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#for heaven's sakes it's just a trailer
campbell-rose · 3 months
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Charlie Redesign!
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I want charlie to look super out of place in Hell. I wanted her color palette to resemble the sky, as the sky can symbolize infinity and is usually associated with the place gods reside, high above it all. The main point is looking super out of place in Pride, which will carry over to Vaggie. I made her colors bright because i can’t be bothered to alter the colors of Viv’s hell to dull it down and from the trailer it doesn’t seem like shading is that important. Not shitting on that btw, i hate shading my drawings. 
The way I imagine this version of Charlie is that she helps do the paperwork side of things, since Viv’s hell is just earth but red, I'm just assuming her heaven will be similar. Charlie helps schedule things, she’s kind of a secretary and works under Adam to help make sure the Exterminations go smoothly. She takes stock of weapons, sees what was lost, tallies up the total deaths, general stuff like that, you feel me? She doesn’t like the Exterminations; she thinks it’s horrific and that the people in hell ought to have a chance to come to heaven. 
So it’s basically the exact same plot as before and her personality is the same because Charlie was the only character i liked from the pilot the others all had something that threw the vibes off slightly. Charlie’s relationship with Alastor will be a little different, because he’s one of her benefactors. He wants to watch the pretty little angel’s plans crash and burn, and she is determined to prove him wrong. Side note while I'm thinking of him, I’m changing the overlords – they aren’t sinners that got powers because sinners don’t have powers in this version. Well, no, they are sinners, just sinners that made contracts with demons and gained favor with hell during their lives, earning their own place in the hierarchy of hell. Speaking of which, it goes: Sinners, Overlords, Hellborn, Ars Goetia, Princes/Seven Sins. Overlords are given the power to torture other sinners (so it makes sense that Valentino makes Angel’s life miserable, it’s his job to torment other sinners) 
Once the show actually drops, I might add more benefactors in my rewrite. Like, since Alastor is backing Charlie, the cannibals from cannibal colony will be friendly towards her, things like that. Hell, maybe Val backs her, idk don’t want to jump the shark. 
Either way, i think Charlie being an angel sets her up for a better character arc with her naivete and attitude towards sinners. Also i think my design for her is literally beautiful she’s so pretty, she’s my baby i love her. And for the sake of making things easier, i fused her little goats Razzle and Dazzle with the key cat KeeKee because i think having three cute little pets is too many and R/D didn’t really do anything in the pilot. I’ve doodled them a bit, haven’t settled on a design yet. In my mind this little kitty is a cherub thing that Husk adores as his first hint of not being a complete ass. 
Any who. That is all. 
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onehelluvatime · 4 months
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So, the Hazbin Hotel official trailer is out for good this time ! What exactly happens in it ?
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Well basically the entire plot of the series.
This is barely a joke. They spoiled the entire series in a single trailer. Boy am I excited to see what just played out in a 2 minute video in a much longer, way less funny way for 40 dollars.
First of all I'd like to comment that the Alastor on the cover of the show, aside from just looking... Not good, is also directly traced from the announcement of his redesign.
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Which is just hilarious. His facial shape and emo hair were just too hard to learn, they had to trace over the image they already got him down in to draw him again. And this isn't even the first time they do that, because they already did it with Cherry Bomb in the first set of promotional images they dropped before the trailer. The first is just an image of her reference sheet directly placed over the background, second is her in-show appearance from the trailer. This is going to be So Good. (/sarcasm)
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Secondly, any and all intrigue and momentum this show might've had has fallen completely flat on its face thanks to this trailer, which tells you point by point exactly what is going to happen in the series. Which include, but isn't limited to:
- Charlie having a reunion/reconciliation with her dad, Lucifer, AND ALSO a revelation for his wings, which I feel is a much bigger deal than it is being presented as. (Without any sighting of Lilith herself, by the way.)
- Charlie meeting with Adam and Lute in heaven, and them blowing her off for her ideas. (Adam's first words in this series are going to be "Fuck", because that's how you know he's an angel)
- A close-up for a seraph character, which... okay. Great way to build intrigue for what Heaven is like in Hazbin Hotel. I mean, the subtlety here is just off the charts, right ? (THE VALUES ARE GOING TO MAKE ME CLAW MY FACE OFF)
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- Hell is going to go to war against Heaven... and this is revealed in the trailer-? The trailer for the series it's going to happen in ? In the first minute ?? This is so damn lame. I mean, if you're going to just show the audience everything that happens before anything has a chance to be processed, next time show the ending in its entirety why don't you.
- But that's still a lame ass plot point. Your idea of a morally complex, subtle story that deals with mortality is just "EVIL GUYS VS GOOD GUYS BUT WITH AN #EPIC TWIST !! THE DEMONS ARE GOOD AND THE ANGELS ARE BAD !!"? That's the entire premise of your show, and you show everything it is going to delve into in TWO MINUTES IN ONE TRAILER ??
- Huskerdusk is canon I guess. Hooray. Gay men visible on the screen that's so cool and never seen before. Not like the other series was entirely focused about mlm relationships and this series has a sapphic main couple for you to explore. Crazy.
- Vox and Valentino are going to appear and I guess be major antagonisrs in the story.
All of these events are happening in the series and you get spoiled for Every Single One of them. Instead of clever foreshadowing or subtle hints at what might be built up from looks into smaller plot points, you just watch 2 minutes of what I assume is 2 whole seasons condensed. That's not a good thing, because now I am going to be completely unimpressed when something major DOES happen in the series, since I know beforehand that everyone just keeps living to do More Stuff Later. The audience has no time to build up expectations for what happens next because everything is just happening Here and Now. It's very underwhelming to say the least.
Third, the voices just... don't sound very good. Angel is out of place, Alastor is never going to live up to what he used to be before (I don't know why his filter is weaker now– it makes it so much less unique), Husk is good but I know damn well he's going to be underutilized unless its for shipping's sake, Vaggie is just whatever, and Charlie sounds like every "Chipper princess who wants to do good" character out there, so much so that when she was singing I was reminded instantly of Rapunzel from the Tangled series way more than the show's actual pilot. Other characters either just don't talk enough or sound too generic to be properly critiqued.
For so much spent on broadway professional voice acting, you'd think they'd have more of a clue on how to Voice Act, or at least be given more direction in how everyone sounds like instead of just Saying Words in a way that is Similar Enough to the old cast.
This isn't to demerit the voice actors– They're all talented people on their own, just watching one of their performances on literally anything else should give you a good idea on that– But their acting here just doesn't...cut it. There's no feeling of authenticity, because all they're doing is an impression of a cast that once was, instead of bringing their own energy to the table and breathing new life into these characters. And it Sucks dude, because you KNOW this isn't what they sound like and you KNOW it could've been way better if they were just allowed to do something new for this show, but ultimately it all hinges on the writers and directors for it... and those people are, uh, not doing a great job.
And finally, the animation. Boy, I have a lot of thoughts.
This show is already infamous for having Way Too Red and for the values not being too good, all things I've said previously about Helluva Boss, but do not worry ! Instead of red, this show is Way Too Purple, and the values aren't just kinda bad, they're straight up just Awful. I don't want to crap all over the artists and animators that worked on it, they're just making do with what they have, but... lord.
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This last one is slightly less egregious, but the sky mixing with the city and obscure the light of the actual tower, which is THE CENTRAL FOCUS ON THE IMAGE, just looks really... sloppy, which in turn makes the whole image seem even more disorganized. There are not nearly enough dark tones to accomodate for the amount of mids and lights, and so everything just blends together in the most disorienting possible way. Like, Vaggie, who is a MAIN CHARACTER, is on that first image. Did you see her? Because if it wasn't for the cut preceding that scene, I deadass wouldn't have noticed her there.
I don't know. I don't like being pessimistic about things before they come out no matter how much it the trailers don't convince me they'll be good, but this is just really amateurish. The entire plot is revealed, the colors aren't good, the voice acting sounds whatever at best and the animation itself just feels like it was crunched to oblivion. Not a good outlook on everything so far, but hey, maybe if we all go into it pretending not to have seen the trailer, it'll be a Little Better, right? Right.
Man, I can't wait to see the direction this train heads. Hopefully not down a hill.
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powderblueblood · 3 months
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HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers
CHAPTER SEVEN — WELCOME to the REAL WORLD, JACKASS
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PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT
summary: christmastime in hawkins brings a bunch of cherry bombs in the boy's bathroom, a trip down memory lane via seven minutes in heaven avenue, and the least likely trio this town has ever seen. content warnings: MINORS DNI i'm going to fuck you up and santa isn't real so we've got, smut including references to and descriptions of male and female masturbation, smoking, swearing, a pregnancy scare, era-typical misogyny and ANGST in the form of a flashback!!! word count: 12.5k. merry christmas babies
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Dear reader, it takes you less than five weeks to become incapable of imagining your life without Eddie Munson.
Which, given his propensity for being an absolute neanderthal, is concerning.
Eddie Munson talks with his mouth full and plays his music too loud. He never closes a cabinet all the way. He walks through anywhere, literally anywhere, be it a store or the library or Ronnie’s trailer–leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. He talks during movies and puts his feet up on the seats at the Hawk. He makes fun of the books you read, but always grabs them away from you to stare at the blurb on the back. He never finishes a cigarette all the way before lighting another one, which is just wasteful. He pretends to be good at holding his liquor, but he’s not. 
He stands too close to you in places where he’s got plenty of room to move. He makes you laugh, even when you don’t want to. He holds the door for you in school, at the bookstore, getting out of the van, even though you’re more than capable of doing that yourself. He takes advantage of you when you’re in a good mood, like making you scratch his head as if he were a cat.
Sometimes he calls you ‘baby’, as if you don’t have a nickname already. As if you two are…
You lean toward the only mirror in the girls’ room with decent light, reapplying the red lip stain you’d taken to wearing– it was coming on Christmas, for god’s sake, and despite everything, you’re feeling festive. Quick. Lighter on your feet than you have been in a long time. 
“Hey girl, could I borrow that?” an out-of-tune simper rings right next to your ear and you almost jump out of your skin, lipstick clattering into the sink.
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“Jesus!” you say, and Eddie Munson cackles. You knock him back with a one-handed shove, face setting into that funny little grimace you’ve taken to wearing when he acts up– and he’s always acting up. You’re gonna get wrinkles if he doesn’t cut it out. “What the hell are you doing in here? Hair in your eyes make you miss the sign that says girl’s room?”
You know that’s not true, because you were the one that just about tied him to a chair in Ronnie Ecker’s trailer so you could trim his bangs last week. 
This is a fuckin’ violation of my human rights, Lacy!
Every time I’m seen with you, people think I’m out walking a goddamn Briard. Hold still!
“So, hot off the press, newspaper girl,” Eddie says, leaning against the yellow porcelain, “One, I am literate, much to everyone’s shock and awe. And two, someone threw a bunch of cherry bombs down the john in the boy’s bathroom and the place is fucking Hiroshima, but wet and kinda shitty smelling. So we all got told to use this…” He gestures around at the clean-ish tile. “...salon of iniquity.” 
“Was it you?” you ask, plucking a cigarette from the soft pack he’s offering you. 
“Huh?” He scrunches his brows, leaning with a lighter ready. He’s taken to doing that; cigarette at the ready, lighter at the ready, low-grade explosives at the ready, probably.
“The cherry bombs, was it you?” you say through a reel of blue smoke.
“For once, no,” Eddie sighs, head slumping forward like a Peanuts character, “Some other gorgeous, anarchistic genius got the jump on me.” 
“Oh, god,” a frown sets in; you pick up your dropped lipstick and in its wake, ash into the sink, “There’s no other bathrooms on campus you animals could use?”
“Nuh-uh. Unisexuality, baby, it’s the way of the future,” Eddie tells you, fanning out his hands like P.T. Barnum. 
A beat. You think. This bathroom, the unofficially allocated senior bathroom, the one you and the rest of the Hawkins in-crowd had been using since sophomore year, got crowded at the best of times. The fumes of Aquanet were a definite health risk, but that’s an occupational hazard when it comes to being a girl. You add boys into the mix, nay, couples into the mix–
Damn.
“We’re about to witness the conception of so many toilet babies.”
Realization dawns on Eddie, his brown eyes flaring. “Oh shiiiit. I never thought of that.” 
“The band geeks alone, Eddie,” you whisper, head tilting toward him all scandalized-like, “We’re gonna show up at our fifteen year reunion and every single one of these suckers is gonna have their own little freshman clones.”
“Spare a thought for Heather Holloway.” Eddie’s face, a mask of mock concern, makes you roll your eyes.
“Why?” you scoff, not a fan, “She doesn’t inspire many.” 
“Objection. Her implants do.”
You turn to face him fully. “J’excuse?” 
“Swear to god,” and his palms are up, “Just saw her in Chemistry.”
“Good? Bad?”
“Conical. Jayne Mansfield.” Aaand his hands are gesturing, animatedly. Crassly. Pervily. “Take your goddamn eye out.”
“Wow. Christmas came early.”
“Christmas ain’t the only thing that’s gonna be coming early…”
“Ew.”
Eddie smirks and flicks his cigarette into the sink, hitting the faucet to wash it away– there were at least three good drags left in that, you think. 
“Heather H, first one to get knocked up in the Great Bathroom Insemination Project of 1984. Mark my words.”
“And you think you’re in with a shot?” Your tone is dripping in sneer. 
Eddie regards you for a moment, so you know something deeply annoying is about to happen. His voice goes all serious, barely above a whisper, as he closes space between you like he’s trying to beat a draft. 
“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Lacy baby.” His hands brace either side of the sink you’re standing at, trapping you against him. See? No respect for boundaries. But– Hm. Not… that annoying. “Oversexed teenagers sharing the same bathroom– at Christmas, with all that mistletoe around and shit.” His eyes, searching you with a glint that’s s’posed to be provocative. You, elbow propped up by your folded arm, puff a plume of smoke into his face. He doesn’t even blink. Smirk pursing his lips up. The two of you have established a rhythm. “Anything could happen.”
“Ew, what the hell are you doing in here? This is the girl’s room.” Enter some upstart underclassman, and Eddie’s peeling away from you.
“You didn’t see the biblical flood on the second floor, Pippi Longstocking?” His voice is big and booming and bouncing off the tile, making the underclassman cringe. “Forcible takeover. This is my house now.”
“God, shut up, freak.” She shuffles by the two of you to a vacant stall with a look you recognize– she’s so telling her friends about those two trailer park abnormos just about copulating in the bathroom later.
“Great choice!” Eddie exclaims, door of the stall slamming, “I warmed the seat for ya!” 
“Watch where you’re going, you almost milled down that stroller!”
“I wouldn’t need to go so fast if you two, freakin’ Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Priss Ass, didn’t insist on getting to this place before it closed!” 
“We wouldn’t need to rush if you hadn’t spent all freakin’ afternoon at goddamn Lipton landing getting all– all–”
“All?”
“--toked up and shit!”
“Market research, Ecker! And, I’m gonna remember you said that! Later! When you want to get all toked up and shit– woah!”
Listening to Ronnie Ecker and Eddie Munson bicker in the front seat while you balance on a drum stool in the back of his van, clutching onto Ronnie’s passenger seat for dear life– no better way to get into the spirit of the season. You’d be joining in the milieu if you weren’t currently suffering from major motion sickness. 
Eddie takes a harsh pull into a parking spot outside of Family Video and–“Go, go, go!”--you three load out like soldiers, locked on the target. He takes the lead, swinging the door open for the two of you ladies, but a voice calls out from the counter before Ronnie can even get a toe over the threshold.
“Oh, no– no way, no way!” Steve Harrington’s yelling from the helm of the ship, waving his hands. “We are– fifteen goddamn minutes away from close, I can’t do this tonight!” 
“Highly unwise of you to turn away paying customers, Harrington!” Eddie gasps, Ronnie ducking under his arm. 
“You guys come in here and spend honest-to-god hours talking shit in the aisles and– and you never even rent anything!” 
“Well, your luck’s about to change!” Ronnie says, and Steve regards her with a mask of total confusion because, well, it’s likely he’s never heard her speak directly to anyone other than Eddie before. 
That’s when you roll in the door under Eddie’s arm-arch, color rising in your cheeks that’s not from the cold. 
“I am deeply reconsidering my association with you guys.” 
“Tough shit.” “Find another trailer park.” “You love it. You love us. You’re obsessed.” 
You pinch both of your hands towards them, the universal action to encourage zipping it, and cast a glance towards Steve. His shoulders relax. His vest is green and garish and a terrible color on him and… he’s wearing elf ears. And he’s Steve Harrington. And your stomach clenches, though it’s more muscle memory than anything else. 
“Hey, Steve,” you smile, soft and small and not really all that there. 
“Lacy. Hi.” He does smile at you, after a beat. “You responsible for these assholes?”
You hadn’t seen him since the night of his party, that grand inferno that had landed you here, standing between Eddie and Ronnie and feeling not entirely awful about it. Well, you hadn’t exactly seen him then either, except for a flash when Eddie was dragging you out of his house. 
So, y’know, the blush is entirely justified.
“She’s bankrolling us,” Eddie says, closing the door to keep the heat in and speaking just to break the tension. True, too– you’d scored a part time gig at The Bookstore after a confrontation with the eagle-eyed Ivana regarding certain missing copies of Little Women, The Woman Destroyed and Fear and Trembling. You assumed you were working off the thievery, which you never directly admitted to and she never directly accused you of– but then, she paid you. 
Ivana, it turns out, is incredibly pro-workers rights and even more incredibly anti-Hawkins gossip mill. Which works out a treat for you. The bookstore’s become more of a haven than it had been before. 
“Can you scatter already?” you direct two thirds of your threesome towards the stacks. “Let’s make this breezy, I feel a wave of mortification rising.” 
“No. I was promised in-store bickering,” Eddie says, rooting himself to the spot. You catch a weird flash of– something in his eyes. Ronnie, with her unlikely band geek strength, groans and yanks him toward the horror section. “It’s my favorite part! It’s like the pre-show!”
You take to the counter, gingerly, shyly. Why are you shy? Why, all of a sudden, after showing your ass in such a spectacular bruise-garnering fashion, are you shy to speak to Steve Harrington? Is it because Nancy’s dropped a tidbit here and there that he’s not exactly great boyfriend material? Is it because you sometimes secretly think, good, I hope you two are having a terrible time, even if you and Wheeler are making baby steps towards a friendship?
Is it because you never forget the first person that called you Lacy?
Fuck knows. Some of that. 
“So you’re… what, hanging out now?” Steve asks, gesturing to the twin dipshits. There’s a bite in his voice from a former incarnation of Steve Harrington, one with (somehow) bigger hair and an unchecked ego. It doesn’t all shed at once, you figure. He’s sloughing it off and there’s still some left over, judging by the way he’s staring at Ronnie and Eddie. 
You look over your shoulder to them. It would be so easy to deride it, right– only due to my unfortunate proximity to them, yes or girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do for a ride these days or it’s community service, I swear. 
But you don’t. You turn back to him with a pinchy little smile. “I’m this close to getting them to let me play tambourine in their band. Can you even deal?” 
Steve, after a beat and a brow furrow, sort of half nods. “Think I kind of… get that.” 
You’re about to answer when another body comes barrelling in through the back. 
“Just wanted to let you know, dingus, that I just got off the phone with Keith–you remember Keith, right, our manager who is currently in a war of words with our boss trying to keep this place open–and your little stock-take fuckup has cost us, like, weeks of manhours in work and–” Robin Buckley, complete with a light-up Santa hat, stops dead. Counts every person in the room. Shakes her head like she’s in a dream. “What is…”
“H–hi Robin!” Ronnie calls, her voice all squeaky– due to the scuffling headlock that Eddie has somehow managed to put her in without you and Steve even noticing. “Don’t worry, we– we’ll be out of your hair in a second!” 
And Robin– wait, is Robin kind of… blushing? She backs down immediately, putting her Family Video branded binder flat on the counter. “Yeah, no… that’s totally okay, take your time!” 
You look at Steve. Steve looks at you. You quirk an eyebrow like– is that, is she… And Steve shrugs like, don’t ask me, sister. Pleading the fifth. Saving Robin’s dignity. 
But you’re still you and you’ve been bugging Ronnie about her situation for weeks so you hold up a finger.
“What are you two idiots arguing about?”
“Black Christmas–” “Silent Night, Bloody– ow, Ronnie, don’t pull hair, you girl!”
A swivel back to Robin, who is totally pink-cheeked. “We need a professional to settle this.” 
Her mind seems to stutter like a badly wound tape. Oh, she’s suckered. “Uh– uh, Black Christmas, for sure. Not exactly the coziest thing to watch, but–”
“We’re not cozy people!” Eddie yells, Ronnie coming at him with arms like weed whackers.
“--but Margot Kidder, right?” you poke, goddamn Jimmy Page and John Bonham for the Midwest set slamming into the counter on either side of you.
“Olivia Hussey,” Ronnie says breathlessly. Eddie seems to have winded her somehow. “That’s– she’s cool–I heard she was in this–”
“Exactly!” Robin lights up, excited, “She– she played Juliet in Romeo and Juliet–”
“Wait, don’t you see her boobs in that movie?” Eddie jerks in. 
“Yes,” Robin and Steve chime in unison. And glance at each other. Telling. 
Ol’ Munson there snaps his fingers. “Sold.”
“But not in Black Christmas,” you say, almost gently, so as not to… let him down?
Eddie rolls his eyes and tilts his head toward your shoulder. “I’m a man with an imagination, ain’t I?” he rasps. You pretend-shudder.
“Okay, let’s do Black Christmas and– you got a copy of The Thin Man?”
Blink-blink goes Robin, like a cartoon. It’s nearly audible. “... like, the William Powell, Myrna Loy Thin Man?” 
Your turn to roll your eyes. God, you guys love to roll your eyes, huh? “Is there any other?”
“Like the black and white movie. You’re sure? I just didn’t think it’d be your–” 
But Eddie cuts right through that assumption that’s making an ass out of you and Robin, because he knows. He knows because you’ve made him sit through Double Indemnity at the Hawk, scolding him for putting his feet up (god forbid, right!) and you’ve even threatened to drag him to some Buster Keaton retrospective that’s playing there after the holidays. He keeps thinking, man, if Wayne Munson ever comes across this girl, he’s a goner, and then he remembers why that won’t be happening any time soon. 
“She’s a freak.”
You regard him with a tight smile. Kind of a thanks, kind of a fuck you. Kind of your thing. 
“I’ll watch it when these bozos pass out.” 
Something’s gotten into Eddie. 
You three are absolutely basking in the glory of your one night of freedom– see, Granny Ecker’s away on a weekend hotel stay in Indianapolis with one of her special friends from the Hawkins Senior Center. Which, on the one hand, gross, Eddie never ever wants to think about Granny Ecker getting lucky no matter how happy for her he is. But on the other, in the words of her beloved granddaughter–
“God bless the Indiana Sweepstakes!”
Eddie has stolen Granny’s usual spot, the kick-out recliner that seems to sag more with every movement. You and Ronnie are bunched onto the little two-seater together, with Ronnie shyly suggesting that you paint her nails (black, how totally hardcore)– now, Eddie knows this move. This is so she can distract herself from the bonafide creepiness of Black Christmas because while she tries to put on a brave face, Ronnie’s eyes for horror movies are way bigger than her stomach. She’s all nerves. It’s why she’s such a good drummer. 
As you’d predicted, by the time the movie ends and you all clear the six pack that Eddie had procured, Ronnie’s nodding off– but Eddie is determined to stay wide awake. You make a move off the couch and she grumbles, having narrowly avoided propping her head on your shoulder. You move to arrange her in such a way that she’s sleeping Nosferatu style, crossing her arms over her chest. “Because I spent an awful lot of time on that polish and I won’t see it ruined, not on your account,” you chide, real quiet. Ronnie’s not listening, she’s pretend honk-shooing. Eddie, on the other hand, is. 
He likes you like this. You’re sweet to Ronnie, in your prickly little way– making her flustered with your misdirected flirting, bonding with her about things so far out of the realm of his male understanding. Being a girl with her. It’s occurred to him that Ronnie, in her testosterone-soaked world of current comrades, might actually need that. Like, she’s friendly enough with Jeannie and that Vickie girl from band, but they’re not people she’d go out of her way to make a case for so’s that Granny Ecker will let them stay for dinner. 
Which she’s done for you. Once or twice now. Which you’ve nervously accepted and even ruined your manicure for, by insisting on washing up the dishes. Eddie dried, because of course he did, because the Ecker trailer is the only place close to home that the two of you can hang out.
You’re, like– friends. 
Which is horrible.
Eddie tosses you a cold can of soda from the fridge. You catch it, hands basketing above your head.
“Power forward.”
“Cheerleader.”
You lean over to the TV to swap the tapes out, insistent on watching your dumb little black and white movie. As you do it, your skirt lifts a little bit and– 
Eddie’s gotta break eye contact. Stare at the floor for a second. Cock jumping like the fucking mole from whack-a-mole.
He almost hits it.
You bitch, are you wearing thigh highs?
“You need to pull trig, Munson?” he hears you from the kitchenette, clicking the video player’s play button. “You only had two beers.”
God, maybe. Was the room spinning? “Smoked a lotta weed today.” 
“Right. Lipton landing,” you smirk. Ronnie’s derisive little nickname for Reefer Rick’s place. “Are you gonna get over here and snore through my movie or not?”
I do not snore, or some muttering of a similar fashion comes out but he’s doing exactly what you tell him to do. He can’t help it. Brain function gone all freaky from that flash of flesh squeezed out the top of your– yeah. 
Eddie lands on the floor next to you with a little groan. Your eyes flick between him and the now-empty recliner. 
“What are you doing down here?” 
Oh. Busted. “I’m a gentleman, Lacy. Take the damn seat.” 
Your face screws up in that silly way it does whenever he talks sense to you but you don’t wanna hear it. Brat. “No. I like to sit right up near when it’s something I really want to watch.”
A shrug of your little shoulder as you wrap your arms around your knees like a kid. Face illuminated by the greyscale on the television. Skirt rucking back against the carpet. Fuck.
Eddie lets out an unsteady breath, crawling forward to lie on his tummy. Closer to you. “You’re gonna get square eyes if you keep doin’ that, dorko.”
“Who died and made you my optometrist…” but you say it in this half-hearted, distracted way, eyes on the screen.
“Y’know, if you–” Eddie starts, eyes on the lace top of your–yes indeedy–stockings.
“Shut up,” and you tap him on the shoulder. “I love this part.”
Your hand stays there as some fancily dressed chick totally eats shit in the bar of some hotel or something. Christmas presents flying everywhere as she falls. 
Women and children first, boys.
Say, what is the score anyway?
Oh, so it’s you he was after.
Hello, sugar.
Your hand stays there as you’re totally mouthing every single word, you true-blue nerd. Eddie, completely at a loss of how to react to this other than gaze, gaze, gaze at you, snaps his teeth at your hand. 
You, so completely embroiled in Nick and Nora’s white hot banter, gasp at the near-bite and swipe at his head. Eddie dodges the blow by rolling onto his back, hair fanning out on the Eckers’ rug. He grins up at you, and all of a sudden the rise and fall of his chest in that worn-out Alice Cooper shirt is very distracting. 
Pretty girl. 
Yeah, she’s a very nice type.
You got types?
Only you, darling–
“--lanky brunettes with wicked jaws,” you say, beat-for-beat with William Powell. 
“Talkin’ about me?” Eddie says, lips peeling back, eyebrows quirking.
“Not in your wettest, wildest dreams, Eddie Munson.” 
“Oh, you don’t wanna know what happens in those dreams. It’s filthy.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s twisted. It’s disgusting.” 
“I bet.”
His hand is absent-mindedly stroking his chest, shifting the hem of that t-shirt up a little bit. Brushstrokes. You remember that? Eddie Munson has a happy trail like– 
“You’re so nice to me. It’s so fffffucking hot.”
“How wildly out-of-character,” you scoff, and he laughs, and you shift in your spot the teensiest bit. Eyes back on the screen, back to safety. 
From here, where he’s lying, Eddie has a fully illustrated view of the flash of skin up your skirt. Now that you’re not looking at him, he’s looking at it. Swallowing back saliva. Ignoring Nick and Nora. 
It’d be simple as pie to walk his fingertips along the rug and brush up against you there–oops–by accident or design. Feel how soft that skin is. Feel that heat radiating from your–
“It’s alright,” he hums, eyes flicking to the ceiling. Otherwise, all the blood’s gonna drain away from his head and he’s going to fucking die. “I know I’m not your type anyway.”
Your head lolls to your other shoulder, exposing a flash of your neck. It’s sorely missing a tongue running along it, he thinks, breath shuddering a touch. 
“You wouldn’t know my type if it hit you with an eighteen wheeler.”
“Can Steve Harrington drive an eighteen wheeler?”
Lolling your head back in the most exaggerated form of exasperation, you groan. “God. The way you talk about Harrington, I’m willing to put money on the fact that you have a crush on him.”
Eddie shrugs, hand resting on his sternum. You had your hand there once, you recall.
“I got prescribed one on the first day of freshman year, just like everybody else. But it wore off.”
“Sure about that?” Your eyes narrow.
“Sure as I am that I saw you makin’ googly eyes at him at the Family Video tonight.” Eddie crosses his own peepers for effect. Your attention darts back to the screen.
“I was not–”
“You can just say it, Lace.” His face is a twisty little smirk, if you’d care to look. “Regardless of how utterly pedestrian it might be.” That was a dig at you, by the way. That was an almost eerie impression of you. 
“The things I felt in seventh grade don’t really have a lot of gravitational pull on me anymore,” you shrug, not giving. Because, when you think about it, you don’t have to give. It was a baseless kind of thrill, seeing Harrington tonight. One hit wonder. “He’s a cute boy. Reminded me I have a pulse. Nothing wrong with that.”
Eddie’s quiet for a few seconds, flicks his eyes up to watch the TV from upside down. Nick places an ice pack on a drunken Nora’s head. 
Hmm… what hit me? 
The last martini.
He smiles as you smile, and he wonders if you’re thinking of the same thing he’s thinking of. 
“Alright, well– we can forget this ever happened. Resume being assholes to each other on Monday. Don’t, like, die in the meantime.”
“You say resume like we ever stopped being assholes to each other.”
“Funny you mention seventh grade…” Eddie trails off, tugging at the rug underneath him.
“Funny ha-ha or funny peculiar?” Your voice is distant again. 
“Little bit of both.”
“Why?”
Well, he thought you might be fucking with him, but– “... God, you really don’t remember, do you?”   
“Remember what?” He sees your brow pinch, he’s getting to ya.
“Not a fucking clue.” No give, no glory, eyes on the peeling ceiling. 
“Remember what?” You’ve snapped your neck and are looking down at him now, thirsty for him to fucking spill it already.
“Total–” he blows a raspberry, “--blackout before freshman year, right?”
“Eddie.”
His name makes him sit up. Pavlovian, sure, and he’s trying to deny the fact that he’ll do just about anything you say when you call him Eddie in that slightly-tinged sour way and not Munson like you’re writing him off. He’s trying to deny that. He swears.
“Nancy Wheeler’s thirteenth birthday party.” 
You two are shoulder to shoulder, him facing the couch, you facing the screen, his breath warming the bare skin of your off-the-shoulder top which is an insane thing to be wearing in the dead of fucking winter, but praise Jesus hallelujah you’re wearing it. Your expression is unimpressed. 
“... yeah?”
“We played Seven Minutes in Heaven.” He lays that out a little too plain for your liking. Playing Seven Minutes in Heaven at a thirteen year old’s birthday party is like the non-denominational Hora for pseudo-white bread Christian teenagers, at least in Hawkins. Everybody does that shit. But hold on.
“... you were there?”
“Fucking obviously, dimwit, that’s the setup to the whole story.” He sighs in a puff, and he’s very close to you. Chin almost on your shoulder like that night at the Quarry. “Tommy Hagan ripped into me for like, fifteen full minutes because my spin of the bottle landed on you.”
Confusion is a disease and you’re terminal. “That was… not you.” 
Insistence is a disease and Eddie’s fatal. “Yes. It so was.”
“That was John Hudson-Wasserman.”
“That was not–,” Eddie full on splutters, like slapstick splutters, reeling his head away from you, “you’re gonna get me confused with John Hudson-Wasserman? The guy who was like, pathologically obsessed with the Kennedy assassination? The guy who moved to Des Moines like, two weeks after that party?”
Then you’re spluttering back all of a sudden. Everything you two are doing is contagious. “His parents named him after John F., can you blame him? –actually, I can totally blame him, that was bizarre.”
“Lacy.” Well, the way he says that straightens your spine. “Use that pretty little brain to think for a second, huh? There’s one unmistakeable detail I bet I can get to jog your memory.”
But you’re already there. Activated. Like a sleeper cell. 
“Your hair was all buzzed off. You had that bandage on your head.”
“I did. And you asked me what was under it, and I said–”
A hole. They cut out a part of my brain so I’d be– The Wheeler’s linen closet was tiny and you were breathing in lavender detergent from all angles. 
The boy in front of you, scrawny and angry, had an aura around him like a firework. You knew it was dangerous, but you wanted to look closer. 
–less of a freak? you finished. Such was the accusation du jour for this kid. 
Less of a danger to society, he said, chest puffed. They let me keep it in a jar. Just in case shit gets really real and I need to shove it back in. 
You don’t quite know what to do with that. Like. He is so weird, and his hair is unevenly shaved and he’s got little cuts and scratches and scabs all over him. Like he’s been running through brambles. He looks like a kid someone found in the wild. 
Did you name it? you ask, finger drawing circles on a nearby towel. Your jar brain.
Eddie Junior, he told you, crossing his arms. 
Aren’t you already Junior? Shouldn’t it be Junior Junior? 
His jaw hardened. No. I’m Eddie. 
You nudged forward on your toes to get a better look at the bandage– he was taller than you. It lumped out of his head, unmissable. Nothing to be done about it. 
He seemed to cringe away from you. 
Don’t try anything, skank. 
You bounce back onto your heels. 
I wasn’t, asshole. We don’t have to do anything– just… like… did it hurt? 
He paused for a full ten seconds (you counted) and swallowed real hard. Eyes wide as hubcaps, and dark, and frightened. He craned his neck toward you a little. 
Then the door swung open, Tina Burton standing there hand-in-hand with an irritated-looking Steve Harrington. Time’s up, losers! 
Al hadn’t asked if it hurt, when he beat the crap out of him for doing something so stupid. Wayne hadn’t even asked if it hurt, when Eddie came back from the hospital like a dog with its tail between its legs. 
You were the first, and you were the last, and it was before everything. Before you were even Lacy.
“What happened, anyway?” you ask. Soft. Like that last time.
Now, in retrospect, Eddie sees the error of his ways.
“I lit all my hair on fire with a butane torch.” 
“You what?!” 
“It’s not– entirely my fault! I think I saw someone with hair on fire in an X-Men comic and I thought, y’know, that’s an achievable look.” That’s a severe understatement. It was Johnny Storm from The Fantastic Four and Eddie believed that he could be like Johnny Storm only more badass and maybe with like a sick motorbike. What, you’re telling me you didn’t go through a pre-teen-to-mid-teen phase where you were secretly convinced you had superpowers? Smarten up. 
“And how high–”
“Yeah, okay, I was also hitting a Reddi-Wip can like crazy.” The nitrous oxide did not help these delusions. 
“Why the big bandage?”
“Eh, I got some, like, bitsy little burn. Total overreaction.”
“Do you have a scar?” Before he can answer, you’re parting his hair, right near the place you remember that bandage being. Eddie freezes, your frigid fingertips searching his scalp. You are… very close. 
“Uh– no, I don’t.” He gulps, avoiding looking at you directly in your bright, curious little face. “Can I tell you something truly fucking dumb?”
“Wouldn’t be out-of-character for you, that’s for sure.” 
Deep, deep breath. Fucking shit fucking goddammit fuck. Balls. “I regret it.”
“The hair thing? Yeah, you’d think–”
“No. Not kissing you.”
“Oh.” Your hands drop from his skull but don’t exactly leave his hair. Just kind of wound in there, hovering, the way you feel like you’re hovering now. 
“You asked me if it hurt, and then I was gonna– but then, fucking Tina–” Eddie says, eyes dashing to you in these minute little glances. Away, back, away, back.
“Fuckin’ Tina,” you breathe. 
“--and Harrington.”
“Ah.” You shut your eyes. He didn’t notice you were wearing green eyeshadow until right now. “The square root of the problem.”
“Huh?” Barely heard it. Too busy looking at the glitter on your eyelids. The way your eyeballs shift around underneath.
“You’re totally lemon sour bitter with Harrington because you think he made you blow your shot with me.” You open your eyes with a squint.
“That is so not–” Break a spell, why dontcha! But then, Eddie takes a bite. “Actually, if you pop-psychology that, there might be somethin’ there, but… I regret it because I didn’t just–”
You cut in. “Go for it.”
“Shoot.” He confirms.
“Power. Forward.” You emphasize, lips curling.
“Cheer. Leader.” Eddie says, gravel in his voice.
Do you know that your hand is still in his hair? Like, are you physically aware of it? (Answer: no.)
Nick. Nicky?
What.
You asleep?
Yes.
Good. I wanna talk to you.
Your head swivels back from the screen. He watched you look away, dart your tongue out onto your lip, look back at him. 
“Eddie.” There’s fizz in your voice.
“Yes, Lacy.” He wonders what flavor. 
“I think…” and you finally extract your hand to lay it in your lap. Withdrawing, willing to be shot down, but you’re you and you know that you won’t be. “We could make a case for making up for lost time.”
Eddie’s mouth has become very dry. “... meaning that…”
“Eddie, I think that you should kiss me like a seventh grader– eighth grader? So weird, why did Wheeler have eight graders at her bir–”
“Lacy. Back on track, please,” which is another horrendously pin point perfect impression of you. And he needs to be sure that you just said what you just said and that isn’t the ghosts of Lipton landing talking.
“We should try it out. An honest-to-god, never-been-done-before Seven Minutes in Heaven kiss. I happen to think it’d fix something in you.”
“Oh, come on,” he scoffs.
“No, I’m serious!” And it is kind of fizzing out of you, and you might not be entirely just talking about him for this next part, “I think you’re holding onto a lot of pent up energy that may have just gotten even more pent since we became, y’know–”
“Zoo animals with parallel enclosures?” Eddie says with an arching eyebrow. 
“Wow,” you swallow a breath. “That really sounded like me.”
“I’m afflicted with a Lacyism from time to time.”
“Is that like astigmatism? Because you should get that looked at.”
“Who died and made you my optometrist?”
“Eddie.” Your voice, coming from your face, which is all dappled in the unserene technicolor glow of the Eckers’ Christmas lights, highlighted by the blaze of the black and white on TV. You make it look like stained glass. He would walk into oncoming traffic– “You trust me, right?” He would go and play on the freeway if you asked him to.
Eddie, Christ, he’s got to gather himself. Like the sweat gathering on his palms, he thinks, great work ethic, I need some of that. He gets a bright idea, brighter than those twinkling lights. “I think I need full authenticity in order to make this experience worth it.”
“What?”
“We need to find a closet.”
It’s pretty much a hard no on whether or not the Eckers have a linen closet (you’re a long way from Maple Lane now, babe), so it’s agreed that you’ll give Granny Ecker’s wardrobe a shot. You follow Eddie in there with tentative steps, like you can almost feel her watching all the way from the Best Western in Indianapolis she’s no doubt staying in. Trespassing is bad, yadda yadda, but it’s also exciting.
It’s exciting, being in here with him. 
He glances back at you, eyes a glimmer in the darkened bedroom. “After you,” and he flourishes a hand toward the open closet. 
You two are so not seventh graders anymore– heads bang against hangers, you’re kind of melting into a lot of denim and fleece and you… you don’t have much breathing room. No lavender detergent, just the beer-and-old-weed-sweet smell of Eddie Munson pushed close to flush against your chest. The scent of that shampoo you both use caught somewhere in the middle. 
Your breathing is so shallow, you feel like you might be having an asthma attack. You don’t have asthma. 
“Tight,” he says, and knits his brows, “I mean–”
“Cozy,” you correct, unsure of where to put your hands.
“We’re not cozy people.”
“So let’s do this,” you attempt to smooth your face into something resembling nonchalance, “Kiss me like a seventh-or-eighth grader, Eddie Munson.”
He clears his throat, shaking his head. A smile keeps flicking and dying on his lips. Heart about to burst out of his chest because of how weird this is, because of how weird you are, because of how– how– 
Eddie knits his fingers behind his back in an imitation of you, your girlish pose, and leans forward. About ninety percent, just in case you decide this was a stupid idea, or you don’t like the look of his face up close, or– or–
You close that perfect ten. Your lips feel like flower petals. Light. Baby-soft. Crushable.
It’s so chaste and it’s so innocent. It’s so the diametric opposite of the two of you, brash and harsh in your diverging, abstracting ways– waving only to meet in the middle. It’s pretty, like you are, and Thumper-from-Bambi-thumping-his-foot nervous like he gets around you.  
You pull away a fraction, and Eddie swallows a sound. To save face, he is about to say something– I give it a six or that’s what I’ve been missing out on this whole time or you flap that mouth an awful lot for someone who doesn’t know how to use it, something equally goading. Something that would make this… normal.
Until you take his bottom lip between yours. And it’s wet there. And it’s warm. And your lips are so, so crushable– 
Eddie’s fingers unweave and find your arms, find your waist. Slow, slow, he takes it slow because he could scare you and he doesn’t want to scare you. You’re curving into him, lips slicking against his, and then his tongue licking it’s way into your mouth which you just fucking open for him and it’s so good–
–and he tastes like salt and smoke and he holds you like he’s anchoring himself against you. Your hands wind on up, up, up his chest, catching on his t-shirt where his chest is (duh duh duh you fucking idiot), where his heart is thrumming under that smatter of a tattoo you got caught staring at that night in his trailer. It’s all you’ve got in you not to tug it up and off him, but Christ, no, because you need to keep kissing him. It’s so nice, it feels so nice, kissing him, when was the last time something felt as nice, that’s all you can think with sensation seeping through your body like a sugar rush. Hands move to either side of his neck and he makes a noise. 
Your fingers, fishing hooks in his hair, pulling him closer and closer to you. 
The heat. Of his body. Matched only by the heat gathering in the cherry pit that lives in your stomach. 
And he needs, god, Eddie needs it fucking bad. It is a lot of things. It includes your tongue so far inside his mouth that you can taste the Tab on his uvula this time. It includes more of your tits pressed against him, so he can feel if your nipples have hardened under his touch. It includes this moment, just this moment, just kissing you as your body winds around him–
But then you pull back. Before he can whisper the little, “No…” that’s coming like a reflex, you cover his mouth with your hand. The mouth that’s all slick from kissing– you. 
Jesus Christ. You had really done that. The stupid, idiot both of you. 
“Guys?”
Eddie, dizzy and down-the-rabbit-hole tipsy Eddie, gets the impulse to lick your hand, to take your fingers in his mouth and just start sucking, but he doesn’t do it. Because he has now snapped to the fact that that’s Ronnie Ecker calling out for you. 
The two of you, twisted around each other like snakes in her grandmother’s closet. 
“Go,” you hiss– no, you breathe. He was just expecting you to hiss. But you’re breathy and unsure about the command you’re giving. Still, you jerk your head. 
Well, Eddie’s pretty hard up about telling you this, but, “Can’t. Need a sec–” Like, can’t you feel that?
Eddie’s standing more than half to attention, pressing in between the both of you. 
You let out a jagged breath that sounds like oh, fuck, and it’s not the kind of oh, fuck he was hoping to hear and his heartbeat stutters. 
And then you’re gone. 
Eddie stands there, hands held aloft around the ghost of you that was there, that was right there and kissing him. Like you meant it, like it wasn’t an experiment or a joke or a dare or anything other than what you wanted. You wanted him. You wanted him. “Oh, Jesus Christ,” he breathes into his hands, dragging them down his face, his lips, the smell of you still lingering around him. “Oh… I am so fucked.”
Kentucky fried fucked. 
You make your way back to the living room on trembly legs, reaching for every steadying surface, attempting to destroy the evidence of a swollen mouth and Munson-finger ruffled hair. You find Ronnie sitting upright on the couch. Nick and Nora have nearly solved the case. You don’t give yourself enough time to make a mask of your face that could easily lie to her. 
“Munson had to pull trig,” you say, and it’s not steady enough for Ronnie to not call bullshit.
But she doesn’t. Not outright anyway.
“He okay?” she asks, nearly wary.
“I don’t know. Could be comin’ out of both ends, I don’t know,” you start scrambling around for your bag and your shoes and your coat and not your right mind because you left that back in the closet, somewhere between Eddie’s teeth and tongue. “Look, I hate to ditch on you, but my mom–”
“She’ll be on your ass,” Ronnie says, measured like a cup. “Sure. Go on. I’ll think about calling 911 if he chokes.”
Breathing out some piss-poor rendition of a thanks, you dip out of Ronnie’s and past his van and all the way back the lot towards home. 
It’s freezing. You’re not. For once.
When Eddie finally reappears from the closet, Ronnie is sitting in the exact same position. Except this time she looks somewhat judgier– maybe because it’s easier to be judgier toward Eddie than it is toward you. Some kind of girl politico he doesn’t understand. 
“You feel better?”
“Huh?” Eddie says. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. 
“Do you feel better. Lacy told me you had to barf.”
“I… I guess.” Eddie has already cashed in his once-in-a-lifetime lie convincingly to Ronnie Ecker voucher. 
“She also told me you maybe shit yourself?”
Alright, well, that was unnecessary. “Alright, well, that was unnecessary.”
“I guess I was just hoping that…” she sighs, crossing her arms, “... that you weren’t puking and shitting yourself…” she sits back against the couch, “... when you were making out with her. In my… bathroom?”
He really does consider leaving out this detail. “Granny’s closet.”
“Oh, you’re fuckin’ kidding me.”
“She’ll know. She’ll kill me.”
“Oh, she’ll kill ya,” Ronnie mutters, “And then I’ll go to work on ya.”
You two have got to stop fucking each other over like this.
Fucking each other over, conceptually, actually, is interesting. Because Eddie’s done a whole lot of fucking you over in his mind since that closet. Sliding your panties aside and fucking you with his tongue, polyester lace of your stockings creating static against his hair, sparks snapping off your inner thighs as you rub against his nose. 
Following you back to your trailer and fucking you with his fingers against the cold, metal exterior, your nails digging into his neck and your voice stabbing his name into his eardrums. 
Pulling you into his lap in the driver’s seat and tearing through the cotton of your underwear with sheer animalistic fervor, making you lean back against the steering wheel as he sucks your tightened nipples, cock safe and warm in the slick, deep wet of you. 
Somethin’ like that. He didn’t sleep much this weekend.
Mind stuck on the one track, your lips smacking against his. Now in fabulous 3D!
In every single one of these fantasies, too, his idiot sap ass is whining your name fifty billion times more than you’re whining his– so much so that it breaks the fantasy barrier and he’s crying, “Fuck, Lacy-yy–,” into his limp pancake of a pillow, cum careening down a fist that should have nerve damage by now. 
He is exhausted. And to make it worse, he hasn’t seen you. 
He hasn’t even been avoiding you this time. So that’s all on you, you bitch.
“You bitch…” he mumbles, head resting against the cold brick of the newly-unisex senior bathroom, which has become a hellhole in no time. First period on a Monday is usually an okay time to get a bit of peace and fucking quiet, though, because everyone else is at least making an attempt at starting the week off on the right foot. 
But not Eddie. Not worn out, prick-tired Eddie. 
And not whoever is doing a horrible job of hyperventilating in the stall next to him. 
“Excuse me?” a breathless voice says. He thinks he kinda recognizes it but–
Then, ew! Some gagging, some violent coughing, a little ugh, Jesus, please not again–
Eddie slides out of his stall and knocks on the next door– and it swings open with ease. 
She’s crouched over the cistern–gross, fucking gross–and tears are streaming down her peachy cheeks, catching on her pointed chin. 
“Christ, Wheeler. S’matter, you pregnant?”
Nancy Wheeler’s eyes flash in a flare of rage, a choked scoff spitting out of her. She’s about to fucking cuss Eddie out, it looks like, which he kind of wants to see, but then whatever straw that’s holding that together snaps and she lets out this wild sob of total incredulity. 
Ohhh, as much as he would love to bolt out the door like it’s not his problem, Eddie realizes that this has now, somehow, somewhat become kind of his problem. 
“I gotta talk to you.” 
Ronnie Ecker appears like a lightning flash, knocking you clean out of your reverie of slowly crawling fingers and lips and teeth and guilt that had been plaguing you all weekend. 
You had spent most of the last forty eight hours staring into the middle distance, ready to glue upright nails into your shoes and walk on them for penance. You fucking stupid slut. Kiss me like a seventh-eighth grader, Eddie Munson. You unbelievable fucking cowshit. See, because, okay, do you know what you’ve done?
You’ve taken the first real friendship you’ve possibly ever had in your life (save for Phoebe, God rest her soul that moved to Saskatoon) and completely entirely fucked it sideways, and sure, you’ve also spent a lot of the weekend thinking about other things getting fucked sideways, like you since you’re now cursed with the knowledge of the vague suggestion of the outline of Eddie Munson’s dick but moreso, foremostly and mainly you want to fucking take a swandive off the edge of Sattler’s Quarry. 
Addendum– there’s too many quarries in this fucking county. 
A ping-ponging of guilt-to-orgasm-to-guilt-to-orgasm-to-guilt-to-orgasm-to-guilt-to-slinking your way to first period the long way that’s only now broken by Ronnie Ecker coming down on you like an Acme anvil.
Meep meep.
She knows. Of course she knows.
“Ronnie,” you whisper, eyes following her as she lands herself into the aforementioned Munson’s seat behind you, “I can explain…”
“Don’t!” There is this vigor, this knife’s edge in Ronnie’s voice that is terrifying and kind of thrilling but mostly scary and having been in the presence of Granny Ecker even those few times, you knew she always had it in her. 
You recoil. A little.
“If Eddie wants to be a fucking moron about you, please can we just let him, and not–” Ronnie’s mouth clamps closed like a Muppet’s might. Like she’s physically trying to calm herself down. “Look. I really like being your friend.”
Oh, Christ, your heart. “I r– I–”
“You’re dogshit with the emotional stuff, I get that, but I’ve been friends with that asshole so long that wearing my heart on my sleeve is like, second fucking nature so I’m not and I’m pissed off, frankly, that there’s a chance of him coming between, like… us.”
You and Ronnie. You, and your friend Ronnie. “Oh, it’s–”
“Because technically, by absolute technicality, I was your friend first, okay? We were lab partners first and I thought we had a vibe goin’ in Biology and I was the first person you wanted to talk to at the Hellfire table even if it was a thinly veiled ploy but you’re so good at ploys and you’re such a piece of work and you’re so funny and I wouldn’t know what Ponds cold cream actually does if it wasn’t for you. Fuck.”
“Granny’s a soap and water girl.” There’s a fluttering in your chest and a thickening in your throat. You swallow big, and you think you might actually start– “This doesn’t mean I’m gonna try fencing, Ron.”
“But it’s fucking cool, even if we do it with sticks.”
You take her in, baseball cap shoved over her coiled hair, darned-all-to-hell sweater sagging out under her overalls and you really feel like something is about to bust out of your chest. Your honest-to-god friend, Ronnie Ecker. 
“Miss Ecker, last time I checked, that’s not your assigned seat.” God, Kaminsky’s such a relentless dickwad.
“I’m having a conversation,” Ronnie says, with the kind of as-yet-unheard volume from her that makes the rest of the class go ooooh!
Jesus fucking Christ, have you turned Ronnie Ecker into a bad girl?
“I don’t give a shit!” rumpled Kaminsky says, slapping that dusty chalkboard duster full of dust, “Have it in detention.”
“Hey! That’s–”
But if you can do one thing for Ronnie. “No can doozy, Mr K, Miss Ecker has a prior commitment.” 
“Oh, Jesus Christ, not you again,” he mumbles not-quite-under his breath. “And what is that? Lacy?”
Before you can even say the words peer tutoring, none other than Eddie Munson is barrelling through the door. He stops comically short at the top of the classroom, gesturing to Ronnie in his seat like what the fuck? 
“Lacy!” he eventually says, and he’s breathless and flustered and just like you imagined him in–
“Munson, what in the name of the goddamn Father Almighty–”
“Weekly Streak–” and guy is just snapping his fingers, blinking wildly at you, “–thing!”
You stare on in a state of confusion until you spy Nancy Wheeler right in your eyeline, right through the open classroom door. Her little face streaked with tears, and god, she looks like shit, and she’s beckoning to you with a flutter and a fury. 
“No, of course!” a little murmuring, uh, shit, and you hurry to the top of the classroom, slamming the homework that Kaminsky’s obviously going to ask for on his desk with a rattle. 
“Kaminsk, my man, the future of print media is forever in your debt!” Eddie calls, ushering you out the door and into the echoey hallway. 
“What is going on?”
Both Eddie and Nancy shuffle you down the hallway, avoiding the monitors (rat finks!), dipping under the east stairwell. A great stairwell. So much illicit shit has happened in this stairwell and you have an itemized list of it all, somewhere in your brain. The kind of person people tell things to.
Nancy’s just full tilt gulping like a fish out of water, and Eddie’s all, “Wait, shit, are you gonna barf again?” and you’re all, “Answers, please, tout suite!”
“I’m late.” Nancy’s voice doesn’t even tremble. She’s that scared.
“Fuck.”
“Very?”
“Extremely.”
“You’re sure?” you press, and suddenly you’re the kind of person that grabs Nancy Wheeler’s shoulders. 
Her lip trembles. “I mean, I haven’t–” 
“Well, we gotta. Right now.” And it occurs to you that Eddie is just standing there, a polite enough distance away that he’s involved but kind of not involved, but respecting the space that you two need. How does he know how to do that? How does he always know the right… “Eddie.” 
He snaps to attention, mouth all serious and eyes all eager. You want to kiss him again, but this shit is not about you. 
“We need a ride to the drugstore.” 
The three of you pile into Eddie’s van, him insisting on doing the honors of opening the passenger door for you again, and Nancy quietly requesting that you share the passenger seat with her. You two are squished together, her spindly thighs overlapping yours. Denim versus dark suede. There is a very tense silence in place the entire van ride there, Nancy digging her nails into her palm and Eddie nervously thrumming against the steering wheel. The tape deck plays resumes mid-play– Metallica’s Ride the Lightning. 
For your part, you experience a harsh zoom-out moment– Nancy, who you’ve learned is almost as strong-headed as you, just on a better moral track (lawful good versus chaotic neutral, you think Eddie once framed it), is stranded. She’s the eldest sibling to that little shitstain Michael and Holly, who’s a baby so to you has no discernible personality, and her mother is kind of an airhead and her father… you don’t know shit about, but it’s Hawkins, so dads. The responsibility of everything seems to fall on her all the time, and you can only be so resourceful as a teenage girl in a town like this. Especially when the other teenage girls seem to, at best, keep you at arm’s length, or at worst, ostracize you. 
And Nancy had lost Barbara Holland. Who, when she mentions her, is talked about with such a glow that’s followed by such a wave of sadness that it nearly takes you under too.
She misses her so much. She misses her best friend so much. 
Barb should be the one dealing with this. Not you. Which sounds like you’re shirking responsibility. But really, it’s because you don’t know if you fully deserve the privilege of helping Nancy. 
Truth is, Nancy would probably be okay, handling this on her own. Sure, it’d be another inch of depth added to the chasm of loneliness building in that poor girl’s psyche, but she’d do it, because she’s Nancy and she handles things.
Just like you’re Lacy and you handle things. 
But however Eddie Munson ended up as part of this situation… he brought her to you. Because he knew you’d know what to do. So she wouldn’t have to do it alone. 
Because Eddie doesn’t want people to do things alone. 
You only really have that impulse if you know how terrible it feels. 
And if you don’t see kindness as a weakness.
Which Nancy doesn’t. And Eddie doesn’t. And you… don’t want to, anymore.
You reach and peel Nancy’s fingernails from the grooves they’re digging into her flesh. You don’t even look at the half-moon marks they’ve made. You just glue her palm to your palm and web your fingers. And over the frizz of Nancy’s perm–the nice kind, salon kind, the kind that doesn’t stink of egg–you look at Eddie, just as he glances at you.
He smiles, small and unsure and wavering. You bite your lips between your teeth and try the same. 
“Shit, I don’t think I can go in here.” 
The van has skidded into an inconspicuous (but not entirely, because have you seen that fucking vehicle) place near the drugstore.
“Why?”
“People– the pharmacist knows my mom and everything,” Nancy shudders, “There’s no way that people won’t have something to– fucking say.”
Eddie’s eyes widen and you give him a look like, welcome to the Nancy Wheeler Actually Swears Club. Care for a canape?
And y’know, you could argue so what. So what if people have something to say. You’re young, mistakes happen, the world keeps turning. But one skip in a perfect twelve-inch record of reputation like Nancy’s can make her life a living hell. You know that. 
Shit, she knows that– you weren’t not aware of that stroke of creative genius vandalism that went up on the Hawk marquee that one time.  
And it would shatter Nancy’s mom’s heart. And while you don’t have the same time of day for her, Nancy really loves her mom. 
Once you’ve ruined your reputation, you can live quite freely. 
That moveable feast motherfucker was onto something. 
Click, and Eddie’s glovebox pops open in a clatter of tapes and a one-hitter and other ephemera. You reach in, retrieving sunglasses you’d left in here a little bit ago. 
“So let’s give ‘em something to talk about,” you say, sliding on the shades. 
Nancy clutches your arm, eyes wide and searching. “Lacy.”
You shrug, like it’s nothing. Except nerves have started nibbling at you. “Spot me a ten. What am I, a goddamn Rockefeller?”
“Not anymore,” Eddie Munson grins at you. Sun breaking through the bleak midwinter. The nerves cease their nibbling. 
The tension doesn’t exactly ease when you make a beeline for the drugstore (particularly because you’ve just accepted a goddamn miniature hero’s quest and he’s a little… well, he’s not not watching your ass as you walk away, let’s put it that way). 
Eddie and Nancy Wheeler are still absolutely enormous universes apart. Not even the same species. He doesn’t mind keeping it that way. This right here is just, like… the right thing to do. 
He moves to turn the radio down, figuring that the thrum of Fade to Black might be a little much for her right now. “Sorry. Didn’t mean for–”
“No, it’s okay.” Wheeler smiles that flat, priss smile reserved for the barest of polite gestures. 
Eddie nods, propping his elbow against the window, cupping his face in his hand. He keeps kind of sneaking sidelong glances toward Wheeler, because– well, had you told her anything? About… Seven Minutes in Heaven? Does she even remember that, from her birthday party all that time ago? He knew that you two weren’t exactly tight, but were well on your way to getting tight, but not as tight as you are with Ronnie and certainly not as tight as you are–or were–with him and Jesus Christ almighty, he’s got to find a synonym for the word tight.
“You… play Dungeons and Dragons, right?” Wheeler asks all of a sudden.
Eddie glances down– he is in fact wearing his Hellfire shirt. She’s a sharp one, that Nancy.
“I dabble,” he says, a derisive little chuckle that’s not all-the-way mean spirited.
Wheeler bobs her head. “My brother, Mike,” she says, and he sees now that it’s an effort to keep her nerves steady, “he loves it. Like, he’s totally obsessed. Him, and his friends, they’ve got their own little party going. Majorly long campaigns, very involved.” 
“Campaigns, parties. Using terminology like that, I’d say you’re something of a dabbler, Wheeler.”
Nancy chuckles. “I– may have dressed up as an elf for one. Or two. When I was way, way younger, though.”
“Well, your brother– Mike?” Eddie checks and Nancy nods, “Once he gets to high school, why dontcha tell him to look up Hellfire. Could be the best-worst decision he’ll make for the next four years of his life.”
“Right, because you’ll be passing the torch,” she says, grinning.
“And possibly to a Wheeler. Oh my stars and garters,” Eddie gasps, clutching his chest in mock-shock. 
Wheeler laughs and, okay, maybe she’s not so bad.
“Shoot, we have movement.” And out you come, holding the Advance pregnancy test over your head, gleaming and victorious– but Eddie and Nancy flap their hands, willing you to put that fucking thing away! We’re being subtle!
Climbing back in the van, you announce, “Alright, so the good news– no doctoral interference, obviously. The wonders of modern medicine, everybody give thanks to Johnson and Johnson, et cetera. The bad news– who knows of somewhere we can steal–” you glance back at the box, “--thirty glorious uninterrupted minutes of time?”
“Lacy, I can just–” Nancy starts, but you stop her short with a tap to the head. 
“And have you sitting in class all day with your guts churning because you don’t know what’s up or down that spout? I think the fuck not. We’re doing this now.” This is out of the goodness of your heart, you swear it is. 
But there might be a fraction, just a generous sliver, that still loves the drama. 
Like Steve Harrington, it’s not an immediate shed of the ego. It’s a slough. 
“Well, my place is a no-go,” Nancy tells you, shrugging into herself. “My mom will definitely be home.”
“Ditto,” and your mother is the only person you know that loves gossip more than you do. Besides Eddie, of course. 
After a beat or two of wondering silence, Eddie raises a hand. “I may… have someplace… we can go.”
How many cherry bombs does it take to make a boy’s bathroom look like the bombing of Dresden?
“So fuuun fact, turned out that some nerd swiped a hunk of sodium from the Chemistry lab and just blew this mother to shit,” Eddie brightly informs you and Nancy as the two of you pour over the instructions for the pregnancy test kit. 
“While everyone was distracted by Heather Holloway’s implants, you mean?” you murmur, scanning over the small-sheet size booklet.
“Streets are saying she was an accomplice.”
Holy fuck, these instructions were involved. Nancy stands clutching the little rectangular tray that her pee is supposed to go in, nailing Eddie with a look beyond normal categorical nerves. “You’re sure no one’s gonna come in here?” 
He shakes his head. There might as well be police tape all over the door of this bathroom, that’s how off limits it is. “It’s cold, it’s broken, it smells gross. Maybe some people are using this place to huff paint, but I can guarantee, Wheeler–” and he bends a little to meet her earnest eyes, “--I will bark like a fucking rabid dog to clear ‘em away if I need to.” 
Nancy nods shortly. Jerk, jerk. She disappears into the least dilapidated stall with her pee rectangle. 
“God, she is so scared,” Eddie murmurs to you, crossing his arms. 
You’re still studying the instructions. This shit has droppers and test tubes and color changing strips, oh my. “Pissing shouldn’t be a problem, then.”
Wrong.
“Guys.”
“Yes?” “Yeah, Wheeler?”
“I’m a little, ahem–” Bladder shy. Perfect. Awesome. Not that you guys aren’t going to be shacked up here for thirty minutes anyway, but that’s only after Nancy Wheeler goes number one and you, like, mix up the pregnancy oracle potion. 
Shit. “We’ve gotta do something to like, make her chill out–” Eddie half-mouths at you. 
“Yeah, but she’s so high strung, that’s like–” a spark hits you. “Wait, have you got anything on you?”
“Fresh out. Waiting on a shipment from Lipton landing.” 
You smack him, not even thinking, and he winces. “And all that shit you were smoking the other day, that was–” “That was market research, babe, and I told you that–”
Nancy clears her throat from inside the stall. “Please, don’t quit bickering on my account. I’m only trying to figure out whether or not I need to start rehearsing lullabies.” 
Damn Nancy, Eddie mouths and you almost laugh. Wait.
“Nance, what’s your favorite song?” 
“Huh?”
You shake your hands. “Like, the song you absolutely cannot go without hearing? The one that makes you feel, just–”
“Ticklish?” Eddie suggests, the paragon of knowledge, the pinnacle of your annoyance. You thump him again. “I need a safe word.”
“Um– uh…”
“C’mon, Wheeler, the song that makes you feel just… awesome and chill and on top of the fucking world, c’mon!” Eddie encourages, kicking detritus around the bathroom floor.
Nancy eventually, eventually mumbles something. 
You pivoting around on your heel by the sink. “Louder, Wheeler, I wasn’t born with sonar.”
“It’s– it’s ‘Just What I Needed’.”
What? Eddie mouths to you, arms binding across his chest. 
“What, like– The Cars, ‘Just What I Needed’?”
A pause from Nancy’s end. “... yeah.”
You know this song. You know that song, right, it’s like duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-DEW-duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-DEW… Shaking yourself out, you brace up like a boxer heading into the ring. 
“Gimme a lead in, Nancy.” Holy fucking shit, you’re really doing this. Nancy hesitates, probably because she can’t believe any of you are really doing this. 
A mumble… “I don’t mind you comin’ here…”
“--and wastin’ all my time!” you jump in, “”cause when you’re standin’ oh so near, I kinda lose my mind…” 
Visions of a plush lilac bedroom, yours, and a mountain of clothes and makeup and drained wine cooler bottles on the floor. You, standing on your bed in your socks and shorts, vamping– Tina and Carol singing hairbrush backup, Nicole on air guitar and Cass smoking out the window. There were flashes of this, you know, when it wasn’t all boiling vitriol and subtle shivving and one-up-manship. When you and those girls that you wished you weren’t near but knew you needed actually felt like friends. 
A memory like that makes you feel empty. 
“It’s not the perfume that you wear,” oh my god, “It’s not the ribbons–in–your–hair,” is he really, “And I don’t mind you comin’ here– and wastin’ all my time!”
Why the fuck does Eddie Munson know this song?! Your jaw drops open, your eyes go wide and your feet stamp against the tile like a goddamn kid. Yes! Yes! Amazing! You’re both so fucking out of tune, like there is absolutely a reason he does not sing a single note in Corroded Coffin but by god alive, you’re giving it everything you got in that fucked up boy’s bathroom. 
Eddie’s so much better at it than you are, pouring every bit of obnoxious showmanship into it that he possibly can– complete with pulling you in for a fully nonsensical dance number. You spin into him, crashing into his chest with a clumsiness you never thought possible, laughing so hysterically that you can barely get the words out. He’s holding the reins, and holding that falsetto so badly you think the mirrors will shatter. 
Your skin is buzzing, your heart is hammering and Eddie is pressed against your back and you are both scream-singing to the door of Nancy’s cubicle– “I guess you’re just what I needed! Just what I needed! I needed someone to feed– I guess you’re just what I needed! Just what I needed I needed someone to–”
“Pee! Pee, you guys, I’m peeing!” Nancy’s voice, bright and high from actually laughing, rings from the busted toilet. 
You and Eddie erupt into a triumphant yell, him shaking you like a rag doll against him. The laughter peels away and then it’s just kind of him, looking at you from over your shoulder. His arms wrapped tight around your waist. His lips, a little cracked. Breath a little labored. Lashes still so long. You nearly–
The door flings open and he jumps away from you first. Nancy heads toward the sink and you resume the position, helping her figure out the Chemistry play set that holds the answer to how the rest of her life pans out. Thirty whole minutes, they’ve got to wait. 
Nancy notes the time on her watch. 
She even suggests that you guys can go at one point, but Eddie reminds her that a) he’s keeping an eye out for paint huffers and b) “... y’know, maybe it’s not so great to…” “Do this on your own,” you finish for him. Nancy nods, silent and grateful and so fucking nervous. 
At about the seventeen minute mark, when you and Eddie have smoked four cigarettes each and Nancy has tried a puff of one (“Nope,” she hacks, “still totally vile…”), Eddie tosses this stink bomb between you two. Nancy has excused herself to stand with her head against the cubicle door. Something about calming her nerves. Coming up with a plan. Something to tell Steve, no doubt. 
So it’s just you and Eddie, you sitting on the edge of the sink and Eddie rhythmically kicking the wall. 
“You ever wanna be a mom?”
“Jesus, what a time to land that one on me.” You almost make a joke like you haven’t even stuck it in me yet, but that’s in bad taste. And implies a yet. 
Eddie smiles over his shoulder, fluttering his eyelashes. Stupid. Stupid eyelashes. “Grounds of relevance.”
You pinch your lips between your teeth. “... fine. But, I fully reserve the right to change my answer given the fact that we are eight-shitting-teen years old.”
He points to the cubicle and mutters, “Well, she’s seventeen.”
You, wide-eyed at his dumbassery, mouth I know!
“Okay. Sorry. Go.”
“Fuuuuuck no. No babies pour moi, merci, c’est bon, au revoir!”
Eddie turns to lean against the wall, propping one leg up. God, but he does lean great. 
“Why?”
“Genetic fate.”
“Huh?”
A sigh flutters out of you, shoulders slumping forward. “A certain… how do you say, thread of assholery runs through my family, I don’t know if you’ve noticed.” 
Eddie nods sagely and you kind of want to punch him for it. “Daddy issues. Right.”
“Uh!” A hand flies up in your defense. “Let who among us here without them cast the first stone.”
From the cubicle, Nancy calls, “Not me.”
Surrendering, Eddie grumbles, “Yeah, not me either.”
“Glad we agree.”
There’s another tick and tock of silence, and you get the distinct feeling of something being pried open in the atmosphere. 
“... whatever happened with your dad, anyway?”
Ah. The million dollar question. Whatever happened with your dad, so-called upstanding member of the Hawkins community, poor little poor boy done rich, scaling his way up the ladder of property management in this delightful little Midwestern enclave?
“Not a big fan of the news, are we, Munson?”
He seems to grimace at you tugging on his surname. “Print’s too small.”
“Taking offense to that,” Nancy chimes. 
“It was the big ‘E’,” you say, kind of not into bantering about it. 
“‘E’... ‘E’... ‘E’...” Eddie kicks the wall on each utterance. Possibly forgetting that he could also be the big ‘E’, if he wanted. You wonder if, just in terms of size…
“Embezzlement, Eddie,” you cut that thought off cold. 
His eyes widen, eyebrows shooting under his shaggy bangs. “Shooooot.”
“Score.”
“What all did he, like… embezzle?”
The raising of the hackles is not entirely intentional. “Y’know who’d be able to answer that question, Eddie?”
But he sees it. He calms it. In unison, you both shrug, “Al Munson.”
Boom! Cubicle door flies open again. You’re starting to think that Nancy might just love making an entrance. Lot of flourishing happening here. Not entirely unlike Eddie in that way. 
“It’s time.” 
Each and every one of you beeline to where the test is set up on one of the sinks. Nancy gingerly plucks the offending strip from the test tube and Eddie, a man with money on his mind, asks another million dollar question. “So how do you know…”
You grab the instruction leaflet that you’d been tearing corners off of, making it look nearly moth-bitten. “Wait, it’s white, right?”
“It’s white,” Nancy whispers.
“It’s not, like… off blue, or…”
“No, that is white,” she’s trembling. “Is white– is that good, or– I can’t remember.”
“Nancy Wheeler…” you breathe, peeking over the paper, “Congratulations. You are nobody’s mother!” 
She emits a shriek like nothing you’ve ever heard and barrels straight into you, near knocking you off your feet with a strength you didn’t know this little waif was capable of possessing. Her arms wrap boa constrictor tight around you, her words bubbling over like a shook up can of pop. “Jesus Christ, I’m so relieved, I just– I–!”
“You’re relieved?!” Eddie yells, ringed hands tearing down his face, “I’m way too young to be an uncle! Fuck! Thank god!”
Nancy chokes out a laugh through her tears, tears of relief, thank god and– and you don’t know if it’s selfish and you don’t know if it’s possible but you hope… you hope that’s helped close the chasm. Just a little bit. That she didn’t have to do this all alone in a shithouse bathroom that smells like sulfur and piss. 
Breaking away from you (damn, you wish you knew how to hug), Nancy straightens herself up. Not that she needs to. She’s a pretty crier, that bitch. 
“Just one more thing, you guys.” 
“Anything,” you say before you even know you’ve said it. 
“This is… between us, okay?” her eyes dart from you to Eddie, and you both take a step closer to her. Ceremoniously, Nancy holds out her two pinkie fingers. You link. Eddie links. His finger looks comically large compared to hers– and yours, when he reaches and hooks it around your unsuspecting baby finger. 
“No one can know. No one needs to know.” There’s that headstrong Wheeler reserve you’d been missing. 
“Cross my heart,” you proclaim.
“Hope to d– well, I don’t hope to die, that’s a little dramatic–”
“Eddie!” you both bark, varying degrees of amusement. Yours is on the lower end. “Swear on something real,” you push. 
He hesitates a moment, then gives Nancy a look. “Alright. Swear on Hellfire.” 
“Swear on Hellfire,” Nancy grins all tight, and kisses her right hand, hooked into Eddie’s finger. “Lacy?”
“Swear on Hellfire…” You mumble, rolling your eyes and kissing your Nancy’d hand. You need to swallow, first, before you tug your hand that’s hooked into Eddie’s toward your mouth. 
And he does the worst thing. He leans down to meet your gaze, suckering you right in as his lips pout. They’re hungry. You’ve met those lips. “Swea-aar,” he sing-songs. 
“--on Hellfire, okay,” you scoff, half-laughing into the little kiss. 
“Ha!” Eddie barks, so fucking loud that it jumps off the walls. “Trick! You just made a deal with the devil, ladies, so I hope you enjoy eternal damnation at the hands of yours truly!”
Dumb as he is, Eddie might be right. If the way you’re looking at him is anything to go by.
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author's notes: MERRY CHRISTMAS MOTHERFUCKERS. WE GOT IT WE DID IT WE MADE THEM KISS WE MADE THEM REALIZE SOMETHINGS NOT ALL THE THINGS SURELY BUT IT'S. IT'S SOMETHING. IT'S A START! on to the fun bits, like the jokes in the christmas crackers - absolutely obsessed with the mental image of eddie munson's bangs grown too long and he looking like this - cherry bombs down the john is a reference to the classic prank but mostly to american graffiti my beloved. later in the chapter, eddie says that some kid just threw some sodium down there which is something i read about on this reddit thread when researching cherry bombs. domestic terrorism at hawkins high! - p.t. barnum is that mfer that the greatest showman is based on. horrible man! not a fan! - heather holloway's jayne mansfield titties got me thinking about the jayne mansfield-sophia loren photo which has its own wikipedia page??? anyway, lacy coded! - black christmas is a stunning christmas horror film from 1974, which is loosely in part based on a bunch of murders that happened in the westmount neighborhood in montreal, quebec. fun fact, i just moved back from mtl after living there for a year. anyway black christmas kicks ASS - lipton landing is 100% a juno reference. big up my king elliot page - the thin man is one in a series of fantastic lil films from the 1930s all about nick and nora charles, a married couple that get drunk and SOLVE CRIMES. i'm not doing it justice by describing it that way but myrna loy and william powell are the royals of married banter and i model everything i write after their rhythm, more or less. - you're trying to tell me eddie munson didn't do whippets as a kid fucking wise up - one of my personal precious favourite recurring jokes in this series is 'who died and made you my x' and baby. i love a recurring joke - ronnie saying "oh she'll kill ya. then i'll go to work on ya," is a special reference because a) it's from my favourite film of all time, ocean's eleven and b) ayo edebiri, who i've fancast as ronnie ecker, has an ocean's eleven tattoo. we are sisters and also wives! - meep meep! - all i could think about when writing about how guilty lacy was - another metallica needle drop!!!! - pregnancy tests in the 80s really were that insane and involved! there's a great scene in glow (rest in fucking PEACE! gone but never forgotten) of alison brie's character using one, and here's more of the history - maybe the best needle drop of this whole series imo - finally peeped into those daddy issues. look forward to more of that and with that my hellcats, i wish you the merriest of holiday seasons wherever you find yourself and whatever you're doing. i will be back after the christmas break because i have to fully wreck my bank account and see every single person i have ever known and drink every espresso martini on dry land. sorry if there's typos in this, i have been labouring over it for... ever. reblogs, comments, likes and asks are always appreciated and i love you so much it's bordering on criminal! thank you!!!!
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eddies-puppet · 1 month
Text
You Gave Me Our World
(Eddie Munson x Reader)
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Summary: Just a little Valentines blurb to try and get myself writing again 💜
Word count: 1.2k
Warnings: Fluff with a decent serving of angst. No REAL smut but allusions to it. Mentions of Eddie’s mom, Eddie being insecure.
Notes: Sorry if this sucks, just trying to get rid of my writers block!
———————————————————
Heaven. That’s where I am right now.
Wrapped in my boyfriend’s arms, bodies tangled between the bedsheets as the rain pattered lightly on the roof of the trailer where Eddie and I live together. My head lay on his chest, his heart beating hard against my ear as he came back down to earth after the throes of ecstacy we’d both been in a few moments ago. The arm that wasn’t around me was bent up beneath his head.
“You still with me baby?” Eddie asked softly, his fingertips dragging lightly against the soft skin of my back.
“Mmm, still here,” I breathed, my voice barely more than a whisper as I trailed my nails gently across his tummy, smiling as I felt his muscles react involuntarily. It was his most ticklish spot.
Sighing deeply, I pressed a soft kiss to his tattooed chest. “Can we stay here forever?”
“That sounds really good,” he chuckled.
I closed my eyes, the sound of his heart beating steadily soothing me, sleep trying (unsuccessfully) to overwhelm me.
Life had gotten real busy lately, meaning that I valued these moments so much more. The moments of quiet, when it’s just the two if us, the noise of the outside world just fading away.
Just us. Me and him. All I needed in life.
When Eddie and I had first got together, everyone told me to run. That trouble followed him, that he wasn’t the ‘type of boy’ I should be with.
But I knew the other side of Eddie Munson. Kind, goofy, made me laugh until I cried. That was my Eddie.
His hand had worked its way up my back, now gently running his fingers through my hair. I opened my eyes and looked up at him. I’m sure there were probably hearts in my eyes if you looked hard enough!
He was miles away though, deep in thought.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked him. His eyes dropped to mine, the sadness in his eyes evident despite the darkness of the room. “Eds, what’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing baby, I’m good,” he smiled unconvincingly.
“Don’t try and bullshit me Munson, I know you better than that.” He sighed heavily, his eyes going back to the ceiling.
“I don’t know, I just…” he hesitated. “You deserve better.”
“Better than what?” I asked him, my voice unable to hide the concern.
“This,” he said frustratedly, the hand that had been behind his head now gesturing wildly around the room. “It’s Valentine’s Day for fuck sake! You should be at that new expensive hotel in the city, or Enzos at the very least. Instead you’re eating takeout pizza under two blankets ‘cos we can’t afford extra on the utilities!”
“Hey, the sex warmed me up at least,” I giggled, regretting it instantly when his sad eyes met mine once again. “I’m sorry, I’m kidding,” I whispered, my hand moving to his face. “Eddie, I don’t give a shit about expensive dinners, or how many blankets we have to use,” I promised him, his breath shaking as he exhaled, my thumb gently stroked his cheek.
“Baby, this isn’t the life you were born in to. You should be living in a big house, with a white picket fence and a swing on the porch.”
“You’re right, it’s not the life I was born in to. But it’s the life I chose,” I assured him. “Eds, I know you sometimes find it hard to believe, but I love you. The rest of it doesn’t matter. It’s all just background noise.”
I propped myself up on my elbow, looking down at him, his dark eyes sparkling, his dark curls fanning out across the pillow. “Look at you,” I whispered. “Beautiful.”
In spite of himself, he smiled back at me.
I leant down, my fingers burying themselves in his hair as our lips met. I kissed him gently, his breath tickling my cheek as he slowly exhaled through his nose.
“I love you. So much,” I told him again, resting my forehead against his.
“I love you too,” he whispered. “I just wish I could give you the world.”
“You’ve given me our world, that’s all I need,” I smiled before laying back down.
As I snuggled back in to his chest, I reached for his hand, which was laying on his stomach. As my fingers traced the veins on his hand, the cold metal of his ring caught me off guard.
You would think with them being worn all the time they would warm up. Perhaps it was just the stark contrast from his hot skin.
Eddie Munson was always warm, even in the middle of a snowstorm. He was great to be around in the winter, stifling in the heat of the Indiana summer.
My fingers played absentmindedly with the cold metal, the large black stone smooth to touch as I lost myself in his warmth, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the gentleness of his other hand soothing up and down my back.
He rolled over to face me, his arms encircling me, pulling me flush against him.
“There is one thing that I can give you,” he said softly. “That I want to give you.”
I could feel his hands fidgeting behind my back, not unusual for Eddie, but when he bought his hand between us and opened his hand, he held his ring. The same one I had been playing with a few moments ago. The one that had belonged to his mother before she died.
I shook my head as he held it out to me.
“I can’t take that,” I whispered.
“I want you to have it,” he said insistently.
I hesitated, freezing in place, my head empty. I obviously paused for too long.
“She’d have loved you, you know,” he smiled, his eyes glistening suddenly with unshed tears.
“Baby, I cannot take this. It means too much to you.”
“So do you,” he smiled. “Look, are you planning on running out on me?” He beamed, the deep dimples appearing on his cheeks making you smile again.
“No, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me,” I grinned, biting at the inside of my cheek.
“Then you’re not taking it. Look at it as a loaner until Corroded Coffin hit the big time and I can afford to replace it with a diamond the size of Hawkins,” he laughed as he took my hand and gently slid the ring on to my finger.
“See?” He grinned as he looked at my hand. “Fits you better than me anyway.” He lifted my hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss where his ring now sat.
“I guess you’re right, it is a perfect fit.”
“I have something else that fits you perfectly,” he grinned cheekily, rolling his hips against me.
“Really?” I laughed. “Already?” He nodded eagerly, raising his eyebrows suggestively before burying his face in my neck.
“Not for fun obviously, I’m just getting cold,” he said between kisses, his lips dragging against my skin. “Unless you want me to just go get an extra blanket?” He added quietly, just before his teeth nipped at the spot below my ear that he knew always drove me crazy.
“Don’t you fucking dare go anywhere,” I giggled, throwing my leg over his hip and pulling him on top of me. No way was I letting him go tonight.
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cheeekycharchar · 10 months
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A thought just hit me from the glorious GO2 trailer.. The now infamous quote overlaid on the clip of our favorite Ineffable Husbands wining and dining in their 1940's getups in the book shop…
"You know what it's like when you don't know anything at all, and yet you're totally certain that everything would be better if you were just near one particular person." [insert the cutest lil giddy flirty angel clinking wine glasses with his demon pal clip]
…I THINK SOMEONE ACTUALLY MADE A LEGIT MOVE THAT NIGHT AND IT HELD MAJOR REPERCUSSIONS FOR YEARS TO COME.
Whether it was Aziraphale or Crowley.. I think this scene.. this moment of them together.. is going to be extremely pivotal to their entire relationship for S2 and it will reverberate throughout their history together.
LET ME TRY TO EXPLAIN MY MADNESS AS COHERENTLY AS I CAN. (apologizes in advance.. lol)
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It's obvious the new wine dinner date at the bookshop clip is post Blitz bombing scene from season 1 and Aziraphale finally realizing his feelings for Crowley (or finally realizing Crowley truly loves him back). But I think he still holds himself back- isn't sure of himself.
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These feelings are fresh and bubbling to the top from the moment their hands touched when Crowley handed over the bag of books. And as much as he wants to lean all the way into these new giddy feelings of flirtatious love that is written all over his face, all that's in the back of his mind is.. What would heaven think? What would heaven do if they found out? Not only to him, but to Crowley?
So, he lets Crowley give him a lift back to the bookshop after the church bombing scene. He offers him some wine as a thank you for the rescue earlier that night.
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And yet for Crowley, this is just yet another moment of him doing something for the Angel he cares most about- the same ol' song and dance from thousands of years. He's his normal self- holding back his feelings for Aziraphale's sake and going with the flow. But as the night progresses.. he notices something different in the air.
Aziraphale, only freshly realizing his feelings (or Crowley's feelings for him), and he starts to internally freak out because of the danger it would put them both in if they truly accepted each other's true feelings for one another. But he also feels an unbounding unbridled burst of love growing stronger as the night goes on.
AND I THINK IT'S AT THIS TIME THAT ONE OF THEM.. POSSIBLY CROWLEY.. TRIED TO MAKE A MOVE ON THE OTHER ONE DURING THIS NEW SCENE.
Ya know.. like in fanfic but FOR REALS THIS TIME.
And I'm not talking a lean in for a smooch or anything we've all read in those glorious imaginative fanfic stories over the years or whatever.. but maybe something as simple as a wandering hand across the table.. testing the waters.. a subtle inquiry looking for an invitation to take it further.. An angel.. and a demon.. finding true love and connection with one another that is beyond understanding.
And in classic defensive Aziraphale style, he pushes Crowley away before anything can go further. Hurt.. angst.. ya know. The PAIN OF REJECTION. And then they don't see each other again until Aziraphale shows up in the Bentley in the 60's to give Crowley the holy water thermos.
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Remember that awkward guilty as hell look he was giving him in the car in that scene? And Crowley's complete and utter shock that Aziraphale actually gave him something so precious and dangerous for his sake after long denying him (in more ways than one)?
Crowley was probably after the holy water more than ever since after that disastrous and heartbreaking incident of being shot down in the bookshop after the Blitz.
But he won't give up on Aziraphale. All he can think is just how much more dangerous their relationship truly could become if he were ever successful in the future. He needed something to protect his Angel and himself if their budding relationship were to ever be found out by either side.
And this is where Aziraphale's "You go too fast for me, Crowley" line comes into play. Thousands of years of Crowley's past acts finally came into focus the night his books were saved and Aziraphale realizes that as much as he has loved Crowley, that he's been loved back just as long.
But if Crowley made a move on Aziraphale during this new wine scene in the bookshop, Aziraphale just wasn't ready to accept this newly budding romance (in his eyes at least) and the dangers that would come with it so soon after only just realizing everything that night. It was all too fast for him.
But Crowley didn't have as much inhibitions to hold back, so he finally tried to move the relationship further but Aziraphale was too scared and needed more time to gain the courage to rebel against everything he knows- which brought us to season one's team-up against both sides and them finally joining together on their own side together. ♥
But something about the choices made during that special moment together in the dark and quiet bookshop during WWII.. an angel and a demon truly found love in one another and one or both of them holding back for their own reasons at the time.. shifted something in the grand ineffable plan.. and maybe a song that is slowly popping up in records and juke boxes across England is hinting at something gettin' closer ;) ..I don't know.. I just sense that scene will be more important than we all can imagine for S2's plot in some important way, lol.
..Sorry for my random ramble! I hope that made any semblance of sense. I'm sure someone else has already probably thought up this theory but it's legit all I've been thinking about all day and have no real life friends to geek out about it with, lol. I honestly never make posts like this on here.. I'm just a quiet lurker geek with high hopes ^-^'
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luvfae · 2 years
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NUMBER EIGHT
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summary: for your final year of high school you devise a list full of goals, number 8 being to fuck your childhood crush.
fandom: stranger things
parings: eddie x f reader
warnings: smut, spanking, choking, degrading, hair pulling, swearing
part two
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You wanted this year to be different. It was your last year of high school and you were tired of living out the same boring routine day in, day out. So you made a list, a list of things you wanted to do before you graduated and surprisingly enough a week until you graduated school you had completed everything from getting A’s in every class to finally becoming cheer captain, except there was one thing you were holding off on.
‘Number 8: Fuck my childhood crush, Eddie Munson.’
You stared down at the paper for a good five minutes, as you did everyday, contemplating whether today was gunna be the day.
Before high school you were nobody special, just another girl with hardly any friends. You found yourself stuck with Eddie Munson, he would tease you but at the end of the day he was your best friend, and you had a huge crush on him for years. Until high school started and surprisingly people took a liking to you and slowly you climbed the social ladder, becoming extremely popular.
Since then you and Eddie had obviously drifted, the pair of you didn’t even recognise each other anymore. But you just had to fuck him, because even though you’d never say it out loud, deep down even after all these years, you had carried your crush with you for the entirety of high school.
You sighed, glancing around as the school bell rang, signalising that you could now go home. As students began to crowd the corridor you stuffed your list into your bag, walking out of the school. You saw Eddie getting into his van and pursed your lips. Did you really want to go off to college living with the regret of not even trying?
-
Later that night you got ready to go. You had touched up your makeup, fixed you hair and even put of your favourite pair of lingerie. Then you drove to Eddie’s trailer, the place he had lived the entire time you had known him. You saw his van parked out the front and took a deep breath, getting out of your car and walking to his front door.
Your hand shook a little as you knocked on the wood. You didn’t really know why you were so nervous about this, you were the head cheerleader for heavens sake. Most boys were dying to fuck you.
The door swung open and you nearly jumped out of your skin once you came face to face with Eddie. He looked confused, squinting his eyes at you.
“Y/N?” He asked. You looked up at him, your palms starting to sweat. You hadn’t spoken to him in years. “Are you okay? Do you wanna come inside?” He asked, stepping aside.
You walked inside, everything looked the same as it did before. You turned around to face him again as he closed the front door. Eddie looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to explain yourself, but you remained silent, too afraid to talk.
“Oh, let me guess, you want weed?” He asked.
You cleared your throat. “No… I don’t,” you replied, hugging yourself.
Eddie chuckled. “Yeah, I forgot, your a role model student,” he said. “If you don’t want drugs, what do you want?” He asked.
You sighed, stepping closer to him. “Back in middle school we were friends, do you remember?” you began.
“How could I forget?” He replied. “We were basically attached by the hip.”
“Yeah… well, anyway, I had the biggest crush on you. I mean like it was obsessive,” you said. Eddie furrowed his eyebrows. “To cut a long story short I made a list of goals I wanted to achieve before graduation and just… read number 8,” you said, pulling the list from your jacket pocket and handing it to him.
“Fuck my childhood crush, Eddie Munson,” he read aloud. You screwed up your face, groaning.
“This was stupid, right? I never should of came here,” you chuckled, stealing the list from his hand. “I’ll just go, you don’t want to fuck me, you hate people like me,” you said, shaking your head. You spun around to leave but Eddie grabbed your wrist, moving you to face him again.
“I don’t hate you, Y/N,” Eddie said. “Even though you joined the dark side I could never hate you. I had a crush on you too in middle school,” he said. Your eyes lit up at his words. “I actually didn’t get over my crush on you up until two years ago,” he sighed. “And still, sometimes I find myself lingering on the thought of you.”
“So do I,” you whispered. Eddie smiled.
“I’ll help you with your 8th goal, one rule, i’m in charge,” he said. You smiled widely, nodding profusely, already feeling yourself getting wet. You moved forward, hands wrapping around his neck as you reached on your tip toes to kiss him.
His hands made their way to your ass as his tongue roamed your mouth. Your cheerleader uniform was hoisted over your waist as he picked you up. Your legs instinctively wrapping around his torso as he carried you to his bedroom, gently throwing you onto the bed.
You tugged at his shirt, begging him with your eyes to take it off and he gladly obliged, dropping the fabric to the ground. But it wasn’t fair that you got to stay dressed, so you sat up, pulling your jacket and your uniform off, leaving you in only your underwear.
Eddie’s eyes roamed your body before he dived down, kissing you from your mouth all the way down to your thighs. You breathed shakily as his fingers hooked around the waistband of your panties, dragging them off of your body and discarding them with the rest of your clothes.
He took his pants and boxers off and you stared down at his length, your eyes widening. “Jesus Christ, you’re huge,” you breathed, eyes glued to his hard dick. Eddie laughed at your statement before hovering over you again, kissing your lips and neck. You groaned. “I thought you said you were in charge,” you said.
Eddie looked up at you. “I did say that, yes,” he replied.
“Then why aren’t you fucking me like a whore already?” You asked. “I’ve waited too long for this to give a shit about foreplay,” you said.
Eddie raised his eyebrows at your words. “If you want me to fuck you like a whore then I can fuck you like a whore,” he said.
“Good,” you replied. He flipped you onto your stomach and you gasped as he forced your ass into the air, your back arched, and slid his cock inside of you without warning.
You moaned loudly, fingers gripping his sheets as he being to thrust his hips into yours. Every thrust was hitting that spot and you couldn’t stop the sinful noises from escaping your lips.
Eddie grabbed a fist full of your hair, forcing your head up. “Is this what you wanted?” He asked, fucking you faster.
“Yes,” you moaned. He let go of your hair, pushing your face into his mattress. “Please make me cum,” you begged.
Eddie smirked. “Who would of thought that i’d have Y/N Y/L/N, begging me to make her cum,” he teased.
“Please, Eddie,” you whispered.
“Please what, sweetheart?” He asked.
“Make me cum,” you repeated.
Eddie chuckled at you, slapping your ass before he continued to fuck you harder and faster than he was before. In fact nobody had ever fucked you this good, it was making your brain turn to mud as you moaned out his name over and over again. Eddie was basking in this moment, the fact that you came to his door and asked him to fuck you, he would never let you live that down.
And while he was busy thinking about that you were busy thinking about giving up all of your hopes and dreams of moving away for college and instead just staying here in Hawkins with Eddie. Tangled up in his sheets, cooking him dinner, getting married, having his babies, being is cute housewife that he could bend over the kitchen sink and fuck like a slut. Maybe it was just the dick talking, but right now it seemed like a good idea.
Before you knew it your orgasm was hitting you like a brick wall, your wet pussy spasmed against him, your whole body trembling as you cried out. Your legs growing weak as he continued to pound himself into you.
“Good girl,” Eddie breathed. “C’mon, i’m sure you have another one in you,” he said. You bit your bottom lip, looking up at him from over your shoulder, innocent eyes staring up at him. He groaned at the sight of you, mascara stained cheeks, smudged lipstick, messy hair. You looked like a mess, but he loved it.
He flipped you onto your back, dick still inside of you. A hand wrapped firmly around your neck, applying just the right amount of pressure. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, slowly fluttering shut.
“Open your eyes, I want you to look at me when you cum,” Eddie breathed, staring down at you. You nodded up at him, trying to keep your eyes open as you felt that familiar knot in your stomach once again.
“Gunna make me cum so hard, Eds,” you whimpered. Eddie moaned at your words and it was like music to your ears. “Want you to cum too, inside of me.”
“Are you sure?” He asked.
You nodded. “Fill me up, Eddie, I wanna feel it dripping out of my pussy,” you said as you felt your second orgasm tearing through you. Your legs shaking profusely again and the feeling of your walls pressing against Eddie’s cock was enough to bring him to the edge.
Eddie came inside of you, riding out both of your highs and pulling away. You could feel his cum oozing out of your pussy as you laid on his bed, breathless. Eddie laid next to you, wrapping an arm over your torso and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.
“So, how was that?” He asked.
You glanced over at him, a fucked out look on your face as you sighed happily. “Better than I could of ever imagined,” you said.
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© luvfae 2022
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boylikeanangel · 9 months
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ok yknow what else. I am so glad they're acknowledging the 180. I haven't really voiced this cuz I was otherwise so excited for this season but I really was on the verge of indignation about them just deciding to make gabriel a goofy sidekick after he was literally the biggest villain of season 1. it really felt like they weren't willing to acknowledge just how much pain he's actually caused aziraphale and crowley and, to be honest, it seemed a little out of the blue that aziraphale would try to help him. but no. they're actually talking about it. it's a central point of conflict for them that crowley rightfully wants nothing to do with this because it's GABRIEL, he tried to kill aziraphale, he's still understandably terrified that heaven will try to hurt him again, and now he wants this guy nowhere near either of them, and cannot understand why aziraphale would have him in his bookship after what he's done. and as for why aziraphale wants to help him, that seems like it's actually going to be explored rather than just accepted for the sake of the plot moving forward. not only have they not forgotten just what gabriel did or tried to do last season, they're placing that lasting fear and apprehension towards him front and centre and are going to have aziraphale and crowley conflict over whether or not he deserves their help. I'm honestly so relieved because I had always been staunchly anti-gabriel and never really enjoyed the fandom's overly jovial attitude towards him, and was genuinely really skeptical when it seemed they were going to make him a sympathetic character in the new season, especially since the trailer played the comedic angle for all it was worth. but it's not just absurdity for absurdity's sake. it's actually something for our main couple to work through. the writing knows this is a difficult shift in dynamic to contend with. and they're directly employing it as an obstacle for aziraphale and crowley. it's really good and it's put a lot of my worries about the overall tone and messaging of this season to rest
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beautifulbows924 · 9 months
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This may simply be me being absolutely unhinged, but stick with me for a moment.
…Okay, so we have Heaven’s Missing Poster for Gabriel [See Image Below].
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…Many have already discovered that the number at the bottom actually works, but I was curious (and feral enough), to research and breakdown all of the numbered sets into their corresponding angel number meanings.
I think that these sets will each point to an overarching theme within this season’s plot.
1 - 838 - 222 - 2770
In their respective order, each set’s meanings are as follows (with commentary).
1 - New Beginnings. The number 1 typically signals a significant change in one’s life. Anything from embarking upon a new romantic relationship—to moving house, or changing professions.
We know (from the trailer/promo) that Crowley is living in his car (since his flat came with the job), so that means—both moving house & changing professions, have already been at least partially checked off the list.
838 - A period of deep inner transformation. The Number 838 encourages an increase in self-confidence, and reminds us that our desires, thoughts, actions, and inactions have an inevitable result. “Naysayers are voices of deceit & falsehood, hell bent on destroying your destiny.”
This one mostly speaks for itself, but the fact it’s a palindrome (meaning it reads as the same sequence of numbers backwards & forwards), makes me think that Mx. “What’s the point of it all?” Crowley, won’t be the only character undergoing an existential crisis this season.
222 - Action. Partnerships. Holding a note of fun & playfulness, the number 2 is a positive sign, especially in romantic endeavors.
The research I did for this set had me screaming into my pillow, so for simplicity sake I’ll just quote this. “Keep your eyes open, and your heart pure and clear and ready to receive love, as it is surely coming. Also, do not close yourself off to those who are already in your life—sometimes the perfect partner could be waiting right underneath our nose without us even realizing it.”
2770 - The number 2770, encourages us to reciprocate the love we receive from others. “Avoid things that could cause the people that love you to feel like you are pushing them away from your life. These people will likely need your help in one way or another, and it’s important to never say you are too busy for them.”
Not to quote Crowley, again. But—“You WHAT?” Neil, please tell me this has nothing to do with episode 3. I AM FRAGILE.
I could be completely off the mark here, but speculation is fun, and I HAVE to know if anyone else is looking into this.
Additional speculation, reblogged: Here.
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pnf-lover98 · 10 months
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Some thoughts on the Good Omens 2 trailer
As many of us may already know, an official trailer for Good Omens season 2 dropped yesterday on Youtube.
I loved loved loved the first season, and the original book it was adapted from, and I spent a fairly long time making fanarts of the show. I’ve been impatiently waiting for this second season to come out ever since it was announced, and yesterday’s trailer only fueled up my hype even further. I would like to take a moment to make some speculations about what we were shown, and about what I would want to see in this new season.
1) May I just say I really like the angel cop girl? She looks like she’s going to be a very nice character!
2) Another thing I loved was seeing Crowly dressed up as an angel, with his white suit, golden tie and the snake tattoo on his cheek turning from back to golden. Demons dressing up as angels is something we didn’t see in the first season (when Michael visited hell she was still dressed in her normal angel clothes, and the same goes the other way around for demons), and I like the fact that they can change their outfit to ‘blend in’ with the other faction.
3) Now, let’s talk about what, at least to me, was the biggest elephant in the room of the trailer: the mystery revolving around Gabriel - who, apparently, has vanished from heaven to go to Earth. That sentence of his, that “You only know that everything would be better if you were by a particular person’s side”... Did he mean it in the sense that he’s in love with someone?! 👀 Well, based on how Aziraphale immediately thinks of him and Crowley dining together, it surely seems so! But who could Gabe ever be in love with? And what has he done to have both Heaven and Hell after him (we see the demons demanding that Azira surrender him, in one clip)? How could have Gabe manage to wrong two sides at once? What if he messed up big time by falling for someone on the wrong side?
Well, my little heart of the Ineffable Bureaucracy fan would surely hope in something of this sort!  And then we have this:
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A little purple-blueish feather, presumably falling from above. Not a white feather, nor a black one. But one of a color we’ve never seen before.
Now, I’m well aware of the fact that Gaiman once said that angels and demons can wear their wings however they want to, not necessarily white or black, but in the actual show (maybe for the sake of keeping things visually simple) Zira has them white like you would expect from an angel and Crowley black like you would expect from a demon. So coming back to this one little purple-ish feather… Does it still belong to an angel, or to a demon?
Or perhaps, it belongs to someone who is neither of the two? An entirely brand new creature, with an entirely new wing color! Now, considering that Good Omens only revolved around church figures (Adam and Eve, angels, demons, Satan…), I have a very hard time believing that this ‘entirely new creature’ will turn out to be a cryptid or a pagan mithical creature (like, say, an harpy or a winged horse). So what can it be?
What if this new creature is both an angel and a demon, being born by parents that belong to different factions?  A.k.a, to tie it to my previous theory, what if Gabe messed up big time by falling in love with the wrong person and their affair resulted in a child? 👀
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dreamersbcll · 9 months
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“Late” -
tw: suicide, suicidal ideation
if this triggers you in anyway, please do not read. thank you.
—————————
Mindy knocked on Tara’s door impatiently, cursing under her breath. The pair were already twenty minutes late to the movie they were supposed to see. That was like two whole trailers that Mindy was missing- and she refused to miss the rest.
“Tara. Open the fucking door. We’re late, get your ass moving!”.
No answer.
Which wasn’t completely strange, Tara had been a bit of a recluse since Sam disappeared a few weeks ago. Mindy had been showing up to the Carpenter house every day to drag Tara out and do something fun. Most times she was able to get the girl to smile.
Mindy still saw that empty, hollow sadness in Tara’s eyes. But there was nothing she could do unless she could move heaven and earth to get Sam back. Movies and walks it was until she could get Tara to consistently smile again.
She knocked again, but no answer. Jiggling the doorknob, she realized it was locked. Sighing, she snaked her hand into her pockets, fishing out the key she had made for Tara’s door. The girl was clever, but no match for Mindy.
As she unlocked it, she quickly realized that something was very wrong. The curtains were closed, and Tara’s room was a mess. Her journals were ripped open, loose pages all over the floor. The bed wasn’t made and clothing was strewn across it. And in the corner of the room was Tara, a knife in her hand, poised over a bare wrist.
“Tara!”
Mindy descended across the floor and fell to her knees, ripping the knife out of Tara’s hand, and throwing it across the floor. It clattered against the ground; the noise mixing with Mindy’s panic and Tara’s wheezy breaths.
She grabbed Tara’s wrist, checking it over. Once satisfied that nothing was wrong, she started yelling.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck Tara! A knife? Suicide? Are you fucking kidding me?” she shouted, not caring if the house shook with her anger. It wouldn’t be the first rageful person to stalk the halls of the Carpenter house. And it probably wouldn’t be the last.
Tara bared her teeth, wheezing as she shouted back. “I can’t do this anymore!”
“What? You can’t do what? Live? Jesus Christ Tara, don’t be fucking stupid. You can do this. Your sister may be gone but that doesn’t mean you have to!” Mindy retorted back incredulously.
“Amber said that if someone left her like that, she would kill herself. So why the fuck does it matter? People who love you don’t leave you like that. It’s clear how Sam feels about it,” Tara hissed, trying to snatch her arm from Mindy’s grip.
Not letting go of Tara’s arm, Mindy gritted her teeth, taking a deep breath. “Okay, but Amber fucking Freeman isn’t the one to decide shit for you. For God's sake Tara, think! Is ending your life before knowing what could happen really what you want to do?”
“You don’t understand! She was my life, my blood, my reason to breathe! I can’t breathe Mindy, I can’t fucking breathe anymore!” the girl gasped, her eyes glassy.
Mindy loosened her grip a bit, frowning. This was uncharted waters. She thought that Tara was being overdramatic, but this- this was different. She loved her brother dearly, but she would cope without him here. This didn’t feel like the relationship she had with her brother. The way Tara wheezed and looked unsteady unnerved her. She wasn’t prepared for this.
But it was going to happen anyway.
Tara yanked her arm from Mindy, continuing with her train of thought. “Every morning I wake up, and for the first five seconds, I forget all of it happened. The fighting, the scars, the screaming, her departure- I forget it all. But then I open my eyes and it’s the same hell every day. Every. Fucking. Day. You don’t know what that’s like, having the person who knows you the best gone. Sam fucking left me, and I’m just supposed to live on and be okay? I can’t do that. I can’t be okay. She is my reason to keep going. Without her I have none,”.
Mindy blinked. “Not even for your friends?” she whispered, suddenly aware of the dire situation that she was facing.
The shorter girl shook her head sadly, letting tears spill down her face. “I love you guys. But I love Sam more.”
With that, Mindy noticed Tara’s free hand unclenched, an empty pill bottle rolling out of it.
“Tara,” she paused, time slowing down around her. She noticed that the loose journal pages were Sam’s old drawings and notes. The clothing across the bed was clothing that Tara had stolen from her big sister. The curtains were drawn and there was a envelope stuck to one of them. “How many did you take?”.
The girl just looked at Mindy miserably, her eyes unfocused. How long have they looked like that? Has Tara been wheezing the whole time? Was Tara always that pale?
“I’m sorry, Min. I am.”
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boliv-jenta · 8 months
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No outbreak Joel Miller x inexperienced f!reader
Dave York x inexperienced f!reader
WC:2.9k
Summary: A shift in dynamics between you and the older men you that in a choke hold leaves you with questions.
Warnings: Smut. Unprotected P in V sex. Rimming. F!receiving oral. Mentions of adultery. Swearing. Dave York.
Summer Schooled
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Masterlist
Come over.
Not a question, an order. When you got there the house smelled of lavender. Joel simply took your hand in his and led you to his bathroom. 
Closing the door behind the two of you, he lay his hands on your shoulders. "I thought you might need a soak. Are you sore?"
The thought of the warm bath sounded like heaven. You were sore. Sore from where he had used you to satisfy his needs. Sore from your muscles clenching in waves as your own needs were met. After you gave a little nod he helped you undress. He kneaded at each piece of new flesh exposed to him. Kissed trailers after each garment as it slid off your skin. When you were naked he got you to bend over with your hands braced on the tub. His hands spread your cheeks wide as he licked his way to your tight hole. It was another new sensation for you. Joel has given you many over the last two days. It was hard to believe it was only two days. You felt so much older. More confident.  A contented sigh came out with the breath you didn't realise you were holding. 
"Was that nice, Darlin'?"
"Yes, Joel."
"Then what do you say?"
"Thank you, Joel."
"See. There's my good girl. Here." He took your hand in his and gripped your waist to help you into the bathtub.
The water felt amazing. It was just the right temperature. The smell was incredibly soothing. "Lavender Epsom salts. Nothing but the best for my girl. You enjoy. There's something I gotta do real quick. Then I had some plans for you."
The shiver down your spine had nothing to do with the cold breeze that Joel leaving the bathroom let in. It was fast becoming painfully obvious that Joel's care came with strings. Although you didn't buy all his rantings about making you less of a whore. He likes the power and the control and acting like you're the dirty slut because it makes him feel superior. Dave on the other hand from what you could tell was just feral. He was an animal caught in a trap trying to gnaw his own foot off. He was stuck in his marriage for the sake of his girls. Yet he fucked around on his own doorstep. Wow. Those online intro to psychology classes were really paying off. 
Joel had been gone a little while when your phone pinged. It was Dave's tone. You had to figure out what he did to your phone. Fishing it out of the pocket of your shorts, you tapped on the icon.
Missing you this morning.
It disappeared, and another notification came through. You tapped it. On the screen was a picture of Dave's cock. Hard, thick and veiny. Beads of precum gathered on the tip. As you stared at it, it disappeared.
Did you get a good enough look? Or do you need more?
Without waiting for an answer he sent a video. He was running a lube covered hand over it. Stroking lightly and swiping his fist over the head. He was clearly baiting you. For his own amusement or to get you in trouble with Joel. 
I know Joel isn't there. He's left that poor, hungry pussy unattended. I could come over and take care of it.
Part of you wanted to say yes. To have Dave then have Joel punish you. What a whore he would be able to call you if he came back to see you on your knees, your mouth stuffed with Dave's cock.
No? I know what else has been neglected? Those pretty tits. I've been so caught up in that tight, wet cunt that I haven't given them enough attention. Fuck they're perfect.
Another photo. This one was of a woman's chest covered in cum. Fuck. No. It was your chest covered in cum.
Joel snapped me a pic. I would have given you more cum than that. See how heavy you get my balls.
Another video of him rolling his balls in his hands. It was his low moans that had you wet. You imagined a softer Dave, touching you with the same gentleness. 
If you're not playing, I guess I better just finish myself off.
The next video made your pussy clench around nothing. Hard. It was Dave giving himself a last few rapid strokes to finish himself off. Cum shot up his toned stomach. It coated his hands. His deep groans were replaced with rapid pants. Laying back in the tub you tried to get yourself together. Your nails bit into your palms to resist the urge to touch yourself. No, you weren't playing Dave's game. Or Joel's. Or both. At this point you weren't sure who was doing what.
When Joel arrived back a few minutes later, you were almost relaxed again. "Sorry. I had to run a part over to a job…you looked flushed. Did you take care of yourself without me?"
Maybe the truth was the best way to go. "Dave sent me dirty videos but I didn't touch myself, I swear." You voice caught with the sincerity held in it.
"Oh. I believe you. You're my good girl. This water's getting cold. Let's get you out." Joel helped you out and dried you off again. He was slow and methodical. He patted you gently. When he got to your inner thigh, he saw how wet you were. "Is all this for Dave?"
Heat burned your cheeks as you realised how wet you were. Joel's hand gripping your thigh reminded you you needed to answer him. Quickly. "Yes. I'm sorry I couldn't help it. He showed me that picture of your cum on my tits. I can't believe I got you that worked up just by sleeping next to you."
A look you couldn't place flashed across Joel's face before his lips turned up in a smirk. "Let me show you."
Taking you to his bed, he had you lay down. Removing his own clothes he got on the bed next to you. His body curled around yours. There was a slight softness covering his hard muscles that you couldn't help melt into. His semi hard cock nudged your ass cheek. 
"Even when you sleep, you are such a little whore that you were rubbing your ass against me. I was already hard just from the thought of you naked in my bed. Then you rubbed this…" His fingers dug into the meat of your ass. "...against me. I almost spilled my load over it. I had to jerk off to sleep. Do you have any idea what that's like? Trying to sleep with a cock this big, hard and throbbing between your legs? Especially with a tight, wet pussy inches away?" Using his grip on your ass he started to move you against him. He was fully hard in seconds. 
"See how you get me? I'm a patient man. I could usually wait until morning. I could deal with an erection without touching it. I've had to often enough with so much temptation around. Seeing you in those little shorts before work. I've had to will away more semis than I can count. I bet I have more self control than you do. Here."
He rolled you onto your back before settling between your legs. His cock slid easily into your wanting hole. "I'm just going to sit inside this pussy. I bet you'll start riding it before I fuck you."
More arousal washed around his cock. "You comfy, Sweetheart? We could be here a while." And you were until Joel drifted off, head buried in your neck. The soothing weight of him along with his steady heartbeat after the relaxing both soon sent you to sleep.
Weirdly enough, it was the heat that roused you first. Or it was the first thing that you became aware of. It was under your skin and rolling over you from above. Next was the pleasure. It was already pooling in your stomach. It lined your inner walls as Joel's cock rubbed against them. His head was still buried in your neck. Hot puffs of breath tickled the hairs at the nape of it. The way he honest to goodness moaned was so sexy.
Joel had lots of sexy qualities. Those board shoulders. Thick arms and thighs. That ruggedly handsome face. Aside from his looks, how he carried himself. There was a quiet confidence about him when he wasn't rushing around trying to sort his life out. When he was in his element his competency was so alluring. That was part of how this whole thing had started. Joel had been laying on his back under the kitchen sink. His legs were bent at the knee and spread, his jeans showcasing the bulge between them. His t-shirt rolled up to give you a peek of the honeyed skin of his abs. His well built biceps strained against his grey t-shirt as he worked. The effort it took to loosen the pipes showed in his grunts. As you watched transfixed, under the guise of helping him, you couldn't help but wonder if you could make him grunt and groan. 
"Give me a hand here?" He'd eventually called. 
Unsure of what he wanted you froze. 
"I don't bite, Darlin'. Get down here and I'll show you what I need."
Dropping down to your knees you crawled into the small space Joel made for you next to him. It was tight leaving you pressed into his side a little. The heat coming off his body was like a furnace. Later Joel commented it was more like hell fire due to the sinful thoughts he was having about you. 
"Here." Joel took you hands in his and guided them to the pipe he wanted you to hold. "Hold tight now. Stay exactly where you are." 
As he rolled himself up from under the sink his head narrowly missed your breasts. You wondered what his full lips would feel like pressed against them or wrapped around your nipples. 
When Joel returned with the part he needed he instructed you to move your hand up out of the way. "I can't reach." Was your reply.
"Well then lean in further. I don't mind you getting closer. I don't mind it at all." The implications were masked with the charm of his southern twang. 
Feeling bold, you pushed yourself closer and higher to reach. Leaving your chest almost in Joel's face. "Good girl." You could feel his words across your cleavage.
His grunts soon replaced it as he worked. The tiny amount of water trickling onto your hands was nothing compared to the trickle of arousal in your panties. 
Joel sat up forcing you to, too. Raking his eyes up your body he commented, "There we go nice and tight."
The blantness of his leering had you hot all over again. If your mom hadn't chosen that exactly second to walk in you don't know what you would have done. Joel later told you he was going to teach you not to shove your tits in a man's face by pawing at that while he fucked you.
"Damn, see, I just can't resist you anymore. I woke up buried in your tight heat, knowing you were still asleep and I could do anything I wanted with you." He shuddered as he worked himself deeper. "Although I think I could pretty much do what I want while you're awake too. Couldn't I, Girlie?" His cock working inside you picked up speed. "You'd let me do all sorts of dirty things to you wouldn't you? Just to have me touch you." His thrusts lost all the precision he'd shown you. It was as if he was too lost in his thoughts to focus. "I saw how you looked at me all those months, like you wanted me, like I was worth having."
"You are worth having Joel." A simple chaste kiss to his lips had him coming with a shudder. The questions on your lips had to be swallowed as Joel's cell phone rang. Glancing over at it on the nightstand he read the I.D. "It's Carol. I better take it." He pulled out leaving your pussy twitching in frustration. 
When Joel was off the phone, he explained that Sarah was sick. He and Carol figured it was part too many sweet snacks at their little getaway and part homesickness. Even though they were only thirty minutes away. Joel agreed to go pick her up a day early anyway. When he said goodbye it wasn't with an all consuming kiss or a teasing line. It was with a warm hug and a promise to call you.
Hearing your phone ring from the bathroom later that night, you assumed it was Joel so didn't rush. You could call him back. When you got back to your room, picking up your phone to do just that you saw a message from Dave.
Come to your guest room window.
Crossing from your room to the guest room you could hear your mom singing as she cooked. The smell of fresh herbs and spices filled the air. For a moment you thought about everything you would miss that you hadn't thought about in your rush to grow up and make your way in the world. The scent of the dried flowers your mom loved to keep little dishes of around tickled your nose as you entered the guest bedroom. The evening breeze rustled the curtains at the window as you approached it. The York's yard was lit up. The first thing that caught your eye was movement in the pool. Looking closer you could see Dave swimming. A second look revealed he was as naked as the day he was born. He did a few more laps on his back then came to sit on the side of the pool to pick up his cellphone. You nearly dropped your cell phone when it rang. 
"Like what you see?" You could hear that handsome smirk in his voice.
"What if my mom had looked out of the window?!" You growled at him in hushed tones.
"Well she's single, right?" He laughed. "You need to loosen up a little. Joel's uprightness has rubbed off on you more than he cock has. A soak in the hot tub would help."
"I can't."
"Why? Did Joel say so?" He took your silence as an answer. "He did! Joel's on some powered trip. His wife cheated on him and left him. His daughter's growing up and doesn't need him as much. You can do whatever you want. "So the question is what do you want?" You wanted answers. Why did Joel's demeanour change earlier? You should be asking him about it, not slipping on a dress to go see your married next door neighbour in the hopes of him railing you and your other next door neighbour who was old enough to be your father finding out. 
They say two wrongs don't make a right. Apparently a whole of wrong can feel so right. Dave's teeth nipped at your collarbone while his cockhead struck deep inside. His strong hands held your ass cheeks spread, the jet of warm water pummelling your tight hole. Dave hadn't spoken a word since you got there. His mouth had been too busy consuming yours. His tongue, too busy licking at yours. After he practically ripped off your clothes he lifted you around his waist to lower you both in the tub. You were barely in the water when he sheathed himself inside of you. The scream that it forced from you was caught by his lips and that was it, he'd been wordlessly fucking you relentlessly ever since. It wasn't what you expected from him. You expected dirty talk and degradation. This was almost sensual. The way he moaned. The way he read your body, giving you exactly what you need without you asking. It had you coming apart for him almost too easily. Even when you both came within moments of each other there weren't any climatic utterings of each other's names, just heavy breaths and moans.
When you both were able to stand, he helped you out of the water before passing you a towel. 
"You want a drink?" Was the first thing he asked.
"I'm good. Thank you." You adjusted your dress back into place.
Pouring himself a whiskey, he leaned against the table the bottle was sat on, a towel slung dangerously low on his slim waist. He looked at you thoughtfully for a moment. "You know you shouldn't let Joel mess with your head. You're a smart young woman. Smart enough to get two grown men acting stupid over you in just a couple of months. You're going to do just fine in college but if you ever need anything you have my number." He crossed the small space between you as he spoke, he pressed his lips gently to you temple briefly before adding "Or you know, if you just want to fuck."
Heading home, with Dave's cum dripping out of you, you thought about the shift in your dynamic with the two men today. Fuck knows what it was about but with a week to go until you left for college your planned on finding out. 
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campbell-rose · 3 months
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Hazbin Trailer + Rewrite Spitballing
The Hazbin Trailer omg
I finally watched it and like... it's so bad guys. Honestly, the only people I pity are the animators and the pilot voice actors, and the new actors too. Blake Roman especially, the man is super talented, but trying to fill the massive shoes of Michael is weighing his performance down so bad. Honestly, if Viv wasn't a petty brat, she could've kept Michael and gotten Blake as the singing voice.
Apparently there's a war on Heaven plot? I hope to god not, like that's NOT THE PREMISE. God Viv just cannot stick to her premises, can she? This happened with Zoophobia, initially it seemed like it was going to follow Cameron but slowly lost focus on her. Then Helluva Boss losing the hired assassin plot for the sake of shitty Stolitz drama. Seems redeeming sinners is going to be a side plot which is unfortunate because that was one of the biggest things i wanted from this show. I remember when i used to love Vivziepop and i got so excited for the pilot of Hazbin. Redeeming sinneers, that sounded so cool. It's what got me into demonology and was a big part of my life. Sad to see this happen.
I genuinely hate the stupid trope of heaven, the place that is literally paradise for good people, being bad. Like, i cannot feasibly imagine a universe in which Viv manages to write that in any compelling way. And why is it just ‘heaven bad’??? This could be an interesting story that discusses the nature of good and bad, talks about what makes someone a good person, should people be given redemption if they already blew their chance, is the definition of 'good' wrong? Like, in the hands of competent writers, Hazbin could be an interesting story, like a Walmart Good Place! But no, heaven bad, let's go kill angels that say fuck.
Like, as an example of my above point, let’s look at a familiar face from Helluva Boss, Mrs. Mayberry. 
She killed someone, tried to kill someone, then herself, and is now in hell. But a good question could be raised of if her being in hell is even justified. Yes, she killed a person (and attempted to kill another) which is not a good thing to do. But she killed her husband in a fit of rage after seeing him cheating on her – like actively, red handed, balls deep cheating on her. From what we see of her before her death, she seems like an attentive and caring teacher and wife, she even says herself she was ‘good my entire life’. Her students love her, and literally the reason she kills herself seems to be because she realizes that they saw her literally murder someone. She did choke and throw a child, but that was played for comedy so I'm not counting that against her. She kills herself because she’s so shocked about what she’s done. She’s bitter because she’s in hell.  
Her husband was a cheater and the woman she tried to kill was a murderer and a cannibal, so by that logic, doesn’t her killing a bad person negate the killing? Yes, murder is bad, she should’ve controlled herself, but this was one terrible moment in a lifetime of being good. Like, say someone kills a pedobear, is the person commiting the murder a bad person for killing someone who deserved it? Not that her husband deserved to die for cheating, a good beat down maybe. If a good person kills a bad person, does that make them a bad person too? Or does it come down to intention? Did the good only kill the bad for a selfish reason?
That’s an interesting conundrum (in my opinion). Does she deserve to redeem herself? How would she redeem herself? If I keep thinking on it, i'll ramble, but that's my thinking. Anyway, this made me think about a rewrite that follows this line of thinking.
I’ve come to the conclusion that Charlie being an angel and Vaggie being her Exterminator guard who goes with her to hell to redeem sinners is the best way to make this mess an interesting thing. Like, Charlie is an optimistic angel who thinks the extermination of sinners is inhumane and that the standards of Heaven need changed. Vaggie is literally trained to kill sinners and sees Charlie’s efforts as futile but is assigned to help her anyway. Makes sense why everyone would disrespect Charlie and treat her like an idiot for wanting to redeem sinners, instead of insulting the daughter of FUCKING LUCIFER HIMSELF, they’re laughing at an angel who came down out of nowhere and is acting high and mighty.
Also, Charlie can keep the name Charlie Magne instead of Morningstar because she's no longer Lucifer's daughter. Vaggie is just V. boom, problem solved, i'm a genius.
Have a doodle
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adickaboutspoons · 6 months
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The Curse of "The Curse of the Seafaring Life"
So now that I've had some time to come down from the euphoria of watching two middle-aged men kissing in the moonlight, I've got to admit episode 5 is... bad. Like the kiss is divine and perfect and I love it with all my heart and soul, but the rest of it doesn't make a lick of sense, within the context of what we've seen this season, or within the themes of the show as a whole. And it's not just a matter of inserting a couple of lines of dialogue to fix it as with episode 4. To me, it requires a full tear-down to the very studs.
I understand that for future plot purposes implied by the trailers, it will become important that Stede knows how to do fighty pirate-y stuff, but the way they get there challenges credulity. Stede states that he "hasn't really felt [that he is the captain]" since they got back on the ship. But... why? He's called and led at least two all-hands meetings in the past two episodes (letting the crew know Ed was not dead after all, and mediating the non-pology sesh), collected votes for the decision to exile Ed (and stayed with the crew rather than going with Ed, even though finding Ed was, like, supposedly his entire motivation, god that still makes me so angry writers I am in your walls!), and convinced the crew to, at least temporarily, let Ed be un-banished. No one is challenging him for his position. No one is questioning his authority. No one is being insubordinate or any less respectful to him than they generally are, considering he encourages open and honest dialogue (which sometimes invites less-than-respectful expressions of ideas with this crew.) No one is even suggesting that his feelings for Ed might negatively impact his objectivity or his ability to perform his captainly duties. For heaven's sake, half of the crew (eventually) followed him in applauding Ed's feeble scrabble at an apology. And quite aside from all that - how many times, exactly, does he need to prove himself? He JUST orchestrated a successful escape plan using fucking TOWELS. He's ALREADY captain material! So why would he have that less-than-captain feeling?
And the only thing that I can think of is that they needed to get him to train with Izzy somehow (why did it have to be Izzy, though? More on that in a moment). So how to get him there? Well, Izzy's mean, right? So maybe Stede needs to think that he needs to get mean, so he'll go to be trained at the foot of the master. But why would Stede suddenly think he needs to be mean? Especially considering how delighted he was when Yi Sao clocked his energy as soft? Well, maybe Ed tells him the way to Feel More Captain-y is to be more assertive.
But as much as Ed-in-a-collar asking Stede to order him around is going to find a forever home in my fanfic plotbunny document, that just... doesn't make any sense. Ed LOVES that Stede is out here doing things completely different from anyone else. One of the main theses of the show is that Stede's people-positive management style is CORRECT, actually, and another is that living life as your authentic self is more important than duty or obligation. Stede needing to "butch up" to be a proper captain runs antithetical to both those ideas AND to the established dynamic between Ed and Stede. Honestly, it reads a lot more like validation of Stede's insecurities about not being enough for Ed, and that whole dream sequence that opened the season. Which would be fine if Stede was going through an arc where he thinks he needs to be more manly and learns in the end that he's fine just the way he is, but that doesn't seem to be the case? As such, it's frankly pure contrivance, and just sloppy writing.
So taking out that pin about training with Izzy. I'm gonna be real, this feels like pure fanservice to me, and I'm not just talking about Con O'Neil's magnificently sculpted tits. Izzy's "redemption arc" (and, yes, I'm putting it in scare quotes) feels completely unearned to me. What - he's absolved in his suffering? Even though we've seen not one hint of remorse for what he's done to others (only for how the repercussions of his actions actually impacted him)? Not even the barest scrap of a non-pology? Then Why Isn't Ed? Ed who has suffered too. Ed who was so fucked up he made MORE THAN ONE attempts at suicide by proxy in episode 2? Ed who keeps getting kicked when he's already down and NOT extended the same sympathy and understanding from the crew? It's a real bad look, y'all. In fact, it looks a lot more like Izzy is not going through a "redemption arc" so much as an "he's already redeemed, trust us" arc, and training Stede is more about him proving that he's part of the community by offering support and expertise, and resolving his personality crisis ("who am I to you?" and "what even are you?") - roles which, by all rights, would be better filled by Jim (who had JUST given up on their vengeance quest to try and see what being part of a family might be like, only to be caught up in the Kraken's shit and having to fight for survival, and could now have an opportunity to work through their trauma by using their skills to HELP someone rather than hurt, and learning how to be soft - like the flesh of someone becoming human after so recently being someone's puppet) or Ed (who needs to learn to reconcile the various aspects of his personality, and that violence doesn't have to come coupled with the baggage of being unlovable, and who needs to relearn how to trust and be trusted by Stede, and how to earn the crew's forgiveness). Because the fact of the matter is? Stede MUST be lying when he tells Izzy that Ed attributes "everything he knows" to Izzy's teaching. The whole point of the escape from the Spanish relies upon the premise that there is knowledge that Ed possesses that Izzy doesn't and can't. Look at Stede's face when he says "More specifically, he said you taught him everything he knows.":
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(corporate needs you to find the difference between these 2 pictures) It's giving very "Stark Revelations" vibes. I'm thinking Stede is getting Izzy to buy in to his training by using a little of that weaponized empathy he picked up studying at the feet of the master: Yi Sao. I don’t love Stede pandering to the ego of a mediocre white dude by conferring upon him the responsibility for Ed’s achievements and brilliance in order to get what Stede wants out of him, but it’s immeasurably better than the suggestion that Ed’s achievements and brilliance actually ARE down to Izzy. Neither way of interpreting the implications of the scene are great, though, which is uncharacteristically sloppy writing from this show. All the more reason why Stede’s training should be in the hands of anyone else EXCEPT Izzy.
The training montage itself is… not a training montage. It’s a cringe compilation. Just scene after scene of Stede being bad at things and no follow-up scenes that show him improving. The line about him just letting his body take over in the field and it working out for him is just bad and wrong. First, it conveys Plot Armor on Stede, and obviates the NEED for training. Second, really, Stede? How about the time you almost stabbed Doug for the crime of *checks notes* putting his hand on your shoulder? Or the time you blacked out and walked barefoot to Bridgetown after Chauncy shot himself? Like, let's please not suggest trauma-induced fugue states are Stede's super-power. Third, that's really not how we have seen Stede earn his victories up until this point, and it really undercuts the fact that Stede is VERY smart, clever, and resourceful, great at improvisation and using his environment to overcome mightier or more skilled opponents (think of the way he bested Izzy at their first encounter, or even, more recently, how he used his habit of putting scent on his towels and how everyone inevitably wanted to breath it in deeply to knock out the prison guards and orchestrate their escape - again, using towels as a zip-line). One of the things about Stede that I think gets under-acknowledged is that he's actually kind of low-key a master of seeing a thing once and figuring out how to do it. In spite of what my Advanced Maneuvers  fic would have you believe, the Unhand Me Or Bleed move actually comes from him observing the bar brawl in ep 2, and then there’s all the stuff with the duel with Izzy and the butt swat and taking it on the left that Ed had shown him only once and only a few nights previously. But what does any of that matter if he’s just going to Dead Zone it and let his body do what it will?
It also bothered me that, when his training is “complete” and he’s going on raids, he's just brute forcing things? Like, his plan was the same every time - run in shouting and waving your blade around. Where’s the clever planning? Where’s the distraction? Where’s the style and finesse? What happened to his rapture over fuckeries?
The resolution of the curse storyline/training montage is bothering me in a way that I feel is emblematic of the bigger problems with the season as a whole so far. The whole point of a training montage is either to payoff with a scene SHOWING the use of all the accumulated skills, or a subversion of that; why they CAN'T use those skills (like in Galavant where he over-trained for the joust and therefore couldn't move when it came time to actually participate). But instead, we get exposition fairies. "Wow - that sure was an epic battle we just did! With us fighting back-to-back and Archie swinging from a rope!" All the interesting and important stuff is happening off-camera, and we're just being asked to accept that it happened. Just like we’re asked to accept that the Swede’s time with Jackie is more fulfilling in some way that his time with the Revenge was not. Just like we’re asked to accept that everyone’s just cool with Izzy now - even the people who last saw him when he was marooning them, even to the point of working together to make him a peg leg and calling him their new unicorn. Just like we’re asked to accept that Black Pete or Olu missed their SOs, even to the point of “crying every night” for the former, but never seeing them actually mention it/crying about it.
And about that - although I was initially overjoyed by it, now that I’ve had some time to reflect, I'm not sure I'm so happy about the Proposal. Like, Lucius is still clearly in a v. vulnerable and traumatized state, and it's maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaybe not the BEST time to be making big life choices? Juxtapose with Ed finally learning to maybe not charge full-speed-ahead. Maybe handing the U-haul keys to another couple isn’t all that great an idea, actually?
Now on to the Curse. What the dying priest literally says when Stede and Jim enter the room is "We were voyaging to the Vatican to seek an exorcism." My auditory processing is sub-par, especially when more than one person is speaking at the same time, so I can't really make out most of what he says after that because Jim keeps babbling about curses (which? I’m sure Vico had lines they were written for them to be saying, but it to present as a translation something that is v. much NOT what the person is actually saying in the mouth of a native speaker of the language is SO weird to me), and maybe it's me splitting hairs, but exorcism is v. much a casting demons out of a PERSON thing - not a "cursed artifact" thing. But fuck it. Let’s go with the “translation” Jim gives us and stick with cursed items instead of bedeviled people. There’s a real missed opportunity here to have done something extremely clever linking the "curse" and the crew's trauma and, through the process of coming together to formulate a plan for how to free themselves from the curse, managing to take the first steps toward exorcising their own demons. I mean, this is just surface-level metaphor stuff, and it's troubling to me that instead we got Stede the Rational White Dude pandering to the superstitions of his mostly POC crew.
I LOVE that Fang reached out to Ed, and that he brought to Ed’s attention the fact that Ed often defaults to problem-solving mode, trying to FIX problems. Which is great when you need to make an impromptu lighthouse to escape the Spanish, but is not necessarily the best approach for emotional problems, where the better answer is sometimes listening rather than talking, or even just actually sitting and dealing with negative feels (though I am not loving the implication that Ed's a non-stop chatterbox. Sometimes he is, but there are plenty of examples of him being introspective - like literally any time he stims with his silk - and also, sometimes soundboarding is an effective tool for processing complicated or painful concepts, too. And also, we see MULTIPLE scenes of Ed crying alone. He’s clearly sitting with his feels. Admittedly there is a huge difference between wallowing/indulging and PROCESSING, but Ed sitting alone in silence with his feels is v. much NOT the problem). But I HATE the messaging about retributive justice in that scene.
So retributive justice - the idea that a person who has caused damage has to be punished to an appropriately equivalent degree in order for 1) justice to be meted to the wronged party, & 2) the wrong-doer to be redeemed for their wrongdoing - is all kinds of problematic to begin with, but especially when seemingly exclusively applied to a MOC. And we have two examples of that in this episode - we have Ed offering to let Lucius to knock him over the rail so that they're squaresies (v. eye-for-an-eye, that), and we have Fang explaining that he's cool with Ed because he brutalized Ed's unconscious body after Jim knocked him out with a cannonball, so that makes them square for all the shit that Ed did to him.
With Lucius, we see that it DOESN'T actually make things square. Lucius is still traumatized, and just as obsessed with Ed as ever, possibly even moreso. With Fang, we see the exact opposite. He and Ed ARE cool, and Fang doesn't seem to have any lingering issues.
So not only is the scene with Fang kind of gross and reductionist, and reinforces the "broken people do broken things" idea that's been uncritically floated earlier in the season, instead of recognizing that sometimes people have maladaptive behaviors in response to suboptimal circumstances and insufficient support systems, but also, when juxtaposed with the scene with Lucius, the show is refusing to come down one way or another on the topic, and I think that's pretty cowardly on the "toxic masculinity and racism are unequivocally wrong" show.
So how would I fix it?
1) Frame Stede’s practical pirate training urges as Stede self-enriching by re-taking up the reigns of his pirate lessons, not as him needing to learn how to captain
2) Make Ed his teacher, and thereby allow for a gradual rebuilding of trust and strengthening of their relationship (and also some flirtatious banter and UST because they're both trying to hold back and re-figure things out, but also that undeniable chemistry is still there. For me. As a treat)
3) I guess Izzy can help. But HE has to ask. As a "trying to find my place now that so much has changed for me" kind of thing, and also expressing some fucking gratitude to Stede for saving his rat ass
4) My training montage would be an ACTUAL training montage with the comedy failboating at the beginning, and showing actual progress until they're ready to do the Curse raid (which sets up the subversion of payoff for the training montage because they ARE ready, but there's nothing to fight on a ship of the dead). Nix the second raid altogether so I don't have to get cranky about expositing the action sequence. Also that line about blacking out and just letting things happen would be erased from history, too. 
5) Ed's participation in the "exorcizing the demons" plot is what starts to mend bridges with the crew and starts to bring him back into the community. (Also, I want Ed to be able to see Stede feeling himself in his red suit, and it is a CRIME that we were denied that.)
6) It’s my drastic re-write, so in my version, we’re gonna nix the Fang line supporting retributive justice, but we’re KEEPING the Lucius interaction. Maybe in the 'exorcize the demons' brainstorm sesh, Ed proposes that he dress in the devil suit and Lucius be allowed to push him overboard (a 2-for-1 expurgation. Also, there would be a line where Ed goes up to Stede and is all "I really need to get you out of those clothes", and Stede breathlessly replying, "Oh, Ed!" and then Ed awkwardly having to walk it back with hasty explanations, and Stede apologizing for making assumptions, and Ed having to beat a hasty, flustered retreat, because even though he has 100% seen Stede naked before, there’s an unbearable tension to the idea of seeing him like that now). But the overboard plan doesn’t work on EITHER front. Once Ed is back on board, still wearing the devil suit, something goes wrong that convinces the crew the curse is still there (maybe it's Stede doing target practice in the background with Izzy, and THAT'S when the sail falls on everyone's head), and Lucius' can still have his "That didn't actually give me the closure I thought it would have" mini-arc. Ed can start in again, pitching more ideas and talking over people, and Fang can gently suggest that Ed doesn't have to be the one to come up with all the plans. Sometimes it's ok to just sit back and listen, and realize that sometimes your input is doing more harm than good, and it's ok to take a step back.
7) Lucius and Pete aren’t getting engaged. Sorry. Maybe Lucius can propose, but Pete would gently tell him that, while he absolutely wants to and plans to spend the rest of his life with Lucius, he’s concerned that Lucius is moving a little fast, and maybe flailing for something to make him feel better immediately rather than taking the time to work through his trauma, and as much as Pete loves him, he’s not going anywhere; Lucius can take all the time he needs to come to terms with what happened to him, and then, when he asks again, Pete will say yes.
8) After the Curse plot is resolved Ed has been sitting and stewing with the bad feelings that your input can be deletory and unwelcomed. THEN Fang can impart the "sometimes you just have to sit with your feels and let it be uncomfortable" wisdom. Maybe Ed shares what he’s been going through on his own and hiding from the crew. But knowing how to process your emotions instead of just ruminating on them is a learned skill. I don’t know if Fang is the person to teach that to Ed, but honestly I don’t know who IS since Lucius would NORMALLY be the emotional intelligence guy, so I guess Fang can be the one with emotional insight since he is quite the softy under it all.
But also I still want moonlit middle-aged men kisses, so maybe Fang also suggests that just because your input isn't needed in some places doesn't mean it would be unwelcome in all - and sometimes it's a matter of redirecting your energy, and him indicating Stede (in his shirt) brooding over the rail at the loss of his awesome (I am only saying this word for Stede’s sake, because I actually fucking hate the hideous cutaway tailcoat with its tacky, poorly applied appliques) suit. And things are better between them because of training montage, but still awkward, and Ed is now the one taking the initiative to meet Stede where HE'S at and complimenting the shirt, "wear fine things well," etc.
(And, hell, since this is essentially a fix-it fic in essay form, there may or may not be a plotbunny brewing in my head about them agreeing to "take it slow" and then sloooooowly walking together to the captain's cabin and Whoops! they forgot there's only one bed now. Should one of them maybe take the pile of furs on the floor? No! they can totally share a bed platonically. Yup. Just two platonic buds sleeping and nothing else at all in the same bed. Except Stede DESPERATELY has to masturbate about what just transpired between them. He is not as stealth as he thinks he is. And maybe when he wakes in the morning, Ed informs him that he was moaning Ed's name in his sleep all night…)
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ladykinrannoch · 1 year
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How could that reality show get classified as a documentary when there are so many proven lies in it?If anything it is a delusional love letter from Markle to herself.Netflix certainly got Markled.
Thanks for the ask.
Oh boy, I agree. I have never watched such utter rubbish. Except maybe that one time I watched a single episode of KUWTK. Once was enough.
And the way the lies came so smoothly and easily.... perhaps it is different for the uninitiated non-Tumblr folk who haven't seen and watched quite so closely over the last few years and kept receipts of all the things she has done, By contrast, we know immediately when she tries to plaster over something with a lie, because we remember it so clearly. And the Anon's are really good at crowd-sourcing information, and they are everywhere, and can find things out. Whereas ordinary people probably take it all at face value. I have a couple of friends who totally loved it and fell for the love story and the big bad BRF. I haven't got the energy to try to open their eyes, but I feel sorry for them and the disappointment they will feel when all the lies get exposed. They will feel so betrayed, so duped.
Regarding NF itself, I think that they probably never got to see rushes probably under the guise of the Harkles didn't want the contents to leak. So NF had to take their word for it that it was a good show, explosive and all that. This is probably also why there was so little advance notice to the airing date, and the rushed out trailers. I think the NF executives watched it in horror with the rest of us and thought "what the hell?" Is this what they call a documentary? No wonder the CEO of Archewell quit just before it dropped, she wanted to get the hell out of there before the proverbial shit hit the fan. And the director must be hanging her head in shame.... look I suppose she did the best she could with footage filmed by Doria and Markus. But I can imagine, it is not her best work.
One good thing about this is that the UK parliament has woken up to the fact that the American streaming services are largely a new means to distribute propaganda and that they are NOT REGULATED like national licensed broadcasters. So the new laws that mean they are subject to Ofcom will be a step in the right direction. Now that is not to say that there are not great shows on these streaming services or that every documentary is a load of horseshit, no, there are some great documentaries. I am currently enjoying the Apocolypse based on Graham Hancock's Fingerprints of the Gods, and not enjoying the fantasy-documentary on Anne Boleyn with the modern music and hammy acting/dramatisation of events, with the overly excited commentary by "historians"... perhaps that should by hystorians?
Like most things in life discernment in what to choose to watch or believe is what separates the dull and thick as a planks, from the intelligent and informed. Everyone needs to choose their lane, but for heavens sake don't get offended when the intelligent and informed roll their eyes at your idiotic statements, if you happen to be in the thick as a plank lane.
Thankfully you appear to be in the intelligent and informed lane.
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thisbitchinthecorner · 8 months
Text
Michael races towards David’s trailer on the set of Good Omens. The rain in coming down heavily now as Michael bursts thought the door with excitement.
“Did you finish reading the script? I very much so think that we should rehearse our big climatic scene.”
“What scene?” David acts like he had no idea (but he does, he’s a dedicated actor who reads the scripts).
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“You mean the one where you break my heart and trample it into the ground? Is that the scene you’re talking about?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not in the right frame of mind for that.” David sighs. “Plus, I think Georgia and Anna might object.”
“So you want to disappoint the fan base and totally ruin our big romantic moment?” Micheal teases as he dials Georgia’s number.
“Hello sweetheart! How’s my favorite angel?” Georgia says sweetly.
“Listen, this is top secret intel, but David and myself are meant to share a kiss at the end of the season and we are going to need to prac…” Michael starts to say.
“Oh for god sake, just do it already. David knows the rules- he has free passes with you, but only if I get kids-free weekends away with Anna. And you and David have to watch ALL the kiddos.”
“Deal! Oh, and I’m just ticked to be working with Ty! He’s an absolute doll!” Michael says gleefully as he and Georgia exchange coos and adoration. Right after he hangs up the phone, Michael sends Anna a text that includes only a “devil” and “eggplant” emoji. To which she responds with “thumbs up”, “hearts” and “water” plus [girls trip!!!] in all caps.
“See, all sorted.” Michael grins. “Now, where we’re we. Yes, do you want to shatter our fans and kill any hope for future work with an awkward and terrible kiss?”
“What do you mean awkward? And what makes you think us kissing would be terrible?” David snaps.
“Well, if we ruin that big moment, then season 3 might never get made. It will just end, and all we will have is regret. Do you want to have regret, David?”
“When you put it like that? No.”
“Ah! Splendid! So you agree that we need to, in the interest of our craft, rehearse the pivotal moment in the series where our beloved characters share a tender yet devastating moment?”
“We can practice the kiss. I mean, we have to make sure that we get it right so there’s a season 3. For the fans, right? And our ladies are not objecting.” David tilts his head as he contemplates.
“My thoughts exactly!”
“Well, I did have some thoughts about the kiss and how Crowley is making that one last grand gesture to win Aziraphale over.” David winces as he thinks about the ending.
“So talk to me about your approach. Are you going to seduce me or just surprise me?” Michael grins coyly.
“Uhhh surprise?”
“I like the sound of that. So I’m standing here as Aziraphale, clearly devastated that you’re not coming with me to Heaven. Now, Crowley, where is your mark and how are you going to… oh so we’re just going to do this then.” (David stands in front of Michael, they giggle for a moment before David leans in)
*awkward kissing ensues*
(Michael pulls away for a moment) “See, a bit stiff. No one is going to believe that we are in love.”
“Shut up!” David murmurs as he pulls Michael in closer. Wrapping his arms around his back tightly as Michael’s fingers graze across David’s cheek, resting on against his jaw. Both pulling the other closer, their kissing grows more and more hungry.
(David pauses- his eyes still closed as his nose nuzzles against Michael’s) “Are…are we still in character?”
“I don’t know what we are right now.” Michael sighs, his eyes glitter with adoration as his fingers weave into David’s red hair. Their mouths easily finding each other’s once more.
The rain raps and patters against the trailer’s roof, but its occupants don’t seem to notice.
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stormyoceans · 8 months
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I see Papang in Only Friends😭🤯 OMG this series is getting better and better every day! I would rather have August 12!
THE WAY I WAS PLANNING TO WAIT UNTIL I GOT HOME FROM WORK TO WATCH THE TRAILER PROPERLY BUT AS SOON AS I SAW THIS MESSAGE I LAUNCHED MYSELF ACROSS THE OFFICE AND POWERWALKED TO THE BATHROOM TO LOCK MYSELF IN IT AND GIVE THE TRAILER A LOOK AND I JUST
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THE REACTION I HAD AT SEEING PAPANG HERE IS GONNA REMAIN BETWEEN ME AND GOD FOR THE SAKE OF PRESERVING WHATEVER SPECK OF DIGNITY I MAY HAVE LEFT IN Y’ALL’S EYES JUST KNOW THERE WAS A LOT OF BARKING. AND HOWLING. AND FROTHING AT THE MOUTH. AND BITING AT THE AIR. RESPECTFULLY OH MY FUCKING GOD. OH MY GOD. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST. OH MY GOD. FUCKING SHIT JESUS FUCK OH MY FUCKING JESUS FUCKING CHRIST. GOD IN HEAVEN. HOLY FUCK ING SHIT  
MY PRIORITIES FOR THIS SHOW HAVE NOW REARRANGED THEMSELVES SORRY BOSTON I HOPE NICK IS GONNA DUMP YOUR ASS AND GET HIS BACK BLOWN BY THIS MAN
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