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grapecaseschoices · 1 year

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oc asks that reveal more than you think - kendis speed run

here if you want it!

Do they sleep with a stuffed animal? If they have multiple, who’s the favorite?

No. I don’t think so. If they did I feel it would be more for aesthetic purposes.

Can they take care of a plant? What about a pet? What about a child?

Yes(They have several). Yes (they have quite a few). And yes (they used to baby sit and want kids).

Ask them to describe their love interest.

What love interest?

Do they look good in red?

Yes.

Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech! Will they give one, and what about?

Always (well, almost), Kendis is full of opinions (but Kendis can’t always be bothered to find important what you find important). It could be about anything. What are you looking for? More likely about self-care (for you), the benefits of positivity, why pets are great, being queer and black is the best, fashion week, fuck the housing market, etc.

Who will they take advice from, no matter what it is? Who won’t they take advice from, no matter what it is?

OG: Their parents. Sometimes their siblings. TWC: Not many. MAYBE VERDA. In a very blue moon Captain Sung. TWC AU: Their parents, their brother (maybe). Sometimes Alexis.. Exile: Esmeralda? Definitely Sabir. KOTSAM: Their mom without a doubt. Cyrus, if one really really and truly squints.

OG: Anyone else? LMAO. TWC: Rebecca. Anyone else? lmao. Exile: Anyone else?

Kendis isn’t one to take advice, period. LMAO.

Describe them in three words. Now let them describe themself in three words.

Me: Bold. Insecure. Loving. Kendis: Ooo. Hot dang.

Do complex puzzles intrigue or frustrate them?

That’s NERD shit. And they’re NOT a nerd, ew.

Unless it’s a math puzzle. Then see them there being the nerd they are.

Do they empathize with non-sentient things (dolls, plants, books…)?

Plants. Nature.

What age do they most want to be right now?

The age they are.

They’ve won the lottery. Spend, or save?

Both.

Do they like romance in the books they read (or in the book they’re in)?

Yes. In the books they read. Not in their life, lmao. Well, not for them at any rate.

Name one thing their parents taught them.

OG: Meet others with kindness. And mind your side when you throw a punch. (Well, their brother thought them that last but I imagine their mom taught him that, so.)

Would they agree with the term ‘guilty pleasure’? Do they have any?

No. They generally can’t be bothered with the masses lmao. But I think they have a couple -- less guilty pleasures but more enjoying/wanting to do things that they knowo would be frowned upon. Murder?

What would they consider a waste of time– other than school or work?

OG: The neighborhood watch meetings. TWC: The agency. KOTSAM: Hrm. Some of the keeper stuff, especially the political machinations. Exile: The political machinations lmao.

I’m sure we can see a theme.

If money wasn’t a limit, what would they wear?

Thrift shops exist man. Renting exist. Yeah, they do that. WHAT ABOUT IT.

Do they like children?

Yes.

Kissing: tongue or no tongue?

No.

Do they study before tests? Practice before job interviews?

It depends. But lately yes (it’s med school - for og kendis - bruh). (kotsam kendis is half and half). As for the second, I don’t think so. They will research, of course.

What do they like that nobody else does?

Usually people that other people don’t like. Kendis and their adoption of sad sack people, usually men. I really don’t know. Kendis liked being queer in midwest America (og/twc au ... twc)? IDK, man.

What would it take for them to break up with someone? What would be the last straw?

Oh, wow. Um. Hrm. I don’t usually do Kendis and relationships ... but I think someone who deliberately stepped on their boundaries. (I feel Kendis has a few ‘last straws’, actually.) Kendis doesn’t like feeling boxed/caged in, so they’re wary about starting a relationship (romantic and sexual) because of that -- so if they gave that trust and you began to betray it in that way? Byke.

Do they like being called pet names? Do they call other people pet names? What’s their go-to?

No. I don’t think so. At times. (As for go-to I don’t remember. ‘Bro’? LMAO. Kendis would be the type to romantically call you dude and platonically call you baby. Except for ‘baby’ it’s more like, someting teasingly mean/random.)

Stability or novelty?

Both (lol), lean the latter.

Honesty or charity?

Give them honesty and they give you charity.

Safety or possibility?

Both, but hard lean the latter. Really the latter, honestly.

Talent or effort?

Effort.

Forgiveness or vengeance (or…)?

Always the latter. The former only if you’re certain people (... and even they ......)

Would they date a fixer-upper?

Sure. Work on fixing yourself. Peace and love on planet earth.

JK. Sorta. It depends. The question should honestly be ‘would they date’ and the answer is no.

What recurring dreams do they have?

Traumatic ones lmao. Look at their canons? RIP.

Abandonment and chastisement.

What would they do if they knew it would be forgiven?

Murder? Murder. Especially Exile Kendis. Maybe not KOTSAM Kendis (but they could be convinced [by themselves] for a couple of people. But would they forgive themselves, is the question.)

#oc: kendis crawford louel #bb i need a break from you but i miss you #grapecase posts #twc: kendis crawford louel #exile: kendis lateth #grapes chars

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eclipsecrowned · 7 months

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Rubs my hands together and then slaps the names of all your TVC OC muses down on the table. Give Us Halloween Facts!!! // @teardownheaven

Candel Silverio: Victoriana chic! It's not her standard look at all, stiff ruby brocade and deep gorgeous midnight shades, but Halloween is a busy time for the Mystic Alley. She has to as much dress for the occasion as dress to impress, to sell a story and an eyecatch for her little shop. The spooky old world madame of her dominion of back rooms and candlelit parlors. She's in a lush evening gown with lace elements and a corset that's made of real bone -- but please don't ask after what creatures bones make the inner workings. Bonus is her alligator familiar is curled up in her little bed with a novelty headband festooned to her head. She's a kitty cat!

Josette St. Yves: Going full drag! Has the drawn on stubble, has the shaded adams apple, has the shoulder pads and the slicked back hair and is just selling it. Like her bestie the aforementioned Candel, is going for a more historic look, with matching brocade vest and a long coat the color of sin. The dandy to Candel's noble lady. If you detect in her Vampire verse that she's imitating her 'older brother' slightly, no the fuck you do not. She's not here to sell anything or impress, she's just in town to have some fun and take her oldest friend out for a drink once the shop closes down. Probably has on some era extant accessories courtesy of her Maker.

Karin Lindholm: She's working tonight. She's got responsibilities. Halloween is a fucking nightmare on the Island. Don't ask her to dress up. She's going to do it anyway, but don't ask her to do it. It has to be done spur of the moment as she's throwing her clothes on. Cream button up blouse, dark pants, overlapping dual belts, high riding boots, an old capelet and most importantly, a single earring. No one has any idea what in Hell she is supposed to be. This was a calculated risk she took and she is hilariously bad at math. Only asks if someone has read Mistborn once before feeling too cringe to ask again. Don't worry about her outfit. None of you know what a Vin is.

Kris Lindholm: To the shock of absolutely no one, Lestat. However, she's very proud of herself this year, as a lot of the outfit is either thrifted or DIY'd. Shes becoming a real punk step by step. Spent several evenings at her bestie Mahmoud's house borrowing his mom's sewing machine to get the velvet coat made. It walks a fine line between the iconic Tom Cruise 'Interview' look and some of the in-universe 'IRL' Lestat's music video ensembles. It's everything she ever wanted in a look, but her hair's going to be begging for mercy between the bleaching dyeing and color correcting and then curling it for the authenticity. She's also gone heavy on the contour and makeup effects. Who is she.

Susan Howard: Susan is 50+ years old. Susan is a professional and a fearsome hunter of the undead. She does not have time to dress up for it. If anything, she's spending a night in, drawing up plans and having a festive spicy drink. She's in her knit sweatpants, a half-buttoned flannel, and a lovingly woven old shawl from another life. Her hair is pulled up into a utilitarian bun with a pen forgotten at the base. She's poised over her desk, reviewing building plans, cross-referencing historical records, the sounds of a classic horror movie totally ignored but whispering away from another room. It's simultaneously cozy dark academia and subtly offputting, the whole vibe of her rented room at odds with itself.

Yalizaveta Molyboga: Naughty nun. It amused her. She's played many roles in her time and costumes are a strange sort of comfort to her, her nightly haircut hidden away under a wimple and her marble thighs exposed to the cool night air. She was never Catholic in life, and was turned as a scrawny serf girl, so she has no real idea why she chose this, but she's having fun. Moving among living rabble jubilating in the streets, Vieta's having a fun time herself, just enjoying the vibe and roaming part. On several occasions she has offered passerby 'Body of Christ' via a shot glass and the contents of a vodka bottle strapped to her waist. Sufficed to say, she's a hit and a features on social media feeds throughout the night.

#teardownheaven #candeltbt #josettetbt #karintbt #kristbt #susantbt #vietatbt

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ivorypidgeon · 1 year

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FASHION & SHELTER

Before you can speak, you must hide your nakedness.

In 2023, rent and house prices reached an all-time high while earnings, for the most part, remained stagnant. As houses have been amalgamated from commodities to investment opportunities,

young people worldwide have entered a state of chaos -

the housing crisis.

In recent times, we have become acquainted with many- a-crisis yet

the housing crisis has always struck me as the most painful, the most wincing.

A grievance, I have personally understood, having previously made a house out of other’s beds, couches, sublets, train stations and floors.

There is no big mystery as to why many people do not have homes, housing is not a human right

and the people who could help - aren’t helping.

Aside, the concept of the home is changing.

The would being increasingly digital, - our sense of self has become fragmented across physical and online spaces, tour physical environment does not dictate much about our identity,

now more than ever.

Many have found abstracted forms of security online,

seeking refuge in digital personas.

Groups that were once pushed to the fringes of society, now blossom with hives of users worldwide providing a sense of community that often cannot be found locally. Newer parts of mainstream culture show this trend - veganism, incels, anime, alternative medicine, and meme culture are all at the forefronts of Internet culture - simultaneously occupying and competing with a million other societies.

Most would agree that a home needs a sense of belonging, safety, and security.

Shelter must affirm our sense of belonging and hide us from danger.

In this context, young people can find these senses within the digital world and aim to replicate the experience in real life.

The physical becomes the temporary present,

the digital becomes the aspirational future.

In this context, fashion’s penetration into the post-Internet psyche has taken on a new significance,

as it not only serves as a means of self-expression but also as a way to connect our physical and digital worlds. Through its visual nature, fashion has become a way to curate and self-promote our idealised online personas,

allowing us to create a somewhat cohesive and consistent image across both our physical and digital worlds.

By embracing fashion as a means of connection, we could further bridge the gap between both planes of existence, and create a more integrated sense of identity in the digital age.

Fashion, as it stands, in the current day is heavily centred on persona, identity and image than ever before.

Brands no longer compete in the space of billboards and magazines but in between photos of your friend’s latest dog update and videos of your brother’s wedding.

In the online arena, brands use these to communicate to buyers and potentials that if they were a person, this is where they would spend their free time, this is what they eat, these are their friends and they’re as real as you and I.

Balenciaga is an edgy friend from Berlin, and Gucci is a cousin that just discovered cottagecore.

Is this nefarious or just an evolution of how we already associate brands?

On that point, young people who grew up with the Internet have used fashion to develop different personalities and interests, fashion becomes an entry point for subcultures to be entered and returned to with little to no friction.

You’re excused for buying the Off-White safety belt in 2014, a skateboard in 2016, or the dress -that-must-not-be-named in 2020.

You weren’t entirely a victim of marketing, you were probably just bored.

You don’t necessarily need to drive to the furthest thrift store in your town and ask for old flannels and mud-stained jeans anymore. You can buy them on Amazon

and be grunge for a day.

And tomorrow, you can dress like Paris Hilton.

The average person is buying 60 per cent more clothing than 15 years ago, while each item is kept for only half as long.

All this spending on clothes…

Do appearances really matter that much?

Within seconds of meeting a person, the brain already picks apart their body, body language, their mouth, speech, their eyes, and eye contact.

A study by Janine Willis and Alexander Todorov, titled "First Impressions: Making Up Your Mind After a 100-Ms Exposure to a Face"

found that people make judgments about someone's personality based on their physical appearance within just 100 milliseconds of seeing their face.

The researchers found that people are more likely to perceive someone as

trustworthy, competent, and likeable if they have an attractive appearance.

Another study by Hajo Adam and Adam D. Galinsky found that people consistently judge others based on their clothing choices.

The researchers found that people make assumptions about someone's personality, social status, and even their job based on the clothing they wear.

The study also demonstrated how wearing different types of clothing can affect a person's behaviour, confidence, and performance on tasks, concluding that clothing can have a symbolic meaning, affecting a person's psychological state and cognition.

Then we say, appearance matters.

And does our fashion affirm our identities or hide our true selves?

Does the soldier who wears his army uniform to Walmart wear the uniform to affirm his identity as a symbol of service or to hide his disconnection from civilian life?

Likewise, does a sorority sister dress like her friends to affirm that she belongs in her community

or to hide her personality?

Similarly, shelter operates to hide the true self from the outside world.

Even in The Fall of Man, after Adam and Eve eat the forbidden fruit,

they become aware of their nakedness and feel shame. In an attempt to conceal their bodies, they hid from God, hastily fashioning cloths from fig leaves.

Then they were banished, to leave their idyllic home of the Garden of Eden for the wilderness.

In this way, fashion works like shelter, to affirm and to hide.

At home, you can hide. At home, you can be yourself.

I had these thoughts over the course of 13 days as I entered a whirlwind cacophony adventure to rent a room in the East End. The landlord, ‘a true geezer’ named Boris, no, Dave, no, Dan,

a 65-year-old toddling man Cayman Islands resident with 100 names that led to no end.

The house was a beautiful yet dilapidating Victorian build. A real charmer, yet a husk of what was once probably very beautiful, now clad with peeling wallpaper, cobwebs, and about a thousand health and safety violations.

Boris, Dave, or Dan (whatever his name was) summoned my newfound Spareroom pen pals and me with No Caller ID, then insisted we pay a deposit upon entry. His wife in a long hooded puffer jacket sat in the corner chewing her fingernails, swearing that despite the heating not working, us not coughing up a deposit would be a terrible thing for us.

After demanding heating, we were ghosted and left back on the property search hoopla, which had already been 4 months of web-surfing, bidding wars, and cosying up with the sleaziest real estate agents you could imagine.

I eventually found my place, pulling up to the viewing with all my belongings in bags -

demanding that the room was mine, and not leaving until every paper was signed.

In the weeks leading up to this article being written, I met Kieran* near Whitechapel Station.

Kieran had been living without a home for nearly 6 months.

I told him about my essay and he told me how his clothes had played a crucial role in his daily life.

Wearing multiple layers meant storage and staying warm during cold nights.

A hoodie or a beanie, could help him blend in with the crowd and avoid being harassed by police.

The clothes he got from local shelters and community organisations, had let him go to some job interviews without a worry.

He said that when he was first homeless, he felt like he had lost himself.

He just got a favourite jacket and he wore it almost every day, which made him feel more confident and more like himself.

Without a house, clothing is not just a matter of practicality but also a source of

comfort and self-expression.

Ultimately, fashion in the present day is more than a tool. It is an important aspect of our identity, our self-worth and our feeling of belonging within a world that can sometimes feel ever so outside of our reach.

Ultimately, our understanding of this will allow us to fulfil deeper connections with our objects as we, consciously or not, already place a high level of significance on their relation with our lives.

I close this essay to thank everyone that gave me shelter.

Every girlfriend’s room,

every friend’s failed sublet,

every train operator,

every couch,

every floor,

every shed,

every floor.

I am grateful now to have a place I can call my own.

Thank you.

Editor’s Note

According to The Tower Hamlets Council, Kieran* is now living in a council estate in Stepney Green.

His name has been changed in this article to respect his privacy and his account has been given with written consent.

For the remainder of the year, I have decided to support Crisis UK, a non-profit organisation that provides housing and support for people experiencing homelessness. To show my commitment, I will be donating 10% of my salary to the organisation.

I strongly believe everyone deserves a place to call home. While donating money is not the only way to help, I hope that my donation can make a positive impact on someone's life. I encourage others to join me in supporting organisations like Crisis UK, as together we can work towards ending homelessness and building a better future for all.

1 Homelet. (2023). Homelet Rental Index. [online] Available at: https://homelet.co.uk/homelet-rental-index

2 Petrosyan, A. (2023). Digital population. Available: https://www.statista.com/statistics/617136/ digital-population-worldwide/

3 Remy, N., Speelman, E., & Swartz, S. (2016, October 20). Style that’s sustainable: A new fast-fashion formula. McKinsey & Company. https://www.mckinsey.com/capabilities/sustainability/our-insights/style-thats-sustainable-a-new-fast-fashion-formula

#my writing

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anitosoul · 3 years

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tripreport.011: Home

nostalgia and nerves 🏠

Key Inspirations:

Alternative music [’80’s, ’90’s, late ’00’s/early ’10’s] (Music Genre)

Driving around for fun (Activity)

Suburban sprawl (Societal phenomenon)

Teenage bedroom vibes; you know, like with the colored lights and posters all over the walls (Aesthetic)

Making someone a mixtape (Activity)

Thrift Shopping (Activity)

Estate/garage sales (Activity)

The Home Depot (Store)

Looking back at memorabilia from your high school years (Activity)

Finding your parent’s cool old stuff (Activity)

Home building/improvement (Activity)

Picnics (Activity)

Dogs (Animal)

Outdoor dining (Activity)

Home Tracklist A-Side: The Suburbs

Arcade Fire – The Suburbs

The Shins – Phantom Limb

Young the Giant – Cough Syrup

Youth Lagoon – 17

Frank Ocean – Ivy

The Smashing Pumpkins – Mayonaise

R.E.M. – Half A World Away

Band of Horses – Infinite Arms

Radiohead – No Surprises

The xx – Sunset

M83 – My Tears Are Becoming a Sea

Home Tracklist B-Side: The City

The Cure – Boys Don’t Cry

MGMT – Time to Pretend

Wild Nothing – Chinatown

The Strokes – Automatic Stop

Sonic Youth – Schizophrenia

Pavement – Gold Soundz

Dinosaur Jr. – Outta Hand

Local Natives – Bowery

LCD Soundsystem – All My Friends

The Smiths – I Know It’s Over

The Jesus and Mary Chain – Just Like Honey

Ep011: Home continues on the themes of LLLLL, but in reverse: I was coming to terms with the fact that I was moving back to NYC and leaving Oklahoma, the two places I call home. I was reliving a lot of memories from my days growing up in Tulsa, embracing the nostalgia of high school, and at the same time envisioning a return to my life in NYC, reigniting the momentum of venturing out on my own. I reflected often on what home represented to me, and determined that home was the space and place where I could make moments with the people I love. The songs in this mix are all alternative/indie songs invoking either the nostalgia of youth or the transition to adulthood. The A-side features songs that represent Tulsa and suburban life and the B-side features songs that represent independence and living in the city.

I found myself idealizing the past: I was going to estate sales, flea markets, and thrift stores, activities I loved to do growing up. Finding other peoples’ old stuff connected me to nostalgia for pasts and homes that weren’t my own. My soundtrack to these activities was made up of alternative music from decades past, both lived-in and imagined. I visited old spots, reminiscing on memories I had with different people growing up in Tulsa. I would drive around aimlessly and listen to cassettes I found, recalling moments when friends and I would drive around listening to music because we had nothing better to do. I wondered if the cassettes’ previous owners did the same.

This nostalgia was partially a result of Tulsa slipping away as a home. My sister was back in Chicago for college, my mom had decided to move away, and my dad began preparations to sell my childhood house. I realized that it may be the last time I could spend an extended period of time in Tulsa, living in the house I grew up in. Building the cabin was important to me because it provided a permanence: it was my literal stake in the ground, preserving my connection to Oklahoma. Oklahoma is a home because of the loved ones that live there, but I realized that may not always be the case. If I build this cabin, I thought, I’ll always have a reason to come back.

At the same time, I was excited but nervous about my return to NYC. I didn’t have an apartment anymore, so I spent hours clicking through StreetEasy. It was always a goal to move to lower Manhattan–when I lived in Harlem, I would take the train down and fantasize about what it would be like to be in the action, living within walking distance from my favorite restaurants, shopping spots, and nightlife. With the COVID rent deals, I realized that it could actually be possible. I lucked out and found a good deal for a one bedroom in Chinatown, had a friend check it out, and committed. In a time of uncertainty, this was another grasp for permanence.

The uncertainty of the COVID era made all kinds of commitment difficult: it affected my relationships, my moving decisions, my career path, and my values. I realized, though, that I couldn’t allow myself to become paralyzed by the fear of losing what I had or disappointed by misaligned expectations. This month taught me to appreciate every moment I have as if it’s my last, because as long as I’m with people I love, I’ll always be home.

#trip report #music #music writing #reflects #indie #alternative #Spotify

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after-witch · 3 years

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Yandere Ransom Imagine

“That's some heavy-duty conjecture.”

Word Count: 2700ish

notes: unhealthy relationships, emotional and physical abuse, financial abuse, yandere

Imagine being a struggling adult working a full time job plus freelancing gigs just to get by in your one-bedroom apartment where the ceiling always leaks when it rains and you have to perform a complicated maneuver to make sure the door doesn’t jam up on you and you’re constantly worried about your landlord raising the rent.

Maybe a well-meaning friend gets you a gift card to an upscale bookstore because they know you haven’t had a new book on your shelves in years, or maybe you find $20 on the street like a veritable Charlie Bucket but instead of buying a Wonka Bar you head into a this fantastic artisan coffee shop on the rich side of town, a place that everyone always raves about on Instagram, just so you can try an expensive latte with hand-ground beans and flavors you’ve never heard of before--because don’t you deserve a treat, for once?

Whatever it is, wherever it is, Hugh Ransom Drysdale is waiting inside and sees you there.

And oh my God is it obvious that you’re out of place right off the bat. I mean, what the hell is someone like you doing in this part of town?

With your worn out clothes that are worn from necessity and not from being fashionably thrifted and your ratty purse stuffed with papers and candy wrappers that spill out when you dig in for your card or cash and your winter boots that you’ve probably worn 5 years in a row, ripped in the hell and patched with black tape that you hope people don’t notice.

It becomes even more obvious that you’re out of your element when something goes wrong. The gift card isn’t activated. The $20? A fake, probably a movie prop that blew in the wind. Whatever goes wrong, it means that you’re suddenly at the register, impatient people with real money tapping their expensive shoes behind you, unable to pay. You’re left standing there like a deer in headlights, unsure of what to do or say.

Normally he might just roll his eyes and remind himself that people like you ought to stick to your own shops, your own place. But something about the way your eyes go all downcast and you seem to shrink down in embarrassment makes him take pity on you. Like a stray cat in the alley hoping someone will toss it some scraps.

So he strides up and flicks out a card and hands it to the cashier, dropping a friendly greeting to them because he spends like crazy and they probably know him by name at this place, and he’s the one who hands you your coffee or your bag and your hands touch ever so briefly during the exchange.

He leads you away from the register--don’t want to piss off the spoiled debutantes and assistants on lunchtime coffee runs--and you stammer out a thank-you-thank-you and you promise you’ll pay him back as soon as you can and Jesus Christ, isn’t that just adorable? Someone like you, some lost kicked puppy who can’t even afford new boots, promising to pay him back?

He doesn’t care if you pay him back, but he finds that he would like something out of this exchange, so he says that instead of paying him back you can do him the honor of going to lunch with him. His treat.

He insists. And you can’t really say no, can you? You are hungry and he did just pay for your things and it’s the least you can do to oblige his request.

He’s not stupid. He doesn’t take you to some razzle dazzle fancy restaurant where you’ll feel embarrassed and out of place. Instead he takes you to a quiet diner, classy not greasy, where you can have an easy conversation and tell him all about yourself.

It’s funny. Normally he brings up his family name, his grandfather’s books, to women he picks up, to get them impressed and hooked and pliable. Something about you, though. Something about you is making him want to turn this into more than a lunch date and pressure for a quickie in the car to repay him.

So he holds back to see what he can do with you on his own. No quickie in the car, but instead before he drops you off--at a bus station, you insisted--he brushes his hand over yours. Can he get your number? He swears he can feel the heat coming off your cheeks as you fumble for your phone and let him put his number in your contacts.

He waits a day, then asks you out again. Dinner, this time. He asks you if you know any good places and you recommend a dive bar that you can go to after work (because 1) schedule and 2) cheap) and shit, he’s all for it. There will be time in the future to impress you with restaurants that have dress codes instead of sticky floors. You sit close on the stools and you buy him a drink (real cute, real real cute) and just for you he keeps the baggie in his pocket there all night instead of heading to the bathroom to liven things up.

Your relationship develops with an almost shocking speed. He knows just how to reel you in. I mean--look at you. Working your ass off at some dead end job, living in an apartment so shitty it takes you almost a month before you reluctantly agree to let him see it.

He can understand, though. Because you’re not that stupid and you know he’s wealthy, even before he casually brings up his family in a “it’s no big deal but I don’t want to keep things from you because we’re getting serious” sort of way.

You pretend to be casual about it all, but he can tell you’re suddenly wondering: why the hell would someone from this wealthy family want anything to do with me?

It’s a question Ransom asks himself a lot. He asks himself this when he’s snorting coke off another woman’s stomach (hey, you’re dating, but he’s got needs and they aren’t met with hand-holding) or when he’s eating another greasy burger at a shitty bar because you refuse to let him buy you a nice dress to wear so he can take you out somewhere fancy.

You’re not the type of person he normally goes for, not at all. He has strings of girlfriends and flings, but they all tend to fit that same cookie cutter mold: wealthy do-nothings with their parent’s credit card who want someone else to spoil them for a while, without caring who it is or what they’re like. They’re easy pickings that Ransom can burn through and then toss aside when he’s bored of them. Some of them cry but a few days later he’ll see them on someone else’s arm, it’s the circle of life.

With you, though, there’s more. You don’t expect him to pay for dates or anything at all (even when he wants to spoil you a bit) and you have actual conversations and you seem to actually give a shit about what he says and does. You argue with him, too, when he wants you to do something (just let him take you shopping, for Christ’s sake!) or he asks you to move in (again) and you say no (again). I mean, you really fight with him, spitting words and all.

And unlike his previous girlfriends, you don’t come crawling back a few hours later because you want to buy a new purse with his shiny credit card. Instead, you make him apologize first. Fuck, that’s hot. It’s also something he tucks away in the back of his mind to work on later--but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t admit that he sometimes has the overwhelming urge to push you against the wall and fuck you for the first time right after a good argument.

But he knows that would destroy your image of him entirely, so he holds back. He’s good at crafting a version of himself that appeals to others when he has to, and you’re maybe the first person that’s been worth all the effort he’s put into you so far.

But you need a push, a push that makes it so you can’t go running back to your shithole apartment when you fight or when you question whether or no you two have a future. You do, you’re just too naive--too inexperienced with money, to say it charitably--to realize it.

So he tips off the fire marshal about your apartment building’s shoddy fire escapes and well, damn, in the process of the investigation all the little corners that your landlord has cut come crashing down. At least they were discovered before it was the building that came crashing down.

But the evacuation of the building leaves you--and countless others--high and dry. You don’t have any family in the area, and your only half ass-decent friend in the city lives in the same building but her parent’s aren’t going to let a stranger move in.

When you finally realize you have no options and call him, voice tentative and embarrassed, he knows just what to say to get you to pack your meager belongings and wait for him to pick you up. He’s no-nonsense about it.

He knows how to avoid deflating your pride, how to keep you from deciding you’d rather stay in a shelter than take his charity. You’ll pay him back, he says, you’ll figure out a rental plan or whatever. He even teases--he’s not the best landlord, but he won’t take 2 weeks to change the toilet if you submit a maintenance request. It makes you crack a smile and bam, just like that, he knows he’s gotten in.

That night, after takeout and wine and a Netflix movie neither of you paid attention to, you fuck for the first time on his expensive sheets on his expensive bed and afterwards, when you’re both sweating and cuddling and reveling in the afterglow, he makes a note to buy you some new lingerie.

It’s all very homey, for a while. He could do without you leaving for work and working your ass off, with your freelance shit, sometimes staying on the computer until two, three in the morning. But it’s nice to have you close all the time, available to him whenever (almost whenever) he wants. He brings home takeout and you snuggle on the couch and he finally even convinces you to go out with him to a nice restaurant wearing something he’s bought and hot damn, do you look good, head-to-toe in the clothing he’s chosen for you. Especially, later that night, in private, in the lingerie.

Does he love you? The word hasn’t left his lips yet, hasn’t crossed yours either, but he can feel it underneath the surface. No. It’s more than love. He wants you. He wants to have you. And not just for the afternoon or the summer, but forever.

He spins daydreams about how he’ll clean you up nice and introduce you to the family. Probably to Harlan, first, because everyone knows that’s whose opinion really matters. Harlan will like you--he would probably like you without any primping or fixing, actually, which is more than he could say for his parents or anyone else in the family. Then once you’re in, you’re in--you’ll come to family dinners and vacation retreats where people always end up in ridiculous arguments, and you two can exchange snarky comments about the family on the ride home.

And yeah, sure. You fight sometimes.

He throws out your old clothes and buys you a wardrobe befitting someone he wants to integrate into his family. You fight about that.

He makes comments about you how you should quit your job or at least try to get a degree--he’ll pay, as long as you agree to go to a university within driving distance--to work somewhere more respectable than a chain restaurant. You fight about that.

He gets pissed when you want to meet some “friends” at a bar without him, because why would you need to go anywhere without your loving boyfriend in tow, unless you were trying to flirt with someone else? You definitely fight about that.

And, okay. Maybe he’s hypocritical.

Maybe he goes out late at night when you’re stuck doing your “freelancing work” and he’s in a rotten mood about it, and he ends up on the floor of a swanky club with drugs in his system and lipstick on his neck. He doesn’t come home until the next morning and you’re pissed and red-eyed and arguing with him, accusing him even, but you have no shitty apartment to stomp back to anymore so you’re stuck.

Until you’re not stuck. Until he casually snoops through your phone and sees that you’re looking up cheap-ass apartments and hey, you’ve already booked a few interviews already. The thought of you slipping through his fingers makes him more sober than he’s been in a while. He’s got to do something. Not to himself, of course. But to you. To keep you with him.

It’s easy enough to get you fired. He’s a ‘Thrombey’ after all, and some nice crisp bills anonymously sent to the right hands is all it takes for you to come home one night, cheap mascara (he notes: buy you some better quality makeup soon) running down your cheeks. Your freelancing isn’t nearly enough to get you into an apartment.

He assumes that you’ll give up on the idea after losing your job, but you’re nothing if not stubborn (one of the reasons why he likes you) so you start the job hunt the next morning, fresh mascara in place.

Damn, do you keep him busy. Anonymous calls. Cash in nice white envelopes. Rejection after rejection. You get so sad, so depressed. You don’t even want to go out to restaurants, so he orders in and you snuggle in his lap while he feeds you bites of orange chicken and rubs your back. It almost brings you two closer again, starts to mend the rifts that began when you refused to get over his occasional late night out.

But then you break the uneasy mending by snooping and woah, you don’t like what you find on his phone.

You fight.

Damn, do you fight. This time there’s no pretense of potential forgiveness as you begin wildly throwing your clothes into your ratty duffel bag from the back of the closet, telling him to fuck off fuck off fuck off, telling him he’s crazy, telling him that what he’s doing is fucking illegal and--

It’s the shock that hurts you the most.

The shock you feel when he grips your wrist hard and pushes back on your shoulder when you try to yank away, pushing you against the wall with a hard thud. It’s like having a rug pulled out from underneath your feet when you feel a slight ache in your back, on your shoulders, when you tell him to Let go, goddamn it and he only pushes back harder to keep you in place. It’s Ransom. It’s Ransom who’s doing this.

His voice feels unrecognizably cold when he leans in and hisses in your ear.

“You think you can just leave me? After all I’ve done for you? Let me tell you something--you won’t get another job within one hundred miles of here, within one thousand miles of here, unless I say you can. So just put your clothes back in the closet, chill the fuck out, and stop being such an ungrateful bitch.”

It’s the shock that makes you numbly hang your clothes back up in the closet, fold them again with shaking hands, and sit on the bed until the dam breaks and you cry.

And oh fuck, he’s sorry. Really. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and then he’s the one who’s crying and confessing that he didn’t want you leave him because yeah, he knows he’s a fuck up, he knows he’s got a drug problem, but he loves you.

It’s the first time he’s ever said it out loud. He loves you. “I love you,” he says, again and again, half-laughing. And he tells you you’re the only person he’s ever dated that made him want to be a better person but he doesn’t know how.

You don’t know what to say because maybe you do love him--but he hurt you and got you fired, but the tears on his face seem so genuine and he tells you he’ll never, ever hurt you like that again and fuck, he says, if you want to go get a job he’ll drive you to the interview right now just-let-him-blow-his-nose-first-please.

You make him sit down and then you’re the one apologizing and the rest of the afternoon is a shaky truce between you two as you drink hot chocolate and order in takeout and watch a movie together.

It’s not until you’re both under the sheets, satisfied and then showered, that you think about what he did to you in a clearer light. The thoughts weigh heavy on your mind, pulling and tugging. You think you might love him. He hurt you. He took care of you when no one else would. He cheated on you.

I love you, he tells you, when your mind is starting to tug itself into sleep.

He hit you. He said he was sorry.

He hit you.

#ransom drysdale #ransom x reader #yandere x reader #afterwitch headcanons #afterwitch writes #I'm not sure what to callt this because it's not a normal fic but it's not headcanons either #just #word vomit about ransom after i watched this movie every day for a week straight

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avengersnewbstonyficrecs · 3 years

Text

STONY FIC REC this week in the tag

Weekly gems rec in Stev/Tony tag in AO3. Go check them out and don’t forget to kudos, comment and bookmark!

Andmoreagain: Anemone by darefanny

This is his, Tony thinks. His to love and his to hurt and his to do whatever he wants with. His to do both right and wrong by. It is his even when he has nothing else left, nothing else to help him identify himself, nothing else to call his own. He’s lost his will to believe, lost his strength, lost too much to ever be who he was again. But this is his, Steve’s moans and Steve’s love and Steve as a whole in all of his imperfect perfection. This is his territory.

After Thanos wipes out half of the population of the universe, Steve and Tony find themselves in a darker place than either of them could've ever imagined. With so much lost, it's hard to see how they will ever gather the pieces of each other.

a fresh take on ABO trope that I really enjoyed, dealing with loss and grief and responsibilities, omega Steve my personal fave and so much more.

WIP, 14.5 k, E angst with a happy ending, heat, hurt/comfort (please read the tags)

such a devotion of the heart by drunkonwriting

Persuasion AU. Tony is a disillusioned heir on the outs with his wealthy, spend-thrift father, trying to finish his master's degree so he can work on engineering instead of joining the House of Lords. When he has to return home to prepare his family house to be rented, he doesn’t expect the new tenants to be Bucky Barnes and his new wife - old friends of Tony’s spurned ex-fiancé, Captain Steve Rogers. Tony, still heart-broken over their falling out, has no intention of meeting Captain Rogers again if he can help it. Captain Rogers has other plans.

awesome story being set up, very well written with excellent balance of exposition and plot, a very in character Tony, with all our faves about to show up at some point.

WIP, 5.2k, T lovers to ex to lovers, getting back together, angst with a happy ending, misunderstanding, mutual pining

I think about love when I look into your eyes by @mackerel-art

[ART, with a bonus story] In the corner of Wiccan and Hulkling's wedding, Steve and Tony gaze into each other's eyes.

very sweet get together fic, with a perfect 616 Tony and an awesome art too!

Completed, 600, G fluff, weddings, getting together

#stony #stony fic #stevetony #superhusbands #stony fic rec #steve rogers #tony stark #ven recs

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bisexualklausmikaelson · 3 years

Text

and all the magic we made (13/20)

Love, they say, is as tragic as it gets. The pain he feels from letting her go tonight, is the same measure as the love he feels from getting to see her earlier. It’s made him a better man, this thing called love. It’s made him a father, a potential good one at that, or so he believes.

“Nik,” and just like that, all his relief and peacefulness is crushed.

Elijah Mikaelson opens the door to his hotel room, a big grin plastered on his lips and a glass of wine in hand.

Passed him, Klaus can see Rebekah and their eldest sister Freya, painting their nails while sitting on his bed. As Finn, their eldest brother as well as their youngest brother Henrik, sitting on the ground, playing video games.

There’s loud music, and laughter, and all the Mikaelson siblings stuffed together in one tiny room.

And it’s like it never was.

“You know,” Klaus chimes, walking passed Elijah and heading inside. “What I don’t get is,” he sighs, “why are all of you in my room when you sure as hell can afford to not only rent your own separate rooms, but buy this entire estate while you’re at it?”

Elijah simply smiles, shaking his head. “Well,” he says, “we could, rent our own rooms that is but, this is much more fun, isn’t it?”

Klaus sighs, his brother was clearly drunk, otherwise, he’d never use the word ‘fun’ so casually.

“Why are you all here anyway?” He wonders.

Elijah follows him inside, carefully closing the door behind him. “Kol invited us,” he sings. “He’s throwing a party, which calls for a sibling reunion, so it must be something important,” he informs Klaus - making him wonder what other surprises lie in store for him.

The invitation to Kol’s party travel’s throughout the town - from close family and friends, to even acquaintances, everyone seems to be hearing about this auspicious event.

Hayley Marshall looks through all her clothes - leather jackets, worn jeans, a revealing red dress or two…and that’s it.

She swears she must own something that is Mikaelson ball worthy.

And money is so tight this month that buying a new dress for herself, let alone for Hope, was almost impossible. Unless she gets lucky at the thrift store.

The thought of asking Marcel for help suddenly crosses her mind - he’s been there for her through it all. Through Hope’s terrible twos, last minute babysitting requests, even helping with late night laundry shifts.

She knows he feels strongly about her and spending more time with him might give him the wrong idea but, he’s her best friend. He’s the one she calls when she needs anything.

It’s so hard realizing that he can no longer be that person.

The theme is blue, pink and silver - blue for the way she looks when she finishes her favourite record and the emptiness that overcomes her. Pink for the way her cheeks tint when she sees a dog on the street. Silver for the small hints of it in her eyes - for that thin line down her back that shines in the light.

“C’mon Finn!” Kol exclaims, angrily glaring at the flower arrangements his older brother had just brought in. “I asked for carnations, these are begonias! Now everything is ruined!” He shouts, storming off.

Finn sighs, in disbelief. The dining hall Kol had rented out was large enough to accommodate half the town - and just everything from the satin table cloths, to the ice sculptured swans, heck, even the carefully written down name tags were just perfect.

But, Kol couldn’t see any of that.

Not when Freya was messing with the food table, again, and Rebekah was flirting with one of the waiters - Henrik being Henrik, was sneaking a peek at the cake and Klaus…was nowhere to be found.

“Brother,” he hears, as he stands outside the hall, exasperated.

“Elijah,” Kol said. “I can’t take another stressful situation so please, if this is about tonight’s event, do me a favour and -”

“It’s not about that,” Elijah confirms, which allows his brother to breathe easy for a moment. “Well, maybe a little bit,” he smirks, “I just want to know about…Davina.”

Kol bites his lip, suddenly feeling a bit nervous. “What about her?”

“Just,” he shakes his head, taking another long look at his dearest younger brother. How much he’s changed, how much he’s grown. “Are you sure about this?”

He shakes his head, leaning his back against the brick wall behind them. “Of course I am,” he tells him, “I wouldn’t do all this if I wasn’t.” He assures Elijah.

And, truthfully, that’s all the resolve he needs. Elijah may be the overprotective type but, the one thing he will always be sure of, is that he trusts his family.

He trusts Kol.

“Sparkly,” Marcel says - catching her as she’s stepping into her new shoes, Jimmy Choo Cinderella heels in rose gold.

“Thanks,” she shrugs, feelings so unlike herself. “Kol picked everything out.”

“Right,” he nods, “about that, do you know why Kol is throwing this party?”

“No idea,” she says. “Maybe he’s trying to impress you?”

“Me?”

“Well, you are like the closest thing I have to a parent,” she reminds him. “And he never got your approval while we were dating - ”

“My approval?” Marcel scoffs. “What era are we in? Davina, you’re an adult, you don’t need my approval,” he releases but, something tells him that he might end up eating his words by the end of the night.

It takes Davina a moment to notice Marcel’s get up - a fitted light grey suit, a red tie, gold cuffs.

“Do you have a date for tonight?” She wonders.

Marcel is caught off guard. “Why do you ask that?” He questions.

“I-I just,” she knows…she’s known for years.

He’s been in love and tonight, he was finally going to tell her.

Hayley Marshall was sure in for a long night.

His timing is impeccable - just when Hayley is about to call to cancel on her appearance tonight, there is a knock at her door.

She hears Hope running to it, and she swears, this child will be the end of her. She still hasn’t learned never to answer the door to strangers.

But, she had an instinct - she knows when her father is at the door. Even though she didn’t even know he is her father in the first place.

“Klaus!” She shouts, as he then places a finger in front of his lips, shushing her.

“I brought you and your mommy a present,” he simply says, “give to her for me, will you?” He requests as she nods and he makes his way back to his car before Hayley appears.

She only catches a glimpse of him as he leaves.

“Hope!” She shouts. “How many times have I told you not to -”

“Oh wow!” And, before her mother could even finish scolding her, Hope had already torn into the mysterious box and pulled out two gorgeous red gowns. “It’s dresses! And matching shoes and purses!”

She giggles, smiling widely from ear to ear - which, much to her mother’s dismay, allows her to put aside her anger for the time being.

Hayley admires Hope as she jumps around, trying on hew new slippers - holding the gown up against herself…she just looked so happy.

“They’re lovely,” she realizes. “We better hurry and get dressed up, Hope. Or we’re gunna be late.” She smiles.

“Hey Hayley, it’s Marcel - well, you already knew that. Anyway, so this Mikaelson party tonight is probably gunna a total eye roll. I was wondering if you, and Hope, wanted to make things a little more bearable tonight by being my dates? Let me know, call me back, please. I miss you.”

His breath is heavy as he puts down his phone.

Now all he has to do is wait - the anticipation might just kill him.

#klayley #klaus mikaelson #hayley marshall #to #hope mikaelson #tvd #munea writes #marcel gerard #haycel

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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years

Text

for @magellan-88!

When Hawkins’ class of ‘85 graduated high school, Billy was the first to take off, halfway back to San Francisco before the caps even touched the ground.

Everyone gave hats off to him for being one of the few who’d ever make it out of the dying ghost town that was Hawkins, but as much as he hated that place and all its confines, he felt like he had left behind a lot.

The job wasn’t what he really wanted to do anyways, his house, when he was still staying there, was cramped, and after only a couple of months, the town had no sentimental value to him. The only thing he couldn’t help but feel bad about ditching, and that amounted to a whole lot of regret on his part, were the people.

Not the girls who swooned over him or the half made friendships he’d been neglecting since they formed anyways either, but he had his little sister, to whom he promised he’d drop everything and come back the second she said the word, and he also had Steve.

His relationship with Steve was a little blurrier, the two of them had gotten to the point of calling each other friends just after Christmas, best friends by the time Neil kicked Billy out for nothing but turning the big one-eight in april, and he was left crashing on the Harrington’s designer couch until he was free to leave Hawkins.

That’s where Steve would’ve ended the story at least, but as for Billy, he’d fallen ass over tits in love for his best friend in a matter of a smoldering gaze at a Halloween party.

Of all the many things he regrets about his short time in that cramped little town, he’d have to say the biggest was not having worked up the courage to fess up about his little crush before he skipped town to live it up more than two thousand miles away, mostly because that had been the only of his mistake he never took any time to resolve.

So it was that when Steve, apparently completely forgetting about the existence of time zones, calls him up at five in the morning to ask if he could come out to visit his new place in the golden state in a few weeks, Billy senses a pretty big opportunity.

What Steve had always done when Billy was staying at his place was cover the couch in the upstairs foyer, as he was made to call it, in layers of spare pillows and blankets, making it up like a bed for him. If he could, he would’ve let him have the guest bedroom, but that was out of the question when every other night that Steve’s parents were home, they argued and John had to take the spare.

But Billy doesn’t have a spare room, and he isn’t too sure about doing the same for Steve in his new apartment.

The problem isn’t that he can't, he has a brand new couch, bought from an actual furniture store instead of an old busted up one at thrift (or that he brought in off the curb and said was bought at thrift) and it’s even got a pull out to make things easier. He’d spent too many dozens of nights on Steve’s couch, staring up at the way high ceiling and wishing he had the guts to make a move, that he doesn’t think his yearning heart can take being just down the hall from him again, especially not with the promise that in a few weeks time, there’d be that vast, looming space between them again.

So he’s settled on it, Steve is going to sleep in his bed. He’s just gotta find a way to get him there, and that’s simple enough, he just has to pretend there’s nowhere else for him to sleep.

Now, he’ll admit that his plan on selling that idea is shaky at best, but Steve is bone tired when he gets there a few days later, his first time flying and dealing with jet lag taking everything he has out of him, so really, he’s looking to crash as soon as they get up to Billy’s apartment.

Only, he notices immediately that the couch isn’t set up like a bed like he usually would have done it up, and he looks to Billy with a slight tilt of his head, confusion in those big puppy-dog eyes.

So Billy answers, trying not to be too smug about it, “Sorry man, couch is out of the question.”

“Why?” Steve asks, then thinks better of it, knowing Billy’s history, “Actually, hold that thought, I don’t think I want to know.”

That makes Billy laugh, makes him remember why he fell in love with Steve in the first place too, “Nothing gross this time, s’just brand new. Can’t have you drooling all over the furniture that cost me two months of rent.”

“Right. So.. where am I going to sleep then?”

“I’ve got a bed, Steve.”

“Well duh, but I’m not going to kick you out of your own bed.”

“I didn’t say that. You’re not the only one with a queen sized now. I got room for two.”

“But.. is that going to be weird?” Steve asks, shifting on his feet, like the suggestion makes him uncomfortable, and Billy almost backs out then, lies about how he was just messing around to test Steve, but he sticks to his guns, saying, “Only if you make it weird. Don’t have much of a choice anyhow, unless you want to sleep in the bathtub.”

Steve insists on arguing though, “What’s wrong with sleeping on the floor?”

“Dude, this is a shitty ass apartment. I live here and I don’t even know half of the nasty shit that’s been on this floor.”

“Fine, just as long as I have a place to sleep.” Steve half-mumbles, cut off by a yawn, obviously too tired to keep pressing the issue.

He saunters off to Billy’s room not too long after that, not even changing out of his clothes before he’s throwing himself face down in his bed, leaving Billy to do his entire nighttime routine while Steve makes himself right at home, assuming that after brushing his teeth and putting his hair up, changing out of his jeans and triple checking that the doors and windows were locked tight, that’d be enough time for Steve to fall asleep.

That however, does not happen to be the case.

Billy knew from sleeping just down the hall from Steve’s bedroom that he snored like a motherfucker, and from the times he had fallen asleep on the basketball bus after a game that Steve never stopped moving in his sleep, but he was truly not prepared for how difficult it was for Steve to get to sleep in the first place.

He understands it, he remembers how hard it had been trying to relax in the silence that surrounded the country, and since that was all Steve was used to, it wasn’t exactly a surprise that the sounds of the city were hard for him to tune out and just sleep.

What he doesn’t understand is how Steve doesn’t wear himself out tossing and turning, and after at least an hour of it, Billy’s got to wonder if this is a princess and the pea type situation, some messed up spring in his mattress making this arrangement not proper for the royalty at his side.

Billy can tell he wants to talk, from the way he keeps feeling Steve’s eyes on his back, the tapping of his fingers against the headboard, which, if they got to talking he might not even need part two of his plan, but Steve doesn’t ever say anything just sighs with every chime on the clock, another hour he can’t get to sleep.

It isn’t until three in the morning rolls around that Steve finally conks out, Billy himself still barely awake enough to shoot his shot, draping himself over Steve and pulling him close before he has a chance to roll over onto his front again, falling asleep with his crush in his arms.

~~~~

The sun’s not up yet, and the clock’s too blurry to say exactly what time it is when Steve wakes up again, realizing after a few minutes that he’s hot as hell, and didn’t immediately start tossing and turning again, which, once he’s actually woken up enough to think, he discovers that the only reason that is is because Billy is pressed against his back, his arm thrown over his side, spooning him and basically keeping him held there in place.

Steve at first tries not to think about it, the whole, sleeping in the same bed as the person he deliberately never did that with to avoid facing his feeling, and just get comfortable with Billy all cuddled up to him, but he’s a front sleeper, and Billy is fucking hot in more ways than one, so when it’s evident that’s not going to work, he clears his throat, announcing into the silence, “You’re smotherin’ me, Bill.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath behind him, like Billy had just woken up, and a soft little hum of a question, “Hm?”

“You’re like, on top of me, man.” Steve informs him, like he didn’t notice he was half laying on him, but Billy answers bluntly, voice all tired and scratchy, “Don’t care.”

That sort of confuses Steve. He’d been expecting an apology, for Billy to roll over and them to pretend this never happened in the morning, and it’s got his mind, and his heart, racing a mile a minute, because Billy isn’t the only one with a helpless crush, there’s a reason Steve flew 2,000 miles just to see him.

So he asks, before he can lead himself on, “Just to be clear, is this an accidental thing that only isn’t awkward because we’re friends or is this like, meaningful?”

Billy just hums, pulling him even closer, making Steve feel small, “Go to sleep, Steven.”

“Okay.” He tries to, shoving his arm under the pillows and shifting under Billy’s weight so he’d be comfortable enough, but it’s just nagging at his lovesick brain, “But seriously man, I don’t know what I should take away from this.”

Billy sighs softly, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles, maybe because he was tired, maybe because Steve was being Steve, “Look, you’re in my bed, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, because of the couch, I thought you were just a cuddler or something.”

“Nope. This was all by design.”

“So then the couch..”

“Was perfectly fine, yeah. Damn thing even has a fold out.”

“You did this on purpose?”

“Thought I made that pretty obvious.”

Steve pouts, sitting up so Billy has to let go of him, “Well if you’re so annoyed with me, I’ll just leave you to get back to sleep.”

“Oh no. It’s much too late for that. I’m thinking we’re going to have to find another way to spend the time now. And, well, since you’re already here...”

#harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #ej writer #story by ej!#this took ages and I’m really very sorry about that #I hit a huge writers block because of school stress and stuff #but it’s here! and other requests will be being written too!#as well as new chapters on my fics!#basically this is your sign that I’m being productive again!

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brelione · 4 years

Text

Marriage (Preference)

Rafe

Rafe just wants you to be happy

He’d probably let you plan the entire thing, nodding with a grin at every single thing you said.

But he needs chocolate covered strawberries.Its not an option.

He’d definitely need pep talks from Topper and Kelce

“Im going to fall.”He muttered, worried about embarrassing himself in front of his father at his own wedding.

He ends up crying when he sees you in your dress though.He just cant help it.

Kiara

She’s been planning the wedding since the second date.She even had a pinterest board.

The fancy wine, the nice music, the fancy glasses.She had planned it all.

She even wore a bikini under her dress.It wasnt a huge ball gown, it was something simple that she had gotten from a thrift store and grabbed some fabric from a different store and customized it herself.

It had to be a beach wedding.It just had to be.

She just smiled as you walked towards her in your dress, looking over at Sarah. “Look how pretty my girl is.”She whispered, practically shaking with excitement.

He didnt want anything big, just big enough for friends and some of your family.He wanted to save the money that wouldve gone towards it for you guys to go on a trip to Hawaii.

Kiara and Sarah had helped you pick out your dress and Sarah even decided to pay for it.

You two had breakfast foods served at your wedding, leaving before it was even over to get on the plane for your trip.

But the sex on wedding night was mind blowing

The crashing of the waves at the beach house you were staying at, his big smile as he kissed you all over.It was perfect.

Sarah

Forest wedding, soft music, disney theme.

The dress code was literally to come as a character

Kiara came as Belle, JJ as Kristoff, John.B as Hercules and Pope as Black Panther because he had spent time to make his own suit.

Sarah’s dress was a soft pink like Aurora and yours was green and fluffy like Tiana’s to match the Forest theme.

John.B

Beer, a rented suit and a rented dress.

He managed to get a ring after working over time for a few months, taking you out on the boat after the ceremony to a small island he had found.

The two of you had a picnic on said island, drinking some beer and eating some cereal, laughing the whole time.

Barry

He never thought he would get married.Ever.

It wasnt really a wedding

It was more of him stealing you a ring, cooking you a nice dinner and receiving gifts from his brothers and his aunt.

But he knew that he was gonna spend the rest of his life with you and in his mind that was what marriage was about

So he just declared that you guys were married

Pope

He was a smiling mess the whole time, holding your hand and refusing to let go after the ceremony

He was even smiling when you got frosting all over his face, giggling and kissing you lightly

It was one of the few times he ever drank, taking a few sips of wine

“Hey, you get some good pussy tonight.”JJ patted him on the back.

Half the pictures were of his face buried in your hair or the crook of your neck, a smile on his face.

Topper

His mom wanted you to get married in a church

So of course you guys didnt get married in a church

It was somewhere on the beach, drinking champagne together and watching the sunset.You guys hadnt even told anyone, you just signed the papers and celebrated.

Kelce

The wedding was huge

He had to invite everyone he knew.His cousins, his aunts and uncles, his kindergarten best friend, his mail man, the guy who had brought him groceries once.He just wanted everyone to know.

The cake was huge too, at least nine tiers of candy flowers, fruit and whipped cream icing.

He just held you the whole night, arms around your waist or shoulders.

@nas-marie-loves-u @28cnn @sexytholland @yuxsh06 @ifilwtmfc @cherryobx @poguestarkey @n1ghtsh4d3-67 @poguestyleskye @judayyyw @sunwardsss @meaganjm @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @jj-fic-recs @homophobicclownmoviestan @jj-iz-bae @natalie-kate-98 @negativity4you @nxsmss @ofmaybankheart @broken-jj @joshy-obx @curroptbunnie @outerbnx-stiles @angelreyesgirl100 @hannahhh-marie @sadnessrehab @purple-vodka-99 @annmariek8 @harryswigss @imagines-07 @pink-meringues @popcrone818 @fttayla @cherryobx @drewstarkeyobx @jjtheangel @jj-iz-bae@sunwardsss @natalie-kate-98 @nxsmss @broken-jj @prejudic3 @outerbongs @copper-boom @httpstarkey @teenwaywardasgardian @drewswannabegirl @simonsbluee @jiaraendgame @khiaraaa-in-spacee @on-socks-off @abbiesthings @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless @i-love-scott-mccall @poguestyleskye @jjtheangel @lovelyelinor @messuhp

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sanderssidesfanfiction · 3 years

Text

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Sixty Two

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

October 5th, 1992

“So...what exactly is a trust fund?” Emile asked, cocking his head to the side.

“It’s a bank account where your money can stay safe and sound until you can spend it as an adult,” his grandfather said. “When you’re twenty one, you’ll be able to use it for whatever you want.”

“That’s ten years from now!” Emile groaned. “That’s gonna take forever!”

“It will creep up on you faster than you think,” his grandfather said. “But your grandmother wanted to make sure you’d be responsible with the money, so that’s why you have to wait.”

Emile sighed. He understood, but he didn’t like it. “Does this mean Mom and Dad aren’t gonna give me an allowance any more?”

“I don’t think so!” his grandfather laughed. “After all, the money is of no use if you can’t exactly use it yet! They should still give you money you can use for whatever you want as an allowance.”

“Oh! That’s okay then,” and Emile ran off to finish the book he had been reading before his grandfather called him in to talk about Grandma’s will.

May 3rd, 2002

Emile could hardly believe it. Today was his twenty first birthday, and he had driven out to the nearest branch of the bank his grandmother used to set up his trust fund all those years ago. He had never been told the exact amount of money that was put in the fund, just given an estimate of somewhere around one hundred fifty thousand dollars.

Grandma definitely knew how to invest, and because his great-grandfather had been a self-starter and had gotten a modest alcohol business off the ground, his grandmother had inherited half of that money, the other half going to his great uncle, her brother. And Emile was the only grandchild she had when she died, so all the money she didn’t leave with his grandfather, she decided to save away for him.

Still, though, Emile’s breath was blown away when he talked to the bank manager and saw the number for himself. Two hundred fifteen thousand dollars. If he wasn’t already sitting down, his legs would have given out from underneath him. He had wondered how his grandparents could afford the house they had, but this number cleared up any questions he might have had.

“God,” Emile breathed, still staring at the number on the screen.

The bank manager looked him over. “You look like you’re about to pass out, do you need some water?”

“I’ll...” Emile choked on his words. “I’ll be okay,” he breathed.

“Your grandmother was a very lucky woman,” the bank manager said.

“Luck was her being born into the family she was. Smarts are what made her be able to get everything she needed and have this much money left over,” Emile said.

The bank manager looked pleased. “You’re rather insightful yourself,” he said. “I know this seems like a lot of money to you, but I hope I don’t have to explain to you how fast that money can go away if you’re not careful.”

“No, believe me, I know,” Emile said, sucking in a breath. “Oh, God. I was planning on investing most, if not all, of the money I inherited, but this is a much larger number than I anticipated.”

The bank manager sniffed a laugh. “Son, this is hardly the largest trust fund this bank has seen.”

“This alone could pay off my college debts,” Emile said, deathly serious. “It’s a lot of money to a broke college kid who’s been working retail to make ends meet with his partner working two jobs just to stay afloat.”

“I see your point,” the manager conceded. “But don’t spend it all in one place, you understand? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

“Oh, believe me, I know,” Emile said, swallowing. “I could buy a house, or pay off my debts, or any number of things. But I’ll probably be investing it for the time being, watching it grow a little before I decide exactly what I’m going to do with it.”

“You’re smarter than most of the college-aged kids who get these sorts of funds,” the manager said, leading Emile out. “We’ll have the money ready for withdrawal in a couple days. Until then, think wisely on what you’re going to invest in, all right?”

Emile mutely nodded as the manager left him to walk into the front of the bank, and Remy stood up from where he was waiting on a bench. “Hey, there, stranger!” he teased. “What did they say?”

“Oh, God, let’s get to the car first, okay?” Emile said. “You’re going to freak.”

“That much?” Remy laughed. They left and got into the car, Remy looking over at Emile. “So what was it? One hundred fifty thousand, like your parents said?”

“Apparently...my parents low-balled the estimate,” Emile said, sounding slightly hysterical. “I have over two hundred fifteen thousand dollars in that account.”

“What?!” Remy asked, incredulous. “Emile, you’re rich!”

Emile laughed. “Apparently the bank has had much higher trust funds than even that, but yeah, I’m...I don’t understand how I got to be that lucky.”

“What are you going to do with it?” Remy asked.

“Honestly? I think I’m going to be boring and invest most of it,” Emile said.

“Get more money? Hey, no complaints from me,” Remy said. “You could quit your job and we’d be fine.”

“I’m going to keep working,” Emile said. “That money isn’t going to last forever, and if I use it towards what I want to use it for...well, that’s going to take a huge chunk of change.”

Remy looked over. “What are you thinking of using it for?”

“Possibly a house?” Emile said, driving away, slightly sheepish. “Like. Property and stuff. Health insurance. Boring things that I can suddenly afford. But I want to invest most of it first.”

“Makes sense,” Remy said with a nod.

“Would you want to quit one of your jobs?” Emile asked. “Because I can afford to pay a little more rent now, you only need one job...”

“I mean...” Remy sighed. “It would be nice to only have one job, but I don’t want you to spend any more money on me than you have to.”

“Remy, you’re my boyfriend, of course I’m going to spend money on you now that I have money to spend!” Emile insisted. “You’d better get used to it, because now that we can afford to not go to thrift shops when we wear something through, you’d better believe I’m going to offer to go to retail stores!”

Remy laughed. “Oh, we’re really rolling in it!” he crowed. “We can afford new shirts!”

“You’d better believe it!” Emile exclaimed with a laugh. When his laughter died down, he glanced at Remy. “So, did you apply for the manager position opening up?”

“Yeah, I did,” Remy sighed. “But the manager told me, point-blank, that he didn’t expect me to get it. Nothing against my work ethic, but they wanted someone who had credentials. Like, degree-in-business credentials.” Remy pulled a disgusted face. “As if I didn’t know anything that goes into managing a coffee shop.”

Emile wrinkled his nose. “That sucks.” He considered, and figured now was as good a time to poke the bear as any. “Would you want to start your own shop? In all honesty?”

“I mean, honestly? At this point? Yes,” Remy said. “Neither store is going to promote me, and I don’t want to work two jobs for the rest of my life. I don’t have the funds to buy a property, but if I saved up enough to rent, then maybe I could do my own thing.”

“Rem, you realize that I have enough money to help you on the property front?” Emile asked.

“Emile, no, I would never ask that of you,” Remy said. “I can save money on my own, I’ve been doing that for two months now. And it’s not a lot, but it can add up. If your investments are working out, maybe I can invest in the same things. I could get enough money to start up on my own. Might take a couple years, but I would get the money for the property, as well as the food and the staff and everything needed inside. I could get enough for the first few months of the shop just by saving until December, if I played my cards right.”

“Really?” Emile asked. He had been considering December for checking his funds, checking the market, and getting property for Remy to start the coffee shop. But if this lined up that perfectly, there was no way he could turn it down.

“Really,” Remy confirmed. “You don’t need impossibly huge amounts of money to start up a business if you know what you’re doing, and some of our friends are social butterflies, which means free advertising, and if I come up with my own unique recipes for the shop, and come up with coffee blends that by and large our friends like but the shops I currently work for wouldn’t be caught dead selling, well! I’d be officially in business!”

Emile laughed. “So, that’s something you want to try? You want to try to start your own shop?”

Remy deflated a little. “I want it...but can I actually do it? I mean, I could definitely run a shop, but there’s so many factors I don’t know about. I want to try, to see if I can do it, but if it fails...that’s so much money gone to waste. The biggest hurdle would be the space, and if I can afford the space to give it a try, but I can’t keep the shop afloat, that’s easily thousands of dollars down the drain.”

“Remy, if you think you can do it, I say you save up to give it a try,” Emile said. “You have the confidence and the culinary skill to keep a shop afloat. All it would take is the right advertising and the right people to find you, and you’d have business in no time at all. Go for it. We both invest our money, get the rewards and use them to fund whatever dreams both of us have.”

Remy still seemed uncertain. “I want to, Emile...I really want to. But I can’t stop thinking about the possibility of it going under.”

“If it goes under, it goes under. You get a different job so no one says ‘I told you so’ and we continue on. If you get a good enough property, we might be able to use it as an apartment of sorts,” Remy laughed at that, and Emile smiled as he continued, “It’s not the end of the world if something you try doesn’t succeed, Rem. But I think that this has a really good chance at succeeding.”

Remy nodded. “All right. I’ll save up the money and give it a try for you,” he said. “Do you know what you’re going to do with your money outside investing it?”

“I have a couple ideas, but nothing solid,” Emile said. He didn’t mention that Dice had agreed to take Emile’s job offer and was going to look for Toby. He didn’t want Remy to get his hopes up, and he definitely didn’t want Remy to demand he save the money because he thought it was a fruitless venture.

“Well, when you get some solid plans, let me know, okay?” Remy asked. “Because I want to know if we can get strawberries and blueberries for pancakes for breakfast.”

Emile laughed. “Of course, we can get more fruit. And better ingredients that aren’t just on discount. If you want, we can go shopping right now as a little celebration?”

“Sure! When do you get the money?” Remy asked.

“Couple of days,” Emile laughed. “They couldn’t afford to give me that much money all at once, because it’s a small branch and I’d be taking all of their hundred-dollar bills.”

Remy shook his head. “You’re Mister Rich Kid, now, you realize,” he said. “And you’re never living that title down, not once I let our friends know.”

“Oh, God, I hadn’t even thought about that!” Emile laughed. “Our friends could hardly believe I had a trust fund at all, let alone one that potentially had over a hundred thousand dollars! They’re all going to freak!”

“Even more than I will when this whole day finally sinks in,” Remy said sagely. “It’s going to take some getting used to, having wiggle room in case we screw up.”

Emile turned the car on the road they took to the supermarket. “It’s going to be nice, though,” Emile said. “We buy some food we don’t like, we’re not, y’know, obligated to eat all of it because that’s the only food we have for that night.”

“We can buy stupid things like movies that we don’t know if we like because we didn’t get the chance to see it in theatres,” Remy pointed out.

“We can go to see those movies in the theatre in the first place,” Emile pointed out.

“True!” Remy exclaimed. “Emile. This is. The best!”

Emile laughed.

#if there's a place i could be #sanders sides fanfiction #remile #emile picani #ts sleep

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hadestownmodern · 4 years

Text

First Date (Orphydice)

You all asked for Orphydice, so here’s something I wrote astonishingly fast the other day bc I had so many soft feelings that needed to come out.

-Danielle

-------------

“Hey,” Eurydice slides onto the barstool with a smile, tossing her canvas backpack to the ground and propping an elbow on the counter. Orpheus turns at the sound of her voice, fumbles with the glass he’s cleaning. His eyes light at the sight of her, half her hair pinned back from her face, comfortable in a thrifted brown men’s pullover tucked into skinny jeans with a thick belt. He hadn’t seen her since last night, when she’d left the bar and gone to work a late-night shift at the diner. She’d gone home afterward; he’d only known that from a phone call he’d received while half-asleep, waiting up for her shift to be over.

“Call me when you get out,” He’d held her waist, kissed her at the door of the bar.

“This is my late shift, I don’t want to wake you up.”

“It’s your late shift, I know you can make it alone but just…let me know when you get home safe, okay?” Orpheus keeps his hands on her waist, settles his gaze on Eurydice with such sincerity that her instinct is to look away, attempt to cast his worry in some sort of other motive. But even that’s impossible, with Orpheus’s forehead on hers and the softness in his voice. “Are you sure you don’t want to come back tonight?”

“I’ll be alright-need to spend at least some time at my own place. Besides,” She teases, fixing the loop of his bandana around her own neck and gesturing to a favorite of his shirts she’s thrown on. “I should probably start wearing my own clothes at some point. Which means I have to go back.”

She stands on her toes and brushes her lips gently against his cheek, then his lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Call me when you get home.”

She had; they’d talked for two hours afterward, Eurydice relaying the night’s events as she kicked off her work shoes, shuffling through the strikingly unfamiliar territory of her apartment. She’d spent most nights since Thanksgiving with Orpheus. Eurydice isn’t sure when the choice became habit but laying in her own bed, she’d realized just how out of place she’d felt. They’d talked until Orpheus had fallen asleep, until Eurydice had thanked him and sat in the silence accompanied only by the frightening soundtrack of her less than comforting neighborhood.

When she sits herself on the barstool the next day, when Orpheus greets her with his all-encompassing smile, Eurydice is thankful to be back.

“Hey,” He nods to a regular a few seats down, pours another glass of water before returning to her. “Busy day?”

“Just one more class left today, then I’m free.”

Orpheus hums in appreciation, nodding before turning his back to reach for another clean glass. Eurydice watches him for a while, looking down at the sparkling clean and moving his towel around it. He stops only to sip from the water bottle he keeps on the counter, and even then he can barely meet her eyes. His face has been brushed with soft, rosy shades of pink, and he shifts a bit on his feet as he works. When he puts the glass down he clears his throat, clasping his hands together.

“Would you want to go on a date tonight?”

“A date?”

“I just-I was thinking that I haven’t even taken you on a date, and that’s not what you deserve, and as much as I love hanging out with you at home I just. I want to take you on a date; a real date.”

“A real date,” it’s teasing, endearing, the way Eurydice dangles her legs from the barstool, leans back and folds her arms over her chest. She pauses slightly too long in her response, she can tell by the way Orpheus begins to fidget in place again, open his mouth to form an explanation. “I think I can manage that.”

Eurydice swipes a swig from his water bottle, leaning over the bar to cup his cheek and kiss him quickly before gathering her things again. She puts on her coat, glances back at him with a wink before making her way out the door.

“I’ll be here at seven-you can pick me up at your front door!”

Seven comes painstakingly slow for Orpheus, the bar slower than normal even through the normal rush of the early dinner crowd. Hermes watches, amused, as the gangly boy maneuvers through crowds of people with clumsy feet and eyes on the clock. Hermes attempts to make him leave more than once, but he refuses.

“She’s not coming until seven-I can’t wait that long without something to do!”

So he buses tables, talks to the customers; most of whom ask about the new girl that hangs around with him, ‘the small one with the pretty eyes you’re always kissing.’ This helps pass the time, but not to quell the bubbling nerves that begin at his toes, float through his body until they manifest in his passing thoughts. Being with Eurydice is easy; her outwardly assertive demeanor is complimented by his gentle nature. She makes him laugh, her very pointed, sarcastic sense of humor and innate ability to take a generic story and make it into something wild. He’s consumed with the thought of her; her name is Eurydice-we met at Persephone’s Thanksgiving party. But the thoughts soon have him back in the realm of doubt.

They hadn’t been on an actual date before, although their time together could be seen as such; coffee and studying, movies and fries and sex, but none of which Orpheus could consider a proper date. He hadn’t forgotten, rather the thought hadn’t crossed his mind as having a sense of urgency. In his mind, it felt as though they’d been dating so much longer than they had already. But once the thought had entered it wouldn’t leave; things had been great, but he longed to do more.

At seven, Orpheus is past a state of panic. He’d put on a nice pair of khakis, thrown a bowtie on for good measure. When he could hear knocking on the other side, his breathing had all been forgotten; Eurydice grinned at him when he opened the door, shook her head as he stood staring at her.

She hadn’t thought much of herself before leaving her place; she’d found a casual black dress in her closet, printed with gold details that dated far before the current era but suited her well. She’d put in matching tassel earrings, done her makeup with a smokier eye. She’d been tempted to stay in the most casual route, keep her jeans and men’s sweater on and ask to just stay in. But Orpheus had been so excited, seemed so sure of his word, that diving into the territory of an actual date had been a choice she’d been excited to make.

However, it hadn’t made her any less anxious.

By the time she gets to the bar it’s still early-half an hour early, almost exactly. Eurydice considers just knocking on the door and asking Orpheus if he’s ready, but decides against it. He had said seven, and he’d been adamant on doing things “right” by his own frame of thinking. The only thing she’d refused was meeting at her apartment. She’d pushed-there was no need for Orpheus to come all the way to her side of town, not when she knew she wouldn’t return to that own personal level of hell until she absolutely needed to. There wasn’t shame in the way that she lived; no, Eurydice found herself damn prideful in the door that wouldn’t lock without something propped against it, the mattress on the floor and the hot water’s inability to flow to her bathroom sink. She’d rented the apartment fresh out of foster care, had said a joyous goodbye to the last set of people who’d pretended to take care of her and rejoiced at the opportunity to finally, finally speak fully for herself. The rundown neighborhood, the repairs needed, and the lack of actual furniture held all of her accomplishment thus far.

Still, it didn’t mean that Orpheus-panicked about her typical late shift-had to pick her up at a door that barely shut.

She lingers around the bar for a bit, waving at Hermes and finding a seat at the counter. He gives her water right away, nods at her with a warm smile and eyes that seem to communicate a host of things all at once without saying anything at all. It’s a stark contrast to the pat on the back from Persephone, who gasps lightly and holds her at arm’s length.

“Well, look at you, gorgeous!” She slides onto the stool next to her, Hermes delivering her a glass of red wine with a slower pace and a warning glance. “Relax, brother, my daughter’s in bed and my husband’s at home. I just came to see the kids off before their big date, maybe take some pictures.” She pulls her big camera out of her purse-the one she’d had at Thanksgiving as she’d arranged their gathering in family photos she’d insisted Eurydice be part of.

Eurydice reddens, rolls her eyes and shoves the camera back near Persephone’s bag.

“You know we’ve been seeing each other for two weeks now, right?”

“Yeah, seeing each other.” The older woman’s eyebrow turns up and she tilts her head, teasing. “You’ve been doing a whole lot of seeing each other, but this is your first date and I’m just here to help you remember it.”

“Yeah, okay, I believe that for about a second. That’s my cue to go.” Eurydice finishes her water and makes her way to the back of the bar, where a narrow wooden staircase leads to Orpheus’s door. She pauses for a moment, suddenly nervous as she brushes her fingers across her bangs and flattens the fabric of her dress. Then, she knocks.

The door is open faster than Eurydice can blink; Orpheus stands on the other side, mouth agape, hand still on the doorknob. It takes a while for Orpheus to collect himself, and then he’s a flurry of activity. He leaves her at the door, runs to the kitchen counter and comes back with a neatly wrapped arrangement of bright red carnations.

“They’re from a shop down the street from Amma’s-Mister Hermes let me leave so I could take the trip down there today.” He’s fully red-cheeked at this point, and Eurydice takes them from him thankfully before venturing into the apartment and rifling through the cabinets for a vase. He watches her intently-she knows her way around, finds a hefty mason jar with ease and fills it with water. Orpheus follows behind her, sprinkling sugar in the water after she’s done.

“It helps them stay alive longer,” he explains, shrugging. “Amma taught me that, too. You look beautiful, by the way.” The compliment comes out almost breathlessly; Orpheus leans on the counter, between Eurydice and the flowers, and fully takes her in. Eurydice warms at his smile, the way he takes her hand in his, holds it there for a while before kissing her cheek. It’s all very simple, very chaste. Before Orpheus, she’d been used to looks of hunger; of predatory eyes wondering which way is the fastest to get her undressed. He’s content with her hand in his and the bag of her things she’d left by the door. He shuts the lights off and locks the apartment door behind them, leading them down the stairs through the bar.

Persephone sits eagerly waiting for them, spying Orpheus first. He’s dressed himself in a lighter pair of khakis, still accessorized with brown leather suspenders and a big jacket. He wears a pair of nice brown oxfords, one he’d saved for and worn with pride to special occasions. Persephone notes these small details-the nicer shoes, the way he’d very clearly freshly shaven from when she’d seen him that morning. She watches her son hold Eurydice’s hand, lean down to tell her something and smile as her own face lights with amusement. As they pass the bar Persephone hops down from her stool, intercepting them.

“Okay, kids, now here’s the deal.” Orpheus’s pseudo-mother crosses her arms over her chest, putting on a look of false intimidation. “I would like my son home no later than midnight. You can kiss him at the door, on the cheek, and then you may go your separate ways.” She’s laughing to herself over the joke, even ruffling the hair on Orpheus’s head, until Eurydice counters,

“Oh, so it’s not red wine and ‘here, sit together and talk’ and a couple of hours this time?”

“Hey, if you want to give me credit then I’ll take it. You’re still standing, aren’t you?”

“Just one picture.” She implores. Eurydice hadn’t thought she’d been serious; it takes a moment to register the request, a moment of Persephone gently pushing them into better lighting and mumbling to herself as she fiddles with her camera. Eurydice obliges, wraps both her arms tight around Orpheus’s waist, rests her head on his chest and smiles. Persephone takes a few shots, adjusting her camera, and then waves them both off.

“We can’t see it?”

“Nope-you can wait!” She smirks before putting her camera away, ruffling Orpheus’s hair. “Home by midnight, you two.” She jokes. Eurydice raises her hands, shrugs her shoulders with a glimmer of mischief in her eyes.

“What, no parting gift this time?” As they turn to leave, Eurydice feels the foil packet hit the back of her head, turns and picks it up. “Don’t wait up!”

“Midnight, no later!” Persephone watches them go, Eurydice wrapping both her arms around Orpheus’s and staying close to his side. When they’re out the door she turns back to the bar, where Hermes is waiting with his arms crossed over his chest.

“That’s our son, Persephone.”

“So….another glass of wine

_____________

The restaurant is one unknown to both Orpheus and Eurydice, other than its proximity to the bar. They walk by it every day, looking at its slightly elevated atmosphere and heated walkway as nothing more than a societal disconnect from their deeply favored fries and milkshakes. He’d planned this, however, had read articles about first dates and fished for advice throughout the day that he stored away neatly, facts that popped up at random.

It all seemed rather silly, and yet it filled his head with bits of information that practically shouted at him as he attempted to navigate his own nerves. The restaurant had a greeter who opened the door with a smile, taking his first advance away from him. He blinks away the anxiety of it all and lets her walk in before him, the host bringing them to a small table next to a wide expanse of floor to ceiling windows. Orpheus sits across from her, a small arrangement of candles a source of warm, glowing light that pulls his breath away for a moment. It illuminates her, soft shadows dancing gently against her skin and the serenity of her lifted cheeks.

She tilts her head slightly when she listens to him, intent and purposeful and absolutely radiant. He trips over his words and asks questions, unsure of why the articles he’d read online had insinuated that conversation would be difficult. They hop from topic to topic, the path from one thing to another abundantly unclear to anyone else but themselves. He orders red wine and she follows suit; they clink glasses over the candles, laughing as little droplets spill over the side and onto the tablecloth.

“Nothing happened, everything’s fine,” Eurydice craftily rearranges the understated yet still too gaudy centerpiece until the splatters are hidden, shrugging and laughing and taking another sip of wine.

They order a host of appetizers, much to the chagrin of the waiter in black slacks and a white pressed button up, who rolls their eyes at the very young couple when she thinks they can’t see her. Eurydice rolls her eyes right back, shakes her head and holds Orpheus’s hand over the table. It’s especially triumphant when the waitress comes back, another waitress in tow, with plates of bite-sized foods they arrange in the space between them. They’ve chosen tiny flatbreads, spreads over bruschetta, stuffed mushrooms and an array of fancier foods neither had even heard of before.

It’s Orpheus’s idea, this game they play; they start at the plate closest to him, an unrecognizable salsa-like filling within a soft pastry shell. Counting to three, they try the food together (Eurydice doesn’t like this one; Orpheus has his whole shell before declaring it “good, but not my favorite.”). Eurydice comes up with a definitive ranking, a scale from one to ten that they follow religiously through each set of appetizers. They sip wine between each taste, laughing as both Orpheus and Eurydice struggle to eat just one bite of a particularly strange seafood dish.

“Ok, this one deserves no more than a one-a zero.”

“It wasn’t the best,”

“It’s awful, Orpheus. You can’t even get it down!” He isn’t able to argue at that one, going back to the flatbread pizza they’d declared a ten to get the taste of the horrid seafood cup from his mouth. He relents, however;

“I bet someone really loves this…uh…choice arrangement of seafood. And it’s all local!”

“Always the optimist,” Eurydice shakes her head, a soft smile reaching lips that have her reaching delicately over the table to kiss him. “I like that about you.”

He feels the heat of a blush rise to his cheeks, sitting in the compliment in an attempt at hiding the rush of his own disbelief. Eurydice still maintains her hold on his hand, gesturing to their last plate of food. They’re wedges of potato with yet again another assortment of chopped things-produce, they deduce-gathered on top. After one bite Eurydice’s tipping her head from side to side, holding the wedge of potato on her fork and watching Orpheus’s reaction. His is much of the same; not dissatisfaction, or disappointment, but a stark sort of contrast between a genuine reaction of love and indulgence. It’s Orpheus that speaks first, leaning in close and keeping his voice to a hushed sort of tone.

“I really like it, I think it’s so good, but…” He puts the forked potato wedge down, suddenly bright eyed and nearly mischievous in his boyish smile. “I like fries better.”

Eurydice sighs in relief, dramatizing the whole affair by putting her own fork down, squeezing his hand and nodding exuberantly.

“I thought I lost you there for a minute, what a relief.”

“Come home with me?” He asks, politely flagging down a waiter for their check. Eurydice nods, laughing to herself at the same words he’d uttered to her two weeks ago, when she’d said yes and surprised herself with staying. Two weeks had gone by quickly-much quicker than anything she’d expected. But with Orpheus, who helps her with her coat and wraps his arm around her waist, who helps her continue to attempt their definitive ranking of fancy appetizers while stopping to order copious amounts of fries from McDonalds, letting herself stay is a choice she’s more than thankful for.

They find their way into a typical night easily; Eurydice curled into Orpheus, a documentary on the television that they talk over with their own ideas. They share a bag of fries and two more glasses of wine, drowsy and unrelentingly happy. There’s a lull in it all when Orpheus turns to a sleepy Eurydice with one hand mindlessly grazing up and down her arm. He takes a breath, steadies his own mind and in a soft yet nerve-shaken voice, speaks quietly.

“’Rydice?”

“mm?”

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

What Orpheus didn’t expect was Eurydice’s laughter, like a melody, hitting his heart like a train. He feels himself pull away from her slowly, doesn’t look into her eyes until she realizes what’s happening. Then her hands are on his cheeks, turning his head to look at her biting her lip.

“Orpheus,” His name comes out through another soft giggle, her thumb brushing his cheek before she leans in, kissing him soft and staying there for a moment, against his lips, sighing. “It’s been two weeks and I’ve been here every day. I’ve never felt as happy with anyone-I’ve never had anyone treat me like this. I’m only laughing because honestly? You told me you loved me that first night and I’m still here. I don’t plan on going anywhere-okay?”

“Okay.” Orpheus feels a sense of relief, a wave of comfort wash over him as Eurydice tucks herself back into his arms, eliminates the space between them once more.

#hadestown #hadestownmodern #modern au #orphydice #young orphydice #orpheus #eurydice #danielle writes

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jessethorn · 4 years

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Some Los Angeles Tips

People are always asking me what they should do when they visit LA. I am by no means the greatest LA expert on earth, but I’ve lived here more than a decade now, and I have some ideas for you. Note that I live in the far Northeast corner of LA, and really rarely travel to the western half of town. So if you are looking for advice on Beverly Hills stuff or Malibu stuff or whatever, I am not that helpful. Also this is very subjective and really non-comprehensive in general. Just some stuff I like!

In General

Rent a car if you drive, but don't be afraid to take the bus or subway. There are some very long distances to traverse, and not everything is convenient to transit, but the transit is reasonably comfortable and efficient for a lot of purposes (going downtown, for example), particularly when combined with some judicious ride-sharing. There's plenty of parking everywhere, despite what Angelenos would have you think. Don't try to do too many things in one day, or cross town on the 10, 101 or 405 at anything even resembling rush hour (ie between like seven and ten thirty or three and seven on weekdays). Stick to one area for the day, maybe two.

The Museum of Jurassic Technology This is the best thing in Los Angeles and one of the best things in the world. It is part museum, part art project. To explain it much further might ruin the experience of visiting it, but please take my word that it is one of the most amazing places in the world.

The Watts Towers As the name suggests, they're in Watts, a bit out of the way for some trips, but absolutely without a doubt worth the travel. They're an incredible artwork/building built in a backyard out of rebar, concrete, glass and tile by an illiterate Italian immigrant in the mid-20th century. Worth signing up for a tour, they are cheap (it's a city park) and not all that long. There's also a little gallery on the site. One of the great works of American outsider art and a deeply beloved city treasure.

Other, More Regular Museums LACMA is a world-class art museum. The collection is a bit scattered (and as of this writing a wing is closed for renovation and replacement), but it's really good. It's in Mid-City on the Miracle Mile, and surrounded by other museums. The Petersen Automotive Museum is pretty cool if you're into cars. La Brea Tar Pits are more park than museum, but the museum is fun in a kitschy way, if you're into prehistoric creatures. It's also a nice place to eat lunch. In Exposition Park are a few major museums - the Natural History Museum is pretty good, though not better than others in other major cities (the Field Museum or whatever). The science museum is OK but significantly outclassed by the competition (it's no Exploratorium), though it does have a real space shuttle, which is pretty sweet. The Annenberg Space for Photography does what it says on the label. A good mid-size museum of photographs, check what show is up. The Broad is a nice contemporary art museum in a beautiful building that's right near Walt Disney Concert Hall, also an incredible building. They have a second campus in Little Tokyo that's very nice but smaller.

Architectural Stuff The LA Conservancy runs affordable walking tours that take you into some of the most fascinating built environments in LA. The subject matter ranges from Art Deco in downtown to the modern skyscrapers of the 50s through 90s. They're mostly Saturdays, but a few also run on weekdays. Can't recommend them enough if you're up for a couple hours of walking. You can go inside the Bradbury Building and up into the upper floors! It's cool. (The Conservancy also runs screenings in the big movie palaces downtown, which are mostly otherwise closed to the public. Definitely recommend those.) A couple of other architectural highlights: the Hollyhock House is in Barnsdall Park in Los Feliz. It's a restored Frank Lloyd Wright estate willed to the city many years ago that as of relatively recently runs regular tours. Also in the park is the city art museum of LA, which sometimes has some cool shows. Cal Poly Pomona students run tours on Saturdays of the Neutra VDL studio and residences in Silver Lake, which can be combined with a nice walk around the lake and some middle-aged-hipster watching. The Gamble House in Pasadena is an absolutely breathtaking craftsman mansion with a lot of

Griffith Park Griffith Park is one of the largest urban parks in the United States. It has all kinds of stuff within it - the LA Zoo, the Griffith Observatory, some great hiking. It's a great place to spend some time. If you have little kids, they will love Travel Town, a train graveyard/museum that's inside the park (and free!). The zoo is good if you like zoos, though not incredibly great or anything. The Autry Museum of the American West is worth a visit if you're into that kind of thing.

The Grove I know that we talk about The Grove a lot on Jordan, Jesse, Go. Please do not waste your vacation time at the Grove. It's a mall. It's fine. This also applies to the Americana at Brand, which we sometimes talk about because we have talked about the Grove too much. Also a mall. A little nicer than some? I went there when I needed a new power cable for my Surface.

Dodger Stadium Look, I am a Giants fan and hate the Dodgers, but if you are a baseball fan, Dodger Stadium is a great place to watch a baseball game. Even I can admit that. Angel Stadium is about as generic as it gets, but if you go on a weekday you can take a train from Union Station in LA.

The Getty Center The Getty Center is a beautiful building on a breathtaking piece of real estate. It's pretty cool to visit, but be aware that most of the art is pretty early, so if you don't like busts or paintings of feasts and stuff from the bible, then it might not be your jam art-wise. And getting up there is a whole thing. That said: it really is a beautiful building and an incredible view, so you probably won't feel like it's a waste. And if you like busts, then get your ass over there.

Downtown Stuff I will again recommend the LA Conservancy's walking tours to get a flavor of downtown LA, which is very walkable and full of incredible stuff. The main library is a beautiful edifice, the history of which is detailed in Susan Orlean's The Library Book. Worth wandering around in. Grand Central Market is a great place to get a bite, though pretty bougie at this point. Right next to Grand Central Market is Angel's Flight, a block-long funicular that is a lot of fun and costs next to nothing. Besides this, there are still functional specialized commercial districts in downtown LA. The flower district is particularly fun - the big flower market opens early for wholesale sales but is open to the public and there are tons of stores selling silk and artificial flowers which are very fun to wander through. There are also areas with stores specializing in selling imported toys, store fixtures (a favorite of mine), jewelry and fabric. Most of the fabric is kinda garbage honestly but there is a good tailor supply store called B. Black and Sons and a great hat making store (worth visiting even if you don't make hats) called California Millinery Supply. FIDM also has a thrift store with cheap fabric leftover from LA-based factories.

Movies The Arclight is a fancy movie chain, and the Hollywood location (near Amoeba Records) is also the home of the Cinerama Dome, which is pretty fun. The Vista is a great single-screen theater on the east side. There are some great rep houses on the west side - check your local listings.

Comedy Stuff The UCB has a few great shows every night at both locations. It's hard to go wrong, though you should be aware you will be seeing things that are a little rougher than whatever makes it to your town as a road show. The signature improv show is Asssscat, which is absolutely as good as it gets. Dynasty Typewriter (right by our office) has a lot of great shows these days. A great standup show is Hot Tub at the Virgil. The big comedy clubs have pretty comedy-club-y comedy in them, not necessarily what I'd recommend, though you will certainly see a lot of relatively big names doing sets. The Improv Lab sometimes has MaxFun-adjacent headliners who've put together their own lineups, as does Flappers in Burbank. Largo has bigger-name shows of this variety as well, and if you go see a show there headlined by a Sarah Silverman or Patton Oswalt, the lineup will likely be packed with their pals, even if they aren't advertised.

Some Places To Eat This is NOT a comprehensive list. First: Jonathan Gold died a few years ago, but he is still the king of LA food. Anything he recommended in the Weekly or Times is still the gold standard (no pun intended). He was also a wonderful writer and a champion of foodways that are unfamiliar to many in LA, much less outside LA. If you are a food nerd, KCRW's Good Food is a superb local food show (and podcast) produced by Nick Liao, who used to work at MaxFun.

Philipe's The French Dip A restaurant that's been around for literally a century, with sawdust on the floor, big jars of pickled eggs, ladies in hairnets and really tasty French Dips. They have competing claims to having invented them but the other competitor turned into one of those goofy sleeve-garter-barman subway tile exposed lightbulb places about ten years ago. Philipe's is totally for real and great.

Pie N Burger This is just a burger place in Pasadena that sells classic SoCal-style burgers and is really great. Cash only, though.

Langer's The only one of the Jewish delis in LA that's really worth a special trip. The #19 (pastrami, cole slaw and swiss on rye) is truly one of the world's greatest foods. Pastrami here is better than anywhere else I've ever eaten, including those famous delis in New York.

Park's BBQ

One of many great Korean BBQ restaurants in LA, but the only one recommended to me personally by Jonathan Gold. (I also like Soot Bull Jeep, which barbeques over charcoal and will leave you smelling like smoke, and Hae Jang Chong for all-you-can-eat.) (There are LOTS of different kinds of Korean food, but I am not an expert on the soups and blood sausages and bibimbaps and etc., but if you're adventurous, you could eat a different Korean food at a different spot every month in LA and make out well.)

Guelagetza Oaxacan food is one of the best kinds of food in the world, and Guelagetza is an LA institution that serves good-quality Oaxacan food. Moles, tlayudas, queso fundido. If you've never eaten any of this stuff, a couple of chicken moles are a great place to start (as is Guelagetza).

Dim Sum You can drive all the way to the San Gabriel Valley and eat at one of the many wonderful dim sum places there. That's where the best stuff is. If it's not worth a special trip to you, I like a place called Lunasia in Pasadena, and they also serve dim sum for dinner. Not a HUGE menu but good food.

Mozza This pizzeria, now a sort of group of restaurants, is an unimpeachably excellent Fancy Meal in LA. So (per my producer Kevin) are the other restaurants run by the same chef, Nancy Silverton.

The Dal Rae This is an old-timey fancy restaurant in Pico Rivera, a semi-industrial part of LA. It's just a great place to wear a suit to and eat Clams Casino. Famous for their table-made Caesar salad (legit great) and pepper steak (too peppery for me). Generally the food is excellent in a 1955 sort of way.

Bludsoe's Best Texas-style barbeque I've had outside of Texas. Used to be a window down by the airport, now a fancier place on La Brea, but I'm told the food is just as good at the fancy place.

Pupusas I love to eat pupusas. Maybe my favorite food. I really like to eat pupusas at Los Molcajetes on Hoover in Westlake (near Koreatown). Note they are weirdly big here (a regional variation of some kind) and they only take cash. (Note also this is one of 10,000 restaurants in LA named Los Molcajetes.) I also sometimes eat at a nice sit-down Salvadoran place called Las Cazuelas on Figueroa in Highland Park.

In N Out In N Out is good! It will not change your life! But it is very tasty, especially for a $4 food! Some people complain about the fries, which are fresh-cut and fried only once and thus are less crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside than some others! I think they are fine! Try In N Out, why not! But maybe don't make a whole special trip to do so!

Tacos and Other SoCal Mexican Food Stuff Everyone has their own favorite taco places, and none of my favorites are so special they should be destinations. They are mostly my favorites because they are close to my home and work. But I can tell you that I like to get sit-down Mexican-American food at La Abeja on Figueroa in LA, where I eat a lot of carne adovada and enchiladas and sometimes albondigas or breakfast. I also really like to eat carne en su jugo at Carnes Asadas Pancho Lopez on Pasadena in Lincoln Heights. I eat tacos from Tacos La Estrella on York in Highland Park or the truck (with no name) across from the Mexican consulate on Park View at sixth in Westlake. At night I sometimes get cheap tacos (I like buche) from the place that opens up on Pasadena at Avenue 37. I like the shrimp and fish tacos at Via-Mar on Figueroa. I like Huaraches from Huaraches Azteca on York. The burritos at Yuca’s in Los Feliz (or Pasadena) are great, though they are totally different from the SF-style burritos that I grew up eating. I sometimes get nachos at Carnitas Michoacan on Broadway in Lincoln Heights, which feature meat and cheese sauce and are gross but also really, really good. I have also eaten at the very fancy Mexican restaurant Border Grill and to be honest it is really good even though the interior feels a little like a cross between a fancy restaurant in 1989 and a Chili's.

El Coyote This is a famous Mexican-American restaurant from the early part of the 20th century, but you shouldn't go there because the food sucks.

Stores I Like This is going to be REAL subjective, but a few stores I like which sell the kinda stuff you'd expect me to want. &etc - A great (small) antique store at 1913 Fremont in Pasadena. The Last Bookstore - A downtown bookstore that is the closest thing to a "destination" book store in LA. Good selection and reasonable prices on used books, and a nice art book room. (Records as well, but they're not very good.) Gimme Gimme Records - I like this record store in Highland Park. You'll pay retail here, but reasonable retail, and the selection (while not immense) is really excellent. Good stuff in all genres.

Secret Headquarters - One time at this small comics store in Silver Lake the lady at the counter asked if I was Jesse from Jordan Jesse Go and they won my business forever in that moment. Don Ville - My friend Raul makes and sells shoes (and repairs them!) in the northern part of Koreatown. If you have the dough, get him to make you some shoes! The Bloke - A really great little menswear store in Pasadena. Sells cool (expensive) trad-ish brands like Drake's and Hilditch & Key and Alden. The Good Liver - A beautiful shop in Little Tokyo specializing in perfect home goods. The perfect scissors, the perfect dish towel and so forth. Some things are expensive, some aren't. H Lorenzo Archive - The "outlet" shop of a designer clothing store on the west side. Discounts aren't huge, but the selection is really interesting, and they have a good collection of one of my favorite brands, Kapital. Sid Mashburn - Excellent classic clothing shop on the west side. Suit Supply & Uniqlo - if you haven't got these where you live, they're the places I usually send people for reasonably-priced tailored clothes (Suit Supply) and cheap basics (Uniqlo). Olvera Street - This is an old-timey tourist attraction, a street of folks selling Mexican handcrafts (and their Chinese-made analogs). Right near Union Station and Philipe's, and a great place to buy factory-made huaraches (the shoes, not the food). They even have sizes big enough for me, which is pretty much impossible to find in Mexico or most Mexican-American shoe stores. Thrift Stores - I go to a lot of thrift stores but if I told you which ones you might buy something I would have bought so I'm not going to tell you which thrift stores.

Flea Markets You may know I am at the flea market every weekend. The good fleas are on Sundays, and there's one every week. First Sunday of the month is Pasadena City College, a big (and free) market with pretty reasonable pricing. PCC has a pretty big record section in addition to the regular flea market stuff. Second weekend is the famous Rose Bowl flea, which is HUGE and has a big new goods section (blech) and vintage clothing area (good!). Third weekend is Long Beach Airport, which is a great overall show. Fourth is Santa Monica airport, which is smaller and a little fancier but very nice. The Valley flea is also fourth Sundays, at Pierce College, and that's not huge but sometimes surprises me. With all of these, the earlier you can arrive, the better you'll do (not least for weather reasons). I usually try to get there around 7:30 or 8:00. The Rose Bowl in particularl is a 4-6 hour operation if you do most of it. There are also a lot of swap meets - I don't know enought to recommend any in particular, but these are much more about tube socks and batteries and bootleg movies than antiques and collectibles. Still can be fun, though, and are certainly a proud SoCal tradition. (The Silverlake Flea and the Melrose Trading Post are garbage, don't go there.)

Going to the Beach I'm not a huge beach goer, but by all means go to the beach if that's your thing. The Annenberg Community Beach House in Santa Monica is a great place to base your operation, though you have to arrive in the morning on busy days to get a parking spot.

Kid Stuff I mentioned Travel Town, that's pretty great. Kidspace in Pasadena is a very good children's museum. The Bob Baker Marionette Theater is a great place to see a marionette show straight out of 1966. There's a good aquarium in Long Beach though it's a bit nutty there on weekends, and the zoo in Griffith Park is a good zoo. I really like Descanso Gardens, a big botanical garden northeast of LA. Huntington Gardens is also very nice, though it's much more expensive and hotter.

Geography Los Angeles is BIG. I'd say try to spend each of your days within about a sixth of it, geographically. It's entirely possible to do west side and east side stuff on the same trip, but don't try to do them on the same day. Look at a map and look at driving times when you're planning. Neighborhoods in LA are BIG, geographically speaking, don't assume two things in the same neighborhood are an easy walk. There aren't a ton of urban neighborhoods suitable for wandering in the way there are in some places. A few manageable general areas for stuff you might like: Silverlake/Los Feliz/Echo Park, Koreatown, Highland Park, downtown, Little Tokyo and the Arts District. (I live in the northeast part of town, and don't spend much time on the west side, which is one reason why this list focuses more on east side stuff. Some folks like West Hollywood and Venice on the west side. Long Beach and Pasadena are both neat towns with their own thing going on that might be worth a visit, too.)

Books & Media The Great Los Angeles Book is probably City of Quartz, a socialist-leaning history of LA. I really loved Susan Orlean's The Library Book, which is about the library as an institution, but also specifically the LA central library and the mysterious fire that nearly destroyed it. And a wild guy named Charles Lummis who was one of the founding fathers of LA culture and was really something else. (You can visit his house - it's right off the 110 near Highland Park.) An LA movie I love is The Long Goodbye, which is sort of a predecessor/inspiration for The Big Lebowski. A shaggy mystery directed by Altman where Elliott Gould just sort of wanders around LA. Another really cool one is Los Angeles Plays Itself, a long (long!) film essay about the ways the real Los Angeles has been used to create fictional worlds in film over the decades.

TV Tapings I'm not an expert in TV tapings. I can say that I've been to a few Conan tapings, and while it takes a LOOOOONG time to get in there, the show is fun to watch live. This is generally true of talk shows and most game shows, which tape more or less as-live. Sitcoms take WAY longer than you were expecting them to. Make sure to try to book tickets early if you have something you want to see. No matter what it's a most-of-the-day thing.

Nightlife Is a word that describes evening activities - especially dance clubs. I am old and don't know about these things.

The Magic Castle I can't get you in, please don't ask me to. I went a couple times. It's fine. If you're not into magic you're not missing too much. If you are, then obviously, it's a priority.

The Walk of Fame and Hollywood Not recommended, not worth it, don't bother.

Disneyland Why would you want my opinion about Disneyland? It's Disneyland. You're in or you're out.

San Diego If you happen to plan a side trip to San Diego, you can take the Amtrak there, and it is a breathtakingly beautiful and exceedingly pleasant trip. I have no San Diego expertise to impart beyond that, however.

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aresaphrodites · 5 years

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REDDIE #3 FLUFF PLEASEEEEE

AYYYYYYYY, MY FIRST TIME WRITING REDDIE, WTF IS UP

seriously though, i hope u like this bc i love these boys so much and never want to stop writing about them <3

3. “Have you seen my hoodie?” “Nooo.” “You’re wearing it, aren’t you?”

Richie Tozier tears apart his room. It’s not like his stupid jacket is valuable at all, ‘cause it definitely isn’t. It’s an old leather jacket he got while thrifting when he was fourteen and he’s grown so much in the past three years that it fits him just a little too snug, but that’s not the important thing here. The important thing is that it’s the first defining article of clothing that he had bought. The rainbow patch on the sleeve of the jacket had been there when he bought it and it had been perfect. He’d just come out to his friends and he knew that the jacket was meant to be his, so now everyone knew Richie and his black leather jacket. It was his freaking signature look, man. And now it’s missing.

Which isn’t cool at all.

He whips out his phone from his pocket and sends a speedy text to the group chat.

To: Losers Club

Richie: Did one of you assholes steal my jacket

Richie: Stan! Fess up now. You’re always eyeing it.

Stan: I didn’t take your ugly jacket, Richie.

Richie: Too bad. It would have been a step up from your hideous cardigans.

Richie: That reminds me! Did you steal my grandma’s slippers? She wants those back, too.

Stan: Fuck off

Bill: Why would we take your jacket?

Bev: Boys, boys. Are you sure you didn’t leave it somewhere, Richie?

Richie: I’m sure. This is the last time I’m inviting you guys over. Thieves!

He locks his phone and tosses it onto his bed.

It’s awfully interesting timing, if he does say so himself. He almost never invites anyone, aside from Eddie, over. If they ever spend time at of one of their houses, it’s usually always Bill’s. But Richie’s parents had been gone for the weekend and left him money for food so he bought a pizza and rented a movie for them and it had been great. Until he realized his missing jacket this afternoon.

Did I leave it somewhere?

He shakes his head at his own question. He hasn’t worn that jacket in at least two months and he specifically remembers seeing it hung up in his closet, so he knows that’s not the case.

He’s about to do something drastic, like file a missing person’s report on it, when he hears his phone vibrate. He runs over to it, hopeful that it’s one of his asshole friends confessing, but instead he’s met with Eddie’s grinning face alerting him of an incoming call. Just like that, any anger or annoyance he’d felt slips away.

“Eddie, my love! My soulmate! The other half of my heart! The reason I am alive and breathing and—.”

“Why can’t you ever just answer the phone like a normal person?” Eddie whines from the other end of the line, but even from here Richie can hear the smile that laces his voice.

“If you wanted normal, you wouldn’t be with me, baby.”

Eddie groans. “What are you doing? Come over?”

Richie gasps and even throws his hand to his heart for good measure. “Eddiebear! Inviting me over when it’s still daylight and your mom is home? I wasn’t aware we were so serious.”

“First of all, we’ve been together for two years, Richie, shut up. Second of all, my mom isn’t here, which is why I’m inviting you over. She’s out planning a party with a friend.”

Richie tries to picture Mrs. K planning a party, or even attending one, but the picture is much too weird to imagine so he gets it out of his head.

“I’d love to but I’m trying to find my damn leather jacket.” Now that he’s realized it’s gone, he feels like he won’t be able to rest until he finds out what the hell happened to it.

There’s a long pause on the phone before Eddie lets out a soft: “Oh.”

“Oh?” Richie mimics, because Eddie isn’t usually so short with him. In fact, Eddie can be quiet and short with other people, but never with Richie. And the way he said it… Richie’s eyes widen.

“Eddie, baby, have you seen my jacket?” He says the words as sickly sweet as possible and he can hear Eddie fumble around a little bit.

“Nooooo.”

“Baby,” he drags out gleefully, “you’re wearing it, aren’t you?”

There’s another pause before Eddie sighs.

“Yes,” he finally admits.

Richie squeals. “That’s so cute! You miss me so much that you have to wear my jacket! Cute, cute, cute.”

“Shut up,” Eddie mumbles. “I took it because I was cold.”

“Sure you did, Eds! You know you could have just asked for it, right? I would have let you borrow it.”

“You don’t let anyone wear it,” Eddie says. It’s true enough. Richie doesn’t let anyone else wear it, but then again…

“They’re not you. I’d give you anything, Eds. You should know that by now.”

It should be just another one of Richie’s stupid, mushy comments but he says it with such sincerity that Eddie blushes as he wraps the leather jacket tighter around himself.

“It smells like you,” he says. “Sometimes I just… sometimes I do miss you. It’s easier to sleep when I have something of yours.”

Richie smiles so hard at the words that his cheeks start to hurt. They’re so sweet and heartfelt and so Eddie. He wonders, not for the first time, just how the hell he managed to get a boyfriend who is so wonderful and good to him.

“You won’t have to miss me for much longer! Do you think I can get away with sleeping over?”

Eddie hums in thought. “Yeah, probably. I’ll just text my mom that I’m going to sleep and she’ll stay out of my room.”

“Great! I’ll see you soon, lover boy.”

Eddie snorts. “Drive careful, Richie, please.”

“I’m the most careful person I know!” Eddie snorts again and Richie laughs. “Hey, Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not getting my jacket back, am I?”

“Absolutely not.”

send me a sentence starter + a pairing!

#reddie #reddie fic #answered #seriously i love writing these two #pls feel free to send me more prompts for them😭

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sirjustice1125 · 4 years

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Making more machines

When u tab your glans penis to dead snake lower belly when heap iced grass gives ya light rail while when sewer water immersed cow meat makes buses like greyhound when is normal grass iced and salted makes big ships but when just salted yacht and try rubbing on the same snake below belly when ist sewer water placed inside any meat, veggies, fruits, plastic, another liquid, cereal and leaves and animal parts to see what in ya given as the bus is made in dug big sideways tunnel of the road which can lead into a factory from the gate not always almost on the normal vehicle roads to breed privacy dude and try with any to mix things not necessarily sewer water and another and as well try rubbing on anything changing the boom environment try many people and sharing what u have come out with, like most talk people esp women when placed in sewer water or grass iced or salted makes Pay TV boosters system and of telephone and every tribe of people corpse placed in 1 anything and do the rab above makes something-else as u can try dude

The Mexican USA border can have the underground sensors and of 180 degrees on air to monitor both sides and above of any intruding activity to bar such practices which makes people say they are Mexican blooded to get favor to do like Mexicans if situation gets rough but in pretense dude as in the links below beside possessing wireless wifi cameras and sensor alarm/lights to beep up security in a 100% way dude to bar the vices explained above dude

https://www.google.com/search?rlz=1C1CHBD_enKE921KE921&sxsrf=ALeKk02t7F7D2xRoMuAPfUzIIfXQQWy85w:1606212934865&source=univ&tbm=isch&q=amazon+long+range+sensor+alarms+images&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjG46m7-ZrtAhWlZxUIHQnrD9sQjJkEegQIChAB&biw=800&bih=489

https://www.google.com/search?q=amazon+long+range+sensor+lights+images&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwjY8be8-ZrtAhXEwoUKHUBqCbEQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=amazon+long+range+sensor+lights+images&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQA1DdpgJYva4CYIq5AmgAcAB4AIABwAKIAZQMkgEFMi01LjGYAQCgAQGqAQtnd3Mtd2l6LWltZ8ABAQ&sclient=img&ei=Sd28X5ipC8SFlwTA1KWICw&bih=489&biw=800&rlz=1C1CHBD_enKE921KE921

https://www.google.com/search?q=amazon+long+range+undeground+metal+detectors&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwiE6OzQ-ZrtAhUShhoKHT3BCnAQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=amazon+long+range+undeground+metal+detectors&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzoECCMQJzoGCAAQCBAeOgQIABAYUP6VAViNvQJg38QCaAlwAHgAgAH1AogB3UuSAQYyLTMzLjSYAQCgAQGqAQtnd3Mtd2l6LWltZ8ABAQ&sclient=img&ei=c928X8TiPJKMar2Cq4AH&bih=489&biw=800&rlz=1C1CHBD_enKE921KE921

https://www.amazon.com/Honeywell-5853-Wireless-Glass-Detector/dp/B001UKH4OY

https://www.indiamart.com/proddetail/e2k-c25my1-capacitive-sensor-21895743573.html

https://www.indiamart.com/proddetail/omron-long-distance-type-e2k-c25mf1-2m-20617957055.html

When each sphere has equal developments it bars tourism, education and immigration and that is the fear on such lands that are made much more with tourism bro

A software can be well developed on the phone like i hear in some nations that allows u to save ya monies with little interest on ya side withdrawal in 1 week, fortnight or monthly to imbue confidence in such people who cant save for the next month or week to keep up their businesses to channel many into business who fears out of the above spend thrift nature of their characters. Can be paid via mobile monies as can have a standing order and with daily or weekly airtime u placed if u have not subscribed 4 the above dude to help the poor set up much businesses to reduce crime related activities when those people who could not as above engage in businesses saving, having something 4 the stock and rent 4 next month

GARBAGE the take camara seeds place in any sticky fluid or in dough or mixture of any flour with water, oil or honey or any chemical or even mud or soil, if u chop the same gives u the boom products as u maintain the many environment as said above. Like if u chop when placed in mad gives ya jets, when placed in honey cruise ship and in wheat dough gives ya motor bikes same as when instead of Garbage heap is grass mixed with sewer water or iced and or salted, the grass can be normal or planted dude. With the grass prototype u can chop wood soaked in any wild berry fruit juice, and seeds and even stem and sane applies to veggies, leaves and any chemical or drink and chop that wood in the end process of the boom. When u chop avocado seed when heap goat bones in sewer water gives ya E cars or when heap salted iced grass.

Armored siren gas or any flying gas prototype gas cylinder made when the normal grown grass mixed with planted one then add much cold water which can either bear salt or not and the chop different boards soaked in fruits juices or veggies and leaves both ripe, raw, rotten cooked or raw or sun dried and even placed the to be chopped board refrigerated 4 much more results dude mostly in made big roadside tunnel or rail/road underground the hill tunnels.

Ambaki leaves made much in the container half placed on water or soil when few sample placed next to kale then u chop wood soaked in cooked cabbage soup or trample on goat bones dude. Ambaki are sycamore leaves and even made on roadside made big tunnel and on upper tank changing the chopped soaked board 4 more variety to compare the side effects and of much utility or benefits.

Chicken made when brought close to kale in the roadside tunnel in dim light then chop wood soaked in cooked cabbage stew or chop mud with crush goat bones while fish made when brought close to chicken sample in the tunnel as above then u chop paw paw seeds or wood soaked in raw paw paw juice or trample on cow bones while cow meat made when placed next to fish in tanks placed half way the soil then chop mud mixed with cocoa powder or wood soaked in outer yam peel husk while pork made when placed close to chicken in roadside tunnel then u rab cocoa berries on the wall or wood piece or chop fish bones in planted grass or sewer water together dude

Turkey made when placed closed to beef meet in roadside tunnel then u chop pumpkin mixed with mud or divide a clothe mixed with its juice or trample on human intestines while goat meat made when brought close to chicken in roadside tunnel then guava seeds immersed in made piece or ripe paw paw pieces in dough or trample on rat while tea leaves made when few sample brought close to fish like tilapia and then chop wood soaked in raw guava juice or trample on chicken meat. Nile perch made when brought close to chicken meat then divide clothe immersed and semi dry in paw paw juice or chop paw paw seeds or chop skali nguru while mud fish the same but bring chop mango seed placed in mud or trample on cat meat while with cat fish bring close to chicken meat in roadside ditches or half placed container in soil or under sea shore water or pond/lake then chop cow bones immersed on mud or trample on hay on the floor or master bate a grandpa or massage a kid shoulder

Digital thermometer and sensors of all types on humans can be placed on cars to aid on track on those who harbors the same that conducted theft on the days of ya car or machine being stolen dude. Beside Wifi radars installed to trace its locality like GPS DUDE

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