#letters to parents

[dearmyexmom]

Dear Mom,

One of the hardest things about not talking to you anymore is the fact that sometimes, I really miss you.

I miss you so much that it hurts.

But what hurts the most isn’t the fact that I know that talking to you will only ever generate stress and heartache. It isn’t the fact that talking to you will give you a victory that you’d lord over me for the remainder of your life; how you lost your daughter but managed through constant letters and cards and gumption, you won her back. The hardest part is the fact that I don’t actually miss YOU. I miss the mother I SHOULD have had. I miss the comfort of being able to go to an adult, to be held and told that I’m going to be okay. I miss the idea that I had someone who would always be there for me, who would have my back, and did it because they loved me. But we both know that wanting that from you, of all people, was one of the reasons that I left.

You couldn’t give that to me. I know that know, after nine years of silence. But I still crave that. I still crave the IDEA of a mother. And sometimes it makes me wonder if I made the right choice. If what I did was really in my best interest. When holidays come up, I wonder if the loneliness is worth it. I play out ideas in my head as to how it would be if I were still talking to you, or anyone else from our family. I wonder how I would feel, if instead of rejection, I’d gotten acceptance. My family tree feels so small since I trimmed the branches and I miss the feeling of being underneath a swath of people that were meant to be there for me. Who decided to have me, and then for the eighteen years I was with them, put themselves over me.

I know that the second I would say that, I’d get an argument, too. I still talk to my sister, and she defends you. She says that you were sick, that you’re doing so much better now, that so much went on behind the scenes that we didn’t see. But the fact of the matter is, or at least how I feel about it— you never did it where I could see it, because you didn’t actually do it. You like the idea of saying that you stood up for us. But you had eighteen years to do it even once. You knew that he hit us. You knew his hands went where we didn’t want them. You heard us say, ‘stop’. But television, or the sewing machine, or ducking your head was easier for you. And that’s putting aside all of the things that you did yourself, that you are still doing. It hurts when you tell me I’m punishing my siblings by not talking to you. It hurts when you send me a birthday card or text about how much you love me, and how you’re sorry for what I think you did to me. Maybe that’s actually what hurts the most. Is the lies, that you send to me, on my birthday of all days. The apology that isn’t an apology, just a four letter word that USED to fix everything between you and me.

There’s so much I wish I could say to your face. So much anger, hurt, and confusion. There are so many questions I want to ask you. But I also know that none of my questions would ever get the truth. It would be whatever you thought you could say to make me like you again. Or whatever you could think to say that would make you the hero, even when you know that at best, you were the character on the sidelines that watched it all happen. There’s also a lot of joy that I’ve come across in my life recently that I wish I could share with you. That I wish I could share with my mom. My marriage, my successes, my happy little moments. I wish I could come to you for advice, for guidance, as a daughter should have been able to do with her mother. But when I look at the phone, or when I go on social media, when I get so close to hitting that ‘unblock’ button because I think my heart can’t take it anymore—

I remember.

You didn’t actually care about those things when I was a kid. There were more important things in your life at the time. There’s still a lot of important things in your life. And it isn’t the fact that I want to be, or wanted to be, your center of attention. Or that I feel like not ENOUGH time was given to me. You had four kids, three of which I helped you raise. It’s the fact that there wasn’t enough room in your mental floor for me at all. It’s the fact that it wasn’t until the very week that I was packing up to leave your house, that you wanted to know about my day. Or that until after I wasn’t in your house anymore, that you wanted to call every day. It’s the fact that while I was five feet away from you, you couldn’t turn around to talk to me. But when I left and looked for someone who wanted my attention and time, you had to monopolize what you never wanted. And at first, I was so happy. A mom that wanted me around and wanted to talk to me had come out of the woodwork, had risen out of the eighteen foot grave that was our relationship . . . But who got angry at me when I was at work. Who got upset when I couldn’t drop everything I was doing while living a state away from you so that you could come over at the drop of a hat. Who told me she wished I would lose her number, and who told me that she hopes I was happy with my “new” family.

Fuck, mom. Did those words hurt the most. I didn’t want a new family. I didn’t go out to find one because my old one wasn’t good enough for me. I didn’t leave because I wanted to hurt you, or because I felt like I was too good for you. I left, because I was so tired of hurting and wondering why I wasn’t good enough for YOU. I still sometimes wish that I had been.

I think that’s enough words for now. I’ve gotten some of it out, at the very least. There’s a lot more to come, too. But maybe . . . Just maybe, getting it out . . . Little by little, saying what I’ve wanted to say to you for almost a decade . . .

Maybe that’s how I heal.

From,

Me.

[bubblingsteam]

[foursidecity]

Tha sillay guyy. Like a weird purple bug 2 me

[cantsayidont]

In an undated letter written in the late 1950s, reproduced in THE LETTERS OF JRR TOLKIEN, Tolkien alludes to the legal difficulties Sam faced after returning from the Grey Havens at the end of LORD OF THE RINGS:

When Master Samwise reported the ‘departure over Sea’ of Bilbo (and Frodo) in 1421, it was still held impossible to presume death; and when Master Samwise became Mayor in 1427, a rule was made that: ‘if any inhabitant of the Shire shall pass over Sea in the presence of a reliable witness, with the expressed intention not to return, or in circumstances plainly implying such an intention, he or she shall be deemed to have relinquished all titles rights or properties previously held or occupied, and the heir or heirs thereof shall forthwith enter into possession of these titles, rights, or properties, as is directed by established custom, or by the will and disposition of the departed, as the case may require.’

You can see how the residents of Hobbiton might have seen Sam's return as the premise of a kind of Agatha Christie mystery plot: favorite servant of eccentric middle-aged local resident departs on an unexpected journey with his master; returns home alone two weeks later; and then conveniently produces a copy of said eccentric local resident's new will, naming the servant the heir to all his property — and the only account the servant can offer of his master's whereabouts is a preposterous story about Elves. Suspicious! Very suspicious indeed!

[ispyspookymansion]

hello hello! if youre usamerican with federal college debt thats about to start needing to be repaid, you should make sure youve gone to check out the new SAVE income based repayment plan the biden administration recently passed. this plan allows you to pay a monthly deposit that’s calculated based on your income. a few things make this different from the existing income based plans, including that your monthly repayment could be as low as $0 per month. if you pay the calculated amount, no further interest is accrued for the month, and if you keep up with these payments (which again, if youre like me and you dont make a lot of money might be ZERO dollars per month) then all your remaining debt will be forgiven after 12-25 years depending on your specific loans. the program application is very easy but processing takes about a month, so nows the time to get it in before repayment begins in november.

tldr: the SAVE federal aid plan can have you paying $0/month with no accruing interest on your student loans towards a guaranteed debt forgiveness after 12-25 years and you can read more about it and apply for it here!

[angeldreamsoffanfic]

“So how did you know?”

“Know what?”

“Y’know, how did you know.”

“Dingus, I’m gonna need you to spell it out for me here, the Russians did a number on how many of my braincells are actually working.”

“How did you know that you liked girls?”

Robin Buckley immediately pushed herself up so she was resting on her elbows, head tilted to catch Steve Harrington’s eyes in the low light of their hospital room.

They weren’t originally even going to go to the hospital, if Robin was being honest. They had just wanted to slip away back to their respective homes, but then Melissa and Richard Buckley caught wind that Robin was hurt. Then the both of them realized that Steve’s parents (if Robin has to use that term to describe them) had less than zero intention of sending anyone to pick up Steve.

Then EMS made the light suggestion of both of them probably needing to go to Hawkins General Hospital… and well, while Melissa and Richard did tend to lead toward more natural remedies… one couldn’t fix a concussion or a drugging with an unknown substance with essential oils and hope.

“Robbie? Did you OD over there?” Steve had himself up on his elbows, easily mimicking Robin. That’s the thing that makes the inside of Robin ache, that he’s so like her. She knows that she’s an only child, knows that, but sometimes Steve’ll just… do something and it makes her question it. Makes her wonder how she spent so long without him, without another brain and two legs and arms and so much hair. “Robbie?”

“No, I am still alive.” Robin slowly spoke, before she let out a soft sigh. “Why do you ask?”

“Like-” Steve huffed as he shook his head from side to side, before he used the one hand that was free from the pulse monitor and saline drip to card through his hair. It’s sleep ruffled, and if he uses product (Robin is sure he does), it’s for sure gone. Steve looks up though, and his eyes are so earnest that it causes something to hurt inside of Robin. “never mind just ignore- fuck - just ignore me.”

“I couldn’t ignore you if I tried, you idiot.” Robin let out a huff, and she winced as the PICC line in her arm shifted as tilted to be able to fully face Steve on her side. “But I just, dingus, this is out of left field for even you.”

“How so?”

“Did you even know that, that people like me even existed until a couple of hours ago?” Robin kept her voice soft, especially as Steve huffed out an indignant sounding sigh. Robin sighs though, and then she cards her own hand through her hair, and forges onward. “I think I’ve just… always known.”

“Always?”

“Yeah like-” Robin shrugged, a careful movement of her shoulders. “When I was like, eight? My uh, parents sent me to this camp thing- like summer camp kind of like what Dustin went to? But with, y’know, with the swimming and archery and dude I was fucking awful at it.” Steve let out a soft and watery laugh at Robin’s rambling, and that gave Robin enough power to continue. “But we uh, had these like songs we had to learn? And there was this uh, girl counselor there that had to teach me because you know, that was her job.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, and uh. She couldn’t have been older than I am now but man…” Robin let out a slow whistle, and allowed herself to fully melt into the hospital cot she’s laid up on. “All I could think was that I just wanted to be with her. Like not even kissing because I thought kissing was gross then, still do now kinda but anyway- I wanted to like, hold her hand and shit. Do the cheesy stuff I’d seen in the movies, y’know?”

Steve huffed out his own laugh, and he tilted his head to lean against his pillows instead of facing Robin. Robin watched though, quiet for once, as Steve swallowed once and then twice- before he cleared his throat.

“I knew it existed before you.”

“What?”

“It.”

“Dingus-”

“Girls liking girls.” Steve’s voice is barely above a whisper, even as Robin can hear him gulp in a lungful of air. “And boys liking boys.”

“You did?” Robin kept her voice quiet, gentle, as coaxing as she could- especially when she could see Steve’s throat bob. “Dingus?”

“I…” Steve doesn’t continue, and that’s enough.

Enough to Robin that she pushed herself up, and ignored the pain that ricocheted down her spine like needles. Ignored Steve’s hurried ‘what are-’, as she stumbled out of her hospital bed and right to Steve’s. She made sure to drag her IV pole and the monitor with her, situating it as best as she could next to Steve’s. Robin huffed quietly as the pain trickled down her spine, and she couldn’t help but smile as Steve curled his hand carefully around her wrist and tugged.

Robin got comfortable, let Steve fret over her as best as he could, his fingers only ever-so slightly trembling as he made sure that the line in her arm wasn’t kinked up. They were pressed close, side to side and hip to hip, and Robin tilted her head down until it was rested on Steve’s shoulder.

“Wanna keep going, Stevie?”

“No.”

“But?”

“I…” Steve huffed again, a small indignant noise that Robin mimicked.

They sat like that then, just the two of them for a moment, before Steve continued slowly.

“I’ve never, told anyone this- like I’ve told Tommy H. so much shit about me - but this is… Robin this is different.” Steve speaks in a hurried and stilted way, like he’s stringing together bits and pieces of sentences, and it shouldn’t work.

But it does because he’s Steve and she’s Robin.

And truthfully, Robin likes that. That they’re Steve and Robin. SteveandRobin. RobinandSteve. Likes that the two of them are so in tune that even her own mother didn’t want to separate them.

That had to mean something in the end, didn’t it?

“Tell me, whatever… whenever.” Robin murmured as she turned her head so she could press a soft kiss to Steve’s shoulder. The hospital gown is thin enough she can feel the heat of his skin from up under it, and that’s grounding. Grounding even as Steve drew in a shaky breath, audibly swallowing again. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m here.”

“I didn���t uh, notice Tammy in Ms. Click’s class or uh, you for a reason.” Steve slowly spoke, eyes wet, and Robin can hear his sniffle as he tried to reign his emotions back. “Ms. Click made him sit uh, right by her desk at the front of the room.”

And oh.

Oh.

If that doesn’t immediately settle something that just usually writhes around in Robin’s chest.

“Him?” Robin is gentle, gentler than she thinks she’s ever been.

“Uh, yeah… Eddie Munson?” Steve huffed out an almost dry laugh, the only thing that he does that ever remotely reminds her of his time as his high school “King Steve” persona. “He uh, got this bat tattoo right before that year’s Thanksgiving break and all I could do was just… gawk at him.”

“And then what?” Robin knew she was pushing, searching for information, but she can’t help it. Not when Steve is right next to her, hip to hip and thigh to thigh. Not when he’s like her. In all the ways that matter.

“I went home and screamed into my pillow.”

Robin immediately smacked Steve’s thigh with the knuckles of her left hand- grinning in triumph when Steve let out a squawk of laughter.

“Eddie Munson?”

“What about him?”

“He’s… he’s a total dud!”

“No he’s not!”

“He stepped in my mashed potatoes once! That is totally total dud material!”

“No way!”

“He wants to be like, like a metal singer!”

“He has a band! Dreams!”

“Do you even know if he can hold a tune?”

“Well, no-”

“Total. Dud.”

Robin grinned wide as Steve launched into a very quick defense about Eddie, and she decides then and there that Steve and her? They’ll be just fine.

Especially if she can get Eddie to come into Steve and her’s orbit just a bit, to see if the crush is still there.

Because while Robin may not have all of the gay knowledge in the world, there is one thing for a complete certainty that she knows.

The black hanky that Eddie kept in his pocket?

Well…

Robin chuffed to herself, before she tilted so she could lay on her side- nose tucked into the place where Steve’s neck and shoulder met.

Right before she falls asleep though, Robin does a very important thing on a mental whiteboard.

You Rule: 1

You Suck: 0

hope you all enjoyed! truthfully think this is one of my favorite things i have written. love platonic stobin. <3

[fairydrowning]

I always think about the concept of love letters. Like, someone taking their time and sitting down just to express their love and feelings for you. Someone writing for you and telling you how important you're for them. That's like such a sweet, loving and beautiful gesture.

[yashley]

ashley in c3e24

[mysicklove]

Bro how did Sukuna rizz up reader so much? (Also how old is everyone, if Yuji’s 4 then how olds Sukuna?)

the mere exposure effect is a tendency for people to develop a preference/affections to something/someone that are being constantly exposed to.

basically sukuna didn’t leave you alone until u eventually were like, “well he isn’t too bad…” LOLOL he also scared off any guys that tried to talk to you so u kinda we’re stuck with him🙄🙄🙄🙄

that, plus he is very very physically affectionate with you. when the two of you were friends (+ his tutor) he would always be in your personal space, playing with your hair, and blowing on the back of the neck to watch you jump. i feel like the teasing and him being always around just kinda slowly developed into you slowly liking him back. i mean that, plus he would flirt with you every second he could, just eventually u were like, “fine. we can go on one date.” and u were trapped after that. LOL

Ages:

you and sukuna met at 15, started dating at 18, and yuuji was 1 when he suddenly came crashing into sukunas (+ chosos) life. sukuna and you were 19 at the time and that was 3 years ago.

Yuuji: 4 years old

Sukuna and reader: 21

Choso: 25

[almondcroissantsandink]

faux book cover for the fic Mr. Bluesky by omnidirectional because i read it a few weeks ago, it rattled around in my brain for a while, and I realized i had to draw something for it lol

[cantheykillmacbeth]

i think Bubby from HLVRAI could kill Macbeth

Yes, Bubby from Half-Life VR But The AI Is Self-Aware (aka HLVRAI) could kill Macbeth!

There are a couple of layers to analyze here, but he still qualifies regardless of which one you look at:

You could look at this from the angle that he is canonically an NPC inside a video game, and was therefore coded instead of born by an unknown party. This angle applies him for the Unconventional Birth Clause while leaving BPC completely ambiguous.

You could also look at this through the lens of the in-universe game's story, in which Bubby was a science experiment grown in a tube by Black Mesa, which is directly confirmed through the encounters with his "prototypes"- previous attempts to create the "Ultimate Life Form." As HLVRAI takes place in Half-Life 1, there have not yet been introduced any female scientists working at Black Mesa (later installments of the Half-Life series introduced female characters that worked at Black Mesa, but none appear or are mentioned in HLVRAI), so this angle makes the Birth Parent Clause much more plausible while still firmly applying Bubby for the Unconventional Birth Clause.

Thank you for your submission!

[15minlatewithbatbucks]

"Sometimes I forget they're gone."

Bruce looks up from work - a crossword he's doing to pass time until the gas chromatography finishes - and over to where Tim is rolling back and forth in front of a secondary terminal. The steady squeak of his chairs back wheel was almost meditative in a way. He stared up at a blank screen, face only illuminated in profile by the gentle glow of Bruce's own terminal.

"Who is?" Bruce asked when Tim didn't elaborate. For all that this was functionally his home now, the boy had a tendency to occupy space in a way that made Bruce's jaw ache from biting his tongue.

"My parents." Tim stopped rocking and the Cave was as silent as a grave between them. One grave in particular. "Like, something happens and I think, oh, Mom would love to hear about this. Or Dad would get all huffy and rant over something silly and it would be fun to listen to."

Tim, who loved his parents and, arguably was loved in return. He spent most of his time in his room or the Cave, exploring other rooms in the Manor like his parents did archeological sites. Interesting to him, but not a place to be.

"Sometimes I pick up the phone and get as far as putting in their international number, you know?"

Tim, who was parented through phone calls and post cards. Tim, who spent so much of his life in boarding schools that an actual home looked more like a museum than a place to live.

"I'm sorry, bud," Bruce murmured. There wasn't much else he could say, aside from reminding Tim that his father was still alive. Comatose, hanging in limbo, but alive.

Bruce thought it would be easier if Jack Drake died with his wife. Bruce also hated himself for thinking those kinds of things.

"I just keep thinking about Mohenjo-daro," he continued. "We're learning about it in school this unit and I keep remembering- I keep remembering that Dad said he's been there. I can't keep the dates right in my head and he would have helped."

"I can give it a shot," Bruce offered even though he knew it was the wrong thing to do now just as it had been the wrong thing to do when he offered to find a Romani language tutor for Dick when he realized he was forgetting things.

It would solve one part of the problem, but it would never replace the help a father could give.

Tim turned towards him, pale face washed out in stark relief under the light from behind Bruce. He wondered if Tim could even see his face in the relative darkness and found a cowards courage knowing he couldn't.

"He told me a story about it once," Tim said. "I can't remember the ending. I can't remember what he told me. Why didn't I listen better?"

Bruce had no answer for him. He set his paper aside and opened his arms.

Dick would have thrown himself at Bruce, taking comfort where and when he could. Jason would have slunk over and did his level best to press close enough to cave in Bruce's chest and make himself a home.

He was, in hindsight, too good at that.

Tim always hesitated. Weighting the pros and cons? Overthinking a simple comfort offered freely? Bruce never knew.

Still, Tim slowly abandoned his squeaking chair. He let Bruce tug him in for a hug.

Tim was older than Dick had been, around the same age as Jason. Even so, in moments like this he seemed immeasurably younger. Tim, cast off in a prestigious boarding school, had lived comparatively untouched by life's hardest lessons. He signed up for the work, but he couldn't have known how hard it would be. Bruce never should have let him in, but what could he do now? Tim came to him when he needed a partner the most and he was so, so grateful even as regret threatened to choke him.

A beep, then. Bruce's eyes drifted upwards.

"The drugs we lifted from the Iceberg Lounge?" Tim asked against Bruce's neck.

"Yes."

"Show me."

Bruce let Tim out from the protective circle of his arms and did so. The moment lay broken behind them, like so many others.

[hitlikehammers]

Post S4 Steddie featuring Russian-Hostage!Steve (again) and Ransom Notes Sent to His Family (!)—hilarious

...but is it?

Steve doesn’t remember getting drunk as fuck. In fact, he…

This doesn’t even feel like a hangover, not exactly. There’s the headache, the stomach-lurching, but there’s a, a weight almost. Something in his limbs that feels off and too stiff but also like noodles, if you could make noodles out of lead. This, this kinda feels like—

His hand goes automatically to his neck, near his jaw, tries to see if he can feel—

Ah. Okay. Yep. Already scabbed over the injection site. Must’ve been something else this time, like probably a bigger needle. Sedative to start, maybe. Like the appetizer course.

Steve starts chuckling to himself—no off-the-books truth serum needed to get hysterical, not this time—as he tosses himself to lying back down, only then really clocking the cuffs on his wrists and, well.

At least he’s not in a fucking sailor suit.

——

When he calms down, and no one’s come for him into his very unexciting grey-stone cell for enough minutes to trust in a lull, at least, where he can just…just try and think?

He does in fact think he’s got something of an outline for maybe, like, the first leg of the story: they had to have gotten him after work.

Probably right after work, between locking up and getting to his car. He closed alone last nigh—

Well. The last time he remembers being at Family Video, he was closing alone. If he’s waking up drugged, it’s probably not super smart to just assume it was ‘last night’ by default.

Not that he’s sure it even matters, but.

Everyone knew he was closing. And everyone, except his boyfriend and sometimes Robs, knows to leave him be for a good twelve-to-twenty-four hours to recover when he’s soloing for the late shift on a weekend. Fucking brutal, honestly. Plus there’s a stormfront on the way and he’s had a migraine brewing at the back of his skull for days that was due to explode the minute he clocked out. Rob’s in Chicago scoping colleges, wasn’t gonna be back until midday after his shift anyway. Eddie was doing the same, but in Indy, looking to book gigs—he’d get back around sunup, probably, and he might come by as his first stop home, in fact he usually does and...

If anyone’s noticed Steve’s missing? Or will, maybe soon?

Might…might actually be Eddie, first.

Steve feels…more than a little tight in the chest, in his throat, having to think about it; imagining if the tables were turned.

So he shifts tacks, moves quick to trying and figure out what the fuck he’s been abducted for in the first place—yeah they’re gearing up for the eventual final showdown with Vecna, but once the ash stopped raining, and the sky went back to generally regular colors, and the government paid to fill in enough of the ‘earthquake’ damage for the roads that were still drivable to be noticeably better than they were pre-apocalypse? People generally calmed down, so. He really doesn’t know who the fuck’s got it out for him. He actually hasn’t broken his NDA, particularly considering he doesn’t even socialize with anyone anymore who hasn’t signed one themselves, and therefore doesn’t count on the subject of keeping to the terms of service, and honestly? Even peak-Vecna with his clock bullshit didn’t have a real-world army to do his bidding because, like: shit. That’s still the thing he’s pissy about, right? So.

It’s not like whoever’s-got-him-chained-up-because-if-anything-they’re-more-serious-about-imprisonment-than-he’s-encountered-before—but whoever they are, Steve cannot for the life of him figure out a good reason for them to be after him on Upside Down business.

So, like: the fuck, you know?

He’s trying to figure out property damage, like did he ruin someone’s prize roses when he was driving that RV, or else; was the couple who owned that RV, like, retired assassins and they’d been gearing up for revenge this whole time? That was plausibl—

The door—thicker, heavier than Steve actually was guessing—swings open with a godawful screech before he can weigh the likelihoods of the wife, or husband, or both having been secretly cold-blooded-killers, and in walks…

Oh. Oh, so…it is actually that predictable. Same script, different scenery.

Because Steve knows that fucking uniform, and it’s actually involuntary, swear to god, the way he sighs.

He gets slapped for it, which would hurt less than the first go around—those gut shots had been brutal—if the asshole hadn’t been wearing rings.

Not nice ones like Eddie’s, either. Ones meant to fucking tear skin and peel at the layers beneath it, too. Bear down to the bone, if given the time.

Steve feels the blood drip down toward his mouth, but there’s enough that he tastes it on the air before it even rolls past his lips. He’s panting a little, more for the sake of the impact, like the shock of it, but even then he hears it. The…weird whirring through the open door and he tries to catch his breath so he can focus, because there’s something…familiar about it, something he should know—

“Who do you work for?”

He snaps back to what’s in front of him and fuck, god, so: same script.

But, but: literally.

He instinctively curls his fingernails against his palms; knee jerk reaction. And fucking justified, too.

“Video store,” Steve answers because, what else, and good thing he’s still wearing his vest, was taking it home to wash because it smelled too much like…store. He nods down at the logo on his chest, pulled awkward and lying askew but pretty goddamn clear. “Like VHS tapes. Movies.”

He gets another slap. He’s grateful for even more reasons that Robin’s not with him this time. They’re not even proper Russian cinephiles, she’d be so offended on principle.

“I mean,” Steve decides in a split second to play along, to roll the dice with his chances on his lonesome and be grateful—and maybe because the thought of Robin, following the thought of Eddie and his rings, all weaves together to make him bold, but also make him desperate: he doesn’t want them in danger. Doesn’t want anyone goaded by these bastards into coming for him, wherever he is, and getting themselves hurt. Or worse.

So: maybe goading this captors into thinking he’s not worth the time anymore and making this quick?

Maybe that’s the card he’s gotta play.

“I’m guessing you think I know shit because of Starcourt,” and yep. Eyes get big for that being slid across the metaphorical table so casual. But Steve’s more impressed at himself because the minute he says it? The humming sound, the whirring? It clicks.

It’s what he heard in that underground lab. With that machine. With them trying to, to tear open—

“I don’t, for the record, know anything, Steve clarifies; “but if I’m like, missing for too long? My friends are gonna flip, and last time my friends were with me, y’know, so this time,” Steve sucks at his front teeth and shakes his head, and it fools them while it grounds him: two-for-one.

“They’ll freak, basically. Especially after last time,” his boldness lasts him through tossing his captors—maybe torturers—a judgmental quirk of his brow.

“Probably gonna tell Hopper like, y’know, chief of police,” he adds, blames Eddie for the theatricality buried in it as he purses his lips and nods like he’s considering; tries not to dwell on a deeper reason for why these bastards are letting him talk—nope. Nope, shove those thoughts down, just keep talking yourself, ignore the steady trickle of blood down to his tongue as he yaps.

“And Hopper, hell, it’s not his first rodeo, so he’ll probably call the suits,” Steve presses on Because what else does he have, what else can he do, he can barely fucking move; “you know, like you,” he nods at the medals on the very Soviet-style uniform; “but the American version. He’s got friends. So.”

And Steve manages to stare the fucker down, just eye-to-eye as the man scowls, glances at his associate standing closer to the door and—

Yep: yep. Another slap with those rings. Steve can’t pretend the blood’s not spilling from the line where the impact dug out his skin. He’s glad there’s no mirror; can only imagine what it looks like.

Sure as fuck knows what it feels like.

“I can’t tell you anything you don’t already know,” Steve doesn’t even think he’s trying to reason with them, wonders idly if he’s like, some Russian-identified spokesman now for all things spy-y and otherworldly, like if his picture’s on a cork board with strings going around it as the number-one suspect-slash-target-to-pump-for-nonexistent-info.

Fucking fantastic.

“I work for a video store, dude,” he finishes with, and it doesn’t even come out desperate, or pleading—it’s way closer to resigned.

“We will see.”

The man grabs Steve’s chin rough, too rough and for a second? Steve’s a little afraid he’s gonna try to snap his neck but he just shoved him back, straight into the wall—cracks his spine a little, but. Actually, given his limited range of motion, it kinda gets out at least a couple kinks. Huh.

Silver linings, or whatever.

But then they’re leaving, and something leaps in Steve chest uncomfortably, just as something sinks in his stomach and the whirring, the hum from beyond the door sinking with it, too—ominous—and he’s lunging against his restraints without thinking, cringing for the bite of the metal but there’s…something in him wants more time with these people. To figure them out. Maybe just to stall for time or find the one last straw to break and get himself beaten to death, no longer a threat to his friends by proxy.

“We have Sour Patch Kids, now!” Steve calls out on a freak instinct, a stupid desperate whim as they walk out, maybe more to drown out the whirring, the pit that’s opening in his stomach for all the memories its familiarity dredges up; “can totally hook you guys up!”

The door shakes the air somehow, but not the walls, or Steve’s chains, when it slams closed and Steve can’t hear the machine anymore, it’s all cut off and—

Holy shit, Steve is so fucked.

——

They keep sliding sandwiches and water through a hole they literally lock and unlock in the thick-as-fuck-special-soundproof door. Steve is reminded weirdly—or not, it all looks perfectly normal—but given the circumstances, he thinks he’s justified to be thrown back to that lime-green battery acid they’d considered drinking in the elevator: and that, probably more than anything, is why he refuses to touch a single bit of what’s shoved into his cell.

Well: that and then also the fact that no one actually comes in for a long stretch of time, and there’s no noise, save for…the hum. Only when they open the little hatch for food, at first but…then it increases. Then it somehow overrides what Steve imagines to be a pretty fucking effective insulation job to make everything thus far so soundproofed; so deadened. The fact that it even bleeds through a little sinks sicker in his stomach than hunger ever could.

Because definitely, one-hundred-percent, in case there’s been any doubts hanging on: it’s the machine, the thing they were using before to rip holes in…the world. As if Hawkins needed any more but—

The Russians want to know who he works for, and they’re trying to unleash the Upside Down. Again.

Jesus Christ.

It might be comical, the repetition after everything, with even less reason—the gates have been shut and sealed now almost a full year and shit, the whole party had been banging on about a cookout to celebrate, to sneak in one good thing before it was time to strike against Vecna for the last time, and Steve really hopes they don’t abandon the well-earned party for the sake of his imminent demise but, point is: it would be comical, almost definitely, if it weren’t so fucking horrifying.

They thought this was over. This part at least, the peripherals. Steve was the last real holdout to be on high alert, everyone was trusting in the alert system that was El and Will and even him and Eddie a little bit from the bats, all connected to some degree with activity in the Upside Down and everyone else was counting on that and trying to live in the middle while they could and…shit.

Look where it got Steve, giving in to the hope for an end in sight, and maybe even a happy one at that.

It runs sick through his veins, now that he’s thinking about it, about any of the possible outcomes and ramifications beyond this cell and…basically Steve’s glad he hasn’t trusted a bite or a sip of anything they’ve left him, lest he have to endure anything worse than dry heaving in captivity.

——

Eveually, Steve goes back to counting out the positives. It’s a fairly safe subject. Morbid, maybe, but what else has he got?

His friends aren’t here. He’s lonely, but honestly, even if that’s a part of his life that’s seen major improvement the past couple years? It’s not something he isn’t used to, can’t work with. But if his friends aren’t here? They’re safe. El or Will can tell there’s something weird with the Upside Down if the machine gets powerful enough, they’ll all be able to come up with a plan and strike when the time’s right, and Steve…

Steve can survive a little longer, at least as a distraction, even if he’s apparently a shitty one since people aren’t coming in to ask about the latest new releases, or smack his other cheek and give him a matching set of bloody gouges.

The machine, also—and why he figures he might not outlive the time it takes for the others to notice a disturbance in the Force—ha, they’re not even here to appreciate his wholly unprompted and almost definitely correct nerd reference, but that’s good: they’re not here, they’re safe—but the machine is humming, and turned on? But even at a distance it should be louder. It should be louder to destroy the world.

They’re not there yet. They’re not there yet; there’s still time, and Steve may not be there to help everyone fight, to protect them but—

There’s time.

And then like, of course, full circle: no Scoops uniform, check—those shorts bunched up his ass like nobody’s business. He cannot forget that as a massive plus, here, because come on, think about it: decked out like a shitty ice cream sailor on an ocean of flavor, Jesus.

Just a flat out shitty way to have to die.

——

“We have sent the ransom demands.”

Steve blinks; he was kinda spacing out. He probably shouldn’t be able to do that. The machine isn’t any louder—yet—but it’s…ambient, in a way.

Morbid, probably. Again.

The lack of eating or drinking might be getting to him. He really should have eaten before his shift.

“The what?” Steve blinks some more because…maybe if he can see clearer he can hear the words in a way that’ll make sense.

Jesus fuck, he should probably start being concerned about his…overall cognitive function or whatever, at this point.

Or something.

“You are a rich man,” the main bastard, with the rings, looms over Steve with a skeevy little grin, cracks his knuckles and how, he’s watched Eddie struggle because it’s so hard to get your fingers in the right position to do it with rings on—

“You’ve got the wrong guy, pal, look at these shoes,” Steve shakes his head while he kicks his feet out: “very last season.”

They’re still fucking excellent shoes, but. High-school-him wouldn’t have been caught dead in them.

Ha. Haha. Graduated-useless-townie-him is gonna get caught dead in them. Ha.

Add that to the positives list, because irony is sometimes funny. He listens when Robin tells him about her boring-ass art movies. Because Robin’s opinions matter, regardless of the topic.

“Property records,” the lackey who stands behind points out and it takes Steve a second to catch up…rich man. Property records.

Ransom note—

Oh fuck, but he cannot help himself. He snorts.

And then he laughs hard enough that both his captors actually look concerned which: fair. If he had information, it’s probably hard to wring anything useful out of somehow who’s totally lost their mind.

“Dude,” Steve wheezes, and then gets back to cackling because it’s too funny, just the picture in his head—

“Dude, no,” he shakes his head over and over and gets a little dizzy but who can even blame him. Richard and Amelia Harrington, paying their failure of a son’s ransom to the Russians?!

Fuck, they’d be better off putting up a shitty politician and soliciting their donations. Like the whole thing with mayor what’s-his-face.

Steve really doesn’t need any black market drugs to find it hilarious and, like, honestly.

Going out laughing isn’t the worst way to die, so. Seriously.

Mark that down for topping the list of goddamn positives.

——

He doesn’t actually know how long it’s been, but the time does come where he gives in, and is therefore eating the morning and the afternoon sandwiches he’s been left—they don’t take the uneaten stuff until he’s sleeping, given that he’s never seen them do it and the old food’s always gone. He’s only guessing that he gets three plates a day, and…well. He remembers something Erika said about three days without water being the limit for the human body and it sure as fuck felt like it, and poison seemed a better alternative than thirst as reasons for kicking the bucket, so.

Least it wasn’t the neon acid; little mercies. Gotta remember that.

But on an empty stomach it had gone down easy and quick for desperation, but fuck if now it didn’t hurt which: in for a penny, or whatever the saying was. He didn’t understand it. Just knew it fit the situation. Kinda.

Probably.

He’s curled up now, though, kinda moaning super pathetically, almost loud enough to drown out the machine’s hum even, for the way his stomach roils and he tries to distract himself; tries to think…

He is just clearheaded enough to recognize how morbid he’s being, again—but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. And also it’s relevant, so fuck you, morbid-police.

But: Max’s letters. They’re what comes to mind.

He doesn’t have paper. Or a pen. Or something to etch into the floor with. So it’s just a…thought exercise. That’s what they’re called, right?

Whatever. Distraction. He cannot die covered in his own puke, that’s one bridge too far, so he needs to focus. Not on the state of his intestines.

So…start with, who should he start with?

Hmm. Hmmmmmm.

El. She’ll figure things out first so:

Dear El

Solid start. Good job, Steve.

You are fucking extraordinary, and it’s not for being able to move stuff with your mind. You’re so strong, and brave, and selfless. I look up to you. I like when they call you Supergirl, but, like, those are the reasons why. Keep finding reasons for laughing, remember you’re entitled to extra because of all the dark years you came back stronger from. Remember the way you are and the way you think and the things you do are awesome and you don’t have to relearn anything you don’t want to, or change anything you don’t want to, to fit in. People should be trying to be more like you.

Love you, Supergirl.

P.S. there’s a freezer in the basement fucking loaded with Eggos. All yours. 

Hey. That’s a solid letter. He’s not bad at this.

Then his stomach lurches and apparently he’s not even allowed to celebrate his wins, okay, fucking cool.

Who’s next, who’s next…

Dear Dustin, and maybe that’s the best way; this is gonna hurt like hell just thinking about so maybe, like, that’s the best way to distract himself.

Okay. Okay. All or nothing.

You die, I die was a general feeling, thing, not a real thing. So take care of yourself, for real, okay? Lean on people. If the other shitheads aren’t what you need, turn to Robin. Turn to Eddie. Promise me you’ll be everything you’re meant to be. I’m so proud to know you, man, always. All the things about you are things worth being proud of.

Talk to Eddie about tone, though. Like, when the time’s right.

Thanks for being the first person to show me what family’s really like, what it’s supposed to be. You’re mine, y’know. Like, you’re my brother, but then, you’re also my friend. Thanks for that, too. I love you, man.

P.S. They discontinued The Hairspray. Be on the lookout for a good replacement, and conserve what you have for special occasions. 

The cuts on his cheeks are apparently not yet healed over enough not to burn when the tears streak through. Awesome.

Definitely fucking distracting so…run with it, he guesses.

Dear Max,

Thanks for the idea. 

Cop out. Absolute cop out. He means it, this is helpful, he hasn’t barfed yet which is really the point but.

He’s being a coward, now. Seriously.

It needs to hurt. If he actually put himself into writing Max’s it’d be ugly, but…

Go big or go home. And he’s never going home again, is he, so:

Dear Robin

Fuck. Fuck, his breath catches with just those two words.

I’m really glad we never figured out how to meld into a single being, because I don’t want you here when…you know. When.

But I wish you were here in a safe way, if that makes sense, and somehow were possible. They don’t call them soulmates for no reason. And I never called you mine without meaning it.

If there’s anything after, I will miss you through all of it with everything I am and hope like hell when the time’s right—like at least 90 years from now and no less, you understand?—I get to see you again. Maybe then we can work on the melding thing and get it right.

I liked being your dingus. So much. And I will always be your capital-P soulmate.

I’m sorry. 

He doesn’t even remember his stomach hurting from the sandwiches, anymore, or drinking the water too fast. He’s sick for so much bigger reasons, now. Everything fucking hurts.

That’s the point, he reminds himself, that’s the point, so:

Dear Eddie—

He chokes on the air, just for the thought, because here’s the tipping point. Here’s where he breaks.

He can’t. He can’t.

He loves all of them. All of them.

But he’s only in love with one. Like he’s never loved before. Like he’s never been loved back before, not ever.

He doesn’t know if it’s possible to pass out from heartache, or if it’s more the not eating, or drinking, or if he’s feverish, maybe the cuts on his cheeks from the rings are infected and he’s on borrowed time in more ways than one.

Doesn’t matter. He can’t write a letter to Eddie, not even in his head. And he doesn’t want to think about what it means, such a nonexistent-mental-letter.

Someone told him once that if you were falling to your death, you’d pass out before impact. Like…like self-preservation in your last few seconds or something.

Steve thinks—with the way everything fades to black in seemingly seconds—he thinks this is…kinda like that.

So the big question now is:

DOES HE SURVIVE? SHOULD HE GET RESCUED?!?!

*chews nails, or hair, or—*

yeah, like that

For @devondespresso, who requested 'Nightmares' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST (sorry it's in the contexts of LIVING ONE OUT) and incidentally also for @steddie-week for the Day Two prompt 'Hands' (which okay if you DO NOT want a rescue it's only in mean violent ways but...he could be rescued)

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @lawrencebshoggoth @mensch-anthropos-human

divider credits here

ao3 link here ✨

[avocado62524]

[thestrangestthing89]

It's not an apology, it's a clarification. He very directly says "you misconstrued what I said" a thing multiple people around here have been trying to say for months. He said this exact same thing in an Instagram post he made a few months ago but people lack the reading comprehension skills to follow something like that. So he said it in a TikTok video again only some people are still not understanding. And it's because they don't want to. (He has recently taken his Instagram post down, I'm guessing because he is getting relentlessly harassed.) The truth of the matter is that many people didn't take the time to understand basic facts about this situation (like what the word Zionism actually means) and the result was that a lot of misinformation spread because people were desperate to make sure their followers knew they were The Most Progressive and The Most Anti-Racist. They did not talk about this issue in a way that was culturally sensitive. They made assumptions about Noah based on anti-Semitic stereotypes and I don't even think they realize they are doing it because, again, they aren't well-informed. But every time someone twists the word Zionism to mean "pro-genocide" and makes the flying leap that anyone using that word is laughing at people dying they are falling into the stereotype that Jews are bloodthirsty. Anytime people say that any Jewish person has the wrong information in this situation and needs to education themselves about their own culture, they are believing that Jews can't be trusted. They did all of these things to Noah and they did it very easily because they are ignorant. These people essentially turned into an angry mob. I can't even count the amount of comments I saw that were basically "I hate Noah too!!! Wait, what did he do? Someone tell me!" They piled on because their peers were doing it and not because they had any clue what the problem was. It was the cool and trendy thing to do so they did it. And they deluded themselves into thinking they were saving Palestinians in the process when they actually didn't do shit for anyone. The only problem is that the people who did this didn't take the time to inform themselves before piling on. Noah didn't apologize to them because he doesn't have to. They owe him an apology though and I think the ones with larger followings are responsible for a lot of this and imo are lucky they didn't get sued for defamation. He didn't do any of the things they are accusing him. They decided for themselves what he thought and believed based on very little information and they have no right to do this to anyone. They seriously think Noah is responsible for single-handedly killing people. He's not in the military or a politician. He didn't even endorse anyone who did. This whole situation is the stupidest fucking thing in the world. They are more outraged over the bullshit they made up about him the actual political situation and it's because they don't actually care. They are using Palestinians as an excuse to say hateful things, but they aren't helping them at all. I don't think Gen Z-ers are realizing that everyone older than them is getting increasingly more concerned about the way they go about their political activism. It's a serious problem and this current political situation only highlighted problems with them that had been occurring for a while now. Relentlessly harassing any Jewish person online for not speaking exactly to your liking isn't activism. Threatening to kill people who disagree with you isn't activism. Trying to ruin someone's career because they didn't act like your parasocial bestie isn't activism. Spamming the comments of everyone's posts with Free Palestine isn't activism and it sure as hell isn't what spreading awareness looks like. That requires being well informed first. Not to mention learning how to have difficult conversations without screaming hysterically at people and shouting that they must be pro-genocide/racist/misogynist/homophobic every damn second just because they said something you didn't take the time to understand.

They need to learn to ask for a clarification before assuming the absolute worst about people. They do this to people in the fandom constantly and it's why no one decent posts here regularly anymore. They are ignorant, plain and simple. But they are so desperate for peer approval and for people to think they are the best activists ever that they don't realize how much damage they do when they behave this way.

The people still pissed at Noah were always going to be. They were always going to pick him apart because they are anti-Semitic and they made that very clear. All he is saying is that people need to understand that both Jews and Palestinians are human and stop taking sides. A thing that anyone with a shred of human decency has been saying for months. The people who haven't been saying this tend to be very young (teens and early 20s) and it's because they fell for a lot of unverified information on TikTok - something that is concerning a lot of people given that it is an election year in the US. All anyone had to do here was listen and they didn't. They are too busy trying to be morally superior to anyone to bother having an actual conversation. They still aren't listening. There was nothing wrong with what Noah said here either. But people are determined to believe that he was laughing at people dying when he wasn't. This literally never happened. They just heard a word they weren't familiar with a jumped to awful conclusions. It's not their place to educate anyone on anything. They are not qualified to do so. And I wish people were smarter about who they were reblogging and weren't so desperate to get more followers by jumping on the bandwagon. They cause so much drama in the fandom constantly by acting like this. This is just the latest example.

The people who think it's now suddenly ok to be violent and homophobic towards someone just because they perceived that person to do something they didn't like, were waiting for an opportunity. They wanted to be horrible and they think they got a reason. They didn't and there is never a reason to behave like this. But it did reveal just how many people in this fandom are horrible human beings. The people who weren't saying this directly were still agreeing with those people and were not better than them. It should have set alarm bells off in their heads that the only people who agreed with them were being vile. That should have been the first clue they were on the wrong side. I wish people learned to think for themselves better. They were clearly jumping on the bandwagon and didn't understand what was going on. And I stand by my comment from a few months ago, we would not be dealing with relentless drama in the fandom if the show had a higher rating. And I do think they need to focus more on their original adult audience again. Most of us do not feel comfortable posting regularly in this fandom when it got taken over by kids who don't understand any of the things they are upset about, but they are upset with everyone and everything constantly. No one came here to babysit.

[letteriwillneversend]

having parents that are nothing more than unfriendly strangers wearing familiar voices that say familiar things makes you wonder if there was ever any such thing as home.

it makes you wonder what it might be like to have a bad day and have someone you can call or talk to. what it might be like to have someone you can to for advice or comfort. what it might be like to have a shoulder or lap you can finally rest your head on. what it might be like to have a bowl of cut fruit that spells out unconditional love.

some days i find myself looking for home even when i don’t know what to look for.