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steddieas-shegoes · 1 year

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Part 2 to this post

When gay marriage became legal, everyone expected Steve and Eddie to run to the courthouse and get it done.

They’d waited long enough.

But they were watching the news on a hospital room television instead of their home, keeping Wayne company while he received his last chemo treatment.

It had been a really rough six months, Eddie taking the brunt of caring for Wayne so Steve could work and pay the bills for all of them. But they wanted to.

Wayne had done so much for both of them, he deserved to be taken care of now.

The doctors had said he was getting to an age where the chemo would most likely only extend his life by a few years at most, that the cancer growing in his body would only be stopped temporarily by this drug that made him weaker than any cancer could.

At first, he didn’t want it. He told them both it wasn’t worth putting his body through it at his age, but Eddie convinced him through tears that he wasn’t ready to let him go yet.

And Wayne always did have a soft spot for Eddie’s tears.

Every other Friday, Wayne was brought to the hospital by Eddie, sometimes accompanied by Steve if his day off lined up right, hooked up to an IV of fluids and a harsh chemo mix, and kept for observation for 8 hours to ensure it didn’t cause any major issues on his frailer than he’d like to admit body.

The last treatment hadn’t gone well. Wayne ended up having low oxygen levels and high blood pressure, so they kept him overnight. Overnight turned into 3 nights, four days, which is sort of like a cruise to the Bahamas if you take out the fact they were in a hospital in Indiana.

Steve was holding Eddie’s hand as they all watched the tv, their silver wedding bands from a decade ago resting on their ring fingers.

It didn’t have to be legal to mean something to them.

Wayne had been much livelier over the last 24 hours, his blood pressure back at a normal for him level, though his oxygen level still fluctuated between too low and normal.

“Would ya look at that? They did it.”

Steve looked over at where he was sitting up in bed, smiling at the tv.

“They did.”

Eddie was wiping a tear from his cheek.

“Took them long enough.”

Everyone in the room huffed out an unamused laugh.

It did take way too long.

“Steve.”

Steve looked back over to Wayne and noticed he was looking tired again, like the news was the only reason he’d been forcing himself to be awake.

“You remember that bet?”

They’d made a lot of bets over the years, usually during March Madness. Wayne purposely bet against Steve because it was an easy win, even though they liked the same teams and often had similar brackets.

So no, he didn’t really remember whatever bet he was talking about now.

“Oh come on. I’m the old one here. You’re supposed to have great memory.”

“I’ve had like, eight concussions. My memory is like a goldfish.”

Eddie snorted next to him and nodded in agreement. Just this morning Eddie had to remind him that it was trash day despite it being the same day every week for the last 17 years they’d lived in their house.

“You owe me $5.”

“I’d remember that.”

“Eddie asked for you.”

Steve and Eddie looked at each other with concern. Was Wayne having a stroke? Was he slowly losing lucidity? He’d never shown any signs of memory problems, but sometimes being in the hospital had a lot of negative effects.

“When Eddie woke up in ‘86. I told you he’d ask for ya first and he did. Never collected on the bet because you two were too much.”

Steve suddenly remembered everything from that day, tears pooling in his eyes at how all of this started.

If he hadn’t stayed to hold Eddie’s hand then, would he be holding it now? Would they be husbands in every way but legally?

Steve looked at Eddie with a smile.

Then he turned to Wayne and smirked.

“Bet you $5 I propose right now.”

Wayne smirked back at him.

“Bet you won’t.”

Steve gave him the look that said ‘just watch me’ and stood up, dropping to one knee slowly.

“Eddie Munson. We already wear rings. We’ve lived together as husbands for so long, I can’t even believe we aren’t actually married. But I want to be. I want to fill out the stupid paperwork at the courthouse and maybe plan a little wedding with our kids and family. I want to have a honeymoon and be young and in love even though we aren’t young anymore. I want to be yours in every way starting right now. How does that sound?”

Eddie was crying. He was always more emotional than Steve, he just hid it better. Usually.

“You wanna be mine?”

“I’m already yours. I just want us to have everything.”

“Then I wanna be yours.”

“Good.”

Eddie leaned forward and kissed him, more passionately than they usually ever did in public or around Wayne. It was a special occasion, though, what choice did they really have?

After a minute, Steve pulled away and looked over to Wayne.

“Sorry about your $5.”

“I’m not.”

Wayne had never been more pleased to not be able to collect on a bet.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #ao3fic #tumblr drabbles #headcanon #part 2 #stranger things #my fic #wayne munson #future fic #wayne is old and sick here but he does not die

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livwritesstuff · 3 months

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uh so i was feeling like writing something angsty and ever since i wrote this a little bit ago i can’t stop thinking about the idea of what the upside down coming back decades later would look like, however it’s a bummer and not the vibe i want for my steddie!dads verse so consider this an au for an au or whatever idk

It’s a normal, average, mundane, regular Wednesday when Dustin calls.

They don’t talk as much as they used to, but that’s adult life, Steve supposes.

They both have entire lives now, spouses and children and jobs that consume pretty much every waking hour. The near-1000 miles that separates Steve and Eddie in Massachusetts from Dustin in Indiana doesn’t help things either, and seeing as how Dustin had long-since inherited the Hawkins Lab research from Owens when he retired back in the mid-2000s, that won’t be changing any time soon.

Steve is home when Dustin calls, and between counseling clients, so when the phone rings and lights up with his name, Steve picks it up with a grin.

“Hey man, what’s goin’ on!”

Nothing but silence comes through Dustin’s end for a while – such a long time that Steve checks to make sure that the call didn’t drop or his phone didn’t die or something (and neither had happened, so it’s definitely a Dustin thing).

“Dustin?” he asks, “You there?”

Silence, still.

Then –

“Steve.”

Dustin sounds…not normal, and Steve feels the grin slide off his face.

“What?”

“Steve,” he chokes, “It’s…it’s back.”

Steve feels his heart stop for a second, feels it like all the blood in his veins came to an abrupt halt for just a moment.

“The Upside Down,” Dustin continues, “It…all of…it’s back.”

He sounds like he’s underwater, or maybe Steve’s the one sinking beneath the surface, just like he’d done forty years ago when he’d taken Dustin’s place on that boat and got dragged into hell through the depths of Lover’s Lake.

Steve hangs up the phone, his hands shaking.

His knees feel shaky too, like they can’t support his weight anymore despite doing so for nearly sixty years.

They’ve been giving him problems lately – his knees. Nothing too crazy; he can still go on his runs and putter around the yard and all that. It’s just a part of aging, he supposes, and he hadn’t minded aging before – liked it, even. Liked his greying hair and the crow’s feet around his eyes and his achy knees, because there’d been a period of time many years ago when he wasn’t sure he’d make it long enough to experience that inevitability of life.

Right this second though, he hates it, hates the way it makes him realize he’s not as nimble as he used to be, the way his reaction time isn’t the same anymore, because he knows that’s what had gotten him through those horrible years back in the mid-eighties.

He lowers himself down, and as his ass hits the tile floor of the bathroom – his daughters’ bathroom, the one they’ve shared practically their whole lives, the one Moe lost her first tooth in, the one Robbie pierced her own ears in, the one Hazel will be getting ready for prom in soon – Dustin calls him again.Steve doesn’t pick up, too busy kicking himself for not considering sooner the possibility of this sooner, for not having a plan ready to execute to keep their daughters safe the way no adult had done for him.

He can feel an old instinct – the urge to gather his loved ones close – starting to kick in, his mind starting to race as he catalogs the people who make up his small corner of the world.

Hazel is easy – she’s at the high school just down the road. He can have her back home, back within arm’s reach, in a matter of minutes.

Robin and Nancy are next closest, still living in Boston after all these years. Steve would wager a guess that they’ll be hearing from Dustin soon if they haven’t already, and then they’ll probably head Steve and Eddie’s way, and then they’ll all regroup.

They’ll figure out what their next moves are.

Moe and Robbie are trickier with both of them living in New York City and likely unwilling to leave their school and their jobs and their friends without any warning whatsoever. Moe is getting more and more reasonable the older she gets, so Steve may have to start with her and hope that Robbie follows.

Moe is twenty-two now.

Moe is older than both of her dads had been when Eddie had nearly died, when Steve had carried him out of hell and made sure he didn’t. All three of their daughters – even seventeen-year-old Hazel – are older than Steve had been when he got sucked into that horrible mess, and they’re still so damn young.

With two decades of parenting under his belt, he finds it kind of unbelievable that anybody had looked at his sixteen-year-old face and seen anything but a child, nevermind actually asked him to do the things that he’d done.

Dustin calls him two more times before he gives up. Only a moment later, Steve hears Eddie’s phone ring downstairs, and then he hears Eddie’s jovial tone as he answers the call.

He goes quiet real quick after that.

Just as Steve is deciding who to call first – Hazel’s school or Moe – his phone vibrates, two quick buzzes that can only indicate a text from Robin.

He opens it.

did dustin call you?

Steve lets out a heavy breath because, fuck, it’s real.

Yeah, he texts back, then adds –

This fucking sucks

40 years

As Steve watches the bubbles of Robin’s incoming response, he can vaguely hear Eddie’s ascent of the stairs, still on the phone with Dustin.

The bubbles disappear.

“Fuck you, Dustin,” he hears Eddie snarl, “This is on you.” There’s silence for a while, and Eddie seems to pause in the hallway just in front of their bedroom door. Then, “Yeah, I’ll talk to him…I know…later, man. Love you. Be safe.”

Steve looks down at his phone to see that Robin is still typing, only for the bubbles to disappear again a second later.

Finally –

nance is going back

i’m going with her

Steve could throw up.

He almost does, he’s pretty sure, although he’s not positive because he might be having an out of body experience, or maybe he’s dissociating, or maybe it’s a fucking PTSD flashback or something. He doesn’t know.

He should know, or so his handful of psych degrees would suggest, and he probably would know if it was happening to someone else, but then again, he’s always worn blinders when it comes to himself.

That was true about him when all this shit started in 1983, and it’s still true now, almost forty years later.

Forty fucking years.

He doesn’t look up when Eddie comes into the bathroom, joining him on the floor with his back against the bathtub.

“Dustin took offense to you hanging up on him,” he says, and Steve can hear the way he’s forcing humor into his tone.

As if any of this shit is funny.

“Erica and the kids left with Claudia,” Eddie continues, answering a question Steve probably would’ve gotten around to asking Dustin himself if it weren’t for the whole hanging up on him thing, “Erica went kicking and screaming, obviously. I offered up our house, but they’re still deciding where they want to camp out. And everyone has agreed not to say a word to Jim and Joyce.”

Yeah, that makes sense, seeing as they’re both in their eighties and perpetually acting like they’re thirty years younger – at a minimum.

Not that Steve would know anything about that.

Definitely not.

“He said he’s one-hundred percent positive that it’s all still contained to Hawkins, so…” Eddie pauses, “We don’t have to, like, track down the girls or anything. Just make sure they don’t go anywhere near Indiana.”

And that, at least, is an actual relief.

“Robin’s going back,” Steve tells him, because there’s no point waiting to address that particular issue in this whole fucking mess.

The so I’m going too is implied, because that has never needed to be said when it came to Steve and Robin.

The way Eddie’s face changes evades Steve’s ability to describe. It makes him regret saying anything – that’s for fucking sure. Makes him wish he’d just snuck away in the dead of night.

“C’mon man, we’ve picked up a whole fuckin’ litter over the years,” Eddie says, and he’s still forcing humor into his tone, “You can’t leave me to fend off the masses alone – the years have made me weak-willed, I’ll surrender immediately.”

Steve manages a snort, but he still looks down at the floor all the same.

Eddie doesn’t say anything else for a while, but his hand wraps around Steve’s ankle as if there was enough brute strength in the one appendage to keep him rooted to the bathroom floor.

(Strangely enough, it feels like there might be).

“Steve,” Eddie finally says, his voice stiff and hard in a way Steve doesn’t think he’s ever heard before, “We are way too old for this shit – Robin and Nance too.”

Eddie pauses.

“Steve,” he says again, “I know how important Robin is. I know, but our children would be fucking devastated if anything happened to you. Don’t think they wouldn’t – and something would most certainly happen to you.”

“Eddie.”

He’s still avoiding his husband’s eyes.

“Steve,” he pleads, something desperate in his voice, “We talked about this. Remember? Last spring, when we watched that stupid zombie show with Hazel? And there was the episode with the old gay guys? We talked about this. You told me not to let you go if this shit came back.”

Steve makes no response. Ed lets out a heavy breath, looking to the ceiling.

They have this conversation every now and then – one of those conversations that always teeters on the edge of an argument – in which Eddie insists that Steve could be fine if their relationship ended in a way that Eddie himself would not. It’s a conversation that Steve hates, because he hates the idea that Eddie – his husband of twenty years and the love of his whole entire life – could still be thinking so low of himself, that there’s any part of him that doesn’t think Steve would be fucking wrecked by losing him.

Still, it had always been a hypothetical. It had never been real.

Suddenly, Steve feels claustrophobic sitting on the floor of his daughters’ bathroom. He gets to his feet and, as he heads for the door, Eddie scrambles up after him.

Halfway down the hall, Eddie lunges for him and catches his arm, wheeling him back around to face him.

“Steve,” Eddie says one more time.

Then, because he apparently has no words ready to follow with, he stops.

“Steve,” Eddie starts again, “Please. You’re everything. I love the girls and I love our life, but Christ, Steve, you’re my entire world. You changed everything for me. You showed me how life could be worth living, and you keep showing me, and I’m not ready to let go of you yet – not even fucking close. Please don’t let this be the way we leave each other.”

Steve finally lets himself look at Eddie’s face, the face he’d fallen in love with decades ago, the face he’s still in love with decades later. He looks at his big eyes and the hint of grey at his hairline and his crows feet and the scarring that creeps up his neck from underneath the collar of his shirt (it’s a shirt he’s had for ages – since before even Moe was born by the looks of it, but so is the rest of his half of their closet).

And he finds himself nodding.

Eddie’s exhale is all desperate relief as he tugs Steve into his arms and wraps them around his shoulders. Steve immediately reciprocates the hug, pulling him in even closer, surprised to feel tears pin-pricking his eyes

“I love you so much, Steve,” Eddie tells him, gripping the back of his t-shirt so tight he feels the collar pulling taut against his throat, “I don’t say that to you enough.”

“You say it all the time,” Steve replies with a wet laugh.

“Not enough,” he shakes his head, and Steve decides there’s no point in arguing.

A minute goes by.

“Fuck,” Steve half-laughs, half-chokes as he lifts his head to meet Eddie’s eyes, “This fucking sucks.”

“I know,” he says.

Again, he reels Steve in, and again, Steve lets him, holding onto his husband like a lifeline, like they’re standing somewhere far more perilous than the carpeted floor of their upstairs hallway.

“I know,” Eddie repeats, “And we’ll…we’ll talk about it but for now, just – can I just hold you for a bit, okay?”

Steve nods again.

“Okay.”

read the extended version on AO3 (i.e. feat. added “flashbacks” so it fits the formatting of the rest of the series)

#eddie calls robbie and moe and tells them to come home – not because they actually need to but because ed knows steve needs them home #i slipped in some sneaky dustin/erica how do we feel about that here on tumblr.com?#steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson

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exitrowiron · 6 months

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The Death of My Mother

After a years-long courageous battle with breast cancer, my mother died on October 11, 2023 with my sister Lori and I holding her hands and my wife Beth by her side. She was 83 years old.

Over 20 years ago a cancerous lump was discovered and removed, followed by radiation. All seemed well for over a decade as she and my dad enjoyed a very active retirement. A few years ago, the cancer was detected again and the mastectomy came too late to contain it.

She endured years of chemotherapy, proceeding to a new drug therapy as soon as old one ended. Despite the unexpected death of my father nearly two years ago, she doggedly continued her treatment. Because she’d been athletic all her life, she tolerated more chemotherapy than her oncologist could remember giving anyone else. It wasn’t enough.

She was determined not to let her life be dominated by her cancer; she continued to travel, paint, sew and entertain friends. She was assisted by my sister and uncle, both of whom lived in the same town as her; making sure she was safe and accompanying her to doctor visits, chemo treatments, etc.

Despite the rigors of chemotherapy, you’d not have suspected her condition if you saw her in the grocery store. She lost weight, but with her wig and bubbly personality, she looked well, better in fact than most of her peers. She often went to the gym immediately after receiving an infusion, knowing she’d be too weak to do so in a day or two. Ultimately the breast cancer continued to spread, causing fluid to gather around a lung and ultimately metastasizing into a painful, inflamed cancer on her skin.

In August she was struggling with the latest chemotherapy, having to suspend/postpone rounds until her anemia and overall strength could improve. The regimen was simply too taxing, and she was considering stopping treatment, despite the consequences of this decision. Then she had her first fall. In the middle of the night on the way back to her bed from the bathroom, she lost her balance and fell, cutting a large gash in her nose on the way to floor. She made it back to her bed and waited a few hours before finally calling my sister for assistance. She wasn’t wearing the Apple Watch we’d purchased for her explicitly for this purpose after my father’s death.

The fall was unnerving for her (and all of us), but my sister installed motion-detector night lights and we reminded her to wear her Apple Watch. Despite the fall, she did well living independently, continuing to drive, etc. I offered to visit and spend a few nights with her, but my son’s wedding was approaching and she declined my offer. She did, however, remind me of her wish to never go to a nursing home; she had sufficient savings to afford in-home care when the time came.

Although she didn’t resume treatment after the fall, her condition stabilized and she seemed to be gathering strength. Even the fluid around her lung, which had caused a troublesome cough and required drainage every so often was improving. Reluctant to make any concessions to her illness, she was forced to cancel the cruise she’d planned to take with Beth, me and a friend after Brady’s wedding.

When our son Brady contracted Covid a week before his wedding, she wisely decided not to attend the wedding as well. The trip from Indiana to Maine would have been too difficult even with my sister’s help, and the risk of Covid gave her an acceptable excuse to cancel.

In the early morning hours of September 13, however, Mom felt very dizzy and generally unwell so she reached out to neighbors for help (Lori was out of town). An ambulance was called and she was taken to the hospital where she was diagnosed with A-Fib and extreme covid. (A-Fib is one of the symptoms of the new Covid variant). Again, she wasn’t wearing her Apple Watch. We were sad that Mom had been infected with Covid, but relieved that she’d not gotten it from attending Brady’s wedding. (Actually, no one got sick from Brady’s wedding.)

Her blood work in the hospital was terrible, but again she rallied (with the help of Prednisone) and she was much improved by the time I took her home on Sunday, just 5 days after she was admitted. I stayed at the house and helped her for two weeks. During this time, she was weak but still able to care for herself with some assistance from me (preparing meals, cleaning the house, laundry, driving, etc.). She was well enough to resume her lifelong habit of creating a daily to-do list each morning on a yellow legal pad. Visits to her doctor (including a CT scan with contrast) gave her hope. She was diagnosed with pericarditis (fluid around the heart) as a result of Covid, but cancer activity was nominal. The cancer was still present but it wasn’t aggressively spreading. She was given hopeful instructions to concentrate on recovering from Covid.

Her list of medications continued to grow in number and dosing complexity. I made a spreadsheet to keep it straight. Xanax was added to the mix to help ease her growing anxiety. In the middle of the night, she would wake in fear that she was having trouble breathing (but her blood O2 was still good). All this was manageable, but she wasn’t eating so she continued to lose weight and when the prednisone course ended, she began to get weaker.

I can’t cook but I did my best to prepare or purchase simple comfort food. No matter how absent her appetite she could always to be tempted into eating a Wendy’s frosty or DQ milkshake. She spent more and more time each day sleeping, in between bouts of fretting over how much she was sleeping. Ever the athlete, she insisted on walking laps inside the house and down the street in an effort to exercise herself to good health. She simply refused to accept this decline as inevitable and irreversible. Finally, one of her trusted doctors had to advise her to concentrate on rest and postpone the training sessions for a few weeks.

Just a few weeks earlier, Holley, her beloved sister-in-law had a large tumor removed from her colon and was diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer. Holley’s condition had worsened quickly and as a result Mom's brother, a retired orthopedic surgeon, was understandably preoccupied with his wife’s condition. Holley was admitted to a hospital and rallied briefly before going to hospice. Holley passed away after just a few days in hospice but with my help Mom was able to visit her three times.

I’d been in Evansville for two weeks when Holley died; this was a week longer than I’d expected and I’d run out of contacts lenses and didn’t have appropriate clothing for my aunt’s funeral. Meanwhile, Mom continued to weaken, sleeping more and eating still less. She needed a caregiver in the house 24x7 so my sister and I began contacting agencies and secured caregivers before my departure.

I was at our home in Washington for just 2 days before returning with Beth and clothes for Holley’s funeral and the expectation that we would be back home in a week. We flew into St. Louis and rented a car to drive to Evansville, planning to attend the funeral and then return to St. Louis to spend time with her parents for a few days before departing. With the in-home caregiver situation largely resolved for Mom, I assumed her condition would stabilize for a while.

Beth and I had a hotel, but all that week I was at the house with Mom during the day before leaving when the nighttime caregiver arrived. Holley’s funeral was on Tuesday but Mom was too weak to attend. That same day she requested a walker. There was no doubt she needed one, but her requesting it was a psychological concession on her part. We secured the walker that day and that night she insisted that I help her walk three laps inside the house, “to help her get better”.

On Wednesday, a home oxygen concentrator was delivered. The oxygen machine was mostly for psychological support – knowing it was there if she needed it (and she rarely needed it). By this time it was obvious that Mom’s condition wasn’t going to plateau and that despite her preference, she needed care in a professional healthcare setting. I’d broached this subject with Mom earlier in the week and she’d resisted. Through tears she said, “Going to someplace like that is a slippery slope and I don’t want to get on the slippery slope.” She still refused to acknowledge the inevitability of her situation. I gently responded, “Mom, you’re on the slippery slope. I’m concerned that if you stay in the house, something might happen, you could fall for instance, and we wouldn’t be able to get you up and you won’t be able to recover.”

Evansville is a relatively small city and staffing 24X7 caregivers couldn’t be done with a single agency. My sister cobbled together a network of caregivers that friends in similar situations had used but Mom’s needs were increasing beyond even this network. I reminded Mom that we’d spend any amount of money to keep her in her house, but we were running into limitations we couldn’t overcome.

Her brother set aside his grief over the death of this own wife and visited Mom on Wednesday. At our request he encouraged her to go to Primrose. Primrose is an assisted living facility which their friends had used and it had a good reputation. Mom reluctantly agreed to go. Lori and I had toured Primrose that day and provided a deposit in the hope we could secure a room immediately, pending their evaluation of Mom’s needs. Even if accepted at Primrose, however, we would still need to provide 24x7 caregivers to be in Mom’s room at all times. In deference to Mom however, we pursued this option rather than a skilled nursing facility.

By Thursday we’d secured a wheelchair as she could no longer use the walker safely. She was sleeping practically all day, eating almost nothing, and required assistance to stand.

By Friday she couldn’t get out of chair or stand on her own. I had to do most of the work with a lifting strap. Unfortunately, the Primrose evaluation was scheduled for the following Tuesday. Beth and I were supposed to drive to St. Louis to return the rental car before flying home on Saturday, but it was obvious I couldn’t leave. I borrowed a car from my sister, followed Beth to St. Louis to return the rental car before driving back to Evansville on Saturday.

When we returned on Saturday Mom had declined still further, awake but too weak to talk or open her eyes or eat or toilet. It was clear that Mom needed to go to hospice, the same hospice used by her sister-in-law just a week earlier. We let her sleep that afternoon and when the ambulance arrived around 5, I had to wake her and tell her that we were taking her to Deaconess. This was intentionally misleading but accurate. Deaconess is the health system that runs the hospital she’d used as well as the hospice. I said we need to go to Deaconess because she needed more care than we could provide in order for her to get better. She resisted by saying, “But why, I’m just sleeping?” This was a difficult conversation, but I was insistent and patient and eventually she allowed me to lift her out of her chair, help her onto the gurney and ride with her in the ambulance to the hospice center.

Fortunately, Mom was too weak to open her eyes so she didn’t realize she was being wheeled into the hospice center, into a room identical to Holley’s (the suite next door actually). It was clear that we couldn’t have waited any longer to move Mom to hospice. She immediately required a catheter and her bladder had obviously been full and uncomfortable.

The Linda White hospice center is a beautiful new facility attached to a Deaconess hospital. Each suite has a large sitting area for family/guests and an attached bedroom with two twin beds. The hospice administers medication, moves and toilets the patient but other than that they only come when alerted with a call button. Mom was frequently conscious but rarely opened her eyes and couldn’t use the call button. Lori, Beth or I were with Mom from 8 am to 11 pm each day and then one of our outside caregivers stayed with Mom overnight.

The first evening was difficult. Weeks of opioid painkillers left her painfully constipated. She refused to use a bedpan so I lifted her onto a bedside chair/toilet. This was unsuccessful so we returned her to bed, the nurse administered a suppository and an hour later we repeated the process, this time with some success. I’ve never provided such hands-on care to an adult. It was humbling for everyone. My mom was such a proud woman, always careful in her appearance and to see her stripped of all of this, practically naked and utterly helpless as I lifted her off the bed was sobering. I only cared for my mother for a few days/weeks and always had lots of paid assistance as well as the help of my sister – I can’t begin to imagine the strength and patience of those who care for their parents full time for an extended period.

On Sunday, the swelling of my Mom’s feet which had begun a few days earlier grew much worse. The nurse informed us that this was significant a development and indicated that Mom was experiencing congestive heart failure. Mom remained marginally responsive though with her eyes closed and she was able to minimally engage with the friends who came to visit her.

Mom continued to generally deny the reality of her situation and in order to avoid upsetting her, we placed this message on the door to her suite:

Mom did make one concession to her condition, however, she asked to be visited by her parish priest. We left the room when he visited to pray, hear her confession, and deliver the last rites.

By Monday morning Mom was barely able to swallow her oral medications and we accepted the nurse’s recommendation to begin administering comfort medication (morphine, etc.) intravenously using the port which had been previously used for chemotherapy.

Mom’s condition continued to deteriorate; she stopped eating completely and drank very little. Answers to yes or no questions were difficult. Monday and Tuesday were spent in quiet vigil, interrupted only by the occasional visitor. Mom couldn’t respond but was likely conscious at least occasionally. In what I believed was a moment of lucidity, I told her I loved her and that she’d been a great mom and done well with her life. This would have a been a good conversation to have a few weeks ago or even a few days ago, but she was never willing to accept her impending death. I took occasional breaks to get a meal or workout, confident that my sister would alert me of any changes. As Mom continued to sleep, I started and completed her obituary as well as the slide show to be shown during the visitation at the funeral home.

Lori and I chose to spend the night with her Tuesday night, sleeping in shifts. I was surprised she was still with us on Wednesday morning when Beth arrived and thought (feared) she might linger in this condition for a few days. Beth and I had just left her room on our way to the hotel to shower and change clothes when we heard the tech nurse call urgently. We quickly returned to Mom’s room and the charge nurse informed us, “It is happening now.” Lori had also stepped out of the room briefly and Beth went to retrieve her. It was obvious that Mom was dying at that moment and that she somehow timed it for the only moment in the past 48 hours in which both Lori and I had been out of the room. Lori and I each held one of Mom’s hands. We could see that she’d stopped breathing, but I could still feel Mom’s pulse in her hand. Lori and I spoke to Mom, telling her we loved her, reassuring her that her family was fine and congratulating her on a life well lived. Her pulse continued for 30 seconds until it weakened and stopped. The color had drained from her face and she was gone.

After a few more minutes of farewells and hugs amongst ourselves, we tidied the room and left with the pictures, flowers, and mementos we’d brought in an effort to make her comfortable. We headed to my sister’s home where I poured myself a large whiskey and offered the first of many toasts I will make to the memory of my wonderful mother.

I left home as a freshman in college and except for the summer break before my sophomore year, never again lived at home (or in the same city as my parents) for more than a few days. Married at 23, Beth and I lived in St. Louis, Dallas, Minneapolis, Bellevue and now a small town in the Cascades in Washington state. My mom always hoped we’d move to Evansville and occasionally I felt guilty for not spending more time with my parents, but it was best for me personally and professionally as well as my marriage that we never lived closer than a few hours away and usually much further than that.

Despite this long physical absence (or perhaps because of it), we were always on good terms and avoided much of the drama that can ensnare parent/adult child relationships. I’m at peace knowing that when my mom needed support and a caregiver, I stepped up and fulfilled my obligation. I did the right thing and have no regrets.

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xxbimbobunnyxx · 1 year

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The Pull: Steddie x Succubus reader

Summary: You move to Hawkins after spending the last decade in New York City hoping to have a peaceful and quiet next few years flying under the radar only feeding when necessary and making everyone you spend a night with forget you. But when you arrive, you feel a pull from two men like you’ve never felt before. As soon as you feel it you know flying under the radar here wasn’t going to cut it, you had to find them. Masterlist.

Warnings: Not very many for this chapter, sexual themes, language. But future chapters will have rough smut, dom/sub dynamics, M/M/F threesome, demon sex, and I’ll probably add more once I post the actual chapters.

‼️THIS STORY AND MY ENTIRE BLOG ARE 18+ MINORS AND BLANK/AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED IMMEDIATELY‼️

Also this is my first fic not only in this fandom but in MANY years so please be nice to me, feedback would be amazing too I’d love to hear what people think. I hope you enjoy!🖤 (also shout out @bimbobaggins69 for helping me understand how to format my fic on here and giving me the confidence to do so🥺)

You watched them quietly, perched on a tree branch outside the window of the large house. They were both sprawled out on the bed, still naked after they had just been ravaging each other moments ago. The longer haired one with the tattoos on his chest who looked like he just walked out of an MTV music video ran his fingers through the hair of the other boy, who looked like some kind of Prince Charming in a fairy tale. They were an odd pair, you thought, that was part of what drew you to them. The stark contrast of light and dark, both ends of the spectrum. Over the time you had been watching them you’d noticed a few things about them, the tattooed boy was very dominant when they were intimate with each other he was very much in charge, but the few times when you braved watching them out in public you noticed that Prince Charming was much more level headed and in control of his partner. It seemed they balanced each other out well despite their physical differences.

That’s not truly what drew you to them though, when you first felt them you didn’t even know what they looked like yet. You had just arrived in Hawkins, a small town in Indiana, a fresh start. You had spent almost the entire last decade in New York, under your latest identity but the people around you changed, aged, and you didn't, so before they noticed you would move on, again and again for as long as you can remember you have existed this way. Indiana is a state you’ve yet to live in, and having spent the last ten years in busy New York you choose a quaint small town to settle and the moment you drove past the welcome to Hawkins sign you could sense them.

You had never felt a pull like this before, so you immediately followed it, and what you found was two very attractive young men who were absolutely enthralled with each other, but each of them had something they desired, something they felt was missing… a woman. They wanted a woman to join them, you could feel their need and their want to share that with each other. Not that their sex life wasn’t phenomenal because it was, if it was just any two human males wanting to find a third you wouldn’t feel it this strongly but these two were passionate and they were extremely horny just from watching them you felt like you were gaining energy every time. But watching was getting old, you hadn’t fed since you arrived in town almost a week ago, no one could measure up, you needed them and you needed them soon.

•

The next day you sat in the small apartment you had charmed the property manager into giving you the keys for trying to come up with a plan. You had two options, you could either just burst into their house and tell them the truth about who and what you were (which you’ve never done you aren’t sure what it is about them that has you even considering it) OR you can run into them in public, stage a meeting and go through the motions of getting them into bed with you without telling them what you were and erasing yourself from their memories after.

Option one was sounding better and better… you never had a desire to be with the same person twice, no one ever having a long lasting effect on you, so why do these two boys who you have yet to even speak to have you reconsidering that? You needed to know.

So you made a decision, probably a stupid one, but a decision nonetheless. Getting dressed in a short skirt and a tight tank top, you slipped your shoes on and walked out the door. Before you could talk yourself out of it you got in your car and drove in the direction of the large house you’ve spent so much time outside of recently, determined to be on the inside this time.

•

“Babe, I’m telling you, I saw that girl again yesterday when we were walking out of the arcade with the kids! I don’t know how you haven’t noticed her ANY of the times? We have a hot stalker and you’re oblivious” Eddie said with a huff plopping down on the couch next to his boyfriend

Steve scoffs “Dude, babe, we do NOT have a stalker, let alone a hot one. It’s probably just a girl you haven’t seen before that has HAPPENED to be in the same place as us a few times”

“No Steve, I’m TELLING you, this girl was watching us, I looked over at her and she just kept staring right at me and didn’t even move or blink dude it was like she was a statue. The most gorgeous statue I’ve ever seen but still, a statue”

“Okay? So a pretty girl stared at you and now she’s stalking us??” Steve looked at his boyfriend with an amused smile on his face before laughing

Eddie rolled his eyes “I don’t know why you’re laughing at me, I already told you I also saw her at the store when we were grocery shopping in the parking lot, and I saw her outside the diner the next day. I’m NOT crazy dude she is REAL”

“Okay, fine, say she IS real, why would she be stalking US?” This makes Eddie think for a moment because why would she be stalking them? He’s not sure.. but he knows he really wants to find out next time he sees you. “Okay that’s a good point but still, I’m gonna try and talk to her next time I see her”

“Yeah okaaay Eds if she’s real I’m sure you’re really gonna chat her up with your lady killing skills” Steve snorted

“You know WHAT HARRI-“ He was cut off by the sound of the door bell “whose that? I didn’t think we were expecting anyone?”

“We weren’t, I’ll go see who it is” Steve said as he got up to walk to the door. When he opened it to say he was surprised would be an understatement, one of the prettiest girls he’s EVER seen, maybe the actual prettiest girl he’s ever seen is standing on his doorstep looking at him with the sweetest look he’s ever seen.

“H-hi, can I help you?” He asked, and before you could answer you heard loud footsteps come bounding into the entryway “Babe, who's at the door-“ he’s stopped in his tracks because standing there, living and breathing and very real was YOU, the girl who he keeps seeing everywhere, who has been haunting his dreams, standing on their doorstep.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic recs #eddie munson smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steddie x reader smut #steddie x reader #steddie #steddie x succubus!reader #fic rec #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x fem!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader

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glorious-spoon · 5 months

Note

9 and any Stranger Things ship for the wrapped meme

Thank you! Number 9 this year was Limelight, by Rush. Here's a bit of pre-relationship Steddie featuring Eddie's complicated feelings about his hometown - I hope you enjoy!

title: get on with the fascination [on AO3]

word count: ~1900

Fifteen years after the world doesn't end, Eddie Munson returns to Hawkins.

It's a dramatic phrasing, even in his own head; for one thing, this is far from the first time he's been back since the summer of 1986, although the last time was almost a decade ago. He doesn't call it going home. Home is New York, and sometimes Chicago these days, which is as close to Roane County as he usually wants to get. Home, as far as it ever existed for him in Hawkins, was a trailer that got dropped into an alternate dimension along with a good chunk of the town the same night Eddie almost died. Home is the little house over the Illinois border where Wayne has lived since '91. Home sure as shit isn't here.

"You planning on brooding this whole time, or what?" Steve asks from across the booth. The bar they're currently sitting in is no longer called The Hideout; at some point in the last fifteen years, it's been rebranded to On The Rocks Bar And Grill. There's a fresh coat of paint on the walls and a layer of new laminate flooring over the old asbestos tile. Draft taps and an honest-to-god raised stage instead of the grimy corner where the old band used to play. At the turn of the millennium, Hawkins is finally gentrifying.

"I'm not brooding."

"Yeah, man, you totally are. Could we get a couple of refills? Thanks so much," he adds to the waitress who pauses by their table to ask if they need anything. She doesn't seem to recognize Eddie. Too young to remember him from his illustrious youth here, and apparently not into the metal scene, thank fucking Christ. For the most part, he kind of likes it when strangers come up to him in public—two platinum records in and it still hasn't lost its novelty—but not here. Not in Hawkins. This place still feels fucking cursed.

"Are you buying me beer now, Harrington?"

"You're the big-shot rockstar," Steve points out with a shit-eating grin. "You're buying."

"Ugh," Eddie groans, and puts his head down on the table, which doesn't even have the decency to be sticky. "Remind me again why I agreed to this?"

"I don't know. Closure?"

"Next time I decide to do something this shit-stupid, can you do me a favor and just, like, duct tape me to a chair or something?"

"Kinky," Steve says dryly, but he's still smiling when Eddie lifts his head to glare at him. Eddie should probably be less of a dick about this, given that Steve is only here for moral support; he doesn't live in Hawkins either these days. He's up in Chicago with Robin, who would also probably be here if she weren't mired in stacks of midterm papers on film theory from her earnest little freshman ducklings. Steve makes his own hours, so it's not that much of a surprise that he closed up shop and drove down here and didn't bother to call until he'd already crossed the county line, at which point Eddie was winding himself up into a dangerous head of steam and was grateful for any distraction that offered itself.

And Steve is the best kind of distraction. Always has been. Even now, kicked back in a bar booth in all his yuppie glory, sipping the last of his beer and scanning the bar every now and then with a wariness that Eddie hasn't seen from him in a while. Because Eddie isn't the only one who left a headful of ghosts behind in Hawkins, Indiana. He forgets that sometimes.

"Thank you, by the way," he says. "Did I say that yet?"

"Nah. Mostly you've just been, like, bemoaning your life."

"Bemoaning," Eddie repeats, delighted. "We'll make a poet of you yet, Stevie."

"In your dreams," Steve says mildly.

"Oh, every night, baby."

That gets him a scoff, but it's a fond one. The waitress comes back with their drinks, and he leans back out of her way to let her set them down and clear away their empty glasses. Steve thanks her again, and this time Eddie does too, because there's only so much wallowing that Steve will let him get away with and he's probably closing in on that limit quickly. Still, all Steve actually says once she leaves is, "So what's the plan, then? You're meeting the interviewers at, what, three?"

"Yeah," Eddie sighs. "I don't fucking know. They wanted me to, like, walk them around and show them the old sights, which sounded like a great idea when Marleen pitched it, but now it's like, what old sights? Oh, here's where the basketball team tried to kick my skull in. Here's where the football team tried to kick my skull in. Here's the picnic table where I used to sell weed out of my lunch box. Here's where my trailer was before a girl died there and it got sucked into the shadow dimension, except—oops!—can't tell you shit about that because I signed a stack of confidentiality agreements almost as tall as me. But they're still gonna ask." He lets out a long sigh and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. "They're gonna want me to talk about Chrissy."

"So you tell them to go to hell."

He barks a laugh. "Easy as that, huh?"

"You've never had trouble with it before," Steve says with a shrug.

That's true enough. Eddie sighs again and reaches for his beer. "This place is fucking me up. No, there is actually a plan. We're gonna stop by the high school after it's cleared out and do the interview there, it's all set up. You know they put up a plaque with my name on it outside the drama room?"

Steve laughs. "No shit?"

"Yeah, apparently there was a vicious battle about it on the school board. Real fire and brimstone shit, went on for months. Henderson's mom led the charge on my behalf, I got the whole story from him."

"Jesus," Steve says. And then, "Shit, we should go see her while we're in town."

"You're just hoping she'll feed you."

"Well, yeah," Steve says. "I've been living on my own cooking since…" he waves a hand and makes a face. "You know. Since everything went south with Jerry."

Jerry was the latest in a series of attractive people of varying genders that Steve has dated over the last ten years, since he moved to Chicago and figured his shit out. Eddie kind of hated the guy, but it wasn't personal. He was objectively probably a perfectly fine person, and it wasn't his fault that Eddie fell head over heels for a hot monster-slaying jock in the spring of 1986 and never entirely recovered. Though, as he's now reminded, it's been a long time since he and Steve were both single at the same time, and the last time that happened, he still thought Steve was straight.

He tries to swallow that thought down with a mouthful of beer, but it lingers like a strange spiky shape in the back of his throat. "So, how's all that going, anyway?"

Steve groans dramatically.

"An encouraging response."

"No, it's fine. I'm, like, totally over him at this point. I just… I don't know, I figured I'd be past all this shit by now, you know? Thought I'd settle down, get my life together, find somebody who…" he trails off.

"Who…?" Eddie repeats leadingly.

"I don't know. Somebody who gets it. Somebody I don't have to, like, lie to."

"That's a tall order, my friend."

"Yeah, I guess," Steve mutters. He's looking at his beer, rubbing a thumb against the wedge-shaped scar bisecting his lower lip. He's got a lot of scars, and Eddie knows the story to most of them, even the ones he wasn't personally present for. But he supposes that he can see how it would wear on Steve, inventing explanations for them that aren't about being tortured by Russian spies or eaten alive by interdimensional monsters. Steve's not much of a liar, when it comes down to it. Eddie doesn't mind spinning fantastical stories to obscure the ugly truth, but they're wired differently that way.

"Hey," Eddie says. He taps his fingernails against Steve's glass and waits for him to look up. "Listen, I'm sorry I brought it up."

Steve smiles a little. "It's fine. Seriously. Robin says I'm being a sad sack, and she's probably right."

"Mm. Probably, but I am not the sensible Professor Doctor Buckley, am I?"

"God, you know she hates it when you call her that."

"She's the one who decided to get a PhD. Masochism, in my strong opinion."

"Oh, we all know," Steve says. He glances over Eddie's shoulder at the clock, then says, "Probably ought to get going if you want to make your interview on time."

"And Marleen has promised to string me up by my metaphorical balls if I show up late for another one," Eddie sighs. He drains the last of his beer and stands, digging his wallet out.

After they pay and head outside, Steve lingers by the side of the brick building, facing the road. It's a sunny day, breezy and crisp, pale wisps of clouds moving fast across the blue sky, and something about it makes Eddie's chest pinch with a strange nostalgia. Something about the way Steve looks right now, in his stylish yet dorky windbreaker with his hair tossed by the breeze. It's shorter now than he used to wear it but he really doesn't look that different at thirty-four than he did at nineteen. Older, sure, but it suits him.

"After I'm done with all this shit," Eddie says. "You wanna go get high at the quarry? You know, for old times' sake?"

Steve laughs softly, eyes crinkling. "Does it really count if we're not smoking in the back of your van?"

"True. Pretty sure I wouldn't get the deposit back on my rental if I turn it in smelling like grass, either."

"We can take my car," Steve says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. If you want."

"You wanna crash with me after? So you don't have to drive all the way back home tonight, I mean? The room they booked me is, like, palatial. I didn't even know they had places that nice around here."

Steve glances at him again, rubbing his jaw. It wouldn't be the first time they've shared a hotel room, but there's a different context now. For one thing, they can both afford separate rooms these days. For another, Eddie's got that itch that means he's probably gonna do something reckless, and he's not even sure he wants to try to stop it.

If he and Steve go smoke up by the quarry where they spent the last summer of Eddie's teens, he's going to confess something, he's pretty sure of it. Lay it all on the line for Steve, after all this time. He's starting to think that might not even be the worst idea he's ever had. Steve is here, after all.

"Yeah, okay," Steve says, finally. He bumps his shoulder against Eddie's, and Eddie leans back into the solid warmth of him, and takes a deep breath of cool spring air, and watches the Hawkins traffic pass them by.

Tomorrow, he'll be gone. Maybe, if this doesn't all blow up in his face, he'll go back to Chicago with Steve. Hawkins is a place he's outgrown years ago, and whatever story comes out of this interview is never going to be anything other than a media-crafted shadow of the truth, but honestly, that's never been what mattered in the end.

"It's a date, then," he says, and when he glances over at Steve, he finds him already smiling back.

#stranger things #steddie #steddie fic #eddie munson #steve harrington #my fic #prompt fic

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fizzigigsimmer · 6 days

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Modern Au or Na?

I have been doing research on dance conservatory schools and ballet culture in the 80s & 90s for the Harringrove Ballet!Au. I was hoping it would help me decide between the two decades but I think I'm more torn than ever on what time period to set this fic in.

On the one hand, there's so much opportunity for modern dancers and social media has really changed the artform, making it more accessible, making space for smaller companies while centralizing the health and well being of the dancers. And I love love LOVE that (for the most part) dancers today feel free to be out and proud to their audience, even if there are still many walls to take down when it comes to queer visibility on stage. I can really see Billy (as well as Steve) flourishing in this setting. Struggling in that "don't ask don't tell" era of the closeted 90s, learning to embrace himself as a student and going on to have this dynamic and colorful career as an adult in the 2000s where he can express himself unapologeticly through his choreography, and be a part of what was pioneering a new era of queer visibility in dance.

And even if the dance world is not as elitist or as "cut throat" as it was even just a few decades ago, there are still so many pressures on young dancers, their bodies, their mental health, and the competition is still fierce. Some of these kids are joining professional companies right out of highschool, moving to big cities at 18-19 years old and feeling the pressure to prove they're "where they belong" alongside managing an apartment and independence for the first time. And if they fuck up, they may not get another chance.

On the other hand, ballet culture of the 80s is turning out to be really fascinating. Inspiring as well as tragic for all the reasons that I am sure you can imagine. Because on one side of it you had the aids crisis and all the bullshit that required male dancers to maintain and defend their public image as straight masculine males; but on the other you had this unique space, that was heavily influenced by queer culture and has always been a niche avenue for queer men and women to be celebrated and rise to success (so long as the public could politely deny their queerness).

A space where straight and queer individuals worked intamitly, and within the bonds of the company a queer person could be known and live relatively openly. The "open secret" kept politely by their friends and colleagues. They lived and worked together, and they lost together as the aids epidemic rocked through their community, taking lovers along with friends and mentors. It makes me excited to develop Mrs. Harrington and explore her relationships with her students as well as Steve. It makes me excited to explore the tensions and relationships of the teens, who would be coming of age in this strange insular bubble celebrating new thoughts and ideas about life, right in the middle of conservative Indiana.

Billy would not expect to be able to find that kind of acceptance he finds in the dance world, especially when he leaves California. And it would be really interesting to explore his transition from the street scene of San Deigo, to this new elitist space where he can achieve incredible heights, receive honors from the president and standing ovations in packed out theaters, with a partner in the wings while being left in peace - just so long as he's willing to keep his head down and play by the rules.

I think Billy would really struggle with the hypocrisy of these privileged spaces, along with classism, body dysmorphia, homophobia, the performance of masculinity etc. Not to mention having to keep duel identities between his public and private life. These are all issues that are hinted at but barely touched upon in the canon, so it would be really rewarding I think to really be able to lean into it and give them a proper exploration.

LOL so writing that all out I think I am leaning towards keeping the 80s setting. But IDK, I'd be interested in hearing any other thoughts if you have them.

#harringrove #plot bunnies #harringrove ballet au #research #plotting #discussion #ballet #history

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salamandergoo · 2 months

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STWG Prompt: Reunion

Five years. It had been five years since Jonathan last stood on California soil. Even after all that time, he still expected an undercover agent to pop up, to brandish a weapon in his face, to try and kill him.

He'd been almost killed a lot in the last decade. Even now he was only pretty sure it wasn't going to happen again, but that wasn't important at the moment. He adjusted his grip on his cane, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder as he hailed a cab. He hadn't seen Argyle in almost five years, but that didn't mean they hadn't kept in touch.

It was mostly letters, long distance calls weren't as expensive as they used to be, but they sure weren't cheap either. His heart thrummed in his chest as he sat in the cab, fingertips tapping against his knees as he watched the bustling city turn to quiet suburbs, familiar but from a lifetime ago.

The years hadn't been the kindest to Jonathan, he'd spent the first fighting for his life day in and out, coming out the other side bruised and battered and exhausted. He'd left Hawkins for good in 88, putting distance between himself and his family, making the hard decision to focus on himself, to see what was outside of Indiana, to find out who he was for maybe the first time.

And yeah, sure he had friends, new ones who didn't know about his past aside from heavily edited stories, people he loved, who loved him. But it wasn't the same as his first best friend, the one who had maybe been something a little more. If they'd only had more time-

But Jonathan couldn't stand there and see him get hurt, watch him die. He wasn't going to lose anyone else to the horror in his hometown.

And he'd pushed Argyle to leave. They'd had a huge fight, one that left them both aching. They'd made up, both crying as they attempted to take the whole of the blame, but it ended in Argyle going back home to California, leaving Hawkins in the rear view mirror. Jonathan had been a little jealous at the time.

Only recently had he started talking to anyone from Hawkins again, had he started to think about leaving the east coast where he'd settled. Not back to the Midwest, never back to the Midwest.

He paid his driver and got out of the car with his bag, staring at the house he'd been to innumerable times that year in California. Not even a year. He'd felt more at home in that house than at the one he lived in with his siblings and mom.

With a steadying breath, he made his way up the drive and up the steps onto the porch. He knocked twice and stood back, anxiously shifting his weight.

The door opened to a small woman who looked up at him curiously. "Yes?"

"Um, hi. I'm here to see Argyle?" He bit the inside of his cheek. He was pretty sure he still lived here, in one of his recent letters, he'd talked about his mom and aunt, about working at the family business.

"Ay, Argyle!" She turned to shout into the house. "There is a boy here!"

Jonathan bit back a grin when he heard running from deeper inside the house. He yelped as he was suddenly tackled by a technicolored blur, long hair, longer than he remembered, brushing against his cheek. "Jonny!"

"Hi Argyle." Jonathan held him tightly, cane clattering to the ground next to him. He clung to Argyle, hands gripping his shirt tightly. "I missed you," he whispered, the warmth bubbling in his chest. He was here. He was here and alive and warm in Jonathan's arms, that's all he'd ever wanted.

"I missed you too, cariño," Argyle murmured, not letting go. And that was okay, Jonathan wouldn't mind being in his arms forever.

#stwgdailyprompt #stranger things #jonathan byers #argyle stranger things #Jargyle

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gothicprep · 9 months

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analysts spend a lot of time thinking about disney and what it & bob iger are up to, given that the company has its fingers in so many pies. there's the theatrical business, which just had a soft summer after indiana jones, the little mermaid, and elemental all underperformed. there's the streaming business, which is stagnating in the us and shedding users in low-revenue markets like india, so it's hard to say how that's going. there's the theme parks and the cruises, which are making more money but attracting less visitors, which is troubling for them (as well as the disney adult types who have loved the parks for decades and are eating the expense). then there's linear tv – sports and gambling deals specifically – which is a weird asset. everyone agrees that it's in near-terminal decline, but everyone also agrees that it generates tons of cash and you can't really offload it without upsetting up your balance sheets.

all of this gets to a broader problem underlying the disney products right now, and it's a problem that's shared with a lot of the industry right now. let's be blunt – there's a real problem on the creative side. the two biggest properties disney owns are star wars and marvel, which are both in a very clear rut. interest is declining and audiences are tuning out. the live action remakes are doing okay, but where does the next generation of remakes come from when they aren't making new animated classics? this is where the company has a real problem. it's lack of originality. encanto was probably the only thing to really move the needle for them since frozen came out a decade ago. one original hit every ten years is not a sustainable model.

pete docter has taken over at pixar and the movies they're currently making sort of reflect his cerebral, abstract interests. this doesn't necessarily make for bad movies, but not ones that are positioned to be total, world-conquering hits in the same way toy story or the incredibles were. kathleen kennedy's tenure at lucasfilm clearly has not worked, at least on the feature film side. the mandalorian has been a hit, but they're really overdone it with the "you have to watch this show to see this important thing happen". we watched andor and we liked it a lot, but i'm about as hardcore a star wars fan as you can get, and i haven't touched the book of boba fett and i probably won't with ahsoka either. i think kevin feige's reign at marvel was considered to be a guarantee of quality for a while, but the homogeneity has really hurt them there, especially with the decline of the visual effects.

i think it's hard to look at the disney creative and say that there's any part of it that's working great and that's kind of depressing! most of us were kids of the disney golden age, to an extent. we were kid moviegoers at the time when pixar kept knocking it out of the park! so to be alive at a time where disney just seems to be befuddled by making mass entertainment is very strange.

#i love watching movies with my friends #new tag for my movie biz rambles

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cleverfandomurl · 1 year

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Just Wait In The Truck

Just Wait in the Truck

Older!Eddie x Reader- NO MINORS 18+ ONLY! PinV sex, Smut, Canon Violence, Domestic Violence, Abusive partner (not Eddie).

This does talk about an abusive relationship and some domestic violence. Read at your own risk.

I really hate the use of Y/N and all its variations, so you are using the nickname Lucky. It’ll make sense further in.

______________________________________________________________

Eddie drove through Hawkins on autopilot, back towards the new home he bought a few lots down from Wayne’s trailer. The rain was pounding down into the old Chevy, smacking into the windshield and booming thunder vibrated the steering wheel. The sun had set about three hours ago, the storm clouds steadily gathering over the mechanic shop all day making the drive even darker than usual. Eddie winced as the water hiding a pothole washed over and splashed into the crack of the window that he had put in to smoke a cigarette, front wheel dipping hard and clunking a few seconds later indicating the back tire hitting it too.

The headlights were barely bright enough to see through the rain, even with the bright flashes of lightning illuminating the gravel and broken asphalt drive into the trailer park. The trailers with lights on shone like small lighthouses on the road. He sighed as he passed the same people he’d known for decades. Eddie had lived in the trailer park for twenty-odd years at this point, with minimal changes to its residents.

Other than a few of the older occupants passing and their offspring selling the lots as soon as they could, the only notable change was you. Twenty-three, single and moving to Hawkins, Indiana of all places. It set the town rumor mill ablaze for about three weeks, and when nothing interesting happened after it was if you’d never moved in at all. You faded into the background noise of the town that he passed through like fog in the early mornings. Lucky, you had told him to call you after giving your first name. He had laughed quietly at that and asked you why, but you only gave a cryptic “Just always been Lucky I guess.” In response.

A sudden flash of light went off on his left, startling him out of his rainfall-induced wanderings and he slammed on the brakes of the old truck breathing heavy and looking for what had caused it. His eyes scanned the small field you all called a picnic area and saw a figure running toward the trailer he just passed on the driver side.

Your trailer. He watched, mouth hanging open as he saw you drenched from the downpour and running toward your trailer. You were barefoot, and in what seemed a thin t-shirt and jean shorts. Why were you running in this weather barefoot and no coat on? Were you okay? You flew by the truck and up the stairs to your residence and slammed the door shut. Eddie frowned and continued back home.

The next morning, he knocked on your trailer door under the premise of “asking around about set off his security camera last night” to check up on you. You cracked the door open a few seconds after he knocked and peered a second too long before opening the door all the way to greet one of your favorite neighbors.

“Hey Eddie, what’s up? You aren’t usually one to knock on my door this early.” You smiled at him. “Do you want to come in? I was just making breakfast.” You stepped back, giving him room to enter if he said yes.

Eddie gave a half smirk and a soft laugh at that. Here he was trying to confront you about what he saw last night and you were itching to feed him like always. “Sure, Lucky, I’d love that.” He replies, slipping his untied boots off his feet and walking into your trailer’s front door.

“So, last night something set off my security camera by my garage. You didn’t happen to see anything did you?” He questions lightly. Eddie notices the way you stop breathing for a moment and freeze for a second. You continue fixing plates of Bisquick pancakes and fried eggs.

Placing the mix-matched plates on the wobbly wooden table in your kitchen, you take a deep breath.

“No, I have no idea what would have caused the camera to start recording Eddie, I hope no one was trying to steal anything.” You say carefully, your right hand coming up to gently touch your left shoulder before looking at Eddie watching you carefully and quickly dropping it to pick up the fork in front of you. Smiling again, you take a bite of the pancakes, filling your mouth and tasting like ash.

“Oh, I see,” he sighs out, “Maybe I can ask Jason. He awake yet?” Eddie follows up. He stares carefully while slowly eating off his plate. You don’t like how he’s watching you so carefully. Jason is a sore spot for you and Eddie. Jason hates that you and Eddie are close. Eddie hates that he sees the aftermath of the fights he hears during the night.

Eddie has repaired the holes in the walls that Jason’s fists have left. He’s seen the edges of what h suspects are bruises. He’s watched you cleaning up the broken glasses and plates. Even the small cuts from when the sharp points nick your fingers. It’s the worst kept secret in the Hawkins Trailer Park. Your inability to get out of the situation is why everyone started calling you “Lucky” and it’s stuck.

“Look, Lucky-“Eddie starts only to be cut off with “Eddie I really don’t want to talk about it.” You stand up abruptly and throw your half-eaten plate into the sink. Eddie rockets up, almost knocking over his chair and rushing over to hold you. He remembers what the anger felt like, with his dad in and out of prison. The lack of control of the situation.

He’s holding you from behind and the tears start to fall. “Eddie, stop I can’t. He could be home any minute…” You sob. “Lucky. What happened?” he asks, punctuating each word. “Tell me everything.”

#eddie x you #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader

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welivefast-dieyoung · 8 months

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There's an audio recording I heard recently about how River felt bad about making people live in the city. He was talking about how he wanted to move to the country but he knows that if he and his siblings are set by the time they're 18/19 by the time he was 28/29, he could start making real change in the world. He sounds so young, but so certain about what he was supposed to do. Whether it was through art or advocacy he knew he was supposed to change the world. Like all people, there were so many facets to River. We all know he loved to make music and we all know he felt this pull to help people not just in his own world, but all over the world. He wanted to use his money to buy up parts of the rainforest, he wanted to advocate for more diversity and inclusion in the film industry, he wanted people to think about the planet and our impact on it. Sometimes I think he wanted it so badly that's why we still feel him here today.

I think of him as a visionary. I feel like he saw into the future and could not only see the absolute truth of how things should be, but say it too. So often people get cancelled for things they said a decade ago. He sat down and showed his brother Raging Bull, and told him he was going to be a great actor and Joaquin is one of the best to ever do it. There are very few people who can say things almost 3 decades ago, that are still completely true and applicable for now. He moved so fast, in a time that was so slow.

I watched Oppenheimer and there's a scene where there are rain drops falling into a pond and they look like small explosions. I feel like finding River's work, and hearing him speak about what he cared about completely blew up my life. I know I'm not the only one who feels like that. He creates tiny little explosions all the time, everytime someone watches Stand By Me or Indiana Jones or MOPI. People's lives are blowing up everyday and in the wake of that they are finding knowledge about how to make this world a better place. He didn't have to wait until he was 28. He's been changing lives from the moment he burst onto the screen and decided to use his platform when no one was asking him to. He's been changing the world ever since. He was born today 53 years ago I'll never stop being thankful for that, and I'll never find the words to express how thankful I am for him. Happy Birthday to my favourite person to ever grace this planet🎉

#scribblesbyc #happy birthday river #river phoenix

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cecexwrites · 1 year

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Writeblr Intro

My name is Cecily, but you can call me Cece. I'm in my 30's and I primarily write fanfiction. I do have a large original project in the works though.

My Pinterest Fic Masterlist Character Masterlist

My Current Focus(es)

Small Town Paranormal

An Original Universe

Witches and Werewolves, Vampires and Demons- all hidden in plain sight. From a supernatural sanctuary created by a vampire to a college for witches. Small Town Paranormal is a series of stories all connected by their shared universe

Prince of Wrath

A Blaise Zabini Fanfiction

Torn apart four years ago by the impending war, the Zabini's and Fawleys reunite for an old family holiday tradition- an entire summer on a Grecian Island. Pushed together for the first time in year, Blaise and Reid Fawley have to learn to navigate their new circumstances. Not to mention her boyfriend, his memories from the Battle of Hogwarts and a past mistake coming back to haunt them

OC(s): Reid Fawley (Jessica Alexander) Tate Fawley (Luke Eisner)

Story Masterpost

Nevermore

A Rabastan Lestrange Fanfiction

Merit Vander Wende hates me.

A fact she's never kept secret, but when her darling fiancé crossed me he all but signed her death warrant.

Merit might hate me, but she will be mine.

OC(s): Rhiannon Lestrange (Sydney Sweeney) Merit Vander Wende (Rachel Zegler)

Coven Wars

A Teen Wolf Fanfiction

TBA

Wasting Time with Rabbits

A Disney Descendants Fanfiction

Once upon a time, King Adam declared an end to the darkness. He sent the Villains to the isle and magic became obsolete. Twenty years later, his son is ready to make things right by bringing over the children of the Villains he banished. Including the daughter of his father's greatest enemy, Gaston. Galston is just looking for a good time. She definitely didn't mean to be the catalyst for a war decades in the making

OC(s): Galston Legume (Kaia Gerber) Cedrick Facilier (Luka Sabbat) Quinn Queen (Rachel Zegler) Aleksander Westergaard (Danny Griffin) Winter White (Matt Cornett)

Red Riding Hood

A Disney Descendants Fanfiction

All her life Scarlett's been stalked by The Wolf. Always looking over her shoulder, terrified of the dark. After the death of her only protector, Auradon is her only hope. Fate has no hold on her.

OC(s): Scarlett Edon (Maia Mitchell)

Beyond the Star and By The Angel

A Shadowhunters Fanfiction

It all started with the Academy. When the Academy finally opened it's doors to warlocks, Max Lightwood-Bane was the first to jump in, alongside his older brother, of course. Neither of them had any idea that when meeting Romy Thornhill they would be meeting the woman who would change all their lives forever. (part of the Angels and Demons Series)

OC(s): Rowena 'Romy' Thornhill (Meg Donnelly)

Swing for the Fences

A Sandlot/Stranger Things Crossover Fanfiction

The summer of 1962: Scott Smalls and Benny Rodriguez along with their baseball crew did the impossible, they rescued their ball from The Beast. Cementing their friendship for until the end of time.

November 1983: Scott Smalls is getting a divorce, living in Hawkins Indiana with his two kids. The day his best friend Benny, and Benny's daughter, move to Hawkins to help him with the transition to single parenthood, Will Byers- Scott's daughter's best friend- goes missing and the mystery of Hawkins beings to unravel.

OC(s): Lou Rodriguez (Jenna Ortega), Emma Smalls (Mckenna Grace), Phillip Smalls (Walker Scobell), Charlie Baker (Felix Mallard)

Read it on: AO3

My Finished Stories

Prince of Ruin

A Theodore Nott Fanfiction

Once upon a time, long long ago, The Nott family and The Selwyns were the closest of friends. Two families who loved each other with their entire souls. Did I mention that was a long long time ago? Now, Theodore Nott can't stand the Selwyn Twins, especially the loud and rude Cordelia Selwyn. However after a incident of revenge gone wrong, Theodore finds himself stuck with the woman, until death do they part (Part one of The Serpents Club)

OC(s): Cordelia Selwyn (Model fc is Vika Bronova, actress fc is Odeya Rush), Bastian Selwyn (Model Fc is Alessandro Dellisola, Actor fc is tentatively Tanner Buchanan) Story Masterpost

#writeblr #intro #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #disney descendants fanfiction #shadowhunters fanfiction #original fiction

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elfpuddle · 1 year

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HubbyTMC sent me a text with this link today. In case you have used all your free articles, I've copied it below. You're welcome.

The Fake Scorsese Film You Haven’t Seen. Or Have You?

Tumblr is obsessed with the mafia film “Goncharov.” The problem is it isn’t real.

Top of Form

Bottom of Form

Credit...Alex Korotchuk

By Madison Malone Kircher

Nov. 22, 2022

Tumblr cinephiles have a new favorite movie this week. It’s decades old, so maybe you’ve already seen it. It is called “Goncharov” and stars Robert DeNiro in the titular role as a Russian hit man and former discothèque owner. It takes place in Naples, Italy. Cybill Shepherd plays his wife, Katya, and rounding out the cast are Al Pacino, Gene Hackman and Harvey Keitel.

The 1973 film, billed as “Martin Scorsese presents,” has everything: murder, a love triangle, homoerotic undertones, a striking original score and a dramatic final scene that film buffs have been debating for years.

There’s only one other thing to know about “Goncharov.” It does not exist.

The story of Tumblr’s beloved fake film began with a shoe. Several years ago, a Tumblr user posted a photo of a pair of “knockoff boots” they ordered online that arrived with a strange tag. “The greatest mafia movie ever made,” read the top line. “Martin Scorsese presents GONCHAROV.” “Domenico Proccacci production,” it continued. “A film by Matteo JWHJ0715.” “About the Naples Mafia,” read the final line. (The user’s Tumblr is no longer active and attempts to reach the user were unsuccessful.)

In August 2020, Aveline McEntire, a college student in Missouri, reblogged the image on her personal Tumblr after seeing it on a friend’s page.

Ms. McEntire added an additional image to her reblog, a screenshot of a comment from a third Tumblr user, reading, “this idiot hasn’t seen goncharov.” Ms. McEntire, 20, had not thought much about the post until recently when it suddenly started gaining popularity, with tens of thousands of people beginning to reblog it earlier in November.

As of Monday evening “Goncharov” was the No. 1 trending topic on the platform, with Mr. Scorsese taking the second spot. Pokémon was in third.

Even Tumblr has gotten in on the act. “Goncharov” was ahead of its time “and it’s contribution to cinema is remarkable,” the platform tweeted on Sunday from its official account. “Rarely does a film tell as many diverse-yet-interconnected stories. Hard to imagine so few ppl have seen it.”

On Tumblr, users have created an entire universe to support the idea that “Goncharov” is real. A poster for the film, riddled with bullet holes and crediting Matteo JWHJ0715 as the director of the “greatest mafia movie (n)ever made,” was created by Alex Korotchuk, a 20-year-old-artist in Prague, who said 50 people have placed orders to buy a print version of the poster. Alix Latta, a 25-year-old music teacher in Indiana, composed a theme song — a waltz inspired by the theme from “The Godfather.”

Elena Asofsky, 23, has been making fan art inspired by the imaginary movie, focusing on the alleged subtle sexual tension between Goncharov and Mr. Keitel’s character, Andrey “The Banker” Daddano.Credit...Elena Asofsky

There are Tumblr posts full of lore about the film and vivid details about the plot, including stills and GIFs pulled from other films and TV shows being repurposed as scenes from “Goncharov.”

“It’s essentially a Russian gangster coming to Naples, and it’s a long story about his eventual downfall and betrayal by everyone in his life,” said Erika Paulson, 27. “To quote one of the posts that’s been going around, it’s him coming to Naples to try and escape his life of violence.”

A frequent Tumblr user, Mx. Paulson, who lives in Philadelphia, remembered seeing the “Goncharov” boots years ago and was excited to contribute to the story, posting several pictures of a cat, now known by some on Tumblr as Patchka, with the caption, “anyway i think we all know who the true best character in Goncharov (1973) is.” People have pointed out the cat could be another nod to “The Godfather,” but Mx. Paulson was inspired by street cats spotted on a trip to Rome. “What’s a gangster movie without a cat?”

Lynda Carter got in on it too on her Tumblr. The “Wonder Woman” star posted two black-and-white photos of herself and Henry Winkler captioned, “Me and ‘The Fonz’ at premiere of Goncharov(1973) at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre.” The image is actually a photo of the two actors at the 1977 Golden Globe Awards. A representative for the movie reviewing platform Letterboxd said it had removed multiple user reviews of the fake flick.

Elena Asofsky, 23, initially fell for the mythmaking. “I start asking my roommates. I’m like, ‘Hey, have you heard about this ‘Goncharov’ thing? What is this? Can we get in on it?’ And my roommate’s like, ‘I know, it’s fake. It’s all not real.’” Since then, Ms. Asofsky, a substitute teacher and illustrator in Columbus, Ohio, has been making fan art inspired by the imaginary movie.

Mx. Paulson pointed out Tumblr users have a rich history of this very particular brand of creativity, recalling how users several years ago created a similarly real fandom for “Squiddles,” a fictional TV show within the universe of the web comic “Homestuck.” But for some Tumblr users, it can be frustrating to be on the outside of inside jokes when other users refuse to cave and admit the thing they are talking about isn’t real.

That’s not what’s happening with “Goncharov” though, according to Dani Mays, an illustration student in Kansas City, Mo. “When that happens, it feels like they’re laughing at your expense, watching you get increasingly frustrated at the dissonance and taking that frustration as part of the bit, turning you into part of the punchline,” Ms. Mays, 24, wrote in a popular post on Tumblr. “I’m not seeing any of that with Goncharov, at least as far as the more popular users participating in it.”

“The fact that people are so willing to break the joke long enough to tell people what’s going on and then bring people into the fold, so to speak, is nice,” Ms. Mays added in a phone interview with The Times.

How the title “Goncharov” came to be on the boot’s tag in the first place continues to be a mystery. Michael Littrell, a musician from Minneapolis, has a theory. After seeing the boots floating around Tumblr for years, Mr. Littrell, who studied journalism in college, started investigating in October and eventually came across an Italian producer named Domenico Procacci. (The same producer named by the boots.) From there, he connected the dots to a 2008 film called “Gomorrah,” about Italian organized crime.

Mr. Scorsese was not the director, but according to Mr. Littrell, 24, and a years-old story from The Hollywood Reporter, “Gomorrah” had a presentation credit from the famed director when it arrived in the United States.

A poster Mr. Littrell found in his search reads “Martin Scorsese Presents” at the top and is stylized much the same as the boots’ label, with Mr. Scorsese’s name in red and the title of the film in capitalized black letters. The director of “Gomorrah” is Matteo Garrone. Who shares a first name with Matteo JWHJ0715.

A tagline proclaims “Gomorrah” to be “BASED ON THE BEST SELLING EXPOSÉ BY ROBERTO SAVIANO ABOUT THE NAPLES MAFIA.” Details that bear a striking similarity to the boots that started this whole saga.

“I really want Scorsese to see this and maybe make Goncharov,” reads a reply on Mr. Littrell’s Tumblr post documenting his findings.

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#nonsims #Goncharov(1973)#Hellsite(Affectionate)#HubbyTMC #LiturgicalLiving

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ariainstars · 2 years

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We Need More Heroes Like Luke Skywalker

I remember how appalled I was in 2018, when I learned that many fans ranted and raved against The Last Jedi; to the point that both studios and director were subject to death threats. And the general outrage was mostly due to the depiction of the elderly Luke in this movie, who, according to said fans, would never have developed this way or done this and that. Some hate the movie until today.

I was appalled, but also surprised. Until then I would have assumed that the most popular Star Wars character is either Darth Vader or Han Solo, not the naïve, hotheaded farmboy who wanted to live adventures and then had to become a hero to save his loved ones and bring his family back together.

While Luke is my favorite character in the franchise and one of my favorite heroes of all times, until a few years ago I thought I was rather alone with my preference for him. It was surprising to find out that I’m not. I liked how he was portrayed in Episode VIII, and I did not understand how so many fans could feel so deeply offended.

Years later, I am still wondering why. Now here is my interpretation.

From his first dramatic and iconic appearance, Darth Vader shows that he hates people. It makes no difference for him to kill, torture and traumatize.

Luke is the exact contrary: he personifies love for people. He always wants to see the good in everyone and to protect people and to see them happy. That’s why everybody trusts and likes him.

I have often heard Luke Skywalker being defined “beautiful”. Let’s be honest, he isn’t. He has that difficult to define quality that is usually called “cute”, a person who draws people in and makes them like him instinctively. What’s more, he seems absolutely unaware of it. He doesn’t think of using his charm to make people do what he wants them.

Fans do and did not identify with Luke because of his powers and aloof attitude (which he mostly displays in Return of the Jedi). They identify with him because being the most human of the bunch, he’s the easiest to understand. Luke always was the window to Star Wars, the most relatable character. Maybe the reason why newer SW content, while often good, does not touch fans that deeply.

Apparently, action film fans do not love characters like James Bond or Indiana Jones as much as one would assume. They may admire them, but they don’t love them.

I think movie fans, even those who watch action movies, are starved for compassion. We’ve had so many brave, badass heroes that we can hardly count them. Luke is still almost on his own, holding the torch for the thing he always stood for - love for people. Someone who encourages other people to act out of compassion, too. Who, for all his bravery, fighting skills and Force powers, is human and relatable.

But as far as I can see, until today, a character like Luke Skywalker, someone who embodies love for people, is still quite unique. Many heroes are good and kind, but they are not so deeply compassionate, willing to see the good in people, taking everybody the way they find them.

This goes for both male and female characters. During the last decades we’ve been flooded with “badass” heroines who fight and stand their ground and even kill, but I can’t think of a single one who was so deeply loved by the fans, none who could balance power and compassion in such a convincing, captivating way.

Luke is not even the actual protagonist of the Skywalker saga. He is the hero because he saves the situation, but he is not the central figure.

Anakin, his father, was the Chosen One. Luke was not the Chosen One.

People will admire and like Anakin Skywalker, and be impressed by Darth Vader, but both characters don’t inspire much love. Luke does.

These last years Disney studios are bending over backwards in their new tv shows to give the fans what they want, but until today, they haven’t.

The Luke we meet in The Mandalorian and The Book of Boba Fett is “the perfect Jedi”, a man obviously following the path of the prequel Jedi. This version of Luke does not embody compassion and love for people. This is paving the way for what will eventually happen to him and his family: Luke is learning to be detached, not understanding that his compassion is his greatest strength. He is obviously afraid of going his father’s way, and naïve as always, he believes he can avoid that by following the teachings of the Jedi.

The irony is that now many fans are rejoicing, believing that this is the Luke Skywalker they wanted to see when the sequels hit theaters. Despite their horror at Episode VIII, many don’t seem to understand to this day where their own outrage actually came from. This new version of Luke is cool. He’s aloof. He is kind, e.g. offering Grogu the chance to refuse to become a Jedi (on a side note: Luke or Anakin didn’t have that choice), but he’s not shown as a man who would follow his heart.

The Luke Skywalker from the classic movies is by no means perfect, he’s very human. He is open with his emotions, the living proof that strong feelings must not be dangerous. Usually he is associated with hope, but what he embodies even more than hope is the desire and willingness to bond with other people. Luke is a hero in his own right: he doesn’t need a villain to act as a foil.

Why would SW and other fans love this character so much, if he wasn’t so unique? Why, still after so many years, are we confronted with badass heroes of both sexes, and no one with whom we can actually respond with so much love?

The Last Jedi was not the problem. Neither was the character of Luke, or how he was both written and interpreted either in the classic movies or in Episode VIII.

I think the problem is that filmmakers, whether they tell Star Wars stories or others, are wary of depicting this kind of hero. There are many nerdy heroes too, noble and romantic ones, and not everyone of them spends all the time using his fists and weapons.

But a hero as a person who actually embodies love for other people? Sorry, I can’t think of any. The outcry of the fans who showed how much they loved their childhood hero has made one thing clear – viewers are not as keen on tough guys as one would think, not even in action movies.

When I hear and read that viewers want to see woke females who don’t need a man by their side and who will fight any bad guy with fists, brains and weapons, I have to laugh. This is obviously not the case, either fans wouldn’t get so upset about a hero they loved and still love due to the power of his heart, not his badassery. Many Star Wars fans dislike Rey, and some have even grown to detest her since she became all “independent and strong” in The Rise of Skywalker. It’s obviously not what fans want to see.

We don’t need any more heroines who ape men by using weapons, killing the bad guys and then riding into the sunset alone. As an audience, we obviously want and need more male heroes like Luke Skywalker.

And I mean the person he used to be, not the sanctimonious “Jedi” cliché the Disney studios are serving us with their new tv shows.

#sw #star wars #sw fandom #luke skywalker #a new hope #star wars classics #anakin skywalker #darth vader #the last jedi #rey #star wars sequels #the rise of skywalker #fandom menace #action heroes #the mandalorian #tbobf 1x06 #grogu #dlf #disney lucasfilm

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dweemeister · 2 months

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March 6, 2024

By Chris Willman

(Variety) — Harrison Ford can’t escape the two-and-a-half-minute fanfare that John Williams composed for his most famous cinematic hero, Indiana Jones. “As I often remind John, his music follows me everywhere I go — literally,” Ford says. “When I had my last colonoscopy, they were playing it on the operating room speakers.”

Creating those big, bold, brassy musical moments has become Williams’ trademark over his seven-decade career. Without his symphonic genius, some of the most indelible images in movie history — from E.T.’s flight across the moon to the ravenous shark zeroing in on an unsuspecting swimmer — would have lacked their singular power.

This year, Williams is resetting the record books again with his Academy Award nomination for best original score for “Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny.” It’s his 54th nomination, which is the most ever for someone not named Walt Disney, and thus the biggest tally for any living person — and any nonproducer, period.

“People ask about a legacy,” Williams says as he sits in the Amblin screening room on the Universal lot, adjacent to his bungalow office. “If I could be remembered as someone who did his job well and remembered as a good solid musician, I would rest very happily.”

... Over the decades, he was aware of how the great film composers before him had a reputation for being cranky at best or tortured at worst. “Alex North, David Raksin, Jerry Goldsmith and others — brilliant, beautiful talents. All unhappy.” Most had barely suppressed ambitions to write concert music or symphonies instead of scoring movies. They believed that they were, in a sense, slumming it and laboring for directors who they described as “imperious and obstructive.”

“I thought, ‘Well, that’s not a complaint that I want to have to live with.’ So I went about it not to try to compete with Igor Stravinsky or the great classical composers, but to learn from the process of doing — the best school of all.”

Williams also notes that times have changed. Today, orchestras are happy to play film music. “If you went to the New York Philharmonic 40 years ago, they would be condescending about playing anything from Hollywood,” he says. “So I’m lucky that I’m living in a different period.”

Maybe luck has something to do with it, but there’s a case to be made that Williams created the era in which concert treatments of film music and live-to-screen presentations are beloved hallmarks of symphony seasons. He did that by writing themes the whole world wants to hear. He also did it by being a friendly ambassador for orchestras, fronting the Boston Pops or the L.A. Phil. Those who know Williams well say the audiences who have greeted him as America’s Composer are not mistaken in their impressions of him as a genial genius.

***

Imo, perhaps the most underreported part of John Williams' legacy? Helping classic film scores that he and his predecessors composed earn their place in the classical music canon (it helps immensely that Williams commands the deepest respect from professional musicians, soloists and rank-and-file orchestra members alike, around the world).

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jthume · 11 months

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Day 3 & 4 NE IA IL IN OH

Greetings from Youngstown-ish, Ohio. If you were paying attention, you probably noticed I didn’t post a travelogue yesterday for Day 3. The reasons are many: I felt like crap; it was the worst driving day of the trip; I crashed when I hit the hotel. Wah on me.

Plus let’s be honest: there’s not a lot of differences between the five states I crossed so far. Those living here and those from here may be offended, but with these few pictures I’m posting, could you tell the difference between them (remove the signage, of course)?

(Speaking of signage, this one made me laugh. We veterans were used to seeing this sign all the time when we wore a uniform.)

Okay, back to the trip. Yesterday was Friday, right? It started in Bellevue, Nebraska and ended in Portage, Indiana, which is 500-ish miles apart. That was a mistake on my part in trying to catch up, but I’m not in my twenties, thirties, or forties anymore, and my body was hating me. That aside, there was vast farms and fields and forests of green in every direction There’s the humidity, too, but it’s a small price to pay to feed the world from our breadbasket, as they say.

Ninety percent of the drive was just looking at the greenery, then came the last ten percent that reminded me I was in America: the freeways south of Chicago. Everyone, slow down! It’s a construction zone! No? Then hold on, close your eyes, and pray! Except for the drivers. We should keep our eyes open, though you wouldn’t know it.

Yesterday reminded me I am a small town boy and proud of it. Go Carson Senators!

Today was tons better with a short five-hour drive from Portage to the outskirts of Youngstown, Ohio where I’ll spend the night. Tomorrow is a slightly longer drive to Delaware where I’ll see my sister.

Some random observations:

The Mississippi River is big and wide. You read it here first.

Ohio and their tolls. Yikes. Got jabbed for $20+ just today in tolls. What a racket. More tolls tomorrow.

Road construction. Every state has their own approach, though some things are universal like the orange cones. Wyoming posts tiny signs that say “bad roads ahead,” but they do work on the busy portions in the east. Nebraska tears up entire stretches of the freeway and diverts traffic to the other lanes. Always fun to have traffic coming at you at >60mph. The rest of the states close lanes like sane people.

By the way, Nebraska is still in love with concrete roads. The other states use a mixture, but Nebraska love concrete decades ago and it still loves it. I want that subsidy.

Rest stops. Ohio does it right, but it better when you consider how much the tolls are. Nebraska and Iowa do a great job, too, but a word to the Cornhusker State: air fresheners. Oh, God. Invest in air fresheners. (Sorry, Illinois, I crossed at the skinny section and I was too grouchy to notice your stops if you had them.)

Finally, a shout out to Siri who’s been my on-site navigator and gotten me around traffic jams and through this strange land. It’s get a workout tomorrow as I pass through Pennsylvania and Maryland. It may divert me to New Jersey, for all I know, before stopping in Delaware. And a big wave 👋👋👋 to CC for being my remote navigator. I miss you much!

I’ll be glad to see my sister but I’ll be real glad to head home. Ciao for now!

#nebraska #iowa #illinois #indiana #ohio #road trip

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