#and on and on the list is long
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echoesofadream · 1 year ago
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okay one way i am autistic tho is the way i have super strong emotional empathy but really hard for cognitive empathy . And like when people make fun of empaths by all means but i know that when i feel other peoples feelings its not necessarily accurate because im projecting myself into their situation
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onefey · 7 months ago
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you're going about your normal day when, suddenly, surprise! you've been pokémon mystery dungeon'd!
unfortunately, due to budget cuts, the pokémon assigning quiz has been canceled. instead, you must spin THE WHEEL, assigning you a random, unevolved, non-legendary and non-mythical pokémon. you must now go on some sort of world-saving adventure as this pokémon. good luck!
tell me in the tags what you rolled, and how you feel about it - for bonus points, you can spin the wheel again for (or just take your pick of) a pokémon to be your partner.
bonus rules:
you're not shiny unless the wheel tells you you're shiny
take your pick of regional forms and evolutions (for example, if you roll vulpix, it's up to you whether that means normal or alolan vulpix)
apply whatever logic you like with regards to gender
have fun and be yourself!
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thorinds · 6 months ago
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1000 Books You May Have Actually Read
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mysterycitrus · 4 months ago
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the fact that shakespeare was a playwright is sometimes so funny to me. just the concept of the "greatest writer of the English language" being a random 450-year-old entertainer, a 16th cent pop cultural sensation (thanks in large part to puns & dirty jokes & verbiage & a long-running appeal to commoners). and his work was made to be watched not read, but in the classroom teachers just hand us his scripts and say "that's literature"
just...imagine it's 2450 A.D. and English Lit students are regularly going into 100k debt writing postdoc theses on The Simpsons screenplays. the original animation hasn't even been preserved, it's literally just scripts and the occasional SDH subtitles.txt. they've been republished more times than the Bible
#due to the Great Data Decay academics write viciously argumentative articles on which episodes aired in what order#at conferences professors have known to engage in physically violent altercations whilst debating the air date number of household viewers#90% of the couch gags have been lost and there is a billion dollar trade in counterfeit “lost copies”#serious note: i'll be honest i always assumed it was english imperialism that made shakespeare so inescapable in the 19th/20th cent#like his writing should have become obscure at the same level of his contemporaries#but british imperialists needed an ENGLISH LANGUAGE (and BRITISH) writer to venerate#and shakespeare wrote so many damn things that there was a humongous body of work just sitting there waiting to be culturally exploited...#i know it didn't happen like this but i imagine a English Parliament House Committee Member For The Education Of The Masses or something#cartoonishly stumbling over a dusty cobwebbed crate labelled the Complete Works of Shakespeare#and going 'Eureka! this shall make excellent propoganda for fabricating a national identity in a time of great social unrest.#it will be a cornerstone of our elitist educational institutions for centuries to come! long live our decaying empire!'#'what good fortune that this used to be accessible and entertaining to mainstream illiterate audience members...#..but now we can strip that away and make it a difficult & alienating foundation of a Classical Education! just like the latin language :)'#anyway maybe there's no such thing as the 'greatest writer of x language' in ANY language?#maybe there are just different styles and yes levels of expertise and skill but also a high degree of subjectivity#and variance in the way that we as individuals and members of different cultures/time periods experience any work of media#and that's okay! and should be acknowledged!!! and allow us to give ourselves permission to broaden our horizons#and explore the stories of marginalized/underappreciated creators#instead of worshiping the List of Top 10 Best (aka Most Famous) Whatevers Of All Time/A Certain Time Period#anyways things are famous for a reason and that reason has little to do with innate “value”#and much more to do with how it plays into the interests of powerful institutions motivated to influence our shared cultural narratives#so i'm not saying 'stop teaching shakespeare'. but like...maybe classrooms should stop using it as busy work that (by accident or designs)#happens to alienate a large number of students who could otherwise be engaging critically with works that feel more relevant to their world#(by merit of not being 4 centuries old or lacking necessary historical context or requiring untaught translation skills)#and yeah...MAYBE our educational institutions could spend less time/money on shakespeare critical analysis and more on...#...any of thousands of underfunded areas of literary research i literally (pun!) don't know where to begin#oh and p.s. the modern publishing world is in shambles and it would be neat if schoolwork could include modern works?#beautiful complicated socially relevant works of literature are published every year. it's not just the 'classics' that have value#and actually modern publications are probably an easier way for students to learn the basics. since lesson plans don't have to include the#important historical/cultural context many teens need for 20+ year old media (which is older than their entire lived experience fyi)
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inkskinned · 1 year ago
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you're in the habit of denying yourself things.
if someone asked you directly, you would say that you love a little treat. you like iced coffee and getting the cookie. you drink juice out of a fancy cup sometimes, and often do use your candles until they gutter out helplessly.
but you hesitate about buying the 20 dollar hand mixer because, like. you could just use your arms. you weren't raised rich. you don't get to just spend the 20 dollars (remember when that could cover lunch?), at least - you don't spend that without agonizing over it first, trying to figure out the cost-benefits like you are defending yourself in front of a jury. yes, this rice cooker could seriously help you. but you do know how to make stovetop rice and it really isn't that hard. how many pies or brownies would you actually make, in order to make that hand mixer worthwhile?
what's wild is that if the money was for a friend, it would already be spent. you'd fork over 40 without blinking an eye, just to make them happy. the difference is that it's for you, so you need to justify it.
and it sneaks in. you ration yourself without meaning to - you don't finish the pint of ice cream, even though you want to. the next time you go to the store, you say ah, i really shouldn't, and then you walk away. you save little bits of your precious things - just in case. sometimes you even go so far as putting that one thing in your shopping cart. and then just leaving it there, because maybe-one-day, but not right now, there's other stuff going on.
you do self-care, of course. but you don't do it more than like, 3 days in a row. after that it just feels a little bit over-the-edge. like. you can't live in decadence, the economy is so bad right now, kid.
so you don't buy the rice cooker. you can-and-will spend the time over the stove. you can withstand the little sorrows. denial and discipline are practically synonyms. and you're not spoiled.
it's just - it's not always a rice cooker. sometimes it is a person or a job or a hug. sometimes it is asking for help. sometimes it is the summer and your college degree. sometimes it is looking down at scabbed knees and feeling a strange kind of falling, like you can't even recognize the girl you used to be. sometimes it is your handprint looking unsteady.
sometimes it is tuesday, and you didn't get fired, and you want to celebrate. but what is it you like, even? you search around your little heart and come up empty. you're so used to denying that all your desires draw a blank.
oh fuck. see, this is the perfect opportunity. if you had a mixer, you'd make a cake.
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fluentisonus · 2 years ago
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He added, after a pause: “Remember this, my friends: there are no such things as bad plants or bad men. There are only bad cultivators.”
Les Misérables, Volume I / Book V / Chapter III, trans. Hapgood
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aerequets · 1 month ago
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(part 1)
(short comic) (you can otherwise search 'spy x pta' on my profile)
MY GOODNESS. it's been a hot minute since i posted the first part and i guess i just couldn't SHUT UP because this is FOURTEEN PAGES LONG. FOURTEEN. you can even see some pages where the linework is slightly different because i drew it like 6-ish weeks ago, that's how long this has been cooking. drawing in general has been hard lately because of time constraints, BUT i am so happy i finished this. this is like my fav project even tho it isnt as popular, but who cares!!!!! POPULAR IN MY HEART
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yeoldenews · 6 months ago
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A selection of strange and cryptic personal ads from The New York Herald, 1860s to 1890s. 14/?
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hinamie · 3 months ago
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alongside someone like you
#my art#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#yuji itadori#megumi fushiguro#itafushi#fushiita#fanart#jjk fanart#jujutsu kaisen fanart#jjk spoilers#jjk manga spoilers#jjk 266#jjk leaks#i feel like i say this after every piece at this point but iam once again. SO TIRED#collapses dead#cries i did it again i ws up all last night finishing the first 1.....tht one took *counts* 8 hours...#got 3 hrs sleep n picked up where i left off on th second one at 8 in the morning#2nd one absolutely ruined me n made the third one feel like a herculean task . even tho its literally just them on a bed#rooms....KITCHENS......beloathed!!!! public enemy no1 kill on sight!!!!!!#hell is real and they make u render different rooms of houses from scratch no perspective tool no clue what ur doing#n they see how long it takes u to completely lose it#clipped yuujis bangs back tho n i thought tht was cute . silver linings#1ST ONE WAS SO FUN ALSO idk if its bc outdoor environments r forgiving or bc i had more energy n was fresh faced n hopeful or what#but it is by far my favourite. once again pulled out nearly every nature brush in my arsenal#third one meh simple safe soft w/e i was just so exhausted after th kitchen tht working on it was such a slog#oh ya i added a bunch of scars 2 yuuji's arms n lobbed off his ring finger sighs the yuuji injury list (tm) grows every minute#also HINA USE YELLOW CHALLENGE CLEAR golden hour in2 sunset my beloved <333 easy warm light + safe homey Peaceful vibes...bless#cries eternally thinking abt them let us have this let THEM have this pls thank u#ok i need to not look at these anymore take them enjoy my contribution 2 the domestic itfs pile
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incredubious · 1 year ago
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(asl+uta) she's addicted to setting him up for failure
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dumplingsjinson · 17 days ago
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List of “please don’t leave me alone” prompts
Using bodies to distract themselves from the fact that they don’t have someone to call their forever; that they aren’t worthy of anything more than just a one night stand or a casual fling.
Lying awake in the dark for the nth time, alone once again, the creeping dread of being alone forever eating away at them; the space next to them empty like it always ends up.
Finding someone and latching onto them for as long as they can, only to be left heartbroken, thoughts of things being this way forever so, so scary; wanting to believe they deserve love but perhaps they don’t and it’s something they have to be okay with.  
Hope at this point becomes false hope, because it’s starting to feel like they’re the reason no one wants to stay.
“Am I not enough of a reason for you to want to stay?” they would wonder on nights when nothing could distract them from their looming thoughts.
So when someone else comes along, they try to sabotage it because they think it wouldn’t work out anyway. As much as they like them, there’s a part of them that’s scared things won’t last, and they aren’t ready for another crushing disappointment.
Numbness is a self-defence mechanism at this point, and it’s quite clear to the both of them that that’s the case.
That person doesn’t leave, though. Not even when they’re being difficult as fuck. They go through many talks, and as frustrated as they are with them at times, they are very firm when they tell them they aren’t gonna leave and will be here for them through thick and thin; that they’re someone they do not want to lose.
Tears streaming down their face when they realise they’ve finally found someone who doesn’t want to lose them; that they’re worthy of unconditional love, as flawed as they are.
“You’re the first person to have ever told me that,” they whisper, voice thick with tears, as the other person holds them while they cry. 
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Join my Discord server: Steaming Dumplings Nation
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stratos-ane · 2 months ago
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:P
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actually we in the community prefer the term "escape artist." yes that is the preferred terminology. no i get it's not what you grew up with. yes i know you weren't trying to be offensive. going forward maybe just try to avoid stigmatized terms like "escaped fugitive" or "killer at large". we are trying to move beyond that as a community
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cipheramnesia · 11 months ago
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Tumblr stop recommending me horny sapphic blogs that all say men dni in the pinned post, go back to sending me posts from the one that's just horny all the time please, I want the fat furries and the queer freaks that are way less respectably normal about me and my body.
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runraerun · 1 month ago
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Steddie Amnesia Fic: 1/3
-> Part 2 | Part 3 | AO3
cw: lots of head trauma/brain injury/recovery stuff.
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Steve wakes up in the hospital with someone snoring loudly on his leg, mouth open, drool getting soaked up into the scratchy hospital blanket over him.
Steve just stares.
It’s… Freddie? No, that’s not right... Eddie! Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson, known delinquent and drug dealer… resting his head on Steve’s lap.
What the hell…?
Steve reaches up with a wobbly, IV-ridden hand to clumsily pat along his head, but instead of meeting messy hair, he meets a thick wad of bandages. He flinches when he hits an especially tender spot.
It’s not much but it’s enough to wake Eddie Munson up with a jolt, and a random jumble of words that sounded something like, “the dice have spoken!”, but Steve can’t be sure. Not with the sharp ringing still going off inside his skull.
“Steve? Steve! Oh thank fuck, Jesus H. Christ, you scared the ever loving shit out of me.” Eddie stood and grabbed at one of Steve’s shoulders, shaking him enough to elicit another wince.
“Oh, damn, sorry. I’m like a fucking bull in a china shop here, man. There’s way too much expensive, breakable shit here. I’m not used to it. I accidentally ripped your IV out the other day... Fuck. The nurses hate my guts.” Eddie chuckles, eyes wide and solely on Steve, talking like they were old friends or something.
But that can’t be right. Steve doesn’t remember saying more than two words to Eddie Munson during the entire time he knew he even existed, and even then it was just to discuss weed prices.
“For real though, talk to me Harrington, how you feelin’, hm? Loopy? Gonna yak again? Apparently they got you on the good stuff,” Eddie flicks a liquid filled bag hanging above Steve and shakes his head, “but they keep cutting you back. Dicks.”
Steve’s eyes try and follow Eddie’s erratic movements but his eyes ache the more he moves them. He blinks against the harsh fluorescents and tries to open his mouth. And thank God, Eddie Munson seems to take this as a sign and shut up.
“What happened?” Steve finally croaks.
One of Eddie’s brows jumps. “You don’t remember?”
Steve gives his head a small shake. Did Eddie hit him with his car or something? Is that why he’s sleeping at his bedside and talking to him like they’re buddies?
“You fell, Stevie.” Eddie makes a whistling noise and mimicks something falling with his hands, then makes a crashing sound when his hand lands on Steve’s bandaged head. “Like a coconut out of a tree. Landed right on that big ol’ melon of yours. There was blood everywhere. It scared the shit out of me and the kids. Especially when you wouldn’t wake up.”
Steve’s throat feels like sandpaper, but he manages to swallow, his throat clicking as he did, and gets out, “The kids?”
Eddie seems to notice, even before Steve can ask, and reaches for a water bottle with a straw already in it, and half chewed. Eddie’s own, no doubt. Against his better judgment, Steve accepts it when Eddie offers it to him. He was just so goddamn thirsty.
“Don’t worry, they’re all fine. They were just shaken up. I’ll radio the little gremlins and give ‘em the good news in a sec.” Eddie’s smile falters a little, seeming lost for words. Like he wants to say something, but can’t quite get it out.
Steve finishes swallowing his few, meager gulps of water before he asks, “What is it?”
“Don’t freak out—“ Eddie begins.
And, okay, that’s exactly the thing you tell someone before they freak the fuck out. Steve’s stomach is subject to a growing, sluggish panic. “What? Dude, tell me—“
“It’s your hair.” Eddie seems genuinely pained at having to deliver this crushing of a blow to Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.
Steve can hear the beeping from the monitors he’s hooked up to begin to pick up speed as his heart begins racing. “My hair?”
“It’s okay! It’s okay, it’ll grow back! They just had to take a little bit off where the stitches went, you can hardest notice it—well, that’s a fucking lie, you could spot that landing strip from space—but I think if you part it to the other side it won’t look so… y’know.”
“No, dude, I don’t know.” Steve says, eyes wide, brows pinched.
“Like a drunk toddler took a pair of rusty kitchen shears to your mop.” Eddie says, huffing out a nervous sort of laugh.
Steve groans, half due to the bastardization that’s happened to his favorite feature, and half due to the migraine that’s looming on his horizon.
“You’re still pretty, Stevie, don’t worry.” Eddie grins, eyebrows raised, like he’s trying to be cute or something.
That weirdest part is, it’s kind of working.
Steve must have hit his head really, really hard.
The doctors eventually come in and perform all sorts of tests, and he tries his best to comply with them and jump through whatever hoops they make him jump through. He just wants to get the hell out of this hospital bed.
Unfortunately for him, Steve hadn’t exactly aced any of the tests.
In fact, he had failed most of them pretty fucking dismally. He couldn’t remember the date, who the president was, where he lived, couldn’t say the alphabet backwards… although, who the fuck can do that? He stands by that failing grade.
A couple of CAT scans later and it’s clear that Steve’s brain got smacked around a little more than they had originally thought.
Among a pile of other stuff, the thing that sticks out the most to Steve is his diagnosis of something called short term amnesia. They explain it like the past 2 to 3 years has just been wiped from his brain. The last clear thing he really remembers is getting the shit beat out of him by Billy, and then it all sort of gets jumbled. Fragmented. The doctors explain that this is pretty typical for head trauma patients.
He’s a head trauma patient, now.
It’s normal for memories of trauma to link, creating spiderwebs throughout your brain.
Which, that’s great. So when he gets beat up again, there’s always a chance his brain will try and erase his easy, happy years and revert back to a trauma default. Really helpful brain, thank you.
And the thing that sucks the most is that his years after the Billy beat down sound pretty great. Traumatizing, sure, but great. Once the Upside Down shit was locked up, with every scary nightmare fuel monster inside of it, life in Hawkins didn’t sound all that terrible.
He lived with Robin, who’s his best friend, (his ‘platonic soulmate’ even, as she explains it), he’s working a retail job, (also with Robin), and coaches the high school basketball team during the evenings. He’d even been talking with Hopper about joining the force.
Well, he was. Now he’s more or less useless, working full time at re-learning his life, along with a couple of fine motor skills that got glitchy after the fall.
And then there’s Eddie.
Eddie, who’s apparently also his best friend, only their soulmate link isn’t platonic at all.
The strange and weirdly exciting reality was that Steve Harrington had woken up from his 3-day medically induced coma with not only a full fledged relationship, but a boyfriend.
It’s a lot to digest, and part of him still doesn’t even know how to process it, but hearing the stories being told around him, seeing how Eddie is practically living in his and Robin’s two-bedroom apartment, and just… the way Eddie looks at him?
It’s with love—Steve can see it. Feel it. Eddie’s practically vibrating with it.
What’s even crazier is that when Steve looks at Eddie, he feels the exact same way.
It’s like looking at the stars. Steve’s heart skips a beat when those dark eyes of hit him, and Steve wants nothing more than to make Eddie smile—no, better than that, to make him laugh, just so he can watch Eddie’s adam’s apple bob up and down and hear that manic, unhinged cackle. It’s downright delightful. Steve loves being in relationships like this, where it’s all consuming.
Steve may not have the memories of falling in love with Eddie, but he has all the feelings.
No one talks about it with Steve, of course. Maybe they think it’s going to be too heavy for him to process that he’s into dudes now, but Steve isn’t a big dumb baby. Sure, he’s got a pretty severe brain injury, and yeah, alright, it takes him a minute to remember people’s names sometimes, and he has a harder time controlling his emotions, but he isn’t a complete invalid. Only a little bit of one. He’s working on it, dammit.
And Eddie is so painfully, frustratingly patient with him. He never pushes. He’s clearly letting Steve retrieve his memories before he makes a move, because despite his whole outward appearance, Eddie Munson is a goddamn gentleman. He never so much as reaches for Steve’s hands, but Steve can tell by the way their pinkies graze when they watch movies late at night that he wants to.
Steve can tell by the way Eddie teases him, the way he’s there with him through his recovery, that he doesn’t ever make Steve feel stupid when he asks the same questions over and over again, when he cries at the drop of a hat or when he gets sort of confused about the lay out of his apartment—he doesn’t care about that of that.
Because he’s in love with Steve. It’s so painfully romantic, it brings a painful lump to Steve’s throat every time he thinks too much about it.
The two of them are driving to one of Steve’s therapy sessions, Eddie in the driver's seat, Steve in the passengers, listening to a low racket of some kind of heavy metal music. Eddie always keeps the volume low now, for Steve.
He’s just been so intensely good about everything that Steve needs to try and do something good for Eddie in return. He needs Eddie to know that there’s a light at the end of this tunnel that they’re both currently lost in.
“I’m sorry about this, y’know.” Steve says when they finally pull up the building that has ‘Brain Injury Recover Center’ written on the front. So all the boys and girls with scrambled eggs for brains know where to converge.
“Don’t worry about it, man. I work the evening shifts, remember? My days are free.” Eddie explains, and Steve wonders if he’s had to be told this bit of information a couple of times now. Sometimes it takes a few times before something sticks to his brain now. His short term memory is still majorly flighty. But no, Steve remembers that Eddie bartends at a local bowling alley most evenings. He’s gone a few times. Not to bowl, of course—too much hand eye coordination involved—but just to hang out with Eddie. He’s pretty decent at Ms. Pac-Man though.
Steve shakes his head. He knows his mind must have wandered because there’s been a lull where no one’s spoken. Eddie never seems to care about that though. “I don’t mean about the drive. I was talking about… y’know.”
“Wha’dy’mean?” Eddie mumbles as he backs into his parking space, hand on the back of Steve’s headrest.
Steve sighs and decides to just come out and say it: “I mean having your boyfriend forget everything about you and your relationship. I just… that must be really tough.”
Everything in Eddie Munson comes to a jarring halt, hand frozen over where he’s turned to ignition off.
It’s sort of unnerving—Eddie is always moving, fidgeting. Damn near bouncing off the walls. But now it’s like someone hit the poor guy with a freeze ray gun.
Steve chuckles softly as he reaches out and touches Eddie’s arm, giving him a playful jostle, to loosen him up a little, “it’s okay, Eddie. I know. You don’t have to keep going easy on me. I’m gay! Or, bi-sexual. Whatever.” Steve shrugs, “see? Not falling apart. I can handle being in love with another dude. You don’t need to keep babying me.”
The side of Eddie’s mouth twitches into a downturned smile that he seems to be trying to hide.
“I know, I know. Not just any dude.” Steve rolls his eyes, a smile still firmly on his face. He takes Eddie’s hand from the steering wheel, and Eddie seems to watch it go in a detached sort of awe. Steve wonders if Eddie’s proud of him for being so cool with it all. “In love with you.”
“Steve, I don’t think—
“Wait, just let me finish.” Steve asks, and Eddie blinks and works on closing his mouth. Knows it’s important to let Steve get his thoughts out quickly, lest they be lost to the giant black hole inside of his beat-up brain now. “I know that I don’t remember any of the important stuff with us. Our first date, or our first kiss or, y’know, any of our other first firsts. So maybe it feels like you’re cheating on the old Steve with me? But… Eddie, I know it’s crazy but even though my brain forgot all of the specifics; my heart didn’t. I look at you, and it’s all there. I’m still so into you, dude. I can feel it, even though I don’t remember how I got here. I’m in l—“
“Steve! Stevestevesteve wait, holy shit—!” Eddie’s eyes snap up from his intense stare at the place where their hands are linked. “Steve—”
“Yeah?” Steve prompts when Eddie doesn’t seem to be able to find the words. He runs his thumb gently over Eddie’s knuckles. It feels so nice to finally be able to hold his hand again. They fit together so well, and Steve wonders briefly if it’s some kind of muscle memory.
Eddie opens his mouth a few more times before he remembers how to make the words come out.
“Steve. Buddy. We’re… we’re not dating.”
Steve’s face falls, and he can feel a lump form in his throat, but he keeps a firm hold of Eddie’s warm hand in his own. “Yeah, I know, I know. We haven’t had any time to be a couple. And it’s probably been torture for you, man. You’re so busy taking care of me and making sure I don’t freak out over everything that you’ve clearly been neglecting your own hierarchy of needs.”
Eddie raises a brow.
Steve chuckles, “Shut up. It’s a therapy term.”
Eddie laughs in his throat. “Steve, you gotta slow down and listen to me.”
He turns his shoulders so that he’s fully facing Steve while he reaches his free hand over and tugs at one of his earlobes. “Got your hearing ears on?”
Steve rolls his eyes, but he nods just the same.
“We… we weren’t dating before your accident,” Eddie speaks slowly, his voice warm, gentle. “Hell, I didn’t even know you were, y’know, into dudes like that. Much less me.”
Something throbs dully behind Steve’s eyes. It’s the start of a migraine—the one that makes it hard to process much of anything. Steve squints, trying to make sense of what Eddie’s saying. “…you’re not my boyfriend?”
Eddie shakes his head very, very slowly. “No.”
Steve snatches his hand back like he’s only just now noticed how burning hot Eddie’s hand is.
He settles back in his seat, staring out the front window. The sounds from the outside world are muffled, and everything feels far away and sort of… Made up. Just like everything he’d imagined was going on between him and Eddie. Not real.
He feels painfully detached from reality. Unmoored. Maybe this was the disassociation thing the doctor mentioned might happen…
“Are you sure?” Steve asks, risking another glance over to Eddie, who hasn’t taken his eyes off him for a second.
“Pretty fuckin’ sure.” Eddie snorts.
“Oh, God. This is… I’m—sorry. I’m so stupid. Fuck, I gotta—“ Steve suddenly attacks the door handle with a clumsy fury that has his hand fumbling with the handle for way too long. Fucking busted up, bruised as fuck fucking brain-!
“Steve, it’s okay, dude,” Eddie says from behind Steve, but that’s easy for him to say; he didn’t just humiliate himself in front of his not-boyfriend, definitely-crush, possibly ex-friend—“Steve, wait!”
Steve flees the van on unsteady feet, not daring to look back.
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