#I have been personally attacked this Sunday afternoon

[brittany-snow]

brittanysnow Sunday errands in your 30s means spending too long at Target, buying socks in bulk, debating about a shower mat you’ll forget in the car & wondering why the whole time you’re so tired. 🎯 Raging with my bud @selashiloni.

#brittany snow #I have been personally attacked this Sunday afternoon

[mc-i-r]

Disposable Heroes

Part one, Part two, Part three, Part four AO3 link

A/N: hi yes so sorry for how late this is, it turned into a huge monster of a fic that I’m still working on but I figured posting the first part wouldn’t hurt. This is based on this post by @liightsnow, @acowardinmordor, and @00biscuit while back and I decided to expand that concept a bit and here we are. I'll be tagging anyone that seemed interested in the concept at the end of the fic! Warnings are below but I just wanna say that Steve is struggling with his sexuality in this one so most of it comes from that. This will absolutely have a happy ending, just not right now. Enjoy the angst!

Tw: internalized homophobia, homophobic language, mentions of canon violence, dissociation, panic attacks

———

It’s a Sunday afternoon when he realizes it. Steve is sitting on his couch, eating a shitty frozen meal and watching a random movie on TV when it hits him. The kids haven’t asked him for a ride in two weeks. Two Saturdays have passed and there was not one call— either on the phone or over the walkie— from any of the kids. Not even Dustin, who has seemed to make it his life’s mission in the past couple years to annoy Steve into an early grave.

It’s not like he hasn’t seen them at all. He still practices basketball with Lucas on Thursdays, even though the season is long over. His weekly dinners with Claudia and Dustin are still going strong every Wednesday. Joyce seems to invite him over for dinners every couple weeks. From the outside, everything seems fine. And maybe it is, but Steve’s noticed things.

See, he’s not as stupid as people think he is. He may not be academically smart but he can read. However, instead of books, it’s people. He can read their micro-expressions, notice little signs in their body language that help him understand the person. He can tell when people are nervous when they avoid eye contact, can tell how anxious they are when they distract themselves by picking at their fingers. It’s how he’s so good with the kids. They’re in the stubborn stage of their teenage years, the time in which the only answer you’ll get is ‘I’m fine. Leave me alone’. But he can tell if there’s something on their minds, if there’s something eating away at them.

He can tell that Mike’s anger and pointed barbs are directed towards himself, how he’s struggling with something he can’t quite admit to himself yet. How Max is frustrated with her body, with accepting help, because she’s always had to rely on herself and putting that much trust in someone else has never been an option for her until now. How Lucas is trying to find joy in doing something he loves again, because his love for basketball has been ruined by Carver and his trusty band of assholes. How Dustin is trying to deal with almost losing Eddie, how he’s processing the feelings of almost losing a brotherly figure along with one of his friends. How Will is hiding part of himself, struggling to accept it in the same way Mike is. How El is trying so hard to find her new normal, to adjust to getting her life— her father— back.

There’s another thing he’s noticed, however. It’s that the kids are obsessed with Eddie. Steve from a couple years ago would feel jealous of Eddie, and would try to hold it against him. Now, though, Steve just feels… sad. The kids constantly talk about how cool and badass Eddie is for still being himself despite all the shit Hawkins has thrown at him. They talk about how Eddie takes them places, gets them little trinkets for their nerd game, and takes them fun places. Eddie does all these little things for the kids, lets them just be kids, and really, Steve can’t be mad at him for it. He tries to let them have fun, but his constant worrying overwhelms them. It brings them down. Eddie doesn’t do that. He joins right in with them, basking in the fun and letting himself go. Steve… can’t. Not with all the shit he’s seen. Letting his guard down is something he can’t afford to do anymore.

He sighs down at his meal, chucking it on the coffee table as he loses his appetite. His glasses land next to the disposable plastic tray, sliding across the finished wood surface from the force of his throw. He rubs harshly over his face, hands digging into his eyes until he sees stars.

Steve knows he’s not perfect. Hell, it took an interdimensional monster trying to kill him in order for him to realize that he could be a better person. That the only person truly able to change his life is himself. He used to think he had no choice in his life— whether it was his parents' high expectations of him or his friends trying to mold him into their perfect little plaything— but he knows better now. He knows that he shouldn’t have become King Steve, that he shouldn’t have hurled all his hate and anger towards other people who didn’t deserve it. He knows he shouldn’t have called people names or slurs, that he shouldn’t have spray painted lockers or ripped up books or shoved people against hard asphalt. He knows that, but knowing it was wrong doesn’t erase the fact that it happened. That Steve did those things and hurt people.

Part of him knows that his past is what made the kids turn towards Eddie. Why wouldn’t they? Steve was a bully, thought he was hot shit in school and made it everyone’s problem. Eddie was simply himself. His unabashed, unashamed self. He stood on cafeteria tables, made dramatic speeches, and shared his opinions to anyone and everyone who would listen. He’s so genuine and so, so much better for the kids. He teaches them how to be themselves, how to shove off the hate and embrace their weird side. He’s perfect for them, and Steve knows deep down that this is good for them. The kids need a good role model, one they can rely on, and Eddie has his herd of little sheep to teach and protect. It’s perfect. They’re perfect.

Steve remembers the time last week at the Byers-Hopper house when their little obsession truly became real. They were waiting for the bread to finish baking in the oven, and Steve saw that Will was seated alone in the living room. Joyce and Hopper were in the kitchen, talking and keeping a lookout so the bread wouldn’t burn. Jonathan and El were listening to music in his room, the synth and guitars echoing down the hallway. So, Steve decided to finally talk to Will. It’s not like they don’t talk ever, just… not much. Will is quiet, blends into the background, and Steve never felt like the kid would be comfortable with him trying to get in his business. However, he needed to ask the question that had been on his mind for a while.

Steve sat down on the couch next to him, keeping a fair amount of distance between them, and rested his elbows on his knees. Will was reading a comic, the cover full of bright colors and words, not paying attention. Steve sighed, pushed his glasses up, and ran a hand through his own hair.

“Hey, um… can we talk for a sec?”

Will startled a little, like he didn’t realize Steve was there, and closed his comic. He nodded, and Steve tried not to feel bad about the hesitation in his eyes.

“Is there something going on that I don’t know about? Like with the others?” Will’s eyebrows furrowed, a confused expression taking over his face.

“Um.. what do you mean?”

“Just… have I done anything to them to make them mad? I just… I don’t know, I feel like I’ve done something but I don’t know what,” Steve confessed. He must have looked as distraught as he felt, because Will seemed to soften at his explanation a bit.

“Why do you think that, Steve?” Will asked softly, and Steve had a moment of realization that Will seemed years older than he looked. Steve sighed, and explained that the kids haven’t really been hanging around him much and instead like to spend time with Eddie. He’s quick to clarify that he doesn’t mean anything bad by it, just wants to know what happened. It was Will’s turn to sigh, and he looked at Steve with something akin to sympathy.

“Steve, I don’t say this to be mean but… Eddie just relates to us more, you know? He shares more interests with us, and he seems to get us better,” Will expressed. His eyes widened and he hastily added, “it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you! Just… it’s nice to have somewhere else to go, you know?”

The rest of the evening was spent with Steve silently eating his dinner, Will’s words echoing through his head as he munched on half-burnt bread.

Steve decides then, TV dinner half-eaten and work vest still on his shoulders, that he’s going to make this better.

The next day, Eddie comes into Family Video to pick up some movies, definitely for a movie night judging by the titles— he seriously doubts a metalhead would willingly watch The Goonies, The Dark Crystal, and Ghostbusters by himself on a Saturday night. Eddie bounds up to the register, movies in hand, and does a dramatic bow as he presents them to Steve.

“I wish to borrow these, my liege,” Eddie declares, his voice deep and in a horrible mockery of an English accent. Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes, unable to hide the small grin on his face at the other man's theatrics.

Eddie looks so effortlessly pretty, his hair tied back in a ponytail and his tattoos exposed through the large arm holes in his homemade tank top. Steve shakes his head to get rid of those thoughts and takes the movies to check them out, ignoring the late fee balance on Eddie's account. A glance at the man in front of him, who is bouncing on his toes and looking around the store, gives Steve an idea.

“Hey, is Hellfire still going on?”

Eddie snaps his attention back to Steve, looking a little startled to be asked such a thing.

“Uh… yeah, it's still going on. We have to play in Gareth’s hot ass garage since school is out but we’re making it work. Why d’you ask?”

“Oh, uh… the kids complained awhile back that they didn’t have a good spot to play anymore and I was just wondering,” Steve explains. Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, and Steve can feel him staring. Can feel him looking at him closely. Too closely. He clears his throat and looks back down at the counter, pushing his gold, wire-framed glasses further up his nose. “I uh… I actually wanted to offer up my place? My parents aren’t home much”— more like never— “and I’ve got plenty of space for the gremlins and the other guys. Plus, my A/C works and I’ve got a shit ton of snacks. I’ll stay out of your hair and-“

“Actually uh…” Eddie cuts him off with a strained voice. Steve looks up to find his face contorted like he ate something sour, and he knows what his response is going to be before he opens his mouth. Eddie wipes a hand over his mouth before shoving it in his pocket. “Yeah, the other guys just… really wouldn’t want to be there.”

Steve nods— tries not to let the denial sting— and looks down at the movies in his hands. Ignoring how they shake, he sets them on the counter and slides them towards Eddie.

“That’s okay man, I get it. I need a break from the little horrors anyway,” he huffs out, the words digging their way into the pit in his stomach. He puts on his best customer service smile and looks up at Eddie, finding him looking a little wary. Eddie hesitates, as if debating with himself on whether or not to say anything, before rapping his knuckles on the counter in a little rhythm and picking up his movies. An awkward smile finds its way to his face, and Steve thinks it strange and out of place. It’s so.. un-Eddie-like. The pit grows deeper.

Walking backwards towards the entrance, Eddie throws a little salute his way before turning and swinging out the door. A belated “see ya, Harrington” drifts through the closing door in his wake.

Steve slumps over the counter when he’s gone, holding his head in his hands and feeling the childish urge to cry make its way up to his eyes. Even after everything— after walking through hell together, dragging his lifeless body out of the Upside Down as his blood dripped down his back and soaked through his clothes, standing vigil at his side until he woke up two weeks later— Eddie still seems to hate him.

But Steve… he feels the opposite. He has this overwhelming desire to be with Eddie. To hang out with him in the back of his van, drinking sodas and eating snacks as they look out over Lover’s Lake while the sun sets. To talk to him until the early hours of the morning until there’s nothing left to say. To go for drives late at night and listen to his loud music on the radio while holding hands over the center console. He has feelings for Eddie he’s never had before. Not for any past romantic conquests nor any girl. Hell, not even for Nancy. He’s never felt this intense need to be near someone before, and it scares him. It truly terrifies him.

He’s not homophobic— his platonic soulmate is a lesbian, for Christ's sake— but the fact that he feels this way is just… wrong to him. How is Steve Harrington, ladies’ man and charmer extraordinaire, into dudes? What is he, like, half gay? It just doesn’t make sense, doesn’t seem right, for him to feel like this. He sighs into his hands, digging his palms into his eyes until he sees stars. He can’t be thinking about this now, he can’t be thinking about this at all. He needs to shove it in the box in the back of his head where all the hard feelings go, waiting and festering to be dealt with later. He needs to, but he doesn’t know if he can.

Fuck, he needs to talk to Robin. Shit- can he though? What if what he’s feeling is a fluke or something? What if it’s just in his head because he’s desperate? What if Robin thinks he’s making fun of her and won’t take him seriously? It’s not fair of him to throw all his problems on her, even if he thinks she could help. It’s not her job to look after him, to take care of him. He can do that himself. He can figure this out himself.

Distantly, the words of Richard Harrington play in his ears. About how being gay is wrong, how it’s a disease. How it’s a sickness that slowly takes over until there’s nothing left. How it’s a disgrace.

He remembers sitting in the living room with his parents on a rare occasion in which they were home, watching the news channel as it talked about an epidemic spreading through young men. His father scoffed at the screen when they started talking about potential cures.

“Cures? They should just let those fags die. They brought this on themselves, you know. Typical of them to complain about the fucking consequences,” Richard had spat out at the block TV, standing to refill his bourbon. Steve had clenched his fists at his side, his already stiff posture straightening still. He felt angry at his fathers words, something pure and burning in his gut.

He didn’t know what it was at the time, but maybe he should’ve known. Maybe him being queer shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it feels. Maybe he’s always known and just couldn’t bring himself to admit it. Maybe that anger he felt at his father’s words was partly on behalf of himself, too.

A wince shudders through him as he remembers how that night ended.

Steve had stood up from the couch, watching the dark liquid flow into the crystal glass in his father’s hand.

“What’s so wrong with being gay? I don’t understand how you could just.. hate people like that. Hate them for just existing,” Steve countered. His father had frozen at his words, slowly setting down the decanter with a solid ‘thunk’ against the metal tray where it belonged and turned to face him. His face was slowly gaining a reddish hue, a sign of the anger rising within him.

“What did you just say?” He demanded, voice scarily calm but laced with an icy rage. Steve swallowed.

“What… What's wrong with being gay, sir?” Steve hesitated, voice failing him. Richard had downed the glass of bourbon before throwing it at Steve, the crystal shattering on the mantelpiece behind him and sending shards flying.

“What’s wrong, Steven, is that you think it’s okay. No son of mine will think like that, not on my watch,” his father boomed, taking long strides towards him. Steve didn’t dare move, only watched his fist grow nearer as he punched him high on his cheek. He fell to the floor, arms trying to protect his head but it was no use. Richard had ripped his arms away, gripping the front of his shirt and making Steve hover above the ground.

“I didn’t raise a fucking fairy, Steven,” he spat. “A faggot.” Steve recoiled, physically feeling the vitriol his father aimed at his face. Richard had sneered, pulled him close and whispered, “Never forget that, Steven,” before shoving him harshly onto the ground and walking away. Black had clouded the edges of his vision, and he laid on the plush rug until it cleared up. He looked over, found his mother silently watching the TV and sipping her wine, and begged with his eyes for her to help him. To say something. Anything. She didn’t, and Steve had to haul himself off the floor, grasping the couch when his vision swam, and stumbled his way to his room.

The rest of that weekend was spent in his room, gingerly cleaning his face and the couple places where glass had cut him on his arms with a wet washcloth and soap. It was the first time he had ever gotten a concussion. He was fifteen.

He remembers replaying the fight over and over again, feeling like those barbs were directed towards him, too. In hindsight, maybe they were. Maybe his father just knew. Knew he was queer long before Steve ever did. Maybe that’s why he’s always so angry with him, so… disappointed. A groan escapes him and he runs a hand through his hair. He’s been thinking way too damn much for it to be this early in the day.

God, he really wishes Robin was here. He knows he can’t talk to her, but it would be nice just to have someone here to keep him from spiraling and drowning in his thoughts. He pushes himself off the counter and goes over to the cart where the returns sit, hoping that busying himself will occupy his thoughts. He sets a few on the shelves when what Eddie said earlier barrels into him full-force.

“Yeah, the other guys just… really wouldn’t want to be there.”

Jesus fucking Christ, he’s stupid. Of course the other Hellfire guys wouldn’t want to be at his house, they probably still see him as King Steve. Most people do, nowadays. Only the ones he went through hell with know he’s different now, that he’s changed. So really, he can’t fault them for being against the idea of Hellfire at his house. He wouldn’t believe it either if he was in their shoes.

Then again, wouldn’t Eddie or the kids try to convince them he’s different? That he’s not a dick? Shit, he’s been through four apocalypses, three concussions, and survived Russian torture— surely they would give him the benefit of the doubt, right? He’s dropped the bad influences out of his life, found better friends, better family— or can he even say that anymore?— to be with. Wouldn’t they try to stick up for him? Or... is he just not worth it?

Steve clenches his eyes shut, willing his bubbling emotions back down, and grips the movie in his hands so hard the plastic begins to creak. The little voice in his head, one that sounds suspiciously like Robin, tells him to breathe. He does. Deep inhale, hold, long exhale. Over and over and over again until he’s calm, until his head is clear.

He knows what he needs to do now: apologize. If it's one thing Steve Harrington knows, it’s how to apologize. Hell, he’s done it more times than he can count. He knows how to repair burnt bridges and how to get past the tough exterior of a person to pull at their heartstrings for sympathy. He knows the key; he just has to make himself useful. If he can provide things for the kids, for Eddie and the Hellfire crew, then they’ll want him around. That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it is with his parents, with school, with his past friends, and now his current ones. He vaguely recalls his junior year art teacher saying that, "once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, but thrice is a pattern." Which means this, this is something he has to make right.

With a plan solidified in his mind, he goes back to work refilling the shelves with movies, brainstorming ideas to get his family back.

Over the next week, Steve becomes a one man show. He offers up more rides, more movie nights, more free reign of his house and his pool and his car and his money and himself just to make the kids happy. He picks up extra shifts at work just to get extra spending money for them, knowing that they go through twenty bucks in no time.

But… it doesn’t work. Because bit by bit, ride by ride, movie marathon by family dinner by game night by post-nightmare phone call, it becomes painfully clear. Everyone puts on a mask around him. One that says they’re happy to see him, that they’re glad he’s here, but he knows it’s a lie. This, really, shouldn’t be much of a surprise. People don’t stick around him much, so why did he think this was any different?

Maybe it’s because he was finally himself around them, he finally opened up and showed a bit of his true self, and was still rejected. Still pushed away. He wasn’t cowering behind a mask this time, he was just Steve. But it wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t good enough.

To their credit, it starts off slow. Casual comments that are cut off quickly, kicks under dinner tables and pointed throat clearing. It’s one instance during game night where it all clicks.

The Monopoly board is spread out before them in the Byers-Hopper living room. Steve, of course, is losing. He’s not good with investments and savings and he keeps landing on the goddamn ‘jail’ space but he doesn’t really care, not when he’s finally having fun with the kids. He groans when the dice make him land on one of Mike’s properties, shuffling his fake cash to pull out the tax money.

“C’mon this game is totally rigged. How the hell am I losing to a bunch of teens?” He grumbles as Mike proudly snatches the money from his hand. Max snickers from her place beside him, her pale blue eyes rolling as she looks at him.

“You know, if you actually used your brain then maybe you wouldn’t be losing. Ever think of that?” She quips, and Steve huffs. Leave it to him to be called out by a fifteen year old.

“I’m surprised there’s even a brain in there to begin with,” Dustin states. He’s seated across from Steve. “I mean, why else would he have-“

His comment is cut off by Lucas smacking his arm. Dustin looks at him like he’s about to protest when Lucas raises his eyebrows, looking pointedly from Dustin to Steve and back again. Steve can’t hear from his position so far away, but he swears Dustin mutters “shit” before crossing his arms and looking down at the board. Steve looks around at the rest of the group, noticing how none of them seem to want to look at him, choosing to focus rather intently on the cardboard before them.

The rest of the game is filled with awkward silences. Steve can feel them looking at him when he’s occupied, and it makes him feel like shit inside.

It’s on the drive home when it hits him. He is the one that doesn’t fit into their group, into their family. They’re slowly but surely removing him and replacing him with Eddie. With someone who fits. With someone better. It hits him so hard, so fully, that he has to pull over on a quiet street to sob in his empty car.

The first time it's fully solidified in his mind is at a barbecue at the Byers-Hoppers house. Robin can’t come, her aunt from up north is visiting for the weekend and she has to stay home. Steve walks through the house, planning on saying hello to Joyce before joining the party outside. He finds Joyce talking low to Eddie in the kitchen and he pauses in the doorway, watches how Joyce laughs at something Eddie says. How she places her hand on his arm as her eyes crinkle with the weight of her laugh. Eddie is smiling, open and wide, with a flush high on his cheeks that stains his skin pink. His dimples are on full display and it takes pure willpower for Steve not to go and poke at them, to settle his thumb in the divot of his skin.

Joyce leans close to Eddie and says something under her breath, making him blush purely red now and shush her, causing another wave of laughter to ripple through the both of them. The kitchen is filled with warmth, the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the sheer cream-colored curtains that line the two windows as laughter fills the room. It’s light, it’s happiness, it’s love. It’s something Steve hasn’t felt in years.

Steve knocks on the doorframe, waggling his fingers in greeting. They both turn to look at him, and all that warmth from before flees the room. If he hadn’t just seen the thin rays with his own two eyes, he could have sworn even the sun went down as well. He feels a stab of pain in his heart, so sharp it makes his breath stutter. He fights to put a smile on his face, briefly clearing his throat and praying his voice doesn’t sound as faint as he feels.

“Hey, Ms. Byers. Eddie,” he greets. Steve runs a hand through his hair, just to give himself something to do. “Just wanted to say hi before I go outside.”

Eddie’s face has gone completely slack, the only thing convincing Steve he didn’t hallucinate the entire exchange earlier is the flush that had yet to leave his cheeks. In fact, Eddie looks even more red now that he’s made his presence known. Joyce, to her credit, has a small polite smile on her face.

“Thank you, Steve, that's very kind of you,” she replies. She casts a glance at Eddie out of the corner of her eye, something Steve has noticed a lot of people do to each other when he’s around. “You go on outside now, okay? I’m sure the kids are missing you.”

Steve holds back his remark of “yeah, I actually doubt that” and nods, leaving the two of them in the kitchen as he continues down the hallway. He tries hard not to let the harshness of their quick whispers dig further into his already injured heart.

Once outside, he’s greeted by no one. Dustin and Lucas are discussing something rapidly to one another, Dustin gesturing wildly with his hands as Lucas nods along and adds details. Max and El are sitting on a lawn chair together, Max seemingly teaching El how to braid her hair. Mike and Will are sitting in the grass a bit away from the group, shoulders touching and heads bowed together as they talk quietly to one another. Steve smiles softly at them, knowing.

He makes his way over to Hopper, who is manning the grill with a beer in one hand and a spatula in the other. Steve waves and gives him an awkward little smile, and Hopper nods his head, pointing towards a cooler with his beer. Steve grabs one, popping it open and taking an, admittedly, big first swig. Hopper doesn’t notice, or at least doesn’t comment, and Steve looks out over the people he still considers his family. He catches Dustin’s eyes, hoping to have someone to talk to, but the kid only looks away and continues his conversation.

So now Steve is here by himself, slowly nursing a beer, and trying to keep his emotions in check.

It’s just that… he doesn’t know what he did. Was he too overbearing or did he not care enough? Was he too pushy or too distant? Was he just annoying them? Was he just an inconvenience? Did they ever really like him or did they just put up with them out of necessity? Or because they felt bad?

He takes another sip of beer, hating the way it tastes on his tongue but it’s better than the bile slowly rising in his throat. All he wants is for someone to see him, to see who he truly is and like it. To stick around. To stay.

And it’s true, he does have Robin, but sometimes she can’t give him what he needs. Call him a romantic but Steve wants that love, that connection, that intense feeling you get with a partner. He craves it more than anything. He wants to touch, to taste, to feel someone else.

Eddie. He wants Eddie.

A voice interrupts his thoughts.

“Kid, will you go get me a plate for the burgers?” Hopper asks, his gruff voice shoving all of his mushy thoughts aside. Steve nods, sets his beer on top of the cooler, and makes his way inside. He silently dreads ever walking in that room again, dreads having to feel the chill from before. However, the scene in the kitchen is drastically different this time. Joyce is by herself, Eddie nowhere to be seen, and is mixing together slaw in a big tupperware bowl.

Steve knocks on the frame again and is met with a small smile from the older woman. It’s infinitely more warm than the one he was met with when he got there, and he thinks it’s partly due to the lack of a certain metalhead in the room. Joyce sets down her spoon, wiping her hands on a nearby towel, and holds her arms out.

“C’mere, honey,” she murmurs, and Steve tries not to let her soft tone get to him. The last thing he needs is to cry in front of everyone. He walks forwards into her hug, leaning down a little to wrap his arms around her properly, and sighs when she rubs her hands up and down his back. Steve clenches his eyes shut, taking in stuttering breaths that he knows she can hear but thanks every god out there that she doesn’t comment on it. She taps her hands twice on his back and pulls away, reaching up to push some of his hair off his forehead and Steve wills himself to not lean into the touch too much.

“Sorry for not saying a proper hello earlier, I was a bit preoccupied. Eddie- well, that’s not my thing to tell but he needed some help with something and… well, you get it,” she smiles, laughs a little, and Steve smiles back.

This. This is what he wishes he could have with his parents. This lightness, this love. He never will, he knows that, but the little moments like this with Joyce, the way she hugs him and cares for him, are ones he treasures. Ones he wishes he could have everyday. Joyce is a wonderful mother, and part of him wishes he could have her as his own. Hell, she’s been more of a mother to him in the four years he’s known her than his mother ever has. But he knows that isn’t fair. It isn’t fair of him to put his parental issues on her or anyone else. So he doesn’t, and shoves his hands in his pockets instead.

“It’s okay, Ms. Byers, I get it. Sorry to interrupt you two, though,” he apologizes. She waves her hands in a shooing motion.

“Oh don’t apologize for that, honey, it’s okay,” she smiles, then hesitates. “I do want you to promise me something, okay?” Steve nods, and Joyce places her hands on either side of his face. “Promise me you’ll be careful with people, be gentle. Not everyone can be treated the same, some people… they’re special.

“Sometimes, it’s better to listen. Promise me, Steve, that you’ll always listen, okay?” She asks, and Steve has to swallow before he responds.

“I promise, Ms. Byers,” he replies, and she pats his cheek. Her smile has grown, and her eyes have softened.

“I love you, Steve, you know that, right?” Joyce asks, and it’s like the world has stopped moving. He didn’t know that, not really. Sure, he knew she liked him but he didn’t know she…

He doesn’t realize he’s tearing up until Joyce coos at him, wiping away a few stray tears that have escaped with her thumbs.

“I-I didn’t know you- I’m sorry, I don’t-“ Steve stutters out, but Joyce shushes him.

“You don’t have to apologize, Steve, it’s alright,” she insists. Her thin arms pull him into another hug and he buries his face in her shoulder. The angle is a little awkward, but it’s a comfort Steve hasn’t had in ages so he stays. “It’s gonna be alright.”

Her small hands rub up and down his back as he holds back tears. He regulates his breathing, taking in deep breaths and letting them out slowly, until he’s sure he won’t cry. He pulls back from the hug and wipes at his eyes, sure that they're red-rimmed and a little puffy, but Joyce only smiles that warm smile and pats his cheek again. Steve smiles at her, the first genuine smile he thinks he’s had in awhile, and it feels good. To smile and know it's real.

Joyce turns to the counter behind her and picks up a plate, handing it to Steve. His brows furrow, and he hesitantly takes the offered crockery.

“How did you-“

“I had a feeling,” she interrupts him with a wink. “Now go on before Hop burns the yard down.”

Steve smiles and goes back outside, handing the plate to Hop and ignoring his grumble of “took ya long enough”, before picking his beer back up and taking a much needed swig. A few minutes later, they’re all eating. Eddie has joined Dustin and Lucas in their rambling, all three of them loudly talking over one another. Steve watches them; wishing, wanting, yearning. Joyce bumps her shoulder into his, making him swivel his head to look down at her. She smiles, almost knowingly, and Steve blushes. He clears his throat and looks away, focusing on fixing his burger rather than whatever the fuck that was.

He sits alone away from the group, catching occasional glances from Joyce, Dustin, and Hopper. Joyce is concerned, he can tell that much, and part of her almost looks sad. Dustin looks conflicted, like he can’t decide if he wants to be mad from a distance or just come right up to Steve and say it to his face. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if he did the latter. Hopper, to Steve’s complete unsurprise, looks uninterested and, frankly, fed up with this whole situation. Steve doesn’t blame him, he is too.

After the food is gone, and dessert is served, Steve heads inside to help clean up. He washes dishes quietly with Joyce, while she dries them and puts them away. As he finishes up the last plate, Will comes into the kitchen.

“Hey, Mom? The party wanted to play some board games, is that okay?” He requests, and Steve can feel Joyce soften beside him. She smiles.

“Of course, honey. Make sure you ask the girls what they want to play, too, okay?” Will rolls his eyes and smiles, a mannerism Steve notes he definitely got from Mike.

“Got it, Mom,” he replies, and runs off. Steve turns back to the sink, realizing he’s been scrubbing the plate well past the point of clean, and rinses it off.

“I um.. I think I’m going to head out, Ms. Byers,” he begins. He hands the plate to her. “I’ve got a shift tomorrow and uh… I don’t want to intrude or anything.”

He doesn’t mention that he doesn’t want to repeat the last game night, where everyone kept glancing at him like he was a bomb set to explode at any moment. He doesn’t say that he can’t handle their stares for any longer than he already has.

“Oh, are you sure? You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want to,” Joyce offers, but Steve shakes his head.

“I really should be going, sorry.”

“Alright, dear. Let me walk you out,” she insists, moving to take off her apron.

“I’ll walk him out, Joyce, don’t worry about it,” Hopper's gruff voice interrupts from the doorway. Steve swallows and nods, drying his hands off on a towel. He looks at Joyce, seeing her share a glance and a smile with Hopper before looking back at him. He smiles, finally beginning to think that maybe… maybe things will be okay.

“Thank you, Ms. Byers. For everything,” he expresses. He leans down to give her a hug, her arms quickly hugging him back.

“It’s alright, dear. You come to me if you ever want to talk, you hear?” Steve pulls away from the hug.

“I will, promise,” he hesitates. Steve looks down at his hands, shaking from where they’re clutching each other, and takes a breath. “I… I love you too.”

He looks up right as Joyce pulls him into another hug. He laughs a little, and she pats his back before pulling away with a “be safe”. Hopper clears his throat from the door and Steve takes a step back, nods to Joyce, and follows the other man outside.

They step out on the front porch together, and Steve is prepared to continue walking to his car when Hop places a hand on his shoulder. He stops, and turns to find the man looking at him seriously.

“Son, I want you to promise me something,” he grumbles, and Steve begins to feel a strange sense of deja vu. While Joyce’s tone was soft, Hopper’s is deep and leaves no room for hesitation. He vaguely has a thought that this is what his father would have been like if things were different. If he were different. Steve nods.

“Promise me you’ll fix our shit, alright? I don’t wanna get in the middle of… whatever the hell this is but promise you’ll be better, okay?” He commands, and all the thoughts Steve had earlier about thinking things would be okay fly out the window.

“Y-yes, sir,” he stutters out. Hop claps his shoulder, mumbles a “get home safe”, before pulling a pack of smokes out his pocket and lighting one up. Steve turns, shoves his shaking hands in his pockets, and walks to his car.

Getting in his car is a blur of unconscious actions. He’s driving down a barely lit backroad when he registers that his eyes are stinging, and something warm and wet is dripping down his cheeks. He pulls over on the side of the road, shifting his car into park, and he sits there. He reaches up with a shaky hand and wipes his cheek, his hand coming back wet and shining in the faint glow of the moon. The sight breaks him, and an ugly sob rips its way out his throat. He chokes on an inhale as tears fight their way out, and he hugs his arms around himself as a sad semblance of comfort. His forehead finds purchase on the steering wheel, and his tears stain the leather before dripping on his lap.

He cries because he knows he’s the problem, that he’s the one fucking up. He cries because everyone thinks so, everyone knows. The kids know. Eddie knows. Joyce knows, but she’s just too kind to say it to his face. Hell, even Hopper knows. He cries because he doesn’t know what he did wrong. He cries because he doesn’t think anyone really wants him to fix it.

It’s the second time on a drive home from the Byers-Hopper house that he has to pull over and cry.

He struggles to inhale a deep breath and sits up, harshly wiping his tears away with his hand, uncaring that it rubs his skin raw and red. Sniffling, he puts his car in drive and goes home. Toeing his shoes off at the door is the only thing he thinks to do before he stumbles his way upstairs and collapses on his bed, snuggling into the thin comforter and falling into a fitful sleep.

After a slow shift at Family Video the next day, Steve returns to the darkness of his home with a plan. He can still be useful. They may not have to know, but he can still do something to help. To try and save them before they need to be saved. He can be a preventative measure for them, can stop them from getting hurt before they even know they’re in danger.

He shrugs off his work vest, throwing it on his desk chair as he searches his closet for an old sweatshirt. He finds one, the front adorned with white block letters that read ‘Tigers Swim Team’ and tugs it on. His nail bat finds purchase in his hand as he tucks a flashlight in his back pocket. The walkie Dustin gave him is hooked in his belt loop, just in case. He leaves all the lights on in the house and shuts the door, skirting around his house to begin his walk in the woods.

After four bouts with the Upside Down, he doubts that they’re in the clear, that it’s finally over. He thought it was the first time, then the second, and by the third he was skeptical. Now, though, he doesn’t know what to think. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was a round five, or six, or seven. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if it never stopped. But each and every time, they were unprepared. They were surprised, and it nearly cost them every time. But if Steve could prevent that surprise, give them all a heads up before it becomes a big problem, then maybe— just maybe— it’ll come in handy. He’ll come in handy. He’ll be useful again.

So, he walks the woods of Hawkins. His feet crunch the dead leaves piled underneath trees as he trudges through the woods. The flashlight shines long shadows on the ground in front of him, lighting up the pale gray bark of trees and making the eyes of rodents and raccoons shine amber and red.

A rustle sounds a few feet away and he jumps at the noise. He pauses and stands still, listening for the shrill chittering of demodogs or the heavy, thudding footsteps of a demogorgon. He waits, and his flashlight reveals a small fox walking out from behind a tree. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and continues walking.

His feet carry him to Lover’s Lake, the water lapping lazily at the shore with the warm summer breeze. Out here, the lights from town are distant, making the stars shine brightly and reflect in the water. Steve stands there, watches as the artificial light of his flashlight reveals the small ripples on the surface of the water, and waits.

He waits for a lumbering figure to emerge out of the murky depths, to claw its way onto the shore and stalk off into the woods. He waits for chirps muffled by water and splashing to sound in his ears as four-legged creatures swim to the beaches. He waits for the screeches of demonic bats to echo off the trees around him as they fly out of the water and take to the sky. He waits, but it never comes. The lake stays silent.

So he walks.

He follows the road leading to the lake out, letting it take him to the highway that leads out of town. His feet stop as they come across a crack in the road, the crack he took in the other world to get Eddie home safely. The crack that is closed over with black tar, leaving a dark line on the ashen gray asphalt. He remembers clawing his way out of that crack, Eddie’s lifeless body over his shoulders as he slowly bled out.

Nancy had driven her station wagon over, opening the back so he could lay Eddie down as they rode to the hospital. She had asked Steve to drive so she could patch him up, but he refused. He couldn’t leave Eddie, not when he finally got him out. Not when he was barely hanging on. So she threw the first aid kit she had stashed in her car at him and drove to the hospital. Steve had done his best to stop the bleeding, the stark white cloth immediately turning red when he pressed it to Eddie’s skin. They almost lost him. But they didn’t. He’s alive.

Eddie. Eddie.

His head swivels to the forest next to him, the one that leads straight to the trailer park, and he runs. He jumps over fallen trees, feet thudding against the dry earth and leaves as his breath picks up. Orange street lights shine through branches as he draws nearer, and he only slows his pace when he breaks out from the line of trees. His feet swiftly take him to the sight of Eddie’s old trailer, the vacant lot standing out against the fullness of the park. The wooden front steps are still there, partially broken and shifted. The grass has yet to grow in fully, bare spots of dirt showing through the green. His shoes crunch on the gravel as he takes a step closer, inspecting the ground and poking at it with his bat as if it would move. As if the gate would open up just by him being here.

It doesn’t. Steve steps back.

He turns to leave the park, eyes wandering and finding a familiar cream-colored van parked at a trailer a few rows away. Eddie and his Uncle were granted a new trailer for their trouble, really the bare minimum they deserve after all the shit they went through, but they took it in stride. Eddie and Wayne spent the first few weeks after spring break making it into their new home once Eddie was released from the hospital, and Steve had done his best to help them out. But he knew they needed time alone, time to heal, so he let them be. He hasn’t been back there since then.

He kicks a stray piece of gravel, watching as it tumbles a few feet away and disappears into the grass, as he makes his way out of Forest Hills. Houses blur by as he walks the residential streets, only stopping when his own comes into view. Steve sighs, and walks up the concrete driveway, through the large wooden doors, and into the silence of his house. He doesn’t bother taking off his shoes, reveling a little in the dirty footprints he leaves behind on his mothers’ ornate runner that covers the length of the hallway. The analog on the stove tells him it's a little past three in the morning, and he sighs. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, he fills it up with water before shuffling out of the kitchen. He flops on the couch, sips his water, and waits.

He waits for the sun to peek over the trees in the backyard, casting long shadows on the curtains that cover the windows and glass doors. He waits for the warm rays to shine through the large window in the living room, the one that faces the road, and light up the rug that rests under the coffee table in soft hues of yellow. He sits his empty glass on the table. He waits. And he gets up.

He goes upstairs, changes his shirt, and grabs his vest. Steve slips the walkie off his belt loop and places it on his desk, the flashlight landing right beside it. He props the bat next to his chair, and Steve looks at it, looks at the bent nails sticking haphazardly out of the wood and how it splintered in places from too much force. How some of the nails are covered in dried, blackened goop and dirt. How it's sharp and dangerous, a weapon. How it’s chosen to protect.

At this moment, Steve feels like the bat. The rough wood is his exterior, the splinters through it are the cracks. The holes in his facade. The places where people got too close, where people hurt him. The nails are what makes him strong. They’re the kids, Joyce and Hop, Eddie and Robin. They’re his family. They mold him into a weapon meant to protect, to keep them safe.

But just like Steve, the bat isn’t needed until it’s necessary. Until the world is ending. But until that time comes, the bat is left out of sight. It’s hidden away, moved from place to place just in case, but never used. Never wanted.

Steve walks out the door.

His shift at Family Video passes by like every other day, slow and full of know-it-all customers that never seem to understand that he can’t magically summon movies out of his ass whenever they ask. Robin comes in around lunchtime, and they spend the rest of their joint shift making fun of the ridiculous movie covers that adorn various romcoms. He goes home alone, sheds his vest, and once again walks the town of Hawkins.

He does it again the next night. And the night after that. And the night after that. Until it’s been a week and Steve hasn’t slept for more than a couple hours a night. He doesn’t mind, just means there’s less nightmares to wake him up before sunrise.

Less nights where chittering and the thuds of heavy footsteps strike fear down to his core. Less nights where the chill of fog and night air pierce his skin, warring with his senses against the hot breath hitting the back of his neck from deadly flower-shaped mouths. Less nights where the harsh scraping of monstrous nails against rusted metal and the echoey bangs of heavy, meaty bodies against solid bus walls fill his ears. Less nights where he can feel the thick, choking air of the tunnels, can feel the wispy particles filling his lungs and coating the inside of his mouth.

Less nights filled with muffled Russian echoing in his ears, the harsh texture of rope around his wrists, arms, and chest. Less nights where the sickening crunch of fists against bone and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth linger for hours after he’s awoken, shallowly breathing and pleading to be let go. Less nights where he can feel the blood in his teeth, coating his tongue and dripping down the back of his throat, and he has to run to the bathroom to puke the phantom feeling away.

Less nights he wakes up alone, empty house hollow around him. Less nights he cries to himself in the silence of his room, wishing, hoping, yearning for something. For something to happen, to change. For something to get better. For him to get better.

On the eighth night, he finds his feet have taken him to the edge of Hawkins. The brown road sign reads ‘Leaving Hawkins! Come Again Soon!’, and it stares at him from a few feet away. He looks past the sign at the stretch of road that disappears around a curve, trees following the line of asphalt and distant street lights lighting up their leaves with an orange glow.

He thinks about what it would be like to leave Hawkins, to pack up his clothes in his car and leave town. To follow the road and go around that curve, to not worry about ever coming back. No one needs him here, not anymore, so what’s holding him back?

Maybe this will fix him.

Robin might miss him for a bit, probably curse him and his whole family when she figures it out, but she’ll move on. She’ll find someone better. Hell, she’ll probably go to Eddie too. They already have some sort of secret friendship thing going on between them anyway. Really, he wouldn’t blame her.

Eddie probably wouldn’t care. Shit, he might even throw a party celebrating the fact that he’s gone. Steve snorts at the thought, closing his eyes and taking a breath.

Would it really be so bad if he just disappeared?

But then there’s the kids, left behind with no one to protect them. Sure, Robin and Eddie and Nancy are here, but Nancy is off to Emerson in the fall, Robin surely bound to follow in similar footsteps, and Eddie has made it well-known that he’s getting the hell out of here. If everyone is gone, who will be here to protect them when it comes back?

He rakes a hand harshly through his hair, pulling a bit at the ends and hating how greasy it feels on his fingertips. He can’t think like that, he’ll just worry himself into a panic and that’s the last thing he needs right now; a panic attack on the side of the road. He turns around, walking back towards town as the sky fades into light. He gets home right when sunlight begins burning the tops of the trees and collapses on the couch, sleeping until his noon shift.

He’s exhausted when he gets home, having to close up Family Video after a ten hour shift by himself, but he knows he can’t sleep. Not now. So he does what he usually does now when he gets home and grabs his essentials for his rounds, something that’s become routine for him.

He shrugs off his work clothes, replacing it with what has become his patrol outfit; the old swim team sweatshirt and a faded, ripped pair of light blue jeans. The sweatshirt is filled with holes, the baggy sleeves having caught on briars and branches alike, that allow the white of his shirt to show through. The jeans share a similar fate, the knees scraped up and the denim fraying from the unhemmed edges.

His white Nikes are stained a gray-ish brown from the nightly treks through the woods, small bits of leaves and debris sticking to the laces and in the grooves of the tread. The flashlight finds its place in his back left pocket, an extra pair of batteries landing in his front pocket after an incident a few nights ago where his flashlight died on him out in the middle of nowhere— he was forced to stumble through the woods until the sun began to rise and he was able to find his way back home. He didn’t sleep that night.

The nail bat is crusted with dried bits of mud sticking to the slowly rusting metal, shredded bits of leaves and undergrowth tangled in a green and brown mass. Clumps of dirt litter the floor under the bat, and likely mark a line in the hallway from his room down to the front door. Steve hopes it's still there if his parents come home.

It’s dark outside, only the street light at the end of the driveway illuminates the concrete and stepping stone pathway to the front door. Steve steps out on the front stoop, taking a deep breath of cool summer night air, and starts walking.

He walks out onto the street, uncaring at this point if anyone sees him or not. What does he have to lose? Hopper would probably tell him he’s stupid— something he’s well aware of at this point— and tell him to go inside. Or maybe he would drive him home, take the bat, and leave.

A small, traitorous part of Steve wants Hop to find him. Wants him to ask what the hell he’s doing walking around at night alone in the dark. Wants him to coax him in his old beat up truck and take him back to the Byers’ house. Wants some of Joyce’s hot chocolate as he sits on the couch and explains what he’s been doing, what’s been going on. Ask, desperately, why everyone hates him. Wants them to tell him he’s wrong, that no one hates him. That it’s just a misunderstanding.

But it doesn’t happen. All of that is a lie.

It’s a lie Steve has secretly been telling himself under the cover of darkness alone in his bed, lying awake and exhausted but unable to sleep. It’s a lie he tells himself when he sees any of the kids so he can act normal, act okay. It’s a lie he tells himself when Eddie grins at him, wide and gleaming, eyes sparkling with the afternoon sun beaming in from the storefront windows.

It’s those grins, those looks Eddie gives him sometimes that almost convinces him the lie is fake. Like Eddie is sharing an inside joke with him, only Steve doesn’t know what it is. Eddie doesn’t come around often but when he does… god, it’s like he’s the only one in the room.

Eddie looks at him with his whole body, always focusing on him so wholly and touching in some way. A hand on his bicep, an arm slung around his shoulder, even his arms wrapped around his waist one time. He was friendly, they were friends, until he wasn’t. Until Steve did something stupid that he still can’t figure out and Eddie is avoiding him.

The crunch of gravel under his sole brings him back into his head a little. He looks up, finding the pale orange glow of a lamp through a trailer window, and curses. His feet have brought him to where his mind always seems to go these days: Eddie.

He stands outside of the trailer, watching the way the little bits of weeds around the base shift and sway in the wind. The sky is filled with patches of clouds, light gray ripples standing out against the black sky from the glow of the moon. Steve isn’t completely sure how he got here, only that he started walking and didn’t really… stop.

Wayne’s truck is gone, leaving only Eddie’s cream-colored van among the gravel and grass. Which means Eddie is home and, judging by the light in the window, awake. Steve has a fleeting thought that he should turn around, walk back home, and try to forget he ever came here. Try to forget that he didn’t mean to, that his head and his heart are traitorous beings that have conspired against him to bring his body to the one place— one person— where he isn’t welcome. He tries to move, to will his legs and his feet to catch up with his brain and the urge to run. But they don’t. They stay frozen to the ground, rooted in place as if they belong here. As if he belongs here.

A voice cuts his thoughts off, one that he could pick out in a crowd full of people. His eyes snap to the front door of the trailer, now open and spilling warm light onto the wooden steps that lead down to the gravel drive. A figure grows near, tall and lanky and Steve feels like he’s trapped. His thoughts get louder, yelling and screaming at him to run run ruN RUN RUN-

Hands on his shoulders. Eddie’s face in front of him.

Eddie looks panicked, his dark eyes wide and dancing around as if searching Steve's face for… something. He must not find it, because the two little lines between his brows appear and his mouth starts moving. It’s all muffled, like he’s trying to talk through glass. Steve blinks.

“-ington? Steve,” Eddie’s pleading voice finds his ears as he shakes his shoulders, the fog in his head dissipating as the strained way his name falls from his lips. Steve hums. He blinks again.

“Oh,” he breathes out, voice barely louder than a whisper. Eddie is here. He’s in front of him. He can see him. He’s here and he can see and Steve shouldn’t be here he needs to go-

“Stevie, are you okay?” The fear in Eddie’s voice cuts off his train of thought— something that seems to happen a lot nowadays— and Steve feels every sensation return to his body. The heavy hands on his shoulders, soft and warm and missing their signature rings. The distant chill of the night air on his exposed bits of skin seeping away at the small amount of space between them. The faint puff of air on his face from the man before him. The fact that all of those things are from Eddie.

Steve clears his throat, swallows. Tries to focus his eyes on Eddie’s face.

“I’m fine, Eddie. I um.. sorry,” he trails off. He tries to smile, at least give something to reassure him, to keep him from asking questions. Steve doesn’t think he could answer them.

To his surprise, Eddie lets out a breath of relief, the fear dissipating from his eyes as they clench shut and his head drops. His shoulders move with his lungs as he takes a breath before looking back up at him.

“Jesus H. Christ, you scared the shit outta me, Steve. Thought…” he trails off. His voice wavers. “Thought you were gone. Like… like her.”

Oh. Chrissy. Fuck.

“Shit- sorry, Eds, I didn’t even realize- fuck, I’m so sorry,” Steve pleads. He takes in his surroundings, realizes he’s been standing out here, alone, for who knows how long. He needs to leave. “I-I should go.”

Eddie’s brows furrow, and he tilts his head. “You don’t have to leave, Stevie, it’s fi-“ he cuts himself off.

Steve looks up at that, unsure of when he stopped looking at Eddie, and takes in his pinched expression. The one that’s trained to the ground. The one that’s trained towards-

“What the fuck is this?”

Shit.

“I-it’s not what it looks like, I swear!” He begs, voice sounding unfamiliar even to his own ears. It’s raspy and breaks after a few words. When was the last time he really spoke to anyone today?

“I don’t wanna hurt you, Eds, I really don’t- please, believe me,” he pleads. “It’s just for protection! I don’t-“

“Why are you covered in mud, Steve?” Eddie cuts him off, voice strange and cautious and his hands tighten their grip on his shoulders. Steve knows he doesn’t look the best, knows that his clothes are dirty, but he looks down at himself anyway. His eyes focus on a leaf stuck to his shoelace. He shrugs.

Eddie moves in front of him, a quick thing that Steve suspects is him shaking his head. He mumbles something he can’t hear, voice only a rumble in his throat but Steve knows enough to know that people only talk under their breath when they’re mad. When he’s done something wrong.

He pulls away. Eddie’s hands drop off his shoulders.

“I-I should go. Sorry for bothering you, an-… and keeping you awake,” Steve stutters out, clearing his throat when his voice breaks. He chances a look at him, finding concern written on Eddie’s face. It softens when they make eye contact, and Eddie shakes his head.

“I wasn’t asleep, Stevie. Don’t really, uh.. sleep much, these days. I usually just wait around for Wayne to get home to catch a couple hours. Doesn’t feel safe here by myself, you know?” Eddie confesses, mouth turned upwards in a small, sardonic smile. Steve nods. He does know, he’s never felt safe in his home. With or without people. He’s been going through it for years, long before the events of ‘83. He doesn’t say any of that though, doesn’t think he has the right to.

Eddie steps towards him, closing the bit of distance Steve made between the two, and rests his hand on the arm holding the bat.

“Come inside, Steve,” Eddie requests, voice low and soft. Eddie’s smiling at him. It’s that soft, small, Eddie smile. One that Steve has only seen a handful of times. It’s asking him to say yes, and Steve… he’s weak. So, so weak.

“Okay.”

Eddie’s smile grows.

His hand wraps further around his arm, tugging him towards the open trailer door and Steve feels betrayed that now is when his feet decide to move. He follows Eddie, watching the way he’s glancing at him the entire time. Eddie pauses at the doorway.

“Steve,” he whispers, and Steve looks at him. His hand travels down his arm, causing goosebumps in its wake despite the layer of fabric between their skin. It pauses over the hand still gripping the bat, thumb brushing along his knuckles. “Let it go.”

Steve looks at him, searches those dark brown eyes for fear or hate or anger but finds none. He only finds care. Concern. Love.

It’s terrifying.

He loosens his grip and Eddie takes it from him, the comforting weight of the bat replaced with the warmth of Eddie’s hand. He props it just inside the door to the trailer and leads him over the threshold by the grip on his hand. He’s led over to the couch where a hand on his back urges him to sit down. Steve does, and instantly sinks into the well-worn cushions.

“I’ll be right back, okay? Just gonna get you some water,” Eddie informs him, squeezing his hand briefly before releasing his grip and turning the corner to venture into the kitchen. Steve watches him go, the way the baggy and worn band shirt hangs off his frame. The way his sweatpants are bunched up at the ankle as if they’re too big for him. The way his hair is pulled into a messy bun at the back of his head that swings a little when he walks away. Even now, he’s beautiful.

Shit. He’s so gone for this man.

Eddie returns with a glass of water and flops down on the couch beside him, pressing the cool surface of the cup into his palm. He takes it with a shaky hand, his other joining it to help stabilize the glass. It doesn’t work.

He takes a small sip of water, the liquid feeling like heaven against his dry throat. They sit in silence until Steve finishes half the glass. Then, Eddie speaks.

“Why were you outside at two in the morning, Stevie?” His voice is gentle, and it makes Steve want to cry. He swallows.

“I- I don’t know,” he deflects, lies. Anything to not talk about it.

The harsh sound of a mock game show buzzer startles him, and he turns to find Eddie with his hands cupped around his mouth. Steve grins and lets his head drop, and Eddie nudges his shoulder. He takes a deep breath, focusing on the surface of the water in his hands.

“I have to keep them safe, Eddie,” he confesses. Eddie stays silent, hand gently rubbing his forearm. “It’s what I need to do. What I have to do.”

Silence stretches between them, then, “who, Steve? Who do you have to keep safe?”

‘You,’ he wants to say. ‘You almost died. It’s never been that close before, not in the four years this shit has been going on. You and Max almost died, and I wasn’t there to protect you. I wasn’t with you and Dustin to keep you both safe, to help fight off the bats and urge you through the gate. I wasn’t with Max and Lucas and Erica, wasn’t there to fight off Carver and save Max just a little bit earlier. I wasn’t there, but I should have been. Carver should have beat me to pieces, not Lucas. It should have been me the bats got to, not you. It should have been me, it should have been me, it should have been me.’

Hands fall over his as Eddie takes the glass from him. He didn’t realize his hands were shaking that bad in his revere, causing the water to spill over the sides and onto the brown carpet below them. The glass thunks on the coffee table before Eddie rests his hands over Steve’s, stills their shaking.

“Hey, talk to me, Stevie,” he practically begs. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Steve looks at him, sees the worry in his eyes, and wets his lips with his tongue. Doesn’t miss the way Eddie’s eyes flicker down at the movement. He clenches his fists.

“Please don’t tell Robin,” he pleads. If she found out about this, if she knew, he wouldn’t be allowed outside alone ever again. She would worry about him, keep him under lock and key to make sure he wouldn’t do anything stupid. She would stay with him during the night, insert herself firmly by his side until she was sure he was okay. She would make him sleep in his own bed, trapped between his own walls. Trapped in his own house. He can’t stand that place, can’t handle the echoey walls and empty rooms. Can’t stand not being able to do anything for anyone. Can’t stand to be useless.

He’s just wasting time right now. He shouldn’t be here, talking to Eddie, when he could be checking the gates. He should be out there trying to save people, not himself. He should be trying to save his family. He could already be too late. It might have already come back while he was distracted and they could all be gone. It could have been waiting until he was occupied, waiting for an opening to strike. They could be in danger right now. They could be dead.

“Alright, I can do that. I won’t tell her but… Steve, why-“ Steve cuts him off by standing up on shaky legs, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Steve?”

“I need to go, Eddie, I need to- they could- I need to go,” the words tumble out of his mouth, words he isn’t quite sure even make sense but he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out.

Steve walks over to the door, eyes locking on the bat propped there, before he hears Eddie stand up behind him. He turns to find Eddie holding his hands out in front of him like he’s trying to placate a wild animal and, at this moment, he kinda feels like one. His heart is beating too fast and he can feel his breathing quicken. His throat closes up as panic claws its way upwards and clouds his vision, muffling his hearing. Eddie’s mouth moves but Steve can’t hear it through the cotton in his ears. He backs towards the door, hating the fear in Eddie’s eyes as he does so.

His back hits the wall next to the door and he turns, hand finding the rough wood of the bat almost instantly, before he runs out the door. The small “sorry” he lets out is an afterthought, thrown over his shoulder right before the trailer door slams shut behind him and his feet crunch on gravel as he runs towards town.

His blind panic takes him to Dustin’s house first, finding all the lights turned off save for the faint glow of the hall night light through sheer curtains. He stays there for a minute or two, waiting for the sign of flickering lights. Nothing comes.

A couple streets over, he stops in front of Lucas’s house, finds the same thing. Dark. He stands there and waits. No flickering. He runs.

The Wheelers. Dark. He waits, no flickering. He runs.

The Byers-Hoppers. Dark. Waits. No flickering. Runs.

Max. Dark. Waits. Dark. Runs.

Robin. Dark. Waits. Dark. Runs.

His house. Light.

They’re safe. He collapses.

He sits heavily on the front stoop, bat falling to the ground and knocking against the concrete with a thud. His knees come up to his chest and his arms wrap tightly around them as he rasps for breath, the air coming in short, quick bursts. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of his calves, hard enough to leave bruises. His forehead rests heavily on his knees and his eyes sting, welling with tears as the fear slowly fades away.

He sits outside, struggling for breath until the sun begins to rise, and waits. When the sun finds its way over the trees, he makes his way inside to get ready for his opening shift.

The bat finds a new home in his trunk.

Taglist: @tea-beloved @starry-eyedlune @hyperfixationgoddess @zerokrox-blog @nicovania @invisibleflame812 @chaoticvictorianspirit @justforthedead89 @dacremontgomeryay @vhelt @adhdsummer @nerd-and-nervous @i-have-three-feelings @mimicori @remuslupinisthevoiceofgod @solliesolesito @romanticdestruction @vanillatwist @bowl-o-queerios @grimmfitzz

(If you want to be added or removed please let me know!)

#steddie #stranger things #pre steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things fillet #stranger things drabble #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #things get better for Steve i promise #hes just having his angsty time right now #robins part is next tho so stay tuned for that #disposable heroes

[billiedeansbitch]

𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 [𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏]

𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: Larissa was compelled to use her annual leave to take care of her nieces for five days; what she wasn’t expecting was that an unnecessarily attractive baby-sitter would be accompanying her as well. 

a/n: The Bouchards are original characters.

warning/s: none for this chapter.

Next part >>

Sunday afternoon, the Bouchard’s family car halted in their driveway, a woman in her early forties exited from the passenger’s side as the kids—Tory and Laura, came bolting out of the door and running toward the woman, engulfing her thighs with their dainty, but strong arms. Enamoured, the woman kissed their foreheads, gently stroking their backs with her soft-looking palms.

Mr. Bouchard—or Adam, as he insistently told you to call him, hauled two suitcases from the trunk, both were no less elegant as the tall woman who exudes a promising character, with the finest, breath-taking, blue eyes. The gods had been so kind to her.

The children peeled themselves off of her as per their mother's request to let the woman breathe, which then was dismissed by the woman with a wave of her hand and let the children pamper her with delightful hugs. They surely loved her.

Bewitched, you couldn’t help but wonder in between Mr and Mrs Bouchard, was the one related to the woman. It was hard to gamble, none of them had any resemblance with her, not with the nose, not the eyes—they all had brown eyes and all brunettes…

Registering Mrs Bouchard’s voice, you snapped from reverie that caught you, “Yes?” she beckoned you to her side. With the little amount of time you took your eyes off her, you were surprised to see the woman was already by the door with the kids clinging on both of her sides, offering a pleasant smile.

Mrs Bouchard took the courtesy and introduced you to the other woman and vice versa. After exchanging pleasantries you offered to take her coat.

“It’s okay. Here, let me help.” Truly, your motive was to innocently help her discard the coat. However, you were attacked at the moment of weakness when the expanse of pale, supple skin made an impression on your eyes. Your mouth gaped at the appetizing sight. She wore a green sleeveless dress, flaunting a good amount of skin that your eyes drink fairly well.

Larissa, who was very much aware of your lingering gaze, cleared her throat and handed her coat over, “Thank you,” and you dismissed yourself, taking her coat, which you secretly inhaled as it was rich with her scent. And your heart clenched in response to the smell. It was new to your nose, smelling of fresh cut flowers and vanilla, with some hint of peach…

While the family started to welcome their guest, you busied yourself tidying the toys the children had played with prior to their Aunt’s arrival. From time to time, your eyes would wander, seeking for the silver-haired woman, it was a challenge not to, her presence seemed to demand attention, your attention specifically.

As an unfamiliar flutter called for your attention, your cheeks consequently warmed. You hadn’t been this engrossed over a person in so long, and while it appeared to be exciting, it also felt melancholic. A woman of her age would certainly not bat an eye at you, you looked young, inexperienced, out of her league. It was never going to work out.

Later, while the children were keeping their Aunt occupied, the wife and husband went about every nook and cranny of their house, checking what else they have missed for their four day vacation in the Bahamas and you watched them dizzily as you munched your sandwich in the breakfast nook.

Panting, Renata Bouchard stopped by, steadying herself by the table, her other hand squeezing your freehand, “Thank you. Thank you so much for doing this at the last minute. I owe my life to you.”

A soft, sincere smile appeared on your lips, “It’s no big deal. I love watching your kids.” And watching their aunt…

Renata couldn’t help herself but pull you into a hug. It was awkward but no less genuine.

“Honey! It’s five! We have to go! We don’t want to miss our plane!” Mr Bouchard yelled somewhere in the house.

“Will you fetch the kids and Larissa, sweetheart?”

-

While the parents struggled with goodbyes, it was also evident that they couldn’t wait and get in the damned car and leave.

When the car disappeared from your eye-line, the kids had long gone and retreated to their own rooms doing God-knows-what that was keeping them entertained. 

A voice bloomed in the background.

“Do you really not speak much?” Larissa spoke with a playful bite in her tone, arching her sculpted brow.

In surprise, your body jolted. You had thought she went inside as well.

“You have seem to render me speechless is all”

“Goodness, tell me it isn’t because I intimidate you, dear.”

You gave her a smile with sheer confidence to deceive her into thinking you weren’t burning with desire and said, “No, not at all, Ms Weems.” As if.

You didn’t know how you broke the eye contact, but you did and walked past her, aiming straight for the kitchen with your poor heart beating so fast. And without another word, you started making dinner.

She didn’t follow. Thank God. But as the pasta boiled and the sauce and meatballs were nearly cooked, Larissa appeared. Before the smile that was quite fixated there already, get you distracted, you shield your eyes away and focus on steering the sauce.

“That smells delicious.” Larissa was standing right behind you now, hovering, if she ever so desired to lean her body forward, her front would have touched yours and your body would have burned from the contact. Lucky you she maintained a tiny space, perfect to torture you.

With clenched jaw, you turn, carefully so as you were mindful of how thin the gap was between the two of you. She looked down at you, “Do you mind?” She wanted to taste it.

“Please, help yourself.” Expecting her to grab a spoon from the drawer, Larissa decidedly not to and just wrapped her hand around yours to lift the wooden spoon and guide it to her mouth catching you off guard. She blew a couple times before tasting the red sauce and licked her lips.

Larisa made a sound, making it known that she liked it, “This might be the best spaghetti sauce I’ve ever tasted in a while.”

You felt her withdraw her hand, and you intently watched it settle on the blade of your shoulder, her thumb affectionately stroking over the skin where the hem of the sleeve just ended.

“T-thank you.”

She smiled one last time—although if you stared longer you would have convinced yourself it was a smirk—before leaving the kitchen, and said something about getting the kids ready for dinner.

A long exhale escaped your lips, your shoulders sagging, unaware of how tensed they were until now. You took a pause, supporting yourself as you grip on the edge of the counter, trying to collect yourself as much. She took a lot from you, the very little time she had you practically trapped between the stove and her body, had drained you.

Your gaze fell on your right hand, the skin still tingled from her touch. Did she know what she was doing to you? Was it deliberate? Because if so, you were willing to play with her, whatever game it was in her head, you would dutifully play the part she wanted you to even if it included acting dumb.

Dinner went civil. The girls enjoyed the spaghetti and meatballs without a fuss. You kept yourself collected. She kept her tricks all to herself. Every once in a while, you two would eye each other and just harmlessly smile, trying to see which of you would break first. It was a fun night.

After Larissa guided both twins to clean their hands, Laura spoke, “Auntie, can you read to us before we sleep?”

From the sink you watched her crouched to their level, “Anything for my munchinks,” Something about the woman’s lively, blue eyes made you wish they were looking at you with the same dose of affection she was giving the siblings, her red lips curving into a smile. Your heart almost ached for some bit of her warmth.

The adoration only strengthened at this point, and you knew it would only fiercely grow each and every time she would show off her billion-dollar smile.

You watched the trio disappear in the twins’ bedroom, you chose to stay behind despite the ridiculous longing you felt, giving them the time to bond with each other as it was crucial for Larissa’s first night with the kids and you weren’t going to take that away from her. You didn’t want to be on her bad side.

-

It was still early in the night, only ten minutes past nine and the twins were already asleep without any commotion at all. When Larissa returned with a proud gleam in her eyes, sauntered toward the kitchen to rummaged for some liquid courage, hoping it would spark a nice chat with you. And that was when her eyes found a note on the counter.

“Be right back. Just getting some stuff next door.” It read. The corners of her mouth twitched upward.

When Renata divulged the piece of information to her that you would be staying to help her around with the children before they left, she was more elated with the idea than the other woman anticipated. You looked like a nice companion, although you weren’t entirely there for her own benefit, but still having another grown up around would make this whole experience less nerve-wrecking.

And she nearly cursed when her eyes landed on what she described as an unnecessarily attractive baby-sitter and a very intriguing one at that.

-

Earlier when the kids’ father was pacing around the house looking for his damn keys, Renata told you he was supposed to have already left half an hour ago to the airport to pick up the kids’ aunt. You didn’t know why you expected an old, mean lady, hunched with greying hair wearing a dress and a cardigan combo. Perhaps the way he sweat and paced like he was losing his balls made you think that.

And then surprise, bomb drop, it was a stunning woman with gorgeous red lips. A woman who was dizzyingly attractive with an impressive stature, her elegance called for attention, and it effortlessly captured yours. Fucking hell, Renata absolutely skipped that part.

When your overnight backpack was ready, you left the house, lip worrying between your teeth and hands in your pockets.

The front door opened, Larissa was already settled, sitting on the long couch with her long legs crossed, they were clad in her skin toned tights, you noticed. Her feet were freed from her heels and curling from the cold of the night. She was much more relaxed, more approachable and casual.

“There you are, come and join me, sweetheart.”

Her gaze danced around your legs, finding it hard to keep her eyes off of the skin that your shorts were flaunting. It was a riveting sight. But she urged herself to gather some decency and look away.

The soft glow of the lamps hid the blush on your cheeks quite well. You sat opposite her, “Let me pour you some.” She had a smile curling on her lips.

“So, tell me about yourself, dear. What do you do when you’re not babysitting my nieces?”

“I’m a part time college instructor. I work on Tuesdays and Fridays and sometimes I cover for other professors.” So you were a teacher…

She handed you the glass, you gladly accepted. It causes your fingers to brush against each other.

“Fascinating…and what do you teach?

“Philosophy.” A beat of silence.

Larissa shifted in her seat, somehow it caused her dress to bunch up, giving more sight of her thighs. She cleared her throat, “So, are you married? What’s the deal with you? I can’t seem to read you.”

It made you flushed. “I’ve no husband.” She arched her brows, unbelieving. “A boyfriend perhaps?”

You shook your head. The tension only thickened. “No men.” Larissa knew what you were trying to point out. With a satisfied hum, you saw a fleeting smirk on her lips before she drank the remaining of her wine.

From the visible curiosity in your eyes Larissa tilted her head to the side and said: “What is it you want to ask?”

It prompted your eyes to look into her piercing gaze, “How about you?” pertaining to her status.

“Married.” You felt your finger grow cold right then, breath caught in your throat. “To my job.” She finished.

If you were right, and listened very well, this person here was an esteemed Principal of an outcast academy in Vermont. It all made sense with her posture, the authority in her voice, and her allure—which you were yet to find out if it was because she was an outcast herself or it was naturally all her.

And suddenly, you thought what kind of an outcast she was, but you decided against asking, feeling you’d be imposing.

When silence befallen, you took it as a cue to speak your mind about something that had been worrying since having been left alone with the woman, “I hope you are not offended by my presence. I’m not sure what you were expecting but I’m sure as hell I was not included in the picture yet here I am.”

“Oh no, not at all. Actually it’s quite the contrary. I’m absolutely delighted to have extra hands to help with the kids as I am no mother myself.”

You pressed yourself further into the seat and muttered: “I’m pleased to hear that.” Pleased to which part exactly?

Many glasses later, your eyes could finally roam around without shame, and you started saying things like, “You’re so beautiful.” But mostly they were whispers you meant to keep only to yourself but she heard of them and blushed in response to your kind affection. And you were aware of the unconcealed looks she gave.

So maybe if you tell her now that you find her fascinating and attractive, she would smile at you and tell you she liked you, ending whatever the on-going game was. And then your eyes would linger to her lips, she would ask if she could kiss you and you would nod with trembling urgency to feel her mouth. She would then close the gap and you would be kissing under moonlit night, the bottle of wine forgotten in the coffee table.

The whole idea of it was so tempting. But it wasn’t easy to do. Not even when you were wine drunk.

Now you felt like you were fooling yourself. “It’s getting late, I should go.”

You got up, smoothing your clammy palms over the denim that clung to your thighs. “If you need anything, the room I’ll be staying in is only next to yours.”

Larissa wanted to bid you a good night kiss, so she attempted to stand up but suddenly felt unsteady on her feet, “Oh, careful.” Your body moved close, ready to catch her if she were to lose balance.

Now, you couldn’t leave this woman alone here, could you? “I think I should take you to your bed first.”

She hummed, agreeing to your proposal. Larissa was a silent drunk, she only hummed and nodded, considerably cooperative, too. You got back with a full glass of water and a tablet so she could take care of her headache in the morning.

It felt like hours of being rooted on the floor, on stand-by in case she needed anything more, and then you finally snapped, concluding that Larissa had quietly fallen asleep.

Much to your dismay, there was no accidental kissing that happened.   

“Good night, Larissa.” You finally said, and walked away.  

#larissa weems imagine #larissa weems x reader #principal larissa weems #larissa x reader #larissa weems #gwendoline christie imagines #gwendoline christie #wednesday netflix

[majaloveschris]

Like many, I would love for this to turn out to be a pr stunt; however, I find it difficult to believe that would be the case with so many major entertainment outlets picking up the story even if they are attributing to Page Six. It seems like they would not report unless they were confident further confirmation was forthcoming. So far, TMZ is the only outlet questioning the reports.

As for the venue discrepancy, I believe the Daily Mail was the second one to report the story, and they were the first to allude to the wedding taking place on Cape Cod. Remember a few months ago they reported a summer wedding would take place with the Cape listed as a possible destination. I think whoever wrote yesterday's story pulled the location from the previous story instead of copying it from Page Six. Even though People and other outlets cited Page Six, it is clear they took the Cape location from Daily Mail. It is unlikely a wedding took place on the Cape given CE was seen in Concord on Saturday morning, and his friend Brian had posted from CE's Concord home early Saturday afternoon and again on Sunday morning; the Cape is ~2 hr drive from Concord so it would have been a time crunch to get down there and ready for an evening wedding. Not to mention the celebrity guests appeared to be staying in Boston.

Imo I think this latest development is tough to swallow because everyone tended to apply her own lens to the situation instead of looking at things from both sides and considering the people involved manipulated information. People have been equating real relationship and marriage with love; I personally believe love should be involved in a real, healthy rs and for marriage, but many people marry for other reasons. Others continue to say things like "they hardly were ever together" or "people weren't there". Everyone involved in the mess (Chris, Alba, Tara, Chelsea, Justin) showed us what they wanted to us to see. We were not with them 24/7. We have no idea what was going on behind the scenes. For example, we have no idea exactly when CE & AB started talking; we believe we know because we go by follows and assume she was exclusive with LB, but we have no idea if what we saw was accurate. Another example is we know JA purposely kept CE out of the NYE 2.0 photos, but know CE was there based on the VD dump. For me, I grew uneasy the more people celebrated JA's supposed outing of AB not being engaged by posting a pic of her not wearing a ring; based upon his past behavior, I thought it was too convenient that he would "confirm" the ring question for us like that. Every stop of the way the crew clearly fed info that could play into both sides to keep everyone guessing.

I have seen people on various pr blogs over the past day question about why was there never any sightings of the CE & AB. I know of at least four sightings that were reported to these blogs. The issue was that there were no pics to go along due to various reasons (e.g. driving, seeing them unexpectedly not in a stationary situation). Understandably, the information was disregarded; however, it is inaccurate to say sightings never occurred. The people who reported were polite and never said that they thought these sightings indicated real relationship. For all anyone knows, AB could have been around to film pr content. Yet, people simply chose to ignore the information and attack (not politely question) the people who brought forth the info; therefore, it discouraged people from bringing forth further info including pics.

To wrap up, the most disappointing and frustrating aspect about the past year for me is that CE straight faced told the public during the SMA interview how much he HATES manipulation; yet, that's exactly what he, his now (alleged) wife and her cronies did for this past year. It's also disappointing that what he said he wanted in a partner was not what it appears he ended up with, but things change and that is easier to accept imo. It's the fact that he specifically discussed his hatred of manipulation when he clearly knew that was what he was about to do to fans as of a few days later and for the long haul.

You're so right about her being everything he's said he doesn't want. I feel like in this situation, everybody is manipulating everybody (including us, fans), and that's one of the reasons why this whole thing is so unhealthy and toxic.

I still stand by my take on sightings. I don't believe them unless there is proof; I don't care how people word it. Just because someone nice says they saw somebody somewhere (like how people said he was also in Bermuda, and surprise surprise he wasn't), it won't make it real. Until I don't see an actual photo of someone being somewhere, it doesn't happen for me.

I don't really understand why it was good for them that people were guessing about them and their relationship, especially since most people don't like them being together. But I agree that Justin's behavior maybe should've been more alarming, but I think most of us thought that this whole thing might be over and he'd just had enough of people attacking him and her, but we were wrong.

I also stand by my view that this is not a healthy relationship; it never was and never will be. Too often, people who love each other don't behave or act the way they should. Almost everything that has happened since Alba came into his life is out of character for him, and yeah, I know we don't know him, but I think his words somewhat matched his actions up until Alba.

#majaloveschris #chris and alba relationship #chris and alba wedding #cevans-love

[otmaaromanovas]

Romanov myths part one: Alexei being injured by sledding down the stairs

Although Alexei was given more freedom than is assumed by many people, and certainly had a rambunctious personality, the long-standing story of him sledding down the stairs and then crashing, causing a haemophilia attack in Tobolsk is a myth.

Both Nicholas and Alexandra do not mention this in their diaries, and surviving letters from the Grand Duchesses also do not record Alexei’s rumoured ill-fated sledding adventure. This especially is unusual, as their letters from Tobolsk included a lot of detail about them having fun sledding and on the snow mountain they constructed, so this omission is telling. Alexei did, however, have a sled and a boat which he, his friend Kolya Derevenko, and sister Olga sometimes rode down the stairs and onto the pond (which appears to be mostly small pools of water with a lot of imagination) outside (Olga apparently lost her balance and then fell out once!)

From Alexei's diary (note how he does not mention crashing or having a haemophilia attack):

Sunday 25/7 March [1918]

At eight o'clock there was a religious service, Mama and the sisters sang because the choir was busy. Kolya came at two o'clock. We played in the garden in the afternoon. We shot at a target with bows and arrows [there is a photo of this - see below]. It's very interesting. After tea, we played hide and seek. I received a sleigh and a boat as a gift from a local trader, models of the sleds and boats of the region. Kolya and I played with them a lot and we went down the stairs in the boat. He left at nine o'clock.

Alexei’s sister Anastasia writes about the boat and ‘pond’ here:

4/17 April 1918

Thank you very much, dear Dalechka, for the letter. It took a long time to get here – since December! But it is good it arrived. How are you? We think of you often. It is more or less quiet here. The weather has been divine, but not very warm the last few days. We continue to chop and cut up firewood, and it turns out pretty good. We fixed up our swing, and started to use it again, but probably the ropes will break soon as it has been done poorly. Our garden is a mass of water and mud. My brother has a little boat in which we, so to say, take a ride (it is a big imagination.) There is still not enough water, so we push it of the tracks with sticks and of course get completely soaked. Well, it is a little bit of fun! And how do you pass the time? Well, we are off for a walk so I must finish. I wish all of you the very best. Big greetings to all! I kiss you firmly. Greetings to your Papa and Seryozha.

Anastasia.

In reality, Alexei injured himself after contracting a bad cough. This was most likely caught off one of the visiting children to the house who kept him company, probably Kolya. The repeated coughing unfortunately triggered internal bleeding, leading to a haemophilia attack which left him unable to walk.

It was this attack that meant Alexei, Olga, Tatiana, and Anastasia were not moved to Ekaterinburg with their parents and sister Maria, as the Heir was too ill to move across the country. However, he did make some sort of recovery, at least to the point of being able to be safely transported to Ekaterinburg, and he is photographed sat upright on the Rus steamer, although looking thin. Despite this slight recovery, he was still unable to walk for the rest of his life. The night of the execution he was given a chair to sit on due to being unable to stand independently for any length of time.

A staircase at Tobolsk

So - where did this myth of Alexei sledding down the stairs causing his last haemophilia attack come from?

Robert K. Massie’s 1967 book ‘Nicholas and Alexandra’ appears to be the origin of the story in popular history. On page 490, Massie wrote:

‘[Alexei] was devising new and reckless games which no one seemed able to inhibit. One of these — riding down the inside stairs  on a boat with runners which he had used on the snow mountain — led to calamity. He fell and began to bleed into the groin.’

Whilst Massie’s book is a cornerstone in Romanov historical works, it was released 56 years ago, when there was still a fair amount of mystery and rumour surrounding the Romanovs and their final months. The 1971 film, also named ‘Nicholas and Alexandra’, adapted the book into a three-hour epic film dedicated a whole scene to re-enacting this myth, giving it more publicity.

VIDEO CREDIT: Nicholas and Alexandra, Franklin J. Schaffner, 1971, Columbia-Warner Distributors, Archive.org, uploaded by Olga Movie Man on December 26, 2019, https://archive.org/details/1971nicholasandalexandra. Alexei played by Roderic Noble. They make Tobolsk look a LOT rougher and barren than it actually was!!

A floor plan of the Governor's Mansion, Tobolsk, drawn by Prince Vasily Dolgorukov. Translated in red by Helen Azar.

To summarise: although Alexei did have a boat and a sled whilst at Tobolsk and did ride them down the stairs, these games never caused a haemophilia attack and he never crashed them to the point of causing serious injury. Rather, he contracted a cough which caused internal bleeding. Robert K. Massie mistakenly put this in his book 'Nicholas and Alexandra', and the myth became more popular due to its inclusion in the 1971 film of the same name.

SOURCES:

Diary and letters quoted available here

Alexei: Russia's Last Tsesarevich - Letters, diaries and writings, by George Hawkins

Anastasia Romanov: The Tsar's Youngest Daughter Speaks Through Her Writings (1907 - 1918), by Helen Azar and George Hawkins

Nicholas and Alexandra - film, directed by Franklin J. Schaffner - free to watch here

Nicholas and Alexandra - Robert K. Massie - free to read here

Floorplan of Tobolsk - Helen Azar's website

Tour of Tobolsk in its current form as a museum - (Russian language!)

Photos: public domain, toptyumen

#Romanov #Romanov family #russian history #myths #myth busting #Alexei Nikolaevich #Alexei Romanov #Nicholas II #Tsar Nicholas #Alexandra Feodorovna #Tsarina Alexandra #OTMA #OTMAA #Nicholas and Alexandra #Nicholas and Alexandra 1971 #Anastasia Nikolaevna #Anastasia Romanov #sources #dated #my own #Tobolsk #captivity #sledding #Olga Romanov #Tatiana Romanov #Maria Romanov #tsarist russia #romanov russia #romanov dynasty #romanov family

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Mike Luckovich

* * * *

A big week!  ::  April 17, 2023

ROBERT B. HUBBELL

APR 17, 2023

         The week beginning Monday, April 17, 2023, will be filled with important stories competing for our attention. Tonight, I will attempt to frame those stories in a way to bring some order out of seeming chaos. Which, by the way, is the point of MAGA extremists who are pushing culture war issues across multiple fronts in a deliberate effort to exhaust us. Don’t let them.

         Their façade is cracking, and MAGA extremists are turning on one another over strategy, tactics, money, and power. It is an inevitable turn of events for the reactionary wing of American politics. When nothing matters except power, it is every person for themselves in MAGA-land. Sadly, innocent Americans are collateral damage in MAGA’s race to the bottom. Signs abound that most Americans are tiring of the MAGA cult of death and spectacle of hate—as should be expected in a rational world where most people want only to raise their families in peace, security, and freedom. Let’s take a look.

Mass shooting in Alabama.

         Like a weekly ritual, we begin the new week with news of another mass shooting. Details are scarce—possibly deliberately so—as local officials appear to treat the most recent mass shooting as a public relations problem. They have been charitably described as “tight-lipped,” refusing to provide key details as of late Sunday afternoon. See Washington Post, Dadeville shooting: 4 dead at Alabama teen’s birthday party. At least four were killed and two dozen injured. There was so much blood at the scene that a fire tanker was enlisted to wash the blood off the sidewalks with firehoses on Sunday morning. Such was the tragic ending to a Sweet 16 birthday party.

         Alabama was the first state to pass “permitless carry” of concealed firearms (in March 2022). Since then, twenty-four more states have passed similar legislation, meaning that in half the states in America, you should assume everyone you are speaking to is carrying a concealed weapon. It would be foolish not to.

         The legislators in those twenty-five states are morally responsible for the deaths of innocent children, workers, and bystanders. They have bidden a world in which gun ownership is easier than applying for a job, obtaining a driver’s license, or using a credit card. There is blood on their hands, and no amount of power washing the blood from sidewalks will remove the stain.

         The most dangerous cities in America overlap almost entirely with the map of permitless carry (although there are outliers: e.g., Oakland, Philadelphia). Alabama lays claim to two of the most dangerous cities in America. The Safest Cities in America | MoneyGeek.com More guns have made citizens of Alabama less safe, not more so.

         Americans are fed up. A recent survey by the Navigator Group finds a dramatic increase in the number of Americans who believe gun violence is a top national priority. For tragic reasons, concern over guns is now the third-ranking priority among Americans—behind only inflation and jobs. Strong majorities of Democrats and Independents believe that gun laws should be strengthened—as do 38% of Republicans.

         The numbers are turning against Republicans on the gun issue. Combined with reproductive liberty, the climate crisis, and attacks on LGBTQ rights, MAGA extremists have picked the wrong side of nearly every major social and political issue challenging America. Although they can control legislation through gerrymandered legislatures, that is a losing game over time. Democrats can win at the statewide and national level—where they can block G.O.P. lawlessness and enact gun reform.

         We have a path forward—through grass-roots politics. It will be long and arduous, but we have a path forward. Let’s take it.

The Supreme Court will issue a ruling on mifepristone withdrawal on Wednesday.

         Barring an unforeseen development, the U.S. Supreme Court will issue a ruling by 11:59 PM on Wednesday. The Court’s ruling will signal just how far the Court is willing to extend the constitutional injury inflicted in Dobbs. Any reasonable Court would dismiss the case for lack of standing or, at the very least, stay the order revoking the F.D.A.’s approval of mifepristone until the Fifth Circuit and Supreme Court can hear the appeal from Judge Kacsmaryk’s order on full briefing.

         But . . .if the Court allows any part of Judge Kacsmaryk’s order to remain in place, it will have facilitated a judicial revolution of staggering proportions. Though conservatives routinely rail against “judicial activism,” Judge Kacsmaryk’s order is judicial activism on jet fuel. He presumes to himself the scientific knowledge to second-guess a congressionally mandated arbiter of drug safety and efficacy. The F.D.A. has thousands of scientists with thousands of years of combined experience testing drugs, but Judge Kacsmaryk believes that his religious principles are sufficient to overcome that experience.

         If the Supreme Court fails to block Judge Kacsmaryk’s order in its entirety, we are entering a new era of jurisprudence in which the federal judiciary will become the “super-regulator” of medicines, products, and services currently regulated by agencies created by Congress. That would be an astonishing result, but we cannot underestimate the religious fervor motivating justices Alito, Kavanaugh, Barrett, Thomas, and Gorsuch—all Catholics who have allowed their faith to overrule their loyalty to the Constitution. (Yes, I know that Gorsuch has joined his wife’s Episcopalian congregation where his children attend school.)

         Republicans are not happy about Kacsmaryk’s ruling—because they are not talking about it. See HuffPo, Republicans Are Silent On The Abortion Pill Ruling, Despite Confirming The Judge Behind It. Or rather, those Republicans who are talking about it are telling the anti-choice extremists in their ranks to “knock it off” and “quit while you are ahead.” Even Senators who are usually willing to back extreme positions (Cruz, Hawley) have declined comment.

         Another signal that Republican extremism on reproductive liberty has offended conservative Republicans was the announcement by a prominent DeSantis backer that he was “pausing” his support for DeSantis because the governor signed a six-week abortion ban. When Republican megadonors begin to flee leading Republican candidates for the 2024 nomination, you know that the G.O.P. has lost touch with the American people.

         I cannot leave this topic without noting the corruption that surrounded Judge Kacsmaryk’s confirmation hearing. Like all nominees, he was required to advise the Senate of all publications. When he was nominated, an article he authored had been accepted for publication by The Texas Review of Law and Politics. Rather than disclose the article to the Senate as required, he called the law journal and asked that the journal remove his name—as sole author—and substitute two different people as authors.

There is no other word to describe Kacsmaryk’s action except “fraud.” An article written by Kacsmaryk and accepted for publication was published under another person’s name for the purpose of concealing Kacsmaryk’s authorship. See WaPo, The controversial article Matthew Kacsmaryk did not disclose to the Senate. When Democrats again control the House, they should consider impeaching Kacsmaryk for lying to the Senate.

More on Justice Thomas’s corruption.

         Like clockwork, we have learned of another misrepresentation in Justice Thomas’s financial disclosure forms. It turns out that Thomas has been reporting income from a defunct entity for nearly a decade. See Bloomberg, Justice Thomas Reported Income From Defunct Firm (reporting on a WaPo story). While the error may have been inadvertent, the oversight is reckless. By attributing income to a non-existent entity, Thomas could have concealed the true source of his income. Whether he did deserves to be investigated.

         There is no doubt that Justice Thomas violated the statute that governs his disclosure obligations (5 U.S.C. app. 104), which imposes civil and criminal liability for omitting required information or misstating included information. (Section 104 applies to the Chief Justice and Associate Justices of the Supreme Court. See 5a U.S. Code § 109.) Thomas has both omitted required information and misstated included information. It is up to Merrick Garland and John Roberts to investigate. See Chris Geidner, Clarence Thomas's problems are also a John Roberts problem (lawdork.com)

[MORE]

Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter

#News #political #Robert B. Hubbel Newsletter #Robert B. Hubbell #Justice Thomas #Corrupt SCOTUS #Judge Kacsmaryk #women's rights #abortion rights #reproductive rights #gun violence #gun control #ban assault weapons

[beardedmrbean]

Something unprecedented is happening this weekend in Paris, brought about by the war between Israel and Hamas and its spill-over in Europe.

For the first time ever, a major demonstration being attended by representatives of the major political parties includes the far right - but not the far left.

On Sunday afternoon thousands of people heeded a call from the Speakers of the two houses of parliament to show their support for French "Republican" values and their rejection of antisemitism - this in the face of a steep rise in antisemitic actions since 7 October.

Among the first to announce their presence were Marine Le Pen, three-time presidential candidate for the National Rally (formerly the National Front), and the party's young president, Jordan Bardella.

Almost simultaneously came a rejoinder from their counterpart on the far left, Jean-Luc Mélenchon, irascible leader of France Unbowed (LFI). His party would not be attending, he tweeted, because the march was a "rendezvous for unconditional supporters of the massacre [of Gazans]".

It is hard to overestimate the symbolic significance of this switch-over.

For decades French politics erected a bulwark against the far right, whose views - not least on Jews - were deemed "anti-Republican". The old National Front under Marine's father Jean-Marie Le Pen was seen as beyond the pale, and it was shunned.

The far left meanwhile - the Communists, the Trotskyists and the new formations like Mr Mélenchon's LFI - were certainly attacked for their views, but they were never excluded. They were part of the broad political family, in a way that the Le Pen franchise clearly wasn't.

A few years ago, for a far-left party not to have been part of a march against antisemitism would have been unthinkable. For a far-right party to have been there instead would have been unconscionable.

Such is the shake-up in the political order, which of course long predates the Gaza war and is mirrored in varying ways across other European countries.

Macron condemns rising antisemitism and Israeli bombing of civilians

Today's far right, rebranded "hard right" or "national right" has - in France at least - forgotten its obsession with Jews and its claims of a "Jewish lobby". Its primary focus now is the three I's - immigration, insecurity and Islamism - issues on which it finds common cause with many Jews.

Meanwhile the far left in France, analysing Gaza through the anti-colonial lens, sees an oppressed people hammered by a superpower proxy and shouts "Solidarity!" Having lost the support of the old working class, many of whom vote National Rally, it has a new natural base among politicised immigrants.

Thus we arrive at the novel situation where a party whose founder once called the Holocaust a "detail of history" openly embraces the cause of French Jews; and at the other end of the spectrum, a party built on ideas of human rights and equality stands accused of antisemitism for failing to call Hamas "terrorist".

Maybe this should all be nuanced. After all, many people still think that at heart the far right, by virtue of its French-first ethos, cannot help but be anti-Jewish. They note that Jordan Bardella this week refused to explicitly call Jean-Marie Le Pen antisemitic - a faux-pas to which enemies of the National Rally (RN) have reacted with glee.

And on the far left there are signs of division around Jean-Luc Mélenchon, whose prickly personality and autocratic methods are driving some colleagues to exasperation. This week one senior lieutenant, Raquel Garrido, was given a four-month suspension as party spokeswoman for challenging the leader's line - not least on Hamas.

But the fundamental point remains: the RN under Marine Le Pen is manoeuvring itself very successfully into the mainstream, while Mr Mélenchon's LFI is manoeuvring itself out.

Opinion polls bear it out: according to IFOP last week, Marine Le Pen would trounce the opposition in the first round of a presidential election today, with up to 33% of the vote. Mr Mélenchon, at 22% in the 2022 election, is down to 14%.

This week one of the historic figures in the fight against antisemitism in France gave his views on these ironies of history and politics.

Serge Klarsfeld and his wife Beate helped bring Nazi war criminals to justice, and documented the deportations and deaths of 80,000 Jews from France exterminated in the Holocaust.

Speaking to Le Figaro newspaper, Mr Klarsfeld, now 88, said: "For me the DNA of the far right is antisemitism. So when I see a big party of the far right abandon antisemitism and negationism and move towards our Republican values, naturally I rejoice."

"The far left for its part has always had its own antisemitic tradition. So just as I am relieved to see the RN… take a stand for Jews, so I am sad to see the far left abandon its actions to combat antisemitism."

#nunyas news #leftist Antisemitism is wrapped up in their call for socialism

[crazy56u]

Spoilers, the tags might be relevant here...

Fellas, is it normal to casually admit you have mentally worked out how a certain issue of a certain comic could've ended differently had the writers involved wanted to kill off a certain character?

Is it normal to just shoot that off on a Tumblr post on a Sunday afternoon?

So yeah, I'm yet a-fucking-gain talking about IDW #53, and, full disclosure, I may have started fiddling with writing this out.

So, yeah, let's pretend, as a hypothetical, Evan Stanley decided to go fucking wild, and use the fight against Surge as an excuse to kill off Whisper, how the fuck would that work?

Well, the major change is the easiest: Sonic and Tails show up late.

With the benefit of hindsight, it is practically a literal fucking miracle that, even though Sonic and Tails' house got fucked up during the badnik riot going into Issue #50, the computer managed to avoid getting broke.

Now, granted, by the time Jewel contacted Tails, this had happened-

But, hey, Sonic and Tails still managed to speed over to Central City in time to stop Surge from finishing the job, right?

So, let's assume the computer also needed to get fixed, and they didn't get that call from Jewel when they did.

So, Surge just kills Whisper then and there, right? Post over?

No.

Like I said, I have had dark thoughts, and the way this plays out in my head, that would've been ideal:

After getting distracted by her Starline hallucination, Surge remembers "Oh, right, I was about to kill Whisper," and turns her attention back to her; she hadn't yet gotten up, same as in the comic.

In a panic, Cyan tries in vain to protect Whisper, gets absorbed for his trouble. So, literally, it's just the two of them left.

But before deciding to land the blow, Surge decides "You know what, it's not like you're gonna need it after today," and decides as one final stab to take her mask, and wear it.

You know? The thing that can translate Wisps?

So, what do you think would happen if Surge put that on?

If your answer was "sensory overload in the form of five voices screaming at the same time", then yes, that is what would happen...

So, yeah, naturally, hearing all that screaming freaks out Surge, she unknowingly fries Whisper's mask as a result, and after managing to calm down from that, she get really fucking mad, and decides "You know what, fuck being cute," and decides to... well...

Do what she almost did to Sonic three issues later:

She pins her down to the ground, and starts trying to electrocute her to death; it would probably be around here when Sonic and Tails finally show up.

Regardless of how the rest of the confrontation with Surge plays out, the most important thing would be "Holy fuck, Whisper needs to go to the hospital now," and Sonic speeds her over to the nearest one, and she is swiftly put into a hospital bed; she is most likely gonna need heart surgery, but her heart rate needs to settle down first before they can do anything.

So, that's where we currently are: Whisper is in a hospital bed, unconscious and clinging to life, while Surge is dealt with in the background. What happens next?

Enter the other player in this fucked up game.

It is my personal belief that Mimic 100% was nearby in Central City when Whisper and Surge were fighting, and was quietly waiting for Surge to be done so he could finish the job; it's only when Sonic and Tails showed up when they did that he abandoned those plans.

So, in this timeline, that's not what happens.

While Whisper is recovering in the hospital, a nurse quietly enters her room, with the pretense of checking on her.

In reality, this is Mimic, deciding to take advantage of Whisper's already weakened heart.

He fucks with her IV drip, slips out of her room, and by the time he's sneaking out of the hospital, the medical staff are scrambling to try and save their newest patient, who is in the middle of flatlining, but their efforts will ultimately be in vein.

Surge's attack would already caused bare minimum congestive heart failure. Mimic inducing a heart attack would be the nail in the coffin.

And so, to summarize: How would Issue #53 (and technically 54) need to be rewritten if it was decided to kill off Whisper?

Smash Tails' computer beforehand.

#sonic the hedgehog #mimic the octopus #whisper the wolf #surge the tenrec #yes i am once again rewriting the events of that issue #and yes once again i am going dark #buckle the fuck up #sonic idw

[rosie-kairi]

oh. oh oh oh my goodness it is worse than i thought. that isn't just your average 'ummm i twied weally hawd to get into khux but i just couldn't i don't like it uwu' that is someone actively being the nastiest person alive. that's a new low. that is someone talking back and barking at you and screenshotting your post to slam it on their blog and just like being as stupid as humanly possible. not every day we get a genuine 'numbered games only' fan cuz at least most people at this point can comprehend stuff like days and ddd being important and not every day we get a person who's clearly insufferable based on their blog alone. i can't stand this fandom sometimes

I don't think that person has touched grass in a long time. I have not and will not look at their blog because I don't want to waste my precious sunday afternoon doomscrolling on some random fuck-off tumblr user who hasn't experienced a single positive emotion since elementary school and feels the need to take that out on everyone they interact with. I will not be thinking of them for much longer, be a bitch get blocked, that's how this goes.

Also, that post was from March, tagged only with me general catch all ask tag and your url. And apparently all that guy had been talking about was stupid shit similar to what was added onto my post (told to me by others). Must've been deliberately looking to start shit.

At times like this I feel like that meme that's like "my psionic warriors seal this booboo bear within the earth I command you". Everyone clown on this guy. L + Ratio + Illustrated Kairi EX + Supernova Ex + 15 Cyberbug attacks at once

#ask rosie a question! #goldensunset #just block and move on lol

[joe9cool]

Collide-Justin Herbert- 20

A/N: This is fiction, I do not know the Chargers or anyone associated with them.

Luck was on her side.

She arrived at the airport, and found a flight to LAX pretty quickly. It was extra money, but she didn't care.

She had shut her phone off once she arrived. While she was in the uber her phone was going off with texts and calls. Mainly from her sisters and her mom.

Not a peep from her dad. 

She should have been shocked. This is how her dad was. Always stuck up for his sister. Wanted to have the perfect family look towards outsiders. 

She and her dad used to be close until she found her love for the theater. Then it was like her dad had nothing in common with her.  It was solidified when he told her he wasn't paying for her school,but when Willa's kid got in trouble he was right there.

She had gotten on the plane thankfully with her mask no one seemed to know who she was. 

The flight went smooth, and once she landed she found herself swarmed by paparazzi who were hanging out, looking for their big break. She didn't have her sunglasses, so she was blinded by the lights. The shouting by all the men surrounding her were starting to freak her out. While she was trying to get her luggage.

"How was your Holiday Sara?"

"Look My way Sara!"

"Welcome back!"

"Sara will you be attending Harry's concert at SoFi Sunday?"

"How do you feel about Harry and Olivia breaking up?"

It was all overwhelming, she felt her breathing get heavy. She was trapped, there was no ending in sight. 

"Guys please back up." She didn't know who said it. Tears were streaming down her face as cameras were getting closer. Her air was being taken up by all of these people

"BACK OFF!"

She was having an attack. She turned to see a camera go off in her face. Spots aligned her vision, next thing she knew she was on the ground."

I SAID GET THE FUCK OFF OF HER!" She was in tears now

Everyone began to back off and she saw an unfamiliar face. "Ms. Wozniak I am officer Ryan with airport security are you okay?" 

She nodded and he helped her get off the ground. "I am very sorry about that, they are not supposed to be here taking photos in the airport. Do you need me to call someone?"

She didn't know who to call, everyone was out of town. She had just planned on taking a taxi back to her place to get her car and then go to Justin's.

"I can call a bodyguard service for you if you'd like." She nodded and then finally spoke. "Thank you so much. I didn't think they would be that overwhelming."

He guided her to get her bags. "If you don't mind me asking why didn't you just take the personal tunnel?"

She didn't know why, sometimes she didn't feel like a celebrity despite being in the business for a few years. "I guess it didn't dawn on me," officer Ryan laughed.

"Well I will have you wait in the office. I can call the police and you can press charges if you like."

She shook her head, not wanting to draw any attention to herself. "No, I just want to get home please.

Of course whether she liked it or not, the videos were all over tmz and other news sites.

SARA WOZNIAK FREAKS OUT FOLLOWING ALTERCATION WITH PAPARAZZI AT LAX

the  article, along with the full video were up. Before she knew it she was trending on twitter. The video sparking outrage, within minutes she had Heidi texting her about releasing a statement. She told her to hold off.

By the time she pulled up to her house. She had her manager Alex calling her about hiring a personal bodyguard. Her sisters called about what had gone down with Aunt Willa, and her mom asking if she was okay.

Nothing from her dad though

She went on twitter to see her mentions blowing up and she decided to tweet out a statement.

This afternoon was very scary as I was surrounded by strangers shouting and camera in my face. While I understand that these people have to make a living, and that I'm very blessed to have an amazing  career, there is a time and a place and that certainly wasn't it. I am okay and I hope these men learn from their mistakes.

-SW

She sent it to Heidi to look over and tweak it before posting it. Once she got the okay she sent it out as well as posted it on social media. 

She looked over at the time. Shit she forgot about the game. She quickly unpacked and put her clothes in the washer. She quickly dusted over everything while waiting for the first load. She put the game on her living room tv to catch the final three minutes. The Chargers were down by a touchdown.

"Shit!" She yelled as she ran back and forth to the laundry room.

The team was running out of time. They were getting close to the end zone with seconds left.

Then unlike the Chiefs game, They were in the touchdown.

She took a sigh of relief, at least they could go into overtime. The announcers  stated that they were going to do a 2 point attempt.

She couldn't sit, she watched them gather in the huddle.

"Herbert, looks, and throws, and HE GETS THE 2 POINTS! CHARGERS LEAD WITH 49 SECONDS TO GO!"

"WOO!!!" She screamed!! She was excited. Forget all the bullshit that happened with her family, forget the fact that she and dad might not ever speak again. This was huge. They won and played a great game.

In a good mood. She hurried up and finished the load as fast as she could. Granted it would be a while before Justin came home from Arizona but she wanted to be ready. She was turned on, she hadn't seen him in three weeks, three weeks without his touch, his smell, his moans in her ear. He was her happy place 

Her family didn't matter, she had her friends and Justin.

She ran around her house, no doubt going to be staying at his place for the week. Grabbing toiletries, lingerie, and some clothes (She would just steal his hoodies and live in them) she threw everything in suitcases. Making sure she had his house key he gave her before she left.

While she was stuck in traffic she decided to face the music and open up her text. She had one from Brent asking why her sister was bitching him out. She did feel bad about that. But she didn't think Tristan would say anything 

She quickly replied , apologizing for that one. Her mom wasn't that upset, she just wanted to know if Sara made it home and Apologized on behalf of Aunt Willa. Which was bullshit. Her sisters were upset over the whole thing and wanted peace within the family, but they understood their dad was in the wrong.

All Sara messaged was that she wouldn't speak unless aunt Willa was no longer around the family.

She didn't need that in her life. And while she was at it. She was pissed that Justin just ignored her for nearly a week. While she tried to be understanding, it was a dick move. 

The mood changed to wanting to bitch him out. Maybe it was the fight with her family, or the fact that she actually stood up for herself.

She arrived at Justin's house and began to unpack. She had picked  up pasta dishes from their favorite restaurant, not really into cooking after all the baking she did. She was pissed that she forgot those cookies.

Sara set herself up by color coordinating her shirts on her side of his closet, putting her pants in the dresser space he reserved for her. In the bathroom, she put her skincare and makeup products on the counter, though he would probably just move all her products to the plastic separators in the drawers by the sink.

Everything was set up, the food was in the fridge. She had a few bites of her food but wasn't really hungry.

It was late, and Justin should be home very soon. She wanted to wait up and make love when he came in, she was exhausted from traveling. After deciding what to wear (she settled on a sheer see through cami and little panties) she made herself comfortable underneath his sheet set and scrolled tik tok. She wished Nova was there to snuggle with her, but she was at the catsitter.  Sara almost texted Justin asking to pick her up but she wanted to surprise him. Despite the earlier paparazzi fiasco, she doubted that he saw the video.

Which reminded her, Joey did. He was one of her messages asking if she was okay. He said he saw her posts on Instagram and that made him look up what happened. She just replied that she was fine and thanks for the concern.

After a few more minutes she fell asleep.

—-----------------------☆☆☆—------------------------------

Justin was exhausted.

The win was chaotic, it was crazy.

It felt fucking good.

So good in fact, he was out to greet fans at the stadium after a shower and post game celebrations. He was talking and joking around with his teammates on the bus and plane. He didn't feel the crash until he was on his way to his manager's house to pick up the cat. He almost messaged Ashley asking to hold her one more night, but he didn't want to extend her stay and inconvenience her, though he was sure Ashley, or his cat, would have no objections

Once Nova was in her carrier with her essentials, he made the drive back home pulling into his garage; he didn't notice Sara's Mercedes. 

Nor did he notice her suitcase where she usually has it.

He was hungry, and he should probably eat something before bed.  He opened the fridge and saw his favorite dish.

Justin tore open the container and began devouring it, it was still warm like it had just been ordered. 

Which was weird. He was confused. 

How did the container of food get here?

He saw Nova sniffing around, and she darted into the bedroom. Justin's eyes landed on the suitcase.

She was here. Justin practically threw the leftovers into the fridge before following Nova, who was resting on Sara's chest. A habit that annoyed Justin because Nova wasn't a skinny girl.

Sara didn't even flinch with the weight. "Nova get off." He whispered. The cat glared at him as if to say "make me"

He did his nighttime routine, hoping Sara didn't wake up but he was so excited she was here. He was just going to text her about picking her up and she was here.

Once he was stripped down to his shorts, he slid in next to her on the bed. Nova, annoyed that her owner was here, hopped off Sara's chest, using her boob as a launch pad. That woke her up, she stirred. "Ow, what the-"

Justin threw an arm around her waist and scooted her close to him. He kissed her cheek. "I'm sorry Nova wanted to see her favorite person, didn't like it when I joined." He moved to her lips and she reciprocated for a few seconds but pulled away. "I'm mad at you."

He let out a hmm and moved to her jaw with the kisses. "Over what?"

"The bullshit you pulled last week's after the Chiefs game."

"I don't want to remember that game thank you." He pushed his lips to her neck but she pushed him away and sat up. "Well too bad because you ghosting me for nearly a week was not cool. I was worried sick."

He sat up. "I was in a shit mood, I mean can you blame me?" She shook her head. "I know you Justin, I get Sunday, maybe Monday, but I had to reach out to you." 

He sighed, knowing she was right. "You're right, I'm sorry. It was something I just always did. After a bad game. I tend to just forget and come around when I'm ready. It was not acceptable." He kissed her cheek. "Forgive me?"

She crossed her Arms. "Why should I? And what are you going to do to make sure it doesn't happen again?"

He smiled. "Well, I can send you texts throughout the day to let you know how I'm feeling."

She nodded "well that's a start. Also if you don't feel like talking all you have to do is say something. I get it, I have those days too where ya don't feel like you want to talk. Shut people out, but you can't do that one hundred percent."

He nodded. "I understand and I'm sorry." He kissed her again. "I'm sorry I worried you. I promise I will be better."

She smiled. "Thank you." She laid back down. "Not that I'm not glad you're here, but I thought you were home tomorrow. I was gonna get you flowers and all."

"I would still like some flowers, thank you very much." He laughed. "I'll get you roses, your favorite. So why are you home early?"

She thought about what transpired over the past few days. "I started a fight with my dad, and I think we are permanently estranged."

He wasn't expecting that answer out of her. "Wait what? What do you mean?"

She told him everything, all of Aunt Willa's and Uncle George's comments. Being left out, that her aunt told her she should have commit suicide. Justin wiped her tears as she told the ending. 

Justin saw red, he was pissed. How could her family be so dumb? Here was this amazing, talented girl and they said the most awful things to her. He shook his head. "You're Aunt is a fucking bitch, and you're dad has no spine. You deserve better than that. They're jealous you know that right?"

She laughed. "Please Justin."

"No, listen to me, you are beautiful, intelligent, and you know what you want out of life. You don't need anyone, you love people for themselves, and for some reason, you love a hard head like me." He wiped the tears off her face. "I love you Sara, and I'm sorry your family can't appreciate what an amazing person you are."

She was smiling through her tears. "I love you too, even though you piss me off sometimes."

He laughed. "I know I got to work on that."

She kissed him and he relaxed into it. Their tongues wrestling for dominance. Of course Justin won, he got on top of her and she ran her fingers through his hair which he enjoyed. They broke apart the kiss.

"Justin?"

"Hmm?"

"Make love to me." He smiled. "Who am I to deny your request?"

They got lost in each other, both finishing strong and breathless. He collapsed on top of her, still inside of her. Sweat stuck their skin together. "I got to get off, I'm crushing you." He tried to move but she wrapped herself around him. "I like you crushing me."

"I like crushing you too, '' he smiled at Sara and kissed her. "I'm not letting you go, I'm tying you to my bed." She laughed. "Oh like a personal sex slave. I like it."

He rolled his eyes. "Dirty girl." He rolled off her and pulled her close to him. She looked up. "Hey Justin?"

"Yes baby?"

"Are your ribs okay? I know you told a reporter that you felt them move when you threw." She shuddered. "That has to feel weird.

He laughed. "I mean it does, but it's part of the game." She nodded and snuggled up to him. Sara tried to fall asleep but she couldn't, she knew Justin too well to know that there was something on his mind. " What are you thinking about?"

"You said that your Aunt Willa told you you should've followed through on… suicide. What happened with that?"

She looked up at him and noticed the concern in his eyes. "It was freshman year of high school. I just joined the theater and was accelerating. I finally found something I was good at. Something that I loved. However, I was bullied for it by not only my classmates, but also some close friends of the family. My aunt  and uncle told me it was a waste of time, that my sisters were all doing something that would help them get into college."

She took a deep breath. "My whole life it was always. 'Well your sisters are skinny, short and athletic. What the hell happened to you? You're certainly not a Wozniak.' They would always say it as a joke. But it hurts, you know?" 

Justin shook his head. "That's not a joke, Sara. You have to stop thinking about it that way."

"My dad always said they never meant anything . If I tried to fight back I was being a brat and to never disrespect my elders. My sisters never reacted this way, so why am I causing trouble? But they never got teased like I did. It was hard, because I would go to school, get made fun of. Then go home and get told that I better get my grades in math up because real careers need that grade. There was no peace." The tears came back. Justin wiped them with his fingers. "You don't have to tell me anything if it's too hard." She shook her head. "I was just depressed. My older sisters were all in school, so I couldn't confide in them. Any friends I did have, weren't really as well off as I was, even Erika, who would tell me that at least I had a nice room and house to come home to. I was well aware financially I had everything at my fingertips. But emotionally I was lost. Plus my parents were not coming to my plays. Every event of Katie, Brittany's, or Alyssa's was celebrated. Me it was just "Oh we will go out to dinner sometime.""One night I just felt numb, it wasn't all of the sudden, I was being destructive with sleeping, eating etc and I told Erika that life didn't feel worth it. Unbeknownst to me she told the school counselor, and I was admitted for a seventy two hour hold."He held her tighter, he didn't know anything about this and it was devastating that Sara had gotten to that place. "All of that and your family couldn't see they were the problem.""It's not really my sister's fault, they weren't around, and we have a really close relationship. My mom does try her hardest, my dad and Aunt Willa… I don't know what to say about them. Alyssa's husband Brent is amazing. He's like the big brother I never had. He and my sister were  together since middle school and Aunt Willa would constantly try to tear them apart. She didn't like the fact that he's an athlete."

Justin was silent, the pieces coming together. "So that's why you didn't tell them about me."

"It's one, but not the main. My family is big mouthed. One word of a boyfriend and then dads business associates know, my aunt's and uncles know, cousins know. We have a large circle of friends that I grew up with, so they would know. Eventually it would be tipped to the press. Justin, I don't know if we are ready for thar. It's a new world."

Justin nodded and kissed her shoulder. "I understand." He smiled. "Let's run away together and buy a cabin deep in the Forest of Oregon. I can hunt, fish, and you cook and take care of our young."

Sara snorted and busted out laughing and Justin joined in. "We can move to a small-town area like Twilight. By the way, I would like to go to Portland someday." She looked at him. "Next trip?"

He groaned. "Not the twilight reference!" She laughed. "Come on, you were paying attention when the marathon was on!" He was silent. "Vampires don't sparkle in the sunlight, they are supposed to burn." He muttered. 

The rest of the night they talked about any and everything before falling asleep in each other's arms.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

"Now it's three in the morning and I'm trying to change your mind. Left you multiple missed calls and to my message you reply ``why do you only call me when you're high." Sara sang while making her omelet. Justin had left for the facility a few hours ago and Sara was going up there for a workout since no media was there on Mondays. 

She felt safe here. After their discussion about her family last night, among their childhoods and other things they were closer than ever. Granted Justin didn't have a childhood anything like hers. But they did bond over things they grew up with. (They both agreed that McDonald's snack wraps needed to make a comeback)

The sound of Arctic Monkeys was interrupted when her phone began ringing. She groaned until she saw Ann-Sophie's name pop up. She felt bad, because she hadn't seen her since Lexi's birthday party. She picked up. "Hello Miss Annie to what due to owe this pleasure too?"

"Well I wanted to surprise you, but I've been hanging out in your house for like 2 hours and you're not here. " Sara gasped. "Oh my god! I'm actually at Justin's. Come over here!" AnnSophie stayed with Sara when she visited LA. It worked out because she would have all the whole house to herself and her daughter while Sara stayed with Justin.

She was excited to have one of her best friends back in Los Angeles. Since she and Bella are models, they reside in NYC. Sometimes Sara will go down with the blonde to visit her parents in Ft. Lauderdale. Her mother was a German Olympic skier, her father was a Swedish Businessman who passed away when she was eleven, so they family had money. 

Sara sped up the process to get ready. She wondered if she could take Annie to the gym with her. She sent a text to Justin.

Hey babe my friend is in town, can she come with me to the facility gym?

J: um sure, come in a few hours when we are out on the field.

He gave her the address and the instructions. Once Ann Sophie arrived they hugged and caught up. Sara told her best friend all about her Thanksgiving weekend.  

"Speaking of the family. Where is the Queen?" Referring to little Lexi.

"She's in Florida with my mom for the week. George was supposed to take her but he's had some issues on tour." AnnSophie rolled her eyes. Sara frowned "He hasn't seen her since her second birthday in October."

"Thank you. But he has time for Charlie. I saw those vacation pictures in Mexico. Asshole." Sara thought George was able to be a father to his daughter, despite his womanizing ways that led to the breakup. Guess not.

"Well I got something that will cheer you up. Come on. I told you to wear gym wear for a reason." Sara grabbed her friends hand and dragged her out the door.

—--------------------------------------------------------------

"Good lord this is a view." The blonde breathed while they were on the treadmill, the workout facility overlooking the practice field. They saw the guys doing their drills and throwing among other things.

Sara was shamelessly ogling Justin. "I hope he remembered his sunscreen." The blonde next to her giggled. "I just wish they'd take off their shirts." They both burst into giggles like teens at a sleepover.

Then a familiar voice interrupted them. "Well who is this?" 

Sara turned around to see Joey in his workout clothes. "Hey Joey! This is my friend." AnnSophie turned around and her and Joey went still.

Joey broke the silence. "Annie?"

She smiled. "Joseph."

Sara looked back and forth confused. "You two know each other?"

AnnSophie nodded. "We went to St. Augustine together."

A light dawned on Sara. "Oh! I knew you were both from Fort Lauderdale I just didn't think…" She trailed off feeling the mood of the room change. It was tension, but almost sexual? "So were you guys friends or have any classes together?" Knowing they were the same age.

AnnSophie nodded. "Yeah, we had a couple classes, had some mutual friends but that's it." Joey laughed sarcastically.

"Yeah no big deal."

Sara was lost. She knew her best friend knew about the Chargers and Sara mentioned Joey, but surely AnnSophie would have mentioned that they knew each other. There definitely was a history there.

"Soooo." Sara trailed off. "Are you doing your rehab here Joey?"

He nodded, still not taking his eyes off AnnSophie. "Yeah, if that's okay. Justin mentioned you coming but I didn't know what for."

AnnSophie smiled. "Well Joseph don't let me stop you. I know how important fitness is to you." She looked up and down his body.. Joey smiled, eyes on her body. "Well Ms. Supermodel I know it's important to you as well. I mean you were always flexible in high school." He licked his lips.

Sara wanted to burst out laughing but she also wanted to leave. She turned up the speed and began a light jog. Joey turned his back towards the girls and began his stretches. He was wearing a form fitting quick dry sleeveless tank, long blonde hair pulled back by a headband. Sara had to admit he looked good.

AnnSophie couldn't take her eyes off his body. Sara just wanted to break the tension. "So Joey, how is Kailey? You haven't told me how your date went."

She quickly realized that was not something to say. Her friend sort of woke up from the daze she was in and began to pay  attention to her phone.

Joey continued his focus on his workouts. "It's going well. I guess you could say we are steady. She was over my place last night." He turned to Ann-Sophie. "I want to Congratulate you and your boyfriend on your daughter. I'm sure she's beautiful." 

Either Joey was aloof or he was trying to see if she was in a relationship. "Well thank you, but I'm raising her, her sperm donor only comes around when he wants to look like a good dad in the papers." She was blunt about it.

"Oh I'm sorry to hear that.  I'm sure you're doing a great job raising her by yourself."

She nodded. "Damn straight, it's just me and her." 

Sara wanted to look into a camera like it was the office.

The rest of the workout was awkward, it turned into Joey teaching the girls some of his football workouts. They were all on separate mats following Joey's instructions for weights when Justin walked in. He was lost. "What's going on?"

Sara got up. "Joey is teaching  me and Annie workouts. AnnSophie, you remember Justin." She nodded towards him. "Hey Justin, how are you?"

"I'm good, thank you. Well I just wanted to see if you made it here okay. I tried texting you but…. " He trailed off. Sara wanted to tell him. "Justin, show me where the snacks are. I need a refuel."  She grabbed his hand and led him to the hallway.

"Has Joey mentioned anything about knowing AnnSophie in high-school?" Justin shook his head. "No. Why-"

"It turns out they went to the same high school and apparently they knew each other.  They are Trying to play it off but something went down between them." He shook her head. "It's like he suddenly forgot about Kailey when I asked him."

"Who's Kailey and how do you know about that?"

"He was texting me asking for advice about a first date. We exchange messages." This wasn't how she wanted to tell Justin, but it had to come out.

His eyebrows raised to his hairline. "Oh. I didn't realize you two were close." She shrugged. "Just over music and products." She kissed him. "Nothing to worry about. It's your dick I suck." She laughed as Justin's cheeks turned pink. "Fucking dirty." He groaned. "As long as you're just friends, " She nodded."I promise. Now help me get down to the bottom of this."

He smiled. "Babe, I'm not asking about his high school crush or whatever she was." She pouted and he mimicked her teasing. 

"Sara!" They turned to see AnnSophie coming  towards them. "Um Stephanie called she has time for training if you want to go."

Justin was confused. "Training for what?"

Sara smiled. "I'm walking the fenty runway in January!"

"That's great babe! I'm happy for you!" He was proud of his girl. He knew she struggled with body image so he was a little worried about putting herself on the line like this. But now was not the time or place to voice those concerns.

They said goodbye, with number 97s eyes on their backs.

—----------------------------------------------------------

Why was Bosa texting Sara?

It was on his mind while watching videos. He remembered the barbecue where Joey was very obviously attracted to her. So what was that about? How long had he been doing this? And what was said in those messages?

As they finished up meetings and practices he felt himself staring at the defender the entire time. He wasnt a confrontational guy, however this was eating him up.

He approached Bosa by his locker. Joey looked up. "Oh hey Jus-"

"Why are you texting Sara?" He cut straight to the point. The defenseman was confused. "I messaged her on Instagram because she's cool, and I consider her a friend."

 Justin's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "So you mean to tell me there was no flirting?"

Joey looked down at his shoes. "Well I would try, it was more of teasing. But this was before I knew anything was serious, I thought you were still seeing Taylor as well."

Justin was mad, but also confused. "What made you think I was still seeing Taylor?"

"I mean, she was coming around all the time acting like you two were still an item. Sara never reciprocated anything. Just liked posts. I told her about Kailey when you guys were in Oregon just asking for date advice. That was the end of it."

Justin nodded. He was pissed but he felt like it wasn't justified. The time of the barbecue was when he was still sorta leading Sara on. Granted, he wasn't involved with Taylor but still. Without another word to Joey he walked out of the locker room.

—-----------------------------------------------------------

Training was getting a bit easier. Between the weight loss and practicing she was starting to look like a runway model. Of course AnnSophie who was an actual model and walked for plenty of designers was graceful with her catwalk. Not to mention she was 5'11 so she was able to swing her hips.

Practice ended a bit earlier because her friend had gotten a call from her mother saying that Lexi was running a high fever. Sara hoped it wasn't too serious for Ann-Sophie to fly down to Florida. She didn't really get to spend much time with her, especially since her God daughter was born.

They decided to meet up for lunch and shopping the next day and Sara headed to the grocery store and some other errands before going  back to Justin's. She was surprised to pull up and see his car in the garage. Practice must have ended early.

Hands full, she entered the kitchen and set the bags down on the island. Justin was on the couch watching television. She smiled when she saw his favorite impractical jokers. She walked up behind him and kissed his cheek. "Hey baby."

"Why didn't you tell me you texted Bosa? And that he was flirting with you?" 

Oh shit.

What could she do? Tell the truth. "It was early on, like little jokes. I never responded to it."

He turned towards her, his face hard. "But you acknowledged it was flirting, and didn't tell me."

She sighed. "I thought I had it under  control. Plus he's your teammate, I didn't want to come in between you. He has Kailey now."

Justin stood up. "So let me guess this straight, you go behind my back with a teammate and don't think it's important to tell me."

She felt ashamed. "I didn't mean to, I swear. When it first started that was when we're in this fragile place. I turned to him for support. It was shitty and wrong and I'm sorry." She walked over and grabbed her phone out of her bag. She opened Instagram and threw the device on the couch. "Here look at it."

Justin stared at the phone. Feeling guilty, she was telling the truth like Bosa was. "When you say you didn't want to start a conflict, is that because of what you've been taught by your family?"

She nodded. "I guess. I'm not perfect at relationships either. This is new to me as well"

He smiled. Her using the exact same line he gave her. " I'm still annoyed but I get it. I can't get mad."

And he really couldn't because he realized he was a dick during that time. Also there was the incident with Taylor.

Sara smiled and wrapped her arms around him. "I'm insecure and I'm sorry." He smiled down at her. "We grow and learn from this, you know? If we ever have an issue we talk it out." She nodded. "If Joey texts me again, you'll be the first to know." 

He nodded. She continued. "Mike sends me memes on Instagram. I might do a video game session with him?"

Justin was stunned. "Wait a minute, I thought you only watched me play video games?"

She giggled. "I can only play super Mario smash brothers and kiddie games. I'll watch the other games." Justin smiled. There was still so much to discover about his girl.

But he trusted her, and he wanted to find out everything.

—----------------------------------------------------------

"So, you want to tell me what's going on with you and Joseph?" Sara mimicked her friend's voice as they unpacked their large sushi order. They decided to order takeout and go back to her place after seeing the large amount of paparazzi out and about. They managed to snag a few photos of the girls but that was all. Sara was glad she put some makeup on. Of course AnnSophie, despite being dressed down, still looked glam in all of her designer clothes.

"Sara please. I told you we went to high school and had a few classes. That was it."

Sara decided to be bold. "Then why did it look like the moment I would walked out the room yall would have fucked all over the room?"

The blonde choked and coughed on her roll before taking a swig of tea and glaring at Sara. "I was just ogling him like you were Justin?"

"That's different, he's my boyfriend. You two, there was some history there. He wanted to rip your clothes off."

AnnSophie looked down at the food. "We had a bit of a fling in high school." She admitted. 

Sara's jaw dropped, not actually believing her friend admitting it. "No fucking way! I can't see it."

AnnSophie was shocked. "What do you mean?"

"Well he always said he got teased for his big nose."

There was a sly smile on the blonde's face. "I wasn't complaining when I sat on his face."

It was Sara's turn to choke on her food. "Get the fuck out! How come I never knew this!"

AnnSophie shrugged. "I didn't really tell anyone." 

"What happened?"

"I left high school to move to NYC to pursue modeling." There was another reason. Sara knew her best friend too well, but she didn't pry.

A knock on the door interrupted them. Peeping out the peephole she opened the door to see a big purple box with "Savage x Fenty on it.

"Ooh look at it!" She grabbed the box and was only able to push it so far. It was heavy. AnnSophie got off the barstool as Sara tore it open and reviewed an extensive amount of purple glitter and packaging before uncovering all the different lingerie sets. "This is what we must be wearing at the shoot and the fashion show!" It was lace with leather. There were some practical everyday sets but some incredibly sexy.

Smiling, she told AnnSophie her Xmas gift for Justin. Her friend volunteered to photograph and coordinate the plans. She could do Sara's hair and makeup and turn the basement into a studio.

It worked perfectly because no one knew about it except her friends.

Oh yeah it was foolproof.

A/N: So the Joey thing, I have an idea for a spinoff so the drama between his friendship with Sara will be minimum. They are good friends and that is all, Joey has a change of heart, especially after seeing Annie again.

#justin herbert #alexa writes collide #nfl imagine #nfl story #nfl #la chargers

[always-andromeda]

i. Flock | Eli Sunday x fem!Reader

Eli Sunday x fem!Reader

Word Count | 2,356

Summary | "Dear friends, I urge you, as foreigners and strangers in the world, to abstain from sinful desires, which wage war against your soul." 1 Peter 2:11

Author's Note | hi guys. blame @lost-in-sokovia and auggie nashton for this one. but also me. i've had ideas for Eli for A WHILE and soph has been slowly pushing! me! over! the! edge! but like. of course i had to make it agonizingly painful for myself and write a little trilogy about it though.

Warnings | mentions of masturbation, religious themes, Eli is such a simp, Daniel is an asshole, that's all i can think of! (MDNI)

Parts | i. | ii. | iii.

Eli Sunday, the man of God he is, dreams of having a family. The idea is a long shot. Another one of those wishes that runs through his head when he prays before bed. He kneels at the side of his bed and asks--begs--the Lord above to give him a doting and loving wife who will raise a flock with him.

We shall spread your word, Father. I have been the most loyal servant possible. But I am unable to continue on alone. I hope that it is your plan to reward my devotion.

Through all the prayer, he still has his doubts. He's never seen himself as an attractive man. Far too lanky and immature in his looks to convince any man that he would make a suitable husband for their daughter. That was, until Daniel Plainview came to Little Boston. Plainview, with his surly workers and dangerous rigs, brought economic growth that put Little Boston on the map. And though Eli distrusts him heavily, he feels quite different about you. You, with a quiet and contemplative nature, are the polar opposite of Daniel.

When you show up for his sermons listening and keeping a close eye on him, that's what sends his mind racing. He watches the way you dote after H.W. Watches you read intently on your porch on lazy afternoons. Watches how you carefully lift your skirts to walk across a dusty road. In the recesses of his mind, he allows himself to continue dreaming. This time, with you in the picture. You seem to really see him. Seem to see through the theatrics of his preaching. You smile politely as he shakes your hand after a service but he finds no reverence in your eyes.

It makes him worry. Has him wondering if he had been deluding himself with fantasies. If you were yet another person who held no respect for him. And he is close to confessing his sins of lust until the Lord once again shows him how He works in mysterious ways.

It happens after your father attacks him, smearing him with mud. Witnessing the scene, you broke from your usual peaceful approach, lifting your skirts and running towards the two men. You push your father with all of your strength and it makes him slip back, covering his suit with mud. Daniel gives you that stone cold glare that could strike the fear of God within you. This time, it didn't. 

Daniel knew that you were quite fond of the Sunday boy. Spotted the attraction the same day he'd brought you and H.W. to the Sunday ranch under the guise of a hunting trip. He first observed it when you asked Eli to fetch a pail of water for you to rinse your hair with. Eli, with his dirty face shining with sweat from the day's work, stared at you like you were the most beautiful being he’d ever laid eyes on.

He had held out the pail, his hand briefly touching yours, and almost trembling he spoke, "For you, Miss Plainview." You bowed your head out of gratitude and blushed as he walked away. You were attracted to him from that moment on. He was virtuous and passionate. He loved people, something you'd been sorely missing from your upbringing.

That didn’t even begin to scratch the surface of how physically attractive he was. How perfectly his suspenders stretch up his chest, leading to his broad shoulders. And you always admire the profile of his face when he prays; eyes closed in worship, the slight bump at the bridge of his nose, his defined jawline, and distinct chin tilted towards the sky. You are shocked that no woman has taken him as a husband. Though he acts like he knows everything, being a prophet, you see how naive and sensitive he truly is. It makes you want to wrap him in your arms and never let him go. 

So you didn't hesitate in turning to Eli and offering him your hand. When he took it, you led him, head bowed, away to your home. It was a single room but it was all yours. Being a fully grown young woman, it wouldn't have been proper for you to live in a little room with your father and brother. You revel in the new freedom that Little Boston had presented to you.

Eli was bewitched with the space, so thoroughly you. Little pieces of decor that hinted at your family's wealth dotted various surfaces in the room. The one that you pulled out to use on him was the fine brass wash basin and pitcher.

"I apologize that my father made such a fool out of himself. Quite often, he gives in to his greed, his anger. You don't deserve such hostility." Your voice was hushed and comforting as you sponged the dirt and mud away from his body. You'd asked him to remove his shirt and offered to wash it. Nervously, he'd unbuttoned his vest and peeled the mud caked cotton shirt from his torso. Eli hadn't been this bare since he was a child, being bathed by his own mother. He was almost quivering, the sensation of your nimble fingers moving along his spine, cleansing his shame.

"How does a young woman as lovely of yourself justify defying her father so easily?" He asked, his tone already lilting as if he was in the pulpit. But you giggled, seemingly unaffected by the slight on your morals.

"Oh, Eli, you should know that is the one commandment I am all too eager to break." You say, bringing your fingers up his neck and lacing them through his hair. You're pouring little streams of water over his head until it begins to run clear; baptizing him with your gentle affection.

The revelation warms his heart, seeing you oppose Daniel so boldly. You defied your father for him.

He was breathing hard, already feeling the lust creeping through his heart. But he cannot act. He cannot even think of soiling your purity as you so innocently tended to him. With you wiping the drying mud from his face, he knows his cheeks are flushed. You admire the sun stained freckles that scattered his skin.

When you softly kiss his cheek, it lights a fire in his heart, making him more determined than ever to make you his.

Eli doesn't ask Daniel if he can court you. Daniel would refuse, he was well aware. But Eli lets his faith be corrupted little by little when he asks you to study the Bible with him. Tells you that he believes you would be a marvelous candidate for his assistant in church services.

And you, wanting to further yourself even more from the oppressive hand of your father, inch closer and closer into Eli's embrace. He begins visiting your home, staying for hours, reading scripture and helping you memorize verses.

Your father had never been one for religion. So you were untouched, in every way possible, he hoped. It stirred something within him, being able to teach you in this way. Seeing your spellbound expression looking up at him as he read from his worn Bible, drinking in every word.

He quite liked that you didn't worship him like the others did. As fresh as you were to His word, he felt as though you were on equal footing with him. You were intelligent, he could tell how you thought about things deeply. He wonders when you will see past this ruse and learn of his true intentions. Or perhaps you already had and decided to stay anyways.

Nevertheless, Eli tells himself that he will stay faithful to you. When a member of his congregation questions your place in the church, Eli reprimands him harshly. He makes the stuck up man an example, declaring that to question your position would be to question Eli. Which, in turn, would also be questioning the judgment of the Lord. That quickly silences any possible dissent.

His eyes are fixed firmly upon you. No other woman can sway his gaze. It is you he envisions when he wraps his hand around his cock in bed, tugging at it and softly whimpering. He imagines filling you up with his seed, you crying his name into his shoulder and holding on to him like he was always meant to be your savior. And when he cums, staining his bedclothes, he halfheartedly repents for his lust. Assures himself that the dream will come true soon enough. It isn't quite a sin if he plans for you to be his wife.

Eli only feels guilty for the action when he sees you the next morning, clean and ready to learn from him. That is when he feels the weight of sin slithering up his throat, begging to be confessed.

The feeling is so uncomfortable that one morning he blurts it out while reading to you, "Oh, my girl, I am so ashamed. I have strayed from my path as your teacher. I have taken advantage of your innocence! I am just as wicked and greedy as your father." He rocks back and forth in his seat, making fists with his hands and struggling to even look at you.

And you, with your perfect fingers, cradle his flushed face. Your voice soothing the pain like you are so adept at doing, "You are nothing like him. You are as much my savior as the Lord himself." But not even hearing you call him your savior can cure his affliction.

"You don't understand, my sweet girl. How could you with how good you are? I have allowed myself to fall to the sin of lust. At night, when I am alone, I have touched myself. I have thought of you over and over again, every single time. I have yearned for you in a way that will only taint your purity."

The agony caught in his confession renders you speechless, and for a second, he believes you stay silent out of disgust. In truth, the thought of him stroking his most private, divine part, breathless and clutching his sheets as he thinks of you...it leaves you dripping beneath your skirts. You clench your thighs together, feeling no relief from the increasing ache as he gazes at you desperately, searching for a forgiveness that you will not grant him.

"Oh, Eli, if you have fallen victim to lust, then so have I. It wracks me with such guilt. But I dream of you too, I pretend it is your fingers upon my wicked flesh instead of my own. I have prayed, searching for atonement. But I cannot pretend that I don't feel the love that I do for you."

Eli is shaken, "Love? You love me?" The idea of a creature as heavenly as yourself loving him scares him more than any vision of hellfire. Your forehead is resting against his now, his breath heavy on your lips as you nod.

He sighs, "My angel, I love you."

Hands still on his face, your brush your thumb over his plush bottom lip. You wait for him to kiss you first before you dare to get any closer. It begins slow with his mouth closed, testing the feel of your mouth, kissing you like he'd kiss the head of a member of his congregation.

As soon as he's comfortable, he's tilting his head and drawing you in deeper. Hooking an arm around your waist, he's drawing you forward on your chair, eager to have you closer than he's ever allowed. Slowly, his mouth opens, just enough that he gets a taste of your bottom lip. The butter and goat's milk from your breakfast that morning hits his taste buds and it turns him into a wild man. Suddenly he's fighting for air and entirely consumed by you, letting his hands wander up your bodice. When his hand reaches your breast and he feels you gasp, he stops dead in his tracks.

Though he hungers for more--to make you his--he knows that he is unable to do it. He cannot overwhelm you with all of his desire that has become pent up inside of him. He cannot deprive you the dignity of a proper consummation. 

So he pulls away, clarity hitting him hard, "I mustn't lay with you. Not yet."

You nod and take his lingering hands into yours. Bringing them to your raw lips, you kiss them tenderly.

"Shall we take a walk?" You whisper, regaining your composure. Eli's voice breaks as he agrees.

You're both solemn as you walk together, looking out over the land that Eli suddenly was seeing differently. He’d only been a boy when he played in the dirt, listening to his uncle tell him about the oil deep underground. Not even Eli could have predicted that the oil his grandfather spoke so surely of would’ve brought you to him. He ruminates on the confession he'd given to you and turns yours over in his mind. He’d never known that women could feel the same sort of pleasure that men did. Didn’t think that a woman like you would pursue that pleasure too. He couldn’t bring himself to admonish you, his angel.

Instead, he tells you every little plan he has for you and him. Promises to take you away from your father’s demonic ways. Says he’ll take you all across the country, spreading the good word the whole way. Whispers how he will give you children; will give you the family and love you’ve always been yearning for.

His words are enticing. But you’ve never fancied yourself a mother. Though you’ve spent your whole life looking after H.W. that was far different from the emotional weight of creating and bearing a child. But to have Eli’s child? The thought of it makes you feel ready. Like you can handle whatever the Lord has in store for your life.

Eli asks you to marry him that day. And you kiss you on the cheek and whisper in his ear, “Eli Sunday, I will always be yours.”

#there will be blood #eli sunday #eli sunday x you #eli sunday x reader #eli sunday smut #eli sunday fluff #eli sunday fic #danonation #paul dano #danocel #˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚

[sidleyparkhermit]

I’ve seen a lot of people post comments like the above — wishing to see the kinds of demonstrations for the 10/7 victims and the Jewish community that actually have been happening all over the world, but are pushed out of the news cycle by the noise. (The person wishing for one in London has missed at least two so far!)

So instead of more reporting on the hideous waves of antisemitism, right now I just want to compile a few of the beautiful crowds that have shown up for Israel in the time since the attacks. These events have been held in all the places in the western world that a lot of people think they “would never happen” in. Please let yourself browse these stories and internalize the humanity and compassion that truly does exist everywhere.

October 9:

October 10:

October 15:

October 22:

October 29:

November 5:

November 6:

Yesterday (November 12):

#more in reblog #israel #I wish I knew how to tag this to get it to the people who need it

[gwydionmisha]

Personal: The New Meds Turn On Me

The new meds side effect wave hit hard and dangerous Thursday, but I'm not sure it didn't start a lot earlier.  

Okay, so I had a viscous headache last Friday night for about three hours, which didn't particularly shock me, as my body just does stuff like that.  Same Saturday.  Normal.  Sunday.  Monday.  I made a note to mention it to the doctor Tuesday morning, but forgot.  I noticed Tuesday's headache at the same time was absolutely crushing for three hours, then shut off like a faucett as if it had never been.  Which is creepy and wrong.  So I'm now weighing if the new meds improvement is worth creepy three hour debilitating headache every day, and if I should call it in the next day.

So Wednesday I wake up to one of my body is very, very bad days.  which is a thing that happens sometimes, especially if my body's been to far which between the uncleaner and the extreme heat and this being the worse time of year for my allergies and assorted RL commitments including the doctor is not weird.  Plus I'm... I forget how many days in on struggling to type on Klaus Laptop because its hard to lift my arm the extra nine and a half inches, and i'm mostly having to drink with a straw because i go half my wake cycle not being ably to lift a full glass of water that high and I'm dropping things because my arms are fucked.  which happens.  All of it really stresses out my body though, you follow?  

So sometimes the alarm goes off because I have to go somewhere and my body nopes out of it, or tries to.  So I'm exhausted.  I have the shakes.  I end up way late to pick up Goth Millennial because it's just that hard to move.  So I drive Goth Millennial around and wait in the car while they do errands.  Goth Millennial goes outside to putter in the garden.  I lung, then take a nap, all with Tavy glued to my chest, because it's sometimes better after a nap.  Resets everything to a more acceptable level of crappy.  

I make it all the way up to minimally functional by the time the other Millennials arrive for dinner.  One of them had brought pre-marrinated and cooked tofu.  Me: I think we should make rice for it.  With coconut milk and saffron and Turmeric.  New Millennial: Oooo!  That sounds delicious!  Me: It's possible I'm edging up towards Indonesian happy rice except I don't have any lemon grass.  But I do have Bay leaves....  So it ends up with New Millennial Making Rice and the two of us keep consulting on spices until i have to lie down again.  The results we excellent.

Tavy is still clearly traumatized from the Uncleaner.  He loves techie Millennial.  Techie Millennial was the first visitor he let pet and play with him.  He hid from the Millennials when they arrived after nap time.  He did eventually come out and watch them for a bit and even rubbed against Techies legs, but ran if it even looked like someone might tough her.  I'm still so angry about the uncleaner traumatizing him like this.

Really, I just wanted to go to bed after they left, but I needed to stay up for the morning allergy treatment.  My body was really not moving well, but I dragged myself there and back, which nearly did me in.  I did manage to prep for bed and climb in, which really fucking hurt, at which point the first wave of hallucinations and fast heartbeat and arrhythmia hit.  So that was fun.  Me: Guess that's it for new Meds.  They were amazing while they lasted.

They must have been really busy at the doctor because they didn't get back to me until afternoon.  I left a message for my doctor's nurse, conveying that I was having severe side effects and needed to know if I should go to the ER.  No one ever got back to me.  The heart stuff got really bad for four or five hours, always with visual hallucinations.  I thought about calling for help, but my right arm wasn't working and my left wasn't great either, and it's usually eight hours minimum to get seen at the ER and they yell at you if you bring in chest pains that turn out not to be a heart attack, and the pain only happened when I moved so it was likely just torso muscles screaming about my arms.  

But the supper high irregular heart beat for hours can't be good.  I wrote this waiting for receptionist call back Friday morning.  I was 36 minutes in on the wait as I typed this sentence.  I really think they should check my heart, but if they are this busy... Yeah.  I'm assuming if it was really dangerous, they'd return my call from yesterday instead of continuing to ignore my message.

#Personal

[menalez]

Article about the brave men who stopped the gunman

Club Q Colorado shooting: Attack was ended by dad and drag performer https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-63698165

A father and a drag performer managed to subdue a gunman who opened fire at an LGBT nightclub in the US state of Colorado, it has emerged.

The attacker killed five people and left 17 others with injuries at Club Q in Colorado Springs on Saturday night.

Officials named the "heroes" who halted the attack as Richard Fierro and Thomas James, without detailing their actions.

Mr Fierro provided his account of events, saying he tackled the suspect, took the weapon and hit him with it.

It is not clear if Mr James is the drag performer Mr Fierro says then stepped in to help.

At a Monday afternoon press conference, police identified the victims as Daniel Aston, Derrick Rump, Kelly Loving, Ashley Paugh and Raymond Vance. Family members say Aston and Rump were both bartenders at Club Q.

The suspect, named by police as 22-year-old Anderson Lee Aldrich, is in police custody in hospital.

The gunman was stopped by a 15-year US Army veteran who was attending a drag performance at the club with his wife and daughter.

Speaking to reporters on Monday evening, Richard Fierro said his combat training kicked in as he pounced on the gunman, pulling him to the floor by his body armour.

"I just ran over there. Got him. I'm thinking, 'I gotta kill this guy. He's gonna kill my kid. He's gonna kill my wife'," said the Iraq and Afghanistan veteran.

"It's the reflex," Mr Fierro said from the front yard of his suburban Colorado Springs home. "Go. Go to the fire. Stop the action. Stop the activity. Don't let no-one get hurt."

The local brewery owner said he and his family had dropped to the floor as the bullets began to fly.

He described seeing the gunman move in the direction of a patio where other club-goers had fled, before charging at him.

He said the man dropped his rifle as he fell. They began wrestling on the ground. Mr Fierro said he snatched the attacker's pistol from him and used it to beat him.

"I kept whaling on [hitting] him. I'm a big dude and this guy was bigger," Mr Fierro said.

He told reporters that he urged a drag performer to kick the attacker in the head.

"One of the performers was walking by and I told her kick him," he said. "And she took her high heel and stuffed it in his face."

Mr Fierro said one of the dead included his daughter's boyfriend, 22-year-old Raymond Vance.

Colorado Springs Mayor John Suthers hailed the bystanders' "incredible act of heroism".

He said that he had spoken to Mr Fierro on Monday, telling reporters: "I have never encountered a person who engaged in such heroic actions that was so humble about it."

Praise also came from the governor of Colorado, as well as the owner of the club - who said the "heroes" had probably saved lives.

Police are looking into who owned the rifle allegedly used in the shooting, as well as a handgun the suspect was carrying at the time of his arrest.

The investigation will determine whether the shooting - which came on the eve of Sunday's Transgender Day of Remembrance - was a hate crime, and if the suspect acted alone.

The suspect is facing five murder charges and five charges of committing a bias-motivated crime causing bodily injury, according to US media. Investigators said on Tuesday that no charges had yet been formally filed.

Club Q has been described as the heart of the LGBT community in Colorado Springs, a city 70 miles (110km) south of Denver.

The suspect had reportedly previously come to police attention over an alleged bomb threat in 2021.

According to a police report at the time, his mother had called emergency services saying "he was threatening to cause harm to her with a homemade bomb, multiple weapons, and ammunition".

President Joe Biden said Americans "cannot and must not tolerate hate".

In 2016, 49 people were killed in a shooting at the Pulse gay club in Orlando, Florida. At the time it was the deadliest mass shooting in US history.

#the fact that a veteran that was probs killin civilians before is actually purely saving them this time

[lollytruecrimeworld]

The Brampton Hut Murder

Janice Carol Weston, unsolved murder

Solicitor, Janice Weston was found dead in a ditch by a lay-by on the A1 in between Brampton and Brockden, Cambridgeshire on 11 September 1983.

36-year-old solicitor, JaniceWeston’s body was found at 9 am on a Sunday, in a ditch on the northbound carriageway of the A1 about half a mile south of the Brampton Hut roundabout by a cyclist. She had been beaten to death by several vicious blows to the head using a car jack which was found discarded close by.

A detective said that he believed that the killer had possibly lost his temper during an argument and had gone berserk. She was found fully clothed, with no sign of sexual assault or robbery. A post-mortem examination revealed that she had fought against her attacker.

According to Janice’s husband, she had a bit of a habit of picking up hitchhikers when she was making a journey. although he had told her not to and in fact he thought she had stopped doing that.

Curiously Janice Weston had told her husband and her friends that despite her husband being abroad she intended to stay at home in London that weekend. She had spent Saturday in London shopping, getting a new spare wheel for her car and visiting her office at Lincolns Inn to catch up on some work during the afternoon. She was last seen alive at around 4.15 pm on Saturday 10th September 1983.

According to traffic reports and an approximate time that Janice left her home in Holland Park, London, she probably didn’t reach Huntingdonshire until after 9 pm on Saturday night. It seems likely that she was heading for her ‘Weekend retreat’, a country house in Clopton, Northamptonshire.

It is possible that detectives are linking the story of the tyre with the fact that forensics found oil beneath Janice Weston’s fingernails but I think it is more likely that she had changed the tyre in London and done something else, such as checking the oil in the Brampton Hut Layby.

I do not see that a killer is going to kill a woman with a carjack, discard the jack but not the wheel and then drive her stolen car to Camden, London then dispose of the wheel. I really feel that is an error in the investigation.

Janice's husband was arrested after the body was identified, he was held for 55 hours and questioned at length but he was released without charge. It had taken three days to identify the body due to her having been so severely beaten. Hence Tony Weston had returned to England before his wife was identified so police had no idea that he was in fact in France at the time of his wife’s murder.

I personally see a number of faults and failings in this case and the way in which it was handled, hence I am sitting here almost forty years on from the killing, reporting that the case remains unsolved.

I will leave this one here and be back with another case very soon. In the meantime, if you can help me by leaving me a tip and buying me a coffee by clicking the link HERE it would mean a lot to me.

As always, if you would like to discuss this case or indeed any other then please get in touch, I love to hear from you.

Email me:

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#unsolved crime #truecrimecommunity #crime

[someoneinjersey]

A recount of my trip home

Feel free to skip if you don't want to hear about nice things, or drama, or me being contemplative about life

Got home from NJ/PA at about 4am Monday morning after setting off at 4pm Sunday. I'd intended to drive in the late afternoon because that's when I tend to become fully alert, but I was so tired from the week that I still had to stop and take a nap at a rest area on the way home (and on top of that I set my alarm for a 45 minute nap but never turned it on, so I slept in my car for over an hour and a half).

It was really amazing and good and wonderful and heartwarming to see everyone. Except mom's husband who I nearly attacked like twice while I was there, but that's besides the point. It was really good to see mom and she is actually doing AMAZING and has this new almost glow and energy about her, and she's able to do so many things post-half-successful-transplant that her doctor told her it was miraculous. However, she is so deep in her own depression and stress and pain she can't see it, and she's 62 and never learned to sort out her emotions or mental shit, so she's like ... created this reality that doesn't exist where everyone's against her and wants her abandoned in the hospital -- except the actual people at the hospital who want to get rid of her and send her home.

She got her third chance at a new liver the first full day I was there, which was Wednesday, however after taking her all the way down to the OR for prep, at 2am she was wheeled back up to the room because they decided the liver wasn't going to work for her. Of course neither her nor her husband can see ANY silver lining among the disappointment, and while I can understand that because I have been in such a dark place before (though not because of needing entirely new organs and being in a marriage to someone I hate etc), I still attempted to remind them both that that's the third candidate they had in less than two weeks so the offers are coming in MUCH faster now than they had been before the initial transplant.

Thursday morning, however, after that lack of sleep and the stress of waiting to find out if it would fall through or not followed by the reality that it did fall through, and having to deal with her fuck ass husband and his entire personality and him giving the nurses incorrect information as well as my mom catastrophizing every single thing because she was exhausted and upset, I had to leave despite promising I would stay all day. The need to escape was dire, as I was slipping into panic attack mode and wanted desperately to just get in my car and drive home to Ranger's Rest.

At least my mom "allowed" me to leave because I stressed how much it was all setting me off, telling her it was primarily her husband and the exhaustion, so I went back to my aunt and uncle's place, ate lunch and saw a few cousins and met a few that were born after I moved away which was nice, then I slept for 3.5 hours without moving a muscle. I came back to the hospital that night until mom got her nightly meds then left so I could get some sleep before driving back to my home town to collect some of my stuff and see more family and friends.

Then I stayed up talking with my Aunt until 2am about the insanity that had gone on that morning and was too tired to go back to mom and her husband's house to get my stuff. We agreed he'd take photos of what was left, since I didn't actually leave much, and I could just tell him what I wanted to keep and he'd mail it down to me and throw out the rest. I took the deal so I didn't have to interact with him any more than necessary and so I could sleep more because holy shit, I was so bone tired.

So Friday I skipped stuff collecting and headed down to the shore (later than I wanted because I was dragging ass) to have lunch with another aunt and uncle I hadn't seen. I stayed longer than intended because we were gabbing and it was really nice. I'd planned on making everyone a lasagna dinner when I got back to where I was staying but time got away from me particularly when I met up with Nicole. We hung out for a few hours at Starbucks and in my car in the parking lot and then in her driveway, initially planning on going to look at the ocean but I realized that wasn't as important as just hanging out.

I didn't realize how much I missed my extended family and my friends (or I mean, at least Nicole who was the only one I was able to see as Sarah's son was sick and I couldn't risk picking up extra germs lol) until I saw them again. I managed to keep my shit together but I honestly wanted to weep seeing everyone again. It felt like yeah, I hadn't seen anyone in three years, but also, it felt like I'd just seen them maybe a few weeks ago. It was the most warm and lovely feeling I can remember having in a long, long time. NIkki if you do read this I hope you know I love you and I treasure our friendship so much <3 It's been 28 years since we were in Mrs Gioiella's class together O_O

Tried to see more cousins on Saturday but it just didn't work out with scheduling, plus some of the kiddos were sick and again, I couldn't risk bringing any extra germs around my mom in the hospital (not to mention my uncle is also immuno-compromised and can't risk it either, even with his own grandkids. So I left the cards I'd brought for them with stickers in them and spent the afternoon/evening at the hospital.

Where I had to try my best to talk my mom off her delulu cliff and gently walk her back to reality, which she didn't like and was not receptive to because I wasn't agreeing with everything she said or how she was interpreting things said to her by family members. Went home that night and things seemed better but Sunday morning it was all back on and her husband was present, too. The motherfucker tried to scold me?? Or something?? We were trying to have yet another come-back-from-delulu-land conversation which was making my mom angry, especially because I was being so calm and was using things I'd learned in therapy to try to talk with her. She absolutely hated that. Anyway he came back from pissing or getting coffee or trying to bullshit with the nurses who all know he's full of shit or whatever it was he was doing and was like "I DON'T WANT ANY FIGHTING. POSITIVITY ONLY." and other nonsense because he doesn't know how to be a human being or have actual working close relationships with people. And then he went on about how my aunt (who was being made the scapegoat because A my mom was misinterpreting ENTIRELY what she said to her and B she's the only person who doesn't yes mom's husband to death just to get him to shut the fuck up, and actually challenges him on his bullshit so he hates her) wasn't blood so she doesn't matter and he literally said and I quote, "Her husband never taught her to shut her mouth."

I swear to god I deserve a medal for remaining so calm in that moment, but I very, VERY pointedly made a show of it by closing my eyes, taking deep breaths, and speaking softly when I said things like, "We aren't fighting, we're talking. This isn't about Aunt. We're just talking about feelings." Then I wanted to help by talking to mom's nurse about maybe jotting down notes whenever they came in or a doctor came in to help her remember what was said, because mom feels like she can't do it herself, and her husband again was trying to control me or tell me what to do or whatever by insisting it would never work, don't even bring it up, don't bother the nurses, DON'T BOTHER THE NURSES!!!!!!! Until, when I kept calmly insisting, "Well I'm going to try while I'm here anyway," mom finally spoke up and told him to let me try. Let me try. "Let." As if I'm not almost 37 fucking years old, her daughter, and no relation to his narcissistic ass.

Look. I'll admit I'm grateful that my mom can convince him to pay for things that I/we need down here, like our water, and tires for my car so I could visit, and slipping me money for gas and parking and tolls. I am grateful for that even though I know he's not doing it out of the kindness of his heart. It's still money I didn't have that helped me take the trip and take it safely. But he's a phony piece of shit and I don't think I could handle another visit that involved him, and I was reminded of why I had to move away in the first place by being in both his presence and my mom's presence. I am doing so well right now and I never, EVER would have gotten to this point if I was still there. I'm willing to help my mom divorce him and get her moved down here or something, but even my aunt said it would just be a transfer of her thinking she was helpless and me having to do everything for her, rather than her husband. And before this trip, I thought that wouldn't happen, but now I think that's exactly what will happen. I'll still help her get divorced but she really needs to re-learn how to be independent because she's been crippled by her marriage.

So I left Sunday, got home early Monday, and today (yesterday as of posting?) I had my iron infusion early in the morning. Over six hours of riveting life adventure, and by that I mean receiving steroids and iron via IV and trying to read my book and playing on my phone and falling asleep and sweating my ass off because they keep the room so warm for the people there getting chemo and as much as I can actually chit chat with strangers easily I didn't want to be part of the group that we all found ourselves in trying to make conversation.

Anyway. It was also Kate's birthday so I got her an asshole birthday banner and exactly what she asked for (a Harry Styles coloring book and pack of crayons) and I got us food from our favorite local pizza place after we tried and tried to see how we could make getting Olive Garden from Asheville work with her working a double and me being dead ass tired still. But we had a good dinner and she felt like she had a good day so that's all that matters.

I go back to work tomorrow and I work 5 days in a row so next week I might be full on dead again. I have to remember to take my work keys with me tomorrow afternoon or I'm fucked to close the store. I really want to help my store be successful so I'm motivated to get in there and help us get a system going we can all work well in as we approach the holidays.

Next week is my birthday and honestly no one really ever does much for me on my birthdays so I kinda just ... do whatever on them. I have the day off so at least I can sleep or lounge or whatever as much as I want but otherwise it's just a day I don't really enjoy because I stopped feeling special on my birthday a long time ago. 37 isn't a big deal, just a year closer to 40 and thus towards death. i'm not depressed about it, I just ... I dunno I always just remember the way people I'd make an effort for wouldn't make an effort for me, so it does leave me just a little bummed.

Anyway that was honestly just like a GLIMPSE of my trip and its insanity and joy and misery etc. Thanks, if you made it this far.