#if you see typos no you don't

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

i had a worm wiggle it's way into my head when 'work song' came on on my way home today.

pairing: steddie | word count: 2,949 | rated: T

cw: major character death (no gore, nothing descriptive, though it's stated that Eddie was sick and getting weaker, then implied that he dies.)

Eddie Munson’s mother was a witch.

He didn’t know this until he was stricken with the same sickness that took her from him years and years before, but he knows now.

He knows from the small chest he found buried deep in his and his Uncle’s attic one day after learning of his ailment, and the handful of months he should expect to have left, from the local doctor. 

The chest was brimming with scrolls, tomes, candles, stones, herbs, vials, even a small pewter cauldron.

“I shoulda known,” was all Wayne had said, heeding Eddie’s beckoning call that hazy afternoon. 

Eddie sorted through everything he had found; spending hours every day flipping through each book and journal, deciphering his mother’s handwriting and the spells she had inscribed onto the pages. 

He even started to try a few; his mother’s ‘powers’, per sae, had come from the earth around her, writing in the largest, most disheveled of the journals that all she had needed to do was to listen to Mother Earth herself, listen to what she had to tell her.

So, Eddie practiced.

Small things at first, like seamlessly re-attaching the snipped off head of a daisy back to it’s stem, snipping it off again only to regrow an identical one in it’s place. Even starting a broken branch of the pine outside the Munson home on it’s way to a new green version of what was lost.

Eddie counted himself very lucky that Wayne was not one to believe the church’s nearly unhinged ramblings about witchcraft being the work of the Devil, and let Eddie practice a couple of the other simpler things on him.

“Jus’ don’t go thinkin’ I’mma let you chop my head off, boy.”

Wayne’s body aching from following their ox around all day with the plow? “Here, drink this, it should help.” It did.

Couple of Wayne’s fingers get snapped under the same ox’s hoof? A little harder, but he managed; the digits sore and achy that night, but good as new come morning.

“There a hair spell in that book, Ed?” Wayne joked one morning over breakfast, a good three quarters of the way through the six months the doctor gave Eddie, and a couple after finding Maggie Munson’s secret.

“Hmmmm….I dunno Uncle Wayne,” Eddie flips through his journal absently, “I think a Get Your Hair Back spell is too close to a love charm to work right. You could end up with hair all over your body and not just on that beautiful, shiny, head o’yours.”

“Love spells are touchy,” Maggie’s journal had said, “There are a rumored few that work, but only for the truest forms. I’ve tried some simple potions and charms…Al still left..and if they didn’t work…” the rest was easily filled in. 

“Oh yeah? Then how's about a Cure What Ails Ya spell? Got one’a those in that there book?”

“Why? You feeling sick, Wayne?” Eddie half-jokes, trying to veer away from having this conversation with Wayne again.

Wayne’s quiet as Eddie focuses intently on the book infront of him, trying, and failing, to scoop up a bite of egg onto his fork without looking away.

“Ed,” his uncle starts, soft and pleading once again, “Is there really nothin’ that can help ya?”

Eddie huffs, dropping his fork onto his plate and pushing it and the journal away from him. Definitely something a younger boy would do, not the nearly 25 he is now. “Why don’t you give them a look, huh? ‘Cause I already have.”

“Ed–”

He snaps his head up to glare at the older man. “What is it Wayne? What?” Eddie snatches the journal back up off the table without looking. “I’ve looked okay? Through Mom’s and through every damn book in that attic. And there was nothing. Nothing! You think she would’ve left if there was?” He stands sharply, knocking the small faded blue table away as he does. “Would’ve left m—”

His free hand wraps around his middle, nausea and the spins taking him for a ride a the sudden movement.

“Hey, Hey, sit back down son.” Wayne stands as well, coaxing him back into his chair. 

The nausea spells have become more frequent, the dizziness even more so, as the months have worn on, so Wayne ties up Eddie’s hair (growing thinner by the day), walks the short few steps to the pitcher of water he’d pulled from the well that morning, and pours some into a bowl, grabbing a clean(-ish) rag on his way back. 

Wayne smoothes the cool damp rag over Eddie’s face and neck, slowly and deliberately until the nauseous feeling passes.

“‘M sorry, Uncle Wayne, I know you’re just worried.”

“It’s alrigh’ boy, I shouldn’t’a pushed.”

“I’m still doing better than most,” Eddie says, voice tilting up at the end, “I think it’s ‘cause of the magic.”

“Thoughtcha said there wasn’t no cure in that book.” Wayne states, moving to empty the bowl. 

“There’s not,” Eddie closes his eyes, relaxes back into his chair. “Doc thinks Ms. Wilson had the same as me and Ma, and you saw how quick it took her.”

“Mrs. Wilson was nearly 70, Ed.”

“Then how about that boy Carver? He was my age, and Doc gave him six when he came down with it too, was gone in two.”

Wayne shrugs, “The devil wanted him back sooner.”

Eddie barks out a laugh, lifting his head to catch a glimpse of his Uncle’s ‘desperately-trying-to-hide-his-smile’ smile.

Wayne jokes, but Eddie’s been contemplating this for a while now. When he had hit his second month, he was about the same as he was, steadily growing weaker, as what was expected, but nothing like how Ms. Wilson and Jason had looked in theirs. 

Hell, Jason had worked on the docks with Eddie since they were boys; both fit and lean, healthy young men with the musculature to show for their work.

That was when he’d found his mom’s books, and ever since, his health had slowed to a crawl. 

“I think using mom’s magic is helping me.”

Wayne is quiet, cleaning their plates from the table and dumbing the leftover eggs out the window to the pigs. 

“I think it’s your magic now, Eds.”

—---

And so it went.

Eddie’s given six months turned into a year, his magic growing from healing fingerbones, to mending their ox’s broken femur with ease. 

His year didn’t come without worsening symptoms though, and his previously well filled out overalls hung loose around him, his calves barely filling out the tops of his boots tied all the way tight. 

Wayne always kept the faith, so to speak, not a religious man by nature, but Eddie could hear him sometimes in the early morning and late night praying to “Whoever’s got their ears on up there,” to keep Eddie safe, to keep him in their sights when the time came. 

Eddie had been doing work of his own, too. Writing down anything new he found out while sitting with the Earth, listening, watching….

Mother told him through the whispers of the trees, the soft humming of the grass, that he’d know when it was time. 

And that time was within the next few days. 

He felt it in his bones, he felt it in the air when Wayne passed him his birthday gift (a flaky scone with the biggest chunks of chocolate in town, an amazing treat he got once a year) on the morning of his 25th year, he felt it in the very ground he walked on…

He was ready, though he did harbor one regret. One thing he knew he missed out on.

He’d never fallen in love.

Over his last year, Eddie would sit with Mother; amongst the trees, lain back in the field of grass on the hill behind their house, and tell her about them. 

The ‘they’ that he’d likely never meet, the they that would love him for nothing but his love in return. 

Nothing was ever specific, only the vaguest feelings he’d get about them, about the way they’d love, the humor they’d possess, the love for Eddie’s stories they’d have.

And every time he’d speak of them, Eddie’d leave with something that he didn’t realize he had picked up until he was nearly back home. 

A chain of daisies Wayne had plucked from atop his head when he sat down for dinner, a scrap of dark blue fabric he’d found walking through town, a bouquet of bright yellow daffodils, the tiny sun bleached skull of a bat.

And he’d write. Over and over, never quite getting it right, but there was something he knew he needed to get out of his very being before he left for good. Something that felt like a promise.

–

The morning came, and Eddie awoke to a silent house. 

Wayne out on the fields already, most likely out helping the folks on either side of them with whatever they needed doing, with only the hens’ clucks and pigs’ snorts keeping him company with the calls from the birds in the trees. 

Eddie got up, slow as slow could be, got himself into his clothes, shuffled down the hall to the kitchen to their small blue table, tore out a blank page of his mother’s notebook and wrote.

Pouring all of what remained within him, Eddie thought of the Earth, of his mom, of Uncle Wayne, and them. His unknown love.

-x-X-x-

Steve Harrington’s mother was not a witch.

But for the last few years, he’s had a suspicion that his Grandmother is.

Everyone says that their food tastes so good because “It’s made with love!”,  but with Mama Harrington, it was real. The love and intent she imbued into her meals was there. And she could cure any ailment.

She would always go on and on about the importance of food, each recipe’s ingredients’ healing powers, and of the recipes and their stories that had been passed down through the years from her mother, and her mother’s mother, all the way to now, where they ended up in a cookbook that’d gone untouched since it was given to Steve’s mother in the late 60’s.

“A gift! Unused for so many years, Steven!”

“I know, Mama,” he nods again, dropping some green something into the pot of sauce bubbling on the stove. “Almost 25 years.”

“Aye! You have catching up to do.” she says, shaking a thick wooden spoon at him.

“Me?” he scoffs, “I don’t know the first thing about cooking, Mama!” Baking? He’d hold his own. Cooking? If his grandmother wasn’t there to help him of on the phone to guide him through a recipe? Kitchen would go up in flames.

“Bah! Watch closely, dear.” she says, shuffling to the pot that stands nearly as tall as her where it’s perched on the stovetop. “It is always your intent behind what you are cooking. You can make anything be anything as long as the intent is there.”

“Even eggs?”

She nods, her nearly fully white bun flopping back and forth on top of her head. “Even just eggs.”

“So if I want a carbonara to help get my friend a passing grade?” he asks, incredulous, but immediately thinking of Robin, who’s coming up on her finals in a couple months (for her doctorate! A PhD! Can you believe that!).

“The intent! Put it into the eggs, into the pasta, I don’t care! But make it for That!”

She throws a concerningly large handful of pepper into the pot on the stove, and gives it a stir.

“Now, this is my Mama’s recipe, and it will help your Pa’s back.”

“How so?”

“Because I told it to,” she growls, glaring at the pot and raising her spoon as if she was going to smack some sense into it.

“Alright, Mama,” Steve chuckles, “What do you need me to do?”

He spends the next hour helping his grandma roll out some of her premade dough for some fettuccine looking noodles, grabbing a wrapped up blob “from the top shelf, Steven. That’s the stuff I made for you.”. 

He rolls, folds, and cuts it as he’s told, then goes to pick Robin up from campus while she finishes everything.

“It won’t take long now, dear, and you shouldn’t either.” Mama scolds, waving her spoon around once again.

“Got it, Mama, be back soon.” He slips on his shoes, looks in on his grandpa in the living room as he passes, grinning at the loud snores he hears from the direction of Pa’s recliner, and slips out the front door to his car. 

In no time, he’s picked up Robin, stopped for a movie from Blockbuster, and is home to the smell of fresh bread.

“We’re home Mama!”

“I’m just setting the table, grab your Pa!”

“Come on Pa, Mama’s got some pasta for you.” Steve says, coaxing his grandfather out of the chair and into his slippers. 

“Ah, perfect, my back’s been real achy lately.”

“That’s ‘cause you sleep in the recliner, Mr. Harrington.”

“How many times do we gotta tell you, Robin? Just call us Ma and Pa.”

Robin plops down in her designated spot across from Ma, “Hey, you should get used to it now; Once I finally get up the nerve to Chrissy out, she’ll come over here all “Mr. Harrington” this and “Mrs. Harrington” that.

“And how’s that coming, Bobs?” Steve asks her, sitting down beside his grandma and immediately passing the plate of bread across the table to Robin’s waiting hands. 

She starts going off at a million miles a minute about her longest standing crush, while Steve shares a look with his grandma, both smirking conspiratorially as Robin takes a bite of the bread.

That’d been Steve’s suggestion, a bread imbued with luck.

It wasn’t a “Love Spell”, Mama said there was none in existence that were worth the pain. But the minimal luck that she had sown before into countless baked goods (especially near February), have had a surprisingly great track record.

With everyone but Steve.

She couldn’t quite figure out what it was that kept him from getting the benefits too, every time she had tried, they had tried, it was an astounding failure. 

First with Tommy Hagan, the carrot cake cookies Steve had presented him with as a special birthday treat back in middle school ended with two missing front teeth and a broken arm.

Then again without even thinking about it, he’d added some luck and hope to homemade chicken pot pies he’d whipped up when he and Nancy were on the rocks. 

It had somewhat worked with Billy Hargrove, but that one hadn’t even been intentional, and he shudders to think about it to this day.

“I don’t know my dearest, maybe it is because you are already tied to someone else?” She had said after her tried and true pot pie recipe failed.

“But it didn’t even work with the one I was already with!” he yelled, sighing deep and pinching the tears away from the bridge of his nose. “She jumped right into Byers’ arms.”

Mama had just given him a pitying look, which was worse, honestly.

Now, he stays far away from any of Mama’s lucky foods, especially with the weird twisting feeling he had gotten the few times he’d tried over the years after leaving Hawkins.

He and Robin came up to Indy for Robin to go to U of I, a year after she graduated, and when Steve was fired from the job that had been paying the majority of their apartment's rent when he was spotted kissing his then boyfriend by his manager….they came to live with Steve’s grandparents, taking to them both with open arms and hearts.

He comes back to the present when his third bite of pasta clears away the last of his headache.

Steve shoots his grandma a knowing look, which she ignores with a sip of wine. 

–

They’re nearly finished with dinner when it happens.

Steve’s listening intently to a story Pa is telling them, something he’s sure he’s hears a dozen times before, when he absentmidedly picks up, then takes a bite of the bread Ma made for Robin.

It’s more than he’s ever felt before.

In the past, whenever Steve’s tried to gain some luck in love, he’s been inundated with flashes, feelings, words, a warmth in his bones that he’s wanted to hold onto forever. 

The feelings grew stronger the older he got, and now, Steve finds himself sitting on a rolling grassy hill. 

It’s not a flash of a vision like before, he’s sitting in the tall soft grass, and his hands are already making a chain of daisies. Nearly done, in fact. 

He finishes it off, turns it around in his hands, then when he goes to put it on…

He’s back at the table with his family, the slice of bread in his hand, and Pa still telling his story.

Steve jumps up, startling the other three, and beelines it to the kitchen, flinging open drawers, searching for just a damn scrap of paper. 

Mama follows him, “Steve, the bread?”

“I was on a hill, chaining daisies, and now I have to get these words out.” He probably doesn't make a lick of sense, but he doesn’t want to lose them.

Suddenly, a pad of paper and pen are passed into his line of sight. He snatches them up, and starts scribbling down as much as he can.

He and Mama stare down at the words on the page. 

“Mama, what is this?”

She is silent for a handful of breaths.

“This is why the luck never worked.”

now with a part 2!

also: i don’t know the first thing about being a witch or anything of the sort, nor do i know anything but the basics about cooking; hope im not way way off on anything!!! this is all in fun 😅

[bizaar]

You guys (gn) i am tHIS CLOSE to finishing with the first part of the epilogue, but all these Hoard gifs on my FYP are making me absolutely feral so I just need to share this one part with you really quick okay? okay

[golddust-if]

Louis Foster [male, 33] – The crime lord, although he doesn't like that title. He prefers to be called king, ruler, or master; he’s graceful enough to let others choose what they’d like to call him. You’ve heard of him through the grapevine, of how he’s the "true" controller of the city. The smartest choice he made was to try to get you on his side, but you’d refused. As bad as it is to get on your bad side, perhaps it wasn’t the smartest choice to get on his. He definitely has some loose screws, not much else is known about him that isn’t common knowledge.

Appearance – Curly dark brown hair, tied into a lazy bun. Maniacal hazel eyes, medium skin, 6’1. Small moles scattered around his face. Trendy yet somewhat formal; button shirts with some design, sleek pants with a chain, rings on almost every finger.

Ability – Absorption; steal or absorb abilities from others.

Romance Route – He can't, not because he doesn't want to but you'd be in constant danger. While you may be used to that, he isn't. He's never cared for someone like he cares for you. If something happened to you because of him, he'd never be able to forgive himself. [Forbidden Love. Sacrifices, risky meets, stolen moments. Falling even though you know you're not supposed to. Burning with the deepest desires.]

[shittygaypornmagazine]

May I present to you, the Preview - aka the 234 words I have so far - for The Steps to Becoming the Oldest Twin

@elliwoods

AND @last-hourglass

AND WHAT IF I DON'T.

[deathbind]

SIGHTS OF MEKET.

This post will serve as an overview for some key locations in Meket. This is not an exhaustive list of all cities, towns, areas of interest, etc. in Meket. It's only a few of the most interesting still standing in present day. Furthermore, I intend to keep these descriptions brief. More detail will come in future posts.

NUBT.

Nubt has served as the capital of Meket since the late -400s DR. Tradition holds that the first capital was directly on the coast and was of such splendid wealth that the walls themselves were inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Then a series of disastrous wars destroyed the city. The capital was moved to Nubt, a golden city on the banks of the Eruti River. It was here that the great Semre was born — and where they were crowned Monarch in the blood of their twin. Each subsequent monarch has sat the Sedge Throne here.

The name of the city references gold. Fitting, as it is a thriving entrepôt. Trade from all across Meket and beyond flows down the river through this city, and it consistently stands as one of the wealthiest in the nation. It was not for trade, however, that it was originally named. In far ancient days, it was the site of advancements in agriculture, particularly kole-style irrigation and hafir-style reservoirs. This, combined with rich soil and the Eruti's predictable flood patterns, ensured the city overflowed with sun-gold grain. That grain made it possible to sustain an ever-larger population — and, in time, armies to expand their borders. Many modern scholars hold that, although Nubt did not become the capital until the -400s DR, it is the true birthplace of Meket. Of course, this could be propaganda.

WHERE THE TWO ARE ONE. — aka The Ribcage. — and The Eyrie of Eternal Flame.

The name of this cathedral is difficult to translate. It has been called "The Place Where Two Become One", "The Marriage-House of the Two Who Are One", "The Body of the One Made Two", "The One in Two Join Here", and other variations. The favored translation today is "Where the Two Are One". Of course, most Meketi simply call it The Ribcage.

It was here, just outside the capital city of Nubt, that Soshe was slated for execution. It was here that She bewailed the state of the world, yet entreated the One Above not to forsake them. In a blaze of sunfire, She was gone. Thus it was here that the Soshist Church built the first and most splendid cathedral. This was overseen by Monarch Semre themself, and it has been a tradition of each subsequent monarch to pay it lavish tithes.

It is called The Ribcage for two reasons. One: when Soshe burned, She left behind a searing, beating heart which is preserved here as the holiest relic. Two: the cathedral was intentionally designed with a great vaulted ceiling that mimicked a ribcage. While many faiths present temples, churches, cathedrals, etc. as houses of their gods, Soshism instead presents theirs as bodies of their god. It is said that Soshe, aka the One Below, is only an aspect of the One Above. This deity is beyond mortal comprehension and constraint. Soshist churches are places where the two are joined as one in perfect balance — just as the One Below rejoined the One Above when She burned. To be in a church is to be in divinity itself, in the heart of perfect balance.

Attached to The Ribcage is The Eyrie of Eternal Flame where sacred phoenixes are raised. Tradition says that a phoenix rose from Soshe's ashes. They are held to be the messengers of the One Above, soaring over the Eruti in both life and death, eternally crossing those boundaries in divine service. Birds know no borders. The priesthood looks for signs in their flames, ashes, feathers, flight, and droppings. They are also a key part of one of the greatest Soshist holy days. Every seven years, the phoenixes of the Eyrie flame en masse. Soshists from across Zakhara gather to watch their brilliant ascension and burn slips of paper inscribed with their sins in those flames. The fires rage for seven days and seven nights. Soshists fast and meditate during this period. Afterward, anointed in phoenix ash, they break their fast in a great public feast. It is tradition for the monarch to pardon a criminal at the commencement of this feast and to break bread with them.

THE OSSUARY.

The Ossuary is the chief headquarters for the Guardians of the Seal. The order maintains local bases throughout Meket, and this is chief among them. Prospective members will begin their apprenticeship with their local chapter but will be sworn in here. This is also where petitions for retrieval or access to records are made. Thus it maintains a constant staff and rooms for guests, be they Guardians or petitioners. They say that at the end of the world, the Ossuary will still be open.

The Ossuary houses the bulk of their extensive records, meticulous and dating back over a millennium. In particular, it houses any relating to the monarchy or priesthood / saints. It likewise houses artifacts before they are delivered to the living or returned to the tombs where they were originally interred. It has also served as temporary storage for religious relics during times of conflict, disaster, or renovation.

THE CITY OF ETERNITY. — and The House of Eternity

The City of Eternity is the first and most grand of Meket's necropoleis. Indeed, it is for this place that all others are named. It was originally a humble fishing village in western Meket. Then the Beetle Death sprang from the earth and consumed all in its path. This place would have been forgotten — condemned — had Serot not journeyed here seeking answers. This was the land that brought Refhremmit into existence, and by joining with that spirit, the Saint Eternal was able to bring the kheprer to heel. It was only fitting that the Anactaci should be built on this ground as well. If Nubt / The Ribcage is the homebase of the Manthu, then the City of Eternity / the House of Eternity is the homebase of the Anactaci, both built over the literal bones of the great and sacred.

Here, Meketi funeral rites as they are now took shape. Here, the ghul lords laid down their blades and took up a priest's vestments. Here, the kheprer were housed and, in time, buried. They sleep eternally beneath this soil, guarding the oldest of the houses of eternity, the Meketi tombs.

The greatest of these is the House of Eternity, for which all others are named. This is the tomb in which Serot was interred. He began the building of it near his time of death, beginning the subsequent tradition of appointing one's tomb while one still lives. Serot knew the hour of his death, however — as he also knew he would never inhabit its reflection in the afterlife. That was the intent at least: to merge completely with Refhremmit. Of course, things turned out differently; either way, he has never inhabited this hall.

Still, it stands as one of Meket's greatest landmarks. Each lSerot's identified lifetimes has been interred here upon their death. This means it has been renovated and expanded many times over the years — splendidly but carefully so as not to disturb the kheprer who are more protective of it than any other place. It is a lavish building (too lavish for Serot's tastes) and a site of frequent pilgrimage. Indeed, a few times a supplicant has fled to those halls seeking sanctuary, and the House of Eternity itself enclosed them. This is believed to be the work of Serot's soul who deemed their cause righteous, but it is known that Refhremmit's presence is most keenly felt there as well.

RAHAZ. — and Rahaz University.

In the 400s DR, the Yikarian Empire sank its talons deep into north-eastern Zakhara, seizing Meket and a number of other city-states and smaller kingdoms. Among these was the city-state of Rahaz. This city had (and still has) a majority gnomish population and was renowned as a home of great innovators. Unfortunately, the Empire exploited their talents to build formidable siege engines. These enabled them to conquer the fortified cities of the coast and deter rebellion. Yet, rebellion still came; winning Rahaz to their side was a turning point that allowed them to beat back the Empire for good.

Rahaz returned to independence for many years afterward, though they maintained a close alliance with Meket. Then the Grand Caliphs began their own conquest of the continent, and Rahaz became one of those that merged with Meket in order to resist their advances. Gnomes are consequently the most populous race in Meket, second to humans.

But, siege engines are far from their only claim to fame. The first and oldest university in Zakhara — perhaps in all the world — was founded here in the 600s DR and operates to this day. It is also among the most prestigious on the continent, considered a bastion for intellectuals particularly in times of intolerance. Meketi always valued education, but gnomish influence revolutionized their approach. Previously, any public education came through the Soshist priesthood, and anyone wishing to pursue higher education had to be wealthy or find a wealthy patron. But, gnomes fought for a secular education system and introduced the concept of grants and scholarships.

[eddiediaaz]

Oliver Stark about Buck/Eddie on the Zach Sang Show (04.19.2024) [x]

[ayo-edebiri]

I know how much you love your son. That's why I know you are gonna do what is right for him. Don't drag him down with you, Eddie.

[crowmise]

Light of Truth(?).

[deoidesign]

One of my first digital pieces (2010) versus one of my recent ones (2024)

We all start somewhere!

[yet-another-haven-of-dollya]

Just Nyan and-

-Kariya

[filmbroandy]

one of the most difficult to parse ensemble cast pieces i've ever watched tbh

[silusvesuius]

testing out drawing maormer 🪸🐚🪸 and a nelvas 🧣📜🩷 i'll ramble about maormer a bit in the tags

[liltaireissocute]

[PERC'ILDAN]

my favourite 'idiots in love' dynamic

[starlightvld]

Up in Smoke

(Also on AO3)

The first time Ghost rips the cigarette from Soap's mouth, drops it on the ground, and stomps on it as he passes by, Soap is too stunned to say anything for a full ten seconds. They've only been working together consistently for a couple of missions, and even as his superior officer, the audacity of the action floors him.

By the time his brain restarts, Ghost is long gone.

--

The second time Ghost steals Soap's cigarette, he bursts out in a string of Scottish curses and tackles Ghost from behind before the wanker can drop it on the ground. An impromptu sparring match ensues, fists and curses flying. 

Afterward, he doesn't feel much like a cigarette anymore — not with the split lip, anyway. Besides, the buzzing under his skin that usually drives him to smoke is just... gone.

Price catches wind of the incident, of course, and calls them into his office a few hours later. By that time Soap has calmed down enough to be... maybe not okay with it, but at least able to see the humor. 

"What's this about you muppets scuffling by the smoking area?"

"Just a little sparring to blow off steam," Soap says.

"Ghost?"

"Nothin' to worry about, Captain."

"No? I've got one soldier who looks like he just got back from a bar fight, and the other..." He squints at Ghost. "He get a hit in on you, too?"

"Yeah," Ghost replies in that deadpan tone of his. "Coupla black eyes."

It's a joke. 

Ghost is telling a joke. And it's objectively not funny. It's not. But Soap bursts into hysterical laughter all the same. 

The corners of Ghost's blacked-out eyes crinkle. 

Price rubs his temples before dropping his hand on his desk. Soap presses his lips together to contain his laughter.

"Sparring happens in the gym. I'm sure you know the place. It's where we have things like mats and gloves. I catch you two bare-knuckle fighting again, and you will regret it."

And it's enough to sober Soap up. He avoids Ghost as he ducks away to catch dinner.

--

The third time... well, no. He supposes that's really the fourth time. 

Because the actual third time, Soap had come back from a shit mission where everything went wrong. Intel was faulty, exfil was delayed, and people under his command died. It didn't happen as often in SAS as it had in the regulars — the soldiers here were well-trained and hard to kill — but that made it all the worse. 

When Ghost tried to pluck the cigarette from his mouth, Soap growled. 

"Back the fuck up, Lt. Or Price is gonna be disappointed in both of us."

Ghost paused, and their eyes met. Slowly, Ghost lowered his hand. 

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Fuck no."

"Thank God."

Soap didn't have it in him to even huff a laugh. He took a long drag and blew the smoke away from Ghost as a peace offering.

To his surprise, Ghost didn't leave. He spun around and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. They stood there together, utterly silent, as Soap let the heat and sting in his lungs soothe the beast inside that wanted to rip the world apart.

When he was done, though, he was surprised to find he didn't want another. Usually after shit missions, he'd stand there and smoke half a pack before his hands would stop shaking.

He finally met Ghost's eyes. The man quirked a barely visible brow.

"S'pose we should take it to the mats this time?"

Ghost pushed off the building and started walking. Soap followed like a lost child looking for a way home. 

--

The fourth time is in Chicago. His hands are shaking not from losing soldiers but from almost losing his own life. The cigarette trembles in his grip as he stands outside the bar, the biting wind turning his fingers and probably his lips blue. He lifts it to his mouth, inhaling deep—

And then it's gone.

The whine that bubbles up from his gut and bursts from his throat is nothing short of humiliating. But God. God. He needs it.

"Not now. Please, Ghost."

"Why?"

Ghost hasn't thrown the cigarette down. Yet. He cocks his head to the side and gives Soap a long look. Soap can only tremble from the cold and a need that goes deeper than a simple hit of nicotine.

"I just... I need it."

The cigarette drops to the ground, but Soap doesn't have time to lament the loss before that same hand is curling around Soap's neck and pulling him into a fucking massive chest. The other arm comes around Soap's shoulders and...

Ghost just stands there, holding him. And Soap can't help melting into the warmth and solidity of the man who saved his life just hours ago. He dares to curl in deeper. To raise his hands and clutch at Ghost's jacket. To let a few, silent tears escape his tight control.

Finally, his muscles relax. Ghost must feel it, because he turns and leads Soap back toward the bar.

"Why do ye even care?" Soap mumbles from his spot tucked into Ghost's side.

"Because those things'll kill ya."

Soap supposes the "I like you alive" is implied at this point.

--

Soap loses count after Chicago. He gets stretches of days when Ghost is on a solo op or out with one of the other operators when he can smoke in peace. So he does.

At first.

He's been hooked since he was a rebellious teen trying to make his mark on the world. He's tried to quit multiple times, but it never seems to stick. The first bad mission or adrenaline-filled near miss and he's back at whatever smoking spot he can find, puffing away.

He finds himself trying to cut back, though, even when Ghost is away.

Any time Ghost is on base, all bets are off. In addition to darting by and making a grab for it or sneaking up behind him and flicking it out of his hands, Ghost has gotten more creative. Sometimes Soap will pull out a cigarette only to find he's "lost" his lighter. Sometimes the cigarettes themselves go missing — he clutches his chest and mourns all that wasted money whenever a whole pack disappears. 

He supposes it's all just going up in smoke anyway, though.

He should be angry. But in truth, it's almost a relief to hand over the reins to Ghost. To let the man help him by annoying the shit out of him until he wants to give up on it entirely.

Which is definitely the point. Ghost has made that perfectly clear.

So, whenever he gets the urge to calm his racing thoughts or overactive mind with a cigarette, he finds Ghost and annoys him instead. They talk, or spar, or simply sit in silence together, doing their own thing. Ghost doesn't often touch him — their moment in Chicago is still the closest Soap's ever gotten to the elusive Ghost — but he also doesn't push Soap away when he slumps into Ghost's side after a hard day or leans over his back when he's sitting at the table in the 141's common area on base.

The urge doesn't go away, of course. And sometimes, when things get really bad, Ghost will just sit or stand with him like he did the third time. Still, he finds himself smoking less and hanging out with Ghost more.

--

The last time Ghost steals a cigarette from Soap, he simply stands beside Soap and holds out his hand. Soap immediately knows something has gone terribly wrong. Still, he's too invested in the game now to not hand the cigarette over.

He nearly keels over when Ghost pulls up his mask and takes a long, hard drag. Soap watches in fascination as his cheeks hollow, his neck muscles strain, his lips curve around the paper. It's erotic in a way he really shouldn't be thinking about in regards to his emotionally unavailable superior officer, but the knowledge hasn't stopped him yet. Since that day in Chicago — probably before if he's honest — he's only ever wanted to be closer.

Ghost coughs a little and hands the cigarette back.

"Fuck. Just as disgusting as I remember."

"Ye used to smoke, then?"

"Before I joined up, yeah. Hated it, though."

"The smell? Or—"

"Everything. The taste, the smell, the heat..." Ghost trails off, his hand rubbing over his bicep in a strangely specific way. He shakes his head and looks back at Soap. "Not your problem, Johnny. Forget about it."

Soap's hand is darting out, fingers curling into Ghost's jacket, before he's properly thought through the action. Ghost pauses before turning back. They stare in silence for a moment until—

Soap stubs out the half-burned cigarette and drops the butt in the trash. He licks his lips. Glances up at Ghost. The mask is still sitting on his nose, and Soap stares at his lips for longer than he should before pulling the pack out of his pocket and throwing it in the trash, too.

"Cannae have ye thinking I stink, can I?"

"Too late."

But Ghost's throat bobs with a hard swallow. Soap wets his lips, takes a step closer, and uncurls his fingers to slide his hand up Ghost's chest until his fingertips are resting on Ghost's shirt collar.

"I dinnae think it is."

Ghost turns and walks away. Soap closes his eyes and drops his hand, internally cursing his impulsive behavior. The scuffing of boots walking away from him is like nails on a chalk board.

Until they stop, and a gruff voice calls out, "You comin'?"

A slow smile slides across Soap's mouth. "No' yet."

A huff — exasperation? laughter? a bit of both? — before, "Better get movin' then."

And Soap has never been more glad to follow an order.

[anipgarden]

Adding To or Starting a Garden

AKA, the beginning of the Plants-Related section of this series.

This is my third post in a series I’ll be making on how to increase biodiversity on a budget! I’m not an expert--just an enthusiast--but I hope something you find here helps! 

Got an area of lawn you’d like to convert to a wildlife haven? An area you can stick some hanging baskets in? Want to know how your garden of tomatoes and zucchinis is already putting in a lot of work? This is the section for you!

It would be dumb of me to not acknowledge that the act of gardening can come with a lot of costs. Buying seeds, buying plants, buying soil, raised bed materials, mulch, etc. … it can all get a bit daunting, let’s be honest! But there’s quite a few ways to get seeds and plants for free or extremely cheap, which I’ll be addressing in this section! The next section will be all about addressing the other Costs in gardening and how to mitigate or eliminate them entirely.

Also, do keep in mind; there’s no need to try and convert a whole area from lawn to garden or unused to garden at once. In fact, it could actually be extremely beneficial to do it a little at a time--maybe four or five square feet to start out.

Front Lawn (or Managing Principles)

If you live in a place where you’re required to have a grass turf lawn (HOA’s come to mind…), try replacing it with native grasses instead! You could even possibly use a low-growing ground cover plant like clover to a similar effect! Reseeding/replacing an entire lawn can be a big upfront cost, but even just letting the lawn be a little messy and tall helps. If the lawn gets patchy, leave the bare spots for a little while and something different will likely pop up! Pioneer species will fill the gaps and provide benefits to other plants around them, support animals, and more! If you want to take the guesswork out of it, you could always research what the pioneer species are in your area and plant the ones you like most. 

Obtaining Seeds for Cheap or Free

The cheapest way to start a garden is by far via seeds. However, seeds can be a bit complicated to grow, and some sources make them… way overpriced. Fortunately there are ways to get seeds for little to no cost! 

Some places sell seeds for as low as a dollar, 50 cents, or 25 cents! The packets may not have a lot of seeds, but it’s definitely a good start for a low budget! I’ve personally bought cheap seed packets at Walmart--the Ferry-Morse and Burpee brands are not what we’re looking for here. Typically the cheaper ones I’ve found are American Seed (which is owned by Green Garden Products, which also owns Ferry-Morse, Livingston Seed, McKenzie Seed, and Seeds of Change. Do with that information what you will), but they’re rarely stocked near the Ferry-Morse ones in the Formal Gardening Section. I’ve most often found them on end caps near the gardening section, so you may have to weave through a few aisles to find them, but once you do there’s an array of flower and vegetable seeds to select from! Alternatively, I’ve found seeds at Dollar Tree sold 2 or 4 for a dollar in Spring as part of their seasonal product; however, when they’re out of stock, they’re typically out of stock for the year. Try to check them out early in the year!

Otherwise, other seed companies like Urban Farmer or Botanical Interests will often have semi-frequent sales in spring and fall, when people are stocking up on seeds--joining their email lists can help you be the first to know when a good sale is going on!

Some foods from grocery stores will provide seeds that you can use in the garden as well. I’ve had the most luck with store-bought bagged beans, peppers, and tomatoes. Some people have had luck with watermelons, apples, citrus, squash, and more. Do keep in mind that you likely won’t get the same variety of fruit/vegetable as the one you bought--the resulting plant may look different and taste different.

Give it a shot! Pick some beans you like--if they don't grow well, at least you can eat the rest!

If you live in the US, food-producing live plants, bare roots, and seeds can often be purchased with SNAP benefits. But what does growing fruits, veggies, and herbs have to do with boosting biodiversity? While food crops aren’t typically native, they still provide valuable shelter for native insects. Some plants even have intricate relationships with native fauna--like the squash bee, a solitary bee which exclusively pollinates cucurbits like pumpkins, squash, and zucchini. And we get to benefit more directly as well! If you’re planting a diverse range of foods in your garden (as opposed to the swaths of single-plant farms that typically produce what’s sent to grocery stores), you’re supporting high levels of biodiversity by providing a variety of plants for creatures to live and hunt around.

Most of the time, when we think of boosting biodiversity with a garden, we think of a colorful flower garden teeming with pollinator species. However, if we’re striving to use native species, it can be a bit difficult to find some species in stores. I can say from experience that trying to find any wildflower seeds other than butterfly weed, purple coneflowers, and black-eyed-susans is… challenging, if you limit yourself to stores like Walmart, Home Depot, and Lowe’s. You might occasionally get lucky with an ACE Hardware or a local nursery, but even then sometimes it can be hard to track down who in your area is selling what--let alone if you live in an area where no one really is selling native plants or their seeds. Not to mention, even once you find a local or online store selling the seeds you want, they can sometimes cost a pretty penny. So what do you do?

If you have the option to, consider gathering native seeds yourself! Get good at identifying the native flora and fauna--or at least, a few target plants and their lookalikes--and get ready to go! Learn where they tend to grow, when they’ll be seeding, etc. Try to identify the plant before it goes to seed (for most plants, it's easiest to identify when flowering), then check back regularly to gather seeds. Typically, if I want to learn how to collect seed from a specific plant, I just search it on Google or YouTube--oftentimes, I'm lead to the GrowItBuildIt Youtube page, so it may be a helpful resource for you as well! Of course, make sure to leave plenty of seed behind so the wild population can repopulate, and seed can feed other creatures in the area. A good rule of thumb is to take no more than 1/3rd of what's available.

Buying seed in bulk is an option if you can afford the upfront cost. Try teaming up with a few friends to buy some bulk seeds and split them amongst yourselves--you’ll get tons of seed! Prairie Moon is a popular site that'll sell seeds by the pound if you can afford the price--though they're in the US, and I believe they focus on Midwest and East Coast natives.

If you want to cheat the system, don’t buy bulk sunflower seeds--buy bags of sunflower seeds being sold as birdseed. They’re typically all black oil sunflower seeds, but they’ll sprout, and they’re fairly cheap for the amount you get!

However, beware generic wildflower seed mixes! Many brands like to sell wildflower seed mixes in big box stores like Home Depot, Target, or even Dollar Tree, but they’ll often include flowers that aren’t native or possibly even invasive in your region! Before you make any purchases, double check to make sure the contained seeds won’t do more harm than good! A quality source of native seeds will provide English and Latin names for all seeds included, and will be native to the region or at least non-invasive. 

See this? I don't trust this.

There’s a good handful of programs online that’ll send you free seeds if you’re planning to start a native habitat project! Poke around online and see what you can find; you might get lucky! The best time to start looking for these is fall and winter, I find--by early spring, many of them are either done or beginning to wind down... though some also start up in spring. Ultimately--just check regularly! You never know what you can find!

Other Ways to Get Plants

Don’t want to start from seed? That’s fair! You can try cuttings! Just be sure not to take too much of the plant while you do so. Make sure you’ve gotten a few leaf nodes on your cutting, and cut any flowers you may have gotten. Make sure to leave some blooms and foliage on the original plant for the creatures in the current habitat--you don’t want to destroy one habitat to make another in your garden. There’s tons of methods of rooting cuttings, many of which have different efficacy rates for different plants, but that’s a topic for another post.

If you find seedlings growing in a place where they won’t be able to sustain themselves long-term, or are in danger of being destroyed, consider relocating them! You may be able to gently dig up and transplant the seedling to your garden. Don’t do this if they’re in a place where they can easily survive--ideally, you’ll be taking plants from sidewalk cracks, heavily maintained public gardens, roadsides, etc. Do be careful while doing this--ensure your safety first!  

You’re totally allowed to join gardening communities like clubs, facebook groups, and more before you’ve even put a trowel to the dirt. These are great places to learn information and advice! Many gardeners are more than happy to help out a new gardener, and will eagerly provide seeds, cuttings, or even baby plants! Talk to some people about your gardening journey and what you’re hoping to do, and you just might find some kindred spirits--or at least get more people interested in the topic! 

Seed and plant giveaways and trades happen all the time in gardening clubs, as well as online! Just poke around and see what you can find! Some are explicitly trades, meaning you’re expected to send something in return, but once you get your feet on the ground with some plant knowledge you’ll be stellar! You may be able to explain you’re just starting out, and someone may send you seeds without expecting a trade, but I’d suggest trying giveaways first. 

Poke around online and see if there’s a local chapter of your state’s native plant society. From there, you’ll likely be able to find a calendar of events--many of them will host plant sales in the spring, with a bunch of native plant seedlings ripe for the pickings if you can make it out and have some money to spare! Fair warning, though, you’ll want to get there early if you can. If they say they’re starting at 10, try to get there by 9:45. Year after year, there’s always record turnout, and they sell out of plants faster than ever. Just trust me on this. I’ve been let down; hopefully you won’t have to be.

Some libraries are beginning to host seed libraries! Check around and see if your library has one! Ideally, the system works best if you also have seeds to contribute in return, but if you’re just starting out I’m sure they won’t mind you taking some seeds! Just consider saving some seeds to contribute in the future and pay it forward. If your library doesn’t have a seed library? Consider asking if they’d be willing to start one! Community interest is a great way to get the ball rolling on projects like these, but they’ll only know the community is interested if the community tells them they’re interested!

Volunteer to Garden for/with Someone Else

Maybe someone in your area wants to garden, but is struggling to find the time/energy. Many elderly people who used to garden simply can’t anymore but still would like a garden. Other people may love to have a helping hand in their garden. You might even find a few people in your area interested in renting and sharing a community garden plot with others, so they don't have to handle it all on their own! They may be interested in increasing biodiversity right now, or may be willing to if it’s brought up to them. You might be just the kind of person someone needs! Since it won't be your garden, you’ll likely need a bit of permission and collaboration to get anything in particular going, but it’s worth a shot and a way to maybe even make friends! 

Again, your mileage may vary with some of these. You may not know where there's a bunch of wildflowers growing in your area, or maybe your local library doesn't have a free seed library. That's okay! Do what you're able to, find what you can find, get what you can get! And there's never any shame with starting small--in fact, starting small can make the project easier to manage and expand when you're able!

That's the end of this post! My next post is gonna be about ways to start growing plants cheaply--low cost seed starting set ups, essentially. There's a lot of good options, many of which I've used myself even! Until then, I hope this advice is helpful! Feel free to reply with any questions, success stories, or anything you think I may have forgotten to add in!

[lost-in-fandoms]

Thought i would be done but...yeah didn't happen. Part one here.

Living with Max is easy.

He doesn't whine when Daniel is taking care of his leg, he doesn't mind sleeping on some blankets on the floor, next to the fireplace, he offers to help around, and best of all he doesn't ask questions.

Well, not exactly. He asks so many questions. Once he gets over his initial bout of shyness and quiet, he asks questions about Daniel's vegetables, about his horse, about the woods, about the traps, about the animals. He offers his own opinions too, telling Daniel he's growing peas in too much shade and that he's cooking his meat for too long. And, much to Daniel's annoyance, he is often right too.

But he doesn't ask questions about Daniel. He doesn't know if it is because Max doesn't care or because he doesn't want to be asked questions back, but he appreciates being spared the trouble of telling him to mind his own business.

They also work surprisingly well together. Max is older than he initially seemed, dirt, hunger and exhaustion making him look younger, and he seems to know a little bit of everything. Even if he doesn't ask, Daniel is a little curious about what path in life brought him to have such a wide mix of knowledge. He seems to know how to move around the woods without scaring the prey, how to skin and cook animals, how to take care of the vegetables (better than Daniel), how to keep himself and the house clean.

It's nice to have a second pair of hands around, even if the pair of hands should sit down more often to let their leg heal. Not that Max ever listened to that.

And he's funny. Daniel hadn't realised how much he missed just sitting around the table after dinner, talking and laughing with someone else. How good it was to wake up and find the fire already stoked and the water pitch already filled. To have someone to say good morning to who would say it back.

Daniel hadn't been thinking of himself as lonely before, he was content with his choice of life, but he can admit that he likes this. He is glad Max decided to stay and he's glad Max seems to be having a good time too, at least from what Daniel could tell.

This is why, when about three weeks after Max's arrival he wakes up in the middle of the night to the sounds of him moving around the house, his first thought isn't Max is leaving, but something is wrong.

"Are you okay?" he asks, voice scratchy with sleep and way too loud in the quiet of the night.

He watches Max flinch, dropping something, before turning around to face Daniel.

"Go back to sleep," he whispers, too shaky to be a good order. There's something different in his voice, and it only takes Daniel's tired brain a few moments to realise that he had heard those notes before, in the woods about three weeks ago. Fear.

Daniel sits up, eyes finally adjusting to the silver darkness of the room, moonlight streaming through the open windows.

"What's wrong?" he asks again, voice lower, matching Max's whisper.

He listens to the sounds coming from outside, thinking that maybe the men Max was running from have come back, but he can't hear anything unusual in the late summer night.

Max is grabbing what he dropped on the floor, stuffing it into a bag that he must have taken from Daniel's things, but the moment, Daniel doesn't even care about the fact that he's very obviously stealing from him.

"Max, what is happening?" He's getting frustrated now, hates not knowing what is going on, worry and irritation growing together.

He stands up, taking a couple of steps towards Max, wanting to see him better, but he stops when Max flinches back.

"I need to leave," he finally says, voice raspy. It's not an explanation, and Daniel suddenly regrets never asking any questions.

"Why? Where?"

He doesn't want Max to leave. The knowledge of that settles like armor on his chest, safe but heavy. Living with Max isn't just easy, it's good. He doesn't want to go back to an empty house, not after the past weeks have been so nice.

"I...I need..." Max shudders, as if in pain, and Daniel's legs ache with the need of walking closer.

"Did something happen?" Did I do something wrong?

Max shakes his head, jerky and sharp. When he exhales, Daniel can hear him bite back a whine.

He doesn't want to scare Max, but he is confused, and he is worried, and he is not going to let him go without an explanation.

He steps between Max and the door.

"You owe me an explanation," he says, hating the way it makes Max stiffen, unwilling to take it back anyway.

"I don't owe you..." Max snaps, before interrupting himself with half a growl. "You haven't told me anything either!"

"That's different. I'm not running away in the middle of the night."

Max takes a step forward, back tense, and Daniel instinctively braces himself, eyes flying towards the table, where his knife always is, but Max doesn't attack him.

He shivers again, hands clenching around the bag and then letting it fall on the ground with a thump, shoulders slumping as all the fight seems to leave him.

"Please, Daniel, I need to leave. It's...it's not safe."

Max looks up, finally meeting Daniel's eyes, and he's suddenly reminded of what the man had said, so many days ago.

He's dangerous. Cursed.

Max's eyes look weird, blue brighter than ever, almost glowing in the moonlight. His face is twisted in pain and there's the glimmer of sweat gathering at his hairline. None of that would worry Daniel, but there's something...different in him. Something other.

Cursed.

The room seems too bright now. The moon is almost full tonight.

Cursed.

Max had said he hadn't killed anyone, but if this is what Daniel is thinking of...

Max closes his eyes, whole body shivering again, his edges almost blurring with it. Or maybe it's not just a trick of the light. Daniel doesn't know what to think anymore.

He doesn't want Max to go. He doesn't want this to happen.

He steps away from the door.

For a moment, they both stand still, looking at each other.

For a moment, Daniel hopes he'll wake up and it will be morning, and Max will be coming in with the last tomatoes from the garden.

Then Max whines, something low and pained, something animal, and bolts.

Daniel doesn't stop him.

He watches as his shadow changes even before he's fully reached the trees.

Then he sits on the doorstep and waits for the sunrise.