#i used to listen to this all the time in my teens

[itneverendshere]

the way i can see rafe rolling his eyes when he hears you yell across a party for jj to knock it off in picking a fight, and laughs at jj when he listens to you, and is like an embarrassed little dog.

a perfect world where rafe realizes he and jj are the same person in different fonts <3 thank you for the request, i love jj in this lmao😭🩵

 you say you got it & you have to let me see - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

The annual boneyard party was in full swing, and like clockwork, someone was trying to start shit.

You stood close to Rafe, your hand loosely gripping a beer bottle as you watched the mess unfold in front of you. "JJ!" you called out, voice loud and clear across the sand. "Knock it off!"

Rafe felt the corner of his mouth twitch, suppressing a grin. It wasn't even surprising anymore.

JJ Maybank—still the same hot-headed teen who grew up a few doors down from you—was in some guy's face, already half a second away from getting clocked.

His first instinct was to roll his eyes. Every year. Every damn year, JJ managed to start up some bullshit. Rafe glanced down at you, saw how your brow furrowed in annoyance, and the urge to laugh took over instead.

It was kind of funny, watching JJ go from ready to swing to immediately backing off the second you opened your mouth.

JJ turned like a kid caught stealing cookies from the jar, hands half-raised in defense as he looked at you with wide eyes. “Chill! I wasn’t even—”

"Yeah, yeah," you cut him off, pointing your beer in his direction. "Save it. Just walk away, okay?"

And, of course, he did.

Like a scolded puppy, he muttered something under his breath before shoving his hands into his pockets and trudging off. Rafe snorted, shaking his head. "Little brother still listens to you, huh?"

You shot him a look, half-smiling. "Someone's gotta keep him in line."

"Yeah, well," Rafe glanced at JJ’s retreating figure, still chuckling under his breath, "It's funny watching him tuck his tail between his legs every time."

He wasn’t usually one for parties like this anymore—too many reminders of who he used to be—but being here with you made it easier. You grounded him. Three years of dating, living together, dealing with life’s shitstorms, and somehow you still managed to make everything feel lighter.

You narrowed your eyes, “Don’t think you’re so different from him Mr. No one talks down to my girlfriend.”

Rafe’s grin widened, and he took a long sip from his beer, savoring the burn of the carbonation on his throat. You had him there. Not that he was gonna admit it. “That was different,” he drawled, flashing you a smirk.

“Uh-huh,” you said, arching an eyebrow. “How, exactly?”

He scratched at his jaw, the familiar prickle of stubble reminding him he hadn’t shaved in a few days. “I mean, I didn’t throw a punch every time. Just made it clear no one’s gonna talk shit.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your lips twitched. “You’re lucky I love you, Cameron.”

Rafe’s heart did that stupid thing it always did when you said stuff like that, even after all these years. He could play it cool all he wanted, but you knew how to get to him. Always did.

“Yeah, I am,” he said, stepping a little closer, his body blocking the cool breeze coming off the ocean. He could smell the saltwater and smoke, but all he cared about was the warmth radiating from you. He took a swig of his beer, watching the flames from the bonfire dance against the night sky. “How many more times you think you’ll have to pull him out of a fight tonight?”

You tilted your head, thinking for a second before shrugging. “Depends on how much he’s had to drink.”

JJ was like a golden retriever sometimes—quick to rile up, but just as quick to bounce back. Rafe watched him for a second, the way he moved through the crowd, all ego and no direction. It reminded him of himself when he was younger. He chuckled, shaking his head.

“He’s gonna make it hard for me to take him seriously if you keep saving his ass.”

"Like you’ve ever taken him seriously," you shot back, giving him a playful shove.

True. Rafe couldn’t remember a single time in the last few years where JJ had been more than an annoyance. 

"God, it’s like he’s still twelve or something," you muttered, shaking your head. You took a step closer to him, your arm brushing his. The firelight flickered in your eyes, making you look impossibly warm.

The kind of warmth Rafe had gotten used to over the years. The kind he was lucky to have. He turned to face you, an easy smile forming on his lips. “Yeah, but at least it’s entertaining.”

You smirked. "For now. I give it an hour before he’s passed out in the sand."

He tilted his head, giving you a mock-serious look. “You wanna place a bet on that?”

You squinted at him like you were actually considering it. “What’s the wager?”

Rafe leaned in, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Winner gets to pick what we do tomorrow.”

You raised an eyebrow, your smirk deepening. “And what exactly do you have in mind?”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool but knowing exactly what he’d want if he won. He could feel the stupid velvet box burning in his pocket. He carried it everywhere, hoping he’d man up and do it already. He couldn’t do it now—not here, not like this, not with JJ stumbling around somewhere in the background and the sound of half-drunk partygoers laughing around you.

“I don’t know. Maybe spend the day out on the boat. Just the two of us.”

“Alright, deal,” you said, holding out your hand for him to shake, “Sounds nice.”

Nice wasn’t even close to what he had in mind.

He took your hand, but instead of shaking it, he pulled you in closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. You let out a small laugh, leaning into him. The beer bottle in your hand dangled lazily at your side. You leaned up, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Rafe let out a breathy chuckle, turning his head to capture your lips with his. The kiss was slow, lazy even, like there wasn’t a party around you. “Still think I’m cute, huh?” 

You gave him a look, lips curving into a shit-eating-grin. “When you’re not acting like JJ.”

He groaned, tipping his head back dramatically. “Don’t compare me to that fuckin' idiot.”

You just grinned, pulling away slightly, though your hand stayed on his chest. “Relax. You’re cuter, baby.”

“Damn right,” Rafe muttered, tugging you back to him. He liked having you close like this—reminded him that no matter how much shit had changed, some things stayed solid. You. Him. This.

He kissed the top of your head, breathing in the familiar scent of your hair, and let out a contented sigh. 

JJ had somehow found another beer, and as Rafe glanced his way, he saw Kie giving him a hard time, probably for almost getting into it earlier.

“You think they’ll ever figure it out?” you asked, following Rafe’s gaze.

“Who, JJ and Kie?” He shrugged, taking another sip of his beer. “Maybe. Probably not, though. They’re both too stubborn.”

You hummed in agreement, resting your head against his shoulder. “Sounds familiar.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, we turned out alright, didn’t we?”

You smiled up at him, the firelight dancing in your eyes. “Yeah, we did.”

Just as you and Rafe were starting to get lost in your own little world, a sudden shout cut through the noise of the party. Rafe glanced up and spotted JJ again, this time charging toward some guy who was standing way too close to Kie. 

Oh for fuck’s sake.

JJ's posture tense, fists clenched at his sides, and his voice already rising in that familiar way that screamed trouble. "Hey, man, back the fuck off!" He growled, pushing the guy away from Kie. The dude barely had time to react before JJ was already up in his face, looking like he was seconds away from throwing a punch.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Rafe muttered under his breath.

Without a second thought, he downed the last of his beer and started striding toward fight. You followed, a little concerned but mostly impressed by how quickly he handled it. He was always the one who kept things calm now—so different from his hot-headed younger days.

“Maybank!” Rafe’s voice boomed across the beach, and you could hear the change in tone.

He was done playing around.

JJ, too focused on trying to defend Kie’s honor, didn’t even hear him. Rafe didn’t hesitate. He grabbed him by the back of his shirt, pulling him away from the guy before anything could escalate further.

The younguer blonde whipped around, ready to argue, but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Rafe. “Dude, I—”

“Start walking,” He hauled him a few feet away, practically dragging him while the other guy quickly disappeared into the crowd.

You couldn’t help but watch the way Rafe took control of the situation, handling JJ like a dad trying to wrangle a rowdy teenager. You could see the way he deflated in response. He’d grown to respect Rafe too much to keep pushing.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Rafe said, his grip still tight on JJ’s shirt. “You’re gonna get yourself knocked out one of these days if you don’t stop acting like you need to throw hands over every little thing.” JJ scowled but didn’t say anything, and Rafe shook his head, letting him go. “Seriously, Kie can handle herself. And if she needs backup, that’s what we are for—not you getting your ass handed to you every time some guy breathes in her direction.”

JJ kicked at the sand, muttering something under his breath, but he knew better than to argue. Rafe’s voice softened a little, seeing JJ’s shoulders slump. “Look, I get it. But not like this. Not here.”

He nodded once, reluctantly, and Rafe gave him a rough pat on the shoulder before turning back to you. He caught your eye, and you felt the pride bloom in your chest. The way he handled himself, the way he diffused situations—it wasn’t just about being strong anymore, it was about knowing how to lead, how to take care of the people he loved. And, honestly? It was a turn-on.

You couldn’t help the way your eyes lingered on him as he came back over to you. He looked so composed, so solid, and that arm of his, the way he pulled JJ back without breaking a sweat—it had your mind going places. Rafe raised an eyebrow at you, a playful smirk on his lips.

“What?” he asked, already knowing you were checking him out.

You stepped closer, trailing your fingers up his arm, feeling the strength in the way his muscles flexed beneath your touch.

“Nothing,” you murmured, biting your lip as your eyes met his. “Just proud of you.”

Rafe chuckled, his hand slipping around your waist, pulling you against him. “Proud, huh?”

“Mhm,” you whispered, pressing yourself closer, feeling the warmth of his body. “It’s kinda hot.”

“That what does it for you now? Me playing babysitter?”

You laughed softly, your hand still resting on his arm, fingers trailing along his bicep. “Not just that. The way you handled it. You’re just—”

Rafe’s hand slid down your back. “Just what?” he asked, his breath hot against your neck.

You bit your lip, feeling your heart pick up speed. "Strong.” You smirked, letting your hand slide lower, down the curve of his chest. “Kinda makes me wanna—”

He cut you off with a kiss, his mouth moving against yours with a kind of slow intensity that had you melting into him. His hand gripped you tighter, pulling you even closer, because he could never have enough of you. 

When he pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours, both of you a little breathless, he smirked down at you. “You keep talkin' like that, we might need to leave this party a little early.”

You grinned up at him, your arms wrapping around his neck. “Might not be the worst idea,” you teased, your voice low. “Think we’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

Rafe chuckled, his lips brushing against your forehead before he pulled away just enough to glance over his shoulder, making sure JJ wasn’t about to start up more trouble.

When he saw everything was calm, he turned back to you, “Let’s get outta here, baby.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

He pulled you in close as you reached the car, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your lips, making your head spin all over again.

"You're somethin' else, you know that?" he whispered against your lips, his hands sliding up your back, fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

"Get in the car, Cameron.”

[hotvintagepoll]

Frankie Avalon (Bikini Beach)—Ok so I know usually in these beach movies, Frankie plays the standard all-American teen dreamboat. But in THIS movie he has a dual role as “The Potato Bug,” who’s meant to be a spoof of all four Beatles rolled into one scrungly guy. Frankie as The Potato Bug is who I’m nominating specifically. You can’t help but laugh at PB’s antics as he uses his Austin-Powers-like “charms” to steal the girlfriend of Frankie’s other character. Plus PB has some banger songs.

Groucho Marx (Duck Soup, A Night at the Opera)—groucho marx somehow manages to be a romantic lead despite every single one of his characters hating romance, hating leading, hating the shit he's going through, and in general being real soft mad about it. but most iconically, and this is important: he is having the time of his LIFE. also important is that my father's one request for his funeral is that "whatever it is, i'm against it" must be played. groucho marx is a scrungle close to my heart and soul.

This is round 1 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you're confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Frankie Avalon:

Groucho Marx:

What is NOT scrungly about him? The painted-on mustache and eyebrows (and the countless cartoon parodies thereof)! The rolling eyes and waggling eyebrows! The truly weird ways he moves his body when walking and dancing! But most of all, the wordplay and sarcasm - possibly no actor has ever made me laugh harder than Groucho.

look just. please. please. his head is in a jug. and i couldn't find the clip on youtube but this scene ends with him chucking fruit at the villain. THAT'S the crowning moment of heroism: throwing fruit at a man stuck in a door. WHAT'S NOT TO LOVE ABOUT THIS MAN AND HIS SONGS ABOUT GOING TO WAR, AND ALSO BEING AGAINST EVERYTHING.

Listen, his face is literally the glasses we use as a joke. HIS FACE IS JOKE GLASSES. DO YOU SEE MY VISION??

[cw for fatphobic jokes and an insulting word for little person in the clip below]

[gavillain]

My thoughts and theories after Agatha All Along episode 3. Read no further if you haven't seen the episode yet.

SHARON NOOOOOOO :'( Honestly, with the way Agatha brought her along essentially to be a meat shield, it's not surprising that she died so early on the journey down the Witches' Road, but I was still surprised that they killed off the comic relief this early. But I caught that they didn't add Sharon's hair to the antidote when brewing the potion, and I think that'll be discussed next episode. The show definitely had to establish the stakes of the Road as life or death early on, and Sharon was the only character who they COULD kill off since she was the only one without a mystery to solve. Still, sad to see her go.

In more important news, though, MEPHISTO GOT NAME DROPPED. HE'S COMING ASDFGHJKL; Listen, after all the speculation we were all doing during WandaVision about Mephisto showing up, to hear him get referenced makes me EXCITED to see if that's just going to be a world building detail or if he's going to be relevant in the story.

Agatha giving up her son, Nicholas Scratch, for the Darkhold was established as a part of her reputation in this episode. The trailers confirm that it's a bit more complicated than that, so I'm curious to know the full story. Right now, I'm theorizing that the hair in the locket is Nicholas's, and, if you remember from WandaVision, she plucked that locket off of her mother's corpse after stealing mommy's powers. So, I'm fairly certain Agatha sacrificing Nicholas is tied in with why her mother tried to have her executed back in the 1600s, and maybe Mama Harkness did something that resulted in her grandson's death? I dunno, but I wanna know! I think Nicholas Scratch IS still alive, though, and I think he's going to be the twist Big Bad of the show.

Teen is pretty obviously Billy Kaplan, and it's so obvious in fact that I wonder if it's going to be a bait and switch and he's somehow Nicholas? But like... maybe I'm overthinking it and it's only obvious that he's Billy to us comics fans. For normies watching this with only WandaVision and Multiverse of Madness for context, him being Billy WOULD be a really interesting twist, so we'll see! Regardless, he's the only person on the Road who I am reasonably certain is going to make it out alive.

The hallucinations for Lilia, Jennifer, and Alice were all interesting, though they left more questions than answers: *Lilia saw what looked like Russian royalty taunting her saying "they're all dead" as they took on more decayed and corpselike forms. I joked to my boyfriend that it was the Romanovs, but that's honestly not necessarily out of the question. Lilia in the comics is the "queen of the gypsies" in Scarlet Witch's childhood, so maybe in this verse, she was a part of the Sokovian royal family before their dynasty was killed off by revolutionaries that led to the political turmoil of Sokovia that we saw in Age of Ultron. Being a psychic, I'm willing to bet Lilia survived because she saw the massacre coming but no one else believed her, sort of a Cassandra figure. I could be WAY off base, but I like my theory.

*Jennifer is the one who I have the least read on her hallucination with the weird man trying to drown her. We know that she is bound, unable to use her powers, so is this man maybe the one who bound her? Or is he someone else tied to the events that led to her being bound? She's been bound for a little over a hundred years, and the man's clothes seemed to be from that time period. In the comics, she's from Florida and was an ally of Man-Thing, so maybe something in her story is going to tie back into Werewolf by Night? We'll have to see!

*Alice's hallucinations are the most straight forward, she saw her mother weeping because her grandmother had passed away and the mother felt it. We know her mom was a witch, and we can pretty safely assume that the grandmother was one too, I think. The mother mentions that since whatever killed the grandmother got her, now it's after her, and since we know Alice's mom is dead in the present day, that would mean that this mysterious force is now after Alice too. What is this force, though? Alice tells Teen that she has a tattoo that wards off a curse that plagues her family bloodline that her mother made her get, so is it just this curse that's after her or is it connected to something else? In the trailer, we see Alice exploding with fire as a demonic entity emerges from her. I doubt this is Mephisto, since I think if Mephisto has ties to anyone here, it'll be Teen or Rio, but maybe some subordinate of his? In the comics, she and Wanda worked together to defeat a being called Dark Tongji. I think it's likely that he's the being hunting her bloodline.

Then a few notes from earlier:

1. The Salem Seven - I went back to WandaVision for a refresher, and, not counting Agatha's mom, the coven that Agatha murders and drains of their magic in her backstory numbers at seven and they were in Salem... I'm putting money that the Salem Seven is what's left of Agatha's old coven hunting her down, or at least their descendants.

2. Rio keeps getting hints that keep lining up to hint that she's a genderbent version of Blackheart, which has me excited! I don't know if they're actually going to go this route, and her being a "Green Witch" kinda makes it a bit weird. But they keep reiterating "black heart" in relation to her and now they've referenced Mephisto, his father. So I think if Rio isn't literally Blackheart, she's at least possessed by him. We'll have to see. But I do love the crackship of Agatha Harkness/genderbent Blackheart for lesbian Marvel villain lovers. That tickles me XD

Overall, SUPER into this show thus far, and I LOVE that there's so much mystery and intrigue to piece together! I CAN'T WAIT FOR EPISODE FOUR, I NEED IT NOOWWWWWWWWWW

[full-of-malice]

me and my friends are being bitter about ai and nanowrimo again. as one of the kids who was part of the group that made the tag of "#nanopocalypse" as a term for what was happening on our website as we were silenced and groomed and our lives went to shit. our lives were falling apart. it was the nanopocalypse for us. that's why we called it that and have referred to the entire situation as that. and we were the only ones who actually put anything in the "#anti nanowrimo" tag to begin with to talk about our hatred and struggles with being groomed. a desperate and ignored attempt to call awareness

so as someone who put in the work and lost days of my life and will not be the same person again and put tears and long days while trying to juggle my school and personal life, checking in on my friends and ensuring that they were okay, it feels really shitty honestly to watch tumblr take the nanopocalypse tag so they can make themselves feel good by talking shit about the ai policy. it's Exhausting. you guys are a solid year late in support and hatred for nano that we could've used when we were trying to get the website halfway shut down. we have been Trying to tell you. there were tiktoks, twitter, threads, youtube videos, tumblr posts, and it's just exhausting that suddenly the trendy hatred of ai is what gets popular. idk if feels like you all just jump on the trend to be the cool savior and hate on ai and write their posts that do nothing informative of helpful and just say "fuck nanowrimo" instead of hating on it for the actually important reasons.

nanopocalypse was the specific instance a year ago in november of 2023, when ywp (young writer program) website users were sick of being abused, neglected, and being in the dark. the mods started banning us just for voicing our issues and wanting change. we took to. the adult forums and talked to adult users who were in the midst of the own issues as well. we finally found adults who believed our struggles and were on our side. on their website there was child grooming involved too, the fbi was allegedly getting contacted it was so bad. after years finally someone was listening. yet within days they turned on us and told us we were too young and had no place in "their home" of the website and that our concerns for our community and wanting to be involved were no necessary. they started twisting our words against us and picking us apart. i spent days fighting with adults just for basic things, adults who claimed not two or three days ago that they supported us and would fight for us and were so sorry for the way we were treated only to turn around and treat us remarkably the same. there was one nanopocalypse.

it's exhausting to have to reiterate our struggles to people on the internet who don't and won't listen, but don't use our terms that we a group of abused and groomed teens made for a one time occurrence and tag that was for us and our struggles a place for us to talk and raise awareness. a place that got ignored until a year too late so ai issues could talk over us.

so fuck nanowrimo. not for the ai, but for the children who suffered for years in silence. the ai should be an afterthought, not the front of the problem.

if anyone's interested either in a separate post or in the reblogs i'll make an extensive list of any youtube videos, tiktoks, tumblr post links, and twitter links that i know of on the situation if you want. i will gladly answer any question anyone has because i've tried to educate people on this for a long time and no one will listen

[thatgirlwithasquid]

letters that i can never send

words: 25,571

Chrissy/Tina | Teen and Up Audiences | POV Tina | Ghost Chrissy Cunningham | Letters | Right Person Wrong Time | Unhappy Ending

beyond excited to get to share my fic for @sapphicstevents' stranger things sapphic mini bang!! writing it definitely fought me for a while but i'm really proud of this fic.

so here's the first chapter and a cover i threw together to post it with! the whole fic is up on ao3 here, and @hullomoon has been amazing and created a podfic of the work for anyone interested in listening <3

---

Chapter 1 : A Pack Of Green Scrunchies

words: 5,739

June 20th, 1986

Dear Chrissy,

I wish I had known you before everything went mad. 

I think I told you that before, but I mean it now more than I meant it then. It feels so crazy to think that we went through school walking past each other in the halls and not even glancing in each other’s direction. I know that I did the same thing to other kids but it still feels impossible.

My mom took me out to the mall the other day—there’s a mall in this town, not like the destroyed one in Hawkins. It’s full of people and stores and it's loud. I didn’t like it. I always used to find it annoying how quiet Hawkins was sometimes, but I hate how loud it is here. There’s too many people talking and smiling and I can’t see them without thinking about how oblivious I was before I met you.

They were selling scrunchies in one of the stores. My mom was looking for a new purse but I stopped to look at them instead. I bought a pack of green ones because they made me think of you. I wonder if that’s what you would smell like; cotton fabric and lingering perfume from my wrist.

I miss you. 

Tina.

—

The lights in the hospital waiting room hum with an electric static. Even under all the anxious chatter and background noise of the hospital, it’s the only thing Tina can hear. Well, that and the fading ringing in her ears.

Her hands clench and unclench around the hem of her shirt as she watches the minutes tick by. Beside her, her dad’s leg bounces up and down. She’s not sure if he’s aware of her watching him. The man stares ahead down the crowded hall through the chaos as if her mother will suddenly appear there, good as new.

Tina doesn’t say anything, just reaches out and entwines their fingers, letting out a sigh of relief as her father squeezes her hand back. She needs his strength to lean on. It doesn’t matter that, rationally, Tina knows her mother’s injuries from the earthquake were far from the most severe that came through those hospital doors today.

She’s never been more scared than she was when her dad came stumbling out of the rubble, shirt bloodied and with her mom’s arm over his shoulder to support her weight. Tina had been so frantic that she can’t even remember if her mother had been conscious at that point. She was out cold during the drive to the hospital, though; the sounds of ambulances and firetrucks and police cars responding to the destruction weren’t even enough to break her from her state. Her father had somehow remained stoic then, too.

Thankfully, it’s not too much longer before a nurse lets them visit her mom. After hours of waiting, they’re more than ready to see how she’s doing. 

With all the trouble caused during the disaster, her mom is crammed into a room with other people, separated only by a flimsy curtain. Around them, the relieved reconciliation of other patients and their families fade into the background as Tina reaches her mother’s side and grasps at her hand where it lays atop her blankets. 

IVs poke into her skin and wires trail off to monitors she doesn’t even begin to want to look at. Instead, Tina focuses her gaze on her mom’s weary face. She looks tired, eyes rimmed with dark circles that are only accentuated by the pale colouring of her skin. But she seems okay, all things considered, and Tina sighs out in a relieved whoosh of breath.

The nurse goes over her mom’s condition with her dad, but Tina hardly takes in a word—the moment the nurse confirms that her mom will be okay, she tunes her out entirely. Instead, Tina drinks in the sight of her mom, brushing a careful thumb over her scraped knuckles and almost tearing up when her mom gives her a small smile in return.

Eventually, the nurse hurries off again and Tina’s dad slumps into a chair beside the bed. Tina barely glances his way, too scared to look away from her mom, convinced that if she so much as takes her eyes off her, something terrible will happen again.

“Tina,” her mom sighs. “I’m okay. You don’t need to look so worried.”

Tina shakes her head.

“I was so scared,” she manages, voice cracking under the tears she spent so long suppressing. They finally rush down her face in a flood of emotion, tasting salty where they converge in the corners of her mouth.

“Oh, baby,” her mom says, voice softening. “It’s going to be okay now, okay? Why don’t you go and get some rest, you look exhausted.”

Tina can’t help but laugh at that, an ironic, choking thing. “I look exhausted?”

“Well,” her mom smiles before shifting slightly and doing her best to smother a wince. “I’m already laying down and getting rest. I’m more worried about you.”

Guilt stabs Tina’s heart like a blade. Her mom’s the one in a hospital bed, with doctors and nurses hovering around outside to help if needed, and yet Tina’s the one acting like the world’s weighing down on her shoulders. It’s shameful in its own way. 

Tina always thought she was strong enough to be her parents’ equal. She did well enough in school and had plenty of friends; her parents saw how grown up she was and even helped her plan her Halloween parties; her mom told her everything—every annoying thing someone at work said, every snippy little complaint about her dad forgetting to hang the washing out…

And here she is now. Comforting Tina like she’s a little kid in need of a nap and not a seventeen-year-old who should be better than this. So, she shakes her head, plastering on a smile even as her eyes sting with another wave of tears and, admittedly, exhaustion.

Before she can put up much protest, her dad pipes up to agree with her mom. It doesn’t leave enough room for anything more than Tina going along with what they want. Her dad almost follows before he hesitates, catching her mom’s eye. She nods back at him.

“Why don’t you see about finding some dinner for us two? I won’t be far behind you, I just need to have a talk with your mom.”

What is Tina supposed to do about that other than leave? She’s obligated to listen to her parents, even if she wants to stay. Besides, she’s sure she’ll be visiting her mom as often as she can until she’s discharged. 

So, it’s fine. All this is fine.

When she gets to the door, Tina turns and looks back at her parents one last time. With all the other people talking in the room, she can’t make out what her parents are discussing. What she can make out is the way her father’s face pinches into a concerned frown. 

Whatever it is they wanted to talk over without her must be serious. Resigned, Tina sets off in search of the cafeteria. It feels strange, pushing on through crowds of the distraught and the injured. Against her better judgement, her eyes catch and linger on the horror around her. 

Nothing will ever be the same after this, not in Hawkins at least. Too much bad has happened, too much to even let herself think about.

By the time her dad finds her in the cafeteria that evening, the dinner that Tina bought them has long since gone cold.

—

School doesn’t reopen until a week later—a week filled with funerals and clean up and searching for anyone still buried under the rubble. During that time, Tina recovers what she can from her trashed house to cram into some other girl’s bedroom. She should probably count her lucky stars that its usual inhabitant left for college a year ago, otherwise she would be knocking elbows in this little space—seemingly so much smaller than her own room was.

She longs for home: for her corkboard of polaroids of herself and her friends, for each marker line creeping up her door frame dedicated to a year of her life, for her fuzzy blue blanket, and for so many more little comforts that she had taken for granted. Staying here, in someone else’s bedroom while her dad stays on the pull-out downstairs, makes her feel strangely like a jigsaw piece jammed into the wrong puzzle.

There’s nothing to be done about that, with the roof of her house half-collapsed it’s not like they have much choice other than this. She is grateful that her dad’s work friend—Mr. Daniels—took them in, but that doesn’t stop her longing for what she’s lost.

Returning to class brings back none of the normality she longs for, either. Sure, the cracks in the road outside have been hastily paved over for the most part and the classrooms have been deemed safe to return to despite whatever state the earthquake had left them in, but everything has so clearly shifted…

All Tina sees, everywhere she looks, are the empty seats. The ones from kids whose families fled the town are one thing, one type of grief for the friends she’s not sure she’ll ever see again. The rest are something else entirely, vacant seats that will never be filled; those seats offer no question to their absence in Tina’s life.

So far, she has been to eight funerals. Three of them were some of her best friends. She didn’t sleep the nights after any of those. After the last one, she hasn’t been able to bring herself to attend any more; it turns out that there’s only so many bodies you can handle saying goodbye to within such a short period of time.

Mr. Clarke clears his throat, trying to recapture the forlorn attention of the room. Even he can’t seem to muster a genuine smile so Tina doesn’t know how he expects the students to care about any of this. Honestly, she’s surprised the school has even bothered swapping teachers to fill in for staff absences with how little chance they have at passing their exams after all this. If their grief wasn’t enough, having a teacher so clearly unprepared to deal with older kids isn’t going to help them learn at all.

She remembers Mr. Clarke from middle school and almost, very briefly, feels bad for thinking poorly of him. He’d been a nice enough teacher. She’s sure he’s still nice enough, but she just doesn’t have it in her to care about stuff like that anymore. Not after everything. She’s not sure how she fits into this new, broken version of Hawkins; how the hell should she be able to care about how everyone else fits in?

Slowly, the eyes of the class do raise to the man where he stands, squirming at the front of the room, backdropped by the chalkboard covered in scrawled science Tina hasn’t understood a word of. She can’t help but think that their usual teacher would have explained it in a way that made so much more sense to her.

She doesn’t know if that teacher is one of the leavers or worse.

Everyone sits quietly as Mr. Clarke stumbles his way through telling them about the commemorative assembly that is going to be held in the gym. Both schools will be coming together in a few days time to remember their lost friends, or at least that’s the plan.

Silence hangs in the air for another excruciating moment. Then the whispering finally begins. Names get thrown around, ones Tina is sure must belong to the dead.

“Jason,” someone whispers.

“Carol,” says another.

“Nicole—”

The whispering gets cut off abruptly by the scraping of a chair as it’s shoved out from under its desk. Some kid launches himself to his feet and stalks out of the room, eyes red-rimmed. Behind him, the classroom door slams shut on a spluttering Mr. Clarke.

Whispers start up again in the wake of his sudden departure. This time, Tina tunes them out. Instead, she sets her thoughts adrift, steering away from anything too dour to think on. She doesn’t want to deal with this today. They’ve only been back at school for a day. 

She isn’t ready for this yet. It doesn’t feel like there has been nearly enough time for any of them to come to terms with this. How the hell are they going to get through these last two months of school and—

“Tina!”

Blinking back to her senses, Tina looks up, across the lunch table and to whoever called her name. It’s Vicki, looking at her with wide, concerned eyes. She probably should be concerned, Tina can only vaguely recall walking to the cafeteria, she’d been so trapped in her own mind.

“Sorry, what did you say?” she asks.

It’s just the two of them, perched on the edge of a sparsely populated table. Their group used to be a lot bigger.

“I—” Vicki starts, hesitates, and then leverages a painfully forced smile onto her face. “I asked if you figured out what you wanted to do at college yet.”

She wants to wince, to cringe away from the inane topic. It makes her feel sick to pretend that everything is normal. People died, other people got hurt, the town is a mess. Why would they be worrying about stuff like this as if it means anything at all anymore?

“I don’t know. With my mom in the hospital everything’s changed. I haven’t had time to think about it.”

Vicki squirms uncomfortably at her confrontational tone, looking chastised. It makes her deflate a little, feeling suddenly very cruel. Just because Tina doesn’t know how to play at being normal, doesn’t mean she has to be such an ass to her friend over it. She still cares about her and being a bitch is only going to drive a wedge between them. It’s not like she has many friends left after everything, either.

Her hands tremble in her lap and she shakes them out as if that might banish some of her simmering nerves. It doesn’t. With a tense kind of control, Tina pushes up to her feet. Vicki’s eyes swivel up to her, surprised by the abrupt shift.

“Bathroom,” Tina chokes out, trying to tamper down the frustration in her voice.

“Tina…” Vicki starts but Tina is already walking away.

The lighting in the bathroom is dingy and off-putting, and yet the electric buzzing of those fluorescents still puts her in mind of sterile hospital walls. Her mom’s been making a great recovery, she reminds herself. She’ll be home before she knows it. Maybe then everything will start going back to normal.

The porcelain basin of the sink stares, glaringly white up at her as she leans over, splashing her face with metallic-tasting water from the old taps. Her ragged breaths send speckles of water back into it as it drips in trails down her face. She’s probably smudged her makeup now, and it didn’t even help at all.

With a choked sob, Tina turns her face upwards, meeting the paled expression of her reflection; eyes wide, droplets of water clinging to mascara-tinted lashes. But that’s not all she sees.

A sick feeling of horror settles deep in her stomach as she notices something from the corner of her eye—something hovering behind her, in the corner of the bathroom. The room had been empty when she came in. Heart hammering, startled by being snuck up on, Tina whirls around to see—

Nothing.

Just an empty, dingy, school bathroom. The green doors of toilet stalls stare back at her impassively as she clutches a hand to her chest, willing her racing pulse to settle.

It was nothing. It was her mind playing tricks on her. It had to be nothing. Because if not, how could she explain that fleeting glimpse of the ghost of Chrissy Cunningham?

—

Tina’s pen taps restlessly against the Daniels’ kitchen table, the only sound in the eerily silent house.

Sharing a living space with another family comes with all the chaos one would expect, with each of their routines clashing loudly and incompatibly as they stumble around each other each morning and night. And yet the quiet moments like this are almost worse, when everyone is out working or visiting the hospital or whatever else it is these people do. Aside from Tina, it’s empty. Abandoned, almost, like the rest of this god-forsaken ghost town.

She scratches a frustrated line through her pitiful homework attempt and pushes it away across the table, out of sight and out of mind as she stares distractedly out the window. The chair she sits on creaks as she leans to the side, trying to look out into the street. Usually at this time of the evening, kids would be running around, excited and playing in the warm spring air. Usually parents would be seen and heard, trying to cajole their kids inside for whatever they had cooked up or ordered in for dinner.

Tonight, there is nothing but a creeping sunset that paints the sky a dull pink, like drops of blood diluted in a lake of blue. There is no one finding time to play, and no one enjoying a peaceful evening, and Tina’s parents aren’t here. It’s just her, alone with her anxious mind.

She should be at the hospital, trying her best to be there for her dad and checking in on her mom. But going there again and again felt like poisoning herself, losing herself in worry that would set her heart pounding and mind spiralling. It doesn’t matter to her scared brain that she knows her mom is doing much better, she still can’t help but feel sick with worry.

And she’s so tired. It makes visiting her mom so difficult because her mom gives her this pitiful, concerned look whenever she sees her like this. Tina just can’t take that; being a burden to her parents instead of a place of support. They have nothing to be worried about, really. It— She’s just tired…

She can’t sleep with worrying about if something happened to her mom in the night, or if another earthquake might come to completely level this damn town. And what’s more, her mind hasn’t been able to stray far from the thought of what she saw—or what she thinks she saw—in that damn bathroom. Any time her mind has a chance to wander, her thoughts get inevitably dragged back to that sight.

She had only glimpsed her for a fleeting moment but that had been enough. Enough to see the shape of blood splatters on her cheer uniform and the inhuman pallor of her skin… Now, every sound—every creaking shift of this unfamiliar house, every car driving by, every sudden noise—leaves her jumping, expecting to see something horrific around her as if she’s being tormented by some twisted apparition. She hates it.

She should know better than this, she doesn’t even believe in ghosts! Whatever she saw must just be a trick of the mind. And yet.

With a frustrated groan, Tina pushes her chair out from the table and stands. Sitting around like this is doing her no good, either. It’s like she can’t escape any of this worry for even a second. Or, at least, she can’t when crammed into too-small rooms that have no space for the shape of her grief.

Her loaned keys chime against each other as she snatches them from the countertop. She just needs to get out of the house, walk around and clear her head. Maybe then all this anxiety can start to dissipate and the memory of that hallucination will fade.

Locking the door behind her, Tina wanders off in whatever direction her feet decide to take her. 

The air is clear outside and she hopes that might ease some of the tension that she has been holding, coiled and aching, within her. It’s hard to remember that she doesn’t need to be prepared for something awful to happen, because chances are nothing will.

She wishes she believed that.

Every time she blinks back to awareness, she finds herself on a different stretch of road that she can’t recall making the conscious choice to head to. This walk clearly isn’t doing anything for her. Clear her mind? What a ridiculous idea. How the hell could a place as fucked up as Hawkins bring her any relief, no matter where she might go or what she might do? It’s like the only thing her body knows how to do here anymore is to run on autopilot—to keep her body moving as her thoughts keep on spiralling.

She stills, taking a frustrated breath and at least trying to keep track of where she’s ended up. Her eyes scan her surroundings, taking note of how the efforts to fix up the town haven't reached this far yet, great deep cracks still clear and precariously crisscrossing the roads, splitting the asphalt open to reveal the exposed bowels of the earth.

It’s not something she’s that surprised by. Ahead of her, the road turns off into the trailer park. It makes sense that no one has prioritised fixing up things around here. With the abandoned yellow streamers of police tape, catching and glinting in the golden hour, it’s only too easy to remember what happened here all too recently.

Tina cringes at the sight of them, dancing in the gentle breeze like they don’t know what they mean. Like they don’t know a girl was massacred inside that place. Still, she can’t quite tear her eyes away. For a long, breathless moment, she just stares, caught in the bone-deep wrongness of that place. And then, like ice slithering down her spine, a stomach-churning feeling of horror settles upon her. It takes a hold in her chest before she even realises the cause of it.

Just barely visible from this far away, lingering in the window of the Munson’s trailer, is the shape of a person, standing stock-still. The longer she stares, breaths shallow and fast under the weight of that settling dread, the more the distant shape seems to resemble a girl, its silhouette becoming more convincingly feminine as that agonising second draws out longer and longer, running on forever as her gaze refuses to budge from the sight.

It’s like time has stopped. 

Tina doesn’t realise she’s stepping away until her feet scuff against the uneven ground and she nearly loses her balance. That, at least, is enough to break her out of her trance even if the terror sinking into her stomach refuses to dissipate; she rips her gaze away from the trailer as if burned. It feels like the shape of that figure is scorched into her retina now.

Unwilling to look back at that window, Tina runs.

—

Sitting through the commemorative assembly in the school’s gymnasium is like pulling teeth. Every word jars her, striking through with pained awareness of how overcrowded the room is playing host to two schools and yet not nearly as crowded as it should be.

She feels like an exposed nerve, too vulnerable for this. Her eyes burn with exhaustion and the threat of tears.

At some point she stops listening entirely, too mentally overwhelmed as she tries not to think about anything at all if it will get the ringing in her ears to stop. As she looks down at her hands, the shadows cast by the lines of her palms form a dark echo of the blood and grime she remembers from that day. She had to trim her nails as short as she could to get rid of the last traces of it.

When they’re finally dismissed, the end of the speeches coinciding with the end of the school day, Tina lingers behind at a shout of her name.

Waving over at her from through the dispersing crowd is Vicki. There are strained creases around the corners of her eyes as she weaves her way to meet Tina but she valiantly keeps a smile in place, something more than Tina can say for herself.

“You want to tag along with me? I’m heading to meet Samantha, she snuck some of her parents' booze in all the confusion so we’re going to meet up and let off some steam.”

“Samantha Stone?” Tina clarifies. “Since when do you hang around with Samantha?”

Vicki scoffs. “Since almost everyone else is gone.”

Tina presses her lips together to keep the sudden roll of nausea at that blasé statement at bay. Vicki seems to pick up on it, her expression dimming marginally with her concern, but she chooses not to question it. Instead, she strides on, head held high.

“Anyway, we all have people’s memories to drink to. I cannot deal with the aftermath of that stupid assembly while sober. So, you coming or what?”

Tina takes a steadying breath and follows. After all, it’s not like she’s got any better ideas. 

The crowd that gathers at the edge of the school’s field is a mishmash of different people, most of whom Tina has only ever seen around each other in the classroom or at her own parties. They seem to clump together uncertainly, stilted conversations offered between each other about inane topics that Tina doesn’t have the energy to entertain.

Regardless, she loiters around with the group, accepting whatever drinks get thrust into her hand and taking great gulps to avoid joining any conversations. Listening is more than enough, if you can even class what she’s doing as listening. 

Everyone else, at least, seems on the same page about getting shit-faced. As the hours creep by, shoulders finally start to slump and the group gets rowdier the drunker they get. Bottles are uncapped with grandiose claims of them being in honour of someone who couldn’t be there with them.

Silently, Tina raises her own drink, the faces of her friends flashing in her minds’ eye. 

At some point, Vicki leaves her place at Tina’s side. She looks up to see her, arms interlocked, with Samantha and laughing the way she only does when she’s really tipsy. For a second, Tina considers going over to talk to them, but when she gets up from her spot on the bench her body feels clumsy and uncoordinated. It’s probably better that she stays here, leaning against the seat for support.

There’s another kid who could probably benefit from the same. He’s pale aside from a splotchy flush to his cheeks as he stumbles ungainly out from the tree line.

“Didn’t get lost taking a piss then?” his friend taunts as he wobbles his way back over to their side.

“I think I just saw a ghost,” he says in a daze.

Everyone laughs at that. Tina tries not to think at all.

The sun is creeping towards the horizon and Tina is far too many drinks in when the nausea finally hits her. It feels like a physical thing, crawling its way up her throat.

“Shit,” she gasps, floundering up onto her feet at last and heading blindly into the trees. At least there she might have just a smidge more privacy in her shame.

Her sneakers shuffle over uneven earth, hesitant at first until the need to puke becomes too much and she hurries further along, with all the uncoordinated grace she can muster. Knees meet the ground and an arm braces against a tree as she sucks in deep breaths. They slowly soothe the sickness away. In the end, she’s not sure if it’s better or worse that she didn’t actually vomit.

Head still hazy, she looks up and widens her awareness back to her surroundings.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she says, clambering back to her feet, as she spots them.

It’s a girl. It’s too far away to be sure but she looks to be dressed in a cheer uniform, at least from what Tina can see. The girl is curled around herself, sitting with her back against a tree and her head in her hands.

This could be it. This could be that same hallucination. 

Tina should just go—whether or not this is real, she just needs to leave it alone. If this is just some other student from their drunken group, then her crying is none of Tina’s business. Hell, she’s had to step away for private moments herself and it’s not the sort of thing you want to be walked in on. And if this is Chrissy, then… Well, then that doesn't bode well to think about.

Leaves and twigs crunch underfoot, stealing any stealth she might have managed, as Tina approaches. Not like it matters, the girl doesn’t react at all, as if she can’t even hear her.

The closer she gets the less she can deny it. That strawberry-blonde hair, held back from her face by a green scrunchie; that small stature; the familiar cheer uniform, speckled with somehow still-red blood… She may not have known Chrissy personally, but Tina had certainly seen her around enough to be able to recognise her.

She slows to a stop, looking down at the figure of her. From here she can see that her head isn’t actually in her hands. She’s covering her ears, muttering something under her breath that Tina can’t quite make out without getting closer.

Tina’s mouth opens to speak but she finds it suddenly dry, her throat barren. She clears her throat, the sound perversely loud in the atmosphere around her.

“Chrissy?” she manages finally, voice little more than a whisper.

Chrissy’s head snaps up to look at her, eyes wide and frantic. Her whole body tenses, posture coiling and shifting as if she’s preparing to bolt, and for a moment Tina feels that same need to flee echoed in herself. Neither of them do.

Tearful, blue eyes take in Tina’s face before some of the fight seems to drain from her, slumping infinitesimally against the tree behind her. Tina, though, doesn’t relax and her alcohol slowed mind fumbles to come to grips with the sight before her.

Chrissy, where she sits in the leaves and dirt and forest debris, is so pale. Every so often, the very vision of her seems to flicker in Tina’s sight, as if the girl herself were not fully corporeal… trapped between this world and the next.

“Are… Are you real?” Chrissy breathes, voice small and broken.

The irony of that startles a laugh from Tina before she can help it. 

Shouldn’t she be the one asking that? Chrissy is the dead girl out of the two of them. If either of them should be mistrusting their minds right now, it should be Tina. Because if ghosts aren’t real, as Tina had always believed so strongly, then how can Tina be facing this right now?

“Am I real?” she scoffs, voice bordering on hysterical. “You’re the dead girl here.”

“What?” Chrissy asks in that same crushed tone.

“You’re dead,” Tina tells her, because what else is there to say?

Somehow, Chrissy seems to pale further, as if blood was rushing away from her non-existent face.

“No. N-no. I’m not, I can’t be. What are you talking about?”

“You died. In the Munsons’ trailer.”

“You’re lying. I’m right here—I can’t be—” Chrissy’s voice becomes shrill and stricken with panic before an anger steals over her features. “This isn’t funny. What kind of joke is that? I just—I need to get home.”

Tina scoffs, almost disbelieving, and steadies her swaying against a low-hanging branch.

“I went to your funeral. You’re dead. And I must be going crazy…”

The last part comes out half as a laugh, half as a sigh. It’s a fact she’s resigned herself to uncomfortably quickly, but what other explanation could there be? People don’t just see visions of dead girls sitting around and telling them they can’t be dead if they’re not mad.

Chrissy’s expression glazes over, seeming to be lost in her own mind as a fresh wave of tears give a new shine to those mournful eyes.

“You’re lying,” she says again, but this time she sounds more defeated than accusing, like it makes sense to her even if she doesn’t want it to be true.

Or Tina’s mind thinks Chrissy shouldn’t want it to be true—if Chrissy’s ghost actually was in front of her, that is. But she isn’t, because that would be preposterous. She’s just had too much to drink, and she’s been feeling paranoid, and it’s not as if she’s been able to rest since all of this began.

She doesn’t know why she’s indulging this in the first place. 

Her mouth opens to say something to that effect. Surely she has some smartass comment about it all, but all that remains in her mind are the wispy impressions of the thought as she tries her best to reorient herself. In the end, she gets nothing out before a voice calls out for her. 

Damn, she’s been out here for too long. She’s not even really sure how much time has slipped away without her notice between her leaving the gathering and ending up where she stands now.

Right, that decides it, she’s leaving. This—all of this—is something she doesn’t want any part in. Not ghosts, or hallucinations, or whatever any of this is and certainly not while she’s drunk. There are a thousand more important things she could be worrying about, she chides herself as she turns on her heel and sets her eyes on the way back. In fact, she’s mid-step when a feeble voice calls out for her.

“Please, don’t go. I’m scared to be alone…”

Tina pauses, her heart pounding.

“I need to get back,” she says; to herself, because there is no one else there. 

For a moment, Chrissy is quiet. Tina almost thinks the hallucination has finally dissipated when she speaks up again.

“Will you come back?”

Tina’s heart stutters in her chest. This isn’t real. None of this is real. She turns to look behind her and Chrissy is gone, not even a trace of her to be seen. 

“Tina!”

“Yeah,” Tina replies, the words mumbled to herself, as she finally unsticks her feet from the ground to return to the group. 

---

chapter 2

[leadendeath]

just rediscovered this after getting back into the harder afx tracks..... goes insane

[turtleblogatlast]

I think a lot about Leo standing up for his brothers in the things that really matter to them.

Like- Leo is the one who immediately pushes Mikey and Donnie into finding Raph the second it’s clear that their oldest brother is missing because he knows Raph can’t handle being separated like that.

Leo is the one who stands up for Mikey when Mikey wants to go on a solo mission, actively vouching for him and being the one to convince Raph into letting Mikey go, because being independent and proving himself just as capable of standing on his own two feet as everyone else means so much to Mikey.

And Leo defends Donnie’s honor in particular when his brothers’ intelligence is insulted because Leo is well aware of how important Donnie’s smarts are to him - and how important having those smarts valued and acknowledged is as well.

All this goes right into just how well Leo knows his brothers. For as much as he’ll tease or fight with them, he knows them, and he loves them.

[cerealmonster15]

trying 2 figure out designs for the s1 teens, ft my Terry jr x grant Wilson + wingman bestie Nick propaganda lol

[greppelheks]

Having everything you want immediately there on your phone takes a lot of fun out of life... and it also isolates us more

[orcelito]

Got the local 16 year old employee to listen to Muse today. She's one of the most normal ppl who work at the store. Super sweet, but Super sheltered.

I mentioned how my "modern rock" tag on Spotify is like 80% Muse, Des Rocs, and Nothing But Thieves, & she was like "I have heard of None of those". And I told her "you Probably have heard Muse, even if you didn't know it" & mentioned they have a song in Twilight. & she was like "Wait, really????"

So I played Supermassive Black Hole & she looooved it. & she asked for me to play more of Muse, so I did :')

She's still almost painfully normal overall, but I can at least help spread some new music tastes to her

[aliceinmadnessland]

Listened to Dirt by Alice In Chains at work today and I was overwhelmed with nostalgia.

[avo-kat]

its so nice to discover new music u actually like aaaahhhh what a blissful feeling!

its like rediscovering music on its own

its new EMOTIONS and its so MOVING and AAAAAHH

(beach bunny - cloud 9 and some of their other songs)

if anybody has any music recs pls tell me! i mainly like energetic & happy music. no slow songs. most of the year i only listen to old kpop, with a bit of vocaloid and a few ""indie"" artists in there

[caroloftheshells]

as, as it is said by the occupants who rally round the outer steps of parliament so, so it is said confidentially by the men and women working in the government: pick up, pick up the bayonet and run it through, run it through the stomach of your brother

[leatherbookmark]

was browsing UKO (i know. i know) out of boredom and i'm personally in love with the idea that it's somehow Bad to say you don't like a song without listening to it fully, eg. only after 30 seconds. "you're missing out on so many banger bridges" "if you can't spare 2-3 minutes i don't think your opinion is worth listening to" you'd think it's music journalists scoffing at someone who wants to submit album reviews with this mindset, and not redditors talking about sillay kpop songs

[metanarrates]

it's actually really weird to me that a lot of adults don't seem to remember the worst bits of being a child. were you not horribly aware of when adults were talking down to you as a child? don't you remember how little autonomy you were allowed, even when it came to things that seemed pretty harmless? don't you remember the times when adults would seemingly be assholes to you for no reason? even if you had nice and reasonable parents, didn't you ever have teachers or other adults in power who treated you disrespectfully? didn't it sting no matter how people justified it?

especially when I was a teenager, it seemed obvious to me & to most of my peers when an adult wasn't treating us with respect. you could almost smell it, in certain classrooms. there would be this palpable, shifting undercurrent of teenage dissatisfaction whenever some teachers started talking. and it made a lot of the kids act out! which of course made the teachers try to exert their power, which never worked because nobody respected them, which made them get more draconian, etc.

as a teen, I didn't really get why my peers and I seemingly had a superhuman sense for when an adult was on a power trip. but now I think I get it. kids are systematically denied autonomy, respect, and consistently have the validity of their experiences denied. like, flat-out. they're a vulnerable class of people made even more vulnerable by their lack of societal rights. being disrespected as a kid is so frequent that I would say it's a defining experience for most children. is it any wonder they tend to pick up on when an adult doesn't see them as worth listening to?

so yeah, of course a ton of kids want to be treated "like an adult." to them, that's synonymous with being treated like a human being worth listening to. it's up to you, as an adult, to understand that wish for what it is, and behave accordingly. you don't gotta be a child psychologist. you don't gotta be perfect at it. all you have to do is remember how painful adult disrespect could be when you were a kid & do your best to act with some compassion.