#it is not that i am a stickler for continuity per se

[nonstandardrepertoire]

ok SO

Star Trek: Nemesis takes place in 2379. i am not rewatching ST:N for this post you cannot make me but my memory is that Picard and Crusher have the same professional courteous working relationship they have always had

i feel like i remember Jack being 24/25 in S3 of Picard, but i can't actually find any confirmation of that. Crusher has been off the map for "20 years", we're repeatedly told, so if he's 20 then he must have been born in uh . . . 2381

this also means he was 15??? when he found Picard in a bar, which. Beverly i do not believe for one moment you would just Not Notice?? your 15-year-old son dipping out for a couple days with no explanation what is happening anyway this scene makes no sense we're GETTING there

but so ok let's just assume that Picard and Crusher are on between the movies and off during the movies i refuse to believe that these Cordial Professionals with strong senses of hierarchy and duty and a track record of decades serving together would be on and off again five times in two years, come on

so fine, 2381 Crusher has a baby and fucks off without telling literally anyone what is consistent characterization we just don't know

i kind of thought that they said Jack was 24 in the series, which would mean he would have to be born in 2377 or so, two years before Nemesis, which uh. i simply do not think that those two timelines are reconcilable, sorry

anyway, also by 2381, Picard has been promoted to Admiral (see: Lower Decks S3E10, "The Stars at Night")

three years later, in 2384, an Evil Time-Traveling Alien Program causes a whole bunch of Starfleet's ships to blow each other up (Prodigy S1E19, "Supernova")

DID YOU THINK I WOULDN'T BRING PRODIGY INTO THIS OF COURSE I AM GOING TO BRING PRODIGY INTO THIS YOU CANNOT HIDE THE STAR TREK CONTENT FROM ME, PARAMOUNT

the very next year, in 2385, Romulan double super secret police have infiltrated Starfleet Command enough to completely destroy the Utopia Planitia fleet yards and pin the blame on androids. Picard resigns and fucks off in disgust to stew at his vineyard in France

so Starfleet is, perhaps, not having the best time

in 2396, and, sorry, but this date is actually firmly fixed by the "five years ago" title card, Jack finds Picard in a bar. Picard is like "haha, yeah, Starfleet is the best, i fuckn love Starfleet, y'all rock on, kiddos"

three years after that, tho, he has reverted to "Starfleet has lost their way and they are just not a good organization" — this is 2399, when the first season of Picard takes place

this further shores up my contention that Picard is a show that wants you to have seen every episode of The Next Generation and no previous episode of Picard itself

in 2399, Utopia Planitia is still in ruins, Mars's atmosphere is still on fire. we don't really get hard confirmation of this, but the vibe is very that this has significantly reduced Starfleet's ability to build ships, and there are a lot of regions that are spiraling into chaos because Starfleet just doesn't have the ships to maintain a government presence there

oh but don't worry, the Romulan double super secret police are still infiltrating Starfleet Command, even tho their entire planet (and presumably government???) no longer . . . exists. sure

anyway, Season 1 of Picard goes here

but also! by this point the Changelings are also infiltrating Starfleet Command. is anyone at Starfleet Command not an impostor at this point? did the Changelings ever mistakenly impersonate a Zhat Vash operative??? WRITERS WHAT ARE YOU DOING PLEASE MAKE IT MAKE SENSE

like ok sure fine technically we don't have a canon start date for Changeling infiltration, but they aren't just doing reconnaissance, they're setting major design priorities for entirely rebuilding the fleet, which implies to me that they've been around for a few years at the very least. also i'm p sure getting the required volume of officers thru the transporters to borg them all would take some amount of time, at least. this isn't an ad-hoc quick turnaround operation

then we have Season 2 of Picard. Jurati eats car batteries. it's terrible. it's great

so then it's 2401 and despite the entire fleet nearly being obliterated literally just seventeen years ago by being Too Interconnected, Starfleet has rebuilt after the disasters of 2384/5 (with what shipyards??? like, sure, yes, i am sure Starfleet must have other shipyards because they have to operate in a pretty vast area of space, but we literally never hear about any shipyards other than Utopia Planitia, and if Mars is still on fire as of 2399, they can't be rebuilding UP itself. the scale of the shipyards we see from orbit is pretty massive, which makes me suspect it's not trivial to just plonk down a major shipyard on an uninhabited rock somewhere, but sure, whatever, it's been nearly two decades and they have magic future tech, it's fine, we can wave our hands at it, whatever) a fleet that is . . . defined by its interconnectedness? why would you do this. why

i mean obviously the answer is Changeling interference, but like. this makes me really question Starfleet's institutional culture! what is going on over there????

this gets into larger questions i have about like, why is Picard so adamant that Starfleet is great and everyone should join it. my man, my buddy, my guy, you literally quit in disgust after they abandoned an entire species to die, maybe chill with the recruitment speech?

this is Not going to turn into a full review of the season i am just trying to get my head around the chronology which is bonkers

also when does Vadic learn French why is she literally the only character in the entire franchise to pronounce Picard's name Frenchily i cant deal with this im going to bed

trying to figure out the Picard season 3 chronology is going to make my head explode

[angelatsumu]

for the firefighter thing:

USHIJIMA🫣🫠

i am on a roll! today !! thanks so much for the love <33

Firefighter!Ushijima is unfortunately an Engine Captain + Medic. I really really wanted to believe he'd be a truckie, but I just know Ushijima is not brute enough. If you're iffy on what an engine is, see my Oikawa ask.

EngineMedic!Ushi is such a culture shock to literally anyone not on his shift. To the world, Ushi is a brute-like mass of a man with absolutely no skills for reading a room. For his crew, CaptainMedic!Ushiwaka (shoutout to Satori for forcing them to call him that) is one of the most compassionate people on the planet. He may not seem very emotionally intelligent, but when it comes to people in need of 911, he's putting on his caretaker hat to give them the best support they could ask for.

EngineCaptain!Ushi likes things to be done efficiently and mostly by the book because the man hates doing paperwork for any kind of screw up. He's always training his crew on the safest and more efficient ways to do the job because he'd be damned if he's held over at work to file paperwork for a firefighter that freelanced on scene. He's not a stickler per se, but he won't hesitate to reinforce safety where needed. (his crew secretly hates him for it).

EngineCaptain!Ushi doesn't believe in the glory of the job, and he instead focuses on just doing his job. Fire out = he go home, haha! That just means he's in focus mode when he's on a fire scene, and as soon as he's done his job, he feels like the scene is done. This is only slightly annoying to the truckies who like to have fun and break shit.

EngineCaptain!Ushi's specialty is fire attack (duh!). He's learned the ins-and-outs of fire behavior, reading smoke, and knowing when it's time to switch strategies. He could teach for hours on how to effectively save your water and attack the seat of the fire while avoiding gross property damage; he's also got a great record of preventing rekindles. It's honestly inspiring to see how quickly that man can pull a line, flake it, and put the fire out before the battalion chief marks on scene.

EngineCaptain!Ushi destresses by having you ride him in one of his PT shirts. Something about the sight of you bouncing on his cock, whines leaving your mouth as you're wearing his old work shirt has him seeing stars. He could be buried in your walls for days like this, sneaking a hand under the shirt (which is so big it covers the view of his cock drilling into you) to rub at your clit until you're a trembling mess above him. He likes not having to do the work, admiring reducing you to a lazy grind just for him to start driving his hips up into you.

EngineCaptain!Ushi keeps a spicy photo of you in his helmet for safe keeping. In the blurry photo your back is arched, hands held behind your back in his one large hand, and his cock is halfway buried inside your tight walls. he can almost hears the sounds of your moans and begs for him to slow down and it's enough to keep his adrenaline high on his way to a call. everytime he sees it, he thinks about how lucky he is he gets to recreate that every time he comes home.

EngineCaptain!Ushi takes his anger out of your body when you allow him. He's mean when he's angry, shoving your face into the sheets as his hips slam into your repeatedly, walls creaming and squelching while his cock mercilessly kisses that spongy spot that has your toes curling. "ushi please," you whine, hands reaching out behind you in an attempt to push against his abdomen. he tisks at your attempt, gripping your wrists with one hand as a loud crack is spread along your ass. "captain, slut" he scolds you, and he chuckles at the pathetic whine you let out. He continues his assault on your sweet walls, leaning forward to place kisses along your shoulders blades while his hips stutter at the squeeze of your nth orgasm.

[vewyscawywriting]

Blood Rush

Fandom: League of Legends

Pairing: Draven x F!Summoner

Wordcount: 2814

Tags: Frottage, vibrator, little bit of overstimulation

Summary: Draven lets you watch him fight in his colosseum, but you have a little remote and he has a vibrating butt plug. You're drunk on power and want the man to swallow his enormous ego and watch him break.

Not a monsterchamp this time, but still a champion that doesn't get a lot of fanfiction love.

"Why am I not surprised Draven is pulling shit like this," came the grumpy voice from Darius who was leading you to the VIP area in the colosseum. "If the League catches you, you're done. You know that right?"

You groaned. Darius had been schooling you on the rules ever since Draven showed up with you to his place of work. It wasn't that Darius was a stickler for the rules per se, but whenever Draven was involved, who shit on the rules every time he got a chance, Darius turned into an angry mom. And this time his little brother had involved you as well - a Summoner he liked that was definitely not allowed here, his angry mom-ness had turned up to 11. 

He was right, of course. But you had such a nice day planned with Draven... A sly little smirk found its way on your face, and you were glad Darius didn't see it, because there was no way you were gonna explain the cause of said expression.

The VIP area was Draven's usual seating area. He had his big seat in the middle, with some space and extra seats for whoever he liked to invite to watch the gladiator fights in the centre, or in this case watch him as he did his 'glorious executions'. You weren't too keen on seeing that, but you had a reason you were giddy. 

A remote was in your hands and you toyed with it as you looked down on Draven as he entered the arena to the crowd cheering and hollering at him. He had his arms up, looking around the place and encouraging more cheers from the crowd that went wild. His gaze ended on you though, and he winked. You ducked further into your cloak, hoping the crowd hadn't seen it. Being in the VIP area alone caused enough of a stir as it was. 

Your finger was on the 'on' button, pressing down, but not enough for it to actually activate. Until it did.

Draven faltered in his steps, frowning deeply, catching himself before dropping down to his knees. To everyone else he had just mis stepped, but you knew better. You had turned up the vibrations of his butt plug to 11 for just a second before turning it back off, and he was trying to catch his bearings. Thankfully you'd turned off the vibrations almost instantly, winking at him cheekily from your VIP seat. A smirk forming on your face as you saw him send you a slight frown before continuing his grand entrance as if nothing happened. Oh you were gonna have so much fun with this...

------

You had looked on passively as he'd done his "work", until you decided it was time. With a little smirk your finger tapped the button again, turning on the vibrator, but this time on a low setting. Your eyes squinted, Draven seemed fine so far. He send you a fleeting glance, but managed to catch his bloodied axes with a dramatic flair, showing off his skills to the audience as he toyed with his enemy. 

Well, let's up the ante a bit then.

A few notches higher and Draven seemed to be struggling a bit. It wasn't obvious, per se, but to the trained eye it was very visible that the Glorious Executioner was distracted. Sweat had started to form on his brow, and his actions seemed rushed. 

You grinned as you leaned down on your hand, peeking over the edge of the VIP area. Draven's eyes found yours' once again, and this time his gaze was pleading. He had stopped showing off to the crowd quite as much, and you chuckled as you saw him misstep a couple of times, no doubt from something uncomfortably hard between his legs. An obvious shudder went through him as you turned the vibrator up a little higher. 

He had stopped moving for a bit, to others it seemed like he was giving his enemy some reprieve, but you knew better. He waved to the crowd and grinned a (very) strained grin as if to sell his act, but you saw how heavy he leaned on his axe, back hunched a little as he tried not to hump the air. 

You realized how close he must be, as he leaned down a bit, biting on his fist. You couldn't hear him as the crowd was still cheering, oblivious to Draven's plight, but you knew he was gasping and moaning. He was a loud man in whatever he did, and you knew he wouldn't be able to hold these sounds in, hoping desperately for the cheers to be too loud for anyone to hear him. 

The throbbing of your pussy that had started dully had grown to a heavy thrum, and every time Draven send a withering glance your way you only got wetter. Oh, this power had you drunk. Draven had stopped moving for a bit, and before the crowd would get more confused by his actions you decided to have mercy on him. The setting was lowered to almost nothing, as he shuddered one more time before glaring at you.

With an evil chuckle you waved at him, knowing he would've come inside of his pants if you hadn't stopped it at that moment. 

His adversary that had mercifully been spared so far, seemed to take notice of Draven's strange behaviour and came his way with an all or nothing attack, yelling desperately. He didn't count on his executioner to instantly regain his bearings and jump up, ending the fight prematurely. 

The crowd was stunned for a bit. Draven's strange behaviour chalked up to taunting the enemy into attacking as he'd do ever so often, but he never finished a fight quite so fast. Cheering started slowly, until it swelled to a full holler. Draven didn't stay to enjoy like he usually did, instead opting to get to the VIP area instantly. You needed to be taught a lesson. 

Realizing what he was planning you turned the intensity up a little again, seeing him grab the wall to the exit of the colosseum before his knees could give out. Laughter bubbled up inside of you as you rubbed your thighs together. Poor man had it bad. He didn't even glare at you as he finally managed to make his way to the stairs, the walls stealing him from your view.

The vibrations didn't let up. 

--------

Draven was on the edge of insanity. The constant teasing at the start of the match had him hard almost instantly, but he wasn't too concerned. He had that problem before and had no issue finishing his work before going to a more private place to jerk himself off. He had underestimated you and his enemy though. It was hard to focus, especially when you turned up the vibrations more and more, he had been so close to coming in his pants, hoping secretly that he would so he could focus on the fight again, but you chose that specific moment to stop the vibrations once again.

He shivered as he slowly made his way up the stairs to the backroom of the VIP area. The damn thing hadn't stopped vibrating, and his legs were feeling like jelly. Groans and moans came from him, unable to hold them in. 

When he rounded the final corner he ran straight into Darius. 

Draven was a man that didn't cry easily, but right now he really felt like it. Face flushed and sweaty, and hand heavy on his crotch, trying to get some relief he was practically caught red handed.

"Well, that explains the shitty fight." Darius said, shaking his head in disappointment. "Get to that Summoner and I'll talk to you after."

Draven breathed a sigh of relief ending in a desperate moan which was more from overstimulation than from pleasure considering the fabric of his outfit had practically rubbed him raw during the fight. He passed Darius, so very ready to open the door, take off his clothes and take care of himself, oh yeah and get his revenge on you after, but Darius grabbed his shoulder.

"Don't think I'm gonna let you off easy." was his warning as he slapped his brother's hand away, muttering a 'fuck off, you're not my mom', and throwing himself against the door to the backroom VIP area, practically falling inside.

------

Draven was taking a long time. You were afraid he was gonna take care of himself before he got to you, and that really wouldn't do.

If you hadn't undressed yourself so much you'd go and get him. Damn, you hoped he would hurry. Seeing Draven struggle like that had really riled you up as well. You were sure he had thought he could take it better when this idea was discussed between the two of you, but the poor man had underestimated you and overestimated himself. 

"Fuck, Draven, hurryyyy," you whined, gripping the couch you were laying on tighter. 

Your plea was answered by the man falling into the room with the opening of the doors.

Stumbling your way you smirked at his desperate face. His pupils were fully blown, and nothing was left of his earlier confidence. He was pure desperation and lust, and you held up the remote for him to see you play with the button.

"Y/N," he groaned, and his voice was practically wrecked. He was pulling at his clothes as he got closer, and you sat up, spreading your legs and leaning down on them with the remote dangling from your fingertips. 

"How was it?" you said, as if you hadn't seen every shiver and pleading gaze. 

"You little sadistic devil. Think you could do Draven like that and get away with it?" his sentence was breathless and littered with groans, and you realized the vibrator was still on. You pouted at him with an innocent face, gripping the remote tight, and hovering a finger over the button. 

"Whatever do you mean? Did I do something wrong? I thought we agreed on this." you turned the vibrations higher and saw the man in front of you crumble to his knees with a strained groan. He was bucking his hips, desperate for more friction, his pants still in the way. "As a matter of fact, I distinctly remember you saying that I could never break you with a little toy like this."

He murmured something and you tilted your head his way with a coy expression on your face, legs widening a bit more, showing off your soaked panties to the man. 

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"I was wrong! Please just let me come!" he yelled out with a hoarse voice, and you had to do your very best to keep in the laugh that bubbled up inside of you at the sight of Draven, the Glorious Executioner on his knees for you. Begging you to let him come. 

You knew he was gonna take revenge on you soon, but for now you enjoyed this power immensely. Deciding to take mercy on him you turned the vibrator on fully, pushing a bare foot against his crotch as he humped himself to completion against you.

"Damn, almost killed me there." he said as he regained his bearings. You had finally turned off the vibrator, and he was very glad to be rid of the overstimulating feeling. Now it was time for his revenge. "Little minx, thought you could break the Draven like that and get away with it? I need to teach you a lesson."

He had you on your back instantly, hovering over you and grabbing your thighs. 

"Did you enjoy it though?" you giggled as you opened your legs wider around him. He chose not to answer, deciding instead to dig his fingers into your thighs deeper and frown at you.

"I should give you a good spanking for that."

"But you won't." you said cheekily, pecking his cheek and running your fingers through his hair, undoing his ponytail and letting his hair fall over his shoulders. He was still very sweaty and feverishly hot. You saw steam rise from his back, but he had caught his breath at last. With shaky hands he had finally managed to undo his pants, pulling them off while complaining how uncomfortable and gross they were right now.

"Now, where were we. Oh yeah." his large calloused hand cupped your soaked pussy roughly and you moaned his name, almost having forgotten about your own arousal. 

"You were horny the entire time weren't you, watching me in the arena." it was a statement more than a question, but you nodded anyways. 

He grabbed your panties and pulled them off roughly, slightly tearing the seams and digging them into your skin painfully. You barely registered it though as the moment the fabric was away from your core Draven had pushed one thick finger inside of you, moving around a bit before he decided you could take one more.

"Fuck, you really are absolutely soaked, huh? Did you actually come from watching me already? I wouldn't blame ya."

He was moving his fingers in and out, scissoring ever so often. Flexing his muscles as if to show them off while he was doing that. That was such a Draven thing to do. You were surprised there weren't mirrors all over the room that he was looking in as he was finger fucki-

...Scratch that. There was a mirror right across the room. Draven hadn't seemed to notice it, otherwise you were sure his attention would be on his reflection.

"Noooo, not yet," you admitted between whines and a little breathless laugh at his antics, "Didn't feel fair to you."

He rewarded you with a rough tit grab, as he dove for your mouth. Biting down on your lip instantly to deepen it.

"Oh, so you're not entirely evil then. That's good to know." He muttered with a grin after you broke apart. You had started meeting the thrusts of his fingers, and by now you were very aware of the fact that Draven had gotten hard again, his dick hot and standing at attention between the two of you. 

"Of course no- Ahh. I'm v... very fair."

He chuckled, deciding you were warmed up more than enough (and more importantly so was he), and lined himself up. 

"Now are you ready for little Draven?" he said, gesturing to his dick as if you had no idea what he meant, and you rolled your eyes.

"Oh my god, just put it in already."

"No need to get crabby," he said, as he pushed it in slowly, finally noticing the mirror across the room, and taking a good, appreciative look at himself as he pushed inside of you. At this point you didn't even care, his thick dick stretching you in all the right ways. His personality took some getting used to, but Draven was a very well build man, and he definitely knew what he was doing. Your legs were over his shoulders as he pumped inside of you with a snappy, deep rhythm, making you see stars.

"Shit, Draven," you moaned, one hand tightening in some pillows above your head while the other was on your clit, rubbing in rhythm with Draven's thrusts. After the whole show earlier you were unbelievably close, and a few well placed thrusts were enough to make you orgasm deeply, moaning out and throwing your head back. 

"Yesss, it's all Draven, baby, scream for me! Let everyone that passes by know who you're getting fucked by." He had removed your hand from yourself, placing it on one of his pecs, as he took over the onslaught of pleasure on your pearl. "Look at you, such a pretty sight. I should have taken you in front of that crowd instead of in this little room. Shown you off~" His words were breathless and rough, and his pace had started to falter a bit. You were honestly surprised how long he lasted after your earlier treatment and the battle he had, but you weren't complaining, edging closer and closer to your second orgasm. 

He was loud, grunting and constantly talking as he took you roughly, and he groaned his appreciation for you when he came, bringing you over the edge as well.

As you slowly closed your eyes to catch your breath, something fell to the floor, startling both of you. Draven groaned as he got off you, removing himself from your debauched body as cum splattered out of you at his retreat. 

He grabbed something from the floor and held it up the item for you to see. It was the remote to the butt plug that you were sure he was still wearing. You grinned and made grabby hands to it, but he crushed it in his hand.

"Nah-ah babe, that was a one time only deal."

You sighed sadly, remembering the price of said item. But as you basket in the afterglow you couldn't get too upset about it.

---

[spidercakes]

It continues!

Edit: my stupid ass forgot the tag list posting so here it is (though some of you still found it lmao): @prettieststarker @readysetstarker @lover-starker @starkerprince @starker-flame @i-am-irondaddy @blush-reincarnated @c6h12o6-work @von–gelmini @caseysroses @darkobsidianquill​

Part One | Part Two

Its been a long time since Tony has done this but sometimes things just feel a little more out of control and this is an easy way to get some of that back ethically. Plus he enjoys it, maybe more than he should. Its not like he’s never considered why he likes the control so much, if that means he’s controlling, and then by extension just like Howard but he’s long ago come to the conclusion that that’s not it. He doesn’t want to control someone per se, what he wants is control over a situation. The fact that other people are involved it more a symptom of how he chose to go about gaining that level of control. And he’s always taken care to not take that away from whoever he’s with because, as Pepper pointed out, he’s not much like Howard if you look further than skin deep.

Still, he hadn’t initially planned to just throw himself back into one of these things, mostly he was catching up with Sam and feeling things out but then he saw Peter. Sam’s not stupid, he knows his type, so he said he’d work something out. And Peter, fuck he’s perfect. A little inexperienced for his taste, and a little on the young side, but Tony is willing to look past that on account of he knows he’s not going to get anything better. He’d done this enough times to be able to pick up on small signs of compatibility and Peter might be inexperienced, but Tony happens to know he’s got more of a submissive side than he knows. Makes sense, for his age, that he hasn’t figured that out quite yet. At his age he’s probably still experimenting with things.

Normally experience is something he prefers but in this case he made an exception. The way Peter responded proved him right enough that he’s not entirely worried about it beyond Peter finding his voice. But the way he’d responded to Tony, handing over his other wrist without him having to ask, lifting his head a little so Tony could put the blindfold on, the way his uncomfortable squirming immediately stopped when Tony had settled a hand on his knee. Yeah, Tony knows Peter will be more than compatible with what he’s looking for.

As it is he’s disappointed that he’s going to have to wait until later to see Peter again but they both have things to do. Maybe this is one of those situations where patience pays off. Tony doubts it on account of he’d be just as excited if not more if Peter showed up now, but he’ll take what he can get. There’s also the slight disappointment of stretching things out a bit, giving Peter time to adjust to something new rather than jumping right into it but its necessary. Tony wants to give him time to gain a level of trust in him before he starts taking away his senses and leaving him to rely more on Tony than not. If he were more experienced it wouldn’t be much of a problem, but he’s not so Tony needs to start fresh.

Not ideal, considering his usual impatience, but he knows that it’ll be well worth it to wait for Peter to catch up.

*

 Peter bites his lip, unsure what to expect aside from what Tony told him in the beginning. He does have to admit that having his own key is pretty cool, mostly because Tony’s penthouse is nice as hell. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing,” he hisses at Liz over the phone.

She sighs, “didn’t you say he like… gave you an outline of what to expect?” she asks.

He rolls his eyes, “if I gave you an outline of child birth do you think it’d prepare you?” he asks.

Liz snorts, “Peter, that’s such a guy thing to say. This is in no way comparable to child birth. But your point is taken. We should throw a party there, seems like a swanky place,” she says like Peter doesn’t desperately need this job.

“Liz, I have hospital bills to pay,” he points out.

“I’m kidding Peter, mostly. But if he’s a dick we can totally trash the place, you know MJ would do it in a heartbeat.” True, and Peter loves her for it but Tony has been more than polite so far and he’s talked to some of the other people Sam employs. Turns out he’s a real stickler for not being a douchebag and he takes his employee concerns very seriously so he’s gained a bit of trust that this won’t turn into a massive shit show.

“I actually think he’s pretty nice,” Peter says, looking over the directions to the room Tony told him his stuff was in. For an apartment this place is a fucking maze.

“Yeah, he hires prostitutes, how nice can he be?” Liz says, distain in her voice.

Peter frowns, “you know I’m the prostitute, right?”

“Obviously, Peter.”

“Yeah, well acting like only losers and assholes pick up prostitutes doesn’t exactly make the job less stigmatizing. Maybe he doesn’t have time for a relationship, or doesn’t want one, you don’t know.” He does know that Tony doesn’t want a relationship with him, which is fine because he doesn’t want one with Tony either. Aside from you know, a good relationship with the guy who is also his boss, technically. God, this is messy.

The good news is that he finds the room finally and breathes out a sigh of relief as he steps inside and goes on the hunt for his outfit. Thankfully Tony has laid it out on the bed for him so he doesn’t need to go far.

“Okay, but do like… normal guys go to prostitutes?” she asks and Peter frowns.

“Yeah, probably. Why is it that sex for money somehow makes the sex dirtier or whatever? Its not like being in a relationship is free and you’re totally financially independent of them unless you make good money. Even platonic relationships don’t escape that, remember the time we all talked Ned out of moving across the country to live with his girlfriend because we’ve be fucked for rent? Anyway, I just think that paying someone to have sex with you is hardly demeaning or whatever.”

He picks up the white teddy and frowns at it for a moment, unsure how that’ll look on him. The pink frilly booty shorts are cute, though, even if they’re not something he’d pick out for himself. He shrugs and tosses Liz on the bed so he can change.

“Yeah but like. Can guys who go to prostitutes even get relationships?” Liz asks and Peter snorts.

“The sheer amount of politicians that go to prostitutes say yeah, they get into relationships just fine. Like, what is the correlation people draw between prostitution and not being able to get sex for free? Is it really less degrading to pick someone up at a bar when you’ve only known them for a half an hour? At least I get paid for my trouble now, my last Tinder date was shit in bed and I paid for dinner.” That was like, forever ago but still. He’d consider what he’s doing now considerably less degrading than that. Tony buys nice lingerie and, to Peter’s surprise, it actually looks pretty nice on him.

He fully expects Liz to have some kind of response for that but she remains silent for a moment. “I guess you make a point there. Did you figure out where you were supposed to go?” she asks.

“Yeah. Also, turns out I look cute lingerie,” he says.

The squeal of surprise is unexpected but more pleasant than their last discussion so he’ll take it. “Send me a picture!” she says and he frowns. “In like. A not sexual way,” she clarifies.

“Is that like… normal for girls? Do you guys just send each other pictures of yourselves in lingerie?” Because that seems like a dream world to him, throw some guys in there and he’s in bisexual heaven.

“Sometimes. Guys don’t do that?” she asks.

Peter squints as he opens the camera app. “Liz, in what world do guys where lingerie?” he asks.

“This one if you’re to be believed,” she points out.

Right, good point. “You know what I mean. No, guys don’t just send each other random pictures in sexy clothing. I sent the picture and if you make fun of me I’ll move and screw you all for rent,” he tells her.

She remains silent for a moment before she makes a small, approving noise. “That actually does look good on you,” she says. “What the fuck.”

“What the fuck what?” he asks, checking himself out in the mirror. He… didn’t expect to actually like this but he doesn’t mind.

“That style of lingerie looks like total shit on me and I’m mad it looks good on you,” she says. Peter grins because jealousy is a good emotion to have in this case. And if Liz thinks he looks good Tony definitely will.

“Die mad about it,” he tells Liz, who snorts and starts laughing.

“Don’t let the lace give you too much confidence,” she tells him despite the fact that he’s not wearing any lace. Its more of a sheer gossamer material that shines a little and compliments his skin nicely. He thought the white on his pale as shit skin would make him look like a fucking ghost but instead he looks etherial. Huh, so maybe this is why women like lingerie so much.

He chats back and forth with Liz for a few more minutes but she has to do homework and frankly so does he so they hang up to go do that. And Peter means to do homework, really, but the closet beckons and he has to hang up the clothes he changed out of anyway so he goes over to check it out.

His opinions on Tony’s taste mostly improve minus the yellow… thing that’s probably the most hideous shade of yellow Peter has ever seen. But the rest? Its clear that Tony has a thing for red and black, which makes his current outfit kind of a strange choice and that makes him curious but he does like most of the rest of the stuff in the closet. There’s a few things that are… well, strappy enough that he’s confused how to put them on, and a couple things that don’t look that great, but otherwise Tony clearly has talent in aesthetics.

“I didn’t think you’d take to the lingerie,” someone says and Peter lets out an accidental scream and tosses the garment thats in his hand. He turns to find Tony in the doorway looking amused.

“Oh my god, give a guy a warning!” he says, hand pressed to his heart.

Tony doesn’t look any less amused, eyes bright as he looks Peter over. “That looks nice on you,” he says, gesturing vaguely at him.

Peter looks down at himself and grins, “it does, doesn’t it? I was worried I’d come out looking like fucking Casper but thankfully that was not the case,” he says.

Tony snorts and starts laughing, “god, its been forever since someone has referenced that around me. I’m kind of surprised you even know what Casper is,” he says.

Peter doesn’t mean to say it but it slips out anyway. “Okay, boomer,” he says out of pure instinct and thankfully Tony bursts out laughing.

“One, I’m not that old. Two, you always this sassy or is this new?”

“Um. Depends, usually its a comfort thing. Sorry I called you a boomer,” he says.

“Its fine. The youths know how to make a good meme, I’ll give you guys that,” Tony says, smiling still.

“Well, the economy is shit so all we’ve got is depression humor and memes so we gotta make it good,” he says, considering his choices for a half a second before figuring fuck it. He could stay here all day or he could figure out what the rest of the night will be like and go over to Tony, see how he reacts. As it turns out he mostly looks like he wants to devour Peter but he keeps his hands to himself even if his thoughts are pretty obvious on his face. Peter wraps his arms around Tony’s neck, a silent way of giving him permission to touch him, and leans into him. “So we’re watching a movie, right? What am I supposed to expect?”

Tony looks pretty ready to abandon the movie idea but he doesn’t. “Your choice,” he says and Peter grins.

“Star Wars?” he asks excitedly.

“Baby, which Star Wars movie? And if you list any of the prequels I’ll fire you,” he jokes.

Peter wrinkles his nose, “A New Hope, obviously. Ew, why would I subject us to Jar Jar?”

Tony snickers, wrapping his arms around Peter’s waist. “Thank god. I met someone who liked Jar Jar Binks once and I’ve never been the same.”

*

He’s been staring at the skirt for like fifteen minutes and no one is home. Everyone else has classes or work in MJ’s case so really, there’s no harm if he steals Liz’s skirt from the floor of her room. No one will ever know and he’s never even had thoughts like that before and- well, okay, that’s not exactly true. He’s always liked the aesthetic of skirts, its just that he never really considered them on him before. But the way Tony reacted when he saw Peter in that lingerie, the way he kept looking at him all night…

He didn’t expect to like that feeling so much and skirts are pretty, he’s always liked them…

Fuck it, if he hates it he can put it back and its not like Liz would ever know so he sneaks in, snatches it from the ground, and sneaks back out. They’re probably the same size so this should be fine. Once in his room and slips it on and sure enough, it fits perfectly though it sits different on him than Liz. Probably on account of she has hips and he doesn’t, not really. But it does sit nicely over his butt so there’s that.

He grins, snatching his phone out of his abandoned pant pockets and moving his mirror in front of his bed so he can try and take a decent picture. It takes some finagling and a little work but he finally manages to get a good angle and-

“Oh shit,” he says, desperately snapping pictures as his free hand slips and he falls headfirst off the bed. He sighs, picking himself back up and smoothing out Liz’s skirt before examining the pictures.

He smiles, saving the good ones and deleting the rest before he sends them off to Tony. His favorite is the one with his back arched, the skirt sitting just too high to be appropriate, exposing a little cheek underneath. If he ignores his messy bed in the background its pretty much the perfect picture given the proportions of it. Tony’s response is pretty much immediate.

Wear that tomorrow.

[relativetalent]

An observation on Platonic Friendships.

I had arrived somewhat early to the bar Grace and I go to for our Thursday night happy hours. Part of me wishes I would’ve stayed in and tried out the new Mario Kart combos I found online, but I’m a stickler for tradition. Grace and I always managed to have a pretty decent time together, even if it was always her choosing to voice the concerns she had in her relationship. There’s this exceptionally chauvinist subset of the population, I believe, that seems to have an issue with men and women just being friends. That’s all I’ve ever known of Grace though. She’s been dating CJ since I’ve met her, and has only ever had relationship issues as far as I know. I’m always willing to listen though. It’s not like there’s anything going on with me romantically. There never is. Had I ever considered dating her? Sure. Once or twice maybe. Like if she was ever suddenly single, I wouldn’t jump as the chance to be a rebound, or something better. I can’t confidently say I’d be opposed either. We’d probably just continue to do what we’ve been doing, Thursday night happy hour, and we’d talk about movies and upcoming concerts. She’d ask me about my non-existent love life, then feel bad she asked, we’d close our tabs and go to our respective homes. Her woes would shift from relationship woes to political or work-related. I’d still listen all the same. She works as an assistant at a law firm, a job her father got her before he passed last summer. She doesn’t haste it, per se, but thinks it’s funny that out of all the partners, the woman treats her like a second class citizen. “Power is power” I reiterate. Having weekends off must be enough for her to continue to put up with it. I wouldn’t know. I work weekends. I knew her father fairly well, although Grace and I have only been acquaintances for a little over a year. He was my senior-year African-American History teacher, and even before one of the heads of the Student’s Diversity Union. He got a lot of shit for in those roles as a white man, but as soon as he showed up downtown at one of the BLM marches, that talk ceased immediately. He’s my personal pick for the definition of a White Ally. It’s crazy how much Grace took after him. I never met her mother, but she’s black, and a teacher as well. Saw her in a picture once. Grace looks just like her. When he died, I had known Grace a couple months. We met at a year-end barbeque he hosted for all his students. Grace actually showed up (she had a history of “Forgetting about it”), much to everyone’s surprise. Hugo talked a lot about his daughter, but it was unknown if 1. She was worthy of such praise, and 2. Would talk about him in such a fashion. Grace’s mother was overseas at the time. It’s actually pretty strange that we haven’t met, but I think her and Grace are still at arms. Hugo Gaspar died of lung cancer (he was the definition of a chain smoker), and when Grace’s mother didn’t see that as a good reason to quit, Grace lashed out. They did embrace at the funeral though. I looked at my watch and realized Grace was late. I grew increasingly anxious. She’s literally never late. Even the bartended looked quizzically. “Is she alright?” “I guess--- I haven’t heard anything.” I was taken aback. She was supposed to be here ten minutes ago, almost on the dot. She’s never late and for her to be running this late baffled me. I shot her a “Where you at” text. No response. Not immediately anyway. I hoped that she was okay, but I also questioned where my head had gone to where I wouldn’t notice her absence until now. The ice in her whiskey had almost completely melted. I ordered another, for her, and started drinking the watered-down one, in anticipation. I hoped this new whiskey wouldn’t have the chance to melt. At the barbeque, Grace and I bonded immediately. She walked in with CJ and a bottle of Jameson, and my ears perked up. Jameson was my (and later, as I found out, also her) favorite alcohol. Across the board. She was a couple years older than I was; graduated from art school the year prior but was a bit late by “normal” standards. Mr. Gaspar was always wanting her to meet his students, but seeing as most of them graduate and either move away (either for a job or to go back home) she never saw a reason to make acquaintance with people she’d never see again. I never got to ask why she attended this year. The first things I noticed about her were the bottle of Jameson and CJ. CJ looked like Ice Cube, but if Ice Cube was a frat boy. It was harboring. The Jameson had a special label on it, something I’d never seen before. I drink a lot of Jameson. After mulling them over I finally fixed eyes on Grace for the first real time. I noticed how different she looked from her father. Not because she was biracial, but because she didn’t look like her father. Really not at all honestly. I’ve still to this day have never seen someone so normal looking, but also so intensely attractive. Her features are very cookie-cutter, when it comes to biracial women, but it’s like she’d cornered that market. She wore eyeliner, a nose ring, and a very light pink lip-stain, and killed it. I snapped out of her assessment when she set the bottle down. “Well my mother calls me Gideon, but I go by Deon,” I replied when CJ inquired about my name. You ever meet a huge, buff, angry-looking pit bull then realize all it was is a treat and backrub? That was CJ. He was a lightweight with liquor, and an extremely picky-eater, but man, dude was nice as hell. We chatted for longer than I ever have with someone I’d just met, but I was waiting for Grace to come back and open this bottle. I never figured out what CJ stood for, but within fifteen minutes I knew his life story, where he went to grade and high school, his college GPA, his previous drug addiction issues; more than I wanted to know about him. He was rounding off the names of all the pets he’d ever had when Grace made her way back into the kitchen. “Did you speak to my father?” She asked him. CJ’s face became embarrassingly white, and he ran outside. “Sorry if he talked your ear off. He can go bother dad now. I’m Grace.” “I’m Gideon. You know, Jameson is my favorite drink.” “Me too.” And then she finally opened the bottle. Grace’s dad died the next week. She was 0-2. The second whiskey has melted and I was already buzzing pretty hard so I backed off a bit. It was seventeen after eight, happy hour ended at nine (for us regulars), and Grace was still not seen or heard from. I signaled to Teddy, the bartender. “What the hell. Third time’s the charm, right?” I could barely finish speaking before he started pulling another glass from the bar. “Am I pouring another two again?” “Nah just one, and a Corona for me. Please. I’m not finna sit here and keep paying for watered-down double shots.” Teddy laughed. I was drunker than I thought. Remember the quip about CJ being a lightweight? I’m a welterweight. Teddy placed the new whiskey down next to me and put the bottle of Corona on the bar, then reached for his bottle opener but couldn’t find it. He ran back to other side of the bar to look for it, I used the bottle opener on my key chain, we called it even. I looked down at the other side of the bar to see a couple I’d never seen before drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon. “How much are PBR’s for happy hour?” I asked Teddy as he returned to my side. “Still a dollar, but I usually give them two for that price. They’re my Wednesday night regulars, but they’re out of line coming in on a Thursday.” We laughed. “Gimme your keys. Please.” Grace stood next to me with her hand extended. She did not seem in the mood to talk, nor to drink. I scrambled for my keys. “You okay? You need help with anything?” She shook her head “no.” She marched back outside without saying anything further. I’m nosy. To a fault honestly. I’m that weird guy who peers at strangers’ cell phone screens in public. I don’t know why I do it, and I’ve never gained anything from it other than scowls and “Excuse you, nigga. The fuck?” I can’t help it though. Me following Grace outside was just another punch on my Nosy Timecard. She didn’t seem too startled to shove a massive bag in my tiny trunk (I drive a coupe), and I again asked if she needed help. “I guess.” She wiped her brow and I jogged over to put extra hands on the bag. I didn’t inquire what was in it, but it felt like clothes. We got it in, I shut my trunk, and we went back inside. Grace apologized to Teddy and I immensely and buried herself into whiskey that had not yet melted. She ordered two more, stating “I need to catch up,” but also still want to get them at the happy hour pricing. I ordered another beer and she began to vent. I had tomorrow off. Working retail isn’t the most glamorous shit in the world, but it has never failed me. Just like most people in the country with degrees, my age specifically, I can’t find work in my field. I feel like Mr. Gaspar was my main key to getting work out here in the real world, and well… So now I work retail as a manager of my favorite clothing store and it pays the bills. That’s all I can ask for right now I guess, but I gotta say, I thought it would be easier to get a job as an engineering major. I honestly hated the breadth of school. I moved around a lot in elementary school, struggled to make friends in high school, and just barely made it through college. I like Chicago, a lot. Staying here was my main motivation to buckle down in school, I guess. I never had much luck with women. The last serious girlfriend I had was during junior year of high school, and she left me, at prom, for Brandon McAllister. Brandon is doing okay for himself now I guess. He’s published a couple books and still does signings occasionally. I’m not too sure about Amanda though. I stopped keeping up with her immediately. Past her, I had a couple dates in college and even fewer hookups. I don’t think I’m too unattractive I just never made an effort, I guess. I’m also not exactly feigning for love or sex. I feel like if I want sex I can acquire it, maybe. “…so my sister picked me up and brought me here.” Grace had wrapped up her recollection of tonight’s altercation with CJ. This time was the last time, she reiterated repeatedly. The bag we had just stuffed in my trunk was a handful of her clothes. She’d stay with her sister for a bit until the dust settled, until he got his things and got out. She would return to her apartment in the morning, with her sister, to get her car and go to work. Grace always said her biggest issue with CJ was his adversity to actually be independent and do something with himself. I guess she’d finally had enough; got sick of holding his hand. ‘CJ’s brother lives a bit south so he can go stay with him I guess. I told him he has three days to get the fuck out of my house. I can’t miss work, but Leslie’s [her sister] place is being renovated currently. If I can’t stay with you, I’ll just get a hotel.” “Of course you can stay with me. I’ll give you a spare key even.” “Thanks Gideon.” She always opted to call me by my full name. “Leslie will come to you place in the morning so I can go get my car. I couldn’t find my keys, in anger, but she has a key to my place.” She had calmed down pretty quickly. The whiskey’s where gone almost faster than they had been conjured. I could tell she was buzzed. She continued to apologize, so much so that happy hour had ended. She didn’t care and ordered another round. “Is it bad that I’m already ready to move on?” “No. I don’t think so. I think you’ve been done for awhile and now you’re actually done. Your mind had been wondering for a bit. Got any prospects?” “I don’t know. You’re available aren’t you?” I spit a bit of my drink back into the class in shock. I gazed at her. She was drunk but she looked sincere. “That’s the liquor talking.” We both laughed. A song came on that she raved about and we got up and danced a bit. I looked down at her. “You know if we date we can’t really do happy hour anymore.” “Why not?” “Then what will we talk about?” “Literally anything other than CJ.” I nodded in acceptance. She felt nice. I’d never really gotten the opportunity to hold her but it was good. She felt appropriate. She felt complete, an almost puzzle-like completion. This was way outside of our friendship parameters. I’ll see if she feels the same in the morning. I guess that gives me some time to think. I don’t think that women and men can’t be just friends. I just think people are only willing to risk Friendship for Love, and not Love for Friendship.