#Business Income
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Oogie boogie
#i finished protocol btw *screams of agony*#another protocol piece incoming because oh my fucking god sam. Oh ohgo-#i also really want to draw lena the icon that went “ you know what? no longer my fucking business. have fun xoxo”#anyway ahah#the magnus protocol#tmagp#tmagp fanart#tmagp chester#chester tmagp#jonathan sims#jon sims#my art#artists on tumblr
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do you ever think about how vulnerable specialized labor under capitalism has left us?
do you know where to get folate, calcium, iron, iodine etc without buying pills or mass-produced fortified foods? do you know how to process out anti-nutrients in edible substances (like corn, cassava, etc)? do you know how to save and store seeds from various types of edible plants? do you know how to preserve meat without a freezer or salt? how to remove bittern from sea salt? how to find water in a drought and how to purify it? how to treat dehydration?
what happens when it's your money or your life? when militaries target supply chains during war?
#i say specialized labor bc it keeps us so busy at one task we must outsource labor for our basic needs#+ information is privatized so knowledge keepers have a secure source of income#tit talks
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master list + More
𐙚 𝗘𝗠𝗣𝗧𝗬 𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗡𝗘𝗧𝗦𐙚
& how you can make income! 🤑
Is empty house means empty wallet?
There are 12 sectors (zodiac sign + house) in astrology that reflect different aspects of your life. At this point, if you have planets in 12 houses, a planet being in that house as well as the rulers means you should have more focus in that area. For example, too many planets (2) in a tenth house with Venus aspects or rulers (Taurus and Libra) signifies that your career might be related to Venus qualities such as modeling, rebranding, or makeup (products, tutorials, etc.). Hence, I know some of you might ask: So what to do if none?
Empty Planet in 1st house
Aries: self image, rebranding and investing
Empty Planet in 2nd house
Taurus: depends on your own efforts. Kinda Similiar to 1st.
Empty Planet in 3rd House
Gemini: Person's activity, and investment (education, training and self development -professional)
Example: Graphic Designer, Artworks related, Freelance writer and etc
Empty Planet in 4th house
Cancer: Anything related to fostering homes, and building connections (social network)
Example: adopting a dog (female), and let them grow after that you can sell her puppies. Or you can build a pets/ poultry suppliers.
Empty Planet in 5th house
Leo: Anything related to pleasure, wholesome stuff, makes you happy and alive, self-expression, recreation, and innovation.
Example: Build a program (school, playground, or be a Yaya for a day) and alike
Empty Planet in 6th house
Virgo: anything related to health, wellness, and daily routines
Example: Be secretary, write a blog about health and wellness, Be a Yoga instructor, or Drugs Cashier in some malls, teacher and more.
Empty Planet in 7th house
Libra: anything related to partnership, business and interest in society as a whole.
Example: Be an event planner, teacher, or social media influencer starts to sell your self in social media.
Empty Planet in 8th house
Scorpio: money houses, long term success or growth career, real state investments and financial portfolios
Example: rentals of your personal collection like shoes, etc.
Empty Planet in 9th house
Sagittarius: Travel, higher learning, personal philosophy, exploration and intellect
Example: You may consider writing a story or list of quotes on a known website and look for a small publisher until you get recognized. You can also Teach foreign ppl in diff countries to use other languages.
Empty Planet in 10th house
Capricorn: public image, career aspiration and achievement, and more on ppl oriented.
Example: vlogger, streamer, content creator, YouTuber and alike
Empty Planet in 11th house
Aquarius: humanitarian and personal networks. Anything that may show your passion and interest in specific content.
Example: musician, or be friends with famous people (they can help you a lot), then let them see your talents. I've known a lot of Aquarius placements tend to be very talented. You just have to precise and be stick with good purpose cause double karma occurs if you're not.
Empty Planet in 12th house
Pisces: Mysterious side of humanity, mind, and life
Example: be a tarot reader, practice gambling, or any creative outlets.
✎ There are no such things as empty planets. The empty planets are ruled by the "lord" or "zodiac signs" inside them. Although I don't really believe it's not your main focus but more in IT'S YOUR HIDDEN GOAL AND SUCCESS, I've heard a lot of women who have their second house empty, but years later become rich due to partnerships, investments in education, and such. We have this called "transitting of each sign."
✎ take note that this is not a dynamic and astrology is about multifaceted interpretation. The question of where and what you can do to make money can vary depending on the whole system of your chart (aside from your energy). For me, I need to see the whole birth chart before I give the exact meaning of it. Every chart is different, so I can't provide full, detailed information about it.
✎You have to look for your MC (signs), Jupiter house +signs (power), Saturn (warnings/challenges occur) and Moon placed (for reminder why you started, why you need to work something like that) if you don't like your moon, then look for your south code. Or if you dont know how to start, look for the (Pluto). Find inspiration in everything :) God bless!
Plagiarism is A crime.
#astrology observation#astro notes#astrology#astro community#astro tumblr#birth chart#empty house#zodiac signs#income#business#keywords#writers on tumblr#natal astrology#astrology observations
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This is your brain on fraud apologetics
In 1998, two Stanford students published a paper in Computer Networks entitled “The Anatomy of a Large-Scale Hypertextual Web Search Engine,” in which they wrote, “Advertising funded search engines will be inherently biased towards the advertisers and away from the needs of consumers.”
https://research.google/pubs/pub334/
If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security
The co-authors were Lawrence Page and Sergey Brin, and the “large-scale hypertextual web search-engine” they were describing was their new project, which they called “Google.” They were 100% correct — prescient, even!
On Wednesday night, a friend came over to watch some TV with us. We ordered out. We got scammed. We searched for a great local Thai place we like called Kiin and clicked a sponsored link for a Wix site called “Kiinthaila.com.” We should have clicked the third link down (kiinthaiburbank.com).
We got scammed. The Wix site was a lookalike for Kiin Thai, which marked up their prices by 15% and relayed the order to our local, mom-and-pop, one-branch restaurant. The restaurant knew it, too — they called us and told us they were canceling the order, and said we could still come get our food, but we’d have to call Amex to reverse the charge.
As it turned out, the scammers double-billed us for our order. I called Amex, who advised us to call back in a couple days when the charge posted to cancel it — in other words, they were treating it as a regular customer dispute, and not a systemic, widespread fraud (there’s no way this scammer is just doing this for one restaurant).
In the grand scheme of things, this is a minor hassle, but boy, it’s haunting to watch the quarter-century old prophecy of Brin and Page coming true. Search Google for carpenters, plumbers, gas-stations, locksmiths, concert tickets, entry visas, jobs at the US Post Office or (not making this up) tech support for Google products, and the top result will be a paid ad for a scam. Sometimes it’s several of the top ads.
This kind of “intermediation” business is actually revered in business-schools. As Douglas Rushkoff has written, the modern business wisdom reveres “going meta” — not doing anything useful, but rather, creating a chokepoint between people who do useful things and people who want to pay for those things, and squatting there, collecting rent:
https://rushkoff.medium.com/going-meta-d42c6a09225e
It’s the ultimate passive income/rise and grind side-hustle: It wouldn’t surprise me in the least to discover a whole festering nest of creeps on Tiktok talking about how they pay Mechanical Turks to produce these lookalike sites at scale.
This mindset is so pervasive that people running companies with billions in revenue and massive hoards of venture capital run exactly the same scam. During lockdown, companies like Doordash, Grubhub and Uber Eats stood up predatory lookalike websites for local restaurants, without their consent, and played monster-in-the-middle, tricking diners into ordering through them:
https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/19/we-are-beautiful/#man-in-the-middle
These delivery app companies were playing a classic enshittification game: first they directed surpluses to customers to lock them in (heavily discounting food), then they directed surplus to restaurants (preferential search results, free delivery, low commissions) — then, having locked in both consumers and producers, they harvested the surplus for themselves.
Today, delivery apps charge massive premiums to both eaters and restaurants, load up every order with junk fees, and clone the most successful restaurants out of ghost kitchens — shipping containers in parking lots crammed with low-waged workers cranking out orders for 15 different fake “virtual restaurants”:
https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/01/autophagic-buckeyes/#subsidized-autophagia
Delivery apps speedran the enshittification cycle, but Google took a slower path to get there. The company has locked in billions of users (e.g. by paying billions to be the default search on Safari and Firefox and using legal bullying to block third party Android device-makers from pre-installing browsers other than Chrome). For years, it’s been leveraging our lock-in to prey on small businesses, getting them to set up Google Business Profiles.
These profiles are supposed to help Google distinguish between real sellers and scammers. But Kiin Thai has a Google Business Profile, and searching for “kiin thai burbank” brings up a “Knowledge Panel” with the correct website address — on a page that is headed with a link to a scam website for the same business. Google, in other words, has everything it needs to flag lookalike sites and confirm them with their registered owners. It would cost Google money to do this — engineer-time to build and maintain the system, content moderator time to manually check flagged listings, and lost ad-revenue from scammers — but letting the scams flourish makes Google money, at the expense of Google users and Google business customers.
Now, Google has an answer for this: they tell merchants who are being impersonated by ad-buying scammers that all they need to do is outbid them for the top ad-spot. This is a common approach — Amazon has a $31b/year “ad business” that’s mostly its own platform sellers bidding against each other to show you fake results for your query. The first five screens of Amazon search results are 50% ads:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/28/enshittification/#relentless-payola
This is “going meta,” so naturally, Meta is doing it too: Facebook and Instagram have announced a $12/month “verification” badge that will let you report impersonation and tweak the algorithm to make it more likely that the posts you make are shown to the people who explicitly asked to see them:
https://www.vox.com/recode/2023/2/21/23609375/meta-verified-twitter-blue-checkmark-badge-instagram-facebook
The corollary of this, of course, is that if you don’t pay, they won’t police your impersonators, and they won’t show your posts to the people who asked to see them. This is pure enshittification — the surplus from users and business customers is harvested for the benefit of the platform owners:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys
The idea that merchants should master the platforms as a means of keeping us safe from their impersonators is a hollow joke. For one thing, the rules change all the time, as the platforms endlessly twiddle the knobs that determine what gets shown to whom:
https://doctorow.medium.com/twiddler-1b5c9690cce6
And they refuse to tell anyone what the rules are, because if they told you what the rules were, you’d be able to bypass them. Content moderation is the only infosec domain where “security through obscurity” doesn’t get laughed out of the room:
https://doctorow.medium.com/como-is-infosec-307f87004563
Worse: the one thing the platforms do hunt down and exterminate with extreme prejudice is anything that users or business-customers use to twiddle back — add-ons and plugins and jailbreaks that override their poor choices with better ones:
https://www.theverge.com/2022/9/29/23378541/the-og-app-instagram-clone-pulled-from-app-store
As I was submitting complaints about the fake Kiin scam-site (and Amex’s handling of my fraud call) to the FTC, the California Attorney General, the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau and Wix, I wrote a little Twitter thread about what a gross scam this is:
https://twitter.com/doctorow/status/1628948906657878016
The thread got more than two million reads and got picked up by Hacker News and other sites. While most of the responses evinced solidarity and frustration and recounted similar incidents in other domains, a significant plurality of the replies were scam apologetics — messages from people who wanted to explain why this wasn’t a problem after all.
The most common of these was victim-blaming: “you should have used an adblocker” or “never click the sponsored link.” Of course, I do use an ad-blocker — but this order was placed with a mobile browser, after an absentminded query into the Google search-box permanently placed on the home screen, which opens results in Chrome (where I don’t have an ad-blocker, so I can see material behind an ad-blocker-blocker), not Firefox (which does have an ad-blocker).
Now, I also have a PiHole on my home LAN, which blocks most ads even in a default browser — but earlier this day, I’d been on a public wifi network that was erroneously blocking a website (the always excellent superpunch.net) so I’d turned my wifi off, which meant the connection came over my phone’s 5G connection, bypassing the PiHole:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/28/shut-yer-pi-hole/
“Don’t click a sponsored link” — well, the irony here is that if you habitually use a browser with an ad-blocker, and you backstop it with a PiHole, you never see sponsored links, so it’s easy to miss the tiny “Sponsored” notification beside the search result. That goes double if you’re relaxing with a dinner guest on the sofa and ordering dinner while chatting.
There’s a name for this kind of security failure: the Swiss Cheese Model. We all have multiple defenses (in my case: foreknowledge of Google’s ad-scam problem, an ad-blocker in my browser, LAN-wide ad sinkholing). We also have multiple vulnerabilities (in my case: forgetting I was on 5G, being distracted by conversation, using a mobile device with a permanent insecure search bar on the homescreen, and being so accustomed to ad-blocked results that I got out of the habit of checking whether a result was an ad).
If you think you aren’t vulnerable to scams, you’re wrong — and your confidence in your invulnerability actually increases your risk. This isn’t the first time I’ve been scammed, and it won’t be the last — and every time, it’s been a Swiss Cheese failure, where all the holes in all my defenses lined up for a brief instant and left me vulnerable:
https://locusmag.com/2010/05/cory-doctorow-persistence-pays-parasites/
Other apologetics: “just call the restaurant rather than using its website.” Look, I know the people who say this don’t think I have a time-machine I can use to travel back to the 1980s and retrieve a Yellow Pages, but it’s hard not to snark at them, just the same. Scammers don’t just set up fake websites for your local businesses — they staff them with fake call-centers, too. The same search that takes you to a fake website will also take you to a fake phone number.
Finally, there’s “What do you expect Google to do? They can’t possibly detect this kind of scam.” But they can. Indeed, they are better situated to discover these scams than anyone else, because they have their business profiles, with verified contact information for the merchants being impersonated. When they get an ad that seems to be for the same business but to a different website, they could interrupt the ad process to confirm it with their verified contact info.
Instead, they choose to avoid the expense, and pocket the ad revenue. If a company promises to “to organize the world’s information and make it universally accessible and useful,” I think we have the right to demand these kinds of basic countermeasures:
https://www.google.com/search/howsearchworks/our-approach/
The same goes for Amex: when a merchant is scamming customers, they shouldn’t treat complaints as “chargebacks” — they should treat them as reports of a crime in progress. Amex has the bird’s eye view of their transaction flow and when a customer reports a scam, they can backtrack it to see if the same scammer is doing this with other merchants — but the credit card companies make money by not chasing down fraud:
https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/rosalindadams/mastercard-visa-fraud
Wix also has platform-scale analytics that they could use to detect and interdict this kind of fraud — when a scammer creates a hundred lookalike websites for restaurants and uses Wix’s merchant services to process payments for them, that could trigger human review — but it didn’t.
Where do all of these apologetics come from? Why are people so eager to leap to the defense of scammers and their adtech and fintech enablers? Why is there such an impulse to victim-blame?
I think it’s fear: in their hearts, people — especially techies — know that they, too, are vulnerable to these ripoffs, but they don’t want to admit it. They want to convince themselves that the person who got scammed made an easily avoidable mistake, and that they themselves will never make a similar mistake.
This is doubly true for readerships on tech-heavy forums like Twitter or (especially) Hacker News. These readers know just how many vulnerabilities there are — how many holes are in their Swiss cheese — and they are also overexposed to rise-and-grind/passive income rhetoric.
This produces a powerful cognitive dissonance: “If all the ‘entrepreneurs’ I worship are just laying traps for the unwary, and if I am sometimes unwary, then I’m cheering on the authors of my future enduring misery.” The only way to resolve this dissonance — short of re-evaluating your view of platform capitalism or questioning your own immunity to scams — is to blame the victim.
The median Hacker News reader has to somehow resolve the tension between “just install an adblocker” and “Chrome’s extension sandbox is a dumpster fire and it’s basically impossible to know whether any add-on you install can steal every keystroke and all your other data”:
https://mattfrisbie.substack.com/p/spy-chrome-extension
In my Twitter thread, I called this “the worst of all possible timelines.” Everything we do is mediated by gigantic, surveillant monopolists that spy on us comprehensively from asshole to appetite — but none of them, not a 20th century payment giant nor a 21st century search giant — can bestir itself to use that data to keep us safe from scams.
Next Thu (Mar 2) I'll be in Brussels for Antitrust, Regulation and the Political Economy, along with a who's-who of European and US trustbusters. It's livestreamed, and both in-person and virtual attendance are free:
https://www.brusselsconference.com/registration
On Fri (Mar 3), I'll be in Graz for the Elevate Festival:
https://elevate.at/diskurs/programm/event/e23doctorow/
[Image ID: A modified version of Hieronymus Bosch's painting 'The Conjurer,' which depicts a scam artist playing a shell-game for a group of gawking rubes. The image has been modified so that the scam artist's table has a Google logo and the pea he is triumphantly holding aloft bears the 'Sponsored' wordmark that appears alongside Google search results.]
#pluralistic#victim blaming#fraud#going meta#douglas rushkoff#ad-tech#local search#wix#amex#thai food#business#rent-seeking#entrepreneurship#passive income#chokepoint capitalism#platform lawyers
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Tim, holding up an alarm clock timer counting down:
Jason: what the actual hell are you doing??
Tim: Damian and Duke wanted to sneak out and needed a distraction. Is it working?
Jason: ..I’m gonna to finish the job this time
#titans tower part 2#red robin hospital arc incoming#every day I think ab that one comic panel of Tim calling Damian his baby brother#Tim just handing Jason a phone with walking dead zombie edits#batman#batfam#bruce wayne#jason todd#tim drake#red hood#batman and robin#red robin#robin#damian wayne#duke thomas#signal#signal dc#dc#incorrect batbros#incorrect batfamily quotes#incorrect batman qoutes#the context of this is bruce dumping babysitting duty onto Jason when he’s busy#who else is he gonna call?? dick?? that mf lives in a bachelor pad
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is anyone trying to make money right now?? I have found a few ways with crypto how to make some, DM me before it's too late ;)
#cars#selfie#gym#gymrat#jdmlover#home#aesthetic#life#jdm#mirror#sellnow#i sell content#i sell noods#i sell custom content#i sell photos#i sell videos#crypto#make money online#money#earn money online#income#strategies#business#financial#wealth
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Thinking about how there's a ~3 month gap between Zack's death and the first reactor mission, according to the official timeline. I wonder what Cloud was up to, what he was feeling, how he managed to survive while barely even remembering his own name.
When did he lose a pauldron and replace the other one with a noticeably shittier one? Why did he choose to wear the clunky metal bracers on his left arm? If he wasn't just rotting away in Sector 7 the whole time, then where was he? How did he end up collapsed at the train station? Did no one else try to help him? Did people ignore him because they thought he was just a creepy mako junkie? Just how close was he to joining the rest of the black robes?
Considering that the main story takes place over the course of like 2 weeks, 3 whole months is a lot of time unaccounted for. I'm surprised I haven't seen more fics exploring this time gap.
#ffvii#cloud strife#sure maybe he was just busy doing the whole mercenary thing prior to tifa finding him#but seeing how nobody in town recognizes him and he's pretty much flat broke and desperate for any source of income#AND he's practically unconscious when she finds him#i find it kind of unlikely.#idk man i've just got a lot of cloud strife thoughts bouncing around in my head with the tranquility of a dvd screensaver
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so i went into a fugue state for 9 hours and came out on the other side with this: 🌟 a comprehensive primer for the 23-24 carolina hurricanes !!!! 🌟
(videos included at the end of the ppt)
for your viewing pleasure, videos from this szn:
INCREDIBLE svech & pyotr mini interview
storm surge after marty's 600th game
a closer look at the surge for marty :)
what a teuvo teravainen "celly" looks like
who DON'T you wanna sit next to
bunts on one for marty wearing a bucket
"we got a lot of old people on this team"
aho & teuvo try to make e/o laugh!!!!!
seth jarvis lie detector << REQUIRED VIEWING
pregame sewer ball
a look at rod in the locker room after a win
svech says "fuck you" to marty pregame (ft. drury barking)
practice asmr
marty talking about him & jordy fighting for seth
"sorry i can skate. sorry i'm fast as fuck boi"
kid masterpiece > teuvo actually laughing!!!!
svech scores his first back after ltir <3
marty's classic "mista svechnikov"
if you have any questions or just wanna talk canes, hmu 🌟🥰💯
#im not posting as much bc it's the beginning of the sem and im busy w prep#but the need for this actually consumed me#sorry about all the incoming tags!!!#canes lb#carolina hurricanes#canes#andrei svechnikov#seth jarvis#martin necas#sebastian aho#brady skjei#michael bunting#jack drury#nhl#hockey
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The “Assitant Kang, please make sure Elizabeth the III gets her fresh food on time and add up to the project list that we need to make a coffee she can drink. I’ll be workin until late on the Cat’s Hair Color seminar” Jumin Han in the flesh 🍷🐈📄
Another one of the MM collection :) Hey Mr. bussiness how do you do? 👀👀
#artists on tumblr#digital art#fanart#small artist#mystic messenger#mm jumin#mm jumin han#jumin han since piu piu kept mentioning him nom stop#jumin han#mysmes fanart#mysmes#mysme jumin#mystic messenger jumin#jumin han fanart#elizabeth the third#business#businessman#is he gay or european?#THE is he gay or european?#cheritz#cheritz mystic messenger#jumin x mc#incoming call#jumin call#jumin han call#jumin han route
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pro duelist jou...jou keeping up with the meta... pov jock at your locals ashes your combo as politely as he can
#playing master duel between assignments...some1 disrupts my combo i am filled with rage but if it were jou itd be fine#joey wheeler#katsuya jounouchi#yugioh#fanart#omg. i have so many thoughts about canon pro duelist jou a la I dont like it. it feels rushed#i dont think its the most thoughtful conclusion with his character looking back at the entirety of who he is#i feel like career-wise he'd shoot for something more conventional that he's still passionate about for the sake of a reliable income#instead of something so dependent on performance#jou's duels have always read more as a means of conversation than competition to me#LIKE OBV he'd still duel for money. having money is nice. but dueling is not his main gig#he has something he prioritizes more that he can comfortably fall back on during the off-seasons#tl;dr i believe. in architect jou#OK enough of that IM STILL BUSY WITH SCHOOL AUUUGHHH but i missed my blorbo
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ZEE AND JINGLEBELL IN THE YEAR 2024
#ENJOY THESE SCATTERED CHARACTER INTERACTIONS#love maker a fire elemental runs a shady business and zee is her prized lackey as zee will do anything for her and cannot die no matter#badly she is damaged thus making her an excellent source of income for love maker#eli and jinglebell are trying to rescue various victims of love maker and soon realize zee is a jackpot of knowledge that could banish#love maker and save all those who are enslaved by her working for her etc etc#if only zee could manage the will and courage to go up against her greatest abuser#zee and jinglebell#my art#my ocs#ocs#original characters#sketches#dump#also jinglebell's wife is not actually dead she just thinks she is dead
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A little special something for something even more special. Hint: it's about love and fears and birthdays and new beginnings
(@/marvel hire me <3)
#pavitr prabhakar#spider man india#atsv pavitr#across the spiderverse#sandman#spider man fanart#comic#artoftheagni#mythic mumbattan au#inspired by the cover for spider man family business#it's so dynamic and for what!!#WOOOOOO anyway just gotta do some final editing on the birthday fic and then WE'RE HERE..... MMAU IS REAL..........#im so excited you guys. the amount of lore and stories and fun things i'm going to shower you with..... unreal#giving my baby boy what he needs (trauma pain suffering and a power up and a birthday party!!)#kalaripayattu pose is the horse stance. if you want to know#why can't i write FASTER GRR#anyway i believe in ghungroo supremacy. moon knight with his “i wear white so the bad guys see me” well-#-pavitr's schtick is that he sounds like christmas when he approaches. get scared#new fic incoming in a few days.....
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have your cake
So way back in August 2023 the steddiemicrofic challenge was Cake and 311 words, my head empty brain came up with one thought and it was Steve Munson having a bakery called Mun's Buns and so many months later I finally got around to finishing my vision
Ships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Tommy Hagan/Carol Perkins; implied/past Tommy Hagan/Steve Harrington/Carol Perkins WC: 6408 | T | tags: Future Fic, the lightest of post homoerotic friendship breakup angst, fluff, Tommy POV AO3
The bakery has a stupid name, is the first thing Tommy thinks when Carol tells him where he's supposed to meet her on his lunch break. He’s still thinking that, when he sees the place for the first time through his rain speckled windshield. It's a modest storefront, small for what Carol says is a booming business, tucked in next to a used bookstore and a music shop. There's a baby yellow awning hanging from the front just underneath a sign lettered in soft blue that reads Mun's Buns.
He's late, is the second thing he thinks after pulling up. Caught up in some stupid bullshit for his dad he hadn't managed to slip away until 12:30. Even then it had only been because Tommy had told him he was going to be late for their cake tasting. He'd rolled his eyes when his father and Greg, a guy that Tommy only considers a co-worker in the sense that they are technically on the same payroll since Greg in every other aspect is incompetent and an idiot, had winced. Shooing him away like a kid who'd just admitted that he's already twenty minutes past curfew. But catching sight of the way Carol has her arms crossed, tapping her foot fast enough to kickstart a motor, while her hair hangs limp in a way that it hadn’t this morning a third thought crosses his mind: maybe he should have been a little more worried.
Waiting isn’t going to make things any better. So he steps out of the car, let’s the misty damp cling to him in a way that makes his dress pants and button down feel like a poorly tailored second skin, and takes his licks like a man. "Late, thirty minutes late. Christ, it's the only thing I've asked from you Tommy." Her right hook stings just as badly as it did sophomore year when she punched him for asking out Erin Murphy instead of her.
Shit like that is probably why no one expected them to make it this long or this far.
When they went away to college; different schools, hours apart. His parents had been gleeful as they'd warned him that high school relationships didn't always last. That he should keep his options open, he didn't want to miss out on the love of his life just because of comfort. He didn't get offered the family ring when he decided to propose right after graduation. Carol has always been particular. Wanted the house to come back to before the wedding could happen, wanted a long honeymoon. That meant saving, a lot of it. Tommy knew and Carol did too, they'd overheard his mother and aunt gossiping in too loud voices after too much wine that they hoped the long engagement meant they were both trying to figure out a good way to break it off with one another.
Still, over the course of their now five year engagement no one's asked once if they wanted to trade for it.
Carol thought it was horrendous anyway. She’d had her ring picked out since ‘85, styled her class ring so it would look like the oval cut diamond she wanted. Had him slide it on her finger the second it came in.
Cause in the politest of terms, Carol could be a raging bitch. She was Tommy's favorite person in the entire world.
There’s going to be a bruise on his shoulder tomorrow, even if she’s guiltily smoothing a hand down his arm now. Thrust toward the door first in offering, Carol is sorry she hit him but she’s not apologetic. “I’m serious, Tom, if we lose this appointment and have to go with Sweet Treats for our cake I'll- I'll-"
Whatever threat she was preparing is drowned out and then cut off by the echoing TONG of the door chime. A light in the back shifts color for a second, out of place enough that he wonders if he even really saw it. Head tilting toward Carol, his question catches in his throat when he notices her pinched off appraising. Better not to add to the ammunition she might already be building.
And if Carol is looking he better do it too. She'll want to debrief when they're having dinner tonight, just like they did with the florist, the caterer, the three wedding planners they'd met with, and each of the venues that they'd visited. And it wasnt because she was demanding, fuck you Greg. It wasn't because she was being nitpick-y, alright it was a little bit because she was but he liked being particular with her. He liked being involved in his wedding.
So he looked around.
The way they utilized their space -- a building that big and there's barely enough room to stand, we want someone who knows how to work with limited space for the venues we're looking at -- was the reason their first wedding planner hadn't gotten hired. Small, but not cramped. There are a handful of tables scattered in the open space in front of the counter. It’s the kind of small town cozy that Hawkins had tried for and he doesn’t see very often anymore now that they’ve moved out to Indianapolis.
It’s lunchtime, still too early for people to be seeking out the rows of deserts in their neat glass counter and too late for the breakfast crowd. But one of the tables is occupied by a teenager with long, black braids scribbling in a notebook while a slice of ice cream cake melts on a plate by her elbow.
Everything was neat, organized, and compliant with health code regulations -- they hadn’t even made it in the door of the first caterer’s when she noticed a trail of ants and roaches marching into the open kitchen door.
Carol had always been quick when she was making up her mind about something. Like those Sherlock Holmes stories they’d had to read in school, in a couple of seconds she could spot everything she needed to make a decision. After a decade Tommy still couldn’t keep up; but he was always best at following someone else’s lead.
The smile she’s got frosted across her face is as sugary and fake as the roses on the cupcakes he can see behind the low topped counters as she approaches the only visible staff member. A girl, young in the way that nebulous way anyone younger than him was now, with thick squared glasses that magnified two distressingly blue eyes. The counters looked like they were designed to sit low enough that she could easily see over the top while in her wheelchair.
“Welcome to,” her customer service tone borders on bored. Two words into a clear script and she sighs, as if saying the name physically pains her, “Mun’s Buns. We’ve got a special series of summer flavors: Strawberry Lemonade, Lavender Mint, Chocolate Fudgsicle, and,” she sighs again, “for the grownups a boozy Blue Moon with orange zest.”
“How about a wedding cake.” He’s impressed. Carol made it through the speech without interrupting.
“Do you have an appointment?” the girl raises her voice, enough to make them both flinch back. Customer service isn’t a requirement for this part of the job necessarily, but Carol had bailed on two venues because the staff hadn’t been polite enough.
Her smile doesn’t crack though, “Yes.”
Even though he’s pretty sure this girl has to be basically blind with the inch thick frames, she levels Carol with a lethal stare. “Not you.”
From the open entryway behind her Tommy had been able to make out what sounded like the highlights of yesterday’s game. He assumed that space had to be the kitchen where these rows of deserts were made. He’s still surprised when a guy’s voice is shouting back, “I don't know, Max, do I? Why don't you check?”
“How am I supposed to do that?” Max shouts back, glowering at then in stand in for her mystery boss.
“With your finger, asshole. It's in braille. When I gave you this job you said you were actually gonna work.”
“Douchebag." Her eyes never leave them, while her hands rummage around in a space beneath the counter where the cash register sits. Max offers no explanation or apology for her shouting or for her boss. A large red appointment book gets slammed down on the nearest counter, making Carol jump but the neat two by twos of chocolate frosted cupcakes don't budge. He watches, a little fascinated by the way her finger scans the page before slowing. "Did you write this or did Dustin?"
Carol has always valued gossip over professionalism, he thinks that’s why she’s done so well as a hairdresser even though she was always awful at chemistry. It’s also why he’s held off from pointing out that they could solve this a lot faster if this guy would come out from the back. "Why?"
“Cause one of you can't spell and one of you is trying to invent braille shorthand. So I'm not really sure what to do with TomGan Wed.”
“It might be Thomas and Wedding.” Carol leans over the appointment book as she says it, using a tone of voice he has never once heard her use in the entire time he’s known her. He thinks it’s supposed to be helpful.
“Wedding sampler.” The girl calls toward the back, “It's getting late.”
“I’ve got it,” the voice from the back shouts back.There’s an effortless assurance Tommy can hear from where he’s standing. It hits him with a wave of nostalgia so strong he grabs Carol’s arm on instinct.
“Really,” she says, cutting her gaze over to him. He’s not sure what she sees. “If we could hurry this along, it's just we've only got an hour.”
“You're late.” The glare she gets shuts Carol down faster than he’s ever seen.
“Right.”
“Okay I've got it.” The voice from the back is now the voice in the doorway. Hidden for a second by a serving tray loaded with samples of rich looking cake, it’s the first time since arriving that Tommy has actually wanted to be here. Not just because he can make out strong shoulders and a body of a man that’s still very fit but clearly enjoys his work too; the hint of love handles above strong thighs. Only then that tray dips, and for the first time since 1985 Tommy finds himself looking at the shocked hazel eyes of Steve Harrington. “Oh.”
Carol reacts for him, taking in a breath sharp enough she might puncture a lung. They’ll both wind up suffocated on the floor of this stupid bakery with an awful name, because Tommy can’t manage to breathe at all looking at Steve. Still unfairly handsome, faintly pink at the shock of seeing them too he imagined.
His hair is long, is the first real thought his half fried brain manages to put together. Soft looking even where it’s damp at the temples where sweat has pooled. He has it pulled back with a couple of the same butterfly clips that Carol likes to use.
His second, somehow more hysterical thought: this wasn’t how Steve Harrington was supposed to be included in his wedding.
Tommy was six years old and knew he wanted to marry Steve. When he’d told his mom -- to ask for her ring, Steve thought it was romantic like princes and princesses that they had a special ring that they got married with -- she’d grabbed by his arm so hard it’d left finger shaped bruises. So he’d held that certainty quiet in his heart until he was ten, and suddenly it was okay to want to play with girls on the playground -- he thinks it’s because Steve got tired of there never being an even number when they tried to play kickball, he had a way of making everyone want to do the thing he was. Carol wasn’t afraid to tell Tommy C. that he was dumb or to tell Mark L. that he hadn’t actually made it to the base, Steve liked her fast. Too fast, and Tommy had to tell her that one day he was going to be able to keep Steve all to himself. But he knew that it wasn’t right to say that now, even if he wasn’t all the way sure why it wasn’t. He was ten, but he would be eleven soon, and he took this part of him that he’d kept secret for so long and he whispered it to Carol under the slide while Steve tried to convince Brad P. that he could too pick two people for his kickball team first.
He was ten and Carol said they could share. Boys can’t marry boys, but girls can. So they could both marry her and live together forever.
It became a joke when they finally shared it with Steve, thirteen and boys going out with girls wasn’t funny the way it used to be. Sarah Jane asked Carol if she had a chance at going steady with Steve. She told Tommy about it later and they both told Steve that he was too good to date any of the girls in their grade. “Well I’ve got you guys,” his voice cracked when he said it, throwing an arm around both of them. Carol didn’t care as much, but even she’d noticed the way Steve was changing from boyish to handsome.
They were sixteen and disaster was just around the corner, not that he knew that. Steve dated around but he always came back to them. The head, the heart, the body. They don’t feel complete without each other -- at least Tommy doesn’t. Mr. Kripke, who was hungover more often than he wasn't, passed out ten minutes into study hall. Carol didn’t even wait to see if he’d wake back up before she left her assigned table for theirs. She smoothed out a lined piece of notebook paper for them, and Tommy scoffed like he was supposed to. “Aren’t we a little old to be playing MASH?”
“It’s dirty MASH, and I thought you’d think it was funny.”
“I think it’s funny,” Steve had said, “that you’re getting eiffel towered on your wedding night. Who else is joining in, Carrie?”
“We couldn’t agree on who got you for their side of the aisle. So we’re taking you to bed instead.”
He was sixteen and the way that the two of them looked when they shared a joke was the hottest thing in the world. The way their smiles mirror when they turned to him, sharp and ready to flay open the softest parts of him.
Tommy’s two days older when Steve lets him kiss the taste of Carol out of his mouth.
It was three days after he turned seventeen and he had to pretend he didn't want to die when he saw how Steve looked at Nancy Wheeler. Like he didn’t want to rip his hair out because Steve was fucking infatuated with this mousy little teacher’s pet and wouldn’t even look at him anymore.
He still doesn’t like to think about the breakup. He pokes it like a fresh bruise. Less often now, but when he does he digs his fingers in. Baits Carol into fights he doesn’t mean just so he can pretend like he hasn’t lost something that hurts like a limb.
Steve Harrington turns twenty-eight next week, and he’s standing in front of them both holding pieces of what might turn into their wedding cake.
“Wow I can’t believe you’re in Indy!” False excitement grates, but at least Carol has gotten herself together enough to speak. He thought he’d have at least another few months to prepare for the thought of seeing Steve, by their ten year reunion he was going to be married and happy and over it.
“Yeah, this is- Married, wow! I kinda can’t believe you haven’t already.” He says it to Carol, his platitudes had always been for Carol, but his eyes find Tommy.
While Carol chatters at them and for them both, nervous, he knows she’s nervous. The situation is sudden and strange and fraught. But Tommy just looks at Steve, who looks at him. He’s getting married in three months, one week, and two days from now and for the first time in eleven years Steve is looking at him.
"Takes a while to save up for when you want the best of everything. Dad's still the skinflint he always was, I think he'd pay me less than minimum wage if he could get away with it."
And those soft brown eyes look so sad, looking at him. Sometimes he thinks no one will ever understand him the way that Steve did.
"There's nothing wrong with wanting the best, or having a long engagement." Carol defends. It's the same line she's been giving everyone. Defensive of him and herself and the choices they've been making. He can't believe Steve is someone she thinks they have to defend against.
“I really hope you're happy, man," he says, and the sincerity is a balm on the sting of this conversation. He pushes his hair back from his face, the way he always has when he's uncomfortable and trying not to make it obvious. And there's a fresh new hurt when Tommy catches sight of a plain gold band on Steve's finger, shining bright between the golden highlights of his hair.
“I’m happy about this,” he can say honestly. Carol is one of the only things he’s ever been sure about. She held him steady as she could when his other sure thing left him with a cracked foundation in a convenience store parking lot. “What about you? How long after meeting the future Mrs. Harrington did you wait to put a ring on her finger?”
“Tommy,” Carol chides as the teen in the corner snorts. To anyone else it would sound like a reprimand for being nosy, he, and he suspects Steve, knows she’s telling him to stop worrying a scab that has no hope of healing right.
Married and they didn’t know. Wouldn’t have found out until the reunion. It’s not like he expected an invitation, maybe an engagement announcement sent to their parents’ houses. They’d sent one to Loch Nora when the real ring had finally made it to Carrie’s finger. It was equal parts olive branch and offering. They’d gotten it back return to sender with no forwarding address.
The bell above the door tongs again, loud enough to make Carol jump. The platter of cakes doesn't shift at all in Steve’s hand. His arm shows no sign of fatigue. It’s almost distracting enough that he misses the obvious. The bell signals someone is coming into the store.
“Sorry, Sweetheart. I know I said I wasn't gonna be late but Mike…” There just inside the door is the Freak. Undeniable even with his head down as he digs through his shoulder bag. From the riot of poorly maintained tangles that still hang around his shoulders to the expanded mess of tacky ink on his arms. The only thing that’s changed is the age in his face and the band on his shirt.
“Munson?” Carol has the reflexes and the personal grace to address him first. Shock more than the disgust it might have been when they were still kids.
Tommy feels like a kid still. Looks to Steve in an instinct he’d thought he’d stamped out years ago, only to be met with wide eyes and teeth grit tight enough to draw out the square line of his jaw.
“Christ, I still get nightmares that start like this.” Munson says, eye darting between the three of them. “Max, am I naked?”
“Don't know, don't wanna know.”
“I thought you'd be able to tell by the energy in the room.” He wiggles his fingers, still bedecked in silver, like they can divine the vibrations or some witchy shit.
That’s enough to make Steve break just a little. A soft, exhaling scoff before he finally starts to move out from the counter. Tommy catches, and he doubts Carol misses it either, how Steve passes the closer tables to set his tray down between them and Munson.
“I can tell I don't want to be here for this.” Their redheaded audience member says, “I'm taking my 15.”
“Don't go harass Mike, he's finally working,” Munson says.
“Will and El are on shift on the other side,” Steve calls out, not looking at any of them as he moves cakes from his tray to the table. A deliberate selection he seems to be making.
“Whatever, I’m gonna call Lucas and break up with him so he can play better or whatever.”
“Don’t be too harsh,” Munson calls out, “I’ve only got him on a five point spread.”
If Carol’s nails break from how hard they’re digging into his arm, somehow it’ll be Tommy’s fault. Not the fact that they’ve advanced the worst part of their ten year reunion by months, and also Munson is here and knows shit about basketball.
“Sorry, think my hearing’s going, sounded like you said you want him to lose and he’s getting kicked from the next one shot. I’ll let him know.”
“She gets that from you,” Steve and Munson say in sync. Glaring playfully at one another the way Steve used to with Carol.
“I’ll tell Robin you were-”
“Do not sick Buckley on me, Max made the deaf joke not me.”
“Weird, that’s not what I heard.” Steve has always claimed his hair as his best feature. It isn’t -- Carrie liked his eyes, Tommy his hands -- but it’s hard to deny that it doesn’t look good, flipping over his shoulder. His smile is private, just for Munson, soft the way he got whenever he picked up a new girl. Carrie taps the back of his hand, two sharp smacks, their signal for years that he needed to pay attention and notice something she had. Wide, nervous eyes dart to Steve -- like he hadn’t already been looking at Steve -- so he does his best to assess the way Carol would.
Jealous, viciously, Steve had been theirs in every way that mattered since they were ten years old and Carol had never liked sharing her toys with anyone but them. She watched his face for any sign of unhappiness anytime a new girlfriend came along, and when she found one she passed it along to him. So he could pick and joke until Steve was all theirs again.
So he checked the face. Tried to ignore the way Steve was lit up from the inside out with a joy he could barely remember, and then he saw the hearing aid.
He tapped back, three times. O.M.G.
“The 1985 Homecoming court here to reveal that this has all been a long con, Stevie?”
“Yeah I faked the name change paperwork and picked up a fake ID, sorry I took my business somewhere else.” Steve says it with the sincerity he’s always made those kind of jokes with, his strange sense of humor never coming across when he always sounded so serious.
Munson gets it though, snorts loud and ugly, before a smile pulls wide across half his face the otherside taught with a gnarly scar. “Now I know why my fake ID business went belly up when we got to the city, not like I only sold three in high school.” He gestures to the three of them in a wide arc.
Sophomores, they had decided it was time to throw their first real party now that Steve’s parents had moved out of Hawkins in all but name. Steve was a latchkey kid of new proportions and took to self sufficiency in a way that had seemed adult to him then; and in hindsight looked more like a child fighting for his life. Steve bragged how he’d been saving up the weekly checks they’d sent to ‘sustain him’ while they worked in the city during the week. His contribution to Tommy and Carol’s vague plan to throw a kegger by the pool. When they’d floundered, immediately, with the hows, Steve had been the one to suggest going to Munson.
“Love this preview of the reunion,” Carol cuts in, there’s no bite but Munson bristles anyway like she’s being rude for reminding them that there are customers present. “Steve?”
It’s funny, Tommy thinks, the way Steve still straightens his back at Carol’s tone. All this time and he can’t fight the old ingrained instincts either.
“Dustin made the appointment,” Steve apologizes, even as he’s posture perfect and preparing his pastries. The unsaid, ‘I definitely wouldn’t have’ doesn’t go unheard and it doesn’t sting any less even this far from their last interaction.
“Munson could join us,” Tommy offers, a new olive branch since their last one was never seen. Even if it does raise three sets of brows and makes Carrie’s nervous smile tighten even more in the corner of her mouth.
“Well at least one of us has to,” Munson, Eddie, says. Just says, tone like it was meant to be something said under his breath.
He's grown up a lot since high school, they both have. Still, he's only got twenty minutes left on his lunch break and it's been a long day. "God, is that why it's called that?" Growth, he doesn't say that Steve Munson sounds a lot dumber than Steve Harrington.
"It's charming," Carol and Steve both say. Though Carrie is definitely lying and Steve barely gets it out from between his gritted teeth, a sore spot. He's always been good at finding Steve's bruises.
"It's charming," Tommy agrees, like he always did when he was out voted.
Eddie has a smirk spread across his face and a ‘too proud of himself’ look in his eyes. Mouth open to make some quip that Tommy is going to pretend is funny, for Steve’s sake. Now that they’re here, he’s going to do something to show that they could talk to one another again. Steve clicks his tongue, taps his index and middle finger down to his thumb two quick times before he can.
He turns to the girl in the corner, "Erica, scram, go help Robin and the kids with the new donation that just came in."
The teen continues to scribble in the notebook in front of her, bulky headphones over her ears, she makes no sign that Tommy can see that she's heard Steve speak. "Erica, go, or I'll tell your mother you moved out of the dorms. You're 20, it's not child labor, and you've got a timecard."
She sighs and wordlessly packs up her things, she gives Steve a scathing look that takes Tommy back to high school. The withering eyebrow and rolled eyes would have been just at home on Steve’s own face in 1985, but she marches behind the counter, the sound of her dish rattling in the sink before she disappears out the same door that the redhead had gone out.
Now that the room has been cleared, an awkward silence has found the space to squeeze in. Munson, the original, still standing in the doorway and Steve standing between his unlawfully wedded husband and the two people who had lost their chance at him years ago.
The wedding and the reunion both on the horizon had dredged up a nostalgia that Tommy and Carol had been dealing with in their own ways. Dredging up old yearbooks, Carol had found a shoebox of old notes that she’d kept. Conversations written in three different inks by three different hands, nonsensical after all this time. Tommy woke up from dreams that he hadn’t had in years. Always of Steve and Carol, a study in opposites, but similar where it mattered.
“Well,” Steve says, taking charge of the situation like he always would when the other two faltered, “you’re here for a reason. We might as well get started on it.”
Steve’s fingerprints are still on them, just like he’d noticed theirs on him, molded as they were together. They’ve always bowed to his expectations, and his whims. When he ushers them to the table with a spread hand, Tommy and Carol go where they’re beckoned.
And so does Munson.
They keep an empty chair between them, an artificial divide for Tommy’s sanity, but with the sprawl of Munson’s legs their knees still occasionally brush together. Carol had taken the spot closest to Steve, who has stayed standing. He is their gracious host, marking the head of the round table.
“I pulled out the full sampler before I realized it was you,” Steve says. Even with as off balance as the interaction has felt, Tommy doesn’t feel his hackles raising. While it’s possible he’s gotten more subtle with his digs, Steve’s vicious tongue was usually unmistakable. “I can tell you about as many of them as you want though if you want to pretend like we don’t already know what I’ll be making you. I’m sure neither of you have eaten lunch yet.”
“You are going to take us on?” Carol asks. Shock always gives her tone an extra edge, defensive and catty, even if she’s really just waiting to see if another shoe will drop.
“Obviously,” Steve says, placing a faintly orange square of cake in front of her. He slaps Eddie’s hand away from another piece without looking away from either of them. “That’s as far as I’ll be going in participation though.”
He doesn’t miss the way Steve’s mouth twitches up with the joke, a filthy smirk that leaves Tommy flushing hot. Too warm to not be a bright and obvious red at the acknowledgment of that old private in-joke.
It doesn’t get better when Carol moans, “Oh my god, Steve!” Even if it is about the cake.
He laughs, and Tommy suspects the two are actually trying to kill him. He chances a glance over at Munson who looks like he doesn’t care at all that his husband has made Tommy’s fiance moan. He is watching Tommy though, an inquisitive look like the one Carol gets when she happens to catch a nature documentary.
“Yeah,” Steve agrees with Carol, “I’ll do something small with that citrus cake for you and Tom so you’ve got something you’ll actually eat on your wedding, maybe a pineapple buttercream on top like that nasty Juicy Fruit gum you like so much.”
“I mean it’s really crazy how you’re so good at this when you’ve never had any taste,” Carol compliments, she never did learn how to be nice.
He could probably count Steve’s teeth in the answering smile. Tommy can feel it like an ache in his chest how much he missed this. He snatches another cube of cake off the tray just so has something else to focus on.
“That’s the fancy one for the people who hate their guests,” Munson says as the cake has settled on the flat of Tommy’s tongue.
“It’s lavender,” Steve corrects, and the floral flavor is lodged in the back of his throat at least gives him a reason now to feel so choked up. “And it is for a particular sort of bride.”
“Are you saying I’m not fancy and particular, Munson?” Carol asks.
She’s obviously talking to Eddie Munson, who lifts his hands up in answer. But it’s Steve who says, “If you tried to feed that to Gail she would leave the reception bitching the whole time.”
“Well go on,” Tommy finds himself goading now that he’s swallowed, “finish calling your shot, Stevie. You said you knew what we were walking out of here with.”
Carol reaches across the table, locking eyes with Eddie as she snags the piece closest to him. The one his fingers had been inching toward like he thought Steve wouldn’t notice him trying to take it.
“I’ll make a small citrus cake for you, Carrie, we’ll hide it in the back of the larger cake so you can get the pictures of you cutting it and smashing into each other's faces-”
“We will not be doing that,” she interrupts, the warning for him and also unnecessary. He already knows how she feels about being embarrassed in public.
“Then the big cake for your guests will be a chocolate cake, I can cover it in a buttercream or a fondant icing also chocolate, because it’s the only kind of cake the Hagan family will eat. Even though I’m sure John hasn’t given you a dime for the wedding, he’ll complain until Hannah gets married if he doesn’t like the cake.”
“Really,” Steve continues, “the only thing up in the air is how many people you were able to get away with not inviting, Care.”
The two of them start talking actual wedding logistics, and as Tommy grabs another bite of cake -- this one looks like it might be a normal flavor -- he figures the real show of good faith would be talking to the only other person at the table while he eats what Steve correctly dubbed his lunch.
“Y’know he never actually answered me,” he says in an undertone.
Munson seems surprised at being spoken to, only widens his eyes in response to Tommy’s unasked question.
“I asked Steve how soon after the first date he proposed, he never actually answered.”
Eddie softens at the edges before he can even say anything. Steve had a way of doing that, bringing out the romantic in a person. He loved with a passion that demanded it be matched. “Technically I proposed to him, but he says it doesn’t count because we weren’t together and I was high on morphine after a major surgery and thought he was Apollo, come to whisk me away.” The smile on Munson’s face looks dopey and drugged up now, like the very memory of whatever hospital stay is so ingrained in his mind he can feel the high now.
“But,” he goes on, “he told me we were getting married whether it was legal or not about three months after he got legally married to another woman.”
“Stop,” Steve has always been able to sense when he’s about to be the butt of the joke. He has a finger pointed at Eddie like a teacher delivering a lecture. “You can’t tell people that. It was for tax reasons, I’m not cheating on my wife.”
“You say tomato, I say whichever one of us is your least favorite has to be the extramarital affair.”
“I say, you’re the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met.” Tommy can hear the warm affection behind the insult, the way their picking is a safer way to express their passion for one another.
He thought he would be jealous of whoever finally managed to reel in Steve Harrington for good, and he is. The emotion is there, present in the snarling tangle of emotions that this encounter has left in him. One that he and Carol will have to slowly tease and pick out tonight when they’re home in bed. Trying to make sense of what each thread is and what it means for them. But the one bright pulsing thread he can make sense of is happiness. He’s happy for Steve, happy that he gets to see an old friend so at ease and obviously cared for.
And he’s sad that his time is up, his lunch hour so close to an end he’ll be late getting back to the office. Something he can already hear his Dad and fucking Greg giving him shit for. Which means they have to end their time here.
Steve walks them to the door, flips the sign to mark them closed for lunch.
“Congratulations again, you two,” he says, “I really am happy I can get to be a part of this with you all. Even if it’s a little different than we used to imagine.”
Carol reaches out for the both of them, puts her hand on his arm. Tommy finds that he’s the one who actually says, “We’re glad you found someone who makes you this happy, dude. You deserve it.”
“Yeah, he’s alright most of the time.” It's said with such fondness it becomes a declaration. It’s hard to imagine how they thought they could ever be the something that could make Steve this happy. But maybe in a different life, under different circumstances it could have been.
There’s a minute where they all stand in the doorway. He wonders if they’re all afraid that this might be the last time they see each other, speak to one another, until Steve is delivering the cake on the day of the wedding. Maybe it’s just him, he was the one who pushed back the hardest after things ended.
Someone finally gives in and pushes the door open. It’s TONG a death toll for their current conversation. But it also sends a jolt through Steve, he straightens to his full height like a shock has gone through him. “Here,” he says, “here, um.” He digs around in his apron until he finds a pen and a receipt pad. Jots down something before tearing it off and putting it in Tommy’s hands, “It's our home number, in case you have any cake emergencies or something.”
They really can’t stay any longer.
Carol takes the note, better at keeping track of these things than Tommy is. It’s hard to know if they’ll actually use it, maybe after they talk about it, but if they do she’ll be the one to do it. She’s always been braver than him.
There’s no way of guaranteeing anything but the fact that they’ll have a cake on the table on their wedding day. But he hopes that Steve might stay for the ceremony once he brings it, he can even bring Eddie if that’s what gets him there.
Alone in his car, Tommy lets himself take a minute to think about Steve Harrington one last time. He isn’t going to get what he wanted as a kid. Doubts that he’ll ever be as close to Steve as he’d been in childhood, too much time has passed and too much has changed.
But there’s an opportunity to get to know Steve Munson, and he isn't going to pass it up. Even if he doesn’t know how to name a bakery.
#steddie#steddie fic#implied past stomarol#Baker Steve Harrington#my fic#tommy x carol#tomarol#genuinely don't know what their ship name is I'm sorry#future fic#the author is experiencing some complicated emotions about their 10 year reunion and this is now the second fic I've posted this year-#-that's mentioned one so clearly forcing fictional characters to emote about it for me is not working#the terrible trio do own every business in the little storefront Tommy mentions and they employ the kids who they have a stable income-#-while they work on their passion projects
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"Heyyy! Guess who's back~ Missed me, Hazel?"
! WIP !
promised myself to not post this until I finish the digital version,,, but I don't think that will happen anytime soon, unfortunately 🥲
inspired by this post by @/caramelpopcoms2 ... Toxic Yuri, anyone?
+ other images used for inspiration
this:
+ all the genderbent perirep art 🙏🙏🙏 keep doing God's work y'all !!!
#fairly oddparents#fop#fop a new wish#fop hazel#hazel wells#fop lezah#lezah fop#very busy but working on posting more#expect more stuff soon-#very long post incoming..... particularly about jasazel...#but some more miscellaneous art posted in between#hey don't look at me funny- perirep exists so this is perfectly valid as a ship too#needed to get my brain worms out 😵💫#💌's art
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one thing I have learned about being poor is that you cannot for a moment stop thinking about it
#theres no peace#every little thing reminds me we are poor#seeing friends having electricity wifi heat food gas. it all costs money. and bills and fees and charges happen all the damn time#im constantly worried that i am measing up somehow or im not keeping track of my finances properly#the person handling our disability assistance application keeps coming back with question after question about my job#and i have so much doubt and fear that ive made some mistake in my answers that will disqualify us from support#and theres this sick backwards stupid thing where applying for and being on disability support is discouraging me from trying to make money#because the more i make the less likely we'll get support but i need to make money to live#its just fucked. and once we're on support i have to make monthly reports of my income so ill feel like im explaining myself all the fuckin#time#cus the system isnt built in a way that makes sense for self employed ppl who have business expenses to account for#sorry for the ranting i cant sleep#truly truly i think poverty is making me a worse persin#more anxious more resentful more jealous more miserable more spiteful#i have so little and there is so little i can do to help it#i want things in a more desparate and even childish way than i used to eant things#spend a lot more time fantasizing about magically having expendable income#not to mention the constant exponential guilt that comes from asking for help or recieving help. its guilt i need to unlearn but i feel it
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