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passivenovember · 1 year

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don’t leave me waiting with all this love

A two-bedroom apartment falls out of the sky and into their laps because with the pooled weight of their hush money, they can afford it.

Steve’s lived in a castle since the day his parents brought him home, swaddled in blue fleece from Hawkins General, and Billy’s never had a room that felt like his own, and a two-bedroom apartment is a one-way mirror. It’s a shroud, it’s protection. A spiny defense to hide behind when their landlord raises an eyebrow and asks if they’ve got a girlfriend.

Not two girlfriends. A.

One.

Split between them, or something. As if the landlord knows they’re conjoined, down to their roots.

Steve tracks the way Billy’s shoulders pull tight, how his smile is a bit too sharp, his laugh so thunderous that their landlord doesn’t wonder why they have six months' rent upfront. Steve knows it’s a pacifier stuck between Mr. Morrison’s front teeth so he won’t ask any more questions.

They move their furniture that night, huffing up three flights of stairs in the July heat.

Steve yaps about ordering a pizza. He floats the idea of renting a video and they christen their apartment, their shiny new life, with letters addressed to the burning past. The worst is over. Billy’s lips and tongue and sweat-slick skin roll over Steve like fresh dirt, baptizing him.

Steve comes apart imagining home.

He sees blue eyes. Blonde curls tied back as the kitchen fills with the robust, lingering smells of Tuscany and his Nonna’s house in Indiana. Billy thrusts harder, faster, and in this dream world, their home smells like them. Sun-warmed blankets that never get washed, bathroom mirrors spackled with hair spray. In every luminous version of the future, Billy’s laugh runs through the very core of the Earth, rattling the tracks of the last train Steve will ever wave goodbye to, and it’s Graceland.

It’s bliss, until Billy offers to sleep on the couch.

He says it’s because he doesn’t have a mattress.

Steve hangs off the door jam in his fruit of the looms, “You can sleep with me,” He says, thinking he shouldn’t have to say that. His stomach shouldn’t clench with worry that for the first time in two years, Billy might so no.

It’s warmer in the living room right now than Hawkins ever was.

Billy’s hair sticks to his neck. He wipes at it, and Steve opens his mouth to insist he’s not above begging. Billy came inside him. Billy’s teeth sunk into his neck as if Steve were made of ripe fruit, and this is their house. This is their home. The second bedroom is just collateral.

I want to be with you, Steve imagines telling him, I want you next to me, inside of me.

“I’ll be alright,” Billy says, as if hearing every unspoken word. He turns away, he. Stares out the window with the same cold, empty expression he sometimes got when the night was closing in Hawkins. Steve thought they had washed their hands of that, and yet when Billy realizes Steve’s frozen to the floor, he grins. “I promise,” he says.

It’s empty, too. Horrible.

Steve goes.

Sleeping alone is like trying to make love on a burlap sack full of bowling balls. Steve tosses and turns and swears the door was shut when he went to sleep without a blanket.

Still, he wakes before dawn wrapped in the ugly knit Max threw at Billy’s head when he told her they were leaving.

–

“He’s probably an evil clone.”

“He’s not an evil clone.”

“Are you sure? He hit his head pretty hard on the tile. Banged his everything else against the fist of a space monster–”

“You’re not actually helping.”

“I’m just presenting the facts. He’s probably a government spy,” On the other end of the line, Robin’s slurping on something. Really taking her time with filing every single one of Steve’s nerves down to the cartilage.

Steve shivers. It’s the middle of the day in September, and he’s shrouded in darkness. “Bills couldn’t be a government spy.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Steve says, twirling the phone cord around one hand, “Because he still wants to shower together. He still likes Hershey's chocolate and little marshmallows in his peppermint tea. He’s afraid of the dark.”

“All of that’s just shit the clone learned from Billy’s personal file.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Billy doesn’t have a personal file.”

“Don’t be thick, we all fought monsters so we all have a personal file in the event that we decide to air Big Brother’s dirty laundry,” Robin tells him. “I don’t give a shit what you say, if he’s not fucking you anymore it tracks.”

“You’re an idiot, Buckley. ”

“Why, because I don’t believe that thing is really Bills?”

“You’re an idiot if you think even a robot version of Billy would stop fucking me.”

“God, that’s so gross. You’re so gross–”

“So you admit that I’m right?”

“No,” Robin Snaps, “Evil clones are not the strangest thing that’s happened to us. Not by a long shot.”

“--Robin–”

“And if you’re suggesting that the government isn’t homophobic, you should read more.”

“Robin.”

“I’m serious. The feds planted crack-cocaine in disco balls because that’s where all the gay–”

Steve scrubs a hand across his forehead. “I’m hanging up now.”

“Okay, fine,” Robin groans, finally stopping to take a breath, “Billy’s not an evil clone and all that hush money wasn’t just a ploy to get you out there. Alone. So they could finish the job.”

Steve wants to laugh.

He aches to roll his eyes and call Buckley a bonehead before hanging up the phone and getting back to the three loads of laundry sitting on his-and-not-Billy’s bed, but. “What do you think the deal is?” Steve frowns, “Evil robots–”

“--Clones–”

“--Notwithstanding?” Steve asks, ignoring her. He perches the phone against his shoulder so that his hands are free to sort through the lights and darks.

There are a lot of lights here. Apparently, this Billy wears beige. And sea-foam. And that lovely shade of periwinkle from Billy’s senior picture that makes his freckles look like a million spattered treasure troves. Steve hates it. He loves the color and hates the change. Hates the meaning.

He’s so stupid for thinking this move would spell silver linings.

He’d never imagined in a million years that it would change Billy to the core, even though it used to be all he hoped for. That Bilyl would fall asleep and stay that way for a hundred years, and when he finally woke up again all the hurt inside him would gone.

But now. Steve’s wishy-washy. He’s a big fat washing machine man.

Robin hums, sucking at the dregs of ice in her piggly-wiggly cup. “Honestly, I think he’s happy.”

Steve drops Billy’s underwear as if it’s caught fire. “You don’t think he was happy before?”

“In Hawkins? I think he was trapped and miserable,” Robin says, “I think he was happier when he got you. You’ve always been his window into the outside world but now he’s got a doorway, you know? Being home again.”

Steve gets that.

No one’s meant to be anyone’s everything, and.

Steve could accept it, were it not for the other stuff. The huge shift in dynamic even though Billy’s the same as always, at the root of him. Laughing at Steve and wagging his tongue and fucking Steve nasty all over the apartment.

Avoiding the bed, though.

Shying away from any real intimacy, and all the domesticity that comes with waking up next to someone every day.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Steve grumbles, feeling like the last three years never happened. They’ve gone back in time, landing on the doormat of their relationship when Billy was still consumed with fear.

“Have you tried talking to him about it?”

“A few times,” Steve admits, “Mostly he just kisses my cheek and tells me he’ll be fine in the living room.”

“That is weird,” Robin says thoughtfully. “Listen. Don’t freak out, but. Right before my parents thought they were gonna get divorced–”

“Don’t.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Doesn’t matter, I don’t want to hear anything about divorce or separation–”

“You guys aren’t even married.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Steve insists, bile cracking like an egg behind his breastbone, “If you’re going to sit there and talk about endings, I don’t wanna fucking hear it.”

“Alright.”

“We’re not your parents. This isn’t the first big sign of a falling out–”

“--Okay, Harrington, I believe you–”

“--Billy loves me,” Steve snaps, “Billy loves me so much.”

But the more he says it, the more it sounds like a swan song. Steve admitting, over and over and over again, that he would rather die than see the credits roll. That he’ll break his fingers before he lets go of Billy again.

“Don’t cry, Steve.”

“I’m not.”

“My parents never got divorced,” Robin tells him gently, like that’ll slap a bandaid on it, “Billy’s always slow on the take-up. He’s probably still adjusting to the move. His whole life has been one big change after another, you know? And all that shit with the Mind Flayer–”

“It’s just,” Steve tries, chin wobbling dangerously, “The first night we moved here and he said he didn’t want to come to bed I couldn’t remember the last time I slept somewhere without him. I know I have before, I just. Couldn’t remember. I still can’t,” Steve wipes his nose on Billy’s favorite pair of boxers, feeling dramatic and comical and lame. “Maybe I should call it quits. Give him an out–”

“No,” Robin snaps, so harshly that Steve’s tears crawl back inside his skull to hide. “Steve, if you break up with him–”

“God, I’m gonna split my skin. I’m crazy.”

“You’re not,” Robin assures him firmly, “It’s completely valid to wonder what brought on such a big change but it’s not what you think it is, and if you try to give him an out he’ll think it’s because you don’t love him. You know that.”

Steve nods, groaning when more tears slip out from behind his eyelashes.

“Billy’s as batshit crazy about you as you are about him, the feeling’s mutual,” Robin says. “Besides, he probably wants to come to bed but They haven’t programmed it into his memory board yet and he can’t recall the purpose of a mattress–”

“I’m gonna kill you with a brick.”

“Hey, there he is,” Robin chirps. Steve imagines her flying high above the trees and then swooping low, angry pigeon style, to bomb his head with the truth. “It’s going to be alright, Dingus.”

“I know it is.”

“You don’t sound very convincing.”

“I’ll be okay,” Steve snaps, clutching Billy’s dirty underwear to his chest like some disgusting, demented teddy bear.

He hopes, down to the pads of his bare feet, that Robin’s right about this. That things will turn out okay. Because if they don’t and this spells the end of the best thing that ever happened, Steve will sink into darkness and he won’t be able to find his way out again.

Call him dramatic. It’s just the truth.

–

Darkness leaks out of him, through snags and tears he wasn’t even aware of. The only plus is that once the crescendo happens and Billy’s strapped down, swallowing mouthfuls of the rot he’d been dribbling for years, he lives. He can imagine a world where all the shadows are cast out.

Maybe the ichor doesn’t seep out through harsh words, anymore, because there’s nothing left.

He’s empty. Wrung dry.

There’s all sorts of shit that comes along with that: hurt, pain, and guilt rotting inside him, growing teeth until they feed on each other. Billy’s nothing. He’s a non-issue.

Owens says it’s not productive to think of himself that way.

“What would your sister say if she heard you talking like that,” The Doctor says. In Billy’s memory of him, Owens always smokes black and mild cigars in a white jacket. “What would Steve say?” The Doctor asks, and it becomes like a chant, the evil cheerleaders in Billy’s mind playing both sides of the field.

Gloom, following him like a shadow.

What would Max think if she saw the way your eyes light up at the possibility of crashing your car into the gulch. What would Max growl at you under her breath if she heard the half-drunk promises you make to your teddy bear that the age-old dream of skipping town to find your mom would be an adventure? What would Steve think, crying big fat crocodile tears, if he heard you scream into the sky that you’re a devouring worm who’s going to eat and eat and eat through everyone’s love until they, too, are shining emptiness?

Owens always circles back to that. “You’re not a black hole, Billy,” He says, with so much feeling it almost seems like he believes it, “Your sister loves you. She’s happy you made it back to her. Steve loves–”

“I know,” Billy says. Doesn’t understand it. Never understands it–

“Do you?” The Doctor asks, cloaked in a milky haze so Billy can never tell if he’s leeching joy from Billy’s scarce reserves.

When Billy tells the doctor that he’s moving to California and Steve’s coming, too, Owens says it’s good. It’s something to celebrate. “You’re not a black hole. You’re a room waiting to be filled with dayglow,” The Doctor tells him, lighting his customary cigar, “California Dreamin’, right?”

Their sessions never make it past the thirty-minute hand.

–

On Wednesday, the phone rings. “Robin said that Steve said that you said–”

“This isn’t high school,” Billy relaxes into child’s pose and watches a bead of sweat fall, lazy as dew-drop rain, into the yawning hands of the carpet. “Might be a bit of a shocker, since that’s where you’re at in life but if you’re gonna do this telephone, he said she said bullshit–”

“Telephone?” Max interrupts.

“Yeah, you know. The game where you whisper into the ear of the person beside you, and they whisper into the next person’s ear, and then that fucker whispers–”

“God, you’re so old.”

Billy’s sweat is absorbed and digested into the putting green of the spare bedroom’s floor. He hikes himself into downward dog, willing his arms to stop shaking in their sinuous hold. “Just tell me what Robin said.”

“Not Robin,” Max clarifies, chewing on something crunchy, “Well, Robin told me, but really she heard from Steve that you said you aren’t in love with him anymore.”

Billy’s arms give out.

And really, gun to his head, it’s probably because there’s no future, no alternative timeline, no possibility in all the infinite choices and lifetimes Billy sometimes imagines when he gets too high, that he would ever stop loving Steve Harrington.

But, he’s also in recovery.

His hands don’t work quite as well as they used to and his stamina, in all things but especially in the demented world of his teenage sister, is for shit.

His forehead stings, “Ow, godammit–”

“What happened,” Max barks.

“It’s fine, just,” Billy rubs between his eyebrows, “Just give me a minute.”

“It’s not true, right?” Max demands because she can’t follow instructions. Because since the very beginning, even before Billy knew what to call this thing with Steve, she was rooting for them. Stapling pompoms to her hands to muster happiness when Billy said I’m going home and Steve’s coming with me.

For Max, anything involving Billy is better if Steve’s beside him.

It’s sweet.

It’s a thorn in Billy’s ribs, too, a dagger-tip poisoned with worry that when Steve realizes he’s too good for the life they’ve built together, it’ll break her heart just as much as it’ll shatter Billy’s.

Max isn’t crunching on the other end of the line, anymore. “You still love him,” She says, “Obviously, you still–”

“Why would Steve say something like that?”

“I don’t know,” Max says, in exactly the sort of stretched, wavering voice she has when she does know. When it’s her doomsday tale, come to fruition.

“Tell me what you know,” Billy demands.

“I already told you, dipshit, I don’t know anything. I only know what Robin heard from Steve who heard from–”

“Yeah, I got that part,” Billy tucks his feet under him, muscles sore and loose. His tendons trip over each other, clenching painfully to hold the rising tide of worry threatening to seep from his bones. “I don’t understand. Is he pissed that I threw out the boxed pudding last week?”

“You threw out all the boxed pudding,” Max repeats, and Billy imagines coppery horror dawning bright across her freckles.

“Owens said I need to cleanse my body, just like I need to cleanse my mind.”

“Yeah, that was a bad move,” Max reports glumly.

There’s not much Steve gets up in arms about. He’s as deep and as calm as a river, he’s moss-covered boulders and wisteria growing through cracks in the rubble of ancient buildings. He doesn’t simmer and boil over like Billy does, but Steve’s serious about dessert.

He’s got a sweet tooth the size of Mississippi that’s only gotten worse since Billy escaped death. They’ve got their ways of coping.

“He’s probably gonna kill you in your sleep,” Max tells him.

“Yeah, probably.”

“You’d deserve it,”

“I’d deserve it,” Billy tells her. For the pudding and for so many other nameless, faceless things that lurk in the past. Billy picks at the fiber of the carpet, “Still doesn’t seem right, though.”

“You think he’s worried about something else?” Max chuckles, “Wait, don’t answer that. It’s you he fell in love with, there’s always something to be pissed about.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m just saying, you do things all the time without thinking about it.”

Billy resists the urge to cross his arms and pout. “Like what?”

“You want me to name them?”

“Yeah,” Billy spits, losing the war, “I want you to name them so I can be better. For everyone, but. For Steve. And you.”

Max groans. Long and low and Billy’s grateful, somewhere past his resolutions, that some things and especially some little sisters, never change. Billy tries not to smile, “Look, tease me all you want, okay? Owens says–”

“Owens is a quack.”

“He’s not a quack,” Billy insists, and now his hands are shaking.

It’s a drop of a dime, these days.

It’s out of his control.

“I know, he’s a partial quack. He’s got quack-like tendencies.” Max works to make her voice kinder. Softer. It means the world that she would try.

It means even more that she doesn’t baby him.

Billy sits back against the wall in the guest room, tucking his knees up to his chin. He rifles through the last few months, unpacking every moment he’s shared in this apartment with Steve. They’ve cooked dinner together every night. They grocery shop and split the chores on Sundays, and Steve reads out loud to him from any book Billy picks up from the library, and.

“I thought everything was good,” Billy mutters, “I thought it was perfect. Steve is, and. I thought I could be.”

“You’re an idiot if you think anyone’s perfect.”

“I could try, Max. For him.”

“Look, is this about your survivors guilt, PTSD whatever?” Max demands. Billy hates the way he can’t hide from her. “We’ve already done the twelve-step apology bullshit, Billy. Everyone forgave you.”

He didn’t deserve it.

Billy bites down so hard on his cheek that he tastes blood. He shakes his head and can’t admit that he never deserved a second chance. Not happiness, not love, and not steve.

Billy clears his throat, “Not everyone.”

“Well, everyone who counts,” Max says quietly. “Bills. You need to forgive yourself.”

It stings, like the reopening of a wound.

Salt and rubbing alcohol burning in his nose when he breathes just like the Doctor taught him. Inhale joy, exhale pain. Inhale mercy, exhale–

“You have to forgive yourself,” Max tries again. Her voice wavers a little around the edges, fuzzy like it gets right before she starts to cry.

Billy hates himself, but. He hates that even more.

For so long he wanted to believe that he was on the road to keeping his head above water. That soon enough he’d be able to think of the dark ages and not give into its way of life.

Billy had thought that things were different.

In California, under sunny-bright skies, he’s a man made new.

Billy’s done everything right. He changed the way he eats. He does yoga. He sleeps on the mat on the floor to attone for the sin that still stain his hands like blood, he holds Steve far enough away that he’ll be safe but so Billy, selfish as he is, can still warm himself by the glowing light–

Billy sits up so fast that his head starts to swim. “I will,” He tells her.

“You mean it?”

“I’ll try,” Billy says.

It’s all he can do.

–

Friday night, Steve comes home from work and falls into bed with his shoes still on.

He’s asleep before his head hits the pillow. Billy hovers in the doorway for ten minutes to watch him sleep. Steve will wake up with a sore neck. His skin will ring itself red, indented with the seams of his pants.

Billy wants to enter the room. Feels like a sinner pacing the carpet outside confessional.

He’s seasick and guilty about that. It’s a line of thought that leads nowhere, it careens madly off the edge of a cliff.

Billy chews his nails and tells himself everything’s fine.

He can cross the threshold without invitation. He can make sure his lover is comfortable.

He can do this.

Just like this morning. Just like yesterday.

Billy gnaws at his thumb. Steve’s always more comfortable with his shoes off, soft and pliant with one sock clinging stubbornly to his foot. He can’t decide if it’s worth it to wake Steve or if getting the shoes off while he’s knocked out cold is even possible.

And once the shoes are gone, there’s the matter of Steve’s pants. Tight and scratchy denim and covered in drying finger paints and Billy knows even if he can manage to get Steve undressed, Steve will whine about the paint tugging on his leg hair, and then he’ll want to shower, and.

Well, Billy never could deny him.

–

The change in Steve’s breathing is like the first wave of a thunderstorm arching into the slow, lethal way the shadows in their room change shape and grow teeth.

“Billy?” Steve calls, thick and groggy, edging toward panic, “Bills, where–”

“I’m on the couch,” Billy says.

The whole house adjusts around the weight of Steve’s body. He runs down the hallway, appearing startled and out of breath, hair wild and cheeks lined.

“Jesus. I rolled over, and.” Steve runs a hand through his hair and Billy almost melts into the couch when those eyes slip like cool water over him, ringed with relief at the sight of him, tired and whole in their living room. “Nice to see you’re migrating closer to our bedroom.”

Our.

Billy shifts, freezing cold without a blanket.

Steve watches him for a long, quiet moment. “You scared the shit out of me,” Steve grumbles, padding toward the coffee table with his sneakers still on. Billy makes room between his legs without a second thought and Steve curls like a cat between them, burrowing his face into Billy’s stomach.

He sucks a mouthful of Billy’s stomach between his teeth, letting it fall doughy again before he presses a soft, firm kiss right above the worst of Billy’s scars.

Billy tangles his fingers into Steve’s hair, scratching and tugging at his scalp until Steve’s shoulders drop, until he’s breathing like he’s worried each inhale might be his last.

Billy wants to promise he’d give his own last breath to keep Steve alive. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. You smell good,” Steve says, his tongue dragging lewdly over Billy’s happy trail.

Billy doesn’t deserve this. “I haven’t showered yet today.”

“Doesn’t matter, taste like vanilla bean,” Steve chews on him a little more, and Billy an feel every inch of his smile. “There is no more ‘yet,’ fyi. Today’s almost over.”

“Do you want me to clean myself up?”

“No,” Steve flails around, rolling and tucking his knees until Billy’s got a clear landing to his mouth, to the folded, unhappy lines of Steve’s forehead.

“You sure?”

“I like the way you smell,” Steve grumbles, carding his fingers through Billy’s leg hair. “It’s like aromatherapy for my trauma.”

“You’re a dork.”

“I was having a nightmare.”

Billy falters. He doesn’t know what to say, so he kisses Steve’s forehead, over and over again until the skin smooths itself out. Knows that even after all these years, Steve‘s gotta be smothered back to Earth when he wakes up screaming.

“Wanna talk about it?” Billy asks, tracing a thumb over the perfect swell of Steve’s mouth.

Steve kisses his finger. “You were gone,” He says softly, eyes unfocused and far away. “I pulled you out of a frozen lake and took all my clothes off so you could be dressed in something warm again, and I blinked. When I opened my eyes you weren’t there. You were gone.”

Billy should’ve been there. Next to Steve, in their bed. If he had swallowed his fear and just been there–

“You know I’m still in love with you,” Billy blurts suddenly. He holds tighter to Steve’s chest, fingers digging into the muscle around each one of his ribs. “No matter what you told Robin I did or what Max said you said Robin told–”

He may as well douse the fire. He may as well throw a blanket over passion, and a bucket of cool water on the night.

Steve frowns at him. He searches Billy’s face and he says, “I was worried,” like the knife is finally being pulled form his stomach.

Billy hates himself. “You never have to worry about me.” He swears, like a white-knight. A King.

Steve’s forehead wrinkles again. “You don’t touch me anymore.”

He wants to.

Billy aches, constantly, to the very atoms that make up the marrow of his bones, to touch him.

“I can’t. Because,” Billy tries. “Because I don’t deserve–”

“You’re wrong,” Steve says harshly.

Billy flinches. His throat closes up and Steve can tell, lurching into action so Billy doesn’t suffocate to death.

“Hey,” Steve says, sitting and twisting until his forehead tacks itself to Billy’s, “Breathe, c’mon.”

Steve demonstrates how to do it.

He patient. He’s beautiful.

“There you go, big guy.”

Bill holds onto the wrists that frame his face. Comes back to Earth, again, back home. Where he belongs.

He feels Steve’s pulse through every inch of his body, thumping Billy’s blood when he can’t do it himself. He looks into those eyes, honey-pools that followed him into the dark. “I’m trying to do better.”

“You are better.”

“I’m trying to be perfect,” Billy says, “For you. Before I start this new life in our house, I want to be–”

Steve kisses the rest of it out of him.

Everything, gentle licks and nips until all that’s left is fresh ground.

“You’re done apologizing,” Steve says bluntly. He tucks a piece of hair behind Billy’s ear, eyes gentle on Billy’s face. “I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you had to.”

“I needed it.”

“I know. But it’s not necessary anymore.”

“I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t want you anymore. I was worried that if I didn’t take this pilgrimage, something bad would happen and I’d hurt you.”

Steve kisses him. “You won’t.”

“I couldn’t take the chance before.”

“Let’s take it now,” Steve says. He sits back on his haunches, voice strong and true and bursting like dawn through the night. “The whole point of a fresh start is that we don’t have to crawl on our knees anymore, Billy. We get to be happy, now. We get to be together.”

Billy searches for the words he always thought were better left unsaid.

He quiets the shadows that whisper there’s no going back. If he opens himself up to this, for real and forever, he sacrifices control.

But if Steve’s the one he’s kneeling to–

“Can we go to bed?” Billy asks, small and uncertain.

He braces himself for the sneer, for the unkind word, for reality to come crashing like a furious wave.

Instead, Steve smiles.

When he takes Billy’s hand, a door is opened. And light pours through.

for the lovely @chrisbitchtree for Harringrove for Turkey!

I hope you like it and I’m sorry it took forever and ever.

all my love,

Jaz

#harringrove #harringrove for turkey #harringroveforturkey #angst

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kellyvela · 2 months

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did u see that now on the jonas fan circles, and their similar interests, people are spreading/acting like the divorce is because sophie is a cheater? even some t**lor sw*f* fans are spreading it as well, saying she is their JA that she used JJ and cheated on him 🙄 as if JJ hadn't been mentioned of partying with early 20s girls and cheating on sophie for years before

Hello anon 👋

I don't care what the jb stans say, they are as stupid and willfully blind as targies.

Everyone is free to think what seems best to them, BUT the thing is, IF Sophie cheated jj with Perry as those people claim, then why Perry's ex girlfriend Olympia still follows Sophie on instagram, the woman that supposedly stole her man???

Perry and his ex break up was only made public mid September 2023, but the rumors about their separation started way before (November 2022), especially in July 2023, when Olympia celebrated her 27th birthday in Tuscany, Italy, and Perry was notoriously absent.

Friends began whispering about the state of their relationship when property developer Perry was conspicuous by his absence at the Chelsea-based model's 27th birthday party in July. They have not been seen in public together since last November. For three consecutive summers, the couple holidayed together, but this year they went their separate ways. The Princess visited Italy and Greece with family and friends (...) Perry, meanwhile, spent his summer with pals in Cow Neck, New York state, as well as in Spain with family. He was also at the Burning Man festival in Nevada with a posse of attractive young women.

Actually, the rumors of cheating came from Olympia's part, since she was seen with some married with children TT chef that was kicked out of his home by his wife when the rumors erupted.

King Charles's goddaughter, 27, beamed as she made her way to the celebrity chef's car, in Notting Hill, just days after her ex-boyfriend Peregrine Pearson, spent time with Sophie Turner in Paris, where they were spotted kissing.

The wife of celebrity chef Thomas Straker has kicked him out of their marital home after being told he was in a romantic relationship with Princess Maria Olympia of Greece. Friends of Straker and his wife Davina who have two daughters aged four and two, said she was 'devastated' to be told of his infidelity in October.

I have seen those people claiming that Sophie and Perry were together since July 2023, since Sophie were in Tuscany, Italy, around July 2023 as well; but apparently they missed the fact that Sophie was there with jj (see the pictures), but Olympia was alone, without Perry, whose absence was conspicuous (see the pics and read article linked above).

So how were Sophie and Perry cheating, if Sophie was with jj in Italy, while Perry was with his family and friends in Spain and US???

Also, IF Sophie really cheated jj with Perry, then why Olympia's long time close friends like Ella Richards and Sascha von Bismarck, or George and Camilla Blandford, or even Rupert Gorst, to mention only some of them, are OK hanging out, travelling, partying and posting pictures of them all happy with Sophie, the woman that supposedly stole their friend's man?

Think about it.

Now, in addition to his well known awful reputation, over their 7 years together, there was a lot of rumors and blinds about jj being a serial cheater.

But not only that, while "sources" were claiming that jj has been caring for his daughters "alone" and "pretty much all of the time," there was a podcast about him living a single life in NY, clubbing till late hours:

Also, while there were headlines with jj saying that it was "too soon" for Sophie to date someone new, he was seen with more than one girl.

Look at this reddit post from November 6th 2023, about jj having a double date with a girl he met at some restaurant she works at:

Also, he was seen with this other girl in Seattle, around November 11th 2023:

And around December 2023, he was also seen with a redhead in Montreal:

And now jj is dating a model that got famous after starting a relationship with a 17 years old male model, while she was 28/29 years old, and they became parents soon after the male model turned 18 . . . . Sounds familiar??? 💀

A little update, it seems jj and new woman knew each other and were interacting a lot since before he started dating Sophie . . . .

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#anon asks #sophie turner #the rat and his stans can choke

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adarkrainbow · 3 months

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Pinocchio's education (1/3)

Jean-Marie Apostolidès wrote an article published in 1989, in the 73rd issue of the “Littérature” review/journal. The theme of this issue was “Mutations of images”, and the article in question covered Pinocchio. Its title being in French, “Pinocchio, ou l’éducation au masculin” – Pinocchio, a masculine education.

Here is a rough translation of the article: (I added the images myself, the original article is not illustrated)

The adventures of Pinocchio first appeared in the July 1881 issue of the “Giornale per i bambini”: it was then a series of monthly tales called “Story of a dummy/Tale of a puppet”. This set of adventures continued up until the end of October, the same year – it ended with what is now the 15th chapter of Collodi’s final novel: captured by thieves who wants his gold, Pinocchio is hanged to an oak tree, and in his last words the reader hears an echo of the words of a dying Christ… However, Carlo Collodi decided to continue the story beyond the death of the puppet – part because of his desire to go further into his invented world, part due to the insistence of the team of the “Giornale”. The death of Pinocchio becomes just one of many trials, an added obstacle, a rite of passage towards adulthood. On the 16th of February 1882, the monthly story appears again under a new title: The Adventures of Pinocchio. It would then go on until the 36th chapter, which sees Pinocchio finally being transformed into a real little boy. Less than a month after this final episode, in February 1883, The Adventures of Pinocchio are finally published as a single novel, and become an immediate bestseller.

Pinocchio is a child-puppet of an unclear age and whose body, like those of teenagers, needs to evolve and mutate before reaching adulthood. This transformation is not a natural one – it is a social recognition, that partially relies on the dummy’s willingness to behave like a “real little boy”. But the behavior asked and expected of him is a fluctuant and moving thing, that depends on the social context. For example, between the Pinocchio of Collodi, and the Pinocchio of Walt Disney (the latter having mostly replaced the original character in many countries, except Italy), many differences can be observed. Not only do they depend on their respective political contexts, but they also both express two differing definitions of masculinity. To become a man in the Tuscany of the 1880s is not the same thing as becoming a man in the United-States of the 1940s. The character of Pinocchio is especially prone to variations, since he is not fixed: he belongs to both myth and History, to the reality and to the imagination. As with a myth, every retelling takes a new direction, and Collodi was the first to show how these variations could work by resurrecting his dummy. The comparison of Collodi’s and Walt Disney’s versions will allow to understand how masculine education evolved, and how the roles tied to childhood evolved.

#pinocchio #collodi #disney #translation #article #collodi's pinocchio #disney's pinocchio #analysis

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amoonshapedpool · 2 years

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Mitski in Providence, RI July 2022

by Jazmin Tuscani

#mitski #mitski miyawaki #laurel hell

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louisupdates · 9 months

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Lido di Camaiore (Lucca), August 18, 2023 - The growing anticipation for Louis Tomlinson's concert in Lido di Camaiore is evident from two facts: first, as soon as you arrive at Benelli Village, the area that contains the Bussoladomani Arena, you can hear the pervasive music of rehearsals in the air. Second, hundreds of fans, the vast majority of them girls, are gathered on a stretch of cycle path that runs along what was once a plot of the Benelli family farm. The family once owned much of the real estate and gave its name to the neighborhood.

The first fans arrived on August 7: four Spanish girls between the ages of 18 and 23 who had camped in front of the Bussoladomani gate to be the first to enter. For several days, one turned a blind eye since camping on the public street— complete with sleeping bags and Canadian tents— would not be regular, but after all, there were only four polite and civilized girls, who did not leave dirt on the ground or cause any chaos. Then, from four, they became ten, and now they are at least two hundred, despite the fact that the concert is not until Saturday night. These fans were waiting many days to attend the Away From Home Festival for just a few hours, which after the first two editions in London and Malaga, landed at the Lido. The star of the evening will be Tomlinson, who judging by the good “fanaticism” of his supporters seems to have won the derby with former benchmate Harry Styles, whose fans in July had camped at the Campovolo in Reggio Emilia for “only” a week prior. Jokes aside, if Styles is now a world celebrity on the front line, it must be said that all the former One Direction members have had a good path after the breakup of the band, and now Tomlinson is a very successful soloist.

Returning to the fans, even the Mayor Marcello Pierucci went to visit them, satisfied to see so much enthusiasm and movement in an area that has experienced decades of abandonment and degradation despite being one of the touristic pearls of Tuscany. Some of the residents and holidaymakers— here most of the houses are second homes of Florentines, Prato, Pistoia, Pitoiesi, Lombards and so on— seem all in all willing to accept the temporary discomfort, between noise, traffic, parking bans and a day— that of Saturday— that has led some to temporarily leave their holidays and return home until Sunday,

The fans have been moved from what will in fact be the red zone of the concert area, and brought a few tens of meters further east, towards Via Trieste, where they camped with tents, umbrellas and sleeping bags in an enclosure built on the cycle path, under the pine trees to have shade, with chemical baths available. A few more hours, and then they will finally be able to reach the concert pit: all this effort, in fact, is aimed at only one goal, to attend the concert from the front row. Have a good show.

#afhf 2023 #louis tomlinson #louis press #18.8.2023

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laferocia · 6 months

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10 minutes of Mike Patton insulting people in italian

June 2nd 2015, Milan. Mike is on fire. Metallica were the headliners at Sonisphere.

youtube

Min 0:10: Pirla! (It's a typical Milanese insult, and it roughly means "stupid". Plural or singular, it is always "pirla").

Min 0:20: Com'è che state? Tutto bene? // How are you guys? Is everything alright? ("Com'è che state": this sentence structure is absolutely native).

Min 0:29: ma vai a cagare! (Ok, I can translate it with "Fuck off" or "go to hell" but it literallymeans "Go and take a shit". We use it a lot).

Min 0:55: Cazzarola! (It's a term we use to say "cazzo" [=dick, but in the meaning of "fuck!"] but in a less vulgar way. It's not really a swear word; in central Italy, "cazzarola" means "pot").

Min 1:02: Mike is trying to get Roddy to say "cazzarola".

Min 1:18 Ma vaffanculo! // Fuck Off!

Min 1:25: Roddy tries again with his 'cazzarola,' but with poor results.

Min 1:34: ssshhhssshhh, giriamoci (?), un po' di basso // Turn around (I'm not sure about it, sorry), some bass.

Min 1:44: coglioni! (Here we go: 'coglioni' literally means 'balls,' and we often use it to tell someone they're a complete idiot. It's a strong insult but everything depends on the context)

Min 2:08: eh, minchia! (This word is Sicilian and it means 'cazzo,' but in Milan, it's used quite a lot).

Min 2:32: Mike was explaining that in Italy, June 2nd is Republic Day, in a way similar to the Fourth of July in the US; when Roddy said, "We don't speak Italia"n, Mike replied "Devi imparare, cazzo!" = you have to learn it, damn it!

Min 3:05: scusa(temi), devo tintarmi un po'! Milano style. Che dici? // Sorry, I need to tan, Milan style. What do you think? (Mike is using the second person singular form for most of the concert, but he should have said 'scusatemi' and "cosa ne dite?". 'Devo tintarmi' doesn't exist in Italian, but it's understandable. I'm almost sure that he took 'tintarmi' from 'Tintarella di Luna' by Mina, LOL. 'Tintarella' means 'tan' in an informal way, but we say 'devo prendere la tintarella' or 'devo abbronzarmi.' I guess 'devo abbronzarmi' was too hard to remember)

Min 3:57: He was amazed by those mirrors xD but at least this time he didn't throw it at people. And Mike... Don't you know that in Italy if you break a mirror, you'll have 7 years of bad luck???

Min 5:56: daje, daje milanesi! Zen. Ti chiediamo per favore di... zen. Meditazione. Pirli! Meditazione. Coglioni! Non iniziamo se non cantate. // Come on, Milanesi! Zen. We're kindly asking you... be zen. Meditation. Pirli! Meditation. We won't start until you sing. ("Daje" is absolutely Roman style. It has many uses, but most commonly, it's a way to say 'come on').

Min 6:53: siamo felici o no? Va bene! Se non siete felici dopo questa canzone... // Are we happy or not? If we are not happy after this song...

Min 7:23: bravi merdallari! (It's a way to poke fun at metalheads; it's a blend of 'merda' (shit) and 'metallari' (metalheads). It's a very colloquial term, and Mike has used it many times over the years. If you consider that most of the crowd was there for Metallica, you'll understand why he said that).

Min 7:28: sti cazzo di milanesi, ma va a cagare! // these fucking milanese people! (see min 0:29 for "vai a cagare!")

Min 7:44: Mike tries to get Roddy to say 'ma va a cagare,' but Roddy is still stuck on 'cazzarola.'

Min 7:53: lui sta dicendo che vuole un cazzone. È vero eh, un cazzone! // He is saying he wants a big dick. It is true huh, a big dick!

Min 8:21: A guy in the crowd says, 'che Dio ti fulmini.' He's probably from Tuscany because he used 'sfulmini,' which is typical of that region. By the way, he's saying 'may God strike you' to Mike.

Min 8:36: ah coglioni! (we already knew this LOL)

Min 8:40: ma chi cazzo sta a grida'? Who the fuck is screaming? (Okay, I'm from a small town in the south of Rome, and he has a strange Roman accent for most of the concert. I could honestly cry because of this, my accent on his lips. In proper italian it should be "chi cazzo sta gridando?")

Min 8:41: The same guy from the crowd: ah stronzo! // You jerk!

Min 8:43: Volete i Metallica? Anche noi, anche noi. Abbia(te) pazienza. Puttana di hippy di merda! Ti vedo, eh! // You want Metallica? So do we, so do we. Have some patience. Shitty hippie bitch! I see you, huh. (I don't know what happened here, he was talking to some people over there I guess. And Roddy speaking spanish with no reason makes me pee myself laughing).

Min 9:22: ah pirla! (ok he loves this one LOL)

Min 9:29: questa è l'ultima. Oh, finalmente! Sì, sto per venire pure io (looking at someone in the crowd). No, eh? Però il bocchino che fanno i mianesi (laughs) quasi quasi... Roddy, guarda. // This is the last one. Oh, finally! Yes, I'm about to come as well (looking at someone in the crowd). No, huh? But the blowjob the Milanese people give (laughs) I'm half tempted... Roddy, look. (another chaotic interaction, LOL)

Min 10: 08: Oh! Milano! Ci sono due frociacci in prima fila a petto nudo che mi... (ansima). Però lui eh (indica Roddy) No? Devi (far) crescere la barba un pochino, ragazzo mio. Insomma, grazie! // Oh! Milan! There are two shirtless fa*gots in the front row making me... (he pants). But him (pointing to Roddy), right? You need to grow a beard a little, my boy. Anyway, thanks! (That word is native and offensive, sorry Mike I don't like this one).

Min 10:40: Volete Vasco Rossi. // You want Vasco Rossi. (Vasco Rossi is a famous Italian rock star, but he is controversial because he hasn't done anything significant since (for me) at least 1998. Mike knows that metalheads hate Vasco)

NB: Min1:02, In the audience, you can hear 'porco D+o,' which is a blasphemy. In this video is missing but Mike said it while singing. You can hear him saying it at min 1:17 in this video: https://youtu.be/XXA4-MBDSqA?si=pCSMHqkBd5fCW4-4

In Italy, it's pretty normal to hear folks dropping swear words that target God, the Mother of Jesus, and the saints. This quirk in our culture might have something to do with the strong presence of the Pope and the whole Catholic thing, LOL. Anyway, despite these words being considered quite rude and definitely not for everyone, they've somehow become part of our everyday language. We use them for emphasis, to wrap up a chat, as greetings, or just as linguistic spice. Now, let me be clear, they're super vulgar, and plenty of folks find them offensive. If you use them, you might not make the best impression, but, unless you're talking to your grandma, most people won't raise an eyebrow. In that context, it doesn't sound all that strange. Coming from Mike, I admit it's quite funny. Oh, and when foreigners are learning Italian, the first lesson is often on swear words and dirty talk – it's like an unspoken rule or something.

In general, not happy about a couple of insults here and the way he involved Roddy in some jokes about his homosexuality that he couldn't understand. If he had called me a "puttana" I would have punched him in the face LOL. In this concert, Mike's Italian has declined significantly compared to the past.

#faith no more #mr bungle #mike patton #ad era mike #tomahawk #fnm

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johbeil · 2 years

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Heat of July

Orbetello, Tuscany. Olympus XA on Adox Mission color film.

#architecture #summer #travel #photographers on tumblr #tuscany #orbetello #film photography #35 mm photography #analog photography #film is alive #Olympus XA #Adox Color Mission #i still shoot film #stay broke shoot film #italy #original photographers

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homomenhommes · 6 months

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THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more …

1660 – Cardinal Francesco Maria de' Medici, was born in Florence, the son of Grand duke Ferdinando II of Tuscany and Vittoria Della Rovere (d.1711).

In 1683 he was appointed to governor of Siena, a position he maintained until his death. He was the grand prior of the Sovereign Order of Malta in Pisa; Abbot commendatario of S. Galgano, Siena; Abbot commendatario of S. Stefano, Carrara, 1675.

According to a family tradition was promoted to the cardinalate at a young age in 1686. He remained in Florence, in his villa of Lappeggi, devoting himself to a life not really religious, made of amusements and love affairs with men.

He resigned the cardinalate on June 19, 1709 and was named prince of Siena. He then was forced to marry in 1709 Eleonore Luisa Gonzaga, duchess of Guastalla, daughter of Vincenzo Gonzaga, in an attempt to save the dynasty, but they did not have children.

1746 – Jacques Charles (d.1823) was a French mathematician and inventor, best known for his work with the hydrogen balloon.

Jacques was the only child of his parents. Jacques' education consisted of basic arithmetic , and no science at all. Other than this almost nothing is known about his earlier years.

Late in life Jacques married a creole woman, Julie Françoise Bouchaud des Hérettes, who was 37 years younger than himself. Many historians believe that his marriage was a cover up for his homosexual relationship with the poet, Alphonse de Lamartine.

In 1785 Charles became a professor at the French Académie des Sciences without having any formal science education himself.

Without Charles's contributions, the Hindenburg would not have even existed, so that accident would not have occurred, and we wouldn't have the one-way valve, or at least until someone else came up for the idea after Charles did.

Most notably Jacques Charles is known for the Hydrogen balloon which he built with the Robert Brothers. Jacques originally got the idea for using hydrogen gas as a lifting agent after intensive study of Boyle's Law. Previous to the use of hydrogen gas, hot air was used to make balloons fly.

Charles also is known for the invention of the gas valve, which he used on his hydrogen balloons, the hydrometer, and the reflection goniometer. He improved the heilostat and the arometer. Charles also confirmed Benjamin Franklin's electrical experiments. Charles is also responsible for Charles's Law, but did not publish it. It was published by Joseph Gay-Lussac in 1802, and Joseph named it in Charles's honor, crediting an unpublished work by Jacques Charles.

Jacques Charles outlived his young wife, and later died himself April 7, 1823 in Paris.

1915 – Roland Barthes (d.1980), a French semanticist, symbolist, and philosopher, like André Gide and Marcel Proust, two of his favorite writers, was somewhat of an outsider. He was Protestant. (France is predominantly Catholic.) He was left-handed. (France is, of course, predominantly right-handed.) He was déclassé. (Barthes's father, a naval officer, died in the First World War, and his mother had to work as a bookbinder.) He was consumptive. (Barthes spent several years in sanatoria.) And he was expatriate. (Barthes spent the 1950s in the Middle East and Eastern Europe, working for cultural services.) He was also, like Proust, (if not like Gide, who saw himself as a pederast), a homosexual.

Barthes's critical writings are best understood in relation to this sexual marginality. Because Barthes sees homosexuality, and for that matter any transgressive and eccentric "perversion," as unclassifiable, he rejects the classification "inversion" as inaccurate—a notion that will come as a surprise to gays and lesbians who see themselves as "inverts."

Oddly enough, Barthes does not reject every gay male stereotype. Barthes rejects sexual inversion, but embraces "tricking" and "cruising," activities that he claims represent true sexual liberation. (Not that they did so for Barthes himself; his autobiographical texts suggest he had an unhappy love life.) Cruising, he writes, is "anti-natural, anti-repetition." It may be that Barthes is simply "protecting" his sexuality here (something he feels all writers do), or at least the macho ("phallocentric") part of his sexuality because whereas sexual inversion feminizes gay men, cruising for tricks is a rather manly (and purportedly desirable) thing to do.

Barthes sees tricking and cruising as desirable in another sense as well. The trick, he writes, "is homogenous to the amorous progression; it is a virtual love, deliberately stopped short on each side, by contract." Likewise, men cruise with "the invincible idea that one will find someone with whom to be in love." Some gays (who cruise for sex, not love) will find these descriptions unrealistic. Barthes, however, feels that sentimentality, in an age such as ours in which love doesn't make too much sense, is essentially—and even nonparadoxically—insignificant.

According to Barthes, "it is Western discourse as such" —discourse that marginalizes and stereotypes gays and lesbians—" that we must now try to break apart."

1946 – James F. Amos is a retired United States Marine Corps four-star general who served as the 35th Commandant of the Marine Corps. As a Naval Aviator, Amos commanded the 3rd Marine Aircraft Wing during the Iraq War in 2003 and 2004. He served as the 31st Assistant Commandant of the Marine Corps. He is the first Marine Corps aviator to serve as commandant.

As Commandant, Amos opposed the repeal of the "don't ask, don't tell" policy regarding homosexuals openly serving in the U.S. military. After President Obama signed the legislation setting the conditions for repeal, Amos led the Department of Defense in carrying out the will of the nation's civilian leadership. In late November 2011, Amos stated that his opposition to gays openly serving in the military has proven unfounded and said that Marines have embraced the change, describing the repeal as a "non-event."

1947 – A New York appellate court overturns the sodomy conviction of a "man of education and culture" accused by a mentally retarded vagrant, thus showing class bias.

1958 – Eric Marcus, born in New York City, is an American non-fiction writer. His works are primarily of LGBT interest, including Breaking the Surface, the autobiography of gay Olympic diving champion Greg Louganis, which became a #1 New York Times Bestseller and Making History: The Struggle for Gay and Lesbian Equal Rights, 1945-1990, which won the Stonewall Book Award. Other topics he's addressed in his writing include suicide and pessimistic humor.

Marcus received his B.A. from Vassar College in 1980 where he majored in Urban Studies. He earned his Master's degree from Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism in 1984 and a Master's degree in real estate development in 2003, also from Columbia University. He was an associate producer for Good Morning America and CBS Morning News.

Eric Marcus is the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention’s Senior Director for Loss and Bereavement Programs. He wrote his best-seller Why Suicide? in order to come to terms with his own father's suicide when Eric was twelve years old.

Other popular works include What If Someone I Know Is Gay? Answers to Questions about What It Means to be Gay and Lesbian, and The Male Couple's Guide: Finding a Man, Making a Home, Building a Life.

1970 – Craig Parker, born in Suva, Fiji, is an actor from New Zealand, known for his roles as Haldir in the films The Fellowship of the Ring (2001) and The Two Towers (2002), Darken Rahl in the television series Legend of the Seeker, Stéphane Narcisse in the CW television series Reign, and Gaius Claudius Glaber in the television series Spartacus.He also serves as narrator for New Zealand documentaries. Parker starred in the TVNZ soap Shortland Street, as Guy Warner, a character that has made several return appearances, most recently involving a story where Guy ran off with his brother's wife, Toni, only to return months later as a drug addled loser who attempted to use his daughter to score drugs for him. It ultimately led to the death storyline of Toni Warner. He is the reigning champion of New Zealand's Celebrity Joker Poker.

Parker first publicly discussed being gay in an interview with New Zealand’s Sunday Herald back in 2008. Regarding his sexuality, the very private Parker told the reporter that as a gay man, he doesn’t care what people say about his sexuality and that:

It’s jut not an issue for me. I just don’t get why an actor would want to reveal their secrets, hopes and fears to a magazine or newspaper. I know what the magazine gets out of it, but not the person. If you are doing publicity to increase your self-confidence then you are really in trouble. It’s important to keep some privacy. Your friends and family are the people you reveal yourself to. They are the ones who should have real access to you.

1980 – James Ryan Clabots , best known as Jimmy Clabots, is an American physical therapist, actor, and screenwriter. In 2009 he became a male escort, and retired in 2012. Since 2014 he’s been working as a writer and physical therapist in Los Angeles.

In 2000 he became a model. In 2008 Clabots started his career as an actor in the comedy film Another Gay Sequel: Gays Gone Wild!. In 2011 he starred in Showtime's Gigolos, showing male escorts in Las Vegas, but left the show in 2012 when he retired from escorting.

Clabots is of Cuban and Spanish descent.

1964 – The first depiction of a same-sex relationship is found in an Egyptian tomb. Nyankh-khnum and Khnum-hotep are discovered buried together side by side. The wall art shows the two men kissing. They were ancient Egyptian royal servants. They shared the title of Overseer of the Manicurists in the Palace of King Nyuserre Ini, sixth pharaoh of the Fifth Dynasty, reigning during the second half of the 25th century BC. They were buried together at Saqqara and are listed as "royal confidants" in their joint tomb.

The Embrace of Niankhkhnum and Khnumhotep

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