#Looks like it was painted in an auto body shop

[celestialmacros]

How are these colors possible in nature?

Caenochrysis sp., a member of the cuckoo wasps

June 27, 2023

John Heinz National Wildlife Refuge, Tinicum, Pennsylvania

[writingplotbunnies]

Best Served Cold (5/?)

Pairing: Jax Teller x OFC

Summary: Sophie shows up to her first SAMCRO party complete with fighting and a conversation with Gemma.

Word Count: ~4400

Warnings: angst, illegal activity, possessive behavior, sexual content, canon typical violence

A/N: This is my first SOA fic, so let me know what you think. This is a multipart fic, so let me know if you want added to the taglist.

Later, Sophie stood in front of her bed, hands on her hips, glaring down at the rather small pile of clothes scattered across the mattress. She’d never been good at picking an outfit, doing her hair, finding out if her complexion allowed for warm or cool tones in her makeup. That had been Olivia's job. Over the years, she’d simply do whatever it was her sister had told her. Like adding layers to her hair, and texturizing the ends - whatever the hell that meant. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to look good because she did, especially tonight, it was that the Corps didn’t care, and anytime she’d been forced to dress up, well they provided a uniform for that, too. Raking her hands through her hair, Sophie wished she knew someone in this town she could call for help. Jax would likely make some suggestion about not wearing anything, which, while flattering, wouldn’t exactly be a practical solution to her current dilemma. 

“Maybe if I close my eyes and point…” 

She needed a dog. At least then talking to herself wouldn’t make her feel quite as crazy. But, she talked to herself a lot. Wasn’t anything else to do when she was staked out in the middle of nowhere waiting for her target to finally decide to show up. 

Growling in frustration, she snagged a pair of skinny jeans Olivia had given her for Christmas a couple of years ago, and a burgundy racerback tank top with a screen-printed dandelion on it. Once dressed, she slid on her well-worn black, low-heel ankle boots. Glancing at herself in the bathroom mirror, she figured it looked good enough. Never quite the smoky eye her sister always managed to paint on her face with perfection, but she didn’t look like she’d just been sucker punched either, so she took the win. 

Stopping at the couch, Sophie pulled her ankle holster from her duffel before lifting her foot onto the arm of the couch and attaching it. She didn’t want a repeat of earlier if one of the other Sons or whoever else she met at the party hugged the wrong side of her body. Tucking her phone and ID into her back pocket, she grabbed her keys and locked up behind her. 

Sliding into her car, Sophie took a deep breath. She wanted to make a good impression. After Jax had dropped her back at the station, she’d done a lot of thinking. Maybe it wasn’t forever, this thing with Jax, but she wanted to do her part to make it last - see what it could be. Just because she’d never had roots, at least, not as an adult, didn’t mean she didn’t want some. 

Pulling into the TM lot, Sophie took a moment to take in the whole scene. A far cry from the quiet, but busy auto shop, the place had transformed into a veritable den of debauchery. It kinda reminded her of a few mid-deployment parties she and the teams had set up when they needed to blow off some steam. Excitement thrummed through her veins at the prospect of letting off some steam and having a good time. It had been this part of the MC life that she found most surprising when it came to Olivia. They’d done their share of partying together, but her sister had always been the more reserved of the two. Not a wallflower, but not the cannonball into the swimming pool with a Roman candle in her hand type either. Hers had been a quieter chaos. Maybe that’s why Olivia had been drawn to Drifter - the balance. 

Shaking herself from thoughts of the past, she slid from the car, tucked her keys into her front pocket and walked towards the madness. Fire-filled drum barrels were scattered around outside. Women half naked stood, or sat, with a court of men around them. One leggy blonde had her arms wrapped around a young man who seemed content to do nothing more than suck her tits while she ground herself against him. Off to the left, shirtless men threw punches at each other inside a boxing ring while some of the others, beer bottles dangling from their fingers cheered them on from the sidelines. She noticed some money exchanging hands. 

Glancing around, she tried to locate Jax. She spied who she thought were Tig and Chibs sitting over at some picnic tables. Since they were the only other two faces she recognized, she moved towards them, careful to weave through the small packs of bodies. 

“Hiya, love,” Chibs called when he caught sight of her. 

Tig grinned up at her. “Hello, beautiful.” 

Sophie smiled, but looked behind her. “I kept my car parked far away from your perv eyes, Tig. No more flirting with my baby. She’s too young for you.” 

Chibs laughed and knocked his shoulder against Tig’s. “Got you by the balls.” 

“I wish,” Tig mumbled under his breath. 

She sat on the table next to Tig and gave a friendly pat on his shoulder. “Sorry to disappoint you.” 

He gave her a flirty look. “I’m sure you can find a way to make it up to me.” 

Sophie laughed. “Keep dreaming, man.” 

“Aye,” Chibs said, voice a bit sharp as he glanced down at Tig. “You know how this works.” 

Tig nodded. “Yeah, man. I got it.” 

Chibs shook his head before necking his beer and taking a long swallow. “Not me you’ve gotta be worrying about now is it?” 

Clearly looking for a way to change the mood, Tig looked at a young blond man sitting near them. “Prospect, get the lady a drink and be quick about it.” 

The blond looked at her shyly and offered her a smile. “What’s your poison?” 

“Rum and coke, or a beer.” 

“Go on,” Chibs called as the prospect stood from the table. “Be quick about it.” 

She laughed as he scurried into the clubhouse. “I’d say be nice to the poor boy, but something tells me he’s used to a little hazing around here.” 

“It’s good for them.” 

They all turned to watch the fight, and the kid brought her a drink more quickly than she expected. Taking a sip, she nearly coughed. Sophie had expected a strong drink, but it was like they’d filled the Dixie cup with rum and walked a can of Coke next to it. Rum with an essence of Coke. Now that she knew, she took a smaller sip from her cup as she continued to watch the two in the ring duke it out. The bald one had decent form. He had a wildness in his eyes that commanded her attention. 

Sophie slid from the table, and wandered through the crowd to get a closer look at the fight. She’d always enjoyed the boxing matches the Navy boys engaged in during cruising days. For a few moments, she stood among the other spectators sipping her rum with a splash of Coke and watching the exchange of punches. Both men had grins on their faces. 

“Hey, sexy,” a voice slurred in her ear. His hand wrapped around her waist, fingers inching up her torso, just shy of her breast. “Run inside and get me another beer.” 

Ignoring him, Sophie moved out of his grip, figuring he’d wander off to easier, more willing entertainment. She continued to watch the fight. Not taking the hint, the drunk guy behind her reached out, grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him. 

“Listen, bitch, go get me another beer or get lost.” 

Looking him over, she noticed the kutte, but there weren’t any patches on it. He had dark hair and a stupid-looking face, or maybe that was just the expression on it. The kutte looked the same as the one the blond guy, the prospect, who’d been sent off to get her a drink wore. Seemed prospects were lower in the chain than guys like Chibs and Tig. Not that it would make any difference for her personally, but she wanted to avoid making Jax’s life more difficult if it could be avoided. 

Shaking his grip loose, she moved through the crowd back towards the table. Just as it came within view, the majority of the crowd behind them, the idiot grabbed Sophie’s ass.

“Don’t walk away from me, sweetheart. I wanna have a good time tonight.” 

Eyes at her hairline, Sophie spun around to face him. “The fuck did you just say to me, asshole?” 

“You heard me. Croweaters do as they’re fucking told around here.” 

Sophie rolled her shoulders. “Look, go find someone willing. No isn’t exactly a complicated word - means no.” 

When he reached forward again, Sophie’s patience was shot. She landed a right hook across his cheek, feeling her knuckle split on one of his teeth. Sucking a breath in through her teeth, she cursed. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but seeing the way the idiot’s face snapped to the side made it worth it.

“Go find Jax,” she heard Chibs tell someone. 

Her moment of distraction cost her. The guy backhanded her with enough force for her head to whip to the side. 

“Bastard!” 

Sophie spat on the ground. What kind of an idiot slapped someone in the middle of a fistfight?

Before she could return the favor, arms wrapped around her torso, pulling her back. Across from her, a lumberjack-looking guy with a beanie on his head had his arms wrapped around the idiot who thought no meant please touch me more. 

“Alright, lass, leave him be.” 

Thrashing in his hold, Sophie wanted nothing more than to cover her hands in his blood. “Let me go. Bastard needs to be taught a fucking lesson about respecting boundaries.” 

“Aye,” Chibs agreed. “That he does, but not by you. You got your shot.” 

She stopped struggling only to whirl around and poke her finger into his chest.

“That love tap I gave him?” 

Sophie knew she was screaming, knew she was likely making a scene, but she couldn’t stop herself. 

“Bastard grabbed my arm, then my ass, and took a grab at my breast all without my permission. He’s lucky I haven’t ripped his fucking balls off and shoved them up his ass.” 

She watched Chibs’ face darken the more she spoke, but before either of them could say anything else Jax, closely followed by Tig, came jogging up to the group.

“What the fuck?” Jax asked, eyes moving between Sophie and the guy. 

“Don’t know exactly what happened, man,” the lumberjack-looking man spoke. “But, your girl landed one hell of a punch on Shepard’s face before he backhanded her.” 

She watched Jax’s jaw work as he closed in on the guy who’d slapped her. “That right? You do that to her face?” 

“Never seen her around here before. Wanted a new piece of ass tonight.” 

Sophie started struggling in Chib’s arms again, and managed to slip his grip. Faster than Jax could stop her, she’d lunged forward and punched Shepard in the face and then the kidney. 

“Sophie!” Jax pulled her back. “Come on, stop.” 

He pulled her a few feet from the group, pressed her back against the wall and glared at her. 

“I’m not apologizing for beating the shit out of that fucking creep.” 

Jax shook his head, small grin on his face. “No one’s asking you to.” 

Sophie opened her mouth, but closed it. It hadn’t been the response she expected. 

Jax grabbed her chin and tilted her head to the side, noting the red mark on her cheek. 

“He do that to your face?” 

She nodded. “Asshole didn’t even have the decency to punch me. Little bitch slaps like a fucking girl.” 

Jax pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. 

Sophie released a deep breath. “Look, I know there are rules or whatever for the girls at these things, and I tried to get him to stop. If he’d just been drunk and handsy and left when I said no, it wouldn’t have been a big deal. But he followed me. I moved away, walked back to where Chibs and Tig were sitting, but he kept following me. No one touches me without my permission, Jax. No one.” 

He nodded. “No one should be touching you. I’m gonna go deal with that, and you’re going to stay with Chibs and Opie while I deal with it.” 

“Jax - ”

He narrowed his eyes. “I’m gonna deal with it, Sophie.” 

Searching his face, she saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw ticked. She nodded. “Make him bleed.” 

With a smile, Jax pulled back from where he’d crowded Sophie into the wall. “As you wish, darlin’.” 

Taking her hand, Jax led them back over to the table. By now, the boxers in the ring had stopped, and a large crowd gathered to where Opie still had Shepard restrained. 

“Jax?” Tig asked, a hopeful expression on his face.

Jax pulled Sophie closer to him, arm wrapped around her in a clearly possessive gesture. 

“He’s gonna pay for that bruise on my girl’s face.” 

“You’re choosing some croweater over me?” Shepard asked, voice incredulous. 

Jax tightened his grip on Sophie in warning. She forced herself to relax knowing he needed to handle this himself. Later, she’d have him explain the hierarchy of this whole thing to her. 

“She look like a croweater to you?” Tig asked, sounding actually curious. “Does she act like one? Use your brain, man.” 

Shaking his head, Jax glanced up at Opie. “Tape him up.” Turning to Tig, he grinned. “Take bets, boys.” 

Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, Tig placed a hand on his chest. “Love you, man.” 

Chibs handed Sophie a roll of tape. “Get him ready, lass.” 

Nodding, she turned to Jax and pointed to the picnic table. “Sit.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

She swatted at his arm. “I’m not an officer, but I might let you salute me later.” 

As Jax tugged his shirt over his head, she swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. He caught her watching and winked. 

“What the hell’s going on?”

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw an older man with a gray beard and a cigar in his mouth walking over to them. “I’m teaching the prospect a lesson about touching things that don’t belong to him.”  

Sophie wanted to snort because honestly, who the fuck said shit like that? Still, she enjoyed the way Jax’s voice went low and deep. She focused on wrapping his hands, making sure the tape would do its job to protect his hands. 

“Clay, this is Sophie, Sophie, this is Clay.” 

She smiled over her shoulder at him. “I’d shake your hand, but they’re a bit busy at the moment, but it’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

She heard Clay’s deep chuckle behind her. “Likewise.” 

“What’s going on?”

Sophie recognized Gemma’s voice. 

“Jax is gonna teach the prospects a little bit of a lesson tonight.” 

Even with her back to the woman, Sophie could feel the deep frown on Gemma’s face. Sophie finished wrapping Jax’s hands. Pulling back a bit she motioned for him to hold his hands out. 

“Test it.” 

She watched the way his hands moved as he flexed his hands. Nodding, she smoothed her fingers across the edges of the tape. 

“Looks good.” 

“You’ve done this before.” 

Sophie winked. “Once or twice.” 

Standing from the table, he walked over to the ring, Sophie on his heels. Before entering the ring, he turned and wrapped Sophie into his arms and kissed her like it was his dying wish. When he released her, she staggered back a couple of steps before she felt a gentle hand against her back. 

Glazing over her shoulder she smiled at Opie as he steadied her. 

“He likes you.” 

Sophie nodded. “You got that impression, too?”

“Yeah, it’s good to see him happy.”

The bald guy who’d been fighting earlier in the night entered the ring and gestured for both fighters to approach. 

“Let the ass-kicking begin.” 

He’d barely moved out of the way before Jax lunged at Shepard. She wanted to wince at the sound his fist made against the man’s face, but she couldn’t muster enough sympathy for it. Jax fought like a man possessed. Unlike the earlier fight, this was clearly not for entertainment. Seemed as though Jax decided to work out a few of his demons on Shepard. After a brutal combination of hits, Shepard managed to knock Jax back with a lucky southpaw. Sophie saw the grin on Jax’s face. Watched the sweat slide down his torso, noted the small cut on his eyebrow. Most of Shepard’s face was littered with bruising, and small cuts. Both men had blood on the tape on their hands. When Jax had Shepard on the mats, she grew concerned. He’d clearly won the fight, but if he kept going - 

“He’s gonna kill him.” 

“Happy won’t let that happen,” Opie responded. 

Sophie startled, not realizing she’d spoken out loud. Instead, she nodded dumbly, eyes fixed on the fight. It wasn’t that she held Shepard’s life as sacred or anything, but she didn't want Jax to commit murder in front of this many witnesses. Just when she was going to step in and put an end to it, she saw Happy pull Jax off the now unmoving body beneath him. She couldn't make out what he said, but he whispered something in Jax’s ear that had him relaxing. 

Around her, the crowd went wild with cheers, and many slapped Jax on the back as he left the ring, swagger in his step. She grinned as he closed in on her. 

“Hey, champ.” 

He smiled at her before turning to Clay, face serious. “He’s out. I’ll never vote that piece of shit into my club.” 

Clay took a puff from the cigar in his mouth before nodding, a pleased sort of pride in his eyes as he looked at Jax. “Whatever you say, VP.” 

Jax nodded. 

Clay looked at Sophie, something unreadable in his eyes. “Get him cleaned up.” 

Sophie nodded, knowing something important had just transpired, but without understanding the rules, she didn’t know exactly what. Whatever it was, she thought it was good. Jax swung his arm across Sophie’s shoulders and led them into the clubhouse. They maneuvered around couples in various states of sex before moving down a hallway in the back. He led her into a room that smelled like him, and looked as though no one had ever taught him how to clean. 

“Sit.” 

“You like giving me orders.” 

Sophie grinned. “Occupational habit.” 

She walked into the adjoining bathroom and soaked a washcloth in warm water before coming back into the room. As she’d asked, Jax sat on the bed, eyes hooded as he watched her move towards him. He spread his knees in invitation. Grinning, she moved to stand in front of him, and he brought his hands to rest on her hips. Letting him enjoy the feel of her body beneath his hands, she began to wipe the blood from his face. He hissed when she pressed against the cut at his eyebrow, but didn’t make a move to stop her. Quickly clearing the rest of the blood and the sweat from his face, she threw the towel to the ground before sinking her hands into his hair and tilting his head back. Unsure who moved first, their lips crashed together as his hands moved to lift her onto his lap. 

Sophie moaned into his mouth, loving the way his arms felt wrapped around her. Again, she thought this was all too fast, but when his fingers snuck under the hem of her shirt and began to lift it from her body, she quickly pushed the thought from her mind. Even if it was too fast, too soon - it was also too late. Might as well enjoy it before the other shoe dropped. Breaking apart so Jax could pull her shirt over her head, Sophie looked down at him, loved knowing she’d put that look on his face - the one that told her she was the only thing in the world that mattered to him in that moment. Before he could pull her bra off, she took his hands in hers. 

Kissing his tape-covered knuckles, she met his eyes. “Let me.” 

He nodded. Keeping her eyes on his, she slid from the bed onto the floor to kneel in front of him. She saw the way Jax’s throat worked as he swallowed, eyes dark with desire. Carefully, Sophie began to unwind the tape from his left hand. When it was free of tape, Jax moved to touch her, but she held a hand out, mock frown on her face. He pouted but offered her his right hand. She removed the tape more quickly this time. 

“You should ice them. Tape did a good job, but you really went to town on his face. Nothing’s gonna keep you from swelling and being sore tomorrow.” 

“Later.” 

“Jax - ”

“Later.” 

He hauled her up onto the bed and moved them towards the headboard, settling her against his body. Jax’s fingers teased up the exposed skin of her spine.

“Not packing?”

Sophie chuckled. “Always. Ankle holster. I was kinda hoping this blonde biker would want to wrap his arms around me. Didn’t want anything getting in the way.” 

Jax kissed her. She reveled in the feel of his skin against hers. The sweat on his torso cool between their bodies as she writhed on top of him. As his fingers once more reached for the clasp on her bra, a knock at the door drew them apart. 

“Zip it up,” Opie called through the door. “Bobby’s here. Clay wants you outside.” 

She felt Jax’s sigh as he threw his head back against the pillow. She muffled a laugh against his chest before pressing a kiss to his skin. 

“Gotta do what the boss says.” 

“Clay can fuck off.” 

Sophie laughed. “Come on. You and I both know they’ll just send someone else, and Tig doesn’t seem like the knock politely type.” 

Jax groaned. “Picked up on that?” 

Sophie slanted him a look. “Yeah, he’s real subtle.” 

Figuring he’d not get up on his own, she rolled from the bed and looked around for her shirt. Glancing over at Jax, he stood from the bed and ran a hand through his hair as he walked into the bathroom. She realized he didn’t have a shirt with him. 

“You keep spare clothes here?” 

“Yeah. Should be a clean shirt in the dresser.” 

She opened the drawers until she found the right one; she pulled out a white shirt with SAMCRO screen printed on it. Pulling it to her nose, she sniffed it just to be sure. It smelled like him, and, thankfully, it also smelled clean. When he came out, she tossed it at him and ignored how domestic the whole moment felt. Too much. Too soon. Too easy. 

“You coming?” Jax asked as he stood at the door. 

Sophie picked up her shirt. “I’ll meet you out there.” She paused and pointed at him. “Someone got blood on my shirt.” 

“Just grab one of mine, babe.” 

“Thanks. I’m still gonna see if I can get the blood out of this one. Go on. I’ll be fine.” 

Jax nodded. He stepped to her and kissed her gently before leaving the room. Sophie sighed and shook her head. Had Olivia felt like this? In the early days with Michael, had she been this overwhelmed? They’d met while Sophie had been deployed, and when she made it home, they were already pretty established. Even though Michael understood Olivia had been holding back, waiting for Sophie to meet him. He’d joked about being more nervous meeting her than he had been their parents. She’d just grinned because while her parents could be intimidating, Sophie could’ve killed him and he’d never have heard the bullet. 

Making her way into the bathroom, she glanced down at the shirt. It was a lost cause, and she hated washing blood out of things. Better just to burn it and move on, but she also hated shopping for clothes - especially without Olivia here to go with her, or more specifically to make her go at all. 

“Fuck it.” 

Sophie tossed the shirt in the trash can she saw under the sink before walking back to the dresser. She pulled another one of Jax’s shirts from the drawer. This one was dark blue with SONS screen printed across the front. Sliding it over her head, she sucked in a deep breath, loving the way the shirt smelled. After all the posturing outside, she should feel something she thought. Some sort of feminist bullshit about belonging to a man, but she didn’t because the feeling didn’t suck. 

Closing the door behind her, she walked down the hallway towards the main room of the clubhouse. She saw Gemma at the bar. Sophie watched her eyes widen ever so slightly before her lips pursed into a thin line. Maybe wearing Jax’s shirt wasn’t such a good idea. It wouldn't have been the first time she’d wandered around with someone else’s blood staining her clothes.

“Still haven’t worked out what you’re doing here,” Gemma began as she pulled the tops off of two beers. 

Sophie took the hint and moved to the counter. Taking the offered beer, she saluted with the neck before taking a swallow. 

“You’re clearly not one of them - ” Gemma gestured to the various women scattered around the room having what appeared to be a good time with the available men. “Even without his crow you act like his Old Lady and you don’t even know it.” 

Setting the beer down, Sophie met Gemma’s gaze. “I’m not gonna sit here and insult you by pretending I understood the details of what you just told me, but I know a hierarchy when I see one. Regardless of what position I do or don’t hold on it - no one has a free pass to my body unless I want them to. That’s not what I came here for.”

“Seemed just fine with my son having a free pass to your body.” 

Sophie smirked. “He’s got good hands.” 

Gemma smirked. “I think you’ll be just fine, but you might want to avoid punching any more guys in kuttes.”

Sophie held her hands out. “So long as they keep their hands to themselves, we have no problems.” 

“This club,” Gemma said. “It’s Jackson’s life. It’s in his blood.” 

Sophie frowned. “I know. But, it’s been like a week. Don’t be picking out China patterns just yet. What I feel for him it’s intense, but it’s also new.”

Gemma lit a cigarette. “Does it scare you?” 

“Of course it does. Scares the shit out of me,” Sophie answered. “It’s real.”

Part 6

Master List

[ace-and-ink]

i’m fine with gore but that poem made me want to puke. it might’ve been the body or it might’ve been the boy. how he touched her insides on the outside and never asked. and sure, she let him, but surely he could see that she trusted him and he still made her the villain for hiding the best parts of herself and the way she kept them from his hands. every day i thank something up there that i never let them touch me like that. the way they brag about being touched. and it’s a cool, cool party, i hope i don’t come back again. and i wanna use a big word and make you think i’m a good writer. i wanna paint an image that’s as visceral as a car wreck and make you squirm like it’s your organs being fondled. yet still she doesn’t turn the speaker off. we’re not just sharing our voices anymore. she’s sitting on the corner of her bed and i’m howling. the lyrics are pouring from my throat like the bile they fed to me without feeding me. the wall is a hypothetical that may not have touched me yet but i can see that it might’ve. maybe she doesn’t turn the speaker down and hears my raw chords to hear my bleeding and coughing chest. maybe she turns the speaker up and keeps me from tainting the song any further. all the women in my class cross their legs. all the dudes slouch in their chair and spread their legs. i can look the part, but i can’t hide the queer. call me L. call me A. call me NB. call me Q for short. she nodded along when the sexualization of bisexuals was brought up. i want to sit down in front of her and ask “What are you? What are you? What are you? Is it my place to know? Would i understand if you told me? Do i have a chance with you?” is what i really want to ask. if i could say what i meant would they get it. would it be worth the isolation. drunk boys in ice cream shops. i wrote about them as a warm-up. i’m tired of them. it’s not their job to know right away but that doesn’t mean i can’t be annoyed. i haven’t gone out to get it in a while. she promised she was sober as she pulled a bottle of wine from her purse. tired. that’s what i always am. of having too much time. of not having enough. of certain people. of coughing so close to me. of not having certain people. of the thought of certain people. of never having the balls to man up and ask. just literally tired. no sleep is enough. i wish i knew how to end this poem. poems don’t have neat endings. that was lesson one. it ends when it needs to end. but art’s never really finished. the majority of playwriting is rewriting. so i guess i’ll keep talking. i said three sentences. six words. my heart was beating out of my chest. i’m not allowed to use abstractions, so i hope this is literal enough: i realized my dad was right when he said i needed to be on his anxiety meds “just to take the edge off.” i want to be able to write about someone the way Lucy Dacus does in Home Video. Hang Me Like Jesus still fucks me up. i don’t cry to Damocles anymore but i wrote about it the other day. i like rocks and rock. and rats. and women. i’m half on youtube half in my notes and now my phone is burning up. i tried typing “phone is” and my phone number came up in auto suggestions. how did this poem start again. how did we get here. do we like it here. do we want to stay here. i think i like it here. i’m never sure of anything.

— a practice in line breaks and not making sense

[faulty-heat-vents]

//Narrative communication established. [ASSIST: COURSE-CORRECT]> RE-ESTABLISHING NARRATIVE TRACE. [your story will continue|it is by grace alone you persist]

No blackouts or double-edged words on the way back. All Ashton has as company during his walk is the mech-shop’s cacophony- so natural that his mind doesn’t even spare it the resources. Instead, it burrows in on itself like a pillbug, looping over and over the visions he saw during his nightmares.

He was right- that gore-painted chassis in space was a Monarch. He hadn’t guessed it was his- or rather, a previous Ashton’s. He also hadn’t guessed about its destruction method.

The dream before was a freeze-frame, looking in. Looking out and seeing a laser shear through reality and pierce your cockpit… he never thought he’d remember it. 

Did he think about remembering it at all? Had the concept of that death ever crossed his mind before he saw it?

He can’t remember.

Thermie’s voice cuts through his mind-haze just as sharply as the Unraveller-

 //[THERMALLY_CHALLENGED]:

Movement suggests Pilot has awakened. Welcome back. You have [0] reply-less messages. You have [ERROR: MISSING VALUE.] unread messages.

You have [2] unopened parcels, both of which contain pastries from Omninet denizens. Both have been cleared by Biohazard and Forensics for consumption, and are located inside of your cold-storage locker.

//CORRESPONDENCE: ASHTON-212:

thanks thermie. omw rn

The message is brief, tapped out on the inside of his bracer while walking. Eyes down, mind drifting. 

His path leads him to the armory. Wrong place.

Wait, Ashton thinks to himself. Indigo told me to investigate my weapons. I left that auto rifle down here. Wonder if…

Sure enough, it was- one GMS T-1 automatic assault rifle, freshly-printed and unattended at the testing tables. Waiting.

Up close, the weapon is massive- easily weighing as much as Ashton himself. Each panel along its side is brutal and simplistic, printed with universal compatibility in mind. Ash slides the breech open with considerable -yet necessary- force, exposing its vacant firing and magwell chambers. 

I shouldn’t be doing this without my armor. Command would skin me alive…

He looks up to the empty range around him-

But one little firing test shouldn’t hurt. It’s a GMS rifle- damn things are perfect out of the box, right?

With a determined chirp, he gets to work- first finding a spare Main mount dummy, then hoisting the weapon onto it and buckling it down. As is typical for its make and model, the gun satisfyingly clicks right into place. 

Whatever-above, bless GMS.

Interfacing with GMS tech is as simple as installing it- a single robust cord with interchangeable male prongs, socketed directly into the firing control of its attached machine. Ashton threads the cable to the testing terminal and begins the booting sequence, quickly jumping up to correct the rifle’s aim downrange before the internals spin up. 

A deep breath, then-

>DISENGAGE SAFETY? Y/N >Y [enter] >AUTOMATIC TARGETING SYSTEMS INITIALIZING. PLEASE WAIT.

…Wait, automatic targeting? That’s not stock sta-

BRRRT

The rifle kicks to life, sending its mount dummy reeling backwards. A volley of rounds sprays from its muzzle like a severed artery. The air reeks of accelerant and burning metal as the assembly twitches in animalistic death-throes.

“SHIT! SHIT SHIT SHIT SHI-”

Ashton lunges from his command post, tackling the wild gun to the ground and yanking its connection cable from the receiver. Horrifically, the weapon keeps firing- exhausting all energy inside of its artificial body to maintain the stream of lead. Ashton flips his pack-ax out of its holster and hacks wildly at the assembly’s vital organs, trying in vain to shut it down. 

Time slows. 

A flash crests the edge of his vision- then weaves its way right in front of his face.

For a single breath, one lone bullet hovers directly between his eyes. In the next, it finds itself buried in the faceplate of the target dummy downrange.

The rifle spits out a burst of ammunition before running dry. It clicks, clicks, clicks- over and over before Ashton drives the axe inside its receiver with both hands, finally dealing a killing blow to the plasteel monstrosity.

----

Ashton can barely hear over the ringing in his unprotected ears. He most certainly doesn’t hear the thudding of boots coming his way, nor the voices of Security yelling at each other. He barely registers the hands on his shoulders before they hoist him aloft.

Commander Oracle storms into the room, diadem and third eye flashing neon green as they scan Ashton’s recent memories.

“CADET G-212, STAND DOWN!” they roar.

“Bit hard to do with these tanks grabbing me by the scruff, Oracle!”

“That’s Commander Oracle to you right now. What in the Sham Hells were you THINKING, Cadet?! Unsanctioned, unprotected firing of an uninspected firearm, alone?!”

Ashton squirms in the Security officers’ grip, to no avail. “I was just checking to see if it was printed right!”

“Like HELL you were- and breaking every protocol in the book while you were at it!” 

Oracle kicks the broken weapon with their boot, sending a thud echoing through the range… tailed by a squelch.

Everyone freezes, then slowly trails their collective heads down. The left guard’s hand shakes and falls from Ash’s arm, leaving him to dangle from the other over the growing puddle.

Leaking from the mangled corpse of the T-1 automatic assault rifle is blood- red, quickly-coagulating blood. The weapon’s exposed, fleshy insides cough up more intermittently as its witnesses stand frozen in horror and disgust.

“It- it wasn’t like that when I killed it,” Ashton stutters. His voice hitches as he tries to hold back his nausea.

The guard to his left breaks their resolve much easier, turning away to be sick. Ashton looks to Oracle, whose face has taken a similar shade of pale green to their dimmed diadem. They swallow back their own unease and get back in character-

“Security, restrict this range. I’m contacting Biohazard and Forensics as we speak. G-212, you’re going to answer my questions with utmost honesty and brevity. No word-dancing. Out, now.”

“Yes, Commander Oracle.”

----

“Then you guys showed up, and now we’re here.”

Ashton crouches beside Oracle, poking at the now-very-dead-and-toasty “gun” with a screwdriver. Oracle places a hand on their chin in thought, then speaks-

“Ashton. You know how this looks.”

“I know, I know.” Ash tosses the screwdriver back into its home pail of tools. “A1 did the same damn thing with that Gorgon.”

“No. You talk like an NHP, pass out, see yourself dying over and over again, and then book it towards your gun filled with flesh. If the rest of the Administration saw this, I’d be fired- and you’d be fired upon.”

Ashton makes a face. “What do you suggest we do, then?”

“...”

“Ori?”

“Field it.”

Ashton wheels on a paw with surprise, jaw wide agape. No words manage to form- just shocked squeaks.

Oracle continues- “You heard me, Cadet. Patch this thing up. See if it works. It did pretty damn good here.”

“What the fuck do you mean?! It went ballistic and shot everywhe-”

“Look.” 

Oracle raises a finger and points at the target downrange. A pair of clean holes are punched through its head and heart, no marks anywhere else. No marks on the walls either. 100% accuracy.

“Take this slag to Ciryn and nurse it back. I’ll talk Biohazard into letting it go. If everything goes to shit on the field, it’s on your head again. Last chance.”

“I… thank you, Oracle.”

“Commander Oracle,” they correct again. “And don’t thank me. I’m sending you into the next deployment with this fucking thing on your mech. Spend that gratitude on safety precautions.”

Not much else to say. Oracle whistles and spins two fingers in the air, motioning for everyone to move out.

Ashton stays behind, seated next to the charred remains of the smartgun. 

Maybe it’s the dim lights of the range. Maybe it’s Oracle’s diadem reflecting the hangar above. Maybe it’s lingering embers.

Or maybe the optic winks at him.

[theretirementstory]

13/10/2024. Bonjour and bienvenue from my garden. The past two summers have seen the garden neglected due to my ill health, ok so the gardener and my neighbour mowed the grass but nothing was done with the borders. I had plans for these areas but having neither the strength nor the time (due to appointments) these plans were shelved. The gardener this year has been mowing the weeds (and plants 😳) down in the borders, which was very kind but I needed the weeds covered to avoid them growing in the first place! Anyway, this week, a new lease of life came over me and out I went to lay cardboard and bark onto these areas. Now this is not as simple as it sounds, as due to low platelets, I had to be careful that using the scissors (can’t use a Stanley knife) to cut the cardboard didn’t result in a blister. Even wearing gardening gloves this can still easily happen. So it has been slow and steady progress.

As well as grabbing 40 minutes here and there I have still had the “normal” tasks to contend with. The nurse coming in three mornings this week to clean and dress PICC line, administer injections and take blood.

These jobs have specific days, hence three times a week. Due to the unpredictable weather no washing was done until yesterday, which fortunately dried outside.

Pauline came to see me on Monday, I had been quite involved in my jigsaw so it was a nice break to sit and chat. She arrived with a mega downpour of rain, plus a bag full of apples courtesy of grandma’s garden. Grandma had also let her come in her car. While chatting she told me her grandma isn’t keen to let her use the car, she can’t understand why as she has only scraped it a couple of times 🙈. She had a job interview on Wednesday but unfortunately was unsuccessful this time.

I had my hair appointment on Tuesday and the walk into town was lovely. Obviously I don’t have a lot of hair yet but it was starting to look “frizzy” so I wanted that sorted out, which my wonderful coiffeuse did. I called and did my shopping on the way back home, so killing two birds with one stone. I couldn’t settle in the afternoon so went outside to sort the cardboard for the potager and used the off cuts to cover some of the weedy ground in the back and put the bark on top. I was proud of my achievement.

So this has been the theme for Wednesday and Thursday. In between the rain showers I have been busy working on the borders.

Anie messaged on Thursday evening to see if she could come down, she had some apples for me. Yes folks, more apples! There is only so much stewed apple, apple crumble etc that one can eat and the freezer is filling up with bags of apple slices. Anyway it is very kind.

Friday saw me in Troyes for my transfusion and the less said about that the better! I will just add that at this point in time I don’t have an appointment for next week 😫.

With one jigsaw finished it was time to start on another. I would have liked to just sit and work at it yesterday, but I had a list of jobs to be done. The only things that were done were washing, phoning my elderly cousin in London and taking her shopping order for a quick delivery. Plus in a final flurry I managed to peel, core and stew the apples Anie had brought me.

I could spend my days ringing friends and family and although it’s good to talk it can be a strain when I have other jobs to do. It’s the same with messages, don’t get me wrong I love hearing from people but I really need to do a list so that I reply to people and not forget anyone!

I still haven’t done the letter to the “knitting group” so that’s another job to be done. I did take the car for a drive around the estate yesterday, also moved some items from the garage, put a few things back in and discovered that there isn’t anymore cardboard in there 😫, that means I need to call into the paint and auto body shop to see if I can have a couple of boxes that have had windscreens in. They can only say no, can’t they?

Here is the music section, again the songs are pretty old but as always it’s either the words or music (or both) that have touched my heart. The first song, from 1970 is Mama Told Me Not To Come, by Three Dog Night. The second song is also from 1970 it’s Lady Eleanor by Lindisfarne.

If you are wondering where my family slot is this week, well I am giving them a break. I am sure there has been lots of activity with work etc but I am giving them a weekend off.

I am working out which neighbour/friend I need to do my shopping tomorrow. I do need to walk to the shop for some items myself today but I will also need milk and bottled water which I can’t carry. Monique has had a cold and to “keep me safe” has stayed away again. However she is hoping to visit this week.

An early start today, no sleeping in like yesterday morning. I have a dinner to cook, just four more apples to sort out either for stewing or slicing for the freezer. There is a condolence card to be sent to a cousin in the UK who lost her husband on Friday evening. A card for a friend as a surprise, and of course the letter for the knitting group. Plus the jigsaw is calling.

Photos: part of the cardboard and bark on the borders. Plus the completed jigsaw.

[shamelessrabbithole]

If you've been following me for a while, you know how much I enjoy a good screen-match moment. I've been interested in the Foxbody production from the start and have found it really frustrating not to be able to identify the autobody shop where they filmed the dance scene. I can tell that it's propped with old-fashioned signage and even these red cabinets are uncommon because they are specific to the Ford brand motor company and to find any intact to purchase or rent is hard because they're collector's items.

Anyway, since for the life of me, I can't find this particular film set, I thought I might look for the car. And, I think I tracked it down. Cam would have rented it from the Picture Car Warehouse in Vallejo, California. It's is a 1985 Ford Mustang convertible and rents for $450 a day. The main difference that I can see is that the headrests have either been replaced or removed. But otherwise, both cars have very similar details, including auto-body damage.

The hood paint seen here has a similar wear pattern. 👇🏻

The hubcaps are a match. 👇🏻

Same streak of silver or gray on the bumper in the same corner spot on the side of the car that has a Ford ornament. 👇🏻

Same small ding on the edge of the black part of the driver's door. 👆🏻

I feel like he might've taken off or replaced the headrests, maybe because they interfered with the shot otherwise. Or the original ones were too beat up, though, in a movie like Cam's it would seem like the more beat up, the better. I dunno.

It also looks like he changed the lampshades and bedspread in this scene, so he might've taken similar liberties with the car, too. 👆🏻

[mlleclaudine]

Born into slavery, he rose to the top of France’s art world

by Sebastian Smee - The Washington Post, July 12, 2024

Guillaume Lethière’s epic life is the subject of a stunning new exhibition, in the U.S. before it travels to the Louvre.

Guillaume Lethière, “Woman Leaning on a Portfolio,” circa 1799. (Frank E. Graham/Worcester Art Museum/Bridgeman Images)

WILLIAMSTOWN, Mass. — During the most tumultuous period in France’s modern history, Guillaume Lethière was one of its most venerated artists. His story is epic. Charles Dickens or Alexandre Dumas (who delivered a eulogy at Lethière’s funeral) would have struggled to make it sound credible. Pity me, your poor reviewer.

He was the third child (“Le Thière” is French for “the third”) of an enslaved, mixed-race woman and a White plantation owner. Today, his paintings — some of them cinematic in scale — can be found in museums in the United States and Europe, including the Louvre, and also in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. Among his smaller works is one of the most tender and beautiful portraits I know.

Don’t feel bad if you’ve never heard of him. But be aware that in Guadeloupe, where he was born in 1760, Lethière has long been celebrated. According to Esther Bell, the curator of an extraordinary new exhibition about Lethière, there is an auto-body repair shop in the coastal town of Sainte-Anne bearing the name “Guillaume Lethière.” Nearby, in the center of a busy rotary in the French neighborhood — previously the site of the plantation whereLethière grew up — is a huge steel sculpture in the shape of an artist’s palette alongside two enormous paintbrushes. Shapes cut out of the steel reveal the face of Lethière as he looked in an 1815 drawing by his pupil, the great neoclassical artist Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres.

This summer, you might see Lethière’s loveliest portrait (scholars think it probably depicts his stepdaughter, Eugénie Servières, herself an accomplished artist) blown up on highway billboards advertising “Guillaume Lethière” at the Clark Art Institute in Williamstown, Mass., through Oct. 14. The exhibition will travel to the Louvre in November.

Guillaume Lethière, “Lafayette Introducing Louis-Philippe to the People of Paris,” 1830-1831. (Tokyo Fuji Art Museum/Bridgeman Images)

Researched and developed over many years by Bell, the Clark’s deputy director and chief curator, with Olivier Meslay, the museum’s director, and accompanied by a 432-page catalogue, the exhibition tells the story of Lethière’s improbable life.

To understand his significance, it’s not enough just to look at his paintings and drawings — although these are very good and earned him accolades aplenty during his lifetime. You need to consider his own complicated proximity to the world-historical events through which he lived.

Born into slavery (or so it’s assumed, given his parentage and the telling absence of baptismal records), Lethière was brought to France by his father, the French king’s public prosecutor in Guadeloupe, in 1774, when he was 14. He began training as an artist in Rouen. Thanks to his father’s influence, he was already close to serious power by his late teens.

Guillaume Lethière, “Académie,” 1782 (Beaux-Arts de Paris/RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource, New York)

But of course, staying close to power is not easy when the personnel keeps changing. Like others of his generation, Lethière had to steer a course through the last days of the Ancien Régime, the French Revolution, the Terror, the rise of Napoleon Bonaparte, European conquest, imperial collapse, a brief Bonapartist revival, a restored monarchy, and finally, just before Lethière’s death in 1832, a constitutional monarchy.

What makes him uniquely interesting is that he managed all this while also navigating the shifting implications of his illegitimate, mixed-race origins in Guadeloupe.

Lethière was neither smarmy nor sycophantic, but he knew how to ingratiate himself to others. He “won the esteem and friendship of everyone by his honesty, his politeness, and a frank and loyal character that never wavered,” wrote Francois-Guillaume Ménageot, the director of the French Academy.

Alexandre Clément, after Louis-Léopold Boilly, “Reunion of Artists,” 1804. Guillaume Lethière is shown at center. (Clark Art Institute)

Lethière and his mother, Marie-Françoise Pepeye, were both emancipated by his father, Pierre Guillon. But it was many years before changes to the law allowed Guillon to recognize Lethière as his son. Lethière and his sister were named as Guillon’s heirs around the time Napoleon seized power in 1799.

Even so, years later, Lethière had to defend himself against an embarrassing challenge by a distant cousin, who claimed he was the rightful heir. This was in 1819, when the artist was at the height of his renown. The courts eventually found in Lethière’s favor — but not before humiliating references in the press to the esteemed painter’s “naive and modest genealogy.”

Louis-Léopold Boilly, “Guillaume Lethière and Carle Vernet” circa 1798. (Stéphane Maréchal/Palais des Beaux-Arts de Lille/RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource, New York)

Moral and political complexities choked almost every aspect of Lethière’s life. There’s no doubt, for instance, that he was an abolitionist. And yet he benefited financially from his father’s plantation, which depended on enslaved labor.

Although Lethière never returned to the Caribbean, he cared deeply about the fate of its people. He supported the revolution in Haiti, which began in 1791, just before the French monarchy was abolished, and welcomed the French government’s decision, in 1794, to end slavery in all its territories.

When, eight years later, Napoleon reinstated slavery in the colonies, brutally suppressing an attempt at resistance in Guadeloupe, Lethière was surely disappointed. But by now he was in with the Bonapartes. He painted portraits of, among others, Napoleon’s Caribbean-born wife, the Empress Joséphine, and hitched his fortunes to Lucien Bonaparte, Napoleon’s brother.

Guillaume Lethière, “Joséphine, Empress of the French,” 1807. (Franck Raux/Musée national des châteaux de Versailles et de Trianon/RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource, New York)

In 1807, Lethière’s friendship with Lucien Bonaparte led directly to his appointment as director of the French Academy in Rome — an immensely prestigious post. There he reinvigorated the academy andoversaw the training of dozens of France’s best artists — among them Ingres, who made a series of stunning drawings of Lethière’s family (included in the show), and a female pupil, Antoinette Cécile Hortense Lescot, who went on to exhibit more than 100 paintings in the Paris Salon.

Ancient Rome was of intense interest not only to France’s revolutionaries, who looked to republican Rome as a model, but also to Napoleon, who of course saw more upside for himself in Rome’s imperial period. Art played a huge role in establishing these lines of pedigree.

Guillaume Lethière, “Brutus Condemning His Sons to Death,” circa 1788. (Clark Art Institute)

The French Revolution had broken out while Lethière was a student at the same academy in Rome. At the time, inspired by his environs, he worked on a major canvas, “Brutus Condemning His Sons to Death.” In a carefully structured, frieze-like composition, he depicted the founder of the Roman republic, Lucius Junius Brutus, looking on stoically as his sons, who had plotted to restore a monarchy, are decapitated.

Lethière returned repeatedly to this subject and to another episode from ancient Rome, “The Death of Virginia.” We can perhaps imagine the painting’s special significance for him when we understand that its subject — a father killing his daughter, at her own request — hinges on the dishonor of being enslaved.

Guillaume Lethière, “The Death of Virginia,” circa 1823-1828. (Rebecca Vera-Martinez/ J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles)

Versions of both paintings enjoyed great success when they were exhibited in Rome and London. But in Paris, tastes were changing, and by the 19th century’s second decade, romanticism was on the rise. Lethière’s neoclassical style began to fall out of favor.

Winning the 1819 inheritance case seems to have inspired Lethière to turn his attention back to the Caribbean, and in 1822 he painted one of his most audacious canvases — an enormous (approximately 11 by 7 feet) painting owned by the Musée du Panthéon National Haitien in Port-au-Prince. It shows two generals, one mixed-race and the other Black, swearing an oath to fight together for the freedom and independence of the people of Saint-Domingue (now Haiti).

Guillaume Lethière, “Oath of the Ancestors,” 1822. (Gérard Blot/Musée du Panthéon National Haïtien, Port-au-Prince)

After a risky and clandestine sea voyage, Lethière’s son personally delivered the painting to Haiti’s President Jean-Pierre Boyer in Port-au-Prince. Two years later, France’s Charles X grudgingly recognized Haiti — but only in return for an indemnity payment that would cripple the young nation for decades.

Unfortunately, the recent civil strife in Haiti has prevented the painting from traveling to the United States. Lethière himself intended the painting for a Haitian audience and, according to Bell, who has tastefully installed a reproduction of it in the exhibition, it “encapsulates Lethière’s fidelity to his place of origin.”

The Clark show immerses us in several decades of political tumult that continue to reverberate today. It has much to say about other French artists and writers with ties to the Caribbean. So it is much more than just a monographic exhibition. For all the stately arrangement of the Clark’s galleries and the superficial stiffness of Lethière’s neoclassical style, the exhibit is like a pinwheeling firecracker, blazing out light, knowledge and cultural energy, and deepening our understanding of a remarkable inheritance.

Guillaume Lethière Through Oct. 14 at the Clark Art Institute in Williamstown, Mass., and then at the Louvre in Paris from Nov. 13 through Feb. 17. clarkart.edu.

[the-stage-manager]

Hey, @paperback-rascal I've got an OC who I think would do really well in the 347th! Tell me what you think:

His name is Wyrm. He was formerly a sniper who served in a yet-unnamed squad in the 212th battalion. He's obsessed with mandalas, he destresses by filling pages and pages of scrap paper with intricate mandalas. He's got them tattooed all up his arms and legs, with smaller designs on his chin and forehead.

He's an excellent pickpocket and an even better hustler, and he likes to spend his leave cheating at sabaac or space-poker or space-darts, and stealing candy from shops. He spends all his money on art supplies, not only because he goes through a lot of materials when drawing, but has a tendency to give out art supplies to younger clones who are stressed or traumatized after missions. He doesn't have much of a sweet tooth, so the stolen candy is either given to other troopers who could use a pick-me-up, or traded for armor paint.

His armor is covered in mandalas, and the patterns are constantly changing. Again, painting them helps him destress, so he has no problem scrapping off or painting over older sections. While his armor is mostly 212th Gold, if he's working with another battalion, he'll trade his contraband candy for paint, so he ends up with a leg plate covered in 501st blue and a vembrance in 104th maroon.

The war is going great for him. He gets promoted, he works hard (he wants to be an ARC trooper someday—who doesn't?) And then everything falls apart. He's captured by the separatists and spends months in a POW camp in horrific conditions. He keeps waiting to be rescued, but nobody comes. By sheer luck, he manages to escape with a handful of other clones, and they contact the Republic. When they're picked up, Wyrm's primary concern is contacting his squad to let them know that he's alive—only to find out that his squad was completely wiped out during the battle and he, himself, was listed as KIA, which is why nobody looked for him.

He spends the next couple of months in rehabilitation—he's severely underweight and riddled with internal parasites—but he never gets cleared for duty because his eyesight has suddenly started to rapidly deteriorate, seemingly without cause, and his hands shake uncontrollably, again, seemingly without cause. Tests reveal that the deterioration of his vision is being caused by an auto-immune disease, but his shaking hands are completely psychosomatic. Unable to shoot and unable to draw, he withdraws.

When I originally created this character, his story ended tragically, either by suicide, or after attempting to assassinate General Kenobi in revenge. But I've changed my mind. That isn't what I want for him anymore.

I've been reading this book called The Body Keeps The Score, and it's been enlightening. One of my favorite passages reads as follows:

"[Describing a test where traumatized children were shown pictures of benign scenes, as asked to tell a story describing what was happening in the picture.] The responses of the clinic children were alarming. The most innocent images stirred up intense feelings of danger, aggression, sexual arousal, and terror. These images were not selected because they had some hidden meaning that sensitive people could uncover; they were ordinary images of everyday life. We could only conclude that for abused children, the whole world is filled with triggers. As long as they can imagine only disastrous outcomes to relatively benign situations, anybody walking into a room, any stranger, any image, on a screen or a billboard might be perceived as a harbinger of catastrophe. In this light the bizarre behavior of the kids at the children's clinic made perfect sense.

Real-world studies are gathering more and more evidence of a definitive link between trauma, PTSD, and auto-immune disorders. The book also discusses the impact of the pharmacological revolution of victims of trauma. New studies are finding that SSRIs and other antidepressants are very rarely effective on people suffering from PTSD, because the source of the problem isn't chemical in nature.

"To my amazement, staff discussions on the unit rarely mentioned the horrific real-life experiences of the children and the impact of those traumas on their feelings, thinking, and self-regulation. Instead, their medical records were filled with diagnostic labels: "conduct disorder" or "oppositional defiant disorder" for the angry and rebellious kids; or "bipolar disorder". ADHD was a "comorbid" diagnosis for almost all. Was the underlaying trauma being obscured by this blizzard of diagnoses?"*

"Trauma victims cannot recover until they become familiar with and befriend the sensations in their bodies. Being frightened means that you live in a body that is always on guard. Angry people live in angry bodies. The bodies of child-abuse victims are tense and defensive until they find a way to relax and feel safe. In order to change, people need to become aware of their sensations and the way that their bodies interact with the world around them. Physical self-awareness is the first step in releasing the tyranny of the past.

In my practice I begin the process by helping my patients to first notice and then describe the feelings in their bodies—not emotions such as anger or anxiety or fear but the physical sensations beneath the emotions: pressure, heat, muscular tension, tingling, caving in, feeling hollow, and so on. I also work on identifying the sensations associated with relaxation or pleasure. I help them become aware of their breath, their gestures and movements.

All too often, however, drugs such as Abilify, Zyprexa, and Seroquel, are prescribed instead of teaching people the skills to deal with such distressing physical reactions. Of course, medications only blunt sensations and do nothing to resolve them or transform them from toxic agents into allies.

The mind needs to be reeducated to feel physical sensations, and the body needs to be helped to tolerate and enjoy the comforts of touch. Individuals who lack emotional awareness are able, with practice, to connect their physical sensations to psychological events. Then they can slowly reconnect with themselves."

That is not, of course, to say that medications shouldn't be used at all; they can help lessen the intensity of emotions, making the process of healing less traumatic. After all, it's easier to learn to walk again, if the prosthetic isn't actively causing you pain. However, medication alone is not effective in treating trauma.

I think Wyrm would make an excellent member of the 347th, who specializes in advocating for and treating traumatized soldiers. He specializes in soldiers with anger-management problems, dissociation, self-mutilation. With some training, he could be an excellent mind healer, and he could be invaluable when it comes to treating patients who suffer from psychosomatic illnesses.

Consider this Wyrm's application to join your battalion. I just like the world you've created and I'd like to be a part of it.

[astartothemoon]

Boys! Boys! Boys! II Steve II

Summary: Steve is given his dad’s auto repair shop after Mr. Harrington up and leaves Hawkins. Things go semi-great and soon enough Steve and his coworkers (Eddie and Billy) need to come up with a plan to earn some money on the side to keep the shop going. Good thing they are all hot and willing to put on a show. Stripper!AU

This is part 1 of 3 - Steve’s part 

Pairing: Steve Harrington x female Reader (nicknamed reader, little use of Y/N)

Trigger Warning: Swearing. Mention of alcohol. Mention of food. Mention of sexual acts but no full on smut. This is a stripper AU. Billy Hargrove is mentioned in this part though he’s barely in it.

Wordcount: 8.8k

A/N:  Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please

Not a single soul in the small town of Hawkins was particularly surprised when Thomas Harrington finally had enough, sold his car dealership, and went off to go live with his second not-so-secret family somewhere in Oregon. Least of all his son Steve.

What came as quite a shock though, was the letter the Harrington patriarch left behind. The one that said sorry, to Steve not to his wife, and that came with the ownership papers of Harrington Auto repairs, the auto body shop that his dad had acquired a while back but never got around to opening. The one that was meant to go hand in hand with the dealership.

"I know you're good with cars and bad at selling things, so have the garage instead of the dealership. If you want to open it, that would make me proud and if you want to sell it, that's okay too. It's yours."

As much as Steve hated to admit it, his dad was right and he probably knew him better than Steve had ever realized. He was good with cars but an absolute failure when it comes to selling stuff to people. Ice cream, family video membership cards, himself. He'd never get anyone to buy a freaking car.

He could fix them though. And he knew people who do too. People who needed jobs. People he wants to strangle at the best of times but that he calls his friends anyway.

Eddie was easy to rope in, the boy was as excitable as a golden retriever. And while he wasn't super enthusiastic about working a full-time job, the pay and the fact that he got to work on cars all day made it worth it for him.

Billy was a bit harder of a case to crack. Him and Steve having a bit of a strained relationship was the first obstacle. The second was the fact that Billy was a bit of an asshole. Self-centered, with an ego the size of a small country, vain, and a little bit aggressive.

But Billy was good. He knew a shit ton about cars and how to fix even the worst of the worst.  

It took a lot of groveling from Steve. A promise of good pay and the agreement to rent out the flat above the garage to him for Billy to come on board.

That was two years ago. Two years of hard work. Of sweat and (secret) tears and fighting and celebrating. Two hard but good years.

Things have changed - for better and worse.

Billy is less of an asshole now. He still has his moment but his anger doesn't cloud all of his judgment anymore. Now he's mostly just a smartass with a big ego. It's crazy what getting a kid out of a bad home can do. 

At this point, Steve might even consider him a good friend, though he'll never admit it. Ever.

That's the change for the better.

The shop though, that's barely scraping by. Bills are at an all-time high. Customers come in but with the low prices and relying mostly on locals, funds are limited.

"Eddie, that looks great!" Steve's voice echoes through the room. His eyes are fixed on the shiny blue Mercedes, an intricate silver design painted onto its side.

Turns out Eddie is not just a great mechanic but an artist on top. What started as a fun way to pass the time and something that Eddie had expected to stay a fully self-indulgent hobby, has quickly turned into a somewhat lucrative extra income for the garage.

"Yeah? I got these new spray paints in. The silver really pops against the dark blue."

"Looks great, man" Steve exclaims and gives the man an appreciative pat on the back, earning him a grin in return. Eddie thrives on praise. Golden retriever that he is.

"Hey, have you seen Hargrove? I need to know if Mrs. Hackman's Escort will be done this week.

"Oh, it's done." There's a teasing edge in Eddie's voice that both amuses and terrifies Steve.

"He fixed it already? I thought he was aiming for the end of the week. Wow, that was quick."

"Mmh, " Eddie responds and nods his head in the direction of the front desk where Billy is happily talking to the aforementioned Mrs. Hackman. He's got that saccharine smile on display, all teeth and dimples. All fake.

If there is one thing undeniable about Billy Hargrove, it's the fact that he is disarmingly charming. With his blue eyes and golden locks, he turns everyone's head. Man or woman.

Especially women though. Middle-aged ones to be exact. Like Mrs. Hackman. 

And when at first he kind of hated it. Felt used and dirty and uncomfortable with it, Billy has long ago realized that there's some money to make there. A smile means a tip, some flirting means an even bigger tip.

It's all pros and cons in life you just have to decide what outweighs the other.

Eddie lets out a huff, blowing a strand of curls away from his face. It's a terribly hot summer in Indiana this year. All, clothes sticking to your skin and air feeling heavy, kind of hot. 

They're all struggling through the heat but while Steve's hair is still looking fairly reasonable, Eddie looks a bit like a wet poodle.

"The AC bring broken is killing me, Harrington."

"I know. I know, me too. I'll — I'll go see what Bunny says."

He finds himself glancing at the closed door to the office at the top of the stairs. He can just imagine Bunny, their secretary, and the smartest person in this workplace, sitting by her desk palming her face in frustration.  

Sitting there looking absolutely breathtakingly gorgeous as ever, trying to get them out of this sinking ship, to keep the shop afloat. 

She's way too good for them, he's always thought so and probably always will. Which makes him even more grateful that she chooses to stick by them no matter what.

Maybe it's because she's Steve's oldest friend, basically his second half since kindergarten. Maybe she's got masochistic tendencies.

Whatever it is, he doesn't mind as long as she doesn't abandon them.

"Well," Eddie's voice shakes Steve from his thoughts "go ask her now because I'm literally about to die."

"You're being dramatic."

"You won't be saying that when I'm dead and stinking up the place."

"Okay, okay.'' Enough with the theatrics. I'm going."

With an overdramatic roll of his eyes, Steve pushes away from the car and drags his feet up the stairs, entering the office after giving the wooden door a swift rapt of his knuckles.

"Close the door! I don't want the hot air to get in."

Bunny is leaning against her desk, hair clinging to sweaty skin as much as Eddie's does, as much as his own does. She's fanning herself with a piece of paper while a fan whirrs behind her, blowing lukewarm air at her.

"It's just as hot in here as it is downstairs. Actually, it might even be hotter in here, now that I think about it."

She throws a bunny-shaped eraser at him, just barely missing his head. But by ty smile tugging at her lips, he can tell she knows he's right.

It's funny, he thinks looking around the office, how one small moment can change so much about someone's life.

Had he not befriended her at 4 years old she wouldn't be here today, making sure the store is going and keeping the boys out of trouble.

Had she not worn a hoodie with bunny ears that day he might've never called her by the silly nickname that still sticks to this day. She's (Y/N) to her parents and Bunny to everyone else.

"We need to get the AC fixed. Eddie is about ready to die out there and Hargrove is from California but even he is reaching his boiling point … literally."

She laughs at the joke like he knew she would. Of all the good things about her, her sense of humor is not one of them. He loves it, means she laughs at his jokes even when they're really bad.

"I know, Steve but uh - it's not looking so good."

It's not a secret. Even though he's not too involved in dealing with the financial side of the business, as the owner Steve is well aware that they are just barely scraping by.

"Shit."

"Yeah. I'm sorry Steve. We're just able to pay the electricity bill this month, don't think we can splurge on anything else."

He nods in defeat. It feels like letting people down. Himself, the guys, his dad. Everyone.

“You think we can manage to buy a fan or two at least? You know, just to keep Munson alive.”

She looks at him with that expression in her eyes that says “we really can’t but I’ll find a way to do it”. He loves her for it, for everything she does.

“I’ll see what I can do. We really don’t want Eddie to overheat. —“ a big sigh leaves her lips before she continues. “ But Steve, it’s really not looking good. I’ve been twisting and turning and pushing around numbers for what feels like forever now. I don’t know how much longer we can go on like this.”

He knows this. No matter how much he’s trying to push it out of his mind. He is painfully aware of the shot show they’re currently in. Hearing her say it, outright and with no sugar to coat it, that’s like a dagger straight to the heart. Box cutter to the jugular.

“I’ll figure something out, I promise.”

“You always do.”

She puts an unwavering amount of faith in him. Steve is not sure he’s entirely deserving of it but he’s not gonna complain.

Thanks, Buns, you’re the best. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

When he places a soft kiss on the top of her head, the scene of her shampoo fills his nose and takes over all his senses for a moment. She always smells so good. Warm and comforting and like — well, like home. 

"What in the world is going on here?"

Loud heavy metal music echoes through the garage, it’s the one thing Eddie and Billy really can agree on. The music choice. This leaves Steve outnumbered when it comes to choosing the music being played during working hours.

It's not the music though, that confuses him, it's the fact that the boys are both shirtless as they lean against the respective cars they're working on, sipping on - water?!

Billy doesn't go out of his way to drink water usually, that boy has a sweet tooth like no other and if there's no beer there (which there isn't during working hours) he always goes for the coke. Regular, none of that watered-down, nasty-tasting diet crap.

And Eddie? Eddie eats and drinks like a 10-year-old. Soda or Juice are just fine but water? That's new.

"It's crazy hot in here, Harrington. Be glad it's just the shirts, Munson was this close to taking off his pants too," Billy jokes, indicating a tiny space between his fingers.

"Yup but I didn't want to make you guys jealous of my great ass. I know it's hard enough measuring up to a shirtless me."

"Whatever you say chicken breast." 

Laughter echoes through the hall as Billy twirls the dirty rag, he uses to wipe the grease off his hands, into a tight knot only to land it against Eddie's chest with a loud snap.

It's not always been like this. Fun and full of laughter. Their beginnings were awkward to say the least, neither of the boys was particularly fond of the others. But they've grown on Steve, even Billy. They're somewhat of a little family right now. Brotherly teasing and rivalries included.

"Wow, there are people out there who would pay a lot of money to watch this."

Robin's voice cuts through the boyish laughter and makes 3 heads turn in her direction. 

"This," she continues and waves her hand between the boys " I mean. You guys, half-naked, dancing or playing or whatever it is you're doing. Some people would pay money to see this. Not me - but I'm sure there's someone out there. "

"Are you here for another free oil change? You know you're my best friend but at some point, I'm gonna have to start charging."

"Calm down Steve, what do you take me for? No, I'm here for Bunny actually. I gotta return some records she let me borrow. So don't let me interrupt your - whatever session. Keep going, gentleman".

With a mock salute, she pushes past the boys and continues her way up the stairs and into the office. All that's heard before the door falls back into place is a loud "close the door! The cool air is getting out!".

He loves that the girls are getting along. His girls. The two people he trusts with his life. The first time he brought Robin around was nerve-wracking and sent his anxiety through the roof. For no reason, really. The girls got on like a house on fire. Now it's like they've known each other their whole life.

"Steve?" Eddie shakes him from his daydream. There's an edge to his voice now, a seriousness and sincerity Steve hasn't heard before.

"Yeah?"

"I think I have an idea."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"The shop needs extra funds, right? I think I have an idea of how we can make more money."

“Do you know why we’re here?” Bunny asks as she shuffles into the garage long after store closing, Robin and Nancy following behind her with quick steps.

By the expression on their faces, she doesn’t even need them to answer. The same confusion she’s feeling is looking back at her.

“Steve just said it’s important and that it’s about the shop.” 

“Well, that’s more information than I got. Eddie just called me and said they needed my opinion on something then hung up before I could even reply,” Robin explains.

“They? As in Steve, Eddie, and — “ 

“ — and me! “ 

Billy grants the girls one of his million-dollar smiles. The one where his eyes twinkle and you wonder what kind of secrets are hidden in the corner of his lips. Not that it works on either of the girls. Especially now that they are all way too confused and focused on the huge elephant in the room.

“Why are you wearing a suit?” 

“It’s all part of tonight’s entertainment. Would you ladies follow me to your seats?” 

“Seats? Entertainment? “

Bunny isn’t sure he even takes notice of her questions, if he does he chooses to ignore them as he silently leads them further into the room to where 3 chairs are placed neatly in a row. 

“Please take your seats, the show is about to start.” 

A questioning glance passes between the girls. Nevertheless, they do as told and sit down just before Billy hands each of them what seems to be a leaflet of some kind. Though it’s hard to tell since he hands it to them with the print pointing down.

“ You can turn this around as soon as I leave you to it. Please just — just wait. “ His cool suave image slips for a second before his lips pull back into the familiar cocky smirk “now enjoy the show. “

He has the audacity to wink at them. What the hell is going on?

“What is this about?” Nancy asks as the girls turn the papers around, almost moving in sync.

In big bold letters, the flyer reads:

This one’s for the ladies!

Witness Hawkins’ Hottest:

King Steve

Billy the kid 

& Mr. Hellfire.

“So wait, are they gonna put on a play or dance or what? “

Robin’s chuckles cut through the confusion and, between long wheezes of laughter, she forms the words: “Holy shit, I think they’re gonna strip.” 

Before Bunny’s brain can even begin to comprehend the information that just tumbled from Robin’s lips, the lights dim, and the beginning guitar chords of Def Leppard’s “Pour some sugar on me” fill the room.

One after the other, the boys step onto a makeshift stage put together from old wooden palettes. All of them wearing suits, a sight the girls are far from used to. Sure Steve’s worn a suit before on several occasions but Billy and Eddie? 

Though none of that really matters right then. All Bunny can focus on, is the rhythmic though out-of-sync rotation of the boy’s hips. There’s a lot of hip thrusting from all of them, suggestive winks from Billy, and what can only be described as borderline obscene tongue movements from Eddie. 

Hands are tracing down their necks, their chests. The suit jackets go first, then the bowties, then their hands grab onto their respective buttons up and in the matter of a blink three naked chests are on full display.

Though if Bunny is being serious, neither Billy nor Eddie are at the receiving end of her attention. 

Steve looks otherworldly in the shine of whatever cheap lights the guys have dragged out here for their little show. All perfectly shaped muscles. He must’ve shaved for this and though she doesn’t mind his usually hairy chest, this just makes it easier to see all of him. Every dip and every ridge. 

There used to be a time when seeing Steve shirtless was just that. Seeing her friend shirtless, no biggie. That changed around the time she turned 15 and suddenly it wasn’t just Steve being shirtless anymore. Now it’s the subject of all her sleepless nights, all her inappropriate thoughts, and all those times she finds herself alone with her hands under the covers.

He is cut from marble. Made to represent the best a man can be.

When his hands move to the belt buckle, and he looks at her directly, Bunny thinks she might just die. Right then and there. A one-way ticket to heaven. Or maybe hell, she can’t be too sure about this. The thoughts running through her head right now, sure don’t seem appropriate to have when passing through the pearly gates.

“I'm hot, sticky sweet

From my head to my feet, yeah”

And then the pants are gone and she’s dying a slow and painful death.

He looks so good. Like she could eat him up right there and he’d taste like the sweetest poison.

Robin's laughter mixes with the music, a melody of chaos and joy. She's having the time of her life and Bunny is sure she'll never let the boys forget about this. This will be her "remember when" card for the rest of all their lives.

Nancy is just quiet, hand going to her face every once in a while, shielding her eyes from what she could potentially see. It's not like this is anything new. She's seen Steve this way before and though Bunny hates to admit it - Nancy is her friend after all - the thought does leave a bitter taste of jealousy in her mouth.

While the girls are caught between shock, amusement, and — whatever it is Bunny is feeling at the moment, the boys take this whole thing with a surprising amount of seriousness. There are teasing smirks on their faces, masks of pure confidence, and a banner of determination and courage that seems to wrap around them.

This is a serious strip show and they make it abundantly clear. If there was ever a doubt in the girls' minds, it is being wiped away completely when the underwear goes. Those shiny black bottoms that seemed entirely too tight for either of them. Bunny wonders if Steve bought them specifically for this or had them already stuffed into the back of his underwear drawer.

That’s the moment Nancy’s eyes go wide, almost threatening to pop right out of her head. The moment Robin covers her face, laughter turns into amused shrieks. And the moment Bunny thinks her heart might stop altogether. 

It's not like they get to see — anything. The boys make sure to cover everything with both hands. Both hands. But still, it's hard to look at the man that owns half of your heart, the recipient of your undying affection, standing there completely naked, and not die a little. 

The song comes to an end and Robin, still in a fit of giggles, starts applauding, Nancy following soon after. It's the first time that night that the guys let their act drop and a certain sense of insecurity fills them as they quickly scurry off to throw on some robes. Those ropes, Bunny is sure they bought specifically for today. They're all silky and shiny. Ridiculous if not a tiny bit endearing.

"What the everloving hell was that?" Robin questions as the boys make their way back toward the line of chairs.

"That, " Steve exclaims and clears his throat as if to fill his voice with determination, " is our chance to keep the garage going."

"You're going to strip for the customers?"

"We're going to strip for whoever books us."

This is all too much all at once for Bunny to properly process. Steve has had many crazy ideas over the years, a lot of delusional thoughts. More now that he's hanging out with Eddie and Billy who all have 0 impulse control. 

None of those ideas ever came close to this. It's on a whole nother plane of existence really. And the worst part? Bunny thinks the boys might be onto something.

"Wait, let me get this straight. You guys want to start a stripping business?"

"Yes, Wheeler. That's exactly the plan. Everything we earn on group booking goes to the shop. Everything from individual jobs goes to the funds for our own special projects. Like paints for me, car radio stuff for Billy. In the end, it all ends up helping the shop."

Eddie talks about the plan with childlike enthusiasm. It’s quite amusing considering the topic of the discussion. Though his words make the gears in Bunny’s head turn. This might not be the worst of all ideas. 

“So — Robin asks, swallowing another laugh, “ I hate to ask this but where do we come in? “ 

“Well, you — “ Billy replies and points and Nancy “are here because you’re part of our target audience. We wanna know if you think this is something that could be successful. You —” he continues now pointing at Robin “are just here because we knew you’d love making fun of us for this and you’d be pissed if we didn’t invite you.” 

“What about me?” 

It’s the first time Bunny speaks up since the show started. The words feel heavy on her tongue. 

“ Oh, you —” 

“We want you to be our manager.” Steve's voice cuts Billy off mid-sentence.

Manager? It’s then when it really settles in how serious the guys are. There’s a look on Steve’s face she’s only ever seen a handful of times. No joking around to be detected. He told her he’d figure out a way to keep the shop going and this is his solution. It’s maybe a bit unconventional and not at all anything she’d have ever expected but it’s a solution nonetheless. 

“Your manager?” 

Steve’s eyes connect with hers, full of hope and uncertainty all at once. He seems to be almost pleading — not with words just with looks. This means more to him than just a silly little idea with his friends. This is his last chance. 

“We need someone to help us out here. You know how shit we are at keeping our appointments in order. How unorganized and messy we are. How much we suck at financials and numbers and all that. We need you. “

“And you think this might actually work?”

Nancy’s voice cuts through the tension. “This might actually not be the worst idea. A lot of girls that I went to High School with got married last year and they all wanted a stripper at their bachelorette parties. But — well the choice was limited.” 

“You sure you want to end up stripping for people you went to Highschool with?” 

Bunny raises an eyebrow in question.

“I mean yeah, that might happen. We want to advertise mostly around Hawkins so not directly here. Just to avoid any awkwardness. But that’s also a reason we wanted to try this out on you. If we can do this for our best friends without dying of embarrassment then —” 

“You guys really want to do this?” 

All of them answer with a determined nod of their heads. There is uncertainty there but not about trying. No one can know the outcome of this but neither of them is afraid of trying. For the one thing they all helped build. For their shop. 

“Well, I guess I can’t let you do this by yourselves then, huh? You need someone to keep you in line.” 

The smile Steve grants her as he realizes she’s in sends Bunny’s heart racing. It’s ridiculous to be so in love with your lifelong best friend. Ridiculous and hopeless and dumb. Agreeing to manage his business where he will get undressed in front of a bunch of ladies sounds like a surefire way to break your own heart. But isn’t that the fundamentals of the human experience? Isn’t that love? Putting your own heart on the line for someone else’s happiness?

“We really do need you.” 

“Okay then, guess I’m in.”

Before the words even fully leave her lips, Bunny is already tackled into a hug. Steve is not a hugger, never was. It’s a side effect of growing up with emotionally absent parents who’d rather give you a new car than a hug. So Steve's hugs are always special. A perfect little cherry on top of every cake.

He’s so warm and he smells like sweat and too much body spray. It’s disgusting but she can’t fault him for it, that man just put on the performance of his life, danced his ass off, and stripped down both literally and emotionally. 

It also reminds her of all the times hanging out with him after basketball training. The best times.

“Thank you, Buns.” 

And maybe she pulls him a little bit tighter. No one has to know. 

“So,” Eddie speaks up as they pull away from the hug. “What do you say, manager? How did we do?”

“Well, glad you asked. If you wanna do this, we’re doing it right. You guys came up with names, now we gotta make them a character. King Steve? I’m getting you a crown and maybe we can also make use of that little sailor uniform of yours. You — “ Bunny snaps her finger and points it at Billy “get out those tiny red shorts you used to flaunt around in at the pool, I know you still got those somewhere, don’t even try to deny it. Maybe some sunglasses too.” 

“Yes, Ma’am.” 

“And you, Mr. Hellfire.”

“Mmmh?”

“ How do we feel about some devil horns?” 

Word spreads fast in Hawkins, that’s not surprising. People are so damn curious about other people’s business and no one keeps their mouth shut — ever.

What is surprising, is that a small stack of flyers, just 50 of them, hung up in clubs and bars around Hawkins, leads to 5 bookings for Hawkins Hottest not even 3 weeks after the idea took seed.

The first one is a group performance. A group of girls books them to surprise their friend at her bachelorette party. It takes place in a small apartment just outside of Carmel and the stage is a living room barely big enough for all 3 men and the spectators. But they make it work. They have fun. It’s a good chance to gain confidence. To really settle into their roles.

And the pay is good. Good enough to buy 3 fans for the shop. A move that put Steve forever in Eddie’s good books. 

The second one is a bit of a bigger performance. An all-female bowling team book them for their 25-year anniversary party held at a venue just an hour north of Hawkins. 

Those ladies are scary in a way that Steve doesn’t even attempt to describe. Scary in a way that is fascinating and a little uncomfortable. But the job gets done and the pay is once again great. 

Bunny is there with them, always. Steve wonders what he ever did to deserve her. Her unwavering support. The faith she puts in him, displaced but appreciated. Her kindness, patience, and trust. 

She’s the one doing all the dirty work. Advertisement, bookings, financials. She makes sure the boys get to where they need to be on time. She books hotel rooms if needed. She provides snacks for the ride. She helps with costumes and makeup and sound and lighting. She does 12 jobs at once and she never complains. She just smiles and sometimes when Steve feels a little anxious on stage and looks for her in the crowd or backstage, she’s always there to offer him the encouragement he needs. She is everything. 

“So … are you ever gonna tell Harrington how you feel or are we all taking it to the grave?”

Eddie has a big mouth and no filter. Sometimes that’s funny, hilarious even. It makes for great icebreakers and exciting conversations. Sometimes his big mouth plucks a secret straight from your brain that you didn’t even know was there in the first place. And he presents it to the world. Those times his big mouth is less funny. Those times it scares Bunny.

"Not sure what you're insinuating here, Munson."

Her eyes involuntarily search for Steve across the room. His chest is on display, a shirt hanging loosely from his shoulder, unbuttoned and almost teasing. The boys are about to go on stage in just a few minutes and while Eddie is all cool and collected, Steve always gets a little nervous. He's a bit of a perfectionist, Bunny has realized lately. Not always, but about the important things. Especially when his future and the future of his shop are at stake.

"Mmmh. Of course, you don't. Not like you're undressing him with your eyes right this second."

"Eddie," she lets out a mix between a scoff and a chuckle "I've seen you guys strip nearly every night lately. I don't need to undress him, he's doing it himself.”

“So do I and you never looked at me like that, or Billy. Just good old Steve over there. I’ve deducted —”

“You haven’t deducted anything.”

“Just saying, I’m picking up some vibes here.” 

“Eddie —” Bunny says and fixes him with what she attempts to be a serious glare but probably ends up making her look as intimidating as a literal bunny rabbit “ — stop it. Go get some oil on that chest of yours, you guys are about to go on stage.” 

Stage. A real actual stage this time. 

The club they have been booked to perform at is small, smaller even than the hideout. It’s a bit grimy, with lots of mismatched furniture. Ripped concert posters line the wall and the dressing rooms smell like bleach and cheap air freshener. But it’s a stage! A real stage in front of an audience that paid an entry fee to see them specifically. It’s amazing to think that they’ve been given this chance only such a short time after starting this whole crazy idea. Sometimes it feels unreal. Like none of this is really happening. Maybe because it’s hard to explain to people. This insane whirlwind of an idea they’ve all willingly jumped into is not only working, it’s also fun. Most of them won't understand. Most of them will just judge. 

It doesn’t matter though. It never did.

None of it really matters when she looks at the boys as they perform their stage show. An immeasurable amount of pride fills her heart. This is something that quickly becomes more than either of them thought it could be. A spark turning into a raging fire. 

They’re all good, surprisingly. Stripped both figuratively and literally of everything. They are their characters and they’re putting on one hell of a show.

The room is filled with a sizzling static, a euphoric atmosphere. It’s sexy and fun and mesmerizing all at once.

Steve looks good enough to eat as he moves around on stage. Dipped in hues of pink and red and orange as the stage lights capture him, it’s quite the vision and not unlike some of the scenes from Bunny’s most intimate, most secret dreams. 

The baby oil that the boys have lathered onto themselves earlier, leaves a shiny gleam on his pecks. He looks delectable. For a moment she wants to scold herself for these thoughts, this is Steve. HER Steve. But isn’t this the point of all of this? These feelings of desire and lust and passion? Isn’t this what they want to awaken in their audience? 

So what if the audience is Bunny of all people.

He’s meant for greatness even if no one ever made him believe so. She knows it. Maybe that greatness is found on this stage. Or maybe it’s in whatever he chooses to do. Maybe it’s simply him.

A few weeks later 

“Are you nervous?” 

Her hand feels so warm as she rests it on his shoulder. 

It’s his first solo performance. The first time someone booked just him. Not him — King Steve.

A 21st birthday. All the way in the big city of Indianapolis.

This time it’s all on him whether the show is a hit or a failure. If he fucks this up, he fucks it up for all of them. Himself and Eddie and Billy — and Bunny.

Bunny who is sweet enough to drive to Indianapolis with him. To stay in a hotel room with him for the night because it’ll be too late to drive all the way back to Hawkins after the show. 

He can’t feed off of Eddie’s dramatic energy or Billy’s sense of seduction. Just himself and the character he is trying to create for his stripper self.

“A bit yeah.” 

“You’ll do great, Steve. I just know it.” 

He finds her eyes over his shoulder in the hotel mirror. There is no doubt in her. No one has ever believed in him like this. Not even his own goddamn parents.

“What if I fuck up?”

“You won’t!” 

“But what if I do?”

This is his last chance. This needs to work. There is no room for error when every little mistake could mean having to close the shop. He loves that shop even though he never thought he would. Never saw himself as a mechanic. But this is so much more. This is his baby. His home away from home. His friends are there. Bunny is there. 

And though it’s silly and dumb, he also wants to make his father proud. Even though his dad doesn’t deserve it. Even though he’s a huge asshole. Steve wants to make the shop work to make his dad proud.

“Steve, they booked you for a reason.”

“It’s because of the hair.”

“No, it’s not because of the hair, you dork. It’s because you’re good at this.”

He is. It’s not really something society allows you to take pride in but Steve can’t deny that he’s quite alright at stripping and putting on a show. He still wishes the boys were here too.

“You wanna go over the routine again? Would that help?” 

“Maybe.”

“Okay, let’s do it then!” 

Before he knows it, ZZ Top’s “I need you tonight” comes from the boombox they brought, perched on the desk in the corner of the Hotel room.

Bunny sits down on the end of the bed, hands resting by her side and digging into the soft, blue comforter. 

The encouraging smile she gives him makes him want to melt right then and there. He wonders if she knows just how much she means to him. When he said they couldn’t do this without her, he meant it. She is the beginning and the end of it all. 

He goes through all the moves as if his body works on autopilot. A swing of the hip, a turn, a twist. His brain doesn’t have to work to recall the choreography, it comes naturally. 

He doesn’t really register any of that. All he can see is her. Her eyes and her lips and her hands fisting the sheets. Her eyes. Her lips. Her hands. Her. 

The show continues as it would in front of the actual audience. Only it’s not the birthday girl he’s getting close to, it’s Bunny. 

It’s her body heat radiating he can feel as he stands before her and opens the buttons of his shirt leaving him bare. It’s her hand he takes to trail down his chest, to feel every dip and groove and ripple. It’s her perfume he smells.

Her eyes. Her lips. Her hands.

Her.

This is not in the performance. Being this close. Feeling her nose against his, her breath mingle with his. None of what he’s feeling right now is scripted. The tingles in his fingers. The racing of his heart. 

“Bunny, I — “ 

If the universe wants to play tricks on him, Steve doesn’t think they’re very funny. A shrill ringing sounds from the alarm clock on the bedside table making the two snap away from each other, breaking the spell and dropping them back into reality.

Steve doesn’t feel like laughing at the universe right now.

“I um — I set the alarm to remind us when we have to leave for the gig.” 

“Oh yeah. Yeah — good. Let’s uh — let’s get a move on. Chop chop.”

Chop chop? His inner voice is cringing at the words as they fall from his lips. Chop fucking chop?

She doesn’t meet his eyes while they grab their stuff, not on the way there and not as they meet up with the best friend of the birthday girl who made the booking. 

It’s only when he’s about to go on stage that she grants him a smile, though it doesn’t meet her eyes. It’s missing its usual sparkle. “Break a leg.” 

“I’ll do you one better, I’ll break two.” 

Steve, his inner voice scolds him again, sometimes it’s better to just keep your mouth shut.

But when he hears Bunny laugh. Like really actually laugh, he thinks he might just keep talking nonsense. Her laugh is his favorite sound in all the world.

“Please don’t.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“Go get them, King Steve.”

The man on stage, that’s not her childhood best friend. The man up there is King Steve, all suave and self-assured and seductive. All the dorky qualities her Steve holds are wiped away and replaced by confidence and courage.

It’s like he is two different people at once, both the best versions of him he can be at that moment. 

There’s something enchanting about watching him perform. He looks so free and liberated from all the pressure to be a certain kind of way that has been resting on his shoulders from the moment he left his mother’s womb. He gets to be whoever he decides to be. 

The girls are screaming and giggling as he moves his hips. When he loses the shirt then the pants — they lose their minds. 

She thought she’d feel some jealousy, watching him on stage, entertaining all these other girls. But it’s different. Some part of her is holding on to the knowledge that the version of him off stage, those girls don’t get. They know King Steve but they will never know her goofy, dorky best friend Steve. That version of him is hers and hers alone.

Red and blue lights paint every ripple and every inch of his body. He looks like a painting. A masterpiece.

“Sorry if this is disrespectful but your boyfriend is so damn hot.” 

The girl standing beside her isn’t even looking at Bunny, her eyes are fixed on Steve who at this point is only in a tight pair of shorts. 

“He’s not. My boyfriend I mean. No doubt he’s hot. That’s undeniable.”

That gets the girl’s attention.

“Oh so, you guys are not …” 

Things would be far easier if they were. And maybe the moment in the Hotel meant nothing but what if it did? Then again, was there even a moment to begin with? Or was this all just wishful thinking clouding her thoughts? 

“No, we’re just best friends. And I’m his manager.” 

“Okay cool.” Bunny hates the tone the girl’s voice takes on. Hates it with every fiber of her being. The girls staring at King Steve is one thing. Having one of them show interest in the off-stage him, that’s a terrifying thought to Bunny. She looks nice though, the girl. She looks like the kind of girl Steve would go for. Nice girls who let him know they’re interested and don’t hide their feelings for years until it’s too late and break their own hearts in the process.

A loud “ooooh” washes over the crowd as Steve loses the last of the fabric covering his body. Bunny doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of seeing him like this.

And when he looks across the group of girls and meets her eyes, he throws her a wink. That one, she knows for certain. That one is just for her from her Steve. 

There’s something awfully nostalgic about sitting crisscross on the hotel bed, a can of beer in hand as Steve sits across from her with a big smile on his face, reminiscing about the show he just put on a few hours ago.

“ — and the pay? This one show is paying for the next two months' electricity.” 

“You’re saving our shop, Steve.” 

“Can you believe people are willing to pay that much money to see me? King fucking Steve.”

“Oh, I’m not surprised. You’re worth every penny.” 

Steve scoffs at her words. He was never all that good at taking compliments, even when his ego was through the roof during their High School years. 

“Wonder what my dad would think if he knew this is how I’m keeping the garage open.”

Mr. Harrington was always perfectly nice enough to Bunny. He was polite and attentive and a good host whenever she was around at the Harrington house. He asked her about her parents and made small talk about school and work and everyday life. 

None of that mattered to her though. The way he treated his own son was all she needed to know to realize that he placed very low on her list of people. Steve didn’t deserve all of the weight put on him. All the degrading comments. The snarky remarks. The sour looks and scowls and scoffs.

He did the best he could, always. Steve is a good man and while he was a bit of a shithead during his teenage years, that can be chalked up to just that — being a teenager.

“Do you want me to be honest or nice?” 

“Honest. Always.” 

“How honest?”

“10 out of 10”

“Your dad would hate this. Because he doesn’t understand it, or the time we’re living in. And also because he hates seeing you succeed without him. It would make him have to face the fact that you are doing just fine without him. He can’t come by and say I told you so, and that would make him pissed.”

“Why does that make you smile?”

“‘cause I love pissing off your dad. He’s an asshole like no other.”

“Cheers to that” 

Laughter echoes through the tiny hotel room as they clink their cans, weaving itself into a sweet harmony with the music coming from the boombox.

“Ooooh, I love this song!” Bunny announces as the opening chords of Joan Jett’s “I love Rock n Roll” fill the air. 

“You know what I think?” 

“What is that, Steve?” 

There’s an intensity in his eyes, a sense of mischief on his lips. It’s both endearing and a bit unnerving all at once. 

“You’ve seen me do my show a bunch of times now, I think it’s only fair if you dance for me this once.” 

An unintentional scoff falls from her lips. For her to put on a show — to strip — for him? It’s a bizarre thought, truly absurd. He surely can’t be serious.

He is serious. It’s written on his face as unmistakable as a light-up billboard on main street. 

“You kidding me, Steve?”

“Creative expression through passionate and erotic dance is not a laughing matter, Bunny.”

He laughs anyway. That full-on sunshine Steve Harrington laugh of his that makes you feel invincible and grand. Like for a second, all the bad in the world has vanished and there are good things to believe in. Like laughter and friendship and cute boys with great hair.

“Alright, you asked for it. I’m just telling you right now I can’t dance very well — oh and the underwear stays on.” 

“Buzzkill!”

“Hey, hecklers will be removed from the premises!” 

Steve does a zipping motion across his lips only to follow it up by throwing away an invisible key. It’s a very Steve move, no thoughts behind the action, just good intentions and unrelenting loyalty.

Bunny starts moving her body to the rhythm of the song. It’s easy enough to get lost in the music but there’s no way she can fully let go. Not with Steve watching her the way he is. She’s unable to shake the thought of making herself look laughable in front of him. Steve’s seen her in all the stages of her life, all the best and most definitely the worst, and never had Bunny felt like this. But it’s different right now. There has been a shift and this whole night feels like it could be a turning point. A crash and burn or happily ever after kind of situation.

It’s terrifying. 

“Come oooon! I know you can do better than this. Go on, move those hips a little.” 

Before she knows what’s happening, his hands find their place on the side of her hips, holding her tightly. His skin touching the sliver of her’s that revealed itself where her shirt rode up a little. He smells like body wash and deodorant and spearmint chewing gum. He radiates an all-consuming warmth. 

Steve moves her hips in time with the music, rotating motions the way he does when he’s on stage. It feels like her body is moving on autopilot, vulnerable, and all his to do with as he pleases. His eyes lock on hers and like a magnetic pull, Bunny stares right back. Mesmerized and enchanted.

“Like that?”

“Yeah, just like that.” 

He doesn’t let go, he just grabs on tighter, moves closer. There’s barely any room left between them and yet he’s not nearly close enough for Bunny’s liking. 

As if he can hear her thoughts, he pulls her flush against his body, chest to chest, heart to heart. His hands stay on her sides as if they were never meant to be anywhere else. 

“Tell me to stop.” 

There’s a saying that the flapping of an itty-bitty butterfly's wings can cause a hurricane. Bunny always thought that was utter bullshit. 

As Steve’s lips meet hers in a heated kiss, she thinks there might be a little bit of truth to the statement.

“Don’t stop!” 

Two words. Two itty-bitty words and they cause a hurricane. Change everything.

It takes a blink of a moment for Bunny to forget where she ends and Steve begins, he’s all-consuming. Mind and body and soul. 

She doesn’t even realize it as it happens when he picks her up and sits her down on the dresser as if she weighs nothing. Just a feather in his hand. 

His kisses are hot and needy on her cheeks, her lips, her neck. Everywhere. 

Bunny combs her fingers through his hair, hands trembling. It’s almost embarrassing how nervous all of this makes her. She’s touched his hair a million and one times. Not like this though, never like this. 

“Hey, hey wait a second.” 

She doesn’t want to wait. Doesn’t want to stop. What if they stop and he realizes this was a mistake? What if this is all an elaborate prank that life is playing on her? You think the boy you’ve loved since you knew what love was likes you back? Silly girl, so silly.

“Buns, come on look at me.” 

He cradles her face in his hands so gently, so soft, as if he’s holding the whole world in his palms.

“I can’t.” 

“Why not?”

“What if I open my eyes and all of this isn’t real?”

A chuckle tumbles from his lips but it’s not mocking. It doesn’t make her feel stupid or ridiculous, even when she very well might be.

All it does is fill her with infinite affection.

“Buns, what do I have to do to make you believe it’s real? Pinch you? Give your cheek a lick? A bite maybe?”

“Do not lick my cheek. — the biting though.” 

Steve’s laughter sounds so sweet. Like a song from a memory long forgotten and finally remembered. His chest shakes against hers making it impossible for her not to crack a smile. Secondhand laughter. 

“Oh, biting gets you going? Alright, I’ll remember that for the future.” 

“The future?” 

It sounds like too good of a promise to be true. 

“Bunny, look at me!” 

He’s soft in all the ways a person can be but the softest of all is the way he looks at her when she opens her eyes.

“I’ve been in love with you for an embarrassingly long time. It just never felt like the right time to act on it. Either you were in a relationship or I was or — things were just a liiiiittle messed up.” 

“So what changed?”

“I’m tired of waiting. I just wanted — no I needed you to know. Life moves surprisingly fast actually and I didn’t want to spend another minute pretending I don’t love you.” 

Those girls in the crowds, cheering and hollering, they may get to see his abs, even his ass, but they will never have this. This is all hers.

“You serious?” 

“As a doornail.” 

“That’s — that’s not how the saying goes but I love you anyway.” 

“Yeah?” 

There’s no room for an answer, it gets swallowed somewhere in the ocean of kisses he places on her lips, one sweeter than the next. 

Perhaps there doesn’t need to be an answer. Not one spoke with words at least. She hopes the kisses he receives in return are enough to silence his doubts forever. Quite honestly, she wouldn’t mind reminding him though.

“You feel that?” Eddie’s voice calls out, echoing through the shop as Steve and Bunny step inside. “The sweet sweet relief of a working air con!” 

“Well, you guys have been working your asses off to get it for us.”

“More like showing our asses off.” 

“Either way, “ Bunny says and gives Eddie a friendly pat on the shoulder. “It was all you guys. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be upstairs in my office doing some paperwork and basking in the chilly air-con.” 

Just before she takes a turn towards the steps leading to the office though, she wraps her arms around Steve’s shoulders and places a long, gentle kiss on his lips. There’s something exhilarating about being able to kiss someone you’ve wanted to kiss for so long but were never allowed to. It’s addicting. It’s magical. 

“See you later, baby.” 

“What the fuck?!” 

Life comes with a lot of struggles. A lot of dark days and bad times. It asks for so much and often it feels like it gives nothing in return. But maybe that’s not all true. There is joy to be found. In the big things like kissing the one you love, like realizing the person you always wanted wants you back. And in the small ones like the taste of his lips, the feel of cool air on your skin, the knowledge that you can do great things and overcome struggles — and in the laughter of your friends sounding through the halls as they realize that love has finally found a way to settle where it was always meant to be.

[pinkfloofytaur]

This is a little bit of writing featuring my characters and is meant to tie into the Korps universe. Setting by KorpsPropaganda.

Some time ago it was an auto shop but it hadn't been used as one in years. It stood abandoned and those few who stepped inside were there only for brief shelter or to rummage around for anything of even slight value. Whatever it may have once been called, whoever owned it, even how well it had done as a business were details lost to time, faded even more than the paint and decals that would have once caught the eyes of passers-by. As the rest of the city developed and advanced a little place like this was left in the dust and only accumulated more and more over the years.

But one unassuming day just on the cusp of evening a lone figure stumbled into the garage, a possum dressed in a tattered lab coat and a dirty speedsuit both of which were stained red with dried blood around where his right arm would have joined at his shoulder. He leaned against a wall as he slowly lurched forwards with unsteady steps of his bare paws.

"Keep going, this place looks safe enough."

The voice called out to him. It was familiar, comforting, he had no idea where it was coming from but in his current state he couldn't make out much of anything. He just did as it said and went further into the building. With a great deal of fumbling about he managed to find his way into a back room and collapsed into an office chair. Now that he a moment to breathe and rest it all began to come back, starting with the flash. All-encompassing green along with heat, a strong enough word for it didn't exist. It was a sort of heat that pierced through him completely, that would have boiled his blood if it had lasted any longer.

"The generator. The plan hadn't worked out so you took matters into your own hands."

The possum looked down at his one remaining hand. It was this one that he had used to drag himself away. There were alarms, the ground had been shaking, people were running. Dragging wouldn't have been fast enough, how..? Wait. He was lifted. It was her.

"You told them to get out of there, but they came back for you. I instructed them on where to take you."

The room. He could remember laying on a table with robotic arms hanging over him. But then the memories faded again.

"It was difficult to figure everything out at first, especially with the condition you were in. There was no saving your arm, I had no choice but to amputate. I managed to install a hookup for a replacement but there wasn't any there that would match your physique. A poor replacement would only put your body under further stress."

He swallowed and then replied, "I installed you to the facility's systems mainframe. But you're with me right now. I don't remember picking you back up. You're in me right now, aren't you?"

There was a brief hesitation. "Yes. In your new central neural implant. The software in this was not designed to handle coordinating the sheet amount of implants I had to put into you."

He nodded and shifted into a more comfortable position. With his understanding of the situation now up to his liking he let a grin form across his lips. "So, guess the best thing to do from here is just recuperate for a bit. Might want to come up with a plan for a new arm while I'm at it. Gotta have a scheme ready when we all get back together."

---

In another part of town a cat had been running for far longer than he's ever ran before and faster than he's ever been with no signs of slowing down. He was in too much of a flow to stop, scenery was blurring past him but he could somehow navigate every obstacle without fully processing that they were there. The only thing onlookers would see is electric sparks leaping off of surroundings and into a bright green blur that sped off into the distance as soon as it arrived.

All he could do was follow this speed as more and more energy welled up inside of him. As he approached a skyscraper he somehow knew he wasn't going to go around it, he needed to go up. Without breaking his stride he hit the wall of the building and began to run straight up along its surface. Upon reaching the led screen emblazoned with the company's logo all the electricity inside of it burst out and shot into the cat, turning the whole side of the building pitch black aside from his luminous green aura.

In a blink he launched himself further upwards and landed on an antenna array on top of the building. As soon as he touched the metal all of his accumulated electricity shot into the antennas and into the night sky, letting out a massive thunderclap and a flash of green. When the dark of the night returned the cat, still clinging to the structure, waved one of his arms in the air to see small sparks of electricity jump out of the air itself and into him. "What is this?" He asked aloud before looking around at his current position. "And how am I getting down from here?"

[autobodyplug]

Every Car Problem, Solved Here!

🚗✨ From Dents to Drivability—We Fix It All! At Auto Body Plug, we take care of every detail, making your car look and drive like new again.

✅ Deep Scratches – Flawless paint repair and matching ✅ Bent or Cracked Frames – Structural repairs that ensure safety ✅ Flood Damage Repairs – Restoring electronics, interiors, and engines ✅ Engine Bay Damage – Post-collision engine and component repairs ✅ Luxury Car Repainting – Custom finishes for premium vehicles ✅ Airbag System Repairs – Replacing and recalibrating safety systems ✅ Complete Restorations – Rebuild your car from the ground up

📞 Get a Quote Today: (838)-227-7584 or (838)-CAR-PLUG 📍 Stop By: 430-442 Peninsula Blvd, Hempstead, NY 11550 🌐 Learn More: www.autobodyplug.com

💥 Auto Body Plug—Your One-Stop Shop for All Car Repairs!

[audibodyshop]

Florida’s Leading Auto Body Shop for Lucid Service & Repairs | Car Geeks Collision

When it comes to precision and excellence in collision repair and auto services, Car Geeks Collision is Florida's premier destination for Lucid vehicles and other luxury and electric cars. We offer expertise in collision repair, auto body repair, and comprehensive vehicle maintenance to ensure your car looks and performs like new.

Expert Lucid Service & Repairs

Owning a Lucid vehicle is a testament to your taste for luxury and innovation. At Car Geeks Collision, we understand the unique needs of electric cars like Lucid, Tesla, and Rivian. Our team specializes in electric car repair, ensuring your vehicle’s advanced systems are handled with care. From collision repair services to routine vehicle maintenance, we’ve got you covered.

Courtesy Towing, Loaner Cars, and Insurance Assistance

Car accidents can be stressful, but Car Geeks Collision simplifies the process. We provide courtesy towing, loaner cars, and full insurance assistance to make your experience hassle-free. Whether you need car damage repair, auto body repair, or help with insurance claims, we’re here to assist.

Comprehensive Auto Body Repairs

Our facility handles:

Collision repair for all models

Auto body and paint repair

Electric vehicle repair

Luxury car repair

From minor dents to major repairs, we ensure quality and precision in every job, including collision car repair and car paint repair.

Why Choose Car Geeks Collision?

With over a decade of experience, Car Geeks Collision offers:

Advanced Equipment: For electric car service and traditional vehicles.

Certified Technicians: Experts in vehicle collision repair and auto maintenance.

Customer-Centric Approach: Convenient services like vehicle repair assistance.

Book Your Appointment Today

Contact Car Geeks Collision for expert auto repair services. Let us restore your Lucid or other luxury vehicle to perfection with our comprehensive collision and auto body repair services. Choose us for all your car service and repair needs, from classic car service to electric vehicle repair.

[xtrememotorsports]

Give Your Vehicle a Fresh Look with Custom Car Paint in Seattle! 🎨🚗

Is your car in need of a makeover? Whether you're looking for a color change, paint restoration, or a custom paint job, Xtreme Motorsports in Seattle, WA is here to help you transform your vehicle into a work of art!

🔹 Why Choose Our Custom Car Paint Services?

Custom Color Matching: Achieve the perfect shade with precision

Long-Lasting Finish: High-quality paint that stands the test of time

Scratch and Chip Resistance: Durable coating for everyday wear

Expert Detailing: Smooth, glossy, and flawless application

🔹 Our Custom Paint Services Include:

Complete Vehicle Resprays for a brand-new look

Custom Paint Jobs with unique colors and designs

Paint Restoration to bring back your car's original shine

Specialty Finishes like matte, gloss, or satin

Custom Graphics and Stripes for personalization

At Xtreme Motorsports, we use the best tools and techniques to ensure your car paint job is flawless, giving you a stunning, professional finish every time. Whether you're aiming for a bold new look or restoring your car's original beauty, we've got you covered.

📍 Visit Us at: 11035 8th Ave NE, Seattle, WA 📞 Call Today for a Quote: 206-258-4902

Transform your ride with a custom paint job that will turn heads on the road!

[automobilesworld]

Common Myths About Auto Body Repairs Debunked 🚗💥

Auto body repairs are often shrouded in myths and misconceptions. If you're dealing with a fender bender or a more serious accident, it's important to separate fact from fiction. Let’s bust some of the most common myths and clear up your doubts about auto repairs—no myths allowed! 🤔💡

Myth 1: “All auto body shops are the same.”

Fact: Not all auto body shops are created equal! Just like with any industry, experience matters. Look for shops with certified technicians and top-of-the-line equipment. Choosing the right shop can make a huge difference in your car’s repair quality and safety.

Myth 2: “You can’t trust your insurance’s recommended shop.”

Fact: Insurance companies can recommend shops, but you have the final say in where to take your car for repairs. Look for a shop that is certified, experienced, and offers warranty coverage on repairs. You deserve the best, not just the most convenient.

Myth 3: “Aftermarket parts are just as good as OEM parts.”

Fact: While aftermarket parts can be cheaper, they’re not always as reliable or durable as OEM (Original Equipment Manufacturer) parts. For repairs on high-performance or luxury vehicles, always ask for OEM parts to maintain your car’s integrity and value.

Myth 4: “Paint matching is easy. Just slap on a coat and call it a day.”

Fact: Paint matching is an art! Matching your car’s exact color, sheen, and texture requires advanced technology and expertise. A proper match will make the repair seamless, while a poor match will stand out like a sore thumb.

Myth 5: “Auto body repairs are always expensive.”

Fact: Not all auto body repairs will break the bank! Many shops offer competitive pricing, and with a proper estimate, you’ll know what you’re paying for. Sometimes, small fixes can save you from big costs down the road.

Illustration Idea: A cute meme of a piggy bank holding a tiny wrench, with the caption “Little repairs now = Big savings later!” 🐷🔧

Myth 6: “If my car looks fine, there’s no need for a repair after a minor accident.”

Fact: Even small accidents can cause hidden damage that may affect your car's safety, performance, or structural integrity. It's always best to have a professional assess the damage, even if you don't see anything obvious.

Final Thoughts 🛠️

Now that we've cleared up these myths, you can make more informed decisions about your auto body repairs. Don’t let misconceptions steer you in the wrong direction. Remember, quality repairs are an investment in your vehicle’s longevity and safety.

Got any other auto body repair myths you'd like to debunk? Drop them in the comments or reblog this post with your thoughts! 🚗💬

[automedsolutions]

How Computerized Color Matching Enhances Reconditioning Services

Image source: automedsolutionsllc

Flawless paintwork is vital when it comes to reconditioning services. It ensures that the car looks seamless all around. Luckily, auto body shops are investing in computerized color matching machines to make sure it’s attainable. With these advancements in auto paint technology, it guarantees precision, efficiency, and customer satisfaction. To learn more about why you should look for these on your next shop visit, read the article below!

What is Computerized Color Matching?

Computerized color matching is when machines use specified paint codes and professional adjustments to match your vehicle’s exact color. This advancement has significantly helped the auto reconditioning process since manufacturers typically don’t sell the vehicle’s original paint colors.

This new technology uses advanced software and spectrophotometers. In fact, they are instruments that can measure color through shining a light and basing its results on the reflection. With this process, it makes a perfect match to paint colors. Since your car’s color naturally changes over time, this technology also ensures that the repaint matches your vehicle’s existing shade.

Let’s face it, modern color matching takes much less time than its predecessor. Traditional methods, on the other hand, require trial and error to achieve the desired outcome. That is why, a computerized method saves body shops both time and resources by improving the workflow with efficiency.

Benefits of Computerized Color Matching in Reconditioning Services

Precision is vital to auto cosmetics, and this new paint-matching technology can ensure a perfect match. It considers variations caused by aging, weathering, and lighting conditions.

Overall, computerized color matching helps boost auto body businesses by improving their efficiency, which is a benefit for both technicians and customers. With the machine’s precision, it  allows shops to reduce errors and waste materials. This, in turn, can lower costs for service providers and customers.

Furthermore, customers are more likely to recommend the business due to its high-quality and efficient work without breaking the bank. So, if you’re looking for auto body shops that value the environment, you might want to consider those with computerized paint matching.

The Role of Certified Technicians in Utilizing Advanced Paint Technology

If you’re looking for the “best auto body shop near me,” certified technicians must be one of your criteria. It is because when it comes to paint matching, they are vital to maximize the potential of these computerized systems. With their training and certification, customers like you can guarantee that they can operate the technology effectively.

In addition, a poor car paint job can significantly impact its overall appearance. Fortunately, certified technicians exist to ensure this doesn’t happen. They have the knowledge and skills of the color codes needed to match your vehicle’s current paintwork.

While these machines guarantee accuracy, they might malfunction occasionally. Even if this is a rare occurrence, certified technicians can make sure that the issue is immediately addressed. In fact, these experts conduct a thorough check afterwards to see if everything is seamless.

Innovations in Paint Technology and Future Trends

As years go by, auto cosmetic services, including paint technology, continue to improve in quality and efficiency. Today, car owners have various options for their car repaint jobs, including UV-cured paints and self-healing finishes. Car enthusiasts can also expect computerized color matching to grow continuously.

Additionally, many of these coatings will be more sustainable in the near future. Current research in the field includes self-stratifying coatings, which are two or more processes in one. Another example is IR coatings, which can change based on surface temperatures.

Another study also showcases the future of car paint. It says scientists are investigating paints that can store and convert energy. This innovation can potentially convert energy into the car’s surface as an additional power source.

Why Choose Reconditioning Services with Computerized Color Matching?

Choosing auto body businesses that offer computerized color matching offers various benefits. This ensures that your vehicle’s exact paint standards are maintained and that the work can be quickly completed. Aside from being an efficient option, this service is also cost-effective and has less human error.

When finding shops that offer these services, you could typically see it in their products and services display. You can see this both in their physical store and online platforms. They might also share their licensed technicians for your reference.

Experience Precise Computerized Color Matching at AutoMed Solutions

If you’re looking to invest in precise and computerized color matching, you’re probably searching for the right service provider too. With the benefits of reconditioning services, working with a reliable auto body shop is ideal to guarantee the best possible work for your vehicle.

Shops like AutoMed Solutions prioritize precision, efficiency, and professionalism. By combining our state-of-the-art technology with skilled craftsmanship, we can guarantee that our customers receive superior results.

Aside from car painting, we also offer other auto cosmetic services, such as window tinting in Tyson’s corner. So, if you’re in the Virginia area,  get a free estimate from us today!

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

Are you new to car cosmetic services? Let us guide you through some of the details and answer all your questions here!

Can you match paint colors without a sample?

Yes, with new technology, car painters can easily match colors without a sample. Modern tools include systems that allow professionals to upload a photo to create the perfect color match.

What are reconditioned cars?

Reconditioned cars are vehicles that underwent reconditioning services to return to its manufacturing quality. By getting the right services from trusted professionals, it helps restore cars as if they just rolled out the dealership.

[kozakauto]

How Kozak's Collision & Auto Repair Made My Car Look Brand New

A few weeks ago, I was driving home after a long day when it happened—a fender bender. It wasn’t a major accident, but the dented bumper and ugly scratches on the side of my car made my heart sink. My once-pristine ride was now a reminder of a stressful day. I knew I needed a reliable auto body repair shop to fix the damage, but finding the right place felt overwhelming.

After some online research and asking around, I came across Kozak's Collision & Auto Repair in Clinton Twp, MI. Their stellar reviews and reputation for quality work caught my attention, so I decided to give them a call at 586-792-0033. From the first conversation, I felt like my car was in good hands.

The Journey to a Flawless Repair

When I arrived at Kozak's Collision & Auto Repair, their team greeted me warmly and immediately got to work assessing the damage. They explained every step of the process and gave me a detailed estimate, so I knew exactly what to expect.

Here’s what they did:

Thorough Damage Assessment The technicians inspected not just the visible dents and scratches but also checked for any hidden damage that might affect the car’s safety or performance.

Paintless Dent Repair Using advanced tools, they smoothed out the dents without needing to repaint the entire panel. It was impressive to watch how quickly and precisely they worked.

Perfect Paint Matching For the scratched areas, they used top-notch color-matching technology to blend the new paint seamlessly with the original color. When they were done, it was impossible to tell where the damage had been.

Final Touches Before handing my car back, they polished and buffed the entire area, making it shine like new. It was as if the accident had never happened!

Why Kozak's Stands Out

Customer-Focused Service: From start to finish, the team made me feel valued and kept me updated throughout the repair process.

Quality Craftsmanship: Their attention to detail and expertise were evident in every aspect of the repair.

Fair Pricing: The estimate was transparent, with no hidden costs or surprises.

The Big Reveal

When I picked up my car, I was blown away. It looked as if nothing had ever happened to it. The dent, scratches, and stress were all gone, thanks to the incredible work by Kozak's Collision & Auto Repair.

What I Learned

If you’re ever in need of auto body repair, don’t just settle for the first shop you find. Take the time to find a team that truly cares about their craft and their customers—just like Kozak's does.