#Potluck of nightmares

[anitalianfrie]

The potluck of nightmares: Italians on the grid edition

First of all, they don't arrange who is bringing what. Whoever was tasked with bringing the meat for the barbecue severely overestimates the amount necessary. Nobody actually knows how to use the grill and just making it functional takes around one hour. More than one sausage ends up directly into the charcoal, and there is one incident with a wasp's nest hanging directly onto the grill that somehow nobody noticed. The only thing brought is a giant bowl of insalata di riso, and not even the proper one but the one made with condiriso. Bez loudly (and rightly) complains about this, stating that the condiriso sucks, but the only thing he brought were three six packs of peroni. Since they didn't arrange anything, Mig brought even more beer and one (1) watermelon. There is no water. Nobody brought plastic cups or plates. Diggia states he must make some carbonara because he's from Rome and his carbonara is super good and the only right recipe (false. Everybody knows how to make carbonara). Somebody's mom cought wind of this event and asked her son if he wanted to her to make something, and when she got a negative response she made it anyway so there is a savoury pie which is one of the few things edible. Pecco brings a cake he bought at the supermarket that tastes like pure chemicals. Cele brings one (1) bottle of té al limone that he bought solely because he wanted to drink it.

[fierylittleniece]

//I've been in the kitchen all gd day. someone please drag me away. i dont wanna mix salad dressing anymore

[good-night-space-kid]

I’m unexpectedly moving today (found out on Tuesday, but I hadn’t planned for it at all) and I have had the weirdest fucking stress dreams. Just had one in which I had to do a book discussion on my Latin American history book but my public history professor was leading it. I also had all these plants packed up that I had to carry with me. And it’s been like this all week 😭

[sattlersquarry]

the great divide (steve harrington x fem!reader)

Summary: (Post Season 4 AU, the sequel to orange juice) After your miraculous return to the land of the living, you aren't doing well.

Word Count: ~12k

Warnings: 18+ PLEASE!!!! for language, anxiety, depression, and suicidal ideation. The reader has panic attacks and intrusive thoughts about Not Wanting To Be Alive. If that will be triggering for you please don't read this (read my happier bloom series instead). there's also an allusion to a relapse, slut-shaming, and allusions to sex (although there's no smut, it just gets slightly steamy). this fic is angst + hurt/comfort with an optimistic ending. inspired by noah kahan's music (including this amazing demo on instagram).

a/n: please let me know if i missed any warnings. please don't read this if you think it will be too triggering. the last thing i want is to make someone upset! but writing this was cathartic and helped me work through some things, i think. writing is magical!

🫀🫀🫀

THE GREAT DIVIDE

SOMETIME IN 1987

You aren’t sure how long it’s been since you last saw your friends. It feels like a fucking long time.

You woke up on the ground of the Upside Down, covered in dried blood and terrified at the sight of Vecna towering above you.

He brought you back to life. He wanted to send you back home and use you as a soldier and spy, the same thing he did to Will, Billy, Heather, and countless others.

“If you do this,” Vecna had growled, “You can once again see your family. Your friends. Your beloved Steven. Otherwise…you will die here.”

You refused, not interested in being his lackey. He tried to flay you anyway, but he was weak from the hell Nancy, Steve, and Robin rained down on him, allowing you to escape his clutches.

He stalked you for days, finally catching up to you—but you got the upper hand, using Eddie’s spear to stab him. Repeatedly.  

Killing Vecna caused the gates he opened to sew themselves back shut before you could get through. You were glad that your friends no longer had to worry about Vecna and his army of monsters pouring through the four gates, but it meant you were trapped on the wrong side of the universe.

Vecna gone meant the Upside Down could revert back to what it was before he arrived. Now, the sky of the Upside Down was a buttery yellow, and it was much warmer. You saw patches of green grass and flowers starting to grow in various spots around town. But it still felt like a nightmare.

You wander the Upside Down each day with a routine: avoid monsters, forage for food and clean water, and visit the gates to see if any of them reopened. Food and water aren’t as hard to find as you feared, since the world isn’t so much of a poison, desolate nightmare anymore. But the gates stay staunchly shut, much to your chagrin.

You miss your life. You miss Steve. You miss his laugh, his smile, his kisses, his touch. You would do ungodly things to see him again.

You hope he’s okay. Any time you want to give up, you remind yourself that if roles were reversed, Steve would keep fighting to come back to you no matter what.

And, to your pleasant surprise, he does just that.

🫀🫀🫀

AUGUST 1987

It’s been three months since you returned to the land of the living. You’re not taking it well.

Surviving the Upside Down meant constantly being in fight-or-flight, scrambling to find food and clean water while avoiding demo-creature attacks. Without Vecna’s evil influence, the animals weren’t so bloodthirsty—but they still needed to eat.

You were able to avoid them, surviving yourself off disgusting canned food from the Upside Down’s version of the Big Buy and whatever houses you ransacked. It wasn’t very appetizing. It made the meal you were serving up today seem like a 5-star, 5-course delight.

It was neither of those things. It was for a church potluck that your mother had a hand in throwing. Lots of casseroles and carbs. She dragged you along to volunteer in hopes to get you out of the house.

Ever since you left the hospital in May, you’d only ever left the house to go to doctor’s appointments, therapy appointments, and Steve’s place. Your parents wanted to encourage more of a well-rounded life and schedule, and although they’d never admit it, you figured they hoped you’d turn back to your normal self. To the person you were before it all happened.

You think she might have died.

As you plate some macaroni and cornbread for your next patron, you sense eyes on you. You glance over and see two women at a table a few feet away. To your chagrin, they’re gossiping about you.

“I mean, it’s appalling,” an old bat named Shirley hisses. “She claims to have lost her memory after the earthquake and gotten lost, but it’s obvious that she just ran away.”  

“Probably thought she was grown up, that she knew better than her parents,” Mildred says with a sniff, adjusting her too-big glasses.

“I can’t believe she left poor Steve Harrington high and dry,” Shirley adds.

Your heart clenches at the fact that these women see you as a villain, as an irresponsible idiot who up and left everyone who loved her out of spite. If they knew the truth…if they knew the nightmare you’d survived…

It only gets worse from there.

“You know what Cynthia told me?” Mildred says. “That her cousin’s roommate’s friend’s brother saw Y/N working a street corner in Manassas. It's just shameful.”

Anger burns through you, hot like hellfire. So, what? You’re not just a flake—you’re a slut to this people now, too? What happened to ‘loving thy neighbor’ and ‘forgiveness’ and all that shit?

“Can I get some more of that?” an elderly man says.

It snaps you back to your task at hand: dishing out food to hungry churchgoers.

“Ah, yeah,” you say. You dump macaroni on his Styrofoam plate. “Sorry. Here you go.”

The man smiles and ambles off. You take a deep breath and try your best to tune out the whispers of the chattering hens.

Your mother must notice the scowl on your face. She makes her way to you, practically floating, as graceful as ever. She’s totally in her element. She deserves a daughter who doesn’t clomp and stumble her way through life. Who doesn’t jump at every loud noise and sleep with a hunting knife under her pillow.

“Doing all right?” your mother asks you, giving you that sympathetic look that you think you might despise by now.

You muster up a smile of your own and nod.

Your mother can’t tell its fake and beams.

“See?” she says. “I knew getting you out of the house would turn that frown upside-down!”

She doesn’t know about the Upside Down. She thinks you got injured in the earthquake, stumbled through the Indiana woodlands, and got found by cops two states over. That you couldn’t remember where you came from due to amnesia, that since they pronounced you dead no one assumed you were the missing girl from Hawkins until your memories came back.

You let her comment slide and fake a smile, figuring it’s better to pretend you’re fine than feel it all.

🫀🫀🫀

That night, you chat with Steve on the phone. He’s gone back to college for the fall semester and you miss him terribly.

He promised he’d come back to Hawkins every other weekend. He knows how hard it’s been for you coming back. Or, he says he knows. Sometimes, you get the idea that he doesn’t really understand.

How could he? Every time he tries to get you to open up about what happened and what you went through, you shut down.

However, when he asks how your day was, you decide to be honest.

“It sucked,” you say. You blow out a huff of air. “These old crones were being total bitches at the church potluck. Apparently, the new conspiracy theory is that I was turning tricks in Virginia.”

“Ugh, I’m so sorry Y/N,” Steve says. For some reason, the sympathy in his voice makes you wince.

“But it’s fine,” you say quickly. “I don’t care what they say about me.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line.

“It’s okay if you do, you know,” Steve says, speaking slowly and carefully as if he’s worried about setting you off. (For good reason; you’ve been prone to outbursts of anger lately.)

“I know!” you say, defensiveness seeping into your tone. “But I don’t give a shit. Really.”

“Good,” Steve says. But he sounds unconvinced. “You shouldn’t.”

Another pause. It lasts a little too long for your liking. You clear your throat.

“I should probably shower and head to bed,” you say. “It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah, totally,” Steve says. You don’t understand why he sounds almost intrigued by the prospect of your boring nighttime routine until he says, “A shower with you sounds like heaven right now…”

Shit. You’re really not in the mood for phone sex. Even if that’s not what Steve is angling for, just slightly flirty banter doesn’t sound fun to you either.

Steve has been a total gentleman ever since you got back. You’ve kissed a little, but anytime he tries to take it further, you stop him. As much as you longed for him in every sense while in the Upside Down, you don’t feel ready to re-engage in those kinds of activities—like you’ve been shot back to the insecure, unconfident person you were before you started dating Steve.

He respects those boundaries and never, ever presses for more. But you worry he’s getting bored and wants to get back into old habits, possibly evidenced by his shower comment.

You’re a coward. You don’t tell him outright that you’re not in the mood, afraid he’ll have an out-of-character reaction and chew you out for being a prude or a tease.

“Huh?” you say. Steve starts to repeat his salacious comment, but you interrupt with: “Bad…connection…can’t…better…”

You hang up the phone and let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

🫀🫀🫀

OCTOBER 1987

It’s a Thursday in October, and you’re taking a trip for the first time in a long time.

“You have everything you need?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Toothbrush? Extra socks? Lambchop?”

You huff and roll your eyes, crossing your arms like a petulant teenager.

“Mom! I’m an adult. I do not need a stuffed animal.”

“But you packed her, right?”

You mumble out a “Yes” as she pulls up to the parking lot near Steve’s apartment building.

You applied for spring admission at the University of Indiana. Your lovely boyfriend invited you to stay with him for a few days so he could show you around campus for homecoming weekend.

Tonight is the unofficial campus tour with “Tour Guide Steve.” Tomorrow, you’ll help him and his friends put the finishing touches on a homecoming parade float, and Saturday is the big football game.

Before your disappearance and assumed death, your parents were insanely strict about you staying the night with Steve and wouldn’t have allowed it. Now, they’ve mellowed out—but you hate thinking it’s because of some kind of twisted pity.

Steve must have seen your mom’s minivan pull up from his apartment window, because he jogs over to you before you’ve even grabbed your bag from the trunk.

“Hey, babe!” he says with a beaming grin; the picture of exuberance. You can feel his excitement roll off him in waves. You feel like an asshole for matching his energy. Even though you’re excited for time with Steve, you have a pit in your stomach at the thought of being away from home for so many days.

Of course, if you get accepted to U of I, you’ll be away from home for weeks at a time. You try not to think about that.

Steve hugs you tightly, and you hope he can’t sense your apprehension.

He seems not too, still smiling as he gives your mom a quick hug and then offers to carry your duffel bag for you.

You give your mom a hug goodbye, promising to call if you want to get picked up early.

You and Steve wave as your mom drives away. After dropping your bag off at his apartment, Steve takes you on an abridged campus tour that ends at the dining hall. He wants to introduce you to his friends.

He has friends here. Of course he does, you’re glad he does. No one should feel like they don’t have friends, or like their girlfriend is their only friend. But what does it mean that your boyfriend is your only friend lately?

Nancy’s off at Emerson. As for the Hawkins crew, Jonathan’s busy with family stuff, helping Joyce and Hopper renovate their new house. Eddie’s preoccupied with his band, trying to get Corroded Coffin off the ground after a he-was-accused-of-murder hiatus. And Robin’s a student at Roane County Community College, spending her days with marching band and classes and clubs and work.

They’ve started inviting you to things, and sometimes you go. You usually don’t have much fun, distracted with your own anxieties and unable to think of anything interesting to say.

So, the fact that Steve seems to have moved on from everything so easily and has a pack of friends at college makes you feel pathetic, even though it shouldn’t.

At the dining hall, Steve introduces you to his buddies. When Steve lived on-campus last semester, Gus was his roommate. Now Steve’s moved into his own apartment off-campus, but the boys still hang out often and play together on a club basketball team.

Jessica is Gus’ girlfriend. She has a kind smile and compliments your sweater.

The last friend in their clique is Rochelle. She’s tall and slender, like a supermodel. Apparently, she and Jessica grew up together and are good friends.

Everyone greets you happily when Steve introduces you—except Rochelle, who looks you up and down like she’s inspecting you. It makes you uneasy.

You immediately start to dislike her more when she laughs loudly at Steve’s jokes and squeezes his shoulder flirtatiously.

“You are tew much, Harrington,” Rochelle says, flipping her shiny hair over her shoulder.

It makes you feel tense and jealous and angry and sick all at once.

You’re completely content to listen in silence while the others chat, but then Jessica asks where you go to school.

“Oh, um, here, in the spring,” you say. “Uh, hopefully.”

“That’s awesome!” Gus says. “You get the full Hoosiers homecoming experience a whole semester before having to pay tuition.”

You chuckle and smile. Any good feelings you have about this interaction come crashing down when Rochelle asks, “So, like, if you aren’t a student right now, what do you do?”

“She’s working at Sonic,” Steve says. “Saving up money. Right babe?”

You turn to him, face falling. You’re not working. You tried to apply for a job at Sonic and had a panic attack when you saw the gap in your resume from your 15 months in the Upside Down, so you roller-skated your way home to unemployment.

Did you not tell Steve that? You suppose you “forgot” to tell him about that panic episode.

“Uh, actually no,” you say, furrowing your brow. “Not anymore. I’m just taking a semester off.”

Surprise flashes behind Steve’s eyes, but he recovers quickly. He throws an arm around your shoulders and says, “Right, of course.”

The rest of the conversation is mostly you smiling and nodding along to the funny stories and inside jokes the group shares. When you and Steve get back to his place later that evening, you apologize for not updating him on the Sonic situation sooner.

Steve waves away your apology.

“Don’t even worry about it,” he says.

“But I feel bad,” you say, fidgeting with your fingers while you sit next to him on the couch. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.”

(You didn’t truly forget. You were embarrassed and didn’t want him to know.)

“These things happen,” Steve says. “I totally get it. For a few months after Vecna and…you, my brain was like scrambled eggs. I’d drink myself to a coma every other night. I definitely didn’t have the sharpest mind.”

You appreciate him for understanding. Except you feel shitty because you’re lying to him about forgetting. It’s a vicious cycle.

The two of you put on a movie, and while you’re lying on the couch with him, you start thinking of something you haven’t done in a long, long time.

You lightly trace your hand up and down the arm that’s wrapped around your middle.

“Hey,” you say quietly. “Would you want to…”

You clear your throat.

“What?” Steve asks.

You aren’t sure how to ask for what you want without sounding wholly desperate and/or pathetic and/or like the horniest bastard alive.

“Go to your room?” you say.

“Sure, if you want, we can go to sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.”

You laugh lightly.

“No, I mean. You know.”

You wiggle your eyebrows and Steve’s jaw drops. Mouth agape, like a goldfish, his brains seems to short circuit.

The air is charged with something you haven’t felt in a long time.

“Are you sure?” Steve says, a barely audibly whisper. His hand cups your cheek so delicately, and you feel cherished. Love. Seen.

“I am,” you whisper back, before pulling him closer to you for a kiss.

It’s the kind of kiss you dreamed about while you were trapped in another universe.

It makes you feel electric, the same way your first kiss had. That iconic kiss happened because Steve found out you’d never played spin the bottle. In his kitchen late, late at night, he took an empty soda bottle and spun it on the countertop.

He had maneuvered it just right and stopped it with his hand when the bottle neck pointed right at you, like a compass needle finding truth north.

“Well, what do you know,” Steve had said at the time, with a dopey grin on his face. “It’s you.”

“If you wanted to kiss me so bad,” you had quipped, “you could’ve just asked.”

And then you two kissed like crazy, amongst other things.

Back in the present, all your hesitancies and qualms about re-engaging in intimacy and sex with Steve are thrown out the window when you feel his lips on yours.

Giddy as if it’s the first time (because, in a way, it kind of is), the two of you break apart and practically race down the hall to his bedroom. Thank goodness for no roommates, because when you’re in there, Steve slams the door and presses you against it to kiss some more, closing the gap between the metaphorical great divide that you’ve placed between you both.

You tug at his shirt, and he pulls it off before the two of you stumble into his bed.

Things heat up, and they’re going great. Steve is kissing and biting your neck, probably leaving a hickey or two, but you don’t mind. His hands are gripping your waist, practically leaving scorch marks in their wake.

You’re loving this. You’re having a great time.

Until you’re not. The trains of thought in your brain all rush from the station at the same time, colliding at a junction on the tracks.

What if you give Steve an infection? Not an STD, but like, an Upside Down sickness. You could be a carrier and not even realize it. Is that a possibility? What did Dr. Owens say last time you saw him?

He advised you not to get pregnant. He said there’s a possibility your future children could have birth defects after your time in the Upside Down. Birth defects! You’re only 21 years old and your body is poisoned. Not enough to harm you in the short term, but the long term effects on you (and your progeny) could be terrible to deal with.

But Steve really wants kids. What if he finds out you can’t give him children and he leaves you? You really, really don’t want him to leave you.

You don’t realize it, but you start breathing a little harder. To Steve, it seems like you’re insanely turned on. Mentally, your brain is on a different plane of existence.

He’s going to leave you because he’s better off without you. He doesn’t realize it yet but one day, one day. He will.

Vecna was right. Vecna said Steve would get tired and bored of you. That’s why the monster tried to recruit you, to flay you. That’s why he pursued you across the Upside Down for days, hunting you like a dog until he cornered you at the quarry.

Steve finally takes notice of your erratic breathing pattern. You’re not reacting how you usually do to his kissing. He ceases the lovefest and leans up on his elbows.

“Y/N? You okay?”

You don’t hear him. You continue to hyperventilate, your eyes screwed tightly shut.

And when you stabbed the beast through the chest with the spear Eddie left behind, you didn’t even feel sorry.

Is that the kind of person you are? A sick, violent freak?

But it was self-defense!

But if you hadn’t tried to draw the demobats away, you wouldn’t have been in that situation. You went against the plan. You caused all the bad things that happened to you.

You’re a bad person. A bad omen. A bad girlfriend. A bad daughter. A—

“Hey, can you hear me? Y/N?”

Steve’s soft, slightly panicked, voice brings you back down to reality.

You nod, eyes still shut.

“Sorry,” you say. “I don’t—I don’t know what happened.”

“It’s okay,” Steve says, still speaking quietly as if he’s afraid to scare you. You don’t feel his hands on you anymore, but you sense he’s still close. “It’s okay. Can you sit up? I think you should drink something.”

You sit up slowly and open your eyes. Steve looks frazzled, but he musters up a smile when he hands you a glass of cold water.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

You don’t respond, just take a sip.

“Can we just go to bed?” you say after a moment, voice cracking.

Steve nods and gives your knee a gentle squeeze.

“Of course. And, hey, listen, we don’t have to have sex anytime soon, okay?”

“But—”

“No, seriously,” Steve says, shaking his head vehemently. “I mean, of course I like having sex with you. Probably too much.”

You snort and shake your head, a small smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

“But you know I don’t mind waiting. Right?”

You nod.

“Yeah, I know.”

But as you lie awake, tossing and turning, your brain continues feeding you lie after lie, and you find yourself believing the opposite. Prude, tease. Bad girlfriend. Bad person.

🫀🫀🫀

The next morning, you, Steve, Gus, Jessica, and Rochelle work on a homecoming float for the club basketball team the boys are on.

It’s fun at first. The parking lot is filled with floats for all different student organizations. Someone is playing music a bit too loud, but the energy is electric.

It takes a turn when Steve rushes off with Gus to get more supplies.

While you’re kneeling by the float trying to staple tinsel trim around the edge, you hear Rochelle and Jessica whispering conspiratorially on the other side. They can’t see you due to a large papier mâché basketball blocking you from view.

You're awash with embarrassment, feeling warm head to toe, when you realize they’re talking about you.  

“You know what Mollie told me?” Rochelle said. “When she and Steve were hooking up last year, he called her Y/N, like, three times.”

Your heart shrinks. You didn’t know Steve had been involved with anyone while you were gone. In fact, he said the opposite.

“That’s kind of sweet though, when you think about it,” Jessica muses. “But I wonder what caused Steve and Y/N to break up and then get back together. I’ve never dreamed of breaking up with Gus.”

“I heard some other super freaky stuff about her,” Rochelle says. “My sorority sister, Tina, is from Hawkins too. Apparently, Y/N had, like, amnesia or some shit after that earthquake thing. And she was like missing.”

“Damn,” Jessica says. “That’s crazy. How’d she remember stuff and get back home?”

“Who gives a shit?” Rochelle scoffs. “That’s obviously a cover story. Tina said the real story is probably something much simpler. Like she ran away to become a stripper but couldn’t hack it because she doesn’t have a good body. And, well, we’ve seen that firsthand.”

Anger and shame courses through your veins, and you tug on the hem of your sweatshirt. You’re comforted only a miniscule amount when you hear Jessica come to your defense.

“Don’t be such a jerk. And we have no idea what really happened so stop making shit up, mkay?”

“I’m just repeating what I heard. But Tina’s right, her whole deal is so weird. I can’t believe she’s Steve’s girlfriend. He deserves better.”

Those words echo in your head. He deserves better. He deserves better. You’ve been thinking that a lot yourself lately.

You don’t care if Jessica and Rochelle see you when you toss your stapler onto the ground and stomp off.

“Oh, shit,” you hear Jessica say. “Nice going, Roche.”

“It’s not my fault! I didn’t know she was creeping around!”

As you beeline through the throngs of float-makers, you bump into Steve, holding a box of glittery something. He grins at you.

“Hey, where’s the fire?”

When he notices the grim look on your face, he sobers up.

“Whoa, what happened?”  

“Who’s Mollie?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

Steve pales. He swallows hard, grip on the box loosening. He gingerly sets it on the ground next to him and shrugs.

“No one.”

“Liar.”

Steve glances around before leading you away from the crowd to a secluded spot on the outskirts of the parking lot.

“She really was no one,” Steve repeats. “Just some girl I had a class with. I was lonely and she liked me, so we went out twice.”

“I heard Rochelle say you hooked up with her,” you say. You cross your arms and try to keep angry tears at bay. “You told me you didn’t find anybody else.”

“I didn’t!” Steve says, a little louder. He clears his throat. “I meant that. We almost hooked up, but I couldn’t stop thinking of you.”

You sigh and shake your head. You want to believe him so badly. But the voice in your head that’s been so cruel to you lately isn’t convinced.

“Do you still think about her?”

Steve scrunches up his face, wholly confused at your line of questioning.

“What? No, of course not. Like I said, we hung out twice, had one near-miss, and then never spoke again. Babe, is everything okay?”

He reaches a hand to your arm and you flinch away. Your action makes him frown deeper.

You rub your forehead.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you say. “Just tired.”

A beat. You think Steve’s going to accept your answer, until: “Why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not lying!” you say, irritation creeping into your tone. “I’m just tired. Okay, Steve?”

Steve fidgets from foot to foot. He’s starting to look as agitated as you feel. With an annoyingly calm, even voice, he says, “I think you’re not being honest.”

“And I think you should shut up,” you fire back, before you can stop yourself.

Steve’s face contorts into a frown, the line between his brows deepening.

“Whoa, what the hell?” he says. “Why are you being like this?”

“Because I just found out you lied about not being involved with someone while I was gone!”

Steve rubs his face with his hands, as if he’s trying to scrub away whatever he’s feeling. He takes a deep breath, another one, and then finally speaks.

“Y/N, I thought you were dead,” he says, voice strained. “You can’t seriously be jealous of me spending time with someone else because to my knowledge, I was never going to see you again.”

You know you should apologize for your outburst. Tell him about your insecurities, now dialed up to 1000 thanks to Rochelle’s comments. Rejoin his friends at the float like the normal girlfriend he probably wishes you were.

But instead, you find yourself voicing one of the fears that’s been swirling in your brain since June.

“It would be so much easier for you if that was still the case, right?” you ask, softly.

“Excuse me?” Steve asks.

“Do you ever regret it?” you ask. “Bringing me back?” He doesn’t react, doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. You clear your throat and, louder, add, “Because it would be so much simpler for you to date a girl like Mollie or Rochelle.”

“Jesus, Y/N,” Steve groans. “Don’t bring Rochelle into this.”

“Why not? She’s obviously obsessed with you!”

“Yeah?” Steve scoffs. “Well, I don’t like her. I like you.” He shakes his head, as if he’s short-circuiting, and corrects, “I love you!”

Too late. You already heard the Freudian slip of your worst nightmare. He doesn’t regard you in the same way he did before your so-called death. You’ve changed too much.

You shake your head vehemently.

“No,” you say. “No. You loved the girl I was before it all happened.”

“You’re still the same girl!”

“I’m not!” you shout. You’re so angry, so upset, so emotional, you can’t stop. You’re floating above your body and watching yourself speak when you say, “I’m not. She’s gone, and sometimes I wish you’d never brought me back so I wouldn’t feel like this.”

Steve goes still once more. When he finally replies, his voice is dangerously quiet: “How dare you say that.”

You hadn’t expected that. You’d expected him to swoop in with comforting platitudes. To hug you and promise it would all be okay. To truly hear the words you’re saying—the thoughts you’ve been too afraid to voice in therapy, thoughts you’ve sugarcoated in your mind to lessen that bitter feeling on your tongue when you finally speak them aloud.

“What?” you whisper. Your eyes sting, unshed tears collecting on your lash line.

“How dare you say that,” Steve says, shaking his head. He’s angrier than you’ve ever seen him. He runs a hand through his hair and barks out a laugh so hollow, you can practically hear the echo in his ribcage. “That’s so fucking selfish that you wish you were still down there. I was miserable without you. I didn’t want to go on. I didn’t think I could!”

He's not getting what you’re trying to say. You open your mouth to reply, to apologize, to try and fix things, but Steve continues.

“So for you to be so callous, to think so little of me, to think I’d rather date some vapid airhead just because it would be ‘simpler’? To think I somehow can’t love you anymore because of what you went through? That’s just…bullshit!”

You heave out a sob as tears roll down your cheeks. Steve’s expression morphs into one of guilt. He swallows hard.

“Y/N, I—”

“You don’t get to tell me my feelings are bullshit!” you snap. You sniffle and roughly wipe your tears away, before jabbing a finger into his chest and pressing in. “Ever since I’ve been back, it’s all about how everyone else feels about it. You and my parents are so much happier, and you seem to think I can snap back to how I was before and forget it all happened and be grateful that I survived. Well, I can’t!”

Despite your distance from the parade planning festivities, you see a few curious students glance in your direction. You can’t be bothered to care.

“I don’t know how to go on with life like normal after 15 months in that hell, and no one understands what I’m going through!” you yell. “No one has been through that! And I’m miserable and scared and anxious and I’m lying to my therapist week after week because I can’t even verbalize what I’m thinking without feeling like I’m losing my goddamn mind. So sorry if sometimes I wish all this would go away.”

Steve’s facial expression cracks your heart in seventeen pieces. He looks devastated and confused.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, somewhat cautiously. “You’re right. I’m not handling this well, not seeing it from your point of view. But this is the most you’ve expressed how you’re feeling about it all. For the past few months, I—I don’t know. I thought you were feeling okay.”

You sniffle again and shrug.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Y/N,” Steve says. He clears his throat. “This is good, I think. Well, no, it’s not good that we’re screaming at each other in the quad. But getting our feelings out is—”

“I want to go home,” you say, cutting him off.

Steve closes his eyes, sighs softly, and nods.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll drive you back to Hawkins tonight.”

“No, I want to go now,” you say, voice cracking as you try not to cry harder. “I want my mom to come get me.”

Hurt flashes on Steve’s features. “Babe, are you sure? I really don’t mind. I want to, actually. The drive will give us more of a chance to talk.”

But you’re too tired and overwhelmed to talk anymore. Steve understands, though his shoulders are slumped as the two of you walk back to his apartment.

He offers to pack your bag while you call your house. Your mom picks up on the second ring.

“Hello, Y/L/N residence.”

“Mom?” you sniff. “Can you come get me?”

“Oh, of course sweetie!” You hear the jingle of car keys. “Wait, are you crying? What’s wrong? Was it another nightmare?”

“I just don’t want to be here anymore.”

“Did you and Steve have a fight?”

“His friends were really mean,” you say quietly, deciding not to disclose that you indeed got in an argument with Steve. “This girl, Rochelle, said one of her friends from Hawkins is telling everyone I was a stripper.”

“Oh, don’t you listen to that.”

You can’t hold back tears as you begin to cry harder.

“How come everyone makes up those dumb rumors?” you say through sobs. “And if people on campus already know them, how much worse will it be if I’m a student here?!”

Your mom soothes you over the phone before promising to get there as quickly as possible. As you hang up the phone, Steve comes in from down the hall, frowning and carrying your now-packed duffel. He doesn’t even try to be subtle about his eavesdropping when he asks, “Why didn’t you tell me Rochelle said that to you?”

You shrug and look down at your feet.

Steve closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I keep replaying our conversation in my head,” he says, “and I feel like an ass.”

“You’re not, Steve.”

“No! I am. I absolutely am. You were honest and vulnerable, and I immediately got mad. I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say flatly. Admittedly, you’re not sure if you forgive him yet. But you know you didn’t treat him well either, so you say, “I’m sorry too. I was insensitive. I know you had a hard time while I was gone—”

“But it’s nothing compared to what you were dealing with,” Steve says. He steps closer to you and intertwines your hands together. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you?”

“My mom’s already on her way,” you say. “And you should rest up. Tomorrow’s the parade, and the homecoming game.”

“I don’t need to go to the game.”

“Steve—”

“I’d rather come back to Hawkins this weekend,” he continues. “Spend more time with you. Talk things through, you know? Maybe I can just ride with you and your mom, and Munson can bring me back Sunday.”

He’s sweet. But you aren’t sure how to tell him that you really, really don’t want to be around him right now. You don’t want to be around anyone, really.

You take a deep breath, gently drop his hands, and say, “I think I need some space.”

You can’t look Steve in the eye, but you hear the pain in his voice when he says, “Oh. Um, okay. Yeah. Of course. Space.”

You two sit in awkward silence while you wait for your mom to arrive. When she gets there, Steve continues to be a gentleman, carrying your bag for you and politely making small talk with your mom. He gives you a hug goodbye, but it doesn’t linger the way his hugs usually do.

As your mom drives away, you watch your boyfriend get smaller and smaller in the side mirror.

Before leaving, you promised him you’d call him that night.

You conveniently “forget” to do that.

He leaves a message at 9:37 p.m., asking you to call him back.

You don’t.

🫀🫀🫀

NOVEMBER 1987

“Hey, babe. It’s Steve. Again. I know we agreed on ‘space’ but I haven’t heard from you in three weeks…I don’t want to rush or smother you, but I’d really like to talk, even if it’s for, like, five minutes. So please call me back. I love you, Y/N.”

-

“Hey Y/N. Are you doing okay? Robin says she saw you and your mom at the store the other day and you just seemed kind of…out of it. To be honest, I’m worried about you. Listen, even if you don’t…even if we…even if you’ve decided you don’t want to be with me anymore, or something, I still care about you. And I’ll always be here for you, no matter what. Please call me. Bye. Love you.”

-

“Hi Y/N, I’m coming back to Hawkins for Thanksgiving. Can I come by after you and your parents have dinner? I want to check in. On how you’re doing, and on how you’re feeling about ‘us.’ Let me know, okay? Bye, Y/N.”

-

“Hey. I’m going to swing by your place after I’ve finished Thanksgiving dinner with the Buckleys. Robin told me you’ve been avoiding her too. And Eddie, and Jonathan. I know you’re going through a tough time, but don’t try to do it alone. That’s a lesson I learned the hard way last year. I’ll see you tonight, all right?” 

🫀🫀🫀

You’ve spent the past month and a half wallowing. All you really do is sleep, eat, shower, and take short walks around your neighborhood for exercise. Any time Steve calls the house phone, you tell your parents to let it ring and let it go to voicemail.

It’s shitty of you, but you aren’t sure how to dig yourself out of this hole that you’ve found yourself in. You’re still feeling rather undeserving of Steve.

So when he shows up on your doorstep on Thanksgiving, wearing that maroon sweater that you’ve always just adored, the first thing you do is apologize for your radio silence. Then, you offer him pumpkin pie.

“I won’t say no,” he says. “As long as you split it with me.”

While your parents cuddle on the couch and watch It’s A Wonderful Life, you and Steve sit on the kitchen counter and eat slices of pie with whipped cream.

For a few minutes, you exchange small talk and pleasantries. Then, Steve gets down to business.

“How have you been doing, really?” Steve asks.

“Fine. Just tired.”

“Y/N,” Steve says with a sigh. “Please just be honest with me.”

You suck in a breath.

“Okay. You want honesty? I’m having a really hard time.”

“I know,” Steve says gently. “And I want to help. Can you talk to me about what’s going on?”

You consider it. You consider wrenching your heart open for him and admitting all your fears and insecurities. But last time you broached this subject with Steve and tried to be wholly honest about what you were feeling, you didn’t explain it right and he took it the wrong way.

And you also hear what sounds like Rochelle’s voice in your mind: He deserves better. He deserves better.

You save yourself the trouble and say, “I need to get my shit together. And I’m not being a very good girlfriend while I do, so I think we need to break up.”

Despite your best efforts to stay strong, you feel tears coming on. Everything only worsens when you hear Steve whisper, “What?” 

He deserves better. He deserves better. He deserves better than you.

“I have to focus on myself right now,” you continue as the tears roll down your cheeks. You stab your pie with your fork and say, “I’m sorry. I love you so much—”

“I love you too, Y/N, so I—”

“—but I need to deal with this on my own. It’s not fair of me to treat you like this.” You clear your throat and add, “You deserve someone who can give you everything you want.”

“You’re what I want,” Steve says. You can’t look at him, but you get the impression that he’s tearing up too. “I mean, if this is really what you want, I’ll respect your decision completely, but I just have to know—is there anything I can do to change your mind?”

You don’t want to do this—

—but he deserves better.

“I’m sorry, but no.”

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Steve says after a beat. “Even if we aren’t together anymore, I’m still here for you. You know that, right?”

You nod, still decimating your pie slice with your fork.

“Okay, good.” He sniffles.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to keep apologizing.” 

“Sorry. Ah, I mean—”

Steve chuckles, despite everything. You two share an awkward hug goodbye before he leaves.

You stay in the kitchen and hear him wish your parents “Happy holidays.” As you hear the front door open and shut, as you hear his car turn on and drive away, you try to convince yourself this was the correct choice. That shutting him out means he’ll live a happier life without you.

The pit of emptiness like a chasm in your soul will go away eventually, right?

🫀🫀🫀

FEBRUARY 1988

It’s been 3 months since you broke up with Steve.

You decided to defer your U of I enrollment. Steve, being a good friend, calls a few days before the semester starts asking if you’d like help moving into your dorm, and you break the news to him. He understands but sounds disappointed. It makes you feel terrible.

But this is the right choice. You aren’t ready to be away from home, away from your parents, even if it’s just a couple hours away.

You start taking community college classes to fill your time and get some credits, along with working at Bradley’s Big Buy as a stocker. It’s mindless, monotonous work. It’s kind of perfect.

What isn’t so perfect is your therapist, Elaine. She’s nice enough. But she doesn’t seem to get it. You aren’t able to fully tell her what you went through, considering she knows nothing about the Upside Down, so she can’t really help you.

When you start opening up about the dark thoughts worming their way through your mind, Elaine advocates strongly and staunchly for putting yourself out there and making new friends to fill the void. You’re starting to wonder if you’re wasting your time shelling out $50 a week.

You do think a better social life would be good for you, so you invite Robin, Eddie, and Jonathan to come over to your place for a horror movie marathon. (Nancy would be invited too, if she wasn’t away at school.) You’ve rented a D-level slasher trilogy about a man in a hockey mask attacking pageant queens. It’s small potatoes compared to what you’ve actually been through.

Jonathan agrees, but both Robin and Eddie tell you they can’t make it. Robin because she’s got the flu. Eddie because he has band practice all afternoon and into the night.

It stings like a barb ripping you open when you swing by Melvald’s for cheap movie candy and spot the two of them across the street, laughing as they head into the Hawk with…Steve, who must be home from school for the weekend.

So they do want to have a movie night. Just with Steve and not you. Message received.

You wonder if Steve said something to sour you in their eyes. You thought the breakup was amicable. You know he was upset by it, but he respected your decision. And he doesn’t seem like the type to badmouth an ex, especially after all you’ve been through together.

But anxiety rolls through your nervous system the rest of the day. As you and Jonathan watch the crappy movies, you just feel numb.

“Jee-sus!” Jonathan yelps as the killer’s chainsaw hacks through someone’s limb.

He glances your way, eyebrows raising. “What? That didn’t scare you?”

You shrug. “I’ve seen worse.”

Jonathan’s brow furrows. He leans over and pauses the movie.

“Hey, is everything okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? We can watch something else. Or, if you’d rather be alone, I can head out.”

You pick at a loose thread on the pillow in your lap.

“Are Robin and Eddie mad at me?” you whisper.

“What?” Jonathan says with a laugh. “You’re, like, the nicest person in a fifty-mile radius. Why would they be mad at you?”

The old you was nice. The current you is moody. But Jonathan is also pretty moody, so maybe your moodiness is baseline in his eyes.

“They both said they couldn’t come tonight,” you continue, “but then I saw them just an hour ago in downtown Hawkins heading into the Hawk with Steve. Why else would they make up excuses not to come unless they were mad?”

Jonathan takes a long, slow sip of his grape soda and shrugs.

“It’s probably because they don’t want you to think they chose Steve over you in the breakup.”

“But that’s exactly what they did!”

“Maybe not,” Jonathan says. “Maybe they just made the plans with Steve before you invited us over and it’s easier to turn down your invitation than cancel on him.”

That’s a very logical way of looking at it, but it still stings feeling like you’ve lost two friends since you and Steve aren’t together anymore.

You and Jonathan continue watching, but his mom calls halfway through the second movie, forcing him to leave early—something about El using telekinesis to turn her bed into a bunk bed and it backfiring horribly.

You try to push your worries out of your mind, but paranoia takes a hold. As you toss and turn in your bed that night, clutching Lambchop for a semblance of comfort, your brain bullies you.

Robin and Eddie are pissed at you. Probably because you haven’t gone to any Corroded Coffin shows since you’ve been back. You’ve been a little preoccupied.

A little selfish, more like. It doesn’t matter what you’re going through. You should still support your friends.

But why? You don’t like drinking alcohol anymore because you don’t like feeling out of control. And the Hideout is the only place Corroded Coffin plays, and that place reeks of booze and cigarettes and bad decisions.

Maybe that’s why Eddie’s mad. Is Robin mad by proxy? Did Steve shit-talk you to her? How did he describe the events of the breakup?

Were you a bad girlfriend? Are you a bad friend? Bad person?

Yes. You’re a bad person.

🫀🫀🫀

You happen to run into Robin on the community college’s campus the following Monday. You can’t help but ask if she’s feeling better.

Her eyes widen and she plasters on a smile.

“O-oh, yeah!” she says. “I’m feeling loads better. Tons! Tons better.”

“Your sinus infection is gone?” you prompt, knowing full well she told you it was the flu.

“Yep! All gone. My sinuses are as healthy as can be. I feel like I could live to be 100!”

You exchange a few more pleasantries and shuffle off.

🫀🫀🫀

MARCH 1988

There’s a dark cloud hovering over your mind. Most days, you’re lethargic. You go to classes and go to work, and you do start going to the Hideout on Tuesday nights with Jonathan and Robin to watch Eddie play with his band.

But that’s the extent of your social life. You’re feeling lonely and drained.

Things take a turn for the worse in March. It was a cold, cold winter in Hawkins, and spring is shaping up to be warmer but just as gloomy. Really bad thunderstorms shake the windowpanes of your house most days, and the streaks of lightning remind you so much of the grayish-yellow Upside Down sky, it makes you sick.

You can’t help but find yourself thinking you want to disappear to escape it all. Not die, exactly. But fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. Maybe when you woke up, things would be better.

You try to explain what you’re feeling to Elaine the Therapist, and she doesn’t understand what you meant in the slightest.

“Have you gotten checked for narcolepsy?” she asks.

You give her a tight smile and say you’ll ask your doctor about it at your next checkup.

A bright spot is when Robin invites you to a party at her apartment. You forgot her and Eddie’s little white lie from a few weeks ago and RSVP yes.

The party is going well. You’re having a nice conversation with Jonathan and Eddie when Steve walks in, and he’s not alone.

Your heart sinks to your feet, through the floor, and all the way to the core of the earth when you see Steve is joined by Rochelle.

You don’t even hear any of the conversations happening around you. You quickly excuse yourself to the kitchen for a glass of water—and because you need to be alone.

You get about 15 seconds of a reprieve before Steve enters.

“Listen, it’s not what you think,” he says quickly.

“Hello to you too, Steve,” you say. You can’t even look him in the eye, choosing instead to study the ice cubes in your glass.

“I’m not here with Rochelle,” Steve continues. He runs a hand through his hair. “I mean, yes, she’s here. And I’m here. And we’re here together. But not together together! God, I’m not making any sense, am I?”

“None at all.”

“She needed a ride to her parents’ house for the weekend,” Steve explains. “She lives just forty-five minutes from here. But I guess they were out of town, and she didn’t have a key, so she’s staying with me. And she didn’t want to spend all day in my house alone, so—”

“She’s here,” you finish for him. You finally look him in the eye and force a smile. “That’s fine, Steve. You can hang out with whoever you want.”

“Trust me,” Steve snorts. “I’d rather not be hanging out with her. I’m just doing her a favor because she’s friends with Jessica and Gus.”

Before you can respond, Rochelle saunters into the kitchen. She smiles like a shark—all gums and teeth.

“Oh, it’s you!” she says. “Y/N! How have you been?”

“Fine,” you say politely. “How about you?”

“Oh, just great. Really great. Sad to not see you around campus, though. I thought you enrolled?”

She has the impressive capability of making everything single sentence sound like an insult.

“I’m going to community college instead,” you explain. “But I really should get back out there.”

You give Steve and Rochelle a wide berth before stepping back into the living room.

The rest of the party goes by fine. Except you can’t quite contain your rage watching Rochelle throw herself at Steve all afternoon.

She sits too close to him. She constantly whispers in his ear and giggles, like they’re sharing inside jokes and secrets. While Robin’s putting on a movie for everyone to watch, you swear you even see Rochelle put her hand on Steve’s thigh.

The only thing that makes you feel better is that Steve blocks every one of these advances. While Eddie regales you all with a Corroded Coffin storytime, you even notice Steve's slotted himself in between Robin and the wall, forcing Rochelle to stand off to the side near a potted plant.

When the party’s over, you wish Robin well and try to slip out unnoticed. Unfortunately, Steve has a terrible habit of noticing everything about you, and he follows you out.

“Hey, wait up!” he calls, jogging behind you as you speed walk to your car to avoid the sprinkling rain.

“Sorry, I have to go,” you say, struggling to unlock your car door.

Before you can get it unlocked and make your escape, Steve places a hand over the driver’s side door handle.

“Hold on,” he says. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“Well, I have to get home—”

“This’ll take five minutes,” Steve promises. He traces an X over his heart. “Cross my heart, hope to cry.”

You scrunch your nose in confusion. “It’s ‘die.’”

“Huh?”

“It’s ‘Cross my heart, hope to die. Stick a needle in my eye.’”

Steve’s eyes widen and jaw drops, affronted. “Jesus Christ,” he grumbles. “Why would anyone ever want to do that?”

“That’s the point!” you say, and you can’t help but laugh at the appalled look on his face. “You don’t want to do that, so you keep the promise.”

“Ah. Okay, well, I’ll be fast. I just want to see how you’ve been doing these past few months. I—I miss you, you know?”

You swallow hard. The rain’s starting to pick up now. You don’t want to wait too much longer to drive home, or else it’ll be too hard to see. And if you see lightning, you’ll probably have a panic attack behind the wheel, making you a danger to yourself and others.

“I miss you too,” you say. “But I really, really need to get home now.”

You think of leaving it at that, but your heart feels as sad as the look on his face, so you add, “But you can come by my house later tonight and we can talk? Uh, how’s 8 sound?”

Steve’s face brightens. He gives you that smile that always makes your stomach do a backflip.

“I’d like that,” he says.

You smile back and open your car door. Before stepping in, you turn to him and say, “Do not bring Rochelle.”

“Cross my whatever and hope to who-gives-a-shit!” Steve says as he walks backward away from your car. You give him a small wave, which he returns, before getting in the car and driving off.

As you suspected, the drive home is much, much too anxiety-inducing. Thunder seems to shake the whole frame of the car as you drive across town. Rain falls in pails, as if angels are taking buckets and throwing them on your car specifically. Your windshield wipers can barely keep up, and cars are honking and passing you since your fear is causing you to drive about ten under the speed limit.

You try not to let that bother you as your hands grip the wheel for dear life, the muscles from your fingers up to your shoulders impossibly tense. There’s a reason your mom drove you everywhere last summer and fall. Getting back into the habit of operating a motor vehicle isn’t easy, and everything seems to scare you now.

Despite everything, the drive is going fine—until one of the cars passing you cuts a little too close as they swerve back into the right lane. They almost clip your front bumper, which causes you to panic and swerve off the road near the now defunct trailer park.

Your tires squeak on the wet grass and you slam on your breaks, heart pounding. Shuddery breaths draw in, out. In, out. You try and collect yourself and turn your left turn signal on to merge back onto the main road. However, something gray out of the corner of your eye causes you to whip your head in the direction of the trailer park.

This is where you died and were resurrected—well, the version of this in the Upside Down. In Hawkins, the area is cordoned off. No one can live there anymore, thanks to the big cracks in the earth. Once gates, they were now sealed, but they upended some trailers and tore others in two.

You see a flash of movement between two broken trailers. The gates are supposed to be closed, and there aren’t supposed to be Upside Down creatures in Hawkins anymore, but you can’t help but wonder alternatives. You feel compelled to check it out. 

You turn off your car’s ignition, grab the flashlight from your glove box, and clamor out, ducking under the “CAUTION” tape and jogging into the park. You squint in the rain, the beam of your flashlight scanning the surrounding area. You step over uneven earth, wondering if you’re wasting your time and should just—

“GRRRRRROWWWLLLL!!!!!”

You whip around and gasp. The gray creature you saw wasn’t a demo-creature, but a mangy, stray dog with muddy fur. It snaps its jaws and you see three little puppies cowering under a bush behind it.

An overprotective mama dog wouldn’t have scared you two years ago. You would’ve known exactly how to handle the situation without freaking out. But now, your fear spikes and you remember the few run-ins with hungry demodogs you had in the Upside Down. The dog is blocking your way back to your car, so you turn on your heel and run in the opposite direction, toward the imposing forest.

You can’t think clearly. Your mind is on fire. All you can think is Danger! Danger! Danger! And it’s keeping you from making any rational decisions.

You swear you hear the dog chasing behind you, snarling and ready to attack. You zig-zag between trees and glance behind to see if you really are being chased.

You lose your footing on slick mud, left ankle twisting painfully as you fall to the ground. Your flashlight skitters out of your grasp and rolls away, blinking out.

Now, you’re stuck in the rain, in the dark, with an injured ankle and no flashlight. Thankfully, the dog wasn’t following. But you feel powerless, hoping you can muster any survival instincts from your time in the Upside Down to make your way back to safety.

🫀🫀🫀

At 7:58 p.m., Steve parks outside your house.

He’s more nervous than he needs to be. He tries to remember that this isn’t a visit to win you back, as much as he wishes it was. No, he’s respecting your decision. But he’s glad he has the chance to just talk to you.

After you dumped him, he spent way too much time overanalyzing that fight you two had in October. It solidified the fact that he was an ass, completely misunderstanding you and getting mad for no good fucking reason.

Admittedly, he was tempted to throw away all his progress and drink away his misery. But he didn’t, channeling that energy toward more productive things. His mind is clearer than it was, and he’s going to make it right this time. Steve wants to check on you, the way his friends checked on him while he was having a tough time. Their support was invaluable.

Steve rings your doorbell, shaking out his umbrella.

The front door swings open. Your father looks expectant, before he frowns.

“Steve, hello,” your father says. “Is Y/N with you?”

Steve’s brow furrows. “Uh, no,” he says. “I’m supposed to meet her here.”

Your father curses and puts his head in his hands.

“Is it her?” your mother says, rushing around the corner with the cordless phone tucked under her shoulder. When she sees Steve, her shoulders slump. She speaks into the phone, “Hopper, she’s still not back.”

“What’s going on?” Steve asks, heart sinking. “Y/N’s missing?”

“She never came back from Robin’s party,” your father says, stepping aside to let Steve in. “You saw her leave, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve says with a nod. His mouth feels very, very dry.

Your mother continues murmuring on the phone with Hopper, and your father continues grilling Steve: “How was she? Did she seem upset?”

“A little nervous, maybe,” Steve says. He swallows hard. “I, uh, I think she was freaked out by the storm.”

You should’ve driven her home, Steve thinks. You idiot. If something happens to her, it’ll be your fault.

“She’s been so quiet lately,” your father says, voice strained. He clears his throat. “And so jumpy. But she said she wanted to start driving again. We thought she was getting better…”

Your father looks like he’s beside himself. Steve is unsure what to say to make things right.

Your mother hangs up the phone and sighs. “Hopper’s going to go look for her,” she says. She chokes out a sob. “Oh, Roger…she’s been so down lately. What if she…”

“Let’s not speculate,” your father says firmly, though he looks anxious about the possibilities.

Your parents decide to drive around looking for you, and Steve joins the search in his own car as well. He can’t sit idly by knowing you’re out there, possibly in distress, possibly in danger.

🫀🫀🫀

While you’re sitting against a tree trunk trying to shield yourself from the rain, there’s a morbid part of you that’s okay with this.

You wanted something bad to happen. You wanted to be in some kind of distress, because you being hurt means people have to care about you. Right? They have to really, truly see that you’ve been struggling but haven’t been able to ask for proper help.

You snap yourself out of that thought process, trying to remind yourself that people do care about you. But it’s hard to feel that way when you’ve put so much distance between yourself and the people you love.

You aren’t sure how long you sit in the rain having a pity party, watching your swollen ankle get bigger and bigger. You need to ice it and elevate it. And anytime longer in this rain, you’ll catch a cold.

So, you crawl on your hands and knees and find as sturdy a branch as you can on the forest floor. You use it as a pseudo walking stick to help you hobble back toward the trailer park. You know the way, thanks to your time traversing the forest daily in the Upside Down.

As you get closer to the break in the trees, you hear people calling for you. You shuffle there faster.

“I’m here!” you yell, stumbling through the tree line. “I’m here!”

It’s Chief Powell and Hopper, and they look relieved to see you. Officer Callahan and an animal control worker are trying to coax the mama dog and her three pups into crates.

“What happened, kid?” Hopper asks, sitting with you in the backseat of Powell’s truck while the other man radios for an ambulance and a tow truck for your car. The usual gruff timbre to Hopper's voice has a softened edge to it today, like he can sense your emotional fragility.

“Some jerk pushed me off the road. And I thought I saw…I—listen, the mud made the dog’s fur look gray, and I thought it was—”

“One of these hellhounds?”

You nod.

“I’m not sure if you realize this,” Hopper says. “But it’s been two years to the day since you…you know.”

You swallow hard.

“I didn’t remember,” you admit. “I mean, I knew the anniversary was coming up soon, I just…”

“We were all worried you…did something,” Hopper continues cautiously.

“I wouldn’t,” you say, much too quickly. “I mean, I feel like shit a lot of the time, but…no. I wouldn’t.”

Hopper nods, eyeing you. He doesn’t quite look convinced.

When the ambulance arrives, he rides with you to the hospital. Then, your parents meet you at the ER, while a doctor looks over your ankle.

It’s sprained, but not broken, thankfully. They send you home with a brace, some crutches, painkillers, and instructions to elevate and ice.

The whole drive home, your parents give you a speech about how much they love you and how they want to know how you’re doing, and that if you ever feel low, to talk to them because they can help. Normally, that kind of thing would annoy you, but after today—the fear of seeing what you thought was a demodog, of being back in the wilderness by yourself, even just for a few hours—you appreciate the gesture.

It's after midnight when you get home, and the rain has finally let up. Your dad helps you up the porch stairs, leaning the side with your bad leg against him the whole way. You almost don’t notice the note tacked to the front door until your mom points it out.

It has your name on it. You open it. Parts of it have been scratched out, but you can still read it all.

Hey, Y/N. I was driving around looking for you when Hopper found me. I’m so glad to hear that you’re going to be okay.

I’ll swing by tomorrow to chat, if you’re still up for it. If not, no worries. I know it’s a tough time. I just want you to know that I miss you I care about you more than you know I’m here.

-Steve

🫀🫀🫀

When Steve comes by the next day, he’s not alone.

You’re surprised to see him and Max Mayfield standing on your porch.

“Uh, hello!” you say. “How are you, Max?”

“Pretty good,” she says, “now that Steve is taking us for ice cream.”

You raise your eyebrows and adjust your stance on your crutches.

“Oh!” you say. You look to Steve. He’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Everything about his posture is tense, nervous. You wonder if this is an intervention or something—if you’ll arrive at the ice cream shop and be bombarded by the rest of your friends and a licensed professional promising a “safe space.”

You tell your parents where you’re going, promising a million times that you’ll be careful, and hobble down the porch steps to Steve’s waiting car. He’s a gentleman, one hand hovering behind your back and ready to catch you if you fall.

Max lets you have the passenger seat, likely due to your injury. On the ride over, you consider (politely) asking what she’s doing there, as you expected this conversation would be about the nature of your and Steve’s relationship.

A part of you deep, deep down had hoped he would beg you to take him back. A part of you deeper down felt selfish for that, but it was what you wanted.

You made a huge mistake letting him go.

Steve ends up taking you both to Sonic, pulling into one of the parking spots and pressing the “Order” button. Max leans up from the backseat, sticking her head between the two front seats, and rattles off a complicated order of hot dogs, fries, slushies, and ice cream into the speaker.

“I thought this was just ice cream,” you say with an eyebrow raised.

Max smirks.

“Moneybags Harrington is paying,” she says, patting him on the shoulder.

“I resent that,” Steve grouses. But there’s a sparkle in his eye.

When the food comes, Steve divvies it up amongst the three of you. However, he quickly comes up with a shoddy excuse to step out of the car—something about the fries being a medium instead of a large.

Max climbs over the center console to settle in the driver’s seat.

You aren’t sure what to expect when you’re alone with Max, but it’s definitely not, “Dying and coming back really sucks, doesn’t it?”

Your burger immediately tastes like sandpaper. “Oh, let’s not talk about that,” you say. “Let’s talk about fun things. Have you learned any new skate tricks recently?”

“Don’t deflect,” Max says, waving a french fry at you for emphasis. “Steve said you were having a hard time because no one could relate to you, and I’m probably the only person in the world who can.”

She’s not wrong. After your return to the right side of the universe, you learned that Max woke up from her coma, completely healed, after you killed Vecna and the gates closed. You hadn’t thought about how the two of you had similar, paralleled experiences.

“It does suck,” you say quietly, swirling your spoon around in your ice cream cup. “And I kind of feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“For me, it was a lot of anger,” Max says. She fidgets with her own food as she continues. “I couldn’t understand people’s priorities anymore. Like, what do you mean you’re worried about a chem test, Dustin? A few months ago, the world almost ended!”

“I totally get that,” you say, and your heart already feels lighter. “And my parents don’t understand what really happened, so they just don’t get me at all. Why I get so scared, so angry. So jumpy. It makes me feel like I’m a freak in their eyes.”

“I feel like my mom doesn’t even see me anymore,” Max says. She clears her throat and you catch a glimpse of tears gathering on her lash line before she roughly wipes them away. “Like to her, I’m a ghost.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” you say. She scoffs.

“And there’s another annoying thing,” Max says. “The empty platitudes to make us feel better. That shit doesn’t fix anything!”

You’re not offended by her outburst, because you honestly agree. The two of you lament a bit longer, and by the end of the conversation, you’re feeling on top of the world. Sure, nothing is really fixed. But you finally realize that you have a kindred spirit in all this.

You and Max make a plan to do things together more often. You’re seeing her as a de facto little sister already, and you’re hopeful that your planned meetings will be just as beneficial for her as they are for you.

Steve comes back after what seems like a millennium, shooing Max back to the backseat.

“Took you long enough!” she says.

He just smiles.

🫀🫀🫀

JUNE 1988

It’s the first day of summer.

And it’s been a year to the day since you returned.

You expect to feel more anxious than you do. Instead, you feel peaceful.

You’re doing a lot better, genuinely. You found a new therapist (sorry, Elaine) and since it’s someone who worked with Dr. Owens, you’re able to spill all the gory details of your past and your trauma. Healing isn’t easy, but you feel yourself slowly sewing yourself back together again.

You and Max stick to your word and take weekly trips to Sonic. You talk about the heavy stuff, but also the normal life stuff. You sometimes have guests. This past week, Lucas and Mike tagged along, arguing the whole time about what should happen in the Ghostbusters sequel that’s supposed to release next year.

You and Steve…ah, what’s there to say. You want him back, but you imploded the relationship and it feels selfish to waltz up to him and say, “Hey, hot stuff. Wanna get back together?”

However, you’ve officially enrolled for the fall semester at U of I. While he’s home from Hawkins for summer break, under the guise of asking for tips about campus life, you spend a lot of time with him.

You also spend time in the library, doing some studying to catch up before you start your classes in the fall. Your high school graduation was a lifetime ago. Literally.

Steve, Robin, and Jonathan join you for those summertime study sessions, although Jonathan and Robin usually bicker over the music theory books and Steve doesn’t get much done except for doodling in his notebook. But sometimes you catch him staring at you, and then his cheeks flush pink in that adorable way that makes you want to do something stupid, like beg him to take you back.

If only you knew if he really felt the same…

…which you find out he does, during the summer solstice.

You’re at the county fair with your friends, but they’ve all run off to watch the fireworks, so it’s just you and Steve at a picnic table downing sodas and cotton candy.

Your fingers wrap around the cool glass of a now-empty Coke bottle, and you place it on the tabletop. You attempt to look nonchalant as you spin it slowly.

Once it’s picked up momentum, you let it go, watching it spin a few more times before stopping it with your hand when the bottle neck points at Steve.

“It’s you,” you whisper, attempting to recreate that magical first kiss moment from years and years ago. You clear your throat at Steve’s dumbfounded expression. “Ah, sorry. You don’t have to kiss me. I was just…”

To your pleasant surprise, Steve’s face splits into a grin. “Well, gee, Y/N,” he says. “If you wanted to kiss me that bad, you could’ve just said so.”

A million canaries titter a love song in your heart as he leans forward.

The two of you kiss, for the first time in a long time.

The great divide in your soul is starting to seal. And everything feels right.

THE END

🫀🫀🫀

a/n please lmk what you thought 🩵

tags; @aloneinthehellfire @starry-eyed-steve @hollandweather @wisdomssdaughterr @huffledor-able541 @springautumn

@sunshinesteviee @curiositydooropened @crappymixtape

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

Sealing the Deal | #LeviMonth2024 Fluff Oneshot

✧ word count ➼ ~1.1k ✧ notes ➼ post-war canonverse, fem!reader ✧ comments ➼ levi month entry for august 19! i may or may not have a part 2 in the works ✧ join my levi month taglist here!

{{ August 9 (Royalty + Soulmates Part 2) | August 22 (Love at First Sight + Neighbors Part 2) }} Masterlist

“Hey, do you wanna get married?”

Levi was caught a bit off-guard by your question, having not expected the sudden proposal. The two of you were already living together and regularly experienced the domestic life. Marriage wouldn’t have changed much.

“What?” you asked, with a subtle undertone of defensiveness present in your voice. “War’s over and restoration efforts are going smoothly. Why not?”

A few years had passed since the Rumbling, with the two of you having settled down in Marley. You had discussed marriage in the past, but the opportunity kept slipping away from you due to everything that was constantly popping up back on the island leading up to the Rumbling.

A small frown crept onto your face as you noticed that he had remained quiet the entire time.

“Well, I mean we don’t have to,” you added, slightly embarrassed at the idea of bringing it up if he wasn’t interested. “Was just a thought.”

“I didn’t say no,” he finally responded with a shrug. “Would like to not make it too big of a thing, though.”

Levi wasn’t too big of a fan of crowds, and neither were you. A lot of the friends that you would have originally invited had passed on, but the two of you would have likely eloped regardless. Having that exorbitant amount of attention placed on you for an entire day sounded like a nightmare.

You eventually decided on a garden wedding in the backyard of your home with a few close friends invited, primarily the remainder of the 104th that Levi had essentially raised, Gabi, Falco, Onyankopon, and a few others that you had kept in touch with post-war.

One of the first things you did upon settling down in Marley was building yourselves a house, which included a decently-sized backyard since the two of you liked sitting outside.

The ceremony was set to be simple—just a ring exchange and kiss, with some photos to keep for memories, and a potluck with friends afterwards. It’d feel significant enough, but you’d be able to keep it cozy and personalized in the way that made sense for the two of you.

You took a deep breath as you slipped into the dress that you had prepared for this special day. It was a simple white, flowery dress that flowed over your curves. You had found it at the market the other week while picking up some groceries and thought it was appropriate.

You weren’t sure why you were as taken aback as you were when you stepped out and landed your eyes on Levi. Similar to you, he had gotten a suit specifically for the occasion. He was beautiful as always, with his suit perfectly fitting his shoulders and hips. For a moment, the only thing going through your head was the thought of you ripping it off him later in the night.

Knowing that you wouldn’t be able to have dedicated alone time with him until much later into the evening, you shook your head as you felt yourself getting worked up. You took a deep breath, instead directing your attention towards the little jewelry box in your hand that contained his wedding band.

You found yourself feeling nervous as you walked up towards him, with your heart pounding in your chest as your hands grew cold. It was silly to be as nervous as you were. You had seen him a million times. He had seen you at your worst. There was very little that could happen that would actually embarrass you in front of him. Yet, you still felt anxious.

You were fine once you actually stepped up to him, with your pulse resetting back to its baseline the minute you looked into his eyes and recognized the softer look in them that he reserved only for you.

Levi ran his one good eye down your dress, wondering when you had even gotten the time to get it. He hadn’t even been aware that you went out to secure the dress. You looked gorgeous in it, but Levi and you both knew that you could’ve worn pajamas to this and he wouldn’t have cared, other than maybe a bit of discomfort at the idea of getting home clothes dirty by wearing them outside.

He cleared his throat as a way of gathering both his own and your attention back to the present task—presenting your rings.

“Shall we?”

You had been distracted as you were gazing into his eyes, but you quickly readjusted and nodded, bringing out the small box.

“You first?”

Upon seeing his nod, you began to open the box, finding yourself fumbling with the small container due to your nerves.

Once you finally got it open, you lifted the cover to reveal the simple, deep dark green, single-colored band.

You were overly cautious as you pulled it out and stepped towards him, your hands visibly shaking as you brought the small piece of jewelry towards his extended hand.

Having noticed your nerves, Levi placed his other hand on your forearm to help steady you.

The simple touch was enough. It was like a breath of fresh air as your movements stilled, and you were able to smoothly slide the ring onto his finger.

You kept your own hand extended, watching closely as he pulled out a thinner, but overall matching ring. You had picked the rings out together, so you knew what yours looked like and that it fit perfectly, but you still felt nervous as you watched him slide it on.

You couldn’t keep the smile from forming on your face as it finally hit you that you had “sealed the deal”, even though functionally, nothing had changed.

The two of you found yourselves just staring at each other in astonishment, the whole thing feeling surreal despite the fact that there wasn’t any form of a surprise factor to it.

“…you may now kiss the bride?”

Levi’s eyes widened ever so slightly before he scoffed at your cheesy joke.

“Smartass,” he muttered, before wrapping an arm around your waist, and pulling you in, your body pressing up flush against his. He gently pressed his lips against yours, and you shut your eyes, smiling into the kiss as you returned the affectionate gesture.

Functionally, nothing had changed. Yet, you still found yourself looking forward to experiencing a new chapter in your lives—one without war or violence, just each other, and weaving a life together that helped you encourage each other to keep moving forward.

#: @shayewrites @littlerequiem @mostlilo @humanitys-strongest-brat @dustbuniesworld @levisrations @ebechnasheim @moonchild-angel @jayteacups @bipolargatto @samackermaan @deepzombieyouth @pickledpedro @levisfavoriteteashop @ackermanswifee @ae-chidori @2dsimpomg

[hellishchrissy]

June, 1987

June gloom. That's the term Chrissy's college friends had used to describe the odd, suffocating fog that had seemingly taken over the entire coast in California, looming over the promise of the summer in Los Angeles.

It was a strange sight, the wall of fog like a physical being in the horizon; suffocating her, pulling her in. Sometimes it felt the same that it had felt back home in Hawkins. Suffocating, alienating. And the fog never failed to invite back the nightmares that haunted her. Of her mother, of Hawkins, of red, vengeful skies filled with creatures her father would've called "demon-like". 

Chrissy had left Hawkins for good in August of 1986 - she had often dreamed of getting away from her mother and the crushing weight of what could be considered the "high society" of Hawkins. In other words, an endless parade of church potlucks, charity auctions and dinners at their local country club. A painfully artificial smile plastered on Chrissy's glossed lips, her mother's reproachful voice in her ear if she accidentally spilled something on her dress. Endless greetings and hands she shook time after time, the perfect daughter with the golden cross dangling between her collarbones.

California and the freedom of college had been a breath of fresh air after eighteen years of suffocation. Chrissy had felt free for the first time since she was a child, free of judgement, free of the red skies. And occasionally, she almost believed that she was free of the knowledge of what lied below their own dimension.

And then her mother died on June 9th 1987, and Chrissy jumped on the first plane that flew out of Los Angeles in the early hours of the morning.

That first night back in Hawkins Chrissy woke up screaming, flashes of red skies and golden crosses in her mind. Her clammy hands clawed at her bare throat, almost confused that her fingers weren't entangling with the dainty, gold chains of neither her cross necklace or the ´86´ necklace that Jason had once gifted her.

She had left both necklaces in the drawer of her desk in Hawkins when she had skipped town, eager to let go of the chains that still tethered her to her mother and the memory of Jason.

That June, Chrissy felt like she was watching herself from somewhere else, hovering over her own body. Making promises to her father, swearing she'd stay until the end of summer to take care of her brother and to help with the funeral, the documents, all the miserable shit that Chrissy's father was dreading to do alone.

And so she stayed. Even with the nightmares, she stayed. It was easy enough to forget, to force herself not to feel real. The numbness was her salvation the days she had to go through her mother's things, the scent of her perfume still clinging to the clothes making her gag. The numbness helped her during the funeral, her thumb drawing absent-minded trails on the back of her brother's palm as he clutched onto hers.

Nothing felt real, and Chrissy was so, very grateful for it.

Until the day a pair of all too familiar brown eyes met hers across the vegetable isle of the supermarket; that's all it took for Chrissy's facade to crumble, and she was no longer numb.

// follow this fic on ao3!

[miauentity]

Sharing my own TNMN headcanons bcoz why nawt?! (Below the cut)

lemme start with the girlies

♡ The Sverchzt twins are french-russian

♡ Elenois is a lot more shy/reserved and has low self-esteem. Selenne, on the other hand, is quite the opposite. I'm basing this off solely on their nightmare counterparts Lilith and Anazareth, specifically their responses when you ask them about their appearance

For reference, Lilith only says that "everything is in order with her appearance" while the other residents say theyre perfect or in the case with Anazareth, that she's "just as beautiful as ever"

♡ Speaking of Lilith and Anazareth, I really like the trope that they are the polar opposite of each other; from stylistic choices, orderliness to even intimate preferences.

Lilith likes to be clean and tidy. She's also a masochist (not necessarily in a sexual way) which is why she likes to wear insanely tight corsets. Anazareth doesn't care about the messes she makes, and certainly prefers to see others suffer her wrath.

♡ Lilith is a lesbian (Elenois too). Like really, the Lilith?! The first woman made from soil at the same time but not with Adam's flesh??? The first feminist !?!?@, 😍😍. Ok in all seriousness, both could be sapphic-leaning and im open to that

♡ Lilith and Anazareth aren't actually who they were named after. They were named after two mysterious "evil" spirits who helped their mother out during difficult times. Eventually, all three were unjustly executed for worshipping "demons" and engaging in "witchcraft" in the victorian era

♡ Angus is trans. But doesn't know that it's not a common cis experience to want to be a woman as a self-identifying man

♡ Despite separating, Francis still harbors feelings for Nacha and is a bit creepy about it. Though, Nacha has moved on (sort of). Francis continues to be a milkman despite the crappy pay so that he could regularly deliver cases to her restaurant. He also sneaks in bottles for Anastacha

♡ ok this depends on the doorman you interpret but if they are young, Margarette would definitely treat them as her own nibling/grandchild since she's never had her own. She is quite affectionate, would teach the young doorman how to crochet and invite them for tea occassionally

♡ Lois is as hospitable as Margarette. Roman is too wary of strangers and gets a bit cranky whenever there are visitors coming over. But honestly its ok bc Lois keeps him grounded

♡ Robertsky also suffers from low self-esteem. But unlike Elenois, he copes with it by being conceited. He is jealous of Albertsky for being "more popular with the ladies" when in reality, it's just an exaggeration of his perception of his brother.

♡ the Peachman brothers own their shoemaking business

♡ Arnold publishes educational books and writes activist journals. He is quite popular for his involvement in politics and almost crossed the DDD once... in response, the DDD secretly sent a doppelganger of him with stitched eyes as a warning

♡ Steven is a former veteran and likely suffers from PTSD. He switched to becoming a regular pilot in the local airport since there was a very high demand for the job

♡ Mclooy managed his own restaurant before officially retiring. He is a really, really good cook and often volunteers with Nacha when the neighbors gather for a potluck/ cookout.

♡ Rafttellyn only married Alf for the money 😭😭😭😭 i mean come on, shes young, married a lawyer whose probably leagues older than her, is a housewife and carries expensive jewelry and a designer bag 😳

♡ I really like the idea that Mia and Afton are just each other's beards. Mia probably has a crush on Nacha and may or may not be subtly flirting with her.

♡ On the flip side, if they are in a genuine relationship, I do think that Mia resents Afton and is falling out of love. Maybe because Afton is too obsessed with his job that he doesnt give enough attention to her

[cyberpunkonline]

The Untamed Web: How Internet Culture Rebels, Evolves, and Defines Our Digital Age

What is Internet culture? The question drifts through the ether like a rogue signal, elusive and captivating. To untangle this web, we must trace its lineage back to its inception, a digital genesis rooted in the analog rituals of Deadheads in the 70s. Much like those dedicated followers of the Grateful Dead, early Internet denizens sought connection and community, but instead of tapes and stories, they shared bytes and bits in mailing lists and Usenet newsgroups. Here, intellectuals, hackers, and rebels mingled in a digital potluck of ideas, raw and unfiltered.

As the dial-up tones gave way to the persistent hum of a growing network, Internet Relay Chat (IRC) emerged as the heartbeat of this underground culture. Real-time interaction became the new frontier, a global speakeasy where minds met in channels dedicated to everything imaginable. This wasn't just idle chat; it was a crucible for innovation and rebellion. Hacking groups like Cult of the Dead Cow and Legion of Doom pushed the limits of technology and legality, shaping the Internet in their anarchic image.

Then came vaporwave, the eerie soundtrack of a digital dystopia. This genre, with its nostalgic echoes of the 80s and 90s, felt like the Internet itself was creating music. Vaporwave artists like MACINTOSH PLUS crafted tracks that were both haunting and familiar, resonating with those disillusioned by the encroaching corporatization of digital spaces. It was a sonic rebellion, an aural middle finger to the commercialization of the Internet.

Memes, those viral fragments of culture, became the lifeblood of this digital underground. From the early days of "All Your Base Are Belong to Us," a quirky mistranslation from the game Zero Wing, to the complex narratives of modern memes, these digital artifacts spread like wildfire, uniting and dividing communities in equal measure. The tragicomic saga of Harambe, the gorilla shot at the Cincinnati Zoo, turned into a meme that evolved into a cultural phenomenon and even inspired a cryptocurrency in his legacy. Memes are the modern folklore, ever-evolving and reflective of the current digital zeitgeist.

At its core, Internet underground culture embodies the cyberpunk ethos—an unyielding rebellion against corporate overlords, a fight for digital freedom and privacy. Piracy, casual hacking, and the rise of cryptocurrency are not just acts of defiance but declarations of identity. This culture stands in stark opposition to corporatism, advocating for the decentralization of information and power. The emergence of decentralized networks and cryptocurrencies like Bitcoin are testaments to this ongoing struggle for autonomy.

Influences of Discordianism, with its embrace of chaos and rejection of traditional structures, permeate this culture. The Internet thrives on disruption, finding beauty in the unpredictable and the chaotic. It's a digital frontier where order is constantly challenged, and chaos is celebrated.

Politicians view Internet culture with a mix of fascination and fear. The concept of an "ungovernable" digital populace is both an ideal and a nightmare. Early Internet pioneers dreamed of a decentralized, unregulated space where freedom reigned supreme. However, as the Internet has grown, so too have efforts to control it. Governments impose regulations, corporations seek to monetize it, and the original vision of an ungovernable digital utopia becomes harder to live. Yet, pockets of resistance remain, where the spirit of rebellion and the desire for autonomy continue to thrive.

But like any culture, it has a dual nature. The democratization of information and the global connections fostered by Internet culture are profound positives. Yet, the same platforms that unite can also incubate hate speech and cybercrime. It is a reflection of humanity itself, with its myriad facets of light and dark.

So, what is Internet culture in 2024? It is a digital rebellion, a chaotic blend of nostalgia, anti-corporatism, and radical freedom of expression that continues to shape and redefine the digital landscape. In one sentence: Internet culture is the chaotic digital tapestry woven from the threads of rebellion, nostalgia, and the relentless pursuit of freedom.

We seek resistance. It begins with the maintainance of the culture.

[rottenpumpkin13]

Angeal wants to host a potluck for his boyfriends friends. He only asks that the boys actually try and put some effort into their dishes.

Because of our baby's latest obsession, Angeal specifically asks Sephiroth to avoid bringing Halloween candy.

He begs asks Zack to not bring a family sized box of Hot Pockets.

What do AGS + ZC bring to the table? How does the actual potluck go?

Chaos obviously ensues, by the way.

The Potluck From Hell

• Even though he's organizing it, Angeal's making sure to over-contribute to the potluck! You know, just in case.

• He's got apple sausage sliders for Genesis, Bolognese pasta for Sephiroth, beef stroganoff for Zack and schnitzel for Cloud. He trusts his friends will follow suit and contribute with their own fun dishes.

• He was wrong.

*Angeal stands in his doorway looking at Sephiroth, who holds a jack-o'-lantern-themed bowl full of candy*

Angeal: Sephiroth no.

Sephiroth: Sephiroth yes.

Angeal: A bowl of candy does not count as a dish.

Sephiroth: But it's food. It's edible.

Angeal: It's pure sugar. I asked you to bring a meal.

Sephiroth: This is a meal.

Angeal: Says who?

Sephiroth: Says the last eight meals I've eaten.

Angeal: YOU'VE BEEN EATING NOTHING BUT CANDY FOR TWO DAYS?

Sephiroth: .....Maybe.

Angeal: Give me that! *he snatches the bowl away from him* Go and come back with an actual dish!

*Angeal slams the door in Sephiroth's face*

• Angeal, still fuming, is prepping the table when he hears his doorbell ring again. He rushes to answer it. Zack and Cloud stand there holding huge taco trays.

Zack: Mexican fiesta!

Cloud: I've been living a nightmare since last night.

Angeal: Why?

Zack: Mexican fiesta!

Cloud: We were up all night making the tacos, right?

Angeal: Right.

Zack: Mexican fiesta!

Cloud: And I already had reservations about going down the taco route because you know how Zack is with tacos, right?

Angeal: Oh, right!

Zack: Mexican fiesta!

Cloud: We got the first tray done and Zack ate it all in two seconds.

Angeal: Oh my god??

Zack: Mexican fiesta!

Cloud: I know. And he did that three times. We had to start from scratch three times. I had to lock him in the broom closet to get this done.

Zack: Mexican fi—

Cloud: SHUT UP!

Zack:

Angeal: Just...just go inside guys...

• While the boys head inside the apartment, Sephiroth shows up again. This time he's holding an industrial bucket filled to the brim with jelly beans.

Sephiroth: Beans are a great source of fiber and rich in—

*Angeal slams the door in his face*

• Fifteen minutes pass. Cloud and Zack are helping Angeal in the kitchen when the doorbell rings again. Angeal rushes to answer it.

• Genesis stands there with three bottles of wine in one hand and a glass dish covered in tinfoil in the other.

Genesis: I brought Swedish meatballs!

Angeal (in shock): No way.

Genesis: Way.

Angeal: You brought a normal dish and drinks?

Genesis: Yup!

Angeal: You were responsible with a task.

Genesis: Yup!

Angeal: And you cooked the meal from scratch like I asked you to?

Genesis: Duh!

*Angeal breaks down crying and pulls Genesis in for a hug*

Angeal: I'm so proud of you buddy~

Genesis: I know. I'm great, aren't I?

Angeal: Wait, there's something sticking out from your pocket.

*Angeal pulls out a business card from a Swedish restaurant*

Genesis:

Angeal:

Genesis: That's not mine.

Angeal: It was in your pocket.

Genesis: That's not my pocket.

Angeal: You're a fraud. Get inside.

• The boys are all hanging around and finishing up with the cooking and the setup when the doorbell rings.

• Angeal drags his feet as he heads to the door. He's fully expecting to see Sephiroth holding more candy.

• Instead he opens the door and is met with...

Angeal:

Sephiroth:

Angeal: You have got to be kidding me.

*Sephiroth holds out his halloween candy chocolate lasagna*

Sephiroth: Lasagna is a meal.

*Angeal sighs and holds open the door*

Angeal: Just get inside. And go help Cloud tie Zack to the radiator. He got ahold of the tacos again.

[ouatsqincorrect]

what is each family member bringing to the potluck? who orginises the gathering? who is the one to organise every person's responsibilities? does the evening end in chaos? or does everyone actually manage to spend a few hours together without something going down for once?

welp regina brings lasagne because duh. snow makes some sort of potato dish, belle and rumple make a salad, david makes mac and cheese, chips are bought by none other than emma swan, and zelena brings her sparkling personality

just like how most family gatherings go, snow decides they’re gonna do it but regina ends up organizing the whole thing. she’s got the best house. she’s the best chef. and one of her worst nightmares is leaving snow in charge of anything ever

also does it end in chaos? yes. absolutely. this family barely has one singular day go by without chaos. it might be as small as “emma tried to teach zelena how to play soccer and now regina is having to play doctor” but there is always chaos

[ao3feed-irondadspiderson]

Reality Check

https://archiveofourown.org/works/57292381 by MsWinifredQuale Peter is hosting a study group session at the tower when there's an incident on the Queensboro bridge. Without his suit on hand, he has no choice but to sit and wait while Tony goes to deal with the situation. Peter knew, long before the spider bite, that the superhero life was dangerous, that sometimes heroes died. But until now, Peter had never really considered the reality that Tony could die saving the world. And now reality had crashed over the city, shattering the glass doors and windows that lined the penthouse and barrelling Peter over with such velocity that he had the wind knocked out of him. It was crushing him. Words: 8835, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 2 of Potluck Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Iron Man (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark Additional Tags: Post-Movie: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), Not Canon Compliant with Movie: Avengers: Infinity War (2018), Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Has Anxiety, Peter Parker Has Nightmares, Worried Peter Parker, Aunt May Parker & Tony Stark Coparenting Peter Parker, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Bed-sharing, Tony Stark Has A Heart read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/57292381

[banamine-bananime]

kate austen has such a lesbian narrative to me. kicked out by her mom for her love - look as a lesbian i'm not saying gay love is the SAME as love for your mom that makes you kill her abuser but, hey, love is love, as they say.

cannot find a place where she's accepted within Normal Society.

she finally stops trying to explain her way back into being loved and accepted by being honest, and instead accepts that the only way she can stop running and being rejected at every turn and live the kind of Respectable life with a Respectable relationship you're Supposed to have is to lie and hide who she is.

and then living this Perfect, Respectable life where she is finally loved by this Perfect husband. it's everything she wanted. right? but she tells someone who knows who she is, who sees her, and wow! how wonderful! he will stop trying to hunt her down and arrest her if she just stays put in this perfect marriage. "But you and I both know that's not gonna happen". what? no. this is what she wants. this is perfect this is perfect she wants this she loves kevin she has to want this

she can't

her life is defined by running and never being able to find the place she'll be loved and accepted and able to just settle down. we have the ultimate proof of concept that she's not capable of it even when she's not being chased, right? if she couldn't stay with kevin, she really just intrinsically isn't capable of just letting herself love someone and be loved and stay. she's a loner who drifts on the wind, making ephemeral connections that can never be strong enough to root her! she will never be able to be part of a community.

but, wait, that's not what she does on the island. it's dangerous going off alone on the island, sure, but she's always lived in danger on her own. it could also be dangerous staying with these unknown fellow survivors who could be violent, could reject or persecute her, especially after telling jack who she is. Nice Respectable communities have always rejected and persecuted her before. why is it different now? why is she embracing the "live together, die alone" philosophy and trying so hard to protect these people and letting herself relax and be silly and make close friendships? it's interesting how this isn't a Nice, Respectable community. it's a totally new community completely marooned from any existing society, growing in a completely new and strange place from people from around the world and all different walks of life - many of them very much not Nice, Respectable walks of life. and she can just be kate, instead of having to be a Nice, Respectable All-American Girl who will get married to a Nice, Respectable All-American Man and have 2.5 kids in suburbia.

and she can be loved and love in ways no one told her she could

this is also why juliet/kate drives me so insane (pos). like.

juliet lives in a horror story about the male gaze

i think about this scene all the time.

juliet is recruited into a Very Nice, Respectable white picket fence 60s hippie-veneer-yet-still-ultimately-just-typical-suburban Americana community. the people are so nice here! all these lovely heterosexual couples (sidenote: god bless you tom friendly for taking one for the team and being a 2000s-TV-show Token. i don't support your gay wrongs but i sympathize with that nightmare). all these "we're a family here :)" potlucks and book clubs. the women on this island are dying.

your boss is such a sweet guy, he's so attentive. why does it make you feel uncomfortable. he's just being nice! you shouldn't feel uncomfortable! but you want to leave and every time there's just one more thing that happens to come up and keep you from leaving makes you a little bit more paranoid. the women on this island are dying.

and still, he's so nice. the potluck is a dinner between you. everything stays very professional, though! if you say anything no one will believe you. what would you even say? he hasn't done anything but be nice. and it makes you want to burst out of your skin and claw your way out through the Nice Respectable white picket fence and never stop running. the women on this island are still dying.

when his facade drops, it's almost a relief to have cold, hard confirmation that you're not being an ungrateful, paranoid bitch. you are very literally being held prisoner in this Nice, Respectable life because this man wants you. and he is not fucking nice, so you don't have to be either (just kidding, of course not. the rest of your Nice, Respectable community will still villainize you if you get angry about it).

juliet and kate freedom from being Supposed to be in Nice, Respectable communities of nuclear families, fulfilling the role they're Supposed to fill to be loved by and please men! juliet handcuffing herself to kate because we love a disaster fucked up MESSY gay tbh. juliet and kate holding hands.... juliet and kate making out....... fuck i distracted myself

[sattlersquarry]

a sneak peak at orange juice 2 (title tbd)

a/n i am on a social media sabbatical but am here just to share this snippet of orange juice 2. i've been procrastinating on starting it because i'm unsure how i want to take this story and i feel so out of practice writing this style. but am really excited to keep going! For a [virtual, nonexistent] dollar, find the noah kahan reference 💵

icymi: this is the opening of the sequel to orange juice, my angstiest work yet

(tw for slut shaming, aka two old women at church speaking ill of sex workers)

AUGUST 1987

It’s been three months since you returned to the land of the living. You’re not taking it well.

Surviving in the Upside Down meant constantly being in fight-or-flight, scrambling to find food and clean water while avoiding demo-creature attacks. Thankfully, without Vecna’s evil influence, the animals weren’t so bloodthirsty—but they still needed to eat.

You were able to avoid them, surviving yourself off disgusting canned food from the Upside Down’s version of the Big Buy and whatever houses you ransacked. It wasn’t very appetizing. It made the meal you were serving up today seem like a 5-star, 5-course delight.

It was neither of those things. It was for a church potluck that your mother had a hand in throwing. Lots of casseroles and carbs. She dragged you along to volunteer in hopes to get you out of the house.

Ever since you left the hospital in May, you’d only ever left the house to go to doctor’s appointments, therapy appointments, and Steve’s place. Your parents wanted to encourage more of a well-rounded life and schedule, and although they’d never admit it, you figured they hoped you’d turn back to your normal self. To the person you were before it all happened.

You think she might have died.

As you plate some macaroni and cornbread for your next patron, you sense eyes on you. You glance over and see two women at a table a few feet away. To your chagrin, they’re gossiping about you.

“I mean, it’s appalling,” an old bat named Shirley hisses. “She claims to have lost her memory after the earthquake and gotten lost, but it’s obvious that she just ran away.”  

“Probably thought she was grown up, that she knew better than her parents,” Mildred says with a sniff, adjusting her too-big glasses.

“I can’t believe she left poor Steve Harrington high and dry,” Shirley adds.

Your heart clenches at the fact that these women see you as a villain, as an irresponsible idiot who up and left everyone who loved her out of spite. If they knew the truth…if they knew the nightmare you’d survived…

It only gets worse from there.

“You know what Cynthia told me?” Mildred says. “That her cousin’s roommate’s friend’s brother saw Y/N working a street corner in Manassas. It's just shameful.”

Anger burns through you, hot like hellfire. So you’re a slut now, too? What happened to loving thy neighbor and forgiveness and all that shit?

“Can I get some more of that?” an elderly man says.

It snaps you back to your task at hand: dishing out food to hungry churchgoers.

“Ah, yeah,” you say. You dump macaroni on his Styrofoam plate. “Sorry. Here you go.”

The man smiles and ambles off. You take a deep breath and try your best to tune out the whispers of the chattering hens.

Your mother must notice the scowl on your face. She makes her way to you, practically floating. She’s as graceful as ever. She’s totally in her element. She deserves a daughter who doesn’t clomp and stumble her way through life. Who doesn’t jump at every loud noise and sleep with a hunting knife under her pillow.

“Doing all right?” your mother asks you, giving you that sympathetic look that you think you might despise by now.

You muster up a smile of your own and nod.

Your mother can’t tell its fake and beams.

“See?” she says. “I knew getting you out of the house would turn that frown upside-down!”

She doesn’t know about the Upside Down. She thinks you got injured in the earthquake, stumbled through the Indiana woodlands, and got found by cops two states over. That you couldn’t remember where you came from due to amnesia, that since they pronounced you dead no one assumed you were the missing girl from Hawkins until your memories came back.

So you let her comment slide and continue to fake a smile and figure that it’s better to pretend you’re fine than feel it all.

[fuck-customers]

I wish there was a way I could convince my boss to get on board with the idea of a suggestion box, so that all of us employees could anonymously write suggestions for how to improve the store + things we'd like that might make us more productive, feel more appreciated, etc. But there's no way for me to bring it up without making it seem like the reason for the box is because she's such a fuckup as a manager. (Because that is the real reason lmao) She's also the type who would read a legitimate constructive criticism and scoff and wave it off as us asking for something extremely unreasonable or make up some bullshit about how xyz can't be done to improve the store because there's not enough hours, or crew, or money in the budget, whatever. I can actually picture her doing that.

The past few days I've been obsessed with this idea (mostly because I had a nightmare shift that would've easily been avoided had she done her job and managed correctly and assigned people to do the setup work beforehand) but I can't think of a way to get her on board. I've considered just making a box myself and putting it in the breakroom with some pens and paper scraps, but I predict it wouldn't even be a full day before she tosses it out.

So, just to get some off my chest, I'm going to put some of the suggestions I WOULD'VE written here.

•Either bring back the stocking crew that came in at 5:00 a.m. before the store opened or schedule extra people on delivery days to stay in the stockroom and unbox all products and sort them by department/aisle BEFORE putting product out on the sales floor.

(This one is a direct reference to the stocking shift I recently had that was a nightmare because none of the stock had been pre-sorted by department, which was done in the past by the stocking crew, so we had to open boxes and sort them on the sales floor while simultaneously stocking items, while the store was open and we were constantly interrupted by customers. This made stocking take at least double, if not triple the time it would've taken. That delivery was a week ago, and the boxes are STILL sitting on the sales floor, half-stocked)

•While stocking, have each employee price tag each individual item, as our stock does not arrive pre-tagged, so that customers are not confused about the prices, since upper management removed the store scanners.

•Assign the ASM or a lead to exclusively do the schedule so that the schedule is regularly posted the 3 weeks out, as required, not 3 days out.

•Assign a lead or promote a non-management employee to be a trainer to correctly train the new hires.

(As of right now, new hires are hired and then basically thrown on the floor and told to figure it out and fend for themselves, obviously leading to many mistakes that need to be unfucked by the rest of the crew, they'll ask other employees for help, but most of those employees were "trained" in the same method, so they'll show the new hires the wrong way, the blind leading the blind, essentially)

•Schedule more than 1 person per department, this way there is adequate coverage in the event of a rush, plus in downtime, one employee can assist customers while the other does go-backs/recovery and makes the department look neat and presentable.

(The store looks like a tornado hit it currently) (I also know this one is probably a union-busting thing, but honestly? Remember KM@rts and how messy they always looked? My store makes KM@rt look like a model store)

•Do some morale boosters. Every employee in the store looks like they're in prison. (We kinda are) We literally got an online review (that SHE HERSELF PRINTED OUT) that stated that we all looked miserable and looked like we needed a moral boost. We desperately do. The real solution would be better pay and hours, but we know you, the SM don't have that much control over that. You could do small things, though. The previous ASM would regularly bring in snacks for the breakroom for us, would regularly have potlucks on holidays that brought us all together, she would also make sure to regularly tell each of us that we were appreciated and would recognize our hard work. Even if it was bs, it still raised morale.

ANYWAY, thank you for letting me rant. ✨️🙌

P.S. I know obviously none of you know my boss, since I'm anonymous and didn't specify where I work (for obvious reasons) but do any of you think the suggestions box thing has even a slim chance of working? In my head, I wasn't going to tell her it was my idea or ask permission, I was just going to set up the box in the breakroom and throw in a few of my own suggestions and see if any of my coworkers add their own. Because I felt if I asked permission or told my boss my idea, she'd take offense that I was indirectly calling her a fuckup (she is) and undermining her authority or some bullshit like that. Or do you guys think if I just do it without telling anyone, she might be curious and at least look at a few suggestions? Or should I ask her to set one up? I really don't think that would go well, personally.

Posted by admin Rodney.

[lunarvampz]

In Bloom (Arthur Morgan x Reader)

TRIGGER WARNING// Implied CSA, Abuse.

Skip to first line if you are sensitive to csa implied material

When she gets home, skip to next line if sensitive to abuse themes (After there is a description of inflicted injures, skip if uncomfortable)

Chapter 3 Petunia

You were taping a fundraiser poster to the church bulletin board, it was a potluck for underprivileged kids. It hurt your heart to know that those poor children weren’t getting what they needed, even though you were only a few years older than the ones on the poster.

Sighing, you returned to your little office in the back of the church. You were shuffling through a box of papers, searching for the accounting book to double-check everything, you found it and stood up, hearing the door creak open. Hands made their way onto your shoulders, a hot breath on your neck and the unfamiliar smell of perversion. Unable to move, you tried to shrug off his grip but to no avail would his hands shift, you didn’t want to look at who was behind you. 

“Don’t fight it.” Your face grimaced as you recognised the voice that growled on your neck, one of the church elders.

The unwanted hands caressed your arms like broken shards of glass cutting into your skin. You cringed and tried to slip away again but that only made him try harder, push harder. His fingers pulled at the buttons on your blouse, getting angry when it took too long and forcing it undone. 

He gave you a sick and twisted grin, the gaze he held on you darkening.

——————————

Waking up in a cold sweat with your heart beating like a drum in an unfamiliar place sent you into a panic. You sat up to get your bearings, the nightmare you had clicking in your head. Tears began to flow like a river whilst you undid your hair, leaving moistened splotches on the white sheets below. The sound of shifting on the floor almost made you jump out of your skin.

You heard a grumble and creaking floorboards before the figure pushed itself off the floor and stood up. Arthur? He sharply inhaled and ran his hands over his face before turning to face you.

“Yer awake, didn’t think- hey, hey what’s wrong, Miss?” His face turned from surprise to concern in a matter of seconds, voice croaky and soft.

It had been two months since you’d had a nightmare of that day, they tended to come around at the worst times. Your brain wouldn’t forget what happened and you hated it for that, reliving the horrid experience over and over and over. Your fists were balled around the quilt in anger, resentment seething from every pore of you. Knuckles turning white, you realised that you weren’t at home, immediately contorting your expression to one of fear.

“Just.. Just a nightmare. Where am I?” Pushing off the bed and frantically searching for your belongings, a hand carefully placed itself on your shoulder, causing you to pull back.

“Please, calm down. Yer in the Silverwater Inn. Y’had one too many drinks and I didn’t want t’ leave y’at the saloon.” Arthur cooed.

Your eyes darted to your saddlebag, rushing over to pull out your pocket watch. 5:57 am. Gathering up your things, you sat on the edge of the bed trying to put your shoes on despite the agonising throb in your temples from the nightmare and panic combined.

“Woah, easy. It’s still dark out, wouldn’t want you ridin’ home at this time in the mornin’.” Arthur watched as you shakily tried to put on your shoes, kneeling to place his hand on yours, the other hand gently pulling the shoe away, placing it down and gazing up at your vehement expression.

“Tell me why yer all worked up, Miss” 

You felt the tension in your head dissipate, taking deep breaths that were broken every few moments by sniffles. Arthur rubbed circles on the top of your hand with his thumb, letting you cool off, while you wiped away the remnants of your sulking. Oddly kind for an almost stranger. 

Although you were a distressed mess and in a state of dismay, Arthur, despite his calm approach, seemed in his own state of panic no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

“Old memory.”

It was all you wanted to say, all you could say. There was nothing more that you felt was necessary to share. Your breathing became regulated over the next few minutes whilst you watched Arthur carefully pull his items together, glancing over to you periodically with looks of soft concern. Massaging your aching scalp, you sighed and laid back on the bed while thinking about how your parents were going to punish you for this slip-up.

You grimaced at the thought.

The icy autumn air seeped through the window and the warm pink hues of the sunrise danced across the sky, you admired it through the window as you collected your thoughts. 6:00 am. Sighing, you got up again to pull your shoes on and grab your belongings before pulling the crumpled sheets flat across the bed. 

——————————

Arthur had carried your things downstairs into the foyer and insisted on paying for the stay, saying it was the least he could do before helping you onto your horse.

“Well then... I better be off, thank you.” You adjusted onto the back of your horse, reaching into your saddlebag. “Get yourself some of that devil’s liquor, lord knows how you’re still standing after last night.” The two of you shared a short laugh as you handed over a few coins.

“I appreciate it, Miss”

“Good day, Mr. Morgan.” 

He tipped his hat to you, turning around to head toward the saloon while you tapped your horse to get going.

——————————

Riding back through the open fields, the dread seeped through the cracks of your mind, filling your head with an almost unbearable weight. Previous punishments flashed through your mind on replay and kept getting louder and louder until you could feel your heartbeat in your face. You were frozen on the back of your horse, paying no attention to the world gone by.

Time seemed almost far away, however, your horse coming to an abrupt stop outside your home seemed to bring you back to this century for a moment. You had to face whatever was coming.

You slowly climbed off your horse and grabbed your bag before patting her and sending her into the back fields. Begrudgingly, you made your way up the front steps, hearing faint chatter which you assumed came from the front living room. Taking a deep breath, you slowly pushed open the front door. 

An ear-piercing screech echoed from your left followed by quick footsteps and the sound of your name rumbling through the entire household. You barely had time to process your mother's actions before the familiar sting of the back of her hand radiated across your cheek. Stumbling back, you clutched your face, the sting running behind your eye and down your neck. 

“Where! Where have you been, young lady?!” She struck you again. “Disgracing our family no doubt!” And again. “What will the church think? Huh?! What will they think when they find out I have a harlot for a daughter?!” 

All you could do was stand there and take it, it seemed almost rehearsed like she had been practising. Her favourite insult to call you used to cut a lot deeper before you found out why she was so adamant you were some type of sexual deviant. It took you until your fifteenth birthday to find out that your mother was already pregnant when she married your father. 

She sees herself in you.

Amid the screaming and hitting, you heard your father sigh disappointedly before picking up his briefcase. 

“Honour your mother and father.” Mumbled your father, before he moved past and out the front door.

——————————

You stared blankly into the bathroom mirror whilst the tap ran. Blankly at the bruises. Blankly at the split lip. Blankly at your battered face. It was nothing new, but, for some reason, the overwhelm still hit like the first time, tears edged their way out from your eyes as you bit your throbbing lip, gripping the porcelain vanity and letting your head hang while you silently sobbed.

Tears and snot dripped from your face as you reached for a washcloth. You held back sniffles to not alert your sister in the room next door, pinching yourself over and over to try and cope. 

Looking back up into the mirror, you wiped the remnants of your beating and crying from your face, washing out the cloth before setting it down on the rim of the sink.

The sound of the running water began to flow through your ears as you collected your thoughts, sighing, you looked back at yourself, smiled, and grabbed a towel to dry your face and arms.

You are okay.

Pushing open the bathroom door, you made your way down the hall and passed by your little sister’s room. You held the same blank gaze as she looked up at you. She would never do this to her. Winifred looked like she was about to ask what happened but before she could you had already turned away, continuing to your room.

You flopped onto your bed and closed your eyes, thinking about if she would even feed you tonight, which depended on your dad’s day at work. Kicking your shoes off, you curled up and fell asleep, completely exhausted. 

——————————

You had been falling in and out of sleep all day, wanting to escape for a little while longer but you knew you’d have to face your family again soon. Slowly crawling to the end of your bed, the clanging of pots in the kitchen downstairs travelled throughout the house as you reached to close the window, the cold air pouring over your hand and down your arm. The window snapped shut and for a moment, everything was normal.

You were completely unphased by the events of this morning, only for a split second, though. Everything swarmed your mind again and that same empty ache washed over you.

Pushing off the bed, you wiped the hair out of your face and held it in your hands for a moment, knowing that when you went down the stairs you'd be met with the same look of disgust. You finally changed out of your clothes from yesterday and tossed them into the hamper on the other side of the room, groaning as half of them missed and instead fell onto the floor.

It only took you a few moments to gather your towel and pyjamas before heading to the bathroom, you figured you had about thirty minutes before dinner was ready to wash up.

Steam filled the bathroom, fogging up the mirror and pouring out the cracked open window. You turned the shower off and dried yourself, pulling the satin garments over your body. Just as you closed the bathroom door, your father called you and your sister down. 

And so you sat facing your little sister with the same blank expression your face had held earlier, listening to your mother ramble passive aggressively about her bible club or something else completely irrelevant. You had learnt to tune it out and to stare at whatever was on your plate. 

Clearing his throat, your father spoke up.

“A kind man came into the church today, looking to help out at this year's harvest festival.”

Your eyes lifted from the roast dinner to his face, your father mostly spoke when it was something of importance.

“He said he and his friends were situated outside of town and were looking to find some work for the time being.”

It wasn’t entirely unusual for folks to come to the church to help out, though it was mostly the mothers of the school children. It was odd however that outsiders wanted to help out. Your father continued to spiel about the details of the harvest festival and what activities were going to run this year, which you were somewhat excited about.

“As for you, young lady. No participating this year, as punishment, you’ll be a junior assistant to one of the activities. I won’t allow you to run it on your own either, someone will be stationed with you and you will be under strict surveillance. No funny business.”

Just like that, any hope of fun escape deflated like an old balloon. You rolled your eyes and muttered a quick ‘Okay.’ before finishing the rest of your food. Excusing yourself from the table, you took your family’s dishes and made your way into the kitchen. The maid was standing ready to wash up but you felt like helping out, the more you detached from your family, the more you became independent.

You often felt angry at the dismissive way the house staff was treated by the rest of your family, but also the way they treated everyone else, especially those who had less than. It was almost inhumane. Their arrogance to their behaviour disgusted you deeply but any chance of opening their eyes to it was swiftly shut down by calling you ungrateful.

The bubbles dripped off the plates as they sat on the rack, spilling onto the tray beneath and continuing back into the sink. You placed the last plate onto the rack and pulled the drain plug. 

Walking back through to the dining room, you found it deserted and you guessed they had made their way to the living room. You decided to not disturb their peace and rather to go back to your room.

——————————

Tick. You had been lying, staring at the ceiling for the past two hours. Thinking. Tick. Listening to the clock cycle the same continuous rounds it was destined to cycle until the inevitable end. Tick. You thought it was depressing how the hands would keep spinning and spinning and spinning… Tick. 

It made you think about what more of a purpose it could’ve served. Probably none. It was designed this way, a set path, predetermined by its creators.

It made you think about the path you had lined up. To be a wife to a man of the church, sold off to be someone else’s problem, though you were a few years off that, at least.

Was this all you were meant for? To lead a sad life filled with religion and keeping a home? To raise kids you don’t want? To be trapped in an unhappy marriage to a man who can’t satisfy you?

There has got to be more to your destiny.

[attapullman]

Mo-Mo, dare I say........fall with neighbor!bob or bungalow!bob???

It's already sweater weather with the leaves falling and Bob comes out of the house one day in his tan Carhartt jacket, his cowboy boots and those tight, dark-washed jeans that show off his pretty little butt perfectly and he tells you that you're going to the orchards.

You guys pick a TON of apples and after, you guys decide to go to the local pumpkin patch to get your pick of the Halloween pumpkins. You bring the dogs too and your little Cavalier spaniel looks super cute in her little orange and green tartan sweater, jumping on the pumpkin carts and all over the fat orange pumpkins while Bob's little blue-heeler is running after her.

You get home and sure enough, Meemaw's gotta cook. Ever since she moved in with you guys, she's taught you all the secret recipes that her mother and her own meemaw taught her how to make. She makes tons of apple pie, cider donuts, apple-cinnamon oatmeal cookies etc. with the apples and the pumpkins she uses to make pie, pumpkin soup, cookies and all sorts of other good stuff.

You and Bob loooooove carving the pumpkins. He gets super into it and can make pretty much anything. For your wedding anniversary, he made a jack-o-lantern that had Jack Skellington and Sally in their wedding getup. Meemaw also taught him how to needle-felt and he made a while Nightmare Before Christmas village.

Leaf piles GALORE!!!! You and Bob have alot of kids in the neighborhood and the parents especially love it when you let them come and jump in the leaf piles. The Daggers all live across the street and let their own kids come play in the leaves. Yours and Bob's oldest boy loves tag-teaming with Natasha's son, Gabe, and Hangman's little dude and they always start playing Navy SEALS in the leaf piles (lol).

Lots and lots of fall knitting. Meemaw taught you how to do the Irish style knitting that her mom and grandma grew up doing in Ireland. Bob still has his lil Irish knit sweaters from when he was a baby and your little girl loves to put them on her teddy bears and on her baby dolls.

You guys love bringing nature into the house and you'll make fall wreaths for the dining room tables and for your nieces and nephews as well. The girls always thing they're fall fairies running around in the woods but you and Bob love it anyways (lol).

Ahhhh!!! The fall vibes!!!

I loooooooooooove autumn and this just makes me 🤩 because it's so cozy and sweet and warm - which are all the best parts of this season! Bringing dogs to the pumpkin patch is my love language!

I can absolutely see all the little Dagger kids playing in the leaf piles and all the potlucks that you and Bob host for everyone - it's a miracle everyone fits in the house!

I need Meemaw's recipes for everything!