#the flamingo kid

[alovelywaytospendanevening]

How many potatoes do you think you'll eat before you die?

The Flamingo Kid (1984) — dir. Garry Marshall

[movieposters1]

[cantsayidont]

Some movies, considered chronologically:

THE FLAMINGO KID (1984): Nostalgia-burdened period piece, set in 1963, about working-class kid Jeffrey (Matt Dillon), who gets a summer job parking cars at an exclusive beach club called El Flamingo, starts dating a rich girl (Carole R. Davis), and becomes fascinated by her father (Richard Crenna), a self-made sports car dealer and local card sharp who thinks college is sucker's game. This alienates Jeffrey's own father (Hector Elizondo), a stalwart plumber who doesn't want to see Jeffrey squander his chances of bettering himself. The story is thus a sort of YA prototype of Oliver Stone's later WALL STREET — a Reagan-era morality play about a young man caught between two father figures, one representing the Lure of Easy Money and the other a paragon of Honest Hard Work — badly undermined by its absurdly idealized longing for the alleged innocence of the Kennedy era (underlined by an obnoxious oldies soundtrack). It offers a meaty role for Crenna, but as a drama, it has less substance than FERRIS BUELLER'S DAY OFF. Davis's character is such a nonentity that you keep forgetting she's there, and the way she ends up functioning as a proxy for Jeffrey's obsession with her dad is awkward. CONTAINS LESBIANS? Nope. VERDICT: A simple-minded story blinded by its rose-colored glasses.

THE JOY LUCK CLUB (1993): Sudsy but affecting episodic adaptation of Amy Tan's novel about four middle-aged Chinese women and their strained relationships with their Chinese-American daughters, starring Ming-Na Wen and nearly every other Chinese actress working in the U.S. at the time. The way the script segues between the characters' respective stories is clunky, and it often teeters on the brink of schmaltz, but there are moments of real dramatic power amongst the more superficial tearjerker moments, and you'd have to have a stonier heart than I to not sob at the bittersweet ending. Strong acting helps, with Tsai Chin particularly good as Auntie Lindo. CONTAINS LESBIANS? It seems like it should, but alas. VERDICT: Heavy-handed at times, but undeniably moving.

COLD COMFORT FARM (1996): Before she became an action star, Kate Beckinsale starred in this hilarious adaptation of Stella Gibbons' 1932 satiric novel about glib orphan Flora Poste, who makes it her project to fix all the problems of the titular farm and its eccentric denizens — distant cousins who feel obligated to Flora (whom they will only address as "Robert Poste's child") because of some unspecified wrong they once did her late father. Among the inmates of Cold Comfort are Cousin Judith (Eileen Atkins), a hysterically morose creature straight out of a gothic novel; Cousin Amos (Ian McKellen), a fire-and-brimstone preacher who warns his brethren, "There'll be no butter in Hell!"; Amos and Judith's oversexed son Seth (Rufus Sewell), a local stud who dreams of being in the talkies; and of course Aunt Ada Doom (Sheila Burrell), who rules the family with an iron fist and won't let anyone forget that she once saw something nasty in the woodshed. A delightfully silly spoof of a particular category of once-popular English literature, as the farm's assorted grim melodramas prove no match for the implacable (if somewhat snobbish) modern sensibilities of its plucky heroine. CONTAINS LESBIANS? Nope. VERDICT: Great fun throughout, although Stephen Fry irritates as a boorish "Laurentian person" who keeps hitting on Flora despite her obvious disinterest.

BREAKDOWN (1997): Competent but underwhelming Jonathan Mostow thriller starring Kurt Russell and Kathleen Quinlan as Jeff and Amy Taylor, a couple of Yuppies whose fancy Jeep breaks down on the highway on a trip from Massachusetts to California. A passing trucker (J.T. Walsh) gives Amy a ride into the nearest town to find them a tow truck, but when Jeff gets their Jeep running again and follows her into town, he finds that Amy has disappeared, and no one, including the trucker, will admit to having seen her. It has a great premise, and Russell is credible enough in the lead, but it's pretty ordinary, and, once you know what's going on (which is revealed a little over a half-hour in), pretty superficial — there's no psychological depth, and I kept waiting for some other story twist that never came. CONTAINS LESBIANS? It barely contains women (Amy is absent for 80 percent of the running time). VERDICT: Not bad, but nothing special, and you'll forget it 10 minutes after it ends.

MY TWO HUSBANDS (2024): Okay Lifetime thriller about a young woman named Eliza (Isabelle Almoyan), still reeling from the recent murder of her mother (Joanie Geiger), who becomes deeply suspicious of her father's young new wife, a flight attendant named Brooke (Kabby Borders) who's no older than Eliza — and, as the title alludes, is secretly married to another man (Britton Webb, who looks like a lesser Baldwin brother) and up to no good. Despite the cheesy title (which is really also a spoiler) and awkward marketing (which misleadingly suggests a comedy-drama with Brooke rather than Eliza as the main character), it has a surprisingly decent, reasonably credible script, hamstrung by very weak performances. The story is still interesting enough to make it a not-bad little thriller, although it would have been better with a stronger cast and less somnabulistic direction. CONTAINS LESBIANS: It sometimes seems like Eliza's friend Star (Kristen Grace Gonzalez) might be her girlfriend, but the script is noncommittal on this point. VERDICT: A B+ script burdened with D+ acting and C- direction.

[1984moviebracket]

This is Round Three!

Make sure to vote on every poll! 8 of the Round Three polls will be released per week

[sp0o0kylights]

“Alienate.” Flo mutters, the first thing Phil Callahan hears when he enters the station. “No, that's eight letters. Darn.” 

“How’s the crossword, Miss Flo?” He asks, as he always asks, every morning. 

It’s part of a little routine he’s established with their doting receptionist, partly out of boredom, mostly because she sometimes asks him for help.  

If there’s one thing Phil enjoys doing, it’s helping.

(It’s why he became a cop, after all.)

“Hi, hun. I’m stuck.” Flo responds, staring down at the New York Times spread out before her. 

It’s a quiet Friday morning and a quick glance at the open and dark-empty office of the Chief says the man’s not in yet, and so Callahan rounds the big wooden desk to stare at the puzzle over Flo’s shoulder. 

“Which one?” He asks, seeing most of it’s already been filled out. 

Flo jabs a finger at the offending clue, her nails painted a light pastel blue. “Pushed away through inattention.” She reads dutifully, then traces her finger to the blank section of the crossword, tapping at it. “Nine letter word.” 

Phil cocks his head, thinks it through. 

“It wasn’t alienate.” Flo says, non-helpfully. 

“Ignored?” Phil tries.

“That’s seven letters.” 

They both stare down at the puzzle, the black and white squares taunting them. 

“Neglected.” Phil says suddenly, triumphant. “It has to be neglected--the word has to end with a D to make sense in the puzzle. See?” 

One of two words that crosses over with their missing piece is ‘abandoned’, which fits nicely with the apparently gloomy theme of today’s crossword. 

“Doesn’t work with the other word that goes through it though.” Flo points out, defeating the proud little glow that had been building in Phil’s head. 

The other bisecting word is ‘isolated’, making him wonder if the puzzlemaker is in the middle of a rough divorce. 

(Or maybe just a rough day, and he’s the one projecting…) 

“Well, hell.” Phil grumbles, staring down at it. 

“Try estranged!” Powell calls as he passes by with a mug full of coffee. 

Flo carefully pencils in ‘estranged’ and makes a pleased noise when it fits. 

“Thank you, hun!” She calls, and Phil huffs at himself for not seeing it, but also refuses to let Powell’s one upping ruin his day.

The man himself offers their receptionist a smile, before tossing a casual reprimand Phil’s way.  

“Callahan, get to work, would you?” 

“Yeah, yeah, smartypants.” He says, going to fetch his own cup of coffee. “Save the bitching for the Chief.” 

Powell rolls his eyes at him, and Callahan makes a face back, and the two of them go on to have a very boring, small town cop sort of day--right until a legitimate call finally comes in. 

Well.

Sort of. 

“The Harrington residence is having a too-loud party again.” Hopper says, having finally shown up sometime between nine and noon. “Drunk teenagers are throwing up in people’s lawns.” 

“It’s not even dark yet.” Powell mutters, staring at the clock as if he couldn’t imagine a party taking place before 8 pm. 

“Teenagers don’t care about that shit, that’s why they’re getting the cops called on them.” Hopper snips back. He’d been in a mood all day, and not the fun, jolly kind. 

“Come on Callahan, let’s go remind Harrington Jr. that it’s his daddy that owns this department, not him.”

“I wish you wouldn’t joke about that.” Phil says as he follows Hopper out the door, waving goodbye to Flo as he goes. “People are going to think you’re serious.” 

(Sometimes, Phil thinks as he swings into the patrol truck, that Hopper is serious. 

That they are being paid to look the other way. 

Then he takes a sip of their god-awful coffee and hears Hopper’s ancient truck cough to life, and figures, if anyone was getting cash here, there would at least be evidence of it.) 

xXx 

Harrington Jr.’s party isn’t quite the chaotic disaster it was made out to be, though there are a handful of tipsy teenagers stumbling around the lawn.

“One of these idiots is going to drown in that damn pool someday.”  Hopper complains through gritted teeth as he storms up the driveway, kids scrambling into action the second they spot him. 

One loudly screams; “Cops!” and the rest of them scatter, running in so many directions it makes Phil’s head spin. He briefly moves as if to give chase before deciding there’s simply too many to bother. 

(Knows that it’s unlikely they’ll arrest anyone but Harrington tonight, anyway.)

“If the right kid bites it, Dick Harrington might even have to come deal with it personally.” Over his shoulder Hopper tosses Phil a shark’s smile, barging up the porch to bang hard on one of the two front doors. “Wouldn’t that be a sight to see?” 

“No, not really.” Phil says, because he’s thinking about dead teenagers in pools. 

“Also I don’t think Richard likes to be called Dick.” He adds cautiously, just in case the man himself happens to be home. 

It’s unlikely, doubly so given all the drunk minors, but that just means Phil isn’t surprised when it’s not the Vice President of Indiana Corporate Consulting, LLC that opens the door but his son, Steve. 

“Officers.” The kid drawls, shirtless in swim trunks, not a single strand of his perfectly styled hair out of place. “What can I do for you?”

He leans casually in the doorway, as another kid screams out a warning inside. 

“You can cut the shit.” Hopper says. “You know the drill. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.” 

Harrington does neither of those things, instead tilting his head and making a face like he just smelled something foul. 

“I’m not drunk. And anyone who is drunk brought it without telling me. You should go arrest them.” Steve  jams a thumb over his shoulder, pointing at the rapidly emptying house. 

Then he smirks at both of them, every inch the newly crowned King the kids insist on calling him. 

“You think your old man is gonna believe that?” Hopper snarls, infuriated. He never was one that dealt well with teenagers. Or at least, these kinds (and that damn Munson kid, who just loved stealing everybodies lawn flamingos.) 

“I think you’ll find ‘my old man’,” Steve mockinly mimics, “doesn’t care.”

“He will when the neighbors start calling.” Hopper tosses back as Phil pushes past Harrrington Jr. to begin the process of trying to wrangle drunk teenages. “That’s Janet Wilkinson’s prized hydrangeas Hagan’s been throwing up in. You wanna see what happens when she talks to your mother?” 

“She has to get a hold of my mother to talk to her.” Steves snarks, instead of pulling out his usual charm. “Why do you think she called you instead?” 

This isn’t Phil’s first call to the house, but it is the first time Harrington Jr. has been this combative. It’s new, but not exactly unexpected. 

Not when Steve Harrington has been hurtling towards this ever since he started hosting parties. 

“You think your parents won’t care when I call them?”

“Well they haven’t before, so--” 

Phil rolls his eyes as the kid and Hopper trade more barbs, the adult’s growing sharper and sharper as Steve makes a couple of arguments about being held accountable for other people’s actions (and something else about unreasonably high standards and making his own bail.) 

Let's them argue it out as he quickly realizes he will definitely not be catching teenagers, and pivots to scanning for too-drunk stragglers in need of help. 

“Keep running your mouth, Harrington, and I’ll let you cool your heels overnight in a jail cell. That what you want?”

“You already did that, remember? Swore you’d never do it again because I was too annoying.”

“You can’t annoy me if I’m not the one there watching you--” 

Phil tunes out the rising voices, his attention snagging on something else.

The Harringtons’ entryway was sparse, and the rooms beyond weren’t much better. The whole house had the sterile feel of a museum;  untouched and unlived in. 

Not even a swarm of teenagers had managed to leave much of a mark. Or at least, not in these few rooms, anyway. 

Which is what makes the scraggly note stand out.

It’s taped to the wall right above the phone, but slightly askew, like it’d been thought of last-minute. A little crumpled, like someone half-heartedly tried to peel it off before giving up and pressing it back down.

‘Who puts a phone in the entryway?’ Phil wonders, but then, it is the Harrington’s. 

Maybe they need it to find each other in this huge fucking house. 

He leans in to read the note, spotting the bold letters at the bottom informing everyone the entire notepad had been custom ordered for RICHARD HARRINGTON, VP. 

‘Darling,’ beautiful cursive starts, at odds with the footnote, ‘Sorry that we couldn’t get a hold of you. Your father had a business opportunity, you know how important those are. I’ll send you a postcard. Take care of the house, remember that Martha is coming on Wednesdays now to get the dry cleaning. Do something fun for your birthday!’ 

It’s signed XOXO, Muffin. 

Muffin is, of course, Richard Harrington’s wife, and also a walking punchline. Or at least she is when people aren’t tripping over themselves to stay on her good side.

Weird that she signed it as such instead of with ‘Mom’, but then Muffin always has been a bit…much. 

More importantly (besides the fact that they skipped out on their own kids birthday) is the date at the top, which says the note was left Tuesday, March 17th. 

It’s currently the middle of May.

Flo’s crossword springs to mind, each guessed word clicking into place beside Steve’s own, still warm, spoken just moments ago.

Abandoned, and ‘She has to get a hold of my mother to talk to her.’ 

Ignored and ‘I think you’ll find my old man doesn’t care.’ 

A cold realization sweeps through Phil, as he recalls the things they’ve all heard other kids say about Steve. 

No parents. 

Big house. 

Always down for a good time. 

(‘Neglect is the failure to give somebody proper care or attention.’ Powell had argued on their lunch break, as Phil complained that ‘neglected’ fit the stupid crossword better than ‘estranged’ had. 

“Estranged works because it’s when you’re not really talking to someone. Hence the pushing away part. They’re different. Similar! But different.” 

“That’s dumb.” Phil argued back. 

“You’re dumb.” Powell replied, then laughed when Phil gasped in mock offense. “It’s why you’re getting taken to the cleaners in your divorce!”

“Hey man, come on, too far!”

“Sorry, sorry--” ) 

All cop’s develop intuition, even the small town ones, and Phil’s kicks in as he stares at the note. 

Neglected might be a hard sell for a fifteen year old that drives a BMW, but estranged definitely fits the bill. 

(He’s pretty sure neglect does fit the fucking bill no matter how much money the kids parents have, but he’s been on the force long enough to know how these things go.) 

He turns on his heel and marches over, sticking himself right in between his boss and the only remaining teenager. 

“Where are your parents at, again?” He asks, right over whatever point Hopper was butchering. 

“What?” Steve and Hopper both say, before giving the other a look for it. 

“Do you know where your parents are at?” Phil asks again, switching up the wording a little just like they’d taught him in the academy. 

“Uh…No?” Steve says, seeming too startled to lie. “You’d have to call dad’s receptionist.” 

“Okay. And when are they coming back?” 

This time Steve tosses a look at Hopper, like Phil’s the one being weird here. 

“When they get back.” He says, and it’s like he’s trying to still sound tough, to put forth that King persona, but is fumbling a little now that it’s not Hopper who's asking the questions. 

“So you have no idea, at all.” He clarifies, and feels his stomach sink a little. 

“I mean, I could also call dad’s receptionist.” Steve says, like that makes it better.  

“Whose in charge of you while they’re gone?” And yes he knows it’s a stupid question, knows that Steve is fifteen (he thinks, anyway) and is perfectly old enough 

“...I am.” Steve says, right over Hopper’s annoyed; “What the hell, Callahan.” 

“Chief, can I talk to you?” He says, turning to face his boss. 

Hopper stares back at him in disbelief, before making a show of summoning the last of his patience with a loud sigh. 

“You.” He points at Steve. “Sit. Stay.”

“Want me to shake too?” Harrington Jr calls out in an attempt to recover, but Phil’s got a hand on Hopper’s elbow and is dragging the older man away before he can get sucked back in. 

“You better have found something good Callahan.” Hopper warns, as Phil snatches the note on the wall as they pass by. 

“Hopper,” Phil says quietly, leaning in as he pulls Hopper all the way into the kitchen, kicking empty solo cups as he goes. “I don’t think his parents have been home in a while.”

He shoves the note in the Chief’s face. 

“No shit, kid.” Hopper spits, and the nickname sits badly, now that Phil’s heard it spat at Steve the same way. 

(Hopper doesn’t mean it, Phil knows he doesn’t. 

Hopper’s the best boss Phil’s ever had. The guy’s just a little rough sometimes, gets lost in the little things and needs to be brought back down. 

‘He’s got a lot going on, hun, but we’ll get him there.’ Flo says when he’s been really mean, and Phil knows they will, he’s seen it himself, but sometimes he wishes whatever the Chief was healing from would let him go a little faster.) 

He grabs the note, eyes scanning over it, and Phil talks a little faster. 

“No, I mean, look at the date, Chief. They’ve been gone for months.” 

Hopper looks up from the note and gives him the world’s flattest state. “So?”

Phil gapes a little at him. “Isn’t that abandonment?” 

In response, Hopper simply steps more into the kitchen, then throws open a door next to the stove. Reveals a huge, walk-in pantry, piled high with all kinds of food. 

Stands next to it like it’s a party trick he just unveiled. 

“Given the lights are on and that fancy little car of his seems to have gas,  I’d say they’re providing for the kid just fine.” He says crossly. 

Which isn’t wrong exactly, but it’s not right either. 

“Yeah,” Phil protests, “but--” 

“Trust me, things could be a lot worse.” Hopper cuts him off. “Save all the pity for someone who actually needs it, and not a kid whose parents’ lawyers will cut both our balls off for even suggesting they don’t care about their kid.” 

“Harsh, Chief.” Phil mutters, stung. There’s a small, growing voice in his head that says Steve Harrington does kind of need someone.

That a kid, even one as old as Steve is, shouldn’t be left like this. 

“Life’s harsh. Now unless you’re volunteering to watch the kid all night in a cell, I say we call the brat’s parents and this time, we’re gonna hit them with a citation when they get home. See if they ignore that.” 

“Please do!” Steve calls loudly, from where he’s still seated on the couch. “It’ll be funny, trust me.” 

Hopper goes to pinch the bridge of his nose, before glancing sideways at the island counter covered in solo cups and bottles. 

Changes course to pluck an unopened whiskey bottle from the pile, tucking it under his arm. 

Storms back out to whatever the Harrington’s call the room Steve’s in, pausing only to stop in front of him. 

“Hey.” Steve says, spotting the bottle.

Hopper holds it out. “Oh, I’m sorry,  is this yours?” 

Steve’s mouth opens, before he catches Callahan’s shaking head. Thinks better of it, and slams it back closed. 

Grumbles; “No, sir.” 

“Oh it’s sir now, is it?” Hopper says with a snort. “Since you’re so good at eavesdropping, you already know what I’m going to do. Congratulations Harrington, you get out of jail tonight, but,” 

He leans forward, putting himself almost nose to nose with the surely teenager, “I will be making sure that this time, your parents pay attention.” 

Quick as a shot he’s up and out the door, slamming it close behind him like he forgot Phil was there. 

“Good luck!” Steve shouts after him, but it’s clear even he thinks the Chief won their little sparring match. 

“Have your parents really been gone since March?” Phil says when the coast is clear, and watches Steve blink at him like he hadn’t realized the younger officer was still there. 

“Yeah.” Steve says with a shrug, like it’s not a big deal. “Every kid’s dream.” 

It’s not. Even Phil can tell from the way Steve’s face looks just then, that he knows it’s not. 

He doesn’t know what exactly posses him, but the next words out of his mouth are; “You ever get too lonely here, you can stay with me.” 

“What?” Steve says, eyes snapping right to Phil’s face like he misheard him. 

He’s embarrassed for two entire seconds before deciding, fuck it. 

He already offered, he’s not taking it back. 

“It’s a big house, kid. You shouldn’t be alone for that long.” Phil thinks about his impending divorce. On the emptiness of the house, with his soon to be ex wife long gone. How that eats at him, sometimes. Adds;  “No one should be.”  

Harrington Jr. stares at him like he’s lost his mind. “Whatever.” He scoffs, but it’s not quite the waspish tone he’d used before. 

“You ever need help either, you call me.” Phil says, because that seems important to say too. 

He points up at one of the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, impossibly high over both their heads. “Even if it’s just to hold a ladder to change one of those lightbulbs.” 

Steve’s eyes go up with him then back down, like he’s still not sure this isn’t a joke being played on him. 

“I mean it.” Phil says, right as one of the front doors whips back open. Reaches into the pocket of his uniform, and pulls out his card. “You need me, you call.” 

“Callahan!” Hopper bellows, and Phil calls out a loud; “Coming!” before making eye contact with Steve once more.

“Take it.”  He says, holding out the card, and hopes he sounds like a proper adult when he does. 

(Phil often does not feel like an adult, least of which because he’s the youngest in the department by two decades, nevermind the failed marriage.) 

“Okay.” Steve says dismissively, but he reaches out.

Takes the card.

It feels like a victory and Phil lets it be one as he leaves the Harrington residence and Steve behind with it. Feels the rot of that be soothed by the fact he at least did something. 

(Also see’s Hopper didn’t wait for him, but is instead sitting in the driver’s seat of the truck. 

Knows his boss is gonna be pissed at him, but faces the noose anyway.) 

“Puppies are expensive.” The Chief tells him darkly, the second Phil opens the door. “And they shit all over the floor.”

“What?” He asks, not always used to his bosses nonsensical ramblings. 

He eyes the thermos the Chief’s holding, and wonders if already dumped the whiskey he stole in it. 

They all thought the Chief had been getting better, but maybe not… 

“Puppies,” Hopper stressed, jamming the hand holding the thermos in Phil’s face (no liquor smell, thank God.) “who have very rich owners, are typically well cared for, even if their idea of care and your idea are different.” 

Phil’s face contorts in confusion, eyes following Hopper’s finger pointed middle finger to the fading tail lights of Steve’s BMW. 

It takes him a second, but he gets there.

“Steve isn’t a puppy.” He says instantly offended, because teenagers and puppies are very, very different, thanks, and yes okay, he knows it’s a metaphor, but it’s a stupid one. 

“Acts like one.” Hopper says, before taking a noisy sip of the thermos. 

“He really doesn’t?” 

Phil wants to say he complains right back at his boss, but really it comes out as more of a question--because Steve Harrington has never acted like a dog. The kid’s not clingy, or whiny or even loud. 

He’s a kid, sure, a teenager that’s obnoxious, but aren’t all teenagers that way, by default?

Phil’s mother certainly said so, though she’d been teasing about it. 

(She also said something about how kids who can’t get what they need the right way, will revert to trying out the wrong ways instead.) 

“Whatever. Just don’t come running to me when you get too close and Mommy and Daddy show up to remind you it’s none of your business.”

Hopper starts the cruiser, expecting that to be that.

And normally it would be. Phil would leave it alone, even if he disagreed, but today he finds he can’t. 

Not when the words from Flo’s crossword are still haunting his head, ‘abandoned’ and ‘neglected’ and ‘pushed away’ lighting up like little warning signs, all pointing towards one very sad kid. 

“If they come back.” He finds himself saying. 

“Oh, they always come back.” Hopper snorts right back. “Just not when any of us ever want them too.” 

Phil doesn’t like that answer, but this time he does leave it alone. 

Figures the best he can do for Steve is what he already did. Let him know he saw him. Let him know he understood. 

If Steve needs someone, he now knows Phil will come. 

He won’t let anyone make him feel bad for offering that, either, because this is the exact thing he signed up to do, when he became a cop. 

Even if Harrington never reaches out to him, at least Phil can say he did something. At least he can live with himself. 

xXx

Weeks go by.

A month.

Two months and more.

By a year Phil has kind of forgotten about his promise to Steve Harrington, and by the time the Chief has gotten them all involved in some kind of--poisoned pumpkin patch problem, he’s too caught up in trying to figure out what the hell is going on in Hawkins to really think about it. 

That is, until the kid himself shows up on his doorstep, with a black eye and a hand hugging his ribs. 

Which would be concerning on its own, but it’s worse given that known lawn flamingo thief and constant pain in the police department’s ass, Eddie Munson, is right there with him. 

“Hi Officer Callahan.” Munson says, and he, Phil quickly realizes, looks perfectly fine, despite clearly being the only reason Steve seven on his feet. “Uh…Harrington said I should take him here?” 

He does not sound certain, and frankly, looks two seconds from bolting.

Given how much Steve is bleeding on him, Phil can’t blame him for it. 

“What the hell.” He says, shocked and loose tongued for it. “Did you two get in a fight!?” 

“No!” Munson yelps, then immediately stills when the act of it jostles Steve. “I found him like this. He was fucking trying to drive and was weaving all over the place--I got him to stop, and get in my van, but the only thing he’ll say is that I needed to bring him to you!” 

Like it wasn’t bad enough the chief had been out of contact all night or that there had been weird people swarming all over town, nevermind all those damn phone calls about loose dogs and--

“You said.” Steve interrupts Phil’s spiraling thoughts, voice sounding oddly strangled, and he'd pay more attention to that if he wasn’t finding new and concerning injuries every second he looked. 

“You said I could go to you, for help. If I needed it. Cause Hopper--Hopper’s busy,” Steve’s slurring, Phil realizes and oh god a lot of that blood is on his head, “An’ I didn’t want the kids to worry, but I think…i was wrong, I don’t--I think I’m…I don’t wanna be ‘lone--”  

“Okay, okay.” Phil reaches out, tries to take Steve’s weight off of Munson. “Get in here. You too, Munson.” 

Expects the latter to protest and is a little surprised to watch as the kid instead helps Steve hobble inside. 

“Put him on the couch while I get my first aid kit.” Phil orders, trying not to panic and failing. He has first aid training--more than, actually, because he took it as an elective back when he thought he was going to go to medical school, but that was years ago and Steve looks like he went head first through a blender. 

‘Stabilize him now, panic later.’ He orders himself, as Munson settles both of them down on the couch. 

“Am I dying?” Steve asks vaguely, to Munson’s increasingly panicked face. 

“Nope.” Phil says, voice as firm as he can make it. “Not today.” 

He comes over, looking over Steve once again 

“You staying Munson?” He asks, more an out for the kid than anything else. 

Watches as the older teen clocks that for what it is. 

See’s Steve unintentionally lean into his chest, breathing a little weird. 

“No man, you’re going to need an extra hand.” Eddie says. “I’m staying right here.” 

“Me too.” Steve slurs nonsensically.

“What the hell, me too.” Phil says, just to lighten the mood a little. 

Then he drops to his knees and goes about stabilizing Steve. 

(At some point Munson decides to help tell his latest flamingo heist story. Phil let him, even if no one had realized he’d pulled off another one again.

He got Steve to laugh, so Phil figures it was worth it, at least. ) 

Part Two

[crayon-clouds]

a few lps birds 🩷🪽✨

[smhmyheaddude]

I love you children's shows fans, I love you obscure object show fans, I love you random books you read as a kid you were never able to forget fans, I love you random web comics fans, I love you campy movies no one has ever heard of let alone seen fans, I love you old fanfiction that will never be updated again fans, I love you random game you found on steam that you love so much, I love you people who refuse to let obscurity drive them away from something

[pigeonsandidols]

Seonghwa with flamingos at the Kölner Zoo (Cologne, Germany)

[bestanimal]

Round 3 - Reptilia - Phoenicopteriformes

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Our next order of birds are the Phoenicopteriformes, commonly called “flamingos”. They are comprised of one family, Phoenicopteridae, and 3 genera.

Flamingos are most well-known for having varying degrees of pink coloration derived from their diet. Young flamingos hatch with grayish plumage, but adults range from light pink to bright red due to aqueous bacteria and beta-carotene obtained from their diet of blue-green algae (phylum Cyanobacteriota), diatoms, and/or small invertebrates such as Brine Shrimp (genus Artemia). Some species, such as the American Flamingo (Phoenicopterus ruber) (image 1) tend to be more reddish-pink due to a greater availability of beta-carotene, while other species are a more pale pink due to ingesting a smaller amount of the pigment. Due to their filter-feeding diet, flamingos have unique bills which are specially adapted to separate mud and silt from the food they eat, and are used upside-down. Hairy structures called lamellae line the bill and tongue, filtering out food particles. Flamingos have long necks and legs. Their feet are webbed to aid with swimming and to stomp their feet in the mud to stir up food from the bottom. They live in tropical areas in the Americas, Africa, and Eurasia, typically in saltwater lagoons or high saline freshwater environments. Though flamingos prefer to drink freshwater, they are equipped with glands under their eyes that remove extra salt from their bodies. This organ allows them to drink saltwater as well, and many flamingo species are extremists: animals which live in extreme environments that many other organisms can not survive in.

Vocalizations play an important role in parent-chick recognition, ritualized displays, and keeping large flocks together, and flamingos are quite noisy. They are very social birds, and live in colonies whose population can number in the thousands. Before breeding, flamingo colonies split into breeding groups of about 15 to 50 birds. Both males and females in these groups perform synchronized ritual displays, which involve stretching their necks upwards, head-flagging, and flapping their wings (see gif below). The displays do not seem directed towards an individual, but occur randomly, and help pair up those birds that do not already have mates. Flamingos form strong pair bonds, though in larger flocks they may change mates due to having more options. A pair will establish and aggressively defend a nesting site, usually from other flamingo pairs trying to commandeer it. The nest is typically made of mud, into which the female will lay one large, chalky-white egg. Both the male and the female contribute to building the nest, and to protecting the nest and egg. For the first six days after the chick hatches, the parents and chick stay in the nesting sites. Both the male and the female feed their chick with a kind of crop milk, produced in glands lining the upper digestive tract. Crop milk contains both fat and protein, as with mammalian milk, but unlike mammalian milk, it contains no carbohydrates. At around 7–12 days old, flamingo chicks begin to move out of their nests and explore their surroundings. When they are 2 weeks old, the chicks congregate in groups, called "microcrèches", and their parents leave them alone. After a while, the microcrèches merge into "crèches" containing thousands of chicks, which are marshaled by a few adults. When young flamingos are around 3 to 3.5 months old, their flight feathers will finish growing in, allowing them to fly and join the main flock.

Phoenicopteriformes evolved in the Eocene, with modern flamingos, such as Elornis, appearing in the Oligocene, around 25 million years ago. They form a clade, Mirandornithes, with the grebes (order Podicipediformes), and the ancestor of both orders was likely highly aquatic.

Propaganda under the cut:

Flamingos often form same-sex pairs, and may adopt orphan eggs or even steal eggs from other flamingos to raise as their own.

Flamingos are known for standing on one leg with the other tucked against the body. Many birds do this behavior, though it is most noticeable in flamingos due to their long legs. Standing on one leg allows the bird to conserve more body heat, and reduces energy expenditure, as the one-legged pose can be held without any muscle activity.

The Greater Flamingo (Phoenicopterus roseus) (image 3) is the tallest of the six species of flamingos, standing at 1.2 - 1.4 m (3.9 - 4.7 ft) tall with a weight up to 3.5 kg (7.7 lbs).

One of the oldest flamingos in the world was Greater, a Greater Flamingo who lived at the Adelaide Zoo in Australia. Greater was euthanized January 2014 (they were arthritic and their health was deteriorating rapidly) at the age of (at least) 83 years old. Greater Flamingos usually live to about 60 years in human care, and 30–40 years in the wild.

The near threatened James's Flamingo (Phoenicoparrus jamesi) (image 2) was once thought to be extinct until a population was discovered in a remote area in 1956.

Many species of flamingos are threatened. The main threat is loss of habitat, as flamingos require specific habitats to live and feed in; habitats considered of little use to humans. The loss of one saltwater lagoon or soda lake can be a huge blow to a flamingo population. They are also threatened by commercial mining activities, poaching of eggs, and climate change raising the water levels, hindering their ability to access food.

[apamaate]

Morning rain 🦩

[y2kbeautyandother2000sstuff]

Kool-Aid Pink Swimmingo Soft Drink Mix

1990s

Found on Ebay, seller chopinpiano745

[hideousvampire]

more brother au stuff + just teddy and ghost teddy

more clear ghost teddy

you have yo listen to this song while looking at ghost teddy 90% of people explode when they dont

[movieposters1]

[ryversreality]

flamingos of mt. huaguo

(w/ and w/o foreground bamboo cause yeah)

I mostly wanted to explore what other animals would reside on the Mt. besides just primates. Mount Huaguo is massive and in order to home a living, loud society - there has to be a good foundation and ecosystem for them to live on.

[1984moviebracket]

This is Round Two!

Make sure to vote on every poll! 8 of the Round Two polls will be released per week

[raezysstuff]

Does anyone on here wanna be friends? I'm kinda new to tumbler rahhhhh. Also does anyone know how to search for specific ppl on here?