#aly health shit

[superspoonie24]

hEDS is so fun. I love having indentations on my skin from holding my phone or sitting on a seam, or sleeping :D

[superspoonie24]

Reminder to my spoonies out there, especially those with heart problems, to trust your gut on whether this is "normal" chest pain or different/worse/"bad" chest pain. And you are not bad for going to seek help. Period. If it comes out as "just normal chest pain", you are not dumb or bad or stupid for seeking help. Sometimes the anxiety gets you and you just have to go and make sure. And that's okay. You are not bad for needing reassurance. You got this 🧡

Signs of a heart attack are different for each gender yet we only really teach the male warning signs. Make sure you’re aware of both and spread it to as many other women as possible!

[feministfang]

Three brave women beat up a shopkeeper in islamic republic of Pakistan for harassing them and all the Pakistani men are so pissed off that they’re sending death threats to those women for taking action in their own hands instead of tolerating and calling some male authority or police. That piece of shit also filed a case against those women for abusing him and as a citizen of this trash country, i can tell he will win the case.

A 20 years old girl, Sania Zehra, was brutally tortured, raped and murdered by her husband, syed ali raza bukhari, when she was pregnant with her third child. This also happened in Pakistan on 8th of July. Now the same men are silent over this or trying to shove the issue of Palestine on feminist pages posting about Sania’s case because "far worst things are happening in the world". Meanwhile, Pakistani women are busy dick worshipping the victim’s father because "he must be so traumatised after losing his daughter like this. oh poor man!" As if that bitch isn’t at fault for making her daughter marry that old beast when she was probably 16.

Celebrities here are more concerned about men’s deteriorating mental health in this country as these lunatics think catering to men’s feelings will somehow fix them. What else can you expect from them when the entire world outside has progressed, but these dumbfucks are still portraying the same old cringe fairytale stories where a simple beautiful, but unfortunate girl falls in love with some ugly psychotic man and tolerates his abuse because "that’s true love 😍" and in the end, she’s successful in fixing him.

But when we speak a word against the atrocities women face in this country, all these people lose their minds and try to silence us to ensure the image of their fuckin country is not at risk of defamation and the lovely Pakistan can become an example of how peaceful islam is. Pakistani men (and most women here as well) are intolerant when it comes to the vilification of the image of their country and religion. And their asses start burning when they see someone ruining it. They even stoop so low to the level of satanism that they would not hesitate to send death threats to anyone making them look bad globally. A girl i was friends with on FB wished Malala another gunshot on her face by Taliban because of her anti-marriage stance.

This is why i urge y’all to please don’t stay silent on the issues women are facing in Pakistan. I never see global feminist pages talking about female oppression in this garbage country. Some feminists living in west also act like brown men are somehow better than white men and they’re more oppressed than white women because of racism, or that muslim men are better than christian bigots. Stop victimising brown muslim men. Not only are they hideous but also the misogyny the south asian society has shoved in their assholes is extremely disgusting and they keep shitting it on women everywhere they go, including white women.

I wouldn’t expect support from brainless libby feminists as they’re probably busy pulling their pants down on their favourite OF platforms or fighting misandry online, but i would love to see all the radfems speaking up for south asian women. Please make it known globally how the Pakistani islamic community is constantly oppressing women day by day.

Use the examples i stated above. Speak up for Sania Zehra!! Demand justice for her globally, and keep bashing corrupt Pakistani law system. Also, don’t forget to defame their religion. These people are most protective of their culture and religion. I don’t see any hope in this country for women, but there’s a chance they will start taking action and give proper justice to the victims in order to protect their so called dignity.

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Sickly!Brother!Reader and Aemma def had an affair at some point and that’s a hill I’m gonna die on

Imagine Rhaenyra being his daughter after everything she did😭

(I honestly prefer a much more platonic relationship between the two. Just them being the bestest besties of Westeros, wholesomely shit talking anything and everything together and all around being platonic soulmates. But I can’t say that I’m not interested in the idea of this.)

TW: Mentions of Incest

I could really see Sickly!Brother!Reader and Aemma having been just as close when they were younger (if not more so), maybe they even had a betrothal set but then the Reader’s health really started to decline and so Aemma was instead betrothed to Viserys. I can’t help but imagine Sickly!Brother!Reader and Aemma being so in love if that were the case, like that pure kind of love where they both have butterflies in they’re stomach when they catch the other’s eye or just so much as think about one another. The kind of warm, bubbly feeling that spreads through your entire body, and makes you smile uncontrollably. That kind of love.

Given how in love he was with Aemma, Sickly!Brother!Reader may as well have been the one to end their betrothal out of not wanting to hold her back with his health and to become a burden for her. He wanted nothing more than for Aemma to have a more fulfilling life with someone who could meet her all the way and he couldn’t give her that in his condition, so he would rather give it all up then to burden Aemma for the rest of however long he had on this earth.

But even after marrying Viserys, Aemma would have still stayed so close to Sickly!Brother!Reader’s side, especially after he became bedridden. She may have even been the first one to tend to and look after him, long before Alicent, Rhaenyra, Mysaria, and Alys. At the very least she would keep him company all throughout the day. Aemma still very much so wanted to be a part of Sickly!Brother!Reader’s life no matter what. She would have still happily married him even with his ailing health, willingly taken care of him to the very end. She wouldn’t have turned her back on him for anything. Aemma would have loved nothing more than to bear him even just one heir, something that was entirely theirs’, a part of both of them that they made together. A proof of their unabashed love. But instead she was now to give that to her beloved’s eldest brother.

I could very well see Viserys allowing Aemma and his precious brother to have a full on relationship behind closed doors. Hell, he may even encourage it. He would have of course known just how much Sickly!Brother!Reader cared for Aemma and how hurtful it was for him to end their betrothal but he wanted better for Aemma that he couldn’t give her. And if Viserys didn’t have any knowledge of just how much Sickly!Brother!Reader truly loved Aemma and how painful it was for him to give up a life with her then Daemon would sure as hell make sure Viserys did know. Daemon would greatly encourage a full on relationship between his beloved younger brother and Aemma if it meant his brother’s happiness. Even if it did go behind Viserys’ back but Daemon would ensure they never got caught. If Viserys were to somehow find out that Aemma and his youngest brother were having a relationship behind his back, he couldn’t bring himself to be angry with his beloved baby brother. I don’t think he’d say anything about it either, he’d bite his tongue and let it happen. Especially, if Sickly!Brother!Reader were to be in much better spirits than he had been before.

Sickly!Brother!Reader wouldn’t be able to keep his relationship a secret from Viserys for long though. He would try to come clean about it to Viserys during one of their visits together, but Viserys would have stopped him before he could say anything. Patting his baby brother on the shoulder, giving him a grin and carrying on with the topic before. Viserys could never bring himself to hate or be angry with his brother or Aemma. And honestly, seeing how much happier his precious brother is now means more to him than anything else.

In the case that Rhaenyra was actually Sickly!Brother!Reader’s child, that would be so much to unpack. Especially after everything Rhaenyra has done with him. I could see her reaction going either way honestly. Given that we’re talking about yandere!Rhaenyra here though I feel like she wouldn’t really mind. I could even see Rhaenyra having known all along that the Reader is her real father and still going through with everything she inevitably does. I could see her justifying it by how connected she and Sickly!Brother!Reader are. How connected they’ve always been and now how connected they’ll always be after the children.😬🫣

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Gene Tierney (Laura, The Ghost and Mrs Muir, Leave Her to Heaven)— The class, the elegance. The way she walks into frame and immediately all focus is on her. She had a pretty lengthy struggle with mental health that she describes in her book, which I think made her all the more sensitive in portraying characters like in leave her to heaven. Also she dumped JFK so

Nina Mae McKinney (Hallelujah, Pie Pie Blackbird, The Devil’s Daughter)—One of the first black movie stars, Nina worked with Bill ‘Bojangles’ Robinson, King Vidor, and Paul Robeson. She was the first Black Actress to be signed to one of the major studios, MGM, but her career was stalled by a lack of roles.

This is round 3 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Gene Tierney:

64.media.tumblr.com

The entire plot of Laura is that a guy has to become completely obsessed with a woman after just seeing her portrait. This only works because Gene was cast in the role. I 10000% believe anyone could fall in love after seeing her face.

Those eyes! Just look at those eyes! She’s at her hottest in Leave Her To Heaven— I literally want her to ruin my life.

Absolute grade-A babe, she is the perfection incarnate.

Gene Tierney was beautiful, poised, intense. I associate her with roles where she was murderous or an intelligent woman being patronized to - like a woman on the edge! As far as I am concerned, she deserved to do whatever she wanted.

64.media.tumblr.com

She had a slight overbite which was amazingly sexy, and a throaty voice that was very memorable as well. She’s terrific in Laura, which reminds me I should watch it again.

EYES!! Her diabolical acting in Leave Her to Heaven is just perfect, Rosamund Pike definitely took notes for her Gone Girl from her.

Oscar-nominated and simply one of the most beautiful women to ever walk this Earth.

Absolutely stunning. In Leave Her to Heaven, she reaches Rosamund-Pike-in-Gone-Girl levels of “holy fucking shit?!?!?!” She had a fling with JFK in the ‘40s and also dated the exes of Rita Hayworth and Hedy Lamarr (Prince Aly Khan and W. Howard Lee, respectively). Sadly, her daughter was born with a disability (during a time in which there were few good mainstream options for disabled children and their parents), likely because of a fan who was sick with measles and went out of her way to meet Tierney (who was pregnant) anyway. Topical! Sure would be good if people stayed home when they were sick! Anyway, she was also a Republican, which sucks. Laura and Leave Her to Heaven are great viewing though.

Nina Mae McKinney:

Hollywood's first Black vamp, and have you seen her dance? 👀

She has such delicate features and such a delightfully impish smile

[superspoonie24]

The tweets also made me think of the Puritans. The concept of pre ordained destiny or whatever it is about it is already decided you are going to hell the minute you are born, so you have to be the best you possibly can to maybe get into heaven. (I believe there is the rare baby destined for heaven or something).

So yeah America has always been shitty. This shouldnt be a surprise.

[superspoonie24]

Shout out to my disabled ass being on time to TWO appointments in a ROW TODAY. IM A FUCKING GOD.

[armandisdaddy]

Femmé Fatale-Modern Au!Chp.2

[Pairing: Aemond Targaryen (Married Businessman) x Fem Reader ( Secretary) ]

[Content/Warnings:!!18 PLUS!!, Lust, Tension, Adultery, Toxic, Domestic Violence,p in v penetration, Biting, Hair pulling, oral masc receiving,Violence, Obsessive, Stalking, Mentions of infertility and Swearing. Arguments and talk of mental health.]

Working with Y/N was nothing short of the word intense. Aemond hadn’t touched her for the past few weeks feeling remorse and guilt for what he had did to Alys and getting away with it only made his conscious make the decision to stop it all together. Y/N on the other hand was beginning to get a bit frustrated it would’ve been different if he sucked at fucking her and then his rejection would not matter. But he broke something within her that night maybe it was her sense of reality or decision making; either way she was losing her mind. How could he ignore her? It was obvious they had more chemistry than the both of them originally anticipated and somehow he was ignoring she even existed unless he needed her however.

She decided to waltz into his office locking the door behind before speaking in a hushed but irritated tone. “I’m trying not to cause a scene in here. Is there any reason why you get to fuck me only a few weeks ago and now you’re treating me like a pile of shit or like I’m the plague. Aemond stared at the paper he was working on not even daring to look up he knew those piercing eyes and plump lips would get him every time. “We cannot continue with this affair, Ms. Y/N. I admit I took things too far with you and I apologize for that. If you have any grievances I will compensate you on any way that you see fit. But, I love my wife…as difficult as things have been I love her and she needs me. I cannot betray her again.” He wouldn’t even look at her and listening to this shit falling out his mouth enraged her even more.

“You’re being fucking serious!? You didn’t seem to love her with you face between my legs…or when you fucked me sensless in the back of my car! You love her!?” It was a good thing his office was sound proof . “You’re pathetic…I know you still think about it. I can tell you still want me just like I want you. I’ve been thinking about touching myself to the thought of you inside me again.” She pulled the papers away from him and slid onto the desk sitting directly in front of him. The heels of her shoes digging into his thighs. Painfully so but he liked it. He could smell her perfume and groaned softly as the thoughts of that night flipped through his mind. She lifted his face up by his chin and he melted into her hand once he saw that face. “I can’t…” it almost sound painful for him to say, but his hands found their way to her thighs slowly pushing underneath her skirt.

She smiled slowly unbuttoning her top and he stopped her not wanting her to get completely undressed. “I don’t want to fuck right now…we don’t have time.” Her pulled her closer pushing her back against the desk pulling one of her heels off her pulled one leg from her stocking. Exposing her pussy that shined once the light hit the glint of her slick. “You’re horny from this little argument…me too..” he moaned kissing her inner thigh smelling the scent of her pussy. It was intoxicating. She whimpered feeling the soft kisses move closer to her folds. He lapped at her pussy hungrily sucking on her mound ravenously. Fuck he missed the taste of her. She moaned under her breath trying not to alert anyone of what they were doing. He was beginning not to care anymore. Everyone knew his marriage with his wife was strained and they could see he was miserable regardless of how he tried to hide it.

“Aemond please…fuck me I want it.” She begged and even though he was pushing it he could not refuse such a request. He pressed the button to talk to Grace. “Yes, Mr. Targaryen?” He put his finger over his lips to alert her to be quiet. “Grace I’m taking an hour lunch in my office. I’m not accepting any appointments or meetings at this time.” Grace responded and now that that was handled it was back to making Ms. Y/N a mess. “So you said you want me to fuck you, yes?” She nodded while she watched him pull his cock from his pants slowly stroking it while he stared at her in front of him. “Come here and let me see that pretty little mouth of yours.” He sat down in his chair and let her climb underneath the table between his legs. She grabbed onto his thick length and began stroking it before she placed soft kisses along the shaft. Taking him into her mouth and quickly into her throat his hand cupped her face while she looked up at him. “I missed that beautiful face…” she felt warm inside and her pussy was beginning to throb. He held onto her hair bucking up into her mouth occasionally. She was covering his cock in saliva making a mess and he loved every minute of it. He pulled her up and bent her over the table smacking her pussy harshly before he stood behind her.

“How am I to pay any attention to my work with such a naughty secretary, Hm? You’re going to have to let me get some work done, pet.” He held onto her hips letting his already spit lubricated cock ease into her tight walls. He hissed softly and she whimpered feeling that familiar stretch. That’s exactly what she wanted. “If I give you what you want will you behave, Princess.” She nodded comp-licitly. “That’s a good fucking girl.” His pelvis crashing into her ass caused a rhythmic clapping sound to fill the room and it was such a glorious sound. He pulled her up putting a deep arch in her back as he pulled her arms back picking up the speed. Her legs shook uncontrollably and she could help but scream his name over and over. “It’s okay no one can hear you keep telling me how good I fuck you baby.” She creamed all over his cock and without warning he spilled his seed inside of her. He pulled out looking at her stuffed hole it was beautiful. He turned her to face him and he pulled her in for a kiss. His heart was skipping a beat was he falling for her. No he couldn’t be not with how this started. But he was unfortunately and it was going to be the beginning of his ruin. She was become more attached in love herself. Only 30 minutes had passed and he decided he wanted to go another round before his lunch was over.

Later in the day the office was closing he had let Y/N know he had to go home. He had a business trip coming up and he would be happy if she joined him. She obliged happily and they kissed once he walked her to her car. Arriving home his nose was hit with the smell of food cooking and he was greeted by his wife with a glass of wine. She was wearing a wine colored dress and her hair was curled and placed just right. He hadn’t seen her like this in years what the fuck was going on? “Hello my love.” Her tone was sweet and inviting and if he hadn’t just drained his balls a few hours before into his secretary he would’ve took the invitation. But as soon as he was enticed he was angry… “You haven’t so much as looked at me in two years and now you’re doing what? Making an attempt to save our marriage?” She was taken aback by his reaction she knew things between them had been strained but she didn’t realize how dire the situation was.

“Aemond I was just trying to have a good night…I know I have been present as of lately…” He cut her off and laughed. “Present you have been totally nonexistent…” He shifted slightly and she smelled an unfamiliar scent lingering on him and something clicked in her head. “Who the fuck is she? Why do you smell like another woman’s perfume, Aemond?” He thought of what had just transpired before he got home and he smiled to himself turning back to look at her and the gaslighting began. “Even if I was cheating on you…could you blame me? I mean we barely speak to each other. I haven’t held you in 3 years..Alys!!! Three fucking heart wrenching years…of you acting like I don’t exist and I’ve been patient with you. Lying to the world about us going to therapy sessions, trying to talk to you so you can heal. I’m not even worried about the sex I just wanted us to start taking the steps to getting you back. And now when it seems that I could give to fucks about this marriage you want to pull this shit?”

He was right, but she knew something else was going on. She was growing tired of his woe is me tale and threw the half full wine bottle at him screaming to the top of her lungs as his crashed into the table behind him. The glass broke and the tint of red was every where. “Do you think I wanted to be depressed for 3 years? I know I wasn’t doing my best but do you understand how it feels to be told we will never have kids…I can never give you that and I know more than anything you wanted children..I feel less than a woman.” He cut her off again downing that glass of wine. “No you’re wrong remember I told you more than anything I wanted you…I needed you to be alive with me kids or no kids you were my everything. Now I see no reason for this…I have a business trip planned in the next few days. I’m sleeping in the guest room tonight.”

He went upstairs took a shower and went to bed thinking about the next 7 days with Y/N. While Alys was crying in the kitchen losing her mind. See since she had lost their child she wasn’t really sane. Her therapist due to patient confidentiality she wasn’t allowed to explain the extent of her mental state she just prescribed her with the proper medication and it seemed like she was still depressed, but the psychosis she was experiencing was beginning to spiral out of control. Aemond had felt some remorse, from his actions tonight but his pride wouldn’t let him apologize he’d already gone too far with Y/N with their argument tonight. At this rate he was thinking of divorce it would be best for everyone in this situation . Even if Y/N and him didn’t last at least he’d be free.

To be continued…

Taglist- @dc-marvel-girl96 @namelesslosers @kckt88

[superspoonie24]

I applied in July 2022 for disability. I got a few letters for a couple months asking for more information. Next time I heard from them was January 2023.

I was denied.

I am filing an appeal.

It'll take another 6+ months to hear back from them.

It'll probably be another denial. And I'll have to appeal again.

I am lucky enough to have a mostly pro bono lawyer group in my city to handle the process for me (if I get approved, they take 25% of the first payment and I get everything else).

If it weren't for my VERY privileged position of living rent free with my neighbors and depending completely on friends and family for support financially and in every other sense of the word, I would be dead. I would've either starved, froze, or most likely just killed myself.

This system is bullshit. It does not help. It is meant to keep us in poverty. The government does not care about us: it never has.

fucking hate the "well it's not technically marriage inequality that disabled people can't get married without losing their benefits because no one's stopping you from getting married" yeah something is stopping us from getting married. Loss of medical care. Homelessness. Hunger. Death. I don't know how to tell you this but SSI is not a thing that you get because you could technically get a job but you don't feel like it. The process is awful, it's dehumanizing and it can take years even if you're clearly disabled. If you can work you do work, and if you can't work you can't afford to lose your "benefits". It's eugenics plain and simple, it came from a time where you could only fuck if you were married and they wanted to de-incentivize disabled people from fucking so we would stop existing.

[steviewashere]

I'm Going to Hold My Breath, Maybe I'll Be Liked Then

Rating: General WC: 10,702 CW: Health Issues in a Newborn (Beginning), Childbirth (Beginning), Panic Attacks Characters: Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington's Mother, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, Other Characters Mentioned Relationships: Steve Harrington & Steve Harrington's Mother, Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington Tags: Post Canon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Steve Harrington Has Absent Parents, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Robin Buckley is a Little Shit, Love Confessions, Getting Together, Character Study (of sorts), Being Yourself, Happy Ending, Steve Harrington Has Self-Esteem Issues

Originally Posted on Ao3: Link Here!

This is a long one, buckle up. An oldie, but a goodie.

💕—————💕

Steven Otis Harrington is born on Wednesday, February 22nd, 1967. He's birthed into a family of bulk-handed, cold-gazed, yet warm-blooded, ambitious, headstrong men. His mom though is a gentle human being, or at least however gentle her husband allows her to be. She's taught to coddle Steven until he's eleven years old. She's told to read him bedtime stories, but ones that would enable him to go after manageable dreams, not long-winded ones. She's given the option of harboring a crybaby or a man who will make people cry over the loss of him.

Steven Otis Harrington is born on a hump day. He's born slick and olive toned. He's born with all his fingers and all his toes. He's born with a straight spine, huge beating heart, and bigger soul.

Steven is born not crying.

Steve, as his mom calls him when he is taken from her, is born with fluid in his nose and at the back of his throat. And all his mom can do in that moment, is let men--who she hardly knows and trusts--take her baby, clean his nostrils, and pray to a benevolent God for "this boy to breathe and shiver." She cries so hard she has to puke. She tries to move to sit upright, but is promptly brought back down by the weight of gravity. She is covered in her own amniotic fluid and blood and the sheer force of want, the kind of force that elicits her baby to live.

Because all Mrs. Harrington has wanted since she was a little girl, was a son to dress up in little striped polos, straight leg jeans, and dark green sweatshirts. Who she kisses on the forehead. Who she cuts hair from. She has wanted a son that she can pour glasses of lemonade for, make soup for, and teach to swim. And she will fight God himself for this chance. If, in these terrifying few moments of no baby on her chest, she has to go to God himself and fistfight with the swing of Muhammad Ali, she will. Whatever thing has to be done to be able to go home and lay her baby in the new bassinet her neighbor gifted, she will do it. Trust on her Catholic beliefs and years of reading the Bible, back to front. She will do it all for little Steve to return to her.

Mr. Harrington is frazzled, standing ramrod straight, and twitching his fingers to move and pull at his hair. He's not a comforting person. Won't ever be. But he forces one of his hands to drag across his wife's head. He sucks in his breath via his nostrils and feels guilty on several astronomical levels that he's allowed to do something so mundane in the face of what his son is struggling with. This day, this god awful hump day, this moment, is the last time he will feel guilty over one of his son's failures.

But today, Mr. Harrington pets his wife's hair, prays and curses under his breath, forces his breathing to remain stagnant, and sighs when Steven returns.

Steven Otis Harrington is eight pounds, three ounces. He's got a full head of blonde hair that will surely fade to something darker, like his mother's. Has the eyes of his father and the moles of his grandfather. But mostly, he is kind in the way he cuddles close to his mother's chest, puffing air onto her neck, and letting both his parents know: I'm okay. I'll always be okay.

———— It's February 21st, 1987. Nearly one year since Vecna was slaughtered by the hands of a fourteen year old girl, two pining fourteen year old boys, a brother and his ex-girlfriend and his best friend, a group of oddball nerds with the help of an ex-jock and a fiery horror enthusiast, two breakout Russian prisoners, hysterical mother and lover, and a man who's romantic love is placed on a bottle of christened vodka when he goes back home.

Steve Harrington, now edging on twenty with hair just past his collarbone and enough green and indigo and blue sweatshirts to clothe the military, is working what seems like an endless shift at Family Video. Did it seriously survive the damage done by Vecna? Yeah. And that's probably the worst part of the recovery battle. The idea that he now has to go back to work with scars littered over his torso and a pension for swallowing down his panic; until he's safely nestled in the break room with his head hanging between his knees. No more is Steve Harrington who flirts with the ladies.

Robin is stacking VHS tapes to pass the time. It would be better if she'd put those away, Steve thinks. He thinks best when it comes to work. Runs the store like his own army, maybe the amount of sweatshirts is kept for a reason. He's scanning tapes that were overdue and making sure they get back on inventory before heading off to the shelves.

The store is quiet. Other than the stack of tapes. Seriously Robin, quit it, Steve wants to snap. But, he doesn't want to cause an issue. He wants to keep his cool. Wants to be able to apologize rather than be petty. Because tomorrow is his birthday. And he's got plans. Which really just involve him and Robin, a couple of tapes, and some cheap enough Chinese takeout.

The store is quiet until a tape falls and Robin seems to have enough. She's never one for silence.

"I'm bored," she whines. Her body flops back onto the glass case at the counter. Shoes scrape against the carpet as her legs stretch to their full length.

In another life, Robin is taller than Steve and he's jealous of her long legs.

Her shoes are covered in homoerotic doodles and little sayings of she'll go down not only on people's sisters, but also their moms. The other day she whispered, "careful, I have a thing for moms. I'll fuck her," to a young man who had a large enough anger problem over the pricing of renting a tape, nearly enough to snap one in half. Nobody heard her. Except for Steve. And the insult was weird enough that he only raised an eyebrow, froze his hands in place where they were reshelving tapes, then just shrugged and went back to work.

"That sucks," he huffs back.

Her body suddenly flings upright. She tips slightly forward with wild eyes and a crinkle to her nose. "We should play a game!" She shrieks into the comfortable, customer free air.

"No. And besides, haven't you been doing that?" He throws a glance out of the corner of his eye. She deflates over his left shoulder.

"No," she tries to protest. Her body continues to wither until she's leaned over the glass counter, chin in left palm, positioned to continue any argument with Steve, and hair floating into her eyes. Steve only turns around, crosses his arms over his chest, and sends a pointed look her way. "Whatever," she grumbles.

They go back to their respective tasks. Well, Steve does. Robin pulls out a magazine and looks at all the pictures where she's perched behind the counter.

Two more hours go by where Robin goofs off, does the occasional task, and then goes back to whining to Steve about any and every problem she can think of. It starts with being bored. Then, that the candy bar she stole from the rack and didn't pay for is too sweet. She garbles out a strew of, "the movie you picked is boring," and "this actress is so hot Steve. So hot." But, it all comes to a head when she talks about Nancy.

Steve's known about her crush on his ex-girlfriend. He's promised that he isn't mad. Just curious. Has heard all about Nancy's soft hands and pretty blue eyes and "the way she held that shotgun...I was ready to fucking beg to be a bullet or something." To which he responded, "Robin. Please, kindly, shut the fuck up."

But today? It's less about how pretty Nancy is and more about, "she wants to hang out with me tomorrow."

"Oh?" Steve questions. Though, some part of his heart is crumbling. Because he was really looking forward to his birthday tomorrow. And Robin hung out with him last year. He wants to do the same.

"Yeah, oh," she sucks in a large enough breath to puff her chest and then her hands start to gesticulate. "Like, THE Nancy Wheeler wants to hang out with me. Me, this band nerd who used to hate her guts and now I'm worried that I'll spill my guts and then she'll know how I feel about her. And oh my god Steve, what if she already knows? What if she's asking me to come over to like eviscerate me or something? Oh, but what if she knows and wants to kiss me?! I've never kissed anybody before, she'll basically be kissing a wall. And I don't want to embarrass myself, especially not in front of badass Wheeler. And also, what if she wants to kiss me but also feels like it's too soon because her and Jonathan just broke things off? What if she admits to wanting to kiss me and then I let things wait for a bit, but then she finds somebody else?! I'll be heartbroken, Steve. Absolutely heartbroken. Oh this is so bad, so, so, so, so, s--"

"Robin, oh my god. If you say 'so' one more time, I'm going to duct tape your mouth shut," he lightly snaps. She stops talking and looks down at the carpet from where she's standing. Her toe scrapes the floor. "Just. Go over there. Hang out with her. She knows what she wants. And I know for a fact that you know what you want. Let things play out, man. Can't rush everything."

And for the first time in probably fifteen minutes, Robin's rambles have silenced. Completely. She doesn't move, doesn't go back to the magazine or stack of tapes, or the shitty movie Steve has picked out. Doesn't do anything.

Steve's worried for a couple minutes. Should I signal that Vecna is back? He thinks hysterically. I know her favorite song, but what if I sound like a Muppet trying to get her out? Oh god, Tammy Thompson is totally going to get her stuck with Vecna, shit! He panics.

"I just don't want her to hate me," she chokes out. Her voice is thick with emotion; clogging up her throat, clinging to her eyes, bubbling in her nose.

Immediately, Steve's shoulders slump from where they've risen to his ears. He breathes a sigh of relief and fills his lungs with an air of sadness that he's now privy to. This feeling that Robin is portraying, this fear, this worry--it's one Steve has been feeling since Eddie got out of the hospital in May of 1986. Pining, hesitation, self-consciousness; they're killers.

"Robs, she won't hate you. No matter what happens, alright? She wants you in her home. She wants to hang out with you. Whatever she decides to do, whatever she doesn't do, it's not because of you. I'm sure," he strides over to her side and forces her head to rest on his shoulder. "You'll be okay. She'll be okay too. You just won't know until you go over there, right?"

Robin nods. And that's the end of that conversation.

Steve almost thinks it's the end of all conversations for the day. It's twenty minutes away from closing time. No customers have wandered or called in in the last three hours. That is, until Family Video's phone starts to ring.

He sighs, something weary and drawn out. Definitely overdramatic. He picks up.

"Thank you for calling Family Video where we can fulfill all of your movie needs. This is Steve speaking, how may I help you?" He drones in the phone.

"Oh don't sound too excited to speak with me, Stevie," a familiar voice drawls over the phone.

Like the sun peeking through the rainclouds, Steve perks up. "Eddie! Hey man, what's up?" He asks with almost too much energy. He tries to slump back down to his bored position, but he's already too riled at just the mere prospect that Eddie is calling him at work. Robin hears him from where she's melted into the counter and is over at his side in an instant. She smirks when he looks over at her, so he tries to swat her away. To no avail.

"Just calling to see if you had a couple movies in. But, I wanted to get your input on them. Figure out which one I should watch," Eddie states.

"Sure, uh, are you sure you want my input? Kinda shitty at recommending movies, man," Steve stutters down the line.

"Yeah of course I want your opinion. The movies I'm deciding between are Back to the Future and Animal House. Now, I know that y'all may have Back to the Future, but I have Animal House taped here at home."

Steve goes silent for a few seconds. What a fucking toss-up, he muses. "Uh, those are some good picks. How can I decide? Which one do you want to watch?"

"Either," Eddie answers. "But...I could watch both. Awful lot of time spent watching movies though, I'd get bored," he mutters. "How about I propose something?"

Though Eddie isn't at the store, Steve nods. Then he remembers Eddie can't see him and sighs down the line, "yeah, go for it." Robin covers her mouth and starts to snicker. Steve swats at her arms again.

"What if, you come out to the Hideout tomorrow to watch Corroded Coffin perform? Not usually your scene, I get it, but you could show up, get a Coke and some chips. Watch me perform, then I'll follow you back to your house and we watch these movies and I bring some beer. Of course, since I can't get that legally, it's sort of a gift from Wayne. That sound cool to you?"

He can't contain his excitement when he squeaks down the line, "yeah! That sounds awesome!" He wants to retreat for the way he shouted down the line, but why should he? Robin has plans with Nancy tomorrow, so otherwise, Steve would've been left alone in his big house. He would've opened his mailbox to a card with loopy, cursive handwriting from his mom and then slid it in the back of a dresser drawer, never again seeing the light of day.

"Cool. Great. You pick up Back to the Future and I'll see you tomorrow at 6:30?" Eddie questions.

"Yup," Steve replies. They say their goodbyes and then the phone is being placed in its cradle. He wants to run up and down the aisles, jump on the balls of his feet, kick the air, and scream at the top of his lungs. "I get to hangout with Eddie tomorrow!" He shares with Robin.

She cackles at his excitement and they discuss Steve's birthday plans.

Maybe his twentieth won't suck after all...

———— That statement quickly gets doused the moment the 22nd arrives.

So, it's February 22nd, 1987. Steve, not Steven, is awoken very rudely at seven thirty in the morning. His doorbell is rung five times in quick succession, enough for him to worry about it being broken if the ringing goes on any longer.

He pulls on some sweatpants and a sweatshirt and stomps down the stairs. The left part of the front door swings wide open when he rips it from the jamb.

There, on his front porch, is Robin. She's dressed in cuffed suit pants, her super homosexual Converse, a nice plaid button-up tucked into the pants, and enough jewelry to open her own store. There's also an ominous, large duffle bag slung over her shoulder.

"Oh my god! Robin, how many times do I have to tell you that you can't ring the doorbell that many times?!" He scolds.

She at least looks a bit sheepish before schooling her expression. "Oh whatever. I'm here because we need you looking nice for Eddie's concert!" Her hands wave as she talks, Steve's fond of that.

Steve's expression falters from one of irritation to apprehension to dimmed sadness. "Why do I need to change the way I look? Aren't my clothes just fine?"

Robin sighs over exasperated, "Because your clothes are going to make you one, stand out and two, look like a major douchebag. Plus, don't you want to look nice for Eddie?"

He nods, but his expression gets gloomier. "I mean, yeah...but I thought that I looked nice anyway? Shouldn't I just be myself?" He asks quietly. He's starting to curl a bit in on himself, letting his shoulders guard his ears, and his head bow closer to his collarbone. His hair brushes gently between his shoulders.

"You can be yourself, you just can't look the usual. Gotta spruce it up, look nice for the fellas?" She teases.

That's how he finds himself sitting on the edge of his bed, watching Robin root through his closet. She makes a pile of shirts that are "too preppy, Steve!" It's all the polos his mom bought him. All of the sweaters he likes to layer over t-shirts. All of the henleys that his mom said made him look like, "such a wonderful young man, my precious boy."

Though his parents are consistently absent, he still adores his mother. She showed her affection in the food she used to make and the gifts she would bestow and her chaste, wet forehead kisses.

When they'd come home from the department store with several new polos and two different colors of denim jeans, she'd declare that Steve put on a fashion show for her. He'd go into his ensuite bathroom and change into all his new clothes, reentering his bedroom in a fashionable outfit. She'd say, "pose for me Stevie, Mommy wants to see how good you look!" And he would do it every single time. They'd laugh and laugh. Then, when his dad would be home later in the day, they'd show him too. He wouldn't pose for him, but his dad would think that he looked very dapper and put together.

For those little moments in time, the Harrington family would be a family. Afterwards, his mom would serve up a new casserole with green beans and mashed potatoes. Mr. Harrington would talk about business and gloat about his new clients. He'd tell Steve that he was smart and that, "one day, you'll take over the company. And I think you'll do just fine. You'll be greater than okay." Even though Steve eventually grew to hate that idea, he'd soak in the praise he would be drenched in, he would glow with pride that his dad thinks so highly of him, he'd feel a little older and a lot bigger and more ambitious.

Now that his parents are gone though? He doesn't chase the dreams his dad had laid out for him. He sits in the silence of his home, lingering in the doorways of what-ifs and could've-beens. While eating TV dinners or a bowl of macaroni and cheese, he reminisces on the meatloaf his mom made some ten years ago. The empty rooms now gathering dust tend to haunt him at night. Every card sent in the mail is shoved in crevices he'll never clean. His Beemer sits as lonely as he is. Though, he finds comfort in his clothes. In his hair. Things that his mom would participate with him in. Those things that tell him, I'll be okay as long as I know how to do this.

And he does. That's why he hates the idea of having to change how he looks just to go out with Eddie. The thought trickles down his spine and makes him twist with nausea. It doesn't help that a good majority of his clothes are deemed too-highly for someone like Eddie. He likes to think that Eddie doesn't mind; he's never commented on Steve's clothes. Maybe he doesn't like when people point out his clothes, he wonders.

Steve loses himself in the thoughts of his mother. That is, until Robin chucks a pair of acid wash jeans--they have a few rips and holes--at his face and he blinks back to existence.

"You're gonna put those on! And..." she wrestles with the various items that clink in her duffle bag. "This!" She exclaims, throwing a t-shirt at Steve's face.

He unravels it. On the front is the album cover of Metallica's Ride the Lightning. It's a plain black with the album design. He crinkles his nose.

"Where'd you get this? This wasn't in my closet," he points out.

"Oh, just Eddie," she smirks. "Told him that I wanted a metal shirt so that I could maybe sneak into his show. He threw this one at me and told me to get out. Guess I woke him up too early. I don't think six is that early," she claims.

"It's pretty early," Steve states bluntly.

"Whatever. Just put the stupid clothes on. Then..." she hoists the bag up onto Steve's bed. "I can decorate you!" The bag's contents spill over his mattress. There's a variety of chains and studded bracelets, eyeliner colors and eyeshadow palettes, and a pair of large, chunky, black combat boots.

Steve rolls his eyes, but goes to the ensuite to change anyway.

To say he likes the look would be a false statement. He hates it. So much so, he considers banning Robin from his house for the next week and banishing the clothes to the back of his closet. The jeans are tight in too many places, his skin is exposed to the cool air of the Harrington home. His arms with drag scars are on full display. Steve wants to climb into his bathtub and hide in the dark. Wants to wrap a towel over his body. This doesn't feel like me at all. Why can't I just wear my clothes? Steve questions.

He leaves the bathroom with the confidence of a timid deer in headlights. He tugs at the sleeves of his shirt, attempting to hide his scarring. Pats at the open areas on his jeans, thinking that his hands could magically sew the denim back together. In some odd, possibly because he's so exposed way, Steve finds that he just wants to cry.

"I don't like this outfit Robs," he admits quietly.

"It doesn't look that bad, Steve. Just get over here so I can make you look good!" she says louder than needed.

Make me look good? Steve wonders.

Now he feels like the eleven year old boy his parents left behind. Like he's standing in the foyer, listening to his father demand that he sharpen up. His dad looms over him, standing at an intimidating 6'4". He pushes the words from his mouth so hard that spit sprays into Steve's little hazel eyes. In his dad's hand is his report card. It features all the Cs and Ds that burn into his soul like a brand. His dad reams that "you'll never be smart. Never. Such a disappointment." Steve's mom stands behind his dad with tears clogging her eyelashes, but she pushes at the corners to keep her makeup pristine. She doesn't go to Steve and tell him to stay himself, doesn't offer to go get him a new outfit to have a fashion show. She mutters something about learning a lesson and having to make his food and keeping himself in line, unlike his father. She tuts and worries, but not enough to comfort Steve. This was all so much worse when they came home to learn he didn't get into college. His dad had said, "you have never been good enough for me. Your mom and I only wanted the best for you and you betrayed us. You're going to get a job and learn your lesson."

They don't speak anymore. Steven Otis Harrington is left home alone at age eighteen with the inability to breathe on his own. With demons that his blood family can't know about. He wishes he could explain that he's good enough or at least okay.

Steve wonders if he'll ever be good enough for anybody. He wonders if just his clothes are good enough for the people he loves, adores, would die for. But do they like the way Steve expresses himself? Make me look good? I think I usually look okay, Steve holds onto.

He sits on his bed anyway. For several hours. Lets Robin hold his jaw to apply eyeliner, hook several chains into his belt loops, rip bigger holes in his jeans, wrap bracelets about three inches up his wrist, gel back his hair, and spray him with a musky cologne.

Robin chirps out, "looking so good! This may be your best look yet!" Before leaving though his front door and setting his mail on the kitchen counter. It's only three in the afternoon.

Steve is freshly twenty years old, sitting in a bedroom that his mom decorated so many years ago with plush toys and soft wall art of Winnie the Pooh. He is exiting his teenage years a more broken man than his father ever was at this age. He's standing in the kitchen, flitting through mail, and shifting from foot to foot because his shoes hurt his heels. Steven Otis Harrington gets one letter and a Pooh colored package from his mom.

In the reflection of the kitchen window, he sees himself clutching his mother's mail to his chest. Standing at 5'11", much shorter than his dad, but with his eyes. They're rounded out by black, smudged eyeliner. They'll never see eye-to-eye. Steve contemplates scrubbing it off with a harsh tea towel. In the window he also doesn't see himself. He looks down at his clothes. They fit tight and too loose, clink if he moves a leg, threads pressing into the soft open areas of skin. His arms are itchy from being exposed to oxygen. The hair that his mom taught to always maintain volume, is slicked down hard enough that he can squint and see the shape of a shaved head.

He hates it all. But it's to impress Eddie, right? All Steve wants is to be loved, so he'll do what he can. If he has to fight with God, throw his arm like Muhammad Ali, he will.

———— It's now 6:00. Steve's driving over to the Hideout in hopes that he can get a soda and a booth before it gets too packed. He's going at this alone. Alone and in an outfit that doesn't define him in any sort of way. Makes him feel more like a sore thumb and he prays to God that nobody asks about the album on the front of his shirt. He'd only be able to say, "Master of Puppets," and then crumple in despair as he gets laughed at.

Metal music. Overcrowded bars. Loud concerts. Black clothes and chains and all the other miscellaneous things thrown on his body.

None of this is Steve Harrington or even Steven Otis Harrington.

He wants to go home and eat a sad microwave meal while dressed in clothes his mom would approve of. Ones that he approves of. Clothes that feel like comfort that's been absent since he was eleven years old.

But he has to support Eddie. That's his duty, he decides. Because no matter what people think about him, he'll support all of the things people that he loves likes. But does anybody like anything that Steve Harrington likes? Or do they just like what he can do for them? Y'know, the car and arcade trips, concerts and loud music, rambles and advice.

Does anybody like Steve Harrington? His parents don't even approach the word.

Steve files into the bar as fast as humanly possible. He pays for a Coke with too much ice and a bowl of half stale chips. Eats them anyway, doesn't want to cause a scene because he already feels so out of place. The booth he chooses to sit at is sticky and musky with sweat and cigarette smoke. One of the Corroded Coffin boys is up on stage, plugging in various instruments, tapping on different mics, and scanning over the setlist. Do they play originals, do they play just metal music, do they know that I'm here? Steve wants to ask.

He prays to that same God. Asks that nobody, but Eddie, knows him. Begs for mercy while he's trapped in the booth.

His arms stick to the seat's vinyl. It rips at his scars and makes tears bead in the corners of his eyes. He keeps his line of sight downwards so he can carefully dab at them with a rough napkin. Like his mom taught him when he learned about manners. There's eyeliner on the corner of the paper, it'll probably steak over his cheeks if he cries anymore. So he steels his expression, sucks in a hefty breath, and faces the stage once more in hopes that his facade won't crumble.

The sleeves of the Metallica t-shirt are tugged at once more. His fingers play with the threads on his pants. He hates this, but he loves Eddie.

In a short few minutes, Eddie and the rest of Corroded Coffin enters the stage light. He slings his guitar over his torso and plays a few starting chords. Jeff, the boy with short sheared hair, he announces the first song of the night. Then, the concert starts.

Steve doesn't enjoy the music. It's loud at every single second and makes his ears ring like the after effects of a concussion. Everybody in the room is pressed too close in and sweating against each other's backs and torsos. He's lucky he chose to sit down. After so long of conforming to social standards and throwing parties and being absolutely nasty, Steve's almost content with being a wallflower. Content with the idea that probably nobody recognizes him. And he hopes it stays that way.

That is, until a patron walks by and sneers at him, "you don't belong here, meathead!" They cackle to themself, reach over for the cold cup of Coke water, and pour it over Steve's lap. Is this what it was like when I did this shit? Steve ponders with tears once again building in his eyes.

His resolve is crumbling and he can't stand the smell and heat and crowd of the bar. He flees out of a side exit door and practically sprints over to his car.

And there he sits. Contemplating. Should I go home? Should I wait until Eddie is done?

He chooses to go crawling back to his vacant house and hopes that Eddie understands tomorrow morning. He hopes that Eddie doesn't see him this way, that he forgot that he invited Steve in the first place, hopes that maybe Steve just got caught too busy at work to even slip out for a night of "fun."

At twenty years old, Steve hides in the sanctuary of his bedroom. It's only seven in the evening. He doesn't take the uncomfortable clothes off though. Lays on his duvet with his hands tangled over his belly. His hair is starting to crisp and knot and crunch. There are blisters the size of quarters on the backs of his heels. Eyeliner smudged everywhere around his eyes and eyebrows and bridge of his nose.

He rolls over with tears in his eyes.

At eleven, Steve was scolded for crying at every last little thing. His mom was also chewed out for raising such a sensitive boy.

He doesn't cry as much in hopes his mom will learn to forgive him. In hopes that maybe, his mom will still like him. Or maybe, his mom will demand a fashion show and hold him gently against her chest, and allow him to breathe. He isn't sure how to breathe on his own without the help of other people, but he thinks that there's a possibility that breathing is overrated. That there's a way for him to just wither to dust if he doesn't inhale. If he exhales, he's sure he'll cry.

So he doesn't. He holds his breath and promptly falls asleep in the tightest curl. He imagines that the empty space beside him is where his mom lays. That she's tapping on his spine and cooing softly into his hair. That she made soup and it's waiting for him downstairs. That all she's waiting for is her little Stevie boy, her precious baby, to roll over and puff breaths into her neck.

———— Only two hours later, at nine, Steve startles awake. There are sounds coming from downstairs. He doesn't move to check it out. It could be a demogorgan, his brain mutters. He ignores it.

He ignores the ball of light crackling in his chest at the sheer though that his parents came home. For the first time since June of 1985. They call, always, to say they're on their way back. But something is always delayed. Or his dad is always cheating. Or his mom is always throwing a fit.

He ignores the idea that they came home just for him, to wish him a happy birthday, to welcome him into pure manhood, to watch him open the parcel he received earlier in the morning.

A voice rings out, "Steve?"

The pure streak of excitement coating Steve's soul in neon green dies out like a candle flame. A candle he hasn't blown out since he was ten years old.

Steve curls tighter, if possible. His door remains shut. The bed is still empty behind him. His clothes are digging into the meat of his thighs and slight chub to his stomach. A chain rattles, but he doesn't reach out to silence it.

"Steve? Dude, are you home? It's Eddie. You left the door unlocked," the voice rings louder. He sounds raspy and exhausted. Steve really wishes he hadn't agreed to hang out or that he just called Eddie to say he didn't feel good. He wishes that Eddie didn't come all this way to see his buddy in such a melancholy state.

Footsteps trample up the stairs and to the wood outside of Steve's bedroom door. There's a set of three knocks. They're quiet, but firm.

"Sorry if I'm waking you up. I brought the movie and some beer and some pizza. Another thing too, but it's a surprise. Do you still want to hang out for a bit?" Eddie's voice comes soft through the door. It envelops Steve in a way no voice has in a long while. "We don't even need to watch anything, we could just talk in your room. If you want," he offers.

Steve uncurls slightly, enough to bring his head up and speak. "You can come in," he croaks.

The door creaks open. Several things are placed on Steve's desk. Then, Eddie is sitting on the end of his bed, elbows on his knees, face turned to not look at Steve.

"Missed you at the show," Eddie admits.

Steve doesn't respond. Just breathes shakily and brings his head back down. His body curls again.

"It was cool. We played a Queen song. I weaseled it onto the setlist; wanted to play it just for you," his voice whispers.

The room is silent again. There's rain drizzling down outside and Steve continues to attempt to hold his breath. He really doesn't want to cry. Especially because Eddie is in his room right now.

Eddie scoots closer so that his hip is touching the bottom of Steve's socked feet. He tentatively brings a hand to wrap at his ankle, thumb rubbing at exposed skin.

"You're dressed up in some gnarly clothes," he points out. Steve stifles a whine. Don't cry, idiot, he chastises. "Were you planning on checking out the show?" Eddie asks kindly.

Steve nods. He whispers, "I was there for a little bit."

"Oh," Eddie breathes. He sounds somewhat disappointed.

"I'm sorry. I wanted to stay and watch, but I couldn't. I'm sorry I didn't do what you wanted. I'm sorry if I made you mad, I didn't mean to," Steve rushes out, breaths growing wild, dazed, ragged. Eddie stops rubbing at his skin; he pulls his hand away entirely. "I just. I wanted. I didn't..." he stammers. His lungs hurt, his nose burns, there are tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

Steven Otis Harrington has been taught to not cry in every circumstance. He had been told at a young age that he was born without a single scream, not even a sigh. His dad admitted that it scared him. But he was quick to tell Steve that now it was a good thing if he kept quiet, if he didn't cry. Especially if he was yelled at. Especially if he was overwhelmed. Especially if he was talked to unkindly or hit or humiliated. "Don't be sensitive," Steve's dad had warned.

There are tears streaming down his face even though he continues to hold his breath. His body doesn't budge. Won't even shiver.

"Stevie?" Eddie's concerned voice washes through. "Shit," he mutters. His hands make their way to Steve's torso, trying to shove his arms to the side, turn him onto his back, whittle him into an upright position. To no avail. "Steve, sweetheart, I need you to breathe with me," he urges.

Steven Otis Harrington was born not breathing.

There's panic laced in Eddie's words, in his tone, in his movements. But, Steve shakes his head vehemently. I can't, he thinks. I don't know how, he wants to admit. Did you know that I didn't cry when I was born? He wants to ask. Is this it, am I doing it right? Am I good enough? Am I disappointing you, more than I already have? He can't question.

All at once, the world is shifted. Steve is against his bed's headboard with his legs bracketing Eddie's crossed ones. There are hands on his exposed knees, but he doesn't have the words to tell Eddie to stop touching him. So he shifts as much as he can away.

"Steve," Eddie's voice surges. "You can do this, I know you can," his hand brings Steve's to his chest. Though there's panic in his heart--Steve can feel it through the soft shirt--his breath is slow. "Just match what I'm doing, okay?"

He counts. He inhales and fills up any empty space in his chest. He exhales hot over Steve's arm. He does it again and again and again, not once does he give up. But, it's not enough.

"You're doing really well Stevie, so good," he praises. His voice is feather light, still raspy, but calm. "Not gonna stop, keep breathing with me."

Steve thinks Eddie makes it sound easy. Even though he knows it isn't. Knows that at one point he scared his parents by the lack of air traveling through his body. Scared Robin the same way too, when he was passed out on the floor of that cold Russian bunker. He makes people feel panicked, pained, exasperated. Rarely do people care about him so fervently outside of situations like this. His parents made that known. His own body does that to him.

Eventually, though it takes nearly fifteen minutes, Steve's breathing is set. Shaky and hiccuped, but rushing into the room easily enough.

"Scared me," Eddie mutters. And he sounds so exhausted. Steve just knows it's because of him.

"I'm sorry," he timidly states. There's an ache in his chest, his fingers, behind his eyes. He's still crying. And he wonders, is this it? Have I been born again?

There's a brief pause after the apology is said. Eddie gazes at him, eyes wide and hurt. He doesn't move away, but he doesn't let himself linger either. Steve thinks he did something wrong, if a pimple has made itself known on his face, or even worse, an Upside Down creature lingers behind him. He begins to panic again.

"Hey, no, no," Eddie reassures. "You're alright. You're okay," he sighs. "Was just lost on the fact that you're apologizing to me."

"Well, yeah," Steve says. Like a solution, like a fact. The sky is blue, asphalt becomes hot under the sun, and Steve apologizes for scaring Eddie. "I scared you. I didn't see your whole show. I disappointed you. Made you mad," he lists.

There's that face of shock and hurt washing over Eddie. He's so outwardly expressive, it terrifies Steve.

Eddie's mouth opens and closes like a gaping fish. He grunts before trying again. This time he's firm when saying, "you don't need to apologize to me. Not for something you can't control. For something you need other people to help you with.

"You don't need to apologize for scaring me. I just panicked, I didn't know what was happening, but I got my bearings. All I wanted was for you to be okay.

"And you didn't disappoint me by not watching the rest of the show. And you didn't make me mad either. I'm just tired, but I'm always tired after I perform. I'll get over it," he assures. "It's your birthday, the big twenty, I wanted to do something nice for you. But I couldn't cancel or move my show. Had to compromise," he smiles.

"Oh," Steve exhales. He doesn't know what to do with that much information. He's been taught for years to not cry so hard or openly. He's been the main source of so much disappointment and anger in his life, he wonders how he's survived this long. He doesn't know how to comprehend someone being nice to him after something as explosive as what's happened. "Oh," he states again.

Eddie watches him with curious eyes. His thumbs twitch where they rest over his own knees. After another second of lost thought, he asks, "why didyou leave so early?"

Steve doesn't want to tell the truth. Wants to hide behind the chains still shifting over his jeans, place his hands in the holes on his knees, tug at the sleeves of the t-shirt again. "I got heckled, I guess. This dude told me I was a meathead, that I didn't belong at the show. He poured my drink over my crotch. I was already so uncomfortable," he admits with his head tucked into his chest.

"That fucking dickwad," Eddie seethes. He drags a hand down his face and tucks hair behind his ears. "Why were you so uncomfortable? I mean, you don't have to answer that. I already knew it wasn't your scene, but maybe it'll help if you talk about it? You seem...extremely distraught."

"I guess it was everything," Steve whispers. "The music was loud and made my ears ring, like when I get a concussion? And there were too many people and it was so hot. The booth I sat at was really sticky and kept pulling at the scars on my arms. And," he stops to breathe. "And the clothes," he finishes quietly.

"Who's clothes? Your clothes?" Steve nods. "I have to admit, they're not really your style. What's the matter with 'em?"

Steve huffs and throws his hands up to gesture at the entirety of his outfit. "All of it!" he exclaims. "I hate everything about this outfit. And no offense about the shirt," he glances towards Eddie.

"None taken. Was wondering where you got that. Robin, that liar."

"Well, the shirt doesn't cover the scars on my arms, so I feel them stick to everything in my vicinity. And the pants are too tight and too much skin is exposed. The makeup makes my eyes look wrong. I like my eyes. I don't like my hair slicked back. My heels have blisters on them now from the combat boots that Robin forced me to wear," he's cut off.

"Forced you to wear? If you didn't want to wear any of this stuff, why'd you stay in it?" Eddie ribs.

"Because I wanted to impress you!" Steve exclaims, nearly shouts. His face turns beet red with shame and he covers his mouth. He glances away.

Eddie seems taken aback by the small outburst. Be he doesn't linger on it for too long. "Impress me? Steve, you don't need to change your look to impress me."

"Then how are you supposed to like me? Nobody seems to like the stuff that I'm into. People think I'm a douchebag based off of the normal clothes I wear. I like my clothes! My mom used to pick them out for me, and I know that sounds lame, but I liked it when she made me try them on. I liked the way she used to compliment me and dote over me. I miss it," Steve points out, quietly. "I miss my mom all the time. My clothes. My hair. They're the last things connecting me to her. Except for the birthday cards and I guess the one package she sent today."

Steve tries to hide in on himself. Why did I say that? He wonders. He plays with the hem of the t-shirt. It should be comforting, considering it's Eddie's. But all he wants is to rip it off of his chest and throw it across the room.

"Stevie, I already like you," Eddie sadly whispers. "I like how confident your regular clothes make you feel. I don't like the way these current clothes seem to make you shrink. I think it's bogus and frankly crazy to ask you to conform to my aesthetics. They're not for you. And I don't mean that in like a weird, you can't enjoy what I like way, but rather, this isn't you." He reaches out to hold Steve's hands, rubbing circles into his knuckles, and massaging his veins.

"You like me?" he asks.

"Of course," Eddie concedes. "I love you," he states. Like a fact. The sky is blue, asphalt becomes hot under the sun, and Eddie Munson likes, loves Steve Harrington. Steve smiles.

They sit for several minutes, Eddie gazing at Steve's form. And Steve basking in the attention he's being given. 

"Y'know...I saw the package over there on your desk," Eddie starts. "Why don't you shower to get the gel and eyeliner off? And then you can come out here in your comfortable clothes and you can open up some gifts?"

———— That's exactly what Steve Harrington does at 9:45 on his twentieth birthday. Then, he reenters his room in his own sweatpants and sweatshirt. The bottoms are a light grey. His shirt, a saturated indigo. Eddie sits patiently on his bed with two packages laid out in front of him. The Pooh gift from his mom and one wrapped in bright blue paper with the words "Happy Birthday" thrown about; the paper is wrinkled in some places like Eddie had a hard time smoothing it across the corners and edges. The birthday card from his mom is there too.

"Come on birthday boy! You've got gifts to tear into!" Eddie exclaims, patting at the empty spot across from him on the bed. His hand hits the mattress hard enough to jostle the packages, which he quickly resituates. "You should open mine first," he sings.

Steve sits down on his bed, legs crossed in front of him. He reaches out for the blue package and gives it a shake.

"Don't shake it, you cheater," Eddie says. Steve chuckles.

He's careful with the wrapping. Always is. His mom taught him to tear the paper in one clean sheet so that later, he can cut a square and keep it before the rest has to go out to the recycling. Though he can see Eddie jittering out of the corner of his eye, possibly with anticipation to just lean forward and rip it up into shreds, he takes his time.

Inside is a plain white box with lid. It's cardboard. Like the kind you get from a department store when purchasing a nice blouse or button-up for a kid's Christmas gift. Steve removes the tape from the edges and pries the lid off. Under a layer of wrapping tissue is a dark green, like the forest of trees behind his house, sweatshirt. His eyes widen, the lid held close to his right shoulder, and he doesn't speak.

"I, uh, I figured this would be something you'd like," Eddie quietly states. "Wayne took me to Macy's out in Indianapolis? I had to get a button-up for a cousin's wedding. Passed by this and knew that Robin mentioned something about your birthday coming up...I have the receipt if you need to exchange it. If you want to exchange it," he pulls the receipt from his wallet, slides it across the mattress, and pats the crinkled paper.

"I love it," Steve responds just as quietly. He looks down at the receipt very briefly, seeing $29.99 stare at him in bold black lettering. He glances back at the sweater and unfolds it. It's soft in his grasp, almost like it's been worn, but the tags are still attached to the collar. "I love this a lot."

"Good, I'm glad," Eddie says. "Now open the card and gift from your mom. Then, you can put on a little show for me!" He shoves the yellow package closer with the card set on top.

Steve rips the envelope open. He's always been less gentle with letters. Years of yearning for parents who have only grown absent and regretful through words on paper, that will do it. He looks at the front of the card. A snapshot of a lake, rippling under a sunset, shadowed by the graceful presence of hundreds of trees. And just like he guessed, inside is her loopy handwriting. Though, in previous years it's only said "happy birthday Steve," with a wad of cash.

This time she writes:

Dear Steve, How are you darling boy? Mommy hopes that you're doing great, better than okay. You've always been just okay. I want better than that.

There's a lot to say and not much room to write, may have to write on the back of this card. Hope you don't mind.

First, I'm sorry.

Steve stops reading in favor of breathing. He didn't realize he had begun to hold it once again. Never in a million years did he think he'd see the words I'm sorry written just for him. Written just for him from his own mother. He continues.

First, I'm sorry. For how long I've been away from you. It's not because of who you are, what has happened. I don't think saying I'm sorry will ever be enough.

And it better not be, you deserve better. You deserve kindness and presence and care. And I wish I didn't stop giving any of that to you.

Your dad...he's the same as he's always been. Cold, angry, bitter. He told me not too long ago that he doesn't love me. And now I think I better understand how you've been feeling for the last ten years.

I'm sorry he doesn't say that he loves you. I'm sorry that I can't reassure you that he does. But I know one thing.

I love you. I've always been proud of you, I was just so scared to say anything against your father. I like everything about you. How kind you've always been, the way you continue to dress up and style your hair, how much better you are than anybody else in the Harrington family. You're my light, my star, my sunshine. I prayed for you fervently as a kid, I prayed for you when you weren't breathing, I pray for you every night before I go to sleep. And that's true. And you may not believe me, the same way you don't believe in God. But even if your faith in religion is nonexistent, one day I hope you'll be able to, over the phone or through writing or just looking me in the eyes, say "I believe you."

Because I believe you. I believe in you. Wherever life takes you.

Now, Mommy got you something. I picked out the packaging because it reminded me of your nursery. Makes me weep thinking my baby boy is a grown adult now. And I know. I missed so much of who you are; I feel like we're strangers and that's not your fault. But I hope this can be the start of some sort of rebuilding.

Go ahead and open your gift, then continue the rest of this card.

Steve puts the card down and wipes his eyes. He doesn't want to cry again, but his mom had always been one to encourage him to be emotional. the release feels right for something as big as his mom apologizing to him. Even if the apologies don't soothe every wound on his torso.

"You alright Stevie? We don't have to continue if it's that bad," Eddie softly states. He gently touches the back of Steve's hand with his fingertips, pressing ever so slightly into his warm skin.

"No, no I'm good. It's alright," Steve waves off his concerns. "She got me something, she's saying stuff I thought I'd never see."

He grasps the package and stares at the box in wonder. His mom has to constantly be thinking about him in order to pick something out like this. To see a box like this and be reminded that she has a son back home. How often? Steve wonders. Every night she said, his brain supplies.

The box is pried open by the flaps. Inside are several layers of thin, light red, almost pink wrapping tissue. after throughly trashing his bed, Steve unveils a pair of dark-wash Levi jeans. Not blue enough to be considered nearly black, but blue enough that they're almost purple.

Eddie audibly goes awww, when Steve unfolds them to their full length.

"What?" he says. Is he making fun of me now? Steve ponders.

"Turn them around, there's something on the pocket," Eddie states, smile heard in his voice. He's giddy, warm in the way he speaks.

So, Steve turns the jeans around to look at the back-pockets.

There, in light yellow and red embroidery floss, is little Winnie the Pooh holding a balloon. These definitely didn't come with that on the butt, Steve notes. He hastily picks the card back up from his mom. He scans through the first part of the writing and continues to read on.

Ta-da! New jeans!

Steve can hear her butter soft voice ring out in his bedroom. Can hear the wave of her hands, the curl to her nude-pink painted lips.

Now, I'm not sure of your current size. I had to sneak a look at a pair the last time I was home; which, that was too long ago. And once again, I'm sorry. However, I've left the address for a nice little lady and her tailor shop on the back of this card. Just tell her that your mom sent you over and she'll do any alternations necessary. She'll bill directly to me, so you don't need to worry about paying her or your father getting upset.

But, I did the embroidery myself. Mommy used to do this all the time when you were just a tiny thing. I had to put your name in everything you wore or took to school, it was easier for me this way. Though, I thought I'd do something different to mark that these jeans are yours and only yours.

I hope you like them. Maybe you can snap a photo and send it to the address on this card? Or, better yet, I'll be on my way home mid-March. You could do a little fashion show for me, right baby? Your father won't be with me, so we can do whatever your heart desires. You could scream at me if you want, I wouldn't mind.

Oh, on another note, I saw something about the Munson boy? I'm so ashamed that the town thinks so poorly of him, even though he's been found not guilty. They always think so terribly about people different than them, they used to think of me differently. You know, before I married your father? I hope you don't treat that boy terribly; I know you won't. You're too kind for that. The Munsons have always been nice, I used to know Wayne in high school. If you run into either of them, show them hospitality. Be kind, my little star.

Anyway, it's late where I am and your father is getting irritated that I'm keeping the light on.

Write to me. Let me know about every great thing in your life. Hopefully, one day, I'll bear witness to them.

Love, Mommy (drawing of a heart)

Steve once again sets the card down with tears in his eyes. He chuckles, "she wrote about you."

"Oh?" Eddie breathes. He picks up the card. "Can I read what she said?" He implores.

"Yeah, just read under the sentence, 'you could scream at me if you want, I wouldn't mind.'" He watches Eddie flit back and forth between the words and then read it over two more times. He breathes out a hefty sigh.

"She doesn't even know me," he states quietly.

"She doesn't know me either," Steve whispers. "But I like to believe she's always had good judgement of character."

The room is once again silent. Steve sniffs every once in a while. He think over every single word his mother wrote. Every sentence punctuated. The thoughtfulness she still carries, even if it doesn't take her home as often as she wants, as much as Steve needs.

For the first time in several years, he feels like he can breathe. Like he can start to do it on his own. That he can hear her walk through the front door, take her shoes off, tiptoe up the stairs, barge into Steve's room, and wrestle him to tears with tickle attacks. He can feel her fingers through his hair, hear the small snips of styling scissors, the pats on his chest as she laid the collars of his polos flat.

He doesn't admit anything to Eddie about being born again. About his lack of breathing that's been haunting him since the moment he was ripped from the womb. He basks in every moment that's lost to time, where his mom existed and could've survived had she held hope against her chest the way Steve had been held. He rubs his fingers over the embroidery. He smooths his hands down the front of the sweater and denim legs, over and over and over.

Eddie suggests, "try the clothes on. I want to see you in all your glory."

———— At ten, Steve Harrington saunters out of his ensuite bathroom in the forest green sweater and Winnie the Pooh jeans. He slips on his white and red Nike Bruins to complete the outfit.

Eddie whoops and claps his hands loudly as he cheers, "there he is! That's Steve Harrington!" He gestures towards Steve's clothes. "Pose for me man!"

"Alright, alright," Steve giggles out. He puts his hands on his hips, pops his legs, puts one foot in front of the other, makes goofy faces. "Is that good enough for you?"

"Yeah," Eddie nods. "It's better than good enough," he gets off of the bed and makes his way over to Steve. "How do you feel right now?"

Steve looks down at his outfit. He stretches his arms out, brings his legs up, and places them back down. He nods, "I feel amazing." He twirls and twists, giggles slightly delirious at himself, and sighs in relief.

Eddie smiles, all teeth and gums, dimples, and eye crinkles. "You look amazing."

"Yeah?" Steve breathes.

"Mhm," Eddie hums. "You look amazing. You look comfortable. You look happy."

"Does that mean I impressed you?" Steve asks. He means it to be somewhat flirtatious, but there's an undertone of rippling anxiety. The worry of not being enough for somebody as eccentric as Eddie.

"Impressed? You knocked me flat on my ass is what you did!" He exclaims. "I like this on you Steve. I love this Steve."

"Like, you love the outfit? Because I think I've already picked up on that," Steve says.

"No, silly. I love you. I love quite literally everything about you," Eddie assures. "Which, I believe, includes your clothes."

Steve giggles. He thinks about his clothes and his choice in movies and the tapes in his car. He ponders on the cookies he bakes for Christmas and the costumes he wears at Halloween. Thinks back to sports in high school and the way all his training has applied to the Upside Down. The love he has for the Party and Robin and Joyce and Hopper. The love he has for Eddie.

"Even the sports?" Steve teases.

"Hey I may not understand the whole ball in laundry basket thing, but come on. Guys in shorts that are practically underwear? Stevie, I think if you spared a glance at me the one year we had gym class together, I would've came in my pants," Eddie passionately admits.

Steve crinkles his nose. "Gross," he bluntly states. But he holds the biggest smile this world has ever seen. "You really love me, huh?"

"Yeah Stevie, I love you," Eddie breathes.

"Good," Steve whispers. "Because I love you too," he puffs onto Eddie's lips.

But because Eddie can't be serious for a single moment in his life, he swats Steve's ass and exclaims, "alright hot stuff! Let's go heat up some pizza and party."

Steve rolls his eyes fondly. "Way to cockblock your own cock of interest."

"Oh, whatever. The quicker we eat, the faster you can have some dessert," Eddie says while wiggling his eyebrows.

"I hate you," Steve states.

"No you don't, you loooove me."

"Yeah Eds, I do."

———— Steve Harrington is born again on February 22nd, 1987. He's birthed into a family of people who treat him with constant, consistent kindness and adoration. His mom is still gentle, still lovable, still ready to fight God if necessary.

Steve is reborn with a new outlook on breathing and living. He conforms the way he knows how and doesn't let other people direct how he shouldlook.

Though his father never praises or loves him like he did when Steve was little, Mrs. Harrington is there despite it. She rushes back in like a tornado in late March, a brand new Winnie the Pooh stuffy under her arm with a whisper of, "you're never too old or sensitive for a soft bear."

She learns about Robin Buckley, the ramble-on, quick-witted, two left feet character that is Steve's platonic soulmate. She reintroduces herself to Nancy Wheeler, who she believes will be an excellent news journalist one day. She rekindles her high school friendship with one Wayne Munson and tuts over Eddie Munson the way she did to Steve. Though, considering the time period, it takes a while for her to fully understand Steve's relationship with Eddie, she doesn't ignore it. In fact, she embraces that part of her son. She's happy that despite how lonely his growing up had been, how empty all the rooms had seemed, how miserable dinners were; Steve Harrington was consistently loved, doted over, and cared about.

Steve Harrington has his father's eyes, mother's hair, and grandfather's moles. But he isn't cruel, not anymore. He isn't anything other than Steve Harrington with his polos and sweaters and Levi jeans. He's who he needs to be; and that impresses everybody.

"I'm proud of you star shine," Mrs. Harrington whispers into his hair one night after a brutal nightmare. He hadn't been breathing until she calmed him down. "I love you."

"I love you too Mom," he puffs into her neck.

Yeah, Steve Harrington will always be more than okay.

💕—————💕 Already posted my steddielovemonth fic, but I thought y'all deserved an extra treat in the form of one of my favorite fanfics I've ever written. Posted last year!

[atopvisenyashill]

how do you think jaehaerys and alysanne would handle raising a child with aerion brightflame-style madness? I know there's an argument to be made that all the "mad" targaryens are products of trauma but like, maybe being raised by jaehaerys is enough to drive a kid to do budding serial killer shit. they'll obviously handle it differently depending on whether the mad child is a boy or a girl but maybe jaehaerys would stop coddling a son if he reminded him of maegor.

now first of all, i think like you said, that growing up in That Family is trauma enough to drive you insane, and even a cursory look through real life monarchs will show you that a lot of these bitches were deeply unhappy with their lives and not even a little prepared for what was coming for them. i think all that plus jae & aly’s shitty parenting is plenty of trauma lol.

but second of all.....okay i actually had to sit with this for a while. this is what people mean when they say jaehaerys is only considered a good king because he's completely untested. all his opps are cartoonishly stupid like morion or rogar's dumb brothers and the few he does beat...he's not actually that important in beating (see: Maegor, the pirates in Tarth, etc). and all his sons are picture perfect boys! aemon and baelon have zero personality whatsoever; they never contradict him, they never argue with him, they never show themselves to have any sort of unsavory proclivities, they're perfectly content with the incestuous marriages picked out for them. vaegon is shuffled off to the maesters because he's a nerd and he's happier for it. all of jaehaerys' other sons die in the cradle! this man has NO SPICE!!!

ANYWAYS!!!!!! third of all (did i even make a second point besides yet again i hate jaehaerys? whose to say), i think so long as the kid is born after aemon and baelon, he's probably not a problem. there's ways jaehaerys can deal with a crazy ass third or fourth born son the same way he deals with having a nerd for a son. he can send him to the wall, to the maesters, to the faith, to the kingsguard. Baelon lives for quite a number of years so even tho he pre-deceases his father, there's still not likely a succession issue here. jaehaerys is also likely to pay way more attention to his sons, notice some weird behavior, and just go "ok this one is being given to the Wall haha yes we LOVE the north" or something. and if the kid remains dragonless, he can deal with a "targaryen crazy" son the way he deals with the women he considers "targaryen crazy" aka rhaena, aerea, and saera which is to say he can just banish them. a targaryen without a dragon is just not particularly powerful, especially one is way down in the line of succession. he can deprive them of the ability to cause damage because he has complete say over the dragons, then he can ignore the problem as it grows worse and worse until it explodes, and go "well i did everything a parent is meant to do and you're a loser so exile."

is this a mean answer. maybe. but i don't think jaehaerys is the sort of parent who could successfully handle a child with empathy problems or mental health issues (look at the way he talks to daella), and when we look at the way he treats vaegon and saera, we see him just ignore them until they're having little meltdowns in his face, then they get shuffled off, and i think that's likely to be his approach.

[amoodysim]

Amiyah: Whoooooo's hungry!? Oh, hey! I didn't even hear you com in!

Ali: Hey babe! I just got home, I'm making us some dinner!

Ali: Oh shit!

Amiyah: Do you need my help?

Ali: No, no, no! I got this! *nervous laughter*

Ali: Dinner's ready!

Amiyah: Mmmm, this smells so good!

Ali: Thanks! Umm... I need to talk to you about something...

Amiyah: Oh no...

Ali: Oh... No! It's nothing bad... I was just... I've been thinking about going back to school. The whole boxing thing isn't really working out and I think I might want to study something related to nutrition and health... but...

Amiyah: Oh! That's awesome! Yes, that sounds like such a good idea!

Ali: Really? I mean... I could still box on the side, just not be so active. It's going to be harder for me to train... I'd also have to juggle work, school, time with you and Jamari... I can just-

Amiyah: What? C'mon, we'll figure it out! You should do this for you! We'll figure it out, don't worry. I gotta go put him to bed, he's getting sleepy over there.

Ali: *thinking* Should I go back to school? Is this bad timing right now? Can I handle it all?

Amiyah: Hey, let's get comfy and watch a movie!

Amiyah: Ugh, this looks boring!

Ali: C'mon, it's interesting! Hey, Snow keeps asking to come up here! Are we in her spot?

Amiyah: Sorry, Snow... we're watching a movie tonight.

Ali: Hey, don't fall asleep! I think you'll like this one

Amiyah: *yawn* Yea, yea, yea...

*loud music and banging nextdoor*

Amiyah: Oh shit! What was that? Damn, Jamari is crying!

Ali: The stupid neighbors! I'll go deal with it!

Ali: Hey!... HEY!

Neighbor: WHAT?

Ali: Hey! Keep it down! What's with all the music at this hour?

Neighbor: Ok grandma, it's not my fault that you can't handle a little noise! Go away!

Ali: Are you serious?... Ugh, we need to move...

Amiyah: Shh... shhh... shhh... Ugh... We need to move.

[superspoonie24]

While not religious, I believe in the power of the universe, and that it has a reason to everything. Mostly that the challenges we face are there to teach us something.

What I've (eventually and very begrudgingly at times) recognized and started learning, is that I put my worthiness on my productivity. So being bed ridden because of disability (POTS and various chronic pain triggers) really forced me into seeing that thought pattern, and working on changing it. I still struggle A Lot with it, but I'm aware of it, and that's the first step towards change.

Does the challenges i face and my ever worsening health still piss me off? Oh yeah. All the time. But, there are moments where I have enough spoons to take a step back and see what it might be trying to say. And it helps in the long run, seeing the meaning these things have.

(This is what works for me. You do not have to believe in any of this. However you see the world is completely valid. Your pain and struggles are valid. You are more than enough, just the way you are 🧡)

Visual ID: multiple different cartoon people drawn to show their disabilities and other differences such as race, gender, beliefs (such as a woman wearing hijab) etc. end Visual ID.

((Tw/Cw: religion))

If any of ya'll are spiritual/religious, whats your reasoning/idea behind your disability and how its affecting your soul/journey?

Do you think its a test from God? Or maybe its from a past life? Is there a philosophy you hold to concerning it?

What spiritual ideas help you cope?

[strangedreamings]

S2E6 (spoilers abound)

Do we have to see Jaehaerys' body in the opening credits every week now?

Hi, Jason! Glad to see you're just as full of yourself as ever. He doesn't want to make a move without Aemond and Vhagar. Wow, and here I thought Tyland got all the brains.

"I am the Prince Regent, not a dog to be called to heel." Honey, you're both, and the sooner you can accept that, the happier all of us will be.

Ironrod suggests marrying Alicent to the Red Kraken (the current Lord Greyjoy). Dude, who do you think you are, Otto Hightower?

"The longer we wait, the more chance (Daemon) will prevail." No, no, keep waiting -- Alys and the curse of Harrenhal will drive him completely mad soon enough.

"My uncle is a challenge I welcome, if he dares to face me." I don't know how to break this to you, Aemond, but this crush of yours is not reciprocated.

Aemond fires Alicent from the Small Council and is a misogynistic dick about it. Alicent accuses him of still being angry about losing an eye. Honey, you're the one who wanted his nephew's eye taken in revenge, where did you think talk like that would lead?

Corlys wearing his Hand of the Queen pin. It looks good on you, dude.

Ah, the Sowing of the Dragonseeds. Rhaenyra's desperation for additional dragonriders is going to get a bunch of people killed or maimed.

The Small Council knows she is reaching and for fucking once, I agree with them. Maybe they'd take her seriously if she didn't sound like she was talking to her younger children.

Ser Steffon has so little Targ blood in him that it's not going to matter. Rhaenyra, this is such a dumb idea.

"Then perhaps the gods will favor us." Not unless the writers are going off-book (again).

Hi, Daemon. Which dead family member are you going to see tonight?

And he's back in the throne room, lovely. "The Heir for a Day" shit again? That must be really pressing on Daemon's conscience now that Viserys is dead.

Speaking of, hi, Viserys! Good to see you in (relative) health again. I hope HBO is paying all these cameo actors well, they all seem to be having a blast tormenting Daemon again (who looks truly devastated right now). HBO, you'd better be getting Matt's For Your Consideration campaign ready for next year's Emmys.

Ooo, a Rhea mention, even if we don't see her! I'll take it.

It's entirely possible that none of this is actually Alys or the curse's doing -- Daemon's conscience has more than enough fodder to torment him with. He hurt his brother, all three of his wives, and his daughters. It's about time all of that bothered him.

"...Stop watching me." And you still think you're fit to take KL by yourself? You're never leaving the Riverlands, Daemon.

"Daemon Targaryen asking for help?" "Counsel." He's losing his mind one night at a time but dammit, he's still got his wit.

"In three days' time, the winds will shift." Grover Tully is gonna die.

It's so dark in this cave that I can't tell which dragon that is. In the book, Steffon attempts to ride Seasmoke. Oh, it is Seasmoke. Thank God somebody said his name because he looks nearly black in the darkness.

"Do not show fear." Too late, Steffon is freaking the fuck out.

Just burn/eat him already, the tension is driving me nuts.

Is that dragontamer seriously just holding a long stick? Against a giant fire-breathing flying reptile?

Finally! Holy shit, that took FOREVER.

The Hull brothers are so goddamn hot. But don't think I didn't notice, Ryan, that the first person we see after Seasmoke's little barbecue is Addam. :P

So, is this madam TRYING to start a rebellion or what? "And his rightful heir denied her seat." Yep, she's trying.

"You have forgotten to fear me." You're going to have to do more than slap him, Rhaenyra.

Oh, the madam is working for Mysaria, got it. This really could work.

"This becomes you." Yeah, a sword in her hand so she can actually do her own fighting. Too bad nobody taught her how to use it.

Didn't the French Revolution start because of a famine? The smallfolk don't care who's on the throne as long as their bellies are full.

Oh Dear God, Otto as Hand to Aemond? Well, at least those Small Council meetings won't be boring.

Aemond's going to smother Aegon II with a pillow, I just know it. Aegon whimpers when he sees Aemond and you can't blame him. TGC is killing it with the agony, he needs a For Your Consideration campaign too.

"I remember nothing." I don't believe you and, unfortunately, Aemond doesn't either.

Rhaena and Joffrey come across a scorched area but they're in the Vale, who could've done that? Now she's in Aegon III and Viserys II's nursery with the boys and a baby dragon that I assume is Aegon's Stormcloud. Cute little dragon.

"You hate it here." Jeyne, you're not doing a damn thing to change her mind.

"Wild." So, are we talking Grey Ghost, the Cannibal, or Sheepstealer? Fuck, I guess this means the Rhaena-Nettles fusion rumor is true, if the wild dragon is Sheepstealer.

Rhaenyra is sending care packages to the people of KL. I fucking LOVE this!

Dammit, I don't want to like Gwayne Hightower but the actor has been making that fucking difficult. "He's kind." The delivery of that, you can tell Gwayne knows that's what Alicent wants to hear.

Rioting in the streets over Rhaenyra's care packages. Okay, maybe this was a bad idea, but it's certainly sowing rebellion.

Larys was born at Harrenhal? That explains SO MUCH. Him aligning himself with Aegon II is interesting and he's right, Aemond wants to kill his brother. Let's see where this goes.

Daemon's vision again. Looks like Aemma's death, great. I truly think Daemon loved Viserys, he was just too self-centered to express that love properly.

"Lord Grover is dead." Called it! Oh, Alys absolutely fucking killed him.

Addam and Seasmoke. Seasmoke misses Laenor and he can presumably tell that Addam is Laenor's kinsman (half-brother).

Is Seasmoke LAUGHING at Addam?

Holy fucking shit, I did not appreciate that jump scare!

Mysaria's backstory is fucking dark, even for GRRM.

Well, this is a ship I never thought I'd see on this show. I don't ship it but I'm sure there are fans out there who are absolutely thrilled right now.

Rhaenyra on Syrax, there's something we haven't seen in a while.

They're ending the episode there? We know it's Addam on Seasmoke, this isn't exactly news to the audience. Bah.

Preview for next week. "With these dragons, peace will be restored." *laughs from having read "Fire and Blood"* And they call Helaena a Dreamer.

[danandphilchronology]

Phil the Viking + Tim’s Adventure +  Worst Day Ever. + The Rabit iz comin to get you

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Hello besties! Another day of AmazingPhil circa 2008! We have quite a few I wanted to cover in a single sitting because I was inspired by their very in-depth and meticulous Met Gala review that you can see on Phil’s Instagram. Just looking at the titles, I can tell we are going to be in for an adventure!

Phil the Viking

I’m already nervous for what this could be. This past weekend I did a ton of independent research into Dip and Pip lore and I watched a video that was just Phil barking at the camera and let me tell y’all, that shit has scarred me. 

Wayback Machine (16 February 2008)

Muhammad Ali… Recipe for Life by loutyr

News In Color - College Edition by NewsInColor

Black History Month Presents- BLA… by agordon101

Ok, originally I was nervous because in these early youtube days, Phil doesn’t really have any rhyme or reason to his titling UNLESS he has made some kind of music lipsyncing video. I was pleasantly surprised to find that this was a vlog! Phil and some of his friend stared ina move called Faintheart which billed itself as “the first user generated movie”. Over 1400 myspace users auditioned for the movie and 11 non-professional actors were selected including our own Phil Lester who played Tim. I will link the imdb page here if you are interested in the plot of the film, but just to be warned, it sounds like it was as… good… and you think it is. 

It was presented at a film festival, received mixed reviews, and actually was nominated for a couple of awards. It’s crazy to think that Phil could have continued a career in actor. What a life that would have been. 

Total Watch Time 15m 30s

Tim’s Adventure

Wayback Machine (11 June 2008)

David Byrne: Playing the Building (BBTV) by boingboingtv

THE COMPLIMENTS COLLAB by PickThisCar

TAG! INSTANT KARMA! PASS THIS VID 4 HUMANITY!!! By KingHuman

Ok yall, the last video spoiled me because Phil is back in business as the king (I assume) of the weird side of youtube. It is very interesting to think that this era of Phil is the one Dan was like, “Yeah, we need to be friends”. 

Tim is a little guy who lives in Faceland (Phil’s actual face). The story of Tim is sad and short. He wished to find live and had to fight many uphill battles to be with his beloved, just for them both to be consumed by a dragon. This is not animated. This is nearly a minute of drawings on Phil’s face that I assume took at least a couple hours. This was, honestly, peak creativity. Bonus points for Phil for washing his face, I guess. 

Total Watch Time 16m 27s

Worst Day Ever.

Wayback Machine (25 June 2008)

the Trons - self playing robot band by pieplateindustries

PiKAPiKA THE MOVIE ~ GO! GO! PiKAPiKA!!~ by pikata08

Sing A Long by checkyourself

This was a song for men about how to check yourself for testicular cancer. I did a bit of research on that one. (10/10 for prioritizing health)

We love a storytime youtuber! Apparently Phil has a fear of rollercoasters? Not really, but he dreamed that he had killed an entire cart of passengers on a rollecoaster because he forgot to engage the harnesses. He was actually killed in his dream by a group of theme park mascots. While wearing a full suit and tie, he just talks us through an awful day from beginning to end. The ending, however, is true 2008 Phil and I 100% recommend you watch it. 

Total Watch Time 19m 11s

The Rabit iz comin to get you

I promise that I did not decide to spell it like that. That title does not contain any mispellings by me, I promise. That is all our Philly’s doing. 

Wayback Machine (7 July 2008)

The Blood Arm featuring Anais “Do I Have Your Attention” by laundryLA

Dynamic Architecture by dynamicarchitecture

The Cheese Incident by hiddentracktv2

CHILDHOOD STORYTIME!! Yay! Did you know baby Phil wanted to be a vet because he liked animals and wanted to help them. I could cry. He has always just been a little bean. He also wrote a murder story though, so I guess the sweet and terrifying evens out. The title comes from a story her wrote with the same name. The rabbit killed everyone and he could only be defeated by an entire army. I feel like I understand Phil less than I did before actually? Like what is going on? Why didn’t he become a horror author or horror movie director? Why didn’t his parents put him in therapy? Maybe they did. Imagine being Phil’s primary teacher and you notice that he as a tendency to write stories about murder and death… I would have nightmares.

Total Watch Time 21m 41s

[originalleftist]

A poll of Gazans by the Palestinian Center for Research shows that a majority believe the October 7th attack was a mistake.

I am not familiar with this pollster or its credibility, and polling in general is often unreliable and open to manipulation, so take the numbers with some skepticism. Still, I think it's worth looking at.

Some key highlights:

-57% of Gazans believe October 7th "was incorrect", down from 57% support in June. Only 39% thought it was "correct" now.

-A majority in the West Bank, 64%, still support it, though support has dropped there too. I speculate that the difference is likely due at least in part to how much greater the cost of the war has been for those in Gaza.

-Disturbingly, nearly 90% says they do not believe Hamas committed atrocities. How much this is due to a different definition of what constitutes an atrocity, and how much is due to misinformation, is unclear. I suppose the latter is better than knowing that atrocities occurred and supporting them, as misinformation can at least in theory be corrected. This does speak to the effectiveness of Hamas's propaganda apparatus.

-VERY POSITIVELY, only 35% of Gazans support Hamas- a reduction from 38%. However, it is still more popular than Fatah.

-1,200 people were polled face-to-face, 790 in the West Bank and 410 in Gaza. The margin of error is 3.5%

I think what this shows, in conjunction with the massive protests against the Netanyahu government and in support of a ceasefire for hostages deal in Israel, is that the majority of the population on both sides is opposed to continuing the war. I know that this is not motivated entirely by idealism, altruism, or respect for the other side- Mostly, I imagine, it is driven by self-interest, by the cost of the war to them and the people close to them. But that's just humanity all over. When push comes to shove, many, perhaps most people are driven primarily by the interests of themselves and their groups, not universal moral principles.

What it does show once again is that the situation is a lot more complicated than "All Palestinians support Hamas/October 7th" (or "All Israelis support Netanyahu/the war"). And that there is an opportunity for peace, if those in power can be made to listen to the wishes of the people they rule.

I would also ask "pro-Palestinian" activists in the West to justify their continued cheerleading for an atrocity that most Gazans now consider a mistake, but its long become increasingly clear to me that many of them do not give a shit about Palestinians or Palestinian voices, but simply for using Palestinians as mascots for their Anti-semitism/wanting a revolution against the "Western establishment".

Full text of the article:

"By Ali Sawafta

RAMALLAH, West Bank (Reuters) - A majority of Gazans believe Hamas' decision to launch the Oct. 7 attack on Israel was incorrect, according to a poll published on Tuesday pointing to a big drop in backing for the assault that prompted Israel's devastating Gaza offensive.

The poll, conducted in early September by the Palestinian Center for Policy and Survey Research (PSR), found that 57% of people surveyed in the Gaza Strip said the decision to launch the offensive was incorrect, while 39% said it was correct.

It marked the first time since Oct. 7 that a PSR poll found a majority of Gazan respondents judging the decision as incorrect. It was accompanied by a drop in support for the attack in the West Bank, though a majority of 64% of respondents there still thought it was the correct decision, the poll found.

PSR's previous poll, conducted in June, showed that 57% of respondents in Gaza thought the decision to be correct.

More than 41,000 Palestinians have been killed by the Israeli military offensive that has laid waste to the Gaza Strip since last October, according to the Gaza health ministry.

Israel launched its assault after the unprecedented Hamas raid which killed 1,200 people and resulted in another 250 being abducted, according to Israeli tallies.

PSR said it surveyed 1,200 people face-to-face, 790 of them in the West Bank and 410 in Gaza, with a 3.5% margin of error.

PSR polls since the Oct. 7 attack have consistently shown a majority of respondents in both Gaza and the West Bank to believe the attack was a correct decision, with support generally greater in the West Bank than Gaza.

PSR said the poll released on Tuesday marked the first time since Oct 7. that its findings had shown simultaneously in the West Bank and Gaza a significant drop in the favorability of the attack and in expectations that Hamas will win the current war.

Overall, the poll found a majority of 54% of respondents in Gaza and the West Bank thought the decision was correct.

In August, the Israeli military accused Hamas of mounting an effort to falsify the results of PSR polls to falsely show support for Hamas and Oct. 7, though the military said there was no evidence of PSR cooperating with Hamas.

PSR said it had taken the allegation seriously and investigated it. PSR said on Tuesday its analysis of the data did not flag any inconsistencies that would arise when data is arbitrarily altered, and that a review of quality control measures "convinced us that no data manipulation took place".

Support for Oct. 7 did not necessarily mean support for Hamas or killings or atrocities against civilians, PSR said, adding that "almost 90% of the public believes Hamas men did not commit the atrocities depicted in videos taken on that day".

The poll showed a drop in the number of respondents in Gaza who said they support Hamas to 35% from 38%. But the Islamist movement remained more popular than Fatah, led by President Mahmoud Abbas, in both in Gaza and the West Bank.

(Writing by Tom Perry, Editing by William Maclean)"