#net walkman

[retroparkchan]

my little MP3 player❤

(Sony walkman nw-s736f pink)

[floosies]

" run around just so i dont have to think about thinking. the silent sense of content that everyone gets just disappears soon as the sun sets."

he had the same routine every morning. even on his days off he had a routine. since the first demagorgon he's needed it. he's relied on it heavily. when his parents were home it was easier to forget about the nightmares and worries.

but it never lasted, because to them he was a well behaved boy who needed independence to grow into a responsible man. so after a couple of months at home they'd pack up and head out again. another month or so alone.

it was worse without robin. he would wake up screaming for someone to help him, to save him only to be met with the silence from the empty house. its why he avoided being alone like the plague, why he didnt mind if dustin wanted to have sleepovers or constantly ask for rides to the arcade.

sure he hated scoops ahoy but it meant he wouldnt be left alone with his thoughts. he saw the way dustin and robin enjoyed silence, like a prize after a long day. he wished he could feel the same, but when he sat alone in the silence his mind wandered to every possible way he could have prevented things, questioning if he was really alive, wondering why robin stuck around, if dustin would realize he wasnt worth idolizing.

they didnt know, he didnt want them to know the way his mind had changed so much since the first attack. he just wanted to protect them.

it worsened when he started working at family video. then he really wouldnt let up, every moment was planned, robin was constantly around him, and he went to sleep with the tv on high. on bad nights he even went to bed with his walkman blasting music from the headphones as loud as he could get it. sleep was never the same after everything. they all had that problem, they all knew they felt safer near each other but they also knew it was better to try not to depend on each other too much.

steve's condition, his new dilemma had become so engrained in his every day he slowly started to view it as normal.

(im not leaving it at that. he deserves some love and peace, so keep reading please ♥)

when she got to know him, really know him, she picked up on how he hated ending the day, how he would try and make people stay longer. she had nowhere really to be and would often find herself being the last person at his place.

they'd critize a celebrity on a late night show or the news stories they'd watch on the local news station. he'd bring up random facts that robin or dustin told him.

slowly she would start to stay over. they'd fall asleep with arms entangled tightly. she'd unintentionally end up meeting his parents on a few occassions, but they didnt mind, their minds were elsewhere, never really with their son. but her mind was always with him. she felt for him, she liked him, maybe even more.

it was gradual, but she came to ask him about it, about the nightmares and fears he had. he admitted to feeling selfish for not denying her staying over all the time or constantly calling her. she was robin's friend first, but she made it clear it made her happy to know he saw her as his safety net.

robin had mentioned he'd been through a lot and she was just glad he thought of her as a person he could trust. but by the time they'd had this conversation everyone else had already been miles ahead and knew they shared something more than friendship.

he moved out of his parents home a month or so after and moved in with her. the apartment wasnt big but it felt safe. her home felt like his home, it was welcoming, it was as warm as her. she was his peace, the one he had found hard to come by. he held her just as tightly as he had the first night they slept beside each other, he loved her. she loved him, and the silence in the night was easier, lighter, and sometimes filled with whispers against lips.

[silvanoir]

MP3 player misadventures, continued

Annnnd the cheap blueMP3 player I bought BROKE within 2 minutes of work. I tried to turn the volume down and the whole damn button broke inward. And it somehow gut stuck on this radio static, no access to the menu, to way to reset

Luckily, returns are accepted! Plastic garbage! These 11-20 dollar mp3 players are for sale all around the net, all under different names but are the same thing... don't buy them. Don't fall for the nearly 5 star rating by other users.

Don't buy Ruizu brand ones either, used to have those for work, the player itself holds up on those but the software breaks down in less than a year and won't charge or won't turn off or won't play or just generally glitches out.

Instead I ordered a hot pink refurbished Sony Walkman MP3 player from eBay. I'll have to transfer files over to it by computer, instead of by SD/TF card.... and it holds far less bytes... but at least I'm familiar with them and they are reliable. And it will go well with my hot pink earbuds!

[deathlucent]

Part I: A Splinter of Heaven: Marek’s Rebellion in Tavira

In the year 2000, Matthew, the Death Angel, moved through the sunlit haze of Tavira, a small Portuguese city hugging the Algarve’s warm coast, its whitewashed walls and tiled roofs glowing under a relentless sun.

The air carried salt from the Ria Formosa, mingling with the clatter of scooters, laughter from waterfront cafés, and the pulse of lives unaware of their end.

For centuries, Matthew had reaped souls with a touch like frost, guiding them to the beyond. But each soul stirred a hunger in him, not for love, but for the raw pulse of human life: the burn of sun on skin, the tang of grilled sardines, the fleeting weight of a moment.

His defiance sparked with Mauki, a weathered taxi driver clutching his chest in a stalled Fiat by Tavira’s Roman bridge. Matthew was meant to escort him, but he paused, drawn to Mauki’s rough hands, the faint grin from a good fare. He turned away. Mauki woke, gasping, his survival a crack in the divine order. Guilt pierced Matthew, but it was drowned by a wild urge, to live as Mauki did, fragile and free.

Matthew descended, taking mortal form: a man in his thirties, unremarkable, with eyes too heavy for his face. He named himself Marek, a name lifted from a soul he’d once ferried. Tavira swallowed him, cobblestones warm underfoot, the scent of orange blossoms, the clink of pastéis de nata plates in shaded praças.

He found Mauki again, driving his taxi, oblivious to the angel who’d spared him. Marek, playing a weary wanderer, asked for help. Mauki, gruff but warm, offered his couch in a cramped flat above a fishmonger on Rua da Liberdade.

Mauki became Marek’s guide, teaching him Tavira’s ways: how to barter at the mercado, dodge cyclists on narrow lanes, read the ferry timetable to Ilha de Tavira. Marek took jobs, unloading crates at the port, wiping down counters in a beachside bar, his hands blistering, his skin soaking in the city’s salt and sun.

He blended in, buying a straw hat from a street vendor, carrying a broken Walkman, sitting on tiled balconies to watch fishing boats bob in the Gilão River. Each act fed his craving to be human, but guilt clung like humidity. He was defying God, and Mauki’s every cough was a reminder of the soul he’d abandoned.

Marek’s duties unraveled further. A fishwife, meant to perish in a market stall fire, stumbled out alive, her soul adrift because Marek looked away. A sailor, fated to drown off Praia do Barril, woke to coastguard shouts, his pain haunting Marek’s sleepless nights. Lost souls whispered: Why did you leave us? He’d wake on Mauki’s sagging couch, staring at peeling shutters, muttering, “I just wanted to be.”

One night, on a rooftop under Tavira’s star-flecked sky, Marek voiced his deepest wish: to be reborn, not as an angel, but as a man, born of this warm, weathered city with its echoes of Sulawesi’s trade winds. The breeze carried his words, unanswered. Back in Mauki’s kitchen, he sat at the scarred table, tracing his calloused hands, proof of his rebellion, his stolen life.

Mauki once caught him murmuring to the dark. “Relax, Marek,” he said, sliding him a glass of medronho. Marek gripped it, its fire grounding him, but the guilt lingered. He pressed on, hauling nets, riding rattling buses, sinking into Tavira’s rhythm, each step a rejection of his old self. Yet the heavens loomed, their silence heavier than the Moorish castle’s shadow, and Mauki’s steady snoring next door was a debt he could never repay.

Marek was no longer Matthew, but not truly human, a splinter, chasing a life he’d betrayed everything to taste, his guilt as loud as Tavira’s church bells at dusk.

[jacks-tracks]

Lost blog found

Here,s the summary of April to September. Starting with my return to Vancouver where I had to sleep in the Airport, on seat pads, wrapped in every piece of clothing i had, and still froze. 30 degrees to 3 degrees!

Home at last I made a good decision: start no new tasks: finish all the undone or half completed jobs. That made a list of actually 100 items, from trivial to major, from putting a lazy susan in the living room to moving the garden 2 miles to a friends field.

That lazy susan , 3 tiers, 2 feet wide , 3 feet tall was for the living room area, a place to store all those pesky stereo cords, battery chargers,cd,s , tape players(walkman, still works!),cameras, plugs and bits and bobs.All this involved making a 2 inch thick 18 inch wide fir plank top, smoothed and finished. Natuarally the carousel was 2 inches too tall to match the existing shelving so I had to cut off the stem and find a screw down floor fitting the right diameter from my boat parts. The bottom was easy. The top meant lying on the floor with a long bit driver and screwing up through the rotating wire shelves. Fun! Sound simple. Took a whole day. This created a spot for the rotating tower of CDs, both CD players,and got all the junk off the big speakers. Looks much better and I can find the DVD player without having to undo tangled wires. Still have to hook upthe record player(400 albums), 6 surround speakers and the giant Akais for that big bass sound. I have music on all the time so having all the bits available and findable is much better. Even got classic headphones (Seinnheiser/ and Fisher) from the free store for full brain blasting volume.

On the 100 list was maintenance, like keeping the old truck running, and installing 4 more fire sprinklers linked to my pond pump for forest fire control. Now every part of the outside of the house gets covered, and the inside sprinklers are live. No fires, good!

Gardening: Last years infestation of wireworms devastated my garden, eating all the plant roots, so I moved my whole show to a friends field 2 miles away. Lots of communting on my vintage motorcycle. Flat dirt so I planted 50 foot row crops like squash, broccoli, spuds, carrotts ,beets, peas and 4 kinds of heritage beans. Kale volunteered and the starter squash plants proved to be zuccini, so lots to share.

The infested potatoe patch became a berry bush area, interplanted with broccoli, winter cauliflower, and zucchini. I made the fence larger using fish net hung on barb wire(quick) and beach wood to tack down the net edges to keep out the persistant sheep. Berrys need bird netting so I wrestled with a couple of bent Costco shade shelter frames and drapped them with fine fishnet. Sounds simple Eh? Except it needed new irrigation lines, a run of wire for the thornless blackberrys,and more beach planks for the extended area nets. Maybe a 2 weeks of work.

Beachcombing the planks is fun, sort of a treasure hunt. Cedar to split for posts, with an occasional chunk to split with wedges and a froe into planks and pickets. All packed up to the truck. No wonder everything takes twice as long as I plan.

Spring storms tear up seaweed off the rocks and wash it up in windrows on the rocky beach. I gather it in 20 litre buckets and pack them up 3 at a time to the truck(200 meters.). I gathered 120 buckets and both dug the seaeed in and used it as mulch. Seaweed is an ideal fertilizer, it,s free, and it releases nitrogen into the soil and trace minerals to replace the stuff washed out in the rains.

Gardening can be very time consuming so I use my old Honda tiller to weed the rows, thrash sod, and dig trenches for plants. I cut back my area from 2000 square feet to 1000, not including the 3 greenhouses.. My back porch was a riot of colour with flowers. Geraniums, strawflowers, zinnias,calendula, nasturtiums, cosmos and a volunteer squash that happily ran 12 feet along the porch rail. Those greenhouse are bulging with everything from tomatoes to sweet potatoes, beets for greens,chard, walking onions,peppers,strawberrys, letuce, cucumbers,and more flowers. They all need watering so the greenhouses get a bucket soak every other day and the main garden gets blasted from a 3 inch firehose(it,s fast and effective, lots of water in a hurry) Both my place and the garden site have pretty much unlimited water, so evey thing got soaked well. The orchard(now up to 30 trees) also needed water ( no water, no fruit) so I laid a grid of garden hoses attached to an octopus of valves. Regretably the weather was awful, cold when hot was needed, too hot other times, blazing sun or cold rain, all at the wrong times. Poor yields for all the work, but enough to eat well. Big(1000 pounds) apple crop to can, dry and give away. Poor plums, and scant berrys. Ah well, good exercise.

I bought a rototiller to augment my old Honda and it promptly spun it,s tires and ate the inner tubes. Dealer fixed, but I think it,s gonna be a problem.

Oh, and the 100 list? All done and I only added 50 more!

[nsfwmiamiart]

Read this: A Dialogue Between Elon Musk and Alyssa Milano: 80s Nostalgia and a Year Apart From Sitcoms to Space: A Nostalgic Chat Between Elon Musk and Alyssa Milano

Alyssa Milano's Instagram handle is @milano_alyssa.

Elon Musk's Twitter (now called X) handle is @elonmusk.

[Scene: A cozy coffee shop in Los Angeles. Elon Musk and Alyssa Milano are sitting at a small table, sipping on their drinks, laughing as they reminisce.]

Elon: You know, Alyssa, it’s wild to think we’re almost the same age. I mean, I’m technically older — born June 28, 1971 — just saying.

Alyssa: Oh, just saying, huh? (laughs) So you’re like, what, a year older? That makes you all wise and experienced, right?

Elon: Absolutely! (grinning) I mean, in a cosmic sense, one year makes all the difference. I was already out there discovering space… or well, playing with Legos and dreaming about space. But in the meantime, you were busy becoming America’s sweetheart on “Who’s the Boss.” I basically grew up watching you!

Alyssa: Stop it! You were watching me on TV? That’s crazy. (playfully) You sure you weren’t just glued to your science projects or building rockets in the garage?

Elon: Oh, I was building rockets, but I had time for TV. Trust me. “Who’s the Boss” was a big deal! You were the coolest! I still remember watching you on that show—every kid had a crush on Alyssa Milano.

Alyssa: Aw, that's sweet! And to think, I had no idea little Elon Musk was watching me while planning his intergalactic domination. (smiling) Did you ever think, back then, you'd be sending rockets to Mars?

Elon: Not really! I mean, I thought Mars was cool, but back then, I was more concerned about catching the latest episodes of “Who’s the Boss” and Arnold Schwarzenegger movies. I totally remember you in “Commando.” I watched that movie way too many times. You were so great in it! I still quote it sometimes.

Alyssa: (raises an eyebrow) Oh really? Do you bust out the quotes in the middle of a Tesla board meeting? Like, “Remember when I said I’d kill you last? I lied.”

Elon: (Laughs) Exactly! I mean, it does help to keep people on their toes. But seriously, you were a huge part of my pop culture upbringing. You’re like, an icon of the ‘80s for me.

Alyssa: Aww, well now I feel like I should be honored that future-space-guru Elon Musk was tuning in! Who knew the guy revolutionizing electric cars and launching rockets would be reminiscing about my sitcom days?

Elon: Right? I might’ve been tinkering with electronics, but you were the real boss! (smirks) You could say I learned some leadership lessons from watching you.

Alyssa: (laughing) Oh yeah, I’ll bet. You should send me royalties if you’re using any “Who's the Boss?” management techniques at SpaceX.

Elon: Deal! But in all seriousness, you were awesome, and it’s funny how our paths crossed like this now. Both of us grew up in such different ways, but here we are!

Alyssa: Totally! It’s like, while I was navigating sitcoms, you were out there shaping the future. But we’re still kids of the ‘80s at heart, right?

Elon: Absolutely. Once a kid of the ‘80s, always a kid of the ‘80s. (grinning) I just traded in my Walkman for rockets.

Alyssa: (laughing) And I’m still stuck with my Aqua Net hairspray collection! So, it all balances out.

Elon: (Laughs) Classic!

The End.

Fun Fact: Aqua Net is a popular brand of hairspray that became especially well-known in the 1980s. It was famous for its strong hold and was a staple for many hairstyles of that era, particularly big hair, which was characterized by voluminous and teased styles. The reference to an "Aqua Net hairspray collection" is a lighthearted nod to the iconic beauty products that defined the hair trends of the time, often associated with glam and bold fashion choices. In the context of the dialogue, it's a fun way for Alyssa to acknowledge the 80s aesthetics she grew up with, contrasting with Elon's futuristic pursuits.

P.S.:

Synopsis of the Dialogue Between Elon Musk and Alyssa Milano:

In this lighthearted and fun dialogue, tech innovator Elon Musk and actress Alyssa Milano reminisce about their childhoods and how they are just a year apart in age. Elon, born on June 28, 1971, shares fond memories of growing up watching Alyssa's TV show Who's the Boss and her role in Commando. They joke about how their paths diverged—Elon was busy dreaming of space and building rockets, while Alyssa was becoming an iconic '80s star. The conversation is filled with playful banter as they reflect on their different yet interconnected experiences as kids of the 1980s.

[melfiiii]

one day I’m going to have to confess that I’ve never seen american psycho and everything I know about patrick bateman comes from what people say about him online

[schoopsahoy]

you’re here, that’s the thing

steve harrington x female!reader {2.8k} takes place after the events of s3. angst to the max. a lost connection, healing wounds and long awaited apologies. hurt/comfort. no use of y/n.

cw : light drug use (weed)

based off the prompt “you’re either really desperate to be coming to me, or you think I'm a lot stupider than I am.” for @wndalovebot ‘s writing challenge.

It was far too late in the night for you to justify being awake. The cool light of the moon dulled by the netting over your window, seeping into the inky dark around you as you perched on your windowsill and stared at the blurry garden scene beneath you.

Your unfinished joint sat still smoking in the ashtray next to you, a vain attempt at quieting your mind enough to allow you to sleep. Constantly working late shifts at the diner had destroyed your sleeping pattern, slinging coffee to late night truckers into the early hours leaving you existing mostly after sundown. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d woken before midday, let alone been up and about.

The diner had seemed to attract more late night patrons over the last week, the whole town seemingly losing sleep after the fire at starcourt and seeking the comfort of fluorescent lights and cherry pies. You’d been home a couple of hours, so it was definitely past three in the morning, probably closer to four.

You’d pretty much accepted your fate of another sleepless night in an empty house, your mom working the night shift over at the hospital, finding some comfort in the fleetwood mac tape that was playing in your walkman.

You closed your eyes and leaned your head against the window pane, the cool glass soothing amidst the sticky heat of the summer night. You’d finally got your breathing to a steady pace, deep breaths lulling you into a relaxed state, when a frantic knock at your door jolted you up in your seat.

It was too early for your mom to be home by a good few hours, plus she had a key and knew where the spare was hidden. There was nobody else who would come to your house at this time, nobody in their right mind would decide to pay you a visit in the early hours of the morning. But a burglar wouldn’t knock, right? And you were pretty sure Hawkins was too small for even the most rookie of serial killers. You repeated those facts - well, statements - to yourself as you hopped down from your perch and padded down the stairs, knocking the lights on as you went for added confidence.

“Jesus, alright.” You mumbled to yourself more than whoever was on the other side of the door, standing on your tiptoes to look through the peephole to check that it definitely wasn’t a murderer before you opened it.

The distorted image of Steve Harrington standing on your doorstep was probably the last thing you’d expected to see, and pretty close to the last thing you’d wanted - second only to the hypothetical murderer.

You were in half a mind to just walk away from the door, leave him standing there to knock until he got the hint, but if he was darkening your door at this time of night there had to be a reason and curiosity did tend to get the better of you.

After a deep breath you unbolted the door and pulled it open, keeping one hand on the wooden frame as your body filled the open space.

“You do know it’s like, four in the morning right?” Your eyebrows raised as you stared up at the boy in front of you, your body backlit by the warm light of your hallway.

“I know, I - I know.” He nodded as he spoke, pressing his lips together as he flicked his gaze between you and his shoes.

“Who the hell pounds on someone’s door in the middle of the night?” You were trying not to raise your voice, overly aware of how silent the world around you was and not wanting to disturb your neighbours just to have to face their wrath when you eventually woke later that day.

“I know.” He sighed, repeating his words. “I’m sorry. I just, I didn’t know where else to go.”

Your stomach felt like it was twisting up inside you, some horrible mix of anger and confusion and long buried upset.

“So, what? You came here? You’re either really desperate to be coming to me, or you think I'm a lot stupider than I am.” You let go of your grip on the door to fold your arms across yourself, suddenly conscious of the skin of your midriff on show from your pyjama top.

“You’re not stupid.” Steve almost sounded like he was defending you, and maybe if you weren’t so deep set in your grudge you’d have laughed or at least have cracked a smile. But instead you just scoffed.

“So you’re desperate then.”

“No. Well, kind of, yeah. I guess I am.” He was shuffling from foot to foot, practically forcing himself to hold his eye contact with you.

There was a pause, a silence hanging in the air between you as you weighed up your options. You could just about make out the cuts and bruises that were scattered across his face in the dim light, and as much as you wanted to stand your ground and shut him out you decided to swallow your pride.

“Fine.” You stepped out of the doorway, leaving the space open for him to step inside. “Before I change my mind.”

Steve stepped into your hallway, the light now illuminating the full extent of his injuries.

“Jesus, you look like shit.” You stepped around him to close your front door, bolting it up again before you moved back to him to get a proper look at his face.

“Yeah, I was at Starcourt when it, y’know-“ Steve imitated an explosion with his hands, cracking a weak smile with a shrug.

“Oh.” Your mouth hung open a little, tongue pressing against the inside of your cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re good.” Steve shook his head at your apology, staring around at your house as it sat lifeless around you. “Your mom on nights again?”

You hummed a response, swaying back on your heels as you chewed on your cheek. “So, what now? You want me to smoke you out?”

Steve chuckled at your question, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Whatever you want. I just needed out the house.”

“Right. Okay.” You could feel the tension thick in the air each time there was a break in conversation, the silence sitting heavy on your chest. “Come on then.”

Your feet were moving upstairs towards your room before you had a chance to actually think about it, deciding the best course of action was to just push past your urges to rant and rave about how ridiculous it was that Steve had turned up to your house.

You could hear his footsteps behind your own as you made your way back into your dark bedroom, knocking the lamp on your bedside on to fill the room with more light than the moon was providing.

“There’s like, half a joint in the ashtray on the windowsill if you wanna smoke that. I’ll roll us another.” Your hands were rooting through your bedside drawer, speaking down into the mess instead of to the boy who was lingering in the doorway of the room.

“Your room looks different.” Steve was standing in the middle of the room now, eyes roaming the poster covered walls and trinkets that stood atop of your desk and shelves.

“Yeah, I’ve developed a passion for interior design, you can’t tell?” With a small ah you pulled out the wooden box you used to hide your stash, opening it up and pulling out your grinder to check what was remaining in there. You passed Steve as you returned to your seat in the bay window, legs crossed so you could place the small box in the gap. “C’mon, sit.”

Steve walked slowly to the window, taking in all the things that had changed since he’d last visited. It must’ve been what, well over a year now? Probably more like 18 months. It felt like an eternity after everything that’d happened in Hawkins during that time.

He sat himself across from you, his legs mirroring your own as he sat back against the wall and watched as you carefully filled the paper in front of you.

Without even looking up, your hand went to the ashtray and lifted the joint you’d been smoking earlier that night to hold it out to Steve. “Go on, it’ll help with all the… shit.” Your eyes looked up then, a small smile on your lips as Steve took the joint from you and lit it.

“Thanks.” Steve took a deep inhale, a sizzle coming from the joint as the embers glowed brighter. “I didn’t just come here because you’ve got weed y’know.”

You shrugged your shoulders, licking along the paper to seal your next smoke and smoothing it out before lighting it. “It’s fine if you did.”

“But I didn’t.” Steve continued, the haze of the smoke in the space between you blurring his image.

“I know, we already established you were desperate.” Your words came out in a cloak of smoke, your hand resting against your knee as you ashed into the tray between you. “It’s fine, Steve.”

You both continued smoking in silence for a little while, passing the fresh joint between the two of you once Steve had finished the first. The buzz in your head was numbing the pounding in your chest that you’d felt since you’d first seen Steve at your door. It was easy to be in his company, almost too easy. Like an old routine, getting back on a pushbike for the first time in years but still knowing how to cycle the pedals enough to stay stable. Your eyes were closed as you leaned your head back, breathing slow and steady and peaceful.

“You took the photos down.” Steve broke you out of your trance for the second time that night, though this time you stayed still with your eyes still closed.

“Yeah, what did you expect?” Your voice was soft, surprisingly so considering how you’d imagined this conversation to go. In your mind, mulling over things for all those months, there was a lot more shouting and probably some tears.

“I d’know. Guess I didn’t think about it.” You slowly opened your eyes over to him, his gaze already focused on you. “I thought a lot about things, about you.”

“Don’t, Steve.” You sighed out, tiredness now catching up with you. Maybe at one point those words would’ve been exactly what you wanted to hear, when the wound was still fresh. But now, months down the line with no contact, it was like digging into an old wound.

“I really missed you - do miss you.” His eyes were soft, the brown of them almost black in the weak light of the room.

You put the end of the joint down into the ashtray, letting the thin stream of smoke filter up and out into the air as it began to die out.

“You don’t get to say that, you totally blew me off.” The familiar ache in your stomach was starting to build, like there was a piece of lead tied to your heart and it was being dragged down deep into your body.

“I know, but I was with Nancy, and we were hooking up and we couldn’t exactly keep doing that-“

“We were friends first.” You cut off his words, not ready to hear whatever excuse he was going to give you. “We were always friends. Even when you’d let your dickhead friends talk shit about me, even when we started hooking up and you wanted to keep it some big secret. You didn’t have to just cut me off because you got with Wheeler.”

As soon as you’d finished speaking it felt like all the air had been ripped from your lungs, like you’d just let out every ounce of yourself and now there was no way to get it back in.

“I was a dick.” Steve pulled his knees up to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs as if holding them in place. “I’m sorry. I wanted to talk to you, when me and Nance broke up, but you just avoided me all the time.”

“Yeah, no shit.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “Just forget it, no point dragging it all back up.”

“No, I don’t wanna just let it go. I want to apologise, I want to make things right.”

You exhaled deeply, pinching the skin between your brows. “Steve, this-“ You gestured between the two of you and the now lifeless joint “it’s nothing, right? Like you needed somewhere to go, and I was up. And that’s fine. You don’t have to be a hero.”

Steve sighed out your name, his eyes pleading with you to just hear him out, just this once. “Please. I miss you.”

“You’re just high.” You shuffled in your seat, self conscious as his eyes stayed fixed on your every move.

“No, well, yeah I am. But I do miss you. I came here tonight because you’re who I wanted to see. Not out of desperation, or because you were the only one awake, but because it’s you.”

You blinked your eyes hard, hoping the stinging you were feeling was just from smoking too much and not from tears wanting to spill from your lash line.

“If you wanna fix things, or whatever it is you want, do it at a normal time. Not fuckin’ four in the morning.” You cocked a brow at him, the corners of your mouth turning up ever so slightly into a smile. A small one, one that could be easily missed or put down to a trick of the light, but it was there.

Steve nodded, a grin spreading over his lips. “I know, I will. I promise.”

“Slow your roll, Harrington. You’re not back in my good books yet.” You tipped your head back again to that familiar spot on the wall, keeping your eyes on the boy in front of you.

“But I will be.”

“Shut up, you’re high.”

“So are you.” Steve leaned over to give one of your knees a light shove, his hand lingering on your bare skin a little too long to be accidental before pulling it back.

“Yeah, and I’m tired.” You lolled your head to the side to gaze over at your bed. “You can stay, if you want. Don’t think you’re safe behind a wheel right now.”

Steve chuckled, a few loose strands of hair falling into his face as he nodded in agreement before he quickly pushed them back into place.

“If you wake me up before twelve you’re back on my shit list.” You pushed yourself down off the windowsill, legs a little shaky from being crossed so long.

“Understandable. I promise to be the perfect house guest.” Steve followed you over to your bed, climbing in after you but keeping a little distance between your bodies.

“Perfect went out the window when you practically beat my door down at 3am.” Your words were muffled by your pillow, duvet thrown down around your hips to try and keep you from melting once the sun started to rise. “Turn the light off.”

You felt Steve’s body shift as he leant over to flick the switch of your bedside lamp and plunge the room back into quiet dark before he settled back into his previous spot.

“Thank you, for tonight, for hearing me out.” Steve whispered, hand brushing your arm briefly. It was comforting, more than you were willing to admit, but almost as soon as it was there he’d pulled it away.

“Mhm.” You mumbled, eyelids feeling heavy despite already being closed. “G’night Steve.”

“I mean it. I’m gonna make it right.”

“Yeah, yeah, tomorrow. Later. G’night.” Your voice was barely audible, thick with sleep and maybe contentment if you listened close enough.

“Goodnight.” Steve exhaled, settling into your mattress. It was probably the first night since Starcourt that he’d actually felt comfortable, like he’d sleep through the night and not wake in a cold sweat ready to grab at his bat. He made a mental note to tell you that when you woke up, or at least a version of it you’d understand.

He did tell you, the next day when the sun soaked through your window and bathed you both in its warmth. He made another note about how good it felt to see you smile at him again.

thank u for reading <33 if u enjoyed please reblog/share and message me if u have any requests !! ily

[spideystevie]

HIIII! i hope you are doing well :) i absolutely love your writing and i was thinking could i request “face turning red when they get too close” from the what are we prompts with steve? 🥹

hi! thank you sweets, i hope you like it <3 (0.7k)

face turning red when they get too close [request a what are we prompt]

The weather is starting to cool off as autumn approaches, warm days leading into cooler nights. Basketball tryouts are months away but Steve had promised to help Lucas prepare. Something about it made your heart grow fond.

It’s particularly sunny today, the blaring rays of the sun offset by the crisp breeze that sifts the leaves in the trees at the park. The basketball court is a little rundown. There’s cracks in the asphalt, the painted lines of the court faded from weather exposure. 

Max and Dustin had tagged along, conning Steve into giving the three of them a ride to Mike’s after Lucas’s practice. You were there for moral support and because wherever Steve was, you normally followed. The two of you were thick as thieves, hard to tear apart. 

He’d also promised shakes and fries this weekend and you were holding him to it. But that’s besides the point. 

You sit with Max and Dustin on the edge of the court, covering your eyes with your hands as you watch Steve help Lucas. Dustin’s brought an old tattered copy of a book and Max pulls out her walkman, the music softly overheard from the headphones.

 You’re half heartedly paying attention to the two kids next to you, too focused on the way Steve’s thighs flex against an old pair of shorts, the way the muscles in his arms tense and shift when he dribbles and passes to Lucas.

When Lucas breaks for water you traipse into center court, picking up the ball from where it rests by Steve’s sneakers. Your smile is playful, a little teasing as you bounce it a couple times, eyes almost imploring Steve to try and steal it from you. 

He catches on almost immediately, arm reaching out to swipe it from you but you grab it and twist, holding it away from him. You run down towards the basket, Steve laughing after you.

“That’s cheating you know!” he calls as you toss the ball up. It bounces off the rim, hitting the ground and bouncing with a thud. You grab it again, dribbling it towards Steve this time. He watches you set up to shoot and he steps towards you. 

“Wait, here, let me,” Steve comes to stand behind you, his arms wrapping around your own to help you shoot the ball correctly. A heat starts to creep up your neck at the proximity.

“You want this one here and that one here.” He adjusts your left hand on the side of the ball and your right on top of it. His shoes nudge against yours, adjusting them so they’re planted correctly.

It’s already warm outside and Steve’s body heat behind you isn’t helping. You’re momentarily aware of the kids nearby, of Lucas’s eye roll and Max’s teasing laughter. But then Steve is shifting behind you, more of your skin brushing leaving invisible, sparking tendrils behind and everything fades to just the two of you. 

“Gonna breathe in when you’re lifting to shoot,” his mouth is right by your ear. You’re sure the blossoming on your cheeks resembles rubies. He’s so close you can smell his cologne and laundry detergent when you inhale. “And then release.”

You breathe out, the basketball slipping from your hands. He keeps your right hand bent, pointed towards the hoop, muttering something about aim. The ball flies across the court in an arch, landing in the net with a swoosh. 

A slight laugh of disbelief escapes you, hands paused in the air and slowly dropping to your sides. You turn to look at Steve, a wide smile on your face, to find his face right next to yours. There’s flecks of green in his big brown irises this close up. Your smile falters into something more intense, eyes slipping to his lips and back to his eyes.

The basketball bounces loudly near your feet and you jump away from Steve like you’d been caught doing something wrong, like you’d been burned. In a way you had, your skin felt scorched after being pressed against his for so long. 

“Can we play now?” Lucas asks, a little put out. His hands rest on his hips, a mimicry of something you’d seen Steve do to the kids countless times before. Steve nods, jogging to retrieve the ball that had rolled away. You go to sit by Max and Dustin on the sidelines, ignoring the way they’re staring at you. 

The color in your cheeks hasn’t faded and when Steve stands across from Lucas at center court, readying himself to play one on one with him again, you notice a dusting of red across his face too.

[florenceisfalling]

elsa dorfman's 1989 review of at twelve includes this tidbit:

Whether the girls are rich or poor, the photographer allowed no evidence of the fun in their lives to creep into her portraits of them. There are no cats or dogs. No records. No soccer balls. No favorite ancient dolls. No Walkmans. No beloved books.

absolutely dogshit fucking claim when even just the few (out of all thirty-six!) images from that series featured on sally's website include grinning girls, as well as girls with dogs, butterfly nets, bicycles! when the ones you can easily find in a google search include swing sets and glitter and dolls and baseball bats!

additionally, said review takes a snippet of the book way out of context by describing sally undoing a girl's outfit and making her spread her legs, talking about this as sally's "manipulation" amidst accusing her of making all of her photos sexually suggestive.

this is the photo in question! the unbuttoning was to make her look brighter on the dark background! the leg spread is devoid of sexuality and exists to mimic the V shape of the architecture and animal legs!!

this type of review infuriates me and the time period infuriates me more; how gross to project "suggestiveness" on the body of a twelve year old, and how frustrating that this person had such a good chance to lie about the contents of a photobook before you could so easily check that shit yourself online! CHRIST!

writing about sally mann for class works me into a righteous fury. i hatehatehatehatehate the cruel and grotesque lens through which her pictures got distorted by a media that cares not for the actual safety of children but for the maintenance of the idealized fiction of "innocence"

[cleacc]

My hero

Synopsis: You, Steve, Nancy, robin, and Dustin went back to the upside down. You went to the place where Eddie died and his body is not there. Someone called you and when you turned back it's Eddie. He's alive or is he....

Warning: Swearing, mention of veins.

Genre: Angst

*Italics - events happening inside y/n's mind*

*I'm sorry in advance :))*

"Y/N it's your turn!" Steve said as he looked up to you at the ceiling.

You climb the rope that Dustin made and went to the upside down.

"You okay?" Asked robin.

"Yeah." You answered.

You looked outside the trailer. Same old upside down. Same old trauma. You saw the bats.

"Hey Y/N." Dustin called you.

"Yeah?"

"You okay?" He asked.

"Yeah." You said as you looked at Dustin and to the bats that's flying around.

"Don't worry Y/N. We can handle the bats." Steve answered.

Dustin looked at you. He knows that you're not scared of the bats, He knows that you remembered someone. You remembered him.

"You guys should go first, I am just going somewhere." You said as you went outside of the trailer. You looked to your left and went to that direction. You hoped to see his body there because maybe this time, you can now bring his body home.

As you went there, your hopes have dropped. His body is not there. Empty. The road is empty. The bats are there but not his body.

"Hey sweetheart." You heard a voice coming from your back. You know that voice. You clearly know that voice.

You quickly turned and you saw him. The man you are looking for. He's so alive.

"Eddie!" You said as you went to him and hug him. He didn't hug you back, but you never noticed. You break the hug.

"Eddie you're alive! How— where are your wounds?" You asked Eddie as you examined him quickly. He looks so clean. He didn't have any dirt on his face or blood. He didn't have wounds too. He's super clean.

"I survived by my own because you completely left me here." He said as he looked at you seriously.

You got shocked.

"Eddie i begged them. Me and Dustin begged them. We begged Steve, Nancy, and Robin to help us get you home, but we can't because it's hard without the rope and there was an earthquake." You explained to Eddie.

"You didn't tried enough."

"Eddie? What do you mean I didn't tried enough? I tried! We tried!" You said shouting at him.

"You want me dead. You want me gone." He said as he started to get close to you.

"You know I don't want you dead. I don't want you gone Eddie I'm not lying!" You said as you cried and step back.

"No." You said as your tears and heart dropped.

"You don't love me."

"Uhm guys....." Dustin called them. They looked back at Dustin.

"Shit." Steve said as he saw you in a trance.

"Quick quick go find a song in Eddie's room! Y/N probably has a favorite song there!" Steve said as he pushed Dustin to run.

"Y/N wake up hey!" Robin said as she shake you.

"Y/N!" Nancy shouted.

"Dustin faster!" Steve shouted.

"Here here!" Dustin said running towards Steve. He gave Steve the tape and Steve put it in the walkman. Steve put the headphones on you and he started playing the song.

"You don't love me." Eddie said hoarsely. You blinked and now Eddie's gone. What's Infront of you is a tall, veiny, and red monster. Vecna.

"Don't be afraid, it'll be over soon." Vecna said as he comes closer to you. Your back hit a tree and the veins pulled your arms and feet and started choking you.

"Just stay very still." He said as he opened his hand Infront of your face. You're choking and can't breathe. It feels like he's sucking your soul.

You started floating.

"Y/N!"

"Y/N!" Steve, Dustin, Nancy, and robin shouted as you float to the air.

You heard a song, It's your favorite song. You closed your eyes as you remember the Happy memories of you and Eddie.

The memory of Eddie teaching you how to play D&D for about how many times.

The memory of Eddie playing your favorite song in his electric guitar.

Your first kiss with Eddie.

Your first date with Eddie.

You laughing with Eddie in the upside down while putting the nets in his trailer for the bats.

You opened your eyes.

"Eddie didn't die for nothing." You said as you pull your foot from the veins and kicked vecna in his nose using the heel of your boots. You run.

"Y/N please! Wake up!" Dustin shouted.

You tried to run to them but one of the veins got your foot and started to pull you backwards. You saw a piece of wood and you stabbed the vein. The vein deatached to your foot and you run again.

You woke up falling and gasping for breath. Thank God they put the mattress beneath you.

"Ohmygod, ohmygod." You said as you find a person to lean on.

"I got you, i got you." Dustin said as he holds you.

"You scared us Y/N!" Said Steve shouting.

"I can't lose another friend." Dustin said as he cried.

"Thank you for saving me." You said as you looked at them.

"Eddie." Dustin paused. You all looked to him.

"Eddie still saved you." Dustin said as he pointed at the walkman besides you.

You hold the walkman and cried.

"My hero."

"Our hero."

[kegiostoyslut12345]

Chanel by Frank Ocean

My guy pretty like a girl And he got fight stories to tell I see both sides like Chanel See on both sides like Chanel Swimmin' laps through pool water Heated like I'm underworld Hide my tattoos in Shibuya Police think I'm of the underworld

12 treat a nigga like he 12 How you lookin' up to me and talkin' down? Can't you see I am the big man? (Big man) God level, I am the I am (Whoa) Now film it with that drone cam, in the pink like Killa Cam Put a zoom on that stick; Noé, up so close I'm on that kill Remote controller on your lower back, yeah that's the good Dick could roll the eyes back in the skull

Rollin' when you ride, poppin' Rollin' when you ride, ride the Rodman Got one that's straight actin' Turnt out like some dirty plastic (Ride) 2016 burnt some discs 2017 ideas playin' off a Walkman This a cult, not a clique on the net With a cup in a cup, Actavis

That's a double edge, "Issa knife" And I don't like to fight 'til I'm fightin' Revenge in the air make my lungs sick Chopper in the sky like a gun trick Clips on clips like Mike It's really you−

I see both sides like Chanel See on both sides like Chanel

It's really you on my mind It's really you on my mind It's really you− It's really you on my mind

V both sides of the 12 Steam both sides of the L Freeze smoke rings and they hail Sleet snow grind for the wealth Whole team diamonds is real Showed 'em how to shine by themselves You need a cosign for your health I need that bitch to grind on my belt I know you need to try for my belt I know you seen it drivin' itself No matte black on the ride 'cause it's stale, but it's stealth

I see both sides like Chanel I see both sides like Chanel

My pockets snug They can't hold my 7 They banned my Visa My Amex and Mastercards I got new money And it's all cash I got new bags And they all collabs

I rubber band a bunch of thousand dollar Delta gift cards (I mean, my baby bi) Amazin' the cash online unknown (I mean, my baby bi) Blazin' the dash, countin' money at home

My pockets snug They can't hold my 7 They banned my Visa My Amex and Mastercards I got new money And it's all cash I got new bags And they all collabs

I rubber band a bunch of thousand dollar Delta gift cards (I mean, my baby bi) Amazin' the cash online unknown (I mean, my baby bi) Blazin' the dash, countin' money at home

i hope this is the right one-

[env0writes]

NaPoWriMo Vol.2, 4.28.2022 “Why Two Okay, Floppy Disk, Wormhole Risk, Landline, Internet Landmine, Dialup Modem, Meet 'em, Greet 'em, and Seat 'em in the Net Cafe“

Mallrats parted midway midparted half-hearted Coin-toss wishing that the school year could be restarted Hair dye, hair die, hair why won’t you behave how I want? Passerby bye, I spy with my little eye teenagers fronting nonchalant

Speeding towards zero, terminal tiles chain off cut-off clothes Bustling busted ankle boots, belts and bullet lines Feeding the fad machine, comebacks cost a quarter every time Before the foes have come to blows and leather and fur were far from fauxs

Footsteps match the beat, miss the beat, skip the beatings Loitering is a capital sin, societies win, bargain bin deals next door Costs won’t break to buy a pretzel, Wetzel’s if you got it eating Broken escalator, see you later, alligator, how much we miss you for sure

When you say colored, I think hair, not the fair complexion of skin Can’t mow the lawn, mohawk, more chalk on sidewalk painted pedestrian malls Curfew for few, curtain calls beginning long before midnight falls Heart beating fast, more, roar, ticketed, tallied and tolled, told it’s a loss not a win

Past color fasting, publicly half-masting, cannot fail to set sail with no avail Are you available? Uncuffed, unchuffed, unbuffed, beatboxed, and full of moxie Still hung up on nursery rhyme gallows, ringing hollow and pale Carve a nail with a nail, black and blue, red ink pen, self-harm proxy

Elevator button press, printed in the school gazette Monochrome mononucleosis, bittersweet taste of defeat Meet hoot and hollering cooties, silent mute-y, mutiny hasn’t happened yet Graduation day looming, shadows on eyes, the rise, one more day to meet

Coin tossing jinx machine mall fountain wishes Repeat offenders, amend their ways before smoking swish’s Shut down storefront, security called to hunt, wait outside for a ride Public space and appeal, no wax or weal, public offense, build a fence and hide

Ride or die, skate or die, live or die, do or don’t have a choice Won’t get far blasting tunes, goons or goblins in the periphery Summer was a season best spent with hearing your voice Tongue twister kissing, limericks, high rise kicks, always nailed your delivery

Try our best at DDR, record our memories to DVR Mallrats miss you, wish to kiss you, serenade and sayonara Pockets pleading more trinkets, bulging from our bizarre bazaar Leave my Walkman on repeat, see you again, but we found our Samsara

@env0writes C.Buck Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0 Support Your Local Artist! 

[passivenovember]

Reach Out and Touch Faith.

Harringrove April, Day Sixteen : Nostalgia.

--

Steve knows he’s got a stick up his ass about the whole thing. 

Feels it wiggle around, amused, when he comes home early from work to find Dawn and Billy dancing around in their PJs to the opening chords of Personal Jesus. 

They don’t see him.

Too preoccupied with the music, Dave Gahan’s voice pushing through windows and bursting through walls until Billy’s hips are moving in a way Steve hasn’t seen them do in years. 

And Steve isn’t a betting man, but. 

He knows that if Billy turned and zeroed in, hips moving like that with Dawn headbanging to dark wave like some sort of hybrid, the perfect combination of the two of them, Steve would be unable to rain on their parade.

His first reaction is to unplug the stereo.

And it’s a crime. To cut the Gretsch short like that, right in the middle of such an iconic riff.

Billy turns, out of breath from doing the limbo under Dawn’s black feather boa. “Oh, here we go.” He says fondly.

Steve ignores him, strictly business. “What the hell are you doing to my living room?”

Dawn’s still going. Arms win milling as she hop-scotches her way across the room toward Steve, forehead slick with sweat. 

“I like that song!” She hollers. Right in his ear when she climbs into Steve’s arms like a twelve year old monkey. He sets her down immediately, trying to play it cool.

Dawn and Billy start jumping up and down together, obviously high on adrenaline and Steve feels like shit. For having to be the bad guy all the time. 

He sits gingerly on the couch. Tries to tack on his best let’s have a serious discussion face, even as Dawn and Billy continue humming the chorus together. 

Billy breaks away, pumping his arm. “How sick is that synth track, kiddo?”

“So sick.” Dawn says. She collapses onto the floor, exhausted. “I think I like that better than the one on Dangerous.”

Steve gapes. “That’s hardly appropriate.”

Billy scowls, indignant. “You’re the one who let Aunt Robin sneak in the first album we ever fu--”

"Bill.”

He shuts up, sighing. “Babe. You’re gonna be cool about this, right?”

“I’m cool!” Steve insists, leaning back on the couch. “I’m the coolest, ask anyone.”

Billy grins, cheeks flushing pink. “Really? ‘Cause you’re acting pretty uncool.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup,” Billy teases. “Coming in and unplugging the stereo like that. Right in the middle of the riff, too.” Billy whistles low, shaking his head. “Gotta be one of the seven sins.”

“What, cutting a Depeche Mode song in half?” Steve deadpans. “I just would’ve preferred she start out with. Like. Speak and Spell. or something.” 

Dawn beams. “What’s that? Can we listen to that one next?”

Billy ignores her, honed in. “Dawn’s twelve now, that’s like. Practically a teenager.”

“Yeah, Dad.” She says smugly. “I’m practically a teenager.”

“Exactly.” Billy triumphs, pasting himself to Steve’s side. “And as a practically-almost-teenager, it’s about time she hears some good music.” 

“Hey, you said good music is whatever makes me feel something,” Dawn accuses, sitting bolt upright. “Good music makes your skin all tingly and your tummy do backflips and your heart--”

“I said real music makes you feel something. I never specified what makes it good.” Billy says smugly. “Everything you’ve heard before today is real music but it’s not good music.”

Steve lets Billy fuse their bodies together, wincing as his arm touches miles of sticky skin. 

Dawn shrugs her shoulders. 

Unbothered.

Unapologetic. 

“What you said before, kiddo, about your heart and your tummy. Does this record make you feel like that?” Steve wonders, and Dawn’s nodding her head before he’s even finished. 

He sighs. “Go get my cassette case, then. We’ve got some work to do.”

--

With her Walkman turned up as high as it will go, muttering along to the words as if in prayer, Dawn grows up before their eyes. 

Two new copies of Violator are purchased before the year is out. Once because it’s played so much the wheels fall off, and again because Joey steals the new one.

Billy gets a phone call from Max the day after it goes missing. “The World Wide Web is an evil, disgusting place.”

Billy snorts. “Pretty sure kids are calling it the Net these days, grandma. Keep up.”

“I don’t want to keep up.” She snaps. “Four years. A whole kindergarten age child ago I force Joey to sit down and listen to my cassettes--”

“Your cassettes?” Billy mumbles, alarmed. “No wonder the kid’s purging himself on Steve’s shit.”

“Oh fuck off. That’s where he heard them?”

Billy plays dumb. 

Max catches on instantly. “He’s been locked in his room, listening to Policy of Truth all day. I just don’t understand what’s so appealing about a bunch of sad boys--”

“Be nice.”

“Do you really think the kids are old enough to listen to that shit, man?” Max sounds like she’s coming apart at the edges. Scattered to the wind. “I mean. He left his room twice. Once to make a sandwich and again to borrow one of my skirts.”

Billy grins. “Ah. So he got his hands on some pictures of Martin Gore, that was fast--”

“He tore the thing to shreds, Billy.”

And Billy doesn’t get what the problem is, many of Joyce’s tattered Sunday skirts hanging in his closet even now. 

He shrugs. “’S more punk that way.”

“God. Name the kid after his freaky uncle and the kid will deliver.” Max retorts miserably. She takes a deep breath. “What the fuck am I gonna do?”

“Dunno. Remove the stick from your ass?”

“Ha-ha.” Max spits, but. It sounds like she’s smiling. “Speaking of sticks up asses. Did Steve have a cow?”

Billy shrugs again, wrapping the phone chord around his wrist. “Whole barn, more like. But I think I convinced him.”

“Of what? That the perversion of our youth is okay?”

“No, that the kids are getting older.” Billy says. He doesn’t get it, why he’s the only one in touch with reality. “Joey’s Fifteen, Dawn’ll be thirteen in a couple months. They’re not little kids anymore, Max, they’re teenagers.”

She sighs. “So we’re supposed to let them listen to whatever they want.”

“Within reason. Susan and Neil would’ve bought the barn at full price if we hadn’t snuck around.”

Max makes a noise. “I never listened to--”

“N.W.A?”

“Fuck you, they have an incredible social commentary on the issues faced by disenfranchised people in the--”

“Check mate.”

Max falls silent. And then, glumly, “I hate you for always being right.”

Billy leans against the wall, chuckling. “I’m your big brother. Comes with the territory.”

--

When they get Dawn’s birthday list, only one thing is circled in red. 

Joey and I want to see Depeche Mode live.

Steve wonders if he can make that happen.

[yunatheintrovert]

shot through the heart (and you’re to blame) | Chapter 3 [Russell Adler/Female Bell!Reader Soulmate AU]

As you listened to the familiar gradual crescendo of Morning Mood overlap with the regular hiss of your oxygen mask, you looked around the darkly lit interior of the C-130. Red netting that comprised the seats stood out starkly against the dark interior. It was certainly uncomfortable but nothing you haven’t dealt with before. 

Aside from the several MI6 operatives sent as support for the operation, Belikov and Sims were seated next to you while Adler was seated across from you with some files in hand. Although, you didn’t know how he could read them in the darkly lit cabin while also having sunglasses on. 

You almost wished you brought sunglasses like Adler always did. The harsh desert sunlight was going to be quite the shock. But you were never sure how the hell he kept those things on his head. He somehow managed to do that in Cuba. 

Speaking of the man…

“How does he do that?” you asked lowly, well as quietly as you could in the cabin of a C-130 Hercules with an oxygen mask on and a walkman blaring Morning Mood, “I always see him with a cigarette yet he’s doing fine up here.” 

“Doc?” Sims replied before adding, “He knows how to handle hypoxia. Hell, he was one of the first in our unit to go through with HALO jumping in its experimental days.” 

You recalled that from your “memories” of being on Adler’s team in MACV-SOG. That did come up once in a conversation. Although, like everything else that “happened” in Vietnam, it was foggy. 

Truth be told, you were a bit envious. 

Adler could be a chain smoker and take only a quick breather with the oxygen mask while you and the rest of the team had to breathe through an oxygen mask for most of the flight to flush out nitrogen in the body. 

You must have trailed off into your thoughts at one point as you felt an elbow nudge you out of your thoughts. You glanced over at Sims only to notice the very topic of your idle thoughts staring at you. 

You stared at him for several moments before simply blinking. You were too tired and hungry for this especially after Lazar spent a whole 30 minutes talking with Sims about quarter pound burgers...

“Anything I can help you with, sir?” you asked tiredly. You saw his hands move minutely as if he wanted to take a drag from a non-existent cigarette. 

Habit, you thought vaguely. Military plane transport rides must be quite annoying to him since he couldn’t smoke in the military transport. 

“I had a friend in Vietnam,” Adler began abruptly with his voice taking that familiar turn you heard before, “His canopy got tangled after a collision with one of our own during terminal. He ended up in the treetops. Alive though that wasn’t a damn mercy.” 

...Really at this point, you weren’t sure if Adler was conducting psychological warfare on you or not. 

“...that’s uh unfortunate,” you said awkwardly, not quite sure of what exactly to say to that story. 

Especially since the very thought of crashing like Adler’s buddy was something you were trying to keep off your mind. 

You really were just too tired for a sudden story time with Adler, especially since you couldn’t figure out his angle like this. You’ve pulled all-nighters before back in your desk job at Langley but you had caffeine. Coffee had not been offered in the outpost and most of the team was going through caffeine withdrawal...hard. 

Well, Belikov was fine considering how he primarily drank tea in the morning but you and Sims on the other hand...

“I wasn’t finished,” Adler stated before adding as if simply stating a fact, “His radio wasn’t working. He was alone and panicking. You won’t.”

Oh . 

“...Understood.” was all you could quietly say as you turned your head to the side, suddenly finding the cargo box of M16s to be quite interesting. 

Perhaps if you had a heavy dose of caffeine, you’d have come with a more clever response to Adler's apparent vote of confidence or...support? You really didn’t know. 

Things really did seem simpler the last time you were on his team. 

Regardless, as you heard the pilots announce over the intercom about the approach to the drop zone, you couldn’t help but feel steadier. 

It was time. 

Watching in a trance

The crew is certain

Nothing left to chance

All is working

Trying to relax

“Bell, my friend!” Belikov said rather cheerily while adjusting the straps of his harness as if he wasn’t just about to jump from a plane 30,000 ft in the air, “You ready for this?” 

“...You’ll get my life insurance benefits.”

And really that was an answer in and of itself. 

All that earned you was an amused laugh by Belikov and a slap on the back as he cheerily said, “Just aim for the bushes!” 

As you chuckled at his jest, you vaguely noted that your own harness was a little too loose as it had shifted from the simple action. 

Up in the capsule

"Send me up a drink."

Jokes Major Tom

The count goes on...

“There is always the reserve parachute, да?” The light-heartedness in his voice made you couldn’t help but relax minutely. Although, you couldn’t help the giddy feeling that had nagged at you since the start of the plane ride. 

There were numerous possible scenarios where the reserve chute failed that ran through your mind at that moment: mispacking, entanglement of both the main and reserve parachutes, premature activation of the AAD...

And really it wasn’t quite the possibility of death that scared you as much as it was surviving a bad fall and dealing with the injuries...and the health insurance afterwards. 

The medical bills for the gunshot wound courtesy of Adler nearly made you go broke. 

“Well, at least I’ll die to the sound of Major Tom. There’s worse ways to die.” you murmured to yourself with Belikov looking curiously at you. 

But all you did was simply nod at Belikov as you busied yourself with getting the harness properly fitted to your form. 

Like Lazar, the man always had a way of lightening things.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sudden sounding of the alarm. You noticed the light at the ramp turned to yellow for standby. 

The pilots were about to give the go-ahead for the drop. 

As you fell into line with the other operatives of the operation field team on standby near the ramp, you fidgeted with the straps of the oxygen mask on your head as well as the harness before checking the jump bottle attached to your harness. 

“Alright, guys,” Adler curtly said, “You know the drill. Keep the formation tight. I don’t want to see anyone trekking through the desert for miles to get to the satellite site.” 

Somehow, you felt that last bit was directed at you with how the man’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before looking over at the others. 

And you could tell the others felt the same way. The MI6 members were already looking at you as if you were the “problem child” of the group. 

Truthfully, you expected that, considering your rather...notable past even though you could only recall a handful of memories from it at best. 

If there was a bit of a bounce in your step as you lined up with your assigned group formation at the ramp, well you certainly weren’t going to pay no mind to the looks it may garner. 

You were going to be jumping out of an airplane at 30,000 ft while listening to Major Tom. 

Fewer pleasures in life , you told yourself. 

With a beep over the plane’s intercom system and the switch to the green light, the first cracks of painfully bright sunlight streamed into the dark interior of the plane. 

The glare of the desert sun only got more intense as the ramp fully unloaded. You could see the cloudless, clear blue skies and yellow sand dunes being akin to small yellow hills in the distance down below. 

As you followed the MI16 operative in front of you to the now open ramp, you took a deep, steadying breath through your oxygen mask. 

It was time. 

You secured the glasses on your face as you motioned silently with your free hand, signalling the countdown of Major Tom to yourself. 

4

3

2

1-

And on a wing and a prayer, you let yourself just fall .

Earth below us

Drifting, falling

Floating weightless

Calling, calling home…

You could feel your heartbeat thudding in your chest as your stomach dropped. The adrenaline rush was similar to your previous jumps. 

Although, you didn’t quite feel this...giddy. 

Looking down, you read the marked dials of your altimeter at your wrist. 

29,500 ft. 

All you had to do was follow the “leader” or rather navigator in this case and make sure the parachute was deployed. If shit hit the fan, well...there was always your automatic activation device to deploy the main or reserve parachutes. 

You vaguely noticed the sharp hiss of the oxygen mask as you took each and every breath became louder and louder. 

Even as the low music in your headset- secured by your helmet -played the verses of Major Tom , you could still hear the whistling of the wind in your ears. 

“Approaching drop zone.” you heard the navigator’s voice come over the radio. As you listened to the confirmations over the radio by the other operatives, you shook your head idly. The whistling of the wind was triggering the ringing in your ears apparently. 

Second stage is cut, we're now in orbit

Stabilizers up, running perfect

Starting to collect requested data

"What will it effect, when all is done?"

Thinks Major Tom

You looked down at your altimeter yet again only to see a blur of red, orange, and blue at your wrist- 

And suddenly, there was a flash of light before your eyes. 

Back at ground control

There is a problem

"Go to rockets full."

Not responding

"Hello Major Tom

Are you receiving?

Turn the thrusters on

We're standing by."

There's no reply

________________________________________________________________

You vaguely registered the static of the radio in your ears. 

“We’ve got a job to do, Bell-”

“Wake the hell up!”

You blinked. Why the hell was Adler calling you on the radio like that? You had only blinked for a split second-

And then you looked down at your altimeter. 

4,000 ft. 

What...what the hell-

“ Your main chute is fucked, kid. You need to do a cutaway with your hook knife-” Yes...your hook knife. You reached over to the harness straps where you pulled the hook knife out from the pocket there. 

“Yes, good, now cut the lines.”

You blinked. 

There...there were a lot of lines. 

Almost like that of a cat’s cradle game...

“Bell, focus.” 

You were already sawing away at the tangled white lines of your main parachute. They were twisted so at least you sawed several out in one go-

“2,000 ft.” 

“...sir...I uh dropped my hook knife.” you said hazily with a sheepish laugh. 

“Then use your other knife.” 

Oh . 

“Yessir.”

It really was supposed to be simple. But really reaching for the knife in your thigh holster was an awkward affair when falling at terminal velocity. 

You brought your knee closer up to yourself as you reached for the knife. Suddenly, you felt the world spin-

“Bell, you’re going sideways. Get the knife. Now.”

You felt the firm handle of the knife as you quickly brought it up to the lines above you and dragged the edge across the parachute cord lines. 

“1,000 ft. Hurry the fuck up, Bell. Your AAD will deploy at any second now.”

Your AAD...oh fuck . 

How the hell had you forgotten about that...

4, 3, 2, 1 Earth below us Drifting, falling Floating weightless Calling, calling home...

On a hope and prayer, you sliced through the last remaining line and just prayed that the reserve chute wouldn’t get entangled on the main parachute you had just cut away. 

700 ft. 

Belikov , you thought with resignation, I sure hope you get my life insurance benefits . 

And just like that, you felt like a Soviet heavy soldier had just suckerpunched you with a cinderblock. 

Across the stratosphere A final message: "Give my wife my love." Then nothing more

________________________________________________________________

You stared down at the-relatively-solid ground beneath you. The grains of sand were hot to the touch even as you wore gloves. 

Were you dead…?

Suddenly, you felt a hand wrench away the oxygen mask you wore. You looked up into the blazing sun only to squint and see a dark figure.

There was the distinct smell of nicotine and smoke…

“Sir?” you asked only to see a large gloved hand holding a dark grey oxygen mask and shoving it onto your face. 

“Breathe.”

It wasn’t a request. 

You took a deep breath, hearing the hiss of oxygen and finally registering the ending notes of Major Tom . Wait, the next song was about to begin-

You shot to your feet, pulling the mask away from your face and handing it back to Adler. 

“I’m fine,” you swore fervently with a perhaps bit too forced of a smile. 

Sure, you were a bit dazed. 

But that was just the adrenaline working its magic, right? 

You unclipped the bag attached to your waist and quickly got out your XM4 with the magazine loaded and ready after two trusty taps on your helmet. 

“You’re experiencing decompression sickness right now, kid.” Adler sighed. You couldn’t help but wince at that slightly. 

You had disappointed him. Although, you had warned him about your inexperience with HALO jumping. 

“Just do overwatch for the operation at the cliff side.”

You opted to just obediently nod. 

You’d keep overwatch over the site unless the marked targets were secured and destroyed by the marked time designations. 

If that wasn’t the case...well you always had your good ol’ trusty C4 in your bag. 

________________________________________________________________

As it would turn out, things became a shitshow. 

Apparently Perseus supplied their hired DGI soldiers with more aid than expected. The team had come into the site expecting all kinds of things. Assault helicopters, spy planes, artillery-

But not radio jammers . 

Well, there was Plan B…

But you hadn’t seen the signal for it yet. 

And so you turned off your radio, no longer wanting to hear the crackling static of it all. 

Looking down the scope of your XM4 rifle, you decided to finally resume playing your Walkman. 

Sun is shinin' in the sky

There ain't a cloud in sight

It's stopped rainin' everybody's in the play

And don't you know

It's a beautiful new day, hey hey

Humming the merry little tune lightly to yourself, you fired several shots in a short burst through the skull of a DGI soldier emerging from the small canyon where the satellite had crashed. The body crumpled to the ground and you saw a shadow dart away from the entrance to the canyon. That was the tenth one you sniped down so far-

Your thoughts were cut short by the sight of blue smoke contrasting sharply against the yellow sand dunes. 

Plan B it was then , you mused to yourself. 

Runnin' down the avenue

See how the sun shines brightly in the city

On the streets where once was pity

Mr. Blue Sky is living here today, hey hey

Electric Light Orchestra’s Mr. Blue Sky graced your ears under the clear blue skies of Angola as you soon descended down to the canyon floor. Your gloved hands tightly gripped the ropes. 

The last thing you needed was to make another abrupt fall and land on your ass. 

As you let go of the ropes and fell the remaining several feet to the floor, you scanned your surroundings. The rocks to your left were a good cover in case the enemy tried to flank or ambush you. 

Although, you couldn’t afford to play defense at the moment. 

Plant the C4 and get the hell out of dodge, you told yourself. 

Mr. Blue Sky please tell us why

You had to hide away for so long (so long)

Where did we go wrong?

However, even the best laid plans were burned away by the fog of war.

And just as you finally arrived at the designated Zone A of the KH-9 satellite crash site, yours were stomped to pieces by all too familiar steps. 

Well, shiitake . 

It was your worst kind of enemy.

A Heavy.

Now, you could just waste an entire magazine trying to shoot that impossibly sturdy bucket off their head. But that would give away your position, expose you to those damn concussion grenades, and deplete your ammo. 

Hence why you decided on the only rational thing to do. 

You were going to kill that buckethead with your trusty 7-inch bowie knife. 

Hey you with the pretty face

Welcome to the human race

A celebration, Mr. Blue Sky's up there waitin'

And today is the day we've waited for

With a light whistle from your lips, you heard the Heavy’s footsteps approach your location. 

Just like Belikov taught , you thought as you readied your Magnum, cocking the hammer back. 

The large shadow cast from their figure was already past your hiding place behind the rock. 

They walked closer and closer until you could see the heavily armored plates protecting their legs walking past you. 

And then you took the shot. 

There was a muffled, strangled cry of pain from the DGI Heavy as they staggered back from the shot. You took advantage of the momentum by lunging from behind, sinking the bowie knife deep into the narrow gap between the helmet and the neck. 

The height difference made it somewhat difficult but you could deal with it. 

Hey there Mr. Blue

We're so pleased to be with you

Look around see what you do

Everybody smiles at you

That small fleshy opening was just enough for you to sink your knife several inches in. 

You were quite sure you nicked the carotid artery. 

But that wasn’t nearly a quick enough death. 

Still, you didn’t have time to go for a second strike. A short burst of gunfire erupted from their LMG. You ducked back under the cover of the rock that really was just getting obliterated by the LMG fire.

You silently counted. It wouldn’t take long for them to be forced to reload and throw a concussion grenade your way. 

They always did that. 

It was simply protocol that came from training. 

And you would use that against them. 

Mr. Blue, you did it right

But soon comes Mr. Night creepin' over

Now his hand is on your shoulder

Never mind I'll remember you this

I'll remember you this way

And true as church bells rang on Sundays, you heard the rapid fire of the LMG die down and you fired a quick round from your Magnum at the Heavy before lunging. 

This time, you didn’t half-ass it. 

Large hands were already heavy punches at your ribs but your padded combat vest absorbed most of the blows. Not stopping your momentum, you forced the bowie knife in through the same fleshy gap. This time though, it was a frontal attack. 

You felt the knife enter smoothly into the neck until it hit resistance in the muscle protecting the jugular vein and then you just twisted it. There was a choking gurgling sound erupting from the Heavy’s throat as you felt the hands now grappling at your shoulders squeeze painfully before relaxing. 

You severed their jugular and carotid artery. 

It was only when you withdrew the knife from the neck of the Heavy that you noticed the wet feeling on your eyelashes as you blinked. You rubbed at your eyes with the back of your glove. You stared down at the crimson stain on the fabric when you pulled your hand back. 

Your hands never really were clean.

With a sigh, you stood up from straddling the dead body and set your knife in its sheath at your thigh.

You still had to plant that C4-

And that’s when you heard it. 

That all too familiar beeping sound. 

It had been nearly instinct for you to simply drop to the ground and partially roll the still heavily-armored corpse of the Heavy to face you, shielding you from the direction the inevitable detonation was going to come from. 

Of course like clockwork, the beeping stopped. 

Hey there Mr. Blue (sky)

We're so pleased to be with you (sky)

Look around see what you do (blue)

Everybody smiles at you-

(And you proceeded to see stars in your vision as you felt what seemed to be a cannonball slam into you.)

________________________________________________________________

“Bloody hell! Are you okay?” you heard an accented voice ask above you. 

It was one of those MI6 field agents sent as support for the operation. 

“Yeah,” you murmured hazily, blinking away the blotches of color and stars still littering your vision, “I...uh should have paid more attention.” 

You didn’t quite know how you missed one of the operatives planting C4 at Zone A. They must have been stealthy about it while you were in the middle of stabbing a Heavy repeatedly in the neck. 

“Sorry about that, mate. I got a bit overzealous with the C4. We’re about to head to exfil.” the operative offered out his arm to you which you quickly took. Your balance was still wobbly as you could hear the deafening ringing in your ears drown out whatever songs your Walkman was playing. 

Speaking of your Walkman, you looked down at it worriedly only to sigh in relief. 

Miraculously, it hadn’t taken severe damage. Nothing not unrepairable. 

That was good. 

You could heal from bruises, concussions, and whatever the hell was thrown at you. But you couldn’t replace this Walkman. 

You idly looked down to see the corpse of the Heavy you had taken down. The armor had gotten large fragments but it looked like the corpse was still intact. With a glance at the retreating MI6 agent, you knelt down quickly, pulling away the armor from the corpse. 

Only a select few got to wear this kind of heavy duty armor. It was a privilege due to the sheer expensiveness and maintenance costs of the armor plates. 

Patting down the corpse, you felt a familiar rectangular shape in one of the pockets on the corpse’s vest. Pulling it out, you found that it was-

...a cassette tape? 

‘ Миллион алых роз ’ was written on the white label on the cassette tape. 

Your musings were cut short by the crackling of the radio at your waist. The radio jammers must have been destroyed by now.

“If I were you, I’d get to exfil now, Bell. Doc’s waiting for you.” 

You sighed. 

Honestly, you weren’t sure if you were going to face disappointment at how little you contributed to the operation or how you intervened in the operation after the radio jammers went off. 

Either one wasn’t good. 

Story Time With Adler it was, you thought hazily. At least, you liked his voice. There was just an assuredness and husky tone to his voice that was pleasant to listen to…

And with that idle thought in mind, you hurriedly made your way to exfil, trying not to trip on the rocks on the way there with your still wobbly sense of balance.

_______________________________________________________________  

“ Bell.” was all the man in question had to say. He took a drag of his cigarette in the helicopter as you reluctantly grabbed the offered oxygen mask in hand and took a deep breath from it. 

After breathing in and out for several seconds, you took off the oxygen mask and smiled with widened eyes as you gave a thumbs up gesture to the man across from you. Maybe you were exaggerating a bit too much but you really did want him to get off your back regarding the matter of oxygen. 

It hadn’t helped you much back during the HALO jump apparently. 

Perhaps, he’d buy into it-

“Bell, it’s oxygen, not cocaine.”

...or maybe not…

And so you resigned yourself to spending the next several hours wearing an oxygen mask while Adler watched you like a hawk while taking drags of his cigarette. 

[imagine-darksiders]

K, so you done hcs for the Lord of Hollows. Now, what about the Horsemaster meeting a human? He seems pretty chill honestly

- He’s always been a secret admirer of humanity from afar, often fashioning himself into their image.

-He’s shocked to see you - a stray human - sitting in a field near his house and surrounded by a dozen horses.

-They’re skittish, cantering towards you before prancing away at the last second, snorting and squealing as if involved in a game.

- All the while, you simply sit there, fiddling with some strange, electrical device and seemingly ignoring the horses altogether.

- Intrigued by your appearance and even more so by your behaviour, the Horsemaster keeps a close eye, sitting on his porch with his hat pulled down to shield his eyes from the blazing sun.

- It takes a while before one of the older stallions finally ventures close to you and puts his head down, grazing casually near your feet.

- The Horsemaster watches, enraptured as you reach out and manage to brush your fingers along the stallion’s white cheek. The horse doesn’t even flinch.

- At some, unmentioned consensus, all the horses relax and put their own heads down, grazing in a circle around you.

- Satisfied, the Horsemaster gets up and meanders over to you.

- You don’t even notice his approach until the horses look up, though they don’t flee.

- “Good judges of character, these animals,” he says in a heavy, southern drawl that reminds you so much of old cowboy films you used to watch as a child.

- Despite seeing how the horses are docile around you, he remains just a little suspicious.

- Then, you start to help him.

- Every fed days, you show up outside his home with hay nets for the horses. You also ensure all the watering holes are accessible and deal with any predators that might have strayed into his territory.

- Laying waste to a prowling grappleclaw is how he discovers you’re a friend of the Horsemen.

- He’s been happy in his quiet, peaceful life on the plains, but even he’ll admit it can get lonely at times. The horses are only good company to an extent.

- You both grow closer as the weeks turn into months.

- You start bringing him things from Earth - your old Walkman with spare batteries, a couple of books you think he’ll enjoy. (You soon find out he has a love for westerns and romance.)

- You discover, underneath his rough and rugged exterior; that he has a soft heart, and the disposition of a real, old-fashioned gentleman.

- He introduces you to his horse, and together you ride out to see more of his realm, often laying in the long grass at night and watching strange, glowing bugs zip about overhead whilst beyond them, the stars shine on an inky, black sky.

- He falls in love with you when he’s walking you back to the Tree of Life one evening, the moon is on your hair and in your eyes and your clothes are still covered in fine, white hairs.