#matter what I do which also just fucking sucks

[unoriginalcontent]

Been thinking a bit about this post; I do believe that to empathize with Trump voters, at least on an intellectual level, is important for purely pragmatic reasons. The idea there is that the right wing propaganda machine is a menace that no one knows how to deal with, and so if we can understand the concerns and anxieties of the conservative voter, we might have an opportunity to demonstrate how Trump is tangibly not addressing their problems and turn them against him. And hell, even if they did vote for him out of bigotry, maybe they'll still be willing to turn on him out of self-interest. However much it sucks, many of these people will not care if you simply point out that his policies harm other people. They've already set the human cost aside as acceptable losses, or else they outright support harming these people, which is why a different strategy is necessary for them. If we can get conservatives to turn on Trump, then even if it's not for the right and morally-correct reasons, that's still a win.

Of course that's all in reference to conservatives who were probably already predisposed towards whoever has an R next to their name on the ballot. When it comes to leftists who refuse to associate with democrats out of protest, I just don't know. I can understand that someone might want to vote out of self-interest and also believe that a Trump presidency is beneficial to them. Obviously they're likely to be wrong, but it's not hypocritical to have believed a lie and acted accordingly. Conversely, I think most leftists are people who will claim that government and voting shouldn't just be about self-interest, and that helping other people is a worthy end unto itself. And yeah, they should have known better.

If you're educated enough on the issues to have known all of Harris's shortcomings, how the hell do you not also know Trump's? If you know them both, how the hell can you conflate the two as equally bad?

We have this idea in the left that our systems are bad, and therefore we can never make progress until we destroy the systems entirely and build something new from the ashes. If you believe that, then please get your head out of the clouds because that's what Trump and Musk are trying to give us, and it turns out to be bad. We live in the system, we depend on the system, if we didn't then it wouldn't matter how many federal programs Trump is trying to abolish. Even if you specifically will be fine, you're writing everyone else off as an acceptable loss. It's not wrong to imagine and strive for a better world than this one, but unless you have viable alternatives ready and waiting, you won't get there by breaking things.

Maybe it's unfair to blame the current situation on people on the left who didn't vote for Harris. I don't even know how much blame matters at this point. And yet I think this is an important thing for all of us to keep in mind. Your moral clarity can be used against you. No matter how good and pure your ideals are, the real world has to come first. And right now that means acknowledging that a huge portion of our democracy chose Trump. And they don't care if you're hurt from his policies, or if I'm hurt, for a lot of these voters your suffering is probably just sugar on top. OP is absolutely right, they probably don't regret wishing leopards onto other people, but that doesn't mean it's not worth convincing them that we should stop the leopards before their faces are eaten. People are going to be poisoned by food which they voted to deregulate, and a part of me wants to think of that as justice. I feel angry. I feel spiteful. These people are taking human rights violations and touting them as victories, fuck them. But anger and spite won't fix anything, even from our side. And no matter how awful some of these people might be, together they're a hell of a voting block. I wish that I could force people to care about the suffering of others, but I can't. And so I hope that it's possible to at least get them to care about themselves.

And if you do think of yourself as progressive, and you still refused to vote for Harris, then I think OP is right, and you really do take a look at yourself. It is true that many of our problems are created and perpetuated by larger institutions beyond our control, but when it comes to democracy, it's not enough blame the system. You're a part of the system. If you don't want to participate, you need to have an alternative that is—crucially—viable, actionable, and realistic in the immediate short term. If you don't have that, which I guarantee you don't, then high-stakes elections are not the time for moral grandstanding.

Sorry for rambling here on your post, I'm probably a bit scattered. I've been having a lot of discussions with people about this sort of thing lately. Whatever strategy the left has for winning hearts and minds, it clearly hasn't worked if someone like that can still win the popular vote. I don't know how to fix that. But I think we all need to be a lot more comfortable ceding the moral high ground if it means making progress in the trenches.

Trump voters owe me financial compensation.

[hitlikehammers]

Rockstar!Eddie Leaves What He Had With Steve Behind in Hawkins 💔 to Chase His Dreams 🎸

(so why is it that he’s back in Steve’s bed Hawkins every couple months for ‘very pressing reasons’ that are straining Steve’s heart honestly anything but? 🫤❤️‍🩹🥺)

NOTE: this was originally a fill from @eddiemunsonbingo AGES ago, and I’m only bringing it over here NOW because something for the @steddielovemonth is going to be posted soon that is a standalone in its universe, but also very much a sequel to it ♥️

Steve really does try not to think about it in terms of…time.

Maybe that’s foolish. It’s mostly denial. Lots of it isn’t reliable anyway: the score his body keeps isn’t accurate, war-time left over from too many near-misses with a fucking alternate dimension but the popping in his joints and the ringing in his ears and the white hair he pulled out of his scalp and stared blankly at in the sink for a good twenty minutes: those are real things, but they don’t chart the passage of days, of hours, months and fucking years with any real meaning.

It’s been four years. Roughly. Depending on what the start point is. Whether it’s that Spring Break. Whether it’s the first winter. Or the spring after, when Robin begged him to go with her—there’s still time. She still begs, because they still talk given the thread inside them stays tied unbreakable to one another, oblivious to miles between. Maybe it’s measuring from the graduations, the kids—only Erica’s left at Hawkins High, now, though Steve gets calls from the whole bunch of them, Eleven the most, which was maybe surprising, then it’s a good split between Dustin and Will, another surprise. Max calls enough but her calls are calls, with a weight most of the others lack. Lucas’s calls aren’t super frequent but always long, mostly because he talks around the point forever, whatever the point happens to be. Even Mike usually ends up on the other end of the line once a month. It’s…that could be where the time starts from.

Or it could be the summer, that first summer. The one that taught Steve what it was to have a heart just to fucking break it.

Could be that. Impossible to say.

(It’s been 3 years, 7 months, and 14 days. Steve had only counted in retrospect, in the wreckage left behind, because while he’d known there was a deadline in it, to it all, he’d thought he could be enough. That he could change a mind. He’d thought…

Foolish things. Bullshit. Didn’t matter. Could be any fucking date.)

But since the point's come up, and it’s front of Steve’s mind, his least favorite (most favorite) place to find it: he hadn’t expected it. Robin liked to say she saw the signs but. Steve hadn’t watched it happen in slow motion because there wasn’t a single goddamn slow thing about it. Which was…for whatever it was worth, Steve knew falling fast and hard and with everything he was had maybe failed him every time, thus far, but at least he knows that for him?

That means it’s real. He’s all in. He might not be met equal on the other side of the equation—hadn’t been yet, maybe wouldn’t be ever, but he wasn’t having any luck trying to fucking change that fact so, learning to work with what he had was the best he could do. And he had love. He’d never been able to name it to himself so far: not before, and certainly never since. But.

Figuring out the sexuality thing had been a not-bathroom-but-definitely-floor talk on the shitty Family Video carpet sometime around November of ‘85. Slow days, idle comments, and Robin’s suspiciously-but-reliably-gentle-when-the-need-was-dire hand to his shoulder to say no, no: actually wanting to kiss people of any gender wasn’t really…the default Steve had always expected it had to be. How could anyone look at, say, Harrison Ford and not think, oh yeah, I would at least suck his face?

Turned out probably at least half the people on the planet. As in the straight guys and the lesbians. Steve had spent the majority of three days on that disgusting fucking carpet, open to close, popping up to ask Robin if she was sure because what about—

She was sure. And eventually, through a couple of needs for deep breathing and a handful of assurances that it was okay to cry—he appreciated that, but he kept the crying to his room after these long-ass shifts and if Robin stayed for some of those times, that was because she was half his head, half his heart, and she knew what he was going to do sometimes before he did.

They did end up on the floor of his bathroom, a clean one for once, at one point. Maybe because they both held to tradition. Maybe because Steve had largely come to terms with the mindfuck of yet another piece of his world, his self unravelling and rewriting itself, and thought the vodka in his dad’s liquor cabinet was a good way to celebrate. The label was entirely in Russian and Robin had been practicing on hers, said she was pretty sure it was the good shit.

Sometimes you can drink enough of the best shit on an empty stomach, though, and still spew the whole of it up.

Steve sometimes does think he drinks his dad’s best liquor that way on purpose, though. Delightful going down and yeah, it sucks to chuck it up but. The idea that it’s ultimately wasted feels…right.

Anyway: Steve had settled with it all by New Year's, and while he’d hosted the rugrats who could only blabber about their latest campaign with their epic DM, and he’d kissed Robin when the clock turned, well. It felt like a new start, a fresh page.

Something that had the chance at being a good thing.

And nothing much happened in the two-and-a-half-months that followed save for finally catching a glimpse of the D&D god who ran their little club while he was idling in his car to pick up the shitheads, this legendary DM who did not make Steve jealous one tiny bit and who was cool and was edgy and was so fuckin’ cool, Steve, did we tell you got cool he is?! and Steve had said language as monotone as he could before he squinted as out came all the metal and the ink and he’d said your club president dude is Eddie goddamn Munson and he should have kept his mouth shut because the amount of talking that ensued left him with a headache the size of Montana; but.

That was really all that happened until about…mid-March.

Then Spring Break happened.

It could be argued Eddie and Steve grew close enough to pass the acquaintances benchmark, ended up as at least tentative friends on top of necessary battle mates as early as the Upside Down. Whatever reason Eddie gave, he jumped in after Steve. Whatever speech Steve landed on, he didn’t want Dustin orEddie hurt.

It could be argued Steve wasn’t paying attention and didn’t stop in time and landed in the land of Tentative Friends You Wouldn’t Mind Added Benefits With after the…at least after the way Eddie leaned in close and his lips we so red and he called Steve big boy and…

Yeah.

When Steve carries what may or may not be Eddie’s still fucking corpse out of the Upside Down—he can’t tell, every time he tries to check again his own heart's too loud, his own breaths too shaky—but by then, they’re family. Bound in blood. Steve would die for him, like the others. He won’t let him die, if he can fucking help it.

Between him and Max, Steve almost crashes, breaks. Steve’s there when Max’s fingers twitch and he laughs with tears in his eyes and hands over hands and tells her he loves her and he’s sorry and he’s there, tries to talk around the letter he opened and resealed without evidence because Steve knows some tricks too, okay, and her words had broken him but now he could live up to what she thought she was leaving behind, could make sure she had every goddamn thing she thought she was giving up in spades, to roll around in in abundance. He was going to take care of her, whatever she needed. Whatever it took.

Her lips had quirked and the doctors called coincidence, don’t get your hopes up but; Steve knew Max. That was all her.

And there were more tears, he let her fucking feel them; he fucking hoped she’d notice, and remember, and give him so much shit.

Eddie takes longer, pulls out of the woods enough to exhale a few days later, and the way Steve slips out to find the hospital chapel, the only goddamn place he won’t be found by anyone he knows, and bawls his goddamn eyes out?

It’s family, and it’s love because it’s family but…it’s been so quick. It’s been intense, and that probably speeds it along but…

Shit. Shit.

That’s when Steve knows he sets a new goddamn record for himself and falls hard and heavy and stupidin, like, a week and change. Jesus Christ.

It’s in the recovery that they build something though. Something that’s not trauma or terror or the threat of imminent death. Steve spends most of his hours between two hospital rooms listening to progress reports and taking notes and the kids gravitate toward Max—Dustin would have been the outlier but Steve knows he’s not ready, and so he gives his own updates just to his brother when he drives him home after visiting hours—but that means Steve’s Eddie’s most common conversation partner. They talk about bullshit. Steve defends a-ha to the last breath he has. Eddie’s rendered speechless for a second and then frantic when challenged to pick his favorite band. Again when it’s his favorite song, from his favorite band. And again when it’s his favorite song of any song, ever at all. Steve's heart swells in the watching. He’s foolish enough to bask in the glittering of Eddie’s eyes when Steve indulges in talking, scene by scene as guided by the master in the bed beside him, about what his opinions on Star Wars really were. And then guided by no one, just invited to share what his opinions are on the last movie he saw and loved: which was Weird Science, the last movie he watched in a theatre because he and Robin had gone to face their fear or some shit after Starcourt and it was easier than he’d expected. Eddie listens, and nods, and asks if they can rent it when he’s out, before making sure to add  but you should really have a new choice like, eight months later, man, you work at a video store.

Steve was mostly just focused on Eddie more than implying, of his own volition, that he wanted to have a movie night.

Eddie’s released before Max, largely for mobility reasons, so they both go to visit her now. Robin’s put on the night shift when they schedule their movie night and Steve immediately moves to reschedule but she says no, she’s seen it, make Eddie suffer this time. So it’s just them.

They sit closer than they have to, on the couch.

And it’s little things that build from there. Max’s physical therapy is a government secret, like some fancy space-age protocol that has real hopes to put her on her feet again so she needs a ride, and while they could take turns, Steve and Eddie just take turns as to which vehicle they hop into to drive her. They stay when she needs them—not when she asks because she’s Max and she never asks—but it ends up three days a week back and forth and during: together.

And a lot of nights, for a movie or a smoke or a nightmare or a pulled stitch before they’re all taken out: together.

And shifts where Steve doesn’t even bother to bring his own lunch because Eddie Munson, unpredictable and wholly forgetful super-super senior—who Nancy and Hopper and most of all Joyce convinced the School would be finishing his final senior year at home save for tests, and only that once he was cleared by his doctors—that Eddie Munson brought Steve something every single time he worked. A burger, a chili dog, chicken fucking nuggets. A PB&J clearly homemade and cut diagonal.

So yeah. It starts out how it does when Steve’s in trouble. But it builds like…Steve’s never known before.

They kiss in May. Maybe so that it’s not their first, and a total cliche, when Steve kisses him for graduation behind the bleachers.

The sleep together after graduation, high on the thrill of it, and that’s maybe a cliche but Steve could not give a shit less.

And then they're EddieandSteve, only to find out they have been for a while; and this is just something a little deeper, a little bit more.

In ways that mean everything.

Looking back, Steve knows Eddie never minced words about his plan to leave Hawkins in the fall. With a mixtape and a prayer if I have to, Stevie-boy, he’d said once even, and Steve had laughed.

He’d fucking laughed.

So he’d known.

But July bleeds into August and Steve…Steve’s in love, okay, for real in a way that he’s never felt before. Right in a way he’s never felt before. He kinda just…overlooks it. Because Eddie seems to be at least on the same wavelength. Touches him first, reaches for him first: wants him. Looks at him with not just desire or attraction but…something no one’s ever looked at Steve with before.

And so he hopes. More than hopes.

But when Eddie starts packing, Steve can’t breathe.

He buys a set of luggage and goes home to start the same, has half of his not-excessive possessions shoved in when he realizes:

He’s not invited. Eddie’s never asked him to come.

Looking back, he’s afraid he wasted too much of those last weeks. Scared of giving too much away, the hurt from so many sides and the heartache that’s already taking root, but also: the way he clings, but tries not to make it obvious.

Fuck; but of course it was gonna be obvious, and how much energy did he waste, how many opportunities slipped by, because Steve was trying not to give away that Eddie leaving—to get away from a town that hated him, to try and make a real go with his music, to be anywhere without Steve so he could live out the dreams that predated Steve, that Steve had no place in—to try not to give away that all of it; it’d fucking destroy him.

Steve doesn’t know, to this day, how he stood and let Eddie kiss him breathless out the driver-side window, how he waved until Eddie was out of sight. He doesn’t know.

Kind of like he doesn’t know how he fucking keeps doing it.

Eddie throws tapes to every radio station with Van Halen or other top-played bands written on the insert in sharpie like that gives nothing away, and sneaks a demo in every underpaid delivery boy’s hands to record executives as he drives to the West Coast, sends Steve postcards what seems like has to be every goddamn day, filled up with his rambling until there’s no space left, has to draw lines around Steve’s address to make it clear where the damn thing’s going lest it get confused. Like they’re SteveandEddie still. Like only…only the things that changed after graduation are gone.

Steve sobs after about a month of it all, grateful and resentful, hateful and still so goddamn full of love it’s sickening. Literally, it makes him feel nauseous. He…

He keeps every postcard.

When one of them comes to say some idiot in San Francisco accidentally played Corroded Coffin on what’s apparently an important station, and Eddie got a letter in response from one of the labels, he says he’s coming back for the boys, they need to be ready. Steve knows he’s not one of the boys, but.

Eddie wouldn’t have told Steve he was coming if it wouldn’t matter to Steve. And maybe Eddie wasn’t in love with him anymore, maybe never was in love with him.

But he’d be lying if he said he thought Eddie didn’t love him. In a different way. A…you-don’t-get-to-come-with-me-but-I’d-still-want-to-see-you-when-I-stop-back kind of way.

And Steve…Steve’s not a fucking monk or anything. But even Robin doesn’t try to push him when he finally just tells her what he feels, lovesick and pathetic as it is:

I gave everything I had to someone else, and it’d be different if I wanted to back, to give again, but…I don’t.

I don’t want it back, not from him. Not if any part of him, wants to keep any part of it.

And because she’s Robin, she knows he means something else when he says ‘it’. And because she’s Robin? She’d push if she thought it was worth it.

She just holds him, and that’s really the best thing he could ask for.

But it becomes a thing. The boys go with Eddie, and they record new shit to impress...whoever. And they do. They come back for Halloween, because Eddie loves it. The label’s dragging its feet, but they’re not deterred, they’re energized. They come back for Thanksgiving because Wayne loves it—except he doesn’t, Steve knows that, Wayne actually hates trying to make a bird and Eddie had lamented more than once that they ended up with lunchmeat cut into cubes one year when Wayne was particularly frustrated with the process. They go out East, and try a few studios in New York. They come back for Christmas.

Eddie spends most of his time with Steve. Steve doesn’t fucking fight that; wants it…like…

There’s nothing to compare how he wants it to. Nothing exists that fits.

Eddie spends most of the time that he spends with Steve, though?

In Steve’s bed.

And here’s the thing: Steve had a decent amount of experience to compare to, but once they’d fallen into a rhythm, got past the awkward bits, the learning curve? Sex with Eddie had been a goddamn revelation. Not just because he was a man—after he’d left, Steve had forced himself to try, and dispelled that possibility quick as hell—and now?

Now, it’s like they never stopped. Every fucking time, it’s like they never stopped.

Steve’s not surprised in the slightest that he remembers every give and tell of Eddie’s body—of course he goddamn does—but that Eddie doesn’t miss a beat in touching, sucking, licking, worshippingSteve’s? That’s insane. That’s…

Unexpected. Every time it’s unexpected and every time Steve’s shown he wasn’t forgotten when he probably should have been. Eddie’s building a life that doesn’t include him.

He’ll only get in the way.

But Steve is selfish and stubborn and maybe it’s often, like almost strangely so, but it’s only a week or two at a go so he tells himself he’s allowed. He tells himself that it felt like making love in the beginning because Steve was in love, and that it still feels exactly the same because Steve…Steve never stopped.

Steve is still just as goddamn in love.

So yeah. Steve sleeps with Eddie and it’s like…it’s like rationed air. He gets a regular taste and he gets to keep breathing.

And it’s okay. Probably more then. Because he gets Eddie—even a little bit. Even just in scraps. When he has Eddie?

He has him, even for moments that were never made to last.

It’s Easter, this time. The band put out their first record in January. It’s doing really well. Eddie’s over the moon. Someone called about a magazine cover for a publication in Cleveland that’s apparently kind of a big deal, Alt..something. Steve will buy every copy in a fucking 100-mile radius. 200 miles. 500—

It’s Easter. Eddie didn’t lament not celebrating it after Spring Break in ‘86 but he’s back every year now. And if it’s just…come to mean something, or maybe did then and circumstances won out against it? Steve will be here. Steve will be comfort and a reprieve or a hot as hell romp with a familiar body, Steve will…

Yeah. Steve will do whatever’s needed. Wanted. Anything.

Pathetic.

But so much better than nothing.

Case in point: they’re both naked, sweat mostly dried, sharing a joint and it’s comfortable. It’s quiet and gentle and put up against sitting alone on a weeknight, not with Eddie?

It’s heaven.

“So when’s the dream happening?”

Steve looks cross-eyed toward his lips; he hasn’t smoked this thing long enough to have heard wrong. He squints up at Eddie, whose chest he’s laid out on, confused. Offers him the smoke but he waves it away.

“The dream?” Steve asks finally, when Eddie doesn’t seem to want to answer on his own.

Eddie looks at him weird. Not weird for its own sake but like: like he’s staring into him, and then like he’s disbelieving, but then also like he’s seeing him for the first time.

That kind of weird.

“Getting the fuck out of here,” Eddie answers like it’s obvious. “White picket fence. Little nuggets.” He spreads his hands as wide as possible without tossing Steve from where he lies. “See the sights.”

And Steve’s response is immediate. Doesn’t even require a thought.

He laughs. Like, ugly-laughs.

“Man,” he shakes his head as he catches his breath, and passes the joint off this time with purpose, not an offer or a choice as he snorts a little; “that’s not the dream.”

When Eddie doesn’t grab the smoke, Steve finally looks up. Eddie…

Eddie looks like what Steve’s always struggled to understand the word ‘poleaxed’ to mean. He thinks it might be this.

He looks…like something stuck him through the gut. Slapped him silly across the face.

“What d’ya mean?” And it’s just three words, one that’s a cheat, and he says it slow enough to take an age.

Steve breathes out, and then, if he’s gonna be honest, and if he has to keep holding the damn thing anyway, decides to take another drag before speaking:

“Figured out what the dream was, inside the dream,” Steve says, wondering if he’ll get away with the vagary; knowing he won’t.

“All we see or seem?” Eddie jokes a little, but it falls flat, his tone eerily kinda…strained but hollow.

“I like poetry.” Steve smiles up at him, soft, and offers the joint again straight to Eddie’s lips. He takes it this time.

“It was about family. It was about stability, not,” Steve shakes his head, stops talking half-assed around the lungful he’s holding, and lets it out slow; “not in a place, fuck, not in a house, but,” a person he doesn’t say, but he hears it in his head; “it was about sharing it.”

And that's it. That’s the simplest, most straightforward truth. Steve doesn’t think there’s anything complicated, or offensive in it. Hard to swallow. Even if he’s come to terms with it. Is mostly at peace with it.

Which is why it’s weird, that Eddie feels suddenly rigid beneath him.

So Steve turns, and braces his hand on Eddie's chest for balance, and frowns when he doesn’t even have to push down to feel the way his heart’s a fucking riot.

“What?” Steve asks, gentle; Eddie’s face is a portrait of conflict, of distress and Steve can’t fucking figure out why, they just came like four times between them and are sharing some very nice Cali weed—they’re nestled close, they’re together, it’s…

Eddie’s quiet, his breath disconcertingly steady for how his pulse pounds, and then he breathes out slow before covering his face:

“I don’t think I can fuck this up any worse than I already have, so,” he mutters, dejected for reasons Steve can’t even guess, then he laughs, humorless, shakes his head:

“Let me try, I guess.”

Steve frowns, uncomprehending, until:

“I’ve been in love with you forever.”

Steve thinks the world stops. His heart does, at least. Suspended. Silent so he doesn’t miss a syllable.

“And I told myself,” Eddie bites at his lip, worries at the bottom swell; “end of that summer, from the very first, I said: don’t ask him to come with you, even if it breaks your heart,” and oh god, oh god after all this time: Steve doesn’t think he’s projecting to hear the genuinely broken heart in those words for just remembering.

“Don’t ask him to settle, you’re not even in the same universe of what he wants,” fuck, what lies Eddie’s saying; did he believe them? Has he always—“what he needs.”

But Eddie is everything he needs, always was, will always be—

“You’ll never have the picket fence. You can’t give him his nuggets. You should never be trusted to park a Winnebago.”

They could have had a shitty studio apartment. They could have had the kids in college. They could have run the BMW until it died, or sold it to put toward a better van for equipment. They could have—

“You’re selfish, Munson, you’re a rat fucking bastard but,” Eddie’s still going, heart still hammering under Steve’s touch even as Eddie swallows hard and fails to smile, looks ill with the attempt like it hurts to try: “you love him too much for that.”

Oh. Oh god.

“It didn’t break my heart, though,” Eddie clears his throat and glances away, to the ceiling, eyes too bright: oh fuck; “broke my goddamn soul,” and a tear falls, and Steve can’t help but wipe it away, and kiss the track. Even just once.

So he does.

“When I saw you again that first time back,” Eddie starts again, voice rougher and shakier as he reaches a hand for Steve’s. “I could have asked the boys to fly out, the execs offered, but,” and this time, the attempt to grin is more successful, like a weight’s lifted from it: “and you smiled at me, it felt like,” and when he shakes his head this time it’s for disbelief, but the kind that comes with awe; “and when we slotted back together like we’d never been apart, it was…”

Eddie’s voice trails, but it cracks at the end—Steve doesn’t know which does more to stop his words.

He’s grateful, relieved, when they come back. He’s powerless but to give when Eddie touches his cheek so gentle and breathes:

“And I had to tell myself again, and again,” he murmurs, stroking Steve’s skin like he’s precious: “you love him too much to take his dream away from him.”

“What did it matter?” Steve can’t help but ask, no malice in it, just the need to understand. “You had your dream, you have—“

They have a contract. They have an album climbing the charts. They’re not just on their way—they’re there. The only next step is to get bigger, and bigger, and—

“Dreams within dreams, wasn’t it?” Eddie murmurs close to Steve’s cheek, where maybe he’s pressing to be close, or maybe he’s hiding a little, so Steve strokes his hair because he can either way and relishes how Eddie leans, melts into it like always. “Inside the dream?”

Steve nods, more to encourage more words. More Eddie.

“Break my dream open and there’s you with me, every step,” Eddie whispers, his lips warm on Steve’s skin. “Break my heart open, same damn thing,” and that causes Steve to shudder, and his heart to pick up now, too. “Both just kinda crumble if you take out the center.”

Steve can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Wants to. Doesn’t think they’re lies. It’s just, he…

“Those,” Steve tries to speak but his voice cracks; he clears his throat and kicks his lips while he tucks Eddie into his neck, under his chin: “those would be good lyrics.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head and nuzzles Steve’s throat with the motion and this can’t be happening.

This can’t be happening, can it?

“No, those words were only ever meant just for you.”

And Eddie kisses the pulse point close to his mouth and holds there, like a sentry and a miser, and holy shit.

Holy shit.

“And I don’t know,” Eddie’s saying more, but it’s pitchy, thready, like he’s barely holding the words together at all; “I don’t know if it’s nostalgia, or convenience, or routine,” his voice breaks again and the sob’s in the word when it comes even if it’s not streaming down on his cheeks: “pity,” and no, no, not fucking ever, how—

“I was never your dream then, and I don’t even know if I can be your inside-dream now, and,” Eddie’s rambling, and he does that when he’s desperate, when he’s overwhelmed and overfull with feeling—and Steve knows that. Steve knows that about him.

Steve knows. Better than he knows himself, Steve still knows him.

“I just want the world for you,” Eddie whispers, stroking up and down Steve’s jaw; “my sweetheart. My sunshine,” he smiles so real and soft and Steve melts, like the heart in his chest starts spilling through his ribs, warm and liquid: “you deserve more than the world, more than fuckin’ me and I,” Eddie shakes his head again, more this time like he’s stopping himself, like it’s a defense mechanism and Steve reaches for his cheeks, broad palms on either side to hold him still because…he doesn’t want Eddie to stop.

Ever.

“Did I ruin it?” Eddie breathes, and barely at that, eyes so wide and swimming and oh, god; “did I—"

And Steve can’t help it. He can’t help but kiss him with all he’s got, even if it couldn’t be all Eddie’s worth in all the world. Steve can’t contain all that Eddie’s worth.

But he can give everything, because this is the man who already has it.

“What the hell was I supposed to be to a rockstar?” Steve tries to talk through his own tight throat, his own growing smile, his own threat of tears bubbling close to the surface. “How the fuck was I ever going to measure up, ever do anything but hold you back when you could have—“

“I come back to you, for you,” Eddie answers immediate; it’s not what Steve’s asking but he won’t lie and say he didn’t want to know, at least a little. “The handful of times I’ve tried,” Eddie shakes his head once now, definitive; “I have always left my everything with you.”

The idea that Steve’s spent all this time feeling empty, and hollow, and missing the best of himself where it lived in the man he loved—the idea he was wrong, that they both were so fucking wrong is…insanity.

“I had a bag half packed.”

Steve doesn’t need to explain further. The noise Eddie makes is pure pain.

“Baby,” he nearly croons, falls into Steve somehow closer, wraps him up tighter; “I wanted to kidnap you in the night.”

“I sobbed in my bed after you were out of sight.”

“I pulled over before the town sign, because I couldn’t see the goddamn road.”

And Steve…Steve doesn’t really have a decision to make about what he says next. What dream he wants; always has.

“I never got rid of the luggage.”

And Eddie hears everything he says in those words, because after everything, Eddie Munson knows him, and…yeah.

Steve’s been kissed in a lot of ways before. By this man in particular, even.

But this: if leaving broke Eddie’s soul, if somehow the lack of Steve somehow did that?

This is…this is the body meeting another body, heart to heart and tasting the way a soul slides back in place. It's Eddie’s hands in his hair like hell never let go and he’s happy about the idea; blissful for it, even. It’s—beyond anything Steve’s ever known. So: yeah.

It’s not a decision. It’s just a fucking given.

♥️

🎸also on ao3

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here

[doiliedaze]

Apple of my Eye: part two

Butch farm hand! Abby x Farmer! reader

Warnings: none in this part besides the both of them lying to themselves in the beginning :( especially reader, Owen mention, talks of grief, both of their insecure tendencies of wanting to help each other pop out, talk of being bi and comphet, Abby being a control freak, reader is horrible at reassurance

Genre: fluff, angst

A/n: hey dolls I know I said I was gonna make moodboards but nevermind LMAOOOO It’s hard finding pictures for the masculine counterparts especially Sevika because Pinterest sucks sometimes so yeah! They have an Australian shepherd because I love Bluey so much and all of them have silly little names, so her name is Biscuit!! I also wanted to make note of the bisexual and comphet conversation because I know I have bi dolls here and bisexuality is a valid sexuality and you’re a valid lesbian no matter what that looks like even if you were bisexual in the past! I added it because I’m a femme lesbian who use to identify as bisexual and I was comphet and I didn’t want to erase Owen so I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to introduce those identities struggles.

1

───────┈ · ·

The farm has a new ambiance to it. Abby has brought a new peace I never thought I'd feel here. I mean moving out here was the best thing I could've done, but it hasn't been peaceful truth be told.

Abby is the ultimate gentleman and the perfect person to live with! When I'm sick she takes care of me and when I fall asleep on the porch, she'll either join me or she'd take me to my bed. She even lets me take care of her, which I can tell is a struggle for her. She's all "don't need ya help pumpkin" and "sit down little missy" oh! and my favorite "just relax sugar."

The way she looks at me when she calls me sugar could make me melt! Doesn't matter though because I doubt she sees me that way, no one should anyways.

My thoughts get interrupted as our dog Biscuit jumps onto my lap, knocking my ignored book out my hand in the process. Biscuit is an Australian Shepherd and she is a huge help to the farm!

She’s a needy little thing…just like her mama y’all figure out which one I’m referring to. She plops her weight on me just begging for cuddles and obviously I obliged.

“There’s my girls” Abby states as she makes her way onto the porch. She’s coming back from doing field work and holy shit she’s so fucking fine. Her chest is heaving from her hard work, her pretty face dirty just a little, her usually tight braid has fly aways and her skin is more tanned.

In the midst of my gawking Abby leans into my face, “heard me sugar?” I feel heat run straight through my body. She stands up straight rubbing her big hands, “always zoning out, just asking what you wanted for din-”

“No! I mean I was wondering if we could cook together tonight?”

Her face slowly grows into a smile, “I’d love that.”

We settled on a beef brisket which will take a while so as that slowly cooks we made our sides. Barbecue beans and toast! As I was making the sauce for the beans…giving some to biscuit here and there Abby breaks the silence.

“Y’know I really have enjoyed myself here.” I look at her, “I’ve enjoyed you too, I have never lived with someone outside my family.”

“Really? I was always at a friends place or anywhere but home…” she chuckled softly then cleared her throat.

I want her to open up to me more but I’m not that good at getting her to want to talk to me about that sorta stuff, but I’ve also never directly asked!

“Wanna talk about it?” I say and I can feel my words hanging in the air. I couldn’t bring myself to look at her.

She walks over to me and looks down at me, “why?”

That completely throws me, why else girl? “Because I want to know you better, I want you to be comfortable enough to talk to me…if that’s what you want.”

Her demeanor can change at times. She can be very playful then she can be very guarded and it’s intimidating.

She’s overthinking I can see it in her eyes but she whispers, “I never liked being home, I just didn’t and I regret that after my dad passed.”

My mouth gets dry and a clutch the spoon. Y’know what they say there is no right thing to say when someone mentions a death in their life. What if what I ask her is annoying? What if I come off self centered?

In disbelief I just try to read her body language, does she want me to talk? Does she want a hug?

Her body was stiff but still open to me but her arms are crossed over her chest. “I loved my dad, but I was being a teenager and teenagers hate being around their parents so I just followed the crowd and…now I can’t take that back.”

I bite my lip wanting to hold her or wipe the tears I see building in her eyes. “So when he passed and everything was settled I moved to Seattle…lived with my ex at the time which is another difficult story.”

“You don’t have to get into that if you don’t want to there’s no pressure!” I immediately chip in, wanting to reassure her in some way.

I wipe her tear and her face leans into my hand a little and she mutters a thank you. She closed her eyes and breathed shakily then she just straighten her shoulders and pat mine. “Thank you for listening sugar I needed that.”

“I’m here for you always Abs” I say as I bump her with my hip successfully getting a smile and a flustered expression out of her.

We ate dinner cuddled up on the porch in silence.

The next couple days we’re peaceful but informative! I told her small fun facts like I’ve set a field on fire before by accident to serious things like this time I got cheated on which led to the time she got cheated on.

We both talked about how we were bi and comphet and how sometimes we don’t feel valid in our lesbian identities because we’ve been in relationships with men.

She told me more about this Owen and Mel situation as we were riding our horses to get our animals in their coops when I suggested that I should fly up there and beat there ass when I guess she took that shit serious.

“Sugar wake up” she whispers as she shakes me awake, “Abby leave me alone it’s Saturday!” I whine as I feel her sit me up. “C’mon we’re gonna miss our flight!” My eyes shoot open to that.

“Flight?”

“Flight!” She beams as she moved to get my packed bags, “Abby what the fuck!” I say as I get out the bed.

“Well I was thinking hey I really like this girl maybe she should meet my people and I know her grandpa could watch the farm for a little while so I schedule a little trip to Seattle for us!”

My heart flutters as she talks so effortlessly about liking me…even though she probably means it platonically.

I just go along with it. I know that once her mind is set on something she’s just going to do it.

This whole morning felt like a blur! I woke up, got on a plane and now I’m being introduced to this girl named Nora while I’m jet lagged and in hello kitty pj pants. She’s funny and she’s nice, she’s easier to talk to compared to some of the others.

Nora breaks down the groups dynamic to me and honestly I don’t know how they are friends but it’s not my business.

This is all happening at Mannys house he seems to host everything. Leah was telling me how it’s convenient that Owen and Mel are late and I take that as a mental note.

Abby has kept me close as much as possible, almost as if she’s on edge so I pull her to the side. “You okay?”

She gulps down her water, “yeah! Why wouldn’t I be?” “You made a kinda irresponsible, super spontaneous decision and brought me along and I think it kinda stems back to the ex so…”

She stares at me before saying, “this is so stupid! He’s never seen me like…this.” “Like who you are?” I rub her bicep and her arm tenses so I move away. She rubs her face, “look I just…I’ve never felt so small and he always makes me feel so small! And it’s not just him…Mel and I have had a complicated relationship and for her to be with him…she’s everything I wasn’t and I don’t want to be like that but-”

I hold her hand, and mimic that she needs to breathe because her face is so red. She follows along and clears her throat. “I don’t want to be like that but it still hurts…” “okay well I say maybe you should talk to her. I don’t know if you want to talk to Owen but I think you should talk to Mel and burry the hatchet.”

Before she could respond we heard a collective “oh shit” from inside. Manny comes rushing outside, “Not trying to intrude but to intrude just um brace yourself…”

With that he moves to the side and we see who I assume to be Owen and Mel with a baby bump. I immediately look up at Abby and see her face a hue of green. Her larger hand is crushing mine but I endure it because she needs it.

The air in the room was so heavy. I guess the others didn’t know she is pregnant. She doesn’t look that far along.

Owen takes a step forward to introduce himself but Abby takes me through the back and to the car. “Okay wait!” I say as I hold onto the car door before she opens it. Her face was a mixture of disgust and anger and confusion.

“Abby listen that is a lot but it doesn’t matter!” She scrunched her face up at me, “it matters but it doesn’t? I feel like if you just talk to them…I mean they are a couple right? You don’t want either of them so let that hurt go…”

She let go of me and leaned on the car and the rain started to drizzle down. She just stood there and cried and I feel like I can’t do nothing about it! I mean what do you say, what do you do! This is such a difficult situation. She doesn’t like him anymore she doesn’t like men anymore in general, but at the end of the day that was her first love! Mel was her well I don’t think she was her friend but she’s envious of her in a way and never got the closure of letting it go she just keeps leaving. Oh…

I inch closer to her and wrap myself around her. The rain started to pour down on us but I didn’t care. She needed to be held, to be cared for, to know she’s a butch that’s loved.

Her body was shaking and I nuzzle my head against her back. To lighten the mood I say, “my hair smells like smoke can we go somewhere dry?” And she laughs a little, “I’m sorry” she touches my now messed up press out.

We get in the car and she looks at me, “I’m so sorry for everything. I made you go to Seattle, meet all these people, fuck up your hair and…I just wasn’t considerate of you.”

“I appreciate your apology because this whole situation has been a lot but I’m here for your, I’m your girl.”

“You are my girl” she smiles, before I could respond Mel knocks on her window and mouths can we talk.

“I could just drive off…” “Abigail!”

She sighs and unlocks the back door, “no I’ll leave, I don’t have to hear this.” Mel gets in the passenger seat and I exit the car and go to Manny’s stoop where everyone else is.

Owen approaches me and I can tell he’s sizing me up. He extends his hands and I stare at it then look away. He scoffs and stands to the side and talks to Jordan’s bitch ass.

To be honest Abby needs a whole new friend group besides Nora but she has enough on her plate.

Eventually Abby and Mel emerge they seem more calm around each other but there’s work to be done. We say our goodbyes and go to our hotel.

“So this trip got cut short!” I say as I fix my hair and she steps into the shower. “We could spend some time here then go somewhere else…”

“Where?” I hum as I slowly pass the flat iron to through my hair.

“Atlanta!”

“Atlanta?”

───────┈ · ·

A/n: I’ve been approaching this like it’s a romcom and I feel like it shows lol, I hope y’all enjoyed!!

Taglist: @manfuckthisimout @bambishaven @femme-historian @furrytaesss @milanyas @highnfemme

Dividers- @dollywons

[covenofagatha]

argh i miss you miss covenofagatha! it's been torturous and i hope you've been doing well ☺️ I've been so very busy (and i also started playing valorant again which means i spend most of my time raging at incompetence not only at work/school but in my down time as well) so i once again apologise for not filling your inbox with asks...

so, from my experience cooped up at the table with my headphones on, here are two brainworms for us to mull over :

-secretary!reader who teases jennifer barkley in meetings, wearing no panties under your skirt. she sees you stain the fabric of the cushioned chair with your leaking arousal, and has to try her damn best to ignore the growing arousal and sheer possessiveness that overwhelms her. she's sitting opposite you, and the only one in the room with a clear view of your glistening cunt, but god it pisses her off to know that any one of the other people in the room could see her pet at the right angle. obviously, she has to teach you a lesson about who you belong to, and more importantly, how not to be a dirty whore while she's at her very important work. the moment everyone else files out, she bends you over her lap and spanks, with you whining miserably as she pauses every few spanks to lean down and give your cunt little kitten licks just to tease you back. she makes you grind your wet cunt on the same rough chair you stained at the beginning of the meeting, making you rut against it knowing fully well you won't be able to cum at all unless she does something.

-g!p gamer reader with brat! agatha who gets awfully needy while you're gaming on call with your friends, who crawls over and works herself up just while staring at you play. it doesn't matter if it's minecraft or overwatch or stardew valley etc, she just riles herself up at the look of you so focused against the table, laser focused on the screen, and the way your hands look (and most of all, how they look inside her). to satiate herself, she moves to straddle you, arms wrapping around you. you don't think much of it, letting her settle in on her own, though you plant soft kisses on her skin every so often just for her to know how much you love her. (you also decide to lock in on the game so you can impress her, even if her back is facing the monitor.)

unfortunately for you, she gets more riled up than anything, and you don't spare her a glance when she slides from your grasp and down on her knees in front of you, licking her lips as she eyes your clothed crotch needily. you're in the middle of fighting an enemy, and she's upset you don't even look at her. obviously, she has to do something about you getting so invested in your game that you've forgotten about what truly matters (her). she pulls your boxers down and you gasp, jerking involuntarily and losing. your friends call you out for your fumble and you have to come up with a half hearted excuse, caught between maintaining composure and also letting her keep going. she revels in every stutter, every squeak, every warning you give her that gets weaker and weaker each time. she loves pushing your buttons (and, well, sucking them) so it's no surprise when the moment you hit the disconnect button on discord, you're done. your fingers clasp around her throat roughly, just to guide her out of the cramped gap under your desk, and she groans at the gentle pressure alone. you command her to "suck." and she obliges readily, and she's so damn wet at how you treat her like a toy, and you're hard at how pliant she gets once she's past her brattiness. she cums when you shoot your load in her mouth, and you're in awe of just how fucking desperate she is that she came just from sucking you off. she looks at you with the prettiest little eyes, and something ignites in you, telling you that you need to fuck her till the brat's eyes roll back into her head.

-

also, i agree on the dryhumping (so so hot) and casual dominance (also so hot), i think if you wrote it I'd probably get wet on the spot (though i do already). seeing the kitten and puppy anons get so needy in your asks are also adorable haha.

I'd like to check if you'd mind if i sent asks that were... well.... not horny. aka : would you still love me if i wasn't a brainworm™ LMFAOO, sometimes I'd just like to chat with you dear 💜.

perfectly fine if you don't want to, because trust me, i have plenty of horny to share withthe class. (very very much looking forward to hogwarts prof agatha, by the way.) hope you're doing alright!

-lots of love, worm anon 😆

Ahhhh omg worm anon I missed you too

I NEED to write more Jen Barkley (also had someone mention g!p Jen and YES)

I did not know brat!Agatha could be so hot but like something about muscular, gamer g!p reader and bratty bottom Agatha is really doing something to me

And as much as I love and look forward to your horny asks, I would be delighted to just chat!

Hope you're having a good night or whatever time it is for you 💜

[yuribalisms]

And like !!!! The thing is with the gender stuff…. If I’m this wary about ever medically transitioning, even if I did come to the conclusion I’m a guy, I’m not sure I’d ever do it. It makes life hard, and if I’m not a hundred percent like “yes I want this it will make me happy” then I’m probably not gonna do it. It would also mean cutting off my mom’s side of the family for good (and while I don’t rlly mind never talking to my mom specifically again, there are quite a few ppl it would upset me to lose that way, all things considered). So Like…. What would be the point in “being out” as a trans guy? Sure my friends would listen but like the world in general? No!!! I might as well just keep saying I’m a lesbian and like ugh. Ugh. I like being a lesbian and I just don’t understand any of this but also am I just clinging so hard to lesbianism because it’s “safer” to me? Like what is the point in any of this my thoughts are just going in circles

[teddybeartoji]

films just aren't as beautiful anymore there is hardly any emotion behind anything they lack depth and they lack love

[northern-passage]

i've been thinking a lot about the word "representation" and what it means and how it's changed over the last few years, particularly when it comes to the writing/publishing landscape but also in movies and tv shows… and i really don't like it anymore. to be clear, of course i think it's important to have diversity in your work, i'm not saying i hate the concept of representation. but i do really dislike the way it's used now, and i really just hate the word itself

in a broader sense it's just become a marketing tool. i'm not impressed by any publisher or author who just describes their book by listing all of the minorities/identities the characters represent as if that should be enough. it feels very gross, very exploitative and disingenuous. it also really bothers me because it's always marginalized identities- which i understand Why, but it feels very othering to me (and again. Very exploitative as an advertisement). you would never list out "cishet able-bodied white man" as a character description to pat yourself on the back over. so why do it to everyone else? why insinuate that one is the "default" and the other one is "special"? (and when i say this i'm mainly talking about advertisements/marketing. i understand why people would specify about characters in descriptions with the plot, but i don't like to see an ad that's just "this book has gay people!" with nothing else)

which then leads me to my other point, which is that a lot of people treat "representation" as if it's "too hard." like "oh i don't know enough to write about that, i don't have that experience, etc" which is a fair way to feel! however… it's weird that people only say this about writing trans characters or characters of color. i'm writing a story right now with a character who is really into motorcycles. i personally do not know that much about motorcycles, so i researched what parts are what & what different kinds of models there are & what basic bike care looks like. i guarantee Most people will have to google something at some point in their writing process. so what's the problem? it also, again, feels very othering when authors treat certain groups of people as "impossible" to write, "too hard" to understand. they are just.. people. you write them as a person. and then you figure out the rest later.

and i think part of the refusal or fear to write something outside of your experience is because of the way representation is treated as So Special. these characters are So Special that they aren't allowed to be anything other than "representation." they're Not allowed to be characters with complex emotions and interesting motivations, they have to just be Trans or Gay or Disabled or whatever. they're not allowed to be people. which means, at the end of the day, we loop right back around to where we were at the start….

there is bad representation. there are depictions of certain marginalized people that are harmful and that are damaging, i'm not trying to minimize that or argue against it at all, in fact we should all be mindful of that while writing and reading. but i also think it's possible to swing too far in the opposite direction as well and put certain groups of people on a pedestal and not allow them to do anything at all but be Perfect Representation, if that makes sense.

[dailykugisaki]

Day 347 | id in alt

Kugisaki hasn't been around Gojo enough to gaf about him LMAO.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

hey um not to be parasociall but how did the meeting with your advisor go???? also would it be possible for you to switch advisors/program or something so you can change your research interests if that's the issue? Im a doctoral student as well so I get how tricky that stuff can be depending on your program.... Anyway I hope things better for you xoxo

Lol, ur fine! It went alright

[fancylala4]

“Blah blah blah I want marvelous to change things up little! Blah blah I don’t want them to go back to what it used to be. Blah blah sdv was made by one person and I put in more hours into that game than I did with rune factory 4 and story of seasons ever did!”

Good, go play that game instead of whining about sos/rf games not being like it on the fucking sos/hm/rf forum for the 100th time. Not everyone likes that game (I hated every single thing about sdv) and wants sos/rf to be exactly like that game.

I know I say this many times before but I will say it again. Sos: poot did change everything up and guess what? Everyone in the community hated that game. So much that they are worried that the next game is just like it. The last thing this company needs is to further alienate their audience by taking out and changing things that made them love the franchise.

[constellarcreator]

Might leave the one psychonauts discord im in lol

[vorecommunitywoes]

hi.

I’m static

I want to know what Zet mentioned me for in their post you screenshotted and if they are still active. Thank you for your time.

theyre not still active and honestly idr what post they mentioned u in

im pretty sure u had a lot of harmful views which made ur prev friend group cut u off. idk if u got tht sorted but u prolly should if u didnt. saying this in the most gentle way possible i dont think u should be engaging with other ppl who arent comfortable with u especially if there were a lot of hurt words exchanged

some self reflection is in order in why u did what u did and why u have the views u do. not saying ur a bad person (good and bad people do not exist PUT THIS IN YOUR MINDSET CEMENT IT FOREVER) but its the actions u take and the principles u have tht matter. life has a lot of lessons and they r especially harsh when u are younger bc ur peers are figuring shit out too

not saying i agree with what u did or what ur views are but i understand

[evtoine]

thinking about halsin and his relation to trauma. how he was able to heal from the terrible thing that happened to him, how it doesn't control him, how he can acknowledge it but he doesn't hurt how he used to. how it doesn't consume his every waking thought. it's incredibly healing to be able to see a character who has immense grief and trauma still able to be hopeful, still able to make a change, and be able to interact with the things that hurt him in the first place.

[freezi-drink]

.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[coridallasmultipass]

I am once again begging online shop payment processing companies to allow me to enter a separate name for shipping and separate name for billing!!

It's the same address, I'm just trans and have not legally changed my personal name, but I still prefer to receive mail as my preferred name! Like it's literally my professional name, I do business as my preferred name.

Annoying as fuck, and I don't want to chance my bank rejecting the payment (though I'm sure someone at my bank has put a note to allow it on my account by now, since I've contacted them a couple times before when I realized too late that the billing section didn't let me input another "address/name" section, and they said the payment was fine in those cases.)

Anyway, legal name changes should be free and non-advertised for everyone. Tbh, you should get a free name change every time you file your taxes on time as an incentive for good citizen behaviour. Once I am elected pres-