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[commercialvehicle1]

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[hatsalad]

I actually kinda wish I could have personally seen the reactions of everyone who were so adamant that Titanic never split when her wreck was found not in one piece.

Give me a time machine to just present pictures of the wreck in the faces of the people who said she never broke like

[impulsedigi]

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[a2ztata]

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[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER TWO — VIOLENT DELIGHTS at HARRINGTON’S HOUSE

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: it's a rager at the harrington household! you attempt to reconnect with carol, tommy and the gang (it goes horribly, but they started it), accidentally connect with robin buckley and inadvertently have your life saved by eddie munson and his stupid van. you swear, this guy is following you. content warnings: NSFW / MINORS DNI swearing boots the house down, underage drinking, good old fashioned 80s homophobia and slut shaming, mean mom moment, implied attempted sexual assault, billy hargrove haters club (sorry) word count: 4.7k

Dear reader, I know you think of yourself as a harsh person. 

Cold and exacting, surgical in the way you deal with people. You put on a good show, though, masking it all up with quiet confidence and pretty smiles. The prettiest smiles. And you’re never too mean. At least, not out loud. 

It’s different when it comes to him, though. With him, you’ve got all the reason in the world to be mean. Vicious, even.

His dad is the reason your dad is in prison. That simple fact makes you want to grab his ridiculous hair and slam his head against the lockers so his ears ring. 

Al Munson probably has no bearing on the way Eddie Munson lives his life, because he’s a deadbeat the way his son is destined to be a deadbeat. But the mere genetic suggestion of that piece of shit is enough for you to want to cut the brake lines in his little boy’s van. 

You’re trying not to think about it too much, but it’s harder and harder when he’s right across the fucking lot, playing the same pedantic guitar riff over and over and over and–

Ssskrrrp. 

The pressure you’ve been putting on your poor fountain pen tears through the lined paper, interrupting your line of thinking. 

What doesn’t interrupt, what has no sign of stopping, is Munson’s incessant fretboard shredding coupled with–Christ almighty–an ear piercing harmonica. And look, you’re not one to ignore technique– he’s fine, you suppose, as much as anyone who can adequately handle an instrument can be fine, but it’s the fact that he keeps going. He’s relentless.

Doesn’t this place get noise complaints? 

You almost yank up your window and aim the nearest heavy thing in reach–a commemorative Indianapolis Christmapolis snowglobe from 1981–toward Munson’s window in the hope that it sails clean in and puts a hole right through his amp, but you stop yourself short. 

You do not exist to me and I better not exist to you. 

You’re a woman of your word. 

And you’ve got a party to get ready for. 

You’ll admit, the trepidation factor of showing up to Steve Harrington’s house after your trailer trash makeunder is major. This is why every element of your look has to be just meticulously so, from your hot roller curls to the angle your off-the-shoulder dress sits at. 

“Are you going somewhere?” your mom mumbles from the doorway. 

It almost make you draw a jagged edge in your lip liner– you’d forgot you left the door ajar and she moves like a ninja nowadays. Silent and deadly, or not at all. At the very least she’s not slurring her words; she’d heavily upped the intake of Beaujolais since she had to appear on the witness stand. You wonder what she’ll do when the contents of her old wine cellar that’s now living in the trailer’s living room runs out. 

You wonder what number glass is the one she’s currently clutching. 

“It’s Friday night,” you say, like that’s a sufficient response.

“Whatever happened to keeping a low profile, hon?” she says, perching on your dinky twin bed. She pokes around the measly few pieces of jewelry you’ve scattered there, the only ones you have left. The rest went to the pawn shop, then that went to the legal fund. 

Fat lot of good that did us, you think. 

“I get that you’re probably… upset by all this change, but,” she continues, sighing deep, “Going out and making a fool of us isn’t going to help anything.” 

You cap your lip liner and wonder just who the fuck your mother thinks she’s talking to. 

“And drinking yourself into a stupor in front of cable TV is?” you bite, “--scratch that. We can’t afford cable anymore, can we, Mommy?” 

Your mother’s purple-tinged lips peel over her teeth in a sickened smile. “Don’t be a bitch, Lacy. No one likes a bitch.” 

“I’m not,” you assure, unrolling the first of your hot rollers, “I’m being pragmatic. Game face, right? That’s what Daddy said. We’re not going to let this town of gossip mongering wannabes tell us who we are,” you say, rendering a pitch-perfect impression of your dad that makes your mom shudder. “I’m going out. I’m going to a party. I’m going to act like nothing has changed because it hasn’t–” 

It’s eerie how easily you can lie to yourself. 

“--you’re the one who’s not being a team player.” You don’t exactly say that your mother is the one that’s bringing extracurricular shame to the family name, but that’s what the reality is. If there’s not whispers flying about your incarcerated father, there’s mumblings about your mother showing up blotto in Melvald’s with more than one run in her stockings. 

Getting up from your makeshift dressing table to pick your jewelry from the bed, you turn– and run chest-first into your mother’s wine glass. She lets the wine spill down the front of your dress–your white dress–with just enough manufactured shock to let you know it wasn’t an accident. You gasp– is she serious?! The stain spreads just like her smile does; slow and languid and completely immovable. 

“Oh, baby, look at that mess,” she pouts mirthlessly, “Do you know how difficult it is to get red wine stains out?”

You just about keep your composure as she leaves your bedroom, slamming the door behind her. It might appear that your mother has nothing left in this world, but she still has the ability to make you feel two feet tall. 

Blinking away the hornet’s sting of tears in your freshly mascara’d eyes, you glance to the clock radio– no! You had planned on a bus route that included a fifteen minute walk from the park to get you to Steve’s on time (and to avoid another car ride full of ribbing with Carol, Tommy et al) and there’s no way you’re going to make it now. Plus, you now need a full outfit revamp and you still weren’t organized enough for that. 

Panic runs a trail of hot spikes up the back of your neck as you rifle through the nearest suitcase for anything remotely appropriate and you come up with– something. 

Something slightly risque, that you weren’t counting on debuting at a party where you needed to convince people that I’m normal and nothing’s different and everything is fine. 

Your new outfit requires you to be practically hermetically sealed into it, it’s so tight, but it matches your shoes at least– you’re a stickler for details. You’re also a stickler for multitasking, so you drum up a last ditch attempt at hitching a ride to Harrington’s house and barrel out the trailer door without so much as a Don’t wait up, Mom!

A sharp left is your first move, and you nearly swear you see Munson drop a note in his hard rock symphony as you dash past his window. Good. Hope you can’t nail that intro for the rest of the night, just like you can’t nail anything else. 

You’re sure, no, you’re positive that you’ve seen that car around here somewhere… and just like a very dangerous North Star, the Chevy Camaro sits askew in front of a nearby trailer home. The front door pops open, there’s some incoherent yelling, and a shadowy figure identifiable only by a trail of cigarette smoke and an ever-present cloud of too-strong drugstore cologne swaggers towards the vehicle. 

Someone up there’s looking out for me.

“Billy!” you call, teetering his way on your heels, “Hey.” 

Or wants me dead.

Billy Hargrove pauses in his tracks, tossing the dying ember of his cigarette into some nearby, extremely dead and extremely flammable, shrubbery. He drinks you in, top of the lid to the bottom of the label, and you want to fidget with your outfit. A black waistcoat with nothing but a bra underneath hitches your breasts to your clavicle. The matching skirt feels suddenly illicitly short. He’s regarding you with a newfound if sleazy appreciation– then again, you daresay Billy Hargrove eyes up froyo with the same lascivious look. Guy has a chronic case of eyeball nymphomania. 

“Lacy, right?” he drawls, like you haven’t been in the same social sphere at least a dozen different times. You nod, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear in an effort to out-cute yourself. This is very not you behavior, but– needs must. “Fresh meat.” 

Again, like you haven’t met a billion times before, but trailer park politics change everything. 

“Yeah,” you say, skipping over that particular prelude to a come-on, “Um, no way you’re going to Harrington’s party, are you?”

Billy heel-toes his way toward you, slow like molasses (or slurry, or tar), giving you his best half-lidded come-hither shit. Look, you get what Tina and Carol and the rest of the girls see in him– it’s the whole greased up dirtbag, fuelled by chauvinism, sponsored by Pall Mall thing that is designed to piss off their parents and give them bacterial vaginosis. It’s their first taste of adulthood. You, on the other hand, have tastes in the opposite sex that are as-yet unmet by this half-assed corn maze of a town. 

“I was thinkin’ about it,” he smirks, barely a breath away from you. And you play right up into it, even if you want to recoil from his ratty moustache. 

“Well, think I could ride shotgun?” you ask, and tack on, “With you?” 

“What’s in it for me?”

Oh, Jesus Christ, does it ever end. You have to swallow in order not to roll your eyes and ask him if he ever thinks about changing that broken flirting record. 

“The most impeccable company in Hawkins, of course,” you simper, amping up the princess angle. Though you were pretty sure that dynamic played better when you weren’t living on the edge of civilization.

Billy folds easily, but doesn’t go so far as to open the passenger door for you. He jams the radio on as soon as the key’s in ignition, speed metal rattling through the car’s interior. Another cigarette lit and he’s revving up and out, while you’re still struggling to find the non-existent seatbelt. You give up and reach for a smoke from the open soft pack on the dash– it’s not a regular habit outside of parties and stealing your mom’s every once in a while, but again, needs must. 

Billy flicks a Zippo dangerously close to your face. “What’s your deal.” 

Despite the monotone delivery, you’re sure it’s the closest thing to an honest-to-god question Billy’s ever asked you– or any girl, for that matter. 

“That’s a vague line of questioning, Billy,” you say, cracking a window so the smoke can escape. 

“You’re like, bad now or something?” he scoffs, “Shunned from the suburbs so you’re acting all edgy?” 

By hitching a ride with you, you mean. God, how pathetic to uphold yourself as the standard of bad behavior– as far as bad goes, I could do a lot better.

“Thaaat’s it,” you nod animatedly, half-yelling over the din of 'The Four Horsemen', “I figured with my father in the big house, I might as well commit to the bit. I might even get a tattoo. How’s that make you feel?”  

Billy barely emotes an answer, his himbot expression set on seduce mode. He’s just smirking, lashes low. “If you wanna let loose, I know someplace we could do that.” 

His free hand, the one that isn’t oh-so-casually resting on the wheel, reaches over to brush a lock of hair from your cheek. The knuckle trails down to your jawline, skips to your shoulder, your forearm, until his palm comes to cup your knee. Your skin feels like it hardens under his touch.

You’ve seen this movie before. Rebel Without a Condom: Skull Rock Edition.

Your hand closes over Billy’s, holding it firmly in place. He has a hair-trigger temper. You know that. You're attempting to handle it delicately.

“So do I. Harrington’s party.” 

His tongue runs along the edge of his bottom lip, and you wonder what’s fundamentally missing in you that this shit doesn’t have you trembling. He grips tighter, fingers edging up your thigh under your vice. Your stomach seizes. “I mean really loosen up, Lacy. You wanna be bad, let’s go be bad.” 

And suddenly, as his foot edges the gas to push you down the dirt road faster, you are trembling. But for all the wrong reasons. 

Then– an ungodly rumble from behind, headlights blaring through the rear window as a vehicle zooms almost bumper-to-bumper with Billy’s. The horn honks and each car’s sound system wages a war to be heard– Metallica versus Black Sabbath. 

Your neck snaps around. You don’t even need to see past the blinding light into the driver’s seat to know who the hell that is. 

The van hits a dangerous swerve in order to come neck and neck with Billy’s car, spooking him enough that he snaps his hand off of your leg. The van boisterously overtakes you and Billy slams on the horn, revving the engine from his position behind. The sign of relief you breathe is barely contained, but can’t be heard over metal-on-metal drums. 

“What the fuck is this freak’s problem?!”

“At least he’s bringing party favors.” 

–

While Billy Hargrove’s admittedly sick Camaro sure can burn rubber, she’s no match for Eddie’s old lady in the arena of sheer bull-in-a-china-shop obnoxiousness. She hauls a lotta ass and takes up a lotta road, which is perfect for raising the blood pressure of an asshole like this. 

And before you think it, before you even imagine it– he’s not fucking up Billy’s cruising hours because of you. 

Not entirely, anyway. 

Truth is, his uncle’s hours have been cut at the plant, as have Eddie’s shifts at the Hideout so he’s seizing opportunity wherever he can. Keep the lights on, right? And if that means palming off dimebags and powder to some drunk kids who are overzealous with their unpetty cash, then fine. He’d got the word from a couple of meatheads that his services might be useful, so it’s not as if he’s planning on gatecrashing Harrington’s. Gatecrashing a Quaker meeting would be more entertaining, if you ask Eddie. 

But, gun to his head? Alarm bells started ringing when he saw you bowl out of your trailer in that ho–... that outfit and head towards Hargrove’s. Well, Mayfield’s, technically– the only time Hargrove shows up there is to cool off when his dad kicks him out. Hargrove’s dad and the redhead kid’s mom have split, and she is not taking it well, so add in the macho madness of Billy and you’ve got a maelstrom of disaster.  

Sometimes he sees Little Red sneak out in the middle of the night and he’s gotten in the habit of keeping an eye on her. 

From a safe distance, of course. That kid’s like a rabid dog, jumpy and paranoid. He’s positive she bites.

Anyway, that’s how come he came to spot you. Activity in the Hargrove enclosure. And again, if he’s to believe any kind of insidious gossip, girls that slide into the passenger seat of Hargrove’s ride are not necessarily safe. 

So, he figures, it’s time to peel out and get to work. 

Eddie manages to keep Billy entertained on his tail right until the turn to Harrington’s, so you don’t swerve off onto an unlit dirt road with him. What can he say, he loves the chase!

Billy’s car almost blocks him in when he pulls up, you clambering out of the passenger side unassisted. Douchebag. The minute Eddie’s sneakers hit the pavement, Billy is just about nose to nose with him, frothing at the mouth. Rabid dog must run in the family.  

“Fuck was that about, huh?”

“Jeez, Hargrove, a little early to be scamming on your date already,” Eddie teases, drawing up to his full height– he’s got a couple of inches on Hargrove, which he knows is a sore spot. “But I’m flattered.”

On instinct, not insistence, Eddie’s eyes snap to you– but you don’t give him so much as a glance, just huff, “Thanks for the ride, Hargrove,” and head into the party. His eyes follow you, watching you stalk inside with your shoulders all hunched and your ankles about ready to give out in those dumb shoes. 

Billy shoves him, hard, as if to draw his attention back. “Fucking wanna go, huh?” 

But Eddie, at this point, is beyond over it. He’s done all the dick measuring he wants to do tonight. He digs a joint out of his pocket and slaps it into Billy’s hand. 

“Christ, Scrappy Doo, hit the brakes already. Have one on me.” 

–

The one time in your life you’ll be thankful for the bottomless pit of the male ego is tonight. Billy completely rerouted his fucking pea brain to dog Munson all the way to Steve’s house, and all you had to endure was motion sickness. 

Could have been a lot worse. 

You’re still regaining your land legs by the time you cross the Harringtons’ porch and are instantly cornered by Tina and Nicole. 

“Lacy,” they say, in unison and almost gravely. Very the twins from The Shining. “We didn’t think you’d make it.”

“Wait, did you come here with–”

“--Billy Hargrove,” you supply before anyone can make any stupid assumptions. “Almost died in a game of chicken in the process, but that’s that Forest Hills life for ya.” 

Tina looks past you, distracted and distant. “I always forget he lives there,” Nicole shrugs. You don’t bother to correct her, because you don’t think he does. Whatever. 

“Wish I could forget I live there!” you chirp, “In fact, that’s exactly what I’d like to do– forget. What are we drinking, ladies?”

You push past the hovering bodies and make your way to the kitchen, the girls bringing up the rear but real slowly. Something’s wrong– something’s off with them. But then again, maybe something’s just off with you. You choose to forget about it, forcing your party mode switch to on. 

“Jesus, what is Robin Dykely doing here?” Nicole scoffs over your shoulder as you search the kitchen island for anything you can free pour, and fast. You purse your lips– Nicole’s obviously started early, because when she’s tipsy, she’s got no volume control nor spatial awareness. The Robin Buckley in question is lingering by a punch bowl and definitely in ear shot. 

“Looks like she’s drinking punch at a party, Nic,” you say flatly, pulling a bottle of vodka from the gaggle of glassware. That’ll do fine. 

“Probably hoping Tam Thompson will finally join the softball team.” 

“Doesn’t Steve work with her?”

“Yeah, they’re like, buddy-buddy right?” you non-committally muse, grabbing a shot glass; in fact, you had seen the mousy girl mousing around Family Video with Steve. He’d even given her a ride to school a couple of times, whatever the hell that dynamic was. You didn’t know much about Robin, other than she was in band so you matriculated in the same gym space what with due to your spot on the cheerleading squad. Well, that, and the obvious rumors. 

But largely and absolutely, you didn’t care. She’s a relative nobody. 

You knock back a searing shot of vodka. 

“That’s proof Harrington’s exhibiting early signs of dementia, I’m sure,” Tina grimaces. “Like, doesn’t he know she’s a carpet muncher?”

“Like Harrington can’t have a girl within three feet of him without wanting to bang her?” you say, matching Tina’s grimace with a strained voice after the shot. “Yet here you are, Tina.”

It’s a little meaner than Tina is used to from you– and it shows. She blinks, once, twice, three times, visibly hurt because she knows that you know that she’s had a thing for Steve Harrington since the dawn of forever. 

Well, fucking get in line. 

Then she scoffs, recovering herself. “Have another drink, Lace. ‘bout time you loosened up.” 

Tina slinks by you toward the patio and you almost call after her, but don’t. Nicole, starting after her with a roll of her eyes, tells you, “We’ll be by the pool. See you out there, maybe?”

Your mouth curls into a sarcastic smile and you wave the bottle of vodka. “Soon as I catch up, girl!”

The vodka lands with a clunk on the counter after you line up another shooter. You look up, and catch Robin Buckley staring at you, right before she has the chance to avert her eyes. She’s gripping onto that solo cup for dear life. You can see the cracking dents in the plastic. 

“You want a shot?” you yell over the music and the people and the claustrophobia of it all. 

“Uh,” she says– too damn slow. You grab another glass and fill it, passing it her way. 

“I’ve, um, I’ve never really done this before. What’s, like, the custom, should we cheers?” Robin half-yells over the kitchen island.

You shrug. Fuck it. “Sure– here’s to being in places we think we belong with people we secretly hate!” 

“Oh, I for sure don’t belong here!” 

Robin sinks the vodka and chokes on it, spluttering up the shot. You gulp yours like a fish gulping water and dash around the island to slap her on the back. She recovers pretty quickly, wiping the dribbled booze off her face with the back of her hand. She wheezes gratefully when you pass her a sticky dishcloth. “Gross.” 

“I know, right? Party.”

“I get it, though, by the way,” Robin says, husk in her voice more pronounced after she’s coughed a lung up. She dabs awkwardly at her argyle printed shirt, doing nothing. “The secretly hating people thing.” 

Fuck, had you really said that? That’s way too personal. That’s way too revealing, especially to someone like her. Reverse, reverse, abort abort abort! “Well, it’s not that, y’know how it gets with your friends sometimes–”

“Because I know Steve. Like, I really know Steve– but not, not in like a sexual way because that’s not– more in like a paternal, fraternal, we were worms together in another lifetime sort of way– I just, I know Steve,” Robin steamrolls you, nodding. From the glassy look in her eye, that punch is finally hitting her. And she really does mean what she says, from the timbre of her voice. She gives a real fuck about Harrington, which is more than you can say for ninety percent of the people in this house. “He, y’know, he’s not exactly made for this crowd either.” 

You unscrew the bottle of vodka and take a cursory swig, then another, which makes Robin’s eyes widen and makes you feel a little bit like a pirate. “Then why are we all here, band girl? At his house? Why am I drinking his father’s Stoli?”

She casts her eyes down and shrugs, looking back up with a sour smile. “Party?”

Your shoulders drop and your head lolls back. Maybe you shouldn’t have come here after all. “Ffffffuck.” 

“I totally hate drinking. I hate that wobbly out-of-control thing,” Robin says, scooping more punch into her half-crushed cup. It occurs to you that she might not realize the punch is alcoholic. 

“You said it, sister.” 

“I like your outfit, by the way. It’s like if a librarian was… a slut.”

God, if this is the way she flirts, I hope Sarah Lawrence is kind to her.

“You said it, sister,” you repeat, hitting the bottle again. 

When you perform a quick scan of the room, you spot Billy advancing through the crowd, lighting a cigarette with another cigarette like he’s about to just smoke both cigarettes because that would be double badass. 

And then, veering in from the right just like he did on the way here, is Eddie Munson. He looks as if he’s looking… for you. 

Well, not the fuck anymore!

“Pleasure doing business with you, band girl,” you mutter, grabbing the solo cup from her hand and chugging the rest of the contents, “Don’t drink any more of that shit, it’s three quarters peach schnapps.”

You maneuver yourself (just barely) to the patio, where the gang, your gang, are all holding court on the pool loungers. There’s Carol, Tommy Hagan, Tina, Nicole, Cass, even Tammy Thompson if Robin’s still looking, but no Harrington in sight. Maybe it’s because of what Robin just told you, but you feel like this would feel less bad if he was here. 

A hush falls over the group as you approach– you know, the kind where you know people have just been talking about you? That lead feeling in your gut makes you take another sip of vodka. 

“Well, hello there,” you say, and it comes out as one slurred-up noise. Wellyellothur. Not ideal.

Tina gestures to the bottle. “Washing something down, Lacy?”

“A shot of Hargrove spunk?” Carol drawls. 

“With a Buckley bush chaser,” Hagan sniggers. Fucking Statler and Waldorf over here. 

“You guys, c’mon,” Nicole starts– and it sounds like a defense, but she’s the meanest motherfucker of them all when you give her some leash. “Lacy’s way too frigid for that.” 

“Guess that tracks,” Hagan shrugs, leaning forward to flick his cigarette into the pool. He looks at you in a way that drills a hole, only the way ugly, empty-eyed bastards know how to do. “I mean, if it’s true that your dad was pimping you out to Al Munson, it makes sense he’s in the slammer. No one got their fuckin’ money’s worth in that deal.”

“Shit, that is so true, Tommy,” you start, before you even know where it’s going. All you know? It’s going to be bad. Real bad. So bad that you set the bottle on the ground next to you and clasp your hands behind your back. Debate team stance is what you used to call this. “About me being frigid, I mean. Because I sure remember turning you down a lot– like, a lot.”

Hagan scoffs and lights another cigarette. Something electric in you makes you lean over and grab it, “Lemme have this one. –but like, you don’t remember that? Because I remember you begging–like hands and knees begging–me to fuck you the night of junior prom.” 

“Bullshit,” he scoffs again, like ‘scoff’ and ‘chauvinist insult’ are the only retorts he’s wired for. 

“And on the last lake trip,” you go on, taking a drag of the cigarette. “Oh! And on the night of Carol’s eighteenth birthday! Which was like, what? Two months ago? And every time, I said no. Do you remember why I said no, Tommy?”

This Greek chorus of Brat Pack wannabes, they just sit there and stare at you. And you don’t even notice the hush that’s crawled over the crowd assembled on the patio. The party rages on indoors, but those who are out here are rapt. 

Tina emits a nervous snort, which makes you bend at the waist and cup your ear, like you’re in the goddamn elementary school production of Horton Hears a What the Fuck Have You Got to Say.

“Bet you could tell me why, Tins,” you grin, big and houndlike. “I drove you to the clinic, remember? I fronted you the money for the lice cream– which you never paid me back for, by the way! Not even when I got all poo–oor!”

Tina reacts in a scramble, gasping unto herself and darting her eyes away from everyone. She doesn’t know where to look– no one knows where to look! No one but Carol, dear awful honeybun Carol, who has gone so pale it looks like her blush was painted on by Bozo the Clown. She stares you right down and you stare back. One of you is the barrel of the gun, and one of you is the poor loser looking right down it.

“You’re a fucking dirty liar, Lacy!” The sound of her voice feels like it’s ricocheting off every stony surface on Steve Harrington’s patio, that’s how deadly silent it’s gotten.

In a flourish, you throw the cigarette on the ground and stamp on it, hard and heavy! 

“Only one way to know for sure, Caroline!” you holler, flinging your arms out, “Feelin’ itchy lately?!”

All you know is you’re cackling louder than the thundering crowd rush that erupts when Carol fucking lunges for you.

author's notes: CLIFFHANGER ALERT! everyone fucking dies. jk but thank you so much for reading this chapter that i had so much fucking fun writing. and thank you for showing love for chapter one! i'm posting this one a little sooner than i planned because i want to get this show on the road for y'all. so, a few bits: - the song eddie is playing is the wizard by black sabbath which goes so incredibly hard. he also definitely learned how to shred on harmonica from wayne which is a piece of fanon i think i picked up from chrissy and eddie’s infinite mixtape, the preeminent hellcheer fic by @little-scribblers-heart (i don’t even go in for hellcheer like that but Now That’s What I Call Characterization) - never heard of Indianapolis Christmapolis before? check out the history here! - there is nothing i love more on this planet than making fun of a swaggerlicious shitbag character like billy hargrove. anyway he was blasting the four horsemen by metallica in the car which he canonically listens to in the show! you know, the scene where he puts cologne on his balls. i like to think billy only knows one song and this is it - rebel without a condom: skull rock edition is a reference to rebel without a cause and goes out to all the failed threesomes that have happened at skull rock - scrappy doo found dead in miami after one hit of eddie munson's ditch weed - i also have to say, i feel like more people knew robin was a lesbian than robin realizes, which is truly The Gay Experience. absolutely no one will be surprised that she's fucking crushing puss at a liberal arts college once stranger things 5 comes out in 2038 - anyway, crabs are a real threat, be safe and get tested! thanks so much for reading, pls reblog, like and comment to show support and i will throw things around my enclosure with the wild abandon of a dopamine rush. ur everything to me

[mrsvnk]

Sketch: Brick by brick

When I was writing fic, I wanted to draw this scene. The truth is, it belongs to the end of the story, lol.

I would also like to share some headcanons which are precanons (and canons in other fics for me).

Fencing affected Lizzy. She has muscles which are safely hidden under her clothes. They can be replaced and felt when Lizzy prefers shirts for convenience and less visibility. And yes, if they fail the Watchdog mission, you know what Ciel was staring at during the ambush.

When his relationship with Lizzy becomes truly romantic, it will be a series of embarrassments. Lizzy in a relationship, when she realizes that she can do, will be the gas, Ciel will be the brake. Sometimes it's hard for him to realize that this love is dedicated to him, that he deserves this love.

After the disappearance of the twins as heirs, the Watchdog's affairs passed to Elizabeth, Francis's daughter, as a relative and bride. At first, her mother helped her. Elizabeth knows that Ciel is doing the job of Watchdog, but Ciel doesn't know that she is doing it too. The ice between them broke after Luxury Liner Arc, but not all the cards were revealed. Her Majesty's little contribution has been made here.

Spoiler: The first awkward conversations after the Blue Arc between Ciel and Lizzy will take place in the garden. Both were in a state of awareness and acceptance of events, because both eventually met with the past and the present, which presented them with a choice that weighed on them. In fact, Ciel was really worried about Elizabeth's passive behavior, thinking that she would still leave him. However, Lizzy was just thinking about her past behavior and what she wants to do in the future to overcome all this. She really wanted to get to know the boy who had returned to her again, without tag of the Real Ciel.

[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

TFA X ROTTMNT crossover imagine Idea:

What if back when Splinter was Lou Jitsu he got spirited away in the TFA universe as a cybertronian thanks to a magical artifact long time ago before the first autobots-decepticons War, became a Gladiator against his will, meet Megatron and end up becoming "Friends" with him, build himself a reputation among Cybertronians and became a Well known History figure After managing to get his Freedom back and managed to get all the other Gladiator, Megatron included, free?

What if years After Lou Jitsu managed to get back to his universe and the ROTTMNT canon happen the turtles found the Magic artifact, end up in the TFA universe turned into cybertronians and two of them are warframes while the other two are civilframe?

I got way into this AU crossover the more I wrote about it and I just want to say that you, my friend, are a genius for coming up with it.

-Lou Jitsu's alter ego when he was a cybertronian was Splinter. Yeah, I'm basic like that. His alt mode would have been either a jet or a race car though I'm a bit partial to him having a car alt mode, simply because I could really see him turning into some flashy 80's sport car.

-Becoming a really popular gladiator not only for his fighting skills but also for bringing in his theatrics to the ring. They don't know that but whenever he wants to seem cool he says a one liner from one of his movies. The crowd ate it up every time. He's also really handsome as a bot so he's got a ton of fans.

-Ok but wouldn't be really cool if Splinter kinda revolutionized the cyber-ninja scene??? Like, up until his appearance it had kinda stagnated but when he shows up and shows up his amazing moves all the cyber-dojos go "YOOOOOO, THAT'S FUCKING AWESOME" and he basically starts the cyber-ninja renaissance. He also probably gets offered to become the leader of his own dojo but he declines the offer because he doesn't wanna abandon his new gladiator-buddies.

-Young Yoketron being his pupil??? Showing up one day like Genos in One Punch man and begging for Splinter to become his master??? YOKETRON YELLING "HOT SOUP" EVEN THOUGH HE HAS NO IDEA WHAT IT MEANS???

Prowl: Master, is it true that you trained under the master Splinter?

Yoketron: Yes, my pupil, I indeed did.

Prowl: Amazing, I've heard so much about him. What was he like?

Yoketron: He was... very wise. *flashback to Splinter forgetting how to use his brakes while in alt mode and crashing into a wall*

-Also, as for the brothers, if two of them are warframes then I imagine it being Raph and Leo. Raph because, well, he's built like a brick, it makes sense, and Leo because his weapons are the most lethal, made to kill. Also, Raph would be a tank while Leo would be a jet. Meanwhile, Donnie's alt mode would be like a microscope/telescope or something while Mikey would be a racer, either a motorcycle or a race car. I just want Mikey to have wheels on his pedes and rollerblade around while fighting.

-I also want some cyber-ninja dojo to 'discover' Mikey's talents, both as a ninja and spiritually, and taking him in. And Mikey can't tell them the truth, that he's already trained, so he has to pretend to be a newbie but instead he comes off as an actual genius, a prodigy only seen once every eon (he is a prodigy though so they're not too far off). Mikey shows them his 'magic hands' and the old coots practically faint.

-Meanwhile, Donnie gets similarly 'discovered' by the autobot Ministry of Science when they take notice of his remarkable intelligence and honestly? Donnie eats up the attention and praise. Perceptor and Wheeljack are fighting over who gets to mentor him and Donnie just does "Gentlemen, please, the answer is obvious; You both teach me everything you know. I want to know it all."

-Splinter, after becoming a mutant, turns into a cybertronian again but he looks really different so no one recognizes him. He's a beast-former now with a rat alt mode, about the height of Bumblebe (maybe even shorter). He kinda radiates this mystical air though, only perceivable to those with more spiritual senses, like Prowl.

Edit: Added some ideas of what Bot-Splinter would look like, both before and after mutating.

[muddypyro]

a vase did survive, which was the one i was most worried wouldn't. go figure, right?

it's a glaze revision of an OG recipe that got me started off with the first batch of porcelain. it's steadily becoming a favorite child.

here's some close-ups;

there's a lot going on with this recipe, and it'll change quite nicely in color and crystal structure based on thickness and interaction with the clear liner [which is used as a glaze 'brake' to prevent excessive running]

no qualms blaming the glaze disaster on pre-covid brain fog lol! honestly though, what the fuck was i thinking by only using the brake method on this vase? live and learn...

this is maybe heading to the online shop, but most likely going to a local gallery instead. fun fact, the gallery is run by my kindergarten art class teacher! she is a wonderful human and was paramount in unlocking my creative interests as a chaotically rambunctious wee lil shit.

[gnusnoteunuchs]

bumper is cracked because i ran over a fucking tire tread

aux port is on the blink

cd player doesn't work

windshield weatherstripping is dying

ceiling liner sagging and peeling off the insulation

need new spark plugs

left rear brake line bracket is held on by a zip tie

passenger side sun visor is broken

guard plate inside front passenger side fender is broken

having a car rules

[commercialvehicle1]

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[sparkarrestor]

Troublesome Coaches 2: Pullman Payback

Written By: SparkArrester

After their run-in with James, the Pullmans were more stuck up than ever. They were rude to everyone they met, and they even complained about Gordon.

“We aren’t to be treated like the filth on the Wild Nor’-Wester!”, they would say, “We are luxurious and important and should be treated as such!”.

As for James, he was very cross indeed. He was rostered on goods trains for the rest of the week, and the trucks, hearing what happened with the Pullmans, took joy in teasing him about it. James only grimaced as he took them up the line. James suspected that the Pullman’s somehow pulled strings to get him on goods trains, but he wasn’t sure. Though, the looks they gave him told him all he needed to know…

One night, both Gordon and James were returning home after a long day of work.

“Those silly coaches…” grumbled Gordon, “They spoiled what was supposed to be a lovely run!”

“And the trucks were horrid, like always”, grunted James in return. 

“If only someone could pay those coaches out, then I’m sure things would improve!”

“I’m up for it!”

“Are you sure James? Those coaches are a terror, especially to you!”

James only gave a grin.

“I can handle it, I'm sure!”

“Alright then, you can have the train tomorrow, remember, don’t let them beat you!”

“I won’t”

And that was that.

The Pullmans were very surprised when they saw James backing down on their train!

“What is this!” spluttered Oleander.

“We thought we told you to clear off!” Snapped another coach.

“Don’t you have a goods train to take?” Snarled a third.

James said nothing as they pulled out of the liner terminal and on to the mainline. Truth be told, he was still thinking of a plan! The coaches, meanwhile, tried to make the journey as miserable as possible.

“He thinks he can swagger back here like nothing happened? We’ll show him!” they whispered amongst themselves.

They jeered at him, insulted him, and even tried to make James stall on Gordon’s hill again, but to no avail. Even they had to admit defeat at some point, and James, though tired from the ordeal, relished in his triumph.

They reached the mainland station in fine style, and James went off to complete his other jobs while the coaches were shunted away. While they were at the carriage siding being cleaned, they tried to come up with a plan.

“That red ingrate needs to be put in his place!” said Oleander.

“But we’ve done all we can do!” said another, “What more can we even do?”

“We could try to put Car No.13 back on our train, hopefully he’ll work his magic and cause trouble!” put in the brake coach.

“We all agreed to never let him back on our train again, and I’ll have no more talk on the matter, are we clear?” cut in Oleander sternly.

“Well…” put in the dining coach, “We could take a page from those little wooden maniacs and push him down the hill?”

“But that could endanger our passengers!” said Ophelia, a first-class coach.

“No no, the dining coach is onto something!”, replied Oleander in a giddy way, "We could do it on the hill, and I’m sure that would teach him a thing or two…” She smirked before continuing, “Besides, we’ll only give him a scare, and not endanger our passengers too much” She finished proudly.

“I’m still not so sure about this…” muttered Ophelia.

“Well don’t be sure and just do what I say!” Snapped Oleander.

James returned to the mainland station and picked up the return train. The Pullmans still glared at him, but he only gave a smirk in return. He was expecting starting the train to be hard, but to his surprise, the coaches didn’t even try to hold back as he started from the station!

‘That’s odd’ he thought, ‘Why didn’t they try anything?’

He couldn’t dwell on this for long however, as he crossed over the points and onto open line. The entire run, the Pullman’s stayed silent and didn’t try anything.

‘Well, I suppose I really did teach them a lesson!’ he thought, ‘That was easier than I thought!’

But that was to change when he began to go down Gordan’s hill. At once, he felt the coaches put all their weight onto his buffers.

‘They wouldn’t!’

But they did!

“On! On! We’ll show you!” Sang all but one of the Pullmans.

However, their plan wouldn’t last long. There was a commotion at the head of the train, and all at once, there was a jolt!

“I-I-Can’t!” shouted Ophelia, and she began to apply her brakes.

That did it. There was a loud *crack* and the train slowed to a stop, halfway down Gordon’s hill!

“W-What on earth were you lot thinking?!”, shouted James, as the guard went to inspect what went wrong, “There could have been an accident, and your passengers could have been injured! It’s disgusting, the scheme you tried to pull off!”

“I-I-I… I don’t know…” muttered Oleander quietly. 

Truth be told, she, and all the other Pullman’s, were shaken up as well. It didn’t take long for the guard to find the problem, as it was right between the Brake Coach and Ophelia.

“The Brake pipe’s all busted!” He spat, “Now we’ll just ‘ave to call fer ‘elp!”

“No we don’t!” James replied, a sly smile appearing on his face, and he told the guard and his plan.

“Mebbe that could wurk…” said the Guard thoughtfully, “But, where will we be gettin’ a leather bootlace?”

The coaches tried to protest this as soon as they heard it, but no one paid any attention to them.

“Well, how many rich folk are on this train?” replied James dryly, “I’m sure we could borrow a pair, and they could easily afford some new ones!”

“Alright, but it’s yer funnel if there arr complaints!”

  As it turns out, it was easy to get a pair of leather bootlaces, and some newspaper!

“Some bloke by the name of Jobling offered them!”, exclaimed the guard.

At this, James turned a shade of purple, and seemed to be holding in a laugh!

The driver and fireman got to work immediately, and before long, everything was ready. 

‘I hope this works…’ thought James, as he started off.

Gordon was waiting at the liner terminal.

‘James should have been back by now’ he thought, ‘I hope nothing went wrong…’

But he soon heard a whistle, and tired but triumphant, James came in with the train. James smiled as he pulled in, the coaches being silent the entire time. He met Gordon and the others in the shed that night.

“So what happened?” asked Gordon, “Those Pullmans were silent, and that hasn’t happened in a long time!”

“Well…” began James, and told the whole story.

“Wow, turns out that one incident from decades ago finally became useful after all!” laughed Duck.

“Well.. I suppose” said James, “Besides, it worked! So… what can I say except, your welcome!”

And he promptly went to sleep. Gordon meanwhile, wondered how long James would go on about this!

[inbalanceofpower]

tay's garage.

very(!) important note: all vehicles include an emergency first aid kit, bottled water and all cars include blankets. lots of them (space dependent). but like, probably, at least two. maybe three (space dependent).

cadillac ct4 sedan —

standard features: all-wheel drive, 2l turbo engine, automatic transmission. glossy, summit white exterior, beige interluxe leatherette interior. led headlights. 19" all season tyres; alloy wheels with a contrasted dark, polished finish.

paid extras: all weather floor mats, powered sunroof, clear tail lamps, surround sound 14 speaker audio system. fitted with a (boot area) collapsible organiser and premium, dual pocket back seat organisers (magnetic close).

air freshener scent of choice is cherry vanilla, very sweet and obviously artificial. additionally, the back-middle seat is decorated with a plush, fluffy white pillow. tay's sedan is for everyday use, and naturally, is her most used.

land rover x-dynamic hse defender 90 —

standard features: all wheel drive, 3l engine, automatic transmission. glossy fuji white exterior with a black, contrast roof (and extended black exterior detailing); ebony leather interior. matrix led headlights. 20" all season tyres; diamond turned wheels in a contrasted, glossy dark grey.

paid extras: sliding panoramic roof and rear side glass, solar attenuating windscreen (filters sunlight to reduce heat), 14-way heated/cooling front seats, three-zone climate control (different front/backseat aircon/heating system), gloss black exterior gear carrier, front centre console refrigerator compartment, backseat plug socket.

air freshener scent is clean linen, much easier on the nose for the car's intended use — long drives for holiday destinations in america, and road trips. pillows are available for all passengers, and their drink of choice can be found in the land rover's fridge compartment.

mini cooper s convertible —

standard features: front wheel drive, 2l turbocharged engine, manual transmission. metallic white exterior with a black trim, soft-top roof; carbon black leatherette interior. 17" all season tyres; scissor spoke 2-tone wheels.

paid extras: heated steering wheel (keeps her hands from getting cold).

no air freshener, since it's rare she drives her convertible with the roof up. there is no real reason as to why she owns the car, beyond it being used for fun and girly days out (with rebekah). like the others, the middle backseat has the same style pillow as her sedan, and is there purely as decoration since it's unlikely she'd carry more than one or two passengers.

harley davidson softail standard —

standard features: milwaukee-eight 107 v-twin engine, motorcycle transmission. vivid black exterior, with silver detailing; premium black vinyl seating. led forward headlights. 19" dunlop harley-davidson series tyres, silver wheels. anti-lock braking system installed.

paid extras: enhanced grip on handlebars, and rider and passenger foot pegs. upright sissy bar, with a premium black vinyl backrest. single-sided swingarm bag (storage purposes).

+ scorpion exo 520 evo air —

standard features: gloss white. overall visor lock, for security with a retractable sun visor, anti-fog lens. anti-microbial fabric inner liner (to keep warm, or cool down). breath box. inflatable cheek pad system, for comfort. vent system, to boost breathability.

tay's bike is primarily for extracurricular use, and applies to her hybrid verse exclusively. the same style of helmet is available in black for passengers.

[thatonebirdwrites]

Finally got it up! It's been rough for me, and I struggled to write anything. So been trying to do little things here and there to get me back in my groove. Especially on this project. We're heading into part 3 of Book 3.5, where we're going to explore more of Korra and Asami's healing journey, but also dealing with a possible enemy that stalks them. EXCERPT:

To learn to walk with a prosthetic required learning a new way to maintain balance, beyond  the stabilizers in her leg brace. The therapy for this took time. 

Far too much time.

Asami was too impatient for this. 

So due to the snowstorm preventing a visit to Katara, Asami hid in the palace workshop and worked on remaking her suit. She’d brought the pants portion with her, though the right leg was missing still. She hoped to fix that today, though she’d need to line it with warm, removable liners to deal with the aching cold of the south. 

Asami perched on a stool, safety goggles on her face, a hammer in one hand, and several platinum plates laid out on the workbench in front of her. Asami didn’t hear anyone enter nor realize she wasn’t alone anymore until she paused in her work to stretch her arms. 

“Hey you.” Korra said from behind her. 

Asami jumped and turned. “Korra. Hey. Didn’t hear you come in.” 

Since her return, their interaction had been somewhat awkward. Partly due to herself since she couldn’t seem to bring herself to speak about, well, anything. Guilt from keeping the chi issue from Korra was part of that, but also worry about pretty much everything. How could she sum up her concerns in a sentence? Let alone one that was coherent? So she’d said nothing. 

“What are you making?” Korra wheeled herself up to the stool next to Asami, locked her brakes, and grasping Asami’s shoulder and the workbench, she leveraged herself to her feet. Her eyes widened. “Huh, another foot? How many do you need?” She winced. “Uh, I didn’t mean it like—”

“I know,” she interrupted, amused. “And one can never have enough feet. It’s the new fashion you know.” She winked for good measure. 

Korra chuckled, which was progress. Last time she’d attempted a joke, Korra had just looked pained, but then maybe part of that was the tendency for Asami to joke about her own injuries. Humor or staunchly avoiding the discussion had been her mainstay for a lot of things before she started dating Korra, and although they’d started to break down those bad habits, the fight with Zaheer had brought a lot of them back.

To read the entire series, click here.

[pyotrkochetkov]

opinions on matt rempe?

i don't really know much about him honestly but from what i can tell he could probably be an effective fourth liner for a team based on his skill, but he's also extremely young and inexperienced in the league. some of the behaviors i've seen so far have been concerning to say the least and being applauded for those behaviors by some fans will only reinforce him carrying on doing those in his career...

the sport has definitely evolved and the need for a dude fighting and getting game misconducts every other game isn't necessary. you're more valuable to your team on the ice and i think he needs to pump the brakes if not for the longevity of his career, but his wellbeing down the road as far as health concerns

[kitkatunicorntheatrekid]

Things i nodisted/love/found funny in hamilton

The music How burr talks about hamilton The snapping on beat The whole cast The ensemble The ensemble acting out the story Lafayette and angelica dancing on balcony The set The bullet The books Burr and hamilton in brown The double meanings The dancing Hamilton stalking burr The lamp post Burrs avice The bar Rapping The talent Everyone is unsure about hamilton Hamilton telling his whole plan Burr being fed up Lams The turntable They see a lady

The scylulr sisters on the balcony They are drunk Braking character Whipping chairs around The weird walking angelica and eliza want to have fun but peggys not having it The gang in the background The wood The canes The earrings The flipping book The quick change Mullin wanting hamilton to tear a guy apart

Lafayette nugging hamilton Burr is like no Burr is the mom King george the 3ed The boston tea party reference The lip cruel Roll the rs The walk The high note The spit The fact that this man played kristoff in frozen The red coat in the background The spy The lighting George washington The pen Burr insulting hamilton The lanterns Angelica dancing with washington Laruans and peggy dances togeler(yacks) Angelica with hamilton Peggy's little dance Hamiltons victory dance Lafayette whispering to peggy

Mullin is the flower girl Drunk laurens The disappearing flower But peggy keeps her flowers The dance is in reverse Angelica trying to out Éponine Éponine Lafayette, laurens,and Mulligan tell hamilton his freedom is gone The dance An ensemble in the back on the stairs Laurens starting drama Hamilton being so confused The sweet We see eliza writing the letter More lams The same actor plays samuel seabrey and the doctor Burr is like oh no Eliza wants the kid to have the smile and mind hamilton Burr with the insults The fast rap The passing of the letter

The high five The t posing The stomp How burr and hamilton are different types of dads Lafayette and Mulligan also got the letter Hamilton is happy to be treasurer The mix of the songs Thomas jefferson Reference to jefferson's slave Philp and the number 7 The downfall The walk Hamilton wanting to say no but can’t Hamilton monking burr Maddison coughing The ensemble yelling cities Philp on the balcony The pistols and the mics are from the same place Daddy’s calling Bill of rights ink is still drying Jefferson handing his resinement Hamilton blaming Jefferson Washington and hamilton drinking Philp looking so bored The air quotes The king staying on stage Burr being confused jefferson one liners The robot voice The bounce The little bit of congrands Eliza burning the letters Philp talking in a theater

Philp on a table Philp dead Burr is so happy Beer with burr The head nod The gasp

[cha-melodius]

First Lines

Rules: post the first lines of your last 10 fics posted to ao3. if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics.

I was tagged by @cricketnationrise and @rmd-writes, thanks! Fortuitously, I was just looking back through old tumblr posts and happened across the last time I did this (that one also included the directive to "look for patterns"), which as it turns out was almost exactly a year ago. Also, turns out I wrote a BUNCH of fics in the intervening time. Like, 32! What! I guess that's what happens when you decide to write a bunch of one-shots and accept prompts, lol. Anyway, here are the last 10.

Nova, Baby Agent Henry Fox-Mountchristen is an asshole.

All for a Taste of the Honey “Abso-fuckin-lutely not.”

It's Been a Bad Day Lately “Up and at ‘em, sunshine!” someone nearly shouts at him, jolting Loki to alertness where he’d apparently fallen asleep on a table in the archives. 

True Hollywood Romance “You cannot tell me you’re intending to wear that,” Loki blurts, in lieu of a greeting, the moment he opens the door and sees Mobius standing on the other side of it.

Love is a Deserter It’s just a party like any other.

How’s About Cookin’ Something Up With Me? The memo shows up in Illya’s mailbox on a fairly unremarkable Wednesday in early December.

May Your New Years Dreams Come True It’s a confluence of unfortunate events that sets the whole thing off.

Another Christmas Song (This Time I’ll Sing Along) In the six months since Illya’s new neighbor moved into the brownstone next to his, he has learned a few things about him: 1. he’s ridiculously good looking (he learned that on the day he moved in); 2. he’s a very proficient chef (that one, a few weeks later, when he invited Illya to his extremely well-provisioned housewarming party); and 3. he sings.

In the Morse Code of the Brake Lights This can’t be happening to him.

The Spirit of Giving Here’s the thing: Alex is pretty sure Henry can’t even cook.

I still use the snappy one-liner in its own paragraph pretty frequently, but if there are any trends to see here, it's that I definitely have started occasionally writing longer intro sentences. The one for Another Christmas Song is particularly funny to me.

Tagging @clottedcreamfudge, @mirilyawrites, @loki-is-my-kink-awakening (so you can do a year retrospective too lol), @heytheredeann, @ikeepwatchinghelicopters, @treluna4, @indomitable-love