#blue outside the mall/yellow inside the mall

[chirpsythismorning]

When Blue Meets Yellow In the West: A Series Long Theory - Part 3

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6,

#stranger things #byler #byler analysis #blue and yellow meet in the west #when blue meets yellow in the west #gategate #??? #*creates blue and yellow electricity in attempts to open the gate* #*is unsuccessful* #'you have one year' #mike:... yes sir #*one year later* #'just a little more time is all we're asking for--just a little more time to open closing doors' #blue outside the mall/yellow inside the mall #*mike leads the way to scoops ahoy* (blue and yellow logo/sign) #*mike dings to bell profusely needing robin's assistance* #*mike leads the way through a series of doors before checking to make sure the coast is clear one last time* #skittles? aka taste the rainbow followed by shot of mike and will #will --> you open up the door (gate) #mike: *staring at will holding dustin's forever clock with heart eyes* *nvm back to pretending this is boring bc my gf is uninterested* #Jim NOT ON MY WATCH Hopper intervenes #the week is long #the silver cat feeds #..... #the gate is opening... #and mike is relieved #but he's also terrified.

[stevebabey]

not if it’s you.

word count: 7k summary: After the events at Starcourt Mall, you have a hard time convincing Steve that he’s allowed to be not okay. You want to take care of him. And if you harbour some more-than-friends feelings at the same time? Well, that’s nobody’s business but yours. [angst + hurt/comfort + friends to lovers]

You’re bone-deep tired.

The red and blue lights of the ambulance feel branded onto the inside of your eyelids, there even when your tired eyes slide shut. The cool metal on the ambulance door soothes your forehead and for a moment, head tilted against it, you could honestly just sleep even with all the noise.

It’s been a hell of a night.

You blink. You need to keep yourself awake, you’re not home yet. Gazing blankly across the crowded parking lot, reporters and townspeople milling between the yellow police tape, you can feel your brain begin to try to grapple with all the events of the night.

It’s like some warped horror flick of memories, parts of the film blacked out that you can’t quite recall. The elevator, the Russians, and some god-awful melted monster of people — even in your mind the image makes you shudder.

The longer you think about it, the more it feels like the stress is fusing with your bones, attaching itself to every cell in your body. It makes you shake, a forceful twitch of your head to put all the thoughts to rest.

Process it later. Make sure you can stay stitched together physically tonight. You must look a tad loony from the outside, twitching and shaking, but considering your night it’s more than warranted.

The gash on your arm is the worst of your injuries. A jagged stretch of torn skin that was gifted by one of the Russian soldiers who had hoped it would loosen your tongue. And when that didn’t work, the pliers nearly had — you would’ve told them anything when they took them out and lined it up with one of your fingernails.

But Steve then had done something stupid — kicked to get a guard’s attention since his yelling obviously hadn’t made a difference, let one of them lean down real close, and then headbutted him with all his might.

Relief had shocked your system, some broken cry as you slumped over when the pliers moved away. Fingers saved, if only briefly.

It had all turned to dread when they had lugged him out of his chair, preparing for round two of questioning. You had felt it then, a twisted gurgle of emotion lurched up your throat — violent enough it might have made you sick if you had managed to open your mouth. You hadn’t. There was a chance you would’ve said something worse, some jumble of feelings that wouldn’t have helped.

So, you had bit your tongue. Tasted blood and pretended that closing your eyes meant you couldn’t hear Steve pleading in the room over.

He hasn’t said much since the two of you had been sat in the back of the ambulance, gloved hands of the paramedics roaming over skin to find and treat injuries. There’s just one guy left now, still hovering around Steve with a flashlight and treating him with much less care than you’d like.

Steve looks as tired as you feel and when he can’t focus enough to look ahead, the paramedic prods his cheek unkindly. Steve winces.

“Hey,” you snip, cutting into the interaction. “Are you done? Can we go home?”

The paramedic turns the flashlight on you, blinding you for a moment. It confirms your asshole hypothesis of his character and you cringe at the brightness. It’s gone in the next moment, finally clicked off. He observes you both for another moment before an annoyed drawl comes out.

“Yeah, scram. But first you,” He jabs a finger at Steve who blinks but doesn’t react. “Lots of rest. No big brain work, no alcohol, and don’t run any marathons or anything.”

Steve nods, then grimaces at the pain the movement causes. You can’t help the wrinkle in your brow as you watch - you startle a bit when the paramedic turns his pointed finger on you.

“And you. His pupils are still dilated so keep an eye for seizure symptoms. Wake him every couple of hours and get a CT scan tomorrow.”

Some part of you is perturbed that he’s put you in charge of taking care of Steve. Another part gleans and blushes because you’d accepted the task the moment he’d asked, without question.

“Tomorrow?” You ask hotly, at the same time Steve says, “I’ll be fine on my own.”

The paramedic shakes his head, tsking as if you’re bothersome school-children not patients, and steps back with his hands raised. “Figure it out, I don’t care. I’ve got a dozen other people to check over.”

He winds around the door of the ambulance and leaves the both of you alone. A cool wind skirts through the parking lot, ruffling your hair. A sigh wrestles out your chest, a pathetic attempt to alleviate the tightness in your chest.

You don’t think you’ve ever hated the colours blue and red more than right now. The blazing colours atop police cars that flood the parking lot, the colours of Steve’s Scoops uniform, the colour of blood seeping into your pale blue shirt.

If you squint, you can see your own car parked alongside Steve’s in the distance — it feels like a lifetime ago when you had driven in and parked up. Your keys are lost down, down below you, taken in the interrogation. You stand to shake off that train of thought. 

You turn back and offer your hand out to Steve. After all the blows he’s taken tonight, you desperately want to offer him kindness. Offer him a touch that doesn’t hurt, doesn’t make him flinch or wince. Steve stares at your hand for a long moment, eyes contemplating — and then puts his in yours.

He lets you pull him to his feet.

One of the police cruisers takes you to Loch Nora, Steve and you tucked away in the backseat. His hand is still in yours, barely holding it in his tiredness; when the car rounds a corner though, you can feel his fingers clench tighter so your hand doesn’t slip away.

They detach eventually when the wheels roll up on the curb outside Steve’s house, late in the night. Like the rest of the sleeping houses, the lights are all off. There are no cars in the driveway. The loneliness of it yawns out down the drive, like visible smoke plumes that escape every window.

Steve somehow looks tenser at seeing it; he still forces himself out of the car, bloody sneakers scraping against the gravel. You follow. It aches to move too much, even just shuffling out of the car feels like moving a mountain. The door clips closed quietly behind you. You hear the engine fade back down the road.

Steve is still stuck in place — you have a feeling he’s not looking at the house at all but stuck in thought, looking through the timber and paint and seeing all the horrors of the night. You step up beside him and gingerly reattach your hands.

It seems to surprise him, jumping ever so slightly at the touch and turning to look at you. “I didn’t...”

I didn’t think you’d stay. The sentence dies in his throat, a little embarrassed by how relieved he is that you’ve stayed with him - so much it shows in the quiver in his voice. Steve doesn’t finish it because then you’ll hear the other part of the sentence, even without him saying it. No one stays.

“C’mon,” you urge him to walk with you, beginning to drift up the driveway.

There’s no rush, you’ll wait as long as he needs to before moving, but it’s colder out tonight. Maybe it just feels that way with all your tiredness, the frostiness nipping at your skin. All your energy is focused on staying on your feet, on helping Steve. There’s none left to keep you warm.

He ambles after you like walking is an afterthought and following you is the priority. His sneakers drag, soft scraping noises with every step. You can feel his gaze burning into the back of your head, his fingers squeezing as if he’s checking you’re really still here with him.

The front door is unlocked and it’s only when it snicks shut behind you, do you wonder if you’ve overstepped. It’s awkward, but only a bit. You’ve been in Steve’s house before — though, who hadn’t with all his parties in sophomore year?

But not quite like this. Not just the two of you, and never holding his hand.

The events that had transpired last fall in Hawkins had thrown Steve into your life, along with a dizzying revelation of new dimensions and an unsettling truth about monsters that came right out of your nightmares.

Though, maybe it made more sense to say you were thrown into Steve’s life. You had always known of him - he couldn’t say the same about you.

Like the hoards, freshmen you had not been immune to the boyishly good looks and charismatic nature of Steve Harrington. Once upon a time, before someone called him King Steve and it stuck, there had been a crush.

But like red wine on white linen, with time — and plenty of distance — it had faded.

Not even the adventure that bound you two together, the tunnels that snaked beneath Hawkins and your shaky hands lugging him into the car, had been enough to reignite old affections. Not his insistence on you leaving the tunnels first, not even the way he clutched you when you all made it out. Not unscathed, but alive.

Pitifully, it had been his shoddy attempts at flirting in his ridiculous sailor uniform to kick-start your heart back up.

You had sighed, chin in hand, and leaned into the foolish feelings — because going crazy over a boy felt the most normal thing you could do. And after demodogs and slithering vines kept creeping from the past into your slumbers, normal was all you wanted.

But Steve needed you as a friend, more so considering his fallout with Tommy H and Carol had become permanent. He flirted with customers, every girl you’d recognised from your year, but never you.

It felt a good enough reason to bite your tongue. Keep him close, but never as close as you’d like.

But now you’ve done it again — been pulled along on another adventure that’s brimming with terrors that will take years to forget.

Everything feels worse this time round, a decay that ebbs away your hope. It’s somehow harder to heal from wounds that come from evil, but not the supernatural. It’s all the heavier when the boy who holds your heart made himself a punching bag so you didn’t get hurt. 

The warmth of his hand, squeezing for only a moment, brings you back to the present. To now, still standing in the entryway to Steve’s house. You blink, coming back to yourself, and turn back to him. There’s a crinkle between his brow, and worry washed across his features.

“Are you okay?” He asks it tentatively like he’s afraid to spook you. It sends a rush to your system, a pleasant throb in your chest. You can’t deny you like knowing he worries. That he cares.

“Yeah,” you croak out, nodding as you speak. “Do you— I mean, you don’t mind me staying, do you?” 

Suddenly, the potential embarrassment of inviting yourself in, even with the good intentions of taking care of Steve, is overwhelming. The next words tumble out without thought.

“I just, I don’t want to be alone right now.” It’s a bit hurried, tinged with nervousness. You stammer. “And I don’t want you to be alone right now.”

Something like pure affection blooms in Steve’s chest at your words, the heat of it stealing his breath and pain for just a moment. It’s a different sort of ache in between his ribs, something white-hot and pure.

He hadn’t been able to voice his relief when you’d gotten out of the car and stayed with him — and it fails him now at your admittance.

You don’t want to be alone. You don’t want him to be alone.

Steve doesn’t think he’s deserving of your good will, nor the kindness in every touch. He can’t help how he consumes it greedily, drinks in the touches like he knows it’ll be taken from him soon enough. His eyes stay fixed on you.

There’s something so alluring about your silhouette, the golden street light let in through slits in the door. It halos you, soft amber that softens every curve. You’re enchanting, even when bloodied.

Steve’s not sure his heart has felt like this before — so molten hot, valves working overtime, ribbons of affection tied tight across his chest. He’s sure they’ll leave scorch marks, testimonies to his bleeding heart that pulses with each beat for you, for you, for you.

Because you’re still here and something in his trodden on heart perks up before he remembers to crush it. It’s not that Steve has never thought of you as more — god, the mere thought of you as more to him.

More than a friend, more than this, it’s enough to make his head spin. To make his hands shake and return a nervousness to his system he hasn’t felt since sophomore year when he first laid eyes on Nancy Wheeler.

But you’re not Nancy. In the best way, that makes all the difference,

You were some breath of fresh air, bursting into his life in all the middle of his estranged drawn out break-up with Nancy — brash in all the right ways, kind when he needed, and far too soft to be tangled up in any of this mess.

You’re still too soft for it now, and it shows in the jagged cut torn into the fabric of your skin — it doesn’t matter how it happened, Steve still feels like it’s his fault. It’ll scar, red puckered skin that twists down the expanse of your shoulder. A living reminder of the night burned into you to carry forever.  

It hurts Steve maybe more than he’s warranted to. You’re both just friends.

But when Steve thinks of how he’s accidentally pulled you too close, put you first in the heart, it aches evermore.

He’s not sure when you went from barely a friend to this — you’re a crush, an Achilles heel, the unattainable from the moment he met you, the moment he knew you. Steve feels like he’s been building himself towards you, pushing his growth to aim for anywhere near enough for you. You’ve been too good for him from the start.

It doesn’t stop him from loving you.

Steve realises after a moment that he hasn’t said anything when your fingers start to slip from his. His grip tightens to keep your hand in his.

“No, I— Stay. I...” It’s a struggle to say it, too many years of suppressing any urge to ask for comfort. “I don’t want to be alone, either. Or for you to be. Stay.”

Your lips, chapped and still with a hint of blood, twitch into somewhat a smile. “Okay.”

This time it’s Steve who drags you along, both slowly moving up the stairs. Each step threatens to reopen the scabs that have only just begun to form. It’s like some micro-dose of torture, Steve thinks, hearing your winces behind him.

The fluorescence of the bathroom lights is bright enough to make your eyes fly shut. Steve’s braver, taking only a moment to pause. He ignores how the lights dance, a sickening comparison to his experience with the drugs that had barely left his system. Though it’s the last thing he wants, Steve drops your hand to begin his search.

When your eyes blink open, prepared to face the lights, you’re a bit perplexed to see Steve hunting through the linen cupboard. He produces a towel, white and fluffy.

You cringe internally at the thought of sullying the pale colour with blood but it’s but a blip in tonight’s problems. Besides, the Harrington’s could certainly afford to replace it.

“Here.” Steve murmurs. You both seem to have agreed to keep softly spoken for the night.

He presses the cotton into your hands as he walks, ready to shoulder out and take care of himself. There was an en-suite in his own room — and sure, it would hurt like hell rinsing his wounds but he’d done it last year. Blasted the heat so he was wincing at the burn atop his skin and not the ache underneath it. 

“Steve?” You question, turning and halting his feet. He pauses, confused by the questioning expression on your face. He gestures to the shower, hiding how the movement makes his ribs sting painfully.

“You can shower here and- and the guest room’s all made up.” The words trip a bit on the way out, weakness beginning to weigh on his voice.

Somehow being back home crumbles his walls sooner than he’d like. Tonight has been heavy, a burden that lies thick on his shoulders and creeps down, taking root in his muscles.

But Steve will do what he had done last year; take the punches, burn them off in the heat of the shower — hot enough that he can’t feel any tears — and then deal with it.

“No, s’not that.” You shake your head, a strand of hair coming loose. “I... What about you?”

What about all the blood? The bruises and cuts? You’d seen the scars littered on the skin of his face from Billy, cuts that had healed wrong and left marred skin. Wounds left uncared for, only healed with time.

The question only begs more confusion from Steve. He gestures to somewhere behind him as he says, “There’s another shower, don’t worry.”

He pulls a smile to ease you. It wobbles at the ends of his mouth. Something claws into your heart, a profound heartache at the thought it doesn’t even occur to Steve to take care of himself.

“Steve,” you begin, beginning to get a sense of the wall you’re encountering.

Steve Harrington has some very thick defenses and not without good reason; they’ve got him through some treacherous times. Even now, he uses it like a crutch, a seal to hide away horrid memories. Ignored in favour of temporary strength. 

You don’t need his display of strength — you’re not one of the kids that needs to be shielded from the reality that even Steve has a breaking point — certainly not when his state is far worse than your own.

But you have a feeling he doesn’t know how to switch it off. Steve doesn’t seem to understand what you mean when you say you don’t want him to be alone. 

“Steve, you’re not okay.”

“I’m- I’ve done this before, alright?” He insists, eyes darting between yours, features turning stonier. You can see his defensiveness begin to curl his shoulders in. “I’m alright, I promise.”

“Are you?” You say, not unkind. “Tonight was— Steve, you were tortured.”

The effect of your words is instantaneous. Steve’s face falters, his icy expression dissolving with a shudder he can’t stop. You watch it warp him painfully, jaw clenching and eyes misty; he blinks furiously to clear them. You continue.

“You can’t just- just bounce back from that. Nobody can.” You shake your head as if it proves your point. “It doesn’t matter if you’ve done this before, this— this is a lot for anyone, even—”

“Well then, why are you still here, huh!” His words interrupt your own, tone angrier than you’re expecting. “If this is so much!”

His chest rises and falls quickly, brows draw together like it hurts to breathe so harshly. The words don’t sting, but his tone does. You reel in your hurt and focus past his anger, focus on what it really is.

A final line of defense. A ploy to make you upset or angry, to make you emotional enough to storm out and leave him to lick his wounds alone. Another way to ignore it, compartmentalize what happened instead of facing it head on.

Maybe it’s cruel of you to make him deal with it so soon. But you care, too much to pretend to ignore his pain. 

“Steve.”

“Don’t.” It wobbles, voice weak. His anger has already drained away in a moment.

“You’re not alright,” you insist, voice barely above a whisper. “C’mere.”

You don’t give him a choice, your free hand reaching out to snag his own, which hangs loose at his side.

Steve stumbles forward as you tug him back into the bathroom. Without his anger, he’s pliant and goes without protest. Your gentle fingers on his chest nudge him in the direction of the sink, the cool porcelain pressing through the back of his soiled Scoops top.

“Can you do something for me? Can you...” You bite your already bloody lip, nervousness sketched across your features.

How can you say this without giving too much away? It feels too intimate, like flying too close to the sun, well within the realm of potentially hurting your own feelings. You’ll do it for him gladly. 

“Can you just...let me take care of you?”

It hurts like a sucker punch to the gut. Like a breath has been forced out of his chest, because when was the last time someone has asked him that?

Silence stains the air.

“It won’t be pretty.” He croaks finally, still giving you an easy out. Still prepared to spare you the ugliness of his emotions.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” You respond, lips twitching. You bare your heart and half hope he sees it — sees it and knows he’s loved when you say, “Not if it’s you.”

Another beat of quiet.

“Okay.” Steve breathes, so faintly you barely hear it. Then as if you’ll rescind the offer any moment, he nods fervently.

Your smile is genuine, maybe the first in hours and something in you relaxes. He won’t fight you on this. He may have taken the beating earlier for you but, at the very least, you can do your best to patch him back up — let your hidden feelings translate into a gentleness he so very deserves.

It takes only a quick rummage beneath the sink to find a first-aid kit. It feels wildly underprepared; an afterthought purchase once upon a time that was only ever intended for scraped knees. It hasn’t ever been opened. The tear of the zipper is the only noise in the bathroom, bouncing off the tiles.

As expected, there’s not much in it. It contains a box of plasters in multiple sizes, one roll of gauze, a bottle of antiseptic, and a mixture of other pills and eye drops.

Some loose safety pins rattle around in the bottom as you take inventory. It’s not stellar and you’re no doctor, but it’ll do. It has to do.

When you finally look up, wondering where to begin on his injuries, Steve is regarding you with a look you can’t quite name.

If you were sure of yourself, you might call it awe.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re here, helping him, and it can be awfully easy to mix up feelings when you’re getting stitched up. You don’t let your hopes rise, not even for a moment.

Steve’s blood sings, ears rushing with the sound of it when you step closer. You’re so damn close. Steve can’t ignore the scent that carries with you, his brain involuntarily committing each detail of you that he can get to memory - lest he never gets you this close again.

You want to take care of him; Steve thinks this might be a dream.

Nimble fingers work to gather some cotton with antiseptic and then you’re holding it up, posed, and ready to mend.

“Can you sit up on the counter?” You ask, all sweetness. Steve obliges easily, despite the protests from his sore body that cries out as he shifts up. You smile, then warn, “This might sting.”

It’s overwhelming as you step closer, between his legs, and take the cotton to his face with a gentleness Steve hasn’t felt in years. His eyes close instinctively.

It does sting. The wince leaks out through his clenched teeth, soothed instantly by your soft apologies that pour out like honey.

For a moment, it’s easier this way; with his eyes closed, Steve can pretend this is usual. That when he gets roughed around, there’s someone to tend and clean his wounds — instead of just himself and the harsh rinse of the hot shower.

He tries and fails not to think of last year, his poor attempts to patch himself up. Hands too shaky, touch too rough.

The memory bites. The injuries of tonight somehow feel worse. A tinge of bile taints his mouth and Steve swallows it back down, concentrating on you.

You’re not quite humming but soothing noises, low and soft, come from your throat. Steve’s not even sure you know you’re doing it. His hands clench emptily as his side — the split knuckles make them hurt and when you’re this close, the itch to hold you is near unbearable.

It doesn’t take long for the first cotton pad to turn a violent shade of pink. Steve’s face looks a tad clearer than before but uncovering old blood means finding new wounds.

Your stomach burns pitifully as you take them all in. There are too many to count, a thousand different hues — broken blood vessels that run in all directions, little labyrinths under his skin.

Why does it hurt so much? Even with your bound shoulder that still sends out pain with every motion, it all dulls away when you look at Steve. Lashes fluttering, eyes still closed, marred with wounds you’re begging to ease. You know it hurts so much because you care.

Love is pain, you suppose, with only a twinge of bitterness. It’s swallowed instantly, consumed and disintegrated by the fact you get this. The boy you love, between both palms, trusting you to take care of him.

A year ago, you’d met only the steely exterior he’d put up — and thought it had simply been remnants of King Steve. Maybe Steve Harrington was as much of an asshole as half the town said.

He was all bite, glowers, and clipped answers. With time though, he’d softened like snow melting in the sun; all the parts of him trickling into your life until he was cemented by your side. 

He hadn’t even let you patch him up after the scrap with Billy that had taken him out. You hadn’t felt you could ask.

But this time...your throat grows a bit thicker at the trust that binds the pair of you. Affection rushes your system and forces a sharp inhale from your lungs. You step back.

The space makes it easier to breathe. Dials down the chances of pressing your lips against his skin — if only to give him a mark born of love. Hands searching through the first-aid kit again, you produce some painkillers and locate an arnica pill.

You give yourself one more moment; inhale and withhold the tidal wave of devotion that begs to spill from within you.

“Take these, please.” You say quietly, uncurling one of his fists to press the pills into. He swallows them dry.

You prep more cotton and begin again with the gentle touches, coaxing off dried blood. This time, Steve’s eyes stay open. He watches you, an unreadable emotion in his eyes.

You work away the blood from a cut above his eyebrow and when it’s clean, your thumb follows. You caress along the broken skin as if you could meld it back together with pure will.

Steve’s chest grows tight. Something about you being here, taking care of him makes the night’s memories all too present. Nausea sways in his gut. It’s impossible to shove them to the back, to press them down, when it feels like each cut is being reopened. Cleansed with a douse of love.

You’re altering the history of each wound but to do so, he has to recall how each of them was carved into his skin. It hurts. Why are you still here?

Steve’s head pulls back unexpectedly, eyes shuttering closed in a scrunched expression. You startle a bit.

“Shit, I’m sorry — too harsh?”

He makes a strained noise, effectively gutting you with it. If you weren’t so close — an inch further and you could press your forehead to his — you wouldn’t hear it. Hear the tiny whisper that scratches out the word, “Why?”

“What?” You whisper. You don’t understand.

“Why...Why are you...?” He’s clearly struggling to find the words he wants. His hand reaches up, fingers brushing the bridge of his nose before he drops it again. His chin quivers. It stops your heart for a moment to realise he’s crying.

“I don’t— I don’t understand.” Steve grinds the words out, voice thick. A tear splatters, seeping into the blue of his uniform. He won’t look at you, eyes trained on the loose thread on his shorts.

“Steve?” you murmur, wary and heavy with concern. This is— you don’t know what this is.

“I don’t understand.” He repeats, shaking his head slightly. He seems to choke on the next words. “You’re still here. Why are you...? Everybody...”

He trails off, some whimper of sorts forcing its way out his throat. You’re stuck, absorbing each of his words and putting together the pattern that Steve can’t seem to voice. I don’t understand. You’re still here. Why are you...? Everybody... Everybody leaves. 

Oh.

Rich King Steve who’s got it all. The house, the car, and any girl he fancies, all of them fawning for a look from him at one of his legendary parties.

His lack of parental supervision had been lusted over in high school, furious whispers of envy over the fact he could get away with parties every weekend. That booze went missing and he never seemed to catch any shit for it. It occurs to you now that nobody was around to notice.

The absence in his life is vast and suddenly blindingly obvious — a chasm in his chest that is bleeding all his secrets to you.

Steve Harrington is lonely.

When you surge forward, injuries be damned, and your arms loop around his neck, there’s a moment of stillness. You can feel the tension in his muscles, hear his ragged inhale, and then— he sags into you, finally, finally letting himself lean on someone else.

His arms wind around your middle in a desperate motion, tugging you closer and the fabric of your shirt clenches between his fingers. His face buries in your neck and hot wet tears soak the collar of your shirt. You can hear his raspy noises, soft cries as he clings to you like a lifeline.

“Why did this happen to me?”

It fucking hurts to hear. You don’t know how to tell him there’s no why — that there is no reason that can justify why he’s gone through this much suffering. Just the bitter fact that, sometimes, bad things happen to good people.

“Steve,” you feel like you’re saying his name an awful lot tonight. You say it because you can’t begin to think of how to answer his heartbreaking question. “I—“

“I-I used to think,” The words are muffled into your neck. His grip on you is nearly tight enough to hurt but you don’t dare relent any space. His voice is barely above a whisper, just loud enough to hear. “That- that it was like karma, yanno?”

“Steve, no,” you whisper, horrified. If he hears you, he doesn’t show. 

“B-Because that first time,” He’s stuck on some belittling ramble about himself, continuing between his sniffs. “I definitely deserved it. But then I grew and I changed.”

Something twists painfully in your stomach.

“And then last year, it made sense, yeah? Billy, he was— a real piece of work.” He sniffs again, his voice a little harder at the mention of the deceased.

The tension falls away at the next sentence, voice wobbling through the thickness in his throat. “And I used to be like that, so—“

You pull back instantly, hands shifting back from around his neck. It effectively halts him, and whatever he was saying dies in his throat. Your hands move to cradle his jaw and, as lightly as you can with his injuries, you tug him from his hiding place and stare him in the face.

Steve’s eyes look bigger and browner full of tears. His nose is red, just the tip, and runs messily at the onslaught of tears. Pink splotches bloom underneath his cheeks, patchy and warm, his face etched in complete misery.

It wrecks you to see. More so to think he’s been shouldering all this alone since ‘83.

“People don’t deserve suffering, Steve.” You state it strongly enough that he can’t refute the truth, punctuating with your thumbs on either cheek, pressing light touches.

“You don’t deserve suffering. You never did.” Your voice quivers a bit, some shred of your heart shriveling pathetically at the fact you even need to tell him this. Your hands shake ever-so-slightly. A hot tear streaks down your cheek.

Steve crumbles. You don’t resist when he drops his head down, only move back in— offering a place to hide away again. You let him stay hidden away, a sanctuary in your arms, safe when he’s buried in the curve of your neck.

“And- and just ‘cause,” you say, sniffling a bit now. He holds his breath, a sharp inhale that quietens his whimpering crying. “Just ‘cause no one has stayed before doesn’t mean you don’t deserve this, Steve.”

His fingers press harsher into your back and your feet stumble a bit, pulled off balance. Adjusting your arms, you pull him tighter yet, hoping that the closeness will make all your sentiments seep in. Your shoulder aches terribly; you don’t dare move away.

“You know that, right?” You whisper, unable to stop your fingers from grazing the nape of his neck softly. “You deserve to be taken care of.”

A soft kiss to the side of his head, barely noticeable between his shakes, but it eases the strain on your heart. Time wanes and melts beneath the glow of the bathroom lights, an unending amount of tears that you suspect reach back further than just the memories of tonight.

You stay like this, holding him close. You give him all the time he needs, sweet nothings mumbled until he feels strong enough to face you— to face the world.

Eventually, Steve’s breathing slows, crying turning to trembling gasps. When he finally does retreat, you curse internally because of course, only Steve Harrington can still look devastatingly beautiful after crying.

Tears cling to his lashes, sparkling reflections. He wipes his nose on the back of his hand.

Silence ebbs. Steve gathers himself, another sniff, and wipes his nose before he lifts his head. You can see in his face the moment he’s about to apologise; the word sorry is about to come tripping out his mouth. You beat him to it.

“I’m sorry to inspire more tears,” Your voice, still quiet, aims for a comforting jest. “But I’m not quite done cleaning you up.”

You twist the cotton between your fingers to show him. Steve blinks, eyes focusing on your hand, perhaps surprised you’re still taking care of him. He forgets about his needless apologies. 

“Though, your tears did a lot of the work.” You say cheekily, a smile teasing at the edges of your lips. It makes him huff a laugh. Steve could nearly cry again; you’re so nice. He thinks about the last time cried, thinks about Tommy’s sneer, his scoffed words that told him toughen up, King Steve.

He lets you wipe them away, clear his face and patch it up as best you can. Any tension from before, the mental barb-wire defenses he had still held up to keep you out, has ebbed away. It’s softer now, easier between you two.

Trust flows from Steve in the form of his allowance, letting you fuss. It flows from you in the form of your touch, which still dances too close for just friends. You let your fingers dot the kisses across his face since you can’t.  

“You’re good at this,” Steve murmurs, breaking the silence. He allows himself the privilege of your touch, his fingers burning where they graze your sides.

Patching people up? Injuries from last year made sure you got decent practice on yourself. You’re decent, you’ll admit.

Maybe he means taking care of him. You’re proving to be very good at that. 

You want to. Somewhere rooted in feelings that sway closer to love, genuine love, is the urge to be the one who does it. The shoulder to cry on, the one who carries his woes when it gets too much — and you want him to do the same for you. Achingly, you want to take care of him; and him, you.

The thought burns so viciously through your chest, you sink your teeth into your bottom lip a bit meanly. It stings.

You don’t notice it, trying to rein in your drifting heart that sings to be closer to him, but Steve does. His fingers twitch; he wants to rescue it, pull it from your harsh grip with his thumb.

He does.

You stop moving.

His thumb is calloused, a bit rough against the supple plumpness of your bottom lip. The blood beneath it tingles, gloriously hot at the attention. Either all the air in the room has been sucked out or you’ve stopped breathing.

You’d hazard a guess it’s the second, given the stillness your body has taken on. Muscles locked, eyes frozen on his face — the only part of you that moves is your heart, thundering pumps going far too fast.

Steve’s gaze stays on his thumb on your lip. You’re desperate to find out what to call the emotion swimming in his eyes.

“Steve?” you say his name yet again, lips moving against his thumb. He blinks like a frog, one eye after the other, and drags his gaze up to your eyes.

His hand shifts, brushing across your mouth to hold the side of your jaw, cupping it sweetly. The cotton falls from your grip as Steve urges you closer with a gentle tug.

Then his eyes are back on your lips and even though it feels like slicing your own heart open to do it, you speak before he can kiss you.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, eyes crushing closed.

You want to terribly. The want for his kiss warbles from deep within you, a yawning ache. But it might just finish you off if it’s all heat of the moment — a kiss that is just some twisted thank-you because Steve isn’t used to being taken care of.

You clear your throat, swallowing heavily. “Not— not if it’s just for tonight. Not just because I stayed, please.”

There’s a pause. His shaky exhale breezes across your face. It’s possible your ears might be ringing as if straining to hear the sound of Steve’s heart— dying for a clue to what he’s feeling. You’re not brave enough to open your eyes and read it in his face.

His thumb scrapes across your bottom lip again and then— then, he kisses you, impossibly tender.

The tiny gasp that escapes you is consumed instantly, swallowed up by Steve’s kiss. He kisses gentle, touch so soft that it has you searching for more the moment you’ve got a taste of it.

You barely get a moment to lean into it, to kiss him back before Steve breaks it. He hovers close, close enough that you could steal another taste of his lips if you wanted. You want to— the ferocity of your eagerness sends a shiver along your spine. He speaks before you seize the opportunity.

“I want to.” He says, voice a bit raspy and the words inspire enough bravery to look at him, eyes creasing open. “I- I’ve wanted to for a while.”

You nearly sink in your relief, knees trembling for a moment as your hand comes up to enclose the wrist of the hand that holds your face. Thumb sweeping short strokes, you clutch the tan skin and lean into his caress.

“You mean it?” You whisper, far too excited. Your heart may as well be on your sleeve, cards once played close to your chest now splayed on the table. Your tone reveals all, spilling with hope, even as you ask whether it means the same to him as it does to you.

Yes. The word seems stuck in his throat, suddenly too thick to speak. Because it’s only three letters and that can’t possibly cover what Steve means when he says I’ve wanted to for a while.

That you’d somehow snuck into his life and intertwined among all of his heartstrings, like spun gold mixing until the whole organ felt terribly tangled in a way he’d never want to change.

Nancy had given him the thump of his head.

But you? You were the thump on his heart. Not a push for change, nor for growth — but permission to grant himself a second chance in love.

“I mean it.” He says, emotion coating each word. “Yes, god, I really mean it.”

And you let him tell you over and over again with his mouth pressed to yours, searing kisses that make your head dizzy and pulse speed.

Steve knows he’s not alright — not physically or mentally after what he’s faced tonight, not with the vice grip on his chest that had clung tightly and all the ugly parts of him had all slithered out for you to see.

He also knows that he will be alright, sometime in the far future.

When wounds have healed, when scars are beginning to fade, and the nightmares start being every couple of nights, instead of every night, then he’ll be nearly okay. It’ll take time, lots of it.

But when your gentle hands coax him to bed and you slip beneath the covers beside him, leaving a warm quick kiss upon his shoulder — Steve thinks that, maybe, that future isn’t nearly as far away as it seems.

Your hand finds his under the sheets, twisting your fingers together to act like an anchor in the inkiness of the night.

There are no nightmares that night.

—

tags below! @hawkinsindiana @harringtonbf @spideystevie​ look technically there’s no tags this is just all da bitches i’m always talking to <3

#if anyone talks to me about tenses i'll come out SWINGING #not even grammarly could help me w that <3 #hopefully HOPEFULLY this is considered in character steve #in any case i spent a wee while puzzling interactions & reactions so at least u know i tried ! #its hard to pick a relationship dynamic that would work for him being surprised ur here??? while also getting a lil confession in there #i think its cute #maybeeeee lemme know what u think? hehe #anyways steve HONEY u deserve to have someone kiss all the wounds #and let u sob in their arms and yanno i VOLUNTEER #GIVE HIM TO ME AND ILL TREAT HIM RIGHT!!! #babygirl cries in this... heartbreaking but had to happen #ruby writes #ruby writes steve #steve harrington #steve #harrington #steve x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve fic #steve harrington imagine #steve imagine #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #wahoo #i cannot help but post fics the moment they are finished #idc if its like thursday for all u fuckers #come get ur hurt/comfort nowwww

[sonicboomseason3]

oh…………. L

id text / transcript under the cut:

[ID: One screenshot of an interview from the website Mega Visions that reads the following:

"MV: Totally. Right, time to address the technicolour elephant in the room. Back to Sonic Boom; what was the internal attitude towards the series at the time? Reportedly, it was intended to be a new cornerstone of the Sonic IP, including shows, games, comics... even a proposal for a Sonic Boom-themed mall! It was a big deal, with a lot riding on it. How much did you know about the nature of the project?"

This is then followed up by four low-quality images of the aforementioned Sonic Boom-themed mall:

The first one is an outdoors photo of a two-story building that has a large sign that reads Smyths on top. Underneath the Smyths logo is the Sonic Boom logo in smaller font, along with some yellow text that reads "Team Training Zone." A render of Boom!Sonic is to the left of the sign, and the entire building has renders of the Sonic Boom main cast plastered on the windows and on banners hanging from the railings. Most significantly, in front of the building and at the forefront of the photo, there is some sort of Sonic Boom-themed inflatable arena with five giant balls, each color-coded to represent one member of Team Sonic.

The second photo is shot from inside of the building. Three golden rings and one green Chaos Emerald hang from the ceiling. Two escalators going to and from the second floor are at the center, and two fake palm trees that read "Sonic Boom Team Training Zone" are on either side of them. Both of the trees have green ropes hanging from the leaves, and there is what appears to be a child in the air between the trees and above the escalators hanging on to the green ropes from both sides. This scene is surrounded on either side by five renders of Boom!Sonic, Boom!Knuckles, Boom!Tails, Boom!Amy, and Sticks, and in the background are aisles filled with boxes upon boxes of toys. At the top of the escalators is a Sonic Boom banner.

The third photo is once again taken from outdoors showcasing the front entrance of a different building. There is a giant Smyths Toy Superstore sign on top with renders of the Sonic Boom cast surrounding it. Various people are standing outside of the sliding door entrance, and to the far right of the photo appears to be a parking space for the building.

The fourth photo is shot from the interior of the building. Three shelves are visible on the left, and one is visible on the right. All four are stocked to the brim with copies of games that are too hard to make out, though the front shelf on the left has Sonic Boom: Shattered Crystal, and the middle shelf on the left has Sonic Boom: Rise of Lyric. The floor is orange with a blue streak that resembles a river, designed to replicate the Shadow Canyons area from Shattered Crystal. The Sonic Boom logo is pasted onto the "river" area of the floor. At the forefront of the photo is a render of an old iPhone model that is taking a picture of the scene with a render of Orbot and Cubot along with it, meant to represent some photo mechanic where one can take photos of real life with the Boom characters. In the background is some sort of Sonic Boom booth with a person dressed in a Sonic mascot costume (with no bandana visible so this may surprisingly not be Boom!Sonic) giving two thumbs up to the camera.

/End ID.]

#sonic boom #sonic the hedgehog #sth #.sbs3 #edit: i privated this post for a bit to add some id text <3

[no1kupalafan]

I had this really funny dream today

So basically, I was Pink Addison as per usual, except Card Castle from chapter 1 was the mall. No, not at the mall- it was literally the mall. And for some reason, Jevil lived inside some really depressing looking shoe store.

So, Queen and I visited Jevil, and they told us that they need five sheets of paper from Seam’s shop in order to research their family tree, and after they research their family tree they can be truly free.

Queen and I left the shoe store and went down this hallway of people wearing really bad Halloween costumes of British royal guards, who would make fun of us for looking weird but then flirt with one another.

We decided to go to Queen’s car to just drive to the opposite side of the mall quickly, but instead of doing that, Queen said she saw a flyer for a cool new movie about gross vegetables and left me all alone with her car. And then the other three Addisons came up and asked me if I need a ride, except instead of being Blue, Yellow and Orange, they were all the same shade of light blue and with different hairstyles. I could tell them apart by their hair and personality - oh, and the person who was supposed to be Orange had their hair in pigtails for some reason.

So when we arrived at the opposite side of the mall I told them that I felt really bad for Spamton and that I miss him and they all looked at me like “who’s Spamton? Never heard of him”. So I go out to the front gate of the mall and there’s some sheets of paper with card symbols on them and I pick them up and this giant smiley face floating in mid-air grows an arm and grabs my hand with the papers. It says “come with me or else”. I look at the Addisons and they’re just standing outside of the car not willing to help me. Except Real Blue (has Blue’s hairstyle) who just tells me “good luck”??

So the Smiley Face grabs me and pulls me inside the mall through its mouth and I’m dropped off at Seam’s shop. And Jevil is also there for some reason. The two of them are on their computers and they’re watching meme compilations. Jevil grabs my papers and thanks me excitedly for my hard work, they then put the papers inside their computer and their family tree is like. ENTIRELY Wednesday Addams. Like. Their whole family tree. Their mom, their dad, their siblings, grandparents, etc are all Wednesday. And they consider this perfectly normal.

They then ask if I want to go on some roller coaster, and I agree and they take me to this arcade?? room but instead of going into the roller coaster I find the other Addisons, now normally-coloured, sitting down inside one wagon, and I sit down next to them too, and then we are told to throw the roller coaster off the tracks.

So we drive at full speed at the roller coaster and theres some kids in it and one of the kids comes flying off and I immediately run to help them and then their parents / other adults are standing around in a circle and complaining about how this wouldn’t have happened if he ate some strawberry-frosted pastry for breakfast. And I’m no longer in Pink Addison clothes, I’m in my HBSA uniform and I ask if I can help and they go “haha no, you’re a helium balloon” and I nod and prompty float away.

That was the dream!

#💉.txt

[purplesurveys]

1477

red:

how was your first kiss? Better than how most first kisses go, I guess. Of course it felt a bit awkward but it was awkward in a cute, first-love kind of way.

what do you love about yourself? I’m a good listener and I’m okay at giving advice, so people I care about usually come to me when they’re going through stuff.

when’s the last time you warmed your hands in front of a fire? I don’t think I’ve ever even felt that cold.

would you rather watch a sunrise or sunset? Sunset. For one, I hate being outside or up when it’s super super early anyway.

what’s the best thing about summer? Nothing, really. It’s hot to the point that you feel like being cooked everyday, and it’s too humid that it’s hard to breathe and you feel sticky 24/7.

orange:

what makes you feel warm inside? When a baby or toddler takes a liking to me. I find that it happens a lot and it feels like having some sort of superpower, hahaha.

what’s your favorite halloween tradition? Just seeing how everyone can get creative with their costumes, really. I don’t do much on Halloween.

what’s the last thing you learned? How to sign up for this workout challenge on this app that Bea shared with me.

when’s the last time you felt obsessed? Uh today I guess? I’m always on fangirl mode with BTS lol

what’s your favorite article of clothing? Sleeveless halter tops.

yellow:

if you could have any view from your bedroom window what would you choose? I want to say the sea, but I feel like seeing it everyday would make me tired of it. So I’ll go with the view of a busy city - with the traffic and never-ending bright lights and people walking around and such. I’ve lived in quiet villages all my life and it’d be cool to be somewhere more hectic and alive.

what’s your favorite thing to do on a sunny day? Staying indoors. Unless you’re by the beach/sea, the sun sucks where I live.

what do you consider lucky? I don’t believe in good luck charms or signs.

what made you smile today? I was going over iconic Kardashian moments with my sister and we were laughing at “Kim, would you stop taking pictures of yourself? Your sister is going to jail.”

what makes you happy? Getting to check all the stuff in my ridiculously long to-do list today.

green:

what’s your favorite thing to do outside? I always blank out when faced with this question because the Philippines isn’t public spaces-friendly at all. What do other people do when they are outside? Hahaha. I feel envious of those who live in walkable cities or live near parks and can actually have picnics and things that I only see in movies; my idea of going out is just heading to a mall because malls are all we have.

do you like camping? I haven’t tried it before. I wouldn’t know how to feel about it.

what would you spend $1,000 on? Assuming I have to spend it, airline tickets and a quick vacation. P50,000 isn’t much so I’d probably go to like Singapore for like a little weekend getaway.

what’s your job, or what do you want to do as your job? I’m a manager at a public relations agency, mainly handling lifestyle brands. I already like my job and it’s super in line with what I’m good at doing; but I would probably love it more if it didn’t get mentally taxing and time-consuming like, 80% of the week. I stay for the people, that’s what I always say.

what’s your favorite article of clothing? I already answered this.

blue:

what do you do when you’re sad? I order food, lol. If that’s not possible, I try to find a video that would distract me but would also help in making me feel better.

what are some things you do when you can’t sleep? Using my phone and mindlessly scrolling through social media works wonders.

what kind of covers do you have on your bed? It’s blue and has a moon and stars-themed print on it.

who is the last person you told a secret to? Andi.

purple:

what’s your astrological sign? Taurus.

what’s the best piece of advice you ever received? I can’t remember the exact words but Andi essentially has told me not to rush my healing because it’d be super easy to burn out and relapse that way. This was a really long time ago but it’s still my favorite advice I’ve received, mainly because they narrated through a metaphor.

when’s the last time you followed your instincts? I can’t seem to remember at the moment.

what’s your favorite food? Sushi ohmygod.

what’s your secret dream? To have a big-ass house that can take in lots of stray or abandoned dogs.

#survey #surveys

[myuselessartandstories]

Story #18

Merry

Christmas is a fun time, isn’t it? Rudolph leading Santa and his reindeers through the night sky, delivering gifts while it snows. Warm fires shining by the glowing Christmas tree, where gifts sit neatly wrapped underneath the green pines. Children sleep soundly, dreaming of all the gifts that the mythical Santa will leave them.

Well, I’m here to tell you, Santa does not exist. At least, not as you know it, my dear reader. Santa is not a kind, jolly soul, belly round from the cookies and milk he eats at every house after delivering the children’s gifts. Santa is a creature of gluttony. He is a sadistic creature.

He appears in houses and leaves presents. He targets one child for a few years, leaving presents and watching the parents grow worried. Making them fear. He lives off of that fear. He lives off of giving pain and inflicting fear. There was, in fact, an example of this not too long back, my dear reader.

Our story starts with a family that wanted to keep Christmas alive and a child that stopped believing. Reluctantly, the child helped decorate the house, setting up the tree, putting up the stockings, and helping find gifts. They didn’t care. They thought Christmas was dumb.

Every year, the family went to the mall for Santa. This year was no exception. The child wished to escape, but to no avail. There was no other choice. It was a slow drive to the mall through the hustle and bustle of Christmas traffic. 

Inside was even worse. Panicking families everywhere, trying to find the perfect gifts at the best prices. Employees trying to keep up with the demand, not especially caring as their wages don’t match how much they suffer through this holiday. In the middle of the mall, sat the fat man himself. At least, that’s what all the five year olds thought as they sat on the imposter's lap and wished for sports cars and ponies and siblings. 

“He isn’t the real Santa, you know? He’s just a messenger.” The mom said the ritual like she does every year before the teenager was forced onto Santa's lap. “What is it you want for Christmas?” The imposter asked in a terrible deep voice. 

“A cow,” The sarcastic teen started. “A yellow cow with red spots. A cat, too. A blue cat with one eye.” The Santa stared in astonishment, but the pessimistic teen continued. “Throw in President Lincoln while you’re at it.” At that, the teen quickly stood up and walked away. After the parents made sure they had gotten a sufficient amount of pictures, they left.

Sleeping the night away like a sound baby, the family was unaware of the dangers that the holiday monster brought. Unaware that they would never be safe, no matter what they did. 

Two days ‘til Christmas, the family was awoken with a jolt. Well, more of a scream. The mother was the first to wake and rushed to the window, staring in disbelief. Outside, the mail courrier stared in astonishment at the yellow cow with red spots.

The mother and father rushed to the front door, not believing their eyes. The cow that they had seen was not fully yellow, nor did it have red spots. It was a black and white cow, from what they could see at least, with a yellow leather skin sewed onto it, and part of its flesh gouged out to reveal the bleeding inside beneath it.

“It’s still alive.” The mother said. The teenager had come outside, but was quickly pushed back into the house, where the father closed the curtains and locked the door. Nobody dared venture outside for the rest of the day.

The next morning, the teen was greeted with a cat that was frozen solid. Not as an ice block, but turned blue from being frozen alive. Its fur had been shaved off, so it was bald and fully blue. One of its eyes was missing, only a small stream of blue frozen blood coming from the empty socket down to the jaw.

A scream and a swat of a hand sent the cat flying and crashing into the wall, shattering it and causing cold, but not frozen, blue blood to fly across the room, coating everything in specks of blue.

After hours of cleaning and calling the local police, the family sat in the living room, saying nothing. After so long, the silence was broken. “It’s all coming true. Everything I asked for, it's happening.” “Hush!” The mother whisper-yelled. She quickly stood and stormed to her room, the father following quietly. The teen never moved from the spot of the couch, slowly falling asleep. 

Perhaps it was a game show, the mother thought. Maybe somebody had signed them up for one of those prank shows. Yes. That’s what this had to be. It’s just a game. It’s not real. It’s just a joke. That’s what she thought as she slowly drifted to sleep.

The next morning, the day of Christmas, the parents came to the living room, hoping to apologize to the child they had been rude to the night before. Not seeing said teen in the room, the mother assumed they had gone to sleep in their bed. It was calm, and quiet. 

Until they saw the dead body on the couch. “He’s dead!” She screamed. The father rushed over quickly. “No. It’s not... That’s President Lincoln. He’s got the hat and everything. Why... Why is he here?” Another call to the police and many questions later, they sat in the living room defeated. 

The police had been sent to search for the missing child, as they weren’t anywhere in the house. Looking to the side, the father saw a gift sitting under the tree, one he was sure they hadn’t bought. He pulled it over and slowly unwrapped it. Inside of the pretty white box, under the soft blue ribbon, was red. Blood. Bones. Some nails, toenails and fingernails. Blood. Bones. An eyeball. Hair. Teeth. Blood. Red. Death. Iron stench. 

One singular note was stuck to the end of the ribbon attached to the top of the box.. “Ho Ho Ho! Merry Christmas!” In the distance, a fat, demonic monster in red and white laughed and enjoyed his feast of fear before moving along, not wasting any time on the one family of many that the world had.

(cause horror and Christmas is fun)

#story #short story #my story #bad story

[harrison-abbott]

Numbers can do funny things with the head.

When you mix in money with numbers they

Can make you mad … digits, spinning, twirling.

You get up all the same. Logging onto the news,

The content doesn’t surprise you any more.

Downstairs. Cup of coffee. The dog is old and

Probably within her last year. She can’t run anymore

And she blinks up at you with her brown eyes.

There was a storm the other day and there’s

Supposed to be another one tomorrow but

Right now there are yellow blocks of light

Veering across the garden. It would be far simpler

To be a dog. No humans to chop you up.

Like the ham and chicken slices in the fridge,

And the funk of dead fish that whacks your nose

The instant you open the door …

Not that you eat dead animals yourself.

It’s not your fridge.

Need to head down to the mall today.

Got to get some foreign currency.

Step out of the house. Lock the front door and

Immediately upwards uplooking there are the inky

Blue clouds of rain … but it’s also 10 degrees

Or so and to you with your national blood this is

Pretty hot. On you walk. Stick on the headphones.

It’s odd how music used to be the 1123214342342%

Get to, go to, vis a vis artistic influence. Whereas

Now there are maybe 100 songs on your phone

And you’ve already heard them each thousands more.

………………………………………………………..

Down the street there are men, outside a van. One of them

Is talking on a phone. Sounds like a serious call.

They’re men from the council (presumably?) who have been

Called in to look at the damage from the recent floods.

They have access to the drains, and the sewage tunnels,

Underlying the neighbourhood and the woods behind the

Houses. And nobody quite knows what to do about it,

Because the flood have destroyed the upper road up at the

End of the street and the river has lopped off into three

Streams instead of one and the waterflow has therefore

Increased by that much … Jeepers – none know how to act.

………………………………………………………..

But, you can’t control the rain either. And all you do is

Guiltily walk on. It’s sunny at the moment, right? The winds

Aren’t here yet and they’ll sure be raging by the morrow.

…………………………………………………………..

You used to make this walk when you were a kid and you’re

Totally familiar with the scenery.

There’s the council estate.

This south side of Edinburgh.

An estate built in the 1950s.

Seventy going on eight year old buildings.

They always look the same

Be it in rain or sun or snow or hail, spring

Or winter, thunderstorm or heatwave:

The houses always have that same

Hue to them. That’s what you felt

When you were a boy and what you see

Now.

Maybe it says a lot about you that you’re still

Here instead of somewhere else.

Going down through the houses you pass

That mammoth tree which is definitely

Way older than everything else.

It’s a total beast of a tree, 200 years at least.

… … Then unto the fields. They simmer in

Simmering grass, a wash of emerald against

The fake blue of the Scottish sky.

Where kids can play their football dreams.

Where fathers can annex their soccer fantasies.

… Along the bumpy awkward hill of the field

You come across a half-pretty young woman

Pushing a pram. It makes you think for perhaps

Thirty seconds that that’s what folks of your

Age should already have done: started a family.

What is it that you’re doing, exactly? Who knows.

… After the fields you get to the mall.

This bizarre black building that was built in the

1980s. Architecture as bizarre as haircuts and movies

And music, back then … but it’s still hulking now,

And alive, and when you go inside there are

This century’s shops all brimming with logos.

Inside, there is commerce and the West: and everything

That the West conveniently ignores, and outside the building

There is an ugly building, and international war,

And just about every awful thing you could think of.

But when you go into the public toilet half way

Unto the mall, the MEN’S, there’s a pop track on

The speakers above you. A gruff man is taking a piss

At the end urinal. He’s far enough for you to take one

As well. No toilet fright. After he’s gone you zip

Up and look at yourself briefly in the mirror.

Your face is still a bit fucked up from the acne from

Previous weeks. Blotchy red marks on the cheeks.

[Folk like yo-self shouldnae be gettin spots!]

But this is temporary and you quit the toilet.

And head along to the supermarket. Past the security

Gates which you always fret will ring off whenever you

Pass them. Nothing happens though and then you’re

In front of a plastic window of a little hub with an old

Woman manning the currency exchange bit.

She’s nice. You wish you could be nice.

It takes a while for the safe to be unlocked.

It’s bizarre to think of a team of men wearing balaclavas

Storming into this supermarket and robbing all of this

Physical cash. … Surely it would be fairly easy to shoot

Through the glass … or, just kick the door down,

And pilfer all of the contents out of the case. But,

That kind of thing doesn’t happen any more except

When you’re sitting in the cinema, wanting to enjoy

The blockbuster.

There’s the money. Thank you, madam.

You head back out the supermarket.

Back into the car park with the tentative warmth;

The clouds in gnarlier purple now.

This is the land where you grew up and despite everything

You feel like you have been a part of the history.

Let’s go home now.

You put in the headphones.

Knowing that you’ll know all of the lyrics already.

It’s all right to simply sing along.

#writeblr #creative writing #writers on tumblr #tumblr writers #poem #poets on tumblr #spilled ink

[aeipathcy]

Covered in head to toe with snow, Alex stood outside her doorway with a bouqet of paper flowers, accompanied with a box that was full of all and every plushie he made by hand, except the black cat. "Happy Valentines Day!" He exclaimed, muffled by his scarf. Like a boy, he extended the gifts to her. "I couldn't decide. Please keep all of them." Had it not been for the scarf, Reanne would be subjected to the flustered expression he had on his face.

UNPROMPTED ┊always accepting.

The last thing she expected this holiday was to be greeted with the sight of her crush at the door. Honestly, she had only gone out to maybe catch that high end dinner deal she saw on a mall flyer, but seeing a familiar dark haired boy standing at her door threw that plan out the window. Considerably baffled by the exclamation—Reanne hadn't expected him to show up at all—the auburn haired girl looked at him speechless. Then a box of crochet dolls and a bouquet of paper flowers was thrust before her.

She couldn't help but peer into the box filled with the cutest renditions of critters in it—a little green frog, a dark blue whale, a yellow octopus, a white rabbit, and lastly a light blue penguin all with those beady black eyes that maximized the cute factor.

Woah, such... cute... crochet dolls!! And the flowers too?

❝ These are... for me? ❞ she murmured in disbelief as she took the flowers carefully from the boy's reddened and cold fingers, a blush blossoming on her cheeks. What was with the sudden spotlight she felt she was under? Gingerly reaching her free hand out towards the adorable light blue penguin doll that was calling her name, Reanne gently wrapped her hand around the delicate craftsmanship, stroking its head with her finger.

Was it just her or was she seriously surrounded by such talented and skilled artist friends now? This little penguin was so cute she just had to cuddle it tonight!! Ahhh! It was such a perfect little thing! She'd keep it on her bed and squeeze it and throw it in the air and— Gosh, she was absolutely smitten with this little guy! And the best part was that the guy she liked was the one who made it! How could it be any better than that?!

Her gaze momentarily returned to Alex, cutting her internal gushing short. Should she reaffirm how she felt about him? Definitely! Clearing her throat, Reanne shyly lowered her gaze to the dolls, fixing her eyes on the little penguin. She began to open her mouth but then her chance slipped away when the boy insisted she take all of them. Huh, wait. S-She couldn't take all of them! That would be— wasn't she only supposed to take one of them? Taking all of them would be rude wouldn't it, even if they were all super adorable?

Pulling her arm back she lifted her gaze to the boy in front of her, the one currently hiding away in his scarf, ❝ Hey! I can't—! ❞ Hold on, Reanne. Tell him your feelings without any doubts this time. Then you can address the other stuff.

❝ Um, I as much as I hate the idea of saying it today of all days... ❞ she slowly trailed off, weighing whether or not it was worth officially taking their relationship to the next level. She could always pretend they got together on a different day if she really hated it that much—not that she was ever good with remembering anniversaries anyway; yeah, that was reassuring—just forget the date and only remember the memory. Looking into Alex's eyes, she grew more serious, her free hand twirling locks of her hair around its fingers, ❝ I want to officially be your girlfriend if you'll let me. ❞

As her gaze lifted, she finally was able to face Alex properly, and it was then she noticed all the snow piling in his hair too. Eyes widening as she realized the amount of snow he was covered with, Reanne scrambled to somehow help him warm up, brushing the snow off his jacket the best she could with her bare hands.

Alarmed at the possibility of him giving himself a cold, the girl abruptly ushered him inside her apartment by tugging at his arms with her hands, ❝ Ah! Come inside before you freeze! ❞ she exclaimed hurriedly, only just realizing how long he was likely waiting out there for her to open the door if not preparing himself for this conversation. She couldn't let him freeze out here! ❝ we can keep talking inside! ❞

#shadyinfo #alex┊ѕнα∂уιиfσ ✭ * #* ✭ ❪❪ reanne ↠ in character ❫. #* ✭ ❪ вeιɴɢ wιтн yoυ ιѕ lιĸe lιvιɴɢ ιɴ α ғαιry тαle┊❛ 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞 ✖ 𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐱 ❜ ❫ #;; FORGIVE ME FOR HOW LATE THIS IS #;; I guess 2024 is the year of making years long development finally blossom into official couples haha! #;; what a good year!! TT0TT

[sharpsafe]

Waste Containers Supplier

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When you employ a service supplier, you don’t want to fret about your containers at all—they care for all of the dirty work. Our merchandise are sustainably manufactured, packed, and shipped from our backyard to yours. Our full-service methodology support is fastidiously manufactured to spice up your program’s success. No one desires to deal with trash, nevertheless it have to be contained and hauled away. Out of sight and out of thoughts are our objectives, and  meets these challenges with probably the most convenient and sturdy carts available on the market - sharps disposal bins.

These internal packages may be reused if they're accredited and permanently marked for reuse, disinfected between each use, and have a capability between two and forty gallons. If you've a small quantity or one type of regulated medical waste, you presumably can comply with the DOT tips for non-bulk packaging. Available in spherical, half spherical and square shapes with grey, white, yellow, darkish blue, pink, black, brown and green shade choices. Features embrace hinged lids, strengthened rims, built in handles, dent, crack, rust, chip, peel  resistant, non slip lifting and anti jam nesting. Suitable for lunchrooms, hallways, resort lobbies, restrooms, shopping malls, restaurants and snack areas - sharps disposal containers wholesale.

Available in different sizes and containers as a lot as are at all times out there. Includes 2-inch central water drain within the base with locking plug  + the smooth inside and outside surfaces of the waste container allow for straightforward cleansing. Used for disposal of needles, syringes, vacutainer, pen needles, lancets, blades, pipettes and glass slides. Manufacturer and distributor of reusable organic waste containers for sharps, diapers, dirty linens, cytotoxic supplies, prescription drugs, needles, blades, and syringes. For more information, please visit our site https://sharpsafe.com.au/

[frilly2023]

Dream 🚼🚞🩻🗺️🤸🏼‍♀️🥶😶‍🌫️🥵🫥😬🤠🐯🐅🪦

I had a dream, maybe about the 2nd thing me I was asleep tonight and this morning. … I haven’t been tired in a long time.

I don’t remember all of it. I got to a class of dance and was trying to cream a sheet of dark yellow glass hitting it against the floor. It didn’t work well. I wanted to stay for dance but for some reason couldn’t. They were in little moving booths dressed up well maybe like French maids in virtual reality reciting. It may have been themed after a girls TV show.

It was like in a mall with lots of men working. Maybe it had a bright blue in it but was like gray. The men were more intellectual.

I proceeded outside to break my glass. A man had a real tiger up a tree with a man, a strong blond hunter wit a dark complexion. A younger attractive man was with him, more lean. He kept putting the rifle against the tiger and shooting it, but it came back. I went back in a warehouse like corridor with some people. They blended. The tiger came back as a person and asked who killed him. Either the man or tiger or someone may have been killed. A lady with thin shoulder, white with some kinda secretion over her, a rounded small bald head, and seemed a bit bloodshot said in a warmly rasping voice, “I… killed him.”

I woke up shortly and imagined André Rieu in procession leading orchestra to banquethall. Very very long white clothed table. He carried Frilly. He talked and held her sleeping detecting some of what was going on inside her, touched and rubbed her, and held her maybe left ankle at least with the dress shoes and stockings. I think he also bounced her.

[jonesy-and-max]

part 6: Arcade Rats

Max flew down the shaft, gaining speed as the incline angled even steeper. The smooth metal of the vent suddenly vanished, turning into rocky earth before spitting him out onto the unforgiving dirt with contempt. Max groaned and slowly lifted himself off of the ground, he brushed the dirt from his clothes and hair and realized he was no longer holding his hammer and flashlight. He found them both a short distance from where he had landed, he gave the flashlight a few whacks, but to no avail. It was then that he noticed he could see pretty clearly, that something was actually illuminating this cavern. He slowly turned around to see a strip mall storefront with a flickering neon orange sign that read -

“Futureland Arcade!” Max stared at the sign in awe, “No fucking way, dude.” Slowly prying his eyes away from the impossibility in front of him, he noticed the rest of the sidewalk; to the right were two other connected shops, “Family Chopsticks,” a Chinese food restaurant, and “Hollywood Chic,” a hair salon. It finally began to dawn on him exactly where he had ended up, “It can’t be…”

One of the most enduring legends of Lake’s End was the story of the Great Sinkhole of 1985. The tale goes that in a particularly hot and dry August of 1985 Futureland Arcade had been packed day in and day out in no small part due to the air conditioning providing a haven for the town’s kids. Teenagers and kids from all over town would jam themselves into the place to get even just a moment of relief from the blistering sun. It was a Saturday when Mitch Garritano dropped a quarter and watched it roll right to the center. Curious, he purchased himself one of those small bouncy balls from the vending machine and placed it on the floor of the arcade. It, too, rolled toward the center. He put his ear to the floor and furrowed his brow. He ran to the window and again put his ear to it. He dashed outside and immediately his concern bloomed into fear. Hairline cracks in the pavement snaked into larger cracks that disappeared into the foundation. It was only thanks to Mitch Garritano’s keen eye that no one was hurt that day. He even received a commendation from the Mayor and a spot in the St. Patty’s Day parade the next year. An emergency crew showed up to evacuate everyone from the strip mall only moments before the three stores on the end of the right side of the shops were swallowed up in a sinkhole. Futureland, Family Chopsticks, and Hollywood Chic all fell into the darkness below. Four years later the shops were reconstructed, the sinkhole seemingly filled and paved over, the ground reinforced for safety. Popcorn Video had been built over the exact spot where Futureland used to be. And there they were. Almost completely pristine, standing right before Max in all their urban legendary glory.

“Fuck.” He rolled his eyes. “Jonesy is never going to be any of this.”

He tossed the useless flashlight over his shoulder, gripped the hammer tightly, and stepped through the arcade doors. Inside the overhead lights were out, but the neon signs washed the derelict game world with warm pinks, blues, greens, and yellows. The games themselves occasionally came to life, shouting things like “GAME OVER!”, “ CONTINUE??”, “TRY AGAIN!!”, counting down, or playing various iconic themes. Between bursts of noise, Max could hear the familiar scitter-scitter he had followed into the darkness to begin with. He quietly passed the prize counter filled with the small stuff, like plastic spider rings, yo-yos, and kazoos. Hanging behind on the wall were the serious prizes, like a boombox, roller skates, and even a generic brand electric guitar. It was like he had been transported to some alternate reality where the apocalypse happened in the mid-eighties, vaporizing all of humanity and leaving behind a crumbling mausoleum. Max moved from arcade to arcade, staying low and taking each step with delicate purpose, heading towards the store’s backroom. A bright red light shone through the cracks of the double-doors and he’d seen enough movies to know that’s where he needed to go to find not only his prize, but whatever danger awaited him.

He looked through the foggy plastic window of the door, attempting to survey the landscape before throwing himself into harm's way. All he could make out was some movement and some flickering white lights. He crouched down and gently pushed the door open. His eyes went wide, his mouth dropping open in disbelief. Arcade games turned on their sides were stacked on top of one another to create a kind of altar, prizes, shredded stuffed animals created a nest at the top. Animal bones and rotten bits of food were strewn among the nest as well, and at the top, in a deep and restless sleep was what could only be the Queen Rat herself. Max could only think of Stephen King’s rabid St. Bernard to describe her size. She snored and twitched, her greasy, black fur covered her rising and falling chest. A tail like a massive wet worm curled around her and flicked back and forth as dozens of regular rats scurried over and under her. Larger rats bounded out of holes in the walls with their offerings, placing them anywhere they could. Food, scraps, pieces of junk piled on the arcade machines, stuffed into the nest, crammed into every nook and cranny of the shrine. The smell slapped Max across the face, taking him aback as he fought to keep his lunch in his stomach. He shook it off, adjusted his glasses and breathed through his mouth as he took another look through the door. He squinted his eyes and looked as hard as he could until he finally saw it. “See You Soon” was wedged between two of the machines. His rat friend had already deposited its contribution it seemed. Max smiled, finally, a little luck.

He twirled the hammer in his hand, psyched himself up, and took a few deep breaths, holding in the last one. The stench was overpowering and was already creeping its way into his nostrils as he inched his way into the Queen’s lair. The little rats largely ignored him even as he placed his hand on the plastic case. It wouldn’t budge. He pulled harder, conscious of how much movement he was making. He tried to slowly, but firmly, wiggle it from side to side to get it to come unstuck. Still, it wouldn’t move. He took his hammer and gripped it between his teeth, freeing up his other hand. Maybe with both hands he would have enough strength to pull it from its prison. He gripped it tightly and pulled with as much strength and care as he could manage. It began to move, more and more, and….there! Free! Max fell back onto his butt and took the hammer from his mouth. He couldn’t believe he was holding the video in his hands when suddenly he noticed something wasn’t quite right from the corner of his eye. Where there was once all the uninterrupted movement of an ant hill, there was suddenly nothing. He looked up at his audience. Every single rat was now perfectly still, their little red eyes trained directly on him. That’s when the altar began to collapse.

“How was I supposed to know it was a load-bearing video?!” 

Max burst through the doors back into the game room, pursued by a wave of Rattus rattus. The rage-fueled screams of the buried Queen Rat echoed through the cavernous arcade. He clutched the Popcorn Video case tightly in his hand as he weaved in and out of the arcade games, the rats literally nipping at his heels. He weaved, spun, and faked a right turn, the rats sliding and clawing the floor, regaining their momentum. Max headed towards the prize counter, scrambling on top of the glass case and praying the glass wouldn’t shatter underneath his weight. He looked quickly, considering anything for a weapon that could be of better use than the hammer. His eyes darted desperately until they landed on the guitar hanging on the wall. He slipped the hammer into his jeans and strapped on the instrument, spinning towards the oncoming horde and strumming a tasty lick. The rats stopped in their tracks. He began to pluck and play, noodling, and letting his fingers dance on the strings. The rats were mesmerized, perhaps even hypnotized as Max pulled out everything he’d ever learned, every chord, every note, every playful solo he’d ever improvised in Jonesy’s garage. In that moment he had captivated the swarm of rodents, a connection without words, an animalistic recognition between species. That was, until mama ruined the party. 

The Queen Rat burst from the doors, howling with rage. The rats turned to look at their rotund deity, shaking off their musical disorientation. They turned back to snarl at their mental imprisoner, but he had vanished! The swarm squealed in outrage, sniffing the air for the scent of their prey. The door of the arcade banging closed brought all of their beady eyes to the front of the store as they took off in that direction. The armada of rats ran full speed at the door, crashing against it like a wave against the rocks. They squealed in frustration at their thwarting and confinement. Wedged into the door handles from the outside was the guitar that had enchanted them only moments ago.

Max dug his fingers into the rocky earth as he clawed his way back up the tunnel he had come through. Grunting, grasping, lurching himself upward until he felt the cool metal of the vent. He pulled and wedged himself upwards, the vent was smooth and didn’t allow him the helpful friction of the dirt. He shoved the video into the back of his jeans and pulled out the hammer. He swung the claw into the vent and lifted himself up. Max paused and thought for a moment, he looked back at the dirt tunnel and began to kick the roof as hard as he could. A large rock loosened and fell, this instigated a domino effect, collapsing the tunnel behind him. He laughed maniacally and kicked the caved-in tunnel wall in triumph. He hoisted himself further up the vent with his hammer, braced himself with his free hand and legs and buried the claw into the vent once again. Over and over again, Max repeated this until the incline disappeared. Until the sweet smell of warm popcorn welcomed him home.

#arcade rats #opening day #web serial #writing #90s #original story #original characters #slice of life #jonesy and max #clerks #vhs #video store #oc #story

[the-firebird69]

We have this version that the wheels come together and a rough track is better because you can see the wheels in the front you won't run over people for security and he wants us to donate to malls even the one down here and the Arab trike and you guys would not let him see it but where you can go outside in the wheels will come apart and you can go get lunch or whatever or go to a task they're really going to be for the mall and you have to get your own but you know we call her and black and blue and it's like the security color or we can call them your colors like black and yellow at the mall in Port Charlotte and it's actually the mall in Edison Mall has a different color it's like blue and yellow and we would color the vehicle that color and it would have the ability to look like a scooter when you're in the mall and it would look like a rough trike when you're outside it and they're very tough and rugged and they go about a thousand miles and you can carry your gear on it and you can carry recording devices cameras all sorts of things you can have a camera installed like a body camera to film incidents and it's really easy to use the equipment on it rather than standing there you can do it like at the same time as you're talking and stuff it's much easier and a lot of malls use it and we have examples and we could we can start donating tomorrow get security going like right now. I'm putting it forward that we do the donation idea and we can donate to some police forces where they patrol their squad cars and their base and it'll be nice option down with them will give him a hybrid but the mall you have to have electric unless they have an outside and inside detail and electric's like a backup really works out well so they're interested down here and we're going to go ahead and put something together and those are going to be part of the scooter company brochure we're going to send to Mac we have one together and we're going to add some more to it and he says just make it loose which means he wants to see it now so I guess we'll send it over on the computer loose and will send him hard copy and then we'll follow it up with a complete brochure and it says to give him like a case of them the completed one it says that'll be nice how about two cases it says okay two cases and two cases of plastic can beer he says he wants the beer no time to think about it. So we're going to send it over and cigars a normal complementary package but really a scooter shops great and the automobile stuff so again going on it now and it's perfect timing we really need to do it

Thor Freya

What's my role here I want to be in the scooter company and he promised me a roll and I have to get the job he says and they'll probably have one that's Sarasota to begin with this is kind of Mac area I think he says yes where else it can't be here it's true and really out there along the shoreline and it's for sales and you know we would donate rentals to you it says wow this is need and up there you probably wouldn't want to do the transformer scooter there's nowhere to go into but you probably want to rent rev tray can trike scooters because people rent scooters don't really know how to ride all the time and then beach scooters that's like a beach scooter and we could put that in a two wheel in a three wheel and says wow this is cool so we have we have that it's like a different thing but then the scooter shop could have offer everything and people make their own decision and even though you know the chopper would sell there the scooter chopper we don't have to make it exactly like John Cena made his fact it's kind of like something we don't want to sell or represent so they're thinking about it if these guys these two guys here want to they'll be fine but we have our own version of chopper scooter and we can chop the price down he says good so we're going to go ahead and start making these and hopefully have a shot put in and Lori wanted to put one in up there and it's a good class because if you retrieve them from Egypt no no point in not retrieving Lori so he smile and said you're right and have a shop and something for her to do with her people and I'm going to get going on it and I thank you very much for the help and since you're welcome and I have a good day and remember mood stabilizers and stay on your medicine buddy okay pal no I'll be fine but really this is a good idea and you guys understand there's a big problem and it's been festering for a long time and that's what he looks like in Austin Powers is faster but he's saying to go and we know what you're saying this is going on now so we're moving it

That was Mac Daddy and that was wonderful these are fun things to do great times for all and we have a lot of small cars we sell but he wants to make like a roadster line now with like the cobra and like the older cars he just saw and cuz it was like the one that needville railroad and he remembers it and that was a little simpler but it was a fun car to drive and you make a mini and then and then a very small one really it's a small car and a mini and you make 12 of them in the small car is legal to drive on the road and people love those down here it'll be a lot of fun down the beach. The mini is to the mini is too small for the beach but the small car would work then bring in a lot of people for scooter rental and scooter sales now Mac is interested and said like that and the car like your mg even and like the green one that was on TV and he says wow that's cool maybe in a little smaller and like a small Lamborghini for the beach and they're not really that small but they're small the size of the small lotus and you can have convertibles rent them out but we sell those already and you can just add it like the dealership so he's interested and says it's a great deal so we're going to start that up with him

Thor Freya

I see the green car full it's a full size car that I know what he means they make a smaller one and it's not really that big but it looks it looks like a normal size car to me I see what he's saying though that we could rent those mini Lamborghinis and convertibles and people that rent those like crazy down there this is insane I'm going to have a lot of fun and those Beach ones are fun the big tires and you can drive in the sand you're not supposed to but you know who cares the rich people will pay fines and the rap track thing is great and people use that for everyday stuff or just rentals they could rent those by The bushel because they're safer and even tricer easier to ride than whatever we had those things are crazy I don't know you can pull those out of there they still probably drive them around actually everybody come to me and do business those things are nuts I don't think that guy should be even there it's so crazy you like right on the road I don't know how he made it legal they don't look straight legal and my mini cars would blow him out of the water that'll be fun I got to take someone down you're probably over the dealership down the road and I'll be renting God this sucks so he says donate some vehicles and I can do both the sales in the rental and donates the rails rental vehicles so I'm going to go ahead and I'm going to go ahead and do this cuz you said donation of the rental vehicles and there's a shop I can open and it's still getting warm right now so it's almost season and getting it ready now would be perfect and this other stuff to sell with it the gear and stuff and they have that I'm going to go ahead with it

Mac

[vivachedesigns]

Mural Artist Paints Worlds' Largest Mural Gallery on Highway. (Copy)

What does mural art do for the larger community? For some, wall art design offers a vibrant and inspiring alternative to the grey-and-beige color scheme of most modern businesses. For others, mural art is about creating a space where people can come together and be inspired by the work of another.

Who is mural artist Michael Che Romero?

Mural artist Michael Che Romero puts it this way: “For me, mural art is a way to uplift communities and transform spaces while igniting, invigorating and creating energy through composition and color.”

Vivache Designs mural painter, Che has painted, historical buildings, bridges, highways, parking structures, storefronts, edifices, malls, stadiums and more — and envisions painting and transforming entire high-rises, massive warehouse roofs, dams and entire highway under and over passes.

Romero using his new nano paint technology for longevity and adding light projection mapping, illuminating paints, sensors, micro solar stations, battery packs, Raspberry IP, and augmented reality (AR) creating hi-tech murals inspired by his trip to the World’s first Digital Art Museum called, “Borderless” in Tokyo created by teamLAB;

Vivache Designs prepares for the future merging modern technology with public art murals.

Romero has spent his career learning to embrace flexibility and versatility in order to become a distinguished mural artist and devoted community advocate.   

Growing up as both a talented football star and gifted artist, Romero began his profession in mural art design through painting CrossFit gym walls. Within months of finishing his first mural, other gyms were clamoring to have their walls painted, too. Soon Romero expanded outside of workout spaces entirely, moving toward larger, more ambitious projects.

His latest projects have been diverse and continue to scale in size. From his Social Impact Mural, “I SPEAK HUMAN” in Los Angeles Arts District to his massive scale Parking Lot Mural Project at NETFLIX to painting the World’s Largest HIGHWAY GALLERY MURAL #2, an enormous 6,000 sq. ft. abstract triptych mural. Emblazoned across three buildings and painted in vibrant streaks of red, blue, beige, yellow and black, the mural is seen by thousands of commuting drivers each day. 

“If I can inspire someone who looks at that mural and it makes them more creative, that means I’ve done my job,” Romero says. 

Pairing art with business acumen 

Perhaps Romero would have been content to remain a small time mural painter — if it weren’t for Vivache Designs CEO Seema Mishra. “The notion of the starving artist is the narrative people believe, but it really doesn’t have to be that way,” says Mishra. “By pairing your marketing with your art, you’re able to do more than that, and it can be more than that.”

Together, the pair have forged Vivache Designs that’s served a host of impressive clients over the years. From government buildings and street signs to major construction companies and individual patrons, Romero and Mishra believe that no challenge is too big or small, and continue their mission to paint the world over with stunning art.  

The benefits of a large-scale mural

What might a mural art design do for your business? For one, murals are more accessible than almost any other kind of art: instead of being held inside a pay-to-visit gallery, passersby will see your specially commissioned art design every single day. Additionally, a great mural communicates your dedication to the surrounding community in ways that other mediums simply can’t. 

Lastly, hiring mural painters and mural artists like Romero can help your company stand out among the backdrop of drab storefronts and spaces. Unlike other nondescript brick-and-mortar businesses, you’ll be a focal point for customers, community members and creatives alike. 

Curious about how our mural process works? If you’d like to inquire about our current murals or are interested in having your own custom mural designed and painted by wall painter Michael Che Romero, visit us at www.VIVACHEDESIGNS.com or call 1-866-568-7257 today. 

Explore our World Art Mural Map below to see all of our work through out the World!!!

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[beachxhays11]

How To Personalize A Guy Cave With Neon Signs

Good clear signage almost all important to a retail business. Customers need in order to able to find you easily, potential customers will need be attracted to your store rather than your competition's by a sign that stands out inside the rest. It needs pertaining to being simple and striking, visible day or night and convey the nature of one's business. A tall order perhaps, but one yet be delivered by a custom-made neon sign. neon signs should showcase your messages around the world. For this, they are often installed in view space and outside the stores, parks, shopping malls, bars, restaurants and other establishments. Guaranteeing that these signs serve business enterprise for long time, you've got to learn some terrific tips to touch them. There are quite many neon ad signs that businesses can buy. They can pick to advertise their store name or logo in neon heat lamps. But there is a few must-have neon signage that industry establishment supposed to have. These would be the open signs, restroom signs and thank you, come again trappings. You is likely to acquire custom neon signs from the online shops. A lot of the dealers will provide you choices of varied colors and font styles for indicators with letters or you may make a draft of the appearance of the sign that surplus. If it takes place that you own or manage an accounting firm, issue way appeal to clients through using use revenue tax neon sign. This sign will effectively advertise the establishment through the glowing situation. You probably saw example, and many of business signage utilizing establishments inside city anyone know that looks really like. The sign can be made with simple or a cursive font style. It emits bold colors like red, blue, white, yellow, green, pink, etc. Neon signs are electric controlled. Yet, you don't have a need to worry all over the high increase on solar energy bill as this sign uses less electricity. Neon sign is made of durable glass-tube bended to generate letters or graphics. The glass-tube contains neon gas, argon and mercury. These gases if applied higher voltage glow intensely. And also the glowing sign of the sign is just one of the factors of its effectiveness. You might customize the symbol if you need to. Online dealers will anyone some options such while the font style and the choice of owning a. Otherwise, you can directly contact the manufacturer and set an appointment so you're able talk towards the glass bender regarding icon that excess. You can bring the draft of icon that you created the actual bender work on out. Make sure customers won't just pass by your office. Invite them arrive inside your glowing factor of the neon sign outside your store. Besides your hemorrhoids . the continuous flow buyers in your establishment, it is be specific you will surpass benefit risk of failure the actual the competitions surrounding your business. You might need extra cash for some additional details but it is still this price. First of all, you'll have to neon signs floor covering source of power.

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How To Personalize A Guy Cave With Neon Signs

Good clear signage almost all important to a retail business. Customers need to become able to find you easily, potential customers require be attracted to your store rather than your competition's by a sign that stands out at the rest. It needs always be simple and striking, visible day or night and convey the nature of one's business. A tall order perhaps, but one definitely not necessary be delivered by a custom-made neon sign. neon signs should showcase your messages anywhere in the planet. For this, they sometimes are installed in the open space and outside the stores, parks, shopping malls, bars, restaurants and other establishments. That allows these signs serve your organization for long time, you learn some good tips to execute them. There are so many neon ad signs that businesses can choose between. They can come up to advertise their store name or logo in neon light bulbs. But there certainly few must-have neon signage that industry establishment need. These your open signs, restroom signs and thank you, come again marks. You has the ability to acquire custom neon signs from the online shops. A lot of the dealers will give you choices of various colors and font styles for indications with letters or you can also make a draft of the appearance of the sign that surplus. If it takes place that you hold or manage an accounting firm, the best way to attract clients will be use money tax neon sign. This sign will effectively advertise the establishment through the glowing point. You probably saw kind of of business signage some establishments from the city an individual know what it looks like for example. The sign can be made with simple or a cursive font style. It emits bold colors like red, blue, white, yellow, green, pink, etc. Neon signs are electric controlled. Yet, you don't have to worry with the high increase on using solar energy bill simply because this sign uses less electrical. Neon sign is made of durable glass-tube bended to develop letters or graphics. The glass-tube contains neon gas, argon and mercury. These gases if applied higher voltage glow intensely. As well as the glowing manifestation of the sign is just one of the factors of its effectiveness. You also customize icon if you wish to. Online dealers will a person some options such as font style and choosing of owning a. Otherwise, you can directly contact producer and set an appointment so you're able talk on the glass bender regarding icon that you want. You can bring the draft of icon that you created therefore the bender can work on so it. Make sure customers won't just ignore your kitchen. Invite them to come inside your glowing factor of the neon sign outside your store. And with the continuous flow buyers in your establishment, it is be without doubt you will surpass benefit risk of failure a new result of the competitions surrounding your online. You may require extra cash for some additional details but it is still this price. First of all, crucial that you recognize neon signs create a source of power.

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[wenofhof]

How To Personalize Of The Male Gender Cave With Neon Signs

Good clear signage almost all important to a retail business. Customers need always be able to find you easily, potential customers preferably should be attracted to your store rather than your competition's by a sign that stands out from the rest. It needs to be simple and striking, visible day or night and convey the nature of the business. A tall order perhaps, but one yet be delivered by a custom-made neon sign. neon signs work to showcase your messages to the world. For this, they are generally installed in view space and outside the stores, parks, shopping malls, bars, restaurants and other establishments. To ensure that these signs serve your organization for long time, you must learn some really good tips to keep up them. There can be extremely many neon ad signs that businesses can buy. They can pick to advertise their store name or logo in neon lights. But there certainly few must-have neon signage that every business establishment should have. These would be the open signs, restroom signs and thank you, come again signage. You in many cases can acquire custom neon signs from the internet shops. The majority of the dealers will give you choices of countless colors and font styles for indications with letters or you can make a draft of design for the sign that extra flab. If it occurs that you use or manage an accounting firm, really way appeal to clients is to use an income tax neon sign. This sign will effectively advertise the establishment through the glowing situation. You probably saw such a of business signage using establishments in your own city additionally know this really looks similarly to. The sign can be generated with simple or a cursive font style. It emits bold colors like red, blue, white, yellow, green, pink, etc. Neon signs are electric managed. Yet, you don't would need to worry about the high increase on your electricity bill this kind of sign uses less electrical energy. Neon sign is associated with durable glass-tube bended to develop letters or graphics. The glass-tube contains neon gas, argon and mercury. These gases if applied with high voltage glow intensely. Along with the glowing sign of the sign is one of several factors with the effectiveness. You might customize the symbol if you wish to. Online dealers will offer you some options such given that the font style and alternative of of greater. Otherwise, you can directly contact producer and set an appointment so you're able talk for the glass bender regarding the symbol that leaping. You can bring the draft of the symbol that you created therefore the bender works on the game. Make sure customers won't just ignore your establishment. Invite them to come inside making use of glowing factor of the neon sign outside your store. Meet your needs the continuous flow buyers in your establishment, it is be specific you will surpass positive aspects risk of failure a new consequence of the competitions surrounding your online. You will require extra cash for some additional details but it is still the actual price. First of all, theoretically . neon signs create a source of power.

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