#but yeah 80% of that presentation is just /look at this line! this line fucks severely! and THEY CUT IT/ 😭😅😂

[robsheridan]

Poster for the unproduced 1984 live-action horror adaptation GARFIELD: FIRST BLOOD.

Following the success of CUJO in 1983, studios were scrambling to find the next hit “killer pet” flick. Notorious grindhouse auteur Ron Sharleton, seeking a big-budget movie deal to fund his struggling production of CANNIBAL QUARTERBACK 2, set his sights on the most unlikely of properties: Jim Davis’ beloved comic strip Garfield. Sharleton, a self-proclaimed fan of Garfield who called the strip “a subversive celebration of misanthropy,” believed an “alternative, adult” spin on the character could thrive in tandem with its kid-friendly cartoons. Describing his rationale in an interview later, Sharleton said: “You have all of these R-rated films that come out and become big hits and the studios want to suck every penny out of one idea, so they sanitize it and repackage it as a cartoon for kids. So I said, why can’t we do the reverse?”

GARFIELD: FIRST BLOOD was pitched as a dark, gritty reimagining in which the titular cat, pushed to the brink on a particularly bad Monday, finally snaps and kills Jon’s dimwitted dog Odie. As he tastes Odie’s blood, Garfield is overcome by how good it felt to put a permanent end to something that annoyed him. He then realizes that everything and everyone annoy him, and his murderous rampage begins.

Describing his take on the character, Sharleton said: “Garfield never really sat right with me as a children’s character. He’s so much darker, more complex. You have this cat who is filled with contempt; he looks at the world around him with radical skepticism and scowls at the prison of tedium mankind calls ‘society,’ and he responds with this very self-indulgent nihilism: Be lazy, be a glutton, don’t participate in anything because it’s all bullshit. Garfield looks at Jon waking up early on a Monday and putting on his tie to go to a job he hates, and he sees a pathetic fool. It’s all such a powerful rejection of the Reagan Wall Street capitalist disease that has poisoned the 80s. ‘Work hard, climb the ladder, buy a boat!’ Garfield says fuck that, stay home, eat lasagna, accept no master. But living as an iconoclast in a conformist world has filled him with all this tension. There’s anger in there, you know? So I wanted to examine what would happen if Garfield was finally pushed over the edge. Where’s the line between a passive nihilist and a violent anarchist?”

Warner Bros execs were intrigued by Sharleton’s pitch (and the lucrative cash cow of the Garfield brand) and funded a short “proof-of-concept” trailer, directed by Sharleton, to convince Garfield creator Jim Davis of the idea. The trailer reportedly went “all-in” on Sharleton’s signature “splattercore” horror, including a scene where Garfield grinds up Liz Wilson alive in a meat grinder and bakes her flesh into a lasagna he then serves to Jon. The presentation to Davis was described as “one of the most disastrously miscalculated meetings in modern Hollywood,” with Davis stopping the trailer midway to ask the room “are you people completely fucking insane?” before storming out.

Reflecting on the meeting years later, an anonymous former Warner exec said “we knew it was a long shot, but we really felt like the only way to sell the concept was to push it as far as possible. In retrospect I think yeah, we did let it go too far. We were so absorbed in it that we didn’t realize how jarring it would be for a guy like Jim Davis to just be thrown into this cold. I think it was a mistake to open with the Nermal blender scene, but we wanted shock, and we thought… I don’t know, everyone was doing a LOT of cocaine back then. Well, everyone except Jim Davis."

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UPDATE: T-shirts and poster prints now available!

NOTE: This alternate reality horror story is part of my NightmAIres narrative art series. NightmAIres are windows into other worlds and alternate histories, conceived/written by me and visualized with synthography and Photoshop.

If you enjoy my work, consider supporting me on Patreon for frequent exclusive hi-res wallpaper packs, behind-the-scenes features, downloads, events, contests, and an awesome fan community. Direct fan support is what keeps me going as an independent creator, and it means the world to me.

#rob sheridan #nightmaires #garfield #alternate history #ai art #ai horror #synthography #synthography horror #writing #horror #80s horror #80s

[goldribboncottage]

Hazel Callahan Fanfiction, Part 2

Continuation of the first part! Hazel and reader go to the bar. Again I do not know how to use tumblr so I don’t know how to like make a link for the first part but it’s on my page. Enjoy!!! I think the next part is aalllll Hazel POV.

You haven’t seen Hazel all day. You had planned to ask her about a ride as soon as you saw her, but you weren’t even sure she was in town, let alone the house. You entered the screening room, resolving to stay home and use Hazel’s absence as an excuse. Your night would consist of you, a giant bowl of popcorn, and cheesy romcoms. Instead you find her, bundled up in one of the giant recliners, an 80s movie playing. 

“Oh- hey! Sorry, I didn’t know you were in here. I can go.” 

“No, no” She sits up. “Stay. I’ve seen this a million times. I can go.”

“Have you been in here all day?”

“Um, yeah, actually. I was the one who wanted to turn this room into a screening room. It was just an unfinished basement when we moved in. It’s usually where I hang out.” She explained. 

“Oh. That’s really cool! I was actually looking for you earlier- my friends are going out tonight and I wondered if you’d give me a ride?” You felt awkward asking a near stranger this “Well actually I guess, your friends, you’ve known them longer. Brittany and PJ? And some other girls too? I promised B I would go, and she wants you there too. They all do. We all do” 

Hazel smiles, laughing at your discomfort. You didn’t notice her dimples yesterday but they’re on full display now. 

“Yeah, I’ll drive you, but you have to give me that popcorn. House rules” She jumps up and grabs and handful. 

“No wait! It has peanut M&Ms! Are you allergic? Oh god please don’t be allergic.” 

“Y/N. Chill. No allergies here. I’m a big girl. You’re my sisters nanny, not mine.” She smirks, taking an M&M and catching it in her mouth. “So when is this thing? Do I have time to finish my movie? Or do you want to start a new one?” 

“You can finish it, I’m gonna go get ready. Meet me at the front door at 8?”

“Yeah” She bows awkwardly at you, presenting you to the door. You laugh at her and leave, heading upstairs to get ready. 

You were so fucked. You didn’t know this girl existed a few days ago, and now you’re basically drooling over her dancing at the bar. 

Hazel looked good. Really good. She wore straight leg leather pants and an oversized green sweater tonight, her hair fluffy and flying wildly as she jumped around. 

When she greeted you at the door earlier you were thrown off by how attractive she was. God, she looked good. She played music you had never heard but enjoyed on the drive over. You didn’t talk but she glanced over at you a couple times. You didn’t know what she thought of you yet. Hazel was hard to read, but she seemed friendly.

The air is heavy at Bottoms tonight. The lights shine purple-pink on the dance floor and light up Hazel’s laughing face. You caught yourself staring again and turned around in your stool, ordering another vodka cranberry. It was going to be difficult to shake off this feeling and keep things professional. PJ slides up next to you and tries out another pick up line. 

“Hey Y/N, is it hot in here or is it just you?” She wiggles her eyebrows and smirks. 

“It’s definitely you PJ, I’ve been waiting so long for this to happen.” You slide out of your stool and step closer to her. “I can’t believe tonight’s the night I finally realized” 

She’s frozen where she stands, looking terrified. “Realized… what?”

“That you’ve got absolutely no game, and I’m surprised you still try.” You brushed past her and went to join your friends on the dance floor. 

Brittany smiles and wraps you in a hug. Isabel and Josie were dancing together near the group but clearly in their own world. Hazel nods in greeting, going back to dancing. 

Her dancing style was definitely different than anything you had ever seen. She looked so comfortable with herself yet her movements were awkward. Snapping her fingers, bopping her head. Somehow she made it work though. It was endearing. 

Isabel had managed to wander off and bring back green tea shots for the group. Hazel looked starstruck when you made eye contact with her as you took yours. It was your fifth, maybe sixth drink of the night. It had been a while since you’d gone out and sleep regression with the babies made a rough work week for you. 

Feeling bolder, or maybe just drunker, you grabbed Hazel’s hand and started to move with her. She seemed uncomfortable at first so you dropped it, but she quickly picked it back up and showed you how to do her little dances. It was silly. You danced the night away, drinking and laughing with your friends. 

At least that’s what you remember. Hazel tells you a different story when you wake up the next morning. 

#hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan #bottoms movie #hazel bottoms #bottoms fanfiction

[hawthorneonarainyday]

Who We Are - Steve Harrington (1)

Prologue | Steve 2 | Eddie | Billy | Ian

The two of them had been friends for twenty-two years now. They'd grown up right next to each other, casually holding hands for all their lives. What neither of them had ever considered, though, was that their relationship could ever be anything else. They were just them, Steve and her. Right? Attention! - This is the second part of 'Grey Overalls and Rainy Days'. Please read that one first if you haven't yet! Information you might need ♥ ~ Word Count: 15.648 3rd Person (She/Her) Flashbacks will be presented in completely cursive to better distinguish between now and then, since tumblr doesn't really have the best typesetting options.

In this chapter you will find: Rain, cursing, a down in the dumps Steve, slow-burn childhood bestfriends to lovers, a lot of physical contact, canon tinkering, flashbacks and a fuck ton of spoilers for the 80s movie 'Beaches'. There will be mentions of food and eating, blood, canon level violence, loss, grief, shock, death, sex, trauma, bad parenting, sexual harrassment (specifically at dates) alcohol and reader having her period so please remain careful, my children! At one point reader will be loosely compared to Molly Ringwald, but to not alienate anyone I'll explicitly say that it is not because reader looks like her. It can be, if you want it to, but it's definitely not required. I point that out loud and clear and Steve will do so too, so please don't feel put out by that.

Enjoy ♥

The days rain still lay in the air, although the drops themselves had stopped – for now. Petrichor was still wafting all around them, now with tiny hints of cool night air. Hawkins population was slowly but surely getting home for the night. Mothers ushered their kids ahead of them, teenage girls locked their bedroom doors but unlocked their windows and most of Hawkins general stores were flipping their signs from ‘OPEN’ to ‘CLOSED’.

That was something she did as well.

Eddie held the door open and she skipped out into the night, glad she decided to not deal with the taxes for now. The metalhead himself was talking about a campaign he would love to throw for the party, but didn’t really have the time to and she was reminded of how good a story teller he was. No wonder the boys still loved to invite him around as a dungeon master whenever they got the chance.

“So, I was thinking I’d add in this really messed up dragon hybrid and he’s g- hey isn’t that Harringtons car?” Blinking at the rather rapid change of subject, she followed his pointing and damn straight. That was the red BMW she’d spent all day cleaning.

“Uh…yeah, actually. It is.” Her brows furrowed as she squinted into the night, trying to make out the familiar lines of Steve’s nose and hair.

And sure enough, there he was. Slumped behind the driver’s seat with his head down, one hand grabbing the steering wheel. “What the…Uhm, Eddie, gimme a minute.”

“Sure, go ahead. I’ll wait in the van?”

“Yeah, thanks.” With one shimmy, she shouldered her bag properly and jogged on over to Steve. He didn’t look up as she came closer, not giving her much choice but to knock at the window. Inside, Steve flinched, his hand letting go of the wheel and grabbing his chest. The shock didn’t last long though, because just a moment later he was rolling the window down.

“Jesus, don’t do that to me. You’ll give me a heart attack.”

“Your fault for not noticing me.” Chuckling, she leaned down to peer into the car, trying to see the mysterious flower shop girl. Why would she be there? Well, it wasn’t the first time Steve made a pit stop on one of his dates just to drive her home real quick. The red BMW, however, was completely empty aside from Steve. “Steve, what are you doing here? I thought you had a date.” The man in question just sighed and let his head fall back against the headrest. There was a slight pout to his face. “Steve?”

“Listen. Wanna cash in those burgers now? We could grab some and then go…I dunno, somewhere.”

“Uhm…I mean, yeah. Sure. Why not. Let me just tell Eddie, okay?”

“Eddie?”

“Yeah, he came by earlier and offered to drive me home.”

“Oh. Okay, yeah, go ahead. I’ll wait.”

“But Steve, what about…?”

“Just…forget about that, okay?” The way he said it was more than pleading. Even if she didn’t like it, she nodded and jogged on over to Eddie’s car. He was already inside, the van running and waiting. Unlike Steve, he immediately noticed her getting closer and rolled down the window.

“You’re going with him, I take?”

“Yeah, sorry Eddie. I think…I don’t know, I think he needs some company.”

“It’s fine, Princess, you go check on him. But I demand full intel tomorrow!” She chuckled.

“I’ll see what I can do ‘bout that. Thanks Eddie.”

“See ya, princess!” The van roared to life with a deep growl and she stepped away from the window. It didn’t take long for Eddie to leave the car park behind. She reached Steve’s car just as quickly. A simple pull on the door handle and she plopped into the seat with a content sigh.

Steve’s car just felt… right.

Over the years, she’d spent so much time in that passenger seat that it felt more like home than the single wide she actually called home. Steve next to her watched her buckle herself in before wordlessly putting the car into gear. She didn’t ask where they were going, he didn’t offer any intel on the matter.

They didn’t have to.

Neither of them spoke. Steve veered the car through what Hawkins called ‘evening rush’ with practiced ease while she gazed out of the window next to her. She could see Joyce Byers locking up the door to Melvald’s General Store, still in her uniform. Next door in Radio Shack, there was still light burning. Maybe some last-minute repairs or something. Or maybe the guy working there had forgotten to turn them off. Who knew?

New, fresh rain was starting to dribble down the window, obscuring her view. Within moments, the world outside was turned into a blurry mess of colours and shapes. She could still vaguely tell where they were simply because it was the town she’d lived in for all of her life, but it got harder and harder. Soon, she had to turn her eyes to the windshield, it being the only place that still offered a semi-clear view. The windshield wipers were going left and right in their own rhythm, as if something invisible spurred them on. Well, she knew how they worked. But where was the mystery in that?

Watching the wipers do their job was…hypnotic. Without actively choosing to do so, her eyes were following their path left and right and left and right and she could feel herself get drowsy. Though that was probably less the wipers and more the fact that she’d gotten up early and worked a lot more than expected. Her day was supposed to be mainly office stuff plus the cunninghams car, and yet…

“Tired?” Steve asked, his finger rhythmically tapping against the steering wheel, led by the indicators soft ‘click click click click’. She sighed and sank back further into the seat.

“Yeah.”

“You could’ve said something. I can take you home.”

“It’s fine. It’s just the drive.” Steve hummed lightly.

“Of course it is.”

The boy pulled into the car park of Rosemary’s Diner with ease. If it weren’t so dangerous and irresponsible, she would’ve challenged him to do it with his eyes closed. Honestly, he might actually pull it off. They’d been here often enough. While most people preferred Benny’s Diner, both Steve and her had always chosen Rosemary’s whenever they got a chance. Mostly when it was just the two of them.

Sure, she’d pestered Ian sometimes to go with her. And, far as she was aware, Steve had brought some dates here over the years. Both of them had dragged their little group of misfits with them more than once and while they rarely complained, they both knew that this place never clicked quite as well with the rest of them. Maybe it was the food, maybe it was the atmosphere and maybe it was just the fact that she and Steve had been coming here ever since they were old enough to go to a diner on their own.

Inside, the lights were bright and welcoming, just like always.

Steve held the door for her and she stepped inside, both manoeuvring the etablissement with well-practised ease. Down the checkered tiles to the second to last booth – second to last, never the one before or after that – where both of them dropped down into their favoured seats at the same time. Her back was facing the door, while Steve liked to be able to survey the entire room. Menus were pushed aside; they would order the usual thing anyway. Doreen, their favourite waitress, saw them from afar and nodded towards them. Not to indicate anything, just recognition.

The seats hissed familiarly with every move she made as she drew her legs under her in a position that should be uncomfortable but really wasn’t. Steve was already slouched back into the burgundy leather of his booth, his face…complicated.

That was probably the best thing to call it.

It wasn’t an expression she knew from Steve, which should be impossible after over twenty years together. But then again, one was never done learning. That probably applied to people as well.  

“Hey you guys, nice to have you back!” She raised her head to meet the dark brown eyes of Doreen with a smile. The older waitress was grinning down at them, her braided hair pulled back into a ponytail that made her seem a lot younger than she was. There were some stains on her pale-yellow uniform, likely coffee, but other than that she looked at dewy as ever.

“Hiya Doreen. How’s it going?” She offered while Steve just nodded semi-friendly. Normally, she would have kicked his shins for that, but she accepted it for today. At least he’d greeted her at all. Doreen had noticed too, apparently, because she threw him a knowing glance but kept quiet.

“Ah, you know. Same as always in this old thing. Enough guests to keep it running but never many.” She shrugged. “You’re getting the usual?”

“Sure, we are.”

“Neat-o! So that’d be two cheeseburgers – one without onions – a large basket of fries with mayonnaise and ketchup and two shakes – strawberry and vanilla. Did I miss anything?” She couldn’t help but grin at that.

“Perfect like always, Doreen. Thanks.” Doreen nodded and turned on her heels, and she remembered another thing. “Oh hey, Doreen?”

“Yeah?”

“Add a coffee to that. As strong as you can legally brew it, yeah?”

“Oooh, the order changed. Exciting!” Steve rolled his eyes and she grinned. “Consider it done, sweet thing. Won’t be long.”

“Thanks!” Doreen strolled back over to the kitchen, leaving both her and Steve to themselves. The latter was still quietly staring into the void, his mind clearly somewhere else. Worry dipped her brows as she watched him. She’d seen Steve after bad dates often enough. Sometimes he was annoyed, sometimes he was angry. Sometimes he was sad but tried to act like he wasn’t, fully knowing that she knew, and sometimes he was just plain sad. Those were the things she expected. A ranty, maybe whiny, Steve. A mopey, pouty Steve. Maybe even a sad one.

But he wasn’t any of those things.

On the contrary, behind the complicatedness of it all, he looked…defeated? Reserved? Maybe both. Like a man that had failed. Or better: A man that had given up. She’d seen that face on someone else before, and it hadn’t been a good thing. She didn’t really like seeing it on Steve.

“I’m fine.” He said and she blinked in surprise.

“What?”

“I’m fine.” Steve sighed, kicking her dangling leg softly. “Stop staring holes in my face. And unfurrow your brows, you’ll get wrinkly, old girl.” She scoffed.

“I wouldn’t need to furrow my brows if your soul stopped taking a smoke break, you know?” But her fingers rubbed over the space between her brows anyway. “’Old girl’, really? Tsk.” Steve rolled his eyes and she turned towards the large window to her left. She couldn’t see much with the outside being nearly pitch black and the inside brightly lit. So instead of seeing the car park, she saw her own sorry expression staring back at her.

“Shit.” Edging closer to the window, she surveyed her own appearance with disdain.

She looked horrendous.

Since she came here directly from work, she was still clad in her stupid overalls. She should really start packing a change of clothes…She didn’t have too many nice clothes anyway but the grey work overalls must have been amongst the worst she owned. They were built for practicality and comfort, with a whole bunch of pockets and the loose fit. But they didn’t look great. This one, the one she was wearing today, was especially bad since she hadn’t gotten around to altering it. It was an ill fit in most places and it was stained. Fine for work, not so much for anything else.

And, of course, her hair was a mess as well. It stuck up in weird places and It was extremely greasy after a days’ worth of work. She had a sweaty job, alright? And in front of her boys – and Steve – she didn’t mind. They’d seen her look worse and she’d seen them look worse. But she felt iffy sitting in a diner like that. God, she hadn’t even wiped her face, had she? It was probably greasy as well.

“You could have told me I look like crap.” She muttered, wiping her face with her sleeve before getting to work on her hair. She couldn’t salvage much but she could damn well try.

“You look like you always do.”

…Ouch.

She send the boy a glare and let go of her hair. Not better, but at least differently messy. Oh well, it was what it was. Nothing she could do about it now, was there?

Steve was back to being zoned out. So much so, that he didn’t even notice that Doreen brought their food until she kicked his shins. He flinched, blinked, and looked around confusedly. She rolled her eyes and grappled for his plate. Using just two fingers, she’d picked out the pickles Steve so seemed to detest and replaced them with one of her tomatoes. Sure, he could just have ordered the burger without pickles and with extra tomatoes, but why bother?

Happy with her fixing job, she got to the fries, each one loaded up with mayonnaise, before tackling her burger. The smell alone caused her to feel extremely ravenous, to be perfectly honest, and she nearly melted when her teeth sunk into the goodness that was this burger.

With each bite, she felt the crispy softness of the bun, the crunch of fresh salad and tomatoes as well as the greasy cheese-patty combo. And in combination with the slight tang of Rosemary’s mystery sauce? To die for. Really, in an apocalypse she would likely murder for this burger alone.

Steve didn’t seem to agree, though. At least not today. Usually, the boy inhaled his food much faster than she ever could and she always had to battle him for the fries. Otherwise, he’d eat all of them and leave her high and dry for some oily potato sticks. Likely the reason why she’d started to eat the fries first and her burger last, since Steve did it exactly the other way around.

But today, the Harrington boy picked apart his burger slowly and thoughtfully. Sauce and grease quickly covered his fingers, which he didn’t seem to notice. Only a few bites made it into his mouth each time he looked conscious before he was right back to mindlessly playing with his food. He didn’t say a thing while they ate - and sure, she was more than fine with just existing around him. The two of them were long over the need to always do something together. She couldn’t count the days they had wasted away without talking, lounging around in the same bubble but each doing their own thing. They were masters at just existing in the same space.

In combination with his current mood, however, she felt her patience start to wear thin. It wasn’t even really because of him or his mood, it was because she didn’t know what was going on and thus didn’t know what to do about it. She couldn’t really help Steve if he didn’t open his big gob.

After nearly fourty five minutes of complete silence, spent exclusively watching him pick apart the burger into goddamn atoms, she pulled out her wallet and threw some cash on the table. Enough to pay for the both of them. That, finally, got Steve out of his reverie.

“Hey, we said it’s my treat.”

“Yeah, fuck that, Harrington. You can pay me back later.” Sighing, she fished out some wet wipes from her handbag and wiped his hands. He just let it happen, watching her closely as she wiped remnants of grease and sauce of his phalanges. “Come on. Let’s go somewhere, I need to stretch my legs before I fall asleep sitting up.” He winced.

“Sorry. I can take you home now.”

“Why, trying to get rid of me now, are we?”

“You know that’s never it.”

“Yeah, I know. Come on, up with you.” Not letting go of his hand, she rose from her seat and pulled him up with her. “Bye Doreen!”

“Bye guys!” The older woman waved them goodbye from behind the counter, not even checking if they’d left money. Even if they did forget, they’d be back before it could actually be missed. Not that that ever happened before.

Outside, Steve naturally tried to head towards the car, but her hand in his stopped him. Confused, he turned towards her, keys already in hand and pointing towards his car.

“The car is over there.”

“Sure is. But we’re not going to your car just yet.”

“Huh?” She rolled her eyes.

“I told you. I need to stretch my legs. The ten steps from our booth to your car don’t really do the trick.”

“Wait, what do you mean?” Groaning, she let go of his hand only to get behind him and push him along.

“I mean: Move your arse, Harrington, we’re taking a god damn walk.”

“Ugh, but it’s raining.”

“Cry me a river!” She scoffed and pushed on. “You know, you’re no basketballer anymore. Some exercise might actually be good for you, dumbass.”

“I hate walks!”

“Move your god damn legs!” He did, reluctantly so.

At first, he was going annoyingly slow, obviously trying to not get too far away from the car in case she suddenly decided it was enough walking for a day. The more steps they took however, the more he picked up on speed. It took only a few minutes for them to reach a comfortable pace, easily falling into a rhythmic step beside each other.

The sky was still leaking above them, rain coating them in a fine spray of water that would feel incredibly wet the longer they left it there. But, in a way, it was a nice walk anyway. And what did her mum always say?

‘Light exercise is the best way to sort out a muddled mind, pumpkin. And nothing helps more than walking. Back home, I’d often walk the length of a town, just trying to get my brain in order!’

The memory had her throat tighten up for a moment.

One should really thing that four years would take care of grief, but in the end they didn’t do shit. It still felt the same, whenever she thought about her family. That couldn’t be normal, could it? Or maybe it was. Who knew.

Steve’s shoulder bumped against hers, pulling her attention back to him. Once again, he looked lost in thought. Less zoned out, but still not completely here. His brown eyes, nearly black with the absence of light, were pointedly focused on the ground below them and his hands were shoved into the pockets of his jean-jacket.

With another sigh, she looped her arm through his and looked up at him. He barely turned his face towards her, brows raised – a silent half-question. Which, she decided, wasn’t enough right now. She slightly shook his arm, pushing him to give her his full attention. Thankfully, he did.

“Okay, pretty boy. This is where I stop asking and you start talking. Because I’m slowly losing my mind here.”

“Boredom or worry?”

“Half half.” A deep sigh and he looked around for nothing in particular.

“Me saying something like ‘shitty date, is all’ is probably not going to cut it, is it?”

“Yeah, no. Try again.”

“…Shitty date is probably still true.”

“Okay? Why was the date shitty, then?” Steve scoffed.

“Probably because I have shitty taste in girls. Women.” Immediately, she felt herself bristle.

“What did that bitch do?” He rolled his eyes.

“Don’t call her that.”

“What did she do, Steven?” He sighed, using his free hand to ruffle his hair.

“Okay, so… When she asked me out, she was weirdly specific, right?” She nodded, not caring too much about the long story. But if that’s how he wanted to tell it - fine. “She was all like ‘Do you want to go to the cinema with me on Tuesday at seven fourty five?’ and I thought it was kinda weird to ask like that, but hey maybe she’s just one of those…those OCD-types, right? What do I know? Maybe she just feels the need to specify everything or her dad was a vet or whatever. Don’t know, don’t care.” She didn’t point out that seven fourty five wasn’t military time. “So, I agree, knowing I’d likely have to pester Robin into switching with me, which wasn’t easy because it was a Keith shift and who wants to do those? But who cares, it was flower shop girl, right?”

“Right.”

“Yeah. So today, after I left, I got home, got ready and picked her up exactly on time. When she got in I noticed that she was, like, really nervous for some reason.”

“What, because of you?”

“That’s what I wondered. I mean, I bought a gazillion flowers from her and she rents videos regularly, so it’s not like we’re total strangers. And I’m not weird, right? Like, creepy weird. Rapey weird.” She nodded as he threw her a glance and he carried on. “Right, otherwise she probably wouldn’t have asked me. So, I’m, like, extremely confused as to why she’s so skittish.”

“How skittish are we talking?”

“Her voice was an octave or so higher the whole time.”

“Jesus.”

“Exactly.” Steve shook his head. “Anyway, I drive up to the theatre and try to get a conversation going, you know? Drop some funny lines, talk about work, anything. But she barely answers and is all evasive and weird and I’m already like ‘Oh great, this date is going to be fun.’.” Angrily, he kicked something out of the way. A pebble? “But that isn’t even the worst thing. I mean, sure, I really…I was really amped for that date. But bad dates happen, you know? You get annoyed and then you move on or something. I don’t know.”

“I know what you mean, Steve. Carry on.”

“Dude, I’m on it.” He sighed shaking his head. “Anyway. Theatre. We get out of the car and I go to buy the tickets-“

“Why the fuck did you-“

“I don’t know, I just did.”

“She asked you out, Steve! She can pay!”

“But she didn’t okay? Let me finish talking.” She grumbled something under her breath, but let him go on. “So, I go to buy the tickets, she’s waiting by the door. And then we go in and whoosh.” He mimed an explosion with his hands. “She sticks to me like glue. It’s like someone flipped a switch and she went from ‘why am I here?’ to full on date mode. And she’s, like, pulling all the stops. She’s flirting like a mad woman, batting her eyelids super often and talking about how nice I look and how nice it was that I agreed to this date and stuff. And she’s super loud too, right?” Slowly, something dawned in her mind and she didn’t like it one bit. “So, I am like ‘Uhm…what exactly is going on here?’ but she just keeps talking. And then we get to the front of the popcorn line and some dude greets us and he keeps staring at her all wistfully and shit while she finds 87 ways to say the word ‘date’ in a non-committal context.” He stopped, kicking at nothing at she watched him with furrowed brows.

“She wanted to make that guy jealous. And she used you to do it.” He scoffed, his eyes focusing on nothing in particular.

“Yeah. And I was stupid enough to say yes.”

“Steve.”

“She probably noticed that I was literally buying her out of flowers and came to the conclusion that sure, Harrington is hare brained and will never realise what is going on. Why not use him like some sort of accessory, it’s not like he’s got much more going on!”

“Steve, stop that.” She pulled him to a stop, turning him towards her in the process. Steve’s brows were deeply furrowed, nearly touching in the middle, and there was a definite pout to his lips. “Stop trash talking yourself. None of this is because of you.” He tsked.

“Right. Sure, who if not me, then?” She stared at him, incredulously.

“Her. It is because of her, Steve. She asked you out to make another guy jealous because she noticed that you liked her. She used your feelings against you, not the other way around.”

“And why did I have feelings? That her fault too or what?”

“What are you even talking about, Steve?”

“I mean, how often have I actually talked to her? I barely knew her, right? We’re loose acquaintances at best. So why? Why like her so much that I buy a bunch of ugly fucking bouquets every other day? Those fucking things looked like shit because she’s horrible at making them, but I still spend a fortune on them simply so I could watch her talk about flowers for ten minutes. Shit, I’m not even a flower guy to begin with! Do I look like someone who cares that gardenias are considered deer resistant shrubs?” He really seemed to believe that he had any choice in the matter, which had her brows dip further.

“Steve, you can’t actually believe the bullshit you’re spewing right now.” He shrugged, pushing the moist hair from his face.

“Well, I don’t know anymore. I must be doing’ something wrong, seeing as every god damn girl I come close to liking just ends up treating me like shit.” Pinching his nose, he took a step back. “I mean, I’m not exactly a catch. Right. I know that.” He gestured around, more angry than necessary. “I know what they see, okay? Har har Harrington, high school hasbeen that couldn’t get into college and is still working a shitty job at fucking family video. Right, sure, I get it. Oh yeah, add the ugly ass scars I can’t explain – not that anyone even gets close to seeing them lately. But why can’t they just tell me? I mean, they could just tell me to fuck off and I’d be gone.” Swallowing heavily, he quieted for a moment. “I’m so…I’m so sick of growing to like people who don’t like me back. Who don’t even want to get to know me, like actually me. Not ‘Steve Harrington, the family video looser’, but me.”

Her throat felt tight as she watched him rant, rain slipping down his hair and face. Hearing what he thought about himself was always difficult, because, for some reason, Steve literally thought he was the worst person alive. No matter what she said, no matter what she did, his opinion never seemed to change.

Steve Harrington viewed himself as little more than trash.

“How is that your fault, Steve? Any of that?” Hot anger rose in her chest, not at him but for him. “You couldn’t get into college – so what! Who gives a shit? And sure, you work at family video. But at least you work!” She shrugged. “That’s miles better than anything any of them likely ever did. And liking someone is…We can’t choose who we like. You just…you just like who you like.”

“That’s a bullshit answer and you know it.”

“Yeah? Well. It’s yours.”

“What?”

“It’s what you told me. While I was crying over Ian and cursing myself over ever falling for him you said exactly that.” He scoffed, his head falling back.

“I give shit advise.”

“Yeah, but you mean well.” Sighing, she grabbed his hand. “Steve, listen to me. Properly, okay?”

“Fine.”

“That stupid cunt used you. And that is not your fault.”

“But-”

“No, it’s not. You didn’t do anything, Steve! I mean, what would you tell me? If the situation was reversed? Let’s say I…I don’t know, let’s say I’m on a date with, uh, with…Jonathan.”

“Byers?”

“Yeah.”

“Yikes.”

“Stay focused.” She rolled her eyes. “So, I’m on a date with Byers and turns out he just wanted Nancy to get angry or jealous or whatever. And obviously I’m heartbroken because wow, I’m so in love with Byers-“ Steve winced.

“I’m not in love.”

“- that I can barely contain myself. What would you tell me?” Steve looked down at her, his dark eyes raking her face as he thought.

“…Probably the same thing.”

“Which is what?”

“…It’s not your fault. He used you, not the other way around.”

“Right. And?”

“I’d probably try to hit him with my car. That’s long overdue anyway.”

“Yeah, I get it. Flower shop girl just got first place on my shit list. But that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what?”

“Is it my fault that I fell in love with Jonathan Byers?” Steve turned his face towards her, looking just as wet and sorry as he did, and sighed.

“…No.”

“But I could have known better. He’s obsessed with Nancy, so this was totally unavoidable, wasn’t it?” Steve’s brows dipped.

“Yeah, so? It’s not like you wanted to fall in love with Byers, you just did. Maybe that’s dumb, but you can’t choose who-“ he stopped short.

“Yeah?”

“…You can’t choose who you like.”

“Right. You can’t.” She sighed. “You don’t always need to hold yourself up to higher standards than everyone else, you know? You’re…you’re just human, like the rest of us.”

“I know.”

“Do you now? Because sometimes I’m not so sure you do, Steve.” She vividly remembered many times where his perfectionism hat nearly driven him insane. “You always blame yourself for things that aren’t you fault. Always did, ever since we were kids.” It wasn’t hard to guess where he’d got it from. His parents weren’t ever shy about blaming their child for everything wrong with their life. His mum did it passively, with neglect and pejorative remarks while his dad just straight up told him why he was the shittest thing in their collective lives. Steve, apparently, had internalised that knowledge far too deep.  And now it always came back to haunt him.

Like that one time.

It was a day she barely remembered. The memory was fuzzy, either with age or because her mind simply didn’t want her to remember. What was it, a day after Starcourt? Two days? She didn’t even really know. It could have been years or minutes; everything felt the same.

Hopeless.

Hopelessness was winding around her like thin wires, squeezing and pulling at the same time. Wherever the wires touched her, they would dig into her skin, painfully tearing the tender flesh of her body apart. Maybe she should just have done it, set her jaw and bear with it, just like she’d been doing every time she’d gotten hurt that day. Pain was nothing new to her, in the past three years she’d learned how to deal with it but, for some reason she just…she just couldn’t.

When she looked down at her arms, she expected to see blood. And sure, there was blood. But that was old, already drying. She didn’t see any new blood. Nothing was actually ripping her skin apart, and yet she could feel it. She could feel the lines on her skin, the places she was barely keeping together.

Every movement, every breath was painful. So, so painful that she wanted to scream. To her, moving meant pain. And a lot of pain meant that she was dying.

So, she just didn’t move.

She sat there, on the floor in Steve’s bedroom, unmoving, with her legs pulled against her chest. Why Steve’s room or how she’d even gotten there in the first place was something she couldn’t answer. She just knew that she couldn’t move away from that spot, not without falling apart completely. And in that moment, there was no one who could’ve stacked her back together again.

It was uncomfortable.

Her limbs were falling asleep in random moments and the heeled boots she’d been wearing were likely ruining her feet for good. She herself was still bloody, sweaty and disgusting and she could feel the layers of grime on her skin. But she didn’t…couldn’t care.

It was uncomfortable, but it was safe.

As long as she didn’t move, she could pretend it wasn’t real. She could pretend that her dad and brother were at the shop, like always, bickering over the right way to tune up the Hillson’s sedan. She could pretend that she hadn’t seen the giant monster that her family had somehow become part of. Because every time she thought of it, she remembered what Nancy told them. She could hear Steve saying: “But instead of, like, screws and metal, the Mind Flayer made its weapon with melted people…?”

Melted people.

Her father, the kindest man she’d ever known. The man who’d tried his hardest to raise her, to give her anything a daughter could need. The man who’d taught her how to ride a bike and how to replace a rotary arm. The man who’d cooked her favourite food whenever she felt down.

And her brother.

The big brother, who’d gone and beaten-up Tommy Hagan after he cheated on her. The brother who’d read her stories as a kid, who’d carry her around whenever she was too lazy to walk. The very brother who’d told her, just the night before, that all he wanted was for her to be happy. Wherever that might be.

Those two were part of the people Steve and Nancy were talking about. And she’d known, she’d known something was weird with her dad ever since he’d been so moody and snappy. He was never like that, never that aggressive, and both her and her brother had been extremely confused and worried. And yet, with little to no argument, she’d just packed her bag and left the minute her brother told her to.

She’d gone to stay with Steve, lounging around at Scoops Ahoy all day instead of just…just going home. Home, where she actually could’ve done something. Where she could’ve helped them.

But she didn’t. And now they were dead.

Those were the thoughts going through her mind on a loop. Every time she arrived at the conclusion it would go back to the start, like a record that spun endlessly. Nothing seemed to be able to turn it off. It just spun and spun and spun. Not even the blood that covered her shirt and skirt turning sticky and disgusting could change that. Nor could the knowledge that at least half the blood was not hers but Steve’s.

Steve…

Steve, who’d spent the past hours talking to her with endless patience. He’d tried to get her to eat, to move. To just do…something. Anything. He never pushed her too hard, but he didn’t ease up. He sat beside her, talked about anything. He turned on music whenever his voice turned weak and the silence became heavy.

He was always there, like a shadow glued to her side. Drifting along the lines of her periphery in hopes to get a rise out of her.

Looking back, she was surprised he’d kept it together that well. She didn’t know if she could’ve done it. If she could’ve acted like she was okay for his sake.

Because Steve wasn’t okay. Of course, he wasn’t. And one day, she finally noticed it.

As always, he’d left his room. Claiming to go and order some dinner. He left, went downstairs and was gone for a good long while. Too long for a phone call. Maybe she was on her way out of her trance, maybe she was already on the threshold to being fully conscious. Or maybe it was the fact that Steve had forgotten to turn on the music. She didn’t know.

But as she sat, still huddled against the dresser in Steve’s room, she heard something…weird. An odd noise she couldn’t quite place. Like…like a sob. Or something. The Harringtons weren’t home, of course, so it couldn’t have been them. But that only left Steve. Steve who was gleefully making conversation up until a moment ago, seemingly completely unaware of how one sided it actually was.

That uncertainty was what finally caused her to get up and move.

Stiff as a board and with great difficulty she peeled herself off the floor, using the wall to prop herself up. Every step she took hurt like hell, her poor, battered feet burning like embers. But she hobbled on, slow but determined. Thank god everything was carpeted, because otherwise Steve might have heard her come down the steps. And knowing him, he would’ve gone right back to acting.

But he didn’t.

And as she entered the Harringtons kitchen, she didn’t find the Steve she’d seen upstairs. Instead, she found a barely eighteen-year-old boy, who’d been tortured and drugged. A boy, who’d spent too long high on adrenaline and was now watching his best friend wither away right there, in his room. A boy who didn’t know what to do, how to help.

He was sitting below the phone, the receiver dangling carelessly somewhere next to him, and he was sobbing. Desperate, scared little noises that had her stop for a moment.

“Steve?” She’d said, her voice raw and broken by prolonged disuse. But the boy had heard her, flinching as his head snapped towards her. The moment his dark eyes landed on her, standing in the door way, he’d started to cry even harder. Violent sobs started to shake him, a sight that had her feel dizzy.

“It’s you.” Was all he managed to say between all the sobbing, his face buried in his hands. The sobs got louder too, his relieve mixing into the whole mess of emotions he was already facing. Watching that, watching as he broke down with fear, pain and relieve spurred something in her. With just two little steps she made it to his side, where she sank down to her knees. She didn’t know what to do. This Steve was not one she knew, and right then she barely knew herself. Her hands fluttered about unsurely, touching his hair and his shoulders, trying to find a place to start.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He’d muttered, repeating nothing but that again and again while sobs rattled through his body.

“Sorry…?” She didn’t understand. Sorry for what? What had he done that he needed to be sorry for? Nothing came to mind.

“I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault.” Her eyes were shaking as she watched the boy sob on. Her brain was so incredibly slow already, exhausted from little sleep and heightened adrenaline, so she still didn’t understand. She didn’t understand. “Everything is always my fault.”

Everything.

She felt her eyes tear up, sobs clawing their way up her throat as she realised what he was on about.

Steve was blaming himself for this. He was blaming himself for what had happened down in the Russian base as well as what had happened up in the mall. He was blaming himself for her pain as well as his own. The way she knew him, he’d probably been blaming himself for ever becoming her friend, for ever being born.

Because that was Steve Harrington.

Everything was always his fault, even when it wasn’t. He automatically deemed it so and no one, not a single person, ever thought to tell him he was wrong. They all called him ‘ass’ and ‘moron’, called him out for his time as stupid ‘King Steve’, but no one ever took the time to remind him how great he really was.

If her heart hadn’t already been broken, it would have been the moment she truly realised how lonely that boy was. And how scared he must’ve been of losing her, the last person to always be on his side.

“Steve…” She’d sobbed, winding her arms around him to cry into his hair while she held him. She’d just been holding onto him until both their tears ran dry for the time being.

And she did the same thing now.

With one simple movement, she’d wrapped her arms around his midriff and pressed her face into his shoulder. Steve didn’t hesitate to hug her back. He never did. His arms wound around her waist, holding her close. Somewhere above her ear, she could feel his breath fan against her skin.

“You need to stop blaming yourself so much, Steve.” Her voice was muffled by the fabric of his jacket, but she was sure he understood. She knew by the way his breath hitched, by the way is body started to shake. “It isn’t your fault, none of this.” She patted the back of his head comfortingly, carefully. “And I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? You didn’t do anything.” His voice was weak and croaky, poorly repressed feelings seeping out of it with every word.

“No, I didn’t. But I’m still sorry.” She sighed, patting on. “I’m sorry because she isn’t. And I’m sorry because she couldn’t see you the way you did her. I’m sorry that everyone always blames you, even you yourself…” His arms tightened around her waist and she heard him exhale a shaky breath. “I’m sorry for all of that, Steve.”

And just like that night four years ago, she’d held the boy while he shed tears no one else knew about.

Because that was who Steve Harrington actually was.

***

“There! There, do you see that?” Robin hissed, pressed close to her side. “Now that isn’t normal. And at first I was all like ‘oh maybe he’s just confused’ but it’s been week and he’s just been doing that all the time. That’s weird, right? Agh, of course it’s weird!” She blinked, ignoring Robin’s rambling as she watched Steve ring up a customer upfront. The rest of the store lay deserted, the day still too early for most people to think about renting anything.

It was Sunday, a couple of long, exhausting days after Steve’s date with the horticulture-cunt.

The week had been quite the mess so far, so she was thanking every available god that it was finally Sunday and she had the day off. And sure, lounging about Family Video with Steve and Robin was an excellent pastime. ‘Spying’ on Steve from behind a shelf, though? Ugh.

“Look, he’s not flirting, nothing! He’s just-just look!” The girl hissed, her hands clasping her shoulders. She could feel Robins nails scratch her skin, causing her to shiver slightly.

Robin had been calling the repair shop nearly every day, more than once, ranting about how Steve was behaving ‘weirdly’ and how this couldn’t be ‘normal’ and ‘please please come over, okay? I’m losing my mind here!’, so here she was. Badly hidden behind the self-proclaimed chick flick shelf – ooh, was that ‘Beaches’? – staring through a small window Robin had created by removing a couple of tapes.

It was not all too interesting.

Steve just did his job like anyone else would. The whole spiel - ‘Hi there’ ‘beep beep’ ‘your total is…’. That was how this worked, right? Because, sure, she’d never worked anywhere other than the shop, but this looked pretty standard to her. Next to her, Robin was still rambling – something about possession and brainwashing – and Steve was bagging up the tapes. The girl he’d just rung up thanked him overly sweetly – gag – and turned to leave the store. The wind chime above the door announced her exit.

Steve stayed where he was, leaning forward onto the counter, before looking in their direction.

“You idiots do know that I can see you, right? You’re not, like, invisible.” Robin stiffened and cursed under her breath and she patted her back comfortingly.

“You tried, Robs.” Was all she said as she grabbed ‘Beaches’ from the shelf. Why not use this oh-so-golden opportunity to organise some Sunday night entertainment? And she’d been waiting to see this one for forever. She even told Steve, the traitor, to let her know as soon as it was available. Of course, he ‘forgot’ to do that again.

“Yeah, maybe leave some tapes next time so it’s less obvious.” Steve nodded towards the shelf and sure enough. Tapes were missing on both sides, making it pretty obvious that someone wanted to spy on him through the three- or four-inch gap the shelf offered.

“You leave me no choice! And you!” Robin pointed at her, her black-nailed finger wafting accusingly in front of her face. “I called you so you’d side with me!” She chuckled, strolling over to where Steve was still lounging about. Steve’s eyes were on her as she hopped onto the counter next to him, offering up the tape, which he took in turn for a clean picked bag of gummy bears.

“Oh, come on, ‘Beaches’? Really? Ugh.” He shook his head as he started to check it out – under his name, obviously.

“It’s Bette Midler, Steve.” The boy just winced and she started to chow down on the gummy bears. Robin was still rambling.

“Hello?! Are you listening to me!?”

“No.” The two of them said and the girl grumbled, yet still accepting the peace offering of gummy bears. The younger girl glanced at her hand, spotting the exclusively white, orange and yellow variants of the sugary sweets.

“Why do I never get any red or green ones? Those are the best.” Steve nodded while she just winced at the other girl’s statement.

“Steve is in charge of the red and green ones, so pester him about that.”

“Wait, what? ‘In charge’?”

“Yeah. Haven’t you noticed?” She cocked her head, shaking the bag. “He eats all the red and green ones. I get the yellow, orange and white ones.”

“Why would you do that?”

“She doesn’t like red and green. I don’t like white.” Steve handed her the cassette in a small bag before turning and leaning his back against the counter. “So, we eat the ones we like and then trade.”

“But there’s always more red and green, so you’re basically being ripped off!” Robin leaned against the counter next to her as she spoke, holding her hand out for more. She got them, of course.

“Hey, she gets three colours and I only get two!” She could feel Steve’s fingers at the hem of her shirt as he spoke, the boy using the proximity to cover up a sliver of skin that had been exposed since earlier. Paying him no mind, she let him pull down her shirt properly and continued to stuff her face with gummy candy. Robin, however, was watching their interaction with raised eyebrows.

“Your relationship is disgusting, has anyone ever told you that?” Both she and Steve rolled their eyes at that. Because they had, in fact, heard that before. That and anything else people would offer about their relationship. For some reason, people just loved to make unsolicited comments about other people’s business. She couldn’t even count the times, that people had asked her if she and Steve had ever had a ‘thing’ for or done ‘stuff’ with each other – big yikes.

Then there was the usual ‘oh your guys are disgusting’, ‘get a room!’ or ‘you’re like an old married couple’. When they were younger, they used to argue back every time because it wasn’t like that and they were just friends. At some point, though, both of them had gotten tired of the same reaction – eye rolls, amused chuckling and a meaningful ‘For now!’ – so they just rolled their eyes and ignored all the comments to the best of their abilities.

Well, except the ‘stuff’ one because that was a disgusting and invasive thing to ask. Steve took that one just as wordlessly, but she couldn’t. The last guy who’d dared to offer that question had earned himself a broken nose and she would happily pummel anyone who wished to follow in his footsteps.

“Only every person in this goddamn town, Robin.”

“I think I heard a Demodog say it at one point.” Steve said, closing his eyes.

“Yeah? Seems like them. They were a rather chatty bunch, weren’t they?”

“Totally. Especially- uh…wait, what was his name?” His brows furrowed in thought. “Henderson named him after that chocolate bar.”

“Ah, you mean Dart?”

“Dart! Yes, right. Especially Dart.” The two of them grinned at that. It should be all unfortunate and uncomfortable, but honestly? One can only shed so many tears about something. At some point, joking will become easier than sobbing.

“Do I even want to know what you’re talking about?” Robin asked, snagging more gummy bears.

“Just the Demodog Dart and his little herd of friends that nearly mauled us to death.”

“Come on, Dart didn’t. He let us pass, remember?”

“Not really. I was losing a ton of blood, Steve. I don’t even really remember how we got out.”

“Oh, right. You got blood all over my jacket. ”

“Sorry not sorry.” They had bled onto each other often enough, even before the whole upside down bullshit. Although there’s a significant difference between ‘shit, I cut my finger while chopping onions’ and ‘oh my god, that Demodog just rammed it’s claws into my torso’. The scars were really different, too.

“You could’ve just said no, you know?” The girl flicked her forehead before going to do…something. Work. Slack off somewhere else. That left her and Steve behind at the counter. For a moment, they did nothing else. She was fiddling around with the bag in her hands and Steve was slowly flicking through a pamphlet or something. Leaning over, she noticed that it was a pamphlet about…

“Wait, is that for college?” Steve nodded, flicking to the next page. “I thought you gave up on college?” She grabbed the pamphlet from him, ignoring his protests as she read through as quickly as she could. That was made a lot harder by Steve trying to get the thing back. Her eyes were better than his though, so she held it barely out of his reach and read on “No way, nursing? You want to become a nurse?” He scoffed and ripped the thing from her hands.

“Jesus, ever heard of privacy? You’re so nosy, do you know that?” He snapped, stuffing the pamphlet somewhere beneath the counter, effectively out of reach. Not that she cared, she knew all she needed to.

“We don’t do privacy, Steven.” Drawing her leg onto the counter, she turned towards him properly, grinning brightly. “Nurse Steve?” The boy groaned, his shoulders slumping forwards.

“I don’t know, okay? It’s just, like, an idea. Nothing more. I just thought, you know…I’m quite good with blood and all that and I’ve seen worse things than whatever the human body can produce. So why not try to make use of that?” He shrugged. “I researched a bit and heard about this nursing program and I’m…I probably won’t get in anyway, so it’s really not that big a deal, right? It’s just- it’s…Robin will eventually get her degree and then she’ll leave and teach little shit’s their ABC’s or whatever the fuck she does and I can’t…It’s…Anything is better than being stuck here for the rest of my life, rewinding sticky copies of ‘Kinky Business’ and ‘Too good to be true’ while Keith is breathing down my neck.” He finished, his formerly gesticulating arms falling down to his sides as he breathed heavily. She allowed a moment of silence to pass, giving him a second to catch his breath as she just stared at him. But eventually, she felt the corners of her mouth curl upwards.

“You know, you’re saying all that but for some reason I just hear-“ Steve raised his finger threateningly.

“I swear to god, your ass is grass if you say…”

“-Nurse Steve!” The boy groaned and let his head fall against her shoulder as she giggled and patted the back of his head.

“I hate you; you know that?”

“Sure, I do. I love you too, Harrington.” She wiggled her shoulder to get him off. When she did, she leaned forwards to stare into his face. “Nurse Steve, man. Honestly, I see it. You’ve got a nurse face.”

“What, in that hot nurse kinda way?”

“Yikes. No.” She pretend-shivered. “But you look kind and caring.” Steve rolled his eyes.

“As I said: It’s just an idea and I likely won’t get in anyway, so…”

“No, no you will.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do, Steven! I can feel it in my bones. So let me predict your future now, young padawan.” With her thumb and index she squeezed his cheeks, effectively holding him in place – and making him look like stuff-cheeked hamster. “You will apply for this course and you will get in. And within the next couple years, you’re out of this shit hole and can spend your days saving lives as ‘Nurse Steve – Hero in scrubs’.” He opened his mouth to stop her, but she talked onwards. “And who knows? Maybe you’ll meet a pretty patient and you’ll wrap her around those pretty fingers of yours in a heartbeat while helping her stay calm during a shot or whatever.” Steve’s brows drew together, enough to nearly touch in the middle.

“Did you just write fanfiction about me?” Thanks to her still squeezing his face, the words came out all squishy and muddled. He seemed to notice that too, pulling himself from her grasp to rub his cheeks. “Dude, were you trying to bruise my cheek? Jeez, your grip is like iron.”

“Those are a handyman’s fingers, Steven.” Sad but true. She always wanted to have pretty, dainty hands like Nancy or Robin or Max. Colourful long-ish nails, pretty nailbeds, soft pink skin…but that was not something she’d ever have. Thanks to her line of work, her hands and fingers were often dry and rough, even stained by oil and grease. Her nails had to be short, otherwise they’d break – they tended to do that anyway – and although she tried nail polish sometimes, it never lasted long enough to actually bother.

And sure, she took care of them. She used hand cream like a mad woman, lathering up every chance she got, and she tried to do hand masks regularly. In the end, however, her hands were a mirror of her craft. They were formed by work. And while they could get a car up and running, change a leaking pipe and a handful of other things, they would never look pretty.

It shouldn’t bother her much, but it did, sadly. Generally, she liked how she looked. She was satisfied with what the mirror showed her and she knew she looked good. Great even! But every time she saw how pretty other girls’ hands looked, she felt like a…like a grizzly. Like a giant, weathered witch in front of dainty, little fairy princesses – however untrue that comparison may be.

Everyone had their little insecurities.

Suddenly, Steve grabbed her hands, pulling her fingers away from a patch of dry skin and her out of her own thoughts.

“Stop picking your skin, idiot. You always say it hurts after you do that.” Shifting his hold a bit, both hands now clasped in one of his, he started to root around behind the counter, producing a small tube of hand cream. Without hesitation, he squeezed a good dollop of cream onto her hands and used his thumbs to spread it around. It was almost like a massage and she felt herself relax more and more with each stroke.

In lieu of anything else to do, she looked at him while he worked away all tension she’d build over the last week.

Mouth slightly pursed and brows furrowed, he looked extremely focused right then. If she hadn’t quite literally felt his hands on hers, she would’ve wondered what he was thinking about. His hair did its usual thing, flopping into his face that was, and it gave him some sort of…roguish allure.

Here’s to hoping that he’d never find out that she thought something like that. Yikes.

But it was true nonetheless. She cocked her head as she watched him, raking her eyes over the lines of his face. They all looked the same as always, absolutely not different to the Steve she’d seen yesterday and the day before that. And yet…

Steve was handsome.

Sure, right, objectively she’d known that. She’d seen the boy as a tween and damn, that couldn’t be compared, like, at all. But she’d never really thought about it much. Steve was always about as interesting as her right arm. There and definitely appreciated – in fact, she wouldn’t want to live without it – but not something one thought about much. But right then, brows furrowed in concentration as he rubbed her hands, she really noticed how good looking he actually was.

“You’re really pretty, did you know that?” Steve raised his brows and looked up at her, clearly surprised by her statement. But he caught himself rather quickly, the typical Steve reaction already kicking in.

“Twenty-two years and you only notice that now? Damn.” She rolled her eyes, pulling her hands from his grasp.

“You must’ve been ugly for twenty-one of them, then.”

“That’s still a year, which is a lot coming from you.”

“Right, whatever gets you through the night, pretty boy.” He grinned at that.

“You know what? You can just tell me that my awesome hand rub won you over, sweetheart. There’s no shame in that.”

“Oh, riiiight.” She nodded, a smile curling her lips as she leaned back onto the counter. “Totally. You just stole my heart, Harrington.”

“Don’t I know it.” He leaned against the counter next to her. She hummed under her breath, using two fingers to gently guide his hair out of his face. His eyes fluttered shut at her touch, a habit Steve had always had. In one feather light touch, she let her knuckles ghost over the lines of his cheek, causing his honeyed eyes to open up once more.

“I bet you do that to all the girls, don’t you?” He tipped his head back, eyes focused on her face, and hummed softly.

“Hmmh. Works every time.”

“Am I…interrupting something?” A voice intervened, causing both her and Steve to turn. Robin was standing next to the shelf she and the other girl had just been hiding behind. “Because I can, like, totally take my break right now. You know, if you guys want to finish whatever that was.” She popped a cheese puff into her mouth, the bag in her hands crinkling uncomfortably loud.

“Robin…” Steve sounded all annoyed, clearly ready to ‘bicker with Buckley’, so she intervened.

“Not necessary. Join us, Steve was just telling me all about how he uses roofied hand cream to drug poor, unsuspecting girls into liking him.”

“Aaah. That must be why you were gazing up at him like he was made of light, hm? Because of the hand cream. Totally, I believe you.” Robin shrugged as she hopped closer and she felt her brows dip.

“What am I, a moth?”

“I don’t know, you tell me?” She hopped behind Steve, using her hands to turn his face towards her, to which he protested loudly.

“Come on, your fingers are all cheesy!”

“Take it like a man, dingus.” Robin just said, holding on and nodding at her. “And? Do you think sparkly boy is the hottest thing in town?” She rolled her eyes and Steve ducked out of Robins hold.

“Man, you got cheese dust all over me. Disgusting, go clean your hands.” He shoved her off towards the break room while rubbing his cheeks against his uniform. “And the question is rigged, because I totally am the hottest thing in town and we all know it.”

“Right, Dingus, whatever you want to believe. You know, that scene felt oddly familiar. Did I see it in a movie before? God, what was it called again? Maybe-“

“Buckley! Sink! Now!” At his famed babysitter tone, Robin instinctively hopped on off without another word. The two who stayed behind, sighed in unison. “I hate her sometimes.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t.”

Another shared sigh and Steve was back to fiddling with the tube of hand cream and she watched him for a minute, before choosing to plunge forwards with their conversation. A normal one, duh, not the one Robin had interrupted.

“Wanna watch ‘Beaches’ with me?”

“No.” He said, tossing the hand cream aside and leaning against the counter, further away from her this time. “I’ll come ‘round after work. Chinese or Pizza?” She smiled.

“Pizza for sure.”

***

Early evening had befallen Hawkins by the time Steve made it to her house. The sky outside was quickly darkening, regretfully announcing the end of her day off. She wished she had something to turn back time. Not even a lot, just a day or so. Tiny day. Go plink plink on that little, uh, time turner, and have another Sunday right after her first one. And that one she would spend right here, on the couch, in a pad so huge it could count as diapers and simply not move. Didn’t that sound glorious? Damn. Next time, Buckley could beg all she wanted. She would spend her Sunday hermited and wrapped up like a burrito.

When his knock finally came, she was already lounging on her sofa, braless and clad in only her finest pair of sweats and a giant t-shirt that came from god knows where. The void, probably. Maybe even the upside down. Didn’t know, didn’t care.

It was comfy anyway.

 “Come it, the door is open!” She called, too lazy to move to open the door for him. Honestly, she didn’t really need to and he didn’t need to knock, he had a key anyway. The door opened and she raised her head, just enough to make sure it was actually Steve that entered and not a crazy serial killer. Well, those probably wouldn’t knock but it didn’t hurt to make sure, right?

But nope, it was Steve in all his hang-night glory.

Her head plopped back down after she analysed his choice of clothes – very similar to hers, in fact – and he tsked at the sight.

“I told you not to leave your door unlocked, idiot.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“Not whatever. Dude, you already live in a paper fucking house. At least try to make it hard for someone to murder you, okay?” Not that again. She rolled her eyes at his usual nagging as he kicked off his shoes and hug up his jacket.

“Steve, it’s not that bad, you know? I mean, it’s a house and it’s actually quite spacious since it’s just Tut and me.” Tut was her, very bad tempered, sphinx cat. Well, bad tempered was a stretch. He wasn’t that bad. Tut, actually named Tutanchmeow, just didn’t like strangers all too much. He liked her, he tolerated Steve and that was far more than enough. Right now, for example, he was hogging her one arm chair, snoring loudly and cutely.

“Spacious. Sure. I’m kinda scared I’ll bonk my head if I flinch too hard, but you’re absolutely right.” As if to demonstrate, he stretched out his arms, not leaving too much space on either side. “It’s extremely spacious in this thing.” Steve sighed, dropping a pizza carton on the couch table. “I got us the usual stuff.”

“Perfect.” She sighed, drawing her legs up slowly and carefully. “What do you want to drink?”

“Stay, I’ll get it.” Steve sauntered over into the kitchen and she heard him open up the fridge. He came back with two beers which was fine by her. He’d already opened them and just dropped them onto the table right next to the Pizza before plunking down onto the sofa into the place she’d previously freed for him. Her legs fell right back into place on his lap, which Steve accepted wordlessly. Sighing, she covered her stomach with both hands and looked at him.

“How was the rest of your shift?” Steve just grumbled. “That bad, huh.”

“Yeah.”

“Robin?”

“Obviously.”

“Do I wanna know?”

“Definitely not.” She hummed slightly, taking her time to properly look at him. He looked tired, his eyes drooping already despite him barely sitting down. She poked his side with her foot and he grumbled again.

“People are tiring.” She sighed.

“Damn straight.” He shot back. “And you know I love Robin, I really do. But god, sometimes I wish she would just…stop talking. Just for a minute. I swear, you left the store and her mouth started flapping. I think she was still talking when I went home and it’s just…does she even breathe?” Steve deflated with a sigh, his head falling back to rest against the wall. “I’m a dick for saying, I know, but I wish Robin came with an off-button.”

“You’re not a dick for saying that.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Then I am too. Because every day I wish that my boys would just keep their damn traps shut. And I love the lot of them, but god, they’re dicks sometimes.” She shrugged. “That doesn’t make me a dick, though. That makes me…Normal. I’m just a normal person who gets annoyed by other people.” Steve just sighed, saying nothing for a moment.

“Speaking of.” He said instead, obviously trying to change the subject. “How’s Eddie first week been going?” She groaned and closed her eyes.

“God, don’t make me think about that.” It had been a whole mess. A complete and utter mess, and terrifyingly large scale. “How can one guy be so clumsy? I mean, at this point I’m surprised he can walk in a straight line without falling over. Please, remind me to never ever get in his car, no matter what. I’m telling you. On Thursday, he literally tripped over his own feet, tumbled through half the shop, bonked against one of the tire stacks and unleashed this, like, chain reaction that nearly send Riley flying into the popped hood of Hagans car. In under a minute, the whole shop was a mess and he just stood there, clenching his hands like a first grader that did something stupid and knows he’ll get in trouble. And you know my boys are really good natured – well, except Billy – but even they had really reached the end of their tether by Saturday. Riley even started to dub him Eddie ‘Stumblebum’ Munson.” She was wringing her hands, trying to calm herself down. “I hired him to replace Marvin, but at this point I’ll have to hire someone else to replace Marvin and someone tokeep Eddie in check. I feel instead of lessen he just tripled my workload, because not only do I have to do my job, no I’m doing his as well as clean up after him.” Steve sighed and patted her leg comfortingly.

And then the two of them sat up properly, she started the movie and he propped open the pizza carton. It was a thing the two of them always did. Steve couldn’t really eat when he was annoyed or upset, while she tended to overeat when she was. So, every time they got together to eat, they vented first and dined right after.

Well, unless someone asked for a delay just like Steve had done after his ‘date’. Then they just went about the meal as proficiently as they could.

“Like, what is that movie even about?” Steve asked, chowing down on the pizza and she snorted.

“Obviously you would try to keep this movie from me without even knowing what it was about. That’s just so you, Steven.”

“What the fuck is up with all that ‘Steven’ lately?” The words came out all wonky, pushed past a giant bite of pizza. “You sound like my mum, jeez.”

“Well, duh. I am your mum.” Straightening up in her seat, she did a mock-hair flip, and eyed Steve. “Oh Stevie, how wonderful to have you back home tonight, baby. But then again, you’re always here, aren’t you? Hohohoho.” She didn’t even have to concentrate to copy his mum, her strangely sing-songy intonation branded into her brain after too many sleepovers at the Harrington House. “I see you came from-“ here she scrunched her nose in distaste “-work. Or, whatever it is you call…that. Oh, Steven isn’t that your friend Raven?” Steve was even mouthing that part with her, his mum seemingly not able to remember that Robin was, in fact, called Robin. But hey, they were both birds at least. “My my, it’s a pleasure to have you back. I hope you’re staying for dinner, darling, because we just love helping the less fortunate members of our quaint town, don’t we? Richard, darling! I’m getting a headache, let’s go to the Maldives!” Steve flicked her forehead the moment she finished, shaking his head.

“I hated that. And it was scarily accurate, so don’t do that again.”

“I’m your mum, I told you.” He rolled his eyes once more, getting started on his third slice of pizza while she was only just done with her first. That, ladies and gentlemen, was how Steve usually ate - for all those that have been wondering. He was a total boy when it came to food, finishing copious amounts of it in little to no time. “Oh, and the movie is about these two friends. I’m not sure either, because - thanks to someone - I haven’t seen it yet but apparently it’s like an overview over their lives and their friendship throughout.”

“Ugh, who wants to see something like that?” He gestured towards the TV. “I mean, come on. There’s these middle-aged ladies thinking about their friendship and people go crazy over it? Because that movie has been in and out so often, I’m surprised you even managed to get your hands on it.” He shook his head. “Who cares about other people’s friendships, really?”

“Sooo, if someone wanted to make a movie about you and me and our friendship – you wouldn’t watch it?” Steve spluttered, nearly choking on his beer.

“What? About you and me?” She giggled, leaning forward to wipe some beer off his cheek with the back of her hands.

“I mean, sure. We have a lot to tell, haven’t we?”

“Yeah, but…Why would I want to watch that? I was there for all of that.”

“Hmmh, that’s true.”

“And honestly, Hollywood would fuck it up and turn it into one of those fucking rom-com bullshit movies.” He scoffed, taking another sip of his beer. “You’d be played by Molly Ringwald – don’t hit me!” He caught her hand before she could. “It’s not even because you look alike or whatever, it’s because she gets all the chicks into the theatre!” She grumbled under her breath. Molly Ringwald, fuck that. “Anyway, I would totally be played by Tom Cruise. Obviously.”

“Why do you get Tom Cruise but I have to be Molly Ringwald!”

“I don’t make the rules, dude. Molly Ringwald is in every chick flick on this god damn planet.” She scoffed and stuffed her face with more Pizza. “I mean, damn, I wouldn’t be surprised to see her play an African desert princess at this point, simply because it’s her. She would obviously go up in flames because ginger plus sun equals yikes, but you know. Let SPF50 handle that, as long as the entire female teenage population of the united states runs into the cinema because Molly Ringwald!” He rolled his eyes and she scoffed.

“Do not throw all of us into the same pot, Harrington.”

“Ah, so you didn’t drag me into ‘Sixteen Candles’ like a mad woman, huh?” She scoffed.

“Yeah, but that was- it was- Michael Schoeffling, Steve!” The boy just snorted in that annoying ‘yeah right’ kind of way. “Tsk. You know what, Steve? You keep your Tom Cruise, because you know who they would cast as Billy and Ian?”

“Why would they be in that movie?”

“Well, Ian is my ex and Billy beat the shit out of you. That seems kinda important.”

“Once again: It’s been six years. Let it rest.”

“Never.” She shrugged, sipping on her beer. “Anyway. Billy would be Rob Lowe, definitely. And Ian would one hundred percent be John Stamos.”

“Rob Lowe and John Stamos? Didn’t you have, like, posters of them in your old room?”

“Yeah, so?”

“You were obsessed with them.” How could she not? Like, General Hospital was a good show but damn. John Stamos made it so much better and he wasn’t even the main event. And Rob Lowe? Man. Those eyes? The thought alone made her want to purr happily. Truth be told, she wasn’t mad that Billy and Ian were both working for her. Not that she was superficial, but a lady was allowed to enjoy someone’s appearance just a little, right? A tiny, selfish glance every now and again should be alright, yes?

“Your point?”

“Are you trying to tell me that Billy and Ian, of all people, are better looking than me?” At that, she could only shrug.

“You said it, not me.” Not that Steve wasn’t handsome – she’d just told him he was earlier today, hadn’t she? But nothing could beat John Stamos or Rob Lowe. Oooh, wait. Maybe that guy from ’21-Jumpstreet’. What was his name again? The guy that played Tom Hanson. That guy was great too.

“Wow. You are a horrible person.”

“Am not.”

“Yes, you are…oh my god.”

“What now?”

“You didn’t date Ian because he looks like John Stamos, did you?” She grinned.

“I did not. But, let’s just say…it definitely didn’t deter me.”

“Tsk. You know, maybe I should…” On screen, Bette Midler was suddenly in quite the hurry. “Woah, what’s she going on about?”

“I think it’s because of that note she just found. See?”

“Well, what does it say?”

“I don’t know, dumbass. Someone kept distracting me by talking all over the movie.”

“Huh…” He leaned back, long done with his Pizza, and eyed the television with furrowed brows. She couldn’t help but smile.

Who would have thought. ‘Beaches’ – the chick flick Steve really didn’t want to see – actually managed to snag his attention – oh wait. She would’ve thought. That was pretty much always the case, by the way. He was all pissing and moaning until the movie actually played. Within the first ten minutes, Steve would always be absolutely invested. He’d be yelling at the screen when the guys fucked up, and get annoyed at every bout of miscommunication.

Because that was who Steve actually was.

A big softie that knew how to enjoy chick flicks.

And very vocally so, too.

“No way. No way are they fucking on the opening night of her musical thing. Like, dude, who does that!? That’s such a bullshit move.” Steve threw a balled-up handkerchief at the TV. “Like, she saw that C.C. liked him. A blind guy could see that. Isn’t there something like a… girl code or whatever? Who needs friends like that! Shit.”

Realistically, couldn’t disagree with that one. It was a shitty move, truly. Who slept with the guy his best friend was into? That was just shitty. Like, technically speaking that would be like her sleeping with Nancy back when Steve was head over heels for the Wheeler princess. God, she would’ve felt horrible. No, no she absolutely agreed with Steve here.

“Yeah, such a dick move, Hillary.” Steve nodded; eyes still trained at the TV.

A better one came later somewhere in the movie. And god, this one would totally make it into her ‘Things to tease Steve with’ treasure chest – because that one? Pure gold.

“Oh my god, why do all the guys in this movie suck?!” He’d suddenly yelled, making her flinch. “Like, one fucks the one friend and then marries the other, only to divorce her couple years later - because boohoo selfish - and the other cheats on his wife! What is the moral of the story here, guys? All men suck? Is that what they’re trying to tell me here?” He finished another beer with a noisy sip before falling back into a more comfortable position. “Shit, I hate men, really, I absolutely fucking hate men.”

That one did it. She burst out laughing, a croaky, choked up laugh that started to hurt her sides really quickly. And Steve, slapping her thigh and glaring at her, really didn’t help much. But oh my god, what the hell – Steve Harrington, recently turned advocate for the ‘anti men’ fraction because someone fake-cheated on Barbara Hershey. Fuck, she needed to tell Robin about that.

The end of the movie, however, quickly beat the laughter out of both of them.

As the credits started to roll, neither of them really said anything. Both of them hanging low in their seats, shoulder to shoulder, trying to stomach the heartbreak the movie threw at them.

“…Well that ending was shit.”

“Yupp.” She nodded, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“I mean, why did she have to die? Bullshit.” Steve pushed back his hair, clearly not agreeing with what he just saw. “Who makes a movie about friendship just to kill one of them off?”

“Right? I mean, was that necessary? God, they could just have hinted at it, but why show it?” At the thought, new tears blurred her sight. “And, I mean, the whole thing with the ‘Hi’ at the end, why make it so casual? Fuck.”

“Yeah, man. I mean, who walks into the hospital, sees their dying friend, and just says ‘Hi’!? What the fuck.” Silence settled once again, both of them staring at the names flying by on the screen.

Honestly, maybe they were just the wrong people for that movie.

Maybe someone else could have seen beauty or love in it. And sure, there certainly was love between those two, maybe even in its purest of forms. C.C. had driven her car through the night, leaving everything behind because of a simple note and spent the entire time reminiscing about her best friend. She’d raced to another town, because her friend was dying and she wanted to be there for her. So yes, there was love, there was beauty in everything.

But it didn’t register with her.

Not with her, not with Steve.

The problem with her and Steve was likely the fact that they’d both feared for each other’s lives before - more than once. It wasn’t a feeling she ever wanted to have to face again, and it wasn’t something she liked to talk or even think about. Because to her it was neither love nor beauty – it was just pain. She could imagine how Steve had felt when that Demodog jumped her in ‘84. That fucking beast had tackled her down, burrowing it’s claws into her sides, and tried to bite her head off or whatever those shit’s do. A well-placed hit with Steve’s bat had saved her, but damn. It’d been dangerously close. And then, back in ’86, when Steve was dragged into lovers’ lake...god. She felt his hand slip out of hers, she saw the panic in his eyes as he was dragged out of sight and for a moment her mind when silent, nothing but one thought prevailing.

Steve was dying.

Needless to say, she’d short circuited and dove into the water – which she absolutely hated – to save him. A tiny part of her wished she wouldn’t have, because hearing his screams and seeing those monsters maul him was…yeah, let’s just say it was the main setting of many of her nightmares. He knew, of course, because she’d told him. Just as he told her about his dreams. How he often dreamed about running towards the trailer she, Dustin and Eddie were supposed to be hiding in only to find the scene changed. Instead of her, hurt and screaming for help while dragging a bleeding, half conscious Eddie Munson towards the trailer he came back to silence. He came to find her lying right next to Eddie, bloody and disfigured. Or maybe he came back to screams all the same, but instead of hers it was Dustin or Eddie screaming while dragging her unmoving body.

“Hey.” Steve used his elbow to snap her out of her mind. As always, he just waited for her eyes to focus on him and for her mind to come back to the here and now. He didn’t ask questions, because he knew what the answers would be.

Once she was fully present again, he nodded towards her midriff. “You keep massaging your stomach. You okay?” Confused, she looked down at her hands. And sure enough, there she was, massaging away.

“Ah, no. I mean, yeah, I’m fine. Just one of those hissy tummy days.” Steve looked less than amused.

“Period or stomach bug?” Stifling a sigh, she let herself fall sideways on the sofa.

“Oh, the woes of womanhood.” Steve winced.

“Period, alright.” Sighing he patted her thigh. “Poor girl. How about, like, a heating pad or something? That helps, right?” He didn’t even wait for her to nod, he just got up and wandered on. “Where do you keep those?”

“I’m out, but I’ve got a hot water bottle in the wardrobe.”

“Shouldn’t you, you know, stock up on that sorta stuff?” Steve wandered into her bedroom like he owned the place, rooting through her drawers without an inkling of hesitation.

“I usually do, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet. This whole week’s been a mess and a half.” The boy just hummed his answer, wandering back into the kitchen to heat up some water.

“Do you need pain meds or something?” She watched him bustle around the kitchen from where she lay, frowning. “Hello?”

“What?”

“Do you need pain meds? Tylenol? Wait, do you take Tylenol for that?” She chuckled softly.

“I usually take Midol, but Tylenol works. But I don’t need any right now, it’s not that bad.” He did that cute thing he sometimes did, where he silently repeated things to himself in order to commit them to memory. She could clearly read his lips, read the word ‘Midol’ and just had to grin.

The kettle was done boiling and Steve went back into the kitchen for a few moments. It didn’t take him long to fill the hot water bottle, let some steam out, squeeze it and carry it over to her. Carefully, he dropped it onto her achy stomach, sending her an analytic glance.

“I’m fine, Steve. I do this every month, remember?” He winced again.

“Yeah, all the more reason someone should spoil you a bit.” He wandered over to the TV, rooting through her meagre collection of tapes. Picking one up, he removed ‘Beaches’ from the player with a disgusted face and changed it for something else. Then he got up, dropped himself back onto the sofa and nodded at the remote. “On with it, sweet girl. Molly Ringwald is waiting for us.”

***

‘The Breakfast Club’ kept running, both of them not really paying attention. Sometimes they’d talk but mostly, they just both got lost in their own thoughts. It was nice, though. Sitting quietly with Steve, not talking and not really doing anything was strangely comforting. The TV filled the quiet with useless chatter and provided them with light in her now entirely dark living room. Tut had at some point left the chair behind to curl himself up on Steve’s lap, where he was now purring away while the boy tiredly ran his fingers over the cat’s skin.

But not only that.

No, his other hand kept rubbing circles into her calf and she felt like purring herself. The gentle stroking was so rhythmical and comforting that she could feel herself drift in and out of sleep, barely able to focus on any coherent thought.

Until Steve started talking, that is.

“Hey, are you awake?” He suddenly asked, quietly and yet way too loudly. A non-committal hum was all she could offer. “Can I ask you something?” Steve’s voice sounded thick with exhaustion, indicating he was likely just as tired as she felt.

“…Shoot.” She mumbled back, the warm, sleepy atmosphere weighing on her heavily. Seriously, she’d probably stopped him from saying anything, had she had half a mind to. Sleepy Steve was a dangerous version of him. He was often too honest and too curious for his own good.

“So, uhm…we were talking about Ian earlier and it got me thinking.”

“…Ian?”

“Yeah.” Steve looked at her, his head tipped back against the couch. “You never really told me why you guys broke up. I mean, one day you guys were all in love and the next you’re crying in front of my door talking about how you needed a place to stay until Ian was gone.”

“Hmmh…” She sighed at the memory. She’d cried so much that night. Poor Steve was likely absolutely overwhelmed, but he’d taken it like a champ. He didn’t ask any questions, he didn’t cuss Ian out, he didn’t do anything but pat her back and let her cry. “Ian…” she started, her voice barely more than a whisper “…you know, he’s a good guy.” He really was. Ian looked like a douchebag with that pretty face of his and those broad shoulders, but he was actually one of the kindest souls she knew. He was caring, warm and soft. Loving. “And because of that, I had to tell him to leave.” Steve frowned.

“Okay, you lost me already. I’m tired, please go easy on me.” She grumbled, getting up only to plop down the other way around, her head against his shoulder. He put his arm around her, accepting her tired form into a loose embrace, while using the other to secure the hot water bottle back against her torso.

“I have nightmares. As you know.” He’d been there for many of them. “I mean, they’re not as bad now but...” Steve nodded, saving her the need of more explanation. “The worst, most frequent ones started back in ’85. And…well, Ian could deal with those. He kinda understood why they were happening, with Starcourt and my dad and brother and everything…or he thought he understood, at least.” She hugged the lukewarm water bottle closer against herself. “They got better the more time passed… which he noticed. And that would’ve been fine, I guess, had it not been for all that ’86 crap.” She focused on the TV in front where Molly Ringwald and Judd Nelson were bickering on. Blegh. “When they got worse again, he started to ask questions.” So many damn questions. “I didn’t want to lie to him… but I could obviously not tell him the truth.” If she closed her eyes, she could clearly remember the hurt on his face, the way his blue eyes turned hard whenever she shot him down. Ian…was an extremely kind man. But he was also someone who hated being shut out. She sighed. “A relationship filled with secrets and lies can’t work. I saw how he stopped trusting me every time I told him that it would be fine. That he didn’t need to know.” She bit her lips at the memory. “And every time he would ask more and more questions. He’d ask about my scars, about my dreams, my fear of dogs and tight spaces and why I wouldn’t just talk to him…And every time I could just look at him and say ‘It’s fine, Ian. It’s okay now’.” Tiredly, she wiped some stray tears from her cheeks. It was so dumb to keep crying about that – it had been a year now and both she and Ian had moved on. That didn’t make it any easier, though. “It hurt him; I know it did. And hurting him hurt me, so I just…”

“Let him go.” She nodded, closing her eyes against the new tears threatening to form. Steve sighed, stroking her arm with gentle fingers. “I know, what’s done is done. But couldn’t you just have… told him the truth?”

“Would you? If it was…I don’t know, anyone really.” Steve sighed again, placing his chin on her hair.

“…Probably not, no.”

“See?” She sighed. “He’s better off without all this. Without me.”

“Don’t say that. That’s not true. Nobody is better off without you, you’re great.” She snorted.

“Yeah…thanks, Steve.”

“You know I really mean that.”

“I do…” But believing it was another thing. Honestly, could she even rant about Steve never listening to her when she told him to stop blaming himself? She wasn’t any better. She hid away from everyone and everything, shut out anyone that wasn’t already involved simply because she feared she would make their lives worse by just existing next to them.

“Is that the reason you stopped dating too? The whole ‘questions you can’t answer’ thing?” She sighed against his neck, shrugging slightly.

“I don’t know…Maybe. Or maybe it was just…”

“Hm?” He looked down at her and she shrugged again.

“I really… really loved Ian. A lot.” If it weren’t so cheesy, she’d go as far as call him her first love. “I did try to move on. I went on dates and I tried really hard to get to know people. And sure, sometimes it was about getting laid, but others were genuine attempts at meeting someone I want to be with. But it just…it wasn’t the same.” He nodded, because that he knew. She’d told him every time, ranting about how the people she’d met were weird or rude. How they commented on her ‘workers hands’ or her body, how they tried to kiss her when she clearly said no. And even if she said yes, they somehow found a way to make her uncomfortable by getting all grabby and forward. Those were the worst kind of dates, the kind that made her feel dirty and used. The ones, where all she wanted to do was take a long, hot shower and forget about it.

Of course, not every date was like that.

There were many decent people around Hawkins if one cared to look for them. But even if it wasn’t that…they just never seemed right. Some dates were objectively nice, especially those that her friends had helped her set up. Steve and the others knew her, they knew who she might click with. Those were the dates where people would hold doors, ask questions and be friendly and polite. They wore nice clothes and the conversations flowed easily and continuously. And yet, even after those dates, the best part was the drive home.

“It just never…” she took a deep breath “…never felt right with anyone else.”

“…Yeah, I get it.” Steve said, shifting his arm to hold her a tiny bit closer. “I keep looking for something special, but it’s…it’s just never there. Maybe I should just, you know, wait and see. Give up the active hunt. Relax more…” Steve ran his fingers over her hair absentmindedly. “I don’t even know what exactly I want, what exactly I’m expecting to find. I just always know that this, whatever this may be, isn’t it.” They sighed in unison at that. “We’re a mess.”

“Fuck yeah we are.”

The two of them chuckled tiredly, huddled together on her small couch in the tiny single wide she called home, while ‘Breakfast Club’ slowly but surely reached its conclusion. Tut was happily snoring away on Steve’s lap, the sound mixing with the chatter of the TV, blending into a calming sea of noise. With every chuckle she felt Steve’s body vibrate softly against hers, a warm pressure, soft but firm at the same time. She could feel his breath against her hairline, he felt her against his neck – soft puffs of warm air that left way to soon.

The whole situation should have been uncomfortable or emotional. It would have been with anyone else. It would’ve been too much skinship, a blatant invasion of personal space. Every word would have been a dance along the lines of too honest and not honest enough, trying to toe around the dreaded overshare but keeping the whole talk genuine and open. Lies would have been told, truths would’ve been omitted in favour of not seeming too weak or too pathetic.

This conversation should’ve been so difficult, admitting their feelings and hopes should’ve been… and yet it wasn’t.

Instead, it was warm and soft, honest and quiet. A mere whisper in the dark. An ear that listened to the soft words of another, not questioning what was shared. It was the two of them, sharing everything while leaving each other room to breathe, to just be. Accepting the things that were said without judgement, without forcing the other person to act like something they weren’t.

It was comfort and ease, the routine of a long, close friendship. A friendship that had been through highs and lows, that had seen the worst parts of each person. A friendship, that persevered when one abandoned the other, when the wrong words were yelled at the wrong time, when promises were broken and forgotten. Time had tested it with girlfriends, mistakes and the supernatural.

Through that, it became a friendship that survived all the hurt thrown at it. It survived, because the two of them knew that, in the end, they would always choose each other again.

It was a friendship, that was like breathing.

Easy and thoughtless.

Because that was what the two of them truly were.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington x mechanic!reader #slow burn #childhood best friends to lovers #mechanic!reader #afab!reader #curvy!reader #black!reader #asian!reader #fem!reader

[thevelominati]

Vengeance of the Moon Knight

Some written thoughts now, actually...

I was a little wary that Reese jumping into therapy with Andrea would feel a little contrived – it worked for Marc for obvious reasons, and as much as I’ve enjoyed Andrea as a character and how good she was for Marc, repeating her for Reese didn’t feel like it was going to be the most interesting move. I’m glad that’s not quite what it turned out to be come the end of the issue though, so Mackay’s once again proving himself as a thoroughly competent writer and I really need to stop kneejerk worrying about the directions he occasionally chooses to head in.

Aside: Reese still looks fucking awesome in the suit.

“Marc had two gods, neither of whom he was on good terms with.”

It’s a simple line, but I do appreciate it. I’ve said it before, but I’ve really enjoyed how Mackay has tried to pull through the battle with religion and identity (and Judaism/his upbringing) that was so present in the 80s run to the present, because it did feel like a lot of the 90s/00s dropped that in favour of specifically focusing on Marc’s issues and relationship with Khonshu which – yeah, interesting and dynamic, but it’s most interesting when you consider what it’s played off against. He’s not just a man with dubious mental health and dubious trauma processing skills who’s the avatar of an Egyptian god, he’s a Jewish man with all of the above and a contentious relationship with every god (and father…) figure he encounters!

Ben Grimm is so good, I love him. I love the fact that Jake played poker with him and Ben insisted on remaining a connection with Judaism for Moon Knight as a whole, regardless of Marc’s … everything.

I am interested in what kind of conversations Marc had about funerals/his death he did actually have with anyone else in the Mission though. How did it come up? Why did it come up? Did Reese and co strongarm him into having a discussion about ‘so, what the fuck actually happens if you die?’ because I’m not sure I can really buy him sitting down and having that conversation of his own free will.

I wondered if we were going to see Marlene and Diatrice, or Frenchie and co, but them not knowing Marc’s dead (unless it’s covered in the news and they find out that way, I guess) and no-one at the Mission having a way to get in touch with any of them makes sense. The only characters it doesn’t mentally make sense for IMO is Gena and Crawley – I can buy both of them (more Gena than Crawley) not wanting anything more to do with Marc and everything he brings into their lives, but I don’t think either of them would have moved away from NYC in the same way Marlene and Frenchie have evidently done so.

I do find it interesting to note that Marc apparently did speak about JP and the rest of them a little bit though, given the comment about “any of the old crew”.

I feel like there are probably some interesting thoughts to be had on how Marc viewed being MK as his debt, duty, and everything about his life, whilst Reese is very much ‘I’ve got a lot of (un)life ahead of me, this isn’t going to be what I do forever’ about it. Where Sterman expresses concern about how Reese is processing or not her grief, it feels like this is quite an IC way for Reese to process her grief.

Tigra! My beloved! I love the contrast between Reese and Tigra (also, Tigra’s arms, unf) and the reminder that Tigra can be very brutal herself. There’s a reason why Marc and Greer have always gotten along, after all! I also really appreciate how whilst Reese’s approach at this point is to try and reflect the way that Marc was, to an extent, trying to run the Midnight Mission, she’s not aware of how much Marc didn’t let her see his brutality and questionable methodology. She’s not necessarily got any illusions about the type of person Marc was, but she didn’t get the same type of exposure to how fucked up he could be and the amount of blood he could be willing to spill.

Which kind of brings us to her not recognising the ~~new Moon Knight. I am really excited for the potential of came back wrong! Marc and what that’ll mean for the Mission, but I don’t want to wait until Feb 14th…

(Also poor 8-Ball. Everyone forgets about him. Don’t worry Jeff, we love you…)

#moon knight #moon knight comics #marc spector #marvel comics #wednesday comic spoilers #wednesday spoilers #comic spoilers #moon knight spoilers #elle reads comics

[silverusso]

What about Terry and Mike in the OT3? are they a thing to or do they only agree to share Daniel?

My boy always gets sidelined, and this dynamic gets ignored even more than Labarnes, which is also criminally underrated. I get it, cause Mike and Terry spent most of their screentime separately and with Daniel, in kk3 and ck s5, and so we really don’t have much to go on, unfortunately. But I’m gonna go full meta on this, even if I sound delulu.

So look, Terry says "perfect" like 4 times? And it’s always in reference to Mike. He’s just like me fr.

Mike is sort of the Johnny to Terry’s Kreese, in a sense? I say this loosely because there’s a sort of fatherly attachment in that dynamic that isn’t present here. Kreese trained Johnny, and so he sort of molded him and contributed to Johnny’s success as a two-time avt champ. Mike came to Terry already a national champion, and going by his reputation as "Karate’s Bad Boy", whoever trained him was either giving him the Cobra Kai kool-aid on steroids, or Mike was just that fucked up naturally lol. And Mike really is perfect because Terry doesn’t need to put any time or effort into him. Mike is just another financial investment, and Terry loves throwing his money around. And Mike even negotiates with him like a boss. He walked in there, not batting an eye at Terry being butt ass naked in a tub, and really said "50% or I walk" and Terry was just like "bet." AND Mike says he wants that shit in writing, and Terry draws up a whole contract with a real lawyer?? Promising 50% of Cobra Kai to this kid??? Mike is honestly so iconic. I said this before, but Mike was pretty much poised to become the face of Cobra Kai. He was supposed to be their champion and their saving grace. They were going to open dojos all over the valley when not if he won. Half of which he’d legally own. So he was basically inheriting Terry’s legacy as well.

was this really necessary sir

and this

Granted, Terry has a personal space issue with like everyone, apparently, but still, grabbing his hair? It’s not even like Mike has long hair for him to grab in the first place. And I don’t think you have to practically spit in his mouth to pretend threaten him.💀

literally, why are they standing this way

just look at the way Daniel and Kreese look at him😭

It’s giving

And then in s5, Terry burned down Mike’s store, and of course everyone links that to his jealousy over Daniel. But that store was Mike’s father-in-law’s store. So yeah it affected Mike, but it obviously affected his wife much worse lbr. And what did this lead to? Supposedly, Mike’s wife leaving him. So he basically ruined Mike’s marriage the same way he tried to do with Daniel and Amanda. 👀

And okay idc if this is a reach but Mike being on something even "stronger" than alcohol...While Terry confirmed he was on crack back in the 80s.......Remember Daniel's "your ponytailed pimp" line.

And when he mocks Johnny for being dumb and "attacking me on my own turf" which technically was Mike’s idea, BUT earlier he also said, "Uh oh, fellas, I don’t think this is gonna turn out like you thought it would." only AFTER Mike got knocked out. Because even though they would have still been outnumbered with Mike in the fight, he knew none of his little foot fist ninjas were going to stand a chance against Mike. So Mike is taken out of the fight and just like tossed in another room, which puts him conveniently out of harm's way. It’s not like he was locked in or whatever so I don’t think the major concern here was keeping him from waking up and rejoining the fight.

And btw, Mike’s plan was what ended up saving the day, cause Terry arrived too late to the dojo and was in no condition to fight Daniel. King Shit.💅

Then Terry leaves Chozen for dead in his pool and tells the senseis to pull an mk fatality on Johnny. And Mike? Just let him sleep it off. <33

like hello??

Terry knew what he was doing. He wanted Mike back by his side on a pretty leash and Daniel on his knees for him.

#ask #mike barnes #terry silver #daniel larusso #terry x mike #silverusso #cobra kai

[berniecranes]

One thing that kind have irked me a little bit is John's views in the game. No, not the fundamentals I disagree with, as that is obvious. But the inconsistencies with what they built up for him. They're minor details, it doesn't really change much, but excuse this ramble I am going into. It's going to be talking about the VW, and some of the tactics used in it, so I want to give a full warning for this.

Also I want to preface this as this is not to defend John. I have been more than adamant on the fact that John is a scary, shitty, C*A Officer regardless of anything else.

As you may know, John makes a passing comment to Lincoln about how LBJ is handling the war. He says "President Johnson is a goddamn pussy. He started that war, he should finish it." which clearly shows John, a. Puts blame on LBJ for pushing the war, obviously being lighter towards Jack's actions earlier on. Whether he is a believer that Jack wouldn't have escalated the war, or he wouldn't have had it get this bad/would have handled it better, that is up for debate. And b. He wants it to end. Which is an obvious, I think assuming him and Lincoln want this war to be over makes sense. But, especially with the idea he was a C*A Officer; because at this time, the C*A and M*litary were not hand in hand allies, as I believe that happened either with N*xon or the 80s, I cannot remember fully right now. They often opposed views. And with this, the C*A believing they "ACTUALLY want to the end the war"; whereas the m*litary wants "glory." Now, I would like to point out, just because John wants the war to end doesn't make him anti-war. As we hear how he feels abt anti-war protesters. Clearly he still believes they should do their """civic duty""" or whatever. Regardless of if you're happy with it or not, or be quiet and go along with it, I guess.

But this really is where my biggest gripe comes in. John says the way to end the war is "filling up the sky with B-52s" AKA, keep bombing V*etnam. This has been the tactic that has been FAILING. LBJ has been critiqued even in his own Party that he needs to stop the bombing & to start negotiations. But the thing with LBJ, he is too stubborn likes to do things his way. And, do you know who opposed continuous bombing? The C*A. While I know clearly not EVERYONE did, but then tell me why....when they established John is unhappy with how things are going, especially with what LBJ is doing.....WHY he would be pro the tactics that ISN'T working? UGH! It just makes no sense to me. And to go on and continue to mock him when he haults the bombings? Like hello?

And no, I do not believe he would want N*xon or whatever because I still do believe he is a democrat. I think his staunch support for Jack should definitely still be noted. He wouldn't go SO hard for a politician he believed in...if he didn't believe in him you know? Remember John is a man of this time, he's an actively present adult. He isn't looking at it 60 yrs later, he's looking at it in the moment. I think it's more than fair to say his frustration of LBJ doesn't show he is suddenly against him or whatever. Because they're just that; frustrations. Especially in the conference, we see how the war fucked with John and how he feels about everything as a whole. But it is true, the handling of the war overshadowed literally EVERYTHING LBJ did. And I'm not saying that is a bad thing, when your screw up (putting that lightly) is a literal mass killing of an entire group of people, that is GONNA be the focus of what you did. Oh, but with the line where John says if Jack was still around N*xon wouldn't be president. I believe that is a rather loaded answer, not as simple as Jack would be elected, because he couldn't have been, it would already be 2nd term. The plan always would have been Bobby would try after Jack, then Teddy. But I think he still holds a lot of his hopes in what the nation could have been with him, and truly feels Am*rica "lost its way" or whatever. But yeah, I think it's clear he still is aligned this way regardless of the many wrong things John does or say.

Like I mentioned, this is by no means me defending him or the C*A, as they were doing terrible shit. As we know the Ph*onix Pr*gram (which to remind you, M3 has John AND Lincoln involved in that for some reason...) exists, and many other things are public about their doings there. I just think this shows how the game lacks to really show anyone's core views or thoughts. Instead of using John as a way to show the many different views, they should have stuck to one and have him do that. Instead, they went with this, something that literally makes NO sense.

Below the cut are all the John lines I mentioned and also a passage or two from the book V*etnam: A History by St*nley K*rnow

Added in alt text so hopefully they're all easier to read, I apologize abt the book pictures, they were taken last year in the middle of me reading so often I just got a quick pic and continued on, aha

#conference anniversary day?! perfect time to finally fomulate my thoughts on something that has bother me for awhile aha #also not to mention!!! john had been assigned there EARLY since '61 which should only deepen his opinion of the current strategy NOT workin #m3 etc #sorry this was a long one #i hope it makes sense #mafia (game) — #just max ramblin'

[simon-newman]

Inebu Dynasty

Okay. So.

Seeing @eric-coldfire​ amazing progress with Leviathan I’ve took out my still-unfinished Indomitus box from under the table along with the boxes of finished (unpainted) and finished (primed/partially painted) Necrons.

After an evening of work I present to you around 80% of my necron army as it is right now:

20 Warriors, 3 Scarab Swarms, 1 Overlord, 5 Lychguard and 5 Flayed Ones.

Half of the Necron Warriors have a bit of arm switcheroo going on so that they don’t look like clones.

Lychguard are pose-able so there’s no problem here. For the Flayed Ones I’ve mostly ignored the assembly guide so even if I assemble another box going “by the book” they should look like 10 different miniatures.

Necron Overlord is waiting for some dead Ultramarine base decoration before I call him truly “finished”.

Sadly both Lychguard and Immortals (not included in the photo) suffer from assembly line gap on their shoulder armor plates. I’ll need to patch that before painting them.

Now for the Scarabs.

Just like with warriors the Indomitus came with 2 sets that assemble exactly the same.

I’ve decided to do something interesting with the remaining 3 and cut them apart. Then I used some leftovers from Warriors and Lychguard as base decorations.

Like this:

Now I’ve got a set of 6 scarabs with all of them being different:

I did fuck up however and one set has 8 scarabs while a different set has only 6 when all of them should have 7 each...

Not that it really matters...

I will add some debris under the first set of Scarabs as I don’t really like the way how most of them just hover over the base...

And yeah. My color scheme is Black Metal with Red and/or Purple Glow. I don’t think there’s an official Dynasty with this scheme so I’ve named them after the old name of Memphis.

I’m having some trouble reposing the Reanimator (I reposed the legs but I’m having trouble bending the cables underneath to connect them) and I’ll also need some Space Marine leftovers for the Skorpekh Lord so I guess next on the menu are the Destroyers or the Royal Warden.

I might also attempt to kitbash a Chronomancer out of the various leftovers. I’m just lacking a base for him.

#Warhammer 40k #WH40k #necrons #Xenos

[artificialgrinder]

THE DARK SEEPING IN (BRATZ FASHION PIXIEZ REIMAGINING) CH. 7

Breeana and the girls prepare for the upcoming Magnolia Ball, surprised to find Cymbeline has flaked out.

AN: Okay, so this one is kinda shorter so I apologise! The next one will be longer however, I promise. Also, I just want to say, I noticed the increase in traffic on this story and I really appreciate everyone's kind comments! Thank you so so much, you're all so sweet.

Breeana really wanted to stop in the hall and just ask Dylan outright. She  really  wanted to. But with all those people around…And the fact she had already missed so many chances…

And the fact she had other matters to tend to, there was no point.

Her stomach was still in knots since fleeing the cafeteria like that, especially knowing many people probably saw the dramatics. From their perspective, she imagined it was like something out of a teen movie or a soap opera. 

Fortunately, Felicia was kind enough to walk with her all the way from the school, all the way to the town centre. The other girl lived in that area anyway, which was a win-win for both parties.

"You meeting your sister here?" Felicia had asked to which Breeana said yes. 

But that was a lie. She knew Cymbeline wasn't going to show up. 

Now pinning fake flowers to a vine-covered lamp post, she thought of all the things her sister could have been doing at that present moment. 

Funny how weeks prior, Cymbeline could have torn the house down with her ranting of how the organisation for the Magnolia Ball was. She needed all the help she could get to bring it all together. And now that preparations were well underway, what with everyone gathered in the town centre setting up the scenery, Breeana still wasn't surprised Cymbeline flaked out.

"What's up, bitch?"

The voice caught her off guard, turning to see Yasmin approaching with a folded banner in her hand. "Sorry about earlier. You know, the cafeteria. I mean, I don't know why you got up and left like that, but sorry anyway."

Breeana blinked, unsure of what to say. "Oh, um. Sorry about that. I just…had bad cramps."

"Ugh, I feel that." Yasmin stroked Breeana's shoulder. "Fuck having a uterus."

Breeana managed a breath of a laugh. "Yeah, for real."

Then Cloe came next. "Hey, guys!" She hurried over, holding a small object in her hand, "Look! It's a petal. It fell from the tree. Like, wow!"

"Never change, angel." Yasmin rolled her eyes yet smiled.

"Hey, ladies!" Yet another voice came. Sasha and Jade were now joining the equation. Breeana's stomach churned. Of all of Cymbeline's friends, she always found both Jade and Sasha to be the more upfront ones. And she knew what was to come.

"So we got the music line-up from the DJ. It's gonna pop." Sasha waved the piece of paper in front of Yasmin's face.

The Latina took the list, her eyes scanning it. "Nice mix. Current tracks with some '80s and '90s. Just getting the nostalgia in there."

Cloe peeked over Yasmin's shoulder, also analysing the words on the paper. "Oh my God, yes. They got Spice Girls on there! Can we all recreate that act we used to do in kindergarten?"

"You still remember that?" Jade blew out a cloud of smoke, having pulled out her vape.

"Um, yeah? It was only like, uh, one of our most iconic moments ever," Cloe said as if it should have been a given. "Cymbeline and I know it off by heart still."

And there it was, the invitation to the topic. If only Breeana had just run away.

"Where is Cymbeline anyway?" Sasha's eyes scanned the square.

"Oh, shit. I didn't even realise." Cole shrugged.

Breeana turned back to the lamp post, starting to decorate in the hopes the older girls would just take this discussion elsewhere.

"I don't know why you're all acting brand new and surprised." Yasmin unfolded her banner just to fold it back up. "Kinda knew she wasn't coming, what with her being so busy around her girlfriend these days."

"Bitch, are you crazy? Her Dad funds this shit. She organises everything. It's, like, her life's mission to make this shit a success!" Jade ranted.

"Unless something came up?" Sasha shrugged, then peered past Yasmin to the youngest Devlin. "You know where she at, Bree'?"

"Fuck, I," Breeana faked a sigh, "I'm not sure. I mean…I think she's on her period or something. She had to go home real quick."

"Oh, shit. You're both synced. You guys must be witches," Cloe suggested with a giggle.

"Haha. Yeah."

"No - No - No. Seriously," Sasha waved her hand around, not in favour of the distraction, "Cymbeline would never let a period stop her from doing shit. She would - - Fuck, we have a party tonight. You gonna tell me next that she ain't going to that?"

And Breeana panicked, "I-I don't know. She hasn't really - -"

"Tone it down, Bunny Boo," Cloe put a calming hand on Sasha's shoulder. "It's not that big of a deal."

The flared-up girl turned back to Cloe with a raised brow. There was something in her eyes as if telepathically communicated to Cloe. But all that left her mouth was, "Alright. Cool."

That should have relaxed the younger Devlin sister. But she wasn't dumb enough to miss the insincerity in Sasha's voice.

"Let's just finish decorating. We still gotta get ready for tonight," Yasmin then looked at Breeana, " You  coming later?"

"I actually wasn't invited to whatever it is," Breeana said, sounding more sorry for herself than she meant to.

"Viper's party," Sasha said like it was common knowledge.

"Viper?"

"You know, Cade." She elaborated.

"His birthday party at  Basement.  Koby's band's playing," Jade added.

"And Cymbeline would never miss a Blaze gig," Sasha just had to go on, much to Breeana's dismay.

" Sasha ," Cloe said more sternly.

"Yeah, come on, bitch. Let's just…get this shit done and go get ready." Yasmin steered Sasha away, nodding apologetically to the younger girl.

There were a few murmurs amongst Cymbeline's friends, but Breeana paid no heed. She had a job to do. A job her sister was once so passionate about.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You sure you don't wanna come, Bree'?"

"I just wasn't invited in the first place, you know?" Breeana explained on the phone, rubbing moisturiser all over her face and neck. When Dylan's name appeared on her phone, her stomach flipped, practically jumping into her throat. But how could she ignore this opportunity?

"Girl, everybody is invited. Coulda just showed up, you feel?"  Dylan continued. There was the sound of him drinking from a bottle and the music thumping in the background. Very Oliver Tree-type beats.

"Yeah, but still. I don't know. Social anxiety and all," Breeana blushed, scooping the phone up to her ear, turning speaker mode off. Venturing out of her bathroom, she flopped down on the bed. "I know it's not a huge issue, but…my brain just doesn't work that way, you know?"

"Yeah, I feel. Cloe used to be like that. But having those other girls around her, it kinda just brought out the side she always wanted everybody to see, you know?" 

"Yeah…"  Easier said than done, though,  Breeana refrained from saying. "Are they there?" She asked for no reason in particular.

"Nah, ain't seen them around. They better show up soon. Cameron is hounding me so much, already asking where Blondie is. What about your sister and her gothy lady friend. Are they on route?" 

Breeana sighed, hoping it wasn't heard. “Cymbeline’s just…exhausted and, you know - -”

"Don't worry, I know what you're saying. Well, shit. Next time there's a party, you can be my plus one, right?" 

Breeana flushed, allowing a smile to appear on her face. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, girl. It would be the highlight of my year, honestly.

"You drunk, Dyl'?"

"Not at all."

Breeana giggled. "Okay. Yeah, sure. I'll be your plus one."

"Sick." 

Breeana could just hear the smile in his voice. Fuck, everything about this boy just had her melting.

"I saw you in the hall earlier, by the way. I was gonna talk to you, but that bitch ass Zach got in my way."  Dylan sipped from whatever he was drinking.

And Breeana knew what was coming. But now, she was less on edge.

Well, that was until she heard the clacking of heels.

 "I was supposed to ask earlier."

Cymbeline zoomed passed Breeana's bedroom door, clearly in a hurry.

"What did you want to say in the cafeteria?"

It was now or never. "Hang on, Dylan. I gotta go. I'll call you back."

Before she could give in to his protests, she hung up.

Breeana breathed in deeply. She got up off her bed and followed her sister.

#bratz fashion pixiez #bratz #bratz fanfic #bratz fanfiction #bratz breeana #bratz cymbeline #bratz lina

[redphienix]

I've been watching/listening to a FUCK TON of "Best of the worst" the last few days because I like bad movies and enjoy hearing some film nerds ramble a bit but my one take away after like 80 videos worth of these guys is fucking how in the hell do the Red Letter Media people's brains work like this???

How do they just have like 9000 different actors, directors, sound techs, special effects artists- just "PEOPLE"'s names and likenesses memorized so thoroughly???

I can store like 6 names total in my head including my own and I can barely picture the faces of my roommates and these guys are like "Oh this random extra looks just like this random actor from a shitty 70s movie that sold 30 copies and was directed by such and such who made 4 movies total" and everyone present is like "Oh yeah they totally do!"

Every like 3rd episode there's a small moment where they go "This reminded me a lot of "x" movie from "exact year" with "director" and "sound guy's exact name and IP address" and these moments aren't treated as researched moments, they are throw-away lines just meant to be them shooting the shit and I'm like "WHAT"

WHAT ARE THESE BRAINS. HOW DO THEY WORK???

#my posts

[nyaagolor]

I just finished Adastra and I am about to make that everyone's problem

Tldr: it slams and (if you are over 18) you should play it

Disclaimer: Adastra is an 18+ VN. There will be no nsfw content in this post but like. If ur a minor get outta here

This isn't a liveblog, since I already finished the game, but it's a pretty similarly scattered collection of my thoughts while playing so there's no real narrative cohesion to this post. If u were looking for a detailed review just watch the video by Boringkeith

I think the biggest thing about the game to me is how insane the plot gets at Act 2. Act 1, while admittedly kind of dull, does a great job at setting up characterization and tension over time, introducing motivations and worldbuilding in a really natural way. The way the author handles the delivery of information is just. Fucking fantastic if I'm being honest, and the conversations-- ESPECIALLY arguments-- just feel so natural. There's a great tension and release that the game has, and it's a really gripping story. I think writers like this shine in this medium because God. GOD. the dialogue is good. Then Act 2 happens and shit hits the fan and does not STOP hitting the fan until the poor thing is bowled over and unplugged from the wall. Genuinely unhinged, the pacing is breakneck and it is GOOD

The protagonist actually being their own person was also fantastic, and honestly one of the only ways I can see this story going. Despite inevitably being a romance VN with intertwined political drama, I never really felt myself occupying the protagonist (Marco)'s role too much, and this is for the better. Ultimately, Amicus (the love interest) is perfect for Marco, but not for me. Neferu is hotter anyway. But Marco? Amicus??? Those two dumbasses are made for each other. Plus, the actual codified personality of the protagonist allowed for a great deal of information to be presented and withheld in ways that wouldn't be allowed by a blank slate protagonist. The dynamics wouldn't have worked as well either, and I think the story is all the more engaging for it. I, personally, would have been more lenient on Alexios but Marco? He wants that twink OBLITERATED

Cassius is the funniest character in this game I think. He just reeks of like. Loser redpilled 17 year old projecting all his insecurities into the incel takes imaginable. I'm going to wring him out like a wet paper towel. Yes he's a borderline space fascist but I can fix him I swear. When he hotboxes and trips so hard he sees God, only to have God call him a cringefail loser and he starts crying about it? Yeah that's babygirl material. Pathetic beast

It is very funny to me that the game has to spend 80% of its runtime trying to convince you that Amicus would make a good emperor and explicitly has rules in place to say that females can't rule because you KNOW within 15 seconds of her opening her mouth that Virginia is the un-debatable best choice. The fact that Amicus doesn't immediately give up his throne for her is his biggest flaw

Cato is kinda one note but he is supposed to represent heternormativity and the pitfalls of bigotry in this giant scifi queer allegory so he gets a pass. I'll admit I found him to be a lil too mustache twirling snarky towards the climax, but eh. Also I'm dead convinced that the parents meddled with him. He started freaking out when his visor got taken off and acted more erratically now that he lost his parental tech (hm) and also him crashing the parents' ship was totally out of line with his motives even as mentioned by other characters. The parents def manipulated him I can feel it

The Parents are sus as fuck I will stand by this. The game really makes you want to choose the option of trusting them (and I did bc I just want Marco and Amicus to be happy) but like. Fuck man. They mad shifty I don't trust like that they got some other shit going on. BoringKeith says more than I ever could about it just watch his video

For personal reasons I am furious about them not showing the ram civilization. We know about four of the civilizations (greek cats, roman wolves, egyptian jackals, and indian tigers) but like. What about the rest? Based on the little we've gotten it looks like the bears are norse and there are rams but I don't even remember the other two. What are they I want to see them

My only mark against this game is that both of the disabled characters are evil. I don't think there are any non-villainous disabled people which kinda blows. I heard Echo is better about it which is good? but even still it left a sour taste in my mouth

The art? is really good??????? I love the expressions and the way the CGs look especially. Fucking fantastic

The themes of homophobia in this game are ROUGH and really really raw. Again not gonna talk about it much here watch the boringkeith video but Woof. This game is so good I highly recommend

Go play Adastra

#adastra #mod vex

[bropunzeling]

dvd commentary on a scene of your choice for the duckies future fic please 👐 i think of jamie's grocery store agonies every time i got into whole foods

ahhhh kasper!!!! here is a section of the beach scene, my beloved:

The debate over which beach to go to takes ages, long enough that Jamie’s got a backpack packed up and ready before they even have a destination in mind. They’re still arguing as they start heading west, Trevor scrolling through Google Maps as Jamie fights traffic, because ten years has not improved Trevor’s ability to decide where he wants to go in the slightest. [ This was directly inspired by the video where they move out and Jamie talks about how Trevor can't plan at all; I think they would have a lot of times where they wanted to go do something and then Trevor would never commit to a place and it would drive Jamie bonkers.] By process of elimination and with no thanks to mid-morning traffic snarls, they end up heading to a state park further south. [The park is Moro Beach at Crystal Cove State Park which looks dope as hell.] Jamie doesn’t have a park pass and has to shell out for the day fee, and the cost of parking is extortionate, but the look on Trevor’s face when they step out of the tunnel and onto the sand is worth it.

“Fuck,” Trevor says, holding a hand up to shade his eyes as he takes in the view. “This was a good plan.”

Jamie can feel a grin creeping across his face. “Yeah?”

Trevor looks at him from under his hand. “Yeah,” he says, smile curving his eyes, his mouth. It’s the happiest Jamie’s seen him in days. “Should’ve known you’d have the best ideas.” [Jamie as the "planner" to the extent that either of them plan, but also - Trevor really does like Jamie's ideas! He likes doing what Jamie wants to do.]

Jamie’s cheeks burn, even though he put on sunscreen before they left the car. [he is so paaaaaale] “I do okay,” he says.

“More than okay.” Trevor’s still looking at him. They’re standing close enough together that their hands could touch, if Jamie shifted even a centimeter. And Jamie wants their hands to touch. He wants, with the kind of violent longing that makes his stomach lurch and his heart thud, to lace Trevor’s fingers with his own. To bump their shoulders together. To turn, and tilt his head, and kiss the corner of Trevor’s mouth. [i see this scene as the first moment in the fic where there's an articulation of a present tense sexual/romantic longing on Jamie's part beyond just the abstract, "what if we did more that one summer," and that is absolutely on purpose! when i was initially plotting the fic, i knew i wanted a sort of rise and fall structure - an initial argument, then a moment of reconciliation, then another moment of conflict where we get into why they weren't talking to each other, why it's a surprise for Trevor to show up at the start of the fic. and part of that was hinting in previous scenes that Jamie had thought about hooking up with or dating Trevor in the past, and then having this moment be the one where it's like, oh, Jamie still wants to kiss Trevor. Jamie has always kind of wanted to kiss Trevor.]

This isn’t the first time Jamie’s wanted Trevor. Not by a long shot. The truth is, Jamie's been half in love with Trevor since he was 18 and stupid with it. It’s been so long that the love has become a permanent part of him, carved into his body alongside the scars on his left shoulder. [i think this line came to me in the shower or like, when i was 80% of the way asleep, and it is perhaps my favorite line in the fic.]

Over the years, Jamie’s gotten better at putting his feelings aside, at quieting them down. He’s been able to go days or weeks or months or even years without thinking about Trevor like that. In that time, he’s loved other people, he genuinely has. When he and Alex had moved in together, Jamie had thought that this was it, that this would be who he stayed with for the rest of his life, and it wasn’t until Alex was leaving that he imagined it could be otherwise. [this paragraph is important because like, i didn't want it to seem like Jamie was pining one-sidedly this whole time! he and Trevor have lived whole, separate lives at this point, and had real relationships that really mattered to them. however, at the same time, there's always been this sort of unique connection, part of which was the "what if we had gotten together, what would that be like," and also part of which is just them being truly extremely close friends in a way that is pretty intense] At the same time, the things he felt about Trevor were softer, smaller. He’d almost thought he was past them.

But then Trevor would laugh at one of Jamie’s shitty jokes during a night out, or wrap an arm around his shoulders while they watched stupid shit during a road trip, or look at him, the way he’s looking now, like Jamie’s someone special, someone important, [this is a key bit of their relationship dynamic to me: Trevor is such a bright, brassy, look-at-me type person, at yet all the time he's pumping Jamie up and talking about Jamie and clearly values Jamie and his friendship a lot. and i think that would be a lot for our boy to deal with] and Jamie—

Well. It’s never really gone away, has it? That love has always been there, just under the skin. Waiting to pull Jamie under once more.

“Jamie.”

Jamie blinks, refocuses. Trevor’s pulling out some sunglasses, fiddling with the arms before putting them on [twitchy and nervous - he is also putting a lot of weight on this excursion; there's also the weight of a year of non communication. he's still not sure how to talk to Jamie] . He tilts his head towards the ocean, vast and endless before them. “Should we walk a bit?”

Jamie nods. “Yeah,” he says, pulling himself together. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

They have to go slowly. Not that Trevor says anything—Trevor’s always been a stubborn motherfucker, has always hated admitting weakness, but they were teammates for a decade, and Jamie has the same clinical knowledge of Trevor’s body that he would with Troy, or Max [again, they have a relationship that isn't just Jamie's pining. they were teammates, and roommates, and best friends; Jamie would know these things even if he wasn't a little in love with Trevor. he is just ALSO a little in love with Trevor.]. He knows when to slow the pace, to steer clear of the taller sand dunes. Trevor doesn’t mention it, just follows Jamie’s lead, until they stop just short of where the waves come in, where the sand is hard-packed and wet.

“Hey,” Trevor says, and Jamie stops looking at the path in front of them, stops thinking about how to choose his steps, and looks out.

Years of living here, and Jamie’s never really managed to get over being so close to the Pacific. He’s still a little terrified of it—justifiably so, in his opinion [Jamie's fear of the ocean continues to be so fucking funny to me]—but his awe overcomes his terror when he watches the waves come in, white with foam; when he sees how far the water stretches, the sheer breadth of the horizon. The bluffs to the south, the fine-grained sand under his feet, the roar of the surf as the tide comes crashing in—all of it together is massive, overwhelming. [the pacific, my beloved!!!!!! best and most beautiful of oceans]

“We’re really fucking lucky, aren’t we,” Trevor says quietly, like he knows exactly what Jamie’s thinking. [i also really like this scene because it's a moment for Trevor, noted loud mouth, to be quiet and contemplative! and also he is like, the guy i've been a little in love with for a decade has taken me on a romantic outing to the ocean, his number one fear]

“Yeah,” Jamie replies. “We really are.”

#ask meme #director's cut

[fastlikealambo]

link to chapter one.

link to chapter two.

link to chapter three.

Bloodsinger: Vampire! Eddie Munson x Black Reader Drabble Part 4 Sneak Peek

Summary:

Out of every news source in the country, the one and only lead singer of Corroded Coffin and self proclaimed vampire Eddie Munson has decided to do a sit down interview with The Hawkins Post. Instead of your boss, you’re sent to a mansion on Halloween Night and you’re in no way prepared for what’s in store.

Trigger Warnings: violence, gore, blood k!nk , a tinsy bit of cardiophilia if you squint, 80s workplace sexism

Inspired by: The Vampire Chronicles,  Dracula, Lost Boys, Vampire Diaries, Twilight, honestly every single vampire trope and cliche is in present and accounted for in this fic.

minors dni, I check.

honestly, nothing happens in this chapter, it’s really sweet, pure fluff, no angst or scary parts, you can trust me, I’d never lie to you :)

Eddie’s offstage before the applause even finishes, a beeline straight for you at the bar.

 There’s eyes on you which is the last thing you need right now, but if you do die, a least the headline will be “Hawkins Journalist Turned Munson Groupie Found Dead in Mysterious Accident” instead of a two line obituary written by a coworker who’s office hobby was looking up your skirt.

“You came.” Eddie said, a soft smile that you don’t return.

“Well I had to try and finish the article, seeing as it might be the last one I ever write.” You quip, knocking another shot back and reach for the next one only for Eddie to push it away from you and subsequently onto the floor with a loud crash.

“Press interviews will be starting momentarily, please make your way to the side ballroom!”  Their publicist yelled into the microphone, drawing attention from you two back to the stage. The distraction is enough for you to start to walk away.

“Please, can we talk?” He asked, appearing in front of you.

“About what? That you lied to me from the moment we met?  I have known you for less than 72 hours but because you couldn’t keep it in your pants for another 100 years, I’m going to die.  Go back to your mansion, go back to your band,  I’ll make sure to send you a better photo of me for your next portrait.” 

“You think I wanted this?”

“You know, I kinda think you did. All of this has to weigh on your soul, their deaths of course, but also wanting what you can’t have. You said you left the other versions of me alone and Vecna did the same. But you couldn’t leave me alone, you wanted my blood so bad you’d rather condemn me to death and run away.  I’m a person, all of those women on your wall were people too, and I’m not going to let you use me to absolve you of your guilt, not with whatever fucking time I have left.”

“Please I’m begging you, I can protect you.”

“If you wanted to protect me you would have left me alone.”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“ Maybe in the future you’ll be braver Eddie, but because of you I’m not going to have one.”  You said, turning to leave once more.

“ Please come home with me, I’ll do anything.” There’s a hand on your wrist, pulling you back.

“Let go Eddie, just leave me alone!” You turn back around to face him but he’s not there.

No one is.

You’re alone in what’s left of the hallway, crumbling walls covered in thick black vines, ash from a red stormy sky falling on your skin.

“Eddie? Hello? Is anybody here?” You yelled out to an uneasy silence that was oh so quickly interrupted by slow, heavy, footsteps behind you.

This couldn’t be how it ends, not yet.

“Edward isn’t here, but I am and I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again.”

You slowly turn around, the sight in front of you so terrifying your scream dies in your throat.

Vecna.

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#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x black!reader #eddie munson x yn #eddie x reader #vampire eddie munson

[ariesbilly]

This is the same anon. I just figured I'd explain why Jason went crazy on the Sinclairs since you said you weren't sure. Yeah, they were looking Eddie and they were pretty sure he'd be there, and Erica was clearly on some kind of look out so Jason had Andy keep her from possibly warning Eddie about their arrival while Jason went in to check the house out. Andy threatened to break her arms if she kept squirming. That was fucked up and I hate that the writers included that line tbh. A lot of people have been attributing that action to Jason, saying that he instructed Andy to tackle her, but we don't actually see that scene. I do think that Andy is racist, but we don't necessarily know that Jason is but people will treat it like it's fact. (I'm not at all saying that he'd not, I'm not even saying that he's "probably not" in fact he was probably supposed to be in the writing, but it can really be hard to realize the prejudices of your friends if you don't actively talk about it and a lot of people just didn't in the 80s. I once met someone online who I got along with great, but the second they found out I was afab they got super condescending so you wouldn't know unless you were a member of the group. sorry for the side tangent.) He probably was meant to be racist, but for all we know he just asked Andy to distract her and he's the one who went and tackled and threatened her.

The reason he points a gun at Lucas is because he walked in on him with Max in her trance state and he was trying to get Lucas to snap her out of it, but he refused. And tbh, he gave him a lot of grace with it. He tried to wake Max up on his own, gently, but then Lucas got close and tried to physically stop him and he freaked out. He pulled the gun but didn't even shoot until Lucas later lunged at him. Until then he uses the gun to threaten Lucas just to wake Max up. He really is just trying to help in that situation, as well as he can. I really don't blame people for viewing him as racist though. The imagery of an older white boy pointing a gun at a younger black boy could absolutely be very triggering, and other assumptions can easily be made about how the Erica situation went down, and those assumptions could very well be true. I have no way of knowing.

I don't consider myself a Jason defender, but I do get defensive of him when people try to compare him to Billy, but don't even acknowledge the fact that while Billy may have motivations, he still caused a lot of unnecessary harm. It bothers me so hard that they just ignore the fact he attacked Lucas instead of doing, I don't know, literally anything else. I don't really blame him for pushing Steve down at the entrance, but he slammed a little boy into a wall for... existing around his sister? When his sister was the one who made the decision to be there? Like, yeah, the fact she was there could be read as a little sketchy, but he really thinks Lucas is the biggest issue in that situation and targets him? That sounds pretty racist to me. So if people going to talk about the Jason with a gun scene, could they at least explain why he felt the need to target the one black boy in the group instead of the one present adult (or almost adult at least) Steve.

Can't we just view both of them as morally grey characters with interesting perspectives instead of pinning them against each other?

This got a little long. Sorry

The Lucas situation, to me, ultimately has nothing to do with him being black. I mean, maybe it started out that way when billy sees him and max in the parking lot, that’s definitely a valid interpretation, but like…billy would’ve treated any boy max got close to like that. At its core I think it’s about max and who she hangs around with. If her love interest had been mike or will the situation would’ve gone down exactly the same. It’s about max defying his orders. It’s about billy having to keep max on a short leash

The duffers are terrible at writing racism cuz they either go too big (originally writing billy saying the n word) or they make it so vague/a non issue (sweeping the season 2 mike and Lucas ghostbusters thing under the rug) that no one can tell what the hell is going on

I think what sparks outrage about Jason, at least from what I’ve seen, is that he so perfectly mirrors the exact type of dudes we’ve been seeing on the news these past few years. It’s the “upstanding middle/upper middle class christian” white dudes who are marching and protesting about making America great again. The ones who are out shooting people because they think they’re fucking John Wayne or something, main character savior complexes. Jason touches on something very present in our culture right now and I don’t even think the duffers intended for that to be the case. So like, I can’t exactly argue with people not giving him a lot of leeway because we are seeing in real time what harm those specific type of men do. And yes, there are plenty of billys out in the real world too but again, his writing is so vague and there’s so many other valid interpretations you can take from it that it’s not as touchy (well, for those of us who actually criticize the writing itself and canon precedent. Antis with a myopic view of things don’t care to take in all the nuance of billys situation and motives so to them he’s …worse than Jason. Or at least on the same level. Depends on who you ask)

#briana answers things

[medicinemane]

Anyway, I guess I should quickly tell you why I don't think you should ever go with greyhound

1) they had a route that was 18 hours shorter and $80 cheaper and zero other routes... and then they randomly just before I went to book erased that route from all days past present or future and replaced it with a worse one with... zero explanation

2) they didn't give me any info on the departing station, and also failed to disclose the first bus wasn't greyhound but a local bus... which meant I couldn't look up their schedule which I would have made major changes to my plans if I'd known but... I thought it was greyhound

3) by not giving me any info on the station such as... hours... they made it so my plan wasn't gonna work. See... my mom refuses to drive at night, the bus was at 7:15 and sunrise is at like 6 or 7 and it's over an hour away... so we were gonna drop my dad off and let him spend the night at the bus stop which... shitty, but you work with what you've got... except that's actually a suburban bus stop with nothing to do with greyhound and closes at 4pm... lady behind the counter was suggesting he could go over to the homeless shelter

4) not wanting my dad to spend the night at a homeless shelter or pace a city at night with no phone, we drove 2 hours to the city to drop him at the real fucking station down there

(with full information I would have made one of many plans, from knowing that the local bus had a 3:20 we could have caught, to driving him to the city in the morning, to just getting him a fucking plane ticket)

They cost me... $10 ticket wasted, $20 in gas plus wear and tear on the car, a whole lot of stress, $80 extra for magic 18 hour longer route swaps... fuck greyhound

I seriously advise you not to use them

Oh, bonus kick in the teeth, they're like "we've got games and movies!" and I'm like ah sweet, given my dad doesn't even have a cell phone... yeah, you can play html5 games and watch movies they've got licenses to show if you just connect to their wifi... it's not even like they've got inflight movie level shit

So yeah, fuck greyhound. There's my rant on why I'm pissed on the. I wish I could tell you something other than fly (I wish Amtrak had a north south instead of having to go to Chicago or Cali to connect to another line and then pay $200 per each connection)... but greyhound isn't the way... paying as much if not more for a plane ticket for a long as trip... it's ass, they just don't have a service worth the money

Like I don't like plane's fuel usage for what you get and god I wish their were alternatives but fuck... if you're taking a moral stance at least do Amtrak

[endlich-allein]

Interview with Till about his life: he fought with his father, killed his beloved dog, swam on a wild river and worked on suffering. How Till Lindemann's mind works

"I will finish you off" and why you fought for the German army.

Werner Lindemann wanders around the room, interrupting the silence with strange questions, writing something down. His motive is to get to know his son and make him a friend. But it's complicated. Generational conflict.

"My island of tranquility is shaken every day. The day before yesterday, a guy pulled on my socks because his were torn. Yesterday he didn't put out a single lamp in the house. Now, with voluptuous delight, he spits cherry pits into the cat's fur. Is this grown boy really an adult?"

The apprenticeship in Rostock, where you have to do window production after graduation, is the limit of boredom. Till Lindemann moved to his father in the countryside so that he could forget about the hustle and bustle of the city and not fall under the article for anti-social attitudes. He thought of a new life, in which there was no pointless work, and arranged an attic in his father's house.

In the mornings over coffee, he scolded life that everything went according to schedule. And listened very loudly to music - electronics and metal. My father didn't understand and grumbled: “I matured late. Naturally, I wanted to listen to the music I liked, but I could not get my hands on these records. For example, my father did not understand when I bought the Alice Cooper record for a month's salary.

Werner Lindemann was a children's writer who went through the war.

At the height of his career he disappeared for weeks on literary tours - his fame spread to teachers and librarians across the country. His father pecked at Lindemann for refusing to work and promised to turn him in:

"My willful child. What doesn't fit his standards is rejected as nonsense or crap." So he took a job as a carpenter, where he made shovel cuttings and cart wheels. The head foreman constantly drank vodka during the day, didn't want to be annoyed with questions and addressed the long-haired Lindemann with the nickname: "Mozart!" This suited him.

Werner Lindemann talked about war, hard existence and limitations. For example, about a grenade splinter that remained in his body. Lindemann did not believe in all these stories - but categorically did not accept service, war and murder:

“After that I objected: “I would hide, I would not go to war. Why did you even let yourself be dragged into this? You could have hidden."

And he said: “It didn't work out. They searched for it and it took away."

Then I said: “I would rather go under arrest. Never in my life, I would go to the front line to shoot people. It's against my nature. It would be better if I went to jail."

Much of the time father and son were simply silent, even while watching television.

"He regularly made me feel guilty, to say the least, he placed himself on a pedestal towards me: I shouldn't complain. At your age, I ran barefoot through the stubble, and in my stomach - a potato in a uniform."

The only acceptance is Mike Oldfield's music: "One day my father came to grumble again. At that moment I was listening to Mike Oldfield, and he sat down and said: "That sounds interesting."

For me it was like a quantum leap: my father sits in my room, listens to my music and thinks it was good. Probably because of melancholy. He was sitting in a rocking chair that I made myself - at the time I was working as a carpenter on a farm. I, too, always sat in an armchair, immersed myself in music and smoked hand-rolled cigarettes."

The conflict was intensified by a fight. Lindemann bought a Trabant car, installed speakers in it and tested the sound - loud as usual. “Then my father came and I had to turn off this fucking music. It was kind of loud for him. He was then fiddling around his cases of flowers, and then suddenly the situation escalated. I think he slapped me while I was still in the car.

He leaned toward me and hit me with the back of his hand. I made some bullshit remarks like, "Leave me alone," something like that. That was a provocation to him, and he said: "If you do that again, I'll hit you for real." And I said, "Then you'll get it back. Because you're crazy. Don't you dare to hit me anymore."

And then he hit me with his palm again. He wasn't controlling himself.

He was exalting himself. Instantly he introduced himself as a boxer - he had boxed in the Hitler Youth - and I just... I thought I didn't hit him, I just pushed him away. And then he stood in front of me again, "Come on, I'll finish you, you haven't got a chance!" Somehow. After that, he went up to the attic and threw all my stuff out the window.

It happened over the weekend, my sister was there, a lot of screaming, serious drama. Then I packed my things, put them in the car, went to a friend's house and never went into his house again. At first I lived with this friend, and a week later I bought myself a house in the village."

His father's book is about his son, which the son will only open up after the death of the father.

Lindemann is a late child. He was born when his father was 36. The gap in their relationship was felt in everyday life and perception of the world. Werner Lindemann woke up early in the morning, worked with the circular saw under the windows and did not understand when his son slept until noon after a working week.

Lindemann's parents then lived separately, but kept in touch. Mom worked as a journalist and discussed her texts with his father. "She still lived in Rostock and always came to see him only on weekends. Mostly on Sundays she came back quite early, because she couldn't stand the stress of being with him, either."

In 1988, the book “Mike Oldfield im Schaukelstuhl Notizen eines Vaters" In this book, Lindemann Senior describes the relationship with his son (whom he calls Timm in the book), who settled with him at the age of 18. The book was written in the 80s and laid on the table until the German Democratic Republic and the Federal Republic of Germany were reunited.

Werner Lindemann wanted his son to take up writing too. But this only amused him, although as a child he wrote poetry. At the age of 13, little Till Lindemann and his father were returning home along the bumpy road to Mecklenburg. They talked about career self-determination:

"You should already have thoughts about what you want to become, boy." My answer: "I don't know yet, maybe a fisherman on the high seas."

But immediately, no matter what I said, objections arose: “But then you have to get a certificate of maturity. But then you will be away all the time. But then you won't be able to start a relationship."

There was always a “but”.

At some point it got on my nerves, as usual. And I said: "Worst case scenario, I'll just become a writer.

I still remember how alienated his face became. "And what do you think then, what do I do! It's a very hard job! In fact, it's not even a job, it's a passion. And it's a job that's supposed to be enjoyable."

I said, "I don't know anybody who works with pleasure."

"Yeah, that's the problem. You have to look for a job that gives you pleasure." Then I say again, "But some people never get to choose..." This gigantic discussion happened because I didn't take his profession seriously. At the same time, he was completely lost, funny!"

Lindemann thoughtfully read his father's book, in which he comprehends their relationship, after his death. Faked for hidden anger and indecision. For example, in a situation where their dog Kurt was bitten by a fox. The father was frightened because of rabies: “At the same time, we did not even know whether he was bitten by a fox or not. The father immediately called the huntsman. But I said: no one will enter this courtyard and shoot the dog. I'll do it myself if I really need it. At some point I really had to kill the dog."

Lindemann is not a monster. The animals he fiddled with are an important attribute of childhood. He had an aquarium and hamsters, brought mice and rats home, and was friends with dogs. “Like many children of new buildings, he felt the need for someone alive, in need of love,” said Werner Lindemann. Sometimes the appearance of an animal in the house was surprising:

“This guy will never say what he's up to. He appears on the doorstep at the same time as me. He gets out from his vehicle, throws his coat open and puts a young black shepherd in my hands. "Your Christmas present!"

Till's father is speechless. My son stands before me like the sun's little brother. Touchingly concerned, he directs me into the house, working out a plan for the animal husbandry, accommodation and diet of our new pet housemate.

With confusion, a question flies from my lips, "Wheredid you get the dog from?" "Timm" is gibbering, "Imagine, the mason in the barnyard wanted to hang him, simply wanted to strangle him with a rope, said he was a worthless eater..."

Werner Lindemann died of stomach cancer in 1993, when his son was 30. They didn't finally reconcile, but Till visited him in his last days and was there for him with his mother: "They couldn't be without each other, even though they lived apart. Unreal, but my mother never had another man afterwards. To this day she can't let go of him."

- Not going to the Olympics in Moscow and ending up in the German ghetto

Lindemann had the knowledge and the potential to be a swimmer. And a shyness that pounded harder three days before the competition than concerts in front of crowds of thousands. "I know how difficult it is to develop willpower and stamina and instill those attributes. In the GDR this was instilled in us by coaches and so-called functionaries."

Lindemann came to swimming at the age of eight and devoted his entire youth to the sport. He would get up for training at five in the morning and pass out in the evening. His grandmother watched him from the stands. At a competition in Leipzig she shouted at the coach, who told Lindemann off for a poor result. The grandmother took the coach by the ear and said: "How do you talk to my grandson?"

Sports tightened up his upbringing and developed self-discipline. “Drilling - probably the boy has already received this experience as a swimmer,” Lindemann's father wrote. - Once he had to take second place in a competition, but by no means first place. Of course, he got carried away, forgot about it, became the first, thanks to which he received a shouting for indiscipline. And whenever he lost in the future, his coach would torture him at practice for a long time and yelled at him: "Even if you win, you're not a winner yet!"

Lindemann swam the 1.5 km freestyle and could have gone to the 1980 Olympics in Moscow. Everything was ruined when he left the hotel without permission during a competition in Florence: "I didn't want to run, but just wanted to look at the city. Cars, bikes, girls. I was caught and kicked out of the team, but then I didn't give the required results either."

Lindemann competed at the European Junior Championships, but did not go any higher. After the story in Florence, his career in sport slipped away. Perhaps an abdominal injury influenced his departure. Lindemann is gone, but he doesn't yearn: "I was relatively young. There were no good [memories] left. I was glad it was over."

"The hardest part was getting back to normal. I fell into a real hole. My home was no longer a sports school, but a ghetto in Rostock. Now I stood out through drinking and fighting. I used to be surrounded only by beautiful ladies who were interested in swimming. Now I had fierce women standing in front of me asking, "How come you don't drink?" When I was shy about approaching a girl, it was interpreted as: "Are you gay?"

Lindemann now works with a coach and swims a few kilometers before his tours to get in shape: "When I exercise, I feel a certain lightness - not only physically, but also mentally. I just feel better. The main problem is staying in shape. That's where self-discipline comes into play. Teeth grinding is important."

- Three weeks in the wild and loneliness as a creative tool

Emotionally, concerts = sports:

"How do I go on tour? Hungry. And happy. It is good to compare concerts with sport. You don't want to do both at first. You don't want to go on stage. You don't want to go to the pool. You don't want to go to the boxing ring. It all happens with reluctance. It has to be accepted somehow, that's life: spring, summer, fall, winter.

When it's done, winter's gone, the blooming begins, greenery appears, it gets bright, and you start to get a taste for it. When it's over, you feel happy. Then the body produces a sea of chemistry, a lot of happiness hormones. I think the body rewards itself."

The stage, like sports, is an embarrassment, but a necessity. Lindemann wore dark glasses in order to collect fewer views from the audience. Therefore, a couple of steps before the water, he looked at the pool with a shiver. You need to cope with yourself in order to open up to new emotions.

Lindemann's gut requires solitude and moderate solitude. This is the point:

“Loneliness is always good for a creative push - you drink a glass of wine and you feel even shitier. Art is not complete without suffering; art exists to compensate for suffering."

With his friend Joey Kelly, Lindemann spent three weeks on the Yukon River. They paddled through the wilderness in a kayak for eight to 10 hours each and lived in a tent. Lindemann didn't take a tape recorder with him, so he transferred the lyrics wandering in his head on paper.

They were catching inspiration and atmosphere:

"There were times when we wouldn't say a word for hours, but then: look there, look there! It was breathtakingly beautiful. These relatively fast-changing panoramas and skies, layers of clouds, the colors.

Except for a few bears and wolves, it's hard to see anyone else out there, it's exhilarating. Along the way we saw two hunters setting traps. No one else.

I grew up in the countryside, and I have a very strong connection to nature. I love fishing, hunting. It's an archaic experience that I like to revisit over and over again. When I'm in the city for too long, I start to miss it."

To recreate situations in the Yukon, Lindemann and Kelly trained for nine months on the Rhine river in Germany because of its liveliness.

"We went down the Rhine to where the transport ships create huge bow waves. If we hadn't had a coach with us, we probably would have been sunk by the side wave impact already during our first attempt," Lindemann said.

Together with Kelly, he had four sessions with two coaches and swam from Cologne to Koblenz [more than 100 kilometers by car]. Lindemann trained separately each week on the lakes in Mecklenburg. It's both physically challenging and savage identical to being natural.

In 2015, Till started his solo project Lindemann. On the album Skills In Pills, the song Yukon was released, in which the lyrics appeared first, and then the music.

- "My lyrics come from pain rather than desire."

The country boy is big and not much of a talker. That's how the Rammstein members saw him at the start, when they were hanging out at home. "He looked cool, like a big peasant talking one sentence an hour," keyboard player Christian "Flake" Lorenz recalled. - He always had food and vodka. He'd just steal a couple of ducks somewhere and cook them on a tray. And then, frozen like in Sleeping Beauty, there were people lying in corners and on trunks in his house."

Lindemann loves and appreciates home gatherings. This came from my father, who always had guests. “In my opinion, this is the little bit that I inherited from him. Throwing parties and gathering people. Throwing parties and getting people together. He just enjoyed being a good host. The house was always full of guests from Leipzig, from Rostock, foreign guests, even from Kazakhstan.

It was always exciting for him. He stood at the stove, cooked, bought an abundance of wine, and there was always a fire in the garden. At some point he stopped drinking, then he left the party at 21:00 and the whole company continued to feast. And in the morning he got up at four, cleaned and tidied up."

Till Lindemann is about self-digging, overcoming and childish shyness, which is covered by a pumped-up figure of a swimmer. This is how Lindemann decrypts himself:

• “And I really am like a big child - ill-mannered, but harmless. People think that I am always strong, explosive. This is not true. I am sensitive and easily hurt, but in love I am romantic and passionate."

• “At the very beginning, you sit somewhere in a dark room, open a bottle of wine and figure out how to make the lyrics popular with the music. At first you only have a vague idea of ​​what it could be.

And when, three years after recording, mixing, and more mixing, developing the artwork, all this nonsense, then you stand on stage, and what you came up with then really works, when you manage to get 20 thousand people to raise their hands, then you experience incredible sensations."

• “Art is a kind of therapy.

When I feel that something is arising inside me, domineering and is most often dark, I need to give it a way out, otherwise it will simply crush me. So destruction and self-destruction are the two pillars on which my creativity is based.

But everyone chooses this for himself.

• “My lyrics arise from feelings and dreams, but still more from pain than by desire. I often have nightmares, and I wake up at night sweating, as I see terrible bloody scenes in my dreams. My lyrics are a kind of valve for the lava of feelings in my soul.

We are all struggling to hide behind good manners and outward decency, but in fact we are governed by instincts and feelings: hunger, thirst, horror, hatred, the desire for power and sex. Of course, there is also additional energy in us - this is love. Without it, all human feelings would fade away."

- "When you're constantly living someone else's life, it's very hard to get back into your own skin. I like that in principle, but sometimes you start to get confused - are you out of a role or not yet. You're already Till, or you're still a homicidal maniac."

- "I hate the noise. I hate the chatter. I expose myself to it, which is pure masochism. And then I have to protect myself from it. Noise makes you crazy. You die in it."

• “I think there is no God. And if he is and actually allows all the misfortunes on this earth, then he must punish me along with other sufferings. I will not pray to such a god."

This is how the members of Rammstein see Till - flexible and with a split personality:

Guitarist Paul Landers: "Till is so good that when you let him know that his lyrics should go in a different direction, the very next day he brings a new version of the song."

Guitarist Richard Kruspe: “He's a hell of an extreme man. He dives very deeply into situations where I cannot follow him. Everything he does is very extreme; I don't know anyone who does it. "

Drummer Christoph Schneider: "I would not want to be in Till's shoes: his soul is tormented by doubts and contradictions, he is equally a moralist and a monster."

June 1, 2021 - Translate by Lindemann Belgium

#very interesting #till's life #till is love 🖤 #till lindemann #till 2021 #werner lindemann #flake lorenz #paul landers #christoph schneider #richard kruspe #oliver riedel #joey kelly #rammstein #t.lindemann #t.lindemann 2021

[bamfdaddio]

X-Men Abridged: 1981

The X-Men, those back-to-the-future mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. Want to unravel this tapestry? Then read the Abridged X-Men!

(Uncanny X-Men 141 - 152) - by Chris Claremont and John Byrne, Brent Anderson, Dave Cockrum, Jim Sherman, Bob McLeod and Josef Rubinstein

While I also committed various fashion atrocities at the age of 14 (tye-die and fauxhawks, oh my), even Liberace would find Kitty’s outfits too much. (Uncanny X-Men 149; Uncanny X-Men Annual ‘81)

We dial back from the v. epic scope of the last few arcs. Instead, 1981 is just a lot of fun! We get:

Storm and Emma doing a Freaky Friday!

the X-Men vs. Magneto (again!)

A surprisingly effective Alien rip-off

An dystopian future! (OoOoOoOo)

Last year was the year of the Dark Phoenix, this is the year of Kitty Pryde. That’s not to say Jean’s death is swept under the rug: all throughout, we see her friends mourning her loss or remembering her fondly. (Scott even gets to have a demonic adventure about it.) But in general, Claremont puts Kitty in the forefront, fleshing out his YA-addition to the team. And what would a YA heroine be without a grim dystopia? Roll out the iconic Days of Future Past!

To be fair, 2013 was a dark time for all of us: What Does the Fox Say somehow got to the top of the charts and I was still watching Glee. (Uncanny X-Men 141)

How cool would it have been to see a name like Jonothon Starsmore or Eva Bell on those tombstones?

Anyway, that’s Kate. Kate’s had it rough. Mutants are at the bottom of the foodchain, most X-Men are dead and only a small cadre of resistance fighters remain, Sentinels dominate, and while she is married to Piotr, her children have been murdered. Bleak. Luckily, the rebellion has concocted the plan to shunt Kate’s spirit back in time to prevent this awful future from happening. (You’ve seen Days of Future Past, the last passably good X-Men film, you know what’s up.)

Let’s do the time warp again! 1981!Kitty’s mind gets taken over by 2013!Kitty, who promptly tries to convince the X-Men that a new Brotherhood of v. Evil Mutants will try to kill Senator Kelly, a presidential candidate who tries to put the mutant menace on the agenda. (Mutants tend to blow stuff up when he’s around.) Since the X-Men recently took a literal trip to Dante’s Infero and also befriended a cosmic world-ending entity, they basically shrug and go: “Yeah, this checks out.”

Off to Washington they go (zoommm) and there, they happen upon the Baddest Bitches in Herstory:

“How dare you hate mutants, senator Kelly! We’ll fix that by killing you!” (Uncanny X-Men 141)

This All-New, All-Different Brotherhood consists out of:

Destiny, a blind woman who can see the future. Definitely the eeriest member of this group. Badass lesbian, though that won´t be canon for years.

Avalanche. Greek who makes things shake. Is a long-standing member of the X-Men Rogue’s gallery, but rarely features in the spotlight. I think he got more characterization in four years of X-Men Evolution than he ever did in the comics.

Mystique. Shapeshifter. Ruthless and unhinged, the Cersei Lannister of the X-Men universe. Absolute legend, secretly the wife of Destiny, currently not as unhinged as she’ll be later. Immediately implied to be related to Nightcrawler: it’s the yellow-eyes-blue-skin-combo.

Pyro. Can manipulate fire, not create it. Absolute pillock, in all the best ways of the word. Originally intended as gay, but they decided to make him Australian instead. (?!)

Blob. Big, strong, immovable. We’ve seen him before.

One of the details in this fight I enjoy is that Storm is still struggling with her leadership, although she has a better grip on things than Cyclops:

Wolverine then proceeds to use those iconic but deadly claws about twice per issue for the next, oh, forty years. (Uncanny X-Men 142)

While the X-Men fight the Brotherhood in the present, we cut back and forth to the future. There, the X-Men consist out of some familiar faces - Storm, Colossus, Wolverine - and some surprises: Magneto (in a wheelchair), Franklin Richards (son of) and an unfamiliar ginger girl called Rachel. (She’ll be important later.) We even learn (one of) Magneto’s names: this is the first time he’s canonically called Magnus.

One of the strengths of Days of Future Past lies in its brevity, the way it tantalizingly taunts us with a brutal but familiar future without giving away too much. It’s single-handedly responsible for all those dark future timelines the X-lines are so fond of which will eventually culminate in time-displaced grandsons from alternative dimensions and the impossibility of a succinct answer to the question: “Who’s Cable?” Too much of a good thing and all that.

Still, what Days of Future Past does so successfully is:

Put the idea of the mutant menace back at the forefront, hammering home the metaphor of mutants being a minority. Mutants being put in camps and being forbidden to breed should - regretfully - make us think of all too many real life equivalents. (Specifically, all of the imagery harkens back to the Holocaust.)

It starkly shows what happens should the X-Men lose, reminding everyone of the stakes. The X-Men are here for a reason: bridging the gap between mutants and humankind. If they fuck up, we end up with mutant concentration camps.

It helps that the X-Men in the future almost all die horribly: Franklin is incinerated, Storm is impaled… It's brutal stuff. The only one to survive is Rachel, who wonders if their plan actually changed the future or if they created an alternative timeline. (It did the latter, sorry ‘bout it, Rachel.)

In the present, Kate chases after Destiny, who trains a gun on senator Kelly. I always wondered how this works: if Destiny saw the future, she knew that killing Kelly would trigger a terrifying future. What in the current Marvel timeline made her decide that the Days of Future Past was better? Did she see her own death? Did she see the Onslaught-crossover coming? The Chuck Austen run? What was it?

In any case, time-anomalous Kate stops Destiny from killing Kelly and the future is safe! For now. Kate disappears, Kitty returns to her body and some of the Brotherhood are apprehended. All is well, for now.

After being a key figure in DoFP, Kitty is also the main character in the Christmas special, which is basically a straight up horror and a pastiche of the Alien-movie.

Seriously, John Byrne still isn’t sure why he wasn’t sued by Ridley Scott for this. (Uncanny X-Men 143)

If you love Kitty Pryde? Read this issue. If you’re not convinced you like 80’s Kitty? Read this issue. It’s not continuity relevant and it’s basically Kitty playing the part of a Final Girl in a horror where she’s being chased by a demon, but it’s so good. It showcases all her strengths and her foibles. Kitty’s intelligent, cute (sometimes preciously so) and brave, but she’s also young, self-conscious and hot-headed. And it's not as if the other X-Men automatically adore her: Storm berates her all the time, she’s afraid of Kurt because of the way he looks (though she grows out of that) and she fights with Professor Xavier a lot. Moreover, she has a clever power-set for a young superhero who faces menaces on a daily basis: a thirteen year old who can go intangible is far less likely to have reality ensue on her and be dramatically offed because she's better at protecting herself.

I’m sure there are people who thought Sprite was hogging the spotlight, but I, for one, say she brings more to the table than, say, Angel. She’s not the Dawn Summers of this franchise.

Scott also gets a side quest. Poor guy can’t catch a break: first the love of his life dies, so he quits the X-Men, then he realizes he can’t do much else than be a superhero. He becomes a sailor on the ship of spunky captain Lee Forrester, is drawn into the sadistic plans of a demon unironically named D’Spayre and then shipwrecks in Bermuda with Lee.

The X-Men, meanwhile, are tormented by a team-up of Doom (who’s currently Latverialess and working on a comeback) and Arcade, that annoying crony. Locke, Arcade’s dom, has kidnapped the loved ones of the X-Men (Moira MacTaggart, Jean Grey’s parents, Illyana Rasputin and Amanda Sefton) in order to blackmail them into getting Doom to free Arcade. Apparently, Arcade accidentally insulted Doom and DOOM DOES NOT FORGIVE THAT FOLLY.

While the B-Squad (Polaris, Havok, Banshee and Iceman) goes to save Arcade’s hostages, the X-Men sneak into Doom’s castle. Well, except for Storm, who doesn’t give a single fuck and simply flies up to Doom, demanding an audience. Doom likes the cut of her jib and invites her to have dinner. (This is pre-Tinder, so this is a legit way of scoring a date.)

If Storm has a flaw (I said if!), it’s got to be her atrocious taste in men. (Uncanny X-Men 145)

The X-Men find Arcade’s cell empty, while Arcade casually saunters up to Storm and says hi. Storm realizes too late that this is a trap: while the X-Men are all trapped in Saw-like traps, Storm is encased in ‘living chrome’.

If you remember she’s claustrophobic, you know why this is a bad move.

While the X-Men free themselves from their traps - Polaris hilariously has to deal with a murderous merry-go-round - Storm is slowly driven mad in her prison, triggering a worldwide tempest. (She causes Lee and Scott to shipwreck.) Under the threat of Wolverine’s claws, Doom releases Storm - or rather, unleashes her.

“Instead of a Dark Lord, you would have a queen, not dark but beautiful and terrible as the dawn! Tempestuous as the sea, and stronger than the foundations of the earth! All shall love me and despair!” (Uncanny X-Men 147)

The memory of Jean brings Ororo back to herself and she starts undoing the superstorm she created. (If only climate change were reversed that easily.) Their confrontation ends by Storm easily forgiving Doom, because she apparently trespassed on his grounds without adequate cause.

Mkay.

All of Arcade’s hostages return to their homesteads, except for Illyana Rasputin, Piotr’s sister: she’s staying at the mansion for a while. Angel, who’s sort of been a part of the team since the Phoenix thing, has had it with Wolverine and his ‘tude, and decides to quit the X-Men : he doesn’t want to be a part of an outfit that has a killer like Wolverine on it. (Or maybe he’s just mad Claremont didn’t give him any storylines: his presence has been mostly pointless.) It’s too bad he left before Kitty started experimenting with her outfits: I bet he would have loved her ugly-ass costumes.

Equally inconsequential is the introduction of a brand new character, who then proceeds to disappear from the narrative for the rest of the year:

Black Tom has tried to kill you at least twice, but him sending you a long-lost daughter doesn’t give you pause? Ugh, Sean, you deserve Moira. (Uncanny X-Men 148)

Intrigued by Theresa? TOO BAD, WON’T SEE HER AGAIN ANYTIME SOON.

Another new character is the lonely, decidedly mutant looking Caliban, who can sense “people like him” and is on the lookout for companions. Like many lonely people who try and grasp at friendship, he decides to overshoot his shot and ruin the night of Storm, Kitty and Jessica Drew at a Dazzler concert. Because he tries to kidnap Kitty, the girls react a trifle aggressively. When they realize their mistake - the eerily pale Caliban is a simpleton rather than a menace - he’s already fled. No mention is made of the Morlocks yet!

There’s also another dull annual where the X-Men team up with the Fantastic Four to save Arkon’s dimension from the Badoon and yaaaaawn. Far more interesting is the landmark issue #150. Slowly, through the adventures of Scott and Lee Forrester, Claremont has been setting things up for the return of a favorite villain. While the X-Men investigate Magneto’s old base in Antarctica on a hunch of Professor X and tangle with Garruk, Scott and Lee survive Storm’s tempest, only to wake up next to a strange island that seems to have been raised from the ocean.

It’s apparently some ancient citadel from a long forgotten civilization with a fondness for squid statues. (I don’t know man, I’ve never been to the Bermuda Triangle, maybe this is just super-accurate.)The tentacles make Lee Forrester feel very amorous, but before Scott can tell her he is way too repressed to just have sex with an attractive someone he’s known intimately for a month or two, Magneto saves his ass by revealing he, in fact, raised this island from the seafloor.

Oh, Magneto. So extra.

My ambitious little mutant demagogue then proceeds to take the entire world hostage, showing how much he’s grown from the pompous, raving madman from the sixties. (Sure, Magneto is still a bit of a madman, but increasingly, he starts being on the right side of history.)

“I’m trying to make Magneto more sympathetic.”

“Just put him on a page with some bigger villains who are less noble, like the Vanisher, Count Nefaria, or…”

“Reagan, Thatcher and Brezhnov?”

“Er.” (Uncanny X-Men 150)

It’s obvious Magneto is being pivoted as a more noble villain, codified into the well-intentioned extremist we know and love today. Not only do we get the first hints at his past, fleshing out his motivations, he’s also not wrong. Humans are historically not great at taking care of the planet or each other.

When the Russians call his bluff and launch nukes at Magneto’s new island, he quickly disarms them. His retribution is swift and ferocious: the entire citadel is a machine that massively amplifies his powers. He sinks the submarine that launched the missiles, condemning the entire crew to death, and he casually erects a vulcano in a Russian city in Siberia.

Damn. Not messing around this time.

Despite his good intentions, Magneto is still definitely in the wrong: not only because of his methods, but as Scott points out: if Magneto unifies the world under his kind of benevolent dictatorship, all of that will simply fall apart as soon as Magnus dies.

In a way, Magneto is just as big a dreamer as Charles is: Charles believes in peace and integration, whereas Magneto believes his iron fist will be enough to make a perfect world happen. Both of them ignore the reality that acceptance is difficult and messy, because you’re trying to change essential human nature: the fear of the other. Magneto believes in big, sweeping gestures that will fix the world in move, while changing the world is also boring, hard work. One step forward, two steps back. Magneto just wants to leapfrog to his ultimate goal.

The X-Men fly over the citadel, returning from Antarctica, and their plane crashes into the ocean. (Magneto does not brook planes over his territory, humans!) The Professor is also nearby, looking for Scott with Moira, Peter Corbeau and Carol Danvers. The X-Men sneak onto the island, but to their horror, their powers are nullified by some machine of Magneto. They reunite with Scott, who formulates a plan to thwart the would-be ruler of the world.

While the rest of the X-Men go to trash the machine, Storm, Kitty and Lee infiltrate the control chamber where Storm finds a sleeping, shirtless Magneto. Once again showing her terrible taste in men, she is not weak in the knees at the sight of a sleeping Magnus: instead, she contemplates killing him.

Storm knows how dangerous he is, but she also knows that he’s a great man who’s fighting for ideals, no matter how misguided. She hesitates too long: Magneto stirs, suspects an attack and tosses her out of the window, to her death.

Magneto quickly undoes the sabotage the other X-Men have wrought to his machine. A fight erupts. Storm, meanwhile, has managed to grab hold of a ledge. She crawls back up and smashes an important-looking computer, restoring everyone’s powers.

The battle turns grim, but Scott sends Kitty away to wreck Magneto’s machinery. She sneaks off, following Scott’s orders and destroying both Magneto's power-up device and all of his plans by phasing though the computer circuitry. Magneto senses this and furiously gives chase. Overcome by rage, he attacks Kitty and disrupts her phasing power with a magnetic bolt, seemingly killing her?

Everything about this story beat is great: mama bear!Ororo, mournful Magnus and even the fact that Kitty’s godawful outfit serves a narrative function: highlighting to us (and Magneto) just how young she is. The fact that Kitty’s Jewish is just icing on the cake. (Uncanny X-Men 150)

And thus, the softening of Magneto commences. 1981 might be a year with wildly varying narratives, but it has given us at least three enduring legacies to the X-Mythos: a new kind of Magneto, a fondness for dystopian futures and the character of Kitty Pryde, who's really come into her own this year.

Ugliest Costume: Kitty! Purposefully, but still. Best costume, by the way, goes to Destiny, with her creepy, creepy golden mask. Just imagine this lady casually strolling across a battlefield, eerily calm and collected, dodging everything you throw at her. Awesome design.

Best new character: I usually pick one character - what good is having a shared award when declaring the best of anything? - but this year, it’s going to one of my favorite couples: Mystique and Destiny. Can’t wait to see more of them.

Most audacious retcon: Blob somehow retroactively becomes a member of the original Brotherhood, which is not what happened. Ever weirder is Xavier pondering that he never met Magneto before his attack in X-Men #1, while their cordially adversarial relationship rooted in a youthful friendship would soon become a cornerstone of the X-Men.

What to read: Uncanny X-Men 141 - 143 and 150 - 152

#x-men abridged #abridged x-men #uncanny x-men #professor x #cyclops #storm #nightcrawler #colossus #kitty pryde #wolverine #magneto #days of future past #dr doom #arcade #chris claremont #john byrne #dave cockrum #angel #syrin #banshee