#and it was a lot of aquanet

[ohkate]

Where Does My Heart Beat Now?

For @sweetbee78's prompt "Where Does My Heart Beat Now?" and @galladrabbles!

Word Count: 100

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"What the hell are we dancing to?"

"It's a 90s prom theme. I'm guessing a 90s song," Ian answered smugly, pulling his husband closer.

Liam asked them to come, so here they were, dressed in suits, dancing along to some Celine Dion song as the cheesy middle school decorations sparkled around them. They watched him nervously ask the girl he liked to dance. Ian smiled.

"Who thought we'd be good chaperones? I'm about to spike that punch bowl."

"Mick, they're like 13. No."

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Wanna go make out in the corner then?"

Ian's eyebrows raised devilishly.

"Absolutely."

[powderblueblood]

From your prompt list, for Eddie Munson, If it strikes anything in ya. 🖤🖤

" A woman falls in love with you and you think that's a curse?"

200 CIGARETTES SENTENCE PROMPTS! tripped and fell into hai verse sowwy!!!!!!!!!!!!!

eddie reacts in a way you think should be memorialized in history books, a full pantomime of his flailing hands, his rings catching the low light of the bar, his grimacing face with his tongue sticking out.

"blegh!" and, a lightning quick recovery to point at you directly in your face, "exactly. cursed."

you swirl your straw in your cranberry and whiskey which doesn't taste very much like either. you're helping drunk sam to prop up the bar at the hideout before the new year's rush starts; eddie had begged you to come keep him company, come keep him anchored because apparently shit gets weird here when the veil between this year and the next thins.

"you'll be a terrific anchor. all you have to do is sit there with that sour look on your face--exactly! that one!--and remind me that i'm not having a good time, no matter how many decrepit drunks tell me i am."

anyway, this is confusing. you knit your brow. "but why?"

"expectations!" eddie barks, fwipping a bar towel from his shoulder and grabbing a glass out of the drip tray to dry. "someone falls in love with me, right, and then i've got to like... keep them entertained. keep finding reasons to--..."

he trails off, mouth screwing up a little bit. hold on. hold on. there's something there. you try and reach for the thread before he tugs it out of your grasp. unraveling eddie munson's become an unlikely hobby as of late. he's like a ball of yarn someone let get tangled in a dump, so you keep finding all sorts of weird rocks and sticks and trash and ephemera every time you ask him a real question.

"hold on. what do you mean?"

"what do i mean what?"

"keep them entertained."

he sighs. really stepped in it now, because you're not a just drop it kinda girl, just like he's not a just drop it kinda guy. you two haven't read into that. might be worth cracking out the reading glasses, i don't know.

"i don't know!" eddie shrugs, "i'm-- you get someone to love you, and then you want them to keep doing it, right, so you need to like... it's a lot of pressure!"

"no. shut up," you wave your hand in his direction, "are you seriously trying to say that you think falling in love is a curse because you think you've got to perform a certain way to keep people interested? like no one--" you snort a little, tone going to the mocking zone, "--could ever love you for you?"

he puts his hands on his hips, partaking in your laughter a little too. but it's strained. "i don't need to take this from someone who hid a brain the size of a planetary moon behind a can of aquanet for the better part of her high school career so some haircuts would give her the eye, okay? you know aaaaall about performing."

eddie knows he has you nailed so you throw your straw at him. fucker.

"those come out of my paycheck, jackass."

"sorry for bankrupting you," you say, not done. "but eddie. c'mon."

"i'll come on anything you want me to."

"seriously."

"seriously, i will."

"no-- like, you can't possibly expect me to believe you think you're unlovable." you press your forearms into the bartop (ew, sticky) like level with me here.

eddie flings his bar towel around his neck, tugging at either end hard. "i'unno."

"unlikable, sure, you're the most irritating person i've ever met but--"

"--but i don't have the best track record for getting people to stick around." he lifts his shoulders, like it's nothing, like whatever. he's even smiling. pleading, in a way. drop it, for once.

no. anger bursts under your sternum like a tiny firework.

"so?"

eddie double takes, something like fear or frustration flashing in his dark eyes. they're only made darker by the shitty backlight of the bar. makes him look older, which makes you feel weirder. "so?"

"so none of that was on you." you say. like it's nothing. sipping your drink. "none of that was your fault."

eddie's eyes drop from yours. he stares at the sticky bartop.

"and you're never pretending. at least, i've never seen you pretend."

there is no act of anti-god, no dastardly intervention that will let you stop yourself from speaking. this is what you get for sitting around the hideout at six in the evening on new year's eve.

"you've always been horribly yourself to me and i still... can't stand you." a beat. because you're waiting for eddie to look back up under the glower of his brow. his mouth is kind of a snarl, kind of a smile. "so don't treat it like a curse when it isn't, asshole. don't jump ahead in the story."

don't jump ahead. he says it all the time, talking about dnd, talking about some dumb anecdote, talking about music. don't jump ahead in the story.

he looks at you like, you remembered, and pulls a bottle of no-name brand tequila and two shot glasses from behind him.

you shrug at him like, you're around, and have to get up and do a walking lap of the bar after that shot. disgusting!

[ashestoroses018]

Four Puffs (1/2)

Originally posted in 2017.

mikeygc3000 (mikeygc3000.tumblr.com) said: Could you write one where you’re Dustin’s older sister and all the kids can tell that you and Steve are in love but are in denial so they set up a blind date by tricking you and Steve and you both end up together in the end???? And lots of fluff!???? (P.s I just found your blog and I’m in love with it)

“Dustin, where the Hell is my hair spray? Did you steal it to do your hair again?” You shout through the house.

“Language, F/N!” your dad yells at you. It’s not often that he’s home, considering he travels for work, and when he is home, you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes every time he opens his mouth.

“Dad. He keeps stealing my hairspray and using, like, all of it. And the little shithead never asks first!”

“F/N! One more outburst like that, and you won’t be going out tonight!” Your dad looks over his newspaper at you, an eyebrow raised.

“Sorry, Dad. Do you know where Dustin is, by any chance?”

“Dusty’s over at Will’s house.”

“You couldn’t have told me that before I started yelling for him?”

Your dad folds the newspaper on his lap. “I didn’t have the chance, missy. Just call Joyce. I’m sure she can get him on the phone for you.”

Your battle against the eye rolls is futile, this time. Instead of even gracing your father with a response, you just grab your keys and a scrunchie, tossing your unruly hair up lackadaisically while holding your keys in your teeth.

“Be back before dinner, F/N! Your mom’s cooking meatloaf!” your dad calls behind you.

“’Kay, Dad!” You slam the door behind you, jogging to your beat up ’68 VW Beetle.

She is your baby, but shit if she hasn’t seen better days. Your seats are stained, and the engine makes this weird sound, if you drive Becky the Beetle for more than about twenty minutes at a time. One of these days, she’s going to crap out on you, and fuck if that day doesn’t terrify you. Who bikes to school at eighteen years old?

It takes you roughly three minutes of driving to arrive at the Byers’ residence, and you thank every god you can think of when you see your baby brother’s bike outside on the lawn, thrown there while he was obviously in a rush. What you don’t expect is to see Steve Harrington’s brown BMW in the driveway.

However, when you see that Joyce’s and Jonathan’s cars are both gone, it makes more sense. He must be playing babysitter for the thirteen year olds again. With a sigh, you go up to the door and knock, knowing that you’re about to embarrass the hell out of yourself in front of Steve, considering you’re in exercise clothes – leggings, leg warmers, and a ratty sweatshirt. All over your petty need for hairspray.

You raise your brow when it’s your brother who opens the door. “Oh shit.”

“Hey, Dustin. Wanna let me in?” Your tone of voice brooks no argument.

“I can explain, F/N, I swear.”

“What can you explain, Dustin?”

“I didn’t realize I still had your hairspray in my bag, and you have the Farrah Fawcett spray, and you know they discontinued it, and I really like your hairspray, because it’s better than Aquanet, and – “

You follow your brother through the Byers’ residence. In the living room, his friends are sitting around a table, playing Dunces and Diapers, or whatever the hell the stupid game is called. In the corner, a bottle of Coke in his hand, sits Steve Harrington, whose eyes meet yours as soon as you walk in the room.

“Well, Dusty?” you ask, your voice suddenly saccharine sweet. Your brother gives you an incredulous look at your impromptu change in demeanor. “Where’s my hair spray?”

“I can’t believe you needed it so bad that you actually came all the way out here,” your brother mutters under his breath as he digs through his backpack. “interrupting our game and shit.”

After a moment, he hands you the bottle of Fabergé Organics hair spray, which you immediately notice is nearly empty. “What the hell, Dustin? You used all of it! Do you know how hard this shit is to find?”

He looks down at his feet, biting his lip. “I’m sorry, F/N.”

“I had a date tonight, but I guess I’ll have to cancel. Aquanet sucks.”

“You, uh, you had a date, F/N?” Steve suddenly speaks up, and you glance over at him.

“Yeah, it wasn’t anything crazy, but Billy Hargrove seems like a nice enough guy.”

The redheaded girl, Max, gags audibly. “Billy is a shitstain of a human being. What are you talking about?”

“He really is, F/N. You shouldn’t go out with him. Did you know he beat up Steve?” Your brother is nodding emphatically with Max, his eyes wide.

You raise an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah, he was defending Lucas! Billy’s a terrible person, F/N. You should cancel that date and just hang out with us tonight.”

“Fine, Dustin. I’ll take your word for it, this time. Hey, Will, where’s your phone?”

The Byers boy points you towards a wall handset, and you connect with the operator quickly, asking for the Hargrove residence.

“Hello?” A woman, whom you presume to be Billy’s stepmom and  Max’s mom, answers the phone.

“Is this Billy Hargrove’s house?”

“Yes, it is. One second. Billy!”

A moment later, Billy’s on the line, and though you’re not particularly interested in the boy – aside from his obvious physical appeal – your heart skips a beat at how charming he can be. “Hargrove residence, Billy speaking.”

“Hey Billy, it’s F/N Henderson.”

“Oh, hey, babe. What’s up? I’m still picking you up at 8 to see Ladyhawke, right?”

“Actually, no. A bit of a family emergency came up. Sorry, Billy.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what?”

“Yeah, sorry. Our, uh…cat went missing again. My mom loves that kitten, so Dustin and I have to look for her.”

“Just tell her that you’re looking with me, F/N.”

“I really can’t do that to my mom, Billy.”

Steve comes up to you, hearing the tension in your voice. You okay? he mouths towards you. You just nod, your mouth pursed.

“Fine. Forget about rescheduling, though. I can get a more attractive whore at Hawkins High.”

“Excuse me? What the fuck did you just call me, Hargrove?”

“A whore. Everyone knows you’re fucking Harrington.”

You glance over at Steve, embarrassed that he’s going to witness what you’re about to say. “I am not fucking Steve Harrington, asshole. And you’re right. We’re not rescheduling. Get bent, shitbag.”

You slam the handset back onto the hook, actually shaking through the force of your anger. “Dustin, come on, we’re going home.”

“Wait, what? But I don’t need to be home until dinner.”

You give your brother a Look. “Please, let’s just go.”

“Let him stay, F/N. Why don’t you stay, too?” Steve asks, in a placating voice.

You bite your lip. “I need to be alone for a bit. I was hoping my brother would be there for me, but I fucking guess not. I’m going home Dustin. Dad says to be home by dinner.”

There’s a fierce migraine brewing in the left side of your head right now, and you just want to take a bath and ignore the world. Careful not to slam Joyce’s front door, you jog to your car, however your beloved Becky the Beetle won’t start. You turn your key in the ignition seven or eight times before slamming your forehead onto your steering wheel. This cannot be happening to you right now.

Giving up, you walk back into the Byers’ living room, much to the shock of everyone there. Steve is the first one to break the silence. “Change your mind then, Henderson?”

You sigh. “My car’s not starting, so I’m stuck here. Maybe you guys can help me push start it?”

“Can we do it after our game, F/N?” your brother asks.

Once again, you sigh. “Yeah, I guess. I’ll just go…sit with Steve, I guess. Enjoy or whatever.”

You collapse on the Byers couch next to Steve, who glances over at you. “You can’t tell anyone this,” he whispers.

“What?”

“I…have a few spare bottles of the Farrah Fawcett spray. Is that what you use?”

Your eyes widen. “Wait, really?”

He smirks gently at your excitement. “Yeah, I do. I can bring a bottle over to your house tomorrow, so you have it for school on Monday.”

“Oh my gosh, Steve, you’re the best!” You lean over and give him a hug, forgetting, for a moment, that you’re not looking your best.

He blushes slightly, his smirk turning into a shy smile. “Glad to help, F/N.”

[shieldofiron]

Billy Hargrove’s Haunted Bong

For Harringrove Week March 29, Happy Billyday! Also on AO3 Here.

Specific Dialogue: “You don’t know what you put me through.”

NSFT-ish, just at the end.

Steve feels a little awkward picking through Billy Hargrove’s stuff. His dad’s gone, and now Max and her Mom are moving, they need to get rid of the excess, he knows that. There’s some of Billy’s dad’s stuff here, too, though a lot of it has been picked over by the neighborhood moms, trying to get shoes for their husbands and stuff.

There’s less of a market for teenage boy stuff, though Tommy has a few button downs slung over his arm, and apparently Max unloaded a bunch of Billy’s tapes on ‘The Freak’ Eddie Munson.

Steve is really here more as a favor to Max. He doesn’t know what he would do with a Scorpions t-shirt, or a stack of books. Who knew that Billy read so much, anyway?

Max walks over and crosses her arms, “Hey. Want you to see something.”

He shrugs, tossing the paperback he was never going to buy back in a pile, “Ok.”

Max leads him up the stairs and into the half packed house and into a mostly empty room. There’s a bed that’s been stripped, and a small cardboard box, open and half full on it. Steve catches a glimpse of a few tapes inside, and a handful of clothes. Maybe it’s stuff they’re saving.

Max holds up two cans of Aquanet, “Do you want these? I’ll give them to you for a dime.”

Steve fights to keep his face neutral, “Uh, not my brand. But thanks.”

“How about this?” She holds up a bottle of cologne, Paco Rabanne.

He shrugs, “Sure. How much?” This is probably fine, a non-weird thing to get, anyway.

“Uh... a quarter?” She says distractedly while he glances down to dig in his pocket for change. “And what about this?”

He looks up and almost chokes on his spit. It is without a doubt the biggest bong he’s seen in person.

“Put that down!” He says.

She scowls, “What’s your problem?”

“N-nothing. Didn’t Eddie want that?” Steve really would feel better if she put it down. Maybe stepped away from it too.

“He took the other one,” She shrugs, “Why? What’s wrong with it? It’s just a vase.”

Right. Just a vase.

He snatches it from her hands, just wanting to get it out of the house, “How much?”

“Uh... a dollar. No! Two dollars!” She cries.

He rolls his eyes, because this thing is probably expensive as shit, but he just wants it out of her house.

“Sure,” He pulls a couple of bucks out of his wallet, “I’ll see you, okay?”

She nods, counting the money, “You want your change?”

“No, nope, just gonna head right home,” And smash this thing to pieces, he thinks.

He hops in the beemer, throwing his vase across the passenger’s seat along with the cologne. It really is enormous, blue swirling glass that would be kind of pretty if it wasn’t dirty with old bong water and stuff.

“Never let it be said I never did anything for you, Hargrove,” He grumbles, eyes searching the road wildly.

He turns the corner off Cherry Lane, shaking his head.

“I mean, whatever. I didn’t like... jump in front of a monster. Though I did. For Max, I mean,” He tightens his hands on the wheel, “Whatever. You know what I mean.”

He glances down at the bong and the cologne.

He shakes his head, “You would think I was high already.”

The bong glints in the afternoon sunlight, reflecting the blue skies out the window and the slowly turning leaves.

“You know my birthday is tomorrow,” Steve says, to no one. “I guess I could have one smoke. Just to see what I’m missing.”

The sunlight glints, and it’s almost like a wink.

He’s going crazy, that’s the only explanation for why he heads home and takes the bong into his house instead of throwing it away. He dumps the old water in the sink, trying to take it apart so he can rinse it out. He might actually catch some kind of disease smoking out of this thing, considering Billy died in July and it’s halfway through January.

He shakes his head at himself, dunking the bong into the water and rubbing the side, trying to take off the film of hairspray and weed smoke that’s formed a crust along the sides. Probably he won’t smoke from it. It’s a lost cause.

The bong trembles in his hands and he rears back into the kitchen island, soapy water splashing everywhere. Blue smoke comes from the top, pale denim blue that swirls in the air and shifts and then...

Billy fucking Hargrove is sitting on the edge of his kitchen sink.

He looks much the same as he always did, shirtless, tanned and perfect with a necklace glinting from his chest. Winking in the sunlight.

“Harrington,” He says with a smile.

“H-holy shit.” Maybe Steve is high. How did he get this high and he doesn’t even remember smoking?

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Billy’s eyes sparkle, electric blue. Were they always that blue, glowingly blue? They look like Kyle McLaughlin’s eyes in that freaky movie Dustin dragged Steve to a few weeks ago.

“This is not happening,” Steve shakes his head, “This isn’t happening.”

Billy laughs, full and open, and then the blue smoke is back, smelling like Paco Rabanne and cigarettes and Aquanet, swirling through the air.

“What do you wish for, Pretty Boy?” Billy’s voice sounds like it’s coming from  right in Steve’s ear, but when he looks, the Billy on his counter is just smiling mischievously.

“Uhhh...”

Billy disappears and the smoke surrounds Steve. He clings to the countertop, the only thing that feels solid. Smoke slides along his face and arms, like a caress.

“Make a wish,” Billy’s voice beacons, “Birthday Boy.”

“I-if I blow hard enough, will you disappear?” Steve mumbles, not sure what kind of weird dream this is.

“If you blow?” Billy whispers, his tongue sliding along his lower lip teasingly.

“What are you?”

“You’ve never heard of a genie? Djinn is more accurate,” Billy’s voice is behind him now, along the back of Steve’s neck, sending goosebumps down his spine. Billy hums and it takes Steve a few moments before he picks out the theme to I Dream of Jeannie. “Should I call you, Master?”

“It’s not real,” Steve half laughs, “You died. I saw you die.”

“Where did the body go, Harrington? Disappeared... like smoke...” Billy appears in front of him, sudden and solid, “Poof.”

“You’re not a genie, though,” Steve shakes his head, “They aren’t real.”

“Try me, Harrington,” Billy smiles, eyes blazing.

“Uh...” Steve blinks at Billy’s face, so very close. He’s had dreams like this. Billy Hargrove, close and within reach, kind and laughing and oh so kissable.

“Go on,” Billy’s chin juts forward, and its so much like Steve’s dreams, he gives in. Maybe it is a dream. A weird one, but one of his regular dreams.

“Is it a three wishes kind of deal?” He asks.

Billy shrugs, “Dunno. I came to in a van full of shouting Russians who shoved green liquid down my throat. And then smoke poured out of my mouth, my ears, my eyes, and I turned into... this. Tried to go home, get Max’s attention. But then I got sucked into that thing when I got too close.”

Steve stares at him, at his lips actually. Is it nighttime already, or is it just the smoke swirling around?

“S.S. Butterscotch,” He mumbles.

“What?”

“I want a scoop of Scoops Ahoy S. S. Butterscotch,” Steve chokes, “Haven’t had it since the mall... uh...”

Billy puts a hand behind his back and winks at Steve, sending an electric bolt of lust down his spine.

“Your wish is my command,” Billy pulls his hand out and there’s a waffle cone stacked with a single scoop of S. S. Butterscotch, as smooth and round as if Steve had done it himself.

Billy raises it up to Steve’s lips, his eyes going dark and cloudy blue when Steve licks along the top. A shiver runs down his spine from the top of his head, making his knees weak.

“Oh, Harrington. You don’t know what you put me through,” Billy smiles, “Never thought I’d see you again. Never.”

Steve blinks, his mouth swirling with the flavor he’s been craving since Starcourt.

Steve finally manages to dig his claws out of the counter and reaches out, knocking the cone to the side. Well, it’s his dream. He might as well get to do what he wants.

Billy Hargrove tastes like woodsmoke and butterscotch and he groans into Steve’s mouth like he’s real, like he’s oh so human again.

Blue smoke trails up Steve’s spine like a featherlight touch, and he trembles, falling forward, hands digging into Billy’s hair. He’s always dreamed about boys and girls, he’s always had a lot of sex dreams, but they never felt like this.

Billy’s chest is warm, though there’s no heartbeat. But his tongue is wet and wicked and alive, and tendrils of smoke are curling against Steve’s overheated skin while Billy’s fingers dig into his hips. Holy shit.

Steve groans when Billy begins to slowly drag his hands to the placket of Steve’s jeans, teasing along the buttons. His tongue is teasing the inside of Steve’s lips, turning all of his thoughts to liquid lust.

Then Billy disappears into smoke and laughter, and invisible hands trail along Steve’s cock, under his jeans... through his jeans...

“Oh fuck,” Steve gasps, hips working. “Don’t stop.”

“Feel good?” Billy’s voice is somewhere on the ceiling.

“Fuck, yes, B-Billy... fuck...”

“Wanna make you feel so good,” Billy says softly, his voice crackling like a flame, “Wanna make you cream your jeans.”

Steve is embarrassingly close to that already, “R-Revenge?”

“For all the times you turned me on in class? No. But good guess,” Billy practically purrs when a smoky finger flicks the head of Steve’s cock and Steve cries out.

Steve gasps, “T-then...”

“Haven’t touched anyone in six months,” Billy laughs, and it echoes off all the polished surfaces of the Harrington’s pristine kitchen. “And you’re so touchable.”

Steve closes his eyes before they roll back in his head and makes an inarticulate noise, “Fuck, Billy... I’m... I’m... g-gonna...”

Billy’s corporeal in a moment, hand pressed over the invisible fingers, pressing Steve’s cock hard into his stomach, a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “Come on, Pretty Boy. Get there.”

Steve’s orgasm bursts through him like a wildfire, and he screams into Billy’s shoulder, pressing his mouth against flexing muscle in a vain attempt to silence himself. Blood roars in his ears and he passes out into Billy’s waiting arms. He half expects to go right through them, but they catch him, sure and steady.

When he wakes up, his eyes are blurry and his body is blissed out, floating like it hasn’t since Starcourt. He sits up in his bed and looks around the room but there’s no one there.

Oh shit. It really was a dream. He bites down the bitterness and looks down at the bed beside him.

It’s the bong, gleaming and blue, glass colors swirled together like smoke. The morning light glints off the edge. Like a wink.

“Good morning, pretty boy,” The voice rumbles through the room and Steve closes his eyes. Wishes he was dreaming.

[homecomingvn]

Oh ho, since this is the 80s, which cast member has the most aquanet in their hair and shouldn't be near any open flames? Who's rocking the electric blue eyeshadow? Is anyone having a punk phase?

Love this question!

HENRY: probably had a punk phase if you had one!

LYRA: most aquanet in her hair - should def not be any open flame! Also tied w/ punk phase! (More of Trad Goth leaning tho)

ELIJAH: has lots of (slasher movie-esque) crop tops in his closet! Great for practice! (there's also some leg warmers buried deep in there too!)

SANDY: for sure rocking the electric blue eye shadow! (+ killing it might I add!)

[hellfirehaley]

Strange Love: An Eddie Fic Chapter One

AN: so this is my first fanfic in like seven years, I made the decision very early on that this story will be a slow burn and I’m really hoping you guys like this. This chapter was NOT beta tested (since I don’t have one). Please let me know what you think in the comments or message me. Thanks to all who supported me through the writing process.

WORD COUNT: 4311

Songs mentioned: Smokin In The Boys Room by Motley Crue

Chapter two: https://hellfirehaley.tumblr.com/post/691146960664690688/strange-love-chapter-two

August 18, 1985

BRRING BRRING BRRING

The alarm goes off and you groan, smacking the top of the unwelcome reality check. It was the first day of senior year and you were ready to get it over with. High school was already hell on so many levels: between having to live up to your brother Leonardo’s perfection of prom king, full ride scholarship to Northwestern thanks to good grades and multiple extra curriculars, played basketball and baseball and was popular among everyone. Leo left last month for Evanstown, Illinois to go live in a house with his buddies so it was just you, your mom and Norm; a 3 year old mutt you had rescued from the shelter last year. You heard Norm whine beside you, signaling it was time to get up. You get  up, stretching in the process, heading to your door to let Norm out. You needed to get ready and your mom would take care of the dog for you.

Once in the bathroom, you turned on the radio and let whatever was on the radio play on while you sang along. You had decided to tease your curls slightly and sprayed it into place with Farrah Fawcett’s signature hairspray (Steve would KILL you had you used Aquanet). Your nails were already a metallic purple color that you decided to match with your purple denim skirt, a Blondie t-shirt and your brand new black and white Converse before adding your accessories (rings, necklaces and a few jelly bracelets).

You decided you were ready so you grab your backpack and head down to the kitchen, seeing your mother already up having coffee with some eggs and toast. Things were rocky with your mom a few years back but it feels like things have been patched over. It was rough seeing your mom hurting so much because of something your father did but you were hurting from it too so call it a trauma bond; call it family; call it whatever you want, you were just glad you still had one parent who gave a shit about you. It was simply because she loved you and wanted the best for you but you had to admit the overbearing tendencies along with her ridiculously high expectations were a lot. She was a hardworking woman with a career as a nurse so she was gone most nights, making mornings and after school the only real time you saw each other. 

“Morning sweetheart. Are you excited for your first day back?” she asked, sipping her coffee while you made your own. 

“I’m excited to see my friends but otherwise I feel pretty normal about it. Is there some kind of magic that I’m missing out on that was supposed to turn me into a peppy American girl?” you ask, gathering supplies for your lunch. You heard your mom laugh at your response.

“No. I just remember my senior year well and I want you to have some memories to look back on with Robin and Ali. I mean we did everything under the sun. I remember going to all the games with Susan and Karen, bonfires, prom, getting my college acceptance letter to University of Indiana, meeting your father…” she trailed off at that thought. You could almost see her slipping back into the darkness that once consumed the petite woman swirling around her thoughts.

“Yeah mom, that’s exactly what I need right now: a high school boyfriend. You forget who you’re talking to here.” you said, tossing a slice of bread in the toaster.

“I’m talking to my beautiful, brilliant, witty, wonderful daughter. You can do anything sweetie if you put your mind to it.” she said encouragingly as the toaster pinged out your breakfast. You grab your slices, joining her at the table, smearing butter along your toasted bread.

“I know Mom. I know how important this year is, especially after last year. I won’t let you down.” you vowed remembering the months long depression thanks to the simultaneous breakups of both your parents marriage and your own 3 year relationship with your boyfriend. You checked the time, finished your toast and grabbed your lunch bag, going to your mother’s side. “I’ll see you when I get home okay mom? I love you.” you say hugging her. She hugged back sending her love to you as you walked out the door, backpack in tow. 

 The drive to school was mostly quiet except for the sounds of the radio filling the void. You were super excited about seeing your girlfriends Ali and Robin. You and Ali had been friends since you moved to Hawkins in third grade. She immediately befriended you and the rest was history. You guys stuck together through a lot: puberty, first loves, first heartbreak, your high school careers and recently the changes in your family dynamic. She was the sister you never got. A few months ago you guys had become good friends with Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington.

Steve and Ali were “strictly friends” but to anyone who didn’t know them would say they are together. They bantered like husband and wife, pushed each other out of their comfort zones and even coparenting the kids you used to babysit for: Dustin Henderson, Mike Wheeler and Lucas Sinclair. You mainly spent time with Dustin since you lived four houses down, his mom would often have you look after him when she needed  a night to herself. You didn’t mind at all since Dustin was a sweet kid and you had a lot of common interests like nerdy movies, comic books, reading fantasy novels and one summer you even guested on their D&D campaign.

When you got to the school, it was already buzzing with excitement as everyone was finding their group or recruiting/ harassing freshmen. You couldn’t help but wonder what would happen this year. Would it be easier than last year? Last year you went through hell, barely passing your junior year but you knew they only passed out of pity like some charity case. But you were determined to get the hell out of Hawkins, away from the judgmental eyes. You pulled around to the back of the school and parked by the football field, enjoying your last few moments of peace. You put on your walkman headset and pressed play, the sounds of Heart of Glass played as you got out of the car, coffee in hand and backpack slung over your shoulders.

You found Ali, Steve and Robin sitting under a tree with Steve sitting behind Ali while he talks to Robin about something. Ali, in all her pink hair glory, was nibbling on grapes while the rest of her face was hidden by the book.

“Ali it’s the first day. It’s a little too early to have your nose buried in a book,” you say announcing yourself once you’re in earshot. 

“Says the girl who always has her nose buried in the same book; I’ll take it as a compliment.” Ali retorted, not even looking up from her copy of Christine by Stephen King.

“Touche. So how are we on this fine morning?” you ask, sitting in front of Robin, taking a sip of your coffee from the Thermos.

“Doing better than Danny Baker. He tried to ask out Jenny Daniels after 15 minutes ago and got rejected.” Robin said, exaggerating. You laughed along with everyone else, imagining the poor junior boy asking out a senior cheerleader.

“And this is why I hate popularity.” you say remembering last year.

“Yeah take it from me; it's nothing more than an overrated beauty contest.” Steve said, running his hand through his brown hair. 

“Plus we have each other. Nothing can touch us this year.” Ali said, matter of factly, putting her hand in for an “All For One; One For All” style handshake. You, Steve and Robin put your hands in, pushing them down and lifting them above your heads.

“So what’s the plan for this weekend ladies? Movie night? Arcade night? Wanna go see the new Living Dead movie?” Steve inquired, stealing one of Ali’s grapes and popping it in his mouth.

“Definitely not that but a movie night does sound nice.” Ali said, folding her page and putting it down.

“I’m so in for a movie night. Who wants to host?” Robin said just as they all look at you simultaneously. 

“Well then,” you said laughing, “I guess I’ll host, Saturday night after work sounds good to everyone?” you inquire as everyone agrees.The bell rang and Steve waved bidding you ladies goodbye as he walked to his car. The three of you continued towards the building, exchanging class schedules. You had English, Chemistry and Calculus together and the classes went on like clockwork. Introductions from each other, having to introduce yourself like you haven’t known each other your entire academic careers, listening to syllabi, some “light homework” to see where you’re at/get to know you. Before you knew it, it was lunch time. You stopped at your locker to drop off your backpack, needing only your home lunch and your walkman since you knew Robin and Ali were going to be chatting about something the entire period. You walked into the cafeteria and it was like nothing had changed; every clique sat with their proper herd. You found Ali and Robin sitting at your usual table with some band geeks and “inbetweeners”. But this time you saw three familiar young faces sitting with the girls. The curly haired boy was  wearing a Thinking Cap hat, a Weird Al shirt, khakis and some Reebok sneakers. The longer haired boy was wearing a striped shirt, jeans and Converse and the afro haired boy was wearing a blue shirt, jeans and Nike sneakers.

“Ah I see we picked up some stragglers along the way to lunch did we ladies?” you say smiling as you walk up to the table and all three boys smile seeing you.

“Y/N!! Holy shit! We haven't seen you in like a month. How are you? Dustin exclaimed, excited to see you.

“I’m good Dusty. Just been working and helping mom around the house. How are you? Everything going okay on your first day boys?” you say, sitting down in front of them. From the tone of your voice, your motherly instincts come out. You had this protective tenacity about the boys, especially after everything they went through these last few years. 

“Nothing major. Just calling us nerds, fresh meat. No locker shoving yet.” Mike said, smirking at the end before he bit into his burger. 

“You let us know if it gets too bad. Also, Mike, what happened to your style?” Ali asked, taking note of his outfit for the first time that day.

“Don’t; just don’t. Mom went to the mall last minute and came home with this, guilting me into wearing it” Mike warned. You almost laughed at him but were cut off by a new voice joining the conversation.

“Well that explains a lot. And here I was coming over to invite you boys to the most badass club in Hawkins but your mom bought you that outfit from The Gap?” You looked up and saw a boy you were familiar with. Eddie Munson. He was a senior last year and really pissed everyone off because he was loud and proud of who he was and what he believed. He ran against the status quo and didn’t wanna conform to high school norms. He had long curly hair that almost seemed to have a life of itself with its unpredictability, wore a customized leather jacket with a denim jacket over it, covered in patches of bands he liked. He always wore the same rings and metal jewelry to complete his outfit. Today he was wearing an Iron Maiden t shirt, jeans, white high top Reeboks and his jacket. He was known as the school “freak” who everyone bought their ganja from. He’s a third year senior and from what you had seen, he always looked out for the misfits. He was almost like a Hawkins Peter Pan, looking out for the lost boys and girls; giving them a found family and friend group. Getting lost in his brown doe eyes, you zoned out a good portion of the conversation but based on what you saw, you noticed the boys seemed to trust the metalhead and as much as every nerve was yelling out at you to Mother Hen them, they were young men now and completely capable of making their own decisions. 

“So what do you say boys; wanna join Hellfire?” the man inquired, standing behind the boys with an arm around each of them. He looked at you and smiled, winking. You smiled back, taking a chip from your bag. “That is if you ladies are okay with me stealing away your company.” he said looking between the three of you, taking extra time on you. You look at the boys and they are practically begging you to say yes.

“Well I suppose we could make due. Besides, you won’t find a finer artificer, ranger or Paladin to join your party my good sir.” you respond smiling as the three boys lit up. Eddie smiled as well, standing up and notioning to his table 

“Welcome to Hellfire. Come meet the rest of the party.” He said enthusiastically. The two boys grabbed their stuff saying their silent Thank Yous as they made their way to their new table. 

“Well at least the kids are fitting in.” Robin noted, seeing the boys be introduced around the Hellfire table with huge smiles on their faces.

“Yeah I’m happy for them. They need some friends outside of themselves and I think it’ll be great for them to branch out.” you add, taking a bite of your sandwich.

“Wait til Steve hears who they befriended though. We will get a classic Harrington melt down.” Ali said laughing at the thought. You and Robin joined in imagining the stern look on his face and his signature pose: hands on his hips in disappointment.

“Now THAT I will have to see. Please make sure we are there for it.” Robin begged. The conversation turned to plans for the rest of the day. You all had work tonight (Ali and Robin at Family Video and you at the local music store your uncle owned) so you wouldn’t be able to hang out properly until Saturday but promised to talk tonight after work. The bell rang and you all headed to Chem.

Your last class creeps up on you before you know it. You get to class and find your seat in the middle of the back row. You loved English but hated sharing how you felt about a certain piece of literature, especially when half the class didn’t care about it. The class started filling up and Mrs. O’Donnell started her welcoming speech which felt like a lecture thanks to her long, droning, drawn out tone of voice. A few minutes into her syllabus overlay, the door opened and revealed the same long haired boy from lunch. Everyone looked up at him and then back to the front.

“Mr. Munson, so glad you could finally decide to join us.There’s one seat left next to Ms L/N. She will be your peer editor this year so please take your seat in an orderly fashion.” Mrs O’Donnell scolded pointedly, rolling her eyes as the boy saluted her walking to the seat on your right. He settled in as Mrs O’Donnell continued her lecture. You try everything to pay attention but you find yourself doodling on your notebook humming to whatever song comes to mind. Before you knew it, the boy to your right started to tap along to your humming. You looked over at him, thumping his pencil along the beat with your humming, his hair getting in his face as he drummed.

“Sittin in a classroom thinkin its a drag listening to the teacher rap just ain’t my bag. by the two bells ring, you know it’s my cue…”

“I’m gonna meet the boys on floor number two. Smokin in the boys room; smokin in the room. Now teacher don’t ya fill me up with your rule…”

“Cause everyone knows that smoking ain’t allowed in school.” you sang in a loud whisper together. You looked up from your finished doodle (a black inked rose). You looked up to see the long haired boy looking at you with interest. 

“Motley Crue huh? Didn’t see that one coming.” he said with a smirk. He was very intrigued by the girl who knew things about Dungeons and Dragons and metal but was also pretty and nice to him. Was this a prank? Is someone fucking with him?

“Oh I’m full of surprises. I’m Y/N” you say, offering out your hand. 

He takes it and brings it to his lips, pressing the lightest kiss to your hand. “Eddie. Pleased to meet you. So how do you know the freshmen?”

“I’ve been babysitting Dustin ever since I moved to Hawkins and I grew to love the little nerds. I meant what I said earlier at lunch by the way,” you said kindly as he smiled.

“I know. If there’s one thing I’ve gathered about you so far is that you’re honest. Not a lot of people are.” he said trailing off in thought. It was almost like he was in a memory for a moment. You got the feeling that Eddie hadn’t had much experience with genuine human beings and the thought of that alone made you wanna know more about him. 

“Well I will always be honest with you. For example: I really dig how you don’t give a fuck about what everyone thinks about you. You run to the beat of your own drum,” you admit, laughing a little at the end imagining him dancing to a heavy beat.

“Always have. ‘S nice to have someone appreciate it,” he said, pulling a hand through his hair. You smiled at the nervous reaction. It was a cute sight to see such a confident man turn into a school boy even for a moment just because you complimented him.

“You’re a contradiction ya know?” Eddie said, breaking your thought process. You look at him, now finding yourself interested in his opinion of you. “Oh? Pray tell.”

“You’re a semi-popular girl wearing a Blondie shirt and screaming Cyndi Lauper but here you are humming Motley Crue. I gotta say I’m intrigued by a woman of your stature.” he admitted.

You chuckle a bit at his comment, pushing a fallen piece of hair out of your eyes and behind your ear. “Yeah some people call it an identity crisis but I simply just like what I like and people can fuck off if they don’t get it.” You said simply, shrugging your shoulders for effect right as the bell rang. Everyone else was ready to go and rushed out of the classroom while you gathered your things into your backpack.

“So Smokin In The Boys Room is your actual favorite Crue song?” Eddie asked, grabbing his notebook.

“No not by a long shot; fit the mood though don’t ya think? My favorite is actually Wild Side because it’s the song that got them started and as much as it is a metal song, if you listen close enough, you can almost hear a punk song,” you admit, slinging your bag over your shoulders.

Eddie pondered this for a moment, genuinely impressed by how passionately you spoke about music and why it made you feel a certain way. It almost made him wanna find that tape and see what he was missing. “Hmmm that’s an interesting approach L/N. Never thought about it that way.”

“Let me know your thoughts next time I see ya,” you say walking out of the room.

“That I can do,” he replied, walking side by side with you. “However, you have to listen to one of my favorites for me; it’s only fair.” he said, his brown eyes almost sparkling at the thought. 

“Okay Eddie, name it. I’m not scared of a little metal like most of the girls in this school.” you say walking towards your locker, Eddie at your side still.

“Well let’s keep it in theme shall we? School Daze by W.A.S.P. One of the greatest bands to ever rock a stage.” He said proudly. You smiled at him. Of course he was gonna start you off on one of his favorites.

“Okay you’re on. Give it what a week to gather proper thoughts and continue this conversation?” you offering smiling still as you got to your locker.

“Sounds good to me. Until next week m’lady.” He said, tipping two fingers like he was tipping his hat to you as he walked away. You couldn’t help but smile widely about the interesting boy that was a social pariah, considered a freak but really was a cool guy trying to get through senior year. Just like everyone else. You had to admit he was really cute with how sweet he was to you but you were sure he was like that with all the girls. I mean you guys just met today.

You didn’t even notice Ali and Robin coming to your locker until one of them said “Earth to Y/N” Hellllooooo. Are you in there?’ You shook your head, clearing your mind.

“Sorry. I got in my head for a while there.” you said, blushing a little.

“We noticed. Would the reason why start with Eddie and end with Munson.” Ali probed, having seen the last part of your interaction. It took everything in you not to blush more.

“No. Besides, we were just talking about music. Nothing too serious.” you say nonchalantly.

“Yeah but Eddie Munson doesn’t talk to just anyone. Sure he talks to his friends and his ‘clients’” Robin said, air quoting clients.

“Didn’t you say something similar last summer when you guys became friends with Steve Harrington?” you countered, pointing out the unorthodox friendship between them and the older boy, “Plus it’s not a big deal. He seems like a nice guy and he’s my peer editor for the rest of the year so it’s better we have a friendly demeanor as opposed to just not saying anything.”

“I’m just saying it’s cute is all. I can see the potential.” Ali said, hugging her books into her chest, shrugging her shoulders.

“Yeah Y/N, it’ll be good for you to put yourself out there again. Especially after–” Robin started to say before you cut her off.

“AH! AH! We do not speak his name. We swore never to speak his wretched name ever again after that night.” You say in a rush.

“Okay, okay. Calm down dude. When SLIMEBALL did The Thing. But girl, you deserve the world and as your best friends, it’s our job to ensure you get just that.” Ali finished.

“Speaking of, when are you finally gonna admit your feelings for Harrington?” you joke, poking Ali in the ribs.

“Oh fuck off. You already know I’m too shy and he will never see me like that.” Ali whined, leaning her head back in frustration.

‘Woman you have six kids together. He calls you Mom; you call him Dad. You’re basically married and skipped all the steps in between,” you exclaim laughing at the end.

“She’s got a point,” Robin pointed out.

“But you see the sea of women lined up for even a chance to date Steve Harrington. I don’t wanna become one of those girls.” Ali said.

“You won’t be because you know why? You’ve got us and we’re gonna make damn sure you have a kickass boyfriend by year's end.” Robin vowed

“I second this motion,” you agree.

“You guys are assholes,” Ali groaned as you exited the school.

“We know but you love us,” Robin said, scrunching her face up.

“Yeah yeah yeah. We gotta get to work otherwise Steve will blow a gasket working a double.” Ali said, sighing. You all nodded and said goodbyes, promising to talk tomorrow first thing before heading separate ways.

The drive home was unmemorable with the radio playing whatever mundane Top 40 song was popular. Your mind is occupied with the events of the day; mainly Eddie Munson, the boy in the Iron Maiden shirt, leather jacket and ripped jeans. The boy who seemed to see you and was interested in you for reasons other than your past. You got home and immediately were greeted by your dog Norm. He was the most loyal, protective and loving dog so you guys had named him after you and your mom’s favorite resident drunk on Cheers!

“Norm!” you exclaim like they did on the show, seeing as that’s how you had greeted him since he was a puppy. You pet him while he excitedly wagged his entire body along with his tail. Norm really was the light of your life.

“Let me get changed and we will go on our run okay boy?” you inquire, scratching behind his ears, earning a bark of approval. You bound up the stairs and change into some spandex shorts, a baggy t shirt and your running shoes. You walk over to your cassettes and grab your Ramones tape Road To Ruin, get it loaded in your walkman and head back down downstairs to get Norm’s leash. 

“Ready boy? Let’s go!” you say after you leashed him up, opening the door to let Norm out first with you on his tail locking the door behind you. Running usually cleared your head and kept you centered, at ease but today you kept thinking about that curly haired boy in sixth period.

Taglist: @realeddiemunsonstandup @sharkbaitouhaha @eddies-blunt @awkwardlioness @bobbiewritesstuff

[housecatclawmarks]

Such a weird experience trying to explain the finer details of my relationship with my gf to other people bc they’ll be like ‘aww that’s so cute’ or like ‘aw u love her a lot:)’ or smth and it’s like yes we ARE adorable and yes I DO love her a lot but its more than that. its like someone rubbed cocaine on my gums. Like. I feel like a mad scientist who is also a wife guy who is also an electric eel. i’m a neurotic victorian city dweller and she’s the vapors. im the fantastically voluminous and brittle hair of an 80s goth and she’s the resilient & enduring aquanet. 9/10 times I wish I could drive it’s bc im fantasizing about running over her enemies with a truck. Ill like tell ppl smth about our relationship progression or whatever and they’ll be like wow that’s fucking insane and im like no it’s normal in the context of my feelings, my FEELINGS r just fucking insane. she’s like if Chernobyl was a good thing.

[thesmokingguns]

Joy and Izzy: The Stadium Tour fiasco

Minors DNI 18+ slightly nsfw

Izzy knocked on Joy’s door, he had a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a dinner reservation for a surprise he had planned for her. His palms were sweaty, as they usually were when he was going to meet the girl he loved. He had never been nervous around someone until Joy had come into his life and tossed everything upside down.

The door was pulled open and a time machine transported him back to 1986 where he was overwhelmed with the sounds of Motley Crue, the smell of aquanet and a hell of a lot of leopard print.

Izzy was stunned into silence, something that he was starting to  get used to when it came to the antics of Joy. Her friend laughed as Joy came rushing forward, her leather pants hugging all her curves and lace bustier not leaving anything to the imagination. She was taking the flowers, kissing Izzy with what tasted like LA colors lipstick, which he hadn’t thought they still made.

He wanted to ask what the hell was going on because all her friends looked like they were groupies or Madonna wannabes on Halloween but Izzy was so worried he had forgotten something that he didn’t say a damn thing. He had flown by the seat of his pants, spontaneous and excited to surprise Joy when he should have checked his day planner and realized that Joy was not available tonight.

“I can’t believe you came over before the show, I didn’t think I was going to see you today.'' She was kissing him again and Izzy was trying to remember what show she was talking about. Then he remembered her friend in the pink poof ball jacket talking about seeing her in a couple weeks at The Stadium Tour and NIkki fucking Sixx being as arrogant as ever saying that he would make sure all her friends got backstage.

At the thought of it all Izzy had wanted to scoff aloud. He had been invited backstage by Nikki and had felt both embarrassed and furious at the suggestion , even though it wasn’t meant to be a big deal.

“The show…” Joy could tell Izzy forgot and was smiling at him as she pulled him into her room, closing the curtain. “Why don’t I drive you ladies?” He realized how creepy the word ladies sounded as Joy laughed at him.

“You’d hate that.” She pushed him into the bed and let him hold her hips as she settled down on his lap watching the way his lips opened, mouth ready to kiss the warmth of her skin.

Izzy knew that he would hate that but if he picked her up he could take her home with him and that was worth all the chaos that was sure to ensue with a vehicle full of drunk girls. It also limited her time around Nikki who he still did not trust. Plus he knew her friends had rented a hotel closer to the venue and Izzy was thinking about how he could get them their own room and make a whole weekend in the city with Joy. A little getaway staycation sort of deal.

“I want to do it.” He doubled down as she raised an eyebrow, her name being called from the room behind them.

Izzy wished they had time, time for him to kiss all the spots on her body that made her sigh in pleasure but he knew that their time was limited. He slapped her ass with the tips of his fingers, watching her smirk at him.

“We should get you girls, girls, girls on the road.” he winced at his bad joke, but it was worth it by the way Joy threw her head back cracking up at his poor attempt at comedy. She was always worth it.

Joy had her backstage pass swinging around her neck, her friends in the crowd all agreeing to meet on Sunday morning in the hotel lobby. Izzy had talked to her about a few nights in the city together and she had thought it was a great idea. It was going to be the most time they had together uninterrupted and she felt giddy about it.

It was even more special now because they had talked a few nights ago about their relationship and defining it. They were both serious about each other and the term boyfriend and girlfriend had made them laugh like kids. They were partners, together and equals. Equally crazy about each other and in love.

She knocked on NIkki’s dressing room, pushing the door open and looking around shocked as she saw Nikki alone, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was dressed for the stage but looked slightly haggard and off. Almost like he had forgotten to eat and shower for three days straight.

“Hey Nikki.” his eyes opened, wife in shock as he looked at Joy, his hands shook and she stepped back, never having seen this out of control before. Her eyes swept the room looking for her friend, “Where’s Peach?”

The sound that escaped his lips was that of a wounded animal. Joy winced, stepping forward when she heard it. Nikki’s hands fell into his hands and for a second Joy thought of how Peach had been in the hospital and maybe she had died. But Peach had called Joy on the way back to the house from the Uber. Joy had been eating lunch at her desk as they Facetimed and Peach had talked about heading to LA before joining the tour again. Maybe she just hadn’t come back yet. She hadn’t been texting Joy back which had happened before when Peach got too wrapped up in her work.

“She broke up with me.” The air left the room and a sob escaped NIkki’s throat. Joy watched horrified as his hands came up and he covered his face, “She saw the pictures of my ex, coming to visit me on tour and she thought…she left me.”

Joy swallowed hard, she had tried to talk Peach off the edge about the pictures, having answered the phone at 2am, crawling out of Izzy’s bed and having a best friend phone call in an empty bathtub for an hour. She had made sense of teh pictures, Peach had seemed okay. Had she really misread her friend.

“I’m sure it’s a-”

Nikki held up a ring and Joy froze. She knew the ring because it was one of the first things that Nikki had given Peach. It was a simple band of small diamond chips and rubies, Peach had worn it everyday through school, always touching it and smirking. She liked the sense of belonging to the man despite them having talked about how they would never marry. Maybe part of Peach had wanted that commitment but she had to make due with the ring and held it dear.

“I’m going to call her, Nikki. I’ll figure it out.” he looked up at her, black streaks of makeup down his worn face and Joy realized how much her best friend meant to him. Peach wasn’t just the person that Nikki dated, she was his entire world.

Joy was stepping into the hallway, a quick SOS text to Izzy and then she was dialing Peach’s work cell, knowing that NIkki didn’t have the number or wouldn’t think of calling it.

“Hey, I’m swamped with this deal. I’m probably going to be stuck in LA-”

“I know you left Nikki. What happened?” Joy cut right through the bullshit, listening to the way Peach sighed out.

“Look, I have to finish looking through this contract before Monday. I have a huge-”

“I’ll fly out to LA and help you.” Joy challenged Peach. If she wanted to be difficult she would be difficult right back. “We did graduate law school together, Peach. I know what I’m doing.” The soft sigh of her friend made Joy realize this wasn’t just Peach trying to avoid something, it was serious.

“I’m camping out in the office. I jumped into this deal last minute and got stuck going over the worst details because of it. I can’t leave now, Joy.” Peach was using her serious voice, not fooling around anymore, “I know you’re at the concert and if you’re calling you probably saw him. And..the pictures…I can’t get them out of my head. They’re all I think about and.”

“I get it. You’re jealous and you never expected to see them so it made it worse. PLus you were sick in the hospital and couldn’t just jump up and deal with it. It was the perfect storm, Peach. But you didn’t have to leave him.” Joy was trying to reason with her but she knew she was going to have to cancel her weekend with Izzy and fly to LA to do damage control. There was only so much that she could do over the phone.

Nikki stuck his head out, he saw Joy and reached for the phone but she was shaking her head at him to signal that he couldn’t take the phone. He reached again and she was smacking his hands away.

“I don’t get jealous.” Joy cracked a smile, imagining Peach with paperwork around her. She was probably in the conference room to get the most space and she was most definitely pouting her best brat pout. “If NIkki is there with you can you tell him something?” Joy pulled the phone away from her ear, putting it on speaker.

“Of course I can.”

“Tell Nikki that I hope he’s happy with her. I hope he has a great life with his ex and he-”

“Peach please, I-”

As soon as he spoke Peach hung up and Joy sighed, all he thought of dancing and watching all the bands was gone and now she was stuck with flying to LA.

“I’ll go get her, NIkki. Just give me until MOnday.” Joy was walking out of the stadium, wondering why Izzy hadn’t messaged her back and moving to her friends group chat to let them know something came up and she had to leave. She would hire a car for them to get back to the house on Sunday.

Izzy had his phone on airplane mode again and the wifi off because he thought that it saved the battery and he hadn’t learned how to charge his phone in the car yet. He had paid an exorbitant fee for a garage spot while the girls were at the show and now he was watching a video of Joy from a few weeks ago. He figured that everyone was in the show and he had nowhere to be so he might as well make the most out of it.

He watched Joy, the way that she was moving around the bedroom, as she scooped up clothes. She was naked and teasing him as he begged her to come back to bed with him. The way her hips swayed and she smiled as she saw him videoing. He reached into his khakis, pulling down the brass zipper to give himself more room.

Fuck, she was gorgeous.

He was stroking himself, sighing as he watched the video over and over and-

The knock on the window made Izzy fumbled the phone. His head slamming into the steering wheel, the horn blaring as he ripped his hand from the pants he was stroking his cock in. The car smelled like arousal and sweat and shame. Lots and lots of shame.

His eyes lifted to see who he was sure was going to be a police officer who would put him on some registry and he would make it into the gossip rags where Axl would see him and finally call him and let him know what a creep he was.

Instead he saw Joy.

He was opening the door, letting her crawl into his lap, glad she didn’t make a comment about him jerking off in the car like she could have done. INstead she was sitting on his lap, head going to his shoulders as she sighed out.

“Do you think we could move this weekend to LA? I need to get Peach and NIkki back together.” Izzy had about ten thousand questions to ask about that but all he was thinking about was if they went to LA it would probably be easy to convince Joy to stay for a full week and he always wanted more time with her.

“I’d love that.”

“Good; I already bought us plane tickets. We fly out in three hours. So I think we have some time to take care of your problem, Mr. Isbell.” she shimmed, his cock hard under her as he grew flustered, realizing that she had seen him jerking off in the car.

But if she was going to make it go away he had nothing to complain about.

[nolagirl-forlife-blog]

Who am I

I am a 56 year old, 18 year old girl in a 80 year old body. I have lived a childhood of many 70's Memories. My Coming of Youth days were in the 80's not withstanding lots of Aquanet and possibly a little cocaine. I was a bass player in 2 bands in the late 80's and early 90's . I put down the bass for a pair of Baby Booties in 1993. I raised a daughter without a partner. I drew Blood for 20 years. I hung up my fangs in 2012 to work with cats and dogs in the animal field. Did I mention I'm a type A personality? So Who am I???? I have no Idea… I'm hoping you can tell me.

When you get to you middle age, you have these realizations…. I will never have a child ( again), I will never have a 1st kiss again. I will never be in high school again. I will never hear my fathers or my brothers voice again. You are stuck somewhere between you childhood memories, your present day which seem stagnant, and the uncertainty of what the hell just happened, how did I get here…. and where am I going. In middle age you come to a realization that half your life is over and the next have will most likely be filled with physical pain, aging, grief and worldly changes that you cant really understand.

Who the Hell am I? I have no idea. I know who I was, but I cannot honestly say who I am. Everything that happens in your life molds you to this person that you become. But ,what if good things came your way and you still feel bitter? What if you had trauma or sadness in your past and you live on a repetitive roller coaster of positive thinking one day and negative thinking the next.

Here is what I do know. Life is short. That's not a cliche' its a mad FACT of life. If you have seen a person or pet pass away in front of your eyes, you see the soul leave the body that leaves a shell of the physical being behind. I don't want to live as just a shell of a being in this life. When my soul leaves, I want godamn rainbow glitter, sparkles and bright light to shower over everyone. And Maybe Rose'.

I may be a bit lost as to who I am today, but I do know this about myself and about you. We are all stronger than we realize. You know the saying " The Lord will only give you what you can handle?" Well I call Bullshit. God would never be as cruel as to expose children , animals, hell all of us ,the the horrific things that we see and experience in our lives. It not like he/she/they have a measuring cup and says ohhh this person can only handle 1/4 a cup of trauma not the 1/2 cup! We get through it because we are BAD ASS BITCHES. In this experience, cope, grieve, heal, repeat. I think the choices are you either feel it or put your head in the sand. I was always a feel the pain to get through it gal, but I will admit, lately, I my head has been in the sand more.

So in this Blog, You will see my weirdo-ness. I will listen to Mozart and a second later thrash around the kitchen while cooking to the Sex Pistol's. I'm a pastaholic, I love Pino cause its kenno. I like to make people laugh. I have many fears that I need to face. I am Goth, I am Emo, I am fat, I am diabetic, I am menopausal. But I am not dead,,,YET. I dislike a lot about myself, my life, this country, and this world. BUT…. I cant give up. I am hoping my blogs may strike a chord in someone. Because, we are all so very alike.

Til next time, Hang in there

Barbara

[paladudette]

the smell of hairspray has pavloved me into thinking i'm at a speech tournament

[cherrydreamer]

I was thinking about Billy and all the girls in his room who would do 'happy screams'. And then I ended up writing this little bit of a lemon-y snippet.  It’s not exactly polished cause I first wrote it on a Discord chat, but I’ve tried to shine it up a bit! Warning for: Mentions of sexual acts including rimming (that part is under the cut).  Billy knows he’s getting a reputation. He knows it. He hates it. Hates them. The girls he brings back to Cherry. The ones with loose lips, the one who’ll brag about snagging a date with him, and who won’t skimp the details. The ones who don’t just kiss and tell, but who fuck and exaggerate.  And it’s all just a front, a facade to keep Neil off his back and to stop the rumours that he knows will start spreading if he’s not careful. One less piece of ammunition for everyone, and less effort than stringing along a girlfriend.  And it’s all fake, just like their noises. Because, despite his swagger, Billy knows there’s no way he’s that good. Even for Indiana. Not with girls, at least, but he still ends up with them laid out beneath him, sounding like they're auditioning for a damn porno or something. It drives him crazy, and not in the good way, making it almost impossible to go to his happy place while some chick is squeaking right in his ear like that, and he has to give thanks for a well placed poster of Ratt and that guy with the doe eyes and cheekbones for helping him over the finish line.  But then he gets with Harrington. Steve. And it’s nothing more than fooling around but, hey, it’s more than he ever imagined he’d get, so Billy's not about to look that particular gift horse in the mouth. Not when there are far more interesting things he can do with those pretty lips, anyway. And it turns out that Steve doesn't do happy screaming. Instead, Steve does little gasps and moans. The kind that come out all breathy and slightly hitched and sometimes Steve bites them down or muffles them with his fist and Billy just can’t be letting him get away with that. Not when he sounds so good. Not when Billy’s the reason he sounds so good. And that’s why Billy grabs hold of Steve’s hand. Just to pull it away from his mouth. Just so he can hear Steve’s sounds. And maybe also because, when he does, Steve will interlace their fingers and then hold Billy’s hand all the way through. And Billy likes that too. Almost too much. Perhaps as much as he likes Steve’s words. Because Steve might not scream but he talks. A lot. When Billy's really got the rhythm up, he can get Steve to babble. A whole steady stream of “God" and “there, right there” and “yes yes yes” and “please, please, please” and even one time when Billy actually had to bite down a laugh as Steve's Midwestern politeness really took over and he's pretty damn sure he heard a “thank you” too. And then there's the time that Steve's words change. When Billy catches the first whisper of “baby”. And it's enough to have his heart lurching cause, yeah, no, that word can’t be for him. Can’t be meant for Billy’s ears. And now he knows that Steve's gone to his own happy place where he’s imagining some pretty chick with her glossy pink lips wrapped around his dick instead of Billy's mouth. Billy knows that Steve’s got to be picturing curves instead of muscle, imagining a pretty sundress instead of a sweaty vest, even if fuck, Billy’s in so deep now that he’d happily run a tube of Cherries in the Snow over his mouth and slip on a floral dress if that’s what it takes to keep Steve around.  Hell, he might even enjoy it.  But then Steve groans, the kind that means he's close, the almost feral growl deep down in his throat. And his hand reaches out. Not for Billy's hair, the one part of him that actually is as soft and lightly scented as any chick's, especially when he's not got his usual build up of Aquanet in there. No, instead Steve’s fingers fall on Billy's arm, right where it's resting against Steve's thigh, and he stroking a thumb over the tensed muscles as his fingers toy with the patch of coarse hairs. And then the words spill out of him, uncontrolled. A mess. A precursor to what's about to happen down Billy's throat. "Baby, oh, baby, oh Billy, baby, Billy. Fuck, yes, Billy." And it's breathy and stuttery and the furthest thing from a scream. But it's definitely happy.  And Billy starts to think that maybe the words could be for him. And damn, that’s enough to have him almost spilling his load right in his jeans.

And then there’s later on. Months later, when they're more than just fooling around. When things have been said and shouted and cried about and then worked out and understood and apologies have been given and shoulders have been cried on. Then. After all of that. That's when Billy first coaxes a happy scream out of Steve. It's the first time he eats him out.  It's something Billy's been wanting to do for ages, but not daring to try in case it crosses a line. Some invisible line that he's the only one to think of, and that isn’t exactly based in any kind of real logic if he’d actually think about it but, still, he's terrified. So he holds off. Until he can't hold off any more. Cause he's got Steve's lying on his tummy with that perfect ass right in front of Billy’s face, all round and juicy and fucking delicious and he’s been sucking hickeys all around the tops of Steve’s thighs in the way that has Steve shivering with pleasure, and then some kind of instinct takes over and Billy can’t resist speading Steve open and licking a fat, wet stripe right over his hole because it's just...it's there. And Steve doesn't do his gaspy stuttery thing. Instead he whines. Pleading and desperate and needy and making all the noises that go right to Billy's dick. But Billy hesitates. Just for a moment. Just in case. And his mouth is just starting to form the sentence, the one that might be “Is this OK?” or might be “I’m so sorry” depending on what comes out, when Steve starts to beg. His voice is high and shaky and almost incoherent, but Billy gets it at once. He hears Steve’s “Please, more, oh, please baby, Billy, please!”  And, well, it’d just be rude to ignore that kind of politeness. So Billy dives right back in, licking and lapping and teasing and, God, it's filthy and wet and everything Billy dreamed of, and Steve's probably gonna have stubble burn in the worst places but the noises he's making are driving Billy crazy, and it’s an absolute travesty that the best ones are being muffled by Steve's stupidly expensive pillow so Billy stops- earning an absolute heartbroken wail- to wrench the pillow away and throw it across the room, taking advantage of the pause to flips Steve over and gaze right into his eyes, so big and blown that they almost look black,  ″No hiding, sweetheart. Wanna hear you. All those pretty sounds. Love to hear ‘em.”  And then he goes right back to business. And it's so much better now. Gloriously loud and unhindered. And he must do something exactly right. Maybe it was the stopping, the teasing. Maybe it was the rough scratch of stubble against Steve's sensitive inner thigh, something so undeniably masculine. Maybe it's the novelty of something entirely new to Steve. Maybe Billy actually is just that damn good. But Steve's moans turn to yelps. Then something more like a scream. A very, very happy scream.

[lady-divine-writes]

The Hitchhiker - Chapter 1/4

Picking up a hitchhiker isn't exactly the dumbest thing Kurt has ever done, but it's not exactly the smartest either. When he comes across Blaine Anderson caught in a sudden downpour, he can't just leave him on the corner to drown... can he? (1756 words)

Read on AO3.

“Excuse me? Sir? Do you need a ride?”

Kurt flashes as confident and honest a smile as he can to the man standing on the side of the road. But the second those words leave his mouth, he hears his father’s voice in his head yelling: “Kurt Hummel! What the hell are you doing? Picking up a hitchhiker? Are you out of your mind!?”

And Kurt has to admit, the voice is right. 

There is a fifty-fifty chance that this man, standing alone in the dark by the side of the road, is a violent serial killer. His outfit alone perpetuates the stereotype - indigo jeans, white t-shirt, leather jacket. He has an olive-green duffel slung over one shoulder and he's carrying a guitar case, for God’s sake! What are the odds that there’s actually a guitar in there!? If Kurt picks this man up, he has a greater chance of becoming a statistic than of that man being a musician! Kurt should drive away now without an inch of guilt, floor it without looking back.

And he probably would have deferred to his better judgment and stepped on the gas had it not been for a few things. 

It's pitch dark out for a start. Only a handful of street lights line the curb, installed twenty or so feet apart, which creates long expanses of shadow in between. The road they're on is in the middle of nowhere, with trees towering on both sides of them. This doesn’t help Kurt’s argument any since it seems like just the place a killer would lie in wait for a potential victim. But, in that same vein, someone or something could be stalking him, waiting for Kurt to drive away so they can pounce on him from the trees. Then it would be up to the reach of this man's legs and his athletic ability to save him.

This leads directly to reason two: the man is a klutz. In the five minutes Kurt has been stuck at this red light, he’s seen him smack himself in the face with his own bag, drop his sunglasses (pink rimmed Wayfarers, no less), catch them, then fumble them again, and step in the same puddle twice. If this man is a serial killer, he may not be the most competent one on the planet. 

Three, just as Kurt’s light turned green, it started raining. And not the light drizzle he has come to expect during his infrequent forays to San Diego, but an honest-to-God downpour. Kurt saw the man turn his face up to the sky, his shoulders slumped, wholly defeated by this new development. He put the butt of his guitar case on the toes of his shoes to keep it out of the mud, then attempted to wrap his jacket around it.

And Kurt’s heart melted. 

Kurt is a musician himself. Singer more than musician but he has friends who play the guitar. His stepbrother Finn owns a Fender that he sold plasma to afford. Puck's Gibson is the only thing he has never hawked when he needed money. And Sam, in this man's position, would take off every stitch of clothing to protect his Blueridge if it came down to it. Kurt can imagine this man’s whole life wrapped up in that case, which he is now convinced does hold a guitar.

Kurt isn't a gun enthusiast by any means, but he thinks a semi-automatic should be able to withstand some weather. He may want to Google that one later on… provided he’s still alive.

And about that guitar case: it isn’t a plain, generic, black guitar case. The thing is covered in travel stickers and bling. It has a personality all its own. An easily identifiable personality. If this man is a killer, Kurt is pretty certain every human on the West Coast would know about it. He’d be nicknamed the Kitsch Case Killer or something along those lines. That case sticks out like a sore thumb. There’s no way a man carrying a guitar case decorated like an old-school Lisa Frank binder is getting away with swiping a pack of gum, not to mention murder.

To a lesser degree (Kurt tells himself so he doesn't have to admit how idiotic this idea is), this is the most a-dork-able man Kurt has ever seen. He looks more like a puppy than a predator (weak reasoning, he knows). But Kurt has instincts about people that are usually on the money. He has to give himself credit for making it this far in life. Kurt is tougher than he looks. He has taken his fair share of licks, and he’s still ticking. 

Plus, he has bear repellent in the pocket of his jacket the size of a can of Aquanet. He feels he has his bases covered.

The man walks slowly towards Kurt's car, the curls piled atop his head hanging heavily down his cheeks the wetter he gets.

No, Kurt can’t leave him out here.

“Um. Thanks. Thanks a lot,” the man says, cautiously eyeing Kurt up and down as if he may be asking himself Kurt’s same string of questions in his head. “But I… ” The fact that he isn’t jumping at Kurt’s offer, that he’s glancing anxiously down the road, mulling his options even as rain pours down his back, puts Kurt at ease. The man looks like he’s trying to gauge if Kurt might have a weapon hiding somewhere on his person, contemplating if he’ll come out of this alive if he accepts this ride. 

Ironic, but that proves that there are two sides to every situation.

The man looks about to step away and decline until a fork of lightning turns night into day for five seconds, a boom so loud following it shakes Kurt’s rental car. 

“Sure. Okay. Why not?” He pulls open the rear door in a rush but still wary as he puts his belongings into the backseat and joins Kurt in the front. “Thank you so much. I didn’t expect it to rain this hard, or I might have stayed in my hotel room one more night.” He runs a hand through his hair, cringing at the water that sprays the headrest.

“Not a problem.” Kurt reaches behind the seat and grabs the towel he’d fished out of his luggage earlier when he’d done the same thing. But the rain was only a sprinkle then – angel spittle, his mom would have called it. “I couldn’t just drive by and leave you out here to drown.”

The man chuckles. It, much like the rest of him, is too cute for words. “My name’s Blaine.”

“Kurt.” Kurt extends a hand for Blaine to shake. Blaine looks at it, hesitates a second before taking it, still questioning Kurt and his intentions, Kurt assumes. Despite being stuck in the rain, Blaine’s hand is warm, comforting in a way Kurt speculates a serial killer’s hands would not. “Well, Blaine, where you headed?”

“Oh, uh… I’m trying to make my way to L.A. But you can drop me off anywhere between here and there.”

“Ooo. Actor? Producer?”

“Unemployed schlub, unfortunately. Currently riding my brother’s couch. He’s the actor. I’m the… the failure.”

Kurt pulls onto the road again and heads for the highway. “That’s a really unkind thing to say about yourself.”

“It’s what… well, it’s what my father would say.” He wrings his hands uncomfortably. “He’d also say I’m a disappointment, a waste of a Harvard education, a bum… ” He shivers. Kurt raises the temperature of the heater. Blaine glances at Kurt in embarrassment, and Kurt gets the hint that it’s not the cold that has him trembling.

“I know it’s not my place to say, but I’d stop listening to your father if I were you. It doesn’t seem like he has anything worthwhile to say.”

“How can you say that? You don’t even know me,” Blaine says under his breath, with an edge like a growl, the kind wild animals give when you stumble into their territory unaware. It sets the hairs on the back of Kurt’s neck on end, and he starts second-guessing this decision. 

Relax, Kurt. The man’s just beat down. Exhausted. You understand what that’s like.

Blaine sighs, sinking into the passenger seat and leaning his head against the window. "I'm sorry. I know you're trying to be nice. It's been a long day." 

“I understand. And I may not know you, but I know fathers," Kurt continues. "A father’s job is to be supportive of their children, no matter what they do in life. Succeed or fail, win or lose, they should always be in your corner. And if he’s not, screw him! Surround yourself with people who want to lift you up, not tear you down.”

Blaine winds his arms around his torso, hugging himself tight. “I---is that the way your father treats you?”

“Yup,” Kurt answers with a subconscious smile at the mention of his dad. “He supports me in everything, even the stuff he doesn’t entirely agree with. And when things don’t work out, he’s the first person there, helping me to my feet and encouraging me to try again.”

“Sounds like a great guy. You’re lucky.”

“He is," Kurt says proudly. "And I am.”

Blaine fixes his gaze to the road ahead as Kurt merges onto the highway. He chews the inside of his cheek, stares too hard at the rain-slick asphalt, not shifting focus. It's as if he can't bring himself to look at Kurt when he asks, “So, you think you’re a good judge of character?”

Kurt nods. “Yes, I do."

"How do you know?"

"Experience. I have a decent track record.”

"Surround yourself with a lot of questionable people, do you?"

"I guess you can say that," Kurt agrees with a laugh, thinking of the people who have come into his life that he has adopted as his own: Rachel, Dave, Santana, Puck, all of them rivals or bullies. Or both. But now, a cherished part of his found family.

People he hopes will miss him if SDPD finds him by the side of the road tomorrow with his throat cut.

Stop it, Kurt! Relax! You're in no danger! Everything is going to be fine!

Blaine shrugs, examining his wet hands as if he’s reading something etched on his skin. “Someday you’ll be wrong.”

“Probably." Kurt meets Blaine's eyes in the reflection of the windshield, flashes his confident smile again. "But I don’t think that day is today.”

[bookishbrigitta]

I think a lot of people forget that the “Marauders Era” in HP is the 1970s. Like. Leisure suits. Massive glasses. Hair that’s either stick-straight or a hair helmet. AquaNet. Weed. So much weed. Bell bottoms. Plaid. Tie-dye.

Give that a thought, especially if writing fic. Having the boys ‘round Remus’s house? Tea comes from an avocado green kettle and snacks from a rust colored fridge. Whole living room is shag carpet. Boys tackle each other onto a sofa with a massive brown-and-orange floral print to watch muggle programs on a telly with dials that weighs a thousand or so pounds.

[coraclavia]

Kate Mulgrew in “Murder, She Wrote,” part 1

Hello you beautiful weirdos. Today on Cora Watches, we have the first of three Kate Mulgrew appearances on Murder, She Wrote. This is season 3, episode 12, “The Corpse Flew First Class,” which aired in 1987.

If you’re into youtube commentaries, Pushing Up Roses has a video on this episode which is a lot of fun.

Anyway!

The basic concept here: a murder takes place during a trans-Atlantic flight, and Jessica, along with a few others aboard, have to figure out what happened. And since the plane’s in the air, we’re pretty sure the murderer must still be aboard. Real Murder on the Orient Express vibes.

Kate plays an actress, traveling with her chauffeur/bodyguard.  And since the whole episode is basically one flight, she gets one outfit. But it’s a great outfit. 

Also, mama gets a little sugar. 

Monochrome outfits can be a disaster, but she looks great.

She makes air travel look much more glamorous than it really is.

The makeup is great, too. I love what they did with her eyes. 

I don’t have a witty caption for this one, but she looks fabulous.

UH OH, BOYTOY IS DEAD

She has a sad.

Watch the ep yourself if you want the whole story and who killed the guy. I haven’t even mentioned the other characters or the diamond necklace that got stolen. I’m focusing on important things here, like how Kate looks like she’s being eaten by her giant fur coat.

I have one criticism. I love a classy French twist, but my hair hurts just looking at this. I can feel the crunch. How much Aquanet went into this? Oof.

Next time on “Cora Watches”: We jump ahead to season 8. Another day, another dollar, another hairstyle.

[shadow27]

IT'S THAT TIME OF THE MONTH! If you're in the WashingtonDC are come out for the best 80's & 90's (New Wave, Dark Wave, Post Punk, Industrial, Synthpop, and more) at the coolest bar on H Street. NO COVER. WEDNESDAY - May 25th Sharpen your eyeliner and break out the Aquanet... Join us on the 4th Wednesday of each month for great alternative music from back in the day!

########################### DC MANDATE REQUIRES PROOF OF VACCINATION TO ENTER THE BUILDING ############################

DJ Devolutionary & DJ Neidermeyer will be playing great alternative dance tracks from the 80's & 90's at the coolest bar on H Street. Featuring New Wave, Dark Wave, Post Punk, Industrial, Synthpop, and more. Got questions? Requests? Please let us know! Dance, drink, chill in the lounge, on the patio or deck. Fantastic people, good conversations, lots of laughs and GREAT music! There's a full service bar plus an amazing beer selection: https://untappd.com/.../little-miss-whiskeys-golden.../18538 We're proud to be the home for 80's & 90's alternative music in the H Street corridor since 2009! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ KISS KISS BANG BANG The 4th Wednesday of every month @ Little Miss Whiskey's Golden Dollar 1104 H Street NE Wash DC / 2nd Floor 21+ / FREE ADMISSION / Doors 9pm Look for the purple neon out front!

[themonkeycabal]

Wandavision Ep 5 Spoilers

Wherein I watch Wandavision at a stupid hour of the morning because I do not sleep like a regular human being, and sometimes I have things to say.

Previously on Wandavision, we all discovered that Darcy Lewis and Jimmy Woo were the BFFs we never knew we needed and now can't live without. Also Wanda reminded us that she's really scary.

We should be in the 80s now, right? Ahh the 80s. Leg warmers, Aquanet, and MTV.

Baby shenanigans with crying twins. Wanda tries to magic them to sleep and it doesn't work. "Maybe we just need some help." And in pops Agnes without waiting for them to answer the door. As you do in a sitcom hell. She's got a headband and leg warmers on and is on her way to jazzercise. Of course. Is the point of Agnes to really anchor us in a decade? Asking for real. She's very "this is the era, and these are the tropes, let's all play along now."

Vision is very protective of the babies, to such a degree and with such intensity that Agnes literally forgets her line and nervously asks Wanda if she wants her to take that again. Well, then. Agnes very super a lot does not want to be wished to the cornfield. 

The babies stopped crying during the whole "should we do this scene again" interlude. Vision noticed the weirdness and is trying to figure out what's going on, Wanda is trying very hard to pretend everything is normal. Agnes is being super duper bizarre in the background. And suddenly the twins are like three years old. Agnes has given up and got into the liquor. I don't blame her.

Opening credits. Okay, I'm sorry, 'baby' Vision is almost more stupidly funny than I can take. Like … what? I think I want that as my new icon, though. Also the credits are too long. I think they were very proud of their theme song, so we have to hear it all. These are my least favorite so far. Very 80s, but meh.

In the real world, Monica is getting x-rays and giving a report on being yeeted from Wanda World.

Jimmy Woo and Darcy are there to greet her at the end of the exam. "This is Doctor Darcy Lewis." Yes, she is! Still very proud. She's also the doctor of encouraging people to wear pants, shoving a pair at hospital gown-clad Monica. Erik's no-pants phase was very scarring.

The medic comes back and says the medical tests didn't work or something. The medic wants to do x-rays again because the first came back blank and also she's going to have to do another blood draw. Hmm. Monica is still somehow affected by Wanda World? Unclear on how that would work. Some sort of weird witchy radiation-like energy? Monica says 'no' to more needles and also wants to put pants on. Just let the woman have her pants.

Now we're on to a briefing with the acting Director of SWORD whose name I don't remember. He's very "government suit" bland, I have a hard time caring about anything he says. Also, does anybody else pronounce the 'w' in SWORD in their head when they read it? Like I cannot make my brain stop doing that. "s-WUH-ord'.

"Our initial theory had Wanda Maximoff as one of many victims. We now know she is the principle VICTIMIZER!" Settle down there, acting director guy. Why not say 'subject', 'suspect', 'perpetrator', or boring old 'cause of the anomaly". VICTIMIZER! Geez then. I'm going to guess his solution will be a tactical nuke or some such rot.

Jimmy gives background on Wanda.

Acting Director Guy: "The twins were subsequently radicalized, volunteering at Hydra." Jimmy Woo: "That's an oversimplification of events, but yes." I'm giving you heart-eyes Jimmy Woo.

"After unspecified experimentation with the mind stone, Maximoff gained telekinetic and telepathic abilities."

Then a weird aside where the Acting Director — who shall now be known as Acting Director Dick — wants to know if Wanda had a code name or a something, seeming to imply that not having one made her a bad guy?,  and then he points out how the first time she used her powers it was against the Avengers. He totally just ordered a tactical nuke from "overreacting-government-douchebags r us".  I hate this particular character trope, the government heavy who never listens to anybody and is always ready to napalm the suburbs because reasons. It's so tedious.

Jimmy points out that Wanda earned the Avengers trust and then became an Avenger herself, thank you very much. Acting Director Dick doesn't care, he's decided Wanda is a terrorist and he'll turn half of New Jersey into a glass parking lot to get rid of her. Sure am glad he's in charge of some sort of mysterious and powerful agency.

Jimmy Woo is not a fan either, and he walks back over to his new bestie and tells Darcy that while he tries not to speak ill of anybody … Darcy interrupts "then allow me", and she has no trouble saying that Acting Director Dick is, in fact, a dick. That's my girl.

Elsewhere AD Dick is blathering on about how they don't negotiate with terrorists. Well, since Wanda hasn't made any demands, or released a manifesto or anything …. Monica also points out Wanda is not a terrorist. AD Dick twists her report to make Wanda sound as terroristy as he can. I'm bored with him now.

Monica argues with him a bit and say she doesn't believe Wanda World is a premeditated act of aggression. I vote Darcy, Jimmy, and Monica wait until AD Dick is alone, and then they shove him in a locker for the rest of the season. If anybody asks he had to run back to sWUHord for meetings or something, "Darn, you just missed him. I'll tell him you're looking for him. Great. Buh-bye now".

AD Dick needs to make his big jackass point that Wanda is the most terroristy terrorist who ever terroristed, so he shows off footage of Wanda breaking into a SWORD facility to steal back Vision's body. Because that seems terroristy and not at all like some sort of emotional breakdown. As far as I can tell, she just busted open a few doors, but didn't hurt anybody. I think AD Dick doesn't know the meaning of the word terrorist.

And, yes, then she resurrected Vision in an idealized sitcom world in a small city in New Jersey. That's exactly like something a terrorist mastermind would do. Mmmhmm. Is it nice for the people trapped there with them? No, clearly not. Agnes and Herb in particular seem aware and are scared. They need to be rescued and Wanda needs LOADS of therapy. But Director Nuke the Site from Orbit over here isn't going to make anything better. Darcy, sister, shove that asshole into a locker stat.

Jimmy notes that stealing Vision's body is a violation of the Sokovia Accords. And while I appreciate his dedication to maintaining the Accords … well, I mean, look, it's body theft and all. It's not a great look; I absolutely allow that. But you can just sort of stop there. Though, that's very the Sokovia Accords "if this guy dies, his body must go to a shadowy government agency. for safety. yep."

Also Vision had a living will, where he didn't want to be used as a weapon. Sure, okay. Because I'm sure SWORD was just totally not doing anything at all with his body. Nope. Look, I'm totally a SHIELD girl and even I wouldn't necessarily trust SHEILD with that. So, who is SWORD to me? Pfft. I'd give him to Thor or something and ask him to be buried far far away. I'm just saying. I'm supposed to trust Johnny-Come-Lately S-WUH-ORD?

(In my head now is an inter-agency rivalry where SWORD is like "We have rocket ships!" and SHIELD is like "lol, our lead scientist got eaten by a rock and survived on an alien world for like six months". "But rocket ships?" "We've traveled through time a dozen times in the last year alone. We're a bigger chaotic disaster than you can ever hope to be".)

AD Dick undermines his own "SHE'S A TERRORIST!" thesis by saying she acted out of grief. And then he dismisses everybody. "Work the problem!" Uh … whut? Fine? What is the problem? That she's a WILD MURDERY TERRORIST who must be stopped! or a grief stricken woman who stole her technologically advanced boyfriend's body and probably should be talked down? Acting Director Lack of Clarity.

Jimmy wants to know how Wanda could have resurrected Vision without the Mind stone and Darcy wants to know what Vision will do when he figures it out. Fine questions, friends, fine questions. Monica is just like "acting director dick used to be a buddy but now I kind of want to punch him and am very conflicted. oh and wanda kind of freaks me out but also i feel bad for her" only she says all that without words.

Tommy and Billy are now about like 5 or 6 or something. I'm terrible with kids ages. They're up to shenanigans. Oh, they found a lost puppy dog and they're giving him a bath in the sink. It's all super adorable.

Vision wanders in and greets his family all formally and in his human face. He says he has a premonition someone might pop over. He's not a fan of sitcom neighbors either. And there's Agnes now with a dog house. How does she know whether to enter through the front door or the back door?

The dog tries to burn the house down by licking an electrical outlet? so they name him Sparky (harr harr) and Wanda magics him a collar with Agnes right there. Vision's all "wtf darling?" and she points out Agnes didn't even notice when the boys went from babies to five-year olds, she certainly didn't notice the magic collar. Agnes is trying very very hard not to notice anything. Poor Agnes.

Wanda says she's tired of hiding her abilities and Vision is Very Concerned. He's starting to figure things out.

They tell the boys they can't have a dog until they're 10, so the boys grin at each other and age themselves up to 10. That is all very unsettling. Agnes "Let's just hope this dog stays the same size." as she screams internally "save me!"

Real World. Jimmy's hustling back to the science room with coffee for Monica and Darcy. Monica is asking for some sort of wild mobile bunker to help her get back into Wanda World and Darcy's like "well, yes, but also no". But Monica knows an aerospace engineer who'd totally make it for her.  

"I can't guarantee the Hex won't just mind wipe you as you go in." "What's the hex?" "Oh, it's what I'm calling the anomaly because of it's hexagonal shape. It's starting to catch on." Darcy's so proud, but Jimmy's like 'not so much' but he's too polite to say.

Monica's determined to go back in. Jimmy wants to know who the kids are, if they've id'd them or the babies and Monica's all "oh, no, those are legit Wanda's." Darcy says if she can make stuff with her mind, and all the props and whatnot in the Wanda World are real then she's wielding an insane amount of power. Monica is sure she could have taken out Thanos if he hadn't cheated and snapped her. Jimmy thinks Captain Marvel could have done it. Monica very much doesn't want to talk about Captain Marvel.

Monica has an Idea!

Ah, she wants to see her outfit from Wanda World, which is now in the real world. So, is it real matter Wanda created, or is the perception field bleeding over to make them all see that outfit in the real world. That would have been hella awkward if Monica got yeeted out of her clothes.

Monica confirms they're real then steals Jimmy's gun and shoots them. Ahh, she was wearing a kevlar vest when she went into Wanda World, and that changed shape to be her super fly 70s outfit. "Wanda is rewriting reality." Changing things to fit the hex. So they'll send in something that doesn't need to be changed. Um. Sure. Fine. I don't know what that means, or how that would help in this context, but I'm sure I'll find out.

Meanwhile, Vision is at work, and all his coworkers are amazed at the actual computers. Golly shucks. Computers. Hey, so, computers have been around since the 40s. ANYWAY.

"Should we surf the internet?" We're progressing rapidly through the 80s. Oh, lol, Darcy sent an email. And the whole office creepily reads it out loud. Vision is very weirded out. As well he should be. He wipes the computer with his glowy synthezoid powers and then he glowies Norm when Norm tells him 'none of it is real'. Norm wakes up "please help me. what day is it? how long has it been?". Oh dear. Poor Vision. This is all going to go so very badly. Norm gets very freaked out begging Vision to "stop her". Vision resets him.

At the house the boys wonder where dad is, and Wanda tells them it's Monday and he's at work. Except the boys are all "um, no, it's Saturday". Wanda, your house of lies is tumbling down! You shouldn't have let them grow up so fast. Babies don't ask inconvenient questions about why Daddy needs some space from Mommy and her questionable choices for their shared reality.

Wanda takes the opportunity to impart the 80s family sitcom trope of the weekly life lesson about how family might fight, but they still love each other and family is forever. One of the twins asks if she has a brother. She does. He's far away. But, Sparky goes barking at the door. Wanda looks far away herself. She goes to open the door and Sparky runs out.

Monica has sent in a drone from the 80s. Well that wasn't really a thing. But, how does the 1980s rc plane look more high tech than the 2020s drone they sent in first? Talk to your design team, SWORD.

Anyway, Wanda spots the drone, but she's keeping it out of the broadcast, because she's the editor and director and producer of Wandavision, of course.

Monica announces herself and tries to get Wanda to acknowledge her. Whoops. Wanda's eyes go glowy. AD Dick says "take the shot" and Monica's all "what? no, the drone isn't armed." Except of course it is, because AD Dick is a monumental dick, and he's got a backup drone pilot who takes the shot. Wandavision goes off air. And, oh no, there's a breach at the Hex!

Lol. It's Wanda coming through, dragging the mangled corpse of the drone with her. That was entirely deserved, AD Dick. I hope she shoves it up your ass, dick.

"The missile was just a precaution". AD Dick backpedals quick, like a coward. You gave a three second attempt to talk to Wanda before you pulled the trigger, I don't like you. "You can hardly blame us."

Wanda warns him to stay out. "You won't bother me, I won't bother you." Okay, well, he does kind of have a point, in that there's a whole town of people who are stuck as bit players in Wanda World. That's not very nice. I mean, surely she could have found a nice empty spot somewhere and created her sitcom utopia. That's at least a fair criticism.

Monica tries her best to talk Wanda down. It doesn't work particularly well.

"What do you want?" "I have what I want and no one will ever take it from me again." And she mind controls the soldiers training their guns on her, to turn them on AD Dick. Whoops. And Wanda goes back to her world. The Hex glows all red as she goes.

And we go to commercial. Lagos Brand paper towels. "For when you make a mess you didn't mean to." Wow, so that was brutal. Wanda's not mad at you, Monica. She's just carrying a lot of guilt. Ouch.

Back in Wandavision, the boys are looking for their dog. They find Agnes hiding in the bushes with the dog. Poor Sparky apparently ate some azalea leaves and died. The boys are very sad and Wanda warns them not to age up. They can't run from their feelings. Oh Wanda. "It's too sad," Billy says. "You can fix anything mom," Tommy cries, "Fix the dead". Yikes.

Wanda "I'm trying to tell you there are rules in life." Poor Agnes is trying not to have a total meltdown. "We can't reverse death. No matter how sad it makes us. Some things are forever."

Billy and Tommy try to talk her into bringing back Sparky. And Vision turns up. Well, this is just brutal.

Vision is entirely outside of Wanda's control. "I spoke with Norm. I unearthed the man's suppressed personality and I spoke to him free of your oversight." Yikes. "He was in pain, Wanda."

Okay it's kind of funny they're arguing over the end credits. Vision is very very pissed. "I'm scared." Aww.

Wanda insists she's not in charge of every life in Westview. "I don't know how any of this started in the first place." Huh. Is that really true? Because she's pretty sure of it now. Somebody or something convinced her into a sitcom world and now she's just like "yeah, this is good"? really asking.

Ding-dong.

"I didn't do that." 

Vision: *doubt*

DING DONG

Wanda goes to answer the door.

In the real world, alarms are blaring but Darcy notices a new revelation on Wandavision.

Wanda Word — and it's Pietro at the door. See! I knew it had to be Pietro who'd be the surprise guest thingy. I mean it's hilariously X-Men Pietro (Evan Peters, like @lewstonewar suggested), but Pietro nonetheless. There's nobody else it could have been.

Darcy be all WTF? "She recast Pietro?" lol

Okay, Wanda seems legit shocked. I don't think she did that. And I super really don’t think she’d make him sound like a NYC cabbie. 

And end.

Well. I mean, I'm not sure what to think. Wanda insists she's not controlling everything. I don't think she created Pietro. But, she totally stole Vision's body and created the kids and seems mostly happy in her sitcom universe and she can traverse the Hex, which obviously suggests its her doing. Dunno. I have questions about Agnes and her convenient timeliness here and there.

The mystery continues.

Disney wants to know if I want to watch Age of Ultron next. How poorly you know me, Disney.