#max terr

[fragrantblossoms]

Max Ernst. Terre des Nébuleuses, 1965.  Color etching and aquatint. 

[alessandro55]

Terres Indiennes

Max -Pol Fouchet

Maison Héliographia, Lausanne 1955, 102 pages, 96 illustrations tirées en héliogravure, 2 pages d’illustrations en couleurs, 22,3x28cm, 10.000 ex.numérotés, ex.n 2031

euro 50,00

email if you want to buy booksinprogressmilano@yahoo.it

Max-Pol Fouchet, né le 1er mai 1913 à Saint-Vaast-la-Hougue (Manche) et mort le 22 août 1980 à Avallon (Yonne)1, est un poète, écrivain, critique d'art et homme de télévision français.

Une histoire illustrée des indiens d’Amérique du Sud. Les paysages, les portraits, la vie quotidienne et la culture de cette civilisations ont surtout été prises au Mexique, mais aussi en Bolivie, au Pérou, au Venezuela et au Costa Rica .

24/07/24

[lemuseum]

[nobrashfestivity]

Max Ernst Terre Écossaise, 1935.

[bethanythebogwitch]

I am a survivor of Florida, having gone to college there for 4.5 years. There's a lot (a LOT) to not like about Florida, but the wildlife is not one of those things. So for this Wet Beast Wednesday, I'm gonna talk about the most famous Florida resident, the manatee. And why stop there? I'll discuss all the sirenians in one go.

(image: three manatees facing the camera. They are rotund, resembling a potato in shape. Their heads are smaller and end in squarish snouts. They have two flippers at the front of the head. The tail is flat, wide, and round. They are grey all over)

The sirenians are a taxonomic order of marine mammals consisting of 4 living members: three species of manatee and the dugong. They are the only herbivorous order of marine mammals, a trait that has given the the nickname "sea cows". The name Sirenia comes from the sirens of greek myth. In the original story, the sirens were bird with the heads and breasts of women, but later stories turned them into mermaids and that's the version that's stuck. There are unconfirmed stories that European sailors (the most common story uses Christopher Columbus) mistook manatees for mermaids, which is why they're named after sirens.

(image: a manatee facing the camera. Its face is visible, revealing two nostrils on a broad, flat shout covered in whiskers. It's eyes are located above the snout and are small and black. It is grey, but has patches of greenish algae growing on it)

Sirenians all have a pretty similar body plan. They are fusiform (bulky in the middle and narrower at the ends) and very bulky animals not built for speed. They don't ned to be fast (though are capable of short bursts of speed) because unlike other marine mammals, they are herbivorous. The vast majority of a sirenian's diet consists of sea grass and most of the rest is other aquatic plants. All species have been known to supplement their diet with invertebrates, mostly during times of poor food availability. When feeding, they move their snouts through the sediment, letting sensory bristles detect plants. They then use their flexible and muscular lips to pull up the sea grass, roots and all. While an individual can eat up to 15% of their body weight a day, they are known to seek out seagrass patches with higher nitrogen content instead of eating everything they can get. This reliance on seagrass limits the range of sirenians to shallow coastal areas, rivers, and estuaries in warm climates. Hearing and touch (with the bristles that cover their bodies) are their main senses. Their eyes are weak, making them almost blind. Sirenians are large, with the largest ever known, Stellar's sea cow, growing up to 10 meters (33 ft) and 11 tons. Mature sirenians are large enough to have no natural predators. Like all marine mammals not named sea otters, sirenians have a thick layer of blubber to keep them warm. Their bones are extremely dense and likely act as ballast to counteract the buoyancy of the blubber. In the marine mammal breath-holding competition, sirenians do pretty bad. They can hold their breath for about 15 minutes at max.

(image: a dugong. It is similar in appearance to a manatee, but skinnier. Its tail is a fluke with two points. Its head is larger and the snout and mouth point downwards)

Sirenian reproduction is somewhat poorly-understood. They only have a single calf at a time (with a gestation period of about a year) and mothers will raise them for one to two years. Calves mature quickly, reaching sexual maturity in around 2-5 years in manatees and 8 years in dugongs, though most females do not give birth until between 6 and 15 years. Their nipples are located behind the flippers, making a nursing calf appear to be sucking its mother's armpit. Sirenians are solitary animals who typically only congregate in groups when females are in estrus. Males are believed to compete for the right to mate and may engage in lekking. Lekking is when a male will claim a territory and mate with females in this territory while chasing opposing males out. Sirenians live long lives, with the oldest known individual being a female dugong that lived to 73. Despite how long they live, each female will only get pregnant a few times in her life.

(image: a manatee mother with calf. The calf looks like a smaller version of the mother and is suckling, making it appear to be biting the mother's armpit)

As with all marine mammals, sirenians are descended from land mammals. The study of sirenian evolution has led to a surprising conclusion: the closest relatives of sirenians are elephants. It sounds weird, but there is substantial DNA evidence supporting this conclusion. In addition, the tusks of a dugong (see below) and flexible and prehensile lips of sirenians are based on the same structures as the tusks and trunks of elephants. It gets better, the next closest relative of both groups are the hyraxes, who look more like rodents than anything that should be related to an elephant or a manatee. All three are part of a clade called paenungulata, which is part of a clade called afrotheria. The other main group within afrotheria is afroinsectiphilia, which consists of aardvarks and various shrews. The afrotherian family reunions must be wild.

(image: a scientific diagram showing a cladogram of afrotheria and the groups within it. source)

The dugong (Dugong dugon) is the last surviving member of its family, which also included the now extinct giant Stellar's sea cow. The easiest way to tell a dugong apart from a manatee is its tail, which is shaped like a dolphin's fluke instead of the round tails of manatees. Internally, there are also multiple differences, many of them relating to the skull. The skull has a very distinct shape, with the upper jaw bending down at a sharp angle. The tip of the upper jaw has two short tusks emerging from it. These tusks are found in moth males and females, but develop differently. In males, they emerge when the calf reaches sexual maturity, while those of females only emerge later in life and sometimes not at all. It is believed that these tusks are used by males to fight over females, as males are often found with scars matching the shape of the tusks. Dugong teeth as simpler than those of manatees, being simple pegs. While manatee teeth will be replaced continuously through life, dugongs only get one set and have to make it count. Dugongs reach an average length of 3 m (10 ft) and 420 kg (930 lbs). Dugongs have the largest range of any sirenian, stretching from east Africa to the Solomon islands east of Australia. This range is fragmented rather than continuous and dugongs are separated into multiple isolated populations. The largest population is believed to exist in northern Australia.

(image: a dugong feeding on seagrass, seen from the front. It's snout is being dragged through the sediment, leaving a cloud of dirt behind it. Small yellow fish surround it)

The west Indian manatee (Trichechus manatus) does not live in west India. It lives in North America. I dunno who named it, but you had one job. The species is divided into two subspecies: the Florida manatee (T. m. latriostris) found in the Gulf of Mexico and east coast of the United States, and the Antillean manatee (T. m. manatus) found in the Caribbean and down south to Brazil. The Antillean subspecies is much more poorly known compared to the Florida subspecies. The Florida manatee may be the most well-studied of all manatees due to the extensive conservation efforts regarding them since the 1970s. Like other manatees, the WI manatee has a round, paddle-like tail and fingernails on its flippers. Their diaphragms are divided into two hemidiaphragms, each of which contracts one lung. They have the northernmost territory of all manatees, which comes with some consequences. They are susceptible to stress and even death when exposed to water under 20 degrees C (68 F). They travel south during winter, usually to southern Florida, but conservationists still have to rehabilitate manatees harmed by cool water every year.

(image: tourists in transparent kayaks observing a west Indian manatee swim below them)

The Amazonian manatee (Trichechus inunguis) is the only sirenian that lives entirely in freshwater, residing in the Amazon river basin. They move seasonally inhabiting flooded areas during the wet season and lakes during the dry season. They fast during the dry season, subsisting off of their fat stores. There are believed to be multiple relatively isolated populations of Amazonian manatee, but studying them is difficult due to them preferring to live in areas away from humans. The Amazonian manatee is the smallest sirenian, reaching between 160 and 230 cm (5 ft 4 in to 7 ft 7 in) and 120 to 270 kg (265 to 595 lbs). Scientist Marc van Roosmalen has proposed the existence of a related species, the dwarf manatee, that lives only in one tributary of Aripuanã river, which is in the habitat range of the Amazonian manatee. Their existence is debated, but most manatee scientists think that they are misidentified juvenile Amazonian manatees.

(image: an Amazonian manatee with calf, seen from ahead and below. they have the same body plan as the above images, but are a darker grey with a white patch on the stomach)

The African manatee (Trichechus senegalensis) is the only species found in the old world, in west Africa from Senegal to Angola. They occupy the largest range of habitats of all sirenians, from tropical islands to flooded forests, to offshore sand flats, to lakes and rivers. They will swim up river during the wet season and back down during dry season. Some isolated populations live exclusively in rivers, never venturing out to sea. They are the most omnivorous of the sirenians, seeking out invertebrates to eat and stealing fish from nets. Many cultural groups in their range consider the African manatee sacred, some saying they used to be people and that killing one requires paying a penance. Mami Wata, a water spirit revered in throughout west, central, and south Africa, has been identified with manatees by some folklorists.

(image: an African manatee seen from the side in an aquarium. It looks almost identical to the west Indian manatee)

All sirenians are classified as vulnerable by the IUCN, except for the Antillean manatee, which is endangered. As they have few to no predators as adults, the primary threats for all sirenians come from humans. Boat strikes and getting tangled in nets kills and injures many individuals, possibly more than die of natural causes. This is not helped by them lacking fear responses to predators, meaning they don't flee from humans and boats. All species were historically hunted for their meat, blubber, and bones, reducing their populations. While all species are now legally protected, poaching and legal hunting by indigenous groups still occurs. They are also threatened by habitat loss as coastal development, pollution, and climate change reduces the range of seagrass. Damming has also reduced their ability to travel up rivers, cutting off valuable feeding ground. Learning about freshwater ecology will make you despise dams. In the United States, the west Indian manatee has become an icon of conservation, especially in Florida, where they have extensive legal protections. Controversially, the US government reduced their legal protections in 2017, much to the ire of many conservation groups. The manatee is the state marine mammal of Florida, presumably narrowly beating out dolphins and meth heads wandering around the everglades.

(image: two juvenile manatees who were abandoned by their mothers. They are being bottle fed by employees of the Cincinnati zoo. Ideally, they will be able to be released into the wild once weaned)

[hanasnx]

“Oh, c’mon. You serious?” The distant voice of a former school yard bully grabs TERRY MCGINNIS's attention enough to pivot his head. Not only does he recognize the back of Nelson’s red head in the courtyard, but his friends too. He strides over, a hand on his pack slings and one in his pocket.

“What’s up with Nash over there?” Terry quips, coming to a halt after he invited himself to the group. From afar, they resembled zoo occupants, judging animals from behind thick glass. Up close he realized it’s more personal than that, and crueler too.

“Trying to get Blade back.” Max answers, inclining in Terry’s direction to keep her voice low. Her, Dana, and Chelsea couldn’t take their eyes off the arguing ex-couple. Blade clutching her comp-book close to her chest, and Nelson as irritated as Terry’d ever seen him. If he isn’t mistaken, a malicious curl to Blade’s lips has him deducing she’s asked her ex to prove himself.

Nelson emits a loud and jarring noise of frustration. Blade’s unaffected, but Dana clutches onto Terry’s arm out of habit.

Terry glances curiously between the girls. It’s not unlike Nelson Nash to cause a scene, and it’s not unlike Terry to remind people like that to cool off. “Maybe I should step in.” he suggests, that determined tone of his accentuated with his one stride toward the situation. Not only does Dana clutch tighter, but Chelsea catches his other limb, effectively arresting him.

“No way, McGinnis, you’ll make it worse!” Chelsea chides under her breath, and surprisingly meets his questioning gaze to place emphasis on her request. “Besides, Blade’s handling herself just fine.” She gestures her chin discretely towards how Blade’s countenance shifts to a mischievous shade.

“She’s makin’ him do something— what’s she makin’ him do?” Terry addresses the throng at and unacceptable decibel, and all three of them shush him in response. His brows upturn; he had no time to apologize before the girls exclaim and corral him elsewhere at the sight of Nelson’s head turning their way because of their noise.

The thrill of narrowly escaping had the three of them snickering to themselves. Not to mention the reminder of what Blade is asking of the bully.

Dana wraps herself around Terry’s bicep, closing in so she could confess the secret. “She’s making him wear a bra.” No sooner had she finished her sentence than they erupted in a fit of giggles. It’s a particularly innocent dare, yet they drew such joy from it.

Terry crosses his arms, cocking a brow as if to sell a playfully scolding persona. One that made Dana and Chelsea specifically think they’d stumbled upon comedy gold. “Why? ‘Cause he’s a chauvinist? It’ll teach him some sort of lesson?”

“I think the more appropriate term you’re looking for is ‘misogynist’, McGinnis.” Max corrects, unable to stifle her own grin. “You gotta admit, you’d’ve never thought Blade would make him think he’s got a shot, just for a silly little prank like that.”

“It’s so simple but he won’t do it.” Chelsea predicts, leaning back against a wall, shaking her head at the ordeal.

Terry’s morbid curiosity gets the better of him, and he maneuvers to peer around the corner, spying on the topic of their conversation. Blade doesn’t seem so amused anymore, and Nelson’s taken to gripping her wrist to keep her from running away. She yanks it out of his reach, and Terry’s jaw clenches. It’s better if they work it out, she’s not in any real danger. “If I were Blade I’d make him jump off the roof for me.” the phrase slips out, an exaggeration at worst, no way he means it.

Chelsea scoffs. “Oh, c’mon, Terr, he’s not that bad.”

Terry flashes her a look. “Maybe not.”

[mrprettywhenhecries]

i don’t think you notice (what you did to me) [b.h]

nine. | you give love a bad name

Billy Hargrove ✘ Win Lewis (ofc)

⇾ w.c. 4.9k words ⇾ warning(s). canon x oc pairing, f!oc, angst angst angst, domestic abuse, homophobic language, violence, break ups ⇾ a/n. this chapter has an unhappy ending, but it's not the end of the story, dw.

[ masterlist ] [ win lewis bio ]

Picking up her tube of mascara, Win leaned in closer to her vanity mirror to put the finishing touches on her makeup when the bright green corded phone at her elbow rang, making her jump.

“Jesus!” she hissed, reaching for the phone.  “Y’ello?” she answered, resting the receiver between her cheek and shoulder so she could finish her makeup while talking.

“Hey, baby.”  

Billy’s voice on the other end of the line, however, brought a grin to her face.

“What’s happening?  You about to head over?” she asked, giddier than usual for their date – it had been a while since they’d gone anywhere other than Lover’s Lake.

“Uh–” Billy hesitated, blowing an exasperated sigh.  “Not yet,” he answered, annoyance thick in his voice.  “Neil and Susan haven’t gotten back from their dumb shopping trip yet and I have to stay here with Max til they do,” he grumbled.

“Oh…” Win breathed, her grin slipping for a moment til an idea hit her.  “That’s okay, I’ll just get a ride there and we can hang out til they get back,” she suggested.

There was a beat of silence before Billy replied.  “You sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” Win assured him, twisting her mascara shut and grabbing the phone as she straightened.  “I’ll just call Holly for a lift.  I’ll see you soon, kay?”

“Alright, see ya soon, Princess,” Billy replied before hanging up, sounding a little less peeved than he had.

As soon as she heard the dial tone, Win punched in Holly’s number, hoping her friend wouldn’t be too busy to give her a ride.  She half thought about searching for the key to the garage and borrowing the Chevelle, but Holly picked up before she could give it any serious thought.

“Hampton residence, Holly speaking.”

“Hey Hols, it’s Win, think you could do me a solid and give me a ride to Billy’s?” she asked, curling the phone cord around her finger idly.

“Yeah sure.  There something wrong with his car?”

“Nah, he’s stuck at home with his stepsister til his folks get back from Terre Haute,” Win explained.  “I figured I’d go keep him company til they get back and we can leave for our date from there.”

“Yeah, course!  I’ll be there in ten.”

It wasn’t long before Holly arrived in her dad’s car, her little brothers in the back seat.  

“You brought the whole family along,” Win laughed, turning in her seat to wave to Josh and Sammy.

“Yeah, they wanted to go to Dairy Queen after I drop you off,” Holly sighed, making a face at them in the rear view mirror before grinning.

“Where’s Steve?  I’m surprised you’re not with him tonight,” Win pointed out and Holly’s grin slipped.

“I dunno, actually.  I haven’t been able to get a hold of him all day,” she admitted, chewing her lip nervously.

“Oh," Win breathed, frowning.  "Well, I’m sure he’s just busy with something and he’ll call you as soon as he can,” she assured her friend, hoping it was true and that he wasn’t trying to win back Nancy Wheeler or something dumb like that.

When they pulled up in front of the Hargrove residence, Win noticed Neil’s car in the drive and relief washed through her.  At least now Billy would be free to leave.

“Thanks again for the ride, Hol,” Win said as she climbed out, waving once more to her brothers before she turned toward the house and made her way up the walk.

When she knocked on the front door, it was Susan who answered, her eyes going wide at the sight of Win.

“Hey Susan, I’m supposed to meet Billy,” she said, her smile slipping as Billy’s step mom didn’t move aside to let her in, instead glancing nervously back into the house and flinching.

“I’m sorry, dear, i-it’s not exactly a good time… Why don’t you come back later?  O-or I could let Billy know you stopped by and he could call you?” she suggested, her voice trembling slightly.

Win stared past her into the house, only half hearing her as Billy and Neil’s voices echoed from within.

“Where is she?  Where’s Max?” Neil’s voice demanded.

“I don’t know.”  

“You don’t know?” Neil scoffed incredulously.

“Look, I’m sure she just, I dunno, went to the arcade or something.  I’m sure she’s fine.”  Billy huffed.

“You were supposed to watch her.” 

“I know, Dad.  I was.  It’s just that you guys were three hours late, and well, I have a date.  I’m sorry, okay?”

“So that’s why you’ve been staring at yourself in the mirror like some faggot, instead of watching your sister?” 

Win tensed at the turn the conversation had taken, chewing her lip as she strained her ears to listen, Susan still blocking her way, her own head tilted as if she were listening as well.

“I’ve been looking after her all week, Dad.  Okay?  Look, she wants to run off, then that’s her problem, all right?  She’s thirteen years old!  She shouldn’t need a full time babysitter,” Billy exclaimed, his music shutting off.  “And she’s not my sister!” he spat.

The sound of something heavy slamming against the wall was followed by Neil’s level voice.  “What did we talk about?” There was a beat and then the loud crack of a slap, and Win felt her body move without thinking, pushing past Susan to run to Billy’s room, her heart in her throat.

When she reached his open door, she saw Billy pinned to the wall, his father’s hand gripping his chin, holding him in place more so with his sharp gaze than his grip, and she froze.  Billy’s cheek stung bright red and his eyes swam with unshed tears.

“What. Did. We. Talk. About?” Neil repeated slowly.

Billy swallowed, his eyes not leaving his father’s.  For a moment Win thought he wasn’t going to respond.

“Respect and responsibility,” he answered levelly, his voice low, almost hoarse.

Win felt Susan join her, hovering next to her anxiously, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Billy.

“That’s right,” Neil said.  “Now, apologize to Susan.”

“I’m sorry, Susan,” Billy ground out, staring straight ahead, a quiet defiance in his stare as if he were balancing on a razor’s edge.

“It’s okay, Neil, really–” Susan spluttered, her voice barely there, trembling pathetically.

“No, it’s not okay,” Neil snapped.  “Nothing about his behaviour is okay, and now he’s gunna make up for it.  He’s gunna call that whore he’s seeing and cancel their date.  Then he’s gunna go find his sister, like the good, kind, respecting brother that he is.  Isn’t that right, Billy?” Neil asked, expecting to be obeyed.

“A-actually, Neil, she’s a-already here…” Susan stuttered, but he ignored her, not even bothering to look back at his wife.  Billy however, finally shifted his red rimmed gaze, his glossy eyes meeting Win’s across the room.  As soon as he realized she was there, his jaw tensed, embarrassment radiating off him.

“ISN’T THAT RIGHT?” Neil yelled when Billy didn’t respond and his eyes snapped back to his father while Susan flinched.

“HEY!” Win cried, unable to hold back any longer.  Without thinking, she surged forward to grab Neil’s shoulder, hauling him back.  “Leave him alone!” 

Neil spun to face her, his expression livid, but Win didn’t back down, righteous fury running through her veins.

“Get. Out.” Neil ground out, his eyes flashing dangerously.  “This is none of your business!”

“You made it my business when you laid hands on my boyfriend,” she snapped, but Neil merely scoffed.

“My son, the pussy.  You need a girl to fight your battles for you?” he taunted, his voice dripping contempt.

At his words, Billy flinched, his mouth tightening as his eyes squeezed shut for a moment, as if he were fighting to keep it together.

“The only pussy I see here, is you,” Win replied coldly, and Neil’s head swiveled to her, silent rage painting his face.  

“A real man would never hit his wife or kids,” Win spat.  “Does it make you feel big when you scare them into submission?” she demanded, though she didn’t expect an answer, nor did she wait for one.

“Fear isn’t the same as respect, and no one here respects you, you fucking pig.”

For a moment, she thought she’d gone too far, her nerves close to snapping as she waited for all hell to break loose, but Neil merely stared her down, his hands balling into fists as his jaw clenched tighter, his muscles flexing.  Despite the fear that kept her heart in her throat, Win lifted her chin defiantly as she stepped between him and Billy.

“What’re you gunna do, Mr. Hargrove?  You gunna hit me too?” 

He held her glare for another minute before turning away, Susan scurrying back from the door to let him through.

“I said.  Get out,” he repeated, pausing in the doorway, his eyes fixing on Billy.  “And you.  Find your sister.”

Without another word, he strode away, not even waiting to see if he’d be obeyed or not and Susan quickly followed after him, her hands gripping her skirt hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

As soon as his dad left the room, Billy seemed to deflate.  The angry tears he’d been fighting back in his father’s presence finally spilled over, rolling down his cheeks as he shut his eyes, taking a shuddering breath before lashing out in frustration, slamming his hand against the wall.

“Billy… are you alright?” Win asked, taking a hesitant step toward him.

When he finally looked at her, his expression hardened, shame twisting his features at the reminder of her presence—the reminder of what she’d witnessed.  Hastily wiping his eyes, he sniffed, grabbing his car keys before his fingers circled her wrist, dragging her behind him toward the front door.

Once they stepped into the empty street he released her, turning on her, his pent up frustration finally finding its release, even if it was the wrong one.

“Why don’t you mind your own damn business!” Billy bellowed, throwing his arms up.  “I didn’t need your fuckin’ help!” he spat, his voice shaking with rage.

“Your dad’s a fuckin’ bully and someone had to stand up to him!” Win yelled back, her heart still hammering in her chest while her veins buzzed with adrenaline, her own anger rushing back to the forefront.

“You sayin’ I ain’t man enough to stand up to him?” Billy hissed, his voice dangerously low.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”  Win shook her head, standing her ground.  She managed to keep her voice level in the face of his misplaced rage.  “You don’t deserve to be treated that way.  It’s not right!”

Instead of soothing him, however, Win’s words only seemed to fan his anger hotter.  “I don’t need your fucking pity!” he screamed, his voice hoarse with emotion, but Win didn’t flinch.  Instead, she took a step closer, her gaze fixed on Billy’s flushed face, his eyes red rimmed and swimming, fighting to hold back more tears of frustration.

“This isn’t pity,” she said, her voice trembling softly.  “Like it or not, asshole, I actually give a shit about you, so you better get used to it.”

Her words seemed to knock the wind out of him, his next retort dying on his tongue as he tried to process how that made him feel.  Win took advantage of his stunned state to step closer, wrapping her arms around him.

“You’re not weak.  I’ve never thought you were,” she whispered, pressing her face to his chest.

In that moment, the rest of his fight dissolved and Billy hesitantly pulled her closer, tucking her head under his chin.

Not trusting his voice, or maybe not finding the right words to say, he merely held her, letting the silence stretch.

“Come on, let’s go find Max,” he said, finally pulling away, rubbing the dampness from his cheeks as he slipped behind the Camaro’s wheel.

———

The first place Billy stopped in their search for Max was the arcade, but her telltale red hair was nowhere to be seen, and Keith confirmed that he hadn’t seen her there since earlier that day.  The next place Billy decided to check was Lucas Sinclair’s house, having seen him hanging around Max, despite his warnings for her to stay away.  His folks hadn’t seen her either, but pointed them in the direction of Mike Wheeler’s house, saying the kids usually ended up there to hang out.

Once more climbing back into the car to continue what was starting to feel like a wild goose chase, Win could sense Billy’s growing tension.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find her.”

Billy let out a heavy breath as he ran his hands over the steering wheel.  “She’s the one who ought to be worried when I find her,” he huffed, pulling back onto the dark road, heading for Maple Street.  “That brat ruined our night and got me in hot water.  She fucking owes me,” he growled.

Win didn’t know how to respond, so she held her tongue.  If she was being honest, she was a little resentful that Max had snuck out, causing problems for Billy, though she knew not all of it was the younger girl’s fault…

By the time they parked in front of the Wheeler’s, the sun had completely set, blanketing Hawkins in darkness, a thick cover of clouds rolling in to blot out the stars overhead.  

Win circled the car, falling into step with Billy as they made their way up the walk, his hand lightly touching the small of her back as he rang the doorbell.  Several seconds ticked by and no one answered the door.  The light from the tv inside was visible through the lacy curtains, so it was obvious someone was home.

Billy’s frown deepened and he impatiently rang the bell again, shoving his hand back in his jacket pocket against the cold while they waited.  When the door finally yanked open, Mrs. Wheeler stood there in a robe, her hair messily pinned up and an annoyed look on her face.  When her eyes fell on Billy however, her expression quickly changed, a hesitant smile curving her lips and Win’s brows furrowed when she noticed Billy’s gaze fall to the exposed swath of the older woman’s chest for a moment.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Mrs. Wheeler asked, looking between the two of them, finally pulling her gaze from Billy.

“Billy, Billy Hargrove,” he answered, his voice lowering to a drawl as a grin stretched across his face, his usual self confident mask slipping into place.  “This is my girlfriend, Win,” he added, nodding toward her at his side.

“Oh, are you guys here to see Nancy?” Mrs. Wheeler asked, tilting her head.  “I don’t think she’s home–”

“No, no no no,” Billy cut in quickly, shaking his head.  “We’re actually looking for my little sister, Max.  Goes by Maxine.  She’s been missing all day,” he explained, his expression dripping faux concern.  “To be honest with you, I’m uh, I’m worried sick,” he continued and Win had to fight not to roll her eyes.  “I thought she was at Lucas’, but Mrs. Sinclair said your house is the uh, the designated hangout, so you know… here we are,” he said, spreading his arms.

“Oh.  Oh, I see,” Mrs. Wheeler murmured, glancing to Win and quickly away again before pulling her robe further closed against the chill.  “I’m afraid she’s not here.  None of the kids are at the moment,” she explained apologetically.

Billy’s expression tightened for a second, though Mrs. Wheeler didn’t seem to notice.  “Do you know where they might be?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice smooth and not let his facade crack.

“Uhm, if they’re not at the Sinclair’s, then I would try the Byers’,” Mrs. Wheeler suggested, stepping aside.  “Come inside, I’ll write down the address for you,” she offered.

Billy nodded, nudging Win ahead of him before stepping into the house, a cloying warmth engulfing them.  In the kitchen Mrs. Wheeler picked up a pen and grabbed a sticky note, leaning over the counter to scrawl the address while Billy pulled the lid off the nearby cookie jar, fishing a small vanilla sandwich cookie out and bringing it to his lips while he waited.

“The drive is kind of hard to see in the dark, so you really have to look if you don’t want to accidentally pass it,” she murmured, dropping the pen and lifting her head, her eyes once more seeming to caress Billy’s form and Win nearly snatched the note from her hand.

“Thanks, we’ll keep a look out,” she said tersely.

“You’re a real lifesaver, you know that?” Billy drawled, taking another bite of the cookie with a smirk.

Mrs. Wheeler had the audacity to blush, patting her hair nervously as she glanced away.  “When you see Mike, will you tell him to come home, please?” she asked and Win grabbed Billy’s arm, reminding him of her presence. “We will,” she grumbled, practically pulling Billy to the door with her.

As soon as they were back in the car, his grin fell away and Win rounded on him.

“What the fuck was that?”

“What was what?” Billy asked, starting the car, his hand sliding over the wheel as he pulled back onto the road.

“You were awfully friendly back there,” Win huffed, hating how jealous she sounded.

“Oh please, I was just buttering her up to get the information we needed,” Billy grunted, carefully not looking at her.

“Yeah sure, like I believe that for a second,” she muttered.  “I saw the way you looked at her, Billy.”

“What are you trying to say, Win?  Huh?”  Billy finally looked at her.  “You think I wanna fuck that cougar?” he spat, waiting for her to respond.  “One, I’m with you, so no.  And two, I’ve got bigger shit on my mind right now,” he snapped, leaving Win internally kicking herself.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” she mumbled, watching the house numbers for the one they wanted.  

Silence fell, stretching for a long moment until she noticed the overgrown drive up ahead.  “It’s there,” she said, pointing, and Billy grunted, pulling off the road to stop in front of a dark run down looking house half hidden by trees.  Several dark shapes appeared in the front window before ducking back down again quickly.

“I think we found them,” Win said wryly, unbuckling her seatbelt.

“You stay here,” Billy muttered, kicking his door open, a dangerous glint to his eyes.  As he straightened, he pulled his Marlboros from his jacket pocket and pulled a cigarette from the pack with his lips, lighting it as he watched Steve Harrington step down from the porch, a dish towel draped over his shoulder as if he’d been inside doing chores.

“Am I dreaming, or is that you, Harrington?” Billy called, leaning against the Camaro.

“Yeah, it’s me, don’t cream your pants,” Steve sighed, as if Billy was the last person he wanted to see at the moment.

Billy held his gaze as he shrugged his leather jacket off, as if preparing for a fight.  “What are you doing here, amigo?” he asked, coating the word in as much scorn as he could.

“I could ask you the same thing.  Amigo,” Steve replied levelly, planting his hands on his hips.

“Looking for my step sister, a little birdie told me she was here,” Billy replied, his cigarette bobbing as he spoke.

“Huh, that’s weird, I don’t know her.”  

“Small, red head, a bit of a bitch?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell, sorry buddy.”  Steve shrugged.

Billy let out a derisive snort, shaking his head.  “You know, Harrington, this whole situation… it’s giving me the heebie jeebies.”

“Yeah, why’s that?” 

“Hmm, let’s see, my thirteen year old sister goes missing all day, and then I find her with you in a stranger’s house, and you lie to me about it,” Billy exclaimed, ticking off each point on his fingers.

“Man, were you dropped too much as a child, or what?” Steve scoffed, trying to brush the accusation off and redirect the conversation.  “Like, I said, she’s not here,” he insisted.

“Then who is that?” Billy asked, pointing to the window with his cigarette, where Max’s face flashed for a moment before disappearing  just as quickly.

Steve turned to follow Billy’s gesture and winced.  “Oh shit, listen–” he began, but Billy didn’t give him a chance to explain before rushing forward to knock him off his feet, sending him sprawling on his back.

“Shit,” Win breathed, kicking the door open and rounding the car as Billy leaned over Steve, a sneer on his face. 

“Thought I told you to plant your feet.”

“Billy–!” Win called, but he was already on his way inside, throwing the door open, murder in his eyes.

“Steve, are you okay?” Win asked breathlessly, helping him to his feet.

“Yeah, c’mon, before your boyfriend does something stupid,” Steve exclaimed, scrambling up; the two of them running into the house.  

Win barely noticed the mess of papers haphazardly plastering the walls and floors, covering nearly every surface and branching out down the hall like some dark system of roots.  Her stomach in her throat, she only had eyes for Billy who had Lucas pinned to the wall, his fists balled in the boy’s jacket as he leaned in to sneer in his face–the scene a near replica of what she’d witnessed earlier, the tables turned.

“Since Maxine won’t listen to me, maybe you will.  Stay away from her,” Billy growled, his voice dangerously low.  When Lucas didn’t respond, he screamed in his face; all the anger, all the frustration he’d swallowed down earlier was loosed now on a new target.  “Stay away from her!  DO YOU HEAR ME?”

“I said, GET OFF OF ME!” Lucas yelled back, his knee coming up between Billy’s legs hard enough to make him double over, loosening his grip on the boy’s jacket.

“You’re so dead, Sinclair!” Billy hissed, and Win gasped as Steve lunged past her, his fist connecting with Billy’s jaw while he was still distracted.

“No, you are!”

“Guys, stop it!” she cried, but Billy didn’t even seem to see her, his eyes wild as he turned back to Steve, a deranged laugh leaving his mouth.

“Looks like you got some fire in you after all, huh?” he exclaimed, throwing his arms wide.  “I’ve been waiting to meet this King Steve everybody’s been telling me about so much.”

Steve’s jaw flexed as his eyes darted from Billy to Win.  “Get out,” he said firmly, pushing Billy back by the tips of his fingers, clearly trying to deescalate the situation.  But Billy wasn’t having it.

Without warning Billy swung, his fist catching air as Steve ducked, hitting him back.

“Billy, stop!  Please!” Win cried from the edge of the kitchen with Max and the others, her heart still in her throat, fear holding her captive.

Pinned back against the sink, Billy reached out, grabbing a plate from the counter to smash over Steve’s head, leaving him dazed as he stumbled back.

“No one tells me what to do!” Billy growled, back on the offensive.

Before Win knew what was happening, Steve was on the ground and Billy was on top of him, aiming blow after blow to Steve’s face until Steve went limp, knocked out cold, and yet Billy didn’t stop, all his anger rushing out of him in a deluge with no signs of abating.

“BILLY!” Win screamed, finally finding her legs and rushing forward, trying to pull him away.  “Stop!  You’re gunna kill him!” she sobbed, but Billy didn’t want to listen, his elbow flying back in an attempt to shrug her off.

Pain bloomed behind Win’s eye and she stumbled back, holding her face, her trembling fingers coming away bloodied where her lip split.

In a flurry of movement, Max pushed past her, grabbing a syringe from the table.  “Wait!” Win gasped, grabbing the girl’s wrist as she pulled back to jab it in her brother’s neck.

Max’s head whipped around to gape at Win, the two staring each other down for a second before Max dropped the syringe, wrenching her arm out of Win’s grasp.  Instead, she grabbed a bat resting against the wall, several long nails jutting out from the end.

“BILLY!” she yelled before the bat whistled past his ear.

Surprised, he wrenched away from the bat, falling backwards as she swung again, his eyes going wide as she stood over him, holding the bat over her head.

“From here on out, you leave me and my friends alone!” she growled, her blue eyes flashing.  “Do you understand?”

Billy stared back at her defiantly.  “Screw you,” he ground out.

Without warning, Max brought the bat down between his legs, just missing his crotch, the nails biting into the wood floor beneath him.  “Say you understand it!  SAY IT!” she bellowed, bringing the bat up again threateningly.

Billy swallowed.  “...I understand,” muttered reluctantly, indignant resignation in his voice.

“Good,” Max breathed, her friends staring at her in shock.  “I’m taking these,” she said, crouching to grab the car keys from Billy’s pocket.  Surprisingly, he didn’t argue.  It wasn’t until the others carried Steve out to the Camaro and Max jumped behind the wheel that Billy pushed himself up, letting out a frustrated roar, and Win winced as he swiped his hand out, knocking the contents of the table to the floor.

It wasn’t til he took a deep breath that he turned around, almost having forgotten Win was there.  

“Are you alright?” she asked, hanging back, for the first time, she was wary of him, her face beginning to throb where he’d elbowed her.

“Am I alright?” Billy repeated incredulously, slowly stepping closer, the floorboards creaking under his weight.  “Let’s see, shall we?  My step sister just stole my car and left us here to go God-knows-where in the middle of the fucking night with a bunch of boys,” he exclaimed, his voice raising with each word.  “And guess who’s gunna take the fucking blame for it?  No guesses?” he asked, a dangerous tone to his voice.  “That’s right, me.”

Win felt ice drop into her stomach at the thought of what Neil would do to Billy if he showed up without Max in tow.

“We could call the cops,” she suggested, interrupted by Billy’s harsh laughter.

“Yeah, sure, the cops!” he snorted.  “I’m sure they’ll be a great help,” he taunted derisively, pacing around the room like a tiger in a cage.

“Billy–” Win murmured, but he turned back to her sharply, interrupting her.

“Nobody fucking asked you!”

“Billy, I’m only trying to help,” she muttered, wrapping an arm around herself with a frown.

“Yeah well, I didn’t ask for your FUCKING help!” he spat.  

For a long moment Win merely stared at him.  As much as she felt for him–her heart aching at the thought of the situation he was in at home–Steve’s bloodied face as Billy kept hitting him, the fear on Lucas’ face as Billy had him pinned against the wall, and even the predatory way he’d smiled at Mrs. Wheeler earlier kept replaying through her mind, twisting her stomach further.  And now this.  The way he’d turned on her when she was probably literally the only person in Hawkins who cared enough about him to try to help made something inside her snap.

“Alright, fine.  I’m done,” she whispered.

“What do you mean you’re done?” Billy asked, a frown pulling at his features.

“I mean I’m done, Billy.  I can’t do this anymore,” she said, shaking her head, her voice trembling.  “You just attacked a fucking kid!  You beat Steve to a pulp, and I know you didn’t mean to, but this—“ she paused, gesturing to her split lip and the purple bruise beginning to bloom across her cheekbone.  “You did this.”

Billy’s mouth fell open as he finally took in the state of her face, panic crossing his visage when he realized what he’d done, but Win didn’t let him speak, her own frustration spilling out like word vomit.

“I get it!  I get why you’re angry all the time.  Your dad is a fucking piece of work and you don’t deserve to be treated the way he treats you, but if this is how you channel it?  Lashing the fuck out like that?  I can’t do it!” she exclaimed.

Billy’s face darkened.  “So what, all that shit you said about how much you care so much about me, that was a fucking lie?” he demanded, his voice faltering.  “You gunna give up on me?  Walk out like my fucking mother?” he spat, gasping a shuddering breath and Win turned away so he wouldn’t see the way her eyes watered dangerously, her tears threatening to spill over.

“No, I fucking meant it.  Fuck, I care so much it hurts!” she cried, squeezing her eyes shut.  “But if you keep down this path, Billy, you know who you’re gunna end up like—?”

Billy’s silence was deafening, his blue eyes boring into her.  “Don’t you fucking say it.  Don’t you dare fucking say it,” he hissed, but Win set her jaw and spat it out.

“You’re gunna end up just like your father.”

She wasn’t ready for the look that crossed Billy’s face, the hurt in his eyes broke her heart in two before his rage returned, gripping her heart like a vice.

“FUCK YOU,” he roared, his finger jabbing at her like a viper.  “FUCK YOU, WIN.”

“Yeah,” she swallowed, a tear streaking down her cheek.  “Fuck me,” she whispered, her voice hard, fighting to keep it together though her lungs burned with the effort.

Billy gave her one last scathing look.  “We’re done,” he hissed, turning on his heel and stalking to the door.

“Yeah, we are…” she murmured, but he was already gone, her broken sobs following him into the night.

⇾ taglist. @super-unpredictable98 @b1tchygh0sts @heartbreak-sandwich @santacarlahorrorshow @vampyreddiemunson @wherethewitchersare @elliethesuperfruitlover

[lillylunala]

[sadclowncentral]

max ernst (1891-1976) | works featuring the sun

oiseau, soleil et foret (1927) | vue de ma fenetre (1960) | grätenwald (1927) | favourite tremblement de terre (1925) | terre et soleil (1928) | the twentieth century (1955)

[terminusantequem]

Max Ernst (German, 1891-1976), La Terre est une femme, 1963. Oil on canvas, 65.2 x 53.8 cm

[aloneinthehellfire]

Chapter 14: Part 2: The Battle Of Starcourt

Season One | Season Two | Season Three

[Raining Hellfire Season Three]

Word Count: 2291 words

Warnings: swearing, attacks, use of knife, mentions of blood, death, powers, sad confessions, fire, guilt, mentions of possession

[A/N: It just got a whole lot more interesting. And depressing. Mostly interesting. Can't believe there's just one more chapter until the end of this season]

The Battle Of Starcourt

You ran into the Starcourt Mall just in time to see an epic display of fireworks.

The others had come back, bringing unexpected ammo with them as they blasted the streams of light towards the giant monster, it screeching out in pain. But they would have to run out eventually.

In front of the Mind Flayer, you see a struggle and immediately stagger towards it. Your eyes widen when you see Billy pinning El down, smashing her against the floor.

“NO!” You scream and you dive at Billy, hooking your arm around his body and pulling him down to the floor with you.

El coughs for air, scrambling away from Billy and the Mind Flayer while looking to you with a panicked expression.

Billy writhed in pain as Robin threw a firework bomb at the monster, their connection allowing the others to hit two birds with one stone.

But Billy was determined. He pounced at you, grabbing you by the throat and lifting you with strength no human should have.

“Y/N!” You heard Robin and Steve yell. They had no more ammo left to rid the monsters of their strength.

“Billy…” You struggled to speak, clawing at his hands around your neck as you aimlessly kick your legs. His dark eyes stared into yours, any soul they had gone forever.

You reach down into your pocket, feeling the familiar glint of metal brush against your fingers and you grasp the handle tightly. With one swift swing of the scalpel, you cut across Billy’s arm, causing him to hiss and drop you to the floor in pain and surprise.

You choke for air, crawling away.

“Let us finish this, Y/n” Billy stalked closer to you, a deep voice striking every nerve, “Once and for all”

You turn onto your back just as Billy reached down and brought up the scalpel again. But he was prepared this time. He grabbed your wrist and twisted it, hard, causing you to drop the small knife onto the floor.

He took the opportunity and straddled you, pinning you down, as he wrapped his hands around your head and smashed it against the floor. You cry out in pain as your skull made contact with the hard surface, eyes blinded by white spots in your vision.

“Y/N!” Max’s voice rang out as she and Mike ran into the mall.

You simply hold your hand out, stopping her from getting any closer. You bring your eyes to meet Billy’s as he lifts your head once again. Before he can repeat his past action, you delicately place your hand on his cheek and his movements still.

“Billy… it’s me. It’s me.” You whisper repetitively, eyes never leaving his.

His eyes seem to regain emotion, eyelids flickering slightly as he fought against himself.

“I’m the girl you saved at the beach, remember?” You try, breathing heavily, “I swam too far into the waves and you came out and saved me.”

Billy’s face flashes with memories, his gaze set on yours.

“You were with your mom. She wore a hat. With a blue ribbon.”

His eyes start to pool with tears, his breathing becoming shallower.

“You… you brought me to her.” You nod, tears slipping down your cheeks, “You didn’t even know me but you told her I was your new best friend.”

“I wanted to teach you how to surf.” He whispers and your heart breaks. Billy was still in there.

“Remember how happy we were?”

Billy squeezes his eyes shut, nodding slowly as the rush of tears finally streamed down his face.

“I’m so so sorry, Billy.”

You cried, staring at the boy you shared so many memories with. The boy that had come into your life when you both needed someone. The boy you shared your first kiss with. The boy you could never not love. The boy you had cursed.

The Mind Flayer lets out a terrifying screech, quickly recovering from the blasts.

“Kill her”

Billy’s eyes widen as he hears the same echo, glancing up at the creature above you. Something flashes across his eyes before he looks back to you, lips quivering into a hint of a sad smile.

Suddenly, the Mind Flayer roars, opening it’s mouth and revealing rows of sharp teeth. A tentacle shoots out, opening up and aiming straight for you.

It never reached you.

Billy caught the tentacle with both hands, straining against its force as he stood above you. Protecting you.

You struggle to stand, trying to prop yourself up on your elbow before falling back down. Another tentacle shoots out. Billy shifts his body and it bites into his left side.

You watch in horror and regret as your childhood friend sacrifices his life for yours. The Mind Flayer has no choice but to eliminate him now. Another tentacle, another bite. And again, and again, and again…

Billy drops to his knees, the tentacle from the monster’s mouth retreats as he screams out in pain.

Billy shifts his gaze to you and you lock eyes. You stay paralysed, shaking your head. He was going to die. And he knew it.

He smiles, reassuring you just before the Mind Flayer shoots its tentacle straight through Billy’s chest.

“BILLY!” Max screams as you sob on the floor, watching the Mind Flayer take his life.

After a moment, the tentacles release him and he drops to the floor. Max immediately runs over, eyes set with panic as she stares down at her brother.

You slowly stand, head throbbing as you make your way over to them both. As you do, you feel something shift behind you and your arms trail with goosebumps.

“LOOK OUT!” Mike yells and you spin around just as the Mind Flayer shoots out more tentacles.

You didn’t know how it happened. In fact, it all happened so fast that you didn’t think anything through.

Your hands raised in front of you, reaching out as you felt a powerful rage build up inside of you. The corners of your vision darkened as you focused your anger on the rows of teeth in front of you. You screamed.

The tentacles suddenly froze in the air, barely inches away from your face as you stood in front of the kids. They squirmed and struggled with such force that they should have moved. It shouldn’t have been possible, not since El had lost her powers. But it wasn’t El doing this.

It was you.

You felt a darkness creeping through your spine and into your arms, faint black lines covering the skin. With a yell, you push your arms out and the tentacles stabbed straight into the Mind Flayer so quickly you almost missed it.

You stand your ground. The Mind Flayer struggled against itself, slowly pulling away each tentacle before roaring at you.

But its action caused it to start bleeding out from every wound you had caused. And that wasn’t the end.

A chill crept up your spine before your mind suddenly flooded with a high pitched scream. You wince, collapsing to the floor as the Mind Flayer screeches out in pain. It becomes unsteady on its legs; rocking back and forth as it struggles to stand. Stumbling, it crashes into a column.

You feel its life draining before it finally collapses to the floor and lays there, motionless. You breathe out as the static in your mind calms, air leaving your lips shakily.

They had done it. They had closed the gate.

Everyone stares at the dead creature from where they stand, relief coursing through them. And then they look to you... and you couldn't even begin to imagine what they were thinking.

“Billy?”

Max’s voice snapped you out of your trance and you turn your head to see her kneeling down beside him. Behind her, Mike held El as she cried.

“Billy.” Max continues, shaking her head as he struggles to breathe. “Billy. Get up, please. Billy, get up, please, please.”

You pull your body across the floor towards them, reaching him just in time for Billy whisper into the air.

“I’m sorry.”

You reach out to grab his hand and his eyes find yours, a tear rolling down.

He takes his final breath.

“Billy!” Max sobs, shaking his shoulders, “Billy, wake up. Please.”

You watch as your sister breaks down, sobbing uncontrollably. El takes her into her arms, rocking her back and forth.

“It’s okay.” She whispers and tears your heart apart, “It’s okay.”

The next hour felt like torture.

Military helicopters had shown up in the parking lot, a man in a lab coat leading them into the mall.

“I’m Dr. Owens.” He had said to you as the soldiers cleared out the mall. The way he looked at you was curious, like he had seen you before.

Outside, fire trucks and ambulances lined the Starcourt Mall. There wasn’t originally a fire in the building but now it was covered in flames. Just another cover up in Hawkins.

They even covered your father’s death with the flames.

You sat in the back of an ambulance, watching as your friends reunite with their families, crying and holding eachother. It was a numb feeling for you to be seeing that.

Susan and Neil had even appeared, pulling Max into a hug as Susan stared at the flames with a horrified expression. Neil didn’t even seem like he cared his own son had died.

El never reunited with Hopper. She had lost him just like you lost Jack. But she had Joyce, a woman who always saw the girl as her daughter ever since the night they met. She had a family, even with him gone.

And the last time you saw either Jack or Hopper was in the mall that was burning to the ground.

“Hey.”

Steve sits down next to you, wrapped in a blanket similar to your own. You smile at him before frowning, looking out into the crowds of people.

“Where are your parents?”

He let out a cold laugh, shaking his head. “Out of town. Probably won’t find out about any of this until they’re back. Not like they ever answer their damn phones.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, offering a smile.

Steve looks at you as your eyes are drawn back to the parking lot. Lucas’ mother was smothering him and Erica in kisses whilst their father held on to them.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks and you tear your eyes away from the Sinclairs. His eyes widen. “Shit, sorry. That’s a stupid question. I’m sorry.”

“I just-” You start, taking a breath. “I just wish I could go back in time. Do things differently. Maybe… maybe they’d still be alive.”

“None of us could have seen that coming.” Steve tries and you laugh bitterly.

“I should have. I mean, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that they died after I was told that everyone I loved would be taken away from me, you know? And what did I do? I dragged them into it anyway.”

“How can you blame yourself?” Steve furrows his brows, “You couldn’t have done anything.”

“But I did.” You say quietly, thinking back, “I stopped it. I- I don’t know how but I stopped it from attacking. I had that the whole time and I didn’t use it until it was too late.”

“I should have let it take me.” You add with the quietest whisper. Steve raised his eyebrow, clearly not hearing your last statement.

“How could you have known?” He offered. “You looked just as shocked as the rest of us.”

“I know.” You slowly nod, trying to convince yourself. “You’re right. I just… a lot happened.”

He reaches between the blankets and grabs your hand, squeezing it. “We’ll get through it. All of us.”

You look down at your hands with a gentle smile. You frown, remembering. “About-”

“It’s okay.” He whispers, planting a kiss on your temple. “I know what you’re gonna say.”

You squeeze your eyes shut at his touch, wanting nothing more than to give in.

“I don’t think either of us are ready.” You look up at him. “I was told once that… that time doesn’t heal by itself. I know you and Nancy didn’t work out but you loved her. And… and I know first hand that those feelings just don’t disappear in a couple of months.”

He nods along, glancing over at the Wheeler family reuniting.

“I know.” He smiles down at you, a laugh escaping him. “Why are we like this?”

“Hopeless?” You laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. “I have no idea.”

Another kiss to your forehead and you close your eyes.

Just for now, in this moment, you wanted to pretend. Pretend like nothing ever happened.

The Russians didn’t try to open another gate. It didn’t lead to an investigation that got you and your friends kidnapped and tortured, not knowing if you’d make it out alive.

Billy was never possessed. It didn’t lead to him sacrificing himself for you. You were going to attend work tomorrow and roll your eyes at Billy’s dramatic entrance from the pool house. And Heather would be there too, fussing over colour-coded whistles.

Hopper didn’t go down into the Russian base. It didn’t lead him to getting caught in the blast as they shut the gate. He would come home, grumbling about Mike and El, making you laugh with his poor attempts at dad jokes.

Jack never came looking for you. He was going to be there waiting for you, in the house you shared as a family.

The black dust never possessed you on the eve of your 14th birthday.

You weren’t cursed.

You just wished you weren’t destined to live out your greatest fear...

Being alone.

Chapter 15: This Is Just The Beginning ->

taglist: @gnnnne / @beepisbeep / @paintballkid711/ @eddiesbirdie/ @livasaurasrex/ @darktimelegends / @jackierose902109 / @mvrylee / @chervbs/ @eternallyvenus / @nervouscatsuit / @f1nn-wolfhard / @hereiamhereigo / @ladybug0095 / @fangirling-4-ever / @astrolockley

[mel-et-ses-histoires]

Alors Fallout est une série de 8 episodes diffusée sur Prime video et elle est une adaptation de la série de jeux vidéo du même nom.

Le 1er fallout est sortie en 1997 (et j'y ai joué, c'était trop bien, je suis vieille, au secours) et etait un jeux de role en monde ouvert dans un univers post apo.

La serie et les jeux partagent le même univers : une réalité alternative à la notre qui serait bloqué dans son imagerie et dans sa politique dans les années 50. La guerre froide ne s'est jamais terminée et le nucléaire est l'energie du quotidien.

En 2077 la guerre éclate entre les USA et la Chine avant qu'un tapis de bombes mette tout le monde d'accord.

Ceux a la surface vont se débrouiller pendant quelques centaines d'annees avec l'effondrement de la société et la radioactivité qui rend les bebettes très grosses et agressives.

Une partie de l'humanité a également survecue dans des bunkers souterrains qui sont prevus pour s'ouvrir dans quelques générations pour repeupler la terre.

La serie suis (surtout) Lucy, une habitante d'abri qui va devoir quitter son bunker pour explorer le monde et retrouver son pere qui a été capturé par des brigands.

La serie suivra également Maximus, un apprenti soldat d'une faction ultra militarisée "la confrerie de l'acier", ainsi que Cooper, un petit bonhomme de 200 ans, survivant de l'avant guerre tellement irradié par les bombes qu'il est a moitié immortel et plus qu'a moitié défiguré.

Le fait que le perso que l'on commence a suivre soit une habitante d'abri a un gros aventage d'un point de vue narratif : elle ne connaît pas le monde qu'elle explore et le decouvre avec nous, pas de dissonance entre le personnage et le spectateur.

La serie offre un bon développement des personages, chacun a droit a une véritable évolution, le parcours de chacun va le faire évoluer (cas particulier de Cooper qui ne va pas en soi évoluer, c'est nous qui allons comprendre comment il en est arrivé là).

La serie est bien filmé, la colorimétrie est sympa, j'ai bien apprécié que la serie ne fasse pas semblant d'avoir le budget qu'elle n'a pas. Alors il y a beaucoup beaucoup de budget hein, mais la serie n'abuse pas des effets spéciaux, et quand il y en a ils sont bons.

C'est gore (donc c'est bien) mais c'est sage.

Je m'explique, plus la serie de jeux fallout avance plus elle devient frilleuse (merci les réseaux sociaux qui font qu'on peut se prendre une manif d'évangélistes si tout le monde n'est pas ultra gentil). La philosophie du 1 était qu'on était tres libre dans ce mondz où la société n'existe plus. On peut etre canibale, esclavagiste, sacrifier des gens ou etre un super samaritain, mais dans tous les cas il faudra assumer les conséquences.

Dans la serie alors que le monde s'est effondré tout le monde semble globalement pas bien méchant, pas bien malveillant. On est loin d'un Mad max. La violence cherche a compenser mais une moralité un peu plus grise aurait été pas mal.

Sinon il y a un peu d'humour, qui marche tres bien, des références aux jeux de partout mais rien de soulants et surtout ce qui est tres sympa c'est qu'on sent que l'univers est très large. Il y a les communautés qui survivent, les brigands, différentes factions qui cherchent a recréer chacun un modele de société (la nouvelle république de Californie, la confrerie de l'acier, l'enclave, l'entreprise Vault tech a l'origine des abris qui n'a pas disparu, etc) et aucune n'est vraiment un "bon choix", chacune a sa vision du monde.

Bref c'est une bonne adaptation mais surtout c'est une bonne serie. Pas de romance à la con, pas de sexualisation des personages, un robot aspirateur central a l'intrigue (si si) etc.

Je recommande / 20.

[claudehenrion]

Bienvenue –si j'ose !-- en enfer...

Dans un délai qui risque d'être court, cette ''Fête de Pâques 2024'' restera comme la date officielle du début de la fin de ce qui fut la France : depuis le 15 novembre 2013, ce blog, s'appuyant sur mon arabophonie et ma connaissance de la civilisation arabe –c'est à dire, à peu de choses près, le Coran-- a répété, billet après billet, que nous allions vers une bérézina... Combien de gens de bonne foi et bien intentionnés m'ont écrit que j'étais pessimiste, que je voyais tout en noir...

Et soudain, voilà que toutes les boutiques de sondages se mettent à changer de discours et découvrent ce qu'elles refusaient de voir : les français sont inquiets à en paniquer, ils sont plus pessimistes que je ne l'ai jamais été, et les vrais chiffres sortent enfin des armoires où on les tenait cachés… Faut-il que tout aille mal, pour que nos armadas de vrais parasites/faux démocrates, nos laïcards de salon, nos soi-disant républicains, nosgauchistes d'opérette et nos révolutionnaires du ''Flore'' en soient soudain réduits à dire la vérité, comme de vulgaires hommes de Droite : neuf français sur dix osent enfin dire qu'ils ont peur, dans leur vie de tous les jours, et que l'insécurité progresse à toute vitesse... 72% d'entre avouent ne pas faire confiance au gouvernement pour les protéger (dixit Odoxa, devenue brutalement honnête), et 6 sur 10 ont décidé de se défendre eux-mêmes (alarmes, armes de poing, sports de combat).

Jusque là, on pouvait craindre qu'une passion pour le déni du réel, un attrait pour les idées de Gauche –toutes mauvaises-- et un refus de ce qui n'est pas conforme au grand mensonge qui sert de fondement à toutes nos idéologies mortifères, ne soient devenus de plus en plus difficiles à contourner : le ''système'' en place avait réussi à tout bloquer ! Des gouvernements peuplés d'aveugles et de nuls (mais tout puissants) nous interdisaient tout ce qui n'était pas ''pile-poil'' conforme à leur mensonge, via l'injustifiable (et démodé) enrégimentement à Gauche de 99 % des journalistes (qui doivent être tenus pour co-responsables de tous les maux qui nous tombent dessus). Ils ont été jusqu'à inventer des ''pandémies'' inexistantes pour nous cacher la seule pandémie (qui, elle, en est une, et ''mahousse'' !) qui nous menace vraiment : l'islam triomphant.... aidé dans sa marche par leurs silences et leurs mensonges ! Cet arsenal mortifère nous conduisait peu à peu là où ils voulaient que nous allions : en enfer. Nous n'y sommes pas encore, mais ''on n'en a jamais été aussi près'' !

Nos lamentables gouvernants, incapables --par système, mais aussi par absence d'intelligence et de référentiels culturels-- de désigner par leur nom toutes les horreurs dont ils ont fait notre quotidien, ont brutalement ouvert les yeux, et viennent tout juste de commencer à entr'apercevoir la série de catastrophes à laquelle leur impéritie et leur imprévoyance ne nous laissent que très peu de chances d'échapper : ceux qui ont vu clair ont baptisé ce drame ''le grand remplacement'', pendant que les idiots-utiles parlaient ''d'une chance pour la France''. Cherchez l'erreur !

On en revient toujours à Camus : ''Mal nommer les choses, c'est ajouter au malheur du monde''... sauf que nos faux guides ne nomment même pas : ils esquivent ! Dans un torrent de pensée à l'envers, ils essaient de nous faire avaler que si on est pour la paix, on est pro-poutine... si on est pour dire la vérité, on est complotiste... et si on aime la France en tant que ce qu'elle est (et non en souhaitant leur enfer-sur-terre), on est facho... Notre cas semblait sans espoir...

Devant ce changement, la panique de nos apprentis-ministricules si peu professionnels devrait faire de la peine à voir... sauf que, ayant fait tout ce qu'il ne fallait pas pour que le ciel leur tombe sur la tête, ils n'ont que ce qu'ils méritent ! Nous allons, nous, souffrir ''un max'', mais en ce qui les concerne... ''c'est bien fait pour leur gueule''. Et ils croient nous impressionner en ayant mis devant chaque église, pour Pâques, (''quoi qu'il en coûte'', ajouterait sans doute leur chef, s'il ne s'était pas réfugié dans un inutile ''sauvetage -sic !'' de la forêt amazonienne --qui, sans lui, est condamnée... tout le monde sait ça !-- en veillant à ce que ses costumes voyagent sur un siège ''First Class'', plein prix. Honte à lui !), des militaires lourdement (?) armés des quelques sarbacanes qui nous restent encore, après que nous ayons sacrifié nos arsenaux et nos réserves stratégiques au fantasme anti-poutinien du chef... La vérité ? On ne les croit plus, c'est tout.

Vous rendez-vous compte de ce que signifie cette déroute en rase campagne ? Au nom d'une ridicule ''laïcité'' résiduelle, vidée de son sens et de tout intérêt, seul le christianisme est interdit de pratique, de respect et de considération, en France, où seuls comptent les choix supposés de quelques minorités, surtout si elles ne sont représentatives de rien ou de quelque dépravation indescriptible... Des pouvoirs hostiles ont pris le pouvoir dans nos banlieues, dans nos villes, nos campagnes, nos villages... et nous avons de moins en moins les moyens d'assurer la sécurité dans nos rues... Si Jules Romains revenait parmi nous, il ne ferait plus de ''Ambert et Issoire'' deux ''trous de province'' où des ''Copains'' (joués, plus tard, par Philippe Noiret, Guy Bedos, Pierre Mondy et Claude Rich, accompagnés par Les Copains d’abord de Georges Brassens) exerceraient leurs talents... mais des lieux de ''points de deal'' ! Sic transit gloria mundi, hélas !

Aujourd'hui, la population française –qui n'ose même plus se revendiquer telle, tremble en permanence pour son intégralité physique (je ne parle même pas de son intégrité morale...) pour ses biens, pour ses femmes et ses filles, pour ses enfants visés par les drogues les plus immondes... Notre langue est battue en brèche et arabisée, notre magnifique culture est niée par celui-là même qui devait la promouvoir, nos modes de vie menacés par la violence la plus barbare, et notre histoire, si riche, remplacée par des enchaînements de bobards dont pas un seul ne tient la route, mais que des ''cavaliers d'Allah'' barbus et sales interdisent de mettre en doute, puisqu'ils sont archi-faux !

Au nom de notre gloire fanée, et dans l'irresponsabilité la plus totale... nous avons fait la danse du ventre pour organiser des jeux olympiques qui ne devraient logiquement plus être ni l'un ni l'autre : nous n'avons plus un kopek vaillant en poche, et ceux que nous jetons par les fenêtres vient de traites tirées sur le futur de nos enfants. La guerre rode partout –en partie par notre arrogance à raconter que nous sommes prêts à la déclencher ''pour de vrai'' sans en avoir le début de l'ombre d'un moyen... Au nom du beau mouvement olympique, nous refusons aux athlètes russes de se produire sous les couleurs de leur pays et d'avoir droit à leur hymne national … qui sont les deux strictes définitions-conditions de l'olympisme... Nous sommes inconséquents, irresponsables et provocateurs, en offrant notre gorge aux tueurs de Daech, du défilé inaugural (''Une folie criminelle'', d'après Alain Bauer) au défilé final... qui risque ''d'être de la revue'' !

Et s'il n'y avait que tout ça... Au fil des ans et des mauvaises idées, c'est par vagues successives que nos lamentables gouvernants qui, initialement nuls, se révèlent dangereux tout azimuts (dixit aussi Alain Bauer) détruisent le bel édifice, construit avec amour, persévérance et tellement d'intelligence par 70 générations de français (qui furent, par moments, gaulois ou gallo-romains) : ils croyaient bâtir un monde... et il a suffi de 2 mandatures de ''lumières éteintes'' pour tout foutre par terre... Oh ! Que j'ai mal, très mal, à ma France !

En rongeant les fondamentaux, ils ont fait s'écrouler les murs... et nous voilà offerts, sans défense, aux dangereux vents du large. Un exemple ? Au moment où le monde entier se réarme, fait des stocks de munitions, re-remplit ses arsenaux... nous nous sommes engagés à offrir, gratos, à l'Ukraine (à qui ça ne sera d'aucune utilité : les carottes sont cuites... et nous, avec ! Là encore, il serait sage de voir le monde tel que 7 humains sur 10 le voient...), la totalité de tout ce que nous aurions pu produire... mais que notre impécuniosité va laisser à l'état de ''rêves éveillés''. Pauvre France ! Lorsque les canons tonneront (ce qui est possible, avec les puérils excès présidentiels !), on pourra continuer à donner au monde ce que nous nous croyons encore capables de donner : de mauvais conseils... à surtout ne pas suivre... Dire qu'il suffisait de si peu... trois fois rien, peut-être...

H-Cl.

[e642]

Jsais même pas quoi dire, jsais même pas pk j'écris ça je vais le supp après quand la colère sera passée mais c'est fou comment mon mec s'en pète un rein de ma gueule. Purée quand il a un rhume il appelle sa famille pour leur faire ses adieux, moi quand jsuis à 47 de fièvre j'ai même pas un "ça va ?". Ptdrrrr ça fait 5j aujourd'hui qu'il me raconte comme sa vie est dure avec ses contrôles. Mec t'as jamais vécu une période de partiels, tes coincé dans un but, tes maths je les ai faites en spé maths au lycée, t'sais même pas faire une racine carré sur ta calculatrice primaire. La con de ta race réveille toi, si tes au max de ton potentiel intellectuel deja bien maigre maintenant, tu vas faire comment dans ta vie ? Une école dinge, c'est ce qu'il veut, personne n'ose lui dire qu'il sera pas reçu. T'as raison, après avoir passé 6 mois à te toucher les couilles, tu peux te permettre de stresser et de rusher sur la dernière semaine qui te reste pour tes tes contrôles. Jpp, jsuis comme lui j'étudie pas mais jfais pas chier la terre entière en disant que jsuis débordée. J'assume. Putain j'ai la dégaine d'un carnet de doléances ? Non, donc viens pas de plaindre. Mais heureusement que jsuis loin et couchée. T'sais pas le culot, il me dit "tu veux pas venir samedi soir et partir dimanche matin pour qu'on se voie ?". Existe-t-il une manière plus facile de me dire que t'as envie de baiser ? J'ai beau me creuser et nan hein. Jpense pas. Jme detache d'une force. Jprenais ces quelques jours comme des vacances de lui mais jsuis malade. J'ai le karma au trousse alors que jsuis clean. C'est pas moi qui ai trompé mais c'est moi qui prend tarif mais pitié

[sloshed-cinema]

The Gold Rush (1925)

No matter the era or setting, the leading lady in a Chaplin film always looks like the same flapper archetype. A little out of place in the rough Yukon Territory with her perfectly coiffed curls and sequined slip dresses, Georgia is the apple of the Tramp/Lone Prospector’s eye. Directorial indulgence has been a thing since the start of cinema, as Chaplin’s penchant for his down-on-their-heels self-insert characters ending up with the pretty lady in the end, but it’s nowhere near as ridiculous as, say, Quentin Tarantino’s thing for feet, which nears the point of self-parody with Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood. Put some shoes on, Margot Robbie! Perhaps the key to “getting away with it” is that Chaplin’s Tramp persona is such an endearing figure. Endless pratfalls prove Chaplin’s genius for physical comedy: he’s nearly blown out of a cabin by a strong wind, yet can also be light as a feather and stiff as a board when a chance at a hot breakfast is on the line. His desire for the attention of the leading lady isn’t creepy because he constantly disarms himself with everything, even the most simple task like keeping baggy pants up, proves difficult. There is also a poignancy to the Tramp, here exemplified in his loneliness. Entering the narrative as a solitary figure, almost any encounter he has with others seems to go wrong. Big Jim, starving in the storm-swept cabin with the Tramp, starts to see his fellow captive as a tasty chicken (though they eventually get over that). And most poignantly, the Tramp spends a New Year’s Eve alone after Georgia and company don’t follow up on their plans. Fantasy of company, merriment, and a dinner roll dance fades away to a lonely and cold cabin where the candles burn low and the party crackers go un-popped. Sure, he ends up a millionaire in the end AND gets the girl, but he has to go through quite the ordeal to realize these, and even slips on the stairs on the way to take his last photograph.

While Max Terr’s score for the 1942 re-release of the film garnered him Oscar attention, Carli Elinor’s original setting is truly something special. Combining cheekily rewritten extracts from the classical canon (and some not adjusted at all, as with Rimsky-Korsakov’s “Flight of the Bumblebee”), it creates a lush and romantic world for the Tramp to inhabit, tinged with frost. One of the highlights has to be the New Years Eve sequence, a warm chorale trading off between powerful brass and intimate woodwinds as the film cuts between the boisterous party and the Tramp’s lonely cabin, before dissolving into a version of “Auld Lang Syne.” This lacks the joy of something like its appearance in the end of It’s a Wonderful Life, instead introspective and small.

THE RULES

SIP

The word 'lone' appears in an intertitle.

The Tramp takes a fall.

Someone gets blown through a door.

BIG DRINK

Iris in or out on a scene.

Big Jim hallucinates something.

A new kind of animal appears for the first time.

[sweetika]

~Deux cœurs, Deux mondes~

En 2141, la terre est ravagée par un gaz toxique nommé, "Le gaz mortel" qui a transformé à jamais le monde que tel qu'on connait. Ce gaz est omniprésent dans des zones extérieures des anciennes villes, rendant l'air mortel pour les humains. Invisible à l'œil nu, le gaz tue rapidement ceux qui n'ont pas de masques respiratoires. Il est à l'origine d'une nouvelle race, les géants.

Les humains vivent sous la protection des dômes, coupés du monde extérieur et ses dangers. Les dômes sont autarciques, avec des systèmes complexes pour recycler l'air, l'eau et les autres ressources vitales. Ils vivent sous un contrôle social étouffant.

Ceux qui ont survécu au gaz toxique, ils subissent soit une mort certaine ou une transformation terrible. Leur corps grandit de façon spectaculaire, ils mesurent environ 9 mètres de haut et leurs yeux sont vert émeraude, signe distinctif des géants. Dotés d'une force surhumaine, les géants vivent loin des humains en plein nature. Ils sont perçus, par les humains restants, comme des êtres dangereux et sauvages. Les humains croient que ces géants ne sont que des monstres.

Ou peut-être pas pour certains des humains ? 

____________________________________________________________

Les histoires seront en plusieurs parties, il y aura des plein de personnages en situation. 

Les paroles des humains seront en écriture -> Je suis....

Les paroles des géants seront en écriture -> Je suis....

Les genres 

Science/Fiction, Romantique, Famille et Amitié

Les histoires peuvent contenir des insultes et un langage grossier.

🍋Les scènes + 18 ans 🍋

Il y aura des passages qui seront présent donc je vous demande de ne pas lire les passages +18 ans ou même si vous êtes gêné par ce genre de lecture.

J'annonce l'alerte au moment de la lecture avec cet émoji 🍋

Je ne suis pas une écrivaine renommée, donc c'est possible qu'il y a des fautes d'orthographe, de grammaire, de conjugaison. Je vous remercie de bien prendre en compte. 

L'outil qui m'a beaucoup aidé est ChatGPT, il m'a beaucoup aidé à écrire et bien sûr que j'ai écris car ce IA n'est pas parfait.

Les personnages et l'univers m'appartiennent.