#simple as that. because they’re not real people. their reality is what we make it
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mywitchyblog · 2 days ago
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I just wanted to say your takes on age and shifting have been really helping me. I didn't have the opportunity to enjoy my teenage years and I feel like everything is falling apart in my adult life, so I really want to age myself down and experience life as a teen again. However, tiktok constantly made me feel like a creep and I was even starting to doubt myself and my motivations, which is crazy. So thank you for standing your ground and having our back lol and stay away from shiftok yall
AS.YOU.FUCKING.SHOULD.
Girl, keeping your distance from ShiftTok? Absolutely the right call. That place is less of a community and more of a cult with a superiority complex, stuffed with self-appointed “moral guardians” who’d rather police everyone’s shifting practices than actually understand a damn thing about shifting itself 💅. They’re too busy gatekeeping, throwing their tired opinions around, and stirring up drama to realize just how hypocritical they look. Chile, the irony is thick enough to choke on, and trust, we see it 👀.
And don’t even get me started on the anti-age-change crew. These people couldn’t argue their way out of a paper bag without leaning on the same three tired-as-hell logical fallacies, dragging them out every time to keep shifters in check without an ounce of actual understanding or empathy.
Ad Hominem – This is anti-age changers’ go-to move when they’re out of actual arguments. They skip right over any real discussion and dive into calling people “pedo” or “creep” just to shut them up. Rather than taking the time to understand why someone might genuinely want to experience being younger again, they grab for the ugliest insults they can think of and throw them like confetti 🎉… only it’s confetti made of trash 💀. Example: A shifter explains, “I age down in my Desired Reality because I had a tough youth and want to relive a better version of it. Plus, I want to experience a healthy, innocent romance from my teenage years.” But instead of even thinking about the idea that there might be something healing and meaningful in that, here comes an anti-age changer with: “If you want to age down to date, you’re a predator—plain and simple.” Here’s the kicker: these critics don’t care about the reasons. They’ll weaponize shame to make shifters look like villains, ignoring the fact that not everyone who age-shifts and dates does it for predatory reasons. Many want to experience that sweet, teenage love they didn’t get in this reality, to relive the simpler emotions of that time without adult complications. But the anti’s? They’d rather throw accusations than try to understand even a sliver of the truth. They’re using the “pedo” card because they know it’ll silence some people, and honey, it’s a sad attempt at control through fear 🙄.
Straw Man Fallacy – Here’s where things get especially messy 🥴. Instead of listening to what you’re actually saying, they twist it into something completely off-base, creating a fake argument to attack. They don’t want to engage with your actual reasons; they’d rather paint you as something you’re not so they can feel good about their so-called “moral high ground.” 🙄Example: Imagine a shifter saying, “I age down because I missed out on a carefree youth and want to date someone my age in that reality. I want to experience young love in a non-sexual, simple way.” The anti immediately twists this into, “Oh, so you’re saying you’re an adult wanting to act like a teenager to date kids? That’s sick.” See the problem? They’re creating a whole new argument based on something you never said. This shifter just wants a clean, innocent experience of being young again, complete with those little flutters and first dates that only make sense at that age. Some shifters may even explore young relationships with some intimacy, but it’s coming from a place of reliving a time they missed—not about attraction to minors or anything predatory. These critics twist the intention, making it sound like a fetish when it’s about pure curiosity, nostalgia, or healing. They’ve crafted their own horror story and are trying to pin it on you 👑, and honestly? It’s lazy, transparent, and completely off the mark.
Hasty Generalization – This is when anti-age changers pull out the big, sloppy brush and slap the same, tired accusation onto every age-changing shifter. Because they’ve heard one example of someone age-shifting for sketchy reasons, they assume everyone who does it must have some secret, shady agenda. Girl, the logic isn’t even there 🤦‍♀️.Example: Anti-age changers will say, “Oh, I heard about this one person who aged down to act out some weird fantasy, so clearly all shifters who age down to date are predators.”This is their way of weaponizing a single, extreme case to invalidate every other shifter’s unique, personal reasons. There are countless reasons people age down and engage in romance, and most have nothing to do with predatory behavior. Imagine someone who wants to experience a first crush all over again, or who never got a chance to date as a teen and just wants that innocent thrill of hand-holding and kissing at a school dance 🕺💃. Some might even explore sexual intimacy because, for them, it’s about curiosity and filling in experiences they missed—not some twisted attraction.Let’s get real: most age-changing shifters just want to feel what it’s like to be young again, to make memories that heal, to have those butterflies and firsts they missed out on. The antis are so obsessed with scandalizing that they can’t imagine a reality where someone wants to age down without any creepy motives. This broad-strokes accusation is not only unfair; it’s lazy as hell. It paints every age-changing shifter with the same brush, and it does nothing but create stigma and misinformation. Like… maybe sit down and breathe for a second instead of trying to stir up a scandal? 😒
Here’s the reality: these fallacies are tools they use to twist, shame, and silence. They’re not here to have a real conversation about why someone might age-shift or date in that reality, or to understand that those desires can come from totally normal, even therapeutic places. They’re here to make it sound twisted, full stop.
The next time they pull out these tired arguments, just remember: they’re not about facts, they’re about control. They use moral panic as a blunt weapon, hoping people won’t look closer and see right through their paper-thin accusations. Keep doing you, stay fierce 🔥, and don’t let their fallacies dull your shine.
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electric-friend · 1 year ago
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i don’t like the surge of casual ‘ed is an abuser’ vibes this izzy clip seems to have sprung. it’s actually making me sick with anxiety that the show is gonna make ed into someone i can no longer enjoy. i really really hope his relationship with izzy can be somehow fixed because if it can’t i think the new season will be really really really bad for my mental state and i mean that so genuinely and seriously it’s not funny.
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successfulgoddess333 · 7 months ago
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Why the Void State is so easy?
When bloggers say the void is easy
They’re not lying
Here’s why
Every time you fall asleep you lose awareness of the 3D
During this time
Everything around you does not exist because you are in your 4D
Which is why entering the void is easy
You’re doing EXACTLY what you do when you fall asleep
You just lose awareness of the 3D!!!
Only difference is now
You’re doing it on purpose
You’re just becoming aware that you are pure consciousness
There are lots of moments in life where we are no longer aware of focusing on the 3D
When we zone out in class
Daydreaming about our crush
Thinking what we’re gonna do when we get home from school or whatever
During these moments we do not focus on the 3D
And it feels good
To daydream
About our desires if about our favorite person or food of whatever
Because in that particular situation you are just thinking of something that makes you feel good
You’ve ever daydreamed so hard you can physically feel what you’re imagining? It takes you away from your reality
Which is why people snap their fingers at you to snap you back into “reality”
But What is reality?
Reality to me
Is whatever you assume
Whatever you want
If you’re sitting in class hungry
But you’re daydreaming about a juicy cheeseburger
I mean think about it
It’s got the perfect amount of cheese
Lettuce tomato onions the meat is cooked to your desire crispy or soft buns
(Damn I’m getting hungry)
Be honest
You just went
“Mmm” didn’t you?
Because when you daydream
It results in feelings cuz our body it reacting to whatever we’re thinking about causing emotions
Emotions play a key part in our self confidence
If you think negatively you’ll feel bad about yourself
Think positive thoughts and you’ll feel good
It’s this easy because you’re simply giving your positive thoughts a label and by labeling them you’re giving them importance
So when it comes to the void state
Reality Shifting manifesting Lucid Dreaming etc whatever
Feel
The key is to FEEL
Your thoughts
Feel your desires as you visualize them
Many people label things and give it importance
By saying you “failed” to enter the void of to shift
You’re giving it power and importance
STOP DOING THAT ✋
Because the only powerful thing here is you
There’s nothing in this world you can’t have Sugar
If you want it a you it is yours
Like
It’s yours
Failure in my opinion IS an option if you assume you’ll fail
Then you will
Don’t make this an option for yourself
“I’m gonna TRY to enter the void tonight”
Yeah bitch that’s exactly what you always do
You TRY
You gave that word importance
By doing so
You’re only stuck thinking and feeling
That all you are able to do is TRY
No you are GOING TO
There’s no trying there’s doing
When we call ourselves a procrastinator or lazy we give that word importance
By giving it that label
We’re making it harder for us to change our ways
When we say we are depressed
We’re giving it power
STOP PUTTING LABELS ON SHIT THAT DOESN’T EVEN RESONATE WITH YOU
So when meditating for the void
Your desires are that cheeseburger(sorry for any vegans here)
Thoughts create feelings
When we think about something bad
Like
“Omg what if this what if that?”
Etc
You’re going to start panicking
Mental disorders, intrusive thoughts are JUST like this
Coming from someone who used to deal with countless mental issues
I’ve been knowing this
So think about it the longer we let in unwanted thoughts we go crazy obsessing over them to the point where we start hearing or seeing things because our minds told us so
This is what created delusion fear
And something as simple as a thought could cause you to feel very negative thing as if it were real
If you think about something negative and it creates negative feelings and energy
Not only did you give it power but you’re letting it consume your energy
Why?
If you can think negatively
You can think positively
Like I said before
It’s YOUR brain
Why are you fighting it?
You’re fighting yourself OVER yourself and you’re still losing??? Huh
Babe how you losing a war that YOU started??
And why are you letting fuck ass thoughts that don’t resonate with you win?
If it doesn’t resonate with your soul it’s not meant for you and if it’s not meant for you then it will never be true
Because thoughts are thoughts
They’re the results of whatever you spend our time obsessing over
If you’re always talking about your crush
You’re gonna think about them 24/7 right?
Stop thinking
Start feeling
It’s ok to daydream
But don’t constantly think and obsess over your desires
Because of f you already had your desired bf or your desired face you wouldn’t obsess over it
LIVE IN THE END
This is your movie
If you you can skip to the best part and just stay there
Life is a movie
Who cares if nobody comes to watch and support
Who cares if it’s not interesting for some people
It only has to make sense for you
It only has to make you happy
The 3D is just here
The 4D is the REAL reality
In the 4D you are everything you wanna be
In the 3D you are not
Why?
Well bitch you’re not connecting with your 4D self
Because your 4D self
Is YOU
The 3D is dead
3D you exists because of her assumptions
You might think this is clicking
But the 4D you gets it
The 3D you does not
She needs to disconnect from HER reality
In order to be in tune with her 4D reality
So she can live in her real true reality
You need to connect with your 4D
The 3D is the cover of a book
It can be changed if you(the author) doesn’t like it
But the 4D is the inside of the book once it’s been published
You’re the author of your own life
Don’t hand someone else the pen
Create the story(reality) that YOU want to see and live in
Add new characters
Create plot twists
Because the best thing about being the author of your own life
Is nobody gets to tell you how to write your story
If you don’t like how you’re living
Turn the page💗💗
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cosmicdream222 · 11 months ago
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It’s not your fault you’re struggling, you were brainwashed by society
(A lil inspired rant)
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・。.。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
The capitalist society we live in is based around one thing: selling. I’ve taken marketing classes before and one of the first things they’ll teach you is the basic formula for advertising: Problem - Agitation - Solution.
Explained in simple terms:
Problem: Figure out what problems people have. They also call this “pain points”. In other words, figure out what’s causing people pain, what’s making them anxious/depressed/etc and focus on those problems.
Agitation: This means making the problem worse for people. Rub it in their faces that they’re struggling and suffering. Make their pain worse so they feel like they really need a solution.
Solution: Your product, obviously. Now you’ve gotten your target audience super upset about themselves, you give them the answer, in the form of spending money to buy whatever you’re offering.
Master this and you’ll become a fantastic salesperson - and a shitty human. Yet this is how society operates. Literally EVERYTHING is built to exploit our pain.
Now, this is problematic in many many ways, but specifically:
It’s causing you to focus on your problems, identifying with a state of lack, making you feel not good enough as you are right now.
It’s causing you to look outside yourself for answers, hoping that whatever the thing is will be the magic solution to all your problems, and keeping you in a deferred state (not having it yet).
Being born into this society means you’ve been exposed to these limiting beliefs your whole life. Parents, teachers, the media, advertising etc have constantly repeated the same stories of “you’re not good enough right now, “you need someone else to tell you what to do”, “you’ll be happy once you have this thing”, etc (in various different words)
It’s all BS created to make us feel powerless. It’s brainwashing, plain and simple. It’s also proof that the law of assumption works, “for an assumption, though false, if persisted in will harden into fact.”
So if you’re struggling right now, it’s not your fault, and you’re not alone. You were brainwashed into believing you are powerless and miserable. But now you know the law, it’s time to take your power back.
The real truth is: You are the creator. You are in control of your reality. You don’t need anyone else to tell you what to do. You don’t need to buy anything or consume any more info. You are powerful and you already have everything you need right now!
Persist in your new assumptions and your new story. They may feel uncomfortable and untrue at first, because your whole life you have been taught the opposite. Like when you get a new pair of shoes, it might take some time to break them in and make them feel natural, but eventually they will mold to your body and be so comfortable you won’t even notice.
Sending so much love ❤️
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alphajocklover · 5 months ago
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Hello, basic 40 year old flabby, short, wimpy nerd nerd here. Been trying and failing to get fit and transform into a stud since I've been thirteen to no avail. Pretty much decided that that the project is genetic. I don't suppose you can genetically graft me to a hypermasculine dad or maybe a hypermasculine brother so puberty could have dealt me a way different hand?
Huh. I’ll admit, I’ve never really done anything like that before. I mean, I’ve talked about changes that alter someone’s past in previous post, and I performed one myself using time travel (I fucking hate time travel), but what’s you’re asking is so much more intense. You want me to make it so that you grew up with a super manly dad or brother. You want me to make it so your genetics are different, your history is different, so that you’re basically an entirely different person. I’m not sure I’ve ever altered anyone that much before. But… I’m willing to give it a try.
You’re an only child right? And you never knew your dad? Raised only by your mom? Good, that will make this much easier. Now, I should warn you that we’re going to have to be very careful. We’re going to use an artifact that my Uncle left to me. I’ve mentioned him before. I really should tell you all about him one day. Anyways, what we’re using to change you might not look like much, but… it’s very powerful. We need to use it carefully.
Ok, I know what you’re thinking. It’s a little statue of a metal tree. Yes I know I sound crazy but in a world with time travel, an app that turns people into meatheads, and reflections that can swap places with the person they’re reflecting, I think you can give me the benefit of the doubt. The little statuette doesn’t look like much, but it’s one of the most dangerous magic items I own. It’s known as the Family Tree, and it allows the user to, well, alter their family tree. Literally. All you have to do is press your thumb to the wooden base, and the tree grows and changes until it resembles your own family tree, complete with pictures. Then it’s as simple as moving some things around, or adding a picture to the tree. So, let’s get to work.
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You asked for a super manly dad, or a super manly brother. But since we’re already changing your family, why not give you both? First let’s change out your deadbeat dad for someone a little more… impressive. A real man, a man’s man, one so muscular and sexy that if he walked out on your mom you’d still thank him for the amazing genetics. But don’t worry, your new dad isn’t going to walk out like the old one. He stayed with your mom (who as it turns out is a real babe with the right man encouraging her), and raised you to be just like him. He taught you how to play sports, how to workout, how to shave your hairy face, even how to make a girl putty in your hands. You were always especially talented at that last one. You’re starting to remember it aren’t you? Everything your dad taught you, how far you pushed yourself because you wanted to make him proud. You especially remember him showing him how to throw a football. In this world you were a natural.
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Next is your brother. I don’t wanna give away your identity, or his, so let’s call him Brad. He’s actually your younger brother, not your older brother. You were the one who taught him how to be a man, how to be a stud, and in doing so, became an even better one yourself. As reality changes you remember growing up with him, teaching him the ropes, playing and working out with him. You even remember the girls you’d sometimes fuck together. You remember the first time you and him spitroasted a bimbo, how hot the girl looked and how proud and manly your brother was.
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But let’s move on to you. In this life you took after your dad and your little brother, being a natural stud. You were a strong kid, an active kid, but puberty hit you like a dump truck. You shot up, your shoulders widened, and you gained an almost obscene amount of muscle and hair. You’ve got a different personality too. Cocky and confident, a constant flirt and a total bro. You thought you’d never settle down, fucking a different girl every night. Until… you met your wife. Yes, in this world you have a wife. She’s a bit of a bimbo, but the kindest person you’ve ever met. She enchanted you, and soon… while, you were married, and have stayed married for almost 20 years.
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You’ve changed your past, your future, and everything about yourself. You’re finally the man you always wanted to be… but your kids are really the lucky ones. They’ve got awesome genetics, killer bodies, and a great dad to show them how to use it, just like how you did growing up.
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superblysubpar · 1 year ago
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masterlist | the music
19.7k words | Sorry freaks, no smut this chapter - but the series is 18+ and so is my blog so skedaddle on out of here if you're not!
A/N: I have a really long one here - so I'll just say thank you once again and that I love you. Also, another special thank you to @sweetsweetjellybean and @loveshotzz💛💛
chapter warnings: very brief mention of religion (but not reader participating or believing in one in particular) | small mention/description of reader's maternal death and cancer symptoms | teeny tiny spoiler for the ending to the movie 'when harry met sally' | use of dialogue from the movie 'My Best Friends Wedding'
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Why do we want to believe in things like fate or destiny - divine intervention? Why do some put their faith in religions with blind following? Why do we look to the stars in moments of despair, when we’re desperate for hope, when we’re lost? 
We seek out answers from something we can’t see but we want to believe in. Whether it’s a fortune cookie in your take out, a penny head’s up on the sidewalk, a community of like minded souls coming together for prayer or worship, or a horoscope you read on your morning Instagram scroll - the reasons have to be the same for choosing to believe, for the hope that starts to rise in you for the promise these things try to offer. 
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We look for solutions to problems. We need reason. We need purpose. We need to feel like we’re not alone. We need confirmation that it’s all gonna work out even though nothing can really guarantee that. 
When you look up at the stars that work hard to shine through clouds and a full moon, your chest rises with air trying to fill your lungs and you wonder if they’re up there. Your eyes blink up at that indigo sky, searching. Steve sits next to you and Leigh waves, whispering their hellos. His hand rests next to yours on the plaid blanket, he clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. It’s all too stiff, too on edge, and you hate it. That attempted deep breath is unsuccessful, lungs deflating as it catches in your throat, and your thoughts wander back to the stars again. They wander to him, and them, and seek answers. 
What if they are up there, watching, like it’s one of those movies your mom was always putting on and your dad and you boo’d at from your spot playing cards. When he walked in with her with that on her finger, your mom would have gasped, she would have paused the movie, she would have yelled at you and your dad about the plot. She would have thrown popcorn at the TV and declared there’s something going on, he couldn’t, no way - there was no way. She’d have calmed herself down, rationalized there was still time left, gone to the pantry for more chocolate, kissed the top of your head and your dad’s cheek as she passed. By the end of the film, her prediction would have been right, she’d be crying and sighing at the couple who got their happy ending.
So could Steve declare his feelings for you here in a dramatic scene? Tell you it was all a big misunderstanding - that he’s sorry, that it was a rocky road but being together is worth fighting for? Could you leave here, hand in hand, as a top forty song plays and the credits roll? 
Of course not. 
Because this isn’t a rom com your mom would have loved. Life is not a movie full of soul-mates and cosmic connections. People like your parents are the exception to the rule. The couples who make it work - the ones who don’t let the trials of life take their love away like Allie and Noah, Kate and Sam, or Westley and Buttercup, are fictional characters. They’re stories to escape into when the despairing reality of yours is too much to read or write anymore. It’s exactly why you don’t like most movies or stories like theirs. Because eventually, the movies end, the credits do roll, and you have to face real life once again. Love like that doesn’t exist off the big screen, and you’re just kidding yourself when you fall into their traps. 
Knowing this simple fact of reality doesn’t stop the hope though. 
That painful, aching hope that clings to your skin like honey when you can feel the heat from his arm even through the sleeve of your sweater - like your bodies burn hotter when closer together - too close to the sun. It feeds the hope that your brain tries to squash away but your heart thuds harder for. The what if, what if, what if replacing each beat of it. Hope that makes you want to cry out ‘please let this just be a bad dream’ to the universe. Hope that tries, but can’t escape the gnawing pit in your stomach that’s growing wider, threatening to swallow you whole. Hope that makes you wonder why this can’t be a story - why can’t you just be the grandson, yelling at his grandfather that he can’t be telling it properly? Someone is getting the story wrong. He can’t be marrying her, you’re just sure of it. Screaming at him, at someone, to please, just get it right. 
You wonder if someone were watching, would they be feeling the despair you are? Is this the moment? That scene in the movies is always the gut punch - for the audience and the character. It’s meant to hurt, make you hold your breath. Made to be dramatic - yell at the screen, break your heart, make the character in the action get back up and fight. They’re moments made to ignite that hope - but really, it’s the double tap - coming right after the feeling catches flame, that’s made to shatter you completely. 
The moment that extinguishes the what if for all it’s worth. When the audience’s heart's already breaking for the grandson, only for the grandfather to ask who says life is fair? Where is that written? When the knife is entering your chest, but the mask falls and the killer turns out to be someone you thought you could trust. When you’re untethered in space only for your last moment of consciousness to be watching a friend cut the cord. The person who sucker punched you is now kicking you when you’re weak, taking it one step too far, leaving you crumpled on the mat. It’s all enough to make that fight, that urge to be angry instead of scared or hurt, disappear. It’s enough to knock you down so hard, you can’t possibly get back up - the hope is extinguished, and the story seemingly over. 
Robin squeals quietly, pulling Leigh’s hand across you to admire the ring, knocking Steve on the shoulder and saying something about the Dingus doing good. Your gaze flits down to the brown sugar and apple donuts in your lap, convinced you’re about to get sick right on top of them. Not because he’s marrying her, but because instead of being angry with him, you feel like you’ve been squashed, you’re hurt, you’re betrayed. Despite your better judgment, despite the past several years, you’ve let a man make you some pathetic, sad, heartbroken, and weak version of yourself. 
When Leigh’s hand retreats from Robin’s, lifting and curling a piece of hair behind her ear, diamond sparkling in the moonlight as she smiles over at Steve, your story’s end is written, and you need to accept it if you ever want some semblance of normalcy to return. You can’t lose him and them. But when Steve’s pinky brushes yours and you look over, his eyes resemble the broken beer bottle from the football game all those weeks ago. Shattered emerald and amber, cutting you to shreds with each shard of glass as he murmurs, “Can I tal-“
“I’ll be right back!” You whisper-shout, cutting him off and squeezing Robin’s shoulder as you get up. 
She yanks on your wrist, halting your attempt at an exit. Her eyes narrow as she interrogates, “Where are you going?”
Swallowing harshly as her blue eyes peer directly into your soul. She can probably smell the desire to run on you. Remembering your vow that Steve won’t take them away from you, a not quite a lie falls from your lips as you gesture to the concession food trucks, “You don’t have those cinnamon roasted almonds. They were my mom’s favorite and the smell is driving me crazy. Promise that’s all.”
“I swear to god, if you don’t come back, I will literally come stand outside your window on the sidewalk and scream-sing Monster Mash until someone calls the cops and I’ll drag you down with me.”
Her eyes blink, features incredibly serious despite the amusing threat. Your laugh mixes with Leigh’s and you ignore the shared moment, tugging your wrist free. “Would expect nothing less Robin.”
She motions she’s watching you, fingers to her eyes then yours, lips twitching in the corners before she turns back to the screen. 
Your feet feel heavy as they drag through the damp grass, and come to a stop to wait in line. It shouldn’t be a surprise after ordering when you hear his voice behind you. It floats through the air, soft, barely audible over the popping kettle corn, “I really didn’t know you’d be here. I wouldn’t have…” he sighs, settling on restating, “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
Your shoulders fall and your eyes stay focused on the truck. You’ve had time, since that night on the sidewalk, but your hurt still sits fresh under your layer of armor - tender like an open wound you need to keep protected. Your palms slide further under the sleeves of your sweater, clinging to the garment like the shield you’re willing it to be - you don’t want to fight with him anymore, no matter how hurt and angry you are. 
So the tone you respond with aches to sound indifferent, if not a tad harsh, reminding him you’re mad and pretending there isn’t any spark of hope within you still. It’s over, it has to be over, and all it ever was to him was something to kill time - fun and no strings exactly what you wanted. So your words are really just a reminder to yourself, another layer of the wall you need to keep up around him, “It’s fine Steve. Would have been nice to get a head’s up,” your shoulders shrug, “But, well, that’s probably too generous for the girl you were just fucking while waiting for the one, right?”
The people next to you clear their throats and you can’t find it in yourself to care, to be embarrassed. 
Steve moves in front of you, his face filling your vision. He shaved - no more scruff you like. His jeans are dark again, with fresh, new creases, and a light blue sweater pulls across his chest and shoulders. He’s picture perfect, his polished uniform in place.
He shakes his head, eyes bouncing between yours as he asks, “Is that really all it was?”
Your shoulders shrug again, because it’s easier. It’s easier to try to deny, to ignore the flutter the question causes in your stomach. Easier to bite back the words that try to form on your tongue. Because of course that’s not all it was, at least not to you. You wouldn’t feel the way you do right now if that were true. But what’s the point in telling him that though? What happens? Can you forgive each other for the words said, that, no matter how true, can’t be taken back? Things like this only end in heartbreak - because what happens if you tell him how you were starting to feel - does that change anything for him? And even if it did, that means a broken engagement, it means complicated truths coming out, it means attempts at forgiveness. And even after all of that, life won’t give you a guarantee. There is no promise of zero fights, of nothing bad ever happening. There is no happily ever after where the possibility of a break up, of losing everyone you’ve grown to care for deeply, doesn’t exist. 
So yes, it’s easier to not say any of that, because you know. This isn’t how life works. This isn’t a movie. No one is immune to life’s misfortunes. These sorts of open-ended questions and complicated emotions that come from his simple ask are unmeasurable and unreliable. Wondering and giving into those feelings only open you up to be used as a target for someone else’s shooting practice. You’ve known this, but you allowed yourself to forget, hating it was Steve who had to remind you. 
Which is why you look away from his eyes as you say, “I believe that is what was established a few weeks ago at that party Steve. You were there, remember? You were dressed as a pirate.” 
His head drops, hands running through his perfectly styled hair as he laughs, breath shaky, like the laugh is covering up any feeling in his voice. “So, that’s it? We’re just gonna act like none of it happened? You don’t wanna talk. You run away every time we get a chance to do so, a beer in my face and-“
Your hand rising in the air cuts him off, his mouth clamps shut as you make eye contact with him. “You deserved that and I’m not apologizing for it.”
He takes a step closer to you, his hand reaching towards you, then back into his hair, second guessing himself. “I’m not asking you to, and I’m not apologizing for what I said either.” Steve swallows, hands on his hips as he looks at the ground then back up at you, “What I said wasn’t a lie.” 
He breathes out the next words, both of you staring at each other with the weight of what he says hanging in the air between you.
“You couldn’t tell me.”
Your hands shake from the confrontation, from his request you left unanswered that night. The emotions that still want to bubble over, the time apart did nothing to cool either of you down. That what if, what if, what if that replaced your heartbeat grows louder, but your brain only shuts it down harder. If you hurt now, how will it feel if you keep feeding the flame only for him to extinguish it again?
The beat of your heart and those hopeful words thud in your ears as your head shakes and your voice tries not to, barely audible as the words leave your lips, “I don’t want to do this anymore Steve. We’re just going in circles. You’re getting married. You didn’t tell me. Can you look me in the eye and tell me you were really my friend while you were clearly getting engaged this whole time?”
Blue light flashes from the screen, catching the corner of your eye and illuminating his, their gaze bouncing over your face. Your bodies move closer like they can’t help it, like they know they won’t be this way again. Steve’s tongue darts over his bottom lip before his breath blows out, your name a whisper on it. The way he says your name with that look in his eyes, chests almost touching, it’s easy for your head to tilt with familiarity. Your breath out is his breath in, and it’s even easier to forget the last time you were this close. Sounds other than his harsh swallow and your heartbeat fade away. Time freezes, just a little, and the air pulses with a tangible possibility of hope. 
A shrill classic horror movie scream shatters the bubble. Your name is called, you blink, and take a step away. Guilt washes over you as you see your friends staring intently at the movie you’d practically forgotten you were there for. Leigh and Robin talk quietly and your eyelids flutter as you will whatever wants to escape down your cheeks away.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore Steve. I just want to go hang out with my friends. I need this to be over. Can it please be over?” You stare intently at the ground, one single tear slipping past your lashes. It feels like it rolls down your cheek for an hour before Steve finally answers. 
“Okay,” he quietly agrees. 
Your head nods once and you brush past him, barely choking out a whispered ‘by the way congratulations’ as you grab your snack. Hand swiping at the stray tear as you make your way back to the blanket slowly. 
When you sit back down, Leigh’s typing on her phone. She squeezes Robin’s hand before whispering a goodbye to everyone. She jogs over to Steve, cocking her head at him. He pushes his hands through his hair again, giving her a short smile. He runs his thumb and forefinger down the bridge of his nose, swiping under it with the back of his hand. His other extends towards her as she reaches him, fingers lacing together as they walk out. 
Robin’s shoulder nudges yours and your head turns to find her with eyebrows pinched together. She leans in and quietly asks, “Is he okay? Did he say something about leaving to you?”
Your head shakes, and you extend the bag to her with a tight smile. You will just keep lying to her. Steve and you will move on, and maybe, one day in the distant future, you’ll be able to tell her. It’ll all work out.
She mirrors your sad smile, the wrinkles in her forehead deepening as she takes a small handful and turns her attention back to the movie. Or she tries, but you watch as her eyes glance down to her phone every few minutes, until it lights up with his name and she quickly starts typing a response. 
It’ll all be fine. 
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“Said ‘I’m fine’ but it wasn’t true. I don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you…”
The pop song playing overhead makes your teeth grind, your skin itch, it pries at your armor. It clangs its melody like fists on the metal plates around your heart, screaming to let it in. 
Fuck Taylor Swift and her poetically relevant lyrics. 
You’re fine. 
“Mommy, why is that lady wearing pajamas?”
“Well, sometimes people, um, well maybe they’re sad or-“
“Not sad,” you call over your shoulder, but spin as you decide to face the stranger. The poor, unsuspecting stranger who is unprepared for the wrath of a person wearing blue, fuzzy pajama bottoms with ducks all over them, yellow smiley slippers, and holding several pints of Cherry Garcia in her arms. “Could just be sick. Or lazy. Could be a lot of different things, but sad is not one of them, and it’s rude to assume there’s any reason at all. I could just have wanted to stay comfy today, you don’t know!”
It’s almost laughable, if it wasn’t so humiliating or awkward. A practically audible record scratch kind of moment. Conversations of several other customers quiet then stop altogether. Eyes blink at you in concern and pity under too harsh of fluorescent lights, surrounded by neon advertisements and packaging trying to convince you the world isn’t shit as long as there’s junk food. The poppy beat overhead seems to play even louder, yet a pin could drop and people from another state would hear it. 
The mother’s hand runs through the small child’s hair next to them as she stammers an apology, “I really…I’m sorry, I just-“
“No, no, I’m so sorry. It’s fine…I…” You close your eyes and turn back around, mortified beyond a depth you ever thought possible. The pints of ice cream tumble onto the sticky counter-top, lottery tickets beneath it staring up at you and mocking ‘hey wanna test your luck even more?’. Your hand flies up into the face of the cashier as you grumble, “Not a word, Keith.”
The employee you’ve come to know on your late night and early morning snack runs snorts. His mouth closes, slurping his Mountain Dew through a straw as he rings up the ice cream. His lips leave the red plastic, squeaking it against the lid harshly, about to tell you the price you already know, when a bottle of wine is placed on the counter with a low thunk. A leather clad arm extends across your vision, a second bottle landing beside it. A deep and familiar voice from behind your shoulder calls out, “These too. But definitely not because she’s sad.”
Turning, you find Eddie just as you knew you would, his brown eyes the same as they have been since you met. Full of warmth that’s contagious, except now something darkens them, they’re colder. Reminiscent of how they looked in a bathroom that feels like you were in it ten years ago instead of a month. They’re kind, but they’re hurt, confused, and most importantly - disappointed. 
“Right,” you clear your throat and look away from them. Embarrassed, but adamant in your denial of the purchase and your appearance having any connotation with the emotion they all think you’re feeling. “These are not sad items.”
Despite the look in his eyes, Eddie’s lips twitch in a fight of a smile. He looks over your outfit and the hint of amusement disappears. His mouth turns down in a grimace. He faces Keith, hand waving across your form, “Right. Sad people don’t wear duckie pj’s to the store to buy ice cream and wine, they just don’t. People who ignore their friends though, they might…”
Honestly, the call out is nicer than what you deserve. You hadn’t dared to miss a text or call from Robin again, but all other group contact had gone unreciprocated for two weeks - convincing yourself it was easier for everyone that way. Biting the inside of your cheek, your eyes blink up at him apologetically, hopeful you can fix a small part of the mess you’ve made still. “Yeah. But if a person,” your hands wave as you speak, “Who isn’t sad,” you quickly tack on before continuing, “Did ignore their friends, it was probably for a good reason and she probably feels really bad about it and-“
“Jesus Christ, pay for your sad shit and get out,” Keith groans, snapping his fingers and then waggling them for payment. 
Eddie mashes his lips together, a genuine smile threatening to break as he hands over a bill. He salutes as he grabs the bag of items. “Keep the change, dude.”
“See you tomorrow, new shipment of Ben and Jerry’s at nine A.M!” Keith calls to your retreating forms. Eddie and you turn in tandem, flipping him off. 
“Mommy, what did that mean?”
Eddie snorts, his laugh finally bubbling out of him as you hide your eyes under one of your hands. The door swings closed behind you as the brisk November air does little to cool off your embarrassment.
His laughter trails off in a sigh and yours in a groan. When you peek at him from behind your fingers, you hold your breath as they fall to your side. Eddie’s eyes seem to poke and prod at you with their gaze, like you’re a frog laying open on a table for dissection. Like he already knows what he’s about to find, but he’s giving you an opportunity to just say it before he makes the first cut. 
Gesturing towards the bag in his hand, your eyes drop to the ground as you clear your throat. “Thank you, you didn’t have to pay. And I really am sorry for going radio silent. I’ll get better at that.”
When he doesn’t respond right away, you risk a glance up. His brows are furrowed, meeting under parted bangs, brown eyes glued to your pajama pants. Eddie nods slowly, tucking his tongue into his cheek before clicking it against the roof of his mouth. Rocking back on his heels, the plastic bag swings at his side. “Sure. What are friends for?”
His eyes meet yours again finally, and as your lips part, he keeps going, his voice a little crisper than it’s been to you before. “Cause, we are friends. Right?”
Head nodding as your brows bunch together from the tone delivering the question. That and his gaze makes something under your skin itch, your feet restless against the pavement like a horse before a race. 
Hesitation heavy in your words as you respond, “Yeah, of course…listen, I have to get back but-“
“Great,” he spins on his heel, heading down the sidewalk like he was waiting for those exact words to leave your mouth, “I’ll walk with you, sad girl.”
Blinking at his abrupt interruption, hand still raised to take the bag from him, it takes you several seconds for his words to register. He’s already halfway to the corner, your apartment just around it and you have to take a quick few jogs to catch up with his long strides as you call out, “I’m not sad.”
“Uh-huh,” Eddie nods, flicking a zippo in his hand, converse scuffing against the sidewalk as he kicks a pebble, “And I’m the King of England.”
Tired of his tone and demeanor you didn’t invite or ask for - you don’t need this. Eyes rolling as you huff past him, your shoulder bumping his harshly as you do. Eddie scoffs, but falls back into step close behind you, not letting you get away. “Quite the attitude to have with the friend who just bought your sad girl treat, even threw in the wine.”
Your shoulders hunch at his words, eyebrows pulling together and face growing hot as you fiddle with the first key to the apartment building. “Well, I didn’t ask you to buy it and if you only did to just rub it in my face you’re not really my friend. And I didn’t ask you to come here.”
Eddie’s hand lands on the door above your shoulder as you push it open, arm blocking you from entering. “Quit the tough girl act, you’re not fooling anyone.”
Your skin burns at his accusation, hands balling into fists at your sides. “I’m not trying to fool anyone, Eddie, or do anything. I literally don’t know what you’re talk-“
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you can keep trying to sell this shit to everyone else, but I’m not buying.” He points inside, “Let’s go.”
Face feeling hotter than when you were six and scolded in public, you stomp through the entryway, each step echoing across the old tile. As you turn to head up the stairs, if only to get away from his all seeing eyes, the realization of what your apartment looks like and how extremely not ready it is for guests has you pausing mid stride. 
When your gaze makes contact with his again, Eddie simply makes a statement. Flat, disappointed, and no question in his tone, “It’s worse than I think isn’t it.”
Before you can argue, before you can tell him to leave, the keys in your hand are snatched by swift fingers, and Eddie’s long legs are jumping up the stairs, skipping over several steps and disappearing around the landing. Chasing after him, the thundering of both of your feet is dulled by the faded and dingy carpet and the shriek of his name leaving your lips. 
Watching as he pushes the key into the lock, turning the knob, you sprint down the hallway. Your body barrels into his, but it’s too late. Eddie falters from your weight crashing into him, but he remains upright, although slightly hunched, as your body clings to his, trying to drag him down. The door swings open and he winces, and you drop to the ground, defeated. 
For the first time in a few days, you take in the state of your living space from an outside perspective. You watch as Eddie reviews it all for the first time - the take out on your counter, the empty beer bottles pushing the lid of the recycling up. The stack of Double O Seven DVDs on the coffee table. The couch covered in blankets because you’ve been sleeping there, your bed still sitting free of sheets in the other room. The bag of chips and the tub of frosting. It’s not a pretty picture. 
Eddie suddenly crouches, hands grabbing at you and you push him away shrieking, crawling into your apartment and away from him. Both of you swat at each other, hair flying in faces and grunting like you’re siblings fighting over the remote. 
 “Go-get off! What the hell is your problem! Eddie!”
He manages to grab your phone out of your sweatshirt pocket and you leap towards him, arms over his shoulders, you reach for the phone, and he holds himself up on his knees, arm extending it away from you. He manages to tilt it just right to get your face to unlock it and you growl, thumping on his bicep as he shoves you off. He presses the familiar green icon on your home screen while you accuse, “What is your deal? What the fuck are you-“
Eddie groans, holding up the screen displaying the last song you’d been listening to and getting to his feet. He points towards your bedroom. “Go put on some jeans. No more sad girl music. No more cheese out of the can. Field trip. Let’s go.”
Your hand holding a slipper that had fallen off in the scuffle points towards the open door, any neighbors paying attention getting a hell of a show. Your scowl meets his frown. “Um, you can go. Don’t basically break into my home and insult Britney and Easy Cheese in the same sentence asshole. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Eddie raises his eyebrows, they disappear under his bangs and he looks at you as if you’re the child you’re determined to act like. He sighs, voice dripping in drama as he heads into your kitchen, “I really didn’t want to do this, but you’ve left me with no other choice.” He spins the cheap metal cap off of one of the bottles of wine theatrically, flicking the cap onto the counter before turning the bottle upside down as he stares at you. “I’d get going. The ice cream is next.”
Your eyes roll as you scoff, “You’re not gonna do shit to the Ben and Jerry’s, you and I both know it.”
He starts on the second bottle, both ringed hands holding tight to each, red liquid splashing the sides of the sink. “I will literally drag you back out of here in your sad girl jammies to a very public place. I’m generously giving you the opportunity to avoid that embarrassment, but if you insist…”
Eddie sets the bottles down in the sink, stepping over to you in two strides, hands on your waist as he moves like he could toss you over his shoulder.
Your hands push at his chest. “Fucking fine! Give me a few minutes.” You start towards your room but spin sharply on your socked heel, one foot still in a slipper that skids as your finger points in his face. “Touch my ice cream and see what happens.”
He snorts, crossing his arms. “Big, tough words coming from a girl with chocolate frosting on her chest and ducks on her ass.”
You turn away from him, slamming the door on his call of, “If you ever want to see your precious Ben and Jerry’s again, you’ll be back out here in five minutes!”
When you make eye contact with the chocolate stain in the mirror, you have to suppress your groan. 
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Eddie’s Jeep tires crunch over gravel before coming to a stop in a homemade parking lot. Tan dust kicked up and floating through the air partially obscures where he’s taken you. 
The entire twenty minute drive had been enveloped in stilted silence. He had managed to dump one of the pints while you changed, claiming to have thought you weren’t coming back out, and now he was on the receiving end of one of your finest silent treatments. His hand flexes on the gear, moving the car into park. As his jaw clenches while yanking the keys out of the ignition, you start to rethink your silence. There’s a part of you that wants, maybe needs, to run back to your apartment, lock the door, and never speak to him again. But there’s another part, far larger, and riddled with guilt, that made you follow him. 
Staring out the window at the dilapidated bar, your voice feels scratchy from the lack of talking as you push out, “What are we doing-” Eddie’s driver’s door slams, and the end of your question falls into the empty car, flat, as you blink at his back walking away from you, “Here.” 
As Eddie makes his way to the building, you hoist yourself out of the Jeep and begin to follow despite the cold shoulder. You’re willing to appease him and participate in whatever this field trip is if it means you can somehow get the apology you definitely owe him out - try to make things right for the mess you’ve pulled him into. 
A faint and familiar sound echoes in the quiet and practically empty parking lot. The distinct whip of a ball and the ting and harsh smack of metal meeting it, mix with the crunch of rocks under your rubber soles. Behind the tired and washed out brick building, chain link fencing rises, hinting further to what the sounds are and where they’re coming from. The large red letters above the doorway spell out “Murray’s” in distinct vintage lettering, hollowed out with unlit bulbs reminiscent of an old theater’s marquee lights. You pause beneath the sign, stealing a deep breath because something tells you Eddie has officially pinned you to the table, and the first inevitable cut of the dissection is imminent. Your fingers curl around the gray, metal door’s industrial handle and pull, and you step inside. 
Billie Holiday’s voice croons from somewhere deeper in the building. Voice and music crackling and staticky, like it’s playing off a real vinyl. The urge to find out why Eddie’s brought you to a place seemingly stuck in the past draws you deeper down the dimly lit hallway. Rich, red paint on the walls partially covered by framed photographs line the entire space. Black and white film prints of American icons, with individual golden lamps lighting up each from their spots attached to the frames. Your feet carry you past Elvis, Jackie Robinson, then Marilyn, and Michael Jackson before you enter a spacious and circular room. 
Red vinyl booths line the curve on one side, small round tables meant for two lit by glowing lamps scattered across the floor. A stage and space for what appears to be a dancefloor sit opposite of you, nestled between the booths and a bar running across the opposite curve. Speckled and worn mirrors behind the bar reflect the wide range of liquor bottles and the different glassware in a variety of shapes and colors, clearly thrifted antiques, hanging above them. Eddie leans against the bar talking to an older man, neither of whom spare a glance in your direction. 
This room’s photographs on the walls are covers of Life and Time, clippings from other renowned news outlets - all famous headlines like when man went to the moon and the JFK assassination, the Cubs winning the world series, spanning all the way to current events. As you spin, you see the vintage photo booth, much older than the one you and Steve took photographs in at Replay, and you push the memory away, focusing on the bulletin board next to it instead.
The flier for Corroded Coffin has your attention as the song crackles on it’s end notes, the next from the album playing softly. Billie’s voice sings the familiar lyrics of ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ and your heart drops into your stomach, palms sweating profusely. Why the hell are you here? Why this song? Why, why, why.
“Ouch. Who broke your heart?”
The unfamiliar voice asks the same question Eddie had asked you back in September, and this time you’re even more unprepared for it. Your head whips to the side, gaze looking over your shoulders that hunch. Your body turns to face them head on, but your arms cross in defense. The man Eddie had been chatting with now has his focus solely on you. Wire rimmed glasses frame eyes that stare intently at you as he wipes down a glass. His balding head of hair and the confidence he carries, along with the way he tosses the rag over his shoulder before leaning on the bar, has you feeling like you’ve suddenly entered a sitcom. 
Eddie continues to ignore you, one foot resting on the metal of stool as his ringed fingers crack peanuts. He avoids your gaze as you turn your frown on the man who seemed to have read your mind. You keep your voice as neutral as you can when you ask, “Excuse me?”
“Written all over your face, kid.” The nameless man, but you have a hunch the name of the establishment and him are one in the same, winces with his words. He pulls down three amber colored, short glasses, then a bottle of vodka. Before you can argue, he keeps going as he pours, “Well, maybe you’re not in love. Not yet anyway,” he muses to himself, “Or maybe he is and you don’t know how to let the poor sap down?”
His eyes lift from the glasses of alcohol to yours and he squints. Pausing before pouring the third glass, humming, “Wait, no, well…maybe.” Keeping his eyes on you as he tips back one of the generous shots before he breathes out with finality, “No.”
Eddie smirks into his own shot, as the man snaps in his face, but technically commands, “Name.”
Your mouth opens to stop this nonsense and analysis you absolutely didn’t ask for, but Eddie beats you to it. Eyebrows raised, mouth pursed as he offers up, “Steve.”
The man behind the bar hovers the liquor bottle above the now empty glass, blinking wide behind his frames. He sets the bottle down, pressing his palms to the bar top. Scoffing with an incredulous tone, “You’re kidding.”
“Excuse me!” You try to interrupt, but the man shakes his hands, ignoring your objection. 
“We’ll deal with that little slip in the simulation some other time,” pushing the third glass down the bar towards you as he continues, “So, Steve,” he laughs a little, licking his bottom lip, “Right. So he loves us, maybe, but perhaps it is us who loves Steve? Mm, tragic, because he doesn’t reciprocate? Or are we too scared to tell him how we feel?”
Your shoulders are up to your ears now, arms wrapping around yourself even tighter, trying to make whatever see-through, vulnerable shield this man can penetrate more resilient. Your gaze is harsh on the side of Eddie’s face, death stare glaring and attempting to burn his cheek with only your eyes as you ask again, “What are we doing here?”
“The cosmic question, isn’t it?” The bartender muses, pouring another glass for himself. He raises his eyebrows at Eddie in a silent question who shakes his head no. 
“I’m leaving.” You start to turn towards the door, but Eddie’s call behind you makes you freeze.
“Have fun walking back then!”
Your hands go to your pockets, searching, even though you know they’re empty. When you look at him, you see your phone in his fingers and his brown eyes that have turned to stone. “Yeah, I still have this. So either you can participate in the field trip, or you can walk all the way back home to your sad girl cave.”
“I’ll just have him call me a cab.” Gesturing to the nameless man with your solution. 
“Murray,” he offers with a toothy grin and head nod, confirming your assumption. 
Eddie laughs, cold, tossing a peanut shell on the bar, “Yeah? And pay for it how?”
You’ve been very, very, dumb, because it’s only now you realize the empty pockets would also mean you don’t have your wallet. Your eyes close in defeat. 
When you open them, Eddie is staring at you and it feels an awful lot like that scalpel is resting just over your heart, waiting for any final words. 
He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he says, “I’ll take those quarters now.”
Murray rolls a tube across the bar to him, eyes darting back and forth between you two like he is watching a ping pong match. 
Eddie grabs the roll, storming past you and down a different hallway, out the back door of the bar. The chipping black paint flutters as the door swings closed, a slam as it meets the frame making you flinch. The final notes of ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ finish and you release a shaky breath. 
“And I suppose I’m to follow him and his mysterious quarters?”
Murray’s lips twitch and he raises his hands in surrender. Your sigh and step towards the door has him dropping his hands though, nudging the still full glass of vodka towards you. Figuring it’s his way of telling you to clean and sterilize the wound before the prodding at it begins, you take a step closer. Hesitating slightly, your finger wraps around the amber glass, a deep breath leaves you as you tip it to your lips. 
He nods his head towards you and raises his own glass, and as the liquid flows into your mouth, he toasts, “To Steve.”
The liquor sits on your tongue longer than you’d like it to as you glare at him. Swallowing it down, you blame the harsh burn in your throat for the prickle that’s forming behind your eyes.
Spinning on your heel to follow Eddie, Murray’s voice calls out quietly, making you pause.
“I’d tell him sooner, rather than later.”
Looking over your shoulder, he puts the glasses in a bin underneath the bar, not looking back at you as he quietly adds, “In my experience, there’s always space to dive deeper into the story. Things are often not what they appear to be. And well,” he chuckles to himself, “Harrington’s got a lot more going on under all that hair than meets the eye I think.” Your brows furrow as Murray looks up at you, patting his hand over his heart with a smirk on his lips, “And I’m not talking about the stuff on top of his head.”
Normally, the joke about Steve’s chest hair would have your lips twitch into a smile, a roll of your eyes, but instead, his words float through the air until they arrive in your gut, sitting heavy and dragging you down. They try to ignite that hope again, but you know it’s no use in letting it light anymore. 
Your feet push forward, stomping down the hallway without a word back. As the door swings closed behind you, your eyes blink, adjusting to the harsh sunlight you’d forgotten was shining outside. The sounds from earlier now connecting to what’s before you. Several enclosed batting cages sit just beyond a wooden and covered back patio of the bar. There’s two older men with their bags of gear sitting at their feet. Each drinking a beer at a small wooden table, rubbing their shoulders. Eddie is inside one of the cages. His leather jacket hung on the fence, a blue helmet squishing down his curls. The white cotton of his baseball tee stretches over his flexing back muscles as he swings at a ball released by the machine. 
As your feet scuff against the deck and then the gravel, you take another deep breath, mouth opening to just blurt out some sort of apology to him. Eddie stops the machine with a harsh smack to a button on the side of the cage. He comes out the door, holding the helmet and bat out to you, chest moving up and down with each ragged breath. He offers a closed lip smile as he says, “Your turn.”
“Eddie, I really don’t…” you trail off until you settle on just asking, “Why?”
“Would you just do it?” He frowns, tone annoyed as he extends his arms towards you further. 
Eyebrows raised in anticipation he nods once as you take the items with a huff and stomp into the cage. As you place the helmet onto your head, and stare down the machine, you exhale and press the button. It whirs back to life as your hands wrap around the bat and you step up to the metaphorical plate, Eddie’s voice calling from over your shoulder as you do. 
“So, wanna tell me why you’re sad? Talk about anything Murray said?”
Your fingers curl tighter around the grip, shoulders going up in defense again. Your jaw clenches before you grit out, “For the last time Eddie, I’m not sad. I’m fine.”
Eddie snorts behind you as you swing at the first ball released, missing.
Strike one. 
“Sure, figured that’d be your answer. So,” he sighs heavily and you hear the fence rattle like he’s kicking it, “Why’re you avoiding us again then?”
You knew this topic couldn’t be dodged forever. It’s true, you’d been pulling away again since Halloween, and getting the save the date was the nail in your friendship’s coffin. As the wedding looms in the not so distant future, it’s easier to pull away from him, from all of them, because you know that they were and always will be Steve’s friends first. Intentions of not letting Steve keep them from you seem futile now, when you know the history and depth of friendship you’re up against. You’re not gonna say that to Eddie though, so as the next pitch is released, you swing and stammer out a pathetic lie. 
“I-I’m not.” The ball makes contact, causing your forearms to vibrate from the bad swing. Your grip tightens so the bat doesn’t fall from your fingers as the ball pops up and behind you, rattling the fence. 
“Well that’s a load of crap. Wanna know what I think?” Eddie yells, not pausing for you to refute and sarcastically continuing, “Great, I’m overjoyed to tell you.”
Your heel digs into the gravel and your eyes narrow on the whirring machine, waiting for him to sink the scalpel into you, defenseless - trapped from running away from him, stuck in this cage with nowhere to go to avoid what he’s about to tell you. 
“I think you are sad. I think Murray was right and you don’t wanna admit it to him, to anyone, and especially not yourself. Instead of an easy fix of talking about it, you wanna sit in your pity and throw a party.” Eddie’s voice takes on a dramatic, high pitched imitation of you as the next ball is released and you swing, “I’m Y/N! Woe is me! I’m all alone! Nobody loves me!”
You miss the ball again, shoulders hunching in, desperate to make yourself smaller with each of the words that he shouts at your back. Turning to look over your shoulder, you glare at him. 
Strike two. 
Eddie leans against the fence, glaring right back at you with his eyebrows raised as you hiss, “You’re being an asshole.”
“Yeah? At least I’m an asshole who’s got friends,” he gestures towards you, “You clearly think you don’t.” You twist your toe in the gravel deeper, returning your focus to the machine and taking a deep breath as he keeps going. “I’ll have Murray pour you some more vodka and you can sit here and think about how your life is horrible. Truly tragic.”
Your eyes narrow from his bored tone, lifting your chin and elbow, adamant to ignore him. 
“You have nothing and no one.”
Another exhale, your chest rises and falls with a deep inhale and your shoulders relax. Straining to hear the hint of the ball being released instead of Eddie yelling at you. 
“Maybe you’ll get a cat one day, but ultimately you’re gonna die alone!”
SMACK.
Your bat meets the ball and it soars to the end of the cage and you spin on him. Face hot, your emotions bubbling and ready to explode. Anger mingling with adrenaline coursing through your veins from the hit, amping up how the words fall out of you in an angry cry. 
“Yeah! I am Eddie! And that’s what I want! So fucking lay off!”
“Why?” 
“Because it’s easier!” 
When he yells right back, without pausing, asking you for a reason, the excuse falls out of you easily. Your mouth closes immediately after the words tumble out in your scream, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as Eddie’s narrow. He shakes his head, volume lowering only slightly. 
“Nah, that’s just fucking running. And take it from someone who ran for a long time, it feels easy, but it’s the furthest thing from. Eventually, you are going to get tired, and your problems will be right on your heels. 
Facing the machine again so you don’t have to look into his eyes any longer, you shake your head no at him, letting a ball hit the end of your bat, popping forward limply as you try to speak with confidence. 
“I’m not running from problems Eddie, I’m just…it’s easier to be the one who does the leaving than to be the one who’s left, okay?”
The words float through the air, unable to be taken back, and their weight makes something in your chest squeeze and constrict. 
“That’s some next-level, glass half empty, pessimistic, depressing shit. And who the hell said anyone was going anywhere? You’re refusing to see that if you looked back for one second from the door you’ve been half out since you got here, that nobody else even has their shoes on.”
The squeezing in your chest only intensifies, his cut getting deeper as he searches for answers, and your bat hesitates halfway through your swing, sending a ball straight up into the air above you. You breathlessly ask, “What?”
Eddie waits until you look over your shoulder at him, emphasizing each word. “Nobody’s leaving you.”
His words hit you harder than your bat has hit any of the balls. It feels like one was pitched right into your gut, expelling all the air from your lungs and causing the tears that have been right behind your eyes to well up hard and fast. You spin to avoid his gaze again and square up for another pitch. 
Eddie doesn’t know that it’s not a promise anyone can make - life doesn’t care. 
Your head shakes, tears brimming on your lash line as you argue, “You can’t know that Eddie, not really. It’s better this way.”
SMACK.
A tear slips over your bottom lashes, trailing down your cheek as the bat makes good contact again and Eddie digs the scalpel in for his final cut. “Fine. Believe that. But you need to admit that you’re slamming the door on our faces and pretending like no one is still standing on the other side, knocking and asking to be let back in.”
The machine whirls, it wooshes with the release of a ball as another tear, and then another falls. Your vision progressively grows fuzzy, the world around you blurring as you swing again and his voice washes over you. 
“Did you know that Nancy is a freak just like you, and I’m sure she’d be happy to split some Cherry Garcia any time? God help you both for liking such a disgusting flavor.”
You let the tears fall openly, but silently, as you swing harder this time. The weight in your stomach - the knots that have been forming since the very first lie was told - twist and tug harder. 
“I know you’re not stupid enough to think I wouldn’t come have a beer with you, or take you to Target to get some new sheets or food that doesn’t have the Frito-Lay logo plastered on it.”
Another ball pops up and behind you as you clear your throat. Refusing to believe what he’s saying, you wonder if he can see the tears hitting the tan gravel beneath you and darkening it like drops of rain.
“And Robin! She’d love to watch Double O Seven with you. You should hear her Sean Connery impression. It’s terrible.” Eddie laughs a little and you twist the toe of your converse into the gravel, covering up a dark spot. 
“But no. Instead of any of that, you just gave up. You didn’t give any of us a chance. Steve Harrinngton’s dumb ass is the only thing to blame for all your loneliness, sadness, and problems. So keep ignoring the footsteps running behind you and the knocking, or open the fucking door.”
You want to believe Eddie, you really do. But what happens when you come to rely on someone, need the support to lean on, and they’re gone?
Your head shakes harder, a sob stuck in your throat as you barely murmur, “Eddie, I can’t.”
His voice is softer than it has been all day as he asks, “Can’t or won’t?”
More tears fall past your lashes. The last ball is pitched and you choke out, “I’m sorry.”
You don’t attempt to swing at this one and it hits the fence behind you. The machine whirs one final time then stops. 
“Yeah, me too.”
Heavy, suffocating, disappointment lingers in the air around you. 
It takes several minutes, even more tears falling quietly, for you to remove the helmet from your head and drop both it and the bat on the ground with a clang. When you turn around, swiping at your cheeks, Eddie isn’t there. 
Each drag of your feet inside is an active fight. Limbs heavy, heart even more so, because you know what awaits you inside before it’s confirmed. 
Murray looks up from a keg he’s tapping and simply nods to the end of the bar. Your phone and wallet sit there and you know the Jeep and Eddie will be gone when you push out the door crying. 
You’ve somehow done the leaving and were left this time. 
Strike three. 
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It’s literally a symptom, or as some like to claim - stage - of grief. 
Denial. 
We lie all the time. We tell lies to spare or protect feelings, and more importantly, we lie to ourselves, instead of facing truths head on. 
Because it’s easier to lie - to avoid, to shut something down, or deny its existence when it’s too hard to look at directly. Which is interesting. Why has there not been some sort of evolutionary transformation from this reaction? And really, the longer you wait to face something, the harder the truth is going to hit you. The time you give a truth to sit untold, unacknowledged, it only grows larger. That truth takes hearty roots, and your avoidance in the form of lies, whether to yourself or others, or both, only allows it to spread more rapidly. 
Eventually, you will have to stop lying, to stop running, and that truth will have grown in strength. It has sprouted new truths or problems because your lies only fed it the fertilizer it needed to do so, and now it’s suddenly not the one thing you have to face anymore, but the multiple harder truths. 
Which may be why you’re still outside, staring up at Nancy’s brownstone, where all of your friends, or well, the people you hope are still your friends are-
“Out of the bike lane!”
You jump forward onto the sidewalk just in time for a man in bright yellow spandex to zoom past you shouting some sort of curse as you clutch the dessert in your hands tighter. 
Grateful you had a firm handle on it to begin with, it's one of the few family heirlooms you held onto along with the recipe it’s holding. Hoping to gain some sort of courage from deep within it, like your mom can offer you some through the dish, you make your way up the brick steps. 
The only reason you're here, the only reason you’re facing this day the way you’re feeling just so happens to be the one to open the door before you can even ring the bell. 
The door is flung open and her bright blue eyes fight to sparkle behind squinted eyelids that are almost shut she’s smiling so wide at you.
“Happy Friendsgiving!” Robin shouts louder than she needs to and holds her arms out in a dramatic greeting. She’s covered from fingertips to elbows in thick, orange goo, her clearly thrifted oversize old man sweater sleeves pushed up to her shoulders. You smile your first genuine smile in weeks as she goes to hug you and you both pause, rethinking it. 
“Fall in a pumpkin?” You quip as you balance the dessert in your hand to shrug off one arm of your coat. 
Robin wiggles her fingers and hands spirit and jazz style with a beam that shows off her dimple as she corrects, “Sweet potato casserole.”
“You fell in a sweet potato casserole?” Following her deeper into Nancy’s, you take in a long breath, the tight chest you’ve had since Eddie left you at Murray’s loosening with each word exchanged between you and her. But knowing you have to face him, Nancy, Steve and her, and continue to pretend nothing is wrong while around Robin, has the constricting pressure around your heart returning quickly. 
Robin rolls her eyes, turning and walking backwards and making a face at you. She huffs as she turns back around, “No. Steve is making his famous mac and cheese and apparently I was annoying him, can you believe it? So him and Nance put me on mashing duty to keep me busy like a toddler.”
“You said it, not me!” Steve calls, his wine glass stopping before his lips when he makes eye contact with you. 
Weeks of not seeing each other after the way you left things was going to be hard, you knew that. But you really weren’t prepared for how he looks today, or how it would affect you. 
He’s got a burnt orange, almost brown, thick sweater on with light wash jeans. You’re sure both are from the section of his closet you stumbled upon months ago. That part holding his clothes he doesn’t wear often for whatever reason. He looks comfortable, casual, content. Down to the tube socks on his feet and the worn brown leather of the band of his watch. Your chest aches a little as you wonder if it’s Leigh that’s gotten him to relax into this version of himself. Even his hair, longer than a few weeks ago, is different than you’ve seen from him. Far messier than usual - like it hasn’t seen products or been styled lately, and several days of facial hair evident on his jaw. He looks like a version of Steve designed to torture you - a Steve who you’ve only gotten glimpses of and you miss before you’ve even really met. 
“Hi,” he says quietly, smiling closed-lipped at you.
“Hi,” you offer with your own hesitant smile. Your fingers fiddle with the tinfoil over the edge of the dessert from your spot where you linger in the doorway.
“How are you? Do you…wine?” Steve stammers over his questions, cheeks turning pink. He spins and starts pouring you some without waiting for your answer. It gives you a small bit of relief that he’s as anxious as you are, neither of you knowing what comes next. Do you ever return to normal? And what is normal for you and Steve?
“Sure, yeah, good. You?”
Steve nods his head too quickly, spinning to face you again with the wine. “Good, yeah, thanks.”
“Good.” 
“Yeah.”
Steve blinks at you, hazel eyes bright under the soft glow of Nancy’s pendant lighting hanging above her island. As you stare at each other, unsaid words float in the air, it was silly to think it could ever just be over with him. You miss entering a room and not sharing this awkward, palpable, tension - when it was a smile or joke exchanged instead of forced greetings, a warmth and joy felt instead of dread. 
You hate that you don’t hate him. 
You hate that there’s this horrible ache in your chest, like words want to tumble out but you physically can’t say them - why can’t you both just apologize? Why can’t that save the date be ripped to shreds? Why can’t it all work out? 
“You two are acting weird.”
Robin’s voice bursts whatever bubble you were both in, and you clear your throat, looking down. Steve’s fingers adjust on the wine glass and he shakes his head. 
Steve stammers, “N-no, we’re g-”
“Good?” Robin questions, eyebrows raised, “Yeah I gathered that.”
Before either of you can say anything in response, Nancy’s voice calls from the front door, “Crisis averted! I found a bag!”
Her brown curls bounce against her cheeks as she jogs into the kitchen. Dressed up in black suede boots and flared jeans, her tan peacoat left open showing off a silky black blouse. She pauses, mid stride, bag of marshmallows held aloft and her smile faltering as her gaze darts around the room.
Feeling warm under Robin’s sudden perceptiveness, you’re grateful when Nancy springs into action, relieving the awkward tension. 
“Geez Robin, did any sweet potato end up in the dish? I left you alone with them for twenty minutes.”
Robin’s lips twitch slightly, eyes finally leaving Steve’s as she looks down at her hands, flexing her fingers, the orange goo becoming stiff and hard on her skin.  
Nancy gives you a look, her eyes narrowed in a question but smiles when Robin looks back up. She places the marshmallows on the counter and grabs her hand. “Well, Y/N, can finish up.” She directs her next words to you, head nodding to a pan on the counter, “Put those marshmallows on top and stick it in the oven. Steve, your cheese isn’t gonna grate itself. And you,” Nancy tugs Robin out of the kitchen, smiling sweetly at her, “Are gonna come get cleaned up with me.”
Robin’s entire face turns pink, freckles standing out on her skin, from the way Nancy stares at her intently, like no one else exists. You look down, hiding your smile when Robin coughs, sputtering out something that you’re sure is supposed to be a yes. She eagerly nods and Steve huffs loudly, which makes her turn to glare over her shoulder at him, but it quickly turns into a smile as you call out, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” to their retreating forms. 
Their footsteps fade and Steve reaches out with one hand, looking at the dessert as he asks, “I can grab that from you?”
As the door to her bedroom clicks closed, you breathe out an exhale, unsure of how much longer you can keep it all up. His eyes are warm as his fingers brush the dish and you pull it back from his reach a bit, whispering, “It’s really fragile.”
Steve’s eyes bounce over your face, setting the wine down, both hands reaching for the dessert as he promises, quiet and sure, “I got it.”
Your fingertips graze each other as he takes it, and the electricity of just one more touch from him is enough kindling for the hope to spark. The heat from his stare has your cheeks warming and his turning pink. Steve’s lips twitch slightly in the corners as he glances down at the dish, then back up at you. 
“So, this just from Mariano’s then?” 
Your eyes roll hard at his assumption, scoffing as you turn to rip open the bag of marshmallows and keep your back to him. “You would ask if it was from there instead of Jewel.”
Steve knocks the faucet off from washing his hands, shaking them into the sink and flinging water across the stainless steel before drying them. He sucks his teeth with a wince as he turns to the counter, his shoulder next to yours. “Yeah, okay that’s fair.”
You laugh quietly, popping a marshmallow in your mouth in between placing them haphazardly across the orange mixture. Steve sighs next to you and gestures to the dish. “See, this is why I asked. No way you baked something. Didn’t think you could do anything in the kitchen except keep your take out menus impeccably organized.”
“Impeccably huh? That your word of the day on the calendar Robin got you?” You toss another marshmallow in your mouth with a smirk. 
“Actually, no today’s word was assiduous.” 
The veins in his hands flex as he grates the cheese, and he gives you a look as he says the word with confidence and emphasis, eyebrows raised.
You stall, taking a sip of your wine and hiding your smile in the glass before asking, “What, am I supposed to be impressed or something?” 
He dumps the cheese into the pot and turns to you, cocking his head, tongue in his cheek before he frowns. “You’re not?”
Steve’s lips twitch, his facade breaking easily and you both laugh. Your shoulders relax further and so do his. Why does it have to be so easy with him, yet so hard?
“Actually, I think it will be you who’s impressed,” you start, making the marshmallows a little more purposeful and pretty for his sake. 
“Oh yeah?” 
You hum, nodding, “I made that pie from scratch.”
“No you didn’t.”
Looking up, you see him shaking his head. He makes eye contact with you and he shrugs, adamant, “Nope. No way.”
Your hands land on your hips as your tone turns indignant. “Yes I did! I made the crust from scratch, cold butter into flour and everything. Rolled it out, doctored up the filling in a pan on the stove. Brown sugar, the works.”
His hand stops on the second block of cheese, eyes narrowing at you as he questions, “Really?”
A laugh leaves you from the tone of his suspicion as you slide the pan holding Robin’s dish into the oven. “You sound like my dad when my mom made it the first time.”
Steve doesn’t say anything and your lip tugs between your teeth as you remember the moment between your parents. Maybe it’s the holiday, maybe you’re just tired, maybe it’s the few sips of alcohol that let the story fall out of you so easily. 
“She was really awful at cooking,” you laugh, taking a sip of wine and waving your hand in the air, “I mean like, awful. She could serve you a grilled cheese that was somehow burnt but the cheese was cold? She got better, but anyways, I really don’t know why she thought she’d be any better at baking…”
Steve’s eyes meet yours briefly as he takes his own sip of wine and you look away, grabbing some of the cheese and deciding to help as you keep talking. 
“I don’t remember how she decided to do this, but my dad was out of town for work, and she wanted to make him something special, and to her that was a pie, I guess? But she was adamant that it be from scratch. Made and baked with love. And so we did. We went and got all of the ingredients, and we destroyed the kitchen, but it was the most fun I’ve ever had with her. We listened to Dolly Parton and drank wine all day, totally got flour and butter everywhere, I told her about classes, and the guy I was seeing…”
Your eyes drift off the counter, remembering it was right before you knew she was sick and your chin trembles as a watery laugh leaves you, “And then my dad got home. Oh my god, his face. He, he…” you blink away tears as you start laughing harder, “He just dropped his duffle bag on the ground and shook his head looking around in shock and my mom yelled ‘We made you a pie!’ and my dad just raised his eyebrows and said ‘Sure looks like you made somethin’.”
The last words come out shaky and it isn’t until you feel a pressure on top of one of your hands that you realize you had been grating the cheese down to almost nothing, stealing it from him. Glancing up through blurry vision, tears continue to fall down your cheeks as Steve quietly asks, “But it was good?”
You snort, more tears leaving you as you shake your head no. “It was inedible,” you laugh harder, “Like raw, but somehow dry and clumpy, so bad.”
Steve squeezes your hand, eyebrows furrowing together as his confusion settles deeper in his face and he starts cautiously, “So…you…made an inedible pie for us tonight?”
Your head shakes more and you take a deep breath, laughter and tears slowing. “No, after that, she, um…” closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and push out, “She needed to keep her hands working…” 
When you open your eyes again, Steve’s staring intently at you, waiting. You wonder why he can wait patiently for this story, look at you like he’d wait an eternity for you to tell him the ending, but he couldn’t wait for you. But, would you have wanted him to? When you’re certain that the potential of losing him, all of them, completely, isn’t worth the risk. Would he have waited forever for you to change your mind?
Your voice breaks as you finish, “Her chemo…she started to get neuropathy, and making the crust and keeping her hands and brain busy helped. So she kept practicing until it was perfect. And now it’s one of the last things I have from her. The dish too, we went and searched for the right one…” Fingers of your free hand form quotation marks as you roll your eyes with a laugh, remembering her ridiculous insistence on it and the day of estate sales and thrift stores.  
It’s silent as the unsaid ending washes over you both, the importance - the weight - of the dessert and the story. The immediate need to take it all back rises up in you hard, wishing you could put the entire thing back inside yourself and rewind the last few minutes. The vulnerability leaves you cracked open and exposed to him and you’re not sure you can handle his reaction. 
“I’m sorry,” your brows furrow, “I don’t know why I just…”
Steve’s fingers wrap around yours tighter and he squeezes. Your eyes meet the moss and honey you want to avoid because you’re sure they’re looking at you with that look. The pitying one, the one that everyone gets before they tell you a sorry that doesn’t help. 
But Steve’s eyes shine with something stronger - admiration and amusement as he winces, “So, see, that story tells me that your mom practiced and practiced to make a perfect pie not you and-”
Your hand smacks at his chest lightheartedly, laughing around a protest. Steve holds his hands up in surrender, “Hey, hey, okay!” 
Both of your laughter subsides and he smiles, a genuine smile, one side of his lips twisted up as he looks at the pie then you. “I’m sure it’s great. I’m excited to try it. Thank you for telling me that…I wish I could have met…”
As he trails off, your fingers brush against his on the counter, your bodies shift closer, letting the story and laughter pull you into each other’s gravity once more. Maybe it doesn’t have to be hard - there’s a reason you can fall so easily back into each other. A reason you can offer up a story you normally keep close if he’s the one listening, a reason you can forgive. There has to be a reason your body wants to be closer to his, a reason you want to feel his lips on yours again. Maybe there are cosmic connections, unexplainable phenomena of the universe, fate and destiny and invisible strings. 
Hope flourishes inside of you, it catches on every bounce of his eyes over your face, the way his finger nudges against yours just like they did in that car ride to a lake so many weeks ago. It sparks and drifts into the air, it floats around you like embers from an actual fire as he breathes your name out and your body takes one step closer, making you chest to chest. One easy tilt of your head, one bend from his and maybe it’d all be okay again.  
The doorbell rings, making both of you jump apart. The reality of the situation hits you, like someone dumped an entire bucket of water over the hope as Steve looks toward the door and frowns. You keep letting yourself end up in this position and eventually it’s going to hurt so much you’ll never be able to come back from it. 
You’re not his, he’s not yours, and it’s too late. Another girl calls him baby, he calls her honey, and they go on and have the life you were certain you never wanted - all because you can’t let him in the way he wanted you to. This isn’t a movie, there is no rewind, there is no pause, and it’s time to move on. 
“I’ll go get that, you have cheese to…uh…” 
“Y/N, wait-”
You’re already out of the kitchen, speed walking to the front door. Dreading the girl you’re certain is on the other side, you start to pull your shoes back on. Maybe you could slip out with an excuse and leave. Your destiny isn’t Steve, it’s to always run, to always be alone. 
The door swings open and you look up from your crouched position, one shoe on. Eddie is standing in the doorway, holding a bag of Hawaiian Rolls and looking at you, eyebrows raised in wait.  
He holds open the door and gestures outside as he asks, “Should I leave this open?”
Your stomach swoops, thinking of the chance he’s giving you, the opportunity to do what you want, no questions asked. But your heartbeat thuds loudly in your ears at the opposite side of the coin - the other chance he’s giving you. 
A deep breath is exhaled as you shakily ask, “That depends…are you still knocking?”
Eddie shrugs. “Maybe. Only one way to really find out right?”
Nodding once, you stand. A limped step over to the door with one shoe on, and you close it. Your palm rests flat against the wood as you take another calming breath. The sounds of the others in the kitchen are muffled as you turn around and look up at Eddie. You kick off the shoe, take a step forward, and mime opening a door.
Letting a tear slip past your lash line, you shrug, standing in the metaphorical open doorway and hold your breath. 
He smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Thank god, my arm was getting really tired.”
Another watery laugh starts to escape you and you wrap your arms around him in a hug. “I’m sorry. For everything, for dragging you into all of this and for leading you on and…and…”
He extends his fingers, counting his points as he sighs, “You forgot for being stubborn, for not asking me to be the Inigo to your Buttercup, for-”
“I’m sorry.” You force every ounce of meaning behind the words as you squeeze his waist tighter and he finally meets your hug, long arms wrapping around you. 
“We’re all good sweetheart, don’t sweat it.” He pats your shoulder and takes a step back, cocking his head, “But that’s not all…” he taps his finger to your forehead, “What else is going on up there? Why were you leaving?”
“Y/N, please don’t…” Steve trails off as he comes into the entryway. You duck your head and sniff quietly, hoping there’s no evidence of your tears that escaped and break away as Steve clears his throat. “So-sorry. I thought you were…nevermind.”
Steve turns quickly on his heel, back towards the kitchen where the sounds of Robin and Nancy arguing about something echo louder down the hall. Eddie sighs, rolling his eyes at Steve’s back, and gestures for you to go before him, quietly whispering, “We’ll chat later about that.”
“Why does it smell like that? What did you put in it?” Nancy is bent down, looking at the dish you placed in the oven. Her hair is damp, curls weighed down against her cheeks, but her sleek outfit is back on, sans coat, sleeves rolled up. 
Robin’s hair has a towel twirled on top of it, though she’s otherwise back in her jeans and sweater, her hands on her hips. “I don’t know! I did exactly what you said!”
“What’s going on?” Eddie asks, tossing the bread onto the counter. 
“You don’t smell that?” Nancy shakes her head, hand held out to the air in exasperation. 
Steve’s back is to you as he dumps cooked noodles into his pot of melted cheese and Eddie shakes his head no. Your nose starts to wrinkle though the longer you sit in the space. 
Your hands raise, “I swear I just put the marshmallows on.”
It takes Nancy gagging on a bite she tries to eat of the casserole and Steve going through his spices next to his pot to realize Robin used paprika instead of cinnamon. A lot of paprika. 
She throws her hands up in the air as she storms out to the deck, where you’ve all decided it’d be better to eat, bundled up from the cold, than inside trapped with the smell. “You know what, I never asked to cook anything so eat you’ll eat your paprika sweet potatoes and like it!”
As everyone sits at the table, Eddie looks around and asks, “Shouldn’t we wait for one more?”
“What?” Steve asks him, tone a little sharp, sitting down in the seat across from you.
“Your fiance? Isn’t she coming?” Eddie prods, meeting Steve’s cold attitude with an equal sting and rolled back shoulders. 
“I’m sure she was earlier,” Robin mumbles into her wine glass, “Ow.” She glares at Steve who kicks her under the table. 
Nancy rolls her eyes as Steve shakes his head no, clearing his throat, “She’s…we haven’t…she’s with her family already.”
Robin sighs from her spot next to you and your eyes meet Steve’s before jumping down to your plate. The pressure around your heart squeezes even tighter - maybe it was only easy with him because she’s not here, and that is not always going to be the case. Your fingers itch, neck rolling from the tension. You want to get up and walk away, but Eddie’s knee nudges yours and your shoulders relax slightly. 
Nancy raises her glass, changing the subject, “Okay, before we dig in, I want to say that I’m very grateful for you all, and here’s to many more years of Friendsgiving.” She smiles at Robin when she uses the name. 
Robin beams, holding her glass up too, “Here, here! Now everyone take two scoops of the potatoes.”
Glasses clink and laughter shared, it's easy for you to believe Nancy. Easy with Steve smiling across from you and Eddie and Robin bickering about the food next to you, with her not there, to believe that you’ll be a part of their stories. Maybe - 
“So, Dingus, it’s time to spill all the details about Leigh.” Robin leans forward on the table, her eyebrows raised as Steve’s glass pauses halfway to his mouth. “We don’t know anything and you’re getting married in like five months.”
Nancy and Eddie’s bites and glasses also freeze, not so discreet looks at you from both of them. Nancy finishes swallowing and shakes her head, “Robin, we know enough! Let Steve-”
“No we don’t! I don’t know how you met, or if she’s moved in, and how he proposed and why on earth he didn’t tell his best friend! I have him cornered finally and you’re all gonna help me. Don’t act like you guys don’t want to know either!”
“Robin,” Steve starts licking his lips as he looks at her then you, “Can we not do this right now?”
“Time’s up bub,” Robin frowns, shaking her head, “I promise we like her, she’s cool. But you’ve been dodging the questions and me for weeks now. Start with the easy one, how’d you meet?”
Steve looks at you like he’s in physical pain and you look down at the liquid in your wine glass, swirling the red wine around as you wait for the story that is sure to kill you. You wish he’d just rip the band-aid off, get it over with.  
“We, uh, met through my parents.” Steve swallows a large gulp of wine. 
Your head whips up at the comment and Steve stares at you, frowning before he looks up at the sky. 
Robin’s brows furrow as she asks, “Your parents?” Equally shocked as you are. It isn’t a secret that Steve and his parents aren’t always on the same page. 
Steve rubs at his forehead, closing his eyes before he sets the wine glass down. He straightens, rolling his shoulders back, “Okay, it’s all going to come out anyways so…our parents set us up. It’s been arranged for awhile, we didn’t really date or anything, we’re getting married because that’s what we do. She’s from a good family and I’m from a good family, it makes sense. For business and life and…that’s it.”
The table is silent as Steve’s lips twist, waiting for someone to say something.
Your heartbeat isn’t loud in your ears, your stomach doesn’t swoop - it’s like all noise has left the planet. It’s like someone actually hit pause as his explanation and the last few months catch up with each other in your brain until they meet in a loud explosion. It’s an actual glass shattering sound effect. Heartbreak and hope and disbelief and anger swell inside of you like a wave ready to devour anyone who was stupid enough to enter the unpredictable ocean. 
It’s surprising to everyone, including yourself, when you’re the one to break the silence. The question leaves you so quietly, you weren’t even certain you asked it out loud until he looked at you. 
“So you’re not in love with her?”
As Steve stares at you, the table floats away, it’s just you and him. His mouth parts, but no response falls from it. You stand abruptly, chair scraping against the wood deck harshly as you push back, muttering something about needing to put the dessert into the oven. Your stomach that’s been twisted into knots for months feels like someone pulled one loose thread and it’s unraveling inside of you. A box of bouncy balls released, an unpredictable canon of confetti, trapeze artists, butterflies, boulders, and a deep ocean swallowing you. All of it, finally coming together and creating catastrophe. 
It’s like every single moment you’ve been angry with him is turned up to eleven, but so is every look and touch. Every single one feels like a lie, a slap to your face - he was just using you because he was indecisive, scared, afraid to give up his single life. Steve Harrington was just like every other man. Your entire last few months swirl around inside your brain, replaying every moment, every emotion like a favorite movie. But it’s like someone took that film and told you every single thing wrong with it. Like they pointed out how everything you loved was just covering up the real and horrible plot - bright lights and pretty sets to convince everyone they had a good time, when in reality it was cheaply made and not worth it. 
Your hands shake as you start to rip at the foil covering the pie, and his voice calls out behind you, “Please let me answer that question. Please let me explain.”
A scoff leaves you, eyes closing as you bite back, “It’s fine Steve. Clearly I was just some placeholder for you the whole time.”
“Placeholder?”
You spin, hands in the air as you search for words to make him see how much this hurts you. “Yeah, yes. Some, I don’t know. Last hurrah!”
“What?” The word comes out sharp, like he truly doesn’t understand what you’re saying. His cheeks are pink, his hair blown from the wind outside, eyes wide and blinking at you like you’re crazy.
“You heard me! I was just some fun fuck before you sealed the deal on your spoiled brat fate.”
Steve’s mouth falls open, then quickly closes, taking a step closer, hands clenched into fists as his brows furrow. His jaw tightens with each word, “I’m not a spoiled brat!”
Another scoff, a cold laugh as you wave your hand again. “Oh please Steve! You used me to bide your time and prolong the inevitable! You were just avoiding looking at the contract you signed!”
Steve stands over you, both of your chests rising and falling in time, the air inside the kitchen warmer from the oven being on all day and your words shouted at each other - the sparks leaping from your bodies and engulfing each other. 
“I didn’t use you! You offered! It was all your idea! I’m so sick of this-”
You shove at his chest and he grabs your wrists, as you mock him, voice dripping with fake pity, “Oh, poor Steve Harrington. I have to get married and say goodbye to my single life, but let me use this girl-”
“This isn’t about me, I have to make decisions that affect my whole family, I can’t just say no! And what was I supposed to do? The person I want doesn’t want me!” HIs voice cracks as he drops your hands, fire cracking and sizzling between you both. His admission, the chance to tell him he’s wrong, that you do want him, makes your heart beat turn rapid, like it’s actually trying to punch its way out of your body. 
You shake your head, pushing down the flames of hope threatening to burn you alive, pushing him away. “You saw an opportunity to postpone but not fully deny. It’s fine Steve, I get it. It was the safe option.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Grabbing the pie, you sob, “Security. Money. You couldn’t say no to them. And then when I offered to fuck you no strings attached? Man,” you scoff out another laugh around your tears, “You probably thought you won the lottery, huh?”
Steve grabs for the pie, his eyes wet as he shakes his head. Voice hoarse as he argues, “You’re so unbelievably wrong. I couldn’t fucking wait for you to maybe, hopefully, open up one day! I have to move on! And it’s not like she’s a bad person, and I don’t know why we’re arguing about this again, because clearly you’re with Eddie.”
You tug harder on the dish but Steve doesn’t release as you cry out, “Oh! No! Don’t even try that! Eddie and I aren’t together and we never were! You’re using that as an excuse! Tell me Steve. Tell me you love her, that you want to marry her.”
“I-”
“Is that what your future looks like? Huh? Ten years down the road, it’s her? That’s what you imagined and not your parents?”
“Y/N, it’s not that simple!”
“It is! What do you want, Steve?”
You need him to tell you and he needs you to tell him and neither of you will - because you’re scared, stubborn. Two suns burning too hot and close together, and it was inevitable for it to end this way. You both stood on the edge of that cliff and saw the end you’d meet and you jumped anyway. Was it worth it? 
“I can’t believe you two.” 
This is the moment. 
It wasn’t when he showed up at the football game with her. It wasn’t the party. It wasn’t the engagement.
It’s the look Robin is giving you both from her spot in the doorway. It’s the pie and the glass dish hitting the floor in shards of sapphire blue and orange peaches. It’s Steve and you both turning to her, shaking your heads no, saying her name in the same pleading way.
Her bright blue eyes turn to glass as she chokes around a tearful laugh, “I knew, I knew you both were hiding something, I just…why? Why couldn’t you just tell me?”
Nancy reaches for Robin’s wrist, “Robin, they didn’t mean to…”
Robin recoils, swiping at her cheeks. She looks at Nancy, then at Steve whose head falls, his hands in his hair. Eddie looks down too when Robin turns to him and she steps back again. “Everyone knew, huh? You all have been lying to me this entire time? Why? I don’t…” She shakes her head again and runs past you both, down the hall and slams the door. 
Steve starts to go after her when a small frame stands in front of him like she’s twice his size, hand pressing to his chest. Fury burns in Nancy’s eyes as she blocks the hallway. Her voice low and far more angry than you’ve heard it be before. “I think you’ve done enough.”
“Nance, come on, that’s not fair,” Steve steps forward again and when she stops him with two hands now, his voice turns sharper, “Don’t act like you’re the only one who cares about her.”
“Yeah, well you’ve got a funny way of showing it Steve.” Nancy looks at you, “I think you should leave. All of you.”
Eddie grabs your elbow, speaking quietly, “I can drive you home.”
Steve laughs, “Oh, I’m sure you can.”
“Steve,” you start and he interrupts you, hands running down his face. 
“No. It’s fine. It’s all my fault right? I’m the only one in the wrong?” He pushes past you, shoulder hitting Eddie’s hard and the door slamming even more so behind him. Pictures rattle against the wall, Nancy and her family's smiling faces tilted in their frame. The world turned off its axis. 
It’s Nancy’s quiet knock from down the hall, Robin’s shouted ‘leave her alone’ and Eddie’s sigh of ‘fucking, christ’. It’s that there you stand, the door closed behind him, the mess you made, literally, surrounding you. 
This, the consequences of all of your actions - is the double tap. 
You let the mess build, you let the avoided truths take deeper roots and spread lies to cover them up. All because you wanted the hope to stay - you wanted it both ways - despite telling yourself different, despite lying to yourself for months.
Now, it’s too late. You’re just a girl who isn’t in a rom com with a happy ending. You’re alone, and the hope that maybe you wouldn’t be for once isn’t just gone, it’s ripped from your fingers. 
The book is closed. The knife drips in the killer’s hand as the victim’s chest stops heaving. The spacesuit floats through a noiseless and lifeless galaxy. The body doesn’t get up from the mats and a silence falls over the crowd. 
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“Fuck!”
Your hands smack the steering wheel, a sob leaving you as your forehead falls against it. 
You’ve been driving around for hours, hopeless. Your heart hasn’t stopped its erratic and hard beats since you ran out of Nancy’s. Somehow your body still courses with adrenaline, fight or flight still at war inside of yourself. Every time you think about the look Robin had on her face, every time you think about how much you hurt her, or how you may not see her again, you feel real, visceral, pain and panic. Your hands start shaking, the crying starts its cycle over from scratch, and you have to pull over until the snot sobbing stage settles into a calm, sort of silent cry. 
This is a mess, and it’s your mess. Despite wanting to put all of the blame on Steve, you simply can’t run from this truth anymore. It was you who came up with the plan. Steve was hesitant immediately, bringing Robin’s thoughts up right away. It was you who came up with the Red Hot Ranch code, who kept going. It was you who called it off and started it up again despite knowing how it would all inevitably end. It feels like you pushed Steve off the cliff and thought it was okay because you were diving after him. 
As you stare out the windshield, you know you have to stop running. Eddie’s words ring through the air.
Open the fucking door. Nobody’s leaving you.
You have to at least try, right? You have to apologize to her, to tell her it was all your fault so if she at least doesn’t forgive you, maybe you can offer a crack in the door to her forgiveness for the others. The others who simply got caught up in your lies, tripping over the tangled knot of roots they took.  
You’re certain Robin and you met how and when you did not by chance, the universe gave you each other for a reason. You’re certain that there are soul mates, they’re just not in the form you always suspect. And you’re certain that if you don’t try to make things right, you’ll be miserable and truly alone for the rest of your life.
Robin once told you that she was there, and that she would be there when you were ready and you hope the offer still stands. Maybe you can’t make everything right, you can’t rewind, but you have to at least try to make the ending bearable. 
When you turn the key in the ignition though, your car sputters. Your face twists into an expression of disbelief, only deepening when it does it again and your mouth falls open in shock when it suddenly starts to rain, mixing with snow that melts immediately on the ground. You laugh, looking out the windshield at the bleak and miserable sky, washing out the city in a dull gray. 
“Of fucking course,” you mumble under your breath. Getting out of the car, you sigh as you lock it. You shield your eyes as you stare up at the sky and laugh, “You’re real funny. Great joke.”
Maybe it was a sign from the universe that you needed to really work for it, maybe it was bad karma, maybe you really deserved it, maybe it was even supposed to be a blessing - washing away the past to clear the slate for the future. 
Regardless of reason, you don’t take the train, and you make the slow and wet walk back to where you came from. 
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The buzzer for her place rings with no answer. You know that she’s home because the light is on, and you intercepted her take out. 
“Buckley I’ll keep buzzing, your egg rolls are getting cold!”
When she doesn’t answer again, you sigh, pressing your wet forehead to the cold brick and hold it down again, pulling out the big guns. “Okay, Robin, I, listen. I am so sorry. And if you want to hate me and never see me again, that’s totally fine, I understand. Because honestly, I am…I am scum for lying to you. I am pond scum. I’m lower than pond scum. I am the fungus that feeds on the pond scum.”
You release the buzzer and when there still isn’t a click of her responding your chin trembles. Maybe you really did fuck it up that badly and there is no coming back from this. It was silly of you to think she’d ever forgive you, especially when she has Steve. You’re about to set the food down and buzz again to tell her you’ll leave when the front door opens. 
“You’re lower actually.” 
A sob leaves you as Robin stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her favorite Hawkins Band sweatshirt. The fuzzy lime green socks with banjos on them that you got her for her birthday on her feet.  
You nod, swiping at your tears with a free hand. “You’re right. Lower than the fungus. I’m the pus that infects the mucus that cruds up the fungus that feeds on the pond scum.”
Robin’s lips twitch, but she rolls her eyes before they look at the ground. “Quoting Julia Roberts is really unfair. You know how much of a sucker I am for her. Cheap shot.”
A crack in the tightness in your chest starts to pry open as you whisper, “I almost bought roses and had this plan to blare classical music from my car but it broke down and…well, here I am anyways, asking for forgiveness and a chance to explain.”
She raises her eyebrows, waiting, and your chin trembles as your voice shakes, “Robin I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to lie to you about it all for so long. And there were so many times I wanted to tell you. I was selfish and wrong and scared I would lose you - that you’d pick his side and shut me out - but I’m here trying now…please don’t hate me forever. And don’t hate Steve. He did nothing wrong. Or Nancy, or Eddie. It was all me and I’m so, so, so, sorry, please let me explain everything and give me another chance to be even half the amazing friend that you are.”
It’s silent, for what feels like forever, until her eyes meet yours. Shining from tears and her nose wiggles as she sniffles, “You were going to Pretty Woman me?”
You nod, tears roll down your cheeks and mingle with the rain that coats them. 
Robin sighs, choking on her own tears as she laughs, “You just get me.”
She engulfs you in a hug and both of you cry into each other’s shoulders as she says, “I’m still mad you all lied. You’re not off the hook. I think giving me limitless veto power for movie nights is extremely fair and nonnegotiable.” 
Your body feels lighter than it has in months as your arm tightens around her as you agree with a teary laugh, whispering another apology while silently vowing to never let her go. It doesn’t matter what happens next, because at least you have her, and you know you always will. 
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Robin trips on a heel as she emerges from her closet. Tilting your head at the dress she holds up, your nose scrunches as you shake your head no. 
She sighs, throwing it on the no pile and groans, “Ugh! This is hopeless!”
As she flops onto her bed with a huff, you laugh and swap places with her, “No, no, come on. Tell me again.”
Robin sits up, staring at her dresser with a furrow forming under her bangs. “I want to look professional, put together, but not like it’s an interview, you know? I want them to take me seriously, but I want to look like me. Ergo, I am doomed.”
Your fingers trail over her clothes, eyes searching again after they roll. “Ergo, you’ve been facetiming Dustin too much.”
A black dress catches your eyes, velvet and cinched at the waist. Pulling it from her closet you hold it up. “What about this? I’ve never seen you wear it. Is it new?”
Her head tilts, “Huh. I forgot I bought that for…” she trails off and looks at you with a sad smile. “Right. Yeah, you don’t think it’s too low cut?”
You shake your head no, taking a deep breath at her change of subject, thoughts drifting to if she bought it for the wedding or something related to it. Maybe you could ask, but you’ve sort of had a non-verbal agreement to not discuss Steve the last month and it’s been working. After explaining everything to her, including how you felt about him getting married, your complicated feelings, it just felt easier to not discuss anything relating to him. 
“Throw a nice necklace on, you’ll be perfect babe,” you make an a-okay symbol with your fingers, “The Wheeler’s aren’t gonna know what hit em.” You smile and look at the clock on her nightstand, handing the dress out to her, “Get to it though, or you’ll be late.”
Robin makes no move to get up, holding the dress in her hands and staring at it. 
She shakes her head no. “I can’t do this.”
Sitting next to her, the bed bounces lightly and you grab her hand. “You absolutely can do this. It’s just meeting the parents and siblings, all of whom you’ve met already.”
“But not as her girlfriend. When I met them she wasn’t even out. What if they hate me? What if I spill something? What if I order the wrong wine?”
Laughing, you hold her panicking face in your hands, taking a deep breath to encourage her to do so too. “Robin. Breathe.”
She does, her exhale shaky and you smile, head tilting as you let her face go, fixing a curl you smooshed. “You really love her don’t you.”
It’s not a question, but Robin answers anyway. She nods vehemently, words tumbling out of her like she can’t help it. “God so much it’s scary. But also not? I want to spend every second with her. I want to tell her about every dumb little thought that pops into my head and I want to hear what she ate for lunch every day. I want to wake up and fall asleep next to her and that’s insane! How can you love a person like that so quickly? Like everything in your body is screaming for it? It’s…it’s that kind of love I’ve only heard about before? That kind of love…” she trails off, maroon polished fingers covering her smile before she keeps going, “It’s easier than breathing. It is breathing, you know?”
As she says the words that prick at something inside of you, prodding on thoughts you’d locked away, her skin pales, looking like she’s going to be sick. “Oh my god I really can’t do this. I can’t-”
“Robin. One step at a time. Change your outfit, you can do that right?”
She laughs, head falling to your shoulder, a sing-song lilt to her voice, “We’ve been here before.”
“Yeah and look at what happened.”
Robin sits up, biting her lip, nodding once and standing. “Right.”
As she changes, you assess her jewelry box. Your eyes roam over the mirror of her vanity, smiling at the pictures. You pause at the one of her and Steve that’s new to you. He has his tongue out, her arm around him and your fingers touch the corner, an ache in your chest wondering what they were doing and what stories they’ll have from the day. 
“Have you talked to him?”
Her question startles you and your shoulders lift. Clearing your throat, you hold the necklace out to her. “No, um, I haven’t. He’s good?”
Robin starts to hook the necklace as she hums, “I think so. It’s hard to tell some days.” She hesitates, her face pinched into a familiar look to you, the one that looks like she’s physically holding words in, a true test for her. She bends down to buckle her heels as she asks, “Is it always going to be this way? Avoiding talking about each other? Seeing each other?”
“No, I don’t think so. I just need some time. I’ll be okay.” Shrugging with a smile, you grab your purse and coat. 
Robin’s blue eyes sparkle under shimmering gold eyeshadow and she tilts her head, a smile forming on her lips as she nods, confident in her words, “You will be. One step at a time.”
“Cute,” you muse, and take a step back. You twirl your fingers for her to spin and she rolls her eyes but obliges. The black velvet dress cuts off at her calves, hugging her curves in a sexy but modest way and the gold pendant on her necklace matches the blocky old-fashioned heels. You yell out, “Ow-ow!” 
Robin laughs, waving you off and grabs her phone. “Okay picture!”
“Ew, Robin no! You look so good and I am literally in my sweatshirt with the mustard stain on it.” 
She shushes you, “Tough tater tots toots.”
She pulls you in as you laugh, both of you easily falling into a goofy pose as she snaps a selfie. She nods her approval and grabs her coat, “Oh yeah, that one’s definitely going on the board.” She clicks her phone closed and you both head towards the stairwell. 
As you step out of her apartment building, Nancy is getting out of an Uber, an emerald peacoat wrapped around her and she stops, eyes only on Robin. 
“Hi,” she whispers, smiling, “Wow. You’re so beautiful.”
Robin’s face turns as red as her nails and you duck your head. “Well, I think that’s my cue to leave. Have a good night,” you squeeze Nancy’s hand, “Tell your brother and El hey from me?”
She squeezes it back, confirming she will, and holds the door open for Robin, then jogs around to the other side and you have to smile at her lack of wanting to scoot across the seat or maybe it’s just her old fashioned, secret romantic side coming out. 
As you start to walk away, you hear your name and spin back around, Robin is leaning out of the window, smiling wide as she asks, “Benny’s tomorrow? 10?”
“I expect a full report!” You cross your arms over your chest, fore and middle fingers crossed in a good luck to her that she mirrors as the car drives away. 
The walk to the train from there is short, your car still out of commission, and you pop your airpods in, debating how your evening will go. Eddie is already home for Christmas with his uncle in Indiana, Robin and Nancy together tonight, and Steve…
Before them, an evening alone like this never would have bothered you. Eating what you wanted to eat, watching what you wanted to watch - you got good at being alone, enjoying it actually. Now, there’s a funny little feeling that pulls at a thread inside of you, trying to unravel the work you’ve done. 
As you wait for the train, pulling your winter hat tighter over your ears, you watch a couple come up the stairs. They have shopping bags in their hands, dressed in warm, wool coats. Giggly, pink cheeks, gloved hands clinging to each other. They sit just down from where you stand against the railing when you get on, huddled together as they look at a map on his phone, and you wonder what their story is - where they were, where they’re going, and if they love each other. It seems like they do, and you wonder if it’s the kind of love Robin explained.
How can anyone love like that aside from fictional people in the movies? How can you love someone so deeply and intensely, without fear of it being ripped away?
But maybe people do fear it being ripped away, and they love regardless. Fear doesn’t make love disappear, it makes it stronger. Because what if that person is gone one day? What if you never told them how you felt? What if you never even got the chance to see if you could love like that? Isn’t it better to try than never know?
As you look out the train doors, the sky is turning a soft pink and purple. The sun is setting over the city in one of those perfect nights, slow, like each color being revealed is a purposeful brushstroke, hand painted. A sign. 
Sunsets. Steve. A good song. Steve. Your friends. Steve. Your family. Steve. 
Easier than breathing. 
An undeniable, unavoidable, unforgiving wave of heartbreak rolls over you. But it’s not alone, it’s hope, it’s questions and answers, it’s relief and clarity and you know what you have to do. 
You unlock your phone, a desperation and need to get all of it out now, fueling each press of your thumbs to the screen. Maybe the story is wrong, but you’re the main character, narrator, and author and you can change it if you just put in the work to do so. Tears begin to fall down your cheeks, and you let them, unashamed, finally free of the place you’ve kept them locked away. Pressing send on the message, you hold your breath, hoping she’s not already too preoccupied with Nancy. 
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The train doors open and you rush down the stairs. Each step slams against the sidewalk, sending shocks up your spine, cold air filling your lungs as each stride brings you closer to him, but not fast enough. You have to try to change the story, you have to tell him.  
But when his location is just out of your reach, when you see him, you slow down. 
Steve stands beneath the gold twinkling lightbulbs of the old brick theater, the white marquee sign displaying the title ‘When Harry Met Sally’. He has a black beanie on, hair sticking out and curling slightly. A dark gray peacoat flutters against the back of his thighs in the wind, open to reveal the yellow sweater he has on and your feet come to a skidding stop. His phone is pressed to his ear as he looks up from where he was scuffing his Nike against the sidewalk and makes eye contact with you. 
Your heart beat has thoroughly been replaced again as your hands start to shake, each slow step to him stretched out and lingering, lasting for what feels like minutes instead of seconds. 
What if. What if. What if.
The phone slips, hand falling to his side. His brows furrow just under his hat and you want to reach forward and brush the worry away with your thumb. His greeting leaves him quietly, a puff of his breath and the word floating in the air just a few feet from you.
 “Hi.”
Gesturing with a trembling hand to the sign above that you can no longer see, fully under the gold lights, you blurt out, “Did you know that it came out in 89’? So technically it’s a bad 80s rom com. I was wrong.”
Steve shakes his head, the twinkle of the lights highlighting the brown in his eyes, warm and sweet and deeply confused as he starts, “What are you-”
“I was wrong about a lot of things, Steve. And I know I’m late in saying that. I know I’m late for a lot more, but I think it’s better to say it late, to say it now, than to never tell you and wonder for the rest of my life.”
Steve’s lips part, your name a whisper on them, but you take a deep inhale and prepare to get it all out fast and without fear of needing a breath akin to the way Robin speaks, just so you can leave yourself open and vulnerable despite knowing that it could, and most likely will, hurt. 
“I’m sorry if Leigh is inside or she’s gonna be here soon, but I have to tell you. I…Steve I’m sorry. I wanted to be friends with benefits because I was selfish. You were right. I wanted it both ways. At first, you were just this guy who was hot and funny and knew what he was doing and I didn’t want to lose that. But then, then I got to know you and that’s when it got complicated, because I really didn’t want to lose you then.” You swallow as Steve freezes in front of you, no longer stepping towards you and his shoulders hunch like he’s holding his breath as you keep going.
“I wanted you, but I was scared to commit, scared that if I did commit, I’d lose you all anyways. And I still am scared. Terrified,” you laugh a little as tears start to roll down your cheeks, “But I think being scared is worth it if I’m doing it with you. Because…” Inhaling, you take a step closer as Steve blinks at you, willing the words to keep coming.
“Because I think we could be something special if we gave it a real chance. And I think that we can’t know what’s going to happen, maybe it all blows up in our faces, but at least we tried and we’ll know and we won’t spend our lives wondering what if.” Tears blur your vision as you leave it all out there, words that feel like they’ve wanted to tumble out of you forever just keep coming, faster and faster, your hands gesturing wildly with each one, stepping closer and closer to him.
“And I want to try so badly Steve. I want to hold your hand in public and go on dates and tease you and make memories with you and I think we could fall in love, I think I was already starting to. Like real love. Like that undeniable, scary, kind of love, and I’m sorry you’ll have to wait for me to get there to say it, but if you give it a chance…I think we’re worth the wait. I don’t care that I’m saying all of this too late, I don’t care that you’re getting married because at least I said it and if you wanna stand up there and say I do to her in May then that’s fine, I can move on, maybe, I think, because at least I’ll know I tried and-”
“Woah, woah, woah.” 
Steve grabs your shaking hands, interrupting you. Cedar and mint hit your nose as you inhale, his cologne lingering on his scarf. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. One hand leaves yours, fingers curling under your chin as he murmurs, “I’m not getting married.”
“You’re…” you hiccup a laugh through your tears, “What?”
He tilts his head and clears his throat, repeating it as his thumb brushes a tear from your cheek, fingers squeezing your hand. “I’m not getting married.”
“You’re not getting married,” you repeat it again, quieter, letting the words sink in. 
Steve shakes his head no, the back of his knuckles brushing more tears from your cheek as he lets out a shaky breath. “I called it off the day after…after everything.”
“Oh,” you swallow, eyes blinking up at him under wet lashes as the reality of the extremely vulnerable words you practically just shouted at him sit unreciprocated still, unable to be taken back. 
Steve’s lips twitch on the right, like he’s fighting a smile, eyebrows furrowed deeper as he sighs, “Yeah. Quit my job too.”
“What? Steve, why, what-”
His fingers trace your jaw as he shakes his head again, rolling his eyes but the smile fighting on his lips wins. “This girl that drives me crazy basically quoted The Notebook scene at me and I decided I’d rather have the life I wanted, have her, or have nothing at all. But I didn’t think she felt the same way, and I wasn’t going to push her again.”
You smile, a laugh bubbling out of you as you shake your head, “You’re crazy about me?”
Steve laughs, his hat bumping yours as your foreheads touch. You drop his hand, both of yours pressing to the soft yellow material against his chest. His breath warm against your cheek as you ask, “So what happens now?”
He pulls away, forehead leaving yours and creating a small space between the two of you, you already want closed again. The lights make the green almost disappear from his eyes, golden, sunshine pulling you in and making you beg for more of it to light you up, a tether, your gravity, just like they’ve always been. 
Steve clears his throat, hands reaching up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing over the apples of them as he declares, “Well, rule number one, we tell Robin.”
“Deal,” you tilt your head, playing his game. Your hands slowly crawl up his chest, wrapping around his neck, playing with the collar of the coat as you throw out, “Pet names?”
Steve nods dramatically, pinching his eyes closed, “Oh yeah. So many.” He leans in, nose tracing up the line of yours slowly, foreheads knocking together as the tips of your shoes meet. “I’m gonna call you babe and honey loudly at the grocery store for no reason other than I can.”
“Yeah?” Your top lip hits his with the lift of your smile and question.
He nods. “Yeah.”
Steve’s hands cup the back of your head, tilting you open for him as he ducks down, mouth hovering above yours as he speaks like you’re the only two people in the world. 
“But right now? Right now I’m gonna kiss you.”
“Which bad 90s rom com you steal that one out of, Harrington?” You whisper against his lips. 
Steve smiles, gaze tracing the curve of your lips then meeting yours as he takes a deep breath. 
“You liked it.” 
And maybe the marquee lights twinkle above you a little brighter as you finally meet in a kiss. Maybe snowflakes start drifting down from the clouds lazily, covering everything in a fresh start right at the moment his hands wrap around your waist and pull you impossibly closer, your back arching from the passion of his kiss. Maybe a terrible top forty song blares out of someone’s car as it drives past, your foot popping off the pavement a little when he pulls away for a breath only to lean and kiss you deeper and slower. 
The universe can’t guarantee anything for you and Steve, but it is giving you a chance. There is nothing, not even love, that can keep away the inevitable struggle, heartbreak, or loss life will be sure to throw at you. Which is scary, but doing it together, his hand in yours, makes it less so. Yes, it won’t always be easy, but the hard work you’ll both put in when it isn’t, means it’s real. There is no one other than yourselves who can decide if your relationship could be like the movies. The two of you are the only ones that can calculate if there’s still time for a happy ending in your story. Only Steve and you can be certain that the fear of heartbreak or pain is worth taking the risk, because if you don’t, if you let the chance slip away, you’ll never know if one day you could have called it love. 
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WCIL Taglist: @loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @johnricharddeacy @freezaz123 @selfdeprecatingnerd @big-ope-vibes @manda-panda-monium @hellkaisersangel @yogizzz @soulmatecashton @happytimeunicorns @mandyjo8719 @lunarxeclipse @buckleylips @beckkthewreck @differentdeputyfishpaper @supardupar @micheledawn1975 @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sagelittleplace @totally-bogus-timelady @steves-babysitter @fallinginlovewithqueue @aftermidnightwriting @omgshesinsane @pootcullen @definitionwanderlust @nostalgiafool @palmtreesx3 @scoopshxrrington @live-the-fangirl-life @eddiesguitarskills @mannstarkey @keepingitlokiii @silkholland @redbarn1995
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baelpenrose · 4 months ago
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Alright, action plan for the Left
I keep telling anti-Voting advocates "okay so what's your plan" and they keep asking me, "okay but what's yours" Alright, bet. It exists in three parts.
Phase 1: Apotheosis Denied. Republicans have spent the last 40 years playing a very long game in order to weaken institutions in ways that only benefit them - jerrymandering, weakening institutions at state and local levels, and seizing supreme court, in order to make something like Project 2025 a reality, but it has also led to a critical fracturing of their party. At this point, they are making one desperate gambit to seize power, and if it fails, they will have a critical fracture in their party as the authoritarian wing, now a cult of personality around trump, attempts a second violent coup and is met with the violence of the state and is curbstomped into the dirt. The resulting republican realignment will be frantic, and leave them in a much weaker position - no less fascist, but weaker. Our first step, right now, because we are so far behind, has to be to deny them the apotheosis of their 40 year long game. Phase 2: Parallel Systems. There are multiple components to this one and this is where the government is going to get a little more concerned. This can start NOW, and should start NOW, but continue in tandem with phase 3. Phase 2.1: United Labor - Join the IWW. Join a union. Look into unionizing your workplace. Regardless of how small a difference you think it makes, increasing the power of labor decreases corporate power, full stop.
Phase 2.2: Mutual Aid: Set aside a certain percentage of your income each month - doesn’t have to be a lot, but just a certain amount, that you can budget for each month for helping your community. Make helping other people part of the budget. Creating this simple system, if enough people do it, will limit the reliance on corporate and state control. Do not exceed this - you will expend your resources and wind up needing to rely on others and then overdraw. Keep it to within what you can give.  Further, budget a certain amount of TIME each week to doing something that serves your community (see below as well) and getting to know them. 
Phase 2.3: Community Networking: Engage with your community in real life, outside. Set aside a certain amount of time each week to do this. If it’s working with underprivileged kids or providing childcare, taking care of the elderly, etc. You can go to a sewing circle and start talking to the people there and bring salvaged clothing that you repair and donate and talk them into doing something similar. Work your hobbies into it! Can you sew? Knit? Scarves and ponchos are never a bad thing, and you can show people how to do it - or swap labor for something you need.. Can you do carpentry? Repair furniture for people who need it, and odds are you can give lessons to people for free and put on a workshop - or swap labor for things you need. Start building these networks in your community. Also, anyone who has a yard? Start looking towards native food-bearing plants. If you’re rural, look into ethical hunting and community cookouts. Kill feral pigs, especially. There’s a shit ton of them, they’re invasive, and they’re tasty, and a cookout of them will bring people together. 
Phase 2.4: Community Accountability/Mentoring. Do you have problems in the community with crime? Kids being assholes? Have you considered, rather than calling the cops, giving the kids something to do so they aren’t shitheels? Hooking them up with mentors who can give them skills or help them explore their passions? Providing programs with volunteering? Get involved at your school as well, or form a parent group for it, this will help reduce how many of your kids wind up in the school to prison pipeline. 
Phase 2.5: Community Defense: Arm. Odds are you have at least a few disaffected veterans in the community who know the government screwed them and their families who are willing to train you to defend yourselves and who will be happy to be asked to do so - and easy enough to radicalize if they spend time with other people the state is fucking over. It doesn’t have to be everyone in the community, but realistically, you should have at least a few able-bodied people with guns from every community who are practicing with firearms and tactics to protect their community from the fascists as things escalate. This will allow considerably better protection in the event of a shooting or similar.  Phase 2.6: Community Assets: Every community should develop a battery of people who can provide at least some degree of help in a variety of situations. Become trained in first aid, CPR, etc. You won't be as good as a doctor, but you can still help. Have a community garden or three. Develop a neighborhood mechanic. Develop a neighborhood seamstress or carpenter if you know one. Trade services. Watch each other's kids.
Phase 3: Electoral Counterstroke This phase exists in two parts: Phase 3.1: Divide and Conquer: Further hasten the crumbling of the republican party. While it realigns, it will do so into a number of factions, the one most likely to win is the authoritarian, christian, culture war, racist wing. You have the ability, if you approach gun nuts and "small government" conservatives (which still exist in many areas of the country) to discuss with them their options. They will NEVER vote democrat or green or left - and they will never be leftists. BUT. They will be easy to convince to splinter from fascism and join a right-wing Libertarian party. They won't be on our side, but their defection from the fascists serves us still in that it splits a right wing further and makes a divided left much less of a gamble.
Phase 3.2: Left Surge Okay, so flat out? This year, Jasmine Sherman is not a viable candidate. They should be, by all rights, but they are not. This is partially due to ballot access tampering, but also partially because far-left candidates have a bad habit of starting their homework five minutes before class starts and then wondering why they don't get a good grade. We have four years to figure out how to get them ballot access in all 50 states, and we need to accomplish that goal, and ensure that they actually are on the ballot in all 50 states in 2028. A vote for them in 2024 is wasted, a vote for them in 2028 should not be unless we've all fucked up to a ridiculous degree. (Yes, I know they have it in 48 states. One of the two where they DON'T because both the democrats and the green party bent over backwards to stop them is CALIFORNIA. You know, the state that no left-wing candidate can win without because of our whopping 55 electoral votes. I mean it when I say they need it in all 50. We can get them there by 2028 if we aren't stupid.)
Further, your local elections should be contested. That public defender who tries to keep juvenile offenders out of jail? Push him to run as a judge and rally as much support as possible. Push left wing retired teachers to run for school board and help them run their campaigns. Push librarians who have lost their libraries to right wing culture war nonsense to run for school board. Politics is local and controlling local power controls most of the governing.
In the senate races, the party machines in almost every state have a lock, so what you're going to do is vote the farthest left democrat you can, consistently, and force the dems to move towards us. This will damage the republican obstruction capacity and begin hijacking the democratic party and make us a block the dems MUST appease.
In the House, you vote radicals, and try to encourage other radicals to run. Where possible, vote green or left-wing third party, where not, repeat the strategy in the Senate.
For state legislature, there's more play for independents - check your state races, these vary a lot more, and to be honest I am much, much more aware of my own state's political machinery than I am aware of anyone else's to the point that any advice I gave on this point would really only be relevant to CA.
There you go, actionable, intelligent planning for the next decade of how the left can effectively sieze power and specific things YOU can do to make the situation better.
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theunsinkableship1 · 9 days ago
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Being a Lukola Shipper When You’re Prone to Seasickness
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Dear Lukola Shippers,
This journey isn’t always smooth sailing, but here we are, navigating the high seas together. So, I have a question for you: do you want to jump overboard, reach for a life jacket, or stay the course with us? Personally, I’m committed to this ship, and I’m here to tell you why.
First, I should clarify that I’m not usually one to get attached to celebrity relationships. For me, it’s always been about the work, the art, the characters, the stories actors bring to life. I believe that celebrities are people, flawed like the rest of us, and I generally avoid placing expectations on people I don’t personally know. They are humans and not idols. And yet, here I am, invested in this one connection. This is the first time I’ve actively rooted for a real-life relationship between public figures, and it’s certainly unexpected. But the connection between Nicola and Luke feels unique, something so rare and beautiful. I may be wrong in the end, but I feel so strongly about it that I’d be willing to stay on this ship even if I’m the last one standing.
There may or may not be other connections in their lives, other relationships that we as fans don’t see or fully understand. But that doesn’t diminish the genuine bond we’ve seen between them, them being in other relationships now is inconsequential in the belief that they should be together but in the end it’s their choice. It’s a bond that’s been visible over years, from interviews and behind-the-scenes moments to mutual praise that speaks to a deep friendship and mutual admiration. Sure, there could be reasons they’re not a couple right now, timing, career priorities, personal choices. And if they never become more than friends, that’s their decision. But what we’ve seen and felt over the years is hard to ignore. It’s as if we’ve been on this journey with them, waiting for their story to unfold. And it feels like we’ve been waiting for years for it, in fact we’ve been “wainting” for years and their journey might take even more years. It’s frustrating because we know that life is short, and they should just go for it We don’t know why they’re not a couple yet, at least officially If they don’t end up together, it will feel like a missed opportunity, like letting go of something too rare to find again.
The discourse surrounding their relationship is seemingly endless and exhausting. Some people dismiss or belittle their bond, saying it’s “just friendship” or a simple work connection. But if you look beyond the surface, there’s a history of moments and words exchanged that show a depth not common in everyday friendships. To dismiss this as “ordinary” feels shortsighted. If you are here, you can at least believe what they’ve said and continue to say about each other. They are coworkers but also friends.  Some of us believe that they are more than friendly. Sure, we don’t have to agree, but at the very least, we can acknowledge the special quality of what they have. I sometimes envy future generations who may read about this in biographies, finally able to understand the whole picture that’s unfolding now, without the guesswork. The feelings are real, but the reality of the situation feels surreal, and that’s not insignificant. The “roller-coaster” dynamic filled with highs and lows, ambiguous moments, and mixed signals points towards deeper emotional entanglements than simple friendship. It mirrors dynamics more commonly associated with romantic connections that are still evolving or are unacknowledged publicly, where feelings may remain under the surface.
What makes this journey frustrating is the unkindness and judgment that sometimes comes with fandom. People criticize or leave negative comments not only about Nicola and Luke but also about those close to them. This negativity is hurtful and unnecessary, and I don’t condone it. True fans can root for a relationship without crossing boundaries or resorting to hate. And in the end, Nicola and Luke don’t owe us any explanations. They didn’t sign up to give away their private lives, but it might be helpful for them to consider how they interact with their fans. An unambiguous stance might spare us all some drama in the future, perhaps choosing to keep more personal moments off social media and I’m not talking about what they’re not putting out themselves, or maybe clarifying the boundaries between personal and professional interactions. This isn’t about blaming them but rather acknowledging that parasocial relationships are complicated, and even one-sided relationships come with a kind of social contract. Considerate is the word for both sides.
So, where do I stand? I’m here on this ship. Their story may or may not unfold the way we hope, but as long as there’s a glimmer of possibility, I’ll keep cheering them on. They are, after all, just people with lives, choices, and relationships outside of what we see. But for me, this journey is worth it, because in a world often filled with shallow connections, what Nicola and Luke share feels like a breath of fresh air, something real, rare, and worth rooting for. I’m on this ship and I will go down with it.
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s-henanigans-h · 4 days ago
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moments in the DNPG mug cakes that punched 13 year old me in the face (plus random moments I liked) PART 1
hand on shoulder - oH MY gOsh thEy'RE toUcHinG core (0:08)
hey can someone translate this morse code?? (0:43)
2 tail jokes in less than one minute?? damn okay
wait y'all, we fully saw the fox mask and still managed to be surprised when it was revealed (1:09)
THE REAL HORROR…
shut up. oh the gay mug that has the meme of “they loved each other so much they have bags of each other” and then the fact that that’s the mug dan uses for such a simple reason (SM’s mug) and phil’s just says “oregon” 
oh I’m constantly overwhelmed by how comfortable they seem on camera these days I’m so proud of them (I fear I have a parasocial relationship)
the fact that they can just be gay now. ughhhhh like the amount of years they spent changing pronouns in stories - folks who have been in the closet know how exhausting it is and they did it for years because that’s what dan needed - and now they can just make silly little gay jokes and it’s so gorgeous and free (2:11)
horny jail bonk
hearing dan howell say “trans people” saved me (2:45)
I love when they tell little stories that remind us of the fact that they spend the entirety of their lives together and it’s not even veiled anymore bc they’re ON TOUR together and their lives are so intertwined I will cry (2:57)
oh I’m so intrigued by the reality of tour life as a crew member
(3:50) daniel what are you talking about? who told you this was true???
can you imagine if phil called dan a “salty bitch” in 2016? the waves that’d send among the phandom (4:12)
this is getting much lengthier than anticipated so here’s part one. all of this is said with the utmost respect and love for them and the fandom, rb to add your own if you want. 
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alottodix · 2 months ago
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if South Park was British (lmao) what would the main fours’ favourite insults be. I can so vividly imagine Kyle calling someone a pillock or a knobhead its so funny. I think Cartman
OHHHHH ANON HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU
Okay, so. First, Stan Marsh. He’d definitely be more fond of the blunt ones, the ones that are so simple they’re reflexive for most of the nation – tosser, prick, twat, all of those fun ones. HOWEVER, I also see him having an awesome time with “bloody hell” to portray how fucking fed up he is, like when he does the pinch bridge of nose + look down + very defeated “Jesus Christ” combo in the show. I ALSO IMAGINE HIM BEING SUPER FOND OF HOW BLUNT STUFF LIKE “sod off” IS TO TELL PEOPLE TO LIVE HIM ALONE OR EVEN JUST TO REACT TO DUMB SHIT LIKE THE LITTLE CYNIC HE IS
Now, onto Kyle. Every single time I see the Jersey episode, I mentally have to compare the reality TV show element to shit like Geordie Shore, so if it was a show based in the UK I can only imagine him being Geordie – proper Ant and Dec style. Americans, if you haven’t already, go listen to the accent and tell me it doesn’t have Kyle vibes – it just does. SO, WITH THIS IN MIND, I can totally imagine him whipping out gobshite as an insult, or what a load of bollocks in response to Cartman being an asshole, fun clipped shit like that. There was also a moment of time where I sat down and started plotting a Hogwarts AU, in which I realised I’d have to make these guys vaguely British, and I had such a strong mental image of Kyle jokingly calling Stan a daft git so I feel like he’d love the ones like that – and I agree with anon I think he’d have a lot of fun with knobhead
I feel Kenny would enjoy basically all of them, but for the sake of this dude being muffled as fuck I think he’d get a real kick out of the backwards peace sign – like whenever possible. Also “get stuffed”, for vibes. LISTEN I FEEL I SHOULD BE MORE SCIENTIFIC IN MY METHODS BUT LEAVE ME ALONE LMAO WE GO OFF VIBES HERE
Now, when I think of a British Cartman, I can only imagine a younger Del Boy from ‘Only Fools & Horses’. This is both a blessing and a curse. It’s the shared entrepreneurial spirit and lack of dignity I think. Also the fur coats. And con-artist swagger. And also how well Del Boy takes the piss out of Rodney – if you were to replace Rodney with Butters or Kenny in their search for wealth; this is such a niche reference but somebody reading this is gonna be so fucking happy with it. Because of this, I can only imagine him with the strongest cockney accent known to man, and so, a list of ones I feel he would use:
“Berk”
“Muppet”
“You jammy prick”
“Bleedin’ hell”
“You daft cow”
“Shut your cakehole”
“He’s a right tosser”
“You bleeding mug”
“Wazzock”
Also unrelated but with this guy being the gayest homophobe around, he’d totally be one of those guys to call everyone “babes” (the mental image is making me cackle, he fucking would don’t lie)
ANYWAY LMAO FEEL FREE TO DISCUSS, THANK YOU ANON – THIS WAS INCREDIBLY FUN TO DO, I APOLOGISE FHDKFN
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howlsofbloodhounds · 4 months ago
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Ok based on your most recent post (I am obsessed I love it sm-). I honestly think that once Delta wakes up to see them with him again he'd probably freak out a little bit, and have no idea if this is reality or another nightmare. But once he is able to figure it out, they might be upset and ask Color and Epic questions about the subjects of their nightmares (ex; about the jar one, he might ask why they couldn't hear them and why didn't they bother to look in the jars) and might completely get confused with reality.
I also think that because they had dissociated for so long (probably spanning days or weeks before they came back to reality), he would have gone completely nonverbal and would have switched to sign language (the silence also most likely made them incredibly paranoid - too paranoid to break it by speaking. So, in order to keep the quiet, they silenced themselves and haven't spoken in a good long while), furthering their dissociation and PTSD spiral.
Now of course this would concern Epic and Color, and they'd likely have to explain that the nightmares weren't reality, but would also have to try to get him to explain what the hell had happened during the time they were both gone, and why he hadn't called them for help once they're able to talk in the morning.
(But since you mentioned how they'd probably help Delta fall asleep, I can't help but wonder how they'd react if Delta woke up from a bad nightmare about them, and how the talk in the morning would go?)
I love this addition, it makes complete sense. And now that we’re on the topic about this type of thing, I actually feel like it’d be easier for Color and Epic to understand these things more than it seems.
For Color, it’s due to his relationship with Killer. We all know Killer is a dissociative character who cannot often tell what is and is not real anymore, he spends most of his time dissociating—as opposed to Delta and Beta’s episodes of intense dissociative episodes due to events in their lives.
I’m sure that Color has had to help Killer differentiate between dream, memory, and reality many times before, even if it’s as something as simple as having to lightly touch Killer’s shoulder when walking past—otherwise Killer would probably just assume he’s dreaming or it isn’t real.
On the other hand, if I remember correctly, Epic has very vivid and distressing nightmares where he has to constantly fight against creatures/a creature every night due to his magical eye thing. And as a result he learns actual fighting experience from this, but he also often wakes up in pain and panicking. His nightmares are legitimately traumatizing for him.
So I’m assuming Epic would avoid sleep as much as possible, especially in a case such as this, where a beloved friend needs sleep and can’t afford being woken up by his nightmares.
So I’m assuming that once Delta first wakes up in the middle of the night, Epic would actually already be up. He probably was surprised and taken aback by Delta’s panicking, but is quick to try and calm the two of them down.
And when Delta starts using ASL, looking unnerved at any noise made, is when Epic realizes that it was worse than he and Color had thought. And maybe he considers waking Color up, because Color has always been better with words and calming people down between the three of them, but Delta frantically shakes his head ‘no.’
Epic doesn’t argue against this, although he knows Delta is likely doing this because he doesn’t want to worry Color and be perceived as ‘weak,’ doesn’t want to disturb Color’s rest. So instead Epic, Delta, and Beta wander off into the kitchen for some late night milk and cookies.
Epic asks if they’re ready to talk about it, to which they shake their head no. Epic again doesn’t argue, instead settles on to the couch with them to watch some random tv series. He pretends not to notice how Delta keeps staring at him instead of the show, squeezing Epic’s arm tightly.
By the time morning comes around and Color is waking up, Delta and Beta have still not spoken verbally and haven’t slept. Neither has Epic—which only inevitably concerns Color even more, which only increases when Delta suddenly starts rapidly singing at him once spotted.
Color asks him to slow down as he approaches, he didn’t catch that, Epic turning down the volume on the show and turning to face the others more directly. Once Color is seated, he asks Delta to repeat what he said, more slowly this time.
Why didn’t you two hear us? Why didn’t you open it? Why didn’t you look? Why did you leave? We were screaming.
And Epic and Color share a look, confused, before Color begins prompting them to explain with more questions. Look where? Open what? Leave where?
Gradually, they begin to piece together what happened—often Delta and Beta have to pause when they start dissociating again or get too choked up, Color asks Epic to get them a glass of water at some point, but stops when they start panicking again at the question (don’t leave)—and the whole time Delta’s hands are gripping on to his friends so tightly it almost hurts.
I can see them letting Delta and Beta cry it out and calm down enough before Color starts to explain, helps them piece together what was dream and what was memory, versus what actually happened.
I can see Epic trying to make them laugh using his usual humor and memes, because he can see that their paranoia about the silence is making them cautious to speak and furthering their dissociation. Which of course makes it harder for them to fully process what was happening and what is happening.
I think, once they realized what was happening, Delta and Beta might actually feel ashamed, guilty, and/or embarrassed about how they reacted to something that “didn’t even happen.” Delta probably feels guilty, assuming it means that some part of him thinks of Epic and Color as the type of people who’d do that to them.
To which they’d have to reassure him that, no, it was out of his control and doesn’t make him a bad friend or a bad person for having nightmares and feeling abandoned.
I can also see, if either Delta or Beta realizes what happened before the other did, they will attempt to help comfort and ground the other too; such as Beta petting the body’s hand, or hugging themselves due to not being able to physically hug each other. Talking out loud to soothe each other, reminding the other that not only does Epic and Color still love them, but they love each other, too.
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kiirotoao · 5 months ago
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Re: Byler and being best friends
Alright, look, I understand that in real life, best friends can appreciate each other’s art. Best friends look for each other when they’re lost. Best friends stick together in rough patches. Best friends fight and disagree. Best friends apologize when they’ve messed up. Best friends give each other gifts. Best friends confide in each other with almost everything. Best friends can do romantic things and be completely and utterly platonic in real life.
But guess what Stranger Things is not? Real life!!
If any story in media is well-captured and well-written, if the camera sees it, if we see it, then it’s supposed to be important. While friends in real life can do the most questionably romantic things and still claim to be just friends or even just best friends, there’s far more nuance to real people to explore if it’s truly romantic or not, and that’s not for others to openly discern. But we who analyze Byler are not doing this because Mike and Will are real people. They’re characters, crafted into this audio-visual story with pre-written and exclusive history and dreams.
While I know that they say they’re just best friends, I speculate on them potentially being more. Why? Because their stories are interwoven and I see chemistry within the threads. It’s as simple as that.
I preach at the end of almost every video I make, “Byler’s endgame,” and really, that’s a sendoff of encouragement more than anything else. Because I hope and believe that Byler can happen at the end of this season and this overarching story. I’m not pushing two people together. I’m hopeful to see two characters come together and realize that their relationship and feelings can blend into a wonderfully written romance amidst this dangerous and unpredictable world that they’ve been put in.
So please stop comparing Mike and Will to real relationships and saying, can’t best friends just be best friends? Look, yes! You’re right! In real life, best friends can be nothing more and choose to stay that way. But on the other hand, hey, best friends in real life can also become more! No one can deny that! But whatever the weather, whatever can be real isn’t relevant. Real lives are not a TV show. Real lives are not being created and publicized (besides some people in reality TV, which is another unrelated issue). By contrast, as characters, Mike and Will’s lives are. And I love the thought of them finding love in each other at the end of the pages. It gets no finer than that.
And so when I look back at their narratives and see the way they treat each other, interact on screen and see how they think, tell me, am I wrong for shipping them? I’m taking the details and looking beyond explicit labels. And I don’t just go around doing this to all people I see in my life who have chemistry. This is specific, this is the love I witness in this thriller-drama-romance. I’m sorry if I end up fighting against you, but I’m not here to crowd you out. Ship what you want. If you love certain characters together, talk about them! There’s a plethora to talk about for Byler! So honestly, I’m curious, why are you compelled to come to me and try to convert me away from what I love when I often don’t even mention your name? Is there not enough for you to obsess over and love? Is there perhaps not enough textual evidence or good moments to enjoy for your ship? I’m just saying.
At the end of the day, real life experiences and examples are practically void when we’re talking about art, and please, please let me have fun with my ships. This is the internet. If you don’t like it, use your capabilities and settings and scroll or block what you don’t like, and pursue what you do. Unless you want to join a forum to discuss the arguments, I think that it’s unfair to think that those who don’t ship your ship are going to talk about your ship. I’m not responsible for what you consume and see. Really, no one is but yourself.
I like to think that I’m rather patient, but I don’t know, I think I’m tearing at the seams a little after a few years in this fandom. This is directed to no one in particular, though, so please don’t take this as a direct callout. I just wanted to get this off my chest. Sorry if I got a little harsh in the end, there, too.
Thank you to those who’ve engaged very respectfully with me even if you disagree with my opinions. I hope that I’m respectful, in turn. I love lighthearted debates, but I don’t love repeating myself to some who don’t want to listen. And of course, thank you Bylers. I’ve met so many wonderful people through our silly journeys going crazy together. That’s all. 💙💛
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odinsblog · 6 months ago
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You jew haters love a good token. Norm F or Masha or any white passing ashkie american jew who hasnt been to shul or a secular even in a decade... brb gonna cite thomas sowell and clarence thomas any time you bring up the hotep hasbara about "systemic racism" or ignore black on black crime is more prevalent then cops shooting unarmed trayvons. One day you might feel shame about going all in on jew hate. Probably not.
[re: this series of posts, or this one, or maybe this one?]
I don’t hate Jewish people. So jot that down and let’s get that straight, okay? I dO, however, hate what the state of Israel, Likud and Benjamin Netanyahu are doing (and have been doing for decades) to Palestinians
Note: Jewish people are Jewish whether they’re religious Jews who have been to a synagogue, or not. Non-religious, non-observant Jewish people are still Jewish people. Intentionally conflating “religious Jews” with all Jewish people is antisemitic
And another note: conflating Israel with all Jewish people is also antisemitic, so let’s not do that either, cool?
We could quibble about “white passing” Jewish people, but there most definitely are Jewish people who self-identify as white (just as there are Jewish people who self-identify as Black), but ultimately, I believe that this “argument” is a red-herring, and ultimately, secondary or even tertiary to what’s happening in Palestine
I know you think you’ve made some kind of “gotcha” point, but you really haven’t
We can easily dismantle Clarence Thomas and his hypocritical conservative, anti-Black SCOTUS rulings without ever once mentioning his race. We can prove that structural racism is a real thing simply by looking at lived reality and history. We can show that Black-on-Black crime is roughly the same as white-on-white crime, and is only invoked as a derailment tactic to take the focus away from anti-Black racism. Simple statistics and observations prove that the police routinely Stop-and-Frisk and execute more Black and Brown people than white people, usually without the same consequences that would occur if their victims were white
And we can very easily do the same thing with everything that Israel has been doing to Palestinians for decades; we can look at the definition of war crimes and objectively understand that Israel has been committing war crimes against Palestinians since before October 7th, and we can see that Israel’s reaction to October 7th has been the definition of “disproportionate,” and has been since 1948
And before I continue, I really want to make something clear: you can agree with someone on 80% of what they believe, and vehemently disagree with them in other areas that are not their area of expertise. No one is right about everything, and no one is wrong about everything—even broken clocks are accurate two times a day, right?
Moving on…
Look, there was a time when I used to think as simplistically as you do, anon. As you’ve correctly noted, I am Black, and there was a time when I used to believe that anyone who criticized Barack Obama, for example, was a racist, and if they were Black, then they were a Black person who had internalized anti-Blackness. It was a very insular way of thinking, but it kept me safe in a mental bubble of my own making. A bubble where, as long as I called people racists or self hating Black people, I was always right in my thinking and never had to challenge myself
But then, eventually, something wonderful happened. This thing called nuance happened and I learned that many things could simultaneously be true: yes, there absolutely positively are self-hating Black people like Clarence Thomas; and yes, there are people like Trump who only criticized Obama simply because he was Black and because they were racist white people (or frequently, NBPoC); but the existence of those racists do not magically invalidate all legitimate criticisms of Obama
So I learned how to do two things that proved invaluable: 1) look at the specific critiques, and separate the critiques, and evaluate the critiques on their own, 2) look at the source of the critiques, and their history of criticisms, and evaluate how fairly they applied those exact same critiques to others who were doing the same or similar things. Talk about cutting through all the bullshit!
So I learned that it was possible to be living in the real world that simultaneously had: white supremacists + self-hating Black people + people with legitimate grievances against Obama
You can (and should) apply this same line of reasoning with Hillary Clinton; yes, there definitely are misogynistic people who hate her simply because she is a woman, but that doesn’t nullify the criticisms of those people who have problems with her strictly because of her deeply conservative values
Anon, is Bernie Sanders a token self-hating Jew if he doesn’t side with YOU? (hint: he isn’t and he doesn’t)
Think about what you’re implying anon. You’re saying that Israel has never been wrong? About anything? And consequently, all Zionist Jewish people are right and anyone who disagrees with them is automatically antisemitic and hates all Jewish people?
Does that even sound right to you anon?
That’s a very comforting, if not somewhat mentally lazy, self-serving view of the world. One that doesn’t require any additional thought or self-reflection (or growth, tbh) on your part. It’s an adolescent version of reality
What we are talking about here, anon, is weaponized identity politics
anyone who disagrees with my good Black person is racist
anyone who disagrees with my good female is misogynistic
anyone who disagrees with my good Jew is antisemitic
This type of logic really makes “winning” arguments super easy, for people who don’t have any real arguments to defend their ideology
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yrotic11 · 8 months ago
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A redditor asked:
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VIRGO VENUS
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Virgo Venus/6th house Venus too(as it’s also considered a place of detriment for Venus) , it’s an endearing placement to have in our real world in my opinion. When healthy, these people stand on their boundaries, they recognize more than most, the world is a dirty place when it comes to the love hemisphere but if they’re not careful can turn into them being picky and micromanaging , they do it out of love but they may not be able to see how suffocating it may feel to the receiving end of the party.
Because of their painful understanding of the world we live in they are not wooed by mere romantic sweet words of nothingness. These people want to see action be put in. Promises being valued, respected and held* up to. It’s an earth sign energy after all that also rules the day to day life.
They value CONSISTENCY. and they can get real groggy with you if they witness you not making an earnest effort because often this Venus takes on the role of giving and caring not just spiritually but physically. These type of virgoean Venus’ practice what they preach so the things they require in their relationship they so gladly will do for you no questions asked. Taking on the burdens of everyday life for you so your existence on earth for the days you are with them feels just a little sweeter. It’s on the axis of Pisces/12th house so there’s bound to be some self sacrificing element here.
The less mature ones might be stingy in their love sharing because of fear of being taken advantage of as this is often a reoccurring theme for this placement. Virgoean type of self sacrificing is far more unstabling tho, as it’s completely in the realms of the mundane.
Because of their style of sacrifice and then the harsh reality of the world around us, they’re forced to create boundaries for themselves which makes their standards high and often their rosters small because no one seems to quite live up to their wants and needs.
This can cause them to turn to superficiality because they’re human and still yearn for affection ,,and it hurts. they can see that others view them as too needy so to cope with this they may in-fact start doing the opposite instead of looking for internal character development in a partner , they focus entirely on physical appearance.
I see it more with men having their Venus in Virgo ,though. And they’re miserable yet, can seem to be honest enough with themselves to acknowledge what the real problem is😭some of the men might have strange obsessions with purity and might even perpetuate purity culture ideation unless Lilith is there or something which can either make it completely worse or pipe it down a good bit.
When/if they become completely tired of their back and forth with sacrifice they may just give up and just give the love they crave to themselves and allow it to overflow first from themselves, and let it overflow to you or whoever is receiving them.
OR they can be a miserable piece a pooh, making others miserable and traumatized in the process. However, eventually some may even completely reject the idea of dating or getting married to protect their peace this is often the more healed party, they don’t wanna participate/continue in perpetuations of manipulation that comes with the dating scene so they just remove themselves and watch from a distance. In the flesh they’re often a blessing gone sourly unrecognized. they want to work to accomplish your needs, they yearn for that in return; they don’t get it. Sad love story, very misunderstood set of people.
Also in relationships the people receiving the Virgo/6h Venus might not even be able to see their love language style/or even care to learn this Venus’s love style because the love they give does not include/ or care for the games and the dance of love interlock manipulation. Their love is a simple and a scornfully real type of love. So intertwined with the normalities of the mundane that..it goes unnoticed. That’s my own personal perspective what I’ve seen and witnessed.
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amuseoffyre · 2 years ago
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I was mulling on how well OFMD does layers and layers of storytelling in such understated way with framing and sets and dialogue that carries so much weight without beating you over the head with exposition. Especially when it comes to the text and subtext of the history of the characters and what is happening in context.
Like every scene has a surface read, but there’s also so much more going on underneath. It’s like the many strands of threads used in weaving, where even when the things aren’t said directly and out loud, they’re present and building depth and colour to what’s happening.
I’ve picked a couple of examples which tell so much with so little.
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Even this frame gives so much context without a word: Ed is from a poor background, his father is pictured beside a tankard of alcohol, his mother is dressed in servant’s clothing and he and his mother are very much separated from his father who is halfway into the shadows.
Then we have the impact of colonisation show in the words and presentation of Ed’s mother. She and Ed are both played by Māori actors, while Ed’s father is white. The way she talks about not being “those kind of people” and “it’s up to God” were lessons drilled into the many Indigenous children who were taken from their families and communities to be forcefully assimilated in church-run schools in British colonies, where they were taught English, indoctrinated into Christanity and were usually trained for roles in domestic service (for girls) or manual labour (for boys).
In three lines and with some simple set dressing and costume, they have set up not only Ed’s own history, but the history of his family and culture and how that impacted him and continues to impact him.
Another scene where this is intensely evident is in the Privateering academy:
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For the first time, Ed and Stede are in the same clothing. On a surface read, this puts them on an equal footing, with them both being in the same situation. But once again, colonialism rears its ugly head in the context, especially in regards to Ed.
As mentioned before, the British colonies created schools with the declared intention of educating and improving the well-being of indigenous populations, while the reality was cultural erasure, indoctrination and genocide.
A lot of these schools demanded the pupils all dress in uniforms and in most cases demanded the children abandon all aspects of their culture. The fact that Ed has to physically change his appearance upon arrival in this British-run academy - it wasn’t regulation, it had to go - is a call-back to that legacy.
While less pointed, Stede has also been forced to assimilate into the more traditional and masculine attire. Even in the 1700s, there are accounts of queer men being described as too colourful and flashy and in the academy scenes, they have stripped his flamboyant soft queerness away from him, pushing him into the stiff, colourless cultural masculinity that is represented by the British forces throughout the show.
I could go on and on but it is very cold and I am very sleepy, but I will finish on a note about the Act of Grace and specifically on Hornberry’s “it’s boilerplate, absolution for your terrible crimes, blah-di-blah-di-blah.”
That line alone carries the weight of every single treaty arranged by the British when they colonised countries and it is a very pointed barb because it turns out that the British were very good at loopholing the hell out of their treaties, making sure certain turns of phrase could be re-interpreted to their advantage, something that is still impacting many people today.
The fact that Ed - and Taika - is the one to say “that’s where all the tricks are” is especially loaded given the history of the Treaty of Waitangi in Aotearoa and how the British interpreted it to their benefit.
There’s so much history built into the body of the show and I love that it’s there, adding depth and weight, a realness which I think is what has caused so much resonance with the audience. It provides a grounding foundation and while yes, the show is a comedy and is very funny, the history is always there too.
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redsediment · 1 month ago
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It’s so embarrassing when my coworkers have the most mind-bogglingly dog shit political views and I don’t know how to argue with them. Like I’m not a necessarily a Good Politics Haver or even a Good Person but what do you say to people who don’t even have a lick of awareness that war is bad and avoidable. What do you say to people that are so profoundly fatalist in their opinions that they decide to stop being vegetarian because ‘they won’t be able to change anything’.
I guess I’m just really angry at fatalism. I sort of think all people have a kind of moral responsibility to believe things can get better, or at least stop getting worse. I think about the sacrifices people have made for me to live as well as I do, and don’t I owe it to them to at least be grateful for that in some way?
And what I’m talking about, what I wish more people had, isn’t hope, isn’t optimism, isn’t determination. In my experience it’s hard to hold on to those things, and they often lead mostly to disappointment. Whatever I’ve hoped for, I’ve almost universally been let down. So many dreams and plans crushed within a moments notice—that’s life.
But it seems so hard to convince people that it’s worth believing that people are capable of good in any capacity, and it’s so frustrating because it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. People say shit like “oh they’ve been bickering for so long, why don’t they just fight,” and mean it, because they think there’s no end to the depravity of humanity other than death.
I think what leaves me totally unable to speak is that the very capacity for judgement that these people use to turn to despair is the same capacity that proves they are able to think morally, proves they are able to think above a simple fatalism. When people say ‘ah if only this were x,’ they are not talking about what is, nor are they just making stuff up. They’re thinking critically about possible realities, about the one we live in, and how it can change. But when they even notice they’re thinking about something outside their experience, they cower and give up, and reaffirm their stupidity and fearfulness.
It’s painful living in the liminal space between hope and despair. One is not able to look forward to anything, not even the regularity of disappointment. But I don’t know how else to feel like I am actually alive, actually aware that I am in the same world as other people, that I have the capacity to learn, that I am alive and that I can die—and that other people can too.
I’m afraid of death. I’m afraid of disagreeing with people. I don’t think I’ll change in this regard. But I might like to try.
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