Your Boyfriend Is Hot, So Hot, Too Hot

I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

...

FUUUUCK....... i sure could go for a Nice, Cold, and Refreshing glass of

Ice Water

right about now.......

Drabble Challenge Day 11 - Credit

hosted by @thedrabblecollective

Stranger Things - 100 words - Steddie&Robin

AO3 link

Credit²

Eddie raised his glass.

“To Steve and the awesome flat he got us!”

Robin cheered.

Come on guys,” Steve mumbled, “I didn’t do anything, I just have a good credit score.”

Robin groaned.

“You called all the banks and found the best mortgage rate, you translated the contracts written in rich people lingo, you stopped Eddie from buying that crazy expensive guitar last year…”

“It wasn’t that exp…”

“YES IT WAS. Steve. Platonic love of my life. You are the savior of our finances and the only reason we were able to buy this place. Accept our thanks or else.”

Finally finished and BOY am I proud of this?? @brekkie-e gave me the STUNNING idea of baby Soka being a She-ra fan and I LOVED it?? So she gets to be sparkly and wear She-ra?? Also pimply Ani and his emo band shirt 😂🤣💕💖

Additionally God bless the Pexels site and Curtis Adams for the free background that saved my ass??

“Queerness, to me, is about far more than homosexual attraction. It’s about a willingness to see all other taboos broken down. Sure, many of us start on this path when we first feel “same sex” or “same gender” attraction (though what is sex? And what is gender? And does anyone really have the same sex or gender as anyone else?). But queerness doesn’t stop there. This is a somewhat controversial stance, but to me queer means something completely different than “gay” or “lesbian” or “bisexual.” A queer person is usually someone who has come to a non-binary view of gender, who recognizes the validity of all trans identities, and who, given this understanding of infinite gender possibilities, finds it hard to define their sexuality any longer in a gender-based way. Queer people understand and support non-monogamy even if they do not engage in it themselves. They can grok being asexual or aromantic. (What does sex have to do with love, or love with sex, necessarily?) A queer can view promiscuous (protected) public bathhouse sex with strangers and complete abstinence as equally healthy. Queers understand that people have different relationships to their bodies. We get what it means to be stone. We know what body dysphoria is about. We understand that not everyone likes to get touched the same way or to get touched at all. We realize that people with disabilities may have different sexual needs, and that people with survivor histories often have sexual triggers. We can negotiate safe and creative ways to be intimate with people with HIV/AIDs and other STIs. Queers understand the range of power and sensation and the diversity of sexual dynamics. We are tops and bottoms, doms and subs, sadists and masochists and sadomasochists, versatiles and switches. We know what we like and don’t like in bed. We embrace a wide range of relationship types. We can be partners, lovers, friends with benefits, platonic sweethearts, chosen family. We can have very different dynamics with different people, often all at once. We don’t expect one person to be able to fulfill all our diverse needs, fantasies and ideals indefinitely. Because our views on relationships, sex, gender, love, bodies, and family are so unconventional, we are of necessity anti-assimilationist. Because under the kyriarchy we suffer, and watch the people we love suffering, we are political. Because we want to survive, we fight. We only want the freedom to be ourselves, love ourselves, love each other, and live together. Because we are routinely denied that, we are pissed. Queer doesn’t mean “don’t label me,” it means “I am naming myself.” It means “ask me more questions if you’re curious…“”

—

What Queerness Means To Me « Tranarchism (via docasaur)

I’ve chosen this as one of my first posts as it’s important to me that people understand what I’m talking about when I use the term queer.  

(via hollyloveholly)

i just invented a cathedral rose window granny square pattern and i feel insane now

Wedding Ink

For the Mini Pride Bingo hosted by @genderthings.

[AO3]

Prompt: Tattoo | Rating: Gen | WC: 1230 | Relationships : Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Summary:

Steve wants to marry Eddie and wear a wedding ring to show the whole world they belong to each other, homophobic laws be damned. But Steve is a nurse, and hospital rules are hospital rules.

It’s not that Steve dislikes jewelry. Honestly, it’s kind of the opposite.

Take Eddie’s rings, for example.

His boyfriend has a few of them, all bulky and impossible to ignore, and he barely takes them off to shower. They are always on his hands, even when he plays guitar, even when he sleeps. And he is so full of life, his man, always waving his hands around, rings catching the light with each movement, gleaming. 

The way he touches him is no better, warm hands and soft metal sliding across his skin, gripping, grabbing. Loving.

Steve likes rings. Especially Eddie's.

He’s just not allowed to wear jewelry at the hospital.

Becoming a nurse had not been easy, but after the whole mess that happened with the Upside-Down, after breaking Eddie’s ribs, each snap resonating like thunder in his arms when he was trying to breathe life back to Eddie’s lungs, after everything the nurses at Hawkins Memorial had down for them, strong and caring when the whole town had wanted to crucify Eddie… Steve had known. 

He loves his job. He has finally found his place in the world, one where he can help people in need. No day is really easy, but the rewards are worth the long shifts and the random hours. Being a nurse makes him feel useful in a way he had been craving for years.

He just wishes he could wear a ring.

Some of his coworkers are married, and they either keep their wedding band on a chain around their neck or take it off before their shift and store it in their locker.

He could do the locker thing, realistically. 

But he can’t get out of his head the absolute panic in his coworker Mary’s eyes, the high pitch of her voice, her harsh breathing and her shaking hands when they had ended their shift at the same time and her ring wasn’t in her locker.

She had found it, eventually, because, of course, she had left it at home and had forgotten all about it in the frenzy of hospital life, but the fear had lingered. She had stopped wearing her ring, keeping it in a jewelry box on her bedside table. Just in case.

And the thing is. Steve and Eddie can’t get married. Not legally at last. They have been talks of backyard wedding, one day, maybe, but the ring… The ring is a problem.

It eats at Steve. Days and nights.

He can’t imagine getting married and only having a ring to prove his devotion to his husband. Not when he can’t wear it all the time and could lose it at any given moment. All his wedding dreams end with his ring disappearing and Eddie looking at him through tears, asking if he doesn’t love him anymore. 

When he finally opens up to Robin, she’s kind about his fears. Understanding in a way that speaks about years and years of feeling out of the norm. Different. Kept from enjoying so many things that other people take from granted.

“It’s okay to feel like that, Steve. It’s scary to realize your love is not something people are going to accept, especially when another typical married couple thing is out of your reach.” She squeezes his arm. “You have coworkers who wear their wedding ring around their neck, right? Maybe you should do that when you finally take that step with Eddie.”

Steve swallows, his throat tight, fighting through the burn in his eyes.

“Northwestern Memorial has a very strict policy about jewelry. The only pieces nurses are allowed to wear are wedding bands on necklaces. And you have to provide a wedding certificate for that.”

“So, they wouldn’t…”

Steve loses the fight against tears.

“No, they would never let me wear any ring given by Eddie.”

“Oh, babe…” Robin arms wrap around him as he sobs. 

“Say, Stevie…” Her voice is wavering. She seems so unsure of herself, in a way that differs from her usual anxiety-fueled ramblings. “I could maybe marry you? Legally, I mean. Then you would marry Eddie, and you’ll be able to wear your wedding band around your neck.”

Steve’s burrow deeper into Robin’s embrace. He can’t deal with not being held right now.

“Thank you, Rob. But it wouldn’t be the same.”

They hug for a while, before Robin manages to make him laugh with a crazy anecdote about her least favorite coworker. They end up playing a drinking game in front of Star Wars, and Eddie is woken up at 2 a.m. by his very drunk boyfriend sliding in his bed.

“Hey, Eddie, Eddie?”

“Wot?”

“You know I love you, right?”

“Mmmrrr.”

“I love you a lot, Eddie, like… like an insane amount. Scientists cannot quantify how much I love you, and…”

He is stopped by a kiss.

“Love you too, sweetheart,” Eddie tiredly wraps himself all around his boyfriend, octopus-style. “But please, go to sleep.”

_______________________

They’re celebrating Nancy’s promotion in a gay bar when Steve has a revelation.

The girls want more drinks, and Steve grumbles but leave the warmth of Eddie’s arms to bring them cocktails.

“And a beer for your humble servant, please, my liege!”

And a beer for Eddie, apparently.

The bartender is only vaguely familiar, and he is pretty sure the guy wasn’t there two months ago. Steve flags the man down, and watches with a smile as he shakes Nancy’s elaborate cocktail. He is putting on a show, but Steve can tell it’s not really meant for him, not with the wedding band glistening on his left hand and the wink he throws at the new waiter. 

The wave of jealousy hits him unexpectedly. It must be nice to wear proof of your marriage in front of everyone like that, and to be able to flirt with your husband at your own place of work without having to watch your back. Maybe he should hang up his scrubs and go into bartending.

Steve shakes his head. He loves his job. He is being ridicul…

He frowns. 

What’s that just underneath the guy’s wedding band?

The bartender winks at him this time, playing with the ring.

“Had this one for almost two years now.” He points at the waiter. “It goes with that one.”

“What’s that?”

“Hum?” The bartender blink, then smiles again. “Oh! Look.”

He leans over the bar and shows Steve his hand, palm up. He pushes the ring out of the way, and just underneath, the initials S.W. are written in black ink. 

“Scott Williams. That’s my man.”

“It’s a tattoo.” Steve says numbly. 

“It sure is, darling.”

“I can get a tattoo.” Steve cannot breathe. He can have that. He can etch Eddie’s name into his skin, keep him there forever.

“Hey, don’t forget your drinks!”

Steve turns back to the bar, disoriented, and grab the tray the bartender is nice enough to give him.

“You okay, man?” He asks, visibly worried.

“Never been better.”

He walks past the crowd without seeing it and reach their group. Robin’s head shot up at his arrival.

“You’re alright, Dingus?” She frowns. “You look a bit shell shocked over there.”

She yelps when Steve put down the tray heavily on the table, drinks splashing.

“Hey, what are you…”

Steve climbs on his boyfriend’s lap.

“Eddie,” he cradles his face with both hands, reverent. “Will you marry me?”

Drabble Challenge Day 7 - Lotion

hosted by @thedrabblecollective

Stranger Things - 100 words - Steddie

AO3 link

Pool Day

“You should really take your vest off, Eddie,” Robin said. “You’re going to cook in it.”

“I’m allergic to tanning, Birdie.”

A few feet away, Dustin jumped into the pool, splashing everyone.

“HENDERSON! Come back here! You need sunscreen!”

Lucas tried to follow Dustin, but Steve was faster.

“Not you too!” he started to rub lotion on the squirmy teen. “No one gets sunburn on my watch.”

Eddie froze.

Then his shirt and vest were off.

“Stevie, can you help me put lotion on my back?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“You’re blushing,” Robin whispered.

“Shut up. It’s the sun. I'm burning.”