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#new kid on the block
flyinghellfish · 11 months
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“A Future Yet Unknown”
Rating: General Audiences
Type: One-shot
Word Count: 1k+
Summary:
As Din Djarin leaves after consulting with the Armorer in the Covert’s new hideout, someone else stops him on the way out.
Spoilers for s03ep01
Read on AO3 or here:
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“A Future Yet Unknown”
“Then I will see you again,” were Din’s parting words with the Armorer.
That was all Din could believe for himself in that moment. Those were words he reassured himself with, more so than with anyone—that all roads would lead him back to his Covert, one which had sheltered him, cared for him, and taught him how to fight. The Tribe whose lessons helped him measure the odds that both plague and adorn his existence.
This was the home he had ever known, before Grogu, and after.
Din’s shoulders felt heavier from a huge unknown burden. He was walking away once again from this only identity, to go forth and prove himself for a place among his brothers and sisters when he returned. It was fortunate that many have recouped to this planet and were rebuilding in small ways.
He thought he heard another pair of footsteps other than Grogu’s, and Din stilled.
The footsteps were light, yet full of promise. They were also the footsteps of a child.
“H-hello…” said a young voice.
Din turned to face its source.
Grogu had already made his way to the tips of Din’s boots and looked up to follow his father’s helmeted gaze.
A Mandalorian child stood before them, and from the looks of the boy’s helmet, it was newly forged and painted.
Din recognized the child. It was the newly converted young warrior of the Tribe.
Din said nothing. He shouldn’t linger, but he felt compelled to stay a minute longer for this child.
Having sought Din’s attention, it seemed the child grew bolder. His little voice filled the air.
“I—th-thank you. Thank you, mister, for saving us back there with your missiles… sir.”
The child stooped a little, as if unsure. While the boy’s movements were subdued, he appeared very much willing to converse with Din, perhaps not knowing who this silver-clad Mandalorian really was. Din was no longer of the Tribe… at least, for now.
Din couldn’t think of any other reply but to give the boy a wordless nod. He was about to turn heel and exit the cave, but Grogu stood so still. Din stopped to patiently wait for his son to follow suit, as always.
Grogu cooed, encouraged by another child’s friendliness. The boy’s helmet turned to Grogu.
Something like a tiny, delighted laugh escaped the boy’s vocoder.
“I-is he your son, mister?” asked the boy.
Din stood still, said nothing. That was all he was to the Tribe now: a shadow, a ghost.
The child, as Mandalorian children were, was stubborn, but not impudently so.
Grogu cooed again; the boy giggled again.
They seem to be having a conversation which Din didn’t dare come in between. As it was, they truly needed to leave. He was about to call his son’s name when the boy spoke once more.
“What’s your name?” The child was addressing Grogu. The boy tapped his own little chest in a lighthearted gesture. His young voice was filled with awe and a pinched sort of joy. “I know we’re not supposed to tell our names to strangers, but you don’t look like strangers. My name’s Rag—“
“Ad’ika!!!”
A deep voice boomed robustly throughout the cave.
The boy gasped, came to senses as if recovering from a slap and abruptly turned to the one who called him “little one.”
It was Paz Vizsla. The towering blue-clad warrior stood a few paces behind the little boy.
Din noticed the moment where the child tensed. The boy took one last look at him and Grogu before offering Paz a feeble nod. The child dashed off into the farther recesses of the cave.
There was only silence as the two armored men gave each other a stare-down.
Finally, it was Paz who spoke.
“You loiter too long,” the hulking Mandalorian told Din matter-of-factly. Din was both surprised and suspicious that he detected no spite or vitriol in the other man’s tone. “Do what you need to do, but don’t speak to any of our brethren in this Covert while you remain apostate.”
Paz couldn’t even say Din’s name, or address him in any way but that of an estranged brother.
“Paz…” Din began.
“Leave.”
Din felt his heart pound. He needed to know somehow, even if it further risked Paz’s ire.
“That child—is he your foundling?”
Paz’s broad shoulders further bucked. The large Mandalorian bristled and stilled, but said nothing.
Din knew that Paz would not entertain his presence any longer. Din had decided to pick Grogu up instead, cradle his son back to the ship. Grogu fidgeted and his large eyes were filled with an odd, sad light.
He was nearing the lip of the cave when out of nowhere, Paz spoke.
“Ragnar.”
Din held his breath as he turned to face his old friend again.
“My foundling’s name is Ragnar. He has just sworn the Creed.”
Din found a window to let his once-dear friend and comrade know.
“He’s already shown great courage.”
It took a while before Paz nodded. “Yes.”
Grogu’s babbles were a soothing balm to add to this precious moment of one brother communing with the other. Small words that held solemn meaning.
“I saw you, Paz, before I pulled the ship’s trigger on the creature. You went in between Ragnar and harm’s way when that monster loomed too close to him…”
There was a glint in Paz’s visor as its gaze pinned Din with it.
“You had done the same.”
Din felt Grogu’s small claws and soft hands grip his gloved fingers, as if the child understood this terse conversation.
Against his will, Din’s voice broke as he reminded Paz of an adage treasured by all of the Covert: “The foundlings are the future.”
Another beat passed. Paz had punctuated their brief exchange with a long-winded huff. The hulking warrior’s visor landed on Grogu for a while; Paz’s broad frame seemed to relax. Then with bounding footsteps, he walked off into the inner cave, perhaps to rejoin his young clan member.
While Din started powering the starfighter up with Grogu tucked in his pod behind him, Din felt a blanket of comfort.
Paz knew. He knew that once a child was in your care, that no hells could ever come for the little one you love, because you would willingly stand in the way. You would take armor and blaster and every breath in your mortal body to stave all danger away, not while the child you love was still learning their path.
The foundlings were the future, even if the future remained a huge, winding unknown.
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A/N: Theory’s around that Ragnar is either Paz’s foundling or son, and the kid would be a recurring character. Since this ep was Ragnar’s debut, I still have no idea what his personality is, but he could either be nice, or just as a meanie as his “dad” Pazzy. 🙈
Hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading! 💙
(You can read second part which can also be stand-alone on AO3 or Tumblr. Yes I'm now invested in this possible father-son conncection. TuT)
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i-mean-technically · 1 year
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have a snippet of a fic that suddenly grabbed me by the throat (ps feel free to ask me about it 👀)
“Welcome to Kaos Repairs,” he said as he stepped out of the back, hoping that he had the correct amounts of clothing on. Humans were strange about that. “Whatcha need?”
Breakdown blinked at the seeming empty room from behind the counter and disappointment swelled in him before he could stop it. Just the wind again, it seemed.
Then a tiny, so very tiny, hand reached up and gripped the counter, big blue eyes appearing over the edge a second later. Breakdown blinked again.
It was a human sparkling. He had only ever seen them from a distance before. Primus above, how were they that small?
“Excuse me,” the sparkling said carefully, like it had to practice the words. Breakdown could already feel his traitorously soft spark soften. “I need something repaired.”
Breakdown smiled, and he seemed to get it right because the human didn’t run screaming like the last one he smiled at did. “Well, that’s what I do. What needs it?”
this is set several years before the events of TFP, pre-KOBD, with Breakdown seeing Kid Jack and basically going "is anyone going to adopt that" even tho he already has a parent in the picture. i'm vibing hard with it so far
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vio-skys-blog · 1 year
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OC | Conspiracy In Emerson by @emersonfreepress
Sylvie N. Zhou - 周凝(zhōu níng)
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Concept
Name: Sylvie N. Zhou | 周凝(zhōu níng)
Also Known As: Syl / Silky / 嘟嘟(dū dū)
Birthday: April 22nd
Age: 17
Sexuality: Demibisexual, Heteroflexible
MBTI: INTJ-A
Appearance
Pronouns: She/Her
Gender: Female
Height: 5'10" (178 cm)
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Grey
Skin Color: Fair
Sylvie has long, straight black hair that goes all way down to her waist, usually left unstyled. Her eyes are grey, while her skin is peachy fair. Her rosy cheeks seem to stand out more, whenever she smiles. She stands at 5'10", rather tall with an athletic, but slim build. She has three tattoos, two of them visible along her left arm and lower calf, while the last one remains unseen beneath her chest.
She has a knack for creating ensembles which are usually chic and comfortable - rather tomboyish either. She often wears dresses that complement her figure, regularly a set of two-pieced if she feels confident showing her skin. Her makeup tends to be subtle and dewy, creating a naturally refreshing, sleek and flawless look. Her hair is casual in its effortless-looking way, and occasionally she will style it in a pulled-back or a half-up, with a few strands framing her face as accentuating her beauty.
Sylvie exudes herself well with confidence and grace. She has a captivatingly strong gaze, along with a mischievous smile adding to her alluring presence. She is well aware of her own desirability, often catching others looking for her attention, which she nonetheless chose to ignore it.
Persona: How she acts in front of others
Selfless 53% | Sweet 57% | Deceptive 55%
Personality: How she really feels
Selfish 53% | Sweet 51% | Deceptive 67%
Demeanor: How she conducts herself
Deliberate 65% | Classy 53% | Cutthroat 59%
Sylvie is extremely perceptive and observant, sitting back and watching the drama unfold. Growing up with the fact her parents never once the solid financial sources of their household, she is rather well aware of how things work, in Emerson. She knows that anyone in town is potentially fit to manipulate and backstab, something that she is willing to craft into her bones and keeps on reprimanding herself after those pretty lies, betrayal, cutthroat competition her parents drove on her to the point she snaps.
Emerson never tolerates innocent, till it finally snaps. She had that figured out well, earlier than anyone else. Yet she still underestimate it, the second time that night - when it all went awry again, with a new term.
...Murder.
Likes & Dislikes
Likes: Arts | Novels | Skateboards | Delicious Food | True Crime Documentaries | Autumn | Movies
Dislikes: Bad Movies | Hot & Cold Weather | Gossips About Her | Sweets | Self-centered, Idiotic People
Achievement Unlocked - Sylvie's Ma/Pa (Mom/Dad)✓
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Left: Abigail Tessa "Abby" S. A. Zhou (née Starr) - 周少艾 (zhōu shào ài)
Right: Johannes "John" N. Zhou - 周念 (zhōu niàn)
Trivia
Sylvie's Hogwarts house is Ravenclaw.
She is fluent in both Chinese and English.
Her Instagram handle (if she has one) is: silky_du2
Her friends tend to call her Syl, or Silky.
Her parents used to call her 嘟嘟 (dū dū) before her name was settled down, now part of her nickname.
The N in her name is the initial of the word 凝 (níng), in her Chinese full name, 周凝 (zhōu níng), meaning: unity and concentration.
Her favourite sitcom is Friends.
.
.
.
Finally got my OC done. Meet Sylvie N. Zhou 周凝(zhōu níng), an inspiring artist of the Zhou Household. Still not sure which ROs suit her, let's wait till Chap. 3 and the rest.
(If not, let the author decides... Honestly, I think Gabe--)
In the meantime, enjoys two Sylvie-approved gif emojis:
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karihighman · 2 years
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What normal What Trasse
Chicago PD and/or Upstead
fans see: fans see:
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bizaar · 1 year
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hope you have a good holiday if you celebrate!!!
Thank you, Nonny! Happy Holidays!! — as a treat, here’s something vaguely holiday-themed I wrote back when I was still doing New Kid on the Block. It’s very unfinished, so please forgive me, but enjoy!
New Kid on the Block Part 2
The holidays come and go with little fanfare, and you don’t see Eddie until school starts up again, because even though you’re officially friends now, you wouldn’t presume to know him well enough to go looking for him to hang out. You’d very briefly considered buying him a Christmas present, standing in the aisles of Melvald’s General store on Christmas Eve.
Of course, then it occurred to you that a Christmas present may not even be appropriate, how do you know he even celebrates Christmas? What if he’s Jewish? What if he has horrific Christmastime trauma that sees him vehemently boycotting the holiday? What if he thinks it’s too cheesy?
You’d ultimately left empty-handed, stuck between having absolutely no idea what to get him and worrying that it might be too forward a gesture anyway, considering the extent of your friendship begins and ends with the ride home he’d given you the week before.
Christmas with your mother is awkward. Not even the arguable cornerstone of the calendar year is enough to get her to stop asking about your new friend, though not in any way that could be construed as positive.
The stress of the situation with the Byers kid (somehow miraculously not dead?) and the missing Holland girl (probably very likely dead) coupled with the scandal of seeing you arrive home from school so late only to climb down out of a rusty panel van with overloud rock music blaring was enough to see her put you on house arrest.
“What will the neighbors think!?” she’d shouted, throwing up her hands in a way that you’d thought was a tad dramatic.
You’re actually quite sure they don’t give a shit, and you tell her as much. As a result, you spend New Year’s Eve grounded, sitting on the couch, watching the ball drop alone with your mother out at some fancy work party.
Still, 1984 is already arguably a much better year than its predecessor. It begins with you, bundled in your winter clothes, making your way down Cherry Street on the way to school the first morning back from break. Your headphones are up, the dulcet tones of your new Depeche Mode tape keeping you company for the duration of the walk, though not too loud that you don’t hear the rumbling of oncoming traffic.
You move to the side to let the car behind you pass, and the shitty panel van whips by much too fast considering the ice and frost on the roads. You almost don’t recognize it as it goes by, but then it screeches to a halt — bad breaks, you note — and the driver’s side door swings open. Suddenly, there he is, Eddie Munson in the flesh, a scarf, and a worn knit beanie added to his leather jacket and battle vest ensemble.
Eddie leans out of the door and shouts your name pleasantly, waving you over. You surprise yourself with how quickly you obey, jogging around to the passenger’s side without a moment’s hesitation. You tell yourself it’s because you’re on the verge of frostbite, having forgotten your gloves on the kitchen table, but really, you’re just eager to catch up with your new friend.
Your only friend.
“Hi!” You chirp, perhaps a little too brightly, as you climb up into the cab.
The door swings shut heavily beside you, and you breathe out harshly, starting at the way your breath fogs in front of your face in a thick, opaque cloud.
Somehow, it is colder inside the cab than it is out on the road. 
“Oh, my god,” You can’t stop yourself from saying, furiously rubbing your stinging hands together, “It’s freezing in here!”
Eddie pulls an apologetic face.
“Yeah, sorry, the heater crapped out last week.” He says, throwing the van into gear. “Seatbelt.”
You oblige, and the moment it’s clicked into place he puts his foot on the gas and off you go down the road, about ten miles over the speed limit.
The ride to school passes without incident, making idle chatter that is only slightly awkward, considering this is still all new ground for you, and you haven’t had the conversational warm-up of being rescued this time.
How was your holiday—fine what about yours – fine. It’s inconsequential, impersonal, and it does nothing to scratch the insufferable itch Eddie’s offer of friendship had left you with over the past two weeks.
You want to tell him everything, about your mother about how awkward Christmas and New Year’s had been after he’d dropped you off at home that night, but it occurs to you that doing so would be admitting that your mother is no great fan of his.
That hardly seems fair, considering she’s never met him, and it’s only the impression left by his big van and loud music that she dislikes. It’s a non-starter, conversationally. The best-case scenario could only cap off with his uttering a half-hearted “oh”, because really, what does someone say to being told someone they don’t know doesn’t like them?
So, you decide to keep your mouth shut and put your focus into sandwiching your hands beneath your thighs and the worn material of your seat, hoping somehow you might insulate them from the cold.
It doesn’t work.
There’s nearer to half an hour before class starts by the time you pull into the parking lot.
Eddie cuts the engine, and you hop out without a thought, shutting the door and circling to the back of the van to meet him in some juvenile hope that maybe he’ll want to walk in with you.
When he doesn’t immediately join you, you wander around to the driver’s side, curiosity getting the better of you. He’s stood at the door fidgeting with something sitting on the seat.
You like to think you aren’t nosy, but that doesn’t stop you from stealing a cursory glance into the cab.
He’s closing the lid of the beat-up lunch pail he carries around with him, but even in the briefest glimpse into the inside you get, you can tell immediately it’s not a pbj and pretzels he’s got there in the little plastic bags.
Eddie doesn’t react expressly like he’s been caught, but he does level you with an unreadable look after slapping the lid shut, like he’s waiting for some kind of a reaction from you.
To your credit, you mirror his posture and wait for him to speak first.
“So,” He begins slowly, drawing the work out a little less lyrically than usual, “I’ve got something I gotta do real quick, but I’ll see you inside, yeah?”
He slams the door shut and fumbles with his keys for a moment before depositing them in his back pocket. You watch him carefully and realize with a start that he’s avoiding your gaze.
He seems suddenly nervous, closed off even, like he’s wary of being judged, and you want to tell him you wouldn’t judge him for anything, but you don’t, because you realize you don’t precisely understand the situation just yet.
Still, you try at lightening the mood.   
“What, are you dealing drugs before school or something?” You ask, hoping your tone skews appropriately sarcastic.
Eddie doesn’t answer right away. He purses his lips like he’s trying to keep himself from saying something, rolling it around and deciding whether it’s worth admitting.
“Sort of…” He says finally.
You’d been kidding, but you can’t expressly say whether you’re surprised, considering what you had seen in his lunchbox. You blink back at him in a way you hope doesn’t come across as stupid or naïve.
Eddie stuffs his free hand in his pocket and suddenly becomes very interested in his boots. Something closer to shame than you like on him bleeds into the atmosphere between you.
Still, you wait again for him to speak, not trusting yourself to say the right thing until prompted. 
“I mean, it’s just weed and shit.” He mumbles, “It’s uh—it’s sort of like this stupid side gig I’ve got going on. Pays the bills, y’know?” And then he gives a halfhearted shrug, “But … if you’re not cool with it, I totally understand, like… I mean it’s not a big deal. I get it.”
I totally understand, meaning, if you don’t want to be friends anymore? The translation breaks your heart ever so slightly, particularly in the way he kicks the toe of his boot into the ground and hangs his head.
It’s so frightfully endearing and boyish you feel like you ought to hug him or something.
You ball your hands into fists at your sides in a quiet act of self-preservation.  
“…Can I come?” You ask, trying not to cringe at how you sound like someone’s unwanted younger sister, trying to tag along.
Eddie perks up immediately, looking at you with big dark eyes, wide and uncertain like he doesn’t believe you.
“Seriously?”  
“Yeah,” you say. “I could be like your bodyguard in case anybody tries to rip you off.”
It has the desired effect, and you feel yourself warming against the frigid morning air as Eddie’s face slowly splits into that familiar Cheshire cat grin, wide enough that his cheeks indent in deep dimples you hadn’t noticed before, like parathesis framing his mouth. You don’t think you could have stopped yourself from mirroring the smile if your life depended on it.
“Okay, good—great.” He says, turning to start up the parking lot further away from the school, angling towards the nearby thatch of woodland.
You hurry to fall into step with his long-legged gait.
“It’ll be good to have some backup for once, these cheerleaders can be scary as hell.”
You startle yourself with the loud, bitter laughter that erupts from somewhere deep inside of you. The sound bounces off the trees and echoes back to you.  
You follow Eddie into the woods and down a short winding path that empties out into a little clearing with a beat-up picnic bench sat in the middle.
On sheer childlike instinct, you climb up onto the flattop and park yourself there with your boots planted firmly on the bench beside where Eddie sits.
You’d only been joking about the bodyguard thing, but you tell yourself if the time comes, and if whoever it is buying weed from him is not too intimidating, you can try to put on a mean face. Everybody already thinks you’re a freak, maybe you can stretch that far enough to be halfway intimidating.
You sit in silence, listening to the rustling of the wind in the trees, wondering who you’re about to encounter out there in the woods.
“Who are we meeting?”
“I told you, mean and scary cheerleaders.”
You feel yourself staring dumbly at him. You'd thought he'd been kidding, but It doesn’t take long until you’re alerted to the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow as someone makes their way towards the hollow down the same path you’d just come.
You are only slightly alarmed by the way your heart seizes in your chest when you see the familiar flash of gold and green of a Hawkins Tigers letterman jacket, a high bouncing ponytail, and bubblegum pink lips.
Debbie Blake.
You grit your teeth to keep from reacting, though as she steps into the clearing, you get the slightest bit of satisfaction by the way she visibly recoils at the sight of you sitting there.
She looks suddenly and strangely vulnerable, uncharacteristically unflanked by any of the myriad of toadies she keeps on rotation, maybe even a little scared.
You think for half a moment she might turn right around and run back the other way, but she looks between you and Eddie, bites her lip like she’s taking a moment to consider her situation, and then puts on what you suppose is meant to be a brave face.
Really, it’s closer to a pout than anything else. Tossing her hair back, she turns up her nose and marches forward, looking rather silly, trying to suppress a shiver in her flouncy pleated skirt and thick spandex tights.
She plants herself firmly in front of Eddie, though she fidgets, like she can’t decide between crossing her arms and planting her hands on her hips.
It takes a very long moment for anyone to speak, and you have to bite the inside of your mouth to keep from grinning at how incredibly put our Debbie seems to have to be the one to initiate the conversation.   
She heaves an over dramatic sigh,
“So?” She asks, “Do you have it or what?”
In spite of yourself, you feel your features crinkle in disgust.
“What else would we be doing out here?”
It takes you a moment to realize you’re the one who has spoken, your own voice sounding strange and aggressive as it reaches you.
Debbie looks genuinely taken aback, like she doesn’t know how to process being spoken to like that, particularly by you.
She scoffs, “Well, I don’t know what it is you freaks do out here.”
Where normally the name calling would have hit you like a slap to the face, you’re pleasantly surprised at how it rolls off you, leaving you relatively unscathed.
Still, you level her with a hateful look and cross your arms over your knees.  
You’re working up to another snotty retort when Eddie shifts to lean back against the table beside you, his elbows pushing back over the flattop.
“Look, are we gonna do this or what?” He says, “Cuz I don’t have all day.”
His voice is flat and uninterested, ever so slightly mean. All hints of the eccentric, kind, funny Eddie you hold so dear are gone.
This is not the person who came to your rescue twice in the span of one month, despite being perfect strangers, not the person who offered to postpone his big important D&D game just so you wouldn’t have to walk home in the dark.
The sharpness of his tone takes you back, and you have to remind yourself to be tough as you feel your confidence waver ever so slightly. You wonder briefly if this is the façade he puts up that makes the underclassmen so afraid of him.
Debbie’s gaze flicks to him and she hesitates, sucking on the inside of her cheek like she’s genuinely unsure she wants to go through with it.
Finally, she rolls her eyes and nods, despite the way she heaves a moody sigh.
“Great.” Eddie flips open the dented metal box and fishes around among the bags, “I can do thirty for an eighth. How’s that sound?”
The cheer captain pulls a face, and you remember the urge you’d had in November to grab her by her ponytail and sock her in the face as your hand curls instinctively into a fist.
“Isn’t that a little high?” Debbie drolls, “Don’t you have a discount for pretty girls?”
She bats her lashes, like that might actually do something to help her case.
You fail to suppress and harsh snort of laughter, and Debbie levels you with a look caught somewhere between outrage and strident offense.
You feel a cold sense of calm disdain rolling off Eddie in waves. 
“Thirty.” He says firmly, “That’s the best I can do. Take it or leave it.”  
“Oh, come on, Eddie—” She starts.
You cut her off, as a sudden and violent feeling that can only be likened to the powerful sensation of “mine” rips through your body. Someone like Debbie Blake should never be allowed to have Eddie’s name on her lips.
“You know what?” You huff, “I think it might have just jumped to forty.”
Eddie’s head snaps up to look at you, the briefest glint of what you can only equate to mischief flashing across his dark eyes before he suppresses it.
You tilt your head and shrug. “Inflation, you know?”
A slow, Cheshire cat grin spreads across Eddie’s face, lighting up your insides.
Debbie’s eyes are bugging out of her skull, and she barely manages to form the word around her horror.
“What?!” she squeals.
Eddie in turn tilts his head back towards his customer and shrugs his shoulders.
“Hey, haven’t you heard? The economy’s in the shitter. Forty. Take it or leave it.”
She takes it, and the interaction fizzles out from there. Debbie reluctantly hands over two crumpled twenties and snatches the little baggie of herb out of Eddie’s fingers. She nearly slips in the snow as she turns on her heel and stalks off, disappearing back through the thicket as she presumably heads back to school.
You’re not sure whether the audacity of what could very likely be construed as your highway robbery of the head cheerleader’s spending money will have consequences down the line, but you don’t exactly care. Eddie is very impressed with you, much to your delight.
“You’re stone cold!” He cries once Debbie is out of earshot, “Inflation. God, that’s hilarious.”
You, in turn, are pretty sure you’re on cloud nine, skating on the very specific high that comes from standing up to a bully.
“It just came to me, that garbage she said about discounts for pretty girls?”
You make a harsh sound of disgust and shudder; Eddie is grinning at you as he gathers his things and jumps up from the picnic table.
“Well, just so you know, I’m about this close to making you my unofficial business partner. We could make a killing.”
Your heart jumps into your throat as you fail to stop yourself from imagining it. You surprise yourself as you realize just how much you would like that.
"Don't go making promises you can't keep." You breathe.
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dnmoeller · 9 months
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Why Juneteenth should be called Emancipation day
I think Juneteenth should be called Emancipation day because that way more people will know what it is about and therefore support and celebrate it more.
Now before any of who say "but everyone calls Independence day the 4th of July" let me say yes but the 4th is both older and more popular meanwhile Emancipation day is still the new kid on the block.
Also Emancipation day sounds cooler than Juneteenth
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iplaysims4 · 1 year
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Stacie texting Vanessa.
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barbedwirechain · 1 year
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misspennymelodies · 5 months
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New Kid on the Block (me)
Hi there! I'm Penny. 👋🏻
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I'm new around these parts and just looking to connect with my fellow writers and content enthusiasts. I'll 100% follow you back.
Let's be friends!
Penny <3
Interests at a glance:
Anime: JJK, Demon Slayer, Tokyo Revengers, Black Clover
Other: Supernatural, BG3, Sherlock
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littlemantravels · 7 months
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Anyone on Photocrowd can help me out with a vote please for my "Baskets" #contest entry?
"Succulents and Cider"
It would be very much appreciated by a #newbie at #tumblr 🤞
Thanks in anticipation xx
Shell
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flyinghellfish · 11 months
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jazzcreatrix · 9 months
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i-mean-technically · 1 year
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How much of an au is New Kid on the Block going to be? Change the events of canon significantly or just interesting backstory?
Oh I am definitely changing canon significantly no doubt about it
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What is Wonder-wall
I write here because where else to write ....I have changed not only where I live but also where I do my art, it was a long journey most of the time unsuccessfully exposed.
I want to make a closure of streetphotography-london as I will not be able to create more interesting images of it.
Instead I will try to bring other flavours into the art of observing and as Cartier-Bresson once said :capturing the decisive moment.
Hopefully this time becomes more constant as the last time and maybe but just maybe we share the art of photographing.
Yours truly, jhanavi Velazquez
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Introduction
Hello everyone! I am currently 23 years old, I'm new around here and I just wanted to introduce myself. I like to read fanfiction mostly, write(rarely), and watch horror movies(sometimes), fantasy movies, and action movies. I also enjoy meeting new people and exploring new things. These are a few things about me, but I am happy to be a part of the Tumblr community! :)
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