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doodle-pops · 11 months ago

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Turn Back the Sands of Time

Feanor x daughter!reader

Request: Can I request a fic for Feanor, coming back to Valinor after hia death, finding out Nerdanel had been pregnant when he left and she gave birth to a daughter. And if possible, this daughter has Miriel's sewing gift. – anon

A/N: I took a different route to how their interaction would occur and made this quite sentimental than I intended :)

Warnings: female reader, soft angst, softness and comfort, reconciliation

Words: 2.4k

Synopsis: With the return of your father to the Blessed Realm, an attempt at rekindling what was never forged, is pursued.

“Leaving so early?”

Your mother’s voice reverberated through the morning air, clear yet carrying a stern undertone. The sun had ascended over the hills and forest, casting its benevolent warmth upon the damp, fertile earth, coaxing the crawlies to retreat to their hidden abodes.

Startled by her sudden intrusion, you jerked in surprise, twisting your neck to find your mother positioned in the doorway. Her hands firmly rested on her hips, already adorned with small flecks of clay and dust. A hasty bun confined her hair, and she wore the familiar work coveralls that marked her dedication to the tasks at hand. “Oh, you gave me a fright!” you awkwardly chuckled, your attention momentarily diverted from the contents of your basket. “I’m... heading out.”

Her bare feet made no sound on the polished floorings as she traversed the distance, positioning herself beside you. With keen observation, she watched as you hastened your packaging, attempting to conceal the contents within the basket. Despite your efforts, you weren’t as clever as you believed. However, she remained silent, extending her left hand to rest against your waist. Leaning in, she placed a tender kiss on your cheek.

“At least be safe on the road. You can borrow a few of my cloaks, they’ll keep you warm, and good luck. I cannot tell you how to decide, but when you do, know that it is something you will have to live with.”

Suddenly, she vanished through the backdoor, setting you on the arduous path to Formenos after brief stops at Tirion’s market to procure supplies. Pastries, breads, salted meats, and fruits were gathered in an attempt to ease any potential awkwardness.

Alone on the road for five days, you revisited regions where you had once stealthily ventured. The surroundings were steeped in familiarity as you leisurely strolled by. The rhythmic clopping of your horse’s hooves on the gravelled road, the subtle rustling of trees and bushes, vast open fields where the wind hummed its tune, and the delightful symphony of birdsong and frog croaks accompanied your journey. Small creatures scurried at the feet of your horse, some perching on your shoulders or head. Nightfall descended, only to be swiftly replaced by the break of day, marking the conclusion of your expedition.

As you arrived at your destination, the wear and tear on the landscape became evident. Paint had faded, stones were missing from pillars and posts, wood showed signs of decay, and windows lay shattered. Face-to-face with the relentless march of time and the scars of neglect, you confronted the tangible evidence of one’s transgressions.

Dismounting from your majestic stallion, you carefully secured him to an apple tree before continuing on foot. The path led you through a gateway and into a garden adorned with a subtle array of colours—some signs of life still blossoming. Your keen eyes noticed the adjustments since your last visit, becoming attuned to the intense presence and weight that the surroundings now bore.

With each step, the gravel and dust beneath your sandals resonated against the cobblestone, creating a symphony of soft crunches until you abruptly halted before the colossal red door, proudly displaying the house sigil in shimmering gold. Tightening your grip on the basket and assuming a more composed posture, a sense of tension gripped your throat, akin to barbed wires constricting around it.

Summoning your courage, you knocked on the door, the sound echoing three times in tandem with the palpitations of your heart.

Initially, it seemed like no one was home, but an imposing presence lingered in the air, prompting you to raise your hand for another attempt. However, before your knuckles could make contact, the hinges groaned, and a towering figure emerged. A giant of an elf with fiery red hair and silvery eyes loomed before you, meeting your tentative gaze. While a hunch suggested his identity, he was not the person you had come to meet. An acute observation of his appearance left you trembling at your core.

His features were the same as the portraits hung in your mother’s workshop, a stark difference to the descriptions your uncle Arafinwë explained. There were no scars, missing ligament or whitening of his hair, but it was still enough to elicit fright in your bones. The stories were enough, running their course to remind all of his actions.

“No trespassing, this is private property. Whatever business you are conducting, take it elsewhere,” he muttered under his breath with emptiness in his eyes before shuffling to slam the door in your face.

Luckily, you stuck your hand out. “Wait, please don’t! I uh…” you fumbled and exhaled, “I came to speak with Lord Fëanáro. Is he in?”

“If you are here to lay blame on him for his actions, I would suggest that you get in line—”

Waving your hands frantically in his face, you panicked. “No, no, no, no! You have it all wrong. I’m not here for that; I’m here to simply speak with him.”

“Speak with him?” Maedhros meditated. “Did King Arafinwë send you?”

Your eyes widened in disbelief at the surprising intensity with which your own brother reacted to your simple desire to speak with his father. It was truly perplexing that, despite all that had transpired, he continued to share living quarters with Fëanáro. Your assumption that their relationship had soured after recent events was swiftly proven incorrect.

Clearly, his perspectives on Fëanáro differed significantly from yours, and he held personal convictions that he preferred to keep to himself. The intricacies of their business remained shrouded in mystery.

“Uncl—King Arafinwë did not send me, I sent myself,” you stated with pride, straightening out any fears in your posture and stretching a confident smile across your lips. “Can you tell him that a…a Lady Y/N is here to speak with him?”

The moment your name fell past your lips, you saw the micro-expression of your brother’s eyes widening before composing themselves. His stance changed from no longer blocking the entire doorway to standing aside and granting you a peek inside. You were half expecting him to make a scene, yet he proved otherwise.

Maedhros’ eyes fluttered and flickered around your frame, contemplating on his next decision. Exhaling, he stepped outside, shutting the door behind and ushered around you figure to the left of the house. “He’s situated on this side of the house. It’s quicker and less…obstructive. Follow me.” And you partially understood what he meant—the bloodstains from where your grandfather was slain, still staining the floors. However, it was the unwarranted meet-and-greet of the rest of your brothers.

You weren’t here for them, and Maedhros was kind enough to spare you.

The journey unfolded in a discomforting silence, compelling you to tighten your grip on the basket as the minutes passed. Your elder brother guided you through a labyrinth of twists and turns, eventually leading to the distant sounds of a babbling stream and the faint rustling of paper being crumpled. As you approached an archway, entwined and covered in an overgrowth of vines, the scene unfolded before you—Fëanáro, seated on a bench, holding a charcoal, and engrossed in fervent scribbling on parchment, an expression of exasperation etched across his features.

Despite the openness of the surroundings, the air felt stifling. The heavens above offered a solution to wash away the lingering muskiness, and yet, it persisted. How could anyone discover peace or find reprieve in such conditions?

“I’ll leave you to speak with him.” He offered a polite smile, and with a bow of his head, Maedhros departed, leaving you to face his father in privacy.

Acknowledging the bow with a graceful return, you redirected your attention towards the man seated on the weathered wooden bench. His appearance had undergone a noticeable transformation since your initial encounter—his once neatly tied hair now cascaded loosely, and his attire, less polished, resembled something reminiscent of what your mother wore when she was in her element. Absent were the ornate rings that had adorned his fingers, and there was a notable absence of any jewellery embellishing his clothing. In this particular moment, he existed simply as Fëanáro, the man who had seemingly returned from the realm of the deceased. The elf who had…

“How long will you linger in the shadows, child?” came his soft voice. It was much mellow that the confrontation shared with your mother.

Taking a large gulp of air, you crossed the archway, entered his space to stand at the entrance and called out. “Greetings Lord Fëanáro.”

A resounding cry escaped his lips the moment his eyes fell upon your timid figure. Joy and agony intertwined in his heart as he realized that his child had come to visit him. With a swift, almost spring-like motion, he abandoned his seat, forgetting the letter that lay there, and hurried over to stand before your magnificence. It was the first time he had a clear image of the daughter he had denied himself the knowledge of. In your features, he saw not just you but also your mother and the reflection of his eldest.

An intense yearning surged within him, a desire to reach out and grasp you, to finally experience the touch of a creation that bore no marks of his mistakes. However, hesitation gripped his mind, as the unexpected loomed overhead like ominous clouds threatening to unleash a storm. The uncertainty lingered, questioning whether the rain would be cold or warm, if it would bring wrath or peace—or perhaps an outburst of everything.

“You…” He laughed breathlessly with disbelief at the tip of his tongue. “You’re all grown up. I was told about you during my return, unsure if a meeting would occur. I had glimpsed you at your mother’s, hoping to be acquainted. Unfortunately, I had not been blessed.”

“Hm, I decided to come see you on my own after…” your voice trailed off, indicating his reunion with your mother. “Well, she had the inclination that I was coming to see you, yet she did not stop me. I wanted to hear from you on my own.”

His facial muscles engaged in a silent struggle, battling the instinct to react to every nuance of your words. His hands, twitching with the desire to pull you into a comforting embrace, held back, understanding that such a gesture might inflict more harm than healing. Your perceptions of him were coloured by his transgressions. You possessed ample reasons to maintain a distance, not just from him, but also from your own brothers.

“What is there for me to tell you when you are aware of everything, my child?” he responded with reservation.

“Why?”

Your question lingered in the air, a stain that defied any attempts at removal; not even the heavens’ rain could cleanse it.

One question. Millions of reasons. One answer, and yet, he chose to walk away with his back turned and head hung in shame. His body collided with the bench with his head in his hands facing the floor.

“What answer might I give to you that would satisfy your perspective of me?” he uttered. “You’ve heard it all; I chose the Silmarils over my family… Why you ask? Pride, maybe arrogance or my blind foolishness. I led my children into death and one by one I watched them succumb to the same madness as me.”

“But you have me who was spared from the doom. I exist, someone you can change for. Someone who can be the answer to why.” Were the words wanting to spill from your lips, however, now was not the time. There was much to be possibly kindled to know how much your words weighed.

Stepping closer to where he sat hunched, you placed the basket beside him and knelt. Your hands were hesitant to touch his, but you managed to pry them off his face. “You know, there’s a saying that ammë says,” you whispered akin to the wind, “it’s something along the lines of, ‘second chances don’t come around often, but when they do, they appear in mysterious ways. It’s only if you desire it, then possibilities will arise’. If you want forgiveness, you can start with me. Show me the you who wants better.”

Fëanáro lifted his head, his mismatch teary eyes locking on your compassionate ones. He was stunned at your sympathy when his wife would not spare him the chance. If only he had not been so foolish, the family he desired would have existed before his very eyes. “You do not truly mean your words? Your mother would not pardon me—”

“I am not ammë; your quarrel with her is between you both. I am Y/N and this is between us. I choose to try building this relationship so long as you work with me,” you corrected with confidence laced in your voice. Your eyes were stern, filled with assertiveness and the reflection of faces you’d never met. “You have to want this.”

He considered with sorrowful eyes, too fearful of repeating his past and ruining his last blessing. With deliberate actions, he shifted to sit upright and meet you head-on. “Then I make no promises...no oaths.”

“Good, because I was prepared to convince you anyway possible since I brought treats for us to indulge, and I would hate for them to waste.” Your eyes darted to the basket filled with delicacies for you both to snack on during your formal meet-and-greet. “Imagine how awkward it would be had you rejected, and I had to return with a filled basket of treats.”

“You could have left it with your brothers. I’m sure they would be thrilled to learn their sister brought treats for them.” Fëanáro felt a surge of pride at the flow of your interactions, lacking awkwardness and tension. It gave him a sense of purpose to understand that all good things were not lost.

Though his refusal to utter the words of “Thanks” remained in his heart, for he knew Eru had heard and seen his gratitude.

Snickering as you reached for the basket to produce a blanket, you threw him a whimsical side eye. “I doubt that. You should have seen how the giant redhead was staring at me. I thought I was about to be thrown like a javelin out the yard,” you giggled.

“Maitimo?”

“Ay, I thought he was going to toss me out! Though it seems that the others are here as well?”

“Would you be willing to meet them?”

“Maybe another time, I only came with enough energy to deal with you.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @mysticmoomin @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @sakurayaxd @ladyenchanted @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind @addaigio @lamemaster @hermaeuswhora

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atinylittlepain · 2 years ago

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Apothecary - Chapter Two

joel miller x witchy!reader

series masterlist

everyone's got something to say about her, and Joel doesn't know what to make of it. when he returns the favor he owes her, he tries to get some answers up in the mountains and away from the wagging tongues of Jackson.

warnings | 18+ angst, mentions of death, spooky-ooky vibes, people being superstitious dickheads

a/n | thank you all for the love on the first part of this series! i just got so excited i couldn't help but write the second part :) keep letting me know what you think, my inbox is always open and i love to hear from you!

.................................

“My son had a cough since he was two years old. She cured it with whatever she keeps bubbling on that stove of hers.”

“I had a rash that just wouldn’t go away. She gave me a balm that cleared it right up. A godsend, really.”

“Wouldn’t be alive today if she hadn’t nursed me back to health with all those herbs and plants she tends to.”

“She talks to animals. Calmed a bucking colt with a whisper– I saw it myself!”

“I heard that infected don’t even notice her. Just walk right past her. That ain’t human, if you ask me.”

“That cat of hers spies on people and brings all their secrets back to her. You can’t tell me that’s a normal cat, not with the way it stares at folks.”

“Some of the women say they’ve seen her out in the middle of the night, dancing naked in her backyard whenever it’s a full moon.”

“I don’t know about dancing naked, but I have seen some strange lights coming from her shop on my way home from the Tipsy Bison. Lord knows what she gets up to in there.”

“She curses men. Lures them up into the mountains and puts them under her spell. But they always end up dead.”

“Dead?”

“As a doornail. It ain’t a coincidence that any man that crosses paths with her seems to wind up with one really unlucky patrol shift. Luck’s got nothing to do with it, lemme tell you.”

Even though Tommy told him to forget about it, Joel’s been doing a bit of recon, asking people around town about her, and every new anecdote only further confuses him. It seems like everyone’s got some sort of opinion about the resident witch.

It has shocked him, really, how openly folks call her that. Even the ones that speak highly of her. He had asked Ellie about what she had heard one day after she came home from her classes at the community school. She had shrugged, a knowing grin on her face

“Well, she sure helped me out, old man. But yeah, my friends say their moms call her a lot worse names than witch. Personally, I think it’s fucking cool. D’you think she can fly around on a broom like in the movies?” Joel had not been particularly amused by that question.

He’s not sure what to make of any of it. Some people call her a saint. Others call her the devil incarnate. But there does seem to be a general consensus that any man that sets her in his sights is doomed to meet a timely demise.

It’s been two weeks since he saw her at the town market, and he hasn’t even caught a glimpse of her since. According to Maria, she’s been busy with a flare-up of some sort of stomach bug in the community, making house calls and – Joel supposes – working her magic.

He can’t figure out why he even cares. After all, he’s only met the woman once. But he can’t seem to shake her out of his thoughts, replaying their meeting over and over in his head, particularly the moment she had said Sarah’s name with such certainty.

He finds himself rolling all this over in his mind most nights, sitting out on his front porch as the summer sun turns to thick liquid over the mountains. It’s in such a position that he finally sees her again, approaching his house with a tired smile on her face.

“Hey there, stranger.” She walks up the first step to his porch, leaning against the wooden beam as she speaks. He can’t help the way his eyes trail over her, a pair of coveralls like the kind mechanics used to wear pulled distractingly taut around the swell of her hips and a cloth bag slung over her shoulder, the tops of jars and bottles peeking out of it. When his eyes finally slip back up to her face, the quirk of her eyebrows lets him know that she totally clocked him checking her out, and he has to clear his throat, swallowing his embarrassment before he responds.

“Um, hey– hi. I, uh, haven’t seen you around lately.” She tilts her head at him, smile simmering down to a crooked smirk.

“I’ve been a little busy with all the– y’know, vomiting and diarrhea around town. But I think folks are finally out of the woods now.” Joel has to wonder to himself how she can still manage to look pretty while talking about vomiting and diarrhea.

“How exactly do you help– with that?” Her smile broadens.

“For the stuff coming out the top end, peppermint oil mostly. Ginger is king, but I’ve only got so much of it cultivating at the shop. For the problem down below, you just gotta push fluids and tell them it’ll pass.”

“Can I ask– how do you know this stuff?”

“Most of what I know comes from my mom. She was a lady of the plants, knew just about everything about anything that grows.” Fondness laces through her words, a soft smile as she tells him this, and he finds himself mirroring her expression.

“Lady of the plants– that’s a new one to me.”

“Well, it’s better than witch, right?” Joel’s smile falls, but she just laughs.

“So I take it you’ve heard the rumors about me?” He’s not sure how to respond, a thickness settling in his throat and ice prickling the back of his neck. His voice comes out a bit hoarse when he does finally answer.

“Heard a lot of things about you. Not really sure what to believe though.” Her smile screws up at that, eyes crinkling as she looks at him.

“Why don’t you just ask me what you’re wondering then? Get it straight from the source.” She crosses her arms over her chest, the unbuttoned snaps of her coveralls splaying open to reveal the edge of a white tank-top, the suggestion of cleavage drawing Joel’s eyes before he can help it. He swallows hard, eyes darting back up to hers.

“Is it– I mean– are you?”

“Am I what?” She wants to hear him say it, he can tell by the ghosting curve of her lips. The word feels silly coming out of his mouth.

“Are you a– a witch?” Her smile goes practically radioactive at that, big and bright as she throws her head back in a laugh. She looks back at him, her lips pursed, eyes narrowed.

“Oh yeah, certified. Got the black cat to prove it and everything.” As if on cue, Stevie jumps up onto the railing of the porch, making Joel jump in his seat. She stifles a giggle behind her hand, Stevie nuzzling against her arm that’s wrapped around the porch beam. Joel huffs.

“Look, it seems like everyone’s got something to say about you. But I’m not the kind of guy to buy into a bunch of bullshit rumors.” She hums at that.

“Oh, no? What kind of guy are you then, Joel?”

“The kind that likes to work things out for himself.”

“Is that what this is? You working me out?”

“Sure am trying to.” She sucks her teeth, squinting at him.

“And?” Joel sighs.

“And– I’m thinking it’s gonna take me a while to reach any kind of conclusion.” She nods lightly at that, smiling at Stevie as scratches under the cat’s chin.

“Hmm, alright. You let me know when you reach your conclusion then.” A thick blink of silence falls between them, and Joel finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from hers, only breaking when she lets out a sigh.

“I didn’t just come over here to give you a hard time. Was actually hoping to cash in on that favor you owe me.” He sits up a little straighter at that, nodding.

“Alright, when did you wanna go out– I mean– not– go out– like– not like a–” She laughs, silencing his floundering.

“I know what you meant. And I was thinking the end of this week? Do you have time on Friday?”

“Uh-huh, yep. That’s my day off.” Her face falls.

“Oh, I don’t wanna take up your day off, I’m–”

“Don’t worry about that. I’m happy to help, really.” Her frown softens into a suggestion of a smile, and she nods.

“Well, alright. Thank you, Joel. You good to meet at the gates that morning?”

“I’ll be there, darlin. Sounds like a plan.” She grins.

“Until then, Joel.” She turns, hopping down from the porch step, before glancing over her shoulder to look at him.

“Oh, and don’t worry. I’m not gonna curse you. Not yet at least.” It’s so unexpected, he ends up choking on an inhale, but his coughing doesn’t drown out the sound of her laugh as she slinks away from his house. He’s so busy watching her saunter off that he doesn’t notice the cat jumping down from the railing, startling him when she starts twining between his legs. Stevie looks up at him, yellow eyes unblinking, as if she’s expecting something from him. He tentatively leans forward, holding out his open hand which the cat sniffs at before nudging her head into his palm, a low purr vibrating through her body.

“You gonna go tell her all my secrets, Stevie?” The cat looks up at him, head tilted. A little too human-like for Joel’s taste. She lets out a small mrrp, before going back to twining between his legs, sleek spine arching up into Joel’s hand. Then, just as quickly as she had appeared, she pads off down the steps of his porch and out into the night.

…

“Rumor has it you’re helping a certain lady out with some work up in the mountains tomorrow.” Joel huffs at his brother’s cocked eyebrow and crooked smirk. He takes a sharp swig of his drink before responding.

“Owe her a favor, that's all. And before you tell me I’m not gonna come back alive, I’ve already heard that from four other people this week.” That gets a laugh out of Tommy, his eyes glancing around the bar before focusing back on Joel.

“Nah, you’ll come back alive. It’s the days after when they always end up dead.”

“You serious?” Tommy shrugs.

“There’s been a couple of guys, sure. But if you ask me, that has more to do with the stories people believe than it does with her. What we believe, we create, brother. The mind is a powerful thing.” He punctuates his words with a tap of his fingers to his temple. Joel grumbles.

“Yeah, yeah, alright, wise ass. But you’re telling me there really have been men who’ve–”

“It’s all coincidence, Joel. Like I said, there have been a few guys who started chasing after her. Went up into the mountains with her, y’know, all romantic and shit. And then, well, it seems like every time, only a few days later, they wound up dead. But in every instance, it was a bad patrol shift that got them. S’just coincidence that it happened after they got with her.”

“How many coincidences?” Tommy sighs.

“Four. In the last four years or so.” Joel feels his brows lift at that.

“That’s a lot of fucking coincidences, Tommy.” Tommy shrugs.

“Look, folks always talk about how horrible it is that all these men died. And it is. But no one thinks to mention what that must have done to her. To like someone? Hell, maybe even love someone? And then not only have them taken away from you, but to then be blamed for it too? It’s fucking atrocious, man.” When Tommy finishes speaking, silence falls between them, Joel a bit stunned by the clear compassion Tommy speaks with about her.

“Why d’you even care? Why not join the crowd, huh?” Tommy frowns at that, twirling his liquor in his glass rather than looking at his brother.

“I didn’t tell you this– I mean, why would I? But, Maria had a pretty difficult pregnancy.” He takes a sharp inhale before continuing to speak.

“We weren’t sure if– if the baby– if we were gonna be ok. And she was there for us, through it all.” Joel can see the tears pooling in his brother’s eyes, glinting in the low light of the bar when he finally looks at him.

“I don’t know if we’d have our boy today if it hadn’t been for her. So yeah, I care about her. And I’ll side with her every time. And most folks will too, when push comes to shove. She’s done a lot for this community. But it’s easy to spread poison behind people’s backs. So that’s what they do.” Tommy sits back on his stool, sighing deeply.

“Suppose a lot of the men see her as a challenge, y’know? Steal a cursed kiss and live to tell the tale, or some bullshit like that. And the women see the men pining after her, and they don’t like that one bit. Either way, they talk, way more than they should.” Tommy throws back the last of his drink, wincing at the burn. Joel, meanwhile, is still trying to process everything his brother just told him.

“So should I tell the kid to start planning my funeral, or what?” Tommy laughs, shaking his head.

“Nah, I think you’re too much of a stubborn ass to let a rinky-dink curse sway you. Besides, I think you’re getting ahead of yourself.” Joel squints at his brother.

“Why’s that?”

“You said you’re just doing a favor for her. She might not even like you enough to curse you, brother.”

…

Joel doesn’t sleep at all that night. His mind works over what Tommy told him again and again, trying to reach some sort of conclusion about everything he’s learned, and coming up short every time. He shuffles out in the early morning light, eyes bleary as he nears the gate. She, however, is chipper as anything, smiling broadly when she sees him.

“Hey there, you ready to go?” He nods, grumbling out a quiet affirmation, and then they’re off.

Most of the morning is spent in silence, hiking up into the mountains. Joel knows that it’s not infected they have to worry about, not out here. But raiders are a whole other story, so he keeps a steady hand on his rifle slung over his shoulder, letting her lead them a few paces ahead of him.

“You’re quiet this morning.” She glances at him over her shoulder as she speaks, eyebrow lifted.

“I’m thinking.”

“About?” He huffs, stopping where he stands in the underbrush of the woods. When she realizes he’s no longer following, she turns back around, hands on her hips as she looks at him.

“I just– I wish you’d give me some straight answers here. I’ve heard something different about you from just about everyone in town– and I’m not sure if I believe any of it. Just– please.” Her brow is furrowed, eyes squinted at him as she worries her bottom lip between her teeth.

“What do you want from me, Joel?” He swallows hard, eyes glancing around the thick trees before looking back at her.

“The truth– I want the truth.” She sighs, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific than that.” He has to laugh out of frustration at this little game they’re playing, pinching the bridge of his nose and letting out a low curse before focusing back on her.

“Alright, I’ll be specific. All those men that died. A lot of folks around town are convinced that you had something to do with it. S’that true?” When she speaks, Joel’s taken aback by her tone, her usual lightness replaced by a steeled stoicism.

“I had nothing to do with that. Any of it. The only curse that was on those men was their own goddamn minds buying into the town bullshit.” He’s inclined to believe her, judging by her unwavering gaze and the sure tilt of her chin as she speaks, but there’s still more that he needs to know.

“But you are– different. Aren’t you?” That coaxes a smile out of her, and she steps a bit closer to him.

“Different.” She says the word like a challenge, and he nods, taking his own steps closer to her.

“Is that your conclusion, Joel?” Both of them have their arms crossed over their chests, and they now stand so close that their forearms lightly brush.

“Starting to think I ain’t ever gonna reach a conclusion about you, darlin.” Her eyes crinkle, smile threatening to crook into a full-blown grin.

“Would that be such a bad thing? No conclusion?” It’s like magnets, the way their faces tilt, subtle shifts toward one another until he can feel the light air of her exhale across his mouth. He hums, a low sound in his chest.

“I think I’ll live.” He can practically feel the stretch of her grin at his words.

“I think you will too.” It happens as easily as a tide rolling in, languid in the way their lips slip together. His hands find the sweep of her jaw, pulling her in deeper, her palms splaying over his chest. He’s a little surprised when she swipes her tongue over the curve of his bottom lip, coaxing him open and tangling even closer with him. A woman has never taken charge like this with him, and it’s making his head spin. When she does pull away, he’s only a little embarrassed by the way he chases after her lips, stuttering into some sort of composure when she grins at him.

“For the record, you’re not wrong.” Not entirely sure what she means, he frowns at her, shaking his head. She laughs.

“I am different, Joel.”

“That wasn’t just a lucky guess, was it? About– about Sarah?” Her eyes soften, features dropping into a sad understanding. She slides her palms up from his chest to twine behind his neck.

“No, it wasn’t.”

…

“This is lemon balm.” She glances over her shoulder at him from where she’s crouched down, thumbing at a cropping of large, waxy leaves. He’s learned the names of more plants today than he could ever remember, though he still nods when she shows him a new one like he has any clue what it is.

“What do you use that for?”

“You dry it, and then you can brew tea with it. It’s calming– helps with sleep and stress. Or you can mix it into salve to treat cold sores. Though not many people in Jackson come to me with that problem.” She clips several leaves from the plant, carefully tucking them into her pack and slinging it over her shoulder as she stands back up.

They’ve been out all day, moving through the woods as she collects various plant snippings, explaining each one to him, how to use it and what its use is. And between them, a silent understanding has settled, even though Joel hasn’t asked anymore questions about her. But he knows that Tommy was right. Whatever she is, she’s a good one.

“We oughta head back soon. Sun’s starting to set.” She nods, wiping her hands off on the front of her jeans, and they easily step into stride with one another. They spend most of the hike back in a comfortable silence. Joel finds himself wanting to say something, ask something more, but always hesitating, mind hazy from the heat of the day, and from the stamped memory of the kiss they shared. Even if it was cursed, he reckons that he wouldn’t mind that.

“Joel? I want to say thank you.” He glances at her walking alongside him, the quick-fading light casting syrupy shadows across her features. He has to blink a few times to keep himself from staring.

“No need for thanks. I was happy to repay the favor.”

“No, that’s– that’s not what I meant. I mean– thank you for coming out today with me, I appreciate it. But– I wanted to thank you for– thinking for yourself– about me.” That makes him stop in his stride, turning to fully look at her as she does the same. They’ve just crested a hill, the gates of Jackson coming into view, and her eyes keep glancing back toward it, a nervous crease between her brows.

“It’s just– you’re right– I know everyone has something to say about me. And I guess I don’t have too many friends because of it. Most folks make up their minds about me before they even talk to me. So, thank you– for not doing that.” His chest twists at her words, the worried look scrunched across her face. He’d like to take the pain away that’s clear in her expression. And then, that tightness in his chest grows for a different reason, as he realizes that he’s already in far too deep with her. He has to clear his throat to shake away the thickening feeling, tentatively reaching his hand out to her, his fingers skating over the faint dip of her collarbone. He can see her breath catch at his touch, and he revels in it, letting his hand trail down her arm until their fingers are tangling together.

“You shouldn’t have to thank me for that. Whatever may or may not be true about you– no one deserves that. I just– why do you help them– when they treat you the way they do?” She sighs, squeezing his hand in hers, and giving a weak shrug of her shoulders.

“Because it’s what I’m good at. I always wanted to help people– and that’s what I get to do. Even if some of them are fucking dicks about it.” Her crassness catches him off guard, pulling a stuttering laugh from his chest as she grins. But she’s all seriousness again, clearing her throat, her brow pulling down.

“Suppose I should warn you now that they’ll talk about you too– if you stick around me. And I don’t blame you if you don’t want–” He’s heard enough, and does something entirely too bold by closing the distance between them to steal another kiss, her wide eyes meeting his when he pulls away.

“Don’t care what any of ‘em have to say about me, or about you. They can talk all they want, darlin.” He can feel the relief in her sigh. She nods, giving his hand one final squeeze before breaking away, continuing the walk back to town.

When they get back inside the gates, she offers him a small smile, her hands fidgeting with the straps of her pack.

“Thank you again. I really appreciated your help.”

“Like I said, it was no–”

“Well, well, well– what do we have here? Looks like she’s got Miller under her spell, boys!” The change in her demeanor is instant, face scrunching up as they both turn to see where the commentary is coming from. Joel recognizes the man, Mason, if he remembers right, and a small group of other guys he knows from past patrol meetings. They’ve all got a similar sneer across their faces, eyes zeroed in on her, and he has to fight the urge to step in front of her to get them to stop looking at her like that.

“Guess we better get another coffin ready, huh? Hate to break it to you, Miller. She may be pretty, but she ain’t nothing but bad news.” Joel’s fists clench at his sides, and as the men break into another howl of laughter, his feet start moving toward them before his brain can catch up. But she’s quick to step in front of him, hands pressing into his chest and eyes fierce.

“Don’t– it’s not worth it.” It’s immediate, the calm that washes over him with her words, though he still glares over her shoulder at the men, whose laughter has only escalated.

“Awww, she got you good, man! Hey, witchy-poo! What kinda magic you got working on Miller to have him so whipped?” And with that, Joel is ready to bash their heads in all over again, though she holds him back with her palms firm against the front of his shirt.

“Joel, it’s fine. They’re harmless, really.” He glances at the men one more time before finally focusing back on her, huffing as he nods. She gives him what she can of a smile, worry still pressed between her brows.

“I’ll see you soon, ok?” His hands flex at his sides, wanting more than anything to tuck her under his arm and walk off together, but he settles for another nod, and a whispered acquiescence. She’s gone in a blink, walking off to the hollering of the men behind her. Before he can do something stupid, Joel heads off in the opposite direction toward the Tipsy Bison. He needs a fucking drink.

…

Joel is nursing his second tumbler of whiskey when just about the last person he’d like to see sidles up next to him at the bar.

“Miller.” Mason sits down on the stool next to him, but Joel keeps his eyes on his swirling glass.

“Look, man, I’m sorry for giving you a hard time out there. But I’m trying to help you out.” Joel rests his elbows on the bar, glancing briefly at Mason.

“Don’t remember asking for your help, man.” Mason laughs, turning on his stool to fully face Joel, a stupid grin across his face.

“Well then you don’t know her as well as we all do. I meant what I said, y’know. She’s bad news.” Joel’s starting to feel that anger creeping up his throat, angling himself just slightly in Mason’s direction to get a good look at him.

“Son, I’ve heard enough stories this week to have a pretty good idea of just how full of shit you all are. I thought this was a community of decent people, really. But after being told one too many times about some ridiculous curse, I realize you’re nothing but fools and cowards.” Mason laughs again, and Joel’s a blink away from slapping the sound right out of his mouth.

“I’m not talking about that bullshit curse.” Joel squints at him.

“Come again?”

“That curse you’re referring to? I agree with you that it’s town nonsense. But that’s not what I’m talking about.” When Joel stays silent, Mason’s mouth stretches into a smile.

“She may not be sending men to their graves, but she ain’t so innocent either. See, she likes to meddle.”

“Meddle?” Mason nods.

“In other people’s business. Sure, she helps folks all the time. But that’s not all she’s doing in that shop of hers.” Joel huffs, getting tired of the way this man seems to be stringing him along.

“Talk plainly, son. It’s getting late.” Mason barks out a laugh, sliding off his stool before laying a hand on Joel’s shoulder, a squinted smile on his face.

“Why don’t you go see what she’s got cooking up in that kitchen of hers in the middle of the night. Because I can tell you right now, it ain’t fucking tea.”

#joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller au #joel miller series #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #tlou

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ersatz-ostrich · 7 months ago

Text

See You Again

Chapter 2: Polestar

Jason Todd x f!reader

You and the Red Hood escape the laboratory.

[A/N]: This is the second of the two chapters I had already written. I just started writing the third chapter and putting down my thoughts for the rest of the story...oops...

read here on ao3

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masterlist

STAR Laboratories Los Angeles

9:52:03 PM PT

The Coffin

“Well, that can’t be good.” You mutter to yourself, yanking out the syringe with a hiss. When your soldier had yielded, you thought you could slip away from him. But his sudden fake-out had shifted both of your positions, creating a window for the Bat to shoot him. The bullet had come so close to your face, you had thought you could feel it brush past you and embed itself in the soldier’s exposed neck.

The bullet could have just as easily grazed you, even killed you, had you been just an inch too close.

You shifted your gaze to the figure in the red helmet. You hadn’t gotten the chance to examine them up close—they were tall and heavily built, even with armor on, and sported a weathered brown leather jacket that covered the huge red bat symbol emblazoned on their chest plate. “You’re Red Hood, right?”

“That’s me.”

“What are you doing in LA? Aren’t you supposed to be from Gotham?” The Red Hood let out a modulated chuckle. You thought this would go down as your weirdest day on the job, making one of Gotham’s most ruthless crime fighters chuckle.

“I wanted to check out the warm weather here in Cali.” Something in Red Hood’s tone and posture shifted. “Now, what’s going on with that syringe?”

“Ah. Well, this was supposed to be a dose of a certain virus for the lab animals we’re testing on,” you explained.

“And this virus, it’s…”

“The Polestar virus,” you sighed. “Unearthed from somewhere deep in the Arctic, inside some early human mummies who carried the virus.” You let out a weak chuckle. “We knew it had the potential to be sold on the black market as a bioweapon should it fall into the wrong hands, but we weren’t aware that the risks were so high. And now, the virus is in my system.”

“Are you feeling anything right now? What are the virus’s symptoms? What’s its incubation period?” His modulated voice was surprisingly soft, yet urgent.

“This virus is bad news. We found that it’s pretty fast acting, and…” You spared another glance at the syringe in your hand. “...the symptoms aren’t pretty.”

“How fast?”

“This dose is meant for a test subject that’s a fraction of my body mass. I’ll be dead in two or three hours, give or take.”

“And the symptoms?”

“Necrosis. A new kind that we haven’t named yet. The virus consumes soft tissue and leaves behind a metallic residue. We believe it’s because the virus leaches metals and minerals from the body and aggregates it, beginning with the extremities.” The Red Hood reached forward cautiously, as if he was afraid of startling you. He gently pulled back the fabric of your coveralls that the soldier had so unceremoniously ripped open and ghosted his gloved fingers over where the needle had once been. The blood vessels around the wound had already become blackened and distended.

“We have to get you to a hospital.” You shook your head.

“We can’t. This research isn’t public knowledge.” You hoisted yourself up, tucked in your coveralls, and adjusted your respirator like nothing had happened. “I’m already a target as it is.” You stepped over the black-clad form of one of the soldiers Red Hood felled.

“Are there any treatments?” You picked your way through the Coffin to the freezers.

“They’re still in development, but the vaccine should slow it down.” You punched some numbers into the keypad and put your index finger to the scanner on the door and the freezer doors eased open automatically. You strode over to the shelf where you had hurriedly stashed the vials and syringes, the glass and metal clouded from the cold. The vaccine was crystal pink, you realized, like the color of the phenolphthalein titration you had done back in high school. You had handled both the buret and the Erlenmeyer flask because Jason couldn’t get it right, and in return, he had done all of the calculations for the lab report. Turning over the vials in your hand, you wondered why you were reminiscing about Jason during this time. The thought made your heart squeeze a little bit.

Jason Todd had been gone for so long. The hollowness that Jason’s absence had carved out of you seemed to sigh achingly. Years on, that hollowness was still there, not as hungry as it had been at first but smaller, still present. It still gnawed on your consciousness from time to time, on his birthday or on the day the Joker took him from you.

When you returned from the freezer, Red Hood was preparing a large metal-lined briefcase that he had taken from the incapacitated—dead?—men on the ground. He had already filled it partially with devices and weapons he had taken off of the soldiers.

“Are those the virus samples?” He inquired.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Vaccines, too. They’re labeled as such, and the vaccines are pink while the virus suspension is cl—”

“Pack them up. We have to get out of here before the police come.” His request startled you.

“Are you serious? This is property of STAR Labs and the CDC—”

“That’s been compromised. Neither you nor the samples are safe here. The police will be of no help, and they’re gonna keep sending people after you and those syringes unless we get you somewhere safe.” He gestured at the tray in your hands. “You need treatment, too. Somewhere they can’t find you.” You sighed heavily, setting the tray on a countertop.

“You’re right. I’m carrying the virus right now, and I’m dangerous. STAR Labs is probably gonna terminate me and the CDC will whisk me away or something. People come after me. But I can’t compromise the Polestar program.”

“It’s already been compromised. Now pack that shit up and let’s get out of here.” You flitted around the Coffin in search of something to store the samples in. You were scooping ice into a Styrofoam case when your comms unit fizzled to life again.

“This is the LAPD, we’ve been alerted of a break-in at STAR Labs. We request that all STAR Labs employees still in the building evacuate immediately. That is an order. Repeat, that is an order.”

“Shit, we gotta go,” Red Hood muttered. You grabbed your comms and tucked the Styrofoam case awkwardly under your arm and followed him out of the Coffin and into the ruins of decon and aseptics—you had been in the Coffin for hours, and the sight of the wreckage and your coworkers in aseptics now slumped over their devices made your stomach drop. “No time for sightseeing. Hurry up.” You pushed yourself into a full sprint, stumbling in your PPE along the concrete and corrugated steel of the basement. You followed the Red Hood into the emergency stairwell. Peering through the glass of the door to the ground floor, you saw SWAT officers milling about.

“SWAT team, start sweeping the second floor.”

“Shit—” You and Red Hood hurried up the stairs, the contents in your arms rattling in its Styrofoam case.

“Guess we aren’t leaving that way. Know any other escape routes in this building?”

The top floor—your floor. The Polestar program’s home.

You didn’t want to know what kind of destruction the soldiers had left in their wake.

“Top floor. Only way out would be the roof,” You answered.

“Roof it is.” After climbing some more flights of stairs and monitoring your comms unit for any more activity, you decided to wrench open the door to the sixth floor, breathing laboriously—when was the last time you had done this much cardio? You led the Red Hood over to a service elevator—not accessible without clearance, you explained to him—scanned your ID, and pulled him in. Once it reached the top floor, the elevator dinged and opened its doors, the hallway blessedly clear. You and Hood skulked down the corridor, which ended with the door to the Polestar offices. Hood opened the door and swept the room for hostiles before waving you in.

Your heart sank when you saw what had become of the Polestar lab.

“No…” you whispered. The laboratory had been completely wrecked. Glass fragments and papers were strewn on the floors. Pieces of equipment were left broken and overturned, spilling their contents among the mess.

Then you saw the bodies.

You caught sight of Dr. Davis’s crumpled form on the floor, next to the comms he had used to warn you of the impending disaster. The comms unit looked like it had been crushed underfoot, exposing wiring and circuitry among shards of its outer plastic shell. You made a step towards Dr. Davis’s body, but froze when you saw the red stain on his back and the blood pooling onto the floor.

“They…” You felt Hood’s gloved hand on your shoulder, gently guiding you away from the destruction. “...they killed everyone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“This is…this is horrible. Unbelievable.” Your pulse quickened with your breath. You felt the tears begin to form, and your vision grew misty. “I can’t believe it. They killed everyone.” You thought you had known grief and death. But this was different—seeing your colleagues slaughtered, their blood drying before you, made you feel faint. And yet, you felt wholly ablaze with

“Hey…” Shouts sounded from the stairwell. Your chest felt tight and your head was turning fuzzy. “...hey, hey. We gotta move.” The hand on your shoulder was not so gentle anymore, insistently pulling you toward the gaping hole in one of the windows. He handed—more like shoved—the briefcase he was holding into one of your hands and produced a terrifying-looking grapple gun from somewhere on his utility belt. “Don’t drop it,” was all he said before he wrapped an arm around your waist. Your arms instinctively flew around his shoulders, holding onto him, your Styrofoam box and his briefcase for dear life, and then you were airborne.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you soared over the street, which had become choked with squad cars and assault vehicles. You gasped in surprise when you felt yourself change direction as Hood gently and skillfully hoisted you over the ledge of a neighboring building’s rooftop.

“The first time is always the worst.”

“That’s implying that this isn’t the last,” You heaved out. “Holy shit. Did they see us?”

“Don’t think so. We’ll wait here, I’ll…” You didn’t hear the rest of the vigilante’s statement. The adrenaline from the jump was beginning to wane and you felt the burden of the virus and the sights you had stumbled upon while escaping the laboratory coming on again.

“Hey." Red Hood moved to catch you as you slumped over. “Hey, can you hear me?” Illuminated by the city lights, he caught sight of your badge from where it hung on your PPE. Your name was printed in neat black font next to an unmistakable portrait.

Under his helmet, the Red Hood’s breath caught in his chest.

“...Y/N?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[A/N]: That's all I've got for now. Hope you enjoyed! x

#jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood #the red hood #jason todd #dcu

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leviathansshadycorner · 1 year ago

Text

Rope Him In ( Cato x District 10! Reader x slight! Marvel) Pt. 1

Summary: In which Cato falls for a tribute from 10.

____________________________________

Chapter 1 : The Reaping

“And no matter what happens, just know that you’ll be alright. You’re going nowhere.” Amaranto, your older brother tries to sooth you. His man hands on your shoulder, making you look him in the eyes as he attempts to stop your sobbing. Teary eyed you just nodded your head. That was easy for him to say. He had reached the cut-off age only three months ago.

“I swear it’ll be alright.” He pulls you into a hug, his tan arms squeezing you to the point where you let out a small laugh.

“Alright…” You reply, wiping away your tears.

“Come on, maybe work will distract you.” He says, picking up his tin foil container which held the rice and eggs you had packed him and yourself.

It’s a little past 6 in the morning. The sun barely pushed the dark blue sky away to take its place. The reaping wouldn’t take place for about another 7 hours or so. Giving people enough time to cry over their loved ones, or finish their final trades before more peacekeepers flooded the area. The two of you decide to go into work today, even though they give off reaping days to the younger workers. You nervously headed out, eyes fixated on the pale yellow of your house, hoping it wouldn’t be the last time you saw it.

District 10, your home, never seemed more somber than on reaping day. The only other time you saw people’s moods this down was when the Capitol decided to take the horses away from the district as a punishment to those who tried to escape on them. Noises of chickens, cows, and pigs echoed throughout the empty space as you and Amaranto walked through the desolate farming sections. You had assumed the farmers were either at the markets trying to buy feed for their livestock, or out in the bar trying to get over the fact that their best farm hands could get taken from them.

The smell of fresh manure filled your nostrils as you neared some of the dairy cows. You hesitantly stopped, trying to keep in line with your routine, your hand reached up and rubbed the snout of a large spotted cow. Its markings were peculiar, since they all looked like rounded shapes rather than blotches of ink. “What I’d do to trade places with you.” You told the cow. Dairy cows were prized in this district, they were the only cows that weren’t sent off to be packaged into meat. They were the ones who got to live a long peaceful life, while their counterparts were met with a bloody fate.

“Come on (Y/n), the faster we get there, the faster we can eat lunch before the reaping.” Your brother said, already miles ahead of you.

District 10 was divided in its work. There were jobs in the production of dairy and eggs, the slaughterhouses, butchery , farming, breeding, and then there were the people who actually raised the livestock. Before making leather was moved to district 8, it belonged to 10. The breeders and farmers were people with a little bit more money than the rest. The breeders being where the smartest of 10 would use their knowledge of science and splicing to breed superior meats to send off to the capitol. Most kids in 10 spend their first few years working as farm hands and helping around in the creameries. The older ones take jobs in the killing and cutting of the meat. It was a shame that so much work went into something that its citizens couldn’t even have. The only good thing about 10 was that they got the capitol’s scraps. Small eggs the size of a cotton ball, cuts they deemed too disgusting to eat, cheese on the brink of its expiration, the list went on and on.

Amaranto and you worked at the slaughterhouse. Ever since your dad broke his leg, you both had to quit your jobs at Farmer Alfie’s and trade in your coveralls for white rubbery aprons. The slaughterhouse always smelled metallic. The smell of iron was one that would stay with you for as long as you live. The ceilings held fans, but they only helped so much to drive the smell away. Metal decorated walls and tables greeted you as you walked in. Your job was to drain the poor animal of its life. Walking past the pen of the to-be-killed animals felt hypocritical of you. You related a bit too much to the poor bovine creatures. Afterall, just like them, you were born to die.

“Dad’s in the building next to ours cutting up some lambs.” Amaranto said as he placed his lunch box in his locker. “And you know where to find me.” He finished, closing up the locker and turning to look at you. “If you feel like you can’t handle work today just go look for him or me ok?” He spoke, his kind voice reassuring you. Amaranto worked out with the men killing them. They were under the close eyes of peacekeepers, since their job was the only one requiring guns.

“Alright…” Was all you could muster up.

“Damn (Y/n), you’re quiet today.” Clarabell, the girl who was sweet on your brother, spoke from behind you. She was your coworker, and quite literally your only friend. “My my, and why is it that you are wearing that gorgeous top to work?” She asked with a fake scolding voice.

“She’s nervous about the reaping.” Amaranto told her as they both exchanged a flash of worry about you.

“I thought I’d get dressed before coming in today, since I don’t think I’d get out in time to change.” You had gotten up early in the morning to go out of your way to put on your reaping clothes. It’s not like you anticipated the event, rather you felt that getting ready earlier would be better than struggling to change an hour before the reaping.

“Oh come on (Y/n)-ie, you know nothing’s going to happen right? The chances of you getting picked are like the chances of your brother deciding I’m finally lady-like enough to marry.” The girl said, trying to throw some humor at you.

“C-can we just work?” Came your reply, dry and hasty. You didn’t want to talk about the reaping anymore. You just wanted to distract yourself from your possible death sentence.

Clarabell gave you a sympathetic hug, draping her dark red hair on your face as she nuzzled into your shoulder. “Sweet girl, you’ll be fine.” She said, then going to grab her apron. You followed, grabbing your own and shakily putting it on over your baby blue gingham dress shirt.

“No- no, here.” Clarabell said as she took off the shirt she was wearing. “You are not getting your pretty little self all bloodied before the reaping.” She said, tossing the shirt at you.

“I can’t.”

“Oh I think you will.” And like that her shirt was now on top of yours. It was stupid of you to wear your best shirt to work, now making people sacrifice theirs for you. Saying goodbye to your brother as he turned and left for work, you finally tied your apron on, and the two of you joined the others for work.

Time passed and the sun arose. Its heat raining down on 10. The only perk about working here was that they were always blasting cold air into the building. The clock seemed like it was against you, time moving both quickly and at a skin crawling pace. Clarabell tried to distract you, but the deep feeling in your stomach only sunk further. Eventually you couldn’t handle it anymore, and went to go speak with your father.

You hung up your apron. You hadn’t noticed how bloody your clothes had gotten until you took it off. “Damn.” You cursed looking over at the redhead. “I’m sorry Clara- I’ll wash it and bring it back to you I swear.”

The older girl just laughed, “It’s alright, now go on- enjoy yourself, go frolic with the sheep, or kiss some boys-” She teased as she waved to you.

You walked alongside the dirt path that connected the slaughterhouse and the butcher’s corners. Many of the men recognized you as your fathers daughter, greeting you as you sped through the halls and into the area where your father was sitting. Your heart stopped when you saw him, on his wheelchair working on slicing some skin off of a cut of meat. This was probably the last time you’d see him like this.

You didn’t know why, but a feeling of impending doom told you that you’d be chosen as one of the kids to die in the arena.

“Hey Papa.” You greeted. His dark head of hair shifted up to look at you. He smiled for a brief second, his serious expression returning. “What are you doing here (N/n). Didn’t they give you the day off?” He asked, his voice deep and old.

“They did, but Amar thought working today would distract me.” Your eyes shifted from the meat he was cutting to his face.

“I see.” He spoke.

“Just wanted to check up on you.” You tugged at the sleeves of your shirt, failing to realize that you hadn’t washed the blood on your hands thoroughly enough and staining the light material.

“Thank you dear.” You knew why your Father wasn’t saying much. In fact he was just like you, not speaking much because he was scared. He was scared to lose you like how he had lost your mother.

“I love you Papa.” You said, reaching out to hug him.

“Look, you’re going to be fine. If you get picked or not, you’re from 10. Remember that. The district of hard-ass cowboys alright? Now you’re a badass (Y/n), so don’t let fear get to ya.” He said, turning around to hug you tight.

Tears fell down your cheeks at his words. Nodding your head you agreed with his words. You couldn’t let fear get to you. Everyone had been saying that your chances of getting picked were slim, so they must be right.

…

The cries of children and mothers alike took the place of the bleating animals. Peacekeepers were now circling the district, lining up people with their guns as they ushered them to the square. The commotion made for some of the animals to go loose, but no one cared about them anymore. All that mattered to the peacekeepers was getting everyone to go witness the death of two children from home.

You were already in line waiting to get your finger pricked. You watched as some of the older kids looked more relaxed. Your heart sank when you met the eyes of a teary eyed 12 year old. She looked at you with a scrunched up red and puffy face. All you could offer her was a somber smile.

“God I know how them cows must be feeling.” A blonde girl spoke to her friend behind you. Flashes of the meat cows came into your brian. You had watched Amar do his job a while back, shocked at how he was able to go through with it.

All you remember is the cow’s poor innocent eyes as it awaited its fate. The gun was raised and aimed smack dab in the middle of its head.

Boom

You jumped at the feeling of a needle puncturing your skin. You went to lick it, once again failing to notice the blood on your hands. Of course. You had forgotten to wash this off after helping your dad out with a few of his work. Sighing with no other choice, you wiped your hands on the sides of your shirt. Making your way to stand with your age group, you looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of anyone familiar.

Met with Clarabell ’s green eyes you felt more relaxed, soon catching a view of Amaranto’s face. He looked stern, serious, almost like your father. In fact he was the exact clone of your Father when he was younger. Speaking of which you couldn’t find. Your Father must have been further back. A part of you was glad you couldn’t see him. You knew you’d burst out in tears if you did.

“Welcome, Welcome!” A sultry voice came from the stage. Everyone turned their attention to the announcer. It was a tall asian man, wearing a tan outfit consisting of pants longer than his legs, and a dress shirt littered with feathers that made it seem as if his whole upper body was a chicken. Along with the outfit he wore a hen on top of his slicked dark indigo hair. Pradain Alcomore, District 10’s announcer. Nobody could stop staring. Had he dressed like this in honor or in ridicule of the district?

“Boy is it hot.” The announcer then said, wiping the sweat of his brow with a handkerchief. He placed it back in his pants pocket, returning to holding the microphone.

“Welcome All to the annual reaping.” He said scanning the crowd for a reaction. “As you all know, a male and female tribute are to be selected to participate in the 74th hunger games.” He said with a toothy grin as he made jazz hands to the crowd. “Right then, roll the tape!” He commanded.

As he ordered the tape you had all memorized begins to play, its music the only thing making sound aside from the sniffles of children.

“Wonderful, that never gets old.” He giggles to the crowd as he gets their attention back.

“Alright then, let's begin shall we.” He dipped his hands into the fish bowl, swirling it around a couple more times than was necessary.

Being one of the poorer districts meant your name was in there more than you would’ve liked it to be. Amar scolded you when he found out what you did, but he figured since he managed to survive the reaping you would too. You only hoped he was right.

You watched as people held hands in nervousness, awaiting to hear the first name drawn. There was a deadly silence.

Pradain opened the slip, a smile on his face as he announced to the world the female tribute from district 10.

“(Y/n) Cuernos.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to scream but not a drop of voice came out. The ringing in your ears began as people around you began to back away, allowing a path to be made in front of you. The path that would lead you to death.

Clarabell’s soft sobs were what lured you back into reality. She mouthed the words sorry as you passed by, turning around to see if your brother was crying too. When you did find him he was on his knees, a friend of his trying to console him. You could only imagine what your father was thinking. As you looked around you spotted him, his face as serious as ever. You knew if he made eye contact with you he’d burst out yelling, so you continued to walk the path up to the stage.

“Come Come dear, time is ticking.” Pradair says as you step up. The cameras follow you, focused on your back as you walk. “My what a fashion choice.” He speaks as he notices the blotches of red staining your shirt.

You can’t cry. You can’t. And as you feel your face get warm, look up at the gigantic screen displaying your fear filled eyes. Your hair is braided into two braids, it makes your face look gigantic. The baby blue gingham shirt stained with cows blood looks exhausted, making you look like filth in the eyes of the people watching, or so you assume. The overalls you thought to wear covered the cowboy boots on your feet. You never noticed how long the pant legs were. You hadn’t noticed how much you looked like your mother.

“Onto the boy!” Pradain then says as he shuffles to the other end of the stage to pull out the male tribute’s name.

“Buckley Wheaton!” He calls out and you watch a mother scream for her boy. He’s around your age, though muscular and older looking. No doubt he’d be the winner out of the two of you. He went to school with you, only speaking to you when asking for answers to questions. Other than that the two of you were total strangers. The brunette looked unfazed, but deep inside you knew he was as scared as you.

“Let’s give them a hand!” Pradair says, and the people only place their hands to their hearts.

#fanfic #xreader #cato #cato hadley #marvel #hunger games #74th hunger games #romance #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #district 10 #the hunger games fanfiction #reader insert #x reader

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princess-of-the-corner · 4 months ago

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This is why I'm a huge fan of poorly funded superheroes/villains/costumed weirdos who have to make their own costumes by just throwing together shit they had at the house. Usually, the design ends up being really iconic plainclothes that is far less likely to malfunction than these monetized fuckers with a costume department, since the hero has to worry about replacing anything they break on their own budget.

You can't just say "they used their funding or their scientist or whatever to make bulletproof spandex." It forces the designers to think about what this character might realistically have to work with and what they would be worried about when gathering materials. It's why so many of them end out wearing like, leather jackets and trenchcoats---leather is low grade armor. It's something you could realistically get your hands on that's also easy to move in and decently protective.

Other things I've put in my own designs and seen other places are gas masks to hide your identity and protect your face, skateboard knee and elbow pads, lots of repurposed sports equipment (especially football), using theatre costumes for dramatic flair that will survive heavy movement, and stuff marketed towards hard laborers like hardhats, work boots, and coveralls.

(I'm also just a fan of poor scavenging bastards in general, because something about a dude with a baseball bat and a gun who lives in a box under a bridge being your grand rescuer is so funny and so appealing to me).

see this just makes me laugh because with bnha it's the differences between Heroes and Villains

The Heroes have funding and such to make their costumes.

The Villains are making this with the old sewing machine in the basement.

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banamine-bananime · 1 year ago

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reds and blues as employees on a dairy because it brings me joy

red team all work in the dairy and blue team work in the calf ranch and heifer barn. they hate each other because the reds will blame absolutely any problems on blue team fucking up their replacement heifers and blue team will blame any and all calf illness on the maternity pen. 42 day old calf breaking with diarrhea that is abos-fucking-lutely obviously coccidia? nah that's obviously because of poor colostrum hygiene, and even if it isn't, it's because reds're somehow fucking up the colostrum protocols - yes sarge we know the serum total proteins on new calves SEEM to show good passive transfer but we just KNOW there's something going on in that pen because you idiots cannot be trusted not to, like, start dipping navels with strawberry-flavoured vodka or something

carolina is 50/50 owner with church after inheriting it from their father. it was a couple hundred cow tie-stall barn used for research - both dr. church's own research and renting to other researchers. when he retired they decided they wanted to start nearly fresh, hopping markets from research to commercial production, expanding and converting to a much larger free-stall (they're around 900 head now) and robot milkers, and greatly expanding and upgrading the youngstock facilities to keep up with the replacement heifer need of the larger herd. it was a rough first few years, especially with *ahem* the quality of labour they were able to hire, but they figured it out and things are going shockingly well now

reds:

carolina: counts as red for these purposes because she's the manager of the dairy. she has a very love/hate relationship with management because god does she like getting to do things Her Way and research and analyze and work to make them perfect and tell people exactly what to do, but unfortunately, people. People are absolute pests and will not just do what you tell them because you said so, and learning this has been IMMENSELY frustrating for her, but she's gradually learning people skills and that respecting your employees, hearing them out and actually explaining Why you want things a certain way, will get you sooooo much farther. She also hates how much time she has to spend behind a desk and will take absolutely any excuse to strap on some coveralls and help with breeding or drying off or covering silage or really anything physical. thank god, because she is an absolute machine and will sprint in her steel-toe rubber boots and coveralls with the giant fucking heavy-ass tarp up the pile all on her own. she would not be on her own if she slowed down to a normal human speed, but there is absolutely no way she's gonna do that.

sarge: head herdsman and cannot be convinced not to spend an ungodly amount of time at work. worked on then owned a teeny family dairy his whole life until it was not economically feasible and had to sell a few years ago, coincidentally right when church and carolina were doing their overhaul and looking for someone experienced they could trust to deal with all the inexperienced chucklefucks they were able to hire. It seemed like the perfect serendipitous coincidence, until they realized they hated each other and sarge has... some Interesting beliefs and methods that he absolutely cannot be persuaded out of. getting him to stop putting red kote on EVERYTHING was carolina's greatest Sarge Achievement. he's also the hoof-trimmer alongside lopez and getting sarge to, for the love of god, stop putting wraps on every therapeutic trim SERIOUSLY NO ONE CAN SEE THEM AS SOON AS THEY GET DIRTY AND THEY'RE JUST STAYING ON WAY TOO LONG AND MAKING THINGS WORSE SARGE PLEASE GOD is her white whale. he does most of the repairs on vehicles and equipment and she has to beat him off with a stick from making very-not-OSHA-approved "improvements". nevertheless, over the years they've grown an incredibly weird friendship that absolutely terrifies and deeply confuses church

grif: does the ration mixing and drives the ration truck and feed pushup and alley scraper, and, most importantly, the skid steer. other people can (and do, on days he's not working) step in for the other things, but the skid steer? carolina has OUTLAWED anyone but grif from driving it after donut had an oopsy daisy and completely fucked up a water line (she was sooooooo mad they had one HELL of a frosty meeting. she is very careful to Not Yell because she knows that is a Bad Manager thing to do but carolina has no ability whatsoever to disguise how mad she is, like in her face and body language, and and does not realize it or how terrified people are of her LMAO). he would actually be a really shitty feeder without simmons neurotically messaging him where he's supposed to be every 15 minutes in the morning because feeding would NOT be on schedule and he might even forget a pen tbh (this is very bad. think of a lactating dairy cow as an elite ultrarunner who is in a constant fight between her limited capacity to take in food and her absurd energy expenditure. any disruption restricting feed intake is the root of pretty much all evil for lactating cows). between the two of them they make one functional person. because why not establish deep co-dependency with your co-worker for no reason <3

simmons: kinda jack-of-all-trades herdsman. huge snitch to carolina or sarge whenever people are slacking or fuck up, which she appreciates because usually it's really hard to have eyes on the ground to see whether the protocols you put so much effort into perfecting are actually being followed, and what you need to do that make them easier to follow/people want to follow. it's much easier when you have an obsessive suck-up, thankfully. when she saw him looking over her 1000 spreadsheets and reports and making his own, reorganized-for-maximum-efficiency versions for fun she realized, holy shit, this is my out from some of the most tedious, mindless, repetitive administrative management work, THANK YOU GOD. she only trusts him with stuff that does not involve making decisions and she still briefly checks over his work, of course, but oh my god, he is SO thrilled and smug to have Responsibility and to be Entrusted with anything even remotely management-y. also does a lot of routine preventative maintenance on equipment because sarge isn't as interested in maintaining things as making new, better (/more terrifying) ones, and no one else is so anal about maintenance schedules.

donut: main breeder and maternity pen herdsman. good lord, the fisting jokes. no one knows if they're on purpose. boy howdy is that boy good with an ai gun, though! so they all just have to endure some of the most awkward turns of phrase they've ever heard. he cries dramatically every time there's a stillbirth or a weak neonate that dies, and then immediately is like okay i'm normal now! (he is never normal.) has an EXCELLENT appreciation for the importance of LUBE, MORE LUBE ("NO I MEAN IT MISTER THAT POOR GIRL DESERVES BETTER FROM YOU!! I WANT YOUR ARM DRIPPING") whenever checking labour progress and especially in dystocias, and does not tolerate anyone helping not treating his gals with the utmost tenderness and respect. also deeply fucking weird and LOVES finding bovimanes or abortuses because eeeeeewwwwww so weird so cool doc look!! look at it hehehe YUCK!!!!

lopez: professional hoof-trimmer who comes in biweekly. hates working with sarge SO much. blasts regional mexican music as loud as he can by the chute so he doesn't have to hear him.

doc: obviously the hospital herdsman. god bless him, he tries, but he is so susceptible to "oh i heard from bob down the road that oregano oil and yeast will prevent subclinical ketosis and you HAVE to give today [this is a popular cefapirin intramammary tube for treating mastitis, but only works on susceptible bugs, and god people are. very bad at choosing which cases to use it for and what duration to use. especially because it takes 5 days for inflammation to go down and milk to return to normal even if the infection is cured sooner] for 5 days for it to work". dr. grey is their herd vet, comes by weekly for herd check, and god, she both HATES and LOVES doc. hates because good god man, please stop all this nonsense and just!! listen to her advice!!!!! she put effort into these treatment protocols JUST LISTEN TO THEM. loves because wow, fascinating how this man's mind works, and what a CHALLENGE trying to mentally wrestle him into compliance.

blues:

church: manager of the youngstock barns. constantly bitching to carolina about a) how terrible the reds are and how they're obviously fucking up all the calves at maternity, SERIOUSLY carolina how are they supposed to work with this!! and b) how terrible and annoying the blues are, really, carolina, he means it this isn't a joke stop laughing, not a day goes by that he doesn't fantasize about firing everyone, selling, and retiring to a cabin in the middle of nowhere where he'll never have to fucking speak to anyone again. at least while alpha is fronting. epsilon doesn't need to do the performative "i hate everyone and i'm killing myself the next time caboose leaves a gate open and we have to spend an hour collecting naughty heifers" bitching quite as constantly, he's more comfortable expressing actually liking his coworkers. but he does occasionally fly off the handle and get way more actually mean than alpha, which is obviously Suboptimal for workplace toxicity, because he feels like the one in the system that has to take on everything the others can't or won't and so he internalizes all the real work-related stresses until he blows up about them. theta really really loves the calves and fronts semi-frequently when things at work are calm and they're handling the calves. they all try not to let omega front at work because JESUS CHRIST, but tbh there's a couple times in stupid petty arguments with tucker and caboose he does and it's literally just like the stupidest cheesiest gimmick villain WITH MY CALF ARMY I WILL TAKE OVER THE WORLD AND SUBJUGATE THE PUNY BIPEDS!!! tucker's like lol sure man. caboose is supportive because fuck human babies fr calves are so superior.

caboose: mostly works with the older heifers because no one gets these hormonal naughty teenage gals like him. keeps picking different favourite heifers and naming them sheila. tex works with the post-weaning girlies too and they're a dreamteam honestly. together they can and will deadlift a yearling if she gets herself stuck in a stupid spot. frequently causes gate-related chaos. tucker is starting to get suspicious he does it on purpose because he likes seeing the heifers get to go exploring.

tex: unrelated to church and carolina, but is the only one that actually worked at the farm when owned by their dad. their dad wanted her to have 1/3 ownership but she turned him down. carolina is still hurt by how much mentorship/approval he gave tex compared to his actual kids. tries not to take it out on tex but tex's general abrasiveness and her messy relationship with church don't help matters. doesn't actually work full-time at the farm anymore, has her own beef operation (texas longhorn ofc) now but still drops by to have fun with caboose and the heifers and to bother church. are they dating? exes? about to kill each other? about to elope? no one knows! she'll bring her ropes or her dartgun just to make people freak out about YOU CAN'T DART THE DAIRY COWS TEXAS (obviously she wouldn't. whether she should be darting her own cows is another question but they are wild gals and she is a wildly good shot so, hey, if it works and she knows the risks and is using them with a veterinary prescription)... but she is serious about roping the naughty heifers when they escape. she believes in the power of a good rope and bowline knot like nothing else.

tucker: works with the pre-weaning calves. in a constant battle over the calf barn radio with church and kai and is NOT above hiding it so they can't change it. always trying to get out of doing any cleaning tasks and slacking off and talks a big game about what little asshole shits the calves are but who's in there babying any pneumonia calves with extra bedding and perfecting ventilation and giving SO many oral electrolytes so gently to scours calves? who's bullying church into buying dummy nipples and making PVC pipe hay slowfeeders (well, blue team all make them together. team craft day!! mostly spent with tucker certain caboose is going to take off tucker's and/or his own fingers with the saw) for enrichment? who's paying unannounced recon visits to the maternity pen to make sure they're treating the neonates right and have all the colostrum equipment and calf pens pristine (he and donut have a weird frenemyship)? he wasn't like this until he had junior and now he can't stop thinking how he would want someone taking care of his baby to treat him... god. now he has to actually try. fucking annoying Feelings and wanting to do the right thing ugh!!

kai: oh man she loves the calves they're her CREW her GIRLS her SQUAD!! so many selfies with them. sometimes she "breaks into" (she has a key) the barn after hours with her besties (randos she met at a party) for fun. church has told her a hundred times that there are fucking CAMERAS and he's going to fire her next offense he swears to god. but he knows she at least won't let anyone fuck with the calves or the barn (and, in fact, has gotten into some spectacular fights with some of those drunk people who have tried vandalism).

#rvb #red vs blue #alexa send post

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ahsokathegray · 10 months ago

Text

Fruitful, Fruitless

Pairing: Rexsoka

Prompt: Rexsoka Monthly Feb. ‘24 - Give Me a Reason

Summary: The tension between spring and summer permeates the air of Pabu, breathing softly against the ocean, fresh fruit, and the tender lips of two lovers. But even on the most blissful days, the cold snap of tragedy can bite back.

Tags: 18+ smut, language, established relationship, whump, allergic reaction, gardener!rex, sex and fruit don't mix, or do they?, pwp

Word Count: 8,075

A/N: written for my friend @whyamismall as part of febuwhump! (@rexsoka-monthly)

read on ao3! / masterlist

It wasn’t quite summer just yet. The air blew warm now but the ocean was as icy as ever. If a cloud happened to pass overhead, creating shade from the sun, a small chill would still skirt across one’s skin.

Ahsoka had never fretted over clothing options before and she found herself shuddering over her past choices as she currently debated between her coveralls or a sundress.

It was the opening day for Pabu’s summer garden market. She’d be there supporting Rex. Naturally, the sundress won, even if it meant a brisk breeze every now and then up the light marital.

Caf was already prepared when she made her way into the kitchen, the aroma of the ground beans wafting through the air. Her favorite mug sat waiting for her on the counter, steam dancing above it. Ahsoka smiled and opened a window; the various scents of flowers and the salt of the ocean wafted in, mixing with the smell of homemade caf.

Store bought caf could never rival the rich flavor that Rex’s had. Something truly was magical about it, whether it was because it was being grown in their back garden or perhaps just by Rex’s hand specifically. She’d maintain that it was him that made it so special.

It was a surprise to them and the Batch that he had turned out to have such a green thumb. After years of violence, he could finally lose himself in something soft.

He’d probably argue with her now though that gardening wasn’t the only soft thing that he was losing himself in.

Ahsoka savored her morning caf and forced herself not to leave the shared home too early, giving Rex time to settle in and acclimate to a rhythm. Showing up at the market too soon might throw him off his game.

Large butterfly wings tickled her insides as she grabbed her woven basket a while later. She then adjusted her braided headdress and exited through the door. It was a gorgeous day. The musical sounds of laughter, music, and waves licking at the beach filled her montrals. Not a single cloud dotted the sky. Ahsoka exhaled and grinned to herself. There couldn’t have been more perfect conditions for the market’s opening day.

She had to stop herself from walking up to the festivities so swiftly, neither Rex nor it was going anywhere anytime soon.

Troves of people filled the square when she arrived, milling about under colorful canopies, tents, and decorated stalls. A hefty portion of Pabu’s inhabitants had to be up here. She laughed, thinking how Wrecker would be none too pleased that he was missing this. He and the Batch had been gone for two weeks and were scheduled to return home later in the evening.

Perhaps she should’ve crafted a larger basket to account for so many mouths to feed.

It was because of Wrecker specifically that Ahsoka was thankful to have some time without the boys every now and then. Their stock of food was always running low, so a few weeks with full cabinets had been nice. It was also partly due to Wrecker that Rex decided to take up gardening. Credits were in short supply, they had seven people in the house, and he said he needed something else to keep his hands busy.

He could only clean his blaster so often.

His fruits and vegetables were impeccable in both growth and flavor. He couldn’t plant or harvest them fast enough, as the Batch and a growing Omega seemed to inhale them. Rex had been particularly excited for Ahsoka to try his avedame fruit, but they’d been devoured so quickly that she hadn't had the chance. The next time they sprouted from soil, he had personally brought a bowl of them to her room — already washed and ready for eating.

It was the best thing she’d ever put in her mouth. He told her to just wait, as he’d set more of the fruit aside to ferment into avedame wine.

After that, Rex tripled his efforts and wound up with a surplus of produce. He’d gift it to the neighbors until other islanders were knocking at the door requesting them and even offering a generous amount of credits.

Hosting a stall at the summer market was the solution. Pabu’s mayor, Shep Hazard, had even started it a month earlier than years past due to high demand.

Ahsoka stood on her tiptoes to look over the heads of the market goers, trying to see if she could spot a certain blue decorated stall. She had no such luck in finding it so she set off, starting from one end and making her way around.

A second basket was added to her other forearm before long, carrying all sorts of goods but mostly food. A new throw blanket was placed on the bottom — Omega’s tooka had claimed her old one, various breads sat atop that, and several spices were tucked amongst the loaves. In the other basket, she had fresh fruits and vegetables that Rex did not already cultivate in their back garden. A third basket was looking to be a real possibility soon.

She meandered along the stalls, conversing with acquaintances and nurturing potential new friendships. Phee Genoa waved her down and placed some found blue jewels into her headdress while Lyana slipped a handmade bracelet over her wrist. Both of them ushered her to their own stall of jams and cheeses, stuffing them into her mouth and baskets alike.

Lyana also had a small jewelry section at the stall, which she proudly displayed her and Omega’s joint creations. The credits made would be split between the girls. Ahsoka bought another bracelet even though she had already been given one as a gift.

Phee was quick to rescue her and walked them back to a stall that Ahsoka had purposely skipped over just earlier. “Now, are you going to tell me why you passed this one?” the woman asked, smirking. “Or am I gonna have to get it out of you? You turned a shade of orange I didn’t even know existed.”

Ahsoka flushed deeply, displaying again the shade of orange that Phee mentioned. “You saw that?”

The older woman crossed her arms and stopped before they reached said stall. “It’s the pretty one, isn’t it? The blonde. How long has it been going on?” She wore a proud smirk, taking great pleasure in the face Ahsoka made at the mention of Rex.

A cool breeze ruffled Ahsoka’s dress and she was thankful that it relieved her full bodied blush. She swallowed thickly and averted her eyes from the stall filled with lacy little things.

“It’s difficult to say exactly,” Ahsoka revealed, looking around for the other party of which this conversation was concerned. “But when the boys left recently, it just—��

“Oh, I see. They don’t know about this little thing going on between you two, do they?”

“No, they don’t.”

“And the kid?” Phee cocked an eyebrow.

Ahsoka took a breath, “I think she suspects.”

The woman laughed in triumph, “I figured as much. There’s not a lot that gets by that one.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Ahsoka said. “But nothing really… happened until the night they left.”

A knowing smile was directed towards her. She knew exactly what that meant. “Well, you want my advice?” Phee’s expression turned somehow more smug and she gave one more nod towards the intimidating little booth. “You’ve got a few more hours until they’re back. I’d be making the most of my time.”

This was perhaps the most bizarre… yet oddly validating conversation Ahsoka had ever had. Her face must’ve said it too, as Phee placed a maternal hand to her shoulder and smiled, “Just an old woman’s rambling.”

With that, she disappeared back into the crowd to find wherever Lyana had run off to.

Ahsoka stood in the middle of the market with her baskets hanging low. That was maybe her third conversation with Phee total and the woman had already observed that much. Surely, before today she had an inkling or two about her and Rex. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been so… direct. The woman’s advice wasn’t solicited, but not entirely unwelcome either. Ahsoka glanced at the discreet little stall again and her heart rate increased as she actually considered stopping at it this time. Would it be too forward too soon? It had only been two weeks that she and Rex had been phsyic—

“No, you have to come to this guy’s booth. He has the best avedames you’ll ever eat. I’m not kidding,” an enthusiastic Rodian girl told her friend.

Without another look at the little black stall, Ahsoka turned and hurried to follow them, weaving in and out of smaller crowds. Soon, she found that she was at the back of a sizable line. A grin consumed her face when she saw him, placing large orders into bags and chatting excitedly with people. The majority of his stall had been cleared of goods. He’d nearly sold out of everything she’d helped him load up the night before.

Her smile did not diminish a bit as she inched closer in the line. If anything, her face started to ache with the sheer amount of happiness lifting her cheeks. Rex had managed to do it all without help. A small amount of guilt dug a hole in her chest as she found herself wishing she’d come sooner. He might’ve let her bag items or restock what he’d sold.

In no time, she was the next customer in line. Rex was tidying his space and had yet to look up. “Welcome! How can I help you this morn—” his words failed him as he turned and saw who exactly his waiting customer was. That endearing half smile spread over his pretty lips. “Hi. I don’t believe we’ve met, Miss…”

Ahsoka giggled to herself and played along, “Ashla Tano. And you are?”

He pointed to the sign she’d helped paint that hung over his stall. “Rex. It’s an immense pleasure, Miss Tano.” His hand was extended, palm facing upwards.

She placed her hand in his and he lifted it to his mouth and kissed her knuckles, his amber eyes fixed on her the whole while. The darkening of her lekku nor the fluttering of butterflies in her stomach could be quelled.

“What can I get for you on this fine day?” he asked.

The selections behind him were minimal, but Ahsoka had made her decision. “Could I get you, by any chance?”

It was his turn to blush, the red coloring creeping up from the collar of his shirt. He cleared his throat and gave his reply in a much lower voice, “That’s reserved only to select clientele, ma’am.”

A shriek of a child’s far off laughter lifted the spell between them. Rex straightened and released Ahsoka’s hand, which neither of them realized he’d still held.

“Well, Miss Tano. We don’t have too much left, I’m afraid. I’ve completely sold out of my stonepeaches, but you have to try the avedames instead. I think you’ll like them.”

Ahsoka’s brow markings raised and she sat her baskets on the table. “Alright then,” she smiled.

Rex turned to sift through a crate and spent a few moments looking for the best one. He presented it to her but pulled his hand back as she reached for it. A devilish grin played at the corner of his mouth, “May I?”

“Oh, I’d be delighted,” Ahsoka said, continuing to play this game he’d created and bending at the waist.

She opened her mouth just so and Rex placed the avedame between her plump lips. Ahsoka kept her eyes locked on his the entire time, unblinking, and fluttered her lashes as she bit seductively into the innocent fruit. His own lips parted at the mere sight of it, the muscle in his jaw flexing visibly. She moaned at the taste and watched as the sunny amber of his irises simmered.

After what seemed like forever, she pulled away and composed herself, acting as though she hadn’t just done what she did. “Rex, that was the most delicious fruit I’ve ever tried. I’ll take a small case off your hands. Name your price.”

“Thank you, Miss Tano,” Rex said, clearing his throat and expertly shifting his pants around. “For you? The cost is just one date.”

“Just one?” Ahsoka asked playfully.

He could play too. “Unless you think two is fair.”

“I think two dates is a fine price,” she agreed, nearing him again.

Rex wet his lips. “It’s settled then. But before you go, it looks like you have a bit of the avedame juice just there,” he said, pointing to the corner of his mouth.

Ahsoka perked up and wiped at the wrong side, looking for his nod of approval, only finding that it didn’t come. “Here. Allow me,” he breathed, leaning forwards and swiping his thumb over her supple skin, being sure to graze her bottom lip in the process. He retreated from her bubble all too soon and popped his thumb past his lips to clean it, maintaining eye contact as he did so.

Revenge was literally something sweet.

She caught herself in a blinking fit and squeezed her thighs together, adding the berries to her basket. “I hear avedames make for a sweet wine.”

Rex smiled at the smallness of her voice. “The sweetest. I’ll see you later for our date, Miss Tano,” he said darkly. “I reckon’ I’ll be finished here in about an hour. I’m looking forward to it.”

“As am I,” she squeaked, thanking him and promptly booking it to the little black stall of Phee’s recommendation.

Ahsoka burst into the seaside home some fifteen minutes later, throwing her baskets onto the counter and rushing for the laundry room. She glanced at the chrono and decided she had just enough time before Rex returned home. Her new purchase was snatched from the discreet black bag and thrown into the wash as she set to unloading the rest of her items.

Her heart hammered in her chest as the time ticked by both way too slow and somehow way too fast. It was just one item. It wouldn’t take long to wash and dry, surely.

The washer dinged once she finished putting up the majority of the groceries, signaling the end of the cycle. Ahsoka then popped the lacy scrap of fabric into the dryer and used the Force to push the start button. If Rex wasn’t already headed down to the house, he would be very soon.

Wanting to be as prepared as possible, Ahsoka went ahead and slipped her underwear down her legs, adding them to her basket of other things needing to be washed. Her face flushed with the action and she smoothed her dress down. The garment’s replacement would be finished soon anyway and this only bought her time.

Ahsoka glanced around the house. It was silent and empty now but wouldn’t be for much longer. She did a quick scan to see if there was something else that could be done before Rex’s arrival.

She eyed some of her market finds that still had yet to be put away and it was then that the idea dawned upon her. There was no telling when the boys of the Batch would be gone again. Borrowed time was all she and Rex had while they were around. It was the boys’ house first, after all. She’d been bunked up with Omega for months now and Rex with Tech. Neither of them were too pleased with their sleeping arrangements. Only so much could be done about three bedrooms and seven people.

Now that things had started between her and Rex, adjusting that to their normal schedule would be tough. Being that this was their final night alone, it had to be special…

The new bloom fruit stared back at her and she caved before she could talk herself out of it. This had most certainly not been part of Phee’s advice, but Ahsoka felt that it aligned similarly. She set some aside in a glass dish, slightly embarrassed as she did so. The power Rex exerted over her with his fruit display had been provocative to say the least. It was her turn this time. She’d take the lead. Just the sheer idea of it charged her nerves more positively, but the sudden sound of the door opening caused her mind to go blank.

The dryer hadn’t finished yet. Her time had run out.

Rex burst through the door with several empty stacked crates in his arms, which were hastily discarded on the floor in the foyer. He strode with purpose into the home, out of breath, and with a feral glint in his eye that only doubled when he set his sights on what he desired most. His head cocked to the side and a sinful smile curled at his lips, accompanied by a hungry laugh.

Ahsoka was like an entranced kybuck faced with an approaching speeder.

“Not having second thoughts about our date are we, Miss Tano?” Rex growled, towering over her and taking her lips for his own in a searing kiss.

Oh, how delightfully gone were the days in which he called her Commander.

His hands slotted themselves under her jaw as he kissed her ravenously, drinking in her little gasps. Rex’s mouth was demanding, insatiable; his body moved with him, almost cradling hers. His touch moved quickly from her jaw down the length of her neck, trembling despite the speed at which he moved. Large fingers fiddled with the hem of her short dress. It was as if he had ten hands. He couldn’t touch all of her fast enough.

“This karking sundress was testing me on every level imaginable,” he breathed, squeezing her ass through the fabric. His lips ghosted over her montral, “Is that what you wanted? For me to lose all composure in public?”

A choked moan rattled from her throat. “Am I that easy to read?” she teased, running her hands along his chest, fingering at his buttons.

He didn’t miss a beat. “I think you should be directing that question to the avedame from earlier.”

“You mean the one you fed to me?” Ahsoka asked, speaking hotly into the kiss.

Rex swiped his tongue along her bottom lip then tugged lightly at it with his teeth. “I want you to look at me like you did with that avedame in your mouth, but this time while your pretty lips are wrapped around my cock,” he murmured against her, matching the force of her desperate kisses.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she challenged. “Feeding me in that way.”

He groaned and nipped at her montral, “I’d like to fuck you in this short little dress.”

Her thighs squeezed impossibly together at his words and that familiar throb in her core now demanded attention. Rex couldn’t have been more in sync with her body’s needs. One of his hands ran over the full extent of her backside before drifting under her dress, cupping her pussy, and finding it bare.

Ahsoka shuddered at the touch and Rex’s mouth separated from hers just barely. His lips were swollen with the throes of passion and a chapped, playful smirk adorned his features once the shock subsided. “You’re not wearing anything?” he asked breathily. The pulse point near his jaw visibly picked up in pace.

She bit her lip, prepared to admit what she’d done. But the explanation never came as Rex returned to her with new, intensified need, his tongue combating hers for dominance. Ahsoka was fighting a losing battle, something she was never meant to win — completely by Rex’s design. Her moans were left strangled in her throat as his fingers teased her entrance. The amount of excitement coating them nearly caused his knees to buckle beneath him.

Ragged breaths tumbled past her lips as Rex inserted a single, thick finger. A satisfied groan vibrated against her jaw as he began to move, leaving her cunt drooling in his palm.

Ahsoka stumbled into him, using his body weight to keep herself upright while her hand searched blindly for the apex of his thighs. He hissed through his teeth when she found what she was looking for and she ground against his hand, seeking more. “Fuck. So eager today, ‘Soka,” he breathed.

She nodded furiously, unable to access her words, using her free hand to tug at his wrist, begging him to add another. He was unable to deny her. A gentle kiss was placed the montral cradling his jaw. His spare hand joined the other under her sundress, gripping her hip as a second finger was guided into her wet heat. Ahsoka squirmed, rocking her pussy into his palm as he stretched her.

“Give me one good reason not to fuck you right here in this kitchen,” he growled as her cunt suckled at his fingers. Lewd sounds came from between her thighs as Rex pumped in and out of her.

He felt her clench around him. “I can’t. I— We haven’t done it in here yet.”

A carnal growl emanated from Rex’s chest and he made quick work of his pants fasteners, not even bothering to shove them all the way down. Orange fingers latched instantaneously to his throbbing cock, rubbing the pad of her thumb over his glistening slit and spreading the excitement down his shaft. Rex’s abs contracted with the contact and her lips were seized once more.

His ministrations never faltered, determined to work her until she spasmed blissfully into his hand. He adjusted his palm so that the heel of it was pressed flush to Ahsoka’s swollen clit. She cried out in response, biting down on his shirt briefly. Rex was quick to rid himself of the hindering material, tossing it to the floor. If she wanted to bite something, she could bite him instead.

Irises that were once blue now appeared black as Ahsoka drank in the image of his toned chest, still sprinkled with love bites from the night before. She bit her lip and ran her hands along his abs, dipping between the lines defining his muscles and traveling back down to his weeping cock. Her grip was determined and Rex growled as she began to pump. There was a fiery glint of competition in her eyes.

No.

Rex promptly pulled her hand away, taking hold of her wrist and pinning it at her side. His fingers were removed from her sticky cunt, wet and claiming her other wrist, but not before he sucked them clean of her mess. Ahsoka whined at the loss but her protests were swallowed with the force of Rex’s mouth, turning into sweet gasps as the head of his dick teased her hole.

“Please,” she begged against his lips as he slowly, teasingly slid in and out of her thighs.

He nipped at her bottom lip once more, “Are you going to be a good girl and let me make you cum?” Her hips bucked and he laughed darkly.

“Yes.”

With that, her wrists were released and Rex sheathed himself inside her, the both of them a mess of pitiful noises. Watching her adjust to the feel of him was something entirely cosmic, how her face twitched with each stretching inch of him, how her brow markings knitted together, and how her bottom lip wobbled. His eyes drifted downwards, sparks going off behind his navel as the edges of her short dress showed him where they were connected.

He bottomed out inside her with ease, moaning as her tight pussy hugged his full length. Suddenly, his hands were shaky again as he lifted the material of her sundress, revealing an unobstructed view of where his cock sat inside her. Ahsoka’s pretty cunt was glistening, spread around him like the flower of a fruit in his garden. Rex’s pupils were blown wide as he brushed over the white markings that framed her opening, grazing the nub of her clit in the process.

Ahsoka’s eyes were glassy when he finally looked back up at her. Her chest was rising and falling heavily, her hands pressed into the surface behind her for support.

“Oh, mesh’la,” he whispered, starting to move to provide her with relief.

Their shared vigor returned, his thrusts and the roll of her hips picking up at record speed. She met him with each movement, the sounds between their thighs beginning to echo in the kitchen.

Her dress flapped violently with the intensity of their passions, giving Rex a peep show of sorts as he fucked up into her. It wasn’t long before his wandering hands slid up under the material, large palms spreading out over her abdomen.

“Don’t– don’t rip it, please,” Ahsoka panted.

Rex chuckled darkly, pressing his forehead against hers, “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it. How else would I be able to take you in it again?” He lifted her shaky arms up over her head and made quick work of the little dress, leaving it to join his shirt on the floor.

That thing was going to be the death of him one of these days, especially if she wore it when the boys got back. How was he supposed to behave?

Ahsoka grabbed for the hand nearest to her, pulling it and directing him to where she wanted it most. He chuckled darkly and wrapped his fist around the width of her lekku, squeezing gently at the sensitive appendage. A broken gasp was ripped from her throat and her entire body fluttered with the sensation.

Finding out how reactive to touch her lekku were had been one of Rex’s favorite accidental discoveries so far. He wanted to learn everything there was to know about her.

She was close now, he knew by the way her thighs started to jerk. Rex pressed himself back against her and slammed his hips into her smaller ones. An arm wrapped around her lower back and held her close, but no amount of contact was enough. Ahsoka’s breaths were becoming more shallow and kissing him was becoming the most impossible task to complete. Rex nipped at her jaw and hoisted her feet off the ground, holding one slender orange leg around his waist and bringing her home.

Her body shattered around him, her hips an erratic bucking mess as she still sought friction. Rex fucked her through her orgasm, his brows knitted together with the way her pussy clenched and unclenched around him.

Ahsoka’s head fell into the crook of his shoulder, her full body weight now his to bear. He didn’t mind, especially as she peppered little kisses to the skin around his collar bones, nipping lightly.

“You still have some left in you?” he laughed, squeezing her ass and helping her to wrap her other leg around his waist. They both moaned as his cock was still buried to the hilt within her.

She giggled, regaining her speech, “I’m not done with you just yet. I still have a promise to keep, remember?”

He gave her a gentle little thrust in response, “Keep talking like that and I’ll finish right here inside you. That’s a promise.”

Rex began to carry her out of the kitchen and towards her bedroom when she squeaked out, “Wait!”

He hummed in question, pulling back to meet such striking blue eyes. Oh, she was blushing big time. His genuine concern shifted, turning to the thing she was eyeing on the tabletop. “And just what are we going to do with these?” he asked, taking the whole bowl of mysterious little fruit.

Ahsoka put her tongue in the pocket of her cheek, refusing to divulge such information. Rex knew well what she had intended to do with these. Again, a low, almost animalistic noise caused his chest to vibrate. She was handed the bowl and he made long strides to her door.

She was laid down gently onto the mattress, both of them whining at the disappointment of being separated. As soon as he was out of her, Ahsoka tugged him down to her level and pressed a searing kiss to the corner of his mouth, guiding him to lay back on the bed.

He swallowed thickly as Ahsoka straddled his lap, the unidentifiable berry between her lips, her slick folds brushing over the underside of his dick. Rex’s hips lifted, his need for her indescribable. She finally took pity on him, taking her seat over his cock, her cunt spreading over his girth and her clit kissing the head. His eyes nearly rolled into the back of his skull.

“It’s my turn now,” she said, leaning in and presenting him the berry between nimble fingers.

Ahsoka took immense pleasure in the way he looked up at her, his long eyelashes fluttering and amber eyes alight with anticipation.

“It’s called a bloom fruit,” she provided. “Regarded of high value by Dathomirian night sisters and said to enhance the senses.”

He hummed, rolling his hips against her hot core, “Does it taste as good as you do?” The low lighting didn’t allow him to see her blush, but he knew that it was there.

She licked her lips, “I'll let you tell me.”

Rex opened his mouth and allowed her to pass the fruit between his lips. He bit down and moaned, watching as Ahsoka removed it and then bit it herself behind him.

Fuck.

“It’s sweet, but nowhere as sweet as what’s between your legs,” he decided.

She beamed sheepishly. “Well, I quite enjoy it… so much so, that I think I’d like to lick it off of you.”

He nearly choked at her words, clearing his throat and taking a deep inhale, giving her a speechless yet eager nod. Revenge was indeed so sweet. Ahsoka grinded her aching pussy against his rigid cock as she brought the fruit to his lips again, waiting for him to take a bite before dragging it down his chin and neck. The gasp that left Rex’s mouth was sinful and Ahsoka dipped her head to kiss it off his skin, darting her tongue to lick along his jaw and down the prominent cord of his neck. She latched onto the place where muscle and bone met and sucked.

Two strong hands shot up and took hold of her waist with bruising force. Ahsoka let out a surprised yelp and looked to find his eyes half-lidded and swollen lips trembling with his ragged breaths. That spot had clearly been sensitive.

“Fuck, ‘Soka,” he said. “How did we ever wait this long?”

She took another bite from the bloom fruit and pressed it to his chest, spreading the juice over his pecs and nipples. He shivered.

Her grin was wicked, “There’s no stopping us now, is there? Just wait until you see the little number I bought today.”

Rex’s response was a thumb to her clit and she gave him a pitchy gasp, leaning down to clean the juice from his chest, making a show of it and looking him in the eyes the whole while. His jaw flexed and he made a feral noise in his throat, moving his hands to take hold of her ass and kneading, pressing her further against his throbbing member.

She let him have control for just a few moments, rocking her along the underside of his cock and watching as her breasts bounced.

But Ahsoka found herself throwing her head back and so she was quick to resolve the situation, moving further down his body. Rex grunted in protest but quieted himself as he saw where the fruit’s next destination was going to be.

Ahsoka pressed it to his skin once more, trailing it down his toned abs, relishing in the way he twitched and jumped. The head of his cock teased her neck and collar bones, his excessive precum decorating her sienna skin in a thin sheen. She only hummed and pressed a chaste kiss to his needy head.

The amount of self control within Rex was dwindling. He first bit his heavy tongue then clenched his teeth, forcing himself to lie still instead of grab her and switch positions so that he could fuck her into the mattress.

Instead, he looked up, said a brief prayer to her Force, and released a broken moan when Ahsoka’s hot tongue trailed down down down. She lapped up the juice, flicking her tongue and journeying to where his happy trail led. He was embarrassed at the way his body jerked, but Ahsoka couldn’t have been more pleased with her handiwork.

She was eye level with his cock now, looking on as it leaked like a sieve, throbbing and angry and needing her.

Fek, it was getting hard to breathe.

Rex swallowed and spoke around his tightening throat, “‘Soka please.”

There was that lip bite again. She pressed the berry to the base of his dick and he hissed at the contact, holding back whines of desperation as she moved it along the length of him, careful to avoid the head. The juice trailed down him, gathering at his balls.

Ahsoka had, in just two weeks, managed to figure out how exactly to get him where she wanted him. And all she had to do was be in his presence — all of this was just a bonus.

Maybe he’d hold off on telling her that for now though.

After what felt like hours of tantalization, Ahsoka removed the fruit and considered it. It was coated in a mixture of its own juice as well Rex’s; Ahsoka had no hesitation in popping it into her mouth.

It was the most obscene sight he’d ever seen and fuck he very much wanted to see it again.

She descended upon him, her plump lips wrapping around his cock, looking up at him in exactly the way he’d requested earlier. Ahsoka was going slow, painfully slow, moaning around his length and swirling her tongue around his sensitive head.

Rex coughed, overcome with the sensation. His skin burned; he burned for her.

The sounds she made taking his cock caused him to start panting, desperate for something that oxygen couldn’t provide him.

She lifted from his length with a pop and wiped the mixture of arousal, spit, and fruit juice from her chin. “Most delicious thing I’ve ever put in my mouth,” she said huskily, taking him yet again.

His cock disappeared once more behind her lips and all self control was lost.

Rex was a mess, thrusting up into her hot mouth like his life depended on it. He was whimpering, face screwing up as he lost control, reaching for her montrals with weak fingers. His vision was going, orgasm imminent, hips bucking erratically as he rasped her name, finishing hard on her tongue and crying out as she swallowed around him.

His eyes closed and he became one with the mattress, hand twitching and body spasming as he experienced a wave of aftershocks. A cool hand was placed on his forehead, accompanied by a sweet kiss.

“Rex?” she asked, her voice sounding like it was under water.

The only answer he could give her was a weak, half smile that faded as quickly as it came.

He faded as quickly as he came.

“Rex?” Ahsoka asked again, her satisfaction faltering.

His erratic breathing had ceased all too soon.

Knocks never came to the front door as Phee let herself in, running. Ahsoka had only left Rex once to retrieve their clothes and Rex dressed from the waist down. She was frantic and most thankful for the woman and her very convenient power chair. Their earlier conversation was now a blessing.

Rex’s unconscious body was placed in the seat and Ahsoka strapped him in, careful to avoid the rash that had bloomed across his body — everywhere she’d touched the fruit to his skin.

The lights in her bedroom had been so low and the curtains drawn. It had spread so fast and without her knowledge.

“How far is the hospital?” Ahsoka asked, trying and failing to regulate her breathing.

“Not far. Come on. They’re expecting us and have agreed not to ask questions,” the woman explained, leading Ahsoka out the door and into the bright afternoon.

Ahsoka ran behind Phee, using the Force to breathe life into Rex. The streets surrounding their home were empty and Ahsoka was most grateful that everyone was still gathered up by the market. Birds still sang and music still played, the distant echoes of laughter reaching her montrals. They were quite the sight running through Lower Pabu, a stark juxtaposition of terror against the backdrop of what was otherwise a perfect day.

Phee took a sharp left turn and Ahsoka maneuvered Rex’s hover chair, holding his head to prevent any possible whiplash. She’d never felt so careless in her life.

He’d made much more noise than what she learned to be his usual that afternoon in the bedroom than he had over the past two weeks. How much of his cries had been due to pleasure versus… Force, she hoped he hadn’t experienced any pain. She didn’t feel anything remotely of the sort from his Force signature. It had unmistakably been from pleasure.

They then burst through the doors of the hospital not long after, the emergency staff already transferring Rex onto a repulsorlift stretcher.

“His name is Rex. Put it under Phee Genoa. I’m with his friend, Ashla. He’s having a reaction and hasn’t responded in—” she turned to Ahsoka.

Her chrono was already out. “Nine minutes now. And his breathing is obstructed. Please help him,” she begged.

“We’ll do all that we can,” the worker said, wheeling Rex down a long, stark hallway. Another worker gave Rex’s party the go ahead and Ahsoka and Phee both rushed after him, following where he’d been heading into a nearby room.

He was hooked up to their machines with unrivaled speed and the medical droids were already prepping their tests. Multiple screens filled the room and Ahsoka bit at her nails — something she hadn’t done in years.

“The patient is suffering a severe allergic reaction and is experiencing disruption to his breathing pathways. I do not know how he has remained alive. He is unresponsive and must be given the proper combative injection or else faces imminent death.”

Hot tears welled up in Ahsoka’s eyes as she witnessed his unconscious body be poked and prodded. His skin was inflamed and blotchy from the mouth down. She couldn’t even react to her desperate use of the Force being the only thing that kept him alive for those few, long, detrimental minutes.

He could be dead. She would’ve been the one to kill him.

The shot was already on hand due to the description Phee had provided to the staff when she called, as well as their physical assessment of Rex upon his arrival. A distressed little nurse droid produced the shot for the medical droid and stood back as it was administered, beginning to articulate to Ahsoka and Phee what it did.

Rex’s chest instantly filled with air, his lungs and passageways opening at last. He fell into a coughing fit and his eyes shot wide, pupils shrinking with the severe light overhead. His body thrashed on the table and a gurgling noise sounded in his throat.

Ahsoka’s sobs were instantaneous and Phee wrapped her arms around her, welcoming the younger girl to cry into her shoulder.

She didn’t know if she was crying more so because it had almost killed him or the fact that he was finally free from the life-threatening reaction. But her chance to expel her emotions were cut short by the nurse droid, tugging at the hem of her dress. Ahsoka sniffed and looked to where it was pointing at the door, the full Batch standing and peering into the small window.

Her eyes closed briefly as she exhaled her frustration and Phee grabbed the door, walking her out into the hallway.

“Is Rex alright? We were landing when Omega saw you guys running,” Echo said, evidently the most distraught of the men.

The words alone were enough to make Ahsoka want to burst into tears again. Phee noticed and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, “He’s going to be fine. Just a little allergic reaction is all.”

“Allergies? From what? I thought regs didn’t have allergies?” Hunter asked.

Tech, as always, was quick to provide an explanation. “Regs typically do not have allergies, correct, but Rex’s signature blonde hair color does not come from any chemical. Perhaps this too is another outlier gene he developed in incubation.”

Phee smiled at the man she referred to as “brown eyes” and agreed, “Couldn’t have said it better myself. We’re just lucky that Ashla here noticed his reaction to the fruit in time.”

“Oh no,” Wrecker said, “Rex isn’t going to stop gardening is he?”

Ahsoka couldn’t help but laugh a little past her drying tears, “No, it wasn’t one of his. It was one that I bought from the summer market.”

He gave a big sigh of relief and promptly left with Omega, as they’d arrived just in time to still get to go.

Moments later, Rex was wheeled out of the room, barely awake and weak. He smiled anyway. Everyone had shown up for him. His appearance was jarring for his brothers, who hadn’t yet seen the extent of his condition.

The medical droids had laden him with bacta patches going down his front and disappearing into his pants. For his mouth, there was a salve applied. “All this for me?” he asked jokingly past swollen lips.

Ahsoka’s heart ached but she laughed despite it all.

Rex winked at her and then turned to the boys, “Don’t tell me I look as bad as your faces say I do.”

Hunter glanced between Rex and Ahsoka and attempted to stifle the knowing smirk spreading over his lips. Echo, observant as ever, caught it at the last second. His jaw hung open as he put two and two together, almost getting left behind as everyone made their way to the exit.

The presence of the boys back in the home was a welcome one. Neither Ahsoka nor Rex realized how much they’d missed having them around. It did mean less copulating in every room and on every surface in the little home, which was a downside. But everyone, even Rex, was laughing about the incident in no time.

He’d been quick about crafting a story — one that didn’t involve being naked in Ahsoka’s bed and having her quite literally suck the life out of him. Rex stood by his tale about attempting to bake something with the bloom fruit, getting it on his clothes, and continuing on in the nude. Conveniently, in this story, Ahsoka was up looking for him at the market and not yet realizing he’d already returned home.

It was quite unconvincing, as there was a hole in the poorly weaved lie. What if Ahsoka came back to find him baking and dancing sans any clothing? Rex just argued that the fruit had already begun to take a critical effect on him.

Wrecker was the first one to dive into the pantry, excited to make himself (and reluctantly everyone else) sandwiches with the new bread. Hunter set to unloading their cargo and Echo began with laundry.

Rex sat with Ahsoka on a cozy little sofa, purposefully choosing the item of furniture due to its tight squeeze. They were thigh to thigh and conversing quietly. Thankfully, the blotches on his skin had greatly started to subside and his lips were no longer swollen. He sounded like himself again. Especially when he whispered out of earshot of his brothers, “They gave me a bit of the salve to take home.”

“Did they? What about a few of those shots? Those would be more than helpful to have so this doesn’t spring up again and get out of hand. I’m so sorry this happened, Rex,” Ahsoka whispered.

He skirted his index finger along the hem of her dress, “Don’t worry about me, Ahsoka. I’m fine. I’ve survived worse attempts on my life.” She rolled her eyes playfully. “I was wondering though… if you’d give me a hand with the salve.” The darkening in his honey colored irises was unmistakable.

Ahsoka feigned any awareness of what he was getting at, “It looks to me like your swelling has gone down.”

“Has it?” he quipped breathily, flicking his eyes down to his lap. The bulge there dried her mouth and directed the moisture elsewhere.

She pressed her lips together to fight off her imminent grin, but the flush in her lekku gave her away. “I’d be happy to give you a hand. Maybe though, from now on we will stick to salves and creams instead of fruit,” she said lowly.

“Oh I beg to differ,” Rex said. “So long as we stick to avedames instead.”

“Deal,” she agreed.

They were broken from their intimate little exchange by the clearing of Echo’s throat. He was standing at the dryer with its door open, a lacy red thong dangling from his scomp hand. “So about that story,” he started.

Rex and Ahsoka both flushed a deep crimson. Their attempts at crafting their earlier cover story had been fruitless.

“Didn’t you say Ahsoka bought the fruit that gave you that reaction?”

Ahsoka was speechless, mortified and looking anywhere but at the former ARC. The man seated next to her wasted no time in taking her hand and interlacing their fingers.

Wrecker gasped.

“Oh please don’t try telling me they’re your—”

But Echo’s words were cut short as Wrecker let out a hearty laugh resembling that of a child with a deep voice. “Rex, no wonder you got that rash if that’s what you’re wearing!”

“As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what happened,” Rex said proudly, wincing as he stood and winking at Ahsoka. Wrecker was the only one who bought the absurdly evident lie and Rex strode with a limp to Echo to retrieve the dainty little item. His brother wore a shit-eating grin, not altogether surprised that his Captain and Commander had developed such a relationship.

Rex beckoned for Ahsoka to follow him into the temperate Pabu night and she fell into a fit of giggles once the door closed, “Rex you did not have to do that for me!”

“Of course I did,” he smiled, shrugging. “I owed it to you if buying that little number was even as half as embarrassing as that back there was.” The red lace was threaded around his fingers and stuffed into his pants pocket.

Ahsoka hummed.

“You like that?” he teased, pressing a chaste kiss to her montral. She nodded against his lips, taking his arm. “Good. You’re wearing them for me tomorrow. As soon as my dick is clear I’m finishing what we started.”

She shook her head in laughter and in disbelief at how lucky she was. They were finally where they both wanted to be and had the rest of their lives to express their love in any and every form. The air was salty, the waves lapped at the island, and lights decorated every inch of land they could see. Spring flowers were in full bloom. It was still a perfect day. “Where are we going on this fine evening?” she asked, rubbing his bicep.

Rex pointed to a house with a little blue roof, “Phee Genoa’s place.”

“How come? I’m pretty sure she asked you quite specifically to stop thanking her.”

“That’s not exactly what we are visiting for, though I do plan on sneaking in another thanks.”

“Then what?”

He smiled and stopped in the ambiently lit street, tracing the braids of her headdress and touching the new stones that had been added. “Well, she set the boys up with their own house, didn’t she? I’d like to ask her for one for us. So that I can grow fruit that I’m not deathly allergic to in our garden and share avedame wine with you, take you in every room of the house, and bake naked if we must.”

Ahsoka found her eyes hot with tears for a second time that day, this time with a smile wobbling on her lips. “We must.”

#rexsoka #rexsoka fic #rexsoka monthly #february 2024: give me a reason #my fic #fruitful fruitless #ahsokathegray

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mxss-kxtty · 1 year ago

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so, I work at a farmers market on the weekends and sometimes I work next to this lady who sells frozen fish for her and her husband's company. she is a ship captain, has been a commercial fisherman for much of her life, and is a very independent and all around rad lady. the reason I have become obsessed with her recently is because she talks to me. a lot. she overshares constantly and I love it. here's a list of things I have learned about this 33 year old lady at the market:

- she plays volleyball with her friends for fun (but it's kinda serious)

- she has crippling social anxiety but she doesn't know that so she consistently describes the symptoms of social anxiety and asks me if I think she's crazy

- she says "I still need to figure out what I want to be when I grow up" about four or five times a day, she says this in a heartbreakingly somber tone

- she has nightmares about murder and serial killers constantly, the only media she consumes is true crime

- she has a secret love of heavy metal music that she sheepishly confessed to me and was delighted when I told her that I love metal too

- one weekend she came to the market hungover and suffered through it the entire day, she now refers to this event as "the great hangover" when talking to me about it

- she is the man of the house, she didn't tell me that, it's just obvious

- her million-dollar-idea that she pitched to me last weekend was omega fish supplements for people who struggle with seasonal depression

- she introduced me as her little pal to her actual friends that come by at the market

- after I told her about a customer I had who was being transphobic and generally mean to me, she told me that next time I should just tell her and she'll fight them for me

- it was too cold last week so she had to wear her "onesie" which was a very fancy pair of carhartt coveralls, she was clearly embarrassed about it but felt she had no choice given the temperature, her demeanor changed when I told her I thought it looked cute, but she became embarrassed again when I told hed that her collar was folded in

- I was kinda worried I wouldn't see her again after this last market so I asked if she had any social media we could exchange, I got her instagram and facebook (I know I know but you gotta make sacrifices for the older girlies in your life) and she said "I'll send you funny instagrams!!!" before we parted ways

for most of the market day she just vents to me endlessly about the things that she finds confusing and scary about adult life and the injustices in the world. girly is a nervous wreck and I love her dearly

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masterserris · 11 months ago

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The Missing Piece

Ficlet Mysterio x OC for @hollowsart

sfw!

Damn that Spider-Man!! Beck had barely escaped from their encounter on the streets of Manhattan, his costume tattered from the broken glass when he was slammed into the side of a parked car.

But that wasn't the only thing, he was missing one of his gauntlets. Now, to other rogues, this wasn't such a big deal, buying equipment on the black market was a regular chore, but for Mysterio, all of his gear was handmade. He had spent painstaking hours crafting all of his gadgets and even placed small homing trackers in parts of them so he could always retrieve it later.

After nursing his new cuts and bruises, he was doing just that: tracking down his lost glove, but it was completely gone, and not just from the police grabbing evidence. The tracking app he had installed was not giving him any signal for the missing piece. Frustrated, he began to search the area for any clues. What he didn't know was that he had a secret admirer.

Up in one of the apartments a block away was a girl who had watched the whole battle. In fact, when she could, she loved to see Mysterio in action. He was a showman! His booming voice, his grandiose gestures and fantastical illusions, his physique in keeping up with a super human, and his meticulous fashion sense. He was the whole package. He was cunning and smart, he was brave when he needed to be and sly when he didn't. He was a professional and she was smitten with him. Was it weird? To see this otherworldly man and fall in love? He was a super villain, a member of the Sinister Six! A bank robber! It didn't matter much to her, he wasn't like the Red Skull or any other genocidal freaks. He was a man who lacked recognition and respect from the world, and if someone could give him even a little bit of it, she would. Even if it was in secret.

Her walls had a few sketches of him, some posters of their famous battles, and most recently, she managed to grab something a little more substantial to add to her gallery: his gauntlet. Now, she wasn't think of ever reselling it or using it on her own, oh no. She had a little stand for it and carefully cleaned the grime from every nook and cranny upon its surface. It sparkled and shimmered in the light with its golden hue, resting on its custom stand. Maybe next time she could snag one of his famous eye clasps or a hologram projector!

Ah, that was just wishful thinking. And if anything, if she could meet him.. oh, how her heart would flutter! Silly dreams of a silly girl, she snapped out of these fantasies as her doorbell rang.

Quentin had been walking the streets in irritation trying to pick up any signal, any clues to his missing gauntlet, but the tracker must have gotten busted in the fight. He was about to give up when something caught his eye; glancing up he saw a glimmer of gold through one of the windows and upon further inspection, it was unmistakably his missing armor!!

"So, someone /did/ steal it! Damned thieves, taking /my/ hard work! Bad enough dealing with the Spider, now this," he thought to himself, thoroughly ticked off at the situation he found himself in. With a sigh he left to change his attire into a different civilian role, a plan forming in his mind.

He had to get into that apartment, but busting in was not ideal, especially not in his currently injured state. Instead, he could pose as building maintenance and simply ring up and bullshit his way into the space, then when the owner was distracted he would just grab the armor and bolt. Simple enough, right? That particular place looked to be... the 5th floor? South side? Easy enough to track down.

When Acedia opened the door she was greeted with a man in his thirties, mole upon his face and dark hair in a bowl cut. Quentin was wearing dark blue coveralls and holding a tool box. One he was hoping to use to put his gauntlet in for his escape. He had used fake contacts to change his eyes and some prosthetics to alter his nose and chin. He was a wanted man and couldn't often be himself in public anymore, at least not when talking to someone one on one who might recognize him.

"Hello miss, forgive the sudden intrusion, but I received an alert. Your unit is in need of an emergency fix with the ventilation, mind if a take a look inside?

This was a bit strange, she never had an issue with her heating or cooling and certainly never asked for any help with her vents.

"U-uhm, are you sure you have the right unit? I haven't had any problems, maybe you want the neighbo--"

"N-no, miss! I am sure it is this unit that is in need of repair! It shouldn't take too much of your time, just a few minutes." Beck gestured towards her bedroom. "I believe perhaps in there could be a blockage, which is very dangerous. You don't want carbon monoxide poisoning, right? I have to do my job here." Now he was really bullshitting.

Carbon monoxide? On the 5th floor? Only her unit? She gave him a raised eyebrow at that. He was trying hard now to keep his cool, his fists clenched and his face forced into a serious frown when he wanted nothing more than to sneer and tell her off, tell her exactly what he thought of her stealing his hard work! Play it cool, Becky, play it cool.

Acedia relented and let him inside, but felt profoundly awkward about having someone else in her home. Especially her bedroom, oh lord, he was going to see her artwork! Her, uh, interest in Mysterio! Hopefully he wouldn't notice.

Quentin stiffly walked past her and opened the door to her room only to be smacked straight in the face with sensory overload. Dozens of photos, drawings, and posters of him lined her walls, meticulously curated with quite the artistic flair. He must admit... she did capture his better angles. Goodness, were his thighs really that thick? Is that how others saw him? He had to hide his shock and keep himself from blushing and instead spotted what he was looking for, his glove. But she was standing right behind him, he couldn't just snatch it and run with her in the way. Instead, he would force himself to walk over to the vent under her window and take out a screw driver to open it, pretending to inspect it.

Oh gosh, she noticed that. How he froze a bit at the sight of her room. She was glad he didn't remark on it and just got to work, but she was very flustered and turning bright red in the face and ears. "S-s-sorry about the, er, mess, haha, I just have been working on my art and Mysterio is very, um-- artistic! Yeah, he is very colorful and does a lot of battles around here so, he makes for good practice, yeah!"

Ouch, that was... not a smooth excuse.

"Y-yeah? Is that so? I heard he was an actor, or tried to be one. Didn't work out so good," Beck mused out loud. He wasn't sure what to make of this girl, she was a... a fan?? Clearly, look at the state he was in right now!

"T-they must have made a mistake!! He is a showman, I'm s-sure if they gave him more of a chance he would have made many movies! Er, probably!" She balled her hands around the bottom of her sweater, she couldn't help but defend him, but this was too much.

What Beck needed was for her to exit the room so he could snatch it and walk out, but hearing her defend him made his heart do a bit of a backflip. Someone... liked his work?

"He did do some films, have you seen them?"

"Y-yes, of course, I-I mean... I..." Acedia was getting too embarrassed and excused herself from the room. Perfect. All he needed to do was put it in the bag and... oh. She had cleaned it. Cleaned it very well, it was polished and oiled and everything! Quentin was bewildered at the sight, causing him to pause. He was about to put it in his bag when she walked back in, staring at him. Caught red handed. Ah hell.

"W-what are you doing??"

Quentin pulled the prosthetics off his face and took out the contacts. He tried to puff out his chest and give her a stern look.

"I am taking back what is mine. I am Mysterio!" He announced with a flourish, trying to intimidate his way out of this. It might have worked on any other would be thief, but his gamble didn't pay off as he thought. She stood there, shocked, in disbelief, and then recognition. He /was/ Mysterio! Right in front of him! Quentin held his pose but felt his face going bright red. Ah fuck.

"L-look this is mine and I need it back, alright? I am grateful to have such an.. adoring fan, but I need it."

"..You're.... you're really Mysterio!" She stammered. He felt himself getting warm from the embarrassment rising in his chest. She was gushing now, she loved his work! Loved his style, loved... him!

"Yes I am Mysterio, I just told you that!" He gazed back at the drawings. He really should just bolt now while he had the chance, but something held him back. He.. really had a fan. Someone who loved him, loved his work. Not just the idea of him, but actually him. She wasn't off put at all by his real face, if anything she seemed more excited than ever. No, he should leave. Now. But.... he didn't. He stayed.

"I'm sorry I couldn't fix it completely for you, I-I cleaned it up though! I didn't mean to steal it from you, I just... It's /so/ cool!"

Beck looked down at the gauntlet, appreciating the hard work she had done to clean it. "Yes, you did... a really good job actually. It's not your fault, it's Spider-Man's for busting it and throwing it across the street. I... it's all right," he reassured her.

Acedia breathed a sigh of relief, still nervous and excited that he was really here in front of him!

"I.. I do like your movies, b-by the way. I have them all." She pointed to the living room to her TV. She had a shelf of DVDs and when he peered at it, he could definitely see some of his titles in there.

"Those aren't easy to get. They only made so many," he observed. Making up his mind, he set the gauntlet down and went to inspect her collection instead. It was... remarkable! "You have good taste," he complimented. She blushed at that, but let him be. She was the weird one here having a collection, a shrine dedicated to him almost. Like some sort of stalker, but she wasn't she really wasn't! How was it any different from someone having their favorite movie posters on their walls? Or favorite action heroes? She never expected him to someday turn up at her door!

"Sorry, I never introduced myself, my name is Acedia. D-do you w-want something to drink? Water?"

Quentin glanced up at her and smiled. "Yes, actually, today has been a lot. It's... nice to finally meet a fan," he admitted. Beck could use a rest. He sat down on the sofa and felt his body ache. He unzipped his coveralls a bit to look at his bandaged shoulder, making sure it didn't get loose. He had been fighting then looking for his gauntlet all day, he hadn't had a moment to sit and rest. She came back with the water and noticed his cuts.

"He really roughed you up this time didn't he?" Becky nodded with a wince as he readjusted it. "Hold on, let me get my first aid kit, I can take a look at it for you."

"Oh, nono, I'm alright--"

"No, you aren't!" She insisted. He relented. He was a good actor but a bad liar. He was not feeling great and had only done a quick patch job before heading out again. She came back and took a better look at his wounds, disinfecting them and stitching him back together. "Better?" She asked.

"Better." He watched her work, her small hands quick but strong, precise and thorough. Her skin was... soft and hair hair and eyes were gentle. His one and only admirer. "Thank you," he said at last, as she cleaned up. She beamed a smile at him and he felt his heart melt.

"I uh.. umm..." The words died in his mouth, he didn't know what to say but he wanted to say something!

The feeling was mutual, words were hard to come by when your emotions ran so strongly. She chanced the opportunity to sit a little closer to him, which he accepted, blushing. Now or never, Acedia. Go for it! She gambled and gave him a peck on the cheek.

"T-there! Now we are even!"

Quentin sat there stunned and lovestruck. Her lips were so warm and nice. With his hand he tenderly moved a lock of hair from her face and leaned in for his own kiss. His lips met hers and she weaved her arms around his broad back, accepting him, loving him. They couldn't help themselves as they made out, his body leaning down on top of hers. Did... she just land her dream boyfriend? He could always stay the night if he wanted, her fated meeting.

She was glad she found that gauntlet earlier today. It brought her a much more precious treasure, and Quentin himself had found something irreplaceable.

(Fin for now, but implied intimacy is there. They def got together ya know.)

#mysterio #quentin beck #marvel #self insert #ficlet #I am the CEO of Mysterio i must provide for my people

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burnwater13 · 8 months ago

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Concept art by Christian Alzmann. Image from The Book of Boba Fett, Season 1, Episode 6, From the Desert Comes a Stranger. Image depicts Luke Skywalker offering Grogu a choice between a beskar shirt/coverall or Master Yoda's lightsaber. Grogu sits and listens to Luke. Luke is seen in profile with the image focusing on his hands.

Din Djarin knew he made a mistake when he left Ossus. He should have given the gift to Grogu. Mandalorians are not Jedi. They follow a Creed, not a code. And family is centered in their creed, not distanced or completely eliminated. Yes, he and Grogu had grown attached to each other. Why was that a problem? As far as the bounty hunter could tell it had served them both well. What were the Jedi afraid of?

He knew they were afraid. That was crystal clear. He saw the fear in Ahsoka Tano’s eyes. A fear she didn’t have when they first met on Corvus and a fear she didn’t display at all when she fought the ex-Imperial Magistrate of that same damaged world. So why fear Grogu? Why fear his attachment to a human? Was it because he was a bounty hunter? Or a Mandalorian?

According to the few records he could find from the Tribe, stories and songs were the way they preferred to record their history, Mandalorians and Jedi had fought each other many times. But he and Grogu didn’t fight. Not really. They might not have agreed about absolutely everything. What colors red and blue actually were. Whether or not Jawas were to be trusted. The acceptable number of eggs you could eat in a single sitting. But those were normal disagreements between two people spending a great deal of time together.

When he thought back to his boyhood, before the he was taken in by the Children of the Watch and before Aq Vetina was attacked by the battle droids of the Separatist military, having minor disagreements with his parents and teachers had been a kind of routine thing. No, he hadn’t taken out the food scraps yet because he didn’t want to do it until the neighbors had taken theirs out because the neighbors daughter was kind of cute, but she thought he was a weirdo. He had tried to impress her once with a feat of strength and ended up dumping a whole bucket of water on her. That didn’t win him any friends and both sets of parents had been pretty annoyed with him.

Or the time he and his Mom had gone to the market and she had insisted that he hold up a shirt that she wanted to buy for his dad. Was it a good color for him? The bounty hunter remembered being thoroughly embarrassed because one of his friends told him, ‘that dress really brings out the color of your eyes!’. His friend laughed and he dropped the shirt on the ground and his mother reprimanded him. Uff. He had hated that. Hadn’t she realized the situation she had put him in?

But that’s all it was. Silly disagreements and annoyance that didn’t last past a few minutes or a few hours at best. He was grateful that the Mandalorians had found him and rescued him. He was glad to make new friends on Concordia and learn a trade that could help other people. Other than really, really disliking, distrusting, and dismissing droids and mechs, he couldn’t recall a thing he had done as a Mandalorian warrior that was due solely to his heartbreak over losing his parents, and friends, and community. That was not the Way.

Was that the problem? The Jedi, Ahsoka in particular, didn’t know the Way? Maybe she had never met Mandalorians other than Bo-Katan’s tribe? He could understand her wariness if that was the case. Bo-Katan Kryze and her cohort did not follow the Creed, the ancient ways of the Mand’alor. They showed their faces. They had no armorer. They had no foundlings. They cared more about the Darksaber, than the people they were to lead. It had been a recipe for disaster and disaster had befallen the people of Mandalore when she was their leader. Now she was obsessed with taking Mandalore back, but for who? Based on the way she had treated Boba Fett, Din Djarin was pretty sure it was for herself, primarily.

Perhaps he should go back? Explain to Ahsoka Tano and the other, Jedi Skywalker, that his tribe of Mandalorians cared deeply about honor and mutual aid and their children. Not in a possessive manner, but in a way that helped them learn and grow and reach their full potential. No matter what they told Grogu, the bounty hunter was never going to forget him or not look out for him. They were already connected.

Grogu had saved his life, more than once, and now, even if they had never been friends and companions, Din Djarin would happily give his life up to protect the small being. That was also the Way.

The Mandalorian suddenly thought of Grogu wielding lightsabers like the ones Ahsoka Tano had and laughed to himself. He found it funny to say the least. He had been less than completely successful trying to manage the Darksaber and found that he kept getting in his own way and injuring himself.

Given how long that blade was, he couldn’t imagine Grogu actually using one successfully. Not even one with a shorter blade. It would be twice the foundling’s height at least. Grogu could certainly use it to deflect blaster fire. He’d seen both Ahsoka Tano and Jedi Skywalker do that with the blades they carried.

He hated to think of Grogu facing that sort of life. Always training and preparing for a fight, knowing the fight would come and the chances of him surviving it were unknowable, but likely low. After all, once there had been thousands of Jedi helping the Republic unify the galaxy and protecting it’s beings for the sake of peace and prosperity. Then they had fallen, much as Mandalore had. Betrayed by people who should have been their allies. Fighting a foe who had no honor, no respect for the lives they took, no desire to find or make peace. It was awful to contemplate.

Just as he was about to recalculate his next jump into hyperspace and return to Ossus, he played a message that had been waiting for him.

“Hey, Mando. I have a proposition for you.”

It was Fennec Shand. If she needed him for something, it had to be important. He sighed. He owed her and Fett for helping him save Grogu. He couldn’t forget that or put off any request from either of them. The Creed would not accept any excuses. He would just have to trust Grogu to be able to look out for himself for a little while. After all, it’s not like Fennec was going to ask him to overthrow a government or fight a syndicate or anything like that. Right?

#calendar prompt a day #grogu #din djarin #the book of boba fett #fennec shand #luke skywalker #ahsoka tano

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freerangeranger · 1 year ago

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<As students are filing into the lecture hall, Honoria Sorrel can be see fiddling with a projector. The first slide of the powerpoint reads: 'So You Don't Want to be a Ranger?'

Honey straightens up as the slide finally comes into focus, before glancing put at the sea of children still settling into their seats. She purses her lips slightly and wanders across the stage to a podium that had been moved aside - reconvening with Lamp the Sizzlipede who was watching her from atop the wooden stand.

No one can hear her as she speaks to the little fire-bug, although she does hand Lamp the projector control after a few moment.

As the crowd slowly settles - with much hushing from the other adult supervisors - Honoria takes a deep breath, and begins.>

"Hello Campers, welcome! My name is Honoria, and I am a Ranger stationed in Castalia city. Some of you might know me from the Shadow Sky Incident; I was one of many who assisted with relief efforts. I have been afforded the opportunity today to teach you about the Ranger Union and what it can do for you, even if you do not want to become an offical pokemon ranger."

"The Ranger Union is best known for its Area and Field Rangers... but you know, not everyone is cut out for that sort of job.

It's true! When you get older - don't give me that look, you will get older - Your life isn't always going to turn out the way you planned it. Sometimes we hurt ourselves. Maybe you will have a family! Or find that your passion is in engineering or marketing or security. Maybe you just hate being outside or in the field.

And that's okay! Just because you aren't a Ranger doesn't mean the Union is a dead end for you. There are tons of opportunities that people don't know about and most Ranger schools have programs for these jobs as well."

"Let's talk Operators. You all got your phones - yea? Did Miss Ellisa ask you to put them away? Well - not all of you are listening. I see you in the back. Yea, you! Hot tip: If you want to hide your phone, don't turn it on in a dark room. But you my friend might be a perfect fit for an Operator.

Operators are our IT management team for the Union. Prior to the invention of phones they were people who coordinated local Rangers, organized job boards and sent messages between Bases to facilitate smooth operations.

Now that we have satellite radio and modern communications integrated into our stylers, Operators work as a hub of all incoming reports and updates from Rangers in the field. Being knowedgable of software - both new and old - is crucial because if something goes wrong you are able to help with repairs, suggestions and even call emergency services. Not only that! Operators can reassign missions, give constant updates and are often the people who begin and end missions for Rangers. You get to boss us around over the phone - it's great."

"Mechanics! The sister-field of IT. Where operators know what to do when software is on the fritz, Mechanics are responsible for building, maintaining and repairing all of the computers, stylers and other wacky gadgets that rangers use."

"Look at this. Not quite a clunky old styler, huh? My friends, this is the first artifical pokemom leaf ever conceived. It works too! With some grafting you can attach this prosthetic to any grass pokemon that has lost a major body segment and it will provide them with a method of creating their own food. This is what I mean when I say 'mechanics'. Tools and Tech that go beyond your average smartphone.

... although it does help to know how to remove a SIM card from a phone.

If you love the idea of keeping a well oiled machine running or even inventing your own machines on someone else's dime, the Union offers scholarships for high school students - encouraging your to pursure higher education and create something that you can share with the world."

"Not many people know this, but a lot of the research that the Union supports doesn't actually relate to the field of pokemon conservation. True - creating better medical systems and styler technology is benefical to the Union as well as the medical industry. But there is a lot more to it than that. Which leads us to..."

"Acedemia!

Now, this job isn't strictly 'working for the Union'. Your paycheck doesn't solely come from us. However. I don't know how many of you know this - but research is expensive! Last year the pokemon medical industry put 3.5 million dollars into new technology. Thats insane! I could buy the Union for that amount. But it gets used by people who want to know more about the world.

Now this doesn't really get explained to you so I'm going to lay it out here.

"No one knows anything. The smartest, most well known scientist in the world can't tell you everything - heck they can't tell you anything with certainty. And thats how they like it.

The world is wide and vast and so crazy complicated. There are still arguments about photosynthesis, whether or not Flygon is a Bug or Dragon, and how bones heal. And the Union wants to support people who are trying to answer these questions - to create things like the prosthetic leaf and to inform policies to protect and manage pokemon-human interactions."

"Okay. So you don't wanna sit in a stuffy office looking through a microscope all day. But being a Ranger seems very stressful and you don't really want to deal with the people-side of the job.

May I present 'Survey Corps'. These are the enviromental sciences part of the Union. They are the ones responsible for long term monitoring and management of specific at-risk habitat and populations.

Their job is similar to Area Rangers, only if they see signs of human interruption they call the Area Rangers and get the heck out of dodge. Their job is strictly tagging pokemon, taking soil samples, checking water temperature and quality, monitoring construction sites for pokemon nests and even handing out hunting tickets for overpopulated species.

That doesn't tickle your fancy? What's that? You want to pet the pokemon but not get attacked by an angry Ursaring?"

"Rehabilitation is the name of the game! or job. Unsuprisingly there is a massive branch of pokemon welfare within the Union, both for the ride pokemon born and raised in captivity as well as injured pokemon who are going to be re-released. The Union also funds and runs its own breeding programs to reintroduce species back into their original habitats and potentially bring back ancient species that were wiped out by human intervention.

An example - not related to the Union - is with @sneasedtomeetyou who has spent time breeding hisuian sneasel - an extinct poison type - from the recessive genes recently discovered in modern sneasel. It's their hope to reintroduce these species back into Sinnoh because it was recently discovered that certain species of trees grow only after the seed has passed through the digestive tract of certain poison types."

"What? Some of you want to deal with people more than pokemon? Jeez - picky crowd today.

Luckily I have a solution. The Union employs a lot of security forces both in the field and in their buildings. Because there are high risk pokemon in the protection of the Union - no I'm not going to tell you where or what they are, put your hand down - we need security guards who are skilled combatants to protect them. This is a perfect job for professional or aspiring trainers who need a fallback plan or simply don't want to be in the competitive scene anymore.

"In conclusion. The Union employs a wide variety of people with drastically different skills and needs. If you want to be Ranger - go for it! Be the best that you can be. But if you don't, I hope you will consider the opportunities presented here and maybe I'll hear you sometime over the phone telling me...

'Mission Clear!'"

#irl pokemon #pokeblogging #rl pokemon #foster island summer camp #adventures on foster island #honoria lore #pokemon ranger headcanons #pokemon ranger #long post #ranger talks

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crownconstellation · 7 months ago

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making a list of my relatively large (for where i am in the game atp) ffxiv clothing collection that i'd like to buy back at some point on my new chara:

HEAD:

Frontier Ribbon

Lily of the Valley corsages (Yellow, Blue, Orange, Purple, White, Black, Rainbow) ((thank you nova wahh))

Dahlia corsages (White, Black)

Brightlily corsage (White)

Campanula corsages (Blue, Yellow, Green, Orange, White)

BODY:

Hempen Camise

Riviera Doublet

Riviera Dress

Oasis Tunic

Glade Tunic

Bunny Chief Bustier

Spring Shirt

Ishgardian Gown

Best Man's Jacket

Bridesmaid's Dress

Spring Dress

Ramie Shirt

Expeditioner's Coat

Gryphonskin Breastguard

Uraeus Coat

Ramie Tabard

Survival Shirt

Extreme Survival Shirt

Moonfire Halter

Wool Suspenders

Anemos Gambison

Anemos Suspenders

Quantrille's Ruffled Dress

Whisperfine Woolen Coat

Raincoat

Rebel Coat

Replica Sky Pirate's Coat of Maiming

Kupo Jacket

Dalmascan Draped Top

Casual Jacket

Frontier Dress

Cape of Happiness

HANDS:

Velveteen Dress Gloves

Bunny Chief Loops

Frontier Dress Gloves

Tulip corsage (Red, White, Black, Rainbow)

LEGS:

Common Makai Priestess' Skirt

Bunny Chief Tights

Spring Bottoms

Best Man's Slacks

Bridesmaid's Tights

High House Breeches

Expeditioner's Pantalettes

Gryphonskin Pantalettes

Ramie Kecks

Moonfire Tanga

Quaintrelle's Ruffled Skirt

Whisperfine Woolen Shorts

Replica Sky Pirate's Bottoms of Casting

Kupo Trousers

Craftsman's Leather Trousers

Southern Seas Skirt

Peacelover's Pantaloons

SHOES:

Bunny Chief Pumps

Spring Shoes

Ishgardian Thighboots

Best Man's Gaiters

Bridesmaid's Sandals (note: tehse are not sandals.)

High House Halfboots

Survival Boots

Moonfire Sandals

Anemos Expeditionary's Boots

Expeditioner's Thighboots

Quaintrelle's Dress Shoes

Whisperfine Woolen Boots

Replica Sky Pirate's Boots of Striking

Peacelover's Longboots

NECK:

Red Byregotia Choker

Red Sweet Pea Necklace

MOGSTATION:

Loyal Housemaid's Uniform

Songbird Attire

Frilled / Vested Emissary's Attire (i got these during the event... now i have to shell out 10$ for them... sniffle)

Spriggan Attire

Summer Sunset Attire (also got this during the event...

Summer's Flame Attire

Endless Summer Attire

Witch's Attire

Vampire's Vest

Starlight Attire

Starlight Robe

MARKET BOARD WISHLIST:

Cherry Blossom corsages (White, Pink)

Rainbow Brightlily corsage

Rainbow Hydrangea corsage

Campanula corsages (Black, Rainbow)

White Hyacinth corsage

Summer Indigo Shirt

Urban Coat

Summer Seas Shirt

Hannish Wool Autumn Shirt

Adventuring Sweater

Craftsman's Coverall Top

Craftsman's Singlet

Replica Sky Pirate's Coat of Healing

Replica Sky Pirate's Coat of Casting

Buttoned Varsity Jacket

Varsity Jacket

Wind Silk Coatee

Spring Skirt

Varsity Skirt

Frontier Pumps

Urban Boots

Rebel Boots

Dalmascan Leather Shoes

Byregotia Choker (White, Black)

Rainbow Sweet Pea Necklace

NOT CLOTHING, STILL MARKET BOARD WISHLIST:

Parasol

Wind-up Estinien

Tidal Barding

Marble Alcove Bed

Fat Cat Sofa

#was like wow is pent way more on ffxiv than i realised and then i remembered i boguht like all my mogstation stuff on sale...#bri.txt #god this is so much stuff how much gil have i spent over the year i played...

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marypsue · 2 years ago

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that post I promised about villain visuals

So I’m working my way (slowly) through Stranger Things season 4, and one of the things that came up as an issue, for me, early on, was the...aesthetically kitchen-sink nature of the season’s main Upside Down-related baddie. The further I get into the season (currently I’m between episodes 4 and 5), the more it’s looking like all of the disparate visual elements that the show is relating to the villain they’ve nicknamed Vecna are supposed to be connected because of Lore(TM) which is being dribbled out throughout the season. On the one hand, I can respect that as a storytelling move. But on the other hand, aesthetically, it’s still not working for me in this specific case, and I’ve devoted entirely too much brain power to trying to figure out why that might be.

After making a case study of two of the Big Name Iconic Horror Movie Villains that the season namedropped, and a number of other Visually Iconic Horror Villains I have loved, I’ve come up with a handful of theories of why, say, Freddy Krueger feels instantly recognisable and memorable and aesthetically distinct, while Stranger Things’ take on ‘Vecna’, despite drawing heavily on Freddy Krueger for inspiration, doesn’t.

First off, I don’t think having a large number of visual/symbolic elements linked to your villain is necessarily always a problem. Or even that using various apparently unrelated visual elements to create a visual shorthand for your villain is a problem! But if you’re going to have a bunch of different, apparently unrelated symbolic visual elements associated with/representing your villain, you’re gonna want them to a) immediately and unmistakably cause the audience to draw an association with your villain, which means you’re probably going to want to b) use relatively few of them, so that that impact isn’t diluted.

One of the easiest and most effective ways to make sure you don’t end up with all your visuals confusing your audience and failing to convey that immediate association is to establish a hierarchy of symbols/motifs/visual elements linked to your villain. So you have one or two elements that draw up a strong association with your villain from your audience, and then in concentric circles radiating outwards, you have more and more tangentially-associated symbols/motifs/visual elements.

And a good way to establish a primary visual element, and link it strongly and directly to your villain in your audience’s mind, is to make it either a part of or directly connected to the villain’s physical presence/distinctive silhouette. If your primary visual element is something that, especially in a visual medium like television or film, can be repeatedly seen onscreen with the villain, it’s much, much easier for it to become linked to the villain in your audience’s imagination.

Like. Let’s take a closer look at the Big Names the Duffers are dropping in season four. What’s the most immediately recognisable element of Michael Myers’ iconography? It’s the inside-out Bill Shatner mask. The most recent Halloween trilogy even used the image of it on its own as marketing material, since it’s such an immediate, obvious symbol of Michael, and pulls up the association at a glance. You see the mask, you know that’s a Michael Myers.

Then you go down a level in the visual hierarchy, and there’s the coveralls and the big bloody knife. If you take away the mask, this is less immediately obviously a Michael, but it’s still recognisable once you link it to the mask again. The mask is the primary visual element to which some of these secondary visual elements are linked. The mask is the single element at the top of the hierarchy.

Go down one more level, and you get into stuff that’s less related to that primary visual element of the mask, less related to the villain’s physicality and distinctive silhouette, and more related to the Lore(TM). I’m talking like the clown suit from the murder of Judith Myers (which they did use again for visual association with Michael, at least in Halloween 4), the jack-o’-lantern, the abandoned Myers house, even Judith’s tombstone. These elements, that orbit Michael’s hashtag aesthetic deal at a slightly greater distance, can be used to conjure up a sense of unease or building dread. But if you want instant recognisability and that sudden sharp jolt of fear, you go directly to the mask. If you ask somebody on the street to picture Michael Myers, they’re gonna think about the mask.

I’m not as familiar with the Nightmare on Elm Street franchise as I am with Halloween, but it seems to me that Freddy Krueger, the more obvious aesthetic influence on Imitation Vecna Flavour, has a similar deal to Michael Myers going on. Freddy gets two primary visual elements - the knife-glove and the burn scars. Then you go down a level and get into costuming stuff like the terrible sweater and the jaunty little hat, and then down another level for stuff like the nursery-rhyme-singing creepy children and the horrible boiler-room nightmare realm (which, again, connect back to him less through immediate visual identification/actually seeing them onscreen with him, and more through Lore(TM)).

Because Freddy has those few main visual elements established as his aesthetic calling card, he can pull whatever nightmare bullshit he wants, and we the audience can see and understand that we’re not meant to be remembering and associating every Bed That Eats or whatever with him as a Distinct Visual Element Of His Whole Deal. If you as a creator throw the entire kitchen sink of ‘nightmares’ at him, and every visual element that gets associated with him (or a pale imitation of him trying to do the same shtick) is introduced on the same ‘level’ or at the same time, the audience isn’t going to form a strong mental link between him and any of those visual elements. And then he won’t have any memorable signature visuals at all. And that makes a villain more forgettable.

This is, actually, probably one of the main reasons why the slasher genre fell into a pattern of ‘distinctive mask + signature weapon’. It’s an easy formula for creating a visual shorthand for your villain, and relates those visual elements that you want to be primary directly to the villain’s physicality. To bring up the third Big Name of slasher horror, there’s nothing inherent to, say, a hockey mask that links it to Jason Voorhees. Except for the fact that we almost never see him without it. The why of it being a hockey mask is not as important as the fact that it’s a fundamental aspect of his whole Look(TM).

“But Mary,” I hear you say, “you’re talking about slashers. Stranger Things’ ‘Vecna’ isn’t technically a slasher. And what about villains who are more inhuman than slashers? Villains whose physical presence isn’t fixed or doesn’t even exist? Villains who are outright monstrous?” Well, you have a point, rhetorical strawman! I was specifically talking about slashers since the show was so obvious about drawing on Freddy, but I think these theories can also be more broadly applied.

In terms of visually distinct, recognisable, memorable monsters, what comes to my mind first and foremost is the lineup of Universal movie monsters. And I’d say they’re actually incredible examples of the theories above in action. They tend not to have such a kitchen-sink assortment of visual elements associated to them, but rather, to stick to one or two primary visual elements, directly related to their physicality and silhouette. I’m thinking the flat-topped head and huge feet of Frankenstein, the hunched hairy figure of the Wolfman, Dracula’s widow’s peak and high cape collar, the Bride’s beehive, the Creature from the Black Lagoon’s armoured fish-face, the Mummy’s wrap...

These images became so famous, so memorable and recognisable, that they have visually defined entire genres of monsters. They get echoed and parodied across pop culture (Grandpa and Hermann Munster! Lurch! Abe Sapien and the Shape of Water fishman! Dave Vanian and Gerard Way in the Bela Lugosi evening dress and facepaint! etc etc etc!) to the point where people don’t even know where the originals come from (vampires in cartoons from the 70s-90s frequently had blue skin, because actors playing vampires in black and white films from the 30s-50s would be painted with pale blue facepaint to make them appear more deathly pale onscreen, because blue read pale and red read dark. This is the same principle behind the set of the 60s Addams Family sitcom being mostly pink!).

(As an aside, the whole ‘one or two primary visual elements related to the villain/monster’s physical presence’ thing might have contributed to why I feel like the Invisible Man doesn’t get nearly as much play in lineups of classic monsters. Gonna have to percolate on that thought.)

In terms of a villain or monster without a set physical form, I believe it’s even more important to establish a primary visual element associated with them. For something like a shapeshifter or a nebulous eldritch idea, they’re by necessity going to have a broader range of visual elements associated to them/involved in the storytelling around them. Having a primary visual element as a visual shorthand for that villain/monster means it can carry through the various scenes of that villain/monster exerting their influence on the world/the story, so that the audience can then identify it as that villain/monster’s calling card - and it can be used to create dread and terror easily and effectively without having to invoke the villain/monster by name or in person every time and breach the Law of Conservation of Shark (which is also the major storytelling problem I’m having with Stranger Things’ ‘Vecna’, but that’s a related but separate post).

In terms of examples, I’m thinking of Mirrors, or Oculus, both of which had some nebulous, unembodied concept of evil reflections as their villain. Mirrors specifically linked its villain to any reflective surface. Oculus kept returning to the image of the ornate mirror where the evil made its home. I’m also thinking of Grave Encounters, which had a similar setup - the villain is an entire haunted mental hospital - and which did an okay job up until it abruptly fell into a trap at the end that I’ve seen at least one other villain fall into. (But I’ll get to that later.)

“But Mary,” you cry, “these examples you’re examining are all on film! Surely you cannot apply these theories of yours to a villain or monster with no set appearance, such as those featured in such media as books or podcasts? Surely it must be different when the eye of the audience’s imagination is responsible for all the visuals?”

To which I say: you make another point, rhetorical strawman! There’s a reason I believe Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House to be (rightfully) unfilmable. Her haunting is so deeply psychological, so wrapped up in what is unseen, unspoken, indescribable, that to try to put it to film - or even put it into images - is to do it a massive disservice. The idea of boiling it down to a couple of pieces of iconography is downright laughable.

But not every literary villain or monster is a Hill House. And I believe that there are a great number of cases in which these theories still apply. Stephen Graham Jones’ My Heart Is A Chainsaw - which, you may be unsurprised to learn, I loved - came up with two possible slashers right out the gate and immediately gave them each a set of primary visual elements. Stacey Graves and her Sadako hair and broken jaw, Ezekiel with his huge hands (and, a level lower, his creepy church). You don’t even see the slasher until the very end of the book, but you already know what you’re looking for, so the reveal Works. There’s Coraline’s Beldam, with her button eyes, spider hands, black keys, and world of putty. There’s Long John Silver and his peg leg. I keep seeing people say that, no matter what she looks like, they always know fanart of Ianthe Tridentarius on their dashboards by her golden skeleton arm.

Hell, even returning to Frankenstein’s monster: in Mary Shelley’s text, he’s immediately distinctive. He’s Huge, and looks like someone who should have been beautiful based on his disparate parts but, as a whole, is instead corpse-like and repulsive. And this imagery is so thematically linked to his whole deal, so the imagery feeds the story and the story feeds the imagery, and the resulting creation is so visually distinct that even Frankenstein’s monster designs based on the book rather than the Universal movie are instantly recognisable to me when they cross my dash (which happens not infrequently). Frankenstein’s monster is so immediately visually recognisable and so memorable that he’s lasted more than two hundred years in popular culture. I think that’s a point in favour of primary identifying visual elements, even in text.

And here, now that I’ve talked about these principles in relation to non-embodied villains and villains in text, is where I’m going to take a brief detour and talk about book!Pennywise the Dancing Clown.

In a lot of ways (a lot of ways), Stephen King did this right. Pennywise is a shapeshifter, without a set physical form (so no distinctive silhouette) and takes the forms of people’s worst fears. There is a whole kitchen sink of visual elements connected to this - literally a kitchen sink, since in one scene King has Pennywise taunt parents with the voice of their dead child from their kitchen sink drain.

But King did a very clever thing in establishing two primary visual elements related to Pennywise from the outset. He gave Pennywise a favourite form - Clown - and a favourite haunt - sewers - and, from there, tied every other nightmare thing in some way back to those two elements. All of Pennywise’s monster forms have some kind of aesthetic element from his clown costume included - orange puffballs are the ones I remember most strongly. Almost all of the big setpieces that directly involve Pennywise and not someone under his influence, the fights and the near-misses and escapes, happen in or around plumbing. Which isn’t incidental, it’s very deliberately brought to the foreground. And these threads carry through the whole book - right up until the end.

Right at the end of IT is where Stephen King makes the same mistake that Grave Encounters makes right at its end, a mistake that sits at the opposite end of the spectrum of You Fucked Up A Perfectly Good Aesthetically Coherent And Memorable Villain Is What You Did from what the Duffers are doing with Imitation Vecna Flavour. King tries to bait-and-switch the audience from the primary visual elements we’ve come to associate, strongly and immediately, with Pennywise, for some hitherto completely unrelated visual element that has nothing whatsoever to do with the extremely aesthetically compelling villain he’d built up until that point. There are a whole host of reasons the climactic fight of IT felt flat and anticlimactic to me, but the aesthetic betrayal is definitely a contributing factor.

Anyway. Up until the end of the book, I’d say Pennywise is a beautiful example of how you can have a whole sideshow of creepy bullshit associated with your villain, and still make them visually distinct, memorable, and compelling. You just need to make sure you understand what you want the primary visual elements to be for your villain, establish them well, and thread them through the constellation of images and motifs you collect around that villain.

And the problem I have with the Duffers’ ‘Vecna’ is that they simply haven’t done that. They haven’t identified any primary visual elements, they haven’t established a hierarchy of visual elements underneath those one or two primary ones, and they haven’t established a clear aesthetic link between any of the visual elements they’ve tried to associate with their villain.

Part of the problem, I think, is that they tried to show too much, too soon. They really threw everything but the kitchen sink at the guy right in episode one. Is his main motif supposed to be spiders, or clocks, or the vines, or the rotting corpse thing, or the eye thing, or the flying demo-creatures, or the haunted house, or or or? I don’t know, and so I haven’t formed a strong association between him and any of them. And that’s before you even pull in the nightmare murder sequences, which I know now are tailored to the victim experiencing them and not meant to be recurring motifs, but I didn’t know that in episode one, when they should have been establishing their hierarchy of imagery! So I was trying to throw all of that spaghetti, mentally, at their Big Bad, and none of it stuck.

It’s actually even worse for Imitation Vecna Flavour, too, because of the comparison that’s invited by his nickname. I’ve never played D&D and my familiarity with it comes primarily from The Adventure Zone, but the Duffers very kindly went out of their way to have their characters establish in dialogue that D&D’s Vecna does have an immediately recognisable primary visual element! Vecna’s missing (iirc) his left arm and his left eye! The characters all know immediately by that description that that’s a Vecna! The show itself told me this! So, by inviting the comparison, the Duffers just made their own shit look worse. (Which is exactly the problem they’re having with all of their previous-season callbacks, also, but that, again, is a separate post.)

“But Mary,” the voice of the rhetorical strawman whispers, in the back of my mind, with vicious satisfaction, “you love Dracula, which is an enduring classic and the source of a major recognisable, memorable pop culture monster. And isn’t this exactly like what Dracula would have been like for Victorian audiences? Bram Stoker basically invented the modern vampire mythos singlehandedly. And the Bela Lugosi evening dress, widow’s peak, high-collared-cape image didn’t exist until at least thirty years after it was published. Wouldn’t Victorian audiences, who would only maybe have heard of vampires through Slavic folklore, also have seen it as like throwing too much spaghetti at a villain and seeing what stuck?”

Unfortunately, as usual, the rhetorical strawman has a point. Dracula does have a whole lot of Apparently Unrelated Creepy Bullshit associated with him, aesthetically and visually. You could argue that the blood-drinking becomes his primary visual element, but in the whole novel, I think we only actually see him do it once, and it doesn’t exactly tie in to all the other bullshit he’s got going on. And he doesn’t even have the flimsy excuse of Tragic Backstory(TM) to tie it all together. He’s old and gets younger? St. George’s Eve? Lack of reflection? Wolves? Decaying castles? Coffins and grave-dirt? Lizard Fashion? Blood-drinking? Renfield? The brides? Burning eyes? Shapeshifting? The straw hat that suit neither him nor the time? Holy symbols? Garlic?? Victorians would absolutely have been justified in being like ‘hey Bram you’re sorta throwing the kitchen sink at this one’. And yet, for whatever reason, Dracula has endured long enough to get a visual shorthand so iconic it’s become a meme and a joke.

The only theories I have to offer are:

1) The ways in which the various visual elements related to Dracula were introduced was gradual and mysterious enough that they weren’t all introduced at the same time and with the same level of apparent importance, and the mystery made them memorable.

2) The construction of Dracula as a villain was unfamiliar enough to Victorian audiences that they didn’t have an existing frame of reference to compare him against and find him a pale imitation of, and instead, they had to create an entirely new ‘kind of (horror) guy’ box to put him in, mentally.

and/or 3) I just like Dracula better. Sue me.

Anyway. This post has gotten more than long enough, and has wandered somewhat from its initial purpose, so I will simply say that even with the red thread of Lore(TM) starting to string together the visual elements of Stranger Things’ ‘Vecna’, I still find him unmemorable, not at all visually interesting or compelling or coherent, and basically the aesthetic equivalent of CRT TV snow. Visual white noise.

(Also, to cap this rant off, since I mentioned the Law of Conservation of Shark a few times - is there any more iconic, recognisable, or memorable villain image than that great white shark fin, slicing silently up out of the water?)

#gonna stick this one in my #writing #tag for future reference bc I have absolutely no idea where else to put it #and also because I'm using allllll of this to try to make the big bad in circus luna effective #anyway. is it obvious why i loved my heart is a chainsaw / jade daniels lmao #want a masterclass on what makes a memorable aesthetically compelling villain/monster? ask a goth #i had something to say about inhuman monsters and like. the alien + the eggs + the chestburster + giger's set design #and also about silhouettes and the classic demogorgon mouth #but they never cohered into intelligent thoughts so I'm dropping them in the tags here in case somebody else can make sense of them.

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