#gravestone cleaning

[mariasmemo]

Stone Monument Conservation

On Saturday, June 10, the MMA in conjunction with the Prospect Hill Cemetery, will offer our yearly stone monument conservation workshop.  In 2022, we cleaned the stone of Lydia Coffin Hussey. (Seen in image after cleaning - but before the solution does its real magic.)  Why?  Because the MMA has in its collection a small wooden marker which was likely discarded and found at the dump.  On it was a number and Lydia Coffin Hussey’s name written in pencil.  Likely, this marker was placed at her burial site until a stone could be erected – in order to mark her gravesite though it’s in a larger family plot.  With a little digging – in great part thanks Tuck’t In by Prospect Hill Cemetery historian, Paula Lundy Levy – we were able to glean some basic details about her. She married the Reverend Christopher Coffin Hussey – yes, Coffin was in both their names, small island – and they had three daughters – two of whom are buried in the lot.  One died at age 16; the other at age forty-four – she may have married or been single.  If she was married and died before her husband, burying her in her family’s plot makes sense.  (Sally Mitchell Barney – Maria Mitchell’s oldest sister – died before her husband. She was buried in the Mitchell family plot and her husband remarried.  When he died, he was buried in his second wife’s family plot.)

Lydia’s husband, Christopher, while raised as a Quaker would later become an ordained Universalist minister with parishes off-island.  He also was a collector of island stories and after his death, a book he was working on, was completed by Lydia and published in 1901. I believe Lydia may not have had a marker for a long time because she died before at least two – if not all three – of her children.  That may have left her with no one to oversee a proper internment.  In Tuck’t In there is mention that records show the stone was still not there in 2007 – but I believe the records are likely wrong as the stone is there.  Last year, we cleaned it.  This year we hope to clean the stones of her two daughters who are interred in the plot (at rear in image).

Please join us. Registration is necessary and available on the MMA website at: https://112458a.blackbaudhosting.com/112458a/Preserving-the-Monuments-of-Our-Ancestors-How-to-Properly-Clean-Historic-Gravestones 

Note: We utilize a special cleaner made for stone monuments and a proper conservation process.  One must be trained in such cleaning and in using the proper tools and cleaner. One must also have permission form the cemetery to clean a stone – even of one’s own family – and one must never clean stones without permission from family members or descendants.  Of further note: in many places, gravestone rubbings are illegal – it destroys the stone.

JNLF

#Nantucket #Maria Mitchell #Nantucket Maria Mitchell Association #historic stone monuments #historic gravestones #historic gravemarkers #historic cemeteries #Nantucket Prospect Hill Cemetery #gravestone cleaning #gravestone conservation #stone monument conservation

[vital-information]

“The queerness of Mother 3 is a complicated thing. It’s ever present but just how much is supposed to be played for jokes and just how much is to be taken sincerely remains unclear. At the center of this is our protagonist, Lucas. Lucas is an absolute softy, a total mama’s boy. He is not fast, strong, or brave. All of those qualities are held by his adventurous twin brother, Claus. When their mother, Hinawa, dies, Claus swears revenge and embarks on a journey, but Lucas just cries. He visits his mother’s grave daily. He’s not looking for adventure or vengeance, he’s just sad.

It’s through these early sections of grief that Lucas’s queerness begins to appear. He’s incredibly close with his mother. His father, Flint, is generally absent and when he is present seems more concerned with finding Claus than raising Lucas. Lucas is sensitive to a fault and in opposition with the world around him, one where boys play outside trying to tackle dinosaurs all day. As his village, Tazmily, leaves behind its early idealism in favor of a more commercial existence, its citizens become darker, more sinister. They’re meaner, harder, and also apathetic to the changes around them. The more they change the more it highlights how different Lucas is. He stays soft, he cares so much, he just wants to help.

…

Lucas’s greatest strength is his softness, his kindness. …In the final battle of the game we see him, alone, fighting a brainwashed Claus with the fate of the world hanging in the balance. Claus launches attack after attack, but Lucas will not hit him back no matter what the player does. Instead Lucas can guard, he can heal himself, and he can believe in his brother. He can even cry a little.”

— Dave Tomaine, “Mother Is Mothering: Grief, Queerness, and Softness in Mother 3”

#mother 3 #queer history #queer theory #what if we were meant to stay home #to stay at home in ourselves #what if we were never meant for the hero’s journey #but to be the one who folds the laundry and cleans the gravestones #who keeps a home tidy for to bear all our love and rest and pain #hestia #to build a home #domesticity #housekeeping

[inthememetime]

I'm working on stuff for Funeral Rights, the sequel to Cleaning the Gravestones (read here!). Let me know what you think, or if you have any suggestions!

Funeral Rites starts about 3-4 years pre-canon, when Vlad (Senior Lab Manager & Assistant CTO) receives a job offer that the family can't really afford to refuse as CTO of Axiom Labs in Amity Park, Illinois.

This kickstarts some plot, in which Vlad and Harriet end up trying (and probably succeeding) in gaining custody of Danny and Jazz for the following reasons:

They're both mildly ectocontaminated, which should NOT be happening

Yes, the bruises on Danny are probably mostly from his bullies, but some of them are bigger than a child's/teenager's hand, and Danny won't explain them

Both kids avoid being at home at all costs

Vlad's so-far buried trauma regarding the Fentons

Important to note: the Fenton parents aren't evil in this. They're misguided, neglectful, don't like to take the consequences of their actions- basically, they're bad scientists and bad parents, but they aren't intentional about it.

Cleaning the Gravestones was largely about blending the natural and unnatural, accepting that not everything can be understood, not going out of your way to hurt what you don't understand, developing and using support structures, and building both platonic and non-platonic relationships. It's also about learning to hide in plain sight.

Funeral Rites is going to flip a lot of that on its' head. It's learning where the line you cannot cross is. There's a breaking down of support structures (Danny and his parents, Wes and his dad, Dani, Katie, and their dad once they learn he's a murderer), and choosing what, if any, relationship to build back.

It's learning sometimes the secrets you keep for your family's safety can really bite you. Finally, it's about gaining closure: maybe not everything is perfect, or even close, but if you can at least pick up the rubble, maybe you can build something again. Above all: what really makes a monster? Is it being inhuman? Or something else? And how much of our destiny can we really rewrite?

Due to length, everything else under the cut.

Obviously, some things are different from canon. Vlad hasn't stewed in anger/hatred over the Fentons, he's (mostly) moved on. He and Harriet are (happily) married. They've got kids. So Vlad can't be Danny's narrative foil. That will be filled by someone else.

Walter Weston is an ally in this, unlike in CtG, where he was the primary antagonist. He's able to accept consequences, and feels a lot of guilt; he's eager to make up for his actions any way he can. Wesley is a lot like his dad 10 years ago, though thankfully isn't cursed by a spirit of madness.

Jazz is tired of being a mother at 13, and doesn't know how to fix things. She wants to be a kid, for once in her life, and the Chin-Masters family is promising to help with that.

Danny starts off with feelings of jealousy;

#inthememetime #danny phantom #vlad masters #danny phantom au #redeemed vlad masters #harriet chin #harriet x vlad #bad news #dani masters #cleaning the gravestones #funeral rites

[teeth-ing]

#me #mine #phone pics #i got this dress special for wgen i go up north this weekend to visit my dad's gravestone #i haven't seen it in over five years so I'll probably bring a toothbrush and clean it up some

[aginggravestones]

Edwin M. Cole, 2015 & 2023

#graveyard #death cw #gravestone #cemeteries #grave #memorials #cemetery #cleaned

[ilhoonftw]

the 'old newspaper on top of tall furniture' hack has to be surpressed by companies that sell cleaning supplies bc i hardly see it being mentioned all while tiktok cleaning influencers who are sponsored by scrub daddy try to convice you scrub daddy branded everything will save your life

#fuck scrub daddy btw. don't they sponsor the woman who ruins gravestones with her “cleaning”

[stlazarusgravesiteservices]

Website: https://www.stlazarusgravesiteservices.com

Address: 17 N 5th Avenue #1046, Beech Grove, Indiana 46107, USA

St Lazarus Gravesite Services specializes in the meticulous care of gravesites. Their offerings include tombstone cleaning, plot maintenance, and decoration services for various occasions. With a commitment to using gentle, environmentally friendly methods, they assure the respectful and professional upkeep of your loved ones' final resting places.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/people/St-Lazarus-Gravesite-Services/100091459401828/

Keywords: headstone decoration gravesite maintenance tombstone cleaning services environmentally friendly gravestone care plot maintenance service respectful gravesite upkeep professional cemetery care annual gravesite decoration algae removal from tombstones lichen removal gravesite non chemical tombstone cleaning headstone hand cleaning service reliable gravesite service customized gravestone care seasonal cemetery decoration grave care professionals trusted gravesite maintenance detailed headstone cleaning gentle gravestone preservation family gravesite care gravestone preservation solutions cemetery plot care eco friendly headstone cleaning personalized gravesite services memorial stone upkeep compassionate cemetery care experienced gravesite specialists innovative gravestone maintenance eco conscious headstone care time honored cemetery services expert gravesite restoration sustainable tombstone cleaning careful headstone preservation memorial plot enhancement gravestone cleaning and restoration precise cemetery plot maintenance family focused gravesite care thorough headstone cleaning progressive gravestone care loving cemetery plot upkeep gravestone maintenance professionals attentive headstone cleaning service comprehensive gravesite care sensitive tombstone preservation personalized cemetery decoration restorative gravesite services headstone cleaning expertise meticulous gravestone care compassionate cemetery professionals reliable gravesite enhancement beech grove gravesite maintenance tombstone cleaning beech grove headstone decoration in beech grove environmentally friendly gravestone care beech grove plot maintenance service beech grove respectful gravesite upkeep beech grove professional cemetery care beech grove annual gravesite decoration beech grove algae removal beech grove tombstones lichen removal gravesite beech grove non chemical tombstone cleaning beech grove headstone hand cleaning beech grove reliable gravesite service beech grove customized gravestone care beech grove seasonal cemetery decoration beech grove beech grove grave care professionals trusted gravesite maintenance beech grove detailed headstone cleaning beech grove gentle gravestone preservation beech grove family gravesite care in beech grove gravesite maintenance near me tombstone cleaning services near me headstone decoration near me environmentally friendly gravestone care near me plot maintenance service near me respectful gravesite upkeep near me professional cemetery care near me annual gravesite decoration near me algae removal from tombstones near me lichen removal gravesite near me non chemical tombstone cleaning near me headstone hand cleaning service near me reliable gravesite service near me customized gravestone care near me seasonal cemetery decoration near me grave care professionals near me trusted gravesite maintenance near me detailed headstone cleaning near me gentle gravestone preservation near me family gravesite care near me

#headstone decoration #gravesite maintenance #tombstone cleaning services #environmentally friendly gravestone care #plot maintenance service #respectful gravesite upkeep #professional cemetery care #annual gravesite decoration #algae removal from tombstones #lichen removal gravesite

[robertjtiess]

My poem "Cleaning My Father's Tombstone"

Thank you for reading this.

Poem text link: https://allpoetry.com/poem/17542789-Cleaning-My-Father-s-Tombstone-by-Robert-J.-Tiess

#poem #poems #poetry #poetrylovers #poetrycommunity #readingcommunity #fathers #sons #death #grief #graves #gravestones #cemetery #graveyard #clarity #cleaning #renewal

[madeofmarblex]

timeline tag drop!

we have what we have when we have it. / timeline: undetermined. the finest. / timeline: the red room.  i made a name for myself. / timeline: before SHIELD.  agent romanoff. / timeline: working with SHIELD. rushman. natalie rushman. /  timeline: iron-man. nothing we were ever trained for. / timeline: avengers. a ghost story. / timeline: the winter solider. two little gravestones by a chain-link fence. / timeline: return to russia. i’m always cleaning up after you boys. / timeline: age of ultron. let's beat 'em into shape. / timeline: before civil war. i'm gonna regret this. / timeline: civil war. back to where it all started. / timeline: black widow. i’m not the one who needs to watch their back. / timeline: before infinity war. i’m done running. / timeline: infinity war. if i move on who does this? / timeline: during the blip. whatever it takes. / timeline: endgame. a soul for a soul. / timeline: after endgame.

#we have what we have when we have it. / timeline: undetermined. #the finest. / timeline: the red room. #i made a name for myself. / timeline: before SHIELD. #agent romanoff. / timeline: working with SHIELD. #rushman. natalie rushman. / timeline: iron-man. #nothing we were ever trained for. / timeline: avengers. #a ghost story. / timeline: the winter solider. #two little gravestones by a chain-link fence. / timeline: return to russia. #i’m always cleaning up after you boys. / timeline: age of ultron. #let's beat 'em into shape. / timeline: before civil war. #i'm gonna regret this. / timeline: civil war. #back to where it all started. / timeline: black widow. #i’m not the one who needs to watch their back. / timeline: before infinity war. #i’m done running. / timeline: infinity war. #if i move on who does this? / timeline: during the blip. #whatever it takes. / timeline: endgame. #a soul for a soul. / timeline: after endgame.

[calvarycemetery]

Gravestone Cleaner

Our gravestone cleaner at Calvary Cemetery ensures that your loved one's memorial is maintained beautifully and respectfully. Our experienced team will handle all aspects of the cleaning process with care and attention to detail.

#gravestone cleaner #grave cleaning #cemetery decorations #christmas grave decorations #gravestone decorations

[lgcarl]

Restoration

I am so excited to share the results of a project completed over the last year! Hope you enjoy!

I grew up going to cemetery “Decoration Days” with my parents to clean and decorate the graves of loved ones each spring. It is a time to pause and remember – to pay honor to family members we have lost. Most of my grandparents, great grandparents, and even great-great grandparents are buried within 35 miles of where I was born. I’ve always thought that was kinda cool. In one cemetery, so many…

View On WordPress

#Cleaning Gravestones #Cleaning Tombstones #Decoration Days #Wet and Forget

[mariasmemo]

Stone Cleaning Update

On June 12, 2023 we hosted a stone monument workshop which I blogged about before the event. I thought I would share some before and after images with you.  

The lichen and moss have been removed and the dark areas of growth have been treated and will continue to fade over the next few months.  It will not look “perfect” – that is not the point of conservation. But, the cleaning will help preserve the stone longer.  Time will take its toll no matter what, but for now, we have done what we can to give it a longer life in which you can see the wording on the stone and hopefully prevented any damage to the surface of the stone.

JNLF

#Nantucket #Maria Mitchell #Nantucket Maria Mitchell Association #stone cleaning #gravestone cleaning #historic stone monument cleaning #historic cemetery

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

Imagine visiting Jason's grave regularly, long after he's gone. Imagine you are the only one who returns to that place, the only one who can face that slab of cold stone with his name on it. You put flowers there on his birthday, a candle on the date of his death. You visit his grave to clean it and talk to him. But after a while, you stopped talking altogether. What's the point when no one answers? Imagine several years later, you revisit the grave but this time, an unknown man is standing there. He's tall, imposing, and deathly still like the gravestones around him. He has a hoodie on, so you can't see his face, but when he turns to face you, a pair of eerie green eyes glow from the darkness.

#jason todd #red hood #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #red hood imagine #jason todd imagine #jason todd drabble

[inthememetime]

Based on this post

AO3 link here

Taglist: @feralsrock @mochazocha let me know if you want to be added!

Summary: Danny Phantom au in which Harriet switches the object of Vlad's obsession by mistake. In many cultures around the world, there exists the idea of leaving food for the dead, or keeping them company for many reasons.

Harriet didn't know why she went to the hospital. Her best excuses were she had too much food in her care package that would go bad soon, followed by she hated eating alone and, finally, she thought it was spectacularly shitty for Jack and Maddie to abandon their friend, especially if the accident was even half as bad as she heard.

She expected to check on the guy who tutored her a few semesters back and give him some food. She did not expect to get a supernatural undead guardian out of the deal.

Chapter under the cut!

Harriet honestly didn't know why she was here. She knew Vlad Masters only peripherally. He helped her with her math and chem homework during Freshman year, and he was nice. Introverted, shy, but nice.

Every other time she'd seen him, he was with Maddie Walker and Jack Fenton, and those two filled up any given space with their noise. They had a way of attracting all the attention in the room and their shy, quiet friend would seem to disappear into a corner.

So it wasn't friendship that brought her to Wisconsin Memorial Hospital. She didn't know him well enough to like him. She didn't owe him anything- she paid him for his tutoring lessons fair and square. Pitying anyone left a bad taste in her mouth. And in any case, the three had been playing with doors to alternate dimensions; risks of maiming, disfigurement, and death could be assumed.

So she didn't know why she was here. She didn't know what possessed her to call the hospital to find his room number or visiting hours. The best she could come up with was her mother had sent her too many snacks, she hated eating alone, and she had 3 hours between classes on Wednesdays- something annoying because whenever she napped, Harriet woke up groggy and miserable.

"He'll be so excited to see you," a nurse beamed, "you're his first visitor!"

"It's been a month," she said in surprise.

The nurse's smile twitched downward. "I know. I really thought the two that brought him in would- but nevermind, that's not important now. Have you ever been in an active radiation ward?"

"I can't say I have, no. Hey, can he eat solid food?"

"Yes, that's fine. It's not his stomach we're worried about."

She didn't have time to find out what the nurse was worried about, as she was bustled to a room where she was put into a massive one-piece radiation suit, which was then pressurized and hooked to air tanks. "This is a rebreather. With the tanks, you get about an hour. If you call ahead, we'll get a suit ready that hooks to the hospital's air lines."

The radiation hall was, according to the nurse, coated in two inches of lead all around to prevent leakage. It had lots of fun, friendly signs like 'NO REMOVAL OF GEAR BEYOND THIS POINT', 'INCREASED DEATH AND CANCER RISK', and 'IN CASE OF CONTAMINATION, CONTACT NEXT OF KIN AND WISCONSIN STATE RADIATION BOARD AT 1 (800) XXX-XXXX'.

Whatever mess Vlad, Maddie, and Jack had gotten into clearly had some serious consequences for Vlad. Which raised the question- where were Jack and Maddie?

"Do you know if Jack Fenton or Maddie Walker were hospitalized?" She asked, and the nurse nodded.

"They had minor exposure- nothing some burn cream and minor radiation treatment couldn't fix. Mr. Masters got it right in the face, though, poor thing."

Then she was stepping into another room with a similarly heavy door. "Push this button when you want to leave," the nurse said, "or we'll come get you when you've got 20 minutes of air left."

"Hi, there," she said awkwardly as she stood by Vlad's bedside. There was a chair there, but she didn't know how to sit in the damn suit.

His face and hands were covered in pustules and cracks oozing bright green pus- it looked to be faintly glowing. She swallowed when he opened his eyes. The sclera in both eyes were red with blood, and as she watched, blood oozed out of the corners, explaining the brown, cracked trails.

"I'm afraid my vision is a little shot right now," he rasped, "I'm not sure who you are."

"You probably don't remember me. Harriet? Harry Chin?"

"Thought you hated that name."

"It's what everyone remembers. Apparently Harriet's too long for some reason."

He chuckled, then winced when it turned to coughing up blood and green ooze. "Sorry," he apologized.

"No, you don't have to apologize for that. Um. Do you like Chinese food?"

"I do," he replied.

"Well, this hospital food is- pretty shit. Probably worse here. So, uh- it's just rice, veggies, and chicken, but mom sent her homemade duck sauce, and...you don't have a table in here."

He grinned, and she winced at the sight of blood and green-crusted gums. "No use in getting amenities approved for a dying man."

She swallowed and sat the tupperware bowl beside his hip, where he could feel it. "Thank you, Harriet."

"You're welcome," she replied, and soon fled like a coward after only 15 minutes.

His face, half as she remembered it from the few times she'd seen him, and half practically melting off in a flood of gore, blood, and green haunted her dreams.

She put herself in his shoes. A month went by, abandoned by his only friends, and the only person who came by since ran from him like he had something she could catch- and felt sick.

-

"You came back." Vlad said, clearly surprised.

His face looked less bloody, but more green, and she wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

"Yeah, I have some time on Wednesdays, figured you could use the company. You look less..." Harriet trailed off, not sure how to continue without being offensive.

"Like my face is falling off?"

She winced. "Basically, yeah."

He smiled, just barely. "They let me look at myself- I looked like an extra from Night of the Living Dead."

It shocked a laugh out of her. "No offense, but-"

"None taken. How's class going?"

She was momentarily confused before she realized- he wanted to talk about something normal. And nothing happening to him now was normal.

"I pissed off the rest of my journalism class by beating the bell curve today," and he laughed.

"I know the feeling. I'm pretty sure everyone in my nuclear physics program hated me."

"Is that what you got your degree in? Or what you're working on?"

"I have the dual PhD in Chemistry and Engineering, but only a Master's in Physics."

"Only a Master's and two doctorates, he says," and he laughed. "Ugh, you can never meet my family. They'll all be comparing me to you."

His smile was tight, then, and he said, "I highly doubt that's a concern."

"What do you mean? I mean, you're getting better, right?"

He closed his eyes and sighed through his nose. "I wish, Harriet. I really do wish that."

That was how, over a bowl of her mom's dumplings, frozen and reheated, she found out he was dying. The ectoplasm was moving deeper into his system faster than they could leech it out of him. He was on a morphine drip that he barely noticed because it just hurt that bad.

He was on palliative care. She had to ask what that meant. And wished she hadn't.

"It means I'm dying and everyone knows it. Why try to save what's essentially a walking corpse?" He snorted bitterly and then apologized. "I'm sorry, that was grim. And rude, I think."

"Please don't ever apologize for dying. Seriously." She didn't stay as long as she could've- only 45 minutes- but she didn't run away this time.

No. Worse- he'd flatlined and lost consciousness. By the time nurses had come- and he wasn't kidding about the attitudes. They didn't come with a crash cart or anything, just paperwork that was left unfinished when he managed to claw breath back into his lungs and the machines stopped beeping.

They'd asked her to leave after that, and she didn't know what possessed her, but she squeezed his hand once, tight before she left.

Her dreams that night were empty; she couldn't sleep, thinking of what it must be like to have your last contact with another human being be through layers of plastic and latex. (She cried and cried and called her mother, then her grandmother, and finally her sisters and brother. If she died tomorrow- she didn't want to be remembered as the person they hadn't spoken to in years.)

-

"What do you mean, he's not in this ward?" Harriet asked, heart pounding. Was he gone or- or gone?

"I mean, he's got the devil's own luck," the nurse said, shaking her head. "Here's the room number, it's on floor 6. He's in ICU now."

"He lives!" She cheered, and he let out a raspy chuckle.

Vlad was now wearing an oxygen cannula and had multiple IVs going into a port on his arm. His eyes were bloodshot again, but for once the green glow was almost entirely absent.

"I live," he confirmed, "and the ectoplasm reached its' half-life. I can't believe I'm out of that awful little room."

She grinned. "No food this time," she said and smiled as his face fell comically, "but I did bring some sweets. How do you feel about lychee?"

"Never heard of it."

"Let's give it a shot, then!"

She left when the alarm on her phone went off, telling her she had 30 minutes to get to class. "Sorry," she apologized.

"No, it's fine. I'm grateful for the company."

For once, her dreams were normal- the typical weirdness only an overactive imagination and too little sleep could bring.

-

The ICU was a hub of activity when she entered, but she figured she was a regular enough visitor she could go without signing in for once.

"And what did you feel when it happened?"

"I don't know- cold, for once? Like I was being watched?" Vlad sounded scared- somehow worse than when he confessed he was dying.

"Is everything ok? I can come back later if that's better."

The doctor was nodding, but Vlad disagreed. "No, come in, please. Things are just a little weird right now."

"We really need more scans, and-"

"I've had 4 MRIs, 3 CAT scans, and 3 PET scans since yesterday. I am done being scanned!" He snapped, and- no, that was impossible.

There was no way his eyes had glowed red for just a moment.

The doctor left huffily and Harriet sat down. "That's a lot of scans. Did you have a seizure or something?" Seizures were, in her medical experience (which consisted of TV shows and basic first aid), the things that got people in scans.

"Well first, I died again. Full heart stop for 2 minutes and everything. Then I had 7 seizures in a row. And died between each one." He said. He sounded mostly irritated, but the terror in his eyes and the way his hands clenched and unclenched in the white hospital sheets told her it was a front.

She repeated her movement from the last time he died, clenching one hand in hers tightly. This time, he squeezed back - and held it there. "And after all of that, I turned invisible, believe it or not. I certainly don't."

"Invisibility is a stretch," she agreed. "I don't know what to say to that."

He swallowed. "I don't think there's anything to say. Just- something else. Who- do you know if the Packers are going to the Super Bowl?"

"I know Philly's playing, but not the other team. My brother's a Philly fan," she explained.

Vlad's lip curled in disgust. "Well, I suppose we can't all be right. Otherwise the Packers wouldn't have anyone to play against."

"You're a football nut?"

"Football, hockey, soccer- could never get into baseball. I used to play hockey, you know."

"Really?"

"Mm. Left wing until high school, then center through everything but the last two years of college."

"I have no idea what those things mean."

"Not a sports fan?"

"I used to run track, but that's it. Not a team player," she explained. "Working with one or two people was fine, but once we got over that, I wasn't interested."

"I can understand that."

"So why play hockey?"

"Do you want the fun PC answer or the honest one? At this point, you've watched me die at least once but you keep coming back- I think you've earned a few secrets."

She swallowed. "Tell me both. But don't say which is which. I'll guess."

He inhaled slowly and swallowed. "I thought it was fun, got good at it, then got scholarships to keep at it," he said. Then, "my father only cared about my eldest brother- the one in sports. So I thought if I did hockey too, but better than Anatoli, he'd love me." He smiled bitterly. "Of course, he died before my first game, so I don't know if that would've worked."

She sighed. "I get that. 2 sisters, both smarter than me, prettier, and better at... everything, really. It took me cutting off contact for 2 years before my family realized they might have been a little too harsh."

"But you- you have a good relationship with them now, right?"

She repeated his question. "Do you want the PC answer or the honest one?"

#danny phantom #inthememetime #vlad masters #danny phantom au #harriet chin #bad news #vlad/harriet #body horror #dracula vibes later on #cleaning the gravestones

[upsidedownwithsteve]

A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [3.7K]

THE TIMELINE

"There was something 'bout you that now I can't remember, It's the same damn thing that made my heart surrender. And I miss you on a train, I miss you in the morning, I never know what to think about. I think about you."

- About You By The 1975

V. HAWKINS, INDIANA: 1988

Two years had passed since the last gate had closed and despite the aftermath of the “earthquakes,” Vecna had yet to make any sort of reappearance. 

Max’s bones healed, eventually, and she regained most of her sight, relying on thick lensed glasses when she grew tired or the words in her books turned blurry. Nancy went to college, Jonathan tried it for a year, Hopper took El on a month-long camping trip to see something other than the town repairing itself and Lucas went to therapy. 

Soon, each kid followed suit, attending sessions that eventually helped them sleep a little better because even though they couldn’t tell the person on the other side of the coffee table about monsters and the world under their feet, there had been enough death and suffering to fill the hour with regardless. 

Dustin told Steve he should go too and Robin agreed. After Eddie’s funeral, the one where they all stood with Wayne, a guy from the garage Eddie worked at on weekends and the remaining Hellfire members beside a small gravestone, they had another one. 

A second ceremony near the woods behind Eddie’s trailer, close to where he died, to where Dustin had found him bleeding and proud. The kids cried and Joyce held on tight to Will while Jonathan hugged Nancy and Dustin punched a tree trunk. It felt better than the first one, easier somehow, when they didn’t have to lie and hide the guilt they had at knowing each and every one of them felt a little shame in having a hand in someone’s else’s death. 

But it was closure. 

The town healed, roads were repaired, houses rebuilt, new flowers planted in the park in memory of those who had been lost in the accident - the natural disaster that made headlines, the one that no one could have predicted. 

Steve helped Dustin clean Eddie’s grave when the spray paint covered the dead boy’s name. Robin stopped crying when she looked in the mirror each morning. Jonathan left his room. 

The kids got better. They smiled more, went to the new arcade on opening day, shared slushies and rode their bikes around town again. Joyce visited Wayne when she could, took him pies and meatloaf and eventually got him out of his armchair and into a coffee shop for a full hour. Hopper got his job back, had a ceremony that preceded the funeral he had years before and Robin managed to get her and Steve a sweet gig at the record store that replaced Family Video. 

It felt fresh. New. Clean. 

So why was Steve still dreaming about gates?

For the third night in a row, he woke up gasping. A yell stuck in his throat that tasted like metal, like blood, and he was drenched. Shirtless, his sheets stuck to his chest, the weight of them tangled around his legs in a sickly familiar way, vines tugging at his ankles. His room was dark, the house empty, too quiet. Quiet enough that his breath ripped from his lungs in harsh pants, his head pounding from the exertion of running in his dream, back in a place that he hadn’t seen in almost twenty one months. 

At first, he dreamt of death. 

Of Eddie and how they found him lifeless and in Dustin’s arms. How Max was barely conscious in the attic of the Creel House, her body broken in ways that no doctor could understand. He dreamt of how he had pulled Lucas away from her, the boy sobbing and yelling, fighting with more strength than he knew he had as Steve tried to restrain him just enough for the paramedics to get Max into the ambulance. 

Then the dreams turned empty. He dreamt of losing everyone, Robin, Dustin, Hop. El was gone, Will too, Mike nowhere to be found. Nancy’s house was empty, Joyce and Jonathan didn’t exist and Steve sat alone in a town that turned grey, crumbling to dust until the vines came back and the clouds turned red. 

He ran miles every night, searching for his friends, his family. Woke up to shaking breaths and sore legs like he’d really sprinted across a town that was no longer home and each morning when the sun rose, he sat with a coffee and his bare legs dipped in the pool in his backyard. He stared at the water until the ripples blurred and wondered how long it would take for Barb to come haunt him too, if she’d reappear in his dreams despite the years that had gone by, if she’d come crawling back out of his pool like she used to, dripping wet and with no eyes. 

But Barb never came and he stopped dreaming of the kids, stopped hearing Lucas’ screams, stopped seeing Max in a hospital bed with blood coming from her eyes and eventually, one night, he dreamt of a gate that he’d never seen before. 

It didn’t even really look like a gate. 

Not the ones Steve knew. It wasn’t framed by dead vines, it didn’t pulsate, it didn’t have a red glow coming from its innards. This one didn’t look like rotting flesh, like a wound in the earth that couldn’t be healed. This one wasn’t at the bottom of a lake, lined with wet moss and cracked rocks, it wasn’t in the Munson trailer nor in the middle of the woods. 

This one opened on a blank wall in Steve’s bedroom, replacing the shelves where his old basketball trophies sat, where he usually left his pile of clothes before falling into bed. In the dream, it started as a crack, a crumbling of plaster and blue plaid wallpaper and Steve watched it open, a yawning thing that split the room and bathed it in light. It was too bright at first, like blinking into a summer sun. And once the white-hot of it cleared from Steve’s eyes, he saw blue skies and he could smell the ocean. 

There were trees he’d never seen before in real life, something out of a movie, tall and green and narrow as they swayed in a breeze he couldn’t really feel from his spot on his bedroom carpet. The buildings were a pinky-peach colour, like clay, with orange slate tiles and there were foundations and statues carved into the walls, water trickling from the mouths of gods and vases that stone faced women held in their marble arms. 

It was like looking at a painting, a canvas between his bed and his old desk, framed with olive branches and large, red fruits that protruded from the gates mouth. 

Pomegranates. 

Steve could smell them, a sweetness that mixed with the ocean air, a kind of freshness that you couldn’t find between the fields and farms that surrounded Hawkins. In the dream, he wanted to move closer but found that he couldn’t, his eyes wide and his bare feet rooted to the spot as he stared at the scene. It felt like a memory the more he looked, the buildings becoming familiar, a baby blue door that looked like somewhere he’d once owned the keys to and the cobbled streets became a well walked way home. 

Then, as if he weren’t supposed to really see it, he spotted something move in an upstairs window. Two houses from the front of the gate, with rusted shutters and white linen curtains, he saw a girl stand between them. 

A pretty girl, with eyes he knew he’d seen before, in a white dress that he was sure he remembered the feeling of. 

The sight of her made Steve’s heart hammer, the dream making him dizzy, the realisation that he knew that girl making the line between unconsciousness and reality a little blurry. He didn’t know her name, or where he knew her from. He didn’t even know where he was looking or why the gate was there. 

But he stared and stared until the girls eyes met his and before he could lift his hand, or even try to speak, there was a crack that seemingly came from the sky - the one above Hawkins or the one inside the gate, he didn’t know - but something flashed, the gate went dark and the rip in his bedroom wall stitched itself back up. 

He woke up feeling like he’d remembered and forgotten something all at once. Like a book he’d read back in middle school, a photo he’d once misplaced, a song he hadn’t heard in years but still remebered some of the words too. 

He knew her. He knew her. 

Steve thought about the girl so much, so often, that it didn’t take him long to think of her, to refer to her, as you. You were someone he’d once known, from a memory or another dream, he wasn't sure. It was the same feeling as watching a movie and seeing a pretty actress on screen, in a different outfit with different hair but knowing her face and wondering what show he’d seen her in before. 

Except with this, there was an aching want that buried itself in his chest at the sight of you, an awful feeling that grew larger each night. And every time his wall cracked open again, it seemed like his ribs did too. A crushing feeling, a yawning expanse inside his body that made room for the way his heart seemed to grow and grow at the sight of you. 

Yearning, that’s what he thought it was. A slow, burning build of it. 

The second night, he dreamt of you in a garden. A sprawling, green lawn with a pond so green-blue it made his eyes hurt. There was an awning beside it, a pergola of sorts made of white stone and it had ivy growing between the pillars, covering the roof and reaching down to trail its flowers in the water below. You were closer than before, than you were in the window, and Steve could see the way your lashes hit your cheeks as you looked down, stitching something that you held in your lap. 

There was a wicker basket beside you, a loaf of fresh bread wrapped in a cloth and he could still smell pomegranates, sweet and tart. There was a space beside you on the blanket, enough room for two but no one else came. 

You were always alone. 

Steve tried to talk to you, to reach out and see if this gate worked like the others, if he could walk through into this other world, this other dimension, but it didn’t work. 

Not yet, anyway. 

You seemed to notice him more on the fifth night, as he watched you walk along the edge of a lake. Your hair was shorter now and your clothes had changed. They look more modern, more like his, the cabins behind you reminiscent of a summer camp, a holiday lodge or something. He could hear music, a song he swore he heard on the radio not too long ago and that night, you watched him back. 

It seemed like you were waiting for someone. And when Steve saw your face light up with a smile, his heart stumbled. You raised your arm, reaching out a hand to the edge of the gate, off to the side as if someone else was in Steve’s walls. He saw another hand reach for yours, larger, definitely male, with a freckle where the thumb joined the palm. 

The jealousy he felt was unmatched, a burning thing that scorched his chest and his throat, hot needles at the back of his mouth. Before the man came into view, the crack in his wall trembled and the gate stitched itself closed once more, leaving plaster dust and flakes of paint on his carpet. 

Apart from the small mess, no one would have ever guessed another world opened up inside of Steve Harrington’s bedroom each night. 

It took him a week and half to notice his hand had a freckle in the same spot. A small beauty mark he’d never really paid attention to before, painted in the space that joined his thumb to his hand. He tried not to read too much into it, tried not to hold onto the hope that maybe it meant something - because none of this made sense, not really. 

They were just dreams. Strange things, brain scrambling things. But it was a welcome reprieve from death and darkness and vines that held onto him too tight. He no longer woke up in a cold sweat, he no longer wished for morning to come, no matter how tired he felt when he opened his eyes. 

Steve wondered if anyone else was experiencing these kinds of dreams. If the rest of the party were getting glimpses of other worlds, other timelines. He wasn’t sure what they were, too scared to ask, too afraid to make everyone else worry. The thought that these dreams could be a trick crossed his mind more than once, a new tactic from Vecna, an infiltration of his sleep that was meant to lull him into some kind of false sense of security. 

Safety - an unknown feeling. 

But everyone else spent their days talking about school and their new bosses, the fair that was coming to town to celebrate the town hall finally being rebuilt. No one mentioned Vecna or dreams or gates or girls they knew from somewhere they couldn’t place. 

So Steve accepted the fact that whatever these dreams were - whatever they meant - they were just for him. Which meant that you were his too. 

Weeks went by with Steve viewing you from the split in his wall, sometimes hearing music, sometimes hearing your muffled voice. Never real words, never loud enough to hear and it didn’t seem like you could hear him either. But Steve watched, enraptured, following you around different parts of the world, new countries and scenes that he could never really place but, oh my god, each one felt like home with you in it. 

Then one night, he saw himself. 

He felt the surge of panic flood him even in his sleep, his body jolting against his bed as he saw the familiar face, staring back at him, nonplussed. He looked a little different, maybe older. His hair was shorter at the back, cropped closer to the nape of his neck but the biggest difference was how happy he looked. 

This Steve, the one in his dream, inside this gate - this Steve from another time, another life - he looked lighter. He didn’t have purple smudges under his eyes, no deep lines settling across his forehead from frowning so much. His clothes were different too, looser, less fitting, the colours more muted. He wore a pair of jeans that looked much more comfortable than his tight Levi’s, a soft burgundy sweater that had the sleeves rolled up. 

Steve didn’t recognise where this dream took place, but he knew it wasn’t Hawkins. America, yeah, the street signs and licence plates on the cars in the street giving that detail away, but he wasn’t too sure where. The buildings were bigger, shinier, more glass than brick but the skies were still blue and it looked peaceful, warm. 

Safe. 

Dream Steve strolled down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, looking back over his shoulder every now and then as if to make sure the real Steve was following him. He walked past storefronts and stopped to pet a dog, a golden retriever who was waiting for his owner outside of a bakery. When he came to a bookstore, Steve could see a large building in the distance, a huge billboard atop it that looked like it was advertising a new movie, or a show maybe. It didn’t have much details on it, no actors nor dates to tell what year this was supposed to be. 

Certainly not 1988. 

It only had lettering across it, big and bold and red against a pristine white background: “ANOTHER LIFE.”

The bell to the bookstore jingled and then Steve saw you. As pretty as you had been in every other gate, every other world, every other lifetime. Like a figurine inside a snow globe, like something from a fairytale. Steve had never seen you this close before. 

He watched your smile, the way it widened at the sight of his counterpart, this other version of him. You were so pretty that his breath got caught in his lungs, his sleeping body kicking out in shock when you lunged at the dream version of him, throwing your arms around his shoulders in greeting. 

Steve watched the two figures embrace on the street, he watched how this luckier man got to bring his hand to your cheek and hold to there to kiss, how his lips - Steve’s own lips - met your own and parted them, mouths melting together in something that was so much more than a quick hello. 

Steve didn’t have it in him to feel jealous then. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to. He watched the hand that held your jaw, the thumb that caressed your cheekbone as you grinned into him, your own hands clutching his waist now. There was a freckle, the same as the one he had on his own hand, in the matching spot on yours. This Steve took that hand and kissed that very mark, smacking kisses across your palm and up your wrist until you were laughing, head thrown back, eyes bright. 

Steve hadn’t seen anything so happy. 

He woke up before the dream finished, before the gate closed. Steve woke up with tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, his vision blurry in the navy gloom of his bedroom. It wasn’t yet morning. There was no gate on his bedroom fall, no new city between the plaid striped wallpaper. 

He thought it could’ve been Chicago, maybe New York. Perhaps Philadelphia. 

He wondered if he left and went looking for that bookstore, that street, that billboard, he’d find you too. If he was supposed to, if you were real, if this life was all he was supposed to get. 

Something told him otherwise, that open crack inside his chest that made him ache for hours after he awoke. He never forgot about you during the day, each life he’d watched you live, how you had grown your hair out and then cut it, how you seemed to change your clothing depending on where you were, from old petticoats to jeans and shirts with logos on them he’d never seen before. 

Steve felt like he’d lived a thousand lives with you. 

He wasn’t sure what he had to do to get you in this one. 

After two weeks of dreaming of this life with you, one that he was so sure would happen, he spoke to Joyce. He waited until the kids dragged Hopper out into the yard to help them with some sort of rocket they wanted to make and he found her in the kitchen. It was the closest kind of feeling he had to home - bar from the sight of you, but he wasn’t really sure if that counted when he was asleep. 

So he tried to sound casual when he leaned over the Byers kitchen counter, elbows avoiding the jelly stains that Mike had left after making a sandwich, and asked, “hey, uh, do you believe in soulmates?”

Joyce blinked at him, flour and butter between her fingers as she tried to turn the page in her recipe book back to the instructions for apple pie. The book flopped shut when she let go, her hands reaching for a rag instead. Her eyes never left Steve’s. 

“Uh, well. I guess so,” she paused, head tilted to the side as she watched the younger man, how his cheeks turned pink and his gaze fell to the floor. “I haven’t thought about it all that much. Why’d you ask?”

Steve didn’t know what to say then. So he floundered, flushed in the face and nose scrunched as he ran his fingers through his hair too harshly, hoping that no one else walked in. What was he supposed to say? That he was dreaming of gates in his bedroom walls? But it was okay? ‘Cause these ones didn’t have monsters or creatures set out to kill him, no, these gates held something that he thought he’d once had, that they held something he was so sure he was supposed ot have again?

Maybe, just not in this life.

Maybe, this time, something was broken. Wires were crossed, cut, unravelled. Maybe the upside down messed up a timeline, maybe it ripped apart whatever plan it had originally laid out for Steve Harrington. 

He didn’t know. But he knew it sounded crazy, even in his head.

So he shrugged and said, “no reason.”

And then that night, after Joyce gave him funny looks over the dinner she served him and the rest of his friends, the kitchen table full, he went home and lay on his bed, hardly bothering to pull the sheets over his bare chest.

He counted his breaths, hoped for sleep and wished for you.

Like always, his room grew darker, his lids heavier and the crack in his bedroom wall crumbled and split until the dust settled and he saw your face. You were alone this time, pretty as ever and in the same looking city he’d last seen himself in. The skies were blue behind you, the buildings still tall and shiny looking, all glass window panes and metal framework. If he concentrated enough, he could smell summer.

Hot tarmac and sunscreen, fresh fruit from one of the stores behind you, tart lemons and freshly ground coffee. 

You were looking right at him and even in his sleep, Steve smiled. Your eyes were pretty, too pretty, the colour bright and your gaze excited as you gazed at him. Like you’d been waiting. You held out a hand, coaxing, kind, soft, patient. And for the first time, when Steve reached out too, his hand slipped through the gate. 

He was right, about the season, about it being summer. The air inside this world was warm on his skin, like the sun was on him despite being sprawled out in the blue gloom of his dark bedroom. It felt like a July morning, right before the heat hit. 

He was almost touching your fingers when he woke up alone again.

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Harriet D. Murdock, 2015 & 2023

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