#we need to start making dumbass images like this again

[monsters-without-teeth]

i just found this image on pintrest and it nearly sent me into orbit

[gassydumbjocks]

Virilite 1:

Boys will be boys

Ever since I spiked my nephew Liam's beer with a strange pill I found online when he and my brother came to watch a football match, that boy has been acting like a man, as he should.

You see, my brother Noah had a son who, don't get me wrong, I love this boy with all my soul, but god damn he had to grow up and start acting like what he was, a dude, always wearing those girly crop tops and tight-fitting jeans with bright colors because "that's who he was", I admit that I was clearly upset when he revealed to the family that he was gay, but even so I couldn't do anything and neither could Noah, so we decided to accept him as he was, until I found a way to... make him act as he should.

While looking at online articles I found this article online that was supposed to be some pills that could have an effect on the behavior and actions of the person that took them, yes, I know, very science fiction-like, still, what caught my attention was the name and objective of the pill, "Virilite" was its name, and it promised to also have an effect on the levels of testosterone produced in men, which ended up convincing me to buy it.

The instructions were simple, put them in the drink or food that said man was going to consume, once ingested the guy would enter an immediate state of trance, able to only follow the orders that another person suggested in his mind, there were even images of test subjects boys who I assume took the pill, they all had a relaxed yet funny expression, eyes crossed and some even with tongues sticking out like dogs, I couldn't help but laugh at the thought of Liam looking like that.

Just as i was now, immediatly after i got Liam to drink it after offering him a beer, he letted out an involuntary loud and guttural deep belch, which from what i knew and readed online was a sign that the pill already took effect, i had Liam in front of me with a dumb smile and an eye-crossed, glazed over look, like that huge burp just took away all his thoughts and personality.

After the first 5 minutes of calling his name and getting no response, i actually started to worry, he couldn't stay as a brainless zombie-like dumbass all his life, and Noah would find out and kill me for it, i tried to remember, i took the pill's container and readed again the instructions.

"Ohh, so i have to, uh, kinda program him?" i said and then i thought of things i could make him do, i certainly bought those pills to make the kid more like a man... So, hell, what a man i would mold out of him.

I heard him let out a dumb chuckle still with that goofy smile from before, i smirked and approached "Liam, buddy, you hear me champ, you hear uncle Dave?" i asked to make sure he could indeed hear me, he slowly nodded and let out some hiccups "great, cuz we got a lot of work to do on you, and im sure you'll love it" i say.

I think of the first command to give him, they suggest to use short and simple commands, there are plenty of manly things he needs to learn, but i think i can cover up basic stuff, i remember Noah and me asking him to join us in our protein farting contests when we relaxed in our man cave watching our team, while Liam just grimaced and waved his hand, saying it was immature and gross, i would make him change his opinion, so it was obvious what would be the command "Liam...fart, loudly and proudly, c'mon" i literally order him to fart, i just wanted to test the effectiveness of the command obeying.

Without hesitation, he lifts his right leg as high as he can, leaving his butt in the air, before a barrage of gas goes out his butt.

PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTT!!!!

Its so strong, big and beefy, even for me, i have to wave the smell and open a window nearby "good lord boy! Where in the hell did you got all that gas from!?" i ask impressed, and try to recover before continuing "ok ok lets keep up!, umm, belch, a nice deep man belch" i say, waiting for it.

I didn't even have to wait when he was already patting his chest and squinting an eye to help the gas release.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRPPP!!!

And holy fuck, if Liam was concious, he'd know that beast burp would have easily beat his old man and me in our oftens belch offs, the pill was clearly making a miracle on him.

I was admitidly having fun on my nephew making all the stuff he found "gross" and "immature" under a pill's control, i gave him another command, just to get a good laugh "Liam, do some armpit farts, but in the last one, you'll ask me to pull your finger, you'll let out a monster fart, got it?" i asked and he nodded again, he then started with the manly symphony, he took a hand down one of his pits and started to produce the nasty sounds.

PPPPPRRRRTTT

PPPPPPRRRRRRTTT

PPPPPPRRRRRTT

PPPPPPPRRRRRTT

I saw him stop and put hand on his gut, then he talked goofily "uncle, pull my finger" he asked dumbly before laughing and extend his hand at me, i gladly accepted "oh of course kiddo, let me help you with that" i smirked and pulled it hard, unleashing the beast gas he had stuck in his rump.

PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!

An ABSOLUTELY disgusting deep-ass and loud, nasty fart erupted from him, Liam never losing the crossed look on his face, as he hiked exaggerately his leg to force the fart out, i was shocked, but in the end, finally proud of him, i couldn't wait for Noah to see what he could do! We would think on more funny stuff to do at our just guys nights! After all, boys will be boys, right?

[sanguineterrain]

i'll put us back together at heart - s.h.

Summary: It's 1987. You haven't spoken to Steve Harrington in nearly five years. Then Dustin Henderson tells you about a sweet deal he has at Family Video, where he can rent any movie he wants.

Pairing: ex-best friend!Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 8.8k

Warnings/tags: friends to strangers to lovers. the reader is twenty in 1987 and i technically made steve twenty-one/about to turn twenty-one. s4 happened but eddie's alive and vecna's dead. no earthquakes or anything like that; reader has no idea about what really happened. lots of angst, mentions of billy hargrove (yuck) and steve's s1 asshole friends.

A/N: oh my lord. i don't know where this eighteen-wheeler of a fic came from but here it is. there is a happy ending, not to worry. i'd never do that to y'all <3 feedback and reblogs are always always appreciated!

divider by firefly-graphics

August 1981

"I wish we could stay eighth graders forever."

You lift your head from your orange pool floaty. Steve drifts on the surface of the water. His hair is longer, way longer than you've seen it in the three years you've been friends. He says it's better for styling that way; he's even bought a gel and cream for his hair. You don't understand why he wants to change something that doesn't need changing. 

"Why?" you ask. "I thought you were excited for high school."

He hums. The sound echoes in his backyard. 

"It's bigger than middle school. More kids, more teachers, more work. I like eighth grade."

"I'll help you with your work," you say. 

Steve turns his head and smiles at you. Part of his face is in the water, the image distorted. 

"You'll do great," he replies. "You're so smart."

Steve doesn't say those things to get you to help him like other kids do. Steve means it. 

"You'll do great too," you say. "You're funny and nice and my best friend. People will like you."

"You think?" 

You nod. Steve turns his head and closes his eyes again. 

"We'll stay friends, right?" he asks. 

The floaty squeaks as you move to sit up. You paddle to Steve so you can look at his face. 

"Why wouldn't we?"

"I dunno." His eyes are still closed. "You might make super smart friends. And I'll just be a dumbass holding you back."

You shove Steve's shoulder lightly. 

"You are not dumb, Steve."

One muggy June night had had Steve admit he wasn't thirteen, like you and all the kids in your class, but fourteen. He had been held back in third grade after his parents moved from Illinois. It's why my brain's mush, he'd said. I was born dumb.

He had made you swear not to tell anyone. 

"You're not dumb," you say again. "Say it, Steve. Say you're not dumb."

His frown deepens, but he still won't look at you. 

"Tommy says I am."

"Tommy Hagan is a shithead," you shoot back with so much venom, Steve's eyes fly open. "It's not true, whatever he tells you."

You hate that they've been hanging out more this summer. You can't tell Steve that, because it's not like you own him. He can be friends with whoever he wants. But you can't help that your skin crawls when Tommy and his stupid girlfriend, Carol, drops by and pulls Steve away from you. 

“Promise?” he asks.

“Yes, Steve. I promise.”

“‘Kay.” Steve smiles a little. “Thanks.” 

You nod and lay back on the floaty. 

“Wanna get ice cream after this?” he asks. 

“Just us?” 

“Just us.”

Now. (January, 1987)

You slam the phone back onto the receiver. A girl playing Pac-Man carefully glances at you. 

Whoops. Right. You're still at work. 

You smile and give a thumbs-up. She turns around. You return to your wallowing. 

You’ve called three different video rentals. Jewel Films, which is about to go out of business; More Movies, whose attendant hung up on you before you could say Molly Ringwald; and finally, Blockbuster, which is thirty minutes outside of Hawkins. None of them have a copy of Pretty in Pink. 

And okay. You could just watch another movie. You don't need that specific one. But this year has been shit. You'd thought after starting college, you'd finally break out of the Hawkins forcefield that had limited your social life. You'd thought you'd make friends and not be so terribly lonely. Life is supposed to get better after high school, isn’t it? 

Obviously, whoever said that is a big, fat liar. 

“Dude!” you hear a familiar voice exclaim. “Stop hogging the game!”

Tawny curls peek from under a green and yellow hat. The hat hovers over an older boy who’s glued to the Tempest booth. You go to them. Dustin Henderson lights up when he sees you. You can read his hat now; it says Camp Know Where ‘85.

“Hey, Y/N!” he greets brightly. “This guy has been here for a half hour. I left to get nachos and when I came back, he was still here.”

“I’m this close to beating my score!” the kid insists.

“Come on, guy," you say, one arm on the machine. "You gotta give other people a turn."

The kid, evidently demon incarnate, sneers at you.

“Who’s gonna make me? You?” 

You lean against the side of the game, considering.

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” he says.

You snort. 

“Sixteen? And you’re still on Tempest?”

He glances at you. 

“So?”

“Everybody your age is playing Rampage, that’s all.” 

You wink at Dustin. He beams.

“And, uh, I saw a couple girls hanging around Rampage,” you add. 

The kid turns to you. You tilt your head innocently. 

“Seriously?” he asks.

“Seriously. People always flock to the new games.”

Which is true. The girls part is not, but he doesn’t need to know that. With that attitude, he won't be getting many phone numbers anyway. 

You drum your fingers on the game like you have all the time in the world. And sure enough, the kid takes his quarters and heads towards Rampage. Dustin jumps in delight. 

“You’re awesome, Y/N!" 

You grin. “I try. Where are the others?”

Dustin sours.

“They ditched me. To hang out with their girlfriends! Can you believe that shit?” 

“No way!"

He shakes his head.

“I know, right? My friend told me that that’s what happens in high school. People change, y’know? And he’d know, I guess. He’s old like you.”

You scoff. “You make me sound like some kind of ancient. I’m not that old, Henderson.”

“It’s okay, Y/N.” He pats your arm. “In many cultures, the elderly are wise. Now in my experience, this hasn’t been the case. But I think you’re wise.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Dustin smiles like the little shit he is and puts his change in the slot. 

“Well, contrary to what this other friend says, I’m sure it’ll pass,” you say. “You guys will hang out again." 

You swallow your acidic truth. Dustin's a good kid, and so are his friends. You don't want him to turn cynical like you have. He's too young. 

Dustin shrugs, starting the game.

“I guess so. I got a copy of The Lost Boys for us to watch on Friday. They said they’ll be there.”

“Whoa, seriously? That one just came out, how’d you get a copy?”

“My friend,” he says. “The one I mentioned. He works at Family Video and reserves stuff for me.”

“Huh. I thought Family Video was closed."

You'd applied to work there last year and never got a call back. You'd gone by once and it had looked abandoned. Hence why you now work at the arcade across town. 

"It almost did, but Keith took over so now it's barely scraping by."

"Ah. Sweet deal on the movies."

“Yeah,” Dustin agrees, eyes crinkling. “My friend's pretty cool. You'd like him."

"Would I now?"

"Absolutely," he gushes. "He's a total badass too. He won his first fight last year. He used to be a jock but he's recovered." 

"Wow. Impressive."

"Mmhm. I could ask him to hold stuff for you too, if you wanted.”

“You would?”

The game makes a sad game over noise. Dustin sighs and takes a gulp of his slushie.

“Yeah, totally,” he says through a mouthful of blue raspberry ice. “Which one do you want?”

“Pretty in Pink? I missed it in theaters."

“Sure. I’ll tell him to hold it tonight and tomorrow you can pick it up.”

“Cool. Thanks, Dustin.”

Dustin gives you an apple-cheeked grin.

“Gotta stay in good graces with the arcade attendant who lets me play Tempest as long as I want.”

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say, walking away. "Don't get slushie on the game."

"'Kay!"

Dustin only gets a little bit of slushie on the game, but he cleans it up with about a million of the cheap snack bar napkins. When he leaves, he tells you to mention his name at Family. 

"Who do I ask for?" 

"You can talk to either of them," Dustin says. "Doesn't matter. Except Keith. You know Keith, right?"

"Unfortunately.” Keith used to terrorize the arcade before he blessedly moved on. “He works there?"

"Barely." Dustin scoffs. "He's almost never there, so don't worry. And feel free to ask for more movies. They owe me one."

Your sole interactions are with professors and a gaggle of high school freshmen. But now you get to watch any movie you want. Maybe this year won't totally suck. 

The bell rings pleasantly as you step inside. There's a few people on line, so you take your time walking in. There's a movie display with about thirty copies of RoboCop. A cardboard cutout of RoboCop stares back behind his red helmet.

"Can I help who's next?"

You go to the counter. A girl about your age with a choppy haircut smiles at you but it's sort of strained. She has a pin on her green work vest that says Ask me!

"Please don't ask for Adventures in Babysitting," she says. 

"Oh. No, I'm, uh, Dustin's friend?" 

You can't believe you're name-dropping a high schooler. 

She nods in realization. 

"Oh, yeah. God, I keep telling that dweeb not to promise holds."

You wince. 

"Sorry. If it's going to get you in trouble…"

Her brows raise. She smiles a bit. 

"No, it's okay. Usually my coworker deals with it but, well. He's taking an extra long break today. So, what movie was it?"

"Pretty in Pink," you say. 

"Classic," she replies. "John Hughes fan?"

"Somewhat. I didn't get to see it in theaters. I like Molly Ringwald."

She grins.

"Me too. She's pretty."

"Super pretty," you agree. 

The girl considers you, then sticks out her hand. 

"I'm Robin," she says. "Nice to meet you."

You take her hand. "Y/N.”

"Did you go to Hawkins High?"

"I did. Graduated last year."

"Oh, cool. Are you in college?"

You nod. 

"Hawkins State. Twenty minutes from here."

"Sweet! I'm taking a gap year, but afterwards, I’m gonna apply there. It's cheap. College is college, right?"

"College is college," you agree. "But I wish I'd gone away for school."

You don't know why you're telling her this. You've known Robin for all of two minutes. But she seems friendly. And her sense of style is cool. She wears a blue blazer and tie underneath her vest. 

"How come?" she asks. 

"Everybody from Hawkins is there," you say. "And I… I just want a new start."

Robin smiles sympathetically. 

"They're jerks," she says. 

You huff. "Yeah."

You'd turned yourself into a social recluse a million years ago. It's your own damn fault you can't befriend anybody in this town. At least, not anymore. 

Robin types into the computer, then smacks the monitor. She groans. 

"Ugh. Gimme a second," she says. "Stupid technology."

"No problem," you say, smiling. You like her. Maybe you can integrate Family Video into your regular routine, become friends. You can see Robin becoming a good friend. One you wouldn't grow apart from. 

She disappears into the back room. You browse the old releases and stop at Die Hard. This one you saw in theaters. John McClane is a badass. 

You think of Dustin, and his supposedly badass new friend. It's too bad you didn't meet today. Dustin has a good sense about people. If he says so, it's possible you and this friend really would get on. 

The bell rings again. You're slow to look up. The entrance is empty when you do. You keep reading about John McClane's adventures. 

"Have you been waiting long?"

You turn at the new voice. The video slips out of your hand and clatters onto the counter. 

Steve’s hair has grown since you last saw it. He looks different too, though he has yet to break out of his signature church boy polos. There's a smattering of stubble on his jaw. His arms are lean with muscle. He wears a matching work vest like Robin's, name tag printed Steve in blocky font. 

He looks at where you've dropped Die Hard and smiles. 

"This is a good one," he says. "John McClane is a total badass."

You blink.

"Did you want to rent that one?" he continues, meeting your eye. 

"No," you manage. 

"Okay, no problem. Just browsing?" 

He doesn't remember you. 

You stare and stare. Steve leans in, concerned. He's changed, but he hasn't. He's still handsome with his swoopy hair and big, dark eyes, but the Steve you knew wouldn't have been caught dead working at a video store.

And he doesn't remember you. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, sounding genuine.

You take a step back from the counter. The blood roars in your ears. Robin comes back in, Pretty in Pink in hand. She looks at you, then at Steve. 

"Got it!" she tells you. "Computer should work now."

"I have to go," you say. 

You don't look at Steve again, instead focusing on Robin. 

Her brows rise. 

"Oh. Is everything—"

"I forgot my wallet," you blurt. "I can't pay for the movie. Sorry."

"That's okay, we can just—"

You run. The bell chimes over her words. You keep running until you get to the bus stop, three blocks away. 

Only there do you stop to catch your breath. 

And then you cry. 

February 1982

"What do you think about Marie?" 

You look up from your textbook. Steve is doodling in the margins of his notes. You gently prod his arm. He returns to reading but his leg starts to bounce under the table. 

"Marie Iverson?" you ask.

"Yeah." 

Steve glances at you. He pushes his hair back. It had taken him freshman year to get his bearings with all the gels and creams, but now, his hair is a point of pride, always perfectly coiffed. Seniors call him "The Hair" and high-five him in the hallway. You hate it. 

"I don't know. I don't know her that well."

"She's cute." 

"I guess so," you say. 

It's harder to get Steve to focus on homework these days. Last year, he happily made flashcards with you and even bought fancy gel pens to share for your notes. Now, he prefers to talk about girls or—

"I was thinking of asking her out."

The tip of your pencil breaks. You really ought to start using pens, but you don't like being unable to erase. 

"Shit, here. Take mine." 

Steve offers his still perfectly sharpened pencil. You stare at it. 

"Y/N?" 

"Yeah." You take the pencil. "Thanks."

"Sure. So what do you think?" 

"I don't know, Steve. I thought you talked about this stuff with Tommy."

"I would, it's just…" Steve shifts uncomfortably. "He can be rude about it sometimes. He doesn't even get why we're friends, y'know? Doesn't understand why I don't just date you."

Tommy is a moron, but you've said that since last year, and Steve's never listened before. 

"Some people don't get it," you say mildly, because you have an upcoming French test and there's no use in getting upset over Tommy Hagan right now. 

"But you do. And you know about this stuff better than me. Girls and all."

"Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I know what girls are best for you to date, Steve. It's weird to talk about."

Steve deflates. 

"Oh. Yeah, I guess so. Sorry."

You sigh and rub your temple. 

"I thought you knew all about that," you say, extending an olive branch. "Asking girls out and stuff."

"Well, I mean, I've kissed girls but I've never… you're, like, the only girl I really know."

Something like pride swells in your chest. Selfishly, you want to keep Steve. You don't want to help him if it means losing him. Oh, you're so greedy, aren't you? You watch Steve run off with Tommy and Carol and nameless seniors and seethe, because Steve was yours first. Steve is yours.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah." You give him back his pencil and fish for another one in your bag. "Did you ever think about writing how you feel?" 

"Writing?"

"Yeah, like a poem or a letter."

"I'm terrible at writing," Steve laments. "The letters get all jumbled and I never spell a damn thing right."

He'd told his mom once how letters melt into each other, how b's become d's. She'd taken him to get his eyes checked, and when the doctor said Steve was fine, Deborah Harrington had told her son to stop begging for attention. 

"Someone who really likes you won't care about spelling mistakes, Steve," you tell him. "As long as you write from the heart. Don't do that cheesy shit and quote Romeo and Juliet. They're young, impulsive, and they die at the end, and that's not romantic."

Steve laughs, nose scrunched. 

"What!" you demand. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, 's just—of course you'd have something to say about quoting Shakespeare."

"It's overdone," you say, crinkling your nose. "And girls would much rather read your own words." 

"So you think I should write Marie a letter?"

"If you really like her," you say. "Only write letters for girls you really like. Otherwise they lose their meaning."

Steve frowns. "I don't know if I should write her a letter, then."

Don't, you want to say. Don't write any of them letters.

You shuffle your papers into a stack. 

"Can we study now?" you ask.

"Oh, sure, yes. Sorry."

"You don't have to keep apologizing, Steve."

He shifts closer to you. His leg has stopped bouncing.

"Lemme take you out," he says. 

You nearly swallow your tongue. 

"Wh–what?"

"For ice cream," Steve clarifies. "Like we used to. Dairy Queen."

"Oh. Okay, sure. But after we study."

Steve beams. "I'll drive you."

Steve's dad had bought him the BMW as a birthday present this year—not that Richard Harrington actually knows when his own son's birthday is, considering the gift was three months early. Still, it's another point of pride for Steve and about all anybody talks about whenever his name comes up. Steve is the only person in your grade with a car. Junior girls hit him up for rides. You make yourself scarce when they do. 

You don't care. You liked Steve before the car. And the clothes. And the hair. 

Your throat feels tight. You want your best friend back. 

"Just us?" you check. 

You can't tell these days. Steve seems to hang out with everybody but you. You're shocked he'd even asked to study together. 

"Oh, sure," Steve says. "I just have to drop off Tommy and Carol first, okay?" 

You check your watch and close your book. 

"I have class," you lie. "I'll see you later." 

Steve catches your wrist. He looks at you and you're struck by how sweet his face is. It's not like you didn't understand why girls want him but it's Steve. Your Steve, who still sleeps with a nightlight and who framed a picture of a sports car he cut out from a magazine because he'd thought it would make him cooler (it didn't. You still tease him about it.) 

"Please," he says. "For helping me."

Your eyes slit. "I didn't help you to get stuff, Steve. I helped you because you're my friend."

Steve blinks like he's forgotten what it's like to be friends with someone just for the sake of being friends. 

"You're right," he agrees. "You're not like that. I'll tell Tommy and Carol to find another ride. It'll be just us. I promise."

You perk up at that. "Really?"

"Really. You can sit in the front with me and we'll play Bruce Springsteen, like we used to. Please?" 

"Okay, Steve." You ache. You’ve never been very good at telling him no. "I'll meet you in the parking lot."

And maybe… maybe your best friend is still in there after all.

Now

You ask your shift manager if you can work at the snack bar today. It's in the back and you won't have to deal with any game hogs. 

"You didn't put enough syrup in my slushie."

You might have overshot the perks, though. 

Slushie Girl's hair is bleach blonde and hairsprayed to God. You want to tell her that all that hairspray doesn't keep friends. Or brain synapses. 

"I don't make the slushie," you say for the third time. "That's how it comes out of the machine."

She shoots you a mean look. 

"I'm complaining to the manager."

You paste on a smile. 

"You do that. Have a nice day."

She finally walks away, probably on the hunt for your manager, who's definitely smoking a joint outside to avoid this exact situation. 

Dustin comes around the corner and this time, he's with the rest of his party. You smile. 

"Hey, Y/N!" Dustin greets.

Lucas waves at you. Max and Mike are arguing and therefore are in their own world. And there's their newest addition, El, whose story you're still not clear on, as well as Will, quiet as always. 

You lean your elbows on the countertop. 

"What'll it be, gang?"

"Six nachos and six slushies, please. One blue raspberry, three cherry, and two Coke."

You fill up the slushies first. Dustin dances on his toes. 

"So did you pick up the movie?" he asks.

"Oh." You try to smile. "I went there but I couldn't. I forgot my money. Pretty dumb of me."

Dustin accepts this with no argument. 

"Well, you can go back. They'll hold it for a few days."

You're never setting foot in there again, but you don't tell Dustin that. 

He takes his slushie and immediately starts drinking. 

"Slow down, dude. You'll get a brain freeze," you say. 

"You sound like Steve," Dustin informs you. "Doesn't Y/N sound like Steve?" 

Lucas nods. 

"Yup. They're both parents."

You feel queasy. You focus on making the nachos, the cheese pouring out thick and gooey. 

"Did you meet Steve?" Dustin asks. "You probably know him from high school, but he's different now."

"Yes," you say quietly. "I knew him."

"I promise he's different. Even Mike likes him, and Mike hated his guts. Right, Mike?"

Mike pauses in his animated discussion with Max and looks at you. 

"What?"

"I'm telling Y/N about how Steve is cool now," Dustin explains. 

"Oh." Mike shrugs. "He's fine. Much better now that he's not dating my sister."

"He's not?" you ask. "But they were in love. I–I mean, that's what I heard, at least."

"She dumped his ass," El says, and it sounds a little ridiculous in her soft monotone. 

Max scoffs, taking her Coke slushie. 

"Did you live under a rock? It was a huge thing."

"Now Steve is lame," Mike says with a snort. 

"Getting dumped doesn't make somebody lame," you say with an old ferocity you'd thought had disappeared. 

"Okay, jeez." Mike holds up his hands. "Steve's alright. He's different, that's for sure."

"He's our paladin," Lucas says. "A protector." 

Dustin nods eagerly.

You blink. "He protects you guys?"

Max elbows Lucas. You have no idea what that's about. El steps forward and smiles softly. 

"Yes," she says. "He's our babysitter."

"Aren't you guys freshmen? I thought you were too old for babysitters."

"Oh no, Steve doesn't get paid for it or anything," says Mike. "He just does it 'cause he has nothing else to do."

"That's not true!" Dustin argues. Then he shrugs. "Well, it's a little true. But he does like us. He's a good guy. He cares about his friends."

You bite your tongue, not wanting to reply to that. 

"That's great, guys. The girl, Robin? She seems pretty cool too."

"That's Steve's best friend," says Dustin. "She's great."

"Oh." You wince. "Best friend?" 

Dustin huffs. “Yeah. They don’t date. He won’t say why."

"Platonic with a capital P," Max confirms. “It’s obviously because he’s in love with somebody else.”

“Not Nancy!” Lucas protests.

“There are other girls besides Nancy, Sinclair.”

You busy yourself with serving the last set of nachos. The kids pull out crumpled bills and coins in return. You count the money and stack it directly into the register; you know there won't be any change. 

When you turn, they're still there. Dustin has his signature grin on, eyes squinty. 

"Yeees," you drag out. "Can I help you?"

"We need a favor," Lucas says. "Please."

"Hmm." You lean over the counter. "What's up?"

"They're showing Prince of Darkness on Friday," Dustin explains. "But it's rated R."

"So just sneak in. Isn't that what you guys did at Starcourt?" you ask.

"We had an inside man then. They're a lot stricter at the new one," Lucas frowns. "They ask for IDs 'cause some mom complained after her kid snuck in to watch Risky Business." 

"And why can't your babysitter take you?"

You sneer at the thought. Steve spending his Friday nights herding a bunch of adolescent teens into a movie theater. There's a reason you consider Dustin affectionately delusional. 

"He has a stupid date," Dustin groans. "He's a serial dater, Y/N. It's terrible. He gets lucky once and totally ditches us."

Now that sounds like the Steve you knew. 

"I see. I don't really like horror stuff."

"You don't have to stay!" Dustin insists. "You can watch whatever you want after we’re in. I'll pay you back for the ticket."

“This would be so much easier if Steve still worked at Scoops,” Mike grumbles.

You blank for a moment, the image of Steve in a sailor’s hat and those ridiculous shorts whiting your brain.

“Um,” you begin. “You know I don’t have a fancy BMW to cart you guys around in, right?”

“It’s cool. We’ll get there,” Max says.

“So?” Dustin bounces on his toes. “Sooo?”

You sigh. It’d been nice of Dustin to get you the movie, even though you’d chickened out and ran. And it’s not like you have anything better to do.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll get you guys in.”

Dustin pumps his fist. “Thanks, Y/N! You’re my favorite old person.”

You roll your eyes. “Funny. Any funnier, and I might rescind my help, Henderson.”

“Byeeee!”

They all disperse to the arcade. You wonder how on earth Steve got involved with them.

March 1983

“Okay, but if you had to choose.”

“Pass. I would literally rather swallow pennies than kiss Principal Coleman’s bald-ass head, Steve.”

Steve takes a triumphant swig of beer. “So you’re saying you’ve got the hots for Benny the janitor.”

“No!” you insist through giggles. “I don’t. God, you’re gross. Can’t believe I’m being treated like this on your birthday.”

“Exactly! My birthday.”

He rolls onto his side in his deck chair and nearly faceplants on the cement. You reach out, reaction time delayed.

“Steve!” you yell. “Careful.”

“I am, I am,” he mumbles, and rights himself on the chair. “Jus’ wanna see you better.”

“I keep telling you you need glasses.”

“I do not,” he whines. “My vision’s ten outta ten. Could a guy who needs glasses do this?”

He crumples up a Twinkies wrapper and throws it towards the garbage. The wind picks up and sends the wrapped into the pool. 

“Shit,” he says.

You belly laugh in delight.

“Wait, wait, redo. Go fish it outta there.”

“Oh, as if. I’m not going in there. I told you you need glasses. Even Mother Nature agrees.”

"She does not. Mother Nature thinks I'm a doll."

You hum and close your eyes. Alcohol always makes you sleepy. 

The chair scrapes against the concrete. You hear a crinkle of a chip bag. Those are your only warning before you’re crushed by two hundred pounds of drunk boy. 

“Steve!” You wheeze, squirming as his hair tickles your face. “Get off!”

"’M sleepy,” he mumbles.

“Well, don't sleep on me, weirdo.”

“‘S cold.”

“You run, like, a hundred degrees, don’t lie.”

He lifts his head. “So you’re saying I’m hot?”

“I’m saying all that booze cooked your brain,” you reply sweetly.

“I’ve been wounded,” he moans and plops onto your shoulder.

“Ugh.” You resign to your fate and lean back. Steve’s not actually that heavy; even drunk, he has a lot of control over his weight and he’s situated himself so he isn’t crushing anything important. No, you squirm underneath him for a very different reason. 

“Steeeeve,” you whine. “You’re gonna squish me into a pancake.”

“Can’t believe no one else came.”

You still. Steve’s face remains buried in your shoulder. His body is beside yours, and he has an arm slung over your belly.

“I didn’t—didn’t want a party,” he continues. “I always throw parties. I thought I’d do somethin’ different. An’ none of them even wished me a happy birthday. ‘Cept you.”

You rest your hand on the back of his hair. It’s wind-blown and messy from the drinks, free of his heady hair gel. You’ve never loved it more.

“Did you tell them your birthday is today?” you ask gently, even though you know he did.

“Yeah,” he says. “Told all of ‘em. Guess they weren’t listening.”

“I listen.”

Steve looks up at you. His eyes are glassy.

“God, I miss you,” he says.

You feel the wall you’ve built this year crumble, just a little. 

“I’m right here, Steve.”

“I know but—been a jerk lately. I know I have. You’re my best friend, okay? Nothing’ll change that. I–I love you so much.”

Your breath hitches. Steve barrels on, not noticing.

“And I’ll be better. We’ll hang out more. Not–not here, drunk. But for real. We’ll go to the movies. Y’wanna see a movie?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I wanna see a movie.”

“‘Kay, what movie? Anything you want. We’ll get popcorn and Raisinets.”

“You hate Raisinets,” you choke through a watery laugh.

“I’d eat Raisinets anytime with you.”

You lay there, in the dark, the only sound being the pool filter.

“Let’s watch the new James Bond.”

“Hmm, okay. But you’ll have to say the name eventually.”

Your nose crinkles. “I am not calling it by its name.”

His laugh is warm in your neck. 

You don’t tell Steve to get up again. He snuggles into you, leg over yours. You fall asleep like that, curled underneath him.

Now

“Wait.” Max stops. “Shouldn’t we have, like, a game plan?”

“Game plan?” El asks quietly.

“Yeah. Some of us aren’t so great at playing it cool.”

She stares at Lucas.

“I play it cool!” he squawks. “I am so cool!”

“Right.”

“Just let Y/N do the talking,” Will says. “She’s technically the adult so she should act like this is a conscious choice.”

You shrug. “Makes sense to me.”

Dustin beams. “This is gonna be great!”

“Or a total disaster,” Max says.

You go to the counter, the kids trailing behind like ducklings.

“Six tickets for Prince of Darkness, please,” you say. “And uh, one for Dirty Dancing.”

The attendant looks at you, then at the kids.

“Don’t you mean seven tickets for Prince of Darkness?” she asks. “It’s rated R.”

Shit. “Right, yes. Sorry. Seven tickets. And one for Dirty Dancing. We have another friend who’s late.”

“Uh-huh.” 

The attendant, whose bored expression you’ve recognized on your own face after long days in the arcade, hands you your tickets without any questioning. 

“I think we’re in the clear,” Lucas whispers when you enter the concession area. 

You wait for them to buy their snacks. Max persuades Lucas to let her mix M&Ms into their bucket of popcorn. He agrees and shuffles closer so they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder while they share. 

“Okay, last stretch,” Mike says, shoveling a frighteningly large handful of sour worms into his mouth. “We just have to get past the ticket guy.”

Said ticket guy is a kid who can’t be much older than you. You think you might’ve gone to school together, but you’ve made it a point to eviscerate everything about high school from your mind.

“Hey,” you say, trying to act cool. Maybe you’re the one Max should’ve been worried about, instead of Lucas. “Uh, here are our tickets.”

He takes the tickets, then looks behind you.

“Prince of Darkness is only for people seventeen and older,” he says.

“I’m an adult, so I’m with them,” you explain. “I’m, like, their guardian?”

“Yeah, uh—” He hands you your tickets. “No can do. There needs to be an adult for each person under seventeen.”

“Come on,” you cajole. “They’re high schoolers. It’s not like they’re gonna be scarred for life watching some zombies, or whatever.”

He shrugs. “Rules are rules.”

“She’s an adult!” Dustin argues.

“Look, if you’re gonna hold up the line, I’m gonna have to—”

“Yo, Gillespie! That you?”

Dustin turns and lights up. The seven of you part for Steve Harrington and his date, a pretty strawberry blonde you think you had biology with.

“Harrington, man, what’s up!” 

Ticket Prick gets up to slam Steve into a bear hug. You barely resist an eye roll.

“Shit, I haven’t seen you in a year! Where’ve you been all this time? Hey, did you hear about that shit with Munson?”

Steve flinches. It’s a tiny movement, indiscernible to the trained eye. But it’s there all the same.

“Gillespie, c’mon. Don’t bring the party down with that,” Steve says, all sweet charm. 

“Sorry, sorry. Daisy,” he greets the girl attached to Steve’s arm.

“Gil,” she replies with a giggle. “You smell like popcorn butter.”

America’s future taxpayers. Terrifying. 

“Are you gonna let us in or not?” Max interrupts, arms folded. 

You feel a burst of pride.

Gil shoots her a dirty glare and puffs up, ready to fight a fourteen year old. Steve cuts in smoothly.

“Gillespie, listen. I know her.” He points to you. You bristle. “I can personally vouch that she’s just trying to do right by these kids. They wanted to see Prince of Darkness, y’know? Get away from the parents.”

“It’s a sick film,” Gil agrees. “You seen it?”

No, of course Steve hadn’t seen it. He hates horror. 

“Planning on it,” Steve says, the ultimate image of playing it cool. “Look, you remember sneaking into the movies. Fast Times? Ring any bells?”

Max rolls her eyes. You’re inclined to do the same.

Gil laughs dopily, and nudges Steve. “Hell yeah, I do. That was a crazy night, Harrington.”

Steve smiles thinly. “Sure was. So whaddya say? For old times’ sake?”

Gil considers your little troupe. Then he shrugs.

“Why not. Manager’s not here anyway.”

He takes the tickets and tears them to stubs, then gives them back.

“Theater six. On your left. Enjoy.”

The kids stampede into the left theater wing. You hang back with your own ticket. 

“Appreciate it, man,” Steve says, all smiles. “Take care, alright?”

“Hey, you too, Harrington! We gotta catch up!”

Steve and Daisy go in. You expect them to walk right past you, and Daisy does, predictably. But Steve stops.

“I’ll catch up, okay?” he tells her. “Find us some good seats?”

She paws at him a little, then goes, sodas in hand. You stiffen as Steve walks and stops three feet away from you. 

“Hey,” he says. “Sorry about that. Gil’s an asshole.”

“I know. He yawned during my poetry reading sophomore year. And then you guys went to the movies together.”

Steve shrinks. “Your poems were great.”

You’re suddenly exhausted.

“What do you want, Steve?”

“I just… I wanted to see you. Say hi.”

“Okay.” You cross your arms. “Hi.”

“You forgot your movie,” he says. “The other day.”

“I didn’t want it that much.”

“Dustin said you looked everywhere for it.”

“Well, in the end, it didn’t really matter,” you say. “Not enough to stay.”

“Y/N—”

“I think your date’s waiting for you,” you interrupt. “Better get back to her. Wouldn’t want to taint your reputation.”

Steve makes a noise like he’s been wounded. You turn on your heel before you can think better of it. 

“Wait.” He catches your wrist. Steve’s grip is light, like you’re something precious to hold. You wrench your arm away. “Y/N, I want to apologize. I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you ask. “For forgetting me? I didn’t expect you to remember, Steve.”

“I didn’t forget you,” he insists. “I could never forget you. I wasn’t—please, can I just explain?”

“I don’t need your explanations,” you snap. The hurt corrodes your tongue like acid. “I know what happened. We were both there. You left.”

Steve’s eyes are huge and dark. He looks like you just stabbed him in the heart, and that makes you feel worse. You’d thought telling him how much it hurts would put you back together, but all it did was break you more.

So you run. Again. 

You slam through a back exit and rip your ticket into a million pieces. The wind is cold and unforgiving. Your eyes sting. 

You call out sick for two days in a row. You kind of expect to get fired, but then again, people have been leaving Hawkins and if you’re not here to serve the masses their slushies, who will be?

So, after lying in bed not thinking about movies and strawberry blonde girls and how sick you are of this town, you get up and put on your arcade vest.

Now it is two in the afternoon. You’d heard it was supposed to snow today.

Robin eyes the snack counter like it holds the next plague outbreak. You don't blame her; you make it a point to wash up to your elbows after work.

"Slushie?"

She looks at you like she’d forgotten you were there. "What?"

You point a thumb at the machine. "Are you here for a slushie?"

"Oh. No, sorry. Red dye makes me insane in the brain. Steve actually—"

Robin stops, grimaces. So he's told her. Probably everything, if the kids had been telling the truth. 

You're honestly surprised she's here. Unless it’s to, like, swirlie you in the vat of artificial cheese. 

"Are you here to drown me in nacho cheese?" you ask.

Robin's eyes go wide as dinner plates. "What? No!"

"Just checking." You lean against the counter. "What can I do for you, Robin?" 

Robin suddenly looks like she's never interacted with a human being before. You like her a lot. Steve probably does too. 

"I came to drop off your movie." She holds the tape over the counter like it's a pool of lava. 

"But I didn't pay for it." You shove your hand in your jean pocket; you only have a couple dollars on you. "I guess I can get you the money tom—"

"It's on the house. For a fellow Molly fan."

Robin wiggles the tape with two fingers. You take it and wait for a catch. There is none. 

"Thank you," you say. "You didn't have to do that."

"Actually, it wasn't me," she confesses. "I'm just the mailman."

You prepare to hand it back but Robin shakes her head. 

"He's not going to pop out of the slushie machine, okay? He's just trying to make it up to you."

"He doesn't need to make it up to me," you bite, except those aren’t the words you mean. "Why does he even care? We're not in high school anymore."

Robin smiles a sad smile. 

"I know," she says. "We’re not. I know he should've known to fix things earlier. He's received a lot of blows to the head, though, so he's still catching up."

The thought turns your stomach. More? More you weren’t there to protect him from?

"He doesn't owe me anything," you say and wave the tape again. "You can take it back and leave it for somebody else."

"Y/N, I know we don't know each other, like, at all. But it's important to me you know that Steve cares about you, because you’re important to him. And you knew him way before I did, and you probably know a lot of stuff I don't, and that's good because he has a friend like me, but he should also have a friend like you too, Y/N."

"I don't want to be his friend," you mumble. 

"Yeah," Robin says. "I figured. But I don't think that's a confession he should hear secondhand."

You look at her, stunned. She's such a clever girl. You hope she treats Steve well.

"If you two are—"

"We're not," she says, like this is a regular explanation she goes through. "Steve and I are friends. Steve has crashed and burned with every single date since his fall from regency. Steve is the best person I've ever met." 

"Yeah, I’ve heard. You and Dustin are his biggest fans."

Robin snorts. "Trust me, I'm not proud of it."

You shake your head. Your eyes feel hot. 

"This town is so shit," you say. 

"Yeah," Robin agrees. "It really fucking is. But I'm not asking you to give this town a second chance. Just him."

"Why are you trying so much?" you ask. "You don't even know me."

Robin shrugs. "No, but you're the one person Steve used to be friends with who's not an asshole, and I think us non-assholes need to band together."

"I can sometimes be an asshole."

"Me too. So are those little dweebs. How about calling ourselves the Semi-Assholes Club?" 

You laugh. "We'll get jackets."

"With partially drawn butts on the backs," Robin says with a giggle. 

You look at the tape in your hand. 

"Does Steve like John Hughes?" 

"He does. He's a total sap for those. He thinks he's in his own coming-of-age movie because he's delusional."

He sounds perfect. He sounds like the friend you loved. 

"I did want to watch this one," you say. 

"It won't hurt you to," Robin promises. 

You suppose not.

December 1984

You don't believe the whispers. All week, the rumor mill spins tales of Billy Hargrove finally pushing the King off his throne. There's no way he'll show his face, a girl at the adjacent lunch table astutes. I sure as fuck wouldn't.

Steve Harrington is a loser. Steve Harrington got dumped for Jonathan Byers. Steve Harrington may as well be dead, and on and on. 

Every line gets you angrier. A boy who sits behind you in chemistry taps his pencil like he always does. Tap, tap, tap. 

Halfway through class, you snap at him to quit it. He does, but not without a tinge of embarrassment. You’re so angry this year. Angry at your loneliness, angry at the unfairness of said loneliness. You might’ve done this to yourself, and that fact only gets you angrier.

You see Nancy Wheeler in the hallways with Jonathan Byers, and the confirmation of that rumor should make you happy. It doesn't. 

A week later, most of the excitement has died down. Everybody’s moved onto the next big thing, which is to deduce who fucked in Vice Principal White's office. One look at V.P. White, and it had been decided that it can't have been White himself. 

You can't care less. Once upon a time you might’ve laughed about it with a friend, but you don't have any more of those, and high school is bullshit with or without them. So.

Steve walks in twenty five minutes into the period. Mrs. Kaplan gives him a downright beastly glare and demands to know where he had been. 

"I'm sorry," is all he says. "If you give me detention, I understand."

There are a few snickers that rub at an old hurt, one that had flared up whenever somebody dared to make fun of your best friend. It doesn't bother me, he'd said, and you'd known it was a lie. 

It bothers me, you’d replied, and Steve had hugged you tight.

Mrs. Kaplan seems more stunned Steve hadn't swaggered past her like a peacock escaped from the zoo and lets him go sit down without a fight. He takes the only empty desk, two rows across from you. You stare. You can't not. 

Half of his face looks like it was mashed in a garbage disposal. It's purple and a sickly yellow. His eye and lip are still swollen. You stare and stare. You feel queasy. 

Billy had done that. You're so angry. You think you might never get past this grief, this loss of a once permanent fixture in your life. 

No one wished Steve a happy birthday this year, you realize out of nowhere.

You stare and stare and stare until Steve looks right back. You're blindsided by thick guilt, like blinking through a milkshake. And then the familiar curl of anger returns because why the fuck should you feel guilty? You aren't the one who fucked everything up, who mascerated this good thing. Steve did this to himself. Steve deserves to walk the halls alone. It's Steve's fault. 

But when you look at him, at his raw wounds, at his bruised knuckles, you know that he already believes he deserves every punch Billy Hargrove gave him. 

You hate Steve Harrington. But you really wish you'd been there to drive him to the hospital. 

Now (And Forever)

The tape sits buried in your drawer for three days. You don’t know what Family Video’s return policy is, but you hope you’re not racking up late fees. You doubt name dropping Dustin will work again.

It’s Saturday when you decide to watch Pretty in Pink. You remove the video from its sleeve. An envelope falls out.

The front has your name printed in squished, loopy script. You remember January at Steve’s house, a stack of thank-you cards courtesy of his mother awaiting the Harringtons’ sign-off. Steve’s hand would cramp and you’d take over while he made grilled cheese for the both of you. Love, The Harringtons, and there was no love in that house, but you think maybe Steve loved enough to make up for it. 

Hi, the letter begins. I hope you’re good. Robin told me you’re going to Hawkins State.

That’s fucking amazing. I’m so proud of you. Are you still writing poetry? I liked that one you wrote about the birds who shared a branch and kept each other warm. I still have it in my notebook in my room.

I’m sorry for the other night. I’m sorry for every night since freshman year, honestly. I’m kind of a dumbass, but you know that, so it doesn’t really excuse anything. I think I’ve actually lost brain cells since we drifted apart.

You crumple the corner, suddenly hot with anger. Who keeps telling him he’s dumb? You want names.

I didn’t forget you, you know. I got scared and I thought maybe I could ease into it, but then you recognized me and… well. I don’t blame you for running.

Anyway. I’m talking too much about myself, when there’s nothing to say. I’m really sorry about what I did, or, actually, what I didn’t do. Somebody told me I was living on autopilot, and that it wasn’t really living at all. I think it was you. 

I’m not living on autopilot anymore. I woke up. And I realized that you’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me. I love Robin and the kids and this little family that has apparently invayd invaded your life too. Sorry about that. They never leave and they eat all your food. Good luck. 

But I miss you. I always have.

Shit happened these last few years that I’ll tell you about one day, if you want. I’d rather not, though, because you’ve always been the paranoiac (like that one? Robin said it’s an SAT word) of the two of us and I feel like this would just make you even more of one. But I will tell you, if you want to hear it. I want to tell you everything. I want you to tell me everything too. Like we used to.

I want you to tell me how college is going. Who the annoying jerks in your classes are so I can go beat them up (kidding). I want you to stop by to rent movies so I can lend them for free and you’ll yell at me about taking advantage of fre friendships. 

Fuck, I miss you. It’s always been there, bubbling below the surface. I never stopped missing you. I never stopped loving you. I’m sorry I didn’t write this sooner. I know you said writing is how we express things we can’t say. You were right. You always are. Can’t believe I forgot that. 

It’s okay if you don’t want to be friends. I mean, it hurts, but I respect it. I understand. Most days, I can’t believe people can bear to be around me. But then I hear your voice in my head, telling me that most people are shitheads and that I’m golden and. Well, I don’t know if I believe that, but you were right that most of the people I surrounded myself with were shitheads. Except you, of course. And then I went ahead and fucked that up.

I’ve been working on finding the non-shitheads of the world. I think I’m doing pretty well. And I wrote this because I realized that while I will probably end up buried in this fucking town, you’re going to do something incredible. And nothing incredible ever happens in Hawkins, so I figure you’ll be far away when you do it. 

I didn’t want to miss this chance to write things I never said. So here they are. And you can do whatever you want with them. You’ve always been the best of the two of us. I trust you.

You should watch Dirty Dancing. You’ll like it. I did. I’ll see it again if you want. I’ll watch anything with you.

Did you know there’s another Bond movie coming out in the summer? We could watch that one together too. If you wanted more time to decide.

Sincer

Lo

Your friend,

Steve

You don’t bother ejecting the tape. You run all the way to the bus stop, Steve’s letter in hand. 

You have to see him. No other thoughts register except that one. You have to know if Steve wrote these words because he can’t say them or because you won’t listen.

It isn’t too late when you get to Loch Nora. The neighborhood is dead, which is weird. Steve’s house looks frozen in time: his parents’ car isn’t in the driveway. You wonder if they’ve ever come back since you’ve been gone. You wouldn't be surprised if the answer is no.

There’s a tarp over the pool. The gate is locked with a chain. You can’t sneak in through the fence like you used to. Not that you would. You don’t think strangers can sneak through pool gates.

You knock on the door three times. And wait.

Steve’s car is in the driveway, a duller burgundy than when he first got it. There are a few scratches in the paint. No longer a prized possession. Maybe well-loved instead.

The door swings open. 

Steve says your name like a prayer. You swallow and steel your spine. 

“I got your letter,” you say.

“Oh.” He rubs the back of his neck. His hair is damp like he’s just showered. It curls around his ears. Waves of want hit you. 

“I don’t want to be friends,” you continue before he can speak. “I don’t—I can’t do that again.”

Steve’s mouth draws into the saddest frown you’ve ever seen.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Thank you for telling me.”

“No.” You shake your head. “No, that’s not—I don’t mean it like that.”

His brows knit. “What?”

“I…” You pull out the letter and wave it. “Did you mean it? Do you love me?”

“Yes,” Steve whispers. It’s like a shout in the quiet street. “I meant it.”

“Like a friend?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Will you love me like a friend forever?” you ask. 

“Always.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I love you as something more,” you blurt, watery. “I have for a long time.”

You hear the door shut. This is it: your heart on the line, all for nothing—

“Then I’ll love you as something more back,” Steve says. “I’ll love you any way you want me to.”

And he holds you the way you’d held him so many times. You inhale and wrap your arms around his neck. You’ve got an iron grip around the letter. Tears slip down your cheeks.

“I missed you,” you confess.

Steve nods against your shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says, and it sounds a little wet. “I missed you too.”

“You were wrong,” you say into his neck.

“Hmm?”

You pull back to look at Steve.

“Incredible things do happen in Hawkins.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve smiles, cheeks blotchy. “Like what?”

“We found each other again.”

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 6

part 1, prev part

cw: brief mentions of blood and injuries

The next morning, Dustin convinces his mom to drive him to the hospital. Anxious the entire way there. Begging the nurse with the look in his eyes to be able to go see Steve. It’s not like his parents would come home anyway. He needed family right now.

Robin jolts awake in her chair when he opens the door. Wincing at the crick in her neck. “Dustin, hey.”

“How is he?” He sits down next to her. Staring at Steve, fast asleep in his hospital bed. Listening as the monitor beeps. And beeps. And just keeps beeping. Each one a beat of his heart. He’s alive. That’s one crossed off his list.

“Fine. They had to give him some blood, he lost a lot. But they gave him stitches, there was nothing internal, which is good. There was a slight infection in the wounds, so they want to keep him here a few days to make sure it doesn’t get worse. And with all his head trauma, they want to give him a few scans to make sure nothing got worse there.”

Dustin nods along, half listening. Just focusing on the fact that he’s alive. Right here. Alive. “He should have listened to me.”

Robin scoffs. “Yeah, he should have. But you know Steve. He doesn’t ask for help even when he’s dying. Dumbass.” She blinks away the tears that gloss over her eyes.

“Did I,” Dustin starts to ask, the words getting caught in his throat. “Was this because of me? If I hadn’t of jumped through that portal again, Steve wouldn’t have collapsed.”

“No,” Robin stops him, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “No, this was not your fault. Even if you didn’t sprain your ankle, Steve still would have insisted you get looked at first, you know that. And Eddie’s here now, because of you. Because you made sure we found him.”

The room stills, sounds fading into the background. “Eddie’s alive?” Dustin asks is disbelief. In rising hope that something good happened in the chaos last night.

Robin nods with a small smile. “Yeah, he’s alive. Right across the hall, actually. The nurse told me about it this morning when I came in. There was a surgery, he lost a lot of blood, had some damage to his nerves, to some of his organs. They went a lot deeper than they did with Steve, they were angrier. But nothing some time can’t heal.”

Dustin starts to stand, ready to run across the hall. “I have to go see him, can he have visitors?”

Robin stands to catch up with him. “He can but-.” She takes a deep breath. “Dustin, there’s no easy way to say this. Eddie’s in a coma. They’re not sure how long until he wakes up.”

The hope drops to Dustin’s feet. “A coma?”

“But he’s alive. That’s what important here. He’s alive because of you, Dustin. Because you didn’t give up on him.”

“Will you come with me, to see him?” Dustin hates the vulnerability in his voice. How it makes him sound like such a kid. Too afraid to do anything by himself.

He is afraid. Images of Eddie’s dying frame still resting in his arms. The weight pulling him to the ground. The dread resting in the pit of his stomach. And tears pooling in his eyes. Repeating pleads of staying strong. To keep eyes open and breathing slow. Even if they were shallow.

Robin nods again. “Of course.”

They head across the hall, knocking on the door to see if anyone’s in there. The room is empty except for Eddie.

The blood is washed off his face, and he’s in different clothes. Dirt and grime of the previous week washed out of his hair. Fingers stripped of the chunky rings that normally adorn them. Visible stitches on his arms, some on his neck. More resting under his clothes, down his legs. So many tubes going in every direction. Keeping him alive.

Dustin’s eyes travel to the ring of silver trapped around Eddie’s wrist. Bound to the rail of the hospital bed. After all he’s been through, they had the audacity to chain him to the bed. He doesn’t even have the strength to breath on his own properly. How could he do anything to warrant being chained?

Tears fall down Dustin’s cheek. Seeing Eddie’s lifeless form as Steve performs CPR. Counting to thirty under his breath before giving Eddie more air. Repeating until his heart started pumping again. Seeing his body get picked up and carried back to the gate. A new rope made of upside-down stained fabric. A makeshift ladder built to transfer him over to the real world with the least amount of damage. Just to see the horrors of the world spit in two as they speed to the hospital.

Robin’s arm wraps around Dustin’s shoulder, holding him close. He forces himself to turn away, unable to see his friend like this anymore. Knowing that he’s alive, but at what cost. Will he ever open his eyes the same as he did before? Will the smile he carried to death ever have the same shine?

Will Eddie look at Dustin the same again? He was part of the reason he got dragged up in all this shit anyway. If he hadn’t gone searching for him, Eddie would have never been part of the plan. Never had been the distraction. Never have run right into the danger to lead the bats away.

“Are you ok?” Robin asks softly.

Dustin shakes his head. “He looks so helpless right now.”

“Maybe. But we both know that he is fighting as hard as he can to wake back up again. It’s just going to take some time.”

He nods, ready to leave. To let Eddie rest. Robin leads him out of the room. That two people crossed off of Dusin’s list. Both alive. Only one more name left.

A man is being led down the hall by a nurse, stopping in front of Eddie’s room. Holding the door open as the man takes in the person inside it. As Mr. Munson sees his nephew for the first time in a week, barely alive. Nancy comes down the hall a few minutes after him, two coffee cups in hand.

“Thought you could use it.” She hands a cup to Robin.

“I see you found him,” Robin says, cocking her head towards Eddie’s room.

Nancy nods. “Yeah. Took a while, but he deserved someone who believed him to tell him. Not the bastard cops.”

Dustin walks away from them as they continue talking. Knocks on Eddie’s hospital door, it squeaking open. “Excuse me, Mr. Munson.”

Mr. Munson looks up from the hands his face was rested in. Wiping away lines of tears. “Yes.”

“My name’s Dustin. I’m a friend of Eddie’s, was with him when he came in.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out the guitar pick necklace. “I think this belongs with you.”

He steps closer to hand the necklace to Mr. Munson. Who takes it, letting the chain slide across Dustin’s fingers. A silent goodbye. It was burning a hole in his pocket anyway. Reminder of the time before.

Mr. Munson nods in thanks as Dustin backs out of the room. “It’s just Wayne.”

Dustin stops, turning around in confusion.

“Just call me Wayne, not Mr. Munson.” There is a recognition in Wayne’s eyes. He knows who Dustin is.

“Ok, Wayne,” Dustin smiles.

He heads across the hall again to Steve’s room, sitting in a chair. Robin and Nancy still talking outside the hall.

Steve stirs in the bed. Head turning to the side as his eyes start to open. Taking a deep breath. “Hey, Dustin,” he whispers quietly.

The tears start up again. “You’re a fucking pain in my ass, you know that.”

“Language,” Steve fake scolds. He doesn’t get to tell that to Dustin right now. Not after what he’s put him through.

“I hate you.” Dustin gets to his feet to awkwardly give Steve a hug. Steve half returning it, still tired.

“Yeah,” he breathes. Alive. “Love you too.”

Next part

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[matan4il]

Buddie 616 meta

Maybe I’ll start with Eddie confirming something I’d already discussed in my meta posts more than once before, most recently in my 614 meta, which is that he married Shannon because she got pregnant. He heavily insinuated this to Bobby back in 217, but now he said it explicitly, to everyone, and without the same kind of weight which we saw from him in the past. I think this change is indicative of how he IS healing from the trauma of how badly his marriage failed and how guilty he’s felt over it, now that he’s capable of talking about it more lightly than he did before. I love that for our boy. ~~

Speaking of these men actually being boys, moron husbands, partners in dumbness, we got Buck and Eddie sharing one brain cell and NOT putting it to good use. Even though in the overall scheme of 911 things, that might not seem that significant, I have to say I just love seeing them like that. It’s FUN seeing them being morons who support each other in the way they try to deal with Chim thinking that just popping the question to Maddie is enough, or in Eddie supporting Buck’s dumbass suggestion of a flash mob, or just being pressed together in the fire truck ‘coz they never have any personal boundaries with each other and they don’t understand why those would even be needed (seriously, don’t think too long about how all of a sudden five people had to squeeze in the back instead of four, and OF COURSE it would be Buck and Eddie rubbing thighs together, because no other pair out of the whole team is as comfortable with each other’s bodies). This may not be the deepest part of their bond, but it IS a part of it, a consistent one, the daily partnership that’s the foundation for the big, important, profound parts. ~~

Once again, we get a demonstration of how the way Buck and Eddie are with each other is different to how they act with their other friends. Even when Eddie is exasperated with Buck, he never actually gets upset, he just tries to get Buck to focus, like we saw him in 516. But with Ravi, Eddie does kinda snap.

Buck as well, when he hears some unpleasant truths about Madney from Hen, there’s no fondness underlining their talk, as much as we know that they DO love each other and have a sibling-like relationship. But compare that to how insufferably affectionate the glances that Buddie exchanged in 504 were as Eddie did essentially the same thing for Buck. ~~

And then of course, we see how Hen has Chimney’s back in this ep, putting his well being first, but she does end up hurting him. They talk it over, and within the same ep she apologizes, he forgives her, everything is resolved, and they move. It’s lovely, but think about the difference in intensity between this and what Buddie went through back in s3. Buck files the lawsuit that would stop him from seeing Eddie in 304. Then the very reserved Eddie has a public meltdown, in the middle of a store, and right in front of his colleagues, because he can’t deal with Buck not being in his life. In fact, that’s the final straw that makes Eddie turn to street fighting. Not only that, because the intensity of his feelings overwhelms him, he doesn’t even directly express his hurt, he uses Chris to convey how much Eddie himself is missing Buck. When Buck realizes just how much pain he unintentionally caused, he wants to apologize, but Eddie is too hurt to be able to hear him out right away. It’s only in 306 that they finally talk, Eddie forgives Buck and then we get the beauty of their hug. But this is STILL not the final piece, no. The show will get back to this in the kitchen scene in 309, where Buck shows Eddie he’s worth apologizing to a second time (even though he’s not even asking Buck to), and the final shot of this is the domestic image of Buddifer on the couch, playing video games together. This is when we know that all is TRULY forgiven, when we get to see them once more as a family unit. Because that’s what they are on top of being best friends, like Hen and Chimney. ~~

I’ll point out that Madney and Buddie paralleling is not new. This has been an ongoing theme since Buck and Chim’s new love interests were both introduced in 201, and since Madney got their onset in 206. The very fact that Maddie thinking Chim’s cute is revealed through a dialogue between the Buckley siblings that also indicates Buck sees Eddie in the same light says it all. I have also gone on about how Buck and Maddie served as truth tellers, voicing their sibling’s crush back to them, I have talked about how Madney were friends first, incredibly domestic friends with their own intertwined routine, before they became explicitly romantic, I wrote a whole meta post about the parallels between Madney and Buddie in 512, and now I can add to this. Because Madney easily fell into the comfort of domestic life, Chim told us this week that got in the way of them stopping to make their commitment official. That’s in a sense Buddie’s story, too. They’ve been building their lives and family unit together without even clocking that they can and should stop to figure out what this thing between them is, and commit to it.

~~ (my weekly meta posts) (my Buddie gifs) (all of my content)

~~ ~~ My tag list will follow in the reblog, please let me know if you wanna be added/removed here.

~~ I’m so thankful to the amazing @whosoldherout​​ for the meta gifs she does each week! They’re always challenging, and you always manage to knock it out of the park!

~~ Thank you to anyone supporting these meta posts. I could never express enough how grateful I am and that they continue to exist thanks to you!

[clotpolesonly]

Declan's hair in tvTRC; a dissection

ok i'm sure you guys have been waiting with bated breath for me to weigh in on this particular subject (lol) but i needed a hot minute to collect my thoughts on the matter. turns out i've got quite a few, go figure.

first things first: i am contractually obligated to say it's a goddamn travesty of a departure from canon to make Declan fucking BLOND and why the FUCK did they do that??? i was screaming in dms the second he showed up on screen, my sister can attest to how far i threw my phone across the couch in my outrage. i mean, honestly who suggested that?? turn on ur location i just wanna talk

-deep breath-

okay got that out of my system

so we all knew immediately that it was stupid as shit and entirely unnecessary...............but i've got a confession to make

i don't hate it

at least, not anymore. i'm actually kinda fascinated by what they've done here and what it adds to Declan's character/what it says about him psychologically. especially because he doesn't stay blond -- his hair is only like that for a little under half of the first season, though it's unclear how long he's had it like that before (tv)canon starts.

what the show has done here is given Declan a relationship with his hair that's not entirely dissimilar to the one that Ronan has. it's never said explicitly i don't think, in either the books or the show, that Ronan shaved his hair off because 1) he looks too much like his dad with it long and 2) it's something that he can control, but it very much comes through anyway, and the same applies to Declan here.

both boys -- all three boys, actually, but Ronan and Declan especially, more than Matthew -- are made in Niall's image. they resemble him very strongly. they look in the mirror and, for better or for worse, they see their father, and that's something that becomes really fucked up and complicated when your father is murdered, and when you hate him, and when you're afraid of becoming him, and when you miss him.

Ronan dealt with it one way (shaving it all off, making himself unique) and Declan here dealt with it another way (distancing himself from his father, yes, but also doing it in a way that made him more similar to Matthew). (and to his mother, which is a point i'll come back to later; you know the scene i'm talking about.)

Declan is a control freak of epic proportions, we all know this, and seeing it manifest in changes to his hair is not remarkable i don't think, esp in conjunction with how meticulously he manages his wardrobe. everything in his life feels outside of his control, so he grasps at what he can to feel secure. that's textbook.

then he fights with Ronan. most of the scene plays out more or less as it does in the book, but i want to draw your attention this bit of dialogue --

Gansey: "Why are you even here?" Declan: "I don't need to explain myself to you, I can go wherever I like. Free country and all." Ronan: "Then you're free to go somewhere else." Gansey: "Ronan... Declan, just go." Declan: "He's failing almost all his classes. What, Ronan, did you think I didn't know? Your teachers call me every time you skip class, dumbass, you keep going like this and you're going to -- " [Ronan tries to punch him again, Gansey intervenes] Gansey: "That's enough, both of you! Look, Declan, I'm not saying you're wrong, but you are not Niall Lynch, and you never will be." Ronan: [scoffs] "Not looking like that. You and your bimbo girlfriend get a 2-for-1 special at the salon?" Gansey: "Ronan, knock it off." Declan: "Believe it or not, I'm trying to help you." Ronan: "Well, I don't. And I'll never forgive you."

the salon comment is a petty side swipe that made me snortlaugh ngl, but it's also a direct acknowledgement from Ronan that what Declan is doing with his hair is Declan, in his own way, trying to distance himself from Niall while simultaneously trying (and failing) to fill his shoes. he's shining a spotlight on Declan's biggest source of internal conflict in a way that's both casually cruel (Ronan's specialty tbh) and humiliatingly dismissive. what an effective jab at someone like Declan who is, underneath his deliberately unremarkable exterior, every bit as proud as Ronan is. he's trying to be Niall and he's failing so badly even Gansey's begging him to stop, and he's trying to be Not Niall and he's so obvious about it as to be pathetic and laughable.

it's notable that the blond doesn't stay much longer. we only see it once more -- delivering his ultimatum to Ronan through Adam as he gatekeeps Declan at monmouth, a confrontation i must note is between a natural blond (Adam) and a fake one (Declan), and no words are exchanged about it but we do get a rather pointed look at the hair from Adam right before he delivers his line about fighting and it being "Ronan's thing" that makes Declan back off -- before we get to the biggest departure from Declan's canon arc and what i really want to talk about:

✨ the dorm room dye job ✨

this is, honestly, my favorite non-book-canon scene in this adaptation so far. that probably does not surprise anyone, because i am me, but hear me out!!!

let's run through what we actually get in this scene:

- Matthew asking Declan what he, Matthew, is doing in the morning, and Declan rattling off Matthew's entire schedule for the week, all while nagging him through his bedtime routine - Declan texting Ronan repeatedly and getting left on read - Declan trying and failing to sleep (intercut with Ronan and Gansey sharing insomnia time), growing more restless and texting Ronan some more until Ronan blocks his number and the texts stop being delivered - Declan going to their suite's bathroom to dig out a cheap dusty box of hair dye from the back of the cabinet and rushing through the process of mixing and applying it while Matthew sleeps - Declan staring at himself in the mirror and then smearing dye across his reflection

obviously, exactly none of this is book canon, and i don't not understand why some fans are crying foul on screentime they consider "wasted". should priority have been given to book canon elements and scenes? yeah, probably, and there are things that didn't make it into the show that i would've been glad to sacrifice this scene for, HOWEVER i want to talk about why this scene, as presented, within this slightly alternate show canon, is worth its screen time imo.

the show is really making an effort toward expanding the characters and relationships outside the insular gangsey -- the fox way ladies and the Gansey family have both gotten subplots, and much more attention is being paid to the Lynch bros than we got canonically this early in TRC.

without being inside the POVs of Ronan's friends like we are in the books, it makes sense that we get to see Declan more objectively for the overburdened teenager that he is. we get to actually SEE him being relied upon to manage and parent Matthew, day and night, no breaks. sharing even a bedroom with him, there is no reprieve and no retreat from that responsibility.

and we see him trying to manage Ronan too, which is overbearing and aggressive, yes, but we also see his preoccupation and his mounting anxiety. the little tics like him tapping his thumb against his thigh and the breathing technique he employees (the same one that Ronan uses in ep 2). unlike when they were brawling in the parking lot, Declan defends Ronan to Matthew ("he probably just lost his phone again" despite all of his messages being read). (this is a characterization tidbit described in Greywaren actually, in case any viewers haven't read TD3, that Declan was always far more understanding of Ronan and his behavior to Matthew than he was in confrontations with Ronan himself).

i digress, anyway, Declan tries repeatedly to get through to Ronan until the messages stop being delivered and Declan (correctly) assumes that Ronan has blocked his number (again).

all that nervous energy boils over and Declan beelines for the bathroom. he obviously knows that the box of dye is in there, he goes right for it. it's ambiguous how long it's been there -- either it was there before they moved into this room, in which case it may have been what inspired Declan to bleach his hair in the first place, or he may have bought it himself months ago and decided not to use it (probably because it's cheap and he usually has higher standards than that lol, he'd rather get it done professionally).

but this is not a moment for standards. this is an impulse. it's rushed and clumsy and jittery. he tears the box getting it open. he fumbles the little conditioner thing. he tosses the instructions aside with barely a glance. his phone is right there on the kitchen counter, always in the frame but face down, conspicuous in just how much Ronan is not texting him back.

this is, as mentioned up top, a bid for control. Ronan is uncontrollable, a variable he cannot account for and a loved one he cannot protect, and so Declan does what a lot of teenagers in fucked up circumstances do -- fucks with his hair before he can think better of it.

the only thing that slows him down is dropping the bottle, which almost wakes Matthew up. Matthew, right over Declan's shoulder in the mirror. Matthew, always in the frame just like the silent phone, always on Declan's mind, never allowed to more than an arm's length away.

Matthew is in the background of this entire scene. every shot of Declan's breakdown, Matthew is there, if indistinctly.

and there's something else about the cinematography that really elevates this scene, and that's the fact that, once Declan enters the bathroom, the entire thing is shot through the mirror. we don't get another shot of Declan straight on to the camera in this episode, we only see his face in reflection. we are seeing Declan seeing himself, which is perhaps the truest way to view him, especially in this moment.

remember that this was catalyzed primarily by Ronan's judgment (and Adam's, and Gansey's). Ronan ridiculed Declan for his hair a few episodes ago, not just for its own sake because it looks ridiculous but specifically in conjunction with talk of their father and Declan's inability to fill his shoes. Ronan essentially called Declan a failure and a phony, and the hair now symbolizes both.

Declan is so so conscious of how he is perceived, constantly thinking of himself within the context of how others think of him rather than engaging in actual self-knowledge. he is his own panopticon and this scene showcases that EXCELLENTLY.

which makes this messy breakdown so interesting, because it is unobserved by anyone but himself and, in the end, he obscures even that. he blacks his hair with bare hands (buddy, that's gonna stain so noticeably afkdjh) and then stands there, staring into the mirror at his own reflection -- at his own failure to perform the identity he's chosen for himself -- until he can't bear to see it anymore, and then he smears the dye along the mirror to block it all out. all that messiness, that vulnerability, hidden even from his own eyes.

and of course i need to touch on the identity of it all. of course i do!! because hair color means something in the Lynch family!! the resemblance the older boys have for Niall is so integral to the family dynamic and how they all relate to and interact with each other. the boys have daddy issues out the wazoo, and you would too if you were Made In Your Father's Image.

for Ronan, looking like dad was a source of pride for a long time, and is now a source of pain. but for Declan, looking like dad is equal parts pain and shame. everything Declan is, so much of his facade, was deliberately constructed to be different from his father -- Niall was reckless, so Declan is careful. Niall was loud, so Declan is staid. Niall was volatile, so Declan is predictable. Niall was eye-catching, so Declan is invisible.

and now, Niall was a brunet, so Declan is blond. it's another step along the road of rebellion against the legacy he inherited. Niall claims god broke the mold, but Declan knows just how similar they are, both physically and in their natural inclinations (though we haven't gotten into the latter much yet in the show). his father is not a man he respected and he is deeply afraid of being too much like him.

Declan bleaching his hair was a reaction to that, and it was a reasonable one, but it was also fundamentally, in both Declan's eyes and Ronan's, a disavowal of his connection to and place in the family. in rejecting his resemblance to dad (and therefore Ronan), Declan functionally declared himself Not A Lynch.

which makes this, dying his hair dark again, a bit of a reclamation? in a way? or, no. that would feel triumphant, and this scene has the definite air of tragedy.

maybe i should say it's a concession instead. the waving of a white flag. it's an admission that trying to disavow his family is a losing game. he cannot cover up what he is. no amount of bleach can wash away his father's blood in his veins. he will never be Niall Lynch, but he will always be Niall Lynch's son, for better or for worse, and there's no point in trying to pretend otherwise.

this scene is Declan giving up on his last desperate bid for an identity separate from the legacy he inherited. there's irony there, and honestly i find it very in keeping with what we get from him in some of the flashback details in TD3. i wrote a meta a while ago about the moth's wooden box and the alexandria townhouse both as symbols of Declan's complicity in his own oppression as a child -- ie, cages that Declan chose to step into of his own volition, because feeling powerless is worse than feeling trapped.

in this context, dying his hair dark again feels very similar. he's feeling powerless and so he makes the choice to figuratively reclaim his position in the family, even if that position is and has always been awful and traumatizing and something he's spent his entire life trying to break free from, because the alternative is to acknowledge that there is nothing that he can do to free himself. he would rather be complicit than helpless.

there may or may not be something to unpack with Declan choosing blond, especially that shade rather than something that would've been more aesthetically fitting for him like a cooler platinum shade. namely that, in distancing himself from his resemblance to Niall, he actually strengthened his resemblance to Matthew and also to Aurora. he could've dyed his hair some middling shade of brown and honestly it would've been far more in line with his desire to be bland and pedestrian, but he chose a hair color that aligned with the other half of his family (the dreamt half of his family).

was it some subconscious desire to replace their mother for Matthew's sake? Matthew was Aurora's favorite, he was the closest to her and undoubtedly the one who took her loss the hardest in the immediate aftermath, and we know that Declan took up the kinds of duties that used to be Aurora's like cooking Matthew good meals and being his emotional support (as best he could).

the fact of Declan taking on Aurora's most defining feature in the aftermath of her falling asleep (to him, functionally, her death) and his staunch refusal recognize her humanity (such as it is) or to engage with her memory is really haunting, imo. honestly, Aurora and his relationship with her is such an underrated factor in Declan's psychology, she had such an enormous impact on him that's rarely discussed in the detail it deserves. here it's like his feelings about her are leaking out of him subconsciously even as he's trying his damnedest to repress them.

or, hell, idk, that might be reading too much into it. it may just have been that blond was as far from his natural color as he could get.

but honestly it doesn't feel coincidental. nothing in this arc does, which surprised the hell out of me as i was watching. "Declan is blond now actually" is the kind of cracky nonsense that should've had me flipping tables, but it turns out, when it's a concept that's actually executed with thought and attention to detail and a real understanding of the character, blond!Declan is something that can actually be so personal.

so

thank you for coming on this journey with me. if you read this far, your brainrot is probably nearly as strong as mine is for writing it. i might write another one later digging into some more of the details from the back half of season 1, but for now, i need to go outside and touch some grass or something. stay tuned i guess. <3

[sirianasims]

Chapter 43.5

Idiot.

The voice in my head is persistent. It’s been over two months but it’s not letting up.

I try to focus on the lines, struggling to keep the faint remnants of my Tartosan accent from creeping into Llama Man’s commanding voice. It’s always more difficult just after I’ve been home.

Idiot.

Images from the last year keep flashing by, little details seared into my brain. Her green eyes. Her smile. The delicate birthmarks artfully strewn across her face. I used to insist on kissing each of them goodbye before I left and it always made her laugh.

It was the best sound in the world.

Idiot.

The more recent images are a different story. Her tears. The look of shock and confusion in her eyes. She didn’t understand, of course, and some days I’m not sure I do either. Am I an idiot for leaving her? Or for letting myself fall in love with her in the first place?

Both?

“Alright, Paul, that was good, but let’s do an extra take just to be sure.”

I nod at the sound technician and start over.

“I’ve sent the files off to Mike. Personally, I don’t think he’ll demand another round, the last two takes were flawless.”

“Thanks. I’m sorry for dragging you in for pick-ups again, I’ve been feeling a bit off lately.”

“Hey, it’s a pay check. And I’m going to need it for the move. We want to get settled into the new house before my son’s wedding so we’re already packing.”

“Did you find a job in Henford yet?”

“Not yet, but my wife got an offer. We’ll make it work. My kid is the only family I have left, so if he moves abroad, we follow. And I never liked staying in one place for too long anyway, I get restless.”

“Well, best of luck over there, Charles. The new sound tech will have some big shoes to fill.”

“Thanks, Paul. It’s been a pleasure working with you.”

Charles leaves, and I turn on the coffee machine.

I’ve just finished pouring two mugs when Lee arrives.

“Oh, you must have read my mind, love, I am positively dying for a coffee right now.”

“When are you not?”

Lee settles onto the sofa with a sigh.

“It’s been one of those weeks, deadlines put such a damper on my creativity. But how was Tartosa? Did you have a nice birthday?”

“It was fine. I didn’t feel like making it a huge thing, but my mother had arranged a family dinner at the vineyard.”

“Ah, just an intimate and completely non-threatening gathering with fifteen to twenty people, then.”

I lean back against the counter and take a long sip of the coffee to avoid responding. It’s still too hot, and I grimace as the liquid burns my mouth. Idiot.

Lee isn’t so easily deterred, though.

“So, that’s it? You’re just never going to see her again?”

“Lee, first of all, she blocked me. On my birthday, no less. So I’m going to take that as a big fat hint and respect her wishes. Second, I broke up with her because it was a dead end. She’s not going to settle down for another decade, and when she does, she’s not going to pick some fifty year old relic.”

Lee raises an eyebrow.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Yeah, I said it. Sorry to break it to you, Lee, but you’re old. Ancient. Practically dust.”

“I’m choosing to ignore your hurtful remarks because you’re clearly heartbroken and out of your mind with grief.”

I snort. “Sorry. I’m fine, really, I’m just annoyed at myself.”

“For irrationally breaking up with the love of your life or for stubbornly refusing to reconsider?”

“For being an idiot in general, I guess. I knew it was a bad idea. I even told her as much the first time I met her. But then I just had to go back and talk to her again like a complete dumbass and she practically invited herself back to my hotel. How could I say no to that?”

Lee chuckles. “Oh, but you couldn’t, of course you couldn’t. I mean, she’s not exactly my type, but I can still appreciate the aesthetics, as it were.”

“Right? And that might even have been fine if it never went any further, but I got carried away and kept seeing her even though everyone could tell it was going to end badly. We’re both better off like this, I’ll get over it.”

Lee just looks at me over the rim of his glasses.

“Are you sure? I may be a dusty old relic but as far as I’m aware, the only way you could possibly know that she blocked you is if you spent your birthday trying to look her up.”

“Thanks, detective. It was a moment of weakness, you don’t need to rub it in my face.”

“I’m not trying to rub anything in your face, love, I know it’s not your thing. But you were clearly serious about her if you were planning to bring her to Tartosa. And just because the poor girl understandably got slightly intimidated, you drop her like a newborn giraffe. Why not give her some more time?”

“I didn’t… Lee, it was the sensible thing to do! I just turned forty, I can’t just spend years waiting for her to make up her mind and hope for the best.”

“I don’t share your fetish for monogamy, but I believe all relationships are like that, you can never be certain. But you’ve always been stubborn so I’ll just give you the usual break-up advice. Get a haircut, hit the gym, put yourself back out there. Will you at least see my stylist?”

“Never. I am not brave enough to let Jessica Clemons near my wardrobe.”

beginning / previous / next

[fandoms-and-salt]

My thoughts on Hazbin Hotel's villains, because I think they have a problem

Valentino

Val is just. where do i even start.

His introductory scene is largely comedic and makes his freak-out over Angel just living somewhere else the butt of the joke. The same scene conveys that he is already losing control over Angel and can’t do anything about it, since Angel is ignoring his calls, and Vox convinces him that ignoring this blatant misstep is the better option. This is an okay scene (i even found it funny), but it’s a bad villain introduction. Especially a villain that we are meant to take seriously and, from the perspective of the main characters, fear.

(There’s also an inconsistency with Angel in ep1-2 feeling free to ignore Val’s calls and messages, but in ep4 he is stumbling all over himself to please Val)

His introduction had to be made from the point of view of one of his victims to set up a proper tone of menace to him, instead of making it from the point of view of his fellow overlords, who view him as a whiny dumb piss baby. This scene would be okay a lot later down the line, in my opinion, when we are already familiar with what a despicable dangerous asshole he is, and the characters (Angel Dust) begin to step up to him more. We see his facade crumble alongside the main characters to reveal who he truly is without all his power and control - a whiny sex-obsessed loser.

There's also an issue of us not really getting a scale of his power. This guy is portrayed as an extremely forward hot-tempered dumbass, who has to be verbally guided to make a better strategic move than a “just kill and rape everybody”. He freaking licks the princess of Hell, talks down to her like she is one of his porn actresses, and physically assaults a person under her care right in front of her, and she is supposed to be someone more powerful than him, and he should know that.

This guy can’t manipulate and strategize for his life, so to compensate for this (and make his rise to power more believable), he needs to have some truly impressive physical power. And tearing apart some character offscreen and wielding some guns doesn’t cut, bc basically everyone can do that in hell, what makes him special? Show off how his vaping powers can really fuck people up, poison dozens, hypnotize them, make them addicted to him! Make him so uniquely dangerous that he doesn’t even need to be smart and cordial to rise to power!! Otherwise, how the hell we should believe that he owns the whole porn industry of the Pride Ring, including legally owning his workers, if the show puts more focus on his stupidity and lack of tact than on whatever power he has?

Like he is meant to be our main antagonist and threat, alongside with his TV boyfriend, until the angels come back in the finale, don’t just waste them away on lame jokes.

Speaking of which.

Vox

I like Vox. I like his voice actor’s performance and the voice effects and filters that they give him to reflect his mood. I feel like he had a better introduction than Val (which is not a high bar to clear): it showed that he is pretty smart, strategic, and image-conscious. With this and his heavily implied power to hypnotize and stalk people through his tech, the fact that he is in power and the threat that he poses are much more believable.

Anyway, this gets completely wasted 10 minutes into the first episode he appears in, when he gets verbally floored by Alastor. And he cried about it right after. And later in the same episode we see him fail again at another one of his schemes, bc he chose the most incompetent spy ever. Once again, silly comedy shatters any kind of illusion of threat that the villains might pose. Which also leads me to..

Alastor

Who is not really a villain, and this is kind of a problem. He really could have been a great threat and an antagonist, but i really don’t believe they are going to go in that direction.

Alastor is a very OP character and is the one holding power and control in basically any interaction he is in, including the villains. And since he is an ally of Hazbin Hotel, whose goals (the details of which we are not aware of) partially align with theirs, he completely fucks over any kind of tension regarding anything that might threaten the Hotel or it’s residents. Because you can just throw Alastor at it and make it go away. Because the writers just can’t have him lose.

And we don’t have any reason to believe that he would just refuse to help, because so far? He does whatever Charlie or Vaggie ask him to do. He might be a smug dick about it, but he still does that. He even agrees to film a TV commercial (twice!) despite his vocal hate of such technology. Furthermore, he has to make a deal with Vaggie so they don’t have him do something like this again (granted, this scene might hold some additional implications in the future, but so far this is all the context we got). Why can’t he just refuse to do things that he doesn’t want to do?

Which they could have fixed if they made his power more limited. Either by reducing the scale of his power so he is at most on the same level as the villains,

OR have his presence and help be limited. Make that the characters often can’t access him for help or he just. refuses to help them. He even says that he is here to have fun and watch them suffer, so wouldn’t them struggling to, idk, get rid of Sir Pentious, for example, be entertaining for him? Or balance out his help with instances where he causes conflicts and problems on purpose. Beyond just him annoying Vaggie for comedy’s sake.

And if any of this is what they are actually going for, then you need to make it a point to the audience that yes, this guy is powerful, but don’t expect him to productively help with any of the narrative threats and problems.

And lastly,

Adam and the angels

I don’t like Adam. He is annoying as hell and his jokes are drawn out and not funny at all. The logistics of him being an angel when he is Adam and when he acts like this, give me a massive headache that is related to a whole other topic i’ll need to make a separate post about.

Despite all this, Alex Brightman is doing a great job selling how utterly insufferable he is. His song is also pretty good, one of the more memorable ones in the show. And he (and the angels by extension) is also the most menacing and competent villain on the show so far. ...Do you see my predicament here?

Granted, this is not a very high bar to clear, as established with. the other ones. For example, in contrast to the pilot, we are only told about how dangerous and deadly the exterminator-angels are. “[Sinners] never managed to kill one of us [angels]” “In the latest extermination, [angels] killed the highest 18% percent of our [sinner] population” etc etc. We don’t see the angels killing anybody on screen, we barely see the aftermath of the extermination.

What we do see is the panic and helplessness with which most of the hell population treat the exterminations, including Charlie. We see Charlie struggling to convince Adam of her plan, barely able to talk back to him, which sells Adam as the more powerful in the interaction. We see Adam not showing all his cards to Charlie, like the fact they are planning to completely wipe out the whole Hell/Pride Ring, showing that he is not completely stupid despite his whole deal (well, there’s implied to be some kind of plan here, but i’ll talk about my problem with the logic in another post).

Otherwise, we don’t have anyone else to compare with him, since Charlie is the only one who interacts with angels on-screen. But all of this so far gives a suitable illusion of how dangerous and powerful the angels are. But what will happen if angels are faced with our all powerful Tumblr Sexyman Mary Sue? Will the universe let Alastor lose and then collapse in on itself? Or the other obvious option?

Anyway, in conclusion, Hazbin’s villains are not very good so far. Their main problems are the fact that the writers can't properly establish their threat and lever of power, or they undercut this with unsuitable comedy. Also, they don't know how to use their OP main character, so they won't ruin the stakes of the story.

[vctrvn-ls]

I love you too? |Kenny|

summary: you and Kenny get into a heated argument after which you try and take the first step to make peace

warnings: angst, language

wordcount: 1.35k

"What the fuck is this?!" You heard Kenny call out from the living room.

"What!?" You shouted back, not thinking much of it, continuing to cut the watermelon for the fruit salad you were making. A series of footsteps quickly revealed Kenny who was glued to his phone with furrowed eyebrows.

"What?" You take a piece of watermelon and put it in your mouth "What is it?" You chew.

Kenny walks up to you shoving his phone up close to your face. You squint trying to see the image in front of you. It was you from yesterdays shoot, kissing Filly on the cheek as he smiled into the camera. Your eyes widened as you looked up at Kenny "And?"

"You- Look- Ah fuck," he goes back to his phone for a second before showing it again "Look at the caption."

You saw it was Twitter. Already not a good sign. And as you predicted, your mouth fell open as you finished reading the sentence:

"Damn. That's what happens when Kenny's not on the one shoot."

You look back up at Kenny and raise an eyebrow "What the hell are you doing listening to dumbass Twitter-people?" You go back to cutting the fruits, seeing as this wasn't a thing to worry about.

"This isn't the only one. That's firstly. Secondly there's rumors now that we're broken up and thirdly what the hell are you doing going around kissing other guys when you have a boyfriend?"

You were in so much shock that you had to put down your knife and lean on the counter, processing what the fuck had just been said to you.

"Fuck. You." You simply state. "That's to begin with. Also what the fuck Kenny!? It wasn't guys it was one and it's fucking Filly, now please for Christ sake tell me you're pranking me right now because you are not going to stand here and pretend like you're bothered by this." You look at him, trying to read him and his emotions, although it was quite clear that he was in fact mad.

"Yeah well they don't know that it's just Filly. And just because it's Filly, gives you no right to get all up in his face."

"Kenny you need to take a break." You chuckle dryly turning back to the cutting board.

"No the hell I don't," he pushes your shoulder, turning you around to face him.

"It's a few comments Kenny, for fucks sake just leave it alone!"

"Oh yeah? You know what else started as 'a few comments'? Hm? Our secret relationship."

You roll your eyes "We were going to reveal it anyways right?"

"I don't care."

"Ok? What am I supposed to do?"

"Definitely don't do THAT!" He held up his phone with the photo.

You cover your face with the palms of your hands and groan, still stunned that this was actually happening "Kenny its fucking Filly! You look so dumb right now I wish you knew!"

"I KNOW I LOOK DUMB! I LOOK DUMBER NOW!" He lashed out, voice booming through the whole house "It's all anyone fucking talks about. Oh Kenny's stupid. No one likes Kenny. Why is Kenny even here? Let's make an article about how everyone in the Squad hates Kenny." He mocked the comments from the internet. "Now fucking this? I just- I'm gonna- Ah fuck." He turns around and just leaves. This guy leaves! You hear him stomp up the stairs and slam your bedroom door, leaving you speechless.

You blink a few times still digesting the very emotional information that was thrown at you and decide to take a seat in the living room. You wanted to be mad, you really did, but there was just this one thing that really caught your attention. It was how focused he was on the internet's opinion, which with the jobs both of you had was a little alarming.

After a little more thinking you came to a conclusion that insecurity was what drove this whole thing in the first place. Understandable, you didn't blame him, but it was sad because how can such a special and amazing person be insecure?

It sounded absurd!

Especially with his talent, friends and status.

You felt bad for Kenny, and you could totally relate to his lack of confidence because everyone feels unsteady from time to time and with enough love and words it could easily be beaten.

As much as you wanted to go up to him and provide the comfort he so definitely needed, you couldn't stop feeling hurt by some of his words. You sigh throwing your head back against the couch.

"Fuck." You whisper, feeling the two halves of you battling inside.

You hated fighting.

It was so stressful and unnecessary, and that's exactly why you decided that you needed to go talk to Kenny. You finished cutting all the fruits, laid some out on a bowl, got a spoon and headed upstairs to Kenny.

As you got closer to the bedroom door you felt your stomach twisting into a knot. What if he tells you to fuck off? What if he doesn't want to see you at all after this? What if you break up and then you'd have toshowuponshootsanditwoukdbesoawkward!

Your mind was overthinking the future and leaving you standing right outside the door with a bowl of fruit in your hands feeling like the last idiot on the planet. It really took all of your courage to bring your knuckles up to the door and knock. Even though there was no response, you slowly opened the door and peeped in, seeing Kenny on the bed. You sighed noticing his frowned eyebrows as he scrolled through his phone.

"Kenny," you slowly sat down on the other side of the bed, not taking your eyes off of him. He didn't even look at you.

You fought your intrusive thoughts that were saying to just throw the bowl of fruit at his face and call him a dickhead.

"Look I'm sorry, I didn't think that things would spiral into something like that."

"Of course you didn't." He mumbled.

"Oh fuck you!" You exclaimed "Maybe you wouldn't be so fucking bothered if you grew a pair!"

His expression turned from angry to shocked real quick.

"What were you born fucking yesterday? It's the internet! I've seen shit way more fucked up than tweets from tenyearolds and I'm sure you have too, so stop acting like no one loves you because everyone does. Especially me and for you to even question my loyalty is so hurtful not only to me but also to you."

Kenny was at a loss for words. On one side you just insulted him, but on the other you just said you loved him and there's wasn't anything he could say. He stared at you with wide eyes as you tried to catch your breathe from all the talking.

"Uuuhhh...." He turned off his phone and put it in his pocket, turning to you and crossing his legs "I love you too?"

There was a small pause before the two of you broke out into a series of giggles, suddenly everything was ridiculously absurd and pointless. Without words both of you agreed that this fight wasn't worth the energy.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to like- I was-" Kenny groaned in annoyance as he struggled to explain "I just felt like-"

"Insecure?" You guessed.

"Yeah...That." He scratched the back of his head feeling a little uneasy at such a strong word.

"I get it." You sigh "Peace?" You hold up the bowl of fruit with a grin.

Kenny chuckles and nods "Peace." He takes the bowl.

"And it's fair of you to get jealous of me kissing Filly."

"Jealous?" Kenny chewed with a raised eyebrow "I wasn't jealous."

"Uhuh, yeah." You smirk at him.

"Wha- Nah. I was mad," he tries to hide his smile. You roll your eyes and scooch over next to him, bringing his head down and placing your lips onto his.

"Mmm, pineapple." You noded jokingly, pretending to chew.

"Stop," he giggles nudging you.

[clearwillow]

Happy Halloween! I had a wild thought and decided to see if I could dress up the few households I've made in the Sims this year. I didn't want to mess up the individual households, so I saved them to the gallery and started a new save so I could put them all in one household. Because I thought it'd be easier to control all eight than travel with one set, then invite the others to the amusement park I built.

Don't do that to yourself if you're only used to keeping watch over 1-2 sims, especially if you leave autonomy on. Under the cut are some notes and more pics when I sent them to the amusement park.

In the first 10 minutes of dumping them all in one house, we had MF!Hanyou Inuyasha and Kagome "woohooing (a butt pat at best) in the kitchen, pissing Youkai Inuyasha off because she was "cheating" on him. (Thanks to MCCC I fixed that because that didn't happen before Lovestruck changed stuff) but this also trapped everyone in the dining room cause no one would walk through there.

Other things you might find funny:

Everyone likes to gather in the bathroom for some reason, and it's always when someone needs to pee.

MW!Inuyasha does not give a shit and will walk through the house naked. Does a full house tour then gets embarrassed. SIR -

They were fascinated with the flat screen tv but continued to watch terrible movies...?

Because I used the WW mod to help adjust poses since I'm still not used to dropping the teleporter object in the right place, I didn't think to disable some...features. The shower has been a favored place for them to go. Again, whenever someone has to pee. I even put in a second bathroom but it wasn't good enough.

Turns out the ones that have hats with their costumes like to keep their hat on at this time. Clicking stop action is not nearly as satisfying as it would be to turn a hose on these sims.

MW!Inuyasha's costume is cut so high that I needed to disable another feature that I originally thought was an odd shadow. Nearly choked on my cough drop when I realized the shrubs needed to be ripped out.

MF!Hanyou Inuyasha's costume is exactly what you think it is IYKYK

No one wanted to actually sleep in a bed. Everyone took turns napping on the couch. I'm glad I didn't go heavy on decorating this house. Ungrateful shits.

At the amusement park lot I made in Windenburg, there's 5 functional rides, a haunted house, go cart course, ferris wheel, some carnival games, and food. Enough to keep sims busy and boy did it...

Gotta appreciate how they picked which cart they got in on their own. Don't remember who won though, I was chasing down another sim.

A couple of the rides on the lot:

And these two idiots 🤣 That's the face of a man who's sitting next to a demon dressed as an angel and realized he could be manifesting disaster.

This haunted coaster was in a basement level of the lot. No joke this was Kagome's face the entire time.

They really liked playing the games and emptying the households funds. Lost track of a sim? Probably throwing darts.

But there's also the haunted house, and if the sim wasn't playing games, they were probably going through the haunted house. Youkai Inuyasha wet himself twice but kept going back.

Sims can also get a scared moodlet (quite a few of them did, like MW!Kagome). MW!Inuyasha was just trying to get a piece of pizza when Kagome runs up to him and just screams. He screams back. 5 minutes later they were making out on the ferris wheel, so I guess she got over it.

I had to pose them in groups outside the haunted house entrance in sets because of clipping issues, but still they are some doozies.

Finally, one bonus image that I happened to get when I was posing them for the big group picture. I had all of them go sit on a hay bale, pose them, then used WW to move them around.

This dumbass decided to do his idle animation right as he sat down. If you don't know what I'm talking about, mermaids and mermen in Sulani will randomly make dolphin sounds. It's as funny as you think it is, because you don't expect it when it happens.

Custom content creators and modders deserve all the love for what they can do, hands down. I am also so sorry for the cursed creations, if any of those creators see this lol

[lovecraftiancicada]

The post was getting too long so here's my reply xd

It's hard to pinpoint when exactly YJH started to care for Dokja because the novel is from Dokja's POV and Dokja IS A FUCKING DUMBASS.

Yjh has been shown to care for Dokja a lot of times and DOKJA STILL IS ABSOLUTELY SURE YJH HATES HIM.

I hate this stupid guy. When will he learn he is loved—ahem.

So, their friendship arc can be technically started eith this.

The significance of this will play a huge part.

Then king's game Yoo Joonghyuk gets trust issues because the guy lied about his sister being held hostage and then used him for King's game.

But after King's game we see poisoned YJH that deliberately went to Dokja at his almost most vulnerable.

I skipped a page but I think it's in the webtoon. YJH basically admits this state was his own fault because he believed he could make Lee Seolhwa his companion again. And then this Midday Tryst convos happen:

> I always find it funny that Tryst (more romantic connotation) was changed to Rendezvous (just a meeting)

So from this point I think Joonghyuk really starts to realise that thanks to Dokja a lot of his precious people are alive and well. And the fact that maybe Dokja is one of the few people who actually understand him..? The one he can lean on and who is as powerful as him...

Yoo Joonghyuk grows to slowly appreciate Dokja no matter how much of a tsundere he is. (Cat behavior)

(1/2-3?) <-I HIT THE IMAGE LIMIT I NEED A SECOND POST

Oooh i see now, thanks ^^

I'm pretty sure joonghyuk could say the most profound, loving thing a companion could say to their companion and dokja would still be like "he's obviously saying those things as a part of a plan haha nice one bro"

And joonghyuk realizing many people survived this far for once was 👏👏👏. Out of all the rounds, this specific one where he met dokja was the one he's not willing to give up on.

[kogetaikid]

TW! UTY pacifist Spoilers!!!

Before people think I’m turning into a reblog account, here’s some of my misinterpretations of UTY pacifist before completing the game (there’s only two but Vera with me

1. Ceroba wanted to inject Kanako with INTEGRITY.

(Drawing unrelated, but you’ll know why I put it later)

When playing the pacifist, I thought the Ceroba misunderstood Chujin’s final message before he died, and convinced Kanako to get injected. However, during the Ceroba fight, in one of her memories, we see this:

(Cutting through some emotional dialogue)

Through some of the dialogue I skipped (wasn't originally planning on making a post about this), Kanako offers herself as a subject for her father's (Chujin's) work. Ceroba shows hesitation as it goes against her husband's wish but goes with it so she doesn't ruin his legacy. It made me feel bad for both characters. Kanako was just some dumb kid who didn't know what the hell she was asking for/expecting. She was just grieving her dying father and felt it was her fault for his demise. Ceroba was grieving too, and therefore couldn't think straight, but made the awful decision of giving into her daughter's demand of being injected with INTEGRITY.

2. Clovercide (TW!!!)

(Image also unrelated)

(TL;DR: Due to traumatic reasons, what was just a just sacrifice from Clover seemed like suicide to me.)

Just a heads up! I'll put a "keep reading" (if you wanna well, keep reading) under this because this may get a little personal...

This is still okay to reblog as long as you put the right warnings!

When I first saw the game in general, I though the screenshots I saw of the pacifist ending were the neutral ending. I though Clover got badly injured, or fell ill causing their end.

When I found out the wasn't the case, and watched a short clip (with no other context) of Clover giving up their life in the pacifist, I thought nothing of it. It was when I was listening to the soundtracks and saw how badly everyone was grieving Clover, then going back to places like tumblr talking about how they were just a kid that I started to get the wrong message.

I started to think Clover was probably miserable and indirectly asked for an assisted suicide by Ceroba and it broke me. Especially as someone who was suicidal/had dark thoughts as a kid. (I haven't felt like ending my own life for four years and have been clean for over one year) I've also had to endure the sob stories of mentally unstable people. This all tying back to the very few things I new about the pacifist ending, I felt kinda bad, sad and a little angry at Clover. This is what I would think:

WHY DID THEY DO THIS!!!???

SOME OTHER FUCKING DUMBASS KID COULD'VE TAKEN THEIR PLACE BUT NO!!! IT JUST HAD TO BE YOU, DIDN'T IT CLOVER!!!???

How miserable are you...?

Waiting for that fateful day where I could finally complete the game felt like preparing for a flu shot. I almost didn't want the game to end. I was so mad at the people saying "It was just a sacrifice", and shit.

...and as it turned out, they were kinda right. (still not giving them full credit) I didn't get the best screen shots cuz my computer crashed, but it was Clover going through all their memories in the underground, and realizing that they can't just hide away in the underground forever as a human. Monsters have been trapped for centuries and no matter how many of the monsters cared for them, they needed to do what was would've possibly happened from the start: give up their soul.

What I then got from the ending was that Clover felt to guilty to stay alive, and in the end, the wanted to do what's right. It's kinda getting sad again now that i think about it. Any who, this concludes my post. Enjoy the random screenshots at the bottom that I could fit into the post without it proving my point /hj. I'm currently debating whether or not I wanna go back and do the genocide route. Even though it's a fangame, I don't wanna fuck up the timeline.

[ragamuffin-ponies]

I got these commissioned by DreamZ, one of my favorite artists. Please check out her art and engorge her to make more Rarijack content:

Hopefully that link works

This is about to get serious I think. At least as serious as I can get on my fucking Tumblr page called Ragamuffin Ponies 😭

A couple months ago I had an extremely intense anxiety attack because I couldn't find a good profile picture on my fucking discord. I wanted one that was Rainbow Dash but with short hair. I ended up using the following picture

This image was edited and uploaded anonymously to derpibooru. No artist is known. I used ai to upscale the image to HD, it was pretty low quality before.

Even looking at them not to check the sources I can feel my chest tighten. I'm still not sure why I got this way, but it was the catylist to find out why certain things like this have been meeting me feel so terrible for as long as I can remember.

I'm still figuring it out, but I think a lot of it can be chalked up to some sort of gender dysphoria. No I have not talked to my shrink about this yet. Shortly after graduating college I befriended a plethora of trans, nonbinary, or otherwise genderqueer/transexual individuals. It's crazy now quickly people you've never met in person can become such integral parts to your life. One of my favorite aspects of the human existence for sure. Anyway, hearing them talk about their trans experience, especially one of them in particular, I caught myself going "wow I was exactly the same way when I was a kid," or "I've thought the same thing all the time."

I used to be pretty transphobic, and although there is one specific person I've hurt dearly (who I have fully apologized and made up with all these years later) I never went out of my way to harass anyone because I wasn't evil like that, just wrong. I always told myself "yeah I'd rather be a girl but I can't do that because something something biology facts and logic". I have long hair and when I cut it I hated myself. It's not a suprise that when I shave my arms and legs I stop literally making myself sick and my sh desires go away by at least 60%. It's a lot of bullshit that I think most other people would have maybe all picked up on by now, but idk if anyone has.

Now, I'm not trans. There's definitely things I still like about being a guy I think. Genderfluid is a label that I think really fits me, but I'm NOT COMING OUT OKAY? For now I'm still cis. This is all very new we're talking a couple months. It's more like I'm questioning right now.

I really want to reach out to one or more of my trans friends for help, but I'm afraid where to start. Number one I don't want to just vent to them. I definitely don't want to say the wrong thing and trigger or insult them. But most of all I don't want to be a burden.

Also right now my brain wants to just stay in the closet forever. But that's worse than bisexuality, which I only need to hide from my parents and grandparents. With it being my actual gender idk how long I can keep the jig up. Lol I say that like they don't already know I'm bi and it's not just some big dumbass game. Completely by happenstance, I managed to explain what genderfluid was and naturally they were like "wow what kind of world are we living in" and it definitely visibly upset me but I don't think anyone noticed. I just went into my room quickly. And that was months ago, before I was even confident in my self-diagnosis (which again, I'm still not sure about. I might still be cis or I might be something else. No clue bro). So I don't ever tell my parents, okay, then what? I tell my brother? My girlfriend? My irl friends? My internet friends? Random strangers on Tumblr?? I settled on the last one for now. I still need to figure out what the fuck is even happening to me.

I'm glad this is happening when I'm in the safest, just emotionally sound, financially / mentally stable point I've been in in my life though. The timing is great because I can take as long as I want to figure this all out.

PS. I only haven't mentioned it to my gf yet bc idk how the hell she'd react, plus it's all still so new, both my emotions and our relationship. She is VERY gender nonconforming, very butch. Except she is completely cis gendered and straight as an arrow. Plus her being a gender enigma aside (and I am being very presumptuous when I say this) a lot of her friends seem homophobic, although she isn't. Obviously. Don't want to get too far into it bc I don't want to seem judgemental of people I haven't met but I've seen enough to make me already hate two of them maybe three. And that's just through social media and like three conversations. I might try to drop a few hints here and there, because I think if anyone should know it should be her, right?

PPS. I hate the genderfluid pride flag it fucking sucks and genuinely that might be on the cons list. Same reason I'm bisexual instead of pansexual even though I'm actually pansexual, the pansexual flag sucks and the bi flag rocks don't @ me

Anyway DMs are open if you want to help me the fuck out

[omgahgase]

wip wednesday snippet of a previous one-shot

decided to rework my previous codywan one-shot, found here, into a more coherent—possibly chaptered—thing! i love sharing my wips, so here's a snippet of one of my favorite scenes of cody and his brothers hehehe

“I’m not grumpy,” Cody grumbles, touchy on the crystal clear subject. “All the time,” he tacks on at the end, not to save face, not to defend himself, but a third, more jaded thing.

“Yeah you are. You look like buir when Waxer comes home with another cat.”

Cody pulls a face, incredulous. “No I don’t. And tell Waxer to stop picking up strays. It’s hard enough feeding you lot as it is. You don’t need to add a zoo to the circus.”

“There you go again, parenting us when you’re not even a parent. The spitting image of Jango Fett,” Five chuckles, looking entirely too smug at his unfunny joke. They all look like their father, for crying out loud, adopted or not. They’re from the same clan. “You just made his ‘I’m going to give you the hardest noogie of your life’ face.”

“That name is ridiculous,” Rex points out, then, more jeering, “we all have the same face, dumbass.”

“Exactly. You make that face, too.”

“Not you, though,” Echo says to Five, throwing a heavy arm across his shoulders. “Your face is uglier.”

That pulls out an offended sound from deep in Fives’ chest, all confounded and dripping with hurt as if he expected anything other than an insult. “We have the same face!”

“Not really,” Echo retorts, face screwed up in sympathy. “I got the good genes. You’re lucky to have genes.”

“I’m wearing jeans!” Hardcase announces, just to be included in the conversation.

Cody looks up to the ceiling, pleading to anyone who gives a damn enough to hear him. “Dear ancestors, please give me strength not to jump out this window.”

“If you do,” Kix starts, elbow deep in the couch cushions, “then I call dibs on your manga collection when you land on an unsuspecting civilian.”

[vera-dauriac]

Ok @verdiesque. You asked how to plot a longer work, and I hope you don’t regret that. 😉 Anyhow, here’s the most basic 3 Act structure I use when writing. It’s primarily based on the work of Syd Field, and like a lot of plotting systems used by me and other novelist/prose writers of varying lengths, its roots are in screenwriting. I’ve tried to use examples I think you will know or that are easily explainable/generic/universal so that they will make sense. If you need clarification or a better example, just ask.

OK. Let’s go.

Act 1 (Roughly first 25% or less)

Opening Image: We see the character where they are starting from in normal life and the tone it set. This will often be a deliberate mirroring of the Closing Image. (If you’ve seen the 1988 Dangerous Liaisons, this is done really well. We open with the Marquise de Merteuil at her dressing table, putting on her persona, and the last shot is her wiping her makeup off, all of which says so much about her and her world.)

Inciting Incident: Something happens to start the protagonist down his/her path. If this is a romance, this is the couple meeting. If it’s a procedural, the detective gets the case. In adventure, the hero receives a poke to start his adventure.

Plot Point 1: This is the moment that changes everything. The protagonist only has one direction available. In Star Wars, it’s the Empire destroying Luke’s home and killing his aunt and uncle, so he literally can’t go home anymore. In Black Hawk Down, it’s the literal title event—the Black Hawk goes down.

Act 2 (Roughly 50% or more, split in half around the aptly named Midpoint)

Pinch 1: This is a thematic reminder of what the story is about. The point of the Pinches is to apply pressure to the protagonist and keep the story from bogging down. (See Pinch 2 for more.)

Midpoint: If the trajectory of the story has been positive up to this point, things should start going wrong, and if the trajectory has been down, this is when things start trending up. I once heard the Midpoint described as the moment when characters stop asking questions and start coming up with answers. Frequently, this will be a big crowd scene or party. In Fellowship of the Ring, this is the Council of Elrond: All the free peoples of Middle-earth have gathered to discuss the problem of the Ring; they debate the feasibility of walking it into Mordor; a better plan is formed and implemented. The second half of the movie starts. (Aside--in the larger story of LOTR, this is Plot Point 1. Really well structured continuing series will do this, and it's awesome.)

Pinch 2: Another thematic reminder of why any of this matters and an application of pressure to keep the story moving. To use Star Wars again, Luke and Gang once more clash with Stormtroopers, which is thematic of fighting the Empire, and unifying because both times it’s Stormtroopers. (In an adventure romance I’m outlining right now, I do pretty much the same thing. Both Pinches involve battles scenes that don’t go great for the lovers because of the antagonist.)

Plot Point 2: There’s a dramatic reversal, and it’s usually very bad. Sometimes referred to as the Dark Night of the Soul, things are never worse for the protagonist. Very specific romance structures will sometimes differentiate between Plot Point 2/Dark Night of the Soul and the Break Up, but it’s essentially that moment. It’s Elizabeth Bennet, dealing with the fact her dumbass sister has run off and she knows that Mr. Darcy is in the world thinking ill of her.

There is an alternative to a Dark Night of the Soul, turning this into a moment of “I’m mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it anymore.” For an example, um, see Network.

Act 3 (Roughly 25% or less)

Showdown: Shit is now going to happen and get figured out for good or ill. The protagonist and the antagonist come face-to-face. Final battle, hero running through a crowded city to kiss his beloved on New Years Eve, etc.

Resolution: The hero’s problem is solved, either positively (we’re getting married!) or negatively (oops, I’m dead or dying), depending on the type of story you’re telling.

Closing Image: The final summation of your characters and themes and what you’ve been trying to say in a single shot/line/paragraph/chapter/epilogue. Bonus points if it mirrors the opening shot. (Examples: TE Lawrence on the road, Eleanor leaving to mirror her arrival in Lion in Winter.)

In a shorter work, each of these headings (beats) could just be a paragraph. Multiple beats can happen in the same chapter. In longer works, each of these might get their own chapters with all sorts of fun stuff in between. (Next post if you’re still interested—resources to help you figure out the in between stuff.) Point is, it’s flexible.

[thoughtsaladblog]

Foolish One...

It's one of those days when you kinda wonder about your life. I mean ok, in my case I wonder that quite often, but it's a little stronger today. The other day I took a trip down memory lane and much to my chagrin I realised I may have been a bit more fast and loose with my life than I'd realised- and let me tell you...It didn't feel good. Suddenly images of hellfire loomed in front of me. Despite my constant quips about dying at 35- I realise that that may not be to my benefit, given my promiscuity.

Honestly, when it comes to random moments of everyday life, I take pride in my openness and somewhat carefree approach when it comes to love and sex- God knows, it took some pretty brutal batterings and scars to get there. I dare not let a man break me like that ever again. And yet, I am human, and I crave love and an intimate connection.

In the last few days, I've been feeling all kinds of frisky- that time of the month of course- but simultaneously I've craved a partner with whom I could simply sit and talk, or just make-out. Yep- you read that right. Make-out. I may be associating teenagers too much, because I thought I was over this nonsense. But here we are...

Anyway, looking into my life I searched for someone I could have that with and could find no one. None of the guys I know could possibly provide the kind of connection I seek- they barely manage to give me what I'm expecting in terms of sex- if they manage to do so at all. Speaking of which, Numb3rs (yes, he resurfaced) and I hooked up last night. It was Meh. I mean, the man's got potential, but I feel like he was trying to do a lot at once and didn't quite pull through in anything because of it. But more importantly- talk about selfish in bed. Dude came, turned over, said he's recovering and dozed off. Le Fuq??! Ummm... still here bro.. this is a two way street. *insert exasperated eyeroll*

And of course what followed was his usual hit it and quit it- the guy woke up at 4.30 and booked a cab back home. He might as well start leaving some money on the bedside table at this rate. And of course, because my dumbass is always drawn to the toxic motherfuckers, I'm fighting back my compulsion to think about him or feel things for him. It's a tough battle- coz I'm attracted to the dude. Don't ask me why- there's no rational reason other than the fact that I'm a lunatic who is just attracted to smart people and the fucker is smart. Feeling about as ridiculous Deepika in "New Year's Eve" at this point. But yes, I need to stop thinking or expecting anything- for the sake of my mental health. Coz foolish one, he was never interested.

But moving on from that... at the expense of sounding repetitive- yes, I went through some of my past posts...I get it, I really need to get a life instead of playing the same old broken record. Buuuut to continue... I'm starting to feel shamed of my promiscuous life and frankly could do with a stable relationship- if those exist. And maybe at this point stop collecting more sins of adultery to an already mile-long list...

I mean it been 31 years... Frankly even I'm judging myself at this point for being unable to lock down some poor soul.

And on a completely different note- I probably ought to re-read the few sensible "enlightened" posts form this blog and get some focus to my life instead of meandering through it. Might lead to less whining- and less repetitive posts.

All in good time, my dear.

K byeeee.