#be it road trip or a very good healthcare

[tealvenetianmask]

More about Blitz and anger . . .

Anger is a super stigmatized emotion. That's for a reason- it's powerful. When we see it from other people it's usually externalized- it's ugly, aggressive, shows up in abusive situations- it sometimes leads to violence. But when we talk about righteous anger, or the anger of marginalized people, we sometimes praise it. That's because anger can be empowering too.

I want to talk about how Blitz's anger, while it's also destructive at times, has empowered him.

Personal note: when I was a kid, I was yelled at frequently by my mother. The house I grew up in was a 60's rancher with a long hallway in the center, and she would chase me down the hallway yelling. As I grew older, I learned to yell back. Feeling anger and externalizing it didn't make the hurt go away, and it didn't solve our problems- it turned us into two people yelling at each other- but it did make me feel less helpless.

So let's look at Blitz as a kid. In addition to guilt tripping him, his father tells him that "there are scarier things," than stealing from a wealthy and (literally) powerful family, and he doesn't disagree. I think this screenshot captures their relationship pretty well.

We see moments of defiance from Blitz though, even as he's very much under Cash's control. Georgia Dow pointed this out in her video about how Blitz learned resilience in his childhood. Here, have some defiant expressions:

Notice Blitz's eyebrows here, mirroring his father. I suspect that as he grew older, Blitz learned to push back harder, to argue, maybe even to yell. He learned to channel his anger- at being used, diminished, devalued (very likely yelled at and probably physically hurt too) into expression, into fight (I don't picture him physically fighting Cash, but the guy has fight in him- of all kinds).

He learned to feel angry at the world and express that too- for treating imps as lower than other demons, for limiting his options in life, for filling the road to success with exploitation (as we see in the Mammon flashbacks with Fizz).

Speaking of that flashback, he's very ready, as a teenager, to express anger exactly when he needs to for the purpose of protecting a loved one.

Fast forward to the present.

Blitz's anger helps him stand up for the people he cares about- see Fizz in the present at Mammon's show but also Moxxie in Spring Broken.

It helps make him good at his job too. When we see him fight, he doesn't tend to seem all out enraged, but he's super determined and all in. He's at home in a conflict. When he's doing his best fighting, we see a mix of the "angry" facial expressions and pure confidence.

Anger also helps him manage a lot of difficult emotions. Disclaimer (and idea I'll get back to soon)- I said manage, not deal with.

When he interacts with Verosika and with Robo Fizz early in season 1, there's genuine underlying pain from how the relationships with Verosika and the real Fizz ended, but he channels that into anger. The anger makes him take action (Good action? Eh. But still action- he's not crying on his couch.) rather than get consumed by more painful emotions. He's able to keep going.

It also gets in his way, even as he uses it as a coping mechanism. Is his anger at Muffy and the Karen in the doctor's office understandable as he's dealing with his frustration about the inaccessibility of healthcare for Loona and his worries about losing Stolas? Yes. Is it helpful? No, probably not.

It isn't useful with Stolas either. Stolas is this person who's kind and beautiful and quirky and able to match his wit, and who Blitz has grown genuine feelings for, but who is also deeply entwined in the unfairness in Hell's society that Blitz has grown to resent throughout his life- AND Stolas unknowingly participates in some very familiar microaggressions himself.

Blitz channels a whole range of complicated emotions- love, fear, despair at the thought that he isn't loved back- all into anger because he HAS been wronged and his world IS unfair, and anger is COMFORTABLE because anger is ACTIVE, and with it he doesn't have to just let things happen to him!

So we end up back here.

[sadly-never-after]

Music in the EAH Universe and who listens to them Part 6.

This is just an excuse to try to make music puns and share music I think the characters would listen to. (Some of these are even canon by the books!) I don't even like a majority of these musicians but I am fully convinced of my choices here. I marked in colours the one that are canonically part of the EAH Universe.

Since Tumblr only allows 100 inline links for a post I have to make different parts.

Part 1 (Alistair, Apple, Ashlynn, Blondie, Briar, Bunny)

Part 2 (Cupid, Cedar, Cerise, Chase, Courtly, Daring)

Part 3 (Darling, Dexter, Duchess, Farrah, Faybelle, Ginger)

Part 4 (Holly, Hopper, Humphrey, Hunter, Jillian, Justine)

Part 5 (Kitty, Lizzie, Maddie, Meeshell, Melody, Nina)

Part 6 (Poppy, Ramona, Raven, Rosabella, Sparrow, Tucker)

(❀❛ ֊ ❛„)♡-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈☁︎‎‎‧₊˚ Poppy O'Hair (❀❛ ֊ ❛„)♡-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈☁︎‎‎‧₊˚

Mayhem! in the Ballroom (Emperor's New Clothes, Victorious, She Had The World)

Lady Yaga (Born this way, Alejandro, Bad Romance)

Katy Fairy (Firework, Part of Me, Roar)

April Vineyard (Girlfriend, Sk8er Boi (if you guys listen to the entire song instead of only the first verses you'll understand), I Fell In Love With The Devil)

Truelove (Raspberry, Tongue Tied, Schoolboy)

·:¨༺ ♱🐺♱ ༻¨:· Ramona Badwolf ·:¨༺ ♱🐺♱ ༻¨:·

Rabbit Hole (Jennifer's Body, Credit In The Straight World, Northern Star)

Corset Suffocation (Feels Blind, Rebel Girl, Alien She)

Incandescence (Bring Me To Life, Everybody's Fool, Sweet Sacrifice)

Fall Out Book (Centuries, I Don't Care, Fake Out)

Writtin Park (Bleed It Out, Burning in the Skies, Runaway)

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽🔮☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ Raven Queen ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽🔮☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Taylor Quick (Anti-Hero, Enchanted, You're On Your Own Kid)

Royale (Royals, 400 Lux, Ladder Song)

Lady Yaga (Bloody Mary, Monster, Government Hooker)

I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY CURSED ME (Mad IQs, New Invention, Absinthe)

Spellannah Joffe (Die Your Daughter, Nobody Wants Me Tonight, My Dog Died)

༉‧₊˚🕯️🥀❀༉‧₊˚. Rosabella Beauty ༉‧₊˚🕯️🥀❀༉‧₊˚.

Penelorepe Scott (Rät, Dead girls, American Healthcare)

Bob Dalan-a-Dale (Blowin' in the wind, The Times They Are A-Changing, A Hard Rain's A Gonna Fall)

Joan Bard (We Shall Overcome, Diamonds & Rust, Girl of Constant Sorrow)

Mirra Simone (Sinnerman, Mississippi Goddam, Revolution)

Sam Book (A Change is gonna come, Mean Old World, Jesus gave me water)

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆♪ °˖➴જ⁀➴ Sparrow Hood 🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆♪ °˖➴જ⁀➴

Knight Chloe (Too Close, Hooves, Michelle)

Black Rebel Carriage Club (Beat the Devil's Tattoo, American X, Weapon of Choice)

Wolf Killer Kids (Hang Me Up To Dry, First, Robbers)

The Legacy Keys (Lonely Boy, Weight of love, Little Black Submarines)

Prince Ferdinand (Take Me Out, Love Illumination, Lazy Boy)

Wands N' Roses (Paradise City, Sympathy for the devil, Sweet Child O' Mine)

He gets an extra one because the Knight Chloe ones are all very shippy.

✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ Tucker ✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Giantz (Feel Good Inc., Kids With Guns, Momentary Bliss)

The Spells (Little Girl, Is This It?, The Adults Are Talking)

The Legacy Keys (Fever, Go, Psychotic Girl)

Black Rebel Carriage Club (Red Eyes And Tears, Going Under, Restless Sinner)

Prince Ferdinand (The Dark of the Matinee, Curious, Billy Goodbye)

You are trapped on an eight-hour long road trip with these guys and you have to give one of them the aux chord.

[the-romantic-lady]

I don't really like that they want to focus on the causes they are passionate about, it's way too activist for me. It's like the vegan people who go to grocery stores and dump milk on the floor. Or the stop oil lunatics who block the road and people can't get to hospitals. The energy is exactly the same "the cause I am passionate is important everything else doesn't matter".

TBH the causes they are passionate about are very elitist causes. Yes yearly years is important but there's very little some parents can do. People are living in a col crisis, both parents have to work sometimes more than they wish, and have their children in childcare for more time of the day than they wish. They can't spend as many time with their kids as they would like, they have work, sometimes commute, they have housework. Sometimes it's just not feasible even if they wanted to. Then in comes someone who is the privileged of the privileged. Who has 3 homes, none of which she paid for. Who has house staff, a full time nanny and barely works, to lecture people about how much the early years of your kid is important and how you should focus so much energy and time that you just don't have on that. Without actually offering any practical solution might I add.

Then we have the mental health one. Yes mental health is important, but how talking about how important it is help anyone? Like so many people that I know would like to go to therapy but can't afford it. Or if they live in a country that does have a public healthcare it's incredibly hard to get a therapist because the line of people already wanting is too big, there's never enough professionals to meet the demands. People could not heat their homes this winter, the food is more expensive by the day, the cost of property is going up so much that people can't afford to have housing. For anyone this is horrible for mental health, working yourself to the bone and you still can't have your basic needs met, and if you can there's not much left for anything else. You feel like you get stuck and nothing you ever do is going to help. What are they doing to help people have a better life so their mental health improves? Yep, nothing.

Then we have the climate change thing. Yes Earthshot is an amazing idea, I loved how it focused on getting solutions to the problems. But like the first step to help the issue is REDUCE. And I'm not one to say people shouldn't fly, but there are things that are just unnecessary. The Queen went to Sandringham by train, but William is always going by helicopter. If it was safe and good enough for the Queen, why isn't for him as well? It's very hard to take anything he says about how important is for us to care about climate change, when he can't even give up one of his luxuries that serves no purpose. This is not a trip to a vacation once in a while, or a work trip that is necessary.

What it bugs me the most is that even if Earthshot does provide solution for the problem it focuses on, their initiatives in general do absolutely nothing concrete to help anyone in the UK. It's not like the Edinburgh Awards or The Prince's Trust that actually offer things to the community. They help young people, small businesses, what do W&K foundation do besides help themselves learn and talk about things?

On top of that, they feel like they are too good for the boring engagements, it's not enough impact to their taste. Like bitch what impact your lectures have? If it helped anyone you would have stopped talking about mental health, it's been years and you are in the exact same place.

Cutting a ribbon is not below them. And they should do it. This should be their main job. The UK is not paying their security bill so they can follow their passion, it's for them to serve them, they are glorified public servants they should serve the community not just worry about their own interests. How many activists receive public funded security just to follow their passion? Yeah no one, because that's not what the job is about.

I don't agree with this completely. I do think they need to stop thinking of themselves as activists but the public complaining is part of the problem. Their pre-2017 engagements were considered blank and not big projects. So they went this direction which I am not a fan of.

I do see the importance of their causes though. Early Years is important in a time when children will be raised by daycares and technology. Part of her earlier work has been to spend time with them, take them to nature, and socializing with other parents. The unfortunate truth is that many parents don't value this anymore. It's not about how many homes, nannies or money you have. My parents were pretty much always poor and that didn't stop my mother from giving her all to us sisters. It's because she understood the importance of raising children, giving them time and attention among other things. On the other hand, I have family that have children whose children go from school to daycare to a day home. Society is disregarding the family and the upbringing of children and we can't look away. Early years emphasizes this once more to slow down for children and I stand behind the message.

I am less interested in climate change and all but I think the solutions and award system is good. Although you do have a point with the lack of focus on Britain. But William is supposedly launching a homelessness initiative so I hope that is promising and a cause I care more about.

There needs to be a balance. There is nothing wrong with Catherine visiting schools and nurseries but then she should work more to do other things. They need to expand but their current projects are not bad imo.

[vaultsixtynine]

theoretically someday i'd like to figure out what my dad's maternal grandparents had going on bc a) my paternal grandmother died when i was very young (my only memory of anything related to her was a hellish road trip to go to her funeral and getting chewed up by fire ants while i was there) but b) i was named after her - my current in-use name, which is my middle name - and c) my dad and his siblings all reference their mother being "part indian" [sic] but like. she was from georgia and made good food and that's literally all i know about her. my dad doesn't care about That Part (fair i guess) but like. aren't you a little curious. i've spent most of my life with one living (now dead) grandparent in a pool of blue collar families that die younger from work, stress, environmental hazards, and lack of good healthcare, so i didn't Get this opportunity. surely it's reasonable to investigate posthumously

[lelifeholidays]

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[tiffanyrivers]

Just How Can Budgeting And Financial Planning Effect An Individual'S Capacity To Keep A Healthy And Balanced Way Of Life?

Some of one of the most pressing problems experienced by people today is keeping a healthy way of life. Lots of people have a hard time to assault an equilibrium in between their financial resources as well as their health, often going with harmful choices in an initiative to save money. However, when you make financial planning and budgeting a top priority, it may possess a considerable positive influence on your wellness as well as general quality of life. Within this short article, our team are going to summarize the methods which budgeting as well as financial planning may assist enhance your wellness and well-being.

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[mymedtrips]

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Dr. Vibhor Vinayak Borkar

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Source: https://mymedtrips.blogspot.com/2023/08/top-liver-transplant-hospitals-in-india.html

[murkyhazed-is-archiving]

@wexarethewalkingxdead

               she’s   right,   and   of   course   he   knows   that.      just   doesn’t   always   like   admitting   it.      it’s   why   when   her   back   is   turned   he   pulls   a   face   at   her.      it’s   gone   as   quickly   as   it   appeared,   because   he   doesn’t   want   to   get   caught.      she   could   be   scary   sometimes,   and   even   if   it   would   be   just   in   good   fun,   it   was   still   scary   and   a   little   bit   humiliating.      craning   his   head,   he   saw   her   pulling   out   a   go   bag   and   smirked   a   little   to   himself.      always   prepared,   just   as   he’d   said.      he   has   one   too   though,   in   the   closet   by   the   door.      packed   with   the   essentials   should   they   ever   have   to   flee   this   place.      daryl   may   not   like   it   here   exactly,   but   he   knows   it   could   be   a   good   place.      it   could   provide   stability,   and   the   kids   needed   that.      it’s   why   he   hopes   they   don’t   have   to   end   up   fleeing.

               at   her   return,   his   eyes   drop   to   the   first   aid   kit.      he’s   very   familiar   with   this   stuff,   having   gotten   in   plenty   of   fights   and   just   generally   injuring   himself   out   on   the   road.      he   knows   the   unfortunate   sting   of   antiseptic   against   raw   skin,   and   already   muscles   are   tensing   in   preparation   for   the   pain.      ❝   just   get   it   over   with   so   i   don’t   gotta   think   about   it.   ❞

               he’s   hoping   and   maybe   even   praying   that   it   isn’t   broken.      seeing   a   doctor   was   humiliating,   and   he   wasn’t   sure   if   they   charged   for   that   shit   like   in   the   old   days.      a   trip   to   emergency   could   cost   an   arm   and   a   leg   back   in   the   day,   what   if   it’s   the   same   here?      he’s   already   tight   on   money,   he   literally   can’t   afford   to   see   a   doctor.      ❝   do   y’know   if   they   charge   for   that   here?      maybe   it’s   a   stupid   question,   but   this   place   is   as   close   to   the   old   days   as   it   can   get.      in   said   old   days   there   weren’t   such   a   thing   as   free   healthcare.      it’s   a   valid   worry   right?   ❞

Carol understood what he was saying, but it didn’t change things. They were stuck here for the foreseeable future, and she’d need him to at least try and fit in. He’d done it once before when they’d first arrived at Alexandria, but she knew this was different. This wasn’t the time to make waves and call attention to themselves. He’d have to play ball or at least pretend to. “Those same people will have your back out there, remember? Better train them right and hope for the best.”

She looked down at his hand when he asked for something to wrap it in and nodded. She knew that as safe and secure as this place appeared to be that they still had to be ready to go at a moment’s notice. She moved to the kitchen and opened a cupboard door that held her go bag with everything she’d managed to collect. She pulled it out onto the floor and shuffled through it until she came to the first aid kit.

She pulled it free and moved back to the couch where Daryl was sitting. She narrowed her eyes as she opened the box and found what she was looking for. She pulled out the antiseptic cleaner and then stood to grab a clean cloth to wash his knuckles with before she bandaged and then wrapped his hand. “This is going to sting,” she cautioned him. Her blue eyes lifted to watch his face. “If it happens to be broken, you’ll have to see someone. Promise me that you will if it doesn’t get better in a couple days?”

[clatterbane]

This afternoon's little planned adventure: my first solo shopping trip to the nearest supermarket! Which feels weird as hell to say when we've been in this place since January.

Tbf, I have rolled over to that shopping center on my own for other purposes, but every time I've ventured in for groceries so far it's been with Mr. C along doubling as pack mule. 😅

Not entirely thrilled about this state of affairs, but post-viral BS. More able to actually swallow a decent variety of foods, less able to actually get out in search of some! 🙄 And that isn't quite as easy a roll as to even the ICA roughly the same distance from Temporary Apartment; it has a lot more uphill (pretty much totally manmade, going over a road overpass), and some sections of tricker sidewalk without decent curb cuts.

At least they very purposely do make the burbs* pretty hikeable/walkable/wheelchair accessible here, is all I can say. And curbs/uneven pavement are actually doable for me as an otherwise fairly physically able manual chair user. It's just a PITA, and eats extra energy. It ends up being way more downhill on the way home loaded down too, which is much better than it could be. But yeah, this is enough older development around here that it shows some trying to get around.

(On the plus side? I did see some other guy out the other day with an electric handcycle attachment. And power assist devices are indeed supposed to be covered by the healthcare system here--unlike on Plague Island, like, at all. So, I am more hopeful about maybe wheedling one out of them now that I am properly covered, and things have settled down some on other fronts. Besides an aftermarket leg! Really hoping it's not "either/or" with wheelchair or prosthetic services, unlike our freaking NHS trust before. 🤬 Because everybody needs both available sometimes, properly set up to wreck their body as little as possible.)

Anyway, I am feeling pretty stir crazy on a sunny day, and also really need a few items like milk with him gone. Plus, naturally, I really want to poke around that big extremely international store some for the first time in ages, now that I can actually eat most of the stuff and the sight/smell of food isn't seriously fucking me up anymore.

My major challenge: not grabbing more shit than I can at least semi-reasonably cart home in my backpack, plus the couple of overflow bags hung on the back of the chair!

Bonus side mission: Swing by and scout out exactly where around that same shopping center one dentist's office is. 😰 Because yeah, I really do need to see one soon--and not just for that cleaning I had been trying to psych myself up for, now that we don't also have a bunch of medical charges to contend with. (Thankfully no pain so far, but I discovered a cavity which really ought to get dealt with before it reaches that point! Especially with local anesthetics not working on me. Probably more hiding in my mouth after the years of out of control blood sugar, tbh. Feel like I'm getting off lucky "just" noticing the one before anything hurts.)

Pretty sure I have a good idea where to find the place, but better to make sure before I start heading over there for an appointment! Which is nerve wracking enough when you do know exactly how to get there.

Even more reason to reward myself with some ice cream while I'm there. 😁 After the unaccustomed exercise, my blood sugar will probably need it anyway. Even though there are a couple of places I know of to get fresh scooped stuff over there, I'm actually tempted to try that funky soft serve vending machine. It looked interesting, plus no need to interact with anyone in Hard Swedish Mode when I may already be low on spoons.

_________

* We are apparently not technically in the suburbs here. The city center has shifted some over time, leaving this part of the actual city farther from it. But, everybody refers to it as such--and it does feel pretty damned suburban in layout, Swedish "Million Program" styley.

[unbridgeabledistances]

ian + mickeys neck (was thinking of the drunk ian fic and wondered if you would be interested in pursuing this idea further?) <3

anon i am CRYING thank u so much for this!!!! i have been feeling like i need to make my contribution to the “mickey’s neck” discourse for a while lmao and this is my opportunity (esp bc ian holding mickey in the 11x12 stills wrecked me)

in the spirit of following up 11x10 i decided to write this based on an amazing post @mickey-millagher made/a prompt that @pombby sent me about ian teaching mickey to swim at a public pool during lockdown at some point early s11- i hope u enjoy<3

(this is the tiniest notch steamier than what i usually write but it isn’t smutty fyi- tw for descriptions of choking😌)

--

There was no one at the park— the air hung heavy and humid over the empty picnic tables and wooden benches that punctuated the fields of dying grass. As much as people on the Southside were definitely not taking any part of this lockdown shit seriously, it didn’t surprise Ian how silent the public park was— there was still a scarcer number of people out on their stoops or lounging on street corners this summer. Ian guessed that the few people who didn’t think that this was a hoax realized that this COVID shit was serious enough that they couldn’t afford healthcare if they got it, or whatever— but regardless, that meant that this Southside summer was weirdly stagnant somehow, and felt different from the noisy and crowded rhythms of summers past.

It was the late morning, just as the air started heat like a convection oven as the sun rose over the skyline— and Ian had his heart set on teaching Mickey to swim today. The conversation had come up last night at dinnertime, when Debbie was complaining about the heat wave— and they had all started reminiscing about the rickety, tin-sided pool they used to put up in the backyard years ago until Carl had taken a hatchet to it when he was 11 when he was trying to tear it down. Sitting next to Mickey at the kitchen table, thighs pressed where their chairs were scooted close together, Ian had suddenly remembered his words from their road trip to the border, years ago now:

“You could try swimming across the border.”

“I never learned how, man.”

And he’d immediately opened his mouth, not catching the words before they moved from his brain to his mouth, and asked Mickey in the middle of the dinnertime chatter: “Hey Mick, did you ever actually learn to swim?”

It was funny, and arbitrary, and stupid; they were married now, but for some reason this small fact about Mickey, the fact that he used to not know how to swim and by now he might have learned without Ian’s knowledge, made something warm pool in Ian’s stomach. He’d known Mickey, and had been itching to be closer and closer to him, for a full decade—and there were still so many things that he didn’t know. And this was proof, this question that Ian still didn’t have the answer to about some weirdly fundamental aspect of Mickey’s identity— he was always going to want to keep asking things about Mickey. And he was always going to get to.

Mickey had looked him with daggers in his eyes, then flickered a defensive glance at all the smirks growing on Ian’s siblings’ faces. “Fuck you. I was doing plenty of other shit in Mexico, didn’t really get the chance to lounge on the fucking beach.”

Ian had reached under the table and placed a hand on Mickey’s knee—a peace offering, an apology for whatever Mickey-can’t-swim quips Carl and Lip would inevitably think up as a low blow the next time they all butted heads at breakfast time— but as the chatter about backyard pools and heat waves continued at the dinner table, Ian felt an idea stirring.

Which is why the next morning he’d woken his husband up by pressing a tender kiss to his jawbone, both of their skin damp and clammy from the heat in the stuffy bedroom, and whispered into his neck:

“I wanna try something today.”

Mickey’s mind had immediately veered in… other directions, his eyebrows raising in vaguely disappointed disbelief when Ian had explained his idea to go to the public pool and teach Mickey to swim with an exuberant grin on his face; but after some very enticing morning persuasion that had a lot to do with the fact that Mickey was still half asleep while Ian had pressed kisses down his spine and dragged him out of bed and handed him a pair of swim trunks, now they were at the public pool in the nearest park at midday, with Ian leading the way and Mickey dubiously and sleepily straggling behind him.

Ian slid open the lock on the chain-link fence that surrounded the pool, the same pool that was usually crawling with groups of teenagers smoking weed and toddlers in floaties who were sticky with melted ice cream on a summer day like today. And maybe he was just all hopped up on nostalgia, but Ian was feeling cheerful— there was a lightness to the blinding summer sunshine, radiating through him as it pooled on his skin, that made him feel weirdly exhilarated and giddy about teaching Mickey to swim in this grimy Southside pool, just because he could.

“I still can’t believe you never learned how to swim.” Ian said it over his shoulder as he strode through the gate, holding it open for Mickey.

Mickey just flipped him off, following behind him and setting down two towels and the 6-pack of beers he’d grabbed from the fridge as they’d shuffled out the door minutes before. Ian grinned. He knew the beers would be warm and syrupy in minutes—the air was muggy and humid, without any hint of a breeze for relief. Ian could already feel the sweat dripping down the back of his t-shirt; he peeled it off as he walked over the sunwarmed concrete towards the pool’s edge, crumpling the shirt and throwing it on top of the pile with the beers and the towels. Mickey was hesitant, not following Ian to the border of the water just yet.

“Seriously. I can’t count the number of times I was shoved into our bacteria-infested backyard pool when I was a kid. I’m pretty sure that Frank tried to drown me in there at one point.”

Mickey just shrugged noncommittally, his fingers slack around the bottom hem of his shirt and his eyes zeroing in on the pool of water. Ian thought Mickey would say something in reply— but the only sound in the air was the faint shouting of kids playing a basketball game the street over.

Holy shit. Ian had been so buoyant and excited about his nostalgia-fueled idea of going to the public pool on a summer day and teaching his husband to swim, dragging Mickey out of the house without a second thought, that he hadn’t realized it until now— Mickey was scared.

Ian swallowed down the grin that was threatening to overtake his face— one he knew that Mickey would immediately notice and hate, because he it drove him crazy when people gave him shit in vulnerable moments like this, when Mickey couldn’t do something. So instead Ian kept talking, hoping his chatter would loosen some of Mickey’s nerves.

“Didn’t you and your brothers ever go down to the other pool over on Trumbull?”

Mickey met Ian’s eyes then, raising an annoyed eyebrow. “Clearly not.”

And, okay. This was understandably bringing up some childhood shit. Ian tried to snap Mickey out of his head— he strode over to where Mickey was standing, a good six feet from the poolside, and snaked a hand onto the back of his neck, squeezing gently in what he hoped was a grounding and comforting touch that would drain the trepidation from Mickey’s defensive stance.

“One summer Debbie was so afraid of getting drowned at the public pool that she learned how to hold her breath for 4 minutes.” Ian grinned at the memory of Debbie dunking her head in a tub of water in the kitchen, making him and Lip time her. “Honestly, it was probably for the best you never went to the public pool. It was a shit show.”

Mickey scoffed, but the lightness was back in his eyes. “If I knew how to swim back in the day I probably woulda been the one doing the drowning.”

Ian barked out a laugh— and why did he immediately turn back into his 15-year-old self, with a god-awful crush on Mickey Milkovich, whenever Mick said shit like that? He pressed his lips into a smile, squeezing Mickey’s shoulder once more for good measure.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, king of the Southside. You ready to get in the water?” Ian’s hand trailed down from its grasp on Mickey’s shoulderblades, dropping to encircle Mickey’s wrist and guide him towards the water.

Mickey immediately recoiled, yanking his hand from Ian’s hold and taking a step back, squinting and holding up a hand to block the bright rays of sun out of his eyes now that he wasn’t standing in Ian’s shadow.

“Fuck d’you mean? I’m not just gonna fucking hop in there and drown. You gotta show me what to do.”

Ian grinned again, without being able to hold it back. He knew what Mickey was like when he was afraid of something— defensive and grumbly and avoidant to touch. He rolled his eyes. “Can’t really teach you to swim when we’re not in the water, Mick. C’mon.”

Ian walked over to sit on the edge, then slid his torso down into the pool. The water was lukewarm and tepid, barely providing any relief from the sticky air— but it felt nice. Ian let out a little breath of relief from the heat as he waded over to the shallow end. Mickey was still standing by the mound of the towels the ground, watching him warily. Ian raised his eyebrows.

“You coming?”

Rolling his eyes, Mickey aggravatedly pulled off his shirt, tossing it behind him— sunrays bounced off of Mickey’s pale skin, owing mostly to the fact that Mickey had barely left the house in the last few weeks because of their prolonged “honeymoon.” He slowly walked to the very edge of the pool and, in a movement that made Ian’s heart grow ten sizes, hesitantly dipped a toe into the water like a cat trying to paw at something. A corner of Mickey’s mouth flickered downwards almost imperceptibly, a worry line sprouting on his forehead.

“I don’t know, man.”

Ian breathed out a laugh. Leave it to Mickey Milkovich, shit-talking king of the Southside, to be afraid of the shallow end of a public pool. Ian reached out a hand in what he hoped was a comforting gesture, still smiling like a sappy motherfucker at his painfully endearing husband.

“C’mon Mick, just stand here with me first.” Ian was waist-deep in the shallow end, the water pressing against his upper thighs— he knew that at this height the water would be at Mickey’s waist, right where his swim trunks met his hipbones.

Mickey’s brows furrowed from where he was still perched on the concrete lip of the pool ledge, his two feet firmly rooted. “Explain what I gotta do first. To swim, or whatever.”

Ian blew out a breath, still grinning like an idiot. “It’s not that hard, Mick. You just gotta circle your arms and circle your legs. But you have to get in the water first.”

Ian treaded over, pushing through the water to where he could rest his upper arms on the edge of the pool beside where Mickey was standing, staring up at him with what he hoped was a convincingly pleading face. Mickey’s eyes were still fixated on the water, lapping at the pool’s edge from where Ian had rippled through it. And suddenly Ian had an idea.

With a teasing grin, he reached a wet hand out from the water and encircled it around Mickey’s ankle, splattering the concrete with drops of water. Mickey immediately jerked like an electric shock had jolted through his body.

“You gonna come in, or do I have to make you?”

Mickey tried to shake his ankle out of Ian’s grasp, but Ian had hold of him with an iron fist. Mickey leaned over and tried to swat at Ian’s arm without losing his balance on the pool’s edge.

“Cut that shit out right now, Gallagher.”

Ian just grinned, squeezing Mickey’s ankle like he was about to tug him in. “Come on, Mick.”

Mickey’s eyes widened and, just as Ian had imagined he would— he started to freak the fuck out.  

“Ian stop that shit right now, I swear to god I will fucking murder you if you—”

They were at the 6-foot marker in the pool, right where it was deep enough for Mickey to stand on the very tips of his toes; and with this knowledge, Ian tugged at Mickey’s calf— causing him to falter, his arms circling like a cartoon character before he lost his balance and crashed into the water on his side.

Ian immediately placed his hands on Mickey’s hips, standing him upright before his head even fell under the water— but Mickey was still sputtering and splashing, like the drama queen that he was. Once Mickey regained his composure and realized he was easily standing on the bottom of the pool, his head bobbing just above the water, he swiftly splashed healthy burst of water into Ian’s face, the chlorine stinging his eyes and nose.

“Fuck you, Gallagher!”

Ian coughed at the water that had shot up his nose, but immediately splashed Mickey back—and then, because there wasn’t any way this whole pool situation was going to go anyways, he and Mickey were immediately engaged in a life-and-death splash battle, circling each other in the middle section of the pool.

Ian was laughing so hard he felt a stitch in his side— and Mickey was finally grinning again, water dripping down his cheeks and clinging to his hair. After a few minutes Ian threw his hands in the air in surrender, the water cresting at his shoulders.

“Truce!”

Mickey splashed one more surge of water at Ian’s chest for good measure, grinning like a kid in a candy store— then he took a step closer to Ian, eyebrows raised.

“Truce.”

Ian beamed down at him, pressing a quick peck to the top of his damp hair. “Sorry for throwing you in the pool.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

“But in my defense, it had to happen eventually.”

Mickey shoved him squarely in the chest, taking a step back. “You ruined the fucking truce.”

Ian gave a smug smirk. “Do you wanna learn how to swim, or not?”

Mickey flicked another burst of water at him, just enough to cast a slew of droplets onto Ian’s cheeks. “Alright. Get coaching, Michael Phelps.”

Ian hadn’t really considered how he was actually going to teach Mickey to swim— but it couldn’t be that hard, right? He tried to think back to when Lip had taught him how to tread water, on an equally as sweltering day in the backyard pool, when the yard was packed with lawn chairs and drunk neighbors and smelled of ashy barbeque smoke.

“Okay. So you’ve gotta move your arms in circles, kinda, to stay floating. And your legs too.”

Ian swam over to the deeper end of the pool, just an arm’s length away from where he and Mickey’s feet could touch, and tried to demonstrate how to tread water. “I feel like the easiest way for you to learn is just by doing it. C’mere.”

Mickey looked at him reluctantly, brows furrowed again in an outward display of his bundled nerves. “No fucking way.”

Ian sighed in exasperation. “C’mon, Mick. I’ve got you. I’m not gonna let you drown, you can hold on to me the whole time.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow— but then hesitantly took a step towards Ian, the water reaching up to the bottom of his chin.

“Alright, good. Now step where you can’t reach and try to tread water like I did.”

Mickey stepped forward again, then started to circle his arms under the water— and he was doing great, for a second, before he seemed to get too in his head about the mechanics and started to grit his teeth.

“Little help here, Gallagher?”

Ian grinned and stepped forward. “Here, you can hang onto me.” He stood where Mickey could reach and grab onto his shoulders if he needed to— but Mickey seemed to regain his confidence, and was starting to steadily, if a little bit clumsily, tread water.

He kept it up for a while, until Ian could see that he was overexerting himself— waving his arms under the water with a little too much gusto, brows furrowed and his teeth digging into his lower lip in concentration.

“Mick, you’ve got it. Chill out for a sec.”

Ian reached an arm out, a branch for Mickey to grab on to— because he had been joking before, yes, but he really didn’t want Mickey to fucking drown— and when Mickey grasped onto it, Ian pulled Mickey towards him in the water, kicking backwards so they were suspended in the deeper end of the pool with Mickey clinging to Ian’s neck.

Mickey looked nervous as Ian veered them towards deeper waters, his eyes darting from side to side where they were floating, his fingers digging into the back of Ian’s neck— and Ian smirked at how freaked out he seemed, standing only a few feet from where they could both confidently stand on the tiled pool bottom. But Mickey didn’t resist, or try to propel himself back into the shallower waters— he let himself cling on to Ian, fingers interlaced behind the tops of Ian’s shoulders, as he kept them afloat. Ian laughed softly in a warm, wet gust across Mickey’s cheek. “You okay?”

He could feel the heat radiating off of Mickey’s body, squeezing up close against him— and Ian couldn’t help it, the wave of fondness that came over him as he looked down at where Mickey was pressed against his chest; trusting Ian to keep them above the water, trusting Ian enough to go along with his stupid plan to teach him to swim in a public pool on a random morning just because Ian wanted to. Ian couldn’t help but feel warmth in his stomach at this simple moment, at the two of them bobbing in the pool— at teaching his husband to swim, something Mickey’d never gotten to do as a kid but something that they had the rest of their lives to do together.

“Maybe we could teach Franny to swim next summer. If we have our own place.”

As he said it, Ian hoped that Mickey could see the flood of hopes that he had for them in his eyes— that he wanted a place with a pool, and a balcony, maybe a backyard, and maybe even a fucking garden—he’d always wanted to grow tomatoes. More than anything he wanted to build something sturdy, that could stand up to whatever ground would inevitably shift beneath them in the years to come— he’d been thinking about that a lot these days, especially with all of the pandemic shit that had pulled a rug out from under this entire neighborhood.

Mickey’s gaze flickered up from where it had been boring a panicky hole in Ian’s sternum, meeting Ian’s eyes at the phrase “our own place”— and Ian instantly knew that he got it, that he could see the dreams that Ian was building for the two of them right in front of their eyes. That after months and years of obstacles and chaos and other voices infiltrating their heads, now it was just them— now it was just Ian and Mickey, clinging to each other and drifting through the calm, chlorinated waters.

And maybe it was their proximity, or the intensity Ian knew he was pouring out in his gaze, but instantly the air between them shifted as Mickey looked up— starting to hang heavy like the press of the humidity in the air. Their faces were centimeters apart— and Mickey’s lips parted slightly, his eyes now cast downward at Ian’s lips. Ian could smell the sweet, warm beer on Mickey’s breath, mingling with his own; he looked at Mickey, whose arms were still wrapped around his neck, water dripping down his face from the hair that was fanning over his forehead—and Ian just had to pull him in, had to place a hand in the damp hair at the nape of Mickey’s neck and tug him closer, backing them against the tiled wall of the pool.

Ian could taste the faintest bitterness of chlorine on Mickey’s lips, from the water droplets lingering there, as he took Mickey’s bottom lip between his teeth. Mickey’s hands were still limply wrapped around Ian’s neck, keeping himself afloat— even though Ian had backed them against a wall in the shallow end of the pool again, and Mickey could probably touch his toes to the ground if he wanted to.

Ian raised his hand from under the water, wanting Mickey closer— he pressed a hand to the side of Mickey’s neck, slick with water, and slid a thumb over Mickey’s collarbone, pressing down with the pad of his fingers.

And Mickey gave a little involuntary noise from the back of his throat, sending a jolt down Ian’s spine.

Ian’s hands circling Mickey’s neck was definitely not a foreign concept while they were kissing—  it was something they did a lot these days, especially as their hours in bed had taken a turn from the crazed, I-missed-your-body-so-fucking-much sex they were having in the beginning days of being in prison together and those early months after Mickey had gotten released— but both in prison and during this fucking quarantine, they’d gotten a bit more experimental, and a bit more reckless—especially before Ian had gotten his warehouse job and they were still on their structureless “honeymoon,” spending entire days lounging in bed.

It was those days of lazy, languid kisses, after years and years of already knowing each other, that Ian realized that he was maybe a little bit obsessed with Mickey’s neck. He’d always joked about liking Mickey’s legs, and that was true too (if he was being honest, there wasn’t a part of Mickey’s body that didn’t make his blood run hotter)— but the first time Mickey had grabbed Ian’s hand and put it up to his neck while they were tangled together, pressing down until Ian’s hand covered most of his throat, Ian knew that they’d opened Pandora’s fucking box.

By this point, Ian’s hand was pretty much always on Mickey’s neck at some point while they were fucking or even just making out— if he was being totally honest, Ian’s hand was on Mickey’s neck more often than not in lots of contexts these days, once they realized how much they both loved it. But there was something about this current moment, of Mickey wantonly desiring a point of contact there, right now, while they were very randomly and decidedly making out while floating in a public pool on a lazy weekday afternoon, that made Ian’s blood run hotter than usual, and rush quicker through his veins.

Ian let the pads of his fingers creep up the velvet skin of the side of Mickey’s neck, pressing a little deeper, a prelude— he could feel the vibration of Mickey’s heartbeat starting to flutter from where Mickey was still pressed against his chest, still clinging to his neck in the water.

They’d already extensively discussed limits and everything, Mickey would tap his wrist twice if shit got too intense— but even with that in mind, Ian pulled apart from Mickey for a second, trailing ghosts of kisses up the side of his neck and nipping at the underside of Mickey’s jaw. Mickey stretched his neck back and gave a little involuntary sputter of a moan, bubbling out of his mouth before he could stop it. He fisted a hand in Ian’s hair, at the nape of his neck, and leaned forward again to press their lips together with more fervor.

Ian pulled back again, his upper back resting against the concrete lip of the pool. Mickey looked disheveled and wrecked, half-dry chlorine-crusted hair sticking up from where Ian’s other hand had been cradling the back of his head, his blue eyes gleaming and catching the over-bright summer light. Mickey was still clinging his arms around Ian’s neck, holding on— they were in a fucking pool, and Mickey still couldn’t really fucking swim yet— and even though they were standing in a place where Mickey’s toes could certainly touch the ground, the whole thing felt weirdly insular and intimate, like they had to cling to each other.

Mickey raised his eyebrows at Ian, like he was daring him to keep going.  

Ian leaned forward, breathing heavily into Mickey’s mouth, but not pressing their lips together yet—and he reached a hand up again, against Mickey’s tender skin. Mickey’s legs were wrapped around Ian’s hips now, locked like a vice to keep himself upright in the water— and he pressed a little harder, gently pulsing at the sides of Mickey’s neck, in tandem with their lips pressing together over and over again as the warm waters surrounded them—the whole thing, the whole combination, made Ian feel indescribably floaty and weird and warm and blissed out; his skin stinging like ice and fire at every point of contact, electricity  zapping his nerve endings wherever his fingertips met Mickey’s skin. Mickey fisted his hand harder at the back of Ian’s hair, nodding slightly—and they were definitely not going to fuck here, in the filth of a Southside public pool, but this insular closeness, the knowing what they both wanted to right now, was equally as thrilling and fulfilling to Ian in the moment. He could almost feel his own heart beating, reverberating as it pressed against Mickey’s chest, vibrating straight through Mickey and back to him as they clung to each other in the water.

Mickey’s body was thrumming, letting out little gasps of breath between kisses and touches—and Ian pulled back and dragged his lips down the side of Mickey’s neck, inhaling the sunwarmed skin. Fuck. He was never, never going to get enough of this.

**

Later, they’d dragged their water-heavy limbs back through the still summer streets to the Gallagher house, their skin pink and their bodies exhausted from soaking up the sun— and they’d collapsed into bed, feeling the dried chlorine coating their skin.

Ian reached a hand up, rubbing a thumb over Mickey’s cheek, their bodies pliant and fatigued— and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Thanks for letting me teach you how to swim.”

Mickey had smirked. “Yup, that was definitely the only highlight of today. Swimming.”

[bellaslilpapercut]

The combination of how the cullens behave towards people and how little they care (as per therealvinelles metas) and fuckmeyers metas and how often they are incredibly immoral and strange, what is their motive for vegitarianism? Like, their reasons for why they do it are clear sometimes but what is their internal justification for it? What do they think their motives are?

This is an interesting question!! I think for some of the cullens it's clearer and more consistent than others:

Carlisle: was prepared to die rather than violate the "sanctity of life" right from the moment he was turned. Now, what he considers life is definitely influenced by his (and meyer's) christianity*. He had no qualms with eating animals as a human or as a vampire. He also cares about the shifters up to a point. Based on book canon, he would never kill one of the pack members and he does value the treaty more than the others Cullens (especially Edward) but I think he also sees himself as somewhat superior to them. He ran tests on Jake's blood without consent, valuing his own curiosity over Jacob's right to his own body. But that's a whole other meta lol. Anyway, I think Carlisle, like many christians*, values "human" (he's added vampires and shifters to this) life period over quality of life. He didn't let Rose die because it would have been a "waste" but he didn't consider what a curse immortality would be for her. Alive in any condition is better than dead for Carlisle and I believe that is his core motivation for continuing the diet (and for turning the 4 vampires that he did).

Jasper: I put him second because I agree with @therealvinelle that Jasper might have figured out the vegetarian diet on his own eventually even if he'd never met alice. Jaspers gift made it painful for him to feed and in Eclipse he tells Bella that he went so far as to starve himself for periods of time just to avoid the emotional pain of feeding. His self control still isn't perfect but he is the only Cullen who personally needs the diet, not for moral reasons like Carlisle, but because feeding from humans is almost traumatizing for him.

Esme: her only motivation for the diet is carlisle. Honestly during my reread Esme comes across as nice, not kind, and very nearly agoraphobic. She avoids most humans except for Bella and only works in isolation (renovating a house by herself during NM). She isn't doing the diet because she likes being around people and needs to control her urges and blend, she isn't doing the diet out of compassion (she told Edward he could eat Bella in MS if that's what he needed to do), and she has no physical or emotional need like Jasper to refrain from eating humans. She only does it because Carlisle, the man she had romanticized and adored since she was 16, "saved" her and taught her this diet. She does it for him.

Rosalie: Rosalie is also in a unique position within the Cullen clan because for her the diet is not about morals or need but control. And with her "origin story" so to speak, it makes perfect sense. The last moments of her life were senseless violence. For her, whether she would admit it or not, the diet is entirely about exerting control over her current undead life. Regaining the agency that was taken from her in her last moments of life and in the first moments of her life as a vampire. You can see it in the way she speaks of her record as well- she doesn't care that she isn't killing humans or drinking them, she cares because she has self control. She is empowered by her spotless feeding record and she feels justified in the deaths she did cause (even brushing off the two guards she killed to get to Royce).

Edward: Edward only does the diet for his own internal theater. He's wrapped up in his own unfolding drama- when he turns away from Carlisle he turns himself into a vigilante, scouring the night for sexual predators, drug abusers, pedophiles, and deviants. It's very Film Noir for him. He tells Bella that he couldn't bear to kill "good" humans which was why he went after "villains" when he did break from the diet but as we learn in MS when he fantasizes about killing literally the entire Quileute tribe, Edward doesn't care about killing "good" humans either. Edward would kill anyone as long as the reason was justified by his own theater. He'd kill Mike Newton out of "love," he'd kill deviants on the street to "prove" himself, he'd even try to kill to whole Volturi just to martyr himself and "prove" that they really were evil after all. Edward only does the vegetarian diet while it fits with his self image. With Bella, he sees himself as saintly, "like carlisle," punishing himself with thirst so that he deserves the Bella Madonna he invented in his own head. And of course, a lot of his self image and image of world is warped into a wonky Carlisle shape because he's fully obsessed with his creator. He does the diet in part for carlisle (which we see in NM when Alice "sees" edward killing hundreds of tourists in volterra and then changing his mind so that he doesn't disappoint carlisle) and in part because of his own mental theater.

Emmett, Alice, & Bella: all three do the diet because "that's what cullens do." They aren't motivated by love of carlisle, like Esme, even if they may all respect carlisle (tbh I wouldn't believe that any of them feel love for anyone though that comes down to meyers ability to show genuine love in the first place. But again that's a whole other meta lolol). They don't really care about humans at all as all three have the "slip ups happen, lol" attitude about eating humans. Alice does the diet because she "saw" it, Emmett does the diet because Carlisle turned him, Bella does the diet because she's a Cullen. If edward wanted to leave and go on a binge-eating road trip through every city in america, Bella would tag along.

Renesmee: honestly I don't remember BD well and I'm not there yet in my reread but I vaguely remember Renesmee being capable of biting humans (and Jacob) without killing them. If this is the case, I don't think Renesmee will be following the diet for very long at all because why bother reigning herself in if she can sip on a human with no real consequence of murder?

Of course, I assume Renesmee will still be "vegetarian" in meyers threatened sequel because the out of universe reason the cullens have to be vegetarians is simply, they need to be superior. They need to stand out from those other nasty vampires who are only vegetarians for sex or worse, aren't vegetarians at all! The theme of valuing existence over quality of life is really consistent throughout the saga, from Carlisle's choice to turn the cullens that he did to Bella's decision to keep Renesmee. Its a very pro-life series through and through.

* I didn't want to get too wordy there but I mean the US's specific brands of christianity like evangelicalism and mormonism. In the US, christians value "sanctity of life" over quality of life in every way. (Ergo why it's easier to pass abortion bans than universal healthcare here.) I don't think meyer really paid much attention to historical accuracy when she wrote Carlisle (if she thought london had sewers in the 17th century, I doubt she would know the nuanced differences between modern and early protestantism) so I think his own religious beliefs are more reflective of modern US christianity than 17th century britain's christianity. *

[emersonfreepress]

Hey do you think you will ever set up a patreon?

I think... I'll be sticking with Ko-fi. Specifically because they finally have monthly tiered subscriptions! Nothing is launched yet, however, because I'd like to close out some old commissions first and life is rude and disruptive. personal explanation below, for those curious/interested:

i was technically no longer employed at my last job in late July but like... what I wasn't talking about was the fact that I was still going in every week to close out my desk 😅😅 no one made me do it. it's just that the office only has three people in it (two without me), corporate still hadn't hired my replacement, one of my co-workers caught COVID, and the other co-worker is one of my best friends in the world and had to do their job and pick up the slack for both of our absences so—i couldn't leave them hanging with an unfinished, unorganized desk. normally, that should have been stuff i handled during my last weeks there, but there were about ten urgent things going on that made it completely impossible while I was still full-time. (which i have Feelings and Thoughts about, but that's truly getting into too much irrelevant info lol) however, i'm finally nearly finished for real with them. the desk is done, they got a new person; i did a bit of training this week and will finish training them on Monday. (to say this dragged out is an understatement, such is my life 😑)

i'm also planning for a trip to the US this month in anticipation of moving back there temporarily in March(-ish) of next year. the bank i'm with doesn't make transfers to the US, however, so i've also been trying to move money around and tidy up some personal things before i go. not to mention the trip is partly a road trip since i have to scope out new places to live. ugh, just a lot going on non-stop 🙄 been doing a lot of budgeting this week.

annnnnd of course there's the element of people who previously expressed support for my decision back in April/May suddenly having very loud, very insistent opinions about how much of a mistake I have made and am making. this isn't affecting me too much personally, but it is emotionally taxing. without venting a ton, this is pretty par for the course in my personal life. but i'm fucking 30 and i can no longer base my life decisions around what well-meaning (and less so) 50-year-olds believe i should be doing. especially since i don't have any dependents. ppl are scolding and wagging their finger at me in such a way that you'd think i have kids or something? but my personal expenses are genuinely so low outside of healthcare. been dealing with a lot of judgment and heteronormative panic masquerading as concern the last month. again, i'm fine. not overly affected.

but yeah, i'm sure you can imagine this hasn't been the most conducive environment for getting good writing done lately. i try every day though 😫

[alatismeni-theitsa]

Tips for not ruining your trip to Greece

Coronavirus and Medical care

First of all, if you can, it’s better to postpone your trip to Greece for another year. (For the year 2021). Sorry to start my post like this but let me explain. It’s likely you have another corona variant than the locals and if you infect them, their vaccination will be for nothing and they will have to pass more months of a super strict, borderline fascist lockdown. Also... you might be infected with another variant. If you MUST come, please wear a mask at all times and keep distances! (The same goes for Greeks who want to visit other countries).

Tourism is great but too many tourists will get the country back to square one pandemic-wise. If our healthcare system gets overloaded, a tourist won’t get sufficient healthcare either if something happens to them! I mean, our healthcare system is still overloaded due to corona patients so... I don’t know if it’s a good move to come here right now. In case of emergency, I am not sure if you will receive fast or proper care.

Generally, it’s good to know some stuff in Greek about your condition because half of Greece doesn’t speak English. Doctors are likely to understand the condition in English (because most of English health words come from Greece) but I’d say be prepared for good measure. Write your allergens and conditions in Greek on a paper in your wallet and hand it to someone if you need them to know. Learn important words such as “medicine“, “sick“, “It hurts” etc. (or have them written down somewhere. The important thing is that you can say them or show them to Greeks).

You can ask me if you can’t find the translation of some phrases and don’t how you pronounce them. Avoid the Erasmian pronunciation. It was made so foreigners can learn Greek easier, but it sounds alien to Greeks and it’s not likely it’ll help you.

Protection from the elements

I don’t understand how half the globe thinks we are a tropical place or a dessert and then they don’t prepare at all for a tropical place or a dessert when they come here in Summer xD At least being over-prepared would help! So...

Don’t come in Summer??? Yes, I know, it sounds stupid but you really don’t have to come in the peak of tourist season. Coming early May, June, September and October (where the sea is still warm) will get you a good tourist experience with less crowds and heat. If you are disabled and/or easily overwhelmed, avoiding the peak season will probably do you good. You can come any month really. We have different places for different seasons. All it takes is five minutes of googling.

If you come from a less sunny place (no matter your skin color) make sure to always wear more sunscreen than usual!! If the sun is up, always wear sunscreen when going outside - don’t forget your face and nape!!

Avoid going out at 12:00-16:00 and don’t stay under the sun too long! If you catch yourself being outside the hours 12:00-16:00 GET INSIDE no matter how alluring the sea or the pool looks. A sunstroke can rob you of 2-3 days of fun and waste your money. 

If you are light skinned, red skin indicates your skin is hurt. (You’d be surprised to learn how many people don’t get it). Cover the red part and don’t continue going out in the sun for long. The rest of your skin is going to become red and peel soon if you don’t take care. If you are out, have the red part very well covered! Moisturizing creams help red skin a lot.

Wear a hat, it only helps! (it can make a small difference when it comes to sunstroke) Also, it’s better to *cover* your skin to protect it from intense sunlight! (no matter your skin color) Don’t be fooled by the heat and start going around in your swimwear for hours!

Swimming doesn’t protect you from the sun! The water reflects the sunlight and you can get even more damage! (Usually people have half of the body out of the water and that’s where the light hits).

When the light starts getting quite low prepare for mosquitos. Mosquito repellent sprays, creams and candles, as well as mosquito nets on the doors and windows, are your friends! Avoid getting near to bodies of sweet water.

Drink lots of water frequently! Take many bottles with you in a bag, I am not joking. Observe your urine to see if it’s darker than usual - if it is, then you need to hydrate more, no matter what you feel you are doing. Don’t drink *frozen* water (just mildly cold, “δροσερό”). Frozen water is not as refreshing and helpful as you think. It can also hurt your neck and lungs if they get exposed to frozen water constantly and make them irritated and swollen. (Lungs get cold because of the water going down near them. It’s rare, but it happens)

Make sure your alcoholic drinks are safe! Ask the locals if any place is notorious for serving adulterated alcoholic drinks and better avoid getting cheap alcohol from the kiosk (unless the kiosk has a stock of a reasonably priced sealed bottles of a certain brand you trust. But then again... still be hesitant).

For your wallet health

Do all the above to avoid sunstrokes and dehydration or say goodbye to your free days and money :P

Exchange homes with a Greek for a month. There are some programs which do that. If you are that type of person, this solution might work for you. You even can stay with your Greek friends for some days, if that’s possible for them.

You don’t have to go to an island. We have plenty of places that are just as gorgeous and more merciful to your wallet. If you want to go to an island, there are some cheaper ones. And, even though each island has a unique history, lots of islands have similar environment and aesthetics.

Avoid tourist traps (trust me, you’ll be attracted to them, even Greeks get attracted there and then regret it :p)  and search the area for other restaurants before sitting somewhere. For cheap but qualitative food use the supermarkets, your local bakery and cooked meal restaurants. (Try ordering from sites like efood.gr and deliveras.gr)

For souvenirs spend money on something that you can’t get in your country. Don’t get a cactus souvenir on a plain pot and say “I got that from Greece” because it won’t show and nobody will care xD Buy something more... obvious. (Ok I don’t mean you have to buy a shirt that says “GREECE”, something more subtle, if you like :p)

You can probably find the same souvenir for cheaper in another less popular tourist area (or even in the shop ten meters down the road!).

[onlysarah235678]

A Little Bit

Pairing: Billie Dean Howard x female reader

Request: Can you write about the reader working in healthcare/retail (during or not during COVID-your choice) and she meets Billie and they hit it off?

A/N:  So I wrote this a lot faster than I thought I would…don’t expect that to happen again. I hope this is okay. I decided to write about the members of healthcare we don’t always hear about. Also, my friend’s a vet so… enjoy?

Warnings: None? Brief mention of bugs?

It had been wandering around her neighborhood for weeks, but it wasn’t until today that Billie Dean paid it much attention. She’d assumed that the cat was one of her neighbor’s and they just let it roam around. She’d seen its lithe black form darting across the streets on days when she returned from filming late into the night, but besides briefly wondering about where it was going, she never spared it much thought.

However, as she peered under her deck at the sound of quiet meows, she realized she had a problem. She had been out working in her garden on one of her rare days off when she heard it. The medium had turned and seen a pair of eyes from across the yard, and despite her better judgement she went to investigate.

Now, as she stared at the black cat surrounded by her litter of 6, she had a feeling she wouldn’t be getting back to her garden anytime soon.

“Dr. Y/L/N, Lindsey just added another one to your morning.”

You tried not to groan in annoyance when you heard one of the vet assistants say this to you. The day had barely started, but things had been ridiculously busy. The practice you worked at had up to 5 other doctors working at a time on a regular weekday, but since today was Saturday, there were only two working.

Dr. Hahn and you.

The schedule had already been booked by the time you arrived to work, and it was just luck that you had a cancellation for your 11:30 slot. You had already planned on taking an early lunch when news of another appointment being scheduled came. You tried not to be annoyed because this was your job and you did love it. You were just exhausted. It had been a long week.

A long month really.

Since moving to L.A after finishing school, you hadn’t spent much time doing anything other than work. Let alone getting to know the city. You had jumped into your work and spent almost every waking minute thinking about it. As a new vet, you were trying your best to prove yourself and make a good impression at your job. You thought you were doing a fairly good job, but you hadn’t allowed yourself to have much time to yourself.

Other than walking your dog, Milo, who had made the cross-country trip with you, most of your free time was spent making sure you had the most up-to-date information out there to offer your clients. You didn’t want to be caught off guard, not again.

You eventually smiled at the assistant and thanked her despite wanting to glare instead.

“Thank you, Erin.”

It wasn’t her fault you weren’t getting your early lunch.

After corralling the cat and her kittens into the most suitable container she could find, Billie Dean was on her way to the vet. She had called a couple and unfortunately hadn’t been able to get an appointment so last minute. She had almost given up, when the last one she’d called had luckily had a cancellation for only about an hour away.

It was perfect timing until it took her almost 20 minutes to get the cats out from under the deck. The mom hadn’t trusted her immediately and it had taken some coaxing before she’d risked reaching out to pet the mother. While speaking more reassurances that she was sure the cats didn’t understand, Billie Dean collected all 6 kittens and the mother and loaded them into the front seat.

It wasn’t until she started driving that she realized she might be late. This clinic was almost 30 minutes away with normal weekend traffic. Billie Dean sighed before she made sure that all of the cats were still settled in the box before beginning to drive a little bit faster.

Hopefully she wouldn’t be too late.

“They’re late.”

You hadn’t realized it immediately because your last appointment ran over, but once 11:40 rolled around you realized that your 11:30 had never shown up.

You had looked over the details of the appointment quickly realizing that hopefully it would be routine kitten stuff. You hadn’t recognized the name of the owner because well, you didn’t watch much television. It wasn’t until the assistant you were working with for the morning, commented on it, that you realized that Billie Dean Howard was anything special.

“Oh no! She didn’t show up?? Ugh, I was dying to meet her.”

You turned to your disappointed assistant, Erin with a confused frown. You continued to type up your medical note from the last appointment before asking off-handedly.

“Who did you say she was again?”

If you had been paying more attention, you would have noticed Erin shoot you an incredulous look. Instead you were writing about the last patient’s bloodwork when the brunette finally answered you.

“Look, Dr. Y/L/N. I know you’re new to town, but how do you not know who Billie Dean Howard is?”

You just shrugged while shooting the younger woman a sheepish look. You were very good about being the last to know things. It wasn’t your fault you were so out of touch from school. There had hardly been any time for television when you were always studying.

“Sorry, you know I don’t watch much tv.”

Erin shook her head with a sigh before she decided to take pity on you. You finished typing your note and turned to face the other brunette as she explained to you who your missed appointment had been.

“She’s a famous medium who goes to various places around the world that are haunted for her television show. It’s so good, I watched an entire season yesterday.”

Before you had a chance to ask how that was possible, Lindsey appeared with a piece of paper and a sympathetic smile on her face.

“Your 11:30 is here.”

You looked at the clock, it was a quarter to noon, before you just nodded with a small smile. Lindsey handed the check in sheet to Erin who grabbed it with an excited squeal that made you nearly roll your eyes.

At least one of you were excited for this.

Billie Dean was beyond stressed. She had been making good time for her appointment, when the mom cat, she’d taken to calling her Bit, had decided to jump out of the box and explore her car. She’d been so distracted and worried that she’d slowed to the point that people were honking her off the road. She’d stopped in a parking lot to try and get Bit back into the box, but as soon as the door opened, she’d jumped out.

Billie had questioned her decision to not just ignore the cat this morning as she spent the next 15 minutes trying to catch Bit and return her to the car.

Now, she was really late and she knew that she had probably missed her appointment. She hurried inside with the box, making sure to hold onto Bit so she didn’t jump out again before opening the front door. She hurried toward the counter with an apologetic smile and a hopeful look.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. I had a bit of a time getting here. I have an appointment for 11:30.”

Billie figured she didn’t need to give her name because the look on the receptionist’s face when she saw her was telling enough. She was used to having fans so she just smiled politely as the other blonde, Lindsey, her nametag said, nodded frantically and ran to the printer.

“Of course, Ms. Howard. I’ll let them know you’re here.”

Billie watched as the younger blonde nearly ran toward the back before she sat down with a sigh. She looked at the box of cats with a small smile. She scratched Bit’s chin before she checked on each of the kittens. They all looked so tiny and weak. They all were huddled up in the middle of the box sleeping on top of each other. It was truly adorable.

“Ms. Howard?”

The medium had been too busy contemplating how many of the kittens she could keep to realize that someone else had entered the waiting room. She looked up to see a brunette smiling at her and holding a door to the back open. She jumped up, clutching onto the box carefully before making her way over to the woman in scrubs.

“Hi. I’m sorry I’m late.”

Erin just smiled and shook her head as she led Billie Dean to a nearby exam room. She’d already screamed silently before coming to get the blonde so she wouldn’t geek out, but she couldn’t help but be a little starstruck by the medium’s presence.

“It’s not a problem, we’re just glad to see kittens on our schedule.”

You waited while your assistant got the history from Billie Dean. From where you were seated in the pharmacy, you could hear some of what was being said. It sounded like a standard visit. No issues except for apparently a random cat decided to have kittens underneath Billie’s porch. You tried not to overthink this visit as you listened to the blonde talk to her assistant. You hadn’t been nervous before because you hadn’t really needed to be.

Except that was when you hadn’t known that you were going to be seeing someone who was famous. Someone whose name you didn’t even recognize, but that was beside the point. The point was that now that the idea was in your head, you were freaking out a little bit.

You could hear a slight accent in her voice and you couldn’t help but smile at it. It sounded cute.

You sat up slightly, startled at the sudden thought. You shook your head scolding yourself for being so unprofessional and attempted to push that thought to the back of your mind. You turned at the sound of the exam door opening and watched as Erin shut it behind her quietly with a huge smile on her face.

“She’s so cool. Oh my god that was so cool!”

She whisper screamed at you and you couldn’t help but laugh in amusement. Someone was clearly starstruck. Hopefully she could get through this without embarrassing them. Or at least her. Anyone. Hopefully no one would be embarrassed.

“Hi, Ms. Howard. I’m Y/F/N, Y/L/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

You were surprised by what greeted you inside the exam room. The cat that was bouncing around the room was less of a surprise than the woman who sat in one of the chairs against the wall. You had to stop herself from showing your surprise as you took in the blonde who you’d never heard of until about an hour ago.

Billie Dean Howard wasn’t what you’d been expecting. She was middle-aged with honey blonde hair that fell in neat curls. She was wearing a silk blouse and a skirt with heels. She was definitely the most dressed up of all of your clients today. God, she was beautiful and you had to remind yourself to not stare at her legs as you held out your hand.

The medium smiled as she reached out her own hand and shook yours. Her hand was so soft, but you counted to two before releasing it with a shake of your head.

“Nice to meet you Dr. Y/L/N. I apologize for being so late.” You smiled at the thought of what Erin had told you. It sounded like she had a hell of a time getting here. You couldn’t blame her after what she’d gone through to simply get these cats looked at.

“No need. It sounds like this one was quite the troublemaker.” You pet Bit as she wandered over to you to check you out, and you smiled as she rubbed her face on your hand.

You noticed Billie roll her eyes with a sigh and you couldn’t help but smile at what she said.

“She definitely was. That’s where her name came from after all.”

You frowned in confusion but didn’t get a chance to ask before Billie was explaining herself. She eyed you curiously as she shrugged indifferently.

“I may have called her, her name with an added ‘ch’ a couple times on the way here. Specifically, while I was chasing her around a Denny’s parking lot.”

You tried not to laugh at the ridiculous image that conjured in your brain, but it was useless. You were laughing before you could help it because honestly who wouldn’t find this elegant woman running after a cat in a parking lot hilarious.

You stifled your laughter before you cleared your throat and shot Billie a smile. “Well, it sounds like the name suits her.”

You examine each of the kittens carefully, and confirm that they are less than a week old since their eyes are still closed. They are all a little buggy from living under the deck so you deworm them and Bit so she won’t spread any parasites to them. As you explain this to Billie while applying the medication, you notice that she is shooting you an odd look. You don’t really worry too much about it because it’s probably just confusion from a too-sciency word you used.

When the kittens are all checked out and the mom is back in the box resting with them, you decide that you should figure out what happens next.

“They’ll need their mom for milk for the next month, but have you decided if you want to keep them?”

Erin leaves at this point because now that the exams are done, you’re mostly just talking. You pretend not to notice how she is reluctant to leave, and instead focus on Billie’s wide eyes as she shakes her head with a laugh.

“No, I don’t think I can keep them all. Maybe one or two. I don’t want to be known as the crazy old cat lady.”

You laugh again before moving your stethoscope off the exam table so it’s not sitting in all of the baby food you fed to Bit. “You’re definitely not old, Ms. Howard.”

You nearly slap your hand to your mouth as your eyes widen in mortification. God you did not just say that did you? You look to the blonde about to apologize, but you see her smiling at you instead. You hear her teasing tone and blush despite your best efforts at what she says in response.

“Thank you dear, but please. Call me Billie.”

You nod dumbly before you start picking off some of the black hair on your coat, only to give up after a few seconds. You’re covered and you miss the amused look Billie shoots you as you try to get back on track.

“Okay, Billie. Well once they’re old enough, you can take them to a shelter, or you can bring them here. We adopt out kittens. Our last ones actually just went home with some clients.”

It’s nearly 12:30 when you’re finished answering some of Billie’s general questions. You had an assistant find a carrier for Billie to take so she wouldn’t have to worry about Bit escaping again. You load the cats into it while Billie gets checked out at the front desk. By the time she gets back, you have only Bit left to put in.

Of course she decides she’d rather run around the room though. You ignore your growling stomach which conveniently covers up the sound of the door opening behind you as you hurry to catch the cat.

“Come here you little, Bit. You need to get in here so your mom doesn’t lose you at Denny’s again.”

Once you finally get her inside the carrier and close it with a sigh, you realize that you are being watched. You look up from where you’re kneeling on the ground to see Billie watching you from the doorway with a smile. You fight a blush as you pick up the carrier carefully before taking a step toward the door.

“Here, let me help you to your car.”

Billie shook her head. She’d already taken up a lot of your time. It was nearly 1 and most everyone else was on lunch.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, sweetheart. I’ve already taken up too much of your time.”

Billie looked like she was going to argue, but you just stood with the carrier held in your hand with a smile. Ready to go. She sighed and your smile widened as you followed the blonde out of the building.

You nearly stop short at the pet name, the second pet name she’s used, but you recover just in time to shake your head with a smile.

“Don’t be silly. It’s not a problem.”

You arrive to her car without incident and she opens the backdoor for you. You smile before placing them in the back seat, trying not to be too nosy as you duck into her car before standing up straight again.

“You’re all set, Ms—Billie.”

Billie smiles at your save as she shuts the door behind you. You stand by awkwardly as she takes a moment to study you. She opens her mouth to say something but stops short before simply nodding.

“Thank you again. It was nice to meet you, Dr. Y/L/N.”

You blush before waving her off as you look away to hopefully save face before responding. “Y/F/N, please and you too.”

As you’re about to turn away and head back inside for some much-needed lunch when something occurs to you. You smile slightly as you dig into your pocket and grab a card to hand to her. The medium takes your business card with a smile, and her fingers brush against yours briefly. Your cheeks redden and you curse yourself when you see Billie’s smile turn into a smirk. You manage to speak up before she can and drop your hand away and into your pocket.

“My card. In case you have any questions. You can call us or email anytime.”

Billie looked over the card, realizing that it had the clinic’s number and a shared email address on it. She decided not to be deterred and shot the blushing doctor a curious look.

“So in the event of an emergency, and the clinic’s closed…what number would I call?”

You laughed nervously as you thought about your options. You could tell that Billie was flirting. You were dense, but not that dense, and you decided to take a risk. You shrugged before you dug around in your pocket once again for a pen before reaching out for the card you’d just given away.

“Well you could call the emergency clinic up the road, or you can call me. Whichever.”

Billie looks at the number that you scrawled down with a grin. “This is your personal number?”

You smirked before taking a step back toward the building hoping to retreat before you say something too dumb. “It is. To use for emergencies or whatever else.”

You smile a little wider as Billie’s face lights up and she shoots you a suggestive look. You merely laugh before turning around and heading back inside. You know she’s watching you, but you don’t turn around until you reach the door. You’re not surprised to see her still standing there watching, and you shoot her one last smile and wave before ducking back inside.

Part 2 

[flutter2deceive]

Inspired by @everybodyknows-everybodydies recent ER dream posts, I figured I'd share some of my ER dreams from the past year. I text myself whatever i remember after waking up from interesting dreams so that's the grammatically incorrect format they're in lol

buffy out on the streets moving vans with her strength, timothy olyphant is a vampire and he and his vamp buddies need romano to inject blood back into his circulatory system so he can go out in daylight again, they're taunting him like "come on didn't buffy train with you for a week to be a surgeon before giving up?", idk

The coolest stop motion video ever of this ER drawing turned into a storyline, mark leaves i guess jennifer and is running down the hallway to someone and i'm curious to see if it will be susan or elizabeth, it's elizabeth but then the pov switches to susan and she continues running down the hall to the trauma coming in and she high-fives abby and it's like the main point of contact for all the friendly characters when they do something cool is to high-five, watching this whole thing run thru and have the absolute biggest look of gleeful wonder on my face, i say some very nice words and hope they make it to whoever the author/vid marker are

In a steam engine room like that titanic ep of newsradio, there were also demons, so hell??, then there was a thing about carter being gay and in love with his best friend but then he called me lisa (which is my name) but i took that to mean that it was actually dave and it was a whole thing about maura tierney's fake ex-boyfriends?, and carter was out in my parents' front yard confessing his love but he accidentally stepped in the path of a chainsaw and the top of his toe got chopped off so then he was in a wheelchair

Kerry and elizabeth talking about sandy and mark and how they dread talking to henry and ella about them without breaking down, but it's also like they're still there, and then it's kerry and mark having the same convo but it's mark talking about his dad, they're in the hospital bathroom, a scene where sandy is temping in a library at the hospital and arizona robbins also working there and the implication is that they used to date, arizona comes up to sandy's table and notices that she seems to be doing wedding planning meanwhile kerry is sitting by herself at another table, arizona is judgy about what appears to be sandy chasing a girl who's in the closet and ashamed, sandy explains that kerry doesn't know and it's a surprise which is why she has the flashmob people standing 2 deep around kerry's table so she doesn't see the minister bringing the shrubbery in (this never happens in the dream but also what?? lol), then kerry has a successful hip replacement surgery that luka performed and mark is telling everyone about it, susan and abby were just starting to feel out a relationship and were making out in the bathroom

The er hospital but housed in an amalgam of my workplace and childhood church, i guess i'm like an orderly?, corday is pregnant and examining a patient and she's like ready-to-pop pregnant but she's still insistent that she's good to work until she's 8cm dilated and she's only 6 right now, we're all like dude go up to ob now, she's doing like yoga stretches on the floor to alleviate pain but still insists she's fine, meanwhile her patient is like ???, her water breaks and romano is gonna take her up to surgery, there's a space issue at the elevators and only he can fit, me and the other orderly say we'll take her up on the gurney in the other bank of elevators, we go flying down the hall and yelling for people to move cuz mrs corday's-- "sorry, dr. corday's"-- water broke, we get stopped by a security guard who won't let us through and then stopped again cuz there's construction in the warehouse, somehow romano manages to get lizzie but me and the other orderly are locked out, go to a bar downstairs to wait and nick kroll is there and he alerts everyone at the bar to the fact that he found several fan art/fic hits for "nick kroll/luka kovac" on the company's subreddit, he seems oddly intrigued, how weird of a pairing

In the future, there are no doctors because they're all burnt out from covid so healthcare in the future is just holograms of scenes from er but they're not the medical scenes they're the relationship drama stuff, alex kingston is named ceo of brain things due to her time on both er and doctor who, an interviewer asks what her favorite katy perry song is and romano answers for her, then maura tierney kicks everyone's ass at a banquet

The specifics elude me but somehow abby made it so that neela's memories of gallant's death are erased, and he's not exactly alive but also not dead, maybe she went back in time and changed something or had magic?, but neela is now texting with michael who is actually abby with his phone pretending to be him, abby is feeling really guilty for playing around with life and death and neela's feelings when she didn't have a gameplan, she ends up telling weaver she did something extremely morally questionable, now the two of them have to think thru how to handle the situation, neela is concerned now cuz michael texted that he'd talk with her at 23:00 but he hasn't called yet, then there's this really annoying intern that's pissing all the docs off, weaver starts to say something and ppl think she's gonna tell this woman off but she's like "this is an intern that's working here? She should be the hospital's lawyer", and then abby and susan smirk at each other and put on a tie? Idk but i think it's a different reality than the gallant-still-alive one

On a road trip or something and get back to abby's apartment, i may be susan but also possibly just me, we get the luggage from the car and while abby is trying to find her keys to unlock the door, we hear a noise from down the alley, the blonde woman that luka had been flirting with is near the luggage and is drunk or high, we wrestle with our conscience on whether to help her, she ends up asking to crash on the couch, abby and i get her inside and on the couch, we then end up sharing the bed and giggling

Caring for romano while he was in the hospital, mei lin from top chef is a med student and robert keeps insulting her, i think i might be corday, order a butterfinger and bottle of water from the hospital convenience store, go back to robert's room, he's muttering about the salad they brought him, i ask if he wants me to tell the nurse that he wants them to leave the salad for when he wakes from his nap, he squints up at me and smiles, says that his coping mechanism for stress is egg salad, idk

Living an ep of ER, i am susan, walking to my car alongside elizabeth, we're kinda tensely discussing when the kids will be at each of our houses for the holidays, i say let's just fuck it and join our celebrations, it's like a thing as if mark actually used to be married to susan and had a kid, don't know if it was supposed to be little suzie or rachel, elizabeth smiles unexpectedly and my heart kicks up, get in our cars and drive off, i am fumbling with a cigarette and the lighter from the car, drop them both as i'm driving down the hill out of the hospital parking lot, but now i am abby and have the season 9 hair, keep talking about this guy coworker i'm secretly seeing but it's actually susan and i'm trying to throw people off the scent, and there's something also about trixie and katya in this part of the dream but i don't remember specifically what, maybe guest star patients?

[forasecondtherewedwon]

The Stripping Point

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E (explicit sexual content) Word count: 6387

Happy Birthday, @spiderman-homecomeme​!

Summary: Peter's ready to turn his new hobby into a profitable sideline. Unfortunately, he writes down his very first client's address incorrectly and shows up at the wrong house.

MJ opens the door to find some guy dressed as Spider-Man and decides the best way to mess with him is to let him stay. Almost immediately, she loses the upper hand.

Quarantine puts people out of work. A lotta people at first, then less, but never Peter. He keeps shooting for the Bugle, lugging his camera all over the city (instead of squeezing onto buses and subway cars that never really get that much less crowded) while he breathes heavily through his mask. He only takes pictures at outdoor spaces to try to avoid both crowds and loners who hassle him for taking preventative measures during the pandemic. They’re stressed, he gets that, but Peter doesn’t wanna be anywhere near conflict. Spider-Man, on the other hand… Well, when he puts on that mask, it’s pretty much business as usual. He appreciates his face covering more than ever and, hey, it’s cool to do a job with social distancing built in.

His gratitude for the web-slinging side-gig only increases as the weeks of pandemic life stretch into months and Jameson starts ordering him back into situations that are just plain stupid from a health perspective. Never mind that he got kinda accidentally stabbed the other week. It’s a totally different set of dangers. Peter resists the new assignments and because Jameson’ll be in deep shit if his number one Spider-Man photographer makes a fuss about working conditions (and because people are getting so desperate for employment that he can pay a new hire even less than Peter’s paltry freelancing rate), the Bugle shells out for another photographer to cover the work Peter won’t do. Good for Peter’s health, bad for Peter’s bank account―which is already whimpering with hunger pangs from sitting near-empty after paying rent. This gets him thinking. It might be time to turn his early-quarantine hobby into his mid-to-late-quarantine money-maker.

Yeah, pandemic hobbies! By April, it seemed to him like everybody was picking something up. Bread-making, yoga, sewing masks for healthcare workers left criminally under-equipped. The hobby Peter picked up, well… it’s a little different. He began practicing it indoors (obviously), by himself, and with skills gained from reading and watching material on the internet. In those ways, it’s a lot like other people’s hobbies. In some other ways, it’s very, very different. Like, instead of putting on specialized clothing like an apron or yoga pants, Peter’s hobby requires taking clothes off. It’s stripping. Peter’s hobby is stripping.

A few things led to him picking that over sourdough or Sun Salutations. Peter loves not only old movies but also old music. Old movies with iconic dance scenes? That’s, like, the perfect combo. He spends a lot of his downtime playing music in his apartment and, when he’s not wiped or injured, dancing along. He figures it’s good for his mood as well as his fitness. Seriously, he can only do so many chin-ups on the metal bar braced in his bathroom doorframe (which is starting to crack). Patrick Swayze’s solo routine from the end of Dirty Dancing is way more fun, even if Peter did tear the knees on a couple pairs of sweatpants because of it. The more music he listened to, the more he started freestyling his own moves in between those of leading men. It was that―trying to create something good of his own―that helped him understand the routines he watched. He figured out the balance between precision and sex appeal and somewhere in there, he realized he was performing for an audience in his head. And what this imaginary audience wanted wasn’t always the goofiness of acting out Risky Business and sliding across the short strip of bare floor between his kitchen and living room in socks, underwear, and a white shirt. Sometimes, the audience wanted him to lose the shirt.

At that point, Peter was once again wandering out of what he knew. He was comfortable with movie dances, had a little of his own repertoire, but he lacked this extra element of storytelling; it was the one that took him from fully dressed down to boxers and socks without tripping and struggling and falling into his meager possessions. That was when he turned to the internet and confronted the fact that he wanted to learn how to strip. If he happened to stumble into related tutorials on how to give a lap dance, who would know? Who was there to judge Peter as he performed for an empty kitchen chair, dragging his hand along the back and body-rolling to buck his hips towards where someone’s face would be? Yeah, it was kinda embarrassing while he was learning, but he had the endurance to try a move over and over until he nailed it, the strength to draw out isolated movements like twitching his hips to keep his butt drawing circles on the lap of his invisible patron, and the overall coordination of, well, Spider-Man. Which ends up being the most important piece of all because, when Peter decides to take his show on the road (or at least out of his tiny apartment), his ‘stage’ name requires about a second of thought. Spider-Man. He’ll go by Spider-Man. He laughs his ass off when he thinks of it. It’s fucking genius! Spider-Man stripping as himself is the last thing anyone would ever suspect!

Naturally, Peter can’t use any of his actual Spidey suits. Those would probably give him away. Also, he’d feel weird about having Karen’s voice in his ear while he flexed his abs next to somebody’s head. Fortunately, after a little digging―which turns into a lot of digging and leaves his room a mess of comingled clean and dirty clothes―he finds his original suit. The zip-up hoodie plus sweatpants one. Yeah, its technological capabilities are basically zero, it’s a little grimy, and too tight, but he doesn’t need it to do anything besides come off. The wear-and-tear will lend genuine-fake authenticity to his character and the snugness around his more developed muscles (it’s been a decade since he wore it last) will make it… sexier? He guesses? The most important thing is the mask, which is the only part of his costume he won’t strip off. Apart from his underwear, obviously. He’s not that wild.

He gets to work cutting a vertical line up each leg of his sweatpants, then sews in snaps. Boom, tearaways. They look kinda shitty, but if he’s any good at all, whoever he dances for shouldn’t be staring at loose threads.

So Peter has his moves, his costume, a few songs in mind, and no engagements. Oh, he thinks he can figure out how to get jobs, it’s just that he somehow keeps coming home, sitting down to compose his ad, and then doing something completely different instead. He’s truly scared witless. Nobody’ll see your face, he chants in his mind to psych himself up every time he’s heading home to his apartment. Still, he freezes at his laptop. There’s nothing about his body that he’s ashamed of―he uses it every single day to help people as Spider-Man. Maybe it’s that, this time, he’d be using it to help himself. Is he a monster for making a buck off his superhero persona? Peter holds onto that question for about a week until the date to pay rent is approaching and his bank account shudders in horror. Ok, money’s tight and he hasn’t been hit by a car lately, so he won’t freak anybody out with road rash or bruising or more of his hand-sewing to close gashes. With a little self-pedicure here and hair-removal there, Peter looks at himself in his bathroom mirror and decides this is as good a time as any.

He advertises online and his hands are still trembling when he gets a call from an unfamiliar number ten minutes after his ad goes live. The ringing phone actually makes him jump. It’s probably a telemarketer, or a wrong number. Nobody would call him with a job this fast. He was counting on having at least a day to sit with the choice he made. Peter fumbles for the phone and answers. For the next minute and a half, he struggles to hear the woman’s voice over the blood rushing in his ears. She thinks he’s the Spider-Man Stripper. He is the Spider-Man Stripper. This is hilarious and terrifying and oddly similar to the brief moment of freefall between slinging one web and the next as he darts around Midtown. Her friend’s birthday party, she tells him, two days from now. Something else she planned (Peter’s adjusting his sweaty, slipping grip on his phone and misses the details) fell through and if he can be the entertainment for a half-hour or so it would save both the party and her friendship. Not to add extra pressure, she jokes, laughing. The sound Peter makes is a weak echo. So can he be there? Is there space in his schedule? He pretends to check that ‘schedule’ so she doesn’t think he’s a total amateur. Yep, yep, he has an opening for her. She has an opening for him, she flirts back, making his eyes go wide as he clutches the phone. God, why couldn’t his first gig have been for some 22-year-old’s bachelorette instead of this middle-aged-sounding woman who possibly wants to eat him alive? By the time she’s telling him her address, Peter’s hands are shaking worse than ever, he can’t immediately find a pen, and she reels it off to him way too quickly. He’s scrawling the address on his arm and right as he opens his mouth to ask her to repeat it, she hangs up. He peers at his arm doubtfully. Should he call her back for confirmation? No, he doesn’t have the guts. Anyway, he can figure this out. The street name was Woodman, right? Or was it Woodlawn? And the number was 712. Or 271. There was definitely a 7 in there somewhere. And his client’s name was… Lisa? Lana. Maybe Linda?

Peter cradles his face in his hands and groans. When his phone starts ringing again―different number―he frantically declines the call, then deletes his ad. One job at a time. Even that, he now thinks, seems ambitious.

―

MJ’s glad she’s not the one throwing this party together. As Liz’s best friend, it’s Betty who took the reins, organizing and then scrapping everything more than once as New York moved from phase to phase during this pandemic. The end result is still less than what MJ knows Betty wants; ideally, there would be more than a handful of guests and things like shiny helium balloons and fancy desserts would be hand-delivered to Liz’s front door on the day of the party. Instead, MJ sits on the arm of Liz’s couch as she inflates yet another latex balloon the good old-fashioned way: blowing it up by mouth until she’s dizzy.

Cindy stomps over and plops down next to her, snatching a balloon from the party pack of 50 (and Betty insists they need them all). She’s been banished from cupcake decorating. MJ would offer a word or two of sympathy, but balloon duty has the prior claim on how she spends her breaths. All she can do is toss Cindy a plastic tiara (Betty bought one―just one!―reading ‘Mom-to-Be’ for Liz, but the online shop screwed up her order and sent two dozen ‘Birthday Girl’ tiaras in its place) after tying off her finished balloon. MJ’s already wearing one. Meanwhile, the tiara-less Mom-to-Be is being driven around the block a million times by her cousin because they’re having the party at Liz’s place and Betty wants the decorations to be a surprise. Liz’s husband, more simply, was banished for the entire day. MJ originally thought they could’ve put him to work, since it’s pretty hectic, but she’s too oxygen-deprived to worry anymore.

Finally, Betty declares from the kitchen that she’s frosted her final cupcake. MJ begs for a reprieve from balloon-inflating and Betty, feeling accomplished and generous, agrees they probably have enough balloons now. Cindy casts her half-inflated one away in disgust before going to help Betty clean up baking ingredients and do dishes. MJ does her best to shoo the balloons to one side of the living room, then carries spare chairs in because their couch won’t fit everyone. Fortunately, they’ve all been recently tested for illness and been vigilant hand-washers and mask-wearers since then, so at least she doesn’t have to find a way to keep every seat six feet apart. She’s just positioning a final chair, still a little out of breath from the balloons, when the doorbell rings. In the kitchen, Betty screams.

“IT’S STILL A MESS IN HERE! STALL HER!”

“’K!” MJ agrees.

She kicks a couple stray balloons out of her path and goes to get the door. They weren’t supposed to come back to the house until Betty texted, but maybe they got tired of driving around, or Liz started feeling carsick. MJ knows she’s been pretty delicate her entire pregnancy with twins floating around in her uterus like a pair of nausea-inducing astronauts.

As she opens the door wide, she sucks in a deep breath to call out a sarcastic ‘Surprise!’ But it’s not Liz and her cousin. It’s… a guy? In a red and blue costume. She thinks it’s a guy. She can’t even see the person’s face, but when MJ reaches up to self-consciously adjust her ‘Birthday Girl’ tiara, they tilt their head and seem to follow her movement.

“Oh! I’m here for you! You’re… not what I was expecting.” It’s a masculine laugh. Young. Nervous.

She crosses her arms suspiciously.

“You’re not what I was expecting either,” she accuses.

“Shit,” he mumbles. “I guess it was supposed to be a surprise.”

What? Betty might have planned a few surprises for today, but MJ does not recall a dude in a mismatched sweatsuit being one of them.

“Guess so,” she says slowly.

“Sorry, I’m, uh, Spider-Man.” He gestures to the costume. Well, she can kinda see the very distant resemblance to what the real Spider-Man wears; there is a crudely-drawn spider on the chest.

“Uh huh.”

MJ’s suspicion is shifting into amusement―this guy really seems to think he has an invitation―when Cindy comes up behind her. MJ darts a look at her friend and is glad Cindy’s no longer sporting her own tiara. No need to confuse this poor… Spider-Man impersonator.

“What’s up?” Cindy asks, poking her chin over MJ’s shoulder, happier now that she’s fled the tasks Betty continually assigns.

“Hey,” says ‘Spider-Man’. “I, uh, I was hired to, uh, dance for the, um…” He gestures at MJ’s tiara. “…birthday girl.”

At ‘dance,’ MJ’s eyebrows shoot up. She looks quickly at Cindy and realizes she’s going to say something. Cindy will handle this how she handles any inconvenience or anomaly: with forthrightness and concision. She’ll have this faux-venger hitting the road before MJ can blink. With a short, friendly laugh towards Spider-Man, MJ angles herself to block Cindy from view and locks eyes with her friend. Cindy’s face says, What are you doing? We don’t know this guy. MJ’s counters with, Let’s see how this plays out. Cindy rolls her eyes, but nods, so MJ steps away from her again.

“As long as you haven’t traveled outside the country in the last fourteen days or experienced symptoms of fever, etcetera etcetera, come on in,” Cindy invites, gesturing Spider-Man through the doorway. “I’m so sorry, but we were running a little behind with the food, so I have to disappear back to the kitchen. But why don’t you get started for her?”

“Cindy,” MJ hisses as she closes the door. “You have to stay.”

“I believe the man said he was here for the birthday girl.”

Cindy smirks and they both glance over to see that Spider-Man has found the speaker and connected his phone. Something catches MJ’s eye and her gaze skims down his leg. What’s up with the side of his pants?

“I’m not the birthday girl,” she reminds Cindy in a panicked whisper. “There is no birthday girl.”

“Well, in her absence, it looks like you’re the one getting her presents. Careful with that one.”

“Because it seems fragile?”

“Because I feel like it’s the kind that comes with a big package.”

Cindy pokes MJ hard in the side and flees when she squirms away. MJ glares after her. Yes, she’s curious about what the hell this impersonator’s doing here in that crappy costume, but it’s so much easier to be curious when she can observe something unfolding without actively having to participate. What she was thinking was that he’d come in and the three of them―Betty, Cindy, and herself―would see how far this went before something either gave them away as not being the people who ‘hired’ him (so he claims), or the guy crumbled under the quavering weight of his own anxiety. Nothing about his look or his manner announces experience. Now, MJ’s on her own as she takes a seat in one of the chairs she brought in. She crosses her legs, bobs her foot, and hopes to hell that Spider-Man’s a breakdancer.

“Listen…” she begins to say, leaning forward to address him, but as she speaks, he turns up the volume and her uncertain voice is drowned out by chimes tinkling above throbbing bass. Oh no.

It’s the tempo that scares MJ. She thinks she could deal with a rabbiting drum intro or the bright squeal of quick fingers on an electric guitar. This song is tauntingly slow and it’s obvious, by how Spider-Man turns in her direction and walks to her with measured steps, that what she’s about to experience will look nothing like handstands or the worm, nothing youthfully, recklessly acrobatic. It’s also clear that she’s in this alone now because the guy putting his back to her and swirling his hips with agonizing slowness as the gravelly vocals come in is in some kind of zone she can’t follow him into.

When I look in your eyes… the song goes. …I can feel the fire.

Nope, MJ’s outside of this, in the real world, where she hears him lower the zipper on his sweatshirt. When he rotates to face her, taking his time, she finds her hands are gripping the seat on either side of her thighs.

A see-through disguise can’t conceal desire.

Spider-Man’s disguise is hardly see-through―seriously, he must’ve been sweltering in those sweats on his way here―but it’s open now, from his clavicle down to where the band of his pants grips his taut abdomen. He probably can’t hear the groan that pushes out of her mouth when she’s just trying to exhale. God, please let the music cover it, MJ thinks. His hood’s still up as he steps even closer to her chair, subtly twitching his hips in her direction, and the ends of his sweatshirt dangle, flashing glimpses of more chest, more abs. MJ swallows and reminds herself that this is all kind of a joke. That she’s the one indulging him and they’ll laugh when this is over. She’ll apologize for the mix-up and he’ll shrug it off as he accepts monetary compensation for his time.

I’ve been readin’ your lips… the singer announces in a louder growl. Spider-Man abruptly strips the blue sleeves from his costume, leaving his torso bare beneath what’s now just a hooded red vest. He’s a fake superhero, but those arms are the real deal. Wow. …they don’t need no translation.

He widens his stance, drawing her eye down to his solid-looking thigh, then slides his hand across her shoulder to grip the back of her chair. His hips roll forward and she instinctively uncrosses her legs. With the extra room, Spider-Man briefly presses his thigh to hers. It scrunches the hem of her dress up before dragging it back down as he retreats. It’s reasonably innocent, likely not even intentional, but heat flares up MJ’s face like one of the candles she might blow out if this were actually her birthday. Honestly, she keeps forgetting it’s not.

They want more than a kiss, I come to make my donation.

Ok, she feels more than just thigh when he glides higher on her lap. MJ automatically flicks her gaze lower, because he’s a stranger and right in her space, and it lands on his groin. Spider-Man bucks suggestively and MJ immediately raises her eyes from the bump in the front of his close-fitting sweatpants. Jesus, is it warm in here? Somebody should do something about that before Liz gets home, fiddle with the thermostat or, or something…

So turn out the lights! the singer’s voice rockets up and goosebumps ripple up MJ’s arms as Spider-Man’s hands smooth down them in his fingerless gloves. He bounces low into a crouch and can’t be more than an inch away from the fabric of her dress as he rolls up her body, face in her lap for, I’m goin’ down slowly. Her pounding heart and rapid breathing almost push her boobs into his forehead when he reaches her chest.

Don’t tell me what’s right, just tell me you want me.

When their heads are level, Spider-Man surprises her by sitting lightly on her lap, nearly chest-to-chest. He takes her hands in his―MJ’s sufficiently stunned to allow him to break her grip on the seat―and guides them to his head, making her push his hood off. It’s strange to feel the mask under her palms. Wondering what his hair looks like really shouldn’t be a main concern right now.

Oh, tell me you want me. Just tell me you want me, want me, want me!

The more insistent the song becomes, the more persuasively Spider-Man gyrates in her lap. Sliding a hand over his head shouldn’t be this seductive without visible hair to push his fingers through, but the way his arm bulges with the motion makes up for it, in her opinion. MJ doesn’t know what to do with her hands. They hover in the air between their bodies.

Let’s make it, baby! the song explodes as he thrusts forward powerfully, throwing his head back.

Well, let’s make it, baby!

His hands go to his shoulders.

Well, let’s make it, baby!

He works his vest off, revealing the rest of his chest.

Let’s make it, baby!

He flings the vest toward the sofa. MJ doesn’t know whether or not it lands there. She doesn’t turn to look. This is… more muscle than she’s ever seen in person on a single human body. Once more, he takes hold of the back of her chair, but it’s with both hands now and his forearms squeeze her in, compelling her to lean forward as he grinds across her lap, forward and back, to, Come, come, come a little bit closer. His face angles into her neck; she feels his nose brush her skin through the mask. She can hear him breathing and it electrifies her. The only reason she clamps her thighs together like she does is to give him more room to straddle her. Really, it’s for his comfort, as a professional. Because this is all just… very professional.

She hasn’t determined where to lay her hands, which is fine because he has another use for them.

I wanna play doctor, the singer drawls while Spider-Man brings her hands to his pecs. Is his heart beating as hard under there as hers is right now or is she imagining it? He effortlessly takes gentle hold of her wrists and encourages her hands down his body. She doesn’t even notice when he lets her go to peel the gloves from his hands and push his sneakers off, leaving MJ to trace the thick, defined ridges of his abdomen.

It keeps gettin’ harder, harder, harder to keep it away!

With the end of the line, Spider-Man rips the sweatpants off―a series of metallic popping sounds too close together to count. Not that counting’s on her mind. Eyeing the cherry-red boxer-briefs that are even tighter than the sweats, she swallows. She can’t remember how to exist on the outside of this. She can’t find the door. Believing that this guy―who’s not really Spider-Man, just like she’s not really a birthday girl―understands, that they’re sharing the scorching intimacy she suddenly feels, is naïve. MJ is not naïve. She just can’t exactly explain why what should be an obvious (skillful, but obvious) pantomime of sex is working on her like real foreplay.

I wanna taste the sweat…

She swears he’s breathing harder than the dancing alone can explain when he palms her knees and pries them apart. Her legs are slack and willing. She is sweating.

…that’s runnin’ over your body.

Tucking his fingers into the backs of her knees, Spider-Man jerks her forward on her seat. It raises her hem to mid-thigh and her pulse to low orbit. He hikes her legs around his hips and she crosses her wrists behind his neck without guidance as he stays in what has to be a strenuous squat to body-roll. Everything comes forward in a delicious wave, from his shoulders to his crotch. From lots of angles, it probably looks like he’s fucking her into Liz’s kitchen chair.

In actuality, there’s no contact between them―not anyplace interesting―until…

Get the sheets all wet!

MJ doesn’t know if his hips nudge between her legs accidentally or intentionally on an overzealous roll. She’s never been given a lap dance before! Is this right? Is this permitted? He seems ready to run with it, repeating the action with greater certainty.

Yeah, I wanna make ya feel nau-nau-nau-nau-nau-nau-nau-naughty!

When the singer quits stuttering out the word, Spider-Man lifts MJ right off the chair into his arms. She inhales hard, desperate for air as the song returns to, Let’s make it, baby! And let’s make it, baby! Well, let’s make it, baby! And let’s make it, baby, baby! He has one hand grasping the underside of her thigh, the other clutching the middle of her back. He thrusts toward her through the chorus, shy of nudging the way he did before. The motion sways MJ fairly gently, thanks to his sure grip and ability to carry her weight with ease, but she might as well be tumbling around inside a washing machine for all she currently knows of up and down.

The animal urgency of the chorus drops down to the slow lull of instrumentals and Spider-Man sets MJ on her feet. She just about rolls her ankle and plans to never admit this made her weak in the knees. As irregular drumbeats keep her on edge, he sneaks around behind her and takes her wrists, raising her arms over her head as she fights the instinct to turn and stare at this guy’s mostly-naked body. She hasn’t dated anyone since before the pandemic, but it’s more than that. While she holds her arms up there, Spider-Man rocks against her from behind, the inside of his thigh rubbing the outside of hers, messing up her skirt, confusing her heartbeat. His hands clamp down on her hips and work them in a circular motion with her ass pressed directly against him.

Wait.

―

Peter’s hard. Of all the things that have definitely gone wrong (having to make up a routine from scratch after blanking in the face of a woman 20 years younger and 500 times more beautiful than who he expected to find) and probably gone wrong (he hasn’t shaken the exhilarating feeling that he’s almost certainly at the wrong house), this is the most serious. He’s in so, so far over his head and sinking deeper, metaphorically, as the woman he’s wrapped around cautiously returns the pressure, pressing his erection.

He was so nervous after meeting her that he went straight to setting up his music and forgot to ask for her name. It’s not like he can casually ask now. It feels like things have gone too far for that. Wasn’t he supposed to feel some layer of detachment, doing this? Stripping’s supposed to be a part-time job, like taking pictures for the Bugle. Maybe he’s too used to caring about people to set himself apart from this. Maybe it’s the shock of her youth and the feeling of touching a real-live person after practicing with an empty chair over months of physical distancing.

Maybe he’s just horny.

The instrumental section goes on and on and Peter yearns. This is a job, he thinks, running his hands up to her waist and back to her hips. As the musical intermission’s finally drawing to a close, he improvises again, scooping the woman up into his arms in a bridal carry just to eliminate the sweet friction against his dick. Where does he go from here? He knows what the tutorials told him, what really gets the target of a lap dance/strip show going. Could go with the couch and push his red vest aside, but the soft rug underfoot beckons.

Now turn out the lights! Bon Jovi rasps as Peter moves gradually to his knees and nuzzles his masked face into the woman’s chest because, at this point, why the hell not? She smells so good. He hears her gasp, then her fingers dig fleetingly into the back of his neck like she wants to hold him there. But she lets go and he lays her on her back in the valley created by leisurely-migrating silver balloons. The light refracted on the woman’s face is crisp and ethereal.

Don’t tell me you love, love me, no… Just, just tell me you want me.

Peter springs on top of her, arms braced and locked, and performs an exaggerated horizontal roll, his hips close above hers. This is the million-dollar (or, like, twenty-dollar) move. The one that unambiguously mimics sex. Though it’s so overstated, so dramatic, the tutorials claimed that, by this stage, the person being performed for would be so wound up, so aroused, that they’d just about believe it was the real thing. He watches the woman’s shaky breathing and flushed cheeks, feels her hands caress his abs, and thinks he’s doing pretty damn good. Too bad he can’t count this as a performance. The desire he feels when he lowers himself closer to her is not an act.

Don’t tell me you love me.

The skin-tight front of his underwear skims her dress. And, though she should really keep her legs out straight to do her part in preserving the distance between them (because he’s fucking failing), she slides her foot along the floor, raising her knee. Peter snatches hold of that knee with the feeling that they just signed some kind of contract and grinds himself against the fold of skirt between her legs. The woman’s chest heaves as she pants. His balls ache for him to stop playing.

Oh, tell me you want me, want me, want me, want me, want me, want me, want me! Bon Jovi and Peter’s sex drive demand, from a rumble up to a scream. Let’s make it, baby!

The woman beneath him tosses her head and bats away a balloon that clings to her hair. Her birthday crown’s askew.

Well, let’s make it, baby!

Peter’s hand is on her ribcage, too near her breast.

Well, let’s make it, baby!

He huffs, loud inside his mask, as he thrusts against her like she’s not some accident, like she asked him to meet her here. For this.

And let’s make it, baby!

Distinct lyrics burst into a high, expressive shriek of noise that sounds enough like a woman being pleasured to send a tingle up Peter’s spine. He grinds down hard, gripping the woman’s hip. By the second shriek, her back’s bowing, her hands commandingly squeezing his arms. By the third, she’s moaning as she rocks against him, tearing an appreciative grunt from him in response. The fourth shriek finishes her right before the song. Peter’s breathing hard on top of her, on the jaw-clenching edge of climax himself, feeling her writhe as the music fades out. It just leaves the two of them here, damningly entangled.

After a long silence, his playlist moves on. Peter stares down at her another few seconds as she strokes her fingers across her mouth, then her eyes snap to where she can’t see his through the goggles.

“Oh shit,” he mutters.

The woman laughs awkwardly like those two words are an understatement for the degree to which this has not gone as planned. She didn’t even know the plan, but anyone would know this was not the intended conclusion―a stripper dressed up in a novelty Spider-Man costume should excite, entertain, inspire lust. But he should stop short of dry-humping his client to completion. Yeah, that has to be an unwritten rule someplace. Peter really shouldn’t have needed to read it to know better though. This has just gotten incredibly out of hand and he has no idea what to say or do.

“LIZ IS ON HER WAY!” a female voice yells from the back of the house, maybe the kitchen that the other woman vanished into earlier.

Peter jerks to his feet, still rigid in the front of his underwear. He thinks the woman he just, uh, danced for is requesting help up, but she’s actually pointing. He looks and sees the bathroom just off the stairs.

“I’m good,” she says. “Go before Cindy sees you.”

Snagging his pants from the floor and the vest portion of his sweatshirt from the couch, Peter bolts for the bathroom as the woman sits up from the rug. Inside, his hands quake with adrenaline as he zips his sweatshirt and refastens all the snaps on his pants. He does his best to adjust things so his waning erection’s not too obvious. For a minute, he yanks the mask from his head and stares at himself in the mirror as he breathes. This is not the side-hustle for him. This was his first and last gig as the Spider-Man Stripper.

Mask back on, he returns to the front room to find the woman he was grinding all over standing with her arms crossed protectively as her friend appears to grill her under her breath. They both look at him as he stuffs his feet back into his shoes and grabs his gloves and the blue sleeves of his sweatshirt. He’ll just carry them. If he stood here and began redoing them, he’d probably die from mortification before he got the last snap snapped. He collects his phone, stopping the music mid-song. He doesn’t know what’s playing. Could be his favourite song in the world and he wouldn’t be able to hear it right now over the volume of the look his ‘birthday girl’ is giving him.

“I’ll just, um, show you out,” she offers, shepherding him away from the woman he takes to be Cindy. She doesn’t volunteer anything about the other person, Liz, who they seem to be expecting.

“Great.”

He’s thankful that Cindy gives them a little space and doesn’t follow. They pause in the entranceway. The woman presses two fifties into his hand, avoiding eye contact. Peter clears his dry throat and nods, closing his fingers over the money because he’s more uncomfortable about the idea of prolonging this with a back-and-forth over him saying it’s too much while she insists than he is about the idea that she’s kinda paying him for sex, even if thinks she doesn’t mean to.

She pulls the door open and Peter jumps aside for two women, one very pregnant. There’s a flurry of voices all of a sudden and when he slips outside onto the step before someone can ask who he is and what he’s doing here, he doesn’t expect the birthday girl to come after him.

“MJ,” she blurts out.

He grins under the mask.

“Peter.”

He never gets to tell people that when he’s in disguise, but she doesn’t know he really is Spider-Man. The honesty feels good.

“So, that was…”

“This wasn’t supposed to be… Um,” he starts again, swinging his arms slightly. “That was my first time. Doing this. I’ve never done a routine for anybody before, so I want you to know I haven’t, like, done that with a bunch of people. I’ve never done this. And I think, uh, based on what happened in there, that I probably shouldn’t.” Peter’s laugh is strained. “I really don’t―”

“Do you want my number?”

He chokes.

“What?”

“I… thought I might as well ask,” she says, clearly self-conscious, looking prepared for rejection.

“No, of course I do,” Peter tells her quickly, holding out his phone. “Please.”

“Ok.” MJ gives him a quick smile, then looks at his screen as she adds herself as a contact. He’s grateful she’s the one putting the numbers in. He really can’t be trusted with that. Peter’s not nervous now, just excited as he thinks about using the money she gave him to buy her dinner.

Though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer, he says, “This isn’t the right house, is it?” as she hands his phone back. She laughs.

“No.”

“Yeah, I… kinda had a feeling.”

“Hey, whoever she was, her loss was my gain,” MJ says bluntly, then blushes hard. Peter chuckles to himself, looking down.

“Ummm…”

“Well, I should get in there. Baby shower.”

“Right, yeah, sure, you gotta.”

“But call me.”

“I will. I definitely will.”

“Maybe you can even show me what you look like without the mask,” she says.

Peter nods, body nothing but a cage for a butterfly swarm, then turns. Behind him, he hears Cindy’s voice as MJ steps back inside.

“Did you just give him a hundred bucks?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s what you owe me for going in on the stroller!”

“I’ll go to the bank and take out another hundred right after the party if you want,” MJ offers, sounding unconcerned.

“But a hundred bucks? MJ, he was here for ten minutes!”

“Trust me, Peter earned it.”

“Peter?! That’s Spider-Man’s name?”

“Cindy, come on, he’s not actually Spider-Man.”

The door shuts. Of course he’s not. Peter could no more be Spider-Man than he could fall half in love with a woman simply because of the way she smelled and the fact that she wouldn’t let him off the hook for a lap dance. He starts down the sidewalk with a skip, smiling wide beneath his mask.