#cw aids mention

[iheartcborle]

// illness + death + aids/grid mentions (im fine) -Wh

Hate being sick, I hate the winter. Just reminds me of when I was sick- Like now- walking home now I'm shivering and lightheaded cus the bodies sick but all I can think about is how it felt to be weak and dying of that horrid disease. Im fine, its just in the background of my mind. -Wh

[talkingattumble]

Hi guys! Here’s some advice from a cane user on how to spot a fake cane user/disability faker!

YOU CANT

You can not spot a “fake disabled” cane user. You can not know if someone’s “really disabled”, much less by just looking at them. Here are some common misconceptions.

“Cane users always need their canes. If they walk without it or put it away when it’s inconvenient, they’re faking”: WRONG! Many cane users are what we call “ambulatory” cane users. This means they don’t always need their canes to walk. I’m an ambulatory cane user, and I experience really horrible leg pain on the daily. However, I don’t always use my cane, and when I don’t need to walk or stand a lot in a certain place I don’t use it. And when I do use it, I may lift it off the ground or carry it in places that are sandy, gravelly, or otherwise hinder my cane.

“Cane users walk abnormally without their canes, someone who walks normally without their cane is faking”: WRONG! Many ambulatory cane users can walk in a way that seems “normal”. This doesn’t mean they’re not in pain, or not “really disabled”. This just means that their condition doesn’t cause a noticeable difference in walking, and likely manifests in a different way.

“Cane users always need their cane, someone who doesn’t use their cane at home is faking”: WRONG! Cane users may not use their canes at home, because at home they may be able to do things like sit down wherever and whenever, regain more spoons, and use other mobility aids. Additionally, some ambulatory cane users only need or use their canes when they are doing something physically taxing, like going on a hike or standing in a long line.

“My cane user friend told me this person looks like they’re faking, so it must be true”: WRONG! Being a cane user doesn’t immediately make you an expert on all different conditions and experiences. Your friend does not know the random cane user walking down the street, they are going off looks and stereotypes. Disabled people are not immune to being ableist.

“They enjoy their cane too much/they’re too happy/they decorate their cane, so they can’t actually be in enough pain to need a cane” WRONG! We’re people like everyone else, and we experience positive emotions too, even if we go through a lot of pain. To me, customizing my cane is like getting a tattoo or putting streaks in my hair, it’s a way of self expression. And we deserve to be able to talk openly about our full experience, which include the parts we’re neutral or happy about.

“They’re one of those cringey teenagers who name themselves arson and like dsmp, so they’re probably faking” WRONG! Do I even have to explain why saying someone isn’t disabled because of their name and interests is messed up and also stupid? Or did you already know that and just wanted to make fun of a disabled teenager?

“They’re too young to be using a cane, so they must be faking” WRONG! there are lots of disabilities or injuries that can cause young people to need a mobility aid. For example, I use a cane for my fibromyalgia.

“They only use it in private places, and never in places where people recognize them, so they must be faking” WRONG! In a world where anyone can just randomly take out their phone, take a picture of a cane user, and post them online to be made fun of, it can be stressful to use a cane in public areas. Also, they may not want people to ask questions, or they may feel embarrassed about it.

“I saw them switch hands, so they must be faking” WRONG! There are different reasons a cane used might do this, but I’m going to use my experience as an example. My fibromyalgia is not consistent. Sometimes one leg hurts more then the other. But as I said, fibromyalgia is inconsistent, and sometimes my other leg will start to hurt more or need more support, which is when I switch hands. And when both my legs hurt equally, I may switch my hand if it’s getting too sore.

“They told me they feel like they’re faking when they use their cane, doesn’t that mean they don’t really need it?” WRONG! Imposter syndrome is strong in a lot of disabled people, especially when for a lot of our lives we were told by doctors that we were fine and just being dramatic. Anxiety is also comorbid with a lot of physically disabilities, which only strengthens this. To add to this, something that I’ve felt and seen other disabled people talk about it, when their disability aid lessens the pain, they start thinking “well I’m not in that much pain so I don’t really need it” even though the reason they’re not in that much pain is because of the aid. I know it seems dumb, but imposter syndrome can be that strong and affects disabled people a lot.

“They don’t have a diagnosis, so they must be faking” WRONG! First of all, diagnoses are expensive. On their own they’re often already expensive, but counting the tons of tests you have to take to confirm the diagnosis? Absolutely ludicrous. Some may also choose not to get a diagnosis, so that they don’t have to deal with the prejudice and setbacks of being diagnosed. Also, some people use a cane for injuries, and for stress or fatigue related pains.

These are only a few of the things I commonly hear from fakeclaimers, and I wanted to just put out a reminder that fakeclaiming hurts the disabled community much, much more than it does ableists. Next time you see someone with a cane switch hands, or someone with a wheelchair stand up, or someone with crutches put them down, before you immediately call them out to a friend, take a picture, or write a post: does your fakeclaim rely on stereotypes? Are your reasons things that apply to ambulatory aid users?

If so, just stop. Be mindful. Please.

[steddieas-shegoes]

Putting under a read more because there’s some canon-typical violence and blood mentioned in this one. It’s still soft and cute though!

Eddie does his first tattoo by himself in his bedroom while his mama and Wayne are working night shift. He’s 15 and has no reason for etching a tornado into his thigh.

Except he does.

His mama’s always called him her little tornado. Wayne’s favorite story to tell him is the time he had to take Eddie into the trailer park’s communal underground shelter one week after he moved in because someone swore up and down there was a tornado a mile away. There wasn’t, but they stayed underground for nearly an hour anyway.

No one knows about it for years.

His second one is when he’s 17 and lies about his age in Indy, someone from the queer bar he’d found himself in offered to give him the bats for free and he couldn’t refuse. He probably should have. No one should get tattoos in the back of a truck at one in the morning.

The only one who knows about that is Jeff because he’s the one who had to help him clean it when it got infected.

At least until he’s 18 and his mama offers to take him to get his first one and he’s so bad at lying to her, she figures it out on her own.

She’s not mad. She got her first one done at 16, after all. But she warns him about how dangerous it is and says he needs to be safer.

“It ain’t just unprotected sex that’s causin’ the epidemic, baby.”

So he gets the chest piece done for his birthday, his mama bringing him to a shop with “real artists.”

Days before he plays the song to save the world, and more specifically, the guy he shouldn’t have a crush on, he gets a master of puppets tattoo.

He thinks maybe the fact that half of it gets eaten by bats makes it more badass.

Steve thinks it’s metal.

And then Steve sees all of his tattoos while he’s trying to stop the bleeding from…everywhere. He’s cutting him out of his pants and trying to fashion a tourniquet out of a thick denim that’s so drenched in blood, it’s impossible to see what color it was originally.

He sees the tornado tattoo, somehow still intact, but bloody, as is most of him.

“Hey. Talk to me.” Eddie’s losing consciousness, but he can focus on Steve’s voice. “Tell me about this one.”

“Mama’s tornado.” Eddie smiled to himself. Used up all the energy he had to do it. “Makin’ messes.”

He can hear Steve yelling at someone, something that sounds like “call his mom!” but he can’t be sure. The world turns to black.

When he wakes up, his Mama is sitting next to his hospital bed with a Cosmopolitan magazine in her hands. She’s chewing gum.

He smiles.

“Hey mama.”

“Hey my little tornado. Sure did cause a ruckus this time, didn’t ya?”

He falls asleep to her reading aloud, some article about getting a man to bring you flowers.

The next time he wakes up, there’s a bouquet of flowers by his bed, something that looks like it came from the side of the road, not a shop.

And there’s Steve.

Reading the same magazine.

“You know they suggest guilting your boyfriend or husband into buying you flowers? Was this why you almost died? To make me feel guilty enough to bring flowers?”

Eddie smirked.

“That was my plan all along.”

“It worked. I’ll give you that.”

Steve stayed, even when his mama showed up and gave them both a look that Eddie couldn’t quite distinguish.

He stayed when she left, giving her a hug on her way out the door.

And he stayed when he got to go to their new home, even bringing flowers along to add some color to Eddie’s new room.

[coriander-candlesticks]

Sometimes your Mental Illness™ is kicking your ass and all you can do is offer the first hot, non-leftover meal you managed to prep in the day at 10:30 pm to Apollo & ask for help getting to *and* getting through your appointment tomorrow and that's okay

[k-is-for-potassium]

hey guys i just cut my finger with a knife on accident and my first thought (after "wow that's a lotta blood" and "holy shit holy shit what the fuck do i do") was "tumblr should hear about this"

[aretemisapollo]

Help needed

I really hate doing this, but I want to be helpful in some way so here it is I know a lot of people aren't in a position to donate, but even if you can't just sharing this is a big help, I also know that there are a lot of scams going around and everyone is leary, so i completely understand if you just want to ignore this and scroll on. The gofundme page basically says it all, so I won't go too into detail here, just that we know my dad doesn't have much longer and we have no way of paying for his final expenses. The picture used is admittedly very old because my dad refused to have his picture taken.

Anything helps, whether it's a signal boost or a donation. Thank you for your time and I hope everyone has a wonderful day/night <3

[youstillcantfuckosmosisjones]

You Can't Fuck the Kool Aid Man

Or at least you shouldn't. Look, I understand the appeal, a big strong man with endless coolness absolutely guaranteed to quench any thirst. And sure, the temptation to have wet and wild nasty purple flavored sex with him might be hard to overcome, but you also have to realize...

That liquid is his innards... his blood, his organs, the stuff that's generally meant to keep him alive, and having wild unprotected sex with this man would mean spilling his blood for all to see. Are you prepared for those consequences? Can you live with yourself after having killed a man?

There's blood on your hands. There's blood on your bed. There's blood seeping through your carpet. The stench is an awful type of sickly sweet. And years after they release you from prison for the crimes you have done, you'll come back to a home permanently stained by his presence.

All because you stuck your dick in some Kool-aid.

[heartless-aro]

To HIV+ AlloAros:

A lot of alloaros on here have talked a lot about how they face a lot of stigma for wanting to be sexually active while lacking romantic feelings, and how people often stereotype them as uncaring, promiscuous, careless, or irresponsible. I was thinking about this, and it reminded me of some of the sentiments that I’ve heard directed towards people who are HIV+. As such, I would like to take a moment to acknowledge HIV+ alloaros.

To all those allosexual aromantics out there living with HIV, just wanted to say that you are wonderful. You don’t deserve to be stereotyped as reckless or careless or promiscuous or irresponsible, whether you contracted HIV from your first and only sexual partner, from your 30th sexual partner, from IV drug use, or by any other means. You are not wrong or bad or dirty if you have had and enjoyed sex outside of a romantic relationship, even if you are someone who contracted HIV through casual sex. You aren’t “perpetuating stereotypes” (either of alloaro people or HIV+ people) by existing as an HIV+ alloaro. Your sexual feelings are beautiful and natural, and you should never feel ashamed of yourself for having them. You add rich and meaningful perspectives and experiences to the LGBTQ+ community, and we are lucky to have you as part of this community.

I hope that ART works well for you and enables you to live a long, happy life, and enjoy a healthy and active sex life (should you so choose). If you choose to have a zucchini, foveo, FWB, spouse, romantic partner, soft romo partner, or any other sort of partner (or partners!) I hope that they are accepting of your HIV status and that they are able to take PrEP (if needed) with minimal side effects. If sexual intimacy is something that you want, I hope that you and your partner(s) have sex that makes you feel beautiful and sexy and desirable and happy.

I hope that you are able to have children if you so choose, and that your friends and family are accepting of your HIV status.

If you have any symptoms, I hope that they are manageable and that you’re able to continue enjoying the things that make you happy. If you’re struggling with medical trauma due to your HIV treatment experiences, I hope someday you’re able to feel safe seeking medical help again. If you struggle with addiction and contracted HIV due to drug use, then I hope addiction and/or mental health recovery go well for you, should you choose to seek it out.

I hope you’re having a wonderful day, and I hope you have a wonderful life.

(For anyone who has read this far, I’ve added a link below to a list of HIV/AIDS research and relief organizations. Consider donating to one of them if you can!)

[dreamwatch]

For the Spotify fic challenge: Steddie, and lucky #13! ❤️

I got this ask on December the 3rd!! It took me forever to come up with something for this, but I got there! I don't think this is as heavy as the tags make it seem, but please heed them @thisapplepielife thank you so much for the ask, it really got the old brain box working!

Spotify Prompt: Free Fallin' by Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers (yes, Tom Petty again!)

Word Count: 3623 | Rating: T | CW: Period typical homophobia, homophobic language, chronic pain, internalised ableism, brief mention of AIDS crisis | Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington and His Parents | Tags: Protective Eddie Munson, Disabled Eddie Munson, Established Relationship, Meeting The Parents, Steve's Parents Are Trying, Not Beta Read

--

Eddie works fucking hard all week and he just wants to kick back on a Saturday, and do nothing. Feet up on the table, beer in one hand, pizza in the other. Maybe catch a film. Maybe watch a game with Steve. Whatever. It’s his time, he gets to choose how he spends it.

Instead, they’re sitting in the car outside the Harrington’s house, and Steve looks like he’s about to be fed to the wolves. Eddie’s never been brought home to meet the parents before. Usually, he’s never brought home at all. This is as hard for Eddie as it is for Steve. He’s deeply suspicious of Steve’s parents, of their suddenly wanting to meet the guy he’s shacked up with. To get a closer look at the guy who stole Steve’s chance for a good ol’ fashioned midwestern life, white picket fence, sweet wife, a couple of kids, briefcase and tie, trade in the bimmer for a Volvo. All that shit. All that shit that Eddie has no experience with, no desire for. 

Two years together, and this is the first time he’s been summoned. Steve says it’s because they finally believe him. They thought it was a joke at first. They stopped laughing, eventually.

Eddie doesn’t really know what to expect. Robin says his mom is sweet, his dad is nice enough but tough on Steve and there’s still tension there even though Steve’s in his twenties now. Dustin thinks his dad is a hoot, and somehow the idea of Dustin bonding with Mr Harrington feels like a betrayal. But Dustin doesn’t have the full picture, so. There’s that.

“We better go in,” Steve says, not looking at Eddie. Not really looking at anything. And that doesn’t really instil confidence in Eddie, about how all this shit is going to go down, because Steve has been telling him all week not to worry about it, it will be fine. But he’s sitting here looking like the world is about to end. And maybe it is. Maybe that’s exactly what’s about to happen, Steve’s world, that complex relationship with his parents that they cultivated with such tender hands, will just shatter once the reality of everything Steve has been telling them for the last couple of years manifests in their dining room.

Eddie might not have done this before, but he knows his part. Turn up, be polite, play nice. And above all things don’t bite if the other kids don’t play nice. Because Eddie will always be the one that gets the blame. 

He checks his hair in the rearview mirror one last time. It’s tied back, the tiniest bit of hairspray to tame it and stop any unruly hairs from escaping mid canapés. How uncouth. Picking clothes was a whole thing. ‘It’s not a formal dinner’, Steve said, no need to get gussied up, ‘I want you to look like yourself, to be comfortable.’ And Steve probably did mean that, truly, but it didn’t matter how many teeshirts and jeans combos Eddie tried on, none of them seemed to be the ‘Eddie’ that Steve was hoping to bring home to his parents. What followed was an argument, ‘You fucking choose then’, slammed doors, eased over with a kiss and ‘What about these?’ So now he’s in the Harrington’s driveway wearing a pair of clean black jeans, knees neatly hidden behind denim, and a long sleeve (always long sleeves) plaid shirt, which could almost pass for one of Wayne’s if it weren’t for the tiny little polo player embroidered on the pocket. He’s been permitted to wear a pair of Doc Martens he found in a thrift store in Indy, they’re clean and smart enough and they’re fucking comfortable and he needs that. Just one bit of comfort, one bit of him.

They stand on the doorstep and Steve knocks and it strikes Eddie as weird. He moved out of Wayne’s a while ago, but he still has his key, and if he knocked on the front door Wayne would ask Eddie what his last doorman died of. But he forgets sometimes that his upbringing is not the norm, that not every kid got saved from foster care by their uncle because their dad is in jail. 

Mrs Harrington answers the door, and Eddie’s seen pictures of her, he’s been in this house before (he’s done things to her son in this house that would definitely lower its market value) but she’s shorter than he imagined, and Steve bends over to hug her. It’s cute. 

Mr Harrington looms behind her and makes eye contact with Eddie briefly before moving to his son. Another hug, stiffer, with a manly clap on the back. But it’s not nothing, and some of that tension from before has already dispersed from Steve, he has some of his lightness back. A smile back on his beautiful face. Eddie’s not ready to let his guard down yet, he is after all the main course at this particular feast, and he’s just waiting for the cleaver to fall, the teeth to take hold (not teeth, not teeth, not teeth).

“Mom, Dad, this is…” Steve looks at him. Pleading. Loving. Accepting. Scared. “Eddie.”

“Eddie!” says Mrs Harrington, like she actually wants him standing in her hallway, god love her for trying. “It’s lovely to finally meet you.”

Oh God, he’s on now, isn’t he? Steve’s thrown him the ball and he needs to not fumble the catch, or something, he’s watched enough games now that some of it should be sinking in. 

“Mr and Mrs Harrington, it’s lovely to meet you both. Uh, thank you. For inviting me.”

“Amanda, please,” says Mrs Harrington, “and this is David,” and it’s pointed, a little spiky. Eddie likes that. David’s giving Amanda the evil eye and Eddie is trying not to smile about it.

“Eddie. Good to meet you,” the poor guy manages to spit out. And Jesus fuck, he holds his hand out to shake it, and Eddie has to resist the temptation to wipe his hands down the front of his jeans. He’s clean, every inch of him scrubbed and moisturised and cologned. Eddie doesn’t know why he’s sweating on this particular social norm, both Al and Wayne taught him the art of the handshake as a young boy. ‘Shake from the elbow, firm hand, and match their grip’ said Wayne. ‘Ain’t nothin’ worse than a weak handshake’ said Al. 

Amanda offers him the grand tour before Steve reminds her that Eddie’s been here before, only not when they were around. David bristles and walks away and that’s probably for the best all things considered.

They all walk through to the massive kitchen, and Amanda offers him a beer and he nearly breaks his fucking neck with the speed he takes it. 

“Dad thought because it’s such a lovely day we’d grill outdoors. How does that sound for a change?” Steve’s mom rests her hand on Steve’s back, and Eddie sees the movement, the slow comforting strokes. 

There’s a cough from the patio, and David Harrington looms in the doorway. “Why don’t you give me a hand, son.” Huh. Divide and conquer, and so early into the afternoon. Steve looks at Eddie and what is Eddie going to say? How dare you leave me to your mother so that you can bond with Daddy? I haven’t seen mine in years, hasn’t done me any harm. He’s a good boyfriend, so he nods and smiles, hoping that it conveys what he really means. We can leave whenever you need to. Just say the word. I love you.

Amanda bustles around in their kitchen, dicing cucumbers and tomatoes, making herself busy, keeping herself away from him. He’s propped on a stool at their breakfast bar because he needs to get the weight off his leg and he didn’t bring his cane because ‘I’m fine Steve, I don’t need it’, not because he didn’t want the Harrington’s to think he was weak or incapable of working, mooching off their son. Definitely not that.

“So, um, what do you like in your salad? Anything I should leave out? Steve didn’t really give me much to go on. I promise I asked.” She sounds like she cares whether he eats zucchini or not (not, decidedly fucking not).

“Ah, I’m not fussy, honestly. Just, you know whatever you guys usually have is fine.”

She looks over her shoulder, a little conspiratorially. “Not a big salad guy, huh? Don’t worry, neither is David. I know when I’m fighting a losing battle.”

Eddie returns the smile. He keeps throwing furtive glances outside, hoping he can just summon Steve to save him. He should be glad, to be honest, that Steve is still out there with his dad. If it was going badly he’d likely have returned by now.

Amanda keeps up the inane chatter, the small talk grating on him. This is so alien to him, so bizarre. He’s doing his best to keep up with her, though, because this isn’t about him. If they never accept him, never want to see him again, he’s fucking fine with it. But Steve loves them, and despite things being tense over the last couple of years Eddie’s pretty certain they love him.

Eddie’s sipping at his beer when he hears the knife slam against the marble countertop. 

Amanda spins to face him.“Look. I’m as uncomfortable as you, okay? So why don’t we just cut the shit.”

He puts his beer down, sits up and draws his shoulders back, ready for battle. He’s been waiting for this. Unfortunately, his leg decides to spasm painfully at the same time, kind of killing the image. He hisses, clutching his thigh and doing his best to massage the pain away as if that’s all it would take. He hates this, fucking hates that it happens in front of this woman of all people.

“Are you… are you okay?” Amanda makes her way closer, and she looks like she wants to reach out to him but can’t quite bring herself to do it.

Eddie takes a deep, calming breath. “It’s fine. I’m fine. It just… it happens. Sometimes. It’s fine.” It’s not even close to fine but he’ll be fucked if he’s telling her that. About his constant pain, about losing one job because he couldn’t keep up with the rest of the crew, about being shit scared he’s going to lose his current job for the same reason. About how he’s pushing himself so that Steve doesn’t have to carry the load. The Harrington’s don’t get to know any of that.

Amanda nods and creeps closer to him, finally pulling out a stool and sitting at the breakfast bar with him. 

“This is difficult for us. Steve and...” She gestures loosely at him, and he does his best not to tense up at that. “God I need a drink. Do you want another beer?”

He’s maxed out on his pain meds today, for all the good it did, so he really shouldn’t. Steve is particularly strict about that kind of thing. But Steve’s not here. So he nods and watches Steve’s mom pour herself a large glass of wine before returning with another beer for him. She knocks the whole thing back in under a minute.

“Steven’s my pride and joy. He was just such a gorgeous child. Kind, would scream with laughter, just so much happiness in him.” She plays with the rim of her wine glass, and swipes at the lipstick she’s left behind. “From the moment you find out you’re pregnant you think about the person they’ll grow up to be. You hope you’ll be a good parent, that you’ll do right by them. I had a life planned for Steve, in my head. He would come home with a beautiful girl one day and tell me she was the one. They’d get married, and have babies of their own. We’d have grandchildren to spoil.” Amanda smiles wistfully, watching Steve and his Dad through the kitchen window. Eddie hopes he’s okay, hopes Steve’s doing better than he is, anyway. It feels like there’s cement lining his stomach. 

“Mrs Harrington—”

“No,” she says, harshly. “I’m talking now, and you’re going to listen to everything I have to say.

“I thought, Nancy Wheeler, you know her?” He nods, silently. “Nice girl. He brought her home and I could see it in his eyes, you know? Just this… light. He was happy. I thought she was the one.”

“So did Steve,” he says before he can stop himself.

“When it didn’t work out, I felt sad for him, but my boys a catch. It’s not like he was going to be alone for long. But that spark, it just fizzled out of him. He carried this… I don’t know, sadness. He’d smile, and he’d laugh, but it was always there under the surface. And then he started getting into fights, vicious ones. The Hargrove boy put him in the hospital, did you know that?”

He did know that. Eddie had spent many a night lamenting the fact he’d never get the chance to punch Billy’s smug fucking face. He doesn’t tell Amanda Harrington that, though, just scowls and nods.

She tops her wine up again. Eddie just wishes she’d get to the part where she calls him a dirty queer and cuts him a cheque if he’ll leave Steve. He wonders how many pieces he could tear it into before throwing it all over her stone floor.

“When Steve didn’t get into college, David told him to get a job. We didn’t make him pay rent, but if he wanted money he was going to have to earn it. And he did. He got that stupid job at Starcourt, got up early every day, worked the weekends. We were both so proud of him.

“And then there was the fire…” Her voice shakes, and she looks genuinely upset, and, maybe for the first time today, he feels sorry for Amanda Harrington. “We were in Indy that day, having dinner with friends. We didn’t know what had happened. We got home late and he wasn’t here, but he was eighteen years old, you know? We thought he was out with friends. We weren’t worried.”

She takes a large breath, and let’s it out slowly. “We got a call at three in the morning to tell us our son was in the hospital. And when we saw him…” Her voice catches before she looks up at Eddie. “You’re not a parent, Eddie. So you can’t know what it feels like. You don’t know fear until you nearly lose your child. And we kind of did, a little. He was never the same after that,” she says softly. She gives a sour laugh. “And then it happened again.”

“Spring break,” Eddie says. She nods sadly.

Amanda pauses and swirls what’s left of her wine in its glass. “A few months after the earthquake, or whatever it was, he walked in the door one night and he just… He had that light back in his eyes and suddenly my Steve was home. And I knew he was in love.” She smiles, and Eddie sees Steve in his mother, just how alike they are. “It was like Nancy times a hundred. He was glowing. I was so happy to see him like that. And I asked him ‘When are you bringing this mystery girl home to meet us?’ and he’d be coy, get all shy. I asked him outright if he was in love and he didn’t hesitate, just said yes with a huge smile plastered across his face, and yet he wouldn’t bring her home to us.

“And then one day he sits us down and tells us that this girl who he has fallen so deeply in love with is… is a boy.” She looks accusingly at him, and he refuses to shrink under her glare. “And suddenly everything you thought about your child, everything you had planned for them, it’s gone,” she snaps her fingers, “overnight. Now I’m not worrying about teenage pregnancy, I’m worrying about AIDS—”

“That’s not—”

“No, let me finish! Let me get this out, for Christ’s sake.” She knocks back the last of her wine. “He’s explained, all of that to us. And how you’re being… responsible. But we’re old-fashioned. Traditional. Our son coming home and declaring he’s bi — whatever it is —”

“ — sexual.”

“Whatever it is,” she glares at him, “it’s hard for us. But here’s the thing. I haven’t seen him that happy in so long. Maybe ever. You gave him his light back. You. You with your long hair and your tattoos, and your bad reputation… ” She runs out of steam, and blows out a huge puff of air. “He says you talked him into going to college.”

Eddie nods. “He’s smart,” he says, fiercely proud. “Smarter than people give him credit for.”

“He is. I’m glad someone else sees it.” She gives him a ghost of a smile and he feels wrongfooted all of a sudden, no longer sure what they’re doing. The fight he thought he was gearing up for seemingly off the cards.

“We’re getting there, Eddie. And we’ll keep trying. He loves you. And we love him. You do love him, don’t you?”

Eddie’s throat tightens and he swallows hard. “So much it hurts,” he croaks.

She smiles, a tentative thing. Fragile. “Good. We’re on a journey, David and I. I’m a little further along… but he’s getting there. We’re both getting there. I hope you’ll allow us the time to catch up.”

And what can he say to that? His own father told him he was a dirty little freak and tried to beat the gay out of him. Steve’s parents just want more time. They can give them that. Eddie can give them that.

“If it’s okay with Steve, then it’s okay with me.”

Eddie watches the tension in Amanda’s shoulders melt away, the worried frown smooths. “Good. And… thank you. For your patience. And for looking after him. All I ever wanted was for someone to love him and look after him.”

“I will always love him.” And he means it, knows in his heart that whatever might happen in the future, whatever gets thrown their way, he will always love Steve Harrington “How could I not?” 

Amanda offers a shy smile and Eddie thinks maybe he’s done his job. Maybe, at the very least, she will accept them now, and try not to fight it.

She’s still smiling when she looks at the kitchen counter, at the mess of vegetables in various states of being chopped and washed. “You know what?” She gets up and grabs the vegetables, throwing them in the refrigerator with a slam of the door. She turns back to look at him, hands on hips, and Eddie bites back a smile. “Fuck the salad.” He’s open mouthed as she gestures out to the garden. “Dave doesn’t like it, Steve doesn’t like it and I’m not going to make you choke it down out of politeness.”

Amanda crosses the kitchen to him and offers her arm. “We have steps out there. If you fall Steve will kill me.”

Eddie wonders just what exactly Steve has been telling them, how infirm Steve seems to think he is and he’d be lying if it didn’t rankle him, but at the same time his mom is trying to do something nice. She thinks she’s helping. So he’s going to let her.

They walk out into the sunlight, arm in arm, and he sees Steve laughing with his Dad, they both look relaxed and happy and that’s all Eddie wanted from today. They look up as Amanda and Eddie approach, Steve locking eyes with Eddie, eyebrows raised in a silent question. Eddie smiles and nods and Steve visibly relaxes as he goes back to arguing about the best way to grill a steak.

The rest of the afternoon goes smoothly, and while it’s Steve’s Mom who does all the heavy lifting, his Dad isn’t exactly a silent partner. It feels so normal, family in-jokes and laughter and he can see how much Steve has missed this.

When they leave Amanda hugs him, giving him a warm smile, and David shakes his hand, a little longer and a little softer than the first one.

Steve starts the engine, the radio springs to life, and they head out of the driveway, back to their own home. Steve reaches across and takes Eddie’s hand in his. “Thank you,” he says, glancing away from the road for a second.

Eddie squeezes his hand. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“No, I do. I was a dick. The clothes, your hair… I’m sorry, okay? I was just…”

“Scared,” Eddie finishes for him.

Steve nods. “Scared.”

“They love you, Steve. Whatever happens. They love you, okay?”

Steve sighs, finally unburdened. "I know."

They pull up to a stop light, Tom Petty playing on the radio. Steve runs his hand through his hair, finally relaxed enough to muss it up. “Uh, Dad asked if you’d like to bring Wayne.” Steve glances across at him quickly, and then back at the stop light. “Next time?”

He’s not exactly sure what Wayne would say to an invitation to the Harringtons. But he does know that Wayne thinks the sun shines out of Steve’s ass, and there’s not much that he’d say no to if Steve was the one doing the asking.

“Sure,” Eddie says, and he reaches across to this boy, this man, that he loves so fiercely, and pulls him in for a kiss. “Next time.”

[angryjojofrog]

"Will you take me out on a date after i recover?"

After TillT fell ill because the death of his mother, as well as the responsibility as the CEO, were too much to handle, Ascalpelus swore to visit him at the hospital every day to support him

At this point they both already knew they have feeling for each other but never verbalized it, despite flirting with each other and holding each other's hand

They did eventually go on a date as you can see :]

GIRLS!!!!

[deandraxon]

Absolutely in love with the reactions I’ve gotten on here now that my post about vision impairment and glasses has suddenly blown up. So many people coming to the realization that needing glasses is a disability, but they never thought of it before because it’s so normalized. And so many others giving tips about how to get glasses more affordably.

When I posted about it on tiktok(don’t worry, I literally deleted that hell app off my phone lol) I had the exact opposite reaction. People were pissed, trying to argue that it wasn’t a disability. That you could “fix it with glasses” or “just get the surgery to fix your vision”. And of course the spam of the “🤓”, because how dare I say it’s ableist to make fun of people for needing glasses.

It’s so frustrating that, because glasses are so common, they aren’t seen as what they are; disability aids for vision impairment. It’s good that it’s been normalized, I think more disabilities should be- but not the the extent where they’re no longer seen as no longer disabilities.

Tiktok is awful, and I think we should kill the people in charge of the glasses industry with hammers 🥰

[unriding]

WAA i know everyone has said it, but i can also second ur lovely winter themeing for ur blog ... sending u warm drinks and thick blankets to curl up in for the winter,,,

AID!! T T thank you for stopping by you’re so sweet 🫂 im glad you think so!!! AND???? YOU SAID WARM DRINKS AND A THICK BLANKET? A DREAM COME TRUE…. that sounds so lovely… i will send you and baizhu back fresh cookies and fluffy scarves!! :]

[braindepo]

what is it like to work in a 6 person assisted living facility as a night shift nurses aide who is the only worker there during the night??

TW - Brief mention of Death

Answering on here for my side blog @gethexd!

It's very interesting! To us at least. It's also a bit hard.

Being the only worker there at night definitely makes it harder haha.

But we manage! We keep our (currently only 5, we have one vacant room) residents safe and sound!

The residents remind us that we're doing a good job too, and that really boosts our confidence with our job.

�� Sometimes it gets hard/scary though! Honestly there are some traumatizing aspects to the job, such as death, and near death experiences because it is mainly end of life care.

We just try to do our best to focus on cleaning and making sure they're happy/safe!

Also, ever since we started working there, our hearing is really good now haha. We've gotta listen out for everything during the night! You never know what that little bump in the night could be.

𝄞 Sero. (She/They)

[jollysunflora]

can someone please send something so i can get some food? boost if you can't donate... paypal.me/jollysunflora venmo.com/avatarmary

[funnypizzaland2002]

Hello Im mohammed Please donate and help share my donation campaign please.I live in northern Gaza ,On 25/2/2024, I went to Al-Nabulsi roundabout to bring humanitarian aid. I was waiting for help, and here I was shocked. I was surprised by an explosive bullet in my left hand, which led to its complete disappearance and the need for a bone transplant. The reason for going to that place was the lack of food and hunger in the family. At that time, my sister was pregnant with her daughter Malak, and my father was not there because he had to travel for treatment and take a dose of chemotherapy. Here, I ask you to participate in donating and participating in my campaign. Thank you.

reblogged your donation post and will donate later today, thank you for reaching out

[mr-mr-mr-mr-mr]

When you and bae have different methods of self-destruction