#if the kids in my class are joking about lynching me now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Tumblr posted its first advertisements in May 2012 and subsequently earned $13M in revenue.

#if the kids in my class are joking about lynching me now

sulcrafatejackets · 2 years

Text

So Jenny and those ones thought it was funny to see grandma treating me like an animal well not surprised

Those people are inherently not very good people and they know that and they are really really really pissed off because some of the trashier boys gave them shelter right but there is no shelter for them because the medical doctors are ready to shred them into little bitty bits

Some of those boys may have been similar to my boys but there’s a thing about loyalty and that is not residing within or around Jenny and those kind of worthless people that includes some of the lawyers who are more intelligent and Jenny but thought that they would cross Natalie Imbruglia or myself yeah that doesn’t work out for you guys either eat shit and die or take it up with a medical doctor since you guys are so smart ha ha

The idea is that they will be like grandma and that she will adore them that’s not how that works actually so will that work out for you OK? Go fuck yourselves

Gramma I’m gonna be honest with you Jenny and all of these other girls in that whole realm of white racist stupidity I’m not impressed Jenny and some of those girls are trying so so hard to impress you and I understand why you want them all to jump off a bridge and die right after you do don’t worry you guys will both be going to slightly different places in the end

Dr. Faraz and John’s sisters started to get freaking scared and I could see why because even I was seeing things that I well that’s strange ha ha ha ha I think John probably was freaked out you guys I’m not quite sure I don’t know he’s like he’s one of those fucking assholes who plays with you though like he could call me on the phone I know you know it’s a crank Yankers moment which suddenly isn’t that funny anymore I feel like the middle-class America has basically tried to destroy the United States of America with low class humor

And before you judge me about bad teacher that movie is fucking hilarious and I don’t deserve to be judged for that

Dr. F do you wanna fuck up the box again I need to listen to Stephen lynch no no books didn’t say box I never saw the fucking notebook are you kidding me oh gosh oh man oh that’s so sad that’s why you that’s why I joke a lot probably but well sometimes yeah I know you guys catch me in that hilarious hilarious perspective now Jenny and Gramma feel embarrassed kind of Gramma probably doesn’t feel as embarrassed as Jenny well I mean Gramma would want Jenny to be a better woman than herself if she has some things that she needed to fix why in the fuck does she want to see another woman saying does that work out for you Rebecca if I insult you and offer you garbage for all the hard work you do well that be OK with you? I didn’t ask your mother or father before I said this to you but if I kill you and bury you in the Rigney families backyard would that work out for you hon?

0 notes

tthael · 3 years

Note

If you're still doing the DVD commentary thing, I'm curious about your thought process behind the whole discussion they have in the car at the end of chapter 11, when Richie asks Eddie why he thinks It targeted them specifically.

Oh boy, this answer’s a bit depressing.

See, I’ve gotten a lot of responses talking about how much they love Went and Maggie in Indelicate. And while they are fun--and a lot of their dynamic is influenced by my own parents and grandparents, and I decided to write their behavior as sort of blueprints for Richie and his behavior towards Eddie--Richie is more upset than he lets on about their conversation about Henry Bowers and his childhood.

So in Chapter 10, I have Richie sort of pick a fight with his parents. Eddie gives him an opening, and Richie immediately seizes onto the topic of Henry Bowers and his childhood bullying, because he wants to confront his parents. About their choice to live in Derry? Maybe. About their failure to respond appropriately to some very violent childhood bullying? Definitely. Richie brings up the incident from the book where Bowers wipes out in front of their class and Richie automatically and without thinking goes, “Hey, Bananaheels!” and Bowers chases Richie all the way through Freese’s department store with his cronies, intending to beat him. Because movie!Richie wears the Freese’s shirt, I decided to keep that incident.

And Went’s immediate response to Richie’s story of “Remember when I was in great fear of physical violence and very real fear for my safety?” is to ask, “Well, what did you do to make him angry?”

I don’t know if you’ve read Things That Happen After Beverly Leaves, but in that fic I have Bev and Richie have a conversation about Tom Rogan and a specific incident of violence that happens during the fic, during which Bev asserts that it was her fault that he went after her because she was antagonizing him. And Richie’s response is something to the effect of, “Oh, really? Does everyone have that threshold? What do you have to say to me before I decide to beat you, then?” Because it’s bullshit and victim blaming, and everyone has a choice of whether or not to commit violence, especially in positions of power. (Even when the violence is committed in self-defense, there’s always the choice to--not defend yourself, and to accept those consequences. In this instance, I’m not describing “violence” as an umbrella “this is always bad” sort of thing; but I do think that it’s always bad when enacted on someone else for the purpose of harming them, especially from a position of power to someone weaker.)

Like many readers of IT by Stephen King, I was horrified by the blasé approach that most of the adults have to the childhood bullying portrayed in the book. I know that King experienced bullying as a child--probably part of why he writes it so elaborately and brutally; and I know that one of It’s influences is that It exaggerates the negative and harmful tendencies of all of Derry’s residents, including bullies like Henry Bowers (even before It interferes with him directly), Alvin Marsh and Sonia Kaspbrak (whose “protective” and abusive natures become exaggerated and inhuman), and adults who turn blind eyes to the violence happening in front of them (the older couple who saw Bowers cutting Ben and drove on, bystanders who saw Alvin Marsh chasing Bev through the street and did nothing, a shopkeeper who tried to intervene in an act of bullying and allowed Bowers and his gang to run him off instead of rescuing the Loser in question, though I’m afraid I don’t remember the specifics).

In this case, I decided that the Toziers didn’t respond appropriately to defend their son. You can decide whether that was because of Derry and It or because of their parenting style. But in this case I decided to have Wentworth demand that Richie take responsibility for his victimization. And Richie gives a sort of Stepford smile when he admits to provoking Bowers; and Wentworth’s response is “You’re very smart, but you kept being stupid and getting into fights.”

If you read the Bananaheels scene from IT, we see that Richie has literally no brain-to-mouth filter. The very second the words are out of his mouth, he wants to kick himself, but he knows Bowers will do it for him. I also write Richie as having untreated ADHD, especially as a child, and his failure to consider cause and effect here is influenced by my own brother. He literally could not consider the consequences of his temper tantrums when he was a child, because there was no reflection or consideration of cause and effect for him. Many child psychologists, psychiatrists, and therapists attested to this. Because this is a real person and someone I have great affection for, I’m not interested in breaking down whether that’s an element of being a child (it was not in my experience) or an element of having untreated ADHD (again, it was not in my experience, as I suffered crippling overthink and decision paralysis at the other end of the spectrum). But I did decide to let that influence Richie.

Eddie is very uncomfortable with Richie’s parents’ lack of sympathy, especially because he shared the experience with Richie; but he’s also uncomfortable with parents in general and very aware that he’s in the Toziers’ space and doesn’t feel he has standing towards them. Richie gets more defensive, Stepford smiling, and recounts other stories of Bowers’ gang harassing the Losers, getting crueler and more flippant both with himself and with his friends (he casually insults Ben), and culminates in the story of Bowers cutting Ben for the crime of not allowing him to cheat off him in school, something that Richie is sure the Toziers cannot claim was the wrong thing to do, the way they suggested that Richie’s actions were the wrong thing to do.

Only then does Wentworth remember that the childhood bully Richie mentioned was actually arrested and imprisoned for fratricide. This is something that even the fog of Derry’s memory loss didn’t take away from him completely, and Richie discussing it brings it back up. And Richie gleefully confirms that yes, that is the Henry Bowers he meant, and actually he tried to lynch Mike and successfully stabbed Eddie in the face, two actions that the Toziers cannot dismiss as provoked. Then the Toziers get distracted by dentistry and Richie coldly and excellently lies to his parents’ faces not just about Bowers’ whereabouts but about the fact that he killed them.

So Richie’s topic of conversation when he and Eddie leave is “Why do you think It went after us?” because he’s still trying to deal with the victim blaming his father expressed and what he actually means is “What do you think I did that made this happen to me?” Then Richie talks about his parents’ choice not to have any children after him, and makes a joke that’s actually completely serious about being such an annoying child that his parents decided they didn’t want any more, even at the potential of his mother’s longed-for daughter, because (in Richie’s mind) the risk of a second Richie was too great. And Richie jokes about his own death, and admits to Eddie that he was very lonely, because Richie is still very lonely right now.

And Eddie says that he’s not lonely and he never felt lonely, and Richie hears “I wasn’t lonely because I had you,” and that’s what he really needs to hear right then. It’s not a love confession (a love confession would be too good to be true), but Richie thinks it’s as good as he’s going to get, so he eats it up.

Even Eddie’s thoughts are about victim blaming, which comes down to an argument that I read on tumblr some years ago: that “she shouldn’t have dressed like that, she shouldn’t have gone off by herself” means “rape the other girl, the one who did all the wrong things,” the one that means violence as punishment. Eddie thinks that victim blaming in this case means that It should have killed and eaten the other kid, which is of course wrong, because It had to be stopped for its monstrosity, not because it was an ineffective deterrent or punishment.

So Eddie pushes Richie in the other direction--he says that what made a difference was not that the Losers ran around without supervision, but that they loved each other enough to risk their lives trying to save each other. Even Richie, in his magnanimous cruelty after speechifying and leaving Bill on the hook, chose to kill the fucking clown rather than abandon Bill, rather than leave It to eat the other kid. And when Richie says “Good for us,” about the Losers being willing to die for each other, he gets grim because Eddie is still like that, trying to die for him; and Richie can forgive himself for trying to die to save the others, but he doesn’t know if he can forgive Eddie for actually dying to save him yet.

That was a long one, but I’m planning on digging back into Maggie and Went in Indelicate again and it’s good practice for me to analyze the choices I made months ago. So thank you for asking! And for reading, of course.

#my fic #indelicate spoilers #now what i'm gonna say may sound indelicate #nwigsmsi #indelicate #rape mention #victim blaming #child abuse mention

23 notes · View notes

spiltscribbles · 4 years

Note

Can I request 7, 9 or 78 for pynch? I liked all of those, haha -- uncertainglobalfuture

~Notes: Thank you SO SO much gorgeous<3 This came out way to soft lmfao. |

A Reblog is worth a thousand stars<3 | Buy Me A Coffee?

~78. “Just please be my best friend right now, and not the person I confessed my love to~

When Adam’s seven years old his first grade teacher asks him why he never has a lunch. He tells her he forgets to get up early enough to make it. Three weeks after that she asks him where he got that nasty bruise on his left arm. He tells her he had wiped out on his bicycle. Two months after that she keeps him inside for recess and asks him to join her and Principle Jenkins for a little while. Adam didn’t mind, he never could make a friend as easily as the others— too distant and too reserved and too withdrawn for the lot of them. But then they start asking about Adam’s home life and parents and whether he needs help or not, all rinsing hands topped off by tense smiles that don’t touch their eyes.

Adam stays aloof— doesn’t bother to panic. He’s been trained by his mother for countless years on how to reply to these sort of probing questions. Has long mastered the owlish blink to his eyes, and diffident smile to his lips. Knows exactly what to do so that they could pretend that there’s nothing out of the ordinary. He knows full and well that none of them actually want to tackle this conversation, and knows that it’s pointless because he’s a Parrish, this is all there is.

This’s all there ever will be.

He doesn’t tell either of his parents about the meeting, is too afraid of their reactions. Besides he doesn’t see much of a point when only a week later they’re packing up and leaving this small town in the dust just to settle in another with the same pasted grins and eyes that slide off from truths that are too ugly to confront.

On Adam’s first day of classes in Henrietta elementary he comes to the conclusion that not everything is stuck being the exact same when a boy with cornflower eyes and dark curls pads up to him and tells him that he’s Adam’s assigned buddy.

“What’s a buddy?” Adam asks, pinning him with a one eyed squint, totally incredulous.

“’S someone who shows you round the classroom and playground.” the other boy answers with an imperious tilt to his head. “Duh.”

“I Don’t need a buddy,” Adam glares at him. He doesn’t yell because Robert yells and Adam hates it when he yells.

“Who peed in your cereal?” The other boy, Ronan Lynch, asks sourly, indignant hands on his hips.

“I don’t need a buddy,” Adam only reiterates, spindly arms wrapped tight against his chest, his jaw set and stance rigid.

“Fine!” Ronan huffs with an emphatic stomping to his foot for good measure. “Hope you get lost with all the big kids then!”

“Fine!”

Later that afternoon, during free time, a blonde boy Adam doesn’t even recognize gleefully shoves his gross ball of slime into Adam’s face with an emphatic gusto. Adam only escapes the situation when Ronan storms over towards them to interrupt.

“Get lost Tad.”

“Can’t hog the new kid Ronan!”

“Uh-huh! Mis Sanchez made me his buddy.”

“Oh,” Tad only pouts, totally put out, before ambling off with his aforementioned ball of slime.

“Uh, ah thank you.” Adam says, wide eyed as he stares at a still moody looking Ronan.

“Wasn’t to help you! Me and Noah need someone to play trains with us, now c’mon.”

He pivots around, marching towards the back of the room, and Adam is only sorta shocked that he actually follows suit.

Adam isn’t sure how, but impossibly— remarkably— Ronan Lynch never quite leaves his orbit for the rest of that year, or any of the ones that follow.

He isn’t sure if they’re friends, has never had a friend before, which might be sorta embarrassing considering he’s in the fourth grade now. But in Adam’s defense no one else really caught his attention, certainly not keeping it for as long as Ronan has somehow done.

If Adam’s forced to think about it, he thinks that they are.

They sit besides each other for class every day, and Adam isn’t even annoyed when Ronan pulls funny faces his way instead of listening along. Yesterday for kickball Ronan chose Adam first, even before Gansey or Noah, and Adam has only ever liked adventuring outdoors with Ronan, even if it meant scraped knees and dirt on his pants that he shakes off the best he could before going back home to the trailer park.

But even still, it couldn’t hurt to ask him, right? It’s a simple question that calls for a simple answer. It’s just to double check that Adam’s not just some leach grabbing for anything he can.

Robert hates it when Adam asks questions, tries teaching him to stop being so god damn nosey about everyone’s business. Adam’s never seen it like that. Question yield answers, and answers usually make someone smarter, so without questions the world would just be stumbling around, utterly ignorant to everything. He much prefers how his first grade teacher had called him inquisitive, it makes Adam feel smart, proper, like he isn’t just annoying everyone, more like there’s a purpose to it.

That said, Adam knows that he’s inquisitive as all get out, so he doesn’t even think twice before asking Ronan point blank the following day at recess if they’re friends or not.

Ronan scrunches his nose at him, lips curled morosely.

“Stop being a weirdo and come play four square with us.”

Adam reasons that’s as much of an affirmation as he’s gonna get, and decides to only shrug before following him to play along.

The first time Adam goes to Ronan’s house for a school project, it’s a sunny autumn afternoon, and they’re fresh faced sixth graders. It’s the last year before embarking on the looming threat of junior high— A practice trial of sloppy make out parties and getting buzzed off cheap wine coolers swiped from someone’s parent’s licker cabinet— Gansey’s determined to make it the best year yet, and of course Ronan enthusiastically agrees because he and Gansey are really brothers in all but blood, so of course he’s going to entertain all of Gansey’s grandest of whims. And Noah always loves a good tie.

Adam still thinks it’s miraculous that they’ve adopted him into their little, mismatched brotherhood. That just as often Gansey looks at Ronan for a joke, he glances to Adam to ask a question with a furrow between his brows. And Noah says that Adam’s the only one who could keep up with him on a skateboard, even if his is a pathetic hunk of plastic he had bought for a quarter at a nearby thrift shop. And Ronan—

Well Ronan’s a different beast entirely.

He’s loud and abrasive and yells when he’s feeling to passionately and curses like a sailor even before they’ve hit teen hood. On paper he’s the precise sort of boy Adam never wanted to entangle himself with, the sort of boy that might’ve scared him in another universe. In a universe that Ronan wasn’t his assigned buddy on that fateful day, and a universe where Adam didn’t see how he doted on his brother a year behind them in school, and how he always fed the birds outdoors with bread from his lunch, and how he sometimes looks at Adam with such caution and care that it makes him blush.

No, Adam hates the thought of that world, and he refuses to think on it for any longer.

“C’mon ’s just a bit further of a walk,” Ronan tells Adam with a slight tug on where he’s got a hand encircled around Adam’s smaller wrist.

The first thing Adam thinks of when he finally sees the mythic Barns is that it’s a castle from a storybook.

It’s all sprawling fields filled with daisies and a large, but cozy looking house that’s got the backdrop of such blue, blue skies behind it. There are even vines that snake up its entrance, a rosebuds that accent the doorway.

The inside is much of the same, a managed mess with coats slung on the sofa and family portraits hanging on the walls, and the scent of fresh baked cookies wafting in the air.

It’s a home, loving and lived in and ringing out with warmth.

There’s a pang to Adam’s heart. He’s never felt the chasms that divide his and Ronan’s lives so acutely.

“Love,” a low, melodic voice crows from what must be the kitchen. He recognizes it to belonging to Ronan’s mother, the golden and beautiful Aurora.”Is that you?”

“Yeah Ma!” Ronan shouts back, crass as ever and making it so Adam winces back. “Adam’s here too, we’ve got a biology project to do.”

“Oh how splendid,” Aurora says with genuine mirth as she steps into the living room, splattered in flower and glowing with pure delight.

“Sorry for the intrusion ma’am,” Adam mumbles even though his own mother cuffs him on the back the head every time he does so.

“Nonsense,” she admonishes with no real heat, just fond exasperation. “Now Adam darling, how does quesadillas sound for dinner?”

Adam pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, feeling his cheeks flush as he averts his gaze. “I won’t stay for dinner ma’am, I don’t wanna be a bother.”

“Course you’re staying for dinner dummy.”

“Ronan, language,” Aurora chides, but the reproach sounds more like a formality than anything else. “Adam sweetheart we have more than enough to go around, you’re more than welcome to stay. In fact you’re the only friend of Ronan’s that hasn’t come around for a meal, and I know Niall would love to get to know you along with me.”

Adam feels his cheeks heat even brighter. He knows that she didn’t mean anything by the fact that they have more than enough to go around. It definitely wasn’t intended as any sorta dig, it’s just the way wealthier folks speaks. They’ve never needed to want for anything. Besides, it would be awful of him to stay here and eat their surely amazing food when he knows there’s a three day old meatloaf that his parents would be heating up tonight.

“I should ask my Ma.” Adam says mildly, a sneaky out. He’s sure his parents won’t let him stay past dinner time, and at least this way he won’t inadvertently insult Aurora.

“We’ll make her say yes,” Ronan squawks, indignant at the thought otherwise. Because of course he is, with the parents he got, Ronan probably can’t even fathom eating leftovers or being made to finish all the household chores or being ignored up until either of his parents feel like a good yelling. “Ma, I know he’s skinny but trust me he eats like a freaking maniac. I don’t even know where he stores it!”

“I’ll make so many you boys won’t know what to do with yourselves,” Aurora chortles, and Adam isn’t sure if he imagines the soft, sympathetic look she tosses his way or not, but prefers not to marinate on it. “Adam there’s a phone in the kitchen, you can call your folks from there.”

Shockingly, his mom says that Adam can stay.

“Your dad’s at a poker night, so come back before he does and don’t forget to walk Luanne’s dog tomorrow morning or else the doe’s coming from your pocket.”

Adam’s so stunned he doesn’t even have it inside of him to remind his mother that he doesn’t have a scent to his name.

The rest of that afternoon is spent roaming Ronan’s truly massive backyard, and playing a game that Matthew’s made up using a kickball, a spoon, and two eggs from the chicken coop. Later on Declan helps them with their diorama, and he and Ronan are allowed to eat in his room while watching an old black and white movie in the small television he keeps atop a shelf cluttered with about a thousand other nicknacks and broken toys.

And it’s wonderful.

“He’s just such a prick.”

Adam doesn’t have to ask who Ronan’s talking about.

He’s working beneath an old Ford truck in the small auto repair shop that he somehow finessed getting a job inside of even though he’s only fifteen and a sophomore and frankly, always fucking exhausted.

It’s become the norm for Ronan to ditch Gansey and Noah and join Adam in the dingy, rundown garage on his work nights, mostly just to keep him company. Sometimes he’l bring over homework and read the chapter for whichever class they’ve got the next day, and sometimes they just chat and listen to the old rock station playing from the speakers. But tonight’s one of those rare nights when Ronan is well and properly pissed, so he’s just slamming a bouncy ball against the wall over and over again while ranting about Declan, and Declan’s stupid new internship on the hill, and his stupid new girlfriend, (The third fucking Ashley in a row! Can you believe that!) And has now moved to berating Declan’s slicked back hair and clothes and his know-it-all attitude.

“He’s just such a— A—“

“Prick,” Adam says, snarky as all get out as he slides from under the car and moves to dry his hands from the oil that’s leaked onto him. “You’ve said— Like a thousand fucking times.”

Ronan pouts, arms crossed against his chest. “Well I don’t lie Parrish.”

The corner of Adam’s mouth quirks up reluctantly. “But you do pout, quite moodily too.”

“Oh piss off,” he hisses venomously, flipping him the bird for good measure.

Adam only rolls his eyes at his friend’s antics.

“Is this really because you think Declan’s a prat, or ’s it cause he’s moving out for a whole semester.”

Ronan glares at him with the ferocity of a thousand suns, and a weaker man might’ve shuttered back. But as it is, Adam is not a weaker man, and besides— He’s been on the receiving end of that look, and a thousand other even more menacing ones a countless number of times, it’s part and parcel of being Ronan’s best friend.

“You bite your whore tongue Parrish.”

Adam laughs, appreciates that even when he’s bone weary, Ronan can always do that. Make him feel lighter and dazzling and smile like they were still kids and things sucked, but they just sucked a little less.

“You’re gonna miss’m.”

“I said shut! it!”

“Ronan loves his older brother, oh this is good! I can’t wait to tell Gans!”

“I will punch your lights out you little runt!”

“Oo, big words from a big man.” Adam waggles his brows, unimpressed.

“You don’t know the people I know Parrish, I can get you offed with a snap of my finger!” Ronan says, laughter glittering in his pale eyes. The same color of the blue sky that first day Adam visited the Barns.

“Hah,” Adam snorts, finishing up closing shop for the night. “You know me, who’s a workaholic. Gansey, who’s too busy getting off to old dead kings to care about any sorta espionage mission. And Noah, who’s stoned about 98.5% of the time and built like a twig. You’ve got nothing.”

“I feel like I should be affronted on Noah’s behalf,” Ronan notes contemplatively.

“Oy, can you think on this great moral dilemma on the way to the McDonald’s drive through? I just got paid this morning and have been craving their fries from the dollar menu.”

“Oh fine you heathen,” Ronan huffs, acting oh so bereft. “Who gives a shit about my problems when your stomach is obviously much more important.”

Adam tsks as they meander to Niall’s old BMW that Ronan begged to keep, declining to buy a entirely new vehicle like Declan had gotten for his fifteenth.

“Oh and this provisional license means that I can’t have you in, so if any coppers cruise by just duck down like you’re giving me some road head, yeah?”

It’s Adam’s turn to glare at him. “Keep it up and I’ll have to tell Aurora bout your potty mouth you delinquent.”

Ronan’s smile goes sharp at that, like something very lethal and very dangerous. Adam pretends it doesn’t go straight to his gut.

“Naughty Parrish. And here I was all prepared to save you like a damsel if the coppers actually did stop us.”

Adam scoffs. “Please, that’s not a favor to me, you’re so thirsty to get arrested, it’s pathetic.”

“Well a pretty little thing like you wouldn’t last a day in the slammer,” Ronan goads, pulling the car into gear.

“You’re an idiot, and a prick.” Adam tells him bluntly.

“Tell me something I don’t know beautiful.”

Adam rolls his eyes so hard that he’s afraid he might’ve sprained something.

“Fine, you’re lip piercing makes you look like a douche.”

“But it’s so bad ass though!”

“Yeah, to like ten year old white boys in the suburbs.”

Ronan clutches his fist to his chest, feigning distress. “Parrish you’ve wounded me, I’m bleeding out! A curse to you and your family! And your family’s cow too!”

“Eyes on the Road maniac.” Adam scolds, trying his damndest not to let his mirth show.

Ronan buys himself half the menu and pays for Adam’s happy meal under the guise that it would be too difficult to have separate orders. But he conspicuously doesn’t ask for the receipt, and Adam tempts down the flicker that wants to fight him on it.

They end up on a cliff overlooking town, devouring their food in a sickeningly short amount of time before lying back on Ronan’s car, staring up at the constellations while the radio plays an acoustic song about love and slow dancing and Adam is too busy staring at the infinitesimal space that’s dividing their pinkies on the glass to pay attention to anything else.

“You— Erm, you have nice hands.” More than a bit surprised, Adam flinches back and quirks a brow at him in question. “They’re, erm rough, and you’ve got long fingers,” Ronan explains, his face going bright red and his bottom lip worried between his teeth.

“Is that right?” Adam asks, a slow smile gracing his lips as he gazes over at Ronan’s sharp profile being kissed by starlight.

“It is,” Ronan says, giving one, quick nod and not daring to look over at Adam quite yet. And God, he’s such a mess.

Tentative, Adam links their pinkies together and tilts his head so that he’s resting it on Ronan’s shoulder, hearing it when Ronan lets out the breath he seems to have been holding in for quite a while now.

“Right,” he says in a near whisper.

“Is this good?” Adam asks, only teasing him slightly.

“This is fucking fantastic Parrish.”

“You know that I—“

“I hoped as much,” Ronan admits, a bit flushed.

“But everything’s just so crazy right now,” Adam continues to explain, focussing on the velvet skyline and the full moon pouring over the pair of them.

“Your folks,” Ronan surmises, his jaw set and his open fist clenched so tight that his knuckles go white.

“Ro— Just please be my best friend right now, and not the person I confessed my love too. Please.”

“Course Adam, of course,” Ronan says worriedly, hurrying to collect him into his arms. “Whatever you want, whatever you need. I’m here.”

Adam’s entire body goes relaxed, and he puts a gentle hand over Ronan’s heart. “This, this’s all I want.”

The smile Ronan gives him in turn is blinding.

Adam’s mother tells him early on— tipsy and slurring as she puts him to bed after one of Robert’s moods— not to expect much from this world, this life. She tells him not to get his hopes up with the folly of making it big one day. Of leaving the dust and brimstone that molded him in the first place, tells him it’s a wasted effort.

“You’re not better than us Adam,” she says his name like she meant something else entirely.

She says his name like she means plague, like she means ruin, like she means tragic. She says his name like she sees all the twinkling possibilities she once dreamt of touching slowly collapse right in front of her, like it was his fault that she’s fettered to a life composed of cold silences and loveless touches and being stuck existing in the underbelly of society. Like it’s his fault the light in her eyes fractured day by day until it shattered permanently.

“The teachers don’t know what they’re talking bout, think you’re just some quiet, bookish kid.” She continues to bellow, tiny fists knotted in the material of the threadbare blanket he’s wrapped within. Adam feels nauseous at the scent of beer masking her hot breath. “They don’t know how much of a pain in the ass you are! How you just keep revving your father on for the fun of it! How you’re a fucking disappointment.”

Adam apologizes because he thinks that’s his only option. His mother snarls like she can’t stand to look at him for any longer. And nothing changes because nothing ever does.

But now, sitting in Ronan’s beloved BMW— bloody and battered and barely conscious— Adam thinks he can maybe, finally escape it.

The next time he opens his eyes he’s in an abrasively white hospital room, and he can’t hear out his left ear, and everything aches. But Ronan’s besides him, and that makes everything bearable.

“I hate them,” is the first thing Ronan says when he realizes Adam’s awake and has already pressed the button for the nurse to come in.

“I’m not going back,” Adam tells him, more convicted than he’s ever felt before.

Ronan squeezes his hand in silent thanks and it’s the first time Adam notices that Ronan’s broken three knuckles from the impact against Robert’s face, and he’s surprised that he’s only worried that Ronan’s hurt himself.

Them falling into their relationship was one of the more natural changes in Adam’s life. He hadn’t realized how gradual, how fated their romance actually was. How it’s been building for nearing on a decade.

How Ronan had always chosen Adam first since childhood— through it all. How Ronan is one of the only people Adam has always trusted implicitly. How jealous Ronan had been freshman year when Adam took Blue to homecoming and how relieved he became when Blue and Gansey began going out later that year.

Adam knows that he and Ronan aren’t some sort of soulmate love story, that they can get on each other’s nerves and have fights and disagreements too. But that makes it just the more real, makes it something solid and tangible and something Adam can’t imagine living without.

But the night his Harvard acceptance letter comes is only three months after Niall’s death after a drunk driver had hit him on the slippery January streets. Ronan’s already decided to stay home after graduation to watch out for his Ma and to keep the farm going.

“I can go somewhere closer by,” Adam tells Ronan that night, tangled in one another and Adam’s threadbare sheets in St Agnus, his hearing ear against Ronan’s chest and the pair of them shirtless and clinging onto each other like they needed the closeness to breathe.

“Don’t be stupid Parrish,” Ronan says in a excruciatingly soft cadence, one of his fingers tracing small hearts down Adam’s spine. “You’re gonna go off and be brilliant, and I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Promise?” Adam asks lowly, his voice thick with emotion and his own hands beginning to tremble.

“I’d wait for you for forever and a day.” Ronan tells him with such conviction that Adam’s left speechless, only tilts his had upwards so he could capture Ronan’s mouth and snog him nice and thorough.

“God I love you.” And it’s the first time Adam’s said as much with so many words, but he’s not afraid, not anymore.

“I love you too Parrish.”

Buy Me A Coffee?

#pynch #adam parrish #RONAN LYNCH #THE RAVEN CYCLE #SPILT INK #cowboyformitski #this is so late #But ILY BUBBY

54 notes · View notes

platypanthewriter · 3 years

Text

Strangest Chapter 11

chapter 1/chapter 2/chapter 3/chapter 4/chapter 5/chapter 6/chapter 7/chapter 8/chapter 9/chapter 10/ .../Chapter 12

(But really I’d recommend reading it on Ao3 under peterqpan, scrolling through it on Tumblr sounds crazymaking. Thanks so much @tbehartoo and @perfectfestivalalienfish!)

After the accidentally-romantic reveal of Steve’s ceramic monstrosity, Billy was distracted in gym, until Steve leaned in to whisper “Can’t believe you’re ignoring my balls, Hargrove.”

“Believe me, I’m not,” Billy muttered back, his jaw working. He stumbled back into their gym teacher, his eyes fixed on Steve’s mouth, and Steve grinned at him, and licked his lips.

The next time they passed each other, Steve leaned to whisper “What kinda attention am I gonna get for a good present, Hargrove?”

“I dunno, I haven’t seen one yet,” Billy hissed back, and then, “Don’t diss Denise, asshole. I’ll pound your ass into— jesus christ,” he spun on his heel, neck flushed, and stomped off directly through the melee around the basketball hoop, elbowing his way to the locker rooms. By the time Steve got there, Billy was showered and clothed, leaning to talk to Tommy as Steve ducked into the showers.

When he got out, Billy was lying on his back on the bench, eyeing the water running down Steve’s legs, and Steve wanted to kiss him. He firmed his lips and determination, and decided to stay after school to work on a better Valentine’s Day present—Denise had been a joke, he ranted in his head, he could do better if he was trying—

Steve told Eleven this, when she popped up at his elbow in the locker room—right after he shrieked, scrambling for a towel. She surveyed the locker room with narrowed eyes, and more of the highschool boys screamed than would admit to it later, covering their dicks. As most of the class dove behind lockers, she allowed Steve to fling Billy’s towel over her head and shove her back towards the door. “So...if you’re busy, we can borrow Billy, right?” she asked, through the towel.

Billy was laughing his ass off, since he’d had pants on already, and his junk wasn’t vulnerable to the critical eye of a middle-school girl. “No cats,” he called over.

“You can keep him,” Steve muttered, shoving her out the door. When he stalked back in, Billy grinned at him, pointedly rubbing his thumb along his own inner elbow, where the Sharpie heart was, with the messy H+H.

Steve felt his cheeks heat. “Shut up.”

“Be honest about your feeblings, Harrington,” Billy whispered back, staggering as Steve thudded their shoulders together, yanking his jeans up over his briefs.

“Here?! I think we’d get expelled,” Steve whispered back, and Billy licked his lips, snickering.

“I’m your favorite,” Billy breathed in his ear, and Steve swiveled to face his locker, eyes wide as he popped a boner. Not now, he told his dick, straining against his pants, later, just wait until after school, I’ll get my fingers in his hair and pull him close, and when his knees start to get noodly with my mouth on his neck, we can fuck on the kitchen floor—

“Harrington,” Billy repeated, elbowing him, and Steve cleared his throat, rubbing his face. His cheeks were hot.

“Yeah, yes, I’m here,” he swallowed, “—here, right here.”

Billy squinted at him, halfway into a sweatshirt, so his biceps flexed against the fabric, and his chest and abs gleamed in the florescent lights of the locker room. He zipped it up. “...you sure?”

“Very very here, at school,” Steve muttered, staring into his locker again. “Very here where I can’t, uh. What?”

“You like me as much as Tommy, right,” Billy cocked his head, leaning in to murmur, “—what if I hit him, you gonna throw me out, or—”

“Wait, what?” Steve kept his eyes on Billy’s face, listening, instead of tracking the trickle of water from his wet hair down his neck and along his collarbone. “What’s going on?”

“He’s, uh,” Billy leaned back against the lockers, surveying the room with a too-wide grin. “—he’s thinking one of us is gonna spread it around I—I let him—we screwed, y’know. Says he’s not like me, he’s—he says he’s gonna tell everyone I’m a fag, that’s why I’m sniffing around Steve Harrington—”

“Christ.”

“I’m gonna feed him his own molars.” Billy rolled his shoulders. “Before he gets me drug behind some redneck meathead’s truck—”

“Holy shit,” Steve breathed, wanting to spin his bat around his hand. He took a deep breath. “Okay, okay,” he whispered. “Okay, we can’t—we can’t kill him, we—we can’t murder him, Hargrove, we can’t. We can’t—we can’t just—just murder him, even if—”

“Jesus,” Billy whispered, glancing around. “Ssh!”

“We—we’d probably get caught,” Steve told Billy, grabbing his hands and squeezing them. “We’d—we’d get caught, mustard, uh, mustard pie, we’d—we’d definitely go to jail, we can’t kill him.”

“I didn’t say murder,” Billy hissed back, wide-eyed. “I said I was gonna punch his face, Harrington—”

“Okay,” Steve nodded, squeezing Billy’s hands so hard he winced. “Okay. Okay, god damn it. Damn, damn, damn damn it—”

“Holy helicopters,” Billy muttered, straight-faced, and Steve choked on a snort, and started coughing.

“Oh my god I love you,” he groaned into his hand, ignoring Billy suddenly closer, warm against his side. “Okay. Okay, wait, no.” Steve yanked his shirt on, got some of it in his mouth, and Billy yanked it down, leaning in.

Billy slid his hand up Steve’s side, hot and callused, and Steve shoved it down and away, trying to refocus his brain on Billy’s words. “I need to do something,” Billy hissed. “He’s gonna tell everybody I’m queer, your majesty.” His eyes were red. “You don’t need to—none of that shit’s gonna get on you—”

“No, jussec.” Steve set his shoulders, did a mental check of his anatomy, and decided he could turn around without everybody knowing he got hard when Billy Hargrove growled in his ear. “It’s—just—just a—just hold off, okay. I’ll—I won’t kill him. I’ll talk to him.”

“Talk to him?! Harrington,” Billy growled, grabbing his wrist, and Steve held still, feeling his bones grind together. They were starting to draw attention, so he asked the guy across the bench about his new shoes, and found out way more about Adidas Micropacers than he’d ever wanted to know, but the conversation kept going when he backed out. Billy let go of his wrist, but leaned close. “Your majesty. Whaddaya mean talk to him, talk to me, come on,” he said under his breath.

“I’ll handle it,” Steve whispered back, nodding and grinning at another kid showing off his sneakers. He watched Tommy fixing his hair, and tried to remember his past friend’s class schedule.

“Just a little worried about getting lynched, probably by the people in this room,” Billy hissed, as Steve started to walk away.

Steve bit his lips, turning back to pretend to check inside his locker. “Look. Dickhead,” he tried, and Billy covered a snort, swallowing. Steve tried to grin confidently. “Trespasser. Wait a sec, just—just wait a minute, let me—let me try something. We can’t kill him,” Steve sighed, and Billy’s jaw clenched.

“I wasn’t trying to kill him,” he hissed back.

“You beat him up, he’ll just get mad! Besides, you start throwing punches, they’ll call your dad—get him down here—”

Billy shrugged. His hands shook, and he clenched them in fists, laughing. “Win some, lose some—at least you won’t go to jail, Jesus H. Christ—”

“No, no—I—I, uh, you won’t, uh, he won’t, okay, babe, Ha-Hargrove, just—just gimme a minute, I—I’m not—if this doesn’t work we—I—I’ll hold him down. We’ll just kill him. You can—you can use my bat.”

Billy snorted, side-eyeing him. “...good use for it.” He rubbed his face, and nodded, tilting backto lean against the lockers. His knuckles were white on his forearms again, his nails digging into the sleeves of Steve’s sweatshirt against the hearts Steve had drawn up his arm. “As you fucking command, my leige. I hope your plan’s better than ‘murder’.”

Steve rolled his eyes, and jogged out of the locker room after Tommy, dropping an arm around his shoulders.

“Hey there,” Tommy grinned at him, his gaze dropping to Steve’s mouth and back up in a way Steve remembered, but hadn’t really registered before.

Steve smiled—it was easier to smile around Tommy than it was to remember what Tommy was like, and always had been—and tried to decide how to start.

“Hargrove get all shook up and remember who your real friends are?” Tommy elbowed Steve, then hailed Carol out of the crowd.

“He’s a friend,” Steve tried.

“Bet he didn’t tell you about the other night,” Tommy glanced up sideways, his jaw clenched, “—when we tried to get you to party.”

“He doesn’t remember most of it,” Steve blurted, and his stomach sank at Tommy’s widening grin. “Look, I know what happened, and, uh—”

“I bet you don’t,” Tommy hissed, glancing around. Carol came out of her class, but saw them and leaned against the wall, disentangling an earring from her hair. Tommy jerked away from Steve to walk backwards towards her. “Bet he didn’t tell you who he wanted to fuck.”

“He—he said—”

“Hate to break it to you,” Tommy’s voice rose, “—Billy Hargrove wants y—”

“I still talk to Carol’s sister,” Steve hissed at him. “Remember? She had a story about a party you guys left. When I was visiting my mom in Boston.”

“What?” Tommy stopped in the middle of the hallway, staring at him.

“Remember finding the keys in a backhoe? And a joyride?” Steve narrowed his eyes, as Tommy snorted a laugh. Steve lowered his voice. “—I know what happened with Billy, okay—”

Tommy’s freckles stood out as he paled. “No, you—you wouldn’t be—he lied,” he laughed shakily. “He must’ve, he’s a fucking liar— ”

“What?! He—he didn’t have to,” Steve raised his eyebrows, “—he called me, I picked him up. I was in there while you assholes were in the shower—”

Tommy’s breath caught, and his eyes got shiny, and Steve knew that look—from Billy smashing a plate in his face at the Byers’, but also from years of knowing Tommy, and he waved his hands, open palmed.

“I don’t care! I don’t care, I don’t care, but don’t—don’t try and—don’t say it was all Hargrove’s fault, it wasn’t—”

“You don’t...care,” Tommy took a deep breath, shoulders relaxing, then punched Steve’s arm. “The fuck do you mean, you don’t care, you moron, you still don’t get what I—why the hell did he call you, didn’t he kick your ass? You his bitch now?” he hissed, and Steve bit his lips.

“Yeah. No, I’m not—” Steve felt his cheeks warming, and cleared his throat. “He—he did that,” Steve kept nodding, running his fingers through his hair, “—he did, he beat me up. Yeah. So did you, asswipe. But. Um, if—if you try and—and tell everyone he—that he’s—”

“He’s a goddamn—”

Steve cut him off, clenching his fists. “If you tell people he did something to— to you, if you—if you say it’s—if you say it was all Billy, I—I won’t keep your secrets. Anymore.”

“...what,” Tommy choked.

“Any of them,” Steve emphasized, flailing his hands. “I know some shit. They try you now, you might get tried as an adult. You could go to actual prison, dude.”

“I will end you,” Tommy hissed, sputtering with rage, “I will end you and your fag friend—you—”

Steve flinched, but held his ground. “Bullshit. I won’t—I won’t say anything unless you...do,” he frowned, thinking through it, “—but...I think—I think between you, and Hargrove, and me,” he swallowed, “—I think—I think I’m who people will listen to here at school. If you—if you try to tell them. That. And—and you know Sheriff Hopper will hear me out, when I tell him who took the backhoe. Took it for a spin when they were putting in the new parking lot. You crashed the backhoe into the sheriff station that night, remember? I can’t—don’t quite remember how many thousands of dollars in damage that was, d’you?”

Tommy stepped closer, laughing. “And what, you’re gonna sell me out for the queer? Shouldn’t you be thinking about what I could do...Pussington?” Tommy growled, and Steve blinked at him, then snorted a laugh.

“I’ve fought scarier shit than you, Tommy Hagen,” he hissed. “I could walk over and use the pay phone right now. Call the police here. Don’t drop the soap when you get sent to prison , right? Because Billy’s the one who’s queer.”

“God, you’re dumb,” Tommy sneered, but he was staring at Steve’s face, wet-eyed. “You don’t even make sense. I can just see you on the witness stand.”

“Oh, you want me to do it?” Steve asked, setting his shoulders to turn away.

Tommy yelled “Fuck you, no!”, and Steve turned back to see him glaring, fists clenched. “I’ll leave your boyfriend alone,” he hissed.

Steve nodded, his jaw hurting as his teeth ground together, and he shoved by, walking as fast as he could back to the locker room.

Billy was still there, lying along a bench, and Steve wished everyone else had left, so he could crawl up between Billy’s knees, and flop on his chest. He kicked out and nudged Billy’s shoulder, instead. “You ready yet?”

“You gonna hold him down for me to punch?” Billy asked, without opening his eyes.

“No, I, uh.” Steve crouched down to whisper, hugging his knees. “I told him I know way too much shit about him for him to go mouthing off.”

“...you blackmailed him?!” Billy turned his head to stare over.

“Noooo,” Steve considered, “—yeah? I guess?”

“Is anybody looking?” Billy whispered back.

Steve frowned around, then shook his head, and Billy grabbed him by the nape of his neck and yanked him into a deep, soft kiss. Steve flailed his hands, teetering on the balls of his feet, then dropped to a kneel, and slid his thumb along Billy’s cheek.

Billy pulled back, licking his lips, and sat up. “Shit,” he rolled his shoulders, “I can’t really owe you more...everything.”

“...you don’t owe me anything,” Steve huffed a laugh, grimacing at a sudden memory of the way the world had wobbled around him, after days awake. How he’d heard Billy’s yelling from outside while he was lying on the floor of the shower, hoping the hot water would bake him to sleep. “My—my brain’s busted too. You…” he laughed, shaking his head.

“I what?” Billy kept his voice low, but they were drowned out anyway by some guys in the other corner having a pushup contest.

Steve cleared his throat, feeling the edges of the tile dig into his knees, and breathing in the stale smell of gym clothes, and towels that never quite dried. “You saved me. Too. I couldn’t—”

“How the hell—”

“I can’t sleep,” Steve snorted, shrugging, and keeping his eyes on the floor. “And then you showed up. Couldn’t—I wasn’t—eating, a lot, just because I couldn’t—I was so goddamn tired. I don’t know, it...”

Billy was quiet for a long few seconds, but when Steve risked a glance up, he had that expressionless face he got when something reminded him of his dad.

“Sorry—sorry, I’m—”

Billy shoved him, and Steve caught himself against a locker, laughing, and a little off-balance. Billy crossed his arms. “You’re not being dumb, if that’s what you’re gonna say.”

“Just making us miss lunch,” Steve tried, feeling something relax between his shoulders. He brushed himself off, getting to his feet, and let Billy drag him down to sit on the bench. Billy mouthed up under Steve’s ear, kissing open-mouthed up his neck. “Hope nobody’s looking,” Steve told him, leaning into it.

“They’re all being morons behind like five rows of lockers,” Billy whispered back, sliding an arm around Steve’s shoulders, and grabbing at Steve’s jeans with the other. “Lemme cheer you up,” he breathed against Steve’s jaw, biting along it, and Steve nearly choked on his own spit as Billy yanked his fly open and reached into his briefs, releasing the pressure on Steve’s suddenly shatteringly hard cock, and sliding a callused thumb over the wet slit in the tip. “They’re going to lunch,” Billy whispered. “No reason they’d come over here.”

“Christ,” Steve muttered, muffling his gasps against Billy’s sweatshirted shoulder, and clenching his fingers in the fabric. “Le-let me get you—” he whispered, sliding his hand down Billy’s stomach.

“Not the one crying in the locker room, Stevie,” Billy laughed, pushing the tight circle of his thumb and forefinger over Steve’s dick. Steve rolled his head against Billy’s shoulder, trying not to make a noise, and squirmed closer, his brain whiting out things like reciprocation, or witnesses, or dignity, as he faintly registered his own voice begging when Billy took his hand away for a second, returning it wetter. “Go ahead, they left,” Billy whispered in his ear, squeezing him closer until Steve was half in his lap.

“Prettiest trespasser,” Steve realized he was mumbling, along with even more nonsensical things like “—pie, sweet—sweet pie, mustard asshole pie—”, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” and, when Billy pulled away to lick his hand again, in an attempt to be more complimentary, “—nighty—knightliest nighty knight—”—but Billy’s hand was firm and a little rough against his hot skin, and Billy’s shoulders were shaking with laughter, so Steve didn’t care. He went still with a grunt, breathing smoke, cologne, and Billy, and just lay there, feeling sweat trickle down the back of his neck.

“There is so much wrong with you,” Billy muttered against his temple. “Knighty-knight? Seriously?”

“My hero,” Steve mumbled, opening one eye to assess the damage. Billy’d caught the mess in a paper towel. “...you planned that,” he realized, laughing.

“Malice aforethought,” Billy said, and Steve blinked muzzily. “Premeditation. First degree handjobbing. That’d just get me expelled, though, probably, your dirty talk’s gonna get you shot.”

“Mmm,” Steve hummed. “He called me ‘Pussington,’ he muttered. “Tommy. Sounds like ‘Puss in Boots’ more than—”

Billy cackled against his neck, then pulled him closer, and Steve felt his face heat. He let himself take a deep breath, curling a little against Billy, and Billy waited, and didn’t mention the time, or their stomachs growling.

After what seemed like hours, but not long enough, Steve pulled away, clenching his fingers on the bench and laughing. “Shit,” he said, looking at the lockers to avoid looking at Billy, after clinging to him like a koala. His breathing was even, which was a relief, even if he felt a little...shaky, threatening his oldest friend with jail. Because I’ve got so many, he thought, laughing again, and Billy leaned forward to frown into his face.

“Harrington,” he whispered. “D’I break you?”

Steve started giggling, and couldn’t stop.

Billy hung around, hunched in Steve’s sweatshirt, for the rest of the day. He was leaning across from Steve’s locker after third period, but vanished when Steve turned around. He was at the drinking fountain outside the open door of geometry, and Steve missed half the lesson, watching him bend over the faucet, and watching the stream of water fill his mouth and run off his chin.

Just when Steve thought he was free, in Typing 1, he glanced out the window and realized Billy Hargrove was sunning himself outside along the top of Steve’s parent’s BMW, sweatshirt unbuttoned, his tanning-bed-tan shining as his hair ruffled in the breeze.

Steve muffled his laughter, squeezing his thighs together as his dick woke up again. “Go back to sleep,” he growled at it, under his breath. Nancy shot him a glance, then looked out the window, and choked on a snort.

“What’s he doing?” she whispered, her elbow brushing his as she clacked away at the electric typewriter.

Being beautiful, Steve didn’t say. “Messing with me,” he muttered, which was equally true. “He hasn’t left me alone since El showed him, uh,” he squinted, trying to remember. “Nadine?”

“Denise!” Nancy muffled another snort, snickering. “Oh, lord, Steve, it’s so hideous.”

“He likes it!” Steve hissed back, feeling his cheeks heat. “He has awful taste!”

“He doesn’t,” she said, shooting a grin over, and his lungs clenched at the fondness in it even as she hissed, “Keep typing, why don’t you.”

He set his jaw, and pounded out All work and no play makes Steve a dull boy, one-fingered. “How’s Jonathan,” he asked petulantly.

“Oh, Steve,” she sighed. “Now you’ve got, uh, Billy, I can’t—listen, this goes no farther,” she angled her body towards him, dropping her voice to nearly inaudible.

“What?!” he whispered back, and she glanced around, holding her finger over her mouth.

“Ssh! Steve, I can’t tell anyone—things. I would have told Barb—”

Steve nodded, wincing.

She covered her mouth, looking around the extremely loud typing class. Her voice was nearly drowned out by the clacking keys, and Steve leaned closer. “Steve, when he’s about to come, he looks like he’s going to sneeze. He makes all these faces, Steve—”

Steve whooped with laughter, tears springing to his eyes, and nearly fell out of his seat as Nancy smacked his arm and shoulder, giggling herself.

“Shut up, shut up!” she hissed. “Don’t tell anyone!”

“I—I won’t,” he gasped, wiping his eyes. “Jesus. Who the hell would I even—”

“Like Tommy?” she hissed, raising her eyebrows, and he cleared his throat.

“Actually,” he said, tearing out the page he’d ruined, and typing away at his assignment with two fingers, “—Tommy, uh, he said he’d. Um, d’you remember when somebody took a joyride on the backhoe at the sheriff’s station?”

She snorted, glancing over. “...everybody remembers that, they had to redo half the road.”

“Yeah, uh, Tommy kinda...found out about Billy, he said he’d tell, just, everyone—”

“Found out Billy what?!” Nancy stared at the side of his head. “That he beat you up, or—?”

“Everybody keeps saying that, I got some hits in—” he grumbled, feeling his face heat.

“Wait, what? He found out about—” she lowered her voice to a hiss, glancing around, “—found out about you and Billy?”

Steve opened his mouth, and just breathed, then bit his lips. He couldn’t...quite...tell Nancy about Billy’s wild King Kong banana orgy, after what had happened in the locker room—and he wasn’t sure whether the sudden urge to hit something was directed at Tommy, for the bruises he’d left, or Billy, for getting bored and supplementing his sex-diet with jungle fruit, or the world at large, for making him keep a secret for somebody as awful as Tommy Hagen. “Uh, about—about, um, Billy. He—I, uh, I think he was kinda...drunk, and he’s—he’s—”

“He’s what, Steve?!” she whispered back, wide-eyed.

“He’s kind of gay,” Steve hissed back, through gritted teeth. “He was kinda gay at Tommy Hagen.”

“Oh my god, Steve,” she dropped her voice even lower, and reached over to squeeze his wrist. “He has to be careful.”

“He said he’d tell everyone—Tommy said,” Steve tried to explain, feeling like he was picking his way across a trapped floor, as he tried to avoid saying what Billy’d actually done. Tiptoing across the temple tiles like Indiana Jones, doing his best to keep the world from falling away around him. Not that Nancy’d say anything, he thought, but he remembered Billy’s shaking hands. I gotta get used to remembering what are my secrets to tell. “I, uh. Told him I’d tell Hopper it was him. Tommy. Joyriding in the backhoe. He spills about Billy, he’ll have to pay for all that. He’s not gonna—I won’t be telling him...things. Tommy.”

“That’s…” Nancy trailed off, and he narrowed his eyes at her, suspecting she was trying not to say “wonderful news”.

“I know, jesus,” he hissed at her, whacking at the typewriter keys with more force. “He’s bullshit, I get it, we were both—”

“No, uh,” she bit her lips, thumping her stack of typed pages to straighten them. “That’s not—it’s just, I mean. Yeah, he probably wasn’t a great friend. But now we both lost our best friends—” she flailed her arms, and he ducked, “—in this whole mess of bullshit. It—it sucks balls.”

He grinned at her, and she set her jaw. “It’s not funny, Steve. And—and don’t—don’t tell Dustin. Or Billy,” she narrowed her eyes. “You better not tell anyone! Jonathan’s never dated before, I’ll—it’s not his fault, Steve, he’s trying— ”

“How could you make me keep this secret,” he leaned his face in his hand, shoulders shaking with snickers.

“I had to tell someone,” she hissed. “He closes one eye, Steve! I can’t—”

Steve nearly fell out of his seat laughing, and she elbowed him over and over until he started to feel bruised.

“Shut up,” she muttered, wiping her own eyes as she tried to stop giggling. “Jesus.”

“Holy crap, what have you told him about me,” Steve hissed back, still laughing, but shuddering a little at the thought.

“Nothing! I’m dating him, I’m not going to compare and contrast, Steve, god. But—but you’ve—you’re—” she narrowed her eyes through the window at Billy, who’d finally huddled against the cold and zipped up the sweatshirt. “—you—”

“We’re—we’re friends. Uh. Just friends, now,” he supplied, the words feeling odd, and a little sad in his mouth. She hummed, frowning at her typewriter, and he glanced at Billy, thinking he might not have ever gotten to know him, if Nancy hadn’t lost her shit at that party. It was a weird thought, and Steve stared out the window, thinking of his house empty of Billy’s shoes, beer cans, lingering cigarette smoke, and the warm weight pressed against his back when he least expected it. No more slow kisses up his neck when he was stuck in his own head.

Nancy nudged him, and he pulled himself back from watching Billy tug at his earring.

“I meant, uh, we—me and you, we get to be friends now,” he tried, and she bit back a smile. “We can talk about boys now,” he pushed further, wrinkling his nose. “If...if you want? I, uh. I think I might be better at picking boyfriends than being one.”

“Maybe you needed the practise run,” Nancy followed his gaze so both of them were watching Billy, who’d given up on pin-up poses, and was trying to keep his textbook, binder, and pile of flashcards from blowing around in the January wind. “I think...I think maybe we both needed the practise run. But—I have to tell someone besides Barb, you know?”

“Yeah. Wait. What?” he turned his frown back to her.

She took a shaky sigh, digging into her backpack. She tossed a sandwich baggie of goldfish crackers on the desk between them, and then pulled out a composition book. She held it, white-knuckled, for a long second, then shoved it at him.

Steve accepted it—after digging for a handful of goldfish crackers—and opened the first page, propping it on his knee. In capital letters, it just said “I MISS YOU”.

“I—I sort of—tell Barb everything,” Nancy bit her lips, taking a slow breath through her nose. Her eyes shone. “It’s—it’s like this huge letter about everything I couldn’t—after she—there’s so much I want to tell her, Steve, so much has happened—”

“Uh,” he stared at it, reluctant to turn the page, and Nancy grabbed it back.

“Shut up,” she muttered. “I know it’s dumb.”

“N-no,” he blurted. “No, it’s not, it’s not dumb.” He wondered whether he should remind her about their assignment, but hers looked finished. I can finish mine later, he promised himself. “Uh, sorry I—it’s not dumb, I just don’t—when you’re sad I just—I don’t know what to—how can I, uh—”

She laughed, swallowing, and closed her eyes. “I—I thought I’d just—fill this. Write until I use all the pages, and the—and the margins, and the inside covers—” she made a soft, horrible gulping sound, and Steve’s nails dug into his palms with the urge to grab her, like he would have if they’d still been dating, and squeeze her thin shoulders. “I—I thought maybe I’d—feel better. Once—Once I say. Everything. Tell her everything. And then bury it. I—we—there wasn’t a body, I couldn’t bring her back to bury— I couldn’t even say what I wanted at her funeral—I can bury my bullshit letter instead— ”

“We can do that,” he said quickly, glad the typewriters were loud enough to drown them out. “We—we can say, uh, we can say—say things, write her letters? Find—find a nice spot? Bury, um, bury things, letters?”

“She didn’t have any other friends,” Nancy stared ahead, her eyes shining.

“I can write her a letter,” were the words that fell out of his mouth, like he could even remember more of Barbra Holland than a vague shape at Nancy’s elbow. “I can—I can thank her for being a good friend, anyway. To, um, you. To my friend Nancy?”

“Sh-she—she really was,” Nancy’s shoulders shook with a sob, and for the first and probably the last time, Steve wished Jonathan Byers was around to do— something, whatever it was he did that made Nancy less sad. Maybe it was worth the awful sex.

In the heat of the moment, Steve felt he’d easily trade his skill at orgasms with whatever made Nancy stop— stop looking so pinched around the eyes, and start teasing him again over Billy Hargrove.

She took a shaky breath, pressing her face to the back of her hand. “I—I was—I was nervous coming to your house, the—that night, the night she—in your—in your pool —to the party, your party, and she wanted to have my back—”

If Jonathan Byers couldn’t show up, Steve wished Billy would, remembering him explaining things to Will and El in IHOP, until Will relaxed, and smiled, and got brave enough to ask questions. “I—I’ll have your back,” Steve tried. “Now. I will. Um, she, uh, we can thank her for having your back. We can—”

He tried to remember what people did at funerals other than wear scratchy suits as Nancy nodded, rubbing her eyes with her fingers, then rubbing her wet face with her wrists. He clenched his fingers harder in his jeans. “Uh, flowers? We can—I’ll get flowers, did she have a favorite song? I have a boombox. I have batteries for it, I can get batteries for it—um, Billy, Billy will have a good idea,” he trailed off, trying to think what it could be, with Billy outside, instead of by Steve’s elbow where he belonged. “He’ll have a good idea, he’ll—he always has a good idea—”

Nancy snorted, smiling at him, but her eyes were red. Her voice was high and shaky. “Ye-yeah. Thank you. Thanks. Y-you’ll be a good best friend, Steve.”

Out the window, Billy was holding his textbook and homework, his pencil poised, but he was staring at them.

He met them in the hall outside typing class, leaning against the bank of lockers. His gaze flicked from Steve’s face, to Nancy’s, then dropped to their hands. Steve scooted away from her, then reached through the press of people and prodded her shoulder with two fingers. He beckoned her to follow him over to Billy.

“Harrington,” Billy crossed his arms, watching them. His cheeks and lips were pink with cold, and Steve wanted to kiss them, brush the melted snowflakes out of Billy’s hair, and rub the muscles of Billy’s arms through the sleeves of Steve’s own borrowed sweatshirt, feeling his boyfriend shiver, and hugging him close. Billy’s voice was flat as he said, “Wheeler,” and Steve jumped, jarred from his fantasy.

Steve opened his mouth to tell Billy that Nancy had practically admitted he was better in bed than Jonathan, and then stopped and thought for once, about how that would hit Billy’s brain. He lowered his voice. “Remember I told you about Barb, uh, Barbra Holland, Nancy’s friend, the monsters got her?”

“...I guess,” Billy had his gaze fixed on Nancy’s face, eyes narrowed.

“She wants to hold a funeral,” Steve started, but Billy’s glare didn’t shift. “Nancy does, uh, and I’m going, because I knew her, and Jonathan didn’t, because he’s not cool, and he makes these faces when—”

“Don’t you dare,” Nancy hissed.

“Wait, what,” Billy glanced at Steve, still keeping a wary eye on Nancy.

“Probably her boyfriend will still be there, because she’ll be sad, but I’m her friend so I’m going too—” Steve babbled, hoping someone else would talk.

“What,” Billy said flatly.

“Help,” Steve hissed, widening his eyes. “Help us, um.”

Nancy started snickering for no reason, and Billy’s frown darkened. “He panicked when I started to cry,” she snorted, rubbing her eyes. “He wants you to fix it.”

“What?!” Billy snorted, coughing.

“What do people do at funerals,” Steve hissed, glancing at Nancy again, and she snorted wetly, covered her nose, and dug in her backpack before yanking out a kleenex and blowing hard.

“Sexy,” Billy muttered, and Steve elbowed him. Billy glanced between them again, raising his eyebrows. “That’s what all that cozy whispering was about?”

Steve made a face. “Also she had goldfish crackers?”

“We were just talking,” Nancy said, laughing and wiping her eyes again “—and then I lost my shit. Sorry.”

“She had a whole cow about how much better I am at picking boyfriends than she is,” Steve waggled his eyebrows. Nancy elbowed him, and Billy’s snorted, his eyes narrowed as he glanced between them.

“Thought you were dumping my ass and leaving me with Denise.”

Steve shook his head, holding his hands up. “We know she makes weird faces.”

“It’s not her fault she has thirty-nine eyes!” Billy laughed, hugging himself in Steve’s sweatshirt. Steve wished he could hug his boyfriend, right there in the highschool hallway, but had to settle for his sweatshirt doing it. Billy didn’t seem to notice as Steve reached out, then yanked his hands back and stuck them in his pockets. Billy was still grinning about his awful gift. He leaned in, digging his chin into Steve’s shoulder and whispering, “Ask your buddy Dustin why his pockets are full of googly eyes, seems questionable to me—”

“Steve and I were talking about boys,” Nancy snorted, then sniffled, rubbing her nose and rummaging in her purse until she found another kleenex.

“Swapping stories,” Steve grinned, watching Billy’s head cock warily. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “My boy’s always sexy. He just melts against me. Like pizza cheese, y’know, in Little Caesar’s ads, it sort of—it sort of droops—”

Billy went as glowing red as the tail lights on his Camaro, and growled, as Nancy leaned into the lockers in a gale of laughter.

“Shut the hell up, Harrington,” Billy muttered, rubbing his face.

“Sexy Little Caesar’s boyfriend?!” Nancy wheezed. “Steve, that’s not sexy at all—”

“Or on lasagna. Or Velveeta, it’s—it’s all fluid, you know,” said Steve, trying to explain. “Um, ‘hot, fresh, and ready to go?’” he suggested, relying on Pizza Hut for his words, but they both turned away, Nancy pounding her fist on a locker, cackling and wiping tears, and Billy stomping off down the hall. Steve glared at Nancy. “Don’t you tell anyone either.”

“Oh no,” Nancy gasped. “I—I’m telling Barb. Oh my god, she’d have loved that. She kept telling me you were a moron—”

“Hey!” Steve pointed a finger at her. “She—she may be—she shouldn’t have said it!”

“I won’t tell anyone else you described your boyfriend as sexy mozzarella,” she snickered, blowing her nose. “But I am telling her that, aloud, at her funeral. Oh my god, I needed that. You better go find him.”

“Everyone likes pizza!” Steve yelled, stomping away after Billy.

As he walked around the corner, Billy grabbed him around the waist from behind and lifted him. Steve yelled and swore, wriggling and laughing. He tried to squirm enough to make Billy drop him, kicking wildly, then finally made a big show of bending his upper body over Billy’s arms to kick his leg up and retie his shoe, while Billy staggered and swore, leaning away to balance his weight and shaking with laughter. Finally, Billy sat him on his feet in an empty hallway, spun him around, and stuck his thumb in the fly of Steve’s pants, pressing close and panting in his ear.

Steve looked back the way they came and saw a girl from his class: Robin Buckley. She was staring.

Billy felt him freeze, and pulled back, eyes narrowed. “What?” When he started to look around, Steve panicked and grabbed his head, wanting to save some unrelated girl from being fed her own molars. He pressed their lips together, humming as Billy huffed a laugh.

Crisis somewhat averted, Steve told himself sternly to track her down later, before letting himself lean into Billy again. He rubbed his thumb over Billy’s moustache, pressing into its scratchiness, and licking into Billy’s hot mouth, then pushed him back, taking deep breaths through his nose. “Christ, gonna come in my pants,” he whispered, laughing.

“That’s fine,” Billy’s grin widened.

“It’s not! It’s not fine, it’s grody—” Steve panted, pushing back at Billy’s hands and shoulders as his boyfriend tried to wriggle closer, like an octopus.

“Come on my tongue,” Billy whispered.

“There’s no time, I gave you to El!” Steve hissed, holding his forearms up defensively. “She’ll show up again! You agreed! You’re hers and Max’s today!” His shoulderblades thudded against the lockers.

“When do I get my reward for following orders, your majesty,” Billy whispered, pulling Steve’s forearms close, so he could kiss along the soft inner side.

“Sometimes knights have duties,” Steve whispered back. “For the, uh, the kingdom.”

“And I’m your best knight,” Billy snorted, running his hands up Steve’s sides. “Gotta help the civilians. Do my quests, make you proud.”

“Mmmn,” Steve lost his train of thought, leaning into Billy’s chest, and sliding his arms around his neck. “Best knight.”

“Now Tommy’s been, what,” Billy laughed against his mouth, hugging him until Steve’s muscles went loose, and his bones felt like they’d creak. “Unshielded?”

“Dis-sworded?” Steve supplied muzzily, into another pause between kissing, his brain narrowing its world to Billy’s tongue. “God, love you, mustard...dipshit...cupcake,” he mumbled, then frowned, coming back to earth as Billy’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Shut up, dickhead. Wait, Tommy wasn’t ever my knight.”

“Thought he beat up Jonathan Byers for you,” Billy whispered, sliding both arms around Steve’s waist again, and lifting him off the ground.

“No,” Steve mumbled, half-listening as he tried to clamp his legs around Billy’s waist, but missed distractedly as he ran his hands up Billy’s neck, cupping the back of his head and licking into his mouth.

Billy pulled back to talk, and Steve huffed. “But he tried to get you over to his house. That time. With Carol,” Billy panted, searching Steve’s face.

Steve kicked, gasping as his lungs got squashed. “Holy shit,” he wheezed, laughing. “You—you’re—are you jealous?”

“No,” Billy whispered, suddenly interested in kissing again.

Steve pulled back from Billy’s mouth after just one more kiss. “Are you jealous of Tommy and Nancy,” he whispered, beaming.

“Fuck you,” Billy mumbled, biting gently up his neck.

Steve let his eyes close, forgetting about Robin, and El, and the extremely public hallway they were standing in. His face was so hot it felt tingly, and Billy’s arms were strong and gentle, holding him up. The world started to spin, a little, and he kicked his feet back, crossing them against his butt to curve his whole body against Billy’s.

“Can’t—can’t breathe, Knight,” he had to admit, finally, and Billy sat him back on his feet.

“As you wish, my King,” he whispered back, stepping back to look Steve over—he grinned as he assessed the tightness of Steve’s pants like an asshole, then leaned in again for one more close-mouthed kiss.

Steve laughed, unable to stop smiling. “You’re jealous. Want me all to yourself.”

“Nah,” Billy rubbed his thumb up Steve’s cheek, and yanked his head around by the earlobe. Steve yelled, flailing. “I can just get another one,” Billy whispered. “King Harringtons. On sale today. K-Mart Special.”

“No you can’t,” Steve grabbed Billy’s shirt, spinning him to smack up against a locker, and leaning close again for a messy kiss. He could feel Billy breathing against his chest. “You’re jealous. You—you’d—” Steve trailed off, watching Billy bare his teeth. “You—what the hell are you pissed for,” he whispered. “You went off and screwed Tommy, don’t be pissed at me —”

“I’m not jealous,” Billy snarled back. “I’m the only one who even pays attention to you, aren’t I, and I could get somebody else in—in a heartbeat—”

Steve took a sharp breath, wondering why he had to go and push things. “Right, yeah,” he said, slamming his hand into the locker next to Billy, who flinched. “Shit,” Steve groaned, stepping back. “Sorry, shit. The hell was I thinking. I’m too goddamn clingy, right? You’re just trying—trying to—” he stepped back a few steps and smacked another locker across the hall—the bang was satisfying—and Billy grabbed his wrist, digging his thumb in bruisingly tight.

“You gonna start hitting?” he asked, smiling his widest. “You don’t get to do that.”

“I hit the locker,” Steve hissed, yanking his arm, and Billy stepped closer.

“You don’t get to hit me,” Billy whispered, and Steve winced at the feel of fingernails. “You—you can’t pull that shit, Harrington.”

“I wasn’t gonna,” Steve tried to yank away again, feeling worse. “Screw you, I hit a locker —”

“After all that shit you said,” Billy said evenly, his smile and his eyes wide the way they went when he might do anything. “I’m a person, remember?”

“I remember,” Steve swallowed again against the burning in his throat and eyes, planting his feet to try and squirm away. “I wasn’t—”

“You change your mind?” Billy asked softly, and Steve did want to hit him, then.

“Let me go,” he hissed. “I wasn’t going to hit you, christ. I was hitting the fucking locker.” Billy let go and stepped back, and Steve spun to slam his fist into the locker again. His little finger was starting to go numb, and he wondered how other people—really awful people, some of them, like Billy’s dad—found people that loved them and trusted them and paid attention. He inhaled, and it made kind of a wet gasping noise. “Jesus,” he whispered. “Just—just g-go home.”

“Screw you,” Billy muttered, and Steve opened his mouth to growl back, when his gaze caught on Billy’s nails digging into his sleeve over where Steve had drawn the hearts.

“Fucking— stop ,” he hissed, grabbing Billy’s fingers, and forcing them to unbend. They were cold. “You’re gonna give yourself bruises. Stop it, dickhead— quit—”

“Quit what,” Billy snarled back, and Steve stared down at the hand he’d grabbed, then let go and stomped across the hall to kick somebody else’s locker.

“Screw you,” Steve muttered. “Fine, go the hell home.” He hunched his shoulders as Billy stepped closer, and banged his fist on the locker he’d just kicked. “Piss off.”

“The hell do you want me to say,” Billy asked, and Steve shut his eyes, and banged the locker again.

“Nothing,” Steve hissed. “I don’t want you to say anything, I—you can—you can go to hell—” Billy came up behind him, and Steve squeezed his eyes shut. They were stinging. He felt a touch on his arm, and flinched into the lockers, swallowing a few times to clear his throat of the bullshit trying to climb out of it. “It’s fine,” he forced out. “Just. Piss off. Go home. I’ll—I’ll get myself—together.” He opened his eyes, parting his lips in a smile, to see Billy standing close, frowning, so Steve was sandwiched between him and the lockers.

“Wha—” Billy started, and Steve smacked a hand over Billy’s mouth, then sidestepped, laughing.

He took a few steps down the hall before he managed to stop himself. “Just go,” he said, realizing he had his hands up between he and Billy, and lowering them. “It’s fine, it’s nothing, jesus—”

“What in the hell—” Billy stepped closer again, and Steve didn’t lunge to cover his mouth, or cover his own ears, or run away.

He kept smiling. “Max and El are probably looking for you.”

“...no,” Billy said, holding his hands out. “Come here, Harrington.”

“What,” Steve laughed, his sinuses burning as his vision went a little blurry. He blinked his eyes clear as Billy’s glare went thunderous.

“I’m not gonna chase you down, get your ass over here.”

“Why?” Steve asked, crossing his arms, uncrossing them, and touching his hair. It was fine. He thought fixedly about the project he was gonna start in ceramics. Probably it was dumb to make Billy something nice. Something with Steve’s feeblings just emblazoned over it. “Just go, jesus.”

“Harrington—” Billy sighed, and Steve’s stomach clenched.

“Sorry,” he grated out. “Sorry, I’ll get it together—” he cut off, raising his arms defensively as Billy walked close enough to grab him by the front of his pants and yank him in for a kiss. His hands were warm and gentle cradling Steve’s face, and Steve let himself be pulled in. “What—” he whispered, but Billy cut him off, tilting Steve’s head to get deeper into his mouth. “Mmf,” Steve tried next, slowly lowering his hands to where his sweatshirt stretched over Billy’s biceps.

“Two for flinching,” Billy told him, kissing him again. “Ssh,” Billy whispered, glancing around, and then pushing them both—slowly, and mostly by kissing Steve—across the hall again and into the bathroom. He stopped to check under the doors, and then grabbed Steve’s hand, and yanked him into the biggest stall. “Okay,” he said, “—go on.”

“...want me to try giving a blow job?” Steve asked, rubbing his eyes. “I mean. You let me jack you off, I wanna—”

Billy opened his mouth, cocked his head, and narrowed his eyes. “Shut up. Shit, that’s not —I’m not supposed to —to try and blow you when you’re pissed —what the fuck, Harrington—”

“I’m just trying to change the subject,” Steve gritted out. “You like blow jobs. Everybody likes blow jobs—”

“I mean,” Billy snorted, slowly nudging Steve against the wall, “—dicks like ‘em—”

“Everybody does, it’s just not called a blow job always,” Steve argued, feeling smart, as Billy kissed him again. It felt like Billy was laughing.

“S’ true—” Steve muttered, and Billy laughed harder, and yanked him closer, so Steve’s head was pressed against Billy’s shoulder, and Steve’s body was squeezed in Billy’s arms.

“Shut up, jesus,” he whispered, his earring tickling Steve’s neck. “What’s your problem.”

The thing was, Steve thought, there wasn’t one. He was freaking out for no reason—he knew his bullshit annoyed people, and everything Billy’d said was true. “Sorry,” he breathed. It was easier, in the heat of Billy squishing him against the wall.

“What do you want me to—”

“Nothing,” Steve cut him off. “Christ. Jesus. I’m gonna do better this time, and shut the hell up before I—”

“What,” Billy whispered, and Steve shook his head, smiling, and didn’t say before I ruin everything.

Billy pulled back, his jaw clenched. “I’ll get it out of you.” Steve choked on a laugh, clenching his fingers on Billy’s arms, and Billy stared into his eyes, thinking. “I could do what you did,” he whispered. “Get you so horny you’re dripping and then make you talk.”

“Oh shit, no,” Steve snickered harder, shaking his head. “No, don’t. I wouldn’t even—I wouldn’t be able to think enough.”

“That’s kind of the point,” Billy said against his mouth, and Steve’s heart started pounding.

“No, no, don’t, I really—I can’t even—” Steve tried to squirm away, every breath of Billy’s resonating with his dick. “I can’t tell you if I can’t make words!”

“Mmm,” Billy hummed thoughtfully, leaning in for another kiss. “You really want to hear I’m jealous of—of Tommy? That what you want me to say?”

“You’re not, though,” Steve shrugged.

“...Nancy, then,” Billy cleared his throat. “I keep waiting to hear you say you’re—that—that I’m not—that you took a better offer.”

“Fuck you,” Steve told him, sighing. “What the hell am I gonna do when you two actually talk and you—you start talking— elves or something and forget all about me.”

“...you’re jealous of me talking to Nancy Wheeler,” Billy said, with the vague tone of someone reading an incomprehensible line in English class.

“You’re both perfect,” Steve told him, grabbing him close, and Billy started laughing so hard he staggered.

“Oh my god, you are so fucking dumb,” he wheezed, and Steve licked his lips, pressed them to Billy’s neck, and blew to make the loudest fart noise he could. Billy yelped, shoving weakly at him, and Steve did it again. Finally, Billy got his hands over Steve’s mouth, and used his body weight to hold them there while he rubbed tears off onto his arms. “If you think I’m perfect you’re blind and stupid. Holy jesus,” he whispered.

It wasn’t that funny, Steve thought indignantly. “You’re perfect. You —you’re—you are. Sometimes. Most of the time! You —you’re better, you don’t—”

Billy kept snickering, like an asshole. “You’d run off with your queen in a second, your majesty,” he whispered, grinning. “She’ll whistle one day. She’ll just — crook her finger, and you’ll go.”

“Would not,” said Steve, automatically, but he considered. “I don’t…” He narrowed his eyes at the wall of the bathroom stall, where someone had written that the principal worshipped Satin. He thought about how his plans had always included Nancy, and how hers never seemed to include him.

What would it be like, he wondered, if she knocked on my door. ‘Follow me to the city,’ she’d say. ‘You can hold down the apartment, I can go to college. Someday I’ll have an important job— which was where it fell apart, because it would be something like war journalism, and she’d always be gone. He sighed, imagining the Dear Steve letter. ‘Dear Steve, I’ve gone to expose nuclear testing on smuggled baby alligators in Belgium, and...found love.’ Steve shook his head. “No. No, it’s —no. ”

“Whaddaya mean no,” Billy laughed. “You just sat there and imagined it.”

“Yeah, imagined it blowing up in my face. I want to —” Steve stopped, looking away from Billy’s eyes and down, until Billy started jerking Steve’s head up and around, trying to meet his eyes again. Steve laughed, and bit his lip.

“What d’you want, Harrington?” Billy asked.

“...wanna wait and see if you send me letters,” Steve told him, shrugging. “I —I guess. Once you leave.”

“Oh, I’m gonna,” Billy’s breath caught, and he pressed his hands to Steve’s cheeks, squishing them. “But you’re lying to both of us if you think you wouldn’t drop me—”

“Billy,” Steve said, muffledly through the fishface Billy was giving him, and grabbing Billy’s hands as he startled. “Billy Hargrove. I—I’d pick you.”

“Don’t bullshit me—”

“Pay attention,” Steve hissed. “Hargrove. Fuckface...trespasser. I’d pick you.” Billy shook his head, smirking, and Steve grabbed it by the curls, pressing their foreheads together to hold Billy’s gaze. “If I have to watch somebody leave, I’d still want you.”

“Shit,” Billy said hoarsely, trying to laugh. “I’ll come back, I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t leave leave, you—you can’t get rid of me if you—if you don’t tell me to go.”

“Like I would,” Steve snorted. “If —if Nancy just—just walked in here, I mean, not here here,” he paused, his eyes focusing on the wall of the men’s bathroom, “—but y’know, if—if she said she’d changed, she—she wanted me back…”

“You’d go,” Billy shrugged.

“No, Nancy can’t—she doesn’t want—this.”

“She’s got shitty taste, then,” Billy growled, and Steve laughed, leaning to bury his face under Billy’s ear.

“No, I mean—she doesn’t want—” he sighed. “She sure doesn’t wanna drag me to the bathroom and grill me on what’s wrong. She’s got—things to do. Important stuff.”

“Her loss,” Billy shrugged, and Steve snorted wetly. Billy’s breaths sounded as catchy and uneven as his did, he realized, and squeezed him closer.

“Promise I wouldn’t go,” he mumbled.

“Promise Denise,” Billy hissed, growling over Steve’s bursting into semi-hysterical giggles. “Denise needs both her dads,” Billy whispered, his eyes brimming as Steve laughed and cried.

“You’re so weird,” he whispered. “So fucking glad you —not the rest of it—but I’m, uh. I’m so goddamn glad you ended up at my house.”

“You brought me home in a trunk,” Billy told him, sniffling, and frowning down to yank at Steve’s belt buckle.

“What if I hadn’t,” Steve asked, watching Billy fumble. “Maybe—maybe something else. Maybe you’d have kissed me in the locker room. Always trying to shove me around in there—why you always trying to jump me in bathrooms, you’re so — ”

“Maybe you’d have kissed me somewhere, fucking...Pussington,” Billy growled, undoing Steve’s belt, and laughing as the denim over Steve’s dick twitched against his hands. He ran his fingers up and down Steve’s fly.

“Jesus,” Steve whispered.

“Fuck me,” Billy whispered back. “I want this monster in me.”

“...you called it fun-size,” Steve hissed back, and Billy started giggling again, burying his face in Steve’s neck. “We’re in a bathroom, the floor is sticky —”

“I don’t wanna wait,” Billy told him, kissing him so enthusiastically Steve’s head thudded back against the wall. “You—you said—want me over Wheeler —”

“I know what I said,” Steve said, trying to sound strict, but he couldn’t help grinning. “ Want me to blow you? You always—”

“No, fuck my ass,” Billy ordered, leaning close, so Steve could feel the hard line of Billy’s cock pressing against his.

“...there’s no—it’ll hurt, knight, it—”

“Who cares,” Billy whispered, yanking the buttons open on Steve’s fly.

“Me!” Steve hissed, grabbing his wrists. “I care! Christ!”

“S’my ass,” Billy argued, looking pouty, and Steve snorted.

“S’my dick, wouldn’t feel good for me either—”

“Coward,” Billy said, frowning down. “Okay, okay—” he yanked at his own pants, hopping on one foot, and Steve started sniggering. He grabbed Billy’s face and pulled him in for a kiss, nearly knocking them both over when Billy tripped over the leg of his pants. “MMPH,” Billy yelped. “Shit. Okay. Just—uh, just—”

His face felt hot against Steve’s hands, and he realized the red was creeping clear down Billy’s chest where the sweatshirt hung open. “What?” Steve asked, his eyes lingering on Billy’s briefs, where a wet stain was spreading where the elastic strained over his cock.

“I’m gonna turn around,” Billy muttered, “—and—”

“No—” Steve repeated, running his hands along the elastic band of Billy’s Fruit of the Looms. “No, seriously, I’m not—”

“I’ll squeeze my legs together,” said Billy, with gritted teeth, his face flaming hot.

“Holy shit,” Steve whispered, his hips bucking against Billy’s hip as he turned around. “What—is—is that any good for you—”

“Just fuck me,” Billy hissed, bracing his hands against the wall, and Steve stepped close behind him, reaching down to yank his skivvies down, and then push Billy’s down over the warm muscley roundness of his ass. Billy yanked until his dick was freed, then braced himself again, and Steve buried his face in Billy’s shoulder, taking a deep breath.

“Can’t see how this is good for you,” he whispered against Billy’s neck, feeling him shiver.

“It’s not unless you get moving,” Billy snarled, then choked out a gasp as Steve slid his hand around to grab him by the cock.

“Just...between your thighs, then,” Steve whispered, rubbing some pre-come around the top of his dick, then frowning down, and licking his hand just in case.

“Come on,” Billy whispered. “Come on, come on, do me.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Steve nodded pointlessly, aimed, and pressed into the tight space between Billy’s muscled thighs. “Oh god, that’s good,” he mumbled against Billy’s shoulder, and he laughed.

“Shut up and move,” Billy muttered, since Steve was mostly clinging and muttering bullshit endearments.

“God,” Steve whispered, reaching around again. “Don’t fall, b-babe, uh, cookie.”

“Billy whe-when we’re fucking,” Billy told him, groaning as Steve tried to steady himself between his hips smacking Billy’s butt, his dick sandwiched in the heat of Billy’s thighs—it was slippery enough, he thought, flushing almost as red as Billy was—and dragging his fist up and down Billy’s dick.

“Billy,” Steve said against his ear, and Billy swallowed a moan, letting his head fall forward to thunk against the wall. “Billy Hargrove.”

“Nng,” Billy grunted.

“L-love you, Billy Hargrove,” Steve told him, and he whined, his shoulders flinching forward. Steve kissed the place where his shoulder joined his neck, feeling him shudder. “Love you, Billy.”

Billy came all over his fingers, and Steve started laughing, because of course Billy’s legs bent, and of course they collapsed to the floor of the highschool bathroom.

Steve let them tip sideways, pulling Billy close to slow their fall and ignoring the weird chemical smell as his jaw smushed against the tiles. Billy was swearing under his breath, squirming around, and Steve summoned enough brain to scoot back. “Ssh,” he whispered, snickering, with tears in his eyes. “Don’t break my dick.”

“Where you going, asshole,” Billy hissed, rolling over to lay half on top of Steve’s chest. He grabbed Steve’s cock, stroking it, and Steve bucked up against him, muttering just...noises, really.

He came to himself panting against Billy’s shoulder. “Mmnm,” he said, wondering whether they could just sleep on the floor, and wash their faces for class the next morning.

“...you really jealous?” Billy asked, at the ceiling, like he’d been thinking a while.

Steve groaned, tucking hair out of his eyes.

“Y’know I’d...fucking kill them—anyone—and step on their corpses to get to you,” Billy told the ceiling, and Steve started laughing again.

“S’not a bit creepy,” he said, his voice weirdly deep in his ears.

“Not sure wanting to kill Tommy Hagen is creepy at all,” Billy commented, rolling his head for a kiss. “I mean, that’s normal, right, anybody would—”

“Think I’ve got toilet paper stuck to my leg,” Steve whispered.

“I guess you wouldn’t know normal if it bit you on the ass,” Billy told him, and Steve hefted himself up the couple of inches for another kiss.

“Means I get you, though,” he mumbled, dropping to rest his face on Billy’s chest again. It went from warm to hot, and Steve grinned, rubbing his face in chest hair and muscle.

“Shut up, you’re such a freak,” Billy muttered, and pressed more kisses to Steve’s hair. “Tommy Hagen, seriously? You’re jealous of Tommy Hagen? That’s you being a moron.”

“Mmn,” Steve was sort of listening, so he politely made a noise.

“Just went over to Carol’s ‘cause I broke your door,” Billy said. “Thought you’d be pissed. Thought you’d—” he took a slow breath, swallowing. “An-anyway, I didn’t think you’d just...pick me up. Carry me on your back. Thought I’d have to, uh, bribe my way back in.”

“...you saying you got me a present?” Steve asked, waking up a little, and Billy squeezed him.

“I’m saying I didn’t care where I went, jesus. Could have been the gas station. Not running around on you with Exxon, either.”

You might, Steve thought, snorting, but he scooted closer. His shoes squeaked against the wet tile by the toilet. “We’re gonna stink,” he sighed.

“You saying you wanna go shower together?” Billy breathed against Steve’s temple, and Steve started sniggering.

“I mean, yeah,” he whispered back, grinning so hard his cheeks felt tired. “But probably we should like...go. You’re making your sister wait. And El.”

“And they’re important to my liege,” Billy groaned.

“They’re kinda violent when they’re pissed off,” Steve whispered back, and Billy started snickering into Steve’s hair. Steve grinned up at the dripping cracks in the ceiling, letting his eyes fall shut. “ I’ll—just—just take the car. Take it. Get the girls, whatever they want. I need to—better present. Than Denise.”

“No present’s better than Denise,” Billy’s grin went smirky, but he saluted Steve’s eyeroll, and once they managed to get upright, sauntered off with his hands in the pockets of Steve’s stolen sweatshirt.

Steve adjusted himself in his jeans, wishing he wasn’t quite so...sticky, and walked a bit awkwardly off to his locker, when he was grabbed for the second time that day.

“What?!” Robin flailed her arms, hissing. “What was that?!”

“There you are,” Steve hissed, then stopped dead, realizing he hadn’t thought up any kind of plan. “...nothing?” he answered, like a genius, smoothing his hair where Billy’d run his fingers through it. “Uh, what? What was...what.”

She stared at him. “I saw you, dingus.”

“No, you didn’t. Saw what?”

“How are you alive, you are so dumb,” she muttered, spinning away, then back. “That was—you were—” she clasped her hands together, taking a deep breath through her nose, and started to snicker. “You—that’s your cover? ‘What was what?’ You—that’s what you’re gonna say?”

Steve’s high from Billy’s kisses was gone, and he was trying not to imagine Billy’s reaction to someone seeing them. His stomach clenched. “Look, don’t, nothing—nothing was—your—it’s none of your business, jesus.”

“What?!” she cackled, her eyes widening. “Christ. You’re just gonna make out at school and ignore it when—what if—what if your pal Tommy sees you? He’s gonna—”

“I blackmailed him,” Steve folded his arms, leaning back against the locker. “I have dirt on him, he’s not gonna squeal—”

“You what?!” she squealed herself, leaning one arm to steady herself against the locker as she sniggered so hard she shook. “Have you been watching gangster movies?”

“Shut up! You didn’t see anything—”

“I sure did,” she made a face, shuddering. “Believe me, I would not have imagined you and Hargrove playing tonsil hockey, but it’s a nightmare I’ll take to the grave—”

“Shut up,” he hissed, swallowing. His throat felt dry. “I—you can’t tell anyone. I’ll say you’re lying. You’ll be that liar girl, I’ll—”

“God, I don’t want to remember it, let alone describe it,” she pretended to gag, melodramatically doubling over with her fingers in her throat. “Gag me, Steve. Gag me with a spoon.”

Steve wrinkled his nose. “Great. Don’t tell anyone, and we’ll stay the hell away from each other.” He remembered wondering how people in his classes would react to finding out he was maybe-sort-of-gay, and he kind of wanted to punch her in the face. “Or I—I’ll get gay cooties on you.”

She turned to stare. “I don’t care about that, dipshit, I care I almost saw two entire penises when I was just trying to leave class. Here I thought I’d go to my grave without getting close to one of those—” she stuck her tongue out, flapping her hand at the wrist, her voice distorted by the face she was making, “—gross floppy baby injectors, and there they were—”

“What,” he stopped, arms up in a flail, but still. “Wait. What?”

“I’m not going to tell anyone, Steve Harrington,” she told him, rolling her eyes. “Besides, somebody else is going to figure you out, like, instantly, nothing to do with me.” She turned to stalk away, then spun on her heel to face him again. “But what the hell is wrong with you?! You don’t even—can’t you make some excuse and get the keys to the gym equipment room?! You can’t make out during class, when people aren’t wandering around?! Instead you’re sucking face right after the bell rings? I had to tell two different people there was a sewage leak down that hall, dumbass.”

Steve blinked at her. “Th—that’s a good idea. I didn’t—thanks, man.”

“I didn’t want them to have to see the gross sight I had to,” she narrowed her eyes at him. “Can’t you tell people you’re study buddies or something? Before I have to see more of Billy Hargrove’s hard-on in his jeans,” she shuddered, and Steve laughed.

“Somebody doesn’t think he’s hot?”

She took a deep breath, her eyes flicking to his face. “Yeah...no. Why would I.”

“I mean, he is,” he shrugged. “Anyway, thanks. Really. I got, uh, threatened today, kind of. I thought—thanks.”

She stilled. “You what,” she asked, her voice weirdly raspy.

“Uh, somebody figured us out, said he’d, y’know, tell everyone. I know.” Steve rolled his shoulders uncomfortably.

“What the shit,” she whispered. “And you—you’re—the same day?! You just—”

“Look, shut up, I’m not used to it yet,” he hissed back. “I forget he’s a secret, okay?!”

“You moron,” she whispered. “What’d you—are you—”

“I blackmailed him, uh, the guy, Tommy,” Steve whispered back, weirdly proud. “He won’t tell anyone.”

“Jesus, what a prick.” She took a deep breath, and blew through her cheeks. “Tommy Goddamn Hagen, huh. Good thing I wasn’t gonna tell anybody anyway.”

“Phew,” he laughed, grinning at her. “I wasn’t—I can’t even—was just, y’know, going to ask you not to, like, tell. Everyone.” He shrugged. Robin narrowed her eyes at him, watching as he kicked at the linoleum. His shoe squeaked. “Thanks for being cool,” he told her, feeling a little bit warm knowing there were people at school that wouldn’t treat him like he had leprosy. “I guess not everybody’s going to hate me.”

“Jesus,” she whispered, rubbing her face. “I—shut up, okay, I wasn’t—I’m not that—”

“It’s just nice,” Steve shrugged. “Bil—I, uh, I didn’t know how, um, I guess it can get pretty bad, it’s nice to—”

“Yes!” Robin hissed. “Yes, it can! Oh my god, shut up. Why are you—you don’t know me!”

“I do now,” Steve told her, grinning, but he watched her clench her hands in frustration, and recognized someone who wished he’d leave. “Sorry. Thanks. Sorry,” he smiled automatically, and turned away.

“Ugh,” she groaned.

“Thanks,” he called over his shoulder again. “I’m glad it was you!”

“Auuuugh,” she yelled after him. “Stop talking about it, you moron! Somebody could hear you!”

He couldn’t resist turning to face her, walking backwards down the hall and stage-whispering, “Now I know it’s safe to tell you, we can talk about boys.”

“I don’t want to talk about boys!” Robin screamed, soft and wheezily in the back of her throat.

“You know you want to,” Steve whisper-shouted back, waggling his eyebrows, and she smacked her own face. “Nancy and I are friends now,” he told her, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Gonna have all the gossip, right here, don’t change that channel!”

“Nancy Wheeler doesn’t have gossip,” she hissed back, “Nancy Wheeler has—she has flashcards, shut up, dipshit—”

“We’re gonna do all those—those things that—makeovers,” he said, unable to think of anything else. “Sleepovers. Talking about boyfriends.”

“Kill me first,” Robin replied, through gritted teeth. “I will puke, I swear to god.”

“I have all the locker room dirt on everybody,” Steve said, clapping his hands together as he realized. “I know how big—”

“Eugh!” she actually shouted over him. “Gross! I do not want to know! I don’t want to know what Tommy Hagen’s dick is like, holy shit!”

“Yeah, I kinda wish I didn’t either,” Steve said, reflecting, but Robin was on a tear.

“I don’t want to—I don’t even—I wouldn’t think Billy Hargrove was hot unless his name was spelled with an -ie,” she said through clenched teeth, and he mouthed the letters, frowning into space. “Like. If he was named Wilhelmina, Steve.”

“That’s an awful name,” he turned to frown at her doubtfully. “And—and it’s for girls, I think.”

“The penny drops,” she said crisply, which made no sense, but he ignored that, turning her disgust in his head against her insistence she didn’t have a problem with his gay cooties.

“You’re a lesbian,” he whispered, pointing, and she clapped her hand to her face. Steve thought. “I thought I was the only one at school! We were. The only queer people, at school. There’s, uh, there’s a kid, but he’s a middle-schooler. And Barbra Holland, maybe? She and Nancy watched some weird movies.”

“How do you know what kind of...ugh, y’know what, I’m going home,” Robin sighed. “Try not to get expelled, I guess?”

“I won’t tell anyone,” he said quickly, feeling the urge to lift his hand to pinky-swear. He snickered. “We should have a secret handshake.”

“You better not tell anyone,” she hissed back, but she looked relieved too, and they stood there for long awkward seconds before she spun and stomped off. “I still don’t like you!” she shouted back, and he bit back a grin.

Once he’d talked to the ceramics teacher, he sat down with his headphones and the potter’s wheel, trying to dig his fingers into the heavy wetness of the clay enough to bring up a thin edge, but not so much they went through. About the point it started to look like a deep cat dish instead of an ashtray, he realized there were knees facing his, and he shook his head to knock his headphones down to his shoulders, instead of getting clay on them.

The lovely and intelligent Nancy Wheeler had her chin on her hands, and her elbows on her knees, watching him spin the clay.

“Hi,” he said, suddenly wanting to fix his hair, and clenching his hands so he didn’t put streaks of clay in it.

“What’s that gonna be?”

“...I dunno,” he said, which was a lie, probably. “I might screw it up.” Which was true.

“I think I see it,” she cocked her head as he used his fingertips to draw it up taller, “—with Billy. I thought you might—need help, y’know. Sorry.”

“What?!” He blinked at her, letting the wheel slow to a stop.

“I see it now. He was freaking out, when you just—ran out of the library, that time. Mike said he’s been really good to Will, and Eleven. I mean, if he pulls any shit with you we should absolutely tie him to train tracks. But.”

“That’s very...evil of you.” Steve stared at her, wide-eyed.

She rolled her eyes, and waved a hand. “His dad too, obviously.”

Steve snorted, choking. “Obviously.” He pulled his clay cylinder up a little taller and thinner, his face warm. The clay had lines where he’d pressed too hard, almost giving it segments. “...argh, this is my third try, and it’s still not straight.”

“...neither are you,” she replied, levelly, and he nearly smashed it, flailing.

“Nancy,” he growled at her, and she shrugged, watching him wet his hands and try to even it out.

She followed him around as he sliced it off the wheel with wire, took it to a table, and sculpted a handle. When he got to rolling more clay out, and cutting a little plaque to press letters into, she came and leaned over his shoulder, and he flushed as he inhaled her shampoo. “...that looks good, actually,” she murmured in his ear, and he winced away. She wandered back around the table to drop onto the stool across from him.

“‘Actually’?!” he muttered, and she snorted. “Sorry I was a shitty boyfriend,” he told the little letters he was painstakingly carving.

“Mm.” She shrugged. “I mean, I was kinda shitty, too, there at the end.”

He opened his mouth, automatically, to tell her she was perfect and amazing, then shut it again. He bit his lips, frowning down, then blew air through his cheeks, and carefully peeled up the little clay plaque shape to press on the crosshatched side of his cylinder.

“We’re getting better at it,” she said, looking it over, and then reached across and prodded his shoulder. “That’s sweet, Steve.”

“Eugh,” he sighed, leaning his face on the table. “Hope he thinks so.”

She groaned. “He liked Denise, Steve.”

“How come everybody knows my dumb vase’s name,” he mumbled into his arms, and she laughed.

“I hear everything. Little bird told me you might need a ride.”

Steve lifted his head, frowning at her. “...what?”

“He took your car, right?”

“I think Eleven took him,” Steve defended Billy, and Nancy grinned at him, nudging his elbow.

“Yeah, in your car.”

“Who knows where they’ll end up,” Steve sighed. He tried not to think about kissing Billy Hargrove in the bathroom at the IHOP. “Uh, she keeps making him take her for waffles.” Billy’d flinched back when he walked in the IHOP bathroom, he thought, leaning his face in his arms again. How did I not stop and think about that.

Nancy got up and leaned against the table. “And it’s snowing again, so you need a ride. Thanks, Nancy. You’re such a good friend, Nancy.”

He looked up, and quailed under the weight of her raised eyebrows. “Thanks. Who’s the little bird?”

“Billy,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Or rather, he was asking how long Max and Eleven needed, and Eleven asked what I was doing after school.”

“Sorry,” Steve snickered, imagining Billy’s expression. “I could’ve walked.”

She shrugged. “I’m still here.”

Once he finished, and put his Valentine’s Day present to Billy on a rack to dry, they wandered out to Nancy’s mom’s car. As she checked the mirrors, and put on her seatbelt, Steve took a deep breath, couldn’t decide what to say, and sat there with his cheeks inflated like a chipmunk’s, squinting at the dashboard.

“...what are you doing,” she laughed.

“I, um. You know Robin Buckley?”

Nancy frowned at him, then at the rearview mirror to back out of the parking spot. “Yeeeah?”

“She, uh, she saw me and Billy. Earlier.”

“So?”

“Uh, we were, uh, she knows.” He leaned around to shove his bag in the back seat.

“...need me to go —talk to her?” Nancy asked, in a low voice, and Steve scrambled back up, wondering why he knew so many people willing to commit murder in his name.

“No! No! It’s, uh, it’s fine. She doesn’t like dick. I mean, she likes tits, you know. I mean, she’s like us. Billy and me. She’s queer. She, uh, she won’t tell anybody. Shit! I can’t tell you that, the whole point was—auuuugh,” he groaned, leaning his seat back to add some drama to it. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that, don’t tell her I told you—”

“Oh!” Nancy blinked. “Is she?! I thought…” She frowned, pulling around a gaggle of freshmen in jerseys wandering through the parking lot.

“What?” Steve tried to get the seat to click back upright, and fell backwards again, his leg kicking up in the air.

“I thought she had a thing for you. She used to glare at us all the time.” Nancy rolled her eyes and groaned, slowing to a top again, and Steve wondered who else was blocking traffic out of the highschool parking lot.

“Did she? Weird.” Steve squinted at the roof of the car, and then remembered something. “Anyway, she won’t say anything. And I need advice. On blow jobs.”

The brakes squawked as Nancy stared over, Nancy opening her mouth to answer, but something banged at the window, and he sat up to see Lucas’ little sister glaring at them.

“Holy shit,” Nancy muttered, groaning. “Just don’t bite it off, you’ll get the hang of it, oh my god—” she hissed, leaning across his legs to roll the window down.

“There’s got to be more to it than that,” Steve muttered back, as Erica Sinclair stuck her face in the car.

“I fell asleep first period and got detention,” she yawned. “Marcenia Lyle Alberga snuck out again last night. Tomika and me were out until four this morning. And I missed the bus, and then I fell asleep in detention again...”

“You...what?” Nancy asked, looking lost. “Who?”

“Her friend’s cat sneaks out,” Steve translated.

“She doesn’t like the old Shireman house,” Erica told them, yanking the handle of Nancy’s car door and yawning again. “Lemme in. I missed the bus, I need a ride.”

“Sorry,” Steve said to Nancy, unable to stop his beaming grin. “She’s, uh, Billy’s kid now, I guess? Can we give her a ride?”

“Billy’s,” Nancy repeated, squinting at him, then Erica, and leaning behind Steve’s seat to unlock the door. Once they were all inside, she asked, “Isn’t the old Shireman place haunted, or something?”

“Yeah, Tommy and Carol and I used to…” Steve trailed off, his brain wandering back to being friends with Tommy Hagen, and getting high to run around screaming and giggling in the “haunted house”. “We used to...go there,” he finished, folding his arms.

“It’s creepy out there,” Erica said, leaning between their seats. “We’re not supposed to go, the floor’s falling in, but Marcenia’s just a kitten.”

“A mean one,” Steve snorted, and Erica snorted.

“She’s a killer. She can’t fight snow, though. I mean, she’d try. ”

Steve snickered, and they ended up explaining the afternoon Billy’d played Great White Hunter to Marcenia the Jungle Cat. He was dying to tell Nancy about El’s confusion over Hopper’s lousy sex talk, and trailed off, thinking it wouldn’t be so bad, really, life with Nancy as a friend.

As Nancy obeyed every traffic law, exactly at the speed limit, Steve saw Robin Buckley under the overhang of the gas station, hopping around as she knocked snow out of one of her shoes. She sighed, pulled it back on with a disgusted expression, hunched her shoulders, and walked on, just as some melting snow toppled off the edge and smacked into the back of her head and down the back of her collar. She yelled and flailed, dropping her bag, and fell on her butt in the snow, then threw her head back and yelled at the sky.

“Wait!” Steve yelled at Nancy, rolling his window down to stick his head out. “Hey! Oy! Robin Barclay!”

“Buckley,” Nancy corrected.

“Buckley!” Steve called, and Robin squinted over out of the pile of snow she’d landed in, her eyes flat with despair.

“What,” she glared over. “Qu-uh. Uh,” she glanced at Nancy, turning red, and her glower darkened. “Steve Harrington?” Ice dripped from the slush on her head down along her ear, and he heard both Nancy and Erica shudder.

“Can we give her a ride?” he asked Nancy, who was shaking her head slowly in bewilderment, eyes wide. “Please?”

“Sure, of course,” she said, turning up the heat and scrambling behind her to unlock the door. Erica scooted to one side.

“This is your fault,” was Robin’s first shivering line after she climbed in. “I missed the bus after, uh, running into you.”

“You’re another one of Steve’s friends?” Erica asked, eyes narrowed consideringly, and Steve yelled “Stop kidnapping my friends! No kidnapping!” back at her as Nancy hit the gas.

“I’m very resistant to being kidnapped,” Robin said, sniffling and shivering.

“Unstoppable force, immovable object,” Erica whispered, studying Robin as they drove.

“No,” Steve told her emphatically.

Robin studied Steve and Nancy. “I thought you two broke up,” she said, exaggeratedly innocent, and glared meaningfully at Steve when he turned around to stare at her.

“We did,” Nancy told her, checking her side mirror. “Steve’s my best friend now. He got a battlefield promotion.”

Robin sat back, nodding, and Steve laughed so hard he choked.

Billy’s car was out of the garage and blocking the drive, for some reason, with Steve’s behind it. Steve frowned at it, then raised his eyebrows at Nancy, who narrowed her eyes at him, then got out of the car and walked around as he disentangled his bag from the seatbelt and slammed the door.

“What,” she hissed. “You were making faces.”

“There’s gotta be more than “don’t bite it off,” he hissed back. “Come on!”

She made an offended gaspy noise, her mouth dropping open. “You’ve had blow jobs!” she squeaked back, flailing her arms. “You know more than me! I don’t even have a dick!”

“How do you not choke?” he asked, thinking hard.

“You just do!” she growled back, her face flaming red. “You’re putting a—a big—a thing down your—where you breathe, Steve, how do you think lungs work—oh my god—”

“Ohhhh,” Steve nodded, and she screamed into her hands.

“If you keep asking me for sex advice I’m gonna suggest you pull your mouth off real loud and sing ‘Pop Goes The Weasel,’” she snarled, and Steve started laughing, blushing nearly as hard as she was at the awkwardness of grilling his ex-girlfriend on blow jobs.

“I know it’s weird,” he laughed, wiping his eyes. “I know, I know, I got nobody else to ask, though, Nance, come on!”

She bit her lips together, glaring, then sighed. “...try, uh. Try, um, humming,” she squeaked.

“Humming,” he stared.

“Shut up, never mind!” she groaned, hiding her face.

“No, no, no no no!” he ran around to block her as she turned back to the car. “No, go on, tell me! Tell me, tell me!”

She sighed, smiling tensely at him. “God, Steve. You’re so—argh.”

“I am, I am,” he agreed, “—tell me your secrets, teach me, like, cock karate—”

“Oh my god,” she moaned.

“Do I need to wash cars,” he asked, miming circular hand movements, and she shoved him, laughing.

“We were, y’know, listening to music,” she mumbled, flushing even redder, “—and uh, I was um, y’know, kind of—kind of singing, humming—”

“Ew,” Steve said, waving her onward as he tried not to imagine the soundtrack of Jonathan’s approaching penis. “Yeah, go on—”

“It’s-nice-try-it!” she squeaked, all one noise, and ducked by him to dive into the car. He waved, but she bent close around the steering wheel as Erica ran around to take shotgun.

Steve crept in the front door to the caterwauling sounds of a circular saw.

The door to the garage from the kitchen was open, and his parent’s stuff—the stacks of boxed seventies clothes and albums he’d called and asked about, that they’d told him to throw out, that he felt weird throwing out, like there wouldn’t be anything of theirs left in the house if he threw the boxes out—had been pushed off to the side. Billy and Eleven were leaning over a long thin piece of wood trim balanced across the seats of two of the kitchen chairs. Billy had a foot on it, holding it secure across the seats, and Eleven had the saw, which she turned off, and carefully lowered to the floor.

“Angle’s perfect,” Billy told her, thumbing the edge, and she beamed at him. He bent over some more wood, but Steve’s brain was less aware of the wood, and more aware of his boyfriend’s ass in tight jeans.

Steve nearly stepped on Max, watching Billy, then blinked down to realize she was sitting in the doorway with her butt on the kitchen floor and her feet on the stair into the garage, glaring up at him and holding a plastic binder with shiny pages.

“Hey, moron, stop drooling,” she whispered. “It’s nasty.”

“What’re they doing?” he crouched to ask, watching El steeple her fingers thoughtfully at her nose, listening to Billy’s explanation of the different grits of sandpaper.

“He says he broke your door,” Max raised her eyebrows with all the judgement of Steve’s second-grade teacher, and he ducked his head.

“Wasn’t on purpose, he thought I was—I don’t know,” he muttered back at her. “He didn’t mean it.”

“That’s creepy, Steve,” she hissed back, flipping a page, and studying it intently. “He knows what he’s doing.” Through the reflection of the florescent lights of the garage, Steve couldn’t see what she was looking at, but he thought he and Max weren’t quite to the point where he could lean into her space.

“I mean,” Steve squinted, considering, and dropped to sit more comfortably next to her in the doorway, his legs sprawled into the garage. He remembered Billy drunk, throwing beer bottles at his house, and crying over his mom. “I mean, not—not always, not really. He, uh—”

“Don’t give me that shit,” she sighed. “Don’t let him get all, y’know, ‘Sorry, honey, you know I’ve got a temper,’ Steve, jesus. Bet he never breaks his own stuff.”

“Wait, what?” Steve drew his eyes away from Billy, who was smiling down at El marking length on a shorter piece of trim with a steel square. “He doesn’t break my stuff. Except the door. Did he break your stuff?”

She tensed, flipping another page, and holding both sides of the binder with white knuckles. “Maybe. Maybe I’m good at pattern recognition, Steve. He tell you not to make him mad? You being careful?”

Steve stared at the side of her head, then swung to face her, unable to focus while his eyes were full of Billy’s ass. “Max, you okay? Is—is everything okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” she snorted a laugh, rubbing her eyes with her wrist, and flipping another page. She studied it carefully.

“Max, did—did Billy say that to you? Did he—”

“No, he never—he— he says it. To my mom.”

Steve processed for a second, feeling like he was a dysfunctional blender. There were big things floating around out there he was fairly sure he didn’t understand, but he could manage the little pieces, sometimes, blend them into a whole that made sense. “Neil told your mom,” he translated, and Max swallowed, biting her lips together. “Neil...told your mom not to make him mad. Right?”

She shook her head. “He—he didn’t mean—like he gets with Billy. She wouldn’t—he wouldn’t get mad like that— just at Billy, he wouldn’t—he wouldn’t—”

“Billy told you what his mom said,” Steve felt like his engine was grinding, but he kept guessing, since Max kept pausing after each line. Maybe she doesn’t like what she put together, he thought. She’s seeing whether I get the same thing. “That Neil was...that he scared her.”

“Billy said he hit his mom,” Max grated out, and Steve cocked his head, trying to parse the language of the Hargrove siblings.

“Billy said his dad hit his mom,” he suggested, his eyes narrowed in thought, and Max made a weird hiccup noise, muffling it in the cuff of her sweatshirt. She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Steve bit his lips together, and tried again. “...and his dad told your mom not to make him angry.” Like the Hulk, he thought, imagining Neil Hargrove tearing the house apart.

Max flipped another page, and bent to frown at it from inches away as Steve waited.

“What have you got there?” he finally asked, since apparently the conversation was over, and El and Billy were still busy. Max tipped the binder towards him with a tense smile.

Steve crouched. “...is that...is that Billy’s photo album? That’s Billy, oh jesus. Oh my god.” He muffled his wide-eyed mumbling with his hands, staring at child-Billy’s round cheeks.

“Shut up, he looks like a moron,” Max hissed back, flipping the page, as Billy and Eleven laid out more pieces of wood. “Look at their hair! And he definitely doesn’t want you seeing him in that sweater vest.”

Steve flipped it back and eyed the brown, orange, red, and off-white sweater vest—it was definitely ugly, and his time spent winding yarn for Ms. Williams meant he could accurately peg it as basically a sandwich of two enormous crocheted potholders, one front, one back, with straps sewn on. “Oh, god,” he mumbled through his hand. “Did he, like...make that himself?” He tried not to think about Neil’s fingers digging into Billy’s shoulder in the posed picture, or the way Billy was leaning away, into his mom.

“I think there was an aunt...or a grandma...Maybe we should blow up that picture and stick it on the bulletin board at school,” Max grinned, laughing shakily.

“Look at his fat little cheeks,” Steve whispered. “Oh no, look, he was surfing and he fell in the water.”

“Look how many pictures there are of him dragging his board out of the water,” Max snickered. “Like, one of him actually surfing. He looks like a drowned rat.”

From listening to Billy’s mom, Steve didn’t doubt either that she was as delighted by photos of him falling off surfboards as staying on, or that she ever let him live it down. “His mom calls him her Land Turtle,” he told her, and Max clapped a hand over her mouth, muffling a snicker. “Oh no,” Steve hissed, elbowing her. “Look, Santa photos.”

Max stared at them for a long moment, then looked up at Steve, biting back a huge grin. Her eyes still shone wet, but she looked gleeful. “Steve. Steve,” she whispered in a high voice, drowned out by Billy showing El a box of finishing nails. “Steve,” she wheezed. “He was afraid of Santa. Look. Every picture. Oh my god.”

Billy’s mom looked thin, and paler than she had, and Steve tried to focus on her broad grin. “Those are amazing sweaters,” he whispered back, between his fingers, trying not to crack up aloud over toddler-Billy’s horrified eyes on Santa in every picture. In one, he was tilted sideways, wailing in his red-and-white striped sweater with the knitted green bowtie and matching mustard-yellow knitted overalls.

Suddenly Max yanked the album back to squint close, and Steve waited, then leaned his head down to try and see her face. “Huh,” she said, lifting her head, and pushing the album back toward him. “Leia there on the Halloween page,” she pointed. “His mom—does that—there on her arms, and her neck, do those look like bruises to you?”

Steve, staring at what had to be tiny Billy wedged in an awful R2-D2 costume made mostly of tinfoil, beaming up at the Leia from under—for some reason—a superhero-type mask, had to blink a few times to register Max’s voice. “Wha?”

“Do those look like bruises,” Max hissed. “Billy says he used to hit his mom—”

“Billy hit his mom?” Steve stared at her, then Billy, still stuck in their second conversation about family photos, where four-year-old Billy Hargrove was wearing potholders like they were clothes.

Max shook her head. “No, stupid, he hit Billy’s mom, Neil did. Billy says. Billy says—Billy says she was scared, she thought—there was an insurance thing—” she swallowed, the shine to her eyes no longer delighted. “I’m—I just—he doesn’t deserve him, nobody does, but just ‘cause he hits Billy doesn’t mean he’d hurt—”

Steve listened, really noticing for the first time that Max and Billy never called Neil Hargrove anything—not ‘dad’, or his name, just ‘he’. It was confusing for onlookers, who weren’t always thinking about the man, but Max and Billy always seemed to understand each other.

“I thought I’d check his pictures,” Max closed her eyes, taking a deep breath through her nose, and when she looked back down at the photos, her eyes were drier. “See if—if he was right, and she—she looks—she’s really scared, Steve.”

“I was there when she told Billy,” Steve told Max, who pressed her knuckles to her mouth, making a muffled gulping noise.

“He’s gonna hurt my mom,” she whispered, taking a shaky breath. “Shit, Steve, he’s gonna—he’s gonna hurt my mom, it was true, those are bruises, he’s gonna—”

Steve realized the tools had gone silent, and looked up to see Billy, thin-lipped and pink-cheeked, glancing from the album, to Steve, to Max.

El followed his gaze, frowned hard, and sat the saw down. She walked over, and wedged herself between Max and Steve on the stair into the garage. “What happened?” El asked, sounding like she was doing the psychic equivalent of cracking her knuckles to ready herself for a fight.

Max shook her head, pressing her knuckles to her mouth.

Steve let himself be pushed aside, walking over to put an arm around Billy and kiss his ear. “Just found a picture of my new favorite robot,” he whispered, and Billy snorted, tense against him. “Why was R2-D2 wearing a mask,” Steve asked, and Billy rolled his eyes.

“Shut up, I was like seven, I didn’t know how to make a costume. Why the hell is Max showing you my fatass baby pictures?”

“She, um,” Steve stumbled, divided between wanting to answer, not wanting to admit Max didn’t believe Billy’s warnings, and mostly wanting a time-travel car to go back and pick up the chubby little curly-haired R2-D2 in his terrible tinfoil costume, give him hot chocolate, and keep him the hell away from Neil Hargrove. “You seriously calling R2-D2 fat?”

“What is going on,” asked El, narrowing her eyes at Steve’s arm around Billy, and tucking her own around Max.

“He hurt Billy’s mom, and he hurt Billy, and he’s gonna hurt my mom,” Max said, her voice gravelly with suppressed tears. “He hurts people, and he’s—” she took a few rapid breaths, and bit her lips together until they went white.

Eleven took Max’s hand, turning to face her. “We won’t let him.”

Billy swallowed, his jaw working.

“Hopper,” Steve said, squeezing Billy’s shoulders. “Hopper can—talk to Hopper, El, take Max to tell him—”

“He—he could be doing something—I need to get home,” Max stood, and nearly fell, trying to spin without watching the stair. She staggered, swearing in a high, broken voice.

Eleven caught her by the elbows. “Max,” she said slowly clearly, and Max’s head jerked up to frown at her, as Eleven waved a hand at the milk crates of old records and exploded them. Billy and Steve both yelled, diving for the floor as vinyl shrapnel rained down, and it snowed bits of cardboard. “We won’t let him,” Eleven said, bringing her hand back to squeeze Max’s, then lifting it to wipe a dribble of blood from her nose.

“Holy shit,” Max whispered, wiping her eyes. “Okay. Yeah. We can—we can threaten him, or something.”

“Or something,” El repeated darkly. “I saw a movie where they dropped a house on somebody.”

“C-can you do that?” Max snorted wetly, snickering probably half with stress, and half imagining Neil’s shoes sticking out from under a foundation like he was the Wicked Witch of the East.

El narrowed her eyes. “Do you want me to?”

“Holy shit,” Max started cackling through her tears, stumbling to sit down on the stair to the kitchen.

“Holy shit,” Billy echoed, staring at the mess, as Steve sighed and grabbed the broom. “What the fuck,” he whispered. “Luke fucking Skywalker.”

Steve had mostly forgotten Billy didn’t know about El. Of course that’s how he’d find out about Eleven, he thought, rubbing his face, and scrabbling at his hair. Billy knew every other detail of his stupid life. Of course he couldn’t find out when she lifted a toy spaceship. No, my boyfriend, that I promised to—to tell things—finds out El can move stuff with her mind when she explodes something four feet away and threatens to drop a house on his dad. “Babe,” he tried, turning to Billy. “Hey, dickhead, cupcake.”

Billy was staring at El—or past her, it was hard to tell. His hands were shaking. “You knew about this,” he whispered. “You—you said you wanted me safe, and then you sent me out with a—a fucking dark jedi. Lucky she didn’t explode my skull when I kicked Max under the table. Holy crap.”

“Shit, no, she—she wouldn’t hurt you,” Steve stared at him, then Eleven, who was watching Max take deep, shaky breaths.

“No wonder you wanted to check me over,” Billy whispered, sitting down on one of the chairs he’d been using as a sawhorse. “After you made me take them for waffles. How’d Billy do? She explode my brain?”

“No, no—” Steve argued, his stomach clenching as he remembered fearing exactly that, when Eleven climbed into Billy’s car while Dustin and Max drug him into a classroom for their intervention. He reached out, and Billy flinched, then laughed, baring his teeth.

“Any other big secrets, Steve?”

“No,” Steve shook his head frantically, hoping there weren’t. He couldn’t think of any, but then he’d never even thought to pull Eleven aside, and ask whether he could tell Billy. Some of the vinyl was melted to the floor, and Steve kicked at it.

“Do you want me to come home with you?” Eleven asked Max, and Steve tried to put Billy on hold with his hand and derail that situation.

“Wait, no, Eleven,” he called over. “Remember, I mean, you can’t—nobody can see your powers,” he said, wincing as Billy scrambled away. “They could take you away from Hopper, nobody can—”

She nodded. “It would look like an accident.”

Billy staggered over to sit down against the racks holding Steve’s backstock of marshmallows. “Holy hell fucking balls shit,” he mumbled, taking deep breaths in his steepled hands.

“I still need a ride home,” Max said grimly, and El nodded, taking a deep breath.

“Wait, wait, wait, no,” Steve dropped the broom, waving his hands. “Do you—do you really think you need to do anything, like, tonight?”

“He’s gonna hurt my mom, Steve,” Max hissed, and El nodded, crossing her arms.

“Whoa, whoa,” Steve waved his hands, glancing at Billy. “I mean, hell with Neil Hargrove, but come up with a plan. What if he tells someone about El? Talk to Hopper, think up—come up with a way that doesn’t—I mean, save Max’s mom, but make sure everybody’s safe, okay.”

“Everybody except him,” Max growled.

El considered Steve for a long moment, then nodded. “I will help you,” she told Max, nodding firmly.

“Jesus fucking christ hell,” Billy muttered, shoving past Max and out of the garage. His feet pounded up the stairs.

“I need to go home,” Max told Steve. “I need to tell her.”

“She’s still at work, isn’t she?! Don’t do anything,” Steve ordered the two girls. “Anything, I mean it. I have to—Billy didn’t know, I need to go and—”

“He didn’t know?” El asked, blinking from Steve, to Max, to the ceiling. “Why? You didn’t want Billy to know?”

“I didn’t know if you’d want him to know!” Steve told her, trying not to yell. “Now he’s pissed as hell, I have to go talk to him, just—El. Tell me you’d never hurt Billy. You wouldn’t hurt him.”

Eleven cocked her head, turning to Max. “...what did Billy do?” she asked, and Max gulped a laugh, shaking her head.

“Shit,” Steve rubbed his face. “I have to go talk to him, don’t do anything—”

Max sniffled, rubbing her nose. “You better gimme a ride by five, okay. I—I’ll just have El sh-show me how to use all the power tools. Practice for cutting his head off . Unsupervised with the power tools,” she emphasized casually, like a jackass, and Steve yelled incoherently and ran upstairs. As he turned onto the landing, he heard the slide lock on Billy's door catch, and stopped, one foot still in the air. Gravity happened, and he flailed his arms, put both feet on the ground, and turned to lean over the railing, leaning his face in his hands.

“The hell are you doing, Harrington,” Billy’s voice came through the door.

“What?!” Steve yelped, spinning in place. “Nothing! I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“I could hear you chasing me,” Billy said through the door, sounding amused, in the way he did before he set something on fire. “And the floor is creaking. What now, Harrington?”

“Uh,” Steve mumbled, grimacing. “You want me to fuck off?”

He could hear Billy take a long breath, and blow air out through his cheeks. “...what do you want?”

“I just—” Steve swallowed, dropping to sit on the floor. He took a deep breath to continue. “I just—I’m—shit. I’m so sorry, jesus. I’m—I can’t—I can’t believe I didn’t ask Eleven if I could tell you. I got...I forgot I didn’t tell you everything.”

“All your little shitheads got superpowers?” Billy asked, laughing. “Yeah. That actually snaps a lot of shit into place, Steve.” Steve flinched at his name, and wondered why, swallowing again.

“No,” he answered. “No, it’s, um, it’s just El. She’s, uh. Eleven’s what the lab was making,” Steve told him, dropping to press his cheek to the floor, and sigh under the door at Billy’s bare toes clenched in in the carpet. “I didn’t—I mean, it wasn’t my secret. We got talked to by the FBI, she—she could get taken away from Hopper, they—”

“Don’t give me that shit,” Billy said, dropping to sit crosslegged. His fingers drummed against the carpet. “Who the hell would I tell. You told me about the—about the goddamn blue bodybuilder bananas. I can—I can still smell the burning records, Steve.”

“El hurting you wasn’t—it wasn’t a plan,” Steve growled, trying not to yell. “You think—you think I’d get you away from your dad and just—just throw you—why would I want you to scare a little kid until she killed you, Hargrove, hon—honey mustard. Jesus.”

Through the gap in the door, Steve could see Billy picking at the carpet, and twitching his toes. “...just might blow up my head if I, like, took her by surprise.”

“She wouldn’t kill you for startling her,” Steve said, rolling his eyes, then bit his lips as he remembered Dustin talking about El straight-up murdering the people with guns. “She, uh, she’s never hurt anyone...accidentally, um, I don’t think.”

“You don’t think,” Billy laughed. “I’m filled with confidence.”

“I’m sorry, christ,” Steve whispered. “I didn’t even—”

“Don’t get pissed at me—” Billy’s voice cracked, and he kicked the door.

“No, I’m not—” Steve rolled onto his back staring at the ceiling. “Christ. I didn’t...I’m not—I did, I thought about it, I—I should’ve warned you. Kept you away from her. Sorry I—sorry I didn’t—sorry I suck,” he groaned into his hands. “Damn it.”

The floor creaked, and Billy’s voice got louder. “God, I’m such a moron,” Billy told Steve, the floor creaking by his door. “All this time, I thought—you didn’t trust me at all, did you. Never forgot I was Billy Fucking Hargrove for a second. You just knew little Ellie Hopper didn’t have to tell her sheriff dad I needed putting down. She didn’t need help from anybody, she could twist my head off my goddamn neck, right? I step out of line, she’d take care of it, right, Steve?”

“Sorry,” Steve said again. “I, um.”

“That’s why you’d let me take Max and her for waffles, right, but the second Will shows up you start acting like I’m—I’m the Zodiac killer, christ. Screw you.”

“I didn’t—you’re nice to El, there was no—”

“Why the fuck have you been pretending to give a shit about me,” Billy yelled through the door. It shuddered with a loud THUD on the other side, then creaked in its frame as Billy’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. “You knew—you knew she could do that. You knew she’d—do that—for Max, you—you knew—” Steve was silent, grimacing, and wondering what he could say. He jumped as the door thumped again in its frame, and Billy snarled, “Did you fucking leave.”

“No! I’m—I’m sorry,” Steve told him, scooting closer. “I-I’m here, I didn’t—you just, uh, you locked the door.”

“Like you couldn’t bust this shitty lock off in a second. Like Eleven couldn’t rip it off its hinges, right? Make me fucking bleed from—from the eyes probably,” his voice shook with anger, fear, or a combination of both, and Steve didn’t point out the door wouldn’t protect him.

“What? No, you—you locked the door,” Steve flailed at it. “If you want me in there, you gotta open it up, I—I’m not gonna break your door down, I’m not—I’m not the fucking trespasser here—I didn’t mean that to—shit, forget I said that, don’t leave, I’m talking bullshit, tell—tell me what to do, Hargrove. Kings have—they have advisors, or something, right, tell me—”

“Advisors get all the goddamn information,” Billy hissed back.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said again, groaning. “I’m so fucking sorry, I should—I should have known you—”

“Known I’d what, fly off the fucking handle?” The door thudded in its frame again, and Steve flinched back. “Right,” Billy whispered, “—I’m crazy, aren’t I, I’m acting insane right now, my brain doesn’t fucking work, I’m stupid, I’m losing my shit over nothing—” Billy’s laugh was wetter than Max’s.

“No!” Steve squirmed across the floor, closer to Billy’s locked door. “No, not—no, you’re—”

“Am I nuts?” Billy asked, his voice shaking. “Your royal majesty,” he laughed. “G-go on. Tell me to shut up and open the door. Wasn’t to lock you out, right? It’s not for that, that’s not—that’s not what you said to do—”

The lock clicked, like he had his hand on it, and Steve scrabbled at his hair. “N-no, wait, wait. Hargrove. Wait, I don’t—it’s—it’s your room, you can lock the door, you can lock it, it’s—it’s okay, you can lock the door—”

“Yell at me some more,” Billy said, laughing unsteadily. “I’ll open it. I’m opening it, jesus. Tell me I’m fucking nuts. Tell me to open up, King Harrington. I know I’m the asshole, I’m wrong, right? I’m—I’m wrong, somehow. Harrington,” he whispered, “—you—you keep—you go through so much shit for me, this is—this is my fault, right, you wouldn’t—”

“No, no, wait, Hargrove, listen—” Steve caught his breath as he recognized the metallic scrape of the lock sliding open. “Stop—”

A loud thump rattled the door in its frame. “It wasn’t even a big deal, right, I am, I’m acting insane. Jesus, I’m so dumb sometimes, I’m fucking crazy— I don’t know what to—let’s forget it,” Billy said thickly, turning the doorknob enough to click it unlocked. “Sorry,” he gritted out. “Y-you can come in if you want. We can—”

“No! No, no, no,” Steve yelped, scrambling to lie on his stomach on the floor, and slide his fingers under the door. He held it shut. He stared under the gap at Billy’s feet. “No! Be—don’t try and—babe—shit—you’re mad, you should be mad! You should be pissed, okay, be pissed, be—be fucking pissed as hell—okay—”

Billy was quiet for several seconds. “...okay,” he repeated softly, sniffling. “Whatcha doing, Harrington...you trying to fit under the door?”

“Fuck you, just—just—lock the door,” Steve told him. “Lock the door, babe. Don’t unlock the door until you wanna let me in, okay. Knight. Remember you’re pissed at me. I’m bullshit sometimes, okay. You’re pissed off.”

“Royal command,” Billy whispered, dropping so he was lying on the floor, one eye facing Steve through the gap underneath.

“You’re supposed to be mad,” Steve said again, and Billy laughed, a tear running out the side of his eye and dropping into the carpet. Steve scrambled for words. “I didn’t mean—I didn’t think—”

“I mean. You usually don’t,” Billy laughed hoarsely, and Steve wedged more of himself under the door, ignoring it scraping what felt like half the skin off his wrists, to brush the tips of his fingers against Billy’s toes. Billy jerked away, then grabbed Steve’s fingers in his cold, sweaty ones.

“No, I mean it, I’m a moron,” Steve hissed, pissed at himself, even if Billy wasn’t. “I know—with my bat,” Steve pointed at Billy under the door, and Billy laughed again. Steve squinted with concentration. “You had to—you had to know all about the bat, so you could figure out whether you were safe. I couldn’t just say you were safe. I had to tell you everything about the bat, so—so you could—decide.”

“Except about El,” Billy said, and Steve swallowed.

“Except about El,” he agreed, sighing. “I—I almost did, I—you asked if I was gonna lie, she’s—it’s a big secret—I-I’m sor—I’m so sorry. Honey-mustard. Hargrove. I’m—I’m so fucking sorry. I just—there was a lot happening, and—I should have made sure you were okay. First. First before anything.”

After what felt like a long silence, when Steve was starting to tense up again, Billy whispered, “You—you said you fucking forgot.” He rolled onto his back, shaking with laughter. “Did you seriously just— completely forget to tell me. Harrington. You did, didn’t you.”

“No! No, kind of,” Steve groaned again, into his arms, catching Billy’s half-hysterical snickering. “I thought—I mean, I freaked out that first time, when Dustin drug me off and you drove off with El in your car, but then—I mean, you were okay, nothing happened! I’m a fucking moron—”

“You’re so dumb,” Billy whispered, grinning under the door. “Holy shit. How could you—okay, I-I’ll open the door. I’m opening the door.”

“You don’t have to,” Steve told him, grimacing.

“Can’t lock you out in your own house,” Billy said, sounding weirdly flat. “S’not what that lock’s for, is it. It’s not—it’s not to st—” he took a shaky breath, swallowing. “It’s not to stop you,” he whispered, his fingers shaking in Steve’s.

“It’ll work!” Steve yelped. “It’ll stop me, it’s a sturdy door, right? The lock’s little but um, it’s uh, it’s latched! You’re safe from me in there!”

“Harrington, what are you gonna do when I open this door,” Billy asked, and Steve had the horrifying suspicion he was crying. “I won’t lock it again, I swear, jesus, please,” he mumbled, his words hitching, and Steve squeezed his hands harder.

“I—” Steve fumbled his words, trying to think of a way to prove he wasn’t angry, while also wanting to burn Neil Hargrove at the stake. “I’m not mad,” he said, trying to keep his voice soft. “I’m not mad, baby, you can lock the door, you can lock me out anytime—” He’d lost Billy for a while again, he realized, listening to the nonsensical mumbles and apologies on the other side of the door, and running his thumbs over Billy’s clenched fingers, so he just kept saying it was okay, and he wasn’t mad.

After what felt like the longest eleven minutes of Steve’s life—as he talked, he was staring at the watch on his wrist, wedged half under the door—Billy took a long shuddering breath.

“You back with me, Hargrove?” Steve whispered, his throat raw.

“...think so,” Billy whispered back. “I was...I was gonna open the door,” he said. “I won’t lock it again,” he promised, and Steve gave his now well-practiced speech.

“You can lock that door anytime,” he told Billy. “You can lock it for no reason, okay. I won’t be mad, you can lock your door.”

“I’m allowed to be crazy,” Billy laughed uncertainly.

“I don’t know if it’s crazy,” Steve told him, frowning under the door, but deciding not to bring up Neil Hargrove. “But you can lock the door, people lock doors, that’s what locks are for, dick—honey,” he said, changing his insult at the last minute, and ignoring Billy’s snickers and whispers of “Dick honey! I’m your dick honey.” “Billy Hargrove,” Steve whispered. “You can lock me out, I still love you—”

Billy choked, curling up on the floor around Steve’s fingers. “...okay.”

“Love you so much,” Steve told him, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. “Love works through doors, okay, I can wait ‘til you come out, jesus. It’s fine.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Billy laughed, crying. “Fuck you, stop making me—bawl, okay, jesus, you prick, christ. Fucking... hate how much I love you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve laughed, his eyes tearing up with relief, and the pain of his scraped knuckles wedged under the door.

“You’re really not pissed I locked you out,” Billy asked again, trying to sound casual.

“I showed you that lock,” Steve told him, trying not to sound pissed.

“Yeah, because—for if—if he comes, you wanna rescue me,” Billy laughed. “Protect what’s yours. Not supposed to lock you out.”

Feeling the exhaustion of another trip around the monopoly board, without passing Go, and without collecting $200, Steve closed his eyes and tried not to groan. “You can lock this door whenever you want,” he said for what sounded like the ninetieth time.

“Yeah,” Billy breathed, and they lay there, on opposite sides of the door, for nearly another five minutes. “...you pretending not to be pissed,” Billy hissed finally. “You—are you—I’ll open up and you’ll be mad as hell, you—you’ll—” he trailed off into sharp breaths, and Steve tried to squirm closer.

“Not gonna lie to you,” he said, and felt Billy’s fingers twitch. “I’m not, honey-mustard, I’ll tell you if I’m mad.” Billy took another long shaky breath, and Steve screwed his face up in thought, kicking his feet so they thudded lightly against the railing of the stairs. “...look, I could open the door,” he whispered, and Billy was silent. “You already unlocked it,” Steve reminded him. “All I’d have to do is turn the knob. But—”

“But what?” Billy asked.

“I don’t think you’re ready yet,” Steve told him. “I’m gonna let you open your door, okay?”

“God, I’m so crazy,” Billy sighed, muffled by the carpet.

“I think you’re just, y’know,” Steve flunked talking as usual, “—you think, um, you think stuff will happen that maybe...happened before. That’s, uh, that’s smart, actually. That’s smart.”

“I should trust you,” Billy groaned. “Shit.”

“I mean, I guess,” Steve made a face. “I just kind of...fucked up. Big. I didn’t—you have to be careful, I mean, you—” he groaned too, trying to fit the words together.

“Not with you,” Billy argued.

“No, with—with me, too, you have to be careful, you’re really important,” Steve huffed, his hackles rising as Billy started laughing again on the other side of the door. “You are! Steve hissed. “You’re so important, you’re the most important, and I’m really—I’m so shitty at this, you have to—you have to help me—”

“Oh my god,” Billy wheezed, and Steve opened his mouth to keep arguing, then blinked as Billy reached out to push Steve’s pointer finger back under the door.

“This lil’ piggy’s gonna get stomped, Harrington,” Billy whispered through the gap, and Steve snickered as Billy’s fingers lifted each of his and prodded them under the door, then stuck his own middle fingers under at Steve.

Steve laughed and rubbed his wrists, rolling onto his back.

Billy’s face disappeared from the gap, replaced by his hand, then his foot, and the sound of a door opening across carpet.

Steve pushed himself to his feet, and then got an armful of Billy Hargrove, breathing unsteadily against his shoulder, and yanking at the fly of his pants.

“Fucking moron,” Bily whispered, trying to unbutton Steve’s jeans as Steve tried to push his hands away.

“Max—Max and El,” he gasped. “They’re right downstairs, we can’t—”

“Sure we can,” Billy whispered against his mouth, and Steve grabbed his hands.

“Okay, but I’m the one apologizing, right,” Steve changed tactics, trying not to grin. “You didn’t screw up. I screwed up.” Billy’s eyes narrowed, then widened as Steve grabbed him by the fly, whispering. “Lemme choke on your dick.” As he’d expected, Billy froze, frowning at him, and Steve seized the opportunity to squeeze him until his bones creaked.

“Not sure how much you’re gonna like that when you’re sober,” Billy hissed in his ear, rocking their hips together.

With the hot pressure on his dick, Steve couldn’t think of an argument other than the truth. “I was,” he whispered, sliding a hand under Billy’s sweatshirt and up his warm side, feeling his muscles work. “I was—I was sober, cake, um, cake pie. I dumped the whiskey out. Didn’t drink it.”

“What,” Billy asked hoarsely.

“Sorry I lied,” Steve buried his face in Billy’s neck, dragging messy kisses over his collarbones. “Shouldn’t lie to you, I mean it, I—I’ll stop, but—but I knew you were freaked, didn’t wanna—didn’t wanna do some dumb drunk thing—” he bit gently under Billy’s jaw, and felt him shudder.

“You goddamn liar,” Billy breathed, grabbing the ass of Steve’s jeans with both hands.

“Sorry for that too,” Steve whispered, and Billy groaned melodramatically in his ear. “Am I out of the doghouse?” Steve asked, and Billy snorted.

“No, you are not,” Billy said, his gaze flicking uncertainly over Steve’s face. “I’m gonna make you work for it—”

“Oh, I can work for it,” Steve told him, his grin way too wide, he suspected, to look seductive at all.

“What the hell are you two doing up there?!” Max yelled, and they both started.

“Okay,” Steve said, tucking his laugh against Billy’s neck. “I’m gonna suck your dick. With feeblings.”

“Jesus christ,” Billy muttered back, relaxing against him. “Just a minute,” he shouted downstairs, and Max stomped away. “...El might actually come up and ask what we’re doing in a minute,” he groaned, sliding his arms around Steve’s waist to sway together, and muttering a string of profanity into his shoulder.

Steve rubbed his back, trying to remember the intense cold-shower effect El had had on his half-chub earlier, when she’d stomped into the locker room wanting Billy to teach Max to use tools. The idea of her throwing the bedroom door open as Steve tried to negotiate his first real blowjob didn’t sound appealing.

After standing there a while, Steve’s adrenaline bubble started merging with the relief of Billy choosing to trust him after he’d fucked up again, and he wanted to move— run, or dance Billy around, or carry him somewhere, listening to him yell, and kissing his hot blushing face. “Later tonight. I got blowjob tips from Nancy. But we should probably go back downstairs,” he whispered, rubbing his thumb across Billy’s tear-sticky cheek.

“Holy jesus. Is that—is that what you were talking about? Giving blowjobs?” Billy asked, his laugh warming Steve’s neck.

“Sort of,” Steve hedged, wishing Nancy hadn’t wanted him to keep secrets. “She decided to start telling me all the weird shit she used to tell Barb, and I’m not supposed to tell anybody, and—” he remembered Nancy shaking with laughter over Jonathan’s sex habits, and tried to smother his vindictive glee, “—I really, really want to tell you Nancy’s secrets, I swear.”

“Why the hell would I want to know any of that,” Billy slumped against him with a contented sigh.

“It’s hilarious,” Steve hissed. “Being friends with a girl is annoying.”

“You poor baby,” Billy snorted.

“She wants to check in all the time! She likes you,” Steve said, remembering abruptly, and Billy burst into a fit of snickering against his neck.

“She does, huh.”

“She does! She said you were all freaked out when I ran out of the library.”

“...Harrington,” Billy said, pulling back to narrow his eyes at Steve’s face. “I—”

“We should probably go downstairs,” Steve interrupted, his face heating as he remembered Billy knew he’d run off to cry. Like the five-year-old birthday boy, he thought, with a self-directed smirk, when he realizes everybody in the class just came because he’s got a pool. “Sorry I was acting like—an idiot. More of an idiot,” Steve shrugged. “We should go down.”

Billy opened his mouth, closed it, then pulled Steve’s face into a kiss that was warm and salty with tears. After a few seconds of hot breath and slick tongue that left Steve harder in his pants than ever, his sweaty hands clutching at Billy’s biceps, Billy pulled back. “You saying I should stop hiding from a little girl,” he asked, grinning, and Steve swallowed a couple times, gathering himself to speak.

“El’s pretty scary,” Steve rasped, “—they’re gonna start using the chainsaw or something, though—”

“You have a chainsaw?” Billy interrupted.

“Maybe?!” Steve stepped back to throw his hands in the air. “I didn’t know we had a circular saw!”

“We need a ride,” El’s voice carried up the stairs.

“Are your—” parents? Steve thought, and stalled out, “—are your uh, your adults even off work yet? Thought you were helping Billy fix my door,” Steve called back, leaning over the railing to look downstairs, and reaching back to squeeze Billy’s hand.

“...we should finish that first,” El said, after a second, and Billy turned him around and leaned in for one more kiss before squeezing his hand back and pulling away to jog down the stairs after Eleven.

Max was waiting at the foot of the stairs when Steve came down. She looked him up and down, then rolled her eyes, her shoulders lowering a little from their angry hunch.

“Hey, Max, uh,” Steve said, then stopped, thinking.

“What, did you run out of batteries?” she asked dryly.

“No, shut up. You know—you can still bring your mom here, if you need to, ever. Or call us, if you need help. We can—we can come pick you up, you and her. Anytime.”

“...Billy gonna second that?” she asked, and Steve considered.

“Yeah. Yeah, he said he’d help me out if my kids needed it. He offered. I mean, he might not stand between you and his dad—”

“No, he’s—he’s done that. Done something just as—just as I was—got himself hit.”

“...that’s…” Steve trailed off, unable to say it was good, Billy getting himself hurt.

“Weird is what that was, because usually he’s a total shithead,” Max hissed. “Which I didn’t tell El. And I won’t—” She stopped.

Because he’s your brother, Steve thought, then wondered whether it was just basic decency in Max, not wanting to hurt anyone if she could help it. Anyone but monsters, like Neil Hargrove.

“...El wants you both to come to the Byers’ for waffles,” she reported, sighing. “Soon. Every damn time anybody’s upset she wants waffles.”

“D’you want him there?” Steve asked, suspecting she didn’t.

“I don’t care,” Max sighed, setting her jaw, and frowning towards the garage. “If he keeps acting like a goddamn human being instead of an asshole. I think El wants to ask him about his mom.”

That will go great, Steve thought, wincing.

“Guess I better help them fix the door,” Max said, unmoving.

“You didn’t break it,” Steve told her, wandering over to the hot chocolate cupboard.

“I wanted to see his photo albums. Check his story, you know, so I lied,” she said, “...kind of.”

“You...lied,” he glanced back, eyebrows raised, before realizing he needed to get more marshmallows out of the garage, which would mean walking out on Max wanting to talk, which...didn’t seem like the right thing to do. He sighed.

“He won’t let me take shop. I signed up for shop and now I’m in home economics,” Max groaned, and Steve rewound the sentence in his head and substituted Neil in for he . “I told El, and said I wanted to talk to Billy, and she said Billy takes shop, since he’s a boy— and next thing I know, he’s waiting for us in your car after school. Trying to tell me how to use a saw. Billy fucking Hargrove, Shop Teacher—and of course Eleven’s having fun.” She squinted towards the garage. “I just wanted to see that photo album.”

“...want some hot chocolate?” Steve asked, feeling a keen empathy for El, and her urge to stuff waffles in the face of anyone having a problem.

“No,” Max said, burying her face in her arms. “Yeah. Damn it. Do I have to—I have to stop hating him now?! Just like that?” She snapped in the air, growling. “Because that asshole’s been beating his face in since he was like—” she held her hand flat a couple feet from the floor, glaring at Steve. “—that high? How come my mom had to fall for him. How come he can’t die of a heart attack. HEY MISTER GOD, THIS IS MAX,” she yelled suddenly, at the ceiling. “FIX YOUR SHIT.”

Steve was cracking up, leaning against the cupboard. “You tell him,” he held up a mug in a toast, and Max snorted.

“Listen to him in there,” she said, glaring at the table, and Steve leaned to listen to Billy laughing, and explaining something about the latch. “Being some rad older brother. You know, that’s what I thought I was getting. Will Byers loves him, musta asked me to invite him like twelve times. He got a cat out of a fucking tree, Steve, did he get brain trauma on your watch?!”

Steve thought about how tense Billy’d been, the afternoon Max had come over to learn to bake bread. Neil hadn’t helped, that morning, or calling that night, but Billy’d been a mass of barbed wire all afternoon.

“You finding the meaning of life in that cocoa mix?” Max asked, and Steve jumped, realizing he was staring into the jar.

“Yeah, kinda,” he leaned to look deeper, humming exaggerated noises like a Muppet, and she snorted, watching him spoon mix into mugs. “Nah. I, uh, I think he...I think maybe you make him nervous.”

“I make him nervous?!” Max smacked her hands on the table. “I make him nervous?! What in the hell kind of—”

“No, shush, I just mean—like I remember the floaty thingies, in the tunnels, you know,” he told her, waggling his fingers to indicate the wispy substance that had clogged their lungs, and ignoring Max biting back a grin. “In the snow, I—I can freak out a little. It’s not—it’s not the snow’s fault, snow never ate my friends—” Max snorted another laugh, but she was listening. “You haven’t...done anything, but you were—you were there, while things were happening, I think—”

“I remind him of home,” she said, chewing her lip. “Maybe. Gross.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, but when he glanced over again, she looked like she was thinking hard.

“He could still not be a dipshit,” she muttered at her mug, and Steve nodded, sighing.

“You—you can bring him for waffles,” she decided. “Will can just have him, I don’t care. He can be Will and Eleven’s brother, I don’t give a shit.”

Steve opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “I’m, uh, I’m pretty good at. Things.”

“Not English, apparently,” Max narrowed her eyes. “The hell does that mean?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged, turning back to turn off the kettle, and add the hot water to their mugs.

“You really want to be my brother?” she asked, sounding amused, and he turned to glare, but her eyes were kinda wider than her usual wary glower. “I mean, you—you said that, when you—when you wanted me to get him out of the house, but—”

“I’d be better at it than Billy,” he pointed out, and she tried to talk and laugh at the same time, and choked.

“Yeah,” she laughed, wiping her eyes. “Yeah, uh, you—you really would. Uh. I dunno. Do I really need a brother, right, I mean. I, um. I have some—friends. Now.”

“If you need one,” he said, keeping his tone cheerful, and ignoring her red face as she groaned into her sleeves. “Or just, y’know, want one. I can put Dustin down as a reference.” He turned back to the hot chocolate.

He gave Max the rest of the marshmallows, and sat her mug in front of her, watching her eyes well up as she looked at the little Garfield cartoon about spiders on the mug.

“Thanks, Steve,” she rasped, and he clinked their mugs together.

Next chapter

#harringrove #platypan #Fix-it #Season 2.5 #Lovesick dorks #Friendship is magic #Strangest #platypan fic #peterqpan on Ao3

19 notes · View notes

toast-the-unknowing · 4 years

Note

do u have some random headcanons for your foster care adam verse/childhood friends verse, that you'll like to share with us? if you want to of course, i just think that's your most potentially teen drama fic you have ever written, and i say that not in a bad way, i just think it's such a fun and comforting au :')

In sixth grade, they start middle school, and Adam gets bumped up a grade in math. He ends up in the same class as Declan and develops one of those awkward kid crushes you only realize is a crush years later. Ronan bugs Adam to finally get Debbie and Bill's permission to have Blue sleepover, so they all end up hanging out at his house more and at the Lynch house less. It does not occur to Adam that these two facts might be related.

In seventh grade Adam's adoption goes through. Adam continues to call Debbie and Bill by their first names; he thinks that they'd like it if he called them mom and dad, but they never actually say anything about it. It just feels too much like lying, to Adam, like pretending that nothing his parents did to him ever happened, and anyway, those aren’t good words to him.

In eighth grade, Blue and Ronan's running competition for who will get the bigger role in the school play backfires when they are cast as the two romantic leads of the spring show. Adam laughs at them a whole lot to distract himself from the weird emotions that he gets watching them hold hands and pretend to be in love. They stop acting after that show and go into the tech crew instead, which both Ronan and Blue claim was THEIR idea.

Freshman year, someone makes a joke about Blue having two boyfriends. She's not really surprised -- the jokes aren't new, although they're getting grosser and more uncomfortable as she gets older -- but she's kind of surprised about how pissed off Ronan gets. It's late enough at night that Adam (who has the earliest curfew) is already home and isn't around to be the voice of reason. They commit some light vandalism in revenge and then go grab ice cream to celebrate. Blue asks Ronan why it bugs him when people insult her. The answer is at least half that she's his friend okay, Jesus, what is he supposed to do, just let people talk about her like that; but instead of saying that what Ronan actually does is blurt out all of his feelings about Adam in the middle of a Dairy Queen at eleven o'clock at night. Blue's verdict: they are definitely going to need more blizzards to deal with this.

Sophomore year, Ronan's dad dies. Ronan doesn't handle it well. Adam gets worried about him one night when Ronan stops responding to his texts, and he sneaks out to find him and make sure he's okay. The next morning Adam isn't at school. Ronan feels like shit on top of everything else for getting Adam into trouble, until Adam shows up after lunch; Debbie and Bill let him sleep in since he was out so late, and then they wanted to make an appointment for him with his social worker, in case he needed to talk to someone about what he’s going through. He is super grounded, though. Blue takes over "make sure Ronan doesn't do anything stupid" duty. She doesn't to let him get away with anything.

Junior year, Adam and Ronan start dating. The getting together part is easier than Ronan had ever expected, and the dating part is everything he ever wanted; the hard part, the part that he hadn't really thought about, is keeping it secret. He wants to tell everyone: classmates, teachers, random people walking down the street, and yeah, his mom, why wouldn't he want her to know something so important about his life? But Adam isn't ready to; the first time they really talk about it he tells Ronan if your mom freaks out about it she can't send you back, which doesn't even make sense -- Bill and Debbie are super chill, for old people, plus they're those parents that volunteer for every field trip and shit, plus Adam is adopted so where the hell would they even send him to -- but Ronan doesn't have to get it to get that it's what Adam needs. So he keeps it a secret. Even though it's so fucking hard. The only person he gets to talk to about Adam is Blue, who is sick. to. death. of hearing him, quote, "writing the sappiest romance novel of all time, seriously, I'm gonna hurl," close quote.

(Adam's eventual coming out to Bill and Debbie goes just fine; they're kind of awkward but very supportive for him and they tell him that they love him and that "we always thought Ronan was a nice young man." There's at least one (1) Pride parade where they are very earnest and very embarrassing and Blue has zero sympathy for that, either, because seriously Adam you went to Pride with your parents, what did you think would happen?)

Senior year is weird, for Blue. She's happy for Adam and Ronan, obviously she's happy, that's what you are when your two best friends are happy, is happy. It's just that the three of them were always the three of them, and now a lot of the time Adam and Ronan hang out just the two of them and Blue's just...Blue. There's nothing to do about it, though, no one thing, so she does a little bit of a lot of things to see what helps. Dating doesn't -- Adam and Ronan have found the only two decent teenage boys in town, each other, and after a few attempts she gives up in disgust. She goes to a lot of parties for a while and turns out to have a terrifying aptitude for flip cup, but that's just all the same people she doesn't want to date and doesn't want to hang out with at school, and being around more people doesn't actually make her feel less alone. She tries some new clubs and new electives, likes shop a lot more than she expected, likes art a lot less than she expected, although some of the art kids aren't so bad. She sinks a lot of time into her college applications, all the same state schools that Adam's applying to, a bunch of West Coast schools that he isn't. She doesn't say anything about it to him; she's probably not going to get in and she can't afford it without a bunch of scholarships anyway, so there's no real point in hurting anyone's feelings. Just, if she's on her own, she wants to have things that are her own. She can have that and have Adam, who still lends her all his favorite books so they can talk about them, and gets a job at the same restaurant she does when she complains about how boring her shifts are, and comes over to watch readings and seances at her house, half-skeptical and half-enthralled. She can have that and have Ronan, who still gives her rides to absolutely anywhere she needs to go no matter how far it is, and goes thrift store diving with her for things that might make good costumes for the theater department even though every single opinion he has about clothes is WRONG, and texts her to tell her every time he goes to the bathroom, like that's something anyone wants to know. They're still the three of them, even if they have to rearrange things a little bit, and Ronan and Adam are still the people she shares everything with. When she gets pissed off her first day of classes in Berkeley, they're the first people she texts, you will not BELIEVE this jerk in my history discussion, he tried to pay me to be in his study group and they immediately support her -- or, Adam does; Ronan texts how much? but that's what support looks like, from Ronan. That's what she wants, for all of them, and she's happy, she's really, really happy.

#well this got. more emotional. than intended #not a fic #the raven cycle #Anonymous

125 notes · View notes

wherewindysurgeswend · 4 years

Text

Deep heart’s core: chapter two

guess what? chapter two is ready! i actually already had it written, it just needed some polishing, which i’ve now done. enjoy!

part one can be found here.

taglist (please dm, send an ask or leave a comment to be added or removed): @tunes-on-a-typewriter @rememberedkisses

Anna was suddenly conscious of someone watching her. She turned her head and saw a young woman looking at her, smiling. Anna looked again at the young woman who had been watching her. James had fallen asleep in his mother’s arms. The woman who had been watching looked little older than Anna herself, perhaps twenty-two or twenty-three, if that. She was slim and graceful, with shining blonde hair and sparkling grey eyes. It was evident by her impeccably tailored silk dress, large diamond earrings and fine kid gloves that she belonged to a world entirely different from Anna’s own. She smiled, then turned and left.

Long after she had bid the Lynches goodnight, Anna found her herself unable to stop thinking about the unknown woman. After tossing and turning in bed for what seemed like an eternity, she got up, got dressed, and went for a walk. Now that the sun had completely sunk beneath the horizon, the air was considerably colder. An icy wind blew from the sea, and Anna pulled her thin sweater closer about her body and crossed her arms. She walked for a few minutes, and then found herself close to the door of the first-class ballroom. The door opened and someone came out, accompanied by a burst of sound – laughter, loud conversation, and music – and light. Anna looked at the person who had left and caught her breath. It was the woman she had seen before, looking even lovelier than before in her evening finery. She, too, caught a glimpse of Anna. She smiled, and to Anna, it seemed to be the loveliest thing she had ever seen. “Oh, it’s you,” she said, still smiling. Her voice was soft and measured, and yet there was laughter lurking in her eyes. Anna smiled back. “I’m Margaret Kittredge,” said the woman. She said nothing else, but it was clear by her expression that she was waiting for Anna to introduce herself. “Anna Byrne,” she said.

“Well,” said Margaret, “what are you doing around here at this hour? It’s hardly a place for a nice girl like you.” she laughed, but there was no malice in her laughter. It was as if she and Anna were the only two people in on a wonderful joke. “I needed a walk,” said Anna, and Margaret smiled sympathetically. “I know the feeling,” she said. “In fact, that’s why I left the ballroom. I knew if I stayed in there any longer I’d lose my mind.” It was now Anna’s turn to be sympathetic. “I know exactly how you feel. I hate parties.” Margaret smiled, as if in silent agreement. Then, she looked concerned. Anna’s smile faded. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“You’re cold,” said Margaret in reply, “I can tell. You’re shivering.” She removed the luxurious mink coat she was wearing and draped it gently about Anna’s shoulders.

Doreen Kittredge was having another sleepless night. She didn’t know where her daughter was, but that wasn’t the issue. Mrs. Kittredge was sleepless for an entirely different reason. This reason had much to do with her friend, Mrs. Schuyler, but more to do with Mrs. Schuyler’s daughter, Phyllis.

Phyllis was around Margaret’s age. They had been friends as children, but they had since grown apart, which, though she would never admit it, had greatly relieved Mrs. Kittredge. Phyllis was not the type of girl she had hoped Margaret would associate with. Phyllis smoked in public. Phyllis had two broken engagements. She bleached her hair, plucked her eyebrows and used false eyelashes. And now she had been told that Phyllis would be in Paris at the same time as the Kittredges and would be returning home on the same ship as them, and would Doreen please keep an eye on her and make sure she didn’t get in too much trouble? Needless to say, Mrs. Kittredge did not want to do this. She had enough on her plate with her daughter’s upcoming wedding. Margaret’s younger brother Paul would be graduating high school that spring as well. There was simply too much for her to organize. At least that was the reason she concentrated on. Doreen felt, somehow, that her daughter was drifting further and further away from her. Perhaps she knew, somewhere deep in the part of one’s mind that always knows these things, that this couldn’t be avoided. Maybe she thought having Phyllis in the house would make it worse. Maybe she thought she could fix everything, if she could only keep Margaret away from people she didn’t approve of.

Anna and Margaret parted just before sunrise. Determined to get some sleep, Anna lay awake until the sun was so bright that she had to give up, thinking of the slim, graceful girl with her satin dress and fur coat and the laughter in her grey eyes, of the silver glow of her hair in the moonlight, of the subtle scent of her perfume. Margaret, for her part, was in a similar state, remembering the nervous tap of Anna’s fingers on whatever surface was within her reach, how she shivered in her thin sweater and cotton blouse, her enraptured silence when she looked at the sea, the way she said Margaret’s name. Margaret was named after her grandmother Kittredge, a stern old woman whom Margaret had always been afraid of. She was called Peggy most of the time, to avoid confusion, but her mother always brought out “Margaret” when she was upset with her daughter. Margaret had always hated her name, but to hear Anna say it, it was the most beautiful name in the world. When her mother said it, “Margaret” was a reminder of everything she must do, lest she disgrace the family name. It was “Margaret, don’t slouch”, “Margaret, how did your nails get so filthy?” and “Margaret, act like a lady”. But when Anna said it, it was nothing of the sort. There was as much kindness in those three syllables when Anna said them as there was disapproval when Margaret’s mother did. Margaret thought she might not even mind if Anna were to call her Peggy, as much as she loathed the nickname. As Margaret was learning, any name can be beautiful if it’s said with love.

At eleven o’clock Anna was jerked awake by a knock on the door of her cabin. She stumbled out of bed, rubbing her eyes, and opened the door. There stood Margaret Kittredge, carrying a basket. “Good morning!” Said Margaret cheerfully, “we’ve missed breakfast, but I got a busboy to give me some food.”

“Morning,” said Anna, squinting slightly in the late morning sunlight. Margaret walked into the cabin and sat down on the bed. “How…?” Asked Anna, gradually recovering from her surprise.

“Oh, you know,” said Margaret, selecting a muffin from the basket and biting into it, “a little batting my eyelashes at him, a little do-you-know-who-my-father-is…” Anna wasn’t sure she believed that. She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at Margaret. “And then what?” Margaret sighed. “And then I slipped him a ten-dollar bill. There really isn’t any fooling you, is there?” Anna laughed and Margaret handed her a slice of toast. “So,” began Anna, “where are you on your way to?” Margaret rolled her eyes and swallowed a bite of muffin. “Paris. I’m getting married next June and my mother insists on getting the dress in Europe.” Anna felt a little sting at those words, although she wasn’t sure why. So Margaret was getting married. What was it to her? They had known each other for less than a day. And besides, what did it have to do with her? Maybe it was that Margaret didn’t seem very excited about the idea. Yes, that must be it. “Anna?” Margaret said. Anna snapped out of her reverie. “What?”

“I asked where you’re going, but, incidentally, are you all right?”

“I’m — I’m fine. Just a little tired, that’s all. I’m going to London.”

“Why London?”

“I work for the Montreal Daily News. I’m supposed to cover a story.” Margaret looked surprised.

“The Montreal Daily News? Well isn’t that quite the coincidence!”

“Why?”

“Didn’t you know? My father owns that paper!”

Anna hadn’t known that, but she supposed she ought to have made the connection. There was a large oil painting hanging in the entrance hall at the newspaper building. Anna had walked past it countless times. She had read the plaque beneath it almost as often — J. Thomas Kittredge, founder. She had even met the man once. On her second day at the paper he had dropped by to visit. Mr. McGill had introduced her as “Miss Byrne, our latest recruit” and Mr Kittredge had laughed and said “new blood, eh?” He was a tall, red-faced man with an impressive moustache and a huge cigar hanging from his lower lip. He had shaken her hand. His hands were huge and his grip was very strong, but Anna knew better than to let him know she felt it, so she had looked defiantly up at him — he was close to a foot taller than she was — and gripped his hand as hard as she could. He had laughed again and turned to Mr. McGill. “Feisty, isn’t she, Jim?” He had said. Mr McGill had looked confused. He thought of Anna as timid and anxious, certainly not feisty. With that, Mr. Kittredge had stubbed out his cigar, picked up his hat, winked at Anna and walked out, his booming laughter still ringing in her ears.

Margaret was nothing like her father, Anna thought. Or maybe she was. After all, Margaret was on the tall side (five foot eight, maybe five foot nine, in Anna’s estimation) and had her father’s steel-grey eyes. She had his sense of humour and easy way with people. Margaret’s laugh was a summer shower and her father’s was a thunderclap. And, of course, after her initial terror had subsided, Anna had found herself rather liking Mr. Kittredge. It was hard not to, and Margaret was the same way. There were no two ways about it, Anna thought: you either liked Margaret or you didn’t really know her.

There was a knock on the door and Anna got up to answer it. When she opened the door, she found Kathleen Lynch leaning against the doorframe. “Morning,” she said, “I’ve been looking all over for you. Mother’s been worried sick since you didn’t show up at breakfast.”

“I overslept. Won’t you come in?” Kathleen stepped into the cabin and saw Margaret sitting on the bed. “Who’s this?” She asked bluntly, jerking her head towards Margaret.

“That’s my friend Margaret.” Margaret waved enthusiastically at Kathleen. “Pleased to meet you,” said Kathleen dryly. Margaret seemed a little put off by Kathleen’s attitude. Frankly, Anna was too. Kathleen could have been friendlier. “Well, I suppose I’d better be going,” said Margaret, “mother will be expecting me.” She picked up her basket and left.

“What was that about?” Anna asked, a little irritably, once Margaret was out of earshot.

“What was what about?” Kathleen retorted.

“Oh, please. Don’t play innocent. What do you mean by being so rude to her?”

“I don’t think I was rude.” Anna raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

“Oh, you don’t? Well I’d advise you to be more careful with your tone, then. You scared her off!”

“I’d advise you to choose your friends better,” Kathleen shot back.

“What the hell do you mean by that?” Anna snapped, her voice rising in frustration.

“I mean girls like that are all the same. They get bored with their high-society friends so they slum it with girls like us.”

“That’s some judgement to make about someone you’ve known for thirty seconds!”

“You don’t have to listen to me. It’s your funeral.” Anna rolled her eyes.

“Aren’t you getting a little too upset over this?”

“Maybe I am. I’m just trying to warn you.” Anna sighed.

“I don’t want to fight with you, Kathleen. This whole thing is ridiculous.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I guess mom got to me with her worrying. She thought something had happened to you, but you were just sitting in here with that girl. I was upset because I was worried over nothing.” Anna softened.

“That’s O.K. Let’s go find your mom so she knows I’m all right.”

They found Florence in the second-class lounge. As soon as she spotted them she got up and ran towards them. “Where have you been?” She asked Anna, “I’ve been so worried! Is everything all right?” Anna was still a little too disoriented to answer. “Everything’s fine, mom,” Kathleen broke in, “she just overslept, that’s all.”

“Oh, thank goodness. Have you had breakfast?” Anna nodded.

“Good. I was afraid you had missed it. Well, did you two have any plans for today?”

“I have to write to my mother,” Anna said, “I know she’ll be anxious to hear from me, so I figured I would start writing a long letter now and mail it as soon as I get to London.” Julia nodded approvingly. “What about you, Kath?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. I think I’ll commit a few crimes while we’re in international waters. Might as well do it now, while I can’t be arrested.”

“I know you’re kidding and it’s never any use telling you this anyway, but won’t you please try to stay out of trouble for once?” Kathleen pretended to be shocked.

“How can you say such a thing? Tell me, dear mother, when have I ever been anything but a model of good behaviour? How can you be so cruel as to cast aspersions on your own daughter’s character?” Florence just laughed.

“Well, if you must get up to no good, at least try not to get caught.”

“No promises,” Kathleen shouted over her shoulder, already on her way out of the room.

#deep heart's core #writeblr #my writing #anna byrne #margaret kittredge #kathleen lynch #(no larry in this chapter sorry eliza)

10 notes · View notes

miamistax · 4 years

Text

Read this. Someone you know has lived these same experiences. This must end now.

David Gamble, Jr.

I grew up in Reno, Nevada.

In third grade a boy confidently tells me and my brother that his mom said black people cannot swim because our muscles are different than those of white people.

In middle school, standing among a group of white classmates talking video games, I am the only black child. One classmate expresses surprise that my family has enough money to afford a PlayStation.

In high school, I am the only black kid among a group of friends. When sharing drinks in my presence they frequently tell each other not to “niggerlip” the bottles. Even though I object, they continue to use the phrase.

In high school, my brother is at a teen house party that gets broken up by police, a common occurrence. The kids at the party scatter, also a common occurrence. My brother, the only black child in attendance, is the only one on whom a police officer draws a firearm to get him to stop running away. He is 14.

In high school, a group of my white friends frequently sneak on to the outdoor basketball courts at an athletic club to play. They can usually play for hours, including with club members. On the two occasions I attend, club members complain and we are ejected from the club within minutes.

In high school, I am excited about black history month and am talking to a friend about black inventors. My friend snorts and says, “Black people have never invented anything.”

In high school, as graduation approaches, many of my white friends tell me that I am lucky. They tell me that due to my skin color, I will get into any college I want.

I remain in Reno for college.

During college an employer keeps food for employees in the break room refrigerator. One morning I decided to have microwaveable chicken wings for breakfast. The employer tells me I might not want to eat that for breakfast with my skin color. The employer immediately apologizes.

In college I am standing in a group of white friends on campus. A white acquaintance of one of my friends approaches to chat. The acquaintance tells a story about something that frustrated him and then reels off a series of expletives ending with the word, “nigger.” None of my friends corrects him.

In college I visit an antique shop in Auburn, California with my girlfriend, who is white, and her parents. The shopkeeper follows me around the store whistling loudly as I browse, until we leave.

I move to San Diego, California for law school.

In law school, during a discussion in my criminal law class, a white classmate suggests that police officers should take a suspect’s race into account when determining whether there is reasonable suspicion to believe that an individual is committing a crime.

The weekend of my law school graduation my family comes to San Diego. I go to the mall with my brother and sister and visit the Burberry store. Two different employees follow us around the store – never speaking to us – until we leave.

After law school, I return to Reno.

A co-worker jokingly calls me “King David” upon seeing me each day. I joke that I’m not treated like a king. The co-worker then begins to call me “Slave David” each time we encounter one another. When I ask the co-worker to stop because it is hurtful, I am told by my co-worker that this is a problem that I have in my head.

I attend a pub crawl with friends. We end up at a party in a hotel suite in downtown Reno. I am greeted by a white man at the door who loudly expresses surprise that I am an “educated negro” upon hearing me speak.

I walk a friend who is a white woman from a restaurant to her car because it is night time. As we stand by the car chatting, a police officer pulls up and shines a light on us, asking if everything is okay. Once my friend confirms, the officer drives away. I tell her that he was worried about her, she teasingly says, “Oh yeah, because you’re so scary.” Later, I tell another white friend I felt racially profiled by the officer. My friend shrugs and says, “I don’t know man, that’s a stretch.”

A white friend tells me that white voters have become upset at black people because of black people’s liberal use of food welfare benefits. When I point out that more whites than blacks receive welfare benefits in the U.S., my friend expresses confusion at how that could be the case.

I leave a downtown restaurant with my wife. As we walk along the river a homeless man appears to be having a schizophrenic episode, engaging auditory hallucinations. Upon seeing me, he becomes lucid and begins to shout the word “nigger” over and over.

I discover that one of my clients does not want me to represent him as his Public Defender because he does not want a black attorney. I am given the option to withdraw as counsel. I do not.

Last year, I am at a barbecue chatting with a white acquaintance who asks if I have ever experienced racism. When I say it is a nearly daily occurrence, the acquaintance retorts, without missing a beat, “Bullshit.”

Two months ago. I am driving to lunch with the black teen I mentor. At a red light a white woman crosses the street. As I begin to drive, she turns around and screams at us, “F**k you f****ing nigger!”

Before any of these instances, my family of origin moved to Reno, Nevada from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in 1984.

My mother recently told me that when I was a very young child my parents hired a company to remove a tree from our front lawn. Two white men showed up and removed the tree. One of them carved a swastika into the stump. My father had to confront him and ask him to remove it.

Before that, my now 93 -year-old grandfather served in the Army National Guard and was stationed in the U.S. south. Despite being active duty, he was not allowed to eat in restaurants due to “whites only” signage. He had to wait for fellow Guardsmen to bring him food outside.

Not long before that, my family were slaves, owned by Americans of English and Irish descent, which is why – despite being primarily of African descent – I have an English last name.

This is my experience of being black in America. To be black in America is to be told over and over that you are not good enough, that you do not belong, that you are genetically unfit, that your physical presence is undesirable, and that everything about you – right down to your lips – is wrong. It is absolutely true that everyone experiences hardships in life, but the psychological weight of being told both explicitly and implicitly, on a daily basis, that your very existence is objectionable can at times feel unbearable.

And despite this experience, I still love my country, my state, and my city. Despite my experience, I would not choose to be anything other than a black American. The history of black people in this country is one of struggle and triumph. Our people were brought to this country as slaves and against all odds, in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles, have made our mark. Through slavery, poll taxes, literacy tests, redlining, and black codes we have persevered. Through the unspeakable horrors of mass lynchings; the Tuskegee syphilis experiments; and the massacres at Tulsa and Rosewood, we have persevered.

Bass Reeves, Dovey Johnson Roundtree, Sarah Boone, Oscar Micheaux, Shirley Chisholm, Dorie Miller, Susie King Taylor, Georgia Gilmore, Octavius Catto, Jack Johnson, Garrett Morgan, James W.C. Pennington. These are just a handful of extraordinary and oft forgotten black Americans who helped to mold and preserve the American Dream. These individuals and their accomplishments should not be regarded as “black history,” but rather as American history.

I am an American of privilege, which makes me an African American of great privilege. I am an attorney. I live in a safe neighborhood. My children do not worry about their next meal. I can afford child care. My family can afford personal vehicles. If my children become sick, I can take them to the doctor. If I am this privileged, and these have been my experiences, primarily in my own hometown, often with friends and acquaintances who are fond of me, and of whom I remain fond even now; just imagine what daily life must be like for a black person in this country who does not enjoy my level of privilege.

The protests in the streets of America are certainly about the killing of George Floyd, but not just about George Floyd. They are about countless black men, women, and children for whom the punishment did not fit the crime – if indeed there was a crime at all. We live in a country where, in order to recall what life under Jim Crow felt like, many white Americans must pick up a history book. Meanwhile, many black Americans need only pick up a telephone, and call their parents.

When we as people of color share our experiences, we are not doing so to score political points, “play the race card,” get sympathy, assign blame, or to make you feel bad about yourself. We are asking you for help. We are asking you to join us in the ongoing fight against racism in our country, because we cannot do it alone. It will take Americans of every stripe to eradicate racism from American society.

I am now asking for your help. Please seek truth and knowledge. When sharing information, please check your sources and make sure that they are reliable. Try to place what is happening today into a historical context. Read about systemic racism and anti-racism. When your friends of color tell you that racism is real and affecting their lives, believe them and then, if you can, do something about it.

My children are likely to attend the same middle school and high school that I did. It is my great hope for them that those around them have the knowledge, compassion, and guidance to know better than to daily deluge them with words that make them doubt their intelligence, their beauty, and their worth as human beings based only on the color of their skin; and instead judge them by the content of their character.

It is for all of the above reasons, and so many more that we proudly say #blacklivesmatter

2 notes · View notes

theindependentjournals · 4 years

Text

Notes on Class

-The very first time I inhaled real marijuana?- “oh……lovely..”

PRELUDE (AN OPENING REMARK:) “FAKE ASS BEACH IN MY DUMB MOFUCKING LIL BRAIN ASS HOMOEROGONEOUS ASS TWATS FAKE ASS WASTE OF MY MOFUCKING TIME. STUPID GAY SHITTY FUCK FALSE ASS HOE NIGGAS AINT NO REAL NIGGAS BUNCH A LIL BITCHES ASS WITH THEIR PROSTITUTE ASS STRIPPING FUCKING HO PIMP MURDERED FAKE ASS MORMON SHIT WIT THEM DAMN BITCH NIGGER, BITE MY THUMB BITCH. SHIT ASS BITCH MOTHERFUKIN FAKE ASS NIGGER FOLK WITH THEIR DAMN STUPID BULLSHIT LIVES THEM OLD FAGGOT ASS NIGGER. CHOKE ON A MOFUCKING BITCH ASS BITCH SHIT HOEBAG DOUCHE MONKEYS MOFUCKING CATHETAR BITCH.”

BLISS, ID THE WALKER CENTER 1-800-227-4190 ACCESS BEHAVIORAL HEALTH 208-338-4699 EVALUATOR DUSTIN LYNCH : SEVERE DRUG HABIT (3.5) NOT EVEN ONCE ORGANIZATION 12 STEP SPRITUAL RECOVERY PLAY IT FORWARD “I’M A DOCTOR, NOT A TAILOR” THE AMERICAN PSYCHIATRIC ASSOCIATION (DSM-IV) DRUGS APP ON PHONE

DEB: “I DRIVE ON THESE ROADS SOMETIMES! YOU WERE PUTTING OTHER PEOPLE AT RISK!”

Alfonzo: 9 WEEKS CLEAN OFF COCAINE. TRIP OUT OF TOWN FOR 4TH OF JULY TO CABIN… JET SKIS AND POWERBOARDS. HE DOES VALIDATION WITH HIS GIRLFRIEND. BELIEVES IN A HIGHER POWER. VISITED HIS DAUGHTER AND WENT TO ICE CREAM.FEELS VICTIMIZED BECAUSE SOME PEOPLE ARE RACIST AND THINK HE WILL STEAL FROM THEM OR HARM THEM. PLAYS APP ON PHONE WHEN TRYING TO REST, “CALM.” HE HAD BEEN SOBER FOR 11 WEEKS AND 1 DAY AND THEN HE DRANK AT A FRIDAY 4TH OF JULY PARTY. HIS UA CAME BACK NEGATIVE. WAS READY TO PREPARE FOR RELAPSE.

Phillip: DRUG OF CHOICE METH AND COCAINE. WAS AWAY FOR A WHILE. STOPPED ACID 3 WEEKS AGO, HAD A REALLY HARD TIME QUITTING MARIJUANA AND ACID. IRRITABLE AND DEHYDRATED.

James: 2 WEEKS CLEAN OFF ALCOHOL AND METH. USES PATIENCE. “IT’S NOT ALL ABOUT ME.” BORN A BOY IN SPOKANE, WA. IS NOW 50. AT 2 Y.O. MOVED TO A SMALL TOWN COMMERICIAL FISHING WITH DAD. USED CRAB BOATS. “ALWAYS GONE FISHING.” HAD 4 SISTERS, 1 BROTHER. IF MOM WASN’T WORKING THEN SHE WAS DRUNK. DRANK DRANK DRANK. A LOT OF ABUSE, BUT WOULD NOT PHYSICALLY HARM THEM. DAD TOOK ONE SISTER OUT OF HOUSE TO LOOSEN THE LOAD ON MOM. THE THREE WOULD PICK ON EACH OTHER AND BECOME ISOLATED BECAUSE OF ABUSE. BREAKING WINDOWS – RUNNING – SHOOTING STUFF. DAD AND MOM FIGHT OVER ALCOHOL. STARTED WONDERING WHY SHE DRANK. WANTED TO BE LIKE MOM SO WOULD DRINK THE BEER AND REFILL WITH CREAM SODA. WANTED TO BE LIKE DAD SO WOULD STEAL CIGARETTES. SISTERS WERE SMOKING CIGARETTES AND MARIJUANA. THEN HE WAS STONED AND DIDN’T KNOW WHAT IT WAS. WOULD GET HIMSELF SICK FROM LIQUOR AND ADD WATER. NOBODY KNEW IT WAS HIM, THEY KNEW THE SISTERS SMOKED MARIJUANA SO THEY BLAMED ALL ON SISTERS. HE STARTED STEALING CRAP SO HE GOT TO GO FISHING. HAD GOOD MONEY FOR BEING YOUNG. STARTED INTO COCAINE AND LOTS OF IT. HAD 30 U.A.S FOR BREAKING CURFEW AND HAD TO GO BACK AGAIN. COURTS JUST WANTED HIS WEALTHY FAMILIES MONEY. IT WAS MOSTLY “TAKE OUR MONEY AND LET US GO.” HE GOT MARRIED AND BARELY KNEW HER CAUSE HE WAS DRUNK. SHE GOT PREGNANT AND THE KID DIED OF SIDS. HE LEFT HER AND WENT ON A BENDER. 4 DUIS -> ASSAULT -> PRISON. “I HAVE A PROBLEM.” PRISON SUCKS. HE ATTENDED NO GROUPS, JUST HAD TIME. HIS DAD MOVED TO IDAHO. HE HAD NOTHING TO DO. HE STOPPED FISHING AND BEGAN USING METH. DOESN’T REMEMBER HOW HE GOT BACK INTO METH, MUST HAVE BEEN SOME FRIEND. COUPLE YEARS INTO IDAHO AND HAD TROUBLE WITH PAROLE. WENT INTO A HALFWAY HOUSE AND BAM THERE WAS METH. WAS DRINKING SO P.O. TOOK OUT OF HALFWAY HOUSE. DATED A WOMAN THERE. HAD HOUSE, CARS, GOOD LIFE, THEN TO DOING METH AGAIN. AT 18, HIS LIFE WAS LIKE MONEY, BOAT, COCAINE. IN NEWPORT, OR.

Pricsilla: 6 MONTHS CLEAN OFF METH/COCAINE/VODKA. “BEING DONE WITH WHAT I USED TO DO.” MOVED OUT OF A SHELTER AND DID A MRI BRAIN SCAN TO LOOK FOR PROBLEMS. TEMPS OF 100 MAKE HER IRRITABLE AND MOODY. SHE THINKS IT IS TOO DRY. SHE NEEDS NASAL DROPS. SHE WAS LEFT FOR DEAD IN CALIFORNIA AT 18. USING SKILLS LIKE RATIONAL THINKING AND ABSITENCE.

Blake: 3 MONTHS CLEAN OFF MARIJUANA. HAS NARCOLEPSY. USES FAMILY TO KEEP HIM FROM BLAZING. GRADUATED HEALTHY THINKING GROUP.

Paul: 9 MONTHS CLEAN OFF OPIATES & BENZOS. TRYING TO GET HIS “DUCKS IN A ROW.” HAS A HOME IN WILDER. SPENT 2 YEARS IN ICELAND. STOPPED TAKING PAIN KILLERS HE BECAME IMMUNE TO EFFECTS. -PAIN MEDS APPARENTLY ONLY ARE EFFECTIVE FOR 3 DAYS- SPENT 30 YEARS ON PAIN MEDICATIONS. SCOLIOSIS ON DISCS. SISTER TOOK HIS PILLS AWAY. SO HE WENT TO HOSPITAL. 30, 80MG A DAY. METHADONE WORKED BETTER AND WAS EASIER TO GET OFF OF. FEELING LETHARGIC. STOPPED NARCOTICS, STARTED DIAZEPAN. PERCOCETS WORKED GOOD BUT BUILT A RESISTANCE. HE WILL TAKE AGAIN BUT AT A LOWER DOSE. NO DETOX BUT TOOK 30 DAYS TO FEEL BETTER. HAVE TO GO TO DOCTOR BUT ALL THEY DO IS TAKE YOUR BLOOD PRESSURE. DOCTOR DOESN’T KNOW WHERE THE PAIN IS LOCATED. NARCOTICS <- NUEROSENDERS -> CLEAN. TAKING LYRICA FOR NERVE PAIN AND VISTARIL FOR ANXIETY. CHRONIC PAIN CLASSES AND HE IS A SURGICAL CANDIDATE FOR NERVE BACK.. CLEARING NERVES AND FUSING BACK. HERE AT RECOVERY 4 LIFE FOR 9.5 MONTHS, LEGAL CONSEQUENCES AND COURT REQUIRED. DAY BY DAY HE HAS NOT THOUGHT ABOUT DRINKING. HAS ANXIETY AND AVOIDS TRIGGERS, NO TRAUMA.

Matt: 2 MONTHS CLEAN. GOING FISHING AT CJ STRIKES.

Inez: 22 MONTHS SOBER OFF ALCOHOL. SHE NEVER THOUGHT SHE WOULD QUIT DRINKING. HER FRIEND QUIT AS WELL WHOM SHE ALSO NEVER THOUGHT WOULD GET CLEAN. “I AM WORTHY OF HAPPINESS.” PRACTICES A GOOD ATTITUDE WITH GRATITUDE. WAS A LIASON IN THE HOUSE SHE IS THE MANAGER OF. NEEDS TO STOP GETTING MAD. A GIRL WHO LIVES THERE, HER BOYFRIEND CALLED OVER AND OVER. GIRL WAS PISSED OFF NOBODY ANSWERED, 36 RINGS AND 9 CALLS, ENDED UP NOT BEING THE BOYFRIEND BUT A VERY IMPORTANT CALL. “ALCOHOL IS MY DOWNFALL” DOESN’T WANT TO LOSE MANAGEMENT POSITION FOR THE WOMAN’S HOME. SHE HAD SOME SEIZURES AND HAD TO VISIT THE HOSPITAL. “I HAVE TO BE CLEAN OR I WILL GO TO JAIL.” SOBER SINCE 8/16/16, NEVER THOUGHT SHE WOULD BE SOBER FOR 2 YEARS. WISHES SHE HAD A CORVETTE. DOESN’T UNDERSTAND WHY SHE CAN’T HAVE A GOOD LIFE LIKE ALL HER FRIENDS. LOSING HER HOME. HAS TO ACCEPT FACT THAT LIFE CHANGES AND GOD SUCKS…. LMAO, JOKES ON YOU. GOES TO THE NAMPA PUBLIC LIBRARY.

Donna: EMOTIONAL ROLLERCOASTER. SAD -> HAPPY -> HURT -> LONELY -> ISOLATED. WAS A DRUNKEN MESS AND HATED EVERYTHING. TRYING NOT TO OVER-CATASTROPHIZE FEELINGS TO SITUATIONS. LEARNED DISTRESS TOLERANCE. TRYING TO BECOME MORE MINDFUL AND AWARE. LEARNING TO SPEAK OUT AND ASK FOR HELP. WISHES OTHERS TO BE OPEN-MINDED IN DIALETICAL BEHAVIORAL THERAPY GROUP. THINKS OTHERS WILL NOT LIKE THE GROUP AT FIRST OR EVEN UNDERSTAND IT. “ADDICTION DOES NOT DISCRIMATE AGAINST AGE/GENDER.” WORKING ON KEEPINIG HER EMOTIONS IN CHECK SO SHE DOES NOT GET A ONE-WAY TICKET ON THE CRAZY TRAIN.

ALLEYGAINY SIERRA NEVADAS MOTANA. CANCER IN BREAST -> BRAIN. 16TH BIRTHDAY MET DAVE GAINEY WHO RAPED HER AND HER MOM DIED THE SAME TIME. SISTERS MOVED. DAVE GAINEY WAS KATHY’S HUSBAND AND HER DAD’S BEST FRIEND. SHE RAN TO THE NEIGHBORS. GRAD CARMEL HIGH FEB 1986 IN FALLON, NV. SISTER STARTED DOING COCAINE AND MOVED TO SACRAMENTO. DIED IN 2012. HAD FIRST CHILD. SPLIT FROM FATHER AND HE KIDNAPPED THE BABY.SHE GOT HIM BACK, HE WAS UNDERWEIGHT AND HAD LEAD POISONING IN A PART OF HIS KIDNEY, HAD TO GET REMOVED. (ANDREW 1990) BRITTANY AND BROOKE, TWINS DIED OF HEART AND LUNG FAILURE APRIL 28, 1998 AT 3 MONTHS. HUSBAND WAS HEAVY MACHINE OPERATOR IN THE MINES. KYLE 1992. GRADUATED ICC COLLEGE WITH NURSING LICENSE. WAS PREGNANT AGAIN RIGHT AFTER FUNERAL. HAD BROCK AND HER CERVIX TURNED BLACK UTERINE CANCER. IV TO LOSING HAIR. MET A CLUB GUARD BRYAN, BEGAN RUNNING AND GUNNING. HE SMACKED HER SILLY (PHYSICAL ABUSE.) MC AT CLUB HOOKED IT UP (LARRY.) HE HAD A MOTORCYCLE. HE WAS IN A HIT AND RUN. WAS LIFEFLIGHTED TO NA. HAD ALCOHOL IN WATER BOTTLE WHEN SHE VISITED HIM IN HOSPITAL. WHERE SHE WAS TAKEN TO 28 DAY PROGRAM AT NEW START. DRANK DRANK DRANK. DEC. 7TH TRIED TO KILL HERSELF. DRIVING AND BLEW DOUBLE .29 IN JEROME COUNTY. HAD NO BAIL. IS ORDERED TO REMAIN SOBER UNTIL 2019. “LOONY FREAKZOID” WHEN I DRINK.

Lawnie: HAS A FULFILLING LIFE WITH HIS FAMILY. WORKING ON NOT AVOIDING OR ESCAPING SITUATIONS. SOBERED UP BUT DID NOT WANT TO FACE SOBRIETY. HALF SMILE AND OPEN HANDS. WORKING ON RESPECTING THE EARTH AROUND HIM. VALIDATION AND UNDERSTANDING. “I KNOW I AM WORTH SOMETHING.” TRYING TO TAKE CARE OF HIMSELF BY WALKING ½ HOUR A DAY. RECOMMENDS FOR OTHERS IN GROUP TO BE ON TIME AND PARTICIPATE.

Kata: MOLLY AND HEROIN… LOST CLOSE FAMILY MAY 2010. CRYING IN CLASS, IRRITABLE.

Pilot Dude: “I’M DIFFERENT NOW” THOUGHTS… EMOTIONS… FEELINGS….. HERE BECAUSE OF DRINKING AT BAR AND THEN DROVE HOME. “IT HELPS TO GIVE BACK” HE KNOWS SOMEONE WHO STARTED A KID ON HEROIN WHEN HE WAS 8… LIKE, CAN’T GO BACK NOW. BORN IN IDAHO FALLS. LIKED TO BREAK RULES TO GET KICKS. MOM SPLIT DAD. MOM REMARRIED NEXT MONTH. D.A.R.E IN 4TH GRADE DRUG ABUSE RESEARCH STAFF. 8TH GRADE- SMOKED WEED STEMS. STOLE WEED FROM BROTHER. DRANK IN 8TH GRADE. PARTY ON WEEKENDS IN HIGH SCHOOL. COLLEGE HAD 3 DAY WEEKENDS FRI,SAT,SUN TO PARTY. GRADUATED COLLEGE WITH CIVIL ENGINEER DEGREE AND DIDN’TLIKE IT. WAS A STUPID COLLEGE KID AND POINTED TO A RANDOM MAJOR. NOW IN POCATELLO. ADDICTED TO ADDREALL. AMBIAN AND ADDERALL. USED DOCTORS TO GET THIS DRUG. HIS EX WAS AN ALCOHOLIC. EVERY NIGHT HE HAD PILLS. PILOT…. MONDAY-THURSDAY CLEANED HIS SYSTEM. FINISHED AND BECAME FLIGHT INSTRUCTOR. MET GIRLFRIEND WHERE HE DID PILLS AND ALCOHOL WITH HER EVERYDAY. GOT PANCREATITIS. BODY SHUT DOWN AND HE HAD NO WATER FOR 2 DAYS. BOWLING BALL HEAD ON FLOOR GASPING FOR AIR. NAPROXEN. OXYS – TOOK BECAUSE FELT GOOD. AFTER HAVING PANCREATITIS HE FELT SO WRONG LIKE HE HAD DECIEVED HIMSELF. NOW HE WAS ON OPIATES AND GHBS INSTEAD OF ALCOHOL. GOT FREE OXYS FROM THE DOCTOR. BENZOS AS WELL. COULD NO LONGER PAY RENT. OXY WITHDRAWALS FROM STREET OXYS. HE HAD ON HIM 50 G OF OXYS – 6 MONTHS WORTH ABOUT 800$$$ WORTH BUT COULD SELL ON STREET FOR 50,000-100,000$. 50X STRONGER THAN HEROIN. STARTED GETTING SEIZURES. 2 YEARS HE WAS IN PERSONAL TRAINING. SOLD TO PAY SOME RENT. POLICE KNOCKED WHILE HE WAS HITTING FENTANYL AND HE HAD A CLOSE CALL.. GOT NORCOS FROM DOCTORS FOR “BACK PAIN.” HE HAD A MONTH LONG MENTAL TREATMENT IN MISSISSIPPI. AND COPS CALLED ON HIM FOR BEING DRUNK IN PUBLIC, SENT TO PSYCH WARD FOR 5 DAYS. HE THOUGHT HE MAY JUST MOVE TO MEXICO. HIS MOM SAVED HIM AND HE STAYS ALIVE FOR HIS MOTHER.

Aleisha: DRUG OF CHOICE. HEROIN. WORKS LONG HOURS AND IS VERY TIRED.

Dakota: USES SKILLS FROM CLASS, BREATHING EXERCISES.

Nicole: “MENTAL HEALTH COURT IS RUNNING MY LIFE. I PEE IN A CUP EVERY MORNING”

SKILLS: INTERPERSONAL EFFECTIVENESS “COMMUNICATING WITH OTHERS” THE LEFT SIDE WINS. YOU DON’T HAVE TO STEAL IN ORDER TO GET METHAMPETAMINES.

MAKE YOUR RELATIONSHIPS BETTER, NOT WORSE. SOMETIMES, WE DON’T DO SO GOOD. LEARN HOW TO EFFECTIVELY MAKE REQUESTS AND EFFECTIVELY KNOW WHEN TO SAY NO. MAINTAIN BALANCE AND RESOLVE CONFLICTS.

SOME MAY TAKE BEING NICE FOR WEAKNESS AND OVERPOWER YOU. SOME ARE MORE EMOTIONAL WHILST OTHERS DON’T GET UPSET.

MYTHS – OBJECTIVE EFFECTIVENESS IF I ASK FOR SOMETHING OR SAY NO, I CAN’T STAND IT IF SOMEONE GETS UPSET WITH ME. I MUST BE REALLY INADEQUATE IF I CAN’T FIX THIS MYSELF. IF I DON’T HAVE WHAT I WANT OR NEED IT DOESN’T MAKE A DIFFERENCE, I DON’T CARE REALLY (APATHY) IF I TRY TO ASK FOR HELP I WILL BE A BURDEN. PEOPLE WITHOUT MONEY WHO ASK FOR FAVORS ARE LEECHES.

“I CAN PROBABLY GO WITHOUT.”

MY NEEDS ARE AS IMPORTANT AS ANYONE ELSES. GOD HELPS THOSE WHO HELP THEMSELVES. SAYING NO IS PUTTING UP A HEALTHY BOUNDARY.

THE PROBLEM IS JUST IN MY HEAD I SHOULDN’T BOTHER OTHERS. CHALLENGE: OTHER PEOPLE ARE CARING – YOU CAN ASK FOR ASSISTANCE.

IF I DON’T HAVE WHAT I NEED IT WON’T MAKE A DIFFERENCE, I DON’T CARE REALLY. CHALLENGE: I CARE SO MUCH THAT I GET WHAT ASSISTANCE I NEED.

OTHERS SHOULDN’T HAVE TO PUT MORE WORK IN ME. I DON’T NEED SUPPORT AND YOU SHOULDN’T EXPECT IT. “KILL THEM WITH KINDNESS.” “GIVE RESPECT, GET RESPECT.” TREAT OTHERS HOW I WANT TO BE TREATED. IT’S OK TO BE SKEPTICAL. THE GOVERNMENT CONTROLS EVERYTHING. OTHERS AROUND YOU MAY FEEL BAD FOR YOU OR THEY MAY BE SELF-CENTERED OR AGAINST YOU. MY DECISIONS EFFECT EVERYONE AROUND ME. TRY NOT TO HURT OTHERS.

THE WHEEL – RELATIONSHIP WITH DRUGS USE: Not a habit MISUSE: Taking at a higher dose for high rather than i.e. pain ABUSE: When it is harmful for your health and others ADDICTION: Takes over life, need it all the time DEPENDENCE: Necessary to need it in order to feel normal

INTRODUCTION: Try EXPERIMENTAL: Use more, take note on effects, see how it feels/if you like BENEFICIAL: If you like it is good for a short time. I.E. You are happy.. for a short-term. ABUSIVE: Continued use leads to damage in long-term POINT OF NO RETURN!!! DEPENDENT TOXIC FATAL EMOTIONAL REGULATION PT.1:

UNDERSTAND AND NAME YOUR OWN EMOTIONS!! RELAPSE OK TO FEEL EMOTIONS OF FEELING LIKE A BIRDIE

WHY SHOULD WE DESCRIBE EMOTIONS? “SO I DON’T BLOW UP, UP THE SPINE”

IDENTIFY AND DESCRIBE YOUR EMOTION. REGULAR EMPTINESS KNOW WHAT EMOTIONS DO FOR YOU. HURT YOU

FEEL MORE COMFORTABLE SPEAK MORE LOGICALLY BE MORE PRODUCTIVE GRIEF/SHAME/SPIRAL DOWN TOILET

DECREASE THE FREQUENCY OF UNWANTED EMOTIONS: BEAUTIFUL BLACK EYES. OH POOR ME. GLOOM AND DOOM. GOD DAMNIT. DECREASE EMOTIONAL VULNERABILITY DECREASE VULNERABILITY TO EMOTIONAL MIND. BE ABOVE IT. UNAFFECTIVE. GOD DAMNIT.

RED 4 LOKOS, THE DRUNKEN STEREOTYPE. HAND SANITIZER SMELLS LIKE VODKA. THINKING OF FUTURE MANAGE EMOTIONS WITH ALCOHOL.

DECREASE EMOTIONAL SUFFERING MUSICAL CHAIRS “I THINK THE OCEAN SMELLS GOOD” KEEP WITHIN LEGAL BOUNDS

EMOTIONS MOTIVATE US TO ACTION FIGHT OR FLIGHT HARDWIRED IN BIOLOGY -> GENETIC

DIDN’T KNOW THE SUN WAS IN THEIR WAY “FINE.” WAITING IN LINE - “YOU LOOK MAD, DUDE” WAITING..HUNGRY..ANTICIPATION LADY MOVES BECAUSE THINKS HE WILL STEAL.. “I DON’T WANT YOUR STUFF” “ON A MISSION” REJECTION

AN EMOTION.. I AM TIRED SO I CANNOT MOVE. EMOTIONS ARE RED FLAGS “INTUITION IS WHEN GOD TALKS TO YOU.”

PT.2

-ANGER- AGITATION ANNOYANCE BITTERNESS FRUSTRATION INDIGNATION IRRITATION WRATH

EVENTS THAT TRIGGER ANGER +TREATED UNFAIRLY +GOALS BEING BLOCKED +THINGS SHOULD BE DIFFERENT THAN THEY ARE +NOT HAVING THINGS TURN OUT AS EXPECTED AFTEREFFECTS +DEPERSONALIZATION, DISSOCIATIVE EXPERIENCES, NUMBNESS

-DISGUST- ANTIPATHY? HATE

PROMPTING EVENTS +BEING FORCED TO SWALLOW SOMETHING YOU REALLY DON’T WANT +BEING FORCED TO ENGAGE IN OR WATCH UNWANTED SEXUAL CONTANT

INTERPRETATION +SWALLOWING SOMETHING TOXIC +YOUR MIND IS BEING CONTAMINATED

BIOLOGICAL CHANGES +VOMMITING +FEELING DIRTY

EXPRESSIONS +VOMITING

-ENVY- DOWNHEARTED

INTERPRETATION +HAVE SUCH A BAD LOT

BIOLOGICAL CHANGES +LOSE WHAT THEY HAVE, HAVE BAD LUCK OR BE HURT +FEELING OF PLEASURE WHEN OTHERS EXPERIENCE FAILURE OR LOSE WHAT THEY HAVE +I LOVE WHEN OTHERS GET HURT

ACTIONS +TRYING TO IMPROVE YOUR SITUATION

AFTERAFFECTS +ATTENDING TO WHAT OTHERS HAVE

-FEAR- APPREHENSION DREAD HORROR HYSTERIA? SHOCK

PROMPTING EVENTS +HAVING YOUR WELL-BEING THREATENED

INTERPRETATION +YOU MIGHT BE HARMED

-HAPPINESS- ECSTASY

PROMPTING EVENTS +NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT

BIOLOGICAL CHANGES +FEELING AT PEACE +CAN DENY HAPPINESS

EXPRESSIONS +SILLINESS

AFTERAFFECTS +FEELING JOYFUL IN FUTURE

-SHAME- +SAYING YOU ARE SORRY OVER AND OVER +DISTRACTING +WHY EMOTE WHEN YOU CAN DEMOTE?

-GUILT- +DON’T HAVE TO HOLD ANGER +3-DAY ANGER STRIKE +WALLOW IN IT

EXPRESSIONS +ASKING FOR FORGIVENESS “FORGIVE ME, FATHER.”

AFTEREFFECTS +DO NO HARM

“USING ALCOHOL OR DRUGS WAS A THINKING ERROR IN MY BEHAVIOR.” STOP TO THINK ABOUT WHAT I DO WISE MIND IS EFFECTFUL FOR THINKING/ACTING NO MATTER WHAT THOSE ONES THINK TRY TO REACT IN A POSITIVE WAY BE PATIENT

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY? ARROGANT INNOCENT LOADED PAINED -DIRTY -SICK

FEELINGS: CHOKED UP, ILL AT EASE INJURED, PAINED, SUFFERING, ACHING, TORTURED INFLAMED WEAK, WEARY

DEFINITION REMORSEFUL: DEEP AND PAINFUL REGRET FOR A WRONGDOING. PEACEFUL, POWERFUL, JOYFUL – SUBSETS OF FEELING WHEEL I CROSSED OUT AND SAYS I AM NEVER TO FEEL AGAIN. THINGS I CANT FEEL. “YOUR EMOTIONS WERE NOT YOUR CHOICE – A BIOLOGICAL FUNCTION DICTATING THEM”

PT.3 BUILD MASTERY AND COPE AHEAD

DOESN’T MATTER AS LONG AS YOU WORSHIP THE Q’ARAN DOUAJ ARABIC FOR WEALTH

STAYING SOBER TODAY IS BEING PRODUCTIVE SMALL FISH IN A BIG POND.. A BIG WHIRL GRIN & BEAR IT, WAIT IT OUT HOW A SUICIDE HAS TO MENTALLY PREPARE FOR YEARS BEFORE COMPLETING.

TAKE CARE OF MIND BY TAKING CARE OF BODY P L 1.TREAT PHYSICAL ILLNESS E 2. BALANCE EATING (FOODS CAN MAKE YOU OVERLY EMOTIONAL. EMPTY FLUFF. FASTING) A 3. AVOID MOOD ALTERING SUBSTANCES (XTC,MOLLY,HEROIN,GHB,COCAINE,LSD,MUSHROOMS) S 4. BALANCE SLEEP (HOUR A NIGHT – BUDDHIST MONKS) E 5. GET EXERCISE

OBSERVE YOUR EMOTIONS “WALLOW IN THE DEB-WAVE” WHY CAN’T I FIGHT THIS? PAIN 20-30 MINUTE EPISODES AUG 16, 2008… GIRLS MOM WENT MISING ANGER – CONSUMING

LOVE YOUR EMOTIONS “THIS TOO SHALL PASS”

WHAT EMOTION DOES THE LORD FEEL? SUPREME.

YOU ARE NOT YOUR EMOTIONS -EAT YOUR EMOTIONS

MANAGING EXTREME EMOTIONS BOUGHT A HOUSE AND ALL HE WANTED WAS A BEAUTIFUL LAWN HE HAD A DANDELION PROBLEM SO HE BOUGHT A GARDENING BOOK AND WROTE THE AGRICULTURAL UNIT

HER HUSBAND LEFT HER. MAYBE HE LEFT BECAUSE YOU ARE AN ALCOHOLIC.

COOK WITH GARLIC AND ONIONS.

FEELINGS AND EMOTIONS IN RECOVERY 1. DO YOU NOTICE THAT YOU EXPERIENCE SOME FEELINGS MORE THAN OTHERS - ANGER, RECKLESS ABANDONMENT OTHERS: MOODY, QUESTIONING, ANXIOUS OTHERS: ANGER, IMPATIENT, CANT RELATE, TENSE, WRATHFUL, FURIOUS, EMPTY

2. WHAT ARE THE FEELINGS OR EMOTIONS YOU TRY TO AVOID? -SHAME, PAIN (CHAMPAGNE) OTHERS: BEING ISOLATED, BEING INSECURE, UNWANTED

3. HOW DO YOU EXPRESS YOUR FEELINGS? -TALK TO MYSELF, TALK TO OTHERS ON CHATROOMS, SOMETIMES I CRY, I WRITE MUSIC/SHORT STORIES OTHERS: USED TO KEEP TO SELF, NOW TALKS MORE OTHERS: BOTTLE UP

4. DO YOU FIND YOURSELF ONLY EXPRESSING NEGATIVE FEELINGS -MY POSITIVE FEELINGS ARE ACCOUNTED FOR OTHERS: YES, USUALLYEXPRESSES NEGATIVE FEELINGS – HARSH TO DAUGHTER OTHERS: YES, MORE FREQUENT AND OVERPOWER POSITIVE

5. DO YOU FIND YOURSELF ONLY EXPRESING POSITIVE FEELINGS? -MY NEGATIVE FEELINGS RECEIVE TIME OTHERS: IT’S WORK TO EXPRESS NEW SORTS OF THINKING OTHERS: NO

6. WHICH FEELING OR EMOTIONS WILL MAKE YOU MOST LIKELY TO RELAPSE IN FUTURE -HAPPINESS THAT IS ONLY POSSIBLE DUE TO DRUG INDUCEMENT OTHERS: INSECURITY, FEELING UNWANTED OTHERS: ANGER, ISOLATE, EMPTY, STUBBORN

7. POSITIVE WAY TO DEAL WITH FEELINGS - COUNSELORS, ETC = OTHERS: SELF-TALK, DON’T KEEP FEELINGS BOTTLED, SOMETIMES I CATASTROPHIZE OTHERS: DON’T JUDGE OR ASSUME. LISTEN AND CAN’T JUMP.

8. WHO CAN YOU TALK TO IF YOU ARE OVERWHELMED? - FRIENDS ON CHAT ROOM, MYSELF OTHERS: COUNSELOR, RELAPSE COUCH, SELF-TALK OTHERS: SISTERS, MOM, BOYFRIEND, DAUGHTERS

INTERPERSONAL EFFECTIVENESS GETTING WHAT YOU WANT

DESCRIBE COP ARREST EXPRESS FEAR FOR LIFE ASSERT “USE YOURS” REINFORCE ..I CAN’T PAY THIS.. (STAY) MINDFUL I DESERVED THIS APPEAR CONFIDENT I CAN GET THROUGH THIS NEGOTIATE WHAT YOU DID WAS WRONG – YOU WILL PAY

CAN’T CONTROL HOW WE’VE BEEN DRAGGED THROUGH SHIT ORANGES TO APPLES – CANT COMPARE SITUATIONALLY SOMETIMES YOU DON’T OWE AN EXPLANATION BE ASSERTIVE. “HEY I OWE YOU 100$, BUT I ONLY GOT 20$.” “WELL IT’S A TOSS (LOSE-LOSE) BECAUSE I NEED THE 100$ NOW. INCREMENTAL PAYMENTS WON’T CUT IT.”

APPLYING DEAR MAN SKILLS TO CURRENT INTERACTION A GOOD RX, A CONVICT,” WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN TOMORROW IF I USE NOW?” HAVE TO USE MORE TO GET THE SAME EFFECT. ODEN WORLD. TREE. 9 DAYS. 9 NOBLE VERSES. HUNGRY ANGRY LONELY TIRED CAN ONLY BE STOPPED BY INTERVENTION EMBARASSED -> MAD -> STUPID ADDICTION IN KRONIC IT CANNOT BE CHANGED NOT USE BECAUSE PARENTS HAVE NONE. NONE AT P.O.’S OFFICE. CRAVINGS AROUND MOTHER – SOBER 4 HIS MOTHER “WHEN A CRAVING HITS, EVERYTHING ELSE IS OUT DOOR.” ALL SYSTEMS GO LOSS OF PURPOSE ASKS FOR A SIGN FROM GOD WANTS TO BE A BETTER PERSON USING MORE THAN NECESSARY TOOK A SPOON TO SHOW AND TELL (DAUGHTERS) ON ACCIDENT 12 STEPS – WHITE BISON, CELEBRATE RECOVERY… ALLUMBAUGH (HELPFUL BEHAVIORS, CODEPENDENCE)… SMART RECOVERY *PURE WELLNESS* RED HOUSE. BIOLOGICAL LIFE DETERRATION. CAN’T GET OFF THE ROLLER COASTER – IS CONTROLLING ME!! ADDICTION PRIMARY DISEASE – LOST POWER OF CONTROL DO NOT SCHEDULE IF YOU ARE USING BECAUSE SCHEDULING IS STRUCTURE LEARN ORGANIZATION BRING SCHEDULE BOOK TO SOCIAL WORKER A.A. -> N.A. -> C.A (COCAINE ANONYMOUS) -> 7’O CLOCK -RED HOUSE- *WAR STORIES*

DISTRESS TOLERANCE

ACTIVITIES! CONTRIBUTING! COMPARISONS! PUSHING AWAY! THOUGHTS! SENSATIONS! CONSIDER LAST YEAR MAYBE YOU WERE IN JAIL. NOW AT LEAST YOU ARE NOT IN JAIL. PUERTO RICO HURRICANE COMPARE YOURSELF TO OTHERS LESS FORTUNATE “BOO-HOO” EDUCATE YOURELF, LISTEN TO “THE BLUES” LISTEN TO EMOTIONAL MUSIC THAT CREATES DIFFERENT EMOTIONS LEAVE THE SITUATION MENTALLY BUILD AN IMAGINARY WALL WITH IMAGINARY SOLDIERS PUT THE PAIN IN A BOX ON A SHELF YELL: NO! A PILL BOTTLE WITHOUT A LABEL? LET IT BE. COUNT CARDS “AS AN IMPATIENT, I WOULD COUNT THE TILES ON THE CEILING” SELF-SOOTHING: VISION, HEARING, SMELL, TASTE, TOUCH IMPROVING THE MOMENT: IMAGERY, MEANING, PRAYER, RELAXING, ONE THING AT A TIME, VACATION, ENCOURAGEMENT

DISTRESS TOLERANCE PT.2

RADICAL ACCEPTANCE “ACCEPTING THE WAY YOU LIVE IN THE MOMENT.” ACCEPTING THE SITUATION WITHOUT BEING BITTER DO NOT THROW A TANTRUM WITHOUT RESPONDING WITH WILLFULNESS INEFFECTIVITY “WHY CAN’T I BE LIKE OTHER PEOPLE WHO DON’T HAVE TO DEAL WITH IT” CONSTANT PAIN LEARNING EXPERIENCES – LEARNING TO LIVE THROUGH PAINFUL TIMES SOME PEOPLE HATE MENTAL HEALTH DIAGNOSIS AND DIDN’T ASK NOR DESERVE IT COPE, REDUCE, FIND BALANCE ACCEPT REALITY!! THE RULES OF THE UNIVERSE! ………..IF YOU DO NOT ACCEPT REALITY…… YOU WILL GO BACK INTO HELL………. *INSERT PROFESSOR UMBRIDGE’S FACE HERE WITH A MENACING TONE MEANT TO INDUCE TORTURE TO INNNOCENT SOULS* “WE’RE ALL SHEEP AND THE LORD IS OUR SHEPHARD” “ADDICTION IS DRIVING YOUR BEHAVIOR!” CAN BE MUCH WIDER THAN NARROWED EXAMPLES GENE FOR ADDICTION --DENY COMPLIANCE- CONTINUE USE TO GET MY LIFE BACK.-- OR DISCONTINUE USE FOREVER, BE THE SHEEP INSTEAD OF THE HERDER! --BELIEVE THIS IS REAL AND THAT THEY HAVE CONTROL OVER MAN-KIND SUPPOSEDLY DOCUMENTARIES ON POLICE CONTROL, SHEEPLE, PROHIBITION, WAR STORIES, POLICE INTERFERENCE, COPS, RENO 911. GHANDI/CONFUSCIOUS/BUDDHA – GOOD POLICE/MILITARY – BLECK

DISTRESS TOLERANCE PT.3 TURNING BAD STUFF INTO GOOD ENERGY - SUBLIMATION ALTERNATE REBELLION WHEN ADDICTIVE BEHAVIORS ARE A WAY TO REBEL AGAINST AUTHORITY, TRY ALTERNATE REBELLION WHICH IS A WAY TO DO SOMETHING INSANE BUT WITHIN LEGAL BOUNDS - SHAVE YOUR HEAD …..GIRLS ALL CAME IN FORMAL ATTIRE, FOO FOO GIRLS URGE TO DROP ACID… REGULARE FOLK – GO DO IT! CONTROLLED FOLK – HYSTERIA, OMG, I CAN’T EVEN. HUH.

ADAPTIVE DENIAL REFRAME YOUR CRAVINGS. COOKIES – WHEN I WANT A COOKIE, THINK THAT YOU WANT AN APPLE INSTEAD WHEN I FEEL URGE TO SMOKE A TOBACCO, LIFT WEIGHTS INSTEAD ANOTHER INTERESTING EXAMPLE OF SUICIDIAL PEOPLE: WHEN I FEEL LIKE DYING, SLIT WRISTS INSTEAD GET URGES TO DRIVE BUT SAY, YOU CANNOT BECAUSE YOU ARE AN ADDICT

*POP SELF WITH RUBBER BAND* *SQUISH BALL* *GONNA DEFEND MYSELF…. BASEBALL BAT…. BOTTLE TO CRACK… BREAK THINGS* SELF-CONTROL… SLEEP-DEPRIVATION…… CRY “GO FOR A WALK AT 6 AM AND THAT IS COOL” – A PUN.. “I LIKE SUN ON MY BONES”

BURNING BRIDGES SLAM THE GARAGE DOOR OF ABSTINENCE SHUT LIST EVERYTHING THAT MAKES ADDICTION POSSIBLE AND GET RID OF IT… -GET RID OF MY WHOLE SELF- “I AM A BONG” LIST AND DO EVERYTHING YOU CAN THAT WILL MAKE IT IMPOSSIBLE FOR YOU TO NOT USE -STAYING ALIVE- WAS HOLDING ONTO FRIEND’S MONEY…. “I DON’T HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF HER”.. CODEPENDENCY TELL EVERYONE YOU HAVE QUIT!! BUILDING NEW BRIDGES SMELLS TO THINK ABOUT – MY COLOGNE I LIKE NOTHING “RECOVERY HAS SHOWN ME THAT I CAN BREAK THE PATTERN” – URGE TO DRINK BREATHING PHILANTHROPY! EMOTIONAL REGULATION DISTRESS BUTTON WHAT WILL I TAKE AWAY FROM IT “I COULDN’T CHANGE INTO THE SPIRAL” “DO YOUR BEST TO STAY OPEN-MINDED” “I CAN STAY SOBER” FIND THE MAGIC MOMENT – “BACK TO THE TRACKS I GO”

EMOTIONS – POWER – ANGER – “WHY ME?” ->->-> DISTRESS “STOP TRYING TO CHANGE THE UNCONTROLLABLE OR WE COULD SPEND ALL DAY TRYING TO CHANGE THE CONTROLLABLE” TRYING TO CHANGE A BEHAVIOR LAWS APPLICABLE TO THE DEAD DON’T PERTAIN TO ME

WILLINGNESS WILLINGNESS IS ACTING WITH AWARENESS THAT YOU ARE PART OF THE UNIVERSE DOING JUST WHAT IS NEED – GETTING HERE AND SHOWING UP TO GROUP WILLINGNESS VS WILLFULNESS WILLFULLNESS IS WRECKLESS DEFIANCE FOR EXAMPLE, IF YOU HAVE A DRUG DEALER THAT YOU SHOULD DELETE, BUT YOU DON’T WILFULLNESS IS “I WILL NOT TAKE MY MENTAL HEALTH MEDICATION” IT IS NOT CARING ABOUT THE CONSEQUENCES AND IT IS NOT RATIONAL WILLINGNESS IS: “I AM WILLING TO OBEY THE LAW!!” WILLFUL: MY KIDS CAN NOT BE INDEPENDENT THOSE PEOPLE DO NOT KNOW WHAT THEY ARE TALKING ABOUT “I WENT TO A MEETING AND SOME BORING OLD HAG WAS TELLING HER LIFE STORY. I LEFT BECAUSE I DIDN’T WANT TO HEAR A LIFE STORY…. I WANTED TO HAVE A GROUP DISCUSSION!!” SITUATIONS WHERE I NOTICE MY OWN WILLFULNESS: FEEL IT WON’T MAKE A DIFFERENCE --NOT DOING MY CHORES-- SITUATIONS WHERE I NOTICE MY OWN WILLINGNESS: GO ANYWAY AND TRY TO…. SEE A ‘CHANGE’?? ‘FOR BETTER OR WORSE??’ REFUSE TO TOLERATE WILLFULLNESS

“SOME PEOPLE WITH SET TESTING WILL DRINK AROUND THE TESTS. I WAS AT THE STORE AND REALLY WANTED TO GRAB A CASE TO GET DRUNK WITH MY GIRL”

MINDFULNESS OF CURRENT THOUGHTS: I AM FEELING STRESS, ANXIETY DON’T ACT ON THOUGHTS =) ANXIETY ATTACKS – MEDICATION – SHOWER – COFFEE ADOPT A CURIOUS MIND CRACK DREAMS – DREAMS OF SMOKING CRACK “YES, I AM AN ADDICT, BUT THAT DOES NOT MEAN I NEED TO GO USE TODAY” “LIKE, OH, I MIGHT GO MURDER SOMEONE..” GETTING HIGH TO EAT COOKIES MIND LIKE A TEFLON PAN, SHIT GETS ON THE PAN BUT WILL EASILY GET OFF TREES HAVE STRONG HEAVY ROOT SYSTEMS THERE IS WEED KILLER DON’T WASTE DAY ON SHITTY SHIT

CATASTROPHIC THINKING IS “EMOTION MIND”

-CONTROL- -ROBOTISIZE- -HEAP PEOPLE INTO ORGANIZATION- -DON’T LET THEM OUT OF THE BOX YOU HAVE CREATED THEM- -BLACK/WHITE ROBOTIC, ALL OF THE SAME- -SAME ACTIONS, SAME SPEECH, SAME THOUGHTS- -IN UNIFORM IN LINES FOLLOWING A LEADER- -IDENTICAL- -NO SPONTANEITY OF ACTION OR EMOTION- -MAKE SURE THEIR DOPAMINE, GLYCERIDES AND TRIGLYERIDES ARE ALL EXACTLY THE SAME, IN ORDER- MONO UNIVERZ: A PLACE FOR EVERYTHING AND EVERYTHING IN ITS PLACE. MISSION CONTROL UNDERSTANDING THE BRAIN’S CENTRAL CONTROL SYSTEM IF YOU CANNOT HAVE HAPPINESS CONTROLLED, YOU WILL ALWAYS BE SAD, BUT IF YOU ALREADY HATE YOURSELF THEN USING DRUGS COULDN’T BE TOO BAD BECAUSE YOU WERE ALREADY A SAD SACK OF EMPTY FLESH. LIFE SUCKS, THEN YOU DIE. LIMBIC: EMOTION, MEMORY, MOTIVATION, AND OTHER FUNCTIONS CRITICAL TO SURVIVAL. INCLUDES HIPPOCAMPUS, (MEMORY), AMYGDALA (FEAR/EMOTIONS), VENTRAL STRATIUM (REWARD), HYPOTHALAMUS (APPETITE, THIRST, BODY TEMPERATURE), AND PARTS OF THE CORTEX! CEREBRAL CORTEX: AWARENESS, ATTENTION TO SURROUNDINGS, ABILITY TO THINK, SOLVE PROBLEMS, PLAN AND MAKE DECISIONS! CEREBELLUM: CONTROL, COORDINATION, MUSCLES AND BALANCE, POSTURE! BRAIN STEM: BASIC FUNCTIONS, BREATHING, SLEEPING, HEART RATE! THE LIMBIC SYSTEM , THE PLEASURE CENTER THAT BRINGS YOU JOY FROM DRUGS

ABUSING SEDATIVES AND PAINKILLERS CAN SLOW BREATING PARTS OF BRAIN AFFECTED OVER TIME WITH DRUG USE: AMYGDALA, CEREBELLUM STEROIDS AND METH CAN LEAD TO AGGRESSION MARIJUANA AND ALCOHOL CAN AFFECT MOVEMENT AND COORDINATION COMBINING SEDATIVES WITH ALCOHOL CAN SLOW HEART RATE MARIJUANA IMPAIRS THE ABILITY TO THINK CLEARLY! CEREBRAL CORTEX DOESN’T FULLY DEVELOP UNTIL A PERSON IS ABOUT 25. WHY IS IT IMPORTANT FOR TEEN TO KNOW TO AVOID DRUGS? BECAUSE THEY WISH TO USE THEIR BRAINS FOR THEIR FUTURE LIVES CHICKS WILL DIG THEM. THEY WILL MAKE BABIES AND MONEY. AHH, WITHOUT BRAIN USE YOU WILL NEVER HAVE A CHICK AND THAT WILL MEAN NO BABY AND NO MONEYS =( PLUS, EVEN IF YOU DON’T WANT BABIES OR ANY CHICKS, YOU WILL STILL NEED YOUR BRAIN TO MANAGE YOUR EMOTIONS AND CONTROL YOUR LEVEL OF HAPPINESS (E.G. PROZAC)

DRUG KILL NUERONS BUT YOU CAN GROW BACK BRAIN CELLS OVER TIME WITH SOBRIETY.

THE MIND IS AN OVERGROWN JUNGLE STFU AND DEAL GANGLI CHALLENGE THE NEGATIVITY TOUGHIE B/C HE DIDN’T WANT TO ACCEPT FORGE NEW PATHS --YOU CANNOT DO DRUGS AT THIS MOMENT IN TIME, YOU MUST STAY IN HIDING-- “WHY ARE YOU TALKING TO ME LIKE THAT?” ONE BEER WON’T HURT YOU! BUT PAUSED BEFORE TWO. DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO SO SHE WENT TO A.A. --WHAT IS A WORD FOR NONCOMPLIANCE TO A POLICE – A SEPARATE CHARGE?? “RESISTING ARREST.”-- WOMAN IN JAIL’S HEROIN CHARGE… DROPPED FROM DISTUBUTING LOADS OF HEROIN TO CONSPIRACY AGAINST THE GOVERNMENT. ALIEN IMMIGRANTS

TRIGGERS DENIAL, BOREDOM, LONELINESS RELAPSE JUSTIFICATION -> “I’LL JUST TAKE ONE”, A MINIMIZING STATEMENT SWAP SUBSTANCES AIDS IN RELAPSE “IF YOU BEEN IN TROUBLE 2X THEN YOU ARE LIKELY TO BE IN TROUBLE A THIRD TIME” ROADBLOCKS TO RECOVERY: I DON’T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT RECOVERY I DON’T THINK STAFF CAN HELP I DON’T TRUST THE STAFF “THE WORLD AROUND US IS CHANGING” HAVE AN EXIT PLAN: WOULD ALWAYS DRIVE AFTER DRINKING, SO STARTED CALLING SISTER CALL SOMEONE TO HELP

IT GETS WORSE AND WORSE THE MORE YOU RELAPSE YOU HAVE COME SO FAR AND DON’T WANT TO HAVE TO START ALL OVER FEMALE HOMES: THE RISING SUN, WHITE SUN ACTIVE RECOVERY AIDS IN REDISCOVERING OURSELVES HE WOULD PUT ALL HIS DRUGS DOWN THE TOILET WHEN HE WAS RAIDED DO NOT CHOOSE TO THINK OF DRUGS/ALCOHOL TRIGGERS…. THOUGHT LEADS TO USE. PAUSE AND STOP THOUGHTS RELAXATION…CRAVINGS..CRAMPING….BREATHING

EMOTIONAL MIND AND RATIONAL MIND ARE AT A “CONSTANT TUG-A-WAR” WORKING ON ACCEPTANCE AND CHANGE “IT IS IN THE DRUG DEALER’S BEST INTEREST THAT YOU USE.” WHAT IS VALIDATION? UNDERSTANDING HOW SOMEONE FEELS USING NO BLAME GAMES. VALIDATING SOMEONE CAN MAKE THEM FEEL WORTHY SOME STEADY NERVES WITH ALCOHOL – “LIKE A SURGEON” DBT IS FOR THOSE WHO WANT TO THINK DIFFERENTLY DBT SKILLS LIST MINDFULLNESS: OBSERVE, DESCRIBE, PARTICIPATE, NON-JUDGEMENTAL STANCE, ONE-MINDFULLY, EFFECTIVELY DISTRESS TOLERANCE, CRISIS SURVIVAL: WISE MIND ACCEPTS, SELF-SOOTHE, IMPROVE THE MOMENT, HALF-SMILE, CREATIVE OUTLET ACCEPTING REALITY SKILLS: PROS/CONS, RADICAL ACCEPTANCE, TURN THE MIND, WILLINGNESS PLEASE, BUILD MASTERY, JUST ACT, GIVE MYSELF CREDIT, BUILD POSITIVE EXPERIENCES, OPPOSITE TO EMOTION, FEEL YOUR FEELINGS INTERPERSONAL EFFECTIVENESS SKILLS: ATTEND TO RELATIONSHIPS, GIVE, DEAR MAN, FAST --THE SECOND COMING OF JESUS CHIRST-- STOPPED AND LISTENED AND DIDN’T THINK ON WHAT NEEDED TO SAY NEXT DON’T TAKE THINGS NEGATIVELY AND DON’T REACT ON THINGS

700,000 YEARS OF WILLFUL LAWLESSNESS --BLANK RESUME—WALKING, TALKING, COMMUNICATING ARE SOFT SKILLS… BEING PERSONAL, BEING POLITE, SMILING WISE MIND BRINGS LEFT BRAIN AND RIGHT BRAIN TOGETHER – THE MIDDLE PATH REASONABLE MIND IS COOL AND RATIONAL, TASK FOCUSED EMOTION MIND IS HOT, MOOD-DEPENDENT AND EMOTION-FOCUSED ANGER IS A SECONDARY EMOTION TO BEING HURT PAINFUL EMOTIONS CAN CAUSE YOU TO JUMP THE GUN AND JUMP INTO DRUGS USE FOR BAD FEELINGS LINEHAN AND LACKING AN EMOTIONAL SKIN LIKENING IT TO A BURN VICTIM WHO FEELS PAIN AT THE SLIGHTEST TOUCH OVER TIME OF BEING CRITISIZED ON THEIR EMOTIONS THEY SHOULD BEGAN TOFEEL THEY SHOULD HAVE DIFFERENT EMOTIONS AND THEIR EMOTIONS ARE NOT VALID, THEY HAVE TO CHANGE WHO THEY ARE OR THEY ARE JUST OVER-REACTING THEY WILL REJECT OR PUNISH THEMSELVES

ROADBLOCKS TO RECOVERY IN ORDER TO GET OVER A ROADBLOCK YOU HAVE TO WORK ON IT ATTITUDES -I’M ONLY IN TREATMENT BECAUSE OF OTHERS AND I DON’T WANT IT FOR MYSELF --WHO WOULD WANT TO CHANGE ME??-- -I DON’T LIKE TAKING MEDICATIONS PERSONALITY -I DON’T WANT OTHERS TELLING ME WHAT TO DO PERSONAL RELATIONSHIPS -I DON’T FEEL CLOSE TO ANYONE -I DON’T LIKE TO LISTEN TO AUTHORITY FIGURES LIFESTYLE -MY LIFESTYLE CENTERS AROUND GETTING OR USING CHEMICALS -MY LIFE IS A DRAG AND I DON’T HAVE MUCH TO DO THAT IS REWARDING OR FUN OTHER -FINANCIAL DIFFICULTIES -FEEL I’M IN A BAD SITUATION AND WILL ONLY PUT ME IN A MORE PESSIMISTIC FRAME OF MIND

WAYS TO OVERCOME ROADBLOCKS #1: I’M ONLY IN TREATMENT BECAUSE OF OTHERS AND I DON’T WANT IT FOR MYSELF IN ORDER TO OVERCOME THIS ROADBLOCK: HIDE MYSELF FROM OTHERS. DON’T MAKE A NUISANCE, LEAVE HOME AND REMAIN AN ANONYMOUS INVISIBLE BEING.. CHANGE MY NAME AND DISOWN MY GUARDIANS.. “DO NOTHING, SAY NOTHING, BE NOTHING.” MAYBE THEY CAN FIND OTHER WAYS TO ENTERTAIN THEMSELVES OTHER THAN ME AND MY DEAL AND FORGET ME AS I HAVE FORGOTTEN MYSELF. #2: I DON’T WANT OTHERS TELLING ME WHAT TO DO. IN ORDER TO OVERCOME THIS ROADBLOCK: MY FREEDOMS ARE STRIPPED. I CANNOT LEAVE HOME. MY GOALS/PLANS HAVE BEEN POSTPONED. I AM NOT A FOLLOWER. I STILL DO NOT KNOW WHY I AM DOING THESE PROGRAMS. WHICH IS WHY I CONTINUOUSLY ASK WHO/WHAT I AM DOING TREATMENT FOR. WHEN I DO NOT STUDY I DO NOT FEEL LIKE MYSELF. WHICH IS WHY I SAY I DO NOT KNOW WHO I AM ANYMORE. IT APPEARS I FEEL OVERCONTROLLED, LIKE A RAT IN A CAGE WITH NO FREEDOMS. I MAY NOT BE HUMAN ANYMORE MORE LIKE A BREATHING ZOMBIE. THROUGH TREATMENT I HAVE FELT IT GREATLY INTERFERES WITH MY STUDYING AND HOBBIES. I DO NOT HAVE FAITH IN THESE PEOPLE AND THEIR SYSTEMS/WAY OF LIFE. I WANT NO PLACE IN THEIR TOWN.

ADDICTION/RECOVERING YOUR HONESTY. LIES: I LIED TO ATTORNEY/P.O. EXAMPLE: I TOLD THEM I WASN’T DRIVING WHEN THEY ARRESTED ME. I WAS ARRESTED WHEN I WAS PULLED OVER/PARKED AND NOT DRIVING UNDER THE INFLUENCE. I TOLD THEM I DIDN’T START DRINKING UNTIL WELL AFTER I WAS PARKED, BECAUSE MY CAR RAN OUT OF GAS. I HAD THE BEER, OPENED IT WAS WAITING ON MY RIDE BUT IT WAS A COLD NIGHT AND NEEDED A DRINK TO WARM ME UP AMIDST THE WAIT. SHE SAID IT DIDN’T MATTER IF I WASN’T DRIVING, IF I HAD THE KEY IN THE IGNITION AND WAS IN THE DRIVER’S SEAT, THEY CANNOT BELIEVE YOU WEREN’T PREVIOUSLY DRIVING OR ABOUT TO DRIVE. WELL, TRUTHFULLY, I WAS NOT ABOUT TO DRIVE BECAUSE I WAS ALL OUT OF GASOLINE AND MY CAR WOULDN’T EVEN START, LET ALONE DRIVE. TRUTHFULLY, I HAD THE KEY IN THE IGNITION TO KEEP THE LIGHTS ON BECAUSE IT WAS DARK AND TO HAVE MY HAZARD SIGNALS ON BECAUSE I THOUGHT THEY WOULDN’T BLINK WITHOUT KEY IN IGNITION. BUT I LIED SAYING I WASN’T DRIVING AFTER DRINKING BECAUSE I HADN’T STARTED UNTIL AFTER I PARKED. TRUTHFULLY, I HAD BEEN DRIVING AFTER DRINKING, BUT I HAD NOT DRANK IN TWO HOURS AND HAD ONLY DRUNK ROUGHLY 2 BEERS. I THOUGHT I COULD FIGHT AGAINST MY CHARGES WITH THE EVIDENCE THAT THE POLICE NEVER ACTUALLY SAW ME DRIVING AND THEY HAD NO WAY TO TELL WHEN I HAD DRANK. I DIDN’T FIGHT IT BECAUSE I WAS YOUNG AND SCARED AND FIGURED NO ONE WOULD BE ON MY SIDE IF THEY SAW ME, BEING A LESBIAN AND ALL. I KNEW MOST OF THE JURY WOULD PROBABLY BE DESCRIMANATORY, JUDGEMENTAL FOLK SO I DID NOT ATTEMPT TO FIGHT MY FIRST DUI CHARGE. I HAD NO IDEA I WOULD BE TAKEN AWAY A SECOND TIME. OBVIOUSLY THE POLICE DIDN’T CARE. I WAS GRABBED AND SHOVED IN THEIR CAR. IT DID NOT LOWER MY FINES OR LESSEN MY CONSEQUENCES TO TELL THE ATTORNEY AND MY P.O. I WASN’T DRINKING BEFORE I WAS PARKED. THEN AGAIN, I DID NOT KNOW THE CONSEQUENCES WOULD BE SO DREADFUL OR I WOULD HAVE PROBABLY WENT TO TRIAL TO FIGHT THE CHARGE, OTHERWISE JUST TOO NAÏVE AND YOUNG TO GO TO TRIAL, I NEVER THOUGHT I WOULD GO TO JAIL SO I HAD NO IDEA WHAT TO DO. NOW I JUST PAY AND HOPE FOR THE BEST.

*SOME WILL LIE TO MAKE YOUR DRUG USE NOT SEEM AS BAD AS IT IS. SOME LIE TO LOVED ONE OR SPOUSES SAYING THEY ARE NOT ‘USING.’

OTHER LIES I HAVE LIED TO MY SCHOOL. I HAVE TOLD THEM I WAS SICK ALTHOUGH I WAS JUST TRUANT.. BUT I DIDN’T CARE IF I GRADUATED. I HAVE LIED TO MY FAMILY… I HAVE TOLD THEM THAT I LOVE THEM

EXAMPLES OF MY SNEAKY, DISHONEST BEHAVIOR I WOULD USE MARIJUANA FREQUENTLY. I WOULD SPEND MONEY MY MOM WOULD GIVE ME ON WEED, WHICH I ACTUALLY FOUND OUT IS A TYPE OF FINANCIAL ABUSE. I HAD DONE THIS SINCE HIGH SCHOOL WHEN SHE WOULD GIVE ME LUNCH MONEY AND INSTEAD OF BUYING LUNCH, I WOULD BUY WEED. I WAS IN DESPERATION BECAUSE I COULD NOT FIND A JOB AND MARIJUANA WAS THE ONLY THING THAT MADE ME LESS DOWN IN THE DUMPS, SO I HAD A NICE ROUTINE OF BORROWING MONEY AND LIGHTING UP SO I COULD FEEL LESS LIKE TRASH. I DID NOT UNDERSTAND AT THE TIME THAT SHE WAS NEVER VERY WELL OFF AND DID NOT HAVE EXTRA MONEY TO BE USING ON MY DRUG USE. I JUST REMEMBER BEING A GIRL AND THINKING SHE WAS SO RICH AND SMART THAT SHE HAD PLENTY AND ME ASKING FOR SOME EVERY SO OFTEN REALLY WOULDN’T HURT HER FINANCES. I WOULD SAY “WELL I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO FIND A JOB CONSTANTLY, BUT NO ONE WILL HIRE ME. I AM GETTING LUNCH. HOW COULD ANYONE IN THE WORLD LIVE OFF 10$ A DAY? SO I’D RECEIVE MORE MOSTLY IN 5$ INCREMENTS UNTIL I’D HAVE ENOUGH FOR A 10$ SACK AND A HALF TANK OF GAS. THE TEN SACK WAS ABOUT A GRAM AND WOULD LAST ME 2-3 DAYS. I WAS UNEMPLOYED FOR 4 YEARS. DISABILITY I HAD APPLIED TO 2X, LAST IN APRIL OF 2017, THEY WOULD NOT ACCEPT ME. IT WAS ALWAYS, “YOU’RE NOT DISABLED ENOUGH OR YOU HAVEN’T WORKED ENOUGH TO RECEIVE ANY BENEFITS.” I GUESS, I PUT ON A GOOD ACT WHEN I GO TO THE DISABILITY OFFICE TO APPEAR NOT DISABLED ENOUGH. I NEVER FOUND THAT FAIR BECAUSE THERE ARE SO MANY PEOPLE RECEIVING DISABILITY AND I GUESS IT WAS TOO MUCH WORK TO GIVE BENEFITS TO JUST ONE MORE. SO I HAVE RECENT GOTTEN WORK AND AM GIVING MONEY BACK YO MY MOM. SHE MUST HAVE LOANED ME A COUPLE THOUSAND FOR DRUG/ALCOHOL/GAS MONEY. I AM TRYING TO GIVE HER ALL OF THAT BACK AND PAY OFF HER CAR. WHAT DID YOU DO WHEN YOU WERE CAUGHT LYING: HAD TO SERVE 2 YEARS PROBATION 15 DAYS IN JAIL PAY FINES OF 7,000$+

IMPACT OF YOUR DISHONESTY: I HAVE HURT THE SHADOW MAN. I HAVE UNDERMINED HIS MANHOOD AND DEMANNED HIM TO MAKE HIM ANGRY WITH ME.

HOW YOU HAVE HURT YOURSELF: BECAUSE OF MY DRINKING AND DRIVING I HAVE BEEN HELD HOSTAGE FOR 1 YEAR AND 7 MONTHS. I USED TO WALK TO LEAVE BUT THEN I ANGERED THE SHADOW MAN AND HE HURT ME SO I CAN NO LONGER LEAVE MY HOME. I WILL MOSTLY ROCK BACK AND FORTH IN THE CORNER.

FEELINGS THAT OCCURRED BECAUSE OF YOUR DISHONESTY: RATHER BY ALONE, WANT TO RUN AWAY…. SO I WOULD ROCK BACK AND FORTH IN THE CORNER AND CRY

POSITIVE EFFECTS FROM TAKING THE RISK TO BE HONEST: I CAN LEAVE THE PLACE I AM HELD HOSTAGE IN, RUN FROM THE SHADOW MAN AND NOT BE PUT IN HARMS WAY EVER AGAIN.

HOW TO BE MORE REAL WITH THE PEOPLE IN YOUR LIFE: I DON’T HAVE ANY PEOPLE IN MY LIFE

DEVELOP A GOAL FOR IMPROVING YOUR ABILITY TO BE HONEST IN RECOVERY. DEVELOP A PLAN TO BE MORE AND MORE HONEST WITH YOURSELF AND OTHERS: STOP DRINKING AND DRIVING DO WHAT MAKES ME HAPPY GET OUT OF HARMS WAY

DENIAL AND SUBSTANCE ABUSE MAY CAUSE YOU TO NOT SEE THINGS THE WAYS OTHERS SEE THEM. NOT NOTICE THEY ARE WRECKING HAVOC ON YOUR LIFE. MAY NOT SEE THEIR USE AS A PROBLEM, LIKE OTHERS DO. DENIAL KEEPS THE PROBLEM GOING. DENIAL IS CAUSED BY FEAR. PEOPLE ARE AFRAID IF THEY ASK FOR HELP AND ADMIT THEY HAVE A PROBLEM PEOPLE WILL LABEL THEM AS “WEAK” “CRAZY” OR “A BAD PERSON” ENABLING IS WHEN OTHERS SEE THE USER HAS A PROBLEM BUT DOES NOT DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT TYPES OF DENIAL 1) MINIMIZING – SOMEONE MAKES SOMETHING BIG SEEM SMALL. “IT IS JUST MARIJUANA IT IS THE SAME AS BEING SOBER, BUT ENHANCED.” “AT LEAST I WAS NOT SLAMMING.” OR I.E. “I ONLY SMOKE WEED A FEW TIMES A WEEK.”

2) RATIONALIZING – USES REASONS OR EXCUSES TO USE “IT’S MY WAY.” “WELL, IF IT WERE LEGAL, I WOULD USE.” “USE IS A THING OF LIFE.” “IT HAS HEALTH BENEFITS.” “IT MAKES YOU FEEL BETTER” “I’M ALREADY LATE SO I WILL CONTINUE USING” TEXTBOOK: “IT IS MY BIRTHDAY, SO IT IS OK TO GET DRUNK.”

3)BLAMING – AVOIDING RESPONSIBILITY FOR OUR CHOICES BY POINTING FINGER, LIKE OTHERS CAUSE OUR PROBLEMS. “THEY PROVIDED IT AND OFFERED.” “WIFE USED ME TO DO BUSINESS.” “IT’S YOUR FAULT.” “FUCK THE POLICE.” “HEALTHCARE PROVIDED HIM WITH THE MEDICATION…. FOR MANY YEARS” TEXTBOOK: “MY PARENTS WON’T STOP NAGGING ME SO I GET HIGH.”

4)LYING – WEAVE A COMPLEX WEB TO COVER LIES. LIE ABOUT USE. EASY TO LIE. “IF I WAS CONFRONTED ABOUT LYING, I WOULD NOT DENY IT… I CALLED UP A COP ONCE AND ASKED HIM TO TAKE ME IN.” “BECAUE YOU SAW ME WITH IT, I’M NOT GOING TO BS YOU.” WOULD LIE TO WIFE ABOUT USE. TEXTBOOK: WHEN WE ARE AT A USING PARTY, WE SAY, “I WAS JUST AT A FRIENDS HOUSE!”

5)INTELLECTUALIZING OR COMPARING – COMPARE TO OTHERS TO MAKE OUR PROBLEMS SEEM SMALLER. “THEY DO NOT HARASS THE RICH FOLK IN THE MCMANSIONS.” “WELL, WHY CAN’T I USE?” “THEY HAVE NO SOULS ANYWAY AND JUST SPEND ALL THEIR MONEY ON DRUGS. WHAT DIFFERENCE WOULD IT MAKE. FOR WHOM ARE WE TRYING TO STOP RANDOM USERS FROM USE?” “SO & SO LIVED IN A TENT, I DID NOT.”

6)DIVERTING – CHANGING THE TOPIC WHEN ASKED ABOUT USE. “WHERE YOU USING LAST NIGHT?” “WHAT DO YOU THINK!!!” LOOK AT HER AND WALK OFF. “HEY IT’S MY LIFE. YOU DON’T MATTER ANYWAY.” “DO I KNOW YOU?” ONE PERSON’S TENT IS ANOTHER’S PALM TREE. TEXTBOOK: “YOU CAN HOME PRETTY LATE LAST NIGHT” “WELL, DID ANYONE CALL FOR ME?”

7)ANGER – EXPLODE WITH ANGER WHEN CONFRONTED “DAMN YOU! YOU MUST BE THE HIGH AND MIGHTY ALL POWERFUL!!” “WHO ARE YOU TO TOUCH MY PROPERTY!!” ANGRY IF I WAS HIDING DRUGS AND SOMEONE WAS SNOOPING. ANGRY WIFE SO HE DISSOCIATED

HOW TO HELP OVERCOME DENIAL. IT IS POSSIBLE! CONFRONT THEM WHEN THEY USE THOSE TYPES OF STRATEGIES. YOU WILL KNOW THEY ARE CURED WHEN!!! OPENLY ACKNOWLEDGES EXISTENCE OF SUBSTANCE ABUSE PROBLEM…. “YEAH, I USE.” ACCEPST RESPONSIBILITH FOR THEIR CHOICES AND BEHAVIORE…. “MY BAD HOMIE.” LESS DEFENSIVE AND MORE OPEN….. “WOULD YOU CARE TO JOIN ME?” SEES CONNECTION BETWEEN USE AND LIFE PROBLEMS… “NOW THAT I USE I CANNOT BUY A MANSION” INCREASE IN HONESTY……… “I USE FREQUENT AND PREFER IT TO SOBRIETY.. AFTER TRYING BOTH WAYS.” DEALS WITH PROBLEMS WITH CONTINUED POSITIVE ACTIONS…… “I WON’T USE EVERY DAY.” MY CHOICE..NO BIG DEAL

THE LAST TIME I USED WISHFUL THINKING WAS WHEN: I WISHED I HAD A MILLION DOLLARS WHEN IN REALITY: YOU EITHER HAVE TO WORK FOR MANY YEARS OR BE A VERY SPECIAL PERSON TO RECEIVE A MILLION DOLLARS. THE LAST TIME I ISOLATED WAS WHEN: I LOCK MYSELF AWAY WHEN IN REALITY: YOU WILL NEVER BE ALL ALONE AS YOU WOULD LIKE THE LAST TIME I USED DEFIANCE WAS WHEN: I PUNCHED A HOLE IN THE WALL. “I FIGHT MYSELF, BUT I LOSE.” WHEN IN REALITY: NOW IT LOOKS BAD PROVIDES ME WITH A NEGATIVE MOOD WHEN I REALIZE I CANNOT FIX IT PERFECTLY. I HAVE TO PAYTO FIX IT AND DON’T EVEN KNOW IF ANYONE ELSE COULD FIX IT PERFECTLY. THE LAST TIME I USED MY OWN DEPENDENCY WAS WHEN: SINCE I CAN’T DRIVE, I WALKED 1000 MILES IN 8-10 MONTHS… TO MARKETS TO FEED MYSELF. WHEN IN REALITY: I COULD HAVE JUST DROVE WITHOUT HAVING THIS CHARGE! THE LAST TIME I MINIMIZED WAS WHEN: THIS USE OF A LIL WEED I HAVE LEFT WON’T HURT ME WHEN IN REALITY: WANT MORE WHEN I RUN OUT THE LAST TIME I RATIONALIZED WAS WHEN: “I CAN FIX IT” WHEN IT REALITY: TAKES HARD WORK TO FIX A THING THE LAST TIME I USED BARGAINING: IF YOU DOTHIS JOB WITH ME I WILL BE ABLE TO PAY YOU BACK, PAY OFF YOUR LOAN, YOU WILL NOT BE BEHIND AND IT IS A STEADY INCOME WHEN IN REALITY: IT WILL NEVER BE ENOUGH MONEYTO GET ANYTHING ACCOMPLISHED.. HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT GOING BACK ON UNEMPLOYMENT LINE AGAIN. THE WORST PLACE TO BE.

STINKING THINKING WHAT DOES STINKING THINKING MEAN TO YOU? SUCKS TO HAVE BRAIN LIST NEGATIVE THOUGHTS ON RECOVERY. WASTE OF MY VERY LIMITED TIME ALIVE OPPOSITE OF WHAT I NEED TO ACCOMPLISH THEY GOT ME INTO THIS CRAP AGAIN? WHO AM I DOING THIS FOR? --RECOVERY IS TOO HARD AND NOT WORTH IT-- --GRADUATED BEFORE BUT KEPT USING HAD TO REDO-- HAVE YOU EVER USED LIP SERVICE TO APPEASE YOUR COUNSELOR? …YOU LOOK GOOD TODAY, WHATEVER, BALOONEY. OR “I AM DOING QUITE FINE!!!” HAVE YOU EVER LIED ABOUT YOUR RECOVERY? DON’T BRING UP SPORADIC USE… KEEP SOBER DATE AS NEW YEARS 2017, BUT I HAVE USED SPORADICALLY SINCE. DO YOU BELIEVE THAT YOU DON’T HAVE TO FOLLOW ALL THE RULES ALL THE TIME? ..OF WHOM AM I FOLLOWING THIS RULE FOR??.. DO YOU FIND YOURSELF REPEATING SLOGANS ABOUTYOUR RECOVERY IN HOPES OF WINNING APPROVAL? ..”YOU CAN DO IT!” DO YOU BELIEVE ONE DAY YOU CAN BECOME A SOCIAL DRINKER? SOCIALIZING WHO NEEDS IT.. WHAT IS UNREALISTIC BELIEF OR GOAL YOU HAVE? MOVE..ERASE THE LAST YEARS OF MY LIFE.. ERASE MY WHOLE EXISTENCE FROM EVER HAPPENING… ERASE THE COP INTERFERENCES.. ERASE MY MISSED CHANCES GO BACK AND DO IT AGAIN BEFORE EVERYTHING BECOMES SO PAINFUL AND TRAUMATIC. ARE RULES JUST FOR FOOLS? WHOSE RULES? NOTHING MATTERS. WHAT DID RULES HELP ANYONE ACHIEVE? TOTAL CONTROL? A BETTER WORLD? WHO KNOWS. DESCRIBE SOME CORNER CUTTING THAT YOU HAVE DONE RECENTLY. I HAVE FORGOTTEN WHO I AM DESCRIBE HOW YOU ARE CHEATING ON YOUR RECOVERY. MINIMIZE IT AS A RECOVERY I DO NOT NEED DO YOU FEEL OTHER PEOPLE ARE RUNNING YOUR LIFE? I AM IN THEIR GOVERNMENTALLY STRUCTURED CLASS TODAY. --FOR WHOM BY WHOM?—I HAVE NOT LIVED UP TO MY FULL POTENTIAL IN 2 YEARS. I HAVE NOT BEEN HAPPY OR FOUND MEANING OR SPIRITUAL FULFILLMENT IN THESE 2 YEARS. DO YOU MAKE PROMISES WITH NO INTENTION OF CHANGING? NO DO I SOMETIMES FEEL THAT MY COUNSELOR IS A FOOL? DOESN’T MATTER WOULD BE CHAOS WITHOUT RULES LIST FIVE WAYS YOU HAVE ACTED IMMATURE IN THE PAST WEEK. I HAVE CRIED. WHAT DOES “HE’S ALL TALK” MEAN? DOES THIS DESCRIBE YOU? NOTHING TO SHOW FOR – EMPTY WORDS- TALK IS CHEAP DESCRIBE HOW YOU ARE SNEAKY AND MANIPULATIVE. I STOLE MY MOM’S CAR WHEN SHE WAS ON VACATION TO SEE ONE OF MY FAVORITE ROCK BANDS IN CONCERT IN LAS VEGAS. I WAS LEFT HERE IN A PILE OF DIRT. I DIDN’T WANT TO BE HERE SO I TOOK THE CAR AND WENT TO HUNTINGTON AND BOUGHT WEED FROM THE REC SHOP. ADDICTION SIGNS AND SYMPTOMS TOLERANCE: YOU NEED TO USE MORE ALCOHOL AND DRUGS TO FEEL THE DESIRED EFFECT THE SAME AMOUNT OF ALCHOL OR DRUGS DOESN’T DO WHATIT USED TO WITHDRAWL: WHEN YOU DON’T HAVE ALCOHOL OR DRUGS, YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE PHYSICALLY OR EMOTIONALLY CRAVING: YOU THINKABOUT DRUGS OR ALCOHOL FREQUENTLY LOSS OF CONTROL: YOU’VE FELT AT TIMES THAT YOU COULDN’T FIT IN OR FEEL GOOD WITHOUT ALCOHOL OR DRUGS YOU HAVE BLACKED OUT (OR HAD PERIODS OF TIME IN WHICH YOU HAVE NO MEMORY) WHEN UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF ALCOHOL OR DRUGS YOU HAVE USED ONE OR MORE DRUGS WITHOUT KNOWING WHAT IT WAS OR HOW IT WOULD AFFECT YOU. LEGAL PROBLEMS: YOU HAVE BEEN ARRESTED OR HAD OTHER LEGAL PROBLEMS AS A RESULT OF DRINKING OR USING PROBLEMS IN SOCIAL OR OCCPATIONAL FUNCTIONS: YOU HAVE NOT BEEN ABLE TO FULFILL IMPORTANT ROLE OBLIGATIONS SUCH AS HOUSEHOLD CHORES, FINANCIAL RESPONSIBILITIES, OR CARING FOR CHILDREN OR OTHER LOVED ONES, AS A RESULT OF DRINKING OR USING IMPAIRMENT OR DISTRESS RESULTING FROM USE: YOU HAVE NOT TAKEN GOOD CARE OF YOURSELF FOR EXAMPLE NOT EATING WELL OR NOT PRACTICING GOOD HYGIENE BECAUSE OF YOUR ALCOHOL OR DRUG USE

WE ALL FACE STRESS, WE ALL DON’T SMOKE CRACK THOUGH PROSECUTER FIGHT BETWEEN GOOD AND EVIL KEEP FROM GETTING COMPLACENT CANNIBANOID RECEPTORS IN BRAIN ONLY DRUG THAT ALREADY HAS RECEPTORS IN BRAIN AND RELEASES VERY SMALL AMOUNTS OF THC IN BRAIN REGULARLY CRF INJECTION --CHAVEZ DRUG LORDS… EL TORO..MEXICAN MAFIA-- DR. REASONS AND SWISS CHEESE MODEL DRANK TO SOBRIETY MOVIES – 28 DAYS, WALK THE LINE, REQUIEM FOR A DREAM MISHAP PREVENTION LEADING TO RELAPSE PREVENTION LAVIGNE HEART MCCAULLY STATE DEMIROL—MIDBRAIN STRATIUM—DOPAMINE— GLUTANINE AND GLUTAMATE FLASH FLOODS, A WET BRAIN NAVY PSYCHIATRIST—MEDICAL BOARD POLICE-- PLAN FOR RELAPSE. A MORAL DEFECT IN HIMSELF DISEASE MODEL DIVERSION PROGRAM 6 MO IN JAIL, 5 YEARS PROBATION ON CORONADO ISLAND

“I USED EVERY DAY FOR 5 YEARS, BECAUSE I DIDN’T HAVE A FUTURE. ALL I LIKE TO DO IS USE. I ONLY EVER QUIT FOR TOLERANCE. I QUIT ONCE IN THAT 5 YEARS TO SEE IF I COULD GET AS HIGH AS THE FIRST 30 TIMES. I DIDN’T SO I THOUGHT 100 DAYS WASN’T LONG ENOUGH. BUT I DIDN’T WANT TO STOP USING FOR ANY LONGER, SO BECAME A DAILY USER AGAIN.”

HOW COMMON IS DRUG AND ALCOHOL ADDICTION? APPROXIMATELY 10% OF ANY POPULATION HAS AN ADDICTION (~ 700,000,000 PEOPLE) ADDICTION IS MORE COMMON THAN DIABETES (7%) PEOPLE ONLY STOP WHEN THEY HAVE SUFFERED ENOUGH NEGATIVE CONSEQUENCES. WHY STOP OTHERWISE? 1) ADDICTION IS PROGRESSIVE USE INCREASES IN AMOUNT AND/OR BECOMES MORE FREQUENT MORE IS NEEDED TO GET THE SAME EFFECT SEEKS MORE POWERFUL SUBSTANCES (I.E. CHANGES METHOD/TYPE OF SUBSTANCES USED) BEGINS USE IN MORNINGS, BEFORE SOCIAL EVENTS, ETC PROTECTS/HIDE STASH OBSESSION AND FANTASIZING ABOUT USE EXPERIENCES A TRUSTED RELATIONSHIP WITH THE SUBSTANCE 2) ADDICTION IS CHRONIC FINANCIAL PROBLEMS LEGAL ISSUES (DUIS, POSSESSION CHARGES, DOMESTIC VIOLENCE) 3) ADDICTION IS POTENTIALLY FATAL OVERDOSE/SUICIDE ATTEMPTS 4) ADDICTION HAS IDENTIFIABLE SYMPTOMS BLACKOUTS CHANGES IN TOLERANCE PREOCCUPATION WITH ALCOHOL/DRUGS (BEOMES MOST IMPORTANT PART OF LIFE) WITHDRAWL SYMPTOMS (TREMORS, HALLUCINATIONS, SWEATS, ANXIETY, ETC) 5) ADDICTION CAUSES LIFE DETERIORATION 6)ADDICTION IS A PRIMARY DISEASE I DIDN’T LIKE THE OTHER ME 7)ADDICTION IS PREVENTABLE ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS

FIVE COMMON PROBLEMS IN EARLY RECOVERY: NEW SOLUTIONS EVERYONE WHO TRIES TO STOP USE RUNS INTO VERY DIFFICULT SITUATIONS THAT MAKE IT DIFFICULT TO MAINTAIN SOBRIETY

PROBLEM: CONTINUING ASSOCIATION WITH OLD FRIENDS OR FRIENDS WHO USE CAN CAUSE TRIGGERS NEW ALTERNATIVE: MAKE NEW FRIENDS AT 12 STEP RECOVERIES! …….OR SPIRITUAL RECOVERY GROUPS, NEW ACTIVITIES THAT WILL ENCOURAGE YOU TO MAKE FRIENDS WITH SOBER PEOPLE

PROBLEM: ANGER OR IRRITABILITY – SMALL EVENTS MAY CAUSE ANGER THAT WILL PROMPT USING NEW ALTERNATIVE: RECOVERY INVOLVES A HEALING OF BRAIN CHEMISTRY.. MOODS WILL BE AFFECTED (ANGER MANAGEMENT CLASSES) “NOTHING HAPPENS THAT MAKES ME FEEL LIKE I NEED A DRINK”

PROBLEM: ALCOHOLIN THE HOME NEW ALTERNATIVE: GET RID OF IT ALL, IF POSSIBLE, ASK PEOPLE TO STOP USING IN THE HOME IF POSSIBLE. MOVE OUT.

PROBLEM: BOREDOM OR LONELINESS NEW ALTERNATIVE: GO BACK TO ACTIVITIES YOU ENJOYED BEFORE YOUR ADDICTION

PROBLEM: SPECIAL OCCASIONS NEW ALTERNATIVE: LEAVE, DON’T GO

1. ARE ANY OF THESE A PROBLEM FOR YOU? GETTING ANGRY -> FEELING LIKE I AM BEING WATCHED/FOLLOWED

2. HOW DO YOU DEAL?

TAKE A NAP. BE ALONE. REMEMBER THAT LIFE IS MEANINGLESS. BE THANKFUL AT LEAST I’M NOT SOMEONE ELSE. I.E. A LOSER.

“I CAME HERE TO STOP USING DRUGS, NOT TO STOP DRINKING.” - DRUG TREATMENT INCLUDES STOPPING ALCOHOL AS WELL. IT IS PART OF RECOVERYFROM “ADDICTION”

“I’VE DRUNK AND NOT USED SO IT DOESN’T MAKE ANY DIFFERENCE.” - DRINKING OVER TIME GREATLY INCREASES THE RISK OF RELAPSE AND READDICTION.

“DRINKING ACTUALLY HELPS. WHEN I HAVE CRAVINGS, A DRINK CALMS ME DOWN AND THE CRAVINGS GO AWAY.” - ALCOHOL INTERFERES WITH THE CHEMICALS IN THE BRAIN. CONTINUED USE OF ALCOHOL ACTUALLY INCREASES CRAVINGS, EVEN IF ONE DRINK REDUCES THEM.

“I’M NOT AN ALCOHOLIC SO WHY DO I NEED TO STOP DRINKING?” - IF YOU’RE NOT ADDICTED, YOU SHOULD HAVE NO PROBLEM STOPPING.

“I’M NEVER GOING TO USE DRUGS AGAIN, BUT I’M NOT SURE I’LL NEVER DRINK AGAIN.” - MAKE A COMMITMENT TO TOTAL ABSTINENCE! MAKE A DECISION ABOUT ALCOHOL WITH A DRUG-FREE BRAIN.

1. HAS YOUR ADDICTED BRAIN PRESENTED YOU WITH OTHER JUSTIFICATIONS FOR DRINKING ALCOHOL? ALCOHOL IS FUN AND MAKES ME FEEL HAPPY. I HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO DO ANYWAY. LIFE ENDS EVENTUALLY, GOOD TO LIVE WHILE I CAN. A DAY UNHAPPY IS A DAY WASTED. ALCOHOL MAKE CELEBRATIONS HAPPIER. IF IT IS A RANDOM TUESDAY, ALCOHOL CAN MAKE IT INTO A CELEBRATION.

2. HOW ARE YOU PLANNING TO DEAL WITH ALCOHOL ISSUES IN THE FUTURE? I WILL HOLD OFF ON GOING OVERBOARD. I USED TO DRINK SO MUCH THAT I WOULD VOMIT ABOUT 2 LITERS WORTH THEN I WOULD PASS OUT. ONE TIME I ABOUT FLOODED MY HOUSE BECAUSE I BLACKED OUT WHILE DRINKING BOUT 10 SHOTS IN A ROW. I WILL SAY I CAN ONLY HAVE 1 OR 2 DRINKS, BUT I DO NOT WANT TO ANGER MY PO OR THE POLICE BECAUSE THEY SCARE ME.

EXTERNAL TRIGGERS QUESTIONARE

TIMES/PLACES YOU MAY USE: HOME ALONE, HOME WITH FRIENDS, FRIEND’S HOUSE, PARTIES, MOVIES, CLUBS, CONCERTS, WITH FRIENDS WHO USE DRUGS, BEFORE A DATE, DURING A DATE, BEFORE SEXUAL ACTIVITIES, DURING SEXUAL ACTIVITIES, WHEN CARRYING MONEY, DRIVING, LIQUOR STORE, AFTER PAYDAY, BEFORE GOING OUT TO DINNER, BEFORE BREAKFAST, AFTER WORK, SCHOOL, THE PARK, IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD, WEEKENDS, WHEN IN PAIN

ONCE I USED BEFORE GOING TO A CLASS PROJECT AT THE CAPITOL CITY HALL BUILDING. A BUNCH OF OLD DUDES VOTING ON LAWS

LIST OTHER TIMES YOU USE: WHEN I WAKE UP AND HAVE SHIT ELSE TO DO ALL DAMN YEAR UNTO INFINITY BECAUSE I AM UNEMPLOYED. WHEN I AM HAVING A SHITTY TERRIBLE DAY.

LIST OCCASSIONS WHERE YOU WOULD NOT USE: GOING TO CHURCH, AIRPORT, AROUND POLICE, BEFORE WORK, WHEN AROUND EMPLOYERS, DURING A COURT HEARING FOR MYSELF, DURING DRUG CLASS OR PROBATION, WHILE AT A HOSPITAL.

LIST PEOPLE YOU COULD BE WITH AND NOT USE: ANY DAMN PERSON.

WHAT EMOTIONS WOULD MAKE YOU WANT TO USE: HAPPY, CONFIDENT, PASSIONATE, RELAXED, EXCITED, BORED, LONELY….. FABULOUS

ALMOST NEVER USE: ASLEEP ALWAYS USE: AWAKE

HAVE YOU GOT IN A FIGHT RECENTLY THAT HAS MADE YOU WANT TO USE: CHECKED YES. I AM HAPPIER WHEN I USE AND I THINK IT IS A NORMAL THING TO DO. I NEVER PLANNED TO STOP USE UNTIL GOVERNMENT INTERFERED. I DID NOT SMOKE WEED FOR THE PEOPLE INVOLVED WITH THE GOVERNMENT AND I DID NOT SMOKE WEED TO BE A STATISTIC FOR HEALTHCARE REPRESENTATIVES. I SMOKED WEED FOR MYSELF AND TO MAKE MYSELF HAVE THE BEST LIFE IMAGINABLE. I AM EXCITED TO MOVE TO A LEGAL STATE AND CONTINUING SMOKING MARIJUANA. YA KNOW, SOMEWHERE IN PRIVACY THERE.

Post Acute Withdrawal

Chinden wendys

Psychiatric Lingo

They call it Regnerative Degenerative or INTERMITTENT

Regenerative….. it will all be better soon

Degenerative ……. Symptoms get WORSE

Intermittent …… days when symptoms are better….. symptoms come and go

It is ok now Now it is bad again Now it is ok Now it is bad

Traditional treatment does not treat Most common is regenerative and then intermittent

Suicide epidemic

The weaker your resistance begins Tetanus Cut yourself on a piece of rusted metal

Lack of attention to your “recovery plan”

Stress is linchpin

Atheist/Satanist

Irrationality YOU CAN SPEAK YOUR MIND

BUT MAKE SURE THAT EVERYONE AROUND YOU THINKS YOU ARE MAKING SENSE

HOW DID YOU GET HERE

STRESS GUILT CONFUSION

FIGHT A BATTLE WITHOUT A NAME

LEARNING TO TAKE THINGS A STEP THEN ANOTHER STEP

NOT OVER-REACTING TO THE SYMPTOMS.

ABSITENCE ALONE DOES NOT HAVE ENOUGH TO PROVIDE YOU WITH GOOD HEALTH.

HOW MANY CALORIES DO I NEED EACH DAY NUTRITIONIST???? 5,000?

NO SUGAR AND NO CAFFIENE FOR A RECOVERING ADDICT. DO NOT SKIP MEALS

DO NOT EAT POTATO CHIPS SODA CANDY

DO NOT DRINK FOOD THAT PRODUCE STRESS LIKE CANDY JELLY SYRUP

LET DOWN AN HOUR LATER

JANE A RECOVERING ALCOHOL ATE ICE CREAM EVERY NIGHT

EATING ICE CREAM HELP HER REDUCE CRAVING FOR ALCOHOL

SLUGGISH AND IRRITABLE COULD NOT GET ALONG WITHOUT IT

NO BREAKFAST

CAFFEINE CAUSE NERVOUS AND RESTLESSNESS

IRREGULAR SLEEP CAUSES IRRITABILITY

EXCERSIZE REDUCES STRESS

NATURES TRANQUILIZERS

STRETCHING AND AEROBIC.

RAISE HEART RATE TO 75% OF MAXIMUM

JOGGING SWIMMING JUMPING ROPE

ABLE TO BE MORE PRODUCTIVE

EXERCISE 3-4 TIMES A WEEK

MAKE TIME FOR EVERY DAY

EVERY DAY THAT YOU DO NOT EXERCISE YOU ARE TREATING YOURSELF

NO PAIN NO GAIN

COPE LAUGHING PLAYING READING

Relapse fight/flight

Muscle cannot relax and tense at the same time

It is impossible to remain tense and relax

Can imagine yourself in a better place

Spiritual divination

Gives your life purpose!!!

Peace of mind through no limitations 😊

Can reach with hope with a positive attitude

Do not have to be open to higher powers

Prayer through spirituality

biopsychosocial

spiritually retold

wholesome living

self-fulfillment

optimum stress level

walter was irritable and anxious

experienced more about saturday

how did your week go???

Friday in wilder

missed 2 UAs – got a car

doesn’t like being alone

can’t get rides to his UA

has 4 classes a week

lives in meridian

thinking about how to get here on his off days

chris

relapse lost his job

new job at Wendy’s

nueropsych test

5 hour

st. als

major traumatic brain injury

2005

high speed rollover accident

pole thrown at her head in the back side

how to deal with problems when they occur

don’t worry

be patient

retrain your brain is rehab to be a new person

longer a peron is sober the less the symptoms become

NA and AA

EARLY RECOVERY

My use will effect them

you have to forget about them if you are putting the pipe to your mouth or you will feel guilty

I was isolated at the drug house

2 notes · View notes

beardyallen · 5 years

Text

Well, that went quickly...

What day is it? I’m starting to lose track of how long I’ve been here...

Well, it’s been a week since my last post, and it seems that a lot must have happened, but honestly I feel like I’ve just been cranking through a bunch of comic books.

But I do know that Friday and Saturday involved a good deal excitement, so I guess we had might as well pick up pretty much where we left off!

Last Friday was Orientation for ICB, which meant getting all of the 35-40 instructors, 10 staff members, and the 6-8 people in charge of this program together in a room to introduce us to...basically what we’d been doing all that week. Also, aside from a couple study-abroad-undergrads and my officemate and me, everyone there had probably already heard the spiel.

It was scheduled from 5p-6p with a buffett afterwards, but a bunch of the Communications people from my floor were going out to eat (again?) afterwards, so I made plans with NR. She wanted to try this Mexican restaurant in what I’ll describe as the “international district” of Beijing. Most everything around us when we got there looked like it belonged in literally every metropolitan area in the world. Every major brand you can imagine had a store. Multiple. Too many...

But the Mexican restaurant we visited is owned and managed by a Mexican expat, apparently. He even stopped by our table to ask how the food was, and let me tell you: that quesadilla was the BOMB!!! And the margarita was pretty good (not as good as MHO’C’s, though!). By the time we finished up dinner, it was kind of late, so we wondered around the shopping center, found a bookstore. You know: the usual.

Fun fact: when a store or restaurant wants to indicate to their patrons that they are getting ready to close, they play smooth jazz and turn the lights down. Like for real. Had their not been windows open to the pavilion outside with it’s hundreds of light displays, I would have been seriously concerned when the lights in the place just went out and Kenny G popped up on the speakers.

We entertained the idea of finding the cinema nearby to see Alita Battle Angel, but during the 15 minutes that we spent wondering around in search of the complex, it seemed to elude us. Plus it was getting close to that time when the subway shuts down, and I wasn’t exactly hankering for a taxi ride this early in my stay....if at all.

The next morning, I got up early to meet back up with NR at the National Museum near the Forbidden City. Now, for the most part, the stairs I get don’t bother me. But I will say, if you’re going to stair at the pasty white guy with a hard-to-describe-its-color-accurately-beard, maybe don’t do it when you’re going 15 mph on a bike, facing in the wrong direction! *sigh.....Some people’s kids...

But what really bothered me, especially at the time, was the father-of-three who straight-up filmed me on his phone from 5 feet away for a solid 6 minutes, three hallways, and two escalators! I get it, I’m funny looking. But I really think I a picture would have done just fine...

One of the things that bothered me the most about that experience was that (a) he had a shit-eating grin plastered on his face, (b) his daughters seemed rather embarrassed, (c) he filmed me with the screen aimed at me so I could watch myself on his phone, (d) there was text on the screen, and (e) it went on for a solid 6 minutes.

In hindsight, I was wearing sunglasses and a hat, in a subway system, in the morning, heading to the center of Beijing. Maybe he thought I was a celebrity? I had spoken to a Communications graduate student the other day who happens to be black, and he told me the story of how a citizen here pull out their phone with a picture of Samuel L. Jackson on it, and gestured to him as it to ask if it were him...even though SLJ is for sure at 70 years old and this kid is no more than 35. And he looks 25. #smh

Anyway, after dealing with whatever the hell that was, I got to visit the museum! They, for whatever reason, were not allowing people to bring their charging blocks into the museum (external battery that you can use to charge your cell phone and other devices on-the-go), but more surprising to me was just how many people carried one with them! At least, it was surprising until I took a moment to think about it. As I’ve mentioned before, basically every payment made in Beijing is through WeChat, which needs internet access, so I guess it shouldn’t be too surprising. You also really can’t navigate through the city with some sort of Maps app; there are just too many bus routes, train routes, terminals and stops to keep logged in your head.

As far as the museum itself goes, the gifts to China from foreign governments exhibit and the Ancient China exhibit themselves took most of the day. Also, no surprise: the gift that took up the most floor space was given by a U.S. President. I also got a refresher in 8th Grade Social Studies. Too many small countries to remember all of them, and that space made me feel somewhat moronic.

The Ancient China exhibit was exceptional, though. They broke up the last, oh...750,000 years of human-ish life in China into 8-10 separate eras, the first few cataloguing the life and evolution of Homo erectus pekinensis into Homo sapien, while the latter eras were segregated dynastically. I’ve never seen the progression of human evolution laid out in such detail! The rock tools became better rock tools, then pottery and paper, stamps, buildings and so much more! There were even ceremonial helmets that would put the Juggernaut to shame!

It was strange, though, to have all of this knowledge just beyond my fingertips both literally and figuratively. The literal sense isn’t too shocking, as I’ve been to a museum before and know not to touch the pieces, but to have placards written in a language that would take years to learn was frustrating. Fortunately, NR has a never-ending supply of patience, and she translated much of the text. She even quizzed me on several of the characters. I’ve worked out how to write “rock” for sure.

After the museum, we wondered over to a nearby mall that, honestly, puts the Mall of America to shame. No joke. This place was huge! It just kept going and going and going! There was a particular alley that has all of the “exotic foods” that you might see on The Amazing Race, which I haven’t tried yet but intend to, but the rest is mostly-outdoor shopping center. Our reason for being there was to find food (we had been in the museum for a bit over 7 hours), and then sit our fine asses down in a movie theater to watch Alita.

We found a restaurant that served food traditionally found where NR grew up. It was exceptional. And the beer just made it better. :P

The movie experience was something else entirely. I’ve gotten used to watching television and movies with subtitles so that, when people decide to talk to me, I can follow along with both bits. Or if people are just talking near me while I’m watching television, I don’t have to rewind the show. That helped a lot; the movie was still spoken in English, but there were Chinese subtitles. I recognized the Chinese character for “1″ frequently enough, but that was about it.

The movie itself was way more than I expected. I shouldn’t be surprised, given that one of the primary characters is played by Christoph Waltz. If you haven’t seen it yet, you should definitely consider it.

Also, additional fun fact: I’m thinking that most (if not all) showings of major motion pictures here are in 3D. *shrug* Side note: we’re going to see Captain Marvel tomorrow and I’M SO FREAKIN’ EXCITED!!!!

After the movie, we wandered back to the subway station and parted ways mid-subway-ride to head home. The next day I spent playing Kingdom Hearts 3 and sipping some beer in the 3rd Floor Lounge. All day. It was blissful.

This workweek has consisted of four main things: teaching responsibilities, a bit of dissertation work, trying out another one of the cafeterias on campus, and reading comic books. Oh, and beer. But that kind of goes without saying, doesn’t it? There’s a convenience store on the other side of the building in front of the Guest House that has cans of beer. You can buy them individual for 3 yuan, or roughly 45 cents. I won’t lie to you: I bought 12 of them and it didn’t cost me more than 6 bucks. And it’s really not bad, and even more convenient than the liquor store I lived by in Denver.

Anyway, as I said, I’m going to see Captain Marvel tomorrow, then to “W-Town” (originally Watertown...so glad they shortened it...) in northern Beijing, which sits at the base of part of the Great Wall. More than 20 people from ICB will be heading up to their on Saturday, so I imagine one of them will take pictures. Probably ML or S. So you’ll have those to look forward to since you know I won’t be taking any!

Oh!!! I almost forgot the biggest thing that happened this week! Actually, it might be the biggest news of my entire stay!!!

I did laundry.

And I washed my slippers. I’m not convinced that they’ve stopped smelling, but I’m holding out hope that I’ve finally figured out how to resolve an issue that I know humanity has been seriously struggling with for decades. I’m on the verge of a breakthrough, people, I swear!

Anyway, time to finish this beer, read a bit more of Scott Lynch’s Republic of Thieves (WE FINALLY FIND OUT ABOUT SABETHA!!!!), and head to bed. Big couple of days ahead...

Sláinte,

BeardyAllen

P.S. I bet you thought I was gonna forget! After class on Wednesday, I worked out how to make a phone call from here to the States to wish my Mom a Happy BIrthday. Caught her at work, and we got to chat for a good long while. It really put a nice cap on my evening, and it seemed it gave her a good start to her day. Anyway, I hope you had a great evening, found something nice at C&B and enjoyed that glass of wine you mentioned! Love you!!

3 notes · View notes

thecartoonarchivist · 6 years

Text

Weekly Spotlight #3

Alrighty!! Onto week 3 of the Weekly Spotlight!

In honor school starting up for many individuals all around the U.S. in the next week or two, I’m going to be discussing the TV show--- Drum roll, please!

*a very vibrant drum roll*

Class of 3000!

When I first decided to do a Weekly Spotlight on this show, the only thing I could really remember about this show was part of its theme song. Not the intro itself, but its theme song. To be completely honest, I often find myself humming it or playing it over in my head when I’m doing tasks that don’t require a whole lot of thinking. I also remember an old flash game that Cartoon Network used to have on their website but... that’s not really conducive to this Spotlight.

I have the distinct feeling that when you hear the theme song, a lot of you will start to remember it too. Warning! This theme song is will get stuck in your head if you’re not careful. You have been warned: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LSpEd7XI1Fg

To give a little bit of background into this series, this show was produced in a joint venture between the Tom Lynch Company, Andre 3000, and Cartoon Network. Some of you may know Andre 3000 (a.k.a. André Benjamin) as a famous rapper, part of a duo known as Outkast. For those of you who don’t know who this individual is (like me,) Andre 3000 is the musical genius behind the famous hit, “Hey ya!” and worked with other famous individuals in the hip hop genre such as Drake, Jay-Z, B.o.B., Lil’ Wayne, Wiz Khalifa, and many others. To say that Andre 3000 is talented would be an understatement. Of course, going into this, I was a bit skeptical since a lot of series based on famous personalities not only tend to age extremely poorly, but also because the entire foundation for the series itself ends up being built on very shaky ground in the first place.

That being said, rewatching a couple episodes of this series, I ended being shocked at how charming and unique this series was. I actually could believe how much of this show I had ended up forgetting and instantly started to wonder whether or not I realized how good it was when it was still airing.

So! The premise: Sunny Bridges is a famous musician that has many individuals that look up to him as an idol, including a local Atlanta, Georgia boy named Lil’ D. However, having spent so long in the music industry with its main goal to make more money, Sunny has lost his love of music and decides to quit the music business. Lil’ D, having lost both his idol and his school music teacher in the same day, is completely heartbroken along with the rest of his other musical classmates. Desperate to find a new music teacher, the class band together to help raise money for a new hire. After a series of quirky events and shenanigans, Sunny becomes aware of their plight and decides to become their new music teacher. And that’s the basic situation that sets up for the rest of series. The show then follows the wacky situations and crazy solutions that Sunny and the rest of the music class come up with in order to solve their outlandish problems.

And honestly? This show was fantastic. For a show that premiered over ten years ago, I’m completely shocked by not only how relevant the show continues to be, but also how well all of it has aged!

I think one of the things that works in its favor is the strangely unique character designs. Sure, they have the iconic noodley arms, lack of ten fingers, and very exaggerated defining features. But all of it is done in such a way that leaves an imprint on your mind that these characters are their own thing. It’s their own style and their own personalities that even simple “archetypes” fail to do justice to their own individuality. And I absolutely loved it.

One of the things about this series is that it prioritizes fun over everything else. And when I say that, I absolutely mean it. Everything about this series absolutely screams experimentation: from the hand-painted, messy, watercolored backgrounds, to the bizarre, psychedelic, music sequences, you can tell that the creators of this tv show just when hog-wild with it and simply had fun. The jokes are corny, yet surprisingly real. The situations are over-the-top and ridiculous. The dialogue is quick-witted and snappy. I even caught some insane subtle 80′s pop-culture references, such as references to Jumpman (the original Super Mario game) and Flashdance, complete with their own water scene and references to Michael Sembello’s hit song “Maniac.” And the craziest part about all of this? I had fun too.

Did all of it age great? Certainly not. The music sequences constantly made me question: Am I high? Did someone slip something into my drink?

(Yes. This all came from the same exact show. No, I am not joking.)

Some of the music absolutely screamed early 2000′s.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MZhXkq9kTNk&index=5&list=PLBB2FE6AE00856C63

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kn_EGLtOVGU&index=6&list=PLBB2FE6AE00856C63

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_XBRMpvW_mQ&list=PLBB2FE6AE00856C63&index=11

At times, some of the jokes and the writing felt predicable. But honestly, when you put “fun” first and foremost in this series, those flaws don’t seem as completely egregious as your first impression lets you believe.

The music, overall, was extremely catchy. The comedic timing was spot on. Even the situations, although blown completely out of proportion, felt so realistic that I was reminded of my own headaches and frustrations living through music class in high school. Honestly, this series was just fun, interesting, and a great breath of fresh air after watching so many cartoons that use the same episodic formula with no love in what they do.

So from a musical standpoint, how does it fair? Is it actually, you know, accurate?

The thing about this series is that it didn’t focus on musical lessons per say. Yes, they did have lessons that hearken back to my high school days in the band room with my director standing at the podium, waving his baton like there was no tomorrow. But really, these lessons were more life lessons wrapped up in musical clothing. The pilot opens up with the idea that you shouldn’t forget where you came from; you may want to leave this place behind and throw away all the things that you considered “boring” and “uneventful” but when you get out into the real world, you start to appreciate all the things that made you who you are now. And that lesson? In a kids’ tv show?! That’s crazy. I could feel myself reflecting on each moral with every passing episode, and I just was surprised on how real it was. I never felt like I was being talked down to, or that the production team was cutting corners, just for the sake of putting out another episode; really, I just felt this outpouring of love and passion into a crazy project that felt like the creators never thought it’d see the light of day.

As a musician, however, I’m able to notice a few inconsistencies here and there that make the magic less ever so slightly. I was a little disappointed to find that a lot of times whenever the character Madison, a derpy, blonde violinist with a heart of gold, it wasn’t played by a true violin; in all reality, a lot of the music that was supposedly played by Madison was actually just a synthesizer. (In English, that means that they had a violinist play each individual note from lowest to highest; record it; and then use those recording on an electronic keyboard, so that they can play it as if you play a piano. It’s very hard to spot the difference, but as a violinist myself, the difference is rather stark for my ears.) I can understand why they did this--- hiring a violinist for every small violin sound that your character makes just doesn’t make sense on a cartoon budget. Still, it saddens me how little there was of actual violin audio. Speaking of violins and “faking” sounds, I also found that the music that was playing and the music that the kids were supposedly “making” had a surprising disconnect. Often, I see scenes where Tamika, a sassy harpist, Madison, and even Eddie, the rich clarinet player, were all playing and yet... those instruments were clearly absent from the song. Again, the rule of fun first, but still... it always urks me as a musician to see instruments playing when they are obviously not playing in the song. It just looks so stupid.

There were also a lesson or two that I felt were very important life lessons but were a little... lacking in the musical department. Take “Peanuts! Get Yer Peanuts!” for example. Sunny opens up with a question on what he should start teaching as a music teacher, as he has never done it before. Kam suggests that they do finger exercises, as that’s what their old music teacher used to do. Sunny, instead, decides that he’s going to have the kids be “artistically free” and just... play what calls to them. Have fun with it! Play what it feels like to be in a cave, or on a busy street, or to knock the walls down! What Sunny fails to realize in this situation is that, although having fun with your instrument and feeling what the music is trying to tell you is important, “finger exercises” are the foundation of good playing. Are they boring? Absolutely. Are they tedious? Oh, sweet Macy, yes! But are they important? You better bet your bottom dollar they are! If you can’t play at all, how are you supposed to play challenging music? How are you supposed to play what you feel when you can’t even play with good form? Having fun with your playing is important; you aren’t going to even pick up your instrument if you aren’t having fun. But if you don’t have a certain level of discipline, there’s no way in hell that you’ll ever succeed on a professional level as a musician. That’s just how it works. Of course, the lesson in this episode is focused on working together and how important communication is when working as a group, but I still felt that this... inaccuracy gave a false representation on how being a musician actually works.

But at the end of the day, this is a show about having fun with your art as well as learning some life lessons on the side.

Overall, this show is extremely charming. The jokes were extremely clever and enjoyable. (Tamika: Are you sure you saw Sunny Bridges go this way? Lil’ D: Unless I mistook him for a bear driving a Jaguar. *Bear speeds off in a sports car* Lil’ D: That was a Lamborghini!) And the art was something interesting and stunning to look at. I was surprised over and over by the limits that they tried to take with this show (how many new and interesting was can you draw caricatures of your own cartoon drawings?!) and honestly, this show was just some good wholesome fun.

Rating this show, I’d have to give it an 8 out of 10.

It was great. A little weird at times, sure! But that’s the cool thing about experimentation--- you get some weird stuff sometimes. This series is going to the top of my rewatch list because, really, I remember so little about it and the show was so enjoyable that I absolutely want to sit down to relive all the silly adventures that the Class of 3000 will bring me.

I highly recommend you give this show a chance and see what it’ll give you. You never know--- you might just have a little fun while you’re at it.

[Edit (8/23/2018): I forgot the read more tab... *deep sigh*]

[Edit (9/22/2018): How the fuck did I miss tagging this as the Weekly Spotlight?!? I am so sorry!]

[Edit (11/21/2018): Fixed a broken tagging system.]

If there are any corrections you’d like to make in regards to this post, please feel free to send me a message with your corrections and I’ll get back to it as soon as I can!

Do you remember a cartoon your friends have never heard of? Got a scene from an animated film that you’re dying to know the name to? Send your questions to The Cartoon Archivist and I’ll see what I’ve got in the vault!

#class of 3000 #Cartoon network #cartoon #musical #andre 3000 #2005~2010 #I was legitimately surprised at how good this was #Like I want to sit and binge this whole series now #Course with school starting up that's not feasible #But still #it's good #So try it #you won't regret it #weekly spotlight

22 notes · View notes

chudovyygirl · 6 years

Photo

THE WWE'S GLASS CEILING IS JUST A FOOTNOTE FOR RENEE YOUNG She's the first female color commentator in the history of the company. But don't expect Young to list "trailblazer" on her IG anytime soon. She has a bigger mission—to become the greatest to ever put on a headset.

After three grueling hours of fulfilling her role as WWE’s first ever female color commentator on Monday Night Raw’s live broadcast each week, there’s a good chance Renee Youngis going to have to sneak away to the restroom when it’s all over. The enormity of breaking one of professional wrestling’s thickest glass ceilings doesn’t faze her. It’s the smaller things, like not getting a chance to discreetly escape to the lavatory from the announce team’s perch adjacent to WWE’s massive LED stage that, she says, will take some getting used to.“It was one of the things I was legit the most stressed out about doing commentary,” she reveals. “‘But when do I pee?!’ But I feel like I’ve overcome it.”

Young says that since taking over the third chair on Monday Night Raw from Jonathan Coachman, she’s begun to limit her liquid intake throughout the day. She doesn’t really have all that much time to sip coffee anyway, as her new role requires hours of pre-show preparation and research. In addition to a mandatory production meeting where on-screen talent is briefed on storylines, scripts and talking points, Young takes the initiative to chat with the wrestlers one-on-one, getting a sense of who they are, what’s going on in their real lives and where they see their characters going that week. She also scours social media for any interactions between wrestlers or any trending pop culture stories she can reference.

It’s this kind of work ethic, and an ability to make adjustments on the fly, that has helped Young do something no other female broadcaster has ever accomplished in the 66-year history of WWE: co-piloting the company’s flagship broadcast. To some, that makes Young a trailblazer, but she downplays that label with her trademark self-deprecating, cheery sense of humor. “I’m not going to put it in my Instagram headline: ‘Renee Young, trailblazer.’ I do feel the responsibility of it, but it’s also a responsibility I asked for.”

Renee Young, born Renee Jane Paquette in Toronto, Canada, took one of the more circuitous routes imaginable to get to WWE. She grew up in a show business household; her father was a concert promoter and her mother a bookkeeper. When she was 10, Young was encouraged by a client of her mother’s to try her hand at modeling. “I didn’t even know what that meant,” she recalls. “I was like, ‘Sure, it sounds great.’ I would go meet with different talent agencies and different modeling agencies.”

In addition to modeling, however, Young had a penchant for making people laugh. When her parents divorced, Young found that a well-placed joke could defuse the roiling tension of a divided home. “Kind of taking away that spotlight and the awkwardness of the things that were happening,” she says. “Once I realized that’s something that worked for me, I loved nothing more.” That need to be irreverent would manifest itself at school, too. “I was getting kicked out of class regularly,” she says. “I wasn’t a bad kid. I was just loud. Getting kicked out and still trying to make people laugh in the hallway. I was always in kind of a little bit of a situation. I didn’t know when to shut up. Shocker.”

When she was 16, while bouncing around the modeling world, Young was handed a small pamphlet for the Second City improv training center. She would keep it in her bedroom drawer for years as a reminder of who she truly wanted to be. Finally, when she graduated high school in 2003, she asked her father for the $250 necessary to register for her first improv class.

Improv was her passion, and she fully embraced her time at Second City, hoping to transition to a career as a comedic actress. After a brief spell in Los Angeles when she was 19, she came back to Toronto to work in music videos and commercials before settling on a career hosting on Canada’s The Score sports network in 2009. There, she began fronting a wrestling talk show called Right After Wrestling. (The show aired directly after Monday Night Raw in Canada.) That got the attention of WWE, who brought her in for an audition and eventually hired her to conduct backstage interviews with the wrestlers.

WWE offered Young her biggest platform ever, as well as a very strict set of guidelines about what to say and how to say it. Many of the interactions audiences see on Monday Night Raw and SmackDown Live are heavily scripted by a team of writers. The performers are asked to get as close to reciting the lines verbatim as they can for their backstage interviews, in-ring promo segments and pre-taped vignettes. Before most interviews, Young would have to preface the exchange with, “Please welcome my guest at this time”—a catchphrase that’s become fodder for jokes within online wrestling fandom.

Despite her early struggles with the tried-and-true WWE formula, Young quickly found allies to help her push forward. Former announcer, and current mouthpiece for Brock Lesnar, Paul Heyman was an early supporter of Young. He helped her ease into what can be an overwhelming, esoteric world of wrestling jargon, high pressure and unceasing travel. “He’s had my back from the get-go,” Young says. “He did not need to do that. For whatever reason, he and I have always been close when it comes to talking about being better and wanting to be the best.”

Before her debut as an analyst on Monday Night Raw, Young hunkered down in the stands of the empty arena, where Heyman found her to give his sage counsel. “He just kind of gave me advice on how to be a little more succinct, how to create those little punchlines,” she remembers. “You’ve gotta think about what this is going to sound like in a video package. Make sure you’re saying their name instead of he or she. Just little nuggets like that that you might forget. And I do forget. Sometimes, I might be out there and catch myself saying, ‘Oh, he just speared him’ instead of ‘Roman Reigns just speared Braun Strowman.’”

For the former class clown, it’s not always easy to color inside the rigid lines of WWE’s corporate universe. “Prior to working for WWE, I was always in control of my own material [at The Score].” The commentary role on Raw allows for more off-the-cuff banter for Young, play-by-play announcer Michael Cole and color commentator Corey Graves. “I’ve been here for six years, but until now, I haven’t had many opportunities to flex that [improv] muscle. I’m trying to get back into that mode.”

In her six years with WWE, Young has done pretty much all there is to do besides actually work a wrestling match. She’s worked segments on Raw and SmackDown. She’s hosted an intimate, almost Oprah-style interview show on the WWE Network streaming service called Unfiltered. She’s co-hosted the SmackDown aftershow Talking Smack with former WWE champion Daniel Bryan, and she’s helmed the pre-shows leading up to WWE pay-per-view events.

Perhaps the strangest detour in Young’s career was a brief, season-long stint on the E! network reality series Total Divas, a series that follows WWE female talent like Nikki and Brie Bella, Natalya, Naomi Paige, and Lana through their day-to-day lives. Total Divas is not all that different from other E! reality franchises like Keeping Up with the Kardashians, with its various mundane real-life dramas set against the backdrop of the glamour of the entertainment industry. One of the main storylines of the show was the question of whether or not John Cena would marry Nikki Bella. The particulars of their coupling and the eventual dissolution of that couple was all fodder for the cameras.

As helpful as the show was for her personal profile, Young departed Total Divas after completing work on Season 7. “I think the hardest part for me, for doing Total Divas, was having my relationship be on display,” she says with a sigh.

Her husband, Jonathan Good, also known as Dean Ambrose, is intensely private, according to those who know him—a shy, reserved, sensitive man who only opens up once you’ve made yourself worthy of his trust. “It’s always a compliment when John has a conversation with me,” says Natalya Neidhart, Total Divas cast member and one of Young’s closest friends on the WWE roster. “He doesn’t talk to that many people, so when he talks to me, I’m so flattered.” Young is the opposite that attracted, still that same young person always trying to make others laugh with a one-liner. “[Renee] didn’t need someone who was going to compete with her, in the sense of being bubbly and charismatic. She needed someone who complemented her, and John is just so quiet. He very rarely lets people in.” That dynamic might not have been ideal for reality TV.

“I think [our relationship] was not something we wanted to pull the curtain back on,” Young says. “That made me uncomfortable as well, because the whole time I’m just saying he’s crazy and how do I deal with this crazy person [for story purposes], which is really not our dynamic. That was really odd to navigate as we were doing it.”

Until 2015, the heightened reality of Total Divas was one, if not the only, path to success for WWE’s women. Women’s wrestling simply wasn’t a major attraction on WWE TV until Stephanie McMahon debuted highly touted prospects Sasha Banks, Charlotte Flair and Becky Lynch to usher in the “Women's Revolution” campaign that gave female performers more to do than just pose for the camera and smile. But Young is a part of a class of performers who have become bona fide stars without that platform. Though she’s never competed in a wrestling match (the closest she’s gotten is a brief feud where she and Ambrose traded insults with The Miz and his wife, Maryse), Young has amassed a social media following on par with former world champions like Bayley and Alexa Bliss. “Renee is going to be a superstar at this,” says Michael Cole, who, in addition to being her cohort on Raw’s announce team, is also the person who oversees every announcer in WWE.

“When all is said and done, Renee is going to go down as one of the great analysts that we’ve ever had, because you have to stand out in this business,” Cole says. “Renee will stand out because she’s offering something that’s never been done before. Forget the fact that she’s a woman. Put that aside. That’s become a footnote now. She’s different because never before have we had in the wrestling business what Renee offers to the announce booth. It’s that innate ability to talk to people, to be able to dig underneath the surface and find out what makes these superstars tick.”

Her personality and charisma shined even if her on-screen character is mostly just a slightly toned-down version of the real Renee. “I just have to be a little bit more PG when I’m on a live microphone,” she says. The Evolution pay-per-view is something of a culmination of everything Young has been striving for since she joined the wrestling world. “When I was told I was going to be doing it, I was floored,” she says. “I feel like I can open up a door for other women, show other women and girls different paths to go down.”

Young has done her research into other women who’ve made it into the sports commentary world. She’s especially a fan of ESPN NBA analyst Doris Burke, another supreme talent who has a similarly rabid online following. “One of the things I took away [from my research] is that everyone is used to older white men doing commentary and anything that’s not has been deemed wrong. It’s not [wrong]. It’s just trying to change what people are used to hearing.”

Eventually, audiences will get used to Renee Young’s voice on commentary, if they haven’t already. In addition to her weekly job on Raw and the spot on Evolution, she’ll be calling WrestleMania in April. While Raw is three hours and the average pay-per-view is around four, WrestleMania tops out at a whopping seven hours from start to finish. When will Renee get to go to the bathroom then? “If that’s the biggest of Renee’s worries, she has nothing to be concerned about,” Cole says.

“I am not ready for that yet. I don’t think my bladder is quite prepared,” Young says with a chuckle. “We don’t travel with port-a-potties up there.” For every arena, Young has devised a route to the restroom, just in case. It’s absurd that we keep coming back to the issue, but as Young puts it, “This is real life” and she’s not one to hold back on what’s going on in her own head. “She’s relatable because she’s not perfect,” Neidhart says. In that life, as it is in her journey to relieve herself, Young’s mantra is simple: “You gotta navigate your path.”

#renee young #wwe #mentions of:#deanee

4 notes · View notes

purpleflamingosarelife · 6 years

Text

Dear Shawn. [2]

I sat behind the old, rotting building with nothing. Nothing but my thoughts. Hell, I wasn’t even wearing my own clothes.

When Tony, my double, walked into the room, I’d... I’d made him take my place as a dead body. It was to throw them off my scent, and I’d already hired someone with Shawn’s looks to go and do the same thing. Shawn just didn’t know it.

I didn’t like it, but I had to do it. I had to keep us alive. I found it funny, though, that I was risking my ass for a kid I barely even knew.

Seriously, though, fuck killing people. I knew it wouldn’t be the last time I had to do it, either.

I’d liked to have stopped thinking about it.

A twig snapped. I looked at the direction of where the sound came from as I pulled my gun, taking cover behind part of a wall.

“H-hello? Rod?” A timid voice called out. “It’s Shawn... fuck, I hope he’s here.” I stepped out from behind the wall and immediately pointed my gun at him.

“Hands up, I’m searching you.”

“Why?”

“Because I can. And I need to make sure you’re not a decoy like fuckin’... I dunno... To Catch a Predator or something.” I quickly frisked him and searched his pockets before looking closely at his face. I even counted the number of freckles that he had. Twenty-three to be exact. Good. He gave me a weird look.

“Are you... Wait. Are you the kind of person that...” I shoved the gun in his face.

“Are you insinuating that I’m a predator? I don’t like kids. They’re annoying as fuck.”

“N-no,” he quietly said. “You- you don’t seem like a predator, Rod. Listen-- what the hell’s going on?” I tucked my gun into Tony’s gross ass jeans and pulled Shawn into an old, rotting hotel room. I, looking like a paranoid freak, periodically peered out of the broken window as we spoke.

“Ok, so you read the letter, correct?”

“Y--”

“And, and. Did you-- did you bring it with you. Did you bring it with you, or did you leave it in your dorm like an idiot?”

“Well--”

“Yes or no, Shawn. I don’t have all damn day.”

“Yes. I brought it along so they wouldn’t find it. Here,” he shakily stated as he pulled out a worn piece of paper, handing it to me. It looked like he’d read over it a million times. I would have too. It was awful, what we’d gone through.

“Great. Ok. So what we need to do is, first of all, we need to get out of the state. Within the next twenty-four hours. We--”

“Ok, but you said you’d explain more when I arrived.” I exhaled through my nose.

To be honest, I didn’t know. Just thinking about it brought back the headache from my hangover. How in the actual hell did people have the ability to do shit like this-- to manipulate time and space, to toy with reality. It couldn’t be truth. Maybe I was on a drug trip. Maybe this was all just a bad dream. I looked back over at Shawn.

He was about average height with honey blonde hair, accompanied by a square-ish face covered in a thick, neatly trimmed beard. He looked like a real nice kid.

“Listen. I don’t really fucking know, Shawn. I know just as much as your class-failing, Thor imitating fucking Ross Lynch, Jeffrey Dahmer lookin’ ass does. So why don’t you quit pressuring me like I’m the head of the Illuminati?” I snapped, picking up an empty beer bottle and throwing it across the room. “Listen, all I know is that someone knows about us, and they set up a trap for us to try and... capture us? I don’t know why. I don’t know how. I know that they sent out an invitation e-mail to whoever they wanted to target, which happened to be us. I don’t know how they know about our powers, I don’t know how they found us-- I don’t even know if you know your power. All I know is that they’re going to kill us if they find us and we need to run.”

He had a face of disbelief. Almost like he was angry, confused, sad and wanted to cry all at once. I mean, so did I, but I was more concerned with getting the hell out and getting things figured the fuck out.

“Listen. It’s all over. Our lives are over. You aren’t Shawn Davis anymore, I’m not Rod Shears anymore. We’re both fucked if we can’t accept that.”

There was a long silence. We just sat next to each other, staring at the filthy ground of the abandoned hotel room, thinking. Not talking to each other.

I had this all planned out. You know, I’d been given a plan for disappearance. Being a big celebrity, I had to. And Now I was using that plan with minor tweaks. We were disappearing, and we were disappearing now.

It was dark by the time either of us had spoken.

Shawn was the first to break the silence.

“So... Um... Which do you...” He sighed. I could hear him rubbing his forehead as he swore under his breath. “Which one can you control?”

I kept my eyes on the nasty converses that I’d stolen from Tony when I’d made him shoot himself and burned him. My shoulders were still heavy with guilt.

It had to have been at least thirty seconds before I responded. The word stuck to my tongue like molasses.

“Time,” I choked out. The word itself carried as much guilt as my murdering Tony. “You?”

“I... Reality. I think. I think I can bounce back and forth between realities. And it’s just really complicated and it... It hurts. To do it.” There was a pause. “If I do it too much.” I nodded through the darkness.

“I get sick if I travel too much. Like, nausea and nosebleeds and migraines and whatnot. But I can’t... I can’t just travel all willy-fuckin’-nilly either. I don’t think I can go too far into the past, and the longer back I go, the more energy it takes. And the more painful it is. Think of it as kind of going on a run. Back to the night that the Titanic sank is like running a mile, but running a 5K would get me to... I’d say... 1580. Like, a long ass time ago. And it’s the same way going into the future. But it’s also the same way in the fact that the more I do it, the better I get at it. Not to mention the fact that I’ve recently been able to choose where I travel to as well. But I can’t do it when I’m stressed. Or terribly injured. Or if I’m in contact with too much radiation at once. I dunno. It’s just weird.” I felt almost out of breath explaining it. I just chose not to question it so much.

I suddenly realized the gross stiffness of my now two day old hair gel. I hadn’t done anything but focus on getting myself out of this mess since the sting operation happened. And Tony’s clothes smelled like too much cologne mixed with that smell that your clothes get when you wear them three times without washing them. It made me want to puke.

“We really need to go. We can’t stay here, someone might come along and do something bad,” I said in a raspy voice. “First, I need beer. Then, we need a place to crash, and we’ll figure something out tomorrow as far as make-overs go. Sorry, but Beard McGee needs to scram.” He scoffed before sighing as we climbed out of the broken window and began walking down the long, outstretched road.

“I swear, if you’re a serial killer, I’m gonna fuck you up,” Shawn joked.

“Ok. Whatever.” I replied before looking in the distance at some lights. “Oh, shit, a gas station. We can get some food there, probably. And beer.”

“How are you going to buy beer? You don’t have your ID.”

“I’m a fucking celebrity, Shawn. I have an alternate ID that nobody knows about. We’re fuckin’ buying an assload of beer tonight. Don’t forget-- I also have all of my cash on me, so we’re not going to be going hungry.”

Once we reached the small, vacant gas station, we both pulled on our caps and entered. I headed immediately for the back where the beer was before grabbing two six packs of Budweiser and a pack of Heineken. I also loaded up with some other snacks as well.

“Hello, boys,” the old man behind the counter greeted as I set everything on the counter. “Can I see your ID?”

I handed him my ID before gesturing at Shawn. “He left his at home. This is all for a friend, anyways.” The old man chuckled in response before taking my cash, giving me my change and sending us on our way.

It was going to be a long walk, but until I could get us a car, our legs were our only option. I had some plans for tomorrow anyways, such as us getting new IDs, new clothes, a ride and a decently safe place to go. I had an inside source who could help me out. I knew of a crappy motel near by that would let us crash there without question, because my source owned it. We ended up catching a ride from some middle aged guy that smelled like weed.

The place was actually pretty nice. At least, what I called the ‘VIP’ hallway was. It was where people in close relation to my ‘source’ stayed. It was as nice as a five-star hotel, being owned by who it was, and it had its own staff and everything. It was, you could say, comparable to the Bellagio.

“Hello,” the young girl at the front desk greeted politely. “How can I help you?”

“We need one of the Luco rooms, please.” There was a long silence in which she blushed nervously and immediately began sweating. She motioned for us to join her in a small room behind the desk, a standard procedure just to make sure we weren’t heard.

“O- of course, sir- of course,” she obliged as we entered the room. “Um, um, what... what, what’s the password?” she timidly responded. She knew to fear anyone who’d asked for the Luco rooms. Even someone as pretty as her could easily be caught up in the mess that surrounded my uncle.

“PADSin.” I could feel the questioning look from Shawn.

“Sir? Could you please confirm what that means?” Of course. The security question.

“Presley, Anka, Dean, Sinatra,” I flawlessly said, crossing my arms. “Capital ‘P’, capital ‘A’, capital ‘D’, capital ‘S’, lowercase ‘I’ and ‘N’.”

“And may I ask, how- how you’re related to Mr. Luco?”

“I’m his nephew, related by blood.”

“Name?”

“Rod Aaron Michael Christopher Shears.” We watched intently as she checked a list of names, those belonging to people who had access to the Luco rooms.

“Alright, gentlemen, welcome to the Luco rooms. My name is Maria, please call if you need anything,” she politely stated as she opened a pair of mahogany doors, handing me a room key. “Please do enjoy your stay.”

Shawn and I walked down the red carpeted hallway. The lower half of the walls were a dark wood paneling, the upper half a lovely white paint. Every door was made of mahogany. I led him to room six, sliding the card into the electronic lock before pushing the heavy door open to reveal a large room with a full kitchen, two king sized beds and a full bathroom. I immediately threw the beer into the fridge and raided the wine cabinet. I threw a bottle to Shawn before hurrying over to the closet to see what was in there.

This being my designated room, I knew there had to be clothes in that damn closet. Hell, I’d had the place stocked with everything I’d need for it to be a home, right down to the Cheetos and the books on the shelf. I tore the closet door open to find a ton of my clothes within. That felt good.

“Well, Shawn, you can keep your beard for one more night. We both just need to sleep for now. Maybe get drunk as fuck. I don’t know,” I yawned as I pointed to his nightstand. “And, uh, there’s a sock, a tablet and some lotion in that nightstand if you need to--”

“Oh my fucking god. I barely even know you, Rod. I’m not watching-- ew. You’re a sick fuck, you know that?”

“I’ve known that for,” I laughed as I plopped down onto my bed. “I’ve known that for a long time.”

Our shared moment of laughter almost made me forget about what was going on.

We were safe here, no doubt, but safe didn’t mean what it used to.

Danger meant death at this point.

2 notes · View notes

marmelade-sky · 7 years

Text

Coming out to college friends (pynch)

I needed something cute and domestic, so here you go, guys! :) enjoy ♥

you can prompt me Raven Cycle stuff atm! AFTG prompts are pausing right now, but will most likely be reopened very soon. Thank you.

Read here on ao3/if you’re on mobile

It takes Adam a while to become friends with people at college, but it doesn’t take people very long to become friends with Adam Parrish, because Adam is the kind of person people are drawn to: polite and nice, calm and intelligent, with just the right bit of mystery to him.

Of course none of his friends can compare to his friends back home. Noone ever could. But they’re alright.

So, after the first semester is over, Adam has several friends. For one, his roommate Dave, who’s a bit of a nerd, a bit awkward, but genuinly nice, too. Also, Ava, who sits next to him in three of his classes and who would probably get along perfectly with Blue (she’s a vegan and only wears second hand clothes). Then, there’s Other Adam from weight class who Adam is friends with because, after realizing they share the same name, it had been inevitable to become friends.

All of Adam’s friends have more friends, and so Adam ends up going to parties and meeting so many people. He even talks to them, too. Blue tells him how proud she is on the phone. “Look at you! Going out, meeting normal people! Good going!”. Adam tells her how they’re still his best friends and will always be, and he knows she’s just a little relieved to hear that.

The subject of Ronan Lynch comes up with Adam’s college friends, too, of course.

“Who’s that?”, Dave asks when Adam puts up pictures of his friends next to his plants.

“My friends.”

“That one looks like he’s in a punk band.”, Dave replies with a grin, coming over to Adam’s side of the room to get a closer look. He points to a picture of Ronan.

Adam smiles. “You think so?” He casually puts up another picture. It’s of him and Ronan and Opal and Chainsaw, and it’s what Blue refers to as their “happy family picture. It’s been taken in front of the Barns, with cows grazing in the background. In it, Ronan hugs Adam from behind while Chainsaw perches on Ronan’s shoulder and Opal, wearing a huge jumper and neon green rain boots, holds both of their hands. They all smile for the camera. It’s a nice picture.

Adam thinks it’s funny to wait until Dave manages to piece all the clues together. “Wait a minute-!” He looks at Adam with big eyes, “...is that your boyfriend?”

“Yeah.” Adam notices that he’s never had a real coming-out moment before this. With Ronan back home, there had been no coming-out, just facts.

“Oh!”, Dave replies, surprised, but obviously trying to keep his voice light, “that’s cool! Cool! He looks... nice! What’s with the kid...and the bird?”

“That’s his pet raven. Chainsaw. And his kid.”

It’s very amusing to watch Dave squirm.

“That’s cool, really cool.”

“Dave, can you stop saying cool, please?”

“I’m gonna drop out and become a famer.” Ava puts her head on her desk next to Adam. It’s cold in the class room and the lecture is equally as boring as it is hard.

“My boyfriend’s a farmer.”, Adam replies casually, and then wonders when he has started mentioning Ronan so off-handedly in conversations.

“Oh, really?” Ava lifts her head again, interest perked now. “Is he really buff? What kind of farm does he have?”

Adam cocks his head slightly, considering. “...he’s a little buff, I guess.” He thinks of Ronan’s arms and the room doesn’t feel so cold anymore. “...cattle, mostly.” And dream things.

“Alright, awesome. Organic, I hope.” Ava narrows her eyes playfully.

Adam chuckles. “As organic as it can be.”

“Nice. Maybe he needs an assistent, then please tell him to consider me.” Ava drops her head again with a dramatic sigh.

He’s on the treadmill, Other Adam next to him, working out together. Adam usually listens while Other Adam talks and provides the occasional smart comment. Sometimes they don’t talk at all. It’s a really manly friendship.

“...I swear, she’s the most amazing person ever. Really. You should meet her. You could bring your girl, too!” Other Adam grins over at Adam, but then he furrows his eyebrows, grin dropping slightly. “...do-.. do you have a girl?”

Adam looks over to him and wipes sweat out of his eye. “...I have a boy.”

Other Adam’s grin makes a reappearance. “Well, bring your boy, then.”

“He’s not good with people, but I’ll ask him.” Adam tried imagining Ronan meeting Other Adam. Nah. Maybe he wouldn’t ask him.

“Really? What’s he good with?”

It’s quite clear that Other Adam is aiming for an innuendo here.

Adam shrugs. “Animals, I guess, and cars. He used to street race when we were younger.” It feels weird and nice to be able to share such information openly, to have friends to share it with, and who to brag about his boyfriend to.

“Nice.”, Other Adam just replies, and then they go on about their workout in manly, comfortable silence.

It’s Adam’s birthday, and Ava and Dave manage to surprise him with a picnic. It’s nice and sweet, they brought a blanket, some wine and snacks and even a birthday cake that spells “Hapy Birtday, Adam” since Dave had been tasked with the writing. “You could have told us you’re dyslexic!”, Ava laughs when they reveal the cake.

They’ve invited some more people from their classes and their circle of friends, their dorm neighbours, and Other Adam’s girlfriend, too. It’s nice, and Adam has a bit of a hard time believing that all those people are there to celebrate with him. They even give him gifts, and it’s really sweet.

Adam is busy unpacking Ava’s gift, a marroon sweater she made herself, when someone casts a shadow over him from behind.

“Hey, Nerdboy.”

Adam startles at the familiar voice, and turns around, squinting upwards. Ronan Lynch stands behind him, hands in his pockets, smirk on his face.

“Um, excuse-”, Ava starts, obviously ready to defend her friend, but before she can go on, Adam is on his feet and throws his arms around Ronan. He doesn’t care that everyone’s watching them now. Ronan wraps his arms around Adam, too, and holds him so tightly, so perfectly, wonderfully tightly. Adam inhales his familiar scent, motor oil and hay and Ronan.

“Happy birthday. I wanted to see you.”, Ronan mumbles into his ear, and Adam thinks he can’t ever let go of him now.

“Ronan...”, he says, and notices that his voice is rough around the edges.

They finally break apart, and Adam, cheeks heated up, turns around to face his friends. “So... guys, this is Ronan.”

They all stare. Ronan’s hand tightens possessively on the back of Adam’s belt.

“That’s Ronan?!”, Ava’s mouth hangs open. “I thought he was a farmer!”

Dave blinks rapidly behind his glasses. “I... I thought you were older.” He addresses Ronan directly, at least, “-I mean, no offence, dude, but Adam told me you had a kid.” He shrugs.

Ronan starts grinning beside Adam. Adam starts grinning, too.

“A kid?!”, Other Adam asks from behind Ava, “I thought he was a race car driver!”

Now Ronan turns to Adam, smirk on his face self-assured and what other people might think of as arrogant. “I see you’ve been talking about me and my many talents.”

“Well.” Adam shrugs and pats Ronan’s chest, “How could I not?”

Ronan laughs. It’s so good to hear him laugh, especially with strangers around. It’s so good to see him at ease like this now, this new Ronan, who doesn’t hate as much as he used to.

They sit back down, and Ronan gets some of the birthday cake.

“Before I forget, the brat wants me to give you this.” Ronan reaches into his leather jacket and produces a framed crayon drawing. It’s a replica of their ‘family photo’ that Adam has in his room.

“Wow, it’s a masterpiece.”, Adam jokes, but his heart warms up as he looks at the framed drawing. A little heart hovers over their heads, and next to them, Opal’s kid-scribbles read “Kerah + Adam + Opal + Chainsa W”. The W is written in Ronan’s handwriting and black marker, obviously added as a correction later.

“Tell her thank you.”, Adam says, and his voice is soft and it’s cheesy.

“Will do.”, Ronan replies and then stuffs his face with cake.

Adam looks at the drawing once more, then at his new friends, who all smile at him broadly.

His new friends, and his old family. He thinks he can get used to that.

#pynch #the raven cycle #raven cycle #ronan lynch #adam parrish #fluff #pynch fluff #opal #orphan girl #chainsaw the raven #kerah #cute #sfw #adam goes to college #maggie stiefvater #trc fic #trc fanfic #mywriting

735 notes · View notes

anhed-nia · 7 years

Text

BLOGTOBER TAILGATE PARTY PT 2 - 9/30/17: MY FRIEND DAHMER

Derf Backderf’s high school memoir about growing up alongside a neglected boy who would become one of the world’s most notorious murders is a landmark achievement in artistic acts of atonement. The indie comics creator, who I had previously dismissed as a standard sort of ‘90s free paper stalwart, produced something of such astonishing depth and sincerity with this book that I would never again think of him in that same dreary way. Let this piece of writing stand for my own act of atonement in being so wrong about artist--even if it arrives in the dubious guise of an angry rejection of Marc Meyers’ unworthy adaptation, if you can call it that, of My Friend Dahmer.

It is possibly a delusion symptomatic of my enthusiasm for Derf’s book, that I feel I’ve rarely seen something so richly incorrect as Marc Meyers’ movie. Just like the graphic novel proves about Dahmer himself, the problems begin early, and not at all subtly. The title card is chased quickly by a sort of byline, claiming that the film is “Based on a True Story”. As the rest of the film attests, this is a highly dangerous assertion. First of all, the “My” in the book’s title refers to Derf himself, and the “Friend” is meant to be ironic, according to his confession that he was among the many peers and adults who could have and should have, but did not recognize Jeffrey Dahmer as a young man in dire need of help. The book’s contents present the facts as Derf lived them, in conjunction with bitterly sympathetic suppositions about Dahmer’s personal life, derived from post-prosecution reportage. So, a film based on My Friend Dahmer should be a film about the community that responded so inappropriately, or not at all, to the challenges presented by a traumatized young alcoholic whose downward spiral led to a criminal career the likes of which the world had never seen. Meyers’ adaptation, on the other hand, is scarcely about Derf or his gang of insensitive pranksters, or anyone else in Dahmer’s culpable periphery. It is about Dahmer in a plain and simple made for TV fashion--or it might be, if it weren’t peppered with broad, frankly fake characters and events that help the director shoehorn the skeleton of Derf’s book into an unnecessary Hollywood drama that seems designed to be more digestible to a lowest common denominator audience. Artistic license is all well and good when you’re telling, say, a thinly-veiled account of a true story for your own mythological purposes. However, when you’re talking about a real person, a really famous person, whose crimes occurred within living memory, and whose kin still live alongside those whose lives he destroyed; when you shoot your movie not only in that person’s home town but in his actual childhood home; when none of the names have been changed to protect the innocent...and still you invent straw characters and events just to make a buck on your more shallow version of things, how do you find the nerve to claim that your film is based on a true story? Whose story do you even mean?

The Q&A with Meyers at the end of this Fantastic Fest screening did nothing to ease my mind.

Disney alum Ross Lynch provides one of the film’s only bright lights as Jeffrey, hurtling toward high school graduation while his interior life is deteriorating unstoppably. In a futile bid to escape the brutality of his parents’ imploding marriage, the lonesome teenage Dahmer distracts himself with a little amateur bodybuilding, dissection of roadkill, and furtive spying on a beefy jogger who regularly passes his shady family home in the woods. It seems like the young man has a shot at normality when Derf & co. respond positively to his self-effacing clowning, but this shallow reward is no match for his classmates’ homophobia, the school’s collective failure to respond to his burgeoning alcoholism and substance abuse, and his inability to create any real intimacy within or without his dysfunctional family.

Where Derf’s telling is painfully plausible when he is only speculating on Dahmer’s private existence, Meyers seems unable to trust even the known facts--though he places too much faith in his cast. Dallas Roberts does his damnedest as Jeffrey’s desperate, disconnected father, to not enough effect in his brief, disjointed scenes. (And truly, almost every scene is disjointed and too brief, due to some strange editorial choices) Anne Heche, as his wife Joyce, does little to give the proceedings depth with her typical display of frantic dithering, which evidences no directorial interference whatsoever. (The director’s claim that she is “unpredictable” and “different in every scene” is corroborated nowhere on the screen) No one else stands out in the positive or the negative other than Lynch, who one can only assume is acting under his own power; when asked by an audience member how he cast Dahmer, Meyers simply responded that he focused on kids who resembled Dahmer facially, but who also...drumroll please...can you guess the other most important characteristic?...could be about as tall as Dahmer. Their being “talented” entered the conversation as a sort of footnote, without any further discussion of what sort of presence or attitude the star should carry.

Whatever energy the director could have devoted to coaching his cast seems to have gone instead into padding the raw facts of Derf’s account with insulting inventions designed to beat the main points to death. Maybe that’s just a crutch you need if, like Meyers, you are unable to translate the novel’s devastating evocation of the Dahmer home’s oppressive atmosphere, and you must instead fill in that glaring blank with impressions of your own parents’ comparatively ordinary divorce. Maybe you feel like your depiction of Dahmer lusting after the jogger, and his alienation from women, do not prove out the young murderer’s well-known homosexuality--so you force feed your audience a chipmunk-cheeked little fellow who bafflingly shouts out the details of an upcoming date with Dahmer at the very moment when bullies are about to gay bash him into a pulp. Maybe you feel like Dahmer’s sweaty admiration of the jogger, who he stalks with a baseball bat since this person very nearly became Dahmer’s first rape-murder, isn’t a potent enough detail--so you expand this historical figure into a well-liked small town doctor to whom Dahmer goes for a would-be erotic checkup. You can make Dahmer pointedly ask whether the guy does surgery, and then you can make the medical professional implausibly sneer “I’m not the type of person who wants to cut someone open,” just before he scoffs disgustedly at his patient for (presumably) getting an erection.

Most startling of all of Meyers’ inventions is the person of Figg, a deranged bully-cum-drug dealer. Derf’s brief recollection of this person is as a sort of ridiculous but potentially dangerous hulk who was, unfortunately, not ashamed to be seen with Dahmer. In Meyers’ film, he takes up a strange amount of screen time for reasons that only became clear at the Q&A. Within the film, this disturbed individual provides Dahmer with weed, which is all well and good, but he also scares everyone with freaky nazi jokes, cuts himself and drinks his own blood like the TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE hitchhiker, and scares the shit out of Dahmer by inviting him to play russian roulette in the woods. What this is supposed to help narratively is impossible to determine. However, Meyers stressed that Figg is played by Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins’ son Miles, and makes it abundantly clear that he happily went to great lengths to shoehorn the young man into the film. Evidently he was meant to be driving a car in some important scenes, though it was revealed that the New York-based actor does not drive. When this came up, the filmmakers wracked their brains to figure out how to keep him in the picture, only to come up with this peculiar DEER HUNTER riff. Meyers’ invitation for the audience to imagine a room full of producers puzzling over this problem, and then collectively cheering “THE DEER HUNTER!”, was not one that I could accept.

Another, in some ways more bizarre fib is committed in the context of one of the book’s most interesting recollections--the time that Jeffrey Dahmer, showing an amazing amount of pluck, weaseled himself and his friends into the office of Walter Mondale during a class field trip. The flow of this anecdote is interrupted to introduce a fantasy about Dahmer having to share a hotel room with a black varsity football player. I’d like to say here that Meyers insisted that he did absolutely no research outside of reading Derf’s novel--a dubious decision when your movie is about the real life of a real person, and when it so fails what the comic is about. To be fair, or something, Meyers said a number of troubling things about his process: That he “was just trying to make a movie set in the 70s”, that he just wanted it to be about a sort of average kid and not Dahmer the killer-to-be, that he “is not one to put any psychology on [Dahmer]”. That’s a mouthful of insistence on normality and digression and artistic license for someone whose only qualification for casting his star is that he looked just like Jeffrey Dahmer. In any case, one of the things that Meyers does to underline Dahmer’s factual homosexuality is to place him in this room with a young black athlete. In the film, Dahmer immediately begins making out-loud observations about the skin tone of different parts of the young man’s body, and asking questions about whether his entrails might be the same color as Dahmer’s. Now, anyone who knows a little bit about Dahmer knows that he almost exclusively killed athletic men of color--not so much the kinds of babyfaced white boys who are occasionally foisted upon Dahmer by Meyers. So, it’s unclear to me whether this choice is simply a bizarre accident, or an especially glib, distasteful way for Meyers to engage with his actual subject matter. In any case, it’s interruptive, uncomfortable, and difficult to understand. (For more on the grave subject of Dahmer’s impact on the poor black community in which he lived as an adult, please view the surprisingly excellent documentary THE JEFFREY DAHMER FILES)

While most of this sort of artifice seems aimed at forcing the Dahmer story to be more obvious and traditional, some of it is just unforgivable under any excuse. The film contains a sole scene that approaches something moving and truthful, in which a recently-graduated Derf happens upon Dahmer sauntering along the side of the road at night. In truth, this happened to another member of Derf’s coterie, but no matter. Derf hesitantly picks up the young man who he helped to embarrass and manipulate during their high school career, and drives him home. There they have a tense, earnestly sad exchange in the driveway, to the degree that any teenage boys are capable of having a direct conversation...and then it all goes down hill. In the film, Derf nervously joins Dahmer inside the latter’s empty house, only to back out at the last minute--AND RIGHTLY SO, BECAUSE DAHMER IS COMING AFTER HIM WITH A MURDER WEAPON! This choice is beyond despicable, as if there could be any good reason to accuse a dead man with living family of a murder that was never at risk of taking place. But, it’s also stranger than that: In Derf’s novel, it is revealed that while the friend passed a final innocent moment with Dahmer in the driveway, the fresh corpse of Dahmer’s first victim was certainly sitting either in Dahmer’s own car, or in the drainage ditch close by. Why would anyone sacrifice this powerful real life detail in favor of a cheap slasher movie scare that twists an already disturbing horror story in an unnecessary direction? I wish I had thought of this at the Q&A, but I was too busy fantasizing about asking Meyers why none of the living, suffering Dahmer family appeared in his copious list of acknowledgments at the end of the credits.

Last night I had no shortage of complaints to make, such that I could hardly sleep imagining insults to hurl. Now, I think I’ve finally emptied myself of all of the important ones. Meyer’s film is a mess, but please don’t let it prevent you from reading Derf’s moving and truthful novel, in which there is at least a payoff for all of the pain.

#derf backderf #my friend dahmer #marc meyers #ross lynch #adaptation #graphic novel #jeffrey dahmer #true crime #memoir #serial killer #blogtober

117 notes · View notes

wherewindysurgeswend · 3 years

Text

deep heart��s core: chapter five

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

taglist (please dm, send an ask or leave a comment if you’d like to be added or removed): @tunes-on-a-typewriter @rememberedkisses

Margaret couldn’t stay mad at Larry forever, so she stopped trying after a few hours. Kathleen had also more or less given up on her dislike of Margaret, rationalizing that since Margaret had stood up for her, she couldn’t be all bad. After much coaxing, Anna had finally managed to get someone — in this case, Larry, with multiple interjections and corrections from Margaret — to explain what had happened. When the story was over, she looked at the three of them in bemused silence. “But why in the world would you think that was a good idea?” she finally said after a long moment. Kathleen shrugged.

“It seemed like it might be fun. And besides, now I know my theory works.” Anna was tempted to say something disapproving, but she kept herself in check. Larry looked at his watch. “Well,” he said, “it’s nearly lunchtime. Shall we go?” He gestured to Margaret to follow him and the two walked off towards the first-class dining hall. Anna and Kathleen headed to the second class dining hall.

The dining hall was crowded and noisy. Anna and Kathleen found their way to their usual table, narrowly avoiding colliding with a busboy, and sat down next to Kathleen’s parents. ‘Hello girls,” said Florence, “Have a nice morning?” Anna and Kathleen looked at each other. “Yes,” said Anna, as convincingly as possible, “Not very eventful.” she could see Kathleen stifling a giggle.

The waiter put a bowl of vegetable soup and two saltine crackers in front of Anna. She was adding salt and pepper to the soup when she heard what sounded like an argument happening at the entrance of the dining hall. One of the voices sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. She turned her head to see what was going on. “Larry?” she said aloud when she saw who was there. Kathleen, who had been talking about politics with her father and carefully taking all the carrots out of her soup (she hated carrots) looked up and saw her friend. She called his name loudly enough for him to hear and then, when he was looking at her, motioned for him to come join them. Joseph and Florence Lynch, who hadn’t met Larry, looked at each in confusion. Larry said something Anna couldn’t quite hear to the man he was arguing with. Whatever he had said seemed to win him the argument, and he hurried over to the table. Up close, Anna noticed that he seemed to be out of breath, like he’d been running. He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and waved it in Kathleen’s face. “Do you see this?” he asked, “It’s a disaster! What the hell are we going to do?”

“Of course I don’t see it, Einstein,” said Kathleen, “You keep waving it around, and besides, I don’t have my glasses on. Give me that.” she grabbed the piece of paper, put on her glasses, and read it. Anna saw her eyes widen in disbelief. “No!” she said incredulously to Larry when she was finished. Larry nodded sadly.

“Yes,” he said resignedly.

“But I thought your uncle said —”

“He was wrong.”

“But what are we going to —”

“What can we do?”

“Surely there’s something!” Larry shook his head. Joseph Lynch, who had been looking on in complete confusion, finally spoke up. “For heaven’s sake, will someone just tell me what’s going on? And who in the world is this?” he gestured vaguely toward Larry.

“Lawrence Sterling Kittredge, Jr. at your service, sir,” said Larry, holding out his hand for him to shake. Joseph eyed him suspiciously then turned back to his daughter. “What the hell is going on, Kath?”

While Kathleen was recounting the whole story to her parents, Larry turned to Anna. “Evening, Miss Byrne,” he said.

“Anna. And it’s half past noon.”

“I know. I just thought ‘evening’ had more charm to it.” Anna couldn’t help laughing.

“Fair enough. So, what’s going on?” “This,” he said, handing the piece of paper to Anna, who read it. It was a telegram addressed to Larry’s uncle and signed Margaret Sterling Kittredge. At first this puzzled Anna: why would Margaret be sending telegrams to her father, who was on the same boat as her? And if she did, why would it be cause for such alarm? But she quickly realized that this was from the other Margaret Kittredge: the much-feared matriarch. But it was the content of the telegram, not its author, that made Anna understand what the commotion was about. “She’s meeting you in Paris?” she asked Larry. Larry nodded.

“Yes. I guess it stupid to think she would just let it go. She never misses an opportunity to make me squirm.” He said the last part with a bitterness that surprised Anna.

“This is bad, isn’t it? I mean, she’ll want to meet Kathleen. How’s that going to go?” Larry shrugged. “Guess so. Not much we can do about it now. I suppose if anyone can charm my grandmother it’s Kathleen.” Anna had to admit that part was true. People just liked Kathleen. Still, from what she had heard about Larry’s grandmother, she wouldn’t want her friend to have to confront her. “But… What are you going to tell her? Admit you lied?” Larry laughed, but he didn’t seem happy. “Are you kidding? She’ll eat me alive — eat both of us alive. No, I suppose we’ll just have to keep up the charade a little longer — just long enough for Kath to convince her she’s not going to blackmail anyone, and —”

“Blackmail?” said Kathleen, who had happened to catch a word of what Larry had said, from across the table, “Who are you blackmailing? Can I come?”

“What was that you said about Kath convincing your grandmother she wasn’t going to blackmail anyone, Larry?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t blackmail Larry’s grandmother. I thought maybe you had dirt on some awful person and I wanted to help you extort them.”

“You’re really not helping your case, Kath.”

“Case? Who’s got a case? I just like helping my friends, is all.”

“That’s our Kath,” said Larry drily, “always ready with a helping hand.”

“I’ll have you know, Lawrence, that I am a kind and generous person and I did not come here to have aspersions cast on my character in such a way as this,” said Kathleen in mock offense.

“I suppose you didn’t, since you came here to have lunch,” Larry shot back. Kathleen rolled her eyes at him. “If you must make jokes, Larry, at least make good ones.”

“Who says my jokes aren’t good? Anna’s laughing, isn’t she?”

“Anna laughed for four solid minutes an hour ago when Margaret mispronounced ‘picturesque’ as ‘picture-askew.’ I don’t think Anna laughing at something proves it’s funny.” Anna crumpled up a paper napkin and tossed it at Kathleen. “If you don’t want me implying you would blackmail people then you shouldn’t imply I don’t know what is and isn’t funny.”

“Luke 6:22: ‘Blessed are you when men hate you, and ostracize you, and insult you, and scorn your name as evil, for the sake of the Son of Man. Be glad in that day and leap for joy, for behold, your reward is great in heaven. For in the same way their fathers used to treat the prophets.’”

“I’m Jewish, Kath. Just tell me I’m afraid of the truth like a normal person instead of quoting scripture at me like some kind of deranged evangelist.”

“Fine. You’re afraid of the truth.”

“No, I’m not, but I appreciate the effort. Larry’s joke was funny, end of discussion.”

“I must say, Annabelle —”

“Not my name.”

“That’s irrelevant. I thought we were friends, but now I find you have betrayed me. Oh, cruel fate!”

“My apologies. Anyway, I should be going now. I have to finish that letter to my mother. Good luck with… well, whatever this is.” She got up and left.

“Does Margaret know?” Kathleen asked Larry.

“I don’t know. I suppose her father will have told her.”

“She’s never going to let you live this down, is she?”

“Margaret has never let me live anything down in my life. If you hang around her long enough you’ll know about every humiliating thing I’ve ever done.”

#here we go! chapter five :)#deep heart's core #writeblr #my writing #i'll be seeing queue

3 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

mareina

mareina's dreams

unwepa

I am not having fun

flrboyd

fabulousdarlings

The Seat Of My Soul.

koreancrybaby

idk