#technically it's also three for Vicky

[hyacinth42-blog]

Depends on how you define rizz. Chance/Ability to bag people? Probably Victoria above Taylor. Number of people rizzed? Textually, Victoria probably goes between Blake and Taylor. If you count subtext like Lisa and Rachel? She goes after Taylor.

wildbow protagonist rizz tier list

1.) Sylvester Lambsbridge

2.) Blake Thorburn (Not only did he have god awful karma but he also was literally part tree and he STILL pulled. Fucking crazy)

3.) Taylor Hebert ("I can fix her." - They did NOT fix her.)

Haven't read ward or pale so I'm not sure where they fall, but even then ion think Victoria or any of the trio go above these rankings. I just don't think they got it in them to go higher idk

[scarluna]

KNOCKOUT (002)

⸺ ݂ ํ Synopsis : ꣒

Y/N is a depressed, closed off, anxious and insecure plus-sized girl. She does not believe she deserves love nor anything good in her life. However by destiny, she meets Jungkook. A fighter, a biker and a guy that changes the way she sees the world.

⸺ ݂ ํ Characters : ꣒ Jeon Jungkook x Y/N

⸺ ݂ ํ Chapters: 2/?

⸺ ݂ ํ Trigger warnings : ꣒ mature language, mental health problems, depression, su!c!d1l thoughts, fatph0bia, illegal substances, smoking, anxiety, body dysmorphia, maladaptive daydreaming, making out, traumas, emotional eating

⸺ ݂ ํ Other warnings : ꣒ grammatical errors.

⸺ ݂ ํ Author's Note: ꣒ GUYS PLEASE I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO MAKE A TAG LIST, SOMEONE EDUCATE ME T____T Hence why I am unable to add yall there. :C Also, lemme know what you think of this chap. Wink Wink.

Time doesn’t feel real anymore.

I couldn’t tell you if it’s Monday or Thursday. If it rained yesterday or the day before that. I keep the blinds half-shut, the room dim enough that the daylight doesn’t mock me but bright enough that I don’t lose all sense of time.

I haven’t gone back to the park.

I haven’t gone anywhere, really.

Just rotting in my apartment, wrapped in the same blanket, wearing the same hoodie, scrolling through the same three apps on my phone like they’ll eventually give me a reason to feel alive.

They don’t.

Every day starts the same.

Wake up too late. Answer emails too slowly. Fake interest during work calls, mute myself and nod like I’m present. Lie when my mom texts asking if I’ve been “getting out more.”

"Yeah, totally. Been trying to take walks!"

She replies with a heart emoji. Like that’s enough to count as connection.

My dad called once. Drunk, probably. I didn’t answer. Let it ring out and told myself I’d call back later.

I won’t.

Even Vicky’s texts have started slowing down. She knows me well enough to give space when I go quiet like this, but part of me wishes she’d just barge in again. Force me out of my own head.

But I won’t ask.

I never ask.

I just sit here. Work. Eat. Scroll. Sleep.

Repeat.

The only real interactions I have are with food delivery drivers. Strangers I see for five seconds at a time but who, lately, feel like they’re starting to see me too much.

Like they know.

Like they can tell.

That I’ve ordered from the same chicken place four nights in a row. That I haven’t brushed my hair in two days. That my voice is hoarse from not being used. That I look like I haven’t been touched or held or smiled for real in longer than anyone should.

The last one gave me a weird look. Not mean—just… curious. Pitying.

Like he didn’t expect me to be the one behind the door. Like maybe he thought the name on the receipt belonged to someone different. Someone who didn’t open the door in a hoodie with food stains and bare feet and eyes that screamed don’t look at me.

I said “thanks” too quickly and slammed the door before he could say anything back.

And then I stood there.

Back against the door.

Heart pounding like I’d just run a mile.

Why does it feel like every moment lately is some slow-burning humiliation?

Why does existing like this feel so loud?

Even when no one says a word.

I eat half the food, then leave the rest on the counter like some kind of offering to the version of me who should be doing better by now.

I wish I could stop spiraling.

I wish the guilt wasn’t its own kind of meal—chewed on between bites, swallowed down with shame and soda.

But I can’t stop.

I can’t make myself care enough to break the cycle.

And deep down, I know what’s happening.

The same thing that always happens.

I’m fading again.

Not in a dramatic, cry-for-help way.

Just… fading.

Quietly. Slowly.

-

I didn’t sleep much.

Again.

The apartment smells like old fries and leftover stress. My laptop screen glows too bright in the dim room, and the clock on the bottom corner blinks 9:59 a.m.—one minute before the weekly team meeting.

I throw on a different hoodie. Kind of. Technically it’s the same as yesterday, just a slightly less-wrinkled sibling. Hair’s in a messy bun. Face untouched. My camera’s always off, and I plan to keep it that way.

I log into Zoom and brace myself.

The team meeting starts the same way it always does—bad small talk, muted laughter, awkward pauses while someone forgets they’re on mute.

And then Katherine’s voice cuts through like glitter and caffeine.

“So…” she says, practically bouncing in her chair. Her camera is on, obviously. Background blurred, face glowing. “Can we tell them now?”

Our manager, Greg, chuckles like he’s part of some secret joke. “Yeah, yeah, alright.”

My stomach knots.

Greg leans forward. “Okay, team. We’ve got something fun coming up—real fun, not fake-corporate-fun.”

Katherine’s smile stretches even wider.

“We’ve booked out a section of Riot Club downtown this Friday night. Fully paid. Open bar. Food, music, everything.”

Someone lets out a “woo!” like we’re in a movie.

Riot Club.

Of course it’s Riot Club. I’ve heard of it—one of those trendy places where the lighting’s low, the music’s loud, and the people are confident. Beautiful. The kind of place where I’d normally rather light myself on fire than be perceived.

Greg keeps talking. “It’s a team-building thing. You know, for morale. We’ll have a reserved section upstairs, so it’s private, but feel free to bring your dancing shoes.”

Katherine claps. “This is going to be so fun. I’ve already got a dress picked out.”

Everyone’s reacting. Laughing. Making jokes about shots and karaoke and someone inevitably dancing on a table. People are already forming plans in the chat.

I just sit there, stiff.

Invisible.

Until Greg squints at the list of muted names and lands on me.

“Y/N—you in?”

My body freezes.

What?

No. No no no no no. This wasn’t part of the script. I was supposed to just sit through the meeting, nod silently, and then disappear like always.

But everyone is watching now. Katherine leans toward her screen with a curious smile. A few others are glancing sideways like they didn’t even know I existed before this moment.

And my mouth opens.

Before my brain catches up.

“Yeah,” I blurt.

It’s small. Quiet. But clear enough.

“Awesome,” Greg says, giving a thumbs-up. “Glad you’re coming.”

The moment passes.

The conversation moves on.

And I sit there, stunned.

What the fuck did I just do?

I didn’t mean to say yes.

I didn’t want to go.

I didn’t even want to be asked.

My heart is pounding. My hands are shaking slightly under the desk. The rest of the meeting blurs into static. I stare at the little camera icon on my screen, grateful it’s still red and crossed out.

They didn’t see the panic on my face.

Didn’t see the way I just agreed to willingly walk into a nightmare.

A club.

Downtown.

With people.

With Katherine.

With me, in the middle of it.

I log off the second the meeting ends and slam my laptop shut like I can shut reality with it.

I press the heels of my palms into my eyes and exhale hard.

What the hell am I going to do?

An hour passes.

I haven’t moved from the couch.

My laptop’s still shut, my hands tucked under my thighs, fingers curling into the fabric of my sweatpants. I’ve just been sitting here, replaying that moment over and over again in my head like a horror film on loop.

“Y/N—you in?”

“Yeah.”

God, why did I say that?

My phone buzzes on the cushion beside me.

I flinch, already bracing for it.

Katherine (1:19 PM):

Omg I’m SO glad you said yes!!! 🖤 This is going to be so fun. Honestly didn’t think you were the club type but I love a wild card 👀

I swallow hard. The nausea in my stomach doubles.

I stare at the screen for a full minute before typing.

me:

I didn’t really mean to say yes. I panicked.

It sends before I can change my mind. I instantly regret it—but not enough to delete it. I just stare, waiting.

Three dots appear.

Then disappear.

Then return again.

My chest tightens.

Katherine (1:22 PM):

LOL honestly same thing happened to me when I went to my first team party But hey—if you panic-committed, then now you’ve got a reason to go And if it helps… I’ll come pick you up No pressure. No stress. Just a ride with a semi-decent playlist 😎

My throat clenches. That’s... really nice of her. Too nice. Too much.

Why is she being so nice?

me:

You really don’t have to do that

Katherine (1:25 PM):

I know But I want to You’re part of the team. You deserve to be part of the fun too Besides, it’ll be easier walking in with someone than alone, right?

That part hits harder than I expect.

Because she’s not wrong.

Walking in alone would’ve destroyed me. I would’ve hovered by the entrance pretending to check nonexistent texts for twenty minutes, trying to disappear through the floor.

But now the panic shifts.

Because if Katherine picks me up… if I go…

They’ll see me.

Not blurry camera me. Not muted Zoom square me. Not vague voice-on-a-call me.

Me.

My body. My face. My everything I try so hard to keep tucked behind oversized hoodies and safe little rectangles on a screen.

And I won’t have Vicky.

She’s too far away. Hours away. No teleport button. No last-minute rescue.

I glance at the corner of my room where the dress Vicky once made me buy is still hanging—tags on, dusty from months of pretending one day I’d wear it.

My fingers hover over the keyboard again.

me:

They’re all going to see me for real

I don’t even know if I meant to send that. But I do.

And she replies instantly.

Katherine (1:29 PM):

Yeah And that’s a good thing You’re more than just a voice on Slack. You’re cool. People will love you. And if they don’t? Screw them. I’ve got your back.

I stare at the message until the letters blur a little.

I don’t know what I expected. A brush-off? A vague “you’ll be fine”?

Not this.

Not kindness.

Not support.

And instead of feeling reassured, all I can think is: I’m going to let her down. She doesn’t know how weird I look. How awkward I am in real life. How I fold in on myself when people make eye contact.

My hands shake as I put my phone down.

I feel like a burden.

A walking, talking inconvenience.

But Katherine didn’t make it feel that way. She didn’t hesitate.

And now the clock is ticking.

Two days until the event.

Two days until I have to be seen.

Two days until there’s no hiding.

The next evening

The sky is already dark when my phone buzzes again.

Vicky’s calling.

I almost let it go to voicemail—I’m too wrapped in the knot of dread sitting in my stomach—but then I remember her last text:

"You better answer or I’ll assume you’ve turned into a blanket goblin."

Fair.

I accept the video call and flip the camera. My hoodie’s still on. Hair’s up. Bare face. Blanket wrapped around me like a depressed burrito.

Vicky’s face lights up the screen the second the call connects. She’s got a clay face mask on and a mug the size of a soup bowl in her hands.

“Yooo,” she says, squinting at me. “There’s my favorite gremlin. Look at you. So glowy. So... suspiciously bundled.”

I manage a weak laugh. “Hi.”

She narrows her eyes. “You look like someone who accidentally agreed to something horrifying. Tell me everything.”

I exhale slowly, sinking deeper into the couch. “I said yes to going to a company team-building party.”

Her brows shoot up. “What?”

“Yeah.”

“Like… willingly?”

“No. I panicked. They asked me in the Zoom meeting. Out loud. In front of everyone.”

Vicky winces. “Oof.”

“I said yes because my brain short-circuited and I didn’t know how to say no. And now Katherine’s all excited and she’s picking me up and everyone’s going to see me.”

I drop my face into my hands.

There’s a pause.

Then Vicky gently says, “Okay. Breathe. Just… pause the spiral for a second.”

I peek at her through my fingers. “I don’t want to go, Vick.”

“I know, babe. But maybe… hear me out… it’s not the worst thing ever?”

I roll my eyes.

She continues, sitting up straighter. “Look, I get it. Being around people is exhausting. Especially people who’ve only ever seen you from the neck up through a laptop screen with soft lighting and pixel blur. But maybe it’s also—kind of—a big deal that you said yes?”

“I didn’t mean to say yes.”

“But you did. And maybe that’s your soul doing some sneaky internal growth while your anxiety wasn’t looking.”

I snort, despite myself.

She grins. “I’m serious. You’ve been hiding for so long. What if this is your brain’s way of going: hey, what if we just tried for one night? Just one.”

“I don’t think I’d look good in anything…” I mumble. “Everyone’s going to look amazing and I’ll look like someone’s exhausted older cousin who wandered in by accident.”

“You are so dramatic,” Vicky says, sipping her tea. “You’re beautiful, Y/N. And if you want, we can raid your closet together. I can help you pick something. Virtual wardrobe montage, 2000s romcom style. Or maybe you still keep that pretty dress I gifted ya?”

I let out a quiet laugh. “Of course I do..” I took a glance at the dress hanging in my wardrobe whose doors were wide open and sighed quietly. Maybe I should just wear it?... “God, remember when we used to actually do that?”

“Yup. And you always looked better than me, so shut up.”

“You’re literally perfect.”

“And you’re literally going to be fine. Put that dress I gave ya and some sexy smoky make up and you’ll get yourself a man immediately once they see how pretty you are.” She joked. Or did she?

I exhaled slowly, chewing on the edge of my blanket.

Vicky’s voice softens. “I know it feels terrifying. But it’s just one night. You don’t have to perform. You don’t have to be the life of the party. Just show up. Have a drink. Exist.”

I pause. “That’s already a lot.”

“I know,” she says. “But I also know you. And I think… deep down… some part of you wants this. Wants to be seen. Wants to be out there, even just a little.”

My chest tightens at that. She’s not wrong. That part does exist.

I just don’t know if I can handle it.

She raises an eyebrow. “Also, let’s not forget… there’s always a chance Jungkook shows up.”

I groan. “Oh my God. Vick—”

“I’m just saying! Downtown club? Underground fighter with rich-kid rebellion vibes? Sounds like his kind of scene.”

I bury my face again. “He doesn’t even know my name. I was literally wearing a blanket and panic-wheezing the last time he saw me.”

“Which is iconic,” she says with a smirk. “A mystery girl with a nicotine aura and oversized hoodie chic? He’s probably haunted by you.”

I laugh, this time louder. It feels weird to laugh this much.

It feels good.

I sigh. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You can,” she says simply. “And if it sucks? You leave. You can lie, say you feel sick. Blame a mysterious food allergy. I’ll back your story from four towns away.”

I smile at her through the screen, heart aching in that familiar way. “I wish you were going with me.”

“Me too,” she says. “But you’ve got this. And if nothing else, you’ll get free drinks and something to text me about at 2 a.m.”

My chest still feels tight, but a little less so.

Maybe, just maybe, I can survive this.

Maybe.

Friday. 7:45 p.m.

Any minute now.

Katherine said she'd be here at 7:50 sharp, and her texts have been consistently enthusiastic in that exact “I-will-drag-you-out-with-love-if-I-have-to” tone.

The clock on my phone reads 7:45.

I’m standing in front of the mirror.

And I can barely look at myself.

But I do.

Because I have to.

The dress Vicky gifted me hugs my body in places I usually try to erase. It’s soft black fabric—slightly structured but flowy enough to move in. Not tight. Not shapeless. Somewhere in between. It cinches a little under my chest and floats down from there, and yeah—it technically hides the parts I always try to shrink… but it doesn’t make them disappear.

Nothing could.

My arms. My thighs. My belly.

Still there. Still mine.

I shift my weight. My shoulders are hunched, posture defensive like I’ve spent a lifetime trying to take up less space. I force myself to stand straighter, but it feels foreign—like wearing someone else’s confidence.

My hair’s curled, but not polished. Messy on purpose. Loose and imperfect. I let a few strands fall over my face to soften everything, hide a little behind the veil of effort.

My makeup… I surprised myself.

A soft wing of eyeliner that actually looks even. Mascara that didn’t smudge. Clip-on earrings—little silver hoops—because I’ve always hated needles. And the lipstick.

God.

Red.

Bold. Loud. The exact kind of color that draws attention, and I don’t know what possessed me to wear it but here it is. On my mouth. Like a statement I’m too scared to say out loud.

I bite my bottom lip, testing it.

Still there.

Still vibrant.

And then the boots. Chunky, black, reliable. My little leather jacket. A crossbody bag just big enough for my phone, my ID, and my emergency excuses if I decide to flee.

The whole look… it’s not perfect.

But it’s mine.

And it’s been so long since I looked like this. Since I tried.

Since I showered, styled my hair, painted my face with intention instead of hiding behind foundation and prayer.

It’s strange.

I look almost like a version of myself I used to imagine. Not the girl on Zoom. Not the girl curled under blankets avoiding the world. Not the ghost who scrolls through Instagram and feels like she lives on the outside of her own life.

No—this version?

She exists.

And she's going out tonight.

I take one more look.

And then another.

I wish I could say I love what I see. That I feel powerful. Beautiful.

But really—I just feel… real.

And maybe that’s enough.

My phone buzzes.

Katherine (7:47 PM):

Outside! 🚗✨ You ready, queen?

My stomach flips.

This is it.

No turning back now.

I swipe on a final layer of confidence, inhale slow through my nose, and grab my bag.

One shaky step toward the door.

And I whisper to my reflection—so quiet I barely hear it myself:

“Let’s just try.”

The door clicks shut behind me.

The night air hits my skin like a soft warning—cool and sharp against the warmth trapped under my leather jacket. The street glows in soft orange hues from the overhead lamps, casting my shadow long across the pavement.

My boots clink softly with every step.

Each one feels louder than it should. Like they’re announcing me to the world.

I spot it almost immediately.

A red Chevrolet Camaro, sleek and shining like something out of a movie, parked right in front of my building.

Of course it’s Katherine’s.

It fits her—bold, polished, unapologetically attention-grabbing.

She’s already in the driver’s seat, one perfectly manicured hand on the wheel, the other holding her phone, probably cueing up a playlist. The interior lights glow faintly, outlining her profile like she stepped out of a commercial for glam and success.

I pause at the curb, take a breath, and circle around the car.

The closer I get, the more aware I am of everything—how my dress moves, how my hair feels, how exposed my legs are above the boots. I hope the lipstick hasn’t smudged. I hope I don’t look like I’m trying too hard.

I open the passenger door and slide in, the leather seat cold against my thighs.

“Hey!” Katherine beams, bright as ever. “Oh my God, look at you! You look gorgeous!”

I blink. “Me?”

She nods so fast her ponytail bounces. “Yes, you! I mean, I always suspected you were hiding a baddie under those hoodies, but damn.”

I laugh, quietly. “Thanks… you look amazing too.”

And she does.

Her platinum hair is curled and glossy, her skin glowing like a dewy Instagram filter. She’s in this glittery blush-toned mini dress that hugs her like it was tailored just for her. Her lips are glossy pink, heels sparkling like something ripped from a Barbie runway.

She looks like she belongs in a club.

I… look like someone playing dress-up in her big sister’s closet.

The confidence I built in my room wavers just a little. Just enough to notice.

But I breathe past it.

I try.

Katherine pulls away from the curb, music low, windows cracked just enough to let the air drift in.

We make small talk. Work stuff. Light jokes. I let myself laugh, even if it sounds a bit too high-pitched.

“You nervous?” she asks, glancing over at a red light.

I nod. “A little.”

“You’ll be fine,” she says, smiling like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You already did the hardest part—you showed up. Everything else is cake.”

I nod again, forcing a small smile. “Cake.”

We were supposed to arrive at 8:20.

But traffic hits just outside downtown. One of those long, inching slogs where brake lights stretch out in front of us like a never-ending warning.

Katherine doesn’t seem fazed. She just leans back, taps her fingers on the wheel to the beat of the song playing, and throws occasional commentary about the guy in the next car who keeps checking her out.

I, on the other hand, sit perfectly still—my fingers clenched tight in my lap, counting down the seconds, watching the time slip away like it’s water running through my hands.

8:30.

8:40.

8:50.

Finally—finally—we pull up in front of Riot Club.

The street is already buzzing. Neon lights pulse against the sidewalk. There’s music thumping through the walls like a second heartbeat, and the line to get in snakes down the block.

Even with our name on the list, even with a reserved section upstairs—just seeing the crowd makes my breath hitch.

People everywhere.

Laughing, talking, dressed like they’re made for the spotlight.

My smile falters.

Every instinct in my body screams go home. I could walk back to the car. I could make an excuse. Say I got sick. Say I forgot something. Say anything.

But Katherine’s already opening her door.

She climbs out in one graceful move, standing tall in her heels, dress glittering like it’s alive.

She walks around to my side and opens the door before I can stop her.

Her hand extends toward me like a challenge.

“You ready?” she grins.

I glance at the club entrance. The crowd. The bouncer. The stairs.

My throat tightens.

But I reach out and take her hand anyway.

Because it’s too late to turn back now.

And maybe, just maybe, I don’t want to.

The bass hits first.

Even before we step fully inside.

It pulses under my skin, loud and relentless, like someone’s holding a speaker up to my chest and daring my heartbeat to sync with it.

The bouncer checks our names—Katherine flashes him a smile that probably gets her through most doors in life—and just like that, we’re in.

Riot Club lives up to the name.

The air is thick with heat and sweat and perfume that doesn’t quite mask the alcohol. The lights are low—deep reds and pulsing blues, flickering like a heartbeat in strobe—and the music...

“Dime por qué lloras / De felicidad…”

“El Teléfono” is blasting through the speakers like it’s 2008 again and we’re dancing in someone’s garage after drinking vodka from a water bottle. The beat pounds so hard the floor itself vibrates. People crowd the dance floor, hips moving, arms lifted, heads thrown back in laughter.

Everyone looks like they belong here.

I feel like I just walked into someone else’s dream.

We push our way through the crowd, Katherine’s hand hooked around my wrist, guiding us like she’s done this a thousand times. And maybe she has.

I stumble once. Apologize to someone who doesn’t even hear me.

And all the while, my brain spirals.

I’m twenty-six years old.

I have a full-time job. I pay my rent on time. I buy my own groceries. I have a plant that hasn’t died yet. I’m technically a grown woman.

But walking through this crowd?

Hearing this music?

Heading up the stairs to the VIP section of a club like I’m someone who does this regularly?

It feels wrong.

Like I stole this night from someone else’s life and I’m going to get caught at any moment.

Because no matter how much time has passed—no matter how many birthdays have stacked up—I still feel sixteen sometimes.

Sixteen and anxious and deeply unsure of myself.

Sixteen and pretending to be cool when I never knew how to dance.

Sixteen and quietly guilt-ridden about staying out past ten, even when no one cared.

My parents never checked in. Never enforced curfews. I could’ve stayed out till dawn and no one would’ve blinked.

But I still tiptoed home.

Still felt like I was doing something wrong.

Still played the part of the good girl.

The quiet one. The one who didn’t drink too much. The one who didn’t get into trouble. The one who didn’t let anyone too close.

And now here I am.

In a club. Wearing red lipstick. Walking past strangers with glitter on their cheeks and drinks in their hands. Climbing the stairs to a private section like I belong here.

And I don’t.

I don’t.

I grip the railing tighter.

Katherine glances back at me once, beaming, shouting something I can’t hear over the music. I nod, smile faintly, keep walking.

Even if I wanted to leave, I wouldn’t know how to say it. Not without sounding ungrateful. Not without disappointing her. Not without confirming what I already believe:

That I can’t do this.

That I don’t fit.

The VIP section is a little quieter. Not by much. Just enough that the bass doesn’t feel like it’s rattling my teeth. There’s a sleek couch setup, a long glass table filled with small plates, fancy drinks, and coworkers already laughing, already loose.

They see Katherine.

They see her.

And then they see me.

Eyes flick over me in passing—some smiles, a few nods, one girl I recognize from Zoom gives me a friendly wave—but no one says anything just yet.

Still, I feel it.

Seen.

And not in the romantic, movie kind of way.

In the raw, terrifying, naked kind of way.

The kind where the hoodie doesn’t save you anymore.

I sit at the edge of the couch, trying to make myself small. The leather squeaks under me. I smooth my dress out, sip water from a sweating glass, and try to remember how to act like I belong in my own life.

Maybe if I fake it long enough, I’ll start to believe it.

The lights up here are softer.

Warmer.

Still dim, still flickering from the music below, but not as harsh. The kind of glow that makes people look a little better, a little more relaxed, a little less intimidating.

I sit with my drink—water, for now—gripping the glass too tight and trying to remember how to function.

A few coworkers drift over. People I recognize from work chat and project check-ins and endless Slack threads.

Samantha from accounting compliments my earrings.

Miguel from marketing asks if I like reggaeton.

Liam—who’s always joking in meetings—offers me a plate of mini empanadas and says, “You clean up nice.”

They’re all friendly. Genuinely.

There’s no cruel undertone. No judgment. No whispered looks.

Just warmth.

But I’m still quiet.

Smiling politely, saying thank you, answering questions with short but safe replies. My hands never quite stop fidgeting in my lap or tapping the rim of the glass. My eyes scan the room too often, like I’m waiting for someone to tell me I’m not supposed to be here.

Because I don’t feel like the girl they’re talking to.

I’m still wearing that invisible hoodie. Still hunched, still hiding behind practiced small talk and careful laughter.

But if Vicky were here?

I’d be different.

She’s seen me sobbing in the dark, surrounded by snacks and shame and silence. She’s seen my worst spirals, my messy breakdowns, the parts of me I try to keep hidden from the rest of the world.

And she stayed.

That’s the difference.

That’s why I can be silly with her. Loud. Soft. Raw.

With other people? I’m just this version. Polished edges and apology eyes.

Until—

“Alright, alright, look at this crew!”

Greg walks in like he owns the room—because technically, he does. Our manager. Balding but confident, shirt half-tucked, wearing some kind of printed button-up that says cool boss energy more than business formal.

People cheer, a few stand to greet him.

He raises a glass of something amber and laughs. “Glad you all made it out of your caves. I was starting to think half of you were AI.”

More laughter. Even I smile.

Then his eyes sweep the room.

They stop on me.

And something shifts in his expression. Not unkind—just… surprised.

“Y/N?” He squints, then chuckles. “Wow. I didn’t recognize you without the hoodie and messy bun.”

The comment makes me freeze for a split second—but he says it casually, without malice. Just surprise.

I laugh.

A real one, kind of. The kind that’s a little unsure, but still genuine.

“Yeah,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, “I almost didn’t recognize me either.”

People chuckle softly. Katherine beams.

Greg walks over and clinks his glass gently against mine. “Well, you look great. Glad you’re here.”

He takes the empty seat beside me and starts chatting with everyone—asking Miguel about his dog, teasing Samantha about her Spotify Wrapped, telling Katherine he still doesn’t understand TikTok.

And slowly—so slowly—I start to relax.

I take a deeper breath.

My shoulders loosen.

I set my empty water glass down on the table, flag down the server, and when she leans in, I hear my voice say:

“Can I get a cherry vodka and Red Bull?”

She nods.

My heart hammers.

Bold.

Stupid?

Maybe.

But I want to feel something. I want to taste something sweet and fizzy and wrong. I want to be a little more than this shell. Just for one night.

Just for a few hours.

The music shifts to something smoother, more danceable. People start standing up, moving closer to the balcony railing that overlooks the dance floor.

I lift the drink when it comes. It’s pink and fizzy and tastes like rebellion.

And for the first time tonight—

I let myself smile.

Not the polite one.

The real one.

The vodka’s hitting.

Not in a dizzying, blackout kind of way—but warm and weightless. Like I’ve floated half an inch above all the anxiety pressing on me for years. My limbs feel light. My smile keeps slipping out easier.

I’m laughing with coworkers. Actually laughing.

Samantha and I bond over our mutual hatred for Slack emojis. Miguel and Katherine are fake-arguing about who danced worse in high school. Liam keeps sliding plates of snacks toward me like I’m going to vanish if I don’t keep eating.

I let myself exist here.

Music hums through my bones. Bass in my ribs. My third vodka tastes like childhood candy and bad decisions. I sip it anyway.

I don’t know how long it’s been. Maybe an hour. Maybe five minutes. Time doesn’t work properly in clubs.

I lean back into the plush couch, my knees tucked close, boots dangling off the edge. I’m warm, surrounded, not invisible for once—and weirdly okay with it.

Until it happens.

Voices at the stairs.

Low, laughing.

Footsteps on metal.

I glance toward the staircase, not really focused, eyes soft from the buzz. Just another group coming up to the VIP—nothing unusual.

But the shift in energy is immediate.

A few people at our table—Katherine, Miguel, even Greg—perk up, smiling, waving.

“Yo! You made it!” someone calls out.

I blink.

Samantha lifts a hand, grinning. “That’s my cousin—he actually showed up!”

I follow their line of sight without thinking.

A small group of guys is climbing the stairs. Most of them dressed in that effortless, too-cool-to-try way: dark shirts, silver chains, tattoos peeking under sleeves. Confident. Comfortable.

And at the back—

No.

No way.

Everything stills.

The vodka buzz disappears like it was never there.

Because he’s there.

Jungkook.

Climbing the stairs, slow and deliberate, head slightly tilted as he surveys the space. Black button-up open just enough to show the tattoos crawling down his chest. Sleeves rolled. Hair messy, damp at the ends. Silver hoops in both ears, a glint of light catching the ring on his lip.

He looks like a storm barely leashed.

Like he’s too real to exist in the same night I’m pretending belongs to me.

My heart lurches, tight and hot.

I don’t move.

Katherine shifts beside me—and I can feel her stiffen.

She knows.

She remembers.

“Oh my God,” she mutters under her breath, wide-eyed. “That’s Jungkook.”

I already know.

Of course I know.

He reaches the top of the stairs just as a few people from our group go over to greet them. There are hugs, loud voices, handshakes.

And then—

He looks up.

And sees me.

Our eyes lock.

Just for a second.

But it stretches.

His expression doesn’t change—no dramatic reaction, no double take. But I see something flicker in his gaze.

Recognition.

Memory.

Stillness.

Like maybe he’s just as surprised as I am.

Maybe.

I can’t move.

I can’t breathe.

Because in all the daydreams, in all the hypothetical versions of this night where something wild and cinematic happens—I never once imagined he’d walk through the same door.

And I never imagined I’d be seen like this.

Not by him.

Not without the hoodie.

Not without the shield.

Just… me.

In red lipstick and messy curls and boots that suddenly feel too loud.

The moment breaks when someone claps Jungkook on the back and laughs too loud.

Just like that, the energy shifts again—back to motion, to noise, to people moving around her like the ground isn’t still tilting beneath her feet.

The guys from the stairs reach our group, folding in with the kind of ease that only people born into comfort can pull off. One of them—tall, handsome, full of charisma—grins and raises his drink like a toast.

“This the famous marketing team?”

Laughter.

Greg stands, already pulling chairs closer, greeting them like old friends.

“Glad you made it, man. We were just talking about how you never show.”

Someone’s cousin. Someone’s friend. A small flood of introductions happens as people shift to make room.

They’re laughing, shaking hands, slapping backs, sliding into the booth with practiced ease. And then one of them—black curly hair, a cheeky grin—gestures around the group.

“I know Katherine, and Sam, and this loud dude—” (he points at Miguel, who mock-scowls) “—but I don’t think we’ve met everyone. Introductions?”

Katherine, ever the social butterfly, takes the lead.

She starts going around the table with names and small “she’s the one who handles client crises at lightning speed” or “this guy eats peanut butter straight from the jar at work” types of comments. Everyone laughs along.

But they’re getting closer.

And then Katherine’s hand gestures toward me.

“And this,” she says with a soft smile, “is Y/N.”

My stomach drops.

All eyes shift to me.

I feel the weight of it instantly.

His eyes, especially.

I can feel them on me like heat through glass.

I stiffen. My cheeks flush—instant, impossible to stop. My fingers tighten around my glass, and for a second, I debate saying I forgot how to speak.

But I don’t get that choice.

Everyone’s watching. Expecting.

So I force it out.

“I—uh—hi. I’m Y/N.” My voice is small. Nervous. But it doesn’t shake.

One of the guys smiles, nodding. “Nice to meet you.”

Another throws out a “cool name.”

I nod, offering a tiny, polite smile.

But I can feel how red my face is. I can feel the way I’ve curled into myself again—shoulders hunching, legs crossed, one boot tapping lightly against the floor.

And when I glance—just a flicker, just for a second—

Jungkook is watching me.

Expression unreadable. Not intense. Not amused. Just… there.

Still.

Present.

I look away fast, heart rattling in my chest like it's trying to crawl up my throat.

Greg says something to the group that makes them all laugh, and the attention shifts again.

Relief and embarrassment swirl together in my stomach like oil and water.

No one said anything weird. No one laughed at me. No one even stared too long.

But still—I feel like I just stood under a spotlight with a sign around my neck that said this is what anxiety looks like.

I take a slow sip of my drink, the cherry vodka suddenly too sweet, too sharp.

And all I can think is:

He knows my name now.

The music thumps through the walls like a second heartbeat.

It’s late now. Maybe close to midnight—maybe later. Time has gone slippery.

Most of the group has thinned out. Some are on the dance floor, bodies weaving under flashing lights. Laughter spills from the stairs every few minutes. Katherine’s nowhere in sight—last I saw, she left giggling with one of the guys, disappearing into the haze of music and bodies.

The couch is quiet now.

Except for me.

And him.

I’m sitting at the far end, drink mostly watered down from melted ice, cradled between both hands like it’ll anchor me to the moment.

Jungkook sits at the other end, legs spread, elbows resting on his knees, thumbs moving lazily over his phone screen.

The silence between us is loud.

But not awkward.

Just heavy. Like static before a storm.

I glance at him once—just a peek—and catch the slope of his nose in profile, the soft curve of his bottom lip, the way his dark lashes shadow his cheekbones in the low lighting.

He’s real.

And somehow still unreal.

I look away.

Focus on the condensation dripping down the side of my glass.

And then, after what feels like an entire hour compressed into ten seconds, he puts his phone face-down on the table.

I feel it before I see it.

His eyes on me.

I look up.

And he’s looking directly at me.

Expression unreadable. Not intense. Not soft. Just... real.

And then he speaks.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

The question hits harder than I expect.

My breath catches.

“I’m not—” I start, then stop.

He raises a brow, like he’s giving me a second chance to be honest.

“You are,” he says calmly. “At the store. At the park. That night at the fight. You keep running.”

His voice is quiet. Low enough that it doesn’t rise above the music, but it slices straight through it anyway.

He leans back slightly, his gaze still locked on mine.

“I try to talk to you,” he says. “Be friendly. Say hey. But every time, you act like I’m about to bite you.”

I open my mouth. Then close it. Then open it again.

“I…” I swallow. My cheeks are burning. “I’m just… not good at—”

He waits.

I try again. “At talking. To people. I’m not used to... this. Attention. Or—whatever this is.”

His head tilts slightly, the edge of his lip quirking. “But you’re here now.”

I blink. “What?”

“You’re here,” he says, motioning around with a small gesture. “At a loud-ass club. In makeup. In a dress. Sitting across from me. Talking.”

I fidget with the straw in my glass, fingers slippery with nerves.

“I didn’t really mean to come,” I admit, voice barely above the music. “They asked in front of everyone, and I panicked and said yes. Then Katherine guilt-tripped me into following through.”

Jungkook chuckles. It’s soft. A little amused. “And the park?”

I bite my lip.

He continues, voice low, not teasing. Just… curious. “You sit there like you want to disappear. But you keep showing up.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

Because he’s right.

I do keep showing up.

Even when I don’t know why.

Even when I’m terrified.

“I just…” I try to find the words, voice catching halfway through. “I don’t want to waste your time.”

That gets him.

His brows draw together, like he’s actually confused by that.

“Waste my time?” he repeats, slowly. “Why would you think that?”

I shrug. “Because... I’m not like the people you’re usually around.”

“Meaning?”

“I’m not interesting,” I murmur. “Not fun. I’m awkward. Quiet. I don’t look like…” I gesture vaguely toward the dance floor, where people are laughing, effortless, magnetic.

His expression doesn’t change.

He just watches me.

And then he says, simply, like it’s obvious:

“I wouldn’t be sitting here if I didn’t want to be.”

That silence comes back—thick and humming between us.

I can’t look at him.

But I feel it.

The shift.

The undeniable fact that I’ve been seen.

And not just noticed.

Seen.

The moment between us teeters—suspended in some strange, weightless pause where I almost feel like maybe, maybe, I belong in it.

But then, the universe does what it always does.

It reminds me.

A voice cuts through the moment. “Yo, Jungkook, what’s up, man?”

I blink, and a coworker—Jake, I think, from another department—plops down on the other side of Jungkook, grinning, already pulling him into some conversation about mutual friends and “remember that night at Noir?”

Jungkook gives me one last glance, like he’s trying to hold the thread of whatever just passed between us.

But the moment breaks.

I stand quietly, smoothing my dress out of habit.

“I’ll be back,” I murmur, not sure if anyone hears me.

I slip away from the couch and head toward the exit—out of the music, out of the lights, out of that sudden, overwhelming visibility.

Outside, the air is cooler.

Crisp, biting.

I dig into my jacket pocket for my cigarettes and lighter. My fingers are clumsy, the adrenaline from earlier still lingering in my veins. My boots click lightly against the pavement as I make my way a little off to the side of the club entrance.

But I’m not alone.

A group of guys—maybe four or five—are huddled nearby, already smoking. Laughing in that careless, half-drunk way that makes everything sound louder, meaner.

I light up and keep my distance. Hug the wall. Eyes down.

I just need a minute.

A breath.

But then I hear it.

At first, it’s just fragments.

“Did you see that chick inside—” “—the one with the big boots and the red lipstick?” “Dude, she was huge.” “Right? I didn’t know they let heavyweights into VIP.”

My heart sinks.

My hands freeze.

They don’t say my name. But they don’t have to.

I know.

My throat closes.

My eyes burn.

I don’t move. I don’t say a word. I just keep smoking like maybe the nicotine will hold me together. Like maybe if I stay perfectly still, they’ll forget I exist.

But the words keep echoing.

Fat.

Huge.

Laughter.

It doesn’t even matter if they meant it to be cruel.

It still hurts.

And I hate how used to this I am.

I hate how practiced I’ve become at not reacting.

My eyes sting harder, and I blink fast, trying to will the tears back. My lips tremble, but I take another drag like that’s going to help.

Then I hear footsteps.

Heavy ones.

And before I can look up, I hear a low, familiar voice—tight with something dangerous.

“Is there a problem?”

I glance to my side.

Jungkook.

Standing there.

Still. Cold. A different kind of presence entirely.

The group falls silent immediately.

One of them—a guy in a bomber jacket, who was laughing the loudest—straightens up, eyes wide.

“Oh shit—Jungkook, bro—nah, man. No problem here.”

The others murmur quickly in agreement.

Jungkook doesn’t smile. Doesn’t move.

He just stares at them.

The air feels like it’s holding its breath.

The guy in the bomber jacket laughs nervously. “Didn’t know you were out here. We’re just chilling, man. All good.”

Jungkook’s voice is calm. Steady. But it cuts.

“You sure?” he asks, head tilted slightly. “Because I heard something different.”

More stammering. More backpedaling.

They recognize him.

Not just as a guy—they recognize who he is. What he’s capable of.

“There’s no problem,” one says again, voice lower now.

Jungkook looks at them a beat longer. Then turns, stepping between them and me, placing himself just enough that it feels like a shield without saying it out loud.

He doesn’t look at me yet.

Not until they’re gone.

And when they finally scatter, awkward and mumbling and fast-walking down the block, he finally turns back.

His voice is soft now. So different from before.

“You okay?”

I don’t trust my voice, so I just nod.

But my eyes give me away. They always do.

He looks at me, really looks at me, and says, “You don’t have to act like it didn’t hurt.”

And something inside me almost breaks open.

Because no one’s ever said that to me before.

Not like that. “Would you like me to drive you home? I am with my car and I haven’t drank any alcohol..”

I shake my head again, trying to keep my voice even though everything inside me is fraying. " I—I’m okay. I’ll just get home on my own."

He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t push.

Instead, Jungkook crouches a little so his eyes are level with mine. His expression is careful—not pitying, not forced. Just… present.

“Okay,” he says softly, like he actually means it. “Cab then?”

I hesitate, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag.

“I know we barely know each other,” he continues, like he’s reading the swirl of panic in my chest. “So I won’t offer to drive you. But I can call a cab. One of the companies I trust. They’re discreet. Safer than calling some random app.”

My throat tightens.

This shouldn’t be this hard—saying yes to help. But my brain is spinning. My skin still feels too thin from earlier. From everything. And yet, the way he says it, like he’s handing me a choice instead of cornering me into one… it makes something in me ease. Just a little.

I nod. Barely.

He stands back up and pulls out his phone.

The silence stretches between us. Not uncomfortable. Not heavy. Just there.

He doesn’t fill it with words.

And I’m grateful for that.

I swipe at my cheeks again, trying to fix the damage, but I can feel the dried salt along my skin. I probably look like a wreck. Red-rimmed eyes, broken voice. Meanwhile, he’s standing here looking like a painting with bruises—too vivid, too unreal.

I shift awkwardly. “I’m sorry,” I mumble. “For… being like this.”

His brow furrows.

“Don’t do that.”

I blink, startled.

“Don’t apologize for feeling something.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Whatever it is you’re carrying,” he says, eyes never leaving mine, “you don’t owe anyone an explanation for it. Least of all me.”

And goddamn it—

That does it.

The tears threaten again, fast and hot, and I hate that he’s seeing it, hate that I’m breaking apart in front of someone I barely know, but also… some traitorous part of me is grateful he stayed. That he didn’t walk away the second things got messy.

His phone vibrates, and he glances down at it.

“Cab’s three minutes out,” he says. “Black Toyota. Plate ends in 52.”

I nod again, trying to gather the pieces of myself, trying not to fall apart in this alley outside a warehouse full of noise.

He doesn’t speak again.

But he doesn’t leave either.

We stand there in quiet, shoulder to shoulder but not touching. Close enough to feel his presence—warm, grounded, steady.

I don’t look at him.

But I feel his gaze on me, not heavy or invasive. Just aware. Like he’s keeping watch. Like I’m not alone for the first time in a long time.

And for some reason… that’s what almost breaks me.

Not the noise. Not the night.

But the kindness.

The softness in a place built for hard things.

I don’t know what this is. Or what it means.

But I know this much:

I won’t forget it.

Not tonight.

Not him.

Not the way he didn’t try to fix me.

Just stood close enough to make the silence feel safe.

The cab pulls up, headlights cutting through the haze of the alley. I turn to thank him one more time, my voice small, frayed at the edges.

“Thanks again. For… everything.”

Jungkook nods once, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, his bruised jaw catching the glow of a nearby streetlight. He doesn’t smile—not really—but there’s a softness in his eyes I hadn’t noticed before.

As I reach for the car door, he speaks—low and steady.

“Next time you see me…” His voice pauses like he’s picking his words carefully. “…don’t avoid me.”

It’s not a request. Not a demand either. Just… something in-between.

A truth offered.

I swallow hard and look at him, really look at him, the air thick between us.

I nod once.

And I get in the cab.

The ride home is quiet. My phone stays in my lap, untouched. The driver makes a couple polite comments, but I’m too far gone to answer. I keep replaying his words in my head.

Don’t avoid me.

He noticed. Somehow, he noticed I was trying to disappear.

By the time I reach my apartment, the exhaustion hits like a freight train. My body feels heavy. My mind is foggy.

I strip off the dress, drop it carefully onto the chair like it’s made of glass. Wipe off the makeup with shaking hands. My face feels raw without it, but also… clean.

I throw on a giant sweatshirt and fuzzy socks, the familiar cotton hugging all my softest parts. The mirror reflects someone who looks like she almost let the world see her—and didn’t die.

I fall into bed like gravity doubled, pulling me straight into the mattress. The last thought in my head is him.

And then nothing.

The next morning

It’s still early when I wake.

Too early.

But the light filtering through the blinds is soft and peach-colored, like the sky is still deciding what kind of day to be. I don’t usually do this—wake up before the world—but something feels different today.

Lighter.

Not good. Not fixed.

But less heavy.

I pad into the kitchen, make my usual coffee. Black, no sugar. The bitterness feels like a small punishment I’ve earned.

I open the balcony door and step outside into the cool morning air, hoodie sleeves pulled down over my hands. One cigarette, one lighter, one breath.

I sit down in the old rusted chair I thrifted years ago and take the first drag, then sip the coffee while the smoke curls up and disappears.

My phone buzzes.

Vicky 💜 Morning weirdo. You awake or still emotionally hungover?

I smirk, thumb tapping quickly.

me: Awake. Balcony. Smoking. Watching the world not fall apart. You?

Vicky: Laptop. Lecture in 30. Hair in a bun. No bra. We thrive.

She calls me seconds later.

I answer, camera off.

“Morning, professor.”

She groans. “Don’t. I already spilled soy milk on my notes and the Wi-Fi’s acting like it’s allergic to responsibility.”

I laugh, and she immediately softens.

“You sound better,” she says.

I stare out over the rooftops, watching the sun ease its way up over the buildings.

“I feel… less awful.”

“Want to talk about it?”

So I do.

All of it. From the moment I ducked into that bathroom and overheard those girls, to the way my brain spiraled out of control so fast it almost derailed the whole night.

“I know it was stupid,” I say quietly, flicking ash off the edge of the balcony. “Like… why did I let it get to me that bad?”

“Stop.” Her voice cuts in, firm but warm. “It wasn’t stupid.”

“I just—I felt like I was nothing again. Like I was thirteen, hiding in the locker room, praying no one noticed how much space I took up.”

Vicky sighs softly, the sound of her fingers clicking on keys in the background. “Y/N… you reacted like a person who’s lived through real pain. That’s not something you just… outgrow. It lingers. Triggers happen. Doesn’t make it less real just because it looks small from the outside.”

I blink hard, pressing my lips together.

“And,” she adds, voice sly now, “you didn’t let it ruin everything. You still showed up. You let someone help you.”

I hesitate.

“He called me a cab,” I admit, softer now. “After I told him I didn’t feel safe getting in a car with someone I barely knew. He just… listened. Said he’d order it for me if that’s what I wanted.”

There’s a pause.

Then a delighted gasp.

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“That’s so hot. Are you kidding me? Gentleman behavior and emotional intelligence? Marry him immediately.”

I snort. “He’s just… I don’t know. He’s kind of terrifying. But also not? Like, he looks like he could ruin your life but also fold your laundry.”

Vicky cackles. “Danger with a heart. A classic. We love to see it.”

I smile, blowing out a stream of smoke and watching it fade into the sky. My chest still feels bruised, but not broken.

“He told me not to avoid him next time.”

“And are you going to?”

I pause.

Let the silence stretch.

Then quietly: “I don’t want to.”

Vicky hums. “That’s my girl.”

She sighs. “Okay. Gotta go pretend I’m an expert in child development now. But I love you. And I’m proud of you. Seriously.”

I nod, even though she can’t see me.

“Love you too.”

She hangs up.

And I sit there for a while, cigarette gone, coffee cold, but heart just a little warmer than yesterday.

Maybe next time… I won’t run.

Maybe next time… I’ll let him see me.

Really see me.

Even the parts I’m still learning to look at myself.

I’m still on the balcony, staring at the last swirl of smoke disappearing into the sky when my phone buzzes again.

Katherine 🖤 Hey girl. You okay? You left kinda abruptly last night.

My heart skips a beat.

I pull my hoodie tighter around my arms and unlock my phone with a thumbprint I wish could delete anxiety.

me: Yeah. I just wasn’t feeling great. Needed some air.

She replies almost immediately, like she’s been waiting.

Katherine 🖤: That’s what Jungkook said. He told everyone you weren’t feeling well and called you a cab. Total protector mode 🥺

My stomach flips.

He told them?

I can’t decide if that makes me want to curl up and die or… smile.

me: Wait—he told you that?

Katherine 🖤: Girl. The second someone asked where you went, he just said “She wasn’t feeling well. I got her home safe.” Dead serious. And then he dipped.

me: He left?

Katherine 🖤: Yup. Like 10 minutes after you. Wouldn’t even take a drink. Just left. Honestly? Kind of hot.

My blush hits hard and fast, warming my cheeks like I just stepped into a furnace. I pull my knees up on the chair, hiding behind the ceramic coffee mug like it might cool me down.

Katherine 🖤: Also… I got laid 😇

I blink. Hard.

me: WHAT???

Katherine 🖤: Yeahhhh. One of Jungkook’s friends. Tall, dimpled, criminally good at neck kisses. Literally the best sex of my life. Like I think I astral projected at one point??

me: Oh my god, Katherine.

Katherine 🖤: Don’t “oh my god” me. You’re the one who got rescued by a bruised, tattooed underground prince and rode home in a cab he summoned like a damn knight.

me: I rode home. You rode a man.

Katherine 🖤: LMAOOOOOO okay point for you. But still. How are we in the same city and you get the brooding fighter who leaves parties early for you?

I bite my lip, trying to smother the growing smile, but it’s useless.

Jungkook.

The way he stood there in that alley.

The way he didn’t push, didn’t question, just… saw me. Called a cab. Stayed until I was safe. Told them I wasn’t feeling well so I wouldn’t have to explain myself later.

And then left.

For me?

Katherine 🖤: Just saying… if you don’t text him, I might.

I roll my eyes, thumbs already moving.

me: Back off. He’s terrifying and possibly capable of reading minds.

Katherine 🖤: Perfect. He can hear me thinking you better text her, you emotionally unavailable legend.

I laugh, clutching the mug to my chest as the city wakes up around me.

Something about today feels different.

Not fixed.

Not perfect.

But maybe… like the beginning of something.

Like maybe I'm allowed to be seen.

Bruised, messy, soft, and still worthy.

And maybe the boy who left early to make sure I got home safe... maybe he saw that too.

[xoxoladyaz]

Feeling some Steddie angst hours in this house 🚨��🚨

After they kill Vecna, things go back to normal. Well, as normal as they can be. Whatever brief moment of insanity Steve and Nance had ends about as suddenly as it began, and she can’t really meet his eyes once her hand is back in Jonathan’s.

(It’s a blessing when she leaves for Columbia, Jonathan’s beat-up car following right behind her.)

The least normal thing is probably Eddie Munson, or at least whatever Steve’s relationship is with him now. It’s - there’s just something different there, some strange warmth that he feels when he looks at Eddie. And sometimes Steve catches Eddie just looking at him and - well, it gives him that same warm feeling, and maybe that means something? Something that maybe seemed scary before but is nowhere near as scary as Eddie almost bleeding out in Steve’s arms.

He’s in the midst of talking himself up, of figuring out just what he’s going to say to Eddie, when the Munsons announce they’re heading out of town and then leave the next day. Steve’s almost paralyzed with anxiety, but he’s gotta say something, right?

Except Eddie cuts him off at the knees with a weak smile, tells him not to be a stranger, to visit him in the city with his kids and a Winnebago once he’s finally gotten that suburban dream, and then he’s gone.

And Steve doesn’t hear from him again.

To be fair, no one really hears from Eddie; just Dustin, who will chime in that they’ve chatted every once in a while, that Eddie went to LA for a bit and then Seattle and finally settled in Chicago; that he seems to be really happy, but never gives any information beyond that.

And Steve? He packs up his life and follows Robin to college, and when he accompanies her to their first gay bar and sees two metal heads kissing, something inside him snaps and the pair of them end up drunkenly crying in their tiny apartment’s bathroom. But it gets better after that, and two years after their move to Indy, Steve meets Sam.

Sam, who’s got the lightest blonde hair he’s ever seen, cut into a shaggy mullet that perfectly offsets his shiny hazel eyes. He’s got a bright smile and a pierced eyebrow and too many earrings to count and his laugh is loud and joyous and for whatever reason, he likes Steve as much as Steve likes him.

Robin, of course, is ecstatic and takes all the credit for introducing them, which is technically true seeing as she was the one to spill her drink all over Sam before Steve came to the rescue. (Although she then almost ruined everything by throwing up on both of their shoes, so, Steve only lets her gloat so much.)

Three years after that finds Steve and Robin gainfully employer, as teachers of all things, and Vickie finally succeeds in convincing Robin to move in with her, and, well, it only makes sense that Steve and Sam get their own place too because, well, Steve loves him. Loves his ripped jeans and his skateboard and the fact that he’s cheery no matter the time of day, that he wants to have a family probably even more than Steve does and didn’t blink when Steve said he wanted six kids, he only laughed and said “why stop there?” And it may not be exactly what Steve was thinking in that Winnebago all those years ago, but that’s okay, because what he has with Sam? Is way better.

Once Steve and Sam get settled, Sam insists that they have a housewarming party (because Sam makes good money at his tattooing gig, and Steve’s inheritance is nothing to sneeze at, and they’re actually able to get a house, which feels insane but also just right) and invite all of Steve’s kids, who he’s met a few times but never all at once, and Steve is so whipped he says “yes” without a second thought.

(Which he really should have had because Henderson was also living in Chicago now.)

So when Henderson wanders in with Eddie as his plus one, and Sam is nowhere in sight, Steve only gives himself a moment to freak out before walking over to greet Eddie.

“Steeevveeeee Harrington,” Eddie purrs with a toothy grin. “Good to see you man. And good to see you finally getting started on that dream of yours,” he says, slapping Steve on the shoulder. “With Sam, I hear. You two crazy kids getting started on those six kids yet?”

“Uh, not - “

“Not quite yet,” Sam cuts in from behind Steve, wrapping an arm around Steve’s waist and tucking Steve’s head under his chin. “I still want a few more years of this guy all to myself. You must be Eddie,” Sam grins, sticking out his hand. “Good to meet you man. I’ve heard all about you.”

Eddie just stares at Sam. Stares and stares until Dustin kicks him in the shin. “Right. Sam. Sam. Good to meet you, man,” Eddie says, but he looks pale and vaguely sick and if Steve didn’t know from the few times Dustin had slipped up in the past, he’d think Eddie was homophobic (and he knew that wasn’t the case.)

Sam grins. “Well, good to have you here. Steve, babe, Robin wants you in the kitchen, something about the salsa - “

“Oh my God,” Steve groans, and then all thoughts of Eddie are forgotten in his rush to make sure Robin doesn’t actually poison everyone, and then he gets busy greeting people and saying hi and it’s not until well after midnight, when the remaining guests are smoking up with Argyle and Steve is taking out the trash that he remembers Eddie. Or, more accurately, that he bumps into him.

“So. Sam,” Eddie says, smoking a cigarette by the garage, gazing off into the distance. “He’s a good dude. Got shit taste in music, though.”

Steve slams the trash can lid shut a little harder than he needs to. “Dude,” he sighs, and Eddie must hear his exhaustion because he doesn’t say anything else for a while.

“Did you know?”

“About what?”

“About you? Back in ‘86?”

Steve just nods tiredly. “Yeah, man. I did.”

Eddie hums nervously. “And was there someone - “

“Eddie, man, you know there was. You know.”

“Yeah,” Eddie’s laugh sounds broken. “Yeah, I did. Fuck. Fuck.”

And Steve doesn’t know what to say, because what is there to say? He loved Eddie; hell, part of him still loves Eddie. But Eddie ran at the first inkling of there being something between them, and Sam didn’t. He’s never run, not even when Steve gave him so many reasons to. And Steve could tell Eddie that he’s wondered, so many times he’s wondered, what they could have been. If they could be anything.

But Eddie wasn’t there to hold out his hand, and Sam was. Sam is, and that makes all the difference.

Steve claps his hand on Eddie’s shoulder, just like Eddie did when he arrived, and then he heads into his house.

(This time, he’s the one to leave Eddie behind.)

[edmufics]

S5 Theory Part Three

SO

Here are my theories with all the info I have from The Dark Tower universe.

Disclaimer: Im not saying any of these are right, likely to happen, or that I necessarily even want them to happen. I just think that btwn learning ab TDT and rewatching stranger things, these are fun theories to consider!

*SPOILERS FOR SEASON 1-4 AHEAD*

*MENTIONS OF S5 BTS CONTENT AHEAD* I think S5 will come out on July 15th, 2025—the ninth anniversary! It will take place over the course of several months rather than a week or two like we have seen in the past. I think it will start in late summer, back-to-school time. I think we will see a lot more of Mr. Clark this season, and he will fill some of the scientist roles (along with new casting) we will be missing after S4's deaths. We will see a lot more flashbacks this season, either due to trying to keep Vecna out with positive memories or just reminiscing. Vecna will return to Hawkins lab at some point. Possibly a significant battle or it will be his lair. Vecna takes Holly, but I'm not sure he kills her (Like an 80% chance he does tho) I think with the increased army presence, we may see the kids lose the ability to see or visit Max (since she is a Venca victim). Nancy has a candy stripper/nurse outfit this season because they are trying to sneak in to see/save her in some way. I'm at about 60% on the chance of Kalli coming back. If she does, it will either help El train or help El defeat Vecna. Nancy detective journalist era, but she isn't going to leave for college. She would never just dip like that. Stobin or Nancy work at the radio station set we've seen. Hopper will either be stuck in hiding with El or in the army, but only as a means of gathering intel.

I think that people were not far off on the Kas theory. I think there will be a character that represents Kas, but it'll be Will. In S4 they talk about how Vecna doesn't kill his victims, he absorbs their abilities/souls. We also see that El can revive the dead (Max) in some way. That skill isn't practiced on her part, and we know Vecna is stronger than she is. I think Vecna kills Will and then revives him using memories like El did to Max, but only uses his darkest memories. These memories turn him against his friends, at which point he becomes Kas. Mike will be the key to getting Will back (since Mike is the heart). Mike will have to confront his romantic or platonic feelings for Will while reminding him of their good memories. This will lead to Will delivering the final blow to Vecna (like Kas) when he remembers.

I also think the idea of "Twinners" from The Talisman will come into play, but not quite in the same way. Instead of them all having Upside Down twins, I think Vecna will reanimate the corpses of his victims (since we've seen that the bodies are still in the Upside Down) and use these reanimated corpses to torture the MCs. Especially bc we know that it's all a hive mind so anyone killed by a part of Vecna's hive mind was technically killed by Vecna (depending on if thats how they wanna spin it). Specifically, I think Dustin will be either Vecna'd (but not killed) or have to see Eddie's reanimated corpse (fitting in with strange similarities between Eddie and Metallica's Eddie). Barb will return to torture Nancy, Bob returning for Joyce, etc.

In the Talisman universe, there is a plot where the person who opens the gate banishes himself to an alternate universe and closes the gate forever, forcing himself to leave behind everyone he loves. I think this is how El's story will end. She won't die but instead will have to stay in the Upside Down forever. In the end, we will see a crying Mike looking up and noticing the light above him glowing brightly, showing how he and El may continue communicating.

Characters I think could die:

Vicki (they loooove giving us a new character to fall in love with so they can brutally kill them that same season)

Steve (sacrificing himself for the Dustin, Robin, or Johnathan.) Holly (Maybe, it just seems too easy) Dr. Owens Vecna (Duh) Either Lucas or Max (I think Max may come back only to lose Lucas) Murray Ted Wheeler Wayne Munson (following Eddie's reanimated corpse into the upside down; I think that's how they reveal that Vecna reanimated the bodies)

Characters that I think are 100% going to survive: Mike Dustin (will try to be a hero like Eddie, but Steve will sacrifice himself to save Dustin (I think at the church)) Will Joyce Karen Wheeler

Anyone else, I'm not sure they are safe, but I also don't think they are going to die.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk!

[pepperpotts-official]

Hi there. I’m Pepper Potts. CEO of Stark Industries, former assistant to a man who thought "safety protocols" were a suggestion, current master of juggling chaos, crises, and carpool schedules.

I’m also a mom, which means I operate on caffeine, sarcasm, and a suspicious ability to sense danger from three rooms away.

I’ve been in the middle of boardroom meetings, alien invasions, and toddler tantrums. I’ll let you guess which one is the scariest.

Yes, I wore the suit once. Yes, I could technically still fly one. No, I do not want to be dragged into another intergalactic war, thank you.

I’m friendly, I swear—I just look tired because I am. If you need something, ask. If you break something, tell me. If Tony (@the-ironman) broke it, don’t tell me—I already know.

Children(biological and emotional):

Serena @serenastark-official

Emma @emma-hope-stark-official

Elodie @the-iron-rose

Lily @lilypad-stark

Morgan @the-cinnamonroll-stark

Ira @kapowkerblam

Riley @riley-stark

Peter @peterparker-who

💼Friends:

Bruce @imnothulk

Rhodey @the-colonel-rhodes

Happy @official-happyhogan

Peggy @the1-and-only-peggycarter

Wanda @official-wandamaximoff

Steve @americas-favourite-fossil

Bucky @justawhitewolf

Strange @strangeofficial

Wong @wong-the-not-wizard

🌐Siris of the house: @friday-the-ai @j-a-r-v-i-s-the-ai @carlos-the-ai @callibrating-chaos

🕷️Romanoffs and Belovas:

Dani @lenas-baby-sis

Vicky @the-other-belova

Yelena @the-best-black-widow / @your-fav-russian-assassin

Rosie @thecrazyrplayerosie

Elia @elia-theassassin

Nat @official-natasha-romanova

Kit @red-room-boy

Edit by @the-iron-rose 🥹

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

Agitation 3.10 Live Reactions

(This is me, writing reactions as I read, because why the fuck not. They're not complete, mature thoughts taken after I sit back and evaluate what I've read. Consider them as such)

It's July 4th, work is dead, I've got nothing else to do, let's try to plow through a bunch of these, shall we? At the rate I've been going I'll be at this all year.

The rest of the battlefield was chaos.  Patches of darkness covered everything, and the landscape was distorted.  In some of the areas Vista had warped, the rain wasn’t falling in a straight line.  One spot in particular had the rain moving horizontally before it dropped to help fill a massive puddle thirty feet across, where her power had made an indent in the ground.

I do like Wildow's attention to detail here, and the way these powers just... absolutely fuck everything up like this, and stay like that.

Bitch screamed, and it was a long and primal noise, filled with rage.  I was still inside the bank, watching things unfold through the window, barely able to hear it, and it still made my skin crawl.  So he’d shot the dangerous psychopath with a blast that made her angry.  Someone would have to explain that one to me at a later date.

I'd guess Gallant didn't shoot her with rage, it's just that Rachel's kind of messed up. But I could be wrong.

Seems an odd choice though, if he did.

Apparently that was order enough, because Judas charged at the teenager that was dressed like a science fiction Lancelot.

I love descriptions like this because they both tell us absolutely nothing about how it looks... and also tell us everything. I once read a fic that described the armor of a guy from a culture that went from medieval tech to space travel in like, 100 years (sorta, long story) as being 'Lord of the Rings, with Sci-Fi bolted on' (the POV character was from Earth), and it both told us nothing, and yet, told us everything.

Descriptions are hard, ya'll. Worst part of writing. Props to Wildbow.

Was someone’s power at work, giving me a headache?  There wasn’t anyone in the Wards, I was pretty sure, who could mess with your head like that.  Gallant could mess with your emotions, but he had to hit you with a light blast to do it.  The person on the roof, then?  I was fairly confident there wasn’t anyone in the Protectorate or New Wave who could affect me like this.

No one suspects the healer!

(also no one knows the healer can do this, but)

.  A gun, no less than fifteen feet long, with a barrel three or four feet across, all turret mounted on a circular platform not unlike the board he was riding.

I know technically there is no overkill, just "Open fire" and "I need to reload" but also...

Overkill.

I jumped for cover the moment I realized what he was doing.  There was a muffled sound, more a very large person someone hitting a punching bag than what I’d expect a laser cannon to sound like, and the window exploded. What was he doing?  We had hostages inside.  I turned to check, and saw there weren’t any hostages near me.  Did he know that?  Heat sensors in his visor?  Was someone watching me through the cameras and passing him info?  Damn it!  There was too much I didn’t know, and Tattletale wasn’t around to fill me in.

You know, if Kid Win and Victoria were dating, he could be the Collateral Damage Ken to her Collateral Damage Barbie.

But JESUS Kid, what the fuck?

(Yes, CDB is an incomplete representation of Vicky, but she does earn the nickname fairly at the early stages. I'm also going to assume it's an unfair representation of Kid Win, but still, *Man* wtf?)

The bugs were slow to react, slow to move and some were slipping from my grasp, returning to their instinctive behavior.  Making matters worse, I wasn’t blind to the fact that every time I gave a command, my headache got exponentially worse.

Given that Amy's little messing with the Black Widows only affected them, I'm surprised? Or is this just some sort of Master headache? Is she doing more with the swarm than usual?

 Aegis didn’t try to run this time.  He stood his ground and reached for his utility belt.  He retrieved something that looked like a miniature fire extinguisher. Then he pulled the pin. For the second time in a matter of minutes, I dove away from the window.  It wouldn’t be a grenade, but the option that made the most sense-  I squeezed my eyes shut and covered my ears just in time.  The explosion the flashbang grenade

Flashbang. Much more responsible, Aegis usually is in fic, so presumably in canon too. Tracks.

and Regent was striding out of the darkness, in Kid Win’s direction.

With his outfit and mask that actually probably looks kinda badass.

I whirled to face the voice, and saw the freckled, brown haired hostage that had been glaring at me when we’d first taken control of the bank lobby.  After that, I saw only stars as she slammed something large and blunt into the side of my head.

AMY! :rofl: Finally!

Okay, so like, I get that Amy's not the MC of Worm, but like, I've been waiting for the Fire Extinguisher smash the entire time I've been reading this Arc, so bear with me.

Amy's blorbo, okay?

[ronanceautistic]

Okay you know what on that note? - here's my ranking of ship names. Literally nothing to do with the ship itself, just how the names sound to me.

Ronance - A+ - It's like romance but with an N, what else is there to say? I think the only possible point I could take from it is I, personally, never call her Nance but, like, Robin does in canon. So everything's okay.

Byclair - A - It's cute and I like it.

Jancy - A - I like it! I think it grew on me after I saw The Florida Project and Drawtectives because honestly? I kinda just like it as a regular ass name.

Cheerwheeler - A - Beautiful from an unbiased perspective and totally not from the guy that made it up.

Steddie - A - It's a very solid ship name I think even if I didn't know who it was I would probably guess it was two gay white boys. You did well.

Hellcheer - A - Tells you everything you need to know I mean what can I say.

Henclair - B+ - Another good Clair one.

Ednancy - B - It's a solid name and I don't have to do a lot of thinking to know who it is.

Henfield - B - I don't even know if this is the ship name for Max and Dustin because I rarely hear about the ship. But it works!

Byler - C+ - It's fine, it works, but considering Jonathan and Nancy could also technically go by the ship name I think the only thing that makes the name unique to Mike & Will is just because of how popular the ship is.

Rovickie - C+ - It works, I immediately can decipher who the people are, and it sounds good.

Wheelingham - C+ - it's okay I can't complain.

Elmax - C+ - same feeling as Lumax but I think it's slightly better

Lumax - C+ - It's good, it's solid, I have nothing against it. But it's also not amazing. Mayclair is better IMO (for some reason I'm a sucker for the names ending in Clair)

Mileven - C - It's fine. It works. It's not creative and it sounds average but like, that's okay!

Jopper - C - It's fine and there's not much room for improvement tbh.

Stancy - C - doesn't hit the same as Jancy but I can't think of a good alternative.

Jargyle - C - It sounds kinda garbled, I think it could be better. Don't ask me how.

Rockie - C - I don't know why people choose this one over Rovickie it's just the same name but worse.

Wheelclair - C - it's so similar to 'wheelchair' that my computer autocorrected it to wheelchair. That being said, it's hard to think of a good alternative for it.

Madwheeler - C - It's just a strange combo. I think if you're gonna go with nicknames its gotta be nickname + nickname. But, again, I think the only good alternative is Mayler and that's not even that good.

Buckingham - D - I think if it was a more popular ship it would be better, the way Byler is, but it takes me ten fucking years every single time to figure out who the two people are because I forget the last names of the obscure characters like Vickie, Chrissy, and Heather, and Robin is regularly shipped with all three.

Buckleway - D - ^ same problem as above but also at least Buckingham is creative with it.

Edancy - D - Literally just add the N after the D it's not that hard. Why does this one exist.

Duzie - D - Terrible but I can't think of something better.

Pompompistol - F - leave me alone there's literally two alts above this and you're Choosing to use this one?

[captainlunaxmen]

The Lady and the Lord

Chapter 2

Eddie munson x fem!reader

This is a repost since the old blog doesn't work anymore. 🥰

Chapter summary: they have one mission: find Eddie.

Chapter warnings: spoiler season 4, violence description.

"And then Vicki laughed. And it wasn't like a cheap, fake laugh either. It was like... it was a real genuine laugh." Robin tells us as Steve put some vhs on the shelfs and I hold some to help them. I don't work here, but I like to help instead of sitting at home doing nothing.

"Of course. It's my Muppet joke. It's hilarious" Steve says very proudly, and I roll my eyes.

"My point is that Vicki laughed and everything was just like...it was perfect" she keeps going with a dreamy voice.

She's so cute.

"But?" I ask, knowing something's up.

"But I'm having this problem where it's like, I should stop talking." She explains "I have said everything I need to say.but then I guess I get nervous and the words keep spilling out, and it's like my.. my brain is moving faster than my mouth, or rather my.. my mouth is moving faster than my brain. And it's like I'm digging this hole for myself, and I want to stop digging, I'm trying to stop, but I can't. And I'm doing it right now, aren't I?"

She finally turns around to look at us after her babbling.

"Yeah, you are" Steve says and I nod with a half smile.

She exhales deeply and move backwards to rest against the wall.

"I'm hopeless" she says.

Steve follows her against the wall. "We both are"

I roll my eyes at their pessimism.

"If only we could just, like, combine." Robin suddenly says, I look at her confused.

"Combine?" Steve's confused too.

"No. Think about it. I know exactly what I want, and I've found the girl of my dreams, but I can't get the courage to ask her out. Meanwhile, you go on, like, a million dates, and you have no idea what you want. So if we just combine, all our problems would be solved."

Steve lets out an understanding "Oohh"

"Because, I mean, alone let's face it..."

"We totally suck." Steve finishes for her.

"Totally and utterly"

"C'mon, you guys are the most amazing persons that I know... just have hope" I look at Steve "and some courage" I look at Robin "and everything will be fine"

"Oh yeah?" Steve sends me a very sceptical look.

"Ooh, I think I found our morning movie" Robin gasps, running to a shelf and grabbing a vhs. "Doctor Zhivago"

"Ugh, you know I don't do double vhs" Steve groans shaking his hands in the air.

"But it's about doomed love" she tries.

"That's relatable" Steve agrees, and we both follow Robing behind the counter.

"Exactly. Also Julie Christie is b-b-bonkers hot in this. Like seriously the most beautiful creature I've ever seen in my life" she turn the TV on.

"I gotta agree on that" I declare.

"We're in the Forest Hills trailer park on East Roane County." The reporter's voice says loud and clear "we don't have a lot of details now, but we can confirm that the body kd a Hawkins High student was discovered early this morning. Police have not released the name although we are told they're currently in the process of notifying the family"

Oh shit.. as if alternate dimensions creature's weren't enough.

"Holy shit" Steve whispers beside me.

"Who could that be?" I ask worried.

"I don't know.." Robin replies.

"Isn't it where Max lives?" I ask again looking at them.

They just nods.

Oh shit.

We spent the morning watching the news and organising the store to keep ourselves busy.

All of a sudden the door bell rings and Dustin and Max come in.

"Hey Steve" he says, he looks visibly agitated.

"You guys see this?" Steve asks them.

"How many phones do you have?" Dustin asks, completely ignoring Steve's question.

Robin and I share a confused look

"Someone was murdered"

"How many phones fo you have?" He repeats more firmly.

"Two. Why?" He answers

"Technically three if you count Keith's in the back" Robins specifies.

Max and Dustin look at each other.

"Yeah, thee works" Max says.

So Dustin take off his backpack as Steve asks "what are you doing?" And, again, ignoring his question Dustin throw the backpack on the other side of the counter and climbs on top of it to get through.

All this while earning very annoyed reactions from both Robin and Steve.

Ignoring both of them Dustin positions himself in fron of the computer.

"What are you doing?" Steve asks.

"Setting up base of operation here." He simply answers.

"Base of operation?" I ask. "Why?"

Steve tries to get Dustin off of the computer, but with no use.

"What do you need it for? Dustin?" I ask, getting more and more confused.

"Eddie's friends' phone numbers" he answers and I look at Steve.

"Oh Eddie, your new best friend who just is cooler because he plays your nerdy game?" Steve asks, sounding quite jealous, I gotta say.

"I never said that" Dustin defends himself from Steve's accusatory tone.

"Seriously, you guys, maybe know a Monday you can play around like toddlers, but it's Saturday. It's our busiest day" Robin tells them, putting the tapes back on the counter.

"Robin, look, I empathise, but this cannot wait until Monday" Dustin firmly says.

"Calling Eddie's friends is an emergency?" She asks back.

"Correct" Dustin shouts, like that was the most obvious thing.

"Why? What happened?" I ask, now getting more worried. "Did something happen to Eddie?... Dustin?"

"Can you just fill them in while I do this?" Dustin asks Max.

"Fill us in on what?" Robin is definitely annoyed.

We all look at Max waiting for her to explain what happened.

We found ourselves calling so many different numbers, trying to find a lead to where Eddie might've gone.

I type down the numbers while Robin, Max and Dustin call them, and Steve flirts with every girls he can, pretending he's just working.

"Hey, guys. I might have a lead" Max calls pur attention.

"Seriously?" Dustin turns to her, hopefully.

"Yeah, apparently, Eddie gets his drugs from come guy names Reefer Rick, and sometimes Eddie crashes there." She explains.

"That's promising" I comment.

"Where does this Reefer Rick live?" Robin asks.

"See that's the thing. No one knows. He's more of a.. a legend than someone that people actually know." Max explains.

"And.. what about a last name?" I ask.

"I don't know that either" She answers.

"Less promising" I shake my head.

"Bet the cops knows the last name" Steve intervenes.

We turn all to him.

"What?"

"Cops. I mean listen if this Reefer Rick is actually a drug dealer, I guarantee you he's been busted at some point. Means he's in the system" he explains like he found the perfect solution to all our problems.

"The cops? Really, Steve? That's your suggestion?" Dustin asks incredulous.

"I mean, I just think they should be filled on on what we know, what's going on" he says simply.

"You think Eddie's guilty, don't you?" Dustin accuses.

"Whoa. I believe in innocent until proven guilty, all that constitutional shit." Steve defends himself " I just, you know, don't think that we can rule it out"

"That's precisely what we're trying to do here, Steve." Max says annoyed.

"And maybe we'd have a little bit more luck if you spent less time trying to find a girlfriend and more time trying to find Eddie"

"He' not wrong here, Stevie" I agree with Dustin.

"Oh well somebody has to attend to the customers" Steve says, again, to defend himself, and I roll my eyes scoffing.

"Especially if they're babes, right?" Robin teases with a wink.

"Hey, not fair, okay?" Steve points his finger st her "I attend to all customers equally, babes and non-babes alike. We've got a very big selection in here. It can be super overwhelming for people"

"Yeah it can be" Robin says, I can tell she thought something to actually help us so I quickly follow her to the computer.

"What are you doing?" Max asks.

"Maybe we don't need a last name" she answers.

She type on the keyboard, Rick's name and a list of Ricks appears on the screen.

"Twelve Ricks have accounts here" she tells us.

"That's a lots of Ricks" Max comments.

"You're a genius, Robin" I tell her.

"I know. Now, let's narrow it down, uh? Rick Alderman's latest rentals are Annie and Dumbo...what are the chances our drug dealer has a family?" She asks.

"Not likely"

"All right, Rick Conroy. Sixteen candles, Teen Wolf, Romancing the stone." She move to the next Rick.

"No"

"Okay, Rick Joiner, Mask, Footloose, and Grease"

"Nah"

"Rick Kimbrough. The Blue Lagoon, and Splash."

"Definitely no"

"Okay. Rick Lipton. Fast Times at Ridgermont High, Cheech & Chong's next movie. Cheech & Chong's nice dreams. Cheech & Chong' up in smoke."

"Bingo" Dustin chuckles.

"Lipton?"

"Spelled like the tea. 2131 Holland Road" Robin reads.

"That's out by Lovers Lake" Dustin says.

"Middle of nowhere" I comment.

"It's a perfect place to hide" Robin agrees.

That being said we all head out to Steve's car and to this Reefer Rick's house.

And hopefully to Eddie.

We all grab a torch each and get out of the car to walk to this Reefer Rick's house.

The lights are out, which could mean that no one's home or... Eddie's hiding.

Dustin repeatedly tries to ring the bell, but to no use.

"Okay. Well, that's settled. I guess he's not here." Steve says, trying to make Dustin stop.

But Dustin just start to shout for Eddie to come out and tries again with the door bell.

Me and Max move to the side of the house with our torch, seeing what looks like a boathouse. Maybe Eddie's in there.

"Hey guys!" Max calls.

"Well let's go" I say already walking towards the small building.

Robin is the first one to enter.

"Hello? Is anyone home?" She tries.

We all enter and start to look around.

"What a dump" Steve comments

The place is far from clean, there garbage everywhere and, as expected, a boat in the middle filled with something covered by a tarp.

I spot Steve grabbing an oar as a weapon and starts to poke the boat multiple times.

"What are you doing?" Dustin asks.

Steve just doesn't answer so Dustin repeats the question, more shocked.

"He might be in here." Steve simply replies.

"So take the tarp off." Dustin tells him.

"If you're so brave, you take the tarp off" he basically challenges.

"Stop bickering, you two." I say.

Steve just keeps hitting on top of the tarp covered boat.

"Hey, look over here" Max tells us. She points our attention to some food envelopes.

"Someone was here." I try.

"Maybe he heard us. Got spooked and ran" Robin suggests.

"Don't worry. Steve will get him with his oar" Dustin says sarcastically.

"Oh I know you think you're being funny, Henderson, but considering everyone in this room has nearly died about a hundred times, personally, I don't find it funny in the slight-"

Steve is cut off by a loud scream and Eddie jumping from under the tarp and pushing him against the wall, a broken bottle in his hand.

We all gather as close as possible, trying to not scare him further for Eddie to react too badly.

"Whoa whoa whoa Eddie! Eddie! Stop!" Dustin says, holding his arms out to stop us from getting further closer.

Eddie turns to look at Dustin, not moving the broken glass away from Steve's neck yet.

"It's me. It's Dustin" Dustin tries to stay calm while getting Eddie's attention. "This is Steve. He's not going to hurt you, right, Steve?"

"Right, yeah" Steve agrees, quite agitated.

"Steve, c'mon.. drop the oar, will you?" I say, as calmly as possible.

Steve does as I say, dropping the oar away, but that just startles Eddie more pointing the glass back at Steve's neck.

"He's cool, he's cool" Dustin says.

"What are you doing here?" Eddie says, voice breaking.

"We're looking for you" Dustin replies

"We're here to help, Eddie" I add.

Eddie turns his head again to us, listening carefully.

"Eddie, these are my friends. You know Robin, from band. This is my friend Max. The one who never wants to play D&D. You know Y/n too. The quiet girl you always stare at, at lunch. Eddie. We're on your side. I swear on my mother. Right guys?"

"Yeah yeah we swear"

"Yeah on Dustin's mother"

"Yeah, Dustin's.. mother"

We say no more, tense as never before, but at the end Eddie lets Steve go and moves to the side sitting down.

Steve just come to us, I check his neck in case the broken bottle accidentally cut him but he's fine.

I turn to look at Eddie, Dustin kneels in front of him and I slowly follow.

He looks... terrified.

"Eddie...we just want to talk" Dustin very slowly tries to grab the bottle in Eddie's hand, but as soon as he gets to close he flinches grabbing the glass harder.

"Eddie... we just wanna know what happened. " I tell him.

"You won't believe me" he tells us.

"Try us" Max says.

Eddie told us everything that happened, about Chrissy coming to him to buy drugs, and how she died, right in front of him.

"Her body just lifted up into the air and.. and she just like, hung there. In the air. And her bones.. she.. her bones starter to snap"

He struggling to tell us what happened, all I want to do is grabbing his hand and reassure him...

"Her eyes, man" he continues "it was like.. there was something, inside her head, pulling. I.. I didn't know what to do so.. I.. I ran away. I left her there." He sounds so ashamed... he couldn't do anything for her.

Poor girl, she was really one of the sweetest person in Hawkins.

Fuck.

Eddie looks up to us, only to turn his head away quickly, scoffing.

"You all think I'm crazy right?"

"No. We don't think you're crazy" Dustin tries to reassure him.

"Don't bullshit me, man! I know how this sounds" Eddie snaps.

"We're not bullshiting you" Max intervenes.

"We believe you" Robin says and Eddie just scoffs, still not believing us.

"Look, what I'm about to tell you might be a little.. difficult to take." Dustin starts "you know how people say Hawkins is...cursed? They're not way off. There's another world.a words hidden beneath Hawkins. Sometimes it bleeds into ours." Dustin explains.

"Like ghosts and shit?" Eddie asks.

"There are... there are some things worst than ghosts" I tell him.

"These monsters from this other world, we thought they were gone. But they've come back before. That's why we needed to find you."

"If they're back again, we need to know" Max says.

"That night, did you see anything?" Robin asks.

"Dark particles, maybe"

Eddie just shakes his head no.

"It would almost look like dust, swirling dust." Dustin specifies.

"No, man, there was nothing you could see or.. touch" Eddie explains.

I look at Steve who, now, looks more worried than before, full attention on Eddie.

"You know, I tried to wake her, man. She couldn't move. It was like she.. she was in a trance or something." Eddie explains and we all listen carefully.

"Or under a spell" Dustin points out.

"A curse."

"Vecna's curse" Dustin realises.

"Who's Vecna?" Steve asks

"And undead creature of great power" Dustin answers.

"A spell caster" I say, earning a confused look from Steve.

"A dark Wizard" Dustin finishes.

This might be worse than all the ones before...

Fuck.

We decided we have to go and get some food for Eddie.

"We'll be right back, man, I promise" Dustin says.

As we all walk to the door.

Steve and Dustin turn to me stopping me in my tracks.

"Why don't you... uh... stay here and keep him company?" Dustin asks.

"What? Why me?" Now I'm confused.

"Because you're the sweetest and he clearly has a thing for you" Steve replies as the most simple thing ever.

"He does not" I tell him sternly.

"Either way you're the best choice. You're calmer and... easier to be around than the rest of us" Steve convinces me.

"Y/n, trust me. He needs someone like you now. Please, I don't think he should be alone now" Dustin says looking me in the eyes.

"Fine" I tell him nodding "yeah, I'll stay with him. But you better stay out of trouble"

"As always" Steve shrugs.

I give him a warning look and just sigh. Watching them driving away.

I get back to the boathouse and see Eddie's figure watching nothing on the boat.

"Hey" I say quietly.

He seems to snap out of trance and looks at me surprised.

"I thought you all went" he says, with a small smile.

"Yeah well... we didn't.. uh... Dustin didn't want you to be alone right now" I tell him, fidgeting with my rings again.

"Thanks.. I guess he's right" he says.

I nod, walking a bit closer, but not too much.

"So..." he starts.

"So..." I mimic him, earning a laugh from him.

"You knew about the spell caster" he implies.

"Yeah... a-and?"

"You know about D&D..?" He asks.

"Yeah.." I say nervously.

"No way!" He whisper shouts.

"It's true!" I tell him, with a small chuckle.

"How come didn't you join Hellfire?" He asks, genuinely curious.

"I.. well.. I just..." I stutter.

"Hey.. I'm not judging, m'lady" he assures me, with a smile.

"I'm just too shy, I think.. also I'm not very good at playing" I laugh quietly.

"I could've taught you" he says.

"I... I'm not very good with people" I honestly tell him.

"What do you mean?"

"I.. I'm not very good at talking to people, I get nervous and stutter the whole time. And just... I just shut up so I don't bother anyone" I explain.

"You're not stuttering with me" he shrugs.

"I.." I stops realising it's true.

With him it feels easier, somehow..

"No need to worry about a freak's opinion, i guess." he lower his eyes, almost disappointed.

"No! Not at all!" I quickly say.

He look at me, searching my eyes to see if I'm messing with him.

"I... listen, I don't understand why people always call you that, but I personally always saw you as someone... cool" I say, getting shy as I finish my sentence.

"Really?" He says, he tries to hold back a smile, but he fails.

"Yeah.." I look away from him. "You always walk around like you don't care about anything. You have your ideas and you're not ashamed, and of course you shouldn't be ashamed of them. You're like smarter than any of those dickheads from the basketball team"

"Wow" he blushes... he blushes?

Did I make Eddie Munson blush?

"Are you blushing, my lord?" I gather some courage and make a joke.

"Oh... 'my lord' uh?" He looks at me with a smirk, that makes me instantly lower my eyes with my cheeks warming up.

"I.. yeah.. I mean, you keep calling me-"

"M'lady? Yeah, so I'd say 'my lord' fits perfectly" he sweetly smiles at me.

We stay silent for a while.

It's a comfortable silence, the kind you don't have to talk to fill it. We just need each other company to be okay.

I watch him fidgeting with his own hands.

He's getting nervous.

Instinctively I reach out for his hands and he turns to me, surprised, but he doesn't retreat his hands.

"It's gonna be okay" I tell him. "I know it sounds like a shitty cliché.. trust me I know." I let out a small chuckle "we've been through this shit a few times.. the point is, we're with you on this. We're gonna solve this."

He holds my hands in his.

"I want to believe you" he says looking me in the eyes.

"Good" I say.

He starts to stroke my knuckles gently.

"I'm glad you're the one to stay here, m'lady" he says.

"Apparently I'm the easiest to be around" I tell him with a shrug.

He's still not letting go my hands.

"Maybe... but that's not the only reason, but yeah" he says, a playful smile on his face.

"Then... w-why?" I say, feeling my cheeks warming up again.

"Well.. that's an answer for another time, uh?" He winks and I'm just speechless.

All of a sudden we hear noises from outside.

I grab the oar Steve used earlier and move to the door.

"Stay there" I tell Eddie.

I get closer and closer to the door, that suddenly opens reveling Robin, Dustin, Max and Steve holding some bags full of food and drinks.

"Fuck sake!" I exclaim as they enter with apologetic looks.

"delivery service" Dustin announces.

I look at Eddie who look just as startled, heavy breathing and all that.

I just exhale deeply and grab one of the bags they carried inside.

[kakerutori]

I would like to know your opinion about soundtracks. I've already seen theories about The First lie and The first I love you, and many people think the soundtrack matters. But have you ever thought that they could really be random? I recently watched the series and found out that the soundtrack that played in the romantic scenes between Vicky and Robin was the same as in the scenes when Еl puts on Nancy's dress and Mike calls her pretty.

Oo, the soundtrack!! I love talking about the soundtrack parallels whenever they come up, especially the motifs of “Kids, “ “Eulogy,” “Eleven,” “This Isn’t You,” so on and so forth, plus, of course “The First Lie”/“The First I love You.” This is a really good question, because the way that the soundtrack is titled seems to indicate to me that it’s important to help express the emotions and often evoke memories for each scene, even if the titles don’t seem to match the mood. But I don’t think that the soundtrack is ever played randomly.

As for the scenes you’re referring to, you’re right, and it’s kinda hard to explain. I’m not even sure myself. The track that plays behind the scene where the boys are helping to disguise El and the scene where Robin and Vickie are making PB&Js is called “Kids Two.”

At first, I swore that this was “Still Pretty” but it’s not! It has notes of the riffs from “Kids” but with a slower tempo, and I think that maybe using this track was meant to parallel the tones of budding attraction and the purity of the moment apart from the world’s chaos - in other words - the innocence and some typical affections during one’s youth, thus, kids. And, yeah, as much as Robin and Vickie are teens, they’re still technically kids, so, it works.

But as much as I try to justify that title, another great one that doesn’t technically make sense is “On The Bus.”

This track plays when Lucas and Max have a heart-to-heart on the bus in season 2, and it also plays when Mike and Will have a heart-to-heart in Will’s room (aka the apology scene) in season 4. And I really don’t have an explanation for this title (besides the literal meaning because Lucas and Max were sitting on a bus) other than maybe it could be a metaphor for taking a pause and letting people in like how busses stop at different stations? Otherwise, like this example, I think that sometimes the soundtrack isn’t literally a direct callback to what it’s titled but rather a callback to the things happening during the scene.

That being said, some soundtrack titles are really specific to their titles and what’s happening, like “The First Lie” and “The First I love You.” And of course they hold very clear similarities just in a slightly more developed state. This is also found in “Kids” and “Teens.”

I think that Stranger Things, as it’s expanded, has also expanded a lot of its soundtrack. As it stands, seasons 1 and 4 have around 80 tracks on their own, meanwhile, seasons 2 and 3 have around 30-40.

Season 1 set the train running for motifs later on, seasons 2 and 3 lightly expanded (but of course most notably added “The First Lie” and “The First I love You”), and then season 4 re-contextualized and aged a lot of familiar tracks from all three.

I notice the soundtrack more and more whenever I rewatch season 4, most often of all seasons. They use a lot of established tracks almost like Star Wars does with certain characters such as “Eleven” for her moments in the lab and “Papa” for his. One of my favorite motifs and favorite reappearances in season 4 is “One Blink for Yes” which signifies a moment with lights across the Upside Down. It’s the track that played when Joyce first saw the lights from Will in season 1 and then it played when Nancy, Robin, Steve, and Eddie discovered the glowing particles in the Upside Down.

So, yeah, overall, the titles are not perfectly aligned across seasons to what’s happening on screen or, on the other hand, are extremely specific to what’s happening onscreen and thus might not carry over in other scenes too smoothly, but I think that it’s clear which tracks are meant to express bonds, romantic interest, discovery, and other key elements as a supplement to the scene. And I think that the motifs in particular are most important (many of which Byler have so 😉).

[justforbooks]

In 1967 when Radio 1 was founded as a successor to the BBC Light Programme, one of its aims was to reach housewives – and to attract them, the station employed only male DJs (or “husband substitutes”, as they were known behind the scenes) for the first three years. It was only in 1970, bending with the times, that it took on its first female presenter, Anne (later Annie) Nightingale, a former journalist and television presenter with almost no radio experience.

The original male presenters have long since left the station, but Nightingale was still working for Radio 1 at the time of her death, aged 83, and had become its longest-serving broadcaster, most recently on air in December 2023. Known to fans as the Queen of Breaks – breakbeat was her specialist genre – she defied the station’s usual career trajectory (five years as a top-tier presenter, then off to weekends or Radio 2) by staying relevant. She introduced listeners to prog rock, punk, indie and dance music, and was unfeignedly passionate about them all. At 75, she told a dance magazine: “I listen to what 13-year-olds listen to because that’s the future. [I’ve] got to be ahead of the game all the time.”

As a dance music specialist from the late 1980s onward – playing “the biggest bass bangers”, as Radio 1’s website put it – Nightingale spent the second half of her career broadcasting to people too young to have known that she had been friends with the Beatles and Marc Bolan. But her age was immaterial because of her stature in the dance world. In 2001, she received Muzik magazine’s Caner of the Year prize in recognition of her late-night lifestyle – her favourite of all her awards, which also included an MBE in 2002 for services to broadcasting (advanced to CBE in 2020), and an honorary doctorate in journalism.

She was a highly knowledgable musical curator, and an expert at exploiting the intimacy of radio. Though Nightingale prioritised music over DJ patter, she recognised that a human voice was still an essential part of the mix; husky-toned and self-deprecating, she belied the station’s early fear that a female DJ would lack authority. According to the writer Irvine Welsh, who listened to her while growing up, her “cool, funky tones” stood out against “the flatulent sounds of loud, boring, thick and egotistical men strafing the airwaves”.

An only child, Nightingale was born in Osterley, west London, to Basil, who ran a wallpaper company, and Celia (nee Winter), a chiropodist. Educated at the independent Lady Eleanor Holles school in Hampton, she left before her A-levels. Overriding her parents’ request that she have “something to fall back on”, she enrolled on a journalism course at the Regent Street Polytechnic (now the University of Westminster). Moving to Brighton after graduation, she married a Fleet Street journalist, Gordon Thomas, and had two children. After a short stint at the Brighton and Hove Gazette, she became the only woman in the newsroom at the Brighton Argus.

Along with reporting local news at the parish-council level, she was given a music column called Spin With Me, which gave her access to the biggest pop stars of the 60s. Her friendship with the Beatles later helped open doors at Radio 1 – the band’s publicist, Derek Taylor, persuaded the station controller to let her audition after her own requests were repeatedly refused.

At a Dusty Springfield gig in 1964, she met Vicki Wickham, producer of Ready Steady Go!, who hired her as co-presenter of a new pop show called That’s For Me. It lasted only a few months, but the exposure led to writing work at the Daily Express and Cosmopolitan, and radio appearances on Today and Woman’s Hour. It was the era of pirate stations such as Radio Caroline; she considered applying to Caroline but was put off by the idea of “living out at sea with a bunch of blokes”.

Finally installed at Radio 1 in 1970, she was hampered at first by a lack of technical knowhow – her first day was marked by eight seconds of dead airtime when she accidentally pressed the “off” switch in the middle of a record. Yet she quickly established herself, choosing her own playlist almost from the start. Her skill at persuading listeners that what she wanted to hear was what they wanted to hear led in 1978 to the job of presenting BBC Two’s “serious” rock programme, The Old Grey Whistle Test. It had failed to keep up with musical fashion, a problem she tackled by booking the most challenging artists she could get away with and braving the consequences. She was delighted to bag Public Image Ltd for a live appearance, though frontman John Lydon repaid her enthusiasm by admonishing her for being “so fucking patronising”.

Four years at Whistle Test were followed by a return to Radio 1’s highly popular Sunday afternoon request show for 12 years. When acid house gained traction in the late 80s, she credited it with changing her life; from that point, she played solely dance music on Radio 1, first in the influential Chill Out Zone slot, then on a longstanding programme that went out at 1am on Wednesdays. Her free time, she said, was consumed by listening to the thousands of demo tapes she received every week.

Despite her achievements, Nightingale claimed she lacked confidence until she was robbed in Havana, Cuba in 1996. The attack left her unable to walk for months, but made her “a stronger person”, she said.

Though she hated nostalgia, she did reflect that ageing had been isolating. The death of John Peel, her friend from the early days of Radio 1, provoked the unusually downbeat comment: “Now John’s gone there’s nobody I know in my age group who remotely likes this kind of thing. I don’t understand why. I’m driven by it.”

She published two volumes of autobiography, Chase the Fade (1982) and Wicked Speed (2000), and a 50th-anniversary volume, Hey Hi Hello: Five Decades of Pop Culture from Britain’s First Female DJ, in 2020.

She is survived by her children, Alex and Lucy, from her first marriage, which ended in divorce. Her second marriage, to the actor Binky Baker in 1978, also ended in divorce.

🔔 Anne Avril Nightingale, broadcaster, born 1 April 1940; died 11 January 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[ghost-lobster]

Combining two of my own interests in a way that no one asked for and will be interesting to maybe three other people lets go: Which London Underground lines the ghosts would have been able to use! This may be a long read.

Going with ghosts from Fanny onwards, as they are the only ones that would have been able to.

Fanny - born 1855, died ambiguously past some point in 1912

Bakerloo - opened 1906, would have been able to use it!

Central - opened as the Central London Railway in 1900, so yup! She also would have been around for two of its expansions, one in 1908 and another in 1912.

Circle - not technically its own line in her lifetime, but the tracks the now circle line is on were owned by two railway companies - the Metropolitan Railway and District Railway.

District - opened 1868, had several expansions within her lifetime from then.

Hammersmith & City - opened 1864. She also would have been around for it becoming electricity operated in 1906!

Jubilee - no, opened as the Jubilee line in 1979.

Metropolitan - opened 1863, made electric in 1905 (not north of Rickmansworth until 1961)

Piccadilly - opened 1906

Waterloo & City - opened 1898, although at this point it technically was not its own underground line.

Captain - assuming he was born sometime in the 1890s-1900s and died in/just past 1945

Bakerloo - yep! Would also be alive for its claim of the initially Metropolitan Stanmore branch!

Central - depending on exactly when he died he could've seen some of this lines expansion post-ww2, but other than that, it was around in his lifetime!

Circle - would have been around for the Circle line becoming more similar to how it is today, although it still didn't technically become its own line until 1949 (assuming he's dead at that point).

District - yeah it was there. Same as Fanny really.

H&C - Would have seen its expansion in 1936, which replaced the old District line up to Barking.

Jubilee - same as Fanny

Metropolitan - also largely the same as Fanny

Northern - opened in 1937 from a combination of two railways. Expanded a bit between 1939 and 1941. There were further plans for extension but these were put on halt due to the war and eventually scrapped in 1954.

Piccadilly - would have been alive for its expansion in the 1930s.

W&C - around for the replacement of the original wooden trains on the line in 1940.

Pat - born 1945, died 1984

Bakerloo - around for the closing of the Stanmore branch on the Bakerloo line in 1979 following the opening of the Jubilee line.

Central - yeah it was there for him. No major changes.

Circle - Became its own line in 1949 when he would've been 4 ig lol.

District - no major changes

H&C - still nothing really new

Jubilee - alive for its opening!

Metropolitan - alive for the switch to electric trains between Amersham and Chesham in 1961

Northern - no major changes

Piccadilly - would have been alive for the expansion to Heathrow Airport terminals! Former terminal 1 and terminals 2 and 3 were added between 1975-77

Victoria - woo vicky line is here! Construction began in 1962 and it opened gradually between 1968-71.

W&C - no major changes

Julian - born ??? like the 1950s/60s maybe?, died 1991 or 93 I literally can't remember rn my bad

also going to omit lines where nothing drastic happens now soz

Central - just missed out on being able to witness the closure of the Epping to Ongar service in 1994.

H&C - became its own real line in 1988!

Jubilee - If he died in '93 not '91, he may have been able to witness the very beginning of the extension of the Jubilee line

Piccadilly - also would have seen the expansions to Heathrow, but with terminal 4 as well, which was added in 1986.

Victoria - same as Pat

W&C - just missed out on being able to witness the Waterloo and City line actually become its own line in 1994.

[adiarosefandoms]

2 of Many Reasons why Maya Hawke is Awesome

Technically, Maya Hawke is a nepotism baby, but she’s one that deserves the hype. Hawke is the daughter of actors Uma Thurman and Ethan Hawke and is best known for her role as Robin Buckley on Netflix’s Stranger Things. Her new movie, Asteroid City, is coming out in two days on the 23rd and during the press circuit promoting the film, she’s discussed two things that made me love her even more than I already did.

#1: Maya is open to Robin having a girlfriend, BUT not if the relationship takes over her whole character. Robin became a fan favorite from the start of season three when she first appeared. She was cool, funny, and smart, but the scene that made us all fall in love with her was when Robin was in the bathroom with platonic soulmate Steve Harrington, and she came out to him. In the next season parts one and two we’d see Robin crushing over band nerd Vickie, and we finish the season with Vickie having broken up with her boyfriend, and the girls sharing starry-eyed looks. While we all want Robin to get a girlfriend, with only one season of the amazing show left, what’s most important is protecting her characters integrity and making sure that she is Robin till the end. If the writers can balance a relationship or end it with Robin getting together with Vickie without distracting from any character growth, then that’s what should be done. But the most important thing is that each of the characters we’ve grown to love remain the characters we’ve grown to love, no matter the ending the Duffer brothers have planned for them.

#2: She recognizes she’s a nepotism baby and certain doors were open to her because of her parents, but she wants to prove herself as a good actor in herself. The daughter of two Oscar nominated, acclaimed actors, certain connections obviously must have been formed and assisted in Maya Hawke getting her career. But that doesn’t mean that she’s not talented. On the contrary, it’s clear to pretty much everyone that she may be a nepo baby, but she’s also a GREAT actor who has done well in her career, and will continue to do well in her career on her own merit. Her attitude is amazing and just one of the hundreds of things that make us love her.

[z-saint-box]

(Original release date -> name of image)

January - Rose (singing)

February -Rose (bunny)

March - Vicky (Cammy)

April - Astoria (happy)

May - Rose (candy cane)

June - Praximorr 2, Dessert with Gramorr

July - Schoolgirl

    August - (none)

September - LOLIROCK SEASON 3 LEAK!!! (Imorr, Iris + Gramorr)

    October - (none)

November - Gwen (bikini)

    December - (none, but I did have a collab with battalion113)

Images by source material:

Regal Academy - 5 (Rose, Vicky, and Astoria

Lolirock - 2 (Praxina, Iris and Gramorr)

Ben 10 - 1 (Gwen)

Amber, the schoolgirl, does not come from any cartoon. She is an original character

Additional Notes:

This is my third art summary

    The reason why the text is in cyrillic is because originally, I was going to write this entire description in Russian, but I don’t have enough knowledge of the language to do it

This is the first time I made my own summary. The last two were made by someone else

Rose is the only character who appears more than once. She appears three times

Gramorr technically appears twice. He is not visible with Praxina

    He is the only male on the summary. He is also the first male to appear

All other characters appear only once

Art Summary 2021 (on deviantArt)

Art Summary 2022

(If you would like a template of this Art Summary, I will release it next week)

[barcafemenino]

Barcelona Femeni with a 2-1 victory over Sporting Huelva

PHOTO: X - @FCBFemeni Barcelona Femeni won their second league game of the season with a 2-1 victory away at Sporting Huelva. Goals from Claudia Pina and Patri Guijarro in both halves secured the victory for the league champions. Liga F resumed this weekend after a short international break. The return to football action at club level for Barcelona Femeni had them play an away game against Sporting Huelva. The league champions fielded a heavily rotated squad, with some key players excluded from the starting lineup and some players not even allowed to make the trip to Huelva due to technical decisions. With the seemingly unending run of games for Barcelona this month, the rotation was important to manage the fitness levels of the players, especially those who represented their country during the international break. The game was one to test the squad depth of the Blaugrana, with regular starters benched to give them some much-needed rest after two weeks of international football. Barcelona got the game underway and, in typical fashion, dominated the game from start to finish. The team created a number of chances but failed to find the back of the net until Claudia Pina opened the scoring in the 24th minute.  It started with a wonderful exchange of passes between Graham Hansen and Vicky Lopez down the right flank. The Norwegian winger then passed the ball to Bruna Vilamala in the opposition’s box; the midfielder was immediately crowded by the Sporting defense. However, she was able to wriggle her way out and teed up Claudia Pina for Barcelona’s first goal of the game. Barcelona kept asking questions of the Sporting backline but failed to really make their dominance in attack count. Incomplete passes, blocked shots, unusual misses in front of goal, as well as a miss from the penalty spot, kept the hosts alive. It was not until the 76th minute that Esmee Brugts won a penalty for Barcelona after she was hacked down in the box. Alexia Putellas, who came on with Aitana Bonmati and Mariona Caldentey as substitutes, took the penalty. However, the skipper’s spot kick was saved by Sporting Huelva’s goalie, Chelsea Ashurst. The search for a second goal continued with Barcelona launching waves upon waves of attack on the opposition’s defense. However, with 5 additional minutes, the champions were rewarded for their effort in the 92nd minute when Patri Guijarro headed home from Aitana Bonmati’s cross. Sporting Huelva also got a consolation goal with the last kick of the game. Carrasco volleyed home from  a deep cross and brought the match to an end with her goal. ✌️Victòria a la Lliga 💪 pic.twitter.com/62b2haBJ5q— FC Barcelona Femení (@FCBfemeni) October 1, 2023 The 2-1 victory helped Barcelona secure all three points and made it two wins out of two games played in the league this season. Barcelona play again in the league on October 5th, when they face Valencia at home for their postponed matchday 1 action in Liga F. Read the full article

[scottelkartwork]

EXHIBITION

PAINTING / SCULPTURE

Nexus - The Collective Works of Recent National Art School Graduates

Shaffer Gallery, Darlington, Australia

May 25 - June 3, 2023

What I connect with…

Nexus at Sheffer Gallery is an exhibition of recent National Art School Students, organised and curated by my good friend and artist Vicki Potter. Potter’s works in the show (the first three shown above) are a real highlight, showcasing her technical proficiency with her favourite medium, as well as showing her unique ability to pull colours together that give the domestic settings of her artworks moments of pure joy.

The work of assemblage artist Kim Baldwin has considerable impact within the context of the mostly painted wall works that make up the show, with its bright colour panels and sculptural forms that emerge out from the walls, spill out onto plinths, and rise up from the floor. Baldwin also has a sizeable corresponding painting that takes its colour cues from her sculptural work, establishing a dialogue between mediums, that speak of her organic process of playing, and making discoveries, with forms and colours finding their perfect eventual fit along the way.

Martin Williams is another artist working across disciplines adding three new bronze sculptures to his repertoire, as well as an impressive blue painting drawing parallels to Francis Bacon but clearly inspired by the unique National Art School chapel space that is now home to life drawing classes. Williams curious figurative sculptures are a real triumph.

Near the entrance to the exhibition is a series of small works by painter Olwen Henstridge. The three intimate still life compositions could almost be a triptych, but are instead presented as three individual works. Each feature a small glass vessel with a white and yellow striped table cloth, and in two of the compositions, various fruit. Henstridge’s keen observation of the glass makes them feel luminous, as well as adding shadows that give the forms weight. My favourite is the first panel that has a more muted palette, and a dark burnt umber hue cutting out the contrasted shape of a sherry glass.

Mat Hooker continues his exploration of figures in a landscape, but plays with scale creating compositions that pull the works into a place for emotive consideration; are these figures expressions of the landscape? Are these beings of some mythical origin story akin to the indigenous Dreamtime? Or are these landscapes an emotional expression of the figure? The ambiguity of Hookers work sets up the foundation for the viewers curiosity to project their own lived experiences into his imagined landscapes, with the outcome different for each person who views the work, guided only by the subtle hint of figurative gesture.

I’ve mentioned just five of the ten artists on offer here, who each bring something unique to the table, definitely making the trip into the gallery well worth it. Of course I may be biased having spent the last three years with these people, but if an art scene is a club, then supporting your mates is a good place to start to build a thriving arts community. Well done to everyone involved.

Open now till June 3.

[stobinesque]

here to respond to @inairbinad's tag novel:

#read i am [vibrating] #you're about to get a novel in the tags #first of all this gives me van/taissa vibes from yellowjackets (but in a much more wholesome way) which makes me feral

*insert elmo_fire.jpg here* YEEEEEESSSS. someday I'm gonna write a ST/YJ crossover fic because...i need it. I need it so bad. the collective trauma and angst and gayness.

#the idea of them coming back to each other after all those years!! #of vickie pining for robin!!!! #OUGH my heart#not to tempt your wip pile any more but....i would read so many words of this

okay, so like...I maybe still needed fic ideas for some of the squares on my Robin Bingo card?? So possibly a fic for this could be a fill for Nonbinary Vickie, too?? *blorbos rotate at terminal velocity* also I may already have ideas for how to structure this. Like. I've been mentally outlining this all day, maybe. I'm maybe also vibrating a little.

#ALSO the BRAINCELL SHARING is fucking off the charts here because these are some of my favorite robin tropes that i've also played with!!!!

🤝🤝🤝

#first i love love love separated by trauma rockie angst #especially when vickie doesn't necessarily know about the upside down and robin can't explain why she's /like that/ #(wrote it into falling awake even though technically that's a ronance fic)

auggh, it's sooooo good. Like in canon-compliant fics Rockie can totally work if Vickie gets dragged into the nonsense. But like. While I think it's entirely reasonable for Vickie to also have trauma just by virtue of being a Hawkins resident for the past three years, she also definitely would not Get It, and they're both so young! It would make sense that they don't know how to help each other cope!!

#unhealthy-coping-mechanism-slut-era stobin IS ONE OF MY FAVES TOO and you're so right i don't see it enough #(wrote it into petals because it's so them)#(apartment sharing and all)

📝adding petals to my tbr for this week. god slut duo of all time stobin having emotionally ill-advised sexcapades and just...breaking hearts right and left is so real to me. Every time I see it I feel alive

🔀 with Rockie!

oh...Evan Rachel Wood & co.'s cover of The Beatles' "Because" from Across the Universe. Which is just so perfectly, hauntingly yearning for Rockie that I'm gonna cry.

So I'm thinking like...second chance romance vibes? Right after Vecna Robin and Vickie try to give it a go, and it's good, for a while. They genuinely really love each other, and when things are good, they're great. But when they're bad...when Robin has a week where she can't make it through the night without sneaking out to curl up in bed with Steve. When they're in an elevator and all of a sudden Robin's having a panic attack, curled up in the corner, and can't explain why. When Robin's been on edge all day, and when Vickie says just the wrong thing and lashes out... It's not that Vickie needs to know all of the dark corners of Robin's mind. It's not that Vickie doesn't want to be there for her. But they're eighteen! It's Robin's first relationship, and only Vickie's second and neither of them know how to navigate the landscape of trauma together. So they talk about and they decide...right person, wrong time. There's lots of crying, but they go their separate ways, and for the rest of their life they carry that first love in their heart.

Vickie goes to college. She falls in love with a nice boy. And it's fine. It's good. But it's nothing like the way Robin lit her heart on fire and made all the colors of the world more vibrant. They get married. Have kids. And if at night Vickie sometimes finds herself staring out the window over her kitchen sink, staring at the moon and thinking about the girl she wasn't quite ready to love the way she needed? Well no one needs to know about that do they?

Robin and Steve get an apartment together in the city. Robin goes to school, and works part time with Steve at some retail establishment or another. It becomes clear pretty quickly that the responsibilities of school are just too much for her right now. She drops out after a year. Steve and Robin together have a kind of sluttily-self-destructive era where they go out clubbing most nights and each take home a different conquest each night (yes, both to their shared apartment, no, most of their respective partners are not Huge Fans of this). Eventually Nancy or someone stages an intervention and the two of them find some better coping mechanisms (they still sleep around a lot, but less in a "I'm trying to bury my feelings in sex" kind of way). Steve and Robin get married, and neither of them is really looking for anyone else outside the occasional casual fling, because all they really need is each other.

Until one day, decades later...Robin sees Vickie again. Maybe it's at a coffee shop, a glimpse of fiery red hair in the corner of her eye. Maybe it's on a park bench. Maybe it's even a Hawkins High reunion that Nancy somehow dragged her too. But Robin sees her, and it's like gravity has been restored to earth. It's not until that moment that it dawns on her that this is the thing she's both been running from and towards her whole life. Robin goes up to her, heart in her throat, taps her on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be better for you." The fear is gripping her chest tight.

Vickie spins around, freckled face flushed a bright red. There's a tan line on her ring finger, where it's been sitting empty for only a few days. She has to blink against the sun standing right in front of her, bearing into her eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't know how to love you," she says. "I never stopped, though."

send me a 🔀 and a pairing and I’ll shuffle my music and make an au based on the song that comes up