“Nobody’s going to want to sit on high-speed rail for fifteen hours to get from New York City to LA.”
Me. I will sit on high-speed rail for fifteen hours. I’ll sit on it for days. I’ll write and read and nap and eat and then do it all over again. I’ll stare out the windows and see America from ground level and not have to drive. I’ll see the Rockies and the deserts and cornfields and the Mississippi River and your house and yours and yours too. I’ll make up stories in my head about the small towns I see as we go along. I’ll see the states I’ve yet to see because driving or flying there is a fucking slog and expensive to boot. I’ll enjoy the ride as much as the destination. And then I’ll do it all over again to come the fuck home.
I used to love going to San Diego for Comic Con by train. I’d start in Chicago, take a train that would take two or three days of bimbling through lower Illinois and Texas and New Mexico and I’d get to LA and then a commuter train to San Diego. I’d meet thousands of people in San Diego and then I’d get on the train in LA and go up the coast and then head East and spend another day or two decompressing until I got off in Minneapolis St Paul. It was the best time of the year. Sometimes I’d write and sometimes I’d stare out of the window.
there's also "pull yourself up by the bootstraps" which conservatives are oh so fond of saying
bootstraps are, well, straps on your boots. you cannot physically pull yourself up by them, and that's what the original phrase meant. "pulling oneself up by the bootstraps" is meant to be an impossible task
you guys know you can get USB connectable CD, dvd, and blu-ray players right. and you can buy external hard drives with crazy amounts of space for an amount of money that would make the average person from 2009’s head explode bc of how cheap it is. and if you do this and get ripping software such as handbrake for CDs and DVDs and makeMKV for blurays you can both own a physical copy of whatever media you want and make it accessible to yourself no matter where you are. do you guys know this
lots of people are reblogging this and tagging it #piracy—i should clarify, this is not piracy! ripping DVDs and CDs to have your own copy is fully legal, because it’s your legal right to do what you will with your property individually. it only becomes illegal if you then distribute that file on the internet.
I’ve been collecting the best Jorts tweets and waiting until the moment he showed up on my dash to post them. So here you are, the curated best of the past, oh, day or so:
An update for those not following Jorts’ twitter account, starting with a transcription of the Wellerman cover:
Link to the lovely video
There once was a ship that put to sea
The name of the ship was the Jorts and Jean
The ship she rolled and her closet doors closed
Oh no, where’s Jorts? Oh no!
Soon may the smarter cat come
To save poor Jorts so orange and dumb
One day when the butterin’s done
We’ll take our leave and go
When Pam came on, she had a plan
To teach our Jorts about garbage cans
Pam meant well but her plans fell flat
When HR said, “don’t butter the cat”
Soon may the smarter cat come
To save poor Jorts so orange and dumb
One day when the butterin’s done
We’ll take our leave and go
Now Jean the smart cat comes
She saves poor Jorts so orange and dumb
Now that the butterin’s done
We’ll take our leave and go
As seen together in:
+ People Like Us - The Actor
+ Casanova
+ Doctor Who - Fear Her
+ Love’s Labours Lost
+ 96 Ways to Say I Love You
+ You, Me, and Him
+ Good Omens
+ Staged (Nina plays Jo in Season 1 and herself in 2 & 3)
(Both are also in Twenty Twelve/W1A - although David does the narration and doesn’t physically appear in the series)
Bonus: More Nina - in Good Omens 2 and Staged Season 3
[Image description: Two smartphone screenshots of a Facebook post by a person named Sheila Toll posted 2 Sep. It is black text on a white background and the post is public. The post reads:
I am a Family Doctor and I want to keep a promise made to a patient.
Julie was a healthy, post-menopausal woman in my care who came in for a periodic health examination. One of my routine questions, in what is called the “Review of Systems”, was to ask if she had experienced any vaginal bleeding.
She said “No” but then laughed and added, “Other than when my period came back for a few months last year”.
All health care professional are taught early on that ‘vaginal bleeding in a post-menopausal woman is Cancer of the Uterus until proven otherwise’. This comment by Julie was, therefore, a red flag (no pun intended) prompting further questions, an examination and an ultrasound of her pelvis.
Julie was surprised to see me so concerned, especially since the symptoms had not recurred over many months.
Sure enough, a pelvic ultrasound and tissue sampling confirmed Cancer of the Uterus.
Julie underwent a hysterectomy and radiation therapy. She is now healthy, cancer-free and is expected to stay that way.
After all this was done, Julie sat ME down for a talk. She told me she’d had no idea a ‘short return’ of her period after menopause was a danger signal. Furthermore, she addressed the topic with friends over coffee and discovered that, out of 20 women, NONE of them knew this symptom was abnormal! She admonished me to “Tell women this! Don’t assume we know it!”
From that day on, I have kept Julie’s advice in mind when talking with post-menopausal patients. But recently my wife suggested that I should take this to a wider audience.
So, Julie, this is for you:
If you are a post-menopausal woman and your period ‘comes back’ or you have even one episode of vaginal bleeding, TELL A HEALTH CARE PROFESSIONAL and insist on having it investigated!
Wishing you all good health and long lives. End image description.]
I work with kids. These kids are at my program before and after school, and then some of them have sports/dance/music sometimes all of the above before they finally go home, eat dinner, and go to sleep. Then rinse and repeat everyday, and games and more classes on the weekend, etc.
I’m all for extracurriculars, but this turns into the teen who is not only in the school play, but they’re on the newspaper, the football team, and seven different clubs. In college they take double the courseloads, and then once they graduate…what?
They work themselves raw because they arent used to downtime. They’ve been told they can always be doing something, and they don’t know how to relax. This turns into the adult that has anxiety because there’s nothing left to clean, the adult that desperately wants to watch that TV show but can’t force themselves to sit long enough for it.
Then they turn into the moms and dads who spend all their free time ferrying their kids to extracurriculars.
Like, these kids don’t know what downtime is? I told a kid I did nothing last weekend, and he looked at me like I was crazy. He asked what I was doing this weekend and I said “Probably sleeping, mostly,” and he actually gasped. Then he rattled off a bunch of things I could do, to which I had to stop him.
“No, you don’t understand. I plan on sleeping. I’m booked.”
“But you could–”
“Nah. I’m just gonna rest.”
It was as if I had said a bad word or something. I asked what he does when he gets sick, and he says he goes to practice anyway. I asked him what he does if he doesn’t feel like going, and he said he goes anyway. I asked when he takes time to rest, and he said when he sleeps at night.
Bring back lazy Sundays. Bring back Saturday morning cartoons. Bring back the idea of relaxing and soaking in your day before moving into the next thing. Bring back the right to breathe, the right to rest.
Bring back mental health days, and taking a break. Bring back taking a walk or watching a show or setting a timer to remind yourself to stop cleaning and relax.
If you’re running at 100% all the time with no time to recharge, then your battery is going to die spectacularly, and probably at the worst possible time.
My dad told me when I was young that the way to take a vacation is to work on something different and I thought, and still think, that that’s the most obscene idea anyone’s ever told me to my face.
"You can't be a lurker on tumblr." Yes, you absolutely can. I've been quietly reblogging things since 2014 and I haven't interacted with anyone in years.
Dedicated to @madigoround, my one constant Steddie cheerleader. I hope you like it! ❤️
It’s said if you truly want to get to know someone, tell them no. Watch how they act when they’re angry, when they’re sick, when they’re wrecked by grief.
The truth is, Eddie thinks, the way to truly get to know someone is to watch them when they think they’re not being watched.
So, Eddie watches people. He watches Tommy Hagan ascend the ranks of social hierarchy, climbing closer and closer to the top of the totem pole until he reaches the zenith and finds himself stuck with fake friends and a fake life. He’s mean, in the way that Eddie knows someone is mean to him and he doesn’t know how to handle it.
Eddie leaves him alone, ignores him best he can, and hopes Tommy will have the dignity to do the same.
He watches Carol Perkins, faux-model that she is, use her body like a weapon, like a credit card. He knows that she knows that way only heartbreak lies. No one moves to stop her. Eddie knows she’s hurtling towards self-destruction. He knows she’s ignored at home.
He watches Steve Harrington. His ascent to popularity, then in the blink of an eye, his fall. How easily he shrugs off the mantle of King Steve, starts carting around middle schoolers.
How he flinches at loud sounds, abrupt movements, flickering lights.
Steve Harrington intrigues Eddie, is the thing. And Eddie’s never been the type to deny his intrigues. So he studies the fallen king more.
Some things make sense, after spring break. Some things don’t.
Steve has three smiles: the real one, the one everybody thinks is real, and the fake customer service one. He hardly ever uses the first. He’ll use the second a lot. The kids are dipshits, brash in the way only a teenager can be, unaware and uncaring of the effect their words have. Specifically, the effect their words have on Steve.
When they make jokes about his intelligence, Steve will force on a little half-smile, an unaffected air, even as his shoulders slump inward and his chin tips down.
Eddie sees it. He also sees what Steve looks like, eyes wide and wild, grinning and gesturing freely, as he discusses basketball with Lucas or football with Uncle Wayne. Eddie understands the stats he somehow manages to keep track of (even Eddie has notebooks for all his character sheets and all the math everything requires. He’s forgotten, more than once, how he’d done something for a past campaign, and digs through his notebooks until he finds it. But Steve pulls the numbers out of thin air, hardly even pausing as he finds them in his mental filing cabinet, and Eddie is impressed, to say the least). He knows Steve’s smart, even if it’s in a different way than the kids are used to.
He makes a point to mention it. Steve’s over watching the game with Wayne, and Eddie whistles as he listens in to their conversation from the kitchen where he’s making lunch. “That’s some memory,” he says, shaking his head. “I know I couldn’t keep all that straight.”
Steve blinks at him. “What, like all your D&D people?”
“Characters. You don’t want to see the amount of notebooks I have, trying to keep everything straight, and it still ends up all going to hell when I can’t find something.” He raises a challenging brow, daring Steve to argue.
Steve just laughs and leans back into the couch. “Whatever, man, I still think it’s impressive. I’ve been watching for years, it just kinda makes sense that I’d remember a few facts.”
“Yes,” Eddie says, just to be contrary. He grins at the snicker it pulls from Steve. “Please, Wayne?”
Wayne narrows his eyes at Eddie, then softens his gaze when he moves it over to Steve. “You up for it?”
Steve chuckles. “Sure, I guess. It’d be nice to see how much I actually know.”
For the next few minutes, Wayne gives a name and within a few seconds, Steve’s answered with stats about that person.
Eddie, ever the competitive soul, ends up invested, grinning and high-fiving Steve when Wayne runs out of names. “Knew it,” he said, happily noting the blush making its home on Steve’s cheeks.
“Ha,” Eddie jokes later, ribbing Dustin because he can. “Kiddo, that was worse than-” he thinks for a few seconds, then sighs and raises his voice. “Steve? Who was the guy who did the thing you and Wayne were mad about?”
Dustin judges him with his eyebrows. “Even if Steve had any idea what you’re saying, what makes you think he’d know-”
“Phil Simms,” Steve called back from the kitchen. “Great player, actually, just wrong team.”
Eddie hummed, enjoying the shocked look on Dustin’s face. “Nah, not quite doing it. Who’s the losingest team?”
Losingest team, Dustin mouths, mocking. Eddie notes that he doesn’t actually say anything this time, though.
“Depends. Jets started at ten to one, then lost their final five games. But the Giants beat the Redskins 17 to zero. They also beat the 49ers 49—heh—to three, but that was earlier in the season, and no one expected San Francisco to win anyways.” He walks out of the kitchen, wiping his hands with a towel, a thoughtful look on his face. “Does any of that help?”
“Absolutely,” Eddie says, even though he has zero idea what Steve actually said. He’s staring, smug grin firmly affixed to his face, at Dustin.
Lucas, over on the couch, sits up straight and stares at Steve. “Did you see Montana’s comeback?”
Steve grins. “Fuckin’ wild, man, but I kinda hate Walsh for letting him. Like, I’ve been there, right? And that was…” he shakes his head. “Not good. Yeah, it’s been weeks, whatever, but an injury like that?” Steve crosses his arms, shakes his head.
Eddie stares, enraptured. Obsessed. Maybe, possibly, falling.
When the kids make jokes about Steve’s appearance, he’ll put a hand to the back of his neck and rub, force down the blush, avoid eye contact.
Eddie knows Steve’s not shy. So he doesn’t understand why Steve reacts like that until one day he compliments Steve. It’s a simple little line, you have gold in your hair, but Steve beams. Eddie’s left wondering about the difference, realizes there’s a certain type of compliment Steve’s received all his life, that probably ended up less than welcome at some point.
So Eddie makes it his life’s mission to make Steve beam the way he had the first time.
One time they’re out lounging by the pool while the kids splash around, beers in hand, talking about everything and nothing. Steve tips his head back to take a drink and Eddie realizes something. He leans forward to get a better look. “Your eyes are hazel,” he says delightedly, grinning at the flush rapidly showing on Steve’s cheeks.
Steve looks like he’d very much like to take a page out of Eddie’s book and hide behind his hair in that moment. He hides behind his beer instead, takes another sip as he waits for his face to get back under control. “Are they?” He asks, like he doesn’t know. He’s such a little shit. Eddie’s obsessed.
Another time, Eddie breaks in (is it breaking in if everyone and their mother knows where Steve puts the spare key?) and starts making breakfast while Steve’s out on a run. He almost swallows his tongue when Steve walks back in, sweaty and flushed, wearing shorts that God Himself must have sculpted just for Steve.
Instead of saying that, Eddie adopts an unaffected face and raises a brow. “Pretty sure there’s a fine for public indecency, sweetheart, and those shorts break about eight of those rules. ‘Course, no one’s gonna say anything when they’re on you.”
Steve laughs, light and happy as he accepts the water Eddie hands him. “And why’s that?”
“Because I think you single-handedly caused every gay crisis on the police force.”
Steve laughs hard enough he snorts, and Eddie’s immediately hellbent on hearing that sound again. “That so?” He asks, then pauses. “Wait, what the fuck are you doing in my kitchen?”
Eddie shrugs, like it should be obvious. “Making breakfast. I wanted pancakes.”
“And you couldn’t make them at your place?”
Eddie just shrugs, a smile playing on his lips. Steve badly hides his grin as he shakes his head and turns around, citing a need for a shower as he heads upstairs. “Don’t burn the house down!”
“Betrayal!” Eddie yells back, grinning when Steve cackles again.
Eddie stares as Steve walks upstairs, enraptured. Obsessed. Maybe, probably, falling.
Eddie studies Steve. Studies him and watches him more and more. His mannerisms, his interactions with others. And he realizes something very interesting: Steve’s always the one to reach out.
He tugs Dustin into a teasing headlock, rubs his knuckles over the top of his head. Flings his arm over Lucas’s shoulders, pokes at Mike until he responds, bumps Will’s elbow with his own. Brushes his fingers over Max’s arm, pulls El into a hug. Robin is the only person who consistently pulls Steve into a hug, and even so, most of the time it’s teasing; a quick, sharp thing, jerky movements and practically pushing him away when she’s done.
So Eddie starts. Brushes his hand across Steve’s shoulders as he’s walking by. Poking at Steve’s cheeks to get a reaction. Quick, tight hugs, at first.
Or… that was the plan. The first time he pulls Steve into a hug, they’re alone, because Eddie does not want to have to deal with Dustin and his dramatics in that moment. So Eddie pulls Steve in, arms flung around him and squeezing in a half-joking manner, and Steve practically melts.
“Jesus fuck,” Eddie mutters, stumbling a little. “You good, Stevie?”
Steve pulls back, a blush making its way across his cheeks. “Yeah. Sorry. It- it won’t happen again.”
Eddie frowns. “How the fuck is that what you got from it?”
Steve shrugs. “I know I can be… well, Nancy called it clingy, and I’ve had a few girlfriends in the past who called it clingy, and if it looks like a rose and smells like a rose, then…”
“Shit, Steve, no, that’s not- what the fuck were your girlfriends on? Why would they call that clingy? That’s not- Christ, Steve, if that’s clingy, sign me up. Seriously. Just warn me next time, we don’t all have the body of a Greek god, we can’t all carry our somewhat-acquaintances out of hell.” He grins at Steve, a half-thing that grows when Steve tentatively grins back.
“Body of a Greek god?”
“Oh, don’t go fishing for compliments, I know you, you’re not that shallow.” He rolls his eyes, smiles. Tentatively places his hands on Steve’s arms, just above his wrists. “You hear of something called touch-starved?”
Steve cautiously looks him in the eye. “I can guess,” he finally says, and Eddie pulls him into another hug.
This one lasts for something close to a minute, and Eddie ignores it when Steve takes a step back and molds his face back into shape. “Anytime,” he says quietly, like a promise. “Okay?”
“Okay,” Steve agrees.
It happens again a week later.
Everyone’s over for Hellfire. Steve was in the kitchen, had been there practically since everyone had trickled in.
There’s a quiet clatter, an even quieter shit, then a pause before Steve heaves a sigh. “Eddie?”
Eddie furrows his brows in concern, motions for everyone to stay where they are, then makes his way into the kitchen, seeing Steve gripping the edge of the sink. “Steve?”
“I’ve been having a shit day,” he starts. “If… if you meant what you said. Last time?”
“Anytime,” Eddie swears. “Hey, Stevie, c’mon, the sink’s not going anywhere, let’s let go, yeah? Wanna stay down here or go upstairs?”
Steve makes an irritated noise in the back of his throat. “Your game-”
“Will be there later,” Eddie finishes. “Here or upstairs?” Steve shakes his head, a sharp movement, and Eddie recognizes it. “Want me to pick?”
“Please.”
“Upstairs. Can you do it yourself?”
Steve makes another guttural noise, pulls away from the sink, and marches upstairs.
Eddie follows. All the way upstairs, into Steve’s room, pausing to close and lock the door. “We’re safe,” he says quietly, and opens his arms. “Stevie?”
Steve trembles as he allows himself to be hugged, hands fisting in the back of Eddie’s shirt, head guided to the junction of Eddie’s neck and shoulder.
Eddie pets a solid hand down Steve’s back, squeezing at his waist for a moment before bringing it up again, just below his neck. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “We’re all okay, we’re all safe. What’re you seeing, Stevie?”
Steve takes a breath. It only stutters a little. “Had a dream ‘bout you last night,” he admits. “Kinda fucked me over.”
Eddie’s heart clenches. “I’m here,” he promises, and guides them onto the bed. “D’you want to be on top or bottom?”
He feels Steve’s brows scrunch against his shoulder. “What?”
“Some people need the pressure of someone on them. It’s grounding. For some, it’s too much.”
“Oh,” Steve mutters. “You on top.”
Eddie bites his tongue on the joke that wants to come out. “M’kay, c’mon, then, still not the one with the body of a Greek god.”
He feels Steve’s tentative smile as they roll over, a breath huffed into his chest. “Always liked Apollo.”
“God of the sun,” Eddie agrees. “Suits you.” He gets his arms out from under Steve, puts them on his shoulders. “This work?”
Steve hums. His eyes are shut. “Didn’t wanna take you from your game. Sorry.”
“And I told you it’ll be there later. If you need something, I want to help you get it. Simple as that.”
Steve sighs, tips his head to the side. His chin brushes the back of Eddie’s hand, and he does it again. “This works.”
“Steve,” Eddie says, watching Steve brush his chin over the back of his hand. “If there’s something you want, I need you to ask for it. I can’t read your mind.” Steve’s brows furrow as his eyes open, and Eddie clicks his tongue. “Close your eyes.” They drop shut again, and he nudges the back of his hand a little harder against Steve’s chin. “What do you want?”
Steve sighs again, gathering courage. “Want you to play with my hair.”
Eddie’s heart skips a beat. He brushes his hand up, traces the line of Steve’s silhouette, up his chin, his nose, around his eye. Drags the backs of his fingers across his forehead, surreptitiously checking for a fever. Nothing. Steve relaxes back into the pillows.
Eddie gets a hand in Steve’s hair and tugs gently, releasing to scrape his fingertips over Steve’s scalp. Revels in the hum Steve lets out. “Sunshine boy,” he murmurs. “Who takes care of you?”
“Sunshine boy?”
Eddie smiles softly, even though Steve’s eyes are still closed. “Gold hair, gold eyes. My own personal Apollo.”
Steve smiles. “You’re Dionysus.”
“Mm. God of drunken joy and madness.”
“And theater.”
“Oh, yes, how could I ever forget one of the billion things one of the billion gods was known for.”
Steve snorts. “Thank you,” he murmurs, hands brushing Eddie’s waist. “I shouldn’t need this. Any of it.”
Eddie cards his hand through Steve’s hair again. “But you do.”
“But I do,” Steve agrees with a sigh. “And you just… you’re selfless.”
“Only when it comes to you.”
Steve snorts. “You’re full of shit.”
“Yup. Selfless and full of shit. Sounds about right.”
“Oh my god,” Steve laughs, cracking open an eye to look at him. They both still, caught in each other’s gaze, realizing just how close they are to each other.
Slowly, so slowly, Steve looks away. “Go back to your game,” he whispers. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Okay,” Eddie responds at the same volume, and slowly gets up. He lifts his hand off the doorknob when Steve calls his name. “Yeah?”
“Stay? After?”
“Sunshine boy,” he says again, just to get that smile. “Yeah, Stevie. I’ll stay after.”
After comes sooner than either of them expect, but Dustin got sloppy, and what’s the point of one-shots if not to throw them to the wind when it all goes to shit, so there’s a lot of good-natured ribbing and thoughtless decisions and uncaring dice rolls before it ends and everyone’s packing up.
Dustin’s mom comes to pick up everyone who didn’t drive there, because she’s an angel of a woman, and Eddie makes excuses for why he’s staying until finally he doesn’t have to, it’s just him and Steve, and Steve’s looking at him with the softest smile and something that looks like adoration shining in his eyes.
Eddie opens his mouth to start, then shuts it with a shake of his head. “C’mon,” he says finally. “Let’s go sit on the couch.”
Eddie sits first, and Steve stands, hands wringing one another, until Eddie leans forward, grabs them, and gently guides him to sit next to Eddie. “There.” He holds one of Steve’s hands in his. “Do you want to start, or should I?”
Steve worries his lip. “Do we need to talk about it? If we both know what we’re saying?”
Eddie grins. “So if I were to start talking about buying little party hats for raccoons…”
Steve snorts. “Okay, you ass, point taken.” His smile falls. “You’ve been… really nice to me, these past few months. And that’s not why, not at all, but it doesn’t exactly hurt either. I just…” he shakes his head. “Why me?”
“Why you what? Why am I nice to you? Why have I been taking care of you? Why-” the question sticks in his throat for half a second. “Why do I like you?”
Steve smiles, bashful, and looks down at their intertwined hands. “All of the above, basically.”
Eddie taps the back of Steve’s hand thoughtfully. They both watch the movement. “Because you’re worth it,” he says simply. “Because no one else does it. No one else sees what you do for them. No one else cares. I do. I don’t think I was given a choice, honestly, you looked at me and I was fuckin’ gone. And I’m gonna keep doing this until you believe me. Until you believe that you deserve to take up space, to exist, to have wants and opinions and preferences.”
“It might take a while.”
“I’ll be right here.”
“I might never fully believe it.”
“I’ll be here forever.” He pulls their intertwined hands up to press a kiss to the back of Steve’s.
“It sounds like a lot of boring work.” His voice is high, thready. There are tears in his eyes that fall when he blinks.
“Not to me. Not if it’s you.”
Watery eyes narrow at him. “Did you just quote a fucking Greek tragedy at me?”
“Uh. Maybe?”
Steve snorts, shakes his head, and leans in to lay his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “You’re such a dork.”
“Yeah, yeah. That’s old news, sweetheart.” He presses a kiss to the top of Steve’s head, feels his heart skip a beat when Steve responds by nuzzling his throat. “Is that it, then? We’re done talking?”
Steve sighs and tilts his head up so they can look at each other. “I like you too,” he says quietly. “Just… for the record. And I want this. And…” he bites his lip, then just as quickly releases it. “I wanna kiss you. Um. If that’s alright.”
“Sunshine boy,” Eddie murmurs. “Of course that’s alright. Get up here.” He pulls as Steve pushes up, meaning Steve overbalances and sprawls across Eddie’s lap. They stare, wide-eyed, at each other for a beat before bursting into laughter.
“Okay?” Eddie checks, even as Steve rights himself and scrambles the rest of the way onto Eddie’s lap, grinning as he plays with the hair at the nape of Eddie’s neck.
“Perfect.” His grin grows and a tiny little giggle slips out, like he’s so happy his body just can’t contain it all anymore. “I’m gonna kiss you.”
It’s less a warning, more an explanation for why he’s so happy, and it has Eddie’s heart full to bursting in his chest as he slips his hands just under the hem of Steve’s shirt to rest them directly on his waist. “You are,” he agrees. He almost jokes—not if I kiss you first—but knows Steve needs this. “Take your time,” he says instead, even though he feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest, like he’s about to vibrate out of his own skin. His hands are steady, though, as are his eyes when he looks into Steve’s.
“Is it weird that I’m nervous?” He’s whispering now, so Eddie drops his voice to match.
“It’s a big thing. You’re allowed to be nervous. Is there any way I could help?”
Steve scrunches his nose up, then moves to rest their foreheads together. “Um. Close your eyes? Maybe?”
Eddie’s eyes immediately shut. “Take your time,” he promises. “Or we can wait. There’s no shame. I won’t be upset.”
“Yeah, but I will,” Steve jokes, and Eddie chuckles.
“There’s a movie,” he starts. “An old silent film that Wayne likes. I watched it with him because he said something about vamp, so of course my mind went to vampire. It wasn’t, to my dismay, but there’s a line. A seductress bewitches men by getting them to kiss her. One man’s about to kill her, like gun-to-the-head about to kill her, and she says kiss me, my fool.”
He can practically feel Steve’s grin. He can definitely hear it. “Which one am I?”
“Oh, definitely the seductress, have you seen yourself, sunshine? I’m the fool in this scenario. Or any scenario, really.”
Steve hums. “Dionysus.”
“Shut up.” He’s laughing, though, grinning at Steve’s giggle, then freezes when Steve’s lips land on the corner of his. “Oh,” he whispers when Steve pulls away.
Steve laughs softly, puts a thumb at the corner of one of Eddie’s eyes. “You can open your eyes.” He’s whispering again, and Eddie looks to see Steve staring at him, a small, wondering smile on his lips.
“Heya, sunshine,” he whispers, almost choking on the amount of emotions he feels.
“Hi.” He pauses, fidgets. “Can I kiss you for real?”
“Yeah. You want me to close my eyes?”
Steve shakes his head. “Just… kiss back.”
Eddie grins, wide and in love. “I was planning on it.”
Steve grins back, just as wide and just as happy. “Shut up.”
“And if I said make me…”
Steve giggles. “I might just have to,” he says before finally leaning in, slotting their lips together in a slow, sweet kiss.
He tastes like the pizza they’d been eating and the beer they’d been drinking, and underneath that is something so Steve, and Eddie wants to spend the rest of forever discovering that taste. When they pull apart, his eyes open—when had he closed them?—and land on Steve, who’s also in the process of opening his eyes. “Wow,” he murmurs, and Steve giggles as he rests their foreheads together again.
“Just about.”
“Can I kiss you?”
“Please,” Steve whispers, so Eddie wastes no time in sealing their lips together again. It’s still soft and slow and sweet, and Eddie focuses on making Steve relax against him. He cards a hand through Steve’s hair, squeezes a little at the nape of his neck, runs it down his back, down his side, to knead at his hips. In response, Steve hums into the kiss, shifting a little to let more of his weight rest on Eddie’s lap. Eddie does it again and again, thrilled at the feeling of Steve finally relaxing fully onto him. They both pull away, lips wine-dark and tender, and Steve smiles, eyes still closed, as Eddie runs his hand through his hair one more time. “Keep that up and I’m gonna fall asleep,” he murmurs, and Eddie’s heart skips a beat at the trust in his voice.
“Maybe that’s my plan,” he answers. “I seduced you just to get you to take better care of yourself.”
Steve’s smile widens. “That’s the only reason?”
“Obviously,” Eddie teases. “Well, that and the fact that I’m ridiculously into you, but that seems like a separate thing.”
“Right,” Steve agrees, giggling. He opens his eyes and presses a quick peck to Eddie’s nose. “I’m kinda ridiculously into you, too.”
“Well,” Eddie says, because out of everything, of course this would be what takes his words away. “Good.”
“Good,” Steve agrees, laying his head on Eddie’s shoulder.
Eddie leans back into the couch, adjusting his hold on Steve so he’s as comfortable as possible. “G’night,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss over Steve’s temple.
He can feel Steve’s lips lift into a smile. “Night, Eds.” He presses a kiss to Eddie’s neck, and Eddie smiles as he tilts his head back into the couch.
He stares up at the ceiling, enraptured. Obsessed. Maybe, definitely, falling.
Fun fact: If my younger sister was in a car accident and desperately needed a blood transfusion to live, and I was the only person on Earth who could donate blood to save her, and even though donating blood is a relatively easy, safe, and quick procedure no one can force me to give blood. Yes, even to save the life of a fully grown person, it would be ILLEGAL to FORCE me to donate blood if I didn’t want to.
See, we have this concept called “bodily autonomy.” It’s this….cultural notion that a person’s control over their own body is above all important and must not be infringed upon.
Like, we can’t even take LIFE SAVING organs from CORPSES unless the person whose corpse it is gave consent before their death. Even corpses get bodily autonomy.
To tell people that they MUST sacrifice their bodily autonomy for 9 months against their will in an incredibly expensive, invasive, difficult process to save what YOU view as another human life (a debatable claim in the early stages of pregnancy when the VAST majority of abortions are performed) is desperately unethical. You can’t even ask people to sacrifice bodily autonomy to give up organs they aren’t using anymore after they have died.
You’re asking people who can become pregnant to accept less bodily autonomy than we grant to dead bodies.
But, assuming the mother wasn’t raped, the choice to HAVE a baby and risk sacrificing their “bodily autonomy” is a choice that the mother made. YOu don’t have to have sex with someone. Cases of rape aside, it isn’t ethical to say abortion is justified. The unborn baby has rights, too.
First point: Bodily autonomy can be preserved, even if another life is dependent on it. See again the example about the blood donation.
And here’s another point: When you say that “rape is the exception” you betray something FUNDAMENTALLY BROKEN about your own argument.
Because a fetus produced from sexual assault is biologically NO DIFFERENT than a fetus produced from consensual sex. No difference at all.
If one is alive, so is the other. If one is a person, so is the other. If one has a soul, then so does the other. If one is a little blessing that happened for a reason and must be protected, then so is the other.
When you say that “Rape is the exception” what you betray is this: It isn’t about a life. This isn’t about the little soul sitting inside some person’s womb, because if it was you wouldn’t care about HOW it got there, only that it is a little life that needs protecting.
When you say “rape is the exception” what you say is this: You are treating pregnancy as a punishment. You are PUNISHING people who have had CONSENSUAL SEX but don’t want to go through a pregnancy. People who DARED to have consensual sex without the goal of procreation in mind, and this is their “consequence.”
Gabriel: “This character suffers from crippling issues with his own self-worth due to a lifetime spent religiously obeying his abusive father!”
Dean: “Oh come on…”
Gabriel: “Final answer?”
Dean: “No uh…Dean. Who is Dean? Me. Whatever.”
Gabriel: “Correct! Nnnnnext category!”
Dean: “…C-character flaws for 200.”
Gabriel: “This character used to consider himself the better of two brothers, but after several years of reckless decisions and huge failings that left hundreds perhaps thousands dead he’s since spiraled into a perpetual state of self-hatred and depression!”
Dean: *side-eyes Sam* “C-can I choose another category?”
Gabriel: “Nope!”
Dean: “But I—“
Gabriel: “Oh come on this one is EASSSYY! I’ll even give you a hint.”
Dean: “No I—“
Gabriel: “It’s the same brother who got your mom kille—”
Dean: “SAM ALRIGHT? SAM. WHO IS SAM?”
Gabriel: “CCCOOOORREECCTTT! AND DEAN IS BLAZING UP THE LEADER BOARD. NNNNEXT QUESTION!”
*Both Winchesters sink into immense inescapable self loathing*
Gabriel: You’re still in control of the board Dean, you’re doing great.
Dean: *smirks at Sam* Ok, let’s get out of this fucking category. Sexual Humiliation for 500.
Gabriel: If you’re sure. “This character tried on panties and he liked it.”
Sam: *buzz* “Who is Dean?”
Gabriel: Right you are my boy.
Dean: Dammit Sam, how did you know that??
Sam: It was an educated guess. I’ll take sexual humiliation for 300.
Gabriel: “This character is in love with a certain rebel angel named Castiel and he won’t admit it.“
Castiel: *buzz* “Who is Dean?”
Gabriel: Correctomundo! I’m surprised you got that, you always were a bit dense bro.
Dean: CAS?!
Castiel: *ignores dean* Why are these answers in the forms of questions? Or should I say *buzz* “These answers are in the form of questions” to make it a question. It’s all very confusing.
Gabriel: Come on, kiddo you’re sucking the fun out of it. Just pick a category.
Castiel: *squints at board* .. uh.. Betrayal for $100.
(laser beam noises)
Castiel: What-
Gabriel: WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT IT’S THE DAILY DOUBLE!
Sam and Dean: *groaning*
Gabriel: How much you wanna wager?
Castiel: Wager? Gambling really isn’t a good habit, and I’m not sure-
Gabriel: All right, the whole $500 it is! “This character betrayed his family for the Winchesters, then betrayed the Winchesters for Crowley, and then, in proper assbutt fashion, betrayed Crowley for himself. And then kind of fucked the world over a few times too, in the meanwhile.”
Castiel: … *heavy sigh* I promised I would redeem myself-
Gabriel: OOPS WRONG ANSWER. We’ll open it to the other contestants.
Gabriel: Answer: “While never explained, this fear of Sam Winchester’s has personified multiple times and has caused him to swear off multiple Steven King novels.”
Castiel: *buzz* What is Coulrophobia?
Gabriel: Can I get that in layman’s terms?
Dean: *buzz* What is Sammy’s stupid fear of Clowns?
Gabriel: That is correct, Dean and you have the lead!
Dean: HA! I’ll take Worst Nightmares for Two Hundred!
Gabriel: Answer: “This nearly caused Dean Winchester to run screaming and crying from a wood mill.”
Dean: Oh that’s bull sh-
Sam: *buzz* What is a kitten?
Gabriel: Judges? *Pause* Yes! We’d also have accepted Cat or Feline!
Dean: Oh, Screw you! You wanna play that way, Fine! Sexual humiliation for $400!
Gabriel: Okay! Answer: “Apart from Castiel and Busty Asian Beauties, this has dominated Dean Winchester’s sexual fantasies!”
Dean: All right, screw it: gimme “People Who Are Dead Because of You” for $500.
Gabriel: Sure thing, Deano, here ya go! “The illegitimate son of John Winchester and Kate Milligan, this twice-dead half-brother of Sam and Dean hasn’t been seen in a hell of a long time.”
Gabriel: “This spunky little D&D loving ginger lesbian was chased halfway across the country by the supernatural mafia, snuck into Dick Roman’s office building and was almost eaten by Leviathans, and was murdered brutally in a bathtub, resulting in Dean going psycho via the Mark of Cain…”
Sam: “Gabriel, come on-”
Dean: “What the hell is wrong with you-”
Cas: *buzz* …..
Sam & Dean: *stares incredulously*
Dean: “Cas come on! Don’t play into this crap!”
Gabriel: “The clock is ticking Castiel! What is your answer!”
Castiel: “Who is… Charlie Bradbury…”
Gabriel: “CORRECT!”
Dean: *rolls his eyes* “Unbelievable.”
Gabriel: “Castiel, choose your next category!”
Cas: “uh.. Betrayal for $300…?”
Sam: “Oh no”
Gabriel: “This sexy mommy’s son sacrificed himself in Apocalypse World in order to trap Lucifer there. She’s screwed you dinguses over multiple times and looked hotter than the devil himself while doing it! Alrighty boys, name that witch and new Queen of Hell!”
Sam: *buzz* *sports his classic b–tch face* “Who is Rowena.”
