#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

[eoieopda]

hmmm, what about yoongi? we love a good hallmark au. the comeback story of a lifetime? separated by something and ironically reunited by the same thing?

i hope this fits!!

the one with the doughboy and the greaseball

pairing: min yoongi x f!reader summary: guess who’s back in town? au: hallmark-style homecoming, childhood friends to ? type: drabble (fluff) rating: pg13 cw: none! wc: 1.2k 🔞 this drabble is sfw, regardless, my content is not for minors. minors and ageless blogs who interact with me or my writing will be blocked.

When Min Yoongi leaves his parents’ house and hits the sidewalk, there’s no way for him to know if he’ll find what he’s looking for. He hopes he will, but the local landscape looks different than it used to. So, he walks along on a hunch, more than anything else.

Down the block he used to live on; past the cafe where he’d unsuccessfully experimented with acoustic, open-mic nights; and onward until he winds up outside of the local body shop.

Above the front door to the office, there’s a hand-painted wooden sign that thumps against the siding with every sigh of wind. It hangs slightly lopsided, just like always. Yoongi chuckles to himself, thankful that some things never change.

Kim & Sons Auto Repair has confused the general public for as long as it’s been open — and that’s precisely the point. Woman-owned and operated, the name bamboozles the local troglodytes long enough to book repair services. By the time their stereotypical thinking catches up with them and they realize who they’re dealing with, they’d have to forfeit a cancellation fee to seek out a male mechanic. Nobody ever does; wounded pride is easier to heal than a wounded wallet.

As far as Yoongi is concerned, Mrs. Kim was a genius for this. Her daughter is, too. She’ll be a worthy successor, in his — and everyone else’s — opinion, when the time comes.

The bell jingles as he pulls open the glass-paned door to the shop. To his surprise, no one is waiting at the counter to greet him. Brows now furrowed, he glances around the vacant waiting area, hoping his hunch hadn’t been wrong.

It’s the first time he’s been inside in over a year; and the only time he doesn’t shout to alert the Kims of his presence. The urge is there, of course, but he knows that time kept marching on in his absence. Now, he doesn’t know if he’s that kind of welcome.

Yoongi flattens his smile into a straight line, worried that some things did change.

He steps around the counter and approaches the doorway into the garage itself. As he moves, he can hear tinkering growing louder; metal on metal. Humming, too, though that’s interrupted by intermittent curse words.

Now, that’s familiar.

All he sees when he crosses the threshold is steel-toed boots, grease-stained jeans, and small hints of skin that peek through holes in the denim. The body those belong to is halfway under some absolute clunker. Yoongi can tell, based on bent knees alone, that some things wait right where they were left.

“Be with you in a second!”

It takes a bit longer than that for you to emerge, but you eventually do. As you scoot forward, the rickety, wooden creeper underneath you squeaks along the cement floor. The flashlight you’re holding drops immediately at your side. It rolls back to the space you’d left underneath the car.

Surprise is spread all over your face when you see him standing there. Then again, it may just be a smudge.

Your smile is a mind-blowing shade of white next to the black something you unknowingly wiped from the back of your hand, across your left cheek. And you sound just like your mother — expletive included — when you gasp, “Min fuckin’ Yoongi, as I live and breathe!”

“There’s that mouth,” he snorts.

Thank god, he thinks. He’s missed your crassness. Missed the playful way you glare at him when he says shit like this to you. For once, you don’t smack his bicep in retaliation.

Yoongi extends a hand to pull you to your feet. The expression you’re wearing tells him he must be joking; and really, he knows better. Then, you stand on your own.

You’ve always been good at that.

Like you have to make sure he’s real — really there — you reach out and poke his cheek, eyes narrowed suspiciously. Yoongi doesn’t care in the slightest that he’s likely smudged now, too. All he can focus on is the way your lip twitches upwards when you’re satisfied with your findings.

“If you’re in town for a wedding or a funeral, tell whoever it is that I didn’t want to be invited, anyway,” you smirk, head cocked to the side. “It’s gotta be one of the two, right?”

You don’t say the quiet part out loud. He hears it, still: You said you’d never come back for any other reason.

Yoongi grimaces, if only for a second. It’s been a month since this plan came about, and it still feels weird, sitting on his tongue. He shakes his head and offers, “My dad.”

He doesn’t say the quiet part out loud, either, but it sits in his stomach like a stone. Immediately, your eyebrows shoot up. Clearly, it’s just as weird to you as it is to him. Yoongi wonders what conclusions you’re jumping to, having heard that what pushed now pulls.

Sheepishly, he rubs the back of his neck and hits you with a flat-line smile; the one you used to tease him for. Remembering that fact makes the corners of his mouth curve upwards.

“Damn bakery isn’t gonna run itself,” Yoongi continues. “Old man’s retiring to travel, or… whatever it is retired people do.”

You blink, stunned, and gesture wordlessly out the open door in the form of a question. He doesn’t need to see where you’re pointing to know what you’re pointing at. And even if he did glance towards the family business across the street, his eyes would only go as far as the bus stop on the corner. He’s been picturing it since he left town.

Left you with the only kiss he’d ever had the chance to give you.

He watches your eyes flick briefly from him, to that bench in particular, then back again. As he does, he wonders if — maybe — that bench has made a home in your head, too.

You wipe your hand off on your jeans, as if it makes any difference. As if Yoongi has ever — would ever — mind your callused fingertips, and grease-slicked knuckles.

When you finally do offer your hand to shake, you heave a melodramatic sigh. “There goes the neighborhood.”

“And here I was thinking that property values decreased when I left,” he mutters, now earning the bicep swat he’d been waiting for. He yelps in feigned offense, “Hey! Hitting a fellow business-owner — in this economy?”

You cross your arms and pop your hip with a roll of your eyes.

“Forgot how sensitive you are, dough boy,” you tease. “What are you gonna do, bake a cake about it?”

Yoongi tries to bite back a grin. As he does, he shakes his head. “Nah, that’s not what I’m going to do about it.”

With a quick glance down at his watch, he confirms that closing time is a few ticks away. You’re looking at him with confusion in your eyes when he resets his sights on you.

You nudge, “Then what?”

“I’m gonna give the grease ball an hour to get ready, and then I’m making it buy me dinner.”

“Min fuckin’ Yoongi,” you whistle, visibly impressed by his audacity. “Did you find a sense of humor on that sabbatical of yours?”

“Maybe,” he shrugs. Then, he winks. “Guess you’ll hear about it in an hour, huh, greaseball?”

[jo-harrington]

Corroded Coffin Fest - Day 19 - In the Garage

Summary: The boys get crafty...

Word Count: 690

Rating: T

Warnings/Themes: Older!Corroded Coffin (it's the late 90s...), the pure boys will be boys energy, car speak thats probably wrong

Note: Big thanks to @courtingchaos for being a trashcan with me while everyone was asleep.

Check Out the Main Post for @corrodedcoffinfest here! Even if you didn’t start on Day 1, you can still join!

Tagging: @the-unforgivenn at her request.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

They’re too old for shit like this.

Hands down. Point blank, end of story.

Still, they’re walking through the Hawkins junkyard looking for all manner of bits and bobs for their newest “project."

They'd honestly all grumbled about it when Jeff told them his idea: building a go-kart. They all had work and other commitments and if they were going to do anything, they should be practicing and working on getting their demo tape finished.

Eddie was the one to hone in the vision, though; not a go-kart, think bigger. Think cooler. As much as he hated to say it, the punk rockers had something going with their rat rods and beaters.

“And it would look so fucking cool in a music video,” Eddie pointed out.

That was all the convincing they needed to build their own car.

Now, Eddie wouldn't consider himself an expert mechanic but he could get by. He'd worked on his van for years, Jeff's car too, and provided tune ups for neighbors every now and again.

But this? This was new territory. This would take time and work and extra sets of hands.

Gareth was the most precious about it, stating that his hands were the money, their bread and butter.

"You do realize all of us need our hands to play," Dave pointed out. "You're not special just because you're the drummer."

"I just don't wanna break my wrist again if it gets smashed under the two ton shitbox we're building, asshole"

"You'll be fine, just lift with your legs."

It also required more time spent back home in Hawkins, but it was a sacrifice they were willing to make.

“For the music video" became their mantra as they imagined themselves featured on MTV amongst flashing images and psychedelic colors as their songs blasted in the background.

Wayne was happy to see them, of course.

He got breakfast with the boys every weekend before they went on their little scavenging missions at the junkyard. From there, they spent the rest of their Saturday at the Emersons, turning the two-car garage that they used to have band practices into some strange auto shop where they learned to weld and install suspension and everything that wasn't just an oil change.

They even leaned into the shitbox-style that Gareth had criticized, and Jeff created a little experiment for making some of the pieces of metal rust and corrode intentionally.

They were Corroded Coffin, after all.

"Just don't get tetanus," Mrs. Emerson warned when she brought snacks out to them.

Unfortunately they all ended up needing a booster shot by the time all was said and done.

Little by little it came together.

They each had their specific vision, using other fictional cars as inspiration--the Monkeemobile and the DRAG-U-LA--but they agreed that they needed to keep with the theme, and in the end they built something reminiscent of a hearse.

A long body with panels that were probably poorly welded together, but they made the best of that, hoping that the Frankensteining of it would look more purposeful. In fact, they ended up naming their rod Frank because of it.

Steady hands from hours of painting mini figs led to pinstriping wherever they could. There were exposed pipes that looked like rib and an extra set of headlights that looked like angry, glowing eyes. Eddie even sacrificed one of his rings and soldered it to look like an earring. Absolutely badass.

"Ok but can it run?" Jeff asked nervously.

They'd gotten it started many times, tested to make sure everything worked...but now it was a real put-your-money-where-your-mouth-is moment of truth for them.

They piled in, strapping themselves into the makeshift, mismatched seats and then prayed that it would all go right.

"Wait!" Eddie cried out right before he was about to start it. "Frank needs a little good luck charm."

From around his neck he pulled his lucky guitar pick--one he caught as his first concert, the one that he'd worn for years--and he wound it around the rearview mirror.

"Alright boys," he breathed. "Here goes nothing."

They all held their breath as he turned the key in the ignition.

And with a vrooom Frank started with a purr.

[moosemonstrous]

Ghost Rider Magical Girl AU

yeah you read that right - check out the tag I'm just following the brilliance of @cicada-candy and @wazzappp

At first, Robbie thinks he must be dead. He drove straight into a wall at forty miles per hour, by all means he should be dead.

This is like the fourth time you’re having this freak out, the snake mutters, coiling around the steering wheel. It flicks the wipers on with his tail, the blades struggling to scrape off the black substance covering the windshield. A ghostly body slowly evaporates from the hood.

Robbie blinks. He’s on the other side of the building, as if he drove right through it. When he looks over his shoulder, through the miraculously intact rear window, all he can see is a solid brick wall of the warehouse.

See? The snake hisses. He sounds incredibly smug. Told ya it would work. I think you got them—

Just to hammer down how rarely the snake is right about anything, he’s interrupted by a loud bang on the roof of the car. It’s promptly followed by manic scratching, like the ghost is trying to claw its way in.

Well, shit, the snake observes. You’re gonna have to get out to deal with this one.

“Like hell I’m getting out.” Robbie turns the key in the ignition to start the car again, the engine rumbling to life with a shower of pink sparks on the dashboard, because this is his life now, apparently. When he tries to step on the gas, he ends up jamming the ridiculous heel of his boots into the floor. “These fucking boots—” He tries again, only for his foot to slip right off the pedal. “Come on!”

The scratching intensifies. It’s gonna take the paint off! The snake shouts, like that isn’t a mind-boggling event all of it’s own. Get the hell out and kick its ass!

“You think I can stand in these?!” Robbie nearly broke his leg running back to the car when the ghosts attacked him outside the auto shop. Just because injuries don’t seem to stick when he’s in this stupid fucking outfit doesn’t mean he wants to try that again, much less kick anything. Inches above his head, the ghost shrieks in rage.

How hard can it be?! It’s just shoes! Women do it all the time!

“Not without– training, or something!”

The next warehouse is only a few meters away, and Robbie is an excellent driver, but he’s not exactly flying under the best conditions right now. If he can’t control the car, he’s going to end up–

A set of hooked talons breaks through the passenger window, the half-melted ghostly face lowering itself down after it. His options rapidly diminishing, Robbie grabs one of the bedazzled white hammers he ends up holding after every transformation and throws it at the creature, hitting it right in the nose. It wails in pain, but doesn’t stop it’s torturous crawl inside.

Get the other hammer! Don’t just throw it, keep hitting it!

Robbie does. He’s dimly aware he’s screaming the entire time, the black blood spraying out of the ghost and onto his white gloves, but eventually the ghost goes limp. It gives one last forlorn moan before dissolving into nothing. Robbie waits a couple of seconds, struggling to catch his breath, before he risks sticking his head through the broken window to see if this was the last one.

No more ghosts. The night is quiet again, the colours returning back to their regular L.A. light pollution levels. He falls back into the driver seat heavily, chin against his chest, which puts him in the inconvenient position of staring right down at the pink fucking gem embedded in his sternum.

On top of everything else, why does it have to be this violently pink?

That could’ve gone worse, the snake slithers across the dashboard to audit the damage to the window. Don’t turn back yet, the glass will repair itself in a few minutes.

“Why can’t it do that when I’m normal?” he mutters. He doesn’t want to be wearing a dress for a moment longer than it’s strictly necessary.

It’s just faster this way, quit whining.

Just to add insult to injury, the gunk doesn’t disappear with all the other magical shit. At least it looks more like motor oil than anything else – it’s enough of a pain to clean it up every time without someone calling the cops because Robbie keeps leaving dark alleyways covered in actual blood. With a sigh, he reaches under the seat to retrieve the paper towels and the disinfectant. It’s easier if he wipes it off right away.

Someone clears their throat outside. The snake shoots his head up, instantly wary, while Robbie ducks down – the last thing he wants is for anyone to see him like this, ghost blood notwithstanding.

“Hi,” he hears, before the crunch of gravel closing in on the car. “That wasn’t half bad.”

Robbie turns back around just in time for a blonde man in a leather jacket to lean down to peer through his window. He looks remarkably unfazed by having witnessed someone hammer thin air into submission, although he does look a little surprised when he takes in Robbie’s whole… thing. He gestures for him to roll down the window, and Robbie does, mostly out of sheer confusion.

There’s a motorcycle parked a few meters behind him. How long has he been here?

“Uh,” the man takes a second to collect himself. “Damn, sorry, I thought you were an actual girl.”

Robbie’s going to grow an entire beard as soon as he gets out of here.

He’s a witness, the snake hisses. You need to get rid of him.

“Hey, now,” the man protests. “That won’t be necessary.”

“You can hear him?” Robbie asks dumbly, pointing at the snake. “Did you–see? All that?”

The man inspects his nails while he talks. They’re painted flame-bright orange. It doesn’t really fit his general biker aesthetic, and Robbie feels something like hope kindle low in his chest.

“I think you and I should have a conversation,” the man says. Then, as if a hilarious joke just occurred to him, grins and adds: “Magical girl to magical girl.”

[nico-di-genova]

Trans Jaime Headcanons:

Wears hoodies and baggy clothes out of habit now. But he spent like the entirety of high school wearing hoodies, even when it was 90+ degrees outside because dysphoria is a bitch.

He got top surgery during college. It was paid for by the schools LGBTQ club using a fund that Bruce Wayne created (one of his adopted kids, Dick Grayson, is trans, so it’s a cause he’s super passionate about).

Also started T in college, but he has to ask someone to do the shot for him because he’s scared of needles. Usually it’s Bart.

When Khaji finally figures out what the conflicting data they’re receiving from his body means they offer to alter his body so it produces testosterone naturally. It’s one of the few changes he’s cool with.

First time he cut his hair was in elementary school. He did it himself, standing in front of the mirror with safety scissors and hacked at it until there were chunks in the sink. His dad was the first person to see him afterword and simply took him to the barbershop to get it cleaned up.

The second someone at church tried to say something, his mom shut that shit down. “This is mi’ hijo, Jaime. He has always been Jaime.”

The first person he tells is Uncle Rudy. This trend continues when Milagro comes out to Rudy first and he’s just like “do I give a queer vibe?”

He lets Rudy paint his nails sometimes, black on every other finger. He figures if Rudy can do it, then he can too.

They all expect nana to be a little confused at first, but surprisingly she’s the quickest to adapt to his new pronouns. She also makes him his first binder.

Jaime’s got the trans flag in his room along with the Mexican flag.

He’s so excited when he gets to shop in the boys section for the first time. Back to school shopping actually becomes fun, and he begs his mom for light-up dinosaur sketchers until she finally caves. They don’t really have the money, but Jaime had looked so freaking happy running around the store with them on, so obviously she couldn’t say no.

Alberto deadnames him exactly One time, because he’s been at the auto shop all day and he’s tired and not thinking. Jaime’s playing Pokémon in the living room and it’s just bordering on too loud so he tells him to turn it down before he’s realized the wrong name has slipped out. The hurt look on Jaime’s face is enough to ensure he never does it again.

Milagro was young enough when he first started going by Jaime that she doesn’t even remember his deadname. Someone at church asks her how (deadname) is doing one time and Milagro is like ??? Who tf???? I do not know them.

His family tries to be so supportive at first that it becomes kind of comedic. They buy him every blue thing they come across. Bed sheets? Blue. Socks? Blue. Folders for school? Blue. Snacks for his lunch? Blue packaging. Jaime feels like the Mexican Percy Jackson sometimes.

[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

[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?"

[bornagainkustoms]

Born Again Kustoms

Born Again Kustoms is the best auto parts seller and repair service provider in the Jacksonville, FL area. We provide services for all types of vehicles like Light Frame Repair, Car Painting Services, Paint Racing Cars, Auto Body Shop, Car Paint Shops, Aircraft and marine painting, Brake Services (etc) at affordable prices. We have high-quality professionals who will help you get the best repair services for your car. They know how to do car repair and painting by following proper guidelines so that the car looks beautiful and smooth. Call +1-904 374 6939 today for Repair services.

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Essential guide to Range Rover car service centres in Delhi NCR

Many automobile enthusiasts feel privileged to own a Range Rover. As a luxury SUV brand, this is a powerful vehicle, elegant in design and featuring advanced technology. Nevertheless, a vehicle of this premium level warrants expert care and periodic service to ensure it maintains its longevity and reliability. As for the people of Delhi NCR who own a Range Rover, it is imperative to be aware of the specialized Range Rover Car Service Centers in Delhi NCR and repair options for these high-end vehicles. These centres provide all the parts, expertise, and maintenance a Range Rover requires, from advanced diagnostics to genuine parts. This guide reveals what facilities, expertise, and options are available to keep these vehicles in excellent shape.

1. Importance of authorized Range Rover service centres

Range Rovers are complex systems with upgraded technology and are more than a traditional car. Authorized Range Rover service centres or Delhi NCR are crucially important in keeping the vehicle running efficiently and how long it will remain such. The Range Rover-certified technicians that work in these centres are specially trained for Range Rover vehicles and the centres have the latest diagnostic tools. Additionally, these services are carried out on these facilities according to service protocols that the manufacturer recommends strictly, such that every component receives and undergoes service to their factory standards. It helps protect the vehicle's warranty and leads to maximum performance.

2. Maintenance services

Range Rover owners get a wide variety of maintenance services provided at the service centres in Delhi NCR. Routine vehicle checks are also included, such as oil, filter changes, brake checks, Tyre rotations, and alignment services. They also go into detail about diagnostics which can inform you as to whether there is something currently not being picked up in a weekly inspection. Every service visit gives technicians another chance to check the vehicle's vital parts such as suspension system, battery, engine, and electrical systems. Routine servicing is more than preventing breakdowns it increases the resale value of the vehicle.

3. Engine and transmission repair experience

Engine and transmission repair are some of the most critical things when it comes to Range Rover maintenance. Any problem with the engine is the heart of the vehicle. The service centres in Delhi NCR can attend to minor as well as major overhauls. Often, the repair process includes computerized diagnostics that detail problem areas to pinpoint accuracy. Transmission services are just as important for providing smooth and efficient power to the vehicle. Overall, a faulty transmission can be detrimental to your overall driving experience, which is why expert attention is essential.

4. Suspension and Off-Road Performance Inspection

The Range Rovers are designed for luxurious use as well as for use off-road, which normally exerts much force on the suspension system. Service centres in Delhi NCR are particularly concentrated on the air suspension system necessary for making a car’s ride comfortable and adjustable. This can be altered by technicians to allow the car to handle at its best, especially for those people who take their cars off-road frequently. Wear and tear inspection, bushing inspection and substitution, and shock absorber inspection are standard to ensure that the vehicle keeps the Comfortable off-road appeal.

5. Bodywork and cosmetic repairs

Most Range Rover owners are particular about the look of the car just as they are on its performance. Auto body shop in Delhi NCR provides and supplies various body and exterior detailing services like denting, painting, scratch repair, and others. These centers employ the best paints and materials to make sure the car takes back its original look to make it like new again. Whether dent and scratch solutions or large accident claims, these service centres are marked by high-quality bodywork using appropriate tools and methods. The objective is to not only maintain the sleek look of the Jeep SUVs but also to ensure that their resale value is not compromised by the rough terrain.

6. Modern electrical and diagnostic services

New Range Rovers come with complex electrical architecture that regulates features ranging from the infotainment systems to safety features such as adaptive speed control and lane departure warning. Even a simple electrical problem can have significant consequences on driving comfort. In Delhi NCR, service centres have acquired skilled technicians who offer efficient services in electrical repair and troubleshooting. These centres can deal with wiring problems, sensor faults, and battery issues to name but a few of them. Additional software enhancements for the car are also possible; the car’s electronic system will be updated to function optimally.

7. Availability of genuine parts and accessories

  The Range Rover car model requires proper functioning that can only be obtained from genuine Range Rover parts and accessories. There are also lots of authorized service centres you can find across the Delhi NCR with genuine spare parts which come with a warranty from the manufacturer. It is noted that these parts satisfy the brand’s requirements and are checked for quality and performance. From the engine parts, and brake pads, to even themed trinkets, genuine components make for a better fit and longevity of the car. Such parts may appear cheaper than their genuine counterparts but end up costing much more in the long run.

8. Select proper service facilities

This is because Delhi NRC has several service centres which makes it very difficult to determine which service centre is the best in offering service and repair of a Range Rover car. However, when the client is selecting the auto repair centre certain factors must be considered including the reputation of the centre, the technician’s qualification, and the type of service offered. A review of the customer feedback via the internet and seeing to it that the company is accredited can provide the much-needed basis for the quality of services offered by the company. However, options such as a comfortable waiting area, pick-and-drop facilities, and a clear price structure can further improve the general impression. In conclusion, it will be ideal to have a service centre that is efficient in terms of the quality delivered, customer satisfaction and overall compliance to Range Rover service.

It is crucial to keep a Range Rover in tip-top condition to ensure it retains the luxury and power that the name has come to symbolize. Hence, it is crucial to seek out specialized service centres and expert facilities for Range Rover repair in Delhi NCR to meet the needs of these luxury cars. Starting with simple oil changes and going all the way to major engine and transmission overhauls, the services rendered at authorized centres play a crucial role in maintaining the integrity, functionality, and worth of automobiles. By selecting service centres with genuine Range Rover parts, superior diagnostic equipment, and factory-trained technicians, Range Rover owners can drive with peace of mind. With appropriate maintenance and attention to its needs, a Range Rover continues to deliver pleasure behind the wheel, whether floating through metropolitan areas or dodging through rough terrains.

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Choosing the Right Auto Body Detailing Service in West Palm Beach for Your Vehicle

When it comes to maintaining your vehicle’s appearance and protecting its value, auto body detailing is an essential service. In West Palm Beach, where the sun, salt air, and humidity can cause rapid wear and tear on your car’s exterior and interior, professional detailing is a must. Whether you’re preparing your car for sale, maintaining its condition, or simply wanting to enhance its appearance, choosing the right auto body detailing service is key to ensuring you get the best results.

With numerous detailing services available in West Palm Beach, it’s important to select one that offers high-quality, reliable services tailored to your specific needs. At Superior Exotic Color & Paint, we understand the nuances of auto body detailing and offer expert services that can help your vehicle look its best and stay protected from the elements.

In this article, we’ll guide you through the key factors to consider when choosing the right auto body detailing service in West Palm Beach for your vehicle.

1. Assess the Service Offerings

The first step in choosing the right auto body detailing service is to assess the range of services offered. Different detailing shops may offer varying levels of service, so it’s essential to select one that provides the specific services your vehicle needs.

Some of the most common Auto Body Details West Palm Beach services include:

Exterior Detailing: This includes washing, waxing, polishing, and paint correction to restore and protect the car’s paint. It may also involve more advanced services like ceramic coating and paint sealant to provide long-lasting protection against environmental elements like UV rays, saltwater, and dirt.

Interior Detailing: A deep cleaning of the vehicle’s interior, including vacuuming, shampooing carpets and upholstery, cleaning leather seats, and conditioning surfaces like the dashboard and door panels. This helps maintain the car’s comfort, appearance, and hygiene.

Engine Bay Cleaning: Some auto body detailing services offer cleaning of the engine bay, which can help maintain the engine’s performance by removing dirt, grease, and other debris that can accumulate over time.

Wheel and Tire Detailing: Cleaning and conditioning the wheels and tires to remove brake dust, road grime, and salt, while also applying a protective coating to prevent corrosion and maintain their appearance.

When choosing a service, ensure that the shop offers the specific detailing services you need, whether it’s a basic wash or a comprehensive detailing package.

2. Look for Experienced and Certified Professionals

The experience and expertise of the detailing professionals are critical to the quality of service you’ll receive. Look for a service that employs trained and certified technicians who understand the intricacies of different car models and finishes. A skilled technician will know how to handle your vehicle with care and will have the expertise to use the right products and techniques for your car’s specific needs.

Certified detailers will also be familiar with advanced techniques like paint correction, ceramic coating application, and headlight restoration. Their experience will ensure that your vehicle receives the proper care and attention it deserves.

At Superior Exotic Color & Paint, we pride ourselves on having a team of experienced professionals who are trained in the latest auto body detailing techniques, ensuring that your vehicle receives top-quality service every time.

3. Check Reviews and Reputation

One of the best ways to gauge the quality of an Auto Body Details West Palm Beach service is by checking customer reviews and the company’s reputation. Look for reviews on Google, Yelp, and social media platforms to see what previous customers have to say about their experiences. Positive reviews from satisfied customers can give you confidence that the shop delivers quality results.

Pay attention to the following aspects when reading reviews:

Attention to Detail: How well did the detailing shop address the customer’s needs? Did they take the time to clean every aspect of the car, or did they miss areas that are commonly neglected?

Customer Service: Were the staff members friendly, professional, and willing to answer questions? A good detailing shop will prioritize customer satisfaction and be willing to go the extra mile to meet your needs.

Consistency: Look for reviews that mention consistent quality. A reputable detailing service should consistently deliver excellent results with each visit.

4. Inquire About Products and Equipment Used

The products and equipment used in the detailing process have a significant impact on the outcome. High-quality detailing services should use premium, non-abrasive products that won’t damage your vehicle’s surfaces. Ask the shop about the types of cleaning agents, waxes, sealants, and coatings they use.

For example, when applying a ceramic coating or paint sealant, ask if the products they use are top-tier and designed for your car’s specific make and model. Poor-quality products may provide short-term benefits, but they won’t offer the same level of protection and durability as higher-end products.

In addition, inquire about the detailing tools used, such as dual-action polishers, clay bars, and microfiber towels. Professional-grade equipment ensures that the detailing process is efficient, effective, and minimizes the risk of damage to your car.

5. Consider Customization Options

Every vehicle is unique, and different cars have different detailing needs. A good auto body detailing service will offer customizable packages that cater to the specific needs of your vehicle. Whether you have a luxury car, a classic car, or a family vehicle, the detailing service should be able to tailor their offerings to match the condition and requirements of your vehicle.

For example, luxury cars or exotic vehicles may require special care, such as the use of premium wax or paint protection coatings, while older vehicles may benefit from more intensive paint correction services. Make sure the detailing shop can adjust their services based on your vehicle’s condition and your preferences.

6. Evaluate Pricing and Packages

Pricing is always an important consideration when choosing an auto body detailing service, but it’s essential to balance cost with quality. While some detailing services may offer lower prices, be cautious of unusually cheap deals, as they may indicate subpar products or rushed service.

Look for a detailing shop that offers competitive pricing without sacrificing quality. Many shops offer detailing packages that combine several services at a discounted rate, so it’s worth exploring what’s included in each package to determine which one best fits your needs.

At Superior Exotic Color & Paint, we offer a range of customizable packages to suit different budgets and vehicle types, ensuring that you get the best value for your investment in auto body detailing.

7. Ask About Convenience and Turnaround Time

Auto body detailing can take several hours, depending on the level of service required, so it’s important to inquire about the shop’s turnaround time. If you’re pressed for time, ask about their expected completion time for standard detailing services. Some shops may offer same-day or express services, though it’s important to ensure that these services do not compromise the quality of the work.

Additionally, check if the detailing service offers pickup and delivery options for your vehicle. Many reputable detailing shops provide convenient services where they pick up and drop off your car at your home or office, saving you time and hassle.

8. Look for Specializations in Specific Services

If you’re looking for specialized services, such as paint correction, ceramic coating, or interior stain removal, it’s important to choose a detailing service with expertise in those areas. Some detailing shops may specialize in certain types of detailing, such as high-end vehicles or heavy-duty trucks, and can provide a higher level of service for specific needs.

If you’re dealing with a unique issue—like a classic car restoration, deep interior odor removal, or high-end paint protection—find a detailing service that has experience in those specific areas. Specialized services may cost more, but the results are often worth the investment.

Conclusion

Choosing the right auto body detailing service in West Palm Beach is essential to maintaining the appearance and value of your vehicle. By considering factors such as the range of services offered, the expertise of the technicians, customer reviews, and the quality of products used, you can ensure that your car receives the best care possible.

At Superior Exotic Color & Paint, we offer a wide range of premium detailing services tailored to your vehicle’s needs. Our experienced technicians use only the best products and equipment to deliver exceptional results, ensuring your vehicle stays protected from the elements and looks its best for years to come. Whether you need a simple wash or a full detailing package, we’re here to provide top-quality service every time.