Tumgik
#but please do not build a ship on his expense
inklore · 10 months
Note
For the blurb weekend:
Billionaire x employee/staff with Miguel O'Hara please! 💖
use me
— billionaire!miguel o'hara x secretary!reader
Tumblr media Tumblr media
word count: 1.4k
warnings: eighteen+ content, this is an au therefore canon does not live here therefore our boy ain't a sad spiderman just a sad billionaire with shitty morals, tension, masturbation, miguel's mean, also talks of pollution because hello it's realistic the earth is dying.
note: billionaire miguel is perfect because he's smart and gets shit done, is that shit usually done the right way? no but he looks hot doing it soo alls forgiven xoxo.
Tumblr media
“You know, if you ran an honest business, you’d have fewer aggravating investors.” The smile that molds itself around the glass pressed to your lips is more of a tease than a pleasantry. 
Pleasantries had packed up and shipped themselves far and wide from the two of you. 
Probably finding safe harbor on a less tremulous land than whatever your and Miguel’s professional relationship was. 
“That could be true,” he says with a deep, agitated sigh. The tip of his nail tapping an angry mark in the wood of his desk. “But then where would leeches like you work?” There’s barely a twitch of his lips when he cuts you with the words, his brows stagnant in that deadly, irritable look he always has. 
“Oh wow,” you cough at the sting of the expensive vodka rather than at the wound his words are meant to cause. Your heels sound louder against the polished floor in his office than any other room within the ten story building as you make your way away from the small bar—your boss's lack of personalized photos, or even something inspirational as a flower on the wall, amplifying your movements.
“The meeting must have gone horribly if you’re being extra cruel tonight.” You set yourself in one of the two chairs positioned in front of his desk, the un-offered liquor in your glass almost gone from your descent from the bar to the black cushion currently under your pencil skirt. 
He grunts, his eyes fleeting over your body for half a second before he turns and stares across the room where the floor to ceiling windows show the lights of the city and the moon's distortion of the yellow haze it’s not, naturally, supposed to have shadowing. 
The man made yellow of machines and gases that cover even the stars. That makes one forget they're even there until you’re far from the city, and it’s hounds who are only trying to gain some worth of money or self discovery from polluting it. 
The head of the hounds sitting right in front of you. 
The man who owns more companies than you could fill up an entire filing cabinet with. The man every business tycoon and money hungry scoundrel wants to latch onto only to get a taste of the beautiful brain that's beneath that great head of hair and intimidating scowl.
The richest man in the room. 
Always. 
And if Miguel is part of the reason that the moon is overcast and the stars disappearing, then so be it. He’s past the point of going about it the right way. Of turning his vision and man made billion dollar corporation around, he’s in too deep. Done too much. 
He’s not a man who sees a life lesson and ignores it for what it could be. He takes it for what it is and continues on his way. What’s done is done. What’s going to happen, will happen. 
He wasn’t the first person to start a security company that became more, did more, and blurred some of the lines between too much and too little. A set of rules laid out by himself for himself so everything goes right. Accordingly, to keep business booming. 
And he won’t be the last. 
Miguel is not a bad man.
He just does the things that most people are too afraid to do. To face. To look at the reality of people and their selfish needs and not shy away from the darkness that lies underneath it. The cause, the effect. 
Miguel can both stop them and make them happen. 
It’s why he’s the best. 
It’s why you chose to work for him. Even if the words currently coming out of his mouth say differently. 
“Maybe it’s a good thing that I don't run an honest business. Makes it easier to get rid of the staff.” 
The gasp you let out is dramatic and makes his jaw tick, “oh, no, please don’t fire me, Mr. O’hara. Whatever will I do? I have a family.” You perform. Give your best pout and hand over your heart to sell it. 
“No one has a family here.” 
Strike the meeting going horribly. Grim seems more on the money. 
And maybe if your work relationship had the boss and employee lines drawn in a permanent marker rather than an erasable one that keeps getting reapplied after nights like these, you’d ask him if he was alright. To talk about it. To give him unsolicited advice that might make the demons in the boardroom gnawing at his morality stop plaguing him. 
But that’s not what this was. 
Who both of you are.
He was your boss. You his secretary. 
And some nights, you were his only outlet for the aggressions of the day. Of being Miguel O’hara. 
So that’s why you don’t say another word. Just finish the rest of the contents of your glass in silence. Your eyes moving along the room, following his gaze out the window. The clink the glass makes from you setting it on the edge of his desk is not enough to have him look your way or stop the tightening and strain of his jaw muscles. 
But when you lean back in the chair, your fingertips dancing along the edge of your blouse as if there were a piece of lint there. As if you weren’t making a show of running them along your cleavage and across the peaks of your chest until they dipped down to your abdomen. Past your hips, until you get to the bottom of your skirt.
Your eyes finally looking up to see Miguel’s already on you. To see how hard his fist is tightening against his desk. 
A ghost of a smirk edging its way at the corner of your mouth as you pull up your skirt until it’s tight around your thighs. Your middle and index finger running along the outside lace of your underwear before adding the smallest of pressures against your clothed clit making you gasp. 
“Are you in the mood to watch tonight?” You ask. Making a show of spreading your legs further apart in the chair, a heel comes up to rest at the corner of his desk to give him the perfect view of you pulling your underwear to the side and running your fingers through your slit. “Or do you want to touch?” 
There’s not an answer right away. 
At least not in words. 
The glint in his eye that most associate with his angry outburst is the sign you know to be of his control slipping. The ache you know his wrist feels from how tight his fist is giving way to all the degrading thoughts he’s having in his head to try and hold back the beast that’s begging to be released—for a release. 
That you’re always so eager to give him.
The more your moans and sighs fill the room, the wetter you become from your fingers moving against your clit, teasing at your entrance: the more you see Miguel’s controlled demeanor slip. The more you feel that coil tightening in your lower belly. 
“Miguel,” you say his name in that breathy way that always makes him swallow harder. That has him burying his face in the crook of your neck, so you can’t see how much he fucking loves it when he’s pounding into you. “You deserve it. Let yourself have it.” The whimper that falls from your lips when you push two fingers inside of you makes your leg propped on his desk shake.
“Use me.” 
Is what apparently nails the coffin for him. 
What has him getting up from his chair and stomping over to you in three quick strides, looking like an animal whose prey has been dangling in front of them for hours and he’s finally had enough; all in danger of his wrath. 
The sting of his fingers at the back of your scalp as he pulls you from the chair, pushing your ass against the edge of his desk. His other hand squeezing below your jaw, fingers pressed hard against the strumming vein of your quickened heartbeat. 
“Say it again,” he growls. His heavy breath mixes with yours as his lips ghost against your open mouth. The hand at your scalp leaves an ache in its wake as he grabs your wrist and places your palm against the hard bulge in the front of his pants. “Tell me I deserve it.” Your gasp falls into his mouth when his hand tightens around your throat. “Tell me to use you. Beg.”  
1K notes · View notes
suzukiblu · 5 months
Text
Day four of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.
"Dead," Tim says, because it's not like it's a secret in the community or anything. "Joker happened to him."
And a lot of other things. Sheila Haywood and Felipe Garzonas and Bruce's eternal control-freak paranoia and constant inability to just talk, to name a few. But Joker, in the end.
Still, Tim can't help thinking about the chances to have avoided what happened to Jason. Especially when thinking about what's currently happening to Kon.
If Kon gets taken advantage of or hurt or killed because no one's paying enough attention . . .
Tim takes another drink.
"That sucks," Kon says with a grimace. "No wonder Batman goes all weird mama Bat on you all the time."
Tim chokes on an incredulous laugh and also a mouthful of soda, because Bruce is definitely not that and this isn't something to make light of either, but–
But also, he thinks about how no one ever goes "weird mama Bat" on Kon. No one ever has, as far as he knows.
No one takes care of him at all.
Tim really, really doesn't like that. Kon shouldn't have to rely on working for people who think they can build custom-designed personal-use superheroes based off of stolen dead bodies and are constantly making clones that are just inhuman-looking enough to not be able to blend into society outside the lab, and therefore don't have a choice about where they live or what they do with their lives.
Maybe it's not as bad as it sounds, or at least not as malicious as it sounds, but it's still the results of what Cadmus is doing either way. Kon has the option of being a superhero, at least, but he also has a custom-designed face that looks exactly like the face of one of the most famous heroes in the sector and was given absolutely no idea how to either establish or support a civilian life, so that's just about his only option.
Aside from, again, just working for Cadmus for the rest of his life.
Tim definitely hates the world.
"Please don't call it 'going mama Bat'," he says to distract himself.
"Please tell me what else you'd call it," Kon says.
"Micromanaging," Tim replies matter-of-factly, and Kon chokes on a laugh of his own.
"What, is being Robin your after-school job?" he teases. Technically it is, Tim supposes, but he doesn't exactly think of it that way.
"I consider it more of an unpaid internship," he says, since explaining the whole "emotional support sidekick" thing would probably damage Bruce's Bat-mystique, and if he tells Kon the full story there he's basically telling all of Young Justice. Kon barely seems to understand the concept of secrets, much less the concept of keeping them. "Like I get an expense account but not a paycheck, you know? And sometimes we get cookies in the Batcave."
"Cookies. In the Batcave," Kon echoes, his eyebrows shooting up. "Are they bat-shaped?"
"Wouldn't you like to know," Tim replies with a pleasant smile. Alfred doesn't usually bother with anything quite that on the nose, but according to Dick there are Halloween cookie cutters in the kitchen that he's not above bringing out when Bruce has been being especially ridiculous, so . . .
"Oh my god," Kon says delightedly. "Does he make them himself? Is there a Bat-apron? A Bat-oven? Or does he just order them special from the Bat-bakery?"
"There is not a Bat-bakery," Tim says, trying not to laugh again. Goddammit, Kon shouldn't be so fucking funny all the time. He's not even that funny, objectively; Tim is just a smitten idiot.
"So there is a Bat-apron?" Kon says with a smirk.
"I plead the fifth," Tim says, since explaining the novelty Halloween apron Jason bought Alfred when he was thirteen is not actually on the table. Details compromise identities, loose lips sink ships; all that.
"Listen, man, Cadmus doesn't have a bakery unless you count the test tubes they cook us up in," Kon says with a snigger, grabbing himself another slice. Tim thinks thoughts about incendiary devices. "They buy our cookies frozen or just get the industrial-sized pudding cans. Or make bread pudding, the bastards. So you gotta tell me about the Bat-cookies."
Tim winces at the thought of industrial-sized pudding cans and bread pudding, because that sounds absolutely horrifying and he never, ever wants to taste industrial pudding. Ever.
"Well, they're definitely not frozen," he says. "But Nightwing started being Robin a lot younger than I did and the last Robin started younger than me too, so I think I'm just reaping the benefits of younger kids needing after-patrol snacks and everyone else getting in the habit of it."
"I could get into that habit," Kon says musingly as he tears a bite off his newest slice. Tim immediately resolves to order takeout after every possible Young Justice mission that he can. Or they could go get ice cream or something, he doesn't know. "What do you think, wanna make me Bat-cookies sometime, Rob?"
Every weekend for the rest of their respective lives, although Tim would never actually say that. He's not even a good baker. He doesn't even like to bake.
This crush is definitely a problem.
"You're not Gothamite enough to handle Bat-baking, Kon," Tim says dryly, and Kon sniggers.
He also ducks his head a little, looking . . . oddly soft, for a moment. Tim doesn't understand why, until he realizes–oh. It's because he just called him "Kon", isn't it. He wasn't even thinking about it; just did it reflexively.
Tim is pretty sure he needs to ruin the credit of every single "responsible" adult in Kon's life for not naming him sooner. Well–Dubbilex can have a pass, considering he was also made by Cadmus and his own name is Dubbilex, so it probably never occurred to him that "Superboy" wasn't a perfectly acceptable name. And also he probably doesn't have credit either. But all the rest of them, definitely and for sure.
Superman is getting an envelope of powdered Kryptonite in his fucking mailbox, to start. Or maybe Tim could aerosolize it and pepper-spray him with it. That might work.
"You don't know, I could be," Kon huffs, putting on a mock-offended expression. "I was born and raised in a lab, I'm way tougher than the average guy."
"A Metropolis lab," Tim says pityingly. "Might as well be a kindergarten science class."
"Oh fuck you, Batboy!" Kon protests with a laugh. "Tell that to the next alien invasion."
"Aliens know better than to invade Gotham," Tim says. Kon laughs again. It's–weirdly nice, honestly. Usually Kon's too busy trying to act cool in front of whatever "audience" he thinks they have to actually, like . . . just talk all that much or anything. And also usually he gets offended really easily or starts being annoying about something he doesn't know as much as he thinks he does about or just . . . something.
Tim admittedly is less and less annoyed and more and more endeared by that kind of stupid behavior these days, but still. It's the usual pattern their interactions follow.
He guesses they're actually just, like, hanging out right now. It's not like there's a bad guy or a crisis or even any teammates around or training to do, so . . .
Yeah. He guesses they're just hanging out.
Kon decimates the pizza and wings, Tim pretends to be helping and takes a few mental notes on how much Kon is eating and what that may or may not say about his required caloric intake, and they just kind of keep . . . hanging out, really. And they talk, at least as much as Tim lightly interrogating Kon and subtly evading providing any personal identifying information counts as "talking".
Tim really doesn't know if the guys at school or Young Justice are more authentically his "friends", at this point, but at least Young Justice knows there are things they don't know. Everyone from school . . .
Not so much, with them. They all only know Tim Drake, and none of them have any reason to suspect the existence of Robin. Young Justice only knows Robin, but at least they know there is a Tim Drake somewhere, whether they know him or not.
Maybe they are the ones who are more his friends, thinking of it that way.
It'd explain why things never really go anywhere with civilians and he's developed this stupid inadvisable crush on Kon, at least. Though not why things fizzled with Steph, since she knows Robin better than anyone in Young Justice. If he should be having a stupid inadvisable crush on anyone, at least it could've been someone with an equally stupid and inadvisable crush on him.
Unfortunately, he and Steph have officially friend-zoned each other and also Kon exists, so Tim is having his stupid inadvisable crush on an alien hybrid metahuman clone in a terrible living situation with stupid taste in sunglasses and a mysteriously infinite-seeming supply of leather jackets. So now Tim is in this situation and his supervillain timeline needs recalculated, and also he's going to be buying Young Justice so much takeout to make sure Kon gets to eat something that isn't cafeteria food in a way he won't get offended by.
Hopefully, anyway.
"Well, I'm glad the new job's working out," Tim comments eventually, after some very careful conversational maneuvering, and Kon . . . pauses.
"I guess," he says after a moment, picking olives off the remains of his current slice and not quite looking at him as he says it. Tim resists the urge to absolutely pounce on the blood in the water and makes himself wait. "I mean, it's fine, it's not like it's bad there. Like, I don't love that it's my only real option and I don't love the same lab that made me out of DNA that it literally got out of a literal grave being in charge of me, but it's not like Westfield's still running the place or anything. So like, could be worse."
Tim hates the world. All of it. Seriously. Alfred's snickerdoodles get an exception and that's it. Nothing else.
"I'm sure it'll all work out," he says, because yeah, he officially needs to actually do something about this. He doesn't know what something, but something. If he doesn't, who else is going to?
Kon puts on a fake grin and says something stupid and easy in reply, the comment lighthearted and dismissive and a screamingly obvious coping strategy from someone who doesn't see any way out of their current situation but through, and Tim . . .
Tim finishes his Zesti and starts to think.
299 notes · View notes
xhoneygirlxx · 8 months
Text
Woman
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Eddie Munson x Fem Reader
summary: all the phases of your relationship with Eddie. Based off of the song 'Woman' by Mumford and Sons.
warnings: reader and Eddie are both in their 20's. talks of bad upbringings, bad relationships, reader gets cheated on. swearing, fluff, angst, smut. 18+ MINORS DNI. if there are any grammar errors, no there's not :) the ending feels rushed so lets not talk about it.
a/n: hi guys i'm honey and this is the first time I've written something since I was 15. I'm not new to this fandom but this page is, so I hope to write more things over time. Please be kind to me or else I'll cry.
The golden rays of the sun filter in from the open window, cascading a pretty glow into the bedroom. A gentle breeze flits through the room, carrying the songs from the birds in the trees. Eddie’s not too sure what time it is, how long he’s been awake, or if he even fell asleep, all he knows is he’s been staring at you. He knows how creepy it might be to do so, he just can’t help it. How beautiful you look shimmering in the morning sunlight like some sort of religious being, a true picture of a goddess laid beside him - his own personal Aphrodite. He marvels at you like you’re a painting on the ceiling of the Sistine chapel. His eyes trace over your features, soaking them all up so he can remember you like this for the rest of his life. Everything about you is perfect, a statue carved from marble by Michelangelo himself.
He’s intoxicated by the scent of you, the vanilla soap you used the night before when you took a shower after work, filling his nose with every breath he takes. His fingertips slowly drag along your skin as he maps out the slope of your body. His touch is featherlight, too worried that his calloused fingerprints will ruin the softness of your skin. He always wonders how you manage to be so soft all year round, albeit knowing you always moisturize, he likes to think it’s all you and not some expensive ass lotion.
Your hair is a bit messy from being tossed and turned on all night, and yet it has never looked so perfect to him, he would never mention it to you knowing you’d scoff in disagreement. Every once and a while, your eyebrows pull together or your lips twitch. He likes to think you’re dreaming of him.
Eddie is one hundred percent sure that if it wasn’t for the steady rise and fall of your chest and the soft snores falling from your lips anchoring him to the bed, he'd ascend into the clouds above. Eddie Munson is not a religious man, but he thanks whatever God is up above for sending an angel like you to him. He never understood the people who hand out pamphlets about religions, devoting their whole being for their God, but now he does because he’d do it for you. The poor son of a bitch would build churches and museums in your honor, scream from rooftops, move mountains, and ultimately sacrifice himself for you. Even if it’s sacrilegious to pray to a statue of you, he’d do it every day and night, asking for salvation. No, he wasn’t a religious person but for you, he would be.
From the time Eddie was born, the cards that were dealt to him were just unfair. His mom and dad never loved each other, always screaming and fighting every day creating a war zone instead of a household. After his mom left and his dad was shipped off to prison, his Uncle Wayne took him in. Although he and the older man loved one another, they never really said it, only ever showing it by doing little things for each other. Every father’s day he’d save up money from doing odd jobs around the trailer park to get Wayne a new mug. Wayne always picked up new patches for Eddie to sew on to his clothes or guitar strings anytime he had the extra cash. It was unspoken but they knew they loved one another like father and son.
When he got to high school, girls never looked his way and if they did they never wanted to keep him. Doing whatever they could for a deal on some bud and leaving. It became a routine for the metalhead, he’d get off, they’d get cheaper weed, and they’d go their separate ways. Eddie knew he was disposable and that was fine with him. Hell he was used to it by now, his parents didn’t want him, the girls at school and the hideout didn’t want him either, but he had Wayne and his friends. That's all he needed. Until he met you.
It was a shitty September day, the kind of shitty where it’s nothing but gray clouds and no hint of the sun. Leaves had started to die away, slowly falling one by one just to be picked up and whirled around by the wind. The chill of the air started to colder by the time Eddie had left work. If the weather wasn’t miserable enough, the customers he’d dealt with definitely were. One by one they crept into the shop, complaining about popped tires and arguing over wait times. Also, it didn't help that the garage was getting colder with the changing weather. No matter how many layers he wore, it never subdued the throbbing pains in his back and knees. Yeah he had a pretty shitty day but it wasn’t something a new book and a cold one would fix. When he approached the small bookstore on Main Street, he could feel the relief wash over him. Making his way over to the new release section, he picked up what he had been looking for.
He was busy reading the back cover of the book to notice you walking down the aisle. To be fair, you should have been paying more attention to where you were going, but the books in your hands had your attention, stopping you from seeing the cute man that you were close to coming in contact with. With a loud thud, your bodies collide causing you to drop the books you’d been holding. Eddie immediately bent down, picking up what had been dropped, too busy apologizing for being in the way to even see who he was speaking to. Then he heard your voice, so saccharine and smooth it knocked his breath from his chest. Finally moving his gaze to you, he was blinded by the light you had brought in. To this day he jokes about it, telling you how you’re the personification of the sun on a cloudy day. He’s sure he made a fool out of himself with the way he tripped over his words and blushed too hard any time you spoke. It didn’t matter though, because you’d giggle and he’d redden more and more. That day Eddie left the bookstore with his new book and your number clutched in his palm.
September 20th, 1987, that was your first date and that date would be seared into Eddie’s brain for the rest of his life. He called you earlier that week asking if you’d want to get coffee, and you were quick to agree. Never being on time for anything in life, Eddie made sure to arrive twenty minutes before you planned on meeting. To say he was nervous would be an overstatement, he was a god forsaken mess. Knees shaking with every passing second, palms sweating from pure anxiety. Ever the gentleman, he ordered you a coffee, something the barista had whipped up after he told them he didn’t know what you liked. Taking a seat near the window, he instantly regretted guessing your order. God what if she doesn’t like it? What even was it? Cinnamon, caramel, peanut? Oh Jesus, you were probably allergic to nuts. Good going Munson, you just killed your date, he thought to himself.
Before he could throw the drink away, the bell above the door chimed. When he looked up, he swore the gates of heaven opened up. The pretty white dress you wore swayed with the small breeze that followed behind you. You’d look heaven sent. When your eyes met his, you lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree, a big smile etched on your face to prove it. You were so pretty and it made his heart beat out of his chest. He’s sure he looked like a total goof, like a giant puppy excited to see their owner coming home. All the thoughts he had in his brain, the opening line he had thought up to say to you, had all been thrown out the window.
By the time you had made it to him, he had been standing up. Before you could reach for a hug or handshake, his arm shot out with the cup of coffee he had bought you, the same one he was about to throw away twenty seconds ago.
“I um, I got you a coffee.” His cheeks turned pink as he handed you the cup. Then all the thoughts of your possible nut allergy came back. “It’s cinnamon caramel peanut or something. If you don’t like it I can get you a new one.” You laughed and he didn’t care if it was at him or with him, because he would do anything to hear it again.
“It’s perfect, thank you.” You smiled again. “It’s a cinnamon dolce latte, by the way.” He tilted his head in confusion, wondering how on earth you knew that. When you turned your cup to show the black sharpie, he dipped his head in pure embarrassment but then you giggled again and he didn’t feel as bad.
The two of you sat in the corner by the window for what felt like hours, talking about anything and everything. Eddie told you about his job at Frank’s garage, about his friends and uncle Wayne. The metalhead turned bashful when he mentioned his D&D group, but he was quickly relieved when you told him how cool you thought it was, always wanting to play yourself as a kid but your brother never wanted to teach you how. He told you about his sweetheart and his band, how he used to think he’d be a rockstar one day. With every little detail he told about himself, you looked at him with such adoration and it made his heart squeeze.
He sat and listened as you told your story about packing up your car and leaving your old life behind. You needed a new start you told him, one where you could truly be happy. Once you’d gotten here, you found a cozy little house on Biel Street. Apparently the man who sold it to you, is the nephew of the woman who runs the floral shop in town. Within a week you’d gotten the job. It was definitely a change up from your old life, switching out pencil skirts and kitten heels for your office job to jeans and sneakers for your new laid back one. City life was definitely different from the small town you’d chosen but it’s what you needed.
You’d recently ended a two year relationship with your shitty ex and even if it didn’t seem rational at the time, you quit your job and moved on. He didn’t push much on the topic of your ex and neither did you but you made sure to reassure him that you were over the whole situation. Eddie learned that you had a brother living in Chicago and your parents had long moved to Florida after they retired. The metal head made sure to make mental notes of every single thing you told him. How you won’t talk in the morning until you have a sip of coffee, how you like to annotate your books even if it’s frowned upon by others, and that you hope to get a cat one day.
He walked you to your car that night, even though it was twelve feet away from his own. The look in your eyes was the same way he felt, neither of you wanted to leave. Trying to drag out the minutes as long as you could, you leaned against your car door fiddling with the sleeves of your cream colored sweater.
“I had a really good time Eddie,” sincerity dripping from your words. You looked so stunning standing there, highlighted by the moon and glow of the street lights.
“I did too,” blush creeping up from his neck to his cheeks, “I hope I’m not being too forward, but would you like to go out again sometime?” He hoped you didn’t hear the nervousness in his words.
“Yeah,” you said sweetly, “I’d really like that.” You beamed up at him and he was a goner.
That night, you kissed him.
No drug could give him the same high the way your lips on his did. On the drive home, his cheeks ached from how much he grinned. When he got into bed that night, he stared up at the ceiling forcing his brain to play out the events over and over again.
“She kissed me.”
__
The heat coming from the Harrington’s fire pit wraps the backyard in a blanket of warmth, beating off the nipping bite of the mid October breeze. The sky above is clear of any clouds to hide the small twinkle of the stars, the moon hanging high above the backyard. The leaves fall from the trees in red, orange, and brown piles. You and Eddie had been seeing each other almost every other day since that first date. It had been a month to be exact, not like Eddie was counting the days or anything.
For the past couple of weeks, you had been the discussion of every conversation he had with his friends. They wanted to know when they’d get to meet you, if you guys were officially dating, what you were like. Honestly, he kicked himself the first time he brought you up because he knew there would be thousands of questions to follow. Eddie knew that it was because they cared for him, wanting to make sure that whoever he had been seeing had their seal of approval.
So when Steve mentioned having a bonfire last weekend, he knew it was a secret ploy to meet you. You talked about wanting to meet his friends, yet he was terrified at the idea of you meeting the gaggle of idiots. Dustin would probably bring up some embarrassing memories, like how he shot coke out of his nose at lunch that one time. It made his head spin with every embarrassing thing that he’s ever done in his life, all the things that would pop in his head at random times that made him full body cringe.
The minute he brought it up to you though, you jumped up and down excited that you’d finally get to meet them. He knew he couldn’t say no to you, especially when you had that look of giddiness. Eyes big with elation, infectious smile, clapping your hands together, kind of excitement. God, he could never say no to you.
Now you’re here and you can’t be any happier. Eddie stands across from you, separated by the dancing flames of the fire. He’s standing with a beer in his hand, the story that Robin and Steve are telling becomes background noise. He’s honed in on you, on the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. Max and El are talking to you about something he can’t hear, whatever it is you’re drinking it right up. Butterflies dance in his stomach at the sight of you. You’re enjoying the people that Eddie enjoys, and it fills him with so much pride. His favorite people are getting along, all in the same space. If his nine year old self could see this backyard right now, he’d be blown away. Everyone here cares for him, and he cares for them, something that he never thought he would have.
“It’s kind of creepy to stare ya know,” Steve’s voice cuts through Eddie’s internal monologue. The long haired man takes a swig of his beer trying to pretend like he didn’t just get caught like a child with their hand in the cookie jar.
“I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about man,” he mutters out. Avoiding any eye contact with the people in front of him, taking interest in the sight of his scuffed up reeboks.
“Oh man, Munson’s got it bad,” Robin butts in. Heat from embarrassment creeps up Eddie’s face. He hopes no one notices, ready to blame it on the warmth of the fire beside them.
“Guys stop it,” Nancy chimes in, “I think it’s sweet.” The brunette sends him a small smile. The metal head sends her one back in a small thank you.
“Never thought I’d see Eddie Munson have heart eyes over a girl,” Robin mumbles over her red solo cup. Dustin nods in agreement.
“Yeah it’s kind of gross, to be honest.”
“Shut it, Henderson,” Eddie hissed, “besides, there’s nothing wrong with having heart eyes for my girl.”
He looks over the group and he’s met with silence and wide eyed stares. Raising an eyebrow, he turns to see what’s caused everyone to suddenly shut the hell up. When he turns his body, he goes rigid with the sight of you. When did you get over here, you were just talking to the girls on the side of the fire. He wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole. He just called you his girl and you weren’t even boyfriend/girlfriend yet, at least you never officially talked about it. He can’t read you and it’s scaring the ever living shit out of him.
After what feels like an eternity, he sees it. The way your eyes glitter, how you're biting on your lower lip fighting off the impending grin that’s due to break out on your face. Your arms wrap around his body, and you snuggle into him. His heart starts to beat again, this time it feels like it’s beating too fast.
It doesn’t take long for the group to move on to another conversation, slowly forgetting the awkward pause that just happened. Eddie’s mind races, scrambling to find the words to say. It doesn’t matter because you’re speaking before he can.
“I like that,” your voice is soft when you say it, yet he can still hear it. He glances down at you and you’re already craning your neck to meet his brown eyes.
“Yeah? And what’s that?” He’s surprised how cool he’s being for someone who just embarrassed himself in front of a whole group of people.
“Being your girl.”
__
After making it official, Eddie pondered the thought of you meeting Wayne. He knew it needed to happen, he just didn’t know how to go about it. This was all new to Eddie, he never had a girlfriend so he never had to worry about this kind of thing. So for the past week he practiced how to go about asking you, reassuring you it was okay to say no if you thought it was too much too soon. He had the perfect plan, he’d ask you when you were having movie night at your place, casually bring it up over dinner, and go from there. It was a good plan, but Eddie is an idiot and he can’t help but fumble when he’s around you. His palms were sweating and his knee bounced at an obnoxious rate, if you noticed you never mentioned it. He doesn’t even realize he said anything until your chewing stopped, going completely wide-eyed. The first thing he thinks of doing is running, bolting for your front door leaving you in the dust, but then you kiss him. All the anxiety leaves his body the minute it happens.
At first he thought it would be simple, invite his uncle over next weekend and order take out for the three of you. Then you scoffed, telling him you would die before you would have his uncle eating take out when you had a perfectly good stove. That whole week, you’d call him after work asking what his uncle liked and disliked, if he had any allergies or personal preferences. Out of the pair of you, you were more enthusiastic about the whole thing, and it made his worry subside. However, your enthusiasm slowly became overthinking every small detail.
Music blasted on your radio, loud enough he could hear from behind your front door. When you failed to answer the knocking after a minute or two, he let himself in. That’s when he found you standing on tiptoes, feather duster in hand, reaching for the picture frames on the mantle hanging above your tv. Your hair was pulled up into a bun, frizzy and damp from sweat. Your shirt sleeves were rolled up to your elbows and one of the legs of your sweatpants had been awkwardly pulled up higher on your calf than the other. Your usually clean apartment looked even more sterile now, walls looked brighter, and the air smelled even more clean than before. When you had called him earlier to ask if he was still staying the night, you mentioned that you had taken the day off to have a personal day. He thought maybe you’d relax or go shopping, he did not imagine you taking the day off to sit and clean every square inch of your house.
Leaning on the door frame, he took this time to quietly admire you. The way you sang the words of whatever Madonna song was playing, how your hips swing to the music, how you wipe your brow every once and a while when a sweat bead drips down. He can’t help but feel giddy when he watches you, heart growing bigger and bigger, like the grinch, with every second that passes. He wants to pinch himself sometimes because he is so lucky that he has you. You’re so fucking beautiful and you chose him, even though you could have anyone you wanted, you still chose him.
You jump almost ten feet in the air like some cartoon the minute you notice his presence. It makes him laugh and you clutch your heart trying to catch your breath.
“Babe, what the hell? You gave me a heart attack,” you walk over to your stereo, turning it down to an acceptable level. You set your duster down on your coffee table and make your way over to him. Rolling down your sleeves and trying to push down all the frizziness of your hair, he takes notice that you're shy, like he’s not supposed to see you like this.
“Sorry baby, I knocked but you had that god awful music playing,” there’s no real malice behind his statement. He makes his way over to you, making sure to take his shoes off first. He pulls you into a hug, relishing the way his face fits in your neck. “Hi baby,” his voice vibrates off of your skin. You're the first to pull away and he misses your warmth.
“As much as I want to hug you, I’m a disgusting mess,” you complain.
“Ex-cuuuse me, ma’am, but you are no such thing,” he gasps, placing a palm over his heart acting as if you wounded him. His little act pulls a snort from you and it makes him beam.
“What’s all this anyway,” he questions, “Don’t tell me you did all this work when you took the day off.”
You shrug your shoulders, trying your hardest not to look too bashful, “I wanted to clean for Sunday. Ya know, make a good first impression on your uncle.” His chest swells with pride at the thought of you doing all this just because you’re meeting his uncle.
“My sweet girl,” he coos, “You didn’t have to do all this. Your house is already spotless as it is.” Your face rests in his palms, your shoulders dropping with ease at the action.
“I just want it to be perfect,” you whisper and he melts. If he was being honest, he could cry over the whole thing. No one, especially a girl, has ever done something so thoughtful for him. The last time a girl has ever done anything relatively nice for him, was in sixth grade when Stacey Leannski gave him a pencil when he forgot his.
He grins, shaking his wild curls, “Babe, I can assure you that Wayne is going to love you, washed walls or not. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to curl up on that lovely couch of yours and watch Grease for the millionth time,” He jokes, you roll your eyes swatting at him. You agree, but only after you take a quick shower to rid yourself of the sweat and grime of the day. He accepts, telling you he’d order pizza while he waits.
Now showered and pizza devoured, the empty box sitting on your table to prove it, you two sit in the glow of the television in front of you. You’re sitting side by side, head resting on his shoulder, your attention on the movie. He feels overwhelmed by you, you're taking over all of his senses and he’s not sure how to handle it. The scent of whatever you used in the shower floods his nose, the heat of your body burning into his side, the softness of your bare legs on his, it’s all too much and he feels like he’s going to explode.
Eddie isn’t a virgin, far from it, so he knows what it’s like to burn with that desire, leaving your house after heavy makeout sessions, foot to the floorboard racing to get home to take care of the situation in his pants. Albeit not having sex yet, which he was one hundred percent fine with, he definitely felt aroused by you. Christ, you were the face of all his fantasies when he was in the comfort of his own home, hands down his pants, your name falling from his lips in quiet chants. This wasn’t that feeling at all, this was something completely different and it terrifies him.
He’s shaken from his train of thoughts when he notices the weight of your head on his shoulder is gone. He turns his attention to you, you’re all bright smiles watching Frankie Avalon serenade Frenchie. His eyes fall to your lips as you mouth the words, plump and pretty enough for him to kiss you. The illumination from the tv falls around in a halo like way, hair still damp from your shower, your shirt two sizes too big, you look ethereal like this. For a second the world goes quiet, time seems to pause, it feels like it’s just the two of you, and that’s all that matters to him at this very moment. That familiar ache returns, this time it’s stronger. The beat of his heart is erratic, the sound muffled in his ears like there's big clumps of cotton in them. His breath hitches, and his eyes bug out with realization. This isn’t an overwhelming feeling of arousal, oh no, that’s not what this is.
This feeling is you, picking and carving away at his heart, hollowing out a spot for yourself. This is you pouring yourself into his veins, circulating yourself through his bloodstream. This is you squeezing the air out of his lungs, sucking it right out of him for yourself. This feeling is you branding yourself on his soul, leaving your mark on him for the rest of his natural born life.
That night, he didn't get any sleep. He’s too busy with the feeling of your body pressed to him, the warmth of you seeping into his skin. Even with the heaviness of his eyes he can’t seem to shut off his mind, too busy thinking about how in love he is with you. He’s not sure when he’ll tell you this, but he hopes when he does, you feel the same way.
__
Eddie was going to jump into the nearest traffic if he had to spend one more second in the grocery store. The lights were starting to get too bright, the music a little too loud, and he swears it wasn’t as packed in the store when you got here - which was like an hour ago, but who’s counting. He wanted to say something, he really did, but when he gazes over at you he can’t bring himself to burst your bubble. Your bottom lip sits between your teeth while you hold two different cans of vegetables in your hand, eyes bouncing back and forth between the two labels. You looked so adorable standing there, it almost makes him forget about wasting his whole Sunday morning there. Almost.
“Baby,” he coos, “Just pick one, yeah? I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Ringed hands wrap around your waist, pulling you into him as he rests his head on top of your own. You sigh, pulling your body away from his, too soon for his liking.
“I know you said your uncle doesn’t like green beans but I’ve never made a stew with peas before. I mean I know you can use both, I just, I don’t know,” you ramble, pouting your bottom lip out and it takes everything in not to kiss you stupid.
“Wayne is a grown man, he can pick around them,” Eddie reassures you. He spots the look of hesitation on your face. Before you can argue your next point to him, he wraps his arms around your waist once again. “I promise you, he will love it no matter what. Now stop worrying that pretty little head of yours and let's get a show on the road, I have a hot date to get to,” He bops your nose and you blush. “There she is,” he says, “There’s my girl.”
“Okay but,” you put more emphasis on the last word, “If he hates it, I’m blaming you,” You playfully scowl at him. Placing the can into the cart, Eddie grins at you in victory, “That’s okay babe, I can handle the old man for ya.” You roll your eyes at him and he pretends like he doesn’t see the small crack of a smile growing on your face.
Eddie was right, like he knew he would be, Wayne loved your cooking and even better, he loved you. Wasn’t so shocking to be honest, you’re a wonderful person and everyone you meet instantly falls in love with you because of it.
The air of the night is a lot cooler than before, the sky much darker now that the sun had been replaced with the moon. The store bag filled with leftovers you packed for Wayne, rustled in the wind. The two men make their way to the truck, even though Wayne told his nephew multiple times he did not need to be walked out, the younger man ignored him and followed him out anyway. Not much is said between the two, Eddie overthinking what he would say to Wayne. Obviously he knew he needed to thank him, not only for coming, but for not embarrassing him.
“I just wanted to uh, thank you. Ya know, for coming over and stuff. Really ‘ppreciate it.” He fidgets with his rings. Eddie’s not sure why he’s so awkward saying a simple thank you, this was the man who raised him for heaven’s sake.
“ ‘re welcome kid,” Wayne gruffs out. Reaching for the handle on his truck, he places the bag of food on the bench inside. There’s another small pause as he reaches into the pocket of his old scuffed up carhartt jacket, pulling out his pack of reds.
“You love ‘er don’t cha?” He lights the cigarette that sits between his lips, taking a long drag and letting out a small cloud of smoke. The question makes Eddie’s eye’s bulge out of his head. He’s a blubbering mess, tripping over his own words not knowing what to say. His cheeks burn harder when his uncle chuckles.
“I taught ya well son,” Wayne slapped his hand on his shoulder, “treat her right, ya hear? She’s too good of a girl, don’t wanna see you breakin’ her heart.” Eddie nodded dumbly to Wayne's words.
While Eddie makes his way back into your home, he mulls over what the hell just happened, he just got the shovel talk from his own uncle. When he opens the door, he’s met with the sight of you. You’re standing at the sink, that adorable little dress you wear moving with you has you sway back and forth, humming a tune. His uncle's words ring out in his head. There was no way he would ever break your heart, he knows he never could.
__
The colder weather of winter makes its way across Hawkins, leaving trails of snow in its path. As cold seeps into your home, so does Eddie’s things. His shampoo bottles, deodorant, some of his clothes residing in the space in your drawers and closet that you’d left for him. He hadn’t officially moved in, it just seemed easier if he left some clothes over when he’d stay the night.
Your limbs tangle beneath the fortress of blankets that lay on top of you. Hushed voices and quiet laughter fill the room, like two small children sharing secrets at a sleepover. Eddie savors the feeling of your fingertips tracing lines onto his skin.
“Did I ever tell you the full story of why I moved?” You keep your attention to the tattoo that sits on his chest. He answers with a shake of his head, muttering no. Eddie knew the story you told him was a half assed attempt at pushing the subject away and he was never going to push you for the real reason, knowing one day you would do it when you were comfortable enough.
You take a deep breath, readying yourself for what is to come. “Well, as you know I have an older brother. My parents, they were really big with supporting him, ya know? Like they were always going to his baseball games, pouring all the attention on him.” You force yourself not to meet Eddie’s gaze, opting to trace random things on his exposed chest.
“He’s the golden child, the apple of their eyes, and then there’s me. I wasn’t anything special, just kinda there. Anyway, they were never really worried about me because as they said, I always had the option of marrying rich,” a dry laugh escapes your throat, “While my brother, he had something going for him. He was a star baseball player, and they knew he’d make it big. But then he got injured and couldn’t play anymore.”
“When my brother decided to work for an engineering company in Chicago, my parents felt like there was nothing left for them to do, so they retired and packed their shit. They just left me there, and it hurt for a while, I mean I was out of school by that point but still. The idea of them not wanting to stay for me, that shit fucked with me.”
Before he knows it, the light blue pillow case that sits under your head is now stained dark blue with your tears. Eddie’s seen you cry before, just last week you cried while watching The Breakfast Club, but this was not the same thing. Fat, heavy tear drops, rolling down your face, snot leaking from your nose, kind of crying. The sight itself makes his own chest constrict and all he wants to do is wrap you up in the biggest hug.
“I ended up getting a really good job at this company in the city. I was so proud of myself too, I was making a lot of money, and I had my own place. I ended up meeting Paul, my ex, at the bar one night. He was charming, handsome, and dressed well, so I thought he was safe. It was good for a while, really it was but looking back it was so bad, Eds. Like you wouldn’t believe the shit I put up with, but yeah I found out he was using some of the money I had hidden to buy his girlfriend gifts. That was only part of it but that was the straw that broke the camel's back, I guess. Anyway, I found out when I found him fucking her in his bed and the next day, I packed my shit and left. God, I guess you do end up like your parents after all, huh?”
When your eyes meet, the flood you had been holding back finally breaks. Without a second thought, he’s holding onto you as you sob into his neck. You never told him the full story on Paul, but what you did tell him, he wanted to find the guy and beat the piss out of him. The idea of someone, let alone your own parents treating you the way they did breaks his heart. He wishes he could take the pain away from you, he’d carry the weight of it on his own back if he had to.
Eddie’s not sure what to say or if you even want him to say anything, so he doesn’t. His hand pets the top of your head, soothing you, like a mother does to her baby. A flashback pops into his own head, him as a child in his bed, crying because his parents fought again. The memory of his mom coming in and rocking him, the way he’s doing now, easing his tears with a slow song. So he does the same for you.
Slowly, the vice grip you had on him eases up, and your sobs reduce to small hiccups. He doesn’t stop until he hears your breath even out. When he’s sure you're sleeping, he takes a second to appreciate you, for bearing your soul to him, removing the barriers that blocked him out. He vows to himself that night, that he will protect you from anything and everything for as long as you both live.
__
The glow of the Christmas tree lights reflect off of the living room window. Outside, small flurries rain down, coating the ground in layers of white. The scent of hot chocolate and cinnamon fill the small living room. It looked like an elf had thrown up everything jolly in your home, littering every square inch in something holiday themed.
Eddie wasn’t a big holiday kind of guy, never really having a reason to go all out for them when it was just him and Wayne. He thought you were going to have an aneurysm when he told you, with the way your face twisted up. You were quick to tell him that you’d be more than happy to have him over to celebrate, have his uncle join in the morning, and then meet up at Steve’s to have dinner with the group. Eddie wasn’t too thrilled on the idea, not because he didn’t want to spend it with you, but because he knew he wouldn’t be able to afford a bunch of gifts. Albeit you reassured him that you didn’t want anything, he couldn’t help but feel like you were lying to make him feel better. It wasn’t until he realized that you were not doing this just for him but you were doing it for both of the lost childhood you had, he agreed.
The two of you sit across from each other by the tree. Small boxes and bags hid underneath the fake branches, sitting pretty in the light of the colorful bulbs that hang. The uneasy feeling settles in his stomach when he looks at them. The amount of gifts that sit with your name doesn’t hold a candle to all the things that sit underneath for him. It was decided that you’d pick gifts out for each other and open them at the same time. Doubt fills his brain, but it’s quickly shut off when he sees you with the box he placed in your hands. You shake the small box back and forth, tongue poking out in concentration trying to figure out what could be underneath the paper.
Over the next few minutes boxes and bags are passed back and forth, paper ripped to shreds, and piled of gifts surround the both of you.
Beside you sit your pile of opened presents. The Cure’s ‘Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me’ album, a pack of colorful fuzzy socks, your favorite candy, a new mug with a black cat painted on it, Fannie Flags novel ‘Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe’, along with highlighters and new pens for annotating.
Eddie’s pile isn’t as neat as yours, all haphazardly thrown next to him with care. A pack of new socks because he never seems to have one's without holes, a pair of new work boots, a new Metallica band shirt, a sketchbook and pencils for his D&D doodles, a bottle of Calvin Klein’s ‘Obsession for Men’, Anthrax ‘Among the Living’ album, and a pack of guitar picks.
“These are perfect, thank you baby.” A dimpled smile appears on Eddie’s cheeks. Leaning over to reach you, placing a chaste kiss on your lips.
“You’re welcome. I love everything you got me. I promise not to finish my book too fast.” You joke. There’s a sense of pride written on your face. He’s not sure why he was so nervous for this, when he’d get to see you like this, truly like a kid on Christmas morning.
He can’t relish in the feeling too long, when he sees you grabbing a hidden present from under the tree. You hand him the small box, the red ribbon mocking him from where it sits in his hands.
“Sweetheart, you didn’t have to get me anything else, I thought we said-” before he can finish, you tut his response away, waving your hands for him to stop. “Shush, it’s nothing big I promise. Now open it.” He can’t refuse when you look at him like that, cheshire grin shining brightly at him.
He pulls the ribbon off, letting it slowly fall to the floor. Opening the box, he’s met with a golden shine. A key sitting in a bed of tissue paper, confusion is written on his face when he pulls it from its place, the box falling to the floor with a small thump. When he looks up at you, the once confident look you had is now replaced with a meek expression.
“I just thought, ya know since you’re here all the time it’d make sense for you to have your own. I just want you to have it in case I’m not here or something.” Your statement trails off. Before you know it, he’s tackling you in a hug. Wet sloppy kisses are placed on your face and you swat at him, giggling telling him to stop.
“This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever given me, you know that?” He’s hovering over you. You beam up at him, wrapping your finger around one of his curls.
“You say that, but you still haven’t gotten your last gift.” You tease and he sits up, letting you up from your position on the floor.
Standing up, you hold your hand out to him. As you pull him along to your room, his heart is in his throat. He burns with embarrassment, feeling like an asshole because you’ve gone above and beyond for him and he has nothing for you in return. When you make it to your room, you gently push him on the edge of your bed, making him sit down. You nudge your way in between his legs, craning your neck down to meet his eyes. Before he knows it, the giant sleep shirt you were wearing is now on the floor, leaving you in the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.
You stand there, red lace hugging your body, every curve he’s dreamed of seeing, are now in arms reach. He’s sure he looks like an idiot, drool falling from his mouth, Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat. You were such a sight to see, standing there, shy as can be, looking like a wet dream.
“You can touch me, Eds.” It takes him a minute to realize what you just said to him. He slowly lets his hand reach out from you, tracing the intricate detailing the lingerie that sits on your body.
Standing to full height, he kisses you, so soft and slow. When you reach your hand down to brush over the front of his groin, it picks up a notch. Gnashing teeth and tongue, he feels like a feral animal and if he doesn’t do something soon, he’s going to bust in his pants like a teenager. He takes his time laying you down on the bed, too scared that you might break if he goes any faster. The clothes he wears are starting to become too suffocating, constricting his every movement. His clothes are off in a flash, sitting next to yours on the hardwood floor.
Eddie thinks he’s lost his goddamn mind, he must be having a realistic wet dream or something, because there is no way on earth this is happening. He’s waited for this moment for the past two months, imagining every single detail, but nothing would prepare him for the real thing. He’s hovering above, looking down at his perfect girl, wrapped in the prettiest dainty ribbon of sorts. Eyes going crazy trying to get every single detail memorized, scars, birthmarks, dimples - he wants to learn it by heart.
“ You‘re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” He doesn’t just say it because you’re half naked underneath him. He says it because you are the most beautiful woman he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting. No playboy model, no random hook up, no groupie could hold a candle to the beauty you have.
“You’re the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen,” You look up at him through your lashes, puffy red lips stretched into that Colgate smile he loves so much.
He wants to hold those words with him for the rest of his life, lock them away for safekeeping. You have no idea what you do to him, how much you mean to him. You’ve dug your way into his life, flipping it completely upside down, and unlocking a side to him he never knew he had.
“I’m so fucking in love with you, sweetheart.” It’s out there, piercing the air like bullets from a starting pistol. Eddie’s the most vulnerable he’s ever been, giving you his heart on a silver platter. You’ve got him in the palm of your hand, able to crush his soul at any moment.
Reaching your hand up, you cup his cheek, rubbing your thumb along his cheek. He’s bracing himself for rejection, ready to tuck tail and run, but it never comes.
“Good, because I’m so fucking in love with you, Eddie Munson.” His eyes search your face, waiting to hear you tell him it was all a joke. He doesn’t, instead he sees you, just as vulnerable as him. Just two scared people of being hurt, letting their guard down, opening up themselves in the most raw way.
“You’ll still love me in the morning?”
“Always.”
For the first time in his life, he makes love - hands cradled together, foreheads touching, sweet nothings being shared. He doesn’t even notice when he starts crying, not until you wipe away the tears staining his cheek. He would be embarrassed but this is you, the girl who’s stolen his heart and invaded his whole life. When it’s over, you hold him, whispering sweet praises to the metal head.
When the morning light peaks through your curtains, you’re still there, holding onto him like you did when you fell asleep. You didn’t leave, didn’t regret the words that were shared between the two of you. Your promise rings in his head - always.
__
The bitter cold of March couldn’t beat the icy atmosphere in the car. No matter how many times Eddie called your name you refused to answer, turning your body more and more towards the window. Eddie knew something happened, he just didn’t know what. The night started off fine, meeting with friends to get food and drinks, big laughs and stories passed back and forth at the table. At some point something happened and you weren’t laughing anymore. Your big smile and bright eyes are replaced with a look he’s never seen before. He tried to get you to talk, begging you to just say something, only to be met with a scoff and crossed arms.
Pulling up to your house, you didn’t even wait for him to shut off the car to exit the car, slamming the door hard enough to make Eddie flinch in his seat. He wanted to puke, he hated this, he hated that he didn’t know what was making you so angry and he hated that he didn’t know how to fix it. Releasing a big puff of air, he follows you inside where he’s met with more slamming doors.
He doesn’t want to bombard you, so he decides to wait in the kitchen, where he starts to pace back and forth. He feels like he’s eight years old again after the first time he’d ever gotten in trouble at school, sitting outside the principal’s office in one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs, watching the clock go by as he waits to be called back. Although he’d get used to the feeling over time, he would never forget that first time, the way it felt when his stomach knotted up, shaky hands and trembling legs.
He hears the familiar click of the bathroom door open and he freezes, your figure ascends down the hallway, shuffling your feet along the wooden floors. Your hair you spent hours on styling to perfection is now thrown into a bun, your mascara now leaving black streaks on your face from crying, the outfit you took forever to pick out is now replaced with a pair of sweatpants and an old shirt.
Eddie watches as you reach for a glass from your cabinet, filling it with water from your faucet. At that moment he thinks it’s better if he keeps distance by staying in his corner of the kitchen, not wanting to approach you and scare you off. Screaming and yelling, that’s what he’s used to, standing in the middle of the battle front, dodging bullets left and right. Hurtful words being spat, so sharp and full of toxins, ready to leave scars after all the dust settles.
Silence, that was the real killer. It was the calm before the storm, the thickness in the air that made it harder and harder to breathe. It’d sneak up behind you, wrapping its hands around your throat, and slowly squeezing the oxygen out of your lungs. It was the uneasy feeling you get right before you head into the woods at night. It was able to sweep the rug out from under you, pulling you further and further into the darkness to no point of return.
He wants to say the right thing to you, he wants to mend the damage that’s been done, wrap you up in bandages and make it all better. He wants to pull you into shelter from the storm going on inside your brain, to hold on to you for dear life so that you don’t get sucked up in the twister of your thoughts. It’s written all over your face, the hurt, the anger, it’s all there for him to read - like a clue being left behind for him to find. There’s a war starting up inside of you, he can see the smoke signals from here, calling out for help. He wants to break in and stop it from happening, but he can’t - the brick wall that he worked endlessly at to break, is now back up again. This time it’s harder to tear down.
Although he’s never been the first in the firing line, Eddie’s armed and ready for the first hit. It feels like one of those western movies his uncle Wayne used to watch - two cowboys, guns drawn, ready to fire any second. The biggest showdown known to man is happening right here, in the small yellow kitchen of your home. There would be no shoot out this time, no knife-like words to leave damage, no wounds to heal. This time, you’re the first to put your gun down, wave your white flag in surrender.
You don’t tell him you hate him, you don’t tell him to get out and to never come back, you simply hug him. It throws him for a loop, the ticking time bomb that stood before him, defusing itself right before his very eyes. The rain that clouded over him is now washed out by the chirps of the birds, sun pushing its way to be seen once again. There is no fight to be won anymore, there is no mass destruction left in the wake of battle, left to be cleaned for another day.
He can feel the shaking of your body, vibrating with the cries you muffle in his shirt. The situation might be over, but you are still wounded from before, begging for some kind of mercy.
“Baby, you gotta tell me what’s wrong. Tell me how to fix it.” He can smell the hair spray that sits on your hair, from where his nose rests. His big hand soothing you, rubbing over the cotton shirt that drapes your back. He means the words he says to you, he wants you to let him in again.
Your answer is hard to understand, obscured by the fabric of his shirt where you’ve shoved your face to hide.
“Sweetheart, you gotta speak up so I can hear you,” He coos at you. His sweet tone coaxes you out from your hiding spot. Pulling your face from the comfort of his chest, you peer up at him.
“Please don’t leave me.” It sounds so dejecting when it falls from your lips, like you're begging him with everything in you. It breaks his heart to see you like this.
There’s some parts of your brain that Eddie hasn’t explored yet. The darkest corners of your mind, so dark you’d need a flashlight, decorated in dust and cobwebs. All the secrets you’ve yet to reveal to him, filed away, locked behind a door - the key thrown somewhere for him to find. Eddie knows there’s parts of you that you don’t want him to see, too scared he’d criticize you the way people before him did. That was the thing though, he never would, no matter how scary or fucked up you thought you were.
“Honey, I’m not going to leave you, okay? S’just - I need you to tell me what’s going on, tell me what happened.” He’s pleading with you, trying to pull it out of you. Whether it gets him any further or not, it doesn’t matter, he just wants you to see he’s trying, trying for you.
“Will you still love me in the morning?” You’re retreating, going back behind that big brick wall. As much as Eddie wants to scream and shout for you to stop hiding, he knows that the storm within is at bay, at least for now. So he lets you retreat, lets you rest knowing he’ll be back hammering, no matter how long it takes.
“Always,” It’s hushed, quiet like the small flurries that fall outside of the window. Plump lips meeting the top of your head. Eddie knows he’s not getting any more out of you, both too winded and tired from the events tonight.
Cracks and fractures left behind from the people before him, it’s going to take time, he reminds himself. So many times you had told him it was best if he runs away, there’s too much damage and he deserves someone better. He thinks you’re wrong, you are someone better, you just can’t see it. You don’t see what he sees, the girl he fell in love with, he wishes you could because you’re the best thing that’s ever graced this fucked up planet. He’d plant you in front of the world’s biggest mirror if he had to, but he knows that you’d still only see half of what he does. So for now, he’ll keep reminding you until he’s blue in the face. Always.
305 notes · View notes
ghostinthegallery · 2 months
Note
can you do "please hold me" for the prompts please?
Here it is! "Please hold me" from this list of prompts. Featuring Zahndrekh/Obyron and a little post-Severed trauma.
###
Obyron had endured hundreds of feasts. Thousands, maybe tens of thousands by now. Some in the time of flesh, most in the time of metal when there were no dishes nor full goblets save for in his master’s mind. Obyron hated them, but he had never once fled from the unpleasantness. Until now.
Obyron wished he could slam the door behind him. Instead it slid smoothly back into place, doing nothing to release the violent tide of emotions roiling in his flux. His heart should have been racing, his head swimming, his skin dotted with sweat. There was nothing. His living metal was pristine and he was still. If one were to look at him they might assume he was as mindless as his brethren. He wasn’t. Sometimes he cursed that fact.
Right now he cursed his weakness most of all.
Casual barbs at his expense from Sautekh lords were a reality of his position. The necron nobility had little to do but battle with their armies and battle with their wits, meager as the latter often were. In reality, they simply insulted each other. Their performance in campaigns, their palaces, their possessions…their soldiers.
“That one had a phalanx, didn’t it, Zahndrekh?” The lord had pointed to Obyron then. “Shame you never taught it proper tactics, otherwise it might have held onto them. Or perhaps your example was too poor.”
At that point, Obyron had faced a choice between leaving the feast or beating the noble to death.
He had managed to make his exit somewhat subtle. Found a lychguard to take his position at Zahndrekh’s side, circled the room as if he were simply patrolling. Then he left. This chamber was the first empty one he had found, scrying through the oculars of some nearby scarabs. The Yama had been built in the time of flesh, back when ships needed room to store provisions, beds, and life support. There were many unused sections to slip into. Perhaps this plain, dull silver room had once held necrontyr soldiers. Perhaps they had spoken here, reminisced, laughed, cried, lived. 
Obyron pressed his hand against his faceplate to try and drive the thoughts from his head. He could not stop the flood of images of the phalanx he had lost. Sabni, Pentesh, Neb. Dead gods, Neb who had asked to die at his side. Well he had gotten his wish, only Obyron had no idea if Neb had realized it in the end. What little existence they’d clung to had been erased on Doahht. Because of Obyron’s orders. So much had happened on that planet he’d barely had time to think about their loss. Part of him had even been relieved that their suffering was over. But still…they had died. And it had been his fault. 
Why? Why had his mind survived when theirs had not? Why was he standing here when they were reduced to nothing? Their bodies not entombed but repurposed to build new chassis for different soldiers? He had been no different from them. Born a soldier, promoted for good service and a stubborn ability to stay alive. Burned away body and soul. What had he done to earn existence while his friends had been condemned to mindless oblivion?
A knock on the door startled him. Damn the dead gods. He had let his circumspection protocols slip in order to fall into this pathetic malaise. 
“Obyron?” asked a cautious voice. “Are you in there, old friend?”
“My lord?” Obyron paused. Zahndrekh? He should have been entertaining his guests. “Has something happened?”
“No, no. That feast was just growing interminably dull. Might I…come in?”
Obyron was not sure how to respond. “It is your ship, lord nemesor.”
After a pause the door slid open, revealing Zahndrekh, whose arms were folded. “I was trying to be polite,” he said as he crossed the threshold. “Now, what ever is the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“You always were a terrible liar, Obyron.” Zahndrekh let the door close, trapping them together in the low, gauss-green light. 
Obyron shifted, grateful that his height let him look over Zahndrekh’s head so their oculars would not meet. “I apologize for leaving. I should not have—”
“None of that.” Zahndrekh held his finger up to what would have been Obyron’s lips. “Please, don’t make me guess. Tell me. What is wrong?”
A flash of despair tinged with anger washed over Obyron’s engrams. Zahndrekh could not possibly understand. He refused to see the horrors of biotransference, so he could not comprehend the weight of what Obyron’s phalanx had lost. Obyron could never tell his lord that they had not simply died. He alone had watched his friends fade into pale imitations of themselves, be dragged across thousands of battles, only to expire. He could not even offer himself that comfort that they were finally at rest because without souls he was not sure if they were.
And then to have that thrown back in his face at a dinner party—
“Obyron!”
Zahndrekh grabbed his hand. Obyron realized he had clenched his fist hard enough to crack his necrodermis. Already it was repairing, but seeing that shook him. He should have had more control. He should not have been this affected.
“I—” he stammered. “I don’t know what—”
”Here, sit with me.”
Gently but firmly, Zahndrekh dragged him down until he was kneeling on the floor. Obyron felt his legs give out from under him, as if the flux had ceased flowing to his motor actuators. Grief and guilt burned his insides like acid. 
“I never mourned them,” Obyron gasped. “I brought them to their deaths, yet I never did anything to remember them.”
“Your phalanx?” Zahndrekh shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Obyron. I should never have let that insult slide. It went too far.”
Obyron wished he could say that he did not care. He had no right to care. But those words had hit too close to the truth. He had not known what to do on Doahht without Zahndrekh. And yet he had not been the one to suffer for his incompetence. 
“I was the one who failed you then,” Zahndrekh said. “I bear more responsibility for their loss than you.”
That was perhaps true in the strictest sense, although it did little to assuage his guilt. The more he dwelt on it, though, the more he realized it was not simply grief that disturbed him now. Because if he was like them, if they had not been so different…
“Why have I been spared all this time?” he whispered, finally acknowledging something he had not wanted to speak aloud for years. Though his living metal form was more advanced than most soldiers’, even elites, he did not have the enhancements of a lord. “What if I share their fate? What if I fade away?”
He looked into Zahndrekh’s oculars at last, afraid he would find confusion or pity. He saw neither. For a moment he thought he saw understanding, although he could not be sure. There was so much about his nemesor he did not comprehend even after all this time.
“My dear vargard,” Zahndrekh said. “I am sorry I did not see your pain. You have been my shield for so long, it is too easy to forget that you are not just steel. That there are parts of you that  need protecting as well.” 
Zahndrekh’s hand moved slowly along Obyron’s amor until it settled over the place where once his heart had been. There was nothing there now but machinery. But Obyron’s chest still ached and his mind still reeled. And his body still reacted to the nemesor’s touch. The shoulder where Zahndrekh rested his hand was the only part of him that felt warm. The only part that didn't feel ready to crumble under the weight of everything.
“What can I do to protect you?” Zahndrekh asked. “How can I ease your pain?”
It went against all propriety and protocol. But they were alone. Who would it hurt if Obyron allowed himself one small comfort.
“I feel lost,” Obyron said. “I just want to…”
”Yes?”
”Please,” he said. “Hold me, my lord. For a moment.”
Before Obyron could think better of it, pull away, beg his lord’s pardon, Zahndrekh’s arms were around him. They struggled to fully wrap around his broad shoulders, so Zahndrekh pulled him close, buried Obyron’s face in the crook of his neck. He imagined the time of flesh, when Obyron would have been able to weep. His tears would have stained Zahndrekh’s robes.
Obyron clung to him. The lord that he did not understand and who did not understand him in turn. But that did not stop Zahndrekh from being Obyron’s anchor. His love, though it terrified him to even think the word. Yet what could he call it but love that kept him at Zahndrekh’s side? If someone offered Obyron an empire in exchange for this moment in Zahndrekh’s arms, he would have laughed in their face. It wasn’t a choice.
Perhaps that was all love really was.
“Would you like to tell me about them?” Zahndrekh asked after a long period of silence. “The comrades you lost?”
It would feel good to remember. To speak their names and their deeds and prove in some small way that they had lived. To finally allow himself to grieve and know that he would be heard.
”Yes,” Obyron said. “I would like that.”
33 notes · View notes
janetm74fics · 1 month
Note
For Febuwhump: Day 22, but Scott's the one saying it >:) (no graphic mentions of blood or MCD if possible but also it's your sandbox *hugs* <33)
Explosion
@febuwhump day 22: “You Weren’t Meant to be There’
TAG-verse but features elements taken from Movie-verse. I apologise to any Boston Red Sox fans.
~
‘Scott, we have a situation.’
Scott looked up from the desk as the klaxon sounded and John appeared before him. John paused for Virgil and Gordon to enter the coms and listen.
‘There’s been a gas explosion in Boston. It’s affected a large section of the Newbury Street shopping district and surrounding area.’ ‘Please tell me that’s nowhere near Wharton’s?’ ‘No – nowhere near.’ ‘Well, thank goodness for that small mercy!’ ‘Agreed.’ ‘Agreed. Alright, Thunderbirds are go!’
The scene when One arrived was one of chaos but as Scott watched he could see that local services had coped quite well so far. International Rescue had two objectives this mission. Gordon and Four were going to be dropped into the Charles Basin to ensure that the explosion hadn’t breached the walls. Virgil and Scott had a particular section of the street to evacuate and shore up while the local services dealt with the epicentre. They seemed to have that well in hand so Scott set off at a trot to start with the closest.
The Hynes Convention Centre Station had been on the periphery of the explosion but had some of the line collapse and that had caused some of the local businesses to sink inwards too.
The difficulty in such rescues, John reflected as his fingers flew, was not having an accurate ‘body’ count. When it was one building or an oil rig, say, he would be told how many people were in attendance. In any disaster like this, where the public were involved, there was no way of telling how many people were involved.
John hated sending his brothers in with incomplete data, but it couldn’t be helped. Thankfully, as he worked more information poured in. Tuesdays were a reasonably quiet day for the area, and the station hadn’t been too busy either. There were a few convention centres, the Fenway and a couple of exhibition centres in the area and John held several simultaneous conversations as he tried to get numbers from them.
Scott had landed One on the nearby Fenway Gardens, his ship being small enough to just fit - literally just – fit. Virgil had no such luck, and it was with a silent plea for forgiveness that he landed his giant bird on the grass at Fenway Park. The Sox were not going to be happy with International Rescue and Virgil knew that replacing that green was going to be one of the most expensive outlays iR had outside of their ships.
Thank goodness it was off season. At least they had time for the green to prefect.
Gordon got stuck into checking the Basin wall while Scott and Virgil began with evacuating the station first and moved outwards. By the time Gordon had declared the town safe from flooding and joined them they had moved onto the businesses and had been working steadily for an hour.
‘John – how are we doing with numbers for the exhibitions?’ ‘Last one is Body Worlds. I know that there are a number of life signs there and I am in contact with someone there and they are getting the information. You have two more businesses before you get there.’ ‘FAB, John. Virgil – you and Gordon take this one, there seems to be more life signs there – I’ll take the other, I see only three. I’ll meet you in Body Worlds.’ ‘FAB, Scott. We’ll meet you there.’
Scott was thankful that his three rescuees were both easy to find and uninjured. He delivered them to the waiting medics who would ferry them to the triage centre set up in Boston Common and entered Body World.
He remembered Alan had mentioned this place when he’d first came to Whartons. He was on a part-residential program to finish off his schooling which meant that for two months of the school year he was a normal student. Alan had thought the idea of the place was cool, had tried to convince Virgil to come visit so that they could go together, but the medic had said he saw enough real bodies that he didn’t need to see plastinatised ones in an exhibit, no matter that he thought it was an excellent education tool. Alan had pouted for a bit, but eventually the school term had finished and he’d come home and all talk of plastination had gone. Scott had been glad because he hadn’t fancied that idea at all.
He'd just got to the entrance and ducked under the fallen beams and reached the first life sign – a very dusty and slightly bloody woman in a pale blue apron. She looked dazed and confused but very grateful as Scott helped her out.
‘John, I have quite a few life signs here and there is a lot of debris.’ ‘Kayo and Penny are both inbound, due to reach you in ten minutes. I’m getting numbers through from those that had been booked in. I’ll let you know set figures but besides casual visitors it looks like at least three school groups.’ ‘FAB, Scott.’
Scott had made it down to the worst section, where the main exhibition floor had collapsed into the basement. They had formed a chain, moving rubble out and people when they could move. Most of the injuries were minor, some concussions and broken bones at worse.
He moved slowly and carefully, Virgil by his side as they shifted a long beam. Two teenagers were trapped underneath, only their legs showing, and these were more than minor injuries. The smell was clear on the air.
Virgil was twisting to move it to one side when Scott’s cry tore his heart apart at the same time John came online.
‘Err…guys, one of the schools visiting is Whartons.’ ‘NO! No, no, no, no, NO! Alan! Alan, you’re not meant to be there! Alan? ALAN!’
20 notes · View notes
westernlarch · 2 months
Text
WIP Whenever
I am in such a writing rut 🙃 I've been feeling pretty awful about it. Even though I'm sure I'll be completely rewriting this scene, I'm posting it to remind myself that I'm still writing, and that's something.
From the first post-Reaper War intergalactic summit:
The silence in the ballroom pulsated. Attendees sat slack-jawed at the Dalatrass’ last statement, everyone too aghast to do anything beyond suck air. Finally, Matriarch Kyari’s stoic voice cut through the shock. “The Treaty of Fairfaxen strictly prohibits the building of new dreadnoughts beyond the stated limits.” Dalatrass Linron did not recant. “Considering the state of affairs, the Salarian Union sees the treaty as null and void. The decimation of the turian and asari militaries has left Council space weak and vulnerable. As such, the Union seeks to build more dreadnoughts.” She lifted her chin, seeming to address the wall rather than anyone in the room. “We are, after all, the only Council race with adequate resources to do so, and we will not have our territories go undefended.” Garrus could almost see Wrex’s shrill, hot breath ripping through the slits of his nose. “Bah! That’s a load of pyjack crap and you know it. You don’t get to just call off a treaty!” A throaty, contemptuous chortle erupted from the battlemaster's throat. “The krogan leader will remember to watch his language please. This is a professional meeting, ” the moderator reminded him. “You have resources because you left everyone else to do the dirty work!” His hands clenched into fists, and for a moment, Wrex appeared poised to slam them through the freshly waxed tabletop. “And what did you offer? A single fleet? Two? The STG? Some science and tech, I’ll give you that much. But tell me, Dalatrass, how many liters of salarian blood spilled on the streets of Earth? How many made the last stand alongside us on the battlefields? Cause I sure as shit didn't see any of you come the end.” Wrex’s breath was scorching now, so white Garrus was sure he could feel it on his neck. “There are only two salarians I know who showed any real guts and one of them is dead,” Wrex added, his voice tinged with a trace of melancholy. The Dalatrass scoffed. “May I remind you of the Union’s current efforts to re-enable the remaining malfunctioning relays? Our monumental efforts to rebuild infrastructure throughout Council space? If we possessed ulterior motives we could very well build ships in secret, but we have chosen to disclose our intentions as a show of our cooperation. And at great expense to our people, if I might add.” “Oh boo-fucking-hoo! Think we’re all a bunch of suckers, don't you? Well, this isn’t the Rachni Wars, sweetheart. What’s that human saying…‘Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice—go screw yourselves’?” There was a click as the moderator cut Wrex's audio. “Mr. Urdnot! You are out of line!”
15 notes · View notes
silkendandelion · 1 month
Text
Don't Waste My Time (Please)
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
A One Piece fanfiction (completed one-shot), prequel to All This For A Coin, ao3 link
Trafalgar Law x OC (male) Words: 2.5k Genre: Angst, drama, AU world-building
Rated Teen and Up Audiences for brief descriptions of violence, blood, and discussion of slavery in the context of the Saboady Archipelago Arc
Over the timeskip, Law spent 2 years sending letters back and forth with a new revolutionary, someone he hesitated to call a friend for a long time. He wonders how close they would have become, had he thrown away that first letter, like he planned.
Or: Law and River had a rocky start to their relationship, years in the making, not for either of their faults, but possibly for lack of trying.
AN: The plan is for this to be the start of a new series for the timeskip, fleshing out the OC's places in the world, including Aurelio's backstory, River's relationship with Law, and the possible events of the Rocky Port Incident 👀
~*~
He almost threw the letter away.
“Captain? What’s it say? Who’s it from?” Bepo asked, his furry brow wrinkled in worry.
The paper was flawed, containing a repeating mark from a poorly maintained (or damaged) press, and even at arm’s length Law could smell the expensive, bergamot-heavy perfume that had soaked into it’s curled edges on the long journey from sender to ship. It fell open in a long ribbon, folded in on itself at least twice to fit in the envelope, and he clicked his teeth at such a lengthy correspondence from a stranger.
Quick skimming revealed the rambling affection of a member of the Revolutionary Army, he believed, one he had treated after the Battle of the Best. A thank you note, he realized with a start. Thinking back, he hardly struggled to recall that long, chaotic day, the difficult surgeries that followed, and his unexpected patients. Guests, he hated to admit.
“Get on! Quickly!” He had shouted over the deafening roar of the battle, swords clashing and cannon fire. For Law, his target, Monkey D. Luffy, lay limp and bloody in Jinbei’s arms, exhausted beyond defeat and all but broken. The fish-man was rightfully skeptical of neither submarine nor captain he recognized, even as he hung half-useless in Buggy’s arms, who was currently the only reason they hadn’t plummeted to the freezing ocean below. But with Akainu recovering behind them, sure to be back in the fight the moment he dealt with the revolutionaries that volunteered to hold him off—he had less than seconds to decide.
From the deck, Law and the Heart Pirates watched the surrounding Marine ships preparing their guns.
“Do you want both of you to die?!” He tried again. “I’m a doctor.”
Buggy shook his head. “This doesn’t feel right, Jinbei, maybe we should—”
“Put us on the submarine.”
“THINK about it longer, maybe?!” Buggy gave a tired huff, and pitched him towards the vague direction of the submarine’s deck.
Meanwhile on the ice shelf, Aurelio’s lungs burned, all but seared and stuck to his ribs from closing the distance between himself and Akainu. One after another, he and his friends had been defeated, half-charred and perforated as they used the last of their strength to push the Admiral back. With the Whitebeard pirates scattered and the marines pushing forward, the fact Aurelio was concious was the only reason anyone stopped to collect what was left of the little band of revolutionaries.
He knelt to feel for Iva and Inazuma’s pulse, smearing blood where he touched but finding them alive. Behind him, River lay all but gone, having passed out when Aurelio cauterized his wounds. In both their defense, Aurelio had warned him it might be too much.
Materializing in a whirl of sand, Crocodile appeared to kneel by River’s side, locating the weak pulse in his gentle grasp on his wrist. He meant to speak, some sigh of relief he lived, but was instead forced to dodge Aurelio’s rokushiki, his shave to get close and a bullet of light from his finger, close enough to nick his face.
“Get AWAY from him!”
Still reeling from his own wounds, Crocodile found he had no strength to smother his rage at being chased away like some common criminal. Though, for all his screaming bruises and sore muscles, the part of his brain that relived his mistakes was all too ready to remind him why. Why Aurelio looked at him with bloodshot eyes and bared teeth, promising of nothing but an impending death if he took so much as a step towards River.
He lowered his hook. “He needs a doctor, or he’s going to die!”
“I’m working on it. When he’s awake, he can choose to talk to you all he wants, but when he’s vulnerable—you deal with me.”
Aurelio had expected a biting retort from the former warlord, appropriately venomous, perhaps coated in his own promise to settle their differences at later date in hate and sand—but all he received was calm. Crocodile stood at his full height a few feet away with arms lowered, his golden gaze empty of all but compliance.
“Do not let him die.”
“You don’t get to ask me that.”
To Aurelio, the unwavering stone of Crocodile’s mask was just more proof the ill will he harbored was deserved in all it’s unfiltered fury, but to it’s owner said that of all the hateful truths he could possibly spit at Crocodile—the man had already laid them upon himself.
They parted in silence, and Aurelio carefully stacked all three revolutionaries in his arms to carry them with his sky walk off the forsaken battlefield, towards the submarine in the harbor. On the deck, Law was shouting for them to submerge, his crew having already carted Luffy down to surgery.
“Captain! Look!” Bepo called to him, pointing at the sky towards the battered Aurelio and his armful of unconscious friends.
Crowded by the smell of salt and gunpowder, and as pressed for time as they were, Law had no reason yet to hear him. “We’re leaving, I don’t know who that is—”
“That is the strangest way to beg for your life.”
The crew and captain whipped around to face him, take in his desperate stare and arms beginning to shake, legs nearly to failure where he held their combined weight in the air. Blood dripped over his knuckles where one of their wounds wasn’t holding. “You remember us from Saboady, yet you would turn us away? Doctor Trafalgar Law?”
“This isn’t a lifeboat, and I don’t answer threats—”
“So take them!” He shouted, voice hoarse from calling his friend’s names, each one louder than the last as he watched them fall to Akainu. “I’ll be fine, I always am, but they deserve to live!”
Law recalled Aurelio and River from the auction house, how River had stood up in a crowded room and offered every berry he had (which was millions at the time), to buy the freedom of the Oasin who knelt on the stage.
“Only 800 in the entire world, the Oasin is a beautiful addition to any collection, best displayed how they live in the wild, studded with gold and dressed in blue,” the auctioneer had said.
He remembered the fight that followed, of Jean Bart saying goodbye to the Oasin as River gave her the money, what looked like all of it, and a kiss on the forehead that must have tasted like his tears.
They spoke for the first time after he watched Aurelio rest his friend against a tree in the heat of the battle, alone where he believed he would be safe, suddenly off to fight again with just a few comforting words Law couldn’t hear.
“Hey.” Law shook him, gently. “Wake up. Are you all right?”
River’s eyes had peeled open, surprised to see a stranger above him. “You’re the doctor from the posters. The rookie pirate Rayleigh spoke about.”
“I guess. Are you hurt?”
“Oh no, I’m okay,” he smiled, drowsy and sore. “I got caught up in some trouble recently, and haven’t healed yet. Aurelio’s definitely going to scold me when he gets back. He cares so much.”
Law combined both his memories with the man before him, the distress rolling off him in waves, the pile of broken revolutionaries he carried with what looked to be the last of his emergency reserves.
“Come on,” he jerked his head to signal Aurelio was clear to board. “Hurry!”
“Do you know them?” Jinbei asked Law as they all rushed inside, washed by the rotating red lights that signaled the submarine was beginning it’s descent.
“I’m not going to let them die,” was his answer, one Jinbei readily accepted.
After a deceptively short pursuit and hours upon hours of touch-and-go surgery, Law finally allowed himself some rest. In their rooms, all the wounded were cared for, sleeping, including the revolutionaries, Jinbei, Luffy, even Ikkaku who had sprained her wrist during the chase.
He sat down heavy into his desk chair and tossed his hat aside, right onto the stuffed owl who sat on his pillow.
His hat flew up, suddenly thrown by the startled owl who was decidedly not stuffed—also yelling now—and his frightened shout rang off the metal walls almost loud enough to wake the entire submarine. Loud enough Bepo came running to check on him, not just because he knew exactly what had scared his captain to crack his voice.
“Captain! This is Rinai. She was complaining—” The owl squawked in offense. “Sorry! She informed me the others were snoring too loudly, and she needed a quiet place to rest. After all, your quarters are the quietest place on the ship. I meant to tell you but I forgot, captain, we’ve all been awake for so long.”
Law curled all his limbs away from the perturbed owl who sat on top of his books now, smoothing her feathers where his hat had ruffled her. “… Not in my bed,” he insisted.
“I’ll bring you a pillow, miss.” Bepo bowed his head politely to the owl and went off to find her a suitable replacement.
After a few moments, footsteps wandered back into the open doorway, and Law expected it to be Bepo except for the soft, tired voice that spoke up was easily not the polar bear. “Oh? I’m lost again, this isn’t the bathroom.”
He looked up from where he had nearly fallen asleep sitting up, to find River staring at him expectantly. Law had never seen him so haggard, his dirty hair pushed away from his face, albeit brushed somehow, and a dark, achingly purple bruise around one of his striking violet eyes.
His hands briefly scrubbed down his face. “It’s fine. I’ll show you.”
Law paused as he stood from his chair to gape at him. “Is that MY robe?”
“Hm?” River touched his bandaged chest with equally dressed hands, bared by the loosely tied, plaid robe (royal blue) that threatened to fall off his shoulder where he touched the door frame.
“Shachi gave this to me when I asked for something to wear. Rinai keeps most of my clothes in her pocket, but she’s asked to not be disturbed.”
He knew his face must betray how little River’s statement cleared up any of his multitude of questions—but he was handedly too tired to seek answers. How far away was the nearest island, anyway? Maybe they had a dinghy big enough for them all? So he might get some peace.
“I—fine.” He rubbed his eyes. “Let me show you the way to the bathroom.”
When they reached the end of the metal hallway, River spoke up. “Uh, doctor?”
“Hm.” Law grunted his vague attention, and he turned to notice the formerly extroverted, bright revolutionary stood a few paces behind him, downright wilted. Perhaps he was just exhausted or… maybe shy? That certainly didn’t fit with Law’s current perception of him, the showy mercenary and resolute pillar of his people.
With River’s bare feet shifting on the cold, metal floor, they no longer stood eye to eye, and Law waited patiently for him to speak, looking down the couple of inches difference between them.
“I want to thank you, you know? You saved all of our lives, Aurelio told me how many hours it was to treat all of us. My words are all I have, unfortunately.”
“Yeah, you bankrupted yourself on Saboady.”
River perked to attention, visibly fluffed in his realization. “You saw that?”
“Everyone did. I don’t want your money anyway.” His boots shifted in a mirror of River’s previous fidgeting, bordering on uncomfortable at both the ardent praise and River blocking his path of retreat to his room.
River beamed at him suddenly, his smiling cheeks flinching where they pulled on his bruise. The answering twinge of Law’s heart worried him, it felt too much like a murmur, bordering on full panic.
“You’re incredible, doctor. I used to think pirates only cared about money. I thought ‘How can there be a doctor among them, aren’t they bound by an oath of selflessness’? But you and Luffy continue to surprise me. I’m finding I quite like pirates, actually.”
Law’s neck and face flooded with a blush, his uncomfortable frown twisting back and forth. “Don’t get the wrong idea, I just know you’re broke. And I should have charged you double for the way Aurelio spoke to me.”
“He just cares so much, but I understand. I’ll apologize on his behalf then,” he bent in a poor imitation of his usual flourish, only able to bow until his bandages pulled tight, “I am so sorry, Dr. Trafalgar Law. And thank you again. From all of us.”
“Get—out of here,” he grumbled, shouldering him out of the way to get back to his room where he wouldn’t be bothered by earnest mercenaries with soft hearts. “You shouldn’t be out of bed with your injuries, anyway.”
“Yes, doctor.” River smiled at his back.
‘And call me Law!’ There came a vague shout among the slam of a door, after he had already turned out of sight down the hall.
In spite of how his heart had raced back then, now Law frowned down at the letter with only bruised, embarrassed disappointment. He flipped it back and forth, recalling his new perception of River, the man that wanted his chest to tighten because it was all part of the plan.
It wasn’t hard for him to find what the underworld had to say about River Faustina, called “Kingfisher” where bounty hunters were concerned. Named for a hunting bird, Law found no one willing to refute the idea that the mercenary was equally a hunter: beautiful and sharp, unafraid to manipulate powerful people until his wants and desires fell out. Whatever he wanted from the Revolutionary Army, Law decided that wasn’t his problem, but the gentle, soft smile he cast up at him while wearing his clothes, was.
He took a moment to examine the innocently plain envelope, signed with the same flourishing hand as the letter. “It’s a letter from those revolutionaries we treated after Marineford. Nothing I have to answer,” he replied to Bepo, and folded the letter to put in his pocket.
But when he went to crumple the envelope, it didn’t give completely. Inside, turned out to his open palm, was a poker chip, carved with a red heart on the opposite face and belonging to some bar he didn’t recognize by name.
He recalled the last lines of the letter. “I’m working on getting my finances back, so watch your mail. Do you like hearts? Or is it a coincidence?”
“What’s wrong, captain?” Bepo inquired again, as Law slipped the chip into his pocket beside the letter.
“It’s nothing to worry about, Bepo. Let’s not waste our time.”
10 notes · View notes
macadoodlewrites · 2 years
Text
Dangerous Love - Part One (Rafe Cameron x Routledge!Reader)
Summary: Avery Routledge is John B's cousin, and she has just moved to the OBX - just in time for a treasure hunt. But with John B keeping secrets in order to protect her, he pushes her into the arms of the Kook King. She becomes tangled with none other than Rafe Cameron, but will she realise how damaged he is before it is too late, or will he ruin her before she can get away?
Warnings: death, smut, dub-con, toxic behaviour, abuse, kidnapping, non-con
Ships: Rafe Cameron x OC, minor!JJ x OC
Tumblr media
Hi everyone! This story will take place starting from the beginning of season one, and will partially stick to the original plot, but will take far more interest in Rafe and his doings. There will be a few minor detail's that have been changed for this story's purposes so please don't read into it too much. Enjoy :)
Main Masterlist
Dangerous Love Masterlist
Word Count: 2k
The Outer Banks. Kildare Island. The Cut and Figure Eight.
Over the years, I had visited countless times to see my cousin, John B, and my uncle, always choosing to spend my summers in the OBX rather than at home. Paradise on earth was what John B called it, and I couldn’t help but agree with him – endless parties, beautiful sunsets, and most importantly, my friends, The Pogues. The only family that I cared for.
But this time was different. This time I was not visiting for the summer. No, this time it was permanent. I had turned eighteen a matter of months ago and had been waiting for the right chance to pack up my things and leave my childhood home, and that opportunity had presented itself last night. Enough had been enough, and my mother and her boyfriend were now people of the past and could never hurt me again — no, I didn’t want to dwell on what had happened the night before. Today was a fresh start and the first day of my new life.
My father, Teddy, was supposed to be John B’s legal guardian, appointed after my Uncle John had disappeared at sea nine months ago. Unfortunately, my father was not a man who could be labelled as either reliable or responsible, and had never been around for me; there had been no chance that he was ever going to help John B. The last I had heard, he was building houses down in Mississippi. I’d been left behind.
Last night I had snuck out in the middle of the night, the world dark and asleep as I had hopped on the midnight bus, then another, until I reached the port and caught the next available ferry. On the way, I had phoned John B, and he had not asked any questions despite my sudden and abrupt departure from home and instead had told me that he would prepare the spare bedroom at The Chateau for my arrival. Apparently, only a couple of days ago, a hurricane by the name of Agatha had hit the island and stopped all the boats, so I guess I had been fortunate in the day I had chosen to leave.
And leave I had. I stepped off the ferry, tugging my white rucksack tightly over my shoulders and grabbing one of my suitcases in each hand. John B was due to pick me up at three o’clock. I checked my watch as I walked. Ten to three. Walking along the long wooden board walk to the beach, I could see that both John B and The Twinkie were nowhere in sight. The remaining passengers of the ferry walked alongside me and continued their journeys onwards as I stopped at the sandy beach. As I looked up at the cerulean sky, and then at the expensive houses and buildings, I finally felt the knot in my stomach unravel. I was here – my mother couldn’t come and get me; her boyfriend could never drag me back.
From my previous visits, I knew that the ferries always pulled up to the luxurious side of the island. Figure Eight. The Kooks lived here. This was not where I would be living. I dug my suitcases securely into the deep sand, and sat down on one of them, looking around at the people getting on with their lives, driving home, seeing friends, working their jobs on the pier —
“You look lost,” a male voice said from behind me. I twisted in my makeshift seat. Stood a few paces behind me, leaning against an expensive looking motorbike, was a boy – well, a man. He looked around my age, maybe a year or two older. Dirty blond hair was loose around his head in curtains, a few strands falling in front of his eyes which were covered by sunglasses, and he was wearing a peach-coloured polo shirt, branded with a high-end logo, and white shorts. The outfit and his relaxed, easy posture all screamed money. Despite his eyes being covered, I could feel him scrutinising my outfit – faded, blue jeans, a burgundy tank top, my usual necklaces, and a cream cardigan – which was all entirely wrong for the heat. “You’re either a tourist or on the wrong side of the island.”
Choosing to brush off his statement, I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m waiting for someone to come and pick me up. My ferry arrived early.”
“How early?” he asked, copying me and crossing his own arms.
“I’m sorry?”
“How early did the ferry arrive?”
“Not that it is any of your business, but ten minutes. I’m sure that my ride will be here in any minute.”
“Well, whilst you’re waiting, would you like some company? My friends are also running late.”
I had not grown up here in the Outer Banks, but I knew all about the Pogues versus Kooks rivalry, and this boy was certainly a Kook. He had clearly seen my suitcases and decided that I was a tourist rather than a Pogue if his offer of company was anything to go by. But what harm could some company do? If I had ten minutes to kill, why not with this Kook?
“Sure,” I said, offering a small smile. “Why don’t you tell me about the island? I’m guessing that you live here?”
He grinned, revealing perfect white teeth, and pushed himself off his motorbike. He started to walk towards me, long, tanned legs covering the short distance within a handful of footsteps, and without invitation, he sat on my other suitcase. “I do. This is Figure Eight. You’ll want to stay on the northside of Kildare Island whilst you’re here, and away from the south,” he replied. “How long are you staying for?”
My smile tightened. “I’ll be here awhile. This place practically feels like home already.”
Finally, he removed his sunglasses, revealing blue eyes shaded by long, golden eyelashes. “Well then, welcome to the Outer Banks…”
“Avery,” I filled in, and held my hand out. He took my hand in his, skin warm against mine – I noticed a large, golden signet ring on his index finger.
“I’m Rafe.” He did not make a move to pull his hand back, and neither did I as my eyes met his. They were a startling cornflower blue, summery and clear, the opposite of my own hazel autumn ones.
Rafe opened his mouth to speak again, but was cut off by a loud raring noise, and two bikes skidding up either side of us. He let my hand go as a boy got off each bike. I stood up off my suitcase, now slightly uncomfortable. One Kook was fine, three was not. I was hardly scared, but I had heard many stories over the years from John B, Pope, JJ, and Kie about how territorial the Kooks could be when a Pogue or an outsider was on their side of the island.
I still had anonymity on my side, but John B would be here any minute…
“I should get going,” I said, lifting the suitcase of my handle. Rafe remained on my other one.
“Who’s this?” one of the boys – the golden haired one – asked, looking me up and down with distaste. I moved backwards.
“This is Avery,” Rafe said. “She was keeping me entertained whilst I had to wait for you two boneheads.” His eyes were still on me, and I averted my own. “Avery, this is Topper and Kelce.”
“Nice to meet you both, but like I said, I should get going,” I mumbled.
“Your ride isn’t here yet,” Rafe commented, and I looked at him again. He was no longer smiling, but one side of his mouth was quirked upwards. “We can wait here with you.”
“It’s fine, really.” Never before had I been so grateful for John B’s unrelenting tardiness. Many times over the years, I had patched up him and JJ after their encounters with the Kooks, and it was not something that I wanted to do today.
"Come on, Avery-"
"She said she's fine, man," said Topper grumpily. "It's Figure Eight, not The Cut. Nothing bad is going to happen."
"And we're going to be late for our reservation," Kelce chimed in.
Stopping myself from rolling my eyes, I smiled weakly at Topper encouraging him to go on. Rafe finally shrugged as Topper continued to urge him.
“Alright,” he relented, finally standing from my second suitcase. He lifted the handle and leaned it towards me. “It was good to meet you, Avery.”
“You too, Rafe,” I replied, taking my suitcase. Topper and Kelce climbed onto their bikes, and started to ride off, but Rafe turned back to me as he started his up.
"Hopefully I'll see you around," he said, and as he kicked his kickstand down, he called, "remember what I said. Stick to this side of the island."
The smile fell from my face completely at his words as I watched him go after his friends. The whole Pogues versus Kook thing was going to take some getting used to, but as soon as I arrived at The Chateau, I could hardly see a reason to head over to Figure Eight anyway.
As if knowing his cue, The Twinkie pulled up, rumbling away, John B at the wheel. I smiled wider than I ever thought I could at him, waving away – I hadn’t seen him since the previous summer, despite the many attempts over the year. My mother never liked me visiting, but Uncle John had always convinced her for the summers. A weekend here and there when I told her that I was away at camp or retreats for my classes were the only other occasions I could get. But things were different now. My mother was out of the picture...
The Twinkie screeched to a halt, and John B jumped out. I ran straight at him, abandoning my suitcases and throwing my rucksack to the ground. His arms were wide, and I leaped into them, wrapping my arms around his neck. Everything from his sea-salt air scent, to the bandana around his neck was familiar. His long arms wrapped around me, and I was suddenly off the ground, being swung around. Tears came to my eyes, but I closed them, willing them away.
Behind us there was more commotion, the sliding of the van doors, and there were then more sets of arms around us. I opened my eyes and could see that Kiara and Pope were hugging us, and JJ was stood only a handful of footsteps behind John B. I released my cousin and gave Kie and Pope separate hugs. “You don’t know how much I have missed you!” Kie exclaimed.
"Sorry we're late, we got caught up in something," said John B.
"Trouble by any chance?” I asked with a laugh.
"Oh, Avi, you know that there is nothing better to get caught up in," chimed in JJ, and slung an arm around my shoulders. The old butterflies that I had always felt around him appeared momentarily at the pit of my stomach, and I continued smiling, wrapping my arm around his slim waist.
"Good news," continued Kie. "We're throwing a kegger tonight and you're the first to receive an invite.”
"And what's the reason for this kegger?" I asked. I watched as the four of them exchanged a not-so-subtle look but chose to ignore it. I’d only just arrived, and I didn’t need to know all of their business. Although with John B, Kie, Pope, and JJ, it was never anything simple...
"Do we really need a reason?" Pope finally said, and before I could speak, John B was grabbing my suitcases, Kiara had my rucksack in her hands, and JJ was putting his other arm around me, pulling me in for a long overdue hug. A tear finally slipped down my cheek.
"What's wrong?" JJ asked, tightening his arm around me.
"Nothing. I just never thought I would get here, you know?"
"Well get used to it, Avery Routledge. You're with me now, and you're home," said John B.
Burying my face in JJ’s shoulder and the soft fabric of his vest, I nodded. We were then all piling into The Twinkie, shockingly out of place next to the expensive cars surrounding it and set off to the other side of Kildare Island. Rafe’s warning could be damned. I was a Pogue now, and that was all that mattered.
NEXT PART 
Let me know if you want to be tagged for updates!
185 notes · View notes
tarisilmarwen · 10 months
Text
Rebels Rewatch: “Fighter Flight”
We went out shopping and wound up stealing a military aircraft, only on Rebels people, only on Rebels.
This is one of my favorite episodes to rewatch, it’s just so FUN.
A very pretty shot of Lothal, pre-burninating, and a short mellow excerpt of the Main Titles theme to open us up.
Behind the scenes it seems that Kanan has been teaching Ezra something, because he’s poised over this bowl like he’s ready and raring to practice something he learned.
You know I gotta talk about it, it’s the flirting scene!
Tumblr media
Look at this dork trying to be all suave and charming. ^_^
It doesn’t work because of course Ezra is fourteen and a dumbass just how I like ‘em but I like that Sabine never really seems overly bothered by his attempts, mildly irritated at worst, and even then she never gives him a hard no and she’s plenty capable, she certainly doesn’t let niceties get in the way of her speaking her mind on other things.
(See: How she was almost outright rude to Kanan and Hera about the whole Fulcrum thing.)
Subtle animation appreciation moment: Ezra briefly losing his place leaned against the doorframe and having to quickly readjust.  Adorkable.
Zeb, you’re already awake, there’s no point to threatening Ezra here.
Tumblr media
Smug little bastard I love him so much.
I really do like that they explore the inevitable friction that was going to occur when you house a snarky teenager with a cranky grown adult.  It builds naturally off the previous episode.
Plus I just love Zeb and Ezra’s dynamic and love seeing them grow to respect and care about each other, sue me.
This is nitpicky but... sometimes the paths the characters take through this ship make no damn sense.
Like right here, Ezra comes out of the nose gun pod... which can only be accessed via the cockpit ladder that he immediately runs to.  We can hypothesize that maybe he made a detour via the vents, as in the pilot, but... Zeb comes that path too.  And he definitely doesn’t fit in the Ghost’s ventilation system.
Granted I notice this because I obsessively charted out the Ghost’s layout but still, it bugs me.
Zeb coming in with a flying leap to tackle Ezra will never not be hilarious.
The Found Family dynamics are in full swing this episode; Hera lording over as Team Mom, Zeb and Ezra acting like squabbling siblings, pretty sure this is the first time someone refers to the other three as “the kids”, Kanan and Hera being absolutely low-key married...
The bouncy, elastic character movement is also very prominent here.  Like I said, the show loses this as it goes on, but it lends itself perfectly to the comedy of this episode.
Tumblr media
Please appreciate Ezra swiping at Zeb like a feral cat with me.
Subtle animation appreciation moment: The animators take time out to have Ezra scratching up into his hair as he turns from Sumar.  I love little tiny character details like this, it just makes things feel so natural and organic.
Imperial March snatches coming on the clarinet here.
Again with the small character moments, Ezra crouching and readying his slingshot.
Rebels said Eminent Domain is the arm of state tyranny, pass it on.
Tumblr media
Friiiiiiick the height difference between Ezra and Zeb is getting to me, he is so freaking tiny!
No wonder everyone he meets feels the immediate need to adopt and protect him.
Serious question: What exactly does the Empire want or need with a crate of meilooruns?  They hardly seem the type to care that much about the nutritional needs of their troops.
Like as not it’s for the plate of an officer with an expensive palate.
Ezra already responding much better to Zeb’s shoulder punches.
I would like to just reiterate: I love Zeb and Ezra’s friendship, it is adorable, they play so nicely off each other and I’m glad they got this bonding episode in early Season One.
The bouncy woodwind that’s been picking away in the background here transitions seamlessly into the Force theme prelude, hgn I LOVE it when the score adds to plot beats.
I could be wrong, but this sounds vaguely like a cue from ANH when the Stormtroopers were chasing Han and Chewie.
Ezra being so smol that Zeb can literally chuck him up to a rooftop. *cries*
Baron Valen Rudor was featured in Ezra’s introductory short (Zeb’s too I think?), it’s kind of a running gag how the Rebels show up to ruin this guy’s day in particular.  And it is hilarious.
Tumblr media
Please appreciate Zeb’s maniacal cackle as he blasts troopers away with the TIE fighter with me.
Oh wow, I never noticed the subtle Force ring sound effect right here with Ezra leaping to the other roof.  Nice touch.
I hear some notes from the Return of the Jedi soundtrack here, specifically when the Rebel Alliance is making its attack on the Death Star.  I think that may be one of the leitmotifs associated with the Rebel Alliance specifically?
I really want to know the story behind Ezra’s, “You don’t know how.  Let me!” here.
A lot of this really seems to suggest that Ezra’s flown ships before.
Force ring sound effect coming in as Ezra senses the approaching rock formation and once again, I love this show’s animation.  I think I have a gifset of this moment specifically under my #your clone wars could never tag.
(Explanation: That tag is mostly for appreciating early Season One Rebels animation, which is on the level of TCW’s Season Three at least.)
I may be a Sabezra whore at heart, but I do love how casually domestic Kanan and Hera are right here.
This is one of the funniest exchanges on the show. XD
Subtle animation appreciation moment: Zeb’s ear flickers and the awkward way Ezra scratches his face.
Ezra’s “I think I know where it [the smoke] is coming from.” makes me think he’s visited the Sumar’s farm at least once or twice and knows its general location.
IIRC a large part of this episode’s inspiration was the toy or concept of this specific transport right here.  Fun trivia fact.
I don’t think anyone anticipated Lyste becoming more prominent a player lol.
Like an OC you get inexplicably fond of.
Oh hey!  Ezra’s theme is piping in here!
Oh frick is that a Dies Irae reference?
(For context, the Dies Irae is basically an ooooooooold classical music meme, usually used to musically portent death, doom, or gloom.  Star Wars tends to use the Dies Irae liberally.  Rogue One in particular had heavy Dies Irae references in several of its tracks.)
This music cue, on the other hand?  Unique to Rebels.  Kind of fun, but then I’m a soundtrack nerd and enjoy this kind of thing.
Zeb continuing in the classic Star Wars tradition of, “We’re fine, we’re all fine here... now... How are you?” failed bluffing lololol.
I know I’ve mentioned my appreciation for the hair animation but... seriously.
Tumblr media
It’s so soft-looking.
A stuttered, half-formed variation of the Force Theme here, which only plays a few notes in the sequence, just the suggestion of the leitmotif really.
Luke’s Theme, on the other hand, though in mellow horns, allowed to play more fully, though interrupted on the very end by a sharp discordant note as the Stormtroopers come up top.
This is what we call ~*musical storytelling*~.
Snrk, one Trooper downed by fruit, the other by friendly fire.  Love the whimsical little sting as Ezra’s pelting them with meilooruns.
“You did all this... for FRUIT?!”
Still one of the funniest lines in the series.
Oh wow I just noticed the nice scuffed texture on Ezra’s backpack.
Ezra’s jaunty little salute character tic, which Kanan picks up. <33333
Props to Zeb’s prehensile feet, love whenever the writers use them.
I wanna know when and how Zeb learned about Ezra’s helmet collecting hobby, did Ezra try to cram his stash on the shelves as soon as he moved in?  Lol.
Awwww and Ezra’s already getting comfortable with arm bumps, love to see it.
Tumblr media
*bangs “Rebels animation was gorgeous from the start, ya’ll just hatin’” drum*
I think I can hear some of the cue from the “Property of Ezra Bridger” short.  Pretty sure it’s used as a kind of “Rebel shenanigans” leitmotif throughout the series.
Prime “aww” moment here as Zeb and Ezra wrestle, love love love the boys being affectionate, underrated friendship, gimme more.
Lol, Ezra sounds more confused than offended by Sabine’s painting.
Tumblr media
And a slightly more upbeat rendition of Ezra’s theme to close us out.
I love this episode it’s got Zeb and Ezra friendship bonding, Kanan/Hera being adorably married, it becomes delightfully relevant to the finale, and it’s hilarious, I don’t really have anything else to say except haters to the left, why don’t you have some fun occasionally?
Tomorrow, the episode that most people said was the hook for them for the show and the start of major Spacedad-Spaceson feels.
25 notes · View notes
mimikoflamemaker · 2 months
Text
Faerunian Writing Challenge - Day 1
Tumblr media
What was Tav doing when they were abducted?
The acrid smell of piss permeating the narrow alleyways was one of the things Neve definitely didn’t find charming about the cities like Baldur’s Gate. It wasn’t like she had to lurk around as she did now, but she grew up around such places. And she knew that, if one knew where to step, the… less palatable insides of the city could provide both, a convenient shortcut and a route decidedly safer for one’s possessions, as surprising as that might sound.
And Neve needed all the safety of the familiar passageways; the many hidden pockets of her outfit were weighted down by coin – carefully earned, stolen and put away, now amounting to a small fortune. It was enough to buy oneself a comfortable life even in the Upper City.
Well, it would be once she picks up the rest of the money from her stash. And if she was at liberty to do with it whatever she wished.
Instead she was about to give the fruit of the years of hard work to the last person she wished to get anything more out of her. And to think, she had once thought that Alven had actually loved her. That she could build a better life for herself next to him.
She felt disgust, squeezing her throat shut at the mere memory of her stupidity.
The only person Alven loved was himself. His crime empire. And the Dark Net. She was, at best, a handy asset to have – as much as he could make her feel like so much more whenever she wanted. And she was finally on the brink of buying back her contract.
By the time the evening bells sound, she would be free to go wherever she wanted. Do whatever she pleased.
The price she had to pay for that didn’t seem that high, when she thought about it. The idea filled her with something she could only describe as giddiness. Until she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a store-window.
She took in her carefully done hair. Meticulously applied make up. Even her outfit –an expensive leather armor with a lot of silver gilding – everything was a ruse. She was coming to gain back her freedom and she still looked like the favored accessory Alven liked to keep at his side. A lace-covered blade that was both a concealed advantage and a way to flaunt his status just a little bit more. People rarely saw her as more when she was with him, even when she could hit a coin thrown into the air from fifty paces with either an arrow or a carefully aimed dagger.
Neve regarded the woman staring at her from the glass. She knew her well – hiding behind false pleasantries and holding little warmth for anybody, save perhaps the street urchins. Did she remember the other one? The one kept hidden for her own good?
Looking at her reflection now, she wasn’t so certain.
A loud crash cut her musings short. Neve looked around, ready to either pounce or run and watched, caught by her own shock as the bell tower fell apart, raining debris onto the streets, crushed by a huge tentacle attached to an even larger vessel blotting out the sky and coming frighteningly closer by a second. A flying ship she never thought she would see, except maybe in a nightmare.
Screams finally kicked her instincts into action and she bolted down the way she came from. If only she could disappear into those familiar looking shadows, maybe find an unlatched door and slip into a basement somewhere, she should be safe.
But she wasn’t the only one running for safety. People blocked her way, shoved at each other interested in nothing, except their own survival. Neve did her best to weave between them, similarly uncaring of the fact that shoving someone to the side likely cut their chances into nothing. She didn’t come all this way to be buried under some rubble now.
Except the tentacles seemed to no longer be interested in laying waste to the buildings. They were coming after people. Hunting them. And they were closing in fast.
Neve saw a man running in front of her being snatched up, screaming, before disappearing into a flash of something that looked like a portal. Except portals were usually glowing. This was just a tear in the fabric of reality filled with back so deep it seemed to swallow the light.
Someone’s elbow struck her side, hard, throwing her off balance. She caught a glimpse of a curly red hair and a broad back, clad in the Flaming Fist armor right before the slimy appendage wrapped around her hips and yanked her off her feet.
Into darkness.
6 notes · View notes
earthstellar · 1 year
Text
if cyber-fleas exist, OH NO
so I’m having a “fun” day off where I have to look up and see if the active ingredients in my field camping bug spray will interact with any of my medications or set off my eczema and I also need to go get flea spray and wash everything I own because my dirt cat got fleas somehow despite getting regular flea medicine, poor little dude :( already called the vet and have to pick up slightly stronger flea meds but at least it’s not too expensive so ayyyy 
BUT this gives me an idea!!! 
concept: Ravage helps out on an away mission on a weird planet everyone wanted to check out for some reason but ends up getting cyber-fleas and is SO FUCKING MAD ABOUT IT and it’s embarrassing, god dammit 
he goes to the med bay and Velocity promises to be 100% confidential about it, reassures Ravage that no she’s not gonna tell anyone, of course not, it happens sometimes, if you’re OK with it here’s what we can do about it, we have a couple options etc. 
but it’s close to mid-day refuelling time, so Nautica stops by to see if Velocity wants a nice fresh energon cube 
and ends up seeing Velocity in the middle of screwing the cap off of what is essentially a flea medicine dropper while Ravage is furiously chewing on his tail 
and it’s just so fucking clear that Nautica is trying SO HARD to restrain herself as she just sets the cube down and backs right the hell out of the med bay 
Velocity immediately starts texting her “YOU CAN’T TELL ANYONE, PATIENT CONFIDENTIALITY IS IMPORTANT!! OH MY GOD I CAN’T BELIEVE I FORGOT TO LOCK THE DOOR NAUTICA PLS I DON’T WANT TO GET YELLED AT FOR THIS” 
and Ravage is now chewing on his paw like “the faster you give me the medication the faster I can be out of here please just do your job. also less chance of me spreading cyber-fleas the sooner this gets done” 
and Velocity just goes oh shit because he’s right, cyber-fleas can potentially infest everything, FUCK
so she tries to figure out the correct protocols for dealing with external parasites but selects the wrong code (one digit off, it’s an easy mistake to make) 
which then pings all the other medical staff that there is a “potential contagious pathogen” on board and the med bay goes on a mid-level auto-lockdown 
and Velocity is like SHITTTTTT but trying to keep cool in front of Ravage who is immediately sick of this shit (and he also immediately realises that Velocity is not having a good day but isn’t roasting her for it because he promised Megatron he’d actively try to not be an asshole to anyone as part of building up more positive relations with the crew lmao) 
so now Velocity is getting pinged with Nautica going “I’M SORRY I’M SORRY” and Ratchet and First Aid are sending urgent medical staff pings asking for details on the potential pathogen because they have no idea what’s going on as they were both assisting with other away team members when this started but now they’re effectively locked out of the med bay 
and neither Ratchet nor First Aid want to use their overrides in case it might actually be something serious warranting a lockdown, lol
and Rodimus, Magnus, and Megatron are pinging her asking for a sit rep on the med bay in case they may need to divert other crew to support the medical staff or extend the precautions to certain sections of the ship 
and it’s fucking chaos 
but Velocity is like “uuhhhhh fuck it” and gives Ravage the flea medicine and starts frantically trying to figure out what she fucked up with the protocol code (because prioritising the patient is always good, right??? she may or may not be panicking a little lmao we’ve all been there tbh <3) 
meanwhile Ravage is resisting the urge to roll around a little (because cyber-flea medicine stings for a second and he’s fucking itchy right now to begin with) and pings Megatron directly to explain what happened (and also request extreme sensitivity when disclosing any further information to others because I Do Not Want These People To Know I Have Fleas) 
Nautica hears about the med bay lockdown from one of the away team members who overheard Ratchet and First Aid talking about it, and so she starts panicking a little too and decides to ping First Aid (because she doesn’t want to potentially antagonise Ratchet lmao) and let him know about what she saw in the med bay right before it locked down which makes her feel bad but also oh shit what if it’s serious????? 
but this just results in Nautica actually physically going over to where everyone is sort of standing outside the med bay now trying to figure things out and everyone is bewildered at her very emotional (and very fast and maybe slightly too loud) explanation of things to First Aid 
(and Ratchet who actually is standing right there also, but he’s just like “listen it’s good to let us know, you’re not in trouble, neither is Velocity or Ravage, we’ll figure it out” but he says it in a somewhat put-upon way so she doesn’t relax until First Aid gives her a thumbs up when Ratchet isn’t looking while he’s busy taking his turn trying to get the med bay door open, lol) 
eventually it resolves after Megatron starts sorting things out on the command alert side of things to deescalate the automatic protocols that are activated when the med bay triggered auto-lockdown, so Ratchet and First Aid do eventually get the door open. 
Ravage is pissed off that now there’s a crowd etc. but also the flea medicine seems to be working so hey he’s not that mad, at least not until Ratchet and First Aid both tell him that he has to self-quarantine in his hab suite until they can do a room visit and ensure that all the cyber-fleas are dead to prevent any spread to other crew members with mechanimal alt-modes etc. 
(Ratchet pings Megatron with some details about the recommended self-isolation for Ravage just because he knows Ravage is more likely to listen to Megatron than anyone else; Megs just responds with an OK emoji because he’s still busy sorting shit out on the bridge lol) 
Velocity does get a little bit of a talking-to from both First Aid and Ratchet, mostly First Aid (since Ratchet’s too old to be doing this shit and someone has to file the paperwork about it lol), but it’s nothing serious; it’s an easy mistake to make, and they spend the rest of the afternoon going over med bay protocol numbers and lockdown procedures for potential contaminants/various other hazards. 
(and also many reminders to lock the door when a patient is being seen, but it’s pretty clear this is a lesson that has been Super Learned on this day, so they don’t roast her too bad lol) 
Velocity and Nautica do get very drunk at Swerve’s that night but it’s fine, they’re just glad it didn’t spiral more out of control than it did lmao :’) <3 
all’s well that ends well!!! 
also once he’s out of self-isolation when all the cyber-fleas are confirmed dead, Ravage does send Nautica a text basically saying “thank you for not calling me a “little cute meow boy” or some other nonsense while I was in a state of acute medical distress” which he feels may be a slightly dramatic way of phrasing things but he really fucking hates cyber-fleas lmao 
(Nautica replies with “no problem!!! :)” but also saves a screenshot of the text and puts it in her digital collage diary for posterity, because she is getting better at making friends!!!!) 
57 notes · View notes
didyoutrydynamite · 1 year
Text
JNRZ Chapter 1 Rewrite
So this was actually a long time coming. Now that I’ve gotten a little more experienced with writting, I wanted to come back and fix Chapter 1 of it’s errors. If you have the time, please read this and let me know if’s good enough to replace the original. The first chapter is the first impression so I want to make it an even better one for new comers.
~O~O~O~O~O~
There were a lot of possible reasons why Jaune's stomach felt like it was collapsing in on itself.
It could have been about how Jaune had run away from home, stolen his Grandpa's sword and shield, and left his Scroll behind so his parents couldn't contact him. He couldn't risk his dad tracking it and dragging him back home.
It could have been because he wasn't going to Beacon Academy anymore. His "contact" that had set up the forged transcripts for him had said there was a sudden change of plans. Instead of studying at his dream school in nice and cozy Vale, he was now going to Bulwark Academy in the frozen far-off Kingdom of Atlas.
It could have also been part of the fact that the shortest way to Atlas was an overnight flight by airship. It is well known how susceptible to air sickness Jaune was, another dot on the list of Jaune's flaws, right between his natural clumsiness and the fact he looked way too good in a dress.
No matter the reason for Jaune's stomach sickness, he could at least confidently say that his ailment was the reason why he was sitting in his own corner of the airship, with his very own complimentary trashcan and air spray provided by the poor stewardess who was tired of cleaning up the bathrooms after his emergencies.
To say Jaune was in a bit of a sore spot was putting it lightly.
Using his newly acquired weapon of aerosolized flowers to fend off the foul odor of his stomach contents turned trash contents, Jaune couldn't help but stare out the airship ship window of the slowly passing snowy wastes of Solitas, soon to be his new home.
I should have asked for a refund. Jaune thought to himself. I had to sell my entire comic book collection to afford those transcripts and then save up my allowance for traveling expenses. Now I'm going to a school I didn't even know the name of. It was already complicated enough to fake my way through Beacon. Now I have to fake my way into Bulwark past the Atlesian military?
And what did the broker even mean by 'change of plans'? The transcripts for Beacon were already official, so why do I suddenly have to go to Bulwark instead? Something isn't adding up…
Before Jaune could ponder his predicament anymore thoroughly, the airship's speakers crackled to life.
"Good evening, passengers. This is your captain speaking, letting you know that our landing will be in twenty minutes. If you'd look out the left-side windows of the ship, you should be able to see the cities as we arrive. I promise it will be quite the view."
Jaune, realizing he was sitting on the left side anyways, swerved his gaze toward the window. Just as he did, his stomach pains had all but miraculously vanished.
The view was… breathtaking.
As the airship crested the mountaintop, it was as if Jaune was on a whole nother planet.
It was a world where great castles with impossibly high spires and towers rested on floating islands in the air. Held aloft seemingly by nothing but large tendrils of steam that reached out from a gaping maw in the planet's crust, like the mouth of a dragon that threatened to swallow the floating citadel whole.
To the side of this unfathomably wide opening in the ground sat another city, less grandiose in architecture than the one that sat just above, but where the latter was basked in cold elegance, the former begged for a warm embrace. The buildings below were spaced closely together as if to hug each other to better brace against the harsh Solitas cold. The entire city itself practically hugged the steaming crater like a man huddling near a campfire in a storm.
As the broken moon rose higher into the sky, the lights of the twin cities became alight under the already star-speckled sky, further contrasting the two as one glowed an icy blue that matched sprawling icy wastes while the one below emanated a deep orange that reflected off the spiraling pillars of steam, reminding Jaune of roaring blaze.
Jaune couldn't take his eyes off the scene before him even as the airship descended toward the lower city. He knew that Bulwark Academy was situated in Atlas just above, but opting for a direct flight to Mantle instead could save him a lot of money.
Even as the airship landed on the runway, the young knight couldn't help but feel excited. He was really doing it. He had just traveled all this way to become a Huntsman, and by golly, he officially came too far to turn back.
With newfound determination, Jaune took his first step out into the fresh Solitas air, with only one thought crossing his mind…
HOLY COW, IT IS COLD!
~O~O~O~O~O~
So turned out Jaune's treasured Pumpkin Pete Hoodie was not exactly built for arctic temperatures. The light material made it so the jacket could be worn comfortably on warmer days, and when you're in Vale, that pretty much means you could wear it most times of the year.
Luckily the hoodie helped better when actually traveling the Mantle streets. The lower city had an advanced heating system that ran along every nook and cranny, warming the local temperatures to a pleasant chilly day compared to the harsh freezing cold outside the walls.
But even with the relief of Mantle's heating network, Jaune knew his wardrobe was due for an upgrade if he was going to be living in Atlas, which brought him to a clothing shop. Sure, he was already dipping into his limited currency. But he considered the expenses necessary, especially if there was a chance that he was going to work out in the wilderness, where most of the Grimm were, and that's where the temperatures were even lower.
On this shopping trip, he acquired some thicker jeans, a pair of large snow boots, some thick leather gloves, a rather fashionable orange turtleneck sweater, and a brand-new black winter coat with a hoodie. For a last-second decision, Jaune had opted to grab an orange wool knit beanie with a white pattern along the hem, matching the sweater perfectly!
After putting the ensemble together with his white armor overtop, the jacket donned, and sword buckled at his side…
Jaune thought he looked good. Damn good!
He even took a few minutes to try some poses in the changing room to catch all the good angles. He almost looked and felt like a real Huntsman!
The shopkeeper must have thought so too because as Jaune was purchasing the clothes, the lady recommended a nearby Dust Shop, a locally owned place called "Dust to Dust."
Jaune had a basic understanding of what Dust was from science classes at school and the stories his dad had shared. It was like a magical rock that could create special effects when messed with.
Some could create fire, some could generate electricity, and some would even turn into water when shattered. But most importantly, it was something real Huntsmen used all the time.
Even if Jaune wasn't a real Huntsman yet (or even a real Huntsman in Training to be exact), it would help him blend in more if he showed up packing some heat, maybe even some cold and some shocking as well!
Which now brought him out in front of a storefront of a shop with "Dust to Dust" hanging above it.
Adjusting his new clothes to make himself look more official, Jaune stepped into the shop, a bell chime signaling his entrance.
A quick scope of the place revealed several shelves and display cases unsurprisingly filled with an assortment of Dust types in different containers, ranging from plastic vials, shotgun shells, glass jars, and even just whole Dust crystals to be sold. Everything had a bright red tag on the glass depicting "Fire Sale" and "Everything must go!"
A funny thought came to mind as Jaune looked over the establishment. It felt more like a coffee shop than an ammo surplus store. It felt surprisingly warm and welcoming.
"Well, hey there, son! Looking for a refill?"
Speaking of warm and welcoming, Jaune turned to the friendly voice towards the store's counter, behind which stood a tall, dark-skinned man with graying hair and a stylish fedora that he wore as easily as a smile.
"Don't be a stranger now. How can I help you?"
Standing taller, Jaune confidently strode towards the counter, "Thank you, kind sir. I'd like to see your finest wares!"
Nailed it.
The man gave a hearty laugh, "First time shopping for Dust?"
Jaune's stature immediately deflated, "What gave it away?"
"Well, when customers walk in, they're usually looking for something precise. And don't usually ask to see what I just happen to have."
"O-oh…" God, Jaune was already screwing this up! How is he supposed to blend in a school for Huntsmen when he already sticks out like a sore thumb shopping for supplies!?
"Now, now, no need to get embarrassed. A lot of the new kids in the game usually don't have too much experience with Dust. Some just usually focus on the fighting and exercising portion before getting into stuff like Dust Alchemy. I'm assuming you're about to start attending Bulwark?"
"Yes sir! I am. I was hoping to get some Dust before school started so I could… uhm… fit in… better." Jaune admitted rather bashfully, receiving another jovial laugh from the cashier.
"I get what you mean, don't want to be the only one showing unprepared for everything huh? What's your name, son?"
"Jaune Arc sir." Jaune held his hand out towards the man, who it for a strong handshake.
"A pleasure to meet ya, Jaune, people around here call me Charles Coal, and luckily for you, I can help you with just your kind of problem."
Jaune couldn't help but feel reassured, the man just oozed a calming, fatherly nature. He accepted the man's help with a nod. "I would greatly appreciate that. Thank you!"
"Good, now let's start with the basics. What arsenal are you packing?"
"I uh, got this sword." Jaune unsheathed Crocea Mors from his waist, receiving an approving grunt from Charles. "And the sheath is also a shield as well." Pinpointing that fact by expanding out the sheath, revealing the Arc Crest on the shining metal surface.
"Not bad. Does either the sword or shield come with a Dust Feed?"
"A Dust what?"
"Heh, I'll take that as a no. Do you specialize in any kind of Dust usage?"
"Oh yeah, I use… Fire a lot. And some Ice?"
"Son. Have you ever used Dust before?"
"No sir…" 
This was just sad at this point. Not even three minutes ago, Jaune had swaggered in as if he owned the place, yet he seemed to have no idea what he wanted.
"Hey, chin up. It's okay. It's obvious from your weapon that you've never had a reason to use Dust in the first place. There's no shame in wanting to expand your arsenal. How about I do this for you," Charles said as he leaned on the counter with both hands. "I'll hook you up with a sort of 'Starter Pack.' A care package of vials filled with an assortment of Dust types you'll most typically use in the field. You can go through them, experiment, and see what works best. I've got a sale going on, so I can get you quite a bit to work with for a fair price. Sound like a deal?"
Jaune nearly boggled at how great of a deal that sounded! In fact, it'd be perfect! He could show up to Bulwark with a whole stash of Dust that he can learn to use. His neck nearly snapped at how quickly he nodded, causing Charles to chuckle.
"Then it's a deal. Hey, while I get the pack together, how about you check out those paper magazine racks over there? Should be a few magazines about weapon engineering, might help you figure out what you could do next after getting a handle on Dust."
"I think I might just do that. Thank you, Mr. Coal. You have no idea how much you're helping me."
Charles casually waved off the praise, "It's my job, son. Ain't no reason to give me a medal for it. When you're a Huntsman one day, you'll do much more than me to help. Consider this an advancement on your good deeds. Now go ahead, rummage through my stuff while I get the Dust ready for you."
With another polite thank you, Jaune headed toward the magazine racks while he waited for his order.
He picked one at random, turning out to be a natural survival sort of magazine, giving loads of tips and tricks for collecting food in the wilderness. He scanned the pages and pictures instead of actually reading them. His mind was too focused on how excited he was again.
With this Dust, his new winter gear, and his forged transcripts, Jaune had everything he needed to start at Bulwark. He would take his classes seriously, get physically fit, fight monsters, maybe get a cute girlfriend, and go on exciting adventures!
Jaune was going to be somebody!
He was so focused on what possible adventures could await him that he failed to notice the front doorbell chimed, followed by a few sets of heavy footprints rushing in.
BANG!
"Get down this a robbery!"
Jaune held back a surprised scream as he ducked down behind the magazine stands.
Peering from behind the Weapons and Engineering section, Jaune spotted several men with guns and metal pipes. They wore white pants and button-up shirts with gray vests, each wearing variously colored flat caps and white masks of varying cartoonish expressions.
"Back up from the counter, Gramps! If I see one finger reach underneath that table, you'll lose it." Said a tall beefy robber who held a fire axe toward Charles
Charles immediately heeded the man's warning. "Please, I don't have much. Just take what you want and go!"
"Now, Charles, is that any way you greet a customer?"
A tall man walked in, puffing on a cigar and swinging a cane. He wore a red-lined white suit with long black pants and black shoes. His accessories included a small gray scarf, black gloves with buckled sleeves, and a black bowler hat with a small feather tucked into its red band. Unlike the others, though, he seemed to have opted to not wear a mask.
"I know the shop is falling on hard times, but is that any excuse for poor service?"
As he talked and walked towards the front counter, he was followed by a young man dressed in similarly white and gray clothes as the other goons who parted way from their supposed Boss, but what made him stand out was the red-ornate coat that hung off his shoulders like a cape and a black bandana and mask that covered most of his facial features and hair.
"Roman Torchwick." Charles seethed. "I don't share my hospitality with people who don't intend on paying. What's the matter? Bigger fish getting too scary that you now have to pick on small fries like me to get by?"
"Harsh words Charles. But I promise it's nothing personal!" Roman said as he crossed his heart. "Sometimes, a successful criminal like me just wants to take a break from bigger franchise jobs and take from the little guy. Give attention to local smaller businesses so they don't feel left out."
"Wise Guy." Roman snapped his finger towards the tall henchman with the axe and a mask of a frowning face. "Make sure our friend here doesn't try to cause trouble while we work."
"Got it, Boss. I'll keep him nice and friendly."
"Funny Man," Roman turned towards another henchman, who could have been an exact clone of Wise Guy if it wasn't for the darker skin, the smiling mask, and his weapon of choice being a sledgehammer. "Get the others and start gathering the Dust."
"Yes sir, Yes sir!" Funny Man saluted as he giggled and started smashing glass displays.
"Red Roger, secure the back of the shop. Make sure it's only the old man here."
"On it." The young man in the black mask nodded and started toward the back of the shop.
"Chop chop, men!" Roman said as he peeled off one of the red stickers on a broken display case. "And remember, 'Everything Must Go!'"
"Hehe, you said it, boss!"
"Oh crap, oh crap!" Jaune quietly said as he backed up further down the magazine aisle.
This is bad! Jaune thought, What should I do? What would a Huntsman do? He'd try to quietly take them down one at a time, even the odds into his favor, then hit them with an all-out surprise attack… CRAP WAIT! I'M NOT A REAL HUNTSMAN!
As Jaune continued to quietly back up, he failed to notice an extra magazine rack behind him, accidentally bumping into it with his hip, right where his Crocea Mors was…
Click.
With a simple bump, the sheath expanded into its shield form, the force launching the magazine rack down the aisle and the shield right off of Jaune's belt in the other direction. The boy quickly dove for it as it loudly clattered to the ground, picking it up and shushing it like that would feasibly quiet down the noise.
Jaune quickly stood up with Crocea Mors in hand, hoping they didn't hear that. He turned to look as every pair of eyes in the room stood looking directly at him, seemingly stunned in place mid-robbery.
"Uhmm, freeze?" Jaune hesitantly demanded.
Unfortunately for Jaune, not none of the robbers decided to drop their weapons. In fact, he heard what sounded like a gun cocking right next to him, causing him to pale.
"How about you freeze, bruv?" said the henchman designated Red Roger in a thick accent, who held a flintlock pistol point blank to the side of Jaunes head in one hand, and a sharp cutlass in the other. From here, Jaune could see Red's bright green eyes through his mask's eye holes, and he painted his nails black based on the index itching towards the gun's trigger. "No sudden movements, bruv."
All Jaune could do was let out a struggled eep as all the criminals around started laughing, Roman Torchwick applauding as he walked closer to the two.
"Very well done, Red. Looks like you caught us a Huntsman." He took a drag and puffed cigar smoke straight into Jaune's face, causing him to cough. "Trying to play hero, kid? How's that working out so far?"
Jaune felt like he should have had a witty comeback for Roman. But instead, his brain defaulted and opted for the truth.
"Could be going better."
This caused a round of laughter from robbers as more decided to stop their crime to join in on the fun of messing with him.
"Aw, look, he's shaking!" Funny Man chuckled ", What's the matter, pal? Ya nervous meeting such a big star like the Boss?"
"Oh, is that what it is, Blondie? Are you a fan of my work?" Roman snarked as he rummaged through his coat pocket, pulled out a marker, and started writing on Jaune's breastplate. "Here's one to my biggest fan, Twerp. Hugs and kisses, Roman."
Jaune looked down to see Roman's message in fancy handwriting, causing Jaune to blush deep in embarrassment as the criminals started pointing and laughing at him.
"Ha! Make sure to tell your friends, kid! You better treasure that with your life!" said the one called Wise Guy as he patted Roman on the shoulder.
"Heh, and as he should." Roman agreed, then quickly afterward had a thoughtful look crossed his mind as he turned to his crony.
"Wise Guy."
"Yeah, Boss?"
"If you're here, who's watching the shopkeep?"
When Wise Guy didn't immediately answer, all eyes immediately turned towards the counter as Charles' hand continuously pressed the silent alarm.
"Uh-oh."
Seeing an opportunity while everyone watched Charles, Jaune expanded his shield and charged through the criminals.
"CHARLES, RUN!"
In his valiant effort, Jaune managed to get a few meters before he felt someone trip him. Having focused all his momentum on charging, the boy flew across the shop, landing shield first on some soft duffle bags. Duffle bags full of the recently stolen Dust.
BOOM!
~O~O~O~O~O~
Despite all the habitual smoking Roman did, he coughed hard from all the smoke that filled the room.
Unfortunately, his unhealthy habit also did nothing in the way to get him used to loud explosions that nearly deafen your ears, nearly as in the case he could still hear the alarms blaring around him, partially from the store's security system and from the cars parked outside blaring their lights.
Luckily for Roman, these specific car lights did not belong to any police cars, but that didn't mean the streets wouldn't be full of them soon.
"Uncle? Uncle!" said the muffled but familiar voice of his sidekick Red Roger.
"I told you not to call me that on the job!" Roman loudly yelled through his tinnitus, pushing his kid nephew to the side as he stomped over to his overpaid cronies. "And which of you idiots had the bright idea to trip him?!"
His two tallest and beefiest henchman looked at each other, Wise Guy being the first to point fingers.
"It was all Funny Man."
"Oh, you little snitch! Why I atta-."
"And why didn't you just grab him?!" Roman asked as he quickly stomped up to the burly masked man ", Instead of, oh, I don't know, tripping him into our haul of highly combustible rocks!?"
"S-sorry Boss! I had to think fast. The kid got the slip on us."
"Hehe, slip." Wise Guy laughed before getting whacked upside the head with a cane. "OW!"
"Hehe, OW! OW, Ok!"
"What do I pay you guys for?!" Roman yelled as he gave Funny Man an extra smack with his cane for that pun. "Come on! We're leaving before the cops get here."
"What about the Dust, Boss?" Funny Man tentatively asked before getting an angry glare from Roman. "R-Right. Sorry."
The dapper gangster stepped through the front entrance, its front door now hanging loosely on its hinges. He glanced around all the broken glass shattered on the sidewalk and street, looking for a particular Blonde nuisance that he was pretty sure launched through the front windows after the Dust ignited. Roman thought he could loot the twerp's chunky remains for that shiny sword, but no armor-clad salsa was in sight.
Scanning the surrounding street, he did catch a scrawny teenager just limping into an alleyway across the street, a trail of blood following behind him.
Oh no, you're not getting away that easy.
"Unc- Uh, I mean Boss!" Red yelled from the open sliding doors of the white getaway van. "Hop in! We got trouble coming our way!"
Even Roman could determine the sounds of police sirens growing closer. But the man was not nearly finished here.
"Head on without me. I'll meet you guys back at the hideout." Atlas's greatest thief ordered. He turned, adjusted his hat, and strolled down the dark alleyway. "That little hero owes me a goddamn robbery."
~O~O~O~O~O~
Everything hurts.
Jaune's mind raced as he limped down the Mantle alleys, no idea where he was going but forward. He wasn't exactly sure what his condition was. Probably a few cracked leg bones, maybe several broken ribs, a concussion, and quite a few cuts and bruises…
Oh, gods, everything hurts.
He wanted to go home, but he realized now how much of an idiot he was.
What kind of Huntsman couldn't stop a robbery!? How could he ever face monsters when he struggled to take down a few armed robbers alone?
He planned to hobble to the nearest port, purchase a one-way ticket to Vale, and endure the arduous journey back to Bourbon on his hands and knees if he had to. Take the grounding and ass-kicking his mom would give him, and stay in that village where it was safe and cozy for the rest of his life!
"Ohhhh, Sir Knight! Where areeee youuuuu!?"
But first, he had to get away from HIM!
Jaune tried frantically to pick up the pace, but there was only so much his legs could do after that explosion.
His breathing became ragged by the time the alley opened up to a sort of steaming canal. The river was flanked by two raised sidewalks with railings that overlooked the flowing water, melted snow that fell within the heated air of Mantle and drained out here.
The injured knight looked down both ways of the river, trying to quickly determine the path to outrun…
"Didn't your mother tell you not to run with sharp objects?" Roman said with smug satisfaction as he strolled out of the dark from behind him. "You could get hurt, you know. You better hand the expensive-looking sword over before you injure yourself further."
"N-no, my mom didn't tell me that. She'd always tell me, 'Strangers are friends you haven't met yet,' but I feel you'd be an exception." 
That's it, Jaune thought. Buy yourself time, Jaune. Keep him talking.
"I'm hurt. If you'd give me an honest chance, I can show you exactly how swell a guy I can be! How about we start over?"
The thief pressed the tip of his cane down to the ground and gave a deep bow.
"Roman Torchwick, leader of the Candlelight Crooks, The Gentleman Robber, the Trickster of Two Cities, and the Greatest Criminal Atlas has ever known!"
"Uh… Cool. My name is Jaune Arc. I'm uh, about to attend Bulwark Academy, and a fun fact about me is I uh… I have seven sisters!"
As they stood in awkward silence, the sound of rushing water from the canal and distant police sirens filled the air. After a moment, Roman broke the silence, his voice laced with astonishment. 
"Seven sisters? I can barely handle the one I have! You have my sympathies."
Jaune let out a small chuckle. "It wasn't all bad. They annoyed each other just as much as they annoyed me. And at the end of the day, I still love them."
Roman nodded, a wry smile on his face. "Siblings, am I right? Love to hate them, and hate to love them."
Jaune chuckled in agreement. "Exactly."
The two not-strangers shared a quick chuckle, taking a moment to take a trip down memory lane of their antics with their sisters.
"Hm, now that we got introductions out of the way," Roman said as he lifted his cane back toward Jaune. "Hand over the sword and shield, Jaune."
Any good atmosphere they shared vanished for Jaune, tonal whiplash nearly breaking his neck. "W-What?! You can't want it now!"
"I can, and I still do. I've got an image to maintain, and I can't allow myself to walk away from a botched robbery empty-handed. I swear, Blondie, I thought you would be much more understanding about this."
Jaune clutched Crocea Mors harder, "You can't have it."
"Well, then I'm just going to have to take it."
Roman adjusted his grip on his cane to hold it more like a club and started stalking toward Jaune, the boy now seeing no way of running or talking his way out of it unsheathed his sword and expanded his shield, trying his damnedest to get into a fighting stance. Due to his lack of training and numerous wounds, the boy was shaky at best.
Due to the knight's intense nerves, he broke first and went on the offensive with a wild swing. Roman effortlessly parried the attack with his cane, his expression revealing a hint of surprise at the ease of it.
The parry caused Jaune to stumble, who took a few seconds to recompose himself as Roman watched curiously yet cautiously.
Jaune charged in again with a yell, going for a thrust this time. Torchwick rescinded by swinging his cane upwards, redirecting the sword, then jabbing Jaune right in the nose with the end of his weapon.
Jaune cried out, trying to cover his now bleeding nose with his shield hand.
Roman looked at Jaune with wide-eyed astonishment, a cruel smile slowly carving into his face.
"You can't be serious."
The Gentleman thief changed his battle stance into a mocking fencer's stance, twirling his cane like a rapier. "Well, come on then! Engarde Blondie!"
Jaune's legs were shaking, he was starting to feel everything hurting again, and he was getting angrier and angrier. With as primal a yell he could muster, the Huntsman in training charged with reckless abandon, unable to properly swing his sword. Roman immediately smacked the weapon out of his hand. The thief followed up the disarm by delivering an ear-ringing open hand slap across Jaune's face, knocking the boy to the cold ground.
The thief stood in awe and let out a belly laugh, greatly amused by the boy below him.
"Oh, you have got to be joking with me!" Roman let out between laughs. "You're no Huntsman at all! You're probably not even good enough for training!"
Roman sauntered over to Jaune's prone body, placing one foot against the back of the boy's head, pressing it deeper into the mushy snow as the thief wrenched off his shield from his arm.
"Now I know that this doesn't even belong to you," Roman said, brushing off some of the dirt that got on his new shield before figuring out how to collapse it back into his sheath. "All this trouble over a sword you don't even deserve, pathetic."
As Roman walked over to pick up the remaining sword, clipping the shield to his waist, Jaune just laid there, face down in the snow, fading in and out of consciousness.
The words stung. Stung worse than the cuts exposed to the cold air. Roman was right. That sword didn't belong to him, he was no better thief than he was, but at least he could get away with it.
Jaune agonizingly turned his head towards Roman as he leaned down and picked up his sword- no, his grandfather's sword. That sword belonged to a true hero. A man who fought for and sacrificed everything to keep those he loved safe.
It doesn't belong to me…
Jaune watched as the smug bastard pulled out his cigar case, leaning against the railing overlooking the canal. The sight made Jaune clench the snow around him, squeezing so tight his knuckles turned white.
But it sure doesn't belong to him either!
As Roman lighted a cigar, Jaune pelted the back of his coat with a snowball. The thief turned to see him barely standing, blood smearing his face as he held another snowball.
"Give it… back." Jaune growled out.
"A snowball? Really? Why don't you be a graceful loser and lie back down in the snow while I finish my victory smoke? Save yourself from any more trouble."
"GIVE IT BACK!" Jaune yelled as he hurled another snowball, sailing just above Roman's head, and plowed right into his bowler hat…
"My hat!" Roman exclaimed as he attempted to grasp his precious headpiece, nearly barreling over the canal's railing as his fingers grazed the wool felt, just a hair out of reach. The hat was carried away by the Solitas winds into the rushing waters below.
"Alright, kid." The hatless thief seethed. "You want your sword back? You can have it after the doctors pull it from your asshole when I shove it down your throat!"
Clutching his cane, Roman turned towards Jaune to exact his vengeance, in time to realize that the stubborn blonde had rushed in and kicked the thief right in the side where Crocea Mors was…
Click.
As soon as the foot made an impact, the sheath had expanded, the force of the weapon's activated mechanisms causing the shield to fly off Roman's waist as he was launched over the river's railing with a surprised yelp.
SPLASH!
Crocea Mors clattered back to the cobbled stone ground next to Jaune. The boy quickly grabbed his family heirloom, then stumbled over to the rail to see the notorious criminal splashing around in the water. Seeing Roman sputter in the dirty city water caused Jaune to chuckle, which then bubbled into full-blown laughter.
"Atlas's Greatest Criminal, my butt!" Jaune yelled down to the river below. If Roman had any witty remark, it was inaudible through the water he sputtered out of his mouth as he splashed around in the river.
"What's wrong, idiot?! Nothing to say now that you aren't so tough?"
"H-Hel-"
"What was that?!"
"Pffft H-Help! I-I can't swim!"
Jaune watched the helpless thief try his best to stay above water as he digested the information.
"Oh. OH CRAP! H-Hold on! I'll uh…," Jaune looked frantically around him for any other souls who could help until he noticed Roman come up for one last gulp of desperate air before disappearing below the water.
Jaune quietly cursed as he dropped the weapon and shed his backpack before hopping off the railing and into the river below.
~O~O~O~O~O~
The two men gasped for air as Jaune pulled Roman and himself out of the river onto a stone ledge, resting above the water line. Next to them were a set of stairs that lead back to the streets above.
Roman coughed up some water and sat on the cobblestone stairs as Jaune lay on the ground, his body aching too much to stand.
The rescued thief watched his unlikely savior for a few seconds as he caught his breath, before stating the obvious.
"You… saved me."
The blonde just tiredly nodded, staring up at the stone bridge that hung over their little platform, saying nothing and prompting Roman to speak again.
"Why?"
"Huh?" Jaune asked as he slowly sat up, scooting his back to the wall to better look at Roman. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Don't patronize me, kid. I was robbing you of your family heirloom and kicked your ass."
"Yeah, but you were drowning," Jaune said. "Just because you're a huge jerk doesn't mean I'll sit by and watch you die."
Roman studied Jaune's face, looking for any hint of deceit. When he found none, he smirked.
"Dumbass."
"WHAT?!"
"I said you're a dumbass, kid," Roman confirmed. "If you're naive enough to save someone who just mugged you, then this Kingdom will chew you up and spit you out." The thief said as he gestured towards Jaune as he sat soaking wet and beaten black and blue…
"Wait a minute. Why isn't your Aura healing your wounds?"
"My… Aura?"
Roman's eyes bulged as he looked at Jaune like he had grown a second head.
"NO!" the flabbergasted crook exclaimed. "No way. You can't be this dumb. Do you not know what Aura is?!"
"I-I know what Aura is!" Jaune defended as he tried to hide his embarrassment. "My dad is a Huntsman for crying out loud. I know what it is. It's a forcefield, right? It protects you from damage and gives you a superpower?"
Roman facepalmed and sighed loudly. "Look, Blondie, it's more complicated than that, but it's technically correct." He rubbed his chin as he organized his thoughts. "Let's see, how do I explain it. Think of Aura as a sort of energy battery that's in your soul or whatever. This energy can be used to do a few things, generate a forcefield as you said, heal wounds, boost your muscles, and even interact with Dust Crystals. And depending on your Semblance, your superpower, it may have to be powered by your Aura."
"And so yeah, a useful battery, but just like a battery, if you use all its energy, you can't use it anymore unless you recharge it. It can also- so- Yes, Jaune?"
Jaune had his hand raised like a student in class. "How does it recharge? Does it, like, feed off your soul?"
"How the hell should I know? You tell me, aren't you going to Bulwark for this stuff?"
"Y-Yeah, I'm going there because I don't know this stuff."
"And you're going there without your Aura activated?" Roman said incredulously. "Well, hot shot, how did you plan on becoming a Huntsman without your 'force field?' It's a miracle you survived that explosion. How do you think you're going to survive a Beowolf claw?"
"I was hoping to find someone there to activate it," Jaune said non-committedly, the idea sounding half-assed and reckless now that he was saying it. "I'll just have to make it work, I guess."
Roman studied the young man closely before sighing and stood up from his seat on the stairs. "Stand up."
"Huh? Why?"
"I'm going to unlock your Aura."
Jaune stood as quickly as his aching body could. "R-Really? You'd do that for me?!"
"Don't get all soft and mushy on me, Blondie," Roman said as he helped Jaune stand straight. "I'm not one for being indebted to people, especially to idiots. Consider this repayment for saving my life by saving yours. You won't last a day in Bulwark without Aura."
"T-Thankyou! So what do I need to do? Do I need to make a certain pose or-"
"Just shut up before I change my mind."
Jaune's mouth snapped shut, not wanting to let this golden opportunity go to waste. He silently watched as Roman placed a hand on his shoulder and one over his breastplate, just where his heart was.
Then he started glowing orange…
"For it is in our cunning that we shape the world to our will. Through this, we defy all odds and obtain our deserved fame and glory. An eye for an eye and honor among thieves, I release your soul, and by my code repays thee."
It was as if the words flowed into Jaune, sinking into his soul and causing something to burst forth. A white light surrounded him as what felt like pure energy began to flow through his being.
For a second, Roman looked tired, but as he watched the light cast over Jaune, he let out a whistle.
"Not bad, Blondie. You got yourself quite the Aura reserve."
Jaune paid little mind to Roman's words as he looked at his arms and saw his cuts close shut and bruises fade away. He could also feel the energy flow through his bones as they healed fractures and repaired his broken ribs. When the glowing faded, Jaune took in a deep breath and felt…
"Amazing." The knight uttered, now feeling reinvigorated and healed. "This is amazing! Why doesn't everyone do this?"
Roman shrugged, "Several dumb reasons. Some morons believe that having Aura attracts Grimm."
"I-Is that true?" Jaune paled.
"Probably not. Anyways now that I've repaid my debt, I'll  get go-"
"ACHOO!"
The tense silence after Jaune sneezed directly into Roman's face was so palpable you could cut it with a knife. The thief looked perturbed as the knight covered his mouth with utter embarrassment and horror.
"I. Am. So sorry." Jaune began. "I didn't mean to a-a ACHOO!"
Another sneeze came, but luckily he sneezed into his elbow instead of on Roman again, who was now noticing that the two of them were shivering cold.
"Well, this won't do," Roman said, reaching into his sopping-wet coat pockets.
"W-w-w-w-What are you doing?" Jaune shivered as his body started shaking.
"O-o-our clothes are wet and were standing in about 30-degree temperature. I can't officially repay you for saving my life if I let you freeze to death. O-o-open your palm."
Jaune tried his best to keep his arm steady as Roman fished out a vial of red Dust and poured some of it into the young man's hand, instantly warming his palms.
"Now that you have your Aura unlocked, here's a good way to use it," Roman said, pouring the vial into his hand. "Watch."
Jaune did just that, observing how Roman closed his eyes and focused, his Aura around his hand flaring first orange, then red, causing the wet glove to steam. Soon the red light spread throughout his form, covering his entire body until it finally dissipated, leaving Roman Torchwick's stylish clothes completely dry.
"Whoaaaa," Jaune said in amazement. "Was that your Semblance?"
"Nope. That was Fire Dust." Roman answered smugly. "And now it's your turn to try. I want you to remember the energy you felt when it first flowed through you. Think hard about what it exactly felt like. Then I want you to focus that feeling on your hand that's holding the Fire Dust. Then when you feel the energy growing, imagine that feeling spreading from your hand across your body. Like water droplets in a shower, or slowly submerging into a swimming pool."
Jaune nodded, took a deep breath, then focused. He imagined the warmth that first spread over him and imagined it all in his palm, growing brighter and hotter. It began to feel intense, like putting his hand near an open flame. Before it got too much, he imagined the heat spreading evenly along his entire body, basking him in what felt like a hot summer's day.
As he felt the heat of the Fire Dust runout, he let his Aura fade with it. After a moment of feeling himself up, he discovered himself to be completely dry and toasty!
"Nice job Blondie!" Roman clapped in approval. "You're a pretty fast learner! I was ready to laugh as you blew yourself up again, but you got it in one shot."
Jaune couldn't help but chuckle, "Too bad. But really, thank you, Roman. You know, I think you'd make an awesome teacher!"
"Oh really?" Roman smiled. "Let me teach you one last lesson about Aura before I leave."
He placed a hand on Jaune's shoulder. "So you know that Aura can be applied as a force field, but I bet you didn't know you had to consciously activate it for it to protect you."
"Really?" Jaune asked. "So it doesn't automatically protect me?"
"Nope, for example..."
Next thing Jaune knew, Roman had swung his leg and kicked him right in the groin, causing him to bowl over on himself and lay on the ground. As Jaune coughed in pain, he squinted up at his teacher.
"W-why would you do that?!" He groaned.
"Don't think I forgot how you botched my robbery, kid. That was payback for all the trouble you've caused me." The thief crouched down and riffled through Jaune's pockets for his wallet. "And this is to cover the expenses for a new hat, jerk."
Jaune continued to clutch his privates as Roman walked towards the nearby stairs, whipped out a cigar, and lit it, letting out a satisfied sigh as he breathed smoke.
"Consider this your final lesson for the day, Arc. This Kingdom feeds off the naive and trusting schmucks like you. If you wanna make it big, you gotta play dirty. And if playing dirty doesn't work, get nasty." With another puff, the infamous criminal turned and smiled at Jaune.
"I expect big things from you, kid. Don't you dare disappoint me." With those words, Roman began his assent of the stone stairs towards the streets of Mantle, yelling back towards Jaune some final parting words as the boy's Aura slowly repaired his nuts.
"Oh, and by the way! Welcome to Atlas!"
28 notes · View notes
oldmanbayou · 1 year
Text
how to start a garden with no money
Most people who know me know how much a hate spending money on things. I’m reasonably comfortable financially now, but I graduated right at the very start of the recession and was barely making ends meet for the first decade of my adulthood. So thriftiness is sort of embedded in me. Besides wanting to save the planet, I think just being kind of a cheapskate is where my homesteader mindset probably comes from. A commenter on another post gave me this lovely idea for a writing prompt -- Thrifty Gardening! 
Here’s what really pisses me off about gardening -- It’s not the act of gardening but then unbelievably sexist gardening industry that tries to sell us tools and supplies. I mean just look at the ads -- it’s a bunch of ladies and their babies. Even though there are tons of dudes who garden, they are under the impression that gardening is dominated by women and I swear to god, they stick a women’s tax on gardening supplies in response. SO much of what they try to sell us looks aesthetically pleasing on the surface, but then turn out to be overpriced uni-taskers and pure junk! A lot of it is stuff you can find in a hardware store or Tractor Supply that they’ve rehashed as gardening supplies and jacked the price up. (Note for clarification - despite my handle, I happen to be a lady.)
Starting a garden doesn’t need to be an expensive endeavor. You don’t need special tools or equipment to start one. You don’t really need much of anything!
Here are the BAREBONES BASIC essentials you need to start a garden. If you do have a little bit of cash to spend, I’ll put the extras in at the end that will make your life easier and have a higher chance of success. 
1. Forget transplants from the gardening shop - Get yourself some seeds! Cost: $0. Hear me out:   • Do a quick google search: “seed library near me”. See if there happens to be one nearby and check it out if there is! • Check out this amazing organization, Free Heirloom Seeds. They have a lengthy list of seeds and you can get 4 packs of whatever you want for free!  • Gardeners LOVE sharing their seeds! We also get super excited about new gardeners and want to help them out and share our wisdom (hi). If you are on Facebook, do a search for local garden groups and join a couple. Post to the group and just tell them you’re starting from nothing and ask if anyone has some extra seeds they want to get rid of! You’ll likely get a few people who would love to help a newbie out. • Butter up some old folks! I am ridiculously shy and have no social skills but nonetheless, I have still unintentionally landed on free seeds and free plants just from casually chatting with locals. Every year, my town has a big townwide tag sale. A lot of these tag sales tend to be from retired folks who are downsizing and moving away. Many of these old folks have big, beautiful, impressive gardens that they’ve developed over many decades. As shy as I am, of course I need to compliment them on their garden! And that gets them going, and then they inevitably end up gifting me seed packets or plants that need a new caretaker. One woman I met really scored me a jackpot when she gifted me the  seeds she’d been harvesting from her garden year after year for generations and are functionally landrace varieties specifically suited for the exact microclimate of my little pocket of the world. I’ve also accidentally gotten a lot of garden supplies for free this way! 2. Next is the garden plot! Cost: $0-$20 • If you have dirt, you don’t need a raised bed. They’re expensive to build, require shipping a giant pile soil, and are so unnecessary. The most overrated gardening ploy of our time! Unless your soil is toxic or you have physical limitations necessitating a raised bed, just use the ground! The ground will be a better insulator than a raised bed, providing better protection to your plants from temperature fluctuations. It also typically has both better water retention and drainage than a raised bed. (If you DO need a raised bed -- try straw bales or finding a used trough and drilling some holes on the bottom.) • Moving on! If you don’t have a pre-existing garden plot or bare patch of dirt to work with, you’ll probably need to dig up a plot, likely involving removing chunks of grass, which is sort of exhausting work. If you aren’t blessed with livestock to do the dirty work for you, a spade or garden fork will serve you well in the garden. You might be able to find one for very little money at a tag sale or on craigslist. But if you need to buy one, they're usually around $20 new.  • If you don’t have ground to work with, container gardening is a perfectly legitimate way to garden! Keep an eye on craigslist/FB marketplace for people giving away planters. You can also make your own out of trash -- Any food container can be a planter. You can poke holes at the bottom for drainage with a screwdriver, nail, awl, or pretty much any sharp object (if you’re truly starting with nothing and don’t even have basic tools at your disposal like a screwdriver, two words - DOLLAR TREE.) Berry containers and those plastic boxes that salad mixes come in make excellent mini greenhouses. 
3. Plant your seeds! Cost: $0-$16.25.  • Option A: Direct sow - If you really want to go the totally free route, you can just stick the seeds in the ground. Refer to the seed packet and/or Farmer’s Almanac to determine timing.  • Option B: Start indoors - All you need for starting seeds indoors is some containers, potting mix, and a window. If you ever buy eggs again, egg cartons can make terrific seed starting trays. If you ever buy transplants at a store, start hoarding those little containers they come in because those are ideal for starting seeds and will last years! As I stated above about container gardening, any food containers can be reused as planters if you just poke some drainage holes at the bottom with a sharp object. For soil, any potting mix will suffice, which a bag will run you about $5-$15 depending on bag size (note: don’t use dirt from the outdoors for container plants). Once they are ready to go outside, make sure to harden them off first by gradually acclimating them to the outdoors over the course of a week. When you’re ready to transplant them, all you need is a trowel to dig a hole, which can be found at Dollar Tree for $1.25.  **Free and simple watering can on a pinch: Try a soda bottle!
Non-essentials but a good idea: • If starting seeds indoors, a seed starting potting mix will give you a much better germination rate and the seedlings a better start at life. This runs about $6-$8 for a small bag (I only use this stuff in seed starting trays because of the expense. Once the seedlings outgrow their trays, I either stick them in the ground or upgrade them to a larger container with regular potting mix.)  • If starting seeds indoors, investing in a grow light will result in an easier time and prevent leggy seedlings. A regular lightbulb isn’t really going to cut it, but you can find a basic grow light easily enough on Amazon for less than $20.  • Fencing. Unless you live in a very urban area with no concerns about wildlife, something is most likely going to want to eat your garden! Honestly, I just use this fairly inexpensive wire fencing ziptied to some garden stakes and the only critters I’ve had issues with are chipmunks. It’s $45 and a roll goes a long way. You can find even cheaper options for $30. Garden stakes usually run $2 each and Dollar Tree carries packs of zipties. (You can also buy a bulk pack of zipties with various sizes for $6 on Amazon.) I also don’t have a door on my fence--I just have a cinder block on both sides of the fence that I use to step over it ($2 per block = $4). A door could be nice for occasional wheelbarrow loads but eh....doors are an overrated added expense!  • Soil test. A soil test will reveal what nutrients are already in your soil and your soil’s pH level. If you base what you plant off of your pre-existing soil conditions, you’ll have a higher chance of success. If you’re growing food and suspect there might be a chance your soil might not be safe for that, you may need to send it to a lab for testing. Costs on this can vary wildly depending on where you live and what resources you have for this kind of thing. Otherwise, the at-home kits are perfectly sufficient. I use the Luster Leaf rapid tests, which are $17.  • For weeds, I just use a garden cultivator (it’s the size of a trowel and looks like a claw), and guess where you can get one for practically nothing? That’s right - Dollar Tree! $1.25
Don’t be fooled by aesthetics in the garden catalogs. This is my thrifty garden (taken in July--it’s of course covered in snow right now). It’s substantially larger than it was when I first started off about 5 years ago, but I’ve not really made many upgrades!
Tumblr media Tumblr media
The squash trellis is a new addition that I paid nothing for. I built it out of scrapwood and some leftover fencing. Trellises are the most obnoxiously and pointlessly overpriced of all garden things - Another post for another day!
24 notes · View notes
pack-coven-thing · 1 year
Text
Aaron Lycan - Fallen Ashes
@romeave-wives-club <- rewrite partner in crime
Tumblr media Tumblr media
"official" character page - tundra design
Without further adieu, and without spoiling too much of the plot since we do intend to write a proper fanfic with this rewrite, I present: Aaron Lycan!
---
- 6'3 Bear
- DILF
- He/him
- Autism
- Shad's reincarnation
- Aphmau and Zoey's babygirl
---
First introduced as "the stranger", Aaron was a mystery from the beginning. His motivations weren't known, nor his backstory, and for the gods' sake Aph thought he was an old man!
He isn't shown again until his "official" meeting with Aphmau, operating in the shadows. He had been watching Zane's actions, entirely against whatever empire O'Khasis was trying to build.
So when Zane paid a visit to Phoenix Drop, and O'Khasis ships were docked, he knew something was happening.
He figured out there was a spy, someone from within- Phoenix Drop was always so independent. He hadn't been here since Malik and Matilda-
Which placed particular suspicion on the twin lords who just-so-happened to be in the place of the lovers.
He observed at first, watched from the shadows. He watched as the eldest Ro'meave- he was meant to be dead?- was happily close to the lords, as Aphmau- the girl he had *saved* in the tundra- spoke with one of the Jury of Nine. Just far enough away to not catch what they had spoken of
He cornered her, alone with none of her guards around, and had plans of ending her, getting it over with. She was obviously a spy, along with the other lord-
But he hesitated. There was something in her eyes, something almost- familiar? No, it was probably just fear. Good, she should be afraid- serves her right for being the spy for such a no-good, murderous-
"Wait, please!" Aphmau used his hesitance to ramble. And she was good at it, she nearly begged him to let her protect her village, and begged for him to recognize who she was.
In a split-second judgement, one that could have him killed if messed up, he let up- slightly. Just enough to be slightly less deadly.
---
Zoey
He went into Phoenix Drop with some, disturbing news. To him, it was normal intel, something that would come up in any lord's ruling-
But after his meetings with the Lords, he could tell they hadn't come to the verge of war yet. Instead of being able to slip in, talk to one of the two, and out- he got a kitchen knife in his face.
"Who are you?"
He'd never admit his first thought was that she was gorgeous, because his second- and much more pressing- thought was this woman has a knife and he didn't want to kill within the lord's house.
---
Jacob
...
---
Design comments!
So! His tundra design has a thicker beard, at least is meant to, and has more layering to his clothes. That's the main comment here, don't make the man shirtless in the snow
He had no reason to cover his eyes with a bandana, so instead his hair is simply too long. Once neat-cut long hair, shorter in the front- *almost* having fringes, grew out. He doesn't bother to cut it, he can see his surroundings just fine
Red is a pretty expensive dye back then, so I like to imagine his jacket was once the red we see in his skin- but it's been worn and dulled from years of use, and he refuses any other jacket as his primary one (it became a comfort item of his)
I gave the man a shirt, he does take his shirt off when training, but he also doesn't walk around shirtless 24/7
You can't see it in the drawings, and I messed it up on the tundra drawing, but he wears silver buckles & jewelry due to it being a weakness of werewolves (Aph & Zoey later bully him into wearing gold due to their werewolf friends existing)
His beard gets progressively shorter as Aph tries to teach him some semblance of "can I at least see your face? Irene, how is it even that thick-"
---
other comments
"Aaron 🤝 Zoey Holding a sharp object to their future partner's throat" <- Cam
"AARON AND APH WORSHIPPING ZOEY BECAUSE WHAT IS BETTER THAN HAVING TWO GODS WORSHIP A LOWLY MORTAL-" <- Cam
Jacob does have lore, and he has a story beyond what we know ;)
34 notes · View notes
iris-in-the-rain · 10 months
Note
Vextan for the ship ask game, please 💙
NOTES: I didn't forget this ask! Damn, but I love those two!! 🥰 The names for the Elders' Youngers belong to @ailendolin, as do some of the headcanons about the Elders' past 😊
Gives nose/forehead kisses: 
It's Ho-Tan. She did it to Vex, not long after they first met, he was asleep, and she just had to press a kiss to his forehead, after he fell asleep helping her work all day. She regularly does it to Alvin and Irk, and she loves doing it to Vex, especially when he doesn't expect it!
Gets jealous the most:
I don't think either of them really do, to be honest. Vex can sometimes be oblivious, and Ho-Tan loves him so much, that she simply cannot be jealous of anything that makes Vex happy (spoiler: she's the one who makes him happiest) Although, one day on a trip with Debbie and rest of the Elders, a woman attempts to flirt with Vex. Ho-Tan does not like the ugly squeeze of insecurity and fear in her chest, but Vex just squeezes her hand tighter, holds her gaze lovingly and without taking his eyes of his beloved, brightly says, 'I'm already with the most beautiful woman here'.
Takes care of on sick days:
Ho-Tan is a caregiver by nature, so she always looks after Vex and their children, but she struggles herself when she is poorly. That's when Vex takes charge and he makes sure that his beloved is resting and wants for nothing. What always makes Ho-Tan feel better us having her family by her side.
Drags the other person out into the water on beach day:
They both love beach days now, although Vex did need convincing at first. Building a sandcastle with little Irk and Alvina was all it took to fall in love with the beach. The sea was a bit trickier, but Ho-Tan took his hand and they walked in the shallow water together, picked shells and listened to the waves, and to this day it's one of their favourite things.
Brings the other lunch at work:
Sometimes Ho-Tan forgets to eat when she gets into the writing mindset. She writes and writes, until she smells something familiar, and lifts her head to see Vex with a cup of cherry infusion tea in his hand. She knows it's for her, and gratefully takes it from Vex, with a sweet thank you kiss, as Vex takes the seat next to her and feeds her an almond muffin, that their children helped him make.
Tries to start role-playing in bed: 
To be fair, neither is the type, but after one evening at Debbie's and hanging out with Voltari and Dissectus, not to mention Negatus, Vex's head is full of information. He only has to try to realise it's not his and Ho-Tan's thing, and they fall asleep, watching the starry sky outside their chambers' windows.
Embarrassingly drunk dancer: 
Vex. Only he doesn't really get embarrased. He used to care what people thought once upon a time, but not anymore. In fact, I can imagine him exactly like Ben Wyatt from Parks and Rec in the season 7 episode 7, 'Donna and Joe'. Any Parks and Rec fans will know exactly what I mean 😁 And yes, he would call Ho-Tan 'babydoll' 😍
Firmly believes in couples costumes: 
They both do, although Ho-Tan takes a bit of convincing. When Debbie first introduces the idea to the Elders, Ho-Tan is a bit worried that people might find her looking silly. Vex assures her that that's the whole idea, but that if she's not ready to do a couples costume, he won't get dressed up either. He then tries on the most ridiculous costumes, until Ho-Tan is crying with laughter and feeling much better.
Breaks the expensive gift rule during Christmas: 
If she could, Ho-Tan would make presents for everyone, all the time, as she loves it. She adores looking at the faces of her family on Thanktival morning, especially since Chompus stopped eating the presents, and her loved ones can enjoy them instead. Ho-Tan always insists she doesn't need much in return, but Vex is having none of it. He wants to give his beloved everything and he tries, asking Debbie for help and trying to find the most beautiful, most expensive gift every time. And every time nothing seems good enough. Until Debbie suggests he learns to paint. And Vex does, painting the apple orchard and Ho-Tan under the tree. It's not perfect, but Ho-Tan cries with happiness, and insists this is the most precious gift she's ever had, and can Vex please paint himself next to her, because that's when her life began.
Makes the other eat breakfast:
Vex is terrible at eating breakfasts. It may be because it's virtually impossible to get him out of bed on time. He usually oversleeps, runs to the chamber and gets cranky as the day goes on. So Ho-Tan hatches a plan. She sets Vex's alarm back an hour and when he wakes up, she's there ready to tell him to please come downstairs, the children are waiting and they're all going to have breakfast together. The sun is shining through the window, there is no rush, Irk makes a mess of his eggs, Alvina excitedly tells her parents about school, Ho-Tan's smile is brighter than the sun and Vex never wants to miss breakfast again.
Remembers anniversaries:
While Ho-Tan remembers all big anniversaries, she also holds dear all the moments that marked a significant change in her life. Some of them may seem small, but she cherishes the memories of the joy it brought her. And while Vex can be absent-minded a lot of the time, he knows when Ho-Tan gets a faraway look in her eyes. And so hd asks, what are you thinking about? And she will tell him, and he might remember it differ, but it's important to his love, and so it becomes a special day for him, too.
Brings up having kids first:
Neither is that willing to breach the subject first. Ho-Tan watches longingly as Flowers cradles little Daisy, and Vex watches Ho-Tan, heartbroken, as he doesn't think he'll ever be ready, thoughts of his father burning in his mind. He tells Ho-Tan that he wants her to be happy, even if it's without him. That forces a conversation, and Ho-Tan says that whatever happens in her life, she needs Vex by her side. They are both scared, of course, but Flowers offers sage advice, and both Vex and Ho-Tan promise to be honest with each other about their fears and worries and start looking forward to expanding their little family.
Kills the bugs:
Oh they do not kill the bugs. Or any living creature. Granted, Vex shrieks when a spider drops on him once, but Ho-Tan gently scoops him up (the spider) and takes him outside. Later, Vex swears that no, he did not scream. Both spend time with Irk and Alvina when they are little, to teach them about nature and every creature there is to be found in Yonderland. And yes, uncle Flowers joins them sometimes, but robes stay on.
First to define them as a couple:
Okay, literally everybody knew the moment they saw them together. It was impossible to miss the tender gazes Vex was directing towards Ho-Tan, and Ho-Tan's constant need to be near Vex. The atmosphere around them was different, it exuded calm and devotion. When Debbie saw them, she exchanged glances with the other Elders, who just shrugged. So, you two...? Debbie asks them, and Vex and Ho-Tan just look at each other. Yes, they are a couple, in the traditional meaning of the word, sure, but they've also been a family and each other's everything since they can remember and really being a couple is just a small part of their world.
Who hides their guilty pleasures longer:
They don't really hide much from each other anymore because the confidence they've instilled in one another has stripped them of embarrassment. Anything goes, as long as it makes them happy. Sure, Ho-Tan is slightly surprised the first time she sees Vex binge-watching cartoons, but after finding out what they are, she enlists Debbie's help to get him his favourites and if Ho-Tan takes to recreating her favourite characters' dialogues from films she's seen with Debbie and the girls, when she thinks no-one is around, Vex is certainly not going to bring it up, until he's sure Ho-Tan won't mind.
Snorts while laughing:
Ho-Tan. Debbie invites her and other girls for a movie night, and they watch a comedy. Something makes Ho-Tan laugh, maybe it's not that funny, but she keeps laughing, until she snorts. Rather than that stopping her, it only makes her laugh harder, until tears are in her eyes. That's how much she's laughing, when Vex is trying on all the funny costumes, and Vex just looks adoringly at her, and vows to make her laugh like that all the time, snorting or not.
Ask game can be found here
13 notes · View notes
marciabrady · 10 months
Note
hi love!! your most recent post on the first 4 princesses in comparison to the 90s ones, as well as why tangled is heteronormative was fantastic! it was so well-put and eloquent, you really have a gift for writing. anyways, it had me thinking what your ideal disney princess/disney princess movie be like? would it be based on a fairytale/folktale or would it be an original creation? hand-drawn or cgi, a musical or no? feel free to go into as much detail as you’d like, i’m so curious to see your response!
Hi there- thank you so much! Nearly everything about the original four princess movies are perfect to me, personally, but I wouldn't want to replicate it so it isn't that I want something specifically thematically (though I can list specific things I enjoy about each) but I do want a fairytale that isn't ashamed it's a fairytale? I want concrete world building, where it feels like we're being taken to a new universe and feel immersed in it and not in a self aware, meta textual way. I want a heroine who isn't the result of all of the expectations of the Disney Princess brand or only has attributes because they'll appease certain sectors of the audience- I want to be introduced to a new energy and a new life that's totally true to who that person is and not just the same character we've seen over and over again (in Rapunzel, Anna, Moana's case, etc). The fascinating thing about the original four princesses is that they're so different and you don't know all the answers about them? People have lazy criticisms against them, but the way Cinderella or Aurora would justify their choices- even things that seem shallow to us or don't make sense- they do it in a way that makes the most amount of sense and reveals information we don't know about certain things that rounds it out and just reminds you that you really can't dictate how other people would act. If you don't understand their reasoning, it's more because you're missing pieces of the puzzle and it just shows how unique people are- whereas now, I feel like people don't see the answer super obviously, they'll just assume it's not there or read something that's not there into it to the expense of the character.
But, I digress. I, myself, am a romantic person so I would like a romance that's based entirely on the two character's chemistry with one another, the type of ship that's fascinating without needing plot points to bring the thrill of their chemistry alive. I really wish we could have a real adaption of Rapunzel, especially- the imagery of the princess in the tower, the power of Rapunzel's voice, to get to know the witch, and the Prince who journeys above the forest and stumbles about her. It really is one of the best stories and so much of it is missing from Tangled. Also, I think Princess and the Pea would be interesting! They could make the Princess more of a Vanessa type, from The Little Mermaid- the imagery of her coming to the castle, amid the rain, and her identity not being believed. I also think it'd be funny if they made her more spoiled or unlikable because, after all, she can feel a singular pea through so many mattresses lol and they're overdue for allowing a female character to be herself, whether that is unlikable to some people, then trying to make them super palatable in EVERY WAY. but I do love just the idea of the castle being so cozy and quaint in the midst of such a rainstorm. I love the ways in which the Prince's mother, the Queen, is a central character and seems like such a wise woman. Which reminds me- I'd like it to be consisting of primarily female characters, mostly with older female characters like we see in Sleeping Beauty. I want the focus to be on wit and amusement and hte human condition as opposed to action (I can't tell you a single thing that happened in Frozen 2). I'd love a natural speaking voice that's more mature- no more Moana or Rapunzel voice actresses ever, please. And it'd have to be traditional animation because I think it lends itself to sophisticated story telling- 3d, as we've seen, really infantilizes the movies. I, personally would like a musical and ideally something that's more natural sounding like Cinderella, operatic and grand in scale like Sleeping Beauty or Snow White, or if it is broadway, I want it to be inventive in its own way like Little Mermaid instead of the same thing for the 100th time. And definitely no Lin Manuel.
13 notes · View notes