#The Turbine Theatre

[unlimited-rice-puddin]

"Wreckage" Review: A powerful, honest exploration of love after loss

A glorious time at The Turbine Theatre to see @WreckageThePlay - a gorgeous, touching piece with a unique, yet massively relatable portrayal of grief. Check out my ★★★★ review by following the link!

Writer Tom Ratcliffe explores the evolution of a relationship even after its end in this hugely emotional play Continue reading Untitled

[komsomolka]

In your esteemed opinion, is Mikhail Bulgakov actually a good writer or is he more in the Orwell end of the spectrum: popular for anti-soviet sentiment (despite clear disdain for women and working class) his works are heavy on?

Bulgakov was definitely a talented writer so much so that he was tolerated by Soviet power despite reactionary character of his works and even sometimes was (sort of) defended by such people as Gorky and Stalin (their pet liberal of sorts😅).

Gorky: Bulgakov is not my brother [...] I have not the slightest desire to defend him. But – he is a talented writer, and we don’t have many of those. There is no point in making “martyrs for an idea” out of them. The enemy must either be destroyed or re-educated. In this case, I am for re-education. (Further in the letter Gorky says Bulgakov wants to contact Stalin personally to ask for help with stable employment. Bulgakov later got a place in Moscow Art Theatre).

Stalin: Of course, it is very easy to "criticize" and demand a ban on non-proletarian literature. But the easiest thing cannot be considered the best. The point is not a ban, but step by step to force old and new non-proletarian trash off the stage in a competition, by creating real, interesting, artistic plays of a Soviet character that can replace it. And competition is a big and serious matter, because only in a competitive environment can we achieve the formation and crystallization of our proletarian fiction. As for the play itself, "The Days of the Turbins" (Bulgakov's play), it is not so bad, because it does more good than harm. Do not forget that the main impression left on the viewer by this play is an impression favorable to the Bolsheviks: "if even people like the Turbins are forced to lay down their arms and submit to the will of the people, admitting their cause is finally lost, it means that the Bolsheviks are invincible, nothing can be done with them, the Bolsheviks". "The Days of the Turbins" is a demonstration of the all-crushing power of Bolshevism. Of course, the author is in no way “guilty” of this demonstration. But what does that matter to us?

Bulgakov was heavily censored, called for questioning by authorities multiple times and struggled a lot financially due to his bourgeoise and White sympathies while living in proletarian state. But isn't it the same for communist intellectuals in capitalist countries? So i personally don't cry crocodile tears over his suffering artist lifestory. Bulgakov works were accused of valorizing the Whites by Soviet literary critics (he was universally hated by them) which is true but as Stalin mentioned idealogically it was still net positive for Bolsheviks bc Bulgakovs works were pretty defeatist when it came to Bourgeoise class.

Interesting analysis of Bulgakov in Soviet Literary Encyclopedia released in 1930s: Bulgakov entered literature with the awareness of the death of his class and the need to adapt to a new life. Bulgakov comes to the conclusion: "Everything that happens, always happens as it should and only for the better." This fatalism is an excuse for those who changed milestones. Their rejection of the past is not cowardice and betrayal. It is dictated by the inexorable lessons of history. Reconciliation with the revolution was a betrayal of the perishing class' past. Intelligensia's reconciliation with Bolshevism, which in the past was not only by origin, but also ideologically connected with the defeated classes, the statements of this intelligentsia not only about its loyalty, but also about its readiness to build together with the Bolsheviks - could be interpreted as sycophancy. With the novel "The White Guard" Bulgakov rejected this accusation of the White émigrés and declared: the change of milestones is not a capitulation to the physical winner, but a recognition of the moral superiority of the victors. The novel "The White Guard" for Bulgakov is not only a reconciliation with reality, but also self-justification. A forced reconciliation. Bulgakov came to it through the cruel defeat of his class. Therefore, there is no joy from the knowledge that the bastards have been defeated, no faith in the creativity of the victorious people. This determined his artistic perception of the winner (i.e. Proletariat/USSR/Bolsheviks).

[seat-safety-switch]

Sometimes, when I look up from my studies (gearbox re-assembly) I like to stare out the window. There, on the power lines outside my house, are a whole bunch of black-billed magpies. I'm told by the ever-present voice in my skull that I am in fact looking at a Parliament of magpies, but this is no doubt a holdover from the era when Parliament existed. It might even be from when the monarchy existed.

Birds have it really easy. They fly around a lot, play their songs whenever they want, and maybe threaten the local hot dog cart owner into surrendering some merchandise. Their lives have a downside too, though: dangerous predators like house-cats and hawks, and the existence of motorized vehicle traffic. Plus, they have to try and get food in the winter, and that's exactly what those magpies were doing this one weekend in January.

When all the goodies are covered in snow, or worse, frozen by one of the howling ice storms that periodically blow through this area and knock out civilization for a week or two, the birds can't get at their vittles. Once, years ago, a nice lady down the street would put out peanuts for them, and they would sup greedily. Perhaps these magpies are simply a much later generation, raised on the legends of their ancestors as this being A Good Place where Sometimes You Get Peanuts. No such luck now: she pulled up stakes and left for somewhere she didn't have to live next to a guy who tried to Prius-swap a Celica with a natural-gas-fired jet turbine on the roof for batteries. Boring.

Still, I decided that I would also do my part to make life easier for these wild scavengers. That night, when I backed out of my driveway, I made sure to rip the handbrake a little early, knocking my next-door neighbour's compost bin over, where it immediately disgorged its contents of spoiled theatre popcorn and government-issued Nature Valley® Extreme Environment Survival Bars onto the road. The birds would eat well tonight, they wouldn't expect another handout from what was clearly a miracle, and I would enjoy some karma in having made another living thing's life better, if only momentarily.

[unbunlievable]

I have theatre kid brainrot and I wanted to try and visualize what would happen if a Mechanisms album were turned into a stage production

This will have some minor edits to the songs and spoken parts, but will try to keep them as close to the original as possible. I will be focusing on the lighting and staging of numbers and how the blocking would work

“Once” and Old King Cole

Opening - the stage appears clear, with the lights in a blackout. A figure walks on stage but is not illuminated. This person (the narrator) recites the words for “Once”

The music for Old King Cole begins

“Old King Cole was a brutal soul and a bloody red soul had he” - the narrator is lit up with a single, tight spotlight. As the first verse continues, he walks/wanders/paces at the front of the stage while the spotlight follows

“Now every piggy has a razor blade and sharpened it with glee” - 3 spotlights on one side of the stage light up the actors playing the three little pigs on beat with “ra-zor blade”

Chorus - the spotlights disappear and the whole stage lights up with red backlights and top lights. The ensemble entered the stage at some point in the blackout. There is choreo (I am not understanding of choreo) and the the narrator dances among them, weaving through the other cast members. When the chorus is over the ensemble stops in place and freezes limp, kinda like restrung puppets

“Old King Cole was not missold/of years he had a hundred score” - the lights dim, not down to the blackout though, and the spotlight returns to the narrator. He is more active during this verse, walking around more in a slightly more manic way.

Chorus

“Old King Cole had conquered and stole/the wealth of a thousand suns” - the narrators movements are borderline frantic.

“Arrayed in armor black as ebony…would tell you that your life was done” - The narrator is interacting again with the Three Little Pigs, who this whole time have not moved.

Chorus

“In the center of Zantine…” the lights go back to the blackout with a tight circle around the narrator. He is calmer in his movements, more similar to the first verse.

“Where King Cole sat on his white throne” - the stage lights up again, with the ensemble gone. A large turbine set piece is in the back center, with to the actor playing King Cole on it, and the Three Little Pigs arranged at the foot of the throne. King Cole does not really move during the song, but watches the events play out

“Old King Cole had a tale he told/to those brought before his throne” 2 ensemble members playing guards drag in a third cast member, toss them before the throne, and leave. They pantomime out a scene of basically pleading for their life, but to no avail

“None could say what was said, save for the dead, and the three little pigs alone” - the ensemble member is cut down by one of the Pigs, and there is an extended silence between the end of the verse and the last chorus. The narrator has a positioned at the front of the stage directly in front of King Cole. He seems to notice where he is, and quickly leaves for the edge of the stage. This is the only time in which the narrator seems to be directly placed in the setting of the story

Chorus - the ensemble is back, with Cole watching from his throne. The narrator is next to King Cole, leaning on/hanging off his throne, etc. this chorus seems to more so have the feeling of the narrator directly talking to the ensemble, especially with the framing of him standing next to King Cole

Blackout

I’ll probably do more of this later, but that’s all I have directly planned out! If anyone has suggestions let me know :D

[gutsofgold]

Not really amateur but a production of WITW!!

I don't know many of the people in this just by looking but I do know Jade Marvin was in it as Mrs Otter

Performed in July 2021 at Norwich Theatre Royal, Turbine Jetty, and Latitude Festival - Theatre tent

Source: @-jademarvin on Instagram (had to put dash because it's someone's actual blog on here and I don't want to accidentally tag them 😓)

There's a few photos of this production that I could find so expect them next!!

[juicedemonsixtynine]

Yo Breaking Bad/Better Call Saul fans, a revised version of the unauthorized breaking bad parody musical will be running at The Turbine Theatre in London from 17th August - 23rd September 2023. While waiting for them to cook, the original cast recording of the musicals first run, under the title of “Say my name! The Unauthorized ’Breaking Bad’ Parody Musical” Is on Spotify, iTunes, and wherever you get your digital music from!

[sixofpomegranates]

☠︎ Scared, Princess? ☠︎

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Popular!Fem!Reader

Word count: 20K (Yeah, idk either.)

Summary: The Princess of Hawkins High and I hate each other, always have, but I think there is more to her... Is the Princess actually just another bullied kid who found a disguise out of her misery?

A/N: Listen, I had this joke with a Furby I really wanted to use. I tried it with a care bear and other toys to have it for the ’80s, but it wasn't nearly as funny. So: pretend turbines already exist, or make it modern!au or just ignore logistics and enjoy the joke.

CW: Fluff, Comfort, Angst, Smut 18+ | Enemies to Lovers | No use of y/n | Mentions of Past Bullying/Suicidal Thoughts/Pressure to have Sex/Loss of Virginity/Fake Friends (Reader), Neglectful Parents (Reader/Eddie), Alcohol Consumption/House Party, Fast Food Consumption, Popular Kids Being Jerks, False Accusation of SA/Incest (Eddie), !Reader being lifted up! – Smut ~ Penetrative Sex (Creampie, Unprotected, Rough, Semi-Public, Mirror Sex), mild Fear Play, Fingering, Oral (M&F), Thigh Riding, Hair Pulling, Cockwarming, Praise/Degradation, Breathplay, Spanking, mild Dom/Sub undertones, Aftercare

☠︎ The Freak's POV ☠︎

The Princess of Hawkins High. The flawless little cheerleader ranking in the social hierarchy of high school right under all sides loved Chrissy Cunningham, the Queen.

I love to tease her, push her buttons, and make her face turn into the cute little frown wherever I can. Her nose twitches when she gets angry; I wonder if she knows...

I wouldn't say I hate her, but I certainly feel irritated by her.

Always surrounded by the most popular jerks, the princess seems to constantly seek their approval. She has done so ever since her first day of school in this hell hole a year ago.

She – in fact – might be nothing other than a little puppy expecting treats for being a good girl—a preppy little puppy whose happy little smiles sometimes even tempt me to pat her.

But the little puppy is also a giant bitch at times. She snaps at me and hisses; she attacks before getting attacked. Coming too close to her would probably have me lose a finger... Maybe even my whole hand.

At the very least, she doesn't bully anyone, even though she has been a quiet bystander multiple times when her friends are busy ruining the lives of others.

She seems uncomfortable whenever she is caught in one of those situations, but she chose those friends and tolerates their shitty behavior. So, she is definitely not earning brownie points for it.

Not in my book. No... She deserves the shit I give her; the headaches brewing together storms behind does pretty eyes. I refuse to respect those who lack any respect for others.

As every day this week, there is a commotion outside the Hellfire Club's room... The prop room of the Theater Club.

A play is getting prepared, and therefore the Hellfire Club has to constantly deal with the door opening and closing. Students rush in and grab parts of my carefully arranged dungeon. They talk, they shove, they interrupt.

How is somebody supposed to defeat a clan of crazed cultists when there is that much reality intruding our fantasy?

As the door opens once more, I snap my head in its direction, roaring, "For fucks sake, can't you see that we are busy?"

The princess looks at me, dressed in this unforgiving little cheerleading uniform and a white cardigan. She holds a clipboard angled at her hip, her eyes wide at my angry outburst.

Taking a deep breath, she smiles, "I'm sorry, but as you know: This is the prop room of the Theatre Club. Having the theatre kids come in here and get their props is within their rights."

"This has been going on for a week now," I say, annoyed. "You could just get your shit when we're not in the middle of a campaign."

"Well, I am responsible for the set design and had cheerleading practice until now. So excuse me that I don't care for how convenient it is for you, Munson."

Now that she is mentioning it, she does look like she jumped around to annoying music for the last hours, her hair not perfect, the baby hairs sticking a little to her temples and forehead...

She is silent for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek; then, a devilish grin paints her glossy lips. "You could always just get a real room for your club."

I refuse to look at her any longer. Meanwhile, she's busy telling some smitten boys to carry out one of our tables.

"You know Higgins won't give me one," I mutter under my breath.

I hate it, but plenty of people know that I had to grovel at the principal's feet to ever even have Hellfire considered a real club. We don't get to request. The smartest thing to do is be as quiet as possible before Higgins shuts it down, scared I am sacrificing cats, or goats, or some shit...

The princess hums, uncaring, stepping next to me, "Well, sucks. I need the throne."

Her pink pen points with its end at my chair – my throne. I make myself extra heavy and chuckle, "Absolutely not."

An irritated look spreads on her face. "Get lost, freak; I need it for the play."

"Already gave you my answer," I smile as ill-humored as possible, then focus back on my sheepies, hoping to rekindle the excitement there was before we were interrupted. "Henderson, your turn. The cruel right hand of— Hey! Hey, stop that!"

The annoying princess is shoving her entire weight against my throne, thinking she can tip it enough for me to get out of it. She seems not to realize that I rather faceplant and take the chair with me than give her what she wants.

"Get out of the throne."

I give her a temperate shove that is already enough to make her stumble backwards. I swiftly check if she is okay, then grin at her face. "You can have it and all the other shit your selfish little heart desires when we are done with our campaign."

"But I need it now! I can't wait for your fantasy shit to be done; I have a curfew!"

I shrug, the desperate whine in her voice barely hitting me. "Though luck, princess."

"I'm going to tell on you," she warns me, the little angry vein on her forehead finally showing up.

"Good luck with that."

"I waited for my chance to design this set all year; I won't have you ruin this for me just because of your constant need to be a dick."

"And I won't have you ruin a perfectly good campaign that took me months to prepare just because you think you're entitled to special treatment."

"Eddie," she says again after some more props have been carried out of the room. "I need the throne for King Lear. You can have it back after the play is over."

"Yeah, nah. I'm sitting too comfortably. Like I said, come back when we're done here."

A frustrated groan leaves her throat, and I chuckle, "No need to lose your mind, Ophelia."

"Ophelia is from Hamlet, you uncultured idiot. You, of all people, should know the difference."

"Why? Because I am, too, a king that is losing his mind?"

"No, but because you are repeating Ms. O'Donall's English class for the third time now."

Okay. Ouch. Bitch?

"Eddie, maybe we should just—" I ignore Handerson's call for peace. I am not going to be the first one to back down.

"What's got your panties in a twist today, princess? Did Jason switch back to railing Chrissy again? Is that why you need to bitch at us? Can't handle that you'll always be just his side piece?"

"You're an asshole."

"And you're not intimidating without your shitty friends."

She sighs. "I need to be home by nine. Please get out of the—"

"Why? Is your daddy finally coming to visit you? Would really be a first since your family abandoned you here."

We all know that she lives with her aunt, a woman that is never home. It's the basis of her coolness. She has money, a place all to herself, and nobody can restrict the number of parties she visits.

"Well, at least mine's not doing 15, leaving me to live in a shitty trailer with my hermit uncle."

Jumping up from my chair, I growl, "Be careful what you say, bitch!"

I can take every blow towards me, but Wayne – the only father figure I've ever known – is off limits.

Although she trembles, she lifts her chin at me and snarls, "What are you gonna do, trailer trash? Beat me like your dad beat your mom?"

Without thinking, I close the distance between us, making her yelp and back against the wall. I would never hurt her... Hurt anybody... But I can live with the fact that she's scared that I might.

Being marked as an insane freak is an opportunity to set boundaries. Bullied kids develop all sorts of defense mechanisms and grasp possibilities like these. My defense is playing crazy, an unpredictable freak.

The Princess of Hawkins High looks at me with big eyes. She's barely breathing, shaking like a leaf as I tower over her. But as we both just stare and don't move, our expressions soften, and the wind is gone from our sails.

The air has calmed way too quickly, and the way she looks at me reminds me too much of myself when I'm pretending to be big and scary, although I actually just want to make it out of high school alive, with the least amount of trauma possible.

Jeff's hand on my shoulder suddenly pulls me back, far away from her. For a moment, I could swear she took an instinctive step following me.

Dustin hands her the clipboard that – sometime during our staring – must be slipped through her fingers. He apologizes countless times on my behalf, promising her the throne as soon as possible.

She nods, seeming as lost of a fighting spirit as I am, and then leaves.

"Shit, seriously. It's always the two of you. That'll end in a murder one day," Jeff sighs, patting my shoulder before sitting down.

"Not cool, man," Gareth lectures me. "If she tells Higgins about this, we're in trouble."

I wave him off, sitting back down on my chair. I actually don't feel like playing D&D anymore.

The Princess of Hawkins High... Is she another bullied kid who found a disguise out of her misery?

*****

Not thirty minutes later, I carry the throne into the cafeteria that doubles as the performance hall with the large stage across the entrance.

Nobody's here; the lights are suspiciously dimmed. For a moment, I believe that everybody has already left. Then I notice her sitting on the stage floor, tracing something onto cardboard.

The Princess of Hawkins High kneels there on all fours, butt in the air, completely unaware of my presence. Her headphones on her head and the cardboard beneath her seem to have her resign in another dimension.

My mouth becomes dry, and I lick my lips. This stupid cheerleading uniform has no right to hug her body like that. The heat in my face wanders downstairs when I think just about how good she looks in this position.

I fucking hate Jason Carver.

He plays hot and cold with her, using her and throwing her away to be with cute, innocent Chrissy over and over again.

For a year now, both girls act like it doesn't hurt them. And while I believe that this could be very true for blissfully oblivious Chrissy, the princess accepted her treatment, keeping her title and social status rather than her dignity.

It would be a lot easier for me to hate the Princess of Hawkins High if she weren't so pretty. I truly gather a great amount of self-hatred for this shit. Out of all the people, I want the cheerleader with bully friends, the one that lets Jason Carver – of all guys – use her like a cheap toy because his friends are hers and dictate her social status.

Sitting up and stretching a little, her eyes meet mine, and she yelps, making me scream in reply.

A small heart attack is truly one way to get rid of an uncalled-for boner.

Turning off her walkman, she takes off her headphones. "What do you want?" she asks with enough hostility to freeze hell.

"Brought you the chair," I answer, pointing at the obviously in front of me placed furniture piece.

She mumbles a slight "oh," and walks down the stairs next to the stage.

"Where do you want it?" I ask, lifting the heavy piece of wood.

She points at the corner next to her, and I oblige. My arrival seems to have reminded her of the "curfew" she said she has.

Closing the stage's curtains and the door to its stairs, she grabs her bag and walks outside. I follow her silently. The club has agreed to postpone our campaign.

Outside, she checks her watch, cusses as she knows that past nine, there are no buses, and starts walking.

I call her name, making her turn around.

"Hey, I can drive you," I offer.

I don't like her, but Uncle Wayne has taught me well enough not to let a young girl walk home alone at night.

"So I end up dead in a ditch?" she snarls.

I roll my eyes. "You're going to walk home on the side of the street. I don't need to drive you to have that being the end result."

She shakes her head, walking away. "No thanks."

"My uncle says it's not safe for women, especially not pretty women. The world is full of sickos and perverts."

She turns around again. "That coming from the town's freak is not as impactful as you think it is."

I sigh, throwing my head back for a moment, then say, "Stop being stubborn and get in my van. Nobody has to know I drove you."

"Why would you even care?"

"Because I am the last person to have been with you. I really don't wanna be a murder suspect accused of killing 'the pretty cheerleader with a bright future.'"

"I'd rather walk. Thanks, though." She offers me a smile and then walks away.

Fine.

Fine. Who cares?

Not me!

I hop in my van and drive out of the school's parking lot. I don't need to be nice to her. Let her end up in a ditch—none of my business.

On the other hand, though... I really don't want that to happen. Not only because I'd be suspect number one but also because...

It just doesn't feel right. I'm a freak and asshole for show, but I am a nice guy—not like Jason's bizarre version of nice guy that only ever ends with girls in the back of his car. Wayne would kill me if he knew I let a girl put herself in unnecessary danger, and I wouldn't be able to sleep well tonight, not knowing if she ever got home safe.

I groan, smacking my wheel, annoyed, and turning the van. I drive back to down the street and halt next to the princess.

Rolling down the window, I say, "Get in. C'mon, don't make me beg."

She shakes her head again. "Leave me alone, Munson." Then she puts on her headphones and keeps walking.

Jesus Christ, why is this woman so stubborn?

I turn the car again and, at the slowest tempo possible, drive behind her.

She turns around and looks at me, weirded out.

I shrug at her. "What? You didn't want to get in?!" I exclaim although she doesn't hear me.

Shaking her head again, she continues her way home.

I hit my wheel again, hating that Wayne raised me well. Life would be so much easier if I'd actually be an asshole.

"Oh, Eddie, thank you so much for making sure I get home safe," I mock the princess's voice.

"You're very welcome. But I am just doing the bare minimum," I answer as myself.

"Yes, but it's so sweet of you. Tiny dick Carver would never do this for me."

I chuckle, "I know he wouldn't. And I know it's small; I haven't skipped PE in a while and—" I pinch the bridge of my nose. "I'm fucking losing my mind here..."

An imaginary conversation with the princess, that's how far gone I am. Unbelievable. She wouldn't even stop to check if I were okay should I drive into a tree right next to her. And yet here I am, actually driving at snail's speed behind her to watch out for her.

Ten minutes into this shit, she turns around again. Shaking her head like I am the unreasonable here.

"You could just get into the fucking van!"

Of course, she keeps walking and leaves me to mutter annoyed bullshit to myself.

As we reach her house, she promptly stops, looking for something in the driveway. From behind, I see her shoulders sag.

Wiping around in her face, she turns around for a second, teary eyes glistening in my headlights.

Did... Did she actually expect somebody to be home?

Just as I try to gather the courage to get out of the van, she walks inside her big, lonely house, turning the lights on.

The Princess of Hawkins High. For so many, she is an inspiration, a clear view of what you could be if you'd only were perfect enough, had enough friends, would be loved enough...

But I think I know better. The Princess of Hawkins High is all alone.

*****

♛ The Princess's POV ♛

The Freak of Hawkins High still stands outside my home with his van as I walk into the kitchen and rewind the answering machine.

Aunt Tess had promised to be home today. I'd waited for nothing other all day than to finally hug her again. Especially since she hasn't been home for over three weeks now.

I press play and listen to the calls I missed during my day at school.

"Hey, girly," the voice of my aunt rings in my ears. "So sorry, but I won't make it to Hawkins any time soon. The deal in Japan is a bigger project than I anticipated, and — Just gonna be honest, I forgot to tell you a couple of days ago. I promise I'll be home next month, and I'm gonna make it up to you with a ton of gifts from here, okay? If you need anything, just call, okay? Great, love you."

"Hey, me again, honey. I forgot to tell you, I just put some more money in your account, and there is so much on it; I am starting to feel like you forgot how to shop? How bout you splurge a little? Make me feel less bad for not being home. Okay. Gotta go, bye."

My heart sinks, and I would start crying if I hadn't already in the driveway... When I saw that, once again, nobody's there.

I get a glass of water and gulp it down to ignore the way my throat closes up. For a second, I think I hear shuffling in the bushes outside the kitchen window but am distracted by my mom's voice coming from the recorder.

I haven't heard her say my name in a while, so my entire focus goes back to the little electronic on the kitchen counter.

"Hi, sweety. How are you doing? Your dad and I miss you terribly. We're currently in Paris, and I just know you would love it here. Work has been crazy and... Look, baby, that's why I called. I know we promised we'd pick you up and travel through Italy in July, but the firm is expanding so rapidly at the moment, and July will have us in Greece and Turkey, and maybe even China... Thing is, we'll have to cancel that trip, love. I know you were excited about it, but I can't see a way we would manage to push you between our other arrangements. How about I'll send you some extra money, and you'll have a girl's trip with Tess? My treat... Yes? Yes, I just need— Okay. Okay, sweety? I've got to go back to work. We'll talk soon, okay? Love you."

I press my lips together for a moment, then throw my glass against the wall across from me. I watch it shatter and fall to the floor.

Who cares? Not like anybody except me is going to notice that it's missing. I hate how loud I am sobbing by now, but can't seem to stop myself. I'd been really excited to spend time with my parents. I haven't seen them for months, even the last call was weeks ago.

I walk into the living room and drop onto the couch, curling into a ball. It's not like my family doesn't love me. I get everything I wish for, but I'd like to have a hug, maybe even a family dinner, instead of a bunch of cold money.

I tried to spend it all, but no matter what I buy, it doesn't help me when I feel alone, falling asleep on the couch, watching movies so that I hear people talk in this house. Being lonely sucks, and I am pathetic.

I don't know how much time passes, but after some squeaking wheels burn rubber outside my house, somebody rings the bell.

My heart thumps in my chest. I'm way too scared since watching Maniac last night. Why am I constantly doing this? I know I get paranoid when watching horror movies.

It doesn't help that I don't know if the freak's still outside. I am so not going to open the door for him. I do not intend to die tonight... Although I am not sure if he would actually do something like that.

Like, he scares me, but I don't feel like I am in danger when he's around. I actually appreciated that he drove me home—kind of.

It rings again, and this time, I get up. I walk to the door and look outside to see Amy, Jessica, and Chrissy standing there.

I didn't intend to have people over, but okay. I open the door, putting on my brave girl face.

"Hi," I greet them.

They look me up and down, each one of them dressed like they belong on the runway or in a music video, anywhere but my home, actually.

"Are you okay?" Chrissy asks quickly, hand rushing to my arm.

I nod. "Yeah. Yes, just my mom and aunt canceling on me again."

Chrissy quickly hugs me as the other two walk in.

Jessica looks around. "You sure there wasn't anything else?"

I shake my head. "No. Like I said—"

"The freak was outside your house," Amy interrupts me. "Creeping through the window."

My face heats up with the terror of what he might've witnessed, what he will use as ammunition against me at our next quarrel.

He has seen me cry; I didn't hide it well enough when disappointment hit me in the driveway. Maybe he wanted to check on me?

No. That isn't Eddie. He probably just been nosey or wanted to prank me by scaring the shit out of me because I stole his throne.

"I— Well, we... He kind of followed me home after I left school," I say, noticing how bad that sounds.

Amy's eyes widen. "Then it's good we threw some rocks at him and told him to fuck off."

"I didn't," Chrissy interferes. "I think that's mean."

"Yeah, but that's just because you wanna fuck him and see if he's living up to his title," Jessica snorts, walking into the kitchen and muttering something about the broken glass.

We follow her as we always do, Amy still going on about how a couple of girls had taken Eddie for "a test ride" before.

"You guys know how I feel about premarital sex," Chrissy squeaks, red as a tomato.

Jessica cackles, "Yeah, that's why Jason has to rail your friends instead."

We're all silent for a second. Shame floods over me like a bucket of cold water. The rumors and badmouthing will haunt me for a long time, but not as much as the guilt I feel toward Chrissy.

Jason can be very convincing, and I am apparently pretty dumb. I know he's not going to leave my friend any time soon, that I am just "his side piece," like Eddie said, but I always let myself be talked into sleeping with him...

I don't think I would even wanna date him. I just don't want to get on Jason's bad side, don't wanna lose my friends, as they were his first before mine and will stay his when the question arises.

Chrissy always forgives him, saying that he can't help himself and just is insecure and uncertain about their love, but actually, he's an asshole. And I am probably no bit better.

"Jason loves me," Chrissy insists, looking at me for support, although she knows he fucks me when he's bored of sharing a milkshake with two straws and "going steady" by holding hands.

I nod, not wanting to pop her bubble of ignorance. Guys like him never change.

"Anyway," Amy claps her hands, sitting down on the barstool. "Get ready. We'll wait."

"What?" I ask, confused. "Ready for what?"

"Tammy Thompson's party?" Jessica frowns. "God, how can you forget a party like that? We talked all of last week about it."

"Sorry. I forgot."

"You gotta be really stupid to forget this. Like, I knew you're not bright, but this..."

"Doesn't matter, right?" Chrissy de-escalates the moment, grabbing a broom and cleaning away the shards on the floor. "Just go get ready, kay?"

I hurry upstairs before Jessica can go on about me being stupid. She enjoys that I should've graduated a year before them... In another school, another life. It makes her feel superior.

I take a quick shower, do what's necessary to my hair, and apply makeup. When I walk into my bedroom, I hear gossiping downstairs and try to ignore it, too scared that it might be about me.

I put on a summer dress and matching shoes and head downstairs.

Amy and Jessica are currently listening to the voicemail left by my mom. Chrissy stands next to them, looking uncomfortable.

They are laughing, and I hate that it doesn't surprise me. I hate that I know this invasion of my privacy and the mocking are a price I am willing to pay to continue being their friend.

Looking at me, they stop their laughs and turn off the tape. They compliment my clothes and call me pretty like they didn't just revel in how pitiful I am.

And I thank them and compliment them back because that's what I do; that's how I continue to belong.

*****

I hate parties. They are nothing like in the movies. My friends don't drink or dance with me, giggle with me about nonsense...

No, we sit here on the couches with a couple of basketball players (unless they get up to help each other chug an entire can of beer or do a keg stand) and talk shit about people we don't really know.

Oh my God, have you seen this girl's perm? Kill me now.

Is she colorblind, or why did she think that color combo was a good idea?

Look at that nerd. Who invites losers like that? Why did he even show up? As if anyone wants his ass here.

"Fuck, there's the freak again," Amy's voice makes my head shoot up from my red plastic cup filled with... I guess beer and some sweet soda, but what do I know?

And true, there he stands. A can of beer in his hand, talking to Steve Harrington, a lazy smile on his face as he nudges the girl next to Harrington... Robin. That's her name. She's a girl from the marching band. She's nice.

I didn't know they were friends.

"How the mighty have fallen," Patrick says. "Back in the day, Steve 'The Hair' Harrington, King of Hawkins High, would've never been seen with the dealing freak."

I keep staring until Eddie looks in our direction, his brown eyes meeting mine. He's so pretty when he smiles and isn't frowning at me. I promptly focus back on the cup in my hands.

Jessica, who seems to have seen it, grins. "Now don't be scared," she tells me, looking at our jock friends and telling them, "The freak followed her home today and was staring through her window when we came to pick her up."

Disgusted outcries leave the guys in our group, and in an instant, Jason reaches over Chrissy, resting his hand way too high on my thigh.

"Are you okay?" he asks, squeezing the meat of my thigh. "You should start letting me drive you home for safety. You never know what's going on in that creep's sick mind."

I move my thigh a little, but Jason's hand doesn't leave me. Instead, his fingers start playing with the hem of my dress.

"I'm okay," I mumble, clearing my throat before repeating myself and sitting up more straight. While doing so, I act as though I have to correct the placement of my dress's skirt, shoving Jason's hand away.

As uncomfortable as I am around Eddie, at least he wouldn't expect me to "make him happy" in the back of his van with him for driving me home.

I know it's a big assumption, especially since I am terrified of the freak, but if that were his only motive today, he would've driven home and not followed behind me to make sure I was okay.

"You know what you should do?" Jessica says, delighted. "You should confront Munson about the stalking. Throw your beer into his face. A little embarrassment would probably humble that loser."

Amy nods. "Yeah, put him back in his place."

I shake my head—no chance I would do something like that. It's unnecessary drama, and I don't even like confrontation. It makes me shake and shiver.

"Come on," Chance laughs. "Don't be a sourpuss. We like you better when you're a sweet one."

He and Andy high-five each other, then turn to me. "Ideally, you could also throw in something about him being his uncle's bitch."

I scrunch up my face in disgust. "I am not doing that," I hiss. "That's disgusting."

Andy shrugs. "I'm just stating the obvious. None of those freaks can pull any, and Eddie looks like a pussy anyway."

"You're sick," I tell him, biting back the urge to vomit and hate myself for hanging around with people like this. People who get a thrill out of pushing others with obscene rumors and made-up bullshit.

Amy shrugs at me. "C'mon, now you're overreacting. We're just saying that because it'll hurt him. It's like when we were ten and told everyone his mommy's a hooker."

I shake my head, putting my drink on the coffee table. "That's so wrong."

"Why would it be wrong?" Jessica asks me. "It's his own fault for choosing to be such a loser."

It's your own fault for being such a loser.

I struggle to breathe as I suppress all the memories of coming home and bawling my eyes out. Of bloody, scraped-up knees from being pushed. Of my mother telling my dad I should just start fighting back so I'd be left alone.

Starting somewhere new doesn't erase the scars of the past.

Fighting back has never worked. It only made things worse. To conform oneself is the only way to survive.

I stand up promptly, ignoring the ongoing conversation.

"Where are you going?" Chrissy asks sweetly, holding hands with her boyfriend.

"Gonna get a new drink. That one's stale," I tell her with a fake smile and hurry outside.

The yard is thankfully empty for most parts. Some couples are making out while a couple of guys play beer pong, but nobody bothers to even look at me as I grab a cold beer from the cooling box filled with ice.

I press a hand, cold from the ice, against my neck to ease the tension.

Why am I doing this to myself?

It constantly keeps getting more challenging to look in the mirror, given the company I keep. But I don't know if I will survive starting right back where I started a year ago.

I wanna take a sip of my beer, but surprise, surprise, it's still closed, the cap laughing at me. I look around for a bottle opener, but it wouldn't be my luck if I would find one.

Suddenly the bottle is taken from my hands, and I look up to Eddie, who, without trouble, removes the cap with the plastic bottom of his lighter.

I stare at him in amazement. That was so cool. I have no idea how he did that without breaking something, but it's so impressive. And useful.

He hands me the bottle back. "Thank you," I say quickly, taking a sip.

Eddie stands there for a while, and I lean down, fishing a second beer out of the cooler and handing it to him. That's probably the only reason he's still here.

He takes it which a surprised expression, muttering, "Thanks."

Then he opens the beer again with his lighter and chuckles at my staring. "I can open these with my teeth—now that would really blow your mind. But last time, I chipped a tooth and had to promise my uncle I'd stop doing it."

"It's really cool," I mumble, mentally preparing for another blow from him.

But he just grabs another beer and hands it to me. I take it confused, and once he holds his lighter in my direction, I know what's going on.

I quickly shake my head. "I– No. I– I can't do that."

He cocks his head. "Why not? I'll show you."

"What- What if I break something?"

"Yeah, because nobody in the history of house parties has ever broken something—especially not beer bottles or a lighter."

He tries handing me the lighter again. "C'mon, princess. If something breaks, I'll take the blame."

I put my beer aside. I grab the lighter and look at Eddie, in each hand one of the needed items.

"Hold the bottle by its neck," he tells me, demonstrating the tight grip on his bottle.

I mimic him, and he nods. "Now, keep your thumb there and fit the edge of the lighter underneath the cap."

I do as he tells me. "And now?"

"Use your fingers as leverage and push the lighter up."

I have to try twice; Eddie encourages me. "A little harder, princess."

And then: Pop. The cap opens.

I opened the beer. With a lighter. This is by far the coolest thing I've ever done. I didn't even break something.

I look at Eddie, pure excitement painting my face.

"That's so cool," I tell him, showing him the opened beer.

He chuckles, grabbing a fresh plastic cup and filling the beer inside. "Good to know you're easy to impress."

"That was not easy," I tell him, and he hands me the red cup.

Giving me two more closed beers, he refuses to take his lighter back. "Go show your new trick to your friends."

"But that's your lighter."

He shrugs. "Got plenty more where that one came from."

I nod, putting it in my bra for safekeeping.

As he quirks his brow, eyes for a second gliding over my cleavage, I explain, "I don't have pockets."

Taking a sip from his beer, he looks away for a moment, nodding. "Well, uhm, maybe we'll see each other later? Like, when you get another beer, maybe?"

My heartbeat rises to a threatening level again. I nod, embarrassed, terrified, giddy, excited. "Y–Yeah, sure, maybe."

I head inside, walking back to my friends, who are all invested in something Jessica tells them.

As I come close enough to hear, it feels like my heart is getting pierced by a harpoon.

Nothing changes. No matter how hard you try, things will always stay the same.

"And after her aunt calls her mommy, telling her they don't even want to see her during summer break. Well, and we come to pick her up, and she cries like she just found out Santa and the Easter Bunny don't exist. It would be sad if it wouldn't be so fucking funny."

The group laughs, except for Chrissy. "Guys, that's mean. She was really upset about it."

"Yeah, because she's a baby. Come on, Chris," Jessica nudges her. "It's not like she's one of us anyway; we just chill with her because she buys expensive shit for us, and nobody's ever home."

"And because she's a good fuck," Andy adds, punching Jason's arm, "A fuck you still have to share, dickhead."

I don't know why I was stupid enough to think they would like me at least a little.

I don't know why I am surprised to find out they were just nice to me for the money.

I intentionally had made myself the selfless, sweet person. I bought them drinks and snacks; I hosted sleepovers and borrowed them money; I bought them the best birthday presents they could've wished for...

I wanted to make it seem to them like loving me was effortless.

"I like her. She's lovely," Chrissy defends me because she genuinely has a heart of gold.

Amy nods. "Yeah, and that's why she fucks your boyfriend."

The group cracks up. Jessica directing the direction of the conversation again. "She has no personality. Seriously, a piece of cardboard has more character. Have you seen her room? It's like a hotel room. So creepy. Total Carrie White behavior."

Taking a deep breath, I don't cry. I can't give them a luck to see me cry. I walk in on their conversation, put the closed beer bottles on the table, and look at them.

Their conversation halted the moment they saw me. Now they look almost a little afraid.

Jessica hums my name, her voice oozing with fake friendliness. "What have you got there?"

"A– Uhm... I," I stammer, then clear my throat.

Just pretend you didn't hear them. Gaslight yourself into blissful obliviousness like Chrissy.

"A trick," I say, wanting to reach for the lighter hidden in my bra.

But I stop.

For a moment, the grip on my filled-to-the-brim cup tightens, and I let my impulsive thoughts win. I walk up to Jessica; she and Amy are sharing the armchair.

"Are we gonna see some girl-on-girl action, ladies?" Patrick whistles; the rest of the jocks are just as enthusiastic about the idea.

She looks up at me, grinning like I am genuinely her friend, and blowing me a flirty kiss.

In a matter of seconds, I dump the cup's contents over Jessica, drowning her fake facade in beer.

She yelps, looking up at me, absolutely furious. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

I hand her the empty red cup, saying, "Sorry, my inner Carrie White came through."

The boys who formally were cheering about a wet t-shirt contest are now quiet as well. They know I heard them and have taken offense to it.

We all stare at each other for a few seconds; Amy uses paper tissues to help Jessica soak up the beer. Jessica bitches because of her makeup and dress... Not like I bought it for her anyways.

"We were just joking," Chance says.

"Yeah, let's forget about it. We all drank and thought it was fun," Jason says, hand reaching for my waist as he tries to pull me on his lap. "Come here, baby."

I take a step back, shaking my head. Then I rush upstairs and lock myself in the first bathroom I can find.

Well, not lock...

A couple of seconds after I isolated myself from the party, Eddie enters.

I am washing my hands and trying to calm down, taking deep breaths, so I don't burst into tears or have a panic attack when I fully notice him.

"You okay?" he asks, warm brown eyes scanning me.

I nod, grabbing a neon green, fluffy hand towel to dry my hands. "Peachy."

He continues staring, and I lose my nerves. "What are you doing here?"

"Wanted to check on you."

"Well, you did. I'm okay. Now get out."

It intimidates me to be in such a small room all alone with Eddie. He is terrifying. Terrifyingly loud, terrifyingly handsome, terrifyingly honest.

"What your friends did wasn't okay. They shouldn't have said those things," he tells me calmly, not getting intimidated by my tries to get rid of him.

Good to know that he heard everything. It makes me wonder how many other guests overheard how pathetic I am.

"Well, thank you for stating the obvious. Now get lost," I bark.

"Maybe you should stay away from them. You're only getting used by them, just like Jason's only using you."

I feel tears well up in my eyes as I hiss, "That's none of your fucking business, freak."

Eddie coos my name in the softest way I have ever heard, taking a step closer. "You could do so much better than running after a jock who's only using you for the sex his girlfriend doesn't give him."

Laughing spitefully, I snarl, "Better? Like who? You? Sorry, but the last time I checked, the only pussy you're getting is a quick pity fuck or girls trying to figure out if you're also a freak in bed or if we all just call you that because you're a weird, pathetic loser."

His eyebrows knit together. "Hey, don't be a bitch to me just because you chose to have shitty friends."

"As if your friends are any better."

"They are," he growls at me. "They might not make me seem cool and desirable, but at least they don't talk about me like a little piggy bank or a fucktoy they get to share."

Impulsive thoughts take over again, and I slap Eddie across the face.

I have precisely a second to fear the consequences; then he grabs me by the shoulder and pins me against the cold tile wall.

He manhandled me so roughly that it takes me a second before I can breathe normally again. His arms are now pressed against the wall of each side of me, and I feel fear creeping up on me again.

"What have they done to you that makes you think you constantly have to attack before being attacked, huh?"

I look away from Eddie, hoping he doesn't see my lips shiver or my body tremble. But he grabs my face with his right hand and forces me to look at him.

He seems angry and annoyed, but not necessarily at me. His eyes still lay comforting on my features.

"You can't possibly enjoy being used as Jason's cumdump and having to watch him go back to his perfect girlfriend — the one he actually wants — when he's done with you."

"As if you would treat me any different, freak," I bite out, hoping to hit him right in his hypocritical ego.

For a second, he just looks at me; then his hand no longer grabs my face; instead, his knuckles delicately brush over my cheek.

"You're talking to a guy who fell in love with the first girl using him for her little test ride and needed almost a year to figure out what was going on. Why these pretty girls gave me hopes, seemed like they liked me, let me wine and dine them, but once we had sex, they didn't talk to me again... Pretending I didn't exist.

"I wouldn't treat you like Jason for many, many reasons. I am not an asshole like him; I can't turn off the fact I need to have feelings for the person I fuck; Or that I hate how much I would like you to look at me like you look at that idiot...

"But most importantly, I know exactly how it feels to get used—be a little pawn in the cool kids' game. I'd never project that pain on somebody else just to make myself feel better."

I feel seen, understood, and called out for my past behavior.

Looking away while others were treated by my "friends" like I'd been by my bullies all my life wasn't okay. I knew that. But I had just wanted to be the target no longer.

He thinks I look at Jason with love... God, the freak's a little stupid.

"You don't want me to look at you like I look at Jason," I tell him, avoiding his eyes.

He tilts his head so he can follow my gaze. "Is that so?"

I nod. "I look at Jason like he's somebody who told me he's in love with me and would break up with Chrissy so that I'd lose my virginity to him. And since then, I sleep with him because he calls the shots, and my friends are actually his friends..."

Eddie clenches his jaw. "You're right. Don't want you looking at me like that."

He's so close to me I can smell the cologne on his skin and the cigarettes on his breath. He's terrifyingly handsome.

"I'd rather have you continue to hate me then."

"I don't hate you," I whisper. He's too close to be any louder.

"But you don't like me either," he says, frowning.

"I'm scared of you," I admit, face piping hot with shame. "Y-You see right through me and call people out on their bullshit. I'm scared you'll do that with me, and I won't be able to look in the mirror again."

He doesn't say anything, so I continue to babble like a pretty-dressed fool.

"You're hauntingly pretty. I– I am really scared of what you make me feel because I want to run away from you without a chance to escape."

Eddie smirks during all of that, looking like a wild animal lying in wait for the kill.

His body shifts, now so close I could never escape, even if I'd try. His left leg moves between my thighs while the hand from my cheek now dances around my throat, ending any need for a necklace.

I look up at him. As he applies the tiniest bit of pressure to my throat, I whimper. I feel like I should run, my body tells me to flee. I tremble badly, eyes already teary as I feel myself become excited. I quickly look away.

I am excited. I am aroused, wet. Eddie does this to me with his presence. My fear of him arouses me.

My fear and the thought that he wouldn't actually hurt me... But very well could.

It feels so wrong that I whimper again, hips bucking and my sensitive clit rubbing against his thigh. I whimper again, that level of arousal unknown to me.

I look up at him again. He'd never looked away; he had studied my behavior, the rollercoaster of emotions I am currently going through.

My hands run up and down his chest, fumbling with his jeans vest, leather jacket, and the soft shirt beneath. There is no question I'd claw myself into his skin if he'd try to move away.

I buck my hips again, now shamelessly using the friction.

His head dips lower again, his warm breath spreading on my skin. "Scared, princess?" he asks.

I nod, lust drunken. "Terrified."

Then he kisses me, smiles just seconds before our lips collide.

I moan into the kiss, Eddie not needing any more confirmation that I am enjoying this.

His hands grab my hips, starting to control the way I am rocking on his thigh. His hips start rocking into me, and I can feel his clothed erection pressing against me.

My hands wander into his messy curls, his lips leaving my mouth and moving down to my neck. I moan loudly as he begins to suck at the delicate skin of my throat.

The suction hurts, causing electric shocks to strike straight between my legs. Eddie's mouth releases me with a pop, his warm, wet tongue licking over the angry spot apologetically.

He pecks my lips, a boyish grin on his lips. "Your beautiful," he tells me, pupils so blown I believe his eyes to me nothing but black marbles.

I whimper in reply, my entire focus lying on the tightening inside me and how good the harsh material of his ripped jeans feels against my clothed pussy.

Suddenly he removes his legs from me, holding my hips in place so I can't follow him.

Annoyed noises leave my mouth, but he just smiles at me. "I know, sweetheart, but you're making a mess on my leg. We can't have that, now, can we?"

I quickly shake my head; the bathroom just lit enough to have me see the wet patch I left on his thigh. Reason tells me I should be embarrassed, but Eddie looks at me so proudly I can only think of chasing the high it gives me.

A hand leaves my hips, and Eddie uses it to palm his bulge, seeming to hope it'll relieve him of some pressure.

Our eyes meet, and he grins, "Wanna show me how much of a slut you can be? How good you can behave?"

I quickly nod, following the push of his hand, and sink to my knees. I quickly run my hands over his thighs while he unbuckles his belt and opens his jeans.

I try to reach for his boxers, already licking my lips, but Eddie swats my hand away, the slap burning on my skin.

"Don't be a greedy whore," he warns me.

I quickly nod, eyes unable to stay directed at Eddie's face as he finally untucks himself. His thick cock is painted with rough veins, the pink, leaking tip making me want to forget any formerly given commands.

"Now, what did I say?" he warns me, hand reaching into my hair and making a makeshift ponytail out of it.

"You've done that before?" he asks, and I shake my head. "We don't have to."

I look up at him, pleading, "Please. Want to."

A low chuckle leaves him. "Now that's just pathetic, baby." Still, he uses his grip on my hair to pull me nearer his pulsing cock.

As my lips barely touch him, he coos, "Don't be shy; give it a kiss."

I do as he says, kissing his tip and coating my lips with his salty precum. He looks so pleased as I lick my lips; I instantly kiss his cock again.

"Good girl," he whispers, guiding me to take him into my mouth. "Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you, princess."

At the same moment, he tucks harsher on my hair, the feeling making me moan onto his cock. "Not any more than you want me to, at least," he chuckles, seemingly having hurt me unintentionally.

As I am comfortable with this new position, have gotten the hang of it, I try taking him deeper. He's long; I don't expect to be able and take all of him; he doesn't seem to expect it either.

But I give it my best. Eddie's hand is guiding my bopping head, grunts and praises leaving him. I almost choke, only the breathing through my nose hindering me from gagging, but I take all of him, the curly, dark pubic hair at his base, tickling my nose.

Our eyes meet as I hold him in the back of my throat, and a guttural moan escapes him. His fist hits the tile wall behind me, the loud sound making me jump and pull away from his cock.

We stare at each other for a second, a string of saliva still connecting us. Then we grin like misbehaving children.

Eddie takes a step back and pulls me to my feet. Gripping my hair again, he yanks my head back, exposing my throat. His tongue darts out, licking a broad strip up to my lips, following where the string of spit had landed.

He doesn't kiss me; instead, he smiles at me, leaving me waiting for something that never comes.

Spinning me around, Eddie holds my back pressed against his chest while he shoves the soap and small towels from the counter space into the sink. Then he pushes my upper body onto the now empty counter, my hot cheek resting against the cold marble.

I can feel him push up the skirt of my dress, Eddie's coarse hands groping my ass, and then slapping me harshly. I yelp a little, feeling him lean over to check my expression, and then do it again.

I clench my thighs together, not knowing when I will finally feel relief. Another smack comes down, this time on my other cheek. I whimper, hoping for the spanking to be over soon. Not because I don't enjoy it but because I am too riled up to wait any longer.

Thankfully, Eddie seems to have heard my silent prayer. He pulls down my panties, letting them drop to my ankles. I hear the chain on his jeans jingle and then the familiar sound of a condom wrapper.

I reach behind me, grabbing Eddie's hand. He leans forward, smiling at me. "It'll just take a moment, sweetheart. Safety first."

He tries, but I don't release his wrist. "I'm on birth control. Just– Just please let me feel you."

Eddie takes a deep breath, then nods. "Are you sure?" I nod so fast I fear dislocating something.

Standing behind me, I feel him glide his cock through my fold a couple of times, coating himself with my arousal. Then he bottoms out in me with one solid thrust.

I moan loudly, pressing my forehead against the marble counter as he stretches me out in ways I thought impossible.

Eddie shortly rests his body on mine, face pressed against my shoulder. His right hand rests next to my head; the left one runs up my thigh and waist. He solely lifts himself from me enough to reach under me and grope my tits.

He growls quietly and kisses my shoulder before he pushes himself up again. His hands glide down my back and come to a hold on my hips.

Eddie pulls me into him several times, experimental thrust having me breathless. Then he sets into a harsh and unforgiving pace.

I am so wet, the room is filled with the most obscene squelches I have ever heard. The high-pitched, already fucked-out moans leaving me surely don't make anything better.

Then, Eddie's hand tangles itself in my hair again. He pulls me up on my hands and forces me to look into the mirror.

"Keep your eyes on the mirror, baby. Watch yourself getting fucked by the freak," he tells me with a hint of resentment.

Watch the man you demonized for so long show you the gates of heaven.

I look at myself, hair a mess, lips puffy, pupils blown. I moan, every thrust coaxing another sound out of me while I feel Eddie so deep in me it makes my eyes try to roll back.

But I focus, I do as he demands, and I watch us. Watch Eddie. How his head falls back as he moans, how his hair sticks to his sweaty forehead, how his hand reaches underneath me, between my legs and starts rubbing my clit.

My insides tighten again; the coil inside me seconds from snapping. My head drops, and I accept the stinging pain that comes with it.

I already pulse around his cock when he stops playing with my clit.

He let's go of my hair as well, the hand now wrapping around my throat and pulling me up. Eddie leans down a little, ensuring I am pressed against his chest.

He's looking over my shoulder. I follow his gaze. Our eyes meet in the mirror.

"Look at that, princess. Fucking terrorized me for a year, running around and being a little bitch, and now you're so desperate for me, you didn't even let me put on a condom."

I whimper, not able to find words.

Eddie chuckles. "No, no. Don't be ashamed. It's good to know that all that was needed to have this raging bitch become a little puppy was to fuck her pussy raw until she sees stars."

"Eddie..."

He leans closer to my ear, never breaking eye contact. "Yeah, that's right, baby. Let the whole house know how badly you want the freak to come in your little pussy."

I'm on the brink of my orgasm when he says, "Fucking look at me when you come. I deserve to be the only thought in your dumb little head when you come on my cock."

And instead of keeping my eyes on his reflection, I turn my face to my right, looking straight at him.

The mirror had been a type of protection; it had kept us from looking directly at each other. We were supposed to hate each other, and maybe we would change our minds when our eyes meet. But I look at him, and all I can think of is how I don't want this moment to end.

He didn't think I'd look directly at him; the look on his face as our eyes collide tells me that... And it tells so much more.

Eddie dips his head lower, the hand from my throat now holding us up while the other cups my cheek.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, kissing me roughly as we melt into each other.

We are moaning into the kiss, my right hand flying up and holding onto his neck, the other trying to dig itself into the marble beneath its palm.

As I come, my knees buckle, and I go limp. Sex has never felt this good, and my body seems wholly to agree, the orgasm almost knocking me out.

Eddie's hand leaves my cheek so his arm can wrap around my waist and hold me up while he keeps thrusting into me. He finally fills me with his hot cum. Forehead pressed against my side, a husky moan leaving his lips.

Carefully, he lowers me onto the counter, my cheek resting on the marble top. We're both panting, and I don't feel like I am fully back on earth again.

Eddie brushes my hair out of my sweaty face, half his weight resting on top of me. He lazily kisses my cheek a couple of times, only stopping when a smile tucks on my lips.

As he stands up, ready to pull out, I grab his hand. He instantly stills in his movements. "It's okay, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere."

I shake my head. "Please. Not yet."

He signed, looking around a little. Then he pulls me up against his chest. With his arm around my waist, he lifts me up, walks over to the closed (and ugly decorated) toilet, and sits down.

Still inside me, his arm spreads my legs apart, hooking them over his own, so I can comfortably sit in his lap.

I am on full display, and I don't know if Eddie locked the door, but I don't care. Because his arm is still around my waist while the other lazily strokes over my naked thigh.

He leaves kisses up and down my neck and shoulder and presses his forehead against my temple. I am wholly satisfied. And the big scary metalhead seems to be too.

"You know," he suddenly speaks into the silence. "Whoever thought that fluffy toilet seat covers are a good idea is a psycho. Feels like I'm sitting on a fucking Furby."

There is a second of silence, then we both burst into laughter, making Eddie add, "The worst part it that that pervert seems to like it, given the way he tickles my balls."

"Jesus, Eddie," I laugh, holding my stomach.

As our laughter finally ceases, he presses another kiss on my shoulder. "Hey, how- how about we ditch this party and go eat a burger instead? My treat."

My heart races again, and I seriously start to question if I know the difference between excitement and fear, but at the same time, I am astounded.

He wants to spend time with me. We just had sex, he'd gotten what he wanted, and he still stayed around.

Jason had never stayed. He took what he wanted and then left.

The pain in my chest and the tears I refuse to cry let me feel just how fucked up the last year has been.

"I– My friends are..." I stammer. I don't know how to collectively call that bunch of bullies and explain how afraid I am to go downstairs again.

Eddie, however, seems to misunderstand my stammering. "Yeah, don't worry. Was a stupid idea anyways." He stands up, making sure I stand on my feet and then pulls out. "I'll go down first; just wait a couple of minutes, then you can join your friends again."

I lean against the marble counter. "Eddie, I didn't–"

He grabs one of the neon-colored hand towels and soaks it in water. While cleaning himself, he sneers, "No worries, princess. Won't tell anyone you took a test ride on the freak."

He's hurt, having built up a wall so promptly that I feel like he believes he never had a chance with me anyway. And now, he hates himself the for having gotten his hopes up.

Eddie tucks himself away, rinsing the towel with some more water before stepping next to me and kneeling down. I whimper and look at the ceiling as he pushes my dress up and begins to clean the mess between my legs.

Given the way I just let him fuck me and then sat there spread out for the world to see with him still inside me, I actually have no right to be this embarrassed right now.

"That's a nice ceiling," I blurt out to distract myself. "The only thing not neon colored or fluffy in this bathroom."

Eddie huff's a small laugh against my thigh but stays quiet as he cleans me of our mixed cum running down the inside of my thigh.

I press the back of my hand against my face, eyes squeezed shut, and just continue my mortified blabbering.

"I'd like to go eat something with you. It's just that I don't think I'll survive the humiliation of going downstairs and facing my friends after I just bathed Jessica in my beer. I am not good at confrontations, and if you don't know a way to get me out of this house by climbing out of a window or something, I believe I have to stay here until the party's over."

I interrupt myself with a whimper as Eddie brushes over my sensitive clit, then grab his hand to avoid him doing that again and look down at him.

I am met with a boyish grin on his pressed-together lips as he tries not to laugh at my short-circuiting brain. He throws the towel into the sink, and while standing up, he pulls my panties back into position.

"Want me to create a distraction? I could lay a fire... Or start a fight with Jason, restoring your honor?"

I giggle, and he leans closer, pressing a soft kiss on my lips.

"Or – if you like it extreme – we could kill two birds with one stone and set Jason on fire."

"You are crazy."

He nods. "The craziest."

"Maybe don't commit murder and get prison time just when I'm about to go out with you."

He chuckles, pecking my lips again. "Yeah, sounds counterproductive."

Eddie spins me around, back pressed against his chest and arms slung around me. I look at our reflection in the mirror. My hair is a mess, my makeup smudged, but Eddie (whose chin is comfortably resting on my shoulder) looks at me like I hung the stars in the night sky for him.

"I look like a mess," I mumbled.

He quickly snaps, "Shut up. You're beautiful."

I lean my head against his when somebody tries to open the door. We quickly jump apart, my anxiety rising as I say, "Occupied."

"Hey, we were looking for you," Amy says through the door.

"I'm fine. Just go away, please."

Eddie's hand brushes over my hair, and we smile at each other for a moment.

I don't need to be afraid.

I don't need to... I still am, though.

"Don't be a bitch and come out so we can talk," Jessica hisses, and I wonder if she's still soaked with beer or only reeks like a distillery.

I'd be oddly satisfied with both.

"There's nothing to talk about. You guys used me and are shitty friends." I look at Eddie, a proud smile on my lips.

I am standing up for myself. I don't need to be their punching bag.

"Everyone uses everyone. That's how life works," Jessica says.

Amy agrees, "You actually should be thankful that we let you to hang out with us; it's not like anybody else would ever want that."

"Yeah," Jessica goes in for the final blow, "If not for your lack of personality and annoying sob stories, then for being the basketball team's mattress. Everybody else would throw you to the curb for being a whore."

That's when Eddie unlocks the door and swings it open, towering over the two girls, growling, "You better fucking take that back."

The two girls look at him, absolutely terrified for a moment, so I step in front of Eddie. My hands are resting against the doorframe as though I could keep Eddie in and protect him from the hate we are about to receive.

"Are you kidding me?" Jessica asks, and I feel my stomach tie itself into knots.

"I– I am..."

"You seriously let the freak fuck you?" Jessica asks, this time so loud I am certain at least some of the other party guests are hearing her.

I nod a little, everything feeling numb as I am back in the position I was in a year ago. I am prey about to be devoured by monsters.

Jessica storms off, her heels loud on the hardwood floor. I look back at Eddie, who looks at me, brows knitted together. I just know he can sense the aura of panic and anxiety surrounding me.

Amy still stands there, looking at me, my disheveled appearance, and then at Eddie. As her gaze meets mine against, she says, "You didn't want it, right?"

I frown. "What?"

She repeats herself calmly. "You didn't want to have sex with Eddie. He forced you."

I feel the metalhead behind me tense up.

Shaking my head, I stammer, "No, we– I–"

But Amy interrupts me. "It's not your fault. That monster just preyed on you all day and attacked the second you were alone. We're on your side; I promise we still love you. Babe, we all know you would never let the freak touch you."

I spiral down the option I have just been given.

Lie. Lie. Lie.

Lie and tell me you were raped.

Lie so we can all pretend that nothing else happened today.

None of your actions will have consequences.

Eddie is an easy scapegoat. Nobody will bet an eye if I wrongly accuse him of assault.

Lie to save your life while ruining Eddie's.

Lie, and we will lie for you.

This goes beyond bullying. It is downright evil and disgusting... And for a moment, I think about it. Think about the get-out-of-prison card I have just been handed.

This is how far some people will go to keep their social status.

Being one of the cool kids is not worth this.

Jessica returns, all our friends with her. She has a big grin on her face, ready to shred me into pieces. This time with audience.

Jason is the first to speak, pushing past Chrissy and taking in the scene before him. The picture of Eddie and I. The mental image of us having sex.

"What happened?" he asks.

Amy is quick to cut off Jessica, nodding first at her and then at me. "Eddie raped her. Right?"

Jason's eyes are on Eddie, fury there that is solely his own righteousness. The rest of the group starts to explode into rage, throwing every possible insult at Eddie.

Jason takes a step towards us, and I make sure not to let him get to Eddie. "He didn't do anything," I say loud enough to make them shut up.

Chrissy pushes past our friends and takes my hand. "But Amy just said–"

I nod, barking, "Yes, because Amy is very sick in her head."

I make sure to look at every single one of my former friends (excluding close-to-tears Chrissy) while saying, "You are awful people. So easy to jump on the bandwagon and ruin somebody's life only because it fits your bully agenda. I am pretty sure that not a single one of you likes the others. You guys are just hanging out because you very well know that you're horrible, and none of you could ever make a single real friend."

They are silent and confused, look at each other and then at me. This felt good. No wonder Eddie is constantly calling people out.

"And you know what?" I ask them, feeling a second wind of courage as I look at Jason. "I just had amazing sex with Eddie. Better than I ever had with your pathetic ass. Also lasted about three times longer. Being fast isn't always a good thing, Jason.

"I hope that one of these days Chrissy finally realizes that she can do so much better than a guy whoring around for his ego, just being with her because she'll make a nice and quiet housewife that'll do his laundry while he bangs Amy and Jessica and has Andy's mom go down on him every Tuesday since her divorce."

All eyes are on me... Well, not really.

Patrick's are on Jason as he had known Patrick was chasing after Jessica for years now.

Andy will probably pass out, vomit, or both at any moment.

Jessica and Amy look at each other and wonder how I knew they, too, fuck Jason while making me out to be the devil for having done it.

Good old Jason is very talkative during sex but sadly very inconsistent with names and the amount of details he gives about other sexual encounters.

And poor Chrissy's are on her boyfriend. It hurts now, but frankly, I think it's better she finds out what kind of man he is now than in ten years when they're married with kids.

Jason, red-faced, takes an angry step toward me, his hand twitching as he raises it. I instantly yelp, "Touch me, and I'll sue your ass so badly you can kiss your scholarship and bright future goodbye."

The jock lowers his hand and looks at his "friends," but I cut into the meat of their lies way too deep.

It's then Eddie wraps an arm around my waist and shuffles us out of the bathroom. I'm not mad at him, as he almost uses me as a human shield to deflect anything that could come from the jocks—it's for the better; they won't hurt me.

As there are a couple of steps between us, Eddie grabs my hand, and we rush down the stairs. It's early quiet. I hadn't noticed that the music was out before. At the middle of the stairs, we see multiple party guests scattered around the living room, staring at us.

Had Jessica planned on letting everyone hear how she and the rest of the bullies chewed me to pieces?

Eddie and I exchange a look and then walk down the stairs like we weren't just about to run off.

"It's not a party when there's no fight, am I right?" Eddie chuckles loudly into the room, looking at Steve Harrington, "Dude? My stuff?"

Steve hands him his lunchbox. "You two okay?"

Eddie beams at Steve, wrapping an arm around me and lifting me a little. "Have you heard her?" he asks proudly. "My girl devoured those jocks."

"Think everyone heard her. You guys should probably take off."

He sets me down on my feet again, and Steve turns to the rest of the party. "Okay, people, now that the entertainment is over, who is ready to party? I think we should make use of that sweet pool outside!"

The former King of Hawkins High has the people wrapped around his finger as he turns the music up and encourages them to follow him outside, quickly waving us goodbye.

Taking my hand in his, Eddie walks to his van with me. Grabbing his keys, he grins, "You wanna get in, or am I walking you to Benny's?" I punch his chest and let him open and close the door for me.

Putting my seatbelt on, I finally feel my adrenaline drop. That situation was terrifying. It's a miracle I didn't start to cry in front of them; the tears are sure as hell coming now.

"Oh my God," I whisper as Eddie gets in. "I can't believe I did that."

His hand moves up to my thigh. "Hey, sweetheart. Everything's okay."

I shake my head. "I just obliterated all the friendships I had."

Eddie is silent for a moment, then sighs. "Okay, you know what you're gonna do? I'll drive you straight home, and you call your friends tomorrow and tell them you were drunk and did some uppers with me."

He pats my thigh before removing his hand. "Trust me, the way their friendships work, they'll never talk about tonight anyway. You'll have a perfect excuse for going off on them, and everything will be as it was."

I look at Eddie, surprised. He doesn't protest. He even helps me come up with an airtight excuse. But I honestly don't think I want them back as friends.

I watch his jaw clench as he stares straight forward. "I– I don't want..."

"It's cool, princess. Not like I expected anything to change between us," he tells me quickly, pained laughter leaving his lips.

I nod. Of course, he didn't. "Oh, okay." I wipe away the tear running down my cheek.

Stupid, stupid. I won't cry because Eddie Munson and I just had a meaningless hookup. I'm not gonna cry because he hasn't just magically fallen in love with me.

Eddie turns the key, and the van comes to life. Loud metal music nearly bursts my eardrums, and we both yelp in shock. He quickly turns it down and looks at me, apologizing, but I am already laughing.

He joins my giggles, hand flying back to rest on my thigh. I quickly wrap my hands around it, making sure he can't move away again.

It takes a moment to collect ourselves and even longer as we just look at the other. He's so pretty.

God, I really don't want to be his enemy again.

"I'm sorry," I tell him, making him tilt his head. "I was a giant bitch to you the entire year. The things I said weren't okay, and the names I called you weren't either."

He looks at me, then checks his watch. "It's a little early for a Christmas miracle, sweetheart."

I nod. Fair, I deserve that. I have made myself as unappealing and lovable to him as possible.

"I was a bitch to you, and you didn't deserve it, Eddie."

He shakes his head. "You weren't a bitch... At least not a big one. A little bitch. But I guess that came with the company you keep. Adapting to avoid being an outcast again has its downsides."

My eyes widen. "H– How...?"

How does he know?

How does he know?

Eddie shrugs. "Instinct. You seem a lot like you're attacking before I can say something. You never really bully but are willing to look away when your friends do it because you wanna stay on their good side. Everything about you, when you're with them, is fake. And when we're alone, you are a completely different person."

He chuckles. "When we're alone, you're a cute little thing that doesn't bitch around or wants to fight me for a chair. You're even scared of me... Like, I know I can seem scary, but come on. I would never hurt you. I'm all bark, no bite. But somebody who's been bullied a ton – know that one first hand – never really counts on it to be over. So we keep our guard up."

"I'm not afraid of you because I think you would hurt me. You call people out on their bullshit, and apparently, you see right through mine... I always feared that one day you be too spot on in front of Jessica and the others, and they learn that I am actually just a loser who befriended them so that I wouldn't be their target."

I wipe the back of my hand over my now-wet cheeks; the other hand still holding Eddie in place. "I am actually a really, really awful person. Just like fucking Jessica. I'm a total hypocrite."

"Hey, don't say that," Eddie coos, but I shake my head

"It's true. I befriended the worst bullies in Hawkins High and sucked up to them so they'd like me, although that's exactly the type of people that made my life so miserable that my parent sent me to live here, thinking bullies don't exist in go-fuck-yourself Hawkins.

"I am pathetic. A fucking joke. I- I literally just got my schedules on my first day here, took a look at what the cool kids were wearing, and then skipped classes to buy clothes that would make me fit in. What kind of loser does that?"

Eddie squeezes my thigh. "A loser that thinks fitting in is the only way for them to survive."

"That's stupid," I bite. "I would've survived even if I hadn't done that."

"Can you promise that? Can you really say that you would've survived if everything would've been like in your old school? If you would've gotten bullied again even after leaving your entire life behind—including your parents? Or would you have hurt yourself?"

I look away from Eddie, tears still running down my cheeks. I wouldn't have survived. I wouldn't have been able to handle all this pain again. Every single day up to moving here had been hell. I'd come home from school and cry for hours.

My parents weren't home enough, so they hadn't even noticed when I started skipping classes just not to be in school; I stayed at home and stopped taking care of myself. I'd been a dead girl walking when they finally decided things needed to change.

"See?" the metalhead next to me says, knuckles coming up to brush my cheek. "Even if it wasn't right, you did it because you thought you had no other option. You just tried to survive with the least amount of damage possible."

"Stop being so understanding," I sob. "Makes me feel even worse."

He nods. "Sure... Okay, then, how dare you, woman? How dare you attack my sweet innocent quirk of rubbing truths into people's faces without them asking for it?"

I giggle, almost choking on my tears. "You're such a dork."

He forcefully has to remove his hand from my thigh so he can cup my face in his large hands, thumbs wiping away my tears.

As he gives me a kiss on the nose, I say, "I don't wanna be their friend again. Wanna..." I stop myself before I can say something stupid like, "I want to stay with you."

"I– I think I have a proposition I'd like to make, princess," Eddie says. "I don't know if you knew, but eight toxic friends are actually the exact trade-in price to get a top-of-the-notch metalhead freak like me. It's even enough to treat yourself to the he-might-even-ask-you-out-if-you-promise-not-to-run-away-screaming bonus."

He removes his hands and gives me room to think. "Now, why would you want that?" I ask, not understanding how he could literally hate himself that much.

Eddie shrugs. "Believe it or not, there are people that actually like you. Also, you chose me today. You were given a one-way out ticket that would've put me in prison right next to my dad, but you chose to protect me instead."

"Everyone would've done that."

"Absolutely not," he shakes his head. "You saw how badly they wanted you to say I assaulted you. Every single one of them would've loved to throw me under the bus like that. So much so that I stopped hooking up with girls because my uncle always feared that could happen.

"One pretty, innocent girl regretting having fucked the freak, looking for a cop-out, is all it would take. There are maybe ten people that would come to my defense in all of Hawkins. The rest would say they knew I would do something like that, that I always was creepy, dangerous, and that it has to do with the satanic music I listen to.

"Maybe you made some bad decisions, but you're a good person, sweetheart. And because you chose me, knowing that it would slaughter your social status, I am more than ready to choose you and keep doing it."

I nod, but before I can answer, he pulls out of the driveway, drives down the road, and adds with a grin, "I also think you're a straight ten, so... I'd be stupid not to at least try to talk you into dating me. Like, she takes my side, she's pretty, laughs at my jokes... My Uncle would say you're a once-in-a-lifetime chance for a loser like me."

"Okay, I–"

Eddie interrupts me, pretending he's deep in thought. "I will, however, have to find a way to explain to the boys how I managed to pull someone like you... Ideally, without the fact that I fuck like a god—there are some little shrimp in Hellfire, so we'll have to keep it PG, baby."

"Eddie?" I giggle, but he continues.

"I will also have to make you the Princess of Hellfire Club. Because I don't think we can keep your former title... But don't worry about that. I have good connections to the King of Hellfire. I'm just gonna roll him a joint and explain to him how cute my girl can be when she isn't trying to design the set of 'Hamlet'—"

"King Lear," I interrupt him.

He nods, a mischievous grin on his lips. "Right. The one with Ophelia."

"I am going to beat you," I warn him, making him giggle because, apparently, he does know the difference and just loves to annoy me.

"Better be nice," he warns jokingly. "I'll have a lot of persuading to do since you stole the King's throne. Won't be easy. He was very pissed about it."

I let him ramble on, not a single doubt in my mind that he is too giddy to actually let me answer. But when my ears pick up on a familiar tune on the cassette that is playing, I quickly turn the volume up.

"Uh, 'Sweet Leave'!"

Eddie looks at me for a second, then back on the road. I have rendered him speechless.

"Sorry," I tell him promptly. "I– That was rude. I shouldn't have touched the radio without asking."

He shakes his head. "No. No, it's fine... I– That's Black Sabbath."

I nod. "Yeah, I know. I like them. My aunt took me to a concert of there's when we were in London in '81. Her ex-husband was really into rock and metal. They had a nasty divorce in which she got all of his vinyls and cassettes because he cheated on her, and she wanted to hit him where it hurt. Most of the stuff is also signed. It's all up in the attic somewhere. I can show you should you want to come over someday–"

Now, hello over-sharing. What the hell was that? I can't remember the last time I rambled that much.

"Sorry," I quickly say, but Eddie's hand moves to my thigh, a pearly white smile on his face.

"No, please, keep going." I look at him, unsure if he's only saying it to be nice, but he insists. "Seriously. Wanna hear more."

"Okay... Uhm, they divorced the spring before I moved here, and my aunt still had the tickets she had bought for his birthday, so she took me to the Monsters of Rock Festival, with ZZ Top, Marillion, Bon Jovi, Ratt, Metallica... It was so cool."

I laugh at the memory. "They only had very big shirts left at the merch booth, so I got a giant one. I actually still sleep in it when nobody comes over."

"Why?"

I bite the inside of my cheek. "I... I hide all my stuff in the basement. My old stuff. Like I said, I really wanted to fit in when I moved here and thought that maybe I was the problem."

"That's why Jessica said you have no personality?"

I nod. "I never decorated my bedroom. There are some polaroids, a scented candle, and my stuffed bear but all in all, it's still the guest bedroom I moved into. Didn't want to give anyone ammunition to bully me."

I hate how pitiful I sound, so vulnerable it scares the shit out of me, but Eddie squeezes my thigh. "But that right now is who you are? Like, listening to that kind of music and being into festivals and concerts?"

"I– I don't know if that's who I am. I definitely like it, but it's not all there is to me," I say. "I like aspects of every music genre, I like traveling, I like horror movies, but also am a sucker for romance novels... Especially the tacky ones with the bare-chested guys on the covers. I also never — not once — was able to keep a plant alive. I just forget they exist and stop taking care of them.

And apparently, I like talking way too much, way too fast. But I never really wanted to talk to somebody that much so it's a good possibility that I just need to get used to liking somebody that much."

Eddie chuckles, teasingly chirping, "Oh, so you like me, huh?" I nod, and he says, "Normally I am the one talking too much, but honestly? I think I like hearing your voice more than my own, so even if you don't stop with those cute little info dumps... I think I'm good."

I giggle, ears heating up and jaw hurting from my smiling. "Now what's that smile for, baby?" he asks, grinning too.

"I don't know. You just... You make me feel..." Giddy? Comfortable? Calm? Excited?

"Horny?" Eddie asks, pulling into the parking lot of Benny's.

"No. I mean, yes, but not right now," I stammer. "I think the feeling right now is happy. You make me happy."

Eddie kills off the engine and looks at me as though I told him he just won the lottery. "Happy, huh?" he breathes, and I nod.

Removing his hand from my thigh, he harshly grabs the stirring wheel with both hands. "I– Uhm. Wow. Okay," he stutters, street lights showing his pink cheeks. "I didn't think– I... That feels really weird. Like somebody opened a shook-up can of soda in my chest. All fizzy and bubbly and that kind of shit."

I frown a little while trying to decode what he just said. "I think normal people call that feeling butterflies," I say. "Like, when your heart starts beating so fast it feels like it's jumping out of your chest."

Eddie nods. "Yeah. That's the feeling." He starts laughing, "Shit. Never had that one before."

"I think I had it for Jason... In the beginning, I mean."

Eddie looks at me like a kicked dog, and I instantly regret having mentioned Jason. Why did I even do that?

Just as I want to apologize for ruining the moment, he says, "He really did you dirty, huh?"

"It's kind of my own fault," I mumble. "I should've known that real life isn't like a shitty teen romance, where the new girl captures the heart of the most beloved jock in school.

I'm so stupid. I had known him for maybe two weeks and actually believed him when he said I was special and that he was in love with me. Let him sweet talk me into having my first time in the backseat of his car, although I wasn't even ready... And the next day, he was still with Chrissy, and he never said 'I love you' again."

Eddie's doe eyes stare at me, glassy with a hint of pain. "I won't do that to you," he promises. "I know that's a very basic promise, but I won't hurt you."

I just nod, staring at my hands in my lap. Don't they all say that? He reaches for my chin and makes me look at him.

"Hey, I'm serious," Eddie insists. "I almost started crying, and my heart did that butterfly soda thing because you said I make you happy. If something good makes me have that strong of a reaction, hurting you will probably kill me."

I shake my head, being too vulnerable for my own liking. "Butterfly Soda is a cute pop band name."

Eddie chuckles at my sentence, then asks, "Can I kiss you?"

I nod, and he brings our lips together so gently, so chaste, I melt into him without hesitation. He could hurt me but trusting that he won't shoots a thrill up and down my spine.

He pulls away, grinning.

"What?"

His smile grows wider. "I bagged the hot cheerleader. And it's not even like I didn't have the hots for you before, but now knowing that you like the same music as me and are also a little bit of a freak..." He snorts a laughter. "Jason's a fucking idiot, and I'm such a lucky bastard."

I, too, laugh a little, making Eddie kiss me again. Then he says, "Okay, princess. What kind of burger do you want? I'm gonna get the food and then drive us home."

"To my place?"

"If you're okay with it?"

I quickly nod. "Yeah, totally. I- Uhm, I want a cheeseburger with bacon. No tomato, I won't eat it if there's a tomato in it. Like, seriously."

"Tomato in burger equals death. Got it. Fries and a milkshake?"

"Yes, and yes."

"Let me guess, strawberry?"

I gasp, appalled. "How dare you?"

"Chocolate?" he guesses again.

"Vanilla. Vanilla and nothing else in the world. Strawberry. Do I look like a strawberry girl to you?"

Eddie giggles, "Well, to be fair, you also didn't look like an insane person to me a few minutes ago."

"Let me guess, Munson, you like chocolate?"

He nods, "And strawberry and vanilla. Can't do wrong with me. It's a milkshake; I drink it. But I only dip my fries into chocolate shakes."

I blink at him. "You dip your fries into your milkshake."

"Yeah, the sweet and the salty balance each other out."

"You have a real nerve calling me an insane person," I laugh, reaching into my bra and handing him my credit card. "Here, your disgusting eating habits on me."

Eddie's smile vanishes, and he shakes his head. "Nah, keep it, sweetheart. Told you it's on me."

"It's okay. I have too much money anyway. My aunt is actually getting worried if I don't start spending it," I assure him, but he shakes his curly head again.

"Sweet thing, even if I'd accept you paying for it, they won't let me pay with a card that has somebody else name on it."

"But I'm giving you my okay. Chrissy used it too one time, and nobody cared."

Eddie frowns, and he stares out the windscreen for a moment. "It's not your card that is the problem. It's me. You won't find any place in Hawkins that will let a Munson pay with somebody else's credit card. My old man made sure of that."

"Oh," I mumble, watching how his face is drowning in shame. I'd known his dad was in prison and had used it for ammunition in fights before but, honestly, hadn't thought that the town was treading Eddie as if he was solely his father's son. Doomed to repeat his mistakes.

"Yeah. They'd probably call the cops without thinking twice, and that would end our cute little date in a heartbeat."

"Kay," I say, unbuckling my seatbelt. "I'm going in with you." Eddie looks at me, confused. "If I'm in there with you, they know you didn't steal my card."

"You know that means you're going to be seen with me, right?"

"You gave a whole speech about how I'm now your girl and what we're going to tell your friends."

He shrugs. "Well, yeah. Mostly because I like hearing myself talk and think I have banger jokes, but... I don't know. Am not as confident as I thought I was."

"Want me to tell you that I don't mind being seen with you?" I offer, making Eddie grin.

"I mean, you could hold my hand when we go inside. That's something couples do. Maybe I'll lay my arm over your shoulders and kiss your cheek too."

"Yeah, we can totally do that," I agree. Before pulling down the visit and looking at the mirror. "I need to fix my makeup, though."

"Say no more," Eddie smiles, pulling the still-damp neon green hand towel from his pocket.

"You stole Tammy Thompson's towel?" I ask.

He nods proudly. "It's our towel now, baby. Not like she wouldn't have thrown it away, given that we used it to clean ourselves after fucking in her bathroom."

Grabbing a clean corner of the towel, he spits on it before bringing it to my face and cleaning away the dark streaks of makeup on my cheeks.

"I should be more grossed out by this than I am," I tell Eddie, making him laugh.

"Nah, you enjoy having my spit on your face."

"And what makes you think that?"

"Because you're a freak. My freak, to be exact."

Eddie leans back, checking if he removed all of the mascara, then nods, happy with his work. He presses a kiss to my lip and then gets out of the van, running over to my side and opening the door for me.

*****

"Please tell me that's a joke!" I squeal, sitting next to Eddie on the floor of my living room.

He shakes his head, dipping another fry in his chocolate milkshake. "Nah, honest earned money."

"You ate a worm for ten dollars," I exclaim, making him chuckle.

"Yeah, because I was twelve and stupid. Today I would charge at least twenty bucks to eat one," he tells me proudly.

"How about I give you fifty, and you promise to never eat a worm again?"

"Deal, sweetheart." Grabbing my hand, Eddie shakes it eagerly, a boyish smirk on his lips. "See? Eating worms is already bringing in profits."

The Freak of Hawkins High has me laughing at all his stupid jokes, makes my heart flutter at every pet name he gives me, and the thought of him ever leaving makes me sad.

Maybe somewhere down the line of tonight's disastrous events, I have lost my mind. Maybe there was a rift in reality, and I ended up in a parallel universe... But somehow, I feel like myself again. Although she is a girl I bearly know at the moment, she feels familiar.

Somehow Eddie has found his way in the middle of all my chaos. He stands in the eye of a hurricane I created by trying to be the social butterfly I never was supposed to be.

The more time he spends with me, the more I feel grounded. I start feeling real again. I am not a butterfly. Maybe I am a raven, a rabbit, or a fox... Or maybe I am a girl that likes to use silly metaphors because they sound poetic. Who knows?

Cleaning up after our royal feast of burgers, fries, and milkshakes, I wash our plates. Eddie standing behind me and nipping at my neck. His teeth graze my skin, softly biting it.

Laying the clean plates aside, I lean back against his chest and sigh. He replies with a cocky chuckle.

"Can I ask you something, possibly very dirty?"

"Anything," I sough as my face heats up, and I try looking at him, but he holds me too securely, kissing my cheek and then my temple.

"I know we now established that you're positively afraid of me and know I am not going to hurt you... But when we were at the neon bathroom of horrors, I recall you saying you want to run away from me without a chance to escape."

I nod. "I– I know I said that, but that's not a question."

Eddie squeezes my waist, making sure to tickle me. "Oh, I'm sorry for trying to ease you into the conversation."

I giggle, and he stops as I try to move away. Sitting me on the kitchen island behind him, he steps between my legs, bringing his face close to mine. "Did you mean it?"

I quickly shrug, making him lecture me, "No, baby. Use your words. Work with me here."

"I know it's weird," I finally say, embarrassment burning my face. "I– I don't feel it with anybody but you, but it's really confusing."

Eddie's brows knit together. "Does it turn you on when you're scared of me, sweetheart?"

I nod, breath stacking as his hands glide up my naked thighs. "Want me to hunt you down like prey?"

I whimper, making his ego swell. "Maybe we could drive out to lovers lake sometime, and I chase you through the woods... Would you like that, princess?"

I nod eagerly. God, I should not feel myself becoming this wet when thinking of him like that.

As he raises his eyebrows, I remember to use my words. "Yes. Would like that very much."

Taking my jaw in his hand, he brings out lips together, grinning and whispering, "Kinky little thing," before kissing me so gently I could melt on the spot.

As he pulls away, he kisses the tip of my nose, then asks, "Want to show me your bedroom?"

"Are you going to stay?" I ask naively.

Although I am fully aware of my bedroom showing ending with him inside me, my heart yearns for a closeness I didn't think I was able to allow.

Eddie's warm eyes look at me, surprised and enamored. Almost as though I turned down hands full of diamonds just to hold a small rock, he'd handed me.

"Good luck trying to get rid of me," he laughs, pulling me off the kitchen island and setting me on my feet.

I grab his hand and pull him upstairs, turning off the lights downstairs as I do so. If I have my way, we're not coming down again until morning.

As we enter my room, Eddie looks around. He is underwhelmed. Massively underwhelmed. I can see it hidden under his pitiful attempt of keeping up a neutral face.

"Is it that bad?" I ask. "Did I ruin the mood?"

Eddie quickly shakes his head. He pulls me to his chest, kissing the top of my head. "Of course not, baby... I just understand now what Jessica meant by cardboard personality. It's really like a hotel room."

I look at the white, empty walls, the basic sheets, and the almost empty bedside tables with solely lamps and alarm on it. "Didn't want to risk having something I like and then get made fun of for it," I admit.

"Gonna make sure you'll never have to do that again, okay? You're too perfect to make you hide," Eddie tells me without any judgment in his voice, so sincere it feels like an oath.

He pulls himself away to look at the teddy bear sitting on my desk. "Now, who's that guy?"

I quickly grab his hand before he can touch my bear. "That's Frank. Please don't touch him. He's starting to fall apart. Have him since I was a child."

Eddie grins at the one-eyed bear, who's missing an ear. He points out the safety pin keeping the filling in his head, "Frank's short for Frankenstein?"

I shake my head. "They promise me for three years now that they'll help me patch him up."

"They?" Eddie asks before nodding. "Oh. They. Family's really leaving you hanging, huh?"

"They're– They just work a lot."

"You should still be their number one priority. You're their child." He runs a hand through his hair, trying not to talk himself into a frenzy. "Shit. When I started living with Wayne, he quit his job as a trucker and started working at the plant, doing night shifts so he could be home with me during the day."

"They make sure I'm cared for, though. I have tons of money. Can buy whatever I want," I defend my parents and aunt.

Eddie sighs, annoyance in his words. "Not everything can be fixed with money. Somebody should've been there to tell you that after you changed schools."

"Are you mad at me?" I ask, worried about the change in his demeanor.

His expression quickly turns soft. "No, no, no, princess." Cupping my cheeks, he says, "I just hate how you had to fend for yourself. After trauma, a kid needs somebody to trust and feel safe with, somebody who shows them they're there for them. You can't just give them money and a fresh start in a new town and think shit doesn't catch up with them. Your parents should've known better."

"Was your uncle that person for you?"

Eddie nods, sitting down on my bed with me. "Mom and Dad were really bad for each other. Saw a lot of nasty, toxic shit happen between them," he sighs, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Dad always had a foot in prison, and every time my mom would say we were not going back to him, yet we always did.

"After she got sick and eventually died, Dad didn't sell his stuff anymore but took it. The crimes got worse, his patience as thin as a knife's edge. My mom wasn't there anymore to cash in the beatings, so I got my ass handed to me a couple of times because I was too hyperactive and tested my luck.

"CPS got involved after Dad once again stole a car and that time robbed a diner, shooting the waitress, and I ended up with my dad's older brother. Wayne's cool, though. Took me a while to understand that you can get in trouble, and it ends with a stern talk and not with losing a tooth.

"Man's as linear as they come. Has never even gotten a speeding ticket. Would've probably ended like my dad, wouldn't it have been for him."

I swallow harshly. "Now I feel like a real piece shit for picking at your family when we'd fight."

Eddie shrugs. "Not like I didn't rub it in your face that you're being neglected."

"I'm sorry."

He presses his lips together. "I'm sorry, too."

I turn on the lamp on the bedside table, get up, and turn off the big light. My bedroom is now sparsely lit by warm yellow light. It seems cozier like this.

Walking back to Eddie, I climb in his lap, him not wasting a second to let his hands roam my body. We kiss, Eddie, pulling me into him by the waist, hips grinding up against me.

It feels like hours pass; the chance is high that that is actually the case. We sit in the middle of my queen-sized bed. Layer by layer, we have shed our clothes until we sat fully naked in from of each other.

Our legs are partially tangled, and there is nothing we hide from each other. I am the most vulnerable I've ever been. But I feel safe.

We still kiss, hands gliding over the smooth skin, exploring. Eddie's fingers glide in and out of me, while I moan into the kisses, returning the favor. We take breaks to collect our breath, using that time to admire the naked person before us.

The next set of kisses has Eddie back me against the pillows. My hands have captured his face to ensure he has to come with me.

He takes place between my legs as if we'd never meant to be together in any other way than this. As though we never had been at war with each other and ourselves while ensuring the other would succumb to madness.

Pulling his fingers out, he moves them to my lips, watching nearly enchanted as I take them into my mouth and clean them from my own wetness.

As he enters me, it feels like everything else, every growing pain of character, every touch by somebody other, and every spite-filled encounter washes away.

Eddie's movement is nothing more than pure lust and a sign of how long we've waited for the other. Our bodies pressed closely together, fingers, nails, and teeth digging into delicate skin like holding on to our sole lifeline.

The past and, with it, Jason, Jessica, and everyone else is nothing more than part of the tedious prologue before Eddie and I.

The night is filled with promises, whispers of sweet nothingness, and the call of each other's names. Only once we're wholly exhausted, have taken and given everything we can, can we bring ourselves to stop.

Our sweat-covered bodies are still tightly wrapped around each other. A kiss or two still stolen with the greatest efforts to ignore every sore muscle and the burning of our raw, scarlet lips.

Brushing wet hair out of my face, Eddie lies next to me, his fingers dancing over my face. The storms feel like they have surrendered to the fact that this is meant to be.

We're no longer fighting it and letting the other in. The Freak and the Princess of Hawkins High... We never stood a chance anyway.

*****

Opening my eyes the next morning, there is a total of forty-five blissful seconds. Birds are singing, a soft breeze is blowing over my skin from the window Eddie must be opened, and the sun is shining.

Then I roll over, and my hand touches the cold pillow next to mine. I sit up, look around, and notice the lack of clothes on the floor.

Not only that, Frank the teddy bear is gone too.

My heart is beating fast.

A voice in my head laughs at me, while another tells me I've been played. Last night and this morning, make sure to leave me with an unsettling whiplash I try to ignore.

I get up, quickly throwing over my dress from last night, and walk down the stairs.

Maybe I am freaking out over nothing.

"Eddie?" I call through the house but am met with no answer. "Eddie?"

He's not in the kitchen, the living room, or the garden. There is no message on a notepad or a missed call. I call and call until my voice cannot hide the reality of things.

I am alone.

I walk back upstairs, tears running down my face as I change the sheets, close the window, and take a steaming hot shower. I need to get every memory of him off my body.

He left.

He fucked me and left.

Eddie fucking played me. He let me let my guard down and stabbed me in the back.

I shouldn't even be surprised. I've been nothing but a bitch to him all year. He saw a chance to get back at me and took it.

After my shower, I put on my baggy festival shirt and panties and put on a horror movie while I cry my eyes out on the couch.

I cry over the loss of my teddy bear. I cry over how real last night felt. I cry over the fact that I have effectively burned every bridge and am on my own... Just like I always was.

I gave Eddie so much of myself, thinking he would be different, not like Jason. But men are all the same, apparently.

*****

☠︎ The Freak's POV ☠︎

Sneaking in through the ridiculously loud squeaking door, I kick off my shoes. The hardwood floors seem like they are worth more than both my kidneys on the black market, so I don't want to risk anything, even though the princess told me not to worry last night.

I put the plastic bags I carry with me in the kitchen and catch a glimpse of my girl lying on the couch. The loud credits of a slasher on tv seem to have canceled out my arrival.

I walk in, smiling at her. The second she looks up, my smile falls.

"Hey, sweetheart, baby, are you okay?" I ask worriedly, closing the distance between us and falling onto my knees before her.

Did her former friends call? Another heartbreak by her family?

She takes a shakey breath, whimpering, "What are you doing here?"

I look over my shoulder toward the kitchen and back at her. Her eyes are red, her cheeks wet. How long did she sit here and cry? "I– I was out. Was up before you and got us some breakfast."

"You left," she whispers.

"Only for a little."

"I– I thought..."

As her voice dies, my eyes become wide. The princess had thought I wouldn't return.

"Shit. Baby, no, no, no. I was just out getting some stuff. I left you a note." She shakes her head, but I insist. "I did."

I pull her up from the couch, dragging her upstairs. I did not tiptoe around this morning and search for sticky notes and a pen like an idiot for this to be the outcome. For her to be upset.

Entering her bedroom, I walk straight to the nightstand on her side of the bed.

Okay.

Fair.

No note.

The princess still stands there at the door, looking like she has been absolutely miserable since she woke up—which is no surprise if she thought I ran off after promising her the world last night.

She showered and wears this shirt that would make a better dress. Lilac-colored ones replace the sheets from last night, and the severity of what she went through hits me like a brick.

The princess thought I used her and left.

Just like Jason fucking Carver.

The bane of my existence.

God, I hate that guy.

I turn to the nightstand again. I know I placed the note there. I'd stuck it on her alarm so she'd see it. I drop to the floor, looking under the bed.

Nothing.

But there, almost completely behind the nightstand, shines the neon pink traitor. Wind must've yanked that piece of shit up and thrown it behind it.

I quickly get up and hand it to her. The princess takes a second to read:

"Out to get breakfast and take Frankenstein on a ride. Gonna be back in a heartbeat. — E. ♡"

As she looks up at me, her beautiful eyes fill with tears again. "I thought you wouldn't come back."

I rub the back of my neck. "Didn't mean to upset you, princess. Next time I'll put it somewhere better, kay? Promise."

A tear runs down her face, and I am quick to cup her cheek and wipe it away. Her fingers wrap around my wrist while she nuzzled her cheek into my palm.

My heart flutters and my chest feels fuzzy (that whole butterfly-soda condition really feels more like a medical emergency than anything else). She's the most gorgeous when she lets me see her vulnerable side.

"You kidnapped my bear," she finally whispers, and I chuckle, pressing a kiss to her hairline.

"No bearnapping took place, baby. We just went on a little shopping trip."

"Told you he could fall apart at any moment..." she huffs.

I wrap an arm around her, and we make our way down to the kitchen. Opening one of the plastic bags, I hand her her stuffed friends.

She sits down on a barstool by the kitchen island and carefully pats his head. "Thought you took him as a souvenir."

We're seriously doing something wrong if women think that low of us.

I should beat the shit out of Jason.

I look at her, obviously fake annoyance on my face. "Now, what was so hard to understand when I told you you're now stuck with me?"

She shrugs, and I dislike that I understand her uncertainty. It will potentially take a while of me being the most annoying, clingy piece of shit until she gets it. But okay. I'm good at being annoying and clingy. I'm totally up for the challenge.

"Why did you take him with you?"

I grin, flipping over the plastic bag—an array of needles, threats, filling, and fabric tumbles onto the counter.

"We're fixing Frankenstein," I announce, opening the little paper bag with the replacement eye and showing it to the princess.

"Really?" she asks in disbelief. "But– I can't sew."

I spin slowly, pointing out my battle vest's patches. "Lucky for you, I am a God at it."

"And you know what to do?"

I nod. "The lady at the store helped, and we picked out a matching fabric, threat, and eye. She's also the reason I didn't get the demon-looking cat eye. She said she thinks my girlfriend could get scared should I put it on her teddy bear."

"Girlfriend," the princess whispers, the softest smile on her lips.

"Of course. You traded your shitty friends in for me, remember?" She nods, making me sigh in relief. "Good. Amazing, actually. Because your boyfriend also got you these!"

I pull a couple of posters out of the second bag, unrolling them to present them to her royal highness. "Black Sabbath, Metallica, and – of course – Corroded Coffin."

She giggles, grabbing the Corroded Coffin one and looking at mine and the guys' hand-drawn masterpiece. "So I'm hanging my boyfriend's band on my bedroom wall?"

"Hey," I tell at her jokingly. "If my girl isn't supporting me, then who is?"

She nods. "You're right. Gonna be a good rockstar girlfriend."

"An extremely hot one, too," I say, wrapping an arm around her waist again. "We're gonna be the bi-awakening for a lot of people, sweetheart."

"Sounds good." The princess leans forwards, capturing my lips with hers, and I feel my knees buckle.

No matter how cool I pretend to be, she makes me fucking melt. And now that she doesn't bite anymore, I can finally indulge myself in her.

Wrapping her legs around my waist, I set Frankenstein on the counter and carry my girl upstairs.

Throwing her onto the freshly made bed with which she tried to erase the memory of us, I crawl on top of her while taking off my jacket and shirt and throwing them aside.

I kiss her softly, feeling her hands glide over the massive searches she marked me with last night. They burn like hell, but each ounce of pain feels good. The princess marked her territory.

"You wanna paint your walls before we put the posters up?" I ask her. "Or would you rather get some wallpaper?"

She looks around for a moment then her stunning eyes meet mine. "You know how to put up wallpaper?"

I shrug. "I mean... It'll probably look like shit, but sure. If you want it, I'll figure out how to do it."

I have an unbelievable, lovesick audacity that makes me believe I could do anything her precious heart longs for. Fuck, having her like me is an ego boost that will probably go to my head.

No. Nope. It's already there.

The way she grins up at me, fingers cradling my face... I am fucking invincible and apparently really good in the sack.

"Didn't you say you got breakfast?"

Way to bring me down to earth.

I frown for a second, thinking of where I put the waffles, eggs, bacon, and pancakes I got at a nearby diner.

"I- Uhh..." Yeah, I have no idea. "Either it's still in the van, or I left it at the diner."

The princess starts laughing, throwing her head back into the sheets. I use that moment to gently bite her neck, licking over the bite mark with my tongue.

"In my defense, I was busy thinking about the bear and if I can pull off making a little Hellfire shirt for him," I speak against her skin.

My girl lets out a sigh. "But what will the King of Hellfire say when he finds out you're making them for non-members?"

"Frankenstein is an honorary member," I inform her, sitting back on my legs and pulling her onto my lap. "His human is the King's woman. The Princess of Hellfire."

"Shouldn't I be the Queen then?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow.

I lick my lips, pulling her face closer. "Don't get greedy, princess. Being the Queen is something that you earn."

Her lips split into a smile. "And how do I earn it?"

I place a kiss on her right cheek. "By being kind." Another on her left cheek. "By being yourself." And I place the final one on her lips. "And by staying with me for at least a month. Gonna crown you Queen as my one-month anniversary present."

"Sounds like a cop-out, so you don't have to buy me something," the princess teases.

I gasp, appalled, and push her off my lap. "You're gonna regret that one, princess." She looks at me with big eyes. "Gonna give you a 10-second headstart. Better make sure I don't get you."

While slowly standing up and moving towards the door, she grins. "What happens when you caught me?"

I slowly stand up as well. "Then I'll eat you alive, princess. Make sure you really regret being an ungrateful little slut."

Her breath hitches, and she squeals as I make a sudden move in her direction. We grin at each other, both our eyes darkening with lust, then she bolts out of her room and down the stairs.

I chase after her multiple times feeling her shirt or skin on my fingertips. She is laughing, screaming, and squirming as I finally grab her.

Placing her on the dinner table, I force her back against the cold wood while I step between her legs. "Now I got you, sweetheart," I chuckle deeply. "No point in running anymore."

I take a step back and spread her legs further for me. Kneeling between them, I bite the inside of her thigh, while I make my way to her center.

The fighting spirit has already left her. My girl whimpers as I pull her innocent little panties aside and am met with her arousal glistening in the daylight. I lick my lips before I dive in, her hands quick to grasp for my hair as she moans loudly.

*****

The Queen of Hellfire.

The Freak's girlfriend.

For many, she used to be Hawkins High's Princess, somebody they aspired to be. They don't understand what happened, why she gave up her title, and now plays with the terrifying King of Hellfire.

They don't get how he managed to get the Queen's family to approve of him, like him, so far so that they even wanted to pay for his college education. How he gratefully declined (of course) and instead got them to pay for the first of many Corroded Coffin albums.

He didn't even need to ask. He brought the Queen's smile back on her face and that is worth the world for her family.

Not that anyone in Hawkins ever understands anything. Like, how the ex-cheerleader became best friends with a bunch of nerds, Robin from band, Steve Harrington, and future star journalist Nancy Wheeler.

But as the Queen of Hellfire learned, it doesn't fucking matter what others think as long as she is happy and has the King on his knees for her, worshipping her divine form.

She's fucking mine. Forever.

Suck it, Carver.

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August 2023 release includes:

Halls - Turbine Theatre - July 2023 (3) - Final Matinee Performance

The Lion King - West End - August 2023 - Filmed from the stalls

We Will Rock You - West End- August 2023 - Danny Natrass as Galileo

Phantom of the Opera - West End - August 2023 - Amazing stalls capture of the new cast

Hamilton - West End - August 2023 - Alex Tranters debut as King George III, Aaron Lee Lambert as Hercules Mulligan/James Maddison, Alex Sawyer as Alexander Hamilton

The Crucible - West End - August 2023 - An mostly unobstructed capture from the stalls*

Groundhog Day - West End - August 2023 - Filmed during the closing performance

Death Note: In Concert - West End - August 2023 - Filmed from the stalls

Frozen - West End - August 2023 - Laura Emmitt as Elsa, Ben Irish as Hans

Cabaret - West End - August 2023 - Sally Firth as Sally Bowles, Toby Turpin as Ernst Ludwig

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Shostakovich-Sollertinsky letter translations- letters 4 and 5

11th January 1928, Moscow

Dear Ivan Ivanovich. If you will write to me, be sure to mention Meyerhold in the address (V.E. Meyerhold for Shostakovich), or else I will not reach it. Greetings, D. Shostakovich.

-

(Content warning: Letter 5 contains a brief description of sexual harassment.)

21 January 1928, Moscow

Dear Ivan Ivanovich,

I'm sorry that I write on such inelegant paper; I have no other paper. I have wanted to write to you for a long time, but I didn't have the time to. I have spent all my free time working on "The Nose." Now, I'm writing the entire note, and therefore I'm doing nothing. It's a terrible feeling to be addicted to manuscript paper. In general, life isn't bad. I don't have much work, and I can't tell exactly what it is. Not long ago was the meeting between Mestkom and Erkak [1], jointly with the administration and at this meeting, I was approved on "musical parts." To start with, I make arrangements for musical parts, I am responsible for the parts entrusted to me, etc. I attend theatres intensively. In addition to all Meyerhold productions, I saw "The Armoured Train" and "The Days of the Turbins" in the Khudozhestvennom [a cinema], and "Rift" in the studio, Vakhtangov's "Day and Night" in the Kamernom and many others. In the Khudozhestvennom, I saw an amazing cast of actors. Artists- some of the best. "Day and Night" is an extremely cheerful operetta and a very good production. But in one place I am slightly sick of the incredible aestheticism. Green flashlights, blue lighting, women in short skirts and multicoloured pants. Terrible, but "beautiful." "The Iron Train" as a performance is extremely successful, despite the presence of Kachalov (rise up the people and for freedom - give up your wives and mothers. We will achieve our peasant freedom with our own meat. Hey, Pyatrukha! Look, is there a member of the bourgeoisie hiding under a bush?). In everything there is a full glare, in order to achieve the style of the peasant-Russian-revolution.

"Fault" was a lousy play, so much that I was ashamed that I watched the whole show. In "The Days of the Turbins" there was a place of such genuine tragedy that even in the theatre, there was loud crying. But it was all spoiled by the last act, with the official ending. The play that made a strong impression on me was "The Inspector-General," which I saw in Meyerhold's theatre. Now I have seen it three times there, and seven times in all. The more I saw it, the more I liked it. I listened to Malko. Tchaikovsky's violin concerto and 3rd suite. Twelve-year-old Borya Feliciant participated. Borya played technically well, sometimes absolutely antimusically. In general, the phenomenon was not brilliant. After the 3rd Suite, Malko was wildly successful. He was called back four times. At intermission, I went to give my thanks to him for the concert. He sat without a tailcoat. His bald head was shining, and so was his face. With his whole being he expressed, "finally I am understood, appreciated!" I did not hear "Ecstasy." I went home. "Volitional impulse" and "Flight" act strongly on the public. So probably after "Ecstasy" he was a success.

At the concert, I met A.V. Lunacharsky, who told me a few kind words and expressed the hope that he would succeed in encountering my triumphs "in detail."

In the evening, I spoke to my mother on the telephone. I was able to hear her wonderfully. What a great human invention.

Meyerhold's children have a nanny, who has tender feelings for me and sometimes pisses me off. Especially in the mornings, when she enters my room and begins to say, "it's time to get up, it's time to get up," while pulling off the blanket and groping my naked body. Yesterday, it got to the point where she kissed the part of my body that touches the chair when I sit. I told her yesterday that if she didn't stop touching me, I would tell Zinaida Nikolaevna [Raikh]. Today, therefore, she was quieter. Her hands did not penetrate beyond the chest. (Translation note- I believe he means here that she now didn't touch him anywhere lower than the chest.) At first, it made me laugh; now it annoys me; the thirty-four-year-old maid craves what must be (to her) heavenly bliss. Hell knows she's ugly. If tomorrow morning she touches and kisses me again, then I will definitely complain. When we meet again, I will tell you more about her in detail.

It worries me that, at the conservatory, I still haven't been given a postgraduate handout. I fear that my hard work will be without pay. I sent them 35 rubles not long ago. I couldn't send more, because I received 1/4 of my salary and paid part of it to my hosts. Yesterday I spoke with my mother, about money for the conservatory that hasn't been issued yet. Hell knows what else. I think that in February, I will live in Moscow, but in March I'll quit my job and return to Leningrad. Not long ago I had (met?)… Messelman or Musselman [2] (note- name refers to an orientalist and journalist); Varzar [3] happens to know. He struck me with his presence.

Don't forget to write to me. I was terribly glad with your letter, and will also be glad with the next. Your loving D. Shostakovich. Knipper [4] sends regards.

Footnotes:

1- Erkak- a workers' control commission system

2- Likely refers to Aleksandr Davidovich Meiselman, an orientalist and journalist.

3- An unspecified relative of Nina Vasiliyevna Varzar, whom Shostakovich would marry in 1932.

4- Lev Konstantinovich Knipper, a composer.

[thetruearchmagos]

Airplanes VS Aeroships: A Comparison, Part II

Damn, this is actually turning into a bit of a miniseries for me! Thank you kindly once again @pixelazer for your questions, they've given me an opportunity to air some thoughts I've long kept bottled up!

Today, I'll be exploring some of the finer points of how aeroships and aircraft compare in the battlefield.

Tagging @athenswrites @theprissythumbelina @hessdalen-globe @nerdexer @caxycreations @thatndginger for the Worldbuilding. Careful, there's a lot of it!

A Brief History Of Early Aerial Warfare

It's important to note in assessing the prevalence of aeroships in combat roles that for most of such craft's existence they were entirely unchallenged. If I had to put a number on it, I'd say the earliest aeroships to sail the skies of the 12 Worlds would have come shortly after the invention of the steam engine. These early craft truly resembled their waterborne compatriots in structure paralleled many of the developments that would appear on ships at sea. Aeroships of this era would have essentially fought like thinly armoured, lightly armed, but terribly swift steam frigates, blazing away at each other with short ranged cannon. Most minor states would never even be able to afford more than a handful aeroships in this period, leading to relatively few actual actions between such vessels. Often, aeroships would disembark their guns and crews, instead serving as high speed couriers for only the most vital cargo and personnel.

This status quo would persist for almost a century, changing occasionally in response to developments across the 12 Worlds. Ever thicker armour and larger guns would be installed as aerium lift technologies matured and many interested great powers industrialised, while the invention of steam turbines would allow aeroships to keep their speeds despite the added weight.

The Chainbreaker War

Fixed wing aviation, like aeroships, would enter various parts of the 12 Worlds at various points in time in various guises, sometimes without one inventing group being aware of another's efforts. Speaking for the United Commonwealth, while testing and trials involving airplanes would occur sporadically, the lion's share of the UC's focus remained on its modest but modern aeroship fleet. Aircraft would see occasional combat use in the UC Army Air Service as reconnaissance platforms, but would remain more of a novelty than a revolutionary new technology throughout the Commonwealth's first seven decades.

The Chainbreaker War would upend that long held belief. While neither airplanes nor aeroships were present in the Upepwani Theatre at the war's outbreak in the fall of 75 A.S., units of both types would be assigned within the United Commonwealth Army of Upepwani's 15th Combined Air Wing at the personal request of UCAU's commander, Lt. Gen. Al-Saqr. The noted moderniser was among the few in the Army's upper ranks notably supportive of airplane development, and his air forces were put to good work while UCAU gradually gathered strength and licked its wounds.

A convenient arrangement between airplanes and aeroships would be formed. The former, even of the early models employed by 15th CAW, were faster than any aeroships present. These flew regular patrols above and behind Fuhrati lines, and the speed with which they could get on station meant multiple such flights could usually be made per aircraft each day. However, in exchange for added speed and flight range, these aircraft were stripped of what little armament they might have had, which at most would have consisted of a single machine gun mounted in a rear swivel. When targets were identified, heavier aeroships laden with rudimentary bombs converted from artillery shells could be dispatched to persecute a strike.

The main challenge facing these aviators would come in the form of the Empire's own impressive air fleet, based to an even greater degree on its own aeroships. Fighting on the home turf and able to bring its full force to bear, Fuhrati aeroships would enter the field of battle at around the same time as those of the UC, prioritising the striking of ports and harbours where Commonwealth troops were being unloaded. In the absence of air defence artillery, it would fall to 15th CAW to defend Upepwani from these raids.

In these days, combat between aeroships and airplanes was a hopeless cause for the latter. By now even the oldest Fuhrati aeroships carried armour thick enough to stop small arms, and had about as many quick-firing small 'picket' guns to swat slow flying, canvas winged biplanes from the sky. A single squadron, the 21st, consisting of eight Eyrie-class heavy aeroships was the only thing standing in their way for the War's first three months, and the fighting in the air would resemble that at sea, with lines of armoured vessels pounding each other with broadsides of guns. With superior quality in crew, craft, and equipment the 21st would stem the tide by the thinnest of margins, though failures in operational planning and inter-unit cooperation on the Imperial side would play a part in this outcome.

Aeroships would remain the unquestioned kings of the sky throughout the first year of the war, with UCAU's airborne battle line growing ever stronger while the Empire's struggled to modernise and keep pace with attrition at the same time. Changing technologies, tactics, and the broader context of the war would, however, challenge the aeroships' dominance.

Contest

Two developments in UC military aviation would play a key role in the rise of the airplane in the 'counter-air' role, alongside the more general improvements in their speed, weight capacity, and range. The first would be the invention in 76 A.S. of a powerful and reliable air launched rocket, the Mk. 1 "Candelabra". Simply referred to as the Candle by those who used it, it carried a heavy incendiary warhead on top of a large rocket, making for a weapon about as large as a light naval torpedo. Indeed, many were constructed using the bodies and frames from such weapons, and would prove similarly effective against ships of the air. The key to their employment was the technique of 'lobbing', where pilots would turn sharply upwards just before releasing their payloads. This extended their range by a good margin and allowed attacking aircraft to strike from 'below' their targets, where fewer picket guns were usually present. A logical next step from existing, far lighter rockets, both were useless against Fuhrati airplanes but could do a number on lumbering aeroships caught unawares.

The second major development was the formation of the Air War Control Centre, and the various tactics and methods developed by the AWCC. Created in 76 A.S., it was the brainchild of then Brigadier Padraig Dinneen, formerly CO of 15th CAW and appointed by al-Saqr as General Officer Commanding, Air Forces UCAU. The AWCC's primary function was the coordination of the Commonwealth's air power in battle across the theatre. Acting through a network of observers, plotters, and directors, it allowed AF-UCAU's aircraft to respond quickly, effectively, and efficiently to inbound Fuhrati threats, managing the complex task of air interception for hundreds of aircraft across thousands of kilometres.

A Battlefield Reborn

These developments, as well as the proliferation of ground based air defence artillery, would reshape the aerial battlefield for both sides as the war progressed. The sky would become an increasingly unfriendly place for aeroships on the prowl, unless they could fly high or far enough to avoid their own predators. While airplanes with skilled crews could rip apart squadrons of aeroships in the open, breeds of the latter which shed their guns and armour for payloads of bombs could still strike many targets with some safety, and a far larger load than even the heaviest aircraft.

With this danger present and growing, both sides would be pushed to find new uses for their heaviest, cannon armed aeroships. Some would live on as flying air defence batteries positioned over important targets, where their blindspots could be more easily covered by ground fire and gunnery against agile airplanes was an easier task. To make use of their primary guns, many would be employed as mobile artillery batteries in direct support of ground troops. High calibre guns, armour, ease of repositioning, and built-in fire control systems made for a lethal artillery platform, and many aeroships would serve out the rest of the conflict in such roles.

Another change which would aeroships a new lease on life was the increasing preference for 'smaller' craft, with smaller crews and running costs compared to the flying frigates of yore. Small aeroships acting as couriers or ferries of important personnel and cargo had seen limited employment before, but the UC in particular would greatly expand its fleet of these light aeroships with its novel doctrine of 'Aero-Mobile Rifles', which envisioned entire regiments and divisions being carried into battle via aeroship, with equipment. The craft that would eventually be developed to fill this role were smaller than their armoured predecessors, but had grown from the lightest couriers of before to be able to carry an entire platoon of infantry, various wheeled vehicles, or even full sized howitzers with their crews.

As the Chainbreaker War drew to a close in 80 A.S., the aviation forces that the United Commonwealth would leave that conflict with bore very little resemblance to that with which it had entered it, even without me mentioning the revolutions in aviation in the maritime domain*. Beyond these competing methods of flight, the very nature of air power's role in modern war was finally made obvious to all concerned, and would be recognised eventually across the 12 Worlds.

Contemporary Applications Of Military Aeroships

To skip about a century of technological development and competition, I'll take the time to cover some of the modern-ish uses of aeroships in warfare in the 12 Worlds, at least by the United Commonwealth. If you're a military nerd, you might see a familiar pattern emerge...

Tactical Mobility

If you want to move something from one point to another quicker than anything else, courier aeroships are your best bet. Craft in this role come in a wide variety of forms and weight classes, and see most prolific use in the UC Army's Air-Mobile Divisions. The UC Navy employ plenty themselves, facilitating ship-to-ship and ship-to-shore movement and playing a key role in amphibious deployments.

Reconnaissance - Strike

The birds of prey of any army which has them. Moving with terrible speed and agility, craft of the former type can provide invaluable real time intelligence on enemy formations on the battlefield, allowing the latter to hit them from an arm's length with missiles. While fast jets can come and go just as quickly, gunships provide boots on the ground with constant comfort under their rocket pods and autocannon.

Anti-Submarine

Two of the Chainbreaker War's finest innovations face off once again on the open seas. While fixed wing patrol birds can cover vast expanses of water, aeroships and the escort frigates they operate from keep close the Commonwealth's crucial convoys, playing their games of cat and mouse with the wolves under the waves.

Heavy Lift

The courier's larger sibling, Heavy Lift Aeroships can be as large as frigates of old and haul their weight in cargo. The largest airplanes may have an edge at intercontinental scales, but if you're planning on moving hundreds of armoured vehicles from one end of a theatre to another, fleets of HLA's are what you need.

Air Combat Control

As the range at which modern aircraft can reach out and kill each other increased with every new model of missile, the work of those whose job it is to orchestrate this made ballet hasn't gotten any easier. These flying control centres come packed with the most powerful Wave Emission Sensor suites in existence, soaring high and slow on their patrol routes while teams of directors and controllers vector their aircraft across the sky.

Air Defence

The relative imbalance between fast jets and aeroships in head to head combat was somewhat alleviated with the invention of the ground launched missile. While no aeroship can best the kinematics of a fast jet, when the latter stray too low and too near to exact their wrath on the ground pounders, aeroships play a key role in the Army's broader air defence network. While costly and complex, aeroships can be rapidly redeployed to keep up with ever changing frontlines in a way that cumbersome ground launchers can't.

Bonus Stuff #2

Ever since I mentioned those miniaturised aerium crystals in the last one of these articles, I've been having some thoughts on the broader worldbuilding surrounding them, which I'd like to share here. I'll keep it brief, hopefully.

Basically, the long time trend within the broader 'Aerium Industry' has pointed towards increasingly massive and 'complex' lifting crystals, and neglected the smaller one's previously mentioned. This is because the 'energy to lift' efficiency of a single aerium crystal increases exponentially as its mass and 'internal complexity' increases, so that two crystals of a given weight produce significantly less lift for a given amount of energy than a single crystal as heavy as both of them. This property was what allowed for, and even encouraged, those heavy aeroships mentioned above, and as aerium crystal forging techniques developed over time they kept to this general trend of increasing size.

Thus, when the United Commonwealth - ore more accurately, the Defence Consolidated Technical Establishment - began investigating the use of highly miniaturised aerium crystals in high performance aircracft, the industry to produce the needed crystals simply didn't exist. There was one field, however, that had seen significant developments in recent years when it came to producing small, low mass charged crystals; the electronics industry.

While aerium crystals were getting ever larger, the encoded computating crystals employed in electronic equipment and appliances the 12 Worlds over were only getting smaller. While there are obvious differences between aerium crystals and the ones used in this industry, DCTE would tap on this rapidly growing sector to apply its methods to aerium, with some success.

With the history of these mini-crystals production briefly explained, I'd like to return to the question of why smaller crystals were needed in the first place.

One of the key measured properties of aerium crystals is 'residuality', which refers to how easily a charged, lift generating crystal can shed its lifting capacity upon the removal of its source of energy. Smaller crystals shed their residual lift significantly faster than larger crystals, a characteristic once seen as a critical safety concern; while large craft would descend relatively slowly even from a great height in the event of a power failure, smaller aeroships could lose all lift and smash into the ground like a brick in a matter of seconds.

When it comes to designing manoeuvrable military aircraft, this presents a challenge not faced when installing aerium on, say, long range bombers and transports. The residual lift of aerium crystals leads to sluggish handling and difficulties with rapid changes in altitude, two characteristics that couldn't be tolerated in the age of high speed, agile air combat.

The engineers at DCTE believed that, using their miniaturised aerium crystals and high performing flight control systems, these issues could be overcome, and that the inherent inefficiencies of such small crystals would not be a major obstacle. Dozens of crystals, each about the size of a fist, would be installed in points across the aircraft's fuselage and wings. Each crystal's lift generation could be individually calibrated in real time by onboard flight control, meaning that not only would test pilot's not notice any hinderance to their movements, with sufficient practice they could pull off seemingly impossible stunts in the air.

---

*I'd like to touch on this particular point for just a moment, then I'll let you go. In short, pre-Chainbreaker aviation, aeroship or airplane, was seen as a fairly niche capability by both services, but the Navy especially. Even the largest aeroships didn't have the weapons, endurance, or speed of most of the UCN's own vessels, and none could operate in the Warp, so only small numbers of patrol focused aeroships were operated to cover major sea lanes. The UCAAS's aeroship fleet was larger and better designed to fight air battles as they were understood at the time, but when it came to providing their crews most Army aviators would attend Navy installations for their training. This was because the vast majority of the equipment on a 'combat aeroship' - it's guns, fire control, and powerplant, for example - were of Navy design and in use on Navy vessels at sea, and so it was deemed an inefficient waste of resources for the Army to stand up its own effectively parallel training establishments.

[centrestagereviews]

Actor of the Week: Naomi Alade

Naomi trained at the London College of Music. Her theatre credits include: Onstage Swing in Eugenius! (Turbine Theatre), Lucille/Shirelle/Dance Captain in Beautiful: The Carole King Musical (Curve Leicester/UK Tour), Maid Marian in Robin Hood and His Merry Band (Oxford Playhouse) for which she won the UK Pantomime Association Award for Best Leading Lady and Once on this Island (Southwark…

[lovehopedreamx]

Had a great time yesterday at the turbine theatre watching the 3rd run of Eugenius. The cast were absolutely fantastic and blew us away with their amazing vocals. Loved the little Easter eggs in the show as well. Can’t wait to go again, my only question is where can I get official merchandise? I need to add the new logo t-shirt to my collection. #don’tshootforthestarsshoothigher #eugenius https://www.instagram.com/p/CqQH523orSYq_X8h0dftmZObGsOXrxh2hqlXtY0/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[unlimited-rice-puddin]

"No Limits" Review: Simply breathtaking

It is so brilliant to watch a show in which they do almost everything right. With stunning performances and incredible songs, @NoLimitsMusical is truly extraordinary. Check out my full ★★★★★ review

There is no limit to the amount of talent both on stage and off at The Turbine Theatre with “No Limits – A Song Cycle” by Sam Thomas (more…) “”

[ulrichgebert]

Begaben uns in neue, kleine Turbine Theatre bei der Battersea Power Station, das wahrscheinlich ungefähr so viele Zuschauer fasst, wie Leute in Kiss Me Kate mitspielen. Dort spielen sie Closer to Heaven, das viel-nackte-Haut-und-satte Beats-betriebene Pet-Shop-Boys-Musical, dessen Erstaufführung wir 23 Jahre zuvor gesehen haben, und seither immer gerne angehört haben. Es enthält ein kleines Tribut für Caligula Darling, und die regierende Diva im Gayclub ist Frances Ruffelle, die Eponine aus der Originalproduktion von Les miśerables.

[daysofsamdandtime]

Day 11

Finally heading off with a plan for the morning I walked down to Kings Cross Station to get the train over to Portobello Markets, and a bakery or two I wanted to try. A lovely morning walk through the markets and down Portobello Rd through Notting Hill, stopping at the second bakery for two too many scones. I sat in Kensington Gardens and enjoyed the pastry and a scone before some geese and swans got a little close for comfort, as in not in the pond anymore.

I continued my walk through to Hyde park and down the serpentine where I finished my second and third scones in the rose gardens. Sans a lot of roses as the beds were being refurbished, but still lovely. Making my way down the back of Buckingham toward The Other Palace for the matinee of Babies.

Babies was excellent, the cast were so tight and it was just a good show. A poppy score, a fun story and reasonably low stakes with a decent moral made for a really lovely afternoon. The high energy of the cast added to the enjoyment as the young cast and plastic babies whirled around the space, a great scenic design not bogging them down in realistic school and outdoor settings. The chore was effective and tight, and I need a full recording of the show please.

I then made my way to the Tate, Britain, to see some more art. Again choosing to not go for the paid exhibitions I made my way around the permanent galleries. Highlights were Hockney’s ‘A Bigger Splash’ the JMW Turner gallery with some Constable thrown in, and a Sargent painting of Monet painting. A lovely gallery covering many decades of British art it was a lovely way to spend the afternoon.

I then made my way down past the Battersea Power station to the Turbine Theatre for Closer To Heaven, with music by the Pet Shop Boys, starring (original Fantine Frances Ruffelle) a very camp fun show… except that the music really didn’t lyrically let the actors do much. There were a few exceptions to this mainly in the second act however - and I did think it was a new piece, turns out it’s a revival - it needs work. The cast were all very talented and when given the chance to show it, were great. The piece held them back, not exactly knowing what it wanted to be and trying to be too many things at once.

[jda-dycp]

My name is Jamel Duane Alatise, I’m an interdisciplinary artist, photographer, poet, director, and model. A British born Nigerian and Jamaican. I am also founder of a purposely-slow publication called People Journal.

I currently base my practice out of my small south London studio, and I am working with the Victoria and Albert museum on a learning and development programme for young people that ends in December 2024. 

I studied Performance and Creative Enterprise at Guildhall School of Music and Drama. Some highlights from my career so far are:

2018 commission by Barbican for their OpenFest, a poetry performance performed on their Highwalks; and a subsequent beginning of my Stories project for the art publication People Journal

2020 solo digital exhibition ‘The Portraiture of Jamel Duane Alatise powered by fujifilm instax’ plus a year long sponsorship by Fujifilm instax.

2021 photojournalism commission by the Young Vic theatre, documenting their first queer, trans, intersectional, and global majority-led show in collaboration with MAC Cosmetics; and a subsequent commission to direct a documentary about the production coming back on the main-stage two years later in 2023

2023 commission from TATE to respond to their Tate Modern exhibition, Liz Johnson Artur’s ’Time Don’t Run Here’, resulting in a performance of poetry which was also later adapted into a soundpiece exhibited alongside Liz Johnson Artur’s work; and a subsequent commission to respond again to Richard Bell’s work and travelling piece ‘Embassy’, which resulted in a live performance and series of theme discussions in Tate Modern’s Turbine Hall, alongside Richard Bell. 

POETRY

2023 commission from TATE to respond to their Tate Modern exhibition, Liz Johnson Artur’s ’Time Don’t Run Here’, resulting in a performance of poetry which was also later adapted into a soundpiece exhibited alongside Liz Johnson Artur’s work

A small collection of poems from 2018 to 2020.

STORIES

Beginning first as a commission titled Satellites (video above), by the Barbican for their OpenFest, gathering anonymous, handwritten stories became a central part of my practice. Starting in 2018 with just a little over 30 accounts collected, and carried on over years, we now have a growing collection that’s steadily approaching thousands of contributions from anonymous people, across several languages including Chinese, English, French, Italian, Japanese, to name a few. 

The project has also been exhibited several times, and made into three different books and counting. 

PEOPLE JOURNAL

People Journal is a purposely-slow publication I founded in 2016 while working at another publication called SWVNK (and later Acure) – it started out of frustration, wanting to profile people that may not be the most popular but have really remarkable stories. Since it has grown into an active art project that documents people over longer time spans, focuses on the analogue, the handwritten, and the intimate moments between people during connections. In this respect, People Journal has been used as a vehicle to bring many together, foster connection, and encourage them to spend time offline, in real life, and doing something cathartic, whether in conversation or through arts and crafts.

The Portraiture of Jamel Duane Alatise

PHOTOGRAPHY

SUNDOWN KIKI

2021 photojournalism commission by the Young Vic theatre, documenting their first queer, trans, intersectional, and global majority-led show in collaboration with MAC Cosmetics;

subsequent commission to direct a documentary about the production coming back on the main-stage two years later in 2023: