#head not found

[danzameccanica]

I Windir sono una delle prove che il black metal in Norvegia, alla fine degli anni ’90, aveva ancora delle novità assolute da presentare. Valfar, unica mente dietro questo progetto, ha deciso di mischiare epic, folk e black metal. E fin qui, niente di nuovo. La cosa particolare è che lo strumento principale, alla pari delle chitarre, è la fisarmonica. Non solo però… ci sono diverse cose per le quali i suoi prodotti, Arntor, ein Windir soprattutto, sono molto vicini a band come Taake, Gorgoroth, Enslaved e allo stesso tempo diametralmente opposti. Eppure, anche se andate a pescare i progetti folk-metal dell’epoca (tipo i Finntroll o i Sòlstafir, Moonsorrow o Heidevolk) li troverete davvero lontani dal mondo di Valfar. Valfar è da solo, nato e cresciuto (e morto purtroppo) nel Sogndal, un paesino isolato in maniera equidistante da Trondheim da Bergen e da Oslo. In questa lunga insenatura lungo il Sognefjord, il fiordo più lungo della Noregia, percorso continuamente dalle navi da crociera Valfar conosce il blackmetal e lo riadatta in un modo tutto suo, fatto di vita rurale, con forconi e trattori anziché corpse-paint e cartucciere.

"The Beginning", intro esclusivamente eseguito in fisarmonica, vi farà subito capire che anche se non ci troviamo di fronte ad un album di Raoul Casadei, forse il liscio non è una chiave così sbagliata per leggere questo album (e gli altri dei Windir in generale). Subito con "Arntor, ein Windir" si capirà appieno l’interpretazione del mondo dei Windir; una lettura che era già parzialmente venuta fuori nel debut Sóknardalr ma che solo ora esplode in tutta la sua potenza. Blast-beat sì, chitarre distorte sì, e harsh-vocals in classico stile norvegese sì, uso della lingua-madre sì. Ma la cosa incredibile sono le scale armoniche. Valfar prende il mondo della musica folk norvegese e fa una sorta di sintesi fra le arie di fisarmonica e di violino per ricostruirle con la fisarmonica. Sceglie le melodie più epiche e malinconiche, che ben si adattano al background black-metal e a quel punto compie una seconda operazione: traduce tutto una seconda volta in chitarra solista. Ecco che la maggior parte dei riff principali dei Windir sono melodie completamente anomale, mai sentite in nessun bagaglio culturale rock-metal. Se a metà brano di "Arntor" ci sono dei richiami di polka o di valzer è esclusivamente per l’utilizzo di tali armonie, del rullante e del tempo in 3/4: le chitarre da una diventano due e poi tre, come un gioco di violini. A tutto questo dobbiamo aggiungere i cori in voci pulite e questa perenne aura malinconica che smorzano sempre i momenti più gagliardi (a volte quasi da rodeo). I synth sono un’ulteriore strumento che va ad arricchire a dare ulteriore voce a queste suggestioni già pazzesche di sé. "Kong Hydnes haug" è un brano più classico, dove la matrice dei Bathory più epici è forte e dove gli effetti scelti per la chitarra si mescolano con la fisarmonica creando una struggente e violenta ballata che va ad esplorare terre fantastiche e battaglie leggendarie. "Svartesmeden Og Lundamyrstrollet" è probabilmente il miglior brano composto dai Windir e si basa su un lunghissimo e perenne arpeggio, veloce, tagliente, che ricalca sempre scale folk anomale e che, a lungo andare, soprattutto mescolandosi al resto della composizione, acquisisce un’aura di violenta malinconia. "Kampen" è forse il brano più ballad-folk in stile taverna caciarona con elementi simili ai Troll o al primo album dei Finntroll mentre "Saknet" merita un discorso analogo a "Svartesmeden" perché è una sorta di suo lungo pendant da dieci minuti.

Ascoltando le trame chitarristiche di Valfar è impossibile non rimanere affascinati dalla composizione di questa particolare colonna sonora fatta di contrasti fra le urla e i synth celestiali, fatta di cavalcate in mezzo a valli e cascate; melodie dannatamente epiche ed easy listening che però non sfociano mai nell’heavy metal di motociclette alla Judas Priest né a quell’accozzaglia homo-latex dei Manowar. La parte finale di "Saknet" è da lacrime, è un’accelerazione finale verso la morte in battaglia, in stile Hammerheart dei Bathory. "Ending" è un’improbabile fusione fra Burzum e i synth che assomigliano più all’euro-dance anni ’90 piuttosto che a qualsiasi band folk-metal. E, in maniera totalmente autonoma e folle, un’ancora più improbabile fusione fra la goa-trance e il black metal, fra dj Tiesto e gli Emperor, si sentirà nel successivo 1184. La particolarità dei Windir sta nel restare sempre in perfetto equilibrio fra folk, heavy e black metal; è davvero raro, quasi impossibile trovare delle fonti alle quali Valfar si è attinto, probabilmente Emperor, Bathory e Summoning, ma con un piglio chitarristico davvero unico. Perfino dopo l’esistenza dei Windir si contano sulle dita di una mano i progetti che hanno tentato di tenere viva l’eredità di Valfar: Cor Scorpii e gli ultimi Vreid sono fra questi, ma si avvicineranno pochissimo solo all’ultimo Likferd. Forse su coordinate analoghe si muovono gli Angantyr, capaci di evocare sensazioni simili, ma la scelta melodica davvero unica e impeccabile di Valfar fa dei Windir qualcosa di più facilmente assimilabile e di, ancora una volta straordinario perché fuori da ogni contesto.

[triste-guillotine]

GEHENNA "First Spell" MCD 1994

1. The Shivering Voice of the Ghost 2. Unearthly Loose Palace 3. Angelwings and Ravenclaws 4. The Conquering of Hirsir 5. Morningstar

"...We call upon you Incarnated souls of disaster Spread the fire all high and low The ravenclaws have waited too long"

First Spell | Gehenna (bandcamp.com)

[fallen-jpg]

happy uh belated death day, jason

from batman annual #25

[z13lovebot]

Krusie festival date propaganda

[lemongogo]

life of regret

[redcreekheart]

It's the same picture

[lil-vibes]

was sick this whole week so im beaming it straight to narinder

[morganbritton132]

17 year old, CEO Tim Drake canceling a press conference and then putting out a statement like, “Sorry for canceling last min, Alfred said that he was going to run my laptop through the dishwasher if I didn’t clean my room. I think he’d do it :/. Also, wasn’t really in the mood. Cya -Tim.”

[ladystoneshart]

35yo catelyn stark thinking of herself as a shrivelled old woman with one foot in the grave and 33yo jaime lannister brooding about having 3 white hairs on his beard and acting like an old battle-worn soldier reminiscing about his glory days... they're like 15yo twitter users who think anyone over the age of 21 is a senior citizen

girl you're taylor swift years old stop complaining about your knee pain and go hit the club

[teaableu]

I think he’s neat

[danzameccanica]

C'era una volta, nei freddi boschi del Nord, una giovane fanciulla che, presa dal sopravvento di una troppo breve giornata di sole, perse il sentiero di casa e si ritrovò a contatto con la natura più glaciale. Nel corso della notte fece conoscenza di tutti gli spiriti del bosco, i quali la ammaliarono con le loro dolci e desiderose parole. Con la forza della persuasione, riuscirono a trascinare la povera fanciulla nel cuore della foresta, dove lo spirito della montagna la immolò.

Una leggenda in 5 capitoli… questo è Bergtatt, il primo capolavoro degli Ulver. Un album talmente completo, stupefacente e innovativo, che a tutt'oggi si impone, nel panorama della musica estrema, come un gioiello più unico che raro. Un disco che mescola, nel modo più sorprendente, black metal e folklore, rabbia e malinconia, creando un canone esemplare che verrà ammirato da moltissimi fan (non solo del mondo metal).

L'anno della pubblicazione era il 1995 e gli Ulver avevano (auto)prodotto solo un demo, Vargnatt, che già faceva gridare alla novità: partiture di chitarra classica e folk su sezioni ritmiche rock registrate in bassissima qualità ("Tragediens Trone", "Ulverytterens Kamp"…) ed estranianti voci pulite che mandavano fuori di testa l'ascoltatore. Più di tutti mandarono fuori di testa Metalion (della famosa Slayer mag.), il quale, grazie alla sua Head Not Found, permise alla band di entrare agli Endless Studio per registrare il loro debut.

Le qualità avanguardistiche dell'album si notano dai primi attimi di I troldskog faren vild: la pienezza delle melodie è data dall'armonizzante accostamento delle due chitarre ritmiche, le quali forniscono un ottimo e armonioso tappeto per la trascendentale voce pulita di Garm -che manterrà questo registro per tutta la durata della canzone, ricordando quasi un canto gregoriano. Le dolci e malinconiche note sono un lungo coro, una folcloristica pastorale, che descrive la presa di coscienza della ragazza, la quale si rende conto di essersi perduta e di essere totalmente in balìa degli spiriti. I grandi rintocchi del basso di Skoll percorrono il brano dalla ritmica semplice e schematica. Poi i suadenti assoli di Aismal e di Håvard dipingono l'immagine della passione della poveretta:

Dai ramoscelli degli alberi, alla testa della fanciulla; goccia a goccia come il sangue da l corpo di Cristo.

Infine il primo epilogo, contrassegnato dall'intreccio delle due chitarre acustiche, per poi proseguire su toni più aggressivi e minacciosi, esplicitando la condizione dello smarrimento:

Ahimé… da sola e sperduta nella foresta… stanotte, sento e temo che nessuno si ricorderà di me.

Una rilassante chitarra acustica duetta con un rassicurante flauto dolce, intonando note alla notte silènte di Sølen gåer bak åse ned; (lacune frasi forse appartengono alla tradizione norvegese visto che Satyr le ha riutilizzate nel suo progetto Storm) una notte che sta partorendo le più vili crudeltà che madre natura possa concepire. Infatti i riff scorrono improvvisamente veloci e stridenti e la batteria incide i suoi blast-beat sotto le urla di Garm.

Tra le rocce cala il sole, e le ombre si stanno allungando, presto viene la notte con la sua mòle, già mi sta legando e imprigionando.

I cori si fanno ancora più suadenti (questa canzone contiene a mio avviso le più belle parti cantante degli Ulver) dipingendo una natura evanescente nella sua foschia e nei suoi substrati; tutto è dosato nei minimi particolari: la registrazione è più che eccellente (per l'epoca, per il messaggio, per il budget e a confronto del resto delle uscite contemporanee), le voci pulite sono sempre raddoppiate creando perfette consonanze e le chitarre acustiche vengono aggiunte sempre al momento giusto.

E sono sempre le bonàrie chitarre acustiche che lasciano trasparire i bassi e calmi cori nell'incipit di Gråblick blev hun vaer; è la temporanea calma di quando uno si desta dal sonno e ancora un po' sbattuto e con la mente non perfettamente a fuoco, cerca di capire, silenziosamente, dove si trova. E poi lo shock di quando ci si rende conto di essere stati spiati per tutto il tempo. Le chitarre dissonanti rivelano la terribilità degli esseri notturni, i quali si divertono con la bambina rapita, illudendola di mostrarle il sentiero verso casa, mentre invece verrà solamente sbattuta da un lato all'altro del bosco. I rintocchi del basso suonano una melodia parallela, analoga al parallelismo figurato del brano: la chitarra acustica e l'arpa presto faranno da colonna sonora all'annaspare della poveretta, la quale corre sulla ghiaia e sulle foglie secche del bosco, zigzagando invano verso un tentativo di scampo…

Tutta sola e smarrita; batte forte il suo cuore; e il suo sangue si ghiaccia.

I toni si incupiscono per l'ennesima volta, e i tamburi della batteria scandiscono le risate di scherno del bosco, fissando sulla tela la disperazione dell'innocenza:

Su quelle guance rosa e su quella bocca priva di alcun sorriso, un fiume di lacrime scorre libero, mentre tutto il mondo, nel sonno è intriso.

Il quarto capitolo, "Een stemme locker", vede la fanciulla al cospetto dello spirito della Montagna; quattro minuti di chitarra acustica che rintocca all'infinito mentre i fraseggi secondari accompagnano il dialogo fra la poverina e il grande Spirito (esecuzione formale che anticipa il futuro lavoro, totalmente acustico, Kveldssanger). I suadenti e lontani cori femminili attirano la fanciulla al cuore della montagna come i compagni di Ulisse cedettero inermi ai cori delle sirene.

La storia (e il disco) si conclude con il quinto capitolo Bergtatt - Ind I fjeldkamrene. I riff riprendono leggermente i toni del primo capitolo, sono però sempre più spesso ritoccati da chitarre acustiche, mentre i cori vengono quasi del tutto cancellati, in favore del climax finale della storia.

La fanciulla chiese di essere liberata, ma per le sue preghiere non fu ascoltata… Ancora una volta una fanciulla è scomparsa… fecero di ella ciò che volevano, e senza alcun riguardo o gentilezza la trattarono.

La coda del brano è percorsa da lunghi soliloqui di chitarre suonate quasi come strumenti ad arco, gli ululati di Garm descrivono la definitiva azione della notte, che ingloba in sé la ragazza, in una voluttuosa violenza; e dopo la pioggia e la tempesta, gli ultimi rintocchi di chitarra classica descrivono l'alba di un nuovo giorno che si lascia alle spalle il sacrificio appena compiuto, senza la certezza però, che l'inestinguibile sete della Montagna sia appagata.

Bergtatt è un album che si impone come un'opera d'arte totale, dall'artwork del libretto, ai testi stilati rigorosamente in lingua-madre e in rima, come fosse una tragica ballata da accompagnare alle pitture del nazionalromanticismo norvegese (Johan Dahl, Adolph Tidemand…). L'approccio musicale e lirico è quanto di più anomalo e poetico si possa trovare nel black metal e, oggettivamente, nel mondo della musica estrema. L'assetto innovativo e persistente nel tempo, fanno di questo disco le qualità più importanti: le stesse qualità che in tempi recenti lo hanno fatto apparire perfino sulle pagine di webzine non addette al metal, e le stesse qualità che lo hanno portato ad essere amato da tutti gli ascoltatori di musica che riescono a mettere appena il naso nel mondo underground.

https://www.metallized.it/recensione.php?id=4434

[emacrow]

The civilization trapped in an ice meteorite.

Superman, after saving the earth from another earth ending bomb, breeze through space, were glowing clouds of gas and dust known as a planetary nebula floated around aimlessly with glowing green dwarf particles as if a solar system was sucked into, but there only lays a sun and 7 planets here before before something caught his eye.

A pusling aimlessly floating ball like metorite full of frozen white ice with green dipped in the bottom in the middle of space. The pulsing glow flickers like a couple of very slow heartbeats.

Superman used his x ray vision to see inside, and what he saw immediately immediately griped the ice and speed flew over through back to the Watchtower which was not far from here.

Superman spoke in the coms of his oxygen mask to the Watchtower.

"Open the space entrance gates, and someone calls in Beatriz Da Costa. I found a floating town trapped in metorite ice with what seems civilians' insides." Superman spoke in the coms as he pushed the metorite carefully toward the watchtower, unaware of the gigantic glowing transparent being with 8 neon green eyes staring at him wrapped around the ice metorite like a Serpent to it's eggs.

[supernowa-art]

don't look at me

[umblrspectrum]

infinitely funnier visuals in my head, likely because they werent subject to my actual skill level in art

[sp0o0kylights]

Here’s the thing about natural—or unnatural, as it were—disasters.

Regular social norms go right out the fucking window.

In Tommy’s case, all it took was to see one news report, highlighting the burning husk of Starcourt, for him to turn to his girlfriend and ask “Do you think…?”

He didn’t bother to finish his sentence.

Didn’t need too—Carol immediately and instantly knew what he was on about.

They were in Tommy’s house, but that didn’t matter. Carol went right for the phone like she owned it (or like she’d been practically raised in said house given she’d known Tommy since he was seven, which meant she might as well own it.)

“He’s not answering.” She reported after a tense moment,

Tommy bit his lip.

“Think he’s still messing around with Wheeler enough to be at her house right now?” He asked, but it was a hail mary and they both knew it.

Carol rewarded his stupidity with a flat stare. “He’s not dating anyone right now, he’s person non grata with that hideous uniform.”

And for other reasons, not that either of them bothered to voice it all.

Tommy opened his mouth again, no doubt to ask something else idiotic in his growing panic, but was stopped by a finger held loftily in the air.

Carol expertly dialed with her other hand, before once again returning the phone to her ear.

This time she got someone.

“Hi Miss Maple, is Mindy home?” 

A pause, and then a rapid-fire back and forth took place, in which Carol:

Assured Miss Maple she was not at the mall.

Was happy to know Mindy was also not at the mall.

Made an appropriate gasping noise upon finding out Mindy had left only an hour before the mall had caught fire and could she talk to Mindy? Pretty please? This is so scary!

--Until Carol was finally connected to Mindy herself.

“No, I'm glad you’re safe.” Carol was saying, after another exchange that to Tommy, felt like some kind of over-complicated girl language where they both made soft reassuring noises until they finally got down to business.

Which in this case, was asking if Mindy saw Steve Harrington, their wayward third, at the mall.

“He was there.” Carol confirmed a scant few minutes later, frown slashing across her face as she hung up the phone. “She said he had the closing shift.” 

Tommy panicked harder. 

“What do we do?”

Carol, bless her, gave him the easiest answer in the world. 

With steel in her eyes, she calmly determined: “We go get him.”

They did.

xXx

Steve was not at the mall. 

One of his obnoxious children was however, and insisted Steve was both fine and had gone home. 

(As if anyone was ever fine after escaping out of a burning building.) 

Lucky for Carol’s temper and Steve both, that proved to be true. 

 “Hello Steven.” Carol greeted the second one of the Harrington’s double doors swung open. “You look like shit.” 

“‘Ro?” Steve asked in blatantly disbelief, squinting at her. 

Give how fucked up one of his eyes was, Carol wouldn’t be surprised if he honestly could’t make her out. 

Steve’s messed up face moved to the left with another blatant squint before he warbled out: “‘Tommy?” 

“Yes, yes, it’s us. Move over.” She flicked her hands into a “shoo” gesture, as Steve dutifully stepped back, allowing them in. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked, somehow managing to sound normal for that one singular line. 

Carol beelined right for the cabinet with the medkit, while Tommy went for the fridge. 

“Taking care of you, idiot. How the hell did you get a black eye in a mall fire?” 

Or choke marks, or any of his other wounds she’d taken in at first glance, none of which looked to be a burn. 

It took a long, long moment for her to get an answer, during which Steve had trailed them both to his kitchen, confused but not fighting their presence.  

“Part of the building collapsed. I--there was--” He struggled for a moment, looking lost in his own kitchen. “A lot happened.” 

“No shit.” Tommy snorted, wrapping a  hand towel around an ice pack before dutifully handing it to Steve. 

“Put that on your eye.” He muttered, when all he got was a blank stare back. 

“Oh.” Steve stared at him, without moving. “Thanks.” 

With another loud snort, Tommy shoved it in his hands, then forced Steve to actually put it against his eye. 

An interaction that did not bode well for the state of Steve’s head. 

“Take that disgusting shirt off.” Carol commanded a few seconds later as she finished laying out medical supplies on the counter. Lined them up like little soldiers gearing up to ship out. 

Bandages, neosporin, alcohol wipes and various other little bits and bobs weren’t going to fix whatever the hell happened to Steve, but given his aversion to hospitals, Carol knew this was as good as she was getting. 

“Buy me dinner first, jeez.” Steve grumbled, but thankfully, complied. 

Or tried too, anyway--he seemed to be reluctant to take the ice pack off his eye now that he figured out that's where it should go, and equally seemed to be having issues raising his arms above his shoulders. 

Carol sent a pointed look at her boyfriend, then jerked her eyes in Steve’s direction when the idiot just stared at her. 

“Let me help you.” Tommy said a moment later, right before Carol decided to throw something at him. 

It took them both a minute, during which Carol rolled her eyes twice at their incompetence, but eventually they managed to get Steve’s busted torso out in open air, and the ice pack firmly back on his eye. 

Carol turned to survey the damage, and nearly dropped the bandages she was holding in shock. 

Tommy too seemed at a loss for words, eyes wide at the sheer amount of bruising. 

Steve was a mess.

More than, a mess--this was the worst state Carol had ever seen anyone in, and the fact that he was on his feet still was a fucking miracle. 

‘Staring won’t fix it.’ Carol told herself harshly, and she knew damn well Steve wasn’t going to fix it either unless someone forced him. 

Hence of course, why they were there. 

“Steven Harrington, did you run from the paramedics?” She demanded, as she finally picked her first weapon (a disinfectant wipe) and strode over to begin her battle. “There is no way they let you go looking like this!”

“They had other priorities.” Steve said defensively, then hissed as Carol got to work. 

“You should have been one of said priorities, idiot!” 

Tommy thankfully, had decided to make himself useful by retreating to the other side of the kitchen and pulling various items out of the fridge and pantry. 

Inbetween her runs for more supplies and hissing insults at how fucking stupid Steve was, Carol identified the makings of grilled cheese sandwiches--their little groups go to favorite. 

Which was good, because it both got him out of the way and meant they could get something in Steve’s stomach before she forced every pain pill she had down his throat. 

“I’m fine guys, really.” Steve protested, as if constantly repeating it would somehow make his words true. 

Carol stared deep into his watery eyes, before jabbing a finger into the center of the largest bruise on his side. 

“Carol!” He howled, bending double and away, panting harshly. 

“That,” She informed him with a pitiless stare, “was for lying.” 

Thankfully the damage wasn’t as bad as she first thought--it seemed to be mostly just bruises. 

Possibly a cracked rib or two, at worst. 

The worst of it was Steve’s eye, and of course, his head, because there was no way he didn’t have a concussion amongst all this. 

(Only time would tell how bad it was.) 

When Steve was as doctored up as Carol could make him, she promptly turned and frog marched him to his parents' overstuffed couch.

“Sit and stay sitting, while I clean up.” She ordered, not waiting to see if Steve would obey. 

She passed Tommy on her way back to the kitchen, a plate piled high with food in his hands. 

“Make sure he takes at least a few bites.” She added, low enough so only he heard. 

He nodded, and for the first time since the three of them had fallen out, Carol felt something in her finally relax. 

Figured it was likely the same for the boys, given their dynamic had always been something one step away from a normal friendship. 

(it wasn’t the relationship her mother had once accused her of having, though granted, they had tested those waters once, but something that sat in between ‘family’ and ‘mutual ownership.’ 

Losing Steve had carved something hollow in her and Tommy both. She’d put on a good show of not caring. Pretended it hadn’t cut deep. 

Getting even a taste of it like she was? 

Carol wasn’t letting him go again.) 

Cleaning up took a minute, long enough hopefully, for the pain meds to kick in, and she didn’t feel too guilty when she came back into the living room and collapsed on the couch, next to Steve (and thus putting him in the middle, between herself and Tommy.) 

He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned into her the second she sat down, like he’d been waiting for her to return. There was a pause, like he was bracing to be pushed off, but when she scooted closer, the tension left him in a silent exhale. 

“I missed you.” He whined softly into her shoulder.

She ran her nails through his hair, silently bemoaning the state of it. “We missed you too, Stevie.”

“I want to be friends again but,” Steve sighed, and Carol watched Tommy tense, staring at Steve with such intensity one would think Steve was about to announce whether Tommy would live or die.

(Honestly, her boys were so stupid sometimes.)

“We can't be mean anymore.” Steve finished. “Not me—but also not, not you guys.”

With an (unfortunately) adorable wrinkle of his nose, he added, “We were too mean.”

Carol rolled her eyes, but only when she was certain Steve was paying more attention to her sweater than her face.

“Compromise. I’ll only be openly mean to people who deserve it.” She countered, as Tommy finally relaxed.

“I can be nicer.” He agreed, slowly sinking down into Steve’s other side.

“Way less mean. No--no more pranks or insults.” Steve continued.

Carol nodded. “Not in public.” She agreed. 

She was not giving up her own personality in private, thank you very much. If that made her an asshole that was fine--it wasn’t like she hadn't been told she was nasty before this. 

“And I’m friends with Robin now. So you hav’ to be friends with her too.” 

“Buckley?” Carol made another face, and knew she fucked up when Steve instantly tried to sit up.

“Robin Buckley. She’s really cool, and--” He started, with that kind of stubbornness Carol knew all too well meant he’d made up his mind and would refuse to change it.

“Fine, fine!” She said quickly, though not without an eye roll. “You have got to stop adopting weirdos though. The kids are enough.”

Steve slowly laid back down. 

“You know about the kids?” 

“Steve Harrington, town babysitter?” Tommy said, something teasing threading through his voice. “Everybody knows, man. You give so many rides home your beamer has gained several bus themed nicknames.” 

“Huh. I hadn’t noticed.” 

“Of course you didn’t.” Carol snorted, before laying her cheek atop Steve’s head. Tommy cuddled up close to his other side, the same way they all used to before their parents started insisting their cuddle piles were “inappropriate.”  

(That hadn’t stopped them. Nothing had stopped them, until Steve had a crisis of consciousness while dating Wheeler. 

It was only half the reason Carol wanted to put her head through a wall.) 

“That’s what you have me for.” She informed him. 

“Yeah.” Carol could feel Steve’s smile, gentle and radiant as always. “Guess I do.”

A nice, perfect moment followed, the one she knew both her and Tommy had been craving. 

Steve, of course, was a creature who required constant reassurance because his awful, neglecting parents never provided any, and she was prepared when he fought against both his pain and sleep to seek it. 

“You guys promise to be nice to Robin? And Nancy, and Jonathan?” He asked it quietly, like he wasn’t sure what they'd do if they said no. 

“Oh God,” Tommy moaned, “I have to be nice to Byers?” 

 Steve stiffened once again, snapping out; “Yes--” 

“We promise, Steve.” Carol interrupted before Tommy’s giant fat mouth could ruin things.  

She moved a hand down to rub gently at his neck, a soothing gesture. 

Tommy, of course, wasn’t done, because Tommy was a moron. “Wasn’t he the guy Wheeler cheated on you with?” 

“We said we promise.” Carol repeated, steel in her voice. 

Tommy met her eyes over Steve’s head, and was greeted with the steel core of his girlfriend’s ‘do as I say or die’ personality. 

“Fine.” Tommy conceded with a pout. “I’ll be nice to fucking Byers.”

 In a mutter he added;  

“Not happy about it though.”

“That’s okay.” Steve mumbled back, seeming to have finally tired himself out. 

“Go to sleep, Steve. We’ll be here in the morning.” Carol told him.

It was a longstanding fear of Steve’s--that people just left in the night without saying goodbye. 

(Likely because his parents kept doing it.)

It didn’t take long, Steve was the kind of guy who fell asleep quickly. 

It was a nice mend to the hole Steve’s departure in her life had made. Carol hadn’t truly been looking forward to living her life without him. 

She’d get him back however she could.

Even if it meant being nice. 

(Carol hated being nice, but she’d do it, for Steve. 

Well. Less for Steve and more to complete the Tommy-Steve-Carol super trio that Carol had lived most of her life in, at least, but she wasn’t stupid enough to say that out loud.

Not now, anyway.) 

xXx

Close to a year later, Carol stood with her arms crossed, staring coolly at one Edward Munson, drug dealer extraordinaire and former (even if he was cleared) criminal. 

He grinned at her, the jerk.

With a supernatural slowness, she turned her gaze to Steve.

“I swear to God Steve you better housebreak him before you bring him anywhere near me.” She said, loud and clear.

Hadn’t she warned him about adopting more weirdos!?

Steve winced. 

“Come on ‘Ro, you promised not to be mean.” He wheedled. 

“I promised to not be mean to people who didn’t deserve it.” She shot back, as Tommy, wisely, stayed silent behind her.

(Robin, she noted, was equally quiet on Steve’s other side.

Normally this would raise alarms—Robin was quick to defend people if she thought Carol was being shitty and as a general rule was never quiet, but it would appear in this case she’d already clocked where Carol was taking this.

Smart girl.)

“Eddie doesn’t deserve—” Steve started but she cut him off with a blue tipped nail, shoved right against his lips.

“Not yet he doesn’t. But Munson,” She leveled her glare on him now, and let him feel the weight of it. “If Steve so much as says your name in a sad tone of voice, I will make your life into the kind of hell that Jason Carver can only dream of. Understand?”  

Behind her, Tommy cracked his knuckles, which was overkill and she’d get on his ass later for being dramatic, but presently she was too busy letting Munson figure out just how serious she was. 

Eddie’s gaze traveled from Carol, to Tommy, Robin, Steve and finally back to Carol in an assessment she frankly, hadn’t thought him capable of. 

She pushed him anyway. 

“I’m waiting, Munson.” 

In a somber tone of voice, Eddie replied; “It’s gotten. Very, very gotten.” 

“Okay, I’m lost.” Steve said, because, as always, he was the last person to know he was in love.

Moron. 

“Good. As long as we understand each other. Now.” Carol tossed her hair back with a quick snap of her hand. “Milkshakes?” 

“Robin--” Steve whined, no doubt wanting her to spell things out since Carol was refusing, but thankfully Buckley also seemed to realize staying quiet was the best course of action, and instead of answering quickly got Steve off track with a jab at his milkshake order. 

Which was of course, why Carol liked her.

(She wasn’t about to share that with Robin just yet. Integrating someone into a trio like theirs was delicate business—and she had a sinking feeling Robin might be sticking around, just like Steve and Tommy had.

As for Eddie Munson? 

Only time would tell.)

[choccy-milky]

@foundthatoldzeppelinshirt what did u do to me...what in the wattpad is this... i only planned to do a few doodles but then i kept getting more brainrotted and things got out of hand LMAOO (and ofc i HAD to draw hockey player seb at SOME POINT bc its my duty as a canadian citizen🫡🍁🍁 O CANADA!!!)