#i knew a mike hawk in high school

[babiestmunson]

The colors suit him.

Gif not mine

PART 2 in case you want more 

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem! Henderson Reader

Synopsis: Eddie hasn't seen you since you graduate high school until one day you gotta pick up your brother and of course Dustin want you to be friends.

Warnings: Pretty much just coursing, and mentions of bullying let me know if there's any other.

AN: It's my first time posting something like this hope you like it. Also english it's not my first language so excuse any mistakes.

.................................................

He remembers the last time he saw her. She was on her way to school for graduation, next to her it was her mom and his little brother, who would’ve thought he is now in his D&D club. That’s life for you I guess. After that, he knew she was still in town but nowhere close to him. Until he met Dustin Henderson and 0brought up her name saying his sister was the baddest bitch along with Nancy Wheeler. 

A year younger than him, almost everyone knew her name. She wasn’t popular per say, but it was easy to notice the tall shy girl with the beautiful big brown eyes. It helps that Y/N Henderson was, rather is, kind and thoughtful, willing to help whoever needs it. People tend to avoid Eddie as he was “the freak”, he didn’t really mind, wouldn’t want any of these fakes close to him, but she was always different. If they face each other in the school hallways, she’d always say ‘hi’ or ‘hey Eddie’.

He didn’t understand why, but then Gareth needed a tutor for his history class, and she volunteered, his friend told him that she was in fact really nice and kind. “She’s just being herself Munson, no other intentions”.

Dustin was obviously very fond of her, he loved her like no one else in the world. Eddie was entering the theater room when he heard Dustin saying that if he didn’t find a job, he wouldn’t be able to help his sister while Mike and Lucas were trying to calm him, the boy, pretty overwhelmed, couldn't concentrate the rest of the afternoon. Little Henderson was upset, and Eddie was willing to help him, or at least heard him. He knew first hand what it was to have family problems and not being able to help and he didn’t want Dustin to feel like him.

“So, Henderson, i heard you need a job” 

“I’m not selling drugs Eddie” he laughed so hard for that one. 

They then talk for an hour or so about Dustin’s problems. The boy told him that his sister didn’t apply for college because of him, his mom didn’t have enough money saved for the both of them to go and even though he would go years after and she’d probably be graduating by that time, it wasn’t enough because then, there would be no money for him and he was not going to be the selfish asshole that makes his sister starve so he can study. Especially when she wanted to be in the art business and being honest, it would be hard for her to get a good job. 

Hearing Dustin talk with so much love and admiration made him want to get to know her, but it pretty much seemed impossible, she never looked at him other than necessary when they were in the same school. A simple hi was all the interaction they shared and he’s pretty sure it happened when he looked his worst. I really should run the comb through my hair more often. 

“Anyways, you do know I wouldn't offer you to sell drugs, right?” Eddie felt insecure that Dustin, one of the purest souls he’s ever met, would see him like everyone else, it made him worry because he truly believed that maybe someone, one day, would look at the real Eddie Munson. “Of course not Eddie, I know you” 

Eddie smiled at Dustin and tapped his curly head, joking about how he even wasn’t smart enough to sell them anyway, this of course made the boy “angry”. They were walking towards the parking lot; it was one of those calm Hawkings evenings. The air felt cold as it was already the beginning of October, Dustin was telling the strategies he’d use and Eddie just laughed and put an arm over his shoulders while walking. Lucas and Mike went home earlier due to a project, so Henderson told Eddie that someone was taking him home. 

“You don’t know that I could be the best dealer you’ve ever met, try me”.

“Excuse me?!” Of course his sister would be in the right place at the right time to hear him say just that little bit of the conversation.

Life sure is funny when it comes to Eddie. 

Dustin was speechless, something that didn't occur that often. He didn’t have the courage to see the girl and after counting to ten he finally grew some balls and confronted her. He wished he didn't though. Y/N looked angry, her eyes smaller due to the frown she was making, and her lips were completely sealed, she was obviously holding a scream. More like some screams that she would throw at Eddie. Yet, he couldn't help but notice the cute little blue beanie and how it contrasted the tip of his red nose. 

Great Eddie now you’re gonna lose one of the best members of hellfire, all because of your reputation and Dustin’s big mouth, that’s just great. 

“Care to explain?” Y/N said but looking at him. It’d been a while since the last time she saw him and damn he looked good. His hair was longer, and he had the most adorable bangs that framed his eyes just fine. It was like a magnet and she wanted to pay more attention to the handsome metalhead and go through every single little detail of his face, but at the same time she was angry that his little brother might be on the wrong road. Is it true what everyone says about him? It can’t be true…  

“Woah, woah sweetheart calm down, we were just joking”

“Why were you joking about drugs with a 15 year old boy?”

“It’s not what it looked like” Dustin finally spoke as he sensed the tension between his female role model and one of his male role models. He wanted them to get along now that Y/N would pick him up after hellfire. He was never wrong, and he was sure that they could be good friends. “You can trust Eddie, he’s a softie” 

“Now, why would you put it that way?” he was annoyed, looking at your brother as if he’d just told the most stupid thing in the world. Then they started to defend their point of views since Eddie wouldn't let Dustin see him as a “softie”. You hear him fight with your 15 year old brother in such a serious yet playful way that you just shake your head in amusement. He caught you smiling and something inside told him that it’d be ok. Still, you couldn’t believe how comfortable your brother felt with Eddie, outside you and Steve you knew that Dustin only felt like being Dusty with a few selected people, not even Max had seen him like this. So Eddie must be special. 

“Fine, come on Dustin we gotta go” the curly boy quickly ran to your mom’s car that you used more than her, when you heard the door open and closed, it was time to face Eddie. You weren't exactly a social butterfly but would put no hesitation in protecting your brother, plus something about Eddie made you feel good. As if you’ve known him forever, I mean you kinda do, the two of you were always in the same schools and even shared a few classes with him senior year but were never closed. You were blaming your past self. Maybe if you hadn’t been so shy you could’ve had the guts to ask him what he thought about Iron Maiden’s 1981 Killers album. 

“Listen pretty boy, you make even the slightest action to put my brother in danger and I’ll end you, we’re clear?” you were pointing at him with no doubt in your eyes and a demanding smile that enchanted Eddie. You were no joke, oh no, you were tough as well as cute. He liked it. 

“Don’t worry doll I won’t do anything to your brother, but I’d like to see you end me” he had a challenging gaze pointing directly to your eyes and the most beautiful smirk you’d seen, showing you his dimples and perfect teeth. Like how does someone have these perfect pearled teeth? It's ridiculous. 

You just smiled at him, raising your eyebrow, and turning around to walk to your car silently. Don’t want to set the Dusty alarm that was always correct, you were hoping you didn’t look as red as you feel. Because oh yeah, you felt your checks burning to everything that happened. Didn’t even know what happened to begin with, he called you which made you turn around to face him one more time. 

He felt good after this little interaction and he swore her voice was the best thing he’s ever heard. Now he wanted to hear her laugh, don’t know why but that’s what he wanted. 

“So… you think I’m pretty?” his intense eyes could go right from where he was standing to your soul, those puppy eyes never looked so fiery. At least not when you’d greet him before. It took you awhile, but you pull yourself together, he will not know how his eyes affected you so much. Mainly because you didn't know why it actually made you feel something.

“Want a ride, Munson?” you said without even looking at him since you were on your way to the car, and to Dustin who was desperately looking at his watch. Eddie just quietly laughed and started walking toward the car. 

“Sure babydoll, love to”.

He took the backseat because of course Dustin had called shotgun and nobody could move him from the front seat, especially if he was riding with his sister. You look at him through the mirror, he was lost in his thoughts watching the autumn landscape that Hawkings provide. The colors suit him.

-

Halloween, it’s been almost a month since your first interaction with Eddie and you’ve seen him three, sometimes four times a week because of your brother. But, you felt him differently. Normally if you were another person, he’d be teasing you, especially after your first little battle; maybe a little mocking and if you were lucky, he’d give you his playful smile, the prettiest of all.

Still you didn’t care, you were here for Dustin. Waiting for him to finish his campaign. You hate to wait, it makes you feel anxious. You started to panic while waiting the first time you confronted a Demogorgon and met Eleven. Then with everything that happened at the mall and with the Russians it increased a lot. Luckily this time you weren’t alone. Steve was with you since both promised to take the kids to their annual scary movie sleepover. But then you would go to a party, you were excited, it felt as if you haven’t been to a party in forever. After dropping off the kids, you’ll pick up Robin and go your way. 

“I’m just saying the love of my life could be at this party and you’re mocking me for no looking hot enough which totally hurts my self-esteem”

“You just want sex Steve” 

“Of course I do, but it could be sex with my future wife”

“Steve eww” you had both of your arms above Max’s shoulders, providing her a warm yet slight hug. She grew closer to you since the whole mall fiasco and was thankful for it. Max didn’t have someone to talk or go to and you were glad you are that person to her now. 

Steve hugs you both tight saying that he’d move in with your future families if he doesn’t find love when you notice Mike, Lucas, Dustin and Eddie walking towards you. He looked irritated. 

There she is, once again with Steve Harrington and the little redhead waiting for Dustin. How many people you need to pick up a kid from a club? Does she have to be with Harrington all the damn time? 

He knew now that she and Steve worked together along with some other girl at the family video store or whatever the name of that cheesy place was. He heard you laugh, you were always laughing when he was around. It’s fine, I can get used to it, it’s just a stupid laugh. But it wasn’t a stupid laugh, he tried to make you laugh before Harrington appeared on the picture every afternoon and he didn’t succeed, well he did but not as loud as he wanted it. And then he saw Steve hug you and the girl. It was a tight hug and you clearly were enjoying it because you had the biggest smile on your face and your eyes closed. 

Eddie watches the interaction quietly, thinking that while having Steve, you would never look at him other than the weird guy who is almost 20 and plays some neerdy game. Suddenly he feels like throwing up, just when you were about 7 feet of distance. 

“Hey boys” you smile, releasing yourself from Steve but still hugging Max “Sir Eddie” 

He just nods and barely raises his hand, you were tired of this. If he didn’t want to talk or at least acknowledge your presence then fine, whatever. It's not like you were in love with the guy. 

"'Sup man" Steve greets Eddie and you can feel the tension, the rivalry these two share was absurd. Steve would get jealous of Eddie everytime Dustin mentioned him, and you suspect it was the same with Eddie and didn’t blame him. He met Steve when he was still King Steve and though he's changed, a lot, Eddie didn’t knew it. 

You had your AC/DC shirt on with your baggy jeans and a denim jacket to put up with the cold. It matched Eddie's style and it showed. The Iron Maiden shirt he was wearing with his ripped jeans and leather jacket was a perfect combination. His rings made his hands look bigger, only he could put up that style. According to almost every person in town, his clothes didn't fit the standards and because of that the majority of old people thought of him as being a criminal. Or at least someone really weird that does not follow what God got to say. 

From his side, you looked perfect. He imagines how he'd play for you the AC/DC covers he'd nailed, hell he would even let you touch his guitar! You'd spend days together just listening to music while he'd teach you how to play your favorite songs. If only I wasn’t scare of your rejection… or the jelousy of your stupid boyfriend Steve. 

"So, they're going to a party with Robin" Dustin said "You should tag along" 

Your brother had that playful smile that means he has a plan and to be honest, it was an adorable smile so it was hard to say no. Dustin watches in amusement hoping that Eddie would go and you all can finally be friends. That’s his dream: his sister plus Robin plus Steve plus Eddie taking care of him… and Max by extension. 

"Yeah you should come" Woah where that came from… It was a little too late to retract your words, that would be stupid. You should always think before you speak. No filter you was never good. Thank God Max filled the silence that appeared after your comment.

"Sure and maybe you can help Steve look for his future wife" 

"Hey kid! Not cool, I can and will find love, just watch" You roll your eyes as they fight. Like always. They had this strange dynamic of fighting one second and the next they'd be acting cute as if anything happened. Those moments made your heart feel full. They were your chosen family. 

Eddie didn’t know what to say. It was obvious that you and Steve weren't a thing, or at least not oficial, so maybe he actually had a chance. The heavy weight he had been feeling left his shoulders. He wanted to go with you, you were on his mind most of the time so might as well go and spend some time getting to know you. 

"I could go" he suddenly said, stopping the annoying fight Max and Steve were having. "If you're - if you all are ok with me going" 

"Really?" Max watched you smiling and she did too, one of the cheeky smiles that nowadays were rare for her to give. You give her a fast glanze and hug her, you feel happy every time you see the old Max smile, but also it helps you with your nerves.

"Great let's go kids. And before anyone says anything y/n and ONLY Y/N goes in the front seat".

Taking 4 kids plus 3 young adults in one car was something he never thought he’d experience, but you seem so calm that he’d figured this was a normal friday for you. Another thing he didn’t expect was being in the back of King Steve’s car eating pringles along Dustin and on your way to the Wheeler’s  household to drop the kids. He was quiet listening to some argument the kids had about their Lord of the Rings theories and God they were so wrong. 

“Why are you so quiet?” Dustin asks while taking the pringles from him. “That’s so no you, it’s creeping me out” 

“Chill, I don’t have to be loud all the damn time” 

“But you are” 

“Jesus Steve you have the worst taste in music” Y/n laughs while trying to change the music on the car’s stereo

“Oh yeah that yo do my man” Steve gave you the look he did when someone said something outrageous to him. But this time it was because of what Eddie said which made it worse. 

“Listen all of you, you’re in my car, you don’t protest ok?” 

“Whatever hairy boy” you still changed the music but didn’t go full metal so you wouldn't have Steve complaining. And for the first time since you first saw him, Eddie and you look at each other eyes to eyes, smiling. 

-

He was nervous, he wasn’t very welcome with the young community of Hawkins because, then again, he didn’t fit the standards. He was loud and unapologetic, loved to mock the basketball team and their cortege of bullies and wannabes, but still it would be nice to go one day without someone trying to provoke him into making a ridiculous scene. 

Now at the party he didn't feel as comfortable as he was in the car ride. It wasn't bad when you picked up that Robin girl but it was better when the kids were all in there making noise. Gosh that is so pathetic Munson, to rely on a bunch of 15 years old. 

To his surprise, it wasn’t a Hawkins High party in which he wasn’t welcomed. It was a party that some girl from the community college was throwing and he felt relieved that it seemed like he would have a peaceful night. Maybe even have fun. 

“How did we find out about this party?” he was looking between you and the crowd with a confused look while touching his lips with his fingers. Cute.

“I don’t know, some girl Steve knows invited him and we’re a package deal” he recognized some people that he once shared classes with. Some others from his dealer rounds and others that work in the various stores around town. So far it seemed like everyone was minding their business, apparently they’ve grown up and don’t want to bother him. “Here, you’re c’ming with me” 

You smile at him, grabbing his arm and pushing him towards the can of beers. Yours was the most beautiful smile he’d seen. Not to mention you looked incredibly hot while wearing a band shirt. 

He doesn’t let you grab or open your beer but volunteers to do it for you. After all, he was tagging along, you probably had plans for this party like dance with Robin or do God knows what with Stevie. It was the least he could do. You thank him and offer him the seat next to you patting the surface of the couch with your hand. Both take two long slurps of your beers before even beginning to talk. 

“So, what's your deal with Harrington?” he asks, looking at the can he was holding and playing with the metal thing. 

“Eww what are you talking about?” you scrunch your nose in disgust and he thinks that it’s mind blowing for someone to look even cuter that already always is. 

“Come on! There’s obviously something between you two” he was scared of the answer but it was better to just know it. It was now or never. “Maybe a typical friends with benefits, no strings attached, just good old sex” 

You had just taken a sip of beer and his words provoked you to literally choke. You wanted to laugh but it was hard since you could barely breathe. 

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to choke you” he helps you breathe again and you can finally laugh. 

“Oh my God I would never do anything with Steve. Eww no, gross” 

He then laughs with you relieved of the answer. It was refreshing to hear a girl that wasnt head over heels for Steve. He hated to admit it but the boy was hot, Ugg hate him.

"Though we did try to date once. We just made it to the car and called it a night. He's the big brother Dustin ever wanted." 

He now feels relieved, and moves closer to you. Your so call brother is at the moment looking for his future wife while Robin is debating with a group of strangers so he commits to be by your side for the entire time you'll be there. 

"Well then m'lady, why don't we enjoy this party on our own" he stand up smiling and with his arms fully open offering you to wander around. 

"That would be my pleasure sir" 

Bravely you take his left hand and pull him close to you to start walking. His smile is the biggest you've seen on him until now. you can even notice the redness of his ears. 

"I prefer when you call me pretty boy sweetheart". Your heart is pounding so hard you feel you're gonna explode, but hey, this is not a bad beginning. 

Let me know what you think and if maybe you want a second part?

[curious--curations]

Steve Harrington x reader Part 2

Part 1 Part 2

Summary: Everyone rests after the big fight and you find more information on Steve that makes you realize you love him.

Out of all the places to end up tonight, you never thought it would be Nancy Wheeler's basement surrounded by classmates and children you barely knew. Then again nothing was normal since that "earthquake" hit. 

Nancy was one of those students everyone knew. She was top of her class and participated in multiple after school clubs. You heard she use to date Steve, which was something you could never envision. Jealousy aside, their personalities did not seem to mesh well. 

Robin was the exact opposite of Nancy, even down to her dating history which she made clear to you from the start. Unlike Nancy, she was never with Steve and never planned to be. She was also very unlike Nancy in terms of her humor and hobbies. She was more dorky, being part of the school band and often over talked or tripped over her words. You enjoyed her company the most. 

Nancy entered the basement holding a tower of blankets for everone to spend the night and Mike was on her heels with a few pillows. You tried to leave, but the group already convinced you that it was dangerous to do so. Not only were the demodogs on the loose, no one new if more would appear from the newly created portals.

You sat next to Steve on a small couch, working up to thanking him,  "Hey....uh. Thanks for saving me back there. You did pretty good at protecting us." 

A cocky smile rose to his face but something felt fake about the action to you. "Yeah. Well, you know how I am. I can always save the day." There was something hollow in his words despite the charm he mustered to hide it. You could tell he was worried and the attack rattled his self confidence. He almost was not there in time.

"Let's just rest up now." 

Your head hit the pillow for a second before you spoke up again, "Steve?" You called into the dark questioning if he was still awake. He replied with a grunt into his pillow, "Why were you at my house?"

"Making my rounds after the earthquake. The demodogs blind-sided us." You left his answer at that. You had enough questions running around in your mind to wonder why, out of everyone in Hawking, Steve would still worry about you. 

Before you fell asleep you began to recall your relationship with Steve through high school. You and Steve were kind of friends during high school. Kind of meaning he was the cool kid and you were not, so he was only kind and nice to you when no one was looking. It also meant that Steve got everyone to back off you when his "friends" picked on you and he tried to cheat off you in third period. You never thought you would get to know him outside of that.

You have no idea at what point in the late night conversation that it happened, but Steve fell asleep on your arm. You woke up to the tingling sensation of it falling asleep due to the pressure and half asleep you decided repositioning him to lay in your lap was a good solution.

 With him resting in your lap, you were able to get a good look at him and realize how handsome he really was. He had strong eyebrows that framed his face nicely along with the help of a strong jawline. You noticed a stray hair fell out of place from its curl, so you tucked it behind his ear affectionately. His rugged breathing calmed to a steady rate. You felt proud about the calming effect you had on him and smiled down. You continued to comb your fingers gently through his hair and a soft murmur slipped past his lips.

"Goooood Morning!" Robin chirped with a smug smile on her face. She caught you staring and there was no way she was going to let that go. Steve groaned and swatted at you, mistaking you for the person that woke him up. You nudge him off the couch, which quickly wakes him up so he doesn't face plant with the rug. The move doesn't fool Robin, who knows she definitely saw you making eyes at him.

"Uh, morning." You replied as you tried not to seem flustered. "So, what's the plan for today?"

"Breakfast, then fixing whatever mess everyone got into." Robin replied, "I am enlisting you to help me." She waved you on without another word. You followed her upstairs and to the kitchen. After the Wheelers were kind enough to let everyone stay the night, helping make breakfast was the least you could do. 

"So Steve huh?" She questioned as she pulls out mixing bowls from the cabinet for the pancake mix you were opening. You fumbled with the box upon hearing her question, since when was she a match maker. 

"Yeah. I guess. It's kind of a new thing for me."

"But you guys knew eachother forever." She measured out some water and poured it into the bowl with the powdered mix.

"We use to be friends. Before he made friends with Tommy and all of them. I am glad he left. He seems more himself now." You smiled at the thought, happy to know he has changed back to the person you cared about. 

"Yeah he really went through a douchey phase." She agreed with a laugh. 

"I use to like him, but then he changed and now he's the same again and I don't know, it's complicated. And I don't know why I am sharing this with you." You rambled on as thoughts flooded your mind. 

"I did ask," Robin reasoned, "and this probably has been gnawing at you for like a loooong time."

You began cooking the pancakes in a pan and Robin patiently waited by your side with a large plate to stack them on. She leaned with her back against the counter and lazily looked over to you as she continued with her questions. 

"You know he likes you right? He's been talking about you for weeks since you stopped by family video. I think he's freaking out now that you're mixed in all of this."

"I think we're all freaked out," you deflected, "besides isn't he getting back together with Nancy or something."

"What? No." The comment sent an odd shock of hope through you, "That ship has sailed. He doesn't like her anymore. And honestly he's always been worried about you. He's always cared about you since you've been friends....you know that right?"

"After everything I thought he forgot about me to be honest. He was a jerk and we just slowly stopped talking."

"He's back to his normal self. Or what I can only assume is his normal self." Robin tried to correct herself, "I didn't really know him before high school. But point is, he changed and he likes you."

Soon breakfast was ready and served to each person in the household. The groups next mission was to head back to Hawkins High to volunteer with relief efforts. Apparently the school blamed the damage in the gym on the earthquake and were able to clean it up. So you, Steve, Robin and Dustin were all volunteering to help with the disaster.

You went with everyone since no one felt safe staying in a place they were recently attacked in outside of the upside-down. Tagging along was something you were now regretting as the day was filled with nothing but worry and jealousy gnawing at your chest. For all day, you were walking around the gym on your own passing out water. You were forced to not only see Robin start to fall in love with someone the way you wish you could; you also saw Steve flirting all day. 

It felt like such a ridiculous time to become jealous. Here there were people who lost their homes, lost their loved ones and you were worrying over someone who would never love you flirting with another person. Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, you could not help how you felt. 

You watched Steve folding and sorting clothes along side a beautiful woman. He flashed a flirty smile at her and scooted a little closer as she reacted positively. You felt something grip and boil inside of you as he reached for her hand and dragged his thumb across it in gentle movements. 

Not being able to handle the sight of PDA any longer, you left to stand outside in the parking lot. There you took deep breaths and gripped tightly onto your cup as you calmed down. The door opened and closed and you spotted Robin in the corner of your eye. You felt too embarrassed and hurt to face her directly. 

"When are you going to tell Steve?" She questioned. 

"Tell him what?" You responded curtly. 

"That you love him? I know it's been tearing at you to watch him with other girls. You're not that subtle you know. Only he is enough of a dingus to not realize it, lucky for you." 

Her statement made you freeze up and your brain went into overdrive. You questioned your feelings towards him and thought over ever encounter you had with him.

She let out a small chuckle at your reaction. "I'll leave you alone now before I break your brain more." The door closed softly behind her and you were alone again. Once you accepted your feeling towards Steve, the door opened again. 

"What's wrong (y/n)? You aren't jealous are you?" He joked with a playful laugh as he joined you outside. Shit. He knew you saw him flirting. 

"Steve..." His eyes went wide at the feebleness in your voice and the way it trailed off from lack of strength. 

"Holy shit." He said in disbelief and all the playfulness fell out of his voice as he realized you actually were jealous and this was not a joke Robin was playing.

His reaction broke your heart. Why would he respond with such fear and doubt unless he did not feel the same and did not know how to let you down. Words came tumbling out of your mouth in an attempt to repair the interaction and minimize the focus on how you felt. If you apologized now, maybe you could keep the friendship you still had with him. Your feelings really didn't matter after all.

"I am sorry. I never meant for this to happen I just-- I didn't even know myself until everything that happened and now I am here putting you through this awful mess." Steve put your apology to a halt as he stepped closer towards you. Too close for you to think straight. 

"No I am sorry. That was a dumb way to react, but you can't expect much more from me." He combed his hand through his hair in a nervous manner, "I just never expected that from anyone, let alone you. You took me by surprise."

His hand brushed against your cheek, then he cupped your chin in his palm and moved your face up to meet his. He gave you a moment to pull away, and when you didn't he moved in. He kissed you gently but needingly as if he would never get the opportunity again. His lips were soft and gentle against your own. He took his time savoring his first kiss with you and leaving you weak. Even once the kiss was over, you stayed near eachother.

"We probably shouldn't leave them for too long." 

"They'll be fine." He replied and continued to kiss you.

[yikesharringrove]

I have a headcanon that Billy doesn"t really know how to apologize like most people do. To him, the words are kind of empty so he just does things for people instead. Things like replacing all of the dishes with better quality ones for the Byers, making the girliest clothes Max hates disappear and replaced with things she likes, a new slingshot showing up in Lucas's locker, breaking into a car to fix it. Steve is weirdly charmed by it.

These may both be you? But here’s a combo since they’re p much the same idea

anonymous asked: Billy has forgotten how to actually connect with people so he shows affection through acts of chaotic good, like planting catnip all over the yard of the lady who allergic for yellomg at Max or breaking into a car so he can fix the engine. Steve figures out Billy is the one doing all these oddly kind things but he is still kind of intimidated by the blonde so instead of thanking him out right he just leaves things like cigarettes and baked good for him in his car. Have fun with that one!

This got pretty long so I put some of it under the cut.

-

Billy didn’t believe in the words I’m sorry.

They just didn’t make sense  to him. He had never heard the words when someone actually meant them, and fuck knows he’s never actually meant those words before.

But that does not mean there aren’t things in his life he regrets.

For example: beating the shit outta Steve Harrington.

He felt like absolute fucking garbage about it. 

Harrington hadn’t deserved that shit. Billy was just runnin’ hot that night, and Harrington had been unlucky enough to have bad timing.

But he didn’t know how to fix it.

So he started leaving snacks in Steve’s locker.

He noticed how he would always be giving his friends the food off his fucking plate, so he would shove granola bars, candies, even made him a sandwich one day.

He watched as Steve would eat whatever it was Billy had left for him, just fuckin’ chowed down without question.

He would look into classes, find out where Steve sat and leave little treats on his desk.

“Mr. Harrington, I think you may have a secret admirer.” Steve flushed a little at the cupcake, and shoved it into his mouth in two bites at the beginning of history class, but he wasn’t gonna look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak, and figured whenever this chick came forward, he would thank her for being so thoughtful, and let her down gently.

-

After leaving Harrington alone with all his snacks, Billy set his sights on his other regret.

He had Max hadn’t always fought and bickered. True, Billy wasn’t the warmest, when they first met, but once he got his car they would drive around together a lot. He’d take her to the arcade and the boardwalk. They both didn’t like being home too much.

So when Billy’s informed he’ll be watching Max for the weekend while Neil takes Susan to the city, he forms a little plan.

There’s one Chinese restaurant in Hawkins. It’s totally not authentic, not like the dim sum they used to get wandering around San Fransisco, but they had steamed pork buns and Billy picked up eight.

He let Max do whatever she wanted that weekend, figured they would have better luck with one another if they both acted like outdoor cats, coming and going as they pleased, but come Sunday evening, all the pork buns were gone, and there was an unopened pack of cigarettes on his nightstand.

-

Regret number three: Lucas Sinclair.

Billy probably felt the most fucked up over this kid.

He’d gone after him, a fucking child, in his blind rage.

He had figured that out when he came to on the floor of that weird house, sitting up empty and alone, realizing I’m just like Neil.

He had seen all those kids with their nerdy toys, went out to RadioShack, early Sunday morning, leaving with a light wallet and a new idea.

Dustin was arguing with Mike over the realism of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, like there was anything realistic about it.

Lucas rolled his eyes, opening his locker, his mouth dropping open when he saw something inside.

He pulled the bag out, peering inside.

There were six brand new walkie talkies inside.

They were better than the ones they already used, had further range and more channels.

Everyone went silent.

“Um, these aren’t mine.”

Max’s eyes went wide. She snatched something up from the top shelf of Lucas’s locker.

The new Wrist Rocket had a note attached to it. She knows this handwriting, but couldn’t place it.

Enjoy the new gear. Don’t quit saving the world.

“Do you think they’re from Steve?”Max furrowed her brows at the note.

And then everything clunked into place.

“Maybe.”

The boys were tearing into the new walkies.

She got two cokes from the vending machine at lunch, handing one quietly to Billy when she got in his car after school.

-

Billy doesn’t really know what he’s doing here.

He had driven Max to one of her nerdy little friend’s houses, and somehow he got roped into staying? He doesn’t even remember.

But now he’s standing with a short kind woman, in the exact kitchen he beat the shit out of Harrington in, with Steve himself leaning against the other wall, watching the kids like some kinda hawk.

Billy’s hands were shaky, and he inserted himself into washing dishes from dinner.

He noticed most of them had chips, and all of them were mismatched. He put them away quietly, and drove to the nearest home goods store he could find.

Ceramic plates didn’t run too much, and he got a nice set of three different sizes, twelve plates of each size, light blue like the one he broke.

He left them on the porch, parked his car down the road a ways.

He rang the doorbell, sprinting and diving into the bushes before anyone can see him.

He watched as one of the sons, the one his age, the one in his English literature class, opened the door, his brow furrowing at the box of new plates.

“Um, Mom? Somebody left us a set of plates?”

He closed the door, but the took the plates with him.

-

Billy was sitting on the lawn, had just finished raking up all the damn leaves, and was taking a well-earned smoke break as he watched Max skating up and down the street, practicing her kickflips and ollies.

She cut into the driveway across the street, the only one on the entire block that was well paved, no cracks in the cement.

“Get out of here!” Max started as Mrs. Reynolds, a mean old woman was shouting through her screen door. “You little hooligan! You’re going to leave marks!”

Max bit her lip, trying not to laugh as she boarded back over to their house, standing next to Billy.

“I’ll be having a word with your father!” She rolled her eyes as Billy ground his jaw.

Cat nip was way more expensive than Billy was expecting, but he bought plenty of packages, returning home just past sunset.

He waited until about three in the morning, when Mrs. Reynolds’ sprinklers had finally turned back off before he climbed out his window, spreading the cat nip through her yard.

He flipped her house the bird.

Max was awed at the cats the next morning as Billy drove them both to school.

There must’ve been at least a hundred.

“Isn’t Mrs. Reynolds allergic?” Billy tried not to laugh.

“Damn. That sucks for her.”

-

Billy was sitting on the hood of his car, reading one of his lit books while he waited for Max to get out of her nerd club.

He startled a little bit when someone knocked on the hood.

And it was Harrington, smiling sheepishly at Billy.

“The Byers got some new plates last night. You know anything about that?” Billy tracked the thin scar on Steve’s head. It disappeared into his hairline. Billy wonders how long he had sat in front of a mirror, picking glass out of his thick hair.

“Who’re the Byers?” Steve huffed a laugh.

-

Max was standing in front of the mirror looking like a grumpy old cat.

Susan had bought her a lovely new dress, and Max fucking hated it. Susan was fussing over it, saying I ordered it from the Sears catalog! and can you believe it was only fifteen dollars?

Billy slipped a five and a ten into Susan’s purse later that day, taking the dress to the Goodwill downtown.

He found Max a couple crappy t-shirts there, bands she would hum to on the radio, shit like Journey and Foreigner, and slid them into her closet where the dress used to be.

She wore one the next day, blinking slowly at him over breakfast.

He avoided all eye contact.

-

Steve has long legs.

this was of course something Billy always knew, but watching him stalk in all his righteous fury down the street towards the high school really solidified that fact for Billy.

He was stomping, his strides long as he hustled to class. Billy thought about offering him a ride, didn’t think they were there yet.

Billy found himself in Steve’s driveway later that night, popping the hood of Steve’s dead car and searching over everything with a flashlight.

Billy rolled his eyes.

Steve had probably always paid someone else when his car broke down, didn’t realize if your oil was low, your car wouldn’t work.

Billy kept a few cans in his trunk, refilled the bad boy for Steve, making sure that was it.

He found nothing else wrong and Steve pulled into the school parking lot the next morning.

Billy could feel Steve staring at him when he walked into school.

He found Steve sitting on his car at lunch, holding the sandwich Billy had snuck into his locker, and a loaf of bread wrapped in cling film. .

Billy raised an eyebrow.

“I saw you last night.” His cheeks went hot. “Thanks for fixing my car. And all the snacks and stuff. And for the Byers’ plates. And for all the stuff with Max.”

“Nothin’s happened with Max.” Steve appraised him for a moment.

“She said you’re being nicer.” He held up the bread. “Homemade banana bread. Made it while you were being not at all stealthy fixing my car.” He smiled at Billy, one a’ those perfect sunshine smiles Billy had only ever seen Steve direct towards his kids.

“I just changed your oil. Car won’t run if you don’t got oil.” Steve furrowed his brow.

“My gas tank was full. I had just filled it.”

“Nah Pretty Boy, oil. It’s different.” And Billy took a deep breath. “Could show you, if you like. Teach you some basic car shit. How to jump, how to change a tire.”

Steve beamed at him.

“I’d like that! I don’t know shit about fixing cars. Always figured it would go way over my head.”

“It’s pretty easy. There’s usually only a few major things that go wrong in nice cars that are easy fixes. You’ll figure it out quick.” Steve slid off his car, and Billy lamented that for a minute, liked how Steve looked perched on Billy’s car, wondered how he’d look in the passenger seat, in the backseat-

Steve pushed the bread into Billy’s hands.

“Y’know, I forgive you. For that night.” Billy tightened his jaw. Steve’s eyes were a little green in the sun. “There was a lot goin’ on, and I was being sketchy. I don’t hold it against you.”

“I, uh, thanks, I guess. I’m sorry, about it.” Steve smiled at him again, the corners of his eyes crinkling just a bit.

“Yeah, I know.” Steve took a bite of his sandwich, his cheeks all cute and full. “And I’m more of a ham and cheese fan.” Billy rolled his eyes at Steve, taking with his mouth full of turkey sandwich.

“Sorry man, you get what Susan buys.” Steve laughed, his mouth still full. Billy was uncomfortably endeared by it.

“Don’t be surprised to find some lasagna on your porch one night soon.” And Steve winked at him, walking backwards towards the school. “You’re not so bad, Billy.”

“Tryin’ not to be.” Steve gave him a stupid little finger gun. Billy’s heart melted.

“You’re doin’ a good job.” And Steve set off back into the school.

[nadisabug]

Take On Me

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson! reader

Warnings: terribly written, I apologize, cannon divergence (smol divergence), song fic?????

Summary: Y/n won’t believe that The Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington likes her. 

A/N: aaahhhhh okay so I woke up at seven am and this song was playing and I had a fever dream idea for a fic so it’s terrible no beta we die like men

"Wanna go to the movies sometime?"

I was mid-bite in my ice cream when Steve "The Hair" Harrington popped the question. I slowly backed away from the ice cream and stared at him dumbfoundedly.

He was leaning on the register, his bicep prominent and flexed. He had lost the cap he usually wore, and even though he had probably been wearing it all day, his hair still looked good. He was flashing me a drop dead gorgeous smile and his eyes were almost sparkling.

Gods I was fucked.

This wasn't the first time he had asked me out by any means. He had been hinting at it every time we saw each other for the past half year. This was the first time he was so up front about it, though. Usually I could act stupid and brush it off.

I hid the heat creeping up on my cheeks by digging in my purse. I grabbed a wad of bills and slapped them on the counter.

"Sorry, I got to go pick up Dusty from AV club," I smiled tightly, lying through my clenched teeth. "Keep the change." And with that, I nearly ran from Scoops Ahoy ice cream. I left so quickly that i didn't see Dustin, my brother, popping out from behind the counter.

"Dude, sorry. You'll get her next time," Dusty sighed.

"Next time?" Steve scoffed. "Buddy, there will be no next time."

"Come on, she likes you I swear," Dusty pleaded.

"Sure didn't look like it," Robin piped in. She was sitting on the passway holding a white board that said 'Steve Sucks' with 17 check marks below it and 'Y/n said yes' with no check marks below it. "I think that one counted for two," she announced, adding two check marks to the 17.

"Shut up Robin," Dusty snapped. He turned back to Steve. "Please Steve you gotta believe me!"

"Okay, okay, fine Henderson," Steve sighed collapsing on the ice cream counter. "Then why does she keep blowing me off?"

Dusty smiled. "For that, we do some recon."

~~~~~~~

I was laying on my bed when I heard a knock on my door. I looked up from the book I was reading.

"Momma?" I called curiously.

"No! It's your favorite brother," Dusty announced, throwing open the door. I smiled and put my book on the night stand.

"Indeed it is. To what do I owe this pleasure," I sat up and patted the bed next to me.

Dusty graciously threw himself into the bed and smiled up at me. "A brother can't want to talk to his only sister who he loves?"

I raised an eyebrow at that. Dusty was always so bad at lying. "Spill, now," I ordered.

Dusty sighed and slumped down. He cursed under his breath - which I chose to ignore under the circumstances- and then looked up at me again.

"Steve told me he likes you. Like a lot."

At that confession, I hopped off the bed, turning away to hide my blush. I had just blown Steve off now here Dusty was telling me Steve likes me? Something was off.

"Since when did Steve trust you enough to tell you that kind of stuff?" I questioned, towering over Dusty who was still sitting on the bed.

"Well we've been hanging out." Dusty couldn't even maintain eye contact with me. He was hiding something.

"Where were you today after school?"

"AV clu-"

"Oh my gods you were at Scoops Ahoy." I slapped my hands over my face and turned around to hide my shame.

"No I wasn't!" Dusty tried to cover his tracks, but it was already too late.

"Dusty, there is no AV club today." The pieces clicked together in my mind. "Oh my gods Steve knows I lied to him."

"Yeah! Which really hurt him because he likes you!"

"No he doesn't Dusty!" I threw myself face first onto the bed and screamed.

"Yes he does! He's literally asked you out so many times."

I twisted, propping myself up on my elbow so that I could look at Dusty. "That does not mean he likes me."

"How so?" Dusty huffed and folded his arms.

"Because, Dusty, he's Steve 'The Hair' Harrington, he probably just wants to get back at Nancy for ditching him for Will's brother."

"What? No," Dusty scoffed.

"Yeah," I nodded. "She left him for The Freak so he's going to date The Psycho Bitch."

Dusty got a soft look of his face for a moment. "Is that what they call you?"

"Doesn't matter Dusty. What matters is that Steve doesn't actually like me. He just thinks he does because he's torn up about Nancy."

Dusty thought for a second. "What if he proved it to you?"

I looked at Dusty. "What do you mean?"

"What if he actually proved to you that he really did like you?"

I shrugged. "Then I'd date him and losing Dart won't come and bite us in the butt."

"Really sis you had to bring that up?"

"He ate Mews," I whisper yelled, careful in case Mom heard.

"About that, we finished translating the message, come on," he rolled off the bed, grabbing my arm and pulling me over in the process.

"Ow! No I can't!"

"Why not?"

"I can't see Steve after lying to him like that!"

"Oh just come on, he'll forgive you. He's madly in love with you."

I doubted that but I went with Dusty anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After everything we went through, we had a moment to pretend like everything was okay. The middle school dance.

I was upset that Dusty insisted that Steve take him to the dance and not me, but I knew they had something like a brother bond so I wan't too upset. I volunteered to be one of the high schooler chaperones, mainly under Joyce's wishes. She wanted at least someone there to watch Will like a hawk. Or two.

So Nancy and I were here. At the punch table.

"So, how's college going," Nancy piped up.

I had to be honest, I didn't really like her. Not with the way she broke Steve's heart. But I had to remain cordial. I guess.

"Good."

"I heard you got scholarships."

"It was the only way I could go."

"Yeah. With the.... deaths..." she said carefully, "at the Hawkins Post, they're hiring again. So Jonathan and I got our jobs back."

"That's great." I paused. "Not the deaths, the getting jobs back."

"Yeah."

We lapsed into silence after that.

I scanned the room to see that the boys had split off to dance. Some girl was dancing with Will, Mike was dancing with El, and Lucas was with Max.

Dusty wasn't with them though.

I looked around the room to see him sitting on the bleachers holding back tears. My heart lurched at the sight.

"I'm going to go dance with him," Nancy announced. I was about to let her when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I grabbed Nancy's arm.

"Wait," I ordered. I saw a girl with visible braces wearing a baby blue dress approach Dusty. He immediately perked up and held out his hand for her. She took it and they walked to the dance floor.

"Nice call," Nancy smiled.

I just dropped her arm, nodded, and turned away to watch them.

After a couple of hours, the kids started leaving one by one. Around the time we were at half capacity, Dusty came up to me.

"May I have this dance?" He awkwardly bowed with his hand outstretched. I had to stifle a giggle.

I looked at Nancy. She waved me off. "Go ahead, I can serve punch."

"Of course, mi' Lord," I giggled and took his hand.

He dragged me all the way to the middle of the dance floor and began to dance with me.

"Sure Suzie won't be jealous about baby blue dancing with you?"

"She knows I only have eyes for her," Dusty rolled his eyes at the notion that she could possibly be jealous.

"Turn around," I began in a sing songy voice. "Look at what you see!"

"Oh shut up," Dusty growled and shoved me.

I laughed but kept dancing with him.

At that moment the song changed, and Dusty smiled. My back was to the stage so I couldn't see what was going on, but I assumed it was just the band preparing.

As soon as I heard the signature synth, I squealed.

"I love this song, Dusty did you request it?"

"Sorta," he grinned.

Then I heard his voice.

"Ba ba-ba ba. We're talking away, I don't know what I'm to say, I'll say it anyway. Today's another day to find you shying away."

I dropped Dusty's shoudlers and turned around. When I did I saw Steve "The Hair" Harrington on the stage, mic in hand, singing.

Then he pointed straight at me.

"I'll be coming for your love, okay?"

"No fucking way," I whispered.

"Hell fucking yeah, get it Harrington!" Dusty cheered behind me.

"Take on me, take me on, I'll be gone in a day or two," he sang, the last word high and pitchy. It was so bad. So awfully terrible. He was making a complete fool of himself.

But I couldn't tear my eyes away.

"So needless to say, of odds and ends, but I'll be stumbling away slowly learning that life is okay. Say after me, it's no better to be safe than sorry."

It was only then that I noticed that the middle schoolers around me had parted to make a huge circle, with me at the center.

"Take on me, take me on, I'll be gone in a day or two," Steve sang even worse than the first time. Then he tossed the mic into the crowd and jumped off the stage. Then he began to dance, horribly. He did the running man, switching to the sprinkler, which then phased into a Charleston. It was so horrible but I couldn't help but smile. After the dance break, he turned to the crowd with his hand out. Miraculously, someone handed him the microphone.

"Oh, the things that you say, yeah is it life or just to play my worries way? You're all the things I've got to remember," he sang and walked towards me. I tried to take a couple steps back, but someone - most likely my beloved Dusty - shoved me forward. Hard. I stumbled and fell into Steve, who caught me.

"You're shying away, I'll be coming for you anyway." Steve clicked the microphone off and held it out to the crowd. Someone took it quickly and he brought his other arm around me. I would like to say that I tried to stand up away from him, but I didn't. I just let Steve hold me.

"Take on me..." Steve sang to me and only me. With each word he pulled my arms up and wrapped them around his neck. He then began to sway softly with the music, dancing with me. We danced as the crowd around us reformed, the middle schoolers going back to dancing. It was almost like nothing happened.

But to me everything thing did.

"Are you su-"

"Yes," he whispered.

I smiled.

"Wanna go to the movies sometime?"

Sorry not sorry Dusty deserved some one to dance with I don’t make the rules

Taglist is open! Just shoot me an ask, dm, or comment!

[tcm]

Interview with Richard Benjamin on Making Comedy Look Easy in MY FAVORITE YEAR (’82) By Donald Leibenson

To hear Richard Benjamin tell it, MY FAVORITE YEAR was a charmed production. For his first film as a director, he had been looking for a comedy (“I’m just kind of bent that way,” he jokes) and the stars aligned to bring him a script that, he says, was everything he knew. He had Mel Brooks as the film’s guardian angel. He had a bona-fide movie star that his wife, Paula Prentiss, recommended after another actor regretfully declined the film’s plum role. And he heeded Carl Reiner, who gave him succinct advice about making a comedy: “Get funny people.”

Which he did. The film is character actor heaven, with Joseph Bologna, Anne de Salvo, Selma Diamond, Adolph Green, Basil Hoffman, Lainie Kazan and Bill Macy.

MY FAVORITE YEAR is set in the mid-1950s when television was live and comedy was king. Mark Linn-Baker stars as Benjy Stone, a young comedy writer on a variety show reminiscent of Your Show of Shows, where he ardently pursues the show’s not-amused production assistant (Jessica Harper). During one life-changing week, he is assigned to chaperone the show’s guest star, his idol, former swashbuckling screen hero, Alan Swann (Peter O’Toole in an Oscar-nominated performance), who has a penchant for drink, womanizing and otherwise behaving badly. 

Benjamin spoke with TCM about casting O’Toole, trying to pin down Mel Brooks and why you should never end a comedy in a graveyard.

To quote Alan Swann’s great line, dying is easy, comedy is hard. With MY FAVORITE YEAR, you make it look so easy. How did the project come to you?

Paula and I were in New York. My agent, David Gersh, sent the script by Norman [Steinberg] and Dennis [Palumbo, credited as co-writer due to the Screen Writers Guild arbitration]. I remember reading it in the hotel room and as I finished, I said, ‘This is everything I know.’ I was in high school when Your Show of Shows was on. I would get on the phone with my friend Shelley Berger, who I am still close to, and we would do all these routines they had done on the show on Saturday night. I grew up loving Errol Flynn and those swashbuckling movies. I had also worked at 30 Rockefeller Plaza [the film’s setting] as an NBC page and guide, and I knew every inch of that place. [The script] was right up my alley, as they say.

Brooksfilms produced the film, and Mel Brooks was a writer on Your Show of Shows. Did he serve as the film’s guardian angel or offer any input?

Guardian angel’s good. He kept saying he would give Norman and I two full days to sit down and go over the script to see if we could make it even funnier. The truth of the matter is that the script didn’t need much of anything, but he promised that. Trying to get Mel to stop moving is a feat. We went to his house, and he invited us in and then said he was going out. He said he had to walk the dog. Then he comes back, and he said he had to go, that there was a crisis at Fox. I said, ‘No there’s not,’ and he said, ‘Well, there could be.’ So, what he ended up giving us was two hours, but it was a great two hours. And the next thing you know, he was gone.

But Norman and I came up with one of the best jokes in the movie while we were standing in his driveway watching him drive away. It’s the one where Swann falls off the roof and plummets past the two elitist guys. And one says, ‘I think Alan Swann’s beneath us,’ and the other guy says, ‘Of course he’s beneath us, he’s an actor.’

I cannot imagine anyone but Peter O’Toole as Alan Swann. Was he the first choice?

Albert Finney had been offered the role, but he had not committed. He was up in Sausalito making SHOOT THE MOON [’82]. They told me I had to go up there and convince him to do the film; otherwise they couldn’t make the movie. The list of people M-G-M would go with was very short, because who are you going to believe with a sword in their hands? So, I’m on this mission, because if he says yes, I’m going to get to make a movie. We arranged to have lunch together. He’s completely charming. I get ready to ask the question – which could change my life, by the way: ‘Will you do it?’ He said, ‘Well…,’ and I could tell it was going to be a no. He thought the script was really good, but he had done two or three movies in a row and he said he wanted to get back to the theater. Then he said to me, ‘Why don’t you get O’Toole?’ He said, ‘We do this all the time. I turn something down, he does it, he turns something down, I do it.’ When I got back home, Paula who had made WHAT’S NEW PUSSYCAT? [’65] with Peter, said, ‘Get Peter. He is perfect for this.’ Finney said it, Paula said it. And I asked [co-producer] Michael Gruskoff if M-G-M would make the film with O’Toole, and Michael said yes.  

What was the meeting with Peter like?

(Laughs) That meeting! That meeting was quite something. First of all, we couldn’t find him. We could tell we had the right person because the behavior was just like the character. He had a farm in Ireland with no phone. You had to call this pub to get a message to him. I called the pub and they said Peter wasn’t there. His agent didn’t know where he was. I called his manager and said, ‘We’re trying to find your client.’ He said, ‘He’s at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. He’s been here for a week.’ 

So, I’m actually talking to Peter O’Toole, and he said he had heard about the project and to send him a script and we would get together the next day. I go over and there he is in a beautiful suite wearing a smoking jacket; he is the character. He said, ‘Here’s the thing…’ and I thought, ‘Here we go again.’ He said he liked it very much, but he hadn’t read the last ten pages and to please indulge him and he would call tomorrow. The next day, on the dot, he called and he said to turn to the last page of the script.

Now, in the original script, there’s a scene which I shot that would have played after what’s in the movie. It took place in a Hollywood cemetery, and Benjy is walking past the gravestones. He says in voiceover that Alan Swann made him promise he would do something on his birthday every year. Alan has passed away, and Benjy comes to his grave, kneels down and pours a bottle of Courvoisier over the tombstone. That’s what’s on the last page. Peter asked me to read the date that was on the tombstone. It was Aug. 2. He said, ‘Aug. 2 is my birthday; did you know that?’ I asked Norman if he knew that, and Norman said no, he had made it up. And Peter says, ‘Therefore, I must do the film.’

What happened to that scene?

I was terribly reluctant to take that out because Peter did the movie because of it. But people at M-G-M said I couldn’t end a comedy in a cemetery. We had two audience screenings, one with that ending and one without it. In the screening with it, the audience enjoyed the picture, but the scene put a pall over things. Then we had the screening without it and the audience was very enthusiastic and very up as they came out.

How did you find Mark Linn-Baker?

Our casting director Ellen Chenoweth said the first person to get was Mark Linn-Baker. Mark came in and read and was terrific. I said, ‘This is my first movie, I can’t cast the first person who walks in here.’ I saw maybe 25 to 35 more—some really good people—but she was right, so after all of that, I said to get him.

Peter and Mark had great chemistry.

They seemed to hit it off right away, but later, back in L.A. after we shot the long scene on the roof, which played like a mini-farce, Peter came up to me and said, ‘I like the lad, you cast him well.’

Was Peter game for the physical stunts?

I couldn’t stop him from doing them! The bathroom scene required him to fall headfirst into the wall. I came to him before we shot and I said, ‘The camera is so close, I can’t pad this wall.’ He said, ‘I was brought up in music hall. I can do this all day. Don’t concern yourself.’

Director Howard Hawks once said that a good movie was three or four good scenes and no bad scenes. I lose count watching MY FAVORITE YEAR of how many great scenes there are in it. Between those driven by comic banter, the TV sketches, the physical comedy scenes, the quieter romantic scenes and even the dramatic confrontations, did you have a favorite type to direct?

I can’t say there was a favorite. It’s all of a piece. I will tell you that one of the scenes I like is in the Stork Club and getting to do something that reminded me of all these kinds of wonderful comic movies I loved growing up. I do remember that one of the first things we shot was the scene in Central Park where Alan Swann mounts the horse. It just seemed to lack energy. And I was thinking, ‘I have to go tell Peter O’Toole that he has to pick up the pace and it has to be lighter.’ I went up to him and said, ‘It’s good, but…’ and before I could finish, he said, ‘You want it faster and funnier.’ I said, ‘You’ve got it,’ and he said, ‘And you shall have it.’ And I thought, ‘This directing thing is not so hard.’ (laughs)

Were there directors you worked with as an actor who particularly inspired you when you became a director? For example, you worked with one of the best, Mike Nichols.

Mike, yes. He directed me in the national company of Barefoot in the Park and [the film] CATCH-22 [’70]. Mike’s thing was he’d come up to you very quietly and say, ‘Just like in real life.’ That was his main thing. It meant that there should be no ‘acting’ here; your character responds to situations as they would in life. It’s like what [critic] Walter Kerr once said about Neil Simon’s jokes: They have the truth in them. This is what funny people know: You can’t try to get a laugh, because you won’t get it.  

At one point, Alan Swann says that doing the TV show was the most fun and the hardest work since the world was young. Was that what making MY FAVORITE YEAR was like for you?

It was the most fun, there’s no question of that. It was a magical experience because of the screenplay and everyone involved. Everyone’s game came up because of Peter. You don’t need many takes with him, that’s for sure. But how all of this came about and got to the point where I would be offered this, and what has to happen in your life to come to that moment – you can’t make it up. And when that moment comes, you’re hopefully ready. I was really fortunate.

[clericbyers]

okay but re: the coming out fic. they come back to hawkings for christmas and joyce somehow picks up mike checking out will and tries to play a matchmaker because of how oblivious both of them are about their crush on each other

[ sequel to this ]

Joyce watched Will try to contain his excitement during the long ride to Hawkins, but even if he tried to look bored and disinterested the entire time, she could easily see the anticipation and joy sparkling in his eyes that would never be hidden with a mopey expression. It was their first time back in Hawkins since the move and Will and El had spent the past week in the meantime on and off the phone with Mike in particular to discuss the activities they all would be participating in while the two returned.

Joyce turned to face her son again and reached out a hand to pat his thigh. Will jumped at the contact but then relaxed into it with a small smile sent her way. “Sorry,” he said off-handedly, “it’s just…it’s been a while.”

Joyce nodded in understanding. She missed Hawkins, too, in an abstract sort of way. It was always her home town too, and even though leaving was necessary after everything that happened, she was equally excited to return. Joyce looked up into the rear-view mirror and spotted El sleeping in the back curled up against Jonathan’s shoulder as he also slept as his head lolled side to side with the moving car. A warm smile draped onto Joyce’s lips at the sight, ever so happy that in Hopper’s absence El easily slipped in with the Byers family and found solace in both Jonathan and Will.

When Joyce pulled up into the Wheeler’s driveway, Will practically sprinted out the car toward a figure at the front steps of the house. Joyce sat back and watched as Will embraced the taller boy, both of them swaying as they held onto each other so tightly. She covered her smile with a hand even though no one could see it in the dark. Will still hadn’t bothered to tell Joyce much about his crush on Mike, but she could hear it in the way he talked about the other boy, in how he tensed up when El mentioned something about Mike even if they weren’t together anymore, in how his entire mood grew a little brighter after a call with Mike. It was cute—so adorable, how didn’t she notice before?—and Joyce was overjoyed that she knew who exactly made her son this happy.

Joyce reached back to squeeze Jonathan’s knee and wake him up. He was a little slow to wake but patted El’s hair and helped her out the car alongside him. It took El a moment to realize where they were but once she did, she was also running toward the front and quickly joined the hug that Mike and Will were still ensnared in. Jonathan stayed back with Joyce, leaning against the car after he closed his door shut and watched the kids.

When Nancy made her way outside to the ruckus happening on the porch, Jonathan was quick to leave Joyce’s side and make his over to his girlfriend. Watching everyone reunite made Joyce’s eyes water and she felt a twinge of regret with having moved Will and El away from their friends and loved ones. She made her way to the Wheelers and her kids and took Mike in a hug as well. He was much taller than he was before, at least 6 feet in height yet still as scrawny as before. Well, not as scrawny, he had picked up some muscle around his thighs and biceps which was curious. Joyce wondered if he was doing sports in high school after all.

“Hey, Ms. Byers,” he said happily during the hug. “It’s been a while.”

Joyce pulled away and reached up to pat his face. “You’ve grown up so much already. Your mom must be so proud.”

“All I did was get taller,” Mike laughed and glanced over at Will. The way his eyes lingered over Will’s figure caught Joyce’s attention. Mike looked back up into Will’s eyes and Will’s grin grew wider as he nudged Mike’s shoulder with his own. Mike tolled his eyes. “Also, I got on the track team. Don’t ask how, I still don’t know.”

Will tugged on Mike’s t-shirt sleeve. “You gotta show me your uniform.”

“It looks exactly the same as it did the entire time you lived here!”

“Yeah but it’s you wearing it and that makes it different.”

Mike smirked. “You just wanna see how tight my ass looks in those shorts, huh.”

“Mike!” Will screeched, shoving at his friend as Mike fell into giggles and tried to bat away Will’s hands.

Joyce stifled her own laughter as Will and Mike dissolved into friendly bickering with each other. She turned to El who was watching the two with something tinged with sorrow in her eyes. It left just as quickly when Nancy took her in a hug and soothed the younger girl.

The reunited team made their way inside the house, not wanting to disturb the neighborhood any further given the late hour. Mike was blabbing on about this film study elective he managed to snag for his sophomore year and Joyce’s eyes couldn’t leave Will. She really didn’t mean to, but now that she could watch Will and Mike interact knowing that Will was in love with Mike, she couldn’t look away. Will was always trying to stand a little closer to Mike, eyes darting to his lips every so often as Mike continued on. The tall track runner plopped onto the couch and Will sat down beside him close enough for their thighs to press together. The big kicker was the way Will’s eyes crinkled at the edges when Mike laughed, how a soft smile unknowingly crept onto his lips when Mike spread his gangly legs over Will’s lap and splayed himself over the couch like an octopus as he kept chattering about his politics class.

Joyce knew that the differences in Mike and Will’s interactions compared to a year ago was mostly found in missing each other so deeply. Being touchy was their way of reassuring themselves that the other was real, that it wasn’t a dream and they really were reunited. They were always a handsy duo anyway. She knew this and she understood this, but she couldn’t deny that Will had something more imbedded in every touch, every word, ever glance. Joyce tried to think back to before the move, to check if she was reading more into things just because she knew how her son felt about the other boy.

When Mike got up to get water glasses for everyone, Will caught eye contact with Joyce and she wiggled her eyebrows. Will blushed and tried to hide his reaction by turning to chat with Nancy during Mike’s absence. El joined in the conversation and Joyce didn’t have much to say so she leaned back and watched the three chat like they hadn’t been separated for months. Hearing a noise from behind her, Joyce turned and spotted Mike standing a little ways behind the couch with two glasses in his hand. His eyes were trained on Will, seemingly hazy as he watched Will laugh at a joke El told Nancy. A smile Joyce has always subconsciously dubbed Mike’s Will smile crept onto his lips and it was so sickeningly lovesick Joyce couldn’t believe she hadn’t realized it before.

Maybe she was blinded by the thought that Mike was, well, straight and had no interest in Will. Maybe she was like everyone else who hadn’t seen the unique bond built between Mike and Will after all these years. No one else had noticed how different they were with each other, not with well meaning intentions at least. Joyce knew about the bullies, her ex-husband was the biggest offender after all. She knew that what Mike and Will had scared other people, frightened kids into slinging petty insults, but she never looked deeper until now.

Mike snapped himself out of his stupor and noisily made his way back to the couch where he passed Will his water and ruffled his hair.

“Hey!” Will gruffed as he restraightened his hair. “You might be an athlete now and do bro-stuff like hair ruffling and noogies with your boys but I am not a fan of messed up hair.”

“I cannot believe you uttered that sentence in relation to me.” Mike takes offense and put a hand to his chest. “I am not an athlete and I do not do ‘bro-stuff’.”

“Alright star runner for the Hawkins High Track and Field Team.”

Mike made a face and Nancy spoke up. “Mike, you are the star of the team this year. There’s no shame in that. It’s amazing that you managed to catch up to the top athletes on the team given your inability to run more than 15 seconds at a time back in middle school.”

He shrugged. “It’s whatever.”

Nancy sighed. “It’s not whatever. I don’t know why you refuse to admit you’re good at something! You haven’t even brought up the screenwriting final in creative writing that you got an A+ on last semester.”

“Nancy, can we not have this conversation tonight? It’s, like, almost 2 am and I’m sure Will, El, and Ms. Byers want to rest.” Mike slid his cup across the table and stood up. He was more closed off, eyes dull with exhaustion and mental irritation. Joyce watched Will stand up as well and grab Mike’s arm with a questioning glance. Mike looked down at Will’s hand and then up into his eyes. “You wanna sleep over like old times?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s,” Will turned to Joyce with raised eyebrows. “Can I stay, Mom? I know you already got the motel room for tonight but…”

Joyce watched how Will’s hand started to gently rub Mike’s arm, how Mike started to relax from whatever tension has boiled up inside him from Nancy’s words. She couldn’t bare with separating them again. “You can stay. El can too, if she wants.”

El nodded happily. “I can sleep in the basement like before!”

Mike laughed and sent Will a smile that screamed thank you. Will returned the smile with a shy one of his own. Joyce knew she made the right decision then and there with letting Will stay over. She stood and gave Will a hug. “Tell him,” she whispered in the commotion of Mike and Nancy telling Jonathan goodnight.

Will sputtered. “Mom, no. No, I’m not gonna ruin things like that.”

“You won’t.”

Will shook his head with a pitiful smile and squeezed his mom a little tighter. “You don’t know that.”

Joyce didn’t bother saying more as Mike came over to give her a hug goodbye and promise that he’d take good care of Will and El in the meantime. Joyce trusted Mike, she always did, so she knew he meant well. She hoped that he’d speak up about how he felt for Will, if he even knew what he felt in the first place. Mike was usually head on strong when determined but if he had been liking Will for so long already and said nothing, he probably wouldn’t say anything tonight.

The drive to the motel was silent. Jonathan was staring out the window and Joyce wondered why he hadn’t stayed the night as well. At least to spend time with his girlfriend. She voiced her thoughts and Jonathan simply shook his head.

“I don’t want to interrupt the kids or leave you alone here.” The teenager sent Joyce a soft smile. “I don’t mind, really. Don’t worry about it.”

Joyce loved her kids so much, she wondered how she was so lucky to have two amazing sons and El in her life despite all the struggles the family has been through thanks to Lonnie, the Upside Down, and the labs.

The next day started with Joyce driving over to the Wheeler’s residence to have a small breakfast with Karen. She assumed Will and El would be hanging out with the Party most of the day given it was Christmas Eve. It would give Joyce ample time to talk with some of the parents and get the lowdown on activity since she left. When she arrived, Mike and Will were in the garage leaning on their bikes and whispering between themselves. Joyce’s eyes turned up toward the mistletoe sprig that hovered above between them. She wondered if Will or Mike even knew they were standing under it, but they both seemed oblivious to anything but each other.

Mike suddenly laughed loudly and leaned his head back, which caused him to spot the mistletoe above. Will was chuckling himself and didn’t notice the panic that flashed in Mike’s eyes as he realized what their positioning meant. Joyce couldn’t hear what they were saying but Mike motioned upwards while talking and Will looked up with widened eyes and a pink flush to his cheeks. Mike leaned down and pressed his lips to Will’s cheek in a chaste kiss so fast Joyce couldn’t tell if she imagined it or not. Will didn’t look like he was breathing and Mike was fiddling with his fingers before stepping away and grabbing his bike.

Joyce got out the car then and made her way to the boys. Will refused to make eye contact when he said hello and Mike was glancing between the two of them with raised eyebrows. “I’ll, uh, I’m gonna go get a hat for my head. Because it’s cold and snow is a thing.”

Mike was back inside in a blink, leaving a flustered Will along with Joyce. The kid huffed and rubbed against the back of his head. “Uh, what did you see?”

“Only the cheek kiss.” Joyce replied warmly. “Is there more?”

“No! No.” Will blushed more. “Nothing more. I just…I didn’t think he would actually…,” Will ghosted his fingers over where Mike had pressed his lips and blushed even more. “Oh my god, this is embarrassing.”

Joyce wanted to pull him into a hug. “It’s adorable, Will. He really cares about you.”

“It’s tradition! Mike would have kissed anyone who stood here. He wouldn’t have done it with me if he knew what you do.” Will deflated pretty quickly after those words. “He was telling me last night about this girl on the cheerleading team who used to tease us when we were younger and now wants to date him since he’s on track.”

“But is he dating her?”

“No.” Will shrugged. “But that doesn’t mean much of anything. He’s still interested.”

“Did he say that?”

Will paused. “Actually, no.” He waved a passing hand. “Doesn’t matter though, it’s not like I have a chance. I’ve accepted that.”

Joyce opened her mouth to tell Will to reconsider his options but Mike came bounding into the garage with a beanie on and a homemade scarf around his neck. His nose was pink from the cold but the smile in his eyes when he spotted Will was warm enough to melt snow.

“You don’t have a chance with who? You didn’t tell me you had your eyes on someone.”

Will gave his mom a look and she raised her hands in surrender. “I’ll leave you two boys to your fun. Is your mom up, Mike?”

“Sure is.” Mike nodded toward the door. “She’s in the kitchen right now if you wanna say hello.”

Joyce nodded her goodbye and lingered at the door where she heard Mike start pestering Will about who he liked and why Will hadn’t told him yet. She snorted to herself at the fact that Mike, who was so obviously head over heels for her son, also hadn’t told Will who he liked so really he had no business questioning Will. Will wouldn’t tell him even if it was so obvious that Mike liked him back.

Joyce sighed and shook her head at her son and his crush’s antics. She wasn’t really one for interfering but these two boys were so oblivious and would probably never actual fess up to their love for each other because of the mutual deeply rooted fear that they would lose their best friend if the confession was spoken aloud. Her heart ached for them both, how they each had to keep their affections secret from the world as the world was scared of two boys loving each other as deeply as Mike and Will did. She wished she could pull Mike aside and let him know but it wasn’t her secret to tell.

“Karen,” Joyce called as she waltzed toward the kitchen where the other woman stood scrambling eggs at the stove.

Karen turned and sent Joyce a happy smile. “Joyce! It’s so great to see you. Did the boys leave already?”

“They were on their way out when I arrived,” she replied warmly. “How have you been recently? We haven’t talked in a while, you and I.”

“Oh,” Karen made vague hand motions, “I’ve been okay.” Her eyes darted toward the stairs before turning back to the stove. “Things have been…a little tense though.”

“What happened?”

“Mike is in therapy,” she started lowly, almost as if it was a sin. “Ted wasn’t very happy about spending the money on the sessions or the…the pills,” Karen shuddered here, “but Mike really needed it.” She turned to Joyce with tears in her eyes, “I don’t know what happened to him. I feel like I don’t know him anymore. He’s so traumatized and I don’t know what I did. He won’t tell me a thing but I can hear him crying sometimes in the bathroom late at night.” Karen wiped at her eyes. “I just want him to be okay again but I don’t think that’s possible.”

“You did nothing wrong, Karen.” Joyce took the other woman’s hands in her own. “Mike is getting the help he needs and you are an amazing mom for supporting him this way. He’ll open up to you soon. He loves you. He’s just keeping you safe.”

Joyce wished she could tell Karen everything that she had learned in the past three years about the secrets of Hawkins. She wanted to let Karen know what exactly Mike was going through so she could support her son more, but again, it wasn’t her secret to tell.

“Oh,” Karen laughed to herself timidly, “also, Mike doesn’t know this, but Ted and I are thinking about a divorce.”

Joyce’s eyes widened almost comically. “A divorce?”

“Yes. It’s about time really.” She glances at her eggs with a soft smile. “I feel so trapped recently. Nancy helped me realize some things and Holly,” Karen looked back upstairs. “Holly deserves her dad but I can’t keep up this act any longer. Pretending that I’m okay with…with this.”

Karen motioned to the kitchen and then rubbed at her temple. “It’s still a discussion. I don’t know if I’ll go through with it. I don’t think Mike can handle a divorce right now.”

Joyce places a comforting hand on Karen’s shoulder. “Do what is best for you and your kids. I know you love them with all you have. You’ll make the best decision, I know you will.”

Karen sent Joyce a watery smile. “Thank you, Joyce.” She sniffled and then scooped the eggs out onto a plate that she offered to Joyce. “How are things at your new place? Do the kids like it there?”

Joyce took the plate and relayed her experiences out of Hawkins. Karen listened excitedly and asked questions here and there that entertained Joyce throughout the conversation. She missed this easy comradery with Karen, missed chatting with her while Mike and Will took their sweet time packing their bags for a sleepover at the Byers’ house.

“Oh,” Karen interrupted suddenly as she sipped from a coffee cup. “I’ve wanted to ask you something for a while but I could never get the words out.” Joyce nodded for her to continue. “How do you…how do you talk to your son in a way that lets him know it’s okay to be, well, to be different?”

“Different how?”

Karen stared into her cup. “Mike is…Mike is on the track team and I hadn’t really noticed at first but when he talks about, well, boys, it’s not…it’s not normal.”

“Normal?”

“I mean, no, it’s normal. It’s fine. I’m just…,” Karen sighed heavily. “I think Mike likes boys and I want to ask and let him know it’s okay without being overbearing.”

Joyce blinked and set her plate down carefully. She sat up a little more in her chair and turned to face Karen fully. “I know Mike hasn’t been very open with you, but let him know that you’re always going to love him and support whatever he does in life. Tell him that it’s okay to go against the grain. It’s okay to be himself.”

“Do you think he’ll ever trust me enough to tell me?”

Karen’s voice cracked on the word trust and Joyce wanted to pull her into a hug so bad. “He already does. He’s just scared he might hurt someone he loves if he opens up.”

The young mom smiled to herself. “I just want him to feels safe and happy.”

Joyce nodded in agreement. It’s why she had to move. No one was safe staying in Hawkins anymore.

The two chatted about nothing of much importance for another little while, up until the Party came crashing inside being loud and noisy but happily united. Joyce watched the troop of kids stomp their way through the house toward the living room. Mike was at the door with Will still, dusting off snowflakes from his hair with a grumble. Will was chatting with Lucas still as he stood and let Mike pick at him. Joyce turned to Karen, who was watching the two carefully before turning to lock eyes with Joyce. Joyce nodded once and Karen’s eyes lit up with joy and she turned back to watch her son. Joyce could see in her eyes how much she cared for Mike, she only wished Mike would tell her everything that happened in ‘83, ‘84, and ‘85, everything that was happening still as the Upside Down still existed.

Mike came into the kitchen to make some hot chocolate for everyone and gave his mom a passing kiss on the cheek when she greeted him. He put the kettle on and looked between the two women with a slightly narrowed gaze.

“You two haven’t been conspiring, have you?”

Karen laughed. “No, honey, just catching up on how you boys are doing. Are you feeling well? You’ve taken everything you need?”

Mike quickly glanced at Joyce and then turned back to the kettle. “Yeah, I’m good. Better than good. Really happy actually.” He laughed to himself. “Does Ms. Byers know about me?”

“The therapy,” started Joyce quietly. Mike tensed but nodded. “It’s okay, Mike. Will needed it, too, after his disappearance.”

The tall boy clenched his jaw. “I know. I just…I shouldn’t need it.” His posture slumped dramatically yet he still has his back turned to Joyce and Karen. “I didn’t go through as much.”

“You went through a lot, Mike. Don’t discount your experiences.” Joyce stood up to approach the boy and catch his eye contact. “We all want you to be happy and heal. We love you and support whatever you need.”

Mike’s eyes looked toward his mom. Karen smiled and stood up to join Joyce. “I love you, Mike, please never forget that.”

The teen huffed but gave the two women a watery smile. The kettle started whistling and he started pouring cups of chocolate and some milk and sugar into each one. He paused after the final cup and turned to his mom with tears brimming in his eyes. “Mom, I’m so sorry.”

Karen rushed to take him in her arms and cradled his head as he wrapped his arms around her tightly. Joyce smiles to herself and turned to spot Will in the entrance with worry in his eyes. He looked so pained seeing Mike as he was, lips parted as if to speak but unable to find the right words to say.

“Mike,” he whispered as he made his way into the kitchen. The boy turned at the sound of his name and gave Will a half-muttered hello. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” He grabbed a cup and passed it over to Will. Their fingers brushed and Will purposefully let his hand linger a little longer atop Mike’s own. Mike flushed and avoided eye contact as best as possible. “I, uh, that’s for you.”

“Thank you.”

Mike looked up and Joyce turned to Karen with a hidden smile as the two boys shyly smiled at each other. They broke the gaze when Dustin called for them to get their asses back to the couch. Karen waited until the two were gossiping back with the rest of the party before she turned on Joyce.

“Mike and Will?” She sounded so joyous about it.

“Yeah, but I don’t think they know that they like each other.” Joyce sighed. “I hope they manage to realize it before we leave town.”

Karen nodded silently. “Hmm. We could help! Christmas is the perfect romantic holiday anyway.”

“You want to play matchmaker with our sons?”

“Why not? They both deserve to be with someone who makes them as happy as they do.”

It was worth a shot at least.

Joyce spent the rest of the day trying to get Will and Mike to either sit together or end up in a room alone. Karen has sprigs of mistletoe about the house and kept trying to “accidentally” catch the boys under them. The most she got was Dustin and El under the mistletoe in the hallway upstairs, which was adorable in it’s own right in a way. By the time the rest of the party departed, Karen and Joyce has practically given up on trying to get the two boys to notice what was happening between them.

“Maybe we should switch tactics,” started Karen as she sat on the couch while the boys were upstairs. “They are already so romantic with each other, I never noticed it until now.”

Joyce agreed. “I tried to get Will to tell Mike how he feels but he refuses to believe that Mike likes him back.”

A loud clatter drew the two women from their conversion and they both swiveled to face a gaping Mike Wheeler in the kitchen getting snacks for his sleepover with Will. The twinkling lights of the Christmas tree in the living room danced off his shocked face and colored his skin in rainbow shades of blush.

“Will likes me?”

Joyce panicked. “He, uh, he cares for you a lot! You’re his best friend, Mike.”

Mike shook his head and hands. “No, no, wait. You said—you said—,” the boy puts a hand to his head and raises his other hand for pause. “Oh my god, this has to be a cosmic joke. There’s no way possible Will likes me. I…I never imagined…”

“So, you do like Will?” Karen quietly questioned in the resounding silence. Another clatter from upstairs pulls in everyone’s attention and they spotted Will at the top of the stairs having dropped his notebooks that scattered down the staircase.

Mike was red in the face at this point and Will seemed frozen in place, unable to keep his eyes off Mike.

“Is she—is Karen right? Do you—,” Will’s voice was cracking at the edges, full of emotion that he had bottled up for years.

“I—yeah. Yeah, she’s right.” He took a few steps closer to the staircase. “I didn’t…I didn’t want to scare you off by telling you though. It’s pathetic kinda. How long it’s been.”

“10 years, right?”

Mike laughed. “Yeah. 10 years.”

Will ran down the stairs and practically launched himself into Mike’s arms. Mike wrapped his arms around his best friend’s waist and tucked his head into his shoulder as they held each other tightly. Joyce couldn’t hear them much—she didn’t want to eavesdrop and their mouths were muffled—but she could hear Will’s strained I love you so much murmured into Mike’s shirt. She felt tears prickling in the back of her eyes seeing her son so happy in the arms of the boy he loves so deeply, finally confessing and obtaining the happiness he deserved.

Karen was crying more openly, one hand to her mouth as her other hand wiped smudged eyeliner from her eyes. Joyce thought about how Karen was in a loveless marriage, how she stuck with it for her kids, and now, she got to see her son who loved someone he wasn’t supposed to love, who kept this secret to his chest for years always frightened if anyone knew, finally able to hold the person he loved most in his arms and know it was reciprocated.

Joyce took Karen’s hand in her own and squeezed it tightly as they shared comforting looks with each other. Turning back to the boys, Joyce rolled her eyes as she spotted them desperately kissing, mistletoe strung up between them at the base of the staircase.

“It worked,” Karen laughed with a sniffle as Mike and Will pulled from each other. The two boys couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t stop holding each other, couldn’t stop basking in the love they shared.

Joyce’s heart was so full of love for these two boys, it nearly hurt. She smiled and agreed with Karen full heartedly. “It worked wonderfully.”

[ —> ]

[biscoopstroop]

A TRUTH AND A LIE ⁠— S. HARRINGTON X READER

summary: in a world where soulmates feel each other’s pain, (f/n) meets her soulmate after a slut-shaming incident and decides that if he was her soulmate she wanted nothing to do with him. although, after two years people do seem to change.

pairing: steve harrington x reader

writer: ashley

set: the monster (s1e6) and the mall rats (s3e2)

a/n: ok so this has light light light hopper!reader. so light that i didn’t even add it to the reader above because there are no scenes with them together. and i hope you guys like this! this is the first one i’ve posted onto this blog.

‘Starring Nancy ‘the Slut’ Wheeler’ was spray-painted bright red on the Hawk’s marquee when (F/N) strolled up, her hands balled into the pockets of her jacket and a delicate shade of pink snapped from the bubblegum she was chewing. Turning on her heel from the theater, she moved to the alley. The idiot continued to shake the evidence, the ball clinking against the metal can.

When (F/N) reached the alley, she found not just one asshole, but a whole gaggle of them as three of them stood and watched the fourth continue to vandalize the town. If (F/N) was in town more often, she would probably know each of them by name and an extensive reputation, but with her mom living in Indianapolis, she only spent weekends and holidays in Hawkins with her dad.

Now, she stood close to the group, but far enough that they hadn’t registered her standing there. They were taking their sweet time to notice her as she dragged one neatly manicured hand out of its blue jean pocket and checked the time on her watch.

The spray can stopped rounding out the ‘b’ in bitch, and the gaggle of assholes turned to stare at the girl who seemed to just appear. (F/N) raised one arched eyebrow at them, popped another bubble and returned her hand to her pocket. 

“Wanna tell me why you’re slut-shaming people?” (F/N) asked cooly, her words smooth like the October breeze, infesting their skin with goosebumps as she spoke. “Or have the fumes already gotten to your head?”

(F/N)’s words were slightly condescending, but her tone stayed crisp as she cocked her head to the side, waiting. It seemed that the fumes had gotten to them as they were slow to respond, and once they did, they all collectively turned to each other before one of them stepped up.

He had dark brown eyes and hair larger than life that didn’t move a strand from where he stood with his gaggle of assholes to squaring his shoulders in front of her. (F/N) couldn’t help but notice the one curl that dipped down perfectly and kissed his forehead. She wondered if it took a lot of effort to get that Superman curl just right.

“Am I supposed to know who you are?” the boy asked with a laugh, his cool facade radiating from him. A cool he wanted but was quickly broken when challenged by others. Especially with the queen of cool herself in his presence.

“No,” she assured him, furrowing her brow. “I’m just a local who would rather bust your chops then go see a movie. It’s not cool to be an asshole, lesson number one, Hairspray.”

Hairspray stared at (F/N) his hackles tense and his eyes turning from a collected annoyance to full-blown irritation by her.

(F/N) spat her gum out, her gaze leaving Hairspray’s without hesitation and she pulled a cigarette from her pocket. “I’m trying to quit,” she explained, lighting the bud and steadying her gaze back on him.

“This doesn’t concern you,” Hairspray told her, trying to make himself big and intimidating as he pushed her back slightly. 

“Oh!” the red-haired girl cooed. “Hey there, princess!”

(F/N) looked back to the thin girl storming her way towards them. Her fists were clenched, and her eyes were narrowed in an attempt to keep herself from crying as her eyes focused on Hairspray. 

“I’m gonna guess this concerns her,” (F/N) stated, whipping herself around to look back at Hairspray. “So, yes, this does concern me because people who are assholes being assholes need to shut up and listen for once,” she concluded with an unamused laugh.

Nancy Wheeler had her sights set on one thing, and one thing only, and that was Hairspray. (F/N) stepped out of her way as she pushed through like a bull and before any words were exchanged, Nancy had slapped him across the cheek. The teens on the sidelines crowed in amusement at Nancy’s sudden action. 

“What is wrong with you, Steve?” Nancy asked Hairspray.

(F/N) noticed the odd tingling in her cheek, the buzzing sensation keeping her back from allowing herself into the argument between the couple.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? I was worried about you,” Steve turned back on her, his tone condescending and seemed like he was trying too hard to be emotionless. “I can’t believe I was actually worried about you,” he laughed, trying to distance himself but something in the way he was doing it showed his heart on his sleeve.

“What are you talking about?” Nancy asked, her spine straightening out as she glared at Steve. 

(F/N) turned to the entrance as another boy walked in after Nancy, lanky and timid as he stood behind Nancy but didn’t say a word as the gaggle of assholes goaded the two of them. From the goading, (F/N) was able to get one side of the story, Steve’s story, as he had caught her with the timid boy in her bedroom while she was dating Steve.

Now, Steve slut-shaming Nancy without even talking to her was bullshit, and he should’ve known it. He even tried to pry out why Nancy had the timid boy in her room in the first place surrounded by his friends. She was silent, feeling their judgemental eyes on her and was silenced by them. 

“Come on, Nancy. Let’s just leave,” the timid boy told her, taking her arm and tried to lead her out of the alley before tempers flared and stupid mistakes haunted them for years to come.

Steve strutted after them bent the wrong way by the timid boy, or who he called Byers. He had the same last name of Joyce Byers, the one her father had told her had gone downhill since her youngest son went missing. (F/N) couldn’t blame her, but for her oldest son, it must’ve been hard with his brother going missing, his mother going a little bit insane and every asshole within Hawkins bullying him on these accounts. 

“Hey, Steve, stop it,” (F/N) told Steve sternly, pushing back on his chest as he had done to her earlier. He kept on moving though, pushing (F/N) backward with him, his eyes trained on Byers trying to spark a reaction out of him.

“You know what, Byers, I’m kind of impressed. I always took you for a queer—“

“Stop it, man,” (F/N) said again, able to push him two steps back but he was already pushing three steps forward. It was like all he could see was Jonathan and red as he picked and prodded at every sore wound the timid boy had.

“A screw up like your father. Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. I mean, there’s a ton of screw-ups in your family. Your mom. I’m not even surprised with what happened to your brother.”

“Steve!”

“I’m sorry I have to be the one to tell you this, but the Byers’ their entire family is a disgrace—“

She could feel it, the crack in her jaw without getting hit as Jonathan swung around her and hit Steve right in the cheek without a second thought. Steve was on one side of the alley while Jonathan backed himself over to the other side, his chest pumping with adrenaline.

(F/N) sat on the ground, holding her cheek as she watched the two fight through blurred vision. The fight gaining more intensity as the gaggle chanted excitedly and Nancy was trying to get Jonathan to stop without getting too close. (F/N) wanted to throw up as their shouting made her head split and her ears ring and the familiar sound of getting caught came from around the corner.

Callahan had tried to pull Jonathan off Steve before getting knocked in the face, then Powell was able to take him into custody. Steve and his cool guy gang sped off while Callahan hustled after them. Powell had Jonathan against one of the cars and had him handcuffed. Nancy stood off to the side of the alley where (F/N) rested her gaze as she watched Nancy panic.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Callahan said quickly as he squatted and got into (F/N)’s headspace, his big head and dorky mustache swimming into her view as he took his flashlight and flung it between dilating pupils. “You okay? Did you get hit?”

(F/N) shook her head slowly, lifting her hand to her face to feel the only wound she had gotten was a thin ribbon of blood streaming from her nose.

“No,” she muttered, even as she sat there on the ground with her head leaning against the brick of the Hawk, her legs sprawled out in front of her and a cigarette edging closer to falling off her lip, (F/N) still appeared cool. “I think I just met my soulmate, and he’s an asshole.”

⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ

It had been three years since Steve met (F/N). Between her hopping between Indianapolis and Hawkins, the two never spoke more than snarky remarks to the other. (F/N) had never told Steve what she had come to conclude from the mere belief that through Steve’s high school years, he didn’t deserve to have her as a soulmate. His cocky, pretentious, fake cool guy attitude was bullshit and (F/N) wasn’t about to have herself broken up over him.

Only the police station knew the truth, and frankly, they all agreed with her when she said she’d like to keep away from the asshole who felt that vandalizing property was a better way to deal with a relationship than talk it out. 

And then, Starcourt Mall opened, (F/N) had graduated and she was spending her summer in Hawkins with her dad since they hadn’t had a lot of time together lately. And the fact that he had adopted a girl with strange powers, but that was a story for another day.

El and (F/N) had become something close to sisters but not quite. They gave each other space and hadn’t quite started to grate each other’s nerves with their habits. Although El making out with Nancy Wheeler’s younger brother, Mike, did always rub her the wrong way. As it did her dad, especially when the door wasn’t propped open three inches. 

Jim Hopper had barged in on El, believing Mike was inside, but instead found Max Mayfield with her reading magazines and doing girly things together. He stuttered out an apology and made his way out of their room. (F/N) had entered the room after them, telling the girls that she’d take them to Starcourt the following day so that Max could show El around the new mall and maybe get some new clothes. 

The three stood in the mall the next day, (F/N) handing both girls a crisp dollar bill and let them go off on their own letting them know she would be waiting inside Scoops Ahoy. Crowds weren’t something (F/N) was a fan of so sitting in a cold ice cream shop by herself sounded like the best mall experience she could ask for. Plus, she had been to plenty of malls in Indianapolis with her old friends, and if you’ve been to one mall, you’ve been to them all.

(F/N) walked into Scoops with her thumbs rocked in her belt loops and a bright yellow tank top showed off the slight tan she had gotten from the summer sun. (F/N) looked to the counter before anything else and there at the counter stood an asshole. (F/N) almost turned around, but decided that with him pegged behind the counter it would allow her to torture him. 

(F/N) stepped up to the counter, leaning her side against the counter as she hit the bell repeatedly to call someone else to the front as Steve glared at her. 

“I’m right here,” Steve muttered, but she didn’t even make eye contact.

“I’m sorry, I don’t take orders from assholes or slut shamers or people who run away from the cops when their arrest is valid, (F/N) shrugged her shoulders, hoping someone would come out from the back rather than Steve Harrington.

(F/N) watched as Steve’s face turned red and she smirked at his stupid sailor’s uniform and couldn’t help but think of what a loser King Steve had turned into after graduation.

“Please stop, Robin’s not here to take your order,” Steve muttered, his shoulders hunched as he massaged his temple.

“Guess it’ll be a while,” (F/N) shrugged, tapping her hand on the bell still.

Steve looked like he was going to explode, his face red and stress sweat had started to pile on his forehead.

“Is Erica here?” a familiar face asked from behind the counter and into the backroom. “Oh! (F/N), y-you’re in town?”

“Yeah, I’m spending the summer with my dad and... enjoying Hawkins,” she laughed awkwardly, turning back to look at the customers inside and then to the two behind the counter. She caught Steve’s eye that held a knowing gaze that she wasn’t planning on saying Hawkins but a little girl no one was to know about.

(F/N) shuddered at the look he was giving her but returned to Robin with a small smile, pushing out of her head the thoughts of ‘why would Steve Harrington know?’

“How have you been?” (F/N) asked with a small smile.

“I’ve been working here,” Robin laughed nervously, her hands on the blockers and her knuckles turning white out of anxiety.

“Hold on,” Steve interrupted the two, whipping his head to look over at Robin. “You know here?”

“Yes,” Robin nodded, slowly nodding her head to ensure he caught her words.

“Cool people know cool people, Hairspray,” (F/N) explained with a small, huffy laugh.

“I’m cool,” Steve defended, straightening his shoulders but waiting for them to validate his coolness.

“You’re an asshole,” (F/N) pointed out.

“I’ve grown past that,” Steve explained with a loud sigh.

“He has,” Robin agreed like she didn’t want to but had to.

“Thanks, Robin,” Steve muttered, dejected by the two women berating him. The hand on his shoulder caught his attention finding (F/N) at the end of it and there was a small hope that she’d reassure him in his expression that (F/N) found funny.

“You’ve become a loser,” (F/N) laughed. “But I could be friends with a loser.”

Steve smiled lightly at her words. At the same time, a little girl with colorful beads in her hair pushed past (F/N) knocking her hips into the counter that rattled a stinging pain through her. She hunched over, Steve following suit although the girl hadn’t knocked into him.

(F/N) kept her head down waiting for Steve’s reaction but nothing came. Slowly, (F/N) looked up from her huddled position and through the strands covering her face to catch Steve’s eyes warmed from the thought that she was his soulmate. Maybe it was because of the heartbreak he had gotten from Nancy Wheeler, or perhaps it was because she was just so goddamn cool all of the time, but he’d never thought for a second he’d meet his soulmate. Especially someone he e had met before.

(F/N) smiled like a teeter-totter, one side going up and the other falling down in an awkward ‘yeah, I’ve known all along’ and somehow Steve caught that from just a glance at her guilty face, because now he was pointing one of his sticky fingers in her face, shouting, “You knew!”

“Of course, I knew, dipshit!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were an asshole! Why would I tell an asshole?”

“I’m not an asshole now.”

“No, you’re a loser now.”

“Would you go on a date with a loser?”

“Depends,” (F/N) said, a stupid smirk coming to her face. “On the loser.”

“I’ll pick you up tonight,” he winked, trying to lean on the counter but tripping over his two own feet and had to catch himself.

Behind her, she could feel the air shift, and there stood El and Max with shimmering eyes and shit-eating grins now with more fashionable choices of clothing. They stared at her, something lingering that felt like (F/N) had a sister again as the two sung, “Steve and (F/N) sitting in a tree!”

“Are you two children?” (F/N) asked, rolling her eyes at the two.

“K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

wanna request?

[notesonnotes]

Rosedale. Herkimer 2009. Some friends and I had followed Honor Bright; The Doppler Effect and Lacerda to a show in Herkimer, NY. We'd never seen Rosedale, or heard of them. We didn't know what to expect when we saw them setting up. I was in awe of the sheer height of their front-man, Mike. (I am a over a foot shorter than he is, and at that point he was the tallest person I'd ever met.)When they started playing, I was in awe of their drummer, Emerson Tavares (he played faster than most drummer I'd seen). After the show, we saw a big purple bus, and we had the chance to hang out with Mike and Emmo. A week later, we'd get to meet Mitch and Zan in Watertown, NY. We were hooked. Soon after, we got them to our college in Northern New York.Since then, I've watched Mike progress from the 4 man band to the last solo act in Toronto in 2018. He is multi-talented, and probably one of the most down to earth people I've met. He takes time before, during, and after shows to talk with as many people/fans as he can, and has been an inspiration to many that have followed his journey.Today, we're going to take a look at where he came from, and where he plans to go. Take a few and read through. It's the anniversary feature for Notes on Notes! What better way to celebrate that with the one who inspired it all?!

NON: Rosedale was an early project of yours as a teenager in Brampton, ON. What brought you and your then band mates together?

ML: Pretty much skateboarding sparked it all. The skate scene was really booming in Brampton (and everywhere) as I was becoming an adolescent. Tony Hawk Pro Skater was huge, all the skate magazines were doing well, all the local skate parks were packed and hosting contests, pro skaters were celebrities- it was wild! I've always been pretty awkward on a skateboard and could never really improve past the basics, but I was definitely making progress on the piano so my parents finally granted my wishes to switch to classical guitar, as I'd been begging for years and the skate culture was surrounded by a lot of guitar music. After about a year of struggling to figure out how to play "cool guitar" I started convincing my friends to learn drums and bass and would try to jam with them. That led me to connecting with a friend I hadn't really seen since kindergarten; Nick, who was a pretty solid drummer. So I started showing him songs I'd written and we'd jam at his place on weekends. I think it started lighting a fire for a few of my school and skater friends as they started getting more serious about learning instruments and starting bands. We'd eventually teamed up with Mitch and Jon's band, as their drummer, Emerson, was still figuring out how to drum. Fun fact, there was about a month or two where I was kicked out of the band because my squeaky voice, cheesy lyrics, shrill guitar tone, awkward stage presence, and thick wavy blond mushroom cut were all just too unbearable. (They were very blunt and honest with me on that phone call...) So Jon started singing and they eventually called me back into the new band to play guitar, piano, and sing super high emo backup vocals. From there; we replaced Nick with Sam, named the band Rosedale (because when our gear was stuck at Nick's house we'd walk up Rosedale ave to the local music store to practice and write). Then we eventually replaced Sam with Emerson. Me and Jon started taking vocal lessons from our friend Steve, who was a drummer and backup singer in one of our favourite local bands, By Permit Only. Eventually we just asked him to be our lead singer and after recording our first EP with him, he quit the band and I took over lead vocals again. I met Zan in our high school, Mayfield. He was a bassist in the music program so I'd jam with him from time to time during lunch in our school's practice rooms. He eventually replaced Jon... I guess I could have just summed it up with "Skateboarding and school" but we all have a little more time these days so why not take a trip down nostalgia lane!

 NON: You've had 5 EP's and albums over the years; could you describe the progression of your creative process through the years? 

ML: It's pretty crazy for me to look back on. We recorded Past Times With Old Friends in Sean Andrew's little bedroom on a Line 6 bean-shaped Pod with Cue-base on his laptop. We'd tried to record about 3 demos with 3 different producers prior to that EP but nothing ever got finished. Each time we'd record I'd learn a few more things about how to engineer. Back when we had Sam in the band, one of his dad's friends "Stereo Mario" (one of the 3 producers that we'd demo with) would teach me the basics of Pro Tools and I was very eager to learn more. Before ever using any real recording equipment/DAW I'd multi-track covers of my favorite songs onto three-and-a-half inch floppy discs with my Yamaha Clavinova (a multi-patch midi amplified keyboard from the mid 90s), drums and all! So I kinda came full circle back to being a solo, multi tracker, multi-instrumentalist after having several different band mates and methods. The big turning point in my progression as an artist and producer, though, came when I started an internship at Drive Studios in my senior year of high school. I believe everyone needs a roll model and mentor to really progress and the owner of that studio, Steve Rizun, took me under his wing and pulled me in the right direction. Not only did he train me to be a sound engineer and let me work with some world class punk/prog/metal/emo bands, but he also would show me how to make additional production for Rosedale's sound and how to bring it to our live show. I became obsessed with songwriting and production and as soon as I graduated I worked to save up for a Macbook and an audio interface...and a lot of other gear! Had it not been for Steve, I probably would have wasted a lot of money going to a college to learn a fraction of what he was teaching me for free; hands on in the most punk rock environment! Since that internship he's mixed and mastered all the Rosedale records, mixed a handful of my live shows, he even showed me the ropes of being a live sound engineer, and continues to be a great ear to for mixing and advice! I've had a lot of other great friends show me how to edit video, hold a drumstick, where to book shows, gear advice etc. Even though I'm kind of a "Lone Wolf" I guess my process has always been to keep creating and ask for help and advice along the way from those who are more experienced (and YouTube tutorials, of course). Now that I'm in a new market playing with a new band (Mainsail in San Diego) I feel like I'm teaching and working more often than I'm learning. And that's been really healthy too! 

 NON: How has the journey from "Past Times" to your most recent projects helped you grow/learn as a musician/artist?

ML: What a journey it has been! As I'm sure any artist or even entrepreneur could relate, The Faces sang it best; "I wish that I knew what I know now when I was younger!" I think the biggest difference is the decision making ability. I used to take so damn long to make such bad decisions! Debating who, what, where why- it's important to think things through but sometimes you gotta just leap and learn from it. If you keep questioning things you'll never know. Also, the more I learn the more I realize how much more I still don't know! And that's part of the climb. Even now, being in the beginning stages of getting my 10,000 hours on the drums, I look back to how I used to play, say, 100 hours ago- and shake my head. That can sometimes be humiliating and demotivating while knowing you're still at the bottom of the mountain- or even just dealing with the ongoing yin and yang of confidence/hope vs. doubt. But what usually gets me to keep on going is to remind myself to just be better than I was yesterday. For a long time I was holding myself to the standards of my heroes which usually just creates inauthenticity, bad technique, bad decisions, clutter, and setbacks. Sometimes I'm worse than I was yesterday so I need a little push and that's okay, too! The journey from Past Times to Again was a big balancing lesson of letting things go while learning you can always do more to improve. And it's no surprise; but the newer the album, the more proud and less embarrassed of it I am! 

 NON: You've played bass in Mainsail for roughly a year, maybe a bit more; how did you meet up with them? What spurred you joining?

ML: Yeah since February 2019 I've been in Mainsail. I've been friends with them since 2017 and they really helped me get my show in front of a lot of people in San Diego. When I finally moved out there Nick was really cool about bringing me out to shows and jamming together. They needed a new bass player so I figured I'd offer and it just all escalated really fast. Since finally accepting that it was time to move on from the name Rosedale I've had a lot of luck with being a sort of "yes man". I'm usually very strict with staying on the path to my vision, as it requires a lot of time, but since moving and letting go of the past I've been finding that sometimes letting the wind take you where you're needed can be really beneficial. And a lot of great things are starting to happen for Mainsail so it has been fun. It has also kind of kept a stream of new listeners seeing what Rosedale is all about too so that is a nice bonus. 

 NON: You've performed at the House of Blues in San Diego; how was the experience for you?

ML: It was one of the best moments of my life playing that stage in front of so many great SoCal people, some who have been supporting Rosedale over the years. That has always been one of my favorite venues and since moving to San Diego I've seen a lot of amazing shows there. House of Blues is always great in Boston and Anaheim too. I'm really grateful that they give independent acts like myself not only a chance to play there, but they really give you the same professionalism and respect as they do to the giant national acts, it's pretty remarkable. I really hope they're doing okay during this pandemic and I hope all venues find a way to pull through this. I can't imagine how tough it's getting for some. 

NON: You've toured the U.S. and parts of Canada multiple times; played on a stage at Warped Tour, and toured Europe: What would you say is your most memorable moment?

ML: That is a great but very tough question. Playing in Vienna Austria in 2016 to a bunch of kids that knew my songs is definitely up there. But 2012 Warped Tour was probably the most fun and rewarding summer of my life. It was a grind and very uncomfortable at times, but there were so many epic moments packed into that summer that I look back on in disbelief. The biggest turning point was about two weeks into the tour in Minnesota (I think it was Minnesota...) I got called into the Warped production office and was told to check in with Kevin every morning for any open stage time, given a wristband, and some tasks to help out with in production. I played my DIY one-man-show in the parking lot that same night as kids were leaving the festival (as I would every night) and while I was standing at my merch table selling stuff and taking photos, I noticed that Ryan Dawson (from All Time Low) and Anthony Raneri (from Bayside) were hanging out watching. Once things slowed down they came over and bought 10 CDs each! It was so cool of them to even give me the time of day, let alone buy CDs to (probably) give out to people on the tour. I had a similar experience with Caleb Shomo (from Attack Attack/Beartooth) the year before outside of Cuyahoga Falls Warped tour. I had a drummer and bass player with me at the time and Caleb stood front & center to watch our whole set while kids kept coming up to him for autographs and I could see him pointing at us saying good things to all the kids. After our set he handed me all the cash he had in his pocked and apologized for not having more, I gave him some merch and we chatted for a good 15 minutes about how being an artist is a roller coaster and good things come and go, encouraging me to hang in there. He kept emphasizing how he just considered himself and everyone on the main stages lucky. All of those memories are enough motivation to last a lifetime and they're also reminders to pay it forward.

 NON: Touring as much as you have, there must have been some odd things that have happened. What has been the strangest thing to happen to you while you were on the road?

ML: Lots of strange tour stories for sure. The little ghost girl I caught on camera in the former German concentration camp was pretty crazy. (You can find it in the RosedaleMike Europe Tour Blogs via Tumblr if you don't believe!) It always freaks people out when I show them. And I remember everyone's reaction in the van right after I caught the footage. But the craziest thing that happened to me...there's been so many hard luck slaps in the face, as so many touring bands have also experienced, I'm sure. One time I had this great opportunity to be the opener/direct support for Everlast in Colorado Springs. I had just released self-titled, the tour was going well, and this Everlast show was sold out at Black Sheep (a great venue!) I had a day off so I got to town a day early to be extra prepared. While at the gym I received an email from the venue that Everlast had to postpone due to weather conditions. So now the show was cancelled and I offered to find local bands to fill the night for the venue so that I can still play for my small crowd. I went straight to a library for wi-fi and started plugging away on my laptop, emailing bands asking if they wanna do me a solid and play a last minute show at Black Sheep tomorrow night. I had two confirmed, told the venue, and they announced on the Facebook event page that there will still be a show but Everlast will be rescheduled, and they made me a host so I could update the event as I confirmed new acts. Some kids in Montana saw this and started saying that Rosedale cancelled the Everlast show! It turns out that they just randomly decided to troll me. They were even sending pictures of these little ridiculous hand written notes they made that read something like "I am cancelling the show - Rosedale". They were leaving random comments claiming that they were Everlast and bashing my fans as they tried to help clear the confusion. People were messaging me asking "Why'd you cancel the show?!" I had to explain to them and the venue what was really going on. The venue was in shock watching it all happen too and they said they have never seen anything like that, ever. I went to a local show that same night and convinced a couple of the bands to play Black Sheep tomorrow. All four locals were really awesome and the show ended up turning out to be pretty well attended. Even some people that had Everlast tickets came out and had a great time. The venue was really impressed that I pulled an event together so last minute and I was stoked to have built another great venue relationship. I got in my van and started to drive to my next show in Flagstaff, AZ. As I was climbing a rocky mountain pass, some slick snow started coming down. I was pulling my trailer and sliding pretty bad until eventually I couldn't move anymore and was stuck on the side of the road. As the sun was coming up an emergency truck pulled up and started laying sand down in front of my van so I followed him until my wheels started spinning again and one wheel gripped to the sand while the other spun and blew my transmission and rear differential. I didn't make it to Flagstaff or the next five shows. $4600 repair bill. And the next show back in Encinitas was an afternoon show at a biker bar where I was told after my first set (of three) to pack up and only received one sixth of my guarantee as my fans started showing up for the second set. There ended up being some good intertwined in all of all of that but it was just such a frustrating and confusing week. Sometimes I swear I'm in a movie like The Truman Show. 

 NON: You draw a lot of inspiration from The Used; Blink-182 and Angels and Airwaves: Who else has inspired you along the way?

ML: I definitely have a lot of heroes. Death Cab For Cutie and The Postal Service, The Ataris, The Starting Line, Metro Station, Dashboard Confessional, Boys Like Girls, The Matches, Underoath, The Almost, Motion City Soundtrack, Red Hot Chili Peppers, All Time Low, The Band Camino, Owl City, Radiohead, John Mayer, Coldplay, Paramore, Yellowcard, Moneen, Boxcar Racer...That's probably 10% of them. I've been to a lot of great concerts and being six foot nine gives me a good view and very memorable experiences. 

 NON: Do you see yourself continuing making music or helping others in music in the future?

ML :Both!

 NON: What song that you've written do you connect with the most?

ML: That's always changing to be honest. Depending on where I'm at, what I'm doing/going through. It's usually the most recent song or idea I've written which doesn't get released for sometimes a year or two after. Of the songs I've release, that would be Sustain. That is the most recent Rosedale song I've written. I wrote it right before we started tracking Self Titled and Again and its kind of about being in both shoes of that Warped Tour situation I just mentioned. People sometimes ask if I'm referring to myself as the Star or the Kid in that song and the answer is both! I'm still that star struck kid who can't wait to ask my favorite artists a thousand questions but I also get a lot of questions from fans who are trying to start their own thing or make their passion their career.

SHOUT OUTS

Mainsail, Palapalooza Podcast, Time & Distance, I Set My Friends on Fire, Alex Baker, Plans, The Home Team, OCML, FXav, Adam Sisco, my parents and family, everyone at Gnarlywood, Abby Lyn Records, Jonny Cooper, my old band mates and everyone who's ever come on tour with me- Thank you all. And all the bands, artists, venues, studios, street performers, restaurants that are trying to make it through this lock down. Hopefully all this is over soon and there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Believe things will get better eventually and use this alone time to improve yourself. Keep supporting live music even if you're stuck at home. And if you need help reach out and ask. Let's all stay safe and help one another

 LINKS

Facebook

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Twitter

Spotify

[luckylq26-blog]

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[insideoutstory]

Inside Out → Chapter Twenty

summary: Eleven’s experiment in the bath brings everyone to some emotional tipping points. word count: 5.8k warnings: Found family feels, grieving

[ masterlist ]   [ FF.net ]

Getting to the middle school was no easy feat. Jonathan’s car only held five people, and while the chief’s car was bigger, there were still only five seats. Much to Hopper’s annoyance, the kids were still refusing to split up, and Christine wouldn’t let them out of her sight. Eventually, Jonathan had to surrender his keys to her again so they could all ride together. He stayed behind with Nancy to help Hopper and Mrs. Byers load the old kiddy pool into the back of the truck. 

The kids all resumed their same spots in the car. The boys sat in the back, reviewing the notes Christine had taken down from Mr. Clarke and discussing their supplies. Hopper was bringing the pool. To fill it, they’d need hoses from the groundskeeper’s storeroom. They figured the best place to set up would be the gymnasium. They’d have enough room to set up, and they could use the taps from the locker rooms. The salt they would get from storage out back, where Hopper knew they stored the road salt for the parking lot. After that, it was just a matter of keeping things quiet and dark enough for Eleven to do her thing. 

Eleven was not speaking. She’d just been sitting anxiously in the passenger seat, rubbing her hands up and down her legs. Christine had put on some music to soothe her, and reached over to take her hand again. 

She was trying not to show it, but she was just as scared as Eleven was. She’d seen the strain Eleven’s power put on her. Hopefully the pool would help stretch her abilities a bit farther, but there was still a pretty high risk. Christine didn’t want to see Eleven ashen and bleeding again, passing out from the strain of projecting herself into an alternate dimension. But Eleven was the only shot they had. 

The rest of Christine’s fears were about answers. She didn’t know what she’d do if they didn’t like the ones they got. What if Eleven couldn’t find Barb and Will? Because Jonathan had been right. If the Upside Down was a mirror of their universe, they had the whole world to hide. What if they weren’t even in alternate Hawkins anymore? Just how much could Eleven’s powers take before they gave out? Or worse, what if they were too late? What if Will really was gone? Or Barb, or both of them? 

Christine shook her head, and squeezed the steering wheel a little tighter. They’d cross that bridge when they came to it. For now, they had to focus on the isolation tank. One thing at a time. 

It was eerie to drive through the school’s empty parking lot. Christine drove the car around back and parked by the gym. She hopped out first, striding to the doors and giving them a solid tug. All she managed to do was hurt her shoulder. For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to her that the school might be locked on a Saturday night. 

“Shit.” 

“What’s shit?” asked Dustin, stretching as he exited the car. 

“It’s locked,” Christine complained. “And watch your language.” 

“What happened to ‘I’m not your mother’ and ‘you can curse as much as you want’?” 

“I changed my mind. Just get back in the car. We’ll check out the front, or…I don’t know. A window.” 

She’d made it halfway to the car when the door swung open behind her. Christine jumped, whirling around. It took a second for her brain to catch up. When it did, she frowned at Eleven, who was surreptitiously wiping her nose. 

“You, just…stop that. Save your energy.” 

“You’re just mad cause she scared you,” snickered Mike, and he led the way into the building. 

The chief’s truck pulled up a few minutes later, and Hopper gave them their marching orders. He and Jonathan would take care of the salt. The Wheelers would handle the hoses, while Dustin and Lucas did their best to set up the pool. Hopper had tried to stick Mrs. Byers with them to supervise, but she’d made her own adamant case. She was going with Christine to prep Eleven. That was final. 

That was how Christine ended up walking through the science wing of Hawkins Middle with Joyce Byers, a quiet Eleven walking between them. Christine had expected there to be some sort of interrogation. Mrs. Byers probably had a thousand questions for the psychic kid who’d tracked down her son. But she was quiet for most of the walk, and when she finally did pipe up, it was to Christine. 

“I remember you, you know,” she said. “After you said that thing about Will liking colors, I started to remember. You were there when I took him to see Poltergeist. Hid a bag of M&M’s in the bottom of his popcorn. He really loved it. I never got to thank you.” 

Christine gave her a tight smile. It was an embarrassing thing for someone to remember. She had no idea what to say in response. Thankfully, Mrs. Byers let her off the hook. 

“Do you still work at The Hawk?” 

“Yeah,” Christine said with relief. “It’s not bad. I wish we had more movies, but we’re getting a new one next week. And I get to see all the new stuff when it comes out.” 

“That’s nice,” she said lightly. It was the obligatory response before her next question. “I don’t suppose you know anything about…you know. The fight Jonathan was in.” 

“Oh, uh…you should probably just ask him about that.” 

Mrs. Byers nodded. It didn’t seem like she’d expected anything different. There was a part of Christine that was screaming for her to bring up the photographs Jonathan had taken, but she did her best to quiet it. Now was not the right time to be a tattle tale. They’d come back around to that disturbing detail later, she was sure. 

“I hope you didn’t do too much damage.” 

“Sorry?” Christine asked. 

Mrs. Byers pointed knowingly down at her hand, the one that was holding Eleven’s. The bruises were still visible through El’s fingers. Christine gasped. 

“Oh! No, that—that wasn’t Jonathan! I was fighting this asshole named Tommy. It was…it was a big thing.” 

“And this thing…had nothing to do with Jonathan’s fight?” 

“Well…like I said. I think you should talk to him.” 

“Right.” Mrs. Byers bobbed her head. “Can I ask what he said? This other boy?” 

“He just…He said some not great things about Nancy. But I guess I can’t talk. I’ve said some not great things about her too.” 

Christine grimaced, her own poor words resurfacing in her brain. But to her surprise, Mrs. Byers just nodded sagely. 

“Friendship can be weird like that. Especially in high school. Everyone says things they don’t mean. Sometimes you need the drama to remind you how important your friends are. Sometimes it’s classes and boys, and…sometimes, it’s uh—it’s science fiction monsters.” 

“Both, actually,” Christine said with a snort. 

They finally found a lab room that would have what they needed. Christine flicked on the lights, urging Eleven into a desk so she could look for the safety goggles she wanted. Mrs. Byers hung back by the door, wringing her hands. 

“So, how can I help? What else do you need? Should we find you some different clothes? Maybe something a little lighter than your dress?” 

“Good luck with that,” Christine laughed as she was going through the cabinets. 

 “Oh, I’m sure we could find something around here. A big T-shirt, or…” 

“No, I mean getting her to change. I’ve been trying for a few days now. But she loves that dress and she will not take it off.” 

“Well, I can see why,” Mrs. Byers said kindly. “You look very pretty in it.” 

Eleven muttered her thanks, and Mrs. Byers turned back to Christine. 

“Was it yours?” 

“Ha, uh no. Nancy’s. I left the boys alone for one afternoon and they took her back to the Wheelers’ to give her a makeover. She got the new dress, new tube socks, makeup. Even a blonde wig.” 

“I’m sure that looked beautiful. And it probably only made you look even more like sisters.” 

Christine stilled with the goggles in her hands. “Really?” 

“Oh, definitely,” said Mrs. Byers. “It’s a little bit the face—you both have those big, pretty brown eyes. But mostly…it’s just the way you are with each other. Jonathan’s the same way with Will. Protective, encouraging. I’d know it anywhere. You girls must be very close.” 

It was a simple observation, but Christine couldn’t help but take it as a compliment. She had a feeling that was how Mrs. Byers had intended it. She still had that warm, knowing smile. The farthest thing from the crazed, delusional woman Christine had feared she might be. Maybe it was the situation, but she just seemed like a really good mom. 

“I guess we are,” said Christine, smiling slightly. 

She could feel Eleven’s eyes on her, one of her intense, probing gazes that burned the skin. Christine bashfully passed the goggles to Mrs. Byers. 

“Uh, here. I’m…I’m gonna see if I can find some duct tape to black them out.” 

They did the best they could with the goggles. Christine found some duct tape in the emergency station, and cut long strips so Mrs. Byers could stick them on. They weren’t especially stylish, but they were dark enough, and they’d keep the water out. 

“There we go,” Mrs. Byers said to herself as she smoothed out the last strip. She held them up for Eleven to see. “This will keep it dark for you. Just like in your bathtub.” 

Eleven nodded. She’d grown quiet again, her nerves more evident on her face as their to do list got shorter and shorter. It was clear whatever “the bathtub” meant to her, it wasn’t good. She wasn’t looking forward to doing it again. 

Christine wished there was something she could do to stop it. But Eleven knew she was their only hope. It was why she wasn’t putting up a fight. The only thing Christine could do was pick her nails, and keep the depths of her concerns to herself. Mrs. Byers let out a deep sigh. 

“You’re a very brave girl,” she told Eleven. “You know that, don’t you? Everything you’re doing for my boy…for Will…for—for my family…thank you.” 

Eleven smiled meekly, much like Christine had earlier. She wasn’t used to being thanked. And much like earlier, Mrs. Byers didn’t seem to need a response. She took Eleven’s hands in her own and continued to encourage her earnestly. 

“Listen. Christine and I are going to be there with you the whole time. And if it ever gets too scary, in that—in that place…you just let us know, okay?” 

Eleven looked between the two of them, nodding. “Yes.” 

“Ready?” 

And after an extra moment of trembling breath, Eleven nodded again. “Ready.” 

As they walked back to the group, Eleven stood between them again. Her left hand was wrapped around Christine’s, and her right stayed firmly in Mrs. Byers’. 

Everyone had already reconvened by the time they reached the gymnasium. Hopper and Jonathan were pouring salt into the water, Nancy and Lucas standing by with rakes to push it around and help it dissolve. 

“You know,” Christine called, “it might’ve been easier to use hot water to dissolve the salt, and then just wait until it cooled to the right temperature.” 

“Shut up, Chrissy,” Dustin snapped. “Next time, I’ll use the duct tape and you can build the sensory deprivation tank.” 

“We might actually have to do that, you know. Doubt Mr. Clarke is gonna get off my back about the science fair.” 

“We’ve almost got it,” said Mike, staring down at the water. “I feel good about it this time, Dustin.” 

They all watched as the salt swirled around the bottom of the pool, slowly growing smaller and smaller and—finally—disappearing. Dustin grabbed a half-carton of eggs off the supply cart. He held his breath and placed the egg into the water. It bobbed for a moment, then settled gently on the surface. It was truly, properly floating. 

Mike slapped Dustin on the arm in shock, while Lucas clapped him on the back. Christine beamed with pride, stepping up behind him and rubbing his hat over his curls. 

“Nice job, boy genius,” she congratulated. 

The joy of victory was short lived. Now that they had a working bathtub, all that remained was to put Eleven in it. Hopper left to douse the lights, while Mike and Lucas turned up the volume on Will’s supercomm. Christine and Joyce helped steady Eleven as she stepped out of her socks and shoes. She reluctantly handed Mike his watch. And once she was ready, she put on her goggles and stepped out into the water. 

Everyone gathered around the pool to watch. They were spread around the edge, all staring into the center. In the semi-dark, it felt like some sort of séance. Christine held her breath, and tried to ignore the hairs on the back of her neck that were screaming that something was wrong. 

Mrs. Byers reached over and patted Christine on the knee. 

Eleven worked faster this time. The dim lights of the gym flickered overhead after scarcely a minute, and the interference from the walkie had already reached an eerie hum. She floated with arms stretched out toward the sides, her mouth agape, head twitching back and forth as if she were trying to read something very large very fast. The only sound in the room was the rippling of the water and Eleven’s shaking breath. Everyone else was paralyzed to the core. 

“Barb? Barbara?” 

Nancy gasped and grabbed Christine’s hand. Christine squeezed reassuringly, turning her gaze to the walkie. She just wanted to hear Barb’s voice. They’d tried twice and failed, but this was number three. That was the charm. Now she’d be able to hear her. 

But the walkie stayed silent. Eleven’s breathing picked up. The water rippled around her even though she wasn’t actually moving. Overhead, the gym lights flickered again, then snapped off abruptly. 

“What’s happening?” Nancy asked nervously. 

Mike shook his head. “I don’t know.” 

“Is Barb okay? Is she okay?” 

Christine felt the nausea rising in her throat. She bit hard on the inside of her cheek, staring down the supercomm, willing it to speak. She knew her grip on Nancy’s hand was throttling, but she could not escape the swelling fear in her chest. Barb was coming. She was going to hear Barb’s voice. Barb was… 

“Gone.” 

Eleven’s voice broke as she choked out the word. She said it again, and again, her head jerking back and forth. The walkie was practically screaming on the supply cart. A wave shot up from the center of the pool, slapping violently against the sides. 

“Gone. Gone. Gone.” 

It was all Christine could do not to vault herself into the pool. Out of grief, or concern, either one. Nancy had already beaten her to crying, one hand clapped over her mouth and squeezing her sobs back inside. Eleven was beginning to thrash in the water—screaming, terrified—but Christine was scared to touch her in her trance. She felt trapped inside herself, just like Eleven. 

“It’s okay,” Mrs. Byers whispered, leaning over the water to grab one of Eleven’s arms. “It’s okay. Christine? It’s okay.” 

With a start, Christine realized Mrs. Byers’ other hand was on her own. She gently squeezed her wrist, pulling her hand out over the water. It was a moment before Christine caught on. When her shock finally faded away, she choked back her tears and grabbed the small hand that was reaching out for her. 

“I’m right here, El. It’s okay. There’s nothing you can do. Just breathe. It’s okay. We’ve got you.” 

Mrs. Byers echoed her reassurances on Eleven’s other side. Slowly but surely, Eleven’s breathing began to steady. She clung to their hands like lifelines, her lips still trembling. The water stilled around her. The radio resumed its normal hum, and the lights went dark once more. Mrs. Byers retracted her hand cautiously, but Christine left hers securely in Eleven’s grip. 

“Castle Byers…?” 

Jonathan and his mother both froze as Eleven tested the words in the air. Christine grit her teeth and said a silent prayer. God, they could not go through that again. He had to be okay. Will had to be okay… 

It took a couple seconds, but Eleven finally spoke again. 

“Will. Will?” 

Mrs. Byers shuddered a gasp. She gripped Eleven’s arm tighter, not needing any more information. 

“You tell him—tell him I’m coming,” she pleaded. “Mom is coming.” 

Eleven repeated the words into the air. On the cart, the radio crackled to life. 

“Hurry…” 

Christine could have collapsed over from the relief that went through her bones. He was still alive. If nothing else, Will was still alive. They had time. 

“Okay, listen,” Mrs. Byers was instructing, leaning out over the pool. “You tell him to—to stay where he is. We’re coming. We’re coming, okay? We’re coming, honey.” 

Again, Eleven repeated the words. She said Will’s name, waiting for him, asking for some kind of response. But something was wrong. The static on the supercomm was distorting again. It squealed, and though Eleven wasn’t crying in the pool, they could hear her sobs and screams floating through from the other world. The water in the pool was starting to shake again. Everyone exchanged a terrified look. 

And then Christine heard the familiar clicking over the radio. 

“Eleven, come back,” she ordered. “Eleven, get out of there now!” 

There was a colossal splash as Eleven sprang up from the pool. She ripped her goggles off, breathing heavily and shaking like a leaf. Christine wasted no time in tugging her close, wrapping her arms around her and tucking her head underneath her chin. 

“It’s okay, El. I’ve got you. You’re okay. You did good. You did so good.” 

Eleven gripped tight to her arm, crying into the stiff, white fabric of her sleeves. A comforting hand stroke Christine’s back, reached around and held Eleven as well. Christine didn’t need to look up to know it was Joyce. 

“Hop…” she whispered. 

“Yeah, I got it,” he said, without needed to hear the rest of the plea. 

There was a shuffle around the pool as everyone got up. Hopper left again to find the lights, the kids all converging on the other side of the pool to watch Eleven warily. Jonathan hovered behind his mom, too worried to interrupt but probably too relieved about his brother to stray far from her. 

 Nancy stood and walked away. The door to the gym swung shut behind her, echoing ominously around the gymnasium. Christine knew she should go after her. But she also knew Nancy needed space. And Eleven needed to be okay first. 

“Come on,” Christine coaxed, helping her to her feet. “Let’s get you dried off.” 

She and Mrs. Byers did the best they could wring out the fabric of Eleven’s dress. Mike brought over one of the towels, but seemed to sense that it wasn’t time to talk yet. He handed it to Eleven with a bracing smile, letting his hand trail over hers. Then he retreated to the other side of the pool to stand with Lucas and Dustin. 

 Mrs. Byers was looking back towards Jonathan. 

“Go,” Christine offered with a nod. 

“Oh…no, it’s…” 

“It’s okay,” Christine said firmly. “I’ve got her.” 

The woman nodded, patting Eleven’s back one last time. Then she hurried over to her eldest son and pulled him into a bone crushing hug. It hurt Christine to watch. She was relieved, happy for them. But she couldn’t help but think how Barb’s parents would never get the same privilege. 

 Christine eased Eleven down onto the bleacher, and wrapped the towel tighter around her shoulders. After she was settled, Christine started shedding her work uniform. 

“I hate this thing,” she babbled as she tossed the clip on bowtie onto the seat. “It’s so uncomfortable. I don’t know why we need to wear uniforms to look presentable anyway. It’s not like people don’t know I work there. I’m the one behind the counter, right?” 

She shed the dripping button down and dropped it onto the gym floor. She shivered in the black tank top. It was cold in the gym. But there wasn’t time to linger on it. 

“I’m sorry,” Eleven whispered. 

Christine looked down at her sadly. Eleven wouldn’t look up. Her eyes were fixed on the bowtie, which she’d picked up and began twirling in her hands. Still, Christine knew she wasn’t apologizing for the uniform. 

“It’s not your fault,” Christine reminded her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Barb was…it was an accident. There’s nothing you could have done. There’s probably nothing any of us could have done. But I know that doesn’t stop it from hurting, or being scary.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I know.” Christine ran a hand over her head, then slipped out of her seat. She kneeled on the floor in front of Eleven, forcing the girl to meet her gaze. “Hey. If it wasn’t for you, we never would have known what happened to Barb. You gave us the truth. And sometimes that’s all you can ask for.” 

It was hard, but Christine tried to smile. She closed Eleven’s hands over the bowtie and rubbed the skin reassuringly. Eleven watched her fingers intently. 

“Joyce said…like sisters.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, she did.” Christine laughed weakly, and ran a thumb over the back of Eleven’s wrist. “You remember when I showed you that picture of me and Dustin? And I said he was like my annoying little brother? It’s like that. Sometimes, when we spend a lot of time with people, they become like your family. And that’s great, because you can be super close, closer than friends, and it’s the family you choose for yourself. So it’s not about who your parents are. It’s just about who you care about, and who your family is here.” 

Christine laid a hand over her chest, tapping on her heart. Eleven squinted at her. Uncertainly, she raised a hand to copy her. 

“So…sisters?” 

Christine but her lip, unsure if she was trying to hide her smile or her tears. 

“Yeah. Sisters. Definitely.” 

“Alright, break it up!” Dustin pushed past Christine, plopping down next to Eleven so he could throw his arms around her as well. “She’s our friend, too.” 

“Are you okay?” Mike asked, sitting on her other side. “That looked really scary.” 

“Okay,” Eleven confirmed with a nod.  

“Are you okay, Chrissy?” asked Lucas. 

 “Me? Yeah, I’m—I’m fine.” The boys shared a dubious look, which did not make Christine feel self-conscious in the slightest. She braved another smile, rubbing Lucas on the shoulder. “Seriously, guys. I’m fine.” 

“Y-Yeah,” he said, grinning widely. “We just wanted to...you know. Make sure.” 

Dustin made a loud coughing sound, which sounded suspiciously like the word “whipped.” Lucas reached around Eleven’s back and smacked him on the head. Mike hit Lucas in the chest, then fixed Christine with a solemn gaze. 

“We’re sorry about Barb,” he said softly. “Really.” 

Everyone stilled, which made it harder to keep her voice level when she replied. 

“Yeah. Me too.” Christine cleared her throat and climbed to her feet. “Speaking of, I’m gonna go check on Nancy. Keep an eye on these idiots for me, okay, El? You’re in charge.” 

The boys grumbled, and Eleven gave her a proud nod. “Okay.” 

Christine grinned. She pressed a quick kiss to the top of Eleven’s head, then crossed the gym so she could step out into the hallway. 

In a lot of ways, Hawkins High School and Hawkins Middle School were mirrors of each other. They had the same departments in the same places, the same number of students. They even had the same ugly tiger mural on the wall outside the gymnasium. Nancy sat underneath it, her back pressed to the wall and her face hidden in her knees. Even if the hall hadn’t been so quiet, her shaking shoulders showed she was crying from a mile away. 

Christine closed the door to the gym as quietly as she could. Then she walked over to the mural and nudged Nancy with the toe of her boot. 

Nancy jumped, and scrambled to wipe the tears from her face. “Sorry, I’m—oh. Christine.” 

“Just me,” she said, holding her hands up in the air. She pressed her back to the tiger, and slid down next to Nancy. “Don’t stop crying on my account. I was kinda planning on catching up.” 

“No, I’m sorry. God, I—I know I’m being stupid, it’s just...” 

“Woah, hey.” Christine gaped at her, and nudged her knee firmly. “Nothing about this is stupid. I mean this is...this is Barb we’re talking about...” 

“I know, but there’s so much more going on.” Nancy ran her hands over her head, forcing her flyaway hairs back into her orderly ponytail. “With Eleven and Will and...I mean, look at you. You’re not crying.” 

“Don’t say it like that,” Christine groaned. “I feel bad enough as it is.” 

“Don’t. Seriously, Chris. You’re probably just in shock.” 

“But that’s the awful thing. I feel like...I’m just not. Part of me feels like I knew the whole time, you know? The minute you told me you hadn’t heard from her. And then I feel like shit because it’s like...it’s like I’d already given up on her.” 

“You did not give up on her,” Nancy said vehemently. “None of us did. If we had, none of us would be here, right? And now...now we have a chance to save Will.” 

She nodded adamantly, more to herself than anything. Christine could practically see her brain resetting, working hard to stay focused and keep from shutting down. Barb was gone. But they weren’t out of the woods yet. 

The doors to the gym slammed open again. Hopper burst through, blowing right past them and out the second set of doors to the parking lot. Jonathan and his mother were hot on his heels. They struggled with the second door as it threatened to shut them in, then followed Hopper outside. Everyone was fighting—and not quietly. Not that it was a secret what the fight was about, anyway. Hopper was attempting to save the day solo. Mrs. Byers wasn’t about to let him. Nancy and Christine could hear crystal clear as she went off on him, reminding him that Will was her son and that nothing on heaven or earth would stop her from going after him. Jonathan’s voice chimed in, saying that he could come, that he could help. But things must not have gone his way. 

They listened as the chief’s truck sped away from the school. Then the doors opened one more time, and Jonathan trudged back inside. He joined them wordlessly. With his back pressed to the wall, he slid down on the other side of Nancy. And then they sat in silence. 

“What’s Castle Byers?” Christine finally asked. 

“His clubhouse,” Jonathan answered weakly. “We built it together, in the woods out back. So he’d have someplace to hide when Mom and Dad were fighting.” 

“Far?” 

“Not from here. But they have to go through the lab and then walk, so…” 

Neither of them finished the thought. Christine knew from personal experience how long it took to hike around Hawkins to the Byers’ house. Hopper and Mrs. Byers would have a long trek ahead of them. And that was if they could make it through the guards at Hawkins Laboratory. If Will had told them to hurry, how much time did they really have? 

“We need to go back to the station.” 

Christine and Jonathan both turned to Nancy in surprise. She was staring a hole at the tiles in front of her. Her eyes were shining, but completely focused. 

“What?” asked Jonathan. 

“Your mom and Hopper are just walking in there like bait. That thing is still in there. And we can’t just sit here and let it get them too.” 

“Nancy,” Christine said lowly. “We’re not exactly…” 

“We can’t.” Nancy turned to her, completely resolute. “We can’t give up, right? We have to keep fighting, we…we have to do something.” 

“But do what?” 

“You still want to try it out?” Jonathan asked Nancy. 

“I wanna finish what we started,” she replied. “I want to kill it.” 

She and Jonathan nodded at each other. They both looked determined, their jaws set and their hands curled into fists on their knees. But Christine was still tripping a couple steps behind. 

“Wait,” she said, glancing between them. “That’s what all the shit in the box was for? You’re gonna try and hunt it down?” 

“We’re gonna trap it,” said Jonathan. “And then, yeah. We’re gonna kill it.” 

“What did you think we were doing?” Nancy asked. 

“I don’t know! Booby trapping the house for protection?” 

“We are,” she said plainly. “And then we’re gonna try and summon it.” 

“S-Summon…? Nance, I know I joked it was a demon, but…” 

“No, I mean like—call it. We think it can sense blood. Track it. That’s how it found Barb.” 

“And how it followed Will,” Jonathan agreed. “After he fell off his bike.” 

“So we go to Jonathan’s house, set up the traps, and lure it in. The lights are already set up, and that way we’ll know it’s coming.” 

“Guys, this is insane,” Christine pleaded. “This thing is—it’s huge! And it’s dangerous, and…” 

“I know exactly what it is.” 

Christine faltered. Of course Nancy knew what the Demogorgon was. She’d seen it, already gotten trapped once, gone up against it once. It just made trying again seem all the more crazy. 

“Nance,” she begged, turning to face her fully. “Don’t…Don’t do this. We just lost Barb, and…if anything happened to you…” 

Nancy nodded in understanding. She took Christine’s hand and squeezed it hard, just as imploring. 

“That’s exactly why I have to. We can’t let it kill anyone else. Not Will, or Hopper, or Mrs. Byers.” 

They stared each other down. They fought silently through their hands, each trying to squeeze the other one into agreeing with them. Christine thought she was pretty strong. But in the end, she was the one who deflated. 

“Barb would kill us for doing something this stupid, you know.” 

“Probably,” Nancy said with a watery smile. “But she’d come with us anyway.” 

“Us?” asked Jonathan. 

“Of course ‘us,’” Christine scoffed. “You don’t think I’m gonna let you two get yourselves killed alone, do you?” 

“But what about the kids?” 

That did make Christine pause. She didn’t want to leave the kids behind. But she couldn’t let Nancy go up against the Demogorgon with only Byers for backup. That was more dangerous than waiting at the school. Even if Eleven did have government scientists looking for her, the kids were smart. They knew how to keep their heads down avoid detection. They’d done alright for the last week, hadn’t they? 

…but what if that luck ran out? 

“We divide and conquer,” Nancy said, squeezing her hand again. “The lab will be busy enough dealing with Hopper and Mrs. Byers. We keep the monster busy, and it all keeps everything away from Eleven. The kids will be fine.” 

Christine nodded, trying to convince herself. The kids would be fine. They knew the score, and knew the dangers. Plus, they had Eleven. It would be okay. 

“Okay,” she said shakily. “Let’s do this.” 

They all got to their feet, shaking out the trembling in their hands. 

“Your dad still have that shotgun in the garage?” Nancy asked smile, and Christine nodded. “Good. So we’ll go to the station, pick up our stuff, and then swing by your house to pick up yours.” 

“What about the lab guys?” Jonathan asked. “They were swarming her house before.” 

“They must’ve cleared it by now though, right?” 

“I guess. But what if they’re watching it?” 

“I don’t know. We’ll just have to…” 

Jonathan and Nancy continued to bicker on, picking apart the plan and trying to find the best way to proceed. But Christine was having a hard time focusing. 

She drifted over to the doors of the gymnasium, peeking inside just as she had during the assembly. There were the kids, alone on the bleachers. Eleven was wrapped in her towel, leaning heavily on Mike’s shoulder. Lucas sat behind her, rubbing her back comfortingly as he talked to Dustin on Mike’s other side. They looked so small. It almost snapped her resolution clean in two. 

Almost as if she’d sensed it, Eleven looked up and caught her eye. She smiled. It was small, and it was sad. Just like every other time she’d stared at Christine, it gave off the sense that she’d analyzed everything around her. Like she knew everything about Christine from her favorite color to the conversation she’d just been having in the hall. 

Eleven lifted a hand, and tapped her heart. 

After a long night of holding it back, Christine felt her tears beginning to escape over her cheeks. She forced her face into one more smile, and tapped her own heart too. With Eleven’s permission, she turned away and followed Nancy and Jonathan out the door.

[pikachunas]

Chrono Clobbered

“Are you gonna finish your french toast sticks?” 

Jay looked up from his tray. The Burger King was crowded for a Monday morning and he was eager to get home and sleep for the rest of his day off. “You can have em’” Jay muttered. “I’m not hungry.” Ennis sighed and reach across the booth to grab a french toast stick off of Jay’s tray. “It’s always hard at first, but this is a good time to focus on doing things you enjoy and pursuing stuff you’re passionate about.” Jay stared blankly into his lap. “Some people say getting back to work sooner than later can help occupy your mind.” Finally, Jay looked up “No” he insisted. “There are too many memories there… good and bad.” Ennis paused for a second. “I hate to see you like this, but I know that you’ll feel better with time.” Jay scoffed “The only time I’ll feel better is in the past. There’s nothing left for me to look forward to.”

 “I could tell you how to go back in time but you wouldn’t believe me.” Ennis teased. Jay raised an eyebrow and turned his palms upwards, shrugging. “You just have to take a punch.” Jay sighed “I would take a punch from present day Mike Tyson and then another one from 1991 Mike Tyson if it meant I could go back then and start over.” Ennis chuckled “then you’ll be relieved to learn that it’s not a Hall of Fame boxer you have to get slugged by.” 

“Alright, then who is it?”. Jay was genuinely curious. “Do you know Mike Moak?” Ennis asked. Jay nodded “I know of him, I’ve seen After the Fall a bunch of times but I’ve never spoken to him for longer than a couple of minutes.” Ennis put a hand on Jay’s shoulder “Then you know what you’re getting into.” Jay shook his head “I don’t understand. What does Mike Moak have to do with going back in time?” He was already upset but now he was confused and growing increasingly irritated. He had seen Mike Moak in person enough to know that he was much too small and out of shape to throw a punch that could knock someone to the ground, let alone break the time space continuum.

 “I know a guy who got in a fight with him in high school and he says he travelled back in time after MIke clocked him.” Jay was in no mood for jokes and he didn’t want to entertain this nonsense, but his curiosity was piqued.  “That doesn’t make any sense.” He pondered out loud “Did he not wake up after Mike hit him?” Ennis looked away and rubbed his chin pausing for a moment “of course he did, but he was different ever since. Something changed in him and he wasn’t shy about telling people he had gone back in time. He made a believer out of me.”  

“You believe him?” Jay asked. “Hell yes I do” Ennis replied emphatically. “He won $3,000 when he bet that the Giants would beat the undefeated 2007 Patriots in Super Bowl XLII.” Jay curled his lip “You’re telling me this guy knew for a fact the Giants were going to win as heavy underdogs and he still only won $3,000?” Ennis smirked and nodded “That’s what I’m telling you. That was not an easy call back then. They were 12 point underdogs.” Jay lifted himself out of his chair, almost jumping “If he travelled back in time from the future and knew for a certainty the Giants were gonna win that game, how come he didn’t bet everything he owned on it?” Ennis shrugged “I’m sure he did but he didn’t have that much to bet. It’s not like he knew he was gonna travel back in time, and I would venture to guess that if you get punched hard enough that it sends you back in time then you’re not exactly Stephen Hawking when you wake up…. At least not intellectually.”

Jay watched Ennis and waited for a smirk or giggle or some kind of tell that he was bluffing. Any indication that this was an act. “I believe him” Ennis doubled down “he’s just got that vibe like there’s something peculiar about him… like he really is from another time or dimension or something. You’ll understand when you meet him.” Jay thought for a second before pontificating “it’s just so absurd, I know it can’t be true, but I want to suspend disbelief and go into it with an open mind… just for the sake of his act.” Ennis slapped Jay on his back between his shoulders “If it’s an act then he deserves an Oscar for his commitment to the craft, because he’s living it.” Jay faked a smile “Snake oil salesman always do when they’re being watched.” he alleged. Ennis laughed and patted Jay’s back a few more times “That’s the thing about this guy, my friend… he’s got nothing to sell but a story and he’s giving it away to anyone who will listen.” 

Later that evening, still unconvinced, Jay invited his friend Teddy to get lunch the following afternoon. Teddy had always been more involved in the local music scene than he ever was, and she would surely be much more familiar with Mike Moak. They agreed to meet at the Iron Gate Cafe on Washington Ave in Albany. Jay arrived first and was seated at a table by the kitchen. When Teddy walked in, he waved to signal her and she walked over to greet him at the table. Before she finished hanging her purse on the back of her chair Jay asked “How will do you know Mike Moak? Do you still see him at shows?” Teddy froze and looked at Jay before taking her phone out of her purse and sitting down. “A little, not super well” she replied “I see him about once a month at a bar or a show I’d say.” “How big is he now, do you like him?” Jay inquired. “Not very” Teddy responded at once. “I mean, he’s chubby and moody and obnoxious, so I don’t talk to him if I don’t have to. He always kind of reminded me of the Mayor of Halloweentown from the Nightmare Before Christmas. Both in shape and attitude. Why the sudden interest in him?” she finally inquired.

“I might have to start a fight with him” Jay responded blankly. “Oh… ok” Teddy countered inquisitively uncertain of whether or not she wanted to know more. “Well, you’d probably win” she paused “he must cut his coke with powdered sugar because nobody that parties as much as him should be that overweight. He’s got the same body type and hairline as the Penguin from Batman Returns.” She took a sip of the coffee she ordered and moaned “I hate to do it but I have to ask. Why do you feel like you need to start a fight with Mike Moak?”

Jay crossed his hands on the table. “I met someone who says that Mike punched him in high school and it sent him back in time.” Teddy laughed out loud, cackling at the thought  “That’s great, but I don’t understand the joke” she chuckled  “why do you want to go back in time anyway?” Jay looked away “There’s just something… someone I need to start over with.” The room fell silent “Is it someone that passed away?” Teddy asked somberly. “No…nothing like that” Jay answered “It’s just something I can’t let go, and I’d rather risk the rest of my life than keep going on without them.” Teddy was silent for a second then pried “that’s sad, and strangely romantic, but can’t you just talk to them?” Jay shook his head “Too many things have happened that can’t be taken back… I may have said or done something wrong at some point, or I wasn’t honest enough with myself, or I came on too strong… I don’t know, but I know I could make it right.” Jay thought out loud. 

“Have you thought about talking to someone?” Teddy asked thoughtfully “Sometimes it can be really helpful to get an unbiased objective opinion.” Jay exhaled a frustrated sigh “There’s nobody else I want to talk to, just forget I said anything.” Teddy nodded “I’m not trying to second guess you, and you know I’ll support whatever you think you need to do, but you’re scaring me a little bit” She paused for a moment, shaking her head struggling to decide whether or not she should even continue to entertain this conversation. “I’ve never seen him swing on anyone but I don’t think he could throw a hard enough bare knuckle punch to knock you off your feet, let alone back in time.” She could tell Jay was anxious by the way he was toying with the straws and sugar packets. “I know that you know how silly this sounds and I hope that you know if you’re going through anything you can talk to me about it.” Jay looked into the distance before meeting Teddy’s eyes “Thank you” he murmured. He then shoved his money, the sugar packets and his still full cup of coffee to the center of the table in one thrust. “But I don’t want to talk about it, I want a chance to start over.”

Jay opened the door to Ennis’ 1984 Corolla and sat next to him in the passenger seat. “I have to remind you” Ennis warned “this guy is pretty wild. This is gonna be a fascinating experience for you. “I’m ready” Jay assured him. “I’m going in with an open mind and I’m willing to try anything.” The ride only lasted about 15 minutes from Jay’s Albany apartment before they parked in front of a modest single family home in the suburbs. “One last thing…” Ennis alerted “he goes by “The Chrone” Jay couldn’t help but break “Ha what?” he laughed “Why?” Ennis opened the door “Short for Chrononaut…. A Time Traveller” he responded stepping out of the car.  He was afraid if he thought about it too long he would be overcome by how preposterous this was and he would succumb to logic and reason. He stepped out of the car and followed Ennis to the front door. Ennis rang the bell and after a moment, a near-elderly woman in a light sweater with ducks on it appeared in the doorway. “You must be some of Gordie’s friends” she said smiling. “Come on in, I’ll show you to his room.” 

Jay entered the Chrone’s room and was overcome with nostalgic sentiment. He became fully engrossed in the atmosphere and found himself unable to look away from the E.T., Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Surf Ninjas, Terminator 2: Judgement Day, Super Mario World, the Legend of Zelda, Mortal Kombat,  X-Files and Resident Evil posters that covered the walls. The Chrone was laying spread eagle in a beanbag chair in the center of the room playing NHL 95 on Super Nintendo and listening to “...And Justice For All” by Metallica. He was wearing a Smashing Pumpkins Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness T-shirt and a Misfits Crimson Ghost hat. Strewn out on the coffee table in front of the Chrone were stacks of Pokemon cards and Nintendo Power magazines. Jay sat beside Ennis on a futon that was against the wall adjacent to where the Chrone was seated. 

“Welcome dudes” the Chrone said without looking away from the television. “Hey man! Thanks for letting me stop by” Jay replied enthusiastically. “Ness said you were interested in becoming a chrononaut.” Jay had picked up and was studying a Tamagotchi that was in the attached cup holder of the futon. “That’s why I’m here… it sounds too good to be true but I’m willing to try anything.” The Chrone stood up and walked over to the stereo that was resting in the center of a bookshelf that was spilling comic books from every shelf. He turned a knob to lower the volume and then looked at Jay, “I can only speak to my own experience, but I have no reason to believe the results couldn’t be replicated if the methods are the same.” Jay put the Tamagotchi down and looked at the Chrone to try and read any potential signs that this was a goof. The Chrone met Jay’s gaze “I wasn’t asking for it, and I didn’t want it… I was just a high school senior in 2007 trying to get laid and next thing I know it’s 1996 and I’m 12 years old again.” Jay stared at the Chrone for a minute and thought to himself before quizzing “If you went all the way back to 1996 why didn’t you invest in Microsoft or invent Google or something?” 

The Chrone had told this story and had therefore answered this exact question dozens of times “I tried that kind of thing for a while. I told my parents that Apple was a surefire investment but to them I was just a kid with a sudden and fleeting interest in business and they shrugged it off. I would have loved to invent the iPod or developed Amazon.com but I didn’t have the money or resources to capitalize on what little knowledge I had retained from the future and by the time I was old enough to earn my own money the only thing I could remember was that the Patriots lost the Superbowl after their undefeated 2007 season. I told everyone I knew and I saved as much as I could but I was only able to save a couple grand. By then I had been living in an apartment with two roommates and delivering pizzas. I still had to live my life and I wasn’t positive that going back hadn’t altered the current reality I was living in. I was confident, but if I did nothing but save money and then I lost it all in a bet it would take me years to recover. You don’t realize how much of your life becomes forgettable when it’s just the same routine day to day. There were moments and events that I thought I remembered but most of the time it was no different than experiencing Deja Vu.” 

Jay sat still and looked up at the Chrone. He hesitated for a moment then asked “I get this guy to hit me, then what?” The Chrone picked up a Dragonball Z Goku action figure that was on the bookshelf “if you do what I tell you then the same thing that happened to me will happen to you.” Jay was encouraged by the confidence with which the Chrone delivered this promise. He knew the story was laughably outrageous, but as far as he was concerned, he had run out of options and this was the desperate measure brought on by the desperate times in which he was living. . 

“What if he kills me?” Ennis whispered, staring at the ground. 

“Are you afraid to die?” the Chrone asked.

“I’m a little afraid of what comes next”

“If you believe what I’m telling you you’ll get a chance to live again however you choose”

“If you’re wrong, I’ll be humiliated or dead”

“Would you give what’s left of your life to relive the best times?”

“That’s why I’m here”

“Then do as I say”

Jay flipped his notepad open and tried to focus in spite of the millions of thoughts he had racing in his head. He exhaled “Mike seems like such a sensitive guy, how do I make him mad enough to hit me?” The Chrone sat back down in his bean bag chair and leaned back “There is only one way” he paused “You have to date his ex girlfriend.” Ennis froze, staring straight ahead. This wasn’t a qualifying objective that he was expecting to hear. He hadn’t had a girlfriend since high school and struggled to remember the last time he had even been on a date. After a moment, he flipped his notebook closed and asked, his voice breaking “I’m not very good with women, what if she doesn’t like me?” 

“She’s never met a man she doesn’t like” the Chrone assured him “Swooning her will be the easy part.”  

“What’s the hard part?” he asked nervously. 

The Chrone smiled “Faking it for long enough to draw his attention.” 

Again, Jay found the Chrone’s confidence to be encouraging “That’s ridiculous, how bad can she be?” he wondered out loud. 

“She’s cursed with the face and the odor of a sewer dwelling rodent. Are you attracted to Dave Grohl?”

“Jesus… no. I mean, I like the Foo Fighters but I never got into Nirvana”

“Then this is going to be very difficult for you.”

Jay rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand “Why does he like her so much then? He’s a talented, decent looking guy.” 

“He wanted a woman which no man would desire. He understands that his jealousy is a weakness that he’s unable to control.” 

Jay paced back and forth in a daze of bewilderment “None of this makes any sense, can’t I just hit him first or break one of his guitars or something?” 

“Nothing else will inspire the rage necessary to elicit the desired response. If you want to go back, this is the only way.” 

Jay sat down and cupped his nose and his mouth with his hands. He sat still for a moment and then released another heavy sigh “How do I find her?” 

The following Friday night Jay drove to the bar that the Chrone had told him about. The Chrone had assured him that Michelle hung out there every Friday night since she and Mike had broken up in an effort to meet guys in other bands. Jay wasn’t sure who was playing, but he was hopeful that he would find Michelle inside. Before he walked in he stopped to consider how long it had been since he had approached a woman he didn’t know with the intention of asking her out. Had he ever?

Reluctantly, he walked into the building. The room he entered was narrow with an elevated stage at the end opposite the entrance. There couldn’t have been fifteen people in the bar but there was a band playing that had two keyboards next to each other on stage. He walked to the bar and scanned the room. It didn’t take him long to notice a short girl with thick dark hair in a messy bun and eyeglasses that looked like they were bought at a Golden Girls celebrity auction. She was doing a dance that looked like she was running in place while goose-stepping. She was kicking her feet out in front of herself one after the other while swaying her folding arms back and forth as if she was jogging. He had seen it before at ska shows, but there was no brass in the band on stage, in fact, she was dancing visibly faster than the rhythm of the mellow shoegaze song that was playing.

Jay stood at the bar watching this girl dance and the realization seriously struck him that if he was going to have an opportunity to begin again he would have to spend enough time with her to elicit an emotional reaction from Mike. “Maybe things aren’t so bad” he bargained “maybe I’ve been so focused on starting over that I haven’t spent enough time thinking about how to improve things for myself going forward.” He couldn’t imagine approaching this women, or speaking to her. At this point, he would be surprised if she were capable of holding a conversation. “This girl has gotta have an extra chromosome” he thought to himself. Nevertheless, he was determined to make an impression. 

He stepped in front of her and tried to match her rhythm by swaying back and forth and shuffling his feet. For the first time, he looked into her almond eyes and not ten seconds passed before she lunged forward and planted an aggressive kiss on his mouth. Their teeth collided and there was an audible clank that compelled Jay to attempt to pull away. She mirrored the movement of his head and forced her tongue into his mouth. “This isn’t so bad” he tried to convince himself as she grinded their teeth together. After 30 seconds of her gnawing and breathing into his open mouth he slowly began to tilt his face back while gently pushing her away at the waist. He stepped backwards and as they parted she took her glasses off and bit her bottom lip. “Umm” he stuttered “Do you want a drink?” She rested the tip of her glasses frames on her cheek “Vodka soda” she demanded. 

Jay trudged to the bar in a stupor. He was relieved that the first, and ultimately most important, goal in his quest was accomplished so effortlessly, but the reality of what was to come was daunting. “I already wish I never met this girl, and I don’t think she even told me her name yet.” he pondered. “You alright?” the squirrely bartender with glasses and a considerable nose asked. “I don’t know, man” Jay responded without thinking “Do you ever feel like you’re already in over your head before you even get started with something?” The bartender twisted his mouth and nodded “hmmm” he mumbled “like when you start a new video game and you have no idea how to control your character or which direction to go and you’re not sure if it’s even gonna be worth playing because there are so many other games that you already know are good?” Jay stared blankly at the bartender for a moment before responding “.... I guess?” he muttered “It’s a little like that” The bartender smirked and nodded “Then yeah, I feel that way all the time. I find it’s best to give it a chance. If by the time you know what you’re doing it still doesn’t seem worth the time and energy, try something new or revert back to the classics…. Anyway, what can I get for you?” 

Jay considered what the bartender said and tried to decipher some meaning from his stoner philosophical musing. “I’d rather just give up now then spend any more time with this girl and then realize it’s not worth it, though” he conceded. “No” he asserted to himself “I’m not going to allow myself to be so easily dissuaded, and I’m not gonna quit just because this girl is insufferable. I’m gonna make her fall in love with me and I’m gonna flaunt it all over town so that Mike gets so incensed he slugs me back to the Mesozoic era.” He looked up at the bartender “One Vodka Soda” he commanded. 

When the bartender returned with the drink, Jay collected it and then walked back to the center of the room where Michelle was dancing. “Here ya go” he said, handing her the glass. She took a small sip to taste it and then drank the rest of the glass in one gulp. Before he could say anything she smiled and handed him the glass “Vodka soda” she repeated. “Um… OK” he mumbled before turning around and making his way back to the bar. Before he could say a word the lanky bartender had two vodka sodas waiting side by side  at the edge of the bar. “This should buy you a couple more minutes” he said with a grin. “What am I getting into?” he asked the bartender, exasperated. “Well..” he said smiling “That all depends on what you’re looking for.” Jay stopped to think of the best way to explain without giving away too many details. “She seems cool” he lied “I guess I’m just looking to get to know her.” The bartender was a aghast “Why?” he asked immediately, failing to mask the look of concern and confusion on his face. Jay was puzzled and disheartened by the bartenders reaction “I don’t know” he replied “she seems fun.” The bartender threw a towel over his shoulder “I guess it depends on how desperate you are… let me know if you need anything else.”

Jay returned to MIchelle with both drinks. He handed the first one to her and again she swallowed it in one gulp. Before he could move she reached for his hand “Is this one for me too?” she asked while ripping the glass from his hand and inhaling the second vodka soda. Jay looked had her wide-eyed for a moment before she spoke again “What’s a girl gotta do to get you to buy her another drink around here?” she asked. Jay was amazed and befuddled “Dude are you serious?” he asked without thinking “Can I at least get you something you can pace yourself with?” MIchelle shrugged and pursed her lips like she was thinking “You can buy me a snack” she answered before pausing “but first…. Vodka soda.” 

Jay waited for the band to finish their set before retreating to the bar to add a fourth vodka soda to his tab. When he turned to walk back towards the stage he noticed that MIchelle was kissing one of the guitar players in the band. “Jesus, what the fuck?” he cursed out loud. The squirrely bartender snickered “I could have told you that was gonna happen… she’s got a thing for dudes in bands.” Jay shook his head “I walked away for like two minutes, to get HER a drink” he was struggling to keep his voice down. “She’s moves quick” the bartender said “she’ll be bored with him before the next band is off the stage.” Jay ignored him and walked backed toward MIchelle, who had finished kissing the guitar player and was now chewing the straw from one of her drinks while he finished packing his gear. He handed her the drink “Do you know that guy?” he asked reluctantly. “Which guy?” she replied. “The guy you were just kissing?” he asked as monotone as he could. She looked at the guitar player and then back at Jay “I thought that was you” she said assuredly. Without thinking Jay snapped back “He’s like Asian or something and he’s six inches taller than me, are you feeling alright?” he inquired feigning concern. 

“I’d feel better if I had a snack” Jay covered his eyes with his left hand. He had spent less than an hour and $40 on drinks with Michelle and he was ready to ride his fixed gear bike into the Hudson River. “What do you want?” he asked patiently. “I don’t know” she replied “but I’m well hung.” Jay had already spent enough time with Michelle to know that correcting her on the application of that phrase was a fool’s errand so instead he took her by the hand and led her outside to his car. “Where are we going?” she wondered aloud. “I’m assuming I have to decide for you” he said before starting his car. “Do you want to just go to Bombers and then I’ll drop you off back here?”  Michelle shrugged in agreement.

“Would you like to sit upstairs or downstairs?” Jay asked after he parked in front of the restaurant. Michelle pursed her lip “The bar is upstairs” she asserted. “Alright” Jay replied holding the door open for her. While Jay was waiting for a host to seat them he turned and noticed that Michelle was no longer by his side. He scanned the room for a moment before noticing her in front of the bar with her arms around a chubby guy with a skull cap and a beard. She was thrusting her waist into the back of his legs and they were both laughing. “How many?” a waitress in a black tank top and cut off jean shorts asked. Jay looked up from the ground “Just two” he replied turning to look back at Michelle who was now taking a shot in unison with the bearded guy, their arms intertwined. “Follow me” she said and Jay followed her to a booth in the corner of the room. He sat alone for a minute confused at the behavior he was witnessing first hand, but moreso why anyone would want to date this person, and uncertain about what it is about her that someone would be willing to fight for. 

While he was lost in consideration, Michelle appeared across from him “Did you order me a drink yet?” she demanded. “No, I wasn’t sure what you’d want.” Michelle tucked her head into her chest and tightened her lips, almost resembling a turtle retreating into its shell. She lifted her necklace out from under her “Propaghandi” t-shirt. Hanging from the thin rope in chipped fool’s gold letters were the words “Vodka Soda” in script lettering. “I should have guessed” he chuckled trying to hide his smile. Just then the waitress reappeared “Are you guys ready to…” “NACHOS” Michelle interrupted, hollarring. The waitress laughed nervously “and for you?” she asked, turning her gaze toward Jay. “I’ll have a tofu burrito.. And can we get a Vodka soda and a PBR draft” he requested. “I’ll be right back with that” she promised walking away as quickly as possible. 

When Jay turned again to  look back at Michelle, she was leaning toward him with her elbows on the table. As she crept closer, he was overcome by the smell of a citrus fruit left to ferment in a fast food dumpster. “What are you doing?” he asked with a tremble in his voice. “Kiss me ya bum” she demanded before puckering her lips with her eyes closed. Jay ducked her attempt and rolled out of the booth. “I’m gonna grab some napkins, and wash my hands; do you need anything?” MIchelle looked in his direction without looking at him directly and shook her head. When Jay came back from the bathroom he found their food waiting on the table but Michelle was nowhere to be found. He checked the rest of the tables in the lobby and the bar but she wasn’t there. The women’s restroom door was ajar so he knew it was unoccupied. 

He walked downstairs to find Michelle sitting in a booth with two college aged men. When he stepped into the dimly lit room he saw that she was sitting on one man’s lap and either whispering into or nibbling on his ear.  He wasn’t sure why he was still surprised but her audacity was so foreign to him. He approached the table and ignoring the men looked at MIchelle “our food is upstairs, come up whenever you’re ready” before turning away and returning to their booth. He sat by himself for a few minutes, eager to enjoy his burrito but somehow still concerned about Michelle thinking it rude if he started eating without her. After 10 minutes she appeared in the doorway and took her seat across from him, her black lipstick was smeared all around her mouth who had just eaten a chocolate ice cream cone on a roller coaster. There were visible red marks on both sides of her neck “Maybe she’s having an allergic reaction to that dudes cologne” he considered but he knew the truth was that one,each, or both at the same time, of those guys were sucking on her neck. He didn’t mind, but suddenly the panic set in that he might have to sleep with her to keep her interest or for word to get back to Mike and besides the physical act of that likely being as fun and exciting as getting a tetanus shot at your grandmother’s funeral, he didn’t doubt for a second that she might be carrying… something. He had to distract himself from these excruciating thoughts so he quickly asked “Do you work or go to school?”.

“Both” she replied while balling some cheese from the top of her plate of nachos and popping it into her mouth. “Oh cool, what do you do for work?” he was sincerely curious. “I’m a teacher.” Jay wanted to laugh but he wasn’t rude by nature and he still wasn’t positive he had sealed the deal. “Do you teach a spin class or something?” He wondered out loud, trying to mask his sarcasm. “No, I teach English as a second language in an elementary school, I’m almost done with my masters.” He stared blankly at Michelle, hoping the shock he was feeling wasn’t displayed on his face. “Do you go to the University of Phoenix or Devry or something?” he had never been more puzzled. “UAlbany” she responded, stuffing a fistfull of nachos into her mouth. He was literally speechless that this person who had kissed half of Albany and had hardly uttered a coherent sentence in the last two hours provided such a valuable and formative service to children of the community. She didn’t seem to notice that they finished their meal and he payed the bill in silence. 

“You ready?” he asked, turning to step out of the booth. “Mmhmm” she mumbled before rubbing the last bit of salsa out of her side cup and then sucking on her finger. He wondered if she was trying to be seductive but she looked like a largemouth bass with human teeth struggling to swallow a breakfast sausage. Jay put on the Casket Lottery for the drive back to the bar. “This sucks” she concluded more than once on the ten minute ride. When he parked in front of the bar on Central Ave, one of the busiest roads in the city, Michelle reached over and began loosening the belt that held his corduroy pants up. “I’m kind of full” he squeaked, attempting to slunk away from her advances. “I”m not” she declared confidently. “I really think we should wait” he could feel the sweat pooling on his face. “Mmm mmm” she hummed still toiling with his belt. “Thank God the technology of a belt buckle is so perplexing to her” he obliged. He heard the thwip of his belt come undone and he could feel his pants loosen. 

Just then, in a state of panic he slammed his forearms onto the steering wheel and the horn blasted a long continuous note. It was the most satisfying abrasive E flat he thought he would ever hear and she jumped back at once. “Sorry…. I’m just a little nervous” he fibbed. “It’s ok ya freak, just relax” she returned, attempting to pacify him. “Yer gonna love it.” He found himself involuntarily balling his fists and tightening his arms against his upper body. “I need to get the fuck out of here” he knew, but he had never  hit a woman… or anyone, and he wasn’t about to start tonight. He opened his mouth to speak but she stopped him at once “no no no no no” she mumbled gripping at the front of his pants. In a disoriented and frantic daze he absent-mindedly wrapped his upper and lower arms around her forehead and began wrenching her head back and forth. At first she tried to wiggle free “oh, you like it rough, let’s see if you can ride this bull then” she laughed. Jay ignored her and continued to placidly swing her head back and forth close to his hip in rhythm with the song that was playing. After about 30 seconds, her body became limp and she fell asleep in his lap. 

He let go of a long satisfied sigh and rested his head against the back of his seat. He was profoundly relieved but too terrified of what might happen if he fell asleep so he opened the window hoping the cool air would refresh him. Suddenly, he heard a thunderous roar like a freight train colliding with a jet engine at a nuclear bomb test site. Bewildered he scanned the street only to realize that the sound was coming from his lap. Michelle had been passed out for no longer than a minute and she was already snoring like the Krakatoa volcano eruption. The rumble of her trumpeting appalled and paralyzed him. He shook his hips and she began to sway. Lifting her head she inquired “How long was I out for?” Jay was still in a fog of slackjawed confusion “Umm about two minutes” he replied. She smiled and sat up. He had had enough MIchelle for one night, and one lifetime, so he was eager to get home and die in his sleep. “You’ve been a lot of fun” he lied “I’ll text you tomorrow.” They exchanged numbers and she stumbled out of his car. 

The next day Jay was playing destiny 2 and enjoying a Nine Pin Signature Cider from his couch when his phone lit up. He hadn't lived alone long and it had not been a welcome change but listening to records and gaming were a welcome distraction. He checked his messages to see Michelle had sent him a picture. He expected to be disgusted, but was pleasantly surprised to see it was just a screenshot of a different text conversation. The wall of text were from an “MM” and read “That Jay kid, really? I’ll fucking lay him the fuck out” “He’ll never be in a good band because he has no talent and nobody likes him.” “I really need to die. Expire. Disappear.” Jay was concerned at first and then his heart began pounding and he began laughing to himself when he realized his plan was working exponentially quicker than he had expected. Then he saw the most recent message and a chill shot up his spine.  “I need to talk to you in person or I’m going to jump of the Patroon Island bridge.” His excitement was immediately curbed when he considered the possibility that he had spent a night with Michelle for no reason. “You should go talk to him” he texted her back “he seems really upset and there’s no reason to burn bridges…. No pun intended.” She responded a moment later “I guess. I need to get my Ipod anyway.” 

Michelle arrived at Mike’s apartment and parked on the lawn. She had lived there for four years so in spite of the circumstances, she had no problem walking in unannounced and found Mike sobbing in the kitchen. “I can’t even fucking buy milk that doesn’t expire, I should soak some marb reds in a pint glass and force them down my throat.” she could hear him cursing himself from the living room. He smirked when he stepped out of the kitchen and saw Michelle lighting up his bowl on the couch. “I knew you’d come back to me when you realized you would never find someone with my creative fun qualities.” Unsolicited, he went on “Anybody who has experienced any success will just lie and deceive you… they’ll be like “I love THICC” and then fucking ghost you.” She took a long hit. “Nobody will ever appreciate you like I do or give you a life as exciting as I did. Everything you have and everybody you know that means anything is because of me.” 

“Nobody will ever come close to my worth, and my talent, and my heart” Mike went on. “You fucked up. Enjoy your boring lonely bullshit life.” Mike picked the cat up off of the coffee table and held it up to his face. “Look what you’re doing to Henri” he said, rubbing the disinterested cat against his cheek. “We could have been a family… now you’ll never have anyone. Nobody is ever going to care about you as much as I did.” Michelle had become accustomed to tuning out Mike’s rambling and was crafting a paper boat out of a sheet of looseleaf paper that he had scribbled some lyrics on. The words “I’m still alone here waiting to feel the hype we once had both being psyched and in love” were visible on the starboard side of the vessel. Mike droned on “Just leave me alone unless you want to make me happy or make me cum” he proposed. “I’m stoney baloney” she announced, placing the boat on top of an empty vase that sat at the edge of the table. 

Mike put the cat down on the couch, turned away, and pounded his fist against the door frame “I wouldn’t take you back if you begged, fuck you” he roared “you gave up GOLD… I’m Mike fucking Moak… I hate your fucking guts.” He covered his face with both hands “There’s no escaping you and this crippling sadness and pain” He turned around and noticed he was alone in the room. “Look at this caterpillar!” he heard Michelle celebrate from the front yard. “I’m gonna drive it to my house!” she announced picking the caterpillar up and stuffing it into the pocket of her jean jacket. She climbed into her Nissan Versa and backed out of the yard, waving as she turned to drive away. “Why doesn’t she understand that she’s in love with me?” Mike wondered while he watched her from the doorway. “It’s like she doesn’t realize I could replace her tomorrow if I wanted to… she’s making the biggest mistake of her hopeless life.” He walked back into the house and sat on the couch next to Henry. 

By midnight Jay realized he hadn’t heard back from Michelle. He texted her “You alive? LOL?”. She replied less than a minute later “I forgot my Ipod but I got a caterpillar.” Before he could respond a second message came through “I crushed it in my pocket trying to find my juul though so I fed it to a toad.” Jay snickered and wrote back “Maybe if you kissed him he’d turn into a prince.” Michelle wrote back “I licked it but I didn’t feel anything and it didn’t eat the caterpillar.” and then “Do you want to come to Mike’s show tomorrow night? Everybody in his band is cool except for him.” Jay face lit up when he saw that. He couldn’t believe this plan would come to fruition so rapidly but he was glowing with delight. “You bet!” he responded. “I can’t wait!” He didn’t have to wait long for her reply “Great, I’ll pick you up at 7.”

The following night Mike was on stage when Jay and Michelle entered the bar. He was tuning his guitar and talking to the drummer of his band when Jay noticed the bass player make eye contact with Michelle. “Here we go” he thought “it’s all gonna pay off soon.” Just then the bass player walked over to Mike and said something to him. Mike spun around in a flash and ripped his guitar off his shoulder, tearing the loop of the strap.He stomped off the stage in a rage “What the fuck are you doing here?” He hollarred “Didn’t I tell you I’d fucking lay you the fuck out if I saw you?” Jay’s instincts were to run, but he had invested too much time and sacrificed too much of his pride to give up now. Suddenly he was overcome with a certainty that everything he had done in his life, and especially in the two days, had led him to this moment. “This is my manifest destiny” he thought to himself “I’ll never have to go to work, or wonder what went wrong, or kiss MIchelle again after tonight.”   He planted his feet and braced himself for a confrontation. “You trying to steal my 80-85?” Mike squealed. 

Jay tensed his upper body and with his newfound hardened will he held his ground “She’s my 80-85 now, motherfucker” wrapping his right arm around Michelle’s waist. Mike balled his fists and shuffled toward Jay. “I’m gonna knock you into last week” he threatened. “That’s not far enough you weeble-shaped invalid” Jay rebutted without thinking. Mike ignored the comment and stood nearly nose to nose with Jay. He exhaled, and Mike could smell onions and discount vodka on Jay’s breathe. This intense olfactory reminder of Michelle was enough to send him into a state of psychosis rage and in an instant he grit his teeth and pulled a punch with his right arm while grabbing Jay’s collar with his left. Jay’s instinct was to duck, but he knew that this moment was the culmination of everything he had endured. He flinched and turned his head slightly to the right wincing just as Mike’s closed fist connected with the left side of his face. 

Jay woke to the rumbling thunder of a passing train. He opened his eyes and lifted his head off the pillow to scan his surroundings. There were cd’s stacked on a desk by a computer and records in old milk crates on the floor. He rolled off the bed and walked to the window. Across the street he could see the Menands Little League Baseball field. He smiled and nodded before he paused and let go of a long slow sigh of relief. From outside his room he could hear voice, although it was too faint to decipher what was being said or who was speaking. He stepped over a collection of “A Song of Ice and Fire” books and pushed aside a hockey stick that was resting against the bedroom door. The voice grew louder as he stepped out of the room and into the hall. He walked passed a bathroom and a set of stairs and pressed his ear against the door from where the voice was coming. A tear came to his eye when he was certain recognized who was speaking. He waited for a moment and then knocked softly. From inside the room he heard Pat say “Hold on mom... JG is at my door.” 

Epilogue:

Mike sat on the couch in his empty apartment. He lifted his Gibson SG guitar off his lap and set it against the opposite armrest on the springs of the couch where a cushion was missing. He got up and walked down into the basement. He looked at the drum kit that was set up in the corner, a collection of guitar amplifiers, monitors, and speakers stood idle on both sides. “Nobody with my talent will ever use any of this stuff again.” he assured himself. “I might as well set this place on fire so nobody can taint the legacy I’m leaving behind here”. “No” he stopped himself “This place will be a historic site someday… a tribute to the monolithic phenomenon that I was and the heart and talent and greatness I left in my wake” He walked back up the stairs and closed the door behind him. 

He walked to Everett road and then down the exit ramp to Interstate 90 East. He stayed on the right shoulder, pausing every couple of minutes to catch his breath. “I should really work on my cardio” he admitted “not that it matters now.” When he got to the bridge that overlooked NY route 787 and ran parallel to the Hudson River he felt nervous for the first time. “Am I really gonna do this to all my fans” he wondered. “They’ll never find another recording artist that produces as much flawless content that’s as meaningful to them.” He looked over the three lane highway that was hundreds of feet below him. “This world doesn’t deserve me” he repeated to himself. “I’m too talented… and creative….and passionate. What a waste.” He stepped over the guardrail, reaching behind his elliptical body to grip it with both hands. “So many fucking posers in this town. Nobody would even be able to find Albany on a map if I didn’t live here.” He let go of the rail with one hand. “Doesn’t matter now… this whole fucking city might as well collapse into the Hudson River.” He leaned forward. “Later Dickheads” he said out loud. He let go. 

Michelle parked in front of her building and shut the engine down. She collected her jacket and purse from the passenger seat before stepping out of the car and making her way toward the entrance. She opened her purse to remove her keys and when she looked up she saw a small crate to the right of the front door. As she stepped closer, she saw that a cat was sitting on a couch cushion inside the crate. It mewed as she approached. When she got close enough to recognize him, she saw that a note was taped to the front of the cage over the latch with her name on it. 

She unfolded the note and read it to herself. “Henri has a vet appointment on Monday, please take care of him.” Taped to the bottom of the note was a card with the vet’s address and the appointment time and date. She put the card in her pocket and crumbled up the note before throwing it into the shrubs outside her building. She lifted the cage and carried Henri through the front door and into her apartment. She unhinged the latch and left the gate open so Henri could come out when he was ready. She paused as she poured a can of club soda into a half empty 200ml bottle of vodka.  “Who am I gonna buy cocaine from now?” she wondered. 

[jessamygriffin]

The Legend

Dear @youcantdothatpod

Hello, Hockey Coven, it is I, one of the two responsible for the Pierre-Édouard Bellemare DreamBoat Manifesto of old, penning this under my normal Tumblr journal instead of the hockey one for no good reason, and I come to you, with respect, and with full knowledge of certain coven members love of Russian players (though this one is not a Siberian) to ask for either a history lesson or dream boat nomination for my guy - for having an interesting life, to say the least. He is my favorite Russian player. Yes, possibly even over Ovi. 

And yet he never made the NHL.

Oh. My. GOD. some listeners must be thinking at this point. Why even BOTHER with this guy??? he’s not in the fucking NHL!

(And can I just say, in this case, we must never be the Bettmans of the hockey world, who was bloated with hubris thinking to bring hockey like a Messiah to the unenlightened Asian continent a few years back [ha ha fuck off, they’ve had hockey here as long as the NHL has existed? I live in Japan btw] and we must not think that the NHL is the end-all-be-all of hockey aspiration. It wasn’t. It isn’t. Times were different. There wasn’t even a KHL at the time our story begins.)

I bring him to your attention because he is THE BEST.

His story begins in the Siberian IHL, passing a pretty tough try-out as a kid to start playing for the Red Army team, CSKA Moscow.

I feel like I ought not throw in all his info here? Maybe just a few highlights? And some comments. Ok who am I kidding it will get long.

Here: Vladislav Tretiak.

Vladislav Aleksandrovich Tretiak, goalie, current president of the IIHFR.

He won a lot of shit. I’ll just link the Wiki here - it’s a list.

He looks kinda like Spock, but in the best red-blooded ways, not that I would ever judge anyone for wanting to get freaky with a green-blooded half-alien. His goalie training looks a lot like cossack dance.

(MUTE THIS VIDEO THO)

There’s some other worse quality vids of him doing similar and playing with his son, so. There’s that. Skip ahead to the tennis ball part.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qrfOsCVakvs

He started hockey kinda late, at age 11.

And Canadian hockeys LOVED him. *See below pic of jersey swap with Wayne Gretzky for proof.

Really, you gasp. Say it ain’t so! Impossible!!!

Truth.

How did the so-called hockey world (which of course was based in NA according to old boring hockey men) discover this Dumbo-eared wunderkind? The 1972 Summit Series.

(Yes, he grew his hair out and covered the mudflaps, and it was MUCH BETTER, sorry Vladdy.)

‘Ho hum,’ said the Canadians, ‘Russia thinks they are good at hockey, how ‘bout we have the Summit Series and quash their pretensions? That gold medal in Sapporo? a FLUKE. Ha ha, look at their goalie, this will be a cakewalk, he let in EIGHT GOALS in this game we just saw, oh well, let’s go have a beer and light up a dart, eh, boys? Eight games, pfft. We’ll sweep them.’

Joke was on them - Vladdy or Vladik was gettiing married the next day and weirdly? Couldn’t concentrate.

Summit Series ended up with one tie, 3 Russian wins and 4 Canadian, with the Canadians playing their dirty rough style, and the Russians their smooth, machine-cog style. That series was a gongshow of biased refereeing, Russian goal judges not turning on goals lights, and teams leaving the bench to have Canadian or Russian tantrums. Actual ankle-breaking occured.

Canadians had two goalies. Russian had one. He was 20. My boy. He KILLED it. And to say the Canadians were pretty horned about about this alien cheekboned man-child after expected a blow-out? MASSIVE understatement, HUGELY horny. As they should have been. Ken Dryden LOVED him. Jacques Plante himself, maybe feeling sorry for the kid, came and talked to him before the tournament started and let him know how different players would try to score. ‘A big help,’ Vladdy said. ‘I don’t know why he did that.’  LOTS of players were in awe. Canada was turned upside, Toronto became Tijuana and nothing was ever the same. The Interest in Russian Players was, officially, a Thing. (Kharlamov was a big part of the interest but that’s a whole ‘nother story.)

The horniness was, in fact, so uncontainable that several NHL teams expressed an interest, and one team was bold enough to draft him in 1983, when he was the ripe age of 31, which at the time was not TOTALLY hockey-old for goalies and players like it is now. Yes, the Habs. Consider that 3 years later rookie Patrick Roy backstopped the Canadiens to several Stanley Cups, and imagine what they could have been even earlier, with Tretiak. HOooooO.  Serge Savard hit up Moscow four times during the winter of ‘84 to try and secure his release.

Russian wouldn’t let him go, of course. Tretiak was a only lieutenant-colonel in the Soviet army, and not playing the high level hockey he had previously, and thusly COULD be replaced in the system. Soviet officials ultimately vetoed a transfer. “Oooh his dad was a major, how can we let this son of a distinguished man go and play HOCKEY, it’s a disGRACE!” Or at least that’s what we were told. Okay, Jan.

He quit playing at age 32. Thirty fucking two!!!  He’d done his 4th Olympics in a row by this point in 1984, and had the honour of carrying the flag for his nation, though he said it was probably because no one else had done 4 Olympics in a row. He wanted to spend more time with his family, and asked Tikhonov, coach of the national team and CSKA to let him have, ya know. Quality family time. (You’ll remember this douche from previous Russia Hockey Stories.) Tikhonov said, no, you live at the compound like everyone else for 11 months of the year. Ah ha ha.

Roll back a few years, for a grudge. Tretiak, if you’ll recall from the Miracle on Ice, was pulled from the game against the Americans by ol’ Tikky after letting in ONE (1) goal in the first period. All the Russians knew, but would never say until much much later, what a massive mistake that was - and you know the Miracle story anyway. Tretiak said himself it was a mistake, and he wouldn’t have lost the game. 

So, all things considered, in spite of having loads of playing life left in those kicky legs, Tretiak noped out and retired, for the reason of  being denied time with his family. And not getting to go abroad to play, which was probably a bitter pill and so quitting while he was still useful was a good Fuck You to the officials who used him up like a tissue playing hockey for his team and country. And of course, he was exhausted. At age 32.  "I'd played fifteen years with the Army Club and the National Team without a break. Backup goalies came and went, as did three generations of forwards and defensemen, but through four Olympic Games, all the important ones with the professionals, all the World Championships, all the Izvestia tournaments, it was I who played in the net."

Frankly, he should have just defected like others did later. Sent his family to watch him in a tournament and done a Sound-of-Music-esque Von Tretiak escape out the Zamboni exit, over the mountains and far away.

He would have been the first if he had. One of the most famous players in Russia, leaving for a career in the corrupt West. I’m glad he at least thought about it a little, even if it never happened. God, that would have been great. I’m glad that the NHL were able to pull their xenophobic heads from their asses enough to know greatness, and to want that brilliance shining on their teams.

But really, in the end, the man done him dirty. “In spite of aggressive discussions with Soviet authorities, Canadiens' general manager Serge Savard was unable to secure Tretiak's release for Montreal. "I would have loved to play in the Forum," Tretiak admits. "I was hoping to one day play in the NHL. I would have liked to do it even for just one season. Unfortunately, it didn't work out that way. I regret not having the chance."��“

Still, the NHL and hockey in NA didn’t forget him. There were laurels left to be given.

He was the first Russian to be inducted into the HHoF, and the first to be entered without ever having played in the NHL.

Was he done with hockey? Heck no. Remember when I said Canadians loved him? It may have been mentioned a time or five.

In 1988, hockey royalty got married - Wayne Gretzky and Janet Jones. Befitting royalty, her dress cost $40,000, and gifts filled three rooms of the hotel. Notably, amongst them was a gold swan from a certain Soviet goalie Vladislav Tretiak. Why??? Swans are good luck, said Vladdy. They mate for life. And lo, the couple is still together.

In 1990, Mike Keenan hired him to be a goalie coach for the Blackhawks, and was (again) so turned on by his mastery that he suggested the 38 year could still play in the NHL? Vladik laughed and said no, but coaching was the next best thing. He worked with the best - Belfour, Hasek, Thibault, and you’ll be shocked that loads of tendies wear his #20 in tribute. He runs - or ran? website not updated in a while - the most challenging goalie school in NA in Toronto in summers.

He worked with the ‘Hawks until 2007, and then went on to be a pillar in Russian hockey leadership. Coach. Etc.

He wrote a book, which was really what got me into Russian hockey - it was wild to me at the time when I read it in high school some (Cough cough) years ago, so alien. But it’s chock full of the stories you love. His first coach Tarasov, wanted him because he was ‘tall’ (6′ is tall in Russia???) and had ‘huge hands’ and reminded him of Jacques Plante. The book’s pretty frank about hockey history and the role ‘Miracle on Ice’ played into a kind of American propaganda, which is refreshing. He was politely horrified by seeing Canadian players smoking. His training was bonkers, and included tree-climbing at speed. The Russian team was always trying new stuff, and one time decided on sports psychology, which a teammate helpfully volunteered Vladik for, ‘He’s the most important player, he’s the last defence, work with him!’ (since no one else wanted to). The positive thinking mantras seemed to work as at the next practice they were amazed by his clean play and kicks. But lol, no, next game he got blown out, and was probably glad to send the sports shrink on the way.

And he was crushed  when his teammate, Valeri Kharlamov, with whom he played so long, died at the young age of 33 in a car accident. But Kharlamov is a guy for another section of Hockey Histories.

So. This dream boat.

Ok. I know y’all prefer a defection story, and I think some listeners also? But. Here’s the thing. It’s sexy and romantic but also traumatic as fuck to ditch your country, your life in that political climate, to play the game. And dangerous,  shit man. 1983. U.S.S.R.!!! People still got disappeared! It was fine to treat players like garbage and lock them up for months in a compound and not let them see family! And I sometimes get the feeling that people consider the NHL the pinnacle, like, what a fool is Tretiak? who wouldn’t throw away everything to play NHL hockey? But that’s like, Bettman thinking, that the NHL is the best and perfect when we all know it’s fucking garbage, I know the current KHL has issues, SO MANY it would be a three hour podcast to talk about! So there’s no high ground, really. And in the end, Vladislav Tretiak made a choice that did good by himself, going on to a successful post-hockey career and the upper echelons of Russian hockey, and did well by his family, and of course, being patriotic is sexy, as anyone screeching at their team during the current World Cup of hockey knows. It’s okay that he stayed there. It’s fucking sexy NOT to defect, sometimes. Dude was a champion either way, his life is not a tragedy or lesser for not having played in the NHL and I really want people to know that. 

"For me, it was all, and all of it is with me forever."

Yes, there is life and hockey beyond the NHL. 

And it’s beautiful.

[papipopsicle]

RENEGADE PART TWO

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Henderson!Reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: In which the best friend of his enemy turns out to be the only person who can break the heart of Hawkins new resident bad-boy.

Warnings: swearing

Song: Paradise City by Guns N Roses

a/n: It's been sooooo long but yayy I hope you all enjoy this!!!

Words: 3K

PART ONE

feedback is always appreciated

The following day had been her second encounter with the mysterious boy, although this one was planned to the T by Y/N. But before her fun could begin, she had to pick up two teenagers from the arcade.

"...so we went to check Dig Dug, and guess whose now number one?!" Dustin's strident voice ricocheted around the car and Y/N chuckled at her brother's annoyance. Not even Lucas could beat him on Dig Dug.

"Hmm," She pretended to think for a moment, turning into Maple Street from one empty road to another, "Madmax?"

Mike scoffed from the backseat and turned to look out the window as his friend started ranting again, "Yes! By ten thousand points, how does that even happen? Want to know the worst part?"

"Sure." Y/N hummed, pulling into the Wheeler's driveway and lifting the child lock so Mike could get out. She turned in her seat enough to send the boy a kind smile, "See you tomorrow, Mikey."

The young boy said goodbye to the siblings and they watched him enter the house before finally pulling off the driveway and heading home. Dustin perked up again and grumbled, remembering the events from the arcade, "So we asked Keith if he knew who Madmax was, and he wanted a date with you or Nancy in return for spilling."

Y/N gagged at the thought, not because of Keith's looks, but because she'd caught him staring at her ass and breasts on multiple occasions, "That's fucking gross."

"I know, who in their right mind would want to date you."

Billy's day had gone by in a flash. Getting up late, being shouted at by his dad, taking Max to the arcade, driving in circles, taking Max home, being shouted at by his dad, lifting weights, and getting ready for his 'date' with the perplexing girl he met last night.

She was a hurricane, an earthquake to every thought he'd had about Hawkins since he arrived all those forty eight hours ago. Although it was no match for his in his own mind, her car was still pretty bitching. But that made him feel conflicted; surely a girl as confident as this one who wore outlandish outfits in fall would have been quite high up on the food chain at school. It didn't usually matter to him, if anything laying a popular girl was a sure way to get in with the in-crowd.

But, hey, she was the one to invite him out on a date, surely she wanted it.

So, the Hargrove boy dressed in his favourite pair of dark-wash jeans, a burgundy button up with the majority of the buttons left undone, and of course his black leather jacket. He spent a little too long perfecting his hair and spraying copious amounts of aftershave absolutely everywhere.

After checking himself out and being positive he looked his best, Billy sat back on his bed with a loud squeak escaping a few springs. He closed his eyes for a moment, fully relaxing for the first time since his twisted family ambushed the small town of Hawkins. It'd been less than two days since they'd moved here and he hated nearly every single thing about it already. It was eight PM exactly, now Billy didn't want to be on time for his date, but he didn't want to get there for her to have already gone either. It was his rule, leave the house at the time you're supposed to get there for.

The boy took one last look in his smudged mirror, adjusting his collar and hair a couple of times before finally trudging out of his room.

"I'm going out." He yelled halfheartedly, jingling his keys while he waited for a response. But when none came, he huffed gruffly and left without anymore said. Times like these were blessings to have a family who didn't give a shit.

It took him another ten minutes of randomly driving about to find 'The Hawk', which appeared to be a brand new movie theatre. The car park was near empty on this cool evening, a few scattered cars here and there, but his attention immediately darting to the ruby Mustang in the spot closest to the entrance, a dim street lamp casting its shadow in the space next to it. He parked perfectly in that space, checking his hair one last time before leaving the safety the vehicle brought him to enter the unknown building.

The brunette clearly noticed him before he had the chance, breathtaking smile switching to a smirk as she spoke up with a glint in her eye, "I was starting to think you wouldn't turn up."

He stood dumbfounded for a moment, zoning in on her figure behind the counter from across the room. It wasn't the sight he expected to see; maybe her head stuck in a magazine while she waited, but not serving popcorn to a couple about to see The Terminator. Flames heated his cheeks in that moment and his broad chest pounded, wondering whether he'd misread her signals all along.

Clearly Y/N noticed this dismay as she let out an obnoxiously loud chuckle in the now empty foyer area, "Don't give me that look." The girl shook her head and he began approaching the desk rather warily, "Chin up, pretty boy, I get off in twenty minutes. Unless, you want to fix the soda machine for me?"

"Pretty boy?" Billy scoffed at the nickname, not knowing whether to be offended or flattered. Leaning against the counter, he raised an eyebrow at her which she chose to ignore.

The boy admired her attire, a black pencil skirt and a navy short sleeved blouse with a silver name badge stating 'Y/N'. He noticed a couple buttons were undone, not revealing too much skin but allowing her neck some air. Her y/h/c locks were pulled into a neat pony tail, only a few escaped strands framing her face. A number of studs and rings were now proudly glinting on her ears that he hadn't noticed the night before, but her face was bare, maybe a little mascara.

"You're nice to look at, and you're male, what's tripping you up?" She pouted before quickly smiling and winking as she began wiping down the counter, "Want anything? It's on the house."

"Wouldn't you get fired for that?" He didn't really know why he questioned the idea of free food, but for some reason the thought of this sweet girl, who could rival his banter no less, getting in trouble for him made him second guess it.

"The owner grew up with my dad, he loves me." She smiled up at him fondly, eyes fixated on his and not wandering down his chest no matter how much restraint it took. Something changed in Billy's expression at the mere mention of father figures, he wasn't jealous, more confused by his own emotions as this girl clearly had a good relationship with her father. What confused him was knowing that made him a mix of glad and happy, she deserved good parents in his mind. Y/N scooped out a large bucket of popcorn and placed it on the counter between them, "That was the last showing for tonight, Tim's shift starts in half an hour so I've got to empty the till, but by all means eat away."

The boy nodded and remained silent, every so often reaching for a handful of sweet popcorn as his eyes stayed fixed on her actions. She divided the cash and put them in small clear wallets, "I'll be back in a second."

Y/N disappeared but was back just as quickly, now with a black handbag thrown over her shoulder. "Let's bounce." She muttered playfully, a smirk cheekily finding its way to her lips as she held her hand out expectantly. She kept walking towards the large doors, making a grabbing motion with the hand now behind her; she began to lower her hand, but a moment later a warm, larger hand filled the gaps between her fingers.

The eldest Henderson seemed like the typical cold bad girl to her peers, but she craved small actions like holding hands or an arm around her shoulder. Feeling his skin against her own was different. It was rough and calloused, unlike Steve's softer hands, but his movements were slow and tentative. Y/N tilted her head down as he walked by her side, hiding the grin threatening to fill her face.

It only lasted a few seconds, but Billy made his mind up within the very first one. He really didn't want to fuck this girl over.

As the two approached their respective muscle cars, Y/N turned to him expectantly, "Wrong side, big guy, you're riding shotgun."

He knitted his brows together, expression harsh on his handsome features, "What?"

She scoffed and turned to face him fully, rummaging around in her bag until a small metal object found her hand and she pulled out her car keys.

"You could be a serial killer for all I know." Y/N joked playfully but watched as his expression dipped into one of sadness, and her voice softened with sincerity, "Jeez, I'm only messin'. My dad and I were in a car accident when I was little, as soon as I got my lisence I realised I never wanted to be a passenger again. I hated the idea of it happening again and having absolutely no control."

Without another word, the y/h/c girl sent him a small smile and got into the drivers seat. Billy silently followed suit, easily placing too much trust in Y/N without so much as knowing her name. A Queen cassette played lowly in the background and the boy began drumming his fingers against the centre console to the beat.

"Were you two okay? After the crash, I mean." Billy tried his hardest to sound genuinely interested and concerned, not wanting the fierce girl driving next to him to have even one bad thought about him. He couldn't even tell himself why though, not giving a damn what anyone thought about him because they meant nothing to him. All he knew was that he wanted her to like him for who he really was, not who he planned on letting Hawkins see him as.

"Yeah," Y/N muttered and kept her eyes on the street as she pulled down a more secluded road, "yeah we were fine. Broke my arm and had a bit of a concussion from the airbag but nothing in comparison to the other guy."

Was she a bad person for thinking he got what he deserved after finding out the car was stolen and he was under the influence of alcohol?

Y/N must have been in her head a while because the next time she heard the boy's voice, he was muttering out in astonishment 'wow' as she pulled up to the edge of a forest clearing. The y/h/c girl cleared her throat and cut the engine, resting back in her seat for a moment.

"This is my happy place." She confessed, ready to be ridiculed by the handsome stranger for sounding so silly. He didn't though, he watched her gaze skim across the waters edge, eyes glinting with a certain freedom that couldn't be found back home for either of them. Billy took in the small upward curve in her lips, dimples pronouncing at the slightest smile.

It was simple and silent, and made him realise this was completely new. She looked a lot more innocent than yesterday, and Billy became disgusted with himself, wanting to get to know her instead of the usual 'pump and dump'. Who the fuck was he?

Without waiting for his response, Y/N left the car and sat against the base of a large oak tree close to the lake. Footsteps soon followed and the mullet boy sat down beside her. She looked out of place in her work clothes, but still fit perfectly under the tree. She sighed, taking a risk and leaning against the boys lean shoulder. He froze. Billy didn't know how to act, he wasn't getting drunk at a beach party about to go skinny dipping.

Y/N noticed his hesitance, "Put your arm around me." Her honeyed voice felt small at the boarder of the woodlands, and the boy found it difficult not to wrap his arm around her in a heartbeat. So he did, and she scooted closer like this was the easiest thing for her.

It wasn't. Steve had made sure of that for the last few years. He'd scared off half of the basketball team at this point, terrified that they just wanted her because she's his best friend, or even worse, that they actually liked her. Total double standards, Y/N argued after finding out what he'd been doing, but then he brought up Hayden and she ran off. Low blow.

"Is this what you do, then? Work, school, and sitting here contemplating life?" Billy spoke up after a while, finding himself stuck in his head. This girl was nobody to him, just somebody with good taste in music. He wasn't friends with her, he didn't even know her name. But for the same reason, he felt drawn to her. A small red ribbon attached the two when he pulled up to his new house last night, she looked exhausted when she thought he couldn't see, but was all smiles the second he spoke.

He wanted to know what kept her awake at night, the name of her first crush, if she'd ever been in a fist fight. The ribbon was invisible, but he felt it clear as day.

Y/N smiled at his brash voice, seeing his militant tone as a defence mechanism. She was always good at reading people. Waiting for a response, Billy felt her shift against him and found her looking up at the leaves of the tree above, stars speckled about the sky through the gaps, "I'm my little brother's personal taxi, he has more of a life than me, I swear. There's not exactly much to do except contemplate our existence here, if you haven't already noticed. But, hey, at least the house parties are fun."

He gasped, "You hicks know what fun is?" She shoved him playfully at the insult and glared up at him for a few seconds before turning back to the sky.

Y/N elbowed subtly elbowed him to the ribs, smiling in satisfaction as he let out a strained yelp, "Asshole, you may have beaches and sun and athleticism back in California, but you haven't lived unless you've been to one of Tina's house parties. Her parents split up a few years back and her mom got this awesome house in the divorce, and she just lets Tina ruin it every other weekend."

It was quiet for a while after that. Neither of them counted the time that passed by, each moment just a couple of breaths leaving their lips. Y/N decided to leave out various details, like the monsters and her father, not wanting the boy to understand her just yet.

Her mind was screaming he could be a predator or serial killer for all she knew, but she pushed that unwanted comment aside because right now was far too comfortable to ruin.

"What's your life like, pretty boy?" She asked quietly breaking the silence with ease. Her eyes were shut now, her torso leaning more into his without realising it as the air cooled around them. She knew what Cassidy had told her, but Y/N wanted to know him truly, no biases, not what other people said about him.

Should he lie? Spare the gory details of the last nineteen months?

Billy shrugged passively and turned his glazed over gaze to the lake, away from the girl's serene expression, "Average. Dad's a prick, Susan's his perfect housewife and Max is their perfect child. I don't have a place in that family, and Neil resents me 'cause legally I can't leave until I'm eighteen."

The girl had enough brains to fill in the gaps, and instead of trying to console him with words, she simply hooked her fingers through his and gave them a small squeeze. They could act all tough in front of other people, but when it came down to it, the raw memories that stained and scarred their minds, they were both secretly broken.

Billy coughed and shrugged again, "We should probably get home soon, wouldn't want your dad getting mad." He chuckled humourlessly, hoping to lift some of the tension in the air.

Y/N nodded desolately, masking the sadness in her eyes with a look of pure happiness, enough to fool Little Miss Sunshine herself. She twisted under Billy's heavy arm and faced him with the expression. He knew what came next, watching her eyes closely burn a trail up and down from his own to his lips.

The two began leaning in, like someone was pulling the ribbon tighter between them. But Y/N turned her head at the last second and instead wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, "I'm sorry if tonight wasn't what you were expe-"

Billy chuckled lightly cutting her off, his own arms having a mind of their own as they wrapped protectively around her back, "It was great, Peach, I'm not really a dinner date kinda person, you know?"

The girl pulled back enough to fully look at him with her smile, the one that made Billy want to kiss her right then and there. He didn't though, because her small giggle stopped his thoughts like a red light, "Me neither."

PART THREE

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Cricket legends who played in the Indian Premier League

“It’s only a few people, administrators and umpires, who had some doubt,” Murali recalls about the controversy over his bowling action. “That is their opinion,  but someone’s opinion can’t be the rule. Doubt is part of life, that’s fair enough. But there are two sides to every story. An Australian university proved me right, in the end.

“If you leave the decision to the umpire, though, I don’t think that is fair. Not on the umpire and defi nitely not on the player. How can you see from the eyes and say that this is not right? Two people might see it diff erently. When you’re bowling, your arms rotate quicker than anything and you can’t see properly. So use the technology, see if what you’re saying is right, and then come to a conclusion. And then you can tell the bowler to change their action. These rules have been brought in aft er my incident, so things are done in diff erent ways. Now a bowler has a fair chance.

Cricket boards get millions from TV rights, the ICC pay you a lot. And who wants to take that money? Not the cricketers. Everything is politicised. In the 1990s, nobody wants to come to develop the game, so honest people do the work. Aft er the World Cup win in 1996, money started coming in by 2000, and in ten years’ time, they spoil all the game.

“We have good youngsters, but confi dence levels are going down. We used to be very confi dent. The most important thing is to get them mentally right. They have all the shots, but they don’t know how to make fi ft y, hundred or even a partnership. Those are the things that are lacking in the national side.” Since retirement, Murali has gone into manufacturing – his father made biscuits, while he has gone into aluminium cans. He’s also heavily involved with former manager Kushil Gunasekera’s charity, Foundation of Goodness. “The foundation helps people in the poorer areas, those parts of Sri Lanka aff ected by the Civil War and the 2004 Tsunami. We also have built sports facilities and helped run sports tournaments. “I was fortunate to play cricket, to play for Sri Lanka. When I had my troubles in Australia in 1995, the Sri Lankan people stood by me, supported me during those diffi cult years, where I worked hard to prove myself innocent of the charges. The people of Sri Lanka helped me a great deal and I thought then that I would do something to help them, too.

“I was actually there when the tsunami hit southern Sri Lanka in 2004. I was visiting a village near the coast with my wife and mother-in-law, delivering books for school children. We saw the sea was high in the distance, but suddenly people were running towards us. They didn’t know anything about tsunami, so when we asked them what was happening, they just said ‘the sea has come to land’. We ran away quickly. If we’d been 20 minutes later, the tsunami would have got us.”

Bringing up bats in the IPL

The development of young Australian cricketers hasn’t been quarantined from a fast-changing world. The difference from the system in the 1950s is dramatic but in recent years it’s occurred at a much quicker pace. The last exceptional Australian side began to disband when Shane Warne and Glenn McGrath retired in 2007. The first World T20 event was held later that year and up until then the development system for young Australian cricketers was evolving gradually. With the widespread growth of T20 leagues, the players now have an extra choice when it comes to earning a living and this also means having to choose a development direction from a more cluttered path. A young player now comes through a system that includes many structured net sessions, hours facing bowling machines or a coach wielding a “whanger”. All these sessions are closely monitored by a coach who has various technology aids to emphasise his point.

The system I grew up in had few structured net sessions and many hours of playing matches, whether they were in the backyard against my brother or at one of the many venues where pick-up games were available. There were no bowling machines, unless you count the thousands of balls thrown by our father, Martin. There were no whangers – we didn’t throw balls to the dog, we hit them and Champ gleefully chased them, diligently returning the missile – saliva and all – to his master.

The hours of playing matches were crucial in the development process. Without knowing it at the time, all sorts of information was being embedded in my brain which stood me in good stead when I later faced first-class and international bowlers. The coaching was at the weekend and it was from an excellent tutor in Lynn Fuller. This experience has led me to the conclusion that it is best to have good coaching, or none at all. Not having formal coaching allows a young cricketer to spend hours honing his skills and better understanding his own game. The careers of great players such as Sir Donald Bradman, Bill O’Reilly and Doug Walters all began in the bush where they unearthed their own particular way of developing skills.

As the modern young cricketer progresses, he reaches the stage of playing various level under-age matches and attending an academy. My academy was the backyard and the local playing fields. Soon after playing in my only under-age competition – an under 14 state carnival – I entered the realm of senior cricket, competing against men. This was a critical part of my development and it undoubtedly hastened my cricket education. On leaving school, I graduated to A-grade cricket in Adelaide where I competed with and against Test and interstate cricketers.

When Dennis Lillee walked into the Kingston Hotel in October of 1995, it was as if Dennis Lillee himself had walked into the Kingston Hotel. It was, for a Canberra kid, flat-out unbelievable. Dennis Lillee! In the Kingo! Our local! Even 26 years old and six schooners deep, I was the fan kid in Almost Famous when he clocks David Bowie. Lillee! It’s Dennis Lillee! My mate Pagey didn’t care. He bounded straight over. “Oi! Dennis Lillee!” declared Pagey and began yapping away like they were pals. And DK laughed at some bit of nonsense, and at the front of the bloke, and soon enough I was over there, in the great man’s orbit, shaking hands, unable to speak.

And he smiled that lop-sided Dennis Lillee smile, the one you’d seen on the beer ads, and said, “How are ya, son?” And I smiled back like a shy kid with Santa, and said nothing lest it come out a squeak. Mike Veletta was there too, laughing along with Pagey’s babble. Lillee’s fellow man of the west was in town to captain-coach the ACT Comets, the local boys playing their first season in the domestic one-day comp, the Mercantile Mutual Cup. Veletta was 31 and had played Tests and ODIs for Australia, and would’ve been a big enough deal for we cricket-mad locals. Turn up with Dennis Lillee and he was Mick Jagger’s wingman. Safe to say we didn’t get a lot of cricket in Canberra. Not the top stuff, anyway. We  did get the Prime Minister’s XI; Robert Menzies’ muse brought back to life by Bob Hawke because he knew Australians as John Singleton knew Australians. Singo knew what sold Winfield Blues and Tooheys Draught, and Hawkey knew what sold Hawkey. And in those days, as Kerry Packer would have attested with a vengeance, cricket sold. And those PM’s XI fixtures, for cricketstarved Canberrans, were magnificent.

The first one was against the mighty West Indies side of 1984. Viv Richards, Clive Lloyd, big Joel Garner, and all the rest of those ridiculous humans with their long limbs and languid moves, and other-worldly skill – they were so unbelievably cool. Their visit energised the town; the match was sold out. Three thousand people snuck in under the fence. Manuka Oval heaved. It was ridiculous: January day; hotter than hell. Man, it was good. Desmond Haynes fielded just in front of us, on the fence backward of square. He was our guy, diving around, smiling his head off. And every time he came back from some bit of adventure we’d cheer, “Dessie! You beauty!” And he’d laugh and wave, into it. It was so cool.

Kids were mad for those West Indians. For the Aussie team, too. A mate of a mate, Coyley, played locally for Easts and wore his cricket kit to the game: woolly jumper, thick white socks, Greg Chappell hat. And he stood outside the Australian team's dressing shed signing autographs. Quizzical kids lined up. Years later, a younger mate dug out his toy bat with all the autographs, and there between “Michael Holding” and “Greg Ritchie” was “Peter Coyle”. Out in the middle, another relatively anonymous cricketer, a squat Tasmanian called David Boon, was whacking big Joel down the ground on the way to 134. And in a summer in which the Windies’ quicks were more four-pronged killer attack squad than men, we bayed for this boy Boonie, and for the PM’s boys, and for Hawkey who’d made it happen. The great man took a walk inside the perimeter, lapping it up, a rubbery figure come to life, shamelessly in love with himself.

And we loved him for it. And Hawkey knew it. ScoMo? There can be only one. In 1990 came England, and mates and I had a gig selling ice creams at the PM’s XI. We worked out you could wedge a six-pack of VB in amongst the dry ice, and we’d sit there, watching cricket, selling Cornettos and sucking on VB stubbies. Now and again you’d chant “Ice cream!” and down they’d come, the people. And I got half-pissed watching Allan Border belt the Poms around Manuka. At stumps, I was paid 150 bucks cash. Still the greatest job I’ve ever had. Another was operating Manuka’s Jack Fingleton scoreboard. They’d brought it up from the MCG, plank by plank, this great, hulking old banger, heritage-listed. And mates and I would sit inside it, shirtless, sweating up a treat, drinking tinnies, watching cricket.

One day saw a young Michael Bevan belt a ton against Wayne “Cracker” Holdsworth, bowling heat for NSW seconds. Cracker was short, skiddy and rapid. He was Malcolm Marshall without the guile. And without the Malcolm Marshall. But he bolted in and let rip, Cracker. And he was quick. At least he was this day, bouncing Bevan and the Canberra boys. In the same match, Marty Haywood who’d taken plenty of Cracker because, truth be told, Bevo didn’t much fancy it – was run out in the shadows of stumps as Bevo scurried back to the non-striker’s end. And I can still hear Haywood’s bull moose roar of “craaaaap!” reverberating around the empty concrete stands of Manuka Oval. And I thought, “My but I love this game.” And I love this ground. And now Manuka’s got a Test match. Little Canberra has become.

Canberra has four distinct seasons. Autumn is dead leaves. Spring is blossoms. Winter is colder than Krakow by night. And summer is just hot. Broken Hill hot. It’s a dry, “bush” heat. It’s African savannah. It’s scorched earth. It’s stinkin’. And you played cricket in it because that’s just what you did. And you watched cricket. And you lived and loved it.

We played on “synthetic” wickets which were concrete strips overlaid by “AstroTurf” of various plumage. They could be bouncy as bejeezus. A top-edged cut shot would soar into space. Not a lot of seam. But bounce, baby, bounce. The turf wickets could be a bit how-you-goin’, as they say. Shades of the old MCG: shooters, bounders, rip-snorters. Ordinary, lot of ’em. And a lot of ordinary bowlers got wickets. Outfield grass was generally long because it was cold at night, and wouldn’t grow back if you cut it. Thus, batters did their best.

Yet a steady drip of first-class cricketers has come out of the joint, punctuated by the odd Michael Bevan and Brad Haddin. Greg Rowell bowled accurate fast-meds for NSW, Queensland and Tasmania. Wayne Andrews went to WA and played 91 Sheffield Shield games. Mark Higgs bowled left-arm wristspin and gave it a whack for the Blues, once belting 181 not against Queensland. Nathan Lyon came from Young to pilot Manuka’s mowers before doing the same at Adelaide after Les Burdett.

Largely, though, the very good ones stayed, big fish in a small pond. Few reasons: there were plenty of players like them in Sydney grade cricket; there wasn’t money enough to uproot a family to chase a dream; in Canberra there were public service jobs forever that gave you time off to play. And it was fun to play for the ACT.

Brad Bretland kept wicket for the ACT. You haven’t seen a bloke with quicker hands, whipping bails off standing up to the quicks. He played indoor cricket for Australia. Unbelievable eye, reflexes. Peter Solway holds the record for most games and runs for the ACT, and most games and runs in the ACT comp. He played in the PM’s XI of ’93-’94 alongside young guns Hayden, Langer, Ponting. Fellow local legend Greg Irvine played in the PM’s XI two days before Christmas 1987. Took 5/42 swinging the ball both ways before going down swinging in a run chase against Richard Hadlee, bookended in the batting order by ME Waugh, DW Hookes and AR Border. Solway says there were a couple of nibbles from Sydney but things were progressing nicely in Canberra. The Country Championships had kicked off. There were regular tours and second XI fixtures. And in ’95 came the Mercantile Mutual comp. “And I had a decent job, I was married,” he says. “It crossed my mind to move to Sydney. But I suppose I didn’t want it bad enough.” Was he good enough? Solway reckons he’d have backed himself. Yet the NSW team was a tough nut to crack. “The era I came through of under-17s and under-19s – and I don’t know if it put me off – but the NSW team was Taylor, Waugh, Waugh, McNamara and a heap of guys.

“I don’t regret [staying]. I’m happy with how things have panned out. Was I good enough? I dunno. I probably would’ve backed myself. But until you do, you don’t know.” Mike Veletta believes Solway was “easily” first-class level. “He was one of those great blokes who was happy doing what he was doing. He worked for the government, he was content, his family was entrenched in the community. There’s no doubt – temperament, nous, technique – he would’ve thrived at first-class level.” After Solway, Irvine and company, however, came a generation of cricketers for whom there was a genuine pathway and opportunity to play up. They were my generation – let’s call them the under-19s of ’89-’90. These talented ones could get amongst it at the AIS or the academy in Adelaide. Michael Bevan was of this generation. You played against Bevo, he was left-arm quick. Going across you, bending it back in – he was a bit bloody good, Bevo. Scary, even. A singular fellow, but a good fellah. He could bat, sure – but there were batters better.

One played in his own team – Huntley Armstrong, a Greg Ritchie-shaped belter with Shane Warne’s mullet. In a semi-final at Rivett Oval, my Woden Valley under-16s played Huntley’s Weston Creek. Bevo wasn’t playing, there was a soccer tournament on. But they still had plenty. Bunch of blokes would play U19s for ACT. But Huntley was the wicket.

On 20-odd on a ridiculously, freezing cold March day (truly, it was maybe six degrees, sleeting, wind-chill factor hideous), Huntley smashed our Laxman-wristed leg-spinner Michael Streat one thousand yards into space. I waited for it to come down. And waited. No-one thought I’d catch it – me included. Damn thing soared towards me like an ice comet. But I pouched it, somehow, and punched the air, and we knocked off the Creek, the hot faves. And all the dads said over again, “catches win matches”. And Huntley’s mum declared, “It’s all Michael Bevan’s fault!”

Week later in the grand final against St Edmund’s, another top player from that class of ’89, Marty Haywood, was on maybe 42 when he smashed Streaty high, and long, and way out to cow corner. And there waited I – The Hero of Rivett – underneath it. Beautiful day. Saw it all the way. Grassed the bastard. And watched our man Marty go on to plunder 157 not out and win the game. And that, as the cricket gods would tell you, is cricket.

Haywood went to Campbelltown and onwards to Mosman, where he captained the club for 20-some years. He would play 13 matches for NSW when the Waugh twins were playing for Australia. That was his competition in the Blues’ middle order: the bloody Waughs. Today, a good one would’ve gone to Tassie or somewhere. Haywood stayed and notched his highest score, 97, at the Junction Oval. And you play golf with him today and there’s longing behind his eyes. Huntley went to Adelaide and the academy there, and stayed on playing grade cricket. He played a couple of one-dayers for South hero of mine, David Hookes. Michael Bevan went to Sydney, and fashioned a fairly decent career in the game. Today there are several ex-Canberrans playing first-class cricket, such as Will Sheridan (Victoria), Jason Behrendorff (WA), Jason Floros (Queensland), Nick Winter (SA) and Tom Rogers (Tasmania). It’s always been the same – and it’s the same for those from Townsville, Geraldton, Innamincka – you want to be taken seriously, you leave. And until the ACT gets a Sheffield Shield team, that’s how it will stay. And that’s why they want one.

Mike Veletta had played 12 years of first-class cricket when it was put to him that he might like to captain-coach the fledgling one-day team called the ACT Comets in the Mercantile Mutual Cup. There was a job in property with a reputable firm. There was a chance to learn about coaching. It ticked a few boxes. But jeez, it was different to Perth. “They flew my wife and I over to Canberra in July, and you can imagine the weather,” Veletta remembers. “It was horrible. Four days later we got on the flight home, my wife said, ‘Thanks for that – I don’t need to see any more.’

“A month later we were there.” The move was still a punt for Veletta. The Comets were still an idea, there wasn’t actual confirmation that they’d be a firstclass entity. Yet he rocked up for pre-season training and learned things were done a little differently in the Bush Capital.

“I was told the first pre-season game was always against Manly, and they’d always stay at the Steyne Hotel,” says Veletta. “It wasn’t going to be a typical cricket tour. So we played against Manly and spent a long weekend at the pub! It was pointless going to bed early. It was a great way to get to know your team-mates and a great introduction to ACT cricket.”

Veletta was allocated a local club, Weston Creek, and was expected to dominate. Yet conditions were so different to Perth that he battled. “The pitches were average, really. Average bowlers could get wickets. It took me a while to work it out.” But he grew to love it. He was captaining guys for whom the interstate one-day competition would be the highlight of their careers. He found it refreshing that people played for love alone, and were proud to represent a tight-knit community.

Yet after three seasons and 18 one-day matches, the Comets were axed. Solway blames politics. And Cricket Australia. And a few other things. “Cricket Australia [then the Australian Cricket Board] showed a lack of vision,” Solway says. “It was shortsighted. It was voted on by states thinking about what they had to lose rather than the good of Australian cricket. Denis Rogers from Tasmania was chairman of the board. He drove it. Tasmania and South Australia were thinking about what they had to lose.

“We had players coming to Canberra to get an opportunity. Instead of going to Tassie, they were coming here. We were always keen to play first-class cricket. And I reckon it scared people. “But more teams wouldn’t weaken the standard. Australia’s had the same six state teams forever. Cricket’s set in its ways. And look how we’re going.” The Comets had their supporters. Alan Crompton was one. Geoff Lawson was coach of NSW and saw the ACT as a good destination for kids from his region of Wagga Wagga and the Riverina.

“I asked people on the cricket board why the team was axed and their responses were very political,” says Veletta. “It didn’t make sense. In regional cricket, the ACT could’ve played a huge role. I always thought for all the country guys between Sydney and Melbourne, the one-day comp would’ve been a great stepping stone.” In terms of cricket competition, though, the territory was, and remains, a fairly poor cousin to the metropolitan centres. It’s seen as a nudge above the comps in Newcastle, Ballarat, Sunshine Coast. Sydney boys will tell you Futures League games against the ACT are like hard first-grade games. Good cricket – nothing you can’t cop.

Today the Comets – which played its last, first-class 50-over matches in February of 2000 – are the ACT/NSW Country Comets and play List A Futures League fixtures against state second XIs, academies, and various mobs of young turks. Locals lament that the Comets are a de facto NSW side. Trent Copeland recently played “back”. There was a Comets teams that played recently, didn’t have any ACT players in it. And this when Sydney grade cricket’s yearning for their people. One assumes Pat Howard’s KPIs are being ticked. “It disappoints me that the Futures comp is ACT and NSW combined,” says Veletta.

More on IPL can be found on https://iplnewslatest.blogspot.com/

[oscopelabs]

Evil in the Mirror: John Carpenter’s Revealing ‘Prince of Darkness’ by Joshua Rothkopf

[Last year, Musings paid homage to Produced and Abandoned: The Best Films You’ve Never Seen, a review anthology from the National Society of Film Critics that championed studio orphans from the ‘70s and ‘80s. In the days before the Internet, young cinephiles like myself relied on reference books and anthologies to lead us to films we might not have discovered otherwise. Released in 1990, Produced and Abandoned was a foundational piece of work, introducing me to such wonders as Cutter’s Way, Lost in America, High Tide, Choose Me, Housekeeping, and Fat City. (You can find the full list of entries here.) Our first round of Produced and Abandoned essays included Angelica Jade Bastién on By the Sea, Mike D’Angelo on The Counselor, Judy Berman on Velvet Goldmine, and Keith Phipps on O.C. and Stiggs. Over the next four weeks, Musings will continue with another round of essays about tarnished gems, in the hope they’ll get a second look. Or, more likely, a first. —Scott Tobias, editor.]

It’s generally accepted that John Carpenter wasn’t a personal filmmaker—not personal in the way that Martin Scorsese, only five years his senior and Italianamerican from the start, was. Carpenter grew up movie-crazy in the ’50s and ’60s. He wanted to make Westerns exactly at the moment when that became an unrealistic career goal. His heroes were Alfred Hitchcock, Orson Welles and, above all, Howard Hawks. It’s been nourishing to listen to Amy Nicholson’s wonderful eight-part podcast Halloween Unmasked, still in progress, and to hear Carpenter—usually oblique in interviews—open up about his boyhood in the Jim Crow–era South. He mentions visiting an insane asylum during a college psych trip and locking eyes with a prisoner who spooked him. That may be the basis for killer Michael Myers but, by and large, this was a guy who wrote what he dreamed up, not what he knew.

That’s not to suggest Carpenter didn’t develop his own signature style. When he arrived in Los Angeles in 1968 to attend film school at USC, he reinvented himself, transforming from a Max Fischer–like creative wunderkind (he was a rock guitarist and high-school class president) into a laconic, bell-bottomed cowboy who listened more than he spoke. He was too cool for nerdy Dan O’Bannon, who worked with him on Dark Star. He was too cool for Hollywood itself, even after he’d succeeded there, rarely mingling socially and turning down projects like Top Gun and Fatal Attraction.

But the cool act was a bit of smokescreen. I once asked Carpenter about it, and he owned up to a private sense of pain in regard to his work. “I take every failure hard,” he told me in 2008, singling out the audience’s abandonment of The Thing, a remake of his favorite film (one that actually improves on its source). “The movie was hated. Even by science-fiction fans. They thought that I had betrayed some kind of trust, and the piling on was insane. Even the original movie's director, Christian Nyby, was dissing me.”

Carpenter would rebound from that 1982 commercial disaster—as well the indignity of getting sacked from Firestarter—by playing the game even better. He directed Jeff Bridges to a Best Actor nomination on Starman (that’s as rare as a unicorn for a sci-fi performance) and, just as things were turning golden, blew all his capital again on 1986’s Big Trouble in Little China, which was rushed and subsequently buried in the massive shadow of Aliens. “You try to make a studio picture your own, but in the end, it’s their film,” Carpenter said in our interview, the Kentucky rascal turned bitter. “And they’re going to get what they want. After that experience, I had to stop playing for the studios for a while and go independent again.”

This is the pivotal moment in Carpenter’s career, the one that fascinates me the most. It should fascinate more people, given what the filmmaker did. Divorced and with a two-year-old son, Carpenter is, at that point, 38 years old. He’s already feeling like a Hollywood burnout, with a decade of ups and downs to prove it. The solution was a pay cut, a big one: Prince of Darkness, financed through “supermensch” Shep Gordon and Alive Films and released in 1987, would be made for a grand total of $3 million, the first title in a multi-picture deal that guaranteed Carpenter complete creative control.

Scrappy but never chintzy, Prince of Darkness is the most lovable of movies. On the surface, it has all the cool minimalism a JC fan could ask for: elegant anamorphic compositions (Gary Kibbe’s muscular cinematography adds millions more in production value), a seesawing synth score, a one-location “siege” structure akin to the director’s Assault on Precinct 13 and The Thing. The movie also has Alice Cooper killing a grad student with a bicycle. It has a swirling canister of green Satanic goo in a church basement.

Critics, by and large, were unkind. In a representative review from the New York Times, Vincent Canby called it “surprisingly cheesy,” singling out first-time screenwriter Martin Quatermass for particular scorn (he “overloads the dialogue with scientific references and is stingy with the surprises”), not realizing that this was a pseudonym for Carpenter himself. Would it have mattered? Released days before Halloween, Prince got clobbered by the gig Carpenter turned down, Fatal Attraction, still surging in its sixth weekend.

But below the surface—and still a matter for wider appreciation—is the film that Carpenter dug himself out of his psychic hellhole to make: his most personal horror movie, starring a version of himself. Prince of Darkness is about watching and waiting. In a way, it’s a romantic view of the auteur’s own time at school. It’s a movie about the evil that stares out of the mirror (i.e., yourself). Like all of his films, it arrived under the possessive title John Carpenter’s Prince of Darkness. In my mind, that apostrophe is actually a contraction: John Carpenter Is Prince of Darkness. And Prince of Darkness is him.

First, let’s understand what $3 million means in 1987. To compare it to some other movies of the same period, Blue Velvet’s budget is twice as large. Hannah and Her Sisters, largely shot in Mia Farrow’s apartment, was funded at $6.4 million. When Scorsese decided to go indie and make his audacious The Last Temptation of Christ, he had a $7 million allowance—and that’s for robes and sandals. Carpenter, on the other hand, would be doing practical special effects in camera. He’d be doing a movie with gore and supernatural nuttiness. In a now-quaint New York Times article from April 1987 titled “Independents Making It Big” (“The major studios have abandoned small, serious, risky films, the kind that often win prizes”), Merchant Ivory’s Oscar-winning A Room With A View gets prime positioning with a big photograph; that one has a $3 million budget, roughly. (Not coincidentally, Carpenter’s financiers, Alive Films, are name-checked in the piece as the producers of Alan Rudolph’s Trouble in Mind.)

Coming off Big Trouble in Little China’s estimated $20 million budget (it was probably more), Carpenter would be making a radical shift. But he agreed to Alive’s terms. He’d return to doing things fast and smart, to distilling his vision down to its cleanest, clearest grammar, to getting it done in 30 days (Halloween was shot in 20, over four weeks in May 1978). Even if you disregard the whole of Prince of Darkness’s content—and we won’t be doing that—Carpenter’s desire to work in total artistic freedom is breathtaking. He will do what it takes to move forward.

A little plot: In Prince of Darkness, scientists, theologians and academics plunge into a dilapidated church where they power up their equipment and study a mysterious genie in a bottle: an “anti-god.” The scenario has some of the pseudo-tech fizz of Poltergeist or, in a lighter vein, the Harold Ramis scenes in Ghostbusters. It’s not meant to hold up under scrutiny. Carpenter, who says he was reading books about quantum uncertainty at the time (maybe not the most comforting bedside material given his professional predicament), gives pages of chewy dialogue to the twin father figures of his oeuvre: Donald Pleasence, returning from Halloween and Escape from New York, plays an unnamed, worried priest; and Big Trouble’s wizened Victor Wong appears as an esteemed professor of metaphysical causality.

If the movie has a conventional hero (it doesn’t), it’s Brian, a student who splits the difference between creepy and generically handsome. He’s played by Jameson Parker, then a TV star on Simon & Simon. Or at least I think it’s Jameson Parker. Unlike his more famous San Diego private detective, Brian sports a robust, porn-star-worthy moustache. It makes him look swarthy, mysterious—a little like the lanky John Carpenter himself, who shoots these early scenes in classrooms and hallways at his alma mater, USC. “I spent many happy years at SC as a film student,” Carpenter says on Shout! Factory’s collector’s Blu-ray. “I really enjoyed myself. I learned everything about how to make movies there.”

Watching Prince of Darkness is as close as we’ll come to seeing the director’s formative years re-enacted, memoir-style. In getting back to basics, Carpenter decided to do it literally. Brian sits in class listening; he has a bit of a Laurie Strode moment looking out the window, distracted. Who is he? He’s a young scientist observing evil, almost flirting with it. He spies on a pretty girl in the courtyard (Lisa Blount). She’s got a boyfriend and it irks him, wordlessly. Later, Brian will woo her to bed and use some hard-core Howard Hawks dialogue on her: “Who was he? The one that gave you such a high opinion of men?” he says, straight out of Lauren Bacall’s playbook in To Have and Have Not. It works. She kisses him.

The movie isn’t all wish-fulfillment. In fact, it’s charming how fully the Carpenter surrogate recedes into the team; Brian isn’t even a factor in the final showdown. Maybe his job is to watch other people vanquish evil. That would make sense, since it’s his creator’s comfort zone. In the meantime, the offscreen Carpenter is building some of his grossest sequences, spraying unsuspecting people in the mouth with streams of ectoplasm (à la Rob Bottin’s landmark FX in The Thing), mounting parallel action and deploying beetles, maggots and ants where necessary.

Prince of Darkness has one moment that’s proven unforgettable, transcending even the horror genre. It’s an eerie transmission, the voice slowed down and distorted: “This is not a dream…not a dream…” DJ Shadow samples it a few times on his groundbreaking debut, 1996’s Endtroducing. (The voice is actually Carpenter’s, impossible not to notice once you’ve been made aware of it.) He’s supposed to be a future dude reaching backward in time—“from the year one, nine, nine, nine”—maybe to prevent a biblical apocalypse. All we see is a jittery handheld shot of a silhouetted robed figure slowly emerging from the church, the ominous end-of-the-world smoke gathering.

The economy of the shot is beautiful, Carpenter achieving the texture of a half-remembered nightmare using only a capture-video-off-a-TV-screen trick. (It’s very Inland Empire—and come to think of it, that basement cylinder of swirling green evil is a lot like the glass box from the first episode of the rebooted Twin Peaks: The Return.) So in a situation where Carpenter is facing his most prohibitive spending limits, he’s actually expanding his craft. Prince of Darkness signals his own creative rehabilitation after turning his heel on the studios. Or, to quote the film’s poster: “It is evil. It is real. It is awakening.”

What does it mean that Carpenter’s big payoff involves a mirror? These Cocteau-like shots were some of the most dangerous to pull off. One of them involved plunging a prosthetic hand into highly toxic liquid mercury (a substance the crew had to drain from their hydraulic cranes just to make the gag work). Then, to capture the action on the “other side” of the mirror, poor Lisa Blount had to swim submerged in a darkened swimming pool while an underwater camera shot upward at the glimmering surface. I include these technical details not only to express awe at Carpenter’s commitment (along with that of his collaborators), but also to stress the obvious: The mirror climax was really important to him. The movie’s final seconds are the whole of Prince of Darkness’s reflexivity in a single cut: Brian, woken from a double dream, approaches his bedroom mirror. We see from the perspective of the glass. He touches that porn ’stache tentatively, then reaches out. Cut to black.

It’s not easy to touch that mirror—to walk away from everything you’ve labored to achieve over years, to a place where it’s just you and your talent and what you can do. To me, that’s what Prince of Darkness expresses, subtly. Creatively, the experiment worked: It led directly to Carpenter’s 1988 stealth masterpiece They Live, his most confident political statement and a kindred project in its use of real L.A. locations. That film’s critical reputation has already been defended at large. But maybe it’s time to rally behind the moment slightly earlier, when the director had to rediscover who he was, and what he wanted—and when he found a way to turn everything around.

[crayonwriting]

What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve?

Summary: No one deserves to be alone on New Year’s Eve. Not even a ‘shitty boyfriend’ like Steve Harrington. 

Word Count: 2.9k

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader 

Inspiration: What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve by Ella Fitzgerald . I mostly get inspirations from songs so, expect that a lot from me (my next fic is inspired by another song actually, haha.) This is just a sweet, sweet song and I am just a sucker for music in the 50s to the 80s. I HIGHLY suggest that you listen to it on loop; just to set the mood. 

A/N: Thank you so much for 100+ notes on ‘The Lady Killer’! Really didn’t expect that. Thank you to all who read it and enjoyed it. Thank you for the feedback and comments too—these give me fuel to write even more! So, I hope you all enjoy this one too! Another Steve fic because I am totally in-love with that boy! Set just days after the Snow Ball.

—

December 30th, 7:36 PM

You, Steve and the party were sitting on the sidewalk, just outside The Hawk. You had just gone and watch Christine, enjoying a good scare just before the year ends.

“So, what are you guys doing for New Year’s Eve tomorrow?” Dustin asked.

“Light fireworks, of course!” Lucas exclaimed. “It’s not the New Year if there’re no fireworks!”

“Yeah, we’ll probably light ‘em at my house. My mom bought a lot of stuff to light too.” Mike piped up. “You guys are invited, obviously.” Everyone laughed at this. “You’ll be there too, right El?”

The curly haired girl, who had her head laying on Mike’s shoulder, sat up straight and looked at him. She smiled softly before nodding. Mike smiled back at her, then looked up at the rest of the party. “Dustin?”

“I can’t.” Dustin frowned. “My mom wanted to visit her sister somewhere upstate. We’re leaving tomorrow morning.”

“Same here. Neil’s cousin or something is throwing this party. Unfortunately, we’re gonna attend.” Max sighed. She didn’t really want to go. Seeing more of Billy’s relatives was just gonna be a nightmare for her.

“Good luck with that.” Lucas patted the back of her hand. Max just smiled sadly. “You coming Will?” He asked.

“Yeah, I think so.” Will nodded his headed. “Jonathan is visiting Nancy, so yeah, I guess so.”

“Hey! Try to be a little more sensitive Will!” Dustin scolded. Will and the rest of the party looked confused. Dustin not-so-subtly pointed to the teenage boy who was sitting beside him. They all nodded in understanding, with Will mouthing a ‘sorry.’

“C’mon guys. I’m over it.” Steve said. Everyone remained quiet, not really believing it. Steve coughed and stood up. “It’s getting late. I’ll drop you all off. Let’s go.” He started to walk to his car which was parked nearby. You and the kids followed.

“Don’t worry about him guys.” You said. You put a hand on Will’s head smiling down at him.

“Steve, I’m sorry about earlier,” Dustin said.

“Kid, it’s okay. I’ll get over it.” Steve pulled down the front of Dustin’s cap. Dustin tried to dodge Steve’s attack but wasn’t successful. He smiled at the older teen before getting out.

“See you next year guys!” Dustin said as he closed the door of Steve’s car. He was the last kid to be dropped off. You waved back at Dustin from where you were seated.

“Enjoy the trip Dusty!” You shouted. Steve waited for Dustin to enter his house before starting the car and driving away.

The car ride to your house was silent. What were you supposed to say? Steve hasn’t talked to you about what really happened between him and Nancy, not with all the happenings in the tunnels and the gate and the Upside Down. You just hadn’t had time to sit down and talk about it.

Steve was your best friend, always has been since you met him in 6th grade. He stopped talking to you during his reign as ‘King of Hawkins High’, also he started hanging out with assholes like Tommy H and Carol. Your friendship was rekindled when you saw him—his face bleeding and bruised—scrubbing away the vandalism he and his so-called friends did at the cinema. You waited for him and cleaned up his wounds. Apologies were made and you became best friends again.

Despite it being cliché, you had a crush on Steve. How could you not, when you had spent most of your time with him during your middle school and the beginning of your high school days. You couldn’t blame him for falling for Nancy Wheeler. She was pretty, smart, and very determined. But hearing about their breakup—and they say it was bad—you couldn’t help but feel sad because you knew how much Steve loved Nancy. She was probably the first girl, out of all the girls he dated, that he loved.

From the passenger seat of his car, you could see how tight he held the steering wheel, how his lips were set in a straight line and how he was so focused on looking straight ahead. You knew he was hurting but he didn’t want to break. You wanted him to talk about it so bad but you couldn’t force him to. You decided that maybe a little small talk could do the trick.

Maybe it’s much too early in the game  Aah, but I thought I’d ask you just the same What are you doing New Year’s New Year’s Eve?

“So Steve,” you started, pulling on the hem of your shirt, “What are your New Year’s Eve plans?”

“Nothing. I’ll just be at home.” Steve replied.

“What? You can’t just stay at home for the New Year!” You were looking at him now. “It’s boring! You should be out partying!”

“That’s a lot coming from someone who rarely goes to parties.” He smiled lightly, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel.

Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight When it’s exactly twelve o'clock that night

“You know me. I just don’t like the smell of sweat and alcohol.” You put your tongue out at him in a childish manner. “Tina’s hosting another party tomorrow. I heard it’s her big Year Ender party. You should go. Have some fun, Steve!” He stiffened at the mention of ‘Tina’ and he sat up straight.

“Listen Y/N,” he licked his lips and continued, “I know about Tina’s party tomorrow. Everyone’s been bugging me about it—the basketball team… Hell, even Hargrove’s been on my back about it, wanting to challenge me to another keg fight or something.” He took a deep breath and sighed. “And now you want me to go there too.”

“Listen, Steve, I—”

“I don’t want to go okay?” He cut you off. “I just… I don’t know… The last party I went to was bullshit. Just… let it go, okay?” He looked at you briefly, before averting his gaze back on the road.

The rest of the trip was quiet. So many thoughts ran through your head. Steve shouldn’t be alone on New Year’s Eve. Nobody should ever be alone on New Year’s Eve. It’s a symbol of new beginnings. With all that happened the past few months, you all deserved a fresh new start and that’s exactly what you’re gonna get.

The car stopped in front of your house. The porch light was on, but the rest of the house was dark. You turned to look at Steve who was still looking straight down the road.

“Look, I’m sorry if I stepped a line back there. But I can’t let my best friend spend New Year’s Eve alone and sulking.”

“I am not sulking.” He countered.

“You definitely are sulking.” You giggled. “So, I have a plan for tomorrow. If you ever decide to stop moping around and spend the last day of the year with your amazing best friend,” you leaned in closer to him, whispering, “that’s me,” he laughed at your antics, “pick me up at 10 PM.”

“What are we gonna do?” He asked.

“Pick me up and you’ll see.” You pushed the door open and stepped out of his car. “Drive safe, Harrington. Thanks for the ride.” You started up the steps of your front yard and to the porch. You opened your front door. Before entering, you looked back at Steve waving at you. You waved back and entered, closing the door behind you.

You let out a breath and got ready for bed.

—

Maybe I’m crazy to suppose I’d ever be the one you chose Out of a thousand invitations You received

December 31st, 9:58 PM

Ever since you woke up this morning, you have been in and out of your house preparing for what you had planned for you and Steve. You bought some groceries, making him and you some sandwiches and buying a pack of soda. You bought some sparklers at Melvald’s and also some flashlights.

Truth be told, you didn’t exactly know how you were gonna execute your plan. You just hated to see Steve so vulnerable and so sad. Even if he doesn’t feel the same way, you just couldn’t bear to see him like that. It was your job as his best friend to cheer him up. You sighed. You didn’t even know if Steve would come pick you up. He might just go to Tina’s party after all. But, he wouldn’t just bail on you, his best friend, right?

You checked your watch and saw that it was already five minutes past ten o’clock. Should you just go to bed? You should maybe just wait for a few more minutes. You were seated by the window, waiting for your best friend to come. The backpack that had all the things you needed was sat on the floor beside you.

Moments later, a familiar set of headlights were approaching. The car parked in front of your house. You jumped and scrambled to the front door, quickly putting on your shoes. Your heart was hammering against your chest. For a moment, you thought that Steve would’ve gone to the party. You squealed inwardly and rushed outside, just as Steve was walking up your yard.

“Good to see you, Steve. C’mon let’s go!” You yanked him back towards his car. When you reached the passenger door, you turned around and saw him still standing in the middle of your yard. “What are you waiting for?”

“Where are we even going, Y/N?” He asked, raising his shoulders in question, with his keys in his hand.

“Oh come on, Steve! Don’t you trust me?”

“Well yeah, but—“

“Bar none. C’mon.” You urged. Steve sighed before smiling to himself and jogging back to his car.

For the remainder of the night, you had tried your best to cheer Steve up.

You both drove around the town, directing him where to turn while eating the sandwiches you made. He complimented them and your heart leaped just a little bit. You told him random stories about how milk had suddenly come up your nose and out one lunchtime; and that time you smacked Mr. Colins’ toupee off his head after rushing to get to your class, or that time you almost set your lab partner on fire. Steve laughed at all of the things you said. These happened during the moments he left you for Tommy H and Carol, that was why he hadn’t heard of any of those happening to you.

“Holy shit Y/N, I knew you were clumsy but I didn’t know you were that clumsy!” Steve wiped a tear from the corner of his eyes. “Can’t believe I missed those moments with you.”

“Nah,” you brushed him off, “Don’t beat yourself up for it. It’s okay.”

The car grew silent as you told Steve to take a right.

“Y/N, where are you taking me?”

“You’ll find out, Harrington.” You flashed him a mischievous smile.

Soon enough, you and Steve found yourselves at the Quarry. You told Steve to stop and park here. No other cars were present so you parked in the middle of the road

“Why are we here again?” Steve asked. He turned the engine off, but the radio still played a low hum in the silence of the night.

11:18 PM

You hopped outside of the car, with your bag of necessities on your shoulder. You stopped in front of the car and pulled out a box of sparklers and a Polaroid camera. Steve was in front of you, with his hands on his hips, looking down at you. 

“C’mon let’s light these babies up.” You waved the box at him. You got a few sticks out and handed them to him. You pulled out a matchbox from your pocket and lit the ones he was holding up.

“There. Now do a pose, and I’ll take a picture of you.” You grabbed your camera and got ready.

“Is this really necessary?” Steve held the two sparklers awkwardly beside him.

“Yes, Steve! It’s been a long time since we’ve taken photos, so just shut up and pose!” You peered through the viewfinder of the camera and waited for Steve. Steve forced a big and awkward smile on his face and you took the shot. “Okay now take my photo.”

This went on for a couple more pictures, you and Steve making weird and funny faces. You even took a few pictures together. You held the pictures out to Steve.

“Here, pick a few. Your copies.” Steve thought for a moment and chose four pictures; one of him, two of you and one with the both of you.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

You smiled at him and pocketed the rest of the pictures. You were now sitting on top of his car hood, looking out over the cliff. The faint sounds of distant fireworks and the radio were the only sounds you could hear; the soft breeze humming along.

“You know,” you sat up straighter, “I used to come here when you left me for your shitty friends.” Steve looked at you, his eyebrows knotted together. “I hated you that time. And I was so frustrated. So, I came here to the quarry and screamed until I was okay again.” Steve was quiet as he looked away.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled.

“Stop apologizing. It’s okay.” You put a hand on his arm and smiled softly. “Why don’t you try it?”

“What?”

“I know you’re hurt about Nancy. And I know you act all tough but I know you, Steve. I’m not your best friend for nothing.” Steve hesitated. He didn’t exactly know what to scream. He doesn’t want to curse out Nancy, god knows he doesn’t. Noticing his lack of response, you bit your lip before cupping your hands around your mouth and screaming,

“HEY! I’M BEST FRIENDS WITH THE KING OF HAWKINS HIGH AGAIN!”

His eyes grew wide at your actions. He stared at you but you continued to smile.

“C’mon Steve!” You took a deep breath and shouted once more, “WOOH!” Your voice echoed out into the air. After a while, you heard Steve take a breath and finally let everything go.

“I LOVED YOU NANCY WHEELER!” You flinched slightly. You didn’t expect that from him. “I LOVED YOU NANCY BUT IT’S OKAY! YOU DESERVE SOMEONE BETTER!”

“YOU DESERVE SOMEONE BETTER TOO STEVE HARRINGTON!” You shouted. Steve look at you abruptly. His chest going up and down, trying to catch his breath. “You do deserve someone better too Steve. I mean, yeah sure Nancy was great but I guess she just didn’t see how much you’d change since loving her. There’s someone who will appreciate that Steve. You just gotta look harder.”

Steve grew silent once again. He thought about what you said because all this time, he had thought he was a shitty boyfriend to Nancy. Maybe he was in a way. But then, maybe he was also good in his own way. Maybe their timing just wasn’t right or maybe him and Nancy just weren’t right for one another.

“Y/N, thank you.” He said quietly. You beamed up at him and punched his shoulder. “Seriously, thank you. For today, for being with me this New Year’s Eve. For putting up with my shit for years.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can take your shit.” You joked. He laughed and nudged your shoulder with his.

11:58PM

You perked up when you heard Ella Fitzgerald start to sing on Steve’s radio. You jumped up from his car hood and put out your hands to him. He gave you a quizzical looked, silently asking what you were up to again.

“Just get up Steve and dance with me!” You egged him on. He slowly took your hand and with force, you pulled him up to stand in front of you. You reached out through the car window to put the volume on full blast. You turned back to Steve and let out a breath.

Slowly, you wrapped an arm around his shoulder and held his hand out with the other one. Instinctively, he put an arm around your waist. You started to slowly sway the two of you, going around in a circle. You felt Steve follow you awkwardly and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“Steve, loosen up a little! Remember when I helped you learn how to dance so you can ask Sarah to the dance during 7th grade? ” He laughed at the memory and shook his shoulders loose. He looked down at you, giving you a heart-warming smile that you couldn’t help but blush at. You felt your heart beat loudly against your chest and prayed to the gods that he didn’t feel it. You leaned closer to him and pressed your cheek against his shoulder; he pressed his cheek to your ear. You both continued to sway slowly until the song was done and another came on.

The distant booms of the fireworks were a bit louder now as the clock had already struck twelve. Never moving from the position you were in, you greeted Steve a happy New Year.

“Happy New Year, Y/N.” He whispered and continued to slow dance with you.

You didn’t know if he intended for you to notice but he held you just a tad bit tighter, giving the side of your head a feather-light kiss. You smiled widely and held on to him tighter too.

Aah, but in case I stand one little chance Here comes the jackpot question in advance What are you doing New Year’s New Year’s Eve?

—

Posted: December 30, 2017