#Christmas on Cherry Lane
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Christmas on Cherry Lane
Premiering Saturday, December 9, 8pm/7c on the Hallmark Channel.
Starring Catherine Bell, Jonathan Bennett, John Brotherton, Erin Cahill, James Denton, and Vincent Rodriquez III.
Part of Countdown to Christmas.
Updated: poster added with premiere date and logo
#christmas on cherry lane#countdown to christmas#hallmark channel#poster#catherine bell#james denton#erin cahill#john brotherton#jonathan bennett#vincent rodriguez iii#hallmark movies
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Le 07 novembre 2023 à New-York (USA), l'acteur James Denton a assisté à la projection spéciale du TVfilm Christmas on Cherry Lane de la chaîne Hallmark.
Un échange a eu lieu avec les spectateurs. Pour tous ceux qui n'ont pas pu se déplacer, un deuxième échange virtuel via la réseau Facebook a été organisé le lendemain.
Cette projection spéciale, honorant les premiers intervenants et les militaires du pays, s'est tenue à l' AMC Lincoln Square Theater.
A ses côtés : - ses partenaires du téléfilm, Catherine Bell, Vincent Rodriguez III, Jonathan Bennett, Erin Cahill et John Brotherton; - le scénariste Rick Garman; - la responsable de production Samantha DiPippo; - la directrice de production Candice DiLavore; - la responsable de la communication de la chaîne Annie Howell; - le réalisateur Gail Harvey; - Breanne Heldman et Rob Bruchman; - les actrices Alicia Witt, Ginna Claire Mason, Ashley Williams, Nikki DeLoach, Kimberley Sustad, Cindy Busby et Taylor Cole; - les acteurs Benjamin Ayres, Kristoffer Polaha, Victor Webster, Will Kemp, Paul Campbell, Andrew Walker, Steve Lund, et Tyler Hynes.
Photos : Craig Barritt Sources : @hallmarkchannel et Getty Images - Hallmark Media
Alias Mr Lyle dans la série Le Caméléon
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Christmas on Cherry Lane (2023)
90 min.
Country: USA
Genre: Comedy, Romance
Language: English
Three couples at different parts of life navigate big turning points in their lives over the holidays.
Watch on Hallmark
#christmas on cherry lane#comedy#romance#G#gay#queer movies#lgbtq movies#lgbtq films#gay movies#gay films#lgbt#lgbtq#queer films
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Christmas on Cherry Lane (2023 Hallmark Movie)
Christmas on Cherry Lane (2023 Hallmark Movie) #ChristmasOnCherryLane #Hallmark
Christmas on Cherry Lane (2023 Hallmark) 📺. Stream/Watch the Movie (Ad): Watch or Stream via Hallmark Movies Now Cast: Vincent Rodriguez III, Jonathan Bennett, Erin Cahill, James Denton, Catherine Bell Director: Gail Harvey Writer: Rick Garman ➡️ Check out our Youtube Channel: Lifetime Uncorked: Lifetime Movie Reviews 🎧 Listen to the Lifetime Uncorked Podcast: Listen Now 🍷 Support…
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#2023#Catherine Bell#Christmas Movie#Christmas on Cherry Lane#Erin Cahill#Hallmark#Hallmark Channel#James Denton#John Brotherton#Jonathan Bennett#LGBTQ+#tv movie#Vincent Rodriguez III
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⟡ cₕₐᵣₗₑₛ ₗₑcₗₑᵣc ⟡
NONE OF THESE ARE WRITTEN BY ME
ᵐʸ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ʳᵉᶜˢ ᶠ¹ ʳᵉᶜˢ
— ᶠᴸᵁᶠᶠ ⟡
little guard - @xxblairexxss
a rock? thanks! - @starkwlkr
what's mine is mine (^)
banned (^)
dancing in the rain - @thef1diary
you are in love - @love-belle
sleepyhead - @pucksandpower
changing lanes (^)
jealous!charles - @theemporium
welcome to the chalet (^)
30 more minutes - @chillielo
mirrorball - @uglyducklingofthe2000s
causal dominance - @verstappen-cult
26 birthday kisses (the cutest thing i've actually ever read) - @f1version
after all - @scuderiahoney
pov - @mirohlayo
i saw mommy kissing santa claus - @uramakimochi
red - @champagneholland
tipsy - @uluvjay
just kidding - @sincerlyleclerc
christmas with charlie - @sports-on-sundays
did i do that? - @chlerc
birthday - @poetsblvd
— ᴬᴺᴳˢᵀ⟡
too good - @dilemmaontwolegs
all that matters (^)
i'm a young man after all - @uglyducklingofthe2000s
the final frame - @leclsrc
world burning (mafia stuff basically) - @miirohs
écoute chérie (^)
right timing (sobbed over this) - @moneymasnn
said something stupid, instead of 'i love you' (smut) - @absolutelynotmate-archive
— ˢᴹᵁᵀ⟡
congratulations - @awritessomething
true temptation - @cherry-leclerc
ruined all of my plans (^)
you know it - @leclsrc
sexy appeal - @lecsainz
playing with his nerves - @ccsainzleclerc5516
just you and me (^)
ruffled sheets - @jujusdiary
tired eyes - @sunsetchicane
wins - @leclerc-hs
— ˢᴼᶜᴵᴬᴸ ᴹᴱᴰᴵᴬ ⟡
charles' playlist - @writingstoraes
all mine (^)
biggest fan (^)
no.1 fan (^)
birthday - @absolutelynotmate-archive
obsessed - @chrisevansonly
friendship bracelets - @astonmartinii
tight knit (^)
love languages (^)
undercover verstappen (^)
oh no he's hot - @verstarppen
baby - @csainzoperator
ferrari's girl - @landitolover
sur le point - @f1fnatic
mystery girl - @lewisvinga
stay in suzuka (^)
ever letting go - @hs-is-loml
three's a crowd - @poetsblvd
lover boy - @luvclerc
into you - @leclercsainzz
actress!reader - @formulaa-1
buisnesswoman!reader (^)
like a feather - @maplesyrupsainz
they don't know me like my baby (^)
newey!reader - @pucksandpower
in a different timezone - @sof1shticated
hitched - @lxclerc
"slut" ! - @agendabymooner
party in the u.s.a - @ham1lton
every day, i dress all black - @chokamo
— ˢᴱᴿᴵᴱˢ ⟡
everything shower smitten (smau) - @xxblairexxss
tying the knot two three (smau) - @dannyricsmirrorball
christmas in monaco two three - @everythingne
how you get the girl (smau) - @verstappen-cult
steal my girl snitches end up in ditches i'd lie (smau) - @leclerckins
we found love two - @bykshre
#charles leclerc#charles reader x reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc angst#charles leclerc smut#charles leclerc smau#charles leclerc imagines#charles leclerc one shot#charles leclerc series#charles leclerc blurb#f1#f1 x reader#formula 1 x reader#formula 1#formula 1 blurb#cl16#cl16 x reader#cl16 x you#cl16 x female reader
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Kim Seokjin Fic Recs
‼️18+ minors DNI, if you choose to anyways, PLEASE be careful. try to heed our warnings, we have them for a reason‼️
More Recs Here
he’s insanely good looking your honour
[not in any particular order] [if any users would like me to remove their post from this list please let me know and i will do so immediately!]
thank you daddy @ktheist 19k
sugar daddy!seokjin, WHEEWWW, small angst, hella smut tho LOLL, 9 YEAR AGE GAP!, they’re both horny fucks,
fast lane @yminie 20.6k
racer!seokjin, enemies2lovers, angst, smut !!!!!short depictions of car accidents!!!!!, jin is a PLAYA, reader really hates his guts LOLL
cherry topper @kth1 17.6k
friends2lovers, longtime pining, college!au, reader works at his family’s candy shop :)) fluff, angst, SMUT, reader is dense as hell LOLL
every year @another-army-spot 15.6k
childhood bff2L, chef!seokjin, a yearly new year’s eve party!!, hard fluff, smutty angst, they both grew up hella rich.
final sleigh @floralseokjin 23.3k
coworkers, e2l, reader very much hates seokjin LOLLL, forced proximity fanfic 🤭🤭 smut, fluff(?), angst in Y/N is petty LMAO, it’s christmas!
stuck with you @taleasnewastime 29.6k
strangers2lovers, reader is grumpy :(, they’re stuck in a city they don’t want to be in, Jin is a raining ball of sunshine, angst, smut, fluff, angst. happy ending :)
MENTIONS OF DEATH!
small tuna fish @floralseokjin 17.1k
college!au, jin is a GOOD nice guy, he’s so jinny, FLUFF x10000, smut too LOL, jin is a cutie, he’s inexperienced, there’s a charity car wash too 🤪
warm this winter @jamaisjoons 51.6k
s2l, this was so cute, jk is such a dumbass, but it’s okay seokjin is here to save the day. fluff, angst, SMUT. it just smacks u in the fuckin face.
lost and found @taleasnewastime 21.2k
s2l, seokjin owns a silly lil shop cuz he’s a silly lil guy, reader was cheated on, fluff, angst, they’re so cute. jimin is there too! oneshot.
you guys don’t understand how fucking much i love this story. i’ve re-read it more times than i can count. i think about this Jin once a week
made up love song @floralseokjin series
dilf!seokjin, teacher!reader, arin is saur cute, angsty :(, but fluffy!!! n very smutty, lots of fluff with arin, seokjins ex >:(
turn back time @raplinesmoon 13.3k
seokjin accidentally fast forwards time, smut, angsty fluff, reader is a doctor, JIN POPS A SEMI 💀💀💀💀
sit. stay. @daechwitatamic 14k
dog owners!!!, they live in the same building, jin just wants to help MC, miscommunication :(, fluff, angst, smut, more fluff. literally. cuz dogs. i love this jinnie sooo much
the ikea test @yoon-bug 9.1k
they’re dating, hoseok was right 💀, reader gets upset with seokjin, jin saves the day!!, and then screws the HELL out of MC, so.. smut, fluff too :)
last november @kithtaehyung 24.7k 😭😭
god. exes2l, angst and um oh more angst, smut, all ends well, they’re on a holiday trip with tha gang.
ryen NEVER misses. masterpiece after masterpiece.
the platonic collection @joheunsaram mini series
FWB2L, MC is kinda… she’s kinda dense LOL, seokjin is a cutie, smut, fluff
off limits @floralseokjin series
brothers best friend!seokjin, they’re hiding :(, FWB2L, angst angst angst, yoongi gets puNCHED, smut, readers brother is overprotective, lil fluff
don’t go baking my heart @candlewaxandp0lar0ids 14.7k
i don’t think u understand i love this seokjin. JK is a cutie, S2L, jinnie owns a bakery and is the master of puns, kinda angsty, fluff, they’re also IDIOTS. lil smut
cupids on holiday @persphonesorchid 17k
cupid!seokjin, fluff, angst :(, smut, E2L?? ily jin. but i HATE U. but ily.
all i don’t want for christmas is you @minisugakoobies 23.7k
coworkers AU!, E2L, crack, fluff, smut, jin has a big… ego.. y’all. Y/N pisses me the hell off, but they’re SO CUTE 😭
glazed and dazed @floralseokjin 30.3k
um. PORNSTAR SEOKJIN. thank you that’s all, jk, seokjin ☹️, obviously smut, but they’re fluffy n cute i promise.
the devil wears armani @floralseokjin 65k series
WHEW this one is a doozy, devil!jin, jimin is there too, very much smut smut smut, angsty, fluffy, seokjin has a soft spot.
like i said at the end of my last fic rec post, if any of you have recommendations for me, please send them through!! my inbox is OPEN and i am always looking for more things to read!!! 🫶🫶
#bts#bts x reader#bts smut#bts fic recs#bts fic#bts fic rec#seokjin fanfic#jin x reader#seokjin x reader#jin fluff#jin smut#seokjin fluff#seokjin smut#bts oneshot#bts fanfction#bts fanfic#fic rec#birdyrants#seokjin fanfiction#jin fanfiction#방탄
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Seokjin fic recs 2023
In honor of Seokjin’s birthday, I want to share my favorite fanfictions that I’ve read this year. Although I did not read as many as I wanted to, the list will be short. But! I’ve leave my ‘to read’ list at the bottom to make up for it 💜I want to thank each and every writer on this list for creating such wonderful stories and art - you are truly amazing ✨ All the fics on this list hold a dear place in my heart 🥹
❗Most of these fics are smutty as hell or contains dark themes, so minors dni.❗
If you read anything on this list and you like it, please leave a comment to the writer or reblog the original fic’s post 💜And if you want more fic recs you can follow me to stay updated 🙂
BTS fic rec index → May | Jun | Jul | Aug | Sep (jjk)(knj) | Oct (pjm) | Nov (*) | Dec (💜)(kth) |
Emoji meaning → angst = 🌩️, smut = 🥵, fluff = 🥰, comedy = 😂, yandere = 😈, thriller/dark = 👻.
⭐Knocked by @sailoryooons [10.6K] // ksj x f.reader // roommates to lovers // 🥵😂
📝 Living with people is difficult, but all things considered, your new roommate isn’t terrible. He cooks, he cleans, and if you had to be honest - incredibly attractive. But his habit of streaming until the early hours of the morning while yelling and making other questionable noises has pushed you to the limit. You’ve finally decided to risk your sanity and put it all on the line with a reckless bet in hopes of getting some peace and quiet at night.
🗨️ This was so hilarious, and the build up and pay-off was really good 👏
⭐Sleepover by @peachypinkygloss [7.3K] // ksj x f.reader x pjm // bestfriends!au, threesome // 🥵
📝 You spend a night with your two best friends at their dorm room. You should have known that they wanted to do more than just watching movies.
🗨️ Omg this was so good, the smut 😘🥵
⭐I Don’t Think I’m Okay by @ressjeon [4K] // ksj x f.reader // slice of life, idiots to lovers!au, childhood friends!au // 🥵🥰🌩️
📝 With many chances wasted, you couldn’t even resist anymore.
🗨️ A cute little Seokjin fic 🥰
⭐The IKEA Test by @yoon-bug [9.1K] // ksj x f.reader // established relationship // 🥵🥰😂
📝 One review on IKEA’s website called the BRIMNES bed frame the leading cause of divorce due to its difficult assembly. You and Seokjin had laughed when you read it. Now, you weren’t so sure.
🗨️ Their banter and all the sexual innuendos are damn hilarious! I thoroughly enjoyed this very much 💜
I’m really sad that I didn’t get to read more Seokjin fics 😭 I have a lot on my ‘to read’ list, so I’ll share some that I’m really excited to read when i have more time (and I know they’ll be great because they are written by amazing people!) ✨
‘To read’ list ⬇️
Fast Lane by @yminie [20.6K]
Cherry Topper by @kth1 [17.6K]
Final Sleigh by @floralseokjin [23.3K]
Stuck with you by @taleasnewastime [29.6K]
Small Tuna Fish by @floralseokjin [17.1K]
Off Limits by @floralseokjin [series; completed]
Raspberry truffles by @gukyi [5K]
Christmas Warfare by @gimmethatagustd [14.5K]
9 Months to Fall in Love by @floralseokjin [series; completed]
Redamancy by @jeonggukingdom [7.1K]
Sunday by @here2bbtstrash [5K]
Serve Me by @chateautae [16K]
Meet Me at the Bar by @eoieopda [7.5K]
Internal Conflicts by @yoongiofmine [series; completed]
Forever by @oddinary4bts [25.2K]
Thank you, Daddy by @ktheist [19K]
The Devil Wears Armani by @floralseokjin [series; completed]
Glazed & Dazed by @floralseokjin [30.3K]
Wet & Wild by @jamaisjoons [10K]
Warm this Winter by @jamaisjoons [51.6K]
Peach Parfait by @jamaisjoons [series; completed]
Borderlines by @jamaisjoons [series; ongoing]
All I Don’t Want for Christmas is You! by @minisugakoobies [23.7K]
Cupid’s on Holiday by @persphonesorchid [17K]
Don’t Go Baking my Heart by @candlewaxandp0lar0ids [14.7K]
Platonic by @joheunsaram [series; completed??]
Last November by @kithtaehyung [24.7K]
Sit. Stay. by @daechwitatamic [14K]
Turn Back Time by @raplinesmoon [13.3K]
Made-up Love Song by @floralseokjin [series; completed]
Lost and Found by @taleasnewastime [21.2K]
I’m so sorry that I didn’t get to read more! 😭 Life happened, and yeah. But all of these wonderful fics on my list sound so incredibly good and I really look forward to reading them and give them a lovely review 💜
HAPPY BIRTHDAY SEOKJIN!!! 💜 🥳 🎂
#bts fic recs#bts fic#bts fics#bts imagine#bts imagines#bts scenarios#bts x female reader#bts x you#bts x y/n#bts x reader#bts x reader smut#bangtan x you#bangtan x reader#bangtan smut#bangtan fanfic#bangtan fic#seokjin fluff#seokjin angst#seokjin smut#kim seokjin#seokjin#seokjin x reader#seokjin x y/n#seokjin x you#seokjin x oc#jin x reader#jin fanfic#jin smut#bts jin#jin x you
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all is calm, all is bright
dad!Eddie Munson x mom!Reader
Your baby’s first Christmas, a silent moment in the festive glow.
Word count: 1.2k
Content/Warnings: Pure fluff. Short and sweet. Eddie and Reader are parents. Childbirth mention. Reader referred to as 'Mama'. No physical description of Reader - insert yourself, my loves!
Author’s note: Something small and seasonal as I try to get back into some sort of creative flow again. Much grá to you all, my lovelies ❤️
Dividers by @saradika-graphics
Cherry Lane glowed in the dusky winter light that fell over Hawkins. The entire town dazzled with a warm holiday glow from Christmas lights and the bright excitement of the littlest townsfolk all riled up for a visit from the Big Man later that night.
Your little home was no different - in fact, it might have been the cosiest home in the whole county. Coloured lights twinkled around the window frames, a handmade wreath hung on the door, and plastic candy canes diligently lined the snow-dusted path to guide Santa’s sleigh. It was a picture-perfect holiday card, inside and out.
Maeve Munson was too young to comprehend the very concept of Christmas, or Santa Claus for that matter. Too shiny and new to recognise the stocking with her name on it hanging above the small fireplace, or the presents wrapped in glossy printed paper beneath the tree.
Just a few weeks old, she arrived as an early gift for you and Eddie. The best one you had ever received. In true Munson fashion, her entrance to the world had been a little dramatic, but Eddie had held your hand and let you squeeze as hard as you needed until Maeve made her debut with a head of dark hair and a loud set of lungs.
From your cosy nesting place on the sofa, you watch her big brown eyes gazing at the twinkling coloured lights and baubles on the tree. With her cheek resting against her father’s shoulder, Maeve blinks, slow and sleepy, as she listens to his voice.
“I know you’re really into the boob right now, kid, but you’re going to love Christmas dinner once you’re big enough.” Eddie’s voice is a low murmur as he rocks slowly from side to side, chest to chest with his daughter.
His hand looks huge on her back, patting a slow and gentle rhythm that just exists for the two of them.
You can’t take your eyes off of them, despite how tired you feel. It would be so easy to just close them, a quick few minutes rest, but you would miss them too much.
You wish that your camera was closer so you could snap and savour this moment as one you can hold in your hands.
It is peaceful bliss bathed in colourful light; you soak it in, savour it.
There have been no tears for an hour, though you feel like you are right on the precipice of breaking that streak with how much love and joy you feel, swelling like pride in your chest.
The house is warm, the old window frames are fixed with double-glazed glass that keeps the chilly winter air out. It’s rough around the edges, but there is food in the fridge and the cupboards are full. There’s a tree and lights, a few presents beneath it.
It’s not much but it’s enough. All you need is right in front of you.
Eddie catches you watching them, smiles as he nuzzles against chestnut brown hair that will curl and coil like his own in time.
He pauses his murmured monologue, his waxing lyrical about everything he will pile on his plate tomorrow. Everyone’s bringing something to family Christmas at Harrington’s - you managed to make two desserts while Eddie introduced Maeve to A Charlie Brown Christmas, one eye on you the whole time to make sure you weren’t doing too much. Bringing the Littlest Party Member is the real treat for your friends and family, who will take turns holding her and squabble when one of them hogs the baby for too long.
“Hi Mama,” he says, his voice so soft as he crosses the room slowly on socked feet.
“Hi,” you whisper back, the thick feeling in your throat stalling you from speaking any louder. Part of it is fear, fear that you will undo Eddie’s magic touch at lulling Maeve to sleep. Her eyes are almost closed, almost.
Slowly, so slowly, he lowers down to sit by you. His gentle sway keeps up, like a lazy metronome, as he takes a load off. His sigh is carried from the tips of his toes, feeling like an almost burnt-out bulb.
“You’re really good at that,” you murmur, smiling through the tiredness.
“Hmm? Don’t count on it, she’s going to be wide awake again in a sec when she realises we’re not standing up.”
“Mm, maybe. This whole Dad thing suits you, Munson.”
When he smiles, you can still see the shadows beneath his eyes - you have a set to match, his and hers. There’s spit-up on his sleeve and his hair needs a wash. But he is beautiful.
Being parents wasn’t easy, you didn’t think it would be but some days you didn’t think it would be so hard either. You think that maybe if Eddie let his eyes slip closed, he would fall asleep too from his own gentle rocking rhythm.
“I can take a turn,” you say, bringing your hand to rub his back in wide smooth circles, mirroring him and Maeve.
You know his scowl is coming, and still, it makes you smile.
“Mm-mm, my turn,” he said, brows pulled in as his mouth pouts prettily. Much like your friends, it was easy to fall into a parental squabble of taking turns for the shitty nappies and the baby cuddles.
“Baby hogger,” you whisper without malice, pushing yourself closer to kiss his stubbly cheek.
“Yep, my baby now. You get to cuddle her all day when m’workin’.”
Eddie turns his head, lets his nose bump yours. His chin juts forward just a little to beg a kiss. You don’t even need to think about it, loving him is as easy as breathing.
There’s a pause, like bracing for impact, when Maeve makes a noise against his shoulder. The pause in his swaying did not go unnoticed.
“Can’t get anything past her, huh?” you murmur, leaving one last smiley kiss to his full lower lip.
“Nah, m’done for with you two.” His face cracks into a smile, he wouldn’t want it any other way.
You watch as he sits back a little, resting his head against the back of the second-hand sofa. You peel yourself up just enough to drag the coffee table close enough so he can put his feet up.
“Only ‘coz it’s Christmas,” you murmur, seeing his grin.
“You spoil me, baby.”
You spoil him more by dragging your blanket over his lap, sharing its fleecy warmth as Maeve slowly, so slowly, drifts off.
There are still gifts to wrap for Wayne and for your friends, laundry to be tossed in the dryer, but for now, you sit together as your baby sleeps, basking in the glow of Christmas.
Maeve’s breath is deep and steady; she makes these tiny noises that have brought tears to your eyes and Eddie’s on more than one occasion. Partly because she is finally asleep, but mostly because they are the sweetest thing you have ever heard.
Scooting closer, you press another kiss to Eddie’s cheek and close your eyes for just a moment, breathing in his warm spice, a hint of tobacco from his one cigarette - he wants to be around for Maeve, for you.
“Merry Christmas, Eddie.”
Your voice is just above a whisper, just loud enough for Eddie to hear. Your words warm him, settle deep in his bones and set his heart aglow.
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”
His lips press yours in a single kiss, sweeter than any hot cocoa, any candy cane.
Thank you for reading! Reblogs, likes and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️
#dad!eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson fluff#dad!eddie munson x mom!reader#eddie munson#eddie stranger things#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things#bangaveragefics
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Charles Leclerc (1)🏎️💨
Christmas in Monaco ~ @everythingne
Part Two - Part Three
Orange Theory ~ @forzalando
Welcome to the Chalet 💕 ~ @theemporium
Orange Peel Theory ↑
All You Got ~ @scuderiahoney
After All ↑
Nothing's New ~ @struggling-with-drivers
Kumquats and Oranges ~ @uglyducklingofthe2000s
You Make it too Easy ↑
Our Love was Made for Movie Screens ↑
Mommy and Me Time! ~ @julyretrograde
Snip Snip ~ @dreamauri
Cherry Tomato? ~ @xxblairexxss
Said Something Stupid, Instead of 'I Love You' 💕 ~ @absolutelynotmate-archive
How You Get the Girl ~ @monzabee
Everyone Adores You ~ @leclsrc
Begin Again ↑
The Sweatshirt ~ @charles-leclerizz
Bear Hugs ~ @lightsoutletsgo
The One where Ollie Lives Alone
Theories of Relativity ~ @pucksandpower
Changing Lanes ↑
So Good to Me ↑
Oscar Jack Piastri-Leclerc ↑
Some Extra Goodies ~ @chrisevansonly
Backwards Cap ↑
Il Pawdestinato ~ @fangirl-dot-com
Sons, Sons, and More Sons ↑
New Hair Stylist ~ @formula1simp
Photograph ~ @no-144444
Watch my Boyfriend for a Sec ~ @youaresimplylovely
Speechless ~ @sunrizef1
Did I Do That? ~ @chlerc
smut = 💕
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#christmas on cherry lane#countdown to christmas#hallmark channel#first look#photo preview#jonathan bennett#vincent rodriguez iii#erin cahill#john brotherton#james denton#catherine bell#hallmark movies
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Le TVfilm Christmas on Cherry Lane (2023) avec l'acteurJames Denton.
Site Officiel -
1ère diffusion USA : 09 décembre 2023 sur Hallmark Channel Première : 07 décembre 2023
Distribution : - Catherine Bell, sa camarade de la série Good Witch (2015) ; - Lynda Boyd, qu'il retrouvera dans The Real West (2024); ...
Captures
Le succès du TV Film a permis le tournage d'une suite : The Real West (2024).
sources : @PinkSunsetxo et @LollyChristmas
Ses autres TVfilm Hallmark outre la série TV Good Witch (2015) : - The Real West (2024) - Happy Holidays on Cherry Lane (2024). - Les Témoins Amoureux (2022) - Kiss Before Christmas (2021) - For Love and Honor (2016) - Paradis d’Amour (2014)
Autre TVfilm de Noël : Au secours je suis dans un film de Noël !
Alias Mr Lyle dans la série Le Caméléon
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Jin Fic Recommendations
a - angst f - fluff s - smut
One Shots
Golden Boy (s) by @kpopfanfictrash ⊹₊⋆ The golden boy of the porn industry, prettier than half his female co-stars. Will sue if you pull his hair. Always bothering his neighbors with pizza delivery.
glazed & dazed (s f) by @floralseokjin ⊹₊⋆ Vanilla, that’s what you do best as one of the industry’s most loved stars. Only you want a change. Taking the plunge to taint your pure image, knowing so many fans would love to see it sullied, even if just for one movie. There’s only one man for the job in your eyes. One you’ve always admired from afar, and the only one who’s perfect enough to take your innocence in the most fitting way. Seokjin Kim. Even more famous than you; a pro, a veteran, and someone you can’t wait to give your all for. Together you will be unstoppable.
meet me at the bar (s f) by @eoieopda ⊹₊⋆ You're supposed to be staring down the barrel of the last — and most important — examination of your life, but you only have eyes for your study buddy.
Stuck with you (a s f) by @taleasnewastime ⊹₊⋆ It’s the first Christmas since your dad passed away. You, your mum and sister are going to his favourite place to do his favourite thing, skiing. And yet you’re not there. Stuck. Stranded. Trapped. In seemingly the single hottest place in the world. Your transfer flight cancelled so you’re now stuck between home and your family. A snowstorm that causes all flights to be cancelled, heat that just seems wrong at Christmas, your sister crying and shouting down the phone at you, and to top it off, the most annoying man in the world who’s in the same position as you and seems to think you’re friends because of that fact. Merry Christmas to you.
fast lane (a f s) @yminie ⊹₊⋆ “Disgruntledly, you think to yourself how frustrating it is he can be quite so awful of a person and still be so good looking.” Alternatively; Boy Toy racer Kim Seokjin lives to test; the laws of speed, how many women he can bag, how much money he can convince people to give him, and quite how far you can be pushed before you snap.
small tuna fish (f s) by @floralseokjin ⊹₊⋆ Kim Seokjin is a really nice guy. (Not to be confused with a ‘Nice Guy’). Too nice for someone like you, you’re sure. Which is why you’ve been attempting to ignore what’s going on between you. He couldn’t possibly be flirting with you. He couldn’t possibly like you. Could he?
Lost and Found (a f) @taleasnewastime ⊹₊⋆ What do you do when your whole world comes crashing down around you? When everything you loved turns out to be a lie? When your fiancé tells you he’s been having an affair, you feel like your whole world comes crashing down, but then you find an antiques shop and the strange man that runs the shop helps you slowly rebuild your life and realise maybe not everything about you is broken.
Sit. Stay. (f a s) by @daechwitatamic ⊹₊⋆ Your new puppy, Zinnia, has turned your world on its head. She’s ruined everything from your sleep schedule to your favorite shoes, and you know it’s your own failure to train her properly. When your cute upstairs neighbor tells you about a local obedience academy, he slowly starts to make himself a place in your schedule, your life, and your heart. After your last relationship went up in flames, will his affections be something else you can count as a failure?
Last November (a s) by @kithtaehyung ⊹₊⋆ you two broke up on good terms. even seeing each other on your friends’ yearly end-of-november trip was never awkward. so why did this trip feel so different? and why does it feel like the end of something that wasn’t even there in the first place?
Cherry Topper (a s) by @kth1 ⊹₊⋆ Seokjin is a chaotically fun-loving guy who works long and hard hours at his successful, family owned candy store named Kim’s Sweet’s Shop, located on the corner of Cherry Lane. Being consistently busy with the labor of his work schedule and attending college to finish off his masters program, he has a very little social life and definitely does not have time for dating on this romantic, hectic holiday. But from right under his nose, one of his many admirers just so happens to be the sugar-coated treat that he’s been missing out on.
you've been avoiding me all day (a f) by @ugh-yoongi
#seokjin x reader#seokjin#kim seokjin#bts x reader#bts#bts fluff#bts angst#bts smut#seokjin smut#seokjin angst#seokjin fluff#jin x reader#jin#jin bts#jin smut#jin angst#jin fluff
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HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers
CHAPTER SEVEN — WELCOME to the REAL WORLD, JACKASS
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summary: christmastime in hawkins brings a bunch of cherry bombs in the boy's bathroom, a trip down memory lane via seven minutes in heaven avenue, and the least likely trio this town has ever seen. content warnings: MINORS DNI i'm going to fuck you up and santa isn't real so we've got, smut including references to and descriptions of male and female masturbation, smoking, swearing, a pregnancy scare, era-typical misogyny and ANGST in the form of a flashback!!! word count: 12.5k. merry christmas babies
Dear reader, it takes you less than five weeks to become incapable of imagining your life without Eddie Munson.
Which, given his propensity for being an absolute neanderthal, is concerning.
Eddie Munson talks with his mouth full and plays his music too loud. He never closes a cabinet all the way. He walks through anywhere, literally anywhere, be it a store or the library or Ronnie’s trailer–leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. He talks during movies and puts his feet up on the seats at the Hawk. He makes fun of the books you read, but always grabs them away from you to stare at the blurb on the back. He never finishes a cigarette all the way before lighting another one, which is just wasteful. He pretends to be good at holding his liquor, but he’s not.
He stands too close to you in places where he’s got plenty of room to move. He makes you laugh, even when you don’t want to. He holds the door for you in school, at the bookstore, getting out of the van, even though you’re more than capable of doing that yourself. He takes advantage of you when you’re in a good mood, like making you scratch his head as if he were a cat.
Sometimes he calls you ‘baby’, as if you don’t have a nickname already. As if you two are…
You lean toward the only mirror in the girls’ room with decent light, reapplying the red lip stain you’d taken to wearing– it was coming on Christmas, for god’s sake, and despite everything, you’re feeling festive. Quick. Lighter on your feet than you have been in a long time.
“Hey girl, could I borrow that?” an out-of-tune simper rings right next to your ear and you almost jump out of your skin, lipstick clattering into the sink.
“Jesus!” you say, and Eddie Munson cackles. You knock him back with a one-handed shove, face setting into that funny little grimace you’ve taken to wearing when he acts up– and he’s always acting up. You’re gonna get wrinkles if he doesn’t cut it out. “What the hell are you doing in here? Hair in your eyes make you miss the sign that says girl’s room?”
You know that’s not true, because you were the one that just about tied him to a chair in Ronnie Ecker’s trailer so you could trim his bangs last week.
This is a fuckin’ violation of my human rights, Lacy!
Every time I’m seen with you, people think I’m out walking a goddamn Briard. Hold still!
“So, hot off the press, newspaper girl,” Eddie says, leaning against the yellow porcelain, “One, I am literate, much to everyone’s shock and awe. And two, someone threw a bunch of cherry bombs down the john in the boy’s bathroom and the place is fucking Hiroshima, but wet and kinda shitty smelling. So we all got told to use this…” He gestures around at the clean-ish tile. “...salon of iniquity.”
“Was it you?” you ask, plucking a cigarette from the soft pack he’s offering you.
“Huh?” He scrunches his brows, leaning with a lighter ready. He’s taken to doing that; cigarette at the ready, lighter at the ready, low-grade explosives at the ready, probably.
“The cherry bombs, was it you?” you say through a reel of blue smoke.
“For once, no,” Eddie sighs, head slumping forward like a Peanuts character, “Some other gorgeous, anarchistic genius got the jump on me.”
“Oh, god,” a frown sets in; you pick up your dropped lipstick and in its wake, ash into the sink, “There’s no other bathrooms on campus you animals could use?”
“Nuh-uh. Unisexuality, baby, it’s the way of the future,” Eddie tells you, fanning out his hands like P.T. Barnum.
A beat. You think. This bathroom, the unofficially allocated senior bathroom, the one you and the rest of the Hawkins in-crowd had been using since sophomore year, got crowded at the best of times. The fumes of Aquanet were a definite health risk, but that’s an occupational hazard when it comes to being a girl. You add boys into the mix, nay, couples into the mix–
Damn.
“We’re about to witness the conception of so many toilet babies.”
Realization dawns on Eddie, his brown eyes flaring. “Oh shiiiit. I never thought of that.”
“The band geeks alone, Eddie,” you whisper, head tilting toward him all scandalized-like, “We’re gonna show up at our fifteen year reunion and every single one of these suckers is gonna have their own little freshman clones.”
“Spare a thought for Heather Holloway.” Eddie’s face, a mask of mock concern, makes you roll your eyes.
“Why?” you scoff, not a fan, “She doesn’t inspire many.”
“Objection. Her implants do.”
You turn to face him fully. “J’excuse?”
“Swear to god,” and his palms are up, “Just saw her in Chemistry.”
“Good? Bad?”
“Conical. Jayne Mansfield.” Aaand his hands are gesturing, animatedly. Crassly. Pervily. “Take your goddamn eye out.”
“Wow. Christmas came early.”
“Christmas ain’t the only thing that’s gonna be coming early…”
“Ew.”
Eddie smirks and flicks his cigarette into the sink, hitting the faucet to wash it away– there were at least three good drags left in that, you think.
“Heather H, first one to get knocked up in the Great Bathroom Insemination Project of 1984. Mark my words.”
“And you think you’re in with a shot?” Your tone is dripping in sneer.
Eddie regards you for a moment, so you know something deeply annoying is about to happen. His voice goes all serious, barely above a whisper, as he closes space between you like he’s trying to beat a draft.
“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Lacy baby.” His hands brace either side of the sink you’re standing at, trapping you against him. See? No respect for boundaries. But– Hm. Not… that annoying. “Oversexed teenagers sharing the same bathroom– at Christmas, with all that mistletoe around and shit.” His eyes, searching you with a glint that’s s’posed to be provocative. You, elbow propped up by your folded arm, puff a plume of smoke into his face. He doesn’t even blink. Smirk pursing his lips up. The two of you have established a rhythm. “Anything could happen.”
“Ew, what the hell are you doing in here? This is the girl’s room.” Enter some upstart underclassman, and Eddie’s peeling away from you.
“You didn’t see the biblical flood on the second floor, Pippi Longstocking?” His voice is big and booming and bouncing off the tile, making the underclassman cringe. “Forcible takeover. This is my house now.”
“God, shut up, freak.” She shuffles by the two of you to a vacant stall with a look you recognize– she’s so telling her friends about those two trailer park abnormos just about copulating in the bathroom later.
“Great choice!” Eddie exclaims, door of the stall slamming, “I warmed the seat for ya!”
—
“Watch where you’re going, you almost milled down that stroller!”
“I wouldn’t need to go so fast if you two, freakin’ Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Priss Ass, didn’t insist on getting to this place before it closed!”
“We wouldn’t need to rush if you hadn’t spent all freakin’ afternoon at goddamn Lipton landing getting all– all–”
“All?”
“--toked up and shit!”
“Market research, Ecker! And, I’m gonna remember you said that! Later! When you want to get all toked up and shit– woah!”
Listening to Ronnie Ecker and Eddie Munson bicker in the front seat while you balance on a drum stool in the back of his van, clutching onto Ronnie’s passenger seat for dear life– no better way to get into the spirit of the season. You’d be joining in the milieu if you weren’t currently suffering from major motion sickness.
Eddie takes a harsh pull into a parking spot outside of Family Video and–“Go, go, go!”--you three load out like soldiers, locked on the target. He takes the lead, swinging the door open for the two of you ladies, but a voice calls out from the counter before Ronnie can even get a toe over the threshold.
“Oh, no– no way, no way!” Steve Harrington’s yelling from the helm of the ship, waving his hands. “We are– fifteen goddamn minutes away from close, I can’t do this tonight!”
“Highly unwise of you to turn away paying customers, Harrington!” Eddie gasps, Ronnie ducking under his arm.
“You guys come in here and spend honest-to-god hours talking shit in the aisles and– and you never even rent anything!”
“Well, your luck’s about to change!” Ronnie says, and Steve regards her with a mask of total confusion because, well, it’s likely he’s never heard her speak directly to anyone other than Eddie before.
That’s when you roll in the door under Eddie’s arm-arch, color rising in your cheeks that’s not from the cold.
“I am deeply reconsidering my association with you guys.”
“Tough shit.” “Find another trailer park.” “You love it. You love us. You’re obsessed.”
You pinch both of your hands towards them, the universal action to encourage zipping it, and cast a glance towards Steve. His shoulders relax. His vest is green and garish and a terrible color on him and… he’s wearing elf ears. And he’s Steve Harrington. And your stomach clenches, though it’s more muscle memory than anything else.
“Hey, Steve,” you smile, soft and small and not really all that there.
“Lacy. Hi.” He does smile at you, after a beat. “You responsible for these assholes?”
You hadn’t seen him since the night of his party, that grand inferno that had landed you here, standing between Eddie and Ronnie and feeling not entirely awful about it. Well, you hadn’t exactly seen him then either, except for a flash when Eddie was dragging you out of his house.
So, y’know, the blush is entirely justified.
“She’s bankrolling us,” Eddie says, closing the door to keep the heat in and speaking just to break the tension. True, too– you’d scored a part time gig at The Bookstore after a confrontation with the eagle-eyed Ivana regarding certain missing copies of Little Women, The Woman Destroyed and Fear and Trembling. You assumed you were working off the thievery, which you never directly admitted to and she never directly accused you of– but then, she paid you.
Ivana, it turns out, is incredibly pro-workers rights and even more incredibly anti-Hawkins gossip mill. Which works out a treat for you. The bookstore’s become more of a haven than it had been before.
“Can you scatter already?” you direct two thirds of your threesome towards the stacks. “Let’s make this breezy, I feel a wave of mortification rising.”
“No. I was promised in-store bickering,” Eddie says, rooting himself to the spot. You catch a weird flash of– something in his eyes. Ronnie, with her unlikely band geek strength, groans and yanks him toward the horror section. “It’s my favorite part! It’s like the pre-show!”
You take to the counter, gingerly, shyly. Why are you shy? Why, all of a sudden, after showing your ass in such a spectacular bruise-garnering fashion, are you shy to speak to Steve Harrington? Is it because Nancy’s dropped a tidbit here and there that he’s not exactly great boyfriend material? Is it because you sometimes secretly think, good, I hope you two are having a terrible time, even if you and Wheeler are making baby steps towards a friendship?
Is it because you never forget the first person that called you Lacy?
Fuck knows. Some of that.
“So you’re… what, hanging out now?” Steve asks, gesturing to the twin dipshits. There’s a bite in his voice from a former incarnation of Steve Harrington, one with (somehow) bigger hair and an unchecked ego. It doesn’t all shed at once, you figure. He’s sloughing it off and there’s still some left over, judging by the way he’s staring at Ronnie and Eddie.
You look over your shoulder to them. It would be so easy to deride it, right– only due to my unfortunate proximity to them, yes or girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do for a ride these days or it’s community service, I swear.
But you don’t. You turn back to him with a pinchy little smile. “I’m this close to getting them to let me play tambourine in their band. Can you even deal?”
Steve, after a beat and a brow furrow, sort of half nods. “Think I kind of… get that.”
You’re about to answer when another body comes barrelling in through the back.
“Just wanted to let you know, dingus, that I just got off the phone with Keith–you remember Keith, right, our manager who is currently in a war of words with our boss trying to keep this place open–and your little stock-take fuckup has cost us, like, weeks of manhours in work and–” Robin Buckley, complete with a light-up Santa hat, stops dead. Counts every person in the room. Shakes her head like she’s in a dream. “What is…”
“H–hi Robin!” Ronnie calls, her voice all squeaky– due to the scuffling headlock that Eddie has somehow managed to put her in without you and Steve even noticing. “Don’t worry, we– we’ll be out of your hair in a second!”
And Robin– wait, is Robin kind of… blushing? She backs down immediately, putting her Family Video branded binder flat on the counter. “Yeah, no… that’s totally okay, take your time!”
You look at Steve. Steve looks at you. You quirk an eyebrow like– is that, is she… And Steve shrugs like, don’t ask me, sister. Pleading the fifth. Saving Robin’s dignity.
But you’re still you and you’ve been bugging Ronnie about her situation for weeks so you hold up a finger.
“What are you two idiots arguing about?”
“Black Christmas–” “Silent Night, Bloody– ow, Ronnie, don’t pull hair, you girl!”
A swivel back to Robin, who is totally pink-cheeked. “We need a professional to settle this.”
Her mind seems to stutter like a badly wound tape. Oh, she’s suckered. “Uh– uh, Black Christmas, for sure. Not exactly the coziest thing to watch, but–”
“We’re not cozy people!” Eddie yells, Ronnie coming at him with arms like weed whackers.
“--but Margot Kidder, right?” you poke, goddamn Jimmy Page and John Bonham for the Midwest set slamming into the counter on either side of you.
“Olivia Hussey,” Ronnie says breathlessly. Eddie seems to have winded her somehow. “That’s– she’s cool–I heard she was in this–”
“Exactly!” Robin lights up, excited, “She– she played Juliet in Romeo and Juliet–”
“Wait, don’t you see her boobs in that movie?” Eddie jerks in.
“Yes,” Robin and Steve chime in unison. And glance at each other. Telling.
Ol’ Munson there snaps his fingers. “Sold.”
“But not in Black Christmas,” you say, almost gently, so as not to… let him down?
Eddie rolls his eyes and tilts his head toward your shoulder. “I’m a man with an imagination, ain’t I?” he rasps. You pretend-shudder.
“Okay, let’s do Black Christmas and– you got a copy of The Thin Man?”
Blink-blink goes Robin, like a cartoon. It’s nearly audible. “... like, the William Powell, Myrna Loy Thin Man?”
Your turn to roll your eyes. God, you guys love to roll your eyes, huh? “Is there any other?”
“Like the black and white movie. You’re sure? I just didn’t think it’d be your–”
But Eddie cuts right through that assumption that’s making an ass out of you and Robin, because he knows. He knows because you’ve made him sit through Double Indemnity at the Hawk, scolding him for putting his feet up (god forbid, right!) and you’ve even threatened to drag him to some Buster Keaton retrospective that’s playing there after the holidays. He keeps thinking, man, if Wayne Munson ever comes across this girl, he’s a goner, and then he remembers why that won’t be happening any time soon.
“She’s a freak.”
You regard him with a tight smile. Kind of a thanks, kind of a fuck you. Kind of your thing.
“I’ll watch it when these bozos pass out.”
—
Something’s gotten into Eddie.
You three are absolutely basking in the glory of your one night of freedom– see, Granny Ecker’s away on a weekend hotel stay in Indianapolis with one of her special friends from the Hawkins Senior Center. Which, on the one hand, gross, Eddie never ever wants to think about Granny Ecker getting lucky no matter how happy for her he is. But on the other, in the words of her beloved granddaughter–
“God bless the Indiana Sweepstakes!”
Eddie has stolen Granny’s usual spot, the kick-out recliner that seems to sag more with every movement. You and Ronnie are bunched onto the little two-seater together, with Ronnie shyly suggesting that you paint her nails (black, how totally hardcore)– now, Eddie knows this move. This is so she can distract herself from the bonafide creepiness of Black Christmas because while she tries to put on a brave face, Ronnie’s eyes for horror movies are way bigger than her stomach. She’s all nerves. It’s why she’s such a good drummer.
As you’d predicted, by the time the movie ends and you all clear the six pack that Eddie had procured, Ronnie’s nodding off– but Eddie is determined to stay wide awake. You make a move off the couch and she grumbles, having narrowly avoided propping her head on your shoulder. You move to arrange her in such a way that she’s sleeping Nosferatu style, crossing her arms over her chest. “Because I spent an awful lot of time on that polish and I won’t see it ruined, not on your account,” you chide, real quiet. Ronnie’s not listening, she’s pretend honk-shooing. Eddie, on the other hand, is.
He likes you like this. You’re sweet to Ronnie, in your prickly little way– making her flustered with your misdirected flirting, bonding with her about things so far out of the realm of his male understanding. Being a girl with her. It’s occurred to him that Ronnie, in her testosterone-soaked world of current comrades, might actually need that. Like, she’s friendly enough with Jeannie and that Vickie girl from band, but they’re not people she’d go out of her way to make a case for so’s that Granny Ecker will let them stay for dinner.
Which she’s done for you. Once or twice now. Which you’ve nervously accepted and even ruined your manicure for, by insisting on washing up the dishes. Eddie dried, because of course he did, because the Ecker trailer is the only place close to home that the two of you can hang out.
You’re, like– friends.
Which is horrible.
Eddie tosses you a cold can of soda from the fridge. You catch it, hands basketing above your head.
“Power forward.”
“Cheerleader.”
You lean over to the TV to swap the tapes out, insistent on watching your dumb little black and white movie. As you do it, your skirt lifts a little bit and–
Eddie’s gotta break eye contact. Stare at the floor for a second. Cock jumping like the fucking mole from whack-a-mole.
He almost hits it.
You bitch, are you wearing thigh highs?
“You need to pull trig, Munson?” he hears you from the kitchenette, clicking the video player’s play button. “You only had two beers.”
God, maybe. Was the room spinning? “Smoked a lotta weed today.”
“Right. Lipton landing,” you smirk. Ronnie’s derisive little nickname for Reefer Rick’s place. “Are you gonna get over here and snore through my movie or not?”
I do not snore, or some muttering of a similar fashion comes out but he’s doing exactly what you tell him to do. He can’t help it. Brain function gone all freaky from that flash of flesh squeezed out the top of your– yeah.
Eddie lands on the floor next to you with a little groan. Your eyes flick between him and the now-empty recliner.
“What are you doing down here?”
Oh. Busted. “I’m a gentleman, Lacy. Take the damn seat.”
Your face screws up in that silly way it does whenever he talks sense to you but you don’t wanna hear it. Brat. “No. I like to sit right up near when it’s something I really want to watch.”
A shrug of your little shoulder as you wrap your arms around your knees like a kid. Face illuminated by the greyscale on the television. Skirt rucking back against the carpet. Fuck.
Eddie lets out an unsteady breath, crawling forward to lie on his tummy. Closer to you. “You’re gonna get square eyes if you keep doin’ that, dorko.”
“Who died and made you my optometrist…” but you say it in this half-hearted, distracted way, eyes on the screen.
“Y’know, if you–” Eddie starts, eyes on the lace top of your–yes indeedy–stockings.
“Shut up,” and you tap him on the shoulder. “I love this part.”
Your hand stays there as some fancily dressed chick totally eats shit in the bar of some hotel or something. Christmas presents flying everywhere as she falls.
Women and children first, boys.
Say, what is the score anyway?
Oh, so it’s you he was after.
Hello, sugar.
Your hand stays there as you’re totally mouthing every single word, you true-blue nerd. Eddie, completely at a loss of how to react to this other than gaze, gaze, gaze at you, snaps his teeth at your hand.
You, so completely embroiled in Nick and Nora’s white hot banter, gasp at the near-bite and swipe at his head. Eddie dodges the blow by rolling onto his back, hair fanning out on the Eckers’ rug. He grins up at you, and all of a sudden the rise and fall of his chest in that worn-out Alice Cooper shirt is very distracting.
Pretty girl.
Yeah, she’s a very nice type.
You got types?
Only you, darling–
“--lanky brunettes with wicked jaws,” you say, beat-for-beat with William Powell.
“Talkin’ about me?” Eddie says, lips peeling back, eyebrows quirking.
“Not in your wettest, wildest dreams, Eddie Munson.”
“Oh, you don’t wanna know what happens in those dreams. It’s filthy.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s twisted. It’s disgusting.”
“I bet.”
His hand is absent-mindedly stroking his chest, shifting the hem of that t-shirt up a little bit. Brushstrokes. You remember that? Eddie Munson has a happy trail like–
“You’re so nice to me. It’s so fffffucking hot.”
“How wildly out-of-character,” you scoff, and he laughs, and you shift in your spot the teensiest bit. Eyes back on the screen, back to safety.
From here, where he’s lying, Eddie has a fully illustrated view of the flash of skin up your skirt. Now that you’re not looking at him, he’s looking at it. Swallowing back saliva. Ignoring Nick and Nora.
It’d be simple as pie to walk his fingertips along the rug and brush up against you there–oops–by accident or design. Feel how soft that skin is. Feel that heat radiating from your–
“It’s alright,” he hums, eyes flicking to the ceiling. Otherwise, all the blood’s gonna drain away from his head and he’s going to fucking die. “I know I’m not your type anyway.”
Your head lolls to your other shoulder, exposing a flash of your neck. It’s sorely missing a tongue running along it, he thinks, breath shuddering a touch.
“You wouldn’t know my type if it hit you with an eighteen wheeler.”
“Can Steve Harrington drive an eighteen wheeler?”
Lolling your head back in the most exaggerated form of exasperation, you groan. “God. The way you talk about Harrington, I’m willing to put money on the fact that you have a crush on him.”
Eddie shrugs, hand resting on his sternum. You had your hand there once, you recall.
“I got prescribed one on the first day of freshman year, just like everybody else. But it wore off.”
“Sure about that?” Your eyes narrow.
“Sure as I am that I saw you makin’ googly eyes at him at the Family Video tonight.” Eddie crosses his own peepers for effect. Your attention darts back to the screen.
“I was not–”
“You can just say it, Lace.” His face is a twisty little smirk, if you’d care to look. “Regardless of how utterly pedestrian it might be.” That was a dig at you, by the way. That was an almost eerie impression of you.
“The things I felt in seventh grade don’t really have a lot of gravitational pull on me anymore,” you shrug, not giving. Because, when you think about it, you don’t have to give. It was a baseless kind of thrill, seeing Harrington tonight. One hit wonder. “He’s a cute boy. Reminded me I have a pulse. Nothing wrong with that.”
Eddie’s quiet for a few seconds, flicks his eyes up to watch the TV from upside down. Nick places an ice pack on a drunken Nora’s head.
Hmm… what hit me?
The last martini.
He smiles as you smile, and he wonders if you’re thinking of the same thing he’s thinking of.
“Alright, well– we can forget this ever happened. Resume being assholes to each other on Monday. Don’t, like, die in the meantime.”
“You say resume like we ever stopped being assholes to each other.”
“Funny you mention seventh grade…” Eddie trails off, tugging at the rug underneath him.
“Funny ha-ha or funny peculiar?” Your voice is distant again.
“Little bit of both.”
“Why?”
Well, he thought you might be fucking with him, but– “... God, you really don’t remember, do you?”
“Remember what?” He sees your brow pinch, he’s getting to ya.
“Not a fucking clue.” No give, no glory, eyes on the peeling ceiling.
“Remember what?” You’ve snapped your neck and are looking down at him now, thirsty for him to fucking spill it already.
“Total–” he blows a raspberry, “--blackout before freshman year, right?”
“Eddie.”
His name makes him sit up. Pavlovian, sure, and he’s trying to deny the fact that he’ll do just about anything you say when you call him Eddie in that slightly-tinged sour way and not Munson like you’re writing him off. He’s trying to deny that. He swears.
“Nancy Wheeler’s thirteenth birthday party.”
You two are shoulder to shoulder, him facing the couch, you facing the screen, his breath warming the bare skin of your off-the-shoulder top which is an insane thing to be wearing in the dead of fucking winter, but praise Jesus hallelujah you’re wearing it. Your expression is unimpressed.
“... yeah?”
“We played Seven Minutes in Heaven.” He lays that out a little too plain for your liking. Playing Seven Minutes in Heaven at a thirteen year old’s birthday party is like the non-denominational Hora for pseudo-white bread Christian teenagers, at least in Hawkins. Everybody does that shit. But hold on.
“... you were there?”
“Fucking obviously, dimwit, that’s the setup to the whole story.” He sighs in a puff, and he’s very close to you. Chin almost on your shoulder like that night at the Quarry. “Tommy Hagan ripped into me for like, fifteen full minutes because my spin of the bottle landed on you.”
Confusion is a disease and you’re terminal. “That was… not you.”
Insistence is a disease and Eddie’s fatal. “Yes. It so was.”
“That was John Hudson-Wasserman.”
“That was not–,” Eddie full on splutters, like slapstick splutters, reeling his head away from you, “you’re gonna get me confused with John Hudson-Wasserman? The guy who was like, pathologically obsessed with the Kennedy assassination? The guy who moved to Des Moines like, two weeks after that party?”
Then you’re spluttering back all of a sudden. Everything you two are doing is contagious. “His parents named him after John F., can you blame him? –actually, I can totally blame him, that was bizarre.”
“Lacy.” Well, the way he says that straightens your spine. “Use that pretty little brain to think for a second, huh? There’s one unmistakeable detail I bet I can get to jog your memory.”
But you’re already there. Activated. Like a sleeper cell.
“Your hair was all buzzed off. You had that bandage on your head.”
“I did. And you asked me what was under it, and I said–”
A hole. They cut out a part of my brain so I’d be– The Wheeler’s linen closet was tiny and you were breathing in lavender detergent from all angles.
The boy in front of you, scrawny and angry, had an aura around him like a firework. You knew it was dangerous, but you wanted to look closer.
–less of a freak? you finished. Such was the accusation du jour for this kid.
Less of a danger to society, he said, chest puffed. They let me keep it in a jar. Just in case shit gets really real and I need to shove it back in.
You don’t quite know what to do with that. Like. He is so weird, and his hair is unevenly shaved and he’s got little cuts and scratches and scabs all over him. Like he’s been running through brambles. He looks like a kid someone found in the wild.
Did you name it? you ask, finger drawing circles on a nearby towel. Your jar brain.
Eddie Junior, he told you, crossing his arms.
Aren’t you already Junior? Shouldn’t it be Junior Junior?
His jaw hardened. No. I’m Eddie.
You nudged forward on your toes to get a better look at the bandage– he was taller than you. It lumped out of his head, unmissable. Nothing to be done about it.
He seemed to cringe away from you.
Don’t try anything, skank.
You bounce back onto your heels.
I wasn’t, asshole. We don’t have to do anything– just… like… did it hurt?
He paused for a full ten seconds (you counted) and swallowed real hard. Eyes wide as hubcaps, and dark, and frightened. He craned his neck toward you a little.
Then the door swung open, Tina Burton standing there hand-in-hand with an irritated-looking Steve Harrington. Time’s up, losers!
Al hadn’t asked if it hurt, when he beat the crap out of him for doing something so stupid. Wayne hadn’t even asked if it hurt, when Eddie came back from the hospital like a dog with its tail between its legs.
You were the first, and you were the last, and it was before everything. Before you were even Lacy.
“What happened, anyway?” you ask. Soft. Like that last time.
Now, in retrospect, Eddie sees the error of his ways.
“I lit all my hair on fire with a butane torch.”
“You what?!”
“It’s not– entirely my fault! I think I saw someone with hair on fire in an X-Men comic and I thought, y’know, that’s an achievable look.” That’s a severe understatement. It was Johnny Storm from The Fantastic Four and Eddie believed that he could be like Johnny Storm only more badass and maybe with like a sick motorbike. What, you’re telling me you didn’t go through a pre-teen-to-mid-teen phase where you were secretly convinced you had superpowers? Smarten up.
“And how high–”
“Yeah, okay, I was also hitting a Reddi-Wip can like crazy.” The nitrous oxide did not help these delusions.
“Why the big bandage?”
“Eh, I got some, like, bitsy little burn. Total overreaction.”
“Do you have a scar?” Before he can answer, you’re parting his hair, right near the place you remember that bandage being. Eddie freezes, your frigid fingertips searching his scalp. You are… very close.
“Uh– no, I don’t.” He gulps, avoiding looking at you directly in your bright, curious little face. “Can I tell you something truly fucking dumb?”
“Wouldn’t be out-of-character for you, that’s for sure.”
Deep, deep breath. Fucking shit fucking goddammit fuck. Balls. “I regret it.”
“The hair thing? Yeah, you’d think–”
“No. Not kissing you.”
“Oh.” Your hands drop from his skull but don’t exactly leave his hair. Just kind of wound in there, hovering, the way you feel like you’re hovering now.
“You asked me if it hurt, and then I was gonna– but then, fucking Tina–” Eddie says, eyes dashing to you in these minute little glances. Away, back, away, back.
“Fuckin’ Tina,” you breathe.
“--and Harrington.”
“Ah.” You shut your eyes. He didn’t notice you were wearing green eyeshadow until right now. “The square root of the problem.”
“Huh?” Barely heard it. Too busy looking at the glitter on your eyelids. The way your eyeballs shift around underneath.
“You’re totally lemon sour bitter with Harrington because you think he made you blow your shot with me.” You open your eyes with a squint.
“That is so not–” Break a spell, why dontcha! But then, Eddie takes a bite. “Actually, if you pop-psychology that, there might be somethin’ there, but… I regret it because I didn’t just–”
You cut in. “Go for it.”
“Shoot.” He confirms.
“Power. Forward.” You emphasize, lips curling.
“Cheer. Leader.” Eddie says, gravel in his voice.
Do you know that your hand is still in his hair? Like, are you physically aware of it? (Answer: no.)
Nick. Nicky?
What.
You asleep?
Yes.
Good. I wanna talk to you.
Your head swivels back from the screen. He watched you look away, dart your tongue out onto your lip, look back at him.
“Eddie.” There’s fizz in your voice.
“Yes, Lacy.” He wonders what flavor.
“I think…” and you finally extract your hand to lay it in your lap. Withdrawing, willing to be shot down, but you’re you and you know that you won’t be. “We could make a case for making up for lost time.”
Eddie’s mouth has become very dry. “... meaning that…”
“Eddie, I think that you should kiss me like a seventh grader– eighth grader? So weird, why did Wheeler have eight graders at her bir–”
“Lacy. Back on track, please,” which is another horrendously pin point perfect impression of you. And he needs to be sure that you just said what you just said and that isn’t the ghosts of Lipton landing talking.
“We should try it out. An honest-to-god, never-been-done-before Seven Minutes in Heaven kiss. I happen to think it’d fix something in you.”
“Oh, come on,” he scoffs.
“No, I’m serious!” And it is kind of fizzing out of you, and you might not be entirely just talking about him for this next part, “I think you’re holding onto a lot of pent up energy that may have just gotten even more pent since we became, y’know–”
“Zoo animals with parallel enclosures?” Eddie says with an arching eyebrow.
“Wow,” you swallow a breath. “That really sounded like me.”
“I’m afflicted with a Lacyism from time to time.”
“Is that like astigmatism? Because you should get that looked at.”
“Who died and made you my optometrist?”
“Eddie.” Your voice, coming from your face, which is all dappled in the unserene technicolor glow of the Eckers’ Christmas lights, highlighted by the blaze of the black and white on TV. You make it look like stained glass. He would walk into oncoming traffic– “You trust me, right?” He would go and play on the freeway if you asked him to.
Eddie, Christ, he’s got to gather himself. Like the sweat gathering on his palms, he thinks, great work ethic, I need some of that. He gets a bright idea, brighter than those twinkling lights. “I think I need full authenticity in order to make this experience worth it.”
“What?”
“We need to find a closet.”
It’s pretty much a hard no on whether or not the Eckers have a linen closet (you’re a long way from Maple Lane now, babe), so it’s agreed that you’ll give Granny Ecker’s wardrobe a shot. You follow Eddie in there with tentative steps, like you can almost feel her watching all the way from the Best Western in Indianapolis she’s no doubt staying in. Trespassing is bad, yadda yadda, but it’s also exciting.
It’s exciting, being in here with him.
He glances back at you, eyes a glimmer in the darkened bedroom. “After you,” and he flourishes a hand toward the open closet.
You two are so not seventh graders anymore– heads bang against hangers, you’re kind of melting into a lot of denim and fleece and you… you don’t have much breathing room. No lavender detergent, just the beer-and-old-weed-sweet smell of Eddie Munson pushed close to flush against your chest. The scent of that shampoo you both use caught somewhere in the middle.
Your breathing is so shallow, you feel like you might be having an asthma attack. You don’t have asthma.
“Tight,” he says, and knits his brows, “I mean–”
“Cozy,” you correct, unsure of where to put your hands.
“We’re not cozy people.”
“So let’s do this,” you attempt to smooth your face into something resembling nonchalance, “Kiss me like a seventh-or-eighth grader, Eddie Munson.”
He clears his throat, shaking his head. A smile keeps flicking and dying on his lips. Heart about to burst out of his chest because of how weird this is, because of how weird you are, because of how– how–
Eddie knits his fingers behind his back in an imitation of you, your girlish pose, and leans forward. About ninety percent, just in case you decide this was a stupid idea, or you don’t like the look of his face up close, or– or–
You close that perfect ten. Your lips feel like flower petals. Light. Baby-soft. Crushable.
It’s so chaste and it’s so innocent. It’s so the diametric opposite of the two of you, brash and harsh in your diverging, abstracting ways– waving only to meet in the middle. It’s pretty, like you are, and Thumper-from-Bambi-thumping-his-foot nervous like he gets around you.
You pull away a fraction, and Eddie swallows a sound. To save face, he is about to say something– I give it a six or that’s what I’ve been missing out on this whole time or you flap that mouth an awful lot for someone who doesn’t know how to use it, something equally goading. Something that would make this… normal.
Until you take his bottom lip between yours. And it’s wet there. And it’s warm. And your lips are so, so crushable–
Eddie’s fingers unweave and find your arms, find your waist. Slow, slow, he takes it slow because he could scare you and he doesn’t want to scare you. You’re curving into him, lips slicking against his, and then his tongue licking it’s way into your mouth which you just fucking open for him and it’s so good–
–and he tastes like salt and smoke and he holds you like he’s anchoring himself against you. Your hands wind on up, up, up his chest, catching on his t-shirt where his chest is (duh duh duh you fucking idiot), where his heart is thrumming under that smatter of a tattoo you got caught staring at that night in his trailer. It’s all you’ve got in you not to tug it up and off him, but Christ, no, because you need to keep kissing him. It’s so nice, it feels so nice, kissing him, when was the last time something felt as nice, that’s all you can think with sensation seeping through your body like a sugar rush. Hands move to either side of his neck and he makes a noise.
Your fingers, fishing hooks in his hair, pulling him closer and closer to you.
The heat. Of his body. Matched only by the heat gathering in the cherry pit that lives in your stomach.
And he needs, god, Eddie needs it fucking bad. It is a lot of things. It includes your tongue so far inside his mouth that you can taste the Tab on his uvula this time. It includes more of your tits pressed against him, so he can feel if your nipples have hardened under his touch. It includes this moment, just this moment, just kissing you as your body winds around him–
But then you pull back. Before he can whisper the little, “No…” that’s coming like a reflex, you cover his mouth with your hand. The mouth that’s all slick from kissing– you.
Jesus Christ. You had really done that. The stupid, idiot both of you.
“Guys?”
Eddie, dizzy and down-the-rabbit-hole tipsy Eddie, gets the impulse to lick your hand, to take your fingers in his mouth and just start sucking, but he doesn’t do it. Because he has now snapped to the fact that that’s Ronnie Ecker calling out for you.
The two of you, twisted around each other like snakes in her grandmother’s closet.
“Go,” you hiss– no, you breathe. He was just expecting you to hiss. But you’re breathy and unsure about the command you’re giving. Still, you jerk your head.
Well, Eddie’s pretty hard up about telling you this, but, “Can’t. Need a sec–” Like, can’t you feel that?
Eddie’s standing more than half to attention, pressing in between the both of you.
You let out a jagged breath that sounds like oh, fuck, and it’s not the kind of oh, fuck he was hoping to hear and his heartbeat stutters.
And then you’re gone.
Eddie stands there, hands held aloft around the ghost of you that was there, that was right there and kissing him. Like you meant it, like it wasn’t an experiment or a joke or a dare or anything other than what you wanted. You wanted him. You wanted him. “Oh, Jesus Christ,” he breathes into his hands, dragging them down his face, his lips, the smell of you still lingering around him. “Oh… I am so fucked.”
Kentucky fried fucked.
You make your way back to the living room on trembly legs, reaching for every steadying surface, attempting to destroy the evidence of a swollen mouth and Munson-finger ruffled hair. You find Ronnie sitting upright on the couch. Nick and Nora have nearly solved the case. You don’t give yourself enough time to make a mask of your face that could easily lie to her.
“Munson had to pull trig,” you say, and it’s not steady enough for Ronnie to not call bullshit.
But she doesn’t. Not outright anyway.
“He okay?” she asks, nearly wary.
“I don’t know. Could be comin’ out of both ends, I don’t know,” you start scrambling around for your bag and your shoes and your coat and not your right mind because you left that back in the closet, somewhere between Eddie’s teeth and tongue. “Look, I hate to ditch on you, but my mom–”
“She’ll be on your ass,” Ronnie says, measured like a cup. “Sure. Go on. I’ll think about calling 911 if he chokes.”
Breathing out some piss-poor rendition of a thanks, you dip out of Ronnie’s and past his van and all the way back the lot towards home.
It’s freezing. You’re not. For once.
When Eddie finally reappears from the closet, Ronnie is sitting in the exact same position. Except this time she looks somewhat judgier– maybe because it’s easier to be judgier toward Eddie than it is toward you. Some kind of girl politico he doesn’t understand.
“You feel better?”
“Huh?” Eddie says. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
“Do you feel better. Lacy told me you had to barf.”
“I… I guess.” Eddie has already cashed in his once-in-a-lifetime lie convincingly to Ronnie Ecker voucher.
“She also told me you maybe shit yourself?”
Alright, well, that was unnecessary. “Alright, well, that was unnecessary.”
“I guess I was just hoping that…” she sighs, crossing her arms, “... that you weren’t puking and shitting yourself…” she sits back against the couch, “... when you were making out with her. In my… bathroom?”
He really does consider leaving out this detail. “Granny’s closet.”
“Oh, you’re fuckin’ kidding me.”
“She’ll know. She’ll kill me.”
“Oh, she’ll kill ya,” Ronnie mutters, “And then I’ll go to work on ya.”
—
You two have got to stop fucking each other over like this.
Fucking each other over, conceptually, actually, is interesting. Because Eddie’s done a whole lot of fucking you over in his mind since that closet. Sliding your panties aside and fucking you with his tongue, polyester lace of your stockings creating static against his hair, sparks snapping off your inner thighs as you rub against his nose.
Following you back to your trailer and fucking you with his fingers against the cold, metal exterior, your nails digging into his neck and your voice stabbing his name into his eardrums.
Pulling you into his lap in the driver’s seat and tearing through the cotton of your underwear with sheer animalistic fervor, making you lean back against the steering wheel as he sucks your tightened nipples, cock safe and warm in the slick, deep wet of you.
Somethin’ like that. He didn’t sleep much this weekend.
Mind stuck on the one track, your lips smacking against his. Now in fabulous 3D!
In every single one of these fantasies, too, his idiot sap ass is whining your name fifty billion times more than you’re whining his– so much so that it breaks the fantasy barrier and he’s crying, “Fuck, Lacy-yy–,” into his limp pancake of a pillow, cum careening down a fist that should have nerve damage by now.
He is exhausted. And to make it worse, he hasn’t seen you.
He hasn’t even been avoiding you this time. So that’s all on you, you bitch.
“You bitch…” he mumbles, head resting against the cold brick of the newly-unisex senior bathroom, which has become a hellhole in no time. First period on a Monday is usually an okay time to get a bit of peace and fucking quiet, though, because everyone else is at least making an attempt at starting the week off on the right foot.
But not Eddie. Not worn out, prick-tired Eddie.
And not whoever is doing a horrible job of hyperventilating in the stall next to him.
“Excuse me?” a breathless voice says. He thinks he kinda recognizes it but–
Then, ew! Some gagging, some violent coughing, a little ugh, Jesus, please not again–
Eddie slides out of his stall and knocks on the next door– and it swings open with ease.
She’s crouched over the cistern–gross, fucking gross–and tears are streaming down her peachy cheeks, catching on her pointed chin.
“Christ, Wheeler. S’matter, you pregnant?”
Nancy Wheeler’s eyes flash in a flare of rage, a choked scoff spitting out of her. She’s about to fucking cuss Eddie out, it looks like, which he kind of wants to see, but then whatever straw that’s holding that together snaps and she lets out this wild sob of total incredulity.
Ohhh, as much as he would love to bolt out the door like it’s not his problem, Eddie realizes that this has now, somehow, somewhat become kind of his problem.
—
“I gotta talk to you.”
Ronnie Ecker appears like a lightning flash, knocking you clean out of your reverie of slowly crawling fingers and lips and teeth and guilt that had been plaguing you all weekend.
You had spent most of the last forty eight hours staring into the middle distance, ready to glue upright nails into your shoes and walk on them for penance. You fucking stupid slut. Kiss me like a seventh-eighth grader, Eddie Munson. You unbelievable fucking cowshit. See, because, okay, do you know what you’ve done?
You’ve taken the first real friendship you’ve possibly ever had in your life (save for Phoebe, God rest her soul that moved to Saskatoon) and completely entirely fucked it sideways, and sure, you’ve also spent a lot of the weekend thinking about other things getting fucked sideways, like you since you’re now cursed with the knowledge of the vague suggestion of the outline of Eddie Munson’s dick but moreso, foremostly and mainly you want to fucking take a swandive off the edge of Sattler’s Quarry.
Addendum– there’s too many quarries in this fucking county.
A ping-ponging of guilt-to-orgasm-to-guilt-to-orgasm-to-guilt-to-orgasm-to-guilt-to-slinking your way to first period the long way that’s only now broken by Ronnie Ecker coming down on you like an Acme anvil.
Meep meep.
She knows. Of course she knows.
“Ronnie,” you whisper, eyes following her as she lands herself into the aforementioned Munson’s seat behind you, “I can explain…”
“Don’t!” There is this vigor, this knife’s edge in Ronnie’s voice that is terrifying and kind of thrilling but mostly scary and having been in the presence of Granny Ecker even those few times, you knew she always had it in her.
You recoil. A little.
“If Eddie wants to be a fucking moron about you, please can we just let him, and not–” Ronnie’s mouth clamps closed like a Muppet’s might. Like she’s physically trying to calm herself down. “Look. I really like being your friend.”
Oh, Christ, your heart. “I r– I–”
“You’re dogshit with the emotional stuff, I get that, but I’ve been friends with that asshole so long that wearing my heart on my sleeve is like, second fucking nature so I’m not and I’m pissed off, frankly, that there’s a chance of him coming between, like… us.”
You and Ronnie. You, and your friend Ronnie. “Oh, it’s–”
“Because technically, by absolute technicality, I was your friend first, okay? We were lab partners first and I thought we had a vibe goin’ in Biology and I was the first person you wanted to talk to at the Hellfire table even if it was a thinly veiled ploy but you’re so good at ploys and you’re such a piece of work and you’re so funny and I wouldn’t know what Ponds cold cream actually does if it wasn’t for you. Fuck.”
“Granny’s a soap and water girl.” There’s a fluttering in your chest and a thickening in your throat. You swallow big, and you think you might actually start– “This doesn’t mean I’m gonna try fencing, Ron.”
“But it’s fucking cool, even if we do it with sticks.”
You take her in, baseball cap shoved over her coiled hair, darned-all-to-hell sweater sagging out under her overalls and you really feel like something is about to bust out of your chest. Your honest-to-god friend, Ronnie Ecker.
“Miss Ecker, last time I checked, that’s not your assigned seat.” God, Kaminsky’s such a relentless dickwad.
“I’m having a conversation,” Ronnie says, with the kind of as-yet-unheard volume from her that makes the rest of the class go ooooh!
Jesus fucking Christ, have you turned Ronnie Ecker into a bad girl?
“I don’t give a shit!” rumpled Kaminsky says, slapping that dusty chalkboard duster full of dust, “Have it in detention.”
“Hey! That’s–”
But if you can do one thing for Ronnie. “No can doozy, Mr K, Miss Ecker has a prior commitment.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ, not you again,” he mumbles not-quite-under his breath. “And what is that? Lacy?”
Before you can even say the words peer tutoring, none other than Eddie Munson is barrelling through the door. He stops comically short at the top of the classroom, gesturing to Ronnie in his seat like what the fuck?
“Lacy!” he eventually says, and he’s breathless and flustered and just like you imagined him in–
“Munson, what in the name of the goddamn Father Almighty–”
“Weekly Streak–” and guy is just snapping his fingers, blinking wildly at you, “–thing!”
You stare on in a state of confusion until you spy Nancy Wheeler right in your eyeline, right through the open classroom door. Her little face streaked with tears, and god, she looks like shit, and she’s beckoning to you with a flutter and a fury.
“No, of course!” a little murmuring, uh, shit, and you hurry to the top of the classroom, slamming the homework that Kaminsky’s obviously going to ask for on his desk with a rattle.
“Kaminsk, my man, the future of print media is forever in your debt!” Eddie calls, ushering you out the door and into the echoey hallway.
“What is going on?”
Both Eddie and Nancy shuffle you down the hallway, avoiding the monitors (rat finks!), dipping under the east stairwell. A great stairwell. So much illicit shit has happened in this stairwell and you have an itemized list of it all, somewhere in your brain. The kind of person people tell things to.
Nancy’s just full tilt gulping like a fish out of water, and Eddie’s all, “Wait, shit, are you gonna barf again?” and you’re all, “Answers, please, tout suite!”
“I’m late.” Nancy’s voice doesn’t even tremble. She’s that scared.
“Fuck.”
“Very?”
“Extremely.”
“You’re sure?” you press, and suddenly you’re the kind of person that grabs Nancy Wheeler’s shoulders.
Her lip trembles. “I mean, I haven’t–”
“Well, we gotta. Right now.” And it occurs to you that Eddie is just standing there, a polite enough distance away that he’s involved but kind of not involved, but respecting the space that you two need. How does he know how to do that? How does he always know the right… “Eddie.”
He snaps to attention, mouth all serious and eyes all eager. You want to kiss him again, but this shit is not about you.
“We need a ride to the drugstore.”
The three of you pile into Eddie’s van, him insisting on doing the honors of opening the passenger door for you again, and Nancy quietly requesting that you share the passenger seat with her. You two are squished together, her spindly thighs overlapping yours. Denim versus dark suede. There is a very tense silence in place the entire van ride there, Nancy digging her nails into her palm and Eddie nervously thrumming against the steering wheel. The tape deck plays resumes mid-play– Metallica’s Ride the Lightning.
For your part, you experience a harsh zoom-out moment– Nancy, who you’ve learned is almost as strong-headed as you, just on a better moral track (lawful good versus chaotic neutral, you think Eddie once framed it), is stranded. She’s the eldest sibling to that little shitstain Michael and Holly, who’s a baby so to you has no discernible personality, and her mother is kind of an airhead and her father… you don’t know shit about, but it’s Hawkins, so dads. The responsibility of everything seems to fall on her all the time, and you can only be so resourceful as a teenage girl in a town like this. Especially when the other teenage girls seem to, at best, keep you at arm’s length, or at worst, ostracize you.
And Nancy had lost Barbara Holland. Who, when she mentions her, is talked about with such a glow that’s followed by such a wave of sadness that it nearly takes you under too.
She misses her so much. She misses her best friend so much.
Barb should be the one dealing with this. Not you. Which sounds like you’re shirking responsibility. But really, it’s because you don’t know if you fully deserve the privilege of helping Nancy.
Truth is, Nancy would probably be okay, handling this on her own. Sure, it’d be another inch of depth added to the chasm of loneliness building in that poor girl’s psyche, but she’d do it, because she’s Nancy and she handles things.
Just like you’re Lacy and you handle things.
But however Eddie Munson ended up as part of this situation… he brought her to you. Because he knew you’d know what to do. So she wouldn’t have to do it alone.
Because Eddie doesn’t want people to do things alone.
You only really have that impulse if you know how terrible it feels.
And if you don’t see kindness as a weakness.
Which Nancy doesn’t. And Eddie doesn’t. And you… don’t want to, anymore.
You reach and peel Nancy’s fingernails from the grooves they’re digging into her flesh. You don’t even look at the half-moon marks they’ve made. You just glue her palm to your palm and web your fingers. And over the frizz of Nancy’s perm–the nice kind, salon kind, the kind that doesn’t stink of egg–you look at Eddie, just as he glances at you.
He smiles, small and unsure and wavering. You bite your lips between your teeth and try the same.
“Shit, I don’t think I can go in here.”
The van has skidded into an inconspicuous (but not entirely, because have you seen that fucking vehicle) place near the drugstore.
“Why?”
“People– the pharmacist knows my mom and everything,” Nancy shudders, “There’s no way that people won’t have something to– fucking say.”
Eddie’s eyes widen and you give him a look like, welcome to the Nancy Wheeler Actually Swears Club. Care for a canape?
And y’know, you could argue so what. So what if people have something to say. You’re young, mistakes happen, the world keeps turning. But one skip in a perfect twelve-inch record of reputation like Nancy’s can make her life a living hell. You know that.
Shit, she knows that– you weren’t not aware of that stroke of creative genius vandalism that went up on the Hawk marquee that one time.
And it would shatter Nancy’s mom’s heart. And while you don’t have the same time of day for her, Nancy really loves her mom.
Once you’ve ruined your reputation, you can live quite freely.
That moveable feast motherfucker was onto something.
Click, and Eddie’s glovebox pops open in a clatter of tapes and a one-hitter and other ephemera. You reach in, retrieving sunglasses you’d left in here a little bit ago.
“So let’s give ‘em something to talk about,��� you say, sliding on the shades.
Nancy clutches your arm, eyes wide and searching. “Lacy.”
You shrug, like it’s nothing. Except nerves have started nibbling at you. “Spot me a ten. What am I, a goddamn Rockefeller?”
“Not anymore,” Eddie Munson grins at you. Sun breaking through the bleak midwinter. The nerves cease their nibbling.
—
The tension doesn’t exactly ease when you make a beeline for the drugstore (particularly because you’ve just accepted a goddamn miniature hero’s quest and he’s a little… well, he’s not not watching your ass as you walk away, let’s put it that way).
Eddie and Nancy Wheeler are still absolutely enormous universes apart. Not even the same species. He doesn’t mind keeping it that way. This right here is just, like… the right thing to do.
He moves to turn the radio down, figuring that the thrum of Fade to Black might be a little much for her right now. “Sorry. Didn’t mean for–”
“No, it’s okay.” Wheeler smiles that flat, priss smile reserved for the barest of polite gestures.
Eddie nods, propping his elbow against the window, cupping his face in his hand. He keeps kind of sneaking sidelong glances toward Wheeler, because– well, had you told her anything? About… Seven Minutes in Heaven? Does she even remember that, from her birthday party all that time ago? He knew that you two weren’t exactly tight, but were well on your way to getting tight, but not as tight as you are with Ronnie and certainly not as tight as you are–or were–with him and Jesus Christ almighty, he’s got to find a synonym for the word tight.
“You… play Dungeons and Dragons, right?” Wheeler asks all of a sudden.
Eddie glances down– he is in fact wearing his Hellfire shirt. She’s a sharp one, that Nancy.
“I dabble,” he says, a derisive little chuckle that’s not all-the-way mean spirited.
Wheeler bobs her head. “My brother, Mike,” she says, and he sees now that it’s an effort to keep her nerves steady, “he loves it. Like, he’s totally obsessed. Him, and his friends, they’ve got their own little party going. Majorly long campaigns, very involved.”
“Campaigns, parties. Using terminology like that, I’d say you’re something of a dabbler, Wheeler.”
Nancy chuckles. “I– may have dressed up as an elf for one. Or two. When I was way, way younger, though.”
“Well, your brother– Mike?” Eddie checks and Nancy nods, “Once he gets to high school, why dontcha tell him to look up Hellfire. Could be the best-worst decision he’ll make for the next four years of his life.”
“Right, because you’ll be passing the torch,” she says, grinning.
“And possibly to a Wheeler. Oh my stars and garters,” Eddie gasps, clutching his chest in mock-shock.
Wheeler laughs and, okay, maybe she’s not so bad.
“Shoot, we have movement.” And out you come, holding the Advance pregnancy test over your head, gleaming and victorious– but Eddie and Nancy flap their hands, willing you to put that fucking thing away! We’re being subtle!
Climbing back in the van, you announce, “Alright, so the good news– no doctoral interference, obviously. The wonders of modern medicine, everybody give thanks to Johnson and Johnson, et cetera. The bad news– who knows of somewhere we can steal–” you glance back at the box, “--thirty glorious uninterrupted minutes of time?”
“Lacy, I can just–” Nancy starts, but you stop her short with a tap to the head.
“And have you sitting in class all day with your guts churning because you don’t know what’s up or down that spout? I think the fuck not. We’re doing this now.” This is out of the goodness of your heart, you swear it is.
But there might be a fraction, just a generous sliver, that still loves the drama.
Like Steve Harrington, it’s not an immediate shed of the ego. It’s a slough.
“Well, my place is a no-go,” Nancy tells you, shrugging into herself. “My mom will definitely be home.”
“Ditto,” and your mother is the only person you know that loves gossip more than you do. Besides Eddie, of course.
After a beat or two of wondering silence, Eddie raises a hand. “I may… have someplace… we can go.”
—
How many cherry bombs does it take to make a boy’s bathroom look like the bombing of Dresden?
“So fuuun fact, turned out that some nerd swiped a hunk of sodium from the Chemistry lab and just blew this mother to shit,” Eddie brightly informs you and Nancy as the two of you pour over the instructions for the pregnancy test kit.
“While everyone was distracted by Heather Holloway’s implants, you mean?” you murmur, scanning over the small-sheet size booklet.
“Streets are saying she was an accomplice.”
Holy fuck, these instructions were involved. Nancy stands clutching the little rectangular tray that her pee is supposed to go in, nailing Eddie with a look beyond normal categorical nerves. “You’re sure no one’s gonna come in here?”
He shakes his head. There might as well be police tape all over the door of this bathroom, that’s how off limits it is. “It’s cold, it’s broken, it smells gross. Maybe some people are using this place to huff paint, but I can guarantee, Wheeler–” and he bends a little to meet her earnest eyes, “--I will bark like a fucking rabid dog to clear ‘em away if I need to.”
Nancy nods shortly. Jerk, jerk. She disappears into the least dilapidated stall with her pee rectangle.
“God, she is so scared,” Eddie murmurs to you, crossing his arms.
You’re still studying the instructions. This shit has droppers and test tubes and color changing strips, oh my. “Pissing shouldn’t be a problem, then.”
Wrong.
“Guys.”
“Yes?” “Yeah, Wheeler?”
“I’m a little, ahem–” Bladder shy. Perfect. Awesome. Not that you guys aren’t going to be shacked up here for thirty minutes anyway, but that’s only after Nancy Wheeler goes number one and you, like, mix up the pregnancy oracle potion.
Shit. “We’ve gotta do something to like, make her chill out–” Eddie half-mouths at you.
“Yeah, but she’s so high strung, that’s like–” a spark hits you. “Wait, have you got anything on you?”
“Fresh out. Waiting on a shipment from Lipton landing.”
You smack him, not even thinking, and he winces. “And all that shit you were smoking the other day, that was–” “That was market research, babe, and I told you that–”
Nancy clears her throat from inside the stall. “Please, don’t quit bickering on my account. I’m only trying to figure out whether or not I need to start rehearsing lullabies.”
Damn Nancy, Eddie mouths and you almost laugh. Wait.
“Nance, what’s your favorite song?”
“Huh?”
You shake your hands. “Like, the song you absolutely cannot go without hearing? The one that makes you feel, just–”
“Ticklish?” Eddie suggests, the paragon of knowledge, the pinnacle of your annoyance. You thump him again. “I need a safe word.”
“Um– uh…”
“C’mon, Wheeler, the song that makes you feel just… awesome and chill and on top of the fucking world, c’mon!” Eddie encourages, kicking detritus around the bathroom floor.
Nancy eventually, eventually mumbles something.
You pivoting around on your heel by the sink. “Louder, Wheeler, I wasn’t born with sonar.”
“It’s– it’s ‘Just What I Needed’.”
What? Eddie mouths to you, arms binding across his chest.
“What, like– The Cars, ‘Just What I Needed’?”
A pause from Nancy’s end. “... yeah.”
You know this song. You know that song, right, it’s like duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-DEW-duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-DEW… Shaking yourself out, you brace up like a boxer heading into the ring.
“Gimme a lead in, Nancy.” Holy fucking shit, you’re really doing this. Nancy hesitates, probably because she can’t believe any of you are really doing this.
A mumble… “I don’t mind you comin’ here…”
“--and wastin’ all my time!” you jump in, “”cause when you’re standin’ oh so near, I kinda lose my mind…”
Visions of a plush lilac bedroom, yours, and a mountain of clothes and makeup and drained wine cooler bottles on the floor. You, standing on your bed in your socks and shorts, vamping– Tina and Carol singing hairbrush backup, Nicole on air guitar and Cass smoking out the window. There were flashes of this, you know, when it wasn’t all boiling vitriol and subtle shivving and one-up-manship. When you and those girls that you wished you weren’t near but knew you needed actually felt like friends.
A memory like that makes you feel empty.
“It’s not the perfume that you wear,” oh my god, “It’s not the ribbons–in–your–hair,” is he really, “And I don’t mind you comin’ here– and wastin’ all my time!”
Why the fuck does Eddie Munson know this song?! Your jaw drops open, your eyes go wide and your feet stamp against the tile like a goddamn kid. Yes! Yes! Amazing! You’re both so fucking out of tune, like there is absolutely a reason he does not sing a single note in Corroded Coffin but by god alive, you’re giving it everything you got in that fucked up boy’s bathroom.
Eddie’s so much better at it than you are, pouring every bit of obnoxious showmanship into it that he possibly can– complete with pulling you in for a fully nonsensical dance number. You spin into him, crashing into his chest with a clumsiness you never thought possible, laughing so hysterically that you can barely get the words out. He’s holding the reins, and holding that falsetto so badly you think the mirrors will shatter.
Your skin is buzzing, your heart is hammering and Eddie is pressed against your back and you are both scream-singing to the door of Nancy’s cubicle– “I guess you’re just what I needed! Just what I needed! I needed someone to feed– I guess you’re just what I needed! Just what I needed I needed someone to–”
“Pee! Pee, you guys, I’m peeing!” Nancy’s voice, bright and high from actually laughing, rings from the busted toilet.
You and Eddie erupt into a triumphant yell, him shaking you like a rag doll against him. The laughter peels away and then it’s just kind of him, looking at you from over your shoulder. His arms wrapped tight around your waist. His lips, a little cracked. Breath a little labored. Lashes still so long. You nearly–
The door flings open and he jumps away from you first. Nancy heads toward the sink and you resume the position, helping her figure out the Chemistry play set that holds the answer to how the rest of her life pans out. Thirty whole minutes, they’ve got to wait.
Nancy notes the time on her watch.
She even suggests that you guys can go at one point, but Eddie reminds her that a) he’s keeping an eye out for paint huffers and b) “... y’know, maybe it’s not so great to…” “Do this on your own,” you finish for him. Nancy nods, silent and grateful and so fucking nervous.
At about the seventeen minute mark, when you and Eddie have smoked four cigarettes each and Nancy has tried a puff of one (“Nope,” she hacks, “still totally vile…”), Eddie tosses this stink bomb between you two. Nancy has excused herself to stand with her head against the cubicle door. Something about calming her nerves. Coming up with a plan. Something to tell Steve, no doubt.
So it’s just you and Eddie, you sitting on the edge of the sink and Eddie rhythmically kicking the wall.
“You ever wanna be a mom?”
“Jesus, what a time to land that one on me.” You almost make a joke like you haven’t even stuck it in me yet, but that’s in bad taste. And implies a yet.
Eddie smiles over his shoulder, fluttering his eyelashes. Stupid. Stupid eyelashes. “Grounds of relevance.”
You pinch your lips between your teeth. “... fine. But, I fully reserve the right to change my answer given the fact that we are eight-shitting-teen years old.”
He points to the cubicle and mutters, “Well, she’s seventeen.”
You, wide-eyed at his dumbassery, mouth I know!
“Okay. Sorry. Go.”
“Fuuuuuck no. No babies pour moi, merci, c’est bon, au revoir!”
Eddie turns to lean against the wall, propping one leg up. God, but he does lean great.
“Why?”
“Genetic fate.”
“Huh?”
A sigh flutters out of you, shoulders slumping forward. “A certain… how do you say, thread of assholery runs through my family, I don’t know if you’ve noticed.”
Eddie nods sagely and you kind of want to punch him for it. “Daddy issues. Right.”
“Uh!” A hand flies up in your defense. “Let who among us here without them cast the first stone.”
From the cubicle, Nancy calls, “Not me.”
Surrendering, Eddie grumbles, “Yeah, not me either.”
“Glad we agree.”
There’s another tick and tock of silence, and you get the distinct feeling of something being pried open in the atmosphere.
“... whatever happened with your dad, anyway?”
Ah. The million dollar question. Whatever happened with your dad, so-called upstanding member of the Hawkins community, poor little poor boy done rich, scaling his way up the ladder of property management in this delightful little Midwestern enclave?
“Not a big fan of the news, are we, Munson?”
He seems to grimace at you tugging on his surname. “Print’s too small.”
“Taking offense to that,” Nancy chimes.
“It was the big ‘E’,” you say, kind of not into bantering about it.
“‘E’... ‘E’... ‘E’...” Eddie kicks the wall on each utterance. Possibly forgetting that he could also be the big ‘E’, if he wanted. You wonder if, just in terms of size…
“Embezzlement, Eddie,” you cut that thought off cold.
His eyes widen, eyebrows shooting under his shaggy bangs. “Shooooot.”
“Score.”
“What all did he, like… embezzle?”
The raising of the hackles is not entirely intentional. “Y’know who’d be able to answer that question, Eddie?”
But he sees it. He calms it. In unison, you both shrug, “Al Munson.”
Boom! Cubicle door flies open again. You’re starting to think that Nancy might just love making an entrance. Lot of flourishing happening here. Not entirely unlike Eddie in that way.
“It’s time.”
Each and every one of you beeline to where the test is set up on one of the sinks. Nancy gingerly plucks the offending strip from the test tube and Eddie, a man with money on his mind, asks another million dollar question. “So how do you know…”
You grab the instruction leaflet that you’d been tearing corners off of, making it look nearly moth-bitten. “Wait, it’s white, right?”
“It’s white,” Nancy whispers.
“It’s not, like… off blue, or…”
“No, that is white,” she’s trembling. “Is white– is that good, or– I can’t remember.”
“Nancy Wheeler…” you breathe, peeking over the paper, “Congratulations. You are nobody’s mother!”
She emits a shriek like nothing you’ve ever heard and barrels straight into you, near knocking you off your feet with a strength you didn’t know this little waif was capable of possessing. Her arms wrap boa constrictor tight around you, her words bubbling over like a shook up can of pop. “Jesus Christ, I’m so relieved, I just– I–!”
“You’re relieved?!” Eddie yells, ringed hands tearing down his face, “I’m way too young to be an uncle! Fuck! Thank god!”
Nancy chokes out a laugh through her tears, tears of relief, thank god and– and you don’t know if it’s selfish and you don’t know if it’s possible but you hope… you hope that’s helped close the chasm. Just a little bit. That she didn’t have to do this all alone in a shithouse bathroom that smells like sulfur and piss.
Breaking away from you (damn, you wish you knew how to hug), Nancy straightens herself up. Not that she needs to. She’s a pretty crier, that bitch.
“Just one more thing, you guys.”
“Anything,” you say before you even know you’ve said it.
“This is… between us, okay?” her eyes dart from you to Eddie, and you both take a step closer to her. Ceremoniously, Nancy holds out her two pinkie fingers. You link. Eddie links. His finger looks comically large compared to hers– and yours, when he reaches and hooks it around your unsuspecting baby finger.
“No one can know. No one needs to know.” There’s that headstrong Wheeler reserve you’d been missing.
“Cross my heart,” you proclaim.
“Hope to d– well, I don’t hope to die, that’s a little dramatic–”
“Eddie!” you both bark, varying degrees of amusement. Yours is on the lower end. “Swear on something real,” you push.
He hesitates a moment, then gives Nancy a look. “Alright. Swear on Hellfire.”
“Swear on Hellfire,” Nancy grins all tight, and kisses her right hand, hooked into Eddie’s finger. “Lacy?”
“Swear on Hellfire…” You mumble, rolling your eyes and kissing your Nancy’d hand. You need to swallow, first, before you tug your hand that’s hooked into Eddie’s toward your mouth.
And he does the worst thing. He leans down to meet your gaze, suckering you right in as his lips pout. They’re hungry. You’ve met those lips. “Swea-aar,” he sing-songs.
“--on Hellfire, okay,” you scoff, half-laughing into the little kiss.
“Ha!” Eddie barks, so fucking loud that it jumps off the walls. “Trick! You just made a deal with the devil, ladies, so I hope you enjoy eternal damnation at the hands of yours truly!”
Dumb as he is, Eddie might be right. If the way you’re looking at him is anything to go by.
author's notes: MERRY CHRISTMAS MOTHERFUCKERS. WE GOT IT WE DID IT WE MADE THEM KISS WE MADE THEM REALIZE SOMETHINGS NOT ALL THE THINGS SURELY BUT IT'S. IT'S SOMETHING. IT'S A START! on to the fun bits, like the jokes in the christmas crackers - absolutely obsessed with the mental image of eddie munson's bangs grown too long and he looking like this - cherry bombs down the john is a reference to the classic prank but mostly to american graffiti my beloved. later in the chapter, eddie says that some kid just threw some sodium down there which is something i read about on this reddit thread when researching cherry bombs. domestic terrorism at hawkins high! - p.t. barnum is that mfer that the greatest showman is based on. horrible man! not a fan! - heather holloway's jayne mansfield titties got me thinking about the jayne mansfield-sophia loren photo which has its own wikipedia page??? anyway, lacy coded! - black christmas is a stunning christmas horror film from 1974, which is loosely in part based on a bunch of murders that happened in the westmount neighborhood in montreal, quebec. fun fact, i just moved back from mtl after living there for a year. anyway black christmas kicks ASS - lipton landing is 100% a juno reference. big up my king elliot page - the thin man is one in a series of fantastic lil films from the 1930s all about nick and nora charles, a married couple that get drunk and SOLVE CRIMES. i'm not doing it justice by describing it that way but myrna loy and william powell are the royals of married banter and i model everything i write after their rhythm, more or less. - you're trying to tell me eddie munson didn't do whippets as a kid fucking wise up - one of my personal precious favourite recurring jokes in this series is 'who died and made you my x' and baby. i love a recurring joke - ronnie saying "oh she'll kill ya. then i'll go to work on ya," is a special reference because a) it's from my favourite film of all time, ocean's eleven and b) ayo edebiri, who i've fancast as ronnie ecker, has an ocean's eleven tattoo. we are sisters and also wives! - meep meep! - all i could think about when writing about how guilty lacy was - another metallica needle drop!!!! - pregnancy tests in the 80s really were that insane and involved! there's a great scene in glow (rest in fucking PEACE! gone but never forgotten) of alison brie's character using one, and here's more of the history - maybe the best needle drop of this whole series imo - finally peeped into those daddy issues. look forward to more of that and with that my hellcats, i wish you the merriest of holiday seasons wherever you find yourself and whatever you're doing. i will be back after the christmas break because i have to fully wreck my bank account and see every single person i have ever known and drink every espresso martini on dry land. sorry if there's typos in this, i have been labouring over it for... ever. reblogs, comments, likes and asks are always appreciated and i love you so much it's bordering on criminal! thank you!!!!
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson smut#eddie munson fic#stranger things fic#e. munson by powder#in progress#hellfire & ice#published by powder
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In wake of recent events and allegations against Neil Gaiman, I would like to release a statement that I know no one asked for. Because I have not been doing very well as of late, and this was the cherry on the shit sundae.
I hope you all understand that, in doing so, I do not mean to take away any attention from the victims. I just have to get this off my chest and clear the air I feel is polluted at the moment.
Here's my long-winded timeline of my interaction with Gaiman's work. Underneath will be my statement on these allegations and what I will be doing moving forward.
I first got into Neil Gaiman's work in June-July of 2021, around my birthday, although I had seen some of his work unknowingly over the years.
I will never forget the first time I watched Good Omens, and I will never forget the joy it made me feel from the first few frames. I finished the show soon after. The message of the beauty in individuality and the inherent neutrality of humanity made me feel hopeful for the first time in a while.
I read the book in October 2021 and was officially hooked. I started engaging in the fandom and found a place online where I felt wholly accepted. I made fanart, read/wrote fanworks, etc.
I then expanded my Gaiman-Verse knowledge in April 2022 and began reading American Gods, Anansi Boys, Trigger Warning, etc...and found great inspiration and solace in these works as well.
On August 5th, 2022, I watched Sandman the morning it released on Netflix, beyond excited, and then bought one of the large books with the first few comics complied inside after finishing the show.
My love for The Sandman universe only grew, and I gained new outlooks on life inside the character's words and actions. Death of The Endless and Hob Gadling were two characters that helped me better understand how to truly appreciate the world around me and the time I am blessed to have in it.
I received the full collection of The Sandman comics for Christmas 2022 and nearly cried with elation. I read through them like a beast and was given more of the extended works in the series (like Death's solo comic) later that same holiday. I was also given The Ocean At The End Of The Lane, and finished it in two days flat. I loved Mrs. Hempstock and her words on humanity.
As time passed, my passion for Gaiman's literature/media didn't waver.
I started dating my partner on June 1st, 2023, and Gaiman's work was part of what helped us bond, in addition to our already-lovely chemistry.
The EVERY kiss spoiler leaked and sobbed with excitement, lol.
Good Omens S2 was set to be released a few days after my birthday. However, I was very sick on my birthday and was rather miserable.
My parents went out of their way to make me Good Omens cupcakes in secret, and it was one of my best birthdays, purely because my father put in the effort to design them, despite my never letting him watch the show (which has since been amended).
That Christmas, I was given quite a bit of Good Omens and Sandman merchandise and started growing my collection of copies of Good Omens.
On April 25th, 2024, I watched Dead Boy Detectives the day it released, having been excited for it since November 2023, and found another media in the Gaiman-Verse that I adored and saw myself in.
Flash forward to tonight, July 4th, 2024, and I am devastated.
I spent the majority of my teen years consuming Gaiman's content and engaging in the fandoms. During the time, I found true happiness and felt comfortable in my identity, and I refuse to lie and say my self-discovery was not aided by the media he created.
I know this is not about me, but about the victims, and I know the allegations have been brought to light by many shady news sources, but I must finish my piece with this:
When J.K Rowling exposed herself as a TERF, I had not realized I was queer yet, but I was still deeply disturbed for reasons unknown to me. I separated the art from the artist, as I had loved Harry Potter since I was seven, and it was a way my mother and I bonded during hard times. It also helped me get through the height of quarantine and the horrors of puberty.
When I discovered Gaiman's work and the fandoms his work's inspired, I felt relieved: here was a white cishet person who cared for minorities and who created media for minorities.
If the allegations are true (which they likely are), it turns out my hero doesn't deserve his cape.
I will do as I did with J.K Rowling, with a much heavier heart. The fans deserve the joy and inclusion Gaiman's work has created, even if he himself is vile. I will continue to consume his work indirectly and in no support to him.
I encourage everyone in the fandom to stay calm during this time.
It is okay to be angry, sad, and confused. However, it is not okay to ignore the allegations altogether or the trauma these women have experienced at the hands of Gaiman.
This fandom is a safe space for many people, and I beg that it will remain that way.
I send out much love to the women who were hurt, and I hope you both find contentment.
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