#Third. Joyce? with that electric thing????

[love-byers]

discogate, revisited

the stranger things directors are freaks about centering and symmetry. go watch any episode i promise you'll see loads of shots where everything is perfectly centered to the point it can't be coincidental. so when a stationary shot is so obviously not centered, it probably means something.

so why is that disco ball not perfectly in the middle of the screen. why. it's literally making his head shine. all of the other lights above the rink meet at the discoball, so it draws even more attention to it.

a disco ball is the center of attention. it shines brighter than anything else in the room.

to me this is a clear representation of what was going on that day between the love triangle. on the surface it seems like mike isn't paying attention to will and has all his attention on el, will is a third wheel being ignored by the couple. but we later learn that wasn't true at all, at least for mike. he was watching will all day and wanted to talk to him. "You were moping, you were rolling your eyes, you were barely talking you basically sabotaged the whole day."

all of mikes attention that day was on will. he was talking to el, but he wasn't truly paying attention to her because if he was, he would've noticed el was lying and definitely would've noticed el's entire demeanor shift when angela showed up. she so clearly didn't want to go with angela, but mike just let it happen. because that wasn't his focus. we're talking about the same dude from

"He's quiet today."

"He's always quiet:"

also notice how as the camera zooms on el the ball is between mike and will.

and as that happens, el is trying to hide how upset she is at her situation, her lie. literally forcing a smile. i think this is meant to show the reality of the day. el and mike we're not focused on each other. el wanted to come off like a popular cool girl, lying about parties and friends. her goal of the day was not to bond with mike, but convince him that she was super cool and her life in lenora was great. mikes gay ass was pretending like he didn't care about will and wasn't paying attention to him. i did an elaborate analysis on mike's behavior that day here. and both of these lies were exposed. el's because of angela, and mikes because of will. mike got so fed up with will not paying attention to him that he literally could not hold up the act anymore. it got under his skin so bad he literally couldn't take it anymore.

and both mike and el five reasons as to why their day was ruined.

el, to angela: You ruined my day.

mike, to will: You were rolling your eyes, you were moping, you were barely talking, you basically sabotaged the whole day!

there are several examples of lights surrounding couples in ST, but the first one i think of is jopper.

no, that lamp was not there coincidentally, it was on purpose

no, the discoball was not there accidentally.

and this comes back to what i talked about first, symmetry and centering. joyce and hop on either sides of the screen, the lamp perfectly in the center, and they even chose a place where the wall has a straight line so the lamp could fit perfectly in it. and it looks super nice. and there's also the association of st couples with electricity and sparks of romance.

so i ask again, what the fuck is up with that discoball. cause something is UP.

discogate you will always be loved by me

[woodaba]

We Wouldn't Have Alan Wake II Without Quantum Break

Remember Quantum Break? The first game announced for the Xbox One? The link between cult classic Alan Wake and surprising studio-saving hit Control? That prominently features Lance Reddick, the much-missed actor who was frequently one of the most electric screen presences of our time?

Don't worry, I barely do either, and I played the game yesterday.

So, a refresher. Quantum Break, announced in 2013 alongside the Xbox One and released three years later, is a third-person shooter starring Shawn Ashmore aka Iceman from the X-Men movies as Jack Joyce (and not Jake Joyce as I constantly remembered him as. In my defense, it's a better name, if only because then his superhero name could be Quantum Jake...), who, after being turned into A Remedy Entertainment Protagonist after a time-travel experiment gone wrong, battles against fellow Remedy Entertainment Protagonist Aidan Gillen aka Doctor Pavel I'm CIA as Paul Serene, over what to do about an imminent apocalypse after Time starts Breaking because of the aforementioned time-travel experiment.

As a rehabilitating former Doctor Who obsessive, I'm particularly open to this kind of time-travel nonsense, but Quantum Break is frustratingly unwilling to capitalize on its own premise. Interesting things happen, sure: people get stuck in causality loops, confront and become acausal time monsters, and live entire second lives in the past after time-traveling, but almost none of it occurs to Jack Joyce: he just spends his time just shooting guys in a series of warehouses and offices. Quantum Break is a potentially interesting story that we don't really get to see anything of, instead anything compelling in the narrative is relayed to us second-hand, by the myriad emails and documents scattered throughout the gunfights, or over the radio, and, of course, Remedy's now-signature multimedia ambitions.

In between acts of the video game Quantum Break, you'll be treated to episodes of the TV show Quantum Break, a live-action c-tier circa-2009 network TV production starring some of the big(ish) names that headline the game Quantum Break, but mostly follows a cast of extras who navigate around the events of the game while working for baddie Paul Serene's Evil Corporation, Monarch.

It's in the TV show that what Quantum Break actually is begins to take shape. Remedy, as a studio, has always been interested - and unusually adept at - pastiche, whether it's the noir comic stylings of their still-astonishing Max Payne duology or the rickety but deeply charming Stephen King love-in that is Alan Wake. And here, they do a genuinely stellar job at replicating the look, feel, and sensibilities of a 2008-2013 network TV Lost/Fringe rip-off that gets canceled after one season.

That may sound backhanded, but I assure you it isn't. I've long been a fan of Remedy, in spite of, or perhaps because I don't think they've made a truly great game since Max Payne 2. In a medium that often pillages relentlessly from Film and TV, Remedy set themselves apart from their competition with the depth of their understanding of the production of film, bringing into games a deftness of set construction and filmic pacing that blows their contemporaries out of the water. Even more-lauded names like Naughty Dog and Rockstar come up short against Alan Wake's hauntingly gorgeous misty woods, best illustrated with Rockstar's Max Payne 3, which matched Remedy's cinematographical flair in the cutscenes, but fell far short of their level design chops and breadth of influences.

Quantum Break is, in aesthetics and production, a genuinely extremely well-considered pastiche of this period of sci-fi television that is now comfortably in the rear-view mirror, the time since its release having given it a real nostalgic charm that would have been dulled at the time of release. It really reminded me of the years I spent watching shows like Heroes, or Flash/Forward, shows that may not have been very good, but are intoxicatingly emblematic of their time and place, hiding just beneath the floorboards of the shows that would actually get to be remembered.

It's a shame, then, that it just fails to really compel on any level beyond appreciation for the pastiche.

Much like the gameplay, the TV episodes of Quantum Break feel almost ancillary to another, better story that we never get to see. The stars of the game feel wasted here - particularly Lance Reddick, one of my favorite actors, who steals the show every time he appears, but is given vanishingly little to do in comparison with a group of wafer-thin characters that struggle to manifest a single dimension, with relational at best connection to the concerns of the narrative. It looks like a particularly budget-strapped episode of Warehouse 13, sure, but it doesn't really feel like one, as the episodes - until the last one, which is a noticeable improvement - are shockingly paceless and devoid of the arcs that would make a singular episode of television compelling. They are, ultimately, primarily dreary, overlong, and constantly highlighting the fact that they are largely interstitial filler.

It would be wrong to accuse Remedy of not having their heart in Quantum Break, as there is too much evident passion to discount, but I do feel like they struggle to find a core to this idea, something that they truly want to explore. Whether I'm playing the game or watching the show, QB leaves everything on the surface, with nothing to really find beneath the surface. It's notable that the game is absolutely filled with constant allusions to Alan Wake - including a full-blown trailer found on a TV moments after starting the game that bears startling resemblance to the eventual plot of this year's Alan Wake II - and that the game started life as a pitch to Microsoft for Alan Wake II: one suspects that they would much rather be making that game at this moment in time than Quantum Break, or that the game is a test-bed of ideas for the studio's future, the act of throwing a thousand darts at a quantum dartboard, and seeing which ones find their mark. It's just that for this effort, precious few of them do.

And yet, the surprise is that by the end, I truly felt like Remedy was genuinely onto something with the spirit of Quantum Break's ideas, if not the execution of them. The television show is the thing that makes Quantum Break live, that marks it out as something worth remembering in a sea of slick third-person shooters with cinematic ambitions. It is the icon of the foundational belief of the Xbox One, that the future of games lay in a synthesis with television, a dead-end future that had already worn out by the time the game was actually released. What remains is little more than a gimmick, sure, but it is one that, by the end, is oddly compelling, even if most of it is terrifically boring to actually experience.

There is a genuine thrill to seeing characters in both video game graphics and live-action forms, shifting between the two seamlessly thanks to some genuinely well-realized digitized actors that still look good today, a shift that blends well with the time-space bending of the plot. Do I care about Jack Joyce, as a person? Not even slightly. Did I still grin when I saw Actual Shawn Ashmore briefly appear in the TV episodes after controlling Virtual Shawn Ashmore? Absolutely. It's the same kind of shallow thrill you get from Cheers allumni showing up for a visit in Frasier, or when the Torchwood crew talk around the presence of Mr. Doctor Who, Esq, but as something that works with what the game is doing rather than distracting your attention elsewhere.

The gameplay portions represent time breaking down with (genuinely cool, if shallow) shards of space and glass and stuttering loops of physical time, but the collision of the Real and the Virtual feels so much more effective in communicating the idea of time and space shattering and colliding into one another. I just wish it played in this space more, focusing on Ashmore, Reddick, Monaghan, and Hope, rather than the cast of goons and extras who feel wholly separated from the game until the final mission.

I'd like to say that I'd love Remedy to take another crack at this idea, with the lessons they've learned from Control and Alan Wake II, but that already feels like a fool's hope. The ballooning costs of video game development make the idea of filming an entire TV mini-series alongside it feel laughable. Sure, Control's live-action segments were plentiful and superbly produced, but they were also far more restrained than Quantum Break, focusing on short segments with one non-big-name actor each in a couple of highly reusable sets. With both this and its open-world, side-questing structure with plenty of loot and upgrades to collect, Control is something largely in line with the realities and productions of modern game development

Quantum Break isn't rooted in reality for even a second. It's a time-locked instant, the most 2015 game ever made, which makes it all the better that it came out in 2016. There's no future in what Quantum Break envisions. It's a failed experiment, something to shrug at and move on. And yet, it compels me regardless, despite the fact that I don't really like it.

We need games like this, I feel. Historical curios like this show that the shifting landscape of the medium isn't a straight line, it splits off into splintered fraying timelines, some leading to nothing, but others spilling back in unexpected ways. After all, Courtney Hope, who played Beth Wilder here, returned for the starring role in Control, and that game feels so keenly like the product of lessons learned from QB, with everything from the live-action segments, the document-reading, and the combat feeling like a progression from Remedy's previous work. In particular, my complaints about QB's narrative taking place almost entirely off-screen evolves into a hugely compelling aspect of Control, with the genuine highlight of that game being reading the endless documents detailing the horrors and nightmares of America transcribed into corporate mundanity.

And while I've only played a taster of Alan Wake II, there's no doubt in my mind that that game, a bona-fide critical darling the likes of which Remedy hasn't had since Max Payne 2, owes a great debt to QB. Not least because its engine provides the framework for the game, but also because, well, it's been in there, this whole time.

Waiting for The Return.

[erikiara80]

3x03 analysis: Byler and other theories

In this episode there are so many things that this is almost a masterpost of everything I talk about here, lol.

I’m gonna start with Will. There’s so much about him, starting with the title of the episode, The case of the missing lifeguard - The vanishing of Will Byers. Not a coincidence, in the episode where the Mind Flayer(Vecna) is officially back

1. Will and dragons

The Will the Wise drawing + dragons at Castle Byers. No surprise there

When we see this, we hear Mike saying his 1x01 line: “Something’s coming...”

But I found something else here, one thing that is connected to three theories! Willel twins, birthdaygate and Will and dragons. I’m gonna talk about dragons first.

So, this is one of the lifeguards El and Max talk to while they’re looking for Heather. The name on the magazing is Rick James. A singer who in 1985 released his 8th album: Glow. I was like, what? This can’t be a coincidence.

So.

Glow. We know that Will’s been associated with lights/electricity since S1. And he’s also associated with dragons.

In the movie The Last Dragon, the Glow is the power that a martial artist develops when they reach the final level of martial arts, known as... the Last Dragon. They’re basically able to concentrate so much mystical energy that their hands start to glow.

In S4, Steve and Robin talk near the poster of that movie at Family Video. So, Will, dragons, and energy that makes your hands glow. Like this?

My theories on Will and dragons: 

Will, dragons and Gozer, a ST-Ghostbuster-DnD parallel important for S5

The Last Dragon and the power of the Glow

2. Byler

Many people have analyzed Will and Mike in this episode, and the rain fight, that mirrors the fight at Rink-o-mania in S4. This is a very important episode, I’d say one of the most important. For many reasons. 

1) The episode starts with Max reassuring El that Mike will come crawling back to her in no time, begging for forgiveness. But not only we immediately see that that’s not the case, and that Mike is complaining with Lucas about girls and showing that he doesn’t even think he did something wrong.

The episode ends with Mike riding in a storm, at night, to beg Will for forgiveness, because he knows that he’s been a total asshole. And he doesn’t care if Joyce or Jonathan can hear him. It’s true and he’s gonna tell everyone that what he did was wrong. (I love that Lucas is there too and wants to apologize. I love their friendship)

2) But all this happens because this is the first time Mike has deeply hurt Will. The shock in Mike’s eyes tells everything. That he’s never seen Will so upset and angry.

And then this. He didn’t want Will to go away. He wanted him to stay with him. He wants to play games with Will in his basement for the rest of his life. And seeing him leave like that under a storm. Hurt. Angry. That must’ve really hurt. 

And if Will hadn’t told him that the Mind Flayer was back. If Mike and Lucas had found him and talked with him, showing him that they were truly sorry and didn’t mean to hurt him, maybe the next day, Will and Mike would’ve spent time together and talked. But in any case, Mike wasn’t ready to understand. Yet. 

Now, let’s talk about Willel.

3. Billy-El-Will parallel 

Here Billy’s eyes, when he’s fully possessed. The color doesn’t change (same for Heather and the other Flayed) Only El and Will’s color eye change. And if El’s eyes change when she’s using her powers, maybe the Mind Flayer was using Will’s in S2. 

I wrote about this here

Billy, El and Will’s eye color

Did Will really cast Fog Cloud in S2 in the tunnels?

4. Willel twins

@chirpsythismorning​​  I don’t know if you noticed this. Third theory the magazine is connected to. El and Max are talking with the lifeguards and there are two interesting details.

One is the Happy Birthday on the poster and the TWO on the magazine. So the birthday of two people? In a scene with El. Interesting.

 Here it’s more clear. 

And the other thing is the date: ‘76. The only two numbers we see. 76, like 1976, this mysterious year they keep mentioning. 

In S1, when this reporter is talking about Will’ “death” and says this:

“...Byers isn't the first person to drown in Sattler's Quarry. You'll recall only seven years ago...” 1983 - 7= 1976

(screenshot by shippingfangirling013)

And in S2, in the article about Terry Ives. I think it’s also the year she said that Brenner stole her baby daughter. Mid-1970s. Not early 70s (1971). But in no timeline El was born in the mid-1970s. She would’ve been seven in S1. So maybe that’s the original timeline, and that means that Terry isn’t El’s mother.

Other possible hints. I love this shot

El and Will’s same reaction

The Happy Birthday cup that we see often throughout the show, since ep 1 (it’s also in the next ep, near Will, when he talks about the Mind Flayer)

This shot with Hopper and Joyce and the pic of a baby between them (not the only time it happens. We also see two babies between them at Malvald’s in 3x01) But there are even bigger and more interesting hints imo in other episodes of S3, and throughout the whole show.

What I like in this ep is how Hopper mentions Sarah. “After Sara I had to get away. I had to get the hell out of that place... Outrun those memories, I guess.”

Always interesting when they mention memories. Especially since we’ve only seen the same memory of Sara for years. And they never explained why Hopper was at the lab when she died.

These are the theories to understand what I’m talking about: the Willel Twins theory and the many reasons we can’t trust what we see: 

chirpsythismorning theory on the parallels between Joyce, Terry and two real victim of MKUltra

Will and Sara Hopper 

Terry and El’s flashback are different

All the signs in 2x07 that make the whole Kali ep sus

Parallels between Kali ep (2x07) and 4x07 (The massacre at the Lab)

There’s so much more, but this post is already so long.

In Part Two I’m gonna talk about the parallel between Will’s kidnapping and El at Heather’s house. The parallel between the Creel House and Heather’s house. The dnd campaign as foreshadowing of S5. The clocks and other things. What an episode!

tagging you, as always : ) @lilitblaukatz​

[fandoms-in-law]

Parenting

Author's Note: I'm playing let's project on Steve, there's other shit happened today but this situation was what pushed me past being able to cope.

Summary: Steve's mother comes home. She's more of a hindrance and someone more to parent than any form of responsible adult Steve could talk to

/\/\

There's a difference between being legally an adult, babysitting, essentially parenting a bunch of teenagers and adults expecting you to help them with adult tasks.

Steve thought the first two were tiring, difficult but worth it in the end. He thought the third was the worst thing to ever happen to him.

He'd taken on the parenting of the kids on his own, but this was his mother, turning back up out of the blue, and acting more like she was his daughter than the reverse.

She was asking about how bills get paid for the house, why different electric companies exist, why Steve's mad that she just invited the guy coming door to door selling stuff in and had actually been ready to buy something before he got home.

She definitely wasn't saying where his father was, or allowing any questions in return about what brought her home or why she wanted to know this stuff.

Then there's paperwork dumped in front of Steve as he's putting dinner on the table. "Help me understand this, and get out of it." she demanded, trying to use the mothering tone that Steve now knew she had never had a right to use.

He stared at the page for a moment, registering that it seemed to be some sort of additional contract and his parents marriage certificate.

That was when he walked away, over to his phone to call Hopper and Joyce.

"Hey, yeah, my Mother has been home this week, and I need an actual adult here.

No she doesn't count.

I mean it. Between the two of us, I'm apparently the adult here and I need an experienced adult who has some idea over the mess she's finally dumped on me.

No she doesn't get a choice in this. I have had yearly concusions, hospital visits, and trauma added on me since I was a teenager and she's only just shown up and not once asked about any of it. I need you here.

Yes bring Joyce too, it's fine.

Yes and El."

Enough was enough. Steve could parent the kids he'd adopted, he could muddle his way through living his own life, paying bills, working his job, figuring out his own contracts, with some help from friends, but he wasn't going to parent the woman that should have parented him.

[marypsue]

5,8,17,or19! For the fic ask!

[from this meme]

I've done 5, but I'll do 8 and 17...and 19 again, because I am shameless.

8. What project(s) are you currently working on?

At the moment, I'm plugging away at Fearleading Squad, Le Morte d'Artificial Intelligence, and Circus Luna. I did a post about my current ongoing original fiction projects here, and I'm just gonna link it because I'm lazy and also I think it's a pretty good summary of all three of them.

My current fic WIPs are:

the light of all lights: As mentioned in the previous post, I'm continuing this AU where the characters of Dracula get dropped into the events of Stranger Things season one.

tam lin's twin: The conclusion of the robber bridegroom and other stories, the one that grew out of a crackship challenge and turned into an AU where the Byers family have psychic powers and lab experiment trauma.

why can't we be ourselves like we were yesterday: The post-s3, pre-s4 Steve/Nancy/Jonathan bodyswap fic. There's a bit missing in the middle but I'm damned if I know what it is, so that one's stalled out in the garage for right now.

that same small town in each of us (aka 'relativity falls but it's stranger things'): The one where it's Stranger Things season one, but Hawkins Chief of Police Nancy Wheeler is trying to find Jonathan Byers' missing daughter, sixteen-year-old Mike Harrington and Will Byers have found a psychic fugitive in the woods, and twelve-year-old Karen Harrington and Jim Hopper are hunting a monster that might have taken their mutual friend Joyce.

former heroes who quit too late: The third and final installment in the Hawkins, Indiana psychic baby boom AU, aka 'the one where (almost) all the kids have powers and (almost) none of them know it'. Despite being probably the longest fic on this list, it's the one with the most concrete outline, and probably the closest to actually being done.

annnnnd Something Borrowed, Something Blues (aka 'RB2: Electric Blues-galoo')!: Yeah, I'm still plugging away at this one. It's so close to done. I want it to be done as badly as any of you do.

17. What’s something you’ve learned about while doing research for a fic?

I've talked a lot about how I found out about phreaking and early hacker culture for what became a plot point in the road goes ever on. I don't think I've mentioned, though, that I learned about the Greyhound drivers' strike of 1983 when I was trying to figure out what parts of the American Midwest Greyhound would have serviced and what their average trip lengths looked like for don't let the sun go down on me. And then I obviously had to incorporate it into the fic, for period flavour. And to cause additional problems for Steve Harrington. Which, as you may have noticed, is one of my favourite pastimes.

19. Give us a small teaser from one of your WIPs.

Yanno what, have a snippet of a scene from Fearleading Squad.

...

When Avery finally got fed up with being avoided and tried to hunt her down at the lunch hour, Mallory wasn’t at their usual lunch spot in the entryway of the science wing. She wasn’t out on the front lawn by the sign with the interchangeable letters that the jocks were always rearranging to make rude words with, either. Or in any of the practice rooms off the band room. After some searching, Avery finally found her in the cafeteria, sitting at a long table under one of the windows.

With the rest of the cheerleaders.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Avery spat, marching up to the table and stopping right at Mallory’s elbow, glaring down.

Mallory took a long, exaggerated look at her hot lunch tray, before dragging her eyes slowly and judgmentally up over Avery’s black peasant blouse, the silver ankh and the length of huge-linked hardware-store chain dangling around her neck, her dark purple lipstick, all the way up to her black-ringed eyes. “I thought I was eating my lunch…?”

Siobhan, across the table from Mallory, giggled. When Avery whirled to glare her down, she just offered a bright, guileless smile. Jennifer leaned over to whisper something to Krista, neither of them taking their eyes off of Avery.

And from the head of the table, Tiffany watched the whole thing intently, with a perfect, slightly smug sliver of a smile.

“Bathroom,” Avery snarled, grabbing Mallory’s arm just above the elbow and yanking her up out of her seat, making her drop her fork with a clatter into her mashed potatoes. “Now.”

Mallory shook off Avery’s grip as Avery slammed the door to the seventh-grade girls’ washroom behind them, taking two big steps back away from Avery. “What is wrong with you, you psycho?”

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?” Avery looked Mallory up and down, from the toes of her sparkling white sneakers and slouchy white socks, to the glint of the tiny gold cross at her throat, to the bobbing pouf of her shellacked half-ponytail, throttled by a scrunchie exactly matched to the red of her cheer uniform. Her roots were still dark, Avery noticed, but the bleach-blonde woven through her hair looked more like intentional highlights than an overgrown all-over dye job. And was a soft, pale gold instead of the previous loud brass. Somebody had apparently also given Mallory a lesson or two in eyeshadow application, and must have finally told her to ease off the blush. “Who are you, and what have you done with my friend Mallory?”

“Excuse the hell out of me for thinking you might be happy for me,” Mallory spat back. “You know, I actually told Tiffany she was wrong when she said you’d be bitter and envious?”

Something cold slipped down Avery’s back, catching fire in the pit of her belly. “That bitch is talking about me?”

“She said you’d make this all about you. It’s not. You didn’t want the spot on the team. She gave me a chance, and I made the cut. It’s got nothing to do with you at all.”

Avery nodded, a prickling anger needling at her, just under her skin. “She said that, huh. Is she the same one who did your hair and your makeup? And bought your lunch? And gave you those new clothes you’ve been wearing?”

Mallory gave a little flick of her chin, so she was looking down her nose toward Avery. “As a matter of fact, yeah. She did let me pick some things from her closet. And helped me fix that awful bathtub dye job you gave me. She’s actually pretty nice, if you give her a chance.”

“She’s buying you,” Avery snapped back. “And you’re letting her! What happened to ‘I don’t need charity’?”

“It’s easy for you to say!” Mallory spat. “Some of us don’t get to just choose to shop at thrift shops because we’re oh so too cool for Benneton and Esprit -”

“God! So you just let a snob like her dress you up like her own personal Barbie, so you can be allowed to be seen with her and her crew? Play lapdog for her just so you can get some hand-me-downs with a more expensive brand name on the tag? When have I ever given a fuck that you’re poor?”

“You haven’t,” Mallory said, sharply.

She didn’t say another word, just pushed past Avery and out of the bathroom, letting the heavy metal door slam behind her with a hollow boom.

It swung open again a second later, to let in two chattering seventh-grade girls. They fell dead silent the second they laid eyes on Avery.

Avery bared her teeth in a snarl, glaring them down, and they both turned around and hurried back out the door again.

[stranger-chichka]

It's me and my rumblings about the Coke commercial again (Before dropping the third season of Stranger Things, Coca-Cola announced a New Coke and Netflix partnership). I dug a little deeper and found more interesting stuff. So, the music from the commercial. As I already wrote, the song is called “First Time” and is sung by Robin Beck. The Duffers posted it both on Twitter and Instagram on June 14th, 2019 and signed it as: "just a couple thirsty boys having a night out in 1985"

So, the singer's name is Robin Beck and what new character is introduced in s3? Robin Buckley. It's very strange to be a coincidence. The song was released as a single in the US on July 1st, 1988 (while in ST the events of 3x03 - El & Max's sleepover, them looking for Billy, Byler rain fight, Robing cracking the code, Jopper going to the lab, Jancy going to the Driscoll's house - are happening on July 1st, 1985) and was originally recorded for a Coca-Cola commercial in 1987 (a year before). The single was internationally released on October 14th, 1988 (Friday) and I remembered that post by @endgamebyler about the possibility of s5 being released on October 13th, 2023 (also Friday).

What about the lyrics of the song? The ones that play in the commercial are slightly changed, so let's look at the original lyrics first. The title is already very telling. As with many other songs in Stranger Things, this one is also about time.

[Verse 1] First time, first love Oh, what feeling is this Electricity flows With the very first kiss

[Chorus] Like a break in the clouds and the first ray of sun I can feel it inside something new has begun And it's taking control of my body and mind It began when I heard I love you For the very first time For the very first time

[Verse 2] This life, this love Oh, the sweetness I feel So mysterious yet So incredibly real

[Chorus] It's an uncharted sea, it's an unopened door But you gotta reach out and you gotta explore Even though you're not sure till the moment arrives There he is and you know you're in love For the very first time For the very first time

[Bridge] And baby when I met you Every feeling I had was new I don't think there are words To describe the sensation No, no, no, no Oh... oh...

[Chorus] It's an uncharted sea, it's an unopened door But you gotta reach out and you gotta explore And when something happens that words can't define Only then do you know you're in love For the very first time For the very first time For the very first time

And here are the lyrics we hear in the commercial.

First time, first love

Oh, what feeling is this

Electricity flows (the scene in s2 with Steve, Dustin & electricity = love)

With Like the very first kiss

Like a break in the clouds and the first ray of sun (Will = light)

I can feel it inside again, something new has begun

And it's taking control of my body and mind You can tell other pieces are starting to fit

It began when I heard I love you Like the first time you said "Share my Coke" and I knew that was it [here Steve tells he's gonna meet a friend and that's not a DATE like Hopper tells Joyce in s3]

It's You're an uncharted sea, it's and an unopened door

(all the water & door references throughout the show, mostly associated with Mike)

But you gotta reach out and you gotta explore

Even though you're not sure till the moment arrives I can do anything that life will calling

There he is and you know you're in love You can't breathe. How it feels? Share my Coke. Coca-Cola is it [here Dustin ("Thor's stone", "thunderstone" or "valiant fighter") joins them + I'm not sure I'm hearing these two lines correctly, so please tell me if the lyrics are correct]

Btw, here's the original 1988 commercial. And here's the music video for that song (Two separate videos were released for the single. One simply featured Beck with her band and this was filmed in a style very typical for metal bands of the 80s, but I'm interested in the other one). Please watch it and tell me, YOU SEE IT TOO???? Mike and Will s4 phonegate, hello???????

The video starts with the singer applying makeup in the bathroom mirror and then looking at her watch.

She then rushes to the phone to make a call before replacing the receiver within seconds, not really giving anyone the chance to answer her call.

She's standing at the door while singing the first verse.

On "And it's taking control of my body and mind, it began when I heard I love you for the very first time" she comes to the picture with the couple running around on a beach (water references!!!)

And we see the letter W on a...is it a ship?

On "So mysterious yet, so incredibly real" she goes to another room and looks through the window.

The lines "It's an uncharted sea, it's an unopened door but you gotta reach out and you gotta explore" she's singing while standing by the wall raising up her right hand.

She sits on the sofa and turns on the TV where we see a couple kissing with lots of water splashing around, and she's dancing in front of the mirror.

On "And baby when I met you every feeling I had was new" she's having flashbacks about the time she spent with her lover.

On "I don't think there are words to describe the sensation" she looks at her watch again, comes to the mirror and looks through the magazine with the pictures of her and his love (reminded me of Mke in s1 looking through Will's drawings)

She's calling again and the video ends with her opening the door and seeing someone with flowers in front of her.

And in the Stranger Things commercial we have this dialogue between Steve and Dustin:

D: You're late! S: The movie hasn't started yet!

D: Do you know how many people wanted your seat? Specifically girls! Girls who I now could be sitting with...

S: And what are you gonna do? You're gonna wound with this denim vest? Ho many times I have to tell you, stop wearing that! Why would you do that?

D: It's better this way. Sweet and salty in a single bite. S: Henderson? D: Hmmm? S: You're a genius. D: Tell me something I don't know.

Something something about wearing the denim vest? We see Dustin, Mike and Steve wearing it in s3 (Steve is also wearing vests in s4). And Will's wearing a vest the night he goes missing in s1...

[indigobackfire]

But I wanna say the good things cause I need to keep my blood pressure in check

So big spoilers in the tags

[softnow]

paracosm [iii/?]

msr | college au | this chapter: t | words: 2k

she is a puzzle wrapped in high-waisted denim that he’s desperate to solve.

s/o to @o6666666 for continuing to love bb fox and dana as much as i do. also tagging @today-in-fic.

← last chapter. / ao3.

— — —

Fox Mulder is not—despite what some might think, judging by the company he keeps—hopeless with the ladies. He’s had his fair share of dates and kisses and, when the dates and the kissing have gone particularly well, warm bodies in his bed. Or his warm body in somebody else’s bed. Or, on one memorable and near-impossible occasion, the backseat of somebody else’s Volkswagen Beetle.

He even had Diana sophomore year—not his first girlfriend, but certainly his most serious. They had talked about grad school together and about the little apartment they’d rent above the private practice they would open someday. She had wanted to call it Fox & Fowley. He—infatuated but not dumb—had not. (This was, of course, before she took off for a semester abroad and never returned.)

All of this to say, he isn’t some sweaty preteen with his first crush.

And yet.

He can’t eat. Can’t sleep. Can barely focus in class. He’s up at seven—seven!—even on days he doesn’t have to be anywhere until noon, just so he can be at the library by eight.

“Dude,” Langly said last week after Mulder spent a good—oh—forty-five minutes talking about the clips Dana wore in her hair on Thursday. “You’ve got it bad.”

And he does. God, he does. He’s never had it so bad. He’s seen the inside of the library more in the last two weeks than he has in the last three years. He’s never been so late to so many classes so many times in a row. It’s just impossible—actually, factually impossible—to walk away from her when she’s leaning towards him on her elbows, whispering words like special relativity and time dilation and inertial frame of reference.

She’s a physics major—pre-med!—and she reads James Joyce and string theory for fun, and three days ago, she wore her hair in the smallest french braid he’s ever seen and how—how—is he supposed to walk away from that?

He lies awake at night and thinks about her. Every night. All night. About library Dana and her big, blue eyes and her freckles and her sweet little waist. His hands would fit so perfectly around that little waist, he’s certain. He needs to know. That, yes, but so much more.

Where is she from? The closest approximation he’s been able to get out of her is not here. Does she have brothers? Sisters? A boyfriend? God, he thinks he would die if she did. What’s her favorite food? Is she a morning person? A night person? Does she snore in her sleep? Does she kiss the same way she talks, deliberate and measured and smart? What is her damn last name?

It’s become a game now, he thinks. He hopes. He hopes it’s a game and that she’s playing it too, this keep away, this Dana, who are you? He asks her daily. She rebuffs him daily with her self-satisfied smirks, her little pink tongue darting out to greet her lips.

(He dreams about that tongue. He—more than dreams about that tongue. A few choice magazines are collecting dust in his bedroom because of that tongue.)

He’s even asked around, but nobody seems to know a freshman named Dana with a tiny nose and a dry wit and a berry-pink mouth. (God, the mouth.)

Frohike tells him to take it easy. “She’ll come around,” he says. But Frohike doesn’t understand. Mulder’s going crazy. All day, every day, twenty-four/seven, it’s Dana. Dana Dana Dana. His brain is a radio that only gets one station: all Dana, all the time. She is a puzzle wrapped in high-waisted denim that he’s desperate to solve.

Which is why, after two excruciatingly Dana-less days, he approaches her on Monday with a stack of books and a smile.

“Mulder,” she says cautiously, in much the same tone one might reserve for a child who has just wandered in with something unnerving, like a dead rat. Or a bomb. “What are you doing?”

He pushes the stack towards her. “Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but I was under the impression that this was a library.”

“Uh-huh,” she says slowly. “I just didn’t think you—”

“What? Read?” He rests his elbows on the desk and shakes his head. “Maybe you’d know that if you’d have dinner with me. It’s half-price pizza at the bowling alley tonight. What’dya say?”

Dana sighs, then lifts her chin and holds out a hand.

“Card, please.”

He grins as he hands it over and watches her do her thing. Her script is neat and tiny as she copies his name and student number onto the first date card. She stamps it and moves on to the next. She’s on the third when she pauses, her brow knitting together. He tightens down on his smile and tries to look innocent as she sits back in her chair and crosses her arms.

“Mulder,” she says, and god, he could listen to her say his name all day, even exasperated like that. “What is this?”

He drums his fingers on the countertop. “What is what?”

She quirks an eyebrow at him, a wry expression that says she knows that he knows what she’s talking about. She holds up the first book and reads the cover.

“Iron Town by Dana Chamberlain.” Then the second: “Fundamentals of Ecology and Society by Dana Rankin.” Then the third, the fourth, the fifth: “Dana Graham. Dana Olson. Dana Earle. Is this your idea of cute?”

“My idea of cute is you in that sweater,” he says, because she’s wrapped in some fuzzy, grey, oversized number today that swallows her whole and presumably guards against the fan blowing cold air behind the desk. Then quickly, before she can protest, he continues: “This is my idea of practical. You won’t tell me your last name.” He shrugs. “Thought I’d test out some possibilities. How’d I do?”

She looks nonplussed, but as someone who has devoted nearly two whole weeks to studying her face, he feels relatively confident that the little tic at the corner of her mouth means she’s at least a little plussed.

“Are you serious?” she asks.

He nods. “About you? Absolutely.”

She flushes the prettiest pink and drops her gaze, toying with the ripped edge of the Dana Olson paperback.

“You don’t even know me,” she mumbles.

“And whose fault is that?” He leans in a little closer, trying to catch her eye. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re not exactly an open book.”

He realizes this was the exact wrong thing to say a moment too late as her forehead wrinkles and her lips draw up into a tight pucker.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, slamming all the Dana books back into a pile. “I didn’t realize I owed you my whole life story. Do you need my original birth certificate, or will a copy be enough?”

She starts to slide from her chair, but he reaches out and catches her arm. Her face is red, and she doesn’t look at him.

“Whoa,” he says. “Hey. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t…it’s not a bad thing.”

She continues to glare at the countertop, and he takes a chance. He swipes his thumb across the inside of her wrist once, back and forth.

“I like you, Dana,” he says, “but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. If I’ve been too pushy… I’m sorry, okay? Tell me to go, and I’ll go. You don’t owe me anything.”

She settles back into her seat and sniffs. For a brief, horrible second, he thinks he’s made her cry. But when she finally looks up, her eyes are dry and clear.

“Scully,” she says.

He cocks his head. “Sorry?”

“My last name is Scully.”

The relief, the giddiness that floods him nearly knocks him off his feet. This is what winning the lottery must feel like. Dana (Scully!) brushes a little curl behind her ear and gives him an uncertain smile.

“Scully,” he says, liking the way it rolls around on his tongue. “Dana Scully.”

She nods. “Yes.”

“You wanna get some lunch, Dana Scully? My treat. You can tell me absolutely nothing about yourself. You don’t even have to talk. We can sit in total silence and pretend we’ve never met.”

She narrows her eyes at him but they’re playful, maybe even a little impish.

“Don’t push your luck,” she says.

But when he comes back half an hour later with turkey sandwiches and potato chips and two bottles of lemonade, she doesn’t kick him out. She also doesn’t kick him out when he follows her outside to the picnic tables behind the library, and she continues to not kick him out as she picks one in the shade of a big oak tree. He watches (with what he hopes isn’t slack-jawed amazement) as she pulls her fuzzy sweater over her head to reveal a little blue t-shirt and pale, smooth arms, and still, she doesn’t kick him out.

They sit on the same side of the table and watch other students lounge in the grass, toss frisbees, eat their own lunches. A warm September breeze ruffles Mulder’s hair, and occasionally, Dana’s knee brushes his thigh. He tries not to choke at the contact, electric even through his jeans.

True to his word, they don’t talk, but he eats slower than ever, savoring the nerve-wracking feeling of her next to him, the occasional touch of her elbow as she reaches for her drink. It turns out they don’t really need to speak anyway. She teaches him things even in total silence.

For example: when she finishes her chips, she steals the rest of his. She doesn’t ask permission; she simply watches him from the corner of her eye as she dips her fingers into the bag. He files food thief away in his mental rolodex of Dana facts and nudges the bag closer to her. (She also doesn’t say thank you, but the way she licks salt from her fingertips is thanks enough.)

When all the food is gone, they linger a little while longer, sipping the last of their lemonade. Beside him, she is serene, her eyes heavy-lidded, her face tipped up into the breeze. He wants to ask what she’s thinking about, but he bites his tongue. He promised her a silent lunch. He needs her to know he means what he says.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity or maybe only a minute, the black plastic Casio on her left wrist beeps. Lunchtime over.

Dana stands and does a little stretch. Her t-shirt rides up, baring an inch of milky white stomach, and Mulder is suddenly, painfully aware of the blood in his veins. He forces himself to look away. The last thing he needs is to ruin whatever modicum of progress he’s made this afternoon by ogling her belly.

He stares off into the middle distance until she begins gathering her things. She drapes her sweater over her arm and balls up her trash. After a moment’s hesitation, she takes his trash, too, and dumps it all in the nearest garbage can. Then she wanders back and hovers at the edge of the table, touching the corner with her fingertips.

“Um,” she says. “Okay. Well…”

Her cheeks are pink—though from what, he’s not sure.

“Thank you for lunch,” he says, and she flushes darker.

“You bought it.”

He just shrugs. “You know what I mean.”

She licks her bottom lip, then draws it between her teeth. He tries—really, he does—not to stare.

“I need to…” She gestures vaguely over her shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says, not rising. As much as he wants to follow her back inside and whisper to her for the rest of the afternoon, something tells him to take her earlier advice and not push his extraordinary luck any further.

“Okay.” She raps her knuckles lightly on the table and holds his gaze for a moment longer, then heads for the doors.

The sway of her hips is enchanting, and he can’t help himself.

“Hey, Dana Scully,” he calls.

She pauses and turns around, eyebrow quirked. “Yeah?”

“Okay if I come see you tomorrow?”

She purses her lips (against a smile, he thinks) and begins walking backwards.

“I dunno,” she says with a little shrug. “Guess you’ll have to ask me then.”

[an-emo-on-emo-site]

time for a dumb critique of stranger things written by a dumb emo 13 year old

aight so since im a massive film/tv nerd lets talk about stranger things 

YOUNG BOY STRANGER THINGS

so basically the first season is nearly perfect imo. the cinematography is phenomenal and every. single. shot. serves the mood of the scene really well. the show has excellent writing that makes teens feel like actual people which a lot of other teen shows fail at, and it can be really funny without actually sacrificing the mood of the show as a whole or detracting from the severity of the situation. it can also be genuinely scary (the first watch through) without relying too much on gore to induce a cheaper “shock scare”. It maintains tension expertly throughout the whole show until the resolution and the ending cliffhanger is a perfect end. There really isnt much more i can say, the entire season is just chef’s kiss

DEMOGORGON 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

while season 2 is still decent and succeeds in some of the aforementioned manners (cinematography and humour), there are quite a few g l a r i n g flaws in the show which kinda take it down quite a few pegs for me. Season one was almost a mystery show disguised as horror, and therefore was a lot more engaging because you wanted to solve the mystery just as much as the characters did. While you were still invested in the show and liked the characters, most of the enjoyment (for me at least) came from trying to figure out what happened to will. While Season 2 does have some of this carry over with the Mind Flayer infection, the mystery never really progresses, they just figure something out in the last hour of the show. Season 2 relies a lot more on the characters to carry the show and keep the audience engaged. While this does work a lot of the time, especially with the dynamics between Dustin and Steve (we stan), a lot of the enjoyment from the show was taken away (for me) when the mystery aspect was toned down. Additionally, there wasn't really any particularly scary threat for the majority of the season. In Season 1 we are aware of the existence of the Demogorgon throughout the show and we are consistently shown that it is a severe threat to the protagonists, but in Season 2 we only really have a threat at the very end (last two episodes), and even those are literally just tiny demogorgons. While they obviously can still be harmful, they’re much tamer considering how hyped up big boy demogorgon was in the first season. 

While the characters are a big reason why stranger things is such a well loved show, Season 2 kinda screwed a lot of them up. Joyce is still the distressed mother (while she has reason to be, she literally doesn't change at a l l after the first season), Mike is kinda just an edgier version of who he was last season, Will doesn't have any character at all (the mind flayer does take him over but thats a slow process in the beginning, he should be more prominent but he isn't and we therefore never get to connect with him like we did with the other characters in the first season), and Eleven...

well Eleven is a child. she has every reason to be disappointed or angry that she cant see mike but she behaves like a toddler. she   - throws tantrums  - breaks windows when she doesn't get what she wants

and yells “i hate you!” at her parental guardian who is just trying to keep her safe from murderous government officials. While her motivations are there and are valid, her behavior is extremely immature, and she definitely devolves after the first season.

whoo that was long. i still like the season but the characters don't really evolve or develop at all after the first season which kinda sucks considering the first season was so good and characters did develop during it, but for some reason they just abruptly stopped. Fortunately, the writing is still decent and the cinematography is still great so its still an enjoyable watch.

SEASON 3: COMMUNISM IS THE REAL ENEMY

okay.

this is probably the worst season of the show (worst for stranger things is still pretty good though), but i still enjoyed watching it more than i enjoyed watching any other part of the show because i was laughing the entire time.

The writing in this season is either amazing or terrible. There are some parts to this show where they’re trying to write a joke but it fails so hard i start laughing. The best example I can think of this is the scene where Billy is trying to convince Mrs. Wheeler to get private lessons from him. He launches into a monologue of how he could “teach her” and starts listing strokes like the sensual man he is 

“freestyle..

breaststroke” *proceeds to eye mrs. wheeler from head to toe*

and the joke made me cringe so hard i fell out of my chair laughing. This is just the example i thought of off the top of my head, but so many scenes have similar writing that makes me cringe hard.

BUT

the actor’s performances in this season are phenomenal. Every actor sells their lines so hard that I enjoy every. single. second of the show even when the writing is dumb. the only times when the writing is actually bothersome is in the serious scenes (like the infamous “new coke” scene which made me shake my head so fast my glasses flew off my head). Apart from those few instances, however, almost every second of the show is enjoyable. This season also fixes the problem with the second season and actually ups the ante this time with the mind flayer which is absolutely, positively, terrifying. The damn thing is literally made out of the melted corpses of the people it infected. This brings another problem into the show, however, which is

too

much

gore.

I should probably start out by saying that in general i don't really like over the top gore in media. A few months ago i tried to watch Kill Bill and got freaked out by the first scene. Regardless of my wimpiness, however, I think that the show begins to rely too much on gore to be scary. Some scenes have people feeling around in a cut open leg, some scenes have people literally melting into chunks of blood and flesh, some have scenes of a guy getting his head shoved into a fan and having his face ripped open. The show tries to put all this off as “horror” but in reality its just something that grosses me out a bit but then i move on. Some scenes have actual scary moments, (especially with the mind flayer in billy’s form), but a lot of the horror in the third season relies on either gore or jumpscares which are still really enjoyable to watch but aren't really scary as they’re intended to be.

I still loved watching season three, but i feel like it shouldn't be gone into as a horror show as the first two could have been. The first few episodes are like a corny teen dramedy with some scary elements, and the last few are literally just slasher 80s camp the whole way through and i'm living for it

anyway this was long winded and dumb. stranger things is a great show watch it just don't expect anything to top the first season

hell yeah abuse tumblr algorithm with hashtags

[thatsmybluefondue]

The Glass Door: DEAD GIRL

wanna see the first chapter or two or another book i’ll probably never finish? you don’t? oh well. here it is. 

Chapter 2     

I WAS RUNNING—RUNNING FOR MY LIFE, LEAPING OVER OLD, FALLEN, TWISTED TREES.

        Truth be told, I had no idea who—or what—I was running from. All I knew was that—whatever it was—was bad news. So, heart racing, lungs burning, I kept moving. I swerved this way and that, climbed and clamored over jagged rocks, leapt over the decaying trees in my path, and just kept moving forward as fast as I could without passing out. Nothing seemed to be behind me the whole time, but I could feel something lurking in the shadows, waiting for the moment I finally fell, that it could finally attack.

        It seemed I ran for hours before a tree trunk, massive enough to block the rest of the forest behind it, appeared. There was no hope that I could get over it; and it stretched for miles on either side of me, so there was no going around. I slowed down to a stop, mind scrambling for a solution, when a screech of laughter echoed through the pitch black forest. Surprised by the deafening sound, I stumbled down onto my right knee. There was a crack of a tree branch as my knee landed on it, and an intense pain shot through my leg.

        I fell to the ground and clutched at my wound. Blood seeped through my pant leg onto my hands, and—wow, yeah, that hurt. I was in so much pain I nearly bit my through my bottom lip as I limped forward. I couldn’t see through the darkness and tears blurring my vision, but I pushed on regardless. Blindly, I felt along my leg, felt underneath the blood for the injury. I quickly plucked out tiny splinters that lined my leg, and then dabbed my knee. An anxious knot twisted in my belly.

        And all I can say: gross!

        I had had a skinned knee before; this wasn’t one. Underneath all the blood there was no more skin. The stupid branch had ripped everything off to the bone. Okay, there were still some areas where there was skin protecting the bone, but not nearly enough.

        I swallowed bile that rose to my throat and began tearing off the bottom of my T-shirt. I needed something to stop the bleeding, before I had nothing left to bleed. Rip. Rip. Riiiipppp. Making sure to have a large enough piece, I slowly tore through the bottom part of my shirt. After I had managed to cut a large strip of my T-shirt off, I began to tie the material to my right knee.

        With shaky hands, I wound the cloth around my injury. I jerked it back to insure that it was tight and knotted it as best I could. I ended up with two layers over the actual scrape and a big ball of it scrunched up behind my knee. I sighed; my first-aid skills were limited, but even I could do wonders with better materials.

        I dragged myself near the tree that I was so worried about crossing. I grabbed the dirty bark and hauled myself up to my feet. Using the indents in the tree, I began hopping on my left leg. I had no idea where I was heading, but I knew it had to be away.

        I hopped and hopped and hopped, but not too quick whereas I would fall. I was so tuned into my hops that I almost missed another screech of laughter. It’s a good thing I didn’t, because the second that awful sound started, so did rain—and everything that comes with it.

        Rain drops the size of my head pelted my skin in pricks of icy cold water. They landed, exploded, everywhere the eye could see. I watched in awe as one bomb shot into the ground. Dirt erupted in a ring of wet earth on impact, showering me in mud. I numbly wiped away the mud with the back of my hand and shook it off. To escape the painful rain drops, I backed into the tree trunk I was against. When I was out of harm’s way, a bolt of lightning struck the ground. Somehow, I managed to jump and bang my head against the tree, leading to a bleeding head.

        Automatically, I reached back and felt the blood. It was only a slight trickle, but it did not seem to be stopping anytime soon. I softly shook my head back and forth and popped out to see where the lightning bolt came from, because, from what I could tell, it’s not very often a lightning bolt reached the ground. Actually, I’ve never heard of that happening before. Ever.

        I faced the sky and watched lightning crackle and dance above me, thunder naming each movement afterwards. Was it just a figment of my imagination, or did lighting really come down here, to earth? Did it come down from the sky?

        I shook my head again; I was feeling a little woozy. Maybe the lightning hitting the earth was all fake. It probably was, considering the fact that I was losing blood in my head. Did that cause hallucinations? But—wait; I hit my head after the lightning. So, was it real? Facts point to no; my eyes say yes. What happened?

        I was pulled from my thoughts by yet another shriek of laughter that sent chills up my spine. Whoever, or whatever, gave that laugh was nearby. I turned to the source and spotted a human-like shadow. Before I could make out anything more, lightning came down in front of me. I closed my eyes and—

        And I reopened them to find I was no longer in a dreary, dark forest with a crazy person chasing after me and lightning that hits people that have no rods to bring forth said lighting.

        I was not surprised at this at all, really. It was another one of my day mare things; I’ve had them since I could remember, so basically, since I was born. Completely phasing out of what I am doing, I’ll go to some other place, but I will know nothing of what or where I am physically.

        It’s not a horrible thing, but I always go to the same place. Every time I’ll do something different, in my different world that no one else goes to, or even knows about. Yes, nobody else knows about them; only I get to keep the secret burden. No one else knows, though, because my little visits to another universal world are usually a short and unnoticeable visit. All that happens is that I close my eyes for a little while, and without warning, I leave to a new world. No passing out, or mumbling, or screaming. I just close my eyes and everyone and everything around me disappear.

        So when I opened my eyes and found myself not surrounded by bright blue electricity, I knew exactly what was going on.

        I would not see any more shadows, I knew that.

        There would be no more rain drops, I knew that.

        And there was not going to be anymore dead trees in sight, I knew that.

        I did see, however, my school’s nurse, Nurse Joyce, leaning over me, holding two cardiac defibrillators, shouting, “Clear!”

        Okay, I didn’t know exactly what was going on.

        I watched in complete and utter horror as Nurse Joyce raised those cardiac defibrillators and began to bring them down to me. I had just escaped the wrath of lightning; I did not feel like electrical shocks traveling through my body that were supposed to bring people back to life, but in my case might do the exact opposite. No way was I facing that.

        I shot up to my feet. “No! I’m okay! I am okay!” I shouted, hands posed in front of me for protection. When nothing happened, I put down my awesome defense and stood up straight, because, apparently, I had curled myself into a tight, little ball for protection in a corner.

        I’m so brave, aren’t I?

        Unfurled from my previous armadillo position, I self-consciously straightened out my T-shirt that was wrinkled and not ripped. Still fidgeting, I quickly scanned the room I was in. Vibrant posters were taped along the walls and hanging from the ceiling. A desk sat at the corner by the door; a plastic apple with a yellow strip wrapped around the middle and the words #1 TEACHER printed on it in big, bold letters was placed on the edge of the desk. The white board in the front of the room stayed untouched, math problems that I didn’t bother to do still written.

        I was in my classroom, at school, and everything seemed to be the same except for a few things. One of them being the fact that it was empty, save for me and Nurse Joyce, who was gaping like a fish out of water at me. The second was that all of the children’s desks were shoved in the corner opposite of me, obviously placed there in a rush. The third, and most strange difference, was the siren of an ambulance screeching loudly by the school.

        “In here,” I heard a familiar voice say. Then the door flew open, and an ambulance crew raced into the room. One man with curly red hair was pushing a long stretcher while another with long black hair pulled back into a pony tail was holding an oxygen mask. A woman who I couldn’t get a clear glance at was holding a bag filled with medical supplies. All three went directly to the middle of the room and then stopped abruptly. They twisted their bodies around and around, looking for someone, the person they were called to help.

        Another woman walked in to the classroom, but she didn’t work with the crew. She was my math teacher, Ms. Langanbot. The woman holding the medical bag—that I could now see wore tons of eye shadow—placed herself in front of Ms. Langanbot. It was a funny sight to see because my teacher towered over her at nearly six feet excluding the heels and the lady was the one trying to glare Ms. Langanbot down. I stifled a giggle, but no one paid me any attention, except for Nurse Joyce, who was sitting on her knees on the floor still staring at me, not saying a single word. It was more than a little creepy.

        I stared back at Ms. Langanbot and Eye Shadow Lady; they were bickering back and forth in hushed tones. I grew silent, slowly tuning into their conversation. I had started to get snatches and phrases from their argument when the curly haired man shouted: “Where is the little girl who died?”

        Wow. That shut them up fast, super-fast. Nurse Joyce even looked away from me to stare at Ms. Langanbot and Eye Shadow Lady. She stood shakily to her feet, took several steps away from me, and turned back to me, holding out a jittery finger. “There,” she whispered. “The girl who died, she’s there.”

        Okay, that was unexpected, but who would expect it?

        Because apparently, I am a dead girl.

        Ms. Langanbot turned to face me slowly, her wide, pale blue eyes taking in all of me and my… aliveness. “You—” Her voice shook; she placed one hand over her mouth. “You were…”

        “Dead?” I offered, a hard tone in my voice. I glared. Were they serious? This better not be some kind of sick joke; the beginning of a new school year was difficult enough, but add to that it was in a whole new school—yeah, not exactly fun.

        But they looked dead serious. Too bad it was over the fact that I was dead. Sort of.

        I pushed myself against the wall and clenched my fists behind my back. I’ve fought before; I’ll fight again. Besides, I just had a visit where I nearly got struck by lightning—I’m more than a little jumpy.

        The man with the longish black hair and the oxygen mask stepped forward. “I’m Michael,” he said very slowly, as if I was an idiot. “Stay right where you are. We have to take some tests, make sure you’re okay.” The curly red-haired man turned on his heel and dug through the medical bag that Eye Shadow Lady carried in. Holding one hand out, Michael continued, “Jack is just going to get some equipment. We’re going to check your heart rate, breathing regulation, and all that other stuff, okay?”

        Eye Shadow Lady and Ms. Langanbot stepped toward me at the same time, glaring at the other’s same action. Ms. Langanbot held out her hand for me to take. “It’s okay, honey,” she soothed. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

        What was it, Treat Me Like an Idiot Day? I was better than “fine;” I simply needed some rest at home. I also needed to think about the fact that I was dead, at home.

        I was going home, whether these people wanted me to or not.

        I did one of the easiest tricks in the book, my book more precisely: I began sobbing.

        “I’m so—sorry!” I blubbered, even though I had no idea what was going on or what had happened. “It was—it was so scary, and—and—” I broke down.

        Ms. Langanbot wrapped an arm around my shaking body and led me to the door. She rubbed my back soothingly and whispered in my ear. I felt a pang of guilt when she did that, because one: I wasn’t even really sad or scared, and two: I was fake crying. Not letting the guilt get to me though, I kept my face in my hands and sniffled and pinched myself. The paramedics eventually came over and said stuff like, “Everything is going to be okay,” and “It’s alright. We’re here.”

        All the while, I was shuffling closer and closer towards the door, and when I was right in the doorway and everyone else was finally away from the door, I suddenly stopped crying.

        I popped my head out of my hands, looked quizzically at the group of four before me, and gave a maniacal laugh. Waving, I screamed, “Adios!” and bolted out the door, running like my life depended on it—well, almost running like my life depended on it; running for your life is much more frightening, and people don’t usually laugh while doing so.

        It was only when I was out of sight of my depressing school that I realize Nurse Joyce had never come to comfort me, only gawked at me, as if I were a ghost.

        As if I were still dead.

[fourth-industrial-revolutio-blog]

“We must develop a comprehensive and globally shared view of how technology is affecting our lives and reshaping our economic, social, cultural, and human environments. There has never been a time of greater promise, or greater peril” -Klaus Schwab

Klaus Schwab

Stages of the Industrial Revolution

First Industrial Revolution

The First Industrial Revolution took place from the 18th to 19th centuries in Europe and North America. It was a period when mostly agrarian, rural societies became industrial and urban. The iron and textile industries, along with the development of the water wheel and then the steam engine, played central roles in the Industrial Revolution.

Second Industrial Revolution

The Second Industrial Revolution took place between 1870 and 1914, just before World War I. It was a period of growth for pre-existing industries and expansion of new ones, such as steel, oil, electricity, and used electric power to create mass production. Major technological advances during this period included the telephone, light bulb, phonograph and the internal combustion engine.

Third Industrial Revolution

The Third Industrial Revolution, or the Digital Revolution, refers to the advancement of technology from analog electronic and mechanical devices to the digital technology available today. The era started during the 1980s and is ongoing. Advancements during the Third Industrial Revolution include the personal computer, the internet, and information and communications technology (ICT).

Fourth Industrial Revolution

The Fourth Industrial Revolution builds on the Digital Revolution, representing new ways in which technology becomes embedded within societies and even the human body. The Fourth Industrial Revolution is marked by emerging technology breakthroughs in a number of fields, including robotics, artificial intelligence, nanotechnology, quantum computing, biotechnology, The Internet of Things (IoT), decentralized consensus, 3D printing and autonomous vehicles. The biggest impact of the Fourth Industrial Revolution is to improve the quality of life, reduce inequality of the world's population and raise income level.

Fourth Industrial Revolution

The Fourth Industrial Revolution (4IR) is the fourth major industrial era since the initial Industrial Revolution of the 18th century. It is characterized by a fusion of technologies that is blurring the lines between the physical, digital and biological spheres, collectively referred to as cyber-physical systems. It is marked by emerging technology breakthroughs in a number of fields, including robotics, artificial intelligence, nanotechnology, quantum computing, biotechnology, the Internet of Things, the Industrial Internet of Things (IIoT), decentralized consensus, fifth-generation wireless technologies (5G), additive manufacturing/3D printing and fully autonomous vehicles.

Four things you need to know about the Fourth Industrial Revolution

The term “Fourth Industrial Revolution” was coined by Klaus Schwab, the Founder and Executive Chairman of the World Economic Forum.

He wrote in his book of the same name that this coming era, what he called the fourth industrial revolution, is fundamentally different than the previous three. These were the use of water and steam power to mechanize production, the use of electric power to create mass production, and the advent of electronics and information technology to automate production. This new industrial revolution, he argues, will happen at an exponential pace and the new technologies that will be introduced will change society in unpredictable ways.

This isn’t just about technology.

The technology of today and tomorrow is the platform on which innovation, creativity, and entirely new industries will form. Technologies like 5G will usher in this new wave of development. 4IR is going to change the way people think, learn, and process information and the environments around them, and that is ultimately the sea change that will make our world look very different.

Ethical questions around new technologies abound.

It would be disingenuous to discuss the coming changes to our world without acknowledging that there are two sides to this coin. The ethical implications around many of these technologies stem from the fact that some can be used in ways that are harmful or helpful.  The potential widening of the digital divide, and the next generation’s access to the technologies necessary to succeed are also both areas that we at Verizon take very seriously. We will discuss these issues and many more here on the site.

What got us here won’t get us to where we are going.

It is important to note that these changes will not happen overnight, but that as they become more commonly available, individual communities and industries will have to adapt in ways that they have not had to previously. The education system will face substantial challenges to prepare children and young adults for jobs that don’t even exist yet. Occupations that existed for generations could be phased out even as new fields open up and are desperate for talent. These kinds of shifts will happen in unpredictable bursts and in many different countries and locations across the planet, and we hope that this platform provides a forum and a resource for people of every background to think about and explore these important issues.

BY: KARELLE JOYCE SALUBRE

[thisunofyork]

If All Do Their Duty

This is the first chapter for my current manuscript. I hope you like it! 

That England that was wont to conquer others,

Hath made a shameful conquest of itself

Chapter 1

The radio paused for a second, letting out just the slightest hint of static before a voice brought it to life.

“This is the BBC,” the radio announcer’s voice said in a stiff, English accent. “Today, terrorist leader and traitor Clement Attlee was hung in London for crimes against Britain and our allies.” Arthur frowned and looked up from the book, Idylls of the King, he’d been resting next to the register. This was a surprise, they hadn’t broadcasted a hanging in weeks. He didn’t know who this Clement Attlee man was—or had been, as the case may be, but he must have been important enough if Joyce and the BBC were broadcasting it. The radio droned on and Arthur’s eyes returned to the book he was leaning over. “On the continent, His Royal Highness and regent, the Duke of Windsor, arrived in Hungary to attend the coronation of their new king, His Apostolic Majesty Franz Joseph II. In the east, our allies continue to see gains. Marshal Von Brauchitsch assures us that—“  

“Arthur, Arthur turn that off and come help me,” his father’s voice called out from the back. Arthur let out a disappointed sigh and closed the book. Before he made his way back he flipped the placard in the door from Open to Closed and turned the nob on the little radio. It would just be for a moment. “Come on Arthur, where are you?”

His father was starting to sound angry. Arthur hurried past meticulously organized shelves and through the back door. Once, the storeroom had been cramped with boxes of goods ready for the store. But now, with rationing even more intense then it was before, the backroom was almost empty. Only a few boxes were stacked in the corner despite the abundance of room. His father kept the backroom clean, ready for the day when it would be full again. Whenever that would be.

He found his father at the back door, his arms occupied by a carton of milk jugs.

“Take this, there’s more,” his father grunted. Frank Moore was a big man with a wide set face, dark eyes and a head that seemed to lose hair everyday. A far cry from the picture of him from 1918 that sat on their mantle piece. Even in that aging photograph, Arthur could always see the proud look on his father’s younger face and the Military Cross pinned to the breast of his uniform. His older brother Edmund had gotten his father’s size and muscle, while Arthur looked the image of his mother and sister; lean and sinewy, with grey eyes and an uncontrollable mop of dark hair.

His mother complained about how often she had to cut his hair and often threatened to shave his head and sell the hair to a wig maker. His father on the other hand, insisted that the Army would fix what he called Arthur’s unruly mopamong other things.

But with the way things were going, there was no chance of that happening anytime soon.

He grabbed the carton from his father’s arms and let out a groan as he felt the full weight. His father turned and grabbed another carton from the flatbed trolley.

“Who are these from?” Arthur asked, inspecting the bottles. They used to get milk from a farm up in Yorkshire until it had been turned into an airfield. His father handed him another carton.

“Mr. Keyes stopped by with these to repay us for your mother helping with their clothes,” his father explained, hefting a third and final carton onto the table. His mother was a talented seamstress and used to sell clothes to old Mr. Meyer for his store. But Mr. Meyer’s clothing store had been shut down and he’d disappeared over a year ago.

“Mum didn’t want them?” Arthur asked. It was a fair question, times were tight in Britain these days and they didn’t have the business they used to. His father scrunched his nose.

“The Keyes make awful milk,” his father revealed. “The army took most of their good cattle and they’re left with the shoddy ones.”

“And we’re going to sell it?” Arthur continued. His father that annoyed look he got whenever he and Arthur spoke more than a few words to each other.  

“Times are tough and people want milk, even if it tastes a little off,” he replied with a shrug. Arthur stood there awkwardly while his father counted up the bottles and added them to the store’s inventory. The closest his father came to academics was maths, he was always careful with his inventory, especially with the war on. Arthur started to hear voices coming from the front of the store. I turned the radio off he thought. Right? But then the voices grew louder and he realized that he had forgotten to lock the front door. His father’s head shot up instantly and he wheeled on Arthur.

“You locked the door, right?” he asked with a serious look. Arthur felt the color drain from his face and he slowly shook his head. His father grimaced and strode past him, just barely knocking into his youngest son and into the storefront. Arthur turned and did his best to follow his father’s long strides. “Bugger me Arthur, how many times do I tell you to--“

But his father stopped dead in his tracks and Arthur had to lean around his father to see what had made him stop. Four German soldiers in grey uniforms stood in the front. All four of them wore dark helmets with Swastikas imprinted on the sides and rifles hung on their backs. One soldier stepped forward with a little smile.

“Pardon us, Herr shopkeeper, but my men and I are thirsty and your shop is the only one around,” the soldier explained with barely covered contempt. His father took in a deep breath. The German soldier turned and eyed the sign whose back read Open. “Ve know you are closed but…your door vas unlocked.” One of the other soldiers suppressed a snicker and the lead soldier’s smile grew larger.

“Thank Gott ve are here to protect your country. It might not be safe to leave your door unlocked like that,” the soldier suggested.

“Arthur, fetch four colas for these men,” his father said in a raspy voice. The lead soldier looked at him.

“Ah, your son?” the soldier asked. His father didn’t respond. “He’s quite a strapping boy, no? Perhaps one day he will be able to help our efforts on the continent. Ve all must do our duty to fight Bolshevism.” Arthur’s father didn’t say anything but waited while he went to the icebox and pulled out four Coca-Cola bottles. One by one, he cracked the little metal lids off of them and held them out for the Germans.

“Ah, Coke,” the soldier exclaimed. “One of my favorites, even if it is from such a decadent country like the United States.”

“We get ours bottled and shipped from London,” his father assured them. The soldier only nodded and handed Arthur’s father a small stack of Reichsmarks. They were about to leave entirely when the soldier that had led them turned towards Arthur and his father. “Ve thank you for the refreshment. And a word of caution, please be careful, there’s a dangerous criminal loose in the area.”

“We’ll report anything suspicious,” his father replied, his voice flat and unemotional. He was parroting what was written on all the posters that the occupation troops had put up. The soldier smiled and cocked his head in silent mockery.

“Danke.” And then the door closed behind them with a soft thud. The air felt electric and Arthur just stared at the door as if they’d turn right around and…well, he didn’t know what he was afraid they’d do. But what was anyone afraid of the Germans for? They’d been here for two years and as long as you kept in line they’d leave you alone.

His father maintained his stony silence for a moment, counting out the Reichsmarks that the soldiers had paid in. They could have just as easily demanded the drinks for free and left. Instead they’d made a point of buying it with Nazi-printed Reichsmarks. There must have easily been at least fifteen bills there for how little the drinks cost. But what could they do about it? The Reichsmarks had been artificially set to be more valuable than pound sterling.

After a second counting his father swore and shook his head.

“Pa…” Arthur said meekly. Franklyn Moore let out a long and low sigh and wheeled on Arthur.

“How many times have I told you Arthur, lock the bloody door!” he roared in his deep and booming voice. “I need your help keeping the store going while your brother’s still in France.”

“I…I’m sorry pa,” Arthur started. “I…I’m trying to do better. Edmund, he taught me how the shop works.”

“But I’m not seeing it from you Arthur--bloody hell, boy you’re 17,” his father growled. “Sooner or later they’ll come for you and send you off to a work camp or to a factory. And then where will we be? Without your brother we’re barely getting by as it is.” Arthur was not unused to his father’s quick temper or his high expectations. He’d raised both his sons that way. But whereas Arthur struggled, Edmund had flourished. Edmund had been first in his marks and beloved by everyone in the neighborhood. When Edmund volunteered for the army a few years back, his father had never been prouder. Sometimes Arthur wished he’d signed up then too, just for some recognition. But then the invasion came and they, along with most Britons lost contact with the military units left on the continent. A year had passed until they received a typed letter with Edmund’s signature on the bottom. It confirmed what the radio was saying and what had been written on German leaflets dropped over the UK. That under the terms of the armistice, Edmund and his unit was to remain prisoners of war in Germany for a year, protected and held to the standards outlined by the Geneva Convention. The letter said that soon he and his men would be demobilized and given the chance to return home.

Arthur still remembered the way that they’d read and reread that letter. He, his parents and his sister, all huddled around one piece of paper in the parlor. That was one of the few times he’d seen his father soften—even just a little bit. He’d placed his hand on Arthur’s shoulder and squeezed. In just one motion he’d said what they’d all thought in relief. He’s alive. It didn’t matter if every serviceman’s family had received the same letter; it gave them hope. Edmund Moore was alive, alive in some camp in Germany or Northern France and not dead in some field outside Dunkirk. Not every British family was that lucky. It was for that reason that the Moores tried their best to stay on the good side of the occupying Germans. His father, despite his patriotism, never once showed any sign of resistance. They all simply kept calm and carried on.

Arthur tried find the words to defend his actions, but he couldn’t find them. What was there to defend? The better question was how could he defend himself to a man who had already chosen his favorite son. Arthur just stayed silent and his father sighed and shook his head as he turned away.

“Right, how about you clean the store,” his father said. The store had been cleaned just the other day, but it wasn’t a suggestion. So Arthur silently agreed and grabbed the dustpan and broom. After a long and methodical sweep of the front room his father next ordered him to the storeroom. He was sweeping the back stoop by the time the sun was setting, his head hung low. I could just volunteer for the work battalions he thought. There were posters for them everywhere, big colorful posters depicting smiling British boys working the soil while equally smiling German soldiers marched behind them with grateful salutes. Written in bold English writing was WORK FOR GERMANY. WORK FOR A BRIGHTER TOMORROW.

Sure, it wasn’t the army—there was no British Army, but it was some kind responsibility. And it might even make his father see him as a man, and then he might notice Arthur or care about him. Notice you’re gone he thought. And how much work he has to do himself. That certainly wouldn’t make his father any happier. Between the shop and his mother’s sewing, the Moores were already working hard to stay afloat. And what would happen without him?

Arthur didn’t want to think about what would happen to his parents if they were lost to the streets. It wasn’t like the early days, there was no way to escape to Canada or America. The German fleet patrolled the North Sea, they talked about every sinking and every victory on the BBC. Arthur looked up when he heard footsteps on the cobblestones approaching. The alley ran behind a few homes and shops, with high fences to keep loiterers—or a German patrol away. A tall figure was running towards him, panting. Arthur squinted and then his eyes widened when the figure got closer.

“Edmund?” he exclaimed. His brother came to a stop right in front of him and Arthur saw that his normally tall, handsome and put-together brother was disheveled and out of breath. His clothes were dirty and his eyes darted about wildly as he clutched a long object wrapped in brown cloth. “We thought you were still in France, the letter they sent…”

“I was in France, but I’ve been back for a little while,” he exclaimed breathlessly. Arthur shook his head.

“Then why didn’t you come find us?” he pleaded. Edmund just stood there, struggling to breath. “You know dad’s inside, you should come in.” Edmund surprised his brother by shaking his head.

“Sorry Artie, but I don’t have much time,” he said through labored breaths. He shoved the bulky brown clothed object into Arthur’s hands, knocking his broom to the ground. Arthur was frozen in place, confused and Edmund grabbed his shoulders and looked his younger brother right in the face. “Don’t let them get this. Please little brother.” Arthur just nodded.

“I’ll come back for it and explain everything. I promise,” Edmund hissed. Arthur just nodded again and Edmund pulled him into a hug. “Stay safe little brother.”

With that his older brother ran off towards the end of the alley, peered around the corners and then disappeared. Arthur was left in stunned silence, with nothing but the sound of a few birds, a weathervane blowing in the wind and the distant hum of a truck.

“Come inside,” his father’s curt voice called from the open storeroom door. Arthur shook his head, trying to make sense of what just happened. He wasn’t in France so where was he? Edmund had said he’d been back for a little while, so why hadn’t he come back home? Arthur’s mind raced as he wondered what sort of trouble his brother could be in. Had Edmund broken out of a POW camp? Or perhaps he was part of the resistance, which might explain why he didn’t contact them after he returned home. The Moores hadn’t gotten involved in the anti-German resistance but there were plenty who had. It’d been the worst right after the invasion and since then had died down. Still, there were rumors of sporadic gunshots or the odd ambush. The Moores always feared the German’s retaliation for acts of resistance. In one town, they indiscriminately rounded up and executed upwards of 30 people. The BBC bragged about it later that night.

But the sun had set and his father was already angry enough with him. So he went inside, balancing the bulky odd package his brother had entrusted to him. Do I really want to know what it is?If his brother was in trouble—which it seemed like he might be, unfurling the mottled brown sheet would only cause Arthur trouble. Or worse, bring the Germans down on him and his family. Arthur decided to hide it and stowed the odd package in the corner of the storeroom behind some empty boxes.

“Coming.”

His father did one final count of all their items; double checked the numbers and then turned off the store’s lights. They didn’t have the business to justify staying open past five and on top of that there was a half six general curfew in place for the entire country. Arthur couldn’t stop thinking about seeing Edmund—standing there, disheveled and panting. He wanted so desperately to tell his father that Edmund was home. He’s here, he’s in Britain and he’s alive. The two might actually bond over the fact that Edmund was home. But he didn’t tell his father, mainly because then he’d have to explain that his older brother seemed to be in trouble, handed him a strange package and then ran off. And then they’d be wrapped up in trouble too.

His father flipped off the shop lights, leaving them at the mercy of the dim oil lamps lit along the high street. Arthur wondered if this is what his town had looked like in the last century. He had grown up in the modern age, so oil lamps lighting his hometown was an all-together foreign concept to him. Arthur’s hand hovered by the doorknob while his father straightened his coat. He didn’t know what but something seemed to be holding him back.

“Come on then Arthur,” his father groaned. He turned the knob and both men stepped outside into the darkened street. It was quiet, with only a few muffled sounds from houses nearby and the distant bark of someone’s dog. He used to hear Luftwaffe engines for the night patrols that flew out of nearby RAF Redhampton. But tonight it was quiet.

His father fished the keys out of his coat pocket and turned to lock the front door when the barking multiplied and grew louder, soon being joined by German voices yelling. His father’s head shot up.

“Pa.” But his father hushed him and looked around. Then they heard low thuds. Grenades? Arthur thought. But the way they were coming it was clear that they weren’t bombs, but footsteps. His father seemed to realize it too and his eyes grew wide. He wrenched back open the front door and all but shoved Arthur in first, following him and locking the door behind him. Both Moores crouched by the door as they saw a bulky German truck come to a stop along the high street. Soldiers were barking orders and they held their guns at the ready.

“Haven’t seen them like this since the invasion,” his father breathed. “Fucking hell, I wonder what they’re after?” Arthur felt his whole body go cold and his chest felt like it was in a vice grip. I know what they’re after. Then the thuds grew louder and closer. Arthur saw one German look down the street and then quickly move to the side when two thick, armored legs came into view. He couldn’t see where the long legs ended but the new arrival obviously sported some spotlights because then searchlights lit the street. The spotlights then parted and roamed beyond the high street.

“I didn’t know they had any of those bleeding things outside London,” his father whispered.

“What is it pa?” Arthur asked worried. But his father hushed him again. A German soldier was leaning back and shouting up the heavily armored legs at someone—or something, up there. Then the ground vibrated as a loud groan sounded as the legs thundered down the high street. More soldiers ran off but two remained behind, lighting cigarettes and taking positions around the street.

“Should we leave pa?” Arthur whispered. His father squinted at his wristwatch and shook his head.

“We’re past curfew,” his father stated. “And those Jerries don’t look to be in a forgiving mood.” Arthur turned back to stare out the window. Both of the soldiers that stood watch on the high street held their rifles at the ready. Arthur’s felt like his heart would beat out of his chest. Edmund must have gotten far away by now, right?

One of the soldiers seemed to respond to something down the street, turned to say something to his fellow guard and then ran off in the direction that the armored legs had gone. The remaining sentry looked around for a moment then ducked into the cab of the truck for a few minutes.

“Now?” Arthur asked. But his father shook his head. Arthur was going to say more until the soldier exited the cab and looked about nervously. Suddenly, gunshots sounded in the distance. The loud, metallic barking of rifle fire made Arthur flinch and he instinctively ducked. His mind went to Edmund immediately. They must be after him he thought. Even the German soldier earlier had mentioned that they were looking for someone. Arthur suppressed a little groan.

He should have told his father, his father could have found Edmund and then…then all three of them would be have been shot. Arthur and his father for harboring a fugitive and Edmund for whatever it was he was running from. Arthur tried to assure himself that Edmund was fine. He has to be he told himself. Edmund always overcame whatever life threw at him; it was why Arthur had looked up to him.

He heard more rifle shots and then his father ducked as they heard new gunshots, these like a sail ripping in half. Arthur’s heart was beating fast, not because he was scared of the gunshots, but because he was scared that Edmund was on the other side of them. Both Moores looked up when they heard the approach of a car. Most civilians didn’t drive anymore; those that still had cars either couldn’t afford the gas rations or didn’t want to attract attention from more desperate Britons. Others had lost their car during the invasion by German or British soldiers. Those left driving had the privilege of petrol and protection.

When it came into view, Arthur saw it was one of the boxy little cars the German officers preferred. It reminded him of a crude copy of the American jeeps that some of the Brits used to drive around before the invasion. Two men were in the car but only one exited. Arthur could just barely make out a tall, lean figure in a dark outfit. Lamplight reflected off of medals and buttons and Arthur could barely make out a Nazi armband against a dark uniform, the kind worn by senior officials. He’d only ever seen Germans in black uniforms when something was very wrong.

The tall Nazi shared a few words with the remaining sentry and then both men looked down the street.

“What’s happening now?” Arthur glanced at his father but he didn’t answer him. German soldiers trickled down the street back towards the truck. Then the ground began to shake again as those terribly long, armored legs approached. The floodlights switched on and created a pool of light in front of the tall and darkly clad figure. Two soldiers tossed a slumped over body into the light. He put a hand over his mouth to stifle a cry. EdmundArthur realized. Oh my god they’ve found him. Arthur was afraid his heart would climb out of his mouth. Could he and his father rescue Edmund? Not likely, not when he was surrounded by a platoon of German soldiers around him. Arthur also wasn’t keen on finding out what was at the top of those thick armored legs.

“The back door—that’s our only way out,” his father hissed. “They’re distracted.” But Arthur found himself rooted to the spot as he watched the tall, shadowed figure speak to Edmund. He could barely hear them but he saw Edmund hold his head up wearily and only say a few words before keeling over. The shadowed figure turned away from Edmund. Then a soldier pulled a pistol from his belt and a gunshot sounded. Arthur watched his brother’s body convulsed for second and then grow deathly still.

Arthur let out a yelp of surprise that would have been louder had his father not wrapped a hand around his son’s mouth. A few soldiers started looking around.

“We have to go,” his fathered said as he helped Arthur to his feet. “Out the back—now.” Arthur felt tears welling in his eyes as they ran through the storeroom; his mind not even going to the strange object his brother had left him. His father locked the back door of the storeroom and they hurried down the alleyway, the floodlights illuminating the high street in the distance.

They found Arthur’s mother and sister waiting up with tea when they arrived home.  

“What happened?” his mother called to them once they’d gotten inside and locked the door behind them. “I was worried about you two, it’s after curfew.” He saw a deep frown on his mother Elizabeth’s small round face. Dark eyes set back in her round face glistened with worry.

“We heard gunshots,” his sister Viola said concerned. Viola Moore shared a lot of traits with her mother, save for the broad head and fine jawline of her father.

Arthur’s father explained what happened, he noticed that his father left out the Germans who came into the store this morning. He talked about the Nazi official that they barely glimpsed and mentioned the thick, armored legs.

“They brought one out here,” she gasped, her voice drifting briefly back into her native Welsh accent.

His father only nodded and continued. He spoke about the boy they saw killed. None of them had any idea it was Edmund. I have to tell them now he thought. They have to know, Arthur had to tell them. If not, they’ll spend the rest of their lives waiting for a son who’ll never come home.

When his father was finished his mother was silent for a moment. Then she turned to Arthur and his sister.

“Right, it’s already late. Scrub up as best you can and get some rest,” she ordered. Viola protested but Arthur just slinked off to his bedroom upstairs. It was a cramped bedroom, made even more cramped by the fact that Arthur had shared it with Edmund. He’d only

His bedroom was small but it had been his since Edmund joined the army. Now it’ll stay mine he thought glumly as his eye went to the twin-sized bed that laid parallel to his. Arthur’s mind replayed his brother’s last moments, him accosting Arthur in the alley and then…then being executed on the high street. He’s gone Arthur kept thinking as tears fell silently from his eyes and onto his blanket.

He didn’t know how late it was when he finally fell asleep, his mind drifting to that bulky package that Edmund had thrust into his arms.

[boltcuttersfetched-archive]

Top 5 characters :)

this is so HARD....it's like you've taken me to the farmer's market and told me i can only pick FIVE fruits 😔 to make it less difficult i'll choose one character from 5 of my interests in no particular order.

star wars - anakin skywalker has been living inside of my brain and biting electrical wires since 2001.

2. succession - i am a tom wambsgans girl and therefore have suffered more than jesus .

3. marvel - i would absolutely lay down my life for valkyrie. she has it all. bisexual, scoundrel with a heart of gold, a SWORD. why does marvel keep making characters. we did it. we've peaked.

4. dc - harley. HANDS DOWN dr. harleen quinzel, PhD. she makes up at least a third of my entire comic book collection. i went to a DC exhibition in london a few years back and i got to see her very first concept art, amanda connor's sketches, and a bunch of props and costumes. the whole exhibition was INCREDIBLE but i think i spent like 10 minutes in the harley room.

5. stranger things - this was too hard to pick just ONE but i will say i think out of all of them i relate to joyce or steve the most because i really do think i exist to nurture and take care of people. i see those kids and i want to help them with their homework, and tuck them in, and make them soup 🥺

ask me anything!!

[dancelikeuma06]

Quarks

So there are these things called quarks, and their name comes from a line in James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake; “Three quarks for Muster Mark!”

And, according to Neil deGrasse Tyson’s Astrophysics for People in a Hurry, “Quarks are quirky beasts. Unlike protons, each with an electric charge of +1, and electrons, with a charge of -1, quarks have fractional charges that come in thirds.”

But that’s just the boring things about quarks. The best part is the name of their six subspecies.

Up and down, strange and charmed, and top and bottom.

These names have no purpose except to distinguish them from each other.

It just cracks me up to think that some scientist just thought:

“You know what?” *sigh* “-let’s not overcomplicate things.”

[mian-ant]

"Stranger Things" CRITIQUE PAPER

Stranger Things, the award-winning original Netflix series, had fans glued to their laptops when all eight episodes of Season 3 were released online on July 4, 2019. The series is not for the faint of heart, it must be acknowledged. The cult popular series has some gruesome sequences that are difficult to forget, and the third season was especially gory and body horror-heavy.

Stranger Things is a science fiction horror drama set in the early 1980s in Hawkins, Indiana, a fictional small American town. As a result of an illegal research experiment gone wrong, the series follows a group of youngsters who are surrounded by strange otherworldly phenomena. This has created a rift between realms, allowing a massive evil entity from another dimension to emerge, which the kids dub the "Upside Down" (a remarkable insight into the nature of evil—but more on that later). Will, one of the children, vanishes without a trace early in Season 1. Eleven, a mysterious girl with telekinetic talents, breaks free from a nearby underground facility and decides to help Will's friends find him.

Stranger Things' greater appeal resides in its investigation of relationships, despite its spine-chilling moments of horror and beautiful '80s nostalgia. The relationship between the masculine and the feminine is particularly prominent, as are themes of paternity, motherhood, and self-giving love. Finally, the show's heart and humour prevent it from being a simple gore-fest, transcending geek appeal to become a moving story of friendship, redemption, and good triumphing over evil.

Throughout the series, there are numerous father figures who are deeply flawed. Will's missing father is mainly concerned about his son's abduction because he believes he may be entitled to financial recompense. Mr. Wheeler, Nancy and Mike's father, is so unconcerned about what is going on that he falls asleep in an armchair as the action unfolds around him in one scene.Eleven is forced to refer to Dr. Brenner, the doctor who separated her from her mother at birth and nurtured her in captivity, as "Papa," despite the fact that he subjects her to gruesome and fatal experiments until she manages to flee at the beginning of Season 1. Then there's Billy's father, whose harshness toward his kid and his son's mother establishes a generational pattern of toxic masculinity in Season 2, gradually corrupting his son from the inside out.

Will's mother, Joyce Byers, is in the center of all of these ruined households and bad father figures (played brilliantly by Winona Ryder). Her deep attachment for her son is the show's pulsating heart. Her refusal to give up, even when told by town officials that Will's body has been recovered (which turns out to be a fake, which she sees right away), makes her appear nuts at times, even to show viewers. She tears a hole in her house's wall at one point when she hears her son calling to her. She also decorates her home with Christmas lights in the hopes of communicating with Will through them in another unforgettable scene.She tears a hole in her house's wall at one point when she hears her son calling to her. She also decorates her home with Christmas lights in the hopes of communicating with Will through the fluctuating electricity in another famous scene (the monster at the heart of the drama causes power surges).But, in the end, her intuition is proven to be correct, and it is her persistent love that galvanizes the other characters and leads to her son's rescue.

Despite having a kind heart and really trying to protect those he loves, the trauma of losing his biological daughter years prior has taken its toll on him, challenging his ability to rediscover fatherhood as he builds a relationship with, and eventually adopts, Eleven.

Hopper has a hard difficulty understanding and expressing his emotions, and his drive to guard and protect others may be domineering and aggressive at times (he is a cop, after all). His receptivity to the feminine, which balances and redeems his masculinity just as it's ready to stray off course, can appear to be gravely weak in intuition and empathy. When he listens to her and works with her to save the kids and the town of Hawkins, he emerges as a genuinely heroic father figure.

Thanks to her telekinetic skills, which allow her to blow open her foes' brains and fling a van through the air, Eleven embodies both strength and tenderness. She, like any other kid, needs affection and belonging, and she has an innate sense of justice and mercy that keeps her powers and potential for violence in check. The more conventionally feminine aspects of her personality, such as empathy, complement and strengthen her strength and heroism. Her big renaming from the anonymous number she was given as a lab rat to "Elle" by the boy she loves is a striking statement to her own blooming feminine status.

In the penultimate episode of Season 3 of Stranger Things, Billy (having committed so many heinous atrocities by this point) is willing to give Elle to the monster, we get another startling demonstration of the fundamental necessity of motherhood.Elle tears down her face as she helps him bond with a memory of his mother from when he was a toddler. This is a watershed moment for Billy: by rejecting his father's toxic aggression and instead embracing his mother's gentle and powerful life-giving love, he acquires the strength to combat the evil that has taken over him. The memories of his mother awakens his inner character, allowing him to die a hero by sacrificing himself to save Elle and her companions.

While Billy's story has weaknesses (his relationship with his step-sister Max, for example, is underdeveloped), this conversation is symbolic of the series' greatest moments: two people exposing each other's vast psychological depth and complexity as they connect. Elle is a strange blend of devastation and redemption: it is her wrath, heightened by her psychokinetic abilities, that opens the door to the terrifying Upside Down for the first time. Despite all odds, it is her newfound ability to love that heals it.

Stranger Things depicts evil (specifically, the creature the kids regard to as "the Mind Flayer") as a destructive force with an insatiable desire for swallowing everything in its path into one amorphous mass. The ability of a group of youngsters and adolescents to resist and eventually outwit it demonstrates that juvenile ingenuity and the strength of love and camaraderie are ultimately more powerful forces than they look. This is exemplified in a moment near the end of Season 3 where two of the kids sing a duet from The Never Ending Story just as everything seems to be falling apart and a large gelatinous monster chases down a carload of the kids.

When Will is possessed by the Mind Flayer in Season 2, his inherently good nature allows him to resist the evil that is using his body and mind just enough to communicate with his loved ones, and Billy's redemption at the end of Season 3 confirms that no matter how irresistible the forces of darkness appear, we always have the choice to fight them.Stranger Things is a remarkable indictment of our culture's indulgence in mindless mass consumption, as well as the resultant destruction of our environment and vulnerable human life, when viewed in this perspective. The concept of a zombie army accepting the dictates of a single central "hive mind" lends itself to metaphors concerning group disorders, but as Will and Billy demonstrate in their own unique ways, we do have the strength to fight back.

Stranger Things is ultimately a study of love and relationships in all of their messed-up brokenness, as well as an investigation of the traits that distinguish us as humans from the forces of evil, who are shown in the series as emanating from a Dantesque place of total coldness. The worst characters are those that are already hardhearted, making them ideal for "harvesting" by the powers of darkness. Song, geeky inventiveness, fireworks, and even a simple slingshot are among David's weapons against a terrible Goliath.

While we all have the ability to be evil, it is always a distortion or destruction of our true nature, which is good. Throughout the drama, we see the best and worst aspects of human nature, but true human heroism occurs when masculine bravado and feminine wisdom work in harmony (whether in distinct individuals or in the balancing of the two forces inside one character).

[lollercakesff]

Time & Again 14

Also available on AO3...

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“I couldn’t unlock the door today,” El says from the couch in the cabin as Hopper walks in. He drops his utility belt on the table by the door and removes his hat, walking towards her.

“Sorry - what?” He pauses and looks between her and the TV, her eyes zeroed in on it.

“I had to crawl through the window after Mrs Wheeler dropped me off. Normally I can open the door without a problem,” she repeats and glances up at him then looks away.

Rubbing a hand across his face, he sighs. “Where were your keys? I thought we talked about this. You’re supposed to be cutting back on using your powers.”

“I forgot them,” she shrugs. He steps in front of the TV and squats down to her level, his eyes focused on her.

“El,” he watches as her wide eyes blink and her composure crumbles. “Kid, it’s okay,” he whispers into her hair as he wraps her up in his arms.

Hopper tries not to be frustrated with her, she was just a kid, but she had to know how serious this situation was. Though her symptoms weren’t getting worse - she hadn’t had a seizure again since the first one - her headaches weren’t really easing off. Doc Owens’ tests returned nothing substantial - her brain scans were not showing any degradation which was a relief, but the mystery persisted and was starting to wear on them both.

“What do you say we call up the Byers and see if they want to go out to eat tonight?” Hopper asks when she finally pulls away, her momentary lapse in independence ending.

“Can we go to McDonalds?”

Phone in hand, he scrunches up his nose at the suggestion as he dials Joyce’s number. She picks up on the third ring, breathless on the other end of the phone. “Hello?”

“Joyce, bring Will and let’s go out to dinner tonight. My treat,” he offers knowing her bills are usually tighter than his.

“Oh, I don’t know Hop,” she groans and he can practically hear the stress in her voice.

“Mom!” Will yells from somewhere in the house, the sound cutting across the line.

“Shh, I’m on the phone!” She shouts back and Hopper chuckles at the reaction.

“We’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Hopper states and hangs up, unwilling to take no for an answer. El and him make quick work of getting ready and arrive sooner than expected to a dark house before them. “I just called them…” He mumbles, looking between Joyce’s car and the empty windows.

Another second passes and Joyce and Will spill onto the front porch, Will struggling to put his coat on as Joyce drops her keys not once, but twice. He frowns at her flustered movements, watching carefully as they head towards the truck and pile in.

He knew the transition to not having Jonathan in the house would be tricky - Joyce relied on him heavily to keep Will looked after between her jobs - but he hadn’t expected the situation to fall apart at the seams like it looked to be.

“Hey,” El greeted as they clipped their seatbelts in and Joyce let out a heavy breath.

“Hi El - how’re you doing?” Joyce replied, turning to face her and focusing in on her in the way that made Hopper’s heart stumble with affection.

“I’m okay. I couldn’t open the door today so he’s trying to make me feel better.”

Hopper starts the engine as Joyce looks towards him, her hand reaching across the seat to grip his tightly in solidarity. The comfort comes unspoken between them and he manages to give her hand a squeeze before returning it to the wheel.

They’re halfway to town when Hopper shoots Joyce a look, eyebrows raised. “Why were all the windows dark when we picked you up?” He asks lowly as Joyce’s face flushes.

“She forgot to pay the electric bill,” Will pipes up from the back, laughing at the situation. Joyce scowls at him and tries to shush him from her seat.

“Oh,” Hopper nods, glancing at her briefly and gauging her reaction. “Was it a money thing or - “

“No. I just forgot. I went to the bank to wire the money for Jonathan’s tuition but I forgot to pay the bill when I was there. It’s fine,” she stumbles over the words as though she’s putting them together on the fly. He didn’t need to be a detective to see through it, but he knew better than to question her on it.

“Got it. Do you guys want to stay at the cabin tonight until you can call them tomorrow? It’s supposed to get cool…”

“Yes! Sleepover on a school night!” Will shouts from behind his seat as Joyce smiles weakly towards him.

“You’re sure that’s okay? I can bring the air mattress and set it up,” she offers a strained smile as he pulls into a parking spot.

“You guys can share Hopper’s room Mom, we know you share your room all the time when El stays over,” Will interjects and Hopper watches as El punches his shoulder.

“You weren’t supposed to tell them that we knew,” she hisses towards her friend, their attempt at keeping the secret falling apart.

“Yeah but the air mattress sucks. It has holes and everything, El. She’d basically be sleeping on the floor!”

“Okay - got it. Let’s just leave it at that,” Hopper laughs awkwardly and makes a show of leading the way into the restaurant.

They settle down to eat and after El and Will disappear into the playplace leaving Joyce and Hopper alone at the table. Neither of them know really where to start with the conversations they need to have so instead they choose to sit quietly, Joyce coming over to lean next to him as they watch the kids beyond the glass.

The ride home is a loud one as the kid’s excitement ramps up. Smiling, Hopper listens to the noise with a contentment he hadn’t felt in a long time. When Sara died he’d thought that that was the end of family for him - he was on his own. He’d divorced Diane less than a year after her death, his drinking and self-medicating tearing apart the patchwork marriage they’d been struggling through for the last year. Moving back to Hawkins and taking on the Chief of Police position had been a measure of desperation and he’d disappeared into himself, drowning in alcohol and a spree of one-night stands.

He’d never imagined that the disappearance of Will would be a catalyst to changing so much of his life - it had brought him El, lead him back to Joyce and somehow helped him build a paper house that he was determined to make work for as long as he could. He didn’t want to think about the end and what that would mean for him. He’d been telling Joyce the truth that day when he’d said he wouldn’t survive it. He wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

But that wasn’t a thought he wanted. Not as Joyce and Will piled into the truck with their overnight things and he drove back to the cabin in the dark. He got lost in the feel of the evening, the laughter coming easily as they forgot about everything that was going on. When Joyce and him were left on the couch as the hour grew late, he didn’t care that the kids were in the other room as he pulled her to him, his lips settling on hers as he sighed against her.

“I thought we were hiding our tracks better,” she murmurs after a moment, leaning back so she can look at him as her arms wrap around his neck.

“Mmhm, it was bound to happen eventually though.”

“That’s true. I don’t know - I guess I just,” she shrugs and tucks her head against his shoulder. “I think I just worry - they’ve been through a lot in the last few years. I don’t want us not working - “

“Are you thinking we’re not going to work out?” He interrupts and pulls back, a chill running through him.

“No - not at all. I’m just...“

“Scared?” He offers when she pauses, her lip between her teeth.

“Yeah. That’s a good word for it. I feel like everything is going well for once, like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop or something.” He closes his eyes and nods, his arms bringing her close again.

“God, I feel the same way. But I think half that fear is that you’ll just stop needing me and find someone else again,” he whispers the last part, self-conscious and vulnerable as he admits it.

“Again?” She presses, her fingers lightly scratching through his hair.

“It’s stupid.” His words are muttered, his lips placing kisses along her neckline as he tries to distract her.

“No, it’s not. Jim, when did I ever stop needing you?” She sits back and searches her eyes with his, fingers gripped in his shirt as though she couldn’t bare the thought of letting go.

“Like in highschool, with Lonnie,” he shrugs and looks away sheepishly. Joyce’s burst of laughter makes him jump in his skin, his eyes snapping back towards her.

“You told me that you couldn’t be with me,” she scoffs.

“I did not. I said that  - “

“‘I’m not right for you, Joyce,’” she tries to mimic his voice, her hands coming to her hips as she sits up tall on his lap. “It hurt me. I didn’t know how to deal with it and I made a mistake. But I never stopped needing you. That’s why I found you on Graduation Day and told you about the pregnancy. I needed your help then but - “

“I went off to war,” he adds quietly. They pause, their memories heavy on them until Hopper leans in and presses a whisper of a kiss to her lips. “We’ve found our way back,” he murmurs, his hand sliding up to cup her cheek. She returns the kiss, deepens it, before drawing back and getting to her feet.

She leads them into his bedroom and they take their time undressing in the light of the bedside lamp. When they climb into the bed and pull the quilt up around them, Joyce makes an effort to tuck her back against his until they’re flush and his hand is free to ghost over her skin.

They ensure to keep silent, their moans swallowed as their hands explore. It’s only after Hopper slides out of her, his body spent, that she rolls over and slips her leg between his with her nose against his throat.

“Are you going to call Owens about El?” Joyce asks when their breathing returns to normal, the calm night around them quiet and still.

“Yeah. I’ll do it tomorrow. I don’t know though - I feel like maybe it’s a good thing if her powers stop working. She can be a normal kid for once if it - I mean, is it shitty for me to feel like this?” He mumbles above her, his body instinctively tightening at the admission.

“No. I don’t think it’s bad to think that. It’s been a challenge for her - for you both… Who knows what’s going to happen.”

“Right? I feel like we can handle it. Whatever happens. This is actually - jesus - it’s the first time I feel that way.” He pauses and squeezes her to him. “Thank you.”

“Mmm, don’t say that now. Show me your thanks in the morning,” she whispers and runs her hand down to his ass where she gives it a playful squeeze.

“Oh, don’t worry - I fully intend to. Can I ask you something though and you won’t get mad at me?” His voice is tentative and low and her response is a mumble that he takes as a yes. “Did you really forget to pay the bill, or were you out of money this month? It’s just - I know the tuition to NYU is insane and as much as I love you here in my bed, I don’t want - “

“Hop… We were having a nice time,” she hisses and moves her head until she can look up at him. He laughs and slides his hand into her hair, guiding her back against him.

“I know. I know. It’s just - I love you and that kid. I can help or we can figure something out that works - “ She pulls back from him then until she’s practically out from under the blanket, her elbow propping her up and exposing her breasts, the distraction immediate.

She stares at him until his gaze slides from her chest to her eyes, the tears that shimmer there making his heart stutter.

“Joyce - “ He starts, terror and confusion lacing through him. What had he said to cause this reaction? Reaching, he brushes his hand over her shoulder and up to her chin, pausing there as she leans into it.

“Hop.” Her whisper reverberates within him and he forces himself to keep his mouth shut. He felt like they were on the verge of something huge, the chasm between them one they needed to cross. “I - I mean… I love you too.”

The breath of relief shakes through him, a deep laugh rumbling through his chest as he pulls her towards him. “I thought I’d pissed you off,” he mutters and kisses her forehead.

“You do, regularly. But I’d never heard you say you loved me before,” she says and he can hear the smile in her voice.

“Well I do. I have. For quite some time,” he admits willingly. He couldn’t remember specifically when it happened, but it was somewhere between a shared cigarette at her kitchen table and watching her fall off that ladder.

“I don’t know if I stopped, to be honest,” she whispers in response as a yawn strikes her and has her curling in closer.

“Joyce…” His fingers lift her chin so he can capture her lips with his, a slow kiss that deepens as he becomes harder at her hip.

“We need to sleep,” she giggles as her hand wraps around him.

“I know. But we just said something huge. Shouldn’t we - you know - seal the deal?” He asks lowly as his own hand finds her center and slips his fingers inside her.

“You’re definitely right. What was I thinking?” She sighs and surprises him by rolling him back and straddling him without warning. He takes the hint and changes his attention to her breast, teeth scraping across her nipples as she rises up and takes him inside.

The act is heated and quick. Their bodies working together, chasing each other with hands and lips, until Hopper has to lift a hand to her mouth to stifle her moan as she comes hard above him. When she collapses onto his chest he revels in the way her teeth nip at a sensitive spot on his neck, her heat squeezing around him until he can’t stand it anymore and he comes inside her with a heavy grunt.

Exhausted, content, they let their bodies cool until Hopper pulls the blanket over her shoulders.

“Hey Hop,” she whispers as her body moves to be his little spoon.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”