living as their best selves is just priceless. Sam in a quiet life with people who love him, Murdoch finally having freed himself from his family, Cliff able to express their gender identity, (this was such a lovely way to get canon nonbinary Cliff confirmation). Will openly gay and comfortable with himself, and Nikolai just being generally out of his shell emotionally (becoming possibly the funniest character in the process) is all a joy. It’s also a pretty enlightenining reference point for how their character arcs may unfold in the future. Like they may not get to lead a life like this in any timeline in the full game, but this is ideal we’re striving for with these guys.

Placing the characters in the modern day also allows for so many blursed references. Sam has an extremely relatable resentment for Mariah Carey. Cliff is a Hatsune Miku stan, Murdoch swears he’ll get Will to see Mean Girls and Will is taking the based millenial line (even calling out the Salvation Army like the chad that he is). Also, spare a thought for poor Blithe, who’s experiencing the one thing worse than losing friends to a serial murderer/supernatural monster...working retail on Christmas Eve.This could so easily have been cringy but damn it’s adorable (even if Cliff saying ‘pog’ is imprinted into my brain forever).

The decision to present all the main cast as a polycule compared to each being a dedicated route just makes it all the more heartwarming and allows for so many fun dynamics within the group.

Look at this. How can anything that includes this not be perfection?

Plus, I appreciate that we still get a little seasonal themed spookiness, which the summer AU would also do. It honestly makes me wonder how much of this is purely for fun and how much is secretly foreshadowing aspects of the main game (I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the summer AU brought up Todd’s bi-curiousity only for that to come up in the very next Will update).

But yeah, this was a lovely thing to revisit to kick off the month. I could see this entering the rotation of my staple holiday season media.

#god it's so refreshing to see these characters happy #i'm glad this au exists #samuel ayers #william adler #nikolai krol #murdoch byrnes #clifford tibbits #the smoke room vn #the smoke room modern au #happy holidays #cw christmas

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fire-fira · 2 years

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A Non-Exhaustive List of My Fiance @radioactive-earthshine‘s Impressions of the 2003 TMNT Series:

First up--

MIKEY

Her favorite

He screams in such a wonderful way.

10/10 would be friends with Bart Allen/Impulse online (where they’d talk about Star Trek, both headcanons and meta).

The cute one

Precious

GIVE! HIM! FRIENDS!

He definitely needs to hit up Roy Harper/Arsenal in New York to join his team, Titans East.

RAPH

He experiences a LOT of male-bonding.

This turtle isn’t straight. (He’s masc for masc.)

Dramatic

He needs his boyfriend (meaning Traximus) around more.

While his brothers were all being traumatized in various ways during the arc that included SAINW he was off in a bike-race with a hottie on another planet.

Would absolutely swear more and probably only censors himself around his dad.

He’d be friends with Jason Todd/Robin II/Red Hood.

DONNIE

The Kirby episode with him was one of her favorites.

Tim Drake/Robin III/Red Robin’s friend.

Why is he sitting on the couch like that? Sir, why did you put the couch like that before climbing onto it to sit?

He’s not straight because he sits on the couch like that. He’s not straight either.

Hasn’t made much of an impression. (Sorry Donnie, you don’t get a full 7 points.)

LEO

O O F. SON.

Ah, he’s a bi disaster.

He needs to get together with the rabbit.

Wants him to behead people more. Wants it to be a running gag that he beheads Shredder every time they encounter each other. (”Go apeshit! Do it again!”)

He needs to stop chasing Karai, she’s a bad choice. (”She’s hot, but son that’s a CHOICE.”)

✨T H E R A P Y✨

Her watching every moment between Leo and Usagi: “That’s gaaaaayyyyyy~.”

Orion (of New Genesis) would get along with him.

SPLINTER

Unhealthy obsession with wanting to see him naked. (Seriously, she wants to see this rat without his robe on constantly.)

Wants to see him brushing his fur.

Is married to the Daimyo.

Wants him to have tea with Alfred Pennyworth. (Where they could go back and forth over hellion children.)

Where are your teeth? (”He’s a opossum!” -brings up google images- “Look! That’s a opossum! He doesn’t have rat teeth!”)

You’re one fucked-up rat.

Regularly quotes him as saying “Oh, you were so cute” about his sons.

USAGI

Leo’s (long-distance) boyfriend

“Is he a lop-eared rabbit? If he takes that tie off will his ears just flop over?”

Ah, another disaster-bi.

A much better choice than Karai.

“You exchanged swords? That’s gay.”

“I do not want to see him naked ever.”

“Where are your teeth?!”

“Real original name.” 🙄

KARAI

I have no thoughts about her-- no wait.

If I had that name I’d Karai too.

A terrible choice.

Hot though.

Needs to figure out her shit.

You don’t need NO MAN.

CASEY (MOTHER FUCKING) JONES

CANADIAN????

It’d be hilarious if how he died in SAINW was something really stupid, like choking on air, or tripping into something, or choking on a muffin. Nothing impressive, just embarrassing. It’d be hilarious.

Fun to watch.

You’re too disastrous to not be bi.

I need him to handle all my retail returns.

He needs to use a baseball bat more.

Dumbass™ (because of his terrible hiding skills)

APRIL

“I haven’t changed my outfit in over 10 years because I made a vow when I lost my Uncle Auggie to never change my wardrobe until he came back home so he’d recognize me!”

MOOD

You’re just as much of a dumbass™ as Casey, and that’s why you deserve each other.

GIRL, are you BARBIE? Because you have a lot of careers!

-a la Jurassic Park- SHOOT HER!!! SHOOT HER AGAIN!!!

LEATHERHEAD

I WANT TO BOOP THAT SNOOT.

Wants to pet his snoot too. (”I think he’d like it.”)

Also would get along well with Orion of New Genesis.

✨T H E R A P Y✨

Deserves better.

SHREDDER

wATch OUt fOr ShrEDdeR!!!

Can’t take him seriously and starts laughing every time he’s on screen.

Wants him to be beheaded constantly by Leo.

Mocks him by giving him Bane’s voice from the Harley Quinn animated series and pretending he has a fixation on cheese and shredding cheese. (”Soooomonnne! Give me the cheddaaaarrr!!! I’m so stressed!”)

Sometimes calls him Cheddar.

Desperately wants someone to call him a Kitchen-Aid attachment to his face.

HUN

Hun. Hunny. Honey. (Absolutely must mock his name.)

“All the men call me Hun.”

Vaguely implied that the Purple Dragons were his harem??? (My fiance is wild y’all.)

Clearly smarter than Baxter Stockman.

BAXTER STOCKMAN

HE NEVER LEARNS!!!

“I want him to call Shredder the Kitchen-Aid attachment.”

Her favorite line from him: “You’d make a horrible scientist.”

WOOOOWWWWWWW

Clearly not as smart as Hun when it comes to shutting his damn mouth.

#TMNT #TMNT 2003 #Michelangelo #Raphael #Donatello #Leonardo #my wonderful fiance #rofl #lol #I'm not tagging all the characters here because that'd get a bit ridiculous #I love my fiance if you can't tell #my fiction #tagging 'my fiction' so it's easier to find

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oujamon · 1 day

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2016 tumblr was an awful time to be fat, especially if you were sexual about being fat or were a fat person sexualized, no one treated you human and the fatphobia from people was so rampant that it internalized a lot of fatphobia more so that you did the same thing to fat people the same way you did it to lesbians that unless we were innocent or cute like a pet, you were disgusted with us.

You can not be into fat people, it's fine, you don't have to be wanting to sleep with me bc I'm not your type, I don't think that's fatphobia at all, but using a moral compass as justification to not want to do anything with me because I'm fat is fatphobia. Acting dodgy when sex comes up because I am fat when you have no problem with someone skinnier, it's probably internalized fatphobia if you do it to other fat people too!

I think a lot about the one post that went

me: I want to have sex with women

Other people: don't you mean love women... Braid their hair... cherish them... Kiss them good night...

Etc, etc and how that's also what you did with fat people. I see people praising and uplifting fat people but never making them... Sexy.

I could say I want to have sex with fat people and some people would deem me a perverse freak who fetishizes fat people without considering how I'm also fat.

The infantization of fat people, just as the infantization of lesbians (and how it crosses streams because of fat lesbians who get double whammied), is even more embarrassing too. I rather just be called names and slurs than infantized because at least I know I'm a fucking human being and not lesser for it.

It's 2024 now, people have gotten better and people are a bit better about it, but fatphobia is still very very rampant and people misuse terminology for fat people (especially gay fat people) on skinny people (dadbod, bear, otter, etc) and fatphobia in modern society is still bad.

You can still get hard discriminated even in your own community for being fat while skinny people use fat people for profit while discriminating against them.

You can't even buy a simple 2XL shirt in stores anymore, you have to buy online and if you're getting a 2XL? Get upcharged idiot, oh you're a 5XL or bigger? Hope you're lucky! We might not even carry for you! Oh and if you need an XLT size cause you're fat and tall? Fuck you! T is a myth only carried by 5 specific retailers.

And it fucking sucks.

It's not my job to fit into your ideal shape nor will I ever. Accept my fat or get over your shitty mindset.

#podium stand #noct vent #noct talk

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fredrickzoller · 1 year

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I jut watched a video of bar scene on YouTube and choked when I saw that viral comment(pinned too💀💀💀):»This cut makes the sexual innuendo even more obvious. SS Major Hellstrom was trying to flirt with Lt. Hicox but when it failed, he remembered his job was to cast his spies” like this man is GAY AF

lol I actually broke out my physical copy of the script for this because I wanted to point out: if you read the bar scene just on the page, Hellstrom reads a bit differently than how August Diehl portrays him in the movie. (tangentially, I think other characters read differently too in the script, like Shosanna, mostly, and Donny too, but that's mainly due to scenes of theirs being cut/changed. But anyway). The dialogue of the original script is mostly identical to what ends up in the movie, but there's very little cues in regards to staging/body language. I mean in general, scripts aren't going to be replicated exactly once they're filmed and brought to life, but I just mean the bar scene in particular, Dieter does not read as attempting to be charming/flirtatious with Archie at all (outside of the "The captain is immune to my charms" line), and if anything, I feel like it reads more like Dieter was meant to be interested (or at least pretending to be interested, to keep up his guise of ignorance) with Bridget. I'll put this out there: if you compare it to say, how Landa interrogates LaPadite or how he speaks to Aldo and Utivich... Hans is more about asserting himself as the dominant figure but does so in a more... casual way? He's slow and methodical about it. Versus how he acts with Bridget it's WAY more charged with sexual energy/physical contact, and more forward, and that's what's most comparable to how Dieter acts around Archie and Hugo (and let's not forget how much he outright ignores/dismisses Bridget). And I know a lot of people (outside of shipping Landstrom but just in general) subscribe to the idea that Dieter tries to mirror/imitate Hans but he, of course, does not possess the same superior social skills Hans does, and so is his confronting Bridget & co. and going about it as he did supposed to be his imitation of Landa? Also in re: to the "Perhaps the captain is immune to my charms" line, I've read up a lot about the history of homosexuality in Nazi Germany/within the SS and I can safely say that Dieter's comment, is NOT something he realistically could get away with saying were they in a different setting (where someone higher up or of equal rank might have overheard... but even then, he's only one rank above Archie's false identity so it's still questionable). There were soldiers/officers investigated/interrogated for less and so I find it an interesting thing for him to say in response to Bridget, while looking at Archie. (And again, the script is strictly the dialogue and no indication of who he's looking at.) So tl;dr i absolutely think he wants to fuck Archie lmfao but can we blame him? And one last thing on the topic, but I've had people point out to me that, yeah, surely Tarantino was just going for a dramatic shoot-out scene and wanted Hugo to be absolutely badass, but the incredibly sexualized slant to what prefaces the shoot-out? On top of the fact that in Nazi Germany, one of the forms of execution for military traitors (so what Hellstrom would be considered if his "behavior" were exposed) was a Genickschuss or being shot at the base of the neck. And how does he end up dying...? (Oh! and in the retail AU, it hasn't come up yet in full, but there's hints there and it will come into play later: I write him as being physically attracted to both Archie and Hugo and of course, being mad as hell about it, rofl.)

#hellstrom #sorry anon you opened a pandora's box of my Thoughts lol

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palmtreesx3 · 4 months

Text

Act 4 - Going All the Way

Queening (Steve's Chapter)

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Summary: (10.6k) Steve’s phone call with his dad does not go well, and the aftermath of that call impacts way more than Steve himself. Steve has to realize a few things, only one of which is that he’s got people there to pick him up when he’s down, but the most important is that relationships don’t have to be conditional. As everyone rallies behind Steve, a revelation comes in the form of a stranger on a bench, and that chance meeting starts a few wheels in motion behind Steve’s pretty head. Can he fix what he’s done when he was down and out? Can he patch things up? Is this the end of the road, or can he go all the way? Buckle up, and enjoy this angsty chapter of Get Off.

Warnings: it's a sex shop and generally just NSFW so 18+. Heavier topics are explored, depicted or mentioned including prejudice and anti-gay bias, heavy binge drinking as escapism, depression and a blink of thinking better off dead, controlling parents, overstimulation and some dashes of neurotypical behavior you can catch if you blink slowly enough. There’s also the ongoing sexual innuendos and explicit discussion of body parts, as well as implied p+v intercourse, and the holy grail of pussyeating.

"What the hell is going on, son?" his father's voice bellowed through the phone. "I just heard from a colleague that you're working in some... some pornographic store downtown! In town for business and he could have sworn he saw your lookalike walking into the place, but then you turned around and he knew it was my own flesh and blood. How goddamned embarrassing, Stephen. Do you know how embarrassing that conversation is to have over a business dinner?"

Steve winced at the tone his father took, a visceral response he’s had since childhood. A tone he knows well and somehow still cuts just as deep as it did when he was thirteen. "Dad, it's not like that. It's just a job. It’s…it’s retail, s’all it is" he stammered, attempting to diffuse the tension. To deflect. To play ball.

His father scoffed, "Retail job? Don't play games with me. I've spent years paying for whatever you need, trying to get you scholarships for sports which you squander away with your shitty grades, and this is what you end up doing? Sitting on your ass for a few years and working in some seedy place, peddling who knows what!"

"It's not like that at all. It's just a store, and we sell lots of things, not…not just that stuff, Dad." Steve tries desperately to explain, slipping right back into it - the role of a boy trying to find any excuse to satiate a father that could never be pleased. Like the time he was a shameful teenage boy being told he’s worthless as he stood in the entryway of the house, barely over the threshold, all because he passed the ball and let Sammy Curtis sink the game winning shot instead of taking it himself.

"That stuff” he interrupts with a scoff. “Is this what I raised you for? I expected you to have a respectable career by now. Thought this move to the city was going to give you some fresh choices, not this... this filth!"

Steve was not ready for this. Half his hangover was still hanging on for dear life. Just a moment ago things were…not this complicated. He was eating a raw bagel talking about…you…with his friend. Even when that was the thing that felt complicated it wasn't really, was it? It was simple, and easy and… Now he’s struggling to find the words to defend himself, especially hard long-distance, though he also guesses he should be grateful it was - he wasn’t forced to see the rage and disappointment behind his father’s eyes this particular time."Dad, it's just a job. We needed work, and this opportunity came up. It doesn't define who I am. I just…it shouldn’t matter that much."

“Just a job? Stephen? What do you mean just a job?” At that, Steve can hear his voice slip into a deeper register. He knows the face that goes along with this. He knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that his father is going to try and ruin his life. It’s not much of one, but it’s his, and he can just tell that he’s about ready to pull the rug out from under him.

“You're 25, for God's sake! When are you going to get a real job, a job that befits the family name? Do you think your mother and I worked so hard for you to end up in some disgraceful position like this? Galavanting around a city and being a part in all this promiscuity. Goddamnit, at this rateI bet you even associate with the gays. Don’t you?"

He feels his body tense and wince as those words spill out of his fathers mouth. His eyes flit to his friend, sitting on the couch, legs tucked up under her and perched there watching one side of this debacle unfold like a deer in headlights. Forcing a smile at him, an awkward smile of encouragement, none the wiser about the hate his father is spewing about people like… about her. Tears welled up in Steve’s eyes thinking about it and Robin sees them - or at least she thinks she does - and her eyebrows furrow in concern. But before she can be sure, he turns around refusing to show his vulnerability right now even to her. He bites his lip to stifle the visceral response he had to his dad’s prejudices about his friend. "Dad, I'm doing my best. I'm trying to make a living and figure things out. It's not as easy as you think."

His father's tone softened with a hint of disappointment unlike the frustration and anger that has been flowing out of him since the minute Steve picked up the phone. In almost a plea, he says "You're embarrassing us, son. This is not the life I envisioned for you. You need to reconsider your choices and start acting like an adult."

After a brief silence, his father's voice returned, this time laced again with frustration - the softness that just fell was all an act. This is the hammer Steve was expecting, and it’s falling. Right now. "Enough of this nonsense. You're coming back home. I've arranged for a position for you in the firm. You'll start immediately. Stability, respect – those are the things you need. Not whatever you're doing in that disgraceful place."

Steve ran his free hand through his hair, shaking his head but not really knowing what to say. Dragging his hand back down his face, he felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The pressure to conform to his father's expectations had been a constant weight on his shoulders for his entire life and this is not the first time this conversation has been had. This time feels different though. Before he hadn’t had anything to call his own - not as much to lose. This stupid apartment and the life that they’re living, it’s been good. Maybe the best thing that he’s ever had. And it’s been his. Before, his dad just wanted control. This time, he wants to control him and strip him of the actual identity he’s been working so hard to understand and build. "Dad, I... I need some time to figure things out here. I can't just drop everything and come back."

His father's tone grew more insistent. "Time? You've had enough time, and look where it's gotten you – working in a place like that! It's time to put an end to this foolishness. You're coming back, and that's final."

Steve hesitated, torn between his desire for independence and the fear of his dad. He takes a deep breath and finally responds "I appreciate your concern, but I need to make my own choices. I can't just give up on everything I've built here."

"Built? You call this building a life? What have you accomplished, working in that... that den of immorality? Come home, and I'll set you on the right path. It's time you take responsibility for your future."

As his father continued to insist, Steve’s yearning to forge his own path and avoid any that looks remotely like his fathers continues to intensify. He’s tuning out the insults at this point, desperate to find some sort of life raft to hold on to as he drowns in his fathers disappointments. It’s only then, that he finds it. The lifeline. The realization that he's got miles between him and his father now. He’s not coming home later to ground him or impose punishments on him. He isn’t relying on their money to pay bills. His mind is racing a mile a minute, and nothing…not one fucking thing he can land on points to any reason that he has to comply with his father. He isn’t depending on him for anything anymore, so why does he owe his dad anything at all?

"I'll think about it, Dad," And with that, he hangs up, knowing full well that he won’t think about it for another goddamn second.

And that day, Steve called out of work.

Robin couldn’t even argue with him. After the receiver hit the wall, she could tell that it was worse than she expected the minute he turned around and she could see his eyes glistening. She also was confused as fuck, because she swore she also saw him smirking just a little bit, but she was not going to poke the bear. She let him storm off and slam the door to his room. She didn’t bother him even though everything inside of her was screaming to go knock on the door and make him talk about it. Make him listen to her. She wanted to tell him he wasn’t anything that his father probably just said he was, but they’ve had this conversation before and…damnit she was working really hard at knowing boundaries - trying to read the room and figure out when she needs to shut up instead of rambling incessantly at all the wrong times. She thinks that this is one of those times that people need space, so she acquiesced.

She makes a full pot of coffee, sets out some more food and the bottle of aspirin from the medicine cabinet and leaves it all out on the kitchen counter for Steve for whenever he emerges once she’s gone. Subtle. Not every way to help has to be in your face, she tells herself. I don’t need to meddle. He’ll let me know if he needs anything. Right?

Robin’s walk to work that day was quiet and dreary. The weather outside, overcast and air thick with that feeling that comes before the clouds break open and pour down on you. Seemed fitting.

It took Robin five whole minutes after she got to work and put her stuff away before she meddled anyway. She picked up the phone once, and quickly set it down - thinking better of it. But immediately picked it back up against her better judgment and called you. As your answering machine picks up and your message plays, dripping with sarcasm and coyness asking your caller to leave a message after the beep, the realization hits then that she has no idea what your schedule is and it was a dumb idea to call you. Dumb dumb dumb. Steve’ll be pissed anyway.

As the silence settles on the other end of the line Robin’s eyes widen in panic. She meant to hang up, call back later, pretend this didn’t happen at all and play it off as a wrong number. But she’s pretty fucking sure she just said that out loud instead of in her head. “Dumb dumb dumb. Steve’ll be pissed anyway.”

She hung up faster than the devil can fly, slamming down the phone and rattling the display case. The commotion drew Murry out from the back office, shirt pulled up and scratching at his stomach. “What’s got you all worked up Red? Little lost without your other half? Where is he anyway? Finally ruined his perfect attendance because of a wicked hangover, didn’t he? Make sure you tell ‘em he’s not eligible for the Perfect Attendance award this year, nowwww–ohhh something is off about this... What is it Red?.”

So for the next hour, Robin tries her best to summarize what it’s like to have the Harrington’s as parents and what just happened this morning. At least what she knew, because Steve hadn’t shared anything that his dad had said on the other end of that line. “Red, thank God you talk so fast, otherwise that story would have taken up your whole shift. Shit.”

That coaxes a chuckle out of Robin, which makes Murray smile. “Listen, that guy sounds like a Grade-A Asshole. No wonder Steve’s wound so tight…Makes so much sense actually. But this ain’t your fight. Steve’s gotta deal with this demon on his own and he has a funny way of showing it, but he knows where to find the people to help when he needs them. I’m sure of it. He’s not that fucking stupid.”

“Yeah, see you’re wrong there Murray. He does absolutely think that he has to do everything on his own. Even when he knows we’re here, he won’t… he won’t ask for help. He won’t talk about it. He…thinks he deserves it.”

It ended up being a slow day, not many people wandering the streets with the off and on drizzles happening all day long, so Robin used that time to bring Alex up to speed after she popped in the shop after work.

Alex found the story surprisingly relatable. She grew up in a house with rich, successful parents just outside the city in the suburbs. Her parents hosted lavish dinner parties for business partners and she grew up in a way that seemed an awful lot like the Harrington house, other than the fact that they didn’t disappear on her for weeks on end. Her parents, however, were disappointed in her. Unlike Steve’s story, they were not pissed at her skill or her work ethic, her dreams or aspirations. No, they were pissed and disappointed at who was calling the house late at night and giggling on the other end of the phone. Who was picking her up for a night at the movies, or who she was driving off to meet under the swaying trees in the park. The boys she was dating were not good enough for the family - not a “strong enough merger of families” and then when she brought home a girl…well that was a horse of a different color all together.

Five hours later, Robin and Alex are standing outside of their favorite pizza place in the neighborhood, thinking that a pie and some beers might just draw a sulking Steve out of his cave of self-loathing for the night. They haven’t heard from him all day, and Robin, despite thinking she should maybe let him be for a while, still decided to try and call home to check in on him. When he didn’t answer, Alex offered up a simple explanation, “Rob, he’s probably just sleeping it off, or not in the mood. It’ll be fine.”

Pies and six packs now acquired, they walk side by side the rest of the way back to the apartment, ready for whatever their friend might need.

“Honey, we’re home!” Robin exclaims, as they barrel through the door. But she stops dead in her tracks seeing the counter laid out with all of the supplies, perfectly arranged exactly how she left them that morning. “Steve? Y’okay?”she shouts down the hallway, on her way to tap at his door before she hears Alex call her name from the living room, beckoning her to come.

When she arrives, what she doesn’t expect to see are the crushed cans of High Life strewn all over the coffee table, an ashtray so full that she knew he had to blow through most of the pack he has tucked away from when they drink, and the half emptied bottle of Whiskey sitting at the foot of the couch. He didn’t even bother with a glass, she knew it. He spent the day trying to drink away the awful things that sorry excuse for a father said to him straight from the bottle.

His shoes - the Chucks, the ones he’s been wearing lately - they’re not by the door. Neither is his jacket, so she knows he left and went somewhere.

But then a high pitched beeping sings from the kitchen, and Robin immediately knows that Steve’s Tamagotchi is hungry…he left, but he forgot his keys. That stupid drunk idiot got locked out.

All the strings Robin has been holding together all day come loose. They unravel like a dangling thread on a handknit sweater and Alex is pretty sure she hadn’t taken one breath since she started rambling. “Ohmygoddoyouthinkhe’sokay? Whatifsomethinghappenedtohim? Ican’tlivewithmyself. Howdoweevenfindhim? OhmygodI’mgonnahavetotellthekidshe’smissing. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.”

“Robin.” Alex calmly speaks.

“Ifhe’sdeadI’mblaminghisdad,Isweartogodhe’sasgoodasadeadmanhimself”

“Robin.”

“Jesus,weshouldcallthehopsital? Ormaybethepolice. Yeahwegottacallsomeone. Ohmygod.”

“ROBIN!” Alex finally screams, two hands on her shoulders now shaking her into some sense of reality. “You’re spiraling. You can’t be spiraling. We have to think.”

“Yeah. Yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just….”

“Rob, I know you’re worried. We’ll figure it out. Okay?” Alex slides her hand along Robin’s cheek, around her neck and tugging her in for a deep hug, trying to get her to reset, regroup…focus. “Babe, first thing….why do you think he would leave?”

Pulling back, she assesses the situation. Eyes darting around the apartment, closing her eyes so she could think. Just then they pop open looking at the mess on the coffee table. The beer. That was the last of the beer.

“He was out…” she whispers. “I bet he ran out of beer. That was all we had, and it looks like he polished it off.”

“Okay then. Let’s go for a walk. Check some places where he might get some beers - maybe the corner store you guys go to? See if anyone has seen him, okay? Sound good babe?” Alex’s tone is cool, calm. Her eyes are caring and concerned not just for Steve but also for Robin. She’s being so soft, and even in her panicked haze, Robin notices.

“Al…Thank you. I needed that.”

With a soft kiss on her temple, Alex grabs Robin’s hand and tugs her towards the door. “Now don’t forget your keys, either, you maniac. Let’s go.”

It’s three pit stops and two meltdowns from Robin on the sidewalk curb later that they find him. It’s honestly the first place they should have looked, but at least they were on the right track.

Steve did, in fact, get raging pissed that he was out of beer. The cashier they recognize, but don’t know his name, told them as much - mentioned that their friend came in angry and stumbling, grabbed a pack of beer and left it in the middle of the aisle when he rushed out of the store grumbling to himself. It seems as though dear Stevie also forgot his wallet.

The next place they thought to look was The Hideout. Robin thought that maybe he’d come looking for her, begging for some cash so he could replenish his stash. Pay no mind to the fact that it was past closing for a weeknight and Robin was long gone, at this point they were absolutely certain Steve had no idea what time it even was. Half expecting to see him leaning on the door of the shop, or passed out in a slump on the front stoop, when they came up empty handed again Robin needed to cry.

Head in her hands, leaning on her knees as she sits on the curb, Alex tries to stifle a laugh at how splotchy faced and snotty her beautiful girl is right now. “Baby,” she says, pushing back her hair “Baby…let’s think, kay? is there anywhere else Steve feels safe in this city? Who else does he feel safe with other than you?”

The revelation comes quickly.

Head popping up with a renewed sense of confidence in their search for their missing and probably sloppily drunk friend “I bet he’s at Bennys.”

And after a 10 minute walk that is the most silent Robin Buckley has ever been in her entire life, she lets out a breath that she may or may not have been holding the entire time when the door to Benny’s swings open and she takes in Steve with his forehead on the bar. Hopper is standing behind the bar polishing glasses with an irritated scowl and right in front of Steve stands a Joyce, hand right on top of his with sad, concerned eyes that flit right to the girls who just sounded the bell.

Pitiful. The look Joyce was giving him was pity. And if Steve were coherent enough to realize it, he would be completely ashamed to be receiving it from anyone. Steve was shitfaced drunk out of shame and disappointment and whatever feelings of inadequacy he was shielding away from everyone else in his life, but at least he was safe. Thank Christ he had the decency to come to Benny’s, where at least Joyce would take care of him - make sure he doesn’t do anything else stupid.

“Steve!” Robin yells, rushing over to his side “Steve, we didn’t know where you were. And you left your keys. I was so worried. We thought you were dead, I swear….well I thought you were dead. Alex was much more rational, but…”

A groan falls from Steve’s throat as their attention turns to Joyce. She opens her mouth to speak but Hopper interjects before she could even get a word out.

“Your buddy here is a fucking mess. He’s lucky this is Rick’s third stop on his daily tour of downtown dive bars. Recognized the bastard and drug him over here after he got kicked out of wherever they were before this. I honestly don't know where. Ricky’s always so drunk I probably shouldn't even be serving him by the time he gets here anyway.``

“Steve, honey.” Joyce’s honey soft voice stirs him “Your girls are here. Rob and Alex, they’re here for you, baby. Let them help you, okay? Y’cant stay here like this.” She says as she rubs his hair back and tries to soothe him awake.

“He’s been drinking straight ginger ale for at least an hour. He thinks it's mixed with whiskey but I just couldn't. It was easier than him and Hop arguing ‘bout it.” she says under her breath, just out of his earshot.

After agreeing to let him sweat it out for a bit longer, Joyce passes the girls a drink while they wait and slides another ginger ale in a rocks glass in front of Steve with a wink. With soft voices they talk about what has unfolded today just loud enough to hear each other over the din of the jukebox playing “Hunger Strike” in the background.

Shit.

As she hears the deep roll of his voice on Eddie Vedder’s verse she’s reminded of you, and remembers the cryptic message she most likely left you on your answering machine. Even though the boy is sitting there in the flesh in front of them, his eyes now open enough to see the whites of them, his stare is vacant and he hasn’t looked this way since… well. Ever. Robin has seen him through some pretty serious shit, and he’s never looked quite this detached.

“I’m worried about him, girls.” Joyce coos.

With a nod in agreement, she asks for the only thing she can think to do next. “Joyce, can I use your phone? I gotta call someone who might be able to help.”

Alex’s eyes go wide and she winces, “You sure that’s a good idea, Rob? I mean, I see where you’re going with this, but he’s gonna be pissed, isn’t he?’

Seeing the look of confusion on Joyce’s face, Robin grabs the phone and continues “It’s..a girl. He’s fine. It’ll be fine. I don’t care if he’s pissed about it at this point. We need help and… I might have already left her a message earlier in a panic. Oh - Hey!” interrupted in her rambling as you answer the phone on the first ring. “Yeah, yeah I’m so sorry about that weird message earlier. It’s been a… day - a real bad one. We need some help. We’re at Benny’s, and…it’s just - Steve. We need help with Steve, can you come?”

Of course you will. You were there to help as soon as you could. And just like Robin and Alex assumed, Steve was pissed.

“I'm just saying Stevie, you didn't have to be so mean to her. She came because I called. Didya really expect the two of us to be able to drag your sorry ass home without calling in reinforcement? Have you seen my arms? They're basically twigs!”

“I wasn't trying to be mean to her. It was you guys. I was pissed you called her…cause I didn't… It's embarrassing. She didn't need to see me like that. I know you were trying to help. You can barely carry a damn grocery bag, so I get it, its just… I was pathetic.”

“Well. You said it, I didn't.” Robin shrugs, kicking her feet up on the stool next to her by the register. It's been a few days and they're at least able to poke fun a little bit at the whole thing. Steve and Rob had a long talk after he was able to shake off a two day long hangover that he spent in the dark, shades drawn - crackers and some Pedialyte by his bedside.

Steve eventually spilled his guts to Robin on the fire escape while she smoked, his throat still too sore from the pack he inhaled in his drunken rage that day. He wouldn't even look at her when he told her about how his dad was talking about… her. Told her that there's been a lot of terrible, downright rude things that his dad has done and said over the years that he's made an excuse for or ignored, but that…that disregard, that intolerance he showed for someone that Steve cared about. That when it comes down to it, Steve loved. That was the last straw. He couldn't turn a blind eye anymore.

He didn't feel he owed his dad an explanation. If he really thought Steve would show up this weekend with his bags and his Beamer ready to put on a suit and head to the office alongside his dad on Monday, he has another thing coming.

Murray saunters into the storefront then “Before I finalize this schedule, ya sure you're gonna show up on Monday, dude? Last chance to turn in your notice and go shadow daddy dearest, because if you no call no show me on this schedule next week consider this bridge burned.”

“No way in hell, Murray. I'm fully committed to your dick shop. I'll sell anything you dream up over spending one hour in a building full of pricks like my dad. Don't care how much the salary is or how big the guilt trip.”

“Well in that case, Steve, it sounds to me that where your dad works is the real dick shop, huh? We…deal only in one way tickets to pleasure town here.”

“Touche” Steve gives Murray a pow pow with his finger guns before walking through the dangling beads hanging at the entrance to the break room.

Emerging twenty minutes later (and five minutes late from his break) Steve is unsurprised to find Alex spread across the length of the couch. “What are you two assholes doing?”

“Hi Alex, thanks again for saving my life and ensuring I don't die in a ditch or need my stomach pumped from alcohol poisoning and ensuring that my most magnetic and caring roommate and best friend didn't have a stroke while I was missing. It's nice to see you again. I am forever in your debt.” Alex mocks with a deep voice meant to imitate his while Robin cackles, slapping her thighs.

“Smash or pass” she deadpans. “Julia Roberts.”

“Pass” Steve and Robin say in unison.

“Really?” Alex pops up in surprise.

“I guess I just don’t get the appeal with that one. I like her movies, though, just…don’t wanna see her bush. No rolling in the hay with her for me.” Robin says very matter of factly.

“Yeah, for me” Steve quips pointing right at Robin. “Reminds me too much of this asshole right here. Can’t even think about it.”

Madonna. Demi Moore. Sharon Stone. Liv Tyler was a unanimous smash. An hour went by throwing out names and shouting out whether or not they were fuckable before Alex’s bisexual ass snuck in Brad Pitt.

“Bleh, pass. That's a dick.”

“Smash.” Steve's eyes go wide. Did he just…

“Stevie boy, did you just smash Brad Pitt?” Alex is literally on the edge of her seat at this point. Robin's jaw is just about on the floor. He's waving her off “That…that's not.. I mean. If I were I guess…he’s a good looking guy, s’all I’m saying.”

“You would like the golden boy type shit. I'm more of a ruggedly handsome older man kinda bisexual. I bet you'd smash Patrick Swayze too, handsome. UNLESS…are we talking Interview with a Vampire long hair type Pitt because…”

“This is too much for me!” Robin is shouting as she starts pacing.

“Robbie, I’d expect a little more tolerance from you. I’m disappointed.” Steve pokes fun. “Anyway, you do have the late shift today, so I’ll save you from thinking about me boning Brad Pitt and get out of here.”

“Ew. Steve. No. You and Pitt? You’re definitely bottom. He’s batter dipping the corn dog, not you.”

Raising his middle finger in the air, he gestures behind him to the girls as he walks out the door.

After grabbing a coffee, Steve swings into the record store to browse for some new vinyls. The guy at the front desk is starting to get to know Steve, and he likes that the guy is comfortable enough to make recommendations or pulls a vinyl or two to save for next time Steve comes in. It makes him feel memorable. He’s little more than guy at the record store to Steve, but yet guy at the record store cared enough to think about him and what he might like even when he’s not here.

It’s stuff like this, that he hasn’t really experienced until he moved here to the city, that makes Steve feel less than insignificant. Who would have thought that coming to a city filled to the brim with more people than he knows what to do with would make him feel more seen than a small town where everyone knows your name ever did.

He grabs his bag, filled with three new recommendations from guy at the record store, and he’s heading for the door before the cashier yells out “Oh damn, bro. I almost forgot. Someone left this for you. It’s already paid for, so don’t worry about it, but she said you gotta hear this one.” Steve reaches out to grab the bright red sleeve and turns it over twice before slipping it into his bag. “Yeah thanks dude. See ya around.”

He lies to himself when he thinks that the brisk pace he is walking on his way home is because the nights are turning colder in the city and he wants to get home. He lies to himself a second time when he says he wants to keep moving so he takes the stairs two at a time instead of waiting on the elevator. He lies to himself for a third time, pretending that he’s not really in a rush even though he doesn’t take off his shoes and jacket before he makes a beeline right for his record player all while unwrapping that vinyl he knows that you left for him.

The whirring of the player and the zap of the scratching needle connecting with the plastic make his brain start to buzz and he’s done lying to himself when he thinks that he was so fucking stupid when he shouted at you - drunk out of his mind or not, he has been expecting you to never speak to him again, so…you leaving this for him might just mean…

In the time of chimpanzees I was a monkey

Butane in my veins and I'm out to cut the junkie

With the plastic eyeballs, spray-paint the vegetables

Dog food stalls with the beefcake pantyhose

What the fuck did she leave me? He thinks, as he lets the record spin and listens, patiently. Waiting for the hook. Waiting for the bass drop. Waiting for those deep drum rhythms he likes so much. Waiting for the lyrics that are supposed to hit home.

Oh.

Soy un perdedor

I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me?

(Double-barrel buckshot)

“Maybe I should just move home and take a stupid job with my dad like he’s been telling me to do since junior year of high school.”

Murray hears the boy complaining as he walks through the door with three giant boxes stacked on top of one another. “Casanova. Hey!” Setting them down he snaps both his fingers right in Steve’s face “We’ve been over this… focus on my dick shop, not your dads. I got new goods, get your sweet ass over here.”

He waves Steve and Robin over to the front window, and they dutifully follow. Ripping open the boxes with a rusty pocket knife he pulls from his tube sock, Murray rambles about the boxes filled with a new Latex fashion line he was checking out at the expo. He shoos Steve off to grab the mannequins from the back storage room so they can set up the window display. “Make sure to grab the dudes with the biggest packages back there, Stevie-boy!” before looking at Robin curiously, asking her to spill the details and explain the pivot back into full on self-loathing Steve took.

“Ah, the lady friend? She gave him that? Sassy. I think I like her. If he doesn't want her…” wiggling his eyebrows, Murray is quickly cut off as Steve re-enters the floor.

“Doesn’t want who?’ Steve says, male mannequin under each arm.

“Oh, nothing. I gotta go get some lunch. I’ll grab the plastic girls on my way back in and you two can play dress up.”

“Hey Stevie, whaddya think?” Robin’s got one of the black latex outfits held out in front of her as she tries anything but effortlessly shaking her hips to the beat of the song playing overhead on the speakers. The would-be seductive dance is cut off when her face lights up, running off to the break room with the package in hand.

“I don’t like that look Robbie. What are you doing?”

Shaking the beads dangling from the door frame to announce her re-entry, Steve’s eyes glance up before doing a double take. Robin stood there, leaning into the wall looking as casual as she possibly can (which isn’t that casual, honestly), standing in a full head to toe black latex catsuit. If Steve could have, he would have taken a polaroid if not just to gift to Alex as a thank you, or apology. Whatever she needs most from him - he’s not too sure at this point. Robin arches her back like she’s posing for a centerfold and it’s not long before the two of them are deep in a fit of laughter from her antics.

Except something goes wrong. The fit of laughter soon lets up, but Robin still can’t catch her breath. Steve is breathing deep, grinning again and shaking his head at her, and while she’s happy she’s coaxing out a laugh and a smile she hasn’t seen from him in over a week, her chest is getting tighter by the second.

Looking at his friend's pallid face, his eyes dart around thinking while she starts wheezing for air. “Rob…are you...you’re not allergic to latex, are you?”

She shakes her head no adamantly but quickly backtracks, realizing that no, she can’t be sure she’s not allergic to latex. Holding up her hands between the two of them, her wrists are ballooning up around the seam of the catsuit sleeves, body swelling up making the suit stretch over her skin even tighter. She starts to claw at it, trying to get it off, but it’s so slippery and tight, and suctioned to her sweaty skin that it won’t budge and her panicked expression locks on to Steve’s.

“You didn’t know you were allergic to latex? What the fuck Robbie?”

“When was I supposed to find out, huh? Not like I’ve been carrying around condoms since I was 15 like you, you asshole!”

“So what…that’s not… What about a balloon? Haven’t you ever been around a fucking balloon before, Rob?”

“Steve, I'm poor. We didn’t buy balloons for birthday parties. I didn’t get….extra…shit. I…no. I can’t remember …ever having a…. balloon.” She’s sucking in breaths between words as much as she can. “Steve, help. It’s….I can’t…”

Walking down the street, Murray is on his way back from grabbing his sandwich, when he spots the flashing lights on the street ahead. What he doesn’t expect is to see those flashing lights belonging to an ambulance pulled up outside of his store. Dropping his sandwich into the grimey gutter, he’s absolutely dumbfounded at the sight before him - Robin laid out on the stretcher, clearly naked and covered with a white sheet and his new inventory in shreds on the sidewalk after the paramedics had to cut it off of her. “Oh for fucks, sake. I didn’t literally mean you should play dress up, Red.”

It takes the paramedics another 20 minutes to get her settled and breathing from an oxygen tank in the back of the rig and explain the situation to Murray and Steve. Her reaction was bad, so they should expect her to be down and out for at least three days until the swelling goes down and she can recover her breathing enough to function normally. Murray storms off into the store grumbling about Workers Comp paperwork and throwing his hands in the air while Steve stays back, readying himself to climb into the back of the rig and ride with his friend before she stops him.

“Listen, dude. I’m clearly not gonna be home tonight, and you don’t need to worry about me. Don’t you dare think you’re gonna sit and keep watch at my bedside. This is definitely the only time in my life my tits will look this big, so I’m not about to invite you in. Alex gets clear first dibs before the swelling goes down.”

Steve grimaces, scrunching his nose up in disgust “Ew, gross Robbie. Stop talking to me about your tits.”

“Whatever. All I’m saying is, maybe take advantage of the empty house? I know she sent you a message loud and clear with that record but I still don’t buy that she won't give you a shot to explain. Call her. Please?”

All he can do is nod as she pats his hand and smiles. He backs away so they can close up the rig and watches as they pull off, lights flashing with his swollen raspberry of a friend in tow.

Murray ends up closing the shop early that night, saying he’s had it up to here with both of them and he just wants to go see Hop and Joyce for an ice cold drink. Before Steve could even respond, Murray’s finger is in his face “NO. You’re not invited this time, buddy. I don’t wanna see your face until tomorrow. And you have the late shift. I don’t wanna close and I think you two owe me.”

“Owe you?! What the heck, I didn’t do anything, man. Robin, she is the one that -”

“No, you listen here. Your moping and loathing is getting irritating. I like you, unfortunately. I’m not sure why, but I like you Steve, and you’ve been fucking annoying since you let your dad get in your head. And whatever is going on with this lady friend, you better fix it.” He pokes Steve right in the chest - hard.

“Is she a girl, or a woman, Steve?” he says, and Steve remembers their chat about Steve’s choices. Why they never seem to work out and how he keeps going for the wrong kind.

“She’s … she’s a woman. Obviously. She doesn’t want to put up with my bullshit.”

“Fix it, Steve. Thank me later.”

He had two beers before he worked up the nerve to pick up the phone. He probably would have had another, but he thought better of it considering the last time he saw you. More like the last time you saw him because he doesn’t fucking remember a lick of it. An apology probably wouldn’t go over very well if he was shitfaced again all because he needed some liquid courage to get the balls to call you up.

It took three, long, agonizing rings for you to pick up, your voice suddenly some sort of beacon in the night for him. He was silent for a beat too long, and just when you went to hang up muttering “whatever asshole, prank call someone else next time” he finally was able to whisper out your name just loud enough that it traveled through the phone line and made it to your ears.

“You got my record?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“I deserved that… and it’s actually good.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

“I know. Can I see you?”

And to his surprise, you agreed. You asked him to meet you outside, so you can walk to the cafe together. Promised in a way that had him believing it would all be fine - that you’ll figure it out from there. So he’s sitting on the bench outside of his building waiting, legs bouncing up and down uncontrollably mind weight down from anticipation, nerves and his least favorite piece of baggage, self-doubt.

“You look like you’re waiting on something, boy. Don't wait too long, or you’ll end up looking like me and still never finding what you’re lookin’ for, ya know?”

Steve chuckles and nods. He thinks he does know. And God, he doesn’t want to spend his life chasing an idea and running away every time he gets close because he’s sure he’s not good enough for it. He doesn’t want to be sitting on a bench when he’s 80 lamenting about how he used to look good, had the good hair before it all fell out and turned gray, would get the girls and throw the parties, could pound back a six pack like it’s no big deal, how he was the former Keg King - King Steve. Like that all means anything at all. None of it did. It was all bullshit.

“I’m Steve” he says, holding his hand out and reaching across the bench. The man reaches out accepting his grasp and introduces himself as Robert.“You live here too?” he nods back at the apartment building.

“Sure do. Me and my little rascal Dart.” and Steve notices the small dog laying quietly at the man’s feet.

“What you said before…I am waiting on something. Someone actually. But…I think I’m mostly waiting on myself.”

“Ah, yes. That’s the age old problem innit? We’re always late to our own party. Been in this city for decades and it’s all the same. Young kids like you are lost until they find what they’re looking for, but some of ‘em, they never find it. No one leads ‘em to it and they forget that it’s even worth lookin’ for along the way.”

Steve nods, a little solemnly, at the wisdom the old man is sharing. Resonating just a bit closer to home than the old man probably knows. But then he sees a flash of you from down the sidewalk, your jacket wrapped tight around your body, a tentative smile on your face when you see Steve waiting for you like he promised.

“Ah,” the man laughs a hearty laugh. “She looks like she’s worth waiting for though, my boy. You should go.”

“Maybe I’ll see you around.” Steve says with a bright smile, and it’s genuine. Maybe she's worth it? Or Maybe Steve will see the old man again. He's not sure which he meant, actually. Maybe…both.

The walk to the cafe seems to go on for eons. After an interaction teetering on awkward, feet pushing at invisible rocks on the pavement and tentative smiles, you both head in that direction side by side, stealing glances for a block or two before either one breaks the silence.

It seems like both of you have let the dull drone of the city take up enough space in the night and you finally speak up at the same time.

“I am sorry for being such a mess.”

“I'm sorry for being a bitch.”

“No. No.” You cut him off. “Yeah you're right. You were a mess and you were kind of a dick about it. I'm not gonna excuse that. But you were a mess, and Robin and Alex were worried for good reason, obviously. You were a mess because something happened and I can't be mad at that. I can be frustrated with how you handled yourself…how you treated people who were just there to fucking help you, man, but at the end of the day, you were going through some shit and…I held it against you instead of helped. And then I got you that record and…”

“I…yeah I should not have drank my problems like that. I shouldn't have. I was an idiot. I am an idiot. That song is…not that far off. Might be my theme song, actually.” He holds back a small laugh to himself. “I do stupid shit. That's not new. But…I wasn't mad at anyone until -”

“You sure seemed mad, Steve.”

“I was…it's just. I guess I'm realizing now I wasn't actually mad at anyone but myself and my dad until you showed up.”

“Correct. You made that loud and clear.”

“Oh. I -” silence falls over them for a few steps, Steve finally looking over at you in a way that makes you feel like he's looking into you not at you this time. “I think I finally understand. Can…can I try and explain? Once we get there?”

You nod. And you let him.

Like a floodgate, the honesty Steve holds back on a regular basis flows out the minute he starts. Tucked in the back corner of the cafe, a steaming hot chai in front of you, a black coffee with cinnamon and nutmeg there in front of him, he tells you how growing up actually felt for him. Not just the my dad is an asshole version but how it really affected him. He says it out loud and admits the way his dad made him feel. Tells you stories about all the sports and the winning and the popularity that was never what he wanted anyway. Tells you how his dad has spent his whole life grooming him to be a mini-version of Mr Harrington, and that's the absolute last thing in the world he wants to be. He just wants to be Steve - whoever that is.

And he cries. He cries when he tells you about the phone call. You notice it's not at the mean things his dad says to him, the names he's called or the put downs about his life that break him down - it's when he tells you about the disdain in his dads voice when he berates him about being friends with the gays. How he couldn't look at Robin after the way his dad talked and how he felt more shame in that moment than any other. Not ashamed that he’s friends with Robin. Not in a million years, but more from the idea that his dad - no anyone - would be lucky to find a friend half as good as Robin is, so who the fuck cares who she loves, right? Jesus Christ. Shame that someone he loves has to live in a world where people like his dad exist.

You both need a refill before he can get through the hard part, though, the part where he hurt you. Steve motions to your empty cup asking if he can get you more and before you know it, comes back a short time later with two new steaming mugs and plates of assorted pastries and snacks balancing on top. I didn't know what you'd like, so I got it all.

Something tells you that even if you don't actually say it, Steve would know for next time. He'd know that you're a sucker for their blondies and like to snack on their homemade caramel corn because even as he's spilling his guts he's paying attention to you, and from here on out every time you meet Steve Harrington at the cafe, he'd have your drink and a plate with a blondie on it waiting for you every single time.

Then, Steve tells you about that day. About how he remembers chain-smoking inside the house and how he knew Robin would fuck me up for it but I didn’t care. He recalls for you how he sat on the sofa with the whiskey bottle muttering to himself about the things his dad said, trying to figure out why this man thinks he can still push his grown son around. He tells you he remembers leaving to get another 6-pack when he ran out but that was the last of it. He doesn't remember much of anything or how he got to Benny's. Hop had told him, and he makes sure to remind him every time he's seen him since that he was pitiful watching Steve being drug in by the drunkest man on the block. Never thought I'd see the day anyone was more drunk than goddamn Rick, boy. Sure proved me wrong.

And when he gets to the part where his friends show up, when you show up, he looks downright ashamed and worried. With a deep sigh, falling from his lips, he tells you that the next and only other thing he remembers from that night was you walking through the door. With his head lain on the bar, vision completely sideways, what he saw was a fucking angel walking into the bar. Thought he was hallucinating or maybe even finally out of his misery and you were coming to bring him towards the light, until his brain made you right side up and he realized who it was.

He didn’t remember the yelling, but Robin told him later how big of a douchebag he was when all he did was start yelling at you and making one hell of a scene. Hearing Robin tell him about how he shouted and asked in such an accusatory tone What are you doing here? made him wonder if he was no better than his dad in the first place. Sounded an awful lot like him in the moment, at least.

You think he looks like a kicked puppy as he explains the rest. “I - I don't expect you to say anything. Or do anything. I don't expect you to forgive me or…” running his hands through his hair you can tell he's trying to pluck up some semblance of courage.

“The thing is, I was mad when my drunk brain finally registered that you were there, and you were there to help. Because I didn't want that. Help sure…I fucking needed help. You saw me. But you….” His swallow is so loud it's audible.

“I was embarrassed I didn't want you to see me like that. I… “

Reaching across the table you gently touch his forearm and it gives him enough courage to finish what he has to say.

“I didn’t want you to see me like that, because I like you too much…Like, the real kind. And I feel so stupid saying it out loud, because I thought that if I showed you how broken I was, you’d see that I wasn’t worth it. Maybe you don’t think I am in the first place and that’s fine I can be just your friend. S’probably all I deserve, honestly.”

He chances a look at you just then, and when it’s not a scowl or indifference he feels safe rough to continue. “Before I didn’t know why I was being such a jerk and I figured it was just because - I am a Harrington, after all. But, I understand why I did it now. I understand that even though I did it wrong, I was trying to protect you from me, and I was trying to protect myself from… ”

Scooting your chair closer to Steve, you push his wild and windswept hair back so you can see him even when his head is hanging low. His eyes flit up to yours and there’s no pity in your eyes. He was expecting pity at the very least, but it’s not there.

“Steve, who says I need to be protected? Especially from you?”

He doesn’t expect your fingers to find his on the walk away from the cafe. He doesn’t expect your touch to be soft. He doesn’t expect it to stay longer than a second - maybe just the gift of something fleeting. But it is. It does. Your fingers hook into his and they don’t pull away, holding on to him and his limp hand before he can even process what he’s being given. Fingers hooked and coaxing him to just let go and embrace it. Fingers he accepts as he laces his with yours, and they stay that way for the entire walk back to his apartment.

—-

A nod of the head with a huge grin spread across his face, Robert welcomes Steve back to the building, still perched on the same bench he walked away from a few hours ago. Maybe Dart needed to go out again, or maybe Robert never left, but in that moment, Steve thought about everything the old man said to him earlier. He’s done with waiting. Waiting has gotten him nowhere. Hiding his feelings has gotten him nowhere. The only person standing in his way is himself.

Your name falls from his lips softly, but there’s something there that wasn’t there earlier in the shop. It’s more sure of himself, almost confident. The predictable thing to come next was a goodnight kiss on his front stoop, and you’re thinking that maybe after all this time and him finally admitting that he’s into you, you’ll get what you’ve been wanting since that night in the back seat of the cab, or when you felt your tummy flip sitting across from him eating that ice cream. Poised to lift up on your toes to close the distance, instead he surprises you when he tugs your arm and pulls you inside the front door to his building with a grin.

And you got that kiss. Oh God, did you get it.

When the door closed to their apartment, Steve turned around to look at you. There was a heat behind his eyes as he slid your coat off of your shoulders for you, and a yearning hiding there when he looks up at you from below as he crouches down to help you slip off your shoes. Rising back up in front of you he’s close. So close that his lips are just barely apart from yours and the heat of his breath tickles your cheeks. The pair of you are so close that there’s barely any space between your bodies when you suddenly find your back pressed up against the door behind you.

Lips finally touching, slow and just barely you breathe out “Robin…”

“That’s not my name, honey.”

And you laugh. A sweet thing that makes Steve’s insides twist and turn.

“She won’t be home tonight. There was some latex…She’s fine. I’ll explain later.”

The kiss you finally get is sloppy, but in the best way. There’s no time for chaste kisses here, pillowy lips slotted together and moving effortlessly between one another. He adjusts your chin with the tips of his fingers so that he can gently caress the line of your jaw, following it back down and up again as he slides his fingers through the base of your hair. His grip there is tight, but not painful, Possessive but not overwhelming. It’s like he’s got something he wants so desperately and he’s afraid to let it go.

He gently touches your upper lip with the tip of his tongue, coaxing you open further for him, letting his tongue follow the outlines of your teeth before letting his dance together with yours. He lets out a small sigh as you continue to nip at each other's lips and play with how you both respond to one another's kiss. The sigh makes your mouth crack open in a smile, cheeks drawing up with the grin and encouraging his kisses to explore elsewhere. Small pecks start on the corner of your mouth and then your cheeks, right on the apple of them as their pulled taught by your smile.

Moving down towards your jaw, your neck, they get more and more salacious the lower they get. Red and pricking, a bruise is blooming at the spot on your neck just under your ear where he settles in to suck and kiss at your skin while the whimper that falls from your lips as he does it and your fingertips running through his hair and scratching at his scalp keep him grounded - barely capable of holding it together as is.

When you ask him what he wants, the answer he gives you is not one you expected. Sure you expected him to want to dote on you - after all, he’s attentive like that on any given day, so Steve being a giver in the sheets was almost…a given? But when his gasping breaths punctuate each word that comes out of his mouth Can you … I want you to ride my face? was a pleasant surprise.

Now surprising him, you not only agreed, but were confident about it. “Always wanted this. No…no one would let me.” He tells you as he breathes into you, chest heaving, foreheads touching. He barely notices as you pull the top of your dress down and work it over your shoulders, then the swell of your breasts. He only registers your exposed skin as you guide his hands down to your waist so he can hold you steady as you step out of it.

Coaxing him backwards towards the sofa, you tap his shoulder and tell him to sit down on the floor, back against the furniture, as you make a show of removing your bra. He does as you ask, unable to tear his eyes away from your supple skin and perfectly peaked nipples, making a mental note that later he absolutely has to get his mouth on them. As you shimmy down your underwear in front of him, you pause to add a kiss to the top of his head before dropping the garment directly in his lap.

He bunches them up in his hand, sliding them into his front pocket for later as you settle over him, “Y’know…they call this Queening?” perched there on your knees, you’re fully undressed and slotted above his face so casually.

“Mmmm. Makes sense.” He says, against the seam of your pussy and your thighs, making you vibrate with his words and his gentle hum.

“R’mind me to tell you why one day.”

“Mmmmhmm. Sure thing.” In a haze, he reaches around you, fingers digging into your supple ass and pulling you closer. Forward and over, just where he wants you. The perfect position where he can use both his mouth and his nose - just like Robin told him he should. Head moving subtly left to right, he tests it out, tip of his nose gently nudging your clit left to right and right to left and his warm breath teasing your wet, glistening folds. You let out a gasp followed by a small breathy little uhh, that has his ears ringing and he’s happy. Pleased with his position, he slips his tongue out and traces you with it, before returning with a big, firm lick - tongue flattened and wide making sure you touch all of you in one pass. Those big hands wrap further around you, now snaking over the tops of your thighs and this time tugging you down. Down down down and there’s nowhere else to go.

Now you’ve had some fine oral sex before. It’s a non-negotiable for you when it comes to relationships: If a man is worried about tasting your clit, you don’t want him. You’re worth more than that. You’ve even done this a time or two, but Steve nestled between your thighs, under you like this fully clothed and pulling you into his face further despite there not being anywhere else to go is otherworldly.

Other times you’ve found yourself in this position were tactical. A position change, a new angle, just for fun, a lazy guy. But being perched on top of Steve Harrington’s face is making you feel like a true goddess. You were about to give him a history lesson and tell him why this is called Queening and instead he’s proving it to you. Making you feel just like one.

Between smooth glides of his tongue, Steve sucks at your lips, your clit, the seam of your thigh. Once you’ve settled and allow yourself to fully relax over top of him, he releases his bruising grip - perfect tiny crescents left behind in their wake - and uses those free hands wherever he can reach. Sliding up your spine, ghosting over the peach of your ass, along the curve of your backside and between them, too.

You’re not quiet anymore. You couldn’t be if you tried, and if you weren’t muffling the sounds coming from him with your thighs, you’re pretty sure the symphony of both of your moans would be enough to tip you over the edge. Since his are busy elsewhere, your hands find their way to your tits, rolling your nipples between your fingers and throwing your head back in pleasure as you start to absentmindedly grind on his face.

He lets you bask in your pleasure for a while before tugging you out of your daze, hands covering the small of your back, pulling and angling you forward so that your hands fall to the arm of the sofa behind him. Now, leaning over him, soft and subtle grinding returning like muscle memory, he takes the opportunity to slide his fingers in from behind, just alongside his mouth. Thick digits slipping inside, scissoring alongside the wet muscle of his tongue, nose nudging your clit between deep rolls of your hips against him, he notices the twitching of your velvety walls first, followed by the shaking of your thighs.

Freeing his hands, he finds your legs again, if only to hold you down to ride out your climax, combating how badly your sensitive body is trying to pull away, just slightly. The work he’s putting in on your pussy is paying off tenfold when you tremble and shake above him. Unable to move from the vice grip he has on your legs, you have no choice but to cry out and let him lap at you, drink you up until you're overstimulated and begging him to stop.

Limp and satiated, you easily fall into his arms as he moves up between you and the couch, pulling you into his lap. Your head lolls forward has he grabs your cheeks to look at you “Y’feel good baby? Y’feel like a Queen?”

You nod, dazed but eager and happy as he lifts you and stands. Legs wrapping around his hips while he peppers you with kisses that taste like your own pleasure, he carries you down the hallway to his room.

Kicking open the door, he stalks over to his bed and tosses you onto it without a second thought. Looking up at him with big doe eyes, he knows he’s done for. He can’t move fast enough as he loosened his belt and tugs down his pants. Crawling over you on his bed, he nudges that nose against yours again to get your attention. “You wanna? We don’t have to y’know?”

“Steve Harrington, I want to so bad, I’m gonna make you forget your name.”

TAGLIST: @livsters @katie-tibo @johnrichardpapen @angywritesstuff @k-k0129 @tisthedamngoldrush @middle-of-the-sky @thebrazilianatheist @mochminnie @micheledawn1975 @falling-throughthe-hourglass @rafaaoli @ash5monster01 @gabessock @onyxslayss @scoopshxrrington @superblysubpar

#joe keery #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #robin buckley #sexshop!steve #steve harrington x you #steve and robin fanfic #robin buckley imagine #robin buckley smut #robin buckley fanfic #steve and robin get a job #steve and robin 4l #platonic stobin #stobin fanfic #platonic soulmates stobin #stobin

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crushed-starlight · 5 months

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ok !! yall need so many updates from me aaa i'll try to speedrun them n not give u too much junk to read hehe

the main thing is, today i took a huuuge train ride home from uni !! i was on the road for a super long time but i got tons of reading done :3 but for about a month , i won't be seein any of my uni lore people in person ;; it's gonna be weird for sure since i've spent so much time around them recently, but i think in some cases (ie meadow lol) the distance will be good to help me rly evaluate what i'm getting out of that closeness n whether it's worth it.

plus, i'll get to hang out with my friends from here more too !! theres TONS of interesting stuff goin on with them too, so i'm sure there'll b more of that !!

anyway, here's a mini recap of some stuff that's happened since my last entry !!

i had a big night out with a bunch of people !! my first stop was an indie music night with odie and jiji, then after that down to a queer club night where we met meadow and one of their friends !! we also ran into another classmate who we didn't know was even queer, n he ended up joining us for the night :D

i also ran into a bunch more people i know !! specifically winter and (new character time) wave, who i'll add to the masterlist sooon :3

overall it was super fun n they played a bunch of my favorite songs :3 i love gay people <3

remember how i said 'as per jiji's advice i'm gonna try n keep some distance from meadow'? yeah i for sure did not do that. we explored a retail park n saw a movie on one day, did field work in the city another, n kept walking to class together almost every day !! i am ,, so tired !!

honestly, the crush might be beginning to fade, or just shapeshift into a friendship. i'm becoming more n more aware of potential red flags or just reasons i might not personally want to date them.. mainly, we're just really different in terms of personality. compared to when i'm hanging out with jiji and odie, i just mask around meadow a lot more. i overthink a lot, they tease me over my silly cringe interests n traits (of which there are a lot lol) instead of hyping me up , and i know they don't mean anything of it but i'm tired of being constantly reminded of how Different i am from them ,, and by extension from most people.. ok but wait there was last night .......

we went to a candlelight concert !! to any pair of people other than us, it probably would've been super romantic. what a waste of a perfect night, right? but it was still nice. we dressed up extra pretty, the music was nice, we sat right at the back of a beautiful church and listened to basically a classical music concert. i drank mulled wine in the intermission, there were about 20 christmas trees all decorated and themed after different charities and local organisations. crush thoughts aside, it was a really magical experience for what it cost (15 pounds yippee) :3

but , of course , since i knew that if i got home after that i'd have the most miserable yearning-filled night, i helped set up a pizza party with my flatmates (and odie) instead !! so jiji, comet, and our fourth roommate chipi !! i'm surprised i haven't mentioned him yet, at some point he should get a loredump post of his own since there's a lot to unpack with him lol

anyway the pizza party went great , save for the worlds worst phonecall with the pizza place which i foolishly volunteered to have. that pizza place employee in particular encompasses all the reasons i get anxious about phone calls.. yikes!

ok i think that's everything interesting that's happened so far !! here's to hoping i can have a nice relaxing (but still productive !!) month off. well , aside from the 6 giant essays i need to research and write >< but it's fine, i'll cope :,) bye for now !!

#star.txt #crushes #digital diary #starlit meadow #starlit odie #starlit jiji #starlit winter #starlit wave #starlit comet #starlit chipi

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nickgerlich · 9 months

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Beer And Barbie

There is one thing I have learned from the Marketing gods through the years: “Hold my beer and watch this.” Just when I think I have seen everything—and I have been around long enough to have seen a lot—the Marketing gods remind me that the show has only just begun.

Take this year for example. Among the many Marketing challenges we have witnessed, anything to do with LGBTQ issues has found its way to headlines as well as board rooms. The Bud Light debacle last April over creating a one-off beer can given to trans influencer Dylan Mulvaney blew up in their face, and parent company AB-InBev has seen sales erode 10% in the US, with operating profit dropping 30%.

A huge conservative-led boycott ensued, with rock star Kid Rock leading the brigade when video was released showing him destroying cases of Bud Light. Of course, his credibility has come into question the last few days after he was allegedly spotted drinking a Bud Light in public. Sure, it could be a deep fake, but I haven’t heard any denials.

Regardless, the Budweiser brand must wrestle with the fact that they lost their Number One ranking to Modelo Beer. Never mind that they have issued rainbow Bud Light aluminum bottles for several years prior. Endorsing a trans star was apparently the last sip…I mean straw.

And then there’s Target, the mass merchandising retail chain that has supported Pride Month for years, but this year did it in a little more showy way. They once again offered a variety of Pride-themed merchandise, from cards, decor, and games, to dresses and skirts. They also sold a bathing suit that was tuck-friendly. But rumors persisted that Target was also “targeting” (my bad) youth with tuck-friendly bathing attire as well, which was not true. Some shoppers destroyed displays in stores, and Target moved the seasonal display to farther back in the store, either in the Women’s Department, or all the way in the back.

To date, Target has witnessed its sales fall 5.4% since everything blew up, although it is difficult to attribute all of that to their support of the LGBTQ community. After all, US citizens were also vacationing overseas in the largest numbers since COVID.

There were others that were hit with criticism, even very conservative Cracker Barrel for their social media posts supporting Pride. As it turns out, many prominent companies showed some level of support for Pride Month, but went unnoticed. It’s here to stay, and no matter how many times people sing Jason Aldean’s “Try That In A Small Town” or Oliver Anthony’s “Rich Men North Of Richmond,” both of which have become anthemic in the conservative community, the ship has sailed.

It just may take a while for people to move from accepting gay to also accepting trans. That has proved to be a Big Gulp moment.

But wait, there’s more! Barbie has blown up the box office this summer with more than $1 billion in ticket sales. And, because it took on the patriarchy, it naturally rattled the sensibilities of some. Women loved it; I witnessed my own step-daughter getting all dressed up in pink to go see a movie. I asked her husband if he was going to dress as Ken, but he declined. The Marketers played up the movie as if Barbie were royalty; I even saw it being promoted heavily in Costa Rica. Sadly, some Middle Eastern nations have banned the movie because of its support for gays, not to mention the elevated role of women.

Back in the States, women took a lot of heat for dressing to the nines to watch a flick about the doll of their childhood, and the message therein also angered some. I’m looking at you, Bud Light-boycotting folks. I’m thinking insecure grumpy old men (which I try not to be) who can’t handle change as well as equality for women. I could have sworn we settled that issue decades ago, but maybe not.

In fact, last week while walking to AT&T Stadium in Arlington for a Dallas Cowboys preseason game, I photographed a gaggle of males all duded up in Cowboys jerseys. My oldest daughter saw it first. “Dad! Take a picture and post it!” I did. Apparently it’s OK for guys to dress up for a game, but not women for a movie. Go figure.

In the middle of all of these storms is social media, the force with which we all must reckon. We must know how to leverage it, but also know how to deal with it when the fallout deepens. Any Marketer who buries its head in the sand is destined to be pummeled in the arena of public hatred.

As always, YMMV on these matters, and I respect my students and their beliefs regardless. We don’t have to agree on everything, and you certainly do not have to agree with me. Just be able to support your claims, that’s all I ask.

Meanwhile, the imperative for us all as Marketers is clear: Be careful. Be very careful. In these highly contentious times, it is now a given that you will upset at least some of the people most of the time. How you handle that will determine how many stripes you wear on your sleeves.

Dr “Fasten Your Seat Belts” Gerlich

Audio Blog

#marketing #retail #social media #Pride Month #Barbie #Bud Light #Target

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kindtobechurlish · 1 year

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Why have I adamantly been against that nigger woman? I’ll tell you why. Some cunt by the name of Vanessa Chacon, Babe will appreciate this, interviewed me and after her I was done with immigrants just to see people I have come to see. I turn the corner, I’m 6’3”, and I just think, “negro”, in me not looking like that white man, some white woman in restaurant, but the people who have come to see me are used to seeing me. I work a feminist job, yes, and by it no more than five black people a day sit down to eat, yes, so I turn the corner and I feel the vibe, “negro”, some nigger woman doesn’t care, she says this country is hers as “all coons look alike to her.” So, if I go out and do get the job, now all black people look the same and I shouldn’t be there? Understand my anger, and why I am coming to hate immigrants.

By my resume, my work I’ve done in NY, the people I have worked for, I look gay.. but when you see me I am a Nigga who is refusing street crying. Vanessa Chacon got on zoom, and people were just like her, even a negro with a face and he can’t shave the hair off his cheeks as he couldn’t grow a full beard. People see me, “negro”, and some Fuckface oppresses me as his time is up. His position is promoting the narrative of a child who never ran a business. Greta, go watch a movie, and Tate gives better advice than you, as he is too an asshole. “Don’t be a pussy.” Now, you see Vanessa Chacon.. she sees me and I can tell she looked at me to imagine if she would be with me, yes, and as the interview continued it’s like she heard nayvadius and said, “negro.” Some woman is for the streets, and you see the effect of a polar bear being moved to Antarctica and women are as penguins and seals (no retreat factor).

Some woman sees me and thinks I think women are for the streets, and I am only means for drama.. but if I were gay, I have the job. Every other day, if not every day, I think of Vanessa Chacon just to say FUCK that negro female. Now, Ben Franklin isn’t personified, patron isn’t personified, and people don’t know Albert Pike just for his tent to be. “The KKK is bad”, that’s all they say, and they think I’m Nayvadius, ready to make a woman for the streets, as that faggot negro gets the job I can do. Some white man, white men, I know of, would have gotten the job no problem, they aren’t better than me but just white, but when I want the job you see Vanessa Chacon be given power and I can’t say her last name! Weird. She wasn’t Chinese, she wasn’t Korean, she wasn’t Japanese, but she was from the people of Southern Asia.. and you see her for her. Fuck Vanessa Chacon.. I will get this money, and visit her store just to see what she does.

So now you see it, some negro woman is standing with Vanessa Chacon, and she wants me to be gay least I am the problem. I know the lady of kingdoms, that nigger woman is the problem as i personify patron and doing bigger and better things after “the necessary evil.” Some woman sees illusion I am the problem, but Old Bed said negroes acted the way they did because of Republicans at the top as I would expose people who should not be in position and oath to the dog. I think of Vanessa Chacon, and when I think of her I feel hate. A bunch of Vanessa Chacon’s being enabled in retail… and that nigger woman gets the job as I don’t get the job, that faggot gets the job and I don’t get the job.. well, people like Vanessa Chacon, and Vanessa herself (VANESSA), are idiots and I got to know them just to not want to work with her.. I see her for her, and now you see why I did what I did and fuck that negro female .

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wlwmarvelenthusiast · 3 years

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More Than A Friend

Summary: A weekend trip with Carol leads you to realize you might like her a little more than you'd thought.

Pairing: Carol Danvers x Reader

Warnings: language

Word Count: 6,194

You crept into the bar. It was a rowdy place, even this early in the evening. Your eyes scanned the crowd, taking in all the different people that were scattered throughout the room. The football game was playing on the TV, but unfortunately, it wasn't really your sport. Finally, your eyes landed on a blonde sitting at the bar. You moved toward her, a smirk on your face. You didn't even bother to slide into the seat next to her.

Your hand touched her hip and your lips were right next to her ear when you spoke. "What's a beautiful thing like you doing all alone here?"

She startled a little, whipping to face you. When she saw you, though, she smacked you away, an unamused expression taking over the surprised look she'd had a minute ago. You slid onto the stool next to her, eyes watching as the bartender held up a single finger to indicate he'd be over to you in a moment. You only nodded in acknowledgment before turning back to the girl beside you, the smirk still on your lips.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" She rolled her eyes.

"Come off it, Care-bear, you love me."

"Christ, I hate when you call me that."

"I apologize, oh Captain, my captain."

The bartender arrived and prevented her from retaliating. You didn't even bother looking back at her as you ordered your drink of choice, glancing up at the football game that you didn't care about in order to not look at Carol. She finally snorted and bumped her shoulder against yours. It made you look back at her, unable to keep a smile from forming on your face when she gave you a hearty wink. She laughed.

"How was work?"

You shrugged. "People are idiots."

When you were sixteen, you'd worked a retail job where you'd learned just how stupid people really were. You'd learned that fully-grown adults had nothing better in their lives to do than yell at teenaged, minimum wage workers during their spare time for nothing more than a minor inconvenience. When you'd become an Avenger, you thought that would stop. You were incorrect. You might not have been a teenaged retail worker anymore, but people found a reason to lose their temper anyway- even right after you'd saved their life.

"That good, huh?" She chuckled.

"Are people nicer on other planets, Care-bear? Take me with you?"

"They're not, no," Carol huffed, sipping from her glass. "And the drinks don't taste as good."

You wondered what she was drinking that she seemed to be enjoying so much. It was colourful, and had, at this point, piqued your interest. You reached out and snatched from where it sat in front of her on the bar. You sniffed it first. It was something fruity, that was all you could figure. Finally, you dared raise the glass to your lips. The second the liquid touched your tongue you felt like you might overdose on sugar and sweetness.

"Oh, my God, Carol!" You exclaimed, setting the drink back down on the bar top and sliding it to her. "What the hell is that?"

"She got it extra sweet," the bartender said as he walked by. "Your friend's got a sugar addiction."

It didn't seem to bother her at all. While you felt you could puke from the sugar content alone, she was sipping it happily. You rolled your eyes at her, reaching for your own drink, much preferring the taste of it. Carol turned to you suddenly, the straw still between her lips. You watched as she lowered it back down, using the same straw to stir the drink around, the ice clinking off the side of the glass as she did. She sipped it again.

"What's our weekend plans, then?" Carol asked finally.

"Who says I have plans with you?"

"Oh, please. You practically begged me to come stay on Earth for a weekend."

"I did absolutely no such thing."

You absolutely did do that. Carol was away from Earth more often than not and you missed her. It wasn't like it was a crime to. So, you'd phoned her up and asked her over and over to come spend just one weekend on Earth with you. She'd finally agreed on the eighth ask, and now here you sat; on the right of the girl you'd missed so dearly, teasing her relentlessly about whatever that abomination was swirling around in her glass.

"We're taking my new car on a little road trip," you finally gave, sipping your drink. "Music, fast-food, and deep talks on the interstate."

"Snacks?"

"Snacks too," you promised with a chuckle. "And we can get a nice motel room or pitch a tent at night. Whichever you please."

You had to laugh at the smile that had crept over her face. The way she giggled in excitement, you had to wonder if it'd just been too long since her last day off or if the alcohol had gotten to her already. She waved the bartender lever as she finished hers. He placed a new one in front of her, and she thanked him quickly, bringing it close and immediately bringing the straw between her lips. You wondered whether the sugar or alcohol content would hospitalize her quicker.

"So, when do we leave?" She chirped.

"In the morning. Don't drink too much. You'll get hungover and I want to actually have fun."

She stuck her tongue out at you. You rolled your eyes in response, finishing your own drink and then declining another. You didn't want to be hungover when you were the one driving the two of you around. The bartender brought you a pop instead. You sipped on it, watching a bar-goer stumbled over with a drunk grin on his face and tapped Carol on the shoulder. He said something you didn't quite hear, but you saw Carol nod. He took her hands and dragged her onto the dance floor. You brought her drink toward you.

Carol was a flirt. She always had been. She was a flirt with you, your teammates, and strangers. She was also gay. This dance with this guy didn't mean much to her. You weren't sure if it even meant much to him. You couldn't be sure that he'd even remember this dance. He was absolutely wasted, and it wasn't even midnight. Regardless, he seemed to be enjoying it. His eyes travelled up and down Carol's body and you squeezed the glass in your hand a little tighter. You were protective of her, despite knowing she could absolutely hold her own.

When the song finished, she winked at him, retreating back to your spot at the bar. She finished up her drink and then insisted the two of you head back to your place and that you were right: she didn't want to be nursing a hangover while you were supposed to be having a good time. You paid the bartender and then linked your arm with hers, leading her out the door and onto the streets. She glanced up at the tall buildings around her. A smile had formed on her face.

"You don't appreciate how beautiful this place is."

You glanced up at the glowing buildings that towered above you and marvelled, for a moment, at the soft light that radiated off them. Your gaze was tugged downward, though, at a rustling noise. You were snapped back into the reality of your city as you watched a rat scurry along the curb of the sidewalk in the direction opposite you. You chuckled at that, motioning to it as you looked up to catch Carol's bright gaze.

"Surely some of those planets are far more beautiful than this."

She shrugged. "Some, maybe. Some are worse. Some are kind of alike to this. This has always been my favourite, though."

You might have understood that if Carol had taken the time to visit the actual beautiful parts of the Earth. But she was always in the city. She'd never gone to stare in amazement at a waterfall or glance at towering mountains. She had never seen the true beauties of this Earth, and you promised in that moment to change that fact. If she thought New York City was beautiful, she would be blown off her feet by the things you showed her.

"One day, Carol, I'll show you the actual beautiful things on this Earth."

"You're pretty beautiful yourself."

You smacked her. That was her flirty side coming out once again. It didn't mean anything. It never had. So, you wondered what that strange flutter in your chest was when she said the words. You ignored it, passing it off as a longing for a meaningful relationship. You hadn't had one of those in a while now. You probably just wanted someone to say those words to you and mean it. You made a mental note to sign up for an online dating site after the weekend had passed. It was too hard to meet people in your line of work without them.

"Yeah, I know," was all you gave in response.

When you glanced over at her, she had a grin on her face.

It wasn't long until you'd reached your apartment building. You smiled at the front desk as you entered the lobby and immediately made for the elevator. You pressed the button to the seventh floor and waited patiently for the doors. You knew Carol was suppressing a squeal of glee when they arrived. She usually just flew everywhere. Using simple inventions like this one had always gotten her more excited than the average person. To anyone else, an elevator was just a boring elevator.

"Can I do it?" She asked as you pulled out your key.

Carol really was just like a child, in a sense. Everything was so advanced out in space that these were the things she enjoyed doing. You pointed out the bronze key and watched her run ahead. She practically skipped the distance to your apartment door. She pushed the key into the lock and turned it, glancing back at you and smiling widely when the door pushed open. You smiled affectionately as you took the key back from her.

She may not have visited Earth overly often, but every time she did, she visited your apartment. Resultantly, she knew her way around. She knew, as well, that you didn't mind in the slightest if she made herself at home. She slid her shoes off and jumped onto the couch, pulling the blanket down over top of her and snuggling into it. You actually took a photo of the sight before you moved into the room behind her, lifting her legs, sitting on the couch, and then dropping them back over your lap.

"Can we watch a movie?" Carol asked, pleading gaze turning to you.

You showed her the remote you'd been reaching for. "Already on it, Captain Danvers."

"I take it back," she giggled, tossing her head back so that it hit the armrest. "That's worse. You can call me-"

"Aw, my Care-Bear!" You laughed, shifting your position so you could throw your arms around her shoulders.

Carol grunted at the impact against her torso. Once you settled, though, she breathed a little easier. You were both squished against one side of the couch, now, but the closeness was nothing new to you. You still had the remote in hand, and aimed it at the TV, managing to get it to Netflix. You flicked on a random horror movie, setting the remote back down on the coffee table in front of you. You nestled back into the cushions.

It had always amused you how jumpy Carol got when she watched horror movies. She was a literal superhero that fought literal aliens all the night and day and yet a ghost jumping out of a darkened corridor had her cringing away from the TV screen and pulling the blanket further up her body as if in an attempt to protect her. She would always adamantly deny it if you ever brought it up later. You would never show her the picture you had of her, fuzzy blue blanket pulled all the way up to her nose, eyes wide, as she watched The Conjuring. She would delete it off your phone as you slept.

Today, though, her nerves seemed to be calmed somewhat by the cup of tea she had clasped between her hands. She looked entirely content, sitting cross-legged on the couch with that same fuzzy blanket draped over her lap and a grey, ceramic mug warming her palms. The alcohol had clearly gotten to her a little, you realized, as you watched her eyelids droop every once in a while. The corner of your mouth tilted upward ever so slightly. She was wide awake a moment later.

It was a sudden jump scare. Even being half asleep, Carol was still paying attention. So, when the TV boomed and there was a flash and a scream, she jumped. The tea that she'd been holding in her lap sloshed over the edges, a large amount of liquid soaking into the couch cushions. You were out of your seat in an instant, reaching for the remote to pause. Carol was apologizing profusely, jumping to her feet and following you to the kitchen.

"It's okay, Carol. It's fine," you chuckled, wetting a dish towel and grabbing some paper towels. "Hey, it's fine. Really. Chill out."

Carol seemed hesitant to do that. When you lightheartedly flicked the wet towel at her, though, she finally smiled taking the paper towel out of your hand and heading back to the living room, pressing the paper towel into the couch and absorbing as much of the liquid as she could. When she'd finished, you used the wet rag to clean the beverage out. As you tossed the paper towel away and threw the dishrag into the kitchen sink, you stood back and took a look at the large wet spot on the couch.

"Guess we're moving to my room, then. Let's go, Care-Bear."

Carol nodded. She trod behind you into the bedroom, where you flopped onto the bed. She was lagging behind and you waved her onward to hurry her up. She finally jumped onto the bed and sat next to you, sliding her legs underneath the covers. You turned on the small TV in your room and resumed the movie you'd been watching. In the soft comfort of the bed, though, it seemed the tug for sleep was greater. Carol's eyes finally fluttered shut and she lay down against the pillows. You chuckled, turning off the movie.

You, unlike your friend, hadn't fallen asleep involuntary. You were able to head to the bathroom and brush your teeth before yawning tiredly and deciding to join. You padded back into the room, climbed under the covers, shut off the lights, and lay your head onto your own pillow. You smiled once at Carol's sleeping figure before you shut your eyes, letting sleep take you.

As hard as you tried to convince her, you weren't able to get Carol to stick her head back inside the sunroof. You weren't sure how to breeze was so exhilarating to her. The superhuman could fly faster than your car was going right now. The wind in her hair had to be a familiar feeling at this point. Plus, there were no laws against flying above the interstate to feel the wind in your hair. There were, however, laws about standing with your entire torso stuck out the roof of the car.

You'd given up a while ago. If she fell out, she'd be just fine. If she got you a ticket? Oh, there would be serious hell to pay. She'd agreed to that already. You'd honestly be surprised, though, if she did get ticketed. It'd be quite a sight to see: a measly police officer ticketing the Human-Kree Hybrid superhero. That sight alone might actually be worth the fine you would have to pay. By the time she'd pulled her head back in, though, blonde hair windblown and a smile plastered to her face, you'd yet to see a single cop.

"Have fun?" You asked, doing up the sunroof.

"Absolutely. You should try."

"Do you know how to drive?" You scoffed.

"I can fly a ship."

"Yeah, I'm sure UFO controls are much different than cars so I'm gonna have to politely ask you to stay the hell away from my car."

Carol only stuck her tongue out at you. She still didn't do her seatbelt up yet. She twisted her body so that she could reach into the back seat. You turned back to the road, but when you shot a second glance at her a few seconds later, she was popping open a can of Pringles with a large grin on her face. She bit down onto a chip with a giggle before turning the can to you. You reached into it with one hand and took a small handful of them, setting them down on the centre console for easier access.

"Where are we staying tonight?" Carol asked through a mouthful of chips.

"A campground up in a small town in Ontario," you hummed. "It's still a good few hours away. I'd ask if you wanted to stop for food, but I'd guess you've filled up on snacks."

She dug through her backpack. "Do I need this?"

She held up the passport you'd made her get last time the two of you had headed up to Toronto. Despite the fact that she really wasn't a citizen of the United States... or even of Earth, you'd managed to get S.H.I.E.L.D. to make you an exception for Carol. It was the perks of being an Avenger, and a close friend of Nick Fury, you supposed. To answer her question, you simply nodded your head as you reached for the Gatorade in your cup holder. She stuck the papers back into her bag.

"So, are you seeing anyone?"

The question almost made you spit the red beverage onto the steering wheel. It wasn't that you and Carol had never talked about it. She was one of your closest friends, after all. She was the first one you'd called when you'd realized your feelings for your last girlfriend, and she was the first one you'd called when you'd broken up. Carol wasn't someone you didn't talk about your love life with. It was just that it was completely and entirely out of the blue. It didn't help that the answer was still no, even after the long period of time since she'd last asked it.

You'd tried to assure yourself that you were just busy with work. It wasn't a lie. You'd been busy as hell ever since Loki's sceptre had inexplicably gone missing after the Battle in New York. But it wasn't just that, you knew full well. Something seemed to be wrong with your brain, or maybe your heart. Maybe it was just that your standards were practically in the clouds, but no one seemed attractive to you anymore. Not even the girl Natasha had tried to set you up with (and you were well convinced that Natasha only knew attractive people).

"Not at the moment, no," you finally admitted. "You?"

"On-and-off," she shrugged. "Just a girl from a planet called Xandar."

A pang of jealousy struck your chest. You were carving something- anything. You would've given anything even for something on-and-off just about now. Had it really been that long? You could hardly believe you were jealous of her. It wasn't like you to be jealous of something someone else had. You were supposed to be happy for her, not sulking over your own lack of a love life... or sex life. You forced a smile at her, wishing it could be real.

"Oh, yeah? Tell me about her."

"Not too much to tell," Carol said, biting down on a potato chip. "She's cute, funny, sweet. A little younger than me, but most people are," she chuckled as she glanced over at you. You plastered a phone smile back onto your lips and forced a laugh from your chest. "Her name's Alya."

You almost grumbled, but managed to bite your tongue on time. You resorted to ripping open a packet of gummy bears in order to keep your mouth full and therefore unable to make any snarky comments. Carol didn't seem to notice that, only reaching over and grabbing a green bear out of the bag. Though you might have been a little frustrated, you let her. It wasn't her fault that you were touch-starved and desperate.

"You know, we could spend this trip trying to find you a girlfriend," Carol grinned, tossing a candy into the air and catching it in her mouth.

"No," you denied immediately. You didn't need for her to see how weird your head was being right now. You were certain there was no one she could find that would be able to snap you out of this strange state of no one being attractive to you, yet craving someone. "I'm not looking for a girlfriend in Ontario."

"What's wrong with girls from Ontario?" Carol teased.

She'd been to Ontario once before. She'd pointed out that, though they may have dressed a little different and talked a little different, the girls from Ontario were just as attractive as the girls from New York. You'd had to point out that, at the time, she'd had a girlfriend. With Carol's ogling at girls on Earth, clearly, she and the girlfriend hadn't been working out well. They'd broken up two weeks later, leaving them both a little hurt, but not beyond repair. Even still, they saw each other for lunch or for a drink, but just as friends. It was admirable; the respect they had retained for one another.

"Nothing is wrong with girls from Ontario," you huffed. "I'm just not in the mood. This is supposed to be our weekend."

"What if I want to spend our weekend finding you a girl?"

"I don't. Drop it," you finally snapped.

Immediately guilt rushed to settle in the pit of your stomach. You readjusted your grip on the steering wheel as your gaze refused to leave the road in front of you. You didn't want to glance over at the frown that had surely taken the place of that infectious smile you loved so dearly. You definitely didn't want to look at it knowing that you were the cause of it. Carol was so incredibly joyful all the time and that was one of the things you loved about her. To be the one who had taken that joy from her, even momentarily, broke your heart.

"I'm sorry," you muttered.

She didn't answer that.

You attempted to swallow the lump in your throat as you tried to focus on driving instead of picturing the frown that was probably tugging at each of Carol's features. You wished you could actually physically kick yourself for what you'd done. She didn't deserve you snapping at her like that. She hadn't done anything wrong. You were just being pissy for reasons you weren't sure even you quite understood. You finally turned to her, but she was looking out the window.

"Look, Carol-"

"Hey, don't worry. Sorry I pushed."

You didn't deserve Carol Susan Jane Danvers one single bit. She deserved more than the world and you swore right then you'd work every moment to give that to her. Despite how you'd treated her for reasons she couldn't possibly have understood, when she turned to you, she was still smiling. As always, her smile put a smile on your face too. You turned away from those soft brown eyes to glance back at the road in front of you.

"It's okay. I'm sorry I snapped. I just... it's a long story, Care-Bear."

"We've got a long ride ahead of us," she tried.

"I don't know that I'm feeling like talking about it right this second," you admitted.

She seemed to accept that. You felt her touch your arm with her hand. Warmth seemed to rush from her touch, up your arms, and into your chest. How one person could instill such comfort into you amazed you. She said a few soft words to you that you didn't quite hear, but you felt you might not need to. You knew they were words of comfort. Just that knowledge was enough to put a smile onto your face. Your eyes flickered from her to the road.

"No problem," Carol chimed. Then, without missing a single beat, she changed the subject. "Hey, which bag did you put the Fuzzy Peaches in?"

"The green backpack."

Just like that, it was easy again. Carol didn't let you linger on just how upset you were for more than a second. She practically dived into the back seat for the backpack, reappearing with the orange package in her hand. She plopped back down into her seat, still refused to put her seatbelt on, and ripped the package open. She reached out and turned up the music when one of your favourite songs came on. You wondered if she knew that.

"No! That piece goes over here!" You insisted.

Carol frowned and handed you the long pole.

Pitching a tent with an alien who hadn't even known was a tent was, up until five minutes ago, was not easy. She'd practically rolled herself up like a burrito in the rain fly right after nearly putting the stakes directly through the floor to pin the tent down. You'd been guiding her, preventing any damage from coming to it. She was listening intently, making sure she did everything exactly how you said. She stuck the peg through the guy line and looked at you.

"Like that?"

"Yeah. Perfect. I think we're just about done, Care-Bear."

At that, she unzipped the door, diving through it into the empty tent. You reached into the trunk of your car, throwing the many pillows, blankets, and sleeping bags through behind her, not caring much where they landed. When you finally shut the door and ducked into the tent, Carol was beneath the large pile, peering out from where only the top half of her face was visible. You had to chuckle, grabbing one of the blankets and pulling it over her face.

Carol insisted she set up. She had you sit aside by the door, munching happily on a small bowl of popcorn as you watched. She carefully unzipped the sleeping bags and lay them down on the floor, putting the pillows atop them, and then the two comforters stacked on top of each other on top of that. When she finally finished, she gestured proudly to her completed setup. You raised an eyebrow.

"We both sleeping there?"

She nodded. "It's cold."

You had to give her that. You were practically shivering just from waiting for her to finish. The sun had dipped beyond the horizon at this point, the darkness of night did nothing to heat up the air around you. You clambered under the blankets, careful not to drop any of the popcorn you still held. You placed it next to you, letting Carol reach over and grab some as she, too, climbed into the makeshift bed. She popped a piece into her mouth.

"Up to talking about it yet?"

It was a genuine question. Carol wasn't pushy. That was something you could tell by her tone. She had waited patiently and was continuing to wait for you to be ready to talk about what you needed to talk about. She didn't want you bottling it up, but she didn't want to pressure you. She was able to do that. You glanced down at the red blanket that covered your legs, pondering her question for a moment. Then you nodded your head yes.

"I just haven't felt myself recently," you shrugged. "I would like to get out there and find someone, no doubt. Recently, though, it's like my standards are unmeetable. No one seems even remotely appealing to me."

"No one at all?"

"Nat tried to set me up with her Russian model friend," you said, turning to Carol with a grin finally on your lips.

"Nothing?" Carol said, an exaggerated amount of shock on her face. "You must be broken."

You shoved her. She chuckled; the offensive action having done nothing. She was inhumanly strong. If you'd decided to punch her, you likely would've broken your hand against her. She shoved you back, only lightly, so you moved a few inches away from her. She stuck her hand back into the popcorn bowl as you shuffled back into your place beside her. She was chewing thoughtfully, and you didn't dare interrupt her with the very focused expression on her face.

"Do you already like someone? That usually takes away the appeal of anyone else."

You stopped to think about that. You knew that could be the case. In eleventh grade when you'd had a crush on Adelaide Artenbaker, you'd suddenly failed to find anyone else attractive at all. Of course, Adelaide had eventually rejected you on account that she was straight as an arrow. It wasn't malicious. She'd actually given you a kiss on the cheek and assured you that, if she discovered wasn't, she'd let you know. It had made you laugh.

Now, you had to wonder if there was anyone that was making your stomach flip and making you dismiss anyone else. It wasn't the Avengers. You'd been in the changing room with Natasha, the Black fucking Widow, two days ago, and she'd strutted up to you in nothing but her bra and underwear. You hadn't even bat an eyelash as she'd asked you if you wanted to get some Chinese food after the mission (but you had said yes, of course).

"Yeah. Maybe."

Her words had knocked some serious sense into you. You definitely had a crush on someone, and it had definitely been impairing your ability to get out on a date. That someone was around so little, though, that you hadn't realized right away just how you felt for them. Maybe if she visited Earth a little more often, you'd have realized why you blushed so deeply when she'd crawled into bed with you last night or right now.

"Who is it, then?"

Carol had a girlfriend. It may have been on-again-off-again, but she had a girlfriend. You were not now, nor ever, someone who would come between that. You were going to let her be happy with someone who was making her happy and you were going to be happy for her. You plastered a smile onto your face and reached into the bowl of popcorn that sat on your lap, letting the snack cloud the feelings of jealousy that you knew now weren't jealousy of a relationship, but if Carol.

"Nat."

Carol didn't miss a single beat. "Liar."

You glared at her. "The fuck do you mean? Telling me who I do and do not like?"

"I know who has your heart right now. It isn't Nat."

This time when she reached for the popcorn, she leaned over. To support her weight, her hand came to rest on your upper thigh. You had to refrain from reacting. You sucked the inside of your cheek between your teeth, biting hard on it to suppress any sort of reaction that Carol would have noticed. It seemed to have worked. She grabbed a small handful and then backed away, the pressure of her hand disappearing from your limb.

"Yeah? Who is it, then?"

"Someone that likes you back."

"And who says Nat doesn't?"

You might have actually been offended if it weren't Carol you were talking to. You were good enough for Natasha, right? She was practically a goddess in respect to her looks, but you were something, too. Not that you liked Natasha in that way. She was a friend. Carol was the one that you cared about. Something about that sweet smile and that confidence mixed with an innocence she had after being away from Earth for so long warmed your heart every time.

"Fair," Carol admitted. "But you know, you're pretty oblivious. With all the hints I've been dropping, you'd think you'd have realized your feelings are reciprocated."

"What?"

"I like you, dumbass. More than a friend likes a friend."

Your jaw might have dropped. You coughed, choking on the popcorn that you'd been eating as you whirled to face the blonde. She had a twinkle in her eyes, and a giggle escaped her lips when she saw the expression on your face. She tossed a piece of popcorn into the air, catching it in her mouth. She chewed on it as she waited, arms crossed, for you to collect yourself. Finally, after a long drink of water, you calmed.

"Pardon?"

"You're an idiot," she mumbled.

Then she grabbed the front of your shirt and pulled you closer. You didn't fail to notice, as your lips moved against hers, that she moved the popcorn bowl so that it wouldn't spill. It seemed completely unimportant, though. You felt everything starting to melt away into Carol Danvers. Her lips were talented and kissing her felt like an intricate sport and suddenly you needed to breathe. When you pushed away, you realized what you'd done wrong.

Her feelings to you didn't matter. She had a girlfriend. Unless that fact changed, she and you didn't get to be more than your friend. You pushed her even further away. You knew she had the ability to, but she didn't resist. You backed off a little further so that your bodies were completely separated. Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion, but she didn't push. She even waited for you to speak first. Your eyes wouldn't meet hers.

"You have a girlfriend."

"I just said that to make you jealous," she scoffed.

You immediately got defensive. "I was not jealous."

"You were so!"

"Shut up."

She did. You suspected the only reason she had shut up was because she was kissing you again. It didn't matter. You were on cloud nine. You felt right again. You felt more right now than you ever had. Carol was exactly what you had needed for longer than you could figure out right then. She was clouding your thoughts and, honestly, you couldn't have cared less. You didn't want to think about anything besides how good her lips felt on yours right then.

You couldn't even find it in yourself to be mad at her for the little stunt she had pulled. You could only be glad that this so-called girlfriend wasn't actually real, and was just a part of her stupid plan. Without the girlfriend, you were free to kiss her as much as she would let you. Judging by how she was kissing you now, she wasn't going to stop you anytime soon. Her teeth grazed your bottom lip as she pulled away, not moving more than an inch from your lips, though.

The hand that clasped your shirt uncurled. She pressed her hand flat against the centre of your chest, pushing you onto your back. You had to chuckle as her knees pressed into the ground on either side of your waist. She kissed your nose once, scowling at the laughs that were beginning to bubble from your chest. You leaned up and kissed her lips for a brief moment, before using a hand to caress her cheek and tuck her hair behind her ear.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing. You were right," you stated. "I'm kinda glad you were right."

"You're kind of glad? Can you imagine how stupid I'd have looked if I were wrong?" Carol laughed.

"Quite," you agreed with a nod.

You pulled her down next to you, wrapping your arms around her and feeling hers do the same to you. You pressed your forehead against hers, taking the time to admire her smiling face. She giggled a little, pecking your lips quickly. She didn't linger, though, having been preoccupied in reaching over your shoulder into the bowl of popcorn once more. She shoved a few pieces into her mouth and chewed happily.

"Care-Bear, what's more important: me or snacks?"

"You are a snack."

You gaped. "How the hell did you learn that term?"

She shrugged. "I hear things."

You rolled your eyes, pushing her away from you. She let you, reaching for her water bottle to wash down some of the salty flavour that had come off the popcorn. She offered you some water, which you accepted. When you finished and handed the bottle back to her, she pulled you close to her. Your body moved until it was flush against hers. Her torso was so warm you could've fallen asleep right then and there.

"You're more important."

Being more important than snacks, in the opinion of Carol Danvers, was just about the highest compliment you could have received.

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