#this isn't fully edited

[cherrygorilla]

The Mixtape Mysteries - Prologue (Part 2)

September - Earth, Wind & Fire - 3:35

I really let myself get carried away with this one. The entire document for the prologue is 72 pages, and since the first part was 26 pages long, that means you’re in for a long read today!

Listen along with the gang here. 

The next time Royce heard Madonna telling him that he could “dance for inspiration” was only a handful of hours later, when he, Vivien and Bentley dumped their bikes by the back door of All-Skate Roller Rink and raced around to the entrance – pushing open the glass doors to be met with the familiar smell of salty french fries, sweaty socks and slushie syrup. Pop music thumped through the speakers, reverberating through the heinously patterned carpet and making the glass doors shake on their hinges; and neon lights flashed above them, illuminating the inhabitants of the hang-out spot in a rainbow of colours from fuchsia to aquamarine. A handful of arcade machines buzzed and pinged in the corner; an illuminated menu sign hung over a silver bar lined with scuffed, leather stools; and a wall of white (well, beige really) roller skates stood beside it, emblazoned with a neon ‘skate rentals’ sign for anyone that couldn’t gather their own context clues. What drew the trio’s attention most though was the huddle of teenagers by the food counter.

One was sat pouring over a notepad, thoughtfully tapping her cheek with a pencil as she bounced her pristine, white sneakers in time to the music. Another was sat on the barstool beside her, shovelling fries into his mouth like his life depended on it as he ranted and raved to his captive audience. The third had a tea towel thrown over her shoulder to give the illusion that she had ‘just stopped working for a chat’, when in reality she’d been giggling with her guests and sneaking food from their plates for the past half an hour. And the fourth was leant against the archway that led into the skate rentals booth, running a hand through his chocolate brown hair as he munched his way through a seemingly very lacklustre hotdog if his facial expression was anything to go by.  

“Oh good, everything’s just as crappy as I left it,” Vivien chuckled as she, Royce and Bentley made their way over to the food counter. “You have no idea how much I missed those lime slushies on vacation.”

“Did you miss that weird, bleached vomit smell too?” Royce shot back with a cheeky smile as their sneakers traversed the garish, crunchy carpet. Why it felt like that, the kids didn’t know – and they definitely didn’t want to find out.

“Oh absolutely,” Vivien joked as she stopped in her tracks and took a comically large inhale through her nose. “It’s like coming home.”

“The fact you’re thinking about vomit right now instead of those nachos I can smell is criminal,” Bentley laughed as he ran ahead of the thirteen-year-olds and dinged the bell on the end of the food counter. “Hey, I just won on the claw machine and my prize got stuck, can one of you get it out for me?” he hollered to the four teens, interrupting whatever conversation they’d been so engrossed in with a mischievous grin.

“You need to come up with a new one, Bentley; that claw machine hasn’t given out a prize the entire time it’s been here – I’m never going to believe you until I physically see you play that game,” Mick laughed as she affectionately rolled her eyes and straightened up – again, to give the illusion that she was actually committed to her job and hadn’t just been drooling into her boyfriend’s basket of fries ever since she’d given him them.

“Hey guys!” Lela chirped, beaming at Bentley and Royce and Vivien as they approached.

“You’re here early,” Butchy noted with a lazy grin and a glance at the clock on the wall. “It’s not even seven yet.”

“Well what else would we do for fun?” Vivien snorted. “I can go and graffiti the bridge by Lovers’ Lake if you want.”

“If my only two options are you bugging me or you vandalising public property then I guess I’ll have to put up with you for the night,” he fired back before cracking a smile as the pair shared a laugh.

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” Vivien said just as Miles shoved the last of his hotdog into his mouth.

“How have you guys already finished your homework?” he asked incredulously, abandoning his post by the skate rentals booth altogether as he closed the gap between the rest of his friends and the archway littered with stickers and old post-it notes.

“Easy, we didn’t have any,” Royce chuckled.

“Yeah, who the hell gives out homework on the first day back at school?” Bentley agreed.

“High school teachers,” Mick replied with a dry laugh that Miles just shook his head at.

“What have you been doing all this time then? Did you have the leftovers from last night like I told you to?" he went on to ask. 

"No, we went back to Vivien's after school to look at her vacation pictures and her mom offered us dinner," Royce explained, to Miles' apparent dismay.

"You thanked her for it on your way over here, right?" he pressed. Despite how much they struggled with money, the thought of him or his brothers accepting help from others was something Miles still found difficult to come to terms with. 

Royce just rolled his eyes at his brother's fretting though, and sarcastically drawled out his response. "No, Miles, we kicked over the table and flipped her the bird - of course we thanked her for it."

"Yeah, come on, we're not animals," Bentley cheekily added as he hopped onto one of the nearby barstools. 

Still seemingly worried about his brothers' eating arrangements though, Miles furrowed his brows and rambled on. "Well what did she make you guys? Did it have any vegetables in it?" Clearly the old lady at the grocery store's comments about calling a social worker on them had got to him. 

"Jeez, who are you? The fun police?" Mick snorted.

"Nope, that would be Butchy," Lela jumped in with a playfully teasing grin that quickly earned her a scowl from her older brother. 

"Oh yeah, how was work? Did your first shift go well?" Royce turned to Butchy to ask. 

"Did you arrest anyone?" Bentley tagged on, eyes wide with expectant wonder. 

"Wait, you actually got that job at the police station?" Vivien asked incredulously as Butchy let out a defeated sigh.

"Yeah, I got it, it's just…not what I thought it would be," he admitted. 

"How come?" Royce asked. 

"You didn't have to shoot anyone, did you?" Bentley continued.

"No, buddy, of course not," Butchy said, managing a chuckle thanks to the eleven-year-old's horrified expression. 

"What happened then? They didn't just stick you on parking metre duty, did they?" Vivien asked with a look of disgust. "Because that's super lame, even for your first day."

Butchy's second defeated sigh in response just made Lela let out another giggle at his expense. "Oh he could only dream of doing something as exciting as parking metre duty."

"Yeah, imagine that, Butch. You might even get to see some daylight," Miles piled on, sharing a teasing grin with Lela. 

"I mean, they'll probably make you wait another two years before they let you do something as important as writing tickets - but, you never know, if you're good they might let you go out and watch someone else do it after one," she finished as she, Mick and Miles all let out a hearty laugh. 

"Was it really that bad?" Bentley asked. 

"No, it just...wasn't as much fieldwork as I was expecting," Butchy explained, attempting to sugarcoat it to save both the kids from disappointment and his ego from further bruising. 

"That's a really nice way of saying you were stuck inside typing out paperwork all day," Mick chuckled as her boyfriend shot her a weary look of despair. 

"Seriously?" Royce asked. And when all Butchy could do in response was let out his third defeated sigh so far, Royce accepted the truth with a sigh of his own. "Bummer, man."

"Yeah, that sucks," Bentley agreed. 

"I told you you should have taken that job at Radio Shack," Vivien said, inadvertently rubbing further salt in the wound. 

With a roll of his eyes, Butchy snapped and said, "Okay, are you guys actually just here to bug me or are you going to go skate or something?" 

"We're here for the arcade machines," Royce explained. 

"Yeah, bugging you is just a bonus," Vivien added with a smirk that made Royce set off to laugh. 

"Ooh, and we're here for slushies," Bentley piped up, shooting Mick a hopeful grin. 

With a sigh and an affectionate eye-roll, Mick wandered over to the frozen drinks machine. "I thought you might be," she chuckled. "You want your usual flavours?"

"Duh!" 

As Mick set to work preparing the trio of slushies, Miles stepped up to the counter with a quizzical look. "And what money, exactly, are you planning on using to play on those arcade machines?" 

"If I had any, I'd let you know," Royce snorted. But when Miles just folded his arms across his chest and raised a warning, expectant eyebrow at him, he went on to explain: "We were actually kind of hoping you'd let us borrow your little palette knife thing again."

Miles let out an exasperated sigh and ran a hand through his already messy hair - it always looked a little dishevelled this far into his shift - Royce blamed it on stress…or all the sweaty, teenage hormones hanging in the air. "I already told you guys I'm only supposed to use that when the coin slots are jammed - it shouldn't even be able to give you a free play."

"Yeah, but it does, so we're obviously going to take advantage of it," Vivien fired back with a mischievous grin. 

"Yeah, come on, Miles, it's like the best part of you having this job," Bentley said, matching Vivien's grin. 

"Oh yeah? Better than me being able to feed and clothe you?" Miles retorted. 

"No, but it's a pretty close second," Royce bargained with a chuckle Miles did not seem to be in the mood to reciprocate.

"I can't keep just keep handing it over to you, Royce. If you get caught I could get fired."

"Who's going to catch us? Your manager's never here, no one is ever playing on those dumb machines anyway, and it's not like Mick's going to snitch on us," Royce said. 

"He's right," Mick chimed in as she set the three slushies down on the bar: one lime, one cherry and one grape - each glowing its own, fluorescent shade of the rainbow. "How could I turn in my best customers?" she added with a wry smile as she held out her palm. "Pay up, kids."

Royce and Bentley exchanged a nervous glance as Vivien started frantically rooting around in her pocket for loose change. 

But Mick only let them suffer for a few seconds before dropping the act and letting out a laugh. "I'm kidding, they're on the house."

"Thanks, Mick!" they all chorused as they scooped up their respective slushies and gulped down the sugar-soaked ice until their heads pounded. 

Once their giggly comments about brain-freeze had subsided, Royce turned back to Miles. "Come on, are you going to let us rig those arcade machines or not?"

"Royce," Miles began to protest, but Vivien's interjection derailed his train of thought. 

"Well, if not then it sounds like graffiti-ing the bridge at Lovers' Lake is back on the table."

"It is most definitely not back on the table," Miles fired back warningly, appalled at the very idea. After all, his brothers getting arrested seemed like the perfect excuse for a nosy old lady to call a social worker on him.

"Why not? I'm like 90% certain my dad's got some old spray paint in our garage, and with Bentley's art skills I bet we could make something pretty bitchin'." 

"Swearing and plotting crimes? Eighth grade has really changed you, Viv," Mick snickered, setting an orange slushie she'd taken the liberty of preparing for herself down on the bar in front of her. 

"Is it that much to ask that you find something legal to do?" Miles asked with another exasperated sigh. "Can't you just, I don't know, play cards or something?"

"Do you have a pack of cards?" Royce asked.

"Why would I have a pack of cards, Royce?" he wearily replied. 

"Then no, we can't play cards."

"Come on, Miles. We'll hide it really well, I promise. We used it over summer when it was way busier than this and we never got caught. This'll be a breeze," Bentley tried with a hopeful smile that tugged on Miles' heartstrings more than he cared to admit. 

He considered his options for a few seconds before letting out a pained sigh and asking: "You're sure this is the only alternative to you turning to a life of crime?" 

Royce had to try extremely hard to hide his grin. "Absolutely."

Miles just lovingly shook his head in response. "If we end up living on the streets, it's on your head, Royce. You hear me?" he said as he disappeared into the skate rentals booth and reappeared a moment later with something wedged in his jeans pocket. 

"Loud and clear," Royce chuckled as Miles trudged past Mick and met the trio on the opposite side of the food counter. 

"Which machine is it tonight then, kiddos?" Miles caved and asked, letting a smile envelope his face whilst his brothers and Vivien broke into an excited debate and led the way to the cluster of arcade machines in the corner. 

"I've got to check I still have the high score on Dig Dug first, but then we said we'd start with Pac-Man," Royce explained. 

"Why are you so obsessed with keeping your high score on Dig Dug?" Vivien chuckled. 

"Because there's no way I'm even going to break onto the leaderboard on the machine at the arcade across town, let alone get the top spot - not when Dustin plays it like it's his job."

"Well you're not going to even get on the leaderboard on this Pac-Man machine with the way you play - you can barely even get past the second level," Bentley teased.

"It's not my fault I can't remember all the dumb patterns!"

Stopping by the first arcade game they reached - a rundown Space Invaders machine that had only half of the title illuminated - Miles scanned his surroundings to make sure no one was watching them before sliding his hand into his pocket and producing the rounded, flat silver stick. "Okay, now remember-"

"If a paying customer wants to use the machine, then we have to let them use it. We know," Royce and Bentley parroted. 

"And?"

"When we're not using it, the coin pusher thing stays out of sight."

"And?"

"No free games for friends," Royce said.

"Apart from Vivi," Bentley added with a cheeky grin. 

Miles just sighed and fondly shook his head at them. "The things I do to keep you kids out of trouble," he chuckled as he begrudgingly handed over the arcade machine hacker tool to Royce.

"Thanks, Miles!" Royce and Vivien exclaimed as they quickly wrapped their arms around his middle and raced over to the Dig Dug machine. 

"Thanks, Miles," Bentley echoed with a touch more sincerity as he gave his older brother a hug of his own. "You're the best."

"Yeah, yeah, just try not to get me fired," Miles said as he ruffled Bentley's hair and tried to straighten out his black t-shirt, adorned with All-Skate's logo and tag-line: 'That's how we roll…' - i.e. his only evidence of a work uniform. 

"We'll be good, don't worry," Bentley grinned. 

"Are you kidding me? Worrying about you guys is all I know how to do," Miles joked as he wished Bentley a final goodbye and headed back over to the food counter to rejoin his conversation with Mick, Butchy and Lela - and to spy on his little brothers from a respectable distance.  

"Maybe it's not as bad as you think," Miles heard Mick say as he approached, apparently trying to reason with her grumpy boyfriend. 

"I sit in the office equivalent of a cardboard box and read through old paperwork all day, Mick…I don't see how it could be any worse."

"Well look at it this way: at least it's giving you an idea of the sort of things you'll be dealing with once you start your real training," she went on to explain. 

"And how all the conflicts were resolved," Lela added before another mischievous grin crept onto her face. "You never know, you might be able to learn a thing or two about how to stop picking dumb fights."

"Real funny, sis," Butchy scoffed with a roll of his eyes. 

"Hey, Butch, if someone calls the cops on you, are they still going to have to send out a car or can you just drive yourself in now?" Miles asked, once again joining in with Lela's teasing as he positioned himself back by the skate rentals booth. 

"And would they still have to question you in a holding cell, or could it just be considered water cooler talk now?"  

"Are you two done yet?" Butchy asked. But his question was lost amongst Lela's giggles and Miles' guffaws.  

"It'll get old for them before you know it," Mick said with an amused glance across at the pair. When her eyes settled back on Butchy's though, she found herself abandoning her slushie to lean her forearms on the bar again. Ignoring the stickiness of the metal on her bare skin, she reached out and took his hands in hers, offering him a reassuring smile as she leaned in and said, "I'm still proud of you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she confirmed, before a roguish twinkle flashed in her eyes and she added, "Even if you are just a desk jockey with a shiny badge."

Butchy snorted out a laugh at her teasing remark and dropped his gaze to his now-empty plate. "Actually I haven't been given a badge yet," he admitted. 

Clearly disappointed by that revelation, Mick feigned a look of horror, much to her boyfriend's entertainment. Straightening up, she paused to think for a moment whilst idly tapping her fingers on the bar - but after a few seconds, a smirk twisted her lips as she swiped the stack of post-it notes from beside the cash register and set to work scrawling something on the top slip of yellow paper. Before Butchy could question what she was doing, the post-it note was being slapped on his chest, just above his heart.  

"There, now you have," she said, standing back to admire her handiwork with a proud, yet cheeky grin.

Glancing down, Butchy tested his abilities to read upside down, finding, to his delight, that Mick had labelled him '#1 cop'. Letting out a chuckle at her antics, he brought his gaze up to hers again, and as soon as their eyes met he felt all his worries and pent-up anger from the day's events melt away. The chestnut locks framing her face, the playful glint in her eyes, the way she had turned up the sleeves of her sky blue All-Skate t-shirt just to show off to Bentley that she hadn't washed off the dolphin temporary tattoo he'd branded her with on Saturday afternoon yet…even the buzz he felt race through him every time they were in the same room as each other - everything about her was just perfect. Hell, that smile of hers was powerful enough on its own to lift any weight off his shoulders, no matter how heavy. 

"How did I wind up so lucky?" he eventually asked with a smitten grin Mick relished. 

"The universe works in mysterious ways," she smirked.

But their romantic exchange was soon interrupted. Not by more teasing from Miles and Lela though, instead by the glass doors being thrown open by a lumbering fool in a black beanie and dubiously stained, brown corduroys.

"Speaking of mysterious ways," Mick muttered as she clocked the boy strolling over to them.

"Four deliveries and it's not even 7pm? I am on a roll, my dudes!" Ethan exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air to point at his co-workers behind the bar. 

"I still can't believe there are people that like this food enough to have it delivered," Butchy muttered to Mick, before quickly adding, "No offence." 

"None taken," she chuckled. "It's not like I make any of it from scratch. We've got more freezers back there than Baskin-Robbins." 

"Nice, man," Miles said, matching his friend's energy and laid-back grin with an ease that only a decade of friendship could achieve. "You're making good time tonight."

"Hell yeah I am! Am I the best delivery driver this place has ever had, or what?" Ethan hollered, revelling in his momentary glory for all it was worth as he held out his arms to the side and did a little spin. How he didn't trip over the undone laces of his beat-up Nikes was a miracle considering how clumsy he usually was. 

"Well you're the only delivery driver we've ever had, so it's not like you have much competition," Mick noted with a strained sigh. If she had to describe Ethan in one word, it would be: exhausting. 

"Doesn't make it any less true," Ethan said as he finally reached the food counter where his friends resided. Well, one friend, one co-worker and two unwilling acquaintances. "'Sup guys."

"Hey, Ethan," Butchy mumbled. Evidently he found spending time with the guy as tedious as his girlfriend did. 

"How's it hangin', wahine?" Ethan drawled to Mick, sporting a teasing grin as he stuck out his thumb and pinkie and shook his hand at her. 

"I moved here from California three years ago, Ethan. You don't need to keep calling me that," Mick said with a deadpan tone that Miles had to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing at. 

"What happened to 'you can take the girl away from the surf, but you can't take the surf away from the girl'?" Ethan asked, disappointed that his antics weren't met with the same, warm reception Miles always put the energy aside to deliver. 

"I don't think I ever said that."

"Yeah, well, middle-school-you would say otherwise," Ethan retorted as Miles finally gave in and let a snort of laughter slip out. 

"Don't you have work to do?" Mick asked with a roll of her eyes.

"Do you hear a phone ringing?" Ethan fired back. And after a moment's pause of nothing but silence - well, silence save for Belinda Carlisle belting out over the speakers and the happy chatter of the skaters out on the rink - he smirked and said, "Then it looks like I'm off-duty, Mickey Mouse."

"I take it you're liking being a delivery driver then, Ethan?" Lela chuckled. At least she found his antics amusing. 

"Potato chip, it is gnarly!" he exclaimed with a grin. Letting Ethan overhear Butchy calling her 'Lays' was a mistake she quickly regretted, but, with time, grew to appreciate. "I only actually have to work when some bonehead orders food. And even then, all I do is drive around town in my van. They're basically just paying me to listen to Black Sabbath and blaze-."

"You sure you wanna finish that sentence?" Miles cut in with a chuckle. "Butch started his new job today."

Spotting the '#1 cop' badge, Ethan's eyes widened and a sheepish smile broke across his face as he floundered for an excuse. "...blaze through traffic! Man, if I take those back roads then I can get across town in no time. Gotta keep that 'piping hot promise', you know?" 

"Nice save," Mick said sarcastically before taking a long drag of her slushie. 

"Hey, I can't get locked up; I've got hungry people out there that need me."

"They need you?" Miles asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

"Yu-huh. Who else is going to serve them food? I made a promise when I put on this shirt, Miles, and it is one I intend to keep," Ethan said, gesturing to his version of the All-Skate t-shirt, which was a rather fitting, overbearing neon yellow. "I have a duty to the people of Hawkins to deliver them their shitty pizzas in thirty minutes or less - that's the All-Skate way. I can't just desert them in their time of need. Where else would they get a box of greasy mozzarella sticks from? People depend on us for this stuff, and they depend on me to deliver it to them. I'm like Batman, but for crappy diner food!"

"Batman, huh?" Miles chuckled. "I guess that makes the phone your bat signal."

"Dude, you are so right!" Ethan enthused, reaching out for a high five. But as soon as their hands met, a discordant ringing echoed from the kitchen behind them.

Mick couldn't help but laugh as she noticed the stoner's look of despair. "Jump to it, Batman; your people need you."

"Are you kidding me? I just got back!"

"What happened to 'serving the people of Hawkins'?" Miles asked.

"Yeah, I thought they were depending on you," Lela joined in with an amused smirk of her own. 

"Well can't they depend on me in five minutes? I'm beat," Ethan huffed. But the ringing phone didn't let up.

"If you're wanting sympathy, you're not getting any from me," Mick scoffed. "Now look alive, Bruce; that microwave isn't going to work itself."

With a heavy sigh of resignation, Ethan said his farewells and trudged towards the kitchen. "These guys had better give me a phat tip for this," he muttered to himself as he disappeared through the black swing doors and sluggishly reached for the red, plastic phone on the wall.  

"A broken ice cream machine? Employees high on the job? Maybe All-Skate isn't going downhill after all," Butchy said sarcastically, shooting a teasing grin at Mick and Miles, who just frowned in response. They may hate their jobs 90% of the time, but that didn't stop them from being oddly protective of the dilapidated skating establishment. 

"God, he's such a moron," Mick huffed as she momentarily closed her eyes in despair. 

"Yeah, but he's harmless," Miles said with an affectionate chuckle. 

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Mick's lips, which was all the evidence Miles needed to know that she agreed with him, albeit reluctantly. But before either of them could debate Ethan's morals further, a voice crackled over the speakers that pulled both of their gazes to the rink. 

"Okay, ladies and gentlemen, let's liven things up a little bit. School may be back in session, and corporate America may be kicking our asses, but that is no excuse to sit back and let life pass us by. So skate away those Monday blues and dance like it's Saturday night. I want to see some out of this world moves for this next song!" 

"Unfortunately, the same can't be said for her," Mick muttered to Miles as her resentment towards the girl pulled her lips back into an all-too-familiar frown. 

Mick's scowl wasn't matched by Miles though, if anything he just longingly looked on as the girl flicked up the mic of her headset and busied herself pressing buttons at her sound station. 

Moments later, the opening guitar riff of Bananarama's 'Venus' flooded through the roller rink's speakers, syncing up with the pre-planned flashing of the colourful overhead lights. Mick couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Oh here we go, she must be getting bored; she's playing her song," she said, having worked with the DJ long enough to know that this was a particular favourite of hers to skate to. And sure enough, once satisfied that the song, and accompanying lighting package, would run without a hitch, Carrie rolled out of her rink-side kiosk to join the rest of the skaters on the dancefloor. 

Her voluminous, golden curls spilled out of her head and down her back, no longer tamed by the green scrunchie she'd worn at school. Well, some of them were held up in an aqua blue one at the very top of her head, in a style not dissimilar to Lela's - but most roamed free across her shoulders, bouncing and swaying with every move she made. Her version of the customary All-Skate uniform t-shirt was hot pink to match her glittery knee pads, although she had hers tied at the waist and pulled down over one shoulder to reveal more of the funky, patterned leotard she wore underneath. Vibrant, turquoise leggings matched the scrunchie in her hair and the graphic eyeliner she'd applied in the employee bathroom a minute before her shift had started. But what drew attention to her the most were her signature, holographic, silver roller skates, complete with hot pink toe-stops and laces she switched out daily to match her outfit - today's being: of course, aqua blue. If her smile wasn't already dazzling enough, the sheer number of reflective items of clothing she wore meant that a new part of her caught the light of the overhead disco ball with every twist or turn she made. Even her skin seemed to be glistening in the glow of the rink's neon lights, making her look every bit as ethereal as the 'goddess on the mountain top' in the song she was singing and dancing her heart out to with her friends.

Mick let out a disgruntled sigh as she watched the girl flout her work responsibilities and skate around without a care in the world, but when she glanced across at Miles and found him watching her with awestruck wonder, she couldn't help but giggle at his expression. After all, her fondness of Miles could trump her distaste for Carrie any day. "Oh, she's got it alright," she teasingly chuckled. "Isn't that right, Miles?" 

But Miles was too preoccupied with trying to stop himself from drooling to reply. He was absolutely transfixed. Every twirl or crossover she executed felt to him as if it was happening in slow motion, the song she was dancing to barely audible over the blood pounding in his ears. And when she locked eyes with him across the room, he's pretty sure he stopped breathing altogether. 

"Are you shitting me right now? You're still not over that stupid crush on her?" Butchy hissed. 

"Wait, you've got a crush on Carrie, Miles?! How am I only just finding out about this now?" Lela squealed as Miles' eyes flew wide in terror. 

"I do not have a crush on her!" he insisted. But his scarlet cheeks told a different story.

"Mhm, keep trying, I almost believed you that time," Mick sarcastically fired back, prompting him to roll his eyes in defeat.

"I thought I told you to stay away from her, Miles; those rich, popular kids are bad news," Butchy chastised. 

"How am I supposed to stay away from her when we work together?" 

"Well, in case you forgot, I work with her too, and, by some crazy miracle, I've managed to refrain from staring at her ass at every opportunity possible - so I guess it can be done," Mick said with a dry intonation and a wicked smirk. "You know, if you put in even the tiniest bit of effort."

"Mick, I don't-!" But Miles' horrified protests were cut short when he saw a haze of turquoise and magenta approaching in his periphery. Daring a glance to his right, sure enough, he saw Carrie effortlessly rock onto her toe-stops and hop off the rink as she made a beeline for the food counter. "Holy shit, why is she coming over here?" he breathed as he quickly averted his eyes.

"Beats me," Mick replied with a shrug.

"Jesus Christ, just when I thought my day couldn't get any worse," Butchy muttered.

"Don't worry, she's not going to stay long."

"How do you know? What the hell are you going to do?" Miles asked worriedly.

"Easy, Romeo, don't pop a blood vessel. She's probably just out of water or something," Mick chuckled before her attention was snatched away by the cheerleader on wheels. 

"Hey, Mi-kana," Carrie called once she was within earshot of the group, catching herself midway through the girl's nickname and trying to correct herself. "Could I get a refill?" she finished as she reached the bar and held out her water bottle to the brunette with a sheepish smile, courtesy of her verbal faux pas.

"Sure, Carrie," Mick said as she mustered a tight grin and shot Miles a knowing look on her way to the tap behind her. In all honesty, Mick was rather impressed that Carrie had taken any notice of her remark at school at all, let alone that she'd cared enough to remember and take the criticism on board. It almost made her smile feel…genuine. Almost.

"Thanks," Carrie beamed. Ever the chatterbox, the silence that had fallen over the group upon her arrival didn't last long. "So…pretty slow night tonight, huh?"

"Yeah, it, uh, it makes a change from last week," Miles noted, praying that he didn't sound as nervous as he felt thanks to Butchy's steely glare boring holes into his skull. 

"A welcome one though," Mick added with a snort.

Again, silence - awkward silence. 

"…How did you guys find being back at school? Did you have a good first day?" Carrie continued after the momentary pause. 

"Does anyone ever?" came Miles' reply.

"Touché," she chuckled in response, before the sound of her metal water bottle being slammed down onto the counter made her flinch. 

"There you go," Mick said, plastering one last false smile to her face as she held the girl's gaze for a beat. But just as quickly as their eyes met, they separated again with Mick beginning to turn away, optimistically thinking that their interaction was over. Before she could stray too far though, Carrie jumped in to prove otherwise.

"Wait, Makana!"

It seemed as though Mick just couldn't get away from her today. "What?" she asked. The impatient sigh she let out wasn't intentional (well, not entirely), but Carrie didn't seem too deterred by it. 

"About earlier today at school…"

Even at the very mention of the confrontation, Mick found herself defensively crossing her arms over her chest again. "What about it?"

Eyebrows furrowed with concern, Carrie toyed with the lid of her water bottle as she tried to find the right words to say. "...Are we, like, okay?" 

Mick rolled her eyes before she could stop herself and let out another, weary sigh. "We're fine, Carrie. I just wish your douchebag friends would stay out of my way."

"You're not lumping me in with that 'douchebag' label, are you?" she asked. Her expression and tone told Mick that she was just joking around, but there was something about the look in her eyes - the worry swimming amongst the ocean blue - that softened her frown. Maybe she wasn't such a stone-cold bitch after all. Maybe she did actually care about things other than herself. And maybe Mick, in all her 'dorky surfer girl' glory, was one of them. 

To her surprise, Mick's scowl eased all the way into a smile. "No, Carrie. You're good," she reassured, even going so far as to let out a little chuckle as she watched the relief wash over the girl. There was something oddly endearing about how earnestly she meant what she said. "Just try to keep your bitchy friends on a tighter leash," she said, only half-joking. 

"Noted," Carrie nodded before getting brave and attempting to push her luck that little bit further. "And as far as the whole name thing goes…"

Affectionately rolling her eyes at her co-worker's persistence, Mick said, "You can call me 'Mick'."

"So does that mean we are friends after all?" Carrie asked with a hopeful grin that began to twist its way into a smirk. 

"Yeah, I guess we can be friends," Mick replied with a teasing reluctance that still held at least some sincerity - although Mick wasn't sure the ditzy blonde could pick up on that. "Work friends," she went on to emphasise. 

"What? So the invitation isn't valid outside the building?" Carrie scoffed, clearly thinking the junior must be joking. 

"No," Mick deadpanned, prompting Carrie's easygoing grin to fall right off her face. "Not until the outside-you starts acting like the All-Skate-you."

Carrie was stunned into silence. Eyes locked onto Mick's look of exasperation, her eyebrows furrowed - at first in confusion, but then in anger as Mick watched her transform into the bitchy cheerleader caricature she'd grown to loathe over the years in a matter of seconds. Her eyes flashed with momentary outrage as Mick's words finally sunk in, and part of the brunette began to worry as she noticed Carrie's grip on her water bottle tightening. Anticipating the worst, Mick caught herself holding her breath as she waited for Carrie to rear up and start hurling every poisonous insult in her no-doubt extensive arsenal at her. But to her surprise, the blonde didn't progress beyond opening her glossed lips. 

Feeling her temper starting to catch light, Carrie scrambled to hit the brakes before the countless, catty remarks the little devil on her shoulder was whispering in her ear could slip from her tongue. And just as suddenly as it had appeared, the sinister glint in her eye vanished, as did all traces of the vain, bitter monster Mick's unsolicited reality check drew out of her. In its place: a rather unnerved roller rink DJ, sporting a gaudy outfit and a perplexed frown that was swiftly replaced with a lopsided grin once she remembered where she was. She let out an awkward chuckle, that would have been a lot more convincing had Mick not caught her temporary image slip, as she tried to figure out how she should respond. "Alright, well, I guess I'll take what I can get," she eventually settled on, attempting the comedy route with a jokey grin as she hopefully extended her arms. "Wanna hug it out?"

Mick's tight smile should have said it all. "...Let's not push it."

"Okay, I get it - baby steps," Carrie said, rolling a few feet back from the counter with her hands raised in surrender, which, to her delight, drew a chuckle from her co-worker's lips. "Catch you later, Mick," she finished with a giggle and a peppy wave as she hopped onto one of her toe stops and turned to leave. 

"Alright, don't let it get to your head," Mick said with another affectionate eye-roll at the girl's cheesy grin. 

"See you, M-"

But Carrie's farewell to her other co-worker was cut short when she noticed a certain young man perched on one of the barstools to her left. And despite her best efforts to take the high road during her conversation with Mick, the opportunity presenting itself in front of her was just too tempting to pass up.

"You're seriously here again, Biagio? Don't you have somewhere better to be now that you've graduated?" Carrie scoffed as her smile warped into its signature, wicked smirk.

If looks could kill, Carrie would have keeled over on the spot.

But when Butchy saw the beastly delight glittering in her eyes, he lost all the integrity he'd built up in their time apart, along with his ability to rise above her petty mocking. Spurred on by her gleeful spite, he too fixed a smirk to his face as he gave in and did exactly what he promised himself he wouldn't: stoop to her level. 

"I could say the same about you, Cole. Wasn't this just supposed to be a summer job?" 

Carrie didn't even flinch. "That's what they hired me for," she confirmed with a smug nod. 

"Oh yeah? Then how come you're still here?" he spat. With Butchy holding a spot on the Hawkins High football team for the last two years of his high school career, and Carrie practically picking up a pair of pompoms as soon as she walked through the doors in her freshman year, the pair had a lengthy history of unfortunate run-ins. No one was entirely sure what went down to spark such a rivalry, but their distaste for one another ran deep, and showed no signs of shifting any time soon. 

"Why do you care? You trying to see if we've got an opening? Because we're not hiring, but if you're that desperate for the money I could totally get you one of those cute little maid outfits and make you the janitor. It'd make my job a hell of a lot easier." 

Ignoring her mocking remarks, Butchy focused on the one part of Carrie's spiel that piqued his interest. "Ahh, so that's why you're here. Because you're desperate for money," Butchy claimed with a smug grin of his own, continuing with his tirade before the blonde could object. "Damn, I never thought I'd see the day Caroline Cole was strapped for cash. What happened, princess? Did you bleed your parents' bank account dry with all your dumb shopping trips? Or, even better, did Daddy finally cut you off from the trust fund after you and your little friends got busted for underage drinking?" 

The look that flashed in Carrie's eyes was downright murderous, and Butchy relished it for all it was worth. He could practically see the steam rising from the top of her head as his words settled in, leaving her a seething bundle of lycra and hairspray. But all good things must come to an end, and as quickly as she'd lost her temper, she found a way to retaliate. After all, talking shit was high on her list of talents, as was inflating her ego. So why not combine the two? 

"Neither," she said as she plastered a sickeningly sweet smile across her face. "I'm just so good at my job they couldn't bear to let me go."

Disgruntled that he hadn't landed the K.O. shot, Butchy rolled his eyes in response to her ill-warranted self-flattery. "Yeah, 'cause pressing 'play' on a stereo is a job," he scoffed. 

"Hey, at least I have a job," Carrie fired back.

But before Butchy could continue the embittered bickering, Lela jumped in with a response that made him want the ground to swallow him whole. 

"Well, as of today, so does he," she said, bearing a proud smile that only grew as Butchy turned to shoot daggers at her. Letting out a mischievous giggle, she added in a quieter tone: "What? You do."

"Oh yeah? What?" Carrie taunted with a sceptical raise of her eyebrow. Crossing her arms over her chest, that infamous smirk of hers crawled its way back onto her face as Butchy finally turned back to her, ready to fight back. But something stuck to his chest caught her attention before he could open his mouth. Although it did draw a snort of scornful laughter from hers. "Oh don't tell me that badge is serious." 

Any sort of counterattack was hopeless and he knew it, instead just closing his eyes and letting out a pained sigh of despair as he tried his best to keep his cool. 

Cackling laughter spilled from the glittery lips of the blonde as she turned to her co-worker behind the bar to confirm her suspicions. "Mick, I didn't know you had a thing for pigs."

The fist that slammed down on the counter was all the evidence Mick needed to know that her boyfriend was fed up. He couldn't bear to spend any time with Carrie at the best of times, let alone after a disappointing day at work, which evidently he was now being ridiculed for.

"Is that seriously how you're going to talk to someone who's gonna be risking their life to keep our town safe?" 

"Pfft, if handing out parking tickets and narking on their neighbours is what you call 'keeping our town safe', then yeah, I guess it is," Carrie said. 

"So if the police chief walked in here right now, you'd walk up to him and call him a 'pig' to his face?" Butchy challenged, calling her bluff.

"Well, no; I wouldn't walk, I'd have to roll," she explained with an exaggerated wiggle of her skate that made him want to rip it off her foot and hurl it at her. "Look, it's nothing personal-"

"Could have fooled me," Butchy muttered, rolling his eyes so far back into his skull he thought they might never come back down again. 

"I just think all cops are overblown scumbags," she finished. "I've never met one that's a genuinely good guy in my life."

"So you're just gonna disrespect them all then? That's your tactic?" Butchy asked.

"Yeah, fuck the authority!" Carrie exclaimed, just doing it to piss him off now.

"Hey, right on, Carrie-oke!" Ethan hollered, bursting through the kitchen doors with a stack of cardboard food boxes just in time to show his support. "Don't let The Man bring you down!"

"Oh I won't, Ethan, don't you worry," Carrie chuckled, shooting her co-worker an appreciative grin before turning her attention back to Butchy. Rolling over to him, she let that wicked smirk of hers twist her lips one last time as she leant forwards and said in a quiet, almost sultry voice that made bile rise in the back of his throat. "He knows he's no match for me anyway."

She held his gaze for a few seconds and almost broke a sweat thanks to the heat the anger boiling beneath his skin was generating. For the sake of saving her makeup from sliding off her face, or perhaps in a fleeting moment of generosity, she showed the boy mercy and pushed herself off on her skates - once again rolling away from the group by the food counter, offering them a range of waves and farewells as she went. Ethan, thanks to his rebellious stance on the law, earned himself another of the salutes Carrie had been dealing out to him of late, which he was all too pleased to receive. But Butchy gave her a salute of her own as she headed back to the dancefloor - a one finger one. She just feigned a heartbroken sob in response though that turned into a smug grin right as the coloured lights above her flashed an apt shade of green. 

As usual, Carrie's departure left the teens speechless. 

However, as oblivious to social cues as ever, Ethan was the first to break the silence with a chuckle and a thump on Miles' arm. "Dude, I still can't get over the fact that she actually talks to us."

"I wish she fucking wouldn't," Butchy grumbled, staring down at his plate as if he was willing it to shatter into a thousand pieces.

"It's hella freaky," Ethan continued, totally unphased by Butchy's remark.

"That's one way to put it," Mick noted with a snort as she leant over and reassuringly rubbed her boyfriend's shoulder, immediately feeling him relax at her touch, even if just a little.

 "I mean come on, she's like one of the most popular girls in school and she just willingly talks to us, and is super freaking cool? It doesn't make sense, man."

"Ethan, you do realise she's spending time with us because she works here, right?" Mick said.

"Well, she'll be spending even more time with us if Miles asks her out," Lela said with a mischievous grin.

Miles almost choked on his own breath. "What the-? Who said anything about asking her out?!"

"Well if you've got a crush on her then that's sort of the next step," Lela reasoned. "It's pretty standard stuff, Miles."

"Miles acting on his feelings? That's a good one, Lela," Mick scoffed.

"Yeah, that is a total bust; he's never gonna do that," Ethan chuckled. For once, he and Mick could agree on something.

"Oh come on, Miles. What have you got to lose?" Lela said.

"Nothing, because nothing's going to happen, because we're just friends," Miles emphasised with an almost frantic urgency.

"You're going to have to do a lot more than that to convince me, buddy," Mick chuckled. 

"Yeah, there's literally no way you two are 'just friends' after the shit that went down last night," said Ethan.

…Fuck. 

"Oh my god, what happened last night?!" Lela exclaimed.

Miles just turned to Ethan in utter horror. He wanted nothing more than to grab him by the shoulders, shake him until his curls dropped out of his hair and scream: "What the hell are you doing?! Are you trying to get me killed?!" But instead, he pulled his lips into a tight grin and said: "Don't you have somewhere to be, Ethan?"

"Nah, I'm good, I-" But his rambling was cut short when Miles shot him a warning look and smacked the bottom of the stack of food boxes in his arms, jostling them about in his grip so much he nearly dropped them all over the floor. Dopey grin wiped from his face, Ethan finally caught on. "Oh shit, yeah. Right. Delivery."

Miles gave a pointed nod and ushered the boy past him, desperate to get rid of the stoner so that he could salvage what was left of this shambles of an excuse. "Uhh, Ethan doesn't know what he's talking about. He was probably high out of his mind last night and-" Miles began to ramble once his friend was out of earshot.

But Mick was quick to shut him down with a knowing smirk. "That may be, but I think you're forgetting about the other, sober witness to these events."

"I swear to God, Miles. If you've done anything with her-" Butchy began.

"I haven't done anything! I don't know what the hell everyone is talking about! I don't even like her like that!"

"Oh Jesus, I can smell the bullshit from here," Mick laughed, pulling her t-shirt up to cover her nose. 

Miles just rolled his eyes at her teasing though, frowning at her as Butchy rattled on with the same warnings about Carrie he'd heard at least a hundred times over the past few months, only tuning in to the latter third of the spiel. 

"-I don't get it. What the hell do you see in her? She doesn't have one redeeming quality, unless you're a jock with two brain cells who just wants someone to treat like a trophy wife. I mean seriously, Miles? Going after the airhead, bitchy cheerleader just because half the school thinks she's pretty? I didn't realise you were so shallow. You never care about that shit normally. What's going on with you? I thought-"

"Nothing's going on with me, Butch. And that's not why I like her," Miles cut in with an exasperated sigh. "I just like talking to her at the end of my shift, is that such a crime?"

"It is if it involves her," Butchy countered. 

"Don't listen to him, Miles. I think it's sweet," Lela encouraged. 

"I don't know about 'sweet', 'crazy' seems more fitting," Mick said.

"Try 'fucking insane'," Butchy added, drawing a laugh from his girlfriend's lips. 

But before Miles could attempt to defend himself further, a group of freshmen approached the skate rentals counter and rang the bell, reminding Miles that he was actually there to work after all. Thankful for the break from the uncomfortable conversation, he excused himself and went to deal with the eager customers. But even whilst scanning the shelves of skates, he found his mind drifting back to what his friends had said - what they'd said about him, what they'd said about last night. And as he stood there, trying not to break down coughing in response to the pine-scented deodorizer spray, his mind kept wandering back to her…wandering back to how she'd made him feel…

Staring down into the puddle of heinously coloured, birthday cake vomit, slap-bang in the middle of the roller rink, Miles felt tears begin to prick his eyes. It's not that he was upset, or that the rancid stench was making his eyes water; it was simply because he had realised, in that moment, that he'd reached his breaking point, and that this pool of sprinkle-littered puke was the thing had finally pushed him over the edge. He was exhausted beyond belief; his entire body ached, his eyelids burned from lack of sleep, his feet were covered in blisters thanks to the fact that his sneakers were practically falling apart on him, his midnight blue All-Skate t-shirt was damp with a day's worth of stress-sweat and the skin of his hands stung from the chemical-soaked rag he was using to wipe up the mess. And to make matters worse, there was no end in sight. In fact, things were only going to go downhill once schoolwork was factored back into this nightmare of an equation he called his life. He loved his little brothers with everything he had, and he'd do anything for them (which should have been evident considering his current situation)... But looking after them on his own was proving to be both the thing that was driving him towards doing the unthinkable and the only thing keeping him hanging on. 

His breath caught in his throat as he swallowed down a sob that could have been a scream if he'd dared let it out - both felt warranted in that moment. And as he screwed his eyes shut, trying to regain his composure, he felt his shoulders slump in defeat. The silence of the roller rink was suffocating, even the familiar clatter of Mick and Ethan cleaning up the kitchen couldn't bring him any comfort. But the sound of scuffed, plastic wheels approaching on the sticky, vinyl floor pried his eyelids open again. Once the mist cleared from his vision, he watched in amazement as two, holographic, silver roller skates rolled into his line of sight. Panning up from the skates and the hot pink leg warmers, over the lime green dolphin shorts and white All-Skate t-shirt (which was now sporting an unfortunate mustard stain on the sleeve, thanks to one particularly persistent little brat's extreme efforts to request a song), his eyes eventually settled on the sympathetic grin of a certain roller rink DJ. 

"I thought you might want an upgrade," she said, presenting him with a mop and bucket of soapy water.

The bout of relief that flooded through him was almost enough to warrant another sob. But instead he just shook his head in disbelief and let out a laugh that breathed air back into his lungs. "Not all heroes wear capes."

"Sometimes we just wear shiny roller skates," she confirmed with a cheeky grin as she kicked her foot out to the side to show off the footwear in question. 

Pulling himself to his feet, Miles accepted the mop and soapy bucket with a grateful smile. "Thanks, Carrie." 

"Well, I thought it would be a little more effective than a dirty rag," she chuckled as she went to grab a mop of her own from where she'd stashed the cleaning supplies at the edge of the rink. "And besides, at least this way we can stay a safe distance away from Jeremy's little 'accident'." But when she returned to Miles' side, the putrid smell hit her like a ton of bricks. Gagging, she very nearly added to the pool herself, before reaching to cover her nose and mouth with the neckline of her shirt. "Then again, even this might be too close."

"You good?" Miles asked, unable to stop himself from fondly chuckling at her dramatic display.

"I'll be fine," she promised. "I just need a couple of seconds to get used to it."

"It helps if you breathe through your mouth," Miles offered.

Cautiously pulling her t-shirt down, she followed his advice, only to recoil in horror. "No it doesn't! I feel like I can taste it now!" she exclaimed, again gagging into the cotton she quickly covered her mouth and nose with again as Miles set off to laugh. "Jesus Christ, how were you kneeling down next to it? My eyes feel like they're about to melt out of my head."

"I guess you're not the only superhero around here."

"What's your superpower? Nostrils of steel?" Carrie teased. 

"The ability to put up with superhuman levels of bullshit," Miles explained with a wry smile.

"I can't argue with that one," she sighed, momentarily moving her t-shirt down again to offer him her second sympathetic grin of this conversation - her twentieth of the day so far. It had been a rough shift. 

Holding her gaze for a beat, a warmth spread throughout Miles' chest that he couldn't have put into words if he'd tried. But, terrified of what that meant for him, he didn't let the moment linger for long - and neither did the nagging stench coming from the pool of vomit at their feet. So, before the blush he could feel starting to warm his cheeks rose too close to the surface, he plunged his mop into the bucket of soapy water and set to work cleaning up the mess. As soon as he began pushing the puke around though, a fresh cloud of stink wafted in the pair's direction. Miles admittedly scrunched his nose in disgust, but Carrie jerked her entire head away from the offensive smell so forcefully she almost knocked herself clean off her feet, once again exclaiming her revulsion, much to Miles' amusement. 

"Come on, pull yourself together. Are you here to help me or what?" he jokingly chastised.

"I'm here to help, I'm here to help," Carrie promised, trying to convince herself as much as Miles as she inched a little closer to the chunky puddle. She took a few seconds to mumble some affirmations under her breath to sike herself up, but, true to her word, she did eventually join the clean-up effort - evidently even less thrilled about the task than her co-worker. "I swear to God, if I ever see Jeremy Green walk through those doors again, I'm shoving this mop down his throat."

"Don't you dare, he doesn't need another excuse to up-chuck all over the rink."  

The pair bantered back and forth as they cleaned up the puke, laughing and joking as though they'd been friends for years, rather than a matter of months. And once the mess was gone, as Miles was finishing rinsing off his mop, Carrie clapped her hands together and turned to him with a mischievous grin.  

"Right, now we can start with the real fun."

Miles snorted. "What? Cleaning up everything else?"

"No, dummy," Carrie said, affectionately whacking his arm. "Selecting our soundtrack for the evening."

Chuckling, Miles watched her speed off to the edge of the rink as he grabbed the bucket and strolled after her. "And then cleaning everything else?" he clarified, raising his eyebrow at her as she ducked into the skate rentals booth. 

"Yeah, don't sound so excited," she sarcastically fired back as she searched under the counter, eventually finding what she was looking for with a murmured: "Bingo."

As Miles finished dumping out the last of the dirty water from the mop bucket, a pair of roller skates were pushed into his chest, wheels clattering together and electric blue laces becoming tangled in his fingers as he fumbled to keep a hold on them. 

"Suit up; we've got a rink to clean!" Carrie beamed, lopsided pigtails (courtesy of a seven-year-old yanking at her hair until she played The Loco-Motion) bouncing as she bounded across to All-Skate's arcade section. As Miles trudged after her, she screeched to a halt in front of the hammer-hit game, eyes lighting up in sync with the flashing bulbs surrounding the score panel. Spinning on her toe-stop, she bowed and proudly presented Miles with the over-sized sponge mallet, attached to the machine by a fraying length of rope. "Your weapon, good sir," she announced with a flourish and a giggle as she straightened up to face him.

"You're letting me pick?" he asked.

She nodded proudly in response.

"And to what do I owe this honour?" he chuckled, spinning the mallet in his grip.

"I thought you could do with a little cheering up after the day you've had," she explained, referencing the disastrous birthday party Miles had been in charge of monitoring, but all four staff members had been roped into dealing with. "Well, the day we've had," she corrected herself. "But I still feel like you earned it more."

The sentiment touched Miles, but he found himself wearily frowning at the strength-test game rather than smiling back at Carrie. "Do we really have to bother with this thing? It doesn't even work, it just gives out a random score every time."

"That's the whole point - it randomises our song selection. Now get smashing, buster."

Miles just sighed and stifled a yawn though as, instead of wielding the foam and rubber mallet, he limply kicked the side of the machine. As expected, the jostle alone was enough to set-off the game's program. Both teens watched as the score panel lit up, rocketing all the way to a hefty 852, which prompted a grating, pre-recorded voice to praise Miles' 'impressive display'. 

"Oh come on, you've gotta give it more effort than that," Carrie said, disappointed he wasn't playing along. 

"Why? Ivan thought it was impressive," Miles joked, pointing to the cartoon strong man painted on the front of the metal casing with the head of the hammer. But when Carrie just frowned in response, he caved with a fond roll of his eyes. Readying the mallet in his grip, he centred himself in front of the raised, rubber scoring cylinder. 

"Right, now imagine that's Jeremy Green's head," Carrie said - mischievous grin jumping back into action now that Miles was cooperating. 

"I'm not going to hit a kid, Carrie."

"That's why I said 'imagine'," she clarified. But Miles' disapproving look wasn't shifting. "Fine, pretend it's Jeremy Green's mom," she tried again.

Miles took a second to ponder the suggestion, but even one second thinking about that unbearable woman, who had allowed, if not encouraged, her kid and his friends to blatantly disobey every ground rule Miles had laid out for them, was enough to make him swing the mallet down with such force he nearly split the thing in two. Watching on in anticipation, Miles and Carrie followed the climbing tower of light until it stopped at a whopping…344. 

"Boo! My grandma could do better!" Ivan heckled as Miles tossed the mallet down in defeat.

"That's more like it!" Carrie giggled as Miles just rolled his eyes. "344 it is."

And so, they fell into their usual routine as if it was any other old closing shift. Miles trudged over to the nearest chair and began lacing up the skates he kept aside for himself under the counter (complete with his own, blue laces a certain blonde had gifted him), whilst Carrie raced over to her rink-side kiosk and began sifting through the numerous folders of song titles in her repertoire. 

By the time she'd selected the song and had wound the cassette tape to the right spot, Miles had donned his skates and re-filled the mop bucket with fresh, bleach-laced water. "You ready?" he called to her as he gingerly stepped over the lip where the vinyl rink met the admittedly filthy carpet. 

"Oh yeah," Carrie grinned. "You've done it again, my friend; you've picked a good one tonight."

"Oh yeah? How come?" Miles chuckled. 

"It just feels like the right kind of vibe, you know?"

"Well I don't know what it is yet, so no, I don't."

"Just trust me, this is gonna be the perfect way for us to blow off some steam after what was arguably the worst work shift known to man," Carrie smirked as she pressed play and the opening guitar chords to Led Zeppelin's 'Immigrant Song' came blasting through the roller rink's speakers. 

Miles couldn't have even wiped the grin from his face if he'd tried. A classic rock song that was basically a battle cry, after he'd pretty much spent his entire day at war with third graders? It really was a good choice. The universe must have finally taken his side again. Well, that or the whole song-randomiser thing was a big charade and Carrie was just picking the songs herself based on what she thought he'd like. Neither felt like a bad option though, so he didn't care to dwell on it - especially not when he could be watching the blonde in question mime along to Robert Plant's opening, wailing vocals with the same conviction as the man himself. 

"Okay, now I get it," Miles laughed as Carrie shot him a playful grin and launched herself out from behind her DJ deck. 

As the lyrics finally kicked in, Carrie fully committed herself to singing along as she slalomed across the dancefloor with all the grace of an ice hockey player, skates swishing in time with the drum beat. And Miles just laughed more as she grabbed a mop on her way over to him and lunged into a dramatic knee slide, skidding to a halt at his feet just in time to use it as a microphone and sing: "The hammer of the gods." Scrambling to her feet again, by the time that Robert Plant was talking about 'fighting the horde', she was steady enough to jab her mop at Miles, and all too pleased to find him playing along and blocking her attack with a mop of his own before skating off to continue her comedic little dance routine. 'On we sweep' brought forth a wonderful opportunity for Carrie to dance around with her mop as if it were a broom, whereas 'our only goal will be the Western shore' brought her slamming back into Miles' side, sticking her mop out in front of them both to the opposite side of the rink. 

Done with her singing (for now), Carrie dazzled him with that infectious grin of hers. "First one to finish gets to feed Barney?" she prepositioned, referencing the scrawny, old stray bulldog who frequented the skating rink's back entrance. 

"Oh you are so on," Miles said, matching that mischievous grin with an ease that felt almost second nature around her. And as Robert Plant's battle cry sounded for the second time, the two teens dunked their mops into the soapy bucket of water and raced off to their respective ends of the roller rink to start cleaning. 

The second verse had barely begun though when a head of messy, brown hair came crashing through the kitchen doors. "Who the hell is playing Led Zeppelin without me?"

"We are your overlords," was all Carrie replied with though, swerving to face Ethan as she raised her hand and continued theatrically singing along. 

"You're a Led Head, Coleslaw?" Ethan exclaimed, bloodshot brown eyes bugging out of his head in astonishment. 

"Am I a fan of rock music or am I a shitty side dish? Make up your mind," she fired back with a teasing roll of her eyes. But when Ethan couldn't even find the words to respond, she just chuckled and said, "What? You didn't just think I listened to cheesy pop songs, did you?"

"Well that's all you ever play."

 "At the rink. You don't know what I get up to off the clock." 

"...Dude, I swear you get cooler every time I see you," Ethan marvelled.

"What can I say? It's a gift," she said with a smug grin. 

"I didn't know you even had this kind of stuff on hand. This is fucking sick! What other albums have you got hidden back there? You got any Iron-" 

But just as Ethan was beginning to approach the side of the rink Carrie had stopped at, Miles skated up behind her and said: "Oh I have got this in the bag."

"Fuck, Ethan, stop distracting me!" Carrie then exclaimed, realising how much precious cleaning time she'd wasted as she chased after a cackling Miles, flicking soapy water from her mop at him as she went. 

"You're never going to catch up now, the damage has already been done," Miles smirked.

As predicted, Miles finished mopping down his side of the rink first. Carrie graciously admitted defeat, but still finished her share of the work like the good sport she was before they set about wiping down the handful of tables and booths encircling the dancefloor. Once relieved of their cleaning duties, the pair raided the kitchen for the last few food items that never quite made it out to the diners. Miles bagged himself a basket of chicken tenders, Carrie scrounged together a measly portion of fries and sweet-talked Mick into pouring her a milkshake, and they both fished out a lop-sided, heavily burnt burger patty from the back of the grill for their beloved stray pooch. After setting down their food at one of the booths, Miles and Carrie returned to the kitchen and headed to the very back cabinet, where they stashed the cans of dog food and accompanying bowls Carrie had shelled out for a couple of weeks ago. Miles handled the food whilst Carrie filled up a fresh water bowl, then the pair of them snuck out the back door to greet the crusty-eyed, drooling excuse of a hound, whom both of them had become unreasonably attached to. Carrie still had her reservations about the bulldog, mostly because of how much he slobbered and how badly he could smell. But Miles was just besotted with him regardless - after all, if he could put up with Ethan smelling like pot 24/7, he could handle anything. And besides, they had managed to hose him off a couple of times if shifts were particularly slow that day, so the smell wasn't nearly as bad as it had been. As always, Miles' eyes had lit up as soon as the elderly dog came lumbering into view. And as he and Carrie crouched in the orange glow of the security light, setting down Barney's food and water for the night, Miles was all-too-pleased to present the beef patty to the dog, who hungrily tugged it from his grasp and began chomping his way through it, spraying crumbs all over the tarmac beneath him. 

"I think he likes it," Miles said, shooting Carrie an excited grin that she couldn't help but reciprocate.

"I think he'd probably try to eat a shoe like that if you gave it to him," she chuckled, but let him enjoy the moment nonetheless. 

With Barney fed and watered, the pair retreated to their booth to finish their long-cold, but well-deserved kitchen spoils. And as they ate, the conversation naturally turned to the looming start of their senior year. 

"I can't believe we're spending the last night of our summer vacation in this dump," Carrie snorted, absent-mindedly dunking one of her fries in her peanut butter milkshake. "I mean, don't get me wrong, it's not like I don't like the company," she continued, shooting Miles a knowing smile from across the table. "It's just trippy to think that whilst everyone else is partying away their last hours of freedom, we're stuck mopping up puke and taking inventory of condiment bottles."

"The beauty of minimum wage, eh?" Miles dryly chuckled before licking the crumbs from his fingers and leaning back in his seat. 

"With the amount of crap we've had to deal with this summer we deserve at least double what we've actually been paid," Carrie continued. "In fact, make that triple because I still can't believe I gave up my vacation to keep this damn place afloat."

Sighing, Miles pressed his back against the wall of the rink and swung his legs up onto the booth seat in front of him. He leant his head back against the plastic guard and stared up at the ceiling, letting the dim, fluorescent bulbs dance in his tired eyes. As he listened to Carrie chatter away to herself, as she often did to fill the silence, his mind began to wander, and with that came an overwhelming sense of dread that washed over him without a warning, leaving his chest tight and eyebrows furrowed as he kept his eyes trained on the ceiling. "God, I really don't want it to end," he quietly admitted in one of the fleeting lulls in Carrie's almost single-sided conversation. 

"What? Summer vacation?" she smirked, not quite grasping the sincerity of his confession due to her preoccupation with ensuring her french fry was fully coated in soupy ice cream. "Why? Do you have like unfinished plans for a water balloon fight or something?"

"No, I just really don't want to have to go back to school."

Noting the sincerity of his tone, Carrie glanced up from her drink and felt her easygoing grin wilt into a commiserating frown once she saw how truly broken the boy looked. "...Everyone feels like that before the start of the school year. You'll get used to it again in no time, trust me. By the end of third period it'll feel like you never left at all."

"I know, I know," Miles sighed. "...I just don't know if I'm ready to deal with teachers, and homework, and all the other bullshit that comes with school on top of looking after my brothers, you know?"

"You've handled it this far, what's another ten months?" Carrie said with an encouragingly optimistic grin. 

"Yeah but I wasn't doing it on my own before," Miles explained with a weary exhale. "I didn't know how hard it was going to be."

"Even if you did, you wouldn't have changed your mind."

It was unnerving how well Carrie knew him considering they had only stepped up from acquaintances a matter of months ago. Sometimes he felt like she understood how his brain worked more than he did.

"...Yeah, I know," he mumbled. "It's just…I don't know. I already feel like I've got too much on my plate as it is with taking care of them and coming into work. Between figuring out bills and what we can afford to eat, I feel like I don't even have the space in my brain for the fun stuff anymore, let alone senior year."

More often than not, these little post-work chats felt more like group therapy sessions. That night, apparently, was no exception. 

"Well, you never know, going back to school might force you to make that space available again. I mean, it's not like you get a say in the matter, right? You're going to have to go back regardless, so you might as well at least try to enjoy it."

"Is there anything to enjoy about school?" Miles asked, managing a sarcastic chuckle.

"Oh come on, it's senior year, Miles. There's everything to enjoy about it. And you're only gonna get one, so you've gotta make the most of it," Carrie said. 

"That's not guaranteed," he countered - visions of report cards littered with 'F's swimming in his head, courtesy of the back-breaking work schedule their boss had pinned to the break room notice board a few days ago. 

"It is with your grades," Carrie fired back with a certainty that could only have come from someone who'd been in the same class as him since kindergarten. She shot him a knowing smirk as she finally managed to drag his forlorn gaze away from the water-stained ceiling. And to her delight, he managed a half-hearted smile in response. "Look, Miles," she continued as that caring smile of hers, which made Miles' heart skip a beat at the best of times, let alone when it was directed towards him, swept across her face. "I know you like to worry about the world collapsing around you as if the whole of Hawkins is balancing on your shoulders, but you're not nearly as alone in this as you think you are. From what you've told me, your brothers seem like good kids; I'm sure they'd step up to help with stuff around the house if you needed them to. And there's no way you can convince me that Mick and Ethan wouldn't jump at the chance to help you out if things got tough, because I know for a fact they would. I mean, don't know how much help Ethan would be, because, you know, he's Ethan, but he'd give it a damn good try - both of them would. I see how much they care about you, Miles. You're like gold dust to them. Hell, Ethan downright worships you. And you're always talking about your neighbours as if they're your extended family - surely they'd step up to help out too. I know I've got my problems with Biagio, but you must be doing something right because he treats you like a brother; I see it every time he stops by to visit you. And I don't know much about his sister but she seems sweet - I'm sure she's had babysitting gigs before, so I doubt watching your little brothers every once in a while would be much of a challenge. If anything it'd probably be a walk in the park if those seven-year-olds we dealt with today are anything like her normal clients. Anyway, I'm rambling, I know. But what I'm trying to say is: you've got plenty of people in your life, Miles - good people - who care about you too much to watch you struggle through this alone - myself included. So stop agonising over hypothetical problems and start sharing all that bullshit on your plate with the rest of us; you're starting to look greedy," she said - as always, finishing with a little joke to help cushion the sincerity of her words. 

Miles had to laugh, he couldn't seem to do much else to be honest. And he certainly couldn't find a way to put everything he was feeling into words. "...Well when you put it like that you make it sound easy," he eventually managed to weakly joke. 

"It is easy, all you've gotta do is ask," Carrie promised. "Watch, I'll make it even easier for you. You don't even need to ask me, here's me offering my services, no questions asked. I'll do whatever you want. I can pick your brothers up from school; I already do that with Molly's little sister anyway. I can cook you guys dinner if you need help with that. Hey, I'll even come over and fold your laundry if you need a break from that for-"

"Carrie, I can't ask you to do that. And besides, you barely know my brothers-"

"So what? That means I can't do nice things for them?" Carrie asked. She raised an eyebrow at Miles, challenging him to respond, but he knew that any dispute would have been futile; she could be dangerously stubborn if she had her heart set on something. Still, she could tell he wasn't entirely convinced by her argument. "Come on, Miles. I'm trying to be a good person here, give me something to work with."

With a chuckle, Miles shifted his gaze back to the ceiling, but the lazy grin tugging at his lips remained. "You are a good person," he promised. "...Well, to me, anyway."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Carrie scoffed with a look of incredulous intrigue.

"Oh come on, you do have a bit of a reputation for being bitch," Miles said with a teasing smirk. 

"I do not!" 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, tell it to the judge," Miles laughed. 

"No, but seriously, you didn't actually think I was a bitch, did you?" Carrie continued, still under the impression that he was just joking. 

"...Not really; you were always pretty nice to me. But pretty much everyone else was scared shitless of you."

"Of me?"

"Oh yeah."

"I was scary?"

"Terrifying," Miles confirmed, having to bite back a laugh at her look of amazement. "You still are."

"Alright, good to know," she mumbled to herself with an unreadable expression. Miles couldn't tell whether she thought that was a good thing or a bad thing. But her next comment gave him a clue. "Well, if you ever have a run-in with one of the big, scary mean kids then I guess you know who to call now," she smirked.

"Oh yeah? And what if you're the big, scary mean kid?" Miles fired back with a hearty laugh Carrie was all too pleased to have drawn out of him. 

"Then you'd better start digging your grave," she snarkily quipped before joining in with the brunet's laughter. Once their giggles had died down though, she slouched further into her side of the booth and hit him with that tender, heart-melting grin of hers again. "Oh, who am I kidding? I'd never let anything happen to you; you mean too much to me."

Miles' heart jumped into his throat. "Yeah?"

"Totally. I'll always have your back."

"Seriously?"

Carrie fondly rolled her eyes at his disbelief. "Yes, seriously. What are best-work-friends for?"

Friends? Miles felt like throwing up. 

Hold on. No. Wait. Why did it feel so bad when she said that? They were just friends. And that's all he wanted them to be…right? They couldn't be anything more. They wouldn't be anything more. And besides, she was off-

"Earth to Miles."

"Huh?"

"Woah, you totally spaced out on me there for a second," Carrie chuckled. "I thought Ethan might have slipped you a weed brownie or something and it was just starting to hit you."

"No, I'm sober - just thinking," Miles somewhat confessed, trying to cover up his awkwardness by copying her chuckles… It didn't really work.

"Still worrying about school?" she asked with a knowing, comforting look from beneath her lashes. 

Miles let out a heavy sigh. "No, not really - not anymore," he said, shooting her a grateful smile before elaborating. "Like you said, I'm sure I'll adapt to it all again once I'm there."

"Exactly," she grinned. "It's like that evolution thing Mrs Galespi's always talking about. What's it called again? Endurance of the -? No, wait, the strongest of the-"

"Survival of the fittest?" Miles offered with an amused smirk.

"That's it! See? I told you you were only going to have one senior year. I was never going to remember that, but I'm still on track to graduate - and I've been rocking solid Cs since seventh grade."

"Hmm, well, I only remembered it because I've got personal experience," Miles said with a self-deprecating chuckle. "I feel like my life's just been one big game of 'survival of the fittest' - one big test to see how much I can handle before I…you know."

"Well you've coped better than most would have, that's for sure," Carrie said with another of her sympathetic smiles. 

"You think?"

"I know."

"Yeah, well, I still have my bad days," Miles sighed, but his grin was all the thanks Carrie needed to know she'd succeeded in getting through to him.

"Don't we all?"

"I guess… God, wouldn't it be great to just run away and forget about everything? Leave all the crap in Hawkins behind - all the bad memories, all the shitty people… Don't you want to just, I don't know, break free from it all?"

Carrie couldn't help the smirk that curled at her lips. "How very Freddie Mercury of you."

Miles fondly rolled his eyes. "I really walked into that one, didn't I?"

"Like a blind man in a mirror maze," Carrie chuckled. 

"I can't believe I keep doing that, and I can't believe you keep catching me. I've never even heard of the songs half of the time. It's like you've got a jukebox where your brain should be," Miles said, shaking his head in amused disbelief. 

"Well duh, how else would I be so good at my job?"

"Good point," Miles softly laughed to himself as Carrie set off to happily babble away to herself again. 

"I'm telling you, there's no way you could get any sort of famous song title or lyric past me without me noticing; my taste in music is too good, and too extensive to not-"

But the more she talked, the less he listened - losing himself in the constellation of freckles playing hide and seek in the shadows the dim, overhead lights cast over her face. A fresh smile tugged at her lips as she spoke that pulled Miles' attention even further away, leading it down a path of, at the time mediocre, but now bittersweet, memories of the past summer. The first time he'd really noticed that infectious grin of hers, when he bumped into her coming out of the break room on her first day, being one of them. Before he knew it, he was spiralling down a rabbit hole of inside jokes and joyous laughter, remembering when life felt simpler - or at least a little less like it was teetering on the brink of disaster. There was the time he and Ethan screwed the wheels from the old desk chair in the break room to one of the wooden pallets the food got delivered on, and then attempted to surf down the hill leading from from the main road to the parking lot - heavily depleting the first aid kit's bandage supply and earning the pair an earful from Mick, although mostly it was just about their poor technique. Speaking of Mick, there was that time she got her arm stuck in the, now defunct, vending machine for three hours that had Miles laughing so hard he couldn't even speak, let alone help free her - and just when he thought he'd managed to calm himself down, having to try not to laugh whilst he called the manufacturers for help broke him all over again. There were entire afternoons where the four employees pledged to only communicate with one another via elaborate hand signals, or donned accents from the far corners of the globe (some with more success than others). And, of course, there was the infamous truth or dare game - complete with a borderline criminal group-skate routine; a family who had not one, not two, but six drinks spilled on them, and a miniature fire in the skate rentals booth - which almost got ¾ of the staff fired on the spot.

The realisation that that was all coming to an end - that his days would be filled with pop quizzes and study halls, rather than post-it note prank wars and 'lunch break roulette' - made his chest ache with a longing he couldn't quite bring himself to come to terms with yet, but felt painfully familiar all the same. It crept up on him every year, this late-summer dread. The new school year was an exciting event for most, but for Miles it signalled the start of a whole new year's worth of challenges: classes of ever-growing difficulty, grades of ever-growing importance and, now more than ever, an ever-growing list of scary, new responsibilities. Every year that passed, the further he and his loved ones strayed from what had grown to be familiar. Just when he felt as though he was starting to adjust to their routine, a new school year would come along and shake everything up again - ripping away the comfort blanket he'd just painstakingly finished constructing. His brothers would be getting older - hell, Bentley was starting middle school now - his friends would all be starting to make plans to move away for college (and probably for good), and his hopes of a bright future for himself would be inching ever closer to dying out for good. If only time could just stop and hold everything where it was for another month or so - or even just cut the month out altogether so that they could jump straight to Halloween, with their new routine already estab-

"You're not listening to a word I'm saying, are you?" 

Miles' was rendered a sheepish, spluttering mess thanks to Carrie's knowing smirk. "I am, I totally am, I was just-"

"Let me guess, thinking again?" she offered, prompting him to bashfully drop her gaze and turn his attention back to the ceiling. "What about this time?" 

Miles sighed and let out a weary chuckle. "How much I hate September," he admitted. Expecting Carrie to launch into another pep talk, he readied himself to turn her offer down in favour of a lighter, more enjoyable conversation topic. However, when he realised he'd rendered her speechless (something he could rarely achieve), he curiously turned his gaze to her, finding her staring back at him as though he'd just handed Barney's head to her on a plate. "What?" he asked, catching himself laughing at her expression. 

"Are you fucking kidding me?" 

"What? Am I not allowed to have an opinion all of a sudden?"

"Not about this! Miles, it's like one of my favourite songs of all time - if not one of the best ever written! If pure happiness was concentrated into a song, this would be that song. What's there not to like about it?!"

Miles just looked at her in disbelief for a few seconds before bursting out laughing - that kind of full-bodied, belly-shaking laughter that made your cheeks ache from smiling so hard. "I meant the month, Carrie," he eventually managed, wiping a rogue tear from his eye.

"Oh my god, I thought we'd moved on to music. I didn't realise we were going back to the whole school debate again," she said with a roll of her eyes as she too set off to laugh at the ridiculousness of the confusion. "Jeez, don't scare me like that again, you were making me doubt why I ever bothered talking to you."

"Well, don't worry, I wasn't bashing your music taste, I was just moping about my sad little life again," Miles teased with another chuckle, before going on to admit: "I don't think I've heard it anyway, so you're not gonna hear any bad reviews from me."

"What?! Holy shit, I don't know what's worse: you not liking the song, or the fact that you've never even heard it!"

Miles didn't get to laugh at her horrified expression for long though, because in the blink of an eye she'd disappeared from her spot in the booth across from him. Confused, he scanned his surroundings, only to find her racing over to her DJ stand like her life depended on it. 

"What are you doing?" he called across to her, again unable to stop the stray chuckles tumbling from his lips.

"Fixing one of life's cruellest mistakes," she replied as she did a little spin to stop behind her desk and began shuffling through the numerous cassette tapes she left scattered atop it. It didn't take her long to find the right case; she practically had the album art tattooed on her brain. And when she did, she raised it up in the air like she was accepting a trophy. "Behold!"

"Oh I'm beholding," Miles laughed.

"Come on, out of your seat, lazy bones; this is important. You're about to witness the magic of Earth, Wind & Fire for the first time in your sad, boring little life, you can't be sitting down for this," Carrie teased.

"Hey, I never said 'boring'."

"I know, I took a little creative liberty," she smirked, prompting Miles to, yet again, fondly roll his eyes at her. "Now move your ass; this is about to change your life!"

"Can't I just listen from here?" Miles asked with a begrudging sigh.

Now it was Carrie's turn to roll her eyes. "Technically, yes," she began as she inserted the cassette tape into the stereo system. "But physically, there's no way you can stay sitting down when this song is playing. It's just impossible!"

"You want me to test that theory?" Miles smirked.

"Be my guest; I stand by what I said," Carrie fired back as the opening notes began to drift through the speakers. 

As soon as the brass instruments kicked in, Carrie let out a cry of delight and let that ridiculously infectious grin of hers completely envelope her face. Without wasting a second, she began strutting her way onto the rink, gliding across the floor as though she'd been born with wheels strapped to her feet. Miles couldn't hide his grin either, especially when he noticed she'd cued up a lighting package to accompany the song too, despite them having the room to themselves. Watching her effortlessly dance and groove along to the laidback disco song, all the while speckled in rainbow squares of light, thanks to the overhead disco ball, he couldn't deny that she was succeeding in selling the song to him; he did find it awfully catchy. And it turns out that her smile wasn't the only infectious thing there that evening, because all it took was Carrie calling out: "Oh come on, are you coming to join me or what?" for Miles to push himself out of the booth and onto the roller rink after her. "See? Impossible!" she grinned victoriously as she did an impressive toe spin to a trumpet solo. 

"It is fun, I'll give you that," Miles chuckled, dragging his toe-stop along the floor to bring him to a halt. 

"Well come and have some fun then!" she cried, skating over to him and grabbing him by the hands to pull him into the centre of the rink. "Stop stressing about school and just let loose - have a little boogie!" But when she dropped his hands and started doing her bouncy, backwards crossovers and saw that he was just watching her with a doubtful smirk, she realised he wasn't going to be so easy to win over. "Oh what? Are you scared or something?" 

"I'm not scared, I'm just tired, and-"

"And a total chicken?" Carrie suggested with a cheeky grin.

"Oh, we're playing that game now?" Miles asked with a raise of his eyebrow - to which Carrie responded by skating around him backwards in a big circle, folding her arms into fake wings and clucking at him. He genuinely had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing; who knew that all of Carrie's years in theatre would make her so good at animal impressions? "Fine, come on, Cole, let's put that mop of hair of yours to good use."

"Yeah?" Carrie asked, with a hopeful, knowing smile as she started dribbling - moving her skates back and forth but staying in place a few feet in front of him. 

"Yeah, 'cause I'm gonna wipe the floor with you!" Miles exclaimed before striking a pose and skating off across to the opposite side of the rink, leaving his challenger giggling like a hyena in his wake. 

The pair laughed and danced their way through the song, and several replays, each time trying their best to impress the other more with their increasingly ridiculous dance moves. Carrie helped Miles work on his spins, Miles invented some new tricks all on his own (although only some were on purpose), and just when Miles thought Carrie's skating abilities couldn't get any more impressive, she pushed the now-empty mop bucket onto the rink to show off her jumps - clearing the obstacle on her first try every time, and still managing to keep singing along. Although they wouldn't have admitted it had anyone asked, they totally let themselves go in that moment - pushing all their worries to the back of their minds so that they could take a couple of minutes to just goof around and dance like no one was watching. Well, no one other than their two co-workers, spying on them by the food counter. 

"You're seeing this too, right?" Ethan asked, watching the scene unfold before him through furrowed brows and bleary eyes. "Or am I hallucinating?" 

"Nope, this is really happening," Mick sighed. But the certainty of her statement didn't make her feel any less betrayed by her eyes than her dopey clean-up buddy. At least hers weren't clouded by cheap psychedelics though.

"Woah, trippy," Ethan breathed, ruminating over Mick's words for a second before shovelling a handful of stale, tortilla chips into his mouth from the open bag he'd found in the kitchen.

Mick glanced his way and let out a huff of despair through her nostrils, deciding that he was going to be as much help in her deliberations as he looked. Still, her morbid curiosity got the better of her. After all, he did know Miles as well as she did, even better in some departments. Maybe he could offer a new perspective. "You don't think she's messing with him, do you?"  

"What makes you say that?" he mumbled through a mouthful of chips.

 "She's Caroline Cole, Ethan. She's a cheerleader, she's got rich parents, she's one of the most popular girls in school - she's got everything…"

"...So?"

"So, why, all of a sudden, is she interested in Miles?" Mick snapped, unsure where her exasperation was aimed. Ethan deserved it for being so oblivious, Carrie deserved it for being a spoiled brat, and Miles deserved it for being stupid enough to fall for her tricks. 

"I don't know," Ethan mumbled with a shrug as he shook the bag of chips and rooted around for a viable, whole triangle. "I don't think she'd even spoken to him up until a couple months ago."

"That's exactly my point," Mick jumped in. "What made her have a change of heart after all these years of knowing him? That sort of thing doesn't just happen overnight. She's got to be planning something."

Unsurprisingly, when Ethan looked up from his tortilla chips long enough to reassess the situation between Miles and Carrie, he didn't share the same disdain as the brunette beside him. "Or," he slowly began. "They could just be work friends trying to make their piece of shit job a little less shitty."

Mick scoffed at the suggestion, and the boy's naivety. "You're seriously going to give her the benefit of the doubt here? After everything she's done?"

"Well…yeah," Ethan admitted with an infuriating nonchalance. "If she's making Miles happy then I've got nothing to complain about."

"You're not at all worried about her ruining his life?"

Ethan properly turned to Mick, and for once, she saw the dopey haze clear from his eyes, leaving behind an honest sincerity that rarely ever surfaced. "If anything, at the moment, I think she's improving it," he began to explain. "I mean look at him, Mick. I haven't seen him smile like that in weeks. You know better than anyone how much stress he's been under; he always goes to you for stuff like that - don't you think he deserves a break from it all?" 

Mick's concerned silence spoke volumes, especially over the blaring speakers positioned around the rink. 

"And if that break means putting up with him hopelessly flirting with some dumb cheerleader then that's cool with me," Ethan finished with a chuckle. "Whatever keeps him happy." 

She hated to admit it, but Mick knew Ethan was right. Typical moronic behaviour aside, his smoking habit might not be such a hindrance to him after all. It did make him rather philosophical. And even though she cared about Miles like a brother, and wanted to keep him as far away from prissy, popular snobs as possible, she also knew that she had to give him the time and space to handle this on his own. And she owed it to him to trust that he knew what he was doing. After all, no one their age could have handled everything he had without a good head on their shoulders. So Mick just had to believe that head of his was strong enough to withstand Carrie's corruption techniques. "He's just asking to get his heart broken with this one," she eventually sighed, sporting a worried frown as she glanced across at the pair on the rink. But when she dragged it over to Ethan again, she was just met with an easygoing, lop-sided grin.

"Probably, but who'll be the best friends there to pick up all the pieces?" he smirked, achieving the impossible; he actually got Mick to let out a laugh. 

"So? What did you think? Is it one of the best songs ever, or what?" Carrie chuckled as she finally let the fourth replay play out to a close. 

"Okay, I wouldn't go that far, but it's definitely up there," Miles acknowledged. "And it did get me out of my seat."

"Hell yeah it did! You were really throwing some shapes too," she exclaimed with a playful giggle.  

"Yeah, you'd better watch out, Carrie; I'm coming for your job," Miles teased. "I'll be leading the group skates in no time."

"Hmm, I think I'd better hold off on teaching you any more tricks for now then; I don't want you spinning me out of a paycheck," she said, grinning as she did a one-footed twirl to punctuate her little joke. 

"I don't know about that, I think the damage has already been done," Miles smirked as he pushed himself a few feet away from her and steadied himself on his skates. Stretching his arms out for balance, he tried to back up his statement with a spin of his own. However, his desire to impress Carrie meant that he launched into the trick way too fast, and lost his balance almost immediately. His right skate rolled forwards, his left skate rolled backwards, and just before they could leave the floor entirely, he grabbed at thin air, only to find Carrie's forearms beneath his fingertips. Wide-eyed, he stumbled and tried to regain his balance, heart already hammering from the little scare. But when Carrie's soft, gentle hands settled on his hips, it stopped altogether. He knew it was just to steady him - her teasing chuckles were more than enough evidence of that - but that knowledge did nothing to settle the hoard of butterflies that had been unleashed in his stomach. Breathless, and caught off-guard by frankly terrifying feelings he knew for a fact he should not be feeling, he attempted a joke to ease the tension. "Or, you know, it's about to be done."

 "Easy, tiger, you'll get it with more practice," Carrie promised, affectionately patting him on the shoulder. "It took me a while to get my jumps down, but now I could do them in my sleep."

"Well if I can't even spin then I'll have no hope of jumping," Miles chuckled.

"Not with that attitude," Carrie said with a playful roll of her eyes as she backed up to give him more space. "Come on, just give it a try, it might come really easily to you."

"Are you insane? If I try to jump I'm going to break my ankles," Miles fired back.

"No you won't, you'll be fine," Carrie brushed off with a nonchalant wave of her hand. "Just keep your knees soft and try a little hop like this."

Her demonstration did nothing to convince Miles, but that encouraging grin of hers was like kryptonite. "...I swear to God, if I fall and break something-" 

"Then I'll take full responsibility…and give you a ride to the emergency room," she promised. "Scout's honour."

"You know that doesn't mean anything if you weren't actually a scout," Miles retorted, again finding himself having to bite back a laugh. 

Carrie's impatience seemed to be getting the better of her though, because Miles' stalling made her stick her hands on her hips and raise a challenging eyebrow. "Dude, come on. Do I really have to break out the chicken noises again?"

"Alright, alright, I'll try," he chuckled. 

He took a second to collect himself but, true to his word, he took the plunge and attempted a simple bunny hop. To both his and Carrie's amazement, he landed the jump with no problems. It had just been a little one, but it was a jump nonetheless.

"Holy shit!" Miles exclaimed as Carrie gleefully applauded from opposite him. Still in disbelief that it had actually happened, and emboldened with fresh confidence, he then claimed: "I'm gonna try another one." And before Carrie could talk him out of it, he was launching himself off the floor again, tucking his knees even tighter into his chest than before. 

With bigger risk comes bigger reward. Just…not the reward he'd been anticipating. 

Miraculously, he managed to land that jump too. The only problem was that he was so surprised to still be upright that he forgot about the wheels strapped to his feet. All it took was one, momentary lapse in judgement for Miles to forget all about keeping his balance, sending him stumbling into his sole audience member. Limbs flailing and wheels spinning out of control, he tumbled to the floor, taking a startled Carrie down with him. Their bodies thudded against the freshly mopped vinyl floor, knocking the air clean out of both of their chests, only to be replaced with hearty laughter the second they locked eyes and realised what had happened. They were a tangle of roller skates, cheap cotton and sweaty skin - and in a situation neither could ever have foreseen.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I-" Miles floundered, stuck between laughing along with her and dying on the spot from embarrassment upon realising that she had taken the brunt of his fall. 

"Hey, a good captain goes down with her ship," Carrie quipped, letting out another breathless laugh as Miles tried to shift some of his weight off her. 

"Are you okay?" he checked. "You're not hurt are you?"

"No, I'm fine, just a little winded," she chuckled as Miles finally managed to push himself up on his forearms. Their legs were still splayed out on the rink together though, and his face still hovered a few inches above hers. It took everything in her not to reach a hand up to wipe the sweat beading on his brow for fear of it dropping onto her forehead. "You liking the view from up there?" 

Miles felt completely frozen, as though he was living in some bizarre photograph. A cheeky grin played at Carrie's lips as he stared down at her, utterly lost for words. His heart thudded in his chest, his breath caught in his throat, and his hands almost slipped out from beneath him thanks to how slick they suddenly were with sweat. The rink's neon lights had to be broken, because there was no other explanation for the insane buzzing in his ears - well, other than the fact that his entire body felt like it had been shocked with electricity. Carrie's curls were splayed out on the ground around her head like a halo in one of those old renaissance paintings, her makeup was smudged around her eyes since she'd likely sweated half of it off several hours ago, and, despite the stench of bleach and old pizza punching him in the face, as it always did when he came to work, the scent of her sweet, musky perfume still managed to tickle his nostrils in a way that he could only describe as intoxicating. He felt like a piece of glass about to shatter - one move and he'd implode. And suddenly, what had all felt like innocent fun before, now became desperately unnerving. Feelings he most definitely should not have been feeling started flooding his brain, warping every thought that tried to intervene into something completely unrecognisable. This fleeting fantasy he'd already been loath to indulge was now staring straight into his soul, putting him under a dangerously tempting spell he already knew would consume him before the night was out. And still, he couldn't bring himself to look away. 

"I've not got any complaints," he eventually grinned. And whilst he knew he should have been making an attempt to pull himself to his feet, he felt himself being pulled closer to her instead. Closer to those rosy cheeks, that smattering of freckles across her nose, those plump-

"So, new method of cleaning the rink, guys?" 

The introduction of a new voice almost gave Miles a heart attack. Turning to follow it, he locked eyes with a familiar pair of brown ones, sitting beneath a raised brow and above a knowing smirk that made his stomach plummet to his feet. 

"Just, uh, just checking to see if the floor's still slippery after we tried out that new cleaning stuff," he stammered, cowering under Mick's accusatory stare. His cheeks started to flush scarlet and he couldn't bring himself to hold her gaze for long, not that holding Carrie's was any kinder on his senses. But when neither girl appeared to be making an effort to fill the awkward silence that now hung over the three of them, his mouth started to run away from him. "…It's not. Well, kind of, because we're…you know, but it's- uh, it's…it'll be dry by tomorrow, I'm sure," he finished with a forced smile he hoped could at least convince Mick enough to not press the issue any further.

"Quality control, you know?" Carrie added dryly with a giggle Miles was far too nervous to reciprocate. 

Mick didn't believe a word of what they'd said (and not only because she'd watched the entire thing happen), but for the sake of saving herself from a no doubt painfully uncomfortable conversation that could very easily turn all her future work shifts with them a living hell, she settled for a fashionably sarcastic: "...Right."

Before any of them could comment on the situation further though, a car horn sounded from the parking lot that snapped their attention to the glass doors behind them. 

"Shit. Is it ten already?" Miles asked, frantically checking the clock on the wall for confirmation.  

"Yep, come on, let's go," Mick replied, already turning to head for the door as Miles clumsily scrambled to his feet behind her. "Ethan bailed like five minutes ago, don't make me wish that I'd joined him." 

"But I still need to finish wiping down the-"

"Don't worry, I can handle it if you need to go," Carrie cut in, getting to her feet much more gracefully than he had. "Or I could give you a ride home myself if you need it." she added with a hopeful grin. 

"I-"

But before Miles could get his hopes up, the car horn sounded again, severing his hopes of spending any more time with the blonde bombshell beside him. 

"Miles, come on, you know Butchy doesn't like to be kept waiting," Mick called from the doorway, just as sympathetic to his situation as their driver. 

Miles let out a defeated sigh as he turned back to Carrie. "I'd better go," he reluctantly began, trying not to focus on the disappointment he could see pooling in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, I promise I'll pick up the slack tomorrow and-"

"Don't sweat it, it'll take me like two minutes," Carrie reassured him with a warm smile. "Now get moving; I don't want to be blamed for keeping your precious driver waiting."

Miles raced to pull off his skates and grab his sneakers from behind the skate rentals counter, meeting Mick by the door and offering her a sheepish grin as she just teasingly shook her head and strolled over to the black station wagon waiting outside. Before he joined her though, he spared Carrie one last glance over his shoulder. He knew he should have just followed in Mick's footsteps and called out a quick 'bye' on his way out the door, but something held him back.

"Carrie?" 

Looking up from the table she was wiping down in surprise, she uttered a soft: "Yeah?"

"Thanks for…everything tonight," he said, finally letting his nervousness melt into a grateful sigh. 

"My pleasure," Carrie grinned. "It's all in a day's work!" But the warmth in her smile told him she appreciated the sentiment more than her jokey words were letting on. He knew he was only just starting to peel back the picture-perfect curtain she hung out around herself for the sake of maintaining her image, but he could already tell there was much more to Caroline Cole than the popular-girl caricature everyone pinned her down to. There had to be. Maybe if he had a bit more time with her then he could-

"Miles!" 

It was Butchy's voice this time, shouting through the driver's window and sounding less than pleased about his neighbour loitering in the doorway. If only he knew the reason why…

With another sigh, Miles turned back to Carrie with a sheepish, lop-sided smile she acknowledged with a nod, as if to say that he was excused. Taking a deep breath, he took one last look at her, committing the sight to memory since he knew he'd no doubt be up half the night, torturing himself thinking about it. Then, still reeling from the night's events, he murmured his final farewells before trudging out into the crisp, night air, carrying his thread-bare jacket with him…and an entirely new feeling in the pit of his stomach that he just couldn't seem to shake.

"Night." 

"Night, Miles."

"Hey, are you going to hand over our shoes or what?" a particularly forward freshman barked, shaking Miles back to reality. Mumbling a quick apology, he collected the various pairs of sneakers together and dumped them down onto the counter - all the while trying, and failing, to push a certain blonde out of his mind. After all, the last thing he wanted was to head back over to his friends and subject himself to more painful ribbing. 

To his relief, once the teens had been dealt with and he had returned to the bar, the trio's conversation had moved on - just not as far as he'd have hoped…

"Jesus Christ, Lays, you're as bad as Claire."

"No I'm not! I would never go and camp outside his house."

"But you'd bribe Nathan Turner with homework answers so that you could be his locker neighbour?" Mick smirked as Miles settled into position behind the food counter beside her. 

"What's this I missed?" he chuckled, glad to see someone else taking the heat for a change. 

"Lela's massive crush on Tanner Cole," Mick informed with a teasing grin.

"That dopey kid on the track team?" Miles asked, biting back a fond chuckle when he saw how defensive Lela got. "What's so special about him?"

"He's not dopey! He's just…sensitive, and nice-"

"You're basing all of this insanity off of 'nice'?" Mick scoffed, having heard far more about the extent of Lela's crush on this guy than the other contributors to the conversation. 

"No! He's just…I don't know, he's just different, okay? He cares about stuff more than most guys, like when he talks to me it's like he actually cares about what I have to say. And then he's got this freaking adorable smile that just-"

"Oh my god, do you even hear yourself, sis? This is insane!" 

"Oh don't pretend like you weren't all over Mick like this when you first started liking her," Lela fired back. 

"It's not about that it's just- I just can't believe that out of everyone in this town, you and Miles have picked the fucking Cole twins to start crushing on," he exclaimed with an exasperate sigh. "Does the phrase: 'those rich kids are all assholes' mean nothing to you both? Or was I speaking in Chinese that day?"

"Maybe they're the exception," Lela suggested, to which Butchy just rolled his eyes in despair. 

"Have I taken crazy pills or something? What the hell is going on today?" he asked, looking to Mick for some sort of answer. But all she could offer was an equally baffled shrug as the opening notes of Whitney Houston's 'How Will I Know' sounded through the speakers. 

Taking the opportunity with Butchy distracted, Miles leaned forward to quiz the girl further. After all, if she had her feelings figured out about one of the Coles, maybe she could help him figure out his feelings about the other. "How long have you kept me in the dark about this one then, Lay?" he chuckled as he watched her scrawl another love heart down in the open notebook in front of her. 

"It's only been a thing for a couple of months," Lela confessed with a shy smile. "But I'm not getting my hopes up or anything; it's not like it's going to go anywhere - not when he's a senior and I'm just a sophomore. And besides, I don't think he even likes me like that - I mean, what would a guy like him want to be with a girl like me for? He's got girls hanging around with him all the time, super pretty girls too. I bet he barely even notices me," she trailed off - a dejected frown moving in to replace the shy smile she began with. 

But Mick soon leaned in to offer a knowing gin of her own to the mix. "Oh I wouldn't be so sure of that."

"What do you-?" 

Lela's confused murmurings were cut off though when she and Miles followed Mick's eyeline, finding a certain track athlete, with a dopey smile, weaving amongst the skaters on the rink. 

"Oh my god, why is he here?!" Lela panicked, hurriedly staring back at Mick and Miles with eyes the size of soccer balls. 

"He's probably just hanging out with some friends," Miles offered.

"Or he's here to see his sister," Mick countered, once again drawing the trio's attention to the rink as they watched Carrie skate over to greet him. 

"What do I do? Should I go over and say something? Or is that super weird and forward? Maybe I should just wait for him to make the first move. That's the safest option, right? Oh, who am I kidding? There isn't even going to be a first move. I'm being ridiculous; I'm like totally invisible to him."

"I don't know about that, Lela; he sure seems like he can see you now," Mick chuckled, watching Lela's brows furrow before she turned and found the golden haired boy in question aiming that beaming smile of his directly at her. 

Lela couldn't help the gasp that left her lips, or the rosiness flooding to her cheeks. But as much as the eye contact had startled her, she couldn't find it in herself to look away, absolutely rooted to the spot with adoration. In fact, she was so frozen in place she couldn't even raise her arm to wave back at him, earning herself a chuckle from the pair behind her.

Whitney seemed just as clueless about love as Lela if her lyrics were anything to go by. And as she asked the fateful question: 'how will I know if he really loves me?' Mick couldn't resist nudging Lela's arm and saying: "Well, a wave's a start" in response.

"What do I do?" Lela hissed to the pair behind her, unable to drag her eyes away from the boy in front of her.

"Wave back," Miles prompted, nudging her other arm in the hopes that she'd pluck up enough courage to actually do something with it. 

Lela plastered an awkward grin to her face that she hoped looked far more genuine than it felt and gingerly raised her hand back, melting into a giddy giggle of relief once she saw it was received with a grin even broader than the last. And just like that, Lela was rendered too lovestruck to speak. 

Mick fondly shook her head at the girl, pleased to see that her mostly fantastical relationship with this boy was progressing to at least a real-life interaction. When she turned her head to see Miles' take on the situation though, she found herself shaking her head all over again though, because whilst Lela's eyes were glued to the wannabe George Michael, Miles' were, once again, longingly tracking their blonde co-worker's every move. She'd never known either of them crush this hard before, especially not at the same time, and definitely not on such similar people. But the hopeless romantic hiding away inside her tough, sarcastic shell was secretly jumping up and down for joy at the sight of her friends so besotted. She knew the likelihood of the relationships becoming anything more than fleeting fever dreams was low, but it wasn't every day that her two best friends developed such strong crushes, so she was going to enjoy it for all it was worth, even if she did find their taste in partners rather…questionable. I mean, Tanner and Carrie? The twins who not only shared a set of DNA but one brain cell between the pair of them? …Seriously? 

"What the hell are you wearing?" 

Tanner rolled his eyes as a familiar voice cut through the cheesy pop music. He knew it was his sister sidling up to him without even having to look in her direction. 

"I can't believe you, of all people, need me to explain fashion trends," he fired back.

"You look like an extra in a Wham music video," Carrie jeered, pointing out his short shorts and brightly coloured jacket with a teasing smirk. 

Sparing a disgruntled glance across at his twin, he found that she was faring no better in the fashion department. "You're one to talk, you look like Great Shape Barbie."

Now it was Carrie's turn to frown. "Look, are you here for my help or not?" 

"Do you even have anything that's going to help me?" Tanner asked with an exasperated sigh. 

"That depends," Carrie began, promptly replacing her frown with that classic mischievous smirk of hers. "Do you want me to set you up with her or her brother?"

Tanner's eyes nearly popped out of his head as he frantically tried to shush her. "Carrie-!"

"Pfft. Would you relax?" she chuckled, rolling her eyes and moving to skate backwards in front of him rather than beside him. "It's not like anyone's listening."

"You don't know that," he hissed, but Carrie showed no signs of remorse as she once again teasingly rolled her eyes and continued regardless. 

"Well, if it is the sister you're after then you're golden. But if it's the brother then I'm afraid I'm gonna have to disown you - and it's not because I'm homophobic, it's just because I think he's a piece of shit."

Deciding to ignore her latter comments, Tanner focused on the only piece of information he really cared about. "You really think she likes me?"

"Dude she's got your name doodled all over her notebook in little hearts over there. It's like something straight out of a Tiger Beat," Carrie scoffed with an amused grin. 

"You think I've got a shot with her then?"

"A shot with her? She'll be all over you! Just do whatever crap you normally do to get the girls flocking around you like you're Tom Cruise and you'll be at second base in no time, trust me."

"I don't want to just 'get to second base' with her, I wanna try to take it seriously this time."

"Oh yeah? And how are you going to do that?"

"How am I supposed to know? I haven't tried yet," Tanner deadpanned with a brainlessness Carrie would have rolled her eyes at had she not been so distracted by something in the distance.

"Well you'd better get thinking, Casanova; you've got an audience," she smirked, nodding in the direction of the food counter, where Mick, Miles and Lela were stood and sat around collectively gawping at them. 

All it took was one look in Lela's direction for Tanner to chuckle and say: "Gee, I guess she has got it pretty bad, huh?"

"Downright criminal," Carrie giggled as she watched her brother offer the girl a friendly wave. "Now come on, I played this song for a reason. Get your ass over there and do what Whitney's man couldn't," she continued, giving her brother a nudge towards the edge of the rink as the song's bridge began to blare out through the surrounding speakers. 

"What?" he squeaked, as oblivious as ever. 

"Just get over there and talk to her," Carrie sighed. 

"Okay, I'm gonna go over there and talk to her," Tanner confirmed with another of his blinding, dopey grins. 

"Go get 'em, tiger!" Carrie called after him, watching gleefully as he dazzled Lela with a Ken-like smile and made a beeline for the food counter. 

Satisfied with her match-making efforts for the evening, she finally let herself relax and enjoy skating to one of her all-time favourite songs. Flipping her headset microphone down, she let her head fall back as she belted the iconic "how will I knooooooow?" out over the speaker system: a luxury she rarely indulged herself in since she knew the patrons probably wouldn't appreciate her turning their skating sessions into a karaoke party. Boy did it feel good though! Almost as good as the impressed smile she caught Miles firing across at her in response to the impromptu singing. She locked eyes with him for a beat and shot him a little wink in return that made his eyes widen and a giggle slip from her lips as she launched herself into an elaborate twirl. Before she could turn back to face the food counter to continue their little silent exchange though, a voice to her right snatched her attention.

"Would surprising you at work give you a clue?"

Following the voice, her eyes lit up like a Roman candle on the 4th of July as they settled on a familiar head of immaculately styled, wheat-blond hair and a charming grin that made her stomach do a backflip. The fireworks didn't stop there though; her entire body felt like it was crackling with energy as she raced over to the edge of the rink to greet him.

"What are you doing here?!" she gushed, her smile so bright that, had it been caught in the path of the disco ball, it would have blinded him. 

"I was driving by on my way back from practice, so I thought I'd drop in and see my favourite girl."

"I'm your favourite girl?" she giggled with a flirty quirk of her eyebrow. 

"Course you are, baby."

"Oh yeah? And how does your mom feel about being bumped down to second place?" she teased. 

"Are you kidding me? I think you're already her favourite child," he chuckled. "You know, she always wanted a daughter. I guess she'll just have to settle for an in-law."

"Are you saying I'm going to be an 'in-law' one day?" 

"You'd better be; I'm not falling in love with anyone else," he grinned, reaching a big, paw-like hand up to cup her face. "We're endgame, baby. We both know that."

"And I wouldn't have it any other way," Carrie said, with another giddy giggle as her smirk melted into a blissful grin as soon as he leant forwards and pressed his lips to hers. They lingered in the kiss for a few seconds, drinking in the scent of one another before breaking apart and letting those same, airheaded grins run rampant across their faces. "Besides, Caroline Brennan has a pretty good ring to it, don't you think?"

"Oh yeah, that's gonna look real nice on your driver's licence," Eric smirked as the pair shared a laugh, both getting temporarily lost in daydreams of their future lives together. He was swift to push it to the back of his mind for the sake of leading the conversation elsewhere though. "Speaking of looking nice…"

"Go on," Carrie giggled, as eager as ever to receive a little ego boost.

"You are looking so fine tonight." 

"You think?" she grinned, doing a spin to show off the outfit in full. 

"Hell yeah. The fact that those leggings aren't on the ground, and your legs aren't behind your head right now is a goddamn miracle."

"Eric! I'm at work!" Carrie chastised, trying to hold at least some professional integrity. The flirty glint in her eyes betrayed her though.

"What? It's not my fault they make your ass look so good," he replied, holding his hands up in surrender as a cocky smirk curled at his lips.

"Well looking is all you're gonna get to do, I'm afraid," Carrie said, pushing forward to rest her hands on the rink's barrier again. "Until my shift's over, that is."

"...And what about your break?" Eric prepositioned in a hushed voice that sent a shiver up Carrie's spine.

"What about it?" she retorted, matching his amorous smirk. 

"Seems like a pretty perfect opportunity to take it, if you ask me," he grinned. 

"Eric, I need to get back to-"

"Oh come on, baby, please," he pressed, grabbing her wrist to stop her from leaving. He could see the disinterest starting to bubble up dangerously close to the surface, and knew that was his cue to turn on the charm - hitting her square in the face with a tender smile he knew she just couldn't resist. "I've missed you."

Rolling her eyes, Carrie fondly chuckled, "It's been like four hours, tops."

"Yeah, tell me about it," he smouldered, grinning like an idiot as he pulled her towards him and swept her up in another kiss. 

Helpless to resist, Carrie went limp in his embrace, body totally numb with lust as a delicious warmth spread throughout her chest. The feeling of those strong, muscular arms around her waist, the feeling of his spearmint and Gatorade laced breath on her skin, the feeling of his silky, blond hair beneath her fingertips…It all just felt right. This was exactly how it was supposed to be. She was a cheerleader, she was dating the quarterback, she was popular beyond her wildest dreams… It was everything she'd ever wanted; the picture-perfect life she'd always envisioned for herself finally felt as though it was all coming together. And as a blissful smile stretched across her lips, and Toto's Africa played softly in the background, she let herself relish everything she'd worked so hard to get. After all, being the it-girl took a lot of effort, but it certainly did have its rewards - and hers just so happened to be tall, handsome and very well-endowed. 

Miles should have known that it was too good to be true. And yet, he let himself be fooled anyway. 

He already knew their warm smiles were treading a dangerous line in his head, blurring the line for where they stood with each other, but he ploughed ahead regardless. And besides, how could he have not reacted to that singing? He'd never heard anything like it: that effortless power and clarity. It warranted much more than a smile, but given the barriers between them (both physical and metaphorical), it was all he could offer. 

He thought he'd imagined the wink at first; it certainly made him feel like he was dreaming anyway. But no, it had been real. And he was quick to feel the effects since he had to grip onto the food counter to keep himself upright; his legs feeling as though they'd been turned to jelly. Still, he couldn't look away. The way her curls framed her face, the way her smile lit up her eyes, the way the disco ball bathed her skin in a painfully apt, pink light…it was breathtaking. She was a living piece of art. 

And then he had to waltz in and ruin it. 

Eric Brennan was everything Miles wasn't. He was confident, he was popular…he was mentally stable. And that's why he had Carrie; it just made sense. They were made for each other: two, tanned high school deities, carved out from the same hunk of polished gold - destined to fall into one another's arms and stay there 'til death do them part. They were Hawkins high royalty, sitting on a mountain of wealth in party invites and looks of adoration, and Miles was a lowly peasant, scrounging for passing glances in the hall. That's why it was Eric's embrace Carrie always ran back too. That's why Miles could never compare. That's just the way it was - the way it would always be. 

And yet, that didn't make the truth sting any less.

"Why the hell is Carrie playing this crap? No one's even dancing to it," Mick grumbled as she aimlessly wandered over to Miles' end of the food counter. With Lela nervously babbling away to Tanner, and Butchy occupied with watching them like a hawk (from a semi-respectable distance), Mick had no other option but to pester her honorary big brother for a conversation, even though he wasn't even a full year older than her. "She's usually pretty on the ball with changing up songs to keep everyone entertained."

"I, uh, think she's a little busy," Miles miserably mumbled, eyes still glued to the couple at the edge of the rink, grinding to the beat of the music - unable to look away, no matter how sick it made him feel. 

"...Oh…shit," Mick trailed off, sparing the boy a concerned glance. "I didn't realise, sorry."

"What are you sorry for? It's not like it's anything new; it happens pretty much every other day," he scoffed, finally managing to drag his gaze down to the scratched, metal countertop and the bloodied hands atop them, thanks to a new, nervous habit of picking at the skin on his fingers. 

"I know, it's just…I didn't mean to draw your attention to it given…well, you know," she said, showing a consideration for his feelings all her previous teasing had made Miles believe didn't even exist. Trying to cheer him up a bit, she gently nudged his arm and attempted a joke with a wry smile. "Hey, just be glad you haven't heard them going at it in the break room."

"Thanks for that image, Mick," Miles fired back with a dejected sigh, but when he turned and caught her gaze, he did allow himself to let out a little chuckle. After all, it was a laughably terrible situation to be in in the first place -  might as well make the most of it. 

"Oh come on, Miles. You must have known that your thing with Carrie was never going to go anywhere," Mick said. "She's been dating Eric since the start of junior year, I think it'd take something pretty major to break them up."

"Of course I knew, but…I don't know, I don't know why she makes me feel the way she does - I can't even understand it myself," he said. "There's just something about her, something - ugh, I don't know, I can't explain it."

"Wow, you're feeling particularly articulate tonight," Mick snarkily chuckled. 

"I think my brain's stopped working," Miles said sarcastically. "That's the only logical reason for me ever entertaining these feelings in the first place."

Laying a reassuring hand on his arm, Mick offered him a smile. "It's alright, buddy, you'll get over her, just give it a couple of weeks. We'll bring you back to your senses in no time."

"Thanks, I need all the help I can get," he snorted before running a hand through his hair and letting out a huff of despair. "Jesus, what the hell is wrong with me? First time in months a girl shows me any attention and I crumble like a block of feta."

"I don't know, I think it's kind of sweet," Mick said with an endearing smirk. 

"It's embarrassing," Miles corrected before sparing a glance over at his little brothers and letting a chuckle slip past his lips. "At this rate Royce is going to get into a relationship before I do."

Watching from the safety of the food counter, Miles clocked every time Royce would glance across at Vivien as she piloted Frogger so passionately she almost ripped the joystick clean out of the machine. Every look was fuelled with a shy adoration that never came through in his cries of encouragement, and, sadly, were never caught by the competitive brunette. But the way they kept inching closer together without realising, and then blushing when their hands would accidentally brush beside the 'start' button, told Miles that before the year was out they'd be holding hands on the school bus and passing cheesy love notes to one another in home room - as all respectable middle school couples do. 

As Miles watched the kindlings of young love flicker to life before his very eyes with a fond smile though, something in the corner of his vision drew his focus elsewhere. Standing at the machine across from Royce and Vivien, Bentley stood with his back to them, concentrating on his Pac-Man game as though his life depended on it. It wasn't Bentley's gaming tactics that caught his attention though, it was the single bulb in the light fixture above his head, flickering like it was about to fuse. And yet, it never did. 

"Hey," Miles said, gently bumping Mick's arm. "Do you see that light bulb?"

It took her a second or two to locate the bulb in question, but when she did, she squinted, watching it dim and flash back on as though someone was messing with the switch through furrowed brows. "Yeah, weird," she murmured. "Big Ralph had better not try to turn any of us into handymen for the sake of saving a few bucks to get it fixed," she added with a sarcastic snort of laughter. 

A few seconds later, a  puzzled Bentley turned his gaze to the ceiling to inspect the flickering bulb. Annoyed that it had distracted him, and caused him to lose his rhythm, he scowled up at the faulty light, only to find it glowing brighter than ever before back at him. Having to squint to keep watching it, he knew he probably should have looked away, but something compelled him to stay focused on it, despite the bursts of colour starting to invade the corners of vision.

And then, as suddenly as the flickering had begun, it stopped all together. Sputtering out into the regular, dim glow that kept the arcade area in a constant, near darkness.

"Or, you know, it could fix itself," Mick noted with a chuckle, having to do a double take to actually make sure that it had stopped for good. "Hmm, weird."

"Yeah," Miles trailed off, sparing his little brother one, last glance as he watched him back to playing his game as though nothing had happened. "Strange…"

#this isn't fully edited #but i ran out of time so it'll just have to do #hope you enjoy it!

[fivveweeks]

moe moe beam

#limbus company #heathcliff lcb #heathcliff limbus company #project moon #dante lcb #draws #edit: i should make it clear that this isn't meant that heathcliff hated dante before canto 6 lmao #it was that he was still distrustful n couldn't bring himself to show care as openly as he could after canto 6 #a lot of moments where he cared he immediately retracted out of distrust which is understandable #after canto 6 it's clear that he fully trusts dante now #especially after what they did during his canto #it's fitting that they released his announcer lines after that #to show that he now doesn't have to hide his true nature anymore n he has a group of support network now

[pharawee]

"After all, you're my only friend. And you are no less important than anyone, do you understand?"

#pit babe #pit babe the series #nut supanut #pavel naret #pavel phoom #pitbabeedit #thai bl #thai drama #bl drama #bl series #my edits. #the colouring isn't my best work but eh #i've fully embraced that i'm mostly watching this show for nut/way #i don't like way but he's a great character #there's so many people like him too #quietly waiting/manipulating in the shadow of a friendship #for something that will never happen because they're unwilling to be honest and open #in real life way would be a total nice guy #fiction allows him to be far more nuanced and likable and i appreciate that

[possamble]

do you have any particular thoughts regarding marcille being a half-elf? its interesting to me considering the fact that she seems self-conscious about being a half-elf, but denies it when its brought up

i remember marcille looking visibly uncomfortable over laios simply asking her how old she is, which i think the only reason she might feel nervous about this is because it might reveal her as a half-elf to him.

she's never corrected anybody whose called her an elf either.

never mind the circumstances of the reveal, in which thistle goes on about how half-elves are inferior and accusing her of wanting to become full blooded elf, she seemed particularly upset like he struck a nerve-

i wish the half-elf thing was built upon more. also, underrated marcille line:

okay so i revisited this sequence just to make sure I could back myself up and it's just... man. there's a lot going on.

the first reaction we get from Marcille is this huge panel that takes up half of the page

she is viscerally affected. flushing to the tips of her ears with the intensity of it. and we see it again, a few pages later

so it might seem like she's embarrassed about it and lying to herself, but... I really think it's just that Thistle is accidentally hitting sore spots. If you really look at what he says to get these reactions

"you'll live out your entire life [...] and die that way too"

"a hundred years from now, nobody will be there"

Hear me out. I think, if he stuck to harping on about her inferiority without bringing up how terrifyingly long-lived she is, she wouldn't have been as bothered. But right now, Thistle is accidentally hitting all the marks on Marcille's deepest fears-- and this is after the Winged Lion promised her that her dreams could come true in an extremely vulnerable moment, so it also hits her slightly guilty conscience as well.

I do truly believe that Marcille isn't bothered about being a half-elf the way that people assume she'd be bothered by it. To her, the biggest problem with being a half-elf is that it's isolating.

On one hand, it's not hard to imagine why she'd distance herself from elves in the west. A lot of them can clock her as a half-elf on sight, unlike other races, and therefore she's always branded with this weird stigma of being Othered -- I would even say that she considers herself lucky for being born outside of elven culture instead of having to grow up in it. I mean, just... look at the way elves talk about her.

Skipping past the uncomfortable implication of what 'not tolerating the existence' of half-elves would actually entail, this is incredibly fucking annoying. You can see why she wouldn't want to be around elves much. You see a lot of Marcille reacting badly here, but honestly, almost all of it can be attributed to her freaking out that her bluff completely failed. She's honestly more paying attention to Izutsumi's footsteps and trying to coordinate an opportunity to escape.

And in the end, you see her built-up frustration at being asked if she wants to be a full-blooded elf like 2-3 times in a row.

Yeah, yeah, "the lady doth protest too much," and all. But we know Marcille. We know that she's a lot more embarrassed and horrendously unconvincing when she's being prodded about something she's actually self-conscious about.

Moving onto the flipside of things, it might seem weird that she "pretends" to be a full elf around other races, but it's not really that strange if you think about it. Again, people are weird about her being infertile or whatever, and a lots of them don't even know much about what sets half-elves apart from everyone else. I mean, look at how uncomfortable Laios is just asking her about it

and look at how exasperated and resigned she looks

And like... she's right. Where would that come up in normal conversation? Why would she go out of her way to tell them? She's functionally a normal elf to other races anyway -- got the ears, the abnormally long "childhood", and the huge mana capacity. Unless it's directly relevant or important for people to know, I don't think it's all that strange or indicative of insecurity that she prefers not to bother with it.

(This combined with her sense of being an "outsider" to elf culture also explains why she thinks elf superiority is embarrassing. She sees the way elves treat short-lived races from the "outsider" perspective nonetheless, and thinks it's obnoxious; especially more so because she usually has to play the elf around short-lived races and deal with the reputation of arrogance that elves have built up.)

The sad thing is, this all means that... she doesn't actually fit in anywhere. She doesn't like going out West much because of how elves treat her. But she's also an outsider in the continents she was born in, treated like this exotic long-lived alien choosing to live among short-lived races for some reason. She is always an outsider, the Other, no matter where she goes. Add in the fact that she'll live longer than literally anyone she knows, and it's honestly kind of heartbreaking.

And I think that's the crux of it. Marcille really doesn't act like she's at all self-conscious about being a half-elf because of any feelings of inferiority or being half-made or whatever. She considers herself a perfectly legitimate being and might even, in some ways, consider herself superior to normal elves because she's not blind with elf supremacy or whatever. (And whatever "elven biases" she displays, all of them are born more out of the fact that she's kind of bad at conceptualizing how other races age and mature compared to herself, not that she actually considers herself better or more mature simply for being an elf.)

I think that whatever self-consciousness Marcille has about being a half-elf is, instead, related to terror and loneliness. The reminder that it ensures she'll never truly belong anywhere for the rest of her very long life. The reminder that, in truth, even she's not actually sure how old she is by other races' standards (hence the discomfort when asked how old she is). She doesn't want to not be a half elf, or be a full elf or full tall-man-- in her ideal world, she's still a half-elf. She just gets to live out her life at the same pace with the people she loves and doesn't have to say goodbye again and again and again until she dies.

and one last very important panel, right after Mithrun tells her that all her desires would be devoured

In her ideal world, she's still a half-elf and reality magically starts marching at her pace. But failing that, the second best thing is that she's still a half-elf-- but one who is able to accept reality and let go of her fear.

(But the rest of the story pans out the way it does because, to Marcille, taking reality apart and reshaping it was less scary than simply and fully reconciling with it.)

#asks #dungeon meshi manga spoilers #marcille donato #manga panel analysis #this is probably riddled with typos sorry #readmore cut bc it got long lmao #i ended up babbling about it bc it's such an important character detail to me #bc like... wow. she's so normal about it. she's literally just chilling. #the only thing that really bothers her is the material reality of it and how people treat her #the stereotypes the stigma etc. etc. #otherwise it just.. #literally doesn't factor into her criteria for self-worth at all #the basic truth is that marcille likes herself on a fundamental level #she's not plagued by a deep and festering self-loathing the way a lot of characters in her archetype are #she likes herself and is proud of her successes and accomplishments #its just that shes terrified of failure and can have *episodes* of self-loathing when she fucks up #but who doesn't yknow #i know its a very slight nuance that makes very little difference in how her 'overachiever' problems manifest but its there #the sword of abandonment issues that hangs over her head has nothing to do with her self-worth or self-esteem or meeting her own standards #it has to do with the fear of not living up to *other* people's expectations and not being useful enough to be worth keeping around #she's good enough for herself but she's always so so so scared that she's not good enough for other people #i wont say much about what ryoko kui is saying using this as an allegory for real world racial biases but #dungeon meshi's treatment of marcille's relationship with her being half-elf is so incredibly important to me because it gets it so right. #a trauma about inferiority or being a half-being isn't inherent to the experience of being 'of two worlds' at all #that's something that's unfairly drilled into people by their environment #the *inherent* anguish is the loneliness. the constant longing. the fact that you are always homesick no matter where you are #always just a little bit of an outsider and never fully at home #and dungeon meshi gets that. #edit: cleaned it up a little

[muninnhuginn]

Thinking about "your weakness is how you always want to be the hero" and how the series returns to this at the end

Li Lianhua hated how he acted as Li Xiangyi and spent years trying to distance himself from it, but ultimately he still fell back into the similar patterns, for all his added experience

His main priority was always to "do the right thing" regardless of how that would impact on those around him. And it *did* impact those around him. From Qiao Wanmian and Shan Gudao as Li Xiangyi to Fang Duobing and Di Feisheng as Li Lianhua

Giving the Styx flower to the emperor so he could use it as leverage to guarantee Fang Duobing and his family's safety. Using the last of his power to save Yun Biqiu. Constantly putting others above himself whilst actively refusing to recognise that his self-sacrificial nature would hurt those he cared about most

And sure, he thinks he's going to die anyway. They're going to be hurt regardless and he can't do anything about that. His odds are low of the Styx flower even working. But ultimately, he refuses to even consider trying. Li Xiangyi has been dead a long time and Li Lianhua is just there to tide things over. What value is the life of a ghost

To the end, he lives and dies a hero. To the end, he refuses to live for himself.

#sth about how he almost managed to live for himself but his past and need to do right doomed him. #those missing years before canon starts were probably the closest he got but even then the knowledge he couldn't use martial arts #must have killed him (no pun intended). because he'd put so much stock in his identity as sigu sect leader + hero + prodigy #so to have such a massive part of his identity stripped from him... honestly it doesn't seem that he ever fully comes to terms with it #but he makes progress and he tries to do better. + that leads to him becoming a different type of 'hero' than the symbol he was originally #deep down he wants to help people with all he has but his capacity isn't infinite + at some point can only be taken from himself #mysterious lotus casebook #mlc spoilers #also to be clear I mention shan gudao not to say lxy should have realised earlier bc for a lot of the time he was too young to notice #and later on sgd did better at hiding his intentions. but more for how lxy tunnel visioned towards his idea of righteousness #and steamrolled over everyone else. both sgd and qwm were placed far below the importance of the sigu sect #and lxy's arrogance made it such that sigu became reliant on him alone as he shut others out (hence domino fall once he went). #idk if he could ever have 'fixed' what was btwn him and sgd bc it was so deep rooted but I do think that his actions #helped convince sgd that sgd was entirely in the right to choose his path #mlc #edit: just went and checked the exact wording of the TL and it's actually 'you like being a hero' rather than 'you want to be the hero' #which is different but still close enough in implications for my point to stand (I think)

[roxyandelsewhere]

in my head this is the wall of a submarine

inprnt | society6 | redbubble | teepublic | ko-fi

#fooling around with patterns again hehe. love it #art #abstract art #adding this to the prints store too. working on having more stuff there that isn't spn related #once again this doesn't mean im not gonna draw more spn things!! i have more trueform ideas and im saying this partly as a way to remind #myself of them #now that the artblock seems to be over #my art #mine.caro #i chose not to edit this into the whites being fully white to give it some texture but that's possible to change #the idea for this btw came from me wanting to use the napkin i used to clean the ruler after making trueforms #i had it saved. and i figured hey. vaguely abstract submarine windows. why not

[sealrock]

the major arcana, shuffled: 5/??

THE TOWER; ⤉ disaster, destruction, upheaval, trauma ⤈ resisting change, avoiding tragedy, delaying the inevitable, avoiding loss

#mypost. #ffxiv gpose #ffxiv screenshots #ffxiv oc #🏵️ #ffxiv:tma #back at it again with the cursed family paintings!! #i was stumped on how to make this look like a tower ngl. i think i did good but i feel like these needed more post-process editing. w/e #if you see clipping no you don't ssshhhhhh- #yea i know cassie's husband isn't here but this isn't about him. this is about the tatlonghari's collective family trauma!!! #only ones missing are paris and andi. paris doesn't consider themselves fully apart of the family and andi missed a lot of the upheaval #wanted to showcase the entirety of the family and how priam has been the direct cause of all their problems #the symbolism here is that the left showcases the ones who are alive. the right are those who were killed by priam #notice how on the left they're not touching each other despite being so close to one another #they're not smiling either. they're extremely distant even within close proximity #whereas the right they're holding onto each other and smiling (rather creepily but you know) #i made a corrupted version but i think it's important to see their happy faces more clearly. notice how they kinda look demonic #and yea priam's face is scribbled out but you can see that his face was beat in #and pammon (priam's twin) and andromache (who priam thought was dead for years) are choking him #the reverse got flipped wrong when you look at it rightside up but it adds to the creepiness i think #body horror cw #gore cw #<- just in case

[thatswhatsushesaid]

currently thinking about just how much su minshan was willing to sacrifice--of himself, and of other people who relied on and trusted in him--to protect jin guangyao

goes 2 my knees, clutches my hair

#suyao #it's The Devotion™️ ok??? #he abandons his whole sect at the second siege of the burial mounds for jin guangyao #he will pull a sword on both hanguang-jun and zewu-jun over the HINT of a slight against jin guangyao #he puts himself in mortal peril and ultimately dies brutally to protect jin guangyao #uggggGGGGHHHH #i'm fine!! i'm fine #(i'm not i'm really not) #edited to add: like!!! regardless of how you choose to interpret the nature of the relationship between them #i don't think it is a stretch to look at sms's devotion to jgy and interpret it as something beyond friendship #or beyond the loyalty of a vassal to his liege lord #and i think what most fucks me up about their dynamic (in a good way) #is that sms never expects the same depth of devotion from jgy #given how deeply seated minshan's resentment towards the gusu lan is and how easy it is to trigger #a truly nuclear grudge response in him (looking @ u jin zixun) #i remain endlessly fascinated by the years he must spend knowing that jgy would always choose lxc over him if he had to #and yet he does NOT become bitter or resentful of jgy over this #he does not make his devotion to jgy a problem for jgy to manage #like if you lean into the one-sided shipping angle he's like a guy who has fully embraced his place in the friend zone #is he fine with it?? who knows! but he isn't going to make his feelings on the matter jgy's problem #anyway i love him send post #emotional support henchman

[natreads]

I don't think I've ever mentioned it here but I'm trying to move out of my parents' house lmao and it's BRUTAL out here, the rents are crazy. BUT I found one with an acceptable rent that I can afford if I make sure to finish my projects quicker (it's possible, I'm just very unmotivated) or, you know, get another job which I've been trying to do for the past year and a half. anyway. it's in a good location and partly furnished and the bedroom and kitchen are in alcoves which I prefer. also five minutes from my bookstore job. I sent a message about being interested so now we cross our fingers. I'd move in feb/march so I can prepare a bit too. aahhh I really want it

#nat talks #if the bookstore calls me now and then too that will be great #or if maybe I can work weekends?? we'll see #but most importantly it takes three minutes to walk to the subway as opposed to my current 15-20 #omg can you IMAGINE #although I don't think I can fit my bookshelves lmao #I'd have to see it irl first though so I can figure it out fully then #edit: the only thing is that electricity isn't counted in the rent and as we all know the electricity prices are also crazy

[sp0o0kylights]

Since I’m on a roll, here’s another part I had fun with. Both this and the Steve-Goes-Into-The-Car-Blanket-fort scene are apart of Illustrated which is my lil Soulmate AU. 

“The famed bedroom of King Steve. I feel like I should have made you work harder to get me in here. Rumors say you enjoy the chase after all."  Munson drawls, as they walk down the hallway.  

"Rumors say a lot of things, Munson. Most of it’s-" Steve stops, catches himself before he says the word bullshit and inflicts psychological damage on himself. "Stupid." 

"Stupid." Eddie echoes, teasing lilt to his voice. 

“Tommy once spent six weeks trying to convince last year's freshmen that Ms. Click is in a motorcycle gang.” Steve counters. “Went so far as to try and get the school’s journalist club to fake some pictures for him.”

“That explains the entire debate club's fixation with leather vests.” Eddie says triumphantly, looking like there’s a story he’s about to tackle (likely with many dramatics, because omelets seem to have somehow restored the guy’s energy) but stops dead as Steve swings his bedroom door open. 

“Oh my god why is there so much plaid?” Eddie’s jaw drops, teasing forgotten entirely as they step into Steve’s room. 

Who rolls his eyes. “Why does everyone always say that?”

“Because no one in their right mind has plaid walls, dude.” Munson blinks, dramatically staggering backwards like he’s been hit. “My eyes are being assaulted right now.” 

Steve should be annoyed, but surprises himself when he finds he actually wants to laugh. “Does it help if I tell you I didn’t pick it?”

The look Eddie gives him almost makes him laugh anyway. “Who the hell did? Satan?” 

“Close enough. My mom.” Steve turns to look at his room, imagining how someone like Eddie must see it. 

Plaid walls, minimal décor, a bed that’s made (only because Steve’s mother drilled that habit into him) and hideous, matching curtains. The whole set was picked out of a catalog, right down to the stupid, framed car poster. 

The only thing that shows any signs of life is his desk, which is covered in scraplets of paper, pens, a phone and random other objects. 

(Steve’s favorite is a small stuffed penguin wearing a sailor costume. Robin had a matching one, a tribute to the way they had met. It would be the very first thing he’d grab in a fire, one of the very few possessions he owned that Steve truly treasures.)  

“Ahh the fabled Mrs. Harrington. I thought she was made up.” Eddie says, finally  entering the room. He explores it like something might pop out at him, and hell, Steve couldn’t blame him for that either. 

“Yeah. She picked it out when she used to be here more. Before her and my dad fucked off to New York.” 

“And you didn’t immediately renovate?” 

This is the most expressive Steve’s seen Eddie in the last twenty four hours. Feels almost like he’s got the guy back to some semblance of a balanced mental state, which makes the part of Steve that loves caring for people unbelievably happy. 

Steve shrugs. “Honestly, I never thought about it much.” 

Doesn’t mention that these days he tries to spend the least amount of time he can inside his own home, instead bouncing between work, Dustin’s house, and any antics the kids or Robin had pulled him into.

Thinks vaguely that he and Robin may have actually slept in his living room more than his actual bedroom-or, him in her bed, considering how often he sneaks into her room. 

A fact her parents would be furious about except they’re so painfully relieved that they’ve purposefully given Steve some grace. Something Robin hates and Steve does his best to distract her from. 

“Yeah we’re gonna fix that.” Eddie spins slowly, looking all the way up like some bit of personality is hiding out on the ceiling. “Immediately.”

Digs around in one of his pockets, and pulls out a thick black Sharpie, before turning with it to give Steve a wild grin.  “What do you say to a little home makeover?” 

Steve raises an eyebrow at him, before looking over his room once more. “You sure you don’t want a shower first” He asks, to buy himself time to think.

Has a feeling Munson can find the time to shower, nap and cause chaos, in equal amounts. 

Sure enough, Eddie waves him off. “Don’t you worry about me, Steve-o,  I think I can manage to figure out how to use your bathroom after giving this place a little art CPR.” 

Screw it.

Will in fact, likely help Munson channel out whatever leftover emotion he had left into whatever horrors he drew upon Steve’s wallpaper, which at the very least, could always be removed later.

It’s not like his parents can get any more disappointed in him. 

“Fine, just promise me no dicks.” He agrees, with a sigh. 

Eddie cackles. “Don’t you worry man, just watch the master work.” 

Steve rolled his eyes.

Does actually hang around, if only to turn on his cassette player and point out where all his tapes are. 

Leaves when Munson momentarily stops “redecorating” in order to trash Steve’s taste in music, in alphabetical order. 

“I get it, I’m a mainstream prick, you jerk.” He calls over his shoulder as he exits. “Now I’m going to go where I won’t be insulted, and see if Cunningham needs anything.” 

(She doesn’t, but does playfully insult him, having overheard the conversation. 

“Well fuck me I guess.” Steve mutters with a sigh, as she laughs at him.)

#steddie #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steve/eddie #AU where Chrissy lives #and is involved #this isn't fully edited so it may change #but my god #those walls #steve harringtons plaid walls #should be both a tag and a trigger warning #stranger things #stranger things season 4 #0o0 fanfics

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Could you please draw Joy teaching someone to build a small weapon?

feat. Arabella

#jericho isn't thrilled #anon #fuck it we draw like romans #t$$ joy #she'd see no issue with teaching a kid how to do it #giving them explosives? #nah #giving them a weapon when there's actually danger? maybe #ari looks a little different but i can't fully edit here lol

[jankwritten]

i think one of my biggest gripes with TSATS is the sentence structure and the way that things are phrased.

Sentence structure: the book is CONSTANTLY using ", and", or "then", or "but" instead of splitting up a phrase into two separate sentences. Once I noticed it, I couldn't stop noticing it. In some places it works fine, but right out the gate, as the first line of chapter one, it 1) caught my attention in a negative way and 2) felt immediately clunky and awkward.

The way that the book demonstrates action also feels unnatural and doesn't flow as well as it could. Things are described as happening "now", such as when Kayla takes her lolipop out of her mouth and holds it at her side, the book narrates it as "now holding the lolipop at her side". We didn't SEE that action occur, we're just being described the RESULT of the action, does that make sense? As a reader, you want to SEE the action, you want to SEE her tug the lolipop out of her mouth, see her hand hang by her side as her expression pinches with anxiety over the discussion. We don't want to just be told that "now" her lolipop is out of her mouth, y'know?

There are also sentences that just feel flat out unedited, phrases that have too many words for what they want to accomplish, or with a structure that doesn't make sense - like on page 56, the sentence "They raced up the steps to the platform, Nico easily outrunning his boyfriend, though that was mostly due to Will having to get his land legs again."

First of all - why are they running up the platform? In the previous line, where we're told their cab driver got them to the station with 6 minutes to spare, the specific choice of saying "to spare" makes it sound like there is plenty of time to make it to their train. In the sentences after, we even learn that Nico and Will wound up waiting for their train anyway, so, the fact that they're running when Will feels sick reads...weird, to me. If I was car sick, and then somebody forced me to run for no reason, I would not be a happy camper.

Second of all - The addition of the final third of the sentence, after the second comma, should be it's own phrase. It should be given it's own space, like "(though that was mostly because Will didn't have his land legs back yet)." because it's not important information, just an offhanded comment Nico is making.

Third of all - "though that was mostly due to" and "having to get his" are clunky and wordy. It could've just been "Nico easily outrunning his boyfriend, who didn't have his land legs back yet." It's a smoother sentence that doesn't get bogged down by the extra words.

And that's just one instance. This book is LOADED with moments like this, where action will get lost in a sentence's wordiness. The book tries to be quick and snappy, in Riordan's style, but it fails because it can't quite nail down the phrasing.

There are also moments where the only thing the characters are interacting with is each other, only grinning, grimacing, sighing, glancing at one another, etc etc, instead of doing actions while they speak. Fidgeting with their hands, shifting from side to side, looking away at their surroundings, that kind of stuff is how you convey a MOOD. Body language is important when writing character conversations!! Is somebody relaxed, or are their shoulders tensed up, arms folded across their chest with their muscles flexed, leaning back on one leg with their body halfway tilted away, as if they were ready to flee at a moment's notice? These are the kind of details that I'm missing in TSATS, the kind of things that feel like they're missing.

I also have a lot of gripes with the dialogue itself.

People don't talk like they do in TSATS. The content of what they're saying is realistic enough, sure, yeah, but the specific way that a lot of the dialogue is phrased? It doesn't feel natural. Try reading some of the sentences out loud without editing any of the words. It doesn't sound the way a human being SPEAKS.

THAT'S what I mean when I say these characters are OOC. The way that they're speaking is uncomfortable and feels as if they're being used as a puppet, or a mouthpiece for what somebody ELSE wants them to say.

#tsats #tsats spoilers #like just from a reader's standpoint this book feels offputting and weird!!! #it makes me genuinely want to do a rewrite where I go through and I don't change any of the plot #I don't change any of how anything goes #I just edit the phrasing and dialogue to make it more natural #the book sets no mood!!!! it doesn't commit to itself!!! it tries to be too many things at once and doesn't fully settle onto any of them #and then comes out SWINGING when it does try to do something which just comes across as heavy handed pandering !!!!! #GAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #like I want Nico and Will to be consistent with how they feel throughout the book. I want them to DEMONSTRATE #Consistency and not constantly swinging between their extremes of being scared or angry or sad #I want them to slowly become more and more skeptical of each other until they're forced to come to terms with the fact that #they both have darkness inside of themselves and each other that they have to accept and love!!! #I see so many people who are like 'omg but they talk to each other about their feeligns!!!! it's so sweet!!!!' when the 'talking' they do #isn't anything SUBSTANTIAL. Throughout the whole beginning of the book Nico is writing off Will's fears about tartarus and ignoring #everybody being concerned for him and he doesn't talk about any of it! THAT'S NOT HEALTHY!!!! #ugh. just. ugh. #pjo #nico di angelo #will solace

[spllwys]

i'm going on exam season lockdown as of today, which means no more gifs/edits/anything else because i spend way too much time on them for an engineering student in the trenches lmao. posting this not because i think anybody will notice or care, but so i can hold myself accountable and get embarrassed if i break the pledge. see you on june 3rd for a ghovie creativity extravaganza

edit: besides the ghovie trailer 😭 i cant restrain myself from that one

#actually june 4th because i will be drinking on june 3rd from the moment i close my semiconductors paper #cold turkey on gif making KHBJDGVSCDH RIP #genuinely its such a relaxing thing to do that i find myself prioritising it #and unlike other chill activities it gives me the illusion of productivity #i really need to be getting that from my work and not silly bands #anyway. see u #also in my 4 years of making edits like this in many different circles i've never once felt the need to mention a like/reblog ratio #and i'm fully of the opinion that people can do whatever the hell they like and i never expect interaction #i'm grateful for what i do have #but what primarily motivates me to do this is people sharing their love for whatever is on the post #in the tags or elsewhere #i'm not talking praise or thanks or anything to me i mean 'i love this song' or 'papa looks great here' skdcvkdgvs #'this is my favourite band' u know? it's sharing passion with other people and having them share theirs with me #and in all the 4 years and many many fandoms this (ghost/st) is by far the worst for interaction like that #i'd say ghost especially skhjcsd #and this tag rant isn't a request or a 'please interact more!' or anything like that it's just #a reason as to why i'm a bit discouraged that i'm chatting about to nobody #oh yeah and especially seeing photos posted with no source and no edits get 5x the notes you'd get #the quantity of notes doesn't matter to me but the discussion and tags do #just checked my notes in the middle of typing this and someone rbed some papa ii gifs with #'hope he's steady on his feet the way i would run into him' #KDSGKDSD that's what i'm on about 😭😭😭😭😭 #makes me smile knowing something i posted made somebody feel joy abt a silly band and then shared that with me through the tags #i'm aware i've been here for just over one month so shouldn't be making judgements just yet #but sometimes i wish there was more of that

[anakinh]

ever crisis is really going for the sad little meow meow sephiroth angle. anyway here's a screenshot of him being a bitchy teen

#me.txt #sephiroth #ever crisis #final fantasy #i don't actually approve. but mostly because he opened up very quickly #sephiroth: to be a good soldier you have to be strong and have a hardened heart #also sephiroth: hey you guys are fun. have you seen my mom? i know asking about her isn't cool. being called a cyborg hurt my feelings :( #edit: 3 days later... i still don't fully like but damn is it compelling #a babey #doesn't matter. i can have my absolutely terrifying creepy child sephiroth headcanon in my heart AND enjoy this #... it is still slightly creepy ngl. if only because he flips between 'adorable kid' and 'MURDER TIME' so quickly #so maybe i'm more fine with it than i think

[kscribbs]

I think we need to complete the quartet and see the dweebus and the tornado-us versions 👀👀👀

(yes I AM fishing for more kscribbs art no I will NOT stop bc I love it ur honour and also. I DO WHAT I WANT)

Ask and ye shall receive!

(Some of the discolouration in ML Jack's hair is greyness, as well as frost.)

#I'm on a posting spree this eve as u can probs tell; so sorry for the spam #finally have time to sift through all my arty crap!! #no. 3 isn't so much Tornado-y Jack as Half-Thawed (bc crushing hard over witchy lady pal) But Rocking It Nonetheless Jack #now that I'm rly looking at him #I'm v fond of his coat in that one. the frost patterns mre closely resemble Jacquie's than his own but I kinda like that! #Maybe she helped him w it! 🤷‍♀️ #all men should have a Cool Coat #I believe #he wears it to a Function(TM) he and Lucy are obligated to attend together (in ML that is) #its design is somewhat inspired by that coat we see him wear in the costume designs from the behind the scenes snips on the tsc3 dvd #this made me revisit all the ML outfits I have for him so you can expect those to be posted in 3 - 4 business months as per the norm #(once again -- apologies that my posting schedule is so erratic/nonexistent!) #I did tease Tornado Hair Jack so Imma post a few sketches of him in a mo #jack frost #Jack Frost the santa clause #the Santa Clause #the santa clause 3 #tsc #miller's law #ml #edit: btw lmels I meant to say -- I FULLY believe that you can draw santa jack! You're so talented man!! You can do it! #whether you'd WANT to is another matter entirely 🤣

[scarachilde]

I will be thinking about this unused selfie from the “Do you love me?” ending until the end of time, thank you

#needy streamer overdose #needy streamer overload #needy girl overload #needy girl overdose #ame-chan #omgkawaiiangel #p-chan #like the shadow clearly isn't edited #and I wonder if it was meant to be fake out to maintain the illusion of p-chan but like #I have a theory there are some ending routes where p-chan is fully real #and this kind of supports that theory