#IR get new neighbors

[currentfandomkick]

So update on roles i think DP characters would play:

Ellie: often in diplomat training, absolutely an out and about Halfa and often a go-to for diplomatic missions. (Obsessions include: finding her own identity, travel, helping her fraid specifically, learning, trade as a concept and practice, medicine (as unstable) )

Danny: mostly helps the new metas ans new liminals with their powers. He’s emperor on a technicality and is technically a baby ghost posing as a severely ecto-contaminated human. He does tag along for some of Ellie, Tucker and Sam’s outings in politics but is usually not going to. He is thriving as Some Guy with a weirdly vast knowledge of power control for many meta abilities and is functionally a meta and liminal abilities coach and councilor, but does this casually. He finds someone struggling? Here’s a bunch if tips and tricks. Here’s a blog of him explaining the ThingTM. Otherwise he is an infinite realms expert but thinks he is not, as he only cares about the alien portions and the one resembling space. No he will not be responsible, and yes his obsession is largely centered on family, responsibility and finding his own joy (i love multiple obsessions for each ghost) and yes he does love to learn skills but not information and yes space is his longtime obsession from birth as a baby liminal no i am not taking criticism on this hc.

Valerie: likely helping others adapt to new environment, probably knows more about the shield tech than most thanks to her dad overseeing its standardization and installation, absolutely seen as someone on call for dangerous ghosts appearing in Gotham Principality (nicknamed Land of Gargoyles, Grit, and Goths)

Tucker: technically a reincarnated pharaoh expected to rule upon his death. Resident of Amity, often a diplomat to Atlantis with Ellie. Drags Danny along for future practice but mostly is there for technomancy while Ellie talks trade (Tucker helps her on nitty gritty details due to Pharaoh Memories of negotiations but isn’t into the big picture aspect). Local technomancer who helps and works with other technomancers in Amity, is liminal (and can use death magic) plus is probs an embodiment of the egyptian pantheon (usual dc headcannon following tucker that i love for him interacting with Wonder Woman and other amazons). Budding obsessions: technology, videogames, magic, politics and friendship.

Sam: daughter of the MAIN Diplomat (Jeremy) and a chief organizer and leader of the Council, (Pamela). She kickstarted this entire process and led the protests against the anti-ecto acts. Often a diplomat in Gotham, seen speaking to Poison Ivy for defensive purposes and environmental policy discussions… (and eco terrorism) and is learning from her parents. Sometimes accompanied by Tucker, but more often Ellie is there with her learning too. Does welcome a lot of magic users and is seen as a local community organizer with a focus on her budding obsessions (environmentalism, photography, politics, punk-goth).

Wes: absolutely here with detailed info on everyone trying to break into amity. Gotham has oracle. Amity has Wes doxing everyone guarding the border and finding blackmail solely out of spite. Does wes have the curse of cassandra? Yep. Does he know Danny is King of the IR via combat? Yes. Is he annoyed Danny isnt setting up a role in politics and trying to bully him into it? Big time. Is it failing on the convincing part? Yes, as Danny wants to be Some Guy.

Fenton Parents: terrifying inventors who are team Amity Park first and foremost. They love having Vlad act like their old friend at last and rubbing their inventions in the face of everyone who made fun of them in the past. Yes they are thriving. Obsessions are shared and focus on science (concentrated to anything ecto), inventing, their family and friends.

The Mansons: see post above. Obsessions boil down to family, their daughter, organization, rules, politeness and by proxy politics.

Jazz: a baby therapist who runs a dead clone rehab in the Infinite Realms with ghosts who’s obsession is helping others, psychology, and rehabilitation centric. Her baby obsessions are psychology, assisting others, family, and (surprisingly) baking.

Paulina: Vlad’s social media campaign manager. As she’s most of his social media team (Sam helps her but they refuse to admit it). Yes she is helping Amity and works with Pamela and Jeremy, no she is not overly involved. Yes she knows more than you, she works here, and here is where things happen. Budding obsessions: gossip/social information, popularity, social media, politics (fell into), fashion and its impact and influence on culture and vice versa. Cheerleading is her hobby, as is gymnastics. Great for self-defense.

Dash: joined “border” patrols but is mostly a jock. Yes he still kicks Danny’s butt as Fenton and adores Phantom. He vexes Wes. Dash’s obsessions are sports, hierarchy/being ‘on top’, safety and the town/Amity.

Vlad: billionaire bamboozling the USA, opportunist keeping Amity relevant and unintentionally the main “recruiter” for most that seek asylum or move to Amity due to meta, magic or being liminal. Helps the Fentons with inventions, works with the Mansons on politics, somehow in charge of border patrols as a result and debates taunting the idiots holding the line pointing weapons at the Amity and her border. Obsessions: family (Maddie and Danny mostly, includes Ellie), acceptance, ecto science, inventing (man has to be obsessed with it to be besties with Jack and Maddie in college), and Power (politics is often a means to this, as is money and buisness).

I will attempt more roles another time, but comment characters for me to use and expand on for “not today satan” residents, or residents of the Gotham Principality.

Also help me please, does Ra’s cult and various cities around lazarus pits make him a leader of many small city states or something of the sort? Or is he just like, a pirate king that the IR side eye but dont care enough about to shoo away? Legit stuck on this

*slams the door open, eyes manic* Sovereign State!

A Sovereign State: "International law defines sovereign states as having a permanent population, defined territory, a government not under another, and the capacity to interact with other sovereign states."

The USA already HAS several that exsist within its boarders? And there was that Gay Island of Australia (no really, look it up.) There is a LONG history of humanity going "well fuck you too then, I'm leaving. But also I refuse to leave. I am METAPHORICALLY leaving." *leaves your country and makes their own*

And??

Where's the FUCK were you? Mr. President? During that INVASION by Pariah Dark??

No, really. Social contracts, my dude. That is WHY you have AN ARMY. For INVADING FORCES.

You ALSO have declared us, your citizens, non-sentient and stripped of us our Constitutional Rights WITHOUT hearings, studies, or any due processes. Not to mention just desecrating the dead like it's NOT a well known religious and moral taboo. AND attacking out dead family members! The list goes on!

Why do we pay you taxes, if YOU are the active threat to us AND you offer us no social services?? You've all but cut Amity off anyway!

.......*Takes our ball and goes home* FUCK IT.

They are literally Limnals. It's a TOWN OF METAS. Can you honestly tell me that they WOULDN'T look at the Ecto-Acts and just think: "Yeeeeeah, how about No. Hard Pass."

You can have your INCREDIBLY stupid and offensive law. In OUR country, that's illegal. "We can't do that?" Yes. We can. We informed you in a Formal Document, which you received, you had the opportunity to STOP us, you did or could not, AND we got Regonized by another government.

It's a Ghost Goverment. We, the city state of Amity, were recognized by like... going on 23 at this point. We have a list. All Ghost Goverments, too. Sucks for you that you don't recognize those, they've decided not to recognize YOURS back until you do.

Politics, baby~

Aaaw D:> Does the Upset Baby wanna call, Superman? Boo Hoo. Somebody's forgetting the Justice League serves EARTH, not AMERICA. Suck on a lemon and die mad about it. Better not come back as a Ghost though! Your Goverment will declare you a lab specimen!

Now if you'll excuse us, WE have interplanetary trade routes. Because WE can use alien tech from our Ghost Buddies. And the Fenton Anti-Creep Barrier means you can't do SHIT. So *large crowd of teenagers making rude noises at frustrated government officials*

*Justice Leauge taking picture in the background* You're doing great sweeties! Aquaman is? So proud of the younger generation? They really are the future, you guys. Can he come in?

Oh of COURSE, your Majesty! *somehow ONLY Aquaman is able to get past the barrier, much to the impotent fury of the GIW and various officials*

@hdgnj @stealingyourbones

[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE masterlist

life in hawkins, indiana is bittersweet for an eighteen year old like you. up to this point you've enjoyed your reign as the resident rich bitch ice queen of hawkins high. you glide above the student body with an impenetrable grace— until the IRS comes knocking and your family loses everything that makes you you; the money, the super-trendy clothes, the people you called friends. you're forced to trade your plush suburban life for a double wide in forest hills trailer park— directly across the lot from resident hellfire king and noted freak, eddie munson. you've got plenty of reasons to hate him, but number one with a bullet? his daddy put your daddy in jail.

pairing: eddie munson x f!oc, mentions of unrequited steve harrington x f!oc and unrequited jonathan byers x f!oc, platonic!nancy wheeler x f!oc, platonic!ronnie ecker x f!oc

tags: NSFW / MINORS TURN BACK NOW! f!oc is written in the immersive second person; she does have a name and a background, but no physical description is mentioned in the text. enemies to star-crossed lovers on a slow burn setting, angst, misunderstanding, yearning, swearing, smoking, drinking, era-typical classism/sexism/homophobia/sexual harassment, smut including but not limited to voyeurism, masturbation, public sex, discussion of crime that i pull out of my ass kind of, really mean jokes, eventual fluff (i promise). extremely canon divergent with references to flight of icarus.

ready to light this place up?

❦ - SERIES

❦ - chapter one: THE POISE, LUCK and INTEGRITY OF A KENNEDY

❦ - chapter two: VIOLENT DELIGHTS at HARRINGTON'S HOUSE

❦ - chapter three: EDDIE MUNSON COMMITS TREASON (BREAKS UP a CAT FIGHT)

❦ - chapter four: HOT SKIN and a HALL PASS

❦ - chapter five: CHEERLEADERS MAKE BAD NEIGHBORS

❦ - chapter six: IN MY ORBIT

❦ - chapter seven: WELCOME to the REAL WORLD, JACKASS

❦ - chapter eight: SEWN UP

❦ - chapter nine: EDDIE the OBVIOUS and the LADY SPHINX

❦ - chapter ten: THE NEW FACE OF FAILURE

❦ - chapter eleven: ALL TOMORROW'S KEGGERS

❦ - chapter twelve:

❦ - chapter thirteen:

❦ - chapter fourteen:

❦ - chapter fifteen:

❦ - chapter sixteen:

❦ - epilogue

❦ - BLURBS N SHIT

in-universe requests are open for business

flashback - LACY'S DAD GETS ARRESTED

flashback - EDDIE MUNSON STAMPS NICOLE SUMMERS' V-CARD (NOT A BOARD WAXER, NOT IN MAUI)

what if - EDDIE FOUND LACY'S JOURNAL

what if - LACY FOUND EDDIE'S WEIRD SERIAL KILLER WRITING SCRAPS

lore - ALL ABOUT THE BOOKSTORE

blurb - EDDIE HEARS LACY HAVING A SEX DREAM AND...

blurb - EDDIE TELLS LACY HOW HIS PARENTS MET

blurb - LACY VISITS HER DAD IN PRISON

blurb - FOUR TIMES YOU WERE STRUCK INCAPABLE OF IMAGINING YOUR LIFE WITHOUT EDDIE MUNSON

blurb - YES, NURSE RATCHED

blurb - THE BANDANA

blurb - EDDIE FS CASS FINNIGAN IN THE A

blurb - THE LACY AND JONATHAN OF IT ALL

blurb - THE KING OF HAWKINS HIGH: AN AL MUNSON STORY

❦ - FUN STUFF

soundtrack - VOLUME ONE

[blog-name-idk]

The Package Thief (KNJ)

Beautiful banner by @btsstan12

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Fem Reader

Genre: Neighbors/Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Humor

Summary: You have a new neighbor who is incredibly attractive. Unfortunately, he seems to hate you for no discernable reason at all. Does he think that just because he's hot, he can get away with being an asshole?

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Fem Reader

Genre: Neighbors/Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Humor

Word Count: 3,473

Warnings: Language, dimples, Namtiddies

~~~~~

The first time you saw your tall, handsome, dimple-cheeked neighbor, you were thrilled to have some eye candy in your apartment building. You had just moved in, and when he smiled at you in the lobby, you could have sworn you heard birds chirp and angels sing.

When you spotted him again while gathering up the packages for your floor, you perked up, hoping it would be your chance to get his name.

"Oh hey! Could you hold that for me?" you called as he stepped past the sliding doors. You juggled the boxes awkwardly in your hand as you hurried forward with a smile, only for the handsome stranger to glare at you as if you were doing something wrong. He then pressed a button that was clearly not to keep the door open, because it slid shut in your face.

"What the fuck?" you asked the air, staring at the metal frame incredulously. Who the hell did something like that? Did this asshole think he was too good to share the elevator with you?

Ugh, it figured. Of course someone that hot would never have learned to be a good person.

With a sigh, you jammed the "up" button with your elbow to wait for the next one. Your ire cooled as you waited, and you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he just had to take a shit really badly or something, and what you thought was a glare was actually his constipated face. He would probably apologize the next time you ran into each other.

~~~~~

Your neighbor did not apologize the next time you ran into each other.

If anything, he seemed to glare harder. And then the prick closed the door in your face, again. Unbelievable.

You weren't going to take this abuse laying down, so whenever you were in the position to do so, you returned the favor. It felt good to see the same irritation on his face each time the metal door slid shut, and you relished in your petty victories. He deserved a taste of his own medicine. Did he really think that just because he was hot, he could get away with being a dick?

On this particular day, you had worked late to clean up after a coworker's mistakes, and you were exhausted. All you wanted to do was take off your shoes and bra and listen to some music while you fought off the urge to angry cry.

Of course, because the universe hated you, you got to the lobby to see the smug, obnoxious smirk on your neighbor's face as he jammed the door close button. You clenched your teeth, feeling heat and frustration build behind your eyes, and gave him your most venomous glare as you flipped him off. You were not going to give this horrible piece of shit the satisfaction of seeing you upset.

Once he was gone, you pressed the elevator button, only to notice the sign indicating the other was broken. So you had to wait for piece-of-shit to get to whatever the fuck floor he lived on before it came back. It was a small thing, but enough to break through the cracks of your composure, and you felt hot tears begin to leak down your face.

You wiped your eyes angrily and took several deep breaths while you pulled yourself back together. Well, if you were going to have to wait, you might as well bring the packages up to your floor again. No point in leaving them down here for anyone to take.

As you waited for the elevator, you wondered how in the world anyone could be such a raging asshole.

~~~~~

"God, someone stole a package again yesterday," groaned Namjoon over a glass of scotch. It was Friday, the first night he had free in weeks, and it felt good to unwind after being frustrated by his bitchy neighbor for so long. Seriously, what was up with her? Did she think that just because she was hot she could get away with stealing peoples' mail?

"Again?" Jimin said in surprise, taking a sip of his own drink. "What about building management?"

"What do you mean?" Namjoon asked with a baffled furrow of his brow. Jimin lived in the same building, but on a different floor. Now that Namjoon thought about it, he'd also never heard his friend complain about a single package stolen.

"Do they just not bring up your stuff soon enough?" Jimin questioned, cocking his head. "The girl who brings the packages for my floor even organizes them by unit order."

What the hell was Jimin on about? That wasn't a thing. Oblivious to his friend's confusion, Jimin rambled on, and Namjoon pondered on this new mystery. The only person he'd ever seen picking up several packages was –

"She's really cute too, and she's always smiling."

Okay nevermind, it wasn't her. He doubted he'd seen an expression on her face other than irritation and spite. She was definitely attractive, but hot bitch wasn't really the type that turned him on.

"Oh, there she is, actually!" Jimin chirped in excitement, eyes sparkling as he waved at someone over Namjoon's shoulder. "Hey, [y/n]!"

The mystery girl in question greeted his friend with a vaguely familiar voice, and when Namjoon turned to see who it was, he felt his stomach drop.

You stared back, clearly just as shocked, and Namjoon did his best not to ogle. You weren't wearing anything outrageous, just tight-fitting jeans, a slinky top that hugged your curves, and heels that highlighted how your ass filled out said tight-fitting jeans. Even without the clothes, the smile on your face was enough to make his stomach do something funny, though it quickly faded when you recognized him.

"This is my friend Namjoon!" Jimin continued cheerfully, oblivious to the tense atmosphere suddenly hanging over the table. "He lives in our building! Namjoon, this is [y/n], she's the building person that brings up our packages."

You gave a forced smile, and Namjoon felt the beginning prickles of nausea and anxiety as he realized he might have made a tiny misjudgment.

"I just do it for our floor because it's on the way," you explained quietly, avoiding his gaze. The edges of your smile grew warmer when you looked at Jimin, transforming your face from glacial beauty to soft sincerity.

"Then I definitely owe you a drink," Jimin responded with a laugh, motioning for Namjoon to scoot over to give you room to sit. He obeyed woodenly, mind racing as guilt weighed down his heart.

"Don't worry about it," you assured him with a chuckle that made something in Namjoon's chest ache. "I'm about to walk home, anyway."

"Alone?"

You looked at Namjoon in surprise, and he realized he spoke aloud. He cleared his throat, feeling like a stupid lump as he looked down at his drink with warm cheeks. Despite the relative proximity of the apartment, he didn't like the idea of you alone this late at night.

"Yeah? It's not that far," you said suspiciously, as if waiting for a snide comment. It made his chest sink, though it wasn't as if you didn't have a good reason for your misgivings. He spoke up again, hoping maybe he could talk to you and have the chance to explain his earlier behavior.

"Why don't you have a drink with us, and we can all walk back together?"

To his surprise, you stiffened and the corners of your mouth tightened into a thin line.

"Why? So you can make me take another elevator?" you asked angrily, making Namjoon flush and Jimin look between the two of you in confusion. "No thanks, my week has been exhausting enough already. I'll see you around, Jimin."

With that, you stomped away in unfortunately righteous indignation, and Namjoon barely had time to admire the sway of your hips before Jimin piped up.

"What was that all about?" his friend asked with a frown, his usually twinkling eyes now boring into Namjoon's. He felt heat creep up his face as he sighed and began to tell Jimin the entire saga, from how he had assumed you were stealing packages and proceeded to close the elevator door in your face, to the current state of antagonism. By the time he was finished, his friend's mouth was hanging open, and he felt more embarrassment at just how childishly he had acted.

"Joonie, I'm just really surprised," said Jimin wonderingly as he rubbed his forehead. "It's not like you to be like that."

Namjoon winced, knowing he was right. He liked to think that he was the more mature, level-headed one of their friend group, above silly squabbles and petty revenge. Obviously he had overestimated himself.

"I hope you haven't done anything recently, I think she's been having a hard time at work," Jimin mused, and Namjoon felt the lead weight of guilt in his stomach grow heavier. At this rate it was going to fall out of his butt. "She was crying in the lobby yesterday."

Well fuck. He really was an asshole.

~~~~~

You had just arrived home and flopped facedown on your couch when your recharging was rudely interrupted by a knock at the door. With a groan, you forced yourself up and peered through your peephole. What the fuck?

You made sure your chain lock was fastened before you unlocked the latch and cracked the door open, peering at your visitor dubiously.

"What do you want?" you asked, eyeing a beaming Namjoon in suspicion. You had never seen him look so cheerful, and you had to remind yourself he was not a golden retriever, no matter how cute he looked with flour dusting his nose or how deep his dimples were.

"I made cookies," he said happily, and you realized he was holding a paper plate covered in crumpled tin foil. "To apologize for the way I've been acting towards you."

You felt your brows raise at his statement, and you cast your eyes behind him in mistrust. Where had this one-eighty come from? Was it just because his friend lived on your floor?

Namjoon's shoulders drooped slightly at your lack of response, and he began to shift in place awkwardly.

"Um, I just – so I know I've been a dick to you," he began, chewing his lip and looking adorably embarrassed. "This is gonna sound stupid but I thought you were stealing packages when I saw you holding all of them."

For a moment, all you could do was stare.

"You thought that I would steal a bunch of packages, in the building I live in, while other residents were around?" you asked incredulously, making Namjoon turn bright red and clear his throat.

"Well, when you put it that way…" he mumbled awkwardly. "I just… I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I hope we can start over."

He peered at you with such hopeful eyes that you felt your resolve crumble, and when you unhooked the chain from your door you could have sworn you saw a tail wagging.

"Okay," you replied, unable to keep yourself from smiling at the way he had perked up. Those dimples were serious weapons against your ability to hold a grudge. You held out your hand. "I'm [y/n], and I do not steal packages."

Namjoon laughed, a low, rich sound that you felt vibrate in your stomach, and took your hand in a firm, warm grip.

"I'm Namjoon, and I'm an idiot who jumps to crazy conclusions," he said with a grin that deepened the stupidly cute divots in his cheeks. Then he had to let go to save the wobbling plate of cookies from an untimely demise before holding it toward you with a look of chagrin.

You accepted his offering with a laugh, feeling like a warm bubble was floating in your chest. Then you bade your hot, not-asshole neighbor goodbye and set the plate on your kitchen table. You peeked under the foil, and decided maybe one cookie before dinner was acceptable. Or maybe two, if –

You took a bite of the soft, delicious looking pastry and immediately spat it out in disgust. What the fuck.

~~~~~

Namjoon Hyung! It worked!

Jin Wait, you actually made the cookies?

Namjoon Yes! They came out perfectly No fires and only a few cracked eggs on my floor!

Jin I'm impressed How'd they taste?

Namjoon Oh fuck

~~~~~

For the second time tonight, your evening was interrupted by unwelcome pounding at your door. You didn't even bother to check who it was this time.

"What do you have this time?" you snarled through the door, wondering if it was worth it to open it so you could strangle Namjoon's handsome neck. "Oreos with toothpaste filling?"

The knocking ceased, and a small, timid voice spoke up on the other side of the wood.

"Oh… you had one…"

"Unfortunately," you said shortly, crossing your arms in an attempt to keep his woebegone tone from softening your ire.

"I was hoping you hadn't yet," he wheezed through the door. "I forgot to taste them before I gave them to you."

He sounded sincere, and suddenly you realized he was speaking through pants, as if he was out of breath.

"Did you run all the way up here to warn me?" you asked in surprise, mollified enough to unlock your door and open it to reveal a rumpled looking Namjoon, bent over with his hands on his knees.

"Yeah – I didn't want to wait for the elevator," he replied, red-cheeked from exertion. "I'm sorry, I'm actually a disaster cook but I really thought I did a good job this time."

You felt your lips twitch into a smile at the imagine of tall, handsome Namjoon tasting a cookie and then immediately bolting up however many flights of stairs to stop you from eating them. What a clumsy idiot. A clumsy, adorable idiot.

"Do you want some water?" you asked, stepping aside to invite him in.

"That would be amazing," he gasped, giving you a grateful look as he walked inside. As he passed you, you noticed a few beads of sweat rolling down his temple. He really was even more attractive up close.

You directed him to sit on your couch as you grabbed a glass of water, and he picked up the book you had left on your coffee table.

"Oh, you read Murakami?" he asked as he looked at the cover. "I haven't read this one yet, is it any good?"

"It's my first, actually," you replied as you set the glass in front of him, sitting on the couch a respectable distance away. "I think he presents ideas of loneliness and intimacy in interesting ways. Does he always write the women as accessories to the male protagonists, though?"

"Haha… unfortunately, yes," Namjoon agreed, his dangerous dimples making another appearance as he smiled apologetically at you. "Do you read a lot?"

"I try, but not as much as I used to," you said with a sigh, letting your head fall back to rest on the back of your couch. "After work sometimes I'm too mentally exhausted to do anything but exist."

"But you still bring your floor's packages up?" Namjoon said in surprise, turning his wide chest towards you and giving you his full attention. You tried not to stare at the way his pecs strained against his plain white shirt, but between his body and his face there was nowhere safe for your gaze to land.

"It's not like it's that much extra effort," you said with a shrug. "Why wouldn't I when it's easy?"

"It wouldn't even cross most peoples' minds to do it," Namjoon replied, eyes locked on yours and making your cheeks feel warm. "You're a nice person, [y/n]."

"I-it's really not a big deal," you said feebly, your chest fluttering at the sincerity in his voice. You cast about your mind for a change in subject, because the way he was smiling at you was dangerous for your heart. "How did you fuck up those cookies so spectacularly, anyway?"

Your question worked to take that piercing gaze off of you, and Namjoon turned a pretty shade of pink as he looked down at his knees.

"I uh – I'm really not sure," he muttered in embarrassment, making you want to coo at how cute he was.

"Did you… follow a recipe?" you asked in consternation, watching his cheeks grow even redder.

"I… yeah, but…" he mumbled, eyes glancing around before settling on the glass of water. He grabbed it and took a large swig, and you did your best to ignore the way his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed.

"But?" you urged, amusement lacing your voice as this once-asshole stammered and squirmed uncomfortably on your sofa.

"Why wouldn't more vanilla extract make it taste better?" Namjoon whined, making you put your hand over your mouth to hide a snort.

"Oh my god, you didn't," you giggled, his chagrined pout doing as much to endear him to you as the previous half our combined. "It also tasted like you switched salt for sugar."

"Dammit," he groaned, flopping backwards so he was oddly contorted on the couch, feet still on the ground but his hips twisted so his back was laying on your cushions. His knees knocked against yours and he shot back up with an apologetic look, but all you could do was laugh harder.

"My friend who gave me the recipe was just impressed I didn't burn anything down," he sighed, though he seemed relieved that you looked more amused than irritated.

"You… you really don't cook, do you?" you chortled, scooting a little closer so you could nudge his shoulder with yours.

"I'm your stereotypical bachelor," he replied with a sigh, draping an arm behind you, across the back of the couch. You felt your heart flutter again at the smooth combination of the physical action with the way he confirmed he was single.

"So no pretty ladies – or men – to teach you?" you teased, leaning further into his body. He met your eyes with his warm gaze, making butterflies erupt in your stomach.

"Nope," he murmured, arm slipping off the sofa to rest lightly atop your shoulders, so precarious that it was clear he was half-expecting you to shrug him off.

"I guess that means I should invite you to stay for dinner," you said with a smile, enjoying the ego boost when his eyes brightened.

"No pretty men – or ladies – who would be upset by that?" he hedged, those dastardly dimples making their reappearance as he leaned closer, gaze flickering to your lips. His arm slipped lower to hug your waist, and you let him pull you closer.

"Only one who would be upset if you refused," you murmured with a smirk, tangling your fingers in his shirt as you tugged him toward you.

His lips were warm against yours, even softer than they looked, and you let out a pleased sigh as you melted into his firm chest. A low groan rumbled from his throat, sending warm tingles shooting from your chest through your limbs, and you sucked his plump lower lip between your teeth.

"I really just thought you were a hot asshole," you said with a laugh, pulling away despite the heat beginning to settle in your core.

"I mean, I was definitely an asshole," he mumbled, cheeks pink as his gaze stayed glued to your lips. Then his eyes widened. "Uh, h-hot?"

You snorted at his surprise, giving him a very obvious once over. Namjoon's face flamed even redder, which was absolutely adorable.

"Have you seen yourself?" you teased, letting your hands rest on his shoulders.

"Nah, too busy looking at you," he replied quietly, and it was your turn to be flustered. How had he turned the tables like that so quickly?

"Ha ha," you said awkwardly, cursing yourself for your inability to formulate a coherent response. He was supposed to be the idiot, not you. At your response, those dimples made their reappearance, and you stood up to prevent yourself from melting into a gooey puddle.

"Anyway, I'm gonna start dinner."

You said it in a rush, in the hopes that Namjoon didn't realize how giddy he was making you.

"Oh! Let me help!"

He began to get up from the couch, and you promptly shoved him back down.

"For the love of god, please don't," you teased with a laugh, pressing a kiss on his nose to ease the sting of your words. "Just sit there and look pretty. Moral support."

Namjoon smiled back at you, eyes warm and affectionate, and you wondered if you would even be able to focus properly while this mancake was lounging on your couch.

"As you wish."

~~~~~

[yuurei20]

Epel Facts Part 30: Epel and Ace (pt2)

Ace sacrifices Epel to Floyd during the Halloween vignette in order to save himself, but Epel indirectly gets his revenge shortly after when Ace insults Leona and Leona declares, “I don’t care who comes at you, or what happens to you. Ain’t my problem.”

Epel responds, “That’s what you get for setting me up. Serves you right!”

Ace begin Book 5 with wanting to protect Epel from Vil, deciding that he wants to “knock him out of the running for the contest” since Epel doesn’t want to participate anyway.

After seeing how harsh Vil can be, however, Ace’s stance changes to wanting to keep his head down so as not to attract Vil’s ire.

Ace and Epel are seen together during the first New Year’s event, but as Ace leaves Epel behind after he gets what he has come for they may have just coincidentally met in line rather than intentionally spent time together.

Ace seems hung up on Epel’s physical appearance, commenting that Vil forcing Epel to participate in the VDC is mean because, “just look at the guy,” saying that he has a “Pomefiore vibe” and that the over-the-top cuteness of the ghost that possesses Epel “fits perfectly with your look.”

He seems surprised when Epel reacts with, “THAT AIN’T A COMPLIMENT!”

Ace says that, “on the inside, Epel’s basically like Deuce,” saying that, “the way (Epel) powers through on sheer determination alone kinda reminds me of Deuce,” that Jack is the same way and that he himself just doesn’t “get” the athletic mindset.

Azul makes a similar observation about Epel during Book 6: Epel gets excited about a “pre-game huddle” before the group disbands to go after Idia and Azul says, “I’m not really into the whole jock thing, you know.”

Epel is Ace’s interviewer for his third birthday vignette, during which Ace asks Epel to teach him how to become a better flyer.

Epel is surprised that Ace would go to him for help and Ace explains that it would be easier to ask questions of him than a senpai. Epel agrees.

Ace invites Epel out to a hamburger shop on the island, surprised to hear that Epel didn’t have access to such a common fast food chain in his village and he would have to take a car into a neighboring town to eat there at all.

Ace compliments Epel during Phantom Bride, saying that he ticks all the classic prince boxes.

When Riddle starts praising Epel’s bravery, however, Ace interrupts with, “You and Epel wouldn’t even get a turn if I was there!," and he takes offense at a guardsman ghost mistaking him for a retainer to the more princely Epel, saying, “Now that’s funny. As if I’m anything like these other plebes.”

When Epel shows up on a white horse Ace reacts with, “Does any prince from this century do that!?” Ace tries to get support from Riddle and Rook, but they both approve of Epel’s idea of the horse.

Ace reflects, “Does that mean I was wrong and (Epel) was right?”

[mariacallous]

@stephantradez thought he was going to be fine. In his first TikTok about Hurricane Milton, he vowed to stay at his Tampa apartment. In a follow-up video, he said the media was “rage-baiting” everyone into thinking the storm “was going to be some catastrophic thing” but that it wouldn’t be that bad “as long as you can swim.” Late Wednesday night, he posted another video saying that he thought he’d survived but then lost his power. “This is so much worse than I expected,” he said while pointing the camera out the window of his home, showing the destruction from several floors up. Thursday morning, he posted a video saying he’d survived, adding “They have to ban hurricane’s at night, that was the most stressful thing I’ve ever been a part of.”

I attempted to reach the creator through TikTok and Instagram DM, but got no response. @stephantradez, though, was one of many people who kept posting on TikTok, and other social media platforms throughout the storm, despite, as the warning on one of the creator’s videos noted, “participating in this activity could result in you or others getting hurt.”

When Milton made landfall Wednesday night local time in Sarasota, it was a Category 3 hurricane. As it traversed Florida, it took the roof off of Tropicana Field, left millions without electricity, and killed several people. It also became the subject of TikToks with millions of views, and, according to a report in Rolling Stone turned the platform into “a hellscape of people staying in Hurricane Milton’s path for clout.”

While it’s true that some people likely stayed, and kept posting, because there was nowhere for them to go, others definitely seemed to be sticking around in an attempt to keep attention on their feeds. Rather than a hellscape, it became a demonstration of the best and worst of TikTok.

For every mom getting told to flee the storm’s path even as she explains that she can’t afford to, there’s someone saying they’re in an evacuation zone but sticking around while also offering up sports betting tips.

Then there’s Caroline Calloway. The influencer and author, who lives in Sarasota, drew the ire of the internet when she posted on X “where there’s a Callowill, there’s a Calloway” and said she wouldn’t be leaving her home, even as officials were stressing the importance of evacuating. (“You are going to die,” Tampa Mayor Jane Castor warned anyone who stayed put.) In an interview with New York Magazine’s Intelligencer, Calloway said she was staying to check on elderly neighbors, adding that her sense of humor is just “very dark.” On Thursday, she apparently sent a text to Intelligencer’s writer with a picture of herself and her cat with the message “I lived bitch.”

All of this wouldn’t feel so dystopian if the US��and the world—wasn’t hurtling toward a scenario when social media platforms, particularly TikTok, weren’t becoming a lot of people’s go-to news source. Even as Anderson Cooper braves the storm to give CNN viewers updates on Milton, a new report from Pew Research shows 52 percent of Americans who are on TikTok regularly get their news there. Not from media outlets, but from influencers and content creators.

While these accounts may be relying on reports from traditional outlets when they deliver news, their posts are “probably interspersed with a lot of very non-traditional content—like skits, funny dances or promotional content,” Aaron Smith, Pew’s managing director of data labs, told Axios. On-the-ground reporting from influencers, then, becomes mixed with entertainment. Watching it, or, admittedly, writing about it, feels like missing the point.

[firstelevens]

No. 20 from the eras tour prompt list for sambucky ? ?

did I hear someone ask for a Sweet Home Alabama Louisiana AU? no? well I wrote the start of one anyway, so here it is

20. all your dirtiest jokes

Pebbles go flying as Bucky pulls his rental up in front of Sam’s house. He kind of wishes there was the satisfying screech of tires on asphalt to emphasize his mood, but he slams the car door twice as hard to make up for it, and feels just a little bit better afterwards.

Back when they were kids, the Wilsons’ place had been close enough to the neighbors’ houses to wave at them from the porch. The house that Sam bought when he came home from his first tour is set back a lot further than that, wooded where it doesn’t back up onto the water, so Bucky has no compunctions about getting a little shouty.

“Sam Wilson, I know you’re in there!” he calls out, walking up to the front door. “You can dodge my calls as long as you want, but I’m not going anywhere until you open up.”

It’s not a big house, and there’s at least three open windows, so there’s no question that Bucky’s voice is carrying through loud and clear, but there’s no response. Bucky raps sharply on the doorframe.

“You can’t avoid me forever, Sam. I know this town just as well as you do, and I will follow you everywhere.”

It takes another five minutes, but finally, Bucky sees a figure approaching through the frosted glass pane on the front door. When it swings open, he’s met with a bare-chested Sam Wilson, breathing heavy from a workout as he pulls his earbuds out of his ears.

For all that he was yelling a second ago, Bucky suddenly can’t seem to make words come out of his mouth. To add insult to injury, Sam seems perfectly unaffected by the sight of him, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Bucky Barnes,” he drawls, and Bucky hates how comforting that voice still is after all this time. “What can I do for you?”

In a second, the ire comes flickering back to life. The nerve of Sam, to ask that question when he knows perfectly well the only thing that Bucky’s been asking him for for the past year.

He holds up the envelope that’s the whole reason he had to drag his ass back here, a thousand miles and twenty years removed from home.

“You could start by giving me a fucking divorce.”

Bucky spent so long working himself up over this, back in New York and on the plane here and on the almost-two-hour drive from New Orleans. He’d written and rewritten a hundred different speeches, rehearsed so many arguments with the Sam in his head that he was sure he’d know exactly what to say.

But now he was here, and he’d gone and delivered what should’ve been the last line of his scathing speech way too early, and what more was there to do except stand there on Sam’s porch and glare at him expectantly?

Sam, for his part, looks at Bucky consideringly for a moment, then peers around him to look out towards the yard. “You should come inside,” he says, and then steps away, leaving the door open.

The petty part of Bucky wants to refuse, wants to make a nuisance of himself right here on the porch so Sam can’t ignore him, but then he stops to take in his surroundings for longer than a second. The air is thick, the heat more sluggish than it was when his flight touched down. Beyond the trees, the sky has gotten darker. It’s been a while since Bucky lived on the bayou, but the signs of an oncoming storm haven’t changed.

He huffs and steps into Sam’s house, closing the door behind him just as thunder rumbles in the distance. It’s cooler inside, at least, and as Sam moves further into the house, Bucky figures he’s supposed to follow. He’s still not completely over his need to be a nuisance—or so he tells himself—so he goes slowly, glancing around at the house that Sam bought long after Bucky wasn’t a part of his life anymore.

Bucky knows it’s a completely different building, but part of him still expects that it’ll be the house that Sam grew up in, all warm wood and quiet chaos. Somewhere in his head, he thinks that if he just went up that staircase in front of him, he’d end up in Sam’s childhood bedroom, sixteen years old and laid out on the floor with the boombox between them, laughing at the dirty jokes that Sam heard in senior calc or trying to figure out just what the deal was between their grade’s latest on-again, off-again couple.

But this isn’t that house, Bucky reminds himself, and this isn’t back then. He’s not looking to go back in time; he just wants to go forwards, and he could if Sam would just cooperate.

“What happened, you get lost in that hallway?” asks Sam, when Bucky finally makes it to the kitchen. He doesn’t bother answering, but Sam’s back is to him, so there’s no way to tell whether he’s even noticed. “Hey, cream and no sugar, right?”

“What?”

Sam turns around with a mug of coffee in his hand, and Bucky’s pretty sure he can’t hide how he immediately perks up when the cup is set in front of him. For a second, he thinks about telling Sam that he does take sugar now, just to be contrarian, but then he remembers he’d actually have to drink it and throws that plan out the window.

“This is fine, thanks,” he eventually says, setting the envelope on the island and picking up the coffee. He hasn’t had caffeine since before his flight this morning, and he can feel the first sip right down to his toes. His eyes actually close for a second, and when he opens them, Sam is back on the other side of the counter, looking amused. There’s no mug in his hands.

“You’re not having any?” Bucky asks. “What’d you do, poison it?” 

Even if he did, Bucky’s not convinced he’d be able to put it down. It’s really good coffee.

“I will,” says Sam. “But my Mama would kill me if I entertained company like this, so I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home; the view’s nice from the family room if you missed the water.”

He breezes out before Bucky can argue, his footsteps thudding up the stairs between one sip of coffee and the next.

After a moment of looking around incredulously, waiting to see if maybe he’s being pranked, Bucky decides this is just Sam trying to annoy him into leaving, and he won’t let it work. He marches into the family room just as the rain starts in earnest, and just to spite Sam, he turns his back to the French doors and surveys the rest of the room. There’s art hanging up, intermingled with family photos. Lumpy ceramics that are definitely grade school art projects sit beside beautiful crystalline sculptures, tall and spiky and somehow familiar.

Along one of the walls is the credenza that Bucky recognizes from Sam’s parents’ house, the one that Mr. Wilson had hauled home from an estate sale and refinished just because Sam’s mother had lingered beside it for a few seconds longer than anything else. It’s a different color now than it was before, but Bucky would recognize it anywhere. Sitting on top of it are what Bucky guesses are the important photos: Sarah’s wedding, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson on the boat together, Sam with a toddler beside him and a baby in his arms. 

Furthest to the left is a picture of the dock behind the Wilson house. Two figures sit at the end of it, leaning into each other in the sunshine. One of them wears a t-shirt, gangly arms braced behind them. The other has a letterman jacket on, and that’s what tips Bucky off when he picks up the frame to look at it more closely: that’s him and Sam, sitting out where they did almost every day after school. Sam had gotten his varsity jacket for the baseball team when they were sophomores, and Bucky was pretty sure he’d worn it more often than Sam had. He’d always liked the way it felt on his shoulders, and when fall rolled around and the wind blew in a little cooler off the water, Sam always passed it over to him without needing to be asked.

They’d gotten a little more refined, once driver’s licenses were acquired and curfews were lengthened. Sam would drive the Wilsons’ old pickup truck a little ways out of town, to an empty plot of land flanked by trees on one side and water on the other, and they would sit and soak up the wind off the water until they could both breathe a little easier. Bucky had started thinking of it as their piece of the island, the safest place he could ever remember being.

When the future had barreled towards them with no signs of stopping, it was where Sam had driven them, nothing around but the birds in the trees when he quietly suggested his plan for getting out of Delacroix and taking Bucky with him. Nobody else had been around to see Bucky fling his arms around Sam’s neck and whisper a muffled yes into his shoulder, either: both of them a little bit scared of the future but determined to make it better for each other.

Maybe they can be reasonable about this. Maybe he and Sam can look at each other and see exactly what the other person needs, the way they did when they were younger. Maybe there don’t have to be questions and discussions and the kind of passive aggressive emails they’ve been exchanging through lawyers for the past year.

The rain is still coming down hard, lulling Bucky into a daze, so he can’t be blamed for the way he startles when Sam’s voice sounds from behind him. He scrambles to grab the picture frame before it falls out of his hands, setting it down and taking a beat before he turns around.

Sam is holding the envelope with the divorce papers in his hands, but Bucky has seen his ‘I give up’ face and that definitely isn’t it.

“The entire year that we’ve been going over this, I’ve asked you the same question, over and over, and you’ve never answered,” Sam says.

“Fuck,” says Bucky, scrubbing a hand down his face. “This? Again?”

“Yeah, again,” says Sam. “Because if I’m getting a divorce, I at least deserve to know why. I deserve to know what changed.”

“I have told you every single time you asked, Sam. Nothing changed. Nothing changed, because this was never a real marriage, and you know that. We got married so we could both get the fuck out of this town, and so I could stop being so terrified all the time, and we did that, and now we’re done.”

Sam crosses his arms, setting his jaw, and it occurs to Bucky that this is the first battle of a long war. “We did all that fifteen years ago, easy. That’s not what this is about. What changed, Buck?”

But Bucky can’t answer Sam any more now than he could the first time he asked that question a year ago. He can’t remind Sam of all the things he missed out on because he was tied to Bucky, he can’t bring up Riley or Sam’s parents or all the little ways that Bucky managed to steal things from him without even trying, because Sam would never see it. Even now, squaring off against each other with no possible middle ground, Sam would never see it, so Bucky can’t say it.

“Just sign the damn papers, Sam,” is what Bucky says instead.

It’s the first time he’s ever evaded the question in person. Somehow when he pictured Sam reading all those emails and messages he’d sent, Bucky had never imagined a flicker of disappointment on his face, gone as soon as it appeared.

Sam turns to set the envelope on an end table and picks up a wristwatch from beside it, doing up the strap before he turns around again. When he does, he’s got a determinedly cheerful smile on his face, the kind that Bucky has always known meant trouble.

“Gee, Buck, I wish I could, but as it happens, I’m running late for something,” he says, with an exaggerated look at his watch. “Maybe later?”

He’s already heading for the door, leaving Bucky to hurry after him. “What do you mean you’re late for something? Where the fuck are you going in a hurricane?”

Sam snorts. “You’ve been away too long. This is barely even a storm.”

An enormous crack of lightning punctuates his words, and Bucky raises his eyebrows.

“It’s a drizzle,” says Sam, pulling on a jacket. “And I have a date.”

Bucky is not entirely prepared for the feelings that those words stoke in his chest, but worse still is what Sam calls out before the door swings shut behind him.

“Guest bedroom’s upstairs, second door on the left. Don’t wait up.”

He’s not entirely sure how much time he loses, fuming in the foyer of Sam’s house, but eventually, that rage sharpens into something else entirely as he remembers what he yelled out standing on Sam’s porch half an hour ago.

He knows this town just as well as Sam does.

He knows this town just as well as Sam does, and unless fifty years of corporate development hit Delacroix in the last fifteen, there’s only one place to take a date if you’re an adult who doesn’t want to get accosted by the entire senior population of the island over the course of your evening.

Bucky pulls his keys from his pocket and and umbrella from Sam’s coat closet. If Sam means to drag this out, Bucky’s going to make sure he feels every single second, until he decides for himself that this marriage is more trouble than it’s worth.

(And if, before he leaves, he swaps his comfortable traveling clothes for a short sleeved button down that’s a size too small and not buttoned enough, well, nobody ever said Bucky was perfect.)

[offbeatcappuccino]

the impossible heir episodes 1-4 ramblings

Last week was an eventful one for Lee Jae Wook, Hong Su Zu, and Lee Jun-young's The Impossible Heir. Not only was last week the premiere of the series, but Dispatch, the popular Korean tabloid, released "earth-shattering" news that Lee Jae Wook was dating aespa's Karina. This garnered controversy and scrutiny towards the show and could have contributed to its ratings. However, as a self-professed Lee Jae Wook fan, I tuned in to watch the show last week regardless of the news. The Impossible Heir is arguable Lee Jae Wook's first "adult" show. Much of his prior work involved dramas that catered to the YA audience and for the first time we see him essaying a far more mature and morally dubious character as Han Tae Oh. While the show is marketed as having three leads, in my opinion, Tae Oh steals the show.

In the first episode, we are introduced to a teenage Han Tae Oh. The son of a murderer, for the sake of his and his mother's safety, he's forced by himself to a small town. Unlike his peers, he has no legal guardian and rents a rundown house in the village. Before the first day of school, he manages to provoke the ire of Kang In Ha, the illegitimate son of the Kang-Oh chaebol family. While the two boys are initially at odds with each other and even end up having a dramatic fight in the school lunchroom, the episode ends with an unlikely partnership- Tae Oh offering to use his intelligence to help In Ha achieve the impossible- the opportunity to be the next heir of Kang Oh Group over his two legitimate half brothers.

Over the next three episodes, we see Tae Oh and In Ha grow up as college students and later employees at Kang Oh. During their college years, we see a blossoming friendship between the two as In Ha becomes Tae Oh's only companion during their time at Hankuk University. Alongside their internal scheming to take over Kang Oh, we see glimpses that their friendship is no different from any other peers. They have birthday meals, eat lunch together in the cafeteria, and drink late night beers from the convenience. In Ha constantly chides Tae Oh for working too many part time jobs, but remains the dutiful wealthy friend that is willing to book a tutoring gig for Tae Oh or drop him off at work to help him financially stay afloat. The dynamics between both men take a sharp turn with the introduction of Na Hye-Won, who both male leads end up falling for though she ultimately ends up dating In Ha, mainly because she views In Ha as her key to overcoming poverty and acquiring wealth and prestige.

Just as episode two ends, the show takes another five year time leap and both men are working for Kang Oh group. Hye-Won also becomes what appears to be a staff member for a political party. The three remain as co-conspirators in their efforts to take over Kang Oh Group. Of the three, perhaps the person who gets closest to the chairman, Kang Jun Mo, is Tae Oh, who ascends to the role of his personal secretary. Tae Oh becomes Jun Mo's greatest asset and trusted confidante. Through his role, he starts to move the game pieces that would create a clear path of succession for In Ha.

The weakest aspect of the The Impossible Heir 's writing has to be Na Hye Won's character arc. Nothing about her frankly makes any sense. During the second episode, we are introduced to Hye Won as both In Ha's and Tae Oh's classmate and Tae Oh's neighbor. While its obvious that Tae Oh may have developed feelings for Hye Won due to their chance encounters, In Ha's feelings arise out of nowhere- to the point that it almost feels like he only wants Hye Won because he wants to take a person Tae Oh cherishes from him. However, if this was the case, the intensity of love that In Ha develops for Hye Won makes no sense. Furthermore, its puzzling to see the two boys so readily accept a stranger as a partner in developing and implementing a plan they have spent years working on together. Exacerbating this poor placement of the female lead is her poor portrayal by Hong Su Zu. Hong Su Zu's acting has been widely criticized by the Korean audience since the airing of the second episode. While I could see others' complaints last week, it did not initially bother me as much. However, the poor acting has become glaringly apparent in this week's episodes. If Hye Won is supposed to be who she's written to be- a morally grey character who is willing to do whatever it takes, including playing with someone's feelings, to escape her present circumstances, I would expect her to be desperate, shrewd, cunning, manipulative, and charismatic. However, the version that is presented to us is so blasé, stoic, and mediocre. Hong Su Zu's expressions and delivery are extremely limited- it's hard to swallow the thought that she's supposed to be a crucial main character.

Conversely, Tae-Oh's arc is the strongest point in the writing. As audience members, we are gripped by the elusive question- what does Tae-Oh get from this partnership? Why is he fiercely loyal to In Ha? and Does he truly want the best for his friend or is he planning on throwing him under the bus? Lee Jae Wook excels in playing the ambitious yet guarded Tae Oh, who becomes the "catalyst" of the story. Without Tae Oh, there's no plot. While Hye Won is a disappointing female lead, I was surprised by the chemistry between Tae-Oh and Choi Hee Jin's Kang Huiju, the younger half sister of Kang In Ha. Huiju develops an obsessive never-ending one-sided crush on Tae Oh when he becomes her short-lived mathematics tutor. At first glance, it's easy to brush her off as a minor character, but the amount of screen time she receives on the show suggests otherwise and Choi Hee Jin excels in playing the "petulant spoiled brat who surprisingly may be the only person in her family with a conscience".

If Tae Oh is a volcano patiently waiting to erupt at the right time,Huiju is a raging forest fire traveling at 100 mph. Her love and desire for Tae Oh is all consuming and destructive- something she wholeheartedly embraces but Tae-Oh fears. When Huiju's spontaneity comes to a head with Tae Oh's restraint, we see an electrifying chemistry between the two and we see another dimension of Tae Oh. While he can be avoidant and harsh, he is also gentle, kind, and protective. Its this internal push and pull that makes their relationship worth exploring.

One of the highlights of the latest episode was when Huiji confronts Tae Oh in a parking garage adamantly professing that she will force her parents to agree to their marriage and that she "will protect" Tae-Oh. I found her confession interesting on many levels because so far, all of Tae-Oh's relationships are exploitative. The other characters including his closest friend In Ha are only concerned about what Tae Oh can do for them and this is the first time we see someone offering to do something for him with no reciprocity. It's unclear if Hui Ju is a red herring or someone who will grow to be an integral part of Tae-Oh's life. As a viewer, I have to say that this relationship is one of the main draws to the show and is something that the writers utilize appropriately.

Overall, Impossible Heir is a Malthusian and Machiavellian drama that wholeheartedly embraces the capitalistic jungle. It may not be a show that fans of prior Lee Jae Wook's dramas will love, but it still deserves to be given a chance.

Rating: ⭐️ ⭐️.75/5

[luminalunii97]

Racism of the Islamic Republic regime

Something that has been neglected in topics of protests in Iran is racism. It is often left out of discussions by those of us in or outside of Iran who weren't the direct victims of these antihuman crimes. There's a huge difference between human rights violations in central Persian cities and border non-Persian ones. Persians and other ethnic groups who live in central areas are the targets of enough antihuman acts by this regime that shows the terrorist face of them, just imagine how everything is ×100 worse in non-central areas. Here are some examples:

Arabs in the south: it is estimated that more than 2 million Arabs live in iran. This ethnic minority is severely oppressed and violated. The regime has been capturing and executing Arabs and Arab activists with no clear reason other than being criminal dictators themselves, like how they've been violating and killing Kurds and Balochs in the past 4 decades. Many Arab families have been forcefully moved and pushed to corners, literally in a geographic sense. Racism exist in the Iranian populations like any other country and nation in the world. But it is promoted and supported by the regime. Jina revolution has brought this issue to attention and social activists are doing anti racist activism now, something that wasn't addressed enough before.

Kurds in the west: people of Kurd never accepted the authority of this regime and fought their forces with all their might. Many Kurds citizens and Kurd activists have been the victims of government murder or long imprisonments simply for being freedom fighters. Also, kurds are denied many legal and social rights in Iran, for example not getting hired by governmental organizations, unless they sell their souls to the regime. Because of this many highly educated Kurds can't find a job and they're forced into doing unrelated or illegal labor that often gets them killed. To understand the severity of this issue I recommend you read this article "koolbars new slaves" thoroughly.

Balochs in the east: people of Baloch are victims of the IR regime's racism towards our neighbors, Afghans and Pakistanis. The regime refuses to provide ID papers for Balochs with the excuse that they might be Afghan and not Iranian. The Balochistan province is kept extremely underdeveloped by the regime to the point that many people don't have drinking water there. Kurd and Arab cities are also kept underdeveloped even though most of those areas are rich with natural resources that could easily be used for development. Since many Baloch people are denied id papers they have no legal rights and the regime often gets away with whatever human rights violations, like executions, r*pe, and torture, they do there. Other than the issue of legal rights, the islamic republic had been very successful in isolating Balochistan and keeping the rest of the world including the rest of Iran of knowing who Balochs are and what is really going on in that region. Jina revolution has also brought the issues in Balochistan to attention.

Aside from these intentional neglects, the language and culture of these ethnicities are under attack by the regime.

Other ethnic groups in Iran face discrimination to different degrees by IR. One thing that plays a great role in the level of racism by the regime is religion. Sunni Muslims are very hated and suppressed by the Islamic Republic here. Therefore kurd cities with a majority of Sunni Muslim population face a worse fate than the majority of shia cities. The regime also spreads a lot of hate towards sunni Muslims by accusing them of fanaticism and animosity which used to work on the old shia religious population. Kurds, Balochs, Arab and Turkmens in Iran have the majority sunni Muslim population. They are also the most repressed. Apart from sunni Muslims, Jewish, Zoroastrian, Baha'i and christian believers face discrimination in different ways by the regime.

The only way a war against big criminal bullies like the Islamic Republic can be won is by coming together and unite as people regardless of race, religion, sexuality and gender. Something that seemed not possible 2 years ago but Jîna revolution showed us that it is very much a possibility. We still have a lot of work to do but people took the first step in unity and solidarity. I recommend you read the article below twice to see the dept of what's going on in Iran and why the Islamic Republic overthrow and this revolution is vital to many marginalized people:

[massivechildtidalwave]

things heard in my freshman year OF MARCHING BAND

I feel like a sassage 

Shame is powerful, if something isn’t listening to you shame them.

Today we are talking about who has the best shakes and if you say Zach after a bad rep your cut

“You can get anything at Buckys” “you can’t get Coc-“ 

“Everybody cLap your hands!” “Clap his cheeks”.  ….”sorry what.”

“I’m a fetus!”

“Come on everyone were doing foundations outside. If we all gather into the dry spot we can do it!”

“The IRS has hired 80 new agents, everyone let’s not pay our taxes! Make them do their jobs”

“Wanna see his toe pics” “shows a colorgaurd rifle.”

“Yeah! You bumped me during lunch! Your hair touched me! YEAH!”- homecoming court”

“God forgive me for the jokes I have made they weren’t good”

“The only thing I throw is throw down” “the only thing I throw is when I throw my life away” 

“You already have a hole so let’s just make it bigger” throws Someone on the ground after seeing a small hole in their uniform.

“ I hate it but my brother is getting married” 

“I don’t hate that he’s getting married I just hate that he isn’t going to be here”

“They installed a stereo in my head”

“Pick them up! if a tuba smashes a low g it’s going to die”

“No! We are not “All in this together” we are playing symbols!”

“The keys are made of wood, so they can break easily. That’s why we need to wrap them- “as easy as the resonators disconnect?”

“We don’t want to see Pinocchio in there!”

“If lying would cause your #### to get bigger like Pinocchio’s nose” 

“ I would lie all the time-“ “No honey I didn’t sleep with the neighbor”

“We’ll wait for the hallways to clear out… and for Jacob to stop kissing his girlfriend in the Hallway

“(Our school names) front ensemble featuring the winds!”

“Where’s Jeniah Jean, the real loud voice of the southeast “

“One day this movie will be studied, shrek was a cultural reset”

“I am waiting to yell at someone. If an adult does something At universal, I’m screaming at them. Hey sir there are teenagers! I don’t like how you are looking at those girls sir.”

“What you think you are, a dollar store Chris brown”

“ can we just forfeit” “everyone get sick at the same time”

“Band is a cult” 

“You were watching porn on the bus!”

“You were showing pornhub on your screen”

“Shes the person who would be like “is this chloroform?”

“ they wouldn’t know how to spell drum if it was in their birth certificate”

“She’s five four with shoes on, has four ear precings, is dating Trey’s brother.” “Wait what” 

“Could be a white superemist”

“ could you not I got hit by a golf club when I was a child.”

“ suck my right nut and make my left nut jealous.” 

“If your gay and you know it clap your hands!”

“One time it was raining so hard people got out their shampoo and conditioner and took showers in the rain. I was one of those people so..”

“He said ‘you live in the Arby’s dumpster’l

“We should start adding slay bells to pep tunes.”

“No you don’t want to give that to her, she had an eating disorder that makes her eat inanimate objects. She’d eat the lid” the girl-“and the plume and the box and this hat” “that’s a lot of violence”

“My (short study period nicknamed free the school mascot for freshman) class is super racist” “this class isn’t much better.”

“The donuts are there if you want to sample them at your own risk”

The door is closed “this calls for skipping”

“ I don’t see Seth. You know that may be because of he’s height… sorry that joke just wrote itself”

“If you were wearing a Nike shirt we would be asking when are you going to just do it right”

[void-botanist]

🖊 🖊 🖊 🖊 !!!!!!!!!

Hello Ren!!! You get several paragraphs about Fay and Lou's terrible divorce :D

They're like the inverse of Sorian and Avis, because it was less clear-cut what exactly made everything fall apart. There were first the general resentments of Fay being mostly a stay-at-home mom while Lou sunk way too much of his time in the bakery - simultaneously a moneymaker, a status symbol, and the target of Fay's ire. But this was a simmer of a conflict. Things didn't start escalating until Isabel came out as trans when she was 11. Neither Fay nor Lou had any trouble with this, at least until Lou made it all about him. He would never ask Isabel to be someone she wasn't, no, but now he was left high and dry with no son to inherit his bakery, to carry on the patrilineal tradition he'd singlehandedly revived. All that time he spent there was a waste without an heir, you know?

Fay took this as proof that he did care about the bakery more than his family, and they started to fight more and more. In his deepening unhappiness Lou accidentally found a new love interest (along the lines of "she happened to help me with bakery taxes" or something) and realized that oh, maybe he really didn't need to be in this miserable marriage anymore. I think it's actually more interesting if they were "good" and never banged prior to the divorce, because that was immaterial as soon as Lou told Fay that he'd found a new partner so maybe it was time they broke up. This was the moment when Fay's poorly attached hinges flew off and she began throwing everything of his in a pile at the bottom of the stairs, followed by screaming at him to leave so loudly that the neighbors could hear.

After that the divorce should have been quick but they argued about the bakery revenues and the house and custody of Rodney and Isabel (who were 10 and 13 when the whole debacle started and pretty clearly sided with Fay, because at least she'd always been there) and whether they could get a fault divorce (honestly I'm not sure but Fay wanted one) and finally, a year and a half later, the divorce was finalized. Lou let Fay offload the house onto him and she, Isabel, and Rodney left for Antarac. He got remarried to his new partner, Annette, who he's still married to, and they later adopted a kid, Hatt, who's the middle sibling age-wise between them, Rodney, and Isabel. I have yet to work out a lot of Hatt's background but between them and Annette, Lou has learned quite a lot about how not to be transphobic and also how not to be weird by adding a "Be My Heir" letter into the mix of yearly birthday cards to your son (just don't do that). Hatt is all too happy to be the heir to the bakery but had the advantage of being adopted as a teenager and therefore not raised with Expectations like Isabel and Rodney (I suspect they were like Annette's nibling or cousin to begin with). Annette ends up low-key being Isabel's hero because she had a double mastectomy for cancer reasons and therefore also has a flat chest.

I'm indisposed for doodles/picrews atm but I want to make some of them later and get their designs a little more nailed down.

🖊️ send me a pen and get some cool OC facts 🖊️

Nicea taglist: @kahvilahuhut @malloen8c @outpost51 @writernopal @athenswrites

[6em4k]

"Outside perspective" + witnessing a fight between two demons in the city//

[Outside Perspective]

She woke up from the first crash, only by the technicality of no longer being unconscious. She was fully awake after the second and third and fully upright by the fourth of them.

Her partner, turned away and comfortably cocooned in the blanket, certainly wasn't asleep either but she was much better at pretending to be.

She knew what caused the crashes, knew who caused the crashes, sounds of garbage being crushed, concrete shattered and windows smashed. There was only one pair that consistently woke them up at--

She turned on her phone, wincing from the bright light.

--Four-thirteen in the morning.

But, because of one instance of a lost cat rummaging through garbage - a little girl's lost pet that they had burdened themselves with protecting for much longer than she'd liked - she didn't have it in her heart to not check. Not that she was keen to house any more animals.

Thick carpet wove between her toes as she stood and walked to the window. As she parted the curtains, a flash of red flames, red hair, red staff, red bandana's - a wave of red over her eyes, and none of it from her own ire.

"It's the Monkie Kid again." She groaned to her beloved, only to be cut off by the shrill cackling of the demon he was with, easily besting whatever sound-muffling the walls of their apartment could provide. "And his demon friend." At least, she assumed they were friends. Why else would he still be allowed to destroy the city.

"At least they're having fun." Her dearest said, almost muffled by the sound of. "At least they have the energy for fun."

She sniffed sharply. "Don't do this now."

"We'd be sleeping better in Brickton." Her darling struck at the fresh cut of conversation. "Without any demons and closer to my family."

"Where I'd need a new job and apartments are way more expensive, so we'd end up living with your family." She was sharper than she'd intended - her dear one wasn't wrong to want to move, but the thought of such shared spaces made her itch. Better to have security, financial and professional, than to live uncertain of your independence.

The Monkie Kid's staff came out again, the golden tip piercing into the pacement, and into any chances of getting to work on time tomorrow.

"They busted the road again." She grumbled to herself more than her sweetheart, though clearly she was heard.

"Brickton has a great road system." As her love spoke, the spare tin and waste seemed to rattle, the Monkie Kid's face splitting with a wide, confident grin. "And my family loves you."

"HERE."

Oh, no. She thought, lifting the window's latch-lock. Absolutely not.

"COMES."

She threw the window open, her body coming halfway out the window and a deep breath heaving into her lungs.

"MONKIE--"

"IT'S FOUR IN THE MORNING!" She screamed.

The Monkie Kid stopped. His demon friend stopped too, looking at her with a stunned expression before rummaging through his coat for his phone.

"SOME OF US HAVE JOOOOBS!"

The Monkie Kid stammered, eyes darting from her to the demon, and further shrinking back as her neighbors bellowed similar complains from the windows around hers.

"S-SORRY!" He called, grinning sheepishly. "SORRY, WE - WE'LL KEEP IT DOWN!"

The demon spoke, unintelligible over the din of her fellow humans, but the Monkie Kid seemed keen to hear it, nodding and waving hands at him in assurance.

It didn't actually matter to her. She shut the window again, locking it and drawing the curtains tightly closed.

There was blissful quiet, outside of the chitters from outside. She tapped her forehead against the window, the embroidered fabric of the curtains pressing into her skin as she breathed, deeply, to calm the fire in her veins from what was almost a disaster.

"My family really does love you." Her sweet one said again, softer this time, sounding hurt by being ignored. "They'd be fine with us needing to move in."

She exhaled, again. Her girlfriend's tone poked poisonous guilt at her insides.

"And I'm sick of demons."

She couldn't blame her - she was too.

"There's demons in Brickton, too." She said. "They just disguise themselves more." She heard a shift from the bed. She turned to look, seeing her lover curling tighter into a ball.

The somber air cooled the air around them, and pulled her back to the bed. She kneed her way back onto the mattress, sliding onto her side, her arms around her dear one. and pulling her close. She nosed at the neck before her, the faint sniffles causing it to tremble.

"I'll keep looking at jobs for now, okay?" Without waiting for an answer, she pressed a kiss to her partner's neck, holding her tighter. She screwed her eyes shut, willing herself to at least try to rest before the day unfolded and she'd need to explain, again, that she'd be late for work.

[radio-charlie]

Markedly strange dream given to me. Need to get it out before falling asleep again. I am worried I will forget it. It feels significant

I am in a house. Two strange people have been assigned my guardians. There is something I can do to warp myself into a different universe. But doing this invites ire. They do not want me to leave. They are not benevolent presences

The dream switches to a world so idyllic it looks like a video game made for fans of animal crossing and harvest moon. It's a cozier house now. I am a kid with a number of siblings, we live in that house with our two parents. The dreams details are slipping away from me as I write. Please bear w me if messy

Something is very wrong. Nobody will tell me what. My siblings do not sound like people w real personalities. They and our guardians talk like ppl reading from scripts. The only time the script appears broken is when I ask questions like, can I just go out of the house and wander around? There's an area next to us that appears under construction, are we getting new neighbors? (the answer: it's going to be a new recreational area with things to do. this question evoked a worried and stunned look and a bit of a pause before the answer)

To the first question, the answer was yes, so I walked down the mountain our house was on to a very cute little port area tucked within a bay. There, I was subjected to a weird test where I had to put both my index fingers on a gadget and try to light a bulb with my thoughts. When I first touched it and almost by accident, a bright light came out. After that, earnest attempts produced only a faint light at best. One of the people surveying the test was someone I know who's very involved in US intelligence shit in foreign waters.

I was sent away and ended up in a party by the sea. It was already getting dark by then. After almost getting sexually assaulted at the party, something said: I will protect you. And I was all of a sudden back at the house. It was a new day.

Except now there was a new rule. And it was made out to always have been there. We, the children, were no longer allowed to wander freely. There seemed to be an 11pm curfew. I was talking to one of my guardians when something weird happened. Heard a man's voice, then the voice said no! Stop! Don't let him do this, it's messing up the dream

And then I'm shown a terrible script. It's a bunch of lines that are meant to be fed into my brain as I'm unconscious. Some are meant to elicit a conversation w my mind while I cannot control it. Others look like they are meant to implant bad things

I notice that I have shrunk in stature in the house, and am now the same cute little chibi size as my siblings. Our cartoony shoes are arranged in a messy row in the foyer. Desperate to escape the dream before something happens, i begin violently slashing at the guardian i'm talking to. The voice of the man who'd been speaking earlier falls silent, even though i'd been hoping for him to protest to indicate that i was doing something that would break the dream. I end up slashing at our other guardian too. They break up into glitched out pieces. I then wake up

Overall the dream was frightening. If I recall correctly, all throughout it something would tell me that there is no escape. "There is no escape so why not let us make it nice for you here? We can make it so nice. Don't mess it up"

I do not consent. My dreams, like the rest of my life, are my own

[powderblueblood]

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

CHAPTER ONE — THE POISE, INTEGRITY and LUCK OF A KENNEDY

MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: you go head-to-head with your new neighbor, eddie munson, and lose something precious to you in the process. content warnings: NSFW / MINORS DNI swearing, classic 80s classism, tommy hagan jumpscare, eddie munson jackin off word count: 3.4k

Dear reader, I wish I could tell you it ends well for you. 

I wish I could tell you that this is nothing but a bad dream, or a fugue state, or an extremely vivid hallucination brought on from that weed your friends buy from that burnout in the horrendous denim vest that is now your next door neighbor. 

I wish I could tell you that you’re not sitting on your designer suitcases in the weed-ridden lot of a trailer park, watching your mom (who is already it’s-five o’clock-somewhere drunk) charmlessly haggle about the rent. 

See, you used to have money, but now you don’t. 

You used to have a dad who wasn’t incarcerated, but now you don’t. 

You used to have integrity, but the IRS seized the last of that along with your childhood home in Loch Nora. 

I wish I could tell you that you weren’t totally fucked. But it seems that there���s no way this total shitheap of a situation could get worse–

“Need a little help with that?”

–except there is. There totally is.

You flex your hand, relieving it from it’s writing cramp. You’ve been hunched over your journal, perched on your ready-to-burst luggage for what seems like hours now– admittedly, you’re the kind of girl that’s used to valet service. Bellhops carrying your suitcases to your room when you used to join your dad on business trips. 

But valets never looked like this. Squinting at you from beneath his ratted-out waves, Eddie Munson gives you a once-over that makes your stomach lurch. You know him the same way everyone in Hawkins knows him– either barrelling through the hallways like a tweaked out autocrat whose only dominion is over his group of unwashed dorks or palming off baggies at parties. But there’s something about Munson that’s always rubbed you the wrong way. He’s so loud and defiant and achingly obvious, smug when he’s got no right to be. 

Especially now. 

“Excuse me?” you drawl, snapping closed the leatherbound journal. 

“Just wheeling out the welcome wagon. It’s not often we get new neighbors with so much…,” he pauses, gaze scanning over the boxes and bags and randomized ephemera being loaded out of the cheapest moving van Hawkins has to offer, “Shit.” 

“If I didn’t know any better, Munson, I’d say you were casing the joint.” In fact, you find yourself wondering where exactly your jewelry box is– y’know, the leftover shit your parents didn’t already pawn. The millieu of your grief made you forget about the high possibility of people in the trailer park stealing your stuff.

Munson grimaces. “Do I look like a thief to you?”

“You look like a drug dealer to me,” you snipe, smile all fake. “You might be looking to diversify your criminal skillset. How should I know?” 

From where you sit on your straining suitcase, you’re about eye-level with Eddie’s crotch. And call him a weirdo, call him whatever, he doesn’t mind the view. As much as he’d like to pretend he’s above the discordant buzz of Hawkins’ gossip scuttlebutt, news of your family’s downfall is hot shit. He can barely believe it’s really happening, and right in his front yard; Hawkins High’s stoniest, coldest fox and her equally foxy mom were packing their fur coats and shit into a double wide. Eddie couldn’t lie– he liked seeing people like you get knocked down a peg. So he’d come to gloat. A little. 

But you’re all snappy and full of venom– not like in school, where he’s almost positive you’ve never made eye contact with him.

He doesn’t mind that change in attitude either.

“C’mon. That luggage looks a little heavy for you, princess,” he says. “I don’t entirely trust you getting it inside the trailer without breaking a nail.” 

“I don’t need your help,” you say, shoving that tattered journal into your book bag. Eddie wonders what kind of bullshit you’re always writing in there– every time you’re not in the middle of some idiot milleu with your popular cohorts, you’re practicing your longhand. 

“You could use it, though,” he counters, and the condescension in his tone makes your cheeks flare up. You spring from your seat on the suitcase, making Munson take a shocked half-step back. His eyes blaze, rounding out as he takes you in at your full height. 

Still taller than you. He'll be okay. He thinks.

“I’m a goddamn cheerleader, you Neanderthal looking dipshit,” you spit, “I’ve got a core of steel.” 

You turn and dip, reaching for the thick leather handles of the case and discover–oof–that’s a little bit way heavier than you were expecting it to be. But spurned by sheer stubbornness and a need to get away from him as quickly as humanly possible, you brace yourself against the screaming muscles in your arms and wobble the baggage all the way to the trailer door. Your mom stands in your path, dress slipping off her shoulders, blearily looking toward the Munson kid as he retreats to his own trailer with a languid backwards tread. He can’t look away from this scene. 

“Mom. Mom, can I fucking–” you struggle through gritted teeth, “The bag, Mom. Get out of the way.” 

She moves out of your way at an aching half-speed as Munson’s eyes burn hot on your struggling frame–he’s loving this, he’s loving seeing you in the shit just like everyone’s loving seeing you in the shit–and you deposit your suitcase in your brand new matchbox-sized bedroom with a heaving gasp. Shit.

You cross the room in about three steps, heading to the window to close the blinds– shshk. Sshsk.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” 

The blinds begin to close, but stop dead not even halfway across the window. They’re stuck, leaving you without a particle of privacy. Which sucks, of course, because you were really banking on some scheduled crying time tonight. 

You had held it in for as long as you possibly could, all that hurt and frustration at the disaster your father had landed you in, promising yourself that you’d let it all out once you and your mom had a safe place. A place that wasn’t your estranged aunt’s basement couch, or a motel you could barely afford. A place that you could at least pretend was home. In your minds eye, you had envisioned something modest-if-shitty– the sunnier end of Cherry Lane, maybe. You hadn’t counted on a place that required a gas hookup. 

You tug on the beaded chain with a desperate force and no give– exasperated, you let your head slump against the filthy windowpane. The bedroom window stares directly into the window of the trailer opposite, where a warm yellow light flickers on and illuminates another bedroom. 

Peeling posters and a guitar on the wall. Of course. Of course you’ve got a bird’s eye view into Eddie Munson’s fetid cave. He spots you in the window and pouts a big ol’ pitiful pout– poor little rich girl. Missing your velvet blackout curtains? 

You can’t flip him the bird quick enough before he closes his fully functional blinds. 

–

You sleep like shit. Exhaustion couldn't even beat you into a slumber. You couldn’t be bothered to begin the unpacking process and instead fished out whatever closest resembled pyjamas from your luggage (an oversized t-shirt from a father-daughter trip to Columbia University), curling up on your bare mattress with your coat thrown over you, but the thing that was really keeping you awake? You couldn’t find your pen. 

Your prized possession pen, your fountain pen in the ruby-red casing. Your journaling pen. You refuse to write in your diary with an inferior instrument, alright, that’s just not how it’s done, but it’s nowhere to be found. It’s not rolling around the bottom of your book bag, though you’ve emptied the thing three times. It’s not anywhere.

You ask your mom if she’s spotted it anywhere, but she’s still in a Valium haze when you’re buzzing around, trying to get ready for school. 

That’s a whole other ordeal. Your acceptable school clothes are, again, buried in some suitcase that was hastily packed as agents waited for you to vacate the property. And by appropriate, you mean your carefully chosen pastel color palette– the very best of the very trendiest, the ra-ra skirts and the bomber jackets that sit so perfectly on your poised shoulders. The kind of clothes that make someone like Tina go, God, I wish we could trade dads. Just for the credit card. 

Now, all you’ve got to hand are the clothes that feel like your dirty little secret– thrift store suede and dark, rich knits, dresses of velvet and leather boots. The kind of things you collect just to collect, to dress up in when you know no one’s going to be looking at you and think someday. Someday you’ll be someplace where you don’t have to wear the exact right JCPenney piece of shit to fit in with a crowd. Because these are the kinds of clothes that feel right, but make people, important people, people like Carol go–

“Jesus, Lacy, dressed for a funeral much?” 

You hadn’t though the ensemble was too dark, but hey, in the harsh light of day. You bashfully shrug your jacket closer around you, faux fur collar tickling your ears. “I’m in mourning.” 

“Shit, I hate driving out here,” Tommy Hagan squawks from the driver’s seat, already agitated first thing in the morning, “I always feel like I’m gonna get carjacked.” 

Forget your shitty car; the only thing they’d be stripping for parts out here is you, Tommy, you want to quip, but you just fasten your seatbelt. Carol had managed to guilt him into giving you a ride this morning, an effort in pity and also because she wanted the gossip from the trailer park before anybody else. 

“Yeah, how was it, Lace? Did you like, deadbolt the doors and shit? Because you really gotta do that out here.”

“You should get a bat to leave by the door. Y’know, for intruders,” Tina blankly adds, staring into her compact mirror. 

“You should get a gun,” Hagan says, peeling out of the park with a quickness, “if that’s who you’re livin’ next to.”

“What? Who?”

“That Munson freak,” you sigh, resting your head against the windowpane again, “He like, basically threatened to rob me when I was trying to move in yesterday.”

A chorus of disgust rises up in the car that makes you feel good– warm, surrounded, accepted. Even though it blatantly wasn’t true, you’d do just about anything to win your friends’ approval these days. You noticed a certain waver in their stares when you revealed where you’d be moving to, after your dad was sentenced and everything.

A lot of the time, you didn’t feel like they wanted to be there for you, more that they wanted to be the first to hear the dirt on Hawkins’ most scandalous family. 

Usually you’re the one on the receiving end of their deep, dark secrets. 

It’s like they feel like they finally have something on you. 

Or, no! That’s crazy, you’re just being paranoid. These are your friends. As much as high schoolers can be friends. 

“I’ve got just the thing to take your mind off it, Lacy,” Tina says, pinching your arm, “Kegger at Harrington’s on Friday. He even asked about you–”

“--he said he could give you a discount at Family Video if you need it–” Hagan sniggers, earning a smack in the ear from Tina. 

“--shut up! So, you’re not a total social pariah yet, okay?”

You blink. You know Tina means well, but sometimes she is so fucking tactless. “Um. Didn’t think I was one, Tins, but thanks for the reassurance. I guess.”

–

He’s not a thief. He swears to God, or whatever the cooler alternative of God is, he’s not. 

But he’d be lying if he didn’t consider keeping the stupid red pen just to see if you’d miss it. It’s engraved, he noticed, while rolling it between his fingers as he lay in bed last night. And Eddie Munson is a man not unfamiliar with the value of a decent writing utensil. Those D&D campaigns don’t write themselves. You want something that’s going to be in it for the scribbling long haul and this thing’s not bad. Etched in teeny tiny letters on the pen cap are your initials– the letters of a name no one calls you anymore. 

Which is the part that makes it stupid, obviously. What is it with rich people and putting their monogram all over everything?

God, she’s obsessed with this fuckin’ thing, Eddie thinks. Wonder how much it’s worth. A lot, to you, obviously. You’re always etching with it in English, using it to push a lock of hair behind your ear in the library. Tapping it against your lips when you’re standing at your open locker, the tip settling right into your Cupid’s bow, the red casing bouncing off the plush pink of— woah. Pause. 

Eddie had to take a beat. 

He’d been tapping the pen against his lips too. Thinking about you. Thinking about your lips. That nasty little pout you gave him outside your trailer, the snarl it curled into when he goaded you on. 

Fuck, was that kinda… were you kinda…

It’s enough for him to jam the pen into his mouth and palm himself over his boxers, just to make sure. And— yep. He’d hummed, a kind of well whaddaya know! and slipped his hand under the worn elastic waistband. He even gave himself a couple of tugs, just to make sure. 

And the thing that made him really sure was the Technicolor vision he had of confronting you in the library’s restricted section.

Yanking that pen away from your mouth and grabbing a fistful of your hair.

Clamping his mouth onto yours and sinking his tongue so deep inside he could taste the cherry Tab lingering on your uvula.

Guiding your hand, your writing hand, past the undone clink of his belt and waistband of his jeans so you could stroke him to the head. 

Ink stains mixing with precum. 

Moaning into your mouth. 

Giving you something to write to dear diary about. 

So now, back in the harsh light of day, this stupid rich bitch pen is burning a hole in his pocket. 

Almost like payback, as if you’d embarrassed him by making him hard in the privacy of his own trailer, he approaches you in the most audacious setting imaginable— the cafeteria. 

You sit there, among your usual gaggle of Gap zombies, but you look— different. You’re dressed different. Cool jacket, Eddie involuntarily thinks before mentally slapping himself. Shut up! We’re here to humiliate her, remember?

“Lacy,” he says, but he draws it out all over his tongue so it sounds like laayyyy-ceeee, and you are visibly disgusted by this. He looms over the table, barely containing the twisted grin on his face. He's playing the part of fake bashful here, you see. “You, uh, dropped this outside my place last night.” Your shoulders go tense. Eyes of your space cadet friends snapping back and forth, from Eddie to you to Eddie to you. 

Because it’s true. Technically, you did drop it and technically, it was outside his place but the implication is what's killing you. 

Eddie can barely outstretch his hand before you snap the pen from him, icy fingers a shock to his skin. This sick thrill gathers like a twister in his stomach as you freeze in place, staring him down with a laser pointed glare. Fuck. Off. And. Die, it says. 

But he doesn’t! “Oh gosh, no need to thank me, Lace! Really, it was no trouble at all— what are neighbors for!”

Mocking giggles start bursting from the popular kid peanut gallery. But the flavor is… off.

Eddie scans the little in-crowd that are scoffing at your expense— which, okay, is totally what he came over here to do but… these are meant to be your buddies, right? Shouldn’t Hagan be threatening to beat Eddie’s ass right about now?

But instead they’re just… letting you stew. No one’s telling Eddie to back off, no one’s calling him their second favorite F slur (freak, naturally). 

Nicole Summers is laughing into her sleeve. That’s rich. Underclassman Carver is almost looking at him like, Yeah man, you got her good!

Which does not feel good. Feels kind of shitty, actually. 

Too easy of a win.

You didn’t even get a chance to fight back. You couldn’t. 

Fuck. 

Eddie turns heel and heads back to his table, a gaggle of befuddled Hellfire heads eager to know what the hell was that, man?! But even he can’t quite put his finger on it.

He feels… bad for you. 

—

“Anybody got bleach?” 

It’s the first thing you manage to choke out after a chorus of ooh, Lacy, what a good neighbor! and Hope that’s all you dropped outside his trailer, girl! All through lunch period, you’re the fucking laughing stock squared thanks to that long haired douchebag. 

“Bleach ain’t gonna cut it,” Carol smirks as you both exit the girls room and head toward your respective lockers, “That thing is totally contaminated with freak cooties. Better toss it— unless you don’t mind.”

See, that’s the thing. You do mind, because it’s your stupid goddamn special idiot sentimental pen and now he’s gone and— and— freaked it up somehow. Exploiting the fact you’ve had to make a major lifestyle downgrade because it makes him feel better. It makes you feel even more exposed than you’ve been getting used to feeling lately. 

Before you can get into it any more, Carol is clotheslined by Tommy to go, I don’t know, finger each other behind the basketball bleachers or whatever it is they do instead of going to study hall. You’ve lost track. 

You push past the gathering rush in the hallway to access your locker. Just as you slam the door closed, it appears again, like an insistent apparition. 

“What, Munson, are you here to tell me you put a bomb in my book bag? Because, if so, great. At least that’ll kill me.” 

Munson stands there, leaning against some poor bastard freshman’s locker, brow all tight. 

“Was I kind of a dick earlier?” 

You stare at him, incredulous. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“I was. Shit, I knew it!”

“Why the fuck are you talking to me.”

“I didn’t mean it to come off like that— well, okay, I kinda did, but that was pretty cold. I mean, your dirty laundry’s already all over Hawkins, I probably shouldn’t have been like, waving your panties around—“

“Munson.” You gesture toward him, as if you’re going to clutch him by the forearms to shut him up, but halt at the last second. Fuck, you can’t stand him, you can’t stand the way he’s standing there with this earnest look in his eyes, on some hair metal Ferris Beuller protagonist of reality bullshit.

Your eyes flare white hot, jaw flexing.

“Listen to me. We may live in a regrettably closer orbit now, but that does not require us to acknowledge each other as human beings. In fact, if you try and pull some shit like that again— in fact, if you even so much as deign to look in my direction again, I will slash the tires on that fucking decommissioned World War II ambulance you call a van. You do not exist to me, and I better not exist to you. I am not your neighbor, I am a figment of your fucking rotted pothead imagination at best. Leave me the fuck alone or I will eat you. Capiche?”

You know for a fact that these are the highest volume of words you’ve ever spoken (or will ever speak) directly to Munson, and he knows it too. You don’t let loose like this— you don’t even talk to anyone outside your friend group unless extracurriculars or group projects call for it. Not because you’re shy, but because you’re discerning. 

Munson has managed to disarm you of all that with one stupid little pen. 

He’s staring at you with a deviously shiny-eyed gaze, one that makes you feel like you need to button the modesty button of a blouse you’re not even wearing. 

“M’kay, well, let me know if you need a ride after school!” he chirps and shrugs and takes off down the hallway to some class he’s certainly failing. 

And you’ve just earned the first big fat F of your life, by letting Eddie Munson get under your skin.

author's notes: hi! if you've read this far, i owe you my eternal thanks. been a hot sec since i wrote fic so i appreciate it. - thee perennial reference to lacy's nickname— best imagined sung to yourself in your bedroom mirror and having a classic 18 year old existential crisis, lol! - the journal and fountain pen motif is a not entirely subtle reference to veronica sawyer from heathers. please expect this trend to continue - as far as timelines go re: steve's working life and tommy and carol's high school careers, bear with me. all will be discussed or at least briefly mentioned but will there be inconsistencies? of course there will, babe. i'm here to fuck around, i'm not here for continuity - horndog eddie munson you WILL live forever! - please reblog, like & comment to show support! i've got some killer chapters planned for this fic and i live to entertain u

[v-anrouge]

Okay, but picture twisted doggie land and the owners of each dorm are the villians! So

queen of hearts has her pups trained and pampered, a lot like how the queen of England was with her digs. They were spoiled, and kinda bratty. They behave for her, most of the time, and don’t like most other people. Riddle is her clingy baby, Trey and Cater are the two who are nice to kids, and Ace and Deuce are fighting in the background. They’re the ones who dig up the rose garden.

Scar lets his boys do what they want, all the time! They are reckless, and not behaved. Ruggie steals food, Leona snarls to scare kids, Jack behaves but that’s cause he just wants to be friends. Scar has them as guard dogs, the hyenas are the main carers for them.

Ursula also babies her boys, but the twins hate her pampering. They wanna run around! Azul sits there and preens, he’s Ursula’s doll, dress him up, he can pose, sit pretty, just praise him! Don’t worry about the twins murdering that one neighbor, just look at pretty Azul!

Jafar has his boys well behaved, silent, poised, they sit on either side of him, Jamil has perfected the deadpan, staring into your soul look, Kalim is vibrating in joy, wants to be friends. Kalim helps soften Jafar, he sighs exasperatedly as Kalim comes in covered in glitter somehow.

Queen has her beautiful boys, Vil and Rook are her two pride and joys, sitting perfectly, they know how to pose, how to walk gracefully, how to just be super elegant. Epel is her new puppy, who is still very much puppy. What’s worst is Epel sometimes drags Rook into running around and making a mess. Vil stares on in disgust. Queen has her hunter clean Rook and Epel.

Hades has his two boys, and is so tired. Idia looks the scariest, but is always cowering and hiding behind him, and Ortho looks adorable but is willing to fight to the death. He got the worst of both worlds! He still loves his doggies though! Hades entire camera roll is of his boys. He shows them off to Zeus.

Malifacent has the best behaved out of them all, all sit poised and ready, they all March beautifully behind her, only problem is Silver falls asleep while sitting and she needs to wake him up sometimes, Sebek barks so loudly metal poles ring, and Lilia likes causing problems when left alone. Malleus is her Velcro dog, if he was smaller he would love to be her little lap dog. Is jealous Lilia gets to be.

OK BUT GIS IS GENUINELY SUCH A GOOD CONCEPTT IM CRYING QUEEN OD HEARTS GETTING ANGRY UNGIL SHE SEES IR WAS DEUCE AND ACE RHAT DIG UP ANS AHE JUST GOES SIGHS...I GUESS U TWO JUST COULDN'T HELP IT...ITS OKAY...ILL LET IT OASS AHJSJDJ

scar would db the type to say they don't bite knowing damn well they'll bite anything that gets close to them 😭

URSUAL SPOILING HER DOGS ROTTEN AHSHSHA she thinks they're such angels she never believes when anyone says they bit a kid or something like that to her they're just perfect

love jafar w a beautiful serious elegant dog and then kalim comes in barking wagging his tail and covered in mud goes to lick him truly the dogs ever

QUEEN HER THE ICON they'd be so pampered... they smell delicious their fur is so soft and shine so beautifully her dogs are the envy of any dogs, especially because they're not only beautiful but super healthy and she clearly loves them a lot, she'd always scold epel but never ever manages to really be harsh because he's just so cute and she knows he's just doing that because he's still a puppy...she can't resist the little blue eyes

HADES AJSJJWHSHF IM GIGGLING SO KUCH he tries to walk Idia and idia just refuses to walk and gets scared of everything meanwhile ortho who looks easy to walk runs SO FAST hades constantly falls and injures himself, but yeah 100% proud dog dad

MALEFICENT WOULD BE AN AMAZING DOG MOM SERIOUSLY she'd pamper them treat them so well spoil them so much and it's always the mosy intimidating dogs that just melt in her lap<3

THIS IS SO SILLY

[tagsecretsanta]

From @tikatu

From and by @tikatu for @thundergirl007

Argh, it won’t let me tag. Someone please let @tikatu know this fic is here?

Title: Gifts

Notes: Pre-TAG iR, the setting is from my story, No Man Is An Island

Characters: John Tracy, Gordon Tracy, Virgil Tracy, Brains (referred to)

Rating: PG; No warnings needed.

Notes: There's more to the story but it stops at an okay place for now. Happy Holidays, y'all!

...

John glanced out the bay window of his apartment, taking in the Christmas lights framing so many windows up and down the street. The people directly across from him had a tree visible, and had lined the inside of their windows with bright colored lights. There had been snow a few days ago and the forecasters said they’d have more for Christmas. Even now, a few flakes drifted on a light, cold breeze.

Truth to tell, it made him homesick and a bit lonely.

It was two days before Christmas. He was on track to defend his dissertation after the New Year and stayed in Boston, hoping to prepare for the event over the holiday. Even if he changed his mind and got a last-minute flight out of Logan, his family wouldn’t be there to greet him. Alan was down with the flu and both Dad and Grandma had already told him to stay put.

He glanced over at the huge boxes they’d sent, full of gifts, marked, “Don’t open until Christmas”. There was also one from Virgil, sent from Denver, but nothing from Scott or Gordon. 

A peril of being deployed, I guess, he thought. I don’t even have a proper tree to put these under. 

He wasn’t the only one whose apartment wasn’t decorated. His downstairs neighbor, an engineering student who said to call him “Brains”, didn’t celebrate Christmas at all. They’d planned to share a meal on Christmas Day; Brains made a wonderful curry while John was to bring bread, wine, and dessert.

The entrance buzzer sounded, startling John from his reverie. 

I’m not expecting anyone. Frowning, John went to answer the intercom.

“Yes?”

A muffled voice said, “Special delivery for John Tracy.”

“Just leave it on the steps. I’ll come down and get it in a bit.”

“You have to sign for it.”

John sighed. “All right. I’m coming.” 

He locked up his apartment and took the stairs instead of the elevator. “I thought the family sent me everything already,” he muttered as he entered the lobby. 

Whoever it was outside, they weren’t wearing the uniform of the major freight carriers. They carried what looked like a round duffel in their arms. That’s a strange present.

He unlatched the door. The cold rushed in, accompanied by the expected snow flurries  the meteorologists had forecast. 

“I’m John Tracy.”

The delivery man turned around and John’s eyes widened.

“Gordon!”

“Surprise!” Gordon’s grin lit up. He looked beyond his brother. “Can I come in? Kinda cold out here.”

“Oh, sure! Sure!” John opened the door wide, letting his brother inside. Gordon stomped his boots on the mat, relieving them of snow. “What are you doing here?”

“Surprising you for Christmas, that’s what!” Gordon slung his duffel over one shoulder as they began to climb the stairs. “Dad said you weren’t going home for Christmas. I knew my patrol would be stationed in Boston for the holiday so I told everyone to send their gifts here to you and not to tell you I was coming. I have a 48-hour pass, then back to WASP I go.”

“Well, this is a surprise!” John grinned back at his brother. “Now I’m glad I stayed. I mean, it sucks that Alan’s sick and all…” They arrived at John’s door and he unlocked it, letting Gordon in first.

“Uh, John? Alan being sick?” Gordon dropped his duffel to the floor, his face scrunching up in a guilty expression. “Thaaat might not have been true. I asked Dad to make sure you stayed in Boston. Otherwise, I’d be screwed.” 

John took his snow-showered coat, shaking his head. “I can’t believe Dad lied to me. He and I will have words on the family vid call.”

“Yeah, well, it worked. You can blame me for it…” Gordon’s eyebrows went up as a thought struck him. “Unless the Sprout is sick for real. Then it really will suck but everyone’s absolved of lying.” He held out his arms. “C’mere, you.” 

Smiling, John stepped into his brother’s embrace. The hug was brief but heartfelt.

“I see you’ve really decorated for the holiday.” 

“Yeah, well.” John rubbed the back of his neck. “I figured it was only me here, so why go through the trouble?”

“Well, it’s a good thing I thought you might think that way.” He hefted his duffel again. “Let me get this stashed and I’ll bring out something to brighten this place up!”

John directed Gordon to his bedroom. “I’ll take the spare room.”

Gordon took himself off and came back a little later, dressed in an ugly Christmas sweater, jeans, and sneakers. He brought boxes of colored fairy lights with him.

 “Now, where’s the box from Dad?”

“Which one? They sent three.” John indicated the pile with a sweep of his hand.

Gordon’s eyes widened. “The biggest one, I guess.” 

“You mean the one that says, ‘Don’t open until Christmas�� on it?” John folded his arms over his chest. “It’s not Christmas yet, y’know.”

Gordon took out a penknife and began to carefully cut the box open. “Yes, it is, now that I’m here.” He stopped as his stomach growled. “Have you had dinner yet? I’m hungry.”

“I haven’t, not yet.” John glanced back at his kitchen. “I’ve got some frozen dinners…”

“Ugh, no. I could go for a pizza. Doesn’t Boston have some awesome pizzerias?” Gordon had started removing wrapped gifts from the box, setting them on the floor, occasionally shaking one with his name on it.

“It does, I guess.” 

Gordon gave him a pointed look. “Well? Go order some! Ham, pineapple, and olives for me.”

John shook his head and went off to order.

By the time the pizza arrived, Gordon had found an unwrapped box their dad had tucked inside. “Yes! He found one!” 

“Found one what?” John asked as he set the pizza boxes on the kitchen table.

Gordon carefully opened the box, drawing forth a well-protected shape. “A ceramic Christmas tree.”

John, who had dished up his pizza, came to view the treasure. “I vaguely remember that Mom had one of these. It was passed down from her grandmother, wasn’t it?”

“That’s what I was told when I broke it.” Gordon sat on sofa, the tree beside him, as opened the accompanying bag of lights and began putting them into their slots.

John closed his eyes, bringing up the memory. “Oh, God. I remember now. You were kicking around your new soccer ball in the house and knocked over the table it was on.” He opened his eyes and grinned. “You were what? Seven, eight?”

“Eight. I was eight.” Gordon looked up at him with a pained expression. “Thanks for that memory, bro.”

“Yeah.” John took a bite of pizza. When he’d finished with it, he continued. “As I recall, Dad gave you a choice: soccer or swimming. You chose swimming.”

“Yeah, well, I sucked at soccer.” Holding up the tree, Gordon said, “All done!” He glanced around the sparsely furnished living room. “Where do you want it?”

John took the tree from his brother. “Huh. It’s rechargeable and has a timer. I doubt Great-Grandma’s had that.” He looked around the room himself, as if he’d forgotten what it looked like. “I guess the bay window is where it’d look best. There’s an outlet there for the charger. And I think I have just the thing to put it on.” He handed the tree back to his brother. “Be right back.”

When he came back with a card table, he found Gordon in the kitchen, scarfing down pizza, and drinking the wine John had bought for his meal with Brains. “I had plans for that, Gords! Besides, you’re not old enough to drink.”

“Plans? You have plans?” Gordon said around a half-chewed mouthful of pizza. He downed a sip or two of wine. “Gonna have a party up here or something? And who’s gonna turn me in?”

John rolled his eyes. “I was going to bring it down and share a Christmas meal with my second-floor neighbor. He makes a great curry.”

“Ah, I see. But curry? That’s it? That’s all?” Gordon shook his head. He took another sip of wine. “No huge meal, no groaning sideboards? No plum pudding?”

“Gords, I live alone. Why the hell would I make a big Christmas dinner when I have no one to share it with?” John picked up another slice of pizza. “Brains was nice enough to invite me…”

“’Brains’? Your neighbor’s name is Brains?” 

John closed his eyes tightly, his lips thinning as he reined in his frustration with his brother. He took a deep breath before he opened them again. “No,” he said, his tone clipped and sharp, “that’s not his name. It’s what he prefers to be called. His name is Hiram Hackenbacker. ”

Gordon blinked, hard. More than once. His eyes went from side to side and his mouth opened, lips shaped as if he was going to say, ‘Oh’. It only took a few seconds before he shook himself, a tiny shiver, really, and said, “Ohh-kay! I see why he’d want to be called ‘Brains’.” He took another slice of pizza. “So, where’s he from?”

“India, I think. Though where he got the moniker he has is anyone’s guess.” John sighed and poured himself a glass of wine, swirling it around in the glass before taking a sip. “So, if you think curry is inadequate, what do you have in mind?”

“Hmm,” Gordon finished chewing the crust from his fourth piece of pizza as he thought. “A turkey? Nah, too much work and would take too long to cook. Maybe a chicken?” He turned to his brother. “Any idea how long a chicken takes to bake?”

John shrugged. “I dunno. Frozen dinners, remember? And Grandma’s cooking.”

Gordon shuddered, his face screwed up in disgust. “Right.” He thought for a moment more, then snapped his fingers. “How about this? A rotisserie chicken, some already cooked mashed potatoes, some of that stuffing in a box, maybe even a jar of gravy!”

John’s eyebrows went up. “Yeah! Get some cranberry sauce, some of those little dinner rolls you heat up in the oven, a couple of frozen vegs… we can even order dessert! This is a great plan!”

“You can invite your friend up and he can bring his curry.” Gordon clapped his hands together. “We can get it all delivered!”

“We’re going to have to; I don’t have a car.”

At his brother’s questioning look, John explained. “It’s easier to take public transit than try to find a parking spot, especially now. If we have a lot of snow, the plows bury any cars left on the street. Went through one winter like that; promised myself I’d not do it again. So my car’s in storage.”

“I see.” His brother’s tone told him most definitely that he did not see. “So when should we order this?”

John looked up from the fridge, where he was stashing the leftover pizza, still in their boxes. “As soon as I finish this. We’ll probably have to have it delivered tomorrow; I don’t think the stores will be open on Christmas Day.”

Nodding, Gordon said, “Yeah, you’re right.” He pulled out his phone. “Let’s do this thing!”

“Let me. I’ve got an account set up and all.” 

As John fetched his phone from the charger in his office, Gordon finished his wine, and went out to the living room.

“What are you doing?” 

Gordon turned from the bay window. “Do you have any duct tape? I want to put these fairy lights up.” He motioned toward the apartment across the street. “Kinda like what they have only more… subtle.”  

Chuckling, John nodded. “I’ll get the duct tape, but please be careful with it. I don’t want to lose my security deposit because of tape residue on the walls.”

“I’ll be careful! Just tell me where it is and I’ll fetch it. You get that grocery order in.”

The brothers set to their tasks. John added wine to the list, replacing the bottle Gordon had opened. Gordon cut small strips of tape to minimize residue. By the time John had finished and placed the order, the fairy lights framed the window and the ceramic tree had been installed on the card table.

“Looks great, Gords! Really festive!”

“And subtle?”

John laughed. “Not from this side. From across the street, probably. Especially the tree.”

It did look festive. The tiny lights, in blue and red, green, yellow, and clear, twinkled along the three window frames. The sides and tops were edged, but the bottom string cut across all three, ending where the first string began. 

Pushed forward, the windowsill cut off roughly a third of the tree’s lights from the outside. Its loneliness on the bare table made John wish he had a tablecloth or one of the fancy doilies their mother used.

“When’s the order coming?” Gordon crouched and began sliding the wrapped gifts under the table.

“Three o’clock. They’re supposed to buzz me so I can open the door but they don’t always remember. I might wait for them in the lobby. Porch pirates, y’know.” John began to open the other boxes, pulling out more gifts. “In fact, I should wait; need to get the frozen stuff upstairs quickly.”

“Uh-huh.” Gordon shook another box addressed to him. “Man, the family went  overboard this year! I mean, what am I gonna do with all these gifts? I can’t exactly take them on the Thresher. Limited space. Very limited space.” 

“Anything you can’t take, I can hold for you here or I can ship it to Marineville, if you want. I’ll be here until at least June; my astronaut training doesn’t begin until then.”

Gordon shot John a grin. “Thanks, bro. I appreciate the offer.” 

John waved a hand, a dismissive motion. “De nada.” 

Rocking back on his heels, Gordon started opening the boxes Virgil had sent. “So,” he began, not looking up, “Astronaut training. I take it this is for Dad’s grand idea?”

“Yeah. I’m taking a commercial course, just to get the basics and see if I can hack actual spaceflight and a zero-G environment. Then Uncle Lee will take me up to Station Alpha for a bit. I’m sure Rescue Five will be very different; for one thing, it will have a gravity ring. Brains has shown me some of the schematics.”

“Sounds like your friend is a genius. I look forward to meeting him,” was Gordon’s  response. He suddenly dipped into the box and brought out a large envelope. “Hey! This says, ‘Open before Christmas’!” Handing it over to John, he added, “It’s addressed to both of us. You open it.”

John hesitated. “You sure you don’t…?” 

His brother waved the card at him. “C’mon, take it! I already opened one of your presents!”

John took the card. The weight surprised him; there was something more than a greeting card inside. He stuck a finger under the flap and opened it.

The card was beautiful. Hand-drawn, the snow-covered Rockies stood in black outline, rising into an intense, perfect blue sky. In the foreground, dark green pines framed the mountains, some branches bending under the weight of their white epaulets, while others had lost theirs, springing back up. The grays where the trees shaded the snow ranged from the faintest hint through a slate gray to near black, yet still gave the indication that this was snow beneath the trees. A white hare stood on hind legs between the trees, ears at attention. John spent several minutes drinking in his brother’s artwork before opening the card.

“If I know you two, there’s no Christmas music playing in John’s apartment,” he read. “The enclosed chip has a performance some friends and I did at one of Denver’s holiday markets. There are both a vid and just music. No holograms, sorry! I expect you to have the music playing in the background for our family call on the 25th! Love, and happy holidays, Virgil.”

He handed the card over to Gordon, who let out a low whistle at the art. 

“Gorgeous. Virgil’s skill has gotten better over the years.” Gordon read the inside, then handed it back. “You should frame that.”

John’s eyebrows rose as he considered the idea. He nodded. “I think I will. After the holidays.” Glancing back at the tree, he got up and placed the card on the table, upright and slightly open.

“Looks kinda sad just sitting there,” Gordon said, placing the final gift under the table.

“I have more.” John disappeared into his office and came back with a dozen cards. “I never know what to do with these.” He began setting the cards on the table as he had Virgil’s, keeping his brother’s artwork front and center. “There. A bit more festivity.”

“Cool!” Gordon stood from his crouch and stretched. He settled on the sofa, pulling his legs up and taking over its length. “Wanna watch Virgil’s program?”

John glanced at his watch. “Sure, if it’s not too late for you.”

“Pffft! I am on leave. I stay up late, I sleep in, even if it’s for one day.”

“Okay, then.” John turned on the vid, sliding the chip into the requisite slot. He backed up to the other end of the sofa. “Scoot over.” 

Gordon obligingly removed his feet, but once John was seated, he shifted them back—right into John’s lap.

“Really?” A bright red eyebrow rose, accompanied by a turquoise glare. “Move them or I’ll move them for you.”

A sly smile and a waggle of sandy blond eyebrows said, as clearly as words could, “Bring it.”

The other red eyebrow rose, and a slight smile graced John’s lips. Long fingers started unlacing one of Gordon’s sneakers. Moving quickly, he stripped his brother of shoe and sock.

“Nononono!” 

Gordon tried to pull his foot out of John’s firm grasp, without success. He pushed against his brother with the other shoe but not before John wiggled his fingers, using his fingertips against his brother’s bare sole.

“No! Not fair! No tickling!” Gordon thrashed about, laughing between words. “I give! I give!”

John stopped tickling. “Then don’t put your feet on my lap.”

“I won’t!” 

John let go of his ankle. Gordon drew his knees up, turning onto his side, leaving room for his brother. He reached out to grab his dirty sock as John flung it at him.

They settled down and John called out, “Play video.”

The stage was outdoors, surrounded by booths and vendors and people passing by. Spectators stopped to listen then moved on, replaced by others. Virgil’s friends were a close-harmony quartet and he was usually in the background, accompanying them as they sang carols, white mist rising from their breath in the frosty air. The audience clapped, gloved or mittened hands thumping in muted appreciation.

Four times during the performance, Virgil and his playing took the spotlight. His hands, wearing fingerless gloves, danced over the keys as he brought “Winter Wonderland” to life. Then “Deck The Halls” spurred the audience to sing along. After a brief intermission, (“Probably to warm up his hands,” Gordon said, his eyes closed.) 

His third piece was the gentle “Do You Hear What I Hear?” In his mind, John could hear his mother singing along as she played the song. 

Virgil’s final solo was one neither John nor a sleepy Gordon knew, but their brother was putting his heart into it every poignant note. 

The quartet sang two more carols after that, culminating with “We Wish You A Merry Christmas”. When they finished, and their audience showed their appreciation, the singers gestured to Virgil, clapping for him as he bowed. 

The vid stopped there. John turned to Gordon to ask his opinion, and found his brother asleep. Chuckling quietly, John got up to fetch a blanket. 

...

[lavenoon]

early morning blorbo thoughts here we go

have there been any instances where Dusk/Dawn/Robin have been 'grounded'? whether due to a near-miss with their identity on a mission, a need for HQ to fill in some vital paperwork, because someone in command said "hey this guy/these guys did 3 missions in 3 days, they're at risk of burnout", or some other reason - one or all of them are now off missions for a few days to a week.

how would Dusk/Dawn and Robin deal with being kept off missions for that long? do they even go into the agency, or does it end up with Sun, Moon and Y/N hanging out in the apartment until they get a call in? - @clxckwork-sun-n-moon

It's not quite common practice, at least in regards to overworking. The agency pays per gig - of course the paperwork gets considered, too, but how long an agent takes is not really their business. They only start caring when it gets really concerning, supervisors reaching out to higher ups to demand some executive power and keep agents off the field (and out of their offices, if need be).

What does sometimes happen, adjacently to this, is when agents overdo it on the action and neglect the paperwork - then they get grounded to their office until the backlog is taken care of. Boring, but not quite as maddening as being stuck at home!

If they get a near miss however? Almost get caught, or get injured on the job? Nope, that's when the agency develops some common sense (for selfish reasons), and keeps them home for a while as paid time off. The pay isn't good, and only trickling in as long as the absence is justified in the agency's eyes, but it's something to keep them afloat while they recover/ lay low.

If it's just to lay low there is some paperwork to take care of usually, but after that? Just stay home, and wait until you get the okay to come back in again. You get no timeline. Good luck, have fun.

Robin had that after the stabbing. They had to stay home for a good while, and even upon return were limited to paperwork only before getting only easy missions requiring barely any parkour.

For them, that was near unbearable. Sun definitely noticed his neighbor getting antsy, and it's about the most information he got on their job - something physical then, if they still can't work? Y/N is frustrated, their job is the one thing they feel proud of, and now they can't even do that because of their own mistake! It's maddening, and I can honestly see the outings with Sun picking up here as he takes pity on them, getting them out of the house and out of their own head. There's so much time in the day without work! And there's this new craft store, or market in town, and why don't they join him as he checks it out? And as much as they appreciate it, and even though it does help, the fact remains that they messed up and are now reaping the consequences, all while they can't even let Dusk know they're fine. (Agent River tells him they're grounded until they're recovered. The blasé way she relays the information assures him they are recovering)

In the end, they do go back to work, and by then they have a lot of restless energy to get out. Dusk "helpfully" comes by after his field missions to keep them from doing something stupid, and offers them his paperwork if they ever get bored <3 Directs their ire towards himself and distracts them, and it makes the rest of the wait a bit more bearable

Dawn may run into the issue of his reverse psychology "no one will suspect me if I look like the flashiest guy around" backfiring into almost being discovered. On the outside, he may seem fine, and takes the order to lay low in stride. Goes home, and gets busy in the workshop - but really, it's just a ruse. He's very proud of his job, too, and now has to deal with the sting of having messed up and being pulled from said job until someone else declares the risk as low enough again.

So he gets all that time to ruminate and at some point runs out of gadgets to fix or build, and then he just does so many craft projects that even Y/N has to take notice. They're a little concerned, but he promptly assures them his leave of absence at work is temporary, and he'll have enough for rent - not that that's what they're concerned about.

Sun needs to feel competent and useful. At this point, he thinks he's neither. It's not a good time for him in any way, though he doesn't show it/ refuses to acknowledge it. Moon can't help much - but then Y/N invites him out for their grocery runs, and asks him for advice on a couple repairs/ renovations they planned for the duplex. He's smart enough to realize it's a ploy - but they shrug and explain that sure, they want him to feel better, but also they have been up for like one hour and cannot be trusted to make a decision right now, so which brown for the new coat of paint on the porch?

He's easy. He gets into it, and it keeps his mind off things for the time he's with them and after, when he has that to think about. The first few hours of the day when they're asleep however just aren't fun until he can actually work again, and not just play helpful tenant doing the landlord's jobs (he offered, once he ran out of craft projects)

Dusk almost being discovered honestly handles it the best out of these three. It's not that he isn't proud of his job - but he doesn't make it his identity. He's miffed, and bored, but all in all shrugs it off as "Well, this is bound to happen at some point, it's gonna happen again, I wasn't fired, so it'll be fine."

That is, until he spends extended time alone in a house where the neighbor/ landlord doesn't even know him and frankly, this is not the time for introductions, he's really not feeling up to that right now. So he's bored, thinking of all the fun he's missing out on, and slowly there's some doubt cropping up, mostly regarding his rivalry with Robin. What if they think he's an idiot for the near miss? They wouldn't, right?

... Right?

And so when being confined to his home is driving him too crazy, he starts parkouring at night. Purely his hobby! He's not working! But he knows a certain someone's favorite leisure routes, too (at least, some of them), and Robin spots him easily, as bewildered as they are. Roof hangouts for them, then - Robin starts pressing him for the reason of his absence, as they only got the memo he's been grounded to ensure his identity is safe. They maybe laugh a little when he admits to the details, but then remind him that hey, they were grounded for much longer. He's got a lot of catching up to do to reach their level of house arrest!

Until he's allowed back for paperwork and then missions again, that becomes routine. Robin spends a little while every night with him, moving their hangouts to the roof of the agency, and he's reassured that even grounded he hasn't lost what's important, so really, all is well. Will be much more of a menace still once he's allowed back in the field, he's got a lot of shenanigans to catch up on!

(They all do semi well when just confined to paperwork - getting restless and bored, but at least it's work, and already something they're used to doing, so it's bearable. They're still gonna be happy once they return to missions though, it'll feel like finally stretching your legs at your destination after spending hours sitting cramped in a car <3)